Chapter Text
Hebe crosses her legs on the overstuffed green armchair in Ms. Figg’s living room, hiding her legs under the pink skirt of her dress. She tucks a strand of her long, curly hair behind her ears. The same hair that Aunt Petunia had spent many hours straightening just the day before. That was why she was here, and not with her family for her cousin Dudley’s fifth birthday.
That’s what Aunt Petunia had told her, at least. She had done something wrong, and so, she didn’t get to have fun. Though, Hebe was still a little confused on why her hair regaining its curl during the night was her fault.
According to Aunt Petunia, it just was.
She wasn’t even really upset at not going to Dudley’s party. Aunt Petunia had long ago made it clear that the two of them were not to remain in the same circles.
It was, as she said, unfit for a young lady to be so casual in their interactions with young boys. No matter the ‘ quality’ of the boy.
Hebe was mostly upset that she was being forced to stay with their old, cat-crazed neighbour, Ms. Figg, for the day, in her cluttered house that smelled like cabbage.
Ms. Figg was typically forgetful of anything other than her cats. Which was probably one of the reasons that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon preferred her as their babysitter, Hebe thinks as she tugs on her hastily bandaged left hand.
The house was also incredibly boring, as there were no toys other than those for cats, and the tv was never turned on. Though, in Hebe’s case, that wasn’t necessarily exclusive to Ms. Figg’s house.
Hebe just sighs, leans back in the armchair, and grimaces at the overly pink dress that Aunt Petunia had forced over her head just that morning.
And that’s when a knock comes from the door.
Hebe furrows her eyebrows at the strange sound. It was entirely uncommon for someone to come to Ms. Figg’s house. Hebe should know, as she spent every other weekend with the old woman.
The only time that Ms. Figg ever got a visitor was when Aunt Petunia came to pick Hebe up. And, unless the end of the world had come early, Hebe should still be waiting for quite some time.
“Coming! Coming!” Ms. Figg yelled from the kitchen, hobbling towards the front door, two of her cats following her like moths to a flame.
Hebe leans forward, her curiosity peaking as sunlight filters in from the now open door.
“Hermione! Calypso! How good to see you, dears!” Ms. Figg’s high pitched voice echoes through the front entry hall.
“Aunt Ari, thank you for agreeing to watch Hermione on such short notice.” A very harried, feminine voice replies. “We weren’t expecting to be called into surgery--”
“No problem, sweetheart.” Ms. Figg says in a fond tone. “Come in, Hermione, come in.”
Hebe finally stands up, careful to not step on a cat toy or other clutter littering the ground. Her bare toes slide against the unwelcome texture of the living room carpet.
A small figure walks into the hall, the tell tale clicking of the screen door closing behind her, and Hebe stops in her tracks. The figure copies her.
The new guest was a small girl, probably around Hebe’s age. Her skin was a darker shade than Hebe’s, illuminated by her expressive, brown eyes, and rather large two front teeth. A nest of dark curls rested upon her head, so wild and out of control that Hebe wondered what Aunt Petunia would do were her eyes to rest upon the same girl Hebe was staring at.
Actually, she thought to herself, (remembering how Aunt Petunia had reacted to her voluminous curls that morning) she probably shouldn’t put this girl in the older woman’s path.
Hebe felt her eyes widen when she realised that the other girl was staring at her as well. It was a bit unnerving, those big eyes taking in every inch of her in a calculating nature. The same way that Aunt Petunia looked over every single chore that Hebe did, just in case she needed to be punished for something.
That’s what it was, after all. Always ‘something’.
The two stare at each other for what feels like forever, before the door opens, and Ms. Figg enters once more.
“Okay, dear?” She asks, placing one weathered hand on the other girl’s shoulder. The little one just jumps, and gives a terse nod to the older woman.
Hebe shrinks in on herself, instinct taking over to make herself as hidden as possible. That was what Aunt Petunia had always trained her to do, after all. Never be too loud. Never be the centre of attention.
To her horror, Ms. Figg didn’t seem to get the memo. She turns to Hebe, blinking rapidly as if she had just remembered that there was more than one girl in her house, and says, “Oh, where are my manners?”
Figg seems to direct this question to the girl she was standing by, who just shrugs.
“Hebe, dear, this is my niece Hermione. Hermione, my neighbour, Hebe.”
