EVERY OTHER SUNDAY
Hermione Kallisto James sat neatly, ankles together, hands folded in her lap and concentrated very hard on the gravy smeared across her dinner plate. She was not, not, not going to lose her temper with her mother and stepfather.
"And honestly… Hermione? Hermione are you listening to me?"
"Yes mother." Her voice was so shrill the neighbours were probably listening too.
"I was saying your father clearly doesn't stress the importance of school enough. Your choices now will affect the rest of your life. He should understand that more than anyone."
Hermione ground her teeth. The one axiom she held true for her whole life was that nobody was allowed to criticise her beloved dad.
Her mother was well away with the familiar lecture. Hermione received it every other Sunday without fail. Blanking out the nagging voice, Hermione looked at the rest of the family.
Her stepfather was nodding along to the speech. Alan Granger agreed with her mother in every respect. Her dad had told her once that having tried the opposites attract thing with him, Caroline Granger chose her next husband for their similarities.
Hermione looked around the dining room decorated in the latest Italian style and wished for seven o'clock. Then her dad would come and whisk her away to their chaotic little flat above the Mechanic's Shop. She supposed she should be thankful the Judge had awarded him custody and that her mother was too busy with her half brother to see her more than once a fortnight. But she wasn't feeling very grateful. She'd been stuck in this spotless museum house for thirty hours already.
She switched her attention to her half-brother. Sebastian Granger was solemnly patting his mashed potatoes into a mat across his plate. Hermione felt quite sorry for her baby brother. Her mother, in an attempt to avoid the 'mistakes' she'd made with Hermione was intensively training him with flashcards, a mathematics program and baby yoga.
Her mother followed her gaze.
"Oh Sebastian. You're supposed to eat the potatoes. Here you go, open wide. Don't think this will change the subject Hermione. I thought nothing about your father could surprise me anymore but now I am honestly shocked by his attitude. That he has not even given a thought to your secondary schooling appals me. I will have some statistics ready for you to inspect when you next visit. We may have to consider a selective school for you. I have spoken to Alan and we have decided you should have best opportunities to overcome your difficulties regardless of the expense."
"Dad can afford to pay for me," said Hermione hotly.
"Hermione," said her stepfather. "I know your father is proud about his job but he needs to learn to accept help."
Hermione memorised the exact tilt of the man's earnest head so she could repeat it back to her dad later. Her mother started to list some of the possible schools that he friends' daughters were going too. Hermione didn't like any of them. Her mother used to try and make her be friends with the daughters. That had stopped after she punched Kathryn Fellows and broke her nose for saying mean things about her dad.
She brushed back her sleeve and took a quick glance down at her watch. It had taken a string of endless Sundays to stop herself from staring at the ticking hands, willing them to move faster. Now she just took quick glances when she could stand it no longer. The big hand stubbornly pointed somewhere between quarter and ten to.
Hermione sighed and resettled herself in her seat.
Finally the long, drawn out wail of her dad's horn made her straighten up. Religiously she checked her watch. The Judge said she had to spend one day and nine hours at her mother's house and she wasn't going to risk upsetting the Custody arrangements by leaving early. She set her watch by the speaking clock every other Saturday morning to make doubly sure.
It was exactly seven o'clock when Hermione pushed back her chair.
"Bye mother, bye Alan."
"Give me a kiss," demanded her mother. Hermione submitted to a hug from her mother and pressed a kiss to her stepfather's clammy cheek. Free at last she grabbed her bag and sped out of the house, slamming the door as she went.
Her Dad stood there waiting for her beside his motorbike. He grinned when he saw her.
"Hermione James," he called and opened his arms.
"Dad." Hermione raced towards him and he snatched her up in a hug. She pressed her head against her dad's chest and immediately felt better. She hated being trapped in her mother and Alan's house. She hated spending all day watching everything she did and said. Most of all she hated the fear that one day the Judge would change his mind and imprison her there forever.
Her dad put her back on her feet.
"You okay there Sweetheart."
"I'm fine." She handed him her bag and he stashed it away in the panniers.
"Here you are then." He gave her the child's motorcycle helmet and her leather jacket and waited until she was ready. Then he swung onto the motorbike and offered her his hand for support. She settled herself in place and wrapped her arms securely around her dad's waist.
"Set."
"Let's blow this joint." With a kick he released the prop, revved the engine and smoothly peeled away. Hermione settled in to enjoy the ride.
Getting home was good too. The garage was shut up for the night so her dad merely parked and locked the bike before going upstairs to the flat. Compared to the cool, serenity of her mother's house it was a chaotic jumble and Hermione loved it. The front door opened straight into the living room. On the left were doors to the tiny kitchen and bathroom; to the right were doors to the slightly bigger bedrooms. It didn't matter that the flat was small because during the day most of their time was spent in the workshop.
Hermione loved the workshop but she loved time spent just with her dad even more. He was always willing to talk to her and explain things, or make her laugh. He even read her a story at bedtime. When she had protested she was too old and could read for herself, he told her he enjoyed reading to her and she could like it or lump it.
She'd felt a bit insulted at the time but now she was happy he'd kept on reading to her. Her dad had a wonderful voice and gave all the characters different accents. He also found the most wonderful books to read. Full of adventure and monsters and magic.
So now they sat together on the sofa and he read the latest chapter. Every other Sunday he'd read to her until she fell asleep before tucking her up in bed. It helped convince Hermione that this time she had escaped. There was always some sort of school holiday coming up to be negotiated over. Hermione was probably the only student who dreaded the forth-coming summer holiday.
***
Harry Sirius Potter snuck a peek at his Muggle watch, and sighed. Another twenty minutes left to go.
"Pay attention, boy," snapped his tutor.
