A/N: This could be the weirdest author's note I've had to write-please do not use my public email address to "hook up" with me so we can "write some cool shit." It will be considered spam. One other thing: these chapters always end up much longer than anticipated. I guess Hermione's perspective is truly compelling to develop and explore. Now I return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Chapter Eleven
Intercession 1991
"What do you say, Harry-time to meet the parents?"
Though the grin left over from Ron's parting words had mostly faded from Harry's face, it returned again with my question.
"Dunno…should I be afraid?" he wondered, but his question was not serious, either.
"Trembling, actually," I returned, and then laughed and pulled him by the arm into the passageway. The train had emptied by this point, so our way was quick and clear to the exit. We struggled a bit with our luggage-my suitcase and his trunk-but we eventually got our things off the train.
As I stepped off the train onto the platform, I waved to my parents, who had just seen me. Harry jumped off beside me, and we stood around our luggage as my parents headed in our direction. It was incredibly good to see them after so long; mum's face lit up in a smile as she came closer, and I couldn't resist the grin spreading across mine.
"Mum! Dad!" I said, moving the last few steps toward them. I crashed into mum, hard, and embraced her. She laughed and hugged me back. I did the same to dad, and then turned back around. Harry was watching all of this with a tiny smile at the corners of his lips.
"And this nice young man must be Harry Potter?" mum asked. I pressed my back into her and nodded.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Harry said, coming forward a bit. He looked slightly awkward, and I stifled a laugh. Mum gave me a little push forward, and then walked around me.
"Likewise, Harry. We've heard so much about you in Hermione's letters," she said, not looking at me on purpose, I was sure. Harry's eyes cut to mine for the briefest of moments, something like surprise in them, and then he looked back at mum.
"Yes Harry, it seems like you and Hermione have become good friends," dad said, also moving forward a bit.
For a moment, I avoided everyone's eyes; I moved to where Harry was standing and stopped by his side again. I waited for his response to what dad had said, because we had never overtly discussed our friendship before. As a matter of fact, I could not recall one instance where the word `friend' was used in conjunction with our knowing each other-to the other person, at least. But that seemed like what it had turned into, during the past two months.
Friendship: an unfamiliar word, for most of my childhood. Yet the boy I was standing next to was staying at my house for the entirety of the holidays, as my friend. I was not able to express my feelings at the time, but in a general sense I realized this was somewhat of a mental shift for me, as a person. Prior to Hogwarts, I had been a loner, separated from others my age by my personality and driven will to succeed. Now, four months after starting at Hogwarts, I had at least one true friend.
But that of course was contingent upon Harry's acknowledgement of his role as my friend, because friendship was-and is, and always will be-a reciprocal relationship. I had started to consider Harry as my friend, but that was only true if he thought the same of me. So I held my breath as I waited for Harry to respond.
Before he said anything, though, I felt impelled to look up. It wasn't until after I saw his green eyes staring directly at me that I realized I must have felt his gaze. There was some kind of hazy, unreadable emotion in them, something that he probably also wouldn't have been able to express.
"Yes, I think we have, Mr. Granger," Harry finally said, breaking eye contact with me and looking toward my parents. I did the same and mum's eyes immediately captured mine. Her left eyebrow tweaked upwards ever so slightly, and I thought I saw some amusement in her eyes.
"And I have to thank Hermione, once again, for inviting me to stay with you for Christmas. And thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, for agreeing to her idea. It means a lot to me," he told them, and once again I wanted to hug him. It was amazing how he could do that with just his words, because although Harry did not outwardly emote very much, the feelings behind what he said almost always came across loud and clear.
"Oh, you're quite welcome," mum said. "Paul, would you mind getting Hermione's suitcase? Harry and Hermione can get his trunk," she said, and suddenly the awkwardness of meeting the parental units had passed.
"It's really no trouble at all," mum continued, as we headed for the Muggle side of the station. "We have plenty of extra room at home, and it is the least we can do. We don't want any of Hermione's friends staying cooped at the school for the holidays."
"So Harry, how did you and Hermione first get to know each other?" Dad wondered, as we moved through the barrier. He had my suitcase gripped in both hands; Harry had one end of his trunk and I had the other. Mum walked a little ahead of us all, looking back every now and then and listening to the conversation.
I hoped Harry didn't say at the business end of a mountain troll's club. That might not go over so well with my parents, because I had left out a few of the more…alarming…details from my letters.
"Early mornings in the Great Hall, during breakfast, I think," was what Harry actually said, and I nodded in agreement as memories of our various chats about school flooded back into my mind.
"What do you mean?" mum wondered.
Harry looked at me. "We're usually the earliest first years to rise, so before the other students get to breakfast in the morning, Hermione and I talk about what's going on in classes. We've been doing that for most of the year."
"It's paid off, hasn't it?" dad asked, hefting the suitcase differently as we passed onto the pavement of Charing Cross road. "Hermione told us you two are the top students in your year."
"Hermione's brilliant," Harry said, and I just looked at him. "She deserves the top spot," he continued, not meeting my eyes. I watched mum look back at dad, and I assumed their eyes met briefly, because she smiled and then looked forward once again.
"We're glad you think so, Harry, because we certainly agree," mum said. I was embarrassed now-I didn't want to listen to people praise me! Harry had an incredible mind as well.
"But don't sell yourself short," she went on. "You must be quite the student yourself, if you're also ahead of all these-Ravenclaws, was it?-Hermione wrote us about."
He finally looked at me. "I don't want to waste this chance," Harry said, nodding slightly at me, and then looking up at dad. "Hogwarts means a lot to me, and I want to make the most of it."
No one said anything for a few moments, as we all considered his words, which were deeply measured and personal for anyone, especially an eleven-year-old. But if Harry had grown up with Muggles, and his parents had been magical, then I think I might have understood at a very basic level what the magical world represented to him. It was one of the only links to his family, and his true heritage.
It had been a way out for me, a kind of reset to my young life; for Harry, it was a way in, to the life he had been denied as an infant and to the legacy that had been waiting for him, however willingly or unwillingly he would ultimately receive it.
