Chapter 13 - Differences & Similarities

The next week brought Ralph's third visit to the Granger house, on a Wednesday late afternoon. Harry didn't really like the man—he caused Harry a bit of nervousness, similar to when Harry was alone with Mr Granger. Mrs Granger assured Harry that Ralph was a social worker sent by the orphanage to ask him a few questions and make sure he was holding up well. Harry just didn't like the idea of sitting in a room answering questions all day, especially not about his well being.

Luckily for him, Hermione was allowed to sit in on the sessions, so long as she promised to give Harry the space to answer questions, and not try to answer on his behalf. That was a rule set by Ralph, and reinforced by Mrs Granger. It was important that Harry talk about his feelings, and only him.

"Now," Ralph said, whilst in their living room, the chosen setting for these meetings. "Could you give more details about…calling yourself a freak?"

The sofas were comfy enough normally, although now it felt like Harry was sitting on an actual cow as opposed to its leather, and an itch raced through his body at the discomfort. The light bulb in the room's centre seemed far too bright, despite being turned dim, and the shadows of the room lurked before Harry, as though trying to trap him.

Those shadows were cast on Ralph's face, particularly his brown beard, like he was a movie character telling scary stories at night around a campfire.

"I…I am a freak," Harry said.

Ralph didn't try to oppose him, as the rest of his family did. "Why do you say that?" Ralph said instead, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. A clipboard was in his hand, a pen in the other. He scribbled down notes in a feral manner, as though every expression of Harry's face needed precise detailing with precise precision.

"Because it's true," Harry said.

"It's not true," Hermione interjected from beside him. She placed a hand on his arm and glared at him, and though Harry wilted at her look, it didn't change his answer at all.

"What makes it true?" Ralph said, regarding Harry with lazy eyes. "And please, young Miss Granger, I would like for Harry to answer. You can provide more details afterwards, if requested."

"Okay," Hermione said, in a quiet voice. Harry would've laughed at her forlorn look, under different circumstances. Her hand still lay on his arm, providing a comforting warmth that caused Harry's nerves to lessen.

Harry glanced through the ajar door on the room's far side, outside which Mr and Mrs Granger were standing, listening to Ralph speak, and watching with close eyes.

"So, Harry, what do you think makes it true that you are, as you say, a freak?"

"Because…I do freakish things," Harry said. "And…I did them all the time with the Dursleys, so they called me a freak."

"What kind of freakish things?" Ralph said. "Can you walk me through an incident that happened? One that you think is freakish, if possible."

Harry squirmed in his seat. If the Grangers learned the truth of his freakish nature, would they send him away for good? They seemed nice, but so were Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to normal children like Dudley and Piers. But Harry wasn't normal, he was a freak, and once the Grangers found that out…Harry didn't want to think about it.

"I…one time…" But Harry's voice constricted as though a snake was coiling around his throat.

"What happened one time, Harry?" Ralph asked in a soft voice.

"I teleported somewhere."

Ralph's eyebrows shifted up, only for the merest second, before setting themselves again as though nothing had happened.

"Can you tell me why you teleported? Did something force it to happen?"

Harry jerked a nod, and the words came tumbling out akin to a gushing sewer. "My cousin—Dudley—was chasing me. And then he got really close. And then we went into the school…and I thought he would catch me and…I teleported. To the roof."

Harry sent glances, furtive and hurried, to Mr and Mrs Granger by the door. But their faces were hidden in the darkness of the adjacent corridor, as if they'd left him for good.

Harry knocked his knees together like they were chattering teeth, and Hermione's grip on his arm strengthened to keep him still. He didn't turn to her out of fear. They had already seen his freakishness with Niall in Hampstead Park. How would their opinions change with his admission of more freak behaviour?

Would Hermione view him differently, now that he'd explained how he was a freak in more detail?

"You have to understand, Harry," Ralph was saying, "that odd occurrences don't make someone a freak. No child is a freak, least not a lovely child like you."

"But you don't—"

"He's right, Harry," Hermione interrupted. "We're best friends now. We both do…weird stuff sometimes, but that doesn't mean you're a freak. Or me, either. And I'll always be your friend, and make sure you don't think you're a freak."

Harry didn't look at her, for fear that she was lying, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had sometimes. But another voice, deep in Harry's mind, spoke out that Hermione was telling the truth, and Harry knew the second voice was right.

