Cross My Heart

She's got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that
special place
And if I stared too long
I'd probably break down and cry

Oh, Sweet child o' mine
Oh, Sweet love of mine

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me
of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by

Oh, Sweet child o' mine
Oh, Sweet love of mine

~Guns 'n' Roses

You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht

Your hat strategically dipped below one eye

Your scarf it was apricot

You had one eye in the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner

They'd be your partner, and....

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you

You're so vain,

I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you? Don't you?

~Carly Simon

You've been so Kind and generous.

I don't know how you keep on giving.

For your kindness I'm in debt to you.

And I never could have come this far without you.

For everything you've done, I'm bound...

Im bound to thank you for it.

~Natalie Merchant

The Colemans' were rather high on my list of people 'n when got back from their house. They even inspired a new list.

Reasons Why This Stupid Voldemort Thing is Worth Fighting

1. The Colemans are the most wonderful Muggles ever.

There were a lot more reasons I could think to add, but I really wasn't in the mood. I simply loved the Colemans.

I had gone over to help the Colemans with cleaning out their attic and some yard work. They were getting on in years; all their kids had moved out, and Mr. Coleman was due to retire in the next year or so. Mr. and Mrs. Coleman and I cleaned out the attic, rearranged the furniture in the living room, trimmed the hedges, weeded the garden and flowerbeds, and organised the cellar and garage. Mrs. Coleman made a huge meal for us- lots of cold cuts and a big pudding and this thick bread that she made herself. It was like being at the Weasleys', only with fewer people. Mrs. Coleman kept trying to feed me more food. And when we were cleaning out the attic they gave me a bunch of old clothes that used to belong to their sons. There were a couple pairs of jeans, a pair of chinos in good condition, two dress shirts, and a bunch of t-shirts from the 70's and 80's with bands like The Clash and Def Leppard on them. One of the t-shirts had this pink thing surrounded by big pink bubbles, and it said "Mr. Bubble" on it. Mr. Coleman said his son got it while studying in America.

Mrs. Coleman dug out a pair of gym shorts that she said might fit me. She said that she was afraid I was going to fall and crack my head open every time she saw me running down the block in Dudley's massive hand-me-down clothes. They even tried to pass me this ancient bicycle that no one in their family used anymore. I didn't even know how to ride a bicycle, as the Dursleys' would never let me ride one, and I knew that the Dursleys would certainly never let me have one, so I said that the bicycle was too much, and the Dursleys would probably be afraid I'd get too far on it. I was joking, but Mrs. Coleman frowned. I don't think she likes Aunt Petunia too much.

Did I mention the Colemans have good taste?

And then on top of everything, they PAID me! They paid me! When they first offered, I turned them down flat. I was kind of afraid that Uncle Vernon would just take the money as rent or something, but I didn't tell the Colemans that. I just said that I was happy to help and to have something to do outside of the house. It wasn't until I got back to the Dursleys' and was putting all my new clothes away that I realised Mrs. Coleman had stuffed a twenty pound note into the pocket of one of the pairs of jeans.

I think I loved the Colemans. Scratch that. I know I loved the Colemans.

Which was why the next day had me taking my morning run (Number 1 on the "How to Get Stronger" list) into the centre of Little Whinging. Aunt Petunia was out doing something pseudo-charitable with her Ladies' Social Club, probably gossiping about poor children in Africa, and I'd told her that I was going to work for a friend of the Colemans, repaving their driveway or some nonsense. I'd have been locked in the house or set about with sixty chores otherwise. And there was no way that I was simply going to let the Colemans' generosity slide by. It seemed kind of odd, buying them a gift with money they had given me, but I supposed they had wanted me to spend it on something important to me. The Colemans most definitely fit that bill.

It was a very warm day, and the sweat was just pouring off of me. I liked the running. I liked the feeling of pushing myself until I couldn't go anymore. Books felt useless. All my reading and studying didn't rid me of the feeling that I was simply waiting. But with running, with the exercise I felt like I was doing something. And whether I was closer or further from where I wanted to be it didn't matter.

It was as if there was this giant clock that followed me around, counting down the seconds until Voldemort did something, whether that something was attack me, or attack some Muggles or wizards or anyone it didn't matter. I needed to be ready. And I didn't feel I was. All I could do was go and hope that that clock would slow down a bit, or go away, or that he would finally show up and do something so that I wouldn't have to go anymore.

I ran hard all the way into the village, loving the ache in my muscles, needing that burning feeling in my lungs, and drowning out that tick of the clock with the pounding of my blood. My "Mr. Bubble" shirt was drenched with sweat. And as I ran, I made a new list.

Possible Things to Get the Colemans

1. A very nice note. (What, are you lame, Potter? Sure, write them a note. "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Coleman. Thank you for the lovely clothes and the even lovelier 20 pounds. I'm so glad that you noticed my family hates me and I'm a sad, sad individual. 20 Pounds is more than the Dursleys have ever given me in my entire life. As a token of my gratitude, here's a nice little note written in my poor penmanship and on a piece of paper I stole from my cousin. Sincerely, Harry Potter")

2. Sweets (Ron likes sweets. The Colemans like ham. Get with the program, Harry.)

3. A kitten (Potter, did you smoke that Gillyweed Dobby gave you?)

4. Flowers

The voice in my head started saying "Flowers!? What the hell-" but it stopped short when I realised that flowers actually were a good idea. Certainly better than a kitten. Kittens. Honestly. With my luck the cat would have turned into Crookshanks Junior.

