Chapter 10

Neville Longbottom was not an attractive boy. His round cheeks were a bit pouchy, his teeth over large and crowded in his mouth, his hair a mousy, wispy brown. Regardless of this, Hermione couldn't help but think that there was still something handsome about him, something about the good-naturedness in his eyes, or the openness of his posture. Hermione could imagine him blossoming into a handsome man sometime well after his teenage years.

For Neville's part, he was staring at Harry and Hermione like they were unicorns sipping tea in his parlor room rather than homeless teenagers. "So...So, you're really a muggleborn, Hermione?"

"For the third time, Neville, yes."

"I'm sorry. It's just...it's just that I've been told for so long now that you all were gone. This is, this is just great news." Neville was positively beaming in his chair. "Two muggleborns. I knew that they weren't as in control as they pretend."

Neville reached over and poured more tea into Hermione's cup, some spilling as his hand shook, "Sorry." Hermione just shook her head, smiling softly at him.

"Well, from what I've gathered, I'm not actually a muggleborn." Harry took a sip from his cup, frowning slightly. "Both of my parents were wizards. Does that make me pureblood?"

Neville looked him a long moment, shoulder's slumped. "Ah, you're parents were wizards? Well, it depends on their lineage."

"My mom was a muggleborn and my father's family had been wizards since forever, as far as I've been told."

"Then you would be a halfblood, third class." Neville glanced up at their inquiring faces. Neville looked back at them in surprise before speaking softly, mostly to himself. "Of course you both wouldn't know about all that, obviously. It's just that they talk about it so much at Hogwarts…" Neville fell silent, looking like he was pulling his thoughts together.

"The wizarding world has a hierarchy based on family lineage. At the top are purebloods who can trace their family history as being solely made of wizards and witches for hundreds of years. A pureblood second class would be one who can prove that there were always witches and wizards in their blood, but there might be some muggles or muggleborns mixed in there. The more muggle or muggleborn blood, the lower the status. So, for example, if Harry here was a halfblood because his mother was a halfblood and his father was a halfblood, then he would be a halfblood second class instead of third. The fact that he is so closely related to a muggleborn marks him as lower. The only two lower statuses would be if his father was halfblood and his mother muggleborn, and below that is if both of your parents are muggleborns. Those are the lowest caste, called spoiledblood." Neville took another sip of his tea.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, frowning. Neville coughed slightly. "Of course that's a big pile of hippogriff shit. I've seen spoiledbloods perform better magic than some pureblood first classes just on accident." Neville looked uncomfortably down at his tea for a second before asking, "Say, Harry, if your father was pureblood, what's your family name? Maybe I know something of them."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other a long beat before staring at Neville for a minute. He started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, looking confused at the tense silence when Harry spoke suddenly and lowly, "Potter. My name's Harry Potter."

Neville let out a small laugh, glancing between their faces with an expectant smile, clearly waiting for someone to crack and tell him they were joking. Neville stopped smiling, glancing between their faces more urgently now, continuing to find only serious expressions. "You-You can't be serious?" Seemingly forgetting himself, he stood up from his chair and leaned towards Harry's face, his eyes tracing the faint outline of Harry's scar.

He sat back down with a thump and dumbfounded expression. "They...they said. They had said that you were dead. For a long time now...they said that…" Neville put his face in his hands, his eyes watery.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face a mask. "Neville, I hope you know this changes nothing. I can't defeat him for you, whatever some stupid prophecy says."

Neville blinked at him in awe for a few beats before he shook his head, confused. "What? Prophecy? No, I don't know...What's important here is that you're alive. That. That by itself is amazing. It proves that he's not all powerful, all knowing. The fact that you're still breathing means that he makes mistakes."

Harry sat back. "So...you've never heard of the prophecy? But, it could have been you?"

Neville frowned and shook his head, "A Prophecy? About Me? What did it say?"

"Nothing Neville, it might not even be real." Hermione looked thoughtfully into the fire, her voice soft.

They lapsed into a strange silence, all of them looking different directions. Neville hummed for a second before he spoke again. "Both of you, if the wizarding world knew you existed, it would cause quite a shake up."