Hebe, trying her best to remember every lesson that Aunt Petunia had ever rammed into her head (both literally and figuratively), takes a hesitant step forward, and gives Hermione a small wave.
Hermione just nods at Hebe, and shrugs once more.
Ms. Figg, not seeming to find anything odd about the interaction, simply pats Hermione’s shoulder and walks away.
Hermione crosses over to the couch, and opens up a huge book that she had been holding. Hebe bows her head, moving back to the velvet, green chair that she had previously vacated.
One of Ms. Figg’s cat jumps onto the chair next to Hebe, and snuggles close to her.
The little girl simply smiles. This small tabby was her favourite cat. She gently scratches in between the cat’s ears.
“What’s the name of that one?” A small voice asks, nearly making Hebe jump out of her skin.
“Oh!” Hebe breaths, looking over at Hermione. “This is Minnie.”
“I don’t think I recognize her.” Hermione says slowly, spreading her book over her knees.
Hebe shrugs. “She kind of comes and goes.”
Ms. Figg has so many cats that Hebe, with her young attention span, can’t quite keep track of them all. It was only this one, who always cuddled up to her calves whenever she was around, that had truly captured her interest.
“Hmm…” Hermione hums, her eyes intently focused on Minnie, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Gaining courage that she wasn’t sure she had, Hebe asks, “What are you reading?”
Hermione’s eyes practically light up. “Oh! It’s a book of Greek myths!”
Hebe tilts her head. “Greek myths?” She tests the words on her tongue, making them fit together in a way she had never had to do before.
Hermione nods, her hair bobbing behind her with the movement. “Yes! Like the Odyssey!”
“You mean, like the car?” Heb questions, her eyebrows furrowing together.
Hermione blinks at Hebe in a way that makes her feel quite stupid. “No, the story! My parents read it to me every night before bed.” And then, she narrows her eyes at Hebe. “You’ve never heard of it?”
“No.” Hebe mumbles. “Sorry.”
Hermione shakes her head. “That’s okay.” She says softly.
The other girl gets up from her seat, making Hebe worry that the conversation was over and she had messed up her one chance at making a friend.
But then Hermione takes a seat on the violet armchair beside Hebe’s, which offers both girls a clear view of the words and pictures.
“My parents went with me to the library to get this book.” Hermione explains, flipping through the pages. “I can’t really read the Greek books we have at home yet.”
“But you can read that ?”
“Of course.” Hermione replies as if it's the easiest answer in the world.
They sit in silence for a bit as Hermione flips through the colourful pages of her book.
“My parents actually got my name from the Odyssey.” Hermione admits to Hebe, leaning over the arm of her chair.
“Hermine?” Hebe is quite certain that she didn’t say it right, a worry that was only strengthened when Hermione wrinkles her nose.
“Hermi one .” The other girl says pointedly. “And, yes. She was the daughter of Helen.”
Before Hebe could ask who Helen was, Hermione turned back to her book.
Thankfully, she started talking a mile a minute about the stories, and showing off the colourful pictures. When Hebe got confused about a certain detail, Hermione would explain it. No questions asked.
Which was much preferable to the terrifying prospect of having to admit that she, herself, could not yet read.
Just as Hermione and Hebe found themselves wrinkling their noses in disgust as Perseus beheads Medusa, Ms. Figg calls them into the kitchen for lunch.
Hebe quickly jumps down from her overstuffed armchair, and Hermione follows closely behind her, the book still held tightly in her arms.
When they finally take their places at the kitchen table, Ms. Figg sets two plates of soggy ham and cheese sandwiches in front of each girl.
“Thank you.” Both Hebe and Hermione chime, and Ms. Figg just gives them a tiny smile in return.
“So, do you live around here?” Hebe asks after carefully swallowing a bite of sandwich. It was improper to talk with her mouth full, after all.
Hermione shrugs. “We don’t live far , but we’re about a half an hour from my house.”
“How long is that?” Hebe asks, her eyebrows drawing close.
Hermione blushes, shrugging. “I’m not quite sure, that’s just what I heard my mum say.”
Hebe giggles at that. Hermione follows in the laughter a second later, though it comes off a bit more stilted than Hebe’s.
Once they finish their lunch, Ms. Figg takes their plates, and peers curiously at the two girls. “Why don’t you two go outside while I clean this up?”
It may have been phrased as a request, but there was no room for argument, even in the soft way she usually spoke.
