Love Is Thicker Than Blood

Love Is Thicker Than Blood

By Anne U

Chapter 2 - Growing Up Granger

Catherine Benton spent the next few days ringing up every contact she had in England, Scotland and Wales, attempting to find out if anyone knew of a young woman who might have abandoned a male toddler with green eyes, a tuft of black hair, and a tiny lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Despite burning up the telephone wires all over Britain, she couldn't find anyone who knew a thing about Harry. In fact, she couldn't even verify that Harry had been born in the United Kingdom, as there appeared to be no birth certificate on file for him anywhere.

Once Catherine was satisfied that no one seemed to know any more about Harry's abandonment than she did, she checked the list of couples approved to adopt in Surrey. Alan and Marcia Granger were twelfth on the list--but they were the only couple in the first fifteen who were willing to accept a baby who might be older than a year, and they had specifically asked for this little boy. In Catherine's mind, those factors shot them straight to the top of the list. So, three days after being found on the doorstep of the county Social Services office, Harry Potter left Rosalind Fletcher's care and went home with the Grangers.

For the first few weeks, Harry continued to seem sad and withdrawn. He would sit on the rug or stand up in the play pen and just stare out into space, coming back to earth only when Hermione patted his arm or chattered in his direction. Marcia reckoned that Harry missed his mum. Well, I'm his mum now, she thought. And if the court and Social Services agree, I'll be his mum forever. I just need to show him that I'll always be there for him.

So Marcia added something to Harry and Hermione's bedtime routine. Every night, after they were bathed and put into their pyjamas, she sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the nursery, one child cradled in each arm, and sang to them:

"It's the truth, my sweet," she cooed to him one night. "Daddy and I will always love you. We're very sorry that your first mum and dad...left you"-at this a single tear rolled down her cheek-"but now we're your mum and dad, and we and Hermione are your forever family. That means you can always count on us. We will always be here for you and your sister, no matter what. We love you very much, Harry. And we hope one day you'll love us too." Marcia knew he couldn't really understand her words, but she hoped he could understand the light in her eyes and the tone of her voice.

Harry looked up at her. He smiled his impossibly sweet, slightly lopsided smile and touched her tear-stained cheek with his little hand. Then he opened his mouth and spoke his first word in his new home.

"Mama."

Hermione stopped twirling her hair and smiled at both of them. "Mama!"

Marcia responded the only way she could. She pulled both children tightly to her bosom and wept.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

"Marcia, love, is everything ready for Mrs. Benton's visit?"

Alan Granger was normally a calm, rational man. But on this particular day he was a bundle of nerves, because in less than ten minutes, Catherine Benton would arrive at his home for the last of three required visits with little Harry and his new family. Intellectually, Alan knew there was nothing to worry about. But the emotional side he usually kept under wraps was edging toward panic, because this thirty-minute visit was the last hurdle on his and Marcia's long road toward finally, officially becoming Harry's parents.

Marcia pecked her husband's cheek and smoothed back his blond hair. "Sweetheart, please stop biting your lip. You don't want to leave a trail of blood on the rug, do you?" she teased, trying to lighten his mood.

Alan flinched. "Is there blood on the rug?" he obsessed, glaring around the room in search of any offending red spots.

"No, you silly goose!" she laughed. Her throaty chuckle caught the ears of her two young children, who toddled over to her and stretched up their hands in the "Hold me!" position. "Oh, honestly, Alan, whatever are you nervous about? This is Catherine Benton we're talking about. She's already on our side!"

Marcia bent down and pulled Hermione up into her arms. Harry then burst into woe-is-me-my-mum-is-ignoring-me tears.

"Ouch!" Marcia shrieked, patting her head just above her right ear. She glared at Hermione, then realized Hermione's arm wasn't long enough to reach all the way around her head from where she was perched on Marcia's left arm. "What the...?"

"What the what, love?" Alan wondered aloud. "Did Hermione pull your hair again?" He shot a reproving look toward his little girl and tutted in her direction.

Marcia seemed perplexed. "No, she couldn't have. But it sure felt like somebody pulled my hair." She looked down at Harry, whose green eyes looked unusually bright and fierce even as he kept one arm wrapped around Marcia's right leg. "Oh...never mind. Now remember, Alan, what's our plan when Mrs. Benton arrives?"

It was Alan's turn to chuckle. "Our plan is to just go about our business while she watches us interact with the kids. No fancy airs, no trying to impress her. We'll just be ourselves. Honesty is the always the best policy."

He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "We've jumped through so many hoops the past nine months I'm starting to feel like one of those circus dogs. Can this please be over soon?" Alan received no answer, because the next moment the doorbell rang. He found Catherine Benton standing patiently on their stoop and ushered the social worker into his home.