As we passed into the car park, and as these half-formed thoughts were still running around my head, dad fished his keys out of his pocket and directed us toward his auto. They had brought the small SUV dad usually drove, which was a good thing because mum's sedan might not have fit the four of us as well as our things.
"So where did you live before Hogwarts?" mum wondered, as we climbed in. Harry sat behind dad and I was behind mum, on the passenger side; I glared at the back of her head for a moment, hoping she hadn't stumbled upon sensitive subject matter with Harry. I was almost afraid to look at him.
But Harry either wasn't affected by her question or brushed it off quite easily: "Little Whinging, Surrey. Hermione said you live in West London?"
"This is West London, Harry," I said. Charing Cross road, along with Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and Leicester Square were all the high points of West London. Hemmings Drive was only a few short kilometers from all of them.
"That's right, the station is only about fifteen blocks from where we live, on Hemmings Drive," dad provided.
"Oh," was all Harry said.
"So-Surrey? Do you come to London often?" mum asked.
"No, Mrs. Granger."
"Really? Even with the West End only a half hour from Little Whinging-?"
Well, it looked like I would have to salvage this conversation. Honestly, from what I had told mum, and from what she could have deduced herself, she should have known her questions were heading down a dangerous road.
"So let's bring him Christmas shopping at Piccadilly and Leicester and all that!" I cut in, so that Harry wouldn't have to answer her question. "It would be a great way to introduce him to all of the wonders of West London."
Nothing came from mum and dad for several moments, and I observed them pass some looks between each other. They were doing that thing when they talked without actually talking, which really irked me sometimes.
I looked at Harry, and he turned his head to meet my eyes. There was a question in them-he glanced down at his hands and then back at me-but I was not sure what he was asking. Dad's voice broke our staring contest:
"That's fine, Hermione. In fact, I think that's a marvelous idea. We could make a day of it-shopping, food, and perhaps even a movie if anything good is playing at the cinema."
"Great!" I exclaimed, enthused. Even though I lived almost within walking distance of all that stuff, I had never gone on a regular basis. I hadn't had friends to go with, and mum and dad did not shop there very often.
"What do you think, Harry?" I asked, hoping to open him up again. He had quieted down in the last several minutes.
"That sounds fun," he said, smiling again. "Thanks!"
"Oh, of course!" I said. "But we need to stop by Diagon Alley sometime before Christmas, too," I told mum and dad. "Harry and I probably need to get some magical things, as well."
"I doubt that will be a problem, honey," dad said.
Shortly thereafter, we arrived at 18 Hemmings Drive. As we pulled into the driveway, I had an odd moment of deja vu, perhaps because it had been so long since I'd seen my house. The sight was so familiar, yet at the same time so distant, that I think my brain had to reconnect the four months between the start of term and coming home for the holidays. There were no noticeable changes, as far as my memory was concerned, but something felt different.
Looking back, I can only describe it as nostalgia, but I am not even sure to this day if that is the correct term. The immutability of time and what it does to the interplay of memory and perception has always been just beyond the reach of my articulation.
The house had not changed, but I had. I was seeing the familiar structure with slightly older, worldlier eyes; the four months at Hogwarts, and all of the experiences encapsulated within that time, had changed my point of view slightly. I did not understand that idea on December 18th, 1991, so what I felt was something strangely reflective.
"Home sweet home!" mum said, brightly. I nearly smiled at the incongruity of her statement and the tone of my thoughts.
----------
I lay in my bed that night, utterly unable to sleep, thinking for several hours about the boy sleeping in the guest room down the hall. I was only twelve during that first holiday recess, so my thoughts never strayed toward the awkward sexual or romantic fantasies someone two or three years older might have conjured up, but in a very real way I understood that this was the closest I had ever been to sharing a piece of myself with another person.
Thoughts like those may be considered melodramatic, but I had never experienced a true mutual friendship during my short life. I had very few expectations, on the one hand, because I did not have any other good friends with which to compare Harry; but, on the other hand, my expectations were literally insurmountable because of how many idyllic friendships and relationships I'd read about over the years. My vast lexicon provided me with some profound examples of literary friendship, and as I lay there I wondered if it was possible to mirror those in real life.
Of course these were just the thoughts of a little girl at three o'clock in the morning-taken together with the knowledge of my future husband and two children, however, it begins to mean something much more.
The next two days consisted of settling in at home and showing Harry the comforts of a well-loved Muggle existence. Friday morning, the 20th, I rolled out of bed around 10:30 and went downstairs, only to find a note from mum and dad saying they'd been called into the office for some emergency. They expected to return sometime in the mid-afternoon.
I thought nothing of it for five minutes, as I made some breakfast. However, as I sat down with my food, and wondered if Harry was still asleep, I realized something substantial: my parents trusted me enough to leave me home alone with someone they barely knew. Realistically, there had probably been little alternative, and I had never caused trouble in the house, but it was still a big step for me.
I almost bounced in my seat as I finished and put my dishes in the sink, because I just had to wake Harry. It was an overwhelming and uncontrollable urge, so without thinking much further I ran through the house and up the stairs.
The guest room's door was ajar, and I stood there for a second, looking through the crack between the jam and the doorway. I could just barely see the bed, and the shocking mess of indistinguishable blackness could only have been his hair. I knocked tentatively, too quietly, but I know now I did not want to wake him. I wanted an excuse to steal into his room while he was still asleep, and that was exactly what I did.
I was amped up for some reason, and my nerves thrilled a bit as I pushed the door in a few inches and slipped into the room. I had to stifle some laughter with my hand as I took in his slumbering form: he had thrown the bedspread off at some point during the night and lay on his back, with the sheet tangled up in his legs. One arm was thrown behind his head, and his mouth was slightly open. The slow, rhythmic rise-and-fall of his chest signified deep sleep.
I have no idea how long I stood there watching him, ready to bolt at the slightest noise. There was some kind of hushed, ethereal quality to the entire thing. He looked so peaceful, so at home.
