Chapter 7: Masquerade
Harry whiled away the morning in his room. He read a few pages in each of his books, although little of what he read stuck in his mind. He jotted down a few sentences for some of his essays, but could not find the motivation to finish them. Mostly, he shuffled through the things in his trunk and rearranged them into neat piles.
Several hours passed before he emerged again. By then, the sun was dipping into mid afternoon and his clothes were grey from the dust that covered the floor of his room.
Harry felt much more himself for the time spent alone.
He could hear Remus moving around at the end of the hall and Harry followed the sound quietly. When he arrived at the room where the noises were originating, he knocked softly and was promptly invited in.
"I was hoping you might come and find me," Remus said kindly. He was standing in front of an open closet and there were clothes and boxes stacked at his feet. He offered Harry an understanding smile and waved him closer. "Come in, come in. I'm just going through some of Sirius's old things."
Harry looked around the unremarkable room in surprise. There was a wide bed, a desk and two chairs, but no other furniture. The only decoration was a rather bland painting of a lagoon at nighttime that hung above the bed. "This is Sirius's room, Professor?"
"Yes, Harry, it was," Remus confirmed before giving him a look. "And how many times must I ask you to call me Remus?"
Harry closed one eye and shrugged. "I'll try to remember."
Remus smiled as if he had expected this sort of answer. "Well, perhaps in the future, then."
Harry toed a pile of woolen, black garments. "Was all of this stuff his?"
"Yes. I remember him wearing a lot of these things when we were in Hogwarts together," Remus explained fondly. "He was always a bit of a clothes horse. He didn't much care for having to wear the school uniforms. He'd add patches to them just to be different."
Harry could imagine this and the corner of his lip turned up. "Sounds like Sirius."
"Yes, yes. Ah! I was looking for these," Remus announced, pulling something from the floor of the closet and spelling the dust off with his wand. "He used to wear them everywhere he went."
Remus's fingers were curled around the tall uppers of a pair of soft, leather boots. They looked to Harry like the kind worn by regiment soldiers in the nineteenth century.
"Why is it that wizards are always wearing clothes that went out of style a century ago?" Harry blurted.
Remus looked between him and the boots in honest confusion. "What are you talking about, Harry? These are quite sophisticated and are certainly still in fashion. Perhaps you should try them on?"
"I can't wear those," Harry stated dubiously. "I'd look like I was half-dressed for a Queen's polo match."
Remus eyed Harry's current outfit - battered, holey jeans coated with dust and a hand-me-down T-shirt three sizes too large - and raised a sceptical eyebrow. Harry flushed at the obvious implication.
"I'm not sure what a 'polo match' is, but I do think you could benefit from wearing clothes that are tailored a bit better. Perhaps it is muggles that wear clothes that are out of fashion - not wizards and witches? It's all a matter of perspective, I suppose," Remus said.
"I don't dress like a regular muggle," Harry explained. "Well… that's not technically true. Muggles wear clothes like I do, but they're usually much nicer. Everything I own once belonged to Dudley."
Understanding seemed to flare in Remus's eyes, but there was no pity there. Harry supposed he knew better than most about the concept of hand-me-downs. "I see. Well, that's all the more reason why you should try these on. Sirius was a much closer match to your frame than your cousin."
Remus held out the boots again and Harry took them reluctantly. He rubbed his fingers over them. The leather felt supple and well-cared for. "Remus, I'm not sure-"
"Harry," Remus interrupted gently. "Don't think on it. Sirius would have loved this, of that I am certain."
Harry shifted and sat down on the bed. He toed off his ratty trainers and carefully tugged on the boots. His jeans were large enough that they fell over the uppers without issue, but the leather felt strange on the bare skin of his legs.
"They're really supposed to go on the outside of your trousers, but I suppose that might be impossible with the ones you're wearing," Remus said warmly. "Well, go on then, Harry. Stand up and let's see."
Harry did as he asked and paced the length of the room under Remus's watchful eye. The boots were comfortable and certainly fit better than his old trainers. However, even without looking in a mirror, Harry was certain that the boots looked absurdly out-of-date. "I'm telling you, no muggles wear anything like this anymore," Harry reiterated.
"Well, it's a good thing you're a wizard then, because they're very fine on you," Remus declared before turning back towards the closet. "Let's see if we can't find a few more things you might like."
