After exams at regular school, my parents and I went to sunny Italy for two weeks. Maybe we should move there when Voldemort resurrects? The climate there is much more pleasant than in England. The country is beautiful. And the language is beautiful. Dreams, dreams...
A day after returning home, Aunt Susan apparated to our house and took me away. Their cottage is quite modest, I didn't notice any obvious differences from ordinary people's houses, although surely the head of the DMLE has the entire house permeated with protective charms. Miss Bones organized an excursion to the ministry and to a hippogriff farm for us. The Ministry is indeed a huge building, hidden underground, with an extremely confusing layout. It's very difficult for an outsider to navigate there independently. On the tour they showed us all the main departments, except the Department of Mysteries. What a pity, that's exactly where I wanted to go most. But at the farm we managed to fly on hippogriffs. It was completely different from Hagrid's. The animals had bridles and comfortable saddles, and detailed instructions were given before the flight.
Then Aunt Amelia apparated us to my home. Over tea, she and my parents discussed the upcoming cultural program and said goodbye. Susan will be staying with me for a week. We walked around and toured London's main attractions, but Susan was most impressed by Thorpe Park with its rides (though we couldn't get on the scariest rides due to our age), "Terminator 2" at the cinema, and the zoo. Wizards have excursions to livestock farms and nurseries, but usually only one or two species of animals live there. A zoo as we understand it doesn't exist in the magical world. And she was shocked when I called her to the phone to say hello to Harry Potter. Wizards don't expect that Muggles have their own analogue to two-way mirrors and paired parchments. And in a few years, Muggle analogues will become even cooler. However, only I know about this for now. Harry called me periodically and enthusiastically told me how great his summer was going without intrusive attention from relatives, and this time he called with worries that Ron wasn't answering his letters. I wrote to Ron myself, saying that Harry was worried about not hearing from him, asking if everything was alright. It turned out that Ron was also worried about why Harry was writing as if he hadn't received his previous letters, but everything was fine with him. And that in August his family wanted to invite Harry and me to visit.
And why the hell do they need me? Okay, Harry - he and Ron are friends. My first thought was that I'd rather be dead than deal with Molly and, most importantly, the twins. But then I thought: Ginny with Riddle's diary, flying on broomsticks... I settled on a compromise - I'd come there on the Knight Bus and leave in the evening.
Aunt Amelia took Susan away, and I decided it was time to visit my attorney and sell part of what I'd looted from Knockturn Alley. How fortunate that I have him. Simple goblins could have cheated me and given a price much lower than fair. But an oath prevents the attorney from doing so. Along with the extortionate five percent he gets from each of my deals.
Now I can buy myself a broom. I choose a relatively inexpensive Cleansweep - I don't need to chase after snitches. And I visit my familiar junk dealer. We hadn't seen each other for a year, but he recognized me immediately. I bought a DADA textbook for second year from him, since we'll have Lockhart, and that's not at all reassuring. However, I'm also planning to buy Lockhart's books. Magical fiction literature - it's interesting to study.
The junk dealer clearly wanted to chat, and I steered the conversation to blood traitors. It turns out everything isn't so scary, as long as you don't have children with them. Such a wizard doesn't drain energy from others, doesn't infect you with anything bad. But naturally, people don't want to marry such wizards. After coming of age, magic begins to gradually leave the bearer of the mark, and by age fifty he remains practically a Squib. Since even weak wizards live more than a hundred years, it turns out such a person remains without magic for most of their life. They get the mark for betraying their blood, which is what the name indicates. Specifically about the Weasleys, various rumors circulate: that the father married his own daughter, that one brother killed another brother out of jealousy over a girl, that too many curses accumulated in the Weasley lineage and they decided to sacrifice one member of their family, transferring all curses to him at once, in exchange for becoming blood traitors. And hardly anyone knows the truth except the Weasleys themselves, but you can't ask them about such things. By the way, if children of such a family transfer to another family according to all the rules, their children will be born without the mark. So the Weasleys have a chance.
My mother and I decided that since Harry has such a family, it would be best to invite him to our place at the end of July - beginning of August, so he could have a normal birthday. Therefore, on the appointed day, my mother called Aunt Petunia. I thought she would easily let him go anywhere, as long as he stayed away. But it turned out even better. My mother is a born diplomat. After introducing herself, she immediately threw me under the bus, telling how I constantly complain about the madhouse at Hogwarts and those abnormal wizards who aren't friends with logic. She shared her outrage about the laws of the magical world, and Aunt Petunia immediately felt affinity with her fellow sufferers. We were invited for tea. And this, considering the Dursleys' character, was a huge achievement. Over tea, Petunia politely maintained small talk and praised the pastries we brought, but looked at me suspiciously. And Vernon looked at me suspiciously too. Dudley refused tea, and grabbing a couple of pastries, disappeared to the second floor, giving me a final suspicious look. Apparently, Harry was familiar evil, but here a new incomprehensible element had appeared. I shared that I continue studying at regular school because I plan to return to the world of "normal people" later, and the magical world treats people like me badly. And that I'd leave there right now, but they won't let me - it's against the law. Petunia remembered her deceased sister and cried a little. After this, her suspicion was replaced by some sympathy, and Vernon burst into criticism of those abnormals. Which my family sincerely agreed with.
