A/N: Hope you all had a great week. Uni doesn't seem to be letting up at all. Really busy, so writing's pretty much stopped for my other stories. Without further rambling, enjoy!
Chapter 15 - Nerves & Jingles
It was the day before the nativity play, and Hermione was—in a manner Daddy would say—absolutely bricking it. She slumped in her room, on her bed, whilst Harry had left to go to the bathroom. The pink and purple and flowery paintings around her seemed almost demonic, of a dark kind, and Hermione shivered with fright. The silence was palpable, filled with a thickness that prodded at her, as if trying to elicit a reaction.
She knew the lines. Knew the words. Knew exactly what to say, and had rehearsed with the school and with Harry to no end. And yet, why were her hands shaking, why was her heart racing as though she wasn't acting in a play but fighting to the death?
She felt like a character in a fantasy novel, right at the final stages of the last battle, with the big-bad-evil boss before them. And the boss was huge, the villain seemingly insurmountable, and Hermione didn't know if she ever could overcome such conflict.
The door clicked open, snapping her attention to reality, and Harry shuffled through. Something was in his hands. As Hermione's head rose, she recognised the cookies—chocolate chip cookies, where the chocolate melted in your mouth with such delight it was like Mummy's love was infused into the bake.
"Mrs Granger gave us a few of these," Harry said, balancing them in both hands as he gingerly approached the desk. Placing them down, he turned to her and grinned. "Why don't you try one first? Mrs Granger tells me they're awful nice."
Hermione tried to return the smile, but her face reverted automatically to that frown it had adopted ever since Harry left. She sighed, let her arms fall beside her on the bed, and didn't say a word. The thickness of the air stifled her once more.
She recalled Mr Hammond's and Miss Bailey's words—they thanked her for her courage. But Hermione didn't feel courageous at all. She felt cowardice in her blood, as though it was a part of her genetic makeup. Some things, like personality, could be changed, Hermione had read in a book one time. But other things, like genetics that made up natural hair colour and height—that could never be changed. Not in a million gazillion years.
Perhaps this nervousness was one of those things. Perhaps her scaredness was just…meant to be, in the end.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, looking down at her with such concern that Hermione's heart almost stopped. She'd never seen this caring side of him, and she almost wished she could be down in the dumps a little more often if it caused this reaction. "You look a lot more worried than before."
Harry walked over to Hermione's desk and picked up the script. He flicked through it for a few seconds, before returning to Hermione's bed and perching at the end.
"Want to go through a few more scenes?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head. She didn't want to do much of anything anymore. Sensing this, Harry grabbed the plate of cookies and placed them in the bed's centre. The script was put beside it.
"It's your choice, Hermione. You're the star of the show. And the star of this house." He pushed the script, and the cookies, towards her, smile in place. "So, make the choice?"
Hermione almost giggled at Harry's antics. He'd only been living with them for around a month and a bit, and yet he was as integral to her life as her parents. Hermione didn't know how he had burrowed his way inside her heart, even though she was as closed off as they came.
Harry was someone special, and he didn't even know it. That was the tragic thing. He had so much to give, despite receiving so little himself.
"I'll have a cookie, thanks," she muttered, grabbing one of the gooey delicacies and biting right in. It tasted wonderful, sweetness exploding on her tongue. She let it settle there—and the chocolate chips melted brilliantly, as she knew they would.
"These taste really good," Harry said, munching into his own one. They grinned at each other, playfully, before Harry put the script back on the table. For a few minutes, they ate in silence, enjoying each other's company. A kind of quietness that the closest of friends had, where words weren't required, just companionship.
"So, what's got you so worried?" Harry asked. "School's finished, holidays are here, and Christmas is around the corner." He leaned forwards. "What's there not to be happy about?"
Hermione sighed, finishing off the cookie and settling her hands in her lap. The duvet and mattress, rather than comforting her, seemed to jut into every part of her body. And her face felt suddenly hot.
"There's nothing wrong," she said. It was stupid anyway. Just stage fright. Nothing more. Answering questions in class was easy, since she knew the environment and wasn't scared of the other kids. But getting under the bright lights, in front of everyone and their parents, and performing songs and lines—that was something she wasn't used to.
