Seventh Year Itch by Jenn1Sunshine

1. Prologue

Disclaimer: It’s all hers, not mine. If you think it’s mine, then I have this lovely bridge in Brooklyn that you might be interested in…

A/N: This is dedicated to my very good beta and even better friend, Cat. I would never have had the guts to do this without her. *waiting for the Gummy Bears to strike*

~*~*~

Dear Hermione,

Glad to hear your summer is going well. As you can imagine, mine isn’t all wine and roses at the Dursleys, although now that I’m taller than Dudley, he seems not to threaten me as much. It’s quite nice, really. Of course, with the title of ‘Vanquisher of the Most Dangerous Lunatic in All of Wizardkind’ under my belt, Dudley gets scared if I step on a twig wrong or some rubbish like that.

Ron and his family just owled me – they want me to spend the last two weeks of summer vacation at the Burrow. I was going to say yes, but I wanted to check if you would be going as well. Ron mentioned writing to you, but he hadn’t heard back from you yet. So will you be there? It wouldn’t be the same without both of my best friends there.

Please owl me back soon, but first tell Ron you’ll join us at his house.

Love,

Harry

P.S. Ron said he’d save some garden gnomes for Crookshanks to chase if you come, which I know you will.

Hermione Granger smiled to herself as she read her friend’s letter once again. Then, she set the parchment down and went to sit on her bed beside an unmoving lump of ginger fur. “Well, Crookshanks?” Hermione said, running a gentle hand over the animal’s back. “What do you think? Shall we go?”

In response, Crookshanks stretched his fat, little legs and yawned widely. He gazed at his mistress with a bored expression that said something to the effect of “It’s up to you.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at her cat. “I know, I know, it’s my decision.” She picked up Harry’s letter again and took another glance at it. Something about the way he wrote his letter…there seemed to be a slight joking quality about it. Ever since he had defeated Voldemort at the end of their sixth year (with the help of the Order of the Phoenix, the staff of Hogwarts, his fellow students, and most importantly, Hermione and Ron, that is), Harry had lightened up. No longer did he feel the pressure of the entire Wizarding World on his shoulders. Granted, he had suffered from the losses of his parents and godfather, but he used the love he felt for them, combined with his self-righteous anger at Voldemort for all of the fear and terror he caused, to his advantage – the Dark Lord never stood a chance.

Hermione sighed and shook her head slightly. There was no need to focus on the past; Voldemort was long gone, and Harry now had the opportunity to just be a teenager (which was long overdue, in Hermione’s opinion). Moving back towards her bed from her desk, she looked down at her beloved pet who, upon seeing her approach, promptly flipped onto his back, expecting her to scratch his stomach. “You’re a spoiled cat, Crookshanks,” Hermione quipped, easing onto the mattress and fulfilling the cat’s unspoken request. “Belly rubs and garden gnomes to chase. Do you always get what you want?”

Crookshanks simply closed his eyes and let out a satisfied meow.

Hermione grinned and pushed herself off her bed. “I’d better go downstairs and ask Mum and Dad if it’s okay for me to go.”

Before she could leave her room, a quick rap against her window pulled her back. Startled, Hermione turned towards the glass to find a tiny Scops owl circling madly around outside. “Pig?” she said aloud while going over to open the window.

As soon as he was able, Pigwidgeon zoomed into the room and nearly hit the wall on the other side. He gave a high-pitched hoot as Hermione managed to save him from a head-on collision with a framed picture.

The sight of Ron’s owl made Hermione smile as she gently untied and removed the letter from Pig’s leg. She broke up an owl treat for him, and while he ate, she unrolled the parchment and immediately laughed out loud.

HERMIONE,

PLEASE SAVE ME FROM MY BROTHER THE GIT. HE’S DRIVING ME NUTS. I NEED ANOTHER FEMALE AT THE BURROW!