Hermione hesitated, before looking at Neville's excited face, feeling almost apologetic. "But, the thing is Neville, no one can know where we are. You see, he's still looking for Harry, and me too, for that matter. Frankly, it was silly of us to follow you all the way here like we did. But… thank you for helping us."

Harry took another sip, "Why did you help us, anyway?"

Neville glanced again between their faces, frowning. "First, I didn't mean to suggest that you two should show yourself, that would be suicidal. I was just… it's just that… it's amazing. Amazing that you're alive, either of you. It makes me want to spit in their faces… I guess that's why I helped. You both looked so confused, I knew the moment that I saw that muggle money that you two weren't from around here. I couldn't let Roy bully you, questioning you like that… plus, if he made a big enough scene, they would have come."

"Who would have come?" Hermione put down her tea and leaned forward, curious, just as Harry leaned back, looking confused.

Neville clasped his hands tightly together, his expression hard to read, his face suddenly older looking, shadowed. He shrugged and gave a strange cough, not answering.

Harry broke the odd beat of silence. "Neville, though it was nice of you to help us with that bookkeeper, I have to ask, why does us existing make you want to spit in their faces? From what I can see," Harry gave a glance around room, from the vaulted ceilings to thick, plush rug, "you're a pureblood, you're at the top, right?"

The stiff expression on Neville's face broke as he let out a small brittle laugh. "Because this system is rigid. Everyone is afraid all the time. You remember the eyes on the doors? They don't just see, they listen. It's suppose to be for our safety, to make sure that no more rogue parties like the Order of the Phoenix cause any more damage. But really, I think it's to make sure that we don't start talking to each other, start asking any questions. We'd feel less afraid in numbers, if we trusted each other…" Neville stopped talking abruptly, his face pained, his eyes far away. "But we can't."

"Trust each other?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper.

Neville's eyes became hard, looking very unnatural on his round, open face. "No, we can't. We all learned that one way or another."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, worried.

Suddenly a small blue light started flashing above roaring fireplace. Neville's already pale face drained further of color. "You two should go." He stood up and moved towards the fire, picking up a small golden pot. "Somebody is home."

Harry and Hermione got up quickly, moving to stand next to him, looking towards the door. "Could we meet to talk more again Neville? We have so many questions."

Neville nodded, glancing between them and the door nervously. "I would love to. I don't know where…"

"The National Art Gallery, in front of the painting the Execution of Lady Jane Grey, Saturday at two pm," Hermione said rapidly, her fingers taking a pinch of floo powder. Harry and Neville exchanged a surprised glance before nodding, Harry taking a pinch of powder too.

"Where should we go?"

"Just say Muggle entrance two, it's a hidden fireplace that leads out to the middle of London. I'll see you both Saturday."

Harry's hair was starting to spring back into chaos from the hair product, strands straining up like blades of grass. Hermione's hair was starting to spiral back into its curls with a vengeance, a halo of frizz surrounding her head. As they entered the safe room, Hermione's robe popped back into a feathered cape. They stared at it for a second before Hermione shrugged it off with a grin. "Well, at least it had good timing."

Hermione put the two new books next to her makeshift bed with a thump and a long sigh. "I can't believe I didn't think about how their money is different."

Harry sat down heavily in the chair, it rocking back with a thunk. "I can't believe that they have their own money. I know they have their own laws and schools and things, so I suppose it makes sense that they have their own government. But I don't know, having their own money? Are they even still British, really?"

Hermione bit her lip, tapping her finger against her chin. "I was planning to focus on the household spells first, but I'm starting to think that I should get through the Modern history first instead, finish before we meet Neville on Saturday."

Harry nodded absently, "What do you think of Neville? I'm worried that telling him who I am could be a mistake."

"You were the one who told him so readily. What made you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it's very stupid of me, but I don't know, he just seems...trustworthy."

"I got that feeling too. Here's hoping that our instincts are right." She laid out on her bed, which was more like a nest than a mattress, a piling of half transformed materials, and picked up her book.

