5 February 1993

"There you are."

Hermione looked up. Harry, his untidy hair windswept from Quidditch practice, was standing over her library table, grinning. Hermione smiled back at him.

"How was practice?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Same as usual. Where's Ron?"

"Playing Exploding Snap with Seamus, Dean, and Neville in the common room," Hermione explained, turning back to the homework assignment she was working on.

"Oh."

Hermione glanced up again, expecting Harry to thank her, wave, and scamper off to join them. But to her surprise, he simply nodded, pulling back the chair opposite her and slipping into it.

"What're you working on?" he asked.

Hermione held up her scroll of parchment for him to look at. "Lockhart's assignment."

A familiar, fleeting look of disgust crossed Harry's face. "I don't get how drawing a picture of Lockhart taking down a troll is supposed to protect you from the Dark Arts."

Hermione glared at him. "As I've told you a million times, Harry, it's up to us to interpret his books and apply the knowledge we obtain."

"But I don't obtain any knowledge from his books," Harry insisted. "They're pathetic."

"Shut up," Hermione snapped, throwing Harry a withering look—but he simply grinned back at her. She knew he was just criticizing Lockhart's books to get a reaction out of her. While Harry's work ethic was slightly better than Ron's, it still left a lot to be desired, particularly where homework was concerned. True, even Hermione had to accept that she hadn't really understood the logic behind several of Professor Lockhart's recent assignments—but then, she reminded herself that her opinion didn't matter. Lockhart was their teacher, and therefore, his reasoning was surely sound. It wasn't up to Hermione—or Harry, or Ron—to question it.

Hermione looked up from her parchment again. Harry was slumped back in his chair now, fiddling listlessly with a speck of lint on his robes. Frowning to herself, she wondered why he hadn't left to join Ron and his other roommates in the common room yet. Did he actually want to spend time with her?

Hermione's heart gave a small jolt, and she felt a tiny pang of guilt.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry," she murmured, staring down at her parchment. "I didn't mean to get cross with you just now. It's just…" she hesitated, biting her lip, "I…I didn't have a lot of friends before Hogwarts. Books were…pretty much all I had."

Swallowing heavily, she looked up and met Harry's gaze, expecting to find pity or amusement—but to her surprise, his expression was quite devoid of humor.

"I didn't have any friends in primary school either," he said dully, shrugging. "But hiding behind books wouldn't have worked for me. My cousin would've found me anyway."

Hermione blinked rapidly, her heart sinking. Harry didn't say very much about his family, but from what she and Ron had managed to uncover over the past year-and-a-half, they truly were the worst sort of people. Ron, Hermione knew, was particularly offended by them. Perhaps it was because he came from such a large and loving home—he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that a man and a woman could treat their orphaned nephew so dreadfully. And to be quite honest, neither could Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said quietly.

Harry looked at her, frowning confusedly. "For what?"

In spite of herself, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your family."

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Don't be sorry. I mean, they're not…evil…or anything. And besides, I've had some good fun with Dudley, after all."

Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, smirking slightly. "I remember, one Christmas morning, I woke him up by telling him that he hadn't gotten any presents that year."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "What did he do?"

"He threw a fit," Harry said, grinning widely. "Even after he came downstairs and saw that I was lying, it wasn't enough. Uncle Vernon had to run off to buy a few more to calm him down."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That's terrible."

"That's Dudley," Harry said, shrugging. Then, his smile faded slightly. "Aunt Petunia was so furious with me. She didn't let me have any dinner that night."

Hermione gasped loudly, dropping her quill. "What?" she demanded in a fierce whisper. "On Christmas? Harry, that's awful!"

Harry shrugged again, looking faintly amused by her reaction. "It wasn't the worst Christmas ever, to be honest." The corners of his lips lifted in a smirk. "At least I didn't turn into a cat and spend the rest of the holiday in the Hospital Wing."

Hermione spluttered, her cheeks flushing with color, and Harry grinned at her.

"You look good now," he told her bracingly. Then, suddenly, his face went bright red. "Er—I mean, you look—y-you aren't furry anymore, is all. You don't look—you aren't—"

Hermione wanted so badly to burst into laughter at the sight of the expression on Harry's face, but she was fairly certain that Madam Pince wouldn't be very impressed with her if she did. So, instead, she reached out and patted Harry's hand reassuringly. "I know what you meant, Harry."

Harry relaxed slightly, releasing a slow, deep breath. "Good," he said. "You just…you're Hermione. You're the…closest thing to a—sister I've got," he added awkwardly. He paused, frowning slightly. "Not that I would know anything about what that's like."

Hermione smiled at him, feeling a tiny lump of happiness take root somewhere in her chest, warming her from the inside. "Well, I really wouldn't know anything about what that's like either, but…I suppose you're sort of like a brother to me, too."

Harry grinned at her, and she grinned back, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. For several minutes, the only sounds that could be heard at the table were the scratches of Hermione's quill against her parchment and the rustle of Harry's robes as he shook his leg absentmindedly.

Then, suddenly, Harry leaned across the library table, and Hermione jumped, startled.

"What—?" she began.

"That doesn't look right, Hermione," Harry interrupted, eyeing her drawing of Lockhart and the subdued troll critically. "Here—let me fix it for you."

And before Hermione could appropriately react, Harry had reached forward and snatched the drawing away from her. Then, taking a quill from her pencil case and dipping it in her inkpot, he bent over the drawing. A few moments later, he straightened, looking very satisfied with himself, and pushed the drawing back across the table towards her. "There. Much better."

Hermione looked at the drawing. Lockhart now had a long nose and freckles—and the troll had a large club thudding onto its skull. Hermione blinked several times, gaping at the drawing.

Then, she looked up at Harry. He was grinning broadly.

"I'm not sure I want you as a little brother anymore," Hermione sniffed, drawing her wand to repair the damage. "You're the annoying kind."

Harry threw his head back, laughing—and Hermione couldn't repress the small twitch at the corners of her lips.

Author's Note:

Was feeling in the mood for some Harry/Hermione friendship :)

Also, for anyone who's interested, I'm currently running the "Mother and Son" competition over at HPFC. I have quite a few spots still open!

Ari