Chapter Sixteen
Harry yawned and slipped down further in his chair. Hermione glanced across the table at him, looked shrewd a moment, then put her nose back to the grindstone, as it were. They were back in the Granger library, once more trying to tackle the last bit of History of Magic homework. Hermione seemed to be making typically impressive headway, but Harry was bogged down. He was of the opinion that he was too tired to rightly focus on the history of magic. Between their late-night outing and broken sleep, Harry could do with a decent nap more than he could the Wizengamot ruling of 1429 addressing the period prank of hexing muggle mules to hop. Apparently quite the disaster for the poor muggles at the time. It had Harry going cross-eyed with boredom.
Hermione looked reproachfully at him now and then, but she seemed to grant him clemency, as it was her idea and her urging that had them up at odd hours, and she didn't nag him about staring off into space instead of working on his essay.
Harry, head propped in his hand, was sagging and starting to doze off when a loud bang jolted him upright in his chair. Hermione squeaked and her quill scratched a black line down the center of her scroll. "Bloody hell!" she cursed as Harry turned at a second, sharper thump.
A flurry of flapping wings at the window had Harry up and out of his chair while Hermione tried to assess the damage to her homework. The whole time Harry was crossing the room she was talking to herself, "Just brilliant, and I can't even do a scourgify to right this mess. I'll have to wait until term to spell this out. Could just rewrite the whole thing, I suppose, oh bother..."
Harry reached the window, opened it, and a ball of feathers zoomed into the room. Harry ducked the darting bird even as he recognized the animal. "Pig!"
Hermione looked up, her eyes widened, and she dove under the table just in time to avoid getting a face-full of Ron's owl. Pig flitted and cavorted around the room, hooting happily and, in his mindless enthusiasm, running right into a bookshelf. In his scramble to resume his wild flight, his talons dug into the spines of several books and they were yanked off the shelf to clatter to the floor as he flapped back into the air. "Pig! Get down here this instant!" Hermione cried and made a leaping grab for the bird. Pig hooted and dodged out of reach.
Harry clamored atop the desk, Hermione gasping and trying to pull their homework parchments to safety, and he flexed his hands in readiness. When Pig made a dash within reach he lunged and snatched, and his seeker skills held true and Pig screeched and wriggled in Harry's hand.
Hermione brushed her hair back from her face with one hand, her other arm full of crumpled parchment, as Harry jumped down from the table. Pig kicked his legs wildly a moment then stilled and hooted on his back, splayed talons held stiffly in the air. When his legs were still, the owl proved to have a note tied to one of them.
"Hey, looks like a letter from Ron," Harry said as he pulled the parchment free. With a sideways look at the little bird in his grasp, Harry carefully opened his fingers to release Pig. Pig laid motionless a moment, then cartwheeled out of Harry's hand and landed with a graceless thunk on to the table top. Before the neurotic owl could think of taking flight again Hermione shoved their bowl of study snacks, moist tea cakes, at the animal. Pig, apparently hungry from his long flight from Romania, gratefully stayed put to eat ravenously.
Harry unrolled the letter as Hermione rounded the table to stand beside him. "What's Ron say?" She titled her head to read the letter even as Harry did so as well.
'Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't written you sooner, but it's been so crazy around here. Romania's great, you really should have come, Harry. Some of the blokes here talk on and on about your tangle with the Horntail during the tournament. Even Charlie was impressed, and that's saying something that you impressed dragon-keepers! Told them you're always doing wicked stuff like that! With my help, course. Ha! We've done loads of stuff; this dragonkeeping's harder than it looks! Don't know that I'd ever want to do it for a job or anything, but wow, talk about a story for the summer! No way Dean or Seamus's summer will top mine this year.
'Hope you two aren't having too terrible a time. Harry, if Hermione's not letting you have any fun and just making you do homework tell her from me to lighten up. Give a chap a break, Hermione!
'Everyone's having a lot of fun. It's been nice to see Charlie again, he's a good laugh. Ginny figures she fancies some Australian Short Snout trainer. Blugh! Girls, eh? Mum and Dad say hi.
'Well, gotta go! A clutch of Chinese Fireballs are hatching. Cheers!
'Ron'
Hermione sat down on the edge of the table and let one roving, disheartened glance fall on their abandoned homework. "Well, sounds like he's having a good time, at least."
"Yeah," Harry rolled up the letter and put it in his pocket. Hermione went to the shelf that Pig had vandalized and picked up the fallen books. As she set them back in their proper place she said, "Since we're stopped anyway I guess we might as well take a break from homework for a bit. Figure we should write Ron back?"
"Oh, yeah, I'll do it this time; you can write him back next time."
Hermione put up the last fallen book and turned. "Okay. Just tell him hi from me and that I'm glad he's having a good time."
Harry nodded then paused. "Should we tell Ron about... you know, the animagus thing?" Hermione scowled as though she'd bitten into a sour apple. "Maybe best we don't for now. Our letters to Ron could be intercepted just as well as any owls to Sirius. Besides... well... you know, considering how awfully difficult it is to become an animagus, perhaps we ought to not tell him until we actually do it. That way, if we can't..." "We won't have to listen to him take the mickey out of us from now until the end of time for our 'stupid animagus idea'."
