Chapter 12: Fish and Figgs
Hermione felt utterly exhausted as she nearly collapsed onto her bed. Despite all of the preparations she and Lord Snape had made, she had not expected the amount of fuss and frustration moving to London would be. Hermione had never fancied herself the mistress of a bustling household. Not once in her twenty-two years had she imagined that she would be in charge of a staff of twelve. She could still see the lot of them—lined up before her—looking to her for their new assignments. The housekeeper, Mrs. Winkle, was a woman far too marked by worry and too lined by frowns who seemed ever worried that she would lose her place. On the other hand, the butler—who had been sent from Lord Snape's own household—Dobby was a small man with an eager to please smile and a misplaced sense of "helping." Between Mrs. Winkle's fretting over the unpolished brass and Dobby's insistence that he aid Hermione in every little task, Hermione was beginning to think that a woman must be mad to wish to have servants at all. It was a wonder they had made it through the day!
Harry's lack of cooperation did not help matters, either. He may not yet have the means to communicate fully, but there was no doubt that Harry was quite angry about being moved. In a fit of rebellion, Harry ardently had refused to eat both the luncheon and supper that had been set before him. He had spent most of the day on his new bed with his hatbox.
"Will you need anything else, Mrs. Figg?"
Hermione's eyes fluttered open. "What?
"Will you need anything else?" the young lady's maid repeated patiently.
"Oh, no. Thank you, Susan. Good night," Hermione murmured. Susan curtsied and left the room
Feeling only slightly more at ease, Hermione sunk into the divinely soft mattress even farther. She had yet to grow accustomed to being called "Mrs. Figg," especially with the real Mrs. Figg awaiting news in Richmond. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but Hermione was beginning to doubt her ability to have people believing that she was a wealthy widow. After one day as head of a house, Hermione—for all her education and wit—was nearly done in. She missed her days as a librarian. They had been such lovely days of nothing but quiet and endless books.
Hermione woke with a renewed sense of purpose the next morning. Today, Harry's new teachers would arrive, and she must be at her very best. She dressed in a fashionable blue gown—one that she would never have dreamed of wearing were it not for the lord's insistence that she play the role—and began arranging her hair.
"Why, mistress, I didn't know you were about yet!" Susan cried distressfully. The maid set aside the linens in her arms and rushed over the dressing table. She clucked her tongue as she admired Hermione's work. "Oh, dear, it's already a mess."
"Oh, it's nothing, Susan. Just fix it if you can," Hermione replied, trying desperately to act as though having someone do her hair was something she was accustomed to.
In the end, Hermione decided that she very easily could get used to having someone do her hair. Her usually unruly tresses were artfully piled atop her head with little ringlets escaping around her face. Susan had even woven ribbons into the coiffure to match her dress. Hermione could not remember ever looking as lovely as she did right then. Oh, that did not mean she was a raving beauty, but she did look vastly different.
"Well, mistress, will it do?" Susan asked.
"Yes," Hermione answered softly. She really did hate having to put on such a blasé act, but there was no way around it. Looking away from the mirror, Hermione frowned. "Has Seamus seen to Harry yet?"
"I believe so." Susan let out a little giggle. "I know that Master Harry was already begging sweets from Cook this morning. If you don't mind me saying so, mistress, he certainly has a way of getting his point across without a word."
Indeed, Harry did have a way of letting people know what he wanted. Hermione found him with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet tucked beneath him as Seamus tried to put shoes on him. Harry's petulance almost made Hermione smile—though she knew she should not reward such behavior. At times, it was hard to remember that Harry was not a small child. Oh, it was going to be so much easier to deal with his spells when she could reason with the boy. As it was, Hermione could only cast him a glance and pick up one shoe. Harry wrinkled his nose but did let Seamus finish the job.
It was late in the morning by the time Hermione managed to get Harry to come explore the new house with her. His stubborn streak subsided when he realized that there were new things to see. The enclosed courtyard kept his interest for nearly half an hour after he found a tiny frog swimming about in the fountain. Hermione watched as he dipped his hand into the still waters, and the frog darted away. He pointed at the frightened creature questioningly. With no way to explain, Hermione shrugged. Harry frowned, but seemed to accept her inability to communicate with him.
"Mrs. Figg," Dobby called softly from the walkway. "There is a Miss McGonagall and a Mr. Weasley here to see you, madam. They are apparently here to see about your cousin's education."
Hermione shot up and began straightening her skirts. She had to bite back the urge to go racing through the house like an errant child. "Please, show them to the drawing room, Dobby," Hermione said lightly. "Oh, and have Seamus come sit with Harry for a bit."
With her heart beating wildly, Hermione made a slow trip to the drawing room. A constant reminder to play her part ran through her head with each step. So much was at stake for Harry. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pasted on a serene smile and readied herself to meet her guests.
As Hermione took her first look at the people who were going to teach Harry, her eyes were immediately drawn to the elegant movements of their hands as they spoke ever so quietly—both aloud and through gesture. Though she knew it was rude to stare, she was caught by how graceful their fingers were. Remus had not lied when he had said that there was a beauty to the language. The woman was—from what Hermione could see—thin with dark hair pulled into a severe knot. Miss McGonagall reminded Hermione ever so much of the school matrons who had taught her as a child. Hermione could see very little of Mr. Weasley. In fact, all she could discern of him was that he was a quite tall man with outrageously long red hair tied into an unfashionable queue.
It took nearly a full minute, but Hermione did manage to find her voice. "Hello," she said, trying to appear dignified. "I am so glad that you have come. My name is Hermione Figg, and Harry is my cousin."
