Harry felt great. He felt light. He felt he could leave his body and take up with the wind that danced around his face. He felt he could be that weightless, that free and unthinking and pure. Always it seemed, when he shook his conscious thoughts, when he freed his mind of worldly concerns, he noticed the wind particularly. He remembered the feeling of so many Quidditch games when he'd been part mote, part falcon, airborne and uncatchable.

Then he noticed the way the sun touched his cheeks, the way the warmth and light seeped past his skin and settled pleasantly in his bones. The sun too, was his aerial companion. He danced with the sun, too, much as he knew instinctively what it was to race the wind, and when he released his worries like this, when he just was under the sun, it was like he smiled properly for the first time at a beautiful creature that he'd known all along but had never rightly seen.

Then he'd remember the ground and the earth because it would be an immovable strength at his back. He fanned his fingers through the grass carpet and smiled inwardly at the way it prickled and gave way under his touch. Smooth and edgy at once. And the smell that effused him, the dirt and the grass and the trees… it smelled like Hogwarts, like the Quidditch pitch, like so many places that had been escape for him.

He was profoundly aware of the way his body lay spread on the ground, the way his legs and arms were heavy and lax upon the ground. He found enjoyment in every breath he took, every sweet rush of air inward, every relaxing exhale into the sky above. His heart thumped, slow and soothing in his chest, sometimes it seemed he could even ride on his own heartbeat, trace its way through his arms, his fingers, his legs, his neck. It was a heady, empowering sense of aliveness.

All around him were the gentle, whisper-light voices of the backyard. The wind in the trees, leaves rustling, birds singing, and even the unnatural, the manmade, the cars driving on the road beyond the Granger house, the occasional, faint human voice from next door, the fleeting broken bar of a musical piece. It all wove together, it fit and filled him, completed the absolute sense of being that doing this brought.

And as always, he was only too conscious of another body besides his. He'd stopped fighting his awareness of Hermione at his side. It became part of the canvas, without her he'd feel a hole in this harmony.

Even with his eyes closed he was acutely honed to the way Hermione lay at his side, similarly sprawled, likewise relaxed and unguarded. The sound of her breathing was integral to the peaceful place Harry's mind found when they had a 'session'. The physical space taken up by her body was as the earth beneath him, unrelenting and necessary. He could slip and mistake the soft sound of her breathing for the wind he cherished so. When the breeze blew just right he could smell her, familiar and safe and right in his world. He knew he probably shouldn't notice her as much as he did, not for the task they were attempting to master, but fighting it required more conscious thought than letting it be. He let her be part of his earth, his sun, his wind, and his mind sank so deeply into that peace. Sometimes he fell asleep. When he did it didn't matter.

Hermione's breathing moved on the wind, swept over him, filling his senses. It came with a leaf, fallen from the treetop overhead. It whirled gently, like a dancer, it pirouetted and paused and fluttered and Harry knew how it would feel to dip with it. Free and flying, he could be that leaf. Countless times in his life, he had been.

Harry, eyes closed, listened to the leaf land on the ground next to his ear. His wind-brother. One of the secret society of air dancers. He could see, in his mind, the uneven edges, the rich green color, the thick smell, the length of its stem, so light and at the mercy of the wind's whims. How ready it was to roll and take flight.

Harry gasped softly when a thought as though not his own slipped into his mind. Take this part of me. In that second there was a bond, a link, a oneness that bade Harry to reclaim that part of him before it was blown in the wind and lost.

Harry opened his eyes, jarred by the harsh light, and turned his head. The leaf lay where it had alighted, no different or better than any other, but Harry was compelled to claim that particular one. He rolled on to his side, sat up, and picked up the leaf. He stopped then to let thought return. He stared at the leaf in his hand and wondered, had he just taken a token? Was this what it felt like? Or did he merely think it could be, when perhaps he'd just had a silly moment when he'd been fascinated by a stupid leaf?

