Author's note: Belle is my own character. Yes, I know that Hermione doesn't have a little sister, but I don't care. She was too much fun to ignore. None of the rest of them are mine, obviously.
Random note: the breaks mark when the POV changes. In my word document, I have them as just paragraph breaks, but that doesn't work here. Sorry if the lines bug you guys.

1: unwelcome encounters (part 1)

Harry returned to the Dursleys still in shock. He spent the first two weeks of July shut up in his room, forcing Aunt Petunia to shove food through the cat flap they'd installed when he was twelve. Dudley was surprisingly considerate, for him, and stayed out of Harry's way. Of course, he might just have been terrified out of his wits. Harry was in no frame of mind to decide which was the true reason. He wrote to Ron and Hermione eventually, after both of them sent Howlers threatening to come and physically drag the news out of him if he didn't write, but apart from that, he refused to stay in contact with anyone. Hedwig returned every night with letters, but he left them in a stack on his desk, not even reading who they were from. He knew that eventually, he would have to come out of his self-imposed exile, but he was much more willing to keep putting it off than to actually tackle his letters.

He should have known that they wouldn't allow him to wallow in self-hatred for very long, though, and so he shouldn't have been surprised when the white car parked by the driveway turned out to be for him.

It had been a normal day so far. He hadn't taken the cooking up again when he came back, so Aunt Petunia shoved his usual slice of grapefruit through the cat flap, telling him to put the bowl out when he was done. He looked at it gloomily, wishing that he could just conjure up something more appetizing. But even with Scridgemore at the Ministry these days, it wouldn't take much to get him expelled from Hogwarts. And he was tired of the concept of magic. Watching the destruction at the Department of Mysteries had made him sick, and he couldn't bring himself to use even the smallest spell, now that he'd seen once again how easily it was corrupted. He had no choice but to eat the stuff, though, and he forced it down. Dudley, at least, got sugar on his. He thought wryly that, before Hogwarts, he wouldn't have cared. School had spoiled him, and it was harder and harder to go back to the Dursley's treatment every summer.

Once he'd choked down the last of the fruit, he pushed the bowl outside into the hallway, and flopped back on his bed. He'd memorized all the swishes of whitewash on the ceiling over the years, and he'd made it a memory recalling game. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the placement of each swish exactly. He was only about halfway through the ceiling when there was a pounding on his door. He grimaced, opening his eyes. It was either Uncle Vernon or Dudley, and he was in no mood to deal with either. With a sigh, he sat up and called, "What do you want?"

Uncle Vernon took this as an invitation to come it, and he shoved the door open. His ruddy face was redder than usual, and Harry wondered what the hell he'd done this time. He didn't remember doing anything, but that meant nothing to his uncle. Vernon Dursley was just as likely to blame Harry for something Dudley had done as for something Harry himself had. "Get up, boy," Uncle Vernon said shortly.

"Why?"

"You've got visitors."

That made Harry pay closer attention. Visitors? Who would be coming to visit him? "Who is it?"

"How should I bloody know?" Uncle Vernon raged. "Some of your lot, I expect. How dare you invite them here!?"

"I didn't!" Harry said, looking around his room for a pair of shoes. He still got dressed every day, but he'd been slacking on the footwear lately. He suspected that, left like this much longer, he would dispense with clothes all together. Or, at least, with some of the clothes…

"Then how did they get here?"

"They looked you up in the yellow pages, how should I know?" He'd only found one sneaker, and he was despairing of finding the other one on short notice.

"They know how to use the yellow pages?"

"Some of them do." With a sigh, he kicked off his one sneaker and walked in his socks to the door. "Are you going to let me out, or am I going to have to yell through the heater vent?"

With a glare, Uncle Vernon stepped away from the door, allowing Harry to get out. The large man followed Harry down the stairs, muttering to himself as he did so. When Harry got to the landing, he glanced into the living room, and stopped in shock. Of all the people he'd been expecting, Hermione Granger and two people who were almost certainly her parents were low on the list. Maybe not the very last, but definitely very low. Uncle Vernon pushed him, and he stumbled, coming into the range of sight of the people in the living room. Hermione squealed, and put down her cup of tea to come and fling her arms around him. He hugged her back, smiling slightly for the first time since Sirius had died, and then let go. He followed her back into the living room, and leaned against the doorframe. Uncle Vernon sat down next to Aunt Petunia, and silence descended once again. Finally, Hermione said, "Mum, Dad, this is Harry. Harry, these are my parents."

