Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that's the truth. Pbbbbttttt.

A/N: Hey! Look at that. Forty-eight hours! Woo-hoo!

A couple quick shout-outs... for those looking closely, there are a couple tips of the hat to Doctor Who. Coincidentally enough, in the newest episode that just aired Saturday in the UK, there is a Harry Potter shout out there. "Expelliarmus" literally saves the day there too! There's also a nod to a game show in here. Never have I seen a program that I both so love and so hate at the same time. :-)

My wonderful beta makes a guest appearance in this chapter. No, he doesn't sound like Stan Shunpike, and no his name is not "David Berg" (but he does know how that name relates to him). But he is here, nonetheless.

Since I started writing, my intake of fan fiction has dropped drastically. (I've read maybe a dozen fics in the last year.) Partially this is because time reading is time I am not writing. But part of it is also because I'm afraid of accidentally lifting something from someone else's story and not even realizing it. That said, the scene in the bookstore... I would not be surprised if someone else wrote a story with a scene just like it. I promise you however that I have not read any story with a scene like it.

And since we're talking about that scene, some people might start screaming about why Harry and Hermione don't just use their Gryffindor courage at this key moment in the bookstore. Well, the easy answer is that if they did, they get together NOW and the story would be over NOW.

The real answer is as I explain (and so too will Dan next time)... all too often, our "internal fears" (fear of failure, fear of rejection, etc.) are much more powerful and paralyzing than our external fears (fear of Voldemort, death, etc.). Also, Harry and Hermione need to learn an important and very painful lesson NOW, one they already know of others like Fudge, but perhaps not of themselves: inaction can be worse than wrong action.

They need to learn first hand why it is so important to seize the moment, to live in the now. If they don't... if they hesitate, they will find themselves realizing that they've let the most important thing in their lives slip through their fingers without even trying. The only thing worse than that one special someone telling you 'no' is forever wondering if they might have said yes... but never knowing because you never actually asked.

I promise, this is the moment that (to be crude) gets their butts in gear.

Chapter 35. More Than Words Can Express.

They were back!

* * *

Every building has a smell. Sometimes they are good; sometimes they are not. Sometimes they smell like something concrete, sometimes something abstract. The Burrow smelled like good cooking and warmth. Number 4 Privet Drive smelled like cold and sterility... with a touch of cleaning solution. Hogwarts smelled like "home."

But Number 8 Broomhill Road didn't smell like any of those. Yes, Harry himself had taken to thinking of the Grangers' house as home, but really, it wasn't so much an absolute as it was relative to Privet Drive. When he wasn't home at Hogwarts, the month or so at the Grangers' made it feel more like a home than the first eleven years on Privet Drive had.

So, as Harry walked in the front door, wheeling his trunk behind him, he took in a deep breath and locked that smell back into his memory. He closed his eyes for just a moment and felt it. This was... right. He might have still considered Hogwarts more of a home than the Grangers' (five years was hard to overcome), but if he wasn't there, this was where he was supposed to be.

This felt right. It made sense.

Merlin, I hope I can come back again next summer... maybe even this Christmas holiday.

While everyone else took their stuff upstairs, Hermione made a quick detour through the kitchen first to let Crookshanks out into the backyard. As she started to head back towards the stairs, she noticed a blinking light on their answering machine. She counted the blinks: five messages. After grabbing a pad of paper, she went over and pressed the playback button.

The machine's tape mechanism made the same exact sounds each and every time, so Hermione had them well memorized by now; her mind followed along with all the whirs and clicks as the tape rewound, stopped, and finally began playing.

The first one was just a hang-up, a wrong number most likely. She wondered if they were all hang-ups, as most everyone who might want to need to call them already knew they would be gone. The second call was a message from the Grangers' receptionist at their surgery, calling to remind Hermione of her appointment. Definitely a joke, considering who Hermione's parents were. The next two messages very much interested her.

The third was from Shawn, the manager of the music store. It was for Harry, telling him that his special order was finished and was ready to be picked up. It was vague and a bit cryptic, exactly as one would expect a call announcing a present to be. It didn't help her much.

The fourth call, however, was exactly what Hermione wanted. It too was from the music store, however this time it was from one of the employees. A teenager, by the sound of his voice. A lazy or careless teenager, considering that the message plainly announced that Harry's order of an album, "John William's Greatest Hits" had arrived.

Hermione couldn't stop grinning. That was exactly the kind of thing she would have loved to get as a present. She was such a fan of John Williams that she jokingly decided that if a movie was made about her life, she would want him to provide the soundtrack. She, of course, said that exactly the same as anyone else might decide how to spend the money if they won the lottery.

Strangely, as much of a fan as she was (Star Wars, Superman, Jurassic Park, of course Indiana Jones, and many more), it actually never occurred to her to actually buy a movie soundtrack. But now it didn't matter because Harry had done that for her. There was a very good chance her current favorite CD might get retired, she decided.

The last message was also from the music store. The same bored kid left it, although this time it was merely some Frank Sinatra album for her mum. Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. As if her mother needed one more of those.

* * *

Friday dawned even earlier for Harry than Thursday did. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up at 6:30 in the morning. By the time everyone was showered, dressed, and had eaten breakfast, it was about 7:30, conveniently when Dan and Emma usually left for work to make it in by 8:30. Of course, their surgery opened at nine o'clock.

They really would have preferred to take the Underground everyday, however both their house and their office building were far enough from the nearest stations that they would have had to taken buses to and from both stations. Plus the office complex had a parking garage for employees, so the hour-long drive really was more convenient.

* * *

"Good morning!" Dan called out into the office as he opened the door. Once everyone was in, he relocked it behind him.

"Good morning!" a female voice called from behind an opening in the wall ahead.

"How's the appointment schedule look today?" Emma asked as all four of them moved into the waiting room.

"Completely full!" the voice called again.

"Good, now we can pay for that trip," Dan muttered. Actually, Dan and Emma could have afforded to take this trip to France without needing extra patients to compensate for it. But by always treating every absence like it needed to be made up, it always kept them in a position of "paid up" so that if they had an absence that couldn't be made up, that buffer would have been available then.

"Hello, Hermione," the mysterious voice greeted her once she was in front of the reception window.

"Hello, Rose," Hermione replied.

"Ah, yes. Rose Tyler, this is Harry Potter," Emma introduced now that Harry could see the pretty blonde woman sitting at the desk. "Harry, this is Rose, our receptionist."

After quick greetings, Rose turned back to the computer screen next to her. Harry could see what looked like an appointment book on the monitor. Rose gently tapped the glass where his and Hermione's names were listed.

"Yes, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Our first victims of the day," she said with a grin.

"All right you two," Emma said as she put her and Dan's coats away in a small closet. "It's going to take us a little while to get everything cleaned up and ready for work today. Just have a seat in the waiting room. Read a magazine, play with the kiddie toys, whatever. Just keep yourselves entertained until we're ready for you. 'Kay?"

"'Kay," Harry and Hermione chorused like small children.

For the next thirty-five minutes, Hermione read through three magazines while Harry built what he claimed was a representation of a Quidditch Pitch with the plastic interlocking-building block table. The resemblance was dubious, of course, because the building blocks were not the kind most associated with a company whose name is a contraction of two words meaning, "play well." Instead, they were actually the larger, jumbo versions from that same company, made for smaller children.

It could have been a Quidditch Pitch. Or it could have been rectangular house with no roof and three windows on the two far ends.

Harry soon gave up the table as not long after nine o'clock a father and child came in, early arrivals for their 9:45 appointment.

While the father got checked in, the little girl (probably four or five years old) went and marched straight up to Harry, who was still sitting in the miniature chair admiring his creation.

"Can I play with this, please?" the small girl asked bluntly. Harry smiled at her directness. If she were a year or two older, it would be considered rudeness. But at this age it was still innocent. Harry nodded and got up to go sit down in one of the four waiting chairs.

"What do you say?" the father asked his daughter after suddenly turning.

"Thank you!" the girl said to Harry.

"You're welcome," Harry replied kindly, then cast a quick smile at the father. Unlike his aunt and uncle, it was nice to see that parents were still teaching their children "Please" and "Thank you."

Harry sat and watched as the little girl immediately took apart his, erm, Quidditch Pitch, and started building what was most accurately described as a large rectangular solid.

It's amazing how playing with toys can bring out the small child in everyone... good and bad. What? No. NO! What is she doing? Harry whined to himself. What is that?! She took it all apart to build a square?!

"It was a very nice house," Hermione whispered to him with a smirk.

"Quidditch Pitch!" he hissed back.

Just then the door on the opposite side of the waiting room opened and Emma stuck her head out; the door was adorned with a (novelty) personalized vehicle registration plate.

"Mr. Potter?" Emma requested very formally, as if she didn't know if he was present.

"Here," he replied automatically, without even thinking. It was almost like a reflex.

"This way," Emma directed him.

As he walked through the door, Harry lost his smile very quickly when he heard the little girl's voice behind him.

"Daddy? Is it going to hurt again this time?"

Not quite so confident about everything anymore, Harry allowed Emma to lead him to the chair. As he sat down, he heard Dan go out and call in Hermione.

"It's not going to hurt, is it, Emma?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Emma tutted. "That simply won't do, Mister Potter. It's Doctor Granger whilst you're in my chair." To illustrate that fact, Doctor Granger pushed a button that caused Harry's chair to recline all the way back; he was practically lying flat. There was no doubt about who as in charge here.

"Comfy?" Emma asked, mimicking Steve Martin's sadistic dentist from Little Shop of Horrors, which they had watched on television about three weeks earlier.

"Yes, Doctor," Harry replied automatically. As soon as he said it, he remembered that was how Bill Murray's masochistic patient responded too.

Emma, erm, Doctor Granger chuckled and turned away. "It isn't necessary to call me Doctor, Harry," she said as she pulled fresh articles of disposable gear out of several boxes.

"Yes, Doctor," Harry replied again, intentionally. When Emma turned back a few moments later, he was caught off guard a little. She was now wearing a large, clear plastic face shield, a full-body paper apron, and latex gloves. She looked like she was prepped for major surgery.

"Is all that necessary?" he asked, a little more uneasy this time.

"It is, I'm afraid, Harry," Emma replied kindly. "I doubt you have any communicable diseases, but alas, rules and regulations." Harry nodded in understanding. "Now, let's get started."

After choosing his preferred flavor of mouthwash and a quick gargle (for everyone's comfort), Harry did as he was told as Emma approached him with a very, very long piece of dental floss.

"Say 'ah.'"

* * *

Exactly forty-eight minutes later, Harry felt the chair being returned to its normal position. He was done. Because of his regular visits to Madam Pomfrey, there was very little for Emma to do. Though, she did chide him a little about flossing every day, and taking a little more care about more thoroughly brushing his backmost teeth. She then told him to be sure to let her know if he experienced any unusual "dental" pain; his wisdom teeth were starting to emerge.

Once Doctor Granger was done with her lecture, however, Emma complimented him on his overall good oral health. Harry just said thanks as quietly as possible and tried not to laugh. It is nearly impossible for any sixteen year-old to resist the urge to snicker at the phrase "oral health," regardless of who said it.

All in all, Harry himself was quite pleased with how his appointment went. He knew how much Dudley hated going to them, despite the fact that he always came back each time with at least three bags of sugar-free candies from the local grocery store.

The candies were Dudley's demand; sugar-free was Petunia's compromise. Since he invariably required some amount of work done on each visit, it was one of the few times when Petunia didn't cave completely to her son's demands. And besides, he ate them so fast it was unlikely he would have even tasted the difference anyway.

To feel someone else's fingers in his mouth... the forced-flossing, the tooth-scrubbing, polishing, and poking, the plaque scraping... they were all pretty weird, since it was his first time doing it this way. Although, the little vacuum tube was kinda cool).

But, they were all still nothing compared to the horrid, smoking concoction that was the Denta-Fix potion. Here, he got mint mouthwash and strawberry-flavored tooth polishing paste. At school he got the fluorescent orange sludge that tasted like things unmentionable. Yes, Harry was quite certain he preferred the Muggle way of doing things this time... regardless of the doctor's last name.

The proud new owner of a sugar-free lollipop, Harry returned to the waiting room to find Hermione sitting in one of the chairs, reading the last of the offered magazines. The father was still there, but the little girl was gone (obviously in with Dan now). Two more patients had arrived and were also waiting for their appointments. It certainly was going to be a busy day.

* * *

As the two teenagers rode the lift down to the ground floor, Hermione asked Harry his impressions of the last hour. Harry flat out said that it had been a lot better than he'd expected. He even complimented Emma on her professionalism.

He explained that she'd not even blinked an eye when she patiently explained why she needed to drape that heavy lead apron over his midsection when she took X-rays of his teeth. That actually was part of the reason why his checkup had taken longer than Hermione's. Emma actually had to create a brand new set of dental records for him.

Mainly because she fully expected, and intended, on seeing him in either hers or Dan's chair again, if not this Christmas holiday, then at least next summer for certain.

As they waited for the bus to take them to the nearest Underground station, Harry pulled some money out of his pocket to pay the fare. He realized then that he didn't have any Galleons for the upcoming school year.

The last time he was at Gringotts, he'd had all the coins he withdrew from his vault converted into pounds, in anticipation of an entire month in the Muggle world. Two full weeks at the Burrow with nothing but pound notes had curtailed his spending. When Hermione saw the money in his hand, she realized the same thing.

