"Happy Birthday Harry." Hope whispered as Harry blinked awake.

She was sat at the table, wearing the woodland creature pajama's she'd had on that first night, sipping from a cup and marking her place in the thick book she's been quietly reading. A sparkling gift bag and a simple brown paper bag- decorated with a slightly rumpled red ribbon, waited next to a take-away box in front of his seat at the table.

Harry approached the packages dubiously, as though something was going to jump out at him the moment he opened them. Kneeling on the edge of the seat, he prised the top of the sparkly bag open first. A brown and tan bookbag and a card from Lydia that read: For the boy who deserves gifts on his birthday, Happy Birthday -Aunty Lydia.

He patted the bookbag gently, setting it on the table with reverence. The brown bag was pulled into his lap with marginally more confidence. He leaned over it to peek inside, then gasped with delight and pulled out the pale blue sweater.

"Not much of a surprise, I know." Hope said modestly.

"No." Harry said, hugging the sweater to his chest, "it's the best thing I have, thank you."

Hope directed his attention back to the table. "There's one more thing to open."

The box contained four slices of cake, two each of chocolate and vanilla, and a birthday note from Salty.

Happy 7th birthday Harry!

Breaking every rule Harry could imagine, they ate chocolate cake for breakfast, still dressed in their pjs.

And then they were on their way, with a packed lunch and an umbrella. They drove for forty minutes before the first stop. The village was small, the barman scowled at Harry when Hope inquired about job openings.

The next town was larger, there was a secretary position open for an accounting firm, but the only apartments available were well above their reach. They ate their lunch in the courtyard of a lovely building, admiring the sturdy brick faces of four-bedroom homes they hadn't bothered to tour.

And on and on it went.

A good rental or a decent job, neither seemed to co-exist that could fit their needs.

"Just one more stop, and we'll turn back." Hope said, hiding her dejection behind a calm cheerful mask.

There was a position open in a small café, and an apartment on the second floor in need of a tenant. The owner, a prim, fussy looking woman, looked Hope over with a raised brow and took a drag on her cigarette, "single mother, and not much to look at. But I suppose I could give you a chance to prove yourself."

Harry tugged on Hope's arm, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there.

"We'll think about it." Hope answered politely.

She followed Harry back to the car as the woman snarled through a fresh cloud of acrid smoke, "don't think too long, or I'll find someone else!"

Harry slammed the door and said, "I hope she does."

"What?" Hope asked.

"Find someone else."

"It's the only place we've found today that could work."

"It doesn't work for us." Harry mimed a cigarette with one hand and pinched his nostrils shut with the other. "I need fresh air, that's what you said. Can't get any here. Besides, she was awful rude to you!"

"I can handle rude, but you're not wrong about the smoke. We'll just have to keep looking another day."

"We should keep going." Harry said suddenly, resting his fist against his chest and giving a yard-long stare out the window. "Just a little further, that way." He pointed down a dusty looking sideroad.

Hope looked from him to the dubious path. "half an hour, if we don't find another village in that time, we turn back. Deal?"

"Deal." Harry answered. After ten minutes the road branched, and Harry insisted on turning left. "it'll be there, I know it."

Another twenty minutes passed as they traversed sharp corners and bobbed up and down small hills. Hope was looking for a drive to turn around on when the spire of a church appeared above the treeline.

'Welcome to South Deelmuth' a sign proudly read.

Flower pots spilling over with riotous colour marked the town hall and church. A corner store which advertised petrol and ice cream on the same sign, several small buildings and a large storefront rounded off the short street where a sign indicated 'Deelmuth mine and train station 10km' with an arrow pointing down the winding road.

Harry pointed to a shop that was clearly once a two-story home, but now carried a 'books' sign and several other oddly shaped building additions, including a covered walk connecting it to the café next door.

"Alright Harry, lets go have a look, shall we?" Hope said with a sigh of resignation.

Harry exited the car before she'd finished speaking, and was walking forward, his hand still pressed over his heart.

"Well hello deary, is there something I can help you find?" an elderly woman asked Harry as he approached the sales counter.

Shyness seemingly forgotten, Harry placed his hands on the edge of the counter and looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm looking for a job and a home," he said, just as Hope walked through the front door.

"I'm afraid we don't sell houses, just books, and you're a little young to be in the business, aren't you?" The woman offered back cheekily.

"Not for me, for my… my- Hope."

The woman looked properly confused at this statement.

"That's me, Hope Williams." Hope offered her hand to the stranger and found it pressed with surprising strength.

"Ah, I see. Yes, yes, well, I hadn't advertised yet, but I was telling Angus just last night that I needed an extra set of hands in the shop, and here you are. Wonderful how these things happen." She smiled warmly from Hope to Harry, "and you're looking for a place to live?"

