Living at Hermione's was just as brilliant as Harry had envisaged it. And, more importantly, it felt natural. Even the way she had poked her head around his bedroom door on the first morning, as if she had been eagerly waiting for him to get up, felt incredibly normal, even if he had never experienced it before. He had slept wonderfully for the first time since he'd been back at Hogwarts, relishing in the fact that he was on an actual comfortable mattress. But he'd been just as giddy as Hermione and had fought the urge to have a lie, wanting to make the most of his time with his friend, although he had been extremely surprised to see her face grinning at him as the effects of sleep slowly wore off. When he'd gotten ready, after she had practically ordered him to hurry up, he asked her why she had been so happy, only to be told that he didn't need to know.
With it still being a weekday (he'd forgotten about that since the Summer holidays always blended days into an incomprehensible mush), the Grangers were having to go to work, which left the two children on their own. After a lovely breakfast that Harry said rivalled the ones they got at school, they went about planning what to do. Hermione had seemed fit to burst before she eventually gave in, asking whether he had gotten his homework out of the way. The look she wore when he told her that he had, indeed, done the majority of the painful tasks had been worth the numerous hours of torture. She then asked him what he wanted to do, a question he hadn't been looking forward to. The fact was that he simply never got any proper freetime at the Dursleys, not like an average kid anyway. Locked up in his room (thankfully figuratively), he'd mainly occupied his time with school stuff, which showed how drastic a situation it really was. He never got to watch the television, apart from catching glimpses of what the rest of his family enjoyed at the dinner table, and he never played outside with anyone because, frankly, there was no one to play outside with. There was also the fear of Dudley and his gang using the opportunity to mess with him so it had always been much safer to stick to the inside realm.
Harry had felt unbelievably awkward at the look of pity Hermione wore as he said all that to her, wishing that he had kept his mouth shut. He hated it when people felt sorry for him, which always happened in the wizarding world because of his famous backstory and the fate of his parents. His friend had hugged him sympathetically, an action that caused Harry's heart rate to skyrocket, only because he was scared that her father would return at any moment and catch them in the incriminating act (or so he told himself). She vowed to allow him to enjoy himself, leading him by the hand into the living room. She dragged out board games from a cupboard in the corner, which provided hours of (extremely) competitive fun. Harry won the first game by sheer dumb luck and he had been scared that Hermione was going to throw the board away after losing. A part of him enjoyed the furious look she adopted when she suffered that fate, which only spurred him on further to win as many games as he could. Again, it was a moment of sheer normality that they never got at Hogwarts. Hermione had always shown her drive and determination to succeed but that was always connected to her work. This was much more childlike, some would say petulant, and Harry loved every second of it.
They put on a film, one of the many DVDs that her family owned, all neatly lined on several shelves. Hermione even made a bowl of microwaveable popcorn, a treat that she could only have when her parents weren't aware. The pair of them sat on the same sofa - strictly so that they could both have access to the sweet delicacy - and enjoyed the movie, quickly settling in contented silence. It was only broken when Harry would ask a question, since he had never really watched movies before, or when Hermione would comment on her favourite parts. She spoke so passionately about certain moments that Harry found himself listening intently, at times forgetting that the film was even on, growing to love the movie just through her passion alone. It was something that she had never mentioned before, her love of cinema, and she spoke about how her parents always took her when they got the chance. Once more, Harry felt fairly envious that she'd had access to moments like that, something she had picked up on, and Hermione promised that they would take him at some point in the future. He was very much happy to hear that.
One of the aspects of the house that Harry loved was how the living room walls were dominated by bookcases. At one point, Hermione left the room for some reason or another and he took the opportunity to scan the spines, trying to find out what sort of books she read when she was in the normal world, when she hadn't known she had magic at her fingertips. Perhaps he could find a hole in her collection and fill it for her birthday, but that didn't seem likely with the sheer volume of tomes. It was a part of him that he had never experienced before meeting his two friends, both brilliant academically and both besotted by books. Their enthusiasm had been infectious and had made him realise that there had always been a part of him that had wanted to learn more, to experience more. Perhaps, if he had been given more books growing up, he would have enjoyed his time a lot more, being able to escape through the pages and believe he was in one of those stories. In the end, he had ended up as part of a tale even more incredulous than any writer could concoct.
