Harry Potter and the Avatars of Atlantis

Harry Potter and the Avatars of Atlantis

Chapter One: Hermione Potter

It was Harry Potter’s wedding day.

As Harry tugged self-consciously on his dark black dress robes, he ran a nervous hand through his forever mussed-up hair. He blinked a bit, and put a finger in the corner of his right eye next to his nose; careful not to knock his glasses off or poke the white (or worse, the pupil) in his stark green eye.

His best man, Ronald Weasley, was at his arm, cracking some sort of joke to try and lighten the mood. Ron, standing a full six foot four (Harry had barely managed to reach six one), looked at Harry with a sort of chuckle.

“Wasn’t funny Harry?”

The Boy Who Lived simply nodded. He had no idea whatsoever what Ron had just said...and frankly he didn’t really care. “Hilarious Ron,” he muttered, sneaking a glance at where his fiancée would soon appear, in those wonder silk white wedding robes...

Harry’s skin tingled at the very thought. As a child, and even during his stay at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had rarely ever given a thought to the possibility that someday, somehow, he might be married to some witch, with the intent of spending the rest of his life with her.

The wedding was taking place in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The enchanted ceiling above showed a crisp, sunny August afternoon. If Harry closed his eyes and ignored the din of people talking and whispering (and in the case of Mrs. Molly Weasley, already crying) he might imagine that he was standing in a meadow with a slight, but feeble breeze pressing around him, he could almost hear a robin chirping, the trees rustling...

Crookshanks meowing.

Harry opened his eyes bitterly, and noticed a red and black cat thumping it’s way down the center aisle, amidst laughter and shouting. Remus Lupin, who had been sitting in the front row got up with an amused look on his countenance, ran his hands down the front of his gray dress robes; which despite being made of the finest silk in the wizarding world, somehow looked...almost shabby.

Lupin went into a crouch and scooped up the cat, who mewed furiously and tried to claw Harry’s third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Lupin just grabbed the cat, got back up, and hustled back to his seat, wearing a look of almost embarrassment.

“Blimey,” Ron sighed next to Harry, “She must be pretty nervous, mate. Seems if the little tiger’s escaped there’s no telling what’s next.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to face the minister...naturally, it was Albus Dumbledore. Looking almost regal in purple robes and wizard’s hat (which, definitely not to Harry’s surprise had crescent half-moons on them, all moving excitedly), the former Headmaster of Hogwarts had been brought out of retirement so he could supervise what he termed “the greatest honor of my life”.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he gave a rather kind smile at his former pupil, “Here she comes Harry.”

And if on cue, which Harry strongly suspected it was, several enchanted organs all throughout the Hall begin to loudly intone “Here Comes The Bride”. Harry grinned a bit, and looked at the Great Hall, which seemed to have been converted into a massive cathedral. Along the sides of the walls there were several stain-glassed windows, and the old House tables had been changed in return for pews which went back seemingly hundreds of rows...and yet Harry had distinct memories of crossing the red carpet in only about thirty or forty paces...

Every member of every Gryffindor class of all of Harry’s seven years at Hogwarts was present, along with their families. The two front pews rested Harry’s closest friends, the second row sat: the Weasleys, Neville, his parents (looking, oddly enough perfectly fine), and grandmother, as well as Hermione’s mum, and Hagrid (who took up an eighth of the enlarged pews by himself).

The front row held Harry’s family and other teachers: Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and...Lily and James Potter, alive and well thank you very much. His father was beaming, and his mum, Harry grinned out of a mixture of embarrassment and love, was crying into his dad’s shoulder.

Perhaps it was this that should have given Harry a bit of a start, as well as the presence of the Longbottoms...but it didn’t ruffle his feathers at all (not that he had any). Instead, he simply looked with bemusement at Fred and Angelina’s little daughter, Miranda, as she tossed roses out of a basket in front of his soon-to-be-bride as was Muggle custom.

Behind the little girl stood a bushy-haired brunette wearing pearly white dress robes that hugged her figure almost precariously. The hems of her robes swished daintily around her feet and she slowly processed up the aisle with Ginny Weasley, her maid of honor, and her father who held her by the arm.

From the back of the newly decorated Great Hall, several photographers (Harry thought he could spy Rita Skeeter) began snapping off as many pictures as they could take, and for a ludicrous second Harry was afraid he would go blind from the constant bright glare from the popping of flashbulbs.

Harry looked at the pale Caucasian face of his future wife. Her brown hair still retained a look that was often compared to a piece of a garden, but had been curled a bit by some sort of potion or another. Upon seeing Harry, she smiled gorgeously and Harry James Potter knew without a doubt that he was looking at the most beautiful creature in the entire world.

His bride wore no makeup, nor any lipstick, but her lips had a vibrant pink color that made Harry want to leave his position, run over and begin snogging her in front of the around one thousand attendees to his wedding.

He gazed into those warm chocolate brown eyes and smiled with the pure pleasure of knowing he could now look into them for the rest of his life.

Next to him, on his left, Ron waggled his eyebrows and whispered through his teeth “Not too late to back out Harry.”

Harry sniggered a bit, but kept his eyes on the love of his life, who had now made her way to the altar. Her father...Harry’s future father-in-law, smiled broadly and handed her arm to Harry, “She’s yours now Harry. Take good care of her.”

Harry nodded, no need to say “I will” or “Yes, sir”, because he stared into the eyes of his fiancée, smiled and said, “I love you, Hermione Jane Granger.”

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And with those words, on number four, Privet Drive, in the smallest bedroom on the second story of a very normal, suburban, England home, Harry Potter sat up straight in bed gasping for air.

Slowly, after a good fifteen seconds or so, Harry’s breathing returned to an almost normal state (although his pulse was still clipping at a very steady centaur sprint-like speed). Harry glanced over at the other side of his bed, half-expecting to see Hermione there, curled up wearing her wedding robes.

Fortunately, that was not the case, and Harry sank back down into his pillow. The dream he had just experienced had been so vivid...

He shook his head, as though if he did that, he could clear it of what he had just seen and experienced...and perhaps allow the unsettling thoughts now swirling in his head to stop. Unconsciously, Harry raised his hand to the cheek that Hermione had kissed him on after the troubling fourth year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Upon realizing this, Harry quickly moved his hand down as though if he didn’t, he would be Avada Kedavraed immediately. He sighed and tried to roll over and go back to sleep (his alarm clock reported that it was three minutes past two), but he could not.

Eight days after the end of term, and the first seven nights had filled Harry with continual nightmares. He kept seeing Bellatrix Lestrange hex Sirius, Harry’s eyes watered as he didn’t even know what spell she had used to knock Sirius over backwards, him falling into the veil. At this recalled memory, Harry Potter scrunched up his eyes, willing the image to go away.

He also often had visions of Voldemort dancing in his head as he tossed and turned screaming as Sirius, Cedric, or some random friend of his (most of the nightmares centered on Hermione) receiving Avada Kedavra and falling over like a leaf that had been standing on its stem until a breeze came by, sweeping it forward and into the ground.

Then he heard Voldemort’s evil, cackling voice “Now Potter, now you will die. Now I shall win! The wizarding world is mine Harry!”

If it weren’t for the fact that his scar didn’t hurt whatsoever at these moments, as well as the fact that two already dead individuals were being killed by Voldemort in these nightmares, Harry would have immediately fired off letters to every member of the Order telling them that Voldemort had Ron, Dumbledore, Hermione, et cetera.

At that moment Harry would wake up, not in a dissimilar fashion from the awakening he had just performed seconds ago. But this dream... It’s random stuff, Harry, his mind told him, The brain has plenty of time for odd, entertaining dreams...and Heaven knows you need it after what’s happened. But that thought only led to another recollection of Sirius’ death, and just for good measure how his heart had constricted when he saw Hermione hit with purple light from a Death Eater’s wand, then he saw Neville hit with a Cruitatius Curse, and Bellatrix Lestrange laughing at his rather weak (and even thinking that he had used such curse, Harry felt extremely guilty) attempt to use an Unforgivable on her.

Maybe I did just need a respite, and my brain worked it out for me...perhaps the Occlumency kicked in a bit, Harry decided, and he saw the image of his dad grinning at him, and felt himself swell with a bit of pride. Then, naturally, reality came crashing down on Harry as, after all, his parents were dead, he never could see them in life again...thus they could never be at his wedding.

In the drive for happier thoughts, (as Harry knew now there was absolutely no way he could possibly go back to sleep for awhile), Harry began wondering just what kind of girl he would want to be married too. He is mind Harry began designing the perfect witch: tall or short? Blonde or brunette? Redhead? Green eyes or hazel?

By the time he was done, Harry was only more thoroughly confused, and was suddenly having trouble thinking of such a witch with comparing her to Hermione. As he did so, he was clearly able to hear a ringing tone in his ears that was undoubtedly Cho’s voice “for darling Hermione!”

Now that Harry paused to think about it, Hermione was pretty darling...even though she was only his best friend. He could easily see how Krum had been interested in her (and for the first time felt a pang that someone else besides either himself or Ron was able to communicate with Hermione via owl post). But certainly, such feelings were ridiculous, and he shoved them away.

Harry desperately wanted to think of something else but everywhere he turned he smacked into a wall. (Excepting, naturally, the long dark corridor of thought that was Sirius’ death, but Harry had been brooding that for so long that he certainly had no wish to head back there.)

A quick scanning of some new Quidditch moves that had been made popular by the now champion Tutshill Tornadoes (they had ended up taking the Pride of Portree down to the wire in a tie-breaker for league champion, and just managed to win, as Javenson had caught the Snitch right after the ejection of two Torando Chasers...who could, by Quidditch rules, not bve replaced).

Harry twisted and turned a bit...his latest dream was just to intriguing not to think of. Normally, after such a dream, Harry would have written to Sirius… but...no, you git, no, don’t think of Sirius falling forever into that veil...

Sighing, tears beginning to form in his eyes (You’re almost sixteen years old, DO NOT cry!), Harry threw off the covers of his bed, and sat straight up.

He did not know how long he sat there, looking out stupidly at the stars as if they granted some special answer to his wedding dream but hung just out of reach. But he heard his door creak open, and Harry’s hand instinctively went under his pillow; where he had hidden it, actually fearful that per chance a dementor might sweep upon him once more. He leapt to his feet pointed the wand at the door (realizing just how ridiculous he must look adorned in old plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt bearing the inscription “DAILY PROPHET”, which he had received as a “special benefit” from his taking out a subscription).

The hulking, slow form of Dudley Dursley began to walk over the threshold. At the sight of someone walking over the threshold, Harry had a giddy vision of him holding Hermione princess-style and swinging her around as he walked over that threshold and-Stop it! She’s your best friend for Heaven’s sakes!

“Oh,” Harry mumbled dully, “It’s you.” And with a flick of his wrist, Harry leaned over and slipped the wand back under his pillow.