I slowed to a walk when I reached the village square in an attempt to get the better part of the sweat on my shirt to evaporate. The day was warm, all right, but there was a nice breeze that helped keep the weather from crossing the line between "hot" and "unbearable". There was a little flower shop on the main road in town and I really did not want to go in there looking like a big, dirty, sweaty prat. The flower shop had this big green sign with the name "Fauna's Flora" scrawled across it in fancy white script. In my opinion, whoever Fauna was should have been shot for naming her shop that. Or rather, whoever named Fauna should be shot.

List of Strange Things that People Name Their Children

1. Fauna (It reminds me of Bambi. I don't know why.)

2. Sirius (Imagine the flack he got in school. Heck, my name's fairly normal and they all called me "Hairy Pooper". That's all right. Dudley's disgustingly obese and I can run three miles into town! HAH!)

3. Remus (Yeah, the jokes for that are worse.)

4. Severus (See "Reasons Why I'm Glad I'm Not Related to Snape" list)

5. Gilderoy (poof)

6. Hermione (There must be a story behind that. I should ask her.)

7. Draco (His dad's a poof. Speaking of which...)

8. Lucius (triple poof. My reasoning? He wears hair ribbons. HAIR RIBBONS! And that cane has got to be an overcompensation for something...)

9. Dudley (At least that one's accurate. Okay, so Sirius, Remus, and Severus are fitting as well, but Draco? He's definitely a ferret on the inside. It's the one good thing that bastard Crouch Junior ever did.)

Vernon and Petunia were stupid names too, but not so strange like those other ones. I resolved that my children would have nice, ordinary names like Richard and Jane. James and Lily were all right too.

My shirt was mostly dry by the time I had reached the flower shop, and the little bell on the door tinkled as I pushed it open. I was nearly bowled over by the colours and smells of the place. Hundreds of bright petals jumped out at me from every corner. It was like being at the greenhouses at school, only much less dangerous, much less organised, and much better smelling. An older woman in the back with frizzy, wild grey hair turned to look at me, then turned back to the arrangement she was working on without a change in her dour expression. "Grace!" she shouted. "Customer!"

"Just a moment!" a bright, younger voice called. The musical sound was in sharp contrast to the older woman's grating bark. "I'm getting attacked by a cactus!"

I tensed involuntarily before I remembered that Muggle plants don't bite. I slapped myself mentally. As if you were really going to save the woman from a mauling cactus, Potter. Really, this hero complex has gotten to your head.

I didn't have a whole lot of time for self-abuse, though, as a moment later a girl about my age came walking out of the back. My stomach turned over. She was, in a word, gorgeous. She was perhaps the prettiest girl I'd ever seen, and certainly of the prettiest, but I didn't want to think about other pretty girls; it usually led to thoughts of the Third Task. There was a streak of dirt on her blue jeans and another on her dark green apron, and a few particularly aggressive cactus spines clung to her long sleeved black t-shirt, but she had this rolling, smooth gait that struck me as completely otherworldly. It was like one of those tacky moments you see in films, where the girl that the boy never gets walks by in slow motion with bright lights and cheesy music.

Vaguely I wondered if the flower shop was hiring.

"Good morning!" said Grace, or rather "Graislaine" as her name badge read. Graislaine. That made number 10 on the Strange Names list. I liked it though. It ranked up there with Hermione. Maybe even with Jane. "Can I help you find anything today?"

"Erm, yeah. I'm looking for a gift for a neighbour of mine." I glanced about evasively, wildly hoping something would jump out at me so I wouldn't look like a complete idiot in front of this girl before I managed to escape. "Actually two neighbours, really. A married couple."

"All right. Did you have anything mind, like a live plant as opposed to cut flowers?" My own voice sounded crackly and rough against her smooth lilt.

"Um, I dunno. Something live would be nice, I think." Smooth, Potter, real smooth. You really can't think without Hermione around to fill you in, can you?

"Is it for a special occasion?" Another question, and I felt as if I were having a surprise test at school, only it was the kindest, most thoughtful test I'd ever experienced. Her brilliant eyes gazed searchingly into mine. I felt like I had eyes as large as Hedwig as I stared stupidly back at her.

"Um, it's a thank you gift." Her already well-arched eyebrows lifted further in surprise, though not a bad surprise. She must have been thinking it was a housewarming or new baby gift or something.

"Oh, live plants really are the nicest kind, then." Her smile rolled out over her face. Hermione's parents would have been enamoured of this girl's teeth. They were that straight and white. There was something very relaxing about that smile. I felt like I had just been told I'd gotten perfect marks on that test. "Do you have a price range that you were looking for?"

I squirmed a bit and tried not to wince. I had a terrible feeling that I was going to fail this question. She was going to end up showing me some ugly container of moss and some pebbles she'd lifted off the street. "Erm, well, I've got about twenty pounds."

But that brilliant smile flashed again and I relaxed. Apparently there were no wrong answers on this test, or I was a genius at flower shopping. One of the two. "I know just the thing." She glided across the room, and I followed her like a puppy. As she spoke in that smooth, oozing voice, she moved her hands back and forth with a kind of liquidity of motion in her wrists. Grace, I supposed, was accurate. "These here are called camellias. They are fairly tropical plants. Camellias prefer warmer climes, though the do need a wintering period of several weeks below 10 degrees Celsius. They originated in China and Japan. They're beautiful plants that come in a large variety of colours. The reason I suggest camellias is this: there is a language assigned to plants."

"Is he getting the message lecture, Grais?" the old lady called from the back.

"Everyone gets the message lecture, Flossie. I don't discriminate," Graislaine called back jokingly. Catching my quizzical look, she said, "I always end up giving our customers a talk about the language of plants. You see, there are different messages and meanings attached to different kinds of flowers. You've probably heard some of it, like red roses are for passion, that sort of thing."

"Oh, yes." Vaguely, somewhere.

