Chapter 1 - The Flying Lesson
The sun shone warmly on the streets of Little Whinging, and the wind brushed happily through the trees. Birds chirped in pleasant conversation, and the distant laughter of children brightened an already beautiful day. The weather seemed to beckon everyone out of their homes, and the park bustled with activity. On a noticeably deserted swing, sat that unusual boy the neighborhood had come to avoid. The messy-haired boy with the lightning bolt scar on his head sat swinging alone, staring blankly into the distance, lost in thought.
Harry didn't seem to mind the lack of activity around him. He'd grown used to being alone and frankly found it much easier to contemplate the things weighing so heavily on him lately. Harry sat on the swing with one picture after another floating through his mind, one disjointed sentence following the next. He thought about Sirius, the conversation he had with Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents, Sirius, the D.A., Ron, and Hermione. It had only been two weeks, but it might have been two months. Harry had never been more alone. Even the Dursleys had taken far greater leave of him since their reunion at King's Cross. After their encounter with the Order, Dudley had reduced himself to mere whimpers and squeaks anytime Harry was within shouting distance of him. Uncle Vernon merely spoke at him, telling him how much better his holiday was this year than in years past. Harry knew Vernon intended him to write these very words in the owls he sent to the Order every two or three days. It wasn't as if Harry obliged Uncles Vernon's attempts. The little solace he found resided firmly in making Vernon wonder if Harry quietly begged for the cavalry when he wrote to the likes of Mad Eye Moody and Remus Lupin.
He thought about Dumbledore's explanation of why he had to return here every summer. He knew he had to make his home with Aunt Petunia and her family, though he really wondered if he'd ever feel like he had a "home" or not. He was unsure what "home" was supposed to feel like, but felt rather confident the impeccable Dursley residence was a substandard approximation.
"Home," Harry harrumphed as he suddenly found himself staring at number 4 Privet Drive. Somewhere in his musings, he had left the park and walked back to the Dursleys without even noticing that he had moved.
Harry walked into the house and rejoiced in the silence. Uncle Vernon was at work, no doubt bellowing orders to dozens of underpaid workers. Dudley was unmistakably searching for the next 10 year-old victim of his latest boxing moves. Harry walked up the stairs to his room. The door opened with a familiar squeak, and for a moment, he had to refocus his eyes to ensure they were working properly. On his bed sat Aunt Petunia. Her face carried such a familiar expression. She looked, for only the second time in Harry's memory, human. He understood the emotion behind her expression. It was sadness, a deep and seemingly incurable sadness.
In a flash, it was gone.
Petunia seemed to realize her expression the second Harry had glimpsed it, and it was quickly replaced by something more recognizable. She leaped up from the bed and the familiar pursed lips and furrowed brow returned to her face.
"Harry! We have opened our home to you for years. Will there ever be a moment when you decide to keep it clean?" Aunt Petunia roared. "It simply doesn't fit with the rest of our home. "It's disgraceful!" she added.
"It's nice to know that my room and I have something in common then, right?" Harry said coolly. Aunt Petunia dropped a few of his rumpled clothes back to their places. She threw the burgundy sweater Ms. Weasley knitted last Christmas back down on the bed where she had been sitting and stormed from the room. Just before slamming the door, she decided to make a point of her exit.
"You will clean up this mess, or you will have no supper!" Aunt Petunia barked as she slammed the door behind her.
Last summer, anger would have pulsed in every vein of his body, not now. He just didn't care. He flopped onto the bed, still strewn with his clothes, and stared at the ceiling. He had spent last summer so angry, and in many respects, it was better then. At least he could feel something. As it was now, he couldn't feel at all. He was numb, and had existed in that state since his return "home." His thoughts began to drift to their familiar place, the same thoughts he never seemed to keep far from his mind. He had no idea how long he'd lain there when a tapping came at his window.