"Gringotts," the two of them said to each other at the same time.

* * *

They stopped at Hermione's new vault first. She withdrew a modest sum, enough to cover whatever she might spend on the train or in Hogsmeade for the first half of the year. They then descended further, down to number 687.

Harry now knew there was a lot more money waiting for him when he inherited the full Potter estate. By that right, he figured the amount of money before him now should look that much smaller, considering Remus's estimate of just how much more there was. But instead, the two perfectly stacked piles before him actually looked even bigger than before. He knew how much came from Sirius; his own original "small fund" was not much smaller. So together, they had to be worth nearly....

If this was what one and two-thirds million Galleons looked like, then twenty million more was just beyond imagining. He honestly could not wrap his mind around that. Twenty million Galleons was worth SO much that it was almost to the point where it was worth nothing. It was no longer money he understood... it wasn't pocket change, books for a term, or even a thousand Galleons for a Firebolt. Now it was merely a bland figure on a banker's ledger sheet.

Harry felt Hermione tap his shoulder; staring at the gold coins he'd stopped and blocked the vault opening.

"What?" she asked in a soft, soothing voice.

"I was just thinking... how much this is... how much it all is."

Hermione looked around at the piles of coins. "It really isn't..." she tried to lie.

"It's all that, plus twenty million more," Harry clarified.

That stopped Hermione for a moment. "Sorry. Twenty million more?" she asked, stunned. Harry could see as she showed visible signs of trying to process that number. Harry repeated a condensed version of what Remus had told him about his upcoming inheritance.

"Well, that's not too much of a surprise, is it?" she asked, sounding a little unsure of herself still. As she spoke, Hermione's eyes were unavoidably drawn to the jewelry box sitting at the far end of the vault. She didn't mention it, however.

"The Potter family goes back for many, many centuries. It makes sense that there would have been a, uh, sizable estate that built up over the years. It would be like any of the old family names... Potter, Smith, Baker... you know, from all the way back when family names were derived from a person's occupation."

Finally, Hermione tore her eyes away and turned around to look at Harry again. "But besides," she said, "it doesn't really matter, does it? Does it change who you are? Does having twenty million Galleons make you a better or worse person than if you only had twenty Knuts?

"I know it's a lot, but it's still just money, Harry. And you're still you." He didn't say anything in response, but the small smile that crept onto his face as he continued to look at the piles of gold was good enough for her.

Hermione chuckled. Looking at the Galleons again, she was rather excited to realize now was a perfect time for that little tidbit of trivia she'd been sitting on since the reading of Sirius's will.

"And besides, that would be really, really heavy," she said under her breath, but fully intending for Harry to hear.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about what I had said the last time I was down here," she said casually, acting as if she hadn't rehearsed this four weeks earlier... back before failed prison breaks, homework, and sick relatives had distracted her.

"I had wondered how much all these Galleons would weigh if they were made of solid gold, remember?" she asked. Harry nodded and smiled, remembering how he'd almost blurted out his feelings for her back then.

Thinking that was the end of the reminiscence, Hermione could see that Harry was about to turn his attention to filling his moneybag.

"Just over sixty-four tons."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, not sure he heard what he thought he did.

Hermione nodded her head towards the pile that was from Sirius, all two and-a-half feet deep by nine feet wide by six feet tall of it.

"You had inherited eight hundred fifty-some thousand Galleons, right? Well, if they were made of solid gold, then that stack would weigh a little over sixty-four tons. And each Galleon coin, again if solid gold, would be worth about £540."

Harry's eyes widened. He looked down at her hands in reaction, feeling the need to look for a calculator for some reason.

"You just figured all that out this instant?" he asked, clearly awed.

"No, not really," Hermione admitted. "Actually, I'd figured it all out back on that weekend after the will was read. I just recited the answers now. Since I'd rhetorically asked myself the question, I couldn't let it go until I answered it, since it was answerable." She looked embarrassed. "So one night, I measured my D.A. coin to see how big it was and then looked up a few numbers, like the density of gold. A few more calculations, multiply by eight hundred-some thousand, and voila! Sixty-four tons.

"Then I looked up the value of gold that next morning. A few calculations later, and presto... £540." Hermione suddenly stopped and looked at the coins again. She went over, picked two up, and tapped them against each other. They clinked with a high-pitched sound associated with lightweight metal.

"You know," she said slowly, clearly starting to lose herself in Hermione-land, "those calculations were based on solid gold. But pure gold is too soft to make good coins, so in reality it would have to be some alloy, maybe like fourteen karat."

Her eyes widened in excitement. "That would affect the density, so I would have to recalculate-"

Harry held up a hand to stop her. "Hermione," he said chuckling. "You had me at 'sixty-four tons.' Quit while you're ahead." He grinned.

(His statement had been short for "you had me convinced." Because Jerry Maguire wouldn't be released in the UK for another seven months, that line passed by without as much meaning as it could have had. On the flip side, at least the phrase "Show me the money" could still be said with a straight face.)

"All I really need to know is how much this actually weighs," he said, holding up his now-full moneybag. "And I certainly don't want to think about what twenty million Galleons might theoretically weigh."

"Hmmm... twenty million... multiplied by..." Hermione teased.

"I'm warning you!" Harry teased back.

* * *

As the Leaky Cauldron vanished behind them, Harry and Hermione stood and watched briefly as the bookstore and the music shop seamlessly grew back together. She really didn't need to tell him that she already knew what at least one of her presents was, did she?

"By the way, Harry. There was a telephone message for you on our machine while we were all gone. A man named Shawn... something you'd ordered was ready and could be picked up."

"It is?" Harry asked excitedly. "Brilliant!" He started to walk quickly towards the store's entrance.

"Erm, you're not coming in, are you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course! Why shouldn't I?" Hermione asked.

"Well, it's your birthday present, and I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh honestly, Harry. It's not like I'm going to be following you around, trying to sneak a peek," she admonished. "If it's a surprise, then I won't try to look and I'll wait until my birthday to find out what it is."

"Erm, okay then," he said finally. He then waved a finger threateningly. "I'm serious. No peeking!"

Hermione just rolled her eyes at him and followed him into the store. While he went up to the front sales counter, she wandered idly around the store, just looking. This was her first time in here, actually. She'd walked by it probably a dozen times over the years, but never had she gone inside.

Quickly bypassing the "current music" section, Hermione soon found the classical music section, which was surprisingly well stocked for a store of this size. Groovacious Platters was a privately owned store and not part of a large, national chain. As such, the operators were free to stock the music their customers wanted (even if it was "popular"), and not what the publicity machine was pushing (especially when it wasn't popular).

Consequentially, the store was very well liked and sales were brisk. Naturally the "current music" section, while not Hermione's cup of tea, was quite busy. Likewise, several of the "niche" genres that might otherwise be under-populated at a chain store were well represented here too: classical music, along with Celtic and Irish music as well.

Hermione also noted with interest that the store seemed to do quite a lot of business with old vinyl records too. Nearly a quarter of the store was dedicated to the classic format. Proportionally speaking, there were as many people browsing those as there were browsing the CDs (albeit the average age of the CD browser was about fifteen years younger than their analog counterpart).

Hermione now turned her attention to the compact discs themselves. She picked one up and looked at the silvery surface through the plastic jewel case. Of course she knew all about how CDs worked, and she was quite familiar with using them at home.

However, always fascinated by the advance of technology, seeing a record and a CD side-by-side, she could not help but be impressed how this little, silver plastic platter could hold more music on one side than both sides combined of the much larger record.

On a related note, strangely, Hermione's "evolution of technology" appreciation did not spill over onto the laserdisc. She'd heard about them trying to replace the tried-and-true videocassette. Despite their obvious cool, high-tech factor, how could anything that required it be flipped over midway through a movie be considered progress? Little did she know that at this very moment, industry executives were only months away from unleashing a new technology onto the world, one that would do for video what compact discs did for audio: the Digital Versatile Disc.

Hermione looked up and saw that on the other side of the room, Harry was now talking with who obviously must have been the manager. Okay, she had said that she wasn't going to follow him around trying to sneak a peek, but her curiosity was killing her. She HAD to know what her first present was. It couldn't have been the John Williams collection, since Harry hadn't known of her fondness for his music until after he'd already been in here.

Hermione slowly and casually made her way back towards Harry. Just as she was close enough to be able to accidentally overhear anything they might be discussing, the manager led Harry into the back room.

Damn! Hermione cursed to herself. Only a few moments later, Harry reappeared carrying a large, brown paper shopping bag. There was obviously something in it, but the rigid, crisply folded sides of the paper bag did much to hide the size of whatever was in the bag. Other than being relatively thin, it could have been almost anything: a CD, a magazine, a book, even the aforementioned VHS cassette or a laserdisc (not that they sold either of those here).

Under the general assumption that there were two presents for her, she wondered if the bag was all there was... not because she demanded something large and impressive, but rather knowing the size might help her guess what it was.

Her attempts at divination were not helped when the manager followed Harry back out only a few moments later. In his hands was a plain cardboard box. From the looks of it, it was about the size of a CD, although nearly three inches thick. Hermione silently growled to herself. That made it worse; there could have been almost anything in there.

She watched as the manager led Harry over to the sales counter. After Harry signed a sales receipt book, the manager gave him the box and a copy of receipt. Harry put them both in his bag, and then gave the manager a very enthusiastic handshake. Hermione quickly looked away, to the CDs in front of her: rap.

Harry found her before she could move to a different section.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Um, yeah."

Harry looked down to see what she was browsing. He was definitely surprised; this was something Dudley would listen to.

"I didn't know you liked this kind of music," Harry observed.

"I don't. I was, erm, um, just standing here."

Knowing full well that she had been following him trying to get a peek (he'd seen her watching him which was why he went in back to retrieve the presents rather than have them brought up front), Harry found this quite amusing.

"You were just standing here? Standing here doing nothing? For no particular reason?"

Hermione knew she was caught. "Yeah," she said with no conviction.

"Don't you just hate cardboard boxes and brown paper bags?" Harry asked with a smirk.

"YES!" she replied, exasperated. Somehow it didn't feel so bad knowing that she'd been caught, that he'd called her on it, and that he was taking it all in good humor. The two teens then left the store and headed back to the nearby Underground station.

* * *

While everyone was helping clear away the dinner table, the doorbell rang. Dan and Emma both looked at the clock, and then shared a small grin. Dan went to fetch the door, while Emma handed Hermione the stack of dirty plates to put in the dishwasher. Seeing Harry glance curiously towards the front door, she cleared her throat softly, then handed him two dirty glasses.

While the kitchen cleanup was finishing, friendly voices could be heard from the living room. The front door opened several times and it sounded like heavy boxes were being moved. Emma kept the two teens busy enough that they didn't have a chance to see much of what was happening in the other room.

Finally they were done and they all adjourned to the living room. At the moment, only Dan was there, however there were two equipment trunks labeled "Evernight Photography" laying next to the sofa. A smile and look of recognition appeared on Hermione's face.

Before Harry could ask, Dan explained.

"Harry, do you remember how, back at Gringotts, you asked how much you owed us for your clothes and room and board?" Harry nodded.

"You also remember how I said that you were our guest so everything was covered, and you only owed for your actual purchases?" Again Harry nodded.

"Well, Emma and talked about this summer over lunch today, and we both decided that we had changed our minds. We are going to have to ask for some compensation from you."

Harry was stunned. Hermione looked downright furious. The equipment trunk was the last thing on their minds at the moment. Luckily for themselves, Dan and Emma continued to explain the "balance due" before either of the teenagers could respond.

"Fortunately it was easy for us to decide what we needed, because there really is only one thing we wanted," Emma now explained. "Harry, can we take your picture?"

Harry sat silently for a few seconds. He wasn't expecting that. Now he remembered the box on the floor.

"You want my picture?" he verified, still obviously missing a few details. Dan and Emma nodded.

"You see, Harry," Dan began, "the one thing we as parents have most missed out upon in sending Hermione to school is the official school photo. Most parents take them for granted I think, and that's something we haven't been able to have. Hogwarts doesn't do photographs, so we really have nothing of her and her time there."

"And to be perfectly blunt," Emma continued, slightly embarrassed, "since you're here, and you're Hermione's friend, we'd like to have you in the photograph too. Pictures as souvenirs of this summer, and that can be our school photos that we will never get."

"Would you do that, Harry?" Dan asked with a smile. "I'd consider your lodging bill paid if you'd stand in for a memory or two."

"Of course," was all Harry could reply, even if it that answer had nothing to do with being asked for actual money.

"Good, we'll let you know when we're ready," Dan said.

A couple minutes later, an older gentleman came in the front door, carrying one small hand case. It was marked with the same label as the other trunks.

"All righ'y 'en. I fink I got ev'ryfink. 'Choo decide where yeh wanna do this?" the man asked Dan and Emma. Harry said nothing, but (not intending an insult) he jokingly wondered if this man grew up in the same place as Stan Shunpike.

"In front of the fireplace," Emma replied.

"Oh, David. I want to introduce you," Dan said. "This is Hermione's friend from school who I told you about, Harry Potter. Harry, this is David Berg. He's a good friend of ours. He and his wife Eve used to watch Hermione after school when she was small."

"Oh yes," Harry greeted friendlily as he shook the older man's hand. "I met your wife a few weeks ago when she was out walking your dog."

