Chapter Text
Thank you to everyone who voted for us in the 2018 Marauder Medals!
For the first week the Grangers, plus Harry Potter, were home for the summer, everyone walked very carefully. Jean and George - George in particular - always made sure to make noise while moving around the house so as not to startle Harry with their sudden presence. Hermione made sure to show Harry the house thoroughly, so he would know where everything was and what places they weren’t supposed to be in without an adult.
Harry startled everyone in the household that first morning. He’d gotten up earlier than anyone else in the house and was cooking breakfast, tea made and ready, by the time Jean made her way down to the kitchen. “Harry?” she asked in a shocked voice.
“Huh? Oh, um. Breakfast is almost ready, Jean,” Harry replied.
“I… you… you didn’t have to cook breakfast, sweetie,” Jean said gently.
Harry shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
Jean studied the implements and smells coming from the stove and she smiled a little. “You’re making Hermione’s favorite, aren’t you?” Harry blushed and nodded. “You really didn’t have to do that. She’s quite happy to have you here, you know.”
“I know. This is just… it’s… it’s what I’m used to.”
“It’s okay, Harry. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Jean soothed. “I’m sure Hermione will be thrilled.” She studied Harry as he paid attention to his cooking, watching the amount of sheer skill the boy had. Skill that at eleven, he shouldn’t have had. Hermione certainly didn’t.
Growing uncomfortable under Jean’s assessing stare, Harry mumbled, “I like cooking. And I was up anyway.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Jean managed after a brief pause. “You kids making breakfast for the family is certainly okay, especially for special occasions. But, you know, I like to cook too. So I just want you to know that we don’t expect you to cook for us. But if you want to, or if you want to help me when I cook, you can just ask. Okay?” She stepped in to take over, now that she was present.
“Okay,” Harry agreed in a low voice. He took a step back, giving Jean access to the frying pan and wondering if he’d done something wrong. She didn’t seem angry, but that didn’t always mean anything.
For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. Just when he was trying to figure out what chore he could do instead, Jean interrupted his thoughts. “Do you like to read, Harry?” she asked as she worked.
Harry studied the woman pensively. Hermione loved to read, but the Dursleys acted like Harry reading would get them all killed. “It’s okay,” Harry landed on.
“What’s your favorite story?” Now that definitely was condemned by his Aunt and Uncle. Harry reading anything remotely fantastical had always made Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really angry. He remembered one time when Dudley had planted one of his story books that he never read into Harry’s cupboard. Uncle Vernon had ended up hitting Harry so hard with the belt, Harry was dealing with the welts on his back for weeks. “I liked James and the Giant Peach ,” Harry said as nonchalantly as possible. There were others. Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes ; Superfudge ; The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe , which Hermione had loaned him; The Hobbit , and then The Lord of the Rings . All read within the confines of his cupboard or in the school library. He wasn’t trapped, when he was reading.
He firmly ignored the sympathetic look Jean was giving him. “Harry, you know if you ever want to talk…”
Harry quickly shook his head. “No, thank you. I’d rather just… just forget about it.”
“Forgetting it isn’t always healthy, and sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” From the look on her face, she was clearly speaking from experience, but Harry didn’t pry.
“I’ll… think about it,” he said instead, though he knew it was unlikely he would ever want to talk about it. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t going to wake up in the next moment and he’d be forced back to the Dursleys.
He was saved from further discussion by Hermione bouncing into the room, followed at a more sedate pace by her father. “Morning, everyone!” Hermione chirped. She transferred the tea set to the table. “Breakfast smells great, Mum!”
“Harry actually did most of the work, honey. You should thank him,” Jean said. She shot a look at her husband, and he nodded rather than commenting on it.
“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile. She set about fixing two cups of tea, one for herself and one for Harry; she knew exactly how he preferred it in the morning.
“Yes, thank you Harry,” George said. He took a seat at the table as Jean brought over the serving dishes of food.
Harry blushed, not used to the effusive gratitude. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, looking into his teacup instead of at anyone else.
“Wow, Harry,” Hermione said easily. “I wish I could cook.”
“You mean there is something you can’t do?” Harry joked.
Hermione went pink. “Oh, there are many things she can’t do,” George teased. “But that doesn’t stop her from working at it.”
“How Hufflepuff of you,” Harry chortled.
“Well she qualified for all four Houses, you know,” George shot back.
