Harry hadn't expected to feel so out of place with the Grangers. They'd been pleasant when he finally met them at the train station, but still there was an awkwardness. He didn't know how to act around them. It wasn't nearly as strange with the Weasleys… but then, they knew who he was. Harry never had any doubts that Ron and his family fully understood the dangers associated with being in Harry Potter's company. They knew the risks, they realized the threat. Harry looked at Hermione's parents and was certain they didn't. How much could a muggle know?

Harry sat in the back seat of the comfortable four-door car as they skirted London proper. Jake was driving and giving an occasional laugh and witty comment while his wife regaled Hermione with stories from home while their daughter was away. Hermione laughed in all the right places and it would have seemed so normal, but every so often Hermione looked at him and there was the shadow in her eyes. The shade of understanding. She was laughing through the veil of Cedric's death, of Voldemort's return, of Harry's torture at the dark wizard's hands, burdened with this responsibility she had single-handedly taken on when it came to her best friend. Harry was sure that every other year Hermione had been bursting with stories from her school year. He was certain that this too-casual avoidance of the topic was abnormal. Harry felt it was his fault.

He'd tried to warn Hermione's father. He couldn't go into their home, endanger Hermione, without their knowledge. Because they were muggles and surely they simply couldn't know.

And there, with Jake Granger, Harry felt an inexplicable uneasiness. Why did Jake intimidate him? He'd been just as pleasant as Miranda, the only hint of discourtesy was when he spoke to Vernon and Petunia, and that didn't cause one to lose favor in Harry's estimations. It made no sense that Harry would feel jumpy around Hermione's dad. But he did. Jake looked at him and something in Harry tightened.

Harry put it down to a very trying, difficult year wracking his nerves.

Harry turned his eyes down to the floorboard where Kimmy was curled next to his feet. She returned his gaze a moment then rested her chin atop his shoe. Jake and Miranda's voices were a background mumble, voices of unsuspecting, content, normal people. Harry felt like the worst kind of intruder. He didn't belong here, he had no place.

He blinked and looked up when, during the lull while her parents conversed, Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's. He glanced at her face, met her eyes, and when she smiled some of the raging disquiet and discomfort slipped away. Something in him wanted to draw her closer, pull her tight against him as they'd sat in the common room that night. He believed that somehow the amount of contact would displace a proportional amount of his unease. If she'd hug him it might be okay.

"Here we are, kids," Jake's voice broke into Harry's thoughts and he pulled his eyes from Hermione's face to look out the window.

They had pulled into the drive of a cozy suburban home. It was larger than the Durlseys' house on Privet drive, with a bigger yard and more space between neighbors. It looked far more inviting than the little abode of his aunt and uncle had ever looked, and for that very reason it scared him.

Hermione took her hand from Harry's and opened her door.

The knot of discomfort in Harry's chest swelled again. In his second's pause he was the last to leave the car.

Kimmy bounded out of the car and trotted off. One would think it was the errant meanderings of a dog looking for a place to squat, but Harry noted that Kimmy was very exactly walking the perimeter of the yard, turning at a ninety degree angle at the corner of the property, and disappearing behind the house.

"Harry," Jake's voice called. It was just Harry's name, with only a very slight tone of command, but it made Harry turn at once. The Grangers were pulling trunks and pet carriers from the back seat. Jake, at that moment, was holding Hedwig's cage up and gestured between it and Harry.

Harry moved to the family's side and took the cage of his owl. Hedwig blinked through the bars at him and Harry inhaled on the cusp of a question. But he wasn't sure if he had right to ask. He stared down piteously at his imprisoned beloved bird and burned to ask.

"That's a beautiful owl," Miranda said.

"Her name's Hedwig," said Hermione.

Harry looked cautiously up at Miranda. "Missus Granger… do you think, I mean, would it be all right to let her out of her cage? Just now and then?"

Miranda shrugged. "Oh, well, I don't see the harm. I mean, I suppose like Crookshanks she's, um…" Miranda smiled as though in a joke while trying to be delicate, "well, more mindful not to make a mess than regular animals?"

