Harry was lying on the bed in the guest room, flat on his back with hands behind his head. Hedwig was on the mattress beside him, her coal-black form almost watching over him as he stared at the ceiling. It seemed he'd been studying the patterns in the popcorn ceiling for hours. The house was quiet after his and Hermione's return from the park. He didn't want to think about what the Grangers were doing outside his earshot. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing them have a family discussion about their houseguest being an accident waiting to happen… and an accident of dangerous proportions. He was growing comfortable here; he wasn't keen to hear them talk about how unstable he was. Because everyone always did, it seemed his lot.

Hedwig nipped gently at his shirt, one of several attempts to draw him out of his mood. Harry glanced at his bird and Hedwig clicked her beak at him.

The clicking was quickly followed by a gentle knock on the door.

Harry looked over just as the door cracked open and Hermione stuck her head in. "Harry? Are you still… can I come in?"

"Yeah."

Hermione slipped into the room quietly, a heavy black book (the one she'd been reading after Harry's clothes shopping excursion) clutched to her chest like a child might cling to a teddy bear. She closed the door and turned back to Harry. "If you'd rather be alone I can leave…"

"No… come here," he scooted over on the bed to make room for her. Hedwig gave a short, rather miffed hoot when Harry bumped into her and she flew back to her cage.

Hermione sat down on the bed next to Harry, book still held to her body as her fingers played nervously with the spine and corners. She wasn't looking him in the eye, which gave Harry time to really study her expression. She looked so small, almost frail, and it was so different from the Hermione he was used to seeing.

"I'm so sorry about today," she said uneasily. "You oughtn't to have gotten in the middle of all that."

"They were making fun of you, Hermione, what was I supposed to do? Let them?"

Hermione looked up, almost in a flinch, and met his eyes. She looked like a cornered wild animal. The answer she expected was plain on her face… she'd never thought anyone was going to rescue her. That he had, that he'd stepped in, was incomprehensible in her world. For a moment, he was hurt. How could she think he'd leave her to any kind of torment, be it at the hands of a Death Eater or a pair of vapid girls? Hadn't he always come to rescue her on the rare occasion she needed it?

"Oh," Hermione mumbled and ducked her head.

Harry brought his arms down, rose up, and supported his upper body on one elbow, bringing him closer to her. "What was that all about, Hermione?"

Hermione looked warily at him.

"I've never seen you like that before. Draco's been a hundred times nastier to you than that, and you always tell him off, or hit him." Harry smiled and Hermione gave a faint smirk. Then she sighed and her brow furrowed. "I don't know, really. Never thought about it. Those two girls have been that way to me for as long as I can remember. I guess I just got used to letting them. It's stupid, I know, but…" Hermione bit her bottom lip and turned her eyes to Harry's. "Why did you tell them you were my boyfriend?"

Harry felt himself blush and he sat up fully, bringing him nearly eye-level with Hermione (the inch taller he was than she was negligible). She watched him closely as he tried to answer. "Oh… I… well, I don't know. It just seemed like the best way to make them back off of you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it; if you're angry…"

"No, of course not. I mean… thank you." Hermione gave him a shy smile and Harry's stomach fluttered. His earlier embarrassment tried to make a break for the pride camp.

"You bet." Harry, for the first time, paid attention to the book she was carrying. "What's that?"

Hermione hugged the book closer. "Oh… just a little extra reading." She looked torn for a moment, debating something, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom door. Harry, curiosity piqued, leaned forward. Hermione turned back to look at him, considered him thoughtfully, then she laid the book down in her lap and reciprocally leaned in toward Harry. For a pubescent, fleeting moment, Harry thought she was going to kiss him.

"Actually," she whispered, "I wanted to speak with you about something."

"What?" he asked, surprised by how gruff and breathy his voice was when it came out. Hermione's eyes flickered, apparently she noticed, and he cleared his throat.

"This is a book on advanced spells, charms, and potions. I've been going through it in my spare time trying to find anything that might help you."

Harry, back to the world-of-fighting-Voldemort serious, looked down at the book meaningfully then back up at Hermione.

