Jake was always the first one up in the morning. His and Miranda's alarm clock had two settings. He rose on the first and Miranda slept until the second alarm forty-five minutes later. Miranda preferred the extra sleep; Jake liked to be up earlier and ease into the day instead of dashing from bed to out the door.

Jake shuffled into the kitchen and went to the coffee pot... only to find it was already brewing. Kimmy, Harry's little house elf, had taken to making the coffee herself every morning. She could not be dissuaded from the task. For a few days Jake had tried to get up earlier and earlier and catch her before she'd started the pot, but he never managed it. No matter what, Kimmy beat him to it. He decided it was silly to try fighting a magical being with only an alarm clock on his side. He relented. Besides, Kimmy was figuring out how to make a very decent cup of coffee.

After so many years of getting up and starting coffee he still, every morning, went to do it before seeing the pot already on and remembering Kimmy now saw to that.

Jake turned to go out and fetch the morning paper... and saw it sitting in wait on the kitchen table. Kimmy, too, brought that in (as her dog form, of course). Kimmy's helping presence in the house made Jake look quite the bumbling idiot as he tried to move through long-ingrained habits, half awake, to find all of them already tended to.

Breakfast, at least, was something Kimmy hadn't taken over. Mainly because Jake didn't eat the same thing every morning, it depended on what he felt like when he woke, and the house elf hadn't quite figured out a way to divine that. So she had to leave Jake to feed himself.

Jake passed by the open doorway connecting the kitchen and living room several times before it registered that something was different. Jake was heading back to the fridge for orange juice, already having made himself toast with jam, when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He stopped and looked. And did a double take.

Jake, forgetting the juice, closed the fridge and walked into the living room.

Harry was sleeping on the couch, a blanket sprawled over his body, the back of the couch, and trailing on to the floor. His previously-white-but-now-black owl, Hedwig, was perched on the arm of the couch near his head. She was looking down intently at her master, but when Jake came into the room her head swiveled up to pin bright amber eyes on him. Ronald Weasley's little owl, Pig or Hog or something, was on the armchair kitty-corner to the couch. The excitable bird was more subdued than normal, perhaps still recovering from his apparently long journey yesterday or maybe having some sense of the fact that someone was sleeping in the room.

On the back of the couch, his ginger tail swishing lazily like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, Hermione's cat Crookshanks was dozing but every once in a while cracked open an eye to check on Harry.

The movement that had caught Jake's attention, however, was the little figure tucked in the corner of the room, sitting like a yogi master in the middle of deep meditation. Except this yogi was a two foot tall magical elf wearing hot pink boxers. Kimmy was keeping vigil but every so often she turned to look toward the window... that was the motion that had caught Jake's eye. She looked more fretful, more serious, than Jake had ever seen her. Except for maybe the day Harry and Hermione had come back from the park after some kind of near incident with Harry's magic getting out of control. She looked as though she expected something to happen.

Kimmy looked back at Harry then toward Jake. She gave a wan smile and held up her finger to her lips.

Jake, not ready to deal with what was going on in his living room, turned around and went back to the kitchen to carry on with breakfast.

He didn't get any manner of explanation for the odd conglomeration in his living room until his wife came in later. He was seated at the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper when Miranda came in and poured herself a cup of coffee. She slid into the chair across from her husband and Jake asked, "Did you see the living room?"

Miranda nodded and stole the front page.

"What's going on?"

Miranda yawned. "Harry had a bad dream last night and had a bit of an accident in his bed."

Jake sputtered. "He wet the bed? Isn't he a bit old for that?"

Miranda smirked, but it looked more like a grimace than any reflection of amusement. "He didn't have that kind of accident, he threw up."

"Oh, well... must have been some dream."

Miranda frowned. "I woke up in the middle of the night and found him trying to clean up. I put him to bed on the couch."

"So... what's with the menagerie?"

"I guess they just wanted to make sure nothing else disturbed him."

Jake grunted. "Not much chance of that with the critter guard he's got in there." Jake shook his head. "He's a strange boy."

Miranda bit her lip, the same way Hermione did when troubled.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, leaning closer, suddenly concerned.