Harry’s eyes went wide as he looked at Hermione. “Really?” Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you? The Sorting Hat’s words to him echoed in his mind.
“Yeah,” Hermione said, glancing up at Harry. “It said I had the right qualities for any house, but it was worried that the Slytherins might hate me for my blood. I asked to be in Gryffindor, because that was my favorite one to read about in Hogwarts: A History. ”
“I guess that makes two of us, then,” Harry told her with a small grin. “I’m glad we wound up in the same House, though.”
“Me too, Harry,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand under the table.
“I wonder what House I’d be in,” George asked idly.
“What’s the House for husbands who refuse to grow up?” Jean asked. “I’d want to be in Ravenclaw, from Hermione’s description. I bet they have a library in their common room.”
“We don’t know. We’ve never been in another House’s common room,” Hermione explained. “It’s possible, but the main Library is huge anyway.”
“Yeah, Hermione is going to rip the seams of her bag one of these days, hauling all those books back up to Gryffindor Tower,” Harry grinned at her.
“I’m not surprised,” Jean said. “I did that myself a couple of times when I was at Uni.”
“We’ll just have to buy you an extra when we go supplies shopping before school again,” George added with a grin of his own.
After everyone had finished breakfast, Jean said, “I’m going to make more tea. Then I think we should all gather in the living room. We have an overdue discussion, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mum,” Hermione said in a quiet voice. Harry looked both confused and alarmed, but he allowed Hermione to take his hand and lead him into the living room. They sat side by side on the loveseat, waiting for her parents to join them.
“Now, we’ve heard bits and pieces of stories of your adventures over the last year, but I think it’s time to hear the entire thing,” George said, shifting in his armchair to get comfortable. “Starting with Halloween. Something about a Troll?”
Hermione and Harry both described in detail the various adventures and misadventures they’d had over the past year, Hermione’s parents asking all kinds of questions. Harry was having a hard time getting a read on their emotions.
Hermione finished the tale with telling her parents about Quirrell, Voldemort, and Harry nearly being killed by going after him.
Jean and George were silent for a long time. Jean finally looked at Harry, looking… sad, to Harry’s surprise. “Harry, I get the feeling I’m going to say this a lot over the next few years, but you need to realize that your life isn't worthless. You shouldn’t feel pressured to risk it. This Voldemort is not your responsibility.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d been raised being told he was worthless. Aunt Petunia told him so regularly. In fact, he didn’t think anyone had ever told him he was worth something. Except maybe Hermione; she’d called him her best friend. But even so, that didn’t mean he was worthwhile except to her.
“We know that you were probably always told otherwise,” George said gently. “But I assure you they were lying.”
“They’re right, Harry,” Hermione said in the softest voice Harry had ever heard from her. “I didn’t follow you through the trapdoor because I owed you, or even because I thought you couldn’t do it yourself. You could, if you had to. I went because I wanted to help. I hoped that two - or three - heads would be better than one, and that we’d all be safer because we went together . I would never want to lose you, Harry.”
Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand; he didn’t know what to say to her, either, but he let her lean against his side. It felt… good… warm and comfortable. Hermione had always been affectionate, but it had never felt this… personal, before.
“As for your reckless actions, both with the stone and in the forest,” Jean continued. “I’m willing to chalk it up to not knowing you had a family who gives a damn what you do, but now you’re with us. Do not do such foolish things again. Hermione is grounded for two weeks because of she was out past curfew. With Hermione, that means she’s not allowed to read any books that aren’t specifically for homework and she has to stay out of the house most of the day. Homework will be done after dinner, so we can keep an eye on the books in use. Do you think it would be fair for you to join her punishment, Harry?”
Harry nodded slowly. “It was my fault she was out…”
“No, Harry,” Hermione shook her head. “I chose to go with you. Just like I always have. It was my choice, and I accept responsibility for my own actions.”
“Would it be the same for both of us? No books, and staying outside?”
“Yes,” George confirmed. “You can go to the park down the street, out to the gardens, they have lots of activities every summer there. Plays, a circus, and the pool offers swimming lessons if you’re interested.”
“I’ve never been in a pool before,” Harry admitted.
“I think you’ll like it, Harry,” Hermione said. “If you don’t want to take the lessons, I can teach you to swim.”
“Our Hermione has been swimming for as long as she can walk. It’s one of the few ways to tempt her away from her books,” Jean commented fondly.