Ever since the dementor attack, the summer before his fifth year, Dudley had become increasingly afraid of Harry, and indeed was even more paranoid of the word “magic”, then ever before. After the experience, Dudley had apparently gone on an eating binge unrivaled since the one he performed to grow wider than he was tall when he was thirteen.

The former Junior All-County Heavyweight Boxing Champion had soon moved so sluggishly, that by September he became one of Smelting Academy’s all-time worst boxers, losing a spectacular twenty-seven matches in a row. Most of “Big D’s” gang had soon left him, and his admirers were most limited to Piers Polkiss and a few underclassmen that Dudley had either bought or threatened to kill them unless were his friends, this being a supposition felt he had confirmed after less than a week of seeing his incredibly dimwitted cousin.

It appeared that Dudley had just come in, and he staggered quite a bit that Harry believed for a moment he was drunk...until he saw the blood running down from his right eye.

Dudley was muttering curses under what he thought was under his breath but was, in fact, quite at conversational level. Harry was deeply reminded of Kreacher, but then he closed his eyes for a few seconds again and begin telling himself over and over again.

Don’t think about Sirius. Don’t think about Sirius. Don’t think about Sirius.

Dudley, meanwhile, had stopped his cursing tirade and instead was murmuring, a bit more loudly now, “Oughta-oughta-illegalize that...that...taw can dee bloody, blimey...” Dudley’s voice trailed off and his feet fell from under him. He collapsed, with his head hitting the mattress. He began to sag down off the bed, and Harry; quite glad for the distraction, grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up.

Half-dragging his overwrought and overweight cousin was not among Harry’s favorite pastimes, but it certainly beat staying in his bed all night, trying not to think of Sirius, nor notice that his mind was slowly attempting, against his will, to change the way he thought about Hermione.

“Just because you saw her in those wedding robes,” Harry mumbled to himself, and he pulled the barely conscious Dudley Dursley to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s room, which was naturally shut. He was about to knock on the white, paneled oak door when Dudley yelled, almost lucidly but a bit slurred, “Saw who in wedding-w-w-edding coves?”

Harry’s eyebrows raised with shock, he had not even been close to aware that Dudley was partially awake...in fact, he had figured that after slumping into unconsciousness on Harry’s bed, his portly cousin would not regain such powers of alertness to hear Harry whisper. In a sudden decision to make up for this gross miscalculation, he let go of Dudley (who crashed into the door with a resounding thud) and sprinted down the hall and into his room as swiftly as possible.

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In the morning, Harry woke up only remembering bits and pieces of his dream the previous night. His most vivid images of the, well, “his” wedding were his father and mother...and Hermione Granger. Although he would only admit to it in a very deep recess of his subconscious, the Hermione of his dream had a figure that defeated every witch he had ever seen at Hogwarts (and for that matter, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang), a gorgeously winning smile, and whenever Harry received this image of her in his mind, he would secretly admit that he was beginning to notice a feeling change for Hermione.

As he got dressed, this analytical track of his mind begin wondering when such a change had taken place; while a more emotional “Shut up” portion of his brain tried to prevent it from doing so. Before it was successful, Harry began to remember his expression at seeing Hermione on the night of the Yule Ball and how it had felt when her lips had brushed against his cheek when she kissed him at King’s Cross in fourth year.

At around that point, Harry finished putting on his raggedy set of old hand-me-down clothes, and walked downstairs, unable not to notice that the gaping hole in his left jean leg around the knee was getting to be so huge and big it wouldn’t be long before Harry would be walking around Little Whinging with one pant leg and one short leg. Perhaps, Harry hoped, his Aunt Petunia would have finished washing his only other pair of jeans by tomorrow, as those had suffered Dudley’s running them over multiple times with a motorcycle he had apparently borrowed from Piers.

At the kitchen table, Dudley was telling his enraptured parents about how eight members of a tae kwon do gang had assaulted him in a dark alleyway on Magnolia Road after he had been coming home from drinking a spot of tea with Piers Polkiss and Horatio Willington; who was, Harry noted with some distaste, one of Dudley’s bought friends. Knowing his cousin’s extreme gift for embellishment and painting a picture for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon that he was absolutely innocent, Harry had no doubt that Dudley’s story was noting more than an perfect fraud.

(Harry would later learn this was true after listening on the telephone line while Dudley called Piers and they shared their disgruntlements about Richard Riker, a ten-year old boy who was a full-fledged black belt in tae kwon do.)

Apparently, Dudley’s injuries, including his significant cut on his head, had been superficial enough as a slapped on Band-Aid had fixed him up. But little Richard had apparently known exactly where to place blows...and Dudley was filled with yellow, green, brown, and purple bruises. Many of them were on his behind and stomach, which made telling the story practically impossible due to pain (unless, of course, he was making it worse than it actually was, something Harry would not have doubted).

Blissfully, Harry went un-noticed by the Dursleys; and apparently Dudley had little or zero recollection of Harry’s involvement with his crashing into Vernon and Petunia’s bedroom door earlier in the morning. As he thought of his early wake-up Harry yawned hugely as he headed to the refrigerator. He twirled around on the spot to ascertain that the Dursleys were still listening attentively, and he opened the fridge and pulled out a few pieces of Swiss cheese and a can of root beer. Rummaging around a bit more, he pulled out a few eggs and a bit of ham and set them all down on the counter by the stove.

Since Mad-Eye Moody had delivered what amounted to little less than an ultimatum to Vernon Dursley on the platform at King’s Cross Station little more than a week ago, Harry had been given more free reign than he had ever been used to in his life. He could make his own breakfast, for example, (without having to make Dudley’s either), turn a blind eye to the continual weeds building up in the garden and the lawn, which was extremely wilted, having never recovered from the drought the previous summer, as well as to an extra amount of neglect after the Dursleys had been skillfully tricked by the Order of the Phoenix to believe they had won a lawn manicuring contest.

Harry began cooking himself a ham and cheese omelet, a dish that he had grown accustomed to making for Dudley back in his pre-Hogwarts days, as it was quick and relatively easy to make. If Harry was a bit more conceited he would have also mentioned he ate them because he was darned good at making them, but abstained on bragging about such an insignificant thing.

After he had successfully managed to finish his omelet, the Boy Who Lived walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and began eating, hoping he could get through the meal without having to utter a solitary word at the Dursleys. As he chewed on bits of egg, meat, and gooey cheese; Harry listened half-heartedly to Dudley’s reenactment of the so-called “fight”, and Dudley got up from his chair, attempted to do some sort of high kick one of the gang members had used on him, but in his haste forgot the multiple bruises and pains he had accumulated the previous night.

His kick went low, and he screamed “YOWLLL!” just as his foot made solid contact with the barred back of the wooden chair, splintering it. To Harry’s great amusement the top half of the backing simply spun off, crashing on the tile floor and completely smashing itself into dozens of smaller pieces.

Normally, Harry would have been assigned the clean-up job, during which he would undoubtedly gain five or six splinters which would throb in his hand until they broke through the surface of his palm. But, with a silent thanks ringing in the sixteen-year olds brain to Alastor Moody, Vernon’s face turned a fantastic shade of purple and his vein seemed as if it would burst, shedding blood and aggravation out on Dudley. Out of force of habit, Mr. Dursley turned to Harry and pointed a shaking finger at him, about ready to tell him to clean it up.

After a few tense seconds, that finger was pointed at Dudley Dursley, who was holding his right leg with considerable consternation. In a voice that sounded very much like a pig’s oink he bleated out, “B-but but Dad! Harry, H-Harry m-m-made me d-do it! With some kind of mind trick.”

Obviously, nothing could be further from the truth. As Harry seemed a failure enough at Occulmency, he certainly was no master at Legillimency, and could not shift through anyone’s memories. Even then, in the wizarding world, one required the Imperius Curse to make someone do what they wanted to without some sort of notarized consent.

Harry could have explained these principals to the Dursleys, but decided instead that he would be much better off if he simply said, “I didn’t do it. If you don’t believe me, I can owl my friends from King’s Cross and they’ll be glad to tell you why I couldn’t have.”

Aunt Petunia’s white horsish face got even worse as she tried to swallow her Adam’s apple down into her stomach. “We can take away your owl you know!” she snapped.

Harry just grinned in response to this threat, and Vernon Dursley choked on the coffee he had just sipped in his eagerness to counteract Petunia’s command. “No, no! If we do that for three days...they’ll come!”

Harry’s smile only got broader as Uncle Vernon remembered this fact, and he begin to slowly let out some of his frustrations at losing Sirius forever out on his so-called “family”. “Oh yes, and they have some wonderful curses they could use on you,” he said in a taunting tone although the Hermione-voice inside of his head was muttering insistently Oh honestly, why do you need to torture them when you all ready are going to get what you want?

To be quite honest, Harry wasn’t all that certain, but he believed that somehow it would make him feel better. On the contrary, however, it only served to make him more miserable as he described the effects of the Bat-Bogey Hex and the Jelly-Legs Curse.

Instead, Vernon bellowed mightily that Harry could eat the rest of his breakfast upstairs, but then mumbled sweetly that he could do whatever he wanted. Harry decided to take his plate and his two-thirds of an omelet to his bedroom as his mentioning of the Order had reminded him that Harry did, indeed, need to write to Moody, Lupin, or Tonks just so they wouldn’t mount an incredible rescue mission to free him from the tyranny of the Dursleys.

Although Harry noted sourly, it certainly was tyranny that deserved escaping from, and he remembered Hermione’s words at King’s Cross last year, that they would take him away as soon as they could.

Harry’s stomach sank as he sat into his desk chair, and pulled out a piece of parchment from his school things, which were, fortunately not locked in a trunk this year. He took out a quill and grimaced as he remembered the detentions he had received from Umbridge last year and looked at his right hand just to double-check that the words “I will not tell lies.” were no longer etched in a pale white on his skin.

The memory of Umbridge brought back the memory of how close she had come to torturing the information of what Harry and Hermione had been doing in her fire and who he had been talking too. He grinned slightly as he remembered Hermione’s clever method of getting them out of that sticky mess, but shortly afterward he fell into a deep, dank brooding. The reason Harry had been there was to try and save Sirius...who hadn’t even been at the Department of Mysteries. And he had died, all because Harry-

Stop that! cried the Hermione portion of his brain again, Just write the letter so the Order of the bloody Phoenix doesn’t thhink you’re DYING overhere.

Listening to his analytic side’s advice, Harry scribbled out a “just checking in” message to the Order, and tied the scroll to Hedwig’s leg. His owl squawked a bit at being pulled from her cage, as she apparently had not yet devoured all of her Owl Treats Harry had given her for supper that night. He just shrugged and sent her on her merry way, standing with his hands on his hips as he stared after Hedwig, flapping her wings gracefully as she soared off in the distance towards number twelve, Grimmauld Place which still (as far as Harry knew anyway) was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Logically, since Sirius was dead, using the old Black family mansion made even more sense then ever before, no one would be able to suspect that a top-secret anti-Voldemort organization was working there. Still, Harry didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place unless it became an absolute necessity. The last thing he wanted to do was look at a Dark family home that had once been Sirius’. And there he went again, thinking about Sirius. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether it would be better to think and allow himself to grieve more for the death of his godfather...or whether it would be easier just to try and block his thoughts from going there as much as possible.