"Well, there's more to the whole thing. It was developed out of the powers attributed to different plants by herbalists and nature-worshippers over the past thousand or so years. The messages and romantic meanings were then set in stone during the Victorian period, when apparently everything had to be overwrought and romantic." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said that. I smiled back at her sarcastic humour, intellectual though it was. "The whole thing became rather popular, so now most everyone knows that red roses are for passion, white ones for innocence and purity-"

"Is that what white roses are for, Graislaine?" Flossie called out. There was a smile in her voice. I supposed that she was just making fun of Graislaine's lecture.

"Yes, Flossie. They also mean Secrecy and Silence, I'm Worthy of You, and You're Heavenly. The last one is the most accurate."

"HA!" Flossie cackled. I was convinced that this woman was the kind that village kids thought of when they thought of witches; crazy hair, with a barking and somewhat unpleasant laugh, and rather nasty in nature.

Catching my confused look, Graislaine rolled her eyes and explained, "It's my last name. Whiterose."

"Oh." Yup. The last one was the most accurate.

"Flossie's in a right state today," Graislaine whispered, conspiratorially arch. "One of the weddings that she's working on is a regular hassle. The wedding's in two weeks and the woman has changed her mind twelve times. Weddings get Flossie's knickers all knotted up." I snorted.

"What's that, Miss Heavenly?"

"Nothing, Flossie dear!" Graislaine called innocently, not turning around. I suspected she didn't want Flossie to see the smirk on her face. Graislaine looked back at me with a smile. "Anyway, the flowers, camellias, their meaning. Right." She shook her head, and that intense look was back in her eyes. "Camellias, in general, mean gratitude. The white, blue, and pink varieties mean other things, but a nice red or variegated variety might be nice." She paused to let it all soak in. I had never really thought about it, but the whole thing sounded so un-Muggle. Powers attributed to plants? I had no idea that Muggles thought like that. "There's also-"

"I like the camellias," I said suddenly. And I did. There were different. I'd never really seen anything like them. Of course, I was most familiar with bubotubers and mandrakes, but these were different from any Muggle plant I'd seen. The petals were like a curly, but they opened up like a fully bloomed rose, and the stems were like a bush with thick, shiny leaves like on a fake plastic plant. Plus, I liked how they meant what I was trying to say. Somehow it made everything easier. The Colemans probably wouldn't know the meaning behind them, but I would, and I liked it. I picked up a small plant whose buds had not yet opened.

"That will be a lovely plant when she blooms. The flower is almost star shaped when it opens, with smooth, uncurled petals in that rich crimson colour," Graislaine said. Her eyes were glowing as she looked at the plant. Her enthusiasm was catching, I found. It was like there was this quiet, loving pride directed toward the plant. I checked the price sticker. Ten pounds forty, including the terracotta jar.

"I'll take this one, then," I said, and there was a nice feeling of relief that settled over me. It was a good gift, and it was just the message I was after.

Graislaine's smile glowed out again. I found myself attaching to that smile, the way it seemed to just shine out from deep inside. "She is a pretty plant, she is," she agreed warmly, and she took the plant from me and carried it up to the counter.

"I've never really thought about the meanings attached to plants," I said, by way of conversation. I wanted to hear her voice again, to feel that smile. Something about the way she looked at me, I felt completely accepted, once I'd gotten over my "test anxiety".

"Most don't," Flossie said from the back. "Even I don't know most of them, and I've worked with flowers my whole life. Graislaine knows all the stories behind the flowers. The brides love her for it." Flossie didn't appear to be pleased by the thought.

"Or hate me," Graislaine laughed as she punched numbers on the register. "Especially if they've got their hearts set on something. Usually I can keep my mouth shut around those kind."

"Graislaine does trees too. Remember that Pierce girl, Grais, whose mother wanted her married under that tree in her back yard until you told her that yew trees were the tree of death." Flossie's barking laugh filled the tiny shop.

Graislaine laughed too, but much more quietly. "Yes, well, Jenny appreciated it. Remember, that was how she got her way about getting married in that orchard, which was good, apples and all." Graislaine glanced up at me. "Apples symbolise fertility and happiness," she explained.

"Where did you learn all this?" I asked. The whole thing was so wizard-esque to me. I'd never heard Muggles say anything like this. Even wizards didn't have things as complex as this, as far as I knew, which, granted, wasn't very far.

Graislaine smiled almost regretfully. "I'm from down by Glastonbury. My whole family is a bunch of hippie-New-Age-types. We're fairly normal, so far as some of those people around there go. We blend in nicely. By my family is...rather faithful, to the old ways."

"Watch out, boy," Flossie cackled. "She'll hex you!" I seriously doubted that. I was more afraid of what Flossie might do to me than I was of what Graislaine might.

"Oh, honestly, Flossie, they don't do that sort of thing," Graislaine frowned, clearly exasperated. I got the feeling that this conversation had played itself out numerous times with many different people. "That sort of thing isn't taken lightly." Graislaine then smiled, a wicked gleam coming into her eyes. "More than likely, anyone who messed with me would be used by my brothers for target practice." She handed me my change, adding under her breath with a conspiratorial smile, "Once I'm done with them." I laughed quietly, but I had a feeling that it probably wasn't an idle threat. Graislaine wasn't much taller than me, if at all, and she was rather slender, but I could see the muscles in her forearms where her sleeves were pushed back.

"Hippies with guns," Flossie mused disapprovingly. "Now there's a scary thought."

"Oh, we don't have guns, Flossie. We practice archery and knife throwing. It's more painful."

"Depends on where you get hit," I said.

"True," Graislaine agreed seriously. "Plus the arrows and knives used for that sort of thing usually are designed to tear the flesh as they're taken out."

I shuddered. "Remind me not to mess with your family." No reason to invite more pain.

