Harry Potter was bored.
It was the first day of the summer holidays and he was bored. He had nothing to do: on the other hand, he could do magic now because he was old enough, but doing lots of magic was just no fun without his friends.
Hermione was in America, probably meeting with American witches and wizards and swapping spells. Ron was in Scandinavia, having fun swimming in the lake and most probably hexing his sister. Harry was… well he was at 4 Privet Drive, sitting on the lawn twisting a strand of his hair round and round.
Suddenly, someone called his name. "Harry, come here," the person whispered. He looked around quickly, eyes narrowing. "Harry, I'm in here," the person muttered – and a bush rustled.
Harry rushed over.
Hermione's face peeked out from the bush. Her hair was tangled (from being in the bush) and she was wearing her Hogwarts cloak. She pulled Harry into the bush. "It is quite roomy in here."
Harry stared at her. "Why…why are you wearing your school uniform – and… why are you in a bush? Plus, aren't you supposed to be in America?"
Hermione flattened her hair down. "Harry… it's too complicated. I'll tell you a little bit later. Come on."
She led the way out of the bush, wand brandished in front of her so they could be ready for any unexpected attacks. "Harry, which window is your bedroom window? That way we won't have to go into the house."
Harry pointed upwards. "That one – Hermione, why?"
Hermione pulled a mini ladder from her brown satchel that she always carried around with her. Then, she tapped her wand on the ladder and it grew. "Huh? Oh, why am I doing this?"
Harry frowned.
"No – why are you here?"
Hermione's big brown eyes narrowed. "Um… well, I thought you'd be pleased to see me as you don't really like being here in the summer holidays… so I thought I'd come and get you."
"That's very nice of you, Hermione," Harry muttered, watching her as she stood the ladder next to the wall. She climbed up it.
"Shit," she mumbled. "Window's locked. Harry, will you go back into the house and unlock it from the inside?" She took off her Hogwarts cloak and stuffed it into her brown satchel.
Harry nodded.
As he went back into the house, he tried to ignore Dudley's laughter. His laugh was so annoying: like a pig snort. Harry had to smile when he thought that. He looked at Dudley through the corner of his left eye as he went up the stairs. The Tv was on, and the programme?
The Smurfs.
When he got to his bedroom, he saw Hermione mouthing frantically at him. He unlocked the window as quickly as he could.
" – and your aunt is coming round here now," Hermione finished, breathless. She climbed through the window. "God, that was close. I thought I was going to get caught then."
Silence.
Harry tickled the back of his neck. He couldn't say anything. It was very odd… having Hermione in his bedroom seemed like something that would happen in a dream. Now the dream was coming true.
"So… nice room," Hermione whispered, trying to break the silence. "Should we start packing then, or not?" She swallowed: Harry could tell she was nervous and unsure because he was too.
"I… I don't know what to think," Harry mumbled. "I mean, you've never been in my room before and – "
Hermione took down the school flag (which hung on the wall directly above his bed) and blushed. "I know. It feels weird." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiled.
"We should start packing then," Harry said, twiddling his thumbs together. "Um – well, you know I don't have much stuff, so we should be able to get going soon. Er – where exactly are you taking me?"
Hermione brought his trunk out from the wardrobe and unlocked it. "Well… it is a secret really, an unknown location but I think I can tell you where we are going. Let me tell you now, it's on a different continent."
Harry thought of Ron, who had recently developed this fantastic obsession with continents (and an interest in the Muggle school subject called Geography). "Where is it then, in America?"
He found that idea so hilarious that he burst out laughing. Hermione remained calm and stony-faced. "Actually, it is," she muttered.
Harry said nothing: he couldn't. There was a frown plastered onto his face. He stood – still as he could be – with his hands hooked over the back of his jeans. Finally, he had the courage to speak.
"So, Hermione, if you're here, won't your parents be worried?"
He picked at the collar of his t-shirt, even though there wasn't really any threads to pull (he sometimes pulled threads when he was nervous). "I mean, I know you're supposed to be in America right now."
Hermione twirled a strand of hair around her little finger. "No… well, I should be there now but my parents are asleep in the hotel so I thought I'd Apparate here. It's not a problem, right?"
"No," Harry said at once.
"America isn't a brilliant as I thought it would be," Hermione whispered softly. "American wizards and witches have this air of grace upon them: they talk funny and all posh and they didn't really want to speak to me. But it's their problem, isn't it, if they don't want to meet witches and wizards from other countries? Do they think we're really weird or something?"
A vein on Hermione's forehead was pulsating – although rather softly, Harry thought to himself – and quivering. Harry backed away. Hermione's eyes were red: not from tears but from anger.
"I mean, it's not right to judge people just because of the country they are born in and come from… it's discrimination, really, isn't it Harry?" Hermione said sharply, as Harry watched from the sidelines.