When Hermione wandered back into the room, holding two glasses of lemonade, Harry felt almost guilty, as if he had been caught sneaking around her house, nosing around her private items. That was completely ridiculous, since they were all on display for everyone to see but maybe his time with the Dursleys, where he was constantly on high alert in case he did anything remotely 'wrong', had left its psychological mark. There was no need for him to be so concerned, however, as Hermione moved to stand next to him, nudging him with her shoulder.
"I shouldn't be surprised that you have so many books in your house," Harry commented with a soft smile. "There must be thousands! I bet it's worth a fortune." Harry wasn't interested in money or expensive things, but he could still appreciate the finer commodities in life.
Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. You've been in the Hogwarts library loads of times, that's far more impressive."
"But this is all yours. This is you." He gestured to the shelves upon shelves of books. "This is what formed Hermione Granger whilst she was growing up."
Hermione ducked her head as if she were embarrassed. When she gazed at the sight before them, it was with a much softer look. "This is where I spent my childhood. Every birthday or Christmas, my parents and the rest of my family would know that the best thing to get me was a new book, the bigger, the better. So the collection slowly started to grow. And then I'd start to get money instead but I'd just use that to buy the books I really wanted. I think my parents did try to give me other things, more girly things, like they thought that would make me normal. It obviously didn't work and I always felt as if that disappointed them in some way. I was never one for playing outside, mainly because no one ever asked me. I suppose I should have tried harder to play with other kids but I've never really understood them."
"Or perhaps they didn't understand you well enough."
She was grateful for his blind, unwavering support. "I'd sit in that arm chair...I'd look tiny in it...I still do really...and then absorb myself in one of the books. Why would I want to go outside if I could have so many wonderful adventures from the comfort of my own home? It didn't make sense to me why everyone else wanted to go to parties or play sports, whilst ignoring all of this."
"I wouldn't have ignored this if I'd known you growing up. I would have been around here all the time."
Something about Hermione's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you sure about that? Would you have even thought to be friends with me at Hogwarts if it wasn't for Matthew? He was the one who brought us together. Would you have been interested in the lonely kid in the corner, surrounded by a fortress of books?"
Harry didn't know what to say in response. It was something that he hadn't considered before. She was right, like she always tended to be. That crazy first day at King's Cross, where the pair had been thrown together through the tornado that was Matthew Mormont. Harry's personality had changed to become more like Matthew and Hermione, meaning, without that influence, he probably wouldn't have been friends with her. Without Matthew, there was no catalyst, no trigger. But did that lessen their friendship in any way?
"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I do know that that doesn't matter to me. There's no point considering 'what ifs' when our lives are already bonkers enough as it is. All I care about is that we managed to become friends, no matter how that came to be. And I agreed to come here, didn't I? That's proof enough that I like being around you." That should have been declaration enough, since he was a boy talking to a girl. It was basically written into his code that he wasn't supposed to say he actually liked a girl before he was at least sixteen (it made sense in his head).
"Or did you just come here to get away from those horrible relatives of yours?" Hermione countered, though she was definitely smirking now, buoyed by Harry's impassioned reassertion of their friendship. She needed that reminder sometimes, that this wasn't some sort of elaborate prank on her. "You would have gladly lived with Professor Snape for the Summer if it meant you were somewhere different."
Harry shuddered at the thought, trying to picture the Potion's Master cooking him meals or playing with him in the back garden. It was completely ludicrous and a little bit terrifying. "You're far better than Snape, don't you worry."
"You're too kind. If you start paying me compliments like that, my father may start to grow protective."