Hermione smiled in relief that Harry had said precisely what she'd been thinking. "Exactly, because you know Ron, he would."
"Yeah, he would. Right then, mum's the word. So, what do you want to do now?"
"Dunno. Fancy a run? My arms are still a bit sore yet for weights again, but I thought we might do a spot of running at the park, then maybe we could come back and try to work on the animagus project some more?"
"All right, meet you in the front room in a bit?"
Hermione nodded and left their schoolwork laid out on the table as she headed off to her room. Harry retreated to his own to change into more appropriate clothes, setting Ron's letter down on the dresser to remind him to pen a reply that evening.
He didn't get around to answering Ron's letter until dark that night. When he dragged back into his bedroom late that evening, tired from his run with Hermione that afternoon and surprisingly clear-headed after their 'nature' session (which, to Hermione's not-so-hidden consternation, had failed to yield any tokens), he saw Ron's letter awaiting his reply. He'd nearly forgotten it until that moment he saw it next to Hedwig's empty cage.
Though enormously tempted by his bed, he went to the dresser to see to the note before the day's end.
Harry took up the letter, pulled a quill and parchment from his trunk, then sat down on his bed and, with a potions book serving as an improvised desk, bent over his letter back to Ron.
'Ron, Hermione and I got your letter. It's nice to hear from you. Hermione says 'hi' and wanted me to tell you she's glad you're having such a good time in Romania. She'll write back to you next time... we didn't figure Pig could carry a letter from each of us at the same time.'
Harry paused, shocked to find that it was actually hard to think of what else to say. Maybe it was the concern about what might be gleaned from his reply if the letter was taken by Voldemort's henchmen en route, but even the salutation came to him with effort. He frowned down at the parchment in confusion, consulted Ron's letter, then decided the easiest path would be to go about answering the questions Ron had either seriously or rhetorically put forth in his own correspondence.
'Don't worry about not getting around to writing us; sounds like you're busy what with the dragons and all. Better you than me. Hermione and I are keeping busy, too.'
Harry stopped, reread his words, and hoped nothing too telling could be taken from that. Try as he might, he couldn't see how their 'project' might be inferred from his words. He shrugged and continued.
'Things are good here. I'm having a good time, and I'm pretty sure Hermione is, too. We've gotten all our homework done for the summer holiday already.' Harry didn't see a need to mention that pesky History of Magic that just seemed cursed to never find its way clear to completion. He tried to imagine Ron's face when he found out that his two friends were done while he would still undoubtedly have all his assignments looming over him. It brought him a small sense of victory and vindication. Harry stared a short time at the fresh ink letters on his parchment then slowly resumed.'I really think you ought to lay off a bit on Hermione about the homework, mate. You know that's important to her. Just in bad taste to go on teasing her for it. Besides, since we've done our homework together I've finished mine in half the time it would have normally taken. Well worth it, if you ask me.'
Harry stopped again, stumped for what else to say. Maybe it was fighting him because Ron wasn't one much for letters. Harry was good at talking to Ron, but writing to him felt weird. If this were a letter to Hermione he was sure it'd be much easier to write. He could just picture her lying on her stomach on her bed with his letter, one hand propping up her head as she read every word, pulling the surface and hidden meaning from every sentence, even if he had no bloody clue what the hidden meaning was. He could picture the way she'd be formulating her reply in her head even as she read his letter. When he tried to picture Ron, the image he conjured was always his friend in a rush, only barely stopping to take the time to read his mail, the way he read homework assignments, scanning and putting away as though the mere effort amounted to completion, hurrying off to do something more interesting. A check mark, a chore done, a task finished. He wouldn't take the time to really read what was being said. Ron was just like that.
Harry yawned sleepily and put pen back to paper. Knowing that Ron would only take note of the fact he had been written back, probably not so much what was said in the letter, he hurried through the rest.
'Well, I'm totally knackered, Hermione and I have had a really full day and I'm sacked. Well past time to turn in. Give my best to your family. Tell your mum not to worry about me, I'm fine. Tell Ginny to watch herself. Look forward to seeing you again at start of term. 'Harry and Hermione'
Harry rolled the parchment up, tied it, then put it on the dresser next to Hedwig's cage so he wouldn't forget to send it in the morning when Pig was back. He'd gone out for a bit of nighttime hunting with Hedwig, though Harry had no doubt his familiar had ditched the scatterbrained scoop as soon as possible. Harry promptly changed into pajamas, crawled into bed, and within a matter of minutes was sound asleep.
Two more weeks of summer passed, and while the sheer tedium of the routine Harry and Hermione had established might have driven some teenagers to boredom, the pure simplicity and safety of it was a gift in Harry's eyes.
Monday through Friday he and Hermione had the days alone to themselves while Miranda and Jake were at work. Harry, for the first time granted the luxury, discovered a bit of a passion for sleeping in. He'd not seen Miranda and Jake off to work for weeks, but once he knew that Hermione's parents didn't mind, he relished the simple pleasure of sleeping to late morning or noon that he'd never known before. At the Dursleys' he was expected to be up in time to cook his uncle breakfast and get an early start on his neverending list of chores. At Hogwarts, it was hard to sleep in when bunking in a room with four other boys. At the Weasleys', there was always something going on, be it Missus Weasley reading the riot act to Ron, the twins blowing something up in their room, or the ghoul in the attic bumbling about noisily. Harry had never been anywhere quiet enough to even think about sleeping in. And then he summered with the Grangers and found peace and quiet for the first time... and found he liked it. He felt like he was catching up on years of denied rest. He made sure, however, that he was always up in time to make lunch for himself, Hermione, and Miranda.
