5 February 1993

"There you are."

Hermione looked up. Harry, his untidy hair windswept from Quidditch practice, stood 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 pulled back the chair opposite hers and slipped into it.

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

Hermione held up her scroll of parchment. "Lockhart's assignment."

A familiar look of disgust crossed Harry's face. "I don't see how drawing a picture of Lockhart taking down a troll is going to protect us from the Dark Arts."

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

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

"That's enough," Hermione snapped, throwing Harry a sharp look. He just grinned back at her. While Harry's study habits were slightly better than Ron's, they still left a lot to be desired, in Hermione's opinion—particularly where homework was concerned. True, even Hermione had to admit that she hadn't really understood the logic behind several of Professor Lockhart's recent assignments—but then, she reminded herself that her sentiments 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 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 be shut up in the library 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 be cross with you just now. It's just…" She bit her lip. "I…I didn't have a lot of friends before Hogwarts. Books were…pretty much everything."

Swallowing, 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 in a dull voice. "But hiding behind books wouldn't have worked for me. My cousin would've found me anyway."

Hermione blinked, 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 own nephew so dreadfully. To be quite honest, neither could Hermione.

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

Harry looked at her, frowning in a confused way. "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 smirked a little. "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 grinned. "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. "Aunt Petunia was furious with me. She made me stay in my cup—I mean, room…all the way through dinner."

Hermione gasped loudly and dropped her quill. "What?" she hissed. "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 small smirk. "At least I didn't turn into a cat and spend the rest of the holiday in the Hospital Wing."

Hermione let out a splutter, 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—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 looked relieved; he blew out a breath. "You just…you're Hermione. You're…the closest thing to a—sister I've got, I suppose," he said awkwardly. He paused, frowning, then added, "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 moments, the only sounds that could be heard at the table were the scratches of Hermione's quill against her parchment and the rustling of Harry's robes as he shook his leg absentmindedly.

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

"What are you—?"

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

Before Hermione could appropriately react, Harry had reached forward and pulled the drawing away from her. Taking a quill from her pencil case, he bent over the drawing. A few moments later, he straightened, looking very satisfied with himself; he pushed the scroll of parchment back across the table toward her. "There. Much better."

Hermione looked at the drawing. Lockhart now had a longer nose and freckles sprinkled across his face—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, already 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