Harry blanched, subconsciously looking back at the door, fearing that Peter would march in at any second, arriving to carry him away for liking his daughter. "But...I...I...don't even...like you...well, I obviously like you...but...not like, like ...we're far too young...I've never even thought about it...maybe I should go...I'll go."
He was moving away before he had finished his mad ramblings but Hermione was there to stop him. "Honestly, Harry. You're far too easy to wind up." Even though a little part of her was hurt at how defiantly he had refuted ever possibly liking her like that . It wasn't as if she had considered it either (they were only eleven, for goodness sake!) but it would have been nice to see that possibility still there.
"That's a part of you I don't get to see at Hogwarts. How much fun you get out of teasing! You're more like Matthew than you dare to admit."
"Or maybe he's just like me," Hermione challenged with a raised eyebrow.
"I can only imagine what his reaction would be if he heard you say that." In truth, he'd probably take it as a compliment. Or it would start a thirty minute back and forth between the pair of them, with Harry caught in between. But there was never any malice or anger in their 'arguments'; it was always as if both of them wanted to win the intellectual duel, pitting their wits against one another. Harry sometimes liked to just watch in amazement at the way their brains worked.
"Are you upset that he's not here?" Hermione risked asking, fighting the urge to bite one of her finger nails nervously. "That's it's...just me."
"Well, since he was the one who phoned my house, a part of me presumed that he would be here. But I'm not upset that we're getting to spend time together, just the two of us. That rarely happens at Hogwarts. Not that I'm complaining that we're usually in a trio. It's just...different... nice different." He was finding it rather difficult to articulate most of his points eloquently for some reason; he was worried that Hermione would start thinking that his brain was malfunctioning. There was a small part of him that was constantly fearful that his two friends would realise that he wasn't as smart as them, a worry that was eating away at him now. Matthew always had a way with words, speaking like someone well beyond his years, and Hermione often had the ability of reciting books word for word. Then there was him, stumbling over his point in a normal conversation. But Hermione didn't seem to be too concerned or distracted by his clunky speech, just gazing at him curiously, waiting for him to finish. There was a look of understanding in her eyes, as if she knew that, despite spending an entire school year with them, Harry still was learning how to properly talk to other kids his age.
"Do you know where he is?" Harry asked, deciding it was best to try a different line of discussion. This was much safer territory. "Like...where he's living these few months?"
Hermione shook her head sadly. "Not really. We've written to one another quite a few times but he was the one who sent the first letter, which appeared through our letter box one morning without any sign of anyone being around."
"He didn't use an owl? Isn't that quite strange for someone who's been living in the wizarding side of the world?" Everyone he'd met at Hogwarts used owls, some of the lucky ones like him keeping them as pets. All the families used them and it was pretty much the only way to communicate with the school that he knew of. It was just another peculiarity about their friend; that particular list tended to grow with each passing day.
"I don't know. He's definitely not a Muggle but he's also not completely disparaging of that way of life, like some wizards are. His dress sense definitely isn't as outlandish as some I've seen." She only had to think of Professor Dumbledore's outfits to prove her point, even if she didn't want to think ill of their headmaster. "He's just...outlandish in every other way...which I do very much enjoy. The only problem I have with him is that I worry about him constantly, mainly because we know barely anything about his life. The letter he first sent me, for example - the instruction at the end was to leave it at the post office two streets down so I wasn't even given an address! For all we know, he could be living on the street or in some awful place and I wish that he would tell us because we could help him! I'm sure my parents would let him stay here if they knew about his situation. No child should be left on their own, especially for so long."
Harry could tell that she was getting a lot off her chest and was getting the sense that this wasn't the first time that she'd brought it up. "Maybe that's the reason why he hasn't mentioned it. He doesn't want to be looked after, as if he's got too much pride to ask for help. You know what he's like. I think he enjoys that sense of freedom."