Harry sighed and looked at his bed, the sheets all askew from his frantic rolling and tossing the previous night and early morning. All of a sudden sleep sounded good...and Harry blinked his eyes a bit and crawled under the covers.

His last thought before sleep consumed him was, I wonder if I’ll dream of Hermione again?

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Harry Potter and the Avatars of Atlantis

Chapter Two: Hermione Granger

Harry did not dream anymore of Hermione that morning, but instead slept until noon. When he awoke, he realized with distaste that he must have missed the Daily Prophet owl at five o’clock, and he scowled and rolled over, trying to will himself to sleep away the day.

If, per chance, he slept without dreaming of Sirius being killed, or Voldemort torturing Ron or Hermione...and simply slept for a good twenty more hours, maybe he would be able to (dare he think it?) get some peace, and be able to sort things out well enough to, partially at least enjoy his summer.

Alas, it didn’t work out quite that way for the fifteen-year old lad, and the month of June speedily past through... but it was not without more torturous dreams of Voldemort and Sirius’s death. But what began to worry the young wizard even more as time went by was his love for Hermione. It was always a quaint sisterly one that was beginning to move in an entirely new direction.

It was, of course, all because of that blasted dream.

The marriage dream never reoccurred, but had been so vivid that Harry was able to constantly see, without distortion, both his mother weeping into his father’s shoulder...and the beauteous (Don’t think like that, Harry thought quickly to himself) Hermione Granger.

Thus, Harry was constantly wrestling with his psyche, suppressing thoughts of Sirius Black, and trying (and spectacularly failing) to hold down increasingly romantic thoughts concerning Hermione.

The worst of those was probably the bloody owl post.

Ron’s letters described the daily life of the Arthur Weasleys, with tantalizing hints of a blossoming relationship between Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, Fred and George’s Diagon Alley shop making quite the mint (as Ron put it: Mum hugged Fred and George so hard yesterday, I was certain their bones would crack! She was weeping and said that she “always knew you would bring our family honor with your talents”. Which is, quite simply, a load of bloody crock.) These gave Harry his needed laughs and encouragements, and letters from the members of the Order of the Phoenix definitely increased good feelings. They gave him no information (after last year, Harry still smarted when they wouldn’t...but at least he knew it was for a good reason). Harry especially enjoyed one from Tonks, in which she enclosed twenty five pictures of herself with different hair colors and style and told him to tell her which one he liked best. He wrote back that it was the curly bushy brown hair that made her look like Hermione (after sending this piece of owl post Harry fell into a brooding silence for several hours that caused the Dursley’s much consternation, they were positively certain Harry was plotting to do away with them all).

Simply put, it was the letters from Hermione that were driving him completely and utterly mad. She constantly enclosed a picture or two, which Harry would then undoubtedly find himself gazing into her warm brown eyes as she waved energetically at him. Harry could then recall when he was standing at the altar with Ron waiting for her...and then had to tell himself it was just a dream and his love for her was purely platonic.

Besides, if she turned him down or they broke up, it would absolutely shatter Harry and Hermione as friends...and he didn’t want that right?

Then there was her ruddy signature. Love from, Hermione. Love from, Hermione. Love from, Hermione. It was enough to drive anyone crazy, but a hormonal fifteen-year old battling all sorts of demons? Harry felt that soon his mind would split in two. One mind to decide to pursue his thoughts about Hermione more and dwell on Sirius...the other to take the opposite pathway.

At least then, things might get sorted out.

Finally, the only thing that could break through Harry’s over-used trains of thought this side of a Death Eater attack caught his attention. A regular looking owl was tapping at his window, carrying a rolled-up piece of parchment tied to his leg. It was not the Daily Prophet owl that Harry had missed nearly three weeks previously, but another one. This disturbed Harry a tad, and he opened his window. The owl stuck out its leg, and Harry undid the tie, and pulled the parchment off, careful not to get it caught on the owl’s talons.

The owl gave a friendly sort of hoot, and flew off, without waiting for Harry to invite it in to share Hedwig’s cage and gave a few Owl Treats. Resultantly, a sinking feeling developed in the pit of Harry’s stomach and he unraveled the scroll.

He had been correct.

It was the results of Harry Potter’s Ordinary Wizarding Levels. He was not entirely surprised to see that he had pulled an Acceptable in Potions, but he was certainly pleased. His Exceeds Expectations mark in Astronomy was rather strange, as Harry had done his astronomy chart whilst Hagrid was being forcibly sacked by Ministry officials. Or rather the Ministry officials were attempting to sack Hagrid by force...it hadn’t exactly worked. He had not surprisingly garnered an Outstanding level in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He smiled with remembrance when his grading professor, Something Tofty, had asked if he could produce a full Patronus for a bit of extra credit.

Despite those decent grades, Harry had completely and utterly failed his Divination and History of Magic courses, getting a Dreadful in each of those categories. His A in Care of Magical Creatures was only slightly better, and he gained an E in both Charms and Transfiguration. An Acceptable in Herbology rounded out his courses. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to get O.W.L.s in all but two classes, one which he planned to drop anyway. He had tired enough of Divination after two solid, sordid years of Professor Trelawney’s predictions of his demise.

With such adequate grades, Harry mulled on what Ron and Hermione received. He would have been extremely shocked had Ron done much better than he had, but Harry was certain that Hermione’s grades would be all O’s. At the thought of Hermione, Harry’s stomach lurched again, and he tossed his paper away, muttering “Stupid, bloody dreams” as he launched himself on his bed.

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Harry was not quite certain where he was when he awoke, and for a minute he believed that he was in his sixth-year dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. His dreams had been a mottled mixture of Hermione, Sirius, and Voldemort...but he had very few real images or memories of them as he slowly crept open his eyes.

A very familar voice answered sweetly, “Yes?”

Standing over his bed, wearing Muggle jeans and plain white T-shirt was a rather nice looking girl with long brown hair that’s bushiness had not abated in six years of Harry’s knowing her. Hermione Granger’s face bore a wide smile, but Harry could detect a puzzled expression in her eyes.

For a few seconds, Harry simply stared into those comforting eyes. Seeing Hermione was like a pillow for his eyes, something comfortable to lie on. He did not know why he did not jolt upward or feel embarrassed Hermione was in his bedroom at number four, Privet Drive. Perhaps he was just in shock, he told himself, but somewhere he knew in the back of his mind that he had been expecting just such an eventuality since his wedding dream.

“Harry?” she said with such uncertainty in her voice that Harry felt pleasant emotions that she cared about him enough. He allowed such waves of happiness to wash over him for just a fraction of a second before he pulled the drain on them and had them sucked into a sewer somewhere, anywhere, but away from him. “Are you okay? You were saying my name over and over when I came in...” Hermione’s voice trailed off a bit, and her face flushed a tiny, yet noticeable bit.

Harry hardly noticed this because he was mentally taking a sledgehammer to whatever portion of the brain was responsible for creating vivid dreams, as well as whatever caused the mouth to engage whilst amidst just such a dream. At least, he consoled himself; he hadn’t been saying something such as “I love you, Hermione.”

As he thought this, Harry idly wondered if she’d be interested in him as more than a friend, but promptly dismissed this idea, since he was never going to ask her out, but he loved her like a sister. Of course, a part of Harry (his Hermione-voice perhaps?) told him that nobody looked at their sister (legally anyway) the way Harry was currently regarding Hermione.

“I-I’m fine,” Harry choked out, barely managing to follow those two words up with a “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Hermione’s grin got even wider, showing even more of her teeth. Harry had to silently congratulate Madam Pomfrey on how she had lined up and shrunk Hermione’s old buck teeth in fifth year. “I’m coming to take you away from here. You didn’t believe me when I told you I’d get you out of here as soon as we could?”

Harry nodded, “I believe you...but, er,” he gestured at his bed.

Hermione’s eyes widened, “Harry! It’s three in the afternoon!”

Lamely, Harry replied, “I, er, slept in.”

The look on Hermione’s countenance strongly reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley right before she went on a tirade (which had, until of late, been directed at Fred and George). Instead of blowing her top, Hermione walked over a put a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tried to ignore the tingling sensations coursing through his body as she did this, telling himself again and again in his mind, She’s like a sister. She’s like a sister. She’s like a sister. Hermione’s cool voice, rushing gently like a freshwater creek, broke into these thoughts and absolutely shattered them. “Have you been brooding about Sirius?”

Harry was quite prepared to begin yelling or make some sort of sarcastic comment to the tune of, “Why, he was the only closest thing to a parent I ever had!”, but was saved from taking such an action as one by one, three figures on broomsticks flew through his open window and dismounted in his room.

The first shadow emerged as Remus Lupin, Harry’s old third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who had been sacked after it was discovered he was a werewolf. Unlike in Harry’s marriage dream, where Remus had looked decently young, Lupin’s black hair was now seeded with grey and worry lines were permanently etched upon his face. When he gazed at Harry and Hermione, he gave a small smile.

The second figure was Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, whose green bowler hat and tweed jacket reminded Harry quite a bit of Cornelius Fudge, the git-for-a-Minister-of-Magic who had attempted to discredit Harry and downplay Voldemort’s rise at every possible moment last year. Moody’s magical eye was spinning at an angle, and he put his thumb under the hat’s brim, and his forefinger over it and muttered a greeting.

The last person turned out to be none other than Nymphadora Tonks, a rather young (Harry would put her at her mid-twenties) Auror. Preferring to be called Tonks due to what she considered to be a rather horrid first name, she was a Metamorphmagus who could easily restructure her DNA at will to look like anything she wanted to be. While she could often change her physical form, Harry had mostly seen Tonks only with a different hair style and color, and he noticed with a bit of glee that she had chosen the bushy-curled brunette hair that he had recommended to her.

As Tonks got off her broom, her left ankle never quite made it off, and she fell onto the bedroom floor with a rather sickening thud. She got up quickly and dusted herself off, “We were wondering if you and Hermione had left out the front door and eloped, Harry.”

Harry blushed at Tonks’s greeting and tried to get a “Ha ha” out of his constricted throat, but the sarcasm wouldn’t quite leave his tongue. Instead his cheeks heated, and he wished that everybody wasn’t around him in bed so he could escape everyone’s looks.

Hermione simply smiled, but Harry was rather glad to notice that her face was a beautiful shade of magenta herself, and it was all he could do to resist wrapping his arms around her at that moment.

“Well Harry,” growled Mad-Eye, “Good to see you. We’ll be heading into suburban London soon. Sorry it’s just the three of us, but the rest of the Order is kind of scattered across Britain at the moment, so we were elected by default to be your guard.”

Harry nodded, but something about that sentence didn’t sit quite well with him, “Suburban London? We’re not going to numb-” Harry checked himself, “Headquarters are we?”