Pigwidgeon was fluttering about the window, slamming his beak into it regularly as if forgetting the glass was there. Hedwig gave a exasperated click of her beak as Harry opened the window and Pigwidgeon darted into the room. After calming him a bit, Harry removed the letter attached to Pig's leg and unrolled it.
Hi Harry!
Mum spoke with Dumbledore last night and he reckons you've had about enough of the Dursleys as you can stand. Pack your trunk, because you get picked up tomorrow! See you then!
Ron
A weak smile graced Harry's face and he decided to join the Dursleys for dinner.
"You better have cleaned up that awful room Potter!" yelled Uncle Vernon.
"It will be squeaky clean in the morning," Harry retorted. "I'll be leaving for the Weasleys."
The silence in the room was palpable. Dudley had even stopped chewing, a feat on its own, and Vernon and Petunia merely stared at him. Uncle Vernon no doubt was pondering the last meeting he had with the Weasleys. The last time Harry had been picked up by the Weasleys, they had attempted to come by means of floo powder and blew half the living room wall away when they found themselves blocked behind the boarded up fireplace. Petunia's face held a different expression. Harry couldn't decide if it was concern, confusion, or just plain stupidity. He quickly ruled out the first two and turned his attention to the meager portion of beef stew Petunia had absent-mindedly ladled onto his plate.
Dinner progressed without much meaningful conversation, and before long, Harry returned to his room and dropped onto the bed. At least he had something to look forward to, and for the first time in two weeks, fell asleep with a smile.
***
His dreams seemed to mirror his conscious thoughts, with endless faces and memories streaming before him. Ron, the D.A., Hermione falling helplessly to the floor, tears falling down Dumbledore's face, and Sirius. He watched Sirius fall through the veil again and again. Each time, it seemed more real. Harry moved closer and closer each time he watched. He found himself staring at the veil, just a few feet away; he could almost feel it. He dared to press his face closer if only to glimpse the other side. He could feel the veil. Then, a terrifying thought entered his mind. This was no dream. It had the same familiar realism as the times in which Voldemort had entered his thoughts. Harry jerked awake and instantly realized it was not Voldemort at all. He had forgotten to close the window after letting in Pigwidgeon, and the dusty sheer curtains that adorned the window were blowing across his face while he slept.
Feeling utterly ridiculous for having succumbed to his fear again, he stared out of the open window realizing the sun had risen and it was sometime along in the morning. He cleared the dream from his mind and decided to pack for the Burrow.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang, and for one fleeting moment, he thought his rescue had arrived. However, the familiar thundering of Dudley's feet to the door and Vernon's chipper tone of voice assured Harry a witch or wizard could not be within 50 kilometers of the house. Harry continued to pack his things by throwing them unscrupulously into his trunk. He picked up his red burgundy sweater and stood motionless in place.
Petunia's expression returned to him. The look of sadness, grief, and loss he had glimpsed only for a moment returned in full force. Could this be what Petunia was doing? Under the sweater lay the photo album Hagrid had created for Harry. It was lying open to familiar page Harry had glanced again and again.
He had always imagined that this particular photo of his mother was taken by his dad. She was flittering around in the framed opening, waving and flipping her hair. Her wide eyes beamed out at Harry as she blew a kiss to the camera. Had Aunt Petunia been sneaking a glance at her sister? The moving pictures drew Harry's glance across the page where Ron and Hermione stood smiling at him. He could almost hear Hermione's voice.
"Harry?"
It seemed so real that he was reminded of his task and returned to packing so he would be ready to leave the moment the Weasleys arrived.
"Harry," Hermione's voice sounded again. Harry spun around to see his best friend standing in his bedroom doorway.
"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, stunned, and a wide smile broke across his face. Any temerity in Hermione's voice faded with the wideness of Harry's smile, and she crossed the small room with her arms wide. She greeted him with a familiar peck on the cheek and a warm hug. It was a connection Harry had not felt with another human being seemingly in ages.
They stepped back from each other and began speaking excitedly at the same time.
"You first," Harry conceded.
"How are you doing?" Hermione asked with obvious concern.
