Sleeping on the couch at Berti's had a strange set of benefits the way Harry Potter saw it. The first would seem to disguise itself as a drawback to bedding down in the living room, and no doubt most people would see only the negative aspects of such an arrangement. He'd only had one morning to judge, but it had the essence of a pattern, something that could repeat day after day ad infinitum without deviating appreciably from a standard formula.

Berti was an early riser; Harry was a light sleeper. Though he did relish indulging in the opportunity to sleep in, he didn't mind being woken early in the morning by Berti meandering her way into her own kitchen. She was quiet in considerate efforts not to wake him; Harry just wasn't able to sleep through her added presence in the common areas of the house. Not that such a tendency toward awareness of his surroundings surprised him. It had taken him most of first year at Hogwarts to actually start sleeping soundly while sharing a room with four other boys. It required some readjusting of his 'programming'. At the Dursleys' the rest of the house waking usually meant the start of his daily ordeal of being the unwanted, mistreated freak. Vernon dragging him out by his hair or shirt collar, Petunia slamming on the cupboard door and demanding he start breakfast, Dudley pounding on the stairs overhead to rain dust upon him. That alertness to change seemed to reset at Berti's just as it did in every new place he happened to seek sleep. It meant when she woke so did he. But Harry didn't get up then. Not just then. He'd lie bundled up in his blankets on the couch, eyes closed and in a light doze, and listen to Berti move around the kitchen. When she thought he was sleeping and wasn't apt to ask him weird questions or make embarrassing comments, Harry didn't mind Hermione's grandmother that much. And she did make fantastic cookies.

Miranda and Jake would rise an hour or two after Berti. Harry especially liked listening to them. He'd grown undeniably comfortable around, and even attached to, Hermione's mother and father, more than he would have thought possible. Miranda's voice was soothing and comforting, Jake's reassuring and pleasant. Sometimes, once they were up and milling around, Harry would slip back into sleep to the sound of their voices. He felt safer with them on the watch. Apparently he faked sleep well, because Miranda never caught on to the fact he was conscious when she'd pad over to readjust his blankets or carefully brush aside a wild lock of hair on his brow. It was a battle not to smile a little when she did that, though. He'd come to accept that Miranda really did care about him, and that was unfathomably peaceful.

Then Hermione would wake up and come into the living room. That was when the morning was perfect. Harry could fairly wallow in lying in the middle of the happy family, eyes still resolutely closed, listening to their voices and tracking their quiet movement through the house. He could not imagine ever tiring of that. It was what he knew he'd been missing all his life. This might not be his family, but he'd take their sounds and mornings as his own while he lay with eyes shut on the living room couch. He doubted any of them would mind if he asked for that much. It was a small, trite luxury to them. To him, it was precious and absolutely priceless.

Christmas Eve morning unfolded like the morning before had. Berti was up early and making coffee in the kitchen while Harry listened with half an ear as he still lingered in the place between sleep and wakefulness. She puttered around in the kitchen alone for around an hour when Miranda woke and joined her. Harry heard Miranda shuffle into the kitchen from the hallway and whisper, "Morning, Mum."

"Morning, Miri. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, but I'll get it, don't get up."

The opening and closing of the cabinets and the clink of glass on glass followed.

"Shall we go ahead and start on some of the pies for tomorrow? Best to not save everything to be done at the last moment, you know."

"Let's wait a bit longer," Miranda answered softly, "I wouldn't want to accidentally wake Harry with our ruckus."

A silence befell the mother and daughter.

"He's been mistreated, hasn't he?" Berti asked pointedly.

Harry resisted frowning as he feigned sleep. He cared for this idle morning chit-chat less than the other topics they'd taken up yesterday.

"Yes," Miranda answered sadly. "I don't know how badly; I've never asked him. I don't think he'd care to talk about it, to be honest, Harry doesn't seem the type. I'm waiting for him to broach it first. And if he never does, then that's fine."

"His parents?"

A disquiet surged through Harry and he just barely stopped himself from rising to defend his mother and father. They would never have treated him as horribly as the Dursleys did. No. They'd died for him. They'd loved him.

"No. His parents died when he was a baby. He was taken in by his aunt and uncle."