And she was dreading the entire thing.
"It's about the play, isn't it?" Harry said. He phrased it as a question, but Hermione knew it was more a statement of utter fact. "It's okay…everyone gets stage fright. I heard Miss Bailey speaking about it today in class."
Hermione's gaze dropped. "I know Harry. I was…I was there too, but this is something else."
"Really?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed. He leaned in further, and Hermione's eyes met his. "Are you sure it's nothing with the play?"
The concern dripping from his voice made Hermione double-take, and she remembered Miss Bailey's words. That Hermione had to let others into her life, had to reach out and gather support from those who were close. Because no one in life, not even big girls like Hermione, could manage things entirely on their own.
Was Harry that person for her? Where Mummy and Daddy were too old to fully understand, was Harry the person she was destined to reach out to?
Harry's eyes implored her. Make a choice, the stark natural green seemed to be saying.
And Hermione made the right choice.
"It is about the play," she admitted, refusing to look him in the eyes. Instead, her gaze burrowed into the lines of her hand, which she then flipped over to look at the back of her pale skin. She fidgeted a little in Harry's silence, waiting for him to say something, to say anything.
"What about the play?" Harry asked, in a softer voice than Hermione had ever heard from him. "It's normal to be nervous about things, right? I feel nervous before PE. Forget a whole nativity play in front of all the parents."
"Yes, but the others aren't as nervous as me," Hermione cried. She threw her hands up, as though her jitters would leave with them. "They're all playing about during rehearsals acting as if nothing is the problem. Oh Harry—what if I'm the only one there that fails?"
Harry smiled at her, like Daddy did sometimes, as though he knew something about her that she didn't. As if he was a big boy now, like Daddy, and held a wisdom beyond Hermione's grasp.
"But you won't fail, Hermione," Harry said, as if it was the surest thing in the world.
Hermione threw him a look. "How do you know that? You're not a genie. You don't have a prophecy of some sort. How do you know I won't be the only one that crumbles under the pressure?"
"Doesn't pressure make diamonds?" Harry said. "I remember reading it in one of those science books in class. Diamonds are made under lots of pressure deep in the earth." Harry grinned again, as if his mouth was permanently set in a happy expression. "You're like a diamond Hermione. You'll see tomorrow. The parents aren't going to know what hit them."
Hermione lowered her head, cheeks growing hotter than the cooker downstairs, and she picked up another cookie and bit off a chunk just to have something to do. As they both ate in silence once more, Harry's words rushed through her head a million times, like a kind of mantra.
Did he really think of her like that? That she was some sort of diamond, someone special, someone with the ability to act in front of hundreds of people without a problem?
Niall and other children, over the years, had eroded her self-belief to a level lower than the fossils of the earth. But…could that pressure have made her a diamond, sparkling and special?
Hermione didn't think of herself as such, but Harry's words fuelled her. Filled her with a confidence she'd never felt before. It was a freeing experience, and the tightness in her chest loosened almost instantly.
Thank you, Miss Bailey, she internally said, as though the message would be sent to her teacher wherever she was now.
"And thank you, Harry," Hermione spoke aloud.
His eyes widened at that, as if thanks was something he shouldn't receive.
"You're a diamond as well, you know," Hermione said. "We all think so. Mummy and Daddy love you and you'll see that soon enough."
Harry merely bit into his cookie, cheeks growing red, and Hermione gave a giggle at that. She crunched another bite of chocolate chip delight, and the sweetness only barely fell short of how sweet Harry's words were before.
Thank you for your courage. The words replayed in Hermione's mind again, from both Mr Hammond and Miss Bailey.
She glanced at the script on her desk, and set her mind to performing her best in the play, determination shielding her from the attacks of nerves and last minute jitters.
She was going to act her heart out tomorrow. Act her best. And do her entire family proud.
Mummy and Daddy love you and you'll see that soon enough.