I eventually retreated to the doorway and knocked smartly against the frame. Harry rolled toward me at the sound, and slowly his eyes opened, revealing with startling intensity (as usual) their vivid greenness.
He just started at me for several seconds, blinked thrice, and then ran a hand through his wild hair. I smiled at him as he rolled onto his back once again and stretched.
"Morning," he said, thickly. He sat up, still messing with his hair.
"It's hopeless, Harry," I said, with some humor in my voice. I was still filled with that warmth from simply observing him sleeping.
"Huh? What is?" he said, looking at me. He stopped trying to flatten his hair, though one hand was still tangled within the raven locks.
"Your hair."
He played with it for another second or two and then dropped his hand, raising his eyebrows. He shrugged. Then he saw the bedspread on the floor.
"How did that get there?" he wondered, leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve it. His balance must have still been off from lying down all night, however, because he misjudged and toppled right off the bed. He dragged the sheet with him. There was a pronounced oof!
And then: "Ow."
I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. I moved into the room once again to see if he was alright, even as the sound of my laughter completely filled the room. It only grew louder when he sat up with a comically bewildered look upon his face, rubbing the top of his head. His hair, which he had actually helped a little, was completely out of control again.
"Something funny?" he wondered, untangling himself from the sheet, and piling it and the bedspread on the bed. I stopped next to him, still laughing, and pulled his hand away from his head. I felt there, gently-he went rigid very briefly when I touched him, though I willfully ignored that-and found a developing bruise.
"Yes," I told him, stepping back a little. "Your tumble off the bed." He just looked at me for a moment, quite nonplussed, and then cracked a smile.
"So what time is it anyway?" he asked, glancing toward the strong light coming in the window.
"A little before 11:00," I answered.
"Nothing like sleeping in, huh?" he wondered, and I nodded in agreement. We made our way downstairs.
As we passed into the kitchen, he asked, "Where are your parents?"
"Emergency surgery or something," I said.
He looked quite perplexed. "Are they ok?"
At first, I didn't know what he meant, but then I realized that I hadn't ever told him what my parents did. So he must have thought one of them was undergoing surgery.
"Oh, yes-Harry, they're both dentists," I said. "So really, they are Dr.'s Granger and Granger."
Dawning comprehension passed over his face. "So I shouldn't call them Mr. and Mrs. Granger?"
I chuckled lightly as his cute concern. "No, that's fine. They actually prefer that to Doctor. Their titles always seemed a little ostentatious to them."
Now he looked perplexed again. "Ostentatious? I ruddy well don't know that word-you're brilliant, you know that?"
I fought the urge to blush. "Really, Harry…this coming from the boy who called Malfoy sycophantic?"
"Oh, I remember that," he recalled, smiling fondly. "That was one of my finer moments, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I agreed, "though I seem to remember you cursing as well."
"You really don't like that, do you?"
"What, cursing?" He nodded. "No, not really," I said. "I guess I just don't see the point," I explained.
"Then you really wouldn't like my uncle," he said, under his breath. I didn't know how to respond to that, so I helped him make his breakfast in silence for a little while. "So what does ostentatious mean?" he asked, as we both moved toward the table.
"Well…showy," I answered, trying to explain. "Kind of like flaunting your wealth or any kind of privilege just so others can see it."
"That makes sense," he said. "Thanks, Hermione."
"You're welcome."
Conversation continued idly along for some time, even after Harry had finished his breakfast. It was a peaceful late morning and early afternoon, as we just talked about wherever our thoughts led us. Harry asked me some questions about my childhood and what it was like growing up with such good parents, and I could tell that he was wondering what it would have been like for him to grow up with his parents.
I was worried that he might become quiet once again, but thankfully he seemed to have been dealing with the regret in his own way, because he continued to be chatty for the rest of that day. Mum and dad came home around 2:30 and found us in the living room, watching some television. Harry had said that he rarely got to watch the telly at his relatives' house, and it was then that I started to really wonder how bad his childhood had actually been. Clearly television-or a lack thereof-is not intrinsic to growing up and maturing, but for him to be so totally alienated from the minutiae of Muggle life meant something more than just regular neglect.
There had been other little things here and there, not the least of which was his initial desire to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, so I resolved to talk to mum and dad about it sometime. As professionals, they might have a better perspective on some of the things I was struggling to comprehend about Harry's state of mind.
That night, during dinner, mum had a proposition for us: "What do you two think about Christmas shopping tomorrow? We could leave early and hit up Piccadilly and Leicester, get some lunch, and then head to Diagon Alley in the afternoon. And if you wanted, we could come back here for dinner and then head out afterward for a movie. How does that sound?"
Harry just looked a little overwhelmed, so I answered for the both of us. "Wow, that sounds great! You coming with us, dad?"
"Of course!" he said. "I wouldn't miss a day out on the town with my favorite ladies, and it will give Harry and me a chance to put our heads together on what to get you two," he said, looking at Harry and smiling. I could have kissed dad then, for including Harry so brilliantly in the plans. Dad's grin was infectious, because soon Harry was smiling back and nodding.
"That's great, Mr. Granger, because I was going to ask for your help anyway-Hermione's a hard nut to crack sometimes," he said, rolling his eyes at me.
I made an affronted noise. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter? Just what is that supposed to mean?" My parents were watching this with amused expressions.
"Nothing," he returned, with an innocent look.
"Nice save, Harry," mum said, now laughing a bit. She looked at dad. "But I think that's a wonderful idea, Paul. It will give Hermione and me some time to think about what we're going to get you two."
"You don't need to get me anything," Harry said, quietly, and looking down at the table. His shaggy bangs fell over his face. "Letting me stay here for the holidays is gift enough," he continued, and the sincerity was very apparent in his voice.
Silence cut across the room like a knife. I looked toward mum and dad, with a plea to say something in my eyes, and they glanced at each other. Dad nodded at mum and she looked back at Harry.
"Harry," she started, delicately, "did you tell your relatives where you would be staying this Christmas?"