Hermione huffed in frustration, which bordered on becoming an animalistic growl. "That's stupid . Boys and their pride, I will never understand them. If that's the case, I'll be giving him a good smack around the ear when he comes here. He won't know what's hit him. I've spoken to him before and he's admitted that he went to Hogwarts mainly so that he could be surrounded by people, which means your isolation theory doesn't hold up. I think he's just too stubborn for his own good."
"Another similarity he has with you," Harry found himself saying without really thinking about what he was saying.
"Excuse me?" she responded dangerously, her eyes narrowed. "I am not stubborn! I base my opinions and arguments on irrefutable facts ! That isn't being stubborn. That's being logical. Matthew isn't being logical by hiding himself away. I don't want to say it but I do get frustrated with him at times."
"Are you not considering that that's also the point?" Harry suggested, momentarily confusing her, which was an achievement in itself. "One of Matthew's favourite hobbies is messing with you. The more you press him for information, the more he's likely to keep all the details to himself. Just so he can see the look on your face." Harry couldn't suppress a smile at her annoyed expression. "See, that one you're wearing now. I probably shouldn't tell you this because it was said in secrecy but...he did admit he likes it when you look like that."
Hermione was stunned, her mouth opening and closing for a few seconds. No boy had ever said that they liked the way she looked, in any sense. "He did?" she asked quietly, before she shook her head and refocused on what was important. "Don't distract me. Maybe you could talk to him about it if he won't be so obliging to me."
"He'll know that I've been sent by you, like one of your minions," Harry retorted. "He's too smart."
"He's not very smart if he wants to challenge me. But he'll soon find out why you shouldn't mess with me."
A terrified shiver crawled down Harry's spine. "Did you say that he's...coming over?"
"Precisely. Like I said... soon ."
xxxxxxxxxx
Although he was away from the Dursleys, Harry still wasn't expecting much for his birthday. In truth, being at Hermione's was present enough, living like a real, normal kid. He'd told Hermione exactly that just before they'd parted to go to their separate bedrooms, claiming that he really didn't need any big celebrations. Just being with her would make it the best he'd had so far, a comment that had made her blush a brilliant red, although it had been combined with a knowing glint in her eye. It was that look that gave him a hint that she wasn't going to listen to him, which had sent him off to sleep with a giddy jubilation. There was someone in the world who wanted to celebrate him being alive. Maybe more than one person, which he never would have dreamt of.
When he woke up, he was rather surprised that he'd been allowed to emerge from his slumber unassisted. There was no sight of Hermione's head poking around the corner of the door, telling him to get up like she had done the other day. He stretched, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton sheets hugging his body. He never got lie-ins at home, mainly because his Aunt Petunia wanted him making breakfast and getting a head start on the daily chores. At Hogwarts, they had lessons in the morning during the week, meaning he was always being dragged out of his bed by Matthew. And the weekends were no better, since the dormitory was constantly filled with the raucous snoring of his fellow boys. So this was a whole new luxury that he was being allowed to enjoy, the perfect start to his birthday.
He did eventually force himself to get out of bed, not wanting the Grangers to think he was lazy or anything. Harry found that he really cared what they thought about him, which didn't really make sense since he'd only known them properly for just over a day. The reasons why would boggle his young brain so it was better not to think about it. Instead, he went to the bathroom and got ready for the day. He was still surprised that Hermione hadn't come to see him but at least it gave him a chance to get into his normal clothes. There was a part of him that had been greatly embarrassed when she'd seen him in his pyjamas, despite the fact that they covered the same amount of his body as every other outfit he wore.
Going downstairs, he snuck a look into the living room, wondering if that was where she was. No such luck. He was beginning to grow concerned that she and her family had disappeared (the hyperactive imagination of a child working at full speed) before his nose detected a heavenly scent emanating from the kitchen, along with the faint sizzle of something cooking. When he walked into the room, he was greeted by the sight of Peter and Katherine sitting at the table, both drinking coffee and the former reading a newspaper. But what Harry's eyes focused on the most was Hermione working away at the stove, fiddling with a pan, a cute apron wrapped around her. Upon his arrival, her head turned around so quickly that Harry was surprised that it didn't come with an audible snap. Her eyes went wide and she let out a noise that was somewhere between a shout and a scream. It wasn't the sort of response he'd been expecting, whatever it was.