Harry nodded. "She's well-behaved. I'd just like it if she didn't have to spend all summer caged."

"Well, I don't have a problem with that. Do you, Jake?"

Harry looked imploringly to Jake.

Jake scratched his ear and gave a shrug. "Fine by me."

Harry sighed in relief and looked down to Hedwig. He lowered his voice to a gentle near-whisper. "Hear that, Hedwig? You'll get to fly this summer."

Hedwig clicked her beak and puffed out her feathers.

"Well, come on, let's get all this luggage inside and I'll start lunch," Miranda said as she began to drag Hermione's trunk. Harry moved to grab his but Jake got to it first. That left Harry to tend to Hedwig and Hermione toting Crookshanks's carrying case. Kimmy showed up just as they reached the door and waited patiently to be let in with the rest of them.

The décor inside surprised Harry in the sense that it didn't remind him of the Dursleys. He was certain that one muggle home would favor another, but where there was a cold, impersonal, unnaturally perfect cleanliness to Petunia's house, there was comfort in the Grangers'. It wasn't messy, but it looked lived-in. It looked like a home where people put up their feet and tossed of their jackets just inside the front door.

Hermione set the pet carrier on the floor and opened the door. Crookshanks hurried out as though every second inside was a greater insult. He flicked his tail to reestablish his feline aplomb then wandered off haughtily.

Harry paused, looked once in question in the direction of Jake and Miranda, and warily unlocked Hedwig's cage. When neither Jake nor Miranda scolded him he reached inside. Hedwig stepped on to his forearm, protected by the material of Harry's jacket, and let Harry gently pull her free of her cage. Harry transferred the bird to his shoulder and Hedwig flapped her wings once and settled comfortably on her master's shoulder. It seemed just the fact she was not surrounded by bars was an immense improvement.

Jake disappeared down the hall dragging Hermione's trunk.

Miranda glanced at Harry with the owl perched on his shoulder and chuckled. "You know, we're used to letters from Hogwarts that Hermione sends us during term coming with those smaller brown owls. We were a bit startled by Hedwig when she showed up at our window one night while we were watching the telly."

The elegant white bird was definitely a cut above the screech and barn owls generally available to students.

Jake returned empty-handed and pronounced, "I'll get us all some drinks. Harry, what would you like?"

"Oh, um…" Harry faltered.

Hermione piped in. "We have lemonade; Dad loves it."

"That'll be good, lemonade," Harry said.

"I'll be along directly to start lunch, Jake. Hermione, why don't you show Harry where he'll be staying?"

Hermione nodded. Harry, mindful of Hedwig on his shoulder, bent down and grabbed the handle of his trunk and followed Hermione into the hall. She gave a truncated tour on their way. "The first door on the left is to Dad's study. There on the right is the loo. That one's my room, on the left there, on the right is my parents' bedroom, and this," Hermione turned to the last door on the left, "this is the guest room. You'll be staying here." Hermione pushed her way in and Harry followed.

The room was nearly twice as big as his bedroom at four Privet Drive. It had the neutral look of a guest room, neither indicative of gender nor family relationship, but it was still so disturbingly warm and welcoming that Harry was given pause. Hermione sat down on the end of the queen-sized bed and watched Harry. Away from her parents her façade dropped, her smile was more in the back of her eyes than on her mouth, the air about her was more serious than the care-free and happy front she'd been showing her parents. Harry finally saw his Hermione from Hogwarts again.

Harry stepped further into the room and dropped his trunk on the floor. A dresser sat perpendicular to a curtained window and Harry set Hedwig's cage on the corner. He pulled the curtains of the window and pinned them open. Outside was a garden, not immaculate and precise like Petunia's but lovingly tended and, for that, better. A modest-sized in-ground pool, ringed by deck furniture, was situated to the right of the garden. A privacy fence cordoned off the Grangers' property, and while it was nothing extravagant the size of the back yard would have made Uncle Vernon purple with jealousy.

Harry opened the window and reached up for Hedwig, transferring her to the windowsill. The bird trilled contently at the breeze in her face, and Harry knew she was looking forward to night when she could hunt. For now, the owl was happy to sit and doze in the sunlight.