I thought it was an odd question, considering the circumstances, but I trusted mum. So rather than interject my opinion, I just looked to Harry and waited for his response.
He continued to stare at the table for several seconds, and then he looked up without moving his head. I could see his green eyes through the hair partially concealing his face. Slowly, he shook his head.
"No, Mrs. Granger."
"Why not?" she pressed.
"Because they don't care, and they're happier with me out of the house."
I bit my lip. I didn't understand how Harry could be so blunt about the status of his home life and be so unaffected. His words made me want to cry for him. My upbringing had been so full of love that I could not fathom where he was coming from.
Even though I'd only known Harry for a few months, I was aware that he was compassionate in such a way that should have been impossible with what little I knew about his childhood. And besides, I could never, ever forget that he had saved me from annihilation. He had given me a new lease on life.
And yet, his relatives apparently hated him and did not care about his well-being. They did not even know where he was for the holidays, and apparently had not asked, either. I wondered what mum would say next, in response to these realizations.
"We're happy to have you with us, Harry," she said, looking at dad.
"That we are," dad put in.
"And because you're with us for Christmas, you will be treated as part of the family while you are here. It's the least we can do, really. So no more of that rubbish about not wanting gifts! We'll just see what happens, ok?"
He finally looked up, flicking his hair from his face. He took a deep breath-I could see his chest expand and his shoulders rise-and then exhaled noisily.
"Yes, ok. Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Granger." He looked at me. "And thank you, Hermione."
----------
We all went to bed early that night, even though Harry and I had slept in, because we were planning on getting an early start. As it was so close to the holidays, the main shopping districts were bound to be absolutely packed, so it would be helpful to get a jumpstart on the day.
And that's exactly what we did: we left the house at 5:30 in the morning, found a car park near Piccadilly that was already half-full, and started in on our Christmas shopping. Surprisingly, it wasn't cold exactly, but it was fairly chilly and damp, so we put on some heavier clothes and joined the holiday throngs.
Harry had never been to the crowded, loud, bright, and modern shopping districts and I enjoyed watching him drink in all the new sights and sounds. We did our fair share of window shopping, because I only had two Muggle gifts to buy. Harry told me that he was going to buy mum and dad small gifts as well, because of what they'd said the previous night, and I did not disagree with him.
When I asked him about money, he actually laughed and told me that he had some left over from the last time he visited Gringotts, before the start of the fall term. He had withdrawn a decent amount of galleons-apparently his parents had left him well-off with some kind of trust fund-and changed some into a few hundred pounds. He had not had any reason to spend the pounds since the start of term, so he was still well-stocked in the money department. I secretly wished I had a few hundred pounds to spend.
I did not say that to him, of course, because I knew how insensitive that would appear. Sure, his parents had left him some money, but that didn't mean he was capitalizing on their death. It was just one of the minor (and insignificant, really) comforts left over from his true legacy.
We all finished with our shopping around lunchtime. I bought mum some scented candles and a really amazing book about themed home decoration, and for dad I bought several political novels that he loved to read. I had an inkling of what I wanted to get Harry, but it would have to be purchased in Diagon Alley.
As we headed over to Leicester Square for lunch, I asked Harry what he bought for my parents.
"I wasn't too sure what to get them," he said, glancing up at my parents-they were walking in front of us. He opened the bag he was holding so we could both peek inside. "So I asked the bloke in the novelty shop for some ideas, and he suggested this for your dad"-he pointed to a kit for making a ship in a bottle-"and these for your mum"-he pointed to a parchment and quill set (for writing letters to Hogwarts, I assumed) and two small birdfeeders that could be hung off the back porch.
I thought they were nice. They were not very personal gifts, but he did not know my parents very well, so it was understandable.
"And what about me?" I asked, trying to look further into the bag. He didn't stop me, and just smiled instead.
"There's nothing in there for you," he told me, "so go ahead and look as long as you want. I have a few ideas about what to get you, but I'm not telling! Anything that I'd get you I would have to buy in Diagon Alley, anyway."
"Just a hint?" I pouted.
He shook his head, drawing his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion.
"You're impossible!" I exclaimed, pushing him lightly.
He just laughed. "Any hints for me?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, there you go!" he retorted, and I knew I had been bested.
"You kids behaving back there?" mum asked, looking over her shoulder at us. At some point, dad had wrapped his arm around her back, and they were walking quite close together. I felt a brief pang deep inside me for some reason.
"Hermione's pestering me about her gift!" Harry said.
"Harry won't give me any hints!" I added.
She shook her head lightly at us, glancing sideways at dad. "Christmas is only a few days away…you'll both find out then-I think you can wait that long." She smiled and then turned her head forward once again.
Harry gave me an I told you so look. I pushed against his arm again and shook my head, pretending to be mad at him. It didn't last very long, though, because his jolly mood was enough to set everyone completely at ease. He was whistling lowly and swinging the bag back and forth, and it was such a contrast to his normally reserved personality that I had to smile. Soon we were both whistling, and it turned into a competition over who could whistle the loudest, or the longest, or highest.
Harry was just as amazed with Leicester as he was with Piccadilly, perhaps even more so because some of the more upscale establishments could be found in the former. We ended up having lunch at a very nice sit-down restaurant, and it was precious to watch Harry and dad argue over who would leave the tip. Dad finally gave up and shrugged, and Harry grinned in triumph.
On our way back to the car park, mum said, "Thank you for that wonderful lunch, gentlemen. It was delicious."
"It was our pleasure," dad said, winking at Harry.
"So…Diagon Alley?" I wondered. Mum and dad nodded, and I looked at Harry. We were both clearly excited to return to the center of Wizarding commerce, because I had only been there once and as far as I knew so had Harry.
We all stowed our purchases in the boot and enjoyed the short drive to Charing Cross road and the now-familiar car park. From there, it was a quick walk to the Leaky Cauldron, which mum and dad could both see this time. It must have had something to do with them already knowing where it was.
