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Reviews and Summertime: The Fic
OK, so I wrote a review for a story the other day that Anne linked me to. It was horrific- a graduation day speech by Hermione which liberally borrowed from the Gilmore Girls and Sweet Valley High. I left a review saying what I thought was wrong with it and such, you know constructively. I do try incredibly hard to rein my hard self in and remain calm, polite and constructive. In cases like these, I even get people to read said review first so that they can tell me if they think anything is too harsh/over the top... Anyway, I had no response from the author (in fairness, her first fic, I believe) but I happened upon the review board earlier and found this:
I do not want to critic you, [Author Name deleted for sensitivity/whatever], but other reviewers.
Just because the story may not have been the best, doesn't mean you need to point out every little incorrection. Next time you should say, "You could use a beta-reader," but not, "It's Sinistra, not Sinatra. I did this myself once and felt bad after I did it. None of you may read this, but I felt I had to say it.
To [Author Name] I thought it was a great story no matter how Americanish it was. WHO CARES? It's your first story for crying out loud. I thought your ideas were great. I hope this does not sound mean to anybody, but like I said before, I felt it had to be said.
*bashes head against desk, sticks pins in eyes, listens to Phil Collins until brains dribble from ears*
Why the fuck do I even bother? No wonder I hardly review. Question: is 'incorrection' even a word?
Moving on....
This is my mad attempt to write a self-insert/whatever that is any good, or at least mildly amusing. Comments would be hugely appreciated, especially as I haven't had it betaed. Rushmead is a town of my creation based on huge personal experience.
Lemme know what you think...
Rushmead, Hertfordshire. Summer 1997.
Great Britain was fully in the grip of summer. California Dreaming by the Mamas & Papas was on FM radio almost constantly while the parks of London were crammed full of young women intent on getting a tan without having to go to Lanzarote. A hosepipe ban had been instituted in the Southerly parts of England while the Northerly parts were dealing with torrential rain. Tony Blair, the Prime Minister made page five of the tabloids for wearing shorts in public while his wife wore some hideous flower print summer dress from the sale section of Marks & Spencer. Meanwhile, in the boardroom at Wall's Ice Cream, the men in grey suits were crowing as their share prices rocketed.
All the kids were out of school for the holidays and therefore causing havoc in town centres and driving their mothers to the Prozac. For one family living in the suburban wilderness of the Home Counties, this wasn't a problem. After all, Hermione Granger was the epitome of the conscientious student and had never given her parents cause to worry.
But then, she'd never had her best friend to stay for the summer before. Her father had to go to Surrey for a conference and had asked Hermione if she wanted him to collect Harry on the way home. She'd said yes, of course and the two should be arriving any time soon. She had spent the better part of the day trying to ensure that their spare room was as perfect for Harry as she could make it without actually completely redecorating. She'd even put up a picture of the England Quidditch team up in there.
"Hermione! Dad's home!" her mother shouted up the stairs. Hermione rolled off her bed in haste, hitting her knee against the frame as she did so. Pausing to rub her knee for only a second, she attempted to calm herself so that when she arrived downstairs she seemed more like Hermione: Calm and collected best friend than Hermione: Bonkers girl in love with her best friend. After a moment's deep breathing, she went downstairs.
"Hello Hermione!" Harry said happily, seeming particularly relieved to be away from the Dursleys. "How's your summer been so far?"
"Nothing special. Yours?" She immediately kicked herself. She knew how his summer had been so far: he'd been with the Dursleys.
"It wasn't too bad. I'm taller than Dudley now and I think it scares him," Harry told her with a particularly charming grin. She smiled back, glad it hadn't been too terrible.
"Why don't I show you to your room?" she asked, remembering her manners as a hostess. He nodded and she led him up the stairs.
"This is it," she said, leading him into a room painted lilac. There was a computer in one corner and a bed in the other. Shelves full of books lined the walls. "It's my study as well."
"It's great," he said with a warm smile, putting his bag down on the bed. "Your dad said he'd bring up my trunk later. Hedwig's off taking a letter to Ron."