"That's really not necessary," Harry said uncomfortably. He looked critically at Remus's own threadbare robes. "And what about you, Professor? Wouldn't Sirius like you to have some of these things?"
Remus poked his head back and smiled. "He tried many times. I've taken a few of the plainer robes and will have them altered to fit me, but Sirius's colouring and my own are very different. I'm afraid black makes me look quite pale and gaunt. You, on the other hand, nearly match him exactly."
"Remus, why are you doing this?" Harry asked suddenly.
Remus turned around to give him his full attention. He seemed to consider his answer for a moment before speaking. "Sirius always hated you being in the care of your relatives. He was constantly in Dumbledore's ear about letting you come live with him. I believe - and Harry, I say this with all the love I have for him - but I believe he sometimes confused you with James. For you to live in that house reminded him fiercely of his own situation here with his mother. Your father took him in and gave him a refuge from this place. That Sirius could not provide you with the same seemed to him like a personal failing against his best friend.
"I was here with him for much of last year while completing my duties with the Order and Sirius and I spoke often. He had all these grand ideas for you… he wanted to take you to his favourite pub… he wanted to teach you how to ride a motorbike… he wanted to show you all the places he'd been and all the things he'd seen. And more than anything, he wanted to bring you here and induct you into the Order so you could fight together, as partners and friends.
"Everything he had, he wanted to share with you - just as your father had done for him. I suppose that a part of me wants to honour his memory by following through on some of his wishes.
"And - if I were to be perfectly honest with myself - I think I might be guilty of the same sin that he was. Harry, you remind me of your father, but you perhaps remind me of Sirius even more. And your mother - ah, Harry - there's so much of her in you. I see her every time I look into your eyes. Lily… she would have been heartsick to see that things have turned out this way…"
Remus trailed off and then shook his head as if to clear it. "Yes, I do believe I am also guilty," he finally continued. "I want your life to be better than it is, and Sirius wanted you to have these things. There's no reason to feel bad for taking them."
Harry contemplated this in silence. He was feeling so many things that it was hard for him to pin them down. He managed a nod but could not think of anything to say.
Remus smiled at him softly and stepped back into the closet. He emerged a few moments later with his arms full of clothes and laid them out neatly on the bed. Harry peered at them doubtfully. "I believe you skipped lunch and it's already getting close to supper. I think I'll head downstairs and whip something up-"
"I can help," Harry cut in, hoping to get out of trying on clothes. "I'm actually a fair cook."
"No, that's quite all right, Harry," Remus dismissed. He gestured to the clothes. "I'll just leave these here. Why don't you have a look through and see if you can't find something to match your taste? When you're finished, just come down and we'll eat."
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When Harry appeared downstairs some time later, Remus nearly dropped his spoon. He looked so much like Sirius when he was younger - it was remarkable.
"Wonderful, Harry!" Remus declared. "A vast improvement, I have to say."
Harry fidgeted with the cuff on his sleeve. He felt ridiculous and fancy, but didn't have the heart to say so when he saw Remus's shining face. "I didn't take much. Just a few trousers and shirts."
"And a coat, I hope. Sirius would never set foot outside without a long coat if he could help it."
Harry looked sceptical. "Bit warm for a coat, isn't it?"
Remus laughed. "Trust me - that never stopped him. Well, you can pick one out after supper. I hope you're hungry. I made extra."
Harry rolled his sleeves up his forearms and sat down obediently. Remus served him a bowl of thick stew and a glass of pumpkin juice before sitting down to his own meal. He smiled to himself every once in a while as he ate and Harry peered at him curiously.
"You seem awfully pleased about something," Harry noted.
Remus looked up and nodded amicably. "I am, Harry. Sirius would have loved to see this. And personally, I'm quite happy to see you out of those tattered clothes. You're going to be a full-grown wizard soon - best you start to dress the part."
They ate in silence for a while before Harry set down his spoon.
"Professor, I've been thinking," he announced. His face was very serious. "I'd like you to have the house. If Sirius did leave it to me… well, I'd rather it were yours."
Remus cleared his throat. "That's very kind of you, Harry, but- "
"No, please listen," Harry interrupted. "I think it would be best. You're the last of the Marauders - it seems right."
"Harry, there's more to this house than just walls and foundation," Remus explained softly. "This is the ancestral home of the Blacks - and Sirius was the last of his line. You, too, are the last of yours. By living here - by accepting what Sirius has left you - you are also accepting a mantle.