Remus shook his head and answered in a deep baritone, “No Harry,” the fifteen-year old wizard (Sixteen in a month! Harry marveled Where had time gone?) noticed that Remus’ voice was more leaden and dead than ever before, Harry guessed that Sirius’s death had affected him just as greatly as it had Harry, who then promptly attempted to stuff those thoughts down one of the incinerators of his subconscious, “We’re taking you to Hermione’s.”

Tonks nodded to affirm this, “You’ll be practically as safe there as you are here,” suddenly a loud wail from downstairs interrupted the conversation, signaling that Dudley’s TV had been turned off and he was being told to go and take out the trash or some sort of chore that normally would have been Harry’s.

“And,” Tonks continued, “it should be much more enjoyable.” It could very well have been a trick of his imagination, but Harry could have sworn that Tonks gave a meaningful look at Hermione and then Harry when she said this.

It’s just your imagination from your dreams about her, Harry told himself sternly.

Harry nodded at Tonks’s statement, and looked up at Hermione and smiled at her, “Um, er, do you suppose-?”

It was, naturally, Remus who picked up on what Harry was thinking before anybody else. “Merlin’s beard...I’m sorry Harry, we’ll leave and let you get dressed.”

Harry nodded thankfully, as getting out of bed in his pajama bottoms and the Prophet shirt wasn’t the bad part, but changing in front of Hermione and Tonks (or, for that matter, Remus and Mad-Eye) wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities.

Just as Harry was about to shoo everyone out a thought struck him, “How come you didn’t arrive by Portkey?”

Mad-Eye growled, “Have to register ‘em, Harry. Heaven knows whether You-Know-Who has people in the Ministry checking such things. Same goes for trying to go through Muggle trains...too many possible spies. If we fly we can lose any watchers with precise maneuvers.”

Harry groaned the idea of having to fly in all sorts of directions and at all sorts of angles before arriving at Hermione’s as Remus lead an exodus out of Harry’s room, but Hermione lingered at the door for a second as Harry rolled out of bed and strolled to his closet.

“What,” he joked nervously, “You want to stay and watch?”

Hermione smiled sheepishly and shook her head; she raised her left eyebrow and grinned, “Not on my list of favorites, Potter.”

With a snigger, Harry waved his left hand at her as she left, and he reached for a T-shirt and his “hole-y” pair of jeans (after a month, Aunt Petunia had neglected to wash the tire-ridden jeans, which Harry still wore nonetheless, but didn’t feel were entirely good enough to make a first impression on Hermione’s parents when he arrived to spend summer at her house).

Harry changed quickly and headed out the door to the hallway, where Remus, Tonks, and Hermione were patiently waiting for him. Harry opened his mouth, about to ask, “Where’s Mad-Eye?” when a thunderous voice called out from downstairs, “So you admit you’ve ignored Potter and forced him to make his own food?”

Harry closed his eyes with fascinated disbelief, this summer, for once at least, Harry had been treated decently by the Dursleys. Remus noticed Harry’s expression and chuckled a little, “Mad-Eye won’t do anything Harry...he just wants to be sure the Dursleys didn’t force you into writing letters telling the Order that all was well.”

“They didn’t,” Harry answered faintly as he heard Dudley’s girlish screams and Vernon yelling that he had treated Harry as his firstborn son, which although not even true at all, Harry did realize that life had gotten a bit better since the days he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs and was forced into sleep without a bed.

Remus sighed, “I told him it was doubtful, but he wanted to be sure...”

A loud “Obilviate!” shuddered the walls of number four, Privet Drive, and Mad-Eye Moody came bounding up the stairs with a grin, a slight one, but a grin nonetheless, upon his lips. “A’right Potter,” he gruffed, “Your relatives are all fixed up, you packed yet?”

Harry shook his head, as the shock that Hermione was here with three members of the Order of the Phoenix to help him escape the Dursleys and go to Hermione’s finally seeped completely in. “Um, no...”

“I’ll help!” volunteered Tonks, raising her hand and making a motion to head back through Harry’s door, but instead tripped over her own shoelace and knocked her head on the door as she fell into the ugly Oriental rug that Aunt Petunia felt “livened up the hallway.” Remus and Mad-Eye helped her up, and as she was knocked cold, Hermione opened the door to Harry’s room and began to help him pack.

Hermione worked fast and very efficiently, almost (but not quite) as swiftly as Tonks had with her wand in the summer before fifth-year. Hermione strapped all of Harry’s books together, asking where her homework planner was. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had unceremoniously used it to make paper airplanes the first few days after his return from Hogwarts. His lethargic feeling from Sirius’s death was ebbing with time and Hermione’s arrival with the Order, but then it had been much more dull and aching, and it still felt as though a huge part of his heart was gone.

“Harry, are you listening to me?” Hermione asked a bit exasperated.

Harry’s ears perked up and he looked over at his best friend. The way the sunlight filtering through his windows caught her hair, turning it almost golden. He sighed as he stared at her and then caught himself, feeling absolutely horrid, “Um, sorry, excited for the new term and all.”

“In two months?” Hermione raised an eyebrow in concern, and she lowered her voice. By the sounds outside, Moody and Lupin had successfully woken Tonks up, but were allowing Harry and Hermione a little bit of catch-up time; which Harry greatly appreciated as he stuffed his four pairs of socks into his trunk.

Hermione picked up Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and some of it draped around her hand giving him the impression that Hermione’s right arm was cut off at the wrist. “It is Sirius, isn’t it?”

Harry sighed, nodding, after a month of trying to keep Sirius’s death...and not to mention the prophecy out of his mind; he felt a sudden need to tell Hermione.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’ve been trying to ignore it...but all other thoughts are just as bad.” That wasn’t quite true, thinking about Hermione Granger in white wedding robes was a very pleasant experience, but not exactly one that Harry wanted to tell her, as he did after all, only appreciate her as...a friend. A very good friend.

Hermione tossed a few rolls of parchment and Harry’s quills into his trunk and looked meaningfully at him. “What’s just as bad? Cho?”

Harry shook his head vehemently, “No, like I said, there’s nothing there. I used to get a feeling in my stomach when I saw her but-” Harry paused, part of his brain wanted to continue by saying Now I get that when I think of the images of you from my dreams.

“But?” Hermione prodded a bit, as she handed Harry his wand. Nodding his thanks, he put the eleven-inch stick into his front pocket.

“But Dumbledore told me what the prophecy Voldemort was trying to steal was.” Harry’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t meant to say that it had just popped out of his mouth, but now having said that he knew that Hermione would beg him to say the rest of it, and he might as well. What was there to lose? “Either I have to kill Voldemort or he’ll kill me.” Harry turned to his bed and leaned over to grab a rogue sock (one of the odd ones Dobby knitted for him, no doubt). He attempt at nonchalance did not carry very far as Hermione let out a sharp intake of breath and put both of her hands over her mouth, dropping Hedwig’s cage (fortunately, his owl was not in the cage, as she was probably headed off to the Burrow, Harry having just sent a letter there yesterday) with a whispered, “Oh Harry!”

Before he could do anything else, Hermione gave him something that was a cross between a tackle and a hug. She threw her arms around him with such ferocity that her head smacked into his chin, but she hardly felt it, or at least, pretended not too. Part of the reason Harry had not told Ron or Hermione this fact was because it was entirely likely that they would react like this. As Harry put his arms around her waist and he felt her lay her head on his chest Harry felt...perhaps more at home than at Hogwarts.

He rubbed her back and tried to come up with something reassuring to say, although he knew very well that Hermione’s hug was her attempt at giving him some moral support. For about a minute they just stood there, hugging and holding each other. Harry was reminded of waltz dancing he had seen on television, but wasn’t quite interested in dancing at the moment, but his mind was reeling trying to tell him that his current affection for Hermione was simply platonic. He was trying to comfort her, wasn’t he?

His body and another portion of his mind were telling him a different story altogether, but he was working very hard at ignoring that, and not doing a very good job at it.

Eventually, the silence had likely unnerved the Aurors outside, because they silently opened Harry’s door and walked in. They were obviously embarrassed at the scene they were witnessing, as Tonks cleared her throat rather loudly. Harry and Hermione separated very quickly, both stammering a little bit. Harry suddenly knew that he would have to try and control himself a bit more around his best friend for the rest of the term or else he would start snogging her unrelentlessly.

Not that he wanted to snog her, of course, just...as a precaution.

“Well,” said Lupin in a false cheery, false completely innocent voice, “Looks like you’re all ready Harry?”

Harry nodded, feeling as though his temperature had just shot up twenty degrees from the combined Hermione-hug, and getting caught doing a Hermione-hug. “All except Hedwig...I sent Ron a letter yesterday.”

“Well then,” Tonks grinned brightly as she levitated Harry’s trunk to strap it on his broom and accidentally dropped it on her toes. Harry and Hermione both flinched as they heard the unmistakable sound of bones breaking. Mad-Eye quickly Summoned the trunk off Tonks’s toes and she scrunched up her face in a mixture of intense concentration and pain. Then suddenly there was a little pop! and Tonks picked up her feet and shook them a bit. She muttered sheepishly, “Fixed ‘em. Let’s get going.”

Hermione nodded and picked up her broom (Harry hadn’t the slightest idea where she had gotten one, but he supposed it must have come from the Order). He was far too busy watching Hermione that Tonks had to tap him with his broom after offering it to him four times, and he only heard bits and pieces of the guard’s orders, just that he and Hermione would fly next to each other and the Order members would fly around them.

He also noticed that Mad-Eye had apparently Disillusioned him, as he saw him performing the charm on Hermione as well. But, not surprisingly, he hadn’t even noticed.

Within a few minutes, they had kicked off and flown out of the window of number four, Privet Drive and quickly raced up towards the clouds. Harry’s ears were thrumming loudly as they flew, when a nagging feeling began tugging at his subconscious.

Since Hermione was closest to him, Harry used this feeling as an excuse to talk to her about said nagging feeling.

“How come you didn’t pick me up at night?”

Mad-Eye suddenly yelled for them to fly through a cloud (“so the Muggles think we’re just birds they lost track off”), and they veered off to the left, Tonks moaning that the suspended water was going to soak them beyond belief, while Remus pragmatically assured her that they would dry quickly in the warm summer weather.

Just before they entered the white puffiness, Hermione yelled back with a “Remus figured more Death Eaters would be watching at night!”

It was lovely, Harry figured, to be reminded that every one of his actions was likely being watched by people who wanted to kill him.

------------

When the fivesome ditched their brooms after landing a nice park six blocks away from Hermione’s house (so as not be detected by Muggles, had they landed in Hermione’s backyard, they would have had some answering to do), and they had successfully pulled Tonks out of the tree she had crash-landed in, they had simply carried their brooms and walked the remaining blocks to Hermione’s house. This was done by creeping along back alleys, hiding in bushes, and doing other uncomfortable methods of keeping their prescience from both Dark Forces and Muggles that made Harry begin to doubt he wanted to become an Auror.

