Chapter: 10
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If he could distill the whole of his summer to this, Harry thought, it could possibly be the best summer he d ever had.
Harry was lying on his back on the floor of Hermione s bedroom. His fingers were interlaced behind his head, his ankles crossed he lay as one might outdoors under a pale sky soaking up the sun. He just happened to be in his best friend s room. Hermione was sitting Indian-style atop her pink bedspread, sorting through muggle mail that had come for her while she was at Hogwarts but that hadn t been important enough to forward on by owl. The house was astoundingly quiet; Hermione s parents had both left for work that morning. Harry wasn t used to such peaceful stillness. Aunt Petunia didn t work so she was always at the house on Privet Drive, and usually when Harry was there Dudley was, too, and peace and quiet would run screaming bloody murder at the sight of Dudley Dursley. Throw in Uncle Vernon s thundering, blustering presence and Harry lived in a veritable cacophony of ugly noise, a din he was so accustomed to that he d never noticed the anarchy of sound. Then, at Hogwarts, there were always other students in the same classroom, in the same dorm, at the same table at meals, even communal loos. There was no true solitude. Even at the Weasley home it was like a family-size train station of activity, enjoyable but still busy. When Jake and Miranda left that morning and it was just Harry and Hermione an enormous silence fell over the house.
Harry didn t know it could be that quiet without it also being a bad sign. In Harry s experience, it got very, very quiet before really bad things happened, but that wasn t the quality of this silence. It was like the house dozed off when the owners left, content and secure, and Harry thought it very much like a breath of fresh air he d never known he wanted, didn t suspect could exist. There was also a kind of release of an underlying knot of tension when Jake and Miranda were gone. He felt calmer, better able to breathe, to relax, to finally stop worrying what he might do wrong. It was just him and Hermione and that was what he d been longing for since King s Cross.
Hermione had mentioned her mail and Harry had just tagged along without asking. Hermione didn t question him following her around the house, right into her bedroom. While Hermione gathered her stack of letters and crawled up on to her bed Harry had wandered around her room, taking it in with his eyes and occasional questing fingertips. The room was very Hermione. A queen-sized bed with a fluffy pink comforter took up the lion s share of the room. Her walls were lined with shelves that had been put up to accommodate the rows of books. Not a surprise in the least. She had a desk with parchment, quills, and stacked books on it. It looked as though she d last studied on it yesterday rather than before the beginning of term. Harry had stopped at the only aesthetic adornment in the room, a painting on the wall of a commanding, bearded man and a young, beautiful brown-haired woman in a dark forest. The woman huddled close to the older man s side, as though sheltering in the brace of his form. The artistry was very elegant and detailed, clearly lovingly rendered. It looked like an art museum piece, or maybe like one of the portraits in Hogwarts just waiting to begin moving. It also looked as though it meant something more than just a nameless man and nameless woman. It had made him look to Hermione in question. It s Prospero and Miranda from The Tempest, Hermione said then smiled to herself in private amusement. It used to be my mother s, her father s before that. Suppose you could call it an heirloom.
Harry supposed the duck of her head suggested a painting for an heirloom should have been silly, but it seemed perfectly suitable to him. Without so much as a flick of the eyes to pass judgment on her family treasure, Harry left the painting and stretched out on the floor much as he d lain beneath the tree beside the BlackLake at Hogwarts.
He d been lying there for half an hour in complete silence. Hermione went through her mail on the bed, unrushed and methodical. Harry listened to the sound of tearing envelopes, folding papers, smoothed creases, sorted piles. It was oddly hypnotic and soothing. He started at the ceiling, perfectly happy to lie on her floor all day while she settled back into her home life.
You want me to move over? Hermione asked after what seemed a timeless content in Harry s half-focused mind. He blinked and looked up and over at her. Huh?
Hermione was looking down at him from the bed. I asked if you wanted me to move over so you can lie out on the bed? It just looks like I m about to bore you to sleep. A very faint, slightly apologetic smile touched her mouth.
Harry didn t move a muscle to get up. You re not. This is nice.
Lying on there while I read mail? Oh, Harry, you don t expect me to believe that, do you? We can do something else if you want. Hermione put her letters down in a show of willingness.
Harry resolutely refused to move. How was he supposed to tell her that this was probably the best first day of summer of his young life? That if he were at Privet Drive he d be doing chores enough to make a house elf cry mistreatment or that he d be forced to endure not-so-mock boxing matches with Dudley where he d be punished if he made a showing for himself? She didn t need to hear that any more than he wanted to say it.
Where are all your pictures of Ron? Harry asked.
Hermione froze a moment. What?
Harry, without getting up, turned his head toward the bureau to the other side of him. There were three framed wizard pictures that had caught his eye on his first investigative circuit of the room. One was of him and Hedwig first year sitting together on a hilltop, boy and owl appearing almost equal in size considering how small Harry had been then. Harry had no idea anyone had been present with a camera when it was taken, but there was no mistaking himself and Hedwig, that mop of wild black hair and the pristine white feathers were dead giveaways. It was the way he d spent time alone with Hedwig at Hogwarts on countless occasions, the relaxed posture of both boy and bird in the photo seemingly seeking counsel and wisdom from one another in long conversations that never contained a single word. As sunlight glinted through breaks in the clouds beyond the two figures, little Harry would periodically reach out and stroke Hedwig s back.
