The Cupboard Series 2: Hermione's Book Nook

Chapter 5

"Who are you and what are you doing in our garden?"

Harry stared at the tall, brown haired woman. She had a thin face and deep blue eyes that told everyone that the boy before her was her son. Both of her hands rested on the boy's shoulders as she stood too close for him to get a good look at her dusty purple robes to see if they were as threadbare as her son's.

"Er, I'm Harry, Harry Potter," he began before sighing.

He knew that he should have expected it – he was in the wizarding world, after all. But even so, the woman's sharp intake of breath combined with the boy's blue eyes instantly going rounder than saucers confirmed that they knew who he was. Sometimes, in fact most times, he just hated all of that Boy-Who-Lived nonsense.

"Potter?" the woman breathed, her eyes screwed shut as though she was in pain. Harry saw her shoulders slump as she opened her eyes to look at him. "You better come up, then."

Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned and, steering her son ahead of her, re-entered the building. Not really sure what to make of the woman, Harry followed along warily.

Just inside the back door, he found a staircase to his right leading up. Hefting his bags awkwardly, he followed the mother and son up. At the first level, he paused long enough to peek through the door to see a small room. An open door at its far end gave a glimpse of the second floor of the shop. In contrast to its lower level, this area looked to be filled to overflowing with stacks of shelves and tables and chairs piled high to overflowing.

Tearing his gaze away, Harry once more resumed his trek up the staircase.

He came out in the back of a small apartment. The large room was spacious and, like the garden below, was well-kempt. The kitchen off to his left was spotless, apart from the bowl and hand beaters on one end of the bench. An open recipe book rested on a stand off to the side. To his right stood an old rickety-looking table with four mismatched chairs clustered around it. Directly in front of him, in the middle of the sparse lounge, the woman and boy awaited him.

"You can leave your things there if you want," the woman instructed, "while we talk in here."

Stepping to the side, Harry placed his two bags against the wall and laid his broom on top before slowly crossing the room towards the faded red lounge chairs.

The sofa and two armchairs were grouped around a large fire place. On the mantle, three photos stood proudly, but Harry was careful not to pay them any attention – he didn't want to seem rude in these people's home. Rounding off the living area was a small window nook that overlooked the street. Bench seating filled with an assortment of pillows and a couple of thick-backed books indicated that this was a favourite area to relax in. Indeed, Harry's first thought was that it was just the type of place that Hermione would love. He could see her curled up in such a spot reading for hours at a time.

"Would you like to take a seat, Mister Potter?" the woman asked, indicating one of the armchairs.

After the three of them were seated, Harry saw the woman sigh once more before suddenly bringing her head up to look him squarely in the eye.

"I know why you're here, Mister Potter," she began. "To be truthful, I expected either you or maybe the goblins here years ago."

Harry shook his head, confused. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. Who are you?"

"Beth," she paused to clear her throat before continuing. "Elizabeth Pemberton. And this is my son, Mickey."

Harry nodded in greeting, his mind focused on the word 'Pemberton'. He knew that he'd come across it before, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where.