Whenever Hermione thought of Richard Stilson getting stuck with a pig's tail on his bum, she couldn't restrain her grin. She understood now that Dudley Dursley was Harry's Richard Stilson, except Harry had had to live with him, and whenever she thought of that, her stomach burbled and she shuddered involuntarily.
Add to that Harry's ratty, hand-me-down clothing and the fact that he didn't remember ever going to the doctor, and Hermione was left with little choice but to consider a horrid possibility — even though they were his guardians, Harry's Aunt and Uncle showed an unfair preference for their own son over Harry, even going so far as to neglect certain of their responsibilities.
It was hard to imagine, hard to take in, but Hermione knew there were people like that in the world, and some of them, of course, would have sons and nephews. All she could really do about it was be a good friend.
"I'm sorry," Hermione had said, "That must be terrible. I shouldn't have said all that.
"It's fine."
She'd hugged him, and he'd been stiff as a board in her arms, arms flat at his sides. But he'd smiled shyly and asked if she'd wanted to play another game after they'd got a start on their homework.
"Whatever you want," she'd said.
She took a proper go at the games, finding that Exploding Snap was fun, if flustering, but that she didn't care for the stenches of Gobstones. Harry saw her off to her detention on Saturday evening, where she spent two miserable hours in the potions dungeon scrubbing cauldrons. She kept on sniffling, perhaps because the water was so cold it made her fingers ache, or perhaps because Professor Snape kept glaring at her — she had never thought she would dislike a teacher, but Professor Snape was certainly an unpleasant man.
Afterwards, Harry cheered her up with a cherry tart he'd snagged at dinner and an offer to read by the fire.
It was Tuesday, however, that she had most been looking forward to. When classes were over that day, they went to the Charms room.
Hermione stopped a few steps from the door and took a deep breath, carding her fingers through her curly hair in a vain attempt to get it to lie flatter. She had tried a club at her muggle primary, and the experience had been a mixed bag. Like an unlucky box of Bertie Bott's.
They went inside, and Hermione saw that it was filled mostly with girls. They outnumbered the boys at least four to one, all talking and laughing and standing around in circles or at tables, the organization of which had been changed.
If Hermione had come alone, she would've taken an open seat at the front, very near to Daphne Greengrass, who would've looked at her with mingled judgement and fascination and asked several outrageous questions about muggles, starting with why it was that they drank their own urine. That Daphne Greengrass would've asked those questions with perfect sincerity wouldn't have made Hermione any less angry, and she would've stalked out of the meeting in a huff before it had even begun, never to return.
But she wasn't alone, and on spotting them, Justin Finch-Fletchley raised a hand and said, "Harry, over here!"
They joined Justin, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstein, the three first-year boys having crossed House lines to huddle together against the feminitude. Harry and Hermione filled in the gap between them and a pair of first year girls — Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot. Three Ravenclaws — Sue Li, Padma Parvati, and Lisa Turpin — were just ahead.
"It's a lot of girls," hissed Justin. Anthony nodded nervously.
Terry shrugged. "My parents are both magical, but they sent me to muggle primary anyway, and my handicrafts club was all girls, and that was fine."
Everyone in earshot gave him a started look, but before Hermione could pursue the matter, Professor Flitwick came in, followed by a woman whom she'd noticed at the staff table — Madam Hooch.
"Hullo, hullo everyone," Madam Hooch said. "Welcome to Charms Club. What a pleasure to see all these returning faces."
The older members made various hullos to her and to Professor Flitwick.
"And I see new faces as well. Older students ready to give our club a try, and a good crop of first years as well. Some entirely new, some younger sisters of current members, and even the son of a former club president."
Hermione looked at the four boys, trying to figure out who she was talking about, but they were all looking at each other in just the same way, except for Anthony, who was examining the underside of his fingernails.
"And I'd like to invite Danielle Hinton, our new Club President, to speak."
An older girl with glistening black hair stepped forward, smiling widely. "We're so happy to have all you new members, and we really, really hope you'll stay. But I have to say, to start with, if you're thinking this is great practice for Charms class, and especially for you older students, to study for your OWLs and NEWTS, it sort of is and it sort of isn't.
"The point of Charms Club isn't to study for Charms class, it's to learn additional spells and theory along similar themes, going deeper and more in-depth with practical applications. For example, First Years have been studying the Wandlighting Charm, so they'll practice making the light different colours, which is dead fun, and attaching the light to objects, which is dead useful. This is all great skill formation, but if you're looking for a study group for your exams, this isn't it."
A few of the older students looked around, shrugged, and walked right out the door. Danielle smiled .