Hebe nods, quickly making her way to the back door. She was used to doing what she was told. Whether it was weeding the garden, or wearing a grossly pink dress that came from Aunt Petunia’s dusty boxes in the basement.
Hermione, however, wrinkles her nose at the prospect of going outside, her grip on her book tightening.
“Off you go.” Ms. Figg repeats, herding the girls outside like she would with one of her cats.
Hebe was the first out the back door, gripping the hem of her dress to avoid getting stains on it. Hermione follows closely behind, looking just as concerned about the slightly damp ground in her denim overalls.
“Are you okay?” Hebe asks, tilting her head at the other girl.
“I don’t really like going outside.” Hermione admits, wincing at the squishing sound coming from underneath her white sneakers. “It’s so… dirty.”
Hebe lets out a soft giggle. “Then you probably wouldn’t like weeding my aunt’s garden.” Hermione blinks at her. Hebe elaborates, throwing up her hands, and wiggling her fingers. “Dirt everywhere .”
“That sounds horrible.” Hermione murmurs. “I hope Aunt Ari doesn’t ask me to… weed .” The word falls off her tongue as if it were completely foreign to her.
Hebe shrugs, taking a seat on the porch swing underneath Ms. Figg’s awning. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.”
Hermione joins her on the third cushion, a seat in between them.
“Do you spend a lot of time with your aunt?” The question that left Hermione’s lips caught Hebe completely off guard.
“Huh?” The undignified noise leaves her mouth before Hebe can even think better of it.
Hermione just tilts her head. “You said that you were used to being in your aunt’s garden. Do you spend a lot of time with her?”
Hebe leans backwards on the swing, allowing the seat to move with her body. “I mean, I live with her, so the normal amount, I guess.”
“You live with your aunt?” Hermione asks, as if she had never heard of the concept before.
“And my uncle, and cousin.” Hebe clarifies, looking nervously at the other girl. “Is that wrong?”
Hermione shakes her head, but there is an odd strain on her face. “No. But, what about your mum and dad? Do they live there too?”
Hebe’s face flushes. “Er, no.” She whispers.
“Well, then, where are they?” Hermione asks, eyes big and imploring.
“They died.” Hebe mumbles under her breath. It was a terrible habit that had gotten her in trouble with her aunt and uncle more times than she could count. Especially the one time she had tried combatting her quick words by raising her voice.
She hadn’t been able to leave her cupboard for a week after that.
“What was that?” Hermione pushes, though she doesn’t sound annoyed. Merely curious.
Hebe clears her throat in that way that Uncle Vernon did whenever he was announcing an important dinner had between him and one of his business associates. “They died.”
“Oh.” Hermione whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Hebe just shrugs her shoulders. She hadn’t known them. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never even spoke of them. Hebe didn’t even know what her mother and father’s names were.
“It’s alright. I’ve never even met them.”
Hermione’s face turns thoughtful, and her fingers tighten around the binding of her book. “Maybe one day…” She trails off, before her dark cheeks tinge pink. “You could meet my parents?”
Hebe smiled. “That sounds nice.”
Hermione’s face brightens, and her eyes settle on the book in her hands.
“Would you like to read some more?” Hebe asks, leaning across the vacant seat to peer over at the blue and gold cover.
The other girl’s eyes widen, and she whips her head to properly look at Hebe. “Really?” Her voice squeaks.
Hebe nods emphatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I want to know what happens with Perseus.” She admits.
Hermione needs no more convincing, opening up her book to the last page that they had read. She quickly starts reading, her voice loud and clear.
Hebe crosses their undefined barrier, until they are sitting hip to hip. She keeps her eyes on the colourful drawings, her ears trained on Hermione’s soothing voice.
Once the story of Perseus finishes, Hebe finds herself still staring at the drawings. Her hair was falling into her eyes, so she wrinkles her nose, and sweeps her curls behind her ears.
Hermione looks up from the book, her gaze settling on Hebe’s face. Specifically, her forehead.
Hebe feels her breath catch in her throat, and immediately stiffens when she realises that she had inadvertently moved her bangs.
The only reason that Aunt Petunia had even let her hair fall so down into her niece’s face was to cover up the horrendous, white zig zag scar that marred her forehead. And she had ruined it.
She waits for Hermione to point and ask questions, the same way that some of Dudley’s friends used to do before Aunt Petunia decided to lock her up in the cupboard whenever company was over.