"Is he all right?" Hermione asked with concern. Harry nodded.
"He's fine. Mrs. Weasley won a competition in Witch Weekly for a trip to France for a fortnight."
"Ooh, I like France! I've got lots of things planned for us to do, but we don't have to if you don't want to or if there's stuff you want to do-"
"Hermione! Calm down. We can do anything you want. I don't mind."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was thinking we might go to London some time."
"I think that would be lots of fun."
"How about I show you around Rushmead tomorrow?"
"I'd like that a lot."
***
They headed out of the door quite early the next morning in order to catch the bus into town. The town of Rushmead was quite small and pretty in that particularly Home Counties way. It had expanded mostly during the need for housing after the Second World War, and like Little Whinging, most of the town was quite new.
Woodcroft, the area Hermione lived in was a little older than the rest of town, and Harry noticed as the bus wove through the town, that Woodcroft was richer than the other parts. Dentistry must pay quite well these days, he thought with a smile.
The bus drove into the new bus station, a strange metal and glass structure that looked like it was liable to take off at some point. Hermione took his hand and led him off the bus and into the shopping centre.
"This is the Osbourne Centre," she explained. "They named it after the man who founded Rushmead." She seemed as if she were about to launch into an in-depth explanation of the history of Rushmead, but she checked herself. Instead, they went inside.
Inside the Osbourne Centre was the same as every shopping centre in England. It wasn't half as big as Bluewater or Lakeside, but it still had a WH Smith, a Marks & Spencer and a McDonalds. There was an Our Price, selling music and videos, there was Next (the clothes store), a children's clothing shop next door called Adam's, and H Samuel the high street jeweller. It was, in fact, just like the shopping centre in the next town over from Little Whinging.
"What do you think?" Hermione asked. "It's very, well, typical, isn't it? There are more interesting shops outside, but not many. I'm afraid Hertfordshire is a lot like Surrey."
"But there's one good thing," Harry said, looking up to the second floor.
"What's that?"
"The train to London," he said, pointing to the British Rail ticket booth. She laughed and they continued through the building. Hermione pointed out various shops, including her personal favourite- Thornton's chocolate shop. They had been shopping for a while when quite suddenly they were interrupted.
"Hermione Granger?" called a voice from somewhere behind them.
Harry sensed Hermione tense up a little, but she turned around just the same. A small group of people the same age as Harry and Hermione were standing there looking a little surprised.
"Oh, hello Lucy," she said in a flat tone Harry had never heard her use before, not even to Millicent or Pansy. "Nice to see you."
"What are you doing here? I thought you went to some fancy schmancy boarding school now," the girl said with a sneer.
Harry looked at the girl. She was tall, had blonde hair, piercing hazel eyes and was quite obviously the leader of the group.
"I do Lucy. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's the summer holidays," Hermione said in a scathing tone.
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, another voice joined in the fray.
"HERMIONE!"
Everybody in earshot (that is, everyone in the Osbourne Centre and a few outside it too) turned to look at the owner of the voice. Hermione went rather red and looked down at her shoes.
"I've never seen her before in my life," she chanted repeatedly as the owner of the voice got closer. She looked not dissimilar to Hermione, although her hair was an unnaturally bright shade of red and messy instead of brown and bushy; her jeans were covered in paint of varying shades and her t-shirt loudly proclaimed 'I LOVE THE ROLLING STONES'. She bounced over to them and pulled out the earphones attached to her walkman.
"Hey Hermione, how are you?" she asked. Hermione just looked at Lucy. The girl with the Stones t-shirt moved towards Lucy, who took a small step backwards.
"Hello Lucy," she said in a particularly venomous voice. Lucy's hard veneer seemed in danger of cracking. "What are you doing with Hermione?"
"Nothing. Just having a friendly conversation."
"I don't believe you," the girl said, eyes narrowed, fists clenched by her side. Lucy and her cronies took a step or two backwards. "Go away," she growled.
Lucy paused, weighing up her options. The girl glared ever fiercer and took another step forward. Then Lucy turned and walked away. Her friends soon followed in the manner of obedient puppies.