Harry finally turned to Hermione. She sat back, her arms bracing her on the mattress as she looked closely at him, and something in it made Harry swallow and his insides squirm.

"You all right, Harry?" she asked gently, a crinkle of concern on her brow and pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Harry couldn't lie, not to her, not anymore. "Dunno."

Hermione sat up, now even more serious, and waited in worry.

Harry looked around the room. This was Hermione's home, his best friend as much and more so than Ron, so why wasn't he as relaxed here as he was at the Burrow? What made him feel like a disease in their house? He felt like the adopted brother with Ron and his family. Now he felt like the stranger, the burglar that forgot to sneak out after the burgle and decided to stay for dinner.

Hermione stood and it jarred Harry from his thoughts as he looked up at her. She cocked her head in silent question.

Harry leaned back to perch carefully on the dresser. It felt intrusive to even touch anything. He looked down at his hands and tried to think of words for what he felt. "Maybe… well, at Ron's… there's so many people that it's easy to be there and get lost. Here… I stand out." Harry smirked feebly and looked fleetingly at her. "And I usually don't stand out in a good way."

Hermione frowned and walked up to him. She stopped directly in front of him and Harry slowly brought his eyes up to meet hers. He expected bossy, domineering Hermione from the stance of her body, but when he reached her face there was only compassion and worry.

Something in her eyes told him to stand and he took his weight off the dresser and stood upright. It brought them closer together, and it made him half an inch taller than she.

Hermione looked up into his face a moment then, without asking, calmly stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. And Harry was finally getting that hug he knew he had needed since the car.

Harry brought his arms up around her and held her snugly. It was easier every time. It was easy now. What was beyond the ease of this embrace? How could it possibly feel better, more right, more therapeutic, next time? Harry rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Hermione was a powerful witch, but her greatest magic was how she could do this to him. Nothing in his life had ever made him feel like everything would be okay… except when Hermione held him.

The sound of the door opening surprised them both, but not in time to jump apart before Miranda poked her head inside and saw them.

"Oh," surprise registered as she saw her daughter and Harry drop their arms from each other and move apart. For a second there was blank confusion, then Miranda's expression barely hardened. Harry darted a look at Hermione. He was astounded at what he saw. Hermione's cheeks were slightly pink, but that was the only indication of any embarrassment or guilt. Hermione was standing proudly beside Harry, chin up, eyes squarely meeting her mother's. Harry couldn't imagine where this Hermione had been hiding. Had this woman been inside her all these years and he simply never noticed before?

From the slightly startled look on Miranda's face, he had to think this was new to her, too.

Miranda recovered in the next moment and cleared her throat. "Lunch is ready." Harry was sure that her voice was a little colder than it had been before. It made him regret hugging Hermione, no matter how much he'd needed it. It wasn't worth angering Hermione's parents.

Hermione smiled. "All right," and back was the old Hermione, the Hermione from the train station. The Hermione that was gay and chipper for her parents' sake.

Miranda looked a long moment at Hermione, and Harry knew that she was just now understanding that the Hermione she'd seen since the station, the Hermione she'd always known, was an act. She recognized with bewilderment that her daughter had been faking being same old Hermione. That in unguarded moments, she was no longer a Hermione that Miranda would immediately recognize.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione turned to him and Harry met her eyes and searched frantically for some foothold. Could the Granger household survive his presence? Look what it had done so far, even if only for a moment Miranda had seen a stranger in her daughter.

But Hermione's smile was back, suggesting everything was fine. It was the light in her eyes saying the same thing that finally got Harry to move and follow her out of the room.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Miranda watched Harry and Hermione like a hawk during lunch. Harry didn't say much; he ate quietly, as though afraid every movement would be a misstep. He answered direct questions, but otherwise was the very definition of unobtrusive. He occasionally looked toward Hermione. When Hermione happened to catch his eye there would be a moment, something, a surge of something that transcended the four of them at the table eating turkey sandwiches. In those seconds, Miranda saw flickers of a girl, a woman, a side of Hermione she had never seen before. It was the same flash that she'd seen when she caught Hermione and Harry hugging. It was almost like a disjointed soul had moved into Hermione's body. A soul older, wiser, solemner than the girl Miranda saw leave for Hogwarts at the beginning of term.

