Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season Nine
Round: Round Four — It's a Horror Show Out There
Task: 1984
Position: Captain
Team: Puddlemere United
Word Count: 1700
Of Friends and Garden Fairies
The two best friends were friends long before they ever went to Hogwarts.
Summer, 1984
Hermione is four. She has been looking forward to this visit. The cousin that she and her family are visiting is six, two years older than her, and quite the mischief maker. He pokes her to tickle her, makes funny faces at her, chases her around the sunny yard, but manages to make her laugh. Not many children do. Most children make fun of her because she is different. Not that she looks different or anything, but she knows she is. She just knows. She can do things with her mind. Mum says it's because she is smart, but Dad says it's because she's gifted and special. Hermione doesn't mind. She can be all — smart, gifted, and special.
Presently her and Michael are running around in the yard of number three, Privet Drive, playing a game of tag. Hermione squeals when Michael is about to get her, running through her aunt's hydrangea bushes to stay ahead of him. Hermione and her parents had arrived about half an hour ago, but she hasn't been inside yet. Michael had intercepted her in the yard itself with a cry of,
'tag, you're it!'
They've played three rounds of tag since and she hasn't even taken off her little coat yet. When she is finally tired enough of all the running and squealing she signals a 'time-out' to her cousin, a code taken extremely seriously by little ones around the world, and sits down panting on the wet grass in the shaded area between two houses. Michael plops down beside her.
"You're already tired," he declares, leaning back on his hands and wagging his feet from side to side.
She is, but if she admitted it, Michael would win, and she can't have that, so she says, "am not," in her best non-lying voice and turns up her nose the way she has seen people in the telly do.
"Yes you are," Michael insists and pokes her in the stomach, causing her to squirm and giggle loudly.
She is about to retaliate when the back door of the other house opens with a bang and Michael turns white, his arms freezing mid air almost comically. He gets up hurriedly, pulling Hermione up with him, and runs, nay, sprints inside his house, pulling Hermione with him. He opens the door a sliver and peeks through it as Hermione takes off her coat and shoes, closing it firmly when she is done.
"Come upstairs," he says, and Hermione follows her cousin obediently, tiptoeing upstairs with the same urgency that he is. When they reach his bedroom, Michael makes a beeline to the window. He opens it, peeks outside, turns to look at her, and beckons her towards the window, curling his finger. When she reaches the window he puts the same finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet, and points outside.
Hermione is shorter than Michael, being two whole years younger than him — it really isn't fair, she can't wait to be as tall as he is — so she can't see everything as clearly as him, but if she stands on her tippy-toes she can make out a tall, thin woman standing at the back door of the other house, hands on her hips like Mum has when she is cross with her, looking angrily at something she can't quite see. The woman says something angrily that Hermione can't make out, then slams the door as she goes back inside. Both Michael and Hermione let go of the window.
"That was Mrs Dursely. She's our neighbour," Michael whispers seriously.
"She looks scary," Hermione whispers back equally seriously.
Michael nods. "Some people say she hates all kids except Dudley. She even hates Harry."
Hermione's big four-year-old's eyes widen, then sparkle. "Hates kids? Who are Dudley and Harry? More friends?"
Michael nods solemnly once more. He leads her to the window again and helps her climb his little step stool so that she can see better. This time she sees who Mrs Dursley was shouting at. It is a little boy, little-er than the boys in her pre-school class, all covered up in mud.
"That's Harry," Michael says, "he is Mrs Dursley's nephew. Mr and Mrs Dursely don't like him, but I like him a lot. He's really nice and kind. Harry is my friend. Dudley is Mr and Mrs Dursley's son. He's really mean and he's friends with Piers Polkiss and they bully everyone. Dudley is not my friend."
Hermione looks at the little boy seriously, then looks up at the fast-darkening sky.
"It's nearly seven," she says, "won't Harry go inside?" She turns to her cousin once more.
Michael's face darkens. "Sometimes when Mrs Dursley is cross with Harry she won't let him inside. So he stays in the yard."
Hermione's eyes widen in shock, mouth falling open at the mere thought of having to stay outside the whole night. Harry must be so brave!
She looks down once again, and though it is hard to make out much in the darkness, she is sure he sees his little hand reach up and wipe at his eyes. Hermione nearly cries herself.