The girl turned to Harry and Hermione and gave them a blinding smile.
"You all right, Hermione?" she asked. Hermione nodded.
"You must be Harry," she said. "I'm Maria, Hermione's less boring cousin."
"Nice to meet you. I think."
"Oh, ignore them. Lucy's always been a little bint. She was the kid in primary school who always wore patent leather shoes. Never trust a six year old who won't wear trainers, I say."
"Maria didn't even own a pair of patent leather shoes," Hermione said, smiling for the first time since Lucy had turned up.
"Damn right," she said with a nod. Then she turned to Harry. "So, you're the one who got lumbered with Hermione."
"I wouldn't describe it as being lumbered," Harry said good-naturedly. Maria looked at him for a moment before smiling broadly.
"You're all right, Harry," she said with a grin. "What are you up to today then?"
"Not much. Just showing Harry around town."
"Ah. Nice."
"What about you?" Harry asked.
"Just spending my Dad's money," she said with a wicked grin and waving an HMV bag in the air. "Having a good summer?"
"As of yesterday I am," Harry replied with a smile. Maria and Hermione exchanged an uneasy look and he wondered how much Hermione shared with her cousin. Maria grabbed both of them.
"Come on, let's go to Starbucks," she said. Hermione looked surprised.
"We have a Starbucks now?"
"Yeah. For about three months I think. I'm dying for a Frappacino," Maria told her as she propelled the two of them towards the glowing green light of the corporate giant.
***
"So Harry, tell me all about this fabbo school you both go to," Maria said conversationally, taking a long drink from her Frappacino and holding her head as the brain-freeze hit her.
"Um..."
"Do you do real magic spells and stuff?" Maria asked with great curiosity.
"What has Hermione actually told you?" Harry asked.
"Just that she's a witch-"
"Maria!" Hermione hissed. "Keep your voice down."
"What? I'm not talking loudly!" her cousin said indignantly, not noticing several other patrons turn to see what the fuss was about.
"I have told her," Hermione said in a purposely quiet voice "that I am a witch and I go to school for magical people. I have told her that you and Ron are also magical."
"That's it?" Harry asked, referring to certain brushes with death and certain evil wizards who wanted him dead.
"Yes."
"What else is there to know?" Maria demanded.
"Nothing at all," Hermione lied breezily.
"So, Harry," Maria moved on without hesitation. "What are you doing in this neck of the woods? What did you do wrong?"
"Just visiting my best friend," he said. She raised an eyebrow but made no further comment. Instead she turned to Hermione.
"Can I come home with you?"
"Why?" Hermione looked immediately suspicious. "Who are you in trouble with?"
"Nobody! I am shocked, shocked that my own favourite cousin always assumes that I've done something wrong."
Hermione didn't bother trying to hide her amusement or her scepticism.
"All right," she said patiently. "Why do you want to come to my house?"
"My mum-"
"It always starts like this," Hermione told Harry.
"My mum," Maria interrupted "asked me to get your mum's swanky Italian cookbook off her. She's planning something for some work buddies or... I dunno, I stopped listening after the first five minutes."
"Fine. I suppose you'll want dinner as well?" Hermione asked. She turned to Harry, "She always eats at our house if she can."
"My mum's cooking sucks," Maria explained. Harry just nodded with a smile, enjoying the banter between the two of them. He had never seen Hermione with any of her Muggle world friends or family before- he hadn't even known she had any Muggle friends or family besides her parents.
"Well, come on then," Hermione said, draining the last of her drink. "We need to get the bus back."
"Where do you live, Maria?" Harry asked, deciding that he really should get to know more about his best friend's life outside Hogwarts.
"A couple of streets away from Hermione."
"Are you her cousin through her mum or dad?" he asked. She looked at him rather strangely.
"Has she told you anything about her life?" Maria asked quietly. He shook his head.
"Not much."
"Well... she probably has her reasons," she said lightly. "Anyway, I'm her mum's niece. My mother Susie is a couple of years younger than hers."
"Are you the same age as Hermione?" he asked as they hurried to keep up with Hermione.
