Chapter 5: Magical Mists

Harry and Hermione spent less time together during the winter. The days were short and crisp, and Uncle Vernon always seemed to be in a particularly sour mood. This was, obviously, not good news for Harry. There were kicks and punches, missed meals, tantrums from Dudley. And by the time Spring rolled around, Harry was officially sick of his obnoxious relatives. As the snow melted away into chilly yet dry afternoons, Hermione came to visit more often. With her she would bring every possible book she could on wizards and magic.

Together, on the curb outside No. 4 Privet Drive, they poured over the texts. At first, Harry was embarrassed to tell Hermione that his reading skills were terrible. But after many frustrating minutes, she figured it out on her own. And to Harry's amazement - and pleasure - she didn't mind at all that he had trouble reading. Sometimes (like when Harry was unable to see due to a black eye) Hermione read the words aloud for them both to hear. On other days, she happily helped him sound out the words and the vowels on his own. The books though, mostly consisted of useless party tricks, and didn't include any real magic.

"What do you think, Hermione? Should we look at another book?" Harry questioned one day, tapping the flats of his feet against the pavement as his beautiful best friend chewed in her lip in thought. Harry didn't normally see Hermione Granger stumped about anything, so he smirked as she glanced at the books and shook her head,

"No, I think we need to look somewhere else. But...what have we learned from these particular books?"

Harry didn't think they had learned anything. It was all about trick cups, ringed handkerchiefs and smoke and mirrors, "I know!"

Hermione stood up from the curb and ducked into the yard of No. 4, returning to Harry's side and handing him a small branch. He knew Hermione was smart, but a branch?

"A branch?"

Hermione nodded and sat down beside Harry, holding a flimsy looking twig as well,

"In all the books we've read, magicians use a wand to make the rabbit pop up, right?"

"Right," Harry nodded slowly and looked at the branch in his fingers. Was it really that simple? "So you think we should use these to...uh...make something happen?"

"Exactly. But...I don't really know how to start,"

Hermione leaned on an elbow as her dark marble eyes glimmered with mischief. Harry had always loved the way they twinkled like that.

"So we can just..." curious, Harry held out his new wand and flicked it. Nothing happened. Slightly disappointed, Harry tried again with the same result, "I guess not?"

"We shouldn't give up yet," Hermione insisted, "If Smoky and the bearded man can do it, so can you!" To Harry, Hermione's determination was infectious, "maybe you just need to focus on something. What about that lamppost there?"

Hermione pointed across the street as Harry shrugged. What was the worst that could happen anyway? Shifting to get a better view, Harry pointed his branch in the right direction. Inwardly though, he was more focused on the intent way Hermione was watching him. Her eyes were wide, with both eyebrows lifted up into her hairline. At the corner of her lips, a small bit of her tongue poked out in concentration. She was just...so pretty, and smart and caring. And Harry just...loved her. As he hadn't been paying much attention to what he had been doing (it's hard when you're distracted), Harry started when he heard Hermione gasp,

"Harry, look!"

Glancing down at where she was pointing, a tiny white mist floated. To Harry, it kind of looked like a deer with big antlers,

"What is it?"

"I don't know. How did you do that?"

Hermione curiously batted at the little wispy creature as Harry shrugged,

"I was just...thinking about you? And how my life would still be awful if you weren't in it,"

The little white thing seemed to grow brighter and bigger as Hermione placed a hand on her heart and focused on Harry again. He couldn't seem to keep the deep blush off his face as she reached out and took his hand with her free one,

"That's so sweet, Harry. I-I care a lot about you too,"

Leaning contentedly against each other, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply in and out. He had never been so comfortable before. Even now, figuring he was a-a wizard? It wasn't nearly as thrilling as having Hermione leaning up against him, nuzzled against the side of his neck as a small white figure trotted about the street.

The months after that moment seemed to fly by. Spring effortlessly melted away into Summer, and the weather once again turned hot. Hermione had already turned 12 in September, and Harry wouldn't be until July. By himself, in his closet and with his soldiers, Harry continued to practice his little mist trick and kept his new, most cherished treasure - the wand Hermione had given him - hidden from his Uncle Vernon and Dudley. If either of them were to see it, no doubt it would be smashed at his expense. Because he was still bloody Harry Potter, the freak of No. 4 Privet Drive. In his spare time, between bearings, homework and being with Hermione, Harry thought about the ocean.