"Meetings are every Tuesday from four-thirty to five-fifty and normal Saturdays from one to four. Because Professor Flitwick is impossibly busy between teaching, being Head of House, and being the staff advisor for both Gobstones and the toad choir, he'll only be here occasionally. However, myself and Madam Hooch — who's our actual staff adviser, by the way — will coordinate with him to ensure that students of all years have relevant but non-replicating content. Any questions?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
"Yes?"
"How are we going to learn the theory?"
"There'll be readings, mostly. Sometimes they'll be extracts from books, and sometimes they'll be articles from Wands Today. And by the way, everyone is strongly encouraged to subscribe to Wands Today."
Hermione's hand shot up again. "What is Wands Today, and how do I subscribe to it?"
"It's a weekly magazine focused on wand magic, but it has some of everything, from Alchemy to Arithmancy to Pyromancy. You subscribe by owl order. If you're not sure how to do that, you should talk to your Head of House. Any other questions?"
Hermione's hand shot up a third time. "Why isn't there a Transfiguration Club or a Potions Club? I think it would be ever so nice if there were more clubs like this."
Danielle Hinton blinked, and Madam Hooch stepped forward. "What's your name?"
"Hermione Granger, Ma'am."
"Miss Granger, you'll notice Hogwarts doesn't teach any arts, or any humanities other than History. That's why we have the Literature Club, the Muggle Culture Club, the Art Club, the Chamber Music Club, the Toad Choir, and Gobstones. Additional wandwork is a lower priority, but there's so much demand for Charms that we have it anyway. Now, any other questions?"
Hermione had several, but she kept her hand on her desk, smiling in satisfaction. By asking a few questions, she'd shown that she was bright and interested, but if she asked more, she'd just be a pain. She reckoned she'd struck the balance just right.
They were split into groups by year, instructed not to point their wands at each other while casting and all that, and sat in a semi-cricle around a large table, joined by two Slytherin girls who introduced themselves as Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis. One of the older students demonstrated the spells and they were all given handouts and instructed to be careful. Madam Hooch and Professsor Flitwick were both walking circuits around the Charms room.
It was very apparent, now that they were all sitting at the same table, that everyone was staring at Harry.
It was strange, all the attention he got, the way people would point and look and whisper things like that, 'That's him, next to the girl with the bushy hair,' and 'Did you see his scar?' Protecting him from that felt like clicking into place, finding her slot, accepting a responsibility, a role, even if it didn't entail anything beyond giving people the stink-eye when they crowded him too much.
Susan Bones said, "Do you really have the scar?"
He parted his bangs, and the other first years leaned in for a closer look, though Justin looked a bit confused as to why he was looking.
"Do you remember it at all?" asked Susan.
"Let's try these spells, shall we?" said Hermione. "Harry and I were actually trying similar things earlier, but I'm sure it'll go much better now that we have the right modifiers. Susan, how about you go first?"
"Well that wasn't obvious at all," said Sue Li. "No asking Harry about the night his parents died, got it. But do you think it's always like this? Just 'here's a few spells, go learn them?' We could do that on our own."
"No, look over there," said Hermione, pointing to an older table. It seemed a bit like Transfiguration to her, but the girls had a pineapple and a pack of lemons facing off in mortal combat.
"That's looks fun," said Sue, eyes widening.
"It's barbaric."
"Barbaric fun."
Coming up behind them, Madam Hooch said, "The idea is that on Saturday you'll make lanterns in whatever colour your prefer, and you'll get to keep them." She set one piece of clear glass on the table for each of them. "But learn to control the color of the standard Wandlighting Charm first. It'll be more fun that way."
"Lumos Rubrum," said Hermione, and her wand light cherry red on the very first try. She and Harry had tried changing the colour earlier, but it was ever so much easier with a proper incantation.
They all chatted companionably while trying the spells, and Hermione was so busy going through all the different colours that Su was the first to get one of the pieces of glass glowing.
Hermione was in the middle of trying to do the same when Daphne Greengrass said, "Granger, you're muggleborn, right? So I was wondering — I asked Tracy but she didn't know — why do muggles drink their own urine?"
"Excuse me?" said Hermione, dropping her piece of glass."
"Why do muggles drink their own urine? I know they have water and beer and things, so I just don't understand it."
"They don't," said Hermione.
"No they do, I read about it-"
"We don't," said Justin. "They don't, I mean. I'm muggleborn too."
Daphne regarded them both skeptically with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Er," said Harry. "If you don't have anything to drink, you die in a few days. Even one day makes your feel really terrible. So if you're not going to get anything to drink at all, so much you might die, then you might have to do it. Drink your own pee. But otherwise, you wouldn't ever."