"I'm a week older than her, you know, and I'm a year below her at school because of your mad school."
"It is a pretty mad school," Harry told her.
"Wouldn't know. Hermione doesn't like to talk about that stuff when she bothers to come home from it."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She hardly ever comes home for Christmas or Easter. It doesn't half piss off our Gran, you know. She's of the opinion that the entire family should be together at Christmas. I think she's just fed up of the questions at church."
"Church?"
"Yeah. Regular bastion of the local Catholic church, our grandmother. Every Christmas everyone asks about that clever granddaughter of hers."
Maria paused and grinned wickedly. "Then once she's done talking about me, they ask about Hermione."
"I heard that!" Hermione called from a few metres in front of them. "And the bus is about to leave!"
All conversations were temporarily halted while the three of them made a mad dash for the about-to-depart bus to Woodcroft. They made it, much to the chagrin of the moody bus driver, not least when Maria paid her fare almost exclusively in two pence pieces.
"What?" she asked when he glared at her. "I had a ton of change in me pocket."
She headed to the back seat of the bus and sprawled out across it. Harry and Hermione sat down together just in front of her.
"Why haven't you told Maria more about school?" he murmured to Hermione. She sighed.
"What did you want me to say?" she muttered back, trying to tell whether her cousin could hear her. Once she realised that Maria had put her walkman back on, she turned to him. "What was I supposed to tell her, or the rest of my family? That there's war in our world and that every year Voldemort ensures that we get an irresistible offer of almost certain death? I'm sure my parents would be cock-a-hoop to send me back each September with that knowledge. Don't be foolish Harry."
"I hadn't thought of it that way. The Dursleys would probably be chuffed to know I nearly died once a year without fail since I was eleven."
Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand.
"OK, tell me this," he said. "Why haven't you told me about your family? I don't really know anything about you and you've been my friend for years."
"Oh, you are silly," she said with a laugh. "Why would I want to talk about my boring life here when we live in such an exciting, literally magical world at school?"
"Oh come on," he scoffed. "That's not all of it. Tell me."
Hermione squirmed slightly under his unyielding stare.
"I... My dad is a professed nerd who spends the entirety of his free time watching the History Channel on cable or literally devouring the latest absolutely thrilling book about the first day of the Somme. That's when he's not searching for obscure prog rock records with my uncle Dave. My mother, on the other hand, spends most of her life trying to be the perfect middle class wife while still being her working class self. Lest we forget that they're also dentists and all that entails. My auntie Susie, on the other hand, has four piercings in each ear and has had blue, pink and green hair at various times quite recently. Oh, and let's not forget the famous tattoo of Frank Sinatra's eyes she has on her stomach. Her husband Dave, on the other is a suit-wearing accountant who spends his weekends at car boot sales looking for rare records and other such utter crap. And as for my cousin Maria, the least said."
"She seems all right to me."
"Didn't you hear her? She made everyone in the Osbourne Centre stop and look when she bellowed my name. She does stuff like that all the time. She's so embarrassing."
"If you say so," he said, feeling that Hermione was perhaps being a little over-the-top but also feeling that this was one of those times when he should nod, smile and humour her. "It could be worse. You could have Dudley for a cousin. At least Maria doesn't spend her life trying to beat you up."
"You have just summed up the years between 1985 and 1990," she said dryly.
"Really?"
"Of course. She's a whole week older than me and completely mad."
"I may be completely mad," said Maria pleasantly. "But I'm not deaf."
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "You were pretending to listen to whatever it is you listen to!"
"Nope. But there is silence between songs. I thought you were meant to be the clever one."
Maria didn't seem particularly put out by Hermione calling her mad.
"It's perfectly true, Harry. I was occasionally quite mean to Hermione. Do you blame me? She's bloody perfect and it used to drive me mad."
"Used to?"
"Yeah. I decided I'd rather be mad than perfect. It's less work."
Hermione tried very hard not to smile, but she found the side of her mouth tugging upwards. Maria never seemed to care very much that she was considered entirely bonkers.
"Did you know that when we were six, Hermione got so angry with me that she turned my hair green?"
