Harry and Hermione Pt. III -- Finishing their Sixth Year and Into the Summer

Chapter V

Saturday, March 22, 1997

Unlike most of the students leaving, who took the train, Harry and Hermione were allowed to portkey to Grimmauld Place. Moody and two aurors checked to make certain there weren't any tracking spells on their luggage, such as Hermione's had had the previous summer.

To Dobby and Winky's disappointment, they were staying at Hogwarts until the next Friday to help out with the many students who were staying over. There were now twenty-four discarded elves living in the Grimmauld mews, so the pair wasn't really needed.

A quick inspection of those elves allowed Hermione and Harry to declare eighteen of them ready for more active work. Harry's parent's house at Godric's Hollow had been partially destroyed back in 1981. The shell had been physically restored, along with the water, drains, and electricity. It, and five other long-neglected properties, were now ready to be cleaned, painted, and generally made ready. (The other five were farm houses. The farms had been producing, but the houses themselves left empty for a variety of reasons.) Harry and Hermione had also decided to buy up the other 21 houses on Grimmauld Place and renovate them. The elves would have plenty to do.

Each day, one elf would go the Weasleys, to help Mrs. Weasley. The other elves would spend the week making surveys, and then could begin the preliminary work in the abandoned houses (cleaning and scraping) and some other house work at different approved homes. Harry and Hermione, with input from Dobby and Winky, would then decide what else had to be done at the previously abandoned houses. The Western European wizarding world had undergone a minor baby boom since 1982, and if Voldemort was defeated soon, Harry would be able to rent out to magical couples looking for out-of-the-way locations to raise their families in the near future.

After lunch, however, the pair had to finally say goodbye for a short time. At precisely 12:55, the ancient Rolls Royce pulled up, and Harry and Hermione got into Mistress Merry's limo. Grimmauld Place was located in the northeast of Greater London. It was less than a forty-five minute drive into Essex to the Grangers' new home. The pair said a quick goodbye, and then Harry was driven to Little Whinging (not that he was in any great hurry). The traffic was fairly light, and it was still before 4:00 when Harry was dropped off.

Harry knocked politely, and Petunia opened the door quickly. "You made good time," she said in a slightly disappointed voice.

"Yes, we did," Harry agreed. The house was unusually silent. "Where is everyone?"

"Vernon is at a sales meeting in Berwick," Petunia explained. "Dudley is at Mary's. You're leaving tomorrow afternoon, correct?"

"At Four," Harry agreed.

"Good. Mary and her family will be here tomorrow at noon. We will eat at One. You WILL be leaving is some normal way, won't you?"

"Yes and no. I'll be leaving the house normally, but I'll be leaving the neighborhood . . . oddly. I'll leave a little after Three-thirty, telling them I'm stopping at my old baby-sitter to say good bye, and that I'm leaving from there." There would be a one-stop floo connection between Mrs. Figg's and the Grangers between 3:45 and 4:15.

"Fine." Petunia hesitated. "Do you have any real money?"

"I have thirty pounds, why?"

"I'm going to be busy from now until almost noon tomorrow. I want this dinner as perfect as it can be without Vernon here. Why don't you walk down and get some take-out."

"Does any place deliver? I'm really not supposed to be anywhere that far from Privet Drive."

Petunia frowned but walked over to the telephone stand. She dug in a drawer until she found two flyers. "Pick one."

"Do you have a preference?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, shall I order you something?" Harry asked.

Petunia looked shocked, then a little embarrassed. "I'd prefer Cantonese. Egg drop soup and one spring roll."

Harry placed the order and waited downstairs until it was delivered. He dropped his aunt's dinner off in the kitchen, grabbed one of Dudley's sugar-free Fantas, and went up to his old room.

It had obviously been cleaned up and rearranged for Mary's visit over the winter holidays. Dudley's broken and discarded toys had been thrown out, which by itself had freed up a great deal of space. Dudley's old clothes which had been stacked, waiting for Harry to almost fit into them, were also gone. Harry's small cot had been replace by a small bed, and a small television was sitting on the dresser.