"Ah, yeah," David replied. "Precious does luv 'er walkies." He then turned back to Dan. "Right. Ev'ryone decide who's where and wot all 'ey're wearin'. It'll be a cuppula minutes 'fore I've got my camera all se' up."

David then started working, opening his box and pulling out very nice looking tripod from the larger box, and also a very nice camera from the smaller box. He also retrieved a small, electronic device out of the small hand case he'd brought last. The four others moved back into the kitchen just to stay out of the way.

"If you couldn't tell, Harry," Dan explained, "David owns a small photography studio. He's always taken all of our family photos. But since this is all spur of the moment, and he's quite frankly all booked up for end-of-holiday portraits, I asked him if he would terribly mind coming over and doing this for us."

"We were planning on having him take a few different pictures, and we'd like you in two of them, if you don't mind," Emma explained. Harry agreed all too quickly; he was thrilled that anyone wanted to take his picture (at least, anyone who didn't work for the Prophet or the Ministry... or wasn't Colin Creevy).

Once David was ready, he called everyone back into the living room to stand in front of the fireplace. The first one was to be of all four of them together, their "souvenir" as Emma persisted upon calling it.

Once they were all huddled up nicely in front of his camera, David came up to them and held his little gizmo in front of them. As it was, his gizmo was a light meter.

David didn't look entirely thrilled.

"Lightin's not very good'n 'ere," he said, partially complaining, partially apologizing. "So close to 'at window's floodin' in the eve'nin sun."

"Don't worry about it, David," Dan assured him. "Since you insisted upon doing this for free, and since this is at such short notice, we promise we won't hold any light or dark spots against you." Dan then clapped both Harry and Hermione on their shoulders.

"Besides, these two are leaving for school Sunday morning, so there's not time to do this properly in a studio."

"M'kay," David replied. "I'd jus' prefer a perfect picture, bein' the perfectionis' I am," he said, grinning.

"And I'd just prefer a picture while my daughter and our guest are still here," Dan shot back in a friendly manner. David smiled, nodded in unavoidable agreement (because a picture can't be taken without the subjects present), and then returned to the camera.

"Smile!" David said, then snapped the picture.

"Okay, the other photo we would like with you in it, Harry," Emma explained, "is our pretend-school photograph. If you would, could you go put your uniform on?" Thinking their request a little unusual (but then again, not all that much), Harry nodded. "In the meantime, while you're changing, we have another of just the three of us."

As Harry started to head upstairs, Emma suddenly stopped him. "Oh, Harry, I just had a brilliant idea. Since we're all here, I'd like to make it the full deal." Harry was confused until Emma finished her sentence. "Hedwig and Metis?"

He seemed even more surprised by this request, but also pleased. He smiled and nodded one more time.

While the three Grangers were getting their photograph taken, Harry pulled out his uniform and put it on. It had been just over two months since he'd last worn this (in its entirety, at least). But after these last two months (actually, now that he thought about it, end of term was exactly nine weeks ago today), fifth year now seemed like a lifetime ago.

All decked out in his uniform (sans robes), Harry approached the enlarged owl cage. It came as no surprise, but the two owls were currently napping. He was reluctant to wake them, as he knew they had a busy night ahead of them... Metis hunting for two while Hedwig kept the clutch warm. But they would be waking soon anyway, and he wanted them in the picture if at all possible.

So Harry woke them, getting two sets of annoyed owl eyes in return.

After explaining the situation (Post Owls always did seem to understand), and after promising to cast a gentle warming charm on the nest in Hedwig's brief absence, the two owls must have agreed for they hopped out of the cage and onto the dresser. They both flapped their wings a few times to help wake themselves up.

"Have you seen Crookshanks?" Hermione asked from the doorway, surprising Harry. He turned around and shook his head.

"I want to get him in the picture too. He's probably hiding somewhere, afraid that maybe Precious came over with David too," Hermione explained, grinning. She then looked at him critically for a moment. "Brush your hair," she said with a smirk then disappeared down the hall towards her room.

"Brush your hair," Harry playfully mimicked to himself, knowing that she was joking. He then turned back to the two owls again.

Hedwig and Metis really must have understood what was being asked of them for they both were now preening themselves, making sure all of their feathers were straight and looked nice.

* * *

"Oh! Don't we look sharp today?" Emma said, impressed, as Harry descended the staircase. Harry smiled meekly, embarrassed. He went and stood in front of the fireplace once again, trying to decide the best place for two owls and a cat. Arms and shoulders for any of them just wouldn't work.

He looked around. The mantle above the fireplace would work for the owls. And Crookshanks would be fine on one of the ottomans. Although the Grangers' fireplace was functional, it really was used more for decoration than heat (and of course the occasional Floo call recently). As such, it had been factored into the overall layout of the room with two ottomans on either side of it.

Backless, the ottomans weren't exactly the most comfortable things in the world for everyday lounging, so they were hardly ever used, aside from the occasional neighborhood get-togethers and monthly local dentists association dinner parties Dan and Emma would host once a year on rotation.

The ottomans were, however, just the right height to have Crookshanks in the picture as well. Besides, when he wasn't walking along the tops of the sofas begging for food or demanding to have his head scratched (or seeking refuge with Hermione when Ron visited), one of the ottomans was his favorite place to sit while everyone relaxed. It was his perch, from which he could survey all that was his.

And of course, being half-cat, he knew that meant everything was his.

Looking back upstairs, Harry saw Crookshanks approach the top of the stairs cautiously, obviously looking around for a white Pomeranian. Convinced that nothing in the room was canine, he trotted downstairs and jumped up on his favorite ottoman and started cleaning his own fur in the little time that he had.

Do they ALL understand what's happening? Harry smiled and shook his head. Well, at least I don't have to wash my hair that way, he mused as he watched Crookshanks lick his paw then run it over the top of his head to reach the parts he couldn't reach directly.

Harry turned back as he heard the long-familiar sound of wing beats; Hedwig and Metis flew down stairs and perched themselves on his out stretched arms. It was a good thing he'd put on his button-up sweater jacket. Although it was heavier than his standard pullover jumper (very nice considering talons were designed for more than just sitting on perches), he could leave it open for better ventilation.

For David the photographer however, the sound was not immediately recognizable, so he turned out of curiosity.

"Holy Cricket!" he exclaimed. "'Zem owls? Real, proper owls! Wha'choo got owls for, Dan?" David asked in amazement and disbelief.

"Oh," Dan chuckled with (practiced) ease. "Oh, they're not ours. They're the school mascots. We got them on loan for the day for the picture." Unfortunately, having a witch for a daughter meant the need for the occasional prevarication.

Fortunately, in the fifteen years that the two men had been neighbors and friends, David had never once had cause to doubt anything Dan said to him. So he therefore took the moderately-reasonable explanation at face value (since he knew many boarding schools did have unusual traditions) and thought nothing more of it.

Attentions were yet again drawn back and up with the sound of footsteps on the stairs. If his jaw hadn't been locked shut from smiling at David's enthusiastic reaction to the owls, Harry's mouth quite possibly would have dropped at the sight before him.

Hermione was walking down the stairs. And she was wearing her ordinary school uniform (though her hair was a tiny bit more styled than normal). Harry's jaw didn't drop, but his breathing did catch a little.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Since realizing he fancied her, Harry knew Hermione was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, no matter what Pansy Parkinson, Ron, or even her own cousin might say.

He'd seen her (perhaps with rose-tinted glasses) in her everyday clothes, nearly topless, in some enticing, posterior-flattering jeans, and even her new mole-revealing Midnight Sapphire dress robes. Each time he'd thought her more beautiful than the next. And don't even ask about how much he'd dreamt about her.

But all of that was now nothing compared to the sight before him. He'd enjoyed getting to know a more private side of Hermione and her family. But this was what he knew best: Hermione, in a plain old school uniform. Highlighted with red and gold pinstripes on the trim, this was the bookworm he'd met almost exactly five years ago.

This was the Hermione Granger he was most familiar with... the one he knew and l... erm, fancied.

Harry was still grinning like an idiot, but his eyes told a slightly different story; they were wide with surprise.

"What?" Hermione whispered, a little uneasy at the scrutiny she felt she was under with his stare.

Although quite happy to help Dan, David still hadn't eaten dinner yet, so he was eager to get this show on the road. He didn't mean it in a rude way, but he didn't have time for lollygagging or tongue-wagging when there were some gorgeous lamb chops in the oven at home.

"All right then, ev'ryone ready? Good," he said before anyone could respond.

Harry realized that David must have been quite the seasoned photographer when, before he had a chance to answer Hermione (as if he knew what to say), he found himself positioned directly in front of the fireplace, standing next to her.

"Smile!"

A quick flash of the camera and posterity was preserved. Little did Harry know that Dan and Emma were both confident that the two teenagers would, in the very near future, look back on this photograph and wonder how they could have been so dense.

Dan and Emma knew that it would be a few days before the pictures would be returned. They probably wouldn't be able to send them onto Hogwarts until the scheduled owl arrived to pick up any delivery for Hermione's birthday. They knew the two teens couldn't truly see the scene they set at this very moment.

As the elder Grangers witnessed this moment captured, they knew that if a picture was worth a thousand words, then this portrait was of something more than words could express. This was their summer. And they knew it was the beginning of their future. If someday, someone somewhere wrote a story about this summer, this photograph would be cover of that book.

* * *

David made it back home just as Eve was pulling the lamb chops out of the oven. Better still, there was a bit of leftover Yorkshire Pudding heating on the hob.

* * *

Late Saturday morning saw everyone back in the Granger family car, headed to the local shopping center. Although they'd sent all of their perishables along with Harry to the Burrow before leaving for France, the cupboards and freezer were well stocked and had tided them over.

But they really did need some groceries now.

As they parked the car, Harry briefly wondered over the fact that this was their third time here this month. Then he realized that the Dursleys went shopping all the time, at least once a week. They just never took him along.

"All right, everyone," Emma said encouragingly. We've got an empty fridge to fill, and I know Hermione will scream if we don't get back to the bookstore one last time before school starts."

"Oh honestly, Mum!" Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes.

"When it's true, it's true," Dan added playfully.

"Don't even think it, Harry," Hermione warned upon seeing the smirk on his face.

* * *

Dan and Emma both were eager to get back home as quickly as possible so they could get settled in for the evening, ready to return to work tomorrow. Once they arrived at the shopping mall, the two pairs split up with orders to meet back in about an hour. Dan and Emma headed to the department store first: new socks for Dan. Then, on to the grocery store.

As Harry and Hermione strolled down the promenade, it was obvious that it was near the end of the month. Commission checks would be calculated soon, so salespeople were poised to pounce on all who wandered too close. Hermione was nearly blinded by a cloud of perfume sprayed in front of her, while Harry was harangued by the man who assured him his life would not be complete without one of those Styrofoam airplanes that when thrown, would fly in a large loop. (Until the first time you didn't catch it and the wings promptly snapped off.)

Amidst the frenzy of "customer service representatives" desperate to add a few more quid to their paychecks, one shop did catch Harry's eye: an optometrist. It would come as no surprise to anyone who knew him well enough, but Harry had never had an eye exam. All the Dursleys knew was that when he started his first year of school the school nurse recommended he get glasses.

It was a lot easier for them to acquiesce than answer nosy questions about why they'd gone against the recommendation. So they took him to a secondhand shop in one of the less well-to-do parts of Little Whinging, pointed him at the box full of used glasses, and told him to find a pair that would make it easier for him to see to do his chores.

As it was the end of the month, it didn't take very long for a salesperson to approach them and offer assistance. Harry explained that he wanted to get his prescription checked, and that he wanted to look around a bit too. This also didn't come as any surprise, but the salesperson immediately suggested contact lenses. After all, why sell a pair of glasses once when he could sell disposable lenses every month?

Plus, according to the cocky, young salesperson, contact lenses were definitely the "hot" thing right now. Glasses, he said, were so "Mum and Dad."

Definitely the wrong thing to say to Harry Potter. "My dad wore glasses," he objected. "Everyone says how much we look alike. And since he's dead, I think I'd like to keep that, thank you very much."

Okay, bringing up the dead parents was probably going over the top, Harry admitted to himself. But at least it did wipe the smug look off the kid's face.

Honestly, before walking in, Harry hadn't cared one way or the other about glasses versus contacts. He'd never even given it any thought. But he was, however, very tired of people judging him based on public opinion... regardless of whether it was his sense of style or his sanity. He'd had enough of that in fourth and fifth years.

Harry was just about ready to leave when, by an amazing coincidence, the store's telephone rang just then. The manager on the other side of the room answered it, and then informed the beleaguered salesperson it was for him. The manager then came over to assist Harry.

Actually, the manager, having sensed a negative customer satisfaction incident, picked up Line 1 of the telephone, dialed the store's own number, then answered the call on Line 2. It was a sales trick of the trade to subtly switch out salespersons when either the customer or rep was causing a bad experience.

As the first salesperson went in back to "take the call," the manager walked over just in time to hear the last bit of the conversation.

"... even though you know they're the same person. Besides," the manager noticed the girl add with a grin, "a lot of girls prefer the Clark Kent look over that of Superman."

The manager smiled. It was surprising just how many times she'd heard the Clark Kent/Superman analogy, both for and against glasses.

