Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Notes: Re-uploading from fanfiction.net. All mistakes are mine, as I've not gone through the story much.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Aunt Marge visits again during the summer before Harry's sixth year. They talk about some things that get Harry very, very mad. Then, Vernon calls a facility that takes care of `violent' teens. Little does Harry know, that Hermione's father just so happens to own the facility. AU

0-0

Handcuffs.

Nasty little muggle devices, they were. The cold metal wrapping around your wrists, making the veins in your wrists go cold. From the size of it, one wouldn't think it could do anything, but once `it' was wrapped around their wrists, they were done.

That's how Harry Potter felt when he left his `home' with that nasty metal thing around his wrists, hands behind his back.

Flashback

Earlier that day…

Harry had another nightmare that night. They were all in the Department of Mysteries. Luna was helping Ginny, who had a broken ankle, and they were both limping towards the exit. Harry was watching Sirius duel Bellatrix, who was winning. Suddenly, he was hit with a curse, then flew back through some veil. He was sure that he had just fallen, so Harry looked around. He saw Hermione lay motionless; dead. He saw Ron being chocked from a bunch of brains. Neville had been fighting with Remus Lupin and they weren't in good shape, to say the least. They had blood oozing in spots, others were completely black. The other Order members were no where to be seen.

He lay, thrashing in his bed. He woke up screaming and sweating. He was sweaty all over. His shirt was soaked, as was his forehead and face. It was too humid in the room, Harry thought. The Dursleys were in the cool air, saying that Harry could have any ("Freaks need the heat," Vernon sneered).

He faintly heard knocking coming from his door; he didn't answer, though. He just lay there, sweating and panting. This was the third time that week he had that dream. They just weren't going away, or at least, not anytime soon.

Just than, someone opened the door: Vernon.

"Boy!" the large man bellowed. Harry moaned and sat up, putting his glasses on to see properly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Your Aunt Marge is visiting (Harry inwardly cringed), go help with the luggage. She's going to be staying for the week, so I suggest-no, I'm ordering you, no funny business," he commanded.

Harry nodded and went to change his clothes. He took off his shirt and pulled on a fresh green shirt with khaki shorts. He walked downstairs, avoiding that blasted dog, and went outside, where his Aunt and Uncle were.

"Boy," Marge said, "I thought this boy would be off at some camp."

"No… it is summer, after all," Vernon said. "Besides, who better to help than Potter over here?" He glared at the young man, signaling for him to gather her luggage.

"Yes, boy, get my luggage. Be of some assistance."

Harry glared at her and picked up her luggage. He certainly wasn't in the mood to be ordered around, but had no choice.

After he had brought her luggage to the guest room, Harry went back to his room.

0-0

During dinner…

Harry sat on his bed, shirtless. He really hated the damn weather, he really wanted something cool. When he was in muggle school, he had heard that if he put his wrists under something cool, like water, he'd feel cooler.

Deciding that it was worth a short, he got up and went towards the bathroom. He went in and looked at his reflection first. His hair wasn't too long, but it wasn't short either, it was at about his neck, messy as ever. His emerald eyes stood out behind the round, cracked, classes. He grinned at himself, he'd let Hermione fix his glasses when he visited the Weasleys, just as she always did.

He turned on the sink, looking for the right temperature. Once he found the water cool enough, he put his wrists under there.

"Wow," he said to himself. It actually worked. He started rubbing his wrists together, making them even colder. He grinned. "Wow, it really works." After a few minutes of cooling off, he changed his clothes and went downstairs.

Marge, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all eating dinner in the dining room. He wasn't paying too much attention to their conversation, but he heard a few lines.

"Yes… boy is messed up, I tell you…"

"That's why… girl… knocked up…"

"Ooh! Knocked up…? Who…?"

"Fifteen… bushy-haired…"

Harry had heard enough. He knew who the bushy-haired girl was, and he knew what `knocked up' meant. He had most certainly not knocked up Hermione! They weren't even dating! How dare they?

"Wait," he mumbled to himself, "when did they ever see her, anyway?" Quickly putting that thought aside, he walked into the living room and listened to the whole conversation. Apparently they still hadn't noticed Harry's presence.

"Yes, Marge, he has gotten arrested quiet a few times, too. That school, you know which one I'm talking about, he'd gotten some drug addict girl pregnant. Then he murdered her boyfriend. He was arrested for two whole years. Of course, that was two years ago. He visits her summer, at her home, they have two children already. Dudley even told me that they were having their third," Vernon said, lying through his teeth. Marge soaked it up like a sponge. Harry's temper was slowly building up. How could his `uncle' say those things about him?