“But… but that sounds like fun, ” Harry said. “Not like a punishment at all! I mean, you’re not making us miss dinner or locking us in our rooms or--” Harry cut himself off before he could say too much. And even then, he was afraid it was already too late. The Grangers were looking at him with expressions of sorrow.
“No, Harry,” George said gently. He got out of his chair slowly, projecting every movement, until he was kneeling on the floor in front of the two kids. He reached out his hands and Harry followed Hermione’s example by placing his own hand in one. George just cupped his hand very gently. “We will never deprive you of food, Harry. We will never take away the things you need to be healthy and strong. We won’t hurt you or let others hurt you. If you do something wrong, we will decide on consequences, but those consequences will never be to harm you physically. We might take away telephone and mail privileges. We might take away your recreational reading.”
“We might send you outside to play, or we might banish you from the kitchen for a few days,” Jean added.
“My parents don’t hit, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “I’ve never been spanked or even slapped.”
“We don’t believe in such things,” George confirmed. “You’re young, and you will make mistakes and poor choices sometimes. When you do, we want to make sure you learn from it. Nothing more.”
Jean noticed that Harry was looking overwhelmed, his green eyes shining with tears he was holding back by willpower alone. She didn’t think he could take in any more information, so she shook her head slightly. “Very well, decision made. Grounded for two weeks, both of you. Now go wash up, clean your teeth, and scoot outside, please. See your father to get your lunch money before you go.”
When Harry made no move, George used the hand in his to tug the boy gently to his feet. Hermione took over after that, dragging Harry up the stairs and out of sight.
“Come on, Harry. Tooth brushes, hair brushes, socks and shoes. And then we’ll go to the park,” Hermione said in a comforting tone. “You’ll get used to us. I promise.”
Harry was quiet while they took turns in the bathroom, found socks and shoes and went back downstairs. Hermione collected their lunch money and a house key from her father, which she slipped into her pocket. Then she pulled Harry out of the house with her and down the street towards the park.
“Is this really how you grew up, Hermione?” Harry asked, finding his voice at last.
Hermione nodded. “Yes. They’re good parents, Harry, and you’ll learn a lot from them, I think. I can’t imagine a safer place than at home with my parents. I hope you’ll feel that way too eventually.”
Harry stopped walking; Hermione turned back when the tug on her arm told her he wasn’t following anymore. In a rush, Harry pulled Hermione close and crushed her in a tight hug. “You did this… for me? You wanted this? I… I can’t even...”
Hermione hugged Harry close and just held him until he tried to pull away. “I always wanted a little brother, you know,” she teased him gently to lighten the mood.
“I’m sure you would have been very entertaining growing up,” Harry said, trying to shake his overwhelming emotions. “Instead…”
“Pft,” Hermione snorted. “I bet you’d have been getting me into all kinds of trouble when we were little.” Her grin took the bite out of her words and her bossy tone.
Harry couldn’t help but think about Dudley and all the accidental magic Harry did growing up just to survive. “What kinds of accidental magic did you do as a kid?” he asked faintly.
“Mum said I started with bringing things to bed with me. Toys, books, biscuits. Stuff I shouldn’t have been able to reach, and they had no idea how I was doing it,” Hermione mused. “I think I blew up a television once, though, having a temper tantrum. Daddy wanted to watch football, and I wanted to watch Alice in Wonderland . Why do you ask?”
“I… most of my accidental magic happened when my cousin and his friends were after me,” Harry said quietly. “They called it ‘Harry Hunting’. No one’s ever… no one’s ever cared about me before. Just Harry. Not the famous Harry Potter, who can’t even remember the event that he’s famous for. Who’d trade all the fame he has just for an hour with his parents…”
“Well, you’ve got the three of us now,” Hermione said, forcing a smile. “I know we can’t be James and Lily Potter. But even if you don’t have the name, you’re a Granger now. Now let’s go, last one to the swings is a rotten egg!”
The park turned out to be a lot bigger than Harry was imagining. There was a botanical garden, a petting zoo, a huge lawn where Hermione said the circus would set up in late summer. The pool was on the other side of the lawn. Near the park, there was a small cafe where patrons could get burgers and hot dogs and ice cream. It seemed like a slice of heaven.