"I hope we get through unnoticed," Harry said, just before we entered the pub. I looked at him with a question in my eyes.
"Why is that?" I wondered.
"The last time I was here, it took half an hour to get through to the Alley, because everyone recognized me."
"What do you mean?" mum asked. "Why would they recognize you?"
I could tell by the look on Harry's face that he hadn't realized he would have to explain his fame in the Wizarding world. I stepped in and saved him from having to tell mum and dad about what he'd done as a baby, which we had still never talked about. Perhaps that was a subject I could broach sometime before we returned to Hogwarts.
"His…parents…were important figures in the Wizarding world. They were very well known, so naturally when Harry appears in public, people notice." I said all of this looking directly at Harry, hoping for his approval, and his eyes said, loud and clear, thank you. I nodded slightly at him.
"Oh," mum said, still sounding puzzled, but knowing well enough (for which I was glad) to leave the subject alone for now.
"Only one way to find out," dad said, moving forward and opening the door. We all crowded through into the pub, and as the door shut the sounds of the busy road on the other side cut off completely.
The Leaky Cauldron was toasty, and although it was busier than when I'd visited over the summer, it was still sparsely populated. Tom the barman was behind the counter, as he had been the other time. He looked up as we entered, and I thought he might have recognized me from the smile he sent our way; he definitely recognized Harry, however, and after a quick glance around the pub to see if anyone else had noticed, he came around the bar.
"Harry Potter!" he said, quietly, moving with us toward the entrance to the alleyway. "It's very good to see you again. How is Hagrid doing?" I wondered why Tom would ask that of Harry.
"Fine," Harry said, turning toward the three of us. "Have you met the Grangers before?"
"Why yes, I think I have," Tom said. "Hermione, correct?" I nodded. "How could I ever forget such a beautiful name? And…was it Paul? And Jane?"
"Yes, and I'm impressed that you remembered," dad said, shaking hands with Tom.
"It's my job to know my patrons well," he said, ushering us into the shallow courtyard. "Are you all doing a bit o' holiday shopping?"
"Yep!" I answered, brightly. I was already looking forward to getting Harry's gift, even though I thought it might be very expensive. If necessary, I would ask my parents for some help with paying for it.
"Enjoy, and happy Christmas!" Tom said, turning away as the brick wall rearranged itself into the archway. We called our thanks over our shoulders as we watched, mesmerized once again by the magical transformation, and then headed into the Alley.
"Are you going to get Neville and Ron something?" Harry asked, thinking of the two boys we had associated with the most during the fall term.
Truthfully, I hadn't really thought about buying magical gifts for anyone other than Harry, but he brought forth an excellent point. And he also reminded me of someone else for whom we both could buy a gift.
"Yes, I guess so," I answered. "I'm also planning on visiting Sally sometime after Christmas," I told him, and he looked quickly at me.
"Sally lives near here?" he wondered. I was glad he knew who I was talking about without prompting.
"Yeah, only a few blocks from my house, actually. I still haven't figured out how we didn't go to the same primary school-but, anyways, I think we should each get her a gift, too."
He gave me an absolutely stunning smile, one that was purely genuine and seemed impressed with me somehow, and nodded. His compassion was showing again, because the thought of doing something nice for someone else had brightened his face considerably.
"Brilliant idea, Hermione," he said.
The Alley was just as packed as Piccadilly and Leicester had been; it seemed that wizards and Muggles alike had similar ideas, this close to Christmas. December 21st didn't quite qualify as last-minute shopping, but it was close enough.
Harry went fairly unnoticed, because it was so over-crowded, although I was sure a few people recognized him. Harry seemed to have noticed it, too, because every now and then he would turn away from something quickly. He was doing a good job avoiding his fame, although I knew at some point he would have to face it directly. I hoped I was there to help him with it when he did.
Mum and dad were filled with amazement for most of the afternoon, as we wandered from shop to shop exploring the various magical items for sale. I spotted what I wanted to get Harry in a specialty goods shop, and I signaled to mum. She said something to dad and he left with Harry.
"What is it, dear?" she wondered.
"I think I've found what I want to get Harry," I told her, pointing to a shallow stone basin on the shelf. "Only, it's a little too expensive for me to buy with only my own money."
"What is it?" she asked, repeating her question, though directed at something else, of course.
After I described the item and its function (at which she was understandably amazed), she said she would help me to buy it, and that repayment could be worked out sometime…
We met up with Harry and dad soon thereafter, and Harry had made a purchase in the interim as well. It was sealed in a box and he would not give me any hints about what it was. I was similarly silent about what I'd bought for him.
Eventually, we finished our shopping for each other and for Ron, Neville, and Sally, so we left Diagon in the late afternoon. The 21st was the Winter Solstice, so the sky was already almost completely dark by the time we'd returned to the auto on Charing Cross.
We returned home for dinner and some relaxation. Dad checked the movie timetables and saw that our only realistic choices were The Addams Family and An American Tale: Fievel Goes West, both of which had been released the previous week. They were playing at the Odeon Leicester Square multiplex as well as some other movie theatres near Hemmings Drive, but we decided on the multiplex because it was nice, had recently been refurbished and renovated, and was very comfortable.
That left us with choosing which movie to see: after finding last week's newspaper and reading about both movies, we decided upon the latter. The Addams Family seemed a little too weird, and it had been quite some time since I had seen an animated movie at the theatre. From how excited and intrigued Harry was, I didn't think he'd ever been to the theatre, period.
We set out once again and arrived about an hour early at the Odeon, which was fortunate because the place was literally overflowing with people. It had always been a popular destination for Londoners, but this close to the holiday season the masses obviously flocked to the theatres. We eventually bought our tickets, and after splurging on popcorn, soft drinks, and candy (my parents told us they were personally going to supervise the brushing of our teeth that night), we found our seats.
Several times during the movie I noticed Harry grinning in pure delight, and it brought me much happiness to see him enjoying himself so much. He was totally invested in the movie in a very innocent way, such that I wondered how many movies he'd seen from start to finish. This time with Harry was changing some of my preconceptions about the boy, mainly about how terrible his childhood had actually been. From what I'd been noticing since we'd arrived back in London, he had been seriously neglected before Hogwarts.