GINNY

~~~

Hermione,

Please excuse my little ~~prat~~ sister’s note at the beginning of this letter. I’m writing again to see if you will be coming to the Burrow at the end of the summer. I know I’ve owled you before, but with Pig being the way he is (you know what I mean), I didn’t know if you had actually received my letters since I never heard back. Ginny’s been banging around here, saying, “There’s not enough Xs in this Y-dominated house!” None of us can figure out what she’s on about, so Mum specifically requested for you to come here and help.

Harry told me he had written to you as well; we invited him, too, but he hasn’t said either way if he’s coming or not. Think of it, Hermione: the three of us (okay, maybe Ginny as well), just hanging out, enjoying the rest of the summer before our last year at Hogwarts. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

Harry said he wouldn’t say yes or no until he hears from you, so feel free to use Pig to send him a letter, too. I told Pig to wait until you were completely ready to send your letters, but then again, it’s PIG, so hopefully he’s still there.

Answer us soon; Ginny says she’s “going batty,” but I don’t think she hexed herself.

Cheers,

Ron

“Those Weasleys will never change,” Hermione said to herself. She suddenly felt a strong emotional pull towards her friends; she missed them. She wanted to see them. Hurrying out of her room, she flew down the stairs with her letters in her hand. “Mum? Dad?” Hermione called out as she reached the first floor of her house. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, dear,” came a voice from Hermione’s left.

Hermione turned sharply on her left foot and skidded to a stop on the kitchen’s tiled floor. “Mum, Dad, can I ask you something?”

Mrs. Granger, who was standing at the stove, flashed a smile at her only child. “Sure, dear. What is it?”

“Well, Harry, Ron, and Ginny all wrote to me and asked if I could spend the last two weeks of summer vacation at the Burrow.” She waved her letters as if to give proof. “May I?”

Mr. Granger, who had been sitting at the table reading the newspaper, lowered the section he was scanning and looked at his daughter. “Hermione, we’ve barely had any free time with you while you’ve been home for the summer. Can’t you wait until September first and see them on the train?”

“But, Dad, this is my last year at Hogwarts. We’ll have all the summers after I’m done to spend together.” Hermione crossed the room, slipped into the chair next to her father, and cuddled up close to him. “Please, Dad?” she cooed, batting her eyelashes at him for good measure.

Mrs. Granger laughed at Hermione’s antics. “Darling,” she said to her husband, “she does have a point, you know. We didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the summer anyway; we’re too busy at the office, remember? We might as well say yes.”

Mr. Granger sighed and took off his glasses. “Oh, all right. Go ahead; tell your friends you’ll be coming. Just let us know how you’re supposed to get there, okay?”

Hermione’s face lit up as she shot out of her chair. “Oh, thank you!” She kissed her father on his cheek then darted over to her mother and hugged her around her waist. “You were right, Mum,” she said, bouncing excitedly on her tiptoes. “Dad fell for the batting-the-eyelashes trick you told me about.”

“What?” Mr. Granger sat up straight in his chair and set his newspaper to the side. “Excuse me, young lady,” he addressed Hermione, “but what do you mean, I ‘fell for the batting-the-eyelashes trick’?”

“Oh, that,” Hermione answered with a cheeky grin. “Well, Mum and I were talking a few nights ago, and she told me that if there’s something that she wants from you and you don’t want to do it, she just bats her eyelashes like this,” she demonstrated the action perfectly, “and you can’t say no to her.” She hugged the slim form of her mother’s body again. “So, thanks again, Mum; you too, Dad. I’m going to owl Harry and the others right now.”

As their daughter ran out of the room, Mrs. Granger pursed her lips to hide her smile from her husband, but it didn’t stop the snort of laughter that managed to escape. Hearing it, Mr. Granger rose from the table and went to stand next to his wife. “You told Hermione that I can’t say no when you bat your eyelashes at me?” he asked for clarification.

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Granger sighed, turning around to run her fingers through her husband’s salt-and-pepper hair. “We were just joking around with each other. It’s not like we were making fun of you.”

“I know, but still,” he protested, “isn’t it strange, giving your daughter tips on how you get your husband to do things?”

“You never know,” she responded cryptically before turning back to the stove. “She may need it sooner than later.”

Mr. Granger did a double take then tugged gently on his wife’s bushy brown hair. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, let’s just say that I think our daughter may have feelings for a certain young man,” she explained.

Mr. Granger’s bright brown eyes widened so much that when Mrs. Granger glanced at him over her shoulder for his reaction, she thought they could have popped out of his head. “What?” he cried, now starting to pace the floor. “Who is it? How do you know? Did Hermione say something to you?”

“Honey, calm down.” Mrs. Granger turned the stove off and followed her husband back to the table. Sitting down across from him, she took one of his large, tanned hands between her slim-fingered ones. “You didn’t notice that when Hermione told us that she had been invited to the Burrow for the rest of the summer, she mentioned Harry’s name first; he doesn’t even live at the Burrow. Second, when we said it was okay for her to go and she was leaving the room, she said she was going to owl her friends, but she mentioned only Harry by name.”

“So you think…”

“That our Hermione might fancy that young Harry Potter,” she finished simply.

“And you’re sure of that?”

“A mother knows her daughter, dear. Hermione may not know it herself, but I think she’ll find out this year.”

“You know too much,” Mr. Granger stated with a wink.

“So we know where Hermione gets it from,” Mrs. Granger replied, flashing her gleaming, even smile at her husband. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please set the table for lunch? As soon as Hermione sends her letters to her friends, we can eat.”

Meanwhile, oblivious to the exchange happening downstairs, Hermione rushed back into her room to find not one, not two, but three pets there. Crookshanks, who was still lying on the bed, was eyeing a frantically circling Pig near the ceiling. Pig was hooting excitedly because of the newest arrival: Hedwig was perched quietly on Hermione’s desk, rolling her large, amber eyes at the overexcited owl at the top of the room.

