Fresh from a last round of hugs, Harry Potter arrived at the Grangers' by floo. Which meant that he arrived spilt in the ashes, and nearly covered with them.
Hermione's Mum was the first to comment, "Why, he looks straight out of a Disney film!" she said with a startled laugh.
"Mum!" Hermione turned towards her, with her scolding voice on.
Harry stood up, and, holding back a smirk, said mournfully, "I do not look like Cinderella, do I?"
Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth, and then her father cut in, "I'm certain she's talking about A Hundred and One Dalmatians."
They all promptly descended into guffaws, including Harry who was raising a big cloud of ash with his hearty laughter.
"Oh, get up, you!" Hermione said.
Harry scrambled to his feet. He tried to not slouch, but... "What's that movie about, then?" he couldn't help but ask.
Hermione's parents looked at her, and asked gently, "This isn't one of your friends that was raised entirely around wizards, is he?"
Hermione snickered, "Of course not! Why, you can see yourself, he's got decent fashion sense."
Harry, who was quite sure that before the age of eleven, he'd been neither considered decent, nor fashionable, nor sensible, smiled back at them. He shrugged, "My relatives weren't much for movies. Particularly Disney." It hadn't been particularly Disney, in fact, but Br'er Bear's rear end had been enough to get any Disney movie ever banned.
Hermione said, in a harder voice, "Your parents weren't much for a lot of things."
Harry just shrugged, "True enough."
"As its Boxing Day today," Hermione's mum said, "I thought we'd go to the museum and skip the crowds!"
Hermione smiled, "What a keen idea!"
Harry fought to contain his own smile, turning it to something less thousand watt. "I've never seen the British Museum."
"Never?" Hermione's mum said, then seemed to consider, "Maybe we'll have to make a week of it."
"Get your coats, children," Hermione's mum said sternly, "We have the museum to tour."
She left to get her own coat, and Harry asked, "Can I get a glass of water?" His throat was still sore from the ash in it.
Hermione pointed to the back of the house, "Kitchen's back there, help yourself."
As Harry left, he heard Hermione's father asking, "Disliking movies is one thing, but what sort of family doesn't take their children to the British museum?"
Hermione crossed her arms (Harry heard it in her voice), and said curtly, "The worst kind, of course."
Harry stopped listening after that - he didn't want or need pity, but he also tried to keep quiet about just how bad Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were. It was... almost a comfort, knowing that Snape knew. At least now, if Harry ran away, someone would know why.
[a/n: If you've ever ridden Splash Mountain, you can make some, albeit crude, comments about the sexuality of the creators. We would like to encourage you to keep the rudeness to a minimum by not commenting on the sexuality of those who drew/wrote Winnie The Pooh (a different era, one hopes). Song of the South is the movie Disney wants to pretend never existed, so it's my duty to mention it as much as possible.
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