Hermione's Little Brother

“What took you so long?!” Hermione screeched, her curly brown hair bouncing dangerously on her shoulders as Harry and Ron emerged, flustered, from the flames of green that seemed to heat up the entire Muggle living-room.

“It’s not my fault I spend ages working out how to use the bloody felly-phone to call Harry,” Ron muttered, holding up half a phone receiver, wires dangling.

“Now that we’re here,” Harry sighed, pushing his friend aside, “you need to tell me what’s wrong. You can’t just scream down the phone about… drivers’ licences and cheating couples and expect me not to worry.”

“You worry when Hermione fails to call you every two hours about her whereabouts and exactly what she’s doing,” Ron sniggered. Hermione shot him a withering glance, and sat both boys down on the edge of her bed.

“I have a brother,” she announced bluntly, hanging her bushy head, “my father’s been… over active.”

Ron spluttered and proceeded to chortle at Hermione’s choice of words.

“You have a little brother,” Harry repeated, “how old, exactly?”

“He’s turning 14 next month,” the girl sighed, crouching on the wooden floor, knees to her chest.

“It only took your Dad 3 years to get tired of you?” Ron snored, only to have his ribs attacked by a certain male elbow.

“Do you know much about him?” Harry asked, leaning over the damsel in distress, “his personality? Anything?”

“He goes to Eton,” Hermione moaned, and the boys made a face. They clearly knew what that meant.

“And I thought Hermione owed the majority of knowledge in this world,” Ron groaned.

“At least,” Harry assured, rubbing Hermione’s shoulders, “you go to Hogwarts.”

“But Ron goes there too,” the girl sulked, “so it’s hardly prestigious.”

The red-head’s mouth dropped open, ready to utter a comeback.

“Look,” Harry interjected, “just because the kid goes to Eton, doesn’t mean he’s Einstein.”

“He’s got a scholarship!” Hermione wailed, flopping onto Harry’s lap. Ron cringed as the black haired boy pulled the girl into a loving embrace.

“Excuse you,” he mumbled, edging to a corner of the room.

“Mione,” Harry soothed, using the nickname that made the redhead shudder, “what does it matter? The kid’s not going to harm you. And your reputation as the gorgeous, beautiful, clever, smart Mrs. Harry Potter will never change.”

Ron pretended to vomit as Harry lifted Hermione’s chin and pressed his lips firmly against hers. And it had to be quite some time before they stopped.

“Why’m I here?” Ron asked blatantly, “if you wanted comfort, Mione, I’m sure Harry is sufficient.”

“I need both of you to help me with something,” Hermione said, snuggling into Harry’s shoulder, “and it doesn’t just take Harry.”

“Yeah,” Ron jeered, “it takes Harry to stay with you and me to do the actual thing.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid, Ronald,” the girl snapped, bouncing off Harry’s lap, “I need both of you to do this.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Well, Bart-”

“Bart?!” Ron exclaimed, “that’s the genius’s name?”

“It’s Bartholomew actually,” Hermione smiled, “I found that calling him Bart makes me feel better.”

“Poor guy,” Ron replied, leaning against the wall.

“What about Bart?” Harry pressed.

“Well, his mom just died,” the girl explained, “and her children and meant to be taken to their various fathers to be taken care of, by law.”

“Various fathers?” the boys echoed.

“She had 5 children, all with different fathers,” Hermione stated, “I’m guess she’s really pretty as well.”

“Or she could have been a hooker,” Ron chuckled.

“That’s not funny, Ron,” Harry sighed, before addressing Hermione again, “This means that Bart will be staying with your parents now. Am I right?”

Hermione nodded, tumbling onto the bed and tucking her knees to her chest.

“What do you need us to do?” he asked, taking her hand.

“Mom’s sorting out commitment issues with dad downstairs,” Hermione began, “and I’m too nervous even mention Bart…”

“You want us to help you chaperone Bartholomew,” Harry finished, “and bring him here.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, “he’s as harmless as a rabbit.”

“Dad’s hired a Convertible,” Hermione continued, “I don’t think he wants to scare Bart with the whole magic thing.”

“A… that’s a car right?” Ron asked, Hermione nodded, “why not Apparate near their house and walk in?”

“How’re you meant to bring him back then?” the girl snapped.

“When are we leaving?” Harry asked, checking his watch.

“Don’t say we like I’m coming with you…” Hermione sniffed.

The boys stared at her.

“You’re not?” Harry asked. Hermione shrunk back and shook her bushy head.

“Just you two,” she mumbled, looking down at her sheets, “I’m not coming at all.”