Hermione found it very easy to get lost in a book. In text she was all her strength, nothing of the gangly, ugly, unpopular, and at times insecure girl. She was her mind, and that was her greatest power. It was an indulgence to surrender to it. Admittedly, sometimes she escaped to it. It grew from that into an ability to hone in so singularly on what she was reading that the rest of the world was background noise to the words.

She was sitting on her bed reading a thick, heavy tome propped on her lap. Crookshanks was curled on her pillow behind and to the right of her, dozing with legs folded tight beneath him until he looked like a ginger ball of fur with slits for eyes and a piggish pink nose.

She'd completely lost track of the time, so when a soft knock came at her door she started as though someone had kicked it. Crookshanks popped open his eyes when her jump made the mattress move, but after a half-second survey merely closed his eyes again.

"Yes?" Hermione called.

The door opened and Harry stuck his head inside, his eyes searching the room and quickly settling on her.

"Harry! Back so soon?"

Harry frowned in bewilderment. "Soon? We were gone three hours."

Hermione glanced at her clock. He was right; she'd done it again. She laid her hands on the open pages of the guilty book. "Oh. Three hours?"

Harry sagged at the reminder and walked into her room. With dragging steps he crossed to her bed, fell forward, and lay perfectly still across the foot. Crookshanks roused again at the second jostling in less than five minutes and turned a glower on Harry (who, unable to see Crookshanks, was completely unmoved by the kneazle's displeasure).

Hermione snickered. "I'm so sorry, Harry." She suspected the snickering negated her words as far as sympathy was concerned.

Harry mumbled something but it was muffled by the comforter into which he had his face pressed.

Hermione snorted, leaned forward, and pushed on his shoulder.

Harry rolled over on to his back. "I said I hope I don't have to do that again."

"I imagine not. Mum just hated seeing you wear those dingy old clothes of Dudley's. How much did you get?"

Harry raked both hands through his hair as though to dishevel himself enough would erase the tameness of the outing. "Not nearly half as your mum would have liked. But I don't need that much! I mean, your mum's really nice and probably not nearly as… 'enthusiastic' as Ron's mum would've been, but three hours, Hermione! I almost feel sorry for Dudley when Aunt Petunia takes him clothes shopping. They're always gone the entire day. To think I used to be even the tiniest jealous about that!" With a sigh Harry closed his eyes and Hermione watched in fascination as his features relaxed, his mouth softened, his whole body seemed to unwind and lay prone and loose in what might have appeared to be a precursor to sleep.

Crookshanks picked his way across the bed and sniffed delicately at Harry's face.

Harry screwed up his face and waved the cat away. "Crookshanks." The cat persisted, whiskers twitching against Harry's nose and chin.

"Did you and Mum stop for ice cream?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Harry cracked open one eye at her while he continued to push at Crookshanks and seemed to question how she knew. "Yeah."

Hermione smiled. "Mum usually takes me after shopping, consolation prize I suppose; Crookshanks smells it on your breath. He loves ice cream."

"Well, next time I'll bring you some," Harry said. Crookshanks seemed to accept that and lay down on the bed beside Harry's shoulder. Harry absently pet the cat as he glanced over and only then noticed the book Hermione had on her lap. "What are you reading?"

Hermione closed the book and set it aside. "Oh, just something I checked out of the library before we left for holiday. Harry… I had an idea I wanted to run past you. Mind you, it's fairly stupid…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, I don't honestly believe you're capable of stupid."

Hermione tried to quell the faint blush that threatened to tint her cheeks. "Well, I was just thinking… I thought maybe it'd be a good idea if we exercised this summer."

Harry frowned in silent question for her to elaborate, still idly petting the dozing cat.

Hermione continued, "I was thinking what we might do to… you know… prepare ourselves." She stopped and looked pointedly at Harry. There was seriousness in her tone and look that he interpreted immediately. He stopped petting Crookshanks and his body tensed, intent on her as he waited. He was listening closely now.

