Harry gazed out the window of his study, without really seeing. He vaguely registered that it was raining—no shock there—but beyond that, his mind comprehended nothing. He often lost himself this way, since… well, better not to think about it. Better to just remain lost.
The sound of a throat being cleared caught his attention, and he turned to see Neville standing in the doorway. "Your nanny has arrived, sir."
"Thank you, Neville. I'll be out shortly."
Harry took several steadying breaths, before ultimately leaving the study to greet Ms. Granger. Neville had already woken the children, and they were descending the stairs as he entered. Harry watched as they came to a stop in front of their new nanny.
"James, Violet, this is Ms. Hermione Granger, your new nanny. Nanny, this is James and Violet Potter."
The woman's eyes were bright as she greeted them. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
"You're awfully pretty," Violet said boldly. Harry's eyes slid to the woman in question, and frowned. She certainly was pretty. Too pretty. Her features were soft and delicate; her cheeks were rosy, her brown eyes sparkled with life, and her caramel hair had been swept into a very business-like bun at the back of her head. A few strands had come loose around her face, framing it nicely and adding softness and youthfulness. Yes, she was very pretty indeed. And it bothered him.
Ms. Granger smiled humbly. "Thank you, Violet. I think you're awfully pretty, too." She turned to his son, who was, unsurprisingly, scowling at the floor. Harry sighed inwardly. James had been surly and uncooperative since… well, for a number of months. Harry was at his wit's end trying to figure out what to do about it. He'd hoped a woman's influence would be helpful, which was part of the reason he'd begun seeking out a nanny for the children. But with each attempt, his mood only seemed to worsen, along with his behavior.
This instance, it appeared, would be no different. He watched James as Ms. Granger held out a hand for him to shake. James glared at the hand, then into the face of his nanny, and then he very pointedly stomped off in the direction of the front door. Harry sighed. Nothing had changed.
"He's always like that," Neville assured her. "You get used to it."
Ms. Granger cleared her throat. "Well. I suppose I'll be off, better get the children to school. I, er, don't have my own car, unfortunately—"
Harry took this as his cue to step in. "Ms. Granger," he greeted her.
"Mr. Potter," she nodded. "I was just about to take the children to school, but… well, I don't have a car, and I thought perhaps I ought to check with you before taking a cab."
"No need," he stated, stepping further into the entryway. On a bulletin board near the doorway, a set of small hooks house the keys to his three cars: the Rolls Royce, a modest Volvo, and a Ford Anglia—it no longer ran, but it had been his first car, and he'd never been able to get rid of it. On a fourth hook hung the keys to Neville's car, which he believed was a Prius. Harry retrieved the keys to the Volvo, and held them out to Ms. Granger. "It's parked in the garage, should have been topped off yesterday."
She shook her head. "Oh, sir, I couldn't possibly—"
"If the alternative is taking a cab, then I would certainly prefer you to drive my car."
Her eyes flashed, but she took it without further protest. It was at that moment that Harry noticed an attachment to her person, in the form of a small boy with red hair. Harry's brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked up to hers.
"Is this your son?" he asked, curious.
Her shoulders squared. "Yes, he is. I have to take him to school, as well. But don't fret," she added in a voice that reeked of sarcasm. "His school starts later and ends earlier than your children's, so I can safely promise it will not interfere with their schedule, or yours."
Harry remained silent, stunned at the outburst. It might have been treated as nothing more than giving information, were it not for her acerbic and defensive tone, not to mention the cutting look in her eyes. Regrettably, Harry had a temper that could not be vouched for, and the moment she'd finished her little speech, that temper flared.
"For your information, Ms. Granger, I was merely asking, not mounting an assault."
Without another word, Harry stormed out of the house. He sped on his way to the office, his mind racing. How dare this woman talk back to him? After all, he was her employer. He was paying here. Did that not deserve some respect? The nerve of her!