She was five pages in when she heard Harry walk towards her and sit cross legged next to her, his face hidden behind her book. She continued to read, wanting to see what he would do. Suddenly, gently, the book was pulled away from her, Harry closing it, putting it in his lap.

"You know, you're very attractive when you read." Harry was looking at Hermione tenderly, a small, almost wistful, smile on his face.

Hermione sat up with a smile, "Oh, just when I'm reading, eh?" Her tone was teasing, she was already leaning forward for a kiss.

"No, all the time. When you read, when you think, we you walk, when you sleep, when you write, all the time." Harry's face was serious, his eyes so sincere they almost looked sorry.

Hermione paused, thrown by his seriousness. She wanted him to smile, she let out a nervous laugh, but his face remained the same. She pulled at her hair, patting down the curls and frizz. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry just nodded. "You know, I figure I'm pretty pants at being romantic, I just… I don't know what I'm doing, or how to make you happy. I can't buy you anything. I'm living like a leech off of your money. You're too smart and, and… practical for fluffy words or poetry, which makes me cringe just thinking about it, reading or writing you poetry. But, I can't just not do anything. I have to let you know, somehow. So...So I thought honesty was the best option. I just had the urge to let you know." Harry gave a small cough, his face reddening.

Hermione leaned forward, her hands on his checks. "I don't think anybody really knows what they're doing Harry, but as far as being pants at being romantic goes, I must disagree. Very much."

Hermione leaned forward, pressing her lips softly against his.

"Harry? Do you like grapefruit? I was thinking that we should buy some more fruits and vegetables, maybe even some milk, since you've gotten that charm to keep that box cool for a few days at a time now. It's just that I fear we'll get scurvy or something if we don't add some vitamins to our diet soon. I know it's cheap, but there is only so much soup a body can take…"

Harry wasn't really listening to Hermione, not really taking her in, as she stood in his periphery, muttering as she compared the prices of grapefruit versus a bag of apples. Harry was staring straight ahead, looking at a family buying bread at the end of the store. He couldn't wrap his mind around why they would be here, the other side of London, buying groceries instead of in Surrey. He also supposed that that was a little silly, the other side of London wasn't far away, really, in the grand scheme of things. They could be visiting a grandparent, or just running errands and somehow ending up here instead of their regular grocery store.

The Evans family, the two ordinary parents, one's hair a dyed blonde and the other's hair a grey speckled brown, the older son, maybe thirteen now, rail thin and stretched looking, the younger sister with a sparkly hair clip, were all making their way through the store in an unrushed way. When he was fourteen or fifteen Harry had found out that his Aunt and Mum's maiden name was Evans. He knew, intellectually, that his family and the Evans' common surname was just a coincidence, but still his neighbors from a couple of blocks over became something of a dream for him. When he would walk around the neighborhood, trying his hardest to avoid going home, he would see them sometimes, always looking so happy, like they actually enjoyed each other's company.

He would imagine they would take the younger sister to the park one day while he was there, exhausted and slumped on a swing as he would be sometimes, and they, being good natured people, would ask about his health.

"Oh, you're our neighbor right? From number four there on Privet Drive? Are you feeling alright?" He would imagine the mother inquiring, looking politely concerned from a few feet away.

"Oh, I'm fine, I'm just a little tired. It's just that I go to school, you know, and I've started to do a lot of hours waiting tables at a restaurant, and I have all these chores at home." He would try to sound nonchalant about it while Mrs. Evans would frown, a little confused.

"Not to sound judgmental or anything, but, well, why don't your parents lessen your chores some if you're working?"

"Oh well, I live with my aunt and uncle, you see, my parents, James and Lily Potter, died in a car accident when I was just a baby."

He imagined her eyes widening, at first because of the story, then because she recognised the names. He imagined her explaining how her husband had a long lost cousin, Lily Evans, who he latter knew married a Potter, and she would call her husband over, and they would figure out that Harry was family, and that Petunia and Vernon were terrible guardians, and being so kind, so good natured they would decide then and there would take him in.

