Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter.
Note: This story is (for now), bar minor corrections/revisions on hiatus for a while, whilst I push forwards with some updates of material set in the 'Saint Potter?' universe, and post some one-shots. I intend (time and health permitting) to come back to 'Harry Potter and the Greengrass Connection' at some point, but when that will be is (in March, 2016) unknown to me. As a reminder, this story is taking place in an alternate universe, where James Potter betrothed Harry to Daphne Greengrass – the ripples from which, after it was revealed in October, 1986, are starting to more and more affect Harry's life at Privet Drive.
Clarifications:
1) Where there is a reference to Dudley wearing 'braces', it is used in the UK sense of the word, and indicative (in this case) of the devices used to keep trousers up. I gather that outside of the UK these items of clothing support are sometimes known as 'suspenders'.
2) Where there is reference to 'football' it is referring to the game known in the UK as that, and to the ball which it is played with. This game is known in other countries as 'soccer' I am given to understand.
Further Note: This chapter touches on events during the morning of Harry Potter's (seventh) birthday in 1987, Friday, 31st July. The next update (whenever it's written and posted) will continue to cover events during Harry's seventh birthday. This story is rated 'T'.
It was Friday, the 31st of July, 1987, and it was Harry's seventh birthday. Harry was a bit nervous today, because he'd never had a birthday before, or not one of his own, where people did stuff because it was his birthday that he could remember. Maybe he might have done on his first birthday when his parents were still alive, but he'd been a baby back then, and he couldn't remember that.
And he'd actually got birthday presents back across the road at number four. Real wrapped-up things from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and from Dudley. Plus there was a parcel from Mr. Lupin. And one from Aunt Marge which – given that it was from Aunt Marge – Harry wasn't sure would 'count' or not. And there would probably be one from Daphne when she arrived.
Actually, Harry hadn't unwrapped anything yet, because it might be rude to do so before his special guest, Daphne, arrived, but it wasn't even nine o' clock in the morning yet, and the time already spent this morning staring at the mysterious packages lined up for him back at number four had been practically as good as actually ripping the paper off.
Okay, there weren't anywhere near as many parcels as Dudley got for one of his birthdays, but Dudley had lots and lots of friends, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were Dudley's mum and dad; Harry's parents had died years ago and Harry wasn't sure if he was allowed friends – even if Dudley was being nicer to him, these days – because of who Harry was and what Aunt Petunia called 'good manners'.
Anyway, Harry was now waiting in their neighbour Mrs. Figg's living room, shortly after breakfast, with Uncle Vernon. Both Harry and Uncle Vernon were dressed as what Uncle Vernon described as 'smart but practical' because they were going out later – and 'going out' to do much more than just visit a neighbour.
Mrs. Figg, in her usual slightly shabby clothes, was fussing around, and kept looking at the fireplace for some reason, as if she were expecting it to do something. It was a fairly large fireplace, with a stone bottom, but otherwise all in brick beneath the mantel shelf, and there was a very small fire currently burning in it. Harry had no idea what was interesting Mrs. Figg about it so much at the moment?
Mrs. Figg was an elderly lady who had a lot of cats, but she'd made sure that the living room was clear of the cats right now. The room's usual slightly cabbagey smell had been replaced with one of polish, and Mrs. Figg also seemed to have hoovered the carpet.
Apparently Mrs. Figg was a retired witch – or a retired witch who hadn't actually been a magical witch, or something complicated like that.
Anyway: it had been arranged, because Mrs. Figg was or wasn't a witch (or whatever it was), that Daphne would arrive here today.
Daphne needed to arrive here today, because it was Harry's birthday and – because of the whole betrothal thing – Daphne was practically automatically invited to join Harry to celebrate today.
And then – to Harry's surprise – the fire suddenly turned green, and roared up; the next moment, keeping his head low to avoid the sticking out mantelpiece, Mr. Greengrass came stepping up out of the fire, with a polished wooden stick out and in hand (was that his wand Harry wondered?) and a careful expression on his face as he straightened up and looked around the room. The fire died back down again behind him. It didn't seem to have hurt or burnt Mr. Greengrass in any way.