He pushed himself off the wall, ignoring Aunt Petunia's hiss of breath at the thought of the fingerprints he could be getting on her wall, and moved to shake hands with the Grangers, both of whom smiled at him. As he walked back to his post, Hermione continued, "I suppose that Harry told you that we would be coming."

"No, he certainly didn't," Uncle Vernon said, shooting a poisonous glare at Harry. Harry sighed.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. Then, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight grin. "Harry, how long has it been since you read any of your mail?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Sorry about that." The comment was addressed more to the Grangers than to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Mrs. Granger smiled. "It doesn't matter. Since your aunt and uncle don't know, I'll repeat our invitation. Hermione has been working hard, and we offered to take her, her sister, and a friend on a trip to America. She suggested inviting Harry. We are leaving tomorrow morning, so when we didn't hear back, we decided to stop by here to find out if it's possible."

Harry didn't dare look at the Dursleys. It was a dream come true, or one of them, and he wanted it so badly that he was afraid that it wouldn't happen. He knew them well enough to know what they were thinking, though, and as the silence stretched on, his hopes began to rise. Surely if they'd been going to refuse they'd have done it right away. Finally, Aunt Petunia asked, "How much would this trip cost us?"

"Nothing at all," Mr. Granger assured them. "The costs are included in our offer. Harry would only have to bring his own pocket money, which I am sure he has."

Harry didn't, in fact, have any pocket money, but if he could find a place to quietly exchange galleons for muggle money, he'd be in good shape. "And how long would he be away?"

"We're going for a month," Hermione answered promptly. "He would be able to pack his things for school in time."

Aunt Petunia looked slightly disappointed, but she said finally, "I don't see any problems with his going. If he misbehaves, we are not to be held responsible."

"I am sure Harry won't be any trouble at all," Mrs. Granger assured her.

Aunt Petunia looked at Uncle Vernon, who shrugged angrily. "I don't care," he said.

"Excellent," Mr. Granger said. "Now, Hermione will help you pack, Harry, and then we'll be off."

"I thought you didn't leave until tomorrow," Harry said, confused.

"You're spending the night with us," Hermione explained. "The plane leaves at about seven o'clock in the morning, and we didn't think that it would be very productive to knock on your door at five tomorrow morning."

"I should think not," Harry agreed. "Come on."

They climbed up the stairs, hearing Uncle Vernon demand, "You're traveling by plane?!"

Harry stepped into his room, shrugging apologetically for the mess. "I don't clean much," he said.

"So I see," Hermione said, surveying the room. She eyed her pocket longingly, but said briskly, "We'd better get started then, hadn't we?"

Two hours later, they'd managed to pack all of Harry's things away. Hermione proved to have a talent for packing, and all of Harry's belongings somehow fit neatly into the wheeled suitcase that he'd borrowed from the hall closet. He didn't even have to sit on the lid for her to close it. She surveyed her work approvingly, then said, "Check everywhere, just in case we've missed anything."

Harry dutifully looked all over his room, coming up with a single sock and a handful of crumpled parchment, both of which he chucked in the trash. "The other one's in there somewhere," he explained, nodding towards the trashcan. "It wore out completely, and I didn't really have much choice."

Hermione shrugged. "There are other things more important that socks. You don't actually have any money, do you?"

He shook his head. "Muggle money? No. But if we find a decent place, and there's probably one at the airport in America, I can change some galleons."

She nodded, and picked up the front end of his suitcase. With him at the back, they managed to maneuver it out of the room and down the stairs.

"Right, all set now?" Mrs. Granger said. She put away the mystery novel that she'd been reading. Harry grinned slightly imagining two hours of uncomfortable silence in the company of the Dursleys.

Just as they were about to leave the house, the door burst open, and Dudley stormed in. He stopped dead when he saw Harry. "Where are you going?' he demanded.

"To America. You're not invited, Big D."

Dudley's hands curled into fists. He turned his eye on Hermione, and his face turned speculative. Harry laughed with cynical humor. "You don't want to do that, Dud. She's a witch."

All three Dursleys recoiled at the sound of the forbidden word, and Harry laughed again. It was remarkably refreshing to be able to make them this angry and know that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. Unfortunately, Dudley wasn't put off for long. "You can't do it out of school."

Harry shrugged. "You sure about that, Dudley?"

"You'll get expelled," he said, but he sounded a lot less sure than he had.

"Maybe. Or then again, maybe not. You want to test that theory?"