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice, gentle and dream-like, drew his eyes. He looked down at where she lay on the ground beside him. She was gazing up at him, expression sleepy and content, her hair spilling around her head and glinting honey-gold in places. Thought came crashing back with a vengeance. He looked a little foolishly at the leaf in his hand. Hermione's eyes followed his and he saw the blissful, untroubled peace of a 'session' leave her face, replaced by astute and intellectual Hermione.

"Oh! Did you… is that…?"

Harry shrugged. "I… don't know. I was just lying there, and then I thought, well, kind of dumb what I thought, and then I just had this feeling like I had to take it…" Harry twirled the ordinary leaf between his fingers by the stem and shook his head, "you know, it's probably not, I'm sure it was just…"

Hermione sat up quickly. "No! Don't think on it, keep it. I'll bet you anything it's a token, Harry. What did it feel like?"

Harry struggled to recapture the transient, amorphous feeling that had driven him to snatch up a regular leaf. "Um… like, for a second there, it was a bit like this was…" Harry felt stupid, "part of me."

Hermione was grinning. "I'm sure you've done it, Harry!" Hermione gazed openly at the leaf Harry held. For a brief moment jealousy and resolute determination crossed her face, then she said, "We should find something to keep our tokens in." Hermione leapt up from the ground and hurried toward the house. Harry, smiling to himself at Hermione's quintessential Hermioneness, got up at a much more leisurely pace and followed her.

He caught up with her at the door to her bedroom. He leaned against the jamb and watched her hunt about her room for only she knew what. She dug through her dresser drawer and then, with a muted cry of triumph, stood with a cloth sack in hand.

"This should do," she proclaimed, went to her bed, and proceeded to dump the contents of the bag on to her bedspread. A sea of marbles spilled out and rolled sluggishly over the thick blanket. She turned and offered him the empty bag. Harry tucked his still-supple leaf into the sack while Hermione rummaged further in her drawer and withdrew a second marble bag. She upturned that one, too, over her bed and considered the container closely. "We probably ought keep these with us, I should think. We don't know when a token will happen." She stuffed her empty back into her pocket. Harry did the same with his and stepped into the room as Hermione began to gather up the mess of marbles.

"Lot of marbles," he commented as means of questioning why she had them at all.

Hermione stammered awkwardly. "Oh, yeah, well… our second year I got them for Ron for Christmas. I don't know, I thought he'd like them for some reason." She shrugged and collected the balls into a pile.

"Why didn't you give them to him?"

Hermione fetched a loner sock from her drawer and began to pour handfuls of marbles into it. "I meant to, I had them in my trunk and everything, I was going to give them to him before I left for the holiday… then I came across you two playing wizard's chess and he was going on and on about how great it is, and I figured that if he was so enamored of wizard's chess he'd probably think a muggle game like marbles would be fairly stupid. They don't explode or fly through the air or anything, they're just some silly glass balls. I decided I'd rather not have him make fun of me for my boring muggle toys."

"No, I think he would have liked them," Harry offered honestly.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I could still give them to him, I suppose. Maybe I'll take them back to Hogwarts with us and give them to Ron on the Express. He'll have to do with a sock for a bag, though." She smiled and hefted the white sock laden with marbles. She cocked her head as though in serious thought, "Or I guess I could just hit him with them next time he starts acting like a prat." Hermione swung the weighted sock around for emphasis.

Harry chuckled. "Put you on a broom while you take a swing at him and you might make a good beater yet."

Hermione snorted, tied in a knot at the ankle end of the sock, and tossed it back into her drawer. "I don't think so. I'll leave flying to the birds and Harry Potter."

"Well, look at it this way, maybe your animagus form will be a bird and then you can fly with me."

Hermione smiled in a playful, jesting way at what was clearly a joke, but the barest hint of a blush touched the center of her cheeks. Harry felt an odd, answering heat in his face. Hermione gave him a crooked, 'silly boy' smile. "Harry, if either of us is going to be a bird it'll be you."

Harry sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be a beaver or a blast-ended skrewt or something. That'll really strike fear into the hearts, eh?"

Hermione laughed. "You won't be a beaver, that's preposterous."