"So, while he's on the phone, can I help you? What are we interested in today?"

Harry opened his mouth to start, but then first turned to Hermione. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll be here a little bit." She agreed, and then left to continue on to the bookstore.

"Well, I just wanted to have my prescription checked, and then maybe look around a bit," Harry explained to the manager.

"When was your current prescription written?" she asked.

"When I first got my glasses," Harry lied. He really didn't like lying, but sometimes it was just easier to be creative about certain details of his life with the Dursleys.

By the time he was done, Harry had had his eye exam and learned that his prescription was still correct. In other words, by some stroke of luck... almost as if by magic... that first pair of glasses he'd pulled from amongst the dozen or so in that box in the secondhand store just happened to be exactly what he needed.

Next, he had to decide whether to get contacts or stick with glasses. He definitely got the impression Hermione preferred the glasses.

Well, THAT was an easy decision. Finally, all that was left was frame style.

"Where do I begin?" Harry chuckled, feeling overwhelmed. There must have been at least a hundred different styles on the wall. He didn't know where to begin. Fortunately, the manager did. She'd heard his comment about his father. She'd heard this young man's girlfriend encourage him to stay with the glasses. It certainly wasn't one of their more popular styles, but all things considered, it was the best place to start.

"Well, I always say the best place to start is right where you are," the manager said confidently as she lead him to the farthest corner of the display (with the less popular styles). There, she pulled down a display sample and handed it to Harry. It was exactly the same as what he was wearing... except new. But the hinges and bridge were a tiny bit different.

The manager could see Harry looking at them with a slightly puzzled expression.

"New hinge design," the woman said proudly. "Won't break or snap... under normal circumstances," she added hastily and almost under her breath. "But here's the best part: flexible bridge!" The manager then took the glasses and twisted the two halves in opposite directions. "They spring right back, always back to the same place. Best of both worlds: latest technology, same classic style. No one would even know they're a new pair."

Harry grinned. "I've seen commercials about shatterproof and scratch resistant lenses. What about those?"

The manager now grinned. This would turn into a nice, handsome sale. And she wouldn't have to pay a salesperson commission for this sale.

* * *

After leaving Harry at the optometrist, Hermione made her way down the promenade in a leisurely manner towards the bookstore. As she was every time, Hermione was greeted warmly by the shop owner. She immediately headed for the used books.

"Huge shipment in last week, dear," the owner told Hermione. "Lots of wonderful, previously-read books needing a new home."

Hermione smiled at the owner and nodded in acknowledgement, then turned back to the books. Since these used bookshelves were sorted by most recently received to cater to the store's group of regular browsers, she remembered that the "last" book here on her previous visit was Stranger in a Strange Land (she already had a copy... third shelf down on her north wall). So she started looking for that to know where the new used books started.

It wasn't on the top shelf, where it was last time... nor on the second... nor the third.

"Bottom shelf, dear," the shop owner told her. "Filled up the top five shelves, I did, with that last shipment." Hermione briefly looked at the shelves. By quick estimate, that meant there were probably 150-200 new books. Now it was Hermione's turn to grin.

Very quickly, Hermione was deeply engrossed in her "browsing." She'd look at the various titles, and if anything looked interesting, she would pull it off the shelf and read a random paragraph or two to judge its merit. A good ten minutes in, she hadn't yet noticed the tittering that had just begun behind her.

"Well, well, well. LOOK at what we have here!"

Hermione was so startled by the noise that she actually dropped the book she was holding. Her heart began to race as she bent down to pick it up. She didn't dare turn around.

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Please, let it be anyone but...

Hermione recognized that voice. It had been more than five years, but she knew she would never forget that voice. A twinge of panic began to rise in her throat.

"I'd actually forgotten about you. But I was turning around out in the corridor, and out of the corner of my eye I saw you." A cruel, cackling laugh broke for a moment. "Or should I say I recognized the hair? And in a bookstore, no less! Say hello, girls!"

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the book directly in front of her. Maybe if she ignored them, they would think she was someone else.

"Hello, Mangy Grangey!" came a vicious chorus of three female voices behind her. Hermione clenched her jaw, determined to stay in control. She was nearly seventeen years old now. She could handle this. She'd fought Death Eaters, after all.

Hermione slowly turned around. Oh, how she wished she had a Time Turner right about now. It was them.

Before receiving a most unusual letter on her eleventh birthday, Hermione Jane Granger had attended West Hill Primary School. With Dan and Emma both working full time, this was very convenient as the school was quite literally only the next street over, only a few hundred feet away. Hermione could easily walk with her classmates to her neighbor and babysitter Eve's house, where she would stay until her parents returned home.

It should be noted however that Hermione didn't really walk with her classmates as much as she merely walked in their presence. Just as she was initially at Hogwarts, Hermione too was quite isolated from her classmates here.

In fact, unbeknownst to her parents, there were two things at which Hermione excelled at West Hill Primary School: her studies and hiding in the loo, crying.

And the three sources of 95% of those tears (a conservative estimate) were now standing over her again. It had been more than five years, but she would never forget them. She never could.

It was the Terrible Trio, as Hermione called them, three girls who for all intents and purposes had controlled the lives of all the students there.

Worst of them, queen of the school, their leader, and always standing in the middle, was Samantha, "Just call me Sam (giggle)." And flanking Sam on either side were her best friends, Anna and Beth. But secretly, Hermione liked to call them Alpha and Beta, since they acted more like robots, mindlessly doing whatever Sam told them.

And why did they make Hermione's life such a living hell? Because they could. She was different... she stood out. Half the time, she was as silent as a stone (which actually was quite noticeable for a ten year old). When she did speak, it was at such great speed and such great length that it felt like she had read them an entire book in less than a minute. And she always went around spouting off things that made absolutely no sense, like how the Hundred Years' War didn't last one hundred years.

But more than anything, there was her appearance. To girls like them, who by most anyone's definition were quite perfect, Hermione Granger stuck out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb with very bushy hair. The girls had, predictably, seized upon this and quickly gave her their favorite nickname, "Mangy Grangey."

There was little that the Terrible Trio did not tease her for. The girls had once made a derogatory crack about dentists. Hermione showed a surprising about of bravery and defended the profession, and be extension, her parents. Of course, she did not realize the girls had once overheard her mention her parents' careers, so she did not know they were setting her up. Because as everyone who met her before Hogwarts fourth year knew, Hermione also had certain dental attributes that were ripe for ridicule.

The speed with which the girls verbally attacked Hermione suggested that they might have planned this encounter, and actually spent all night coming up with a snappy insult. Such was born the not-as-easy-to-say, but definitely more hurtful title, "The bucktooth, bushy-haired, bossy, bookworm know-it-all of West Hill."

Yes, these three girls had made Hermione's life miserable at her old school. They weren't at all smart, but they were smart enough to not get caught making her cry. And besides, it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. These three could pull off a cute, innocent routine so well they already had all of the teachers at school wrapped around their fingers.

And even if Hermione had had friends, there would have been little for them to do either, since all of the other students idolized them, as they were the prettiest and most popular girls at school.

And now, nearly seven years later (the girls were one year older than she, so her last year in Primary School was relatively peaceful, though lonely, when they had moved onto Secondary School), Hermione again found herself being backed into a corner as these three silkily glided in towards her.

"Oh. My. God," Sam punctuated in delight. "I can't believe it's really you... after all these years. Well," she chuckled, "actually I can. I saw this mass of mangy hair standing in front of a bookshelf."

Alpha and Beta giggled mindlessly, following Sam's lead.

"So where have you been all these years? I've never found anyone I've enjoyed spending my time with as I have you," Sam sneered.

"A state school, probably," Alpha injected.

"Yeah, I think all of the more exclusive schools have higher standards than her," Beta added.

Sam smiled and chuckled. "I think it would have been worth it though, to have her with us. I'm sure we all would have had some good times together."

Beta suddenly tilted her head slightly and held out her hand in a way as if to stop them from talking while she tried to remember something.

"What was that nickname we had for you?" Beta asked Hermione, but also asking Sam and Alpha.

"It was something fun," Sam confirmed. "Bookworm something..."

Beta smiled cruelly as she remembered. "Of course. Bucktoothed, bushy-haired, bossy, know-it-all bookworm. Do you remember?" she said to Sam. "She told me off for taking too many napkins at lunch time!"

Hermione stood frozen in her spot. She still hadn't been able to move yet. Not that there was really anywhere to go. The three girls now stood in a chevron, almost surrounding her. She looked around, hoping that maybe the shop owner would see them and ask the girls to leave. She was unnerved to discover the woman absent. Of all the times to go in back for a minute! Sometimes being trusted in a store alone had its drawbacks.

Hermione was a formidable witch, but she felt defenseless in front of these three girls. She had her wand on her, but she knew she couldn't use it unless things got really bad. But she knew they wouldn't because these girls would never do anything to risk actual physical harm. Emotional torture and the threat of bodily harm, definitely yes, but never anything as crude as a physical attack.

Well, if she couldn't magic her way out, maybe she could talk her way out. She was way smarter than these three, and that was fact, not boasting.

"Well, there were other people in line too who needed them!" Hermione defended, finally speaking.

"Oh! She speaks!" Sam cackled.

"Look!" Alpha exclaimed. "Her teeth! They look normal!"

"Her mummy and daddy must have had pity on her and had them redone," Sam said. "Only makes sense, of course. Nowadays, even the animals at the zoo get reasonable dental care."

No matter how much she tried, Hermione could not stop all of the memories from resurfacing. She could feel her eyes began to warm up as she remembered all of the tears spilt before.

"Just leave me alone!" Hermione said, a little louder than intended, her voice crackling. She was both hurt and angry. She always encouraged Harry to just ignore people like Draco Malfoy when they insulted him, so she tried to follow her own advice. Unfortunately these three did not know just how powerful Hermione could be, so they decided to continue a little more aggressively than even Malfoy would have.

"Or what?! What are you going to do to us if we don't leave you alone? Are you going to throw your A-Levels at us?"

The three girls laughed heartily and took a step-just one-closer to her. Hermione definitely started to feel trapped in. She looked around trying to figure out what to do. The owner wasn't back yet... of course, it had only been a few seconds since the girls first entered the store.

Hermione was starting to feel a little desperate. Her other primary weapon, her intelligence, was useless against girls like these. The crack about A-Levels proved that; no matter how clever a response Hermione could come up with, she knew they would be able to turn it around to make fun of her.

Somewhere deep down, she supposed (with an unseen internal smile) she could just smack one of them like she had Draco. But there were three of them and only one of her, and she couldn't hold them at bay with the threat of a hex like she could Crabbe and Goyle.

Besides, knowing these three, if they didn't retaliate with their fists, they probably would with their phones. Mobile phones were still relatively new enough that few people had them, but Hermione wouldn't at all be surprised if these three did. Yes, she suspected that these three were more likely to telephone their daddies and sob all about the mean girl who had viciously attacked them, and pulled out their beautiful hair, all for no reason.

That would be all Hermione needed... to find herself sitting in the Wandsworth Police Station. Well, at least it would have been convenient, since it was right up the street from her house. And when she found herself convicted of Grievous Bodily Harm instead of ordinary assault and was sentenced to life in prison... well, at least Wandsworth Prison was only a very short drive for her parents to come visit her.

But really... no matter how cruel these girls were, Hermione couldn't hit them. No matter how painful, they were only words. And now that they'd moved that one step closer, they'd effectively pinned her against the bookshelf behind her. They were still far enough away as to be out of arm's reach, but still close enough to prevent escape.

Hermione lowered her head slightly and simply stood there, preparing herself. All she could do now was let them have their fun. She would try to ignore them as they made ridiculed everything that she was. And once they were sufficiently amused and started to get bored of teasing her, she would run to the nearest loo so she could have a good cry where no one would see her.

"Hello there," came a male voice from the right. The familiar voice was strong and had the slightest hint of urgency as if it wanted to interrupt.

Before she could react to the voice, Hermione could see a momentary flash of rage appear upon Sam's face. It was an emotion the generously-busted, sleek, blonde-haired beauty rarely showed (and thereby tarnished her adorable image), but it was there nonetheless. How dare anyone interrupt her belittling of this mangy nothing of a girl?

The rage was gone, but so too was her smile. There was plenty of venom in her voice though as she turned to the source of the interruption.

"And just who in the hell-lel-lo there!" Sam did an instant, complete turnaround as she laid eyes on quite possibly the most gorgeous hunk of man-flesh she'd ever seen. Wild black hair that begged to have her fingers fun through it... a wicked cool looking scar on his forehead that she longed to trace. And brilliant green eyes that seemed to pierce through her like a laser, setting all parts of her ablaze.

As she gave him a quick appraisal, the rest of him she dare not even try to put into words, for the attempt would be too distracting. She needed all of her attention to land this fine specimen.

"Please, forgive my atrocious manners," Sam gushed as she started fiddling with her topmost shirt button coquettishly. "I thought you were someone else. My name is Samantha, but I would love it if you called me Sam." She then giggled.

Hermione felt a bit nauseated by the display. It was the exact same giggle that she remembered from all of those years ago at school. She did appear to be embellishing on her tried and true greeting for those she wanted to endear herself upon.

Sam held out her hand in offer of a handshake. "And what," she said in a rather husky voice, "is your name?"

"My name is Harry. A pleasure to meet you, Samantha," Harry said as he smiled broadly. He then took her hand and shook it in greeting.