"I'm fine," Harry lied. "How are you doing? Are you feeling better?" Harry asked, knowing full well she had recovered from her encounter with the Death Eaters before leaving Hogwarts last year.
"I'm fine, thanks," she replied. "Are you all packed?" she asked looking around the room. It was then Harry realized the uniqueness of the situation. Hermione had never been to the Dursleys and Ron obviously wasn't with her.
"What…Where?" He began.
"My parents were bringing me to the Burrow, and Ron told us to stop by and pick you up on the way. He figured the Dursleys wouldn't mind my parents coming to their house." Laughter floated up from the kitchen downstairs.
"Sounds like he was right," Harry grinned. Harry finished stuffing his trunk and ensured he had packed all his belongings. They brought his things downstairs and walked toward the kitchen. Harry's emotions ranged from elated to relieved. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew his beaming eyes to her face, too excited by his impending return to the wizarding world to feel her tense under his grasp. His eyes, however, were not deceived.
"Hermione? What's the matter?" Harry asked as they walked down the hall.
"This house… It's so clean," she said with a perplexed look on her face. This was no surprise to Harry. Aunt Petunia kept the house more like a museum than a residence. He often wondered if her lack of personality simply repelled all the dirt from the house as it was always maintained to this standard, yet he rarely saw Petunia actually cleaning.
"It's always been like this in the parts they live in," Harry said, giving a thought to all the spiders that used to keep him company in the cupboard under the stairs. "I guess some Muggles are just excessively tidy," he sneered.
"Harry, my parents are excessively tidy Muggles, and our house has never been like this," Hermione added with a continued look of concern. "It's practically unnatural," she muttered as they opened the door to the kitchen.
Harry had seen the Grangers, but never really spoken to them. They were engaged in polite, rather forced, conversation about drills at the kitchen table. They noticed the cavalry enter immediately and hopped out of the sterile chairs to greet them both.
"Hermione, dear, are you ready to go? You must be Harry… Hermione talks about you so much I feel like I know you already," said Hermione's mother, pulling him into a warm embrace. He shook hands and smiled at Mr. Granger. Harry couldn't help but notice the perplexed look on Dudley's face. He wrapped a second arm around Hermione's waist, not wanting to lose the opportunity for one last jab at his hopelessly single cousin. In this situation, it made no difference to Harry that Hermione was his best friend and not his girlfriend; what Dudley didn't know he could spend all term thinking about. Harry thought to feel guilty about using Hermione to taunt Dudley, but the wide smile she flashed Harry as she turned her head back to look at his gleaming green eyes was enough to make Harry forget his motives. He watched a look of jealously flash across Dudley's face and went in for the kill.
"I think we're ready to go, don't you?" he asked, maintaining his stare at Dudley. The expression passing across Dudley's face could've passed for indignation or constipation, given his eating habits; Harry chose not to continue thinking about that one, flashed a bright smile and turned with Hermione toward the door.
***
The ride to the Burrow passed quickly. Harry didn't even mind the incessant conversation about the impeding O.W.L. results. Harry's theory that this had been Hermione's only topic of conversation for the last two weeks seemed to be confirmed, judging by the polite agreements and sniggering from her parents. Harry only half listened to her musings about Hogwarts' lack of consideration for those eagerly awaiting their scores. He stroked Crookshanks, purring loudly in his lap, and noticed the glints of sunlight falling across Hermione's hair.
"I said don't you agree, Harry!" Hermione reiterated indignantly.
"Oh, yeah, definitely," Harry added, having only realized he had been staring at Hermione for at least five minutes not hearing a word she had said. He felt his cheeks grow warm and suddenly found the trees passing by his window incredibly interesting. He also noticed Hermione had not continued in conversation. He could feel her staring at him. Her father broke the silence just as Harry felt his ears turn as red as Ron's hair.
"We're here!" Mr. Granger said brightly. Harry peered out of the window to see the entire Weasley clan, minus Percy, waiting on the front lawn. As they opened the car door, Harry was greeted by Mrs. Weasley's embrace.