"Odd things aren't because of a freakish nature," Ralph said, settling his clipboard down and smiling widely at the two children. "It's because you're both special, and that's something to be celebrated, not shunned."

"Shunned means like ignored or put down," Hermione clarified at Harry's puzzled look.

Harry nodded. He would…try not to do freakish things, or special things as Hermione, Ralph, and the two parent Grangers would call them. Because Hermione, and her family, didn't deserve a freak like Harry staying with them permanently.

"I think that should conclude this session," Ralph said. "Just a quick question, though. Are you happy with your new family? Are they treating you right?"

Harry nodded as though wishing to knock his own head off. "They bought me lots of new clothes and I read books with Hermione and we go school together."

"That's lovely to hear," Ralph said with a smile. He stood and talked to the Granger parents near the door, in low tones such that Harry couldn't hear what they said.

A squeeze on his arm alerted him to Hermione.

"You'll never be a freak, and you never were one," she said, and Harry's face warmed at her words, though he knew she only spoke out of ignorance. Ignorance of the true freakishness inside Harry. "If anything, what you call freakishness saved me. How can that be a bad thing?"

Harry mulled over her words, but didn't speak.

"Want to go read some more, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I know some of the words are hard to read, but I've got a dictionary too that can help us."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "But you don't need a dictionary. You know all of the words anyway."

"And she won't be reading either," Mrs Granger said, coming in and putting hands on hips, mock glare accompanied by a smile. "Hermione is an avid reader, but Daddy wanted to take Harry to watch a movie as a family. I managed to get the viewing times for this evening, and Mark snagged a few seats for us over the phone—he knows the cinema owner."

Mrs Granger stood before Harry, hair almost framed in a glow of brown. Harry glanced down at the floor, though the flowery scent of Hermione's mother still reminded him of her presence.

"What do you think, Harry?" Mrs Granger said. "Fancy watching a movie?"

Harry's heart almost stopped, started, then stopped again, like each beat suffered through a traffic jam in getting through the exit.

"I can watch a movie?" he asked, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. Dudley had watched loads of movies with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, leaving Harry at home to do chores alone.

But Harry—he'd never seen a movie before. He was never allowed. Not in a million lifetimes, Aunt Petunia had stated. And now he was being offered the chance—

"Yes," he breathed out. "I…"

"You'd like to see a movie?" Hermione helped.

Harry nodded.

Mr Granger pushed his head through the door. "Well, come on then. The force awaits!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled Harry to his feet, a Harry who could barely believe his luck. He was getting to watch a movie.

And all throughout getting his coat on and bundling with his best friend into the rear of the Grangers' Ford, Hermione's words replayed in his mind.

That if they both did strange things, unexplainable things, then what made Harry the freak, and Hermione not one? Why did Harry view them differently, when in fact, from the outset, they were exactly the same?

The movie—Star Wars—was amazing. That was the only word Hermione had to describe it. Sure, she could've brought out her thesaurus from the bottom left shelf in her bedroom, flicked over to synonyms for 'amazing', and come up with dozens more words to attribute to watching Star Wars. But amazing fit the bill, and it was the word that Harry used whilst watching the flashing lightsabers and awesome fight scenes and narrative of galactic proportions.

And if the word was good enough for Harry, then it was good enough for Hermione. Harry had also used a slew of other adjectives to describe going to the cinema, ranging from awesome to fun to brilliant and wicked and fantastic.

"That was the best movie ever," Harry exclaimed whilst they were leaving the cinema. Mummy and Daddy were walking in front of them, through the red-lit hallways and dark shadows that provided a science fiction feel to the whole place. The sweet scent of popcorn still lingered in Hermione's nose, and the taste budded along her tongue with light steps.

"It really is the best movie ever," Hermione said, trodding along beside him. And it really was, for the story inside matched what Hermione thought of Harry. Someone from humble beginnings, destined to do great things. Someone who, like Luke Skywalker, was truly special.

She never told him any of this, of course, for that would be rather embarrassing, and Hermione didn't want to read into his life as if it were a literature comprehension exercise in Miss Bailey's class. Although, a lot of things about Harry didn't really add up, not to mention that secrecy with which he went about his life.

They were best friends, for sure. But Harry still kept things from her, and was a bit closed off at times. Given his past, given the horrors he had lived through, Hermione didn't blame him for it. Not one bit. And, as a big girl, she had to be a lot more understanding about those around her, like Mummy was when children went to the dentistry practice.

