Who Turned Off The Water?

TheGreatFox2000

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/09/2004
Last Updated: 03/12/2004
Status: completed

After Harry’s fifth year, he’s left to his own devices at the Dursley’s until he receives a strange letter from Dumbledore, and an even stranger surprise as a result. Response to the ‘Don’t Ask’ challenge by Digital Dodo. One-shot turned into a two-shot ;).

Chapters

1. Who Turned Off The Water?

2. Stranger Things Have Happened

1. Who Turned Off The Water?

Ok, it’s only 3k words roughly when I said it would be 7.5. So sue me.

All right, this is my second official challenge response (the first being the smutty piece I did for Heather-Sinclair’s Pine Fresh Challenge; check her profile, not mine). I’m surprised I was able to keep this rated-R as it is, my smut muse is wayyyyyyy to strong for me. With that said, have fun and please review!

*****

Who Turned off the Water?

A challenge response by Yours Truly, TheGreatFox2000.

Link to the ‘Don’t Ask’ challenge:

http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=11318&st=0&#entry155508 (copy and paste)

Rating: R

Categories: Angst/Humor

Summary: After Harry’s fifth year, he’s left to his own devices at the Dursley’s until he receives a strange letter from Dumbledore, and an even stranger surprise as a result. Response to the ‘Don’t Ask’ challenge by Digital Dodo.

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Harry lay on his bed at Number Four, Privet Drive after an unimaginable day of chores at the hands of his aunt. Remembering wistfully his experience with the de-gnoming of the Weasley garden, he wondered if Ron would ever complain again if he knew the activities the Dursleys put him through.

Sprinkling fertilizer on the lawn wasn’t so bad, nor was weeding the garden. But when Aunt Petunia told him to get rid of the old tree that had finally fallen over in the back yard, Harry knew he was in for a long day. Considering he wasn’t able to use magic, he thought he did a good job of it. He had gone into the shed and found a hatchet that he would be able to use to cut up the limbs and take them to the nearby disposal plant before hacking into the trunk, and set to work.

Five hours later he was finally done. Although glad to be laying on his bed out of the beating heat of the sun, he remembered why he didn’t mind the chores as much as anyone else would. To put it simply, the physical exercise took his mind off of Sirius. It was the only thing keeping him sane for the three weeks that he had been there. Now, relaxing in his room waiting for his Aunt to shout at him that dinner was ready, Harry slipped into the state of depression that haunted him every time his godfather’s memory crossed his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft tapping on his window. Looking up, he saw Fawkes perched on the sill outside, waiting patiently for entrance.

‘What’s he want with me now?’ Harry thought inwardly while walking over to the window, knowing that only Dumbledore would have sent the phoenix. Fawkes swooped into the room once he was allowed entrance, and dropped the letter on Harry’s bed before fluttering down next to Hedwig and taking a small drink of water.

Harry took the envelope in his hands and opened it, only to find a small bronze ring fall out, along with the parchment on which his letter was written.

Harry,

Unfortunately I cannot at this time say everything that needs to be said. There is too much risk, and even Fawkes is no longer protected completely by his ancient magic. Inside this envelope is a bronze ring which will act as a portkey. As a precaution, I cannot state the exact time at which it will transport you to headquarters, for there are methods to intercept people directly during portkey travel. Put it on, and leave it on at all times; you will be transported along with your belongings when the time is right. I apologise for the inconvenience, and hope that your summer has not been as unbearable as previous ones.

Yours truly,
A.D.

Anger rose in Harry and he crumpled the parchment and threw it into the corner of his room, startling the two birds. It was just like Dumbledore to do this to him. Send good old Harry a portkey and make him wear it all the time, just because he didn’t want to tell the date of its activation in the letter. Even if the letter had been intercepted, why or how would Fawkes still deliver it to him?

His thoughts were interrupted once again by the sound of his aunt calling him down to dinner, followed by Fawkes swooping out the open window. Resigned to his temporary fate, Harry slipped the ring onto his finger and made his way downstairs to his so-called family.

“Where have you been?” asked his aunt as Harry walked into the kitchen.