She looked up at her husband and sadness and bitterness swam in her brown eyes. "Jake... when I came upon Harry last night, well, he was still kind of foggy, not really lucid... I moved to touch him and he... he acted like I was going to hit him for messing his bed. When he was a bit more clear-headed he said he'd thought he was back with his aunt and uncle."

Jake studied his wife's worried expression pensively. He knew Miranda had become quite taken with Harry. She genuinely liked the boy, and really Jake couldn't blame her. For the most part he was a really decent chap. Polite, congenial, had a good head for sports and did a splendid job of describing Quidditch in a way that made it come alive, and he seemed to really make an effort to please Miranda and follow any house rules he could ascertain. The last of which was a feat of sorts in itself, because the Grangers didn't have set rules, instead things that were done and things that weren't, had always been that way, things that were understood by all in the family. Harry was a quiet houseguest, clean, accommodating, a bit reserved but a quick thinker, a real 'think on his feet' type. He was good at making Hermione laugh, bringing out of her a person Jake had always wished they could see in their studious, isolated child. So far he seemed to do damn near everything Hermione told him to do. Jake wondered if the kid would walk into oncoming traffic if only Hermione asked him to (and Jake honestly thought that Harry would). Really, the only complaint Jake had against the boy was the way he looked at his little girl sometimes. A bit too friendly, even for best friends, for Jake's liking.

That didn't mean he liked the idea of Harry being abused. It made him think of Harry a little differently, though, made him reconsider all the things he'd noticed about Harry Potter that had seemed a little off since the boy came into their home. "That might explain some things," he mused aloud.

Miranda closed her hands tightly around her cup. "It's just... he's such a sweet boy! How anyone could harm him..."

"Well, if I remember correctly, some evil wizard tried to kill him, didn't he?"

Miranda blanched and looked down at the unread section of paper in front of her. "I suppose... I suppose I just want to think of him as a normal teenage boy. And he's really not."

"Don't think our Hermione would take such a shine to him if he was."

Miranda smiled at that and stole Jake's half-eaten piece of jammed toast and ate in thoughtful silence.

It was just as quiet as any other morning before Miranda and Jake headed off to work, just as still and understated, but there was an air of tension that was unfamiliar, its source the sleeping boy in the Grangers' living room. Miranda and Jake took care when they walked by the living room. They dressed in the kind of quiet that shrouded a wake, the tread of the recently dead in the air, or at least its bedmate. Miranda went into Harry's bedroom to see about remaking the bed and putting on clean sheets to find it already done. Kimmy, no doubt. She returned to the kitchen where she had her husband milled around, ready to head out, and still they were mute in deference to the sleeping wounded in their house, though that victim might not bleed.

At the opportune moment, Miranda was in a position to see into the living room and the hallway both. She saw Hermione before Jake did. Crookshanks was still stationed steadfastly on the back of the couch, he'd never budged from his part of the mass vigil over Harry, and for that reason Miranda wasn't sure Hermione would wake in time to see them out the door. Crookshanks was usually her alarm clock, but to guard Harry he'd abandoned that job.

Hermione shuffled sleepily out of the dark hallway, bleary-eyed and yawning, her hair an exceptional mess. Miranda couldn't help but watch her daughter with acute interest. Somehow, seeing how Hermione would react was morbidly fascinating.

Hermione came into the junction of living room and kitchen, saw the gathering of creatures, and stopped. She stared a moment at Crookshanks, Hedwig, Pig, and Kimmy, then she looked closer and Miranda could see the moment that her little girl realized Harry was on the couch. Sleep left her stance and eyes completely. Miranda didn't know someone could go from groggy to hyper-alert so quickly. Hermione, suddenly a ball of potential energy and racing thoughts, looked from Harry to her mother. There was a flare there, a fire in Hermione's eyes, and Miranda half-expected in that second for Hermione to take over the watch already posted... or to take command of it.

Hermione glanced back toward Harry then turned and marched up to Miranda. In a firm, concerned whisper she asked, "What's happened to Harry?"

