Harry loved and hated Hermione in equal measure, like a big sister he never had.
The type of big sister who would always give unsolicited advice. The type of big sister who was loved just that bit more by the parents, because she was the first born and they had been taken unawares by that all-encompassing love for such a little miracle for the first time, and had spent that initial time of new parenthood just doting on this little wonder. The type of big sister who made the parents proud and was the measuring stick that none of her siblings would ever be able to live up to.
But also the type of big sister who would walk through fire for him and would always be there for him, would listen to him, would protect him and share his greatest fears and wildest dreams.
Yes, that about summed up everything he both loved and hated about Hermione.
She had asked him over because she wanted to talk to him, which was never a good sign.
When he arrived here, about an hour ago, she had given him her usual big hug and sisterly smile and had then shooed him out into the backyard.
She had instructed him to go and rake up the leaves in the back garden. According to the weatherman, it was going to be an unseasonably warm afternoon and she was fancying a picnic outside.
Somehow Harry thought it was more than just a picnic she had invited him for.
He looked up at the sky for confirmation of this weather prediction.
Hermione would cast Tempus to find out the time, but would only trust the Muggle weather forecast, when it came to finding out what the weather would be like.
‘Time,’ she would say, ‘is just an agreement between people to record the passage of what we refer to as time. Once everyone has agreed on a particular time and how to measure particular intervals of time, it just becomes an ongoing record. Telling the time is not science, it is just a logical means of making sure everyone is on the same page when it comes to making arrangements to meet.
Meteorology, however, is science. Wizards can affect the weather somewhat with spells and cantrips, but forecasting is actual science and it is best to leave that to the experts.’
As the most advanced wizard of her age, she was more proficient at magic than most, but she still would have a healthy respect for science and was a passionate campaigner for Muggle-Wizard educational integration.
Magic, while amazingly practical in some ways, was not known for its innovations. Reliance on magic had, according to Hermione, stunted the inquisitive minds of the Wizarding community, where among Muggles this inquisitive mind was still very much active, at least among a certain type of Muggles. Even in the Muggle world there were those who could only be described as ‘thick as two planks.’
So this is how Harry ended up raking the Weasley’s backyard, the hard way, with a rake that had been thrusted into his hands with the words, ‘You could do with some exercise, Harry. I mentioned the same to Ron the other day. Since you both gave up quidditch, your muscles look a lot less toned.’
Thanks a lot, Hermione, Harry thought.
She had not said it unkindly, more matter-of-fact, in that annoyingly sisterly advisory way.
Where was Ron anyway, Harry thought, as he raked up the leaves.
Harry was beginning to tire of raking the leaves. Every time he had gathered a huge heap of them, the wind would pick up and scatter the whole lot again.
At least Harry had thought it was the wind at first, but then it seemed more deliberate, nearly as if someone was toying with him.
For a fleeting moment he thought that maybe Hermione had enchanted the leaves to make sure he was getting enough exercise. He wouldn’t put it past her.
Then he thought maybe his bad mood was making this happen, the way Ron sometimes made it snow when he was thinking about something unpleasant, but he dismissed that thought after a while. Mood induced magic like that did not really happen to him any longer, not since childhood really.
After the heap of leaves scattered once more, Harry thought of a fourth option…
‘Ok, you’ve had your fun, Cedric,’ he said as he stopped raking.
Lately Cedric had been visiting Harry more often, as if Harry’s moods were somehow pulling the friendly ghost towards him, the way a mood ring would change colours.
A grinning Cedric revealed himself.
‘Sorry mate, couldn’t help myself. Heard you needed the exercise,’ he laughed heartily.
Harry pulled a face.
It was most annoying that the ghost’s physique was still as wonderful as ever. That was probably the only benefit of being killed in your prime: quidditch muscles for ever.
‘What are you doing here?’ Harry enquired, not that he didn’t love seeing Cedric. In fact he was preferring the ghost’s company to being left alone with his own thoughts.
‘Rumour has it that you are entangled with a vampire and Nick sent me to check on you,’ Cedric replied.
‘How does Nick, know?’ Harry asked less surprised than he probably should be. The Hogwarts ghosts were the biggest bunch of gossips he had ever encountered.
‘You know His Nearly Headlessness, he prides himself on being very well informed. Apparently he was at the Halloween party in Malfoy’s place with Myrtle. He told me by the way that your dancing has improved considerably since your Hogwarts days. Your handsome partner made you look better than you were, but Godric himself would have been proud to have you represent his house, Nick said. I’m afraid Myrtle was lounging in the fountain, when you reportedly were making out with a gorgeous young man of the bloodsucking variety.’
Cedric seemed to relish relaying this second-hand account of Harry’s love life.
All of a sudden Hermione’s invitation made sense.
‘I take it His Royal Pain in the Nearly Headless Ass also told Fred?,’ he asked.
‘Of course, such a bit of juicy gossip is worth gold here. Nothing exciting ever happens to us ghosts, you know.’
Nick told Fred, Fred told George, who probably told Hermione in private, as otherwise Ron would have confronted him before now, and now here he was, raking leaves, it all made sense now.
‘You can tell Nick that there is no need to worry and please refrain from calling Damien a bloodsucker, he is a person just like us, with feelings and everything…’ Harry let the rest hang in the air.
How much had Myrtle overheard from her vantage point in the fountain, Harry wondered.
He took a mental note to not linger around water features at parties in future.
He had a soft spot for the girl, but someone should really teach her some boundaries. He recalled their encounter in the prefects’ bathroom and felt himself smile at the memory.
‘Cedric,’ he mused, ‘you don’t still frequent the prefects’ bathroom in Hogwarts, do you?’
Cedric laughed, he had been subjected to a visit from Myrtle himself when he was taking a bath in his sixth year, so he knew what Harry was referring to.
‘Don’t worry, Harry, I don’t perv on your nieces and nephews and Fred, Nick and I had a word with Myrtle about that, but you can’t blame us ghosts for trying to spice up eternity from time to time. Fred says Hi by the way.’ Then after a pause, he said, ‘So this Damien…is he as dishy as Myrtle says?
Harry swatted the rake at his ghost friend, laughing as he did so.
‘Yes he is and now take your head out of the gutter and leave me be. Thank Nick and Fred for worrying about me, but I am fine and please stop messing up my piles of leaves, otherwise Hermione will tell me off for slacking on the job.’
With a wave and a huge boyish grin, Cedric left.
Moments later, all the leaves were raked into a huge heap at the end of the garden. Harry wasn’t bothered using his now sore muscles to move the leaves over to the compost heap. He cast a quick levitation spell to lift the entire pile to its ultimate destination.
He put the rake back into the shed and picked up one of the forgotten quidditch brooms. Fancy seeing his old broom just lying around here. Maybe Hermione was right, maybe he should exercise more.
A quick spin before lunch might be just what he needed to blow away the cobwebs and to prepare himself for an awkward talk with one of his oldest friends.
Discussing his love life with Cedric was one thing; discussing it with Hermione over an autumn picnic…
Merlin have mercy on him, he thought, as he zoomed off on his old broom.