“My room,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“Well come over here and set the table,” she replied, turning back to the stove. Harry grabbed plates and silverware out of the drawers and cabinets and placed them on the table that was already laden with several of Dudley’s favorite dishes. Frowning inwardly, he placed the utensils and plates on the table as he heard a car door close, followed by the sound of a key turning in the front door’s lock. Shortly thereafter, the loud thundering of his cousin’s footsteps came from the hall.

“Hello, Duddikens,” Petunia said in a babying voice as he plowed through the kitchen, knocking Harry over in the process and went straight into the dinning room.

“Boy, help Petunia with the cooking,” said Vernon entering and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. Harry nodded, picking himself up from the floor and went over to his aunt.

“Put this on the table,” she said handing him a large platter of veal cutlets. Carefully he took the platter and set it on the table as his cousin and uncle sat down. Petunia came into the kitchen and placed a bowl of string beans (‘It’s good to have your green vegetables, Dudders,’) on the table, taking her seat at the same time.

The dinner progressed rather quickly, Dudley kept talking about his last boxing match, and how he nearly set a record for quickest knockout.

“Twelve seconds into the round, I say,” he said, shoveling veal into his mouth. “Only took one punch to knock ‘em down.”

“Well done my boy,” Vernon said. “What do you think Petunia?”

“Hmm? Oh it’s wonderful of course,” she said. “Harry take that blasted ring off, it’s clinks every time you pick up your glass.” At this, Harry brought his fork to a halt in mid-air, and set it back down on the plate.

“I...uh...can’t,” he said fidgeting slightly.

“Boy, if your aunt tells you to do something, you do it,” his uncle retorted.

“Why can’t you take it off?” asked Dudley, suddenly interested in anything that might get Harry in trouble. Seeing he wasn’t going to avoid this, he decided to come up with the best possible lie he could think of.

“It’s protecting me from Voldemort,” he said, silently praying that the Dursley’s would buy it. “If I take it off, he can get to me, along with the people I’m near,” he added, hoping to convince his aunt and uncle that it was a good idea to let him leave it on.

“So, as long as you wear it, then Volermold...whatever his name is can’t come here?” barked Vernon.

“That’s the idea,” Harry replied. His uncle looked at his wife with contemplation.

“Fine,” Petunia said at last. “But pick your drink up with your other hand, then.”

“Sorry,” he muttered before Dudley resumed his boxing discussion, obviously disappointed to see Harry get his way.

The rest of dinner passed in silence, and much to Harry’s gratitude, he was allowed to go back up to his room without having to clear the table.

Sighing, he grabbed a photo album of him and various people at Hogwarts from his trunk and lay down on his bed, looking through it.

The first picture was taken in Harry’s third year, right after the quidditch final. In the chaotic celebration that ensued, Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to obtain some Firewhiskey for the older students, and as a result, the majority of the quidditch team was very drunk. Only Harry was sober.

Being that he was in third year, Hermione had flatly refused to let him drink, saying that consuming alcohol at such a young age could stunt one’s growth. He had retorted by saying that Butterbeer had alcohol, but she countered with the fact that you would probably have to drink about a hundred of them to equal what one shot of firewhiskey would do. Although, Harry remembered, Ron had made quite a start on that, having downed what looked to be about twenty of them already.

Hermione. Harry turned the page and found a picture of only her and him, taken by Colin Creevey during his fourth year when he and Ron weren’t on speaking terms. The two people in the picture had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders and were smiling and occasionally nudging each other in a friendly manner.

Upon seeing Hermione’s picture, a clenching sensation began to start up in Harry’s chest, one that seemed to eat at his soul. Closing the album, he sighed and buried his head in his pillow. That had been happening every time he thought of her. Ever since the Department of Mysteries incident, Harry had wondered what exactly he would’ve done had Hermione died that night, along with why he suddenly had trouble keeping his mind off of her.

“Probably would’ve ended up blowing the place to bits,” he said bitterly into his pillow. These strange thoughts had haunted him for the first two weeks, when after waking up from a nightmare one night, he realised exactly what all of it meant.

