Home Is Where The Heart Is
Dr Miranda Granger once managed to convince herself that having her daughter attend a boarding school all the way in Scotland was a good thing. It spared her the guilt of missing so much of Hermione's life down to her job. She already had missed so much of little Hermione's childhood. Being the principal dentist of a clinic took up much of her time, even when she wasn't in the surgery, she was off doing something. Her expertise in the field of periodontics also had her travelling much around the country, attending conventions and lectures, giving out a few herself. In truth, she was only really a mother during the weekends, if then.
Her husband, while he was a dentist himself, spent more time as a professor than as a dental surgeon. He worked in the University, teaching the next generation of Dentists, spending more time teaching than he did parenting.
When Miranda told her peers and colleagues that her daughter had been selected for an auspicious private school in the Highlands, she caught their judgemental looks. She had seen such looks for many years, from other parents and even from Hermione's teachers. It wasn't right for an eleven-year-old girl to be so fiercely independent and so driven. It wasn't normal for a young girl to out-smart her teachers, to be able to quote word-for-word passages from her text books. Little did they know just how special Hermione Granger was.
Perhaps Miranda and Richard had failed their daughter in how little time they spent with her, nurturing her gifts and relishing in her brilliance. While their work lives took them away from enjoying her childhood and her development, missing out on so much of what parents should experience, nothing diminished the love they had for their magical child. When she returned home from her school, the love filled their hearts anew and they listened to her excited chatter in the car, learning all about the strange, confusing world that she belonged to.
Miranda tried to convince herself again that it was a good thing that her daughter lived so far away. She tried to convince herself that even if Hermione had been born without a spark of magic within her, she would have still not been as much a part of her daughter's life. She and Richard had already talked about sending their daughter to a special private school for the gifted. No matter what happened to their little girl, she would have had the very best education they could provide for her.
The guilt persisted: the guilt of a mother suddenly coming to terms with the fact that her daughter was growing up and she was missing it. The young woman that came home for Christmas, seventeen and of age according to the rules of her kind, was not just becoming an adult. She was experiencing something momentus for the first time, something that she, as her mother, should be supporting her through.
Miranda had seen the tense, tight look on her husband's face the moment Hermione confessed that she had a boyfriend. Not just any boy either. Her best friend, the one that Hermione cared for so deeply, she cut short their Christmas holiday last year to check on him. Of course, Miranda had worked out from the ardent way her daughter spoke of Harry Potter that she loved him. It appeared that Hermione had worked it out for herself. Without her help, without a mother's guidance.
It was late midwinter night when the snowy owl that belonged to Harry arrived outside the kitchen window. Miranda jumped and squeaked in shock when she looked up from her washing up, seeing a pair of bright yellow eyes staring at her. The bird hooted, the sound muffled through the glass. She opened the window, letting the creature in. Owls were just another thing that she had accepted over the years. Thankfully, the creatures were trained to not show up when they had guests over.
Hermione gasped from the living room when the owl flew in to deliver its correspondence. Miranda continued to wash the plates that they used for dinner, listening to the television in the other room where her husband was watching the football while Hermione was reading, as usual. She of course burned with curiosity to know what Hermione's boyfriend had written to her. Was it a casual letter? Was it inappropriate? Was he a joker or was he serious like her daughter?
"No! Why can't they leave him alone?!"
Miranda's hands jerked and the plate she was washing slipped through her fingers. Had she not so clearly heard that shout in her daughter's voice, she would have dismissed it as Richard shouting at the football match.
"Hermione?" Richard's shocked response came at once. "What on earth is it?"
"Look, dad. Just… just look. You wanted to know just how famous Harry is. See for yourself."
Miranda dried her hands and made her way towards the commotion in the living room. She showed up just as her daughter threw what looked like a newspaper down at the sofa next to Richard. Then, to her horror, Hermione dropped her head into her hands, clutching a letter in them and burst into tears.
"Oh… starlet!" Miranda rushed for her daughter. The television erupted in cheers as someone scored a goal. "Richard, turn that off, will you?"
The screen went black as he stabbed at the remote control. Hermione's sobs then filled the room. Miranda shot him a look, seeing his equal bafflement at their daughter's reaction. He then picked up the paper that Hermione threw at him, unfolding it.
"Holy shit…" His mouth fell open, eyes widening. "This is the national paper?"
"Yes," Hermione said miserably into her hands, "and yes, that's me, on the front page, because I went to a party as Harry Potter's date."
Miranda gasped and approached. She squeezed in on the sofa next to Hermione. Her arm, still a little soapy, came around her. Hermione lowered her hands, the parchment in her hands crinkling.
"Good grief, they're writing about this boy like he's Hugh Bloody Grant!" Richard gasped.
"He's a lot more important than an actor, dad," Hermione said testily. Miranda meanwhile was eyeing the letter in Hermione's hand. She could read some of the words that her daughter's extremely famous boyfriend had written to her. One passage in particular stood out.
"Okay, the article isn't terrible and the people who were interviewed were super nice about us (a welcome change!), but it's still our lives being treated like our privacy doesn't matter. I get that the public right now need morale and maybe seeing me in a stupid bow tie helps with that, but it's not fair that we can't have this to ourselves."
Miranda looked away before she was too tempted to read the private letter in full over her daughter's shoulder. She was relieved at least to see that he sounded refreshingly mature. Of course, her Hermione would never fall for a boy who was childish and inferior in that respect. Instead, she watched as her husband's shock melted away to a stony, unhappy look. One that he reserved only when someone said something negative about her or his daughter. His hands tightened on the paper as he read the article to the bottom of the page, then he fiercely tore the paper open to where it continued further in. Hermione then looked over to watch, sharing her mother's silence.
When he was finished, he was fuming with rage. Never was the resemblance between him and Hermione more obvious. They had the same temper.
"May I?" Miranda asked, reaching for the paper. Hermione nodded. She took the newspaper from Richard's hand, looking into his eyes with concern. She settled the paper on her lap and smoothed it out so she could see it in all its magical glory. The adverts that flitted in and out at the edges, the black and white photographs that moved like they were videos impossibly printed in ink.