Hermione was always up early to bid her parents farewell; Harry usually came into the kitchen to start lunch to find her at the table reading. Sometimes she'd help him with lunch, usually she was better left reading aloud to him, either from whatever book she had or the muggle newspaper or the Daily Prophet, while he moved through the kitchen he was growing to know quite well. It was those simple noontimes that Harry would probably recall most fondly about his summer at the Grangers'. He felt so bloody normal, even when Kimmy was underfoot assisting him with meal preparations. When he was making scalloped potatoes at the stove while Hermione read to him from a muggle post, her bare feet swinging absently, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, Crookshanks sunbathing in the window, he could almost forget that he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
After lunch, he and Hermione would do a bit of studying until their food had settled sufficiently for them to either run, swim, or lift weights. After that, it was lying out in the yard or by the pool having a 'nature' session. They found that after exercise it was easier to reach the proper state of mind. So far, neither Harry nor Hermione had 'tokened' anything, but Hermione wasn't about to give up and Harry honestly didn't mind the wasted afternoons. He didn't consider them 'wasted'. When he stopped to think about what might be in store for him next term, he was eager to waste as many unproductive, quiet days with Hermione as he humanly could.
In the evening Miranda and Jake would come home, they'd all have dinner at the table almost like a family, talking about their days, hearing stories from the office, deciding if they wanted to watch a movie or maybe head out to the ice cream parlor for a sweet treat after dinner, and Harry began to feel like maybe he wasn't such an imposter here. Miranda had taken to him, kind and level-headed, much like Hermione (nowhere near the strung terrier Molly Weasley was and not as affectionate toward him, and though Harry did love Ron's mom he realized he preferred Miranda's energy level), he could always talk Quidditch with Jake, and Hermione was Hermione. She could just sit there and say nothing and Harry would have a good time.
It drove thoughts of the Dursleys far from his mind, like the last vestiges of a bad dream long since past, and every now and then he let himself forget to remember Voldemort.
In dastardly defiance, Harry's History of Magic homework had not yet managed to get done. Wonderfully, that seemed to be the worst of Harry's problems.
Chapter Seventeen
Harry felt great. He felt light. He felt he could leave his body and take up with the wind that danced around his face. He felt he could be that weightless, that free and unthinking and pure. Always it seemed, when he shook his conscious thoughts, when he freed his mind of worldly concerns, he noticed the wind particularly. He remembered the feeling of so many Quidditch games when he'd been part mote, part falcon, airborne and uncatchable.
Then he noticed the way the sun touched his cheeks, the way the warmth and light seeped past his skin and settled pleasantly in his bones. The sun too, was his aerial companion. He danced with the sun, too, much as he knew instinctively what it was to race the wind, and when he released his worries like this, when he just was under the sun, it was like he smiled properly for the first time at a beautiful creature that he'd known all along but had never rightly seen.
Then he'd remember the ground and the earth because it would be an immovable strength at his back. He fanned his fingers through the grass carpet and smiled inwardly at the way it prickled and gave way under his touch. Smooth and edgy at once. And the smell that effused him, the dirt and the grass and the trees... it smelled like Hogwarts, like the Quidditch pitch, like so many places that had been escape for him.
He was profoundly aware of the way his body lay spread on the ground, the way his legs and arms were heavy and lax upon the ground. He found enjoyment in every breath he took, every sweet rush of air inward, every relaxing exhale into the sky above. His heart thumped, slow and soothing in his chest, sometimes it seemed he could even ride on his own heartbeat, trace its way through his arms, his fingers, his legs, his neck. It was a heady, empowering sense of aliveness.
All around him were the gentle, whisper-light voices of the backyard. The wind in the trees, leaves rustling, birds singing, and even the unnatural, the manmade, the cars driving on the road beyond the Granger house, the occasional, faint human voice from next door, the fleeting broken bar of a musical piece. It all wove together, it fit and filled him, completed the absolute sense of being that doing this brought.
And as always, he was only too conscious of another body besides his. He'd stopped fighting his awareness of Hermione at his side. It became part of the canvas, without her he'd feel a hole in this harmony.
Even with his eyes closed he was acutely honed to the way Hermione lay at his side, similarly sprawled, likewise relaxed and unguarded. The sound of her breathing was integral to the peaceful place Harry's mind found when they had a 'session'. The physical space taken up by her body was as the earth beneath him, unrelenting and necessary. He could slip and mistake the soft sound of her breathing for the wind he cherished so. When the breeze blew just right he could smell her, familiar and safe and right in his world. He knew he probably shouldn't notice her as much as he did, not for the task they were attempting to master, but fighting it required more conscious thought than letting it be. He let her be part of his earth, his sun, his wind, and his mind sank so deeply into that peace. Sometimes he fell asleep. When he did it didn't matter.
