Summary:
Harry Granger explores the new school he goes to, his life with the Grangers and some questions burning in his mind. It's not all sunshine and roses, but it's a hell of a lot better. Some new truths are discovered.
Notes:
This chapter's gonna have a number of time-skips and is mostly general - we're basically scrolling through their life until we get to the good bits. Mix of happy and sad in this one.
UPDATE: I realized that because the school year works differently in England, Dudley wouldn't be in his second year at school in Chapter 1, he'd be in his first - that's been updated.
TW: Child abuse (mentioned) and bullying including ableist slurs (r word, blindness being subject of bullying) (shown)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
September, 1996
A few months came and went, with Harry's new parents organizing tutors to come and help him get up to speed. This wasn't without its ups and downs, with the boy entirely unfamiliar with the concept of teaching. In order to take notes, he'd learnt some rudimentary braille, and despite the inability of the Grangers to really afford the horrendously expensive braille textbooks, Hermione had happily sacrificed the majority of her Lego for the purpose - using 3x6 tiles to create a box of letters for him. He messed up every now and then, but the makeshift Lego notes had been helpful for maths in particular and so Mrs. Granger had gone and bought the required tiles in bulk for him and spent an afternoon putting together more letters with him.
While it had certainly helped, it hadn't left him entirely prepared for the new environment of school - on top of the lack of previous education, it wasn't exactly practical to bring Lego to school, and was met with dislike the first time he tried. For the time being, the teacher aide who helped him wrote notes for him and Dennis had transcribed them into the tiles. It wasn't long before it was suggested that Harry bring a tape recorder, with which to record lessons. Some teachers had been put out with the idea of being recorded, but after the principal had had to step in a number of times they relented. This too was limited and occasionally mistaken for music, but easier to use for homework. Homework was its own challenge, with exhausted parents taking turns to help after they got home from work.
He and Hermione were in the same class - by design or not, Harry didn't know, but it helped to have his sister there to explain things. In their class, they were the only two with colours - only three other kids at the school had them, one 5 year old and two nine year olds - their parents did too. None wanted anything to do with them, but thankfully it seemed their presences had help spread colour around the grounds. It wasn't enough to walk without needing the cane, but it was enough to tell where he was in most places.
After months of healthy eating, Harry was well on the mend. He had so much more energy! The Grangers, being dentists, had been a little more strict on treats than Rosemary had been, but he didn't blame them for it - it was good for him, and it was kinda Rosemary's job to be really nice. Thankfully, ice cream and chocolate fudge bars weren't entirely off the table. They'd also made sure he got into the routine of brushing his teeth properly, and being dentists had guaranteed he got the care he needed.
It didn't take long before the teasing started. Hermione didn't seem to notice the jeers thrown at them, but to Harry they reminded him all too much of a certain old cousin he'd only recently escaped the taunting of. It hadn't gotten physical yet, but that didn't stop Harry from instinctively expecting it to. But he'd had worse thrown at him over the years, literally and figuratively, he could only be called "buh-buh-buh-buh-bat boy" so many times before he just laughed at it. He did however quickly gather from what was called at his sister that Dudley's lack of interest in learning was more common than her intense curiosity. Who cares what they think , he thought to himself, echoing Hermione's words on the abusive cousin. All in all, he didn't let it ruin the life he'd been so glad to acquire. Hermione's seventh birthday passed that month, and while she didn't invite any friends, Harry was ecstatic to have been to his first birthday party even if it was only the family. And any occasion where their mum and dad not only allowed but encouraged cake was sure to be a good one indeed.
