Hermione's Little Brother

Driving down the country lane onto Bartholomew house, you would expect the destination to be some lonely farm house surrounded by a pen of clucking chickens or an implanted caravan with a cow or two. What Harry and Ron saw, however, was Muggles would call a Mansion.

A marble white architectural form planted on the sea of green grass. Complete with equally white pillars and great archway windows. An enormous forest of shrubs and trees blossoming within a fence of white and silver loomed in front of the pair.

“Maybe they paid for his scholarship,” Ron muttered, eyeing the massive structure with great distaste, “bribed for the scholarship.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ron,” Harry mumbled, revving the car forwards to the gate, “at least the Burrow’s well lived in.”

Ron gave him a dirty look, “was that meant to be a compliment?” he glowered, his ears going red.

“In a way,” the black-haired driver dismissed, jabbing a button on telecom, “now, you keep quiet.”

“du Bois residence,” came the voice of a woman, a taint of a French accent in her words, “If you have come to advertise your pitiful goods, please leave now, Madame du Bois is not interested.”

“We are-” Harry began.

“If you are delivering goods, including silverware, glassware, kitchen items or toiletries, please head to the south gate which is half a mile down the road on your left.”

“Half a-” Ron gasped.

“If you are delivering goods such as luxuries, electrical appliances, books, or educational items, please head to the South-west gate, which is half a mile down the road on your right.”

“Bloody-” the redhead continued.

“If you are delivering livestock or sexually pleasing items, please exit your vehicle and enter through the pedestrian entrance.”

Harry’s head shot up.

“If you are delivering or dropping off orphaned children in hope that we will care for them, you are at the wrong house. Thank you.”

“You should have brought Hermione, eh?” Ron grinned, “Sexually pleasing item”

“Excuse me!” Harry pressed, ignoring his friend, “we’re here to-”

“Please do not talk to me, I am just a recording. If you have any questions, please press the diamond button. If you request to hear me again, please press the pink diamond button. Please be warned that if you try to take the buttons, you will have 50 security guards surrounding you within seconds, and they will be heavily armoured and wielding machine guns. Thank you, have a pleasant day.”

“They have diamonds as buttons to be pressed on a box?” Ron drooled as Harry gingerly pressed the clear one.

“Hello, this is Luna Lovegood speaking, how may I help you?”

“Luna?!” the boys were in perfect sync.

“That sounds like Harry,” she sang over the telecom, “what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to chaperone,” he replied, “It’d be nice if you let us in.”

“Of course,” Luna gushed as the silver gates opened, reflecting the sunlight painfully into the boys’ eyes, “come right in.”

The silver Convertible veered into the mansion’s driveway, its wheels grinding against the pebbles scattered about. The car made its way down the drive, and eventually reached a roundabout that rotated around marble fountain. The redhead was forever leaning out the side of the car, gawping at everything he saw, including the figure that skipped its way towards the car, blonde hair flying.

“Luna,” Harry smiled, getting out of the car, “hi, what’re you doing here?”

“I work here during the summers as a maid,” she replied, patting her French maid’s outfit, “it gives me something to do instead of mooching around at home with dad. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s very alluring,” Harry smiled, pulling the girl into a hug, “I’m sure the butlers here can’t take their eyes off you.”

“I bet you can’t take your eyes off her, you player,” Ron muttered, jumping over the door of the Convertible, “hi Luna.”

“Who’re you here for?” Luna asked, her eyes sparkling, “Francessa, Renae, Dimitri, Bartholomew, or Jacques?”

“Bartholomew,” Ron said, “or as Hermione calls him, Bart.”

“Oh, sure,” Luna smiled, “I think he’s already packed and ready to go.”

The blonde lead the pair into the house of marble and stone. And into the sub-foyer, which might as well be the entire Burrow, judging by the size of it.

“If this is the small welcome room,” Ron spat, “I’d hate to see the actual one.”

“Bartholomew,” Luna sang, addressing a slumped, hooded figure on a chair that somehow resembled the royal throne “your ride is here.”

“Sister Hermione has informed me of you,” he said, barely moving at all, “Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.”

“We’ve come to chauffeur you back to your dad’s place,” Ron announced.

“I’ve gathered,” Bart replied shortly. Cool, and still unmoved.

“Come on then, Bartholomew,” Harry said, trying to be nice, “lets go, I’m sure there’s a lot wecan learn about each other on the drive home.”

“That sounds cool,” Bart said, hopping off the chair and looking up, his hood falling off.

Brilliant, blue eyes. A crooked grin. His brown curls were strikingly similar to Hermione’s as they escaped the wrath of his hoodie, bouncing on his head.

“So,” he said, his white teeth dazzling, “which one of you is which?”