Dudley looked undecided, and Harry took advantage of his confusion to take his suitcase again. "Let's get out of here," he told Hermione. She shrugged, and held the door open for him. Together, they managed to get out of the house without breaking anything, though Harry did try very hard to accidentally shatter the hideous painted vase that Aunt Petunia loved so much. Mr. and Mrs. Granger followed them, and Harry waved slightly at the three Dursleys as the door closed, reveling in his freedom.

Hermione watched as Harry walked away from his Aunt and Uncle's house, marveling at the way he suddenly seemed to stand up straighter. It was as though an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders, and, as he put the suitcase down to wait for her father to unlock the trunk, she realized that he was quite aware of it. "Glad to get out of there?" she asked softly.

"You have no idea," he answered in the same tone. In a normal voice, he said, "Thank you for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

Hermione's mother shrugged good-naturedly. "It was our pleasure Harry. I'm Helen, by the way."

"I'm Roy," her father contributed.

Harry nodded. Hermione's father helped him hoist his suitcase into the car, and then Harry slammed the door satisfyingly. He got into the back seat with Hermione, and Hermione's father started the engine.

"Where exactly are we going?" Harry asked. "In America, I mean."

Hermione enthusiastically detailed the program. "We're starting on the East Coast. You know, New York City, Boston… all the really big cities. Then, we'll head west, stopping in Chicago, and dropping down to Louisiana. We should be in Denver by the third week, and we're catching the plane home from there. There are some really fascinating things in that area!"

Her mother laughed. "Don't bore him away, Diana. He's only just gotten here. You'll have more than enough time to fill him in on the flight."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Diana?"

"It's my middle name," she explained. "You know, the Roman Hunter Goddess?"

"I wanted to call her Artemis," her father complained. "But Helen wouldn't hear of it. We compromised with the middle name."

Harry nodded, understanding. "How long is the flight?"

Her mother shrugged. "About seven hours, give or take an hour."

Harry winced. "Not even the train to school takes that long!" he said.

"Hogwarts is in Scotland," Hermione said, grinning. "New York is across the Atlantic. It used to take boats months to get there from England."

Harry winced. "Boy am I glad for technology," he muttered.

"You mean you'd rather technology to magic?" her father asked.

"In this case, yes. Airplanes are much more comfortable than many ways that we travel."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Have you ever actually been on an airplane?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, but it's got to be better than a portkey."

She laughed. "You're right," she agreed.

They drove for a while longer, before Hermione realized something very important. "Harry, do you have a passport?"

He frowned, and dug into his pocket. He produced an identity card. "Will this do?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid not. There's no time to get one now. We'll just have to hope that you can do it at the airport."

Her mother frowned. "You're going to fake his papers?" she asked suspiciously.

"Temporarily, mum," Hermione said. "Unless you want to wait six weeks for a real one to come out."

"No," her father said definitely. "But I don't feel right about faking it, either."

"It's not really, Mr. Granger," Harry said. "It's more speeding up the process. It'll be perfectly legal, I promise."

That seemed to reassure them, but neither one said anything for the rest of the trip. Harry and Hermione talked enthusiastically about mutual friends, with Harry asking most of the questions and Hermione providing the answers. They'd both heard from Ron, but Hermione also knew about Luna, Ginny, and Neville. "Luna and her father are off somewhere looking for something. One of their stories, you know. Ginny's with a couple of her friends, she says that she's having a great time. Neville's still with his grandmother, and I don't think he has any plans for the summer."

Harry nodded. "That's good. I wonder what Luna's looking for this time."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Heaven only knows," she said. Harry laughed.

Once they'd arrived at her house, Hermione told Harry to leave his bag in the car. "We're leaving at five o'clock tomorrow morning. There's no point in getting it out. I put your toothbrush and pajamas on top, so you can just grab those."

Her mother laughed. "That's my daughter, always organized," she said. Hermione shrugged. She'd heard it before, and she was sure she would again.

Harry pulled the necessary items out of his suitcase, as well as a change of underwear and another T-shirt, then closed the lid and the trunk of the car.

"You can put those in the guest bedroom," her father said. "Diana, show him where it is."

Hermione nodded, and walked up to the front door. She pulled out her wallet and produced her house key. She opened the door, then let Harry go in front of her. "Straight ahead, down the stairs, and first door on the left," she instructed. She followed as he made his way through her house and into the guest room. "There's a bathroom down here," she said. "Through the big room and on the left. There's another one upstairs. Put your stuff down, and I'll show you around."