Miss McGonagall turned first. Her features betrayed nothing as she gave the younger woman a slight nod. "Mrs. Figg. I am Minerva McGonagall, and this is William Weasley. Unfortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore was unable to come this afternoon." As she spoke, Miss McGonagall's hands moved expertly forming each word.
"Well, I do understand Professor Dumbledore's absence. I am certain that you all must have a great deal of responsibility, and I am quite grateful that you have taken the time to come. I daresay that I am ill equipped to make any sort of real progress with Harry." She was rambling and she knew it—a point made ever so more pronounced by Miss McGonagall's constant gestures. Hermione felt like a cat being tossed into a pond. In her somewhat out-of-sorts state, Hermione was not nearly as astute as she usually was, for she did not connect the significance of Miss McGonagall's signing nearly as quickly as she should have. When it finally did dawn on her that Miss McGonagall was translating what was being said for Mr. Weasley's benefit, Hermione's eyes flew to the gentleman's face for the first time.
If Hermione had hoped to find any kind of reprieve by gazing at Mr. Weasley's visage, she was to be let down. Mr. Weasley's face had all of the makings of a rakish sort of handsomeness. His features were strong, his lips curved into a charming albeit self-deprecating smile, and his deep blue eyes were nothing short of stunning. However, all of his good looks were quite ruined by the vicious scars covering the left half of his face. Puckered and discolored, the marks did cause Hermione to wince. Instantly Hermione's cheeks began to redden. First, she had stared at new language they had been using—his language—and then she had made a right fool of herself by staring at his face. She couldn't have blamed Mr. Weasley if he had turned on his heel and walked out, but he didn't.
Mr. Weasley's smiled stayed firmly in place. "We are quite happy to help in whatever way we can, madam," he said a bit softly. His voice was clear and refined, despite his deafness, and it caught Hermione off guard.
"Thank you," she managed to say, still reeling in her embarrassment.
Thankfully, Miss McGonagall spared Hermione the opportunity to sink lower into discomfort. "Mrs. Figg, I do hope you forgive my bluntness, but we have much to do. Perhaps you could tell us how young Harry ended up in such a dire state?"
Hermione settled herself onto the settee and began to tell the tale that she and Lord Snape had concocted. The words fell from her lips so easily, but she couldn't tell if the pair seated across from her believed them. She told them that she had not known of Harry's existence, as he was a very, very distant relation. In her version, it had been her dear Aunt Arabella who had come to find Harry and that she had only kept the boy at Spinner's End until Hermione could collect the boy. Oh dear, the story was quite a mess! Somehow, she managed to get it all out.
Miss McGonagall and Mr. Weasley shared a look that Hermione couldn't read. Finally, Miss McGonagall nodded sadly. "I do believe that the headmaster was right—we probably can help Harry. The fact that he had normal language skills until his sickness and imprisonment is encouraging."
"But before we commit to teaching Harry, you must be willing to make a commitment, as well. You must be willing to learn to sign, as well," Mr. Weasley said gravely. "I feel obligated to warn you that it may not come as quickly to you as you may assume."
Hermione felt her pride rising. "You will find, Mr. Weasley, that I am an apt pupil."
A mischievous twinkle came to Mr. Weasley's eyes. "I do not doubt that, ma'am."
After their time in the parlor, Miss McGonagall and Mr. Weasley were ready to meet Harry. The boy, on the other hand, was less than ready to make their acquaintance. Harry did not wish to leave the courtyard. Dobby was rather red-faced when he returned empty handed, but Miss McGonagall was undaunted. The matron simply asked for directions and excused herself. When Hermione moved to follow, Mr. Weasley stopped her.
"I have never known Minerva to fail with a student. Let her do what she needs to do," he instructed, motioning that she should remain seating.
Unsure if he could understand her if she spoke, Hermione simply nodded.
"I am not completely deaf," he said as though he had read her mind—or at least the thoughts written on her face. "Also, if you speak clearly and make sure that I can see your lips clearly, I can read your lips."
Hermione relaxed a bit. "You must forgive me," she told him sincerely. "I have never known a deaf person aside from Harry."
Mr. Weasley gave an understanding smile. "Nor had I, until I lost my hearing."
"Might I ask how?" Hermione asked. Her cheeks once more flooded with color as she regretted her question.
"I was gravely injured at the Battle of Waterloo. My wounds gave way to a fever that destroyed my hearing as surely as the burns destroyed my face," he replied with only the tiniest trace of lament in his voice.
Hermione's heart ached for him. "It must have been terrible for you."
For the first time, Mr. Weasley's smile fell from his lips. "In the early days—please forgive my language—it was hell. You cannot possibly understand what it is like to be unable to communicate fully with those around you, to be trapped in silence. It was not until I met Minerva and Albus that I saw any hope in my situation. That is why I have dedicated myself to teaching. I want to give hope and a way to speak to those who have none."
Tears burned Hermione's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Harry's rather unceremonious arrival.
In the entire time she had known Harry, Hermione had never seen him so happy or so excited. With one hand, he made a wavy motion. He repeated the gesture again and again before reaching out. The boy grabbed Hermione's hand and forced her to mimic his movements. Perplexed, Hermione could do little more than stare.
"Harry saw fish in the pond," Miss McGonagall provided with a satisfied grin. She made the same motion that Harry had. "Fish, Mrs. Figg."
At that moment, pure joy soared through Hermione. "Fish," she repeated beaming at Harry. It wasn't much, but it was the first step toward all that she had hoped for Harry's sake.