--
December, 1996
Christmas Day too was perhaps Harry's favourite day ever, better than even Hermione's birthday. The weeks leading up to it were filled with jolly music and gingerbread, and the day itself was its own treat. It wasn't just Hermione who got gifts, but he did too! It was perhaps significantly more restrained than the absurd showering of gifts Dudley had been given (Harry shuddered briefly at the memory of Dudley's shrieking that they weren't big enough), but it was significantly more thoughtful. Harry had, on that day, received more heartfelt gifts than any meager allowances he'd been given by the Dursleys over his entire life with them. Among them had been audiobooks, new music and a plethora of new clothes. Since his measurements had changed dramatically now he'd been fed properly the clothes he'd worn at Rosemary's didn't fit him anymore, to his chagrin. They had been a little more comfortable than the new ones - not that he didn't appreciate the new ones - and he realized in bemusement that it had been the girls' shirts that had been more comfortable. Maybe he should ask about that, he thought.
--
February, 1997
Despite Harry's hopes, the bullying against Hermione and himself didn't stop after Christmas. If anything, it only got worse, with Harry's laughter at things like "bat boy" being replaced with sullen silence at things like "the nerd's blind retard pet." "Trying to record our secrets" and "too dumb for 2+2" followed the pair, even though Harry consistently did better in math than them - to be fair, he supposed they'd only accuse Hermione of cheating for him if he defended himself. Hermione got too much flak from the other kids for him to give them more ammunition.
Eventually, in early March, the day Harry had dreaded finally came; the bullying stopped being psychological. It started small - trippings that they pretended were by accident, but after a while the pretence was dropped and the jeers accompanied it. A bolder one even pushed him down a few times. But unlike when Harry had first come to the school, the teachers didn't take his side anymore. Once, a kid called Brayden demanded Harry's lunch money - at his panicked protestations that he didn't have any, he'd been pushed to the ground and humiliated as he groped in the darkness for his cane - that had been taken by the bigger boy. At least this time a teacher stepped in, but nothing happened afterward. Brayden walked free and proud, and was only more careful to avoid the adults noticing.
The teachers never helped. It was always "what did you do to provoke him," and "you can't let them get to you," with no action taken. Harry and Hermione sat quietly as some people came in to make a presentation about bullying, rattling off advice the two knew didn't work. Harry quickly grew numb to the platitudes, jeers and semi-frequent shoves - he'd known worse, so much worse. Dudley had thrown him off the landing up the stairs once, and of course, Vernon and Petunia had done nothing. At least the teachers weren't encouraging the bullies like his relatives had. He knew though that Hermione was affected more by it. She always said she was fine, but unless Harry's ears were lying to him, she cried herself to sleep most nights. His room was, after all, directly beneath hers.
--
June, 1997
They'd been sitting on Harry's bed listening to the audiobook of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy when it happened. Hermione had been oddly quiet all afternoon; Harry had hoped the story would help, and he wasn't yet sure if it had or not. All he knew was that now, his sister was curled up in a ball on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, sobbing. He'd paused the audiobook and wasn't sure what to do.
He had his theories. While Brayden and his gang of prepubescent narcissists never really affected Harry, Hermione was their favourite target. He didn't know what to do either, part of him wanted to go and get their parents but another believed it might only make Hermione close up again, so he'd closed the door. Maybe this was good for her?
Hermione finally sat up, still crying but now into her hands instead of the bed so far as Harry could tell. Her colours were… different today. More erratic, sharp and spiky, lashing out at floating flecks like magnets. If anything though, it didn't damage the flecks but instead empowered them. Gently feeling for her shoulder, he put his hand there in an attempt to comfort her. The colours in her centre spiked towards his hand, before receding as - presumably - she realized it was him.
"Wh-wh-wha-wh-wh-wha-what-what's wrong, Hermione?" he asked, cursing his stammer. Hermione sniffed as he heard her raise her head.
"It's- it's nothing," she said quietly. Harry didn't want to contradict her, but he also knew she was lying. He simply shook his head as she spluttered again and pulled him closer into a tight hug. Her colours weren't as jagged anymore, but they were still flickering and flashing. "Why is everyone so mean?" she whimpered.
"I don't know," Harry replied, gently rubbing her back. She pulled away again, sniffing.
"Ugh, I'm such a baby - they're worse to you and you're not crying!" she exclaimed, as he heard her slapping herself on the temples and he pulled her hand away at the noise.
