At first Hermione walked on eggshells around him. He appreciated it. Learning your family got tired of you complaining about their abuse and kicked you out, was in a strange way worse than actually living under their abuse. For a while he wanted nothing more than to be allowed back. He knew it was a silly thought but he couldn't help himself. He spent most of his time in the guest bedroom that was now his, came out for meals or whenever anybody asked, and smiled when he thought they wanted to see him smile.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had their clinic attached to their home, and they were a continuous presence during the day. They were worlds apart from the Dursleys. He knew from Hermione that they were the same age as his aunt and uncle, but they dressed and acted completely different, and their house was always full of laughter.

Laughter. Harry thought he had gotten used to that at school. Besides for kids being homesick now and then, there was always someone ready to have fun and joke around, but it turned out to be quite jarring to suddenly experience it at home. Homes should be quiet unless it was Dudders and his friends shouting about their games. Her mum's voice should be sharp, biting her words out to him, and her dad should bluster and show off and smell of old sweat, not laugh and dole out hugs to all and sundry, asking about their day.

It was nerve wracking, being on alert the whole time for a threat that never came. When he found himself flinching from Mrs. Granger after she patted his shoulder in passing, he ran away and hid in his room. No one mentioned it which was maybe worse than talking about it but he couldn't take the first step himself. They learned to exaggerate their moves around him, and gave him space.

Ron wrote them, like he promised. Hermione was the one that answered, and on checking with Harry she told Ron he was visiting her for the summer only. They would tell him all face to face, they decided.

Most of the time they did homework. Harry secretly thought she was making some of it up to keep him busy but he couldn't remember what the homework had been anyway. They spent days stretched out on the carpet in her room, books open around them, Hermione reading out loud.

"... and that's why human transfigurations can be done from potions, similar to..."

He let her voice wash over him and stared out of the window. Outside the sun shone bright on the Grangers' little garden, and a van rattled down the road. Harry sighed. He couldn't go on like this. He twisted around to see her. "I can't take this anymore Hermione."

She lowered the book she was reading from to look at him with the, now natural, look of concern she wore around him lately. "What, Harry?"

"Homework. Ron will have kittens if he hears I let you make me do homework."

"I'm not making you do anything," she started carefully, in the soothing tone she had perfected in the last days but her shoulders were tight and her eyes wary. "Is there something else you would like to do? Shall we watch telly?"

"Can we go out? I want to feel normal. I'm tired of moping around."

"Oh, thank god." Her shoulders sagged. "We just need to tell Mum, there's a park with the best" —she yanked him off the bed and pulled him out behind her as fast as her legs allowed— "trees to climb! Let's go!"

"I thought you didn't like heights."

"I don't like flying. Heights are fine."

After that whenever he started to mope he told her to take him out and they roamed the streets around her house, more often than not, exploring the area. Harry slowly allowed himself to relax and believe that this might be a new normal for him.

They took him shopping.

"I can pay, Mrs. Granger, if we go to Diagon Alley I can get some money from the bank, they exchange it."

"Oh, can we go to Diagon, Mum? Ron said there's a secondhand bookstore that we missed, we can just have a look, right?"

"Hm, let's see. No, Harry, we will not allow you to pay for—what was your list?—clothes, food, and lodging. I dare say you can stop asking, you'll not wear us down. And no, Hermione, not today. I have a lovely shopping spree planned, after which we will meet your dad for lunch and a movie. Isn't that better?"

"Well, not better than books, no," Hermione said with a forlorn sigh. "But I will make do. How about you, Harry?"

"I might be fine with never seeing a book again."

Mrs. Granger laughed.

He didn't tell them it was his first time ever watching a movie in a theatre, not that he had watched a lot at home either, and tried to hide his excitement. At least he had bought clothes before in Madam Malkin's, so he knew how to shop and he wasn't worried about eating in public after Hogwarts.

Well he thought he knew how to shop. No one measured him, he had to walk through endless racks, and there was an abundance of colours and choices that had him stumped. The mere fact that he was allowed to choose had him shocked silent and he breathed it out in the changing room, pretending to fit the stack of shirts Hermione's mum had pressed into his hands. He tucked himself into the corner beside the mirror and pressed his forehead against his knees. He wasn't going to be able to do this.

When he finally braved it out, only Mr. Granger was there. "I sent them to go buy tickets," he said, gathering the stack of clothes from Harry. "It's for the best if we want to do all we planned, they'll buy you the whole shop if you're not careful."

"I think they tried."

"I can see that." He set the clothes on an empty counter. "Here, I'll teach you a trick. Close your eyes and tell me your two favourite colours."

Harry humoured him. "Blue and grey."

"A man of taste," Mr. Granger said and started sorting the stack, keeping the blues and the greys and discarded all the other colours. "Again, buttons or no?"

"No." Buttons rip off when they catch you, and then you have to walk all the way home clutching your shirt. He didn't say that though, and Mr. Granger didn't ask.

"Excellent." All the buttoned shirts were discarded as well.

"Long sleeve or short."

"Long."

"Great stuff. We'll keep one short sleeve just in case," he said.

Finally the heap was whittled down to only a few items, and Harry stared relieved at it.

"Now, you can stay here and I'll go grab trousers, you only need to fit one."

He stood as ordered, watching Hermione's dad amble away down the rows, picking underwear in a seemingly careless manner when he passed it, doing the same with socks. Then, Mr. Granger stopped at a rack of slacks and pulled two out before doing the same at the jeans' section. Harry decided there and then that he would never stress over choices again. When Mr. Granger returned, Harry fitted all the trousers, not just one, and let him help to choose sneakers to go with his new outfits, and when they paid he insisted they share the bags out between them.

Outside the shop Harry stopped. He had to say something. He couldn't let them think he didn't appreciate or didn't notice the care they took with him. "Thank you, Mr. Granger."

"You're welcome, Harry."

"No, I mean, thank you for everything."

Mr. Granger nodded. "It's a pleasure, Harry, don't think otherwise."

He sometimes did, how could he not? They already had Hermione, they didn't want or need another kid, and he had been thrust upon them just because he was too pathetic to last it out with his own family. The Grangers were nice and would never tell him otherwise, even if they hated his presence. But there was no time to say it for Hermione was on them, trying to see what they had bought.

"Not at all what I would have chosen!" she wailed. "But you'll look great in them, want to change now? Yes, you do!"

"Hermione," her Mum said.

After all they had been through in Hogwarts he knew Hermione too well, and he smiled at Mrs. Granger. "Hermione's right, I'd like to change into my new clothes." The Grangers were fashionable and he wanted to feel he belonged next to them. They went to the mall toilets and he had no problem stuffing Dudley's castoffs into the bathroom's bins.

They watched Universal Soldier. The theatre was packed full of families, and they had to scramble over legs to get to their seats, juggling popcorn and drinks. When the movie started on the big screen, he felt like the time he had stepped into Diagon alongside Hagrid, and was thankful for the dark. Unbeknownst to him they could still see his face well enough, and had he just turned one second from the screen he would have noticed that Hermione was watching him more than the movie.

"We need to bring Ron," he whispered at one point.

"Yes," she hissed back. "He would love it. We should see how long this is going to run so he can—"

"Shh!" her neighbour shushed.

"—sorry!"

The kid in front of her turned. "Shh!"

She clutched Harry's arm and giggled, then leaned over to whisper in his ear, "—so he can see it. There's nothing else good showing at the moment."

He thought she was wrong. Everything would be brilliant in a movie theatre.

They called Ron the very next day to visit.

(To be continued)