Another was a picture of the common room during a party celebrating a Gryffindor Quidditch win last year. Harry was prominently featured in the image, still decked in his Quidditch robes and looking a bit worse for wear, grass-stained, bruised, and hair messier than usual, but he was grinning like a fool, his expression slightly punch-drunk (which made sense, after a good game Harry felt a little high from the rush of it all). He still held the snitch in his hand, the golden wings beating between his fingers for escape. Oliver Wood was hoisting bootlegged butterbeer in the background while Fred and George made wild gesticulations, clearly recreating some fantastic bludger hits. Angelina was standing on the arm of the couch with broom in hand, as though seriously giving thought to hopping on and doing a victory lap around the common room in defiance of all school rules.
The third was a new addition, a picture from fourth year. It was himself and Hermione at the Yule Ball. They were standing together on the staircase, Harry looking quite more dashing in his dress robes if he did say so himself (considering he felt like one of McGonagall s baboons) than he d thought at the time, and Hermione looking just as breathtakingly lovely as she had the first moment he saw her descend the steps. Harry remembered when that picture was taken all too well. After the mortifying first dance when he d felt like crawling under a table to avoid the attention directed on him, the dance floor had filled up and Harry had managed to escape to the outskirts. Parvati hadn t been thrilled with her disappearing date but Harry hadn t intended to dance any more than absolutely necessary. Except Hermione hadn t allowed him to get away with it. She d begged pardon from Viktor for a song, dragged Harry on to the floor, and pretty well ordered him to dance and have a good time. And for that one dance with Hermione, he had. There wasn t a gut-tightening pressure to not be a fool with Hermione when he stumbled or found himself counting under his breath Hermione just laughed and gave him these strange mini-hugs placing her cheek to his, tugging faintly on his shoulders, then stepping back and smiling encouragement. The picture was taken after that one fun dance with Hermione. They d run out to the corridor nearly fit to burst with laughter Harry had been so intent on the steps that he d steered them both into several couples and by some strange alignment of chance had maneuvered themselves between Dumbledore and McGonagall who d been dancing together. How they d managed that Harry still had no idea. Dumbledore had smiled and exclaimed, Why, Harry, I d be delighted to change partners, but really, one should ask to cut in before doing so. With anyone but Hermione he would have been utterly humiliated, but Hermione had adapted the cheek-to-cheek hug, threw in an arm around his neck, and suddenly the light laughter in his ear had made him burst into laughter, too. When they d started drawing queer looks they d rushed out to the corridor in stitches. That s when a voice had called their names, they d turned, and caught a flash of Colin Creevey and his ever-ready camera.
Harry hadn t known Hermione got that picture from Colin until he saw it on her bureau. While at the time he and Hermione had merely been standing next to each other on the steps, in the photo their doppelgangers took it upon themselves to pose. Hermione moved into Harry s side, draped her arm around his neck, and dropped her head to his shoulder, while Harry s arm came up and wrapped around her waist. Harry lifted an eyebrow at their likenesses for their shameless openness. They were both smiling brightly and looking like they were having a very good time. The laughter from seconds before the camera flashed was still in their faces. It was before that ugly fight between Ron and Hermione (how very typical) that had left Hermione at the end of the evening in tears.
Harry looked at the picture now and marveled at the pair of them. They looked so happy so He wouldn t think good together because he believed he shouldn t, but they weren t a poorly matched couple. They didn t look like awkward counterparts, which was more than he could say for him and Parvati or even Hermione and Krum. Ron had a point, the Bulgarian brute was a bit of a pumpkin-head.
It took a moment of looking for Harry to notice that Ron wasn t in the pictures on Hermione s bureau; he wasn t even in the background of the Gryffindor celebration.
Harry looked back at Hermione and said again, You haven t any pictures of Ron.
Hermione looked up at her pictures, seemed to only then see them and that Harry was right, then she tensed. Oh. A blush colored her cheeks.
Harry was suddenly more interested in her answer than he d been when he asked the question.
Hermione shifted and waved an overly-dismissive hand. Well, you know, he takes rotten pictures. Seems he s always making some face.
Harry smiled. She was right. Best way to describe Ron in photographs would be an Irish Setter puppy just untangled from a self-made disaster and giving a look that said quite a mess, this is. What s one to do? Well, yeah, I suppose you re right, but that s Ron.
Hermione fiddled with the corner of a letter. Yes, well and whatever she meant to say just fell away into nothing.
Harry watched her intently. There was something there, something he should catch, something he should suddenly, miraculously understand, but he couldn t figure it out.
Hermione sighed and the instant was gone.
He d have to try and catch it later he could only hope it gave a gold glint for him to grab when it made another pass.
Why have the one of me and Hedwig? he found himself asking, at first to redirect the conversation. Only once he said it did it have a form that truly puzzled him. Something sad about that picture, I think. Maybe it was the expanse of the Hogwarts grounds in the background, or the cloudy sky, or maybe the fact that in that picture his eleven-year-old self and a single owl were the only signs of life.
I know, Hermione said slowly. She looked down at Harry, studied him a moment, then looked up toward the picture in question. She frowned thoughtfully. I guess it was the first time I d seen someone else as alone as me. Would it be terrible of me to admit that it made me feel better?
