Author's Note: Written for the Four Seasons COMPETITION by Rosalie'sRevenge on the HPFC forum.

Hermione couldn't remember the hospital wing ever being so crowded before. It certainly wasn't the first time Harry had been stuck in here and she'd come to visit, but his previous injuries were apparently less heroic. No one cared when he saved her from that dratted troll and got his shoulder smashed up, but getting both legs broken to catch the Snitch in the final Quidditch match of the season and winning Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup? That was a big deal.

As far as she could tell, Harry still hadn't released said Snitch from his hand, even though the game ended at least an hour ago. She supposed it would wreak havoc in the hospital wing, although there must be some way to deactivate it between matches. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey didn't have the heart to remove it when the rest of the Gryffindor team and a good portion of the rest of the house were still celebrating around his bed.

Speaking of Madam Pomfrey, where was she? Hermione thought she'd usually be kicking out visitors by now, especially rowdy ones like the Weasleys. And surely Harry must be getting tired of entertaining guests. His legs were probably still aching from the healing spells.

"All right, everybody out!" came the order at last. Madam Pomfrey was at the door to the hospital wing, and Hermione realized instantly why she had been missing: the man and woman who followed her in could only be Harry's parents. Hermione recognized them from the pictures Harry had shown her of them, not to mention the striking similarity between Harry and his father. Every other time they'd come to see him for an injury, Hermione had been back at Gryffindor Tower.

The Gryffindors looked as though they wanted to complain, but they too seemed to recognize the presence of parents, so they started to shuffle out of the hospital wing. Hermione made for the door as well, but then Harry called out to her.

"Hermione! There you are. I was wondering if you'd left already."

With a fleeting glance at the Potters, Hermione returned to Harry's bedside and offered him a tight smile. "I might have, except I wasn't expecting everybody to stay for so long."

"Sorry about that," Harry muttered. "I tried to get them to leave, but they just wouldn't listen. Where was Madam Pomfrey?"

"Getting your parents."

Harry sat up abruptly, looking wildly around the hospital wing. Apparently he hadn't seen the Potters come in. "Mum! Dad! Er – this is my best friend, Hermione Granger," he added, taking hold of Hermione's wrist to keep her in place. Hermione turned and tried for a decent smile. It seemed to be all right, because Mrs. Potter responded with a warm smile of her own.

"We've heard so much about you," she said to Hermione, "all of it good. You've been a very positive influence on my son, I think. He certainly needs it," she added, with an accusing look at her husband.

Mr. Potter simply shrugged, but there was more than a hint of guilt on his face. "Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have agreed to let him be the youngest Quidditch player in a hundred years, but it just sounded so exciting. I would've loved to start playing in my first year."

"It's all right, Dad," said Harry earnestly. "I love playing Quidditch. It's just that maybe I would like it a little better if there weren't any Bludgers."

Mr. Potter laughed. "The Bludgers are half the fun!"

"Why don't you compromise and say that Quidditch would be ideal with one Bludger instead of two?" said Mrs. Potter, who looked as though she was used to arguments about Quidditch.

"You won the cup for Gryffindor, though! Good for you," said Mr. Potter, coming over to punch Harry lightly in the shoulder. Hermione took a step back, automatically leaving a meter of space between them. "First time in how long?"

"Something like seven years? I don't really remember," said Harry, grinning. "It's a shame you couldn't come to the match, though. It was pretty impressive."

"I'll just steal Sirius's memories and put them in Dumbledore's Pensieve. I've already got permission."

"What's a Pensieve?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Something you can use to watch other people's memories, or your own," said Harry. "I don't really understand how it works. You can look it up later."

"I will," Hermione murmured, wishing – not for the first time – that quills and ink were more easily portable, so she could write a note to herself. "But you'll help."

Harry grimaced, but the expression was so melodramatic that Hermione couldn't completely smother a giggle.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sure you love doing research," said Mrs. Potter with a rather wicked smile.

"When I'm helping Hermione out, yeah, sure," said Harry, "but for class it's just tedious."

"Don't let Severus hear you say that."

"Severus?" said Hermione.

"Professor Snape," Harry clarified. "And I bet he already knows. He's like that, he can just tell."

Hermione gave a faint smile. Harry's relationship with their ominous Potions master never failed to amuse her. Professor Snape had frightened her in their first few classes, but since making friends with Harry, who considered Snape a family friend, she'd started to realize that a dark and forbidding appearance didn't necessarily mean a wizard was bad.

"Speaking of Professor Snape," she said, "I should probably get back to Gryffindor Tower and get started on my Potions homework."

"For the record, she means next week's Potions homework," Harry said to his parents. "Promise when you come back tonight you won't make me start it too?"

"I can make no such promise," said Hermione with exaggerated primness, and she walked out of the hospital wing.

She was nearly to the end of the corridor when Mrs. Potter's voice called her back. Turning, she found herself faced with Harry's bright green eyes in the kindly but unfamiliar face of the redheaded woman. It was decidedly odd.

"I hope you don't feel that we're pushing you out," said Mrs. Potter. "I know Harry truly appreciates your friendship. He writes about you a lot."

"That's good to know, Mrs. Potter, but I'm all right," said Hermione softly. "I just don't like strangers much."

Mrs. Potter smiled. "I see. Well, I wanted you to know that I appreciate your friendship with Harry, as well. I really meant what I said; you're a good influence on him. I hear, for example, that you aren't a huge fan of Quidditch."

Hermione couldn't help a small smile of her own. "Not particularly, no. But Harry does seem to enjoy it."

"I always have a hard time in spring," said Mrs. Potter wryly. "I can keep him inside during the winter, but come spring, the brooms are out whether I want them to be or not. Needless to say, it's not my favorite season."

"It may be Harry's, though, for the same reason," Hermione pointed out. "Whenever you see him on a broom, you can just tell he's having a grand time."

Mrs. Potter chuckled. "That's a good point. I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I come to Hogwarts to see him for a Quidditch injury."

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Potter, I really do want to get started on my homework," said Hermione apologetically.

Mrs. Potter waved a hand. "Oh, no, of course not. Go right ahead. I should get back to Harry, anyway." She smiled again, her eyes lingering on Hermione's face. "You have lovely eyes, dear, has anyone ever told you?"

And with that, she turned around and walked back into the hospital wing, leaving a very confused Hermione standing in the corridor and wondering what it was about her eyes that Mrs. Potter found so very wonderful.