'Harry, dear, it's so good to see you!" she beamed and hugged him again. He thanked the Grangers and traversed the lawn to greet Ron and the rest of the family. They spoke, laughed, and clapped each other on the shoulder as Harry turned to see if Hermione was coming along.
He saw her standing with her parents. They both hugged her together, her mother playing with her hair, and her father kissing her on the head. They smiled so contently at their daughter the pride was unmistakable. Hermione's mother had a gleaming tear in her eye as she hugged her one last time and climbed back into their car.
Suddenly, Harry was overcome with the same feeling of emptiness he had wallowed in for two solid weeks. Her parent's warm smiles reminded him so much of the faces he had stared at in the mirror of Erised. They reminded him of the first smile he ever saw cross Sirius' face when he agreed to come live with him. He was suddenly, and sadly, reminded that he was alone.
"Harry," Ron said softly next to him. He always seemed to understand Harry's thoughts and what he truly needed. "There's a least an hour's worth of Quidditch to be played before supper is ready!"
Harry didn't say a word. He dropped his trunk and he and Ron darted into the backyard with Fred and George. Ginny, apparently having thought ahead of them, was already waiting with the balls. Harry felt better than he had in weeks. He loved to fly, and nothing in the world could clear his head or cheer him like a clear day and his Firebolt. They played a rousing game of Quidditch and laughed until they nearly cried. All the while, Hermione was cheering on the players from a comfortable patch of grass below.
As Harry glanced at Hermione's frame lying pleasantly in the grass, he caught a glimpse of the familiar golden flicker and shot toward her in a perfect dive.
"Harry. Harry! Harry!" Hermione screamed as she flattened herself on the grass. Harry flew only inches over her, easily grabbing the snitch from just beyond Crookshanks' reach.
He smiled and hopped off his broom, "Game over, boys!" Harry announced, as he held up the snitch triumphantly.
"Geez, Harry! Do you think we can ever play a game that lasts longer than 10 minutes with you around?" Ron quipped.
"Yeah! If you want to play seeker," Harry joked back. Fred and George took special delight in Harry's comment and flew off heckling their youngest brother.
"Seeker? Heavens! George, can you play a pick-up game of Quidditch at eighty years old?" Fred shouted to his brother.
"Only if Ron plays seeker! That blasted ginger ball of fluff is likely to spot the snitch before ickle ronnikins!" George cackled back.
Hermione giggled quietly at Harry's side.
"You should smile more, Harry. It becomes you," Hermione grinned beside him. "You never seem to have any troubles after you've flown around on that thing for a while," she added looking a bit blushed.
Harry smiled wider and a thought crossed his mind.
"You know, Hermione, I don't ever see you flying," he said.
"Oh…well…I don't ..well, I -- you know…" she stammered. Hermione seemed to be reluctant to try anything she couldn't first master out of a book. Flying wasn't a skill you could learn from words on a page; it was inside you.
"Why don't you give it a go?" Harry said, looking into the sky.
"No. I don't really know how. I mean, Madam Hooch is a good teacher and all, but I just don't really think I…I don't really know how," Hermione fumbled.
"You just haven't had the right teacher," Harry added confidently.
"Well, I don't think Hogwarts will be changing teachers anytime soon Harry," Hermione said.
"I seem to remember not to long ago you thought I would be a good teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts," he added with a wry smile.
Hermione seemed to realize Harry's offer and looked quickly away. She glanced at the Firebolt, and without saying a word, Harry understood her concern. His Firebolt was an international standard racing broom. Aside from the galleons it must've put Sirius back, it was the fastest broom currently on the market. For Harry, this translated into pure unadulterated exhilaration. For Hermione, it likely translated into a lurching stomach.
"Hey, Ron! Come down here for a minute. I need to borrow your Cleansweep," Harry shouted up to Ron who was gliding about.
"My Cleansweep, Harry, are you mental? You've got a Firebolt!" Ron barked incredulously.