He dropped his clothes on the guest bed, along with the cosmetic kit, and followed her out into the big room. She proceeded to show him around the two levels of her house, giving the standard tour. "This is my sister's room," she said, nodding towards the door opposite hers. There was music seeping quietly through. "She should be in there." She knocked on Belle's door, and the music stopped. After a moment, her little sister pulled it open.

"What is it, 'Mione?" she asked in irritation. "I'm a bit busy right now!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Belle, this is my friend Harry. He's coming with us to America. Harry, this is my little sister Belladonna, who you can call Belle or Athena, depending what you feel like and how annoying she's being."

Harry grinned. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "Ancient Gods popular with your parents?"

She nodded. "Dad has this passion for all things Classic. When I told him that one of our teachers was called Minerva, he freaked out. He actually asked me for her autograph, so that he could have the signature to frame on his wall."

Harry laughed.

Belle was studying Harry carefully. "You're my sister's age?" she asked suddenly.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I'll probably be in most of her classes next year. How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she answered. "I'm going into my fifth year."

He glanced at Hermione. "She knows," she said, answering his unspoken question. "It was a bit hard to ignore, you understand."

Harry grinned. "Hagrid knocked down our door," he said, reminiscing. "Aunt Petunia had a fit."

"I can imagine," Hermione said, remembering the prim woman she'd met at the house. "Professor Vector came here."

He laughed again. "That was appropriate," he remarked.

She shrugged. "I thought so. The moment she told me what she taught, I was determined to take her class."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Are the two of you going to stand here all day?" she asked. "Because if you are, I won't listen to you."

"We'll leave," Hermione promised her.

"Nice to have met you," Harry said, pushing himself away from the wall that he'd been leaning against. "Looking forwards to getting to know you better."

Belle grinned. "Same here," she said. "Now, please go away." She shut the door in their faces, and Hermione heard the music resume.

"I like her," Harry said as they went into Hermione's room.

"She's nice enough to strangers," Hermione said, shutting her door. "But she can be almost unbearable once she gets to know you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The rest of the morning passed in a fairly average manner. Harry got better acquainted with Hermione's parents and sister, and they talked about the upcoming trip. Harry was obviously looking forward to it immensely, and he didn't mind that Hermione, also looking forward to it, over explained just about every city and monument. Finally, they'd exhausted the topic, or at least the audience, and Hermione was about to offer to show Harry the computer, when Belle said, "Do you know how to play Uno?"

Harry shook his head, making his hair fly every which way. He brushed it out of his eyes. "Never played," he said. "Why?"

"Do you want to learn?" Belle asked.

He shrugged. "You willing to teach me?"

She nodded, pulling out a deck of cards from the pocket of her jeans. They sat down at the kitchen table with Hermione, and Belle slipped the rubber band off the deck. She shuffled the cards briskly, then deftly dealt out seven cards to each of them. Then she explained the rules quickly. When she was finished, she flipped over the first card in the deck and said, "Guests start."

Harry examined his hand, then selected a card and placed it on top of the discard pile. The game continued, and Hermione realized that Belle had set them up so that Hermione was right after her, and soon Hermione found herself with the most cards of anyone. Finally, Harry flipped his last card onto the stack and grinned. "I win," he said.

Belle shrugged. "Beginner's luck," she said dismissively. "Let's see how long you can keep it up."

She scooped up the cards and shuffled them again. "You deal, 'Mione," she said, passing the deck over to her sister. "I did it last time."

Hermione shrugged, and passed out the cards. She turned over the first card in the deck, and nodded for Harry to go first. This game went on longer. Harry seemed to have caught on, and Hermione had dealt herself a substantially better hand than the last time. She lost her reluctance to play what she'd long ago termed, "those evil cards!" and Harry didn't win until over fifteen minutes later. Meanwhile, Hermione was forcibly reminded of why she hadn't plaid Uno with Belle for a long time. Her sister was utterly ruthless, giving Hermione "draw four" cards without even blinking. She also had amazing instincts for which colors people had and didn't have, and always managed to use it to her advantage.

It was Harry's turn to deal, and he insisted on Hermione going first. She suggested switching the order, so that she played just before her sister, and the other two agreed. Hermione grinned as she looked over her hand. Not too promising, but she could do some damage with the "draw" and "skip" cards, she thought. This game was as fast paced as the last one, and all three had gotten over their qualms about doing damage. When Harry finally threw his last card onto the pile, he grinned triumphantly. "Uno champion of the world!" he proclaimed, raising his arms to the sky.