To make matters worse, Harry and Hermione had been Reillusioned, so the Muggles wouldn’t think they were ghosts.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity (Tonks had tripped over a few trash cans and Moody and Lupin had resorted to Stunners and Memory Charms to quell an inquiring Muggle populace that undoubtedly thought that a group of odd-looking well-dressed gentlemen like Mad-Eye and Lupin combined with a young Tonks who was full of bruises and had stems and leaves caught her Hermionish hair; as well as Harry, wearing the rattiest clothes possible and a very well-dressed Hermione Granger added up to some kind of no good.)

“At least, you don’t live in a gated community,” Harry murmured to Hermione as they tiptoed behind a fence, “We’d have to have a car to get in.”

Hermione sighed, “I suggested a car, but Mad-Eye said we shouldn’t even rent cars from Muggles, and the Ministry is still sort-of untrustworthy.”

Harry shrugged and sprinted silently so as to get behind someone’s parked car. Who parks a car in an alley? he wondered, but instead said aloud, “How much longer?”

Before Hermione could quite answer a loud pink-faced brown-haired Muggle, slightly overweight with a beer belly came out of his open garage with a hose.

That’s why you park your car in an alley, Harry realized, as the Muggle began rinsing his car. As he came around the bumper, Harry decided there was simply one course of action to take (he would later realize he should have waited for Mad-Eye, Remus, and Tonks to arrive but he wasn’t thinking quite logically at the moment).

He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pressed his lips on to hers, pretending, and it didn’t require a lot of imagination, that he and Hermione where just a group of snogging teenagers hiding behind the car. Hermione hesitated for a second, and then pressed her lips against Harry’s.

Harry had kissed Cho once before Christmas holidays last year, but that kiss was absolutely nothing like was experiencing with Hermione as he felt her full lips meet his...

The moment was entirely ruined when the hose went off and the Muggle said in incredulously, “Hermione darling?”

Hermione broke away from Harry, much to his consternation, but his heart stopped as she spoke to the Muggle, “Oh, hi Dad.”

A/N: Just like to suggest that everyone visits www.xs4all.nl/~myranya/help4free.html where your click on any of listed sites helps pay for a donation sponsored by businesses with adbanners on the page towards certain causes (e.g. thehungersite.com helps fight hunger, thebirthsite.com helps impoverished pregnant mothers, thebiblesite.org gives books of the Bible to persecuted Christians per click, etc.). You can also find links to help “use your computer to help process some information. You download the client and a small packet of data, process it either while your computer is idle or run the program in the background, then send the results back to the server and retrieve a new data packet. “

And please visit my own website at http://www.geocities.com/cal4hobbes an essay on whether science has disproven faith And please send any comments to my e-mail address on that page and not in reviews or such. :)

Harry Potter and the Avatars of Atlantis
Chapter Three: Ron Weasley

After the rather unusual method of introduction to Hermione’s father, who he hadn’t seen since second year at Diagon Alley, Harry had awkwardly adjusted to life at the Grangers.

Or at least tried to.

Hermione had told him that Ron would be coming in two weeks, escorted by several members of the Order. By separating the time between arrivals, it was hoped that neither one would be considered of much significance. Harry admitted the logic in the plan, but ever since he had kissed Hermione behind her father’s car he couldn’t help but wish that Ron was here so at the very least he would have someone to get away from Hermione with. Whenever he saw her, he mostly just sort of blushed and turned away. She never mentioned his erratic behavior, and for this, Harry was extremely greatful.

Because Harry Potter knew that no sister he could have had would ever have kissed like that.

Harry walked down Victorious Circle, his sneakers hitting the pavement at a steady pace, almost a drumbeat. He liked walking down Hermione’s street, taking a right at the corner so he didn’t have to walk in the crosswalk and he could then just completely walk around the square block. He often muttered to himself and ran his hand along his lightening-bolt shaped scar, his souvenir from an encounter with the Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby.

Perhaps the best thing about Harry’s inner dwellings upon Hermione Granger was that his mind no longer touched the zones around certain memories regarding Sirius Black. Instead he was constantly worried about whether or not he had ruined his friendship with Hermione, could he ever look at Hermione, and... how good it had felt to kiss Hermione.

After the night he had pressed his lips against Hermione’s, Harry’s wedding dream, which had not reappeared for practically a month had resurfaced. Once, when he woke up the words “Hermione Jane Granger” was on the tip of his tongue, and he devoutly hoped that nobody had heard his sleepy mumblings as he rolled around in his comfortable bed in the guestroom of the Granger household.

Harry looked around at the houses, all of which were of a normal two-story stock, with their own intricate and unique qualities, painted fairly normal house colors. Not one house on Victorious Circle had a dazzling purple stripe down the roof or an architecture that resembled a great bird preparing to take flight. It was largely a clone of Privet Drive: a nice, normal neighborhood.

It was, at least, decently normal with Hermione Granger living there. It was excessively abnormal with Harry spending the summer there. Once Ron arrived, there was no telling just how strange Victorious Circle would soon become.

Without realizing it, Harry found himself stopped right in front of Hermione’s house again. He stared up at the dovish whiteness of the two-story home, which had a rather charming front door with an oval-shaped stain-glass window of a castle next to a lake. Hermione’s mother had told Harry they had purchased the door after Hermione’s second-year when the then twelve-year old girl had seen it on display at a hardware store and immediately fallen in love with it, saying how much it reminded her of Hogwarts. It had been one of her parents’ early thirteenth birthday gifts for the young girl, as they had installed it while she was out with her father on the day before Hermione had left for third-year the day before September first.

Harry let out a large gust of breath. He would have to talk to Hermione now; the fact that he had been avoiding her for the past few days was certainly not helping his problems. But avoidance was the only thing that was assuring that he wouldn’t lose control of himself and spill something to her that he wasn’t supposed too.

His scar prickled a bit as he walked up the path to the house, but that was a normal sensation. He was even beginning to get used to feeling exactly what Voldemort felt (either hate or joy) although that hadn’t happened since the end of term. At the moment, Harry could only assume Voldemort was working strenuously to break out the ten Death Eaters being held at Azkaban, no longer guarded by Dementors, but certified Magical Law Enforcement wizards.

He opened the door with the spare key the Granger’s had kindly awarded him, and pushed the door open. He called out “Hermione!” before he could really stop himself. It wasn’t long she came sliding down the banister of her stairwell, landing rather gracefully on the foot of the stairs with an uncertain smile.

Harry was a bit shocked at seeing Hermione perform such a maneuver, as he always considered her the perfect girl who would never attempt to break any rules. He blinked slowly a few times and she sort of smiled and tilted her head a bit, “Mum and Dad went out for a few hours to go get some groceries.”

This was news to Harry, “Your parents trust me,” he pointed his right forefinger at himself to accentuate the point, “To be alone with you after, what we- er- I did?”

Hermione sighed and came over and gave Harry a hug, draping her arms around his neck. Harry’s mind told him he should certainly pull away, but instead he placed his hands around her waist. “Harry,” she said softly, “Can we just forget about that and pretend it never happened?”
A huge gulp rose in Harry’s throat.

“No,” Hermione answered for him, “I can see that you can’t.” She buried her head in his chest, and Harry’s right hand automatically went to her hair and he began stroking it.

“I’m sorry Hermione.”

He felt her sigh into his body, “Harry, you don’t need to be sorry,” her muffled voice reported, “I’m just...so confused.”

Harry nodded, “I know Hermione, I know.”

She shook her head against his chest, which was a new and even possibly enjoyable experience for Harry. “You don’t. Viktor’s always sending me letters with hints of wanting more then just friendship-”

That was news to Harry, “You mean you aren’t more than friends?”

Hermione unfurled her head from Harry’s torso, “No, no.” Her sigh seemed to shake the entire room, “For a while, but my feelings were so confused at the time we just faded into a platonic relationship. No break-up, but no feelings either.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione placed a finger on his lips, “Don’t say you understand or are sorry.” Harry had, in fact, been about to say the later.

She continued, “And then there’s Ron...and things are so muddled between me and him,” her chest heaved another heavy sigh, “And then there’s us.” Hermione’s head shook again, “I don’t know what to do.”

Neither, actually, did Harry Potter. It was a decently windy July day outside, he was holding a girl, one who had dreams of being married to, by the waist, but... he was absolutely clueless. He grasped on the only thing that was glaring at him.

“What about Ron?”

Hermione looked him directly in the eyes and he poured his gaze into hers, getting quite a sense of déjà vu that he half-expected Hermione to suddenly be adorned in white robes of pure silk.

Hermione was incredulous, “Y-you mean you haven’t noticed?”

Feeling rather thick, just as when Hermione had told him that the Daily Prophet had been concocting slanderous stories about him last summer, Harry replied with a steady, “No.”

“He likes me Harry, and he has since fourth year.”

Harry’s eyebrows felt as if they had soared through the ceiling out the roof and reached escape velocity and warped past the moon before burning up in the sun. “He what?”

Hermione nodded, “Harry, I know you aren’t that subtle, but hopefully you picked up on some of the signs! And I don’t know exactly where my feelings lie right now between you, him, and Viktor.”

Harry felt as if Hermione had just put a vise around his heart and squeezed hard. “Her-my-oh-knee...”

Hermione leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, but Harry lost his head completely and turned so that her lips meant his. Instead of pulling back, as Harry fully expected, she pressed harder and Harry drew her closer, caressing her back and feeling those tingles of pleasure again...

Just then there was a loud crack! behind them, and Harry and Hermione turned around to see Ron Weasley, his jaw currently resting on the floor, his face beet-red as he stood there in wizarding robes clutching a beat-up rusty fork, an obvious Portkey.

“Oh no...” moaned Hermione and she beat feet up to her room, leaving Harry there to take care of Ron.

It took Ron a few seconds to rediscover that he had a tongue and when he did, he did not bellow as Harry expected him too, but rather he simply uttered an almost whisper, “What are you doing?”

Harry’s gut reaction was to say that Ron wasn’t supposed to be here for another week and a half and that sounded terribly guilty. All Harry was trying to do was try to get Hermione to choose him... but he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Finally, he replied, “Well, I was...showing how I felt for Hermione.”

Ron grinned, although his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Well blimey mate!” he grabbed Harry’s hand and shook it thoroughly, “I’m happy for you! You can’t imagine how odd it’s going to be for awhile, but you needed something like this, especially after Sirius...” he trailed off, fearful that he had said too much.

The mentioning of Sirius did cause Harry to vividly re-experience his godfather’s death, but the utter shock that Ron was happy for him and wasn’t in love with Hermione nearly bowled him over. All he could stammer out was a confused, “Y-You mean you don’t like Hermione?”

Ron gave a slight snigger, “Don’t like her, mate? No, I love our little know-it-all,” he paused for a beat and seemed to be decided how best to put things, “But not that way. Not enough to go snogging her in her own house.” His grin was sincere and was obvious all through his face, from his teeth to the crinkling around his eyes.

