Dean had pulled the bed away from the wall before he started on the painting in his little sister's room. It had left quite a ruelle, which his sister had managed to fall into at least twice last night. At the moment he was working on the castle, having completed the sky and hill on his sister's wall.
Painting was different than drawing. Drawing was quick. Painting had to be done in stages. You worked from the background to the foreground, waiting for each little bit to dry before you moved to add more detailed items in front of it. He paused for a moment and switched to a small brush, loaded with white, and ran a few short strokes on the lower edges of the clouds, turning the day from calm to windy in just a few strokes. Then he returned to the castle, using the remnants of the white to highlight the portcullis.
Sandra had told him that it was too hot to go play outside, so at the moment she was laying on her bed looking through Dean's collection of sketch books. It was perhaps the best they'd gotten along thus far this summer. Dean hoped it would last as he cleaned his brush to create a blue gray for a bit of work on the stones of the castle. It looked a bit too flat to his eyes at the moment.
"Dean, why does this boy have scars on his back?" Sandra suddenly interrupted Dean's brush strokes.
Dean looked down at the page that his little sister had open. It wasn't the one that his mother had found. This was a different one, one that Dean had asked Harry to pose for, instead of the four that Dean had drawn for the use of Child Protective Services.
Harry sat with his back to the camera, his left arm propped over his bent left knee as he sat in front of the fire. The glow of the fire glinted off Harry's glass, and highlighted his slightly pained expression, the result of a very long Quidditch practice. He'd stripped down to a pair of gray briefs, showing his bare back and thin limbs. He'd had enough time at Hogwarts so that his ribs no longer were easy to outline, but he was still thin.
What had caught his sister's eye, though, were the scars on Harry's back. There were belt marks from where his uncle had whipped him with his own belt. There were three pot marks from the fire place poker, and a long white curved scar that went from near the top of his spine to his left hip, where it disappeared under the loose briefs. It was an older pair of Harry's that sometimes didn't stay up like it should.
Dean didn't want to respond. He didn't want to tell his sister that there were such people as Vernon Dursley out in the world. But the picture wouldn't let him. The expression of pain and fear on Harry's face did not let him remain silent. He had captured Harry too well.
In a low soft voice, Dean began, "That's my friend Harry, and his uncle gave him those scars."
"Why?" Sandra said, looking up with her big brown eyes begging for an answer.
"Not for any good reason," Dean said, pausing from his painting for just a moment to look at his sister, his little innocent sister. He almost didn't want to continue, to tell her what he knew about his dorm mate. But he couldn't lie to those big brown eyes. "Harry's uncle didn't like him, calling him a freak and blaming everything that went wrong on him. He was often locked in the cupboard, especially when he had bursts of accidental magic, like I used to have. His uncle didn't like when Harry's cousin Dudley got lower grades than Harry, and took it all out on Harry."
He loaded his brush up with a deep green to create the base of the grass below the castle and began to work it into the plaster. "I made Harry a bigger picture than that one, one that was actually bigger than life size. They wanted to document everything properly, and Harry trusted me. I spent hours, carefully drawing Harry's back. Then, I carefully labeled each scar, and Harry told Hermione and me about each one.
"Sandra, I hope you never have to see that for real on someone you know. But if you do, make sure some adult you trust knows. No one ever told or if they did, were believed until Harry got to Hogwarts."
"Okay, but is Harry okay?" Sandra asked.
"He is now, I think," Dean said. "At least the letter he sent by Hedwig seemed to be."
Sandra's brow wrinkled, as she tried to connect the names. "Hedwig ... that's the owl ... wait, the birth announcement?"
"Yes."
"The one calling it a virgin birth?"
"Yes."
"You never explained that."
"Accidental ritual," Dean replied, switching to a lighter green and a fan brush to put just a bit of grass texture. "He rescued her from a troll, with them both ending up inside a ritual circle. Don't ask the mechanics of it, it's magic. Hermione had her hymen still, up until she gave birth. Unicorns still approach Harry. They actually seem attracted to him."
