Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections
Chapter Three - Naïve
Disclaimer - I'm not, in anyway, a part of the Harry Potter franchise. The characters in the books are the work of JK Rowling.
Harry yawned loudly and stretched out his arms before adding the finishing touches to his annual 'time left until Hogwarts' chart. He'd added far more detail this year, using it as a way of spending the time until the Dursley's departed on their holiday. He wasn't much of an artist he decided, but he'd still done a good job on the large picture of a broomstick chasing down the snitch hidden in the bottom-left corner. The broom needed a rider, but he wasn't sure who, or what, so he thought he'd leave that part until later.
"Does my little bird like to fly?" Instinctively he reached for his wand, which he seemed to be doing rather a lot lately.
"Hello again Abigail." He did his best to sound as fed-up as possible, wondering if she'd catch a hint and go away.
"Were you looking for this?" He left the chair and walked to the other side of the room, wanting to keep as far away from her as possible after what had happened earlier. She was gently spinning his wand around her willowy fingers. "Wasn't that a little risky?" She admonished, "Turning your back on an armed stranger?"
"I doubt you can use it, you're not exactly human." As he spoke his eyes flickered towards the door. It was shut fast.
"I doubt I'd want to use it anyway. The thing you'll find about most wizards," she said, sitting herself in his vacated seat. "Is that they depend on their wands far too much. They can't do the most basic of spells without them, and on top of that they need to carry around all kinds of cauldrons, books and other paraphernalia." Harry wondered whether he was supposed to shout 'here, here' or something similar - but she carried on talking. "Why, it's completely impractical and ridiculous! And it wastes so much time - but all most wizards seem to do is worry about time!" She stood up again, adding more force to her words. "Why, if I wanted to kill you Harry Potter I wouldn't fool around with a wand and wizarding magic. If I wanted to, I could freeze you to the spot, starve your senses till they screamed and then slit your throat with a finger nail." With each word she floated a little higher off the floor. Harry took a step back, but found that there was a very solid wall behind him. He didn't like the way her hair was suddenly stirring in a non-existent breeze. Or the way her eyes glinted like azure knives. "Oh dear! You don't think I'd actually kill you? Do you?" Suddenly she was sitting in the chair again smiling a delicate knowing smile.
"No," Harry spoke with a confidence he didn't feel "Of course not."
"I like you Harry Potter and I'm not going to kill you… But you're a terrible liar. Never mind though, we'll have time to work on it. " She vanished with a small wave.
Behind him the door burst open; the heavy wood caught him on the shoulder and sent him sprawling onto the floor. In the doorway stood Vernon, his face the colour of molten raspberries. His uncle flailed his head from left to right and back again, until he realized that the person he was looking for was the cringing shape on the floor.
"Get up!" He barked, "Your aunt has been yelling for you for the last half-hour. I suppose you were sleeping? You could at least have the decency to use the bed we provided you with!" Harry scrambled up, wincing as he flexed his injured shoulder, Vernon knew very well that he'd hit him with the door. Slowly he followed his uncle downstairs. He didn't like to admit it but he was shaken and hurting far more than he should be. When he reached the kitchen he found his aunt and Dudley already sitting at the table. There was a chair for him on the opposite side to them, he felt like he was entering a job interview.
Hermione lay on her stomach idly kicking her feet against the end on the mattress. In front of her she had Harry's phone number and the cordless phone from downstairs. She keyed in the area code and then the first five digits, her finger hovering above the sixth. Tentatively she wondered what would happen if it wasn't Harry who answered, but one of his relatives. What would she say to them? Would they be mad? Would they even speak? They might well hang-up as soon as they discovered who she was.
"Hermione dear, we're home." Her mother's voice floated from downstairs. Sighing she pressed the cancel button and the line went dead.
"Hermione?"
"Yes mother you're home." She heard footsteps on the stairs and stuffed the paper with Harry's number written on it beneath her pillow for safe keeping. After a moments thought she stuffed the phone under there too, they'd probably just have a go at her for running-up long phone bills if they saw it.
"Hermione? Oh there you are." Her mother rounded the door and smiled wearily at her. "You haven't been reading all day have you? Especially not in this light - you'll ruin your eyes." She opened the powdery lilac curtains and one of the windows.
"You didn't knock… and I like the curtains closed, it makes everything look blue."
"Sorry dear, would you like me to go out and come back in again?" She took a step towards the door.
"That's not funny." Her mother looked a little crestfallen and Hermione felt a little guilty, she was, after all only trying to help.
The Dursley's glowered at Harry across the table's length, they weren't people to be kept waiting. He noticed the pad of paper and pencil lying in front of him, Petunia inclined her head towards it slightly. He picked up the writing tools and wondered what was about to happen.
"We're setting some rules for you to live by while we're away." Vernon said adopting a business like manner. Petunia carried on glaring and Dudley pulled a packet of crisps from his pocket that he burst open and began to eat greedily. "Make a note of them. Dudley, say your ideas first." Harry's cousin liked the salt and grease from his fingers and eyed him contemptuously. (He probably didn't know the meaning of the word but it summed his expression up perfectly.)
"First," He said "No going in my room."
"You have locks for that." Harry pointed out, but he wrote it anyway, wanting to get the whole thing - which to him seemed ridiculous, out of the way.
"Second - No eating any of my food from the freezer." Harry scribbled and wondered if they'd put a lock on the oven and microwave.
"Uh… next - Don't touch any of my post." Dudley seldom got any letters so it wasn't really important, but it got scribbled down. His cousin squeezed himself out of his chair and walked towards the living room, leaving the now-empty crisp packet on the table.
"Petunia?" Vernon prompted.