Harry didn't want to say anything: Hermione had a short temper nowadays and even one word could set the fuse alight. Harry got quite scared when Hermione was angry: not because he was genuinely scared, but because he was worried whether she'd hurt him or anyone else.
"Harry?" Hermione said meekly.
Harry, who had been leaning on top of his desk because he was too big to hide under it, looked up. "Huh? Oh, Hermione, discrimination is when people are horrible to you because of your skin colour. If I were you, I wouldn't get so worked up about it." He smiled at her.
Hermione nodded.
"Perhaps once in your life you might be right," she muttered, and began to gather Harry's books up in her arms. "Ooh… you have a new book here, can I read it?" She held up Jinxes and Hexes and looked at him pleadingly.
"Okay then, but you'll get your own copy soon," Harry reminded her, but she brushed him aside and sat down on his bed. "Sorry, Harry. Get on with packing. I can't help you now."
Harry was just about to ask why she couldn't help when he realised: she wanted to read the book he'd lent her. Sadly, he gathered up the rest of his books (including 6 new ones) and dropped them into his trunk.
Hermione's reaction was predictable: she hurried over and placed all the books in neat rows in his trunk. "Harry, you can't treat them like this," she said scornfully. "They respect you."
Harry laughed.
Hermione raised her eyebrows: tears were in her eyes. "Well, they do. I'd know that, having read so many of them." Harry was kneeling on the floor: he was adjusting the straps on his trunk. When he heard Hermione's latest words, he looked up just in time to see her turn away and wipe her eyes.
Harry gasped. "I'm… well, I'm going to go downstairs now and get the rest of my stuff – you can stay here if you want."
Hermione said nothing.
Harry felt really guilty, and his stomach turned over as the feeling consumed him. So this was what it felt like to hurt a friend.
He whispered something to her as he left:
"I'm sorry if… um… if I hurt you Hermione, but let's face it, I'm not like you. However, I wish I was because then I'd come top in all my tests. If you want to forgive me you can forgive me. But I know you will: our friendship is just too precious."
Harry went downstairs, comforted by the fact that he had at least said something to her. His aunt and uncle were in the kitchen, making grapefruit smoothies. "Can I take… um – can I take two up to my bedroom?" Harry asked shyly.
Aunt Petunia shrugged.
"Why not? If you want to drink two, be my guest. Vernon, give him two glasses and leave it at that."
Uncle Vernon handed him two glasses. Harry turned: he was about to leave the room when he realised the glasses were empty. He frowned at uncle Vernon, who just showed the back of his hand.
"Vernon, I meant filled glasses," Aunt Petunia whispered.
"Right," Uncle Vernon mumbled. He pressed a button on his new blender and poured out the smoothie mixture into the glasses. He held the glasses out to Harry. "Take them."
"Straws?" Harry muttered angrily, just to annoy his uncle. "Me and Her – I mean … I refuse to drink my smoothies without straws. I'm darn sure my godfather would do that as well."
Uncle Vernon clapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't do that, boy," he hissed in Harry's ear. Aunt Petunia was hiding behind her husband, whimpering. "Look what you did to Petunia."
Harry had no idea why his aunt and uncle were scared of his godfather, Sirius: he was a nice man and certainly didn't want to hurt them, but maybe it was the fact that they had heard that he was a mass murderer and had escaped from Azkaban Prison. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"What did I do?"
Harry looked at them innocently. "Apart from… ruining your fireplace, being alive, making noises in my bedroom, being downstairs when you had visitors, trying to stop a cake falling on someone's head because a stupid house elf was in my bedroom… what are you gonna do about it?"
Uncle Vernon held out a chubby finger at him. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do – I'm gonna chuck you out the house," he yelled. "I've had enough of you and your magic – and Petunia's spells too!"
Harry gasped. Uncle Vernon bit his tongue. "I… Aunt Petunia's a witch? Oh – that's… that's excellent. My best friend Hermione will be glad to hear about this – she'll want to swap spells with you!"
He looked at Aunt Petunia, eyes sparkling.
"I'm… not a pure-blood, I'm a half-blood," Aunt Petunia admitted, whimpering. "I kept my true identity a secret because… well, because I was afraid of you. I've left the wizarding world behind, Harry: I can never go back. My place is with Vernon, it would be impossible to leave him now."
Harry couldn't say anything: his eyes were wide in shock. He rushed upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. Unfortunately, that was where Hermione was sitting so he landed on her legs.
"Ow," Hermione grumbled. She got up and rubbed her legs, and only then did she notice Harry's facial expression. He was just staring at the ceiling, looking at all of the patterns.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked gingerly, putting the book she'd been reading down on his bedside cabinet.
Harry sighed. "Aunt Petunia… she's a witch."