She went to read, but paused when she took in the photograph. It was very clearly a party with couples gracing the dancefloor, some twirling, skirts and robes swishing in what she pictured as brightly coloured garments. The grey-scale diminished the splendour she sure would have been captured in colour.
One couple took centre stage. Young and dressed very smartly. They were dancing slowly, revolving on the spot. Her eyes widened when she saw Hermione's face come into the picture, eyes closed, smiling, her head resting on her partner's chest. He then rested his head on top of hers in an undeniable tender gesture. She took in the headline. There it was, as clear as anything. The proof.
She then read the rest.
The Boy Who Charms: Exclusive scenes from the sidelines of Harry Potter's social debut
By Dorothy Harper-Selwyn, journalist
Last Friday, renowned Potioneer Horace Slughorn hosted the event of the season. A very exclusive party featuring the social elite graced the unexpecting floors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Photographs taken at the event tell a very clear story about who stole the show of the event. From a reclusive childhood away from his fame, Harry Potter has emerged as a young man of stature, poise and, as my sources tell me, charm.
"He is absolutely nothing like what Fudge and his cronies painted him as." Isla Blackwood from the Wizarding Wireless Network informed me, a guest of the party. "He introduced himself modestly as if not every single person in the room knew exactly who he was the moment he entered. He even made light of it when he noticed me looking at his scar."
Miranda found herself feeling disconnected and numb as she continued to read the spiel. She turned to page four where the article continued. There, It didn't take long to reach the mention of her dear girl.
"Who is Harry Potter's Chosen One?" read the subheading that caught Miranda's quick eye. Underneath was a close up photograph of Harry and Hermione in conversation with two adults, both holding hands. Hermione was the one talking and Harry then leaned in to whisper something in her ear. It was a lovely moment captured on camera; it was just a shame it had then been printed in a bloody newspaper.
Under the photo was a caption.
Harry Potter (Left) with his date Hermione Granger. Joined by Dirk Cresswell (right) and his wife Amanda.
Accompanying Harry Potter to the festivities was one Hermione Granger, one whom my sources say has been close friends with Mr Potter since their very first year together at Hogwarts. Miss Granger was in fact one of the Hogwarts students who had been involved with the incident at the Department of Mysteries in June, one who had, if the rumours are to be believed, fought at Potter's side.
"Oh Horace has nothing but praise for that young woman," Isla Blackwood informed me when I asked her about the Boy Who Lived's date. "She is exceptionally clever, brilliant even, and muggleborn as well. Mr Potter barely left her side the whole evening and, well… let us just say that he barely kept his eyes off her too."
While I am sure it will dash the dreams of many young witches, it appears our young hero has found his match. Both dressed in custom-designed formal robes by Malkins - London, they outshone all in attendance. It is clear that many came away believing that the young wizard and witch are the rising stars of the next generation.
Dazed, Miranda set the newspaper down on her lap. It was a showbiz exposee on her daughter. She gazed down at the photograph again, taking in Hermione's stunning outfit, the shimmering gown of what looked like it could be gold. Her hair, wavy and not bushy, was gorgeous and then there was the open look of pure happiness on her face. A look that she realised she hadn't seen in a long time.
She then looked over to the other side, seeing the party coverage continued. There was a picture of Harry standing on his own, staring off, looking pensive. He was a handsome young man; there was no doubt about it. His bow tie was undone, hanging at around his neck, His sleeves were rolled up, hand resting on a pillar. He appeared unaware that his photograph had been taken. Underneath his picture, some journalist described his outfit as if the piece was in some showbiz magazine, not the national paper.
"He's going to be so devastated," Hermione said, wiping at her eyes, "and he's dealing with it all on his own."
Miranda finally folded up the paper and put the offending item on the coffee table, away from her clearly distraught daughter. She looked past Hermione to Richard, who looked worried.
"Sweetheart, aren't there safeguards against the press printing pictures of young people without their consent?" He asked her seriously.
Hermione looked up at her father and gave a shaky laugh.
"No and there aren't any in the normal world either," she said, careful to not use the word 'muggle'. Richard hated the term.
"We can at least press charges when privacy is exploited like this," he said firmly. "Celebrities have been trying to sue The Sun for years."
"Harry… mentioned that the Headmaster got the original photographs back. They've still been printed but at least the originals won't end up anywhere else."
"That's something at least," Miranda said. She took Hermione's hand. "I can't say I'm happy with you having your picture all over the front page, starlet. There are… pretty unsavoury people…"
Hermione smiled at her sadly. "Mum, you forget, we have bigger issues than perverts in our world."
Miranda folded her arms, raising her eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It was but I can see why it didn't work," Hermione said carefully. "But honestly, mum, this could have been worse. It's a flattering article for one! They are so desperate to get into Harry's good graces, likely because they're afraid he will press charges for what they did last year. They were less flattering then, believe me. He could easily put forward a lawsuit, but he hasn't. He just wants to get on with his life."
She ran her hands through her hair. "He has so little in his life that's normal. Our… relationship, I suppose you can call it, is the only thing that's for him and for me. Now it's not. Now it's theirs. An instrument to bring morale. Love in times of darkness… that sort of thing."
Miranda hung on her daughter's drop of the word 'love'. She glanced again over to her husband. They would need to talk in private about how on earth they were going to support her daughter now that she was dating the magical world's equivalent of royalty. First, she needed to help her daughter with her heartache.
"If you are so worried about Harry, starlet, why not invite him to stay here for Christmas?" Miranda suggested. Richard's eyes widened at her. She suppressed a smile. Typical of him to be such a dad about his girl's new boyfriend. Hermione gave a sad laugh.
"He can't, mum. It's not safe here for him and he would never wish to put you in danger. He has a bit of a… saving people thing." Hermione's expression softened.
"It isn't safe for him? But I thought you said that Harry knows how to use the buses and the trains?"
"Yes, he'd be able to figure it out, but he… things are a bit different for him now. He can't be out in the open without a lot of security." Hermione put her fingers together, shyly looking over to her father. "His life is in a lot of danger. I… I try not to think about it, otherwise I'd never sleep at night. But… Harry has been through a lot."
"If he is at risk, aren't you as well?" Richard asked, alarmed.
Hermione noticeably hesitated. "Everyone is at risk."
"But if you're his girlfriend, you'll be a target for this nut job that wants to kill him."