Instead, the other girl simply averts her gaze, and starts reading the story of Icarus. Hebe swipes her bangs back over her forehead.
Neither of them mention it, but the gratitude she feels is more than enough.
They are nearly finished with the book when the back door creaks open. “Hermione, dear!” Miss Figg calls through the door. “Your mother is here to pick you up!”
Hermione’s voice catches in her throat, brown eyes flying towards her aunt. “Oh.” She says, and Hebe desperately hopes that she isn’t imagining the sadness in the girl’s voice.
Hebe stands up first, smoothing the wrinkled pink fabric in one quick swipe. Just like Aunt Petunia had taught her.
“Come on.” She said to Hermione, pasting a tiny, tight lipped smile onto her face.
Hermione nods, tucking her tightly wound curls behind her ears, and rises to her feet. The story book is tightly pressed to her chest. Just as it had been every time Hermione didn’t have it spread open across her lap.
Hebe takes extra care to wipe her feet on the mat before she walks back into the house, despite the fact that there's little to no way that she actually got any dirt on the bottoms of her shoes.
She had made that mistake once at the Dursleys, and it had not exactly gone well for her.
Somehow, the house seems both brighter and darker as they step inside, Ms. Figg still holding the back door open for them. Two of her cats were milling around her feet, their fluffy fur shedding onto the hem of her dress.
Hermione takes the lead, guiding them through her aunt’s kitchen, and towards the entrance hall. Standing in the light of the open front door stood another woman.
Her brown skin was a lighter shade than Hermione’s, closer to Hebe’s own skin tone. Her dark brown hair was settled into a multitude of braids, all of which were piled on top of her head in a bun. She was dressed in hospital scrubs, anxiously weaving her hands together, but her black eyes practically lit up when she saw Hermione walk into the hall.
“Hi, darling!” The woman lilts, holding her arms out for Hermione to walk into.
“Hi, mummy.” Hermione murmurs into her mother’s stomach, allowing her book to settle between them as her arms are too busy to hold it.
Hebe stands awkwardly to the side, feeling as if she were intruding onto something private.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, Hermione pulls away. Her eyes immediately find Hebe, which proves that her wish of fading into pure nothingness had not, in fact, come true.
Hermione steps closer to Hebe, placing a hesitant hand on the other girl’s shoulder. “Mummy, this is Hebe. She’s my…” Hermione trails off, fear crossing her expression, before it turns resolute. “She’s my friend…”
Hebe felt herself flush with happiness at the term ‘friend’, and smiled up at Hermione’s mother.
“You made a friend?” The older woman asks, her eyes widening in surprise. Hermione nods, looking sheepishly at her feet.
“Yes.”
Hebe awkwardly raises a hand in a wave towards Hermione’s mum. Which, had Aunt Petunia been here, she would have been punished for.
Instead, she feels great relief when Hermione’s mother kneels down, and holds out a hand. “Hi, dear. I’m Mrs. Granger.”
Hebe shakes the hand, feeling a pressure in her chest slowly fade. “I’m Hebe.” She says, though her brain only reminds her a few seconds later that Hermione had already said that.
“It is very nice to meet you.”
Hermione clears her throat, grabbing both of their attention. “Um, mummy, I was wondering if Hebe and I could… hang out again some time…?”
Hebe feels her eyes widen in surprise, something warm settling in her chest.
“Well, we’d have to talk to Hebe’s parents to arrange something first.” Mrs. Granger says pointedly, and Hebe feels her heart sink. She sees Hermione’s eyebrows furrow out of the corner of her eye, and ducks her head.
“That sounds lovely.” A new, yet familiar voice says, practically out of nowhere. Ms. Figg comes up from behind Hebe, her hands settling on the young girl’s shoulders. It was quite an unfamiliar form of contact between the two of them, even though they’ve known each other for nearly Hebe’s entire life.
She supposes the fact that Hebe had spent the last few hours befriending Ms. Figg’s niece has made her all that much more caring.
“Thank you, again, for watching over Hermione, Aunt Ari.” Mrs. Granger says to the older woman, finally rising back to her full height.
“It was no trouble, dear. In fact,” And Ms. Figg’s eyes light up in a way that Hebe has never before seen from her neighbour. “I would be delighted to have little Hermione back again sometime.”