Hermione could see as all three of the practically-drooling girls smirked at the sound of Harry's name. She had no doubt they were entertaining such thoughts as, "I'd love to find out if he is."

At Harry's use of Sam's full name, said trollop let out a mock pout. "Oh, being hard to get, are we?" she giggled, still having not let go of Harry's hand. "We'll have to remedy that, I think," she said suggestively. Hermione cringed as she saw Sam ever-so-innocently and yet oh-so-obviously flick her tongue out for a split second to moisten her lips.

Well, at least there was some consolation for Hermione. Sam had assumed that Harry's smile and his use of her full name indicated he was flirting with her. But Hermione knew he was doing the opposite of what she wanted and that it was a fake smile.

It was, wasn't it?

Despite their five years of shared history... despite everything they'd been through, Hermione could feel her self-doubt begin to slip through. If there was anyone on this planet who could make her doubt herself, it was these three girls. And Harry was focusing all of his attention on them. He hadn't even given her a first glance, to say nothing of the ever-important second glance.

Harry then looked expectantly at Alpha. Sam-having no intention of sharing him with her friends, but knowing she shouldn't appear too inconsiderate so quickly-introduced her friends.

"This is Anna," Sam said, indicating her red-haired vixen-friend, "and this is Beth," she said of the black-haired bombshell.

Hermione could only watch in horror as the two of them eagerly took Harry's proffered hand. She was certain that if it was possible to seduce someone with only a handshake, then that was certainly what they were doing. Those were no ordinary greetings.

And Harry had still had not looked at Hermione yet. More than anything the girls had said, more than any of the memories this encounter had invoked, this hurt her more than anything else. She didn't feel betrayed by Harry; how could he know what kind of girls these were? But still, she felt worthless... empty... defeated.

Everything... these last five years... they were all wiped away by a few suggestive handshakes. How could Hermione Granger even be compared with girls like these? She wasn't even in the same league as them. Harry wasn't a prize for her or anyone to win, but that didn't mean she couldn't lose him. She had no interests along those lines, but even she could admit these girls were extremely sexy. Almost any bloke's idea of perfection.

It was good, she felt, that Ron wasn't here. She knew he would be knocking things over right about know. Well, at least Harry had a little more control over his faculties.

Hermione couldn't bear to watch this anymore. The three girls had moved to put themselves on better display for Harry, so she could now escape if she wanted to. But she couldn't move. There was no point anymore. All she could do now was look down at the floor in misery. Her eyes were definitely watering now.

"And who is your friend here?" Harry then asked. Hermione looked up suddenly. The three girls slowly turned to look at her in surprise, clearly unable to believe that gorgeous Harry Potter would want to know who she was. With their backs turned to him, Hermione could see Harry smirk then wink at her.

Hermione felt an amazing rush of emotion surge through her. Saying this was all a joke wasn't quite the right description, but Harry was definitely up to something. The sudden wave of relief that swept across her caused her eyes to well even more, and a single tear rolled down the side of her face.

Sam saw this and smiled in triumph. In all of their previous bullyings, the three girls had always pushed Hermione to the point when they knew she was about to start crying, but left right before. It was another one of their tricks to stay off the teachers' radars: never be there when the victim started crying. They'd never actually seen her cry, so this to them was like a double treat, with Harry the main entrée.

Harry too saw the tear. Hermione could see as his smile faltered momentarily before he gave her an encouraging smile behind the girls' back.

"Her?" Sam asked in disbelief as she turned back to Harry. "She's no one, just a girl from our old school," she said dismissively.

"Now, now," Harry said in a joking but lecturing tone, "she's not 'no one.'" Sam turned back to look at Hermione as he continued to speak. "The fact you're talking to her proves that."

Sam rolled her eyes, unseen by Harry, then plastered on a fake smile. "Of course, you're right. Where are my manners? Harry, this is Hermione Granger, one of my favorite friends from my old primary school."

Harry stepped forward, holding his hand out. Now in front of the three girls, they could not see his face.

"Hermione Granger, very nice to meet you," he said as she shook his hand. "You must be pretty special to be friends with these three." The grin on his face quickly faded when Sam started to pull him away from Hermione. He gave her hand one quick last squeeze before Sam had successfully detached him.

"So, Harry," she said silkily, "where do you go to school? I've never seen you around here before. And trust me, I'd remember you."

"Actually, I attend a little-known boarding school in Scotland. Very exclusive, invitation only."

"Really?" Sam asked, impressed. "Well, it's too bad we're not at the same school. I think we'd have a lot of fun together."

"Yeah, it's too bad," Harry said nonchalantly. "But they do have pretty high admission standards." Hermione could see that Sam was a little stung by his words, but the broad grin he gave her completely disarmed her. It always turned Hermione's insides to goo.

"Well, if you're not doing anything, what do you say we get out of here? I'm sure you and I could find something to do to entertain ourselves." Sam then gave Harry another glance, this time definitely looking lower. Regardless of the fact that he wasn't, the downright blatant nature of her "appraisal" made it quite evident she was advertising her intentions rather than to check if Harry was advertising his.

Hermione also did not miss the tiny looks of concern on Alpha and Beta's faces. They didn't appear too eager to let Sam get Harry all by herself.

Harry gave Sam a friendly smile. "As tempted as I am by that offer, I'm afraid I can't. I'm here with some other people."

Sam took several steps closer to Harry, leaving less than a foot between them. Hermione hadn't noticed when exactly it had happened, but the topmost button on her shirt was now open. Cleavage was definitely in play now.

"You're not here with a girlfriend, I hope," Sam said in a cute, pouting voice. "Because that would be such a shame." Hermione had really never been tempted to call anyone it yet, but 'slut' had a really nice ring to it right about now.

"I really don't think..." Harry tried to say, but Sam would have none of it. She got even closer and put her hands on his shoulders in a caressing sort of way.

"Are you sure you can't get away for a little bit. I'm certain the three of us could make it worth your while." Alpha and Beta's eyes lit up and they nodded vigorously to confirm the offer. "And I'm quite certain a handsome stud such as yourself could easily handle all three of us."

As she spoke, Sam slowly started to run her hands down the sides of Harry's arms. She took his lack of saying anything as a sign he was interested in the same thing she was, so her offer was obviously becoming a little more forward. In all fairness to Harry however, she really hadn't given him much of an opportunity to say anything.

The bookstore owner however did decide to interrupt, as she cleared her throat loudly.

"Can I help you young ladies?"

"We're fine!" Sam snapped, not looking away from Harry.

"If you're not interested in buying anything, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the owner said firmly.

Sam finally turned her attention towards the older woman, letting go of Harry. "Shut up, you old witch! We'll leave when we're good and ready!"

With the three girls glaring at the shop owner now, they did not notice the momentary flash of anger in Harry's eyes. Hermione did, however.

A word of advice to all Muggles: NEVER attempt to use the word "witch" as a derogatory term in front of a wizard. Even if insult is free of any magical connotations, wizards still tend to NOT appreciate it.

"Now, where were we?" Sam said huskily as she put her hands on the sides of Harry's chest, just below his arms. She again began to run her arms down very slowly towards his hips. "I'm sure the three of us could find something fun to do. Anything you wanted."

Harry actually smiled at this, delighting Sam and surprising Hermione. Harry was doing something, wasn't he?? He wasn't being swayed by their... charms. Was he?!!!

"You three would do anything I wanted?" Harry asked in a very suggestive voice. Shocked, Hermione couldn't stand to look at this so she glanced over in the shop owner, who appeared as stunned as Hermione felt. Perhaps that was why the woman hadn't called mall security yet.

"Anything," Sam promised. Hermione felt a little sick to her stomach.

Harry grinned and leaned forward. As he started to whisper something in her ear, Sam moved her hands from Harry's side to the front of his shirt.

They stopped suddenly.

"WHAT?!" Sam asked loudly as she jerked back, pulling her hands back.

Harry simply gave her a look that, without a word spoken, clearly meant, "You heard what I said."

"I'm not apologizing to her!" she said as she pointed blindly in Hermione's general direction.

"But you said you would do anything I wanted," Harry said innocently.

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind!"

"Well, that's what I had in mind," Harry said plainly.

"Why in the hell should I apologize to her?"

"Because you were being mean to her when I came in, and I don't like it when people are mean to her."

"Why do you care?" Sam asked. She then laughed. "Don't tell me you're here with HER?!"

"Actually I am."

The Terrible Trio laughed riotously.

"Oh, that is the richest thing I've ever heard!" Sam cackled. "How could someone like her even know anyone as gorgeous as you?"

"We go to the same school together," Harry replied. That stopped the laughter... but only for a minute.

"Well, Mangy Grangey here is enough of a bookworm brainiac to get into some exclusive school, that I believe," Sam admitted. "But there is NO way the two of you could be here together. You know what I think? I think you were walking by, saw the three of us, knew you could lucky, and only then just happened to notice Granger here."

"You really think that's what happened?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Sam replied instantly, her voice full of confidence.

"Well..." Harry replied, his voice hesitating. Hermione could tell he was making this up as he went. "What if I told you she was my girlfriend?"

All three girls turned and looked at Hermione with a level of disbelief that was an insult in its own right. The girls then started laughing. To be honest, Hermione felt a little of that disbelief herself. Had Harry actually said that?

She glanced at him while the girls were still laughing and pointing at her. He quickly shrugged his shoulders and made a face that clearly indicated that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Talk about improvisation gone wrong!

"Oh, please! Now I know you're lying. I'd be willing to believe that you actually know each other from school, but now I think I know what's going on. You're the popular, hot school jock, and she's just the nerdy little girl who does your homework for you.

"But of course, now that you're here, you can't let her see you allow us to make fun of her, so you're protecting you golden ticket and defending her. And her," Sam continued, turning her gaze back, "she hasn't even once yet said anything in her defense. You know why?" she said, now addressing Hermione. "Because you want him to defend you."

Sam scrutinized Hermione through narrow eyes. "I'll bet you go to each and every one of his games, don't you? Oh, not the team's games... his games. I'll bet you that you can't even stand whatever it is he plays... football, rugby, lacrosse... barbaric, manly activities... but you go and watch breathlessly from the sidelines anyway.

"And then after the game," Sam continued as she slowly started to walk in a circle around Hermione, "you're always there to make sure he does his homework... gets those good marks." Sam came up and stood directly behind her, putting her hands on Hermione's shoulders and her head next to hers, so they were both looking at Harry. She now spoke to Harry.

"I'll bet you she always comes up to you, stands close to you... hovers next to you... leans over your shoulder while she reviews your homework. She sits down next to you while you're reading, accidentally brushing her hand against yours as she reaches for her pencil. Maybe she even gives you a friendly hug after you've done well on an examination."

Sam lingered over Hermione's shoulder, relishing the thought that perhaps she'd embarrassed her and called Harry on his bluff. She watched as Harry stood quietly for moment considering her words. She could see that he was clearly upset, but in her mind Hermione was such of a nothing that the only reason could be that she'd called his bluff.

Sam then went around and stood next to Harry, putting an arm around him. It was obvious (to Hermione) that Harry was not at all impressed with Sam or her friends, but still, it hurt to see her, well, her primary school nemesis with her arm wrapped around the man she'd fallen in love with. But at least she took comfort in the fact that Harry had flinched as Sam did so.

"I'm sorry, my dear Hermione," Sam cooed, "but it's simply not meant to be. There are people like you, and there are people like us," she said indicating herself, her friends, and Harry, "and it simply goes against the laws of nature that there be anything between you."

By this point, Hermione was getting over feeling hurt and starting to get upset. But she could hear in Harry's voice that he had a head start on her.

"Are you really so sure?" he asked Sam quietly.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry, please. There's no point in pretending anymore. You know, I find it very sweet that you would try to stick up for her. It's a very noble thing to do. But you and I both know that she's simply not in the same league as us. I mean, just look at her!"

"I look at her every day," Harry shot back confidently with an odd smile.

"A messy knot of hair, a plain face, plain brown eyes, hardly any figure at all... probably an A cup... clearly no sense of style," Sam said as she waved her hand towards Hermione's plain jumper and ordinary jeans. "There's simply no comparison between us."

"If you're so certain, then how do you explain this?" Harry asked. Boldly striding forward, once the three girls were behind him, he mouthed a silent "Sorry" to Hermione, and then took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Very nicely.

Hermione was stunned, to say the least. Harry was kissing her. Hermione Granger was being kissed by Harry Potter. She knew it was just a show for Sam, so despite this being the most amazing thing she'd ever experienced, she promised herself she wouldn't enjoy it, that she wouldn't take advantage of the situation.

Then, she glanced to the side and saw the looks of indignation and jealousy on Sam's face. For the first time since that first day at West Hill Primary School, Hermione didn't feel like a second-class citizen compared to Sam.

So, if this was just a show, Hermione was determined to make it worth of a BAFTA award.

And she decided she was going to enjoy this while it lasted. In fact...

She even reached up and laced her fingers into his hair (something she'd wanted to do for years), and then pulled him in further, deepening the kiss. The tiny little start he made as she did so proved he wasn't expecting that either.

An eternity later-really only about ten seconds-Harry finally broke the kiss and stepped back. The look on his face was an unusual combination. All at the same time, he was both surprised and impressed by her "performance," and also looking a bit like he wanted to start laughing in disbelief at what they'd done.

