Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.
Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.
Author's Note: This is for the Hogwarts April Auction. I've never done a deaging fic before and probably won't again.
Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Hogwarts (Term 10); MC4A
Individual Challenges: Yellow Ribbon (Y); Yellow Ribbon Redux; Gryffindor MC (x3); Slytherin MC; Neurodivergent; Quiet Time (Y); Short Jog (Y); Tiny Terror (Y); Ethnic & Present; Advice from the Mug; Sett to Destroy
House: Hufflepuff
Assignment No.: Term 10 – Assignment 7
Subject (Task No.): Arithmancy (Task #01: Write about two people communicating.)
Space Address (Prompt): 1B (Planting/Sowing)
Representation(s): Autistic Harry Potter; Hermione Granger; Trio; Child Abuse
Bonus Challenges: Found Family; Nontraditional; Bee Haven; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Second Verse (Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Endless Wonder; Wabi Sabi)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: T3 (Thimble); SN (Rail; Ameliorate)
Word Count: 1014
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Body Language
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Harry wasn't certain what was happening. Around him were people dressed in black robes, like old-fashioned university students. They were all staring at him. Nervously, he reached up to flatten his fringe, because Aunt Petunia always hated when people could see it. Black fabric fell off his hand as he raised it. For the first time, he realized that he was wearing his own black robe, and it hung off him just like Dudley's old clothes always did.
"Harry?" questioned a girl nearby. She was rather pretty, even if her front teeth stuck out a bit, with very curly hair and skin that was even darker than his own. Her hazel eyes caught his and he quickly dropped his gaze to the stones beneath his feet. Aunt Petunia didn't like how he looked at people, either too long or not long enough. It was better to simply look down. "Oh, god, that is you."
"Blimey, Hermione, you mean that you shrank Harry Potter?"
Harry peeked through his fringe at the speaker, a gangly boy with red-orange hair that would have made Aunt Petunia absolutely livid with its shaggy length. His wide eyes were a sharp blue that spoke of intelligence. Freckles covered his nose like sugar over pudding. The girl—Hermione—put her hands on her hips with a huff, making the boy shrink back like she had moved to smack him.
"I didn't do anything!" She looked over at Harry again. "Besides, he doesn't seem smaller, exactly. He seems, well, younger."
"Excellent deduction, Miss Granger," congratulated an older man. He was very fat, though not in the same sloppy way that Dudley and Uncle Vernon was, and had a thick mustache like a walrus'. "Mr. Potter seems to have been deaged, even if such a thing should have been impossible with any of the ingredients being used in today's potion."
"Can you reverse it, Professor Slughorn?"
Harry backed away as the man came closer, bumping into a table. The sudden bump made a bunch of scales fall off the table and scatter across the stone floor. Harry froze at the sight of the mess, uncertain how the people were going to react. Aunt Petunia never liked it when Harry made messes. The girl from before dropped to her knees, keeping her hands out to her sides. She smiled at him, and it was a nice smile, not a mean one.
"Hey, it's okay," she said softly. "It's probably scary, suddenly being in a new place, huh? But we're not going to hurt you, Harry."
Harry picked a loose string on the robes he was wearing as he looked over the girl. Dudley and his friends had used that trick a few times. He didn't think Hermione was trying to trick him, though. Despite how the red-haired boy had shied away from her when she had been upset, Harry got the feeling that she was very nice. Mrs. Figg had a cat like that, all gruff-looking but as sweet as can be.
Carefully, he signed a question at her. He didn't trust his voice to work properly, not when he was this scared and surrounded by so many new things. Aunt Petunia didn't like when Harry signed or when he asked questions, but maybe Hermione would be different. Maybe she was like the teacher who had taught him how to sign in the first place.
"Why is he waving his hands like that?" the red-haired boy asked. Hermione's eyes went wide with recognition, and she lifted her hands to answer him. "Wait, what are you doing, Hermione?"
"It's sign language," Hermione said out loud while her hands told Harry about magic. "I didn't even know that Harry knew it. It's primarily used by people who can't hear or speak."
"But Harry is perfectly capable of talking normally," the boy argued. Harry didn't particularly like the way he was talking to Hermione, who was being so nice. "So why is he flapping his hands about like a mad elf?"
"Don't be rude, Ron," Hermione ordered, her hands stilling as she twisted around to level a glare at the boy. "It's a perfectly legitimate way to communicate, even for people capable of speech! Honestly, is your imagination the size of a teaspoon, too?" The boy—Ron—went to say something but Hermione cut him off with a sharp and rude gesture before turning back to Harry. When she started signing this time, her spoken words matched her hands. "How old are you, Harry?"
Harry had to think about it. He had never had a birthday that he remembered. Dudley had, though, and he knew he was supposed to be about Dudley's age. So carefully, Harry lifted his left hand and spread his fingers wide. Hermione's eyes grew wide and started to glisten like she was about to cry. Harry quickly pulled his hands back against his chest, hiding them in the huge sleeves of his robe.
"You're so small," Hermione said, before turning to look at Ron. "Harry was always smaller than us, but I didn't realize that it went this far back." She turned back to him, holding out her arms like she was reaching for him. She still looked like she was about to cry. "Can I hug you, Harry?"
Harry hesitated. It could be a trick. But a hug sounded so nice. Dudley got them all the time. Aunt Petunia didn't like when Harry asked for a hug, but he wasn't asking this time. Hermione was. Maybe a hug would make up for whatever he had done that was making her look so sad.
He shuffled forward, struggling not to trip over the fabric around his legs. Once he was close enough to, he leaned into her. Her arms instantly wrapped around him, feeling just as nice as it had always looked when Dudley got a hug. He relaxed against her, briefly wondering if he should wrap his arms around her but deciding not to risk upsetting her. Hermione squeezed him tighter, as if she had heard his thoughts.
It was still nice.