"Richard!" Miranda exclaimed, appalled at his insensitivity.
"I'm not afraid, dad," Hermione said fiercely, "and before you ask, you and mum are safe. The Ministry has their own law enforcement and they know that we are high-profile on account of me being muggleborn and being a close associate of Harry's. If there is any magic used here, they will pick it up."
"It's safe for you, but not Harry?" Richard probed.
Hermione sighed. "The Ministry would never approve it. He's too important. It's hard to explain… if it could be possible, if I could have Harry here with us, having a normal Christmas without worrying about all that." Hermione gestured to the paper. "I would have found a way."
Miranda felt a surge of sadness for her girl. She really, truly cared for this boy. Her eyes found her husband's brown ones past Hermione again. He gave her a meaningful look. She frowned at him. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He wanted to give the poor boy the 'Granger' test. No one would date his precious little enchantress without him getting to know their character and gain his approval. His parents had been the same. Miranda had thankfully passed.
"If it is too dangerous for him to come to us, then… why don't we go to him?" Miranda then suggested. Richard nodded eagerly. Hermione lifted her head, looking at her mum with wide eyes. Her gaze went upwards as her mind kicked into life. Miranda loved it when she witnessed her brilliant daughter's mind at work.
"You won't be able to go to Hogwarts… but… Dumbledore could make an exception." Hermione said softly under her breath. "Or Hogsmeade. It's a magical-only settlement but you were allowed into Diagon Alley. What is the difference really?"
Hermione gasped and leapt to her feet.
"Mum!" She rushed to Miranda, crashing into her with a hug. "We could stay there! Get a room at The Three Broomsticks!"
"Hold a moment, sweetheart," Richard said, smiling, happy to see his daughter now joyful. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We can't just get a train to Scotland."
Hermione straightened, still holding the letter in her hand from Harry. She wore a scheming look as she glanced upwards at the ceiling.
"We won't need a train, dad. I'm going to write to Professor Dumbledore. He owes Harry this." She turned, about to rush off to carry out her urgent business without explanation as she so often did. A sign of her independent streak. She paused three steps past the coffee table. "Though… what about work?"
The loaded question. What matters the most, Hermione's happiness or their jobs?
"The Uni is closed for Christmas, sweetheart," Richard said with a strained smile. His eyes betrayed the hurt that her question brought. Miranda felt a flash of panic. She would have to take time off, time that was hard for her as the boss.
"I… I'm owed sabbatical time," she said quickly. Internally, she demanded 'I will make it work. For Hermione. I can't let her down again.'
Hermione's face split into an enormous grin. Miranda's heart stuttered at the sight of it.
"Yes! We don't need to stay for Christmas. Just two nights…"
"And expect your Harry to spend his Christmas on his own?" Miranda asked her. Hermione wore an astonished look.
"But… you prepared everything for the roast and…"
"We can have it another day," Richard joined in, understanding. "If Harry is this important to you, sweetheart, he's important to us too."
Hermione's eyes watered and she sniffed, nodding.
"T-thank you. I'll… I'll write to Dumbledore and see what I get." She nodded at them both and then ran off.
Miranda sat in a shocked silence for a moment before looking down at the paper on the coffee table. Richard rubbed at his face.
"Did we just agree to having Christmas in Scotland?" He asked her.
"We were the ones that suggested it, Richard," she reminded him, then sat back against the sofa cushions, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "So much for a relaxing Christmas at home."
He snorted. "Come on, you know you're just as eager to see who has our Hermione so giddy."
She looked down at the photograph on the frontpage of the paper, watching again as Harry rested his cheek on the top of Hermione's head as they slow-danced together. Her head was cradled against his chest, held so tenderly against him.
"I am," she said softly, "because love is a magic that I actually understand. I refuse to miss out on this." She looked across to her husband, reaching out a hand. He smiled and nodded, taking it.
"Then it's settled. We will meet our daughter's boyfriend - properly this time. I expect he is a little different to the boy we briefly met in London four years ago."
Miranda nodded, smiling as she watched the young couple dancing in the photograph.
"Yes… he isn't the only one who has grown up. Hermione's a young woman now, Richard. Respected, admired… loved, " she whispered the last word. "Our little starlet is a star now."
She looked upwards, her eyes dewing with tears.
"I don't want to miss her shine."
Loneliness muted the colours and the melodies of life that thrived around him. Harry was disconnected, adrift from everything that happened around him. He was just an observer, following along the pace that time set for him, obeying the set of commands that he half-heartedly kept to. Get up, get dressed, have breakfast, go back to the Common Room to avoid answering the question of 'are you okay, Harry?' with 'I'm fine'.
Harry Potter wasn't fine. The placid smile he painted on his face that Christmas Eve when he helped Hagrid with the decorations in the Great Hall was fake. The laughs and general engagements he gave when spoken to were all lies. Nothing felt real, his life itself didn't feel real. He listened to what was said to him without feeling any response, at least, not the emotions that suited what he knew he should feel. He didn't feel grateful when Hagrid patted him rather heavily on the back and gave him his sympathies towards his situation. He instead felt resentful. He wasn't soothed when Dumbledore assured him that the Ministry were handling the harassment he started to receive when his private life hit the print. He had been mortified that those in charge of the country had to get involved, that unseen people were filing through his correspondences to shield him from the abuse and the attention.
Some made it through to him before it was stopped. One Howler shrieked at him for 'twirling on a dance floor while people were dying'. Then there was a letter from a jealous blood purist who told him to 'drop that mudblood tart and court someone worthy of his status'.
He was angry. He was guilty. He was hurt. He was lonely.
He wasn't fine.
"Potter?"
His head moved as if on its own accord, turning to confront whichever Professor had addressed him with his surname. It took him a second before he snapped his eyes on Professor McGonagall that it only could have been her. She was striding up to him, appearing to be on a mission. He extracted himself from the Christmas Tree he was decorating and took a step back to meet her. He noticed that she wasn't dressed in her usual severe emerald green robes, instead favouring something much more casual. Under her dark brown robes, he saw boots and a tartan shawl was thrown over her shoulders. Her brunette, greying hair was still tied back in its tight bun.
"Yes, Professor?"