"You're not a baby," he insisted.
"But-"
"You're not a baby. You're not."
"I-it-it's just," Hermione slouched, staring down at her hands - hands Harry was holding, if not for comfort then to stop her from hitting herself. It was a habit he was determined to help her break. "I, I've never had friends. Not like everyone else does. They all just hate me, they always have."
"You've got me, and I don't hate you," Harry said, hoping to bring a light, if a small one, into the darkness of that truth. He heard her exhale briefly. He wasn't certain, but he knew that was normally associated with a smile, so he let himself believe that his sister had smiled at that.
"Before you, I mean. I never had a friend before you. Some kids let me talk, but they never listened . They never cared. Then they left after a while. Not like you." Harry had always focused on what Hermione had done for him - it had never occurred to him that his rescue from the Dursleys hadn't just helped him. Before he could really think on that however, Hermione once again fell into tears. "How do you handle it ?!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I - I guess. I guess I just, I've had worse. I mean, you rescued me from worse," he said, unsure of what he was saying - he didn't know what saying he'd had worse would do, but it was the truth. He decided to elaborate, hoping it would give perspective rather than sounding mean. "I've been thrown off the stairs before. My cousin sprayed bleach in my eyes when I was little. But you saved me from more of that, Hermione. You haven't had that, and that's good. Just because I can handle it doesn't mean that's a good thing. You're not being a baby." Another thought hit him. "You know why they're so mean? You're cleverer than them, so you're better than them at something - they don't like that, so they try to hurt you with it. Being clever isn't a bad thing, but they want you to feel like it is."
"You're right, I guess." Harry wasn't sure what happened next. Hermione didn't move, he knew that much. She was still bundled up in the blanket, and both her hands remained in his. But without his input, and definitely without Hermione's, the CD player clicked, and the banjo riff of the theme song started up again. What was strangest was that he could have sworn he'd 'seen' Hermione's colours do it.
--
31st July, 1997
It had been over a year since Harry had joined the family, and over time his room had taken on his signature red and purple colour scheme. The two had almost finished their second years of school - his first in Harry's case, but in the second years' class - and Harry had decided he didn't like tests. In better news, it was his seventh birthday today. It had entirely slipped his mind that he even got one, until he was ambushed at the breakfast table with well wishes from the family. He still had to go to school though. The kids had gotten home a few hours ago, and Harry was sorting his laundry back into its drawers while he listened back to the day's notes.
Mrs. Bindell droned on about nouns, bolstering Harry's memory as he hummed to himself. His uniform, now folded, got put inside, and he bent back down to get the next clothes from the basket.
What his fingers brushed into wasn't familiar. It felt like a jumper, but it was softer than any of his. Pulling it up, it was shaped like one, but the buttons were on the wrong side as far as he could tell. Checking, he found he was right - the tag was on the right side. It was Hermione's, he realized, as he felt the shape of the school emblem sewn into its front just like his own. Why was it in his washing? His dad must have misplaced it getting their clothes off the line, he supposed. Stepping over to his bedside table, he took up the cane he'd stood against it and started toward the door to bring it up to his sister.
Something stopped him though, he wasn't sure what.
He knew it was a bad idea, but he also remembered how comfortable the first clothes Rosemary had let him choose from had been.
Just once couldn't hurt, right?
Putting the cane down on his bed, he slid his right arm into the sleeve, then the left, pulling the jumper on as the soft fabric welcomed him. The buttons took some fumbling, but he got them. It felt good. It felt right , he didn't know how to explain it even to himself.
It didn't take long for shame to kick in. It was his sister's jumper, he shouldn't be wearing it. He hurriedly took it off, putting it down on the bed and holding his face in his hands for a moment or two.
It was okay; she didn't have to know. Picking up the jumper and cane again, he carefully made his way upstairs to give it back.