Graislaine smiled. Her eyes reminded me of Dumbledore: sky blue with a lively twinkle. "I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about. We're pretty easy people to get along with." I didn't doubt it.

"The marijuana makes them mellow," Flossie added from the backroom. I struggled not to burst out laughing as Graislaine wheeled around, indignantly shouting, "FLOSSIE!"

"Oh, come on, Graisie, it's just a joke."

"Everyone assumes that just because my family is a bit outlandish that they are automatically a bunch of pot-smoking whackos. I'll have you know that I never met anyone who used marijuana until I came to Little Whinging."

"Graislaine, when you tell people that your family is a bunch of New-Age, hippy types, people automatically throw in marijuana and witchcraft," Flossie said distastefully. I nodded in reluctant agreement when Graislaine looked to me for confirmation of this, though I completely disagreed with the witchcraft bit. Granted, I had a different take on that sort of thing.

"What does marijuana have to do with witchcraft?" Graislaine demanded as she began to wrap my plant in paper.

"Oh, please, Graislaine," Flossie sighed as she stepped out of that back. "I know you're naive, but those New Age people are just plain odd. I can't believe you've never picked up on this. All those hippie lowlifes running around today are up to all kinds of dodgy and illegal shenanigans. Imagine them, working their little Satanic rituals outside naked, casting God-knows what atrocities and corrupting all kinds of good folks. Now I know your family's not like that, Graislaine." Flossie didn't sound as if she really believed that. "But there's a lot of strange people about nowadays. I'm amazed your people have done so well keeping you away from those nut cases that run around those parts, searching for Arthur and rambling about fairies and energies and whatnot. I'm all for that naturalist stuff that you rattle off like it was common knowledge, but that witchcraft mumbo jumbo that those young people have got into, it just isn't right. Poor souls have lost their way," Flossie finished with a sigh and ambled back to her worktable.

Reasons I Don't Like Flossie (Even if I'll Never See Her Again)

1. The Dursleys would approve of her outlook. (Nazi)

2. She is insulting and mean, and she enjoys it. (Maybe she is a friend of Aunt Petunia's)

3. She looks like a crazy lady who owned too many cats (No, not like Mrs Figg. Mrs Figg is far more respectable looking than this kook.)

4. She's narrow minded and evil to Graislaine. (Yeah, Graislaine is clearly a damsel in distress, Potter. Chill out with the hero crap)

5. Flossie wouldn't know a real witch or wizard if she got hit with an Unforgivable Curse.

6. Flossie is a stupid name. Not strange, just stupid. (Now THERE'S a reason to dislike

someone, Potter.)

Graislaine glowered at her a moment, then returned to her wrapping. It was a stare that could have cowed Snape, in my opinion. She must have been taking lessons from Dumbledore. Muggle, Potter. Muggle. "I was home-schooled my whole life. I never really met any of those people," she told Flossie, but she was still frowning.

"Why'd you move to Little Whinging, then?" I asked, eager to change the topic.

"Oh, well, I'm going to be attending a regular school come September, and my mother and I agreed that it would probably be a good idea to get some knowledge and practice outside of our little family enclave beforehand, so I came up here to live with my aunt for the past term at Stonewall Comprehensive. You don't go to Stonewall, do you?"

"Um, no. I go to my parent's old school in Scotland."

"Really?" She cut a length of ribbon, a green one with plaid stripes, off of one of the rolls behind the counter. I noticed a roll of blue ribbon near it that matched both Graislaine's eyes and the ribbon that held back Graislaine's long dark curls. "What school? Mine's in Scotland as well." .

"Erm." This. Was. Not. Good. "It's called St Brutus's." There we go. Not a bad lie. It at least worked with Uncle Vernon's.

"Oh." She looked disappointed! "Mine's St Cebhfhionn's."

"Never heard of it." It sounded like a sneeze. And it made number eleven on the Strange Names list.

She smiled again, and said teasingly, "Well, I've never heard of yours either, but I don't get out much." She looked back down, focusing on the elaborate bow she was tying out of a green plaid ribbon. "My Da went there. I guess it's rather small, so I'm told."

"I didn't even know there was a St Cebhfhionn."

"Neither did I. Of course," she leaned in, whispering with that mischievous gleam back in her eye. "I know nothing about saints. After all, I am a lost little hippy low-life." I choked back a laugh. I started to reply, but the door swung open again with a tinkle of the bell, and in walked a woman who was a little younger than Flossie. She was tall and thin, about Aunt Petunia's age, but whereas Aunt Petunia looked like she had been picked, this woman had very smooth skin and short, well-styled light brown hair. She had a rather long face, like a horse or a deer.

"Fauna!" Graislaine cried happily. So this was the unfortunately named Fauna. "You're in already?"

"It's past one already, Graislaine. I'm late really. Joe was bugging me about his begonias."

"Is that scoundrel causing trouble again?" Flossie asked snidely from the back.

"Ah, he's just bothering me because he can't find someone else to push around. You know Joe. He isn't happy unless he can complain," Fauna smiled benignly, but she shot a look at Flossie's back.

People Who Are Only Happy When They Have Something to Complain About

1. Aunt Petunia

2. Flossie

3. This Joe Fellow

4. Draco Malfoy

5. Uncle Vernon

6. Aunt Marge

It was one of my lamer lists. I had thought that it would be more interesting than it turned out, but it did leave me wondering if Draco was related to the Dursleys. More likely that Flossie was a distant relation. There was a certain thickness about her neck that was vaguely reminiscent of my turtle-y uncle.

Fauna looked down her nose at me, then raised an eyebrow at Graislaine. I had a feeling I wouldn't like her either. "Another of your schoolmates, Graislaine?"

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "I don't go to Stonewall. I just live here in the summers."