"Sirius wanted the house of Black to continue with you. He could think of nothing more fitting than Harry Potter - a great symbol of the fight against darkness - taking hold of the house of a line of dark wizards as old as London itself.
"No, Harry. Your offer is generous and I'm moved by it, but I can't accept. Perhaps, though - for the time being - you might allow me to continue living here while I complete my work for the Order? I have to confess that the basement is very convenient."
Harry frowned. "Remus, you don't have to ask that."
"I didn't think you would kick me out, but it's always best to err on the side of courtesy," Remus informed jovially. He cocked his head as if hearing something from a great distance and traced a finger along the edge of his bowl. "The sun will be going down soon. When I go downstairs, you must remember to reinforce the door behind me."
"Don't you have your potion?"
Remus shook his head and sent his dishes to the sink with a wave of his wand. "I'm afraid Severus has not had the opportunity to brew any yet."
Harry scowled at the mention of his Potions professor and stood to clear his own dishes. When everything was squared away, Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder and smiled tiredly. "Today was a good day, Harry. I'm glad we talked."
Harry agreed and they bid each other goodnight before Remus retired to the basement.
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Harry spent the next few hours spread out in front of the drawing room fireplace, working through his charms essay. Grimmauld Place, for all its downsides, was a rather excellent spot for completing homework, mostly because there was nothing else to do there. Unless, of course, you were fascinated by cleaning or listening to unknown creatures scuttle behind the skirting boards.
Harry was very tired and every so often he would accidentally poke his quill into the fireplace rug instead of his ink pot. He was used to surviving on little sleep - his strange dreams and churning thoughts saw to that - but even for him, waking up at four in the morning was a bit much.
So it's no surprise that Harry thought he must have fallen asleep for a moment when he heard a metallic pounding coming from the front of the house. He listened for a full minute, hearing nothing but the crackling of the fire, before turning back to his essay. When the sound came again, Harry realised that he had not imagined it and his wand was in his hand at once.
Harry leapt onto his feet and moved across the room into the kitchen. The sound came again, louder this time, and Harry glanced towards the door to the basement. It was obviously not the source of the noise. The sound came a fourth time and Harry held his wand straight out in front of him and stalked down the entry hall towards its source.
When he arrived at the front door, he realised someone was using the silver doorknocker. Harry hesitated. Remus had not mentioned anyone else arriving tonight. There was no way to ask him now, either.
Harry knew the house was hidden by the Fidelius Charm. Only those who already knew where it was located could find it. Clearly, whoever was at the door had been here before. Harry took hold of the handle in one hand and moved so the door was between him and the person outside. He carefully aimed his wand and hoped that it was not Moody on the other side, ready to berate him for opening the door to 'unknowns'.
Harry turned the handle and the familiar mechanical sounds of the door locks disengaging echoed in the hallway. Slowly, carefully, Harry inched the door open. As soon as he did, he was assaulted by the sounds from outside. It was pouring rain and a muggle car alarm was blaring down the street.
Even more surprising, Hermione Granger was standing on the front porch, soaking wet.
"Hermione!" Harry cried and lowered his wand immediately.
"Harry! I'm so glad you're here!" she greeted happily. She was holding Crookshanks's carrier in one hand and fought to push her wet hair out of her face with the other. It was a thick, soggy mess on her head. "I wasn't certain, but I thought you must be. May I come in?"
Harry pulled the door wide immediately. "Right, of course," he said. She reached behind her for her trunk but Harry waved her off. "Let me get that. Come inside, you must be freezing."
She grinned at him and politely wiped her shoes before stepping past the threshold. Harry hauled her trunk up onto his back and couldn't keep the answering grin off his face. Setting down her familiar's carrier, Hermione laughed for no reason at all and hugged him tightly around the waist. Harry froze for a moment before wrapping his free arm lightly about her thin shoulders. She squeezed him once and let go.
"Harry, I'm so happy to see you! And look at you - you're so tall now!"
"Hermione, what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Greece?"
She flushed pink. "Oh, well… I was, but I- I just have so much reading to catch up on. So I thought it would be best to stay home this year."
Harry looked at her in surprise. "But Hermione, you would have loved Greece. There's so much history there."
If anything, she seemed to turn pinker. "I'm sure Greece is perfectly lovely, but I just know I wouldn't have been able to concentrate there. So it's better that I'm here. And I remembered where you were staying and thought you might like some company. I hope you don't mind… maybe I should have owled first?"