"I'm going to teach Hermione to fly, and your broom is…." Harry trailed off. He had walked into that without thinking about it. The last thing he wanted to do was sound like Draco Malfoy bragging about the quality of his broom over Ron's. However, Ron didn't need Harry to finish the sentence. Amazingly, he darted to Harry's side and handed over the broom immediately.
"Well, if you're going to borrow mine, you obviously don't need the Firebolt," Ron added. A huge smile broke across Ron's face as Harry handed him his broom before Ron even finished the sentence.
Ron shot into the air whooping and darting around as the Firebolt carried him at breakneck speed around the house.
"He bears a striking resemblance to Pigwidgeon on that thing," Hermione said, trying to stave off the inevitable.
"Come on," said Harry, handing her Ron's broomstick. The next few minutes passed as Harry tried to explain the finer points of maneuvering a broomstick with Ron screeching about overhead. All the while, Hermione looked entirely uneasy. As she kicked off from the ground Harry could see she was not going to be as successful with these lessons as with the D.A. She fluttered about for a few minutes growing red in the face and Harry beckoned her back to the ground.
"I have an idea," he said. "I think I need to show you how to do this rather than tell you."
"Harry, I've watched you fly for years. What else can I learn by watching you? It's no use; I'm just not meant to be in the air," Hermione said begrudgingly.
"That's not what I meant," he said, climbing onto the Cleansweep behind Hermione. If she blushed before, she surely matched it as Harry wrapped his arms around her and grasped the handle. He kicked off from the ground and they were soon flying around the yard together. He put his hands over Hermione's and gently turned them from one side to another to demonstrate turning. He pulled his hands up and back to show her how to increase and decrease altitude and then let go of her hands all together.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled, seeming to realize they were about thirty feet off the ground.
"You can do it. Just turn it like I showed you," he said confidently. Hermione pulled back on the broomstick and they soared higher. Harry grabbed her around the waist to keep from sliding off the back. "Good job, Hermione!" he shouted over the wind rushing through their hair.
Hermione continued to improve a bit, even withstanding Ron's occasional heckling until a familiar warm voice shouted up from the house.
"Supper's ready, you three! Come down!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. Not having to be told twice, Ron darted for the ground, hopped off the Firebolt, and ran inside. Hermione edged the handle forward and they fell into a dive. Hermione screamed, not realizing what she'd done or how to undo it. Harry grabbed the handle just in time to keep them from spearheading the ground, but with two people on one broom, the landing suffered anyway. He and Hermione skidded on the ground and rolled off the broom, Hermione landing in a patch of flowers at the wood's edge.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled as he rolled over to see where she lay. She was face down in the flowers, but she was moving. Harry ran to her side.
"Hermione are you okay?" She appeared to be crying, and a horribly familiar feeling swept over Harry. His thoughts flashed back to last spring when he refused to heed her warnings and stormed off to the Ministry of Magic. Hermione did not truly want to accompany him then, and her decision to do so nearly ended her life. This was the second time his prodding her into something she was afraid of doing had gotten her hurt.
"Hermione," he said as he gently rolled her onto her back. "Answer me, please." He moved her hands away from her face and received the shock of his life. She was laughing! She was laughing so hard she wasn't making any noise at all! And her delight was infectious. Harry began laughing as well. When she caught her breath, she uttered something else Harry couldn't believe.
"I love you," she said barely catching her breath.
The smile vanished from Harry's face immediately, "What did you say?" Harry asked perplexed.
"I said I love it!" Hermione reiterated, opening her eyes to look upon Harry's face. "What did you think I said?" she added now focusing on his shocked expression.
"Oh, nothing," Harry fumbled. "Um - we better go inside before supper gets cold," he added quickly as he helped Hermione to her feet.
Harry relived the moment in his head and realized she really had said she loved it. How could his brain have twisted it that far? He was lost in thought and embarrassment when her voice interrupted him.
"Harry, what did you think I said?" she asked again.