Harry sat his borrowed magical valise down, pulled out his pajamas and dressing gown and dropped these on the bed, then sat at his desk to eat supper. It was strange to be back, but it didn't feel nearly as bad as he would have predicted back in July or August.

Sunday, March 23, 1997

Harry woke up early, and since running was out of the question, he went down to use Dudley's weights and equipment. Harry was still showered and dressed when Petunia managed to get down stairs at 7:20.

"I suppose you want breakfast?"

"Please," Harry managed to respond calmly. "I could set the table after breakfast, if you'd like."

Petunia eyed him. "Very well. Actually, fix me a poached egg, one slice of toast, and tea. Fix yourself anything you want. I'll get the good china and silver out. Set the table for nine."

Harry made himself a small breakfast, and the laid the table. He had never seen the china, other than a few of the larger pieces. Neither did he recognize the silver or the crystal. Memories of being banished to Mrs. Figg's or the cellar, and given at best some tinned soup or just plain bread-and-butter while the Dursleys entertained, flooded into his mind. Harry was tempted to smash everything.

He didn't, of course. Harry carefully, and correctly, laid out the table as Dobby had showed him the previous vacation. When he was finished, Harry went upstairs to change into his suit. He didn't do so straight away, however. He spent a full half-hour in meditation and in redoing his Occlumency exercises. He reminded himself to cast some silencing spells at the Grangers that night. There would likely be some bad dreams when he finally fell asleep.

To Harry's slight surprise, the Smiths were an elegant, upper-class family. Moody had merely passed on the information that the Smiths were non-magical and that Muggle law-enforcement had nothing against them.

In shape, Mary looked rather different from her family, who were tall and lanky. She had the same features and coloring, however. The parents were expensively, if quietly, dressed. The father took one look at Harry's hand-made suit, and fell into a discussion of tailors. Harry managed to deflect Mr. Smith's oblique inquiries on the location of Harry's tailor (Gladrags), but Smith was happy to discuss the esoteric business of choosing cloth and buttons.

Mr. Smith seemed at ease, but his wife was looking around the Dursley's sterile 'Mrs. Grundy' household. While Mr. Smith had brought the money into the marriage, Mrs. Smith had brought the longer heritage. Harry had overheard a few conversions between (and lectures from) Hermione and Justin over the years on Muggle hierarchies, and Harry was able to make her feel at ease as well. Mary's three siblings (two brothers and a sister) were all younger (14, 10, and 7) were fairly well-behaved.

To Harry's amazement, Dudley was also well-behaved. It was clear that the Smiths did not think much of Dudley's boxing, the one thing Dudley did well, or probably much for Dudley or the Dursleys. Dudley, between his tough boxing training and having endured the dementor attack in July 1995 and the werewolf attack in October, 1996, had at least partially overcome his spoiled background. Only time would tell if he would backslide.

Harry, having taken the brunt of the conversational burden with Mary's parents for over three and a half hours, was glad to leave Petunia and Dudley holding the bag that was rightfully theirs to begin with. He said goodbye to the Smiths with the two forms of firm handshake Hermione had coached him on the previous December, and was a bit shocked to be slightly crushed by Mary's farewell hug (unsurprising, since she was an inch taller and ten pounds heavier than he was).

At 3:45, Harry knocked on Mrs. Figg's door. The elderly Squib was touched that Harry didn't immediately floo to Hermione's, but paused to pet the cats and to toss them a few catnip toys. Finally, a few seconds after 4:00, Harry took a deep breath, thanked Mrs. Figg for lending out her fireplace.

It had been a long time since Harry had flooed, and he'd never been any good at it. Therefore, Harry was not overly-surprised when he ended up doing a forward somersault onto the Granger's hearth rug, his backside elevated, since he'd landed with it on top of his valise.

Harry muttered an ancient Celtic curse Remus had taught him, and opened his eyes, a frown on his lips.

Above him was a smiling Hermione. Her hair, which she now usually wore in a thick pony tail or braid, was spread across, and past, her shoulders. She was wearing an old Chuddley Canon t-shirt which Ginny had taken from Ron and subsequently given to Hermione. She had ripped off the sleeves and cut off the bottom, revealing her slim but muscular arms, and hard abs. Other than that, she was just wearing a tight pair of jeans that had also been cut off well above the knee. A wave of heat washed over Harry, as the fire went back to a normal one.