"Obviously, since we're underage we can't actually practice any spells or hexes or anything, not without getting into loads of trouble. So I was trying to think of what we might do that wouldn't require magic. That's when I thought of getting fit." Hermione ducked her head and looked bashful. "Okay, honestly, I thought about me getting in shape; you're already rather well off there. You have Quidditch and, well, much as a balls up it was, the tournament this year did keep you physically conditioned. I, on the other hand, spend all my spare time reading or doing homework. I'm not strong or fast, and I might need to be. And working the body works the mind, right?

"It would give us something to do with our days, too. We're nearly done with homework and when we finish it'll leave our entire evenings free. I was thinking maybe some running to build endurance, and I know Dad has a set of weights in the garage from a few years back when he and some of his mates from work thought they'd start their own rugby team. Complete rubbish, too, didn't last a month; just try to imagine a bunch of dentists playing rugby. But I'm sure he'd let us use the weights to trim up." Hermione took a breath and eyed Harry cautiously. "Well, what do you think?"

Harry mulled it over honestly, but it only took him three seconds. "I think it's a good idea."

"You do?"

Harry nodded. "Being the smallest contestant in the tournament really made me realize how much size and strength can be an advantage. Not the end all, of course, but it does help. I think we should."

Hermione brightened. "Oh, I was sure you'd think it was a silly idea." She jumped off the bed in a burst of energy, the compulsion to act, to set her plan in motion, "I'll go ask my dad now if he'd let us borrow them. Of course, we won't say why we really want to toughen up; I expect we could tell him you wanted to stay in condition for Quidditch next year and I just decided to join you. He wouldn't think twice about a bloke staying in shape for a sport."

"All right," Harry said, then he started and sat up, "oh, I almost forgot, umm…" he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tightly wadded plastic bag. He tensed and seemed to regard the package awkwardly. "This, uh… your mum." He held it out to her like it might explode if he didn't pass it off.

Hermione took the wadded bag but looked at it almost dismissively; it had nothing to do with her current project and she was loathe to actually take time away from her present mission. "What is it?"

Harry looked off to the side. "A bathing suit." He shifted on the bed. "Your mum said she figured your suits from last year would be too small."

Hermione frowned and debated looking inside the bag. The way Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable, wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even dare to look at the bag containing the swimsuit, did not imbue Hermione with confidence. She didn't want to think about how wretchedly ugly the thing must be. She quickly chose to ignore it for the time being. She tossed it on to her bed and pretended to completely forget it, "Okay, well, I'll leave that to later. Come on, let's go talk to my dad about his free weights."

Harry rose and followed Hermione out of her room, looking better to no longer have the offending swimsuit in his possession. In the hall they bumped into Miranda coming out of her bedroom, who looked in an inordinately good mood after the shopping expedition. "Hermione! Did you see the suit I got you? I thought you and Harry might like to go swimming this summer."

Hermione plastered on a smile while Harry stopped and went very still and very quiet behind her shoulder. "I love it, Mum, thanks. I did need a new one."

"I thought as much. And, Harry, I'm sorry if I was a bit much today."

"Oh, uh… that's okay, Missus Granger."

Miranda switched to addressing her daughter with a playful light in her eyes. "Once he started trying on clothes that actually fit I got a bit overzealous, I suppose." Hermione glanced at Harry and saw him cringe. Miranda, heedless, continued, "Don't know if you realize it, dear, but when you get past those ratty old clothes of his cousin's he's a good-looking boy."

Harry was blushing furiously.

"I know," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"I thought he could do with a fair bit more than we came away with, but Harry started looking a bit flighty. Thought it best to call it a day before he ran for it."

Hermione giggled. "Probably a good decision; Harry's a fast runner. If he made a break for it you'd never catch him.

"Mum, d'you know where Dad is?"

"Oh, in the back yard I think."

"Right then, come on, Harry," Hermione bade and headed down the hall. Harry wordlessly fell in step behind her, still embarrassed from the confrontation with Miranda and content to meekly trail after his best friend.

Before they hit the kitchen Hermione glanced back at him. "Did she make you buy new swim shorts, too?"