He could've gone the rest of his life if she just wouldn't have asked that one question. He had no answer, and he surely didn't want to tell her the truth. In fumbling for a smart reply, he saw a look of comprehension cross Hermione's face and she quickly turned her head as her face went red.
Dinner was as awkward as any he'd ever had. The Weasleys chattered and laughed. The house was full of life, but Harry couldn't hear any of it. All he could think about was the last hour. He thought back to the flying lesson and touching Hermione's hand, grabbing her around the waist, seeing her beautiful smile, and hearing that contagious laugh. He forced himself to stop thinking about it. His flopping stomach was making it very hard to eat. He chastised his stomach silently-you're not supposed to get floppy over Hermione! She's your best friend!
He spent the rest of supper participating half-heartedly in the conversation and trying to avoid Hermione's glance. It wasn't too difficult to do; she seemed to be averting her eyes as well. For the first time in weeks, he was flooded with emotions, but what emotions were they? What was he feeling, and more importantly, why was he feeling it? He had been best friends with Hermione for over five years. What changed in the last hour? As he processed this thought, he realized his avoidance of her had stopped and in fact he was staring directly at her. She caught his eyes and they both quickly blushed and found interest in their steak and kidney pie. Harry was lost in his world, but the scene did not pass unnoticed. From the far end of the table, Mrs. Weasley grinned and returned to the potatoes on her plate.
Harry stayed behind after dinner while the Weasleys went back into the garden. He carried some plates in to Mrs. Weasley who was standing alone in the kitchen by the sink.
"Oh, thank you, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, taking the plates from Harry.
"I was hoping we'd get some time alone," she added. "I've been thinking about you a lot this summer Harry," she said as she stopped washing and turned to him. "I don't pretend to know what you've been thinking or feeling since the end of last year," she added, clearly talking about the loss of his godfather without wanting to say the words. "But I do want you to know you're not alone." She took a breath and seemed to muster the courage for her next sentence. "I wasn't lying when I told your godfather you were as good as a son to me. You're part of our family, Harry."
Harry, warmed by her words, managed to squeak out a quiet "thank you" before handing her another plate.
"I just want you to understand that there are people here who love you," Mrs. Weasley smiled.
As he heard her words and felt a presence behind him, he fumbled with the last plate, and it crashed to the floor, breaking into several pieces.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think there was anyone in here," Hermione said in a quiet voice from behind him. Mrs. Weasley looked from Harry to Hermione and back again.
With a smile she responded, "Not to worry, Hermione. Why don't you two go and join the others. I'll finish up here."
Harry heard the faint clinking of porcelain and the sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice saying "reparo!" in the kitchen. As they walked into the living room, realizing darkness had descended; the rest of the Weasley family came in from the garden and took up chairs around the fire. They passed the next several hours talking and laughing. Harry and Hermione became noticeably tense whenever the subject of flying was breached; a point that did not seem to be lost on the Weasley twins.
"Oy! Harry," George barked from across the room. "Getting a bit too big for your britches, eh mate? One season on a Firebolt and you can't land a Cleensweep without making a dent in mum's flowerbed!" he finished smiling.
"I don't know Forge," Fred added with a look of pained concern.
"What's that Gred?" George answered, happily playing along.
"I think our star seeker is slipping."
"Hmmm, you may be correct, dear brother."
"It might, perhaps, be time for a bit of motivation."
"Perhaps a lively tune?"
"Perhaps!" and with that, Fred and George, either having thought this out ahead of time or merely adding credence to the suspicion they, in fact, shared one brain broke into an edited version of "Weasley is our King."
"Potter-soil" we call him,
we all so clearly saw him!
He took Hermione too far up,
And crashed into the buttercups!
That is why we loudly sing,
Potter-soil's our King!
With that, Hermione decided she'd had enough small talk and discreetly retired to Ginny's bedroom as the Weasley family laughed hysterically and swept the tears from their eyes. A while later, Harry, having finally relaxed in Hermione's absence, decided similarly and went to Ron's room at the top of the stairs. As he passed the floor where Ginny's room was located, he stole just a moment to glance down the hall.