Harry remained in a foul mood all day, barely registering the requests and messages from his secretary, and hardly paying attention in the many meetings he attended. He stayed late to finish the work he'd neglected, not leaving for home until nearly 8:00. As it was early September, there was still a bit of daylight by the time he left. As he drove home, he came to the decision that he needed to have a talk with Ms. Granger.
As soon as Harry stepped out of the car, he knew something was different. He could hear laughter and shouting coming from the yard. He made his way quickly through the house, stopping when he saw Neville looking out the back window to the yard, a smile on his face.
"Neville?"
"Oh, hello, Mr. Potter," he smiled. How was work?"
"Fine," he replied dismissively. "Where is Ms. Granger? I need to speak with her."
He gestured to the window with a grin. Harry cautiously stepped in line beside him, and peered out. He was surprised to find Violet chasing the boy he now knew as Ms. Granger's son around the yard. They both laughed at the chase, even as Violet caught hold of the boy's arm, and then he turned around and chased her. Harry watched silently for a moment, then ventured out into the yard himself. He spotted Ms. Granger in one of the lawn chairs, a book propped open in her lap. She glanced up at the children, smiled, and then her eyes returned to the book. Her hair, which he remembered had been pulled back this morning, now hung loose about her shoulders, and her shoes had been discarded to the right of the chair. The fading sunlight caught her hair, making it glisten.
Once again, Harry was struck by how inappropriately lovely she was. He would really have to be careful about being seen with her in public. People talked, after all, and often inadvertently jumped to the wrong conclusions. The thought rankled; he was already the hot topic among gossipers. No need to add fuel to the flames. He would have to tread very carefully.
Harry cleared his throat, thereby making his presence known. Ms. Granger looked up at him, but before he could invite her to his study, a childlike voice called out, "Daddy!" Harry smiled at Violet as she raced toward him. "Come and play with us!"
"Not right now, Vi," he said gently. "I need to speak with Ms. Granger. Perhaps later."
Violet's face fell. "You always say that," she mumbled, but in moments was back to running about with Ms. Granger's son. Harry was startled, but regained his composure as Ms. Granger came to stand beside him. He cleared his throat again.
"If you'll follow me, please," he requested. They passed Neville as they entered the house, and Harry asked, "Would you mind keeping an eye on the children?"
"Of course, sir," Neville smiled, immediately joining them outside. Harry led Ms. Granger to his study, opening the door for her and ushering her inside. He gestured to a chair, and waited until she was seated before sitting himself. He took a moment before speaking, feeling acutely uncomfortable. This was not going to be a pleasant discussion, but he felt strongly it was one that needed to be had.
"Ms. Granger," he began, "I don't know what sort of villain you think I am—"
"Sorry? When did I say you were a villain?"
"Ms. Granger," he said in a warning tone at her interruption. She stopped, her cheeks taking on a pinkish tinge, but remained silent. "Your outburst this morning was entirely out of line. I am not a villain, and I don't care to be treated as such. See that it doesn't happen again."
Her shoulders tensed, as if she was exercising a great deal of effort not to slap him. "Yes, sir."
Harry watched the emotions flicker across her eyes. Indignation, but also remorse, and he thought he could also see a hint of worry. Worry for her job? She needn't be concerned. As of yet, he had not found any real reason to fire her. Perhaps it was best he vocalize that.
"You may see to the children, now."
The reaction he had expected was not the reaction he saw in her face. The worry was downplayed, yes, but its place was usurped by an obvious increase in outrage. Her lips thinned as she gnawed on them for a bit. "Yes, sir," she muttered through grit teeth.
Harry frowned. "You're angry," he observed.
"Whatever gave me away?" she snarled.
"Ms. Granger—"
"If I may, sir," she interrupted again, this time not backing down. "I find it highly infuriating and irregular that you bring me in here to chastise me for defending my choice of bringing my son. If I had another option, if he had any friends or relatives that could care for him, they would. As it is, his only living family is God knows where, or doesn't care about him enough to do a damn thing. Except my mother, who is overworked as it is. And then, to top it off, after you've finished chastising me, you dismiss me as if you were the king, and I, humble servant, can do nothing but bow and submit. If that's not reason enough for anger, I don't know what is. I understand you are paying me to do a service, and I am grateful, but if you ask me to put my own child and my own conscience at risk, I'm afraid I will have to resign."