"Oh yeah?" Belle countered. "You're playing against the first runner up here." She grinned wickedly. "Hey Dad!"

Hermione groaned. "Whatever you do," she cautioned. "Don't let him talk you into using your own money. You get to keep your winnings, but most of the time, he gets it all. When I was younger, I owed him my allowance for months at a time."

Harry nodded. "Not much chance of using my own money," he said. "Seeing as it's not here right now."

"True…"

Her father sat down across from Hermione, grinning. He reached over onto the phone shelf and pulled out the peanut butter jar that held his card money. Dan Granger didn't gamble as a rule, but he'd always done it with the girls, ignoring his wife's mutinous muttering. "Teach 'em early what it's like to lose," he'd said, and he'd been right. Neither Hermione nor Belle would ever gamble with real money after their spectacular losses at his hand.

He opened the jar and neatly divided the coins into four equal stacks. He shoved one to each of the three, then pulled his own towards him. "You know how to play Uno for money?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Simple. You bet however much you want on your winning the match, then if you're right, you collect. You see your cards before you bet, and you can add more at the beginning of the game and any time someone changes the color. Got it?"

Harry nodded. Belle moved to shuffle the deck, but her father stopped her. "Nope," he said with a grin. "My shuffle, 'Thena." He shuffled the cards, then turned them and then did a flawless bridge. Hermione couldn't even manage to shuffle normally, which was why Belle never let her. Her father dealt the cards, and Hermione studied hers. Four yellows: one, three, six, and nine, green eight, red six, and plus four change color card. That was good. That was very good. Especially because the first card in the discard pile was yellow. She moved three fifty pence coins to the middle of the table. Harry shrugged, and also pushed in three, keeping them separate from hers. Both Belle and her father put in two, and the game began.

Belle had inherited her card playing talent from her father. It was soon apparent that Hermione wasn't even in the running anymore, though she did still have that plus four card. The game stretched on, going through one reshuffling, and finally both Harry and Belle had one card left. Hermione's father had two, and Hermione had five, including her plus four card. She looked at the blue six in front of her with a scowl, then looked through her cards. Four greens: one, five, seven, and reverse, and the plus four. There was only one thing for her to do. She delicately put the plus four card on the pile and said, "Green."

No one raised the jackpot, which contained a sizable number of coins. Belle groaned, and drew the required cards. Harry too drew. Her father grinned, and put down a green stop. "Uno," he said triumphantly. Harry drew. Belle drew. Her father drew. Hermione grinned and put down the reverse. Her father drew. Belle drew. Harry drew. Hermione put down the one. She only had two cards left. Could she? She held her breath as her father drew. Harry drew. Belle put down a green zero. Hermione placed her five.

"Uno," she said quietly. Her father groaned, looked despairingly at his cards, and drew. Harry played. Belle hesitated, then with a grin, selected a card. Hermione held her breath. She saw the flash of red, and sighed. Then she blinked. Seven? She grinned gleefully and dropped her green seven on top of the red one. She leaned back in her chair. "Who's champion now?" she asked. Belle grimaced, and Harry grinned. Her father pushed the pence towards her. She arranged them in neat stacks of five coins each, remarking how much money she had just accumulated. Some people had placed fairly hefty bets.

They continued to play for the next two hours. Hermione, not trusting her luck, bet sparingly, and only won one more game. The others were about evenly divided between Harry, Belle, and her father. Finally, as Harry collected an especially sizable pile of coins, her father pushed his chair away from the table. "Entertaining as this is," he said, "your mother will flay us if we don't move off her table. Harry, feel free to keep the money. I can give you bills for it, if you want."

Harry started to object, but her father waved the objections away. "If I hadn't intended to let you keep the money, I'd have told you at the beginning of the game." He counted Harry's coins, then reached into his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. He counted out the equivalent number, and passed them to Harry. He scooped up Harry's change and dropped it into the jar. Then he gave each of the girls their bills, and scraped all the coins into the jar, which he closed and set back on the shelf. Belle collected the cards and stretched the rubber band back over the deck, which she put into her pocket. She carefully took his bills, counted them, and ran off to put them in her piggy bank. Hermione pulled out her wallet and placed the notes into it, counting them as well. She was impressed. Her first win had substantially increased her winnings, and her subsequent prudence had allowed her to keep the wealth.

"Are you finished gambling?" her mother asked as they cleared up.