"Of course, most of the stuff in here we couldn't do over the summer, not without getting busted for underage magic outside of Hogwarts. There are some things we might start working on once we're back in school, but I was trying to find anything we might be able to do during the summer without getting in trouble."

Harry was very interested now. "I take it you found something."

Hermione nodded. "Now, mind you, it would be difficult, in fact it's notoriously hard to do, maybe too hard for us to manage, and you might think it's a stupid idea anyway, but… what do you think about trying to become an animagus?"

Harry sat back, stunned. Hermione continued to watch him closely. She was, of course, serious.

What did he think about trying to become an animagus? He never had thought of it before. He knew that it was supposed to be a very hard feat to manage, so difficult that few had mastered the skill. It was most definitely advanced spell-work. Take on an animal form? He'd be lying if he said it didn't have a certain allure. His father and godfather had both been unregistered animagi. He'd always felt a certain pride in his father's ability to become a stag, because it made his dad just that powerful and skilled a wizard. But he'd never thought of trying to do it himself. Could he even do it? What if he was something sissy like a butterfly?

Hermione was still waiting for his reply.

Harry leaned back in to whisper, "You think being an animagus would somehow help?"

"Well, I've been giving it a lot of thought. Kimmy's dog disguise got me thinking about it, actually. She's been out in a muggle neighborhood, at a muggle train station, and no one was the wiser she was a magical creature. Handy way of disappearing in plain sight, and frankly, in the magic world it's pretty hard for you to blend in, what with how famous you are. I imagine a spot of anonymity would be very useful."

"So you're suggesting I try it and, if I manage, don't register with the ministry?"

"Absolutely not. Dumbledore himself said we can't trust everyone in the ministry now that You Know Who's back, and besides, what kind of disguise would an animal form be if a Death Eater could infiltrate the Animagus Registry records and find out what kind of animal you were?"

"Good point."

"And something else. Sirius. He's the only person who's ever escaped from Azkaban, and he was only able to slip the Dementors because he had a canine form; it confused them, they couldn't home in on him like they would a person. I know you're brilliant with the patronus charm, Harry, but what if one day you're faced with too many Dementors to fight them all off? Retreat would be a really great option.

"And whatever animal form you took, it would be sure to have some ability superior to humans'. Breathe underwater or run faster or jump higher, maybe even fly, who knows, but anything to give us an edge, an advantage in any shape or form."

"Wait, are you… you want to become an animagus, too?"

"Well, of course. If it could potentially help you, and I want to help you, stands to reason it could help me help you, doesn't it?"

"Umm… yeah, when you put it like that." Harry stopped to give it serious thought. From what he knew of animagi, once a person achieved an animal form, there wasn't any way to reverse the newfound skill. Of course, one could always choose not to become their animal form, but it would always be there, awaiting release, ready to be tapped. It was like a cage of Cornish pixies, once opened it was nearly impossible to put them all back in. What if he was a fluffy bunny or a goat and had to live with that animal inside him the rest of his life? And what about Hermione? She was doing this for his sake, to help him… was it fair to ask her to permanently change herself for him? What if she was a shrew or a bandicoot? Would she blame him for having that kind of essence stuck in her forever?

"Are you sure you want to do it?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "I've thought about it a lot, and the potential advantages outweigh the cons, in my opinion."

Then again, there was always the chance he'd end up a stag, like his father. He had a stag patronus, after all, maybe the two forms were indicative of each other. He'd really like to share that in common with his dad. And maybe Hermione would be an eagle or falcon; it would certainly give her the convenience of flying when she was so reluctant to mount a broom. It might not be bad at all.

"Well, what would we have to do?"

Hermione brightened. "So you want to do it?"

Harry nodded. As usual, everything Hermione had said had been correct. An animal form had been useful to a lot of people close to him; it could be useful to him, too.