"Some caretakers," Berti grunted grumpily. "I thought something was amiss when I was funning with him yesterday. Jumped like a skittish colt when I swatted him."

He hadn't meant to do that. Really, he hadn't, it just happened. A reflex. He couldn't help it.

"He has scars…" Miranda trailed off sorrowfully.

A scar from Wormtail's knife, from a dragon's spiked tail, from Quidditch falls and scrapes with Dementors and a scar from surviving the killing curse. He could never explain those rightfully to Berti, and he questioned whether he had the will to explain them fully to Miranda. But he also had scars from the Dursleys.

"Would that he'd gone to a loving home," Miranda finished with a sigh.

"Oh, I think he finally has."

Harry's heart was in his throat. If his eyes were open, he was stricken to think that they might be prickling with moisture. He would not cry. He wouldn't permit it. He'd faced Voldemort and he'd stayed strong. He wouldn't be brought to tears by simple conversation. He swallowed thickly to banish his emotions.

He was spared having to hear any more about his unfortunate upbringing being discussed between Hermione's mother and grandmother when Jake joined them. Talk turned to the mundane. Shop talk from Miranda and Jake's orthodontists' business back home, the state of the farm left to Berti to tend, the weather, then a collective perusal of the newspaper. Harry dozed and listened, sliding back into a state of contentment.

Closer to the noon hour than that of early morning, Miranda and Berti began to set about arrangements for cooking the Christmas day pies (the ones that could be tucked away in the refrigerator, anyway). They were quiet, but it made no matter as Harry was already awake. Even still, he continued to fake sleep to be a fly on the wall to a portrait of normalcy that he'd been so long denied.

All of Harry's earlier unease melted away when Hermione came out of the hallway.

"Morning, everybody," Hermione collectively greeted her family, in a far merrier mood than she tended to be just after waking up. Might have been fair to say the fact it was Christmas Eve day had a great deal to do with her disposition. Harry almost smiled into his pillow to hear the happiness in her voice.

"Good morning, sweetie," Miranda replied on the adults' behalf.

"Well, now," Jake said in an only slightly hushed tone of voice, "if we could roust Harry off the couch we might be able to make a proper start of the day here. I swear, that boy sleeps like he's taken a hit of the happy gas."

Harry could almost hear Hermione roll her eyes. "I'll go wake him."

In a matter of moments, Hermione's voice issued forth again, gentle and insanely close, right above Harry. "I know you're awake," she whispered so that the adults in the kitchen wouldn't hear.

Harry smiled and opened his eyes. Though she was blurry, he could see Hermione leaning over the back of the couch, her arms crossed on the cushion and her chin atop her folded arms. She was smiling down at him, clad in her pajamas, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.

Harry reached over his head to grope on the end table for his glasses. Once he put them on Hermione jumped into focus and he could make out the glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "You know, you keep doing that and sooner or later you'll hear something you really rather wouldn't," she teased softly.

He wasn't the least bit surprised that Hermione would see through his ruse. "I can't really imagine Gram's going to say anything when she thinks I'm asleep that's worse than the stuff she says when I'm awake," he replied.

"Well, if you're proven wrong don't come crying to me about being traumatized, and don't say I didn't warn you," Hermione said, reached down to jostle his shoulder, and stood. "Come on, then."

Harry tossed off the covers and got up off the couch while Hermione ambled back into the kitchen. Harry folded the blanket he'd used, laid it over the back of the couch, crammed his pillow in a corner, then went down the hall to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. When he came back to the kitchen everyone was sitting at the table munching on muffins. Crookshanks was crunching contently on his cat food in a bowl on the floor off to one side of the kitchen. Kimmy, posing as Harry's faithful pet Chihuahua, was sitting on Hermione's lap as Hermione fed the dog by hand a muffin from her plate.

The seat beside Hermione had been left open and Harry made a beeline.

Just as Harry was heading toward the empty seat Berti looked up at him and said, "Harry, Hermione's going to spoil your dog rotten."

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who returned his look and smiled in their shared secret about Kimmy's true nature. Spoiled dog, indeed. Kimmy licked her lips and pawed at Hermione to give her another bite of muffin.

