Harry Potter had never had pizza before, at least hot pizza. It had been delivered to Privet Drive, but the most he'd eaten was parts of a few cold slices that had anchovies on them. Harry's hatred of anchovies was one thing he had in common with Dudley. The experience of opening a freshly delivered pizza box, filled with Italian sausage and green pepper topped pizza, and being told to go ahead and get a slice ... it was new ... it was different ... it made him feel like he belonged, like he was at Hogwarts instead of back in the muggle world.
It was amazing how a simple piece of pizza, hot enough that he'd had to gulp down several mouth fulls of the sweet dark carbonated beverage after his first bite, made feel more at home than he'd ever been at Number Four. He took another bite as Hermione sat down beside him, reaching for her own slice.
"Don't expect this often, Harry," Hermione said. "Mum has some objection to Pepsi." She took a sip of the tall glass filled with the drink. "It is apparently not good for my teeth. Pizza just isn't right without it though. I mean, milk and pizza?"
"Milk is good for you," Wendy Granger informed her daughter. "I'm sure you'll be telling your child that in a few years." She had her own pizza, whose toppings where apparently not to the liking of her daughter or husband. Harry was certain that they included both anchovies and red onions on their personal dislike list.
"Well, yes," Hermione said. "Still, it doesn't taste as good with pizza as Pepsi does. Even R. White's is better than milk with pizza."
"So, Harry, what do you think of your room?" Monty Granger asked, taking a slice from the same box that he and Hermione had opened.
Harry paused for a moment, thinking of the room that Hermione's father had him place his trunk in. He hadn't really looked at it. Still, at first impression it was much better than Dudley's second bedroom. It had been painted a deep navy blue, and there was a frame filled with a painting of two princesses in the woods looking at a trio of fawns in the forest.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"Well, we'll spend some time during the next few days making it more suiting to your tastes," Monty said. "It's just been a place to hang a few of my college days art work, until recently. We bought the bed for you a couple months ago. We can repaint the room if you'd like a different color."
Harry was silent for a while, forgetting to even pick up another piece of pizza. He'd never had the opportunity to make any space his own. The closest he had ever gotten was scrawling "Harry's Room" on one of the stair risers in the cupboard under the stairs. The idea that he would be able to chose anything about his room was foreign to him. That was something Dudley got to do. It was not something that freaks did. He was the boy who was a burden, not a treasured son. Not any more. Suddenly he smiled, as the thought passed through his mind that now that he was away from the Dursleys, he could actually be a boy who lived.
"I kind of like the blue," Harry offered, as he picked up another slice, before admitting, "I've never been allowed to do anything to my room before, Mr. Granger"
"Well, then, it's high time you were," Wendy said. "We'll need to get you more bedding than the bedspread on your bed now. Hermione never liked it, and frankly once I put it on your bed, I think I've finally figured out why. We'll need a quilt, of course, though we can probably get away with a new bedspread."
"I want to replace my Princess quilt," Hermione interjected.
"We might have to wait on that, Hermione," Wendy said. "Your school nurse said you could be having your baby any day now, and you're not heading to County Mall until after you give birth."
"The Mall has opened up?" Hermione said. Harry looked over at her and saw an expression that he'd last seen when Hermione got his cherry pie.
"Yes," Wendy said. "I'll take Harry tomorrow. Mrs. Richardson has volunteered to keep an eye on you in case you go into labor while we're away. Harry, we're going to do something about those clothes. You will never be wearing Dursley hand-me-downs again."
Harry didn't know what to say. He'd never been taken to shop before. Only his underwear had been bought fresh by his Aunt. When he'd been fitted with his robes in Diagon Alley, that had been the first time he'd gotten new clothes for himself. His school uniforms were the only clothes he had that were really made for him. No one got anything for him. It just didn't happen.
As he looked back up at Mrs. Granger, he realized that tears were flowing down his cheeks. He did not know why. He could only nod as an unfamiliar but good feeling filled his heart.