The words kept repeating in Harry Potter's mind all throughout the night, and even the next morning at breakfast. Whilst eating his cereal, carefully crafted by Mrs Granger to be at the perfect temperature, he mulled over Hermione's words, wondering if they were true or not. Wondering what they truly meant.
And then his thoughts flitted to the day out shopping at Harrods for Christmas presents. Whilst looking for Mrs Granger's perfume, Mr Granger said something to Harry. That adopting him was the best decision of their lives, and Harry had felt that warmth in his chest.
A warmth he hadn't felt since. But the remnants of such a feeling still lingered deep within his soul, in a place that no one could reach without the best of words, the most tender of gestures.
Harry didn't understand what was going on inside him. Didn't know how to process his emotions. Didn't know if such emotions could even be processed, or only felt deep inside someone's core.
Could that warmth in his chest—could that be love? The kind of love that Dudley had from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when they hugged him and rubbed his hair? The kind of love that Hermione had from her parents, since she was their true child?
The love that freaks like Harry weren't supposed to receive, because of their freakish nature?
Was that what little Harry Potter felt inside his soul?
Questions circulated around Harry's mind as he sat with Hermione at the dining table. They were both silent, eating the deliciously sweet corn flakes, letting the natural November light bask over them, and letting the companionship flow between them as Mr and Mrs Granger bustled around the room.
"Need to get a lot of things ready for the play," Mrs Granger said. "I've made sure to wash your costume, sweetie, so it's all ready for today. To make everything easier for you. Oh, and we can't forget to take pictures of course."
"That's where this camera comes in," Mr Granger said, not missing a beat. He sat on the table and held up a bulky looking camera with the word Canon on the side. Aunt Petunia had one similar, not that Harry was allowed to inspect it, but Mr Granger's camera possessed a lens far larger, likely for greater zoom.
"Not embarrassing pictures, Daddy," Hermione finally said with a giggle.
"Why ever not, my princess? For the stars will gaze upon you today, and for that we shall take the best of pictures." Mr Granger put on a funny voice, like a wise grandad from a movie, that sent both children into a frenzy of giggles, before they returned to munching through the rest of their cereal. "And we need to get a family portrait after the show, of course. A new one to put on the shelf above the fireplace. It's going to be fantastic."
Mrs Granger gave Harry a knowing look…that Harry couldn't exactly decipher. He returned to his cereal, cheeks burning red for a reason he couldn't grasp. What had Mrs Granger meant by that?
They finished eating, washed the dishes, and got ready in quick order. Since it was a Saturday with no school, not to mention the Christmas holidays had already started, the play would begin at ten. The Grangers, along with Harry, would have to make a quick move to make it in time and get good seats in the school sports hall, where a stage had been set up.
They bundled into the family Ford and set off for Steadheath Primary. Minutes later, or what felt like hours to Harry since it seemed Hermione's jitters were beginning to transfer to him, they arrived at the large hall.
Hermione was meant to go off with one of her teachers to get ready for the play, so she gave Mr and Mrs Granger a hug. They held her close, as if fusing confidence into her. Then she turned to Harry.
"Do you think it's going to go well?" she asked, biting her lip, likely from nerves.
Harry grinned. "I think it's going to be wicked. Go out there and show them…show them who's boss!"
Hermione pounced on him, wrapped him in a hug that took Harry by surprise. She'd hugged him before, of course, especially in the first two weeks of arriving at the Granger house. But here, the hug was different.
Rather than trying to comfort Harry, she was drawing comfort from Harry. And it was a strange feeling…to be needed by someone around him. Again, that warm feeling erupted in his chest, the feeling he didn't know how to describe.
Except for with a single word that felt far too out of reach for a freak like Harry.
Not knowing what to feel, what to think, Harry watched as Hermione retreated into the distance. She peeled back the red curtain and disappeared behind it, whilst Harry and the Grangers took their seats at the front of the hall.
"Usually front row seats are the worst," Mr Granger muttered, letting Harry sit in between him and Mrs Granger. "But we need to get the most embarrassing pictures of Hermione. She'll never live them down, of course."
