Chapter 2 November 1, 1994

Hermione wakes up in her parents' house, in her bedroom with the blue and purple walls and the large bed with a green duvet. The air smells of lavender and home. Crookshanks is curled around and over her feet and he greets her with his usual morning purr. Hermione smiles.
"Hermione! Come down, sweetheart!"
For a heartbeat, Hermione feels as if she's five years old and has been caught reading the books she's not allowed to. She leaves the bed, puts on slippers and her fluffy robe over the flannel pyjamas and creeps downstairs.
Her parents are in the kitchen, laying the final touches to today's breakfast which is bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, grape fruits, kiwis, fried tomatoes and orange juice.
"Sit down. Eat."
Her father sounds grumpy, but Hermione knows the difference between him being grumpy in mornings and him being mad at her, and this is more grumpy with a side of worry, and no anger, at least not yet. So Hermione sits down and eats a grape fruit, drinks orange juice and munches on bacon and scrambled eggs, steals a half grape fruit as breakfast dessert and then she waits.
"Alright. Explain again, properly this time," says her mother as she puts her coffee cup to the side.
"Well, you know how you have wanted me to pull out of Hogwarts? Honestly, I've felt unsure every other time than when you've said that to me. And I guess, yesterday just made me… break, sort of? Like, I think I've been pretending that being magical tops everything, but it really doesn't, and I've just be too stubborn to really admit it. And yesterday, when Harry was just wrapped all over in magic, I just felt that I don't want that life, always be seen as less because the shitty people think I've stolen magic, always have to work extra hard and always be on top to show that I belong. I don't want to be in a world that traps people, no matter what the traps look like, be trapped in magic itself, sort of," she rambles, and takes a break to breathe and let her parent register her word vomit.
"O-kay. That was a very nice ramble, sweetie. I think that puts you ahead by fifty points," her father says with mild surprise.
"What I want to know is why no one contacted us before you made all these decisions," her mother says with a tired sigh.
"Ah, that. At fifteen, a magical child can make decisions on their own," Hermione says and winces. She knows it's not ideal, that she maybe should have waited, but she felt so done. She say all of this out loud, and her mother just nods, still with that tired look in her eyes.
"It's alright sweetie, none of this is your fault. I'm just really glad you kept up with your normal school work as much as possible. It'll make it easier for you to transition back.
"Me too, mum," Hermione says and steals the last piece of bacon.
"So. We have you safe and secure, sweetheart. And we can help you with everything you might need help with. But what about Harry? You said something about him last night," her father says.
"Oh, yes! Well, I know he had some sort of plan how to deal with this himself, but I just thought that if needs help, maybe we can offer? His relatives really aren't very nice or kind."
"We can do that, don't worry, Hermione. But first, we need to get you fixed up, you're out first priority, you know that, right?"
"I know, dad."

#

Harry has been up since sunrise and has cleaned uncle Vernon's car so that the man can boast about having a shining car in the midst of the dreary autumn weather. Harry has also dusted and vacuumed the living room and kitchen as per aunt Petunia's instructions, and is starting on the breakfast when his blonde blood relative comes inside the room.
"Wait. We'll talk now," she says, and Harry puts the eggs back in the fridge, turns to his aunt and waits.
"To sum last night up. You don't have that freakish magic anymore, and that school won't have you anymore, correct?"
"Yes, aunt Petunia."
"Hm. And so, you're back here. Now, I won't pretend to suddenly care more for you. I can, however, help you a little since you're now a respectable normal child. I talked with Vernon when you cleaned the car, and we have agreed on this: you will stay here with us for the remainder of this year, and the next until you turn fifhteen. We will then, as your guardians, apply to get you emancipated and possibly offer our assistance to find you some sort of living space, although the social workers should be able to do that. You will help out here as you have done in the past. You will get meals, and keep the bedroom. I will write you a paper stating that I allow you to do minor work so that you can earn money, which you will save. I suppose I will also have to assist with proper schooling, otherwise everything else will fall. You will work hard. You will not tell anyone about what goes on or has gone on in this house. When we part ways, it will be forever. Are we clear, boy?"
Harry feels nothing except relief over the helpfulness from the adult woman. He knows she doesn't do it for him, but rather for herself and her family. But it's alright. He hasn't thought of her or the other two as family for years, anyway.
"Yes, aunt Petunia."