Well at least he thought he did. Being that he grew up with the Dursleys, he couldn’t really be sure of what love was, but from what Harry had heard, it sure felt like love to him. No longer was Hermione the friend who helped him with his homework and personal problems. He knew he would never be able to look at her the same again, feeling what he did for the only person who ever truly understood what it was like to be Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.

‘How am I going to deal with this?’ he thought before he drifted off into a sleep filled with nightmares of Hermione dying over and over again.

=====

A week had passed since Harry had received the ring, and he was still stuck at Number Four, Privet Drive, his so-called home. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he rose from his bed and fumbled around for his glasses before finding them and putting them on. Remembering that it was July 31, and therefore his birthday, he looked to his desk only to find it devoid of letters.

His brow furrowed in confusion. With the exception of his second year when Dobby had purposely hidden his letters from him, his friends had always made sure that his letters, along with his presents were waiting for him when he awoke.

He hadn’t expected nothing. At the very least he expected a letter from Dumbledore hinting on when the bloody ring on his finer would take him to Grimmauld Place. But there was nothing of the sort. Maybe something had arrived, and he just hadn’t seen it yet.

“I didn’t receive anything while I was asleep, did I, Hedwig?” he asked his snowy owl. She hooted firmly and the flew out the window for a morning hunt. “Guess not.” Deciding that since the Dursley’s were most definitely not going to celebrate his birthday, he walked down the hall without dressing to take a shower.

Upon entering the bathroom he immediately turned on the water, and after using the bathroom, undressed himself of his pyjama bottoms and stepped into the hot spray.

He ran his hand through his wet hair and sighed. It wasn’t already bad enough with the death of Sirius, and his usual imprisonment in Little Whinging, but having everyone forget his birthday? It didn’t seem right. Scratch that, it didn’t seem fair. He sighed as a thought of Hermione flashed through his mind again. Out of all the people whom he figured might forget his birthday, her name was on the bottom of that list.

As he though about it a bit more, he realised that he shouldn’t think about her in the shower. Somehow a picture of Hermione at the Yule Ball in her amazing blue dress with the slightly revealing neckline and a very high slit up the side of her thighs kept running through his mind, causing some of the blood in his brain to leave on vacation for other places.

Although he never admitted it to anyone besides himself, Hermione had looked positively amazing that night. Though she had been 14 at the time, spending an extra half year running around with a time turner had made her body become much more mature, and much more difficult to not look at. ‘Especially with that bloody dress not helping matters,’ he thought as the last of the blood in his head seemed to evacuate the premises.

Grumbling a bit to himself, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to think of something that would eliminate his ‘excitement’. Perhaps Snape in supermodel lingerie. This proved to be a bad idea, as the shock from that image caused Harry to slip on the wet floor of the shower, and fall down hard on his arse causing an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. Groaning, he closed his eyes to make the queasiness pass. Finally, the spinning sensation stopped and he opened his eyes to find that the lights were off, and the water had stopped running.

‘Must be a power outage,’ he thought. ‘But that wouldn’t cause the shower to stop. Who turned off the water?’

And then all of a sudden, the lights turned back on.

“SURPRISE!!!” shouted the entire assembly of people behind him, but the cheering and applause immediately ceased when they realised the situation. Harry simply sat there in all of his glory, sporting a full-blown case of excited male hormones, wondering whether or not closing his eyes would make it all go away.

“Er....you might want to put something on, mate,” Ron said, his face as crimson as the hair on his head. Enough blood finally made its way back to Harry’s brain for him to realise the exact situation he was in, and promptly bolted from the kitchen basement faster than he could’ve riding his firebolt.

The assembled group looked around at each other with looks of shock, embarrassment, and amusement. Anyone who had a knack for spotting things could tell that Moody’s magical eye was fixed firmly on the ground.

“Well now,” said Fred with his arms crossed. “That was..er...interesting.”

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” Molly said looking at Dumbledore sternly.

“I have to admit, I certainly didn’t expect this.....outcome,” the headmaster said with a bemused expression.