“Hedwig!” Hermione grinned as the snowy owl turned her head and hooted in greeting. As Hermione sat down, Hedwig held out her leg to show the letter that she had brought. “Thank you, Hedwig,” Hermione said, removing the parchment. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged around for another owl treat, which she gave to Hedwig as she read the new letter.

Dear Hermione,

Since I haven’t received a response from my first letter to you, I’m sending another one along with Hedwig. Wait. Now that I think about it, there’s no way you could have owled me back with your answer if Hedwig came back home after delivering my first letter; you don’t have an owl.

Great. Having to live with Dudley at Privet Drive is making me stupid.

Anyway, I was thinking, if you and I are both going to the Burrow for the end of the summer, why don’t we go together? I mean, why have the Weasleys go to two different places to get us, right? There’s no way the Dursleys will take me anywhere, and after the fiasco when Ron and the others came by to get me for the Quidditch World Cup, Uncle Vernon would flip over having them come back, even if is means I’m leaving. So here’s my proposition: if you and your parents (provided it’s okay with them) could come by to pick me up and bring me back to your place, we can have Mr. Weasley connect your fireplace to the Floo Network so we can Floo to the Burrow. That way, we can save their family two whole trips!

You know, I’m offering all this so you’ll say yes. Is it working?

Please send Hedwig back with a reply soon. In the meantime, I think Dinky Dudders (or whatever ridiculous name Aunt Petunia uses for him now) needs me to remind him who’s boss around here; I should go find a twig.

Love,

Harry

Hermione laughed out loud; she definitely couldn’t wait to see her friends again, and Harry’s plan for them to get to the Burrow did seem like a good one. Spreading out her letters in front of her, she reached for some blank parchments, a quill, and an inkpot to start writing.

Dear Ron and Ginny,

Before I truly begin, let me just say this: Ginny, your brother is not a git. Ron, your sister is not a prat. However, I think you’re both bonkers. Just kidding.

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner, but I’ve been helping out at Mum and Dad’s office to earn some extra spending money. There are a few books I’d like to buy at Diagon Alley before school starts again. (I know you’re rolling your eyes at me, Ron. Go ahead and get it out of your system now.) Anyway, I would love to spend the last two weeks of summer vacation at the Burrow. I’ve just asked Mum and Dad, and they’ve said it’s fine.

I did hear from Harry, and he suggested that my parents and I pick him up, bring him to my house, then the two of us can Floo from here to the Burrow; that way, your family doesn’t have to make an extra effort to get us. If your dad can hook us up to the Floo Network, I’ll run it past my parents, but I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.

Let me know as soon as you can. See you in a few weeks!

Cheers,

Hermione

P.S. Ron, you’d really better save some garden gnomes for Crookshanks, or else he’ll be very mad at you.

Hermione scanned the letter quickly and smiled. “Yes, they’re both bonkers,” she murmured as she set it aside to dry. Then, she pulled another piece of parchment towards her and began the second letter she would be sending that day.

Dear Harry,

I’ve received both of your letters; you think you always have the solution to everything, don’t you? You’ll never change. However…as much as I hate to admit it, you were right: yes, I’ll be going to the Burrow (my parents said okay), and goodness! You’ve actually come up with a good idea for us to get there! (Don’t let that go to your head, Harry. I know you.) I’m sending a letter to Ron and Ginny telling them that I’ll be coming, as well as how you and I will get there. You might want to send them a letter yourself; I didn’t go into much detail.

About Dudley and your aunt and uncle: don’t let them get you down, Harry. They don’t and will never understand how important you are to so many people. They’ll never know how special you truly are. If I were you, I’d go out and step on more than just a few twigs just to get Dudley’s goat, but that’s just me.

Anyway, take care of yourself for the next few weeks, and we’ll see each other again soon. I know I’m looking forward to it!

Hermione read her writing again, not completely sure of how to end the letter. She took another look at the letters that Harry had sent her. “Oh, well,” she said to herself, shrugging her shoulders, “might as well sign it the same way.”

Love,

Hermione

“There.” She put her quill down and set Harry’s letter off to her left. She then signaled for Pig to land on her desk so she could tie her letter to Ron and Ginny to his leg. Once she did, she watched as Pig circled madly about her room again then flew out the window before calling for Hedwig to repeat her actions with Harry’s letter. As the snowy owl left, Hermione rose from her chair and walked over to her bed to stretch out beside her cat. “Well, Crookshanks,” she said, scratching his full belly one more time, “this will certainly be an interesting year, if those letters are to serve as a sign of what’s to come.” She chuckled to herself. “Then again, I’ve never been a big believer in Divination.”

3. Chapter 1

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long in getting out there, but RL is kicking my butt. It’s probably going to be like this from now on; sorry if you don’t like it, but this is the only way I can keep writing while going to school, working, dealing with family, church, and everything else that’s happening in my life.

Again, BIG HUGS to my beta, Cat, without whom this wouldn’t be possible.

~*~*~

“Mum! Dad!” Hermione checked her watch as she paced the floor in her living room. “Come on! We have to go!”

After a few moments, Mr. Granger came down the stairs, followed closely by his wife. Each step they took was unhurried and calm – the complete opposite of their daughter’s anxious ones. They headed for the living room, but just before he went in and announced their presence, Mr. Granger abruptly stopped in his tracks.

Mrs. Granger, who had been fastening her watch around her wrist and therefore hadn’t been paying attention, ran directly into her husband’s back. “Honey,” she said in a hushed voice, rubbing a now-sore spot on her forehead, “what is going on?”

Mr. Granger could only stare at his only child; he blinked several times, as if his eyes might be deceiving him. “H-her…Hermione,” he stuttered, not moving a muscle. “She…she…”

Mrs. Granger frowned. “She what?”

“Her…her skirt…has flowers on it.”

“Okay.”

“Her blouse…it has ruffles.”

“Right.”

Mr. Granger turned his head slightly to whisper his last point to his wife: “And she’s wearing pink lip gloss.”