"You're up!" she said in a high pitched voice. It was almost a squeak. She had a little speck of flour on her cheek and Harry attempted to look at what she was doing, only to have her block his view straight away.
Her mum gently laughed, patting one of the spare chairs at the table for Harry to take. He hadn't even noticed that one of them had been left askew, as if someone else had been sitting down before he'd arrived.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Katherine said.
"Yes, happy birthday," Peter echoed with a smile. It was quite close to being the most he'd said to Harry up to this point.
"Hermione was wanting to do something a little bit special to celebrate so was planning to make you breakfast in bed, which is why she was so rude to you just then." Katherine paused to see if an apology was forthcoming from her daughter but she was too preoccupied. "I'll let you into a secret. Hermione's never cooked before so she's rather stressed about it all."
" Mum! " the girl in question hissed in annoyance.
"I told her that she didn't need to go to any trouble for me," Harry said as he watched her move around the kitchen. It did look like a bomb had gone off with the amount of mess that dirtied the worktop, which was very unlike Hermione.
"And when has she ever listened to what either of us say?" a very familiar voice said as the door opened once more. Harry spun around so quickly that he became dizzy, though he was still able to make out Matthew as he wandered into the room nonchalantly. He was wearing relatively normal clothes, though he still had his long overcoat that always seemed to be a part of him.
"What?" Harry sputtered. "You're...here...when...when did that...happen?" His eyes followed his friend as he stepped over to his vacated chair, plonking himself at the table.
Katherine sent him a disapproving look. "I thought I told you that you could take that coat off. You're our guest. I want you to be comfortable."
"I really am fine, Mrs Granger," Matthew replied formally, far more formally than he usually spoke. It seemed he was trying to impress Hermione's parents just as much as Harry was. Maybe they could have a competition to see who could be liked the most. "As for your incoherent mutterings, Harry, I arrived this morning. As if I was going to miss your birthday."
Harry scrutinised him through narrowed eyes. " How did you get here?"
"With a smile on my face," Matthew shot back, his expression telling Harry that he could tell he was testing him, and that he was easily up for the challenge. "I didn't think you were that interested in transportation."
"I was just curious. Did someone drive you?"
"Yes, I have my own personal chauffeur. He's called Frederick and he wears a fancy little cap that he won't let me touch. Next question."
"You're not being serious."
Matthew arched an eyebrow. "Or am I?" He was enjoying this far too much. "You know, you're meant to be in a celebratory mood. I thought you'd be happy to see me, especially since I come bearing gifts!" He was reaching into his cloak but Hermione clicked her tongue as she approached the table, carrying two plates.
"No presents until after breakfast," she told them, brokering no argument. They knew well enough when not to challenge her. Her expression softened as she gave them both a nervous look. "Bon appetit!"
Harry looked down at his plate. There were two, delicately folded pancakes waiting for him, dusted with white sugar, drizzled with some sort of coulis, and a few strawberries placed on top for good measure. A dollop of whipped cream had been plonked on the corner, the sweetest delicacy for any child. Harry couldn't believe that he was being allowed to eat such a sweet concoction under the roof of two dentists. Matthew had been given a near identical plate, though he only had one pancake. Hermione was hovering over them, waiting for them to take a bite. Matthew smirked at him, a silent debate going on between them to see how long they could torture her until she slapped them around the head.
When they finally cut up a piece and put it in their mouths, nodding their heads in approval, Hermione instantly seemed to untense her body. "I'm sorry that you only got one," she said to the boy closest to her. "I messed up quite a few times so there wasn't a lot of batter left. I wanted them done perfectly because there's no job worth doing if you're not going to put all your effort in and I thought that Harry should get two...since it is his birthday breakfast."