Lavender Brown had not expected to get on the Underground after her return from Hogwarts. She'd expected to go home via portkey or floo, but her parents called one of their elves to take Lavender's trunk home, and they'd boarded the Hammersmith and City line, heading East. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"We're going to Boleyn Tavern, dear," her mother replied. Unlike most pure blood women, Lavender's mother knew how to dress to fit in among muggles, though she did tend to dress a bit more formal that she ought to be. Her current power suit would not have looked out of place in Whitehall. Her father, who appeared to be a bit out of sorts at the moment, was dressed in a tweed suit, one of the few muggle appropriate outfits that her mother could force him to wear. Her father had taken a seat away from them, and appeared to be trying to ignore his daughter and wife.
Lavender knew what going there meant. It meant that they were taking the Grand Zeppelin Magical from Boleyn Ground to somewhere. Much like platform Nine and Three Quarters was hidden from muggles, the Boleyn Tavern Aerodrome was hidden from them. She would have to get a camera so she could take an overhead shot of the Grounds to send Dean. He hadn't believed that the Aerodrome was so close to his favored football team's grounds. "What's wrong with Father?"
"Oh, he's not happy with this year's itinerary," her mother replied. "We're going to Cap d'Agde in France first, then over to Plage de Tahiti, before heading to Es Cavallet in Spain. Then there is this place in Italy that your Uncle Charles suggested. It's going to be such a lovely summer progress."
"Mother, I don't think my bathing costume from last year will fit," Lavender replied. "Can we stop somewhere to get a new one?"
"Lavender, dear, that implies that you need to wear one," her mother replied, carefully modulating her voice so it would carry right over to Lavender's father. "I assure you that your natural attire will be quite adequate this summer." Judging from her father's huff and turn further away, her mother's sally had hit it's desired target. Then softer, she continued, for Lavender's ears only, "We can pick something up, should it become necessary, of course. I doubt it will."
Lavender wasn't sure either way. She had been nine the last time her mother had pulled such a progress. It had scandalize a few, but her great-grandmother cackled through the whole re-reading of the society pages, and then brought out her own. Lavender had been flat chested then, and she'd barely had anything when she went off to Hogwarts, but she'd finally started developing, having a bosom to hide beneath her robes during the spring term. She had been quite grateful when Alicia Spinnett had taken her aside to teach her the breast supporting charm. It was much more comfortable than the mail order bras she'd received. She was sure that if she joined in her mother's plan, her father would end up seeing a lot he didn't expect or want to see. Lavender wasn't sure she wanted anyone to see.
"Will Gran-gran be joining us?" she asked.
"We'll be spending a couple days in Rome," her mother remarked. "She has that anniversary coming up next year and wants to plan out her attempt to recreate it better than 1983. It will be ninety years since she interrupted that coronation."
Lavender giggled, as she remembered the tale. She just knew that her great-grandmother was going to embarrass the family again. Of course, as matriarch of the family, she'd contend that she was the family. Great-grandfather kept saying that he was going to send her back to the nunnery.
"Now, I have gotten her to promise not to involve you in her recreation next summer," Lavender's mother said. "I've also warned Cardinals Casaroli and Ratzinger. Hopefully she'll stick to her original naked dance at the head of the procession. She better remember the notice-me-not charm this time, unlike sixty-three ... then again, she did move her commemoration up that time. Giovanni never really got over it."
"Giovanni? Isn't he the one Great Aunt Angelica failed to seduce?" Lavender asked.
"No, dear, Angelica preferred Greeks, Anastasia preferred prelates," her mother said. "She didn't have much success. They take those vows seriously in Italy. It might be why lightning stuck her down on the Piazza del Duomo. Oh, and your Uncle Charles will be joining us at some point. Sometime you have to tell me what he keeps borrowing you for."
"Sorry Mother, but I'm not allowed to tell," Lavender said, seriously.
"And if I try to say ... tickle it out of you?" her mother replied.
"Please Mum, not in public," Lavender said, already with a hint of a giggle in her voice without her mother haven't even touched her. Her mother had an uncanny ability to drive her into to giggles with the slightest touch, the laughter quite often leaving her unable to even stand when it was over.
"I shall reserve it until France then," her mother replied, pausing just a bit before continuing. "Less of a need for a change of underpants, then."
"Mum!"