Harry beat Hermione to the swings, but not by much. Hermione was laughing, starting to pump. Harry followed. Swinging was as close to flying that he could get before he learned he was magic. And living with the Grangers, in a Muggle neighborhood, he wouldn’t likely get to bring out his broom all summer. Unless they got to visit the Weasleys, maybe.
They spent the day at the park, playing around and deciding what they would do for the rest of the week. They had lunch at the little cafe, and Harry was briefly startled by Hermione telling him to get whatever he wanted. She even had money left over afterwards. Though he’d gotten used to being well fed at Hogwarts, it was still strange to him to feel full after a meal when not at school. He thought back to the boa constrictor he’d accidentally freed when Dudley hurt him by shoving him out of the way. He hadn’t eaten a single meal at home for months after that event. The only thing that saved him was the free lunch Vernon and Petunia had manipulated the school into giving him.
It was a strange thought that ‘no meals’ wasn’t a punishment at the Grangers, but it was definitely something Harry was willing to get used to. They walked back to the house about 4pm, a bit grass-stained and tired, but in the best possible way. After weeks of being indoors studying, then three days recovering from keeping Voldemort from the stone, it was good to be outside.
“You looked worried over breakfast this morning. Was there a problem before I came down?” Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head. “I just… I wondered for a bit if I had done something wrong, starting breakfast. Your Mum didn’t seem mad, but…”
“No, Harry, you’ll know if you’re in trouble for something.” She paused. “You know, a lot of kids wouldn’t feel like this was punishment,” Hermione commented lightly as they walked home. “It does feel good to be outside, but sometimes I need that push. I need a reason to put down my books and get out of my own head. So even when I’m being punished, I always know my parents mean it for my own good. Does that make any sense?”
“It does. I… I’m not used to it, but it does. I just… it feels like a dream.” Harry mused. Hermione nodded. He was as social as he could be during supper, then he and Hermione spent some time on homework. Afterwards, Hermione read for fun and Harry found himself drifting off to sleep. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” he said.
Three days passed that way. Harry would get up, make breakfast before Jean got up, they’d all eat as a family, Harry and Hermione would go to the park until dinner, they’d do homework, and go to bed.
Then one night, he heard a banging that woke him up from his sleep. “BOY! WHY ISN’T BREAKFAST READY!” Harry tossed in his bed, confused by the shout from his Aunt. “BOY, GET OUT THIS INSTANT!” Then there was silence. Utter, oppressive silence. He sat up, realizing he was… back in his cupboard.
“Harry,” came a new voice, one that didn’t belong. “Harry, it’s just a dream.”
“IF YOU LIKE THAT CUPBOARD SO MUCH, YOU CAN STAY THERE!” his Aunt shrieked.
“Harry, wake up! Wake up!”
Suddenly Harry’s eyes shot open. He was back in the guest bedroom at the Grangers. His room, now. Unable to control himself, he let out a strangled sob. Hermione grasped his hand tightly, providing him an anchor.
As the tension eased from Harry’s body, Hermione started to chew her lip. “Can I ask… I mean… what were you dreaming about?” she asked softly. “I mean, you were crying, that’s why I came in here…”
“I was back in my cupboard,” Harry said, still a little out of it.
Hermione stilled. “Harry, what do you mean your cupboard?”
Harry looked up at her, blinking owlishly. He was still processing his dream so he said, “My cupboard… where I slept until my Hogwarts letter came… Mr. H Potter, The Cupboard Under The Stairs...”
Hermione gasped, eyes going wide, unable to stop herself from covering her mouth in absolute horror. “You… I… Harry, that’s… that’s awful . You mean they didn’t even give you a bedroom?” Hermione bit her lip, cutting off the flood of questions for fear they would drown out any answers Harry might give her.
Harry shrugged. “They didn’t want to mess up the guest bedroom, and Dudley needed the fourth bedroom for all his toys and stuff. It wasn’t half bad, as long as the spiders didn’t bite you too bad.”
“They locked you in there, didn’t they?” she asked in a very soft voice.
“Sometimes,” Harry answered, his tone just as low. “Sometimes… they’d have guests. And I was supposed to be really quiet and pretend I wasn’t there… that I didn’t exist...”
Hermione flung herself down, laying next to Harry on top of the covers. “You exist! You do!” she insisted. “If I have to remind you every night before bed, I will. You’re important, Harry Potter. Not because you’re the ‘boy who lived’ but because you’re my friend. My brother, if you want to be.”