That day was the first day that Harry hadn't wanted to go to bed early. Instead, he was in Hermione's room until later-than-usual hours (which for them was around nine in the evening) discussing the movie and their favourite parts. Whilst Harry enjoyed the big reveal at the end, Hermione's likes veered more towards the plot development across the movie, and the journey Luke himself underwent to save the galaxy.

Again, whilst speaking with Harry, she couldn't help but place him inside Luke's shoes. Someone who'd suffered the loss of his loved ones, trying to find himself in a new environment that felt so alien at first. Hermione couldn't imagine being uprooted from her parents and put in an orphanage, to then have to find a new family from scratch.

It would be harrowing, exhausting, and a whole host of other words that she didn't need a thesaurus to uncover.

It was only when Mummy knocked on the door and reminded them that the next day, indeed, was a school day that Harry scurried off to brush his teeth (Mummy and Daddy were, naturally, sticklers on this) and get some sleep. And the next day, indeed, would prove pivotal in the life of Hermione, for Miss Bailey had an announcement in the morning for the whole class.

An announcement that Hermione had never seen coming. Not in a million gazillion years, as Harry liked to say.

"We have reached a verdict for the new actress in the nativity play," Miss Bailey said, smiling at the front of the classroom as she always did. It was a typical dreary London day, though the light seeking shelter within the class did radiate the room a little. Hermione could almost smell the damp oncoming snow—perhaps only a few more weeks left before its arrival.

"What's the verdict?" Niall shouted out from the back.

Miss Bailey, as always, didn't snap at him for talking out of turn. Instead, smile still in place, she continued.

"The verdict is that Hermione Granger will be playing Mary in the play."

Hermione's eyes widened just as her heart stopped. The entire class went silent, as though the news shocked them as much as it did her.

What? How can it be…? That doesn't make any sense, because there were way better auditions…

She didn't know what to think, so flicked her gaze to where Harry sat on the opposite side of the classroom. His eyes were shining, a grin on his features, though Hermione couldn't match his happiness. She slid her gaze to the brown table, at the wooden chips and nooks and crannies that suddenly seemed so very interesting.

She'd wanted to be Mary—that was why she'd auditioned, after all. But now that the news sank over her like a bucket of ice, those doubts reverberated once more. That she would fail, fumble at the last moment, be a laughing stock not only in front of Niall and his bully friends, but all the parents as well.

Miss Bailey's voice shattered the silence, and Hermione snapped back into concentration. "I hope everyone welcomes Hermione into the play, and if I could speak to her after English ends, that would be appreciated."

The rest of the class passed in a blur, as though Hermione's life was on autopilot, a movie that was running with no control of hers. She remembered some spelling exercises, and a writing exercise mixed in as well, and Harry grinning at her almost incessantly from across the classroom with a joy that she couldn't match.

And then the bell sounded, and the class broke up for Maths, where they were split into different sets. Hermione in the highest set, whilst Harry was a rung lower. Hermione waited for everyone else to filter out, before joining Miss Bailey at the front, where she sat behind her desk, staring intently at the girl.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Miss Bailey finally asked.

Hermione didn't want to lie, since that would be breaking a rule. So, she told the utter truth. "I'm a bit nervous."

"Only a bit nervous? My, that is impressive. I know if I was in your position, I would be shaking. That much is for certain."

Hermione gave a shy laugh. "I am nervous. Very nervous, actually. I don't know if—"

"I know how you feel," Miss Bailey said. "You feel as though…the world will be watching your every move, and that they will find the mistakes in every line you rehearse."

Hermione only nodded, which prompted Miss Bailey to continue.

"And that means you believe everyone will be laughing at you when you are on that stage in the sports hall, and you believe that you will forget your lines and have to be saved by someone else. Perhaps a better actress who should have gotten the role all along."

Hermione nodded again.

"That won't happen. I can guarantee it, one hundred percent."

Hermione raised her eyes, and the soft lilt of Miss Bailey's honeycomb perfume wafted towards her. As if pulling her into Miss Bailey's comforting words. The question glistened in Hermione's eyes, and Miss Bailey duly answered.