After that, Mrs. Granger and Hermione bid their farewells. Both wrap Ms. Figg in a hug, and then gently clap Hebe on the shoulder in farewell.
When they are out the door, Hebe expects Ms. Figg to go back to her kitchen. She expects them to both continue coexisting until Dudley’s birthday party ends, with Aunt Petunia eventually coming to collect her.
Instead, Ms. Figg sits on the purple chair that Hermione had occupied earlier that day, with Hebe sitting in her usual green.
“Did you like Hermione?” Ms. Figg asks, gently stroking one of her cats that had climbed into her lap.
Hebe nods. “She was very nice.”
“Would you be happy to see her again?” Ms. Figg presses, looking at Hebe imploringly. Something akin to hope settles in her eyes.
At this, Hebe actually laughs. “I would…”
“But?”
Hebe shakes her head. “Aunt Petunia doesn’t like me having people over.”
Ms. Figg raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything more.
The two then sit in companionable silence for another hour before Aunt Petunia’s telltale rap at the door signals them that their time is now up.
All in all, it was one of the best of Dudley’s birthdays that Hebe has had.
Aunt Petunia was so busy with her plans for cleaning up that she didn’t pay Hebe much attention. Uncle Vernon was still chuffed that the parents of Dudley’s friends had been quite impressed with his new car. And Dudley had even managed to sneak Hebe a piece of cake.
He told her that his friend Piers had dropped it on the floor, and Dudley had scooped it up after him. She eats it anyway. Half because it’s still a good cake, and half because if either her aunt or uncle found out that he had snuck her the cake, they would not be pleased with him.
She was at least lucky enough to be a girl to escape Uncle Vernon’s full fury.
That night, when Hebe goes to sleep in her little cupboard under the stairs, she has dreams of a girl with wild, curly hair. Her very first friend.
Even if she never sees her again.
One week later, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon start planning a trip to Majorca with Vernon’s sister Marge. She was a mean, ugly woman that hated Hebe with everything inside of her, and the feelings were mutual.
Hebe was starting to think that she was going to spend a week locked in a hotel room with Marge’s terrible new puppy, Ripper. That was, until Ms. Figg had surprised everyone when she offered to watch over Hebe for them.
Unsurprisingly, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had agreed, and immediately continued on with their planning.
Dudley was happily planning out all of his beach activities, Uncle Vernon was trimming his facial hair for what he called his ‘vacation ‘stache’, and Aunt Petunia was meticulously cleaning every knick and cranny while packing as much as possible into three suitcases.
They handed Hebe over to Ms. Figg at around five am, the morning that they were set to leave. Ms. Figg had set up one of her overstuffed couches with freshly clean sheets, comforters, and pillows.
It was honestly one of the most comfortable places that Hebe had ever slept, and Ms. Figg had allowed her to grab a few more hours of sleep after her terribly early morning.
In fact, she didn’t wake again until nearly 10 am, when a knock at the door had startled her into consciousness.
She rubs sleep out of her eyes, furrowing her eyebrows as Ms. Figg goes to open up the front door.
Hebe is sure that she’s completely delirious, because two familiar blurs walk through that door. One with a bushel of dark curls sticking every which way.
“Hermione?” She squeaks, her feet brushing the ground.
“Hebe!” Hermione smiles brightly, rushing over to her, a duffel bag swung over her shoulder.
Hebe finds herself smiling too, but she cocks her head in curiosity. “What are you doing here?”
“Aunt Ari invited me to stay the night, so we could spend time together.” Hermione says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I even got some new books from the library for us to read!”
Hebe gets up, trying her best to smooth out the wrinkles that formed in her dress after sleeping in it. Hermione had had to walk back to her mother, whom she had left the second her eyes had landed on Hebe, so that she could wish her farewell.
Ms. Figg steps closer to Hebe, smiling at her in that way she had started to grow accustomed to in the two weeks since that first meeting with Hermione.
“How are you doing, dear?”
“I’m good.” Hebe says slowly, closely peering into her neighbour’s face. “Ms. Figg…” She wasn’t sure where she was going with that sentence. “Um… thank you for inviting Hermione.”
Ms. Figg nods absentmindedly, as if she had no idea what she had done. But then she looks her in the eye, and a small smile crosses her lined face.
“What your aunt and uncle don’t know, won’t hurt them.”
Hebe finds herself incredulously smiling, as her neighbour has the audacity to wink at her.