Harry could never believe anything Hermione felt was fundamentally wrong. No. He understood that in all its trappings without a single misgiving. He d spent his entire life before Hogwarts not knowing what it meant to have a friend. He knew Hermione had come to Hogwarts much the same in that respect. He d intellectually known it, but he d never given pause to feel on it before. It set an ache in his chest to think Hermione had ever felt the kind of loneliness he used to accept as normal for him. She was better than that kind of dark emotion.
Well, won t ever be a concern for either of us again, will it? he said with determination as he sat up on the floor and faced her. He couldn t let himself think of Hermione feeling like that ever again.
Hermione looked up at him and smiled. No, it won t.
They stared silently at one another a moment, and may have spent a good while longer doing it, but were interrupted when Hermione s bedroom door opened and Kimmy came in. In addition to her boxer short overalls (this time sporting moving hippogriffs), she also wore a pair of stars-spangled shorts on her head, the tips of her ears poking out either leg hole and looking like some kind of silly chef s hat.
Hermione bit her lip to stop from laughing.
Harry hoped his grin would be taken as one of greeting and not the prelude to a laugh. Hi, Kimmy.
Hellos, Mister Potter and Miss Granger. Is all well? No mischief? she looked between Harry and Hermione openly.
Mischief? No, why do you ask? Have you been talking to Professor McGonagall? Harry asked.
Hermione let loose the laugh in her chest; Harry knew it was in large part for Kimmy s boxer hat.
Kimmy sat down on the floor like Harry and answered, When Masters Albus and Aberforth were young and quiet it usually meant mischief. You twos were very quiet in here for a long time. But I see nothing afoot. Mister Potter and Miss Granger are better behaved than Masters Albus and Aberforth, then!
Hermione turned to putting away her read letters. I suppose it would be a betrayal to the headmaster to ask what exactly that means?
Kimmy smiled serenely at Hermione. Most certainly, but it s regrettable I cannot say. Some very good times had we three so very long ago.
Hermione looked only a little disappointed that they wouldn t hear of the adventures of young Albus Dumbledore. You re a good elf, Kimmy.
Kimmy only nodded in secret amusement at those untold memories dancing behind her eyes.
Harry rose from the floor. Shall I make us lunch?
Oh, you don t have to do that, Harry. Just give me a few minutes to finish up here and I ll scrounge us up something, or we could even order out.
I could do lunch! Kimmy leapt up eagerly and raised her hand as if to snap a small feast into existence that very second.
Harry waved them both off. No, really, I d rather do it. Harry smiled at Hermione with strange pride in his voice. You wouldn t know it, but I m rather good in the kitchen. Harry s smile barely slipped. That was one thing the Dursleys made sure I learned. He shook off the gloom of his aunt and uncle. Come on, let me impress you, Hermione.
Oh, impressive, are you? Hermione teased.
Harry just continued to smile cheekily.
Hermione chuckled and gave in. Okay, but don t go to too much trouble, you re a guest here, you know. And it s summer holiday. It s just not proper.
Nothing extravagant, I promise.
Oh, but do let Kimmy help! Kimmy pleaded. Harry began to think the house elf was probably just as out-of-sorts with so little to do that he was. His summers were usually more like a labor camp. It felt weird to just lie back all day and relax without a Snape-essay length list of chores to be finished.
Sure, Kimmy, truth be told I may know my way around a kitchen, but not this kitchen. I could use some help finding everything I need.
Hermione moved to rise from the bed, Oh, I could-
Sit. Stay. Kimmy and I will take care of it. Harry bade Kimmy follow him and left Hermione in her room to finish her mail. He was actually looking forward to cooking for Hermione. She didn t know he was good at this, and it felt so very infrequent that he was able to boast a talent outside of Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts. It seemed ever rarer that he was actually better at something than Hermione, the witch who seemed to have no limits to her abilities.
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Chapter: 11
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When Miranda came home for lunch she heard music coming from the kitchen. Curious, she followed the sound and stopped at the sight before her.
The kitchen was in full use, an almost unprecedented sight if Miranda herself wasn t the one using it. Ingredients, bowls, and utensils littered the countertops. The music was coming from the radio tuned into a station Miranda had never heard before (and soon understood why when lines like come fly on my broom with me warbled from the speakers), lending comfortable ambiance to the room. Kimmy the house elf was sitting on the countertop across from the stove, her bare legs swinging as she hummed with the music. Her boxer shorts hat took Miranda aback a second, but nothing could compare to the mental start when she spotted Harry. The boy was tending the stove-top and a saucer from which a truly delicious smell was rising. He was stirring and adding spices with practiced ease. He, too, wore a pair of boxer shorts on his head, blue and white stripped.
Miranda wasn t sure if she should laugh, gape, or just turn around and sort out the strange universe that had taken over her kitchen in a safe, quiet place.
Missus Granger! Kimmy greeted congenially when the house elf spotted her.
Harry jumped and whirled, spoon in hand and dripping on to the floor while Harry looked at her, wide-eyed.
Missus Granger! Harry gulped and hastily tore the boxers off his head with a blush. Err hi.
Miranda stepped into the kitchen. Hello, Harry. What s all this?
Harry cleared his throat and tossed the boxers in his hand to Kimmy. Oh, uh, I was just making me and Hermione lunch. Um would you like some? It s nearly done.
You cook? Miranda couldn t help the note of astonishment in her voice as she moved over to the stove as if drawn by the aroma.
Yeah.