The next half-hour passed pleasantly and uneventfully--somewhat of a surprise, considering the energy level of the pair of little ones who scampered about while the adults chatted. Mrs. Benton brought a new teddy bear for Harry and Hermione, and while Alan and Marcia answered her questions about the children's routines, she noticed the toddlers struggling over the new toy. Nothing unusual about a power struggle between almost-two-year-olds, of course, but the social worker blinked when she thought she saw the teddy bear suspended in mid-air for a few seconds between the two children.

Suddenly it was 11:00 a.m., and Catherine Benton stood up to leave.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she said brightly, "it's obvious to me that Harry's transition to your family is progressing wonderfully. He really seems to have bonded strongly to both of you, especially to you, Mrs. Granger." Marcia's cheeks pinked a bit. "I'm quite satisfied that you'll continue to be wonderful parents to him and Hermione, and I'm going to start the paperwork to make the adoption official."

Ecstatic at this news, Marcia clapped both hands over her face. Alan's usual reserve broke down and he leapt from his chair, plucked his wife from hers and twirled her around.

"I'll ring you as soon as I find out when the Surrey High Court has set the date for your formal adoption hearing," Mrs. Benton continued with a smile. "Now that you've passed the home visits, the hearing is really just a formality. Just come to court at the appointed time, answer the questions the magistrate asks, sign the papers, and you'll become Harry's parents."

Six weeks later, Alan and Marcia piled the two toddlers into their ten-year-old Volvo and drove fifteen miles to their hearing in the Family Court Division of Surrey High Court in Thames Ditton, just outside London. All four were dressed in their Sunday best to celebrate the happy occasion. Climbing the steps into the courthouse, Alan clutched Harry's hand tightly while Marcia held Hermione. Once inside the courtroom, they waited about fifteen minutes for the hearing to begin.

The magistrate presiding over their hearing was a tall man whose formal, powdered wig contrasted sharply with the twinkle in his eyes. He picked Harry up and held him while asking Alan and Marcia if they loved him ("Very much!"), as well as a few pro forma questions about their home, occupations and their family's attitude toward the adoption. Finally, he took a large, white quill and, with a flourish, signed his name to a sheaf of papers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in a loud and cheery voice, "I present to you Harry Potter Granger; his sister, Hermione, and his parents, Alan and Marcia Granger."

Harry P. Granger smiled his sweet, lopsided smile at his new parents and hugged their legs. He couldn't articulate it yet, but he knew they would be his family forever.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Harry loved his mum and dad very much. He even loved his sister, Hermione, though he almost never came out and told her so. She was, after all, a girl, and even though he was actually almost two months older, she often acted as if she had a right to boss him around just because she'd been their parents' child first. Not that that was Harry's fault, of course. It wasn't as if he'd asked his first parents to abandon him.

Mum and Dad had always been honest about his adoption, Harry knew, as honest as they could be in an age-appropriate way. Soon after his seventh birthday, he asked his dad the inevitable "Where did I come from?" question. Harry had expected Dad to say Exmoor or Guildford or even Little Whinging, where they lived. Instead, Dad had stared out the window of Harry's bedroom and launched into a somewhat strained lecture about a man and a woman loving each other and wanting to be as close to each other as possible. Harry nodded along as if he were listening, but inside he was thinking, Ewww! Gross! I'm never going to do that.

After expounding on the topic a few minutes, his dad finally looked at him and said, "So, son, did that answer your question?"

Harry gulped. "Not exactly, Dad. I just wanted to know where I was born."

His dad paused in surprise. "Oh. Where you were born. Well, Harry, I'm afraid we don't know that. All we know about you is what the county social worker was able to tell us when you came to live with us."

Harry pursed his lips in thought. So that's why Mum and Dad had never mentioned it. They really didn't know. Still, he never tired of hearing about the parts they did know.

"So, tell me the story, Dad. Please?"

"Again? Well, all right."

So, for at least the twentieth time, Dad explained how he and Mum had gone to drop Hermione off at the baby sitter's house and noticed a toddler with black hair and green eyes sitting forlornly in a portable crib. How Hermione had raced over to the crib, grabbed Harry's face and shrieked "Baby owie!" How Mum had suddenly said that she thought this black-haired toddler was the baby they should adopt. How the social worker said she'd found him in a basket in front of her office, with just a brief note and no sign of where he'd come from, and how several weeks of inquiries failed to turn up anyone who might have abandoned a child matching Harry's description.

"So what did you know about me back then?" Harry asked.

His dad sat on the edge of Harry's bed and patted the spot next to him. Harry sat down and Dad put one strong arm around him.