"A home." Harry said pertly, offering his hand as Hope had done. "I'm Harry."

"Dorothy Curtis, call me Dot." Dot pressed his hand in both of hers, her face crinkling into a kind smile. "As it happens, I know a fella who's trying to sell a house, I'll draw you a map. Just don't let old Joseph scare you off, he's a good man under that gruff demeanor."

Two streets over, they found the sale sign planted in the grass. The small front yard was neatly trimmed round a grand English oak, but long grass grew through the cracks in the peeling fence. Hope looked over the property with a skeptical eye, she hadn't been looking to purchase, and this place clearly needed work.

Harry marched up to the front door with confidence. An aged white-haired man slammed the door on house to the left and approached around the low garden wall separating the two homes, walking with a slight rolling gait, as though one knee couldn't bend as it should.

"You the young man Dot sent over? Harry, was it?" he asked abruptly.

He seemed to be inspecting the boy and Harry straightened up further, puffing up his chest proudly and holding out his hand to shake. "That's me sir. Harry Potter."

"And you must be Harry's mother." He offered her his hand as well, a curious spark in the coal black irises. "Joseph Cooke, You want to look around?"

"If we could sir." Hope answered clear and lightly.

"Right." Joseph fumbled in his pocket for a moment, handing her a set of keys. "Take your time, I'll just be at home. Number 24." He gestured at the faded blue house, grunted and said: "right" again, before stomping back the way he'd come.

Harry led the way inside.

The front door led into a short empty hall, an archway opened onto a dining room to the right, a closet door stood ajar to the left and a door straight ahead led to the kitchen. Through the kitchen door the room opened up to the living room on the left, separated by a half wall from a small breakfast nook and the kitchen proper on the right.

Harry stared out the big windows at the overgrown back yard as Hope inspected the refrigerator and oven.

The stairway in the farthest right corner led up to a landing with a window where the driveway could be seen from, and turning back towards towards the center of the house ascended to a hall above. Four doors for three bedrooms and a bathroom. Each room was a different colour theme, the beds dressed in frilly lace edged coverlets and pillows to match the violet, fuchsia or Periwinkle walls.

Harry turned his nose up at the rooms, sneezing at the smell of baby powder and old perfume that seemed to float in the dust their feet kicked up from the carpet. His excitement nearly snuffed out until he opened the door to the bathroom and found a large claw-footed tub.

They sat together on the front doorstep to consider.

The house met most of their requirements, though Hope said it would need some work, she wrote a new list, narrating as she went.

"The back step sounds like its about to fall through, the closet door won't close properly, no living room furniture, a crack in the pink room window we'd need to seal before winter, the kitchen floor is curling up in places, and the bedrooms need a fresh coat of paint."

"And bedding."

"And new bedding." Hope agreed. "Well, I'm not sure if we can afford it, considering how much money it'll take to set things right. What do you think Harry?"

"Well…" Harry hesitated, running his hands along the worn brickwork of the front steps. "It's kind of, well perfect. We can manage without some furniture, can't we? I can help paint, and maybe we could glue the floor down where its curling. And the lacy bed covers…" he paused, huffed and shook his head. "I don't know how to make them less awful."

Hope laughed outright, "I'll wash my bed linens from the flat and you can have them for your room."

"But then you'd be stuck with the itchy stuff!" Harry exclaimed.

"I'd manage, though I might be tempted to take a seam ripper to the pillows at least. Well, should we go see what Mister Cooke is asking for our perfect house?"

Harry took her hand, his eyes shining brightly.

Joseph was sat in a big reclining chair in a sitting room that mirrored the dining room of number 22, darning a pair of woolen socks.

The price was reasonable enough, though Hope admitted she didn't have the means to offer a large deposit. Joseph conceded that some work needed doing, and decided that in leu of a deposit, he'd except the investment of their time in fixing the place up, and a rent-to-own agreement.

"It's about time it had a new family again." Joseph said, the corner of his mouth turning up gently. "My sister passed a year ago and it's been standing empty ever since."

Harry looked suddenly anxious; he hadn't been shy about telling the man how much he disliked the fussy bedrooms.

"Don't you fret young man, Irene had a strong sense of taste, but I must admit I never shared it." Joseph's laugh rumbled from a place deep in his chest and he patted Harry's arm kindly. "You two make all the changes you'd like; it'll be your home after all."

"We'll be back next week with papers, if everything on my end works out." Hope assured him.

"Home." Harry whispered solemnly as Hope and Joseph shook over their agreement. "Our home."

Notes:

This is giving me all the feels, just... warm and cozy and loving vibes.

What do you think? I'm strangely enjoying writing this story from the perspective of Hope's small income. It reminds me of the ways we used to get by when I was growing up and is oddly wholesome.

Is there anything more sweet than people who care about each other willing to make do with less, sacrificing their own pleasures for the other?