Miranda peered down into the saucer and her mouth did start to water. Is that vegetable soup? She looked around the kitchen at the scattered items and understanding dawned. And did you make that from scratch?
Harry shifted on his feet. Um yeah. I don t get to make it much, my uncle usually demands heftier dishes, so it might not be the best seeing as it s been so long since I made it last. I m sorry for using your things without asking, I was going to have Kimmy replace what I used, and I was going to clean it all up and have everything back where it belonged before you got home.
Miranda peered closely at Harry from their close stance over the pot of soup. The tone of his voice and the rushed assurances and apologies, one after another, gave her suspicious pause. Don t worry about that, Harry. It s fine. To be honest, I m just surprised. Do you have any idea what Jake s idea of cooking is? Or Hermione s? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are the best either of them can manage in the kitchen. This looks absolutely delicious. Yes, I would love to have some.
Harry smiled in relief. Miranda stopped when she realized that, when he smiled, when he wasn t tense or withdrawn or hesitant, he was actually quite a handsome boy.
Why don t I set the table Miranda turned toward the dining room to see that the places were already set. And someone had not only meticulously set two places, already prepared drinks, and set out some sliced Italian bread on a cutting board, but had also placed a vase with fresh flowers in the center. As she looked on, the short-statured house elf was scurrying with a third place mat, bowl, and spoon to set a place for Miranda.
Oh, um, Kimmy s already seen to the table, Harry said unnecessarily.
Oh, well, guess I ll just go tell Hermione before Miranda could finish her sentence, Kimmy, finished setting Miranda s place, dashed through the kitchen, into the hall, and her feet slapping bare-footed on the floor marked her progression toward Hermione s bedroom.
Harry smirked. Maybe you should go ahead and sit down?
Miranda shook her head in wonder and smiled. Oh, dear, I fear I could get used to this.
Harry tended to the last of the soup preparations when Hermione came in following Kimmy. Hi, Mum. Harry! This smells great!
Don t pass judgment until you ve tried it, he retorted, but there was a definite pleased tone in his voice as he carried the pot to the table and ladled out portions into each waiting bowl. Hermione looked around the table, frowned in thought, then got up and fetched a fourth bowl that Harry unquestioningly filled. With only a little coaxing they talked Kimmy into joining them at the table.
The soup tasted just as delicious as it had smelled. Conversation at the table was light and casual, and Miranda was certain she was a third (or technically fourth) wheel as the only non-magical person present and unable to participate in the bulk of their talk, but it was all in all a pleasant lunch. Harry certainly seemed more relaxed than he had all day yesterday; perhaps he d just needed some time to adjust to the Granger house. Hermione was glowing; she kept complimenting Harry on his cooking, enough that the boy started to blush and beg off the constant praise. Miranda couldn t help but throw in her own compliments to the chef. Kimmy slurped her soup and tracked her eyes mildly between those present at the table.
When they were finished Harry automatically stood and began to clear the table.
And what do you think you re doing, young man? Miranda playfully scolded.
Apparently the playful didn t come across as clearly as she d intended, because Harry froze with two empty bowls in his hands. Uh the dishes? he answered warily.
Miranda, refusing to address the way Harry had tensed, stood. Nonsense. Leave those, I ll tend to them when I get home this evening.
Harry seemed torn between wanting to do as told and doing what came second nature. I don t mind, really.
After all the trouble you went to to make lunch, I insist, Miranda said with an overt smile to try and soften the reaction she kept receiving.
But it s a mess! Harry yelped, then went immediately quiet and cast his eyes about the kitchen in something almost approaching desperate despair. It was a mess, but not a disaster by any standards.
It s okay, Harry, Hermione said, and Miranda looked at once toward her daughter. There was a placating, heavy, wise weight to her words. She nodded at Harry meaningfully. You don t have to.
Harry fidgeted and looked down at the bowls in his hands helplessly.
Hermione rose and gathered up the two remaining bowls. I ll do the dishes, I ought to since you were in here making this wonderful meal while I was lying about in my room reading letters, being a right layabout. I wouldn t mind your help, though.
Harry seemed to sag in relief. Okay.
Kimmy will help! Kimmy exclaimed jovially and jumped from the chair. Harry and Hermione went to the sink together and stood, shoulder to shoulder, to tend to the dishes while Miranda left to use to loo.
On her way back to pick up her things and head out she stopped outside the kitchen and looked inside. Things were moving through the air of their own accord, returning to cabinets and the refrigerator as Kimmy put away the unused ingredients. The house elf appeared merry to be absorbed in the house-keeping chore and seem to pay no mind to the two teenagers at the sink. Harry and Hermione were setting aside the bowls and spoons on a drying rack. When Harry reached across Hermione to add the bread knife Hermione caught his forearm. They both stilled. After a second Hermione said softly, It looks like it s going to leave a scar when it s all healed up.
Harry shrugged. Well, what s one more?
Hermione released Harry s arm and the two parted to wipe down the counters in silence.
Miranda frowned to herself then slipped out of the house unnoticed.
Can I say it now? You were right.
Harry turned to Hermione with a querulous look on his face. Miranda had left barely half an hour ago to return to work. Harry and Hermione once again were alone in the house. Kimmy had since retreated to her closet quarters after putting away the last of the items left strewn on the counters. Once more that painfully blissful peace had consumed the house. Harry was scared he could grow very attached to this state of being and that he could fall prey to missing it terribly when his life took another ominous turn. And it would; he had come to accept that his life always turned south.