Harry sighed again. He would swear the walls of his tutor's scruffy house were closing in on him. The walls were bare but for yellow mildew stains, the carpet was matted and torn to an indeterminate brown and the whole place stank of wet dog. The desk he was using, made of cheap Muggle melamine, creaked and wobbled as he wrote.
"I shall be speaking to your father about your lack of focus."
"I'm focused," he protested.
His tutor snorted.
Harry bit back the angry words boiling in the back of his throat, ducked his head and returned his attention to his parchment. Arguing never got him anywhere, just reported to his father for his 'attitude' and trying not to shake under the lash of his father's tongue.
Harry hated disappointing his father. He'd actually been excited when it had been announced he was to have lessons in preparation for starting Hogwarts, been thrilled to have the chance to show he was a grown up.
But nothing he did satisfied his tutor, no matter how hard he tried.
The quick jab of a stinging hex to his shoulder made him jump.
"I said, pay attention."
"Yes sir," mumbled Harry. He dipped his quill in the ink and returned to his essay. It was hard to concentrate with those disparaging eyes noting his every move.
Finally the clock on the mantle behind him chimed the hour. Harry twisted around hopefully but the floo remained dark. His tutor rapped his wand sharply on the desk. Harry tore his gaze from the empty fireplace.
"Sir," he said finally, "I've finished my essay on Occlumency. Can I start on my homework now."
"Your homework is to be done at home. If you have rushed through your class work in the belief it will gain you some advantage, I'm afraid you were mistaken. I will require six inches on the Patronus Charm. And next week you will rewrite your Occlumency essay to my satisfaction."
Harry didn't bother to argue, just pulled out another sheet of parchment. His tutor snatched up his Occlumency essay and started to scrawl across it in red ink.
Long tortuous minutes later, there was a whoosh of air and the floo chimed. Spinning around, Harry sighed with relief when he saw his black-cloaked father glide from the fireplace.
"Good evening father."
"Harry," his father acknowledged him with a quick nod before turning to his tutor. "Sorry I'm late, I was held up at the Ministry."
"I've come to expect it. They work you too hard."
"Important year coming up. Speaking of which, is he doing any better?"
"He needs to apply himself more. He's too irresponsible and careless. Look," his tutor held up Harry's essay, covered in corrections. "I'm sorry James, he just doesn't seem interested in his studies."
Harry stared suspiciously at his smug tutor. The man seemed to enjoy carrying tales to his father, even if he was always apologising about it.
His father's mouth fixed into a tight disapproving line. "Right, I'll speak to him about it. Come along Harry."
"Yes sir," Harry gathered up his things and moved to stand in front of the floo.
His father turned back to his tutor, "Dinner on Wednesday as usual, okay? Thanks Remus."
"My pleasure," said Harry's tutor.
-
The floo system swirled around them and finally spat them out into his father's office. Harry staggered a bit, he wasn't really used to floo travel yet. His father steadied him and stepped easily out the fireplace.
He sat down in his big leather chair and stared Harry. Harry looked away from his father's serious, unsmiling face.
"Harry, I am not happy with the attitude you are showing to your studies. You must understand how important it is for you to be able to defend yourself when you start Hogwarts."
"Yes sir." His shoulders hunched up miserably. He wanted to make things better, he just didn't know how.
His father sighed loudly. "Sometimes it feels like we're not communicating at all."
There was a knock on the door.
"Sir?" asked a voice.
"I'm coming Robards. Go in without me. I want three suggestions for how to tackle the raid ready for me when I arrive."
"Yes sir."
Harry's father waited until the footsteps died away before turning back to Harry.
"Right. We are going to have a serious conversation about this someday soon, but for now I'll take you back home. I'm already running late."
His father's hands settled on his shoulders and the world blinked out in the quick fizz-pop of apparation and reformed into the upper landing of their home.
There were quick footsteps on the stairs,
"James," called Harry's mum. "Is that you?"
"Yep. I got Harry, but I need to get back to work."
His mum shook her head. "At least I can tell it's you. If you ever come home and announce you've got the week off, I'll probably blast you on the spot as an imposter."
"It's important."
"I know darling. I love you." She kissed his father on the cheek. "Run along and blow things up, you know it will make you feel better."
"Thanks. Oh and have a word with Harry will you. Remus is still having trouble with him."
"Oh Harry," said his mum, as his father fizz-popped away again. "You must put more effort into your studies."
"I'm trying as hard as I can." To his shame, he was close to tears. It was just so frustrating, he didn't know what more he could do.
"This is important Harry." His mum knelt down and took his face between her hands so he had to look at her. "Your godfather sacrificed his life to keep you safe. You must honour that sacrifice."
Harry twitched under her hands. He'd grown up knowing his godfather had died to protect him and he hated it. He glared at his mum.
"I 'spect he died for Amaryllis 'n Aurora and Robbie too." He didn't see why he had to be perfect when his sisters and brother didn't.
"They weren't even born then."
"Neither was I! Or was he too thick to realise you might have more children?"
"Harry!" His mum smacked him sharply on the thigh. "You will not talk about him like that."
Harry slumped in on himself, "Yes mum. Sorry."
"Oh Harry, I know it's not fair, sweetheart." She hugged him tightly. "I wish things could be different. I wish you didn't have to go to Hogwarts like this. But we haven't any choice. And you need to be prepared. Remus tutors home-schooled students for their NEWTs and OWLs. He's very good and we are lucky to have him."
"Yes mum."
"Now go to your room and put your things away. I expect you to start on your homework straight after supper. And there will be no more flying until Remus reports that your attitude has improved.
"Yes mum." Harry trudged to his room with his bag. His tutor was never going to report that Harry's attitude had improved, the man was a worse sneak than Harry's twin sisters, which meant he'd never get his broom back. The coming summer had just got even worse.
-