Even though it was the holidays and he was out of his uniform, Professor McGonagall still made him feel like he was in class. He half-expected to be quizzed on some theory about complicated human Transfiguration.
"You're to come with me to the Common Room. There is a matter that urgently needs your attention."
It had been like this for two days. Escorted around the school, never left to his own devices as if they expected a journalist to sneak into the school and snap his photograph. Suddenly, paparazzi worried the Professors more than the Death Eaters. He did wonder if any would risk trespassing in Hogwarts just for a scoop, but then he remembered Rita Skeeter. He felt ridiculous at being child-minded by his Head of House; the Aurors were bad enough. He couldn't help but draw comparisons to being a prisoner, kept under tight guard, locked away at night in a tower for his protection.
Stop being so dramatic. You aren't a prisoner.
He might not be technically in custody, but he certainly wasn't allowed to do anything without permission and without someone with him. His only reprieve was in the Gryffindor Common Room, though he suspected that he was still being watched even when alone in front of the fire. He was surprised that Professor McGonagall didn't make him sleep in her office so she could keep an eye on him.
"See you later, Hagrid." His farewell was stilted and the smile he put on for the half-giant's benefit didn't meet his eyes. Hagrid waved him off, his sad smile saying enough. Of course he knew that something wasn't right with Harry. He would have to be as unobservant as a post to not. He appeared at a loss to know what to do with Harry's depressive slump. He tried to say that he knew how Harry felt, having spent many years without a family at Christmas. He told him that few people really understood how it felt to go through their childhood without parents, and that he knew. But then, so did all the students currently staying in the school.
It didn't take Harry long to figure out what he had in common with the five other students. They were orphans like him. Their homes weren't their real homes, the families they spent their summers with weren't their real families. Like him, Hogwarts was the only home they knew.
Why then did it suddenly feel like he wasn't home at all? Where did the crushing loneliness come from? He spent every moment of his childhood, what he could remember, in forced solitude. He had no friends as a child and his relatives made it very clear to him early on that they were not there for him. Now he could barely stand it. He felt lonely even when he was in company of people who cared, like Hagrid and even Dumbledore.
McGonagall said nothing on the journey, keeping Harry's curiosity piqued. Her eyes were fixed ahead as she walked briskly up the stairs. She certainly wasn't hanging around. Harry upped his pace to keep up. He distinctly marvelled at how surprisingly nimble his Professor was. He supposed years of walking up and down the stairs and the endless corridors of Hogwarts was a way to keep fit.
When they reached the Fat Lady, McGonagall snapped the password and the portrait obediently swung open. Harry followed, ears and eyes sharp.
"Professor Dumbledore would like us to join him for a bite to eat at The Three Broomsticks," she told him, making him nearly stumble in surprise. His face flamed. Dinner with the Headmaster and his Head of House? "He feels, and as do I, that you need a break outside the castle… and away from your security arrangements."
She came to an abrupt stop in the centre of the Common Room. Her stern demeanour ebbed away and she regarded him with a soft expression that he saw so rarely on her face.
"It hasn't gone unnoticed how unhappy you are, Harry."
The use of his first name came close to flooring him. His jaw unclenched and clenched as he worked out what to say in response.
"I… I'm a little lonely I guess," he said quietly, not sure what else to say. "I thought I would be fine, but… I…" His shoulders slumped. "I'm not fine."
He couldn't meet his Professor's gaze as he made the confession. He swallowed and stared down at the rug under his feet. He did hear her soft sigh.
"I know that we are no substitute for your friends," she said in a low, soft voice that sounded so unusual coming from her. "But while you are here, your wellbeing is my and Albus's responsibility. Your physical and mental wellbeing. It will do you some good to be in a different setting."
Harry rubbed at his wrist absent-mindedly.
"The last time I was at the pub, I was practically mobbed."
"We have taken care of that," she said, her tone hard, "no one will bother you."
He looked up at her, touched then at the gesture his professors were making.
"While I am your Head of House, I… was close to your parents. I owe it to them to look after you." She said when his green eyes met her brown. "Now, the table is booked for six so you have some time to get ready. I daresay, Potter, you may want to dress up a little."
Her nose twitched as she looked down at his clothes. Harry flushed. He had been wearing the same pair of jeans for three days. He looked down, self-consciously tucking in his shirt.
"Um, how are we getting there?" He asked. He had a wild image of him sitting in a carriage with his professors.
"I will wait down here for you to get ready and then we will use the floo." She said. Harry's face burned even more. He checked the clock. He had forty five minutes. "I don't have to tell you to not be late, do I?"
"Um, no, Professor."
"Then go on," her mouth quirked up in a smile as she shooed him off up to the boys' dormitory. He set off, looking over his shoulder to watch her settle down on one of the chairs. She took out a book from her robes. Of course, she would have something to read on her.
Flushed with the urgency that he had to get ready and be presentable on time, he rushed up the spiral staircase and burst into the empty dormitory. First things first, he went to have a shower. In his mood slump over the last week, he had let himself go a little. Freshening charms kept him from stinking out the castle, but he was by no means in a state to be out in the public - much less with Dumbledore and McGonagall!
He scrubbed himself clean in a bit of a frenzy, washing his hair and accidentally getting shampoo in his eyes. Without anyone else in the dormitory, he wasn't fused about getting dressed in the bathroom. He headed out into the dormitory in a towel, his hair dripping wet.
Ripping open his trunk, he set about looking for something decent to wear. During his last excursion to Hogsmeade with his platoon of Aurors, he had spent a fair amount of his gold in Gladrags, purchasing casual wizarding wear for the first time in his life. He wasn't overly comfortable making the transition from muggle clothes, so he mostly bought outer robes to wear over jeans and a shirt. He wished he had bought under robes as he threw piece after piece on his bed. He chewed his lip sheepishly. It had been a while since he had gone through his trunk. He was sifting through clothes that he had grown out of years ago. He even still had Vernon's horrendous mustard socks.
Settling on a pair of jeans that had no holes, one of his school shirts, a green woollen jumper that Mrs Weasley knitted for him one year, he dressed nervously. He left his top button undo and pulled the collar out over his jumper. He sighed. He had no idea if it was smart enough, but he had nothing else other than his purple suit trousers. He gave a laugh at the thought of wearing them to the pub. He pulled on a nicer pair of trainers then grabbed a green outer robe to finish the outfit. It was one of his favourite purchases from Hogsmeade. There was a hidden pocket in his right sleeve for his wand. He fastened the robes down the front and went to check his appearance in the bathroom.