Harry, oddly reticent to discuss swim wear ('Merlin,' Hermione thought, 'how hideous is the suit Mum got me?'), shook his head. "No, I still have my trunks from the second task."

Hermione nodded then commented after a second of contemplation, "Well, actually, the idea of swimming isn't a bad one. Do you know what a good aerobic workout swimming is?"

Harry smirked. "Just promise there aren't any grindylows in your pool and I'll be happy."

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

"Do you think," Harry asked drowsily, "that it's possible for Binns to be haunting his homework assignment?"

Hermione looked up from her History of Magic textbook and nearly finished essay scroll. She and Harry had been working on their History of Magic homework since breakfast. They were sitting on opposite sides of the table located in the small but cozy library of the Granger residence; the library that doubled as an office complete with personal computer and mandible models of perfectly aligned teeth off to one side.

She frowned and looked at the parchment before Harry as though looking for evidence of possession. "Why?"

"Because this assignment is just as boring as he is; I can barely keep my eyes open." Harry dropped his head on to the table top, pressed his cheek into the open pages before him, and let his eyes slide shut.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Oh, honestly, Harry. We're nearly finished."

"And my arms are sore," Harry added without opening his eyes, as though weary muscles would excuse him.

Hermione huffed faintly and completed another sentence. "Please, there isn't a chance you're sorer than I. I don't know if I've ever lifted a weight before yesterday, I'm sure to be much worse off than you."

Harry's head popped up. "Oh, really?" he asked sarcastically, closed his History of Magic book, picked it up, and held it out to her. On reflex Hermione took it with one hand and turned it over a time or two before giving Harry an 'are you daft?' look.

Harry crossed his arms on the tabletop. "See? You don't need to have lifted weights. Those books weigh a stone easy, and you're always toting half a dozen of them."

Hermione set the book down and sighed. "We'll never finish at this rate."

"We have all summer, Hermione!" Harry grumbled.

"You're starting to sound like Ron."

"Oiy, I'm not that bad."

Hermione tapped the end of her quill against the parchment before her and scowled down thoughtfully at it. Harry sagged back in his chair. She chewed on her bottom lip then looked across at Harry again, this time calculating. Harry watched her warily, eyebrows rising with every passing second of silence.

Finally, Hermione put her quill down. "All right, let's take a break. I do want to get back to this today, though. It's our last subject, Harry, and if we finish today then we'll be completely done with homework for the holiday. I really think we ought to aim for that."

"Break sounds good."

Hermione almost painfully pushed her open book toward the center of the table in a gesture of dismissal. "Kimmy was making cookies earlier, I'll go nick us some."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, cookies sound much better than History of Magic."

She fought the urge to scowl and somehow it turned into an eye-roll and smile. "I'll meet you in your room in a few then."

Both rose and headed for the library door. Harry turned down the hall toward the bedrooms, Hermione toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was in impeccable order, the norm as of late (despite Miranda's best efforts to discourage both, she couldn't seem to keep Harry and Kimmy from cleaning up, almost to the point that every time her back was turned either Harry or the house elf was picking up around the place). A tray sat atop the counter near the oven with perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies awaiting consumption.

Hermione went to the cabinet, got out a plate, and began to transfer cookies to it. She glanced up and looked out the back window to the yard. Her mother was out working in the garden, on her knees and pulling at weeds. Hermione smiled. Her mother would love to be a regular Madam Sprout, but the truth was she'd never quite got the hang of horticulture. The garden was more of a side-hobby (and looked it) than anything.

Crookshanks was sitting off the one side of the garden and gardener, unusually interested in the menial task. The cat's tail flipped from one side to the other of its fluffy orange body, ears pricked and fixed on the unmanageable backyard jungle.

As Hermione watched Miranda tug and glower at weeds as though personally insulted, she froze when her mother suddenly lurched back away from the leafy patch as though struck.

Hermione dropped the cookie in her hand, rushed to the back door, and hurried to where her mother was getting to her feet, wiping grass and dirt from her clothes. "What is it, Mum?"

Miranda wiped her hair out of her face. "Stand back, Hermione. Better yet, fetch me the hoe."