Harry could not conceive of how she might think he would mind. Grimmauld Place was lonely even with Remus around. She could not be more welcome. "Don't be daft, Hermione. Listen- you're soaking wet. You should get dried off. I've got a fire going in the drawing room."
"Just a moment," she said and opened the door to Crookshanks's carrier. The furry, orange cat darted out immediately and disappeared down the lamp lit hall. He obviously did not appreciate being towed around in the rain.
Harry adjusted his grip on Hermione's trunk and led her through the kitchen into the drawing room. The fire looked warm and inviting compared to the unsettling gloom that permeated the rest of Grimmauld Place.
"Go on, then," Harry instructed. "You'd best warm up or you might get sick."
"Harry, people don't get sick from being cold," Hermione corrected automatically. She did as he asked, anyway, and settled in front of the fire with her knees pulled up beside her.
Harry switched hands on Hermione's trunk handle and glanced up the stairs. "Are you staying, then?" he asked. "Should I put this away for you?"
"Oh, Harry, honestly. You can just set it anywhere for now. Sit down, will you?"
Harry obeyed and pushed his homework into a messy pile to make room. She looked at it in interest. "Are you working on your essay? Which lesson?"
"Charms," Harry answered.
"I've finished that one. Maybe- would you like some help with it later?"
Harry raised his eyebrows at this generous offer. "Yeah. Thanks, Hermione. How did you get here, anyway? You didn't fly, did you?"
She blanched and shook her head. "Of course not. Actually, I took the Knight Bus, like last Christmas."
"I'd forgotten you knew about the Knight Bus. So how was it?"
"It's perfectly awful!" Hermione declared. "I remembered you talking about it in third year - you made it sound like it might be fun, but I'm surprised they're even allowed to stay in business! The beds inside roll every which way and they drive so fast - it's absurd, really. But there's no other option for me to get all the way from my house to London besides riding on a broom, and that's certainly not going to happen."
Harry smiled disarmingly. "Well - I rather liked it."
"You would," Hermione muttered but she smiled as she did so.
They sat in silence for a moment before the fire hissed loudly, startling them both. Harry leaned forward to add another log. When he finished and sat back, Hermione was peering at him intently.
"Where did you get those clothes, Harry?" she asked.
Harry looked down at himself in surprise. He had forgotten he was wearing them. "They used to belong to Sirius. Remus… well, he thought I might want them. They're a bit off, I know."
Hermione's eyes softened in the firelight. "They're not off, Harry. I think they suit you very well."
Harry smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. "They're old fashioned."
"They seem like proper wizarding clothes. Honestly, Harry, you look very handsome."
"Do you ever feel like you're wearing a costume? With all the robes and cloaks and the like? Or is it just me?"
"Oh! Yes," Hermione agreed and laughed. "The first time I put on my Hogwarts robes, I thought it was so funny. And some of the fashions! They're so bizarrely Victorian. To be honest, I kind of like it. It's sort of like living in a period novel."
"Remus asked how I knew it was wizards who were out of fashion and not muggles. He said it was just a matter of perspective," Harry recalled absently. "I suppose he's right."
Hermione's smile seemed to fade and her face grew serious. "How is Remus?" she asked quietly. "And how are you, Harry? I've been so worried."
"I'm fine," Harry answered automatically. "Remus… he's actually down in the basement right now because of the full moon. He's tired, but otherwise he seems okay."
Hermione bit her lip and inched her hand closer to his on the floor. "Harry, are you sure you're all right?" she asked hesitantly. "If you need someone to talk to…"
"I- yeah. What about you? You didn't really answer my letter. Did you… are you all healed now?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry, I'm perfectly fine. I was taken off my potions some time ago," she said firmly. "I won't ask you about it again tonight, but I want you to know… I'll always be here for you. If you want to talk, or- or even if you just want to sit and have company. All you have to do is ask."
Harry picked at a thread on the rug and stared into the fire. He was silent for a long time, but true to her word, she did not press. "I'll be glad for the company, to be honest," he said at last. "I don't much care to be here."
Hermione's hand closed the short distance between them and settled on top of his. He started to pull his away, but she wrapped her fingers around it lightly and he stilled. "I know," she whispered and nothing more was said.