Usually he would let the daydream fade out there, fuzzy, the details indistinct, as really the whole thing made no logical sense. But he couldn't help thinking about it now and then as he saw them around, felt how his chest tightened to see them smiling at each other. Even now he couldn't help staring at them as though they weren't quite real, like seeing something from a dream in a dream appear before him in the produce aisle.

Slowly the oldest boy, his name something like Matt or Mark, raised his head, glancing around the store in boredom, his eyes landing on Harry's briefly before shooting away quickly, as people always do when they make eye contact with strangers. But Harry saw his eyes flash back quickly, his eyebrows raised, recognition sinking in. For a second Harry wondered why he would recognize him before noticing the fear on the boy's face. Harry felt a jolt of panic. Mark turned quickly to his family, saying something, and soon the whole family was looking their way.

"Hermione, we need to go, we need to leave right now. That family over there recognizes me. They're neighbors from Surrey." Harry turned his back towards the family, speaking lowly to Hermione whose whole body became tense. But she didn't look over at them, instead slowly placing the apples back on the table.

"We'll leave now, but not in a rush, it will just draw attention to ourselves if we start running." Harry and Hermione grabbed hands and made their way to the front of the store, leaving the shopping cart abandoned next the grapefruits.

Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him as they did their daily tasks of hiding. Heating charmes here, water spells there, cooling charms in the cooler that was acting as their refrigerator. He could feel her as he was folding clothes, her eyes watching even as she chatted about what she had read, the weather, what they wanted for dinner.

Finally, with a halted breath before she spoke, Hermione let the tension that had been pouring silently through her eyes out through her mouth. "Close call today, eh?" Harry just nodded, letting the tension build again as Hermione thought through what she was trying to ask.

"Did you know those neighbors well?" Harry unfolded and refolded the same shirt twice, three times, thinking. Hermione let out an impatient breath behind him. "Harry, it was of course nerve wracking to be spotted like that, but you've been awfully quiet since then and you were so pale when you saw them...I can't help but feel that there's more to the story?"

Harry didn't want to talk about his strange, stalkerish thoughts, about how much he had watched them with a painful kind of envy for years. He didn't know how to describe how seeing them made him think of the Dursleys, about how Mark or Matt or whatever had been bullied by Dudley as well. About much he hated Dudley, his stupid pink, piggish face, how he looked just like Uncle Vernon, had the same small, mean look in his eyes as Vernon had in his. He didn't want to try and explain to Hermione how seeing Mark look at him with fear flashing in his face made him think about how Mark had looked when he would see Dudley. How that made him remember the steady rolling of hatred Harry had felt for his cousin. The remembered hatred existed simultaneously with the lurch of horror that came to mind when he thought of Dudley's own look of fear as Voldemort loomed over him.

Harry folded and refolded the shirt a couple of more times before he threw it into the corner with a soft thump. He started folding another shirt as he spoke, carefully not looking at Hermione. "My old neighbors, the ones at the store, they have a son, four or five years younger than me. Dudley and his crowd of stupid friends would go around and terrorize the local kids, rough them up, take their money, stuff like that. They weren't very creative but they were mean. They went after the kid from the store a lot. I don't know why. I don't know why they did anything really. I went to a different school, but back in primary we were all together, Dudley and his neighborhood gang. They were...well, let's just say berks doesn't really cover it." Harry tossed the more shirts into the corner, harder than was really necessary.

"Were they...Did they...Did they have a go at you a lot?" Hermione asked quietly from the corner, too softly, like she was afraid of the answer.

Harry snorted, "Yeah, all the time. They called it 'Harry Hunting.' I was a sport. They made the boys from The Lord of the Flies look tame."

"Harry Hunting," Hermione whispered from her corner, the disgust obvious even at the low volume.

Harry had finished folding his clothes but needed something, anything, to do with his hands. He knew he couldn't look at Hermione. He sat next the chair, looking at the missing leg while spinning his wand in his hand. He didn't know what to do to try and fix it, but he stared at it like he was thinking, spinning his wand, flipping it between his fingers over and over again.