Seeing that her mother was unhurt, Hermione looked toward the seemingly innocuous garden. "Why, what's wrong?"

Miranda bent down and peered into the garden plants without approaching too close. "A ruddy snake. Just get me the hoe, dear, I'll kill it. No worries."

Hermione's eyes widened with a sudden thought. "Oh, wait, don't kill it, let me get Harry."

"Harry? I'm perfectly capable of dispatching it myself," Miranda was calling after her daughter as Hermione sprinted back toward the house.

Hermione burst into the kitchen and called out, "HARRY!"

After a second Harry appeared from the hallway, looking startled. "What?"

"Come outside a moment, please? Mum's cornered a snake in the garden. Do you think you could coax it out?"

Harry looked at her a moment then shrugged. "I'll try."

Hermione and Harry met up with Miranda in front of the garden. Miranda was still searching from a safe distance for the intruding serpent but she straightened to look at Harry. "No, no, I can handle this, Harry. Stay back; it's a right nasty thing, went after me and nearly got me. Come away from there, Harry, I wouldn't want either of you bitten."

Hermione tugged on her mother's arm to hold her in place. "Let Harry, Mum. He's a parselmouth."

"He's a what?" Miranda asked as Harry stepped carefully toward the garden, senses alert to the noises from within.

"A parselmouth. It means he can talk to snakes."

"Good gracious!" Miranda gasped.

"Shhh." Hermione chided, and both women fell silent and watched.

Harry knelt down at the edge of the garden and cocked his head, listening for the soft, sibilant notes of snake-language. Crookshanks rose from his sentry post a few paces away and stalked back and forth slowly, still watching the proceedings with particular interest. Hermione frowned and considered moving to collect her pet when a low, flowing sound just reached her ears and made her halt. It was coming from Harry as he sought to make contact with the hidden snake. Hermione had never told her best friend just how fascinating it was to hear him speak parseltongue… she'd only heard it once before, but hearing it again now made her heart jump into her throat in surprise and awe at the sound. She strained to hear every hissing rise and fall of his voice, desperately wishing she knew what he was saying.

Hermione startled when she saw movement near her foot but looked down only to see that Kimmy, in her dog guise, had arrived on the scene. She was watching Harry alertly, tensed and primed to jump in and come to his aid. Though Hermione had thought she had complete confidence in Harry, she found she was relieved that Kimmy was on hand. She returned to watching Harry squat down at the edge of the garden and call out gently to the animal still concealed within.

Miranda squeaked and held Hermione's shoulder tightly when a sleek, narrow head emerged from the squash plants and flicked a forked tongue at Harry. The brown snake stared directly at Harry with lifeless black eyes, tongue a darting red dash of color, and it gave a low hiss.

Harry hissed back, a bit louder, his voice still gentle and soft but stronger and clearer. He sat down and it seemed almost like a show of good will that he stand down from a stance of easy escape. The snake regarded Harry closely then emerged farther from the garden to move toward him. Kimmy took a single step closer then stopped and waited with everyone else. Crookshanks had also stopped pacing, his every sense locked on the snake.

Harry conversed a moment with the snake, glanced up at Crookshanks a few feet away, then lowered his hand to the ground in undeniable invitation and beckoning.

Miranda moved to grab Harry's shoulder and pull him back but Hermione held her mother fast.

The brown snake only waited a beat before calmly crawling up Harry's arm.

Harry looked toward Hermione and Miranda and said, "She was just in there hiding from Crookshanks."

"Crookshanks!" Hermione scolded the cat. Crookshanks, unperturbed and entirely unapologetic, sat down and began to clean one of his front legs.

Harry carefully rose to his feet with the snake draped on his arm and spanning from palm to crook of his elbow. "I'll just move her somewhere else. She didn't mean you any harm, Missus Granger, you just startled her, that's all."

"I startled her?"

Harry smiled, and it was as though he were sharing a joke with the snake rather than either of the women facing him. The serpent curled the tip of its tail around Harry's fingers.

Miranda shuddered. "Well, just go put it down, please? I don't like seeing you stand there holding that thing."