With that, Harry was off like a flash leaving a very befuddled Ron yelling at him as he ran up the stairs, “Harry? Just what the bloody heck are you doing?”

Harry ignored Ron and hustled up the stairs, careful not to knock over the Granger family pictures on the wall beside him. He soon heard Ron bounding up the stairs after him. Harry reached the stop of the stairs and looked around for Hermione’s room...he knew it was across the hall from his own. There it is, he thought, The one with the door open.

Sprinting at full speed, Harry ran in to her room, where a very surprised Hermione Granger looked up from her parchment, her eyes still red from tears. Harry tripped over a rather large stuffed zebra, and landed with a soft phwunk on Hermione’s bed. Ron, meanwhile, arrived after Harry, and leaned on the sides of the doorway, his face flushing magenta and taking sharp intakes of breath.

Harry, a very different Harry emotionally from the one who had denied his feeling for Hermione just three days before, blurted out, “Ron doesn’t fancy you Hermione!”

Hermione raised a brow at Ron who put out his left hand as a sign for them to wait until he could catch his breath. “No,” he finally panted out ten seconds later, “I mean, I used to Hermione, but I’ve....” he took a few more deep gasps of breath, “Been thinking about it, and I. just don’t feel it would,” (more panting), “work.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged, and small grin placed itself on her countenance. She looked up at Ron and flashed him a warm smile. “Thank you Ron. You’ve eased the load on my mind considerably.”

With that she turned back to whatever project she was currently working on.

Harry gaped, and was about to say something when Ron entered Hermione’s room with a shocked expression on his face. “Hermione, is that why you ran when I walked in on you? You thought I rated you that way?”

Hermione nodded, and was about to say something when Ron put a hand out to stop her speech, “And yet you’re not going to go start snogging with Harry right now?”

Hermione closed her eyes and put her quill down, she clenched her jaw. “I don’t know, Ron, my emotions are just things that transfer easily like money from one bank account to another.”

“Is it Vicky?” Ron said, not softly as his previous inquiries had been, but with a distinct edge to his voice. “Viktor Krum? You think that you’d be better off with a famous Quidditch star who’s always being mobbed by the press and who has hundreds of practically insane detractors and admirers, and....and...” he looked over at Harry who was now much glummer than usual as he laid on the bed.

“Why thank you Ron,” he said, with sarcasm biting his every word, “I think you may have just described to Hermione about the same problems she’d have with me.”

At that, Hermione took the book she had been working from and slammed it down hard on her desk, “RON, FOR THE LAST BLOODY TIME I-DON’T-KNOW! NOW LEAVE! NOW BOTH OF YOU LEAVE!”

Harry quickly bounded off the bed and Ron sped through the doorframe. The duo quickly had run their way down to the kitchen where Ron helped himself to some cookies and milk from the refrigerator (“What a great way to not have to use Flash-Freezing Charms!”) and Harry just sat on a stool by the counter, with a dazed look on his face.

“C’mon now Harry,” Ron said, his mouth full of chocolate chips and baked dough. “It wasn’t that bad. How long have you two been going at it?”

Harry sighed and talked about how he had begun to struggle with himself over Hermione as just a friend or something more, and then how he had kissed her behind her father’s car. He explained how he had felt the past three days and then the events leading up to their snogging session near the foot of the stairs.

“Interesting,” Ron said around a mouthful of cookie. “But why did you begin to get a feelings shift for our dear mate Hermione Granger?”

Harry looked down at the designs of lilacs and roses on the tile floor of the Granger kitchen. He nicked one of Ron’s cookies and bit into it wondering if he should tell Ron about the wedding dream. A few bites later, after Harry had fully consumed about half of the cookie, Ron prodded a bit, “Well?”

Heaving another large sigh (everybody seemed to be sighing as of late), Harry told Ron about his dream of getting married to Hermione. Ron’s eyebrows waggled and rose slightly as Harry told it in the broken bits and pieces of dreams. He clearly remembered his mother and father, Crookshanks, and seeing Hermione walking down the aisle.

When he was finished, Ron gave a small snort. “I’m your best man, eh? Sounds interesting. Do I get to run your bachelor party too?”

Harry was irritated; how come Ron thought this was funny? “Ron...”

His red-headed friend put up his hands in mock surrender, “Okay, okay, so this is kind of important to you, I can appreciate that. There’s only one thing to do Harry,” he downed the rest of his milk, “We’ll have to talk some sense into her.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was afraid Ron would come up with pointless advice like that, but it had certainly been worth a try to bear his soul to Ron, hadn’t it? Harry snorted as quietly as he possibly could. Ron glowered a bit, but pretended not to notice.

“Isn’t there something I can do Ron?”

Ron plucked the last cookie from his plate, “Shy of creating a Love Potion, which judging by the why you two were kissing you hardly need that... I’d just give her time. Bloody cripes mate, she was certain that both of her best friends in addition whatever Vicky is to her wanted to snog her silly. I’m sure she was plenty confused before, especially as I’m such a gorgeous specimen for female forms to gaze upon for hours, if not days at a time.”

Harry sniggered, but even Ron’s lame attempt at humor was not helping his mood today as it normally would. “So… er- just give it time and all will work out for good in the end?”

Ron shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling with a gleam that was most often reserved for Fred and George before they went about a bit of troublemaking. “You could always just go on up back there.”

Harry moaned in disbelief, “You can’t be serious, Ron!”

Ron sort of grinned, “Why not Harry? She was working on something important, maybe something for spew...go on and see if you can’t help her out a little bit.”

Harry shook his head at Ron, “I can see why you decided that you wouldn’t be a good boyfriend for Hermione. Your ideas of how to get close seem more likely to pick an argument than to resolve one. Besides, our little Hermione up there got all Outstandings on her O.W.L.s, she can think for herself.”

Ron sputtered in disbelief his attention drawn from the Harry and Hermione drama, “I dreadfulled three subjects! I didn’t even get a single O. Mum hit the bloody roof...” Ron eventually managed to calm his tirade down much more swiftly then he had in years past.

“By the way,” Ron looked Harry in the eye, “If you need any help with how to kill You-Know-Who to fulfill the prophecy, Hermione can probably help you more then I can. Another reason to just go upstairs and-”

Ron was unable to finish his sentence as Harry had stood up, thrown both of his arms on the counter and was glaring at Ron, “How....do....you...know...about....the....prophecy...”

Ron blinked a bit and then cursed softly before answering, “Hermione owled me. That’s why I arrived here, I figured you could need some help, mate. I mean she didn’t quite say it plainly but told me enough that I was able to get Dad to spill it...”

Harry cared very little for what Ron thought about helping him, as he had stood up again seething with anger. Hermione had written Ron, told him what he had told her with an assumed understanding that she was to tell no one, and repeat, no one about it. Of course, as he was holding her in his arms at the time, nuzzling her to his chest, he hadn’t really considered that he really hadn’t told her anything about the secrecy of what he had uttered.

With Harry’s feet now taking him upstairs to unleash some of his anger on Hermione, Ron grabbed him by the shoulders. “Come now, don’t go and be a bloody prat and do something that’ll destroy this budding relationship.”

“What budding relationship?” But still, Harry allowed himself to be lead to a sofa in front of the television.

Ron sat down next to him, “Now, Harry, get a bloody grip on yourself. You remember how I looked at you when I mentioned that Ginny deserves a better boyfriend on the Hogwarts Express?”

Harry nodded sullenly, as much as he liked Ginny Weasley as a friend he could hardly picture himself caressing Ron’s little sister in the same manner he was snogging Hermione just minutes before.

“Well, Harry, it’s the same kind of deal here. As much I used to like this fine brunette beauty upstairs, when I saw how she worked as a prefect, how we were constantly bickering....bah, Harry my folks are like that often enough. Dad’s happy with it, but I couldn’t be. But with you Harry, you and Hermione have always gotten along, quite decently. And I still love Hermione; albeit platonically, therefore, I’d like to know her boyfriend would be a good, gentlemanly wizard...that’s you right there in a nutshell Harry!”

Harry felt like he was going to retch. He was glad that Ron was showing no (surface) hard feelings against the idea of his going out with Hermione, but he had no idea how to respond to what had happened in Hermione’s room.

“Look Harry, don’t get down on yourself because of what happened up there, it’s probably just that time of the month. After all, you know how emotional girls are, they can be real pains in the- what are you looking at?”

At around the time Ron had begun with his “Look Harry” portion of his pep talk to Harry, the raven-haired wizard had noticed that Hermione Granger had walked through the kitchen, and leaned across the counter with her arms folded and an unmistakable smirk on her face.

“Go on Ron,” she encouraged waving a hand at Ron in a run-along fashion, “You’re absolutely enthralling me. Girls are such pains in the?”

Ron refused to answer and instead groaned and announced he had to go to the bathroom. Hermione grinned wickedly, and gestured Harry to come over. As he did, Hermione leaned across the counter and gave Harry a gentle kiss on the lips. Harry felt his body respond with the instinct to snog her until she begged to stop, but declined his initial intentions and pulled away.

“Hermione,” he managed to get out, “What are you doing?”

“Acting like a prat,” she answered with an odd smile.

Harry didn’t doubt this, especially as just, he looked over Hermione’s shoulder at the clock, half an hour ago, she had been completely unsure where to go.

“I mean- I, er- uh, how did you, er- decide?” Harry felt as though he would soon melt into a toxic puddle, leaving nothing but his clothes, which would then be swallowed up by the acidity of the pale liquid that was once Harry, as he waited in trepidation for her answer.

She said nothing, but instead Hermione pulled a silver string out of her pocket.

It was an Extenable Ear.

In response to Harry’s unanswered question, she replied, “Fred and George sent me the charms they used to make them. I heard everything,” her eyes began to water, “Harry, I was so touched at you took our friendship into consideration...I simply knew you were what I wanted.”

There was still a slight edge in his voice, “So I’m just as good as Ron or Krum, eh? Just barely?”

The Hermione-voice inside of his head that showed logic and reason scolded him, Just what are you trying to do here? Throw your sense of ego into the rubbish bin and kiss her before she can answer.

Harry decided, for once, to listen to this part of his brain, and kissed Hermione deeply just as she began to speak.

After a few seconds, the toilet flushed, and Harry clearly heard Ron’s voice cry out after the door had opened,“Erm, Hermione, your toilet overflowed- oh good Gryffindor!” and he began applauding mockingly as Harry and Hermione broke off their kiss and wheeled around to face Ron, who was standing up to his ankles in toilet water.

Hermione leapt into action and jogged around the counter to Ron, berating him all the time. “Oh honestly Ron, you needn’t have opened the door, it’s getting all over the carpet and I can’t clean it up or fix the pipes with magic since its summer.”

Walking over, Harry grinned, “The Ministry only sends you a warning the first time Hermione.”

Hermione gave him a look of utter disbelief, “And just because I can bend the rules and get away with it doesn’t mean that I have to does it Harry?”