"Oh," Fauna said. She relaxed and smiled at me. She glanced at my plant. "Oh, the camellias! That's a lovely plant. What are they for, Graislaine?"

"Gratitude," she smiled as she finished knotting the bow.

"They're a thank-you gift for a neighbour," I explained to Fauna.

"You did get the lecture then." She smiled approvingly at Graislaine. Fauna reminded me a bit of a younger McGonagall. "Are you sure that you want to go to that school, Grais? I'd much rather have you here."

Graislaine laughed. "After all the time I've spent convincing my family to let me go away, I think I'll take my chance while I've got it, thanks."

She picked up the plant and I reached out to take it from her, but I nearly dropped it right away as Fauna clamped her hand like a vice around my wrist. I looked up at her, startled, but she was studying my hands. I followed her eyes to my rather dirty fingers. I hadn't cleaned them very well after I had finished weeding and mulching the flowerbeds that morning.

"Do you garden much?" Fauna asked, considering my hands very closely.

"Almost every day," I admitted.

"Just weeding?"

"That, and mulching, pruning the hedges and rose bushes, fertilising. Keeping up the garden is pretty much my chore." Along with the rest of the house, I added silently. "I do a bit at the neighbours too, when they ask."

"They pay you well for it?"

"Pay me? No, I don't get paid." Fauna was making me nervous. Her calculating stare was rather off-putting.

Fauna raised that eyebrow again. "You work at your neighbours' houses voluntarily?"

"Well, they feed me. I got some nice hand-me-downs, and Mrs Coleman paid me, but I told her not to, so that's why I got her the plant." I was babbling, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I tried very hard not to look at Graislaine. I could see her surprised look out of the corner of my eye.

"Do you want a job?"

"A job?" I repeated stupidly. No, Potter, an elephant.

"Yes, boy, a job. My brother Joe, he runs the nursery over on Woodbine Lane. Evans' Farm, it's called. He's been looking for someone to work mornings while his crew is out landscaping. You'd been watering mostly, making sure all the plants are healthy, doing a little on the register, pointing customers in the right direction. It'd be off-book and early, seven to noon Monday to Friday, maybe weekends to when someone gets sick."

"I'll do it." I said, not even thinking about it. Out of the house for five hours a day? There was no question in my mind.

Fauna raised her eyebrow again. "Don't you want to know what it'd pay?"

"It can't be less than I'm making now," I shrugged. "And it can't be more work than I do at the house."

Fauna smirked. "You'd be surprised."

I smirked right back. A much younger McGonagol with a sense of humour, that was Fauna. "So would you."

Fauna's grin spread. "I think you and Joe will get on fine."

I looked over her shoulder and saw Flossie had gone into the back, out of earshot. I leaned in, and said quietly, "If that Flossie doesn't like him, I'm sure I will."

Graislaine's laughter pealed out like bells, while Fauna let a hoot. "Yes, you and Joe will get on nicely." Fauna walked around to the other side of the counter and picked up a little pad of sticky notes and a pen. "What's your name, boy?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter," she repeated, scribbling my name on the paper. "All right then. I'll give Joe a call and tell him you'll come by. Can you be there tomorrow?"

"Certainly," I said. "Seven a.m.?"

"Exactly. You know where it is?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've driven by it." Aunt Petunia didn't buy her flowers at Evans'. She drove further out to the other side of Greater Whinging to get them, but I'd been past Evans' before. It was about a mile from the Dursleys', out toward the country.

"Good. The pay will be about a hundred twenty a week, assuming you show up every day."

"I will."

"Good." Fauna turned and looked at Graislaine. "You're done," she smiled. "Go home."

"Thanks, Fauna." Graislaine smiled and untied her apron.

"Thank you, Grais. Harry, where do you live?"

"On Privet Drive."

"Oh, Graislaine is over on Magnolia Crescent. Would you mind walking her?"

Graislaine rolled her eyes behind Fauna's back and flashed me a lopsided grin. "Sure." I tucked my plant under my arm. "Are you ready?"

"One moment. Let me just grab my bag." Graislaine ducked into the back. I heard her talking to Flossie. The older woman sounded rather upset about something, while Graislaine sounded as if she was trying to soothe the woman. At last, Graislaine said loudly, "Look, Floss, I'll finish it tomorrow. It won't take long. Honestly. You could finish it in five minutes yourself." Graislaine walked quickly out of the back, frowning. She looked up at Fauna. "Have fun, Faun."

FAWN! That was why the name reminded me of Bambi. A fawn was a baby deer! I was rather proud of myself, though I did give a quiet mental kick, thinking that Hermione would have had that done in under three seconds, while it took me an hour.

"Don't worry, Graislaine, I'll whip it into shape." Fauna winked, and something about the way she stressed the word "it" made me very glad I was not Flossie.

Graislaine grinned mischievously and pulled her bag over her shoulder. I wondered why she needed to carry around such a large case. It was much like the bag I used for my books at school, but school was out for the holidays. I decided that it must be a girl thing. Heaven only knew what all they needed to carry around.

"Have a good afternoon, you two!" Fauna called after us as we walked out the door. "Nice meeting you, Harry!"

"You as well!" I called back. The day had gotten even warmer while I was inside Fauna's, or maybe the refrigeration inside the flower shop made the air feel warmer. I glanced at Graislaine, who smiled shyly back, and we began to walk. The silence was very awkward, and I was having a bit of trouble understanding it. Graislaine had been so forward and friendly while inside the store, and now it was...different. Everything about her inside the store was so polished and perfect, from her angelic looks to her quick-witted intelligence to her caramel-y, even voice. She had seemed very old and somewhat distant at first, but at the same time she had been so inviting and warm that I felt completely at ease. Now she seemed as nervous and self-conscious as I did. I glanced at Graislaine again. She smiled, and it looked as if she was laughing to herself.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oh, Fauna," she said. "And Flossie. They amuse me."

