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Part 2 - The Hutch

The address they'd been given was in Park Lane. The houses in the lane were crammed together and old, with small gardens out the front and probably high walled gardens at the back. The lane ended at a stone wall, which let out onto a park, visible through the wrought iron gate. The lane itself was cobbled and narrow, with a wicked turn halfway down. There was a narrow footpath on each side, that the residents used to park their cars on, and Ron and Hermione found it easier to walk in the middle of the road.

The place they were looking for was second from the end. There was a plaque on the wall next to the door that read 'The Hutch', which made Ron smile fondly. His parent's home was the Burrow, and the association was a good one. The Hutches neighbours had either tidy little gardens, paved to within an inch of their life and bristling with bicycles and bins, or sadly neglected ones where plants struggled unenthusiastically to grow. The Hutch had a path leading to the front steps and small glassed in front porch, where muddy shoes and umbrellas resided, and on either side of the path was a large garden bed, where spring plants were rioting joyously. The two-storey brick building had a large bay window in the front room with wooden shutters that were open and heavy drapes that were shut. The bay was echoed in the room above it, and the front door was set to one side. It was painted blue, to match the trim around the glass on the front porch. The brass handle was dull with age, but not tarnished. There was a small window of frosted glass set between it and the bay window.

"I feel at home," Hermione said, surprise in her voice, and Ron frowned. He thought that his good feelings about the place came from the association he had with the name. If Hermione was feeling it too, there was a good chance that there was something else at work. They'd learned to listen to their instincts in the field, and he watched Hermione slip her wand out of her holster beneath her jacket sleeve with a deft flick of her wrist and cast a discrete spell. She shook her head to indicate that there was nothing untoward about the house, and Ron led the way up the path.

The blue wooden door also had an inlay of frosted glass, which revealed nothing of the interior. As Ron reached it though, there was a shadow of movement on the other side, and when he knocked smartly the shadow paused for a long moment, before heading towards the door. There was a fumbling sound of a lock turning, and then the doorknob. The door opened, and although the hall light was on, the person opening the door was blocked from view.

A man stepped out from behind the door, a sleeping child cradled against his shoulder and chest with one arm. The unruly black curls and the fine features of the little girl struck Ron. They struck a chord in his memory and after a moment he recalled where he had seen that face before. Hermione gasped and Ron thought that she also saw the similarities between the sleeping child and their old friend. Ron had spent a lot of time watching Harry sleep, a secret no one but him knew. He'd been aided by the fact that they'd shared a bedroom for most of the year and the fact that on the few occasions Harry really slept, he slept heavily.

Ron forced himself to look at the man carrying the child, wracking his brains for an excuse for staring. The moment his eyes met the green ones staring at him he knew he didn't need to. Harry Potter's hair hadn't changed in the last five years, though he now wore narrow rectangular shaped glasses with a red plastic frame. He wore a tee shirt that stated he was 'in denial', and loose track pants with thick socks. He was looking from one to the other of them with shock, and after a long moment he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting them in. He pointed to the front room, and closed the door, turning to head up the blue-carpeted stairs that ran along one wall with a bend near the top.

"Daddy," the little girl mumbled as he climbed and he shushed her softly, kissing the mop of hair beneath his chin.

"Shh, go to sleep, petal. You're very tired," his voice had deepened a little over the years, but it was still the same voice that Ron heard in his dreams and memories.

"No I'm not," she slurred and Harry chuckled as he mounted the bend.

"Yes you are," his voice floated back down the stairs and a light clicked on as they entered a room, presumably the little girls. Hermione tugged on Ron's sleeve and he followed her numbly into the front room. This had bare floorboards, as did the hall, and a small fireplace set in the middle of the far wall, creating a nook on either side of it. The nooks contained bookcases, which were full to overflowing. There were pictures on the mantle, of Harry with a curly haired blonde, the blonde by herself, laughing from a silver frame, and several of Harry and the little girl, starting from the time she was a baby. There were none of the blonde and baby together, which struck Ron as odd.