He had just been putting the last of the vegetable soup leftovers in the fridge when Hermione had blurted her apparent non-sequitur. Harry studied her a moment, thinking he might figure out her meaning. After a second he gave up. Right about what?
Hermione slowly smiled at him. You are impressive.
Oh, Harry blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. Just well trained, really. But it s a sight better to be cooking for you and your mum than the Dursleys.
Hermione s playful, happy expression fell at the mention of Harry s family. She scowled and sighed in annoyance. Though he hated it when people pitied him or felt sorry for him, a small part of Harry liked how riled Hermione got over the Dursleys. She took his treatment at their hands as a personal insult to her, and somehow that made Harry feel safer. Perhaps because he knew Hermione, and that she was a person predisposed to passion. Because he knew that if ever the Dursleys went too far, if ever they committed some grossly unforgivable wrong in her eyes against him, a blindly faithful and trusting part of Harry believed nothing would hold Hermione back from tearing his horrible aunt and uncle apart. Figuratively, of course. He could endure more than most from them if he kept in the back of his mind that he was taking the high road, showing them mercy they didn t deserve by bearing it, because if he really wanted to it would be nothing for him to unleash an unstoppable force against them. Unstoppable was a good way to describe Hermione. It was the same sense he got from his godfather, Sirius. Knowledge that he was no longer truly alone or defenseless, because at a word, a cry, a single gesture, and no power on this earth could protect Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley from suffering for every abuse they d ever heaped on Harry.
Harry started from his own thoughts when he noticed Hermione was shaking. He took an immediate step closer. Hermione? What s wrong?
Hermione s jaw was clenched tightly. He hadn t seen her that angry since she slugged Malfoy in the nose. How can you cook so well and yet come back from summer term every year nearly a stone lighter? Why need to put back on weight lost if you can do this? Hermione s trembling, furious voice was proof that she knew the answer already.
Because they don t let me eat it, Harry answered anyway.
Hermione s eyes glistened with furious tears. She seethed, her fists clenched, her lips pinched against fury. She was still trembling. Harry knew if it were him, he would have already lost control of his magic. Someone would have blown up or something would have broken.
I hate them, Hermione hissed hissed so lowly and menacingly that Harry wondered if he d heard it as parseltongue.
Hermione took a breath. I absolutely hate them, Harry. Sometimes I m not sure who I hate more Voldemort or the Dursleys.
Until she said it, he might have said it himself. Hearing it come from her, however, seemed to put his own feeling in a new perspective. And after the graveyard, he could never rank the Dursleys and Voldemort together. They re not worth it, Hermione. They re dreadful people, but I won t have to live with them forever. Believe me, when I m of age, I m out of there and I won t look back. They won t be sorry to see me go, either. Just a few years more, assuming I Harry stopped mid-sentence. He somehow felt he shouldn t speak so much of his mind, not what he d almost said, at least.
Assuming? Hermione pressed.
Harry cringed. Assuming I live that long.
Hermione s eyes widened then she launched herself at him. He ended up on the receiving end of a vice-like hug. She gripped him as though one or both were physically falling. What surprised him most was how tightly he held her in return.
Don t say that! You are not going to die! she said huskily against his shoulder.
He wanted to argue that she couldn t know that, couldn t promise he wouldn t, but he couldn t bring himself to do it to her. She knew it all already, anyway.
It seemed they stood in the middle of the kitchen locked in an embrace forever. With no one to interrupt them, nothing to mark the minutes, there was nothing to make them move apart. As though to be like this, holding on tightly, was the natural state and it would require a force of nature to separate them. The only change across the dragging minutes was that the painful, desperate grip they both maintained loosened, became tender and soft, and they stood there a long time just wrapped together. Hermione s head on his shoulder, his face half-buried in her bushy hair, it began to seem they d always been that way, would always be that way.
Considering everything, Harry ardently wished it could always be that way. With a sigh of resignation when he acknowledged it couldn t be, he turned his head and further burrowed his face into the thick comfort of Hermione s hair.
Harry? Hermione said faintly, her voice still muffled against his shirt. She turned her head slightly and her breath washed against the skin of his neck.
Harry shivered. Yeah?
Hermione didn t lift her head as she said, each word a new warm rush on his throat, Do me a favor? After you defeat Voldemort, when you leave the Dursleys once and for all let me be there, and let me tell them off.
Harry didn t linger on the fact that Hermione seemed to believe, as he secretly did, that it would be before the end of Hogwarts when the final showdown with Voldemort happened. That he would not escape facing Voldemort again, and that somehow it was left to him, an underage wizard, to stop a dark wizard that no one else so far had been able to. It seemed inescapable, Harry s cruel fate. Instead he focused only on that fire in Hermione that made her forever and always his champion. He squeezed her and let that hug tell her everything he didn t know how to put into words. I promise; I look forward to seeing that.
Hermione laughed and nuzzled his neck with her nose. That stomach-flip returned with a vengeance and Harry pulled away. Hermione stepped back and wiped at her face; he hadn t even realized her tears of fury had actually fallen.
Well, um what would you like to do now? Hermione asked.
He shrugged. Dunno. What do you want to do?
Hermione bit her lip, as though reluctant to truthfully answer.
Well, what would you normally do if I weren t here?