“Erm, no, I suppose not,” Harry was certainly at a loss to explain how that much water had flowed out of Hermione’s toilet, but, as usual, Hermione took charge. She walked over, careful not to slip in the water or touch an electric switch (Harry had to slap Ron’s arm when he tried to turn off the light).

Hermione then opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a supply of plumbing tools. Ron was quite amazed.

“You know how to be a plubbler?”

“Plumber,” Hermione corrected, “And yes, I taught myself from some how-to books I read after I finished all of my summer homework in second year.” She began to look at the back of the toilet, and waved at Harry and Ron with a wrench, “Could you two please leave? I’d like to do this without an audience.”

With that, Harry and Ron walked out the door. Ron looked at Harry with a bit of interest, “Got yourself quite a catch there, eh, Harry?”

“Oh, do shut up,” Harry said with a grin.


A/N: Just like to suggest that everyone visits www.xs4all.nl/~myranya/help4free.html where your click on any of listed sites helps pay for a donation sponsored by businesses with adbanners on the page towards certain causes (e.g. thehungersite.com helps fight hunger, thebirthsite.com helps impoverished pregnant mothers, thebiblesite.org gives books of the Bible to persecuted Christians per click, etc.). You can also find links to help “use your computer to help process some information. You download the client and a small packet of data, process it either while your computer is idle or run the program in the background, then send the results back to the server and retrieve a new data packet. “

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Harry Potter and the Avatars of Atlantis
Chapter Four: Experimental Vortex Charms

The Order of the Phoenix was quite appalled when they discovered that Ron Weasley had used an illegal Portkey to transport himself to the Granger's house in London. Mrs. Weasley sent a Howler that berated Ron in some of the harshest terms possible, and closed with: "YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE DISGRACE...COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED, THAT PORTKEY WAS NOT EVEN REGISTERED!"

Ron was rather upset about this, as Fred and George had designed the Portkey, claiming that it would not register on any magical sensors (which, according to a cryptic note from Kingsley Shacklebolt, it hadn't. Kingsley also said that Fred and George had been inducted into the Order because of their invention, and were churning out the new Portkeys in their spare time).

He wrote back to his mother that they should get at least some of the blame, although his letter was obviously in vain when he received no replies. Hermione, meanwhile, was completely amazed at the Portkey Fred and George had designed after she learned that it emitted no magical pulses detectable by the Ministry of Magic...or anybody else. She took the old fork from Ron and began analyzing it, saying over and over that she couldn't detect any noticeable differences and that it was a stroke of genius.

For his part, Harry began thoroughly enjoying a summer for the first memorable time since he was a spectator at the Quidditch World Cup. He was able to show Ron around Muggle London with Hermione (although Harry was quite certain that an invisible member of the Order was constantly watching them).

He especially enjoyed their trip to a movie theater, where Ron shouted out advice to the characters, laughed at things such as paying taxes by filling out a form, and was quite impressed with matches

Harry and Hermione, who tried to get a little personal time during the movie were never able to capture the right moment, but despite that, Harry simply found that holding hands with Hermione, watching a movie, and sniggering at Ron's behavior while praying that they didn't get chucked out of the theater for said behavior was actually quite pleasant.

At the house, the Grangers treated Harry and Ron with politeness, and Hermione's father gave Harry a nice long talk in his study about how to treat Hermione as a lady. Harry nodded and affirmed he would...he was far too young to do most of the stuff Mr. Granger was worried about, Hermione wouldn't consent to it anyway, and he had always felt a justification that they were such things to be put aside until he had wedded a witch.

Until then, Harry could deal very well with simply snogging with Hermione.

The other thing that began to worry Harry incessantly about the lack of anything more than prickling at his scar. Undoubtedly, as Ron pointed out to him, Voldemort wanted to lie low after the outburst of publicity following Cornelius Fudge's startling announcement that Lord Voldemort was indeed back again. Nonetheless, it rather annoyed Harry. He felt a burning desire for something, anything to happen. The fact that Voldemort continued to do nothing was beginning to alarm Harry.

Since Harry was none to keen to read much into the Daily Prophet, Ron and Hermione gave him a brief summary of how the Fudge Ministry was being manhandled by the press each day over breakfast.

The Department Heads had voted a no-confidence in Minister Fudge, "for the first time since Phineas Pawtucket was kicked in the arse by his own appointed Department Heads in 1307". While this meant that Fudge was technically still the Minister of Magic, but the position was only pro tempore until elections were held throughout Britain by all wizards and witches over seventeen to decide whether or not to recall him. Ron expressed much bitterness at this, as he was not allowed a ballot, since he believed he could at least make as sensible a choice as Fred and George.

This naturally spawned another Ron and Hermione argument which Harry had to snuff out like a candle. The problem was not getting his proverbial fingers burned, and Harry believed that he had successfully done so, although he was glad that Ron wasn't allowed to do magic after he called him a "first-rate prat."

Apparently there was much jockeying for the candidacies for Minister of Magic, although the polls in the Daily Prophet (which automatically adjusted as each reader over seventeen tapped it with their wand and uttered who they wished to vote for) declared that if Dumbledore declared a candidacy, he would defeat his opposition by a margin of eighteen-to-one. Overall, the recall itself was very popular among the Wizarding community as a full two-thirds of magical Britain wanted Fudge out.

A few people had apparently voted, (but hopefully in jest) that Ludovic Bagman was an excellent choice for Minister, but the remaining non-Dumbledore votes were split between a woman who worked at the Department of Muggle Relations, a Joanne Rowling (Harry idly wondered what job she had to work with Muggles) and Amos Diggory, who was billed as the Deputy Head of the Department of Mysteries.

"Cedric's dad is running?" Ron asked inquisitively as Hermione read off the latest numbers.

"I suppose so," she answered readily, "It'd be nice to have someone who actually has witnessed Voldemort's work firsthand." A sad expression formed on her face, "It's just so horrible that I actually consider that a good thing."

Harry nodded, but he agreed with the sentiment in Hermione's comment. Having met Mr. Diggory quite awhile ago before the Quidditch World Cup, he had thought the man rather over-bearing, but perhaps that zealous drive was now centered towards unseating Voldemort from power.

He squeezed Hermione's thigh under the table and they grinned at each other. If they hadn't been a little too involved in the moment, they might have noticed that Ron's grin faltered a bit. The silent connection between Harry and Hermione practically drove his lips downwards.

But this ended immediately as Mr. Granger's booming voice echoed throughout the room as he came down wearing a blue bathrobe.

"G'morning to you," he said cheerfully, but not without giving a warning glance at Harry. Harry pretended to ignore this, as he felt that it must be normal behavior on behalf of Hermione's father. And, to be honest, it was probably hard to trust someone whom they had seen snogging his daughter behind a Mercedes.

His Mercedes.

Ron sniggered into his bacon (which Harry had gladly cooked, his chest had swelled when Hermione declared it the best she'd ever had...which at least meant three years as Dudley's personal breakfast chef hadn't gone entirely to waste), and Harry knew that he too had seen the glance Mr. Granger had given him.

"Sod off," he muttered to Ron under his breath as Hermione went over to give her father a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

This just caused Ron to giggle some more, and Harry was reminded strongly of Lavender and Parvati. If he said that, he was quite certain that Ron would quit. But what was the point? Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves...and when Harry and Hermione would occasionally sneak out of their beds and snog under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, Harry was quite certain that they were both enjoying themselves.

As Harry was mulling over the lips of Hermione Granger, the woman who had given birth to Harry's current object of affection crept down the stairs, and walked into the kitchen.

Mrs. Granger was a decidedly plain-looking woman Harry noted, as she flounced with her red-hair done into a bun. He looked over her pale, freckled face and stormy gray eyes which crinkled into a smile at the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry couldn't help but smile when he saw her, she seemed full of sunshine and happiness most times.

"Top of the mornin' to y'all," she said with a thick Irish brogue, "Good t'see ye this mornin'."

Harry was tempted to begin singing "Irish Eyes Are Smiling" but decided not only would that deeply insult Mrs. Granger, but he'd rather not see how Hermione reacted. One only need ask Draco Malfoy how it felt to be slapped upside the face by Hermione Elizabeth Granger.

"What are you planning to do today?" Mr. Granger asked imperiously, with another glance at Harry.

Hermione grinned, and jerked a thumb over at Harry, "Well, it's Guess Who's birthday tomorrow...so Ron and I will take turns distracting him while we buy presents for him."

Ron sniggered lightly around a mouthful of egg, "I know how you'll be distracting Harry." He gave a wicked grin and Harry felt his face move from a peachy cream to a deep scarlet. Not that he would mind if Hermione distracted him that way...actually he'd rather enjoy it...

Ron continued speaking, "But I already got Harry his present."

Hermione's eyebrows rocketed into the ceiling, "You, Ron Weasley, who had to sneak out using the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak in fifth year to buy me my Christmas gift on Christmas Eve actually got Harry his present beforehand?"

Harry snorted, remembering how frantic Ron had been as he raced out of the common room and his depressed look when he returned to the dormitories with a bottle of rather foul-smelling perfume. Hermione had been polite, declaring it was "really interesting". Harry remembered gagging from the smell, something like sulphur, as soon as Ron entered through the portrait hole.

"Yes!" Ron cried indignantly, then his eyes narrowed and a grin formed as he looked at Hermione, "And did our favorite know-it-all forget about her significant other's gift?"

Harry was quite surprised at how well Ron had taken his and Hermione's getting together. He sometimes caught Ron being a bit more cautious and aloof around the pair, but he had yet to give a detailed example of what the Weasley Rage was and how it worked. For this, Harry was rather thankful.

Hermione simply gave a grin that made Harry entirely forget the conversation, where he was, his date of birth, and middle name. Even though Hermione's smile hadn't been directed at him. His brunette beauty then put her last piece of bacon into her mouth and excused herself saying that she needed to get ready.

Harry followed his pajama-clad girlfriend with his eyes as she jogged out of the kitchen, and then turned his stare at his breakfast. He grabbed a piece of wheat toast, which Hermione's parents stocked because it had a good deal less processed sugar than any of the sourdough bread he had consumed at the Dursleys. He sniggered as he remembered that after his arrival Ron had been so impressed with the toaster that he was constantly wondering how the Muggles managed to make the bread disappear until Hermione had told him how it actually just put loads of heat on the bread. The fifteen-year old Weasley's face had gone through several shades of red and purple and he hadn't quite regained the nerve to look at the toaster.

As he used the toast to mop up the remaining bits of egg yolk, Harry turned to Ron with a grin, "So what'd you get me?"

Ron shook his head, grinning, "Can't tell ya that, mate. Wouldn't be very prudent of me, now would it?"

Harry shrugged, picked up his dishes (and Hermione's who had forgotten to put it away) and placed them in the dishwasher. After doing so, he wheeled around and headed upstairs, also to change.