“Oh stop it, all of you!” Hermione shouted, clearly unsettled by what had just happened. “Look at what you’ve just done to Harry and all you do is sit here and joke about it. I’m going to check on if he’s okay.” With that she stormed out of the room.

“She has it bad,” George said with a chuckle once the door to the basement kitchen had slammed shut.

“Real bad,” agreed his twin brother.

Upstairs Harry was laying in his bed after having dried off on his sheets and thrown on some clothes from his trunk (which had apparently been transported along with him), wondering how he should feel about what had just happened.

He supposed he shouldn’t be so mad about it, but somehow not telling him that he shouldn’t have been showering with the ring on made him even angrier at Dumbledore. Not to mention the fact that Hermione had seen him with a raging hard-on, though thankfully she didn’t know it was because of her.

He was considering how resolve this when a soft knock came at his door.

“Harry?” Hermione called, and he immediately felt a blush creep up his cheeks. “Are you decent?”

“Yeah, come on in,” he replied sullenly. She entered and he regretted letting her in. Seeing her in a tight green t-shirt and hip huggers was not going to help to improve his mood, much less his blood pressure.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” Hermione said looking at her feet as she sat down on the bed beside him.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“For letting them convince me to go along with it,” Hermione replied. “I didn’t want to, I knew that when you woke up and didn’t see anything from any of us it would only make matters worse. And then there was the issue of you getting transported here.........”

“Naked?” Harry finished for her when she didn’t continue, to which she nodded.

“I assume you were taking a shower?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“....yeah,” he replied after some hesitation. “JUST a shower.” Hermione looked up and smiled slightly.

“I didn’t say anything to suggest otherwise,” she said with a slight grin. “Although I’m a bit curious as to who the lucky girl is.” Harry’s eyes widened at this.

“What makes you think I was thinking about a girl?” he asked cautiously.

“I would hope you were thinking about a girl,” she replied shrugging. “But if you prefer the male gender, then there’s nothing wrong with that.” Harry crossed his arms at this before looking away.

“I’m not gay,” he replied firmly.

“I know that!” she replied laughing. “Honestly, it was a joke.”

“Hmph,” came the reply.

“So come on,” she said smiling. “Who was it?” Harry turned and looked at her, but regretted it instantly because another blush appeared from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. Smiling, Hermione leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before getting up. “Thanks,” was all she said as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

“What the hell just happened?” Harry asked to the air.

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

Well that’s it, I know it ended kind of abruptly, but I didn’t want to add more, for fear of turning it into a full length fic. That’s all for now, and DON’T FORGET TO REVIEW!!

2. Stranger Things Have Happened

Sigh. I know I usually say I love you guys, but this time I gotta hate you. The words ‘one-shot’ and ‘fear of turning it into a full-length fic’ apparently mean nothing. Lol, I’m only kidding.

That being said, after this chapter, THERE WILL BE NO MORE. I already have plans for my next novel length fic(s) after my trilogy is complete, and this story is not, nor will it be involved in those plans. However, for those of you who wanted closure after the first part, I give you this. Enjoy at your own risk, after all, Thanksgiving was only a few days ago and I’m sure I have some pumpkin pie saved for me to use as inspiration ;) ;) .

Fair warning, there really isn’t any humor in this chapter. This is much more serious and, naturally as all of my fics are, fluffy in the end.

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Chapter 2: Stranger Things Have Happened

Harry stared blankly at the door that Hermione had departed through for a good twenty minutes before Ron finally came up and knocked.

“Harry?” he asked tentatively through the door. “You all right mate?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Come on in.”

Ron pushed the door open and stepped inside the room, walking as though he was on thin ice and didn’t want to fall through.

“Relax, Ron,” Harry said. “I’m okay.” The red-head breathed a sigh of relief.

“Glad to hear it,” he grinned. “Remus is actually in a right state.”

“Why?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“Well the whole thing was his idea,” Ron said. “He thought it would be a good way for you to relax and enjoy your summer.”

A brief flash of anger swelled up inside Harry. It was just like Remus to do something that Sirius would’ve tried to do for him. But as quickly as his anger rose, it dissipated with the realisation that Remus was only trying to make him feel better.