It made her want to cry 'dear lord, what's happened?'

Jake, oblivious, was making conversation with Hermione like old times. He asked about the school year and finally Hermione talked about Hogwarts. Miranda only then realized it was the first time their normally talkative daughter had broached the subject that was usually her topic of choice.

Miranda listened with split concentration while Hermione gave a very, very brief, non-specific account of the year. That, too, was abnormal. Hermione could make a five-minute incident at Hogwarts into an hour long tale. It was almost with the air of an off-handed comment that she said, "Oh, well, this year there were people from a couple of other magic schools at Hogwarts for this tournament."

Miranda noticed, because she'd been watching both so intently, that Harry froze.

"Oh?" Jake asked. "What kind of tournament? Is this like that football game you mentioned?"

One side of Hermione's mouth quirked upward for a half-second. "No, not Quidditch. This was, well, a bigger competition, and there were only four contestants. Two from the other schools and two from Hogwarts."

Harry had stopped eating. He placed his hands slowly in his lap, as though trying to avoid drawing attention, as if he was trying to physically disappear. Hermione continued to smile at her father but her eyes slid over to rest on Harry, and the light in her eyes was anything but merry like her voice.

Miranda wanted to know, she needed to understand. Where was the cheerful, honest Hermione she'd raised? The girl whose face matched her mood?

Jake pressed further about the tournament. He teased that living in a house where he was outnumbered by women he was sports-starved.

"Oh," Hermione brightened, too brightly, "you ought to have Harry explain Quidditch to you, then. I know I've done a ruddy job, but Harry knows all about it. He's the Gryffindor seeker."

Jake smiled at the idea, clearly making an effort. "Well, then, Harry."

Harry flinched and looked up when the attention was on him.

Jake said amiably, "How does that sound to you?"

Harry nodded. "That'd be fine, sir."

Hermione sighed faintly in relief.

Jake reached for his glass. "Think you could explain this tournament as well? If it's sports-related then I fear my dear Hermione won't have paid much attention. I love her dearly, but she'd never notice a sport so long as there was a book to be had. I bet you could fill me in, though, right?"

Harry cast his eyes downward.

Hermione bit her lip. She glanced at Harry. She seemed to make a decision. "Well, yes, Harry was one of the Hogwarts contestants." Miranda noted that that detail was seemingly provided with reluctance and didn't know why there was the need.

Jake grunted in acknowledgement as he took a swallow of lemonade. "Ah, quite the sportsman, eh, Harry?"

Harry gave a stiff shrug. "I don't know about that. I prefer Quidditch."

"Tournament wasn't your fancy, I take it?"

Harry frowned. "No, sir."

Hermione jumped into the conversation again, talking about the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs and reciting nearly an entire history of the two schools, and it was just like their old Hermione, but this time Miranda could see it was a farce. Hermione was chattering to pull the conversation away from the details of the tournament and from Harry. Miranda felt like her home had been twisted and left contorted in a shape she didn't know yet how to rectify. Her daughter had come home a changed person, and it didn't take a genius to know that Harry had a great deal to do with the emergence of this new Hermione.

Harry didn't eat another bite after the mention of the tournament. He picked at his food. Miranda noticed, and so did Hermione. She cast a worried, fretful look at him several times but she didn't say a word.

By the end of lunch things were back to some semblance of normal. Harry was explaining Quidditch to Jake, and the subject seemed to relax Harry. Kimmy had appeared in the dining room during the explanation of beaters and bludgers; no one had noticed the dog gone until it showed up out of the depths of the house and sat by the wall where she watched the proceedings alertly. Miranda could swear even the dog seemed to watch Harry with a kind of consuming interest.

Hermione helped Miranda clear the table when everyone was finished; she paused with a frown at Harry's half-eaten sandwich before throwing it away.