His hair was still sodden through. A drying charm sorted it, leaving his hair in its usual state of disarray. Moderately satisfied, he went back to his bed to clear the mess he had made. As he did, his gaze caught the brightly wrapped gift that he had left on his bedside table.
The gift was his other favourite purchase from Hogsmeade in the week. While he had given Hermione her Christmas presents, all wrapped as well as he could manage, wandering the shops with his escort had left him wishing to give her something when they reunited after the holidays. He had paid a visit to Dervish and Bangs. The shopkeeper had been almost too helpful and offered to make Harry something custom instead of what he had settled for in the store. He'd come away with something unique and perfect. His heart bounced in his chest at the thought of showing her what he had done.
Finally showing a comb through his hair, Harry was ready. He pushed his wand into the secret pocket and tucked his Invisibility Cloak into his waist band, hiding it under his robes.
Feeling self-conscious and embarrassed, he made his way back down to the Common Room. Professor McGonagall looked up from her casual reading and watched him make his way awkwardly over. She wore a strange look as she surveyed him over her spectacles. He stuck his hands into his cloak and gave her a small smile, eyes dropping to the tome in her hand. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed with age. She closed the book with a snap and got to her feet.
She slowly stepped up to Harry, wearing a wistful look as if she couldn't quite believe he was there. To his surprise, she then grasped one side of his robes and pulled them down, neatening them. Her smile grew fond as she then looked up at him.
"You're growing up, Potter," she said and then patted him on the arm in a gesture that of tenderness she never showed towards him. "You are already much more mature than your father was at your age."
He let out a breath and looked over at the fire.
"I had to grow up fast, professor."
"That you did." She said and then sighed tiredly. "We better be off. Come." She reached into her robes, returning the book and taking out a small wooden box. She walked up to the fireplace, opening the box, revealing a small supply of sparkling floo powder. She emptied the contents into the flames, flushing them both with the green light.
"Madame Rosmerta's parlour." Professor McGonagall announced. She turned to Harry, offering him her arm. His face burned both in the heat of the fire and the embarrassment as he cautiously took her offered limb. She practically pulled him with her into the fiery portal. He wisely held his breath to not inhale the smoke and ash.
Through a tunnel of emerald flames, he rushed with his Head of House at his side. A second later, he was staggering out of a fireplace, embers covering his shoulders. He brushed them out of his hair quickly.
Looking around his surroundings, Harry thought for a moment they had travelled to someone's living room, not a pub. There was a furry spread on the floor that looked like it could be a bearskin. Huge leather sofas sat facing the fireplace. Bookcases towered around the walls.
He realised he was still holding his Professor's arm and let go at once. He continued to look around. He supposed that it must be the lounge for the staying guests at the Inn. It made sense to travel there rather than in the middle of the pub.
"We are a little early. Professor Dumbledore will be meeting us here," McGonagall told him, turning away from him to pace over to one of the windows. Harry smiled over at a Christmas tree in the corner, glittering with live fairies. It was a very cosy room.
He heard the click of a door opening. He spun around, but saw it was just one of the guest rooms at the end of a hallway. He quickly turned back around. The last thing he wanted was for the whole inn to know that he was there.
Sticking his hands into his robe pockets, he idly stared at the floor, wondering where Dumbledore was travelling from. Footsteps were approaching the parlour, leaving the room. He hoped they would just head down to the pub and not engage in conversation. Maybe they would talk to McGonagall?
No such luck, he heard them getting nearer. Not wanting to be caught out being obviously rude, he turned.
A thousand sensations all lit up within him all at once. As if he was a human firework, combusting out from an explosion, golden sparks bursting outwards, brilliant and bright. In his shock, gasped so violently, his lungs ached. His heart likely stilled for a moment before coming back to life. His skin tingled, all the way down to his toes, his mouth falling open likely in a rather comical expression.
It felt as if his mind suddenly reconnected with his body. As if his emotions had meaning, the world suddenly making sense to him as if he had just woken up from a confundus charm.
He slowly drew his hands out from his pockets, blinking quickly, trying to clear the hallucination. Then he stepped forward on legs that felt oddly unstable. His hands lifted upwards, fingers desperate to touch.
His fingers made contact with a mirroring set of seeking hands. He sighed out, his eyes stinging as his emotions ran riot inside him, exploding into more fireworks. The soft fingers interlacing with his met with warm hands that pressed against his palms. His gaze ran down the arms, down the slender wrists, to the sleeves of a green dress. Up to her shoulders, then her neck where her dress came up to her throat with a cute collar.
His eyes ran upward to her chin, then her slightly parted lips, over her cheeks that were rosy pink, dusted with freckles. To her hair that framed her face with warm, dark gold curls that mesmerised him on days when he found himself staring. Finally, his exploring green eyes came to rest on a sparkling pair of warm brown eyes, dewed with tears of happiness.
He finally understood. He knew why he had felt so lost, so lonely. Why the halls of the castle that he so loved felt lifeless and unfeeling. He had been homesick because home is where the heart is.
And his heart was with Hermione.
There was then a soft snap. Harry and Hermione both jumped and looked around. Professor McGonagall sat on one of the sofas with her book in her lap. She looked up at them both, her look stern. Harry's face was burning once again. Hermione gave a small squeak of surprise. She rose up to her feet and then smiled at them both.
"Merry Christmas to you both."
Without another word, she left them reeling in her wake as she headed down the steps to the pub. They both watched her leave and the moment she was gone, they moved in unison. Their joined hands came down as they moved together.
Hermione's lips found his and his tears slipped down his cheeks. Harry sighed as he felt complete once again.
He had come home.
Hiding nerves was never something Hermione Granger was good at. In fact, she struggled with containing her feelings no matter what the emotion. Something she knew she had in common with her mother. The moment that their portkey dropped them off in the quaint sitting room in the upstairs area of The Three Broomsticks, her mother was full of child-like joy. It was her parents' first encounter with a magical Christmas. They were yet to discover that fairy lights were in fact actual fairies. That the wizarding equivalent of crackers made the flimsy paper hats, terrible jokes and equally terrible toys look laughable.