"I know that won't happen because of who you are, Hermione," Miss Bailey said. "You are…someone special, you know that. Never have I…" Miss Bailey paused, wiped her right eye as though tears had sprouted, and then continued. "Someone as resilient and hard working as you. I know how much you read—your mother and father always speak of it during your parents' evenings. And how much time you spend at home researching and studying and learning."

"Miss Bailey…" Hermione started, but she didn't know what to say, so the words misted the air like the incoming December frost.

"You are so misunderstood," Miss Bailey said. "You…you never deserved what those children would do to you, and I should have done more to stop it. But…I never did, and it was only because of Harry that it all stopped in the end, and I'm sorry because of it. I should've apologised long before now."

"Harry?" Hermione asked. She knew what Miss Bailey spoke of, she was just confused as to how Miss Bailey knew of Harry's involvement.

"That boy has been a blessing in your life, and I do not think I have to tell you that. You know the fact already. And…because of your isolation for so long, you are not naturally reaching out for help." Miss Bailey placed her hand on the desk, just as Hermione stepped closer. "He can help you, just as much as you help him, if only you ask. If only you…let go of that fear within you, the same fear that speaks of failing the role you rightfully received, and seek help when required for things other than schoolwork."

"I understand," Hermione said, though her heart hammered at the implications of what Miss Bailey was saying. "And…about the bullying, I want to help stop it. Others are suffering too, and we can't just let them stay like that."

"That is right," Miss Bailey said. "But bullying is an issue that has, perhaps, existed since the dawn of time, and it is something that I fear will never go away. Maybe it is just one of those realities of life that we cannot change." Miss Bailey sighed. "I know that, as a teacher, I should not be thinking like this. There are things like that in life, perhaps—things we wish were different, like poverty, but has always and maybe will always exist."

"But we can change bullying," Hermione insisted, the image of a fraught Dahlia Glitz coming to mind. "We just have to…find the right angle." Just like in Star Wars, how Luke's plight seemed perilous and impossible, and yet he found a way to pull it off and destroy the death star. Hermione could do that, if only she thought on it hard enough. "I'll find a way, I promise."

"I hope you do," Miss Bailey said, her look forlorn, arms resting on the table, hands clasped together. Her kind face still framed with a smile. "And if—no, when—you come with the right angle, come to me with the idea. I would love to support it."

Hermione nodded.

"I will write you a pass for the next class to explain your lateness, not to worry," Miss Bailey said. She scribbled and signed a slip of paper, then handed it over. Just before Hermione left the classroom, Miss Bailey spoke once more.

"Thank you for your courage," she said.

And Hermione walked off, remembering another teacher—Mr Hammond—who had said the same words.

And Hermione wondered, truly, if she possessed the courage they were speaking of.

At lunchtime, Mr Hammond pulled Hermione aside and explained how auditions would work—two days a week after school for an hour and a half, with every day rehearsals in the week before the play. The play itself, it turned out, was on the Saturday following the last day of term. In addition to that, he handed her the script for the play, far thicker than a few wads of paper, which contained the lines she would have to memorise. Considering Mary was, naturally, one of the main characters in a nativity play, Hermione had a lot of work to get done.

But Hermione was, if anything, studious, and she vowed to complete it. Mr Hammond gave a wide smile, thanked her again, and she entered the playground in search of Harry. As usual, her best friend was sitting on their bench in the far corner of the playground, near the naked trees overlooking them from behind a stone-faced brick wall.

Wind whipped Harry's hair around in a frenzy, uncovering that brilliant lightning-shaped scar, and as Hermione approached, he grinned and scooted over to give her space. For some reason, perhaps out of fear of Harry's abilities in Hampstead Park, the other students gave them a wide berth, and none attempted to take their place at this particular bench.

"Congratulations," Harry immediately said as she sat down. "It's wicked that you got the part. Mr and Mrs Granger will be so proud."

Hermione forced a smile, that earlier nervousness translating to tingles across her skin. "I hope so."

Harry must have sensed the tremor in her voice. "Why would they not be happy? Even I'm happy—and I'm not your real family."

Hermione shot him a sharp look. "What do you mean, not real family?"

Did he really feel like that? Like he wasn't a true part of the Granger household, even though it was closing into a month of his stay? A stay that would last, hopefully, forever.

"Mummy and Daddy adore you," Hermione said, though Harry's faltered smile revealed his doubt of that fact. "You're as much a part of the family as I am."

"But you're their real child. I'm not their actual son."