"So he was fourteen when he had his first?" Marge questioned. Vernon nodded. "This is what I expected. Two children and a third on the way, and he's only sixteen, too."

"Yes, you will probably see her here, too, one day. You might not hear too much from her, though. Their tongues are down each others throats constantly. Dudley hears them at night, too, lots of moaning. Isn't that right, Dudley?" Vernon asked his chubby child.

"Yup, dad," Dudley said. "Tons of moaning, I hear the headboard of Potter's bed bang against my wall all the time," he said, grinning like a fool. He had noticed that Harry was there and he was going to take full advantage of the situation.

"You should see her, Marge. Plain girl, she is. Bushy brown hair, brown eyes, she's as plain as they get," Vernon said.

Harry's temper was searing. How could they talk about Hermione like that? They didn't even know her and they were going to talk trash about them. He had enough; he walked in, making his presence very clear.

Marge simply continued her conversation. "So, Vernon, what are his children's names? Have they murdered anyone yet?" She sneered at Harry.

Harry glared at her. If she didn't stop soon, he'd do something he was going to regret soon.

"Yes, I believe one is name after Potter, one named after Potter's father, and the one coming is going to be named after Potter's mother. How cliché," Vernon said. "Naming his children after drug addicts, pity really."

Enough was enough. Harry exploded. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS LIKE THAT! THEY WEREN'T DRUG ADDICTS AND YOU KNOW IT! AND ANOTHER THING! DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HERMIONE LIKE THAT, EVER AGAIN!!! AND WHO ARE YOU TO SAY THAT I'M A FATHER?! HUH!? HOW DO YOU KNOW I'M A FATHER?! AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW WHO HERMIONE IS?! I SAID IT ONCE, AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN, DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT HERMIONE LIKE THAT!!!" he snarled, red with rage. The glasses on the table shattered and Marge screamed, thinking that she was going to blow up again, like she did the last time she visited.

She quickly stood up, showing Harry who was boss. "Now you listen here, boy. I will talk about your filthy children and girlfriend if I choose to do so. You are a father, Vernon wouldn't lie about it." More of the glasses started to shatter, leaving Vernon going to the kitchen to call someone and Marge pointing her fat finger in his face.

"Listen, woman," he said his voice full of venom. "You will not talk about Hermione like that. I don't give a fuck who you are, I really don't. Just like Vernon said, I've murdered, and I'm not stopping anytime soon." He smirked when her face went pale. A little lying from his side wasn't going to hurt him.

A few minutes later, Vernon returned, grinning like a fool. "Boy, pack your bags, you're going back to that place."

"What place?" He asked.

"Juvenile Center," he said, grinning. "You're going to spend the summer there."

"What?" he nearly shouted. "What did I do?"

"You, boy, insulted Marge and shattered my wife's china. That's what you did," he said. "I suspect they'll be here within twenty minutes or so. Go upstairs and pack. Go," he commanded.

Harry glared at him, the Order certainly wouldn't be happy about this. He went upstairs and started packing everything that he owned. He packed all of his magical things. None of the clothes (except his Hogwarts uniform) were his; they were Dudley's. He walked over to Hedwig and told her to go to Ron's. A `hoot' and nip later, she flew away. Harry pocketed his wand and picked up his trunk.

He walked downstairs and waited. He knew that the Dursley's were just doing this to scare him, and that they were going laugh at his sheer stupidity. Twenty minutes later, Vernon true to his word, a car pulled up in front of Number Four Private Dr. Harry was starting to get worried now; he'd only packed his stuff and let Hedwig fly off because he thought this was a joke. He didn't think that Uncle Vernon would actually call a Juvenile Center.

Vernon opened the door and greeted the man. He was tall, about 6'4'', and had blond hair and brown eyes. There was a girl behind him; she looked to be about Harry's age. Harry couldn't see who the girl was, but he thought she must be his daughter. She was about 5'5'' and slim; that's all he saw.

They walked in, then and only then, did Harry realize that the girl was Hermione. His eyes bugged out, thoughts swarming around his head. "Is she in trouble, too? Is she that guy's daughter? Why is she here? Maybe I should stop staring and start talking." He shook his head and looked at Hermione. She had certainly changed. Her bushy hair was still bushy, yes, but it now framed her face, which had clear lip gloss painted on them. She was taller now, about 5'5'', and she filled out in all of the right places. Harry felt his pants tighten up slightly, so he decided that he needed to get rid of those thoughts fast, and start talking.

"Yes, this is the boy," Vernon told the man. "Yes, Mister Granger, yes, he has threatened to murder us."