"They weren't good people, Hermione, something was wrong with them. They just seemed to enjoy it, you know? They seemed to enjoying causing pain. Hurting animals in the park, making kids cry, embarrassing them, making them miss lunch so they could take money they didn't need. The little bastards always picked on kids the worst who they thought no one would help. The strange kids with no friends, or who had old ratty clothes and state lunches, whose parent's would be too tired or too busy to notice bruises, or truly see how unhappy their kids were. It's just… when they picked on Matt or Mark of whatever his name is, they made a mistake. His parents did eventually notice and they did care, and they actually got Dudley and his friends in trouble, real trouble…"

Harry sighed looking at the space, the empty air, between the bottom of the chair and the floor, tapping his wand against his mouth, staring and staring like there was something he knew to do about it. "I admit, I was a little jealous, whenever I came home with a split lip and broken glasses from Dudley and his friends, he was always clapped on the back, told how he was a real man, they'd all have a good laugh. What's-his-face's parents cared. They actually got him in trouble. Of course I felt like a right jerk, feeling jealous of a little ten year old boy who had been bullied by the neighborhood kids, but still."

He heard Hermione stand and move closer to him, settling cross-legged a foot away. Harry could sense her eyes, like a weight, a density to their intensity that felt like gravity, pulling him to them. But he couldn't look at her, something would snap, something important. Instead he stood and went to the peeling wallpaper, pulling at the edges here and there, taking small pieces from the wall and letting them fall to the floor.

"You're family was terrible Harry, they were awful people and they were cruel to you." Hermione still spoke softly, but this time the softness had an edge to it. He couldn't look at her.

"Yeah, but they're gone now. It hardly matters."

Behind him Hermione was silent, he couldn't look at her.

"I mean, what would be the point in raging about it now?" Harry caught a large piece, pulling with a satisfying sound a square foot of the musty paper. He started tearing it into smaller pieces, letting them fall to his feet.

"They're gone now, so it's not like I can change anything, tell them anything." Harry started picking at another piece, this one more stubborn.

"What would you tell them?" Harry couldn't tell if Hermione had really asked him that, how quiet she had spoke, or if the question had rang loud from his own head.

"How much I hate them. Hated them. No, hate them. I hate them still, Hermione, so much, but they aren't here to tell, it's my fault they are gone, and now it doesn't matter anymore. Now I can't tell them how much I hate them. It's just me, me and my hate and their nothing. They can't fix it, I can't fix it." Harry leaned his head against the wall, his hands dangling at his sides like the pieces of wallpaper he had almost peeled off.

He felt Hermione's arms wrap around his middle, felt her rest her face in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Her lips moved against the fabric of his shirt. "I wish I knew what to say. What magic words to make this better. But all I can think is, fine, good, hate them. They deserve it. You don't have to forgive them yet, or ever, really. But you're right, they're gone now, and I think, as time goes by, Harry, they'll matter less and less. And even if you always feel hatred for them, they will become such a small part of who you are, become such a small part of your world, that it won't matter anymore. You're already so much more than your hatred of them Harry, so it's okay, just hate them. If it's any consolation, I hate them too, I don't care that they're dead, I hate them too."

Harry put his hands over Hermione's, felt the softness of her skin, the folds of her palms, the smoothness of her nails. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

Harry felt her smile against his back. "I love you too."

The next morning they moved their lumpy homemade mattresses next to each other, Harry making bacon and eggs as Hermione tried to get the fabrics of their beds to mend together. "It seems silly now to sleep on separate sides of the room, considering last night, but it will be truly annoying to try to sleep with a stupid gab there."

Harry put the plates of food down on the table and wandered over to Hermione, circling his arm around her waist, dropping his mouth to her shoulder. "Well, I'm not thinking of giving you a lot of space at night anymore anyway."

Hermione twirled out of his grasped and sauntered over to the table, her cheeks pink, her smile mischievous. "And what if I like space, Potter? No one wants to be the little spoon all the time."

Harry shrugged, grinning, "I can be the little spoon sometimes, if you'd like?"

Hermione grinned, "Deal." She took a bite of her bacon before looking down at her watch. "Let's not forget, we have to meet Neville in a couple of hours."

Harry shrugged again, smiling fully, "That leaves plenty of time for...breakfast."