Mrs. Granger peeked into the room at Hermione, who had yet to notice them, over her husband’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Fashion-Conscious-Commentator,” she said with a hint of teasing in her voice. “So what’s your point?”

He shifted so that he could look directly at Mrs. Granger. “I didn’t know she even owned pink lip gloss,” he replied before turning his gaze back onto his daughter. “And when did she learn to pin her hair up all fancy like that?”

Mrs. Granger only grinned and shook her head at her husband’s bafflement. “There’s so much you don’t know about women, my dear.” Without waiting for a response, she slipped past Mr. Granger and entered the living room. “We’re ready, sweetheart,” she said aloud, which made Hermione stop pacing and sigh with relief. “Don’t you look nice, all done up so.”

Hermione blushed slightly at the compliment but grabbed both of her parents by the arms and started leading them towards the front door. “What took you so long?” she asked as she pulled them outside. “We should have left hours ago if we wanted to pick up Harry on time!”

Startled by his daughter’s words, Mr. Granger simply took his keys out of his pocket, handed them to Hermione, and reached out to draw his wife back just inside the door. As Hermione rushed out to open the car doors, he leaned in for a quick conversation with Mrs. Granger. “What does she mean, ‘we should have left hours ago’? Harry lives only forty-five minutes away!”

Mrs. Granger patted him gently on the arm. “She’s just excited to see her best friend, that’s all.”

Mr. Granger, however, would not be swayed. “Excited?” he said, his hands resting on his hips. “Is that why my little girl is all dressed up with makeup to boot? Just to see her friend?”

Mrs. Granger sighed; she wondered when her husband would get a clue. “Again, dear, you have much to learn about women.” She placed a hand on his back and nudged him out the door. “Come along, dear; we’d better get in the car before Hermione decides to drive off herself without us.”

*~*

Just under an hour later, Mr. Granger stopped in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, grumbling under his breath: “Of course I know about women. I married one, didn’t I? I have one for a daughter, don’t I? Of course I know about skirts. Of course I know about blouses. Of course I know about makeup. That’s not my little girl, though.”

Mrs. Granger waited until her husband turned the car’s engine off before she leaned over and said, “Yes, it is, but you just don’t want to admit it.” At his surprised look, she added, “I heard your muttering. Now unlock the door before Hermione jumps through the window.”

“All right, all right.” Pushing the button that opened the car’s locks, he watched in the rear view mirror as Hermione threw her door open and ran up the front walk of the Dursleys’ home. “Any more of that girl’s fidgeting and I’d have to replace the shocks,” he commented, shaking his head in disbelief. He then waited with Mrs. Granger as their daughter reached the front door.

Hermione rang the bell as soon as she reached the door then remembered that she had been sitting in the car for nearly an hour; she probably didn’t look as good as she wanted. Just as she began to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt, she noticed someone peeking out of the window next to the door.

Petunia smiled widely as she saw the girl standing outside. “Oh, Dudders,” she called out as she turned the doorknob, “there’s a pretty young lady here to see you.” She opened the door and, without giving Hermione a chance to say a single word, said, “Hello, you must be here to see Dudley.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but she found herself unable to speak as she spotted Harry’s cousin coming towards the door, moving faster than anyone of elephant-scale size should, with his father in tow. Dudley stopped short of the threshold, eyeing Hermione up and down with the same look he might give to a lemon meringue pie. Vernon, on the other hand, simply raised an eyebrow at her, as if to size her up as a potential mate for his one and only son.

Hermione struggled to move her mouth so that her jaw wasn’t hanging down to the floor in shock. “Good morning,” she greeted them.

Dudley snorted and twisted his mouth into what might be considered a smile. “You’re pretty,” he answered.

Not wanting to visibly flinch in front of the Dursleys, Hermione turned her eyes down to her clasped hands in order to avoid their gazes. “I, uh, erm,” she stammered, her voice growing more and more quiet with each syllable, “I’m actually here to, er, see Harry.”

Suddenly, a muffled yet familiar voice called out from behind the wall that the Dursley family had created in front of the entry. “Hermione? Is that you?”

Vernon’s face darkened as he realized that this girl on their doorstep was not there for Dudley. “You’re here to see that…that…abomination?”

Hermione scowled and was about to respond in kind, but just then, a loud cracking noise echoed through the hallway and out the door. She jumped a little in fright, but Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley gave three high-pitched screams of terror and ran back inside the house. Within seconds, Harry appeared in the doorway, flashing a toothy grin.

“Harry,” Hermione began, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at her friend, “what was that loud noise? You should know better than to do magic around Muggles; you’ve already been in enough trouble for that, and-”

Harry, who was smiling throughout Hermione’s mini-lecture, raised a hand and placed a finger over her lips to silence her. “Ah, ah, hold on,” he said, making sure she was looking into his eyes. When he felt sure she would stay quiet, he brought his left hand out from behind his back and showed her a medium-sized twig that had obviously been broken. “I snapped it in half when I couldn’t get to the door before the Dursleys did,” he explained with a wink. “Don’t blame me if they’re all so daft to think I did magic around them.” He tossed the two halves of the stick into the bushes near the doorway and shrugged his shoulders. “What are they going to do, right?”

Hermione laughed out loud. “Finding another way around the rules again, Harry?”

“It’s what I do best, isn’t it?” Harry sprang forward to sweep Hermione into his arms for a big bear hug. “Merlin, it’s good to see you, Hermione.”

“It’s great to see you, too, Harry.” Hermione was only half-surprised at Harry’s enthusiastic embrace. Once the threat of Voldemort was gone, Harry was more apt to physically touch people in friendly or affectionate ways but only when initiated by someone else; Harry had certainly never been the one to hug someone first, and Hermione was never the intended ‘huggee,’ so to speak (not that she minded it, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone).