"You didn't!"
"I did," Hermione said. "She stole my books. Not that it mattered anyway. She liked her green hair."
"I did. It's true," Maria admitted.
To Be Continued...
Questions? Comments?
I do not want to critic you, [Author Name deleted for sensitivity/whatever], but other reviewers.
Just because the story may not have been the best, doesn't mean you need to point out every little incorrection. Next time you should say, "You could use a beta-reader," but not, "It's Sinistra, not Sinatra. I did this myself once and felt bad after I did it. None of you may read this, but I felt I had to say it.
To [Author Name] I thought it was a great story no matter how Americanish it was. WHO CARES? It's your first story for crying out loud. I thought your ideas were great. I hope this does not sound mean to anybody, but like I said before, I felt it had to be said.
*bashes head against desk, sticks pins in eyes, listens to Phil Collins until brains dribble from ears*
Why the fuck do I even bother? No wonder I hardly review. Question: is 'incorrection' even a word?
Moving on....
This is my mad attempt to write a self-insert/whatever that is any good, or at least mildly amusing. Comments would be hugely appreciated, especially as I haven't had it betaed. Rushmead is a town of my creation based on huge personal experience.
Lemme know what you think...
Rushmead, Hertfordshire. Summer 1997.
Great Britain was fully in the grip of summer. California Dreaming by the Mamas & Papas was on FM radio almost constantly while the parks of London were crammed full of young women intent on getting a tan without having to go to Lanzarote. A hosepipe ban had been instituted in the Southerly parts of England while the Northerly parts were dealing with torrential rain. Tony Blair, the Prime Minister made page five of the tabloids for wearing shorts in public while his wife wore some hideous flower print summer dress from the sale section of Marks & Spencer. Meanwhile, in the boardroom at Wall's Ice Cream, the men in grey suits were crowing as their share prices rocketed.
All the kids were out of school for the holidays and therefore causing havoc in town centres and driving their mothers to the Prozac. For one family living in the suburban wilderness of the Home Counties, this wasn't a problem. After all, Hermione Granger was the epitome of the conscientious student and had never given her parents cause to worry.
But then, she'd never had her best friend to stay for the summer before. Her father had to go to Surrey for a conference and had asked Hermione if she wanted him to collect Harry on the way home. She'd said yes, of course and the two should be arriving any time soon. She had spent the better part of the day trying to ensure that their spare room was as perfect for Harry as she could make it without actually completely redecorating. She'd even put up a picture of the England Quidditch team up in there.
"Hermione! Dad's home!" her mother shouted up the stairs. Hermione rolled off her bed in haste, hitting her knee against the frame as she did so. Pausing to rub her knee for only a second, she attempted to calm herself so that when she arrived downstairs she seemed more like Hermione: Calm and collected best friend than Hermione: Bonkers girl in love with her best friend. After a moment's deep breathing, she went downstairs.
"Hello Hermione!" Harry said happily, seeming particularly relieved to be away from the Dursleys. "How's your summer been so far?"
"Nothing special. Yours?" She immediately kicked herself. She knew how his summer had been so far: he'd been with the Dursleys.
"It wasn't too bad. I'm taller than Dudley now and I think it scares him," Harry told her with a particularly charming grin. She smiled back, glad it hadn't been too terrible.
"Why don't I show you to your room?" she asked, remembering her manners as a hostess. He nodded and she led him up the stairs.
"This is it," she said, leading him into a room painted lilac. There was a computer in one corner and a bed in the other. Shelves full of books lined the walls. "It's my study as well."
"It's great," he said with a warm smile, putting his bag down on the bed. "Your dad said he'd bring up my trunk later. Hedwig's off taking a letter to Ron."
"Is he all right?" Hermione asked with concern. Harry nodded.
"He's fine. Mrs. Weasley won a competition in Witch Weekly for a trip to France for a fortnight."
"Ooh, I like France! I've got lots of things planned for us to do, but we don't have to if you don't want to or if there's stuff you want to do-"
"Hermione! Calm down. We can do anything you want. I don't mind."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was thinking we might go to London some time."
