"Thanks, Hermione," Harry laying out his school trunks. "If you hadn't been here, I've no clue what I'd have done."
"I'm sure you would have figured out something," Hermione shrugged laying out blankets and a pillow on the floor. "Accidentally blowing up you aunt. I do hope they don't expel you. You really should get a handle on your emotions, Harry."
"It's not like I'm not trying, Hermione!" Harry complained. "I don't fancy living with my aunt and uncle year round, you know."
"Shh!" Hermione pressed a finger to her lips. "I don't want Mum hearing when she gets back."
Harry nodded. He didn't want to get Hermione in trouble with her mum. Though he was surprised when she offered to pay to bring him into London and put him up. Not because Hermione wasn't a good friend, but because she was such a stickler for rules that he thought Hermione would take some convincing to believe it was a mistake, and he definitely didn't expect the bushy haired girl to stow him away under her mother's nose. Harry didn't want her to get in trouble, but he didn't know what else to do.
"How long do you plan on hiding me?" he asked.
Hermione collapsed on her quilt and screwed up her face in thought. How weird it was to see Hermione in a too small pink night dress with a giant white cats dancing around it with dongo and sushi rather than her school robes, and in a carpeted bedroom with a similar decorative motif. He expected Hermione's bedroom to be covered in books, but instead the thirteen-year-old girl lived like a four-year-old. All of her school things must have already been packed. Harry looked to open mirrored sliding door of the closet and notice she had nothing hanging there.
"All you bringing all of your muggle clothes to school this year?" Harry asked.
"This is my mum's place," Hermione shrugged. "I don't spend a whole lot of time here. Dad just sent me here while he and my stepmum are out in France."
"Oh," Harry squirmed. "I,erm, didn't realise your parents were divorced. You never said they were."
Hermione rolled over on to her stomach with a sigh. "Yeah, Dad married my stepmum when I was four, and I barely ever see Mum. She's had this flat since I was a baby, but she's always on the move. Mum's an archaeologist and consultant for the British Muesem, you see. Never much had time for a squalling babe at her ankles, I guess. She barely ever wri-erm, not that I'm complaining about my mum!" Hermione choked. "I, erm, I mean, oh, Harry! I'm so sorry!"
"Ron complains about Mrs Weasley all the time, Hermione," Harry shrugged. "And she writes him."
In truth, he did feel like Hermione was a tad ungrateful for her alive mother, even she was a bit absent, though he knew people who weren't orphans couldn't relate. At least Mrs. Granger-or whatever her name was-was willing to take Hermione while her family was out in France. That was something.
"Not that she's completely neglectful!" Hermione back-peddled, her eyes growing in size. "I get birthday and Christmas cards. And occasionally she'll write without reason. I think she's trying she's just so terribly busy. Besides, when we do see each other I like her better than my stepmum. She kind of, erm, thinks I'm a frea- Nevermind!"
Harry simply stared at Hermione. He never knew any of this about her. Not her parents' divorce, her mother's estrangement nor her stepmother's harsh opinions on her. It was starting to make sense why she tried so hard, like maybe if she achieved 'O's in every NEWT, she'd finally be good enough. He wondered if Mr Granger was equally difficult. Part of him still wanted to shake her and tell her that at least she had parents, but he also felt bad for her.
"Hermione!" a woman's voice called from down the corridor.
"Hide!" Hermione mouthed to Harry, urging him into the closet and slamming the door. "Hi, Mum."
"Hermione, sweet," said the woman's voice. "Who are you talking to at this hour?"
"Just-erm-a girlfriend," Hermione answered. "She had a fight with her parents, it was pretty ugly. I won't keep y-"
"Is that why there's a blanket and pillow spread out on the floor then?"
Silence pervaded and Harry knew Hermione's face drained from tawny to a petrified white and her brown eyes probably grew three times the size. He'd seen it many times over the last two years. She didn't do well under pressure or with authority.
"In fact, I think I heard you slamming the closet door, didn't I?"
"Mum, don't be si-"
It was too late, yellow light came flooding into the closet from the small bedroom and he saw an average height, average build woman with dark brown skin and eyes Hermione's shade of brown, with a round face with black hair falling past her shoulders in tiny unbound braids. Other than the shade of brown of her eyes and the disapproving scowl, Harry couldn't make out a resemblance. Hermione's mum might have been a muggle, but that scowl froze his blood.
He had also been right at Hermione's expression.
"Isn't thirteen a bit young to be hiding boys in your bedroom?" she asked.
"I wasn't lying when I said a friend had a bad fight with their family, Mum," she squeaked. "I just-erm-lied about their gender and where they were. This is m-my friend Harry, Mum."
"Do you have a last name, Harry?" Hermione's mum asked.
"Potter, Madam," he said sheepishly.
"Well, Harry Potter," she sighed. "I'm Olivia Williams. Let's have a conversation about your problem and set you up to sleep on the couch tonight, yeah?"