Their welcome was short-lived; Vernon’s voice came booming down the hall: “Are you still here, boy? Why aren’t you gone yet?”

Harry let go of Hermione and rolled his eyes. “Would you help me get the rest of my things together, please?” he asked in a whisper. “The faster I’m packed up, the sooner I’ll be away from this place.”

“Sure.” Hermione motioned to her parents that they would just be a few more minutes, and then she followed Harry inside and upstairs to his bedroom.

After only a few minutes, Harry and Hermione came back down the stairs, carrying his trunk in between them with Hedwig’s cage balanced on top. As they headed for the door, Harry stopped suddenly. “Hermione, wait,” he said, signaling for her to put her end of the trunk down. “We should probably say something to them.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, they are family.” Harry took Hermione’s arm and gently led her to stand just outside of the family room. Vernon was reading the newspaper, Petunia was quickly flipping through a magazine, and Dudley was openly staring at Hermione again. However, none of them said a word to acknowledge the two teenagers.

Harry sighed to himself; the Dursleys would never change. “Well, I’m leaving.” When this was met with silence, he smirked at Hermione.

Hermione, on the other hand, was looking horrified, partially because of the indifference the Dursleys showed towards her and Harry, but also because Dudley was now licking his lips and wiggling his eyebrows at her. Still, she felt as though she should be polite. “Nice to have met you,” she said, trying not to vomit at Dudley’s expression.

When Harry noticed Dudley’s eyes light up at Hermione’s words, he knew it was definitely time to leave. “Right,” he began while tugging on her arm, “see you next summer.” As they turned to go, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that all three Dursleys were now staring at each other in absolute terror. Chuckling softly to himself, he shook his head and followed Hermione to the door.

Hermione took up Hedwig’s cage as Harry lifted one end of his trunk and dragged it outside. Once he had closed the door behind him, she faced him squarely with a frown. “Harry, I don’t understand. You don’t have to come back here; I thought you were going to live with Remus at Number 12 Grimmauld Place after we finished Hogwarts.”

Harry didn’t let Hermione’s inquiry deter him from walking away from the house he had to call ‘home’ for the last seventeen years. “I know,” he replied, “and I still am.”

“Then what was that all about back inside the house? Why on Earth would you tell the Dursleys that you’d see them next summer?”

Harry laughed again. “Purely for my own twisted sense of humor and amusement,” he explained. “Did you see the look on Dudley Do-Nothing’s face when I said that? Priceless.”

Hermione shook her head but smiled despite herself. “You’re incorrigible, Harry.”

He stopped in his tracks to stare blankly at his friend. “Once again, Madame Bookworm, you’ve thrown around your abnormally large vocabulary. What did you just call me?”

“Nothing bad, Harry,” she replied with a giggle. “You’re just…too much, that’s all.”

Harry playfully raised an eyebrow at Hermione. “Would you like to see just how much I could be?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know whether to feel shocked or embarrassed by his offer. “Harry!” she gasped.

Ignoring the expression on her face, Harry lifted a hand in greeting to the two adults sitting in the car next to the curb. “Hello, Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger. How are you?”

“Hello there, Harry,” Mr. Granger said while waving back. “Go ahead and put your things in the boot, and then we’ll be off.”

While Harry started to drag his trunk towards the back of the car, Mrs. Granger took note of her husband still sitting in the driver’s seat. “Don’t just sit there,” she urged, elbowing Mr. Granger in the ribs, “go and give him a hand!”

As Mr. Granger got out of the car, moving slowly and rubbing his sore side, Harry smiled. “It’s okay, Mrs. Granger; I can take care of it myself.” He pulled his trunk around and loaded it into the car. “Hermione, let’s put Hedwig’s cage in here, too.”

Hermione tucked Hedwig’s cage in next to Harry’s trunk and then walked back around to the side of the car. Harry hurried around her to open the door to the back seat, and she smiled gratefully before climbing in. He followed suit, and, as he shut the door, Mr. Granger started the engine. “Thanks again for coming to get me,” Harry said.

“It’s our pleasure, Harry,” Mr. Granger answered. “Don’t even think on it one bit.”

Mrs. Granger swiveled in her seat to look back at the two teens. “How’s your summer, Harry?”

Harry smiled as he stole a glance at Hermione. “Much better now.”

*~*

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Harry.”

“I’m not a sore loser, Hermione. You clearly cheated.”

It was an hour later, and Mr. Granger had just turned the car into the driveway at their home. Along the way, Harry and Hermione had played a car game that she had learned when she was younger, but the results of the game were under heavy discussion.

“I did not cheat!” Hermione insisted. “That was clearly an ‘O.’”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “It was a zero and you know it!”

“It was an ‘O,’ and besides, I would have won anyway. I had more letters and numbers than you did.”

“Of course you did…because you cheated.”

Hermione blew out a breath and crossed her arms. “Maybe you should get better glasses.”

A twinkle appeared in Harry’s eyes. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

Hermione, sensing that she might be in trouble, quickly opened her door and flew out of the car. Harry slid across the seat and hopped out, right on her heels.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had gotten out of the car themselves. While Mr. Granger retrieved Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage from the back, Mrs. Granger was fondly watching the kids chase each other around the front yard and into the house. Dragging Harry’s belongings with him so he could stand next to his wife, Mr. Granger focused his gaze in the same direction. “The way those two carry on,” he began, shaking his head, “are you sure Hermione likes Harry?”

Mrs. Granger smiled in contentment. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” Taking the cage from her husband, she headed for the front door.

Once inside, Mr. and Mrs. Granger set their loads down and went into the living room, where they found Hermione and Harry bent over a piece of parchment. “What’s that, sweetheart?” Mr. Granger asked.

Both kids turned around with grins on their faces. “It’s a letter from Ron,” Hermione explained. “Hedwig just brought it.” She handed it to her mother. “Here, take a look.”

HERMIONE,

PLEASE COME SOON! I’M SUFFERING FROM ‘DAFT-GIT-OF-A-BROTHER’ SYNDROME!

GINNY