"If he is our friend, can we go help him?" she asks, a sudden determination in her. She won't let the little boy suffer through the hot summer in the garden. She had felt the same determination when Julie Jenkins had bullied her friend Teresa, and then Julie had ended up in a muddy puddle in the playground.
"I don't know," Michael says quietly, "Mrs Dursley doesn't like it when we talk to Harry and she gets awfully mean about it too."
"We'll go quietly. We won't let her find out." She gives him her best pout. "Please?"
Michael sighs a little-boy sigh. "Okay," he says finally, "but quietly," he warns as Hermione nods her head enthusiastically.
They sneak downstairs on their tip-toes, past their parents, and go out of the back door. Michael leads Hermione to a small gap in the wooden fence, just big enough for the two of them to squeeze through. Michael makes the finger-on-lips motion again once they're through to the other side. Quietly they make their way to the other end of the Dursley yard where the bespectacled boy, Harry is leaning against the garden shed looking up at the sky.
"Psst, Harry," Michael whispers when they are close enough for him to hear, and he starts, looking at the two kids with wide eyes.
"Hi, Michael," he says, wide-eyed, "what are you doing here?"
"We came to help," Michael says, ducking his head. "We saw your aunt screaming at you from my window."
"Oh," Harry says sadly, running his fingers through the grass. "She's making me stay out again tonight."
"Maybe you can come stay with us," Hermione says, "I'm staying with Michael tonight."
Harry's eyes look up once again, noticing Hermione for the first time, almost completely hidden away behind Michael.
"This is my cousin Hermione, she's come to visit," Michael says, looking at her, leaning sideways as the two shake hands.
"Hi Hermione," Harry says, "but I really shouldn't leave the yard. If Aunt Petunia found out she'll be mad at me a lot."
"We'll be very quiet," Hermione whispers, "we can at least play together!"
Harry looks between the two cousins undecidedly. He could go play with Hermione and Michael but if Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon found out …
"Please?" Hermione asks with wide eyes, and Harry finally agrees. "Maybe I can go for a little while and come back?"
"Okay!" Hermione says cheerfully, and Michael shushes her, reminding her again of the proverbial finger on their lips.
They sneak back into Michael's yard through the same gap and start up a new game of tag. Harry is a good player and fun to play with. He's also really nice, just like Michael said, because he stops to help Hermione up when she stumbles, even if it means getting caught by Michael.
"Look," Harry says suddenly, stopping mid chase to point towards the Hydrangea bushes, which have tiny glowing lights around them. "Fairies," he says, going closer.
Hermione and Michael move closer to the bush as well, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the tiny lights.
"They aren't fairies, silly," Michael says, "They're fireflies, Mum told me about them. Look closer."
Hermione edges closer towards the bush. She had heard of fireflies too, but these are different. These have faces like little people, and they have little hands and little legs and pretty wings. They really are fairies. Before she can say anything though, Michael announces,
"I'm going to get a jar to keep them! I'll be back in a minute!"
He runs off before Hermione can stop him, and it's just her and Harry. She taps his hand and he looks up.
"They really are fairies," she says in awe, and Harry smiles brightly at her.
"You can see them too!" he exclaims, "I thought I was the only one." He turns towards the bush again. "Aren't they pretty?"
"They are very pretty," Hermione says, smiling.
"They come every night," Harry says, and his smile drops suddenly. "I told my aunt about the fairies, that's why she's making me stay outside," he says unhappily. "My aunt doesn't like strange things."
"Oh," Hermione says, her own smile dropping. She can't even imagine what it must be like to live with such people.
Suddenly Harry gets up and moves towards the bush, shaking it gently so that the tiny fairies take flight and leave the bush.
"Why are you scaring them away?" Hermione asks, rushing to stop Harry, and Harry turns to her with guilty eyes.
"I don't want Michael to catch them," he whispers. "They'll be miserable like me if they are put in a jar," he says.
Hermione looks at him in awe, as if he had just made a revelation. Silently she begins shaking the bush herself, running her little hands through leaves. Once little glowing lights have stopped rising from the bush, Harry points upwards to the sky, and Hermione watches with big eyes and a bright smile as a big glowing ball of twinkling lights flies away.