There was a couch that took up most of the wall opposite the fireplace, and two club chairs. The wall adjacent the door also had a floor to ceiling book case, and when Ron peered behind the heavy drapes he saw that underneath the bay window had also been built into a concave bookcase, stuffed with children's books and toys. The wall above the couch had lots of watercolours, all local scenes matted in cream and framed in honey coloured wood.

"These are all the same artist," Hermione murmured. There were cushions scattered about on the couch and a few really large ones on the floor. A solidly built square coffee table sat in the middle of the room, its surface scarred and dinted, polished to a dull sheen by years of use, with drawers underneath it. Ron knew without looking that the child's toys would be stored there, though there were a few scattered around the room and several picture books on the table.

"There's no Muggle television," Ron gestured at the bookshelves. If he hadn't known better he'd have thought he was in a Wizards house. Hermione nodded and moved to look at some of the titles on the shelves curiously. The stairs creaked and they both straightened, turning to face the door. Harry paused on the threshold, an uncertain look in his eyes. Ron hesitated for a second, but Hermione did not. She flung herself at their friend silently, and Harry clutched her to his chest, hiding his face in her shoulder and kneading her jacket a little.

"Oh Harry, we never wanted you to leave!" Hermione whispered fiercely, and slapped his shoulder, "Don't you ever do that to us again!"

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry's voice was unsteady, but his hands weren't as he hugged and patted before carefully easing her back, "It won't happen again."

Hermione sniffed in a way that said it certainly wouldn't and Harry turned to look at Ron. The redhead stepped forward, brushing his partner aside and pulled Harry into a warm, tight hug. His friend had grown - they all had - his shoulders broadening a little. He was still shorter than Ron, about Hermione's height, and it didn't escape Ron's notice that he was hugging a man now, not his teenage friend. He took a deep whiff of Harry smell, and smiled into messy hair. He was reluctant to let go when the green-eyed man shifted in his arms, but forced himself to.

"Tea," Harry decided, and led the way out of the room. The short hall ran along the stairs and ended in a wall with yet another glass window in it. This one was a stain glass, depicting roses in bloom, and let light from the kitchen into the alcove under the stairs. There was the usual under stairs storage, and an alcove near the small window hosted a narrow table with spindly legs; there was a picture of the blonde woman there as well, next to a vase of flowers. With the stairs on the right you were forced left and into the kitchen with its polished floorboards and roomy interior.

Immediately upon entry you noticed the fireplace, set in the far wall, this one big enough for a person to stand in. Harry had put a chest of drawers in it. The nooks on either side were once again filled to bursting with books and the one furthest from the door contained what Ron recognised as a Muggle stereo. The shelf above the stereo held the slim cases that Muggles stored their music in, the colourful spines a contrast to the books. The wall nearest the door had another watercolour painting, of a river with a punt and a bridge that arched over it.

There was also a large dining room table in front of the fireplace. It had a few drawers, and knobbly, thick wooden legs. They were unpainted, though the tabletop was painted a pale shimmering green colour that reflected the colour of the walls. The light for that part of the room came from French doors that led out into a small conservatory that further led into the walled back garden. Ron couldn't see it well in the gloom but was willing to bet it was as riotous and appealing as the front garden.

The kitchen was panelled entirely in wood. The sink was a deep one, made of a white stone, and the taps were copper, as were the pots and pans that hung in a rack overhead. The china and drinking glasses sat on open shelves, with the plates up on their sides in a custom made rack. There was a wooden door next to the French doors that Ron later learnt led into the scullery with the laundry beyond it. There was actually a window over the kitchen sink looking into the laundry, which had huge windows that looked onto the back yard in turn.

Harry put the copper kettle onto the hob and started pulling down mugs and the teapot. Hermione was peering at the conservatory, and she flung the French doors open with a cry of,

"Hedwig!"

Ron went to greet the snowy owl, tickling under he wings the way he knew she liked it and generally renewing their acquaintance. Harry entered and was greeted with a hoot, which prompted him to open the back door for her. She hooted again in thanks, heading out into the night to hunt. The kettle whistled and Harry went back to making tea for them, putting the mugs and pot onto the table. One of the chairs, sitting at the end of the table had clearly been built up for a little girl to sit upon. Hermione and Ron took the chairs flanking it, which left Harry sitting with his back to the French doors.

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