Hermione glanced at the stove and saw that her mother had been busy. She grabbed a handful of silverware and plates, and began to set the table. Harry looked awkward. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked finally.

Hermione's mother laughed. "Just sit tight Harry," she said. "It won't take Diana long."

As predicted, it didn't take Hermione long to set the table. She'd finished by the time Belle returned, and she took her place on the right side. She gestured for Harry to sit next to her, which he did, and Belle slipped into her own spot across the table. Her father sat down on his end, and her mother brought the meal over. She served the mashed potatoes and meatloaf, then sat down herself. Harry, ever polite, waited for everyone else to begin before he started himself. Then, he complimented Hermione's mother on her cooking, and Hermione's father on his card playing skills. Hermione could tell that both of her parents liked him already, and she was glad. It would make the trip much easier.

"So Harry," her father said, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Am I going to assume that the boy we met leaving your aunt and uncle's house was your cousin?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. That was Dudley."

"He seems to have a fairly defined personality," her mother ventured.

Harry laughed a little bitterly. "He hates me. I suppose you could consider that fairly defined."

"Why does he dislike you?" her father asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it's just who he is. As far as I can tell, he doesn't really have any friends at his school either."

"Where does he go to school?"

"Smeltings."

Her father grimaced. "I've always disapproved of that place," he said. "I don't believe in encouraging boys to become self-centered and cruel."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Hermione, seeing that he was uncomfortable with the topic, changed the conversation to the current political situation. Harry had very definite opinions, and he was able to join in well with the other four. He possessed a talent for interesting conversation, and he and her father soon found themselves engaged in an intense discussion that would have been classified as an argument if they hadn't both been so painstakingly polite about it.

When the meal was finished, Harry insisted on helping Hermione clear the table, and the chore was done in record time. Harry and Hermione retreated to her room, while Belle closeted herself in her own lair once more. Hermione heard the music come on again, and rolled her eyes. "She's obsessed with music," she explained. "It's gotten to the point where she can't do any work without it. The only thing she can't do while singing along to her music is play cards."

"Well, she's pretty good at it," Harry said.

"So are you," Hermione told him. "You sure you didn't cast a good luck charm on yourself?"

He shook his head. "Just normal luck," he said. "And newly acquired skill, of course."

"Uno doesn't take much skill," she countered. "You just have to hope that you draw the right cards."

"And know which ones to play when," he said. "Like with your change color card at the beginning. If you'd used it earlier, instead of drawing cards, you'd probably have lost."

She shrugged, conceding that he had a point. He looked around her room in interest, really seeing it for the first time. Hermione wished that it were a bit tidier. She'd packed her suitcase two days before, but there was still stuff strewn around the room a bit haphazardly. It wasn't as bad as his own room had been, though, so she hoped that he wouldn't make too much of an issue about it.

He didn't mention the mess, only grinned slightly. "No place like home, is there?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It's all mine, if that's what you mean." She walked over to her bookshelf and looked at the collection. She had added several wizarding tomes along with her muggle ones, but these were carefully covered by stretchy book covers and pushed towards the back. The visible books were all muggle classics, both fiction and non. She'd acquired a taste for Jane Austin lately, and her collection was towards the front on the fourth shelf down. All her other series and authors were arranged in order of relative importance, which no one but her could figure out. She'd tried to explain it to her mother, but she never understood, and both of them got frustrated enough that Hermione's mother had promised not to shelve any more of her daughter's books, leaving them on a pile on Hermione's desk for Hermione herself to deal with when she came home.

Harry glanced at her bookshelf, then grinned crookedly. "Is there anything on there that you haven't read?"

Hermione scanned the titles, then shook her head.

"And how many books are you bringing on the trip?"

Hermione looked at the holes in her shelf, then said, "About five."

He laughed. "Hermione, we're supposed to be looking at monuments and cities, remember?"

She shrugged. "I can multitask," she assured him.

He grinned at her. "I know that," he said. "But do your parents?"

Hermione grimaced. "No," she said. Her tone appeared to say it all, because he didn't continue.

Instead, he looked around her room. "I suppose I should probably read my mail, shouldn't I?"

"Undoubtedly," she agreed. He grimaced, but stood.

"I'll see if I can borrow your dad's car keys," he said. She nodded, already immersed in the delicate business of choosing which book she would devote herself to that afternoon.