Apart from the stick (wand?) Harry thought that Mr. Greengrass looked much as Harry remembered from October – a tall brown-haired man, in a smart, dark, business suit, perfectly ironed white shirt, and a swirling black cloak. His grey eyes roamed the room, seeming to look over everything, before he spoke to Harry and his uncle.
"Mr. Dursley. Mr. Potter." Mr. Greengrass nodded to both of them. Then he turned his attention onto Mrs. Figg.
"Arabella Figg." Mrs. Figg said, introducing herself, and awkwardly nodding her head. She currently had a slightly embarrassed look on her face and her arms full of cat, one of which had just sneaked back into the room.
"Ahem. Please be at liberty to call me 'Vernon'." Uncle Vernon said to Mr. Greengrass.
Mr. Greengrass returned his attention to Uncle Vernon and cocked his head slightly on one side, apparently considering.
"Very well then… In light of whom you currently stand in guardianship to… 'Vernon'." Mr Greengrass said.
Both of the men seemed to Harry to be trying not to look at Mrs. Figg, and it seemed to Harry almost as if they were acting, for the benefit of Mrs. Figg and her cat. He knew his uncle had been writing to Mr. Greengrass a lot in recent weeks…
Mr. Greengrass tucked his (probable) wand away in an inside-pocket of his suit jacket, produced a pocket watch which he glanced at, then after counting for a few moments under his breath, put the watch away, and took two smart steps to the side.
The fire roared up and turned green, again, and this time, emerging from it, came Daphne.
Whereas her father had strode confidently out of it, when he arrived, Daphne was a bit wobbly on her feet, and looked slightly sick for a moment, and her father put a hand out to help her steady herself. Daphne pulled a face and took several deep breaths.
Today Daphne was wearing shiny black shoes which looked practically new, dark green socks, a black dress, and a smart navy blue duffel coat. She had a pair of dark green hairclips with pale-green-and-yellow flower decorations in her hair. She was clutching a parcel that looked about as long on each side as one of Uncle Vernon's 'foot long' technical rulers, and it was wrapped in pale green paper and tied up with yellow ribbon. Behind her the fire died down again.
"Daphne. I shall commit you to the care of Harry and his guardians for the day." Mr. Greengrass said. Having looked at Daphne, to make sure she was okay, or that was what Harry thought, Mr. Greengrass was now looking at Harry and Uncle Vernon as he spoke. "I shall come to collect you at the arranged time, this evening. Harry you already know; this is his uncle, Mr. Dursley; and the good squib, whose floo connection we are using to facilitate our travel arrangements today, is Mrs. Figg."
Daphne nodded, and looked around. She looked very nervous right now.
Uncle Vernon cleared his throat, and it looked to Harry as if the next thing he said was being recited from a script, again for the benefit of the audience:
"Sir? If it would not be too much trouble, when you call this evening, I should like to hear your thoughts on boarding schools which your world offers. In particular, the details of the schools near Hogsmeade and near Baghdad."
"Of course… Vernon." Mr. Greengrass nodded, and then he turned to bend down and give Daphne a hug and a kiss on the cheek, whilst whispering something in her ear which caused her to nod. Then, from somewhere on his person Mr. Greengrass had produced a handful of powder which he threw into the fire whilst muttering something that Harry couldn't quite hear, and the fire went green again. Mr. Greengrass ducked down and stepped forward into the flames and vanished from sight.
The fire died down again.
"Why do we need a parasol, sir?" Daphne asked, as Uncle Vernon retrieved his big black umbrella from the stand in Mrs. Figg's front hall. "My father said we would be staying in England."
"Ah. But this is an umbrella, which is waterproof." Uncle Vernon beamed, as Mrs. Figg opened the front door for them. (Mrs. Figg had now set down the cat which had sneaked into the living room earlier.) "Which is just as well, since it is raining outside. Mustn't let good clothes get any wetter than need be."