After bounding up the stairs, Harry walked through the hallway and was about to open his door when he heard mutterings coming from Hermione's room: ".....Eternito....Americ....Dunne....Shimmeein...." Harry was unable to catch all of it, but wondering what was going on (and in the back of his mind, fearful of a possible Death Eater attack), he quietly moved into Hermione's room.

Standing there in her pajamas, Hermione had her wand out and was making the infinity sign in golden light as she was stating words in a language Harry had never heard before. Her brown eyes were focused intently on the lop-sided eight she was making in front of her, and they widened with disbelief as the golden light became silver and the rings of the infinity sign merged, forming an oval-shaped gray opening that was turning a brighter and brighter color, almost a platinum, as it increased in volume. A loud rushing wind swept through the house, rustling papers from the desk and launching Hermione's bedspread in the air. Hermione didn't even notice, but continued muttering words in that ancient language, "Infinita....Vortexius!"

The bedspread smacked Harry at a very hard speed, and Hermione's door began to open and close at odd intervals, banging off its hinges. Hermione's digital clock on her nightstand began, slowly at first, but then with more and more frequency, running the numbers backward and forward with excessive speed.

The bedspread was flung off Harry and it began headed for the hole, which was now glowing green around the edges. Then, without warning, the wind stopped, the platinum hole receded into nothingness, the door slammed and everything flying fell to the ground as gravity yanked it downwards.

This included the bedspread, which fell on Harry again, and he tried to get out from under it, but knocked his glasses off his nose and his feet were shortly there after entangled. His attempt to stand up resulted in him toppling over, and thwacking his forehead on the wood-paneled floor of Hermione's bedroom.

"Yow!" he cried, and soon, he felt urgent hands pulling the bedspread off of him. Hermione stood over him, a worried expression on her countenance and she handed him his glasses. Harry looked at Hermione as if she had just grown a second head. As he slowly got up and put his glasses on, he sputtered for a few seconds until he finally found his voice.

"What? W-hat was t-t-that?" he gestured at the now normal piece of space where a gaping silver hole had once been.

Hermione looked over, as if nothing had been there. She cursed loudly, and muttered "I almost had it that time!" She then looked at Harry and waved her hand expansively around the room. "Just an experiment in temporal displacement, Harry."

Harry had no idea what temporal displacement was, and to be quite honest, he felt that had no real bearing on what was going on. He looked around Hermione's now excessively messy room, half expecting a Ministry of Magic owl to come in and give Hermione a letter telling her she was being officially warned for breaking the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery.

Hermione followed his gaze out the window and chuckled, "The Ministry won't send me a letter Harry."

He looked into her cinnamon brown eyes and waited for her to elaborate, but instead she shut her mouth and put her wand on her nightstand and began to fiddle with her clock, which put the time at nineteen-forty-five and was flashing constantly.

"Well?"

Hermione played with the buttons on the top of her clock, and looked at Harry with a raised left eyebrow, "Well what?"

Harry was exasperated. "Why won't the Ministry send you a letter?"

Hermione sighed, opened up her sock drawer and rummaged through it, until she pulled out a piece of parchment with several symbols Harry vaguely knew where Ancient Runes and some Arithmancy equations. Harry and Ron had elected to take Divination and have a free period rather then succumb to the two extra classes. Hermione on the other hand, attacked her studies with as much vigor as possible, if not more than was possible, and had taken both the courses and skipped on Divination claiming Professor Trelawney was "an old fraud".

"This explains it how?" he held his hands open in an 'I-don't-understand' position.

Hermione smiled sweetly, "I've been working on a theory in my spare time in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy the past two years on temporal displacement."

Seeing Harry's blank stare, she added, "Time travel, Harry."

Harry sat down in a very comfortable armchair next to the back wall that had miraculously not been tipped over when the rushing hurricane caused by Hermione's time-travel spell and sat down. He looked into Hermione's eyes and wondered if she wouldn't mind sitting in his lap right now...

"Professor Vector has been extremely interested in my theories and gave me permission to work on them this summer," she continued, "That's the farthest I've gotten along on since I started. Used to just get a bit of a silver mist, kind of like a failed Patronus."

Harry nodded, "But don't wizards already have Time-Turners to deal with those things?"

Hermione grinned, and took on the role of professor. Harry honestly wouldn't be surprised if some day she was the bloody Headmistress of Hogwarts, and he listened attentively. "Yes Harry, but Time-Turners do not work well when going into the future, or setting a specific place in the past to go to. If my reading of the old Atlantean runes is correct, then it is extremely likely that doing this Time Vortex Charm would allow someone to go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted. It could be powerfully useful in the fight against Voldemort," she answered and her smile widened as she looked at Harry's face. Harry believed he had garnered about one word in four, but enough to understand the generalities of what she was talking about.

"Thank you Professor Granger," Harry said serenely, "I suppose you'll be using the Vortex to take four or five extra advanced classes this year?"

Hermione picked up a pillow that had fallen off her bed and soundly smacked him with it in the face. "Hey!" he shouted "Watch the glasses!"

Hermione giggled and pulled the pillow away from Harry and tossed it on the floor. Harry looked at her, even with her hair an even more complete mess than usual, and without any make-up (not that Hermione ever wore any anyway), Harry couldn't imagine having seen a more beautiful girl in his life, and wondered why he had ever considered Hermione as just a friend, or as a surrogate sister.

Had Harry had a highly developed sense of irony, he would have likely found his last thought quite funny as he spent most of his time denying that said thoughts even existed just a few weeks ago.

"Now," Hermione grinned, "why don't you leave me to get changed, and fix yourself up."

Harry nodded and left her room and as he walked down towards his door, he noticed Ron was biting into a strip of greasy bacon as he sauntered up the stairs. Ron gave Harry an odd look and peaked over his shoulder at the mess in Hermione's room as she closed the door. Ron then gave his best friend a queer look, one that clearly said, "How did that happen, and what part did you play in it?"

Harry just shook his head, "Hermione will explain." With that, he headed into room and changed. The first week he had been at the Granger's, once they realized the horribly minute selection of clothing he had, they had bought him a nice selection of T-shirts and jeans. Harry promised to pay them back after he went to Diagon Alley and Gringotts, telling them he could converts Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts into Muggle pounds and pence.

Mr. Granger would hear nothing of the sort, and his wife joshed that "It's a dowry for our daughter ye know."

Harry had blushed beet-red, but as he put on a green T-shirt and blue jeans, he was happy that he had nice clothes to wear when he was strolling down the streets of London with his hand entwined with Hermione's, laughing at some joke or another Ron had just come up with.

As he came downstairs, he found that Ron and Hermione had already finished getting ready, which meant that Ron must have been quite eager to learn what made Hermione's room look like a tornado hit it. They were standing by the door, Hermione articulating on exactly how the Time Vortex Charm worked and it's possible impact on the Voldemort War.

Ron was quite impressed that Hermione was allowed to use magic during the holidays before she was seventeen, even if al it was a charm to rip a portal between the third and fourth dimensions. Harry was a little jealous that she was allowed to do that himself. But having to work out complex readings of ancient runes and Arithmancy was not exactly high of list of things that Harry fancied much either.

"Ready to go?" he asked as he arrived at the door, planting a kiss on Hermione's cheek.

She nodded, and Harry grinned, "So you forgot about my birthday, did you?"

Hermione giggled and Ron laughed uproariously. "No," she said, "But I was certain Ron had." At this, Ron crossed his arms and gave them both a look that eerily mirrored Molly Weasley's.

Harry opened the door for Hermione and walked hand-in-hand with her off the porch and onto the sidewalk. Ron closed the door behind them and gave a small sigh, "It'll never be the same again."
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After a raucous day of laughter and enjoying the sights of London, the two wizards and one witch returned to the Granger's. They ate a hearty meal of roast duck (without dessert, as the Granger's were dentists) and salad, and enjoyed a good deal of conversation. If only, Harry thought, Hermione's dad wouldn't look at me with such meaning in his eyes.

When they had finished and done the dishes. Harry dried, Hermione washed, and Ron cracked an endless amount of husband and wife jokes that made both of them look down at their toes with embarrassment more than snigger.

Although it did appear that Ron was rather enjoying himself.

As soon as they had finished the chore, Harry chased Ron upstairs and managed to dive and catch him right at the top of the staircase and had him in a half nelson before Hermione came up, her eyebrows raised and a grin upon her countenance.

"Quite the mature ones are we?"

Ron kicked Harry in the knee and Harry rolled over. Ron tried to use this to get on top of him to finally achieve victory, but Harry just pushed him off and the red-headed teenager ended up crashing into Hermione's ankles. She wavered for a second and tried to regain her balance, but fell into the banister and rolled down the stairs screaming curses at Ron and Harry for their childishness.

Harry naturally raced down after her as swiftly as was humanly possible, as well as Ron. Hermione's parents, who had been watching television in the living room came to her aid. Hermione seemed to have sustained little damage, the benefit of being a witch Harry supposed, remembering how Neville's Great Uncle Algie had dropped him from a window and he had bounced on the road.

Hermione looked at Ron with disdain, and Harry with a little bit of anger in her eyes, but it ended as soon as she realized the pained look on Harry's face. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he blurted out and he helped her up, "That's all my fault." He was far too embarrassed to look into her eyes and looked down hoping she wouldn't give him one of those looks that almost, but not quite, put McGonagall to shame.

She nodded, accepting his apology without words. Ron fumbled his hands around in his pockets for awhile before he also gave his "I'm sorry." This was also accepted and Hermione was able to get her parents to leave. Harry sighed, glad that the awkward situation was over.

They were led up the steps by her, almost as if she was a disciplinarian, and Ron gave Harry a 'we're-in-for-it' look. Instead of berating them as soon as they were out of earshot of her parents, however, Hermione invited them to come into her room.

"All right," she said, "now have we learned our lesson about being immature gits?"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked at Hermione with an odd mixture of horror and admiration, "Have you ever considered that perhaps you're related to McGonagall? I'm quite certain that you could possibly be her daughter."

Hermione bristled noticeably at this, and Harry decided that it was probably a good time for him to step in, before the situation possibly got out of hand.

"Hermione." He raised a hand, but made certain that his gaze was softened and she could see that he meant no insult.

It was rather funny to Harry know that he thought about it, but he had never realized just how alluring Hermione Granger was she turned on her professor mode. And although he did want to let her know that he and Ron were sorry, despite that it wasn't really their fault; he quickly decided that he would not be able to convince of this with mere words. Actions had to be taken.

So he walked over to her and kissed her gently on the lips. He leaned over to her ear and whispered, "We're sorry, honestly. I didn't mean that and you know it."

She nodded and kissed him on cheek, and told him that he should probably go to his room and sleep...it was a big day tomorrow.

Harry did so.

Neither one of them really noticed that Ron's face had fallen to pieces when Harry had kissed Hermione, completely leaving him out of the loop and had walked out seething something terrible. And of course, Harry wouldn't notice, since the Granger's had two guestrooms.

Tomorrow certainly would be a big day.