Late Bloom

The alarm’s buzz fills the room, and continues to do so for another few seconds before Gran is up to put an end to its miserable call. I pry my eyes open, cringing inwardly and the discomfort it causes. I sit up, stretching and yawning away the sleep, recalling that my bed is in fact, not the bed at Gran’s. I can see Gran is moving about, disappearing into the bathroom and humming as she goes. Crazy woman.
I stumble over to the small kitchen, fumbling with the jug until the light flicks on. While I wait for it to boil, I root around the cupboards in search of anything I might find that’s edible, but nothing takes my fancy. A burst of excitement sparks up in my chest as I remember where we’re going today and food is no longer at the forefront of my mind.
By the time Gran and I are both ready, my stomach is grumbling unpleasantly, and I’m practically fizzing with anticipation, so this time it’s me who rushes along to our destination; The Leaky Cauldron. Once a year, I get to spend a few days exploring the curious shops and stalls the magical niche has to offer, and every year I spend more money than I do anywhere else.
It’s like entering an entirely different universe, fumbling through the murky gateway that is Tom’s pub, but now that we’re so close to possibly the most exciting place in the country, I keep pulling a protesting Gran along and out the back, tapping on the bricks hurriedly. As we wait for them to shift away, I fidget, trying to wrap my head around the concept of an entirely separate society living behind a brick wall that somehow every muggle manages to miss. What blind gits.
Gran and I step through, and I feel her hand grip mine a little firmer as we absorb the disarray of noise and scents, admiring the odd cloaked figure, although most are showing as much skin as a witch or wizard dared to display on this quickly warming day. It does, however, seem to be a little bit dimmer this year. The people’s faces are wary, and mothers keep tight grips on their children. The entire setup feels – tense. Gran doesn’t seem to notice this however, as she pulls us further into the street.
“Where to first, my dear?” She asks, pulling my attention back into focus.
“Gringotts, I think,” I tell her, leading the way to the largest building on the street. The goblin we are greeted with seems to be one of the less condescending assholes the bank employs, and we leave the towering building behind us swiftly, newly changed coins in hand.
We weave our way around the shops, looking for somewhere to eat. Gran always gets a bit nervous about eating here, although she always loves what she gets. As I scan the blurs of people in search of something edible, my eyes land on a messy head of dark hair.
“Gran, it’s Harry!” I smile, skipping ahead a small way and calling his name. He turns around sharply, his face grim until he recognizes me, and smiles, waving. I sit down next to him, idly remembering his most recent ordeal at Hogwarts. No wonder he’s so suspicious of people.
“Hey, Lyra, how’ve your holidays been?” Harry greets, just as Gran joins us, picking up the paper to read while we talk.
“They’ve been okay, I’ve missed you guys though. I’m surprised you’re here, Harry.”
Harry laughs and rubs his neck, “Well, I kind of blew up my aunt.”
~&~
Harry follows Gran and I for another few hours, until it comes to for me to get fitted for robes. Gran and Harry leave me at the door, and I take a deep breath before I enter, trying to rid myself of the sick feeling in my stomach.
Every time the tailor, a lovely older woman who is quite plump herself, directs her floating tape around a part of my torso I fight not to breathe in, reminding myself I have to live in these clothes for the next year, at the least.
At the end of it, I stumble off the chair, my knees weak with relief, leave her some galleons to cover the fee and tell her we’ll be back to pick them up. As I make my escape to look at quidditch supplies, a grim sight is plastered on the glass display window, underneath the Firebolt my Gran refused to buy earlier in the day. A man, his moving face morphed into a constant scream, with piercing eyes that chilled my bare skin. Sirius Black. I shake off the gross feeling of being watched, and start looking for Gran.
I can see Gran near the ice cream parlour we first saw Harry at, so I rush over to see her, idly hoping the newspaper she had is still there. “Darling,” Gran smiles, pushing out a chair with her leather clad foot. “How did your fitting go?”
“It was good, Gran. We’ll go pick them up after we get my books and potions supplies,” I inform her, taking a delicate spoonful of ice cream, relishing the little explosions that occur immediately against the roof of my mouth.
“Very well, Lyra. That boy, Harry, he seems very nice,” Gran begins, in a tone that I know very well.
“Gran, no! Harry’s a friend, and he wouldn’t like me like that anyway,” I grumble, taking another, less delicate mouthful of ice cream before Gran steals it away, reclaiming her spoon as she goes.
“Alright, alright.”
Although there are only a few days left until the school year begins, the shops, and subsequently the streets, are not as packed full of families as I’m used to, so navigating is much easier, and much more pleasant. Occasionally, I’ll see someone I recognise from my year, including Parvati and Padma, who have both grown taller and, well, filled out. There isn’t that much difference, but the process has definitely begun, and that makes me nervous.
At the very least, my skirt is a little shorter this time and the buttons on my top will no longer be at risk of tearing when I lean forward, so maybe no one will laugh at me when I come back to school looking just as 10 as I used to. I think the most shattering improvement I’ve seen so far has been Hermione. Bless her, my lovely, bushy haired friend, who is no longer as frumpy as I. Her round face has lengthened, her jaw and cheekbones becoming more angular, and of course, somehow, most likely by some form of magical means, Hermione has tamed her lion’s mane.
As usual, with the arrival of Ron and Hermione, the Golden Trio find little room for me. Of course, I’m free to follow them about, and listen to their plotting about Sirius Black: Next Target, but I soon begin to slip further from their adventures. Finally, I give up hoping for acceptance, and find myself wondering about Diagon Alley without company or purpose.
I keep telling myself that Hogwarts is full of students of whom at least one will like me enough to hang around with me between classes and trips to Hogsmeade, but a small voice in my head reminds me it’s already been two years, and none of the students I’ve encountered have been that person.
These thoughts occupy me all day – three days before we’re all expected to be on the train. Although the weather is warm, my excitement to return to Hogwarts has drained, leaving behind a cold dread. I’m not even sure why exactly I’ve fallen into this pit. I haven’t been bullied any more than any other student for the last two years, and that probably won’t change. So what has changed? I guess puberty has begun to weed out the “late bloomers” – those doomed to less than average attractiveness for the rest of their life, with the occasional kid who actually does bloom late, and ends up slightly about average. I can only dream of being above average. Regardless, I try to force myself into enjoying my remaining days, both in Diagon Alley and with my Gran. Tomorrow is my birthday, so at the very least, tomorrow will be a better day.