Suffice it to say, Harry loved the movie and the theatre experience and raved about it on the way home. My parents were happy he had enjoyed himself, but their glances toward each other-and my dad's eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror at one point-indicated they had been thinking about some of the same things. So after Harry went to bed that night, mum and dad knocked on my door and asked if they could talk to me for a little while.
"Of course, come in," I said, sitting up and switching on the light beside my bed. They quietly entered my room and sat down, mum at the end of my bed and dad at my desk. I thought I might have had some idea of what they wanted to discuss, but I left it up to them to get the conversation going.
"Hermione, we want you to know," dad began, "that we think Harry is a wonderful person and a great friend to have. We're glad you've found someone like him you can share your time at Hogwarts with."
"But…?" I wondered, sensing just that.
"But," mum continued, nodding at my perceptiveness, "he's also somewhat of an enigma. We were just hoping you could provide us with some insight."
"Like what?"
"Well, you told us in your letter that his relatives did not care to have him home for the holidays. Do you know why?"
I shook my head. "I only know that his parents died when he was a baby, and that he has been living with his Muggle relatives since then. By all rights, Harry should be completely invested in the magical world, but he knows about as much as I do…"
My voice trailed off. Perhaps that was what had been bothering me for so long. Harry was unfamiliar with the magical world as any Muggle would have been, but he was also very unfamiliar with the Muggle world. That would have been acceptable if he had grown up with his magical parents, but since he had not, there was a missing piece in there. Only the most serious and abject neglect could have shut Harry off from life so completely and for so long.
"Do you see what we're confused about, honey?" dad asked.
"Yes, I think I do," I answered. "Something about his home life is very seriously wrong, even more than I'd thought."
Mum and dad nodded. I suppose it was only natural they would have figured it out very quickly, with their level of education and expertise.
"What can we do about it?"
Mum sighed, and dad looked at the floor. "Nothing, at least while we know so little," she said. "Perhaps you could try to get more information from him, because he really is a sweet boy. I think he'll remain a good friend for a very long time, and if there's any way we can help him, we'd love to."
I couldn't help it. I started crying right then and there. Dad looked alarmed and mum looked surprised for a moment.
"What's the matter?" she wondered. I scooted over to mum and dad came over, sitting on my other side. They both held me as I silently cried. I wasn't entirely sure where the sudden emotion had sprung from, but I tried to tell them anyway.
"It's just…thank you," I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks as more leaked from my eyes. Mum stroked my hair and dad wrapped his arm around my back.
"For what?" he asked.
"For accepting Harry so easily," I said. "And having enough of an open mind to let him stay here for the holidays. He looked so lonely when he realized he would be staying at the castle for intercession, and then so relieved and happy and thankful when I told him he could come home with me…"
"You're welcome," mum said, and I thought I might have heard some tears in her voice as well.
"This means a lot to me, and I think it means a lot to Harry, too. I didn't have much luck with friends before Hogwarts, and I'm thinking more and more that Harry didn't either, so this is really nice for both of us. I'm glad that you let this happen, because it really does mean so much," I said, unable to say anymore because I was crying in earnest now.
I heard mum sniffle and she leaned into me some more, rocking the three of us slightly. We stayed like that for some time, just the three of us sitting on my bed that chilly winter night. Eventually, dad spoke:
"We weren't sure at first what to expect, but we trusted you enough to know that you would make good choices when it came to friends. For that reason we agreed to have Harry stay with us, and we're very glad we did. He's a wonderful young man and will be a very good friend to you, we think."
"Yes, he's really turned out marvelously for how neglected he seems to have been," mum added, no longer crying but with the traces still apparent in her words.
I laughed through my tears. "I'm glad you approve."
"We're glad you have such a good friend," dad said.
Sleep came easily and swiftly that night.
---------
December 25th, 1991
"Happy Christmas!" I shouted, bursting into Harry's room and waking him from a sound sleep. He looked confused for about two seconds, and then he grinned at me.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" he replied, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. When Harry was riled up, as he was now, he was agile and lightning-fast. He landed on his feet and met me at the door, grabbing my hand and pulling me along the hallway. I just let him lead me.
"Are your parents up yet?" he wanted to know, sounding breathless.
"Yes, they're downstairs," I told him, and he dragged me along even more adamantly. I smiled at his innocent excitement, but that persistent voice in my head told me this was because he had never had a real Christmas morning before. I pulled up at the top of the stairs. He tugged on my hand, but I wouldn't budge. He glanced back with a curious look on his face.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, Harry. I'm just so happy you're here with us this Christmas."
The pressure on my arm abated and he looked down at our intertwined hands. Then he met my eyes once again.
"Me too, Hermione. I couldn't imagine a better holiday, so far. Thanks."
"Not a problem…now, who's ready for presents?"
His eyes lit up. "Let's go!" And he tightened his grip on my hand, pulling me down the stairs. We raced into the living room and were greeted by the relatively calmer sight of mum and dad sipping a cuppa on the sofa. The tree was glowing warmly with the multi-colored string of lights, and the presents underneath it were piled high.
Harry dropped my hand and moved much at a much slower, more amazed pace into the living room.
"It's beautiful," he said, looking at the tree.
"Thank you," mum said. "We put the finishing touches on it last night after you both went to bed."
We had gone to get the tree the day after our shopping trip, but hadn't finished decorating it before we went to bed last night. Mum and dad had done a spectacular job with the rest of the decorations.
"It's incredible," I said, pushing Harry a bit, as he had stalled in the middle of the room, and we took our seats in the armchairs on either side of the sofa.
"Thanks, Hermione," dad said, setting down his mug. "Shall we get started with the festivities?" he wondered. He looked from me to Harry, and we both nodded vigorously.
