Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and I take no credit for her work. Excerpts from her books are included periodically to keep this fanfic somewhat close to canon. I own nothing.

Hermione sat in the passenger's seat of her father's car. Waterdrops trickled down the window. It was nearing the end of summer and the weather reflected that. While Hermione's heart longed to spend all day everyday lounging by the pool, she really missed her boys. Harry and Ron were awful pen pals. She sent them letters detailing how her summer had gone and she expected the same in return. Harry's responses were understandably short. As far as she could tell, his aunt and uncle were still being less than pleasant. However, Ron was raised in a wizarding household where owl delivered letters were the norm. There was no reason for him to ignore her letters and only respond by trying to play hangman with her.

Hermione's eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched vehicles before her swerve. A large black dog attempted to weave through the traffic, narrowly evading the cars. Horns were blaring as drivers yelled at the dog to get out of the road. The van in front of them came to a stop and honked at the cowering dog.

Her father heaved a sigh. "That poor dog. Look at him, Mione. He's nothing but fur and bones."

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed. "I have to help him, Dad."

"Sweetheart, it's rush hour," he tried to reason.

"I have to help him," she repeated, adrenaline and anger filling her.

Hermione swung the passenger door open and hopped out of her seat. Her sandals made loud "FLOP"s in the rain puddles as she ran to the dog. His head was bowed and his tail was between his legs. His hunched over body displayed the skin that appeared strained against his protruding spine. He stumbled forward and collapsed.

The van honked. "Oh, why don't you shut up?" Hermione shouted at the driver.

Hermione stopped two feet from the dog and crouched down, her hand outreached in front of her.

"Come here, love. I won't hurt you," she softly cooed. Her fingers brushed off her hair that stuck to her forehead. The large black mass raised its head to her. His piercing grey eyes met her brown ones. Hermione saw the pain behind them. She had a feeling that he had been on the run for a while.

"I'll take care of you. I'll protect you."

The dog never broke eye contact with her as he limped to her. Hermione quickly accessed his health. His toenails were overgrown and curved. His long, black fur was matted at the ends, and frankly he smelled like…well…shit.

"Good boy," she told him as he fell into her arms.

Hermione closed her arms around him and lifted him up with a loud grunt. In the embrace she felt all of his ribs. His heart was hammering under her palm. Amidst the sound of traffic, she carried him to the back to her car and into the backseat. His body weight didn't even cause the leather to deepen. Hermione shut the door and resumed her place in the passenger seat. She heaved a sigh as she pulled her wet locks into a bun. Her father simply put the car in drive and continued with the flow of traffic.

He broke the silence, "Yes."

"What?"

"Yes. We can keep him," he answered her unspoken question.

Hermione gazed up at her father, his image distorted through the tears that welled in her eyes.

"Hermione," her father began, "when have I ever told you "no"?"

She gave him a watery smile and reached behind her to pet her dog.

"You're so handsome. Yes, you are. You're going to look like a new pup after I'm done with you."

Padfoot sighed, causing bubbles to blow into the air.

"I don't have any dog shampoo, but this shampoo is natural so hopefully it doesn't mess with your pH balance too much. Even if it did, I'm not sure that you would care. You seem pretty content."

The dog's head rested on the edge of the bath. His eyes closed and his breathing was low and relaxed. The aroma of lavender and chamomile wafted in the air. Padfoot hadn't felt warmth like this in years. The heat radiated through his bones and into his soul. He focused on the girl's soapy fingers that massaged into his fur, working out tension and dirt. Hermione wondered when the last time he had bathed was. Judging by the drastic color change in the water, she'd imagine he hadn't been taken care of in years or even at all. It broke her heart that someone could neglect an animal to this degree, especially a dog as sweet as him.

"We're going to have to figure out a name for you," Hermione told him, rambling as she rinsed him. She did a lot of talking, Padfoot noted. The girl never seemed to shut up. She had confided to him how lonely being an only child was, how much she loved animals, and how she was excited to finally have a pet. Padfoot wasn't quite sure what he has gotten himself into, but he was appreciative that she had found him. If it hadn't been for her, he was certain that a Muggle would have ran him over.

"Are you ready to get out soon? It's almost been an hour." Padfoot gave no sign that he heard her. "Don't you want food?" His ears perked up. He stood with newfound energy, hopped out of the tub, and shook himself. Water droplets flew everywhere, soaking Hermione. She threw her head back and laughed, her eyes sparkling. She dried him with her favorite towel before leading him to her bedroom.

"I'll be right back with your dinner."

Padfoot wasn't thrilled to eat dog food. He had eaten it before (on a dare, mind you) and it wasn't all that great. However, his stomach was clenched so tightly that he would have eaten his own tail at the moment if he could have reached it (he had also tried that on a different dare.)

Nothing could have prepared Padfoot for what Hermione had placed before him.

"My mom read somewhere that bland chicken and rice were good for dogs with upset stomachs. There are some soft carrots, too," she smiled at him and sat on the floor beside him. Padfoot looked at the food on a paper plate before him, and then cocking his head at her. I've hit the jackpot, he thought, and promptly began licking her face with ferocity.

Hermione threw her hands up in a futile defense. "Stop it! You're welcome! You're welcome! Down!" She squealed in between giggles.

Padfoot finally stopped when he remembered the food. He had never experienced Thanksgiving before. It was Muggle and American, so his knowledge of it was little to none, but he imagined that the plate before him could have been basically the same thing.

Padfoot devoured the chicken, ignoring all words of caution from the curly-haired teen. She pet him as he ate, admiring his long black fur. All too soon the food was gone. Padfoot turned his attention to the bowl of water. If someone had merely been eavesdropping on him, they would have assumed that a horse was drinking because of how loud he was. Finally satiated with water and drool dripping from his mouth, he turned back to the girl and threw himself in her lap. She leaned away for him for a moment and before Padfoot knew it, she was blow-drying his fur. I'm in the lap of luxury!