The door was cracked open and he could see the candlelight on Hermione's hair as she brushed it in front of the mirror. Then she turned, with the wisp of her robe trailing out of sight of the door, the candle was extinguished. She had gone to bed. Harry realized he'd been standing longer than he intended and quickly made his way to Ron's room.
He slumped on the bed, head in his hands, trying to make sense of the day. He had no idea when he actually fell asleep. However, the constant flopping of his stomach kept him from truly getting any rest. For the first time in weeks his dreams seemed to be more directed. The flying lesson played over and over in his mind. He opened his eyes and saw the familiar outline of Ron - snoring on the bed beside his. He realized it must be the middle of the night. He quietly crept from the room to get a glass of water from the kitchen.
As he descended the stairs, he had one desperate wish. He wished he could talk to Sirius; he needed advice about girls now more than ever! He was shocked to see who was seemingly waiting for him in the kitchen.
"Mrs. Weasley?" he asked quietly.
"Can't sleep, can you Harry?" she said smiling.
"I just came to get some water," Harry replied. "What are you doing up this late?"
"I don't sleep well either these days," she replied. Harry realized she was clutching the sweater Percy sent back last Christmas unopened. She looked down at the sweater and understood the comprehension that crossed Harry's face.
"It's funny how things work out sometimes, isn't it?" she said with a strange glint in her eye. Harry had the feeling she might have been talking about more than just Percy. Her next statement confirmed his suspicion. "Ron sure did enjoy the ride on your Firebolt, the way he carried on about it all night," she smiled and seemed to catch his stare a second longer than normal.
"Well, I think I've sat here long enough. My back will never forgive me. I think I'll try and get some sleep," she sighed, standing up. As she crossed the room she put her hand on his shoulder and looked lovingly into his striking emerald eyes and added, "I know I can't replace what you've lost, Harry, but I am a wonderful listener, and conveniently have been a girl all my life." She gave him a short squeeze and disappeared up the stairs.
Harry slumped in the chair she vacated and became lost in thought. He missed Sirius terribly. Not a day went by he didn't think about him or his parents. Over the last several weeks, he was drowning in a world of finality, in what seemed to be the end of everything. But for the first time since then, as he sat in this loving and welcoming home, new thoughts crossed his mind.
He needed someone to help him decipher what happened that day. Could he talk to Ms. Weasley the way he wanted to talk to Sirius? Could he open his heart to her and allow himself to be loved by another adult the way only a mother can? He loved Ms. Weasley dearly, but something in him hesitated. He still didn't feel ready to allow himself to be cared for that way. For all the growth he had made since receiving his Hogwarts letter, it was quite difficult to erase eleven years of perpetual belittlement at the hands of his family.
His mind flashed through a thousand pictures of Hermione throughout their years at Hogwarts. Today, he felt emotions he'd never felt in his life. Obviously, Mrs. Weasley had seen it, but did Hermione? What if she figured out what he'd been musing about all evening? Would that be so bad? He no longer felt the all-consuming emptiness that had plagued him for weeks. Something was different.
Since the flying lesson that afternoon, he'd not thought once of the incessant memories that haunted him all summer. All he thought of was her. He didn't think of her incessant nagging over his unfinished homework. He didn't think of her unremitting verbal altercations with Ron. He didn't think of her obsession with the political and social rights of perfectly happy house elves. He thought of the highlights in her hair. He thought of the way her faint perfume enveloped him as they flew. He thought of her rich mocha eyes laced with strands of gold radiating from her pupils. He thought of everything differently than he had all summer.
He realized in that moment, that for whatever he was thinking, and why he was thinking it, that the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts was not the end of his life. This revelation was especially meaningful given the prophesy that seemed attached to his scar. It might very well be the beginning. As a quiet smile came to his face, he fell into a peaceful sleep in Ms. Weasley's tattered wingback chair.