Hermione smiled and grabbed up the book in her lap… but instead of opening it eagerly she clutched it to her chest and looked back over her shoulder toward the door. "Tonight, when my parents are asleep and Kimmy's in the closet, we'll go over the process then." She got up from the bed, "I told Mum I was coming in here to talk you into having a swim. She thinks it would cheer you up, so put your trunks on and I'll meet you by the pool. Tonight," she patted the book then hurried out of the room.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Hermione had been in a rush when she left Harry's bedroom. She flew into her own, stashed the advanced magic book, fished the shopping bag from her mom out of the dresser… then she ground to a screeching halt. Her mother had bought her a two-piece. A bikini. A cute little peach/pink top and bottom. Hermione's jaw dropped. What had her mother been thinking? Hermione had never owned a bikini in her life; she'd had one-pieces since she was old enough to swim. She wasn't made for revealing swimwear, she had a boyish frame, she was built for concealing fabric. She'd look absolutely silly in a bikini.

She pulled out her old suits from last year and tried one on, then another… her mother had been right. She'd outgrown them. She didn't think she'd grown so much, but she couldn't lift her arms in her old suits. So she was back to the bikini. She'd already told her mom she loved it, she'd professed it sight unseen. She'd never imagined her mother would buy her something like this.

Hermione hesitantly undressed and put on the suit. She turned to her mirror with dread. It was as she suspected. She looked ridiculous. Her skin was too pale, trying to find a tan line would have been a fruitless search, her legs were too long and thin, coltish, her collar bones a little too noticeable, her arms skinny and a bit bony at the elbows, her figure barely distinguishing her as female with only faint curves at her waist, her breasts only just filling the top. She looked silly. This was the kind of get-up Grace Walters or Belinda Hernandez could wear and look stunning, the Patil twins could look good in this, Cho Chang would make Harry a drooling buffoon, but Hermione Granger… she looked liked a little sister playing dress-up. She'd never have the body to wear this.

She was suddenly mortified at the idea of Harry seeing her like this. She searched frantically for a shirt and ended up pulling a baggy T-shirt down over her body. She still felt absurdly naked underneath, but it would have to do.

Hermione fetched a couple of towels from the bathroom then went out to the backyard. Harry was already there by the pool, in his black and red swim shorts, his shirt off and in his hands. He was playing with the shirt fretfully, obviously torn between the choice to swim with it on or keep it off.

Hermione stopped short and took a good look, despite herself. It was more of Harry than she'd ever seen before. He could do with a bit of sun, of course ('pot, meet kettle,' Hermione thought), but the contrast of his torso made his black hair look impossibly dark. He actually had rather nice arms. Very trim overall; she was right that the tournament had kept him in fighting form. The rest was the body years of Quidditch gave him. Not a hulk like Viktor, but not nearly as scrawny as his robes had made it seem. In fact, if some of the girls at Hogwarts could see what Hermione was seeing, they might fancy him for reasons beyond the name and the scar. Very respectable for a boy his age. Maybe even a little hint of the man who seemed fated to one day face the greatest dark wizard of their time.

And then Hermione looked longer and noticed the marks of Harry's misfortunes. Scars. Of course the mark on his forehead, hidden by a fringe of black locks, but the other marks, some she'd never actually seen before, drew her eyes. The knife-wound on his forearm, of course. A four-inch scar on his left shoulder-blade. Hermione remembered the Horntail flinging Harry with its spiked tail during the second task. A scar on his side, just below his ribcage, from when he'd fallen off his broom during Quidditch after the Dementor attacked him third year. He was lucky to have come away with just a scar considering the distance he'd fallen. There were others, smaller, some destined to fade completely in time, and some she couldn't place that would have to be courtesy of the Dursleys. There weren't too terribly many scars, but still too many for a boy his age.

Harry turned to look at her and Hermione shook herself. Then she blushed, remembering the outfit she had on under her shirt… and that Harry had been there when her mother bought it; he knew what she was wearing, too.

Hermione approached Harry and put the towels down on a deck chair. She couldn't quite bring her eyes up to meet his. She recalled the tense, uncomfortable way he'd passed on the suit to her. He had to have been thinking the same thing, that Hermione wasn't fit for something quite so revealing, but she knew he wouldn't say a word bad about it. He was too sweet, but she'd know he was thinking it, anyone in their right mind would.