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With a careful hand, the matron slipped a spoonful of potion between the woman's lips. Harry squinted against the dim light, but their faces were lost in the darkness. What a sad tableau, he thought, this woman with only her matron for company. Where were all the people - the hangers-on - who would have given all they owned for but a moment of her counsel when she had been young and her flesh in bloom? Once they had her fill of her, they left her to die in quiet... she was a thing used up and then forgotten.
"At last," the voice murmured from a thousand miles in the distance. "At last, at last."
Harry stepped towards the bed but his feet sank into the floorboards...
Harry jerked awake and sucked in a great breath as if he had been underwater for a very long time. Beside him, the small, warm body of Crookshanks hissed and stretched as his sleep was disturbed. His small claws dug themselves into the mattress.
"Crookshanks," Harry mumbled, rubbing his hand over his scar absently. He let his head drop back heavily onto the pillow, causing a cloud of dust to billow into the air. Harry sat up immediately and coughed in disgust.
Crookshanks seemed to agree and leapt off the bed with his tail in the air and a displeased look on his squashed face. He marched out the door as haughtily as a cat was able.
Harry slid from the bed and walked across the room to look out the window. It was still quite dark outside. A quick glance at the ancient wizarding clock on his bedside table revealed the time to be 'Last Call for Vampires'. Harry rolled his eyes at this useless information and strode to his wardrobe. He knew he would not be able to fall back asleep - he never could once he awakened - so he grabbed a pair of Sirius's trousers and a shirt and slipped across the hall into the bath.
There were no showers at Grimmauld Place. Harry had long decided that this was simply further proof that the Blacks were as mad as Sirius had always claimed. What sane person would eschew modern plumbing for ancient, claw-footed tubs that always smelled a bit like rust?
Harry cleaned himself as best and as quickly as he could (he hated baths and always endeavored to make them as short as possible). When he was finished, he dressed quietly, rubbed a towel over his wet hair, and went into the hall.
He made his way silently to the room nearest the stairs and paused. The door was left partially open, which Harry knew was for Crookshanks's benefit. This had been the room Hermione had shared with Ginny last summer and he had helped her settle in here again last night. Harry slid his hand down the doorway moulding and listened for any noises coming from inside. He heard nothing to indicate that Hermione wasn't sleeping peacefully and, satisfied, he turned and left her to rest.
Harry stopped in his own room one last time to check on Hedwig and pull on his boots before heading downstairs.
It was still too early to safely open the basement door, so he occupied himself with buffing the crystal glass chimneys on the kitchen oil lamps with an old rag he found in the pantry. They were sooty and black from years of use without proper care, and it took a bit of elbow grease to clean them. When he was finished with all of them, he was pleased to see that the kitchen seemed brighter for the extra light that could now shine through.
Harry tossed the rag aside and washed his hands before deciding to start breakfast. A peek into the drawing room revealed the light was beginning to change with the rising of the sun and he didn't want Remus to feel like he had to cook again after what was certainly a long, exhausting night.
It took some searching to find the icebox (it was, unexplainably, inside the china cabinet) and when Harry opened it, he was surprised to find an actual block of ice inside. Harry supposed it must have had some sort of cooling charm cast on it to keep it from melting. It was nearly dry to the touch, and exceedingly cold.
He pulled out some eggs, butter, and vegetables and prepared to make an omelette. Harry was quite skilled at making omelettes, and this would have been a simple task except he could not for the life of him figure out how to operate the cooker. There were no knobs or switches - not even one of the fancy digital controls that his aunt Petunia was so covetous of.
He was just about to punch the thing (which was often the only way to start the Dursley's clothes dryer) when Hermione appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning, Harry," she greeted cheerfully. "You're up early. What are you doing?"
Harry straightened from where he was hunched over the cooktop and paced over to Hermione. He stopped a bit closer than he had consciously meant to. She seemed surprised by his invasion of her personal space but didn't move away.
"Hullo, Hermione," Harry said softly. Seeing her in the doorway reminded him of how grateful he was that she was here.
"Hello," Hermione answered slowly, tilting her head back a little to look up at his face. After a moment, she touched his arm gently and he stepped away, moving back over to the other side of the kitchen.
She looked a bit startled by the exchange and watched silently while he began to fiddle with the cooker again. "How long have you been awake?" she finally asked.
Harry waved the question off. "Hermione, do you know how to turn this on?" he asked, gesturing towards the cooker.