She watched as his expression changed as he figuratively tried to wipe the smirk off his face. Sam was still there, after all.

Once he felt sufficiently composed, Harry started to walk around Hermione so that he could face Sam. He put his hands on her shoulders and his face next to hers, just as she had earlier.

"You seem surprised, Samantha," Harry drawled.

"But she's..." Sam stuttered condescendingly, "and you're so..." she continued flatteringly.

"You don't get it, do you?" Harry asked of Sam. "You see, you're the kind of girl blokes like have up on their walls as posters," he explained. Sam (and her body) certainly could compete with some of the models adorning the magazines he knew were "hidden" under Dudley's mattress. "You're the kind of girl we might want to have a meaningless quickie with behind the football stands."

Harry leaned his head just a little but closer to Hermione's. "But Hermione here," he said as he ran his hands down her arms just as Sam had run hers down his, "she's the kind of girl we want to bring home to Mum. When you know that you want something more than just ten or twenty minutes of fun, she's the kind of girl we could only hope we are lucky to meet."

Harry stepped back a little. Hermione could feel him stop stroking her arms and now put his hands on her shoulders in a very protective sort of way. "And I just happen to be lucky enough that I also enjoy a quickie in the football locker room with her too."

When Hermione's face reddened in a blush, Sam's began to redden in anger. Whereas Sam thought the blush was because Harry's words were true, the blush was actually from the memory of a certain dream.

"Speaking of which..." Harry trailed off before turning his attention to Hermione, speaking in a stage whisper. "My mum and dad will be gone to the States on business next week. Why don't you come over and we can..."

Harry then leaned forward, cupped his hand next to her ear so the girls couldn't see, and then whispered, "Giggle like I just suggested something naughty."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle. She wasn't at all good at faking it, but the way Harry had said 'naughty,' it had sounded so... well, naughty. Seeing the look of envy and jealousy grow on Sam's face, Hermione also couldn't help but ad-lib a little.

"Oh, Harry. Don't you ever get enough?" she said saucily as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Hermione then turned back towards Sam. "Honestly. I didn't think it was possible for a guy to outlast the girl," she said matter-of-factly. "He wears me out most of the time. When I lose that contest, trust me, I win."

"You said Hermione had a messy knot of hair," Harry reminded Sam after his blush died down. "I prefer to think of it as wild and unbridled." He stepped a little further to the side now so that he could properly look at her, exaggerating the inspection for Sam's benefit. "Especially when I found it spread across my chest when I woke up that one morning," Harry said as he waggled his eyebrows.

Again Hermione blushed. After all, it did sound rather suggestive if he intentionally left out the part about it being completely innocent because they'd simply fallen asleep on the loveseat watching a movie, with Ron and Ginny just a few feet away.

"What you call a plain face," Harry said to Sam, "I call the classic beauty of 'the girl next door.' How many times have you heard that phrase in modeling?" Actually, Harry didn't know, but he had heard Lavender and Parvati mention it one or two dozen times last year out of Teen Witch Weekly. He hoped Muggle beauty trends were comparable.

"You... derided her figure. Well, I think she's adequately indicated I find her figure quite enticing. And let me just add that sometimes quality is more important than..." Harry paused, allowing his eyes to momentarily wander to Sam's ample chest, "quantity."

He chuckled. "I might get in trouble for this, but I must confess that, along those lines, she has this cute little mole where... well, somewhere I wager few have seen." Harry had to remind himself to be ready with a fast explanation about those new dress robes, should she demand an explanation of how he knew about that.

"You were right about one thing, however," he continued, still addressing Sam. "You said that you and I were not in the same league as her. Well... they say to aim for the stars. I think I might have just caught one this time."

Sam began to laugh derisively. "Oh my God, Harry! What, are you pulling this out of some bad poetry book?"

Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione, who unfortunately wore a look that confirmed the cheesiness of what he'd just said. He was on a roll now, however, so he wasn't going to let that stop him.

"Well, I guess that just goes to show that Hermione's the kind of girl that can inspire a bloke to write bad poetry."

Harry looked again and now Hermione wore a smirk and raised eyebrow that silently said, "Nice save!"

Emboldened by Hermione and annoyed by Sam, Harry turned back to the blonde. "Tell me. Have you inspired anyone to write anything about you? I mean, besides on the walls in the boys' loo?"

Anna and Beth let out the tiniest of gasps. Harry glanced at them and saw that despite being shocked, they also appeared to be fighting back their own smirks. Evidently, it must have been a very good insult if they were impressed.

It had been more than six years, but still, Hermione had never seen Sam look so small. To her knowledge, the pampered little princess had always gotten what she wanted. Clearly not this time.

Clearly unprepared for this turn of events, Sam's confidence began to fall.

"But... Harry?" Sam whimpered as if he'd just broken off a long-term relationship.

"Like I said, there are different types of girls out there, and you're just not the type I'm interested in," Harry said consolingly. "Oh, I'll admit you're very attractive. But from what I saw of you before I interrupted, I don't think there's anything more to you than that.

"What happens ten years from now? Twenty? What are you when your hair starts going gray, when those little fine lines start appearing?"

"Cellulite?" Hermione was unable to resist interjecting. Sam looked truly horrified. Harry was unable to suppress a grin.

"What are you going to do when gravity starts to catch up with you?" Again he glanced towards her chest. "Make that five years."

"It won't matter, because I'll be happily married by then and he won't care about that then!" Sam retorted.

"What are kids going to do to that figure of yours?" Harry continued. Alpha and Beta's faces both blanched at that thought. "But forget that for the moment. Got anyone lined up for marriage?"

Harry didn't know how old these girls were, but they couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. He knew realistically that was probably too early for most people to be considering marriage, but he was trying to make a point. And he hoped they didn't think about it too much either.

As he expected, Sam looked a little aghast at the idea of being so committed at this point. "You're joking, right? I like to keep my options open, be free to meet as many people as I want to until I find Mr. Right. Who is clearly not you!" she added suddenly.

Harry snorted a sound of mock disappointment.

"How many boyfriends have you had?" Harry asked. Sam smiled, looking as though her confidence was growing again.

"Oh, too many to keep track of," Sam chortled. "How many has Mangy Grangey had?"

"Don't... call her that," Harry threatened darkly. The Terrible Trio knew Harry wasn't joking. And so too did Hermione. Although she might have believed all of this was just an act for Sam, she knew that certainly wasn't.

For all of her raw power and cleverness, Hermione still knew little about magical auras. Sensing them was something that could not be learned from books alone, but rather only by years of experience. But she had felt something. She'd never experienced anything like it before, so it was hard to describe, even to herself.

The best she could come up with was feeling a slight change in air pressure in her ears when a door was opened rapidly, or perhaps taking off a heavy jumper and standing next to a metal object and feeling the static buildup on her arm reaching out for the object. They were two such different analogies, and yet in this moment, they felt exactly the same.

Strictly from an academic standpoint, she easily allowed herself to become distracted by the idea that perhaps she'd just "detected" Harry's aura for the first time... or, maybe not his aura, but at least a fluctuation in it.

Unaware Hermione was currently off in her own world at the moment, Harry continued to press his argument.

"And of all those boyfriends, how many of them did you dump?"

Sam appeared a little surprised by that question.

"Um, well, almost none of them, actually. It was pretty much mutual."

It had been just a first impression, but Harry had suspected that someone like Sam would consider herself to have pretty high standards. If that was the case, then he figured she wouldn't choose anyone that she wanted to ditch quickly. This was even better.

"What's the longest you've been with anyone?"

"A couple weeks..." Sam said hesitantly.

"So you're saying that you've dated so many guys that you can't count them, and yet none of them has wanted to be with you for more than a couple weeks?" Harry asked.

Sam looked very uncomfortable now. "Well... that's not what I..."

"Because that's how it looks to me. You're nothing more than a pretty candy coating surrounding a mean, cruel person who obviously has such self esteem issues that she needs to find a truly beautiful human being and belittle her for the jumper she is wearing or the style of her hair."

Harry then laughed in realization. "I know the perfect guy for you... but the two of you would probably end up dumping each other at the same time because you each felt the other wasn't good enough. That is truly sad." Only now for the first time did Harry make any sort of association between Sam and Draco Malfoy. Sam was just so (yes, he could admit it) hot that it had been impossible for him to even link the two of them in any way, shape, or form until now that he'd said it.

Never in her life had Sam been confronted like this. No one had ever stood up to her like this, least of all any boy! And so she did what many bullies do when outmatched, she ran away. Though in her case, after it was clear Harry had nothing further to say to her, all she really did was turn on her heel and stomp out of the store. Alpha and Beta stood an extra second or two longer, obviously unable to decide for themselves what to do next. So they turned and followed Sam out, having to run to catch up with her.

With the Terrible Trio now gone, Harry and Hermione both literally let out loud exhales of relief. After a moment, they turned to look at each other. They both said the same thing at the same time.

"I can't believe we just did that!"

After a laugh, Harry began to look very self-conscious.

"I just wanted to apologize... for... you know, planting one on you like that. I was pretty much making it all up as I went along, and it was the only thing I could think of, you know, to convince her."

"Well, honestly, Harry... there's no need to apologize... it was w..." Hermione chuckled nervously as she realized what she was about to say out loud, "Anyway, I think it worked, because you just about convinced me."

Harry blushed a little. "That was also kinda the point. I don't think she would have bought it if you'd hauled off and slapped me."

No chance of that! Hermione thought, still flushed inside from the memory of his kiss. Aloud, she said, "That's true, I guess. Look, Harry, I'm sorry you had to get involved..."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "They're the ones who should be sorry. If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry. I guess it's safe to say I got a little carried away. At first I was just trying to convince them, but when they started calling you names, well... I really couldn't think of anything else. It wasn't like I could threaten them with a hex or something."

"That's what I said!" Hermione agreed suddenly, happily... "to myself, at least. Thanks anyway." She then looked at the floor for a moment, and blushed prettily.

"This probably isn't the best time to tell you this, but remember last Christmas when you thought that maybe you were a bad kisser?"

Harry rolled his eyes at being reminded of that.

"Well... for what it's worth... you're not," she said, then looked down at the floor again, clearly embarrassed.

Harry began to grin broadly.

"Well, I'm certain this isn't the best time to tell you this," Harry began, intentionally repeating her words, "but for what it's worth... you're not a bad snog yourself."

Hermione suddenly looked up at Harry and found him looking deep into her eyes. He was clearly embarrassed for that admission, but he would not look away. She could feel something in the air... something that had nothing to do with his magical aura... or perhaps everything.

Hermione knew that if she ever wanted to be with Harry, she would have to tell him how she felt at some point. The question was, was now that moment? All she had to do was tell him how she felt about him, about what he meant to her. Or maybe not that last part, in case it might scare him away.

Or, perhaps if she couldn't just say it outright, maybe she could turn it around a little and ask him how he felt about her. She knew the message would be the same, but at least she could actually leave it left unspoken.

She looked at him, and saw that he looked like he wanted to say something himself. Or maybe he wanted to hear her say something. Hermione's heart began to race. Could she do it? Could she summon the legendary Gryffindor courage and just admit it? Facing external fears like Death Eaters was nothing compared to facing her own internal fears over admitting her feelings.

Was now that moment?

Hermione spent so much time analyzing and second-guessing herself that before she could finally decide if this was that movement, she realized that the moment had passed. Whatever had been "there" surrounding them at that moment, it was gone now.

It was too late.

Moments like that usually came along only once in a lifetime, and she'd wasted hers, second-guessing herself.

Harry too seemed to have realized that the moment had passed for he cleared his throat nervously.

"Perhaps we should go meet up with your parents," he said solemnly.

"I'm going to finish looking at these first," Hermione replied as she turned away from him and returned to the used bookshelves.

Harry nodded without much enthusiasm and walked off to the opposite corner of the store to just look around while she finished her browsing. Hermione looked back at him, and when there were several tall racks of books between them and she could no longer see him, she sighed, reaching up to run her hand along the spines of the books, as she tended to do.

Her arm trembled as she raised it, clear evidence of the tumult inside of her. Now she really wanted to cry. The Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw. She was supposed to be braver than she was smart, right? So how come, when faced with what had to be the most perfect moment of all moments to confess her feelings, she couldn't?

Had she just blown her one chance to tell Harry how she felt about him, to be with him?

* * *

Harry wandered restlessly around the opposite side of the bookstore, trying to stay where he couldn't see Hermione.

Those girls were nothing but bullies (well, actually, another word came to mind that also started with 'B'). He knew Hermione couldn't use magic, or even the threat of it, and surrounded like that, he could tell she was lost.

He'd only heard their verbal attack from when the redhead (he'd forgotten her name already) had commented on her teeth being normal, but it was enough to know that they knew her and she knew them. He didn't dare say it aloud, but not since the troll in first year had Harry seen Hermione look so helpless.

He wanted to help her. He needed to help her. At first he'd interrupted simply to break things up. But once it was quite evident what those girls' feelings were for him and how they were so sure Hermione was nothing to him, he was determined to show them just how wrong they were.

Sure, some of it was made up, and some of it was true but distorted out of context, but still, it had all felt right to say.

And then afterwards when the non-magical witches had hastily departed, the two of them shared a moment that was all at once pleasant and awkward, bold and embarrassed, and just plain, strange and yet familiar. It seemed like the perfect moment... to do something... to say something.