Harry wasn't invited to the table, although it might have been useful for him to hear about the realities of the magical world. After all, he still, despite nearly dying a couple of times, continues to consider it a fairy tale. So I went up to his room to tell him it was time to leave. Harry met me in thick trousers and one of the shirts we had ordered for him in winter. The trousers were clearly too short - the hero had noticeably grown taller over a year of abundant food. Time to take him shopping again - he won't figure it out himself.
The first issue was money. Harry's vault is stuffed full, but he doesn't know where to get it. I explained to him that it's impossible to lose the key - just imagine it in your palm and it will appear, wherever it might be. Harry succeeded on the third try. We went to the goblins. Harry has his own attorney, though their communication somehow didn't work out. Griphook wasn't eager to share information independently, only answered after my specific questions, after Harry's confirming nod.
Woohoo! Harry's vault turned out to be much lower than mine, so the cart ride was much cooler. The goblin accompanying us looked puzzledly at our satisfied faces. We bought a purse connected to Harry's trust vault from him and asked him to charm it and the key against theft. Now no one except the owner can use them. In the vault we found an heir's set. An earring, a ring for detecting potions, a portkey pendant for the neck to a safe place. I asked what address the portkey had? It turned out to be the Potter house in Godric's Hollow. Unlike my simple artifacts, the heir's set is very serious protection - the earring can save even from a master legilimens, plus at the owner's wish any element of the set becomes invisible. And I've been wearing the same earrings for a year. No variety at all.
Harry and I decided to test the portkey. Let him finally visit his parents' graves. We bought flowers beforehand: white lilies for Lily and red roses for James. We were transported to the living room of his half-destroyed house. No wall, wind had blown in sand and leaves - a heavy sight, but Harry would have had to see this someday anyway. We go to the cemetery, finding the large monument to war heroes isn't difficult. Harry approaches the graves alone, I wait at a distance. He places flowers on the graves, strokes the headstones, tells his parents about something. The graves are clearly well-maintained. After some time Harry calls me over. We return by Knight Bus. Harry is thoughtful, but before sleep he thanks me.
Ooh, mom realized that Harry has no clothes and Harry needs help. Run, Harry, run!
We spent two days shopping for clothes, even I had cursed everything by then, and Harry generally looked like he wanted to go back to Petunia's. Mom also ordered new glasses for Harry. I'd take him to St. Mungo's - his life had been harsh - but alas, you need a guardian's consent there. This incidentally means my path there is also blocked without Dumbledore.
But then we practically repeated the cultural program already tested on Susan. Harry, though he lived with ordinary people, had seen almost nothing except his cupboard. Therefore - attractions, cinema, London parks, zoo... We decided to save the rides for his birthday.
I thought it would be nice to learn Parseltongue, since I have a native speaker at hand. After all, people learn foreign languages - maybe this would work too.
Alas, no. At first Harry honestly tried not to laugh when I carefully repeated after him, then I suggested he not hold back, otherwise the child would burst. After a couple of days of torment he told me that it seemed like I was getting somewhere. Probably wants to comfort me. I suggested finding some grass snake in the forest park and asking it.
"Ssh-s-s-sssh," Harry was embarrassed.
"He's laughing, says the female has a mouse in her mouth. Need to swallow first."
I try again.
"Ssh-s-s-sssh," - excellent, now I can distinguish how snakes laugh!
No, apparently you can't fool nature.
Nevertheless, I asked Harry to record a list of about a hundred words in Parseltongue on a tape recorder for me. Yes, I was primarily interested in the word "open." The ownerless basilisk sheds - that's what won't let me rest.
And so the birthday arrived! For such an occasion we're allowed to eat unlimited sweets. We didn't get off the rides all day, I even started getting a little motion sick, but Harry was fine - a seeker's vestibular system. Towards evening Harry decided to grab one last dose of adrenaline for the day and dragged us into the horror cave. Darkness, we're riding in a cart, monsters, witches, zombies all around, artificial bats on strings rush past in crowds, touching our heads with their fabric wings...
A house-elf materializes on my side of the cart. For the first second I don't even understand that this isn't part of the attraction. He rounds his already huge eyes and trembles:
"What a great honor... Harry P himself..."
Fuuuck! The mechanical death with a scythe, which waves it to scare the cart passengers, makes another swing, and Dobby's head - and who else could it be - flies off into the darkness. The fragile body, left without support, falls beside the rails.
It's quite noisy in the labyrinth, and Harry, fascinated by the dancing skeleton on the other side, didn't even notice anything until I screamed hysterically...
"Hermione, Hermione, what's wrong?" he squeezes my fingers tightly, "Mio, everything's alright, they're not real! Calm down..." Harry awkwardly hugs me.
We've arrived... in every sense.
On unsteady legs I follow Harry to my parents.
"Well, how was it, did you like it?" mom smiles at him.
"Well, I liked it, but Hermione got really scared."
"Really?" dad is surprised, "Indeed, Mio, you look rather pale."
"Y-y-yes, very scary," I produce in the best traditions of Quirrell.
I say I need to go to the bathroom, I vitally need at least five minutes alone.
Dobby was a silly fellow, and therefore dangerous, but his intentions were good. He wasn't evil! And he was supposed to save Harry in the seventh book. But I changed the canon, and he died. He died because of me, because I decided to change everything. I sob, remembering how the legs buckled under his thin, already headless little body. Elves generally look very cute. Ugly, but cutely ugly. Big eyes and ears, thin necks, all so touchingly awkward... I remember Dobby's thin neck, and I start feeling sick...
I need to go back. And try to keep myself together. Harry is having his first decent birthday, and I can't ruin it.