“I guess I better go downstairs and alleviate his grief then,” Harry said smiling.

“So.....what did Hermione have to say to you?” Ron said as Harry got up. Harry quickly felt a blush rise to his cheeks and found himself wishing that his best friend would look away.

“Nothing,” he replied, unable to find anything else to say.

“Uh huh,” Ron said, unconvinced. They exited the room and walked towards the stairs. “Was she jealous?” Harry stopped in his tracks, forcing Ron to back up a few paces.

“What would she be jealous of?” Harry asked evenly.

“Well you were rather...”

“Exposed?” Harry suggested, though his tone of voice showed that he wasn't amused with the turn this conversation was taking.

“I think excited is more appropriate,” Ron said with a smirk. “No offense of course though,” he quickly added seeing the murderous look in Harry’s eyes.

“So what would Hermione be jealous of?” he asked again. Ron stood looking at Harry for a moment as if he were daft, but the look quickly disappeared as he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “Come on, there’s birthday cake to eat.”

“Just remember that I’m the birthday boy here,” Harry said as they began descending the stairs. “Don’t eat it all up yourself now.”

“Ha, ha,” Ron drawled with a roll of his eyes.

When they entered the basement kitchen the room fell silent. Now that Harry was dressed and not concerned with the problem of appearing naked in front of a room full of party guests, he could see that in actuality there were about 20 people all packed together in the tiny space. The entire Weasley clan sans Percy was scattered throughout the room. Charlie had been talking to Hagrid (who’s head, while sitting, came up to the ceiling), Fred and George were conversing with Dumbledore while sporting two party hats (which were undoubtedly Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes originals) that spouted off random party noises, and Bill and Ginny were off in the corner and had been talking to, much to Harry’s surprise, none other than Fleur Delacour.

“Her ‘eenglish’ is still improving, if you get my drift,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, which caused him to smile.

Molly and Arthur were sitting next to Tonks and Remus at the table which looked like it was straining under the weight of a heaping pile of gifts and a triple-layered cake with ‘Happy Birthday Harry!’ written in green icing on the top. Moody was standing in the corner next to a very uncharacteristic Professor McGonagal, who, for the first time in Harry’s memory, looked as though she did not know what to do. The greatest surprise of all the people who were there, however, were the two that were sitting next to Hermione: Neville and Luna.

Any decent mood that Harry might’ve had evaporated when he saw Neville as the weight of the prophecy came crashing back into his mind. He features stiffened and although the change was slight, one person caught it.

“Harry?” Hermione asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond as the words of the prophecy echoed throughout his head.

BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES...

“Harry?” Ron asked, now also noticing the change. “Mate?”

‘The odd thing is, that it may have not meant you at all...’

Dumbledore’s words...

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder which caused him to be startled from his thoughts. “I should apologise for the manner in which Harry came to be here.”

“It was my idea,” Remus said from the table.

“Yet it was I who sent the letter to Harry, who betrayed his trust,” the headmaster said. Harry looked up at his mentor and saw a look of true repentance in his eyes. “And for that I am sorry.”

Harry couldn’t make up his mind whether or not to be infuriated or frustrated at Dumbledore, and thankfully he didn’t have to. Molly spoke up before he could pass judgement.

“Well, Harry this is your party,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps you would like to have some cake?” Harry turned to look at the people in the room, who were waiting with bated breath to see what his reaction would be. However Ron’s anxious look that was directed more at the cake than at Harry was enough to make the raven-haired boy chuckle and nod, causing a collective breath to be released from those assembled in the room.

From then on the party ran smoothly. Remus apologised several times over for giving Dumbledore the idea in the first place, to which Harry waived him off dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said for the fourth time in as many minutes. “It could’ve been worse.”

“I suppose so,” Remus said.

“Leave the poor boy alone,” Tonks said coming up behind him. “He knows you’re sorry.” Remus glared at her, but stalked off over towards Moody nonetheless. “Wotcher Harry.”

“Hi Tonks,” he said, shoveling a piece of cake into his mouth. “How goes the auror scene?”

“Same as always,” she said taking a seat next to him. “Capture, detain, maim, kill, you know how it is.”