Having obtained the car keys from Hermione's father, Harry opened the pocket of his suitcase and pulled out the stack of parchment that was all the letters that he'd ignored for the last two weeks. He gave the keys back, and walked slowly back to the guest room, trying to work up the courage to actually read them. When he finally arrived, he closed and locked the door, and pulled the curtains closed. The electric light bulb provided all the light that he needed, and he didn't want anyone spying on him. Finally, unable to think of a reason to put it off farther, he sat down on the bed and chose one at random. It was from Ron.

Hi Harry,

Why haven't you answered? Mum says that we shouldn't bother you, but I thought you should know that we're all really worried, mate. I mean, that was harsh, what happened, and I hope you realize that we'll always be there for you.

Your friend,

Ron

Harry set it aside, knowing that there were several more like it. He had eventually written to Ron, but apparently after this particular letter. He picked another one. The signature declared it to be from Professor Lupin. It told him that Professor Lupin was back with the werewolves, but that he was worried about Harry and wanted him to know that there were people that he could talk to. Harry discarded that one as well. He passed over several more from Ron and Hermione, knowing that they all said basically the same thing. There was one from Professor McGonagall naming him Quidditch captain, and one from Gringotts with his annual bank statement. Fred and George had written him with a business proposition, and he scrawled a reply on the back of their note. It vanished the moment he'd finished, and he could only assume that they'd placed some kind of charm on it. He hoped that it went to their office, or their apartment, or wherever it was that they were staying. It would be a bit embarrassing to have it appear in the middle of somewhere completely unknown, possibly even full of muggles. He would be recognized and written about, and he could do with a summer where he didn't make headlines.

He looked at the scarlet Quidditch badge for a moment, watching as the animated figure flew on endlessly without going anywhere, then reached into his suitcase and slipped it into a side pocket. The last letter he picked up was from, of all people, Ginny. He unrolled it curiously, bending forward a bit to read better.

Dear Harry,

Ron told me that you haven't been answering his mail. I decided that I should try and write to you. Even if you don't write to me, please answer Ron. He's more worried than he lets on. Of course, we're all worried.

But I'm sure that you're tired of hearing that. Actually, I started this letter intending to cheer you up. I guess I haven't done a very good job so far. So, what to say? I think that mum cooks even more when she's upset. She's been baking nonstop since all of us got back from the Ministry. I swear, we've got enough goodies to last us until next Christmas, at least! Though, considering that Ron lives with us, we'll be lucky to have any left by the time we go back to school.

What else? Everything's been as calm as can be expected. People keep popping into our house and talking with mum and dad, but they won't tell any of us what's up. I think that Fred and George know more than they're telling me, but that doesn't do me any good, now does it? I can only hope that they're telling you more than they're telling me. I think I'll go mad if I have to spend too much longer in the dark like this.

Do you like the green ink? Mum gave it to me for my birthday, and I decided to try it out. Fitting, don't you think? Or maybe I'm just being sentimental and writing to you in ink the color of your eyes. You can decide.

Mum says to invite you to our house whenever you want to come. Actually, what she said was, 'Tell him to come as soon as he can't stand those Muggles anymore.' I don't think she approves of your family. But I'm going to add my words to hers and say: Please do come. They might talk more with you here, and then you can tell me. At least, you'd better! If you play a Fred and George on me and refuse to talk, I'll put a bat-bogey hex on you, I promise!

Now, this is long enough and I want to send this tonight.

Hope to hear from you and (hopefully) see you soon.

Ginny.

Harry put the letter down with a sigh. The date told him that she'd only written it a few days before Ron's Howler. Maybe there was still time to answer her before she gave up on him. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a piece of parchment, smoothing it out as best he could. When it was as repaired as was possible without the application of magic, he uncorked his inkbottle and dipped his quill into it, debating how to answer her. She deserved a proper answer, after all, and he didn't quite know what to tell her.

Dear Ginny,

I'm sorry for not writing to you until now. As I'm sure you've guessed, I've been a bit…preoccupied lately. I did write to Ron, as I'm sure you noticed, and I'm now staying with Hermione and her family. They've promised to take me to America for a month, so I should have plenty of distractions. Hopefully it'll work better than just moping around and feeling sorry for myself.

I know the feeling of being left out. I doubt that I'll be much help in finding anything out, seeing as I'm going to be out of the country for a while, but I will pass on anything I learn to you. You're old enough to know what's going on. Tell Fred and George that they'd better tell you what they know, or I'll pull funding and they'll have to find a new backer. (Don't tell your mother I said that.)