"You're not having any?" Matthew wondered, looking up at her. When she shook her head in the negative, he immediately patted the chair next to him, before cutting up his pancake in half. Hermione attempted to tell him that there was no need but her complaints were falling upon deaf ears. Her parents chuckled quietly as they watched her begrudgingly take the offered section. They'd never been able to get her to do something that went against her principles quite so easily. It was a marvel to behold.
"These are really lovely," Harry told him, feeling slightly bad for not thinking to give her some too. He'd never tasted something so heavenly outside of Hogwarts so he'd been lost in the enjoyment. "I can't believe you went to all of this effort."
Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. "It's only a simple pancake. Really, I shouldn't have failed so many times. It's only like brewing a potion, which I'm good at. Yet this took so many attempts!" They could tell she was frustrated, mainly because she always wanted to be the best at everything. She was so used to succeeding that it was new territory for her to stumble. For Harry, it was eye opening to see how she operated, how she always put everything into what she did, no matter what that was.
Matthew, on the other hand, couldn't properly take her seriously as some of the whipped cream had found its way onto her nose. He coughed in amusement, causing her to give him a curious look. For a second, she thought he was actually laughing at her apparent failure, which stung her. Growing up, she had become far too used to that sort of behaviour from other children, always wanting to see her slip up to take her down a notch. But then he was reaching over with a napkin and softly patting at her nose with it, leaving her frozen in place. She was well aware that all eyes were on her and she couldn't quite believe that Matthew had had the audacity to act in such a way, especially in front of her parents. What must they be thinking?
"I know it was a really good dish but there's such a thing as enjoying something a tad too much." But even Matthew sounded slightly nervous, as if he'd just realised what he'd done and how intimate it had looked.
"Presents!" Hermione blurted out, unable to look Matthew in the eye. She stood up abruptly, knowing that she needed to be anywhere that didn't have her parents staring at her with mirthful eyes. "Um...they're upstairs...would you like to...help me...get them?" She gave the boys a pointed look, telling them that they had no choice. Harry smiled awkwardly at Katherine and Peter, who were loving the spectacle of her daughter's embarrassment, before following the other two up the stairs.
"It was meant to be a little joke!" Matthew was saying as he caught up to them. "I thought I was being nice! I've seen people do it before."
"Not in front of my parents!" Hermione squeaked. Her head was spinning. "My dad gets protective enough as it is, what with me being away from him for most of the year. And now he's seen a boy clean my face as if you do it all the time!"
"He didn't look angry," Harry tried adding to the conversation. He was fighting the urge to laugh at the predicament.
"Just wait until you leave. I'll be sat down and they'll give me the... talk . Despite the fact that I've read plenty of the subject already."
"Have you now?" Matthew asked instantly, giving her a suggestive look that didn't particularly help the situation but certainly brought Harry closer to the brink of laughter.
"Oh, you know what I mean! I shouldn't have given you a pancake. I should have given all three to Harry and we wouldn't have had this mess."
"Yeah, because he was shovelling them down like no one's business."
"Hey, it's my birthday!" Harry defended himself. "And they were tasty."
"I can't wait to see what you do for my birthday. Perhaps you'll make a…" There was a thud, a rather loud one, that stopped Matthew from talking, much to Hermione's satisfaction, since she didn't want to know how that sentence ended. The noise had come from Harry's room and they shared a confused look. Matthew was closest to the door so he was the one who slowly opened it, peeking his head inside. His eyebrows rose at the sight as the other two joined him. Hermione's breath hitched as Harry rubbed at his eyes in disbelief.
"I certainly wasn't expecting that," Matthew murmured.
An odd creature turned around at his words, almost tumbling off the bed. Whereas Harry had no clue what it was, Hermione and Matthew instantly recognised the creature, although that didn't go close to answering their questions. What on earth was a house elf doing here?