"Fauna doesn't like Flossie?"

"No one really likes Flossie. Flossie doesn't really go out of her way to be liked, of course, but still." Graislaine seemed a little embarrassed to admit that she didn't like Flossie either.

"Why does Fauna keep Flossie on then?"

"Flossie's worked at the shop forever, since before Fauna bought it and changed the name," Graislaine explained. "And Flossie is very good at what she does. She knows flowers, she's fabulous with arrangements, and she ties bows well." I snorted with laughter before I could stop myself. Graislaine smiled too. "Well, it is a job skill in the floral industry."

"You tied this one," I said, holding up the impeccably wrapped camellias. The bow was rather elaborate, and I knew that I had a better chance of seeing Voldemort's obituary in the paper the next day than ever being able to tie a thing like that. I could barely tie my shoes. I still used the "rabbit ear" method my primary school teacher had taught me when I was seven. "It's very good."

"How do you think I got this job?" Graislaine laughed smoothly. In the bright sunlight her skin looked almost unnaturally pale, only a bit healthier than my own cupboard induced pallor.

"Well, I honestly thought that you just walked in one day and started lecturing Flossie on flowers."

"Well, I may have done that too." I would have never thought that Graislaine would blush, but she did, in a very demure, classy fashion, with a duck of her head and a deepening of colour only in her already pink cheeks.

I nearly dropped my plant. "You didn't!"

"Well, I did apply first," she said a bit defensively. "And as I was turning in the application, I overheard Flossie helping in a customer in a rather disheartening fashion." I choked, imagining what Flossie's customer service skill might be. "So I jumped in and explained one or two things, and Fauna happened to overhear, and I got hired."

"I'm surprised Flossie isn't nastier towards you."

"Oh, she is." Her voice made the closest thing to a chirp that Graislaine was probably capable of. "Flossie was in a good mood today."

I shook my head. "I thought you said that weddings make her testy."

"They do," Graislaine nodded in confirmation. "She's happiest when she feels mistreated. And weddings make her feel overworked and under appreciated."

"That's really weird."

"It makes sense in a very strange fashion, but it is quite odd," Graislaine agreed.

"Grais! Graislaine!" Someone was shouting at us from across the street. Graislaine looked up, then slumped a bit. A tall blond boy, about our age with a deep golden tan, was jogging across the street toward us. He wore a bright, flashy smile that reminded me a bit of Gilderoy Lockhart's. He looked a bit familiar to me.

"Will! Hi!" Graislaine sighed. Sighed? Suddenly her posture was very different. She was slouching, as if she was suddenly very tired. Her tone was forcibly pleasant, and not a bit like the mellow liquid sound that I had grown so fond of so quickly. The boy- I thought I'd gone to primary school with him, perhaps- jumped up on the kerb and pulled Graislaine to him by the hand, pressing his mouth to her cheek only because Graislaine had turned her head to deflect the kiss. Graislaine had stiffened as he drew her to him, but she appeared to like him well enough. She was smiling still, but not the easy smile I'd seen in Fauna's shop. It was like a smile I'd seen Mr. Weasley give Mrs. Weasley when he was trying to smooth things, like when the twins gave Dudley a Ton-Tongue Toffee.

"Where've you been? You didn't come to Zara's last night."

"Well, I wanted to, but I had to work this morning." She brushed him aside with a rather awkward flip of her wrist. It was an unnatural movement out of her. The slouch that she affected was terrible.

"And the game yesterday?" Will pressed on. I wondered if he really thought that she had nothing better to do than hang around him. Although I supposed I didn't know if she really didn't. He struck me as the kind of guy who would be the centre of attention because he demanded it. A ladies' man, the star athlete. He did look like he worked out quite a bit. I felt woefully stupid looking next to him.

"I had to help my aunt in her garden."

"So are you coming to Jack's this Saturday?"

"I didn't know Jack was having a party this Saturday."

"His parents are having their anniversary, and they're going to some place in Cornwall for the weekend. So, yes, there's a party at Jack's this weekend. You're coming, right?"

"Sure, I suppose. It depends."

"I can make it worth your while," Will said, rather suggestively. I couldn't turn my laugh into a hacking cough fast enough. The tall blond looked sharply at me. "And who are you?" he demanded.

"Oh, Will, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Will Taylor," Graislaine introduced us, and I shifted the plant to my other arm so that I could shake Will's hand. Will was still glaring suspiciously at me.

"You look familiar," he said.

"I went to primary here," I said.

Will looked at me closely. "Aren't you that kid that Dudley Dursley used to beat up?"

I nodded. "Nice to be remembered."

"Where'd you move to?"

"Didn't move. I go to boarding school in Scotland. I just come back to the Dursleys' for the summers."

"Why? Where're your parents?"

I gritted my teeth. "They died." You bloody arse, I added silently. "That's why I live with the Dursleys'."

"Oh yeah, Dudley's your cousin, right?"

"Unfortunately."

Will smirked. "You don't like him either, huh?"

I shot Will a withered look that could only be interpreted as "You're stupid."

"The only people who like Dudley are his parents and his Aunt Marge."

"The Dursleys'? Is Petunia Dursley your aunt?" Graislaine asked.

"Again, unfortunately."

"I believe I've met her," Graislaine said, and then continued a bit hesitantly, apparently not wanting to impugn anyone, "She did seem a bit...proud. My aunt just joined the Ladies' Club your aunt belongs to. Several of them were over just the other day, and your aunt kept going on about her 'darling son' and how he would love to meet me."

"She limited herself to 'darling'? That's impressive," I said, and I was only mostly serious.