It was also the first time that they would encounter Hermione using magic herself and that was what had her jittering with anxiety.
She was barely keeping up with what Professor Dumbledore was saying to her parents when he joined them with following Madame Rosmerta to their room. Something about having the Everstar Suite, the room that she reserved for important guests (like the Minister). Her mum and dad were agape at the special attention they were receiving. Dumbledore had been exceedingly attentive with his engagements with her parents, being considerate to their ignorance of magic and not being obtuse about it as many wizards usually were around muggles. He limited the magic he used, restricting only to making their luggage feather-light and charming the portkey for their transport.
It had been an unexpected visit when Albus Dumbledore showed up at their home in Hitchin after Hermione sent her semi-threatening letter to the legendary wizard. It had been even more unexpected when he agreed to her suggestion.
"I will return at three on Christmas Eve," Dumbledore had said when he took his leave after listing many conditions that they would have to stick to during their stay in the magical world. Hermione's parents had hung onto every word, determined to make the most of the opportunity they were getting. It had overwhelmed Hermione when her parents started to engage and support her. In truth, she had barely believed it when her mum made the suggestion that they come to Hogwarts and keep Harry company. After the disaster of the Diagon Alley episode, they had been very reluctant to return. Hermione didn't blame them.
Yet now, here they were. Admittedly, the cosy comforts of the inn were already an improvement over a brawl in a bookshop.
Rosmerta opened the door to their suite, leading them in on her sparkly heeled shoes.
"I can take it from here, Rosmerta, having made use of this room many times myself," Dumbledore said to the landlady, smiling cheerily. She bobbed her head, making her farewells, not before giving Hermione's parents another curious look. The curvaceous landlady had already said numerous times that she had never put up muggles before. She had been very polite and eager to help; her eyes lighting up when she saw Hermione, recognising her no doubt. Yet it was more than clear that she was embarrassing her parents. Dumbledore handed the key to the suite to Hermione with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
He led her parents into the suite, explaining the different features to the room that were different to what they were used to. Magical mirrors, taps that turned themselves on, an alarm clock that had to be tickled to convince it to stop. While he was talking, Hermione drew out her wand and levitated their luggage from the hallway into the room. Her mum turned at the sound of her settling them down and gave a soft gasp.
"I'm sure the rest is self-explanatory," Dumbledore said, understanding his cue to leave. He bowed graciously at them. "I look forward to receiving you both at the castle tomorrow. Miss Granger." He nodded politely to Hermione.
He turned to leave. Hermione realised with a sharp shock that she hadn't actually got around to thanking the Headmaster. She quickly looked over to her mum and dad.
"I'll just be a moment."
She rushed after Dumbledore, finding him only part way down the hallway.
"Professor?" She called out. He stopped, looking over his shoulder, his smile in place. He looked as undeniably a wizard as always, dressed in fine blue robes with silver embroidered up the sleeves. His matching cap perched on his long, white hair, matching his dazzling white beard.
"I…I just wanted to thank you." She said at once, gasping the words out. She gestured behind her. "For making this work… and for adjusting the school wards to let my parents enter the premises. Really, I'm so grateful."
His smile widened and he gestured for her to follow him down the hallway, back to the sitting area where they had arrived.
"It is I who should thank you, Hermione," he said as he strode up to the fireplace, reaching for the pot of floo powder upon the mantlepiece. Hermione looked up at him in surprise. It was the first time he had called her by her first name.
"Sir?"
His smile turned as it was clear his thoughts went introspective. The brilliant sunlight caught his glasses at an angle that made them white and opaque, hiding his eyes for a moment.
"You give me hope," he said softy, "that the world that will emerge when Voldemort reign is finally expunged will be brighter and more brilliant than the one he is trying to destroy." He threw the floo powder into the flames, bathing them both in green fire. His eyes appeared a little eerie shining in the green light. "I know that with you at Harry's side, you will build that world together."
Hermione's heart felt twice as large as it should be.
"And on that note, he will be arriving at six. He's been told that he's joining me for a private dinner. I thought… you might enjoy surprising him?" Albus Dumbledore tipped her a wink. He then turned from her.
"The Headmaster's office, Hogwarts," he said clearly. He doffed his cap to her and stepped into the grate, vanishing with a flash. Embers sparked out the fire, lighting up the air. She blinked in astonishment at what he had said, then thawed when she clued on his parting note.
Harry is coming here for dinner at six! He doesn't know we're here!
She returned numbly to where her parents waited.
"...no even a television! What am I supposed to do to pass the time?" She heard her father complaining as she pushed through the door to their suite. She shut the door behind her, using the key that Dumbledore gave her to lock it.
"Perhaps socialise?" Her mum coldly countered. Their voices were coming from the master bedroom. Hermione huffed out a breath in amusement at her dad. Of course, the first thing he would notice was the lack of a way for him to watch the football. She picked up her suitcase from the main living space and looked around. It was a nice room, the sort she would expect from an old hotel. There was a fireplace, squishy chairs set around with a drinks cabinet and a games table for cards and chess. A dining area and a small kitchen was to the back, though Hermione suspected that pretty much all the food would be prepared in the pub kitchen and sent up to the table via house elf.
She pushed the door open to her own room, seeing a small double bed and a wash basin. Putting her suitcase down, she went to defuse the conversation that was steadily getting heated in the other room.
"Ah Hermione!" Her mum burst out when she stepped through the door. She beamed at her, clearly pleased to be saved from her grumbling husband. Hermione watched her dad straighten from where he was rather un-ashamedly searching the cupboards. "Everything okay with the Professor?"
"Yes… fine." She said, a little distracted for a moment, then she stepped in further. "He told me that Harry's coming here at six under the pretence of having dinner with him. Harry has no idea that we're here".
"He's coming here?" Her mum gasped. Nerves rocketed through Hermione again at her mum's reaction. "We're meeting him tonight?"
"Mum, you've already met Harry…"
"I don't think that debacle really qualifies as a meeting, sweetheart," her dad said from across the room. Hermione flushed. She agreed. They had barely said a single word to Harry that day. Not that they would have managed with the Weasleys flocking around Harry.