But as he stood there, looking into her eyes, all he could think about was Cho Chang, about how badly things had ended with her. And so he started second guessing himself, and before he knew it, it was too late. Whatever that connection was that he had felt, it was now gone.

Harry too was feeling the same thing Hermione was. Something was beginning to gnaw away at him on the inside. It was an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Had he just blown his one chance to tell Hermione how he felt about her, to be with her?

* * *

The bookstore owner was quite confused about what had just happened in her shop. Although she was rather bad with names, she never forgot a face. And she remembered this young girl coming into her shop for the last eight years or so. At first, her parents brought her in once a month or so, and they always left with as many books as the girl could carry by herself.

Evidently that was how her parents limited her intake. And the bookstore owner agreed, for as much as she herself loved reading, she knew that kids that age needed to get out every once in a while and spend some time with her friends.

Then, for the last five years, the visits dropped to only once or twice per year, during the summer. Curious, she had asked; friendly, the girl had explained: boarding school.

And then this summer, something new... the girl came with a boy in tow, literally. The two had wandered around the store hand in hand. The two seemed so at ease with each other that she simply assumed they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

After the three other girls had left, the owner was shocked to discover that the two of them weren't a couple. At least, that's what she gathered after overhearing must of their conversation afterwards. She didn't intend to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help but listen in anyway, just to make sure the young woman was all right.

Well, the shop owner decided to herself, perhaps they'll figure something out. They seem like such a nice couple of kids.

* * *

A short while later, everyone met back together near the entrance where they'd arrived, ready to head back home. Dan and Emma immediately could tell that something was up.

For one, the two of them were unusually quiet. They engaged in conversation whenever spoken to, but it definitely felt as though they were avoiding talking to each other. And for another, Hermione was carrying a bag filled with more than a dozen books.

Uncertain of herself, becoming more and more convinced that she might have made the biggest mistake of her life, Hermione did what made sense to her, she retreated back a little to a point where she was more sure of herself, where things made more sense. And because she just so happened to be in a bookstore, that meant again reaching out for the familiar comfort of a hardbound novel, or perhaps a paperback serial.

It was a good thing for her pocket money that all of the books she bought were used "previously read," and not marked up at full retail.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, Harry and Hermione were forced to spend more and more time talking to each other. Things began to return more towards normal.

When given a silent minute alone, both of them still privately wallowed in their own self pity, regretting how in the face of what felt like a perfect moment to make the next move, they'd each hesitated, allowing it to pass unrealized.

All either of them could think about was how the two of them could be spending their time together right this very moment, if they'd simply taken that final step and simply admitted their feelings. It was amazing (and infuriating) how their hesitation at the bookstore had only allowed them to see rejection as a possibility then, and how now their regret only allowed them to see a (missed) positive outcome.

Then again, it did make a little sense. After all, how many people hesitate if they know the outcome will be favorable? And how many people regret not making the wrong decision?

But regardless of all that, regardless of whatever opportunities were missed or might still be out there, each of them knew that the other was still there. And for the moment, that was enough.

* * *

For their last dinner together this summer, Dan and Emma asked Harry whether he wanted to go out anywhere special. Wanting to make the most of his holiday here, he said that he preferred to stay in tonight. When Dan asked for requests, Harry immediately knew the answer.

"Surprise me," Harry cheekily replied.

Dan did.

While he was up in his room getting his trunk re-packed and ready for school (Molly hadn't had a chance to do laundry since Harry left before she expected), the smells of dinner began to waft upstairs.

Fish.

Harry had never been terribly fond of seafood in any form... perhaps a few too many encounters with dented tins of tuna fish from the discount store. At the beginning of his stay at the Grangers', he had asked that he be required to eat "whatever 'Mum' makes for dinner." As it turned out, they'd never made anything yet he hadn't liked. This would prove interesting.

On his way downstairs, Harry heard Dan call up to him and Hermione that dinner was ready. He approached the kitchen warily. Dan and Emma were setting the table as he entered: homemade fish and chips. It was probably the poster child of the British gastronomy, and they hadn't had it yet until now (and he'd always skipped it when it appeared as part of the offerings at Hogwarts).

"Ready to eat?" Dan asked enthusiastically.

"Um... yeah," Harry replied cautiously, eyeing the surprisingly good-looking fried fish with trepidation. It certainly did look a lot better than the "fish sticks" Dudley liked. Dan noticed the pause.

"What's the matter, Harry? You don't like fish?"

"Um, no, not exactly," he confessed.

Dan looked surprised. "Oh... I didn't know that." Harry then explained his thoughts on the origins of his aversion.

"Well, I can assure you that these won't taste anything like cheap cans of tinned tuna. Good fish, fresh fish like this normally doesn't have a fishy smell. The only reason you even smelled it at all was because I was frying it."

Harry quickly glanced around the kitchen counters to see if there was anything else being made. There was not. He really didn't want to try to make a meal of just salad and chips.

Dan noticed Harry look around and took pity upon him. He too had been a picky eater in his youth; growing up with his father he had numerous bad experiences with many foods he now loved... now that he'd had them prepared properly.

"I'll make you a deal, Harry. You at least try two bites of these, and if you still don't like it, I'll make you something else. Deal, or no deal?"

Harry was convinced he wouldn't like the fish, but it seemed a fair enough compromise. And considering Hermione had just walked into the kitchen, he didn't want to seem too unreasonable, so he agreed.

To his immense surprise (but not to Dan's), after trying the fried fish fillets with the traditional malt vinegar, Harry decided he loved it. It certainly was nothing like what he had grown accustomed to on Privet Drive. He did, however, still prefer ketchup for his chips. That too was something he'd grown accustomed to, but since he actually liked that, it won out over the several other dipping sauces on the table.

Their last evening together was spent like their first (and many others): watching a movie. The movie tonight was one Harry had never seen before (a common theme), and considering the title, it really wasn't surprising (again, a common theme).

While Dan and Hermione were out at the rental store getting the movie, Emma wanted to take advantage of the few minutes they would have alone to show something to Harry. While he cleared the table away (he insisted), Emma started digging through the small collection of television recordings that had piled up over the past couple years. As Dan could (but never would) attest, Emma was notorious for never recording over anything. "But what if I want to watch it again sometime (five years later)?"

"Here it is!" Emma said to herself triumphantly. "Harry! Come in here when you're done. I want to show you something."

Emma put the cassette into the VCR when Harry came in from the kitchen.

"What you're getting for Hermione for her birthday... I just wanted to show you where that came from. What you've made for her, well, it really does show that you've put a lot of thought and planning into this. Even though I doubt she's ever even thought about what you've done, when she sees your present, she'll know that this wasn't something you just saw sitting on the music store shelf and grabbed at the last second."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, not entirely sure what Emma was going to show him and how it would relate to Hermione's present.

"You know how every Christmas, the BBC has their 'Children in Need' special?" Emma asked.

Harry nodded and grinned. "Uncle Vernon hates those. 'I pay my television license!'" he grumbled, mimicking a blustering, angry voice. "'I'll be damned if I watch anything where they try to get more money out of me!'"

"Hmm," Emma mused, feeling the need to take a little out of Harry's uncle. "I would have expected your uncle to be the type to try to get away with not paying his license."

Harry grinned again. "I'm sure he would, but I think he prefers reporting his neighbors and coworkers when he hears about them getting new televisions. Not too smart of him to report everyone and then be an evader himself."

Emma smiled but said nothing, returning to the VCR remote to fast-forward to the part she was looking for. "We're all paid up, by the way," she said with a wink, "not due again until April. Ah, here we go."

Harry turned his attention to the television as a BBC broadcaster he recognized from a few years ago (who had since moved on) came into clarity on the screen as the picture returned to normal speed.

"... that the telephone lines will be open until eleven o'clock tonight. All right everyone... don't be surprised if you're feeling a little... foot loose after our next performer. Making her singing debut, she keeps the BBC absolutely fabulous, you know her as Eddy..."

Seeing the look on Emma's face, Harry began to smile as the announcer introduced the singer, a woman he vaguely remembered seeing on television before. Based on Emma's cryptic comments, he had a vague idea of what was going to happen. It was soundly confirmed when the woman walked up to her microphone, nodded to the orchestra, and then turned to the piano player and requested a certain key.

Now he understood what Emma meant about showing him where his present came from.

As the woman sang, Harry sat down on the sofa just to sit and watch and enjoy the song. He'd never really been in a position much to enjoy music with the Dursleys (especially if one factored in the eardrum-splitting screeching Dudley enjoyed). So for these few minutes, he just sat there, not only listening, but watching as the woman singing somehow seemed to bring the song to life. He soon found himself bobbing his head and tapping his foot along with beat.

As he allowed himself to be drawn into the song for those just-under-four-minutes, Harry suddenly remembered something Hermione had told him in regards to this song... something that he himself had also confirmed. When that thought collided with his one earlier about the song being brought to life, a huge grin (well, more than what was already there) began to grow on his face.

Oh, no, Harry thought to himself with a smirk. He'd just thought of another present for Hermione's birthday. That would bring the total up to three now. Somehow he doubted he could get away with three presents without being obvious. Maybe he could count this as merely the second half of the first one.

Then again, maybe he wanted to be obvious.

To his eternal annoyance, Harry had proved to himself that even in the face of what should have been the perfect moment to confess his feelings, he'd faltered. If he was having such a hard time telling her, maybe he could show her... give her a sign that he hoped would indicate more than a passing interest in her, but wasn't so forward that they could both pretend it meant nothing should she not share his interest.

As the woman continued to belt out the words, Harry's mind raced as he tried to envision ways to further his idea, to bring this song truly to life. When the song ended, he was tempted to ask Emma to play it again, however just then they heard the car pull into the drive.

Emma scrambled to put the old videocassette back into its case and back into the entertainment center, speaking to Harry at the same time.

"I trust you have some idea of what this present will mean to Hermione, how much she'll like it, all things considered?" Emma asked. Harry nodded even though she was still facing away from him. "When you give her the present, I guarantee you will have her full and undivided attention."

With the videocassette now safely returned to where it belonged according to Emma's organizational scheme, she turned to give Harry her full and undivided attention.

"So, if there's anything you might possibly want to tell her, that would be the time. Okay?" Emma asked.

Harry nodded.

"Anything at all, Harry. Do you understand?" Emma pressed, although still very friendly.

"Mm hmm," Harry assured her. Actually, he did understand exactly what she meant. The real question was... did she understand what she meant? Was Emma trying to suggest something? Did she know?

Harry decided he wouldn't worry about that. Either Emma didn't know and he was just reading too much into her words, or she did know. But if she did know... perhaps that wasn't all that bad, for if she did know, she seemed to be encouraging him to tell Hermione.

Oh, Merlin, Harry whined to himself. Talk about overanalyzing! Harry just smiled at Emma then went and sat down on the love seat as she had beaten him to the sofa.

Right as Harry's backside hit the seat, Dan and Hermione came in the front door. Hermione was humming something he'd heard in a television commercial somewhere before, but he didn't know what it was.

Soon everyone was settled, and the movie started. He very quickly learned what that song was, as it turned out to be a very famous song. The last movie they would be watching was The Wizard of Oz.

Uncle Vernon definitely wouldn't have allowed this in his house.

All in all, Harry very much liked the movie. Being in the Grangers' house now, and returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, the theme of "there's no place like home" struck a chord within him.

The only thing he wasn't too pleased about was the fact that one of the songs had somewhat of an infectious nature to it; he could NOT get it out of his head.

We hear he is a whiz of a Wiz if ever a Wiz there was,

If ever oh ever a Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because,

Because, because, because, because, because,

Because of the wonderful things he does.

We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.

After about a dozen iterations, Harry finally fell asleep. That night, he dreamt of (a fully-clothed) Hermione wearing ruby slippers and dropping a house on a green-faced Professor Snape.

It was a very pleasant dream (even if Hermione was fully-clothed).

* * *

Getting ready to take the train to school always felt like something of a minor emergency in years past. Whether it was a purple-faced Uncle Vernon yelling, or the frenzied rush of what felt like a swarm of eight hundred Weasleys trying to remember what they forgot, chaos was a gentle way of putting it.

Harry had hoped that because they were less than nine miles away from Kings Cross Station (by surface streets), this would be a chance for a nice leisurely departure... for once.

Of course, that didn't happen.

Harry and Hermione had both been up late, finishing all of their packing to get ready to go back to school. Forgetting their owlish lesson about what can happen when one assumes, neither set their alarm, simply assuming Dan and Emma would wake them.

Dan and Emma had also been up late, talking in their bedroom. Both quite frustrated at the lack of any visible progress on the teens' parts, the two of them discussed how they would give the thickheaded kids their figurative shoves, as they had discussed a month earlier. Dan and Emma, of course, did not know how much emotional progress had been made in the last thirty days. All they could see was that neither had done anything about it.

But then again, all the emotional development in the world won't do a person any good if he or she doesn't DO anything about it. So Dan and Emma were going to give them both a much-needed proverbial kick in the rear before sending them through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Knowing that the teens would need to be up early, neither of them set their alarm clock, simply assuming they would wake them up.

So, naturally, after late nights all around, everyone overslept.

Harry was the first to wake, around 9:45. His brain still foggy, he stared at the numbers for a good fifteen seconds, trying to decipher what the little LED digits were trying to tell him.