"Oh." Daphne said, looking surprised as Uncle Vernon stepped out and in one swift move raised and opened his umbrella, against the fat rain droplets thudding occasionally from the sky. "That's clever…"
Uncle Vernon's beam increased.
"Eminently practical, too." he added.
Harry quickly waved goodbye to Mrs. Figg then followed Daphne and Uncle Vernon out of the front door.
"Umm." Daphne said, glancing backwards, then lowering her voice slightly to address Uncle Vernon quietly, as she, Harry, and Uncle Vernon headed down the front path clumped underneath the umbrella. "My father said, Mr. Dursley, that I shouldn't talk about magic today, because it might upset your wife, Harry's aunt."
"Quite right too." Uncle Vernon nodded, lowering his tone himself, having glanced backwards too. Harry took a look backwards as well and could only think that that they were worried about being overheard by Mrs. Figg, who was standing watching them from her front door. One of her cats was now sitting on her feet. "A prudent man, your father." Uncle Vernon had meanwhile said.
"Why does magic upset her?" Daphne quietly asked.
"We wait here, and check that there's no traffic coming." Uncle Vernon raised his voice and halted them on the pavement, at the edge of the road, and looked up and down. "It's a quiet road, but you ought to get into practice, Daphne, for visits to us." He looked both ways, and Daphne followed suit, looking slightly confused. "Right: no oncoming vehicles, so we cross." Uncle Vernon continued and then lowered his tone again. "And to answer your question, Daphne, magic upsets her because of bad things which happened with her sister, Harry's mother, which were to do with magic."
"Oh." Daphne said. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Dursley. I'll try not to say anything about magic."
"Very bad business and most considerate of you, young lady. Probably best for you not to mention her sister, either, though, unless she brings it up." Uncle Vernon added. "Might upset her, too."
"Yes, Mr. Dursley." Daphne nodded.
This was the first time Harry had heard any explanation for why Aunt Petunia didn't ever seem very happy about magical things, and he thought about it as they crossed the road and headed up the front path of number four. Well: he thought about that and he wondered what on Earth a 'parasol' thing was, which Daphne had thought at first that Uncle Vernon's umbrella was?
Mrs. Figg, Harry incidentally noticed, watched them from her front doorstep all the way to the front door of number four, and only went back into her own house and closed her front door once the door of number four opened in response to Uncle Vernon's press on the doorbell.
"Mum! Dad and Harry are back, from their trip to get Harry's girlfriend!" Dudley shouted out, having opened the front door.
Dudley was at least dressed. There were buttons still undone, and a smear of strawberry jam on one cheek, but in his white shirt and dark trousers and braces he did look at least half way towards 'smart'.
"Now, now, Dudley." Aunt Petunia bustled up to join Dudley at the door. She was smartly dressed, in a flowery purple-pink dress, with a gold harp brooch pinned to it, and with a necklace of very small pearls around her neck – although she also currently had yellow rubber gloves on her hands, to which soap suds were clinging, and clutched a damp dishcloth in one of them. "Remember what I said: I'm sure that the Greengrasses are much too nice a family to produce anything as vulgar as 'girlfriends'. 'Betrothed' is the polite word to use, or 'intended' if you want to be informal." She expertly dabbed at Dudley's cheek with the cloth, removing all signs of jam, then gently 'shooed' him away: "Go and finish doing your buttons up Dudley, there's a good boy, and comb your hair. And hurry up if you want to see Harry open his presents." Then she turned her gaze to inspect Daphne.
"Petunia, this is Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, this is Mrs. Dursley." Uncle Vernon introduced them to one another.
The two females looked at one another for a few moments, then Daphne, without putting the present that she was clutching down, did a sort of curtsey, with a nod of her head and said very politely: "Mrs. Dursley."
Aunt Petunia actually smiled slightly, and her gaze fixed on Daphne's hair.
"Your hair looks particularly nice, Daphne." Aunt Petunia said.