"No magic, no talking to the neighbours and no others in the house… especially girls." His aunt snapped. Harry wasn't sure why she'd included the no girls' part, although he got the idea that she mistrusted witches even more than wizards. No doubt because of his mother. He added the items to his list and looked up at his Uncle.
"Right," said Vernon gruffly. "And I want this written word perfect. - No using the normal post to send letters. No harbouring virulent birds… other than the one you already have. As of tomorrow the phone will only take incoming calls - write to your friends and tell them that if they want to speak to you they'll have to foot the bill. No leaving the house for more than three hours at a time. - For God's sake write in a straight line. - No dement'os (Harry wrote dementors) or whatever you called them. No being weird in view of the neighbours..." Vernon stopped speaking for a moment; he was red in the face but seemed to be enjoying himself. Petunia handed him a glass of water which he gulped. "You will clean the house every day and, finally, no telling your lot where we've gone. We want a nice peaceful holiday." Vernon stood and walked out of the room, he came back holding his and Petunia's coats. "We're eating out tonight - there's half a cabbage in the fridge don't eat all of it."
As the Dursley's departed Harry remained in his seat, glaring angrily at the paper in front of him. He stared for so long that red spots began to appear on the edge of his vision. Slowly the paper began to smoke, then crumple, then burst into flames. Harry scraped up the charred remains and threw them into the bin, he felt a lot better.
"Poor, poor Harry." Abigail appeared beside him. He didn't bother to react, there didn't seem to be much point. "I'll fetch you a glass of water." A glass shot from the cupboard, raced across the worktop and landed beneath the tap, which turned on and off by itself. The glass then moved slowly and set itself down on the table. Harry sipped it cautiously.
"Uh… Thanks." He watched over the glasses rim.
"Is your shoulder painful?"
"Not really I've done worse playing quiditch." She pulled up a chair next to him and sat down.
"Tell me about quiditch, and Hogwarts, and yourself." She smiled reassuringly at him; her dark-red lips a stark contrast to her pale face.
"Why." He asked, draining the glass.
"I'm interested." Harry looked across at the strange girl. She didn't seem remotely dangerous, and yet earlier she'd been ranting about how easy it would be to kill him. And so, he sat, doing his best to ignore the long bruise forming on his shoulder, and told her about himself. She listened happily, laughing when he did and looking forlorn when he mentioned the darker parts of his history.
Hermione sat at the dinner table and pushed her finished meal to one side. She'd spent most of the early evening telling her mother about school in more detail and had even helped with the tea. 'I'm going soft,' she thought to herself.
"You remember that dentist's convention we went to a few years ago?" Her father asked. "The one in Scotland?" She nodded, she did remember. It had been one of the most boring events she'd ever attended - and the other children hadn't exactly been the best company - although she had only been eight at the time.
"Well, your mother and I were thinking of going again."
"Can I stay here? - I'll be good." Her mother looked over from the washing up.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea 'Mione." there was a long silence.
"Can we talk about this later?" She asked, pedalling for time to think up a decent excuse. Her father nodded.
She thought deeply as she sat on the edge of her bed. She was old enough to be left alone, she was responsible and clever - but how could she make her parents see that? They still saw her as their little 'Mione Granger. She shifted on the bed, there was something digging into her leg. She moved over to reveal the phone aerial sticking out from beneath the pillow. Harry was good at planning his way out of situations like this - she could always give him a call. And, she supposed, if the wrong person answered she could always pretend she'd dialed a wrong number. Pulling out the piece of paper she tapped in the numbers quickly.
Harry stood leaning against the fridge. He was holding a can of beer; Abigail had fetched it for him, though he wasn't sure from where. It was nice he decided - it was nice having someone to talk to and share a joke with. They were laughing now, he'd been telling her about the time Fred and George had been testing their joke-products on first years. Lying on the worktop was a thick wooden chopping board; someone had put a carving knife across it to dry. Abigail floated over to it whilst Harry took another sip of beer.
"They really are vile to you, aren't they? - The Dursley's I mean." She ran a finger along the blade, leaving a trail of chilled condensation.
"I get by." Said Harry shrugging.
"If you like," She held the knife out innocently "I could kill them for you."
"No thanks." He sipped from the beer again, "but thanks for the offer." He laughed and took a long swig, watching his distorted reflection bend up to meet him on the metal of the can.
"Think about it Harry, it would be so simple, they come home - the house is dark and one by one they go up the stairs…"
"No!" He shook his head suddenly, dispelling the alcohols effects. "I think I've had enough beer as well, thank you all he same." The phone rang from the hall way. "I should answer that, it might be important. - I don't want anyone killed, ever! But thank you for the beer." She nodded.
"I should be going anyway - goodbye Harry Potter." Harry ran down the hallway towards the phone. The thing about Abigail, he told himself, was that she was naïve, all she wanted to do was help him - she didn't understand right and wrong like other people did. - At least that's what he thought.
Back in the kitchen she watched him leave, still holding the knife tightly. As soon as he was out of sight she flipped the blade in her hand so it was facing point-down and slammed it into the chopping board. It stood there quivering, its metal tip driven an inch into the solid wood. She scowled angrily, her eyes looking stormy.
"Poor, poor, Harry. You're so naïve, so goody-goody, so hopelessly in love with being a good-little-wizard. In short my little bird - you're a drooling moron of a boy." She disappeared, still fuming.
Harry picked up the phone just as it stopped ringing, he didn't recognize the number written across the plastic display, besides it was probably one of his aunt's friends. They'd ring back eventually if it was important. He suddenly felt a cloud of dizziness wash over him from the drink, he walked back into the kitchen but the can was gone and the knife was lying on the chopping board untouched. Thankful that he didn't need to tidy anything away he clambered the stairs and threw himself into bed.