“I’ve always wanted a big sister,” Harry replied softly, echoing the sentiment Hermione had expressed days before.
“Well, now you’ve got one.” Hermione smiled. “Do you want me to stay until you fall back asleep?”
“Please?”
Hermione slipped under the top cover, leaving the sheet between them - though they both had nightclothes on as well. She held Harry’s hand in hers and hummed softly to help him relax. She watched him as he began to settle and smiled a little to herself. She truly meant to go back to her own room after he was asleep; unfortunately for her, she fell asleep before she could make herself get up.
“Hermione?” This time it was Harry’s voice, waking her. She blinked her eyes open and saw the first glimmer of light coming in the windows. It was early; really early.
“Harry? Oh, sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You really did come see me after my nightmare,” he breathed, sounding surprised. “It wasn’t just another dream.”
“No, little brother, it wasn’t another dream. I promise. So why are we awake at,” she squinted at the clock on the nightstand, “half five in the morning?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s when I usually get up to start breakfast.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, let me go get dressed and I’ll keep you company,” Hermione offered. “Though Harry… I really think you should tell someone about your nightmares.” She saw him tense and sighed. “You don’t have to, and I won’t make you. But… Mum and Dad can’t help unless they know something’s wrong. Think about it, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed quietly.
They made scones that morning, and didn’t talk much other than Harry giving Hermione instructions to follow when she asked to help. Harry didn’t know how to even broach the topic that his bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, let alone how he was dreaming of being back there. He was used to explosive tempers and any explanation he had - or lack thereof - would be ignored. Then it occurred to him that maybe Hermione could help.
“Hermione, do you think… I mean I hate to ask, but could you…” Harry stammered.
Hermione gave him a kind smile. “I’d be happy to help you tell Mum and Dad,” she said. “Oh Harry, you’ll see. This is a good thing. They’ll know what to do. I know you might not trust them, but you trust me, right?”
Harry was a bit stunned. That was an excellent way to think about it. He didn’t trust adults… but he could trust Hermione and Ron. “Yeah, of course,” he said, nodding.
Jean came down shortly after that and started getting ready for work. “There’s a new swim class starting today, Harry, you should sign up,” she said encouragingly. “It’s safer if you know how to swim.”
“Okay,” Harry agreed, pulling the blueberry scones out of the oven. They were his own recipe. Around nine, he started messing with a few of Aunt Petunia’s recipes to make them better. The Dursleys never noticed, or at least never said anything, but Harry was rather proud of his precision work.
“I didn’t realize we had any blueberry scone mix,” George said, coming in. “Morning family.”
“Morning Dad,” Hermione said, putting the clotted cream on the table.
“Morning,” Harry echoed. “And I didn’t realize you had scone mixes. You just had blueberries in the freezer and it’s a really simple recipe…”
“You can bake from scratch?” Jean asked curiously. “You spoil us Harry.”
Harry blushed at the compliment and turned off the oven. “Hermione helped,” he murmured.
Breakfast was a fairly quiet affair, Hermione sneaking glances between Harry and her parents every so often as Harry grew increasingly torn about telling Hermione’s parents about his cupboard.
“Mum, Dad…” Hermione began slowly, and immediately had her parents’ attention. “I… we think you should know that Harry is having nightmares. I woke up when I heard him last night, and I stayed with him so he could sleep again. His… the Dursleys… well, they made him sleep in a cupboard. Under the stairs. He didn’t have a room; their house’s fourth bedroom was for Dudley’s toys.”
Jean listened, with wide eyes, but said nothing while Hermione spoke. George was better at masking his emotion, but Hermione could see a bleak expression in his eyes.
“Is this true, Harry?” George asked, looking for confirmation. Harry couldn’t look up from his plate but nodded.
Hermione looked at Harry, and tugged his hand so he’d look back at her. She asked a question with her eyes, and he hesitated but then nodded permission. Hermione looked back at her parents then. “Harry needs time to adjust; I’m sure you knew that already. But… he doesn’t know how to trust grown-ups. He trusts me, so when I said I thought you should know… he agreed that we should tell you. But…”
“But he’s scared, and it’s okay to be scared,” Jean said, addressing them both. “Facing your fears is difficult, but it’s healthy. I’m proud of you both for telling us.”