"I think that would be lots of fun."
"How about I show you around Rushmead tomorrow?"
"I'd like that a lot."
***
They headed out of the door quite early the next morning in order to catch the bus into town. The town of Rushmead was quite small and pretty in that particularly Home Counties way. It had expanded mostly during the need for housing after the Second World War, and like Little Whinging, most of the town was quite new.
Woodcroft, the area Hermione lived in was a little older than the rest of town, and Harry noticed as the bus wove through the town, that Woodcroft was richer than the other parts. Dentistry must pay quite well these days, he thought with a smile.
The bus drove into the new bus station, a strange metal and glass structure that looked like it was liable to take off at some point. Hermione took his hand and led him off the bus and into the shopping centre.
"This is the Osbourne Centre," she explained. "They named it after the man who founded Rushmead." She seemed as if she were about to launch into an in-depth explanation of the history of Rushmead, but she checked herself. Instead, they went inside.
Inside the Osbourne Centre was the same as every shopping centre in England. It wasn't half as big as Bluewater or Lakeside, but it still had a WH Smith, a Marks & Spencer and a McDonalds. There was an Our Price, selling music and videos, there was Next (the clothes store), a children's clothing shop next door called Adam's, and H Samuel the high street jeweller. It was, in fact, just like the shopping centre in the next town over from Little Whinging.
"What do you think?" Hermione asked. "It's very, well, typical, isn't it? There are more interesting shops outside, but not many. I'm afraid Hertfordshire is a lot like Surrey."
"But there's one good thing," Harry said, looking up to the second floor.
"What's that?"
"The train to London," he said, pointing to the British Rail ticket booth. She laughed and they continued through the building. Hermione pointed out various shops, including her personal favourite- Thornton's chocolate shop. They had been shopping for a while when quite suddenly they were interrupted.
"Hermione Granger?" called a voice from somewhere behind them.
Harry sensed Hermione tense up a little, but she turned around just the same. A small group of people the same age as Harry and Hermione were standing there looking a little surprised.
"Oh, hello Lucy," she said in a flat tone Harry had never heard her use before, not even to Millicent or Pansy. "Nice to see you."
"What are you doing here? I thought you went to some fancy schmancy boarding school now," the girl said with a sneer.
Harry looked at the girl. She was tall, had blonde hair, piercing hazel eyes and was quite obviously the leader of the group.
"I do Lucy. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's the summer holidays," Hermione said in a scathing tone.
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, another voice joined in the fray.
"HERMIONE!"
Everybody in earshot (that is, everyone in the Osbourne Centre and a few outside it too) turned to look at the owner of the voice. Hermione went rather red and looked down at her shoes.
"I've never seen her before in my life," she chanted repeatedly as the owner of the voice got closer. She looked not dissimilar to Hermione, although her hair was an unnaturally bright shade of red and messy instead of brown and bushy; her jeans were covered in paint of varying shades and her t-shirt loudly proclaimed 'I LOVE THE ROLLING STONES'. She bounced over to them and pulled out the earphones attached to her walkman.
"Hey Hermione, how are you?" she asked. Hermione just looked at Lucy. The girl with the Stones t-shirt moved towards Lucy, who took a small step backwards.
"Hello Lucy," she said in a particularly venomous voice. Lucy's hard veneer seemed in danger of cracking. "What are you doing with Hermione?"
"Nothing. Just having a friendly conversation."
"I don't believe you," the girl said, eyes narrowed, fists clenched by her side. Lucy and her cronies took a step or two backwards. "Go away," she growled.
Lucy paused, weighing up her options. The girl glared ever fiercer and took another step forward. Then Lucy turned and walked away. Her friends soon followed in the manner of obedient puppies.
The girl turned to Harry and Hermione and gave them a blinding smile.
"You all right, Hermione?" she asked. Hermione nodded.
"You must be Harry," she said. "I'm Maria, Hermione's less boring cousin."
"Nice to meet you. I think."
"Oh, ignore them. Lucy's always been a little bint. She was the kid in primary school who always wore patent leather shoes. Never trust a six year old who won't wear trainers, I say."