"Do you actually know if we can find out what our animagus forms will be before we actually, you know, change?"

Hermione returned to the bed and sat down beside him, their shoulder's touching. "I've found nothing in any of my research that says you can. Common knowledge regarding animagi says there's not a way to find out before the first transformation happens."

"So I could be a beaver," Harry pressed and nudged Hermione with his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, you could be a beaver. But I really doubt it. I think Neville might be a beaver, though."

Harry laughed then trailed into silence. He glanced over at Hermione, studied his knees, then said, "Hermione? Are you… nervous about the change?"

Hermione frowned in thought and stared at her wall, unseeing as she turned over his question. "I guess a little. I think it's more curiosity, wondering what it is I'm going to be, than being afraid to change. Assuming I ever manage it at all." She ducked her head and cut an embarrassed sideways look at him. "Honestly, I think I'm more nervous about not being able to do it. It is a very hard thing to do, and you can't just study extra hard..." She turned her head to look fully at him. "Are you? Nervous?"

Harry looked away. "The more I think about it the more I… yeah, I'm nervous." Harry tapped the heel of his left shoe against the floor and watched his trainer bounce to avoid looking Hermione in the eye. "Just that, well, things that come out of me that I don't control are usually… bad things. Voldemort things. Guess I'm a bit worried what I'll become."

"Harry, listen to me. There may not be a way to know what your animagus form will be before you change, but never has a wizard's animagus form been out of his character. You won't be anything bad, you won't turn evil or mad when you become whatever it is you're bound to be, because it's not you. Even if you became a basilisk, which you won't, you'd be the only basilisk I'd trust with my life."

Harry smiled faintly at her, inordinately reassured. She returned the smile and, on impulse, reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. Involuntarily, his eyes closed. His world became, for that moment, the way her fingers threaded through his unruly hair.

"Have you considered getting a haircut, Harry?"

Harry opened his eyes, a bit taken off guard by her question, so lost had he been in the touch. "Huh?"

Hermione smiled and dropped her hand back to her lap. "Well, it's a bit out of control, even for you."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose it is," Harry ruffled his own collar-length hair with his hand, a rueful smirk touching his lips. "Aunt Petunia usually whacks at it with the kitchen scissors soon as I'm back at Privet Drive for summer holiday. I kind of forgot about it. What, don't you like it all scruffy?" he asked playfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I like being able to see your face."

"I could cut it. Or you could, I guess."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, dear, no, you don't want me near it with a pair of scissors, not when we can't just spell away any mistakes. Mum'd probably do it, though. She's cut my hair and Dad's since as long as I can remember. She wouldn't botch it. If she doesn't foul up mine yours will be a cinch."

"Well, has to be better than Aunt Petunia's slash and dash technique. Though I'm not sure anyone could tame my mop."

"Nonsense. Mum will, you'll see."

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Miranda studied Harry critically, as an artist might a half-done sculpture. She had a pair of sewing scissors in her hand and was tapping them against her chin as her eyes narrowed in Harry's direction. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the chair in the middle of the kitchen. Miranda was standing in front of him, occasionally leaning to the left and right, sizing up her prey, Harry's unendingly unmanageable hair.

Hermione and Jake were outside grilling; Jake had come home from the office after suffering an especially irksome patient and quite abruptly proclaimed the desire to char meat, and (in what was clearly a practiced ritual in the Granger household) Hermione and her father scuttled outside to see to their outdoor meal while Miranda ambushed Harry. Once Hermione mentioned Harry was hoping to get a haircut, Miranda pounced as though she'd been waiting for the invitation.

Harry cleared his throat as Miranda fingered the handle of the scissors like an Auror might handle his wand.

"It's hopeless, Missus Granger; I tried to tell Herm—"

"Nonsense," Miranda retorted, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. He had to smile a little. Like mother like daughter.

Miranda stepped closer and ran her fingers through Harry's hair, as though testing the thickness and length. It didn't feel as good as when Hermione did it, but it was still rather nice.