Hermione's breathing moved on the wind, swept over him, filling his senses. It came with a leaf, fallen from the treetop overhead. It whirled gently, like a dancer, it pirouetted and paused and fluttered and Harry knew how it would feel to dip with it. Free and flying, he could be that leaf. Countless times in his life, he had been.
Harry, eyes closed, listened to the leaf land on the ground next to his ear. His wind-brother. One of the secret society of air dancers. He could see, in his mind, the uneven edges, the rich green color, the thick smell, the length of its stem, so light and at the mercy of the wind's whims. How ready it was to roll and take flight.
Harry gasped softly when a thought as though not his own slipped into his mind. Take this part of me. In that second there was a bond, a link, a oneness that bade Harry to reclaim that part of him before it was blown in the wind and lost.
Harry opened his eyes, jarred by the harsh light, and turned his head. The leaf lay where it had alighted, no different or better than any other, but Harry was compelled to claim that particular one. He rolled on to his side, sat up, and picked up the leaf. He stopped then to let thought return. He stared at the leaf in his hand and wondered, had he just taken a token? Was this what it felt like? Or did he merely think it could be, when perhaps he'd just had a silly moment when he'd been fascinated by a stupid leaf?
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice, gentle and dream-like, drew his eyes. He looked down at where she lay on the ground beside him. She was gazing up at him, expression sleepy and content, her hair spilling around her head and glinting honey-gold in places. Thought came crashing back with a vengeance. He looked a little foolishly at the leaf in his hand. Hermione's eyes followed his and he saw the blissful, untroubled peace of a 'session' leave her face, replaced by astute and intellectual Hermione.
"Oh! Did you... is that...?"
Harry shrugged. "I... don't know. I was just lying there, and then I thought, well, kind of dumb what I thought, and then I just had this feeling like I had to take it..." Harry twirled the ordinary leaf between his fingers by the stem and shook his head, "you know, it's probably not, I'm sure it was just..."
Hermione sat up quickly. "No! Don't think on it, keep it. I'll bet you anything it's a token, Harry. What did it feel like?"
Harry struggled to recapture the transient, amorphous feeling that had driven him to snatch up a regular leaf. "Um... like, for a second there, it was a bit like this was..." Harry felt stupid, "part of me."
Hermione was grinning. "I'm sure you've done it, Harry!" Hermione gazed openly at the leaf Harry held. For a brief moment jealousy and resolute determination crossed her face, then she said, "We should find something to keep our tokens in." Hermione leapt up from the ground and hurried toward the house. Harry, smiling to himself at Hermione's quintessential Hermioneness, got up at a much more leisurely pace and followed her.
He caught up with her at the door to her bedroom. He leaned against the jamb and watched her hunt about her room for only she knew what. She dug through her dresser drawer and then, with a muted cry of triumph, stood with a cloth sack in hand.
"This should do," she proclaimed, went to her bed, and proceeded to dump the contents of the bag on to her bedspread. A sea of marbles spilled out and rolled sluggishly over the thick blanket. She turned and offered him the empty bag. Harry tucked his still-supple leaf into the sack while Hermione rummaged further in her drawer and withdrew a second marble bag. She upturned that one, too, over her bed and considered the container closely. "We probably ought keep these with us, I should think. We don't know when a token will happen." She stuffed her empty back into her pocket. Harry did the same with his and stepped into the room as Hermione began to gather up the mess of marbles.
"Lot of marbles," he commented as means of questioning why she had them at all.
Hermione stammered awkwardly. "Oh, yeah, well... our second year I got them for Ron for Christmas. I don't know, I thought he'd like them for some reason." She shrugged and collected the balls into a pile.
"Why didn't you give them to him?"
Hermione fetched a loner sock from her drawer and began to pour handfuls of marbles into it. "I meant to, I had them in my trunk and everything, I was going to give them to him before I left for the holiday... then I came across you two playing wizard's chess and he was going on and on about how great it is, and I figured that if he was so enamored of wizard's chess he'd probably think a muggle game like marbles would be fairly stupid. They don't explode or fly through the air or anything, they're just some silly glass balls. I decided I'd rather not have him make fun of me for my boring muggle toys."
"No, I think he would have liked them," Harry offered honestly.
Hermione shrugged. "Well, I could still give them to him, I suppose. Maybe I'll take them back to Hogwarts with us and give them to Ron on the Express. He'll have to do with a sock for a bag, though." She smiled and hefted the white sock laden with marbles. She cocked her head as though in serious thought, "Or I guess I could just hit him with them next time he starts acting like a prat." Hermione swung the weighted sock around for emphasis.
Harry chuckled. "Put you on a broom while you take a swing at him and you might make a good beater yet."
Hermione snorted, tied in a knot at the ankle end of the sock, and tossed it back into her drawer. "I don't think so. I'll leave flying to the birds and Harry Potter."
"Well, look at it this way, maybe your animagus form will be a bird and then you can fly with me."
Hermione smiled in a playful, jesting way at what was clearly a joke, but the barest hint of a blush touched the center of her cheeks. Harry felt an odd, answering heat in his face. Hermione gave him a crooked, 'silly boy' smile. "Harry, if either of us is going to be a bird it'll be you."
Harry sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be a beaver or a blast-ended skrewt or something. That'll really strike fear into the hearts, eh?"