"Oh Mark," Mrs Granger said. "Must it be your entire job in life to embarrass your daughter?"
"You're only saying that because your pictures are still in the attic." He winked at Harry. "Maybe I should get them out and show the kids. They'd love to see what your nativity play looked like."
Mrs Granger glared. "You wouldn't dare," she said, and the tone of voice was enough to whip that proposition out of Mr Granger's mind.
Harry sat patiently, not saying a word, waiting for the play to start. The hall slowly filled up, voices swirling behind him, hushed words of excitement and anticipation. And Harry could feel the excitement in his own bones, as though emotions could be transferred from heart to heart.
His first nativity play! And Hermione was in it too!
The hall then hushed, and manually placed spotlights above flickered to life. They cast beams of yellow light, like a glow from heaven, down onto the prepared stage, and Harry sat with Mr and Mrs Granger, knees almost bouncing from the wait.
And then the play began.
Hermione emerged wearing one of the most beautiful gowns Harry had ever seen. It was a vibrant white, not pale like his own skin, and glistened in the soft patters of overhead light. Dove-like, almost, as though the beauty of nature had been captured within the folds of shimmering silk. Harry watched as Hermione acted, pranced around the stage as though it was her own little playground, gestured with the grace of one of God's chosen, and he felt something stir in his chest.
A feeling he'd never felt before. A feeling he didn't think he could feel.
And as he listened to her recite her lines, and watched her sparkle extra bright on a stage already encrusted with diamonds, he recognised what that feeling was.
A sense of true friendship. Harry had always heard that…that being a true friend sometimes meant wanting better for a friend than they wanted for themselves. And Harry knew that he would trade all the nativity plays he could act in himself just to see Hermione act in one.
And that cemented something within himself—cemented that sense of friendship. And though Harry could feel a freak before the Granger parents, he knew that with Hermione he held something special.
And nothing, not even Dudley and his grubby fingers, could rip that away from him.
Hermione felt on top of the world. No, not just on top of the world. She felt like a special spaceship had been created just for her. She'd gone into that spaceship as soon as the play started, then flicked a switch. And up she went, soaring higher and higher, until she'd broken through the scenic atmosphere of the earth.
But the sky didn't represent all that was above.
So higher above she ascended, up and up and up, until her spaceship orbited with the stars, reaching beyond anything she had reached before. And then, right at the end of the play, as if the historical Mary herself, Hermione felt like she'd cut herself a slice of heaven and brought it back down with her.
She felt that heavenly glow brim around her as the play ended, and all the actors bowed to the audience with smiling faces. Harry fielded such a wide grin Hermione was surprised his cheeks didn't split apart, and she spotted Mummy suspiciously wiping her eyes of moisture. Daddy's face held unrestrained pride, and Hermione basked in the halo of their praise.
For it was the first time that her achievements had manifested right before them. Test scores and quiz marks were taken home for them to see. But a live play right before their eyes—Hermione had reached another level.
And it had all been thanks to Harry, after all, since his encouragement and confidence in Hermione had bolstered her belief in herself. Had it not been her best friend, her only true friend in the world, then Hermione wouldn't have ever got on stage, overcome her jitters and fright, and performed her heart out.
Hermione might've been a big girl, but Miss Bailey was right. Confiding in others, gleaning their help when needed—that had played such a massive role in Hermione's performance. And she realised what they had said was true—it did take courage to reach out, audition, and then act in the play itself, and Hermione was all the better for it.
She watched as Daddy took a few pictures of her on the camera he'd brought, smiling as he clicked again and again, and for once Hermione didn't mind. She posed as Daddy took another one, tilting her head down for a better angle, before joining the other kids behind the curtain where they were taking their costumes off.
"Did marvellously, Hermione," Mr Hammond was saying, his smile as wide as everyone else's. Wider than she'd ever seen. "Absolutely marvellously, and I'm so, so proud of you. Stellar stuff, and I think acting might really be on the cards for you in the future. Haven't seen anything so good since my theatre days—long, long time ago."
Hermione glanced around the changing area, at the rest of the actors and singers staring at her with an expression she'd never seen on their faces.