“All too well,” Harry muttered causing Tonks to frown.

“I didn’t mean to bring that up–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. “I prefer not to think about it.”

“Yes, well,” Tonks said standing. “I’m going to go and talk to Minerva. Make sure you call me over when you start opening your presents.” Harry nodded and had his fork halfway to his mouth when a large hand clapped him on the back, knocking the cake off the utensil and onto his lap.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Hagrid said. Upon looking at the half-giant, Harry realised that he was in fact shuffling around on his knees due to the low ceiling. “Enjoyin’ yer party ‘Arry?”

“As best I can,” he replied with a smile.

“Well I’m about ta head back ta Hogwarts,” Hagrid said. “Got summat ta take care of. Jus’ wanted ta say Happy Birthday ‘fore I left.”

“Thanks,” Harry said standing up and giving Hagrid a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, ‘Arry,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Well, I best be off.” Harry watched as the people parted so that Hagrid could shuffle his way to the door, which Dumbledore magically expanded to that he could fit through.

“I’m still wondering how he arrived here in the first place,” Bill said walking up to Harry, with Fleur holding onto his arm. “He got here before Dumbledore did.”

“Yeah...” said Harry vaguely as his gaze landed on Neville, who was talking, to Harry’s surprise, a blushing Ginny. Bill followed Harry’s gaze and gave a small smile.

“Fred and George are running a pool to see when they get together,” Bill said.

“Now, now, dear brother, don’t get him overly excited,” said George walking up to the three of them with his counterpart.

“All the days for the rest of summer have been taken already,” Fred smiled.

“You shouldn’t bet on love like zat,” Fleur said, her glamorous smile disappearing for a moment, but reappearing when she looked up at Bill.

“Oh, nonsense,” Fred replied. “Besides, all of the relationships we’ve bet on have come to pass, so no harm, no foul.”

“Who else have you guys bet on?” Harry asked narrowing his eyes.

“Luna and Ronnikens,” George said, nodding at the two aforementioned students who were all but spooning each other at the other end of the table.

“They got together?” Harry asked. “Why haven’t I heard....” but thoughts of Number 4, Privet Drive came floating back into his mind and he immediately felt his anger begin to rise. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said, getting up from his chair, leaving Bill, Fleur, and the twins with very confused looks on their faces.

It didn’t take Harry long to spot who he was looking for in the small room, and he marched right over to where Dumbledore was standing talking to Molly.

“Professor,” he said coldly, interrupting their conversation. “Might I have a word?”

“Now Harry, the adults are having a conversation –”

“No, no, Molly,” Dumbledore said, seeing the piercing gaze that Harry had fixated on him. “We can continue this later.” Molly huffed at this, but said nothing and went off to find someone else to talk to. “Perhaps it would be more ideal to have this conversation in private.”

Harry and Dumbledore left the basement kitchen for the peaceful quiet of the sitting room. The headmaster had barely finished casting soundproofing and locking charms when Harry’s temper boiled over.

“DID YOU THINK IT WAS FUNNY?” he yelled.

“Harry–”

“DID YOU EVEN STOP TO CONSIDER HOW I WOULD FEEL?”

“Harry–”

“DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU –”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said strenly putting up his hand. “I’m sorry for what has happened today. I never expected that you would be in the middle of a shower--”

“I’M NOT BLOODY TALKING ABOUT THAT!” Harry bellowed. There was a stunned silence at these words; it wasn’t every day that Albus Dumbledore was flat-out wrong about something.

“Then perhaps you could enlighten me on what is the matter?” the headmaster said steepling his fingers. Harry’s jaw dropped; it was even less often that Dumbledore didn’t know something that involved the Boy-Who-Lived.

“What....what...what the...matter...” Harry sputtered, taken aback that the headmaster didn’t know. Albus simply looked on, waiting for an explanation. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up on your birthday and think that everyone’s forgotten you?! Not just the people you live with?!”

“A fact all of them had a problem with, I assure you,” Dumbledore said with a slight frown. “However I felt thought that if any of them sent you an owl, it would have ruined the surprise–”

“Oh and that worked out so well,” Harry drawled, sarcasm dripping from the corners of his mouth.