Hermione laughed. "You won't be a beaver, that's preposterous."
"Do you actually know if we can find out what our animagus forms will be before we actually, you know, change?"
Hermione returned to the bed and sat down beside him, their shoulder's touching. "I've found nothing in any of my research that says you can. Common knowledge regarding animagi says there's not a way to find out before the first transformation happens."
"So I could be a beaver," Harry pressed and nudged Hermione with his shoulder.
She rolled her eyes. "Fine, you could be a beaver. But I really doubt it. I think Neville might be a beaver, though."
Harry laughed then trailed into silence. He glanced over at Hermione, studied his knees, then said, "Hermione? Are you... nervous about the change?"
Hermione frowned in thought and stared at her wall, unseeing as she turned over his question. "I guess a little. I think it's more curiosity, wondering what it is I'm going to be, than being afraid to change. Assuming I ever manage it at all." She ducked her head and cut an embarrassed sideways look at him. "Honestly, I think I'm more nervous about not being able to do it. It is a very hard thing to do, and you can't just study extra hard..." She turned her head to look fully at him. "Are you? Nervous?"
Harry looked away. "The more I think about it the more I... yeah, I'm nervous." Harry tapped the heel of his left shoe against the floor and watched his trainer bounce to avoid looking Hermione in the eye. "Just that, well, things that come out of me that I don't control are usually... bad things. Voldemort things. Guess I'm a bit worried what I'll become."
"Harry, listen to me. There may not be a way to know what your animagus form will be before you change, but never has a wizard's animagus form been out of his character. You won't be anything bad, you won't turn evil or mad when you become whatever it is you're bound to be, because it's not you. Even if you became a basilisk, which you won't, you'd be the only basilisk I'd trust with my life."
Harry smiled faintly at her, inordinately reassured. She returned the smile and, on impulse, reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. Involuntarily, his eyes closed. His world became, for that moment, the way her fingers threaded through his unruly hair.
"Have you considered getting a haircut, Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes, a bit taken off guard by her question, so lost had he been in the touch. "Huh?"
Hermione smiled and dropped her hand back to her lap. "Well, it's a bit out of control, even for you."
"Oh, yeah, I suppose it is," Harry ruffled his own collar-length hair with his hand, a rueful smirk touching his lips. "Aunt Petunia usually whacks at it with the kitchen scissors soon as I'm back at Privet Drive for summer holiday. I kind of forgot about it. What, don't you like it all scruffy?" he asked playfully.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I like being able to see your face."
"I could cut it. Or you could, I guess."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, dear, no, you don't want me near it with a pair of scissors, not when we can't just spell away any mistakes. Mum'd probably do it, though. She's cut my hair and Dad's since as long as I can remember. She wouldn't botch it. If she doesn't foul up mine yours will be a cinch."
"Well, has to be better than Aunt Petunia's slash and dash technique. Though I'm not sure anyone could tame my mop."
"Nonsense. Mum will, you'll see."
Miranda studied Harry critically, as an artist might a half-done sculpture. She had a pair of sewing scissors in her hand and was tapping them against her chin as her eyes narrowed in Harry's direction. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the chair in the middle of the kitchen. Miranda was standing in front of him, occasionally leaning to the left and right, sizing up her prey, Harry's unendingly unmanageable hair.
Hermione and Jake were outside grilling; Jake had come home from the office after suffering an especially irksome patient and quite abruptly proclaimed the desire to char meat, and (in what was clearly a practiced ritual in the Granger household) Hermione and her father scuttled outside to see to their outdoor meal while Miranda ambushed Harry. Once Hermione mentioned Harry was hoping to get a haircut, Miranda pounced as though she'd been waiting for the invitation.
Harry cleared his throat as Miranda fingered the handle of the scissors like an Auror might handle his wand.
"It's hopeless, Missus Granger; I tried to tell Herm²"
"Nonsense," Miranda retorted, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. He had to smile a little. Like mother like daughter.
Miranda stepped closer and ran her fingers through Harry's hair, as though testing the thickness and length. It didn't feel as good as when Hermione did it, but it was still rather nice.
"Do you have a certain length you like to keep it?"
Harry shrugged. "Not really. I guess, if anything, I like it a bit longer in the front, so I can... uh, well, so that it covers my scar."
Miranda brushed his hair back and exposed the lightning scar. Harry tensed uneasily. So many people had done that to him, like his scar was public domain, and now Hermione's mother, too. Just when she'd become a safe person she made the assumption that perfect strangers felt entitled to commit. He knew she meant nothing by it, that as a muggle his mark wouldn't have the same importance to her, but still it rattled him.
Miranda didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She brought his hair back over his brow and hummed under her breath. "Well, I think we could trim back quite a bit and still have it cover your scar." Harry breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't going to question him or bother him about wanting to hide the mark on his forehead. He didn't rightly know how it could be fully explained to a muggle, even smart ones like Miranda and Jake Granger.
"Are you sure you want me to cut it?"
"Uh huh. Way I figure, if it's anything too dreadful, once Hermione and I are back on the train to Hogwarts she can spell it back to the way it was before."
"Oh, cheeky, aren't you?" Miranda chuckled and moved closer. "All right then, here goes."
