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.

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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.