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Harry and Hermione remained quite silent, but Ron was the one to speak up. "So, um, how are you today?" not being one to enjoy silence much, Ron tried his best to break it. "How's Hogwarts? The Sirius case is really wild, huh?"

England didn't speak the while he was pouring tea. He handed them all a steaming cup and chuckled. The sound could have been magical, as the air in the small house lightened immediately. "I've been alright, thank you Ron. Your father and mother say hello, also. I saw them just yesterday. They asked if you were doing fine, and the likes… I also took a look at your Uncle and Aunt, Harry," Harry tensed and looked at England nervously. "Don't worry! He isn't still mad at you for blowing up your aunt. He sends his regards. Don't be too hard on the poor man and Hermione, your parents—"

"Wait!" Harry interrupted, quite rudely, "what do you mean 'don't be too hard'? The bloke, excuse me, my uncle locked me in a closet for eleven years!" England shook his head.

"That was very rude, Harry, to interrupt an elder," he didn't answer his question and turned back to Hermione, "As I was saying, my dear, and your parents send you their love and advise you to not overwork yourself,"

"Can you answer my question now?" Harry said bitterly. England gave him a look and Harry added, twice as bitter, "sir?"

England sat down near Hagrid, who looked modest and almost small besides England. That was something, seeing Hagrid's size. He seemed to have shrunk at least two sizes. England sipped his tea. "Harry, your aunt and uncle are not bad people," he said, "I've known them for a very long time. Just because someone is awful to you—or seemingly so—that does not make them evil. Consider their reasons before you come to the conclusion that they are bad,"

Harry fell silent. "Oh, alright sir," he mumbled, "I'm sorry for being so rude,"

"Think nothing of it, Harry, I understand," England smiled then, "I know how you feel. My long years have allowed me to reflect on being a human… When one lives a grand few centuries one learns quite a lot,"

Silence fell again. Ron felt horribly uncomfortable and Hermione was pondering over that last part. "Good heavens and earth!" cried England, standing up suddenly, "what are you doing here?! Go! You'll be in a bloody brilliant load of trouble if you don't go now!" he shooed them and left the house as well.

The days skipped on by right up to Christmas. Hermione and Ron stayed with Harry, with their excuses as well. Harry found the firebolt, and in the utmost glee enjoyed it. That is, until Hermione handed it over to Professor McGonagall. Her cat-like eyes stared down upon Harry and Ron with the slightest hint of sympathy. "We'll check it for curses, to be safe," she had said. She refused to give it back, even after Harry's pleas and how he would lose. He had lost his other broom, you see, after a dementor attack in their game. Since then Harry had asked for Lupin's help. McGonagall shook her head and insisted to take it, and left before Harry could speak another word against it. Angered terribly by Hermione, Harry held the same grudge Ron had when Crookshanks attacked Scabbers.

Hermione chose to flee the boys and work on her homework. Her multitude of classes brought her great stress and she found herself tired even when she slept. 'Now, now, you asked for this,' she told herself, but in her mind, 'you can trouble yourself with those silly things later…'Working quietly on Muggle Studies homework, which was an essay, she didn't see England walk in.

"Muggle studies, what an interesting class," he said and sat down beside her. "Why are you sitting here all alone?" he asked when she looked at him.

"Harry's mad that I gave his firebolt—which very well could have been cursed!—to Professor McGonagall and Ron is mad at my cat," she huffed and crossed her arms. "It's really such a silly reason to be mad!" when Arthur did not speak up, she continued on, "but of course, you are quite old, as you said, so I don't think it wise to tell you about my young troubles" Hermione did not intend the smallest bit of insolence, thought it might have shown."

England cleared his throat and recited, "'You are old, Father William,' the young man said, 'And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head—Do you think, at your age, it is right?'"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and set down her quill, now listening intently.

"'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, 'I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why I do it again and again,'" he continued, and paused when Hermione made to comment.

"Why that is a most odd reason to stand on one's head," she did not notice how her speech was changing so suddenly. England tapped his nose and continued.

"'You are old,' said the youth, 'As I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; yet you turned a back-summersault in at the door—Pray, what is the reason of that?'"

Hermione frowned and listened intently, finding it a great deal more interesting than the essay.

"'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, 'I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—Allow me to sell you a couple?'

"'You are old,' said the youth, 'And your jaws are too weak. For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and beak—Pray, how did you manage to do it?'

"'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life,'"

Hermione shook her head, "how obvious, a man to argue with his wife,"

"'You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose that your eye was as steady as ever; yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—what made you so awfully clever?'

'I have answered three questions, that is enough' said his father, 'don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to suck stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down the stairs!'" Arthur finished, looking at Hermione.

Hermione remained silent and she closed her eyes to think. As one thinks most clearly when his eyes are shut. She did not speak, as it is silly to talk when thinking. "what was the point of telling me that curious tale?"

"What do you think? The moral is only what you make of it, my dear," England responded sagely

Hermione nodded, a smile of realization growing. "That makes grand sense!" she opened her eyes and clapped her hands. "There are many meanings to that story. One is not to try your luck. Or perhaps I'm wrong…" she sighed, crestfallen, "perhaps the moral was to respect your elders? What would that have to do with this! Why would you tell me a story that was nonsense?"

"To be quite honest, I was simply sharing a muggle story with you. They don't teach it in schools. Not magical nor muggle anymore. Right next to logic, logic is never taught anymore," he said crossly. Hermione had the strangest feeling. A feeling that something wasn't quite right, but not that something was wrong. Imagine going to plant some seeds in your garden, the package said tomatoes and you imagine how wonderful those tomatoes will be. After several days you find that you have a strange plant, it looks nothing like a tomato. Soon, you come to see, that the package was incorrectly labeled. Instead, you have ended up with a pleasant field of roses. Though you did not quite get tomatoes, you are still pleasantly surprised with the beautiful red roses. That is how Hermione felt, though she was unsure why. England cleared his throat again.

"How doth the little busy Bee improve each shining hour, and gather Honey all day From every opening flower!" England began again, clearing his throat.

"'How skillfully she builds her Cell! How neat she spreads the Wax! And labours hard to store it well. With the sweet food she makes.

"In works of Labour or of skill. I would be busy too: For Sa-an finds some mischief still. For idle hands to do. In books or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every Day Some good account at last."

He left Hermione to ponder the odd little riddle. She did not speak up again, and with her mind still racing, she headed back to apologize to Harry. It was an odd change, but Hermione was so horribly lost, that she could hardly think straight otherwise.

Confusing? Yes, good. Things will make sense in good time, I do like a bit of confusion inside my story. I used: "You Are Old, Father William" by Lewis Carroll and "Against Idleness and Mischief" by Isaac Watts. Such peculiar little tales that will make sense in good time… So don't bother asking what they are for! Do not ask questions you know the answer to—that is most impolite.