~~~

Harry,

The only reason I’m leaving ~~the prat’s~~ Ginny’s note on the letter is because by the time Hedwig gets to you, you should be at Hermione’s house. Mum’s going spare because Ginny won’t tell her why she’s acting this way, so we’re all hoping you two will be able to get here soon.

Speaking of getting to the Burrow, Dad said we could only have the connection to Hermione’s fireplace for about twenty minutes; the Department of Magical Transport is cutting down on Floo connections to Muggle fireplaces (Dad reckons that it’s because of what happened when we came for you for the Quidditch World Cup). We’ll open the fires at half-past five so you can get here for dinner.

See you soon!

Ron

Mrs. Granger let out an unladylike snort of laughter. “I think Ginny is in need of a female around her age at home,” she said.

“Half-past five, eh?” Mr. Granger checked the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “That’ll give us about an hour to chat. Have a seat, Harry.”

“Thank you, Mr. Granger.” Harry sat down on one end of an overstuffed couch as Mr. Granger took his place in his recliner by the fireplace. “Nice home you have, Mrs. Granger.”

“Well, thank you, Harry,” Mrs. Granger responded. “Hermione, why don’t you and I fetch some snacks and drinks?”

“Okay, Mum.” Hermione followed her mother into the kitchen, leaving the two men in the living room together.

“So, Harry,” Mr. Granger said, leaning back in his chair. “Hermione’s told us almost nothing about you. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“No, sir, not at all,” Harry said. He sat up straight, as if to brace himself from the upcoming onslaught of questions.

Mr. Granger took note of this. “Relax, Harry, I’m not going to interrogate you; I just want to get to know you a little better.” He grinned as he saw Harry’s shoulders loosen. “That’s it. Now, Harry, since this is your last year at Hogwarts, what do you plan on doing once you’re finished?”

Harry thought for a moment before answering. “Well, sir, I’ve always thought about joining this certain department at the Ministry of Magic-”

Mr. Granger immediately held up a hand to stop Harry from continuing. “Okay, son, you lost me right there. Ministry of Magic?”

Harry frowned in confusion. “You mean Hermione’s never explained that to you?”

“Well, I think she has,” Mr. Granger said with a sheepish look, “but I could never understand it. I’m sure you know what Hermione can be like when she’s trying to explain something to someone and they don’t understand fast enough.”

Harry smirked. “Oh, yes, I know that well,” he agreed. “Let me put it this way for you, sir. Ever since I was young, I’ve had to deal with good and bad. Now that I’m older, I want to make sure that younger wizards and witches don’t have to deal with the bad people that I had to deal with when I was that age.”

