The After Life

Parental Guidance Recommended

The cul-de-sac of red-brick houses was very warm and welcoming. A couple of children were zooming about on bicycles that still had their stabilisers on, one lady was trimming the rough bits from her hedge whilst sharing a cup of tea with her elderly neighbours, who were sat in deckchairs enjoying the early morning sunshine. It looked set to be another fine day in Abingdon and the residents of Quicksilver Close seemed determined to enjoy it.

It was a funky sort of name for a street, Harry thought as he rounded the corner into it. It seemed to be part of a theme, with Copper Street and Antimony Place other parts of his route on the way. He wasn't sure why he had come at all. It seemed an odd thing to do now he was actually embarking on it. But he felt sort of compelled, there was a curiosity he couldn't stem.

He wanted to see the place where Hermione had grown up.

The residents all clocked him as he entered the cul-de-sac. He was a a stranger here. Even the milkman and postie were on a first-name basis with most of them. This young man was a new addition, a curiosity, and Harry felt all eyes follow him to see where he would go. He looked hastily for Number 12. It was the furthest house away. Typical. He would have to endure the stares for a good few moments yet. He straightened his aviators and strode across the road.

He moved along the path of Number 12's garden. It was neatly kept. He supposed it had to be, with so many local critics to appease. Harry rang the doorbell. He wasn't sure what he expected from this breakfast meeting. Or what had driven him to accept it. He had given serious thought to not coming at all. It would have been rude, but if he never saw Hermione again she wouldn't be able to tell him off for standing her parents up. That ultimately made up his mind.

He fully intended to see Hermione again and he didn't want her to be cross with him when he did.

So here he was, in the Sunday morning sun, waiting on her parent's doorstep. He had arrived early. At least, earlier than he'd said. It was nine o'clock or thereabouts. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that didn't want to make a bad impression on the Grangers. Harry rather fancied that it spoke in Hermione's accent. So he decided to make the effort and hopefully get things off to a good start.

The door opened. Mrs Granger stood there, looking slightly bemused. "Why, Harry! Hello! You're earlier than we expected."

"I'm sorry, if its not a good time ... I can come back ..."

"No, no, forgive me, I didn't mean it like that," said Mrs Granger. "I took you at your word last night that you weren't an early riser. Clearly you were having me on."

"I promise I wasn't," said Harry, eager to impress his honesty on Hermione's mum. "This is early for me."

Catrin Granger looked at Harry warmly. "Then we should consider ourselves privileged."

Harry shifted coyly. "I wouldn't go that far, Mrs Granger."

"Oh, please, call me Catrin. And wont you come in? Where are my manners?"

Harry stepped over the threshold. "Should I take my shoes off?"

"No, dear, there's no need. David and I aren't so fussy," said Catrin waving her hand. She smiled, as though she was pleased that Harry had made the offer, even if it wasn't the trend in their house.

Catrin led the way through the house. It had a homely feel. It was warm and welcoming, not nearly as surgically pristine as the Dursleys house in Privet Drive, nor as haphazard and chaotic as The Burrow. It was a home, designed for the purpose. There were pictures and plants, order and a little bit of jumble. As there should be. Harry found his eyes lingering on pictures of Hermione a bit longer than he knew they ought. He missed her face, her eyes and smile. He jerked himself back to the house and its aura. He liked it. Even the aroma, coffee and baking from the kitchen, was inviting. This was a place where you were allowed to live normally, it wasn't frowned upon.