Hermione looked away, insecurity crept into her features, and she answered meekly. Homework. She wouldn t meet his eyes, for some reason brought down a notch by the confession. Then Harry remembered what Ron had said when he heard about Harry going home to the Grangers for the summer. Won t be as much fun as the Burrow, I m sure it ll be lots of books and you ll probably be made to do homework. He saw how the crestfallen look on Hermione s face now was very similar to the wounded look that had etched into the lines of her face at Ron s thoughtless comment. Not that Ron and noticed what he d done. She was afraid she was only proving Ron right, ruining Harry s summer with her bookworm ways, falling short just for being who she was. Ron s unwittingly callous words were hurting Hermione even now.
Harry decided he d have to have a talk with Ron. This certainly wasn t the first time in his years of bickering and fighting with Hermione that he d hit home and hurt her feelings. That wasn t right, they were supposed to be friends.
Nor was it right now how Hermione looked smaller, weaker, as she waited for Harry to take Ron s side.
He wouldn t; he hadn t when Ron said it at Hogwarts. He didn t find homework necessarily vile or repugnant. He only really despised it when it cut into Quidditch practice time, or when it was from Snape. In fact, during summer it was something of a retreat for him when his aunt and uncle would forbid even the mention of magic, but in a textbook he could remember what he had to go back to when term began. Then, he regarded it as a promise, a reminder, a light to cling to as he endured his home life. Granted he didn t enjoy homework, but it certainly wasn t the dastardly chore Ron believed it was. And if it was with Hermione well, homework with her had always been more bearable. If Ron had just shut his mouth now and then during their group study sessions in the library and the common room he might have taken note of the same humor and life in Hermione while bent over a book that Harry had noticed. Hermione had such a passion for learning, and even if Harry didn t share it or understand it, that didn t mean it couldn t appreciate the way it lit Hermione from the inside out. She was in her element between the pages of a book, and it was strangely beautiful to see her right where she belonged as if born to it. He wondered if he looked as right on a broom.
We can do homework if you want, Harry said simply.
Hermione flinched. No, no, we don t have to.
Ignore Ron. He surprised himself with the harsh edges to his tone. Apparently it startled Hermione, too. For a second she looked stricken to be caught out agonizing over what Ron had carelessly said. Harry shrugged it off and said, He s a prat sometimes, you know that. I don t mind if we do homework; we ll have to eventually anyway, right? Besides, when end of holiday comes round Ron will be wishing he had you to do homework with.
Hermione smiled and studied him for a moment. If she was looking for insincerity in his face, she d have to look a very long time. Finally, she took him at his word. She nodded and the first flicker of that light of academia glinted in her brown eyes. Right then, well, want to gather your things and I ll meet you in the library? I bet we could completely finish with transfiguration by dinnertime.
Right.
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Chapter: 12
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A/N: There might be a longer interval between this chapter and the next; Sierra and I will be out of town at a Renaissance Faire :)
A routine established itself for the first week of Harry s stay at the Grangers. In the morning Harry and Hermione awoke usually just in time to bid Jake and Miranda farewell when they left for work. Hermione almost made it a point to be up in the morning to say goodbye to her parents, such that Harry thought it was the expected behavior at the Granger household. On Thursday morning he d woken later than the previous days; he looked at the clock and realized he was about to miss the departure. Frantic, he d leapt out of bed and run through the hall just in time to catch Jake and Miranda heading out the door, giving Hermione their standard call if you need anything, be good, see you later, sweetheart farewell. Harry, still bleary-eyed because he d hurried out of his bedroom without grabbing his glasses, had apologized profusely for nearly missing the send off and assured them that it wouldn t happen again. Jake, Miranda, and Hermione had all looked at him a moment before Miranda told him Harry, dear, you don t have to say goodbye to us when we leave for work. It s summer holiday for you; you may sleep until dinner time if it strikes your fancy. With a flush of embarrassment and even more apologies Harry had learned another lesson about the Grangers they had routines and habits, but weren t inflexible. After that, Harry didn t feel so bad about sleeping through Jake and Miranda s departure on Friday.
After a lazy breakfast that typically involved either cereal, muffins, or toast and jam, Harry and Hermione usually talked. Nothing more than mere talk. Those were the hours Harry found he enjoyed the most. They sat together, either in one of their rooms or on the living room couch or sometimes in the backyard by the pool. They talked about topics they d never had cause to broach before. Simple, every-day things that had nothing to do with school or evil wizards. Harry learned things about Hermione he d never known, and it was astounding because he d always thought he knew Hermione very well. They talked about first discovering they had magical powers; Harry learned that five-year-old Hermione had caused the entire contents of a bookshelf to end up on the floor in an untrained, unintentional attempt to reach her favorite children s book. Her parents, in a panic, had taken her to a doctor, who d recommended them to a specialist, who consulted his colleagues, one of whom was a squib and approached the Grangers and told them the cause for little Hermione s strange accidents. Harry found out Hermione s favorite flavor of ice cream was mint chocolate chip. Some day she wanted to visit Salem, Massachusetts, in the United States and troll through the libraries for authentic documents of the witch trials. Despite her assertions to the contrary, she actually knew a lot about Quidditch and that she knew so much because of Harry s involvement and her desire to understand the sport he loved so much. She had a recurring dream about being the last person on earth. As a little girl she fought to the point of tears trying to braid her hair down so it wasn t a bushy, wild mop. Her favorite part of Christmas was the lights on the tree. Little things. So many little things completely apart from school that Harry found most fascinating about her, when he d thought she was quite possibly the most interesting person already. He tried to reciprocate, tell Hermione as much about himself as she d told him about her, but there was no way to barter fairly. The person he started with wasn t as rich as Hermione, he didn t have as much to give, his life was flat and pale by comparison. What wasn t a void was more than likely painful. Even still, she always listened intently, smiled and seemed to appreciate the pathetic little he could give. She seemed to enjoy their talks when it was his turn to share, maybe even half as much as Harry enjoyed listening to her.