Did it? Harry wasn't really an expert at this sort of thing, and had no idea if it did or not.
"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley." Daphne went slightly pink in the cheeks. "My mother and I were almost fifteen minutes brushing it, this morning, just before I came out."
Aunt Petunia's smile increased. For some reason this news pleased her very much.
"Well come in. And would you like me to get you a glass of squash?"
It seemed to Harry that for now Aunt Petunia had decided that she liked Daphne quite a lot.
By the time that Dudley arrived, in the sitting room, Daphne had already half-drunk the glass of orange squash that Aunt Petunia had got her, and Harry had already unwrapped the football (from Daphne), the new wellington boots (from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon – Aunt Petunia had decided that given the weather this summer, wellingtons were more appropriate than sunglasses) and the pocket compass and book for children about maps from Mr. Lupin. Harry had been surprised to be told at Easter a couple of days after the visit to Diagon Alley that the mysterious 'R.L.' who had been sending him Christmas and birthday cards for years was in fact a godfather to Harry, 'Remus Lupin', who was a bit shy because he'd managed to upset Aunt Petunia very badly years earlier. Since Harry was now writing to Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Lupin was sending birthday presents and signing his name, instead of just initials, Harry could only think that something must have changed there, at Easter.
"Ohhhh." Dudley groaned in disappointment, taking in the scene. "He's unwrapped half the things already, mum."
"I did say you ought to hurry up, Dudley." Aunt Petunia said.
"Who's the football from?" Dudley asked.
"That was from Daphne." Aunt Petunia replied.
"Hey, that's good. And it explains the present that Dad took me shopping to get." Dudley said.
That was what Harry was actually unwrapping at the moment, and it turned out to be an (at the moment rather large for Harry) footballer's shirt and pair of goalkeeping gloves.
Harry guessed that Uncle Vernon and Mr. Greengrass must have been writing to one another to match that up, but Harry didn't mind. It was amazing to be bought things like a football or some clothes to wear when playing with it.
"…I had dreams of being a ballerina, when I was your age, but my father was of the wrong political stripe for the committee that ran the local ballet school…" Aunt Petunia, Dudley temporarily dealt with, had gone back to explaining something to Daphne.
Harry looked between the last two remaining presents, and decided to get Aunt Marge's out of the way, and to finish off with the other one from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Aunt Marge's was probably going to be something embarrassing, and Harry wanted to finish with something that would (at least compared to whatever Aunt Marge had got him) be relatively nice.
"This is from Aunt Marge." Harry announced ripping off the paper, anxious to get whatever it was over and done with.
It turned out to be a large, old-looking book, and there had been a note inside the wrapping paper with it, which Harry read out loud: 'To balance on your head to help with your comportment.'
Harry had come across that word 'comportment' before. It was something to do with 'etiquette' and 'good manners'.
And Aunt Marge had probably picked the book up cheap at a second hand bookshop or jumble sale, Harry rather suspected.
Uncle Vernon looked slightly embarrassed at the note.
Daphne looked puzzled.
"Is 'Aunt Marge' French?" Daphne asked.
"No. She's as English as the Queen." Uncle Vernon said.
"Oh." Daphne's look of puzzlement increased. "It's just that the book she's bought is French, isn't it" – it did have a title Les mille et une nuits – "and the only other person I know who does comportment like that is Mrs. Black, who makes Betelgeuse balance a book on her head when walking around, and Betelgeuse is only four. Although there is nothing wrong with Mrs. Black," Daphne hastily added, "or her doing it. Only Mrs. Black's French, so I thought it might be a foreign thing…"
Dudley had picked up the book and started looking through it:
"It's all in foreign, but there are old-fashioned looking pictures. Hey, is that a genie and an Arab in this one? Is this a storybook?"
Harry craned his neck trying to get a look at what was supposed to be his book – even if it had been originally bought to help him with his 'comportment', and it turning out to be a storybook in any language (let alone a storybook with a picture of a genie and an Arab in it) was probably due to Aunt Marge not looking at it closely enough when she bought it.