“Ah, so you want to be some sort of Wizard copper, yes?”

“That’s it, sir, except in the Wizarding World, we call them Aurors.”

“Very good, son. Respectable choice.” Satisfied, Mr. Granger leaned back in his chair again. “You know, Hermione’s always talked about becoming a doctor after she’s finished with school. What would that be in Wizarding terms?”

“A Healer, sir.”

“Right, a Healer.”

Harry moved to the edge of the couch. “And she’s always wanted to be one, sir?”

“Oh, yes, ever since she was a little girl. Might have something to do with both of her parents being dentists, but there you go.”

Harry’s interest was piqued. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what was Hermione like as a little girl?”

Mr. Granger’s eyes lit up; his daughter was his soft spot. “Hermione was a brilliant child,” he said in reflection. “Always wanting to learn, always asking questions, always so curious about the world: that’s our Hermione. Anything she could pick up, she’d read. If she couldn’t read it herself, then she would ask either her mother or me to read it to her. Some of our friends thought she was nosy, but Mrs. Granger and I encouraged it. Granted, she did ask some questions that were hard for us to answer; let me tell you about the time she asked us where babies came from.”

*~*

Mrs. Granger watched in amusement as Hermione concentrated on pouring juice into four ice-filled glasses without spilling a drop. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it’ll matter if there’s an exact amount of juice in each glass, but it’s nice to think that you care.”

Hermione’s head snapped up; she hadn’t realized she was focusing so hard on such a menial task. She set the pitcher down on the counter and turned to her mother. “Mum, if I asked you a serious question, you’d answer me truthfully, right?”

“Of course, dear. As much as possible.”

“What do you think of Harry?”

Mrs. Granger tilted her head and considered her daughter. “How do you mean?”

“How do you like him as a person? I mean, given the fact that he didn’t have a great childhood, and he’s had to deal with more bad stuff happening to him as a teenager than most people see in their entire lives, do you think he’ll grow up to be a well-adjusted adult?”

Exhaling slowly, Mrs. Granger thought about how she should respond. “Well, Hermione,” she said after a moment, “that’s a loaded question, considering he’s only seventeen, like you. I hardly think a seventeen-year-old would qualify as an adult. However,” she added quickly, because Hermione had opened her mouth to protest, “people of Harry’s and your age should have enough sensibility to make the correct choices between good and bad…right and wrong. As long as you make good decisions, there’s no reason why you couldn’t become a ‘well-adjusted adult,’ as you say.”

Hermione paused in her pacing, thinking over her mother’s words. “But…do you like him?” she asked in a timid voice. “Harry, that is.”

A smile threatened to spread onto Mrs. Granger’s lips. She’ll get it, one way or another. “The boy that I saw today is a sweet, funny, thoughtful young man. You’re lucky to have him as a friend.”

“Best friend,” Hermione clarified, still keeping her voice low. “And yes, I am.”

“As he is you, I’m sure.” Winking at Hermione, Mrs. Granger picked up a tray filled with vegetable sticks and dip. “From what I saw, the feeling is mutual.” What feeling that may be, I’ll let them figure it out themselves. “Come along, dear. I’m afraid we may have left Harry alone with your father too long; you know how talkative he can get.”

*~*

“I can’t believe my dad told you the story about when I asked where babies come from,” Hermione grumbled as she and Harry carried her fully packed trunk downstairs from her room.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry said. “It wasn’t that bad.” He then smirked and nudged her with his elbow. “It could have been worse; I could have seen those baby photos your dad was talking about.”

Hermione blushed furiously. She had spent the last forty-five minutes in mortified silence while her parents told Harry what seemed to be every single embarrassing story from her childhood. When Mr. Granger had innocently offered to show Harry some pictures of Hermione’s first bath after they had brought her home from the hospital, she shot out of her seat, grabbed Harry’s arm, and mumbled something about ‘needing to get her things ready to leave’ while dragging him upstairs.

Now, as they reached the first floor again, Hermione shook her head, regretting the fact that she had left Harry alone with Mr. Granger for even a moment. “It’s good he didn’t,” she said after they set her trunk down next to Harry’s. “It’s bad enough that he and Mum told you everything they did already.”

“Oh, it was cute.”

“No, it wasn’t; it was humiliating!”

“I wasn’t talking about the stories,” Harry said softly, lifting a hand to run a thumb over her pink-tinged cheek.

The two gazed at each other for a second before Mrs. Granger’s voice rang out. “Hermione? Harry? I think Mr. Weasley is, er…calling.”

Harry grinned. “Better check it out,” he said before taking Hermione by the shoulder and easing her back into the living room. There, Mr. and Mrs. Granger stared at the floating head in their fireplace.

“Ah, hello there, Harry, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley’s head spoke in greeting. “Both well, I suppose?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hermione, having gotten her nerves under control after what happened in the hall, smiled and kneeled on the hearth. “Are you Flooing over now?”