Hermione walked over to peer at it and frowned at the lack of knobs. "It must be magical," she murmured, looking it over. "It probably turns on with a spell of some sort."
Harry sighed. "It's a bad job neither of us can use magic, then. I was going to make breakfast."
Hermione smiled in approval. "That's thoughtful of you, Harry. We'll just have to ask Remus later," she said. She peered at him critically and must have noticed the dark circles under eyes. "You look tired."
"I didn't sleep well," Harry said vaguely.
Hermione frowned. "Harry, you need the rest. Have you - have you been having… dreams… again?"
Harry's eyes flickered and Hermione must have seen something in them. "Harry! You have to tell Professor Dumbledore straight away."
"They're not those sorts of dreams, Hermione," Harry clarified hastily. "Nothing to do with Voldemort, at least. They're just… dreams."
Hermione didn't look convinced.
"Hermione, I do know the difference now," he assured and his voice was so strong that she believed him at once. "And I have told Dumbledore. He trusts that I can handle them - and I will. It's nothing."
Hermione bit her lip and her face was awash in concern. She seemed to be caught between wanting to say something and not wanting to push.
"You don't need to worry about me, Hermione," Harry said after a moment of watching her struggle.
She sighed and shook her head. "I can't help it, Harry. You'll just have to get used to it, because I'll not stop."
Harry seemed to accept this. "We ought to open the door for Remus," he said after a brief hesitation. "The sun must be up now."
He lifted the wood slat from its brace and pulled open the door. Hermione appeared at his shoulder and moved to step inside, but Harry caught her by the upper arm and pulled her back towards him. "I don't think he really wants us to see him down there," he said quietly in her ear. "Let's just call him up."
Hermione looked at him for a long moment and nodded. She made a small gesture with her head which Harry understood to mean that he should do it.
He let go of her arm and went down a few steps to get past the basement's silencing spells. "Remus?" Harry shouted into the darkness. "Everything all right?"
"Yes, yes," came the answering reply and Harry could hear footsteps at the base of the stairs. "I'll be up in a moment."
Harry stepped back into the kitchen and Remus followed him soon after. When he caught sight of Hermione, he smiled widely, which brightened his tired face considerably.
"Hermione, what a pleasant surprise! When did you arrive?"
"Last night, Professor," Hermione answered. "I hope you don't mind my being here."
"Nonsense, it's wonderful that you're here," Remus declared. "I'm certain Harry will be thrilled with the company. I'm afraid I'll be quite busy in the coming days. I'll feel much more at ease knowing that you're around to keep him out of trouble."
"She stirs up her own share of trouble," Harry asserted. "She's just too clever to get caught the way I do."
"Oh, hush," Hermione chastised. Her grin gave her away.
Remus pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket in his robes and patted his face. Looking at him now, Harry could see that he seemed even more tired than before. Fortunately, there was only one more night where the moon was full enough to invoke the change. Harry knew the break could not come soon enough for his former DADA professor.
"Remus, I was going to make breakfast this morning, but I couldn't figure out the cooker. D'you need magic to use it?" Harry asked.
"That's very kind of you, Harry. And you just need a wand. Give it a tap on the hob ring to heat it and another to turn if off."
"What about controlling the temperature?"
"I'm afraid that requires using actual cooking spells. You'll have to make due with a standard flame while you're underage, Harry."
"All right," Harry conceded. "Why don't you sit down in the dining room? I'll bring it out when it's finished."
"I think I'll take you up on that, Harry," Remus agreed tiredly. "After breakfast, I'll need my rest, I'm afraid. Will you two be able to occupy yourselves?"
"Of course, Professor," Hermione assured. "You needn't worry. I've told Harry I'll help him with his Charms essay and I really should update my astronomy charts for the new school year."
Remus nodded amicably and left them in the kitchen. Harry felt a tug of nerves as he whisked the egg mixture. He had never updated his astronomy charts in all his years at Hogwarts and he wondered whether he was he supposed to have done so.
While Harry cooked, Hermione busied herself pouring glasses of pumpkin juice and making a plate of toast. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched her spread jam over what was clearly his piece - she kept the jam thin, but it covered the bread from crust-to-crust, just as he liked it.
Harry flipped the omelette and he felt a sudden surge of affection for her. He really was glad she came.
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A/N: Special thanks to witowsmp for a bit of canon assistance in this chapter.