"Anyway, I thought it might be nice for me to surprise him and then I'll bring him here to meet you. It's… a bit more personal that way." She frowned at her dad. "Just don't overwhelm him, dad. Harry's fairly introverted like me."
Looking rather chastened, her dad approached, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Well then, what can I talk to him about then?" He asked. "What are his hobbies? His interests? His… career choices?"
"It would help us to find some common ground before we do meet Harry, starlet," her mum joined in, her tone more diplomatic. Hermione sighed, dropping down to sit on the edge of their king sized bed.
What common ground did Harry have with her parents? Hermione shook her head, turning the inquisition back to the source.
"Why not ask him yourself?" She then suggested. "You did want to get to know him, right?"
From her mum's pursed lips, she knew she had rather impressed her with the argument.
"Though I do think it's fair that I give you a little warning about topics to avoid," she suddenly said, realising that letting her parents have free rein on their questions might not be wise. "Harry's aunt and uncle raised him and, while they are like you and aren't magical, they are… quite frankly some of the most unpleasant people I've met. And I only met them briefly. He doesn't even talk to me about them."
Her mum's lips downturned at that information.
"Are you saying that… he was abused?"
The word had gone unspoken for six years. Hermione guessed that things had been very difficult at the Dursleys when Harry was a child, but whether it was as bad as abuse, she didn't know enough to form an opinion. And how do you ask your close friend about it? It was for Harry to tell her when he was ready.
"I'm not sure but I suspect at the least he was deprived of any love or affection," Hermione said softly, "he despises them and it's mutual from what I understand."
Her mum and dad shared looks.
"Alright, sweetheart. No questions about his home life. Understood." Her dad said. "And of course, we won't bring up his history."
"No - though he might find it refreshing that you actually know it's a subject he doesn't like talking about. Not everyone is so gracious," she said bitterly.
Her mum clasped her hands together, looking around at their luggage. She appeared nervous. Hermione smiled wistfully. It was touching that her parents wanted to have Harry at as much ease as possible meeting them. Especially when he would have no time at all to prepare himself. She felt a tendril of guilt then for springing the surprise on him.
"We should unpack and make this suite accommodating for meeting guests." Her mum said then. "He's arriving at six?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes and I thought that once we've met and broken the ice, we could have something to eat downstairs. I know you want to try Rosmerta's mead, dad."
He smiled appreciatively.
"I think a meal would be lovely, sweetheart."
Hermione then left her parents to it, heading into her own room. She shut the door behind her and put her hand on her racing heart. Giving herself a few minutes of a breather, she then set about getting herself ready.
It was quarter to six when she heard the loud roar of a floo arrival outside the room. She had been putting on her earrings. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that the arrival could well be Harry making his entrance. It was unlikely that he would travel from the castle in a carriage at night. She considered her appearance in the full length mirror. Her green dress was a recent purchase. A cheerily festive number that hugged her waist and flared at her hips. She wore black tights and a pair of red shoes to tight into the Christmas theme. A small amount of mascara and lipstick was all she used. She wasn't a fan of makeup anyway.
Her hair loose and wild around her face, she hurried finished up and fetched her wand. A thin black belt wrapped snug around her waist, perfect for her to slip her wand through.
She went out into the living space.
"Mum! I think Harry's arrived!"
Her mum peeked out through the door.
"Oh gosh! I'm nearly ready, starlet. Why don't you go meet him?" She said, and then she smiled broadly at Hermione. "Go knock him off his feet."
Not needing any further persuasion, she left the suite, closing the door behind her. She could see clearly someone standing at the fireplace in the parlour, back to her. She grinned, seeing a very familiar mop of wildly wonderful black hair. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. Her breath hitched when she saw he was wearing robes of deep green, so very similar to her dress. Had they accidentally matched?
She approached, feeling like she did when she went to him in the Common Room before the party. She felt weightless, like she was dreaming. He still didn't turn, even when he so clearly heard her footsteps. Her attention was fully fixed on him, every aspect from his shuffling feet, the way his hands were in his pockets.
A few feet away, he finally turned.
She knew he would be shocked but nothing prepared her for his reaction. He gasped violently, jumping, his throat bobbing. He gazed at her as if transfixed, pupils dilating, his mouth dropping open. Tears formed in his eyes and at the sight of them, Hermione felt her own blurring her vision. Harry's hands were then reaching for her, his eyes now wide, imploring, desperate. She came towards him at once, taking his searching hands in hers.
An overwhelming hunger for his lips on hers burned through her, nearly eating her alive. Until Professor McGonagall made her presence known.
In her need for Harry, Hermione had been completely oblivious to her presence. Shocked, embarrassed, she expected to be caught in the act, berated for inappropriate behaviour. The stern look on the Head of Gryffindor's face had her heart beating fast with alarm. Instead, Minerva McGonagall smiled at them, wished them a Merry Christmas… and left.
It was like something coming loose inside her. The moment Professor McGonagall was gone, she was drawn to Harry as if she had been resisting the magnetism and now couldn't any longer.
Kissing Harry was every bit as magical as she remembered in those nights where she laid awake in her bedroom. The touch of his hands claiming her, holding her at the waist, the way his thumbs rested in the dip of her hip… and then there was his kissing itself. The soft brushing of his lips on hers, the gentle, occasional caress of his tongue running along hers. He managed to make every contact between them meaningful. How he would brush his nose across hers slowly and sigh when his cheek touched hers. It got more and more frenzied until she suddenly remembered her parents were just down the hallway.
Coming to her senses, with great difficulty, she extracted herself and looked up at Harry. She laughed at once, her giggle airy, carefree.
His glasses were hanging off one ear. Harry grinned and laughed, taking them off and restoring them to his nose. He then sobered and the look in his eyes changed, the tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He sniffed and then wiped at his face.
"I can't believe you're here," he said in a tight, hoarse voice, "you already cut one holiday short with your parents because of me and… Hermione…"
"Shush." She stepped up to him, a finger pressing on his soft, slightly moist lips. His eyes flicked between hers, gazing very intently. "I haven't cut our holiday short."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.
"We've come to Scotland for Christmas this year," she said, her smile blooming over her face, "we heard that it's… magical… this time of year."