"Hermione! Harry!"

Both turned back toward the house to see Miranda coming toward them, smiling, carrying a bottle of sunscreen in one hand and a thermos with two overturned, stacked plastic cups on top of it in the other.

"Here you two are, a spot of tea when you get thirsty. And don't forget this," she handed Harry the sunscreen. She paused and glanced at him. "Harry, not to sound like a mother hen, but we're going to need to put a bit more meat on your bones while you're here."

Hermione thought he looked fine already, even if on the thin side. Thin was just Harry.

Miranda turned to her daughter, glanced down at the shirt, and urged, "Well, come on, let's see it."

Hermione froze.

Harry fidgeted nervously.

"Oh, um, right," Hermione swallowed her pride and all sense of modesty and pulled the shirt off over her head. She felt like she may as well be standing there naked for what little she was wearing. And it truly wasn't that skimpy a bikini as bikinis went, Miranda did know her daughter wouldn't go for some string-tied affair, but still…

"Oh, good, it fits. You look lovely, dear. You two have fun, and don't forget sunscreen, if you do I'll have no sympathy if you burn." Miranda patted Hermione's shoulder and headed back toward the house.

Hermione glanced self-consciously at Harry to see him looking pointedly in any direction but hers. He was tense, probably afraid to hurt her feelings if forced to comment on her swimsuit.

Hermione sighed in defeat, decided to spare him, and tossed her shirt on top of the towels. "You're right, it's dreadful, but I can't very well tell my mum that I look like the stupidest git in England. She meant well." Hermione shrugged. "Guess it's just a good thing Ron's not here; I'd never hear the end of it if he saw me trussed up like this."

Harry cautiously looked over at her, seemed to lock his eyes on her face, then broke and tentatively glanced down at her. Hermione's insides tightened, almost as though she could feel his eyes sweep her from neck to toes and back again. He met her eyes and there was a strange intensity in them. "You don't look stupid."

Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat. "Well, thank you, that's nice of you to say." She didn't know what to do with her hands until she spotted the sunscreen clutched rather tightly in Harry's hand. "Here," Hermione held out her hand, "I'll do your back."

Harry looked frantically at her a moment, as though she'd asked him to switch suits with her, then he gave her the bottle. Like a stilted robot, he turned his back to her and froze. Hermione smoothed the cold lotion over Harry's exposed back. He was surprisingly solid (when he didn't allow himself to move the sheer sensation of mass was startling), very warm, even in the midday sun, and unexpectedly soft, too. She wouldn't think a boy would have such soft skin. Even where her fingers ran over the raised ridges of scars it was still soft on either side of the healed wound; maybe it made him scar more easily. Harry was rigid, like he'd been on the receiving end of petrificus totalus. He was clearly uncomfortable. Hermione hurried to finish his back and arms, then put a handful on her palm and started doing her front as she held the bottle out to him. Harry took the bottle, kept his back turned, dropped his shirt to the ground, and did his front.

When Hermione had finished her front she turned around and said, "Could you do my back?"

Harry didn't answer, for a moment there was no response at all, then she felt the cold touch of lotion then the span of his hand on her back. Hermione almost gasped… she should have expected it, she'd asked him to do it, but still it kind of caught her breath. She started to understand why Harry had been standing so tensely. She felt like her own muscles were taut, battling with the flipping in her stomach for dominance in making a mess of her senses. Harry's hands were nice, soft, thorough. She pulled her hair aside to make sure he could properly do her shoulders. Harry obliged, smoothing sunscreen on her shoulders and down the backs of her arms, and Hermione dropped her head and closed her eyes. Stupidly, she was worried she'd shake.

Harry's hands disappeared and Hermione opened her eyes. She saw Harry's glasses fall to the pile of towels at her left side, and she'd no sooner glanced at them when she heard a splash to her right. She turned, startled, to see Harry come up for air and tread water.

Hermione smiled and rushed after him, jumping in with a splash and a laugh.