"I thought unicorns were supposed to be attracted to young girls," Sandra said, finally turning the page off of the sketch of Harry. "I mean, that's what all the stories say."
"They're attracted to innocence," Dean said, working his way around the edge of the castle, putting in very short strokes of grass. "Though they especially liked Harry, after he defeated the Dark Lord again in May. If you turn about a half dozen or so pages, you'll see the picture I sketched of him and the unicorns."
Dean knew the picture well. It was one that he'd spent what seemed like hours sketching. It was a full color one, but not all colored in. A good portion of what should have been the dark of the forest was still left white. Harry stood at the center of the clearing, his hand outstretched, touching the head of a golden white unicorn, one of a dozen gathered around him. Their golden horns seemed to be shining, lending an air of glory to the scene, the way their twisted horns channeled sunlight around the clearing.
Hermione wasn't absent, she leaned against one of the unicorns, her arm snaked around it's neck as another nuzzled her gravid form. Harry's gaze was not on any of the unicorns, but on Hermione, smiling at her enjoyment, her cheek pressed into the unicorn mane.
"Cool!" Sandra said, as she looked at the picture. "I want to meet them some day."
"Maybe you will Sandra."
Ron Weasley was a country boy. He'd lived all his life in a small country farm in Devon, only occasionally going to Diagon Alley in London with his parents, or to King's Cross to see his siblings off. A year of boarding school in the highlands Scotland had not changed his view of the world in any manner, really.
Crawley was not a big city like London, but it was not a small village, like Ottery Saint Catchpole. Ron was glad that Harry and Hermione were taking him and Ginny around town to see the sights while their parents discussed the book.
He was a bit put out that they'd been sent out, but then again, he'd never been to Crawley, and surely the place had some fun things to do in ... though he kind of doubted that Hermione knew what fun was, sometimes. Pushing around the carriage in the park with baby Jimmy in it, probably prevented her from doing a lot of fun things.
Ron knew and believed the old phrase, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. He was sure it also made Hermione a dull girl. She did have responsibilities, responsibilities that Ron felt were partially his fault. She might have had Harry's baby, but it was Ron's thoughtless comment that had sent her crying and into hiding in that bathroom.
"Harry, has Hermione actually got out of the house to do anything fun since she got home from Hogwarts?" Ron asked, as Hermione fussed with the blanket around Jimmy.
"She went shopping yesterday, which I've heard rumors is apparently fun for girls," Harry said. "You know Jimmy's just going to loosen that again, Hermione. I really don't think he likes it tight."
"So, Hermione, now that you've had the baby, care to prove that you really can shoot a football past me?" Ron said, noticing a few girls passing a football between them along the lawn. "Or were you just pulling my leg?" She'd only commented about playing football once at Hogwarts, shortly before the rest of the girls in Ron's year in Gryffindor had trounced the boys. Ron wasn't a boy who forgot things like that, though. And he knew that if there was one thing that could rile up Hermione, it was accusing her of trying to pull one over on you. True, it usually involved academics, but Ron was willing to bet that it worked for sports too.
Hermione's gaze snapped to Ron's face. Her face went from being a soft motherly one to a hard one of determination in an instant. He could not look away from her, as her gaze promised him that he would regret bringing up her boast of last Spring. "Ron Weasley. I may be a bookworm. I may know all the potions ingredients in order inflammatory. But I am also your worst nightmare on the football field. I will have you going left and right, trying to block the ball off my foot as it rockets into the goal. I am the surprise leading scoring forward of Queen of Heaven 9 to 10 year olds who challenged and beat those put up sods known as the First Year Girls of Saint Wilfrid Catholic.
"You will not be able to block a dozen of my shots on goal. Hey Erin! Can I borrow your ball and goal for a few minutes? This red headed lout from my school thinks he can block my shots."
The force in Hermione's voice had Ron stepping back, as the girls turned their attention to Hermione.