"Because they can't create water?" said Daphne.
"Right."
"How do you know that?" she asked. "Are you sure?"
Harry said, "I went to muggle primary, and we read a story about a man who survived in the desert. We learned it then."
"You went to a muggle school?" said Daphne.
He nodded. "I live with my Aunt and Uncle, and they're muggles."
"You must know all about muggles then," she said enviously.
"I guess."
Hermione said, "He's practically muggleborn himself, except at least we got a decent orientation and a bit more warning. No one told Harry anything until July 31st." It still upset her just thinking about it.
"This July 31st?" said Daphne, aghast.
"Er, right," said Harry, shooting Hermione such a look that she understood that he'd considered it private, though she had no idea why.
"Not anything?"
"Right," said Harry slowly. "Not about Voldemort or my being famous or any of it." Everyone but Hermione and Justin blanched, and Harry, blushing, said, "I mean, You-Know-Who."
"So you didn't know who you were?" said Daphne.
"I knew my name," Harry said defensively. "I even found out my parents' names too. And Hermione showed me a couple chapters from books when I got on the train."
"But not anything else?"
"Er, Hagrid told me my parents were Head Boy and Head Girl?"
Tracy muttered something about heritage.
Sue said, "Wait, so Harry Potter found out being Harry Potter on Harry Potter Day?"
"There's a Harry Potter day?" Harry said faintly. Hermione was nearly as surprised.
"It's not an official holiday," said Sue. "That's Halloween. But there's always something in the paper and on the wireless on July 31st, and people go to Godric's Hollow and the Minister gives a speech about hope and children. I went once and it's really boring."
"I have to go ever year," said Susan, sighing. Daphne nodded agreement.
"But how can Harry Potter not know about Harry Potter day?" said Sue.
"Because no one ever told him, obviously," said Hermione.
"But what about all the birthday presents every year? Your house must've been covered in owls."
"I never got any presents," said Harry, astonished. "Hagrid got me a cake and an owl, but that was the first time."
"You must have an owl ward up," said Susan, stroking her chin wisely. "My Aunt's talked about them."
"My parents send you a present every year," said Sue.
"They're not supposed to," said Terry. "Mine used to, but Dumbledore said you couldn't accept presents because it wasn't safe and people should donate to charities instead."
"I — what do you mean, not safe?"
"Well," said Susan, "Some people might send you cursed presents. My Aunt's the head of the DMLE, and she was saying people might try doing all sorts of terrible things to you."
"What people?" said Hermione.
"You know," said Susan, "People who wish You-Know-Who hadn't gone away."
"But they all went to prison," Hermione said, her voice coming out as a squeak. "You-Know-Who's supporters."
"Not all of them," said Susan. "Just the ones they could prove did it."
Hermione shivered. That couldn't be right. No one could want to hurt Harry. But the part of her that read newspapers and thought about wars and politics in surprisingly adult terms — and that was most of her, to be honest — thought the idea disturbingly plausible now that it had been raised.
Susan added on, in a poor attempt at a comforting tone, "But I wouldn't worry, Harry, I'm sure you're safe at Hogwarts."
Harry did not, in fact, look especially worried. He was a bit pale and had a slightly pinched expression, but that was it. Hermione was sure much more was written across her own face.
"I wonder what happens to all the presents if you never get them," said Hannah longingly. "There must be an awful lot of chocolate."
"Yeah," said Sue, "Big ol' pile o' chocolate. That's definitely the crucial revelation here." She got up. The club meeting was breaking up around them. "Shouldn't we go to dinner now?"
They all walked together, regardless of House, though Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin were trailing several steps behind.
The doors to the Great Hall were in sight when Harry said, "What's Godric's Hollow?"
/
Swots, nerds and misfits. That's who their friends will be. Goldstein's a quiet guy, but he'll talk eventually.
Finding the balance here is hard. Some eleven-year-olds have genuine interest in current events and politics. (I know, I was one.) Lots of eleven-year-olds have genuine interest in one or more academic subjects that most people would describe as boring. (I know, I was one.) But at the same time, they're eleven; they're blinkered, annoying and confused. The Slytherins should, on the whole, lean toward being cunning, ambitious, and looking out for number one, and sometimes kids can be damned manipulative… but they're eleven. There shouldn't be court intrigue. Strategies are two layers deep at the absolute deepest.
Godric's Hollow should perhaps have been mentioned in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, but that chapter was pretty cursory and mostly devoted to ideas of how and the impact of it, so that got cut.