Miranda glanced toward her husband, wondering if he too was seeing the change in their daughter. Jake was watching, and from the look on his face he definitely noticed.

Miranda looked to her determinedly protective Hermione and toward the couch where Harry lay, unaware of the champions in arms about him. "He had a nightmare last night and woke up sick."

Hermione's eyes widened, she looked torn for a moment between letting him sleep and needing to check on him, and the latter won out. Without a word she turned and hurried into the living room.

Jake appeared silently at Miranda's side and touched her elbow. He leaned in to whisper, "He really sets something off in her, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"I don't like it," Jake grumbled.

Miranda looked sympathetically at her husband. "Have a care, Jake, Harry may one day be your son-in-law."

Jake scowled. "Yeah, I know."

Miranda touched Jake's hand gently, in commiseration, then moved a few paces toward the living room. She couldn't help but watch.

Hermione had cautiously rounded the couch where Harry slept. Hedwig, Crookshanks, Pig, and Kimmy watched her impassively, making no move to stop her. Miranda was sure, if she'd approached, there would have been some ruffled feathers... literally. Not for Hermione. She went to him like it was her right, and they conceded to her in like fashion.

Hermione pushed her hair back from her face and bent close to Harry. Worry etched into the lines of her face, making her ages older than her fourteen years. She studied him a moment in the light pouring softly from the living room windows. Harry was on his back, head turned to the side, one arm crossed over his chest. He was motionless but for the rhythm of his breathing. That simple movement Hermione marked like a band conductor leading a march, then she brought up her hand and lightly touched his shoulder.

Harry flinched and reached out to fend her off... and in the next split-second the hand that had been flung out to hold her at bay came to rest lightly on her arm, almost as though to hold her where she stood at his side. He stared up at her a moment, time froze as they looked into one another's eyes, then Hermione slid her hand up from his shoulder to his face and cupped his cheek lightly. "Harry? You all right?"

Harry took a few breaths then let her arm go. He gingerly sat up and Hermione sat down on the couch beside him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Hermione leaned closer to him, Miranda could only see their backs, but it spoke volumes. Harry's stooped shoulders and drooping head, Hermione's strong, protective posture, the way she pressed gently against his shoulder to offer comfort. Miranda suspected she was seeing the Harry and Hermione of Hogwarts, maybe the first time she really saw her daughter and Harry Potter as they naturally were.

Harry looked up and around at all the magical watchdogs he had and questioned Hermione by way of a frown in her direction. Hermione gave a shrug and rubbed his back with one hand. Harry sagged into the contact and with a great sigh he seemed to fold to the horrors of the previous night.

Miranda gave them a moment then approached. "Harry?"

Harry and Hermione both looked up at her as she came into the living room. Hermione did not drop her hand from Harry's back but she stopped rubbing. Harry looked almost afraid of her, and Miranda was scared to think that she might know why. What she'd seen last night scared her too. Not the nightmare, but the hint of a boy who'd been faced with maternal behavior and didn't know what to do with it. He looked wary that the same unfathomable force would come to bear again.

Miranda fully intended it.

"Are you feeling better, honey?"

Harry tensed and his face screwed. Hermione cut a look at him and she withdrew her hand. Hermione knew. This thing Miranda only saw last night, Hermione already knew it. How many painful secrets about this boy did Hermione keep?

"Uh... yeah, much. Thank you."

Too damn formal, too polite, too distant.

"You look a sight better. Come here."

Harry darted a panicked look at her, questioning and flighty. Miranda offered her most unimposing smile and beckoned him to her. Harry stiffened, threw a glance at Hermione, then rose and moved warily to Miranda.

When he stood before her Miranda reached up and brushed his hair from his brow... then she leaned in and pressed her cheek to his forehead. Harry made as though to pull away then he just didn't. He simply gave it. He stopped fighting and let her care about him. It felt like a wall crumbling in the quiet of the early morning.

Miranda drew away in a small manner of triumph. "You feel fine; I still want you to take it easy today, all right?"