Harry sat still and listened to the snip of the scissors, watched from the corner of his eye the locks of black fall past his shoulder, as Miranda cut and combed and eyeballed and ruffled. Hermione and Jake toiled merrily in the backyard, and just as the smell of hamburgers began to drift deliciously into the kitchen Miranda stepped back and brushed at one of Harry's shoulders. "There, I think that will do."
Harry stood and looked down at the kitchen floor and the shocks of black hair against the pale tile.
"Go on," Miranda gestured toward the hall, "have a look see, I'll just clear this up."
"I can..." Harry moved to help.
"Not until you see what's been done to you, you may not want to offer help," Miranda smiled at him.
Harry chuckled and went to the bathroom. The first sight of his reflection in the mirror shocked him, only because it was different from the sight he'd grown used to seeing. It wasn't anything drastic, he still had a long fringe in front that fell over his forehead, and the sides were still long enough not to make the front look silly, and there were the strands of the damnable cowlick in back, but all in all, it was probably the best his hair had ever looked. It looked like it had been cut by someone who cared what the end product looked like. At least it no longer touched his collar in the back. He brought up both hands and raked his fingers through his hair. Stray bits fell to the floor and Harry made a mental note to come back in and clean up later. He looked at his frazzled hair. The front stood up in places, the cowlick was going mad, but the sides were an evenly-cut chaos. Worlds better than it had ever been before for that alone. He proceeded to brush his fingers more purposefully through his hair, lying the bangs back over his forehead, smoothing down the sides, dueling with the cowlick until only a few stubborn locks held firm their ground, sticking up defiantly.
"Harry! Dinner!"
Harry turned from the mirror at Miranda's call and left the bathroom.
He stepped out into the backyard to find Miranda and Hermione at the picnic table (in reality a collapsible table brought out and covered with a cotton cloth), setting out biscuits and salads while Jake placed slabs of meat on to waiting buns. Kimmy was circling the grill expectantly, as if she wanted to make sure Jake couldn't forget about her in her dog guise. Crookshanks was perched on the outside kitchen window ledge, watching the proceedings with aplomb. Hedwig was on a branch in the yard's tree next to the garden, watching with sleepy amber eyes.
Hermione looked up from the pitcher of iced tea and her eyes landed on Harry at the back door. He had barely begun to offer a bashful smile when she exclaimed, "Oh, Harry, it looks great!" She hurried to him and began to pet him, her hands in his hair without so much as a by your leave. It was no less presumptuous than Miranda earlier, but Harry found he minded Hermione's incursions far less. "I told you Mum could work wonders. How dashing."
Harry blushed. "Errr... it sticks up in back."
Miranda grunted. "Nothing outside of magic is going to fix that, my dear. I tried every non-magical trick in the book and there's nothing for it."
"I don't know if I'd recognize Harry without his hair at least a little wild," Hermione said to her mother then turned and smiled at him, "part of your charm, really."
Harry smiled a little goofily at her.
"All right, enough primping, you three, time to eat," Jake said as he carried hamburgers to the table. Hermione left Harry's side to join her family and Harry, after running a quick hand through his new haircut, followed after her. Five chairs had been set, one for each Granger, one for Harry, and one for Kimmy. She jumped up into the chair and though she held her dog form she had a place set for her and was served just as the humans seated at the table.
Hermione started into her meal but continued to cast appraising, appreciative glances in Harry's direction. It made it hard for Harry to concentrate on his food, but the attention was rather flattering. For someone who tended to shy away from being noticed, he rather liked the way Hermione kept looking at him like that.
"You should have gotten to him before the Yule Ball," Hermione turned and said to her mother. "That haircut, plus his dress robes," Hermione returned her eyes to him, a twinkle in her eye... and then it faded and her smile dropped a fraction. "Cho Chang would have noticed."
Harry swallowed and bit back a frown. He didn't know that he liked Hermione bringing up Cho like that. He certainly didn't like the way it dropped the joviality in her voice and dampened the glow in her face. "Oh, er..."
"Cho?" Miranda questioned after lowering her glass of tea.
"A girl Harry fancies," Hermione replied.
Jake looked critically a Harry but said nothing.
"I don't know about fancy."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Harry, you were a mess over her last term. Everyone could tell you like her."
Harry sank down in his chair and locked his eyes on his plate.
"So what's this Cho girl like if Harry thinks so much of her?" Miranda asked.
"Ravenclaw girl in the year ahead of us. Quidditch player, really smart, very pretty," Hermione answered.
Harry quite abruptly was fed up with the discussion. Yes, he had been a bit of a buffoon last term over Cho, but in hindsight, taking into consideration the bigger picture, it was a downright foolish thing to carry on about. What did a little teenage crush matter when people were dying? "And I couldn't even talk to her without making a fool of myself," he retorted. "And she's not half as smart as Hermione.
"Just as well she didn't go with me to the ball," Harry glanced at Hermione across the table and smirked, "if I tripped over myself saying 'hi' we would have been a disaster trying to dance. At least with you I had a good time."
Hermione smiled at him, blushed, and Harry felt the knot of tension in his gut loosen. The bothered, upset look on her face was gone. Harry felt an inane sense of pride and relief.
"That's right," Jake cut in, completely unaware of the moment that had flashed between the two youngsters. "Our Hermione learned to dance last year. I never would have believed that in a million years. Go on then, honey, give us a demonstration."
Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"
Harry chortled.
'Yes, do," Miranda urged. "Your father and I can hardly imagine you dancing, it's just so far from schoolwork. We really must see this."
Hermione looked like a deer in the headlights. Harry laughed. Hermione shot him a look and scowled. "I don't know what you're so amused about, I'll need a dance partner."
Harry stopped laughing. He blurted, "But there's no music."
"Use your imagination," Miranda chuckled and waved them toward the open yard.
Hermione and Harry met gazes, shared a mutual shrug, then stood from the table and moved out on to the grass. Miranda, Jake, and Kimmy all watched. Harry and Hermione came to a stop a few paces out, stood facing one another, and, with an awkward pause, Hermione moved in to Harry and lifted her arms to lay one on his shoulder and crooked the other for his hand to take hers. Harry took her hand and placed the other on her waist with an uncomfortable awareness of Jake watching over his shoulder.
Hermione turned her eyes up to him and a startled look swept over her expression. Harry frowned in confusion while Hermione took a half-step back, still held in the dance pose, and swept her eyes down his body, all the way to his trainers. Harry felt her look like a physical touch and cleared his throat to try and clear the block that lodged in his chest. Hermione looked up at him again and gaped, "Harry, you've grown!"
"Huh?"
"I swear, you're a full inch taller than you were when we danced at the Yule Ball."
Harry frowned at the suggestion but had to admit that Hermione did seem a bit shorter than the last time they'd stood like this. Odd. And strangely visceral when he really gave Hermione's size that much thought.
"Come on, you two, enough stalling," Jake prodded.
Hermione blushed, shook her head to move her hair back behind her shoulders, and lifted her chin in a clear indication that she was ready.
Harry gave a sheepish shrug and nodded. Then he moved forward. He was sure, if it had been Cho, he would have trod on her foot. But Hermione knew how to read him and she moved just as he did. They danced, and it was a little stilted without music to set the pace, and they weren't exactly old pros at it, and Hermione's chuckle told Harry he was counting under his breath, but they managed without a foul up.
Of course, that there weren't any mishaps might have been aided by the fact that they had only been dancing for a minute when a distraction presented itself. Miranda saw it first and spoke up, "Hermione, isn't that your friend Ron's owl?"
Harry and Hermione stopped and looked up and, sure enough, Pigwidgeon was flapping toward them. And he was moving in a straight line, very unusual for the scatterbrained bird.
Hedwig gave a disgruntled hoot and took off, gliding down to Harry's open bedroom window and disappearing inside before the scoop owl reached the yard.
Pig made a beeline for Harry and landed in an exhausted heap in his waiting hands. There he laid still, little chest heaving, wings spread as though in surrender. Hermione looked down at the bird and frowned sympathetically. "Oh, poor Pig."
Harry smiled. "Think the flight from Romania and back is a bit much for him," then he took the rolled note from Pig's leg. Pig gave a hoot and wearily closed his eyes. Harry handed the note to Hermione (who put it in her pocket) and carried Pig to the table. Hermione made up a small plate for him and a bowl of water. "We should probably give him some owl pellets, too; I don't imagine hamburger is really in the owl keeper handbook chapter on dietary needs."
Harry set Pig down before the food and water. "Probably right. I'll go get them." Harry went back into the house, into his room, and riffled through the dresser drawer under Hedwig's cage. Hedwig eyed him as he retrieved a handful of owl food pellets then returned to the table in the backyard. Pig was drinking thirstily but set upon the pellets eagerly when Harry set them down before the bird.
Hermione returned to her own meal, as did Harry, and as she ate she watched Pig. "Maybe we should give him a bit of a rest before we send him back," Hermione suggested, "or let him stay here for a trip and send Hedwig when we answer Ron this time."
Harry looked at the exhausted little owl and had to agree.
By the time everyone finished eating Pig had drunk and eaten his fill and was sleeping on the table next to the pitcher of tea. Harry and Hermione cleared the table while Miranda and Jake sat outside talking. He never stopped long enough to catch the line of conversation, but Harry thought it had to do with when Miranda and Jake were young. At one point he went out to put away the table and the sleeping owl and saw them dancing in the yard, cheek to cheek. Harry froze, like he'd seen something illicit, then hurriedly gathered up Pig and the table and left them. His breathing was strangely rapid, and as he tucked away the folding table he realized he'd looked at Hermione's parents and was reminded of the wizard photograph of his parents dancing in front of a fountain. It had hit him unaware to see Miranda and Jake doing the same thing and he'd been surprised. He hadn't expected to see parents the way pictures had shown his.
Harry was in his room tucking a tired Pig into Hedwig's cage (the whole time Hedwig glaring at him like he was putting a dirty sock in her bed), when Hermione came into the room, face screwed in concentration as she held Ron's letter in front of her.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked up at him and seemed to search his face for something. "What did you say to Ron in your letter?"
"What do you mean?" he asked and crossed the room. Hermione handed him the letter and he read it.
'Harry, Hermione,
'I know I should have written sooner; I got your letter and put it in my room and it ended up underneath a stack of laundry. Didn't find it again until I was putting away clothes.