Hermione grabbed his arm, jostling her bookbag in the process. "You are their son, and you have to accept that at some point."

Harry gulped, nodded, though it was clear to see he wasn't convinced. Not one bit, and Hermione knew it was due to the troubles fitting in with his old, abusive family.

They were supposed to treat him like a son, and they had tossed that aside like a fly to swat away. In his new family, of course Harry felt as though the same fate awaited him. He only believed that the future followed the past, and what happened with his old relatives was destined to repeat itself.

"Why aren't you happy?" Harry asked.

Like her bookbag earlier, Hermione was jostled, back into reality. Cold, November wind, Harry's pale features staring at her, a bench more rickety than a broken fence, and the faint scent of oak drifting across her nostrils.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, suddenly sheepish. Her cheeks reddened, which the cold didn't help one bit, and her coat felt more like a straitjacket.

"You auditioned for the role, and you got it. That's wicked." Harry glanced over, head tilted as though surveying her. "But you don't seem happy. Why?"

Hermione didn't know what to say, so shrivelled into herself.

"Are you just nervous?" Harry asked. "Is that what it is?"

Hermione didn't shake her head, nor nod, instead staring ahead at a brick wall that, sadly, only glared at her back. She couldn't tell Harry, could she, of her nerves and worries and utter dread? Miss Bailey had told her to reach out, but Hermione felt a block in her throat, as though her entire body wished for her to keep everything inside.

Harry likely felt the same, what with all the secrets surrounding his life. If Hermione couldn't spill what she felt, how on earth could she expect Harry to reveal his secrets sooner rather than later? And how could he feel a real part of their family when Hermione didn't share her fears with him?

"I'm a little nervous," she muttered, the words taking considerable effort to release.

"I get nervous too sometimes," Harry admitted. "When we're reading in class, I get my tongue twisted. Like this." Harry then spoke gibberish for a few seconds, eliciting a giggle from Hermione. "And then I feel like everyone's going to laugh at me. They probably do laugh at me"

Hermione couldn't relate to that specifically—her reading had always been stellar, ever since the little girl age of five. Even now, at ten, her reading age was far beyond adult level, even more reason for her to read big girl books like Mummy.

"But we read every day," Hermione said, eyebrows furrowing. "You should find it easy, shouldn't you?"

"It's not reading that's hard," Harry said. "It's…the feeling that everyone else is looking." He quickly spoke further, before Hermione could fully shift the subject away from herself. "When you auditioned, you were on your own, I think. But now, you'll have to act with other people around. That's scary."

"That's right," Hermione said, letting out a breath in the process she didn't know she'd been holding. "It is scary. Too scary. And that…"

"That makes the shivers come about," Harry finished off.

"Basically, yes," Hermione said.

"That's normal. I would be surprised if you didn't feel nervous." Hermione glanced over at him, and his light smile comforted her, like a caress over her heart the way Mummy caressed her hair. "You don't have to be amazing at everything, Hermione. You're allowed to fall sometimes."

Where was Harry speaking from? The boy typically didn't speak more than fragments of sentences at a time, and now he was touting paragraphs to comfort Hermione? And with the best of words, too!

Was this the true Harry, hidden beneath the veneer of fear and neglect? Was this the wonderful person that his relatives had suppressed this entire time?

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. Miss Bailey's words rang in her mind again, like an echo constantly attempting to remind her of something. To reach out to others, to shed that need to be perfect without any outside help.

"Do you want to practice acting at home?" she asked Harry. "Mr Hammond gave me the script, and we can try it out in my room." She then smiled, the thought replacing her dread with excitement. "You can even get some of the other roles if you want. It'll be really funny."

"That sounds fun," Harry said, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. And with each passing breath, the knot in her chest lightened. A knot she hadn't even known was tied. The wind, brisk before, transformed into a breeze of comfort, and Hermione wrapped an arm over her bookbag and spoke to Harry, whilst in the distance Dahlia Glitz sat alone, trembling in the wake of another one of Niall's bullying sessions.

Hermione would find a way to ace the nativity play, and save Dahlia and everyone else from bullying, and uncover all of Harry's secrets to make him a real part of their family once and for all.

If determination alone could produce results, then Hermione Granger would accomplish it all.

A/N: Lots of irl stuff to keep me busy this week, uni stress and all that jazz. Hope you're all doing well wherever you are. See you next week!