"Hermione, you're up," mum said, so I went to the tree and picked out four gifts, one addressed to each of us. When we all had gifts in hand, we opened them. I gave Harry one that had To Harry scrawled across the paper and took a similar one for myself.
When we opened them we found matching flutes, which were roughly cut from the blackest wood I had ever seen. We looked at each other, confused for a second, and then Harry mouthed Hagrid? at me. I nodded, because they must have come from the friendly groundskeeper.
Mum received some practical things for the kitchen from dad and he received two of the novels I'd bought him.
"What'd you two get?" they wondered.
Harry held up his flute as I blew into mine, and a noise sounding quite like an owl's hoo filled the room.
"Well those are interesting," dad said. "Who gave them to you?"
"We're not sure exactly," I answered, "but we think it was Hagrid, who's one of the …teachers at Hogwarts." I wasn't sure how to explain Hagrid's real occupation, as I wasn't completely sure what he really did.
"They certainly look a little rough around the edges, but they sound great," he said. He sat back down and Christmas morning progressed from there.
I had several presents from my parents, including some books, some flashy school supplies like a new leather backpack and some real fountain pens, and some knickknacks for my room. They bought Harry a backpack similar to mine, though a different color, and a few novels. He thanked them profusely, which they accepted graciously.
Harry and I both received presents from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, which surprised me a bit because I had never met Ron's parents, and I didn't necessarily consider myself Ron's friend. I was more like a tolerated acquaintance, at this point. Harry said that he'd briefly met Mrs. Weasley at Platform 9 3/4, and that Ron must have told his parents about us.
When Harry opened his package from them, he found an emerald green sweater and a tin of delicious-looking fudge. I received a similar sweater-though it was purple, instead of green-and some chocolate chip cookies.
Then it came time for our gifts for each other, and Harry made me go first. So I picked up the two packages addressed To Hermione, From Harry and sat down in the armchair with them. One was light and flat the other was fairly heavy and bulky. I opened the lighter one first, and I smiled with a little warm spot glowing in my chest at what I saw.
Two legal pads with very expensive paper comprised the gift, but the inscription on them made it very endearing and a very satisfying present. The top of each piece of paper said From the Desk of Hermione Granger in flowing script and at the bottom in smaller, but equally as expressive writing was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gryffindor House, 1991-1998. It might not have seemed like much, but I thought it was absolutely perfect. The second, larger package did not open as easily, and I had to enlist Harry's help to unwrap it.
When the paper fell away though, I was momentarily stunned. I had no idea what to say. I was looking at two things, actually: one item was a collapsible training broom and the other was a suede-bound daily planner for 1992, with my name embossed in (was that real gold?) golden letters upon the cover. The inside of the front cover also featured embossed letters, though much smaller and down in one corner: From Your Friend Harry Potter, Christmas 1991.
The engraved paper and daily planner went very well together, and were extremely nice gifts, but the broom seemed quite out of place. I looked to Harry, most likely with some confusion evident on my face, because he started laughing immediately.
"I thought you might react like that," Harry said, lifting the broom from my lap so mum and dad could see the item. "Ever since you told me you weren't fond of heights, I've been thinking about a way to help you get over that fear and also have a little fun every now and then. However, since first years are not allowed brooms-"
"Except you, of course," I reminded him, playfully.
"Too right," he agreed. "So since we're not allowed brooms, I saw this training broom advertised at Diagon and found out more about it. Apparently, it's used to help Muggleborn witches and wizards to acclimate to flying-perfect for you-so it only goes about fifteen kilos per hour and can only climb about five meters."
He paused here for a second, and his smile grew. "Now here's where the real genius of this is: it is not considered a real broom by Hogwarts rules, which means you can bring it back to school and I can teach you how to ride it!" he finished, clearly enthused about the prospect of playing teacher.
Truthfully, I wasn't sold on the idea, but if it was something he was committed to, then I would of course approach it with an open mind.
"Thank you, Harry," I said, laying the gifts aside. "Everything is wonderful."
He nodded. "My pleasure," he said.
Then I made him sit in the chair and handed my gift to him. Even though he had given me three, and I was only giving him one, I was not worried. Each of my gifts added up to a kind of whole-idiosyncratic, maybe, but whole nonetheless. The one gift I'd purchased for Harry, with mum's help, was another kind of whole.
I watched in anticipation as he settled into the chair with the package in his lap. I hoped he liked it.
The paper came off to reveal the Pensieve I'd found in that specialty shop, and his eyes lit up in recognition as he carefully lifted it off his lap to eye level. Engraved around the outside of the shallow basin was Harry Potter - Gryffindor.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. "This is a Pensieve, isn't it?"
I nodded, relieved that he had received the gift well.
"This is awesome, Hermione! How did you know that I wanted one? As soon as the Headmaster showed us that one in his office…" he trailed off, still staring at the Pensieve.
I hadn't actually known that he'd wanted one, but it seemed like the perfect gift as soon as I'd thought of it. It was an item that was entirely magical, and therefore belonged completely to the new world we both shared; however, it was also familiar and practical.
Mum and dad asked questions about the broom and the Pensieve, and we explained briefly to them the function of both. The Pensieve intrigued dad (because I'd already explained its function to mum), as it would any sane person, and we promised a demonstration at some point. All the gifts had been unwrapped, so mum and dad retreated to the kitchen to make us all some breakfast.
Harry and I sat on the floor by the tree discussing what we would do with all of the presents we had received and how this was one of the best Christmases either of us had ever had. After a few minutes of chatter, my eye caught something glistening on the floor behind the tree, and I pointed it out to Harry.
He crawled under the tree to retrieve the item, and when he returned to his position next to me, he looked perplexed.
"What?"
"Look at this, Hermione," he said, thrusting the gloriously wrapped package under my nose. The paper itself was green, but it was so sheer that it reflected the lights from the tree in a beautiful display of color. There was a small note attached, with very narrow, loopy writing. It read:
Harry,
Your father left this is in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
A Very Happy Christmas to you.
"Huh," I intoned, just as mystified as Harry had looked.
