Basilisk Eyes

Chapter 39: Shepherd's pie

"Gemma, Healer Jordan taught me the Scribunt loqui spell!" As soon as he said it, Harry wanted to kick himself.

Obviously, you dork, she can see it.

"I wanted to answer your question from before," he rushed on as warmth crept up his neck.

Gemma squeezed his arm.

"You asked about my sister and dad earlier?" he asked, "They are friends, not my family. My friend Hermione and her dad, Dr. Granger. Dr. Granger is a Dentist and he had to go to work, so they weren't able to stay."

Gemma took his hand and spelled, "D-A-D" space "M-U-G-G-L-E?".

Harry was a bit taken back by this and it must have shown on his face. She hastily wrote, "M-I-N-E" space "T-O-O."

"Oh, yes. Hermione is muggle-born, too." Harry was relieved.

As Gemma was explaining "M-U-M" space "W-I-T-... ," on his palm, someone across the table snorted. Harry reflexively looked toward the noise. He felt Gemma pause as she was writing and then finish with "C-H." He decided to ignore the snort.

"Oh, I was raised by Muggles, but my parents were wixen," Harry explained.

"W-E-R-E? W-I-X-E-N?" Gemma asked.

"Yes, they died. And wixen means Witch or Wizard or both," Harry answered.

Gemma squeezed his arm. "W-H-Y" space "Y-O-U-R" space "F-A-M-I-L-Y" space "N-O-T" space "C-O-M-E?"

Harry deflated a bit and Gemma squeezed his arm. Someone across the table was muttering something that Harry was trying hard to ignore. He wished he knew who was sitting across from them and also wished that they weren't listening in on their conversation.

He sighed.

"My aunt, uncle, and cousin weren't able to come," he said as quietly as he could, not really wanting to get into it with strangers eavesdropping.

Apparently, Mrs. Boot was also actively following the conversation, because she leaned over Gemma and patted his knee (knocking Gemma against him in the process—he realized that Gemma was even more petite than he had originally guessed) and said, "Well, dear, that's too bad. It's good that Gemma took you under her wing. She's always collecting waifs."

Harry heard Gemma blow out an exasperated breath.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Gemmie—you are. You have a heart of gold." Mrs. Boot's voice sounded a bit weepy and Gemma leaned away from Harry. He thought she might be hugging her mom.

Harry took issue with being described as a waif. Though, now that he thought about it, he probably was looking pretty waifish—in Dudley's baggy hand-me-downs, bruises on his face, who knows what his hair looked like (he resisted the urge to try to flatten it), and then there was the weight he lost during the month with the Dursleys.

"I sure wish lunch would be served. I'm so hungry," he thought.

He actually felt a little lightheaded.

"It's good I nibbled on that sandwich with Hedwig."

"I wonder when lunch will be served," Harry said aloud to Gemma. He kept feeling the table to see if platters of food had magically appeared as they did at Hogwarts, even though he knew he'd smell it and hear it first.

She tapped his arm with her fingers.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"F-O-O-D" space "H-E-R-E," she spelled into his palm.