"Hermione Granger! I hadn't heard you'd gotten back from that school in Scotland yet, but I figured you were," the girl who had to be Erin replied. She was about three inches taller than Hermione, and obviously very fit. She was wearing a halter top, a pair of rather short shorts, and if Ron wasn't mistaken, having seen Dean's pair, Air Jordans.
"Sorry, I intended to come see you myself," Hermione said. "Unfortunately, having a baby doesn't give me a lot of time. Ron, Harry, Ginny, this is Erin, the team captain for girls football at my old school. Ron and Harry are in my House at school. Harry's responsible for this bundle of joy. Ginny's Ron's little sister. Ron and Ginny are in town for the day visiting, and Harry's being fostered by my parents."
Ron was impressed with Hermione's breath control. She had spewed the introduction out in a long almost breathless spiel. Of course, he could also tell that Erin was shocked by the fact that Hermione was pushing a pram with her own baby in it. Her mouth had opened a bit, and her eyes were wide open.
"You had a baby?" Erin said, as a younger girl came up to join them. "Oh, and this is my sister Elle. She's eight. I can't believe you had a baby."
"Well," Hermione began. It was obvious to Ron that she was putting her words together on the fly, instead of her usual well considered lecture. "There are some things you do and can't stop the results."
"Yeah, but it's obvious that it wasn't unwelcome between you," Erin said. "And you were the paragon of virtuous Catholic girl."
"Well ..." Hermione trailed off for just a moment. "Apparently the Benedictine priest at my school isn't as good as enforcing our morals as Sister Mary Catherine is."
"Plus, who's going to think the bookworm is going to end up getting the most sought after boy in her year, before Christmas her first year," Ginny interjected, with just the barest hint in her voice, probably only detectable by Ron, that she had once wanted to go after the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Yes. Mum says it's always the quiet ones," Elle said. "Has Mister Granger threatened to pull out all your teeth yet, Harry?"
"Not yet," Harry replied, moving to replace Hermione behind the pram.
"How old is he?" Erin asked, looking down at the baby.
"Eleven days old," Hermione said. "We named him Jimmy, after Harry's father." The baby yawned, and then raised his left hand to his mouth, keeping his eyes closed. "I'm beginning to think he'll sleep through anything but my bath and Mum's favorite Khachaturian piece. Well that and crack of thunder."
"Can I hold him?" Erin said, as Jimmy briefly opened his eyes, which were still baby blue. "Mum taught me how last year when Edmund was born."
Hermione seemed to be taking a moment to consider it. "Okay, but we'll go to your back garden first, so you can do it seated while I teach Ronald that he still needs to work on his goal tending."
Ron followed the girls and Harry around to the backside of the house, leaning over for a moment to whisper in Harry's ear. "If she scores on me twice it will be a miracle."
"How many times did Sally-Anne score on you the day before the Stone?" Harry reminded Ron.
That had been a humiliation for Ron. It had been three on three, with him in goal, Seamus and Dean playing against Lavender in goal and Sally-Anne and Parvati. Sally-Anne had scored a half a dozen times on him. At least both Dean and Seamus had scored twice each on Lavender.
The back garden of Erin's house was a very long but a bit narrow expanse of grass, ending at what Ron identified as a regulation size football goal. Seamus had arranged for a couple to be set up at Hogwarts, and Ron had spent many an hour blocking footballs on the ground. He thought it helped him with keeping in Quidditch.
Ron looked back at Harry, and discovered that his best friend was now watching Erin hold little Jimmy. The little baby seemed to be focused on Harry, and Harry on the baby. It was obvious to Ron that there was a real bond between father and son already.
"Let me have a few practice shots, and then we'll see if you can block a dozen shots," Hermione ordered, in a tone that he'd only heard when she was trying to get everyone to study. There was only one person who could stop her when that tone was involved, and he was too busy watching their son. "Ginny, Elle, can you chase down anything that goes wild? It's been too long since I've kicked a football."