“I am; I wanted to make sure the connection was good before anything else. You’d do well to move back, Hermione.”

“All right.” As Mr. Weasley’s head disappeared from the fire, Hermione rose and stood in front of her parents, inching them backwards and out of the way.

The green flames in the fireplace sparked and flickered then grew higher as Mr. Weasley came spinning out into the Grangers’ living room. Steadying himself by taking hold of the mantle, he straightened his hat and coat before making a beeline for Hermione’s parents.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiled broadly. “Mr. Weasley,” Mr. Granger said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Please, call me Arthur.” Mr. Weasley took Mr. Granger’s hand into both of his own and shook it excitedly. “I see you’re both well.”

“We are, thank you,” Mrs. Granger said, taking her turn at welcoming Mr. Weasley to their home. “How’s Mrs. Weasley?”

“Absolutely spiffing, and the kids, too. They’re looking forward to seeing Harry and Hermione.”

“Well, they’re just about ready to go,” Mr. Granger told him. “Oh, and Arthur, I have something that I thought you’d enjoy tinkering with. Follow me.”

As the two men left the room, Mrs. Granger turned to Harry and Hermione. “Are you two ready to go? Everything packed up?”

“Yes, Mum,” Hermione answered. “It’s all in the hallway. We’ll bring it in.”

By the time the two teens had gone out to the hallway, grabbed their belongings, and hauled them back into the living room, Mr. Granger and Mr. Weasley had returned to the fireplace. Mr. Weasley was turning something over and over in his hands, a look of wonderment all over his face. “You say this shows you the time of day with glowing numbers?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Granger responded with a nod. “The batteries died, and instead of replacing them, I thought you’d like to play around with it.”

“It’s brilliant, thank you.” Mr. Weasley then turned to his left, where Harry and Hermione were standing. “Well, you two, are we set?” They nodded at him. “Good. Now, we’re going to have to Floo with everything, all right? Hermione, you take Hedwig’s cage. Harry, you’ll go with your trunk. I’ll bring Hermione’s trunk with me, yes?”

“Will that be safe?” Mrs. Granger asked, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

“I’ll charm everything so no one gets hurt.” Mr. Weasley waved his wand and whispered a few well-chosen words then smiled. “Great. Let’s go, kids; Molly wants us back before dinner.”

Both Harry and Hermione turned to face Mr. and Mrs. Granger. “Thank you again for coming to get me,” Harry said gratefully.

“It’s no problem, son,” Mr. Granger replied.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Harry,” Mrs. Granger added.

“You, too. Hermione’s lucky to have such great parents.” With one last grin, Harry lifted one end of his trunk, brought it to the fireplace, and shoved it inside. Taking a handful of Floo powder from the bag Mr. Weasley held out to him, Harry waved one last time before he said “The Burrow!” and disappeared from sight.

Hermione gave each of her parents a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad. See you soon,” she said softly.

“Take care, sweetheart,” Mr. Granger said, stroking a hand down her hair, “and have fun.”

“Do write us from school,” Mrs. Granger reminded her. “And don’t forget, it’s the choices you make.”

Hermione smiled at the reference to her earlier conversation with her mother. “I won’t. Love you.” She picked up Hedwig’s cage and followed Harry’s footsteps into the fireplace. As she threw her handful of Floo powder at her feet, she smiled as her living room spun out of view.

Not a minute passed before Hermione found herself spinning out of another fireplace into Mrs. Weasley’s waiting arms. “Oh, sorry,” Hermione said, thankful that someone was there to make sure she didn’t fall over as soon as she arrived at the Burrow.

“It’s quite all right, dear.” Not giving the soot on Hermione’s clothes one thought, Mrs. Weasley enveloped the girl in a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you again, Hermione.”

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Weasley.”

“How are your parents?”

“Just fine, thank you.” As Mrs. Weasley released her, Hermione noticed Harry standing in the corner, his face pink; she was sure he had received a similar welcome from the matron of the Burrow.

“Lovely. Well, I expect there are two people in this house who have been waiting for you and Harry to get here.” Mrs. Weasley clucked Hermione’s chin and then went to the kitchen door. “Ron! Ginny! They’re here!”

Thunderous footsteps echoed just outside in the hallway as two redheaded teenagers burst into the room. As Ron walked over to Harry, Ginny flew to Hermione. “Thank Merlin you’re finally here!” Ginny breathed, taking Hermione by the arm and towing her to the stairs.

Just before Ginny managed to pull her out, Hermione looked back at Harry and Ron, grinned, and shrugged helplessly.

Ron clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder as they shared a laugh at their friend’s expense. “Great to see you, Harry.”

“Same here. Good summer so far?”

“It’s all right. So, this is our last year at Hogwarts. Looking forward to it?”

Harry gazed at the spot where Hermione had been standing before Ginny hauled her from the kitchen. “Hmm. It’ll definitely be interesting, that’s for sure.”

Seventh Year Itch

1. Prologue

2. Author Note April 5

3. Chapter 1

4. A/N 12-5-05