“Harry, I am truly sorry for what has happened,” Dumbledore replied. “And I know you grow weary of my apologies, but they’re all I can offer you right now.”

“Bollocks,” Harry said. He couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the thought of what Hermione’s reaction would be to him directing such language at the headmaster.

“What is it that you want then?” Dumbledore asked. Harry paused for a moment, considering this.

“Knowledge,” he finally replied.

“Don’t we all,” said the headmaster with a smile.

“I’m not joking,” Harry spat. “Tell me what the prophecy really means. Tell me what the ‘power he knows not’ is. Tell me how I’m supposed to BLOODY KILL VOLDEMORT!” Dumbledore sighed and ran his hands through his long, white hair.

“I can only answer two of those questions, I’m afraid,” he said. “And the ones that I can answer, I already have.”

“And which ones would those be?” Harry asked.

“Well, the prophecy means what it says,” Dumbledore answered. “You have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. You were born at the end of the seventh month, to James and Lily who had escaped Voldemort three times. You were marked as his equal when Tom gave you that scar, and you must either kill him or he will kill you.”

“And the power he knows not?” Harry asked again. Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his aged hand over Harry’s chest.

“I told you already,” he said. “It was what saved you against him two months ago.”

“Be more specific,” Harry demanded, not caring how rude he was being.

“It was your love for Sirius,” Dumbledore clarified, sitting back in his chair.

“Well that’s just wonderful,” Harry said sarcastically. “Love for my godfather is the power that will make the world’s greatest evil bastard disappear forever. There’s only one problem: MY GODFATHER’S DEAD!”

“Does that fact keep you from loving him?” the headmaster said. Harry’s tirade immediately ceased as he realised that this was a valid point. “But that’s not what I’m talking about,” Dumbledore said. “I’m talking about love in general.”

“Love triumphs over all?” Harry said with a morose chuckle.

“Is it really as far-fetched as it sounds?” Dumbledore asked. Harry scoffed.

“Sirius is dead,” he replied. “Who else is left for me to love?”

“Do you not love your friends?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “But I don’t love Ron the same way I did Sirius.”

“Quite understandable,” the headmaster said. “But do you not feel that way about Hermione? Perhaps even more so?” Harry’s eyes widened at this. He already knew the answer, but he was astonished to find out that Dumbledore already seemed to know it too.

“It’s irrelevant,” Harry mumbled.

“You have not answered my question,” Dumbledore said, his old twinkle returning.

“Fine, I’m in love with her, is that good enough for you?!” Harry yelled. “It’s not like it would work anyway.”

“Why not?” asked Dumbledore.

“What, aside from the fact that she probably doesn’t feel the same way?” Harry retorted, and was met with Dumbledore looking at him as though he were mad. “Well, there is the matter of a psychotic lunatic who probably attains erotic pleasure with thoughts of maiming and murdering me and those I care for.”

“So why not defeat him for her sake?” Dumbledore asked. “I would be willing to bet against Fred and George that that’s what your father was thinking when he dueled with Tom the night he and Lily were killed.” Harry’s mood brightened slightly at this.

“So what you’re saying, is if I kill Voldemort, then maybe I could be with Hermi–”

“No,” the headmaster said flatly, and Harry’s face fell. “It may take you years, even decades before you finally bring about the downfall of Tom Riddle. And I will tell you from personal experience, that love does not wait forever unless the connection has already been forged.”

Harry wanted to know what Dumbledore’s ‘personal experience’ was, but decided that it was too intimate a question and left it at that.

“So how do I love her and be with her while keeping her out of danger?” Harry asked.

“If you come across an answer to that, please inform me immediately,” Dumbledore said. “I would be most interested to know.” Harry sighed.

“How...how am I suppose to do all this?” he asked. “Voldemort’s had decades to practise extremely advanced dark magic and ways to use it, and all I have is ‘accio’, ‘expelliarmus’, and ‘wingardium leviosa’.

“And have those not served you well in your lifetime thus far?” Dumbledore asked.

“What I mean