Ron stepped closer to Erin, facing away from Hermione's attempts on an empty goal. It didn't feel right to watch Hermione's practice shots. "Okay, I want the story on this," he said. "The only reason Hermione has ever even watched sports at our school was because Harry was involved. She's too much of a bookworm."
Erin did not look up from where her gaze was focused, on the baby that Hermione had allowed her to hold. "The morning before a challenge match between the girls of the oldest year of Queen of Heaven Elementary and Saint Wilfrid Catholic's youngest year, basically the year above us, our star forward broke her leg, and couldn't play. There were just twelve girls in our class, and Hermione had never been that active in physical education class, though somehow she had managed to set the school record in the hundred meters last year."
"I ran to school most mornings," Hermione said as Ron heard the ball strike something behind him.
Erin continued, "We needed eleven players, and she was the only one available, or we would forfeit. We were resigned to losing, but then Hermione entered the class room and dropped this really big book on the desk. I almost jumped out of my skin."
"She's still using the dropped book to get attention," Harry said.
"Well, I was the team captain, and apparently Sister Stephanie had put the guilt trip on her, so Hermione volunteered to join the team. Not only did she volunteer, she told us that she'd take Courtney Burton's place. Now, you should know that Courtney was and is one of those super athletic girls that developed really early, and is a good six inches taller than any other girl in the school. Hermione was petite, a bit short, and until she set that record, none of us would ever put her in the same sentence as sports.
"I thanked her, and kind of mumbled something about not having to worry about filling in for Courtney – but when we got to the field, everyone went to were we practiced, sort of naturally, putting Hermione as the left forward, where Courtney had been. Wilfrid's had apparently learnt that Hermione was a replacement, so right off the bat, they assumed that she was the weak side.
"They were so wrong. We were just two minutes in when Hermione managed to steal the ball, and feed it to me at midfield. I fed it back to her, and then there was the shot. I was sure it was going right, and so was the Wilfrid goalie, but Hermione had imparted a wicked spin on the ball, and it altered course on the bounce, going into the lower left of the goal.
"Then six minutes in, she pounded one in, right through the goalie's hands. By half time we were up by four, and they were trying to keep the ball away from her. She even managed to make a defender trying to control her draw a red card, with a masterful fake."
"Okay, Ron, let's see you block a dozen shots," Hermione suddenly said.
"What was the final score," Ron asked as he turned back towards Hermione.
"Ten to three," Erin said, as Ron took his spot in the goal. "Hermione scored six times."
Ron watched Hermione set up the shot. She placed the ball right in the center, just about the same spot as it would be for a penalty kick. And then she backed up. Ron could see a wisp of her bushy hair slid across her nose. She pushed it aside, and her finger twirled it for just a few seconds, before she ran up to kick the ball. Ron moved to block left, and just barely managed to knock the ball away from the net.
Ginny chased the ball down and put it back in place for Hermione, who nodded. This time the ball went right, and Ron got a firm hand on it, sending it right back at Hermione. The next shot though, was right down the middle, and Ron went left. She'd faked him, somehow. The fourth shot actually went right under his legs, as he went left again. Shot number five, Ron blocked, though it probably wasn't necessary, as it would have cleared the bar.
And then there was shot number six, half way done. Ron tried to calm himself, after not reading his best friend who was also a girl correctly half the time. Hermione still had her determined face on, and Ron attempted to match it. The ball went right, Ron went right, and the ball forced its way between Ron's hands. His hands hurt from the force she'd imparted to the ball.
"Ow! " Ron exclaimed. "What do you have some sort of firework behind that foot of yours, Hermione?"
"Before I waddled, I ran up the steps with my back pack at our school. You know how much my books weigh. You're half way done. Think you can block the rest? Or should I have Oliver make you run around the pitch with six copies of Hogwarts, a History on your back?"
Ron had no idea how he managed to block the rest, but he promised himself that the next time Hermione challenged him, he'd block them all – and wear his keeper gloves.