"Do you have a certain length you like to keep it?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I guess, if anything, I like it a bit longer in the front, so I can… uh, well, so that it covers my scar."

Miranda brushed his hair back and exposed the lightning scar. Harry tensed uneasily. So many people had done that to him, like his scar was public domain, and now Hermione's mother, too. Just when she'd become a safe person she made the assumption that perfect strangers felt entitled to commit. He knew she meant nothing by it, that as a muggle his mark wouldn't have the same importance to her, but still it rattled him.

Miranda didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She brought his hair back over his brow and hummed under her breath. "Well, I think we could trim back quite a bit and still have it cover your scar." Harry breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't going to question him or bother him about wanting to hide the mark on his forehead. He didn't rightly know how it could be fully explained to a muggle, even smart ones like Miranda and Jake Granger.

"Are you sure you want me to cut it?"

"Uh huh. Way I figure, if it's anything too dreadful, once Hermione and I are back on the train to Hogwarts she can spell it back to the way it was before."

"Oh, cheeky, aren't you?" Miranda chuckled and moved closer. "All right then, here goes."

Harry sat still and listened to the snip of the scissors, watched from the corner of his eye the locks of black fall past his shoulder, as Miranda cut and combed and eyeballed and ruffled. Hermione and Jake toiled merrily in the backyard, and just as the smell of hamburgers began to drift deliciously into the kitchen Miranda stepped back and brushed at one of Harry's shoulders. "There, I think that will do."

Harry stood and looked down at the kitchen floor and the shocks of black hair against the pale tile.

"Go on," Miranda gestured toward the hall, "have a look see, I'll just clear this up."

"I can…" Harry moved to help.

"Not until you see what's been done to you, you may not want to offer help," Miranda smiled at him.

Harry chuckled and went to the bathroom. The first sight of his reflection in the mirror shocked him, only because it was different from the sight he'd grown used to seeing. It wasn't anything drastic, he still had a long fringe in front that fell over his forehead, and the sides were still long enough not to make the front look silly, and there were the strands of the damnable cowlick in back, but all in all, it was probably the best his hair had ever looked. It looked like it had been cut by someone who cared what the end product looked like. At least it no longer touched his collar in the back. He brought up both hands and raked his fingers through his hair. Stray bits fell to the floor and Harry made a mental note to come back in and clean up later. He looked at his frazzled hair. The front stood up in places, the cowlick was going mad, but the sides were an evenly-cut chaos. Worlds better than it had ever been before for that alone. He proceeded to brush his fingers more purposefully through his hair, lying the bangs back over his forehead, smoothing down the sides, dueling with the cowlick until only a few stubborn locks held firm their ground, sticking up defiantly.

"Harry! Dinner!"

Harry turned from the mirror at Miranda's call and left the bathroom.

He stepped out into the backyard to find Miranda and Hermione at the picnic table (in reality a collapsible table brought out and covered with a cotton cloth), setting out biscuits and salads while Jake placed slabs of meat on to waiting buns. Kimmy was circling the grill expectantly, as if she wanted to make sure Jake couldn't forget about her in her dog guise. Crookshanks was perched on the outside kitchen window ledge, watching the proceedings with aplomb. Hedwig was on a branch in the yard's tree next to the garden, watching with sleepy amber eyes.

Hermione looked up from the pitcher of iced tea and her eyes landed on Harry at the back door. He had barely begun to offer a bashful smile when she exclaimed, "Oh, Harry, it looks great!" She hurried to him and began to pet him, her hands in his hair without so much as a by your leave. It was no less presumptuous than Miranda earlier, but Harry found he minded Hermione's incursions far less. "I told you Mum could work wonders. How dashing."

Harry blushed. "Errr… it sticks up in back."

Miranda grunted. "Nothing outside of magic is going to fix that, my dear. I tried every non-magical trick in the book and there's nothing for it."

"I don't know if I'd recognize Harry without his hair at least a little wild," Hermione said to her mother then turned and smiled at him, "part of your charm, really."

Harry smiled a little goofily at her.