Harry's eyes swept from the crown of Hermione's wild hair to her bare toes, and smiled. "I love you, Angel," he said.

"And I you, Harry-bear." She grinned. "Don't worry. My parents won't be back before Five. I'll change before then."

Harry finally sat up. "Too bad. Nice outfit."

"Do you think so?"

"You look a little more beautiful each time I see you," Harry swore. He leaned over and slowly ran the tip of his tongue up the top of Hermione's right foot, then up her shin and thigh, to the bottom of her shorts.

"That's enough for now," Hermione declared. "Let me show you the house."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Is it very different from your last house?"

"Very," Hermione admitted. "That was a large, two storey semi-detached town house, without a cellar or much of a garden. This was a bungalow, but the previous owner raised the roof over most of it, and had fixed-over the cellar."

The stone fireplace was small -- Harry couldn't imagine flooing out from it, and wasn't surprised he had tumbled out of it. The room was fairly narrow, but of a good length. The was a large nine-panel window across from the fireplace, running from floor to ceiling, and taking up half the wall. The furnishings were neutral-colored and elegant.

Hermione took Harry's hand in one hand, his valise in the other, and led him into the kitchen. There was the back door, a door to the cellar, and stairs going upstairs. "Mum and Dad have their room and bath upstairs, over the dining room and two downstairs bedrooms," Hermione explained, dropping his valise.

Next was the dining room, which led back to an 'L' hallway, straight ahead was the entrance hall leading back to the front room and then to the front door. To their left there was a short hall, ending with a bathroom, and with a bedroom on either side.

The left bedroom, next to the dining room, was Hermione's, some 12 x 12 feet. The other had been made into an office. Harry just got a glimpse of that before Hermione dragged him into her bedroom and twirled Harry so that he fell onto her bed. Hermione leapt astraddle upon Harry and they kissed deeply. Their magics flowed together and they merged, linking them as no Muggle could ever be linked to another person.

Ten minutes later, they disconnected, and lay in each other's arms, content. After five minutes more, Hermione said, "I guess I should get dressed."

"Alright."

Hermione stood and stripped off her clothes. Harry enjoyed the sight, and Hermione enjoyed teasing him as she undressed. She made certain to display herself to Harry in ways that would have brought a blush to both of them the previous August. Now, they both found the game arousing.

After Hermione was nude, she started to slowly dress again. Harry asked in a disappointed voice, "Going somewhere, are we?" Hermione was dressing up.

"No. We just dress for dinner on Sundays. Mum and Dad didn't feel like cooking, so they ordered out. I hope you're hungry!"

"Are you joking? After 'ye ode English roast' just a few hours ago?"

"Suck it in, Potter. Dad has been thinking about the perfect wine all week."

"What is the proper wine for human sacrifice?" Harry whinged a little.

"Come on, my love. Let me show you the cellar."

"I take it we'll be sleeping down there, since I'm sure your parents wouldn't want us in this little bed."

"Very funny," Hermione stated, looking into the closet for the right pair of shoes.

Harry took a moment to glance around. The far wall was lined with bookshelves, only partially filled. Harry reminded himself that Hermione had lost many books the previous July, and hadn't replaced them all, and some that she had replaced were at their rooms at Grimmauld Place. There were no photos, no paintings, no posters. It made Harry wonder at how Hermione might have surrounded herself before the previous July.

"Come on. The cellar is nice."

To Harry's surprise, the cellar WAS nice. As best he knew, it wasn't very common to have a basement totally fixed up like this. The area under the kitchen was the laundry and furnace room. The area under most of the living room was partially used for storage and also had a treadmill. The rest of the cellar was fixed over as a library and television room. One of the two sofas converted into a bed.

"Nice," Harry said, looking around.

"It is," Hermione agreed. "I hope Voldemort doesn't ruin this place, too."

"I'll do the best I can, Angel," Harry promised.

"I know," Hermione agreed, as they heard her parents came back from picking up dinner at an Italian bistro after Evensong.