"Maria didn't even own a pair of patent leather shoes," Hermione said, smiling for the first time since Lucy had turned up.
"Damn right," she said with a nod. Then she turned to Harry. "So, you're the one who got lumbered with Hermione."
"I wouldn't describe it as being lumbered," Harry said good-naturedly. Maria looked at him for a moment before smiling broadly.
"You're all right, Harry," she said with a grin. "What are you up to today then?"
"Not much. Just showing Harry around town."
"Ah. Nice."
"What about you?" Harry asked.
"Just spending my Dad's money," she said with a wicked grin and waving an HMV bag in the air. "Having a good summer?"
"As of yesterday I am," Harry replied with a smile. Maria and Hermione exchanged an uneasy look and he wondered how much Hermione shared with her cousin. Maria grabbed both of them.
"Come on, let's go to Starbucks," she said. Hermione looked surprised.
"We have a Starbucks now?"
"Yeah. For about three months I think. I'm dying for a Frappacino," Maria told her as she propelled the two of them towards the glowing green light of the corporate giant.
***
"So Harry, tell me all about this fabbo school you both go to," Maria said conversationally, taking a long drink from her Frappacino and holding her head as the brain-freeze hit her.
"Um..."
"Do you do real magic spells and stuff?" Maria asked with great curiosity.
"What has Hermione actually told you?" Harry asked.
"Just that she's a witch-"
"Maria!" Hermione hissed. "Keep your voice down."
"What? I'm not talking loudly!" her cousin said indignantly, not noticing several other patrons turn to see what the fuss was about.
"I have told her," Hermione said in a purposely quiet voice "that I am a witch and I go to school for magical people. I have told her that you and Ron are also magical."
"That's it?" Harry asked, referring to certain brushes with death and certain evil wizards who wanted him dead.
"Yes."
"What else is there to know?" Maria demanded.
"Nothing at all," Hermione lied breezily.
"So, Harry," Maria moved on without hesitation. "What are you doing in this neck of the woods? What did you do wrong?"
"Just visiting my best friend," he said. She raised an eyebrow but made no further comment. Instead she turned to Hermione.
"Can I come home with you?"
"Why?" Hermione looked immediately suspicious. "Who are you in trouble with?"
"Nobody! I am shocked, shocked that my own favourite cousin always assumes that I've done something wrong."
Hermione didn't bother trying to hide her amusement or her scepticism.
"All right," she said patiently. "Why do you want to come to my house?"
"My mum-"
"It always starts like this," Hermione told Harry.
"My mum," Maria interrupted "asked me to get your mum's swanky Italian cookbook off her. She's planning something for some work buddies or... I dunno, I stopped listening after the first five minutes."
"Fine. I suppose you'll want dinner as well?" Hermione asked. She turned to Harry, "She always eats at our house if she can."
"My mum's cooking sucks," Maria explained. Harry just nodded with a smile, enjoying the banter between the two of them. He had never seen Hermione with any of her Muggle world friends or family before- he hadn't even known she had any Muggle friends or family besides her parents.
"Well, come on then," Hermione said, draining the last of her drink. "We need to get the bus back."
"Where do you live, Maria?" Harry asked, deciding that he really should get to know more about his best friend's life outside Hogwarts.
"A couple of streets away from Hermione."
"Are you her cousin through her mum or dad?" he asked. She looked at him rather strangely.
"Has she told you anything about her life?" Maria asked quietly. He shook his head.
"Not much."
"Well... she probably has her reasons," she said lightly. "Anyway, I'm her mum's niece. My mother Susie is a couple of years younger than hers."
"Are you the same age as Hermione?" he asked as they hurried to keep up with Hermione.
"I'm a week older than her, you know, and I'm a year below her at school because of your mad school."
"It is a pretty mad school," Harry told her.
"Wouldn't know. Hermione doesn't like to talk about that stuff when she bothers to come home from it."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She hardly ever comes home for Christmas or Easter. It doesn't half piss off our Gran, you know. She's of the opinion that the entire family should be together at Christmas. I think she's just fed up of the questions at church."