"Well, she may have said something about 'handsome' and 'bright' and a 'perfect gentleman', but darling was heavily emphasised, yes." Graislaine didn't seem to realise how incredibly funny this was. Her friend Will clearly did, though.

"Just how fat is old Dudders, Potter?" Will asked with a laugh.

"Well, they put him on a diet last year, but it only stalled things, so right now, I'd say baby elephant. Maybe two baby elephants. He's rapidly approaching 'It's moving toward us! Run for your lives!'" I laughed back. Will just laughed harder.

Graislaine frowned. "Well, it isn't as if-"

"No, Grais, you don't understand," Will cut her of, still laughing. "Dursley is the meanest, fattest, most disgusting kid you'll ever meet. He'll probably drool all over you."

"He's kind of a cross between a Neanderthal and a baby pig," I added. The vision of that curly pigtail that Hagrid had giving Dudley on my eleventh birthday was warm in my mind.

"And you're being set up with him!" Will hooted. "God, this is going to be priceless. Potter, you've got to come to Jack's on Saturday and tell me all about it. Grais here will just sugar-coat everything."

"I would not-" Grais started indignantly, and I saw a touch of the lively Graislaine I'd first met.

"Oh, come on, Gracie," Will said, waving off her protests. "You're too nice. You never say anything bad about anyone. Hell, you probably wouldn't even tell us what went down out of fear of embarrassing poor, sweet, innocent Dudley."

"Innocent my arse," I said. "Do you know how much trouble he got me in? Gets me in? And usually I haven't done anything!"

"He's slimy, Grais," Will agreed. I was somewhat surprised that we could agree on anything. "I can't wait to hear about how he made an idiot out of himself. Harry, you've got to give me details. You'll come Saturday, right? Grais can give you the address."

"It depends on whether or not I can sneak out," I replied. "The Dursleys don't let me out of the house unless I'm helping the neighbours with their yard work. Aunt Petunia thinks I'm down the block right now."

"How are you going to get to the nursery tomorrow, then?" Graislaine asked.

"Oh, that's easy. I'll tell them I've got a job that will give me forty pounds a week."

"But you'll make thrice that with Joe."

"I know," I said, nodding. "That's eighty pounds a week that the Dursleys' don't know I've got. They'll make me hand over forty every week, for rent or food or some nonsense, not thinking that I'm making more than that. Then I'll have money to spend on things that the Dursleys' would never get me."

"Like clothes that fit?" Will asked, the taunting smirk back on his face.

"His clothes fit!" Graislaine leapt to my defence. I tried not to smile as Will started looking affronted at Grais's concern for me.

"Yes, but the Dursleys' didn't give me these," I explained. "They're hand-me-downs from my next-door neighbours'. The one's I'm giving the camellias to. Usually I get Dudley's old clothes, which are huge on me."

"You've always been a toothpick, Potter," Will said, and the note of amusement in his voice was definitely not a pleasure that he intended to share with me. There was something about him that was as obnoxious as Malfoy. I supposed it was the way he enjoyed taking others down, and I certainly didn't like how he seemed to think Graislaine appreciated it. I hoped she didn't.

"You've been checking me out, Taylor?" I shot back, trying to keep my rising temper down. Will flushed angrily, and he took a menacing step at me. Apparently he didn't enjoy jokes about his sexuality. Who knew? Graislaine stepped between us, her hand on Will's chest to stop him. Even knowing that she could probably kill both of us with sharp objects, I didn't really think that she could protect either of us at close quarters.

"Graislaine! There you are!" A beat up red car pulled up beside us, and I was grateful for the interruption. A blond woman who looked to be several years younger and much less pickled than Aunt Petunia leaned across the car to look out the window at us, sending chains of beads that hung from the rear view mirror swaying. She smiled brightly, but then frowned a bit, looking at Will. "Hullo, Walt, is it?"

"It's Will," he replied tightly. His fists were clenched.

The woman looked back at Graislaine. "Mum wants us home. We've been invited to tea at the neighbours at three."

"Which neighbours?" Graislaine asked. Beside her, Will was doing a terrible job at hiding a scowl.

"The Dursleys," the woman answered.

"The Dursleys!" I yelped before I could stop myself, and Will shouted it along with me. The woman looked back and forth between us.

"Who are you?" she finally asked me.

"Harry. I'm Petunia Dursley's nephew." The woman looked me up and down, then smiled.

"I'm Lucy Figg."

"Mrs. Figg's daughter?" I asked. She nodded. "I didn't know Mrs. Figg had a daughter."

"Well, I'm kind of a black sheep in her eyes," Lucy said with a wicked grin. She paused. "I like dogs."

Graislaine and I laughed. "It's true," Graislaine said. "Just the other day, Lucy had a great black one over, a huge, beautiful thing, and Aunt 'Cilla was so mad because it frightened all those cats away."

"Those cats are a menace," Will grumbled.

"Oh, Will," Graislaine said indulgently, and she touched his arm consoling manner, which did nothing to improve Will's mood. Apparently he didn't enjoy being treated according to his emotional age- five. "They're not so bad. You're just upset because they didn't take a shine to you like every other female you've met." Will grumbled a bit, but he straightened a bit and looked much appeased. He reminded me of the way Dudley used to fake-cry to get attention. Will wanted Graislaine to make him feel better.

"Come on, Graislaine," Lucy urged. "Harry, would you like a ride home?"

"Um, just to the end of the street. I told Aunt Petunia that I was helping out a neighbour, and it would be a little suspicious if you dropped me off."

Lucy raised her eyebrows. "Aren't you allowed in town by yourself?"

"Well, not really," I admitted reluctantly and Will barely stifled a snigger. "If I'm not working on the house or at a neighbour's, I'm in my room." Making no noise and pretending I don't exist, I thought silently, just the way the Dursleys liked me.