He imagined it fondly, inhaling the sour scent of the salty waves, and feeling the soft foam seeping past his toes. Sometimes, the sky was a bright, clear blue color. Others, it was overcast, like a dark, foreboding storm was on its way. But no matter how many times Harry imagined the Ocean, he was never without Hermione. She was always standing beside him in his daydreams, looking out across the horizon with her huge marble eyes and beautiful smile. And, for the first time, a loose bush of dark brown curls (which smelled of peppermint) swayed about her shoulders. Yes, it was a perfect fantasy. Harry could see it, the bright orange cat sitting proudly at Hermione's feet, and in the wade, a black dog lapped at the salt water. Behind them, mum and dad would be sitting on a picnic blanket, reading the newspaper or drinking tea. No, there were no Dursley's or beatings, or ugly navy school uniforms. There was only Harry's perfect little world. A little world which he knew would never be a reality.

The Summer continued to drag on, and the day which Harry was dreading was fast approaching. Dudley Dursley's birthday was possibly the worst day of Harry's life. Not only did he have to be nice to Dudley, but had to watch him unwrap his mountain of gifts as well. Harry had never gotten a present from his Aunt or Uncle before, though they insisted that him living in their house was enough. And as the morning dawned on them, and Harry was awoken by his fat cousins pounding down the stairs, a soft groan escaped his lips. Why me?

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's bellowing voice was nearly deafening through the small vent in Harry's door, "up, now! I want breakfast on the table in ten minutes,"

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, flattening out his hair with the palm of his hand as he was practically dragged collar first from his closet under the stairs and hefted towards the kitchen. Already, Aunt Petunia was in the living room, straighten out Dudley's red tie as the fat boy gravitated towards the mountain of presents filling the living room. I hope they are filled with bogeys. Harry thought to himself, smiling at the thought as he poked at the eggs and sausage in the pan,

"What are you smirking about, boy?" Uncle Vernon yowled, probably loud enough for all the neighbors to hear as Harry shook his head, "that's what I thought. Breakfast, now!"

"It's finished, Uncle Vernon," Harry seethed softly, filling up three plates for the Dursley's, and sneaking a sausage into his pocket for himself later. As the plates vanished, Harry watched as Dudley shoveled food into his mouth. Harry secretly wanted him to choke on it, but nothing happened as the food vanished and the whale of a boy ran straight to the parlor,

"How many are there?"

"36. Counted them, myself,"

Smirking Harry mumbled,

"He had 37 last year,"

"What!" Dudley's voice was reaching an amazing pitch, and his face was becoming red as Uncle Vernon turned to glare in Harry's general direction. Holding in a laugh, the excitement was interrupted by the ringing of the front doorbell,

"You stay there," Uncle Vernon seethed, his own face matching Dudley's as he grumbled and huffed from the parlor. Meanwhile, Aunt Petunia was trying to appease Dudley, who looked as though he were about to make a fit. Always the charmer, aren't you Dudders? Harry cocked a lip slightly, but it vanished the minute Uncle Vernon escorted a small, cowering figure into the room. Harry straightened immediately at the sight of his best friend, and boiled at the mere thought of Uncle Vernon stand so...close. Pushing the anger down, he urged mentally for her to look at him. She did, though her dark marble eyes were not sparkling, and instead were filled with fear,

"The Grangers have asked us to take their little freak out for the day," Uncle Vernon hissed, pushing Hermione towards Harry with a sausage hand, "you two keep away from my son, or so help me-"

"Daddy, I want to go to the zoo, now!"

Harry, for once in his life, thanked Dudley for the distraction as he pulled Hermione closer to him. She was shivering, completely out of her element as she leaned up to whisper in Harry's ear,

'your realatives really are awful,'

Harry chuckled at that and nodded, noticing how Hermione's shivering stopped, and her face regained some of its color. Harry didn't fail to notice that the navy uniform was now replaced with a black one with shiny golden buttons on it, and her hair was back as it usually was - with a few ringlets loose of course,

"Boy, girl. Go get in the car, now," Uncle Vernon ordered, handing Aunt Petunia her jumper as Harry nodded and pulled Hermione along with him,

"It's Dudley's birthday," he explained, "we're going to the zoo,"

"I've never been to the zoo," Hermione insisted quietly, though the sparkle didn't return to her eyes as she was helped into the black towncar, and Harry sat next to her, "I don't really want to go to the zoo with your family, Harry,"

"I don't either,"

Staring silently ahead as Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley made it down the drive, Hermione began to shiver again as she held on to Harry just a bit tighter. Harry, meanwhile, closed his eyes and thought of the ocean. Perhaps they would be this way on the shore, cuddling close to keep away the musky breeze. There would be no Dursley's, no awkward car rides. It would be just the two of them, both of the same kind, waiting for something fantastic to happen to them.