I love the ink, though you're right, it is a bit sentimental. Still, I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. At least, not in small quantities.

I'd love to come to the Burrow. Hopefully that can be arranged in America. As I said, we'll be spending about a month there, and I've yet to figure out how we can communicate. Does the floo network work across the ocean? Maybe the owls can hitch a ride on muggle airplanes. (I'll explain it to you later. Maybe your dad knows.)

My letters aren't long like yours, and I can't think of anything else to say.

Harry.

He reread his letter one last time. He liked Ginny, and he didn't want to worry her. On the other hand, he knew her well enough to realize that she wouldn't be happy with anything other than the truth. This seemed an appropriate mix of truth and reassurance, as well as a ready-made excuse for not writing any time soon. Not even Ginny could fault him for not writing when he couldn't post the letters!

He opened Hedwig's cage and looked at her. He knew that he wouldn't be able to take her with him, and he doubted that the Grangers would appreciate him leaving her here all summer. Writing to Ginny offered the ideal solution, of course, but he wondered if she would agree. There were times when she could be more than a little contrary.

"You know that you can't come with me, right?" he asked her.

She blinked solemnly at him.

"This letter is for Ginny. Stay at the Burrow until I come back, all right?"

She nodded once, then stuck out her leg for the letter. Harry lingered a moment as he tied it on. It seemed like a final parting, and he wanted to delay it as long as possible. Suddenly, she leaned down and pecked him hard on the top of the head.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, his hand flying to the spot. It came away sticky, and he glared at her. "Ungrateful wretch," he muttered resentfully. "Off you go!" He let go of her and she took off, flapping majestically out the open window and vanishing into the smog of afternoon London. He reached gingerly up to where she'd attacked him, trying to gauge the damage. The blood was slowing and the damage didn't seem to be particularly long lasting. Still, the attack had completely quelled all the desperately lonely feelings that Harry had been having.

Still grumbling obscenities, he cleaned up his mail and shoved it into the bottom of his suitcase. He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Five o'clock. It was probably almost time for dinner. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door. Belle stuck her head into the room. "Food," she informed him. "Mum says to come up."

"Be right there," Harry promised. He stood and pulled open the blinds, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to stream into the room. He blinked a little owlishly in the newly bright light, then hurried out of the room, stopping in the bathroom to wash his hands and make sure that there was no blood anywhere visible on him before pounding up the stairs and sitting down at the table at the same place he had at noon. They ate in silence for a while, with the only sounds being muted requests to pass dishes or spices. Harry relished the food. It wasn't that Aunt Petunia was a bad cook –on the contrary, when she actually made an effort, she could rival the Hogwarts House Elves– but everything that she cooked seemed to taste slightly sour to Harry. He supposed that it was the general aura of the house.

Finally, as Mr. Granger and Belle were reaching for seconds, Hermione said, "We get to leave at dawn tomorrow."

Harry winced. Dawn in July was far too early.

"Not quite at dawn," Mrs. Granger corrected. "But fairly early."

"How early exactly?" Harry queried, hoping for something even halfway reasonable.

"The plane takes off at eight, which means we have to be there by six, which means leaving here by five, which basically means getting up around four fifteen," Mr. Granger told him, passing the breadbasket to his wife.

So much for reasonable. "When does the sun rise, exactly?" Harry asked. If it was up before four-fifteen, then it was crazier than he was.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know exactly, but I would imagine that it would be up by then."

"You have to feel sorry for all the old sun Gods," Belle commented. "They really don't get much rest this time of year."

Mr. Granger nodded. "But they're Gods, so one can only assume that their infinite lifetimes of practice have gotten them used to it."

Mrs. Granger winced. "Trust me," she said. "You never get used to waking up early no matter how long you do it."

Hermione nodded. "Very true," she agreed.

"Nonsense!" Mr. Granger scoffed. "The human body can get used to anything, given sufficient expose to it."

"But the mind can't," Belle muttered under her breath. She pushed her plate away. "May I be excused now?"

Mrs. Granger nodded, and Belle deposited her dishes in the sink before exiting the room. Hermione followed suit, and Harry copied her, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Granger for the meal.

"We've got some movies, if you're interested," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "Anything good?" he asked.

"Come see."

He followed her into the den and dropped down in front of the TV cabinet. He'd heard of most of the movies that they had, and had even managed to see a few of them. He held up one that he'd never seen before: an old musical called On the Town. Hermione popped it into the VCR, and the two of them retired to the battered couch to watch and gossip some more.