"No wonder you have no friends, Potter," Will said snidely. Graislaine and Lucy were both looking at Will with faces that resembled how the Dursleys looked at me on a regular basis, but he didn't appear to notice. I was somewhat amazed that he didn't get along with Dudley. Will seemed to be just as mean and stupid.

"Being related to the Dursleys does that for you," I said. Well, nearly growled really. The bastard was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Come on, Harry," Lucy said. "We're supposed to be at your place in an hour and a half." Obligingly I opened the back door to the tiny car and climbed in, shifting books and papers off the fake leather seat.

"I'll call you after dinner tonight," Graislaine told Will. "Is the game still on for Thursday?"

"It depends on Ted. His mum won't let him walk on the ankle yet."

"Isn't there anyone you can find?" She didn't sound desperate, just curious.

"Unless your friend Potter's a decent player, everybody else is away."

"Oh, Harry plays," Graislaine said breezily. My eyes bulged and my mind was screaming Plays what? but I didn't have the nerve to tell her the truth. I glanced wildly at Lucy, but she was smiling at Graislaine with an odd look of pride. "I'd asked him before. He plays on his team at school."

"House team, actually," I interrupted. I didn't want these people to think I was any good at whatever game this was. "We don't have a school team."

"See there? He must be all right," Graislaine said happily. Will seemed to puff out angrily, like those cartoon characters in Dudley's telly programmes do right before they explode.

"And if he isn't," Lucy threw in, "at least you'll still have enough people to play."

Will took a deep breath. "Fine," he bit out through clenched teeth. "But you'd better be real decent, Potter. Talk to you later, Grais."

Lucy pulled away from the kerb, and we rode in silence until I worked up the nerve to say something. "Um, what sport is this?" I asked timidly.

Graislaine and Lucy laughed out loud. "Oh, Harry, if Will could heard you say that!" Graislaine said. She laughed again. "I don't think he realises that there are sports other than football."

"Oh. Um, Graislaine, I don't play football."

"That's all right, Harry," Lucy said. "Graislaine didn't play either until she came to Surrey, and she does just fine."

"All you have to do, really, is run up and down the field. Will's a ball hog anyhow," Graislaine added encouragingly.

"He seems like a great guy," I said sarcastically.

"Oh, Will's a good guy. He's just a bit insecure."

"Insecure!" Lucy scoffed. "He must have a wanker the size of a flea to be as insecure as he is."

"Lucy!"

"What, Graislaine? Do you have evidence to the contrary?"

"LUCY!!" Graislaine shouted again, and I had trouble deciding whether to laugh at the idea of Will's...well...yes...and being sick at the notion at a girl like Graislaine had...ew. "You know-ugh, Lucy. You know I've got no romantic interest in Will."

"This is what she does, Harry. She takes poor, unsuspecting blokes like Will, leads them on, and then crushes their hearts to dust. Tragic, really."

"Oh please, Lucy. Will's really a nice person, he's just misguided. I've told him dozens of times that I'm not interested in a relationship with him. He knows that there's-"

"Very little chance in Hell of his getting into your knickers?"

"LUCY!"

"What Graislaine? Oh, sorry Harry. You just have to understand Graislaine. She's terribly forgiving. That Will Taylor is just an arrogant teenager who thinks he's God's Gift to football and women. You know, Graislaine, he even made a pass at me once."

"No!"

"Yes! I laughed him off-"

"Insulted his manhood."

"Graislaine!" Lucy shouted, and she laughed brightly, tossing back her blond hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she said to me, "See, Harry? She's learning!" I smiled and nodded nervously, but secretly I wished that they'd want me around more than they did Will. This was more fun than I'd had all summer. "Uh oh, Grais. I think he's scared."

"Well it stands to reason, Luce. You're downright terrifying."

"Me? You're the one who's all faerie-princess glamorous. I'm amazed the child can carry on a coherent conversation with you." Lucy looked back at me again. "Are you gay?"

"LUCY!!!!" Graislaine shrieked as I shouted "NO!!"

"Honestly, Lucy, you just met him and you're asking him if he prefers men? And don't tell me you were just trying to find out if you can get him, because you're old enough to be his mum."

"You are?" I asked. Lucy looked young, maybe Bill's age or a bit older, but certainly not well into her thirties.

"Ooh, Graislaine, this boy is good! I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm keeping you. Fight me all you want, the Dursleys can't have you back."

"Lucy," Graislaine hissed. I slumped in my seat, wishing it were true. Wishing that I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

"What? Are they really- you were serious, Harry?"

"No, no, Lucy. They're fine. Really. They're not the nicest people, but really I'm not there much, and they don't bother me when I am." The look on Lucy's face in the rear view told me she didn't believe me. I didn't believe me either. And my heart, I could feel it beating like the ticking of a clock. That wretched timer was coming back. It had been gone all that while and now it was coming back. "I mean, I just have a lot of chores, is all."

"Don't worry, Harry," Graislaine's blue eyes shone out from the crack between the seat and the door. "You'll hang out with me this summer. We'll have a great time before we both go away again."

Lucy's eyes sparked mischievously. "Not to mention Will'll be furious."

I smiled back at her as the ticking eased.

Reasons Why This Summer Might Not Be That Awful

1. It can't be awful hanging out with someone as beautiful as Graislaine.

2. I've got a job!

3. I'll be out of the Dursleys' for long periods of time.

4. Lucy, Graislaine, and Fauna seem to like me.

5. I won't have to look like a fool running around town like an idiot anymore; now I can look like a fool in front of dozens of other boys and Graislaine to boot. (See "Reasons Why This Summer Might Suck Anyway" list)