'Sounds like the pair of you are having a decent summer. Good. You two both deserved a break. We've only two more weeks in Romania before we head back to the Burrow. Harry, if you like, you're welcome to come stay the rest of the summer with us. Mum would love to have you, she's been doing a fair amount of fretting about you. I keep telling her you're fine, but you know my mum.
'And Hermione knows I don't mean anything by what I said. I was just having a bit of fun.
'Romania's been great fun, but it'll be nice to get back home. I miss my own bed, and I think it's best we leave before Ginny sets her sight on some other ruddy dragon-keeper. She finally figured out that Aussie was a git! I knew my sister had some sense, now to get her out of here before she fancies another one!
'Oh, and Hermione, if you wanted to come stay at the Burrow a while too, that'd be great. Maybe you could help me out with a spot of my homework, too?
'Gotta run. Charlie's going to let me get in on flight training with some of the fledglings this afternoon! Up on a broom with dragons! I figure I might find out what had you so twitchy, Harry. Ha ha!
'Best,
'Ron'
Harry looked up at Hermione and she was watching him curiously. "What does he mean when he said 'he doesn't mean anything by it'?"
"Oh, that," Harry folded the letter and ran his finger over the edges absently. "I told him to stop teasing you about wanting to do homework over the holiday."
"Oh," Hermione said, her expression withdrawn and guarded. She looked away then at length returned her eyes to him. "You didn't have to do that."
"Ron shouldn't have done it in the first place. Besides," Harry flicked the letter with a finger, "when it comes to him needing help he's not quite so mean about it, is he?"
Hermione smirked. "Ron's always been that way, you know that."
"Yeah," Harry frowned, "and I ought to have called him on it before. Ron and I would have flunked out a long time ago if it weren't for you. I don't know if I've ever thanked you for that, but thanks."
Hermione smiled. She shuffled her feet and moved a step to the side, angling toward his bed. "So..." she sat on the edge and ran her hand over the comforter, resolutely not meeting his eyes, "you think you'll be going to stay the rest of the holiday at the Burrow?"
Harry blinked and studied her. She was trying not to let on that it would bother her if he did. Ron had done it again. He'd apologized, in his own way, for ribbing her about doing homework, but he'd managed to cut her down again with something else. Unintentionally, but he'd still done it. Ron had an uncanny knack for it, it seemed.
Harry went to the bed and sat down beside her. "If it's all right with you and your parents, I'd actually rather stay here."
Hermione looked up at him, cautious hope in her eyes. "Really?"
He nodded. "Don't get me wrong, you know I really like the Weasleys, they're like a surrogate family to me in a way and they've been great to me over the years, but it's so much calmer here. Quieter. Guess I never noticed the difference before this summer, but I've grown a bit fond of it. Besides, we still have work to do on our 'project'."
"True. Although we don't technically have to be together to do that."
"Maybe not, but it being quieter here I think would make it easier. Could you imagine trying to meditate at the Burrow with the twins blowing things up and Ginny running around and Ron being Ron?"
Hermione laughed. "I imagine it would be difficult."
"And I am having a good time here. And if next year I..." Harry stopped and pulled away slightly. "Well, if anything bad happens next year I'll want to have had this time with you."
Hermione's face twisted with pain and she leaned over and put her arms around his neck. Harry returned the hug and closed his eyes. This was one of those memories he'd want to carry into any final moment. This was why he needed to stay.
All too soon Hermione pulled away and he noticed that she quickly wiped at her eyes. "I'm glad you're staying," she said in a frail voice to match the tiny but lovely smile that curved her lips.
Harry smiled back then handed Hermione Ron's letter. "Here, your turn to write him back."
Hermione took the letter, studied it a moment, then looked over her shoulder at Pig sleeping like the dead in Hedwig's cage. "If they're going to be back at the Burrow in two weeks might as well wait until they're home to send a reply. The Burrow's a lot closer than Romania, Pig won't have trouble making that trip."
"Hedwig won't like having him around for two weeks," Harry quipped, "but that sounds like a good idea. Doubtless Pig will be eternally grateful."
Hermione stood to leave the room but stopped, fidgeted awkwardly, then turned to face him. "Harry... thank you."
"For what?"
Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly anxious. "For... telling Ron off for making fun of me."
Harry frowned, troubled by the meek gratitude in her words. He stood and moved a step closer. Now he couldn't help but notice the height difference she'd pointed out in the yard. "That's the second time you've thanked me for standing up for you. Do you not expect me to?" He was surprised to find the thought bothered him. A lot.
Hermione gave a dismissive (and unconvincing) shrug. "Oh, I know if it were life or death, werewolves or Dementors or Death Eaters, there's not a question. I know you would in a second. Just... teasing's a bit different, and Ron is your best friend. I... well, I know it takes a lot for you to take sides between the two of us."
"You're right that I don't like to, but sometimes Ron's wrong. Actually, he's wrong a lot more than you are. Ron's my friend, but you are, too. We're all supposed to be friends. He should treat you like one."
"He does... mostly. More than anyone else except you." That settled ill in Harry's bones but before he could rise up to confront it Hermione pushed it away, "Well, I better get on this letter."
Harry didn't point out that she had two weeks to work on it, because she was clearly seeking an out. He didn't say anything as she turned and left his bedroom.