"Church?"
"Yeah. Regular bastion of the local Catholic church, our grandmother. Every Christmas everyone asks about that clever granddaughter of hers."
Maria paused and grinned wickedly. "Then once she's done talking about me, they ask about Hermione."
"I heard that!" Hermione called from a few metres in front of them. "And the bus is about to leave!"
All conversations were temporarily halted while the three of them made a mad dash for the about-to-depart bus to Woodcroft. They made it, much to the chagrin of the moody bus driver, not least when Maria paid her fare almost exclusively in two pence pieces.
"What?" she asked when he glared at her. "I had a ton of change in me pocket."
She headed to the back seat of the bus and sprawled out across it. Harry and Hermione sat down together just in front of her.
"Why haven't you told Maria more about school?" he murmured to Hermione. She sighed.
"What did you want me to say?" she muttered back, trying to tell whether her cousin could hear her. Once she realised that Maria had put her walkman back on, she turned to him. "What was I supposed to tell her, or the rest of my family? That there's war in our world and that every year Voldemort ensures that we get an irresistible offer of almost certain death? I'm sure my parents would be cock-a-hoop to send me back each September with that knowledge. Don't be foolish Harry."
"I hadn't thought of it that way. The Dursleys would probably be chuffed to know I nearly died once a year without fail since I was eleven."
Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand.
"OK, tell me this," he said. "Why haven't you told me about your family? I don't really know anything about you and you've been my friend for years."
"Oh, you are silly," she said with a laugh. "Why would I want to talk about my boring life here when we live in such an exciting, literally magical world at school?"
"Oh come on," he scoffed. "That's not all of it. Tell me."
Hermione squirmed slightly under his unyielding stare.
"I... My dad is a professed nerd who spends the entirety of his free time watching the History Channel on cable or literally devouring the latest absolutely thrilling book about the first day of the Somme. That's when he's not searching for obscure prog rock records with my uncle Dave. My mother, on the other hand, spends most of her life trying to be the perfect middle class wife while still being her working class self. Lest we forget that they're also dentists and all that entails. My auntie Susie, on the other hand, has four piercings in each ear and has had blue, pink and green hair at various times quite recently. Oh, and let's not forget the famous tattoo of Frank Sinatra's eyes she has on her stomach. Her husband Dave, on the other is a suit-wearing accountant who spends his weekends at car boot sales looking for rare records and other such utter crap. And as for my cousin Maria, the least said."
"She seems all right to me."
"Didn't you hear her? She made everyone in the Osbourne Centre stop and look when she bellowed my name. She does stuff like that all the time. She's so embarrassing."
"If you say so," he said, feeling that Hermione was perhaps being a little over-the-top but also feeling that this was one of those times when he should nod, smile and humour her. "It could be worse. You could have Dudley for a cousin. At least Maria doesn't spend her life trying to beat you up."
"You have just summed up the years between 1985 and 1990," she said dryly.
"Really?"
"Of course. She's a whole week older than me and completely mad."
"I may be completely mad," said Maria pleasantly. "But I'm not deaf."
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "You were pretending to listen to whatever it is you listen to!"
"Nope. But there is silence between songs. I thought you were meant to be the clever one."
Maria didn't seem particularly put out by Hermione calling her mad.
"It's perfectly true, Harry. I was occasionally quite mean to Hermione. Do you blame me? She's bloody perfect and it used to drive me mad."
"Used to?"
"Yeah. I decided I'd rather be mad than perfect. It's less work."
Hermione tried very hard not to smile, but she found the side of her mouth tugging upwards. Maria never seemed to care very much that she was considered entirely bonkers.
"Did you know that when we were six, Hermione got so angry with me that she turned my hair green?"
"You didn't!"
"I did," Hermione said. "She stole my books. Not that it mattered anyway. She liked her green hair."
"I did. It's true," Maria admitted.
To Be Continued...
Questions? Comments?
no subject
A very lengthy, scarily patriotic way of saying I'm liking the ficlet eh?
And
youMaria is a very nice, mad, OC. :)*hugs, for being damn cool and making me smile*