Around lunchtime they would go inside and Harry would make lunch. It was always ready by the time Miranda got home. The Granger women became quite enamored of Harry s culinary skills; Miranda seemed to warm considerably toward him with each lunch spent with the children. It became a jest that Harry was going to put the pounds on the Granger girls before the summer was through. Harry found he enjoyed the task more than he ever had or ever thought he would with such openly appreciative recipients. He honestly liked pleasing them, especially Hermione. They d both insist he didn t have to go to the trouble for them, honestly tried to convince him to stop making them lunch every day, but he kept on because he liked doing something willingly for people he cared about. It was worlds different from being forced to do it by and for people he hated. When Hermione and Miranda both seemed to figure that out they stopped trying to discourage him; they only showed their appreciation even more.
After Miranda left to return to work Harry and Hermione would retire to the library to do homework. They made incredible progress on the list of assignments handed out for the summer holiday, completing tasks far faster than Harry ever would have trying to get them done at Privet Drive. They were averaging a class an evening. Potions took two evenings. When Jake and Miranda returned from work they put their homework aside and sat in the living room with Jake listening to the stories of the day while Miranda cooked dinner. Half of the time, Harry, still somewhat nervous around Jake and far more comfortable with Miranda (perhaps because of their daily lunches together), would retreat to the kitchen and help Miranda and Kimmy. When Miranda discovered Kimmy was quite the chef herself she accepted the house elf s help with dinner (much to Kimmy s delight). They all ate dinner together, Harry and Hermione cleared the table and did the dishes, and after that it was a free-for-all before bedtime with no pre-determined activity to fill up their evening hours. Sometimes they watched the telly with Jake and Miranda, sometimes they finished up some last bit of homework left over from that afternoon, sometimes they went to their separate bedrooms and whiled away the time before bed with their own activities. It was all so very normal.
It was, without contest, the best summer of Harry s life. More than once he wondered if, somehow, the year previous had been his toll to have this summer. He fought against the idea of thinking it was worth it, because Cedric deserved better.
Hermione woke on Saturday morning to Crookshanks flicking his tail under her nose. She blindly swatted at it and tried to roll over and go back to sleep. Crookshanks crawled lightly over her and tickled her lips with his whiskers.
Crukshnks, Hermione grumbled and finally cracked her eyes open to peer at her familiar. The cat sat primly on her bedspread and looked at her, tail twitching at the tip. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned. It was because of her cat that she unerringly woke every morning in time to bid farewell to her parents before they left for work. Because after they left Hermione fed her cat. Hermione didn t mind that he got her up early, she liked being able to wish her parents a good day, but he insisted on waking her just as early on Saturday and Sunday when her parents were off.
Hermione rolled on to her back and sighed, eyes closing softly. She entertained some notion of going back to sleep and just hoped Crookshanks wouldn t notice.
A sudden weight on her stomach when the cat leapt on to her dashed that hope.
A right, all right, I m getting up, Hermione grumbled and rolled the cat off as she rose to get out of bed. Crookshanks dropped to the floor, cast her a look of I know you did that on purpose but went to the door and waited expectantly on Hermione to tie back her hair in a messy ponytail. She opened the door and Crookshanks padded down the hall in front of her, bushy tail a signpost to follow all the way to the kitchen just in case she forget where she was supposed to be going.
When she shuffled bare-foot into the kitchen she saw her parents already up. Miranda was sitting at the table reading the newspaper while Jake was at the counter fixing coffee. Hermione yawned again, scratched at one of her flannel pajama-clad legs, then moved further into the room.
Good morning, Hermione, Jake said and glanced with a smirk at Crookshanks who jumped on to the counter and shifted his feet impatiently. He doesn t quite grasp weekends, does he?
Hermione snorted. He does, he just wants his breakfast on time.
Jake went to the table and joined his wife, stealing the sports section of the newspaper, while Hermione poured a scoop of cat food into a ceramic dish and set it on the counter for Crookshanks. The cat hunkered down and happily began to eat. Hermione went to the refrigerator and removed a carton of orange juice.
Do you and Harry have any plans today? Miranda asked. Her voice sounded purposeful rather than casual and it made Hermione turn to her mother with a glass in one hand and the juice in the other. No, why?
Miranda s mouth twitched uncomfortably and she ran her hands over the newspaper section before her as though to inject a nonchalant manner to her words. Well, I just thought maybe he might like to go into town and we could go shopping? She looked at Hermione with a careful smile, I noticed most of his clothes are a bit well tatty.
Jake harrumphed into his mug, lowered it, and commented after a swallow, Tent-like, too, as long as we re on the subject.