Harry stared in awe at the woman before him. Her hair seemed to have grown wilder, and her face was flushed as her eyes burned with fury and determination. Despite himself, Harry actually felt more than a little intimidated. And as the entirety of her speech began to sink in, he felt heartily ashamed of himself. Had he really given the impression that she was not allowed to care for her child?
Clearing his throat, Harry folded his hands on the desk. "I am sorry if I have given you any cause to believe that your son would not be welcome here, or that you would not be free to see to his needs. As a parent, I know children are the first priority."
"Do you?"
Harry's eyes widened, and his anger flared. "I beg your pardon?"
She bit her lip again, clearly embarrassed. "I… I didn't meant to say that."
"But you did say it," he pointed out. "What did you mean by it?"
"It's… not important."
"I'll be the judge of that," he ground out, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "What did you mean?"
She sighed. "Well, sir… only moments ago, your daughter asked you to play with her. Your response was a halfhearted, 'Perhaps later.'" She lowered her voice to mimic his, then grew serious. "What message do you think that sends to her about where she sits on your list of priorities?"
"How dare you—!"
"Furthermore," she went on, "when we arrived back here today, James went stomping up to his room with hardly a word. When I tried to tell him you would want to see him when you arrived home, he said, 'No, he won't. He doesn't care.'"
Her words were like a physical blow to the heart. He tried to speak, to defend himself, but no words would come. How could he defend that? Suddenly feeling more emotional than he cared to display, he stood and walked to the window. "Thank you for your services today, Ms. Granger. If you would, please, prepare the children for bed. I will see you tomorrow morning."
"Sir—"
"Tomorrow morning," he repeated with finality, refusing to look at her. After a moment of silence, he heard her retreating footsteps, followed by the closing of the door.
Harry stayed in the same spot for… he didn't know how long. The sky darkened, the outdoor lights were soon lit, and the house grew still. He barely noticed. His attention was caught, eventually, by the sound of his door opening. Some part of him wondered, briefly, if it would be Ms. Granger, but the likelihood of that was slim. He'd made it clear he did not want to speak with her the rest of the evening. Not that his insistence would have deterred her, should she have something pressing to say. Infuriating woman.
"Sir?" Neville's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Harry turned to his faithful butler and friend. "Am I a good father, Neville?"
His brow furrowed in question. "Why do you ask?"
The lack of a straight answer clearly told Harry what he needed to know. With a sigh, Harry ran a hand over his face. "I'm not, am I? I'm selfish, distant, and a tyrant."
"You're not a tyrant, sir."
Harry didn't miss the fact that Neville did not contradict the other two faults. "But I am selfish and distant?"
Neville hesitated for a moment. "You've been deeply hurt, sir. It's natural that you would want some time alone, to process, or to regroup."
Sighing again, Harry sat behind his desk. "I'm not sure what to do here, Neville. My children think I don't care about them."
"I'm sure that's not true."
He lifted an eyebrow. "It is according to Ms. Granger."
Neville frowned. "Well, I don't like to discredit the word of a lady, but really, she's only known them for one day. Perhaps she misunderstood, and made some hasty judgments."
It was an encouraging thought, and one that Harry wished, rather than believed, to be the truth. Heart too heavy and mind too full for such conversation, Harry dismissed Neville, and returned to the window. Nothing could be done tonight, even if it truly needed doing. He would simply have to wait for the morning.
A/N: Not the greatest chapter ending, but I loved writing Hermione's rant. Such fun! So who do you think is mom? And what do you think happened with her? Please share! I may or may not let you know if you're right. Probably not. But I still like reading your guesses and your opinions. PLEASE review!