George nodded his agreement, smiling gently at both kids. “Harry, I’m very glad to hear that you trust Hermione enough to let her help you with this. I hope that you can continue to talk to her about things that are bothering you, and trust her judgement when she thinks it’s something we should know.”
“We know the Dursleys abused you, Harry,” Jean told him gently. “We know that they didn’t want you, and that you were miserable living there. How could you not be? That’s why we wanted to bring you here. We also think, honestly, that you probably need more help than we can give you.”
“But…” Harry began to protest, but Hermione squeezed his hand gently. Her mother wasn’t finished.
“We’ve been looking into several different doctors who specialize in helping abused children to recover,” Jean explained. “We won’t force you to go, but we think it would be a good idea. And I think they would be willing to let Hermione help you with the first few visits, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Of course I’ll go with you, Harry, if you want me to,” Hermione offered immediately. “You’re my little brother. I’ll do anything I can to help you if you need me.”
Harry thought hard, wishing more than anything he hadn’t been given to the Dursleys. Isn’t this what he wanted? Parents, a family? Wasn’t this some version of what he saw in the Mirror of Erised? Was he really willing to give that up just because of a little work, as unpleasant as it may be? He realized he needed to answer. “I… I’m not crazy.”
“Oh no, sweetie. We’re not saying that. Sometimes it just helps to talk things out with a person who isn’t involved,” Jean reassured him.
“And these doctors are trained to help you learn how to cope with the problems you have, so they stop giving you nightmares,” George added. “You’re young, Harry, and no one expects you to be able to deal with the burdens laid on your shoulders alone. What we want is to provide you with the help you need so in the future, you can handle problems in a healthy way.”
“I know you’re brave, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Do you think you can face this, too, if I’m by your side?”
“I…” Harry hesitated, but what they were saying made a kind of sense to him. Being ‘the boy who lived’ was difficult enough, and he didn’t know what life in the Wizarding World might throw at him next. “I can try. If Hermione can help.”
“Good. That’s all we can ask of you,” Jean soothed. “Do you two want to look at the information on the doctors and pick one for yourselves?”
Unsure if there was a right answer or if he was supposed to start trying to trust them, Harry didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced at Hermione for suggestions.
“Why don’t we take a look, and if we can’t decide then we’ll trust Mum and Dad to make the best decision for us?” she offered.
“That… makes sense.”
“Excellent,” George beamed. “So, we’ll get the folders for you while you get ready to go. You can take them to the park with you and find a place to be comfortable while you read what we have. Lunch money and your key will be on the hall table.”
“Okay, Dad,” Hermione said. Seeing that Harry was also done with breakfast, she got up and waited for him to join her at the door before heading upstairs.
Jean wilted back into her chair for a moment, mixed emotions crossing her face rapidly.
George sighed. He didn’t think it was this bad. Harry seemed so… well adjusted. “Remind me again why these people get to get off scot-free? They made him sleep in the damn cupboard? And David described Vernon. I can’t help but imagine…” Imagined images floated through his head of Vernon beating a much smaller and younger Harry, of Petunia ordering him to do endless chores and any mistake made would be punishable by a loss of the privilege of eating. How had the Dursleys treated Harry like their slave and no one noticed?
“I know,” Jean said, tears slipping down her cheeks now that the kids had left the room. “We should be careful about Harry’s chores. And I’d like to wean him off feeling compelled to make breakfast for us every morning. He needs his sleep, especially if he’s having nightmares.” They’d already talked about how, until further notice if Harry messed up all they’d really do is talk to him or include him in the kind of punishments Hermione received if they were both in trouble. To prove to him that they would never, ever hit him.
“I wonder if self-defense classes might help. He’s obviously learning magic up at the school, but it can’t hurt to know how to throw a punch… especially since they’re not supposed to use magic while they’re here at home.” George was looking pensive.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to let him and Hermione remain… attached at the hip so much?” Jean asked thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want her to be under too much pressure being a crutch for him, either. Even if we both know she’d do it willingly and without complaint.”
“Maybe we should see what the therapist has to say about that,” George replied. “I think right now, he needs someone he trusts around him. And even though I think he really does want to be part of our family, he doesn’t really trust us yet.”
“The only thing that’s going to fix that is hard work and time. Regardless, we should get going or else we’re going to be late for work,” Jean said. “Let’s keep self-defense classes on the back burner for now. It might make for a good punishment.”
“You could be right about that. We can talk about it more over lunch,” George agreed.