Wonder.
"You really think so?" Hermione asked, almost shrinking into herself from the attention.
"I really do," Mr Hammond said. "That was on another level, seriously. Can't say that enough. With practice, you can do anything." He directed her to the end of the changing area where she pulled the white shawl off herself and was clad in normal clothing again.
But the sense of accomplishment never deserted her, a worthy companion as she stood tall at the far side of the changing area. Head held high, spine straight. The air she breathed seemed supercharged, as though electrical currents were funnelling confidence and pride and a host of other emotions into her chest. All positive, for once.
"That was amazing, Hermione," Miss Bailey said, coming in through the red curtains and heading straight for her. The grin the teacher gave lit the world as much as the creamy lights overhead. "I couldn't believe it when I saw it. My Hermione, the girl sitting at the front of my form class—and she was acting her heart out. I almost swooned, I tell you."
Hermione had never seen Miss Bailey act so…girlish with excitement before, and before she knew it the teacher had wrapped her in a hug. Squeezed her once. Before letting go again and holding her at shoulder's length.
"We're not supposed to be hugging students, but you deserved it Hermione, for your courage." Miss Bailey leaned in, whispered so none of the other students heard. "I bet young Harry had something to do with today's performance, didn't he?"
Hermione nodded. "You said to…to reach out, and I did. And that's what helped me the most." And it was the starkest truth, for Harry's help throughout the entire ordeal, from rehearsals at home to comforting her when the nerves attacked, to sharing cookies with her the previous night—it all culminated in her acting performance.
It was as much Harry's achievement as it was hers.
"He's helped you, so now it's your turn to help him," Miss Bailey said.
Hermione perked up at that. "What do you mean?"
Miss Bailey lowered her voice again, as though sharing a well-guarded secret. "That Harry seems…isolated isn't the right word—he seems secretive. I can see the pain in his eyes sometimes—I assume he's suffered a lot in the past."
Hermione didn't want to betray what Mummy and Daddy had told her, so she merely nodded without a word.
"He needs to come out of his shell more, even if he's friends with you. I know he's already doing that…but there's something hurting him deep down. Something he can't let go." Miss Bailey pinned her with a gaze, as though addressing her before a grave mission. "I think you can make the difference."
Not for the first time that day, Hermione found herself saying, "You really think so?"
"I know so," Miss Bailey said. "Because…someone with as much resilience as you, who can perform like that in front of a crowd that big—they can accomplish anything in life. If you had to save the kingdom like Bilbo Baggins, you'd find a way to do it. That, I am sure of."
"Okay," Hermione said, Harry's face flashing in her mind. And as Miss Bailey left her in a comforting silence, she brooded on the problem like it was an essay for English class.
Miss Bailey was right. Harry was guarding something, something close to his chest, something he held dear away from everyone else. And Hermione didn't know exactly what it was, what it could be. Sometimes, she'd run into his room and find him quickly stash something away, hiding it from her. He would act as if nothing had happened, but the air was still charged with the scent of secrecy.
What that elusive object was, though, troubled her mind. Was it a secret gift from his old relatives? Hermione doubted that, since they'd been the worst of people to Harry. Maybe a secret book he was reading, away from her, which he would show her later. But Harry wasn't that slow a reader, and she'd seen him fidget like that for over a month now.
Her mind whirred, but answers didn't come, and as she left the red curtains to rejoin her family, Hermione thought further on what Miss Bailey had said. The mission Miss Bailey had given her, as well as her own mission of stopping bullying at Steadheath Primary School.
Hermione had been courageous once, and it benefitted herself.
Now Hermione had to be courageous for others.
And that was an altogether entirely different beast to tackle.
Catherine Granger stood outside in her front garden, staring at the plants that were, finally, wilting and withering in the heat of winter's cold. She shivered, wrapping her own coat tighter around herself, whilst sipping on a warm mug of tea. The tea soothed her, caressing her throat as it flowed down, and the worst of the chill was staved off.
