Harry was up before dawn the next morning.

Part of it was that he couldn't quite get himself to go to sleep and stay asleep. His mind kept going over everything he'd done wrong over the years he'd been at Hogwarts. Sure, some of the times he'd snuck out of bed at night, he'd had a really good reason, and he'd managed to save the school. But his mind wandered back to the time Snape had caught him up out of bed with the Marauder's Map during his third year, and Remus had scolded him painfully. He thought about sneaking into Hogsmeade without permission—sure, it had been unfair that he wasn't allowed to go, but he hadn't really needed to sneak out, either.

Based on everything he'd heard, it was something his father would have done, too, and something Sirius and Remus (and Peter, more than likely) would have gone along with. But none of them were actively trying to earn their keep. The rules were different.

Even if Remus agreed to let Harry stay for this summer, what about the next? Harry was only fifteen now; he wouldn't be of age until the end of July of the following year. Would Remus still play a guardian role for him during the school year? How different would it be from what he had done during Harry's fifth year, when he'd had trouble with Umbridge? Harry knew Ron didn't see his parents much if at all during the school year, but he still wrote to them, and their professors still notified his parents when he got into trouble. They were still his parents, even if they weren't around. Despite Remus having walked him through some expectations for the summer, Harry didn't know what to expect from Remus beyond that.

He was getting ahead of himself. Right now, he just needed to make sure he was going to be allowed to stay.

Aunt Petunia had always made Harry do household chores and gardening in return for his place in the household. It never seemed worth it to him there, because they were constantly criticizing his work and insulting him personally, but this place was a different story.

The biggest reason he woke up early was to prove his worth.

There was no garden to tend, and he was pretty sure the whole place had been cleaned by magic—or possibly by a House Elf, though Kreacher seemed more likely to try to find a way to sabotage the house than to clean it properly. Harry focused on his own space. He unpacked his suitcase and made sure his room looked as tidy as it had been when he had arrived, including making the bed. He showered, dressed, and even tried to get his hair to lie flatter, although years of experience should have told him that that was a waste of time. After that, he set to work in the kitchen, hoping to have breakfast and coffee prepared before everyone woke up.

Harry opened one of the cupboards to survey the cookware and dishes, and ended up knocking over a glass, which fell to the floor with a loud CRASH!

Harry jumped back, the spray of glass just missing him. He was dressed, but he was wearing slippers, and he wasn't sure how well they would hold up if he started stepping on sharp pieces of broken glass. He was pretty sure it would be easy to pick up the pieces if he had his wand, though. It would take him longer than it would have taken Remus, but the last thing he wanted was for Remus to see what he had done and decide he was too much trouble.

So Harry very, very carefully tiptoed over and around the many shards, dodging the biggest pieces and wincing as the smallest ones crunched under the thin leather soles of his slippers. He returned to his room for his wand, and went back to the kitchen to try to clean the mess he'd left.

It was easier said than done. The trouble was that he'd never learned a spell that was specifically for picking up broken glass, and though he could repair cracks in glass, this was much more than a single crack. He tried a simple cleaning spell, but it merely left the individual shards sparkling clean. He tried levitating them, but the levitation spells he knew worked much better for individual objects than for a collection of tiny ones. He was able to get the largest pieces of glass into the bin, but the sea of tiny glimmering shards remained.

He wondered if there might be a better spell for this in his charms textbook. He hadn't picked up his sixth year books yet, though, and he was fairly confident he had a good idea of what had been in his fifth year book. But Grimmauld Place had a decent collection of books. Harry really wasn't supposed to go snooping around the house—according to Sirius, there were quite a few leftover cursed objects from when other members of Sirius's family had lived here—but if he just went to get a book and came right back into the kitchen, he was sure it wouldn't be a problem. It was still early in the morning. No one would catch him.

He tiptoed down the hall and into the library, and found himself immediately overwhelmed by the sheer number of books. He skimmed a few titles, but although the library was much, much smaller than the one at Hogwarts, Harry had no idea how this one was organized. He pulled out a couple of random books and glanced through. One was in a language he'd never seen before. One was full of clearly dark enchantments. One appeared to be blank, but when he tried to close it, it slammed on his hand and refused to reopen.

He gasped, shaking at the book. He'd left his wand on a table beside the door, but he wasn't sure how helpful it would be with this, anyway—he knew some general counter-curse spells, but nothing specific to this, and his Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had been a bit lacking over the years. Worse, the book seemed to be tightening around his hand, squeezing harder the more he struggled to pry it off. It was cutting off his circulation and really starting to hurt.

"Harry!"

Harry whirled around to find himself face-to-face with an irate Remus.

"What do you think you're doing in here?"

"I was . . ." His words tripped over each other.

Remus whipped out his wand and mumbled an enchantment over the book, which fell to the floor.

Harry let out his breath and rubbed his hand. "Thanks."

But Remus looked far from relieved. "Harry, when I gave you a list of house rules yesterday, I didn't think staying away from the dark artifacts needed to be spelled out for you. Perhaps I should have, though, given your track record at school!"

"I—I didn't know . . ." Harry swallowed. He had known. Sirius had talked to him about it the year before—about asking before he touched things, about getting an adult's help if he was going into the library or if he was going to be touching things without knowing what they were. Harry just didn't want to let anyone know he'd dropped the glass.

He braced himself for whatever was coming next—for Remus to send him off to his room to pack, to tell him that this wasn't working. He worried that Remus might start laying down punishments, although at least that would mean that he wasn't giving up on Harry. But he didn't do any of that. He took a deep breath and asked, gently, "Why did you do this?"

Harry paced his own breathing. Something about the calmness in Remus's voice gave him the clarity to answer. "I dropped a glass in the kitchen. I was looking for a spell to clean it up."

"I heard it shatter. Is there a reason you didn't come to me directly?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

Remus lowered his head slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Were you unable to find a broom?"

Harry suddenly felt like a complete and total idiot.

Remus sighed and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, what were you trying to do in the kitchen?"

"Make breakfast."

"It's a bit early, isn't it?"

"I thought it might take awhile to cook for everyone without magic."

Remus frowned, his eyes piercing Harry's for a moment. "You know you don't have to do that, don't you?"

"I wanted to."

Remus nodded slowly and began to walk Harry out of the library. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. Let me teach you a spell for picking up the glass, and then, if you like, I can show you some of the spells we use for cooking. They take a bit of practice, but they're easier than most of the charms you'll have learned in your fifth year classes."

"Okay." Harry appreciated the second chance to prove himself.

"If I catch you endangering yourself with dark artifacts again—"

"You won't. I promise."

"Good." Remus patted his shoulder a couple of times before letting go. "And . . . son, you know you don't need to cook for us, right?"

"Sure," Harry said.

But he knew now more than ever that he needed to. He already had two infractions to make up for.