"What we did know," his dad began slowly, "was that you were a beautiful baby and that our daughter, whom we loved more than anything, seemed to want to be with you. We knew your name and your birthday, and that you had a tiny, brand-new scar on your forehead. We didn't know how you got that scar, and no one else was able to figure that out either, not even our family doctor. And try as we might, we could never figure out who left you there or why they did. Thank heavens they left you someplace where you would be found quickly and taken care of."

~~~*~~~*~~~

Being Harry P. Granger wasn't all bad, of course. Sure, he didn't know anything about the people who gave birth to him, but Mum and Dad were pretty good, as parents went. They both were dentists, which meant that he and his sister didn't get to eat sweets nearly as often as did most of the other children at Little Whinging Primary School. On the other hand, there was always plenty of nutritious food to eat (which meant a lot to a growing boy), and when sweets were allowed, they were especially tasty, like the puddings Mum made every Sunday ("our weekly treat") or the big, frosted cakes she made for their birthdays.

In fact, the Granger family became somewhat famous in Little Whinging for having two children the same age but born seven weeks apart. Anyone looking at Harry and Hermione could probably guess that they weren't biologically related. Hermione had brown eyes like Dad and bushy brown hair like Mum, while Harry had black hair and green eyes, like--well, like nobody he knew. He'd seen enough Grangers and Pratts at family gatherings to know that he didn't look like anyone in their extended family. Not to mention his scar, which was usually the first thing strangers mentioned....

"Oy, where'd you get that scar?" was almost the first thing Harry heard on the playground when he and Hermione started primary school. They were four years old, and the question came from a fat little boy with blond hair named Dudley Dursley.

"I dunno," Harry replied.

"You don't know?" Dudley glared.

"No," Harry said. "I've always had it."

Dudley looked skeptical. "You were born with a scar on your head?"

Harry frowned. "I dunno. I don't think so. I got it when I was a baby."

Dudley, persistent, advanced on Harry, backing him up against a wall in the schoolyard. "Did you get hit by a car? Did somebody cut you?"

Harry felt something surge through his small young body. "I don't know!" he yelled, arms stiff in front of him, as if to fend off the larger boy. As Dudley leaned toward him, the air between the two boys seemed to crackle and pop.

From the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Hermione halfway across the schoolyard. This kid is scaring me, Harry thought. I want to get out of here.

And the next second, he did.

"Harry?" Hermione frowned when he suddenly appeared next to her. "Was that boy being mean to you?"

"Erm," Harry said, dusting himself off. "He was kinda scary. He asked about my scar. He asked a lot."

"That's mean," Hermione scowled. "I don't think he's very nice."

"Me neither," Harry added, unaware he'd just escaped the clutches of his own cousin.

That day in the schoolyard was the first of many times Harry escaped from Dimly Dursley, as Hermione started calling the other boy when she, Harry and Dudley were in third year in primary school. When Hermione was six, she already had the vocabulary and reading ability of a typical British nine-year-old. Harry chafed at this but never said anything. After all, it wasn't Hermione's fault that she was so smart; he reckoned she got her brains from their parents, who were the best dentists in Surrey (so he'd heard) and probably the smartest grown-ups he knew.

Harry knew he himself wasn't bossy, he didn't smell bad, and he wasn't stupid or so smart that he intimidated the other kids the way Hermione did. So he couldn't figure out why Dudley Dursley and his mates were so determined to pick on him. Was it because he had been adopted? Was it something else that singled him out, like his scar? Harry actually liked his scar. He'd never seen anyone else with a lightning-bolt scar, and he liked the shape of it and how it looked on his forehead. At least it's not a big, black mole the size of a crouton, he smiled to himself. Still, it bothered him that Dudley's gang had singled him out for taunting. Other kids were mean to him occasionally, but Dudley and his crowd specialized in trying to terrorize Harry.

"Just ignore them," Hermione would sniff, no matter who had done the taunting. That was her motto, "Ignore them and they'll go away." Harry could tell that his sister didn't like other kids to think they'd gotten the better of her. He envied her ability to roll with the punches, to appear as if she didn't care what the other kids thought of her. As far as he could tell, the only people whose opinions mattered to Hermione were her teachers and her immediate family.

"Easy for you to say," Harry scowled one day when they were ten. They were walking home from school and Harry had just escaped from Dudley and company once again. "You're not the one they chased around the playground. You didn't get your head almost flushed down a toilet."

"No, I didn't," Hermione replied with a note of concern. Then her face brightened. "But you got away from them, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Harry beamed back. "I wish I knew how. One second my face was in the toilet bowl and Piers and Dudley had my hands pinned behind my back - then suddenly the two of them were halfway across the restroom, lying on their fat arses." Harry snorted at the too-fresh memory. "Cripes, I wish I knew how that happened so I can do it again if I have to."