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Harry and Hermione both saw Jake and Miranda to the door. When Miranda turned to bid Hermione goodbye she kissed her daughter on the forehead... then did the same to Harry. Harry looked up at her with eyes that seemed to both cry gratitude and swim with fear of the unknown. But he cracked a very tiny, very uncertain half-smile when she told Hermione to watch after Harry. Hermione smiled too, but it was somehow more of a lioness baring her teeth to dare anyone to cross her than an amused smile.

As they were getting into the car to drive to the office, Jake and Miranda both glanced up to see the pair of teenagers standing in the doorway watching them head off. A bat-eared Chihuahua pushed through to stand between their legs and bark a farewell. Miranda was certain, beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was meant to say 'I've got it from here'.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Hermione turned to Harry the millisecond that the front door closed. Harry had expected no less.

"Was it truly a nightmare?" Hermione asked pointedly. Kimmy transformed back to her house elf shape and scuttled, butt-naked, over to the spot on the floor where her pink boxers had fallen when her body shifted to canine form. One ear turned to the conversation taking place, she shimmied into her shorts and slipped the home-made shoulder straps over her arms.

"Yeah, it was... but not just that," Harry confessed. This was Hermione. There was no point in lying or evading, she'd ferret out the truth, it was Hermione's nature. And if anyone could hear these kind of 'Potter stories' and still see Harry past them, it was Hermione Granger. "It was Voldemort, he was torturing someone, an Auror, and then he killed him." Harry rubbed at his scar, the recount reigniting the memory of the burning that had erupted on his forehead, "I woke up feeling awful, my scar hurt."

Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully, eyes intent on Harry but part of her brain working furiously a thousand miles away. "This can't be good."

"Well, no, I'd kind of sussed that part out," Harry muttered sarcastically. He was still edgy, still felt the sour magic of the Avada Kedavra in his mind.

Hermione frowned at him then seemed to understand he was under a fair amount of stress and let his snide remark be. "What should we do?" she mused aloud, not actually asking anyone.

Kimmy, however, answered. "Kimmy has spoken with Master Albus about Mister Harry Potter's bad dream; he's expecting us."

Harry and Hermione looked down quickly at Kimmy. Hermione regained her faculties first. "The headmaster wants to see us?"

Kimmy nodded.

"Where?"

"At Hogwarts, of course," Kimmy said.

"Hogwarts? How are we to get there?" Harry asked. Outside of the Hogwarts Express, he knew of only two ways to get to the school in anything approaching a timely fashion, neither of which were options available to them at the Granger residence. "Hermione and I aren't able to apparate..."

"No, no, by floo. Master Albus has a protected fire, much safer than portkey or apparition at these uncertain times."

Hermione crinkled her nose. "But we haven't a fireplace, much less one connected to the floo network, private or otherwise..."

"But Kimmy does," the house elf pressed.

Before Harry or Hermione could mount any inquiries Kimmy was shooing them toward the bedrooms. "Dress now! Master Albus will be waiting for us; it won't do to meet him in knickers and dressing gowns!"

Harry and Hermione cast one another a silent shrug and disappeared into their respective rooms to change.

When they emerged, dressed and ready to go, Harry and Hermione stood around the hallway, at a loss for where they were expected to go. Kimmy was nowhere to be found when they converged in the hall. Hedwig maneuvered her way through the house with what seemed, once confined, the movement of massive black wings. She brushed past Hermione and alighted on Harry's shoulder, her wings spread to halt her momentum and for a moment shrouding Harry about the head and shoulders with her span of ebony feathers. She balanced, tucked her wings, and nibbled at Harry's ear. Harry brought up a hand and stroked her chest. "I don't know, Hedwig."

The hall closet opened and Kimmy stepped out, caught sight of them, and gestured them forward. "Come, come, Master Albus waits."

Harry and Hermione went to the closet and peered inside at the coats and umbrellas. It looked like a normal muggle closet. There was no indication of any way they might be whisked off to their beloved magical school amid the coats.

"Down, down, you won't ever get to Kimmy's house up there!" Kimmy said at their knees, turned to the left, pushed past two jackets, and ran right toward the wall... only there was never the sound of her hitting it.

Kimmy was gone.