"Who else would send me a Christmas present?" Harry asked, very sincerely, and my heart nearly split in two. His question had been an earnest one, which hinted yet again at how neglected he must have been for so long, to expect so little love from those around him. I had no idea who had sent the gift, or how it had come to be under the tree, but I did not doubt it was for him. I bade him open the package so we could put this mystery to rest and perhaps guess at who sent it.
He ripped the package down the middle and a silky, shining, metallic gray cloth slithered to floor, brushing against both of our legs. If the paper had refracted the light in wonderful ways, that was nothing compared to the dazzling quality of this cloth. It looked like liquid silver.
"So what is that?" Harry wondered, picking up the cloth in both hands-and then we both gasped. His hands had disappeared under the cloth, and the floor was visible beneath…
"Harry…"
"I know, Hermione. But that's impossible."
We looked at each other, and then he stood up. I followed him to my feet soon after, and with another look into my eyes, he swung the cloak over his head. I stared in shock as he completely disappeared, leaving nothing but the tree where I had been looking.
"Am I invisible?" he asked, quietly.
Rather than answer, I reached out for the cloth. When I found it, I gently pulled it down over his head, leaving it around neck level. I motioned for him to look down. He let out another gasp when he saw that the rest of his body had disappeared.
"I think that's an Invisibility Cloak," I said, stating the obvious. I had read about them in Hogwarts, A History. They were supposed to be astonishingly rare and valuable, and one had turned up on Christmas day at my house.
"Yeah," was all Harry could say for a few moments as he played with the cloak, twirling it this way and that. His body kept disappearing and reappearing in a dizzying display of skewed perception. "Who do you reckon sent it?"
My mind could only come to one conclusion, and before I had drawn in the breath to tell Harry, he reached the conclusion himself.
"Nevermind-it has to be Dumbledore. Who else would have known my dad well enough to have something like this from him and know me enough to give me a Christmas present?"
I shrugged. "That's who I was thinking, too."
"It's amazing," he breathed. He eventually took it off and stored it in the guest room with his other things. When we came back downstairs, breakfast was ready, so we joined my parents in the kitchen. It had certainly been a Christmas morning to remember.
----------
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed and the winter night had reached its darkest and coldest hour, I lay awake. I couldn't stop thinking about how nice this Christmas had been, and how different it had been from past years. Mum and dad had always made the holidays special, but there was something sublime about sharing it with another person closer to my age. I'd had this warm spot in my chest since some point during this holiday recess, and it didn't feel like it was going away anytime soon.
I smiled at nothing in particular as I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball under the warm covers, content with existence and happy with how things had turned out. Two months ago, I had been miserable, but somehow all that had changed and I was moving forward with a different perspective.
These thoughts finally carried me to the edge of sleep, and just as I was teetering over the precipice of consciousness, there came several lights taps on my door. I was completely awake instantly, and I rolled over to witness the door opening and then closing halfway. I could not see anyone, though.
"Hermione?" a soft voice called, and immediately I gathered that Harry had on the Cloak. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," I called, quietly, and sat up in bed. I pulled my frizzy hair back from my face and held it there with a tie from my nightstand.
Harry twirled the cloak off and draped it over the end of my bed. He sat down, hanging his legs over the side of my bed. He looked distraught for some reason.
"What's the matter?" I asked, extricating myself from the covers and moving down the bed toward him.
He was silent for a time, fiddling with the bedspread in a very distracted sort of way. His normally vibrant hair hung limply over his face.
"Harry?" I questioned, hoping for some kind of response. Suddenly, he looked at me, and I was captured completely by his eyes. In the darkness of the room, they veritably shone with a presence that I had only witnessed one other time, which was when he had saved me from the troll.
"Thank you, Hermione."
I blinked. "You're welcome, Harry…but for what?"
"For having me," he said. "For taking me into your home and showing me how wonderful life can actually be."
"It was nothing, really…" I returned, at a loss for words. Harry had never been one to emote, so this sudden outpouring of feeling was a little overwhelming.
"But it is," he asserted, and his voice did that thing where it sounded commanding and sure of itself. "Especially after how I treated you for the start of term…this is more than I could have ever expected, and you've given me two great gifts this Christmas. The Pensieve, for sure, but also your family."
"Well I'm glad I could give you a Christmas to remember," I told him, moved by the sincerity of his words.
"You definitely have," he said, turning away slightly and rubbing his face. Had he started crying? "I don't remember the only Christmas I had with my parents and the Dursleys have never allowed me to participate in any of their celebrations. So this is the first time I've really understood what it means to spend the holidays with good people…"
I could hear the tears in his voice, and the only thing I wanted to do was reach out and wrap my arms around him. He was so vulnerable and honest and good; I was furious with his relatives for how they'd treated him. He did not deserve that kind of childhood.
"It's been really good for me, too," I told him, wanting to give him something about myself, as well. "Before Hogwarts, I'd never really had friends to share things like Christmas with, so this year has been very good."
"I'm glad you're my friend, Hermione," he said, still turned away from me. "If things had turned out differently-I don't even want to think about that."
I bit my lip. I would not cry. I would be strong for him.
"I'm lucky to have you as a friend," I said.
He sniffled. "I wish…I wish I had been able spend some time with my parents," he said, the emotion now bleeding into his voice. "If Christmas with them could have been anywhere near as perfect as this year's was," he said, though he did not finish the thought.
I couldn't resist any longer. I crossed the small space between our bodies and wrapped him in an embrace. He tensed for a moment and resisted the contact, but eventually he melted into my arms and partially returned the hug.
"I'm sure it would have, Harry, and I'm sure they would be very proud of who you've become."
He said something incomprehensible and hugged me tighter. Looking over his shoulder toward the doorway, I saw something that surprised me momentarily: mum stood there, looking at us with tears in her eyes and a sad smile on her face.
Our eyes met, and she seemed to ask do you have this under control? I nodded ever so slightly. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with one hand and turned away.
My room was silent for a long time as we just held onto each other. For the rest of that night, at least, the demons haunting us both stayed away.
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