The man nodded, glaring at Harry occasionally. Hermione still hadn't noticed Harry was in the room, but seemed to have a look of thought on her face.

"My Hermione," he murmured. Hermione heard that and looked over at him, noticing for the first time, who was in the living room.

"HARRY!" Hermione shouted, running towards him, tackling him in a hug. They fell to the ground, Hermione's arms around Harry's neck and his around her waist. They didn't move, just stayed like that; on the floor, clutching one another. They stared at each other, letting their eyes talking to each other. They stayed like that for a few more minutes, but then they hear loud coughing. Hermione turned her head around slightly, to see the person; Harry sat up a little, supporting his back on the front of the couch. It was Marge, glaring at the two.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, still latched onto Harry. Harry moved his left hand from her waist to her hips, and used his right hand to find his glasses, which had been knocked off when Hermione tackled him.

Marge took in Hermione's appearance. Harry knew that it'd be but a few minutes until she started saying things like `how are the kids?' `Kill anyone yet?' `You still on drugs?' and such.

"What were you doing, boy? Do you not know who this is?" She pointed at Hermione. "This, is Mister David Granger's daughter Hermio--" she stopped mid-sentence, just realizing that the name was Hermione, the `mother' of Harry's `children.'

"VERNON!" Marge shouted. Vernon walked in and looked at the two teens (who were still very much holding on to each other).

"Yes?" he asked.

"Hermione… she's… she's…" She couldn't finish. She just opened and closed her mouth.

"Yes Marge, what about this Hermio--" He, too, stopped mid-sentence. "Oh," was all he said. He glared at them, and then walked away, towards David Granger.

"What was that about?" Hermione whispered, looking at Marge, whose face looked like a fish out of water.

"I'll explain later," he whispered. "C'mon, let's get up." They got up, feeling a strange sense of emptiness now that they weren't holding each other, but dismissed that quickly.

The man-David Granger-came in and glared at Harry. "You, boy, get your trunk and get," he commanded.

"Dad," Hermione started, "this is Harry--"

"I know perfectly well who this person is." He said Harry's name like it was poison. "Boy, keep your hands where I can see them. Now," he commanded.

Harry looked at Hermione, feeling helpless. He put his hands up and saw David walk up to him, some sort of metal circle things in his hand.

"Turn around." And so he did. He took Harry's hands and put them behind his back, placing those metal circle things around his wrists. They felt cold, very, very cold. He tried to move his hands, but those metal things wouldn't let him.

"Handcuffs," Hermione whispered, walking towards Harry.

"Hermione, come back here. You don't want to be next to a murder, don't know what he could do," he said. Hermione looked at him and walked towards her father.

"Let's go, boy. Get."

"What about my trunk?" Harry asked.

"I'll get that. Go."

"Bye," Harry mumbled to the Dursley's and Marge.

Once they were outside, Hermione instantly went to his side. "Don't worry, Harry. It won't be that bad."

"Hermione! I'm in handcuffs!"

"Handcuffs," Hermione corrected. Harry rolled his eyes.

"So, where am I going?" he asked.

"You, Mister Potter, are going to my home. I'm not letting dad put you in that Juvenile Center. You're staying at my place. End of story."

"Okay," he said, smiling.

"Boy, get in the car," Hermione's father said after seeing the two. Harry nodded and walked up to the car. He couldn't open the door so he asked Hermione to open it, she laughed and opened it, sliding in. He slid in next to her, her father going up front.

"Hermione, why are you with the boy?" he asked.

"Dad, this is Harry Potter. You've heard of him, mum and I talked a lot about him."

Harry looked surprised. "You talk about me?" he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded and smiled. "Yes, you're an amazing person, Harry. Don't deny the fact."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, just as I'm the father of our two children and our third one coming."

At that point, David suddenly stopped the car, turned around at Harry, and gave him a look. "Boy, I've heard a lot of things about you, but what do you mean father of her children? My Hermione has no children. Right?" he pointed the last question at Hermione.

"Honestly, you two! Where did you come up with that rubbish, Harry?" Hermione asked, ignoring her father.

Harry shrugged. "My Uncle and Aunt Marge. They were talking about how I got you pregnant, and now we have two kids and another on the way."

Her father looked at the two, then at Hermione's stomach. "You are kidding, boy, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

Hermione started laughing. "How do they even know me?" she asked between laughs.

Harry started laughing, too, and answered, "I don't really know. But they do."

After a few minutes of laughter (and a few more glares towards Harry-courtesy of David) they stopped laughing.

He looked out the window, watching the streets of London. He thought, maybe this won't be such a bad summer after all, even if my hands are cuffed.

Author's Notes: Reviews would be much appreciated.

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