Harry sat down and smirked. "Kimmy likes being spoiled. 'Fraid to say I'm not any better about telling her she can't have what she wants." Kimmy looked toward Harry and her lips appeared to pull back and imitate a smile as best she could manage while still in dog form.

Jake and Miranda were hiding smiles, but Berti merely grunted.

Kimmy finished off the last of her muffin and jumped down off Hermione's lap. She left the kitchen at a trot, perhaps to duck into her own abode (which Harry felt certain she'd conjured in one of the house's many closets; he suspected the closet in Hermione's bedroom). Harry didn't ask. He respected Kimmy's right to come and go as she pleased. She was a free elf, after all.

Berti looked toward the wall clock and said suddenly, "Oh, gracious, look at the time. The McCormicks will be expecting us in an hour and a half."

"Who?" Harry asked and glanced toward Hermione. She looked beleaguered as she explained, "The McCormicks are old friends of Gram and Gramp. Every year we go to their house Christmas Eve day for a late lunch."

"Oh." Sounded innocuous enough. Harry studied Hermione a moment. She looked harried and worn by the prospect of visiting the McCormicks. Confused, he looked to Miranda and Jake. Miranda was the one to offer a smile and an explanation for Hermione's apparent distaste for this particular family tradition. "Mister and Missus McCormick are a dreadfully sweet old couple, wonderful people, but at Christmastime their rather impressive collection of grandchildren are about, and… well, Hermione's never cared much for their company."

"They're brutish, ignorant buffoons," Hermione mumbled sourly.

Berti harrumphed.

Jake chuckled. "I have to side with my daughter there, I'm afraid. There's not any of those grandkids much brighter than a potato. The lot of the McCormick kids tended toward marrying the… less intellectually inclined, shall we say, as it is the season of giving and kindness."

"Their idea of fun is goading the dogs to fighting… or doing other things, and every year I'm expected to spend the afternoon with them."

"Be that as it may," Berti conceded, "Mildred and Anthony are dear friends and they'd be terribly disappointed if we didn't come over. I know their brood is a bit uncouth, but it's only for one afternoon."

"I know," Hermione said in a dejected voice as she literally seemed to sag in her chair. Harry considered Hermione and found himself fixated on the difference between the Hermione in front of him now and the smiling Hermione who'd woken him only moments ago. He didn't like the change, and set about as best he could think to rectify it.

"Gram? Couldn't Hermione and I stay here while you three went to visit the McCormicks?" Harry asked. "They don't even know me, so it's not as though they'll be sorry I didn't show. And if these grandkids are that awful, how much can they miss Hermione? I mean, they're not exactly in her league. She probably just spoils their fun with the dogs."

"I really do, they always tell me what a sore bear I am," Hermione put in hopefully, though she looked doubtful of the potential success of Harry's intentions. Harry suspected she'd tried begging off going to the McCormicks in years past and been rebuffed. But if she didn't want to go, then he'd try to get her out of it.

Berti eyed the pair. "Hmmm… I don't know…"

It was Jake who spoke up to champion their cause. "Well, you know, they're not exactly children anymore."

"Well, that's true…" Berti mused aloud, "halfway to sixteen, the both of you, isn't that right?"

Harry and Hermione nodded.

Miranda turned to her mother to plead their case. "They were home alone a lot during the summer and there was never any trouble with it. I don't see why they can't stay behind if they really don't want to go."

Berti narrowed her eyes at the both of them before making her decision. "Yes, I guess that would be all right."

Hermione brightened at once. "Thanks, Gram!"

"Oh, dear, I never envied you stuck with that pack of hooligans that Mildred and Anthony call their grandchildren. I know they're wretched, but that's the way of things, isn't it?

"But if you and Harry are going to be here alone for the better part of the day I'll have you know that there'll be no fooling around in our absence."

Harry instantly felt his face burn red. Hermione's was a flushed shade to match. "Gram!" she yelped.

Berti was undeterred. "We've put out the nativity set, and it's just not right to have carnal knowledge in front of the son of god, even if he is plaster and paint."