"Oh honestly, Harry," Hermione tutted, clutching her overloaded backpack to her chest. "Who cares how it happened? And how in the world would you be able to do that again? If I were you, I'd just ignore those stupid twits. You really shouldn't waste a minute thinking about them. One of you is worth ten of them."

Harry smiled at his sister's common sense and loyalty. "So are you, Hermione. So are you."

~*~*~*~*~

During their last year in primary school, on a beautiful Saturday in late June, Harry, Hermione and their parents took the train into London and, for the first time in several years, spent the day at the London Zoo. The Zoological Society had just completed a major renovation of the zoo's famed reptile house, and on this lovely early-summer day a large crowd thronged the zoo. Harry and Hermione had talked about this trip for days, and by the time they walked into the reptile house, they both almost burst with excitement.

Their enjoyment fizzled quickly, however, when they looked ahead in the queue and noticed the dreaded Dudley and his friend Piers Polkiss. Harry recognized Dudley's purple-faced, neckless father from his visits to the Granger Dental Surgery; he assumed the bony, sharp-faced woman with the man was Dudley's mother. As soon as the two older Dursleys began talking, it began to dawn on Harry why Dudley was such a twit.

"Now, Diddykins, would you like to see this snake or one of those lizards over there?" Mrs. Dursley mewled rather too solicitously.

"I wanna see that big fat one over there," Dudley honked, shoving his way forward in the queue.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes at this display of boorishness. "What an idiot," she muttered in Harry's direction. Harry nodded slightly, determined not to draw attention to his family. He would not let Dimly Dursley ruin this long-awaited treat.

Dudley pushed his way over to a glass enclosure in which a large, beautiful snake lay coiled near the window, sleeping. "Oy! Snake! Wake up!" he bellowed. Secure behind a centimetre's thickness of plexiglass, the snake continued to snooze.

"Dad! Make him do something!" Dudley snarled.

"The snake appears to be sleeping, Dudders," Mr. Dursley cajoled. "Why don't we just move along to another display, one where the snakes aren't so boring?"

Apparently, this answer wasn't good enough. "Lazy, good-for-nothing reptile," Dudley sneered. "What good are you?"

Meanwhile, inching closer to the enclosure, Harry was able to read the plaque next to the window in front of the snake.

"Boa constrictor. Brazil." He smiled in the snake's direction. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

The snake uncoiled very slowly and raised its head level to Harry's. Harry blinked when he thought he saw the snake cock its head toward a second sign.

"Bred in captivity," he read. "So you've never been to Brazil."

To Harry's complete surprise, the snake shook its head sideways as if to say no.

"Well, neither have I," Harry mumbled toward the snake. "Though we did go to Majorca once on holiday. It's very pretty there." The boa cocked its head as if listening for more.

Suddenly Harry heard Piers Polkiss shrieking behind him.

"MR. DURSLEY! LOOK! THE SNAKE IS MOVING!"

Dudley waddled up to the boa's tank as fast as his fat legs would carry him. He sneered at Harry and pushed him aside so hard Harry fell backward onto the concrete floor. Grimacing with pain, Harry looked for Hermione across the room and saw her staring in terror at the boa tank. What he saw next left him gasping. The plexiglass front of the boa tank had vanished, and the boa constrictor was slithering quickly out of the tank. The crowd in the reptile house scattered, screaming. Dudley, Piers and the older Dursleys stumbled out, gibbering.

As the boa slithered past Harry, he thought he heard it hiss, "Thanksssss, friend." His jaw hanging open, Harry sat there stunned for a moment until his family picked him up and led him out of the building. As the four of them walked toward the train station, Harry rubbed his head and then his backside while his mum and sister spoke to him in low, soothing tones.

"Harry, are you all right?" Mum asked. Harry hadn't heard so much concern in her voice since the time he'd been found on the roof of the school kitchen, scared but unharmed, after Dudley and his friend Gordon had tried, but failed, to beat him up.

"Yeah, Mum, I'm fine," he lied. Sure, I'm fine, he thought. My head hurts, my arse is sore, and a giant snake just talked to me. Everything is just great.

"Harry," his dad said slowly, "what just happened here?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm not sure, Dad. One minute I was reading some signs near the snake tank and the next thing I knew, the boa constrictor had escaped."

He glanced at Hermione. He knew she could tell he was withholding information, but he also knew she would never, ever tell their parents what she had witnessed in the reptile house. Of all the weird things that had happened to them growing up, this had to be the weirdest.

"Damnedest thing I've ever seen," Dad sighed. "Maybe even stranger than all those owls we saw the day before you came into our lives. Your mother should tell you about that sometime. Did I ever tell you what else happened that day, across from the surgery? Vernon Dursley collided with a little man who was wearing a violet top hat and a long, old-fashioned cloak. Why is Dursley around when so many strange things happen?"