#

The being that had once been Tom Marvolo Riddle, nowadays known as Lord Voldemort, screams in otherworldly rage.
"They boy is what, Crouch?!"
"A, a squib, my Lord. He, he broke the magical contract with the Goblet, wi- willingly, my- my Lord."
"That makes him useless. It's the magic in him that makes him useful. And what of-"
The being stills. Goes stiff as a board. Screams once more. There is flash of light around it, and the man on the floor – Crouch – shields his eyes. When the light fades and Crouch dares to look back at his master, he is stunned.
"My Lord! What magic have you woken to achieve this?" he dares ask.
The being is gone. In its place, in the old and worn red armchair, sits a man that looks to be in his forties, with skin that's too pale, eyes that are red and has pupils like those of a snake, snakelike nostrils instead of a human nose, and black, sleek hair. The man, the being that looks like a man, raises a hand with skeletal fingers, looks at the limb.
"That is not for you to know, Crouch. Just now that my plans have changed. You will have to stop your masquerade and come back to me as soon as possible. Make sure the real Alastor Moody is found in a few days with no memories."
"Yes, my Lord, at once, master!"
When Crouch is gone, Lord Voldemort stands up.
"Wormtail!" he roars, and a rustle from another room is heard, followed by a stressed, unhearble mumble and a man with a bald spot on the top of his head, long yellow fingernails, rat like teeth and eyes and a few too many kilo's for his own good hurries into the room.
"Ye-yes, my master and Lord?"
"Bring me my wand. And prepare to move out. Our plans have changed."

#

Harry has no idea where the sudden super gigantic headache and intense pain that just filled every inch of him came from, but it's gone now, and he just feels slightly sore and drained. Maybe it's an aftereffect of his magic being taken, he muses and goes back to stacking the boxes with trash, which is to be picked up by a man from the second hand store that aunt Petunia always gives old thing to, on the side of the small stone wall that faces the road.
"We're going out. Stay and wait for the boxes to be picked up, and make sure you get a receipt!" aunt Petunia says as she walks past him together with Dudley.
"Yes, aunt Petunia."
Harry wonders briefly, not for the first time, what it would be like to belong, but shakes it off. It does him no good to wonder.

It's late, much later than usual, when the dark red king cab stops a few steps away from number four. Harry is lounging on the stone wall, trying to see stars in the cloudless sky, but here are too many streetlamps nearby that burn his field of vison.
"Hiya, kid. Sorry we're late. Got a huge pick order on the other side of London. Took ages, it did! All well?" rumbles the man who jumps out from the passenger seat. Harry knows him. It's Kevin McBryan, one of the owners of the second-hand store and the appurtenant storage unit.
"Hi Mr McBryan, it's all right, thanks. And you?"
"All good, kid, all good. Bit tired. My back isn't what it was anymore. Getting to old for this."
"Oh, well I can lift the stuff for you," Harry offers quickly and proceeds to do just that.

#

Kevin McBryan knows that he isn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he knows enough to get by. And he is good with people, especially teenagers. They like him, and Kevin McBryan enjoys offering a helping hand. Young Harry Potter needs several helping hands. Kevin holds out hand number one.
"Kid, you look like you could do well in my company. Does those relatives of your allow you to work? You're, what, fourteen, fifteen?"
"Fourteen, Mr McBryan, and yes, my aunt actually wrote me a note giving permission to let me do minor's work, sir."
"Good lad. Do you fancy helping us out? A few days a week, yeah? Sorting through things, come along and do some lifting at pick-up places, those sort of things."
"Yes, Mr McBryan, thank you sir!"
"Heh, none of that sir business, lad. Kevin or Mr McBryan is all good."
"Sorry, it's a habit from the school I've been going to break," says the teenager sheepishly.
"A fancy school, yeah? Well, anyway. About you working with us, I need a phone number to your relatives, just to settle things legally, so this is my idea, lad; I will call them tomorrow, and if all's well you can come in tomorrow afternoon, yeah? I'll pick you up and drive you home, that good?"
"Yes, Mr McBryan, thank you!"