Hermione groaned, put her elbows on the table, and covered her scarlet face with her hands in mortification. Harry was wondering how strange it would look if he just jumped up and ran from the room. He could try to find Kimmy's hidden home and barge in for asylum. She'd harbor him, he was fairly certain.

"Mum, please," Miranda sounded just as put out as her daughter. "I'm sure we don't have to worry."

"Oh, you think not?" Berti lifted an eyebrow and that wicked playfulness was in her tone and eyes. That was never a good sign. Harry was eyeing the exits.

"Kimmy will be here to keep an eye on them," Miranda stated with confidence.

"Hmph! Harry's dog? Honey, a dog's the coconspirator of its master nine times out of ten. That's what makes dogs so great."

"We trust this dog," Jake tossed in. When Berti glanced his way, Jake shrugged. "Call it a gut feeling."

Berti held up her hands in surrender… and also as though to wipe her hands of the consequences. Hermione peeked around her hand toward Harry and offered a sincere expression of profuse apology. Harry gave a wan smile to let her know he didn't hold her responsible for her grandmother's tongue.

With that, Berti, Miranda, and Jake rose from the table to get ready for the yearly visit to the McCormicks. Within twenty minutes, Harry and Hermione saw them out at the door. At the foot of the porch steps Berti turned back to them, and Harry braced for something terribly embarrassing, but all she said was, "Don't forget to feed Tiggy."

Harry was relieved it was something so tame from Hermione's grandmother. "I won't." He'd fed the horse yesterday (a chore that was usually Jake's during the Christmas visit, but since he'd been deemed no longer among the 'young people' crowd he abdicated the duty to Harry), so he'd already been instructed on where to find the hay and grain and how much to give of each.

"Have a good time," Miranda said in parting as the three-person party headed toward the car.

"But not too good a time!" Berti called back without turning to look in their direction. Jake, Miranda, and Berti piled into the car and were gone.

As soon as Harry and Hermione were back inside the house and the front door was closed Harry turned to Hermione and said what had been on his mind since he sat down with the family at the kitchen table. "Your grandmother is something else."

Hermione winced. "I'm so sorry about that. Mum always said Gram gave Dad a right awful teasing when they were dating, but I didn't really understand how bad it must have been until now."

Harry reflected on the relationship he'd seen between Jake and Berti since they'd arrived at the farm. It could hardly be categorized as the same level of uncomfortable that his own interactions with Berti rated. "She's pretty good with Jake now. Maybe I just need to soldier through for a while then she'll ease up on me."

"Oh, I'm sure she will. She does like you, Harry; she wouldn't keep it to herself if she didn't. I think she's testing you or something, though there's really no need." Hermione turned and headed toward the kitchen and Harry followed a step behind. Suddenly Hermione stopped in her tracks. Harry nearly ran into her before he came to a halt. "I almost forgot," Hermione said before Harry could ask what was up, then she turned to face Harry and put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. "Thank you for getting me out of that dreadful lunch! You're the best boyfriend in the world."

Harry was rather bashful at that, there were a lot of boyfriends in the entire world, after all. It didn't stop him from returning the hug, though. "Umm… you're welcome. Must be pretty awful, those McCormick kids."

Hermione stepped away. "You cannot begin to imagine. It's like having fifteen Crabbes and Goyles for company."

"Ouch. Well, in that case, I figure I rate a kiss for rescuing you."

Hermione's eyes glittered brightly. "Do you now?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I think so."

"Well, I think that can be arranged." Hermione rose to her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. Harry just started to put his arm around her to tug her closer when Hermione pulled away. Harry blinked, bewildered. "Wha… that's it?" He pouted.

Hermione laughed. It was such a wonderful sound. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and Harry followed it to rest his eyes on the nativity scene on the china cabinet. Harry frowned. "You're kidding. It's not like he's going to tell on us."

Hermione danced her fingertips absently over Harry's neck, which was really not kind considering she'd nixed the idea of snogging. Why wind him up if they couldn't do anything about it? Hermione looked up into his eyes and smiled rather mysteriously. "You're a wizard and I'm a witch, we of all people should know anything's possible."

That was true enough. "But for kissing?"

"Better safe than sorry." Hermione returned casually and started back toward the kitchen.