They had plenty of time... until eleven o'clock, right? But wait. There was something else... Dan had said last night they should leave no later than ten o'clock however, since actually driving those nine miles through Sunday morning traffic could take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. Harry's eyes flew open.

AHHH! I OVERSLEPT!

Before dashing into the bathroom for a quick shower (yes, just a shower), Harry had the forethought to stop for a moment in the hallway and see where everyone was. He listened. And heard nothing. Everyone's doors were still closed.

AHHH! We ALL overslept!

Harry ran down the hallway and banged on both bedroom doors.

"WE'RE LATE!!" he shouted, then ran back to the bathroom to get a head start on his shower. His suspicions were confirmed when, right as he was about to turn his water on, he heard through the wall the master bath turn on and four dull thuds, the distinct sound of two pairs of feet hastily climb into the tub. A muffled "OWW!" seeped through the wall.

Harry made it through a complete shower in just about five minutes that morning, a new record for him (when not living on Privet Drive). It must have not been fast enough however, for while he was toweling off, someone pounded on the bathroom door.

"Hurry up in there, Harry!" came Hermione's demanding voice from the other side. Deciding that he was mostly done anyway (and that his clothes could finish drying any spots he missed), Harry quickly dressed and opened the door. He found Hermione in her bathrobe on the other side, looking extremely rushed, and her hair a truly frightful mess (even for her).

Harry wasn't one to talk, however. As he stood there, waiting for Hermione to move and thereby unblock the doorway, he could feel streams of water start to run down the sides of his face from his own still-wet and horribly messed up hair.

"We're late!" she said, flustered, and pushed past him into the bathroom. For some reason he found this a little funny, considering he'd been the one to wake everyone else up. Harry felt himself being ejected and heard the door shut promptly behind him. It was a good thing he'd had his towel and pajamas in his arms after opening the door.

After packing his pajamas away into his school trunk (he was SOOO glad he'd packed everything else away last night), Harry dug out his toiletries bag and found his toothbrush and comb; he went over to the mirror to see what he could do. Well, at least his hair seemed to behave while it was still wet. He knew that wouldn't last long.

While he waited for the bathroom to free up again, Harry took a long, slow look around his room to make sure everything was indeed packed away. Aside from his trunk and Hedwig and Metis's cage, the room looked exactly as it had the day he moved in. For all intents and purposes, he could have been just another lodger in that Holiday Inn just up the street. He felt a little sad, partly for reasons he already knew, but also a little because there was no trace he'd ever been there.

Well, except for the little hooks Hermione had placed underneath the nightstand for him to keep his wand. He wondered if he should remove them.

Because of his preparations last night, aside from actually carrying the cage and his trunk out the door, Harry was actually completely ready to go. So he quickly stripped all of the sheets off of his bed and put them in the hamper (per Emma's earlier request) and then sat on the edge of his now bare bed and waited patiently for everyone else.

A few minutes later, Harry heard the bathroom door open and Hermione literally run down the hall back to her room. About the same time, he heard Dan and Emma's door open.

"We're late!" Harry once again heard Hermione say, this time to whoever was in the hallway. And again, it seemed a little funny.

"Harry!" Dan said a little breathlessly as he appeared in the doorway. "Are you ready to go?"

"Everything except..." Harry replied, holding up his toothbrush.

Dan nodded. "Okay, be quick, then carry all of your stuff down and out to the car, okay? The keys are hanging on that little hook in the kitchen, okay?"

"Okay," Harry replied, smiling at how many times 'okay' was being said. "Uh, Dan, speaking of hooks, did you want me to remove the ones that are under the table?"

"What?"

"Hermione put them under the table, for my wand..." Harry reminded Dan, pointing at the nightstand.

"Oh yeah! Those," Dan replied absently, looking rushed as he too looked around the room to make sure Harry hadn't forgotten anything. "No, you can leave them. They're not hurting anything. And besides," he said, now looking directly back at Harry, "maybe we'll get lucky and have you back here again sometime. If you have to tie Hermione down to a broom and fly her here for Christmas, you'll need a place to stay for the night, right?"

"Right," Harry replied grinning.

"Good man," Dan said. He then saw the alarm clock that told him it was just now ten o'clock. "Damn," he muttered quietly. "Okay, get your stuff ready, 'cause as soon as Hermione is ready, we're outta here."

"Okay."

"Speaking of getting ready..." Harry said, pointing down. Dan looked and noticed he was still barefoot, his shirt not tucked in... and his zipper down.

"Thanks," Dan said hastily then returned to his bedroom.

After setting another speed record brushing his teeth, Harry grabbed his trunk and his wand and headed for the hall. Rather than letting it thump down the stairs, he levitated it on its way. He first went into the kitchen to fetch the car keys, and then back to the front door. Once out of the house, he wheeled the trunk down the walkway and out to the car.

Returning inside for the owls and their cage, Harry heard Emma calling into Hermione's room as he ascended the stairs.

"I'm sorry that we overslept, dear," Emma said in a voice that wasn't angry, but certainly wasn't apologetic. "But you should have been putting your uniforms INTO your trunk last night, instead of taking books OUT. Don't forget that you overslept too. How many of your schoolbooks did you reread last night, hmm?"

There was no reply.

Right as he was about to go back into his room, Harry saw Emma come out of her room and head down the hall towards him. She looked at him, smiled, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. Yes, Harry knew exactly where Hermione got that.

"Do you still have the car keys?" Emma asked Harry; he pulled them out of his pocket and gave them to her. He then went into his room and headed over to the cage.

"Ready you two?" he asked the owls. They responded with a couple hoots. Another swish and flick later, and their cage was now airborne; Harry carefully guided it down to by the front door.

"Ready?" Emma asked behind him.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"You know, we've always gotten Hermione to the station with plenty of time to spare before. You must be unlucky," Emma said jokingly.

"I must be," Harry replied in kind.

"You should probably stay down here for the moment. Hermione's a little..." Emma shook her hands in a way to indicate stress or panic, "at the moment, so you might end up getting hit in the head with a flying trunk or something." She then returned upstairs.

As Harry sat on the sofa, he listened to the hustle and bustle upstairs. After a few moments, he heard Hermione's muffled voice call out, unintelligible downstairs.

"Where did you have it last?" came Emma's response. Hermione responded back with something.

"Well, did you check there?" Once more, there was no response; Harry grinned. He liked seeing this side of Hermione. Back at school, she always was so organized, always so prepared and ready for everything. It was nice to see her like this, not because he wanted to make fun of her, but because seeing these... imperfections that she never showed at school just made her seem more... real (if that was possible, or even made sense).

Harry glanced at the clock on the VCR: 10:05. Now he started getting concerned. If traffic was heavy this morning and it did take an hour as Dan said it could, then they would miss the train. Remus and Tonks and a Ministry vehicle wouldn't be available to get them to the station faster this time.

Because Kings Cross Station was so near to the Grangers', Remus and Tonks decided they would instead go on ahead to scout out the station itself, just as a safety precaution

Just then, Hermione's trunk came flying down the stairs towards Harry. It was a good thing he wasn't paying attention. If he had been, even though the trunk stopped well short of him, it came at him so fast he probably would have jumped out of the way. By the time he noticed it, it had already stopped and was now slowly hovering towards the door, where it gently landed. Hermione was still up in her room. She called something else out to her mother.

"We'll find something to eat once we get there, if there's time. Otherwise you'll have to eat on the train."

Somehow Harry didn't think that would sit well with Hermione. The only thing available to buy on the Hogwarts Express was from the old woman with the sweets trolley.

At 10:07, Hermione came walking down the stairs, brushing her hair with her right hand and running her wand through her hair with her left hand. The highly choreographed act appeared to be quite effective; by the time she was at the front door, her hair was under reasonable control. She quickly threw her brush back into her trunk, pocketed her wand, and then wheeled her trunk out to the car.

Emma came downstairs a moment later and walked over to the owls' cage.

"Need a hand?" she asked; Harry nodded and got up. The two of them carefully picked the cage up and carried it out to the car and loaded it into the back. They then loaded themselves into the car. Dan came running down the walk from the house just a few moments later. They were all strapped in and on the road by ten after ten.

Fate must have been shining kindly upon them this morning as traffic ended up being rather light for a late Sunday morning. After getting a series of five green lights during the first two minutes, no one said a word for the remainder of their drive. It was as if they were all afraid their luck would be jinxed if anyone spoke. They pulled into the car park at exactly 10:30, and found themselves standing on Platform Nine five minutes later.

The four of them all heaved simultaneous sighs of relief. "Twenty-five minutes to spare," Dan said, sounding quite proud of himself.

He and Emma then shared a significant look, not that either of the teens noticed. Emma spoke next.

"Harry, are you hungry?" she asked. Now that she had mentioned it, Harry realized that he was in fact starving. He nodded emphatically.

"Hermione?" Emma also asked, and received another nod.

"Why don't the two of you find a seat for the moment?" she said to Dan and Harry. "Hermione and I will head back over to the main station to find something to eat. There were a few restaurants by Platforms One and Eight."

As the two of them started to walk away, Harry took a quick look around. Unfortunately, this smaller building which housed Platforms 9, 10, and 11 only had vending machines and a small coffee stand. As Harry took a seat, he looked back towards Hermione and noticed that Emma had put her arm around her. The two of them appeared to be talking as they walked back towards the restaurants.

"Have a seat?" Dan asked cheerfully as he wheeled Hermione's trolley over to a bench just across from them. Sitting was better than standing, so Harry pushed his own trolley over and sat down.

"Whew!" Dan said exaggeratedly after a few moments. "We made it!"

"Just barely," Harry agreed.

"All thanks to my super-fine driving abilities, don't you think?"

"More like hitting only three red lights the entire way and hardly any traffic this morning," Harry teased.

"Well... that might have been part of it too," Dan agreed with a smile. The two of them then sat in silence for about twenty seconds as they looked around and watched the people rush to board the 10:45 train on Platform Nine.

"Did you enjoy your summer?" Dan asked, sounding a bit forced as if he was trying to find something to fill the silence.

Harry wasn't trying to maintain the silence; he just felt that anything he might say about it being the best ever would sound lame. So he just grinned and nodded.

"Good. At the risk of sounding lame," Dan said (as a guy, he too knew about the risks of sounding lame when speaking to another guy), "Emma and I really did enjoy having you stay with us. It came about by necessity, but I'm glad it happened. Not just for you, but for us too."

The two of them looked around the platforms for a few seconds.

"I trust you know this, but Hermione has very few friends at school, and she had even fewer before Hogwarts. It's just reassuring to know, as a parent, that there are real people in her life now, and not just the ones she reads about in her books. Having Ron and Ginny spend the night, having you here for much of the summer... well, it means more to us than you can know."

Harry felt a little awkward at that moment. Not so much because he was embarrassed at what Dan said, but rather because he didn't know how to respond. Was he supposed to say "thank you," or "you're welcome"?

"Well, it was really nice to be able to get to know you and Emma this summer," Harry said instead. Yes, that's MUCH better.

"Prior to this summer, I'd only just seen you for a few moments, either on the platform here, or maybe in Diagon Alley. I didn't even know your names. Hermione's my best friend. It was really nice to finally meet the people who helped make her into the person that she is." As Harry said that, a warm (i.e. lame) look came over Dan's face.

"And... it was nice to get away from the Dursleys too," Harry added as a minor afterthought.

Dan let out a roar of laughter. "Oh, Harry," he said after he caught his breath, "I was about to say that was probably the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me or Emma, and then you had to go and ruin it by adding the bit about leaving Privet Drive." Harry chuckled.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, do you want to know what the best thing about having you with us was?" Dan asked after a few moments; Harry nodded.

"That hallway bathroom has never been so spotless!"

Now Harry and Dan both began to laugh heartily, drawing a few curious and amused glances from passersby. And it was true too. One of the scariest prospects about a guy and a girl living in the same house together for the first time could easily be the thought of sharing a bathroom.

It had never been spoken of or acknowledged, but Harry and Hermione had each gone to great lengths to ensure that there was never any evidence-of any kind-left behind that either of them had used the bathroom, for any reason. No spilled dollops of toothpaste left lurking in the sink. No stray hairs shed in front of the mirror or hairbrushes lying around. And let's just say that prior to their being allowed to use magic, the exhaust fan got a lot more use than the shower did.

"But seriously, Harry," Dan resumed finally after the two of them looked around in reflex to see all the people staring at them. "I threw it out earlier sort of jokingly, but I want you to know that I mean it, we mean it. You have a standing invitation to come stay with us again anytime. I know you usually spend your Christmas holidays either at school or with the Weasleys, but Emma and I really would enjoy it this year if you could spend a few days with us again.

"Even if you don't have to fly Hermione here on your broom," Dan added quietly.

"I'd like that too," Harry replied, laughing.

"Good. Now, before the girls come back with your breakfast-slash-lunch, there was one last thing I wanted to ask you," Dan said as he turned his attention back onto Harry, looking him square in the eyes.

"Sure, anything," Harry said, still feeling the jovial effects of the broom joke.

"When are you going to tell my daughter that you're in love with her?"

Next time: Wise words from a wise guy.

Harry and Hermione won't get to see this for several weeks, but here is "their" photograph. If you like it, please leave a kind word for Evernight in the gallery.

http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=1350