Harry Meets Mama
As they approached Griselda's house on Abbey Road she slowed to a walking pace, breathing hard, Harry followed her example. They walked in companionable silence, giving eachother time to catch their breath and in Harry's case, Smooth out his unruly hair.
That was one of the many odd things about Griselda Grimore in Harry’s opinion. She never seemed ruffled in the slightest, never a hair out of place, never a skirt flipping in the wind, never a coat in disarray. She was always put together a way Harry could never be, graceful and softened with little in the way of a rats nest like his hair often became.
Harry supposed girls could be this way, having been raised from birth, preening, primping and prettying. Not that it was their nature necessarily, society set guidelines and culture followed. But If you asked Harry it was all too much, Griselda would be just as perfect in a sack dress as in her tailored skirts and fitted coats. It wasn’t that he fancied her, Harry would never admit to that, she just possessed a rather interesting air to her.
Reaching Griselda’s house, the tall brick building looming in the darkening afternoon sky, they paused. Griselda turned to Harry and looked him up and down. “Not too shabby I suppose.”
“What?”
Griselda giggled, “mother is rather proper, but you have a charm about you so I’m sure she can look past your boyish scruff.”
“Heyyy!” Harry protested…”I’m not scruffy!”
“Yes you areeee.” Griselda glided across the syllables her voice was teasing rather than judgemental and Harry found himself beginning to laugh.
The door swung open of its own accord, hinges nearly cracking to obey its master's command. Griselda stepped in calmly and shucked her coat and boots, placing them on their appointed racks she strode into the sitting room.
Harry on the other hand was a bit apprehensive… If Griselda was such a willful powerful witch that she could turn someone’s nose into that of a cow, how would her mother be ?
Gathering his courage he crossed the threshold into the house. After he placed his coat and boots neatly on the provided guest rack Harry slowly tiptoed into the sitting room after Griselda. She sat on a rather plush sofa, feet dangling and rocking back and forth in excitement. It was only when Harry really rounded the corner that he spotted the older woman sitting in one of the ancient looking leather armchairs.
She was a rather curious sight to behold, much like Griselda her hair was prematurely white. However hers also held a fair amount of silver flecks which glistened in the candle sconces adorning the room. Unlike Griselda however she was far more lush and vibrant in appearance, unlike Aunt Petunia's near emaciated horse-like appearances.
Despite her slightly plump full bodied cheeks she sported a rather regal jawline followed by high cheekbones and startling emerald eyes. There was no doubt in Harry's mind, clearly Griselda had gotten her looks from her mother.
“Ahhh.” She purred… “you must be the Harry Potter I’ve been hearing so much about ?”
“Motherrrr!” Griselda blushed, covering her mouth in embarrassment. “I haven’t been talking about him that much!”
“Oh come now sweets don’t be rude.”
At that Griselda turned away, a pout forming on her lips though they were firmly shut so as to avoid more contrived rudeness. Not that Harry found it rude, perhaps this is what Griselda meant when she said her mother was rather proper.
“Y-yes… I mean… Yes ma’am, I am Harry Potter.”
“Good darling, I was starting to get worried my dear Zel had brought the wrong boy home. It was really quite the shock you know… Harry Potter himself is living in a muggle neighborhood!”
“I’m, I’m not sure I understand ma’am.” Harry took his time to be respectful, there was something about the glint in Mrs. Grimores eyes that scared him.
“You’re The-Boy-Who-Lived Harry…”
“But what does that mean?”
The woman’s face morphed into hilarious incredulity and she turned to Griselda. “Really now darling ? You didn’t tell him.. good god, kids these days. How utterly forgetful!”
“Tell me what?”
“That you, my boy, are the one said to have vanquished Voldemort. That is why you are the boy-who-lived. No one ever has survived the killing curse. It was quite the miracle those nine fateful years ago in October.”
Harry sat numbly, shock evident in every bone in his body. He defeated Voldemort as a baby? How completely ridiculous!
“It does sound rather strange doesn't it…?”
“Yes ma’am..” Is she a mind reader? Harry's thoughts jumped from one explanation to the next! How had she all but known what his reaction was?
“I'm not a mind reader young man…” The older witch smiled rather fondly.. “You’re not one to wear your heart on your sleeve young mister potter, however, facial expressions can tell quite a bit. At least once one trains in divining the minute details of body language into thoughts. It's an art of polite society really, to tell when one is lying or upset.”
“Oh, sorry…” I'm a bit new to all this magic stuff, I wasn't sure if it was possible.
“Oh it is Harry, the mind arts are a rather rare and difficult magical discipline but a skilled user can flit through the mind and gather surface thoughts… it's hard to detect unless one is skilled themselves. There are of course charms and magics to aid in protecting…” She stroked a gorgeous ruby necklace which hung loosely across the chest of her gown.
The conversion lapsed into silence before Harry drew his attention away from the necklace to look her in the eye, gathering his courage Harry asked; “Did you know my parents?”
“Mrs. Grimore looked sad for a second, a fleeting expression brought on by memory. “Yes, I did.. Well, I rather knew OF them, more than knew them. We were in the same year, though I was in Slytherin, never did interact with either. I did get to know Lily Evans, your mother slightly; she was the even-head of the lot, no house prejudice in her, perhaps on account of being a muggleborn. Blood status was immaterial though, she was a smart girl, very gifted and studious. More so than most of the pureblooded of that era, it's really quite a shame they could not see past their blood, James potter was not so blind though. ”
“Do you have any pictures?”
“Of course dear, allow me a moment to procure them.” The older witch waved her hand before returning it to its place stroking the armchair.
“And what about my father? Harry demanded this almost hungrily, these parents who truly loved him, it was a mystery to Harry, one that was extremely fascinating, he yearned for more.
Mrs. Grimore sighed, “Oh young potter that is a bit more difficult, he was a handsome man, intelligent and rather fetching, I can see what your mother saw in him. But their romance was not one of instant love. Your father, James.. Was a rather complicated character during his school years. He was the star chaser of the Gryffindor quidditch Team, excelled in transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts… but…”
“But?”
“He could also be rather cruel in regard to his humour, your father was quite the prankster, but often it went too far. One student especially bore the brunt of this, the marauders as they called themselves, James boys, had a feud with one boy from Slytherin, an acquaintance, friend really of your mother Lily.”
“My father was a bully?”
“I suppose you could call it that Harry, I for one believe it simply was the nastiness of youth, we grow up and mature, and eventually realize that is not who we want to be. I believe James experienced that, it was after all only after he cleaned up his act that Lily gave him the time of day. Or at least that's what I've heard in the gossip circles.
“O-oh”
“Make no mistake Harry, despite personal failings in regard to James in his youth… he overcame it, we do not define people by their youthful failures but by their mature character. And I can say, without doubt your parents loved you, they were wonderful people you should be proud of. It is a fact that they died for you, that they sacrificed themselves for you. And you should be proud of that.”