Miranda cast Jake a slightly reproving, behave yourself look. Hermione had set her glass and the carton on the countertop next to Crookshanks (who looked up, annoyed, and shifted aside before continuing to eat). She sighed and hoped she wasn t betraying Harry in any way as she said, Well, most of his clothes are cast-offs from his cousin, Dudley, who s about a hundred pounds heavier than Harry is.
Miranda frowned unhappily but didn t pursue that detail further. Do you think he d like to get some new ones? If it s a matter of money, you know, we could pay for them.
Hermione s eyes cut to her father. It was obvious that Miranda had grown fond of Harry, and that Harry had become increasingly more at ease with her as well, but Jake and Harry still had a way to go before they were likewise comfortable together. They were cordial, friendly, there wasn t any hostility of any kind, but it was still mostly being polite. They didn t know each other well enough to feel as relaxed together. Hermione could only think it was the time alone with herself and Miranda during lunch that had brought her best friend and mother closer quicker.
For that reason, she didn t question her mother s offer, but wasn t sure how her father would take to the idea of clothing Harry.
Jake, however, had wisely chosen not to take a side on the issue. He merely glanced at Miranda, considered her a moment, then shrugged and looked back at the sports page.
Hermione turned her eyes back to Miranda. It felt awkward talking about Harry s finances with her parents at the breakfast table while Harry slept. It s not really about money I ve never asked about it specifically, but I know Harry s fairly well off.
Jake glanced up at Hermione and raised his eyebrows.
Hermione frowned, titled her head while fingering the formica, and gave a stilted shrug. His parents left him all they had.
Jake s expression turned solemn and grave, as though unwilling to pass any manner of judgment on that. He looked again toward Miranda. Hermione followed suit.
Well, then, Miranda said with an even greater tone of discomfort. Think he d care for some new clothes?
Maybe. I could ask him.
Jake quipped, If he ever wakes up.
Oh, hush, Jake. Hermione, dear, I had some errands to run today, I was going to leave in about an hour; if you d ask him he s welcome to come along and we can stop by the clothing department.
Okay, I ll go ask, Hermione left her juice untouched and walked down the hall to Harry s door. She stopped to listen for any sounds to indicate he was already awake, then she tapped lightly on the door. Harry? she called gently. No answer. She opened the door and carefully peeked inside.
Light from the open window bathed the room in a soft, morning glow. Hedwig was perched on top of her cage. After a week, Hermione was finally getting used to seeing Harry s owl coal-black. Hedwig had stopped snapping at Kimmy every time the house elf came near her, too. The owl blinked brilliant amber eyes (the black really did make her eyes stand out) at Hermione then resettled on her perch to doze off. Hermione looked to the bed and saw Harry s head of black hair peeking out from the covers, the bedspread draped over the curled shape of his body.
Hermione tip-toed closer and couldn t stop the strange rush of warmth that started at her stomach and moved up her chest when she saw his face. He was sound asleep, dark eyelashes resting against his cheeks, his wild hair even messier without the benefit of the morning s first combing match. The lines of his mouth were relaxed, a sight so rare for Harry, just as the tension that seemed always a part of his countenance was gone.
Hermione stood a moment just watching him. It seemed criminal to wake him. Seeing him like this reawakened that same protective beast in her that had emerged after the Triwizard Tournament. The force inside her that made her feel duty-bound to shield Harry from their judgmental classmates, the reasonless animal that suddenly made facing down Dumbledore and demanding of him a trite task. Harry spurred wild, scary things in her. And whatever that thing inside her, it had a definite possessive streak. She wanted to keep Harry to herself, secret him away, because he was safe with her. She couldn t be certain of his welfare anywhere else but in her care. No one could care about him like she did, therefore with her was the only proper place for him to be. And she would challenge anyone who thought differently. Right now, watching him sleep, Hermione wasn t even amenable to sharing him with Molly Weasley. She had her own boys to tend to, more than enough, let Hermione have this one.
Harry s breathing hitched and he sucked in a breath. It was almost a gasp, and he shifted.
Hermione worried it was the signs of a nightmare.
Harry? she thoughtlessly ran her fingers through his hair. He shifted again, more actively, and his breath left in a rush. A faint flush of color moved from his neck to his cheeks.
Hermione, concerned, bent closer and said louder, Harry, wake up.
Harry breathed raggedly again then his eyes fluttered open. He looked up and met her eyes, for a moment glazed and unfocused, then he started and his brow furrowed. Mmione?
Hermione blushed and pulled her hand away. She knew he was just groggy and it made his speech sloppy, but still it quickened in her stomach. You okay?
Harry blinked, still sleep-dopey, then he cleared his throat and the pink in his face began to fade. Yeah um what is it?
Hermione moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. Harry didn t protest; he moved over to make room, sat up, and settled the covers double over his lap. Hermione studied his face a moment and couldn t stop the smile that crept up. His hair was sticking up everywhere; he looked quite ruffled and dazed. She fetched his glasses from the nightstand and handed them to him. With a grateful smile he put them on and at last focused on her.
Mum was going to go into town in a bit and she wondered if you d like to go too and get some new clothes.
Harry took a moment to process that, then he self-consciously rubbed a hand through his hair. Oh. Yeah, I suppose, could do with it, couldn t I?
Okay, then. She said she d be leaving in about an hour, so you best get ready.
Harry nodded but didn t move to get out of bed. Hermione got up to leave and only as she was closing the door behind her did she hear him move to get dressed.