"Yes, it's a storybook, Dudley. To encourage Harry to learn French." Uncle Vernon looked relieved. "And I'm sure the bit about comportment is just Aunt Marge's idea of a joke."
"Is Betelgeuse a French name, dear?" Aunt Petunia asked Daphne.
"I think it's the name of a star or planet or comet or something." Daphne said. "The Blacks like names like that."
Dudley belatedly noticed Harry's attention and went crimson, and hurriedly passed the book back to Harry. Harry flicked through it and sure enough there was an old-fashioned picture of someone foreign looking (Harry wasn't sure if it was an 'Arab' or not, but it was a man with a turban and a beard) with one hand raised and a ring prominent on it, whilst nearby, floating off the ground, was another man who was clearly supposed to be a genie. There were sand dunes in the background. Harry flicked through the book some more, finding pictures of men with scimitars trying to fight a giant bird, some sort of metal statue or robot falling off a rock into the sea, and a scene with lots of foreign looking people in a foreign looking place with domes on the buildings involved in some sort of parade or celebration.
Harry put the book down slowly, and closed it. Writing a thank you letter to Aunt Marge was going to be very awkward. Was he supposed to let her know what she'd actually got him or not?
Harry was still pondering that as he unwrapped the last present, from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, which turned out to be a small silver teapot for some reason.
"Your mother bought that for me, one Christmas." Aunt Petunia said to Harry, her voice and face odd. "I thought you'd like it."
Oh. Wherever it had been, Aunt Petunia must have been keeping it hidden somewhere, because Harry couldn't remember having ever seen it before.
Harry was relieved at this moment about 'etiquette' because he was pretty sure that it saved him from having to do anything like hug or kiss Aunt Petunia for this, which might embarrass them both. Instead he said: "Thank you very much, Aunt." in a really grateful voice. And then he added another thank-you to Uncle Vernon, since the present had been labelled as coming from him as well, even though everyone in the room (except maybe Dudley) surely knew that this must have been mostly from Aunt Petunia.
Author Notes: (Subject to revision, initially)
The flowers on Daphnes hairclips are laurel flowers; Greek mythology contains a tale of a nymph named Daphne who was turned into a laurel, so Daphne's family consider laurel flowers thematically appropriate jewellery for Daphne.
This installment was initially written before an (early 2016) J.K. Rowling release on information about magical schools in the canon world. The school 'near Hogsmeade' that is referred to in conversation between Uncle Vernon and Mr. Greengrass in front of Mrs. Figg is of course Hogwarts. The school 'near Baghdad' is my own invention, but given the fantastic stories featuring Baghdad in real world culture, it seemed to me the sort of place which might have a magical school nearby. Writing these notes in March, 2016, this may end up as an aspect of this universe which ends up at odds with some future 'official' announcements about canon magical schools.
As far as I can tell from online records, the UK summer of 1987 was a damp one. Regarding Daphne, and umbrellas, I assume that due to magical transportation and protections she's never had cause to travel outside in the rain and to have seen an umbrella in use before. (The Greengrass home at St. George's Hill is set sufficiently far back and screened by walls/vegetation in its own grounds that Daphne will not have seen muggles on the road outside using umbrellas, either.) Daphne is familiar with parasols, however, from their use for shade on hot sunny days.
The news that Daphne and her mother spent a quarter of an hour or so brushing Daphne's hair (a 'normal' activity, rather than just waving a wand at it) helps Petunia to 'see' Daphne as being 'just a normal child', albeit one from a 'good' family.
The pictures in the book which Aunt Marge has sent Harry are described as 'old-fashioned looking' because they are line drawings.
I have, as far as I know, invented for this universe the details of Petunia's reference to having wanted to be a ballerina, and the gift by Lily of a small silver teapot to Petunia one Christmas. These details may or may not be at odds with canon.
Betelgeuse and her mother are non-canon, resulting from events which occurred after the point of departure from canon.
The next installment of this story will (when posted) include a journey to Horsted Keynes…