Of course, because it was his birthday, on top of being veritably showered with gifts he even got a cake that evening! He'd been told not to share what his wish had been at blowing out the candles, but he wasn't going to anyway. He didn't know what they'd think of it if he did, and he certainly didn't know if his wish was possible. No, it would remain private.
--
November, 1997
Once again, Hermione sat beside Harry on his bed, but this time the book being read was read by Hermione. The weather had elected for dreary rain rather than snow, and it tapped at the window as she painted images of an imaginary forest blanketed in snow, of a lion, a witch and a wardrobe.
His hair had grown out some since it had last been cut, and it tickled at his eyebrows and shoulders as he sat, listening intently. He was also sure he was taller, hanging branches he'd previously remained blissfully unaware of now threatened to add even more scars to his forehead to match the lightning bolt he'd been reminded was present.
School had started up again, both of them now in their third year classes, and the Christmas holidays were fast approaching. He looked forward to a repeat of the previous year's festivities and the encouraged consumption of unhealthy foods. Last year, their dad had made a trifle and it had been perhaps the richest thing Harry'd ever eaten. He was determined to have a whole slice this time, he'd only been able to finish half of it last time.
Over the last few days, Hermione had catapulted through C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe . She'd read it a few times before, scoured the school library for books she hadn't read yet, read those and then come back for seconds. As Hermione read out the descriptions of the Pevensie children, kings and queens, dressed beautifully, Harry found himself twisting the fabric of his track pants in jealousy of them. Abruptly, Hermione stopped.
" That's where that keeps going," she said, closing the book and as Harry's spine turned to ice, moved over to his closet, which he realized with a start must have been hanging open.
"Uh- I -uh," he started, as he heard Hermione pull the offending jumper out from under a stack of other clothes.
"How come you've been borrowing this?" she asked, presumably holding it up.
"I- I uh. I'm sorry, I-" Harry's brain crashed in on itself as his sister's imagined sternness bore into his head, tumbling through anguish. He had known it was wrong when he'd first tried it on, he'd known it was wrong when he stole it from her laundry for alternating weeks, he'd known it was wrong when he stashed it away, otherwise he wouldn't have hidden it.
"Hey, hey, hey, you don't have to be sorry, I've known you've been doing this for ages, I just wanna know why," Hermione said, bobbing over and taking his shoulder.
"Yo-you knew?"
"To be honest, you weren't good at hiding it. And you had a pattern, I mean come on," she giggled. "So why is it my little brother's been stealing my jumpers?"
"I-" Harry tried to think it through for a second. "I don't know, it's just.. it feels better. More right, I guess. It was the same with my old shirts, the ones I got from Rosemary."
"Oh yeah, they were girls' shirts right?"
"And then it's like," Harry paused, unsure if he should continue. "It's like, the girls at school get to be pretty and cute, I don't. I can't see them but…" he trailed off, thinking. "And like, Susan and Lucy, they sound really pretty and I wish I could be like them and…" His hand found his hair, fingers tangling into it.
"Harry… do you want to be a girl?" came the gentle, massive, complicated question from the lips of Harry's sister. The question at which Harry's life crumbled around, yet while it built a new foundation upon the answer.
"I… I think so," she replied, remembering her birthday wish. "Yes."
--
Notes:
Aaaaaaargh my babies! I was going to write the actual scene where Hermione and Harry get set upon by bullies on the way home, but I couldn't bring myself to. I'm too soft!
My little nods to my own childhood continue in the form of the Hitchhiker's Guide audiobooks - I had 4 discs of the old BBC radio play of it, but I never found out what happened on the 4th because my mother overwrote them with, funnily enough, Stephen Fry's Harry Potter audiobooks. I'm told I quickly developed an extraordinarily similar accent to his, despite having never been to England xD I can't for the life of me find the exact same radio plays I had, but like the movie they used Journey of the Sorcerer by the Eagles as the theme; that's the music I'm talking about.
The amount of times I kept calling Harry she before the reveal, dear gods. Fluff incoming next chapter!