Emma Granger sat in front of her vanity, brushing her hair with ferocity as she prepared for bed. "What's wrong?" her husband asked.

"You should know what's wrong," Emily stated snippily.

"Well obviously, I don't."

"Hermione, Harry . . . downstairs."

"Yes, they are."

"You saw how they were looking at each other!"

"Yes, I did. They obviously love each other very much."

Emma set the brush down, turned, and gave her husband the eye. "You're the father. You're supposed to be more upset than I."

"I don't know if that's possible. I do know it would not be warranted."

"Your daughter might be, could be . . . is probably being intimate with a boy, especially this one, who's in the cross-hairs of some lunatic, whose followers already burnt us out of one home -- doesn't this bother you?"

"The second part does," Dan Granger allowed. "As for the first part, we both know they are NOT having sex. If they ARE being 'intimate' in other ways, I do NOT want to know. I trust Hermione and her judgement, and Harry seems to be the most honorable person I've met in a long, long time."

"She going to wind up married and pregnant before she's twenty!"

"She's our only surviving child," Dan pointed out gently, bringing up an old wound. "Harry's wealthy and we're well off. Hermione doesn't have to work. She'll devote herself to human and . . . sentients' rights. If she wants to have no children, she will have none. If she wants a dozen and can bear them healthily, she will. I don't see the problem."

"I'm surprised you didn't tell Harry to sleep in Hermione's bed," Emma complained.

"Of course not; it's far too small. I told Hermione that, as long as she and Harry weren't having vaginal sex, she could sleep in the cellar with him."

Emma's jaw dropped. "You didn't!"

"I did. It's what I would have wanted when I was their age, and I trust them not to go too far."

"And just what do you expect they'll be doing!"

Dan opened the front of his pajamas. "If Harry's very lucky, what we're going to do. Come on," he urged, watching his wife of nearly twenty years lick her lips. "You know you want to."

She frowned, and then sighed. "I hate it when you're right," she said as she moved to kneel down on the floor. "You're still a nasty, randy old perv."

"I'm three months younger than you. Now hush."

Hermione had been shocked at her father's suggestion, but was quite ready to take him upon the idea. Nothing was said the next morning, or ever, on the subject.

That next morning, however, the Grangers dragged Harry and Hermione to their office for complete exams. Fortunately for both teens, no problems were found.

As the Grangers' practice was located a thirty minute drive from their old house, and thirty minutes in nearly the opposite direction from their new one, it had been thought safe for Harry and Hermione to wander between the two. Rather than actually wandering that first morning, however, they headed straight towards Hermione's maternal uncle's fertility clinic for another visit. Hermione still had every intention of having Harry's child, hopefully by natural means, by artificial insemination if need be.

That out of the way, Harry and Hermione spent Monday afternoon, and all of Tuesday and Wednesday, in the commercial areas of out-lying London. They bought nothing except lunch, but enjoyed the window shopping.

Each of the four evenings, the Grangers went out, dragging Harry and Hermione with them. The Grangers enjoyed a short-run avant-garde play Monday night (written by a young woman, satirizing her boorish mother's fashion set and her mother's drugged-out over-sexed best friend), an amateur production of The Tempest, a musical in the West End, and a student production of a play by Plautus (in the original Latin).

Harry now understood Hermione a bit better. She certainly had a very different childhood environment than he could have ever imagined, growing up with the unloving, pedestrian Dursleys. Before he had started dating Hermione, he had thought there had to be more to her than her studies and passion for equality. Dating her helped him get to know her. Now he was finding out where she had come from, and he respected her and her family all the more.

Friday, March 28, 1997

Thursday and Friday morning had passed quietly at the Granger household. Then, as morning wore on, Harry and Hermione prepared to leave for two nights at Grimmauld Place. Dobby had already come had taken their luggage, and they were waiting at a tea shop late Friday morning for a car to show up for them -- that had seemed the safest way to travel.

Hermione was soon almost drowsing in the back seat, curled up comfortably against Harry. She came fully awake when she felt him stiffen and make a small sound of pain.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered.

"Voldemort is waiting for us somewhere in Grimmauld Place."