He looked at her, baffled. Then he glanced behind her, clearly remembering that she had made it to him from a guest room. Once again, his face went slack with shock. He took a step back, wiping again at his face.
"Hermione… you… you aren't here with your parents are you?"
She followed him, taking his hands in hers.
"I was so worried about you." She whispered and brought her arms around his waist. She rested her head against his chest, hearing his racing heartbeat. "I just couldn't bear the thought of you on your own and when I showed mum and dad what they wrote in the paper they-."
"You showed your mum and dad?" Harry's gasp was hoarse, horrified. Hermione looked up, seeing his aghast expression.
"They really want to meet you." She said, then rubbing her hands down his back. "So much so, it was my mum who suggested this. They're the first muggles in Hogsmeade since the second world war."
Harry fell silent. He then rested his head on top of hers. He was breathing heavily. She held him for a moment longer and then his arms snapped up around her and pulled her close.
"Thank you… thank you…" he murmured into her hair. She could feel him crying. Mortified that she had upset him, she unfolded her arms from him and reached for his face, seeing his blotchy skin and wet face.
"Oh Harry… I didn't want to upset you."
He shook his head, smiling through the tears.
"I'm not upset." He said thickly. "I'm…I'm really, really happy. This… this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."
She kissed him, his lips salty with his tears of happiness. He sniffled but she didn't care. It was everything that she had given him joy.
He drew away, wiping his face furiously again. He gave a short chuckle.
"I'm a right state."
"Let me." She drew her wand from her belt and cleaned away the tears from his face, drying them. His eyes were still a little red-rimmed.
"I think you probably have worked out by now that you aren't about to have dinner with Professor Dumbledore." She said. Harry laughed again, his smile now the one she loved the most. His cheek dimpled in his mirth.
"I thought I was going to have dinner with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall." He chuckled. "I can't believe she pranked me like that!"
He still had his arms around her. Hermione held his face in her hands, gazing up at him.
"Would you mind instead if you have dinner with me and my parents?" She asked him. Harry's eyes widened, panic sparking to life.
"Um… well… I suppose it can't go as badly as the last time I met them. Didn't Mr Weasley have a fight with Lucius Malfoy?"
Hermione groaned.
"Yes and since then, my mum and dad have avoided going to Diagon Alley so you're the first wizard since then they are willing to meet."
He noticeably gulped.
"But they really want to meet you." She insisted. Harry's arms dropped down from her waist and he bowed his head.
"No pressure."
"You'll be fine. Just be yourself." She grabbed his hand. "I'll look after you." He lifted his gaze to meet hers and he smiled.
"My hero."
He then let her guide him to meet her parents - a second time.
Ignoring her husband pacing around, pulling at his sleeves, sighing about the lack of the television, Dr Miranda Granger set four champagne flutes out on the games table. She had thought to humour Professor Dumbledore's insistence that they just ask for what they want in the kitchen and it will appear. She tested it, asking for champagne for four. At once, an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and four flutes appeared. Along with a little bill that she made a note to hide from her husband.
She straightened, watching the door, before going to open the champagne.
"They aren't old enough to drink," her husband pointed out when the cork popped loudly. She levelled him with a look.
"And did that stop us?"
He smirked in response and waved a hand. She shook her head and poured out the bubbly. While pouring the third glass, she heard voices out in the hallway. She looked up at her husband.
"I just thought," Richard said out of the corner of his mouth, "what if he's a complete bore?"
Miranda rolled her eyes.
"Darling, we're dentists and they have magic. I think we're the bores."
He sighed. "Good point."
The door opened just as she finished filling the last glass. Eagerly, she set the bottle down and took Richard's hand, waiting for Hermione to enter. She did first, smiling at them, her face so full of radiance, Miranda's heart fluttered. She drew towards the door as a young man followed her daughter in. He immediately looked at her and he, too, smiled broadly. His eyes sparked with recognition.
His hand gripped Hermione's rather tightly, she noticed. He was nervous and hiding it. Hermione led him inside, whispering something to him. His chin dipped a little and he relaxed his grip. As he walked, his robes flared open at his legs. Miranda breathed out a sigh of relief to see that he was wearing jeans and trainers under his green robes. The mixture of magical and normal was a welcome relief. Even though Hermione had told them that Harry wasn't like the wizards they met at Diagon Alley, she was still nervous.
"Mum, dad," Hermione said once they were at the table where Miranda set up the champagne. Hermione looked down at the drinks, a small furrow in her brow the only hint of her puzzling out why there were drinks. Then she looked up at them. "This is Harry."
As polite as that newspaper article said, Harry came up to them. He let go of Hermione's hand so he could extend it towards Miranda.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Dr Granger."
She smiled at once at his use of her proper title, unlike the magical family that she had met before those years ago. She took his hand, finding it slightly calloused.
"Please, it's Miranda," she said as she shook his hand. His eyes crinkled a little in the corners at her insistence. Up close, she then saw that he had the most startling bright green eyes she had ever seen. Astonished at their colour, she couldn't keep her eyes off them as he then went to introduce himself to Richard.
"And it's Richard," her husband said before Harry could call him 'Mr Granger'.
"Richard," Harry said and then grinned. As he did, Miranda saw the dimple on his cheek. "A pleasure, sir." He let go.
Miranda made her way over to the table, grasping glasses.
"I thought we could get into the spirit of things," she said quickly, "break the ice and, well, it is Christmas." She handed a glass to Harry, who took it with a polite smile. Richard took his. Hermione gave her a questioning look.
Harry gravitated towards Hermione, looking down at his glass. He then smiled warmly at them.
"I'm really grateful that you've come. Really. If there is anything either of you need…"
"A television?" Richard asked hopefully.
"Dad!" Hermione moaned, grinding her hand against her forehead. Harry surprised Miranda then with a laugh.
"Uh, well. That might be a bit tricky." Harry then tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Although, you might be able to hear the Queen's Speech on a Wireless."
Richard choked out a laugh. Hermione grasped Harry's hand. He glanced over at her, conveying something with his green eyes alone. Miranda rested her hand on her heart as she took a sip of her champagne. She smiled knowingly into her flute.
Harry Potter had passed the Granger test in less than five minutes.