Although her house had a driveway in which she could grab a chair and sit comfortably, Catherine preferred standing up. It made her feel more in control, for some reason, and control was important to her now. Because she had another mouth to feed, another soul to care for, and that required her full attention at all times.
Hermione was a flower always blooming and tall. Harry had been trampled by his relatives, and Catherine would need to nurse him back to a blossom akin to the blessing of spring.
Though the foster period was only for six months, Catherine knew a permanent adoption was happening—knew it like the back of her hand, and Mark's agreement was present in his eyes, even if he didn't say the words. She didn't know how, but Harry had compassionately invaded her heart before setting up camp there, fit with a fireplace of burning love, and promptly decided to never leave.
The previous day, just after Hermione's wonderful performance in the nativity play had ended, Mark had asked one of the other parents to take a family photo using his camera. At the time, Catherine had found it strange how Harry lingered off to the side, out of shot, almost as if he didn't want to belong.
Hermione urged him on, tugging his arm towards them, and Harry smiled next to Catherine's daughter. Sometimes, Hermione took her responsibilities as a big girl a little too seriously, but pride filled Catherine's heart whenever she noticed the lengths her daughter went to keep Harry happy. To include him in everything she did.
Harry seemed receptive to it, almost glowing in Hermione's attention like a young Catherine had done when Mark first approached her and extended the hand of friendship.
After the family photo, they'd gone to a nearby cafe, where hot chocolate and tea reigned supreme. Harry's face almost melted in delight along with the hot chocolate, and Catherine realised it was probably the first time he'd ever drank the beverage in his life.
A lot of normal experiences for everyone else were novel to Harry, and Catherine would have to make sure to show him the wonders of the world. To show him that he did belong in their family, wasn't a burden, wasn't a stain in the carpet or blood in the sand. Wasn't a blight on their reputation as he sometimes thought so.
Wasn't a freak, most of all.
He was part of them, their son, special in a way Hermione was too, and that meant everything.
"Mummy, there you are," Hermione spoke from behind her. Catherine turned and waved her closer. She searched behind Hermione for a trailing Harry, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.
"Daddy's talking to him now about something," Hermione said, face scrunching. "Something about a football match on Boxing Day he wants to take Harry to. I think it's an Arsenal game in North London."
"That sounds wonderful," Catherine said. It would do Harry some good to get out and about with Mark, especially since they seemed a little closer since buying Christmas presents in Harrods. Not to mention Harry learning that he was a part of the family, not just Hermione's friend who was staying over.
"Mummy, do you love Harry?" Hermione then said, halting all previous thoughts in Catherine's mind. The world stilled at the moment, as if everything turned towards Catherine, pinning her to the spot. Her teacup froze in her hand.
"What?" she blurted out, not knowing what to reply to such a stark question. Love was a culmination of feelings, not a switch to turn on and off.
"Do you love Harry?" Hermione said. "The same way you love me."
Catherine searched her daughter's eyes. Was Hermione asking for her own sake, to be reassured that Harry wasn't overtaking her in terms of parental affection, or was she asking for Harry's sake, to know that he would stay with them after the six months?
Hermione was a big girl, and the level of compassion she possessed for Harry eclipsed any ulterior motives that could've arised.
Catherine decided it was the latter.
"Of course I love him," she breathed out, as if admitting the fact to herself more than anyone else. "Both Daddy and I do. We love him like our own son, sweetie, as if he was your blood brother."
Hermione smiled at that, a little shyly, and before she left, she said one thing which caused Catherine's mind to freeze more than the chilled December weather ever could.
"If you love him, Mummy, why don't you tell him?"
A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Anyway, do indulge my rambling for a second…
The most amazing thing happened yesterday lol, thought I'd share it here. Turns out one of my closest uni friends has been reading HP fanfic for almost a decade (I've known him for over 2 years and we've never spoken about fanfic) and that he'd seen my stories before whilst browsing ao3 but hadn't read them.
That was a shocker, let me tell you. Especially since we're both guys and none of my other friends are into reading at all.
Small world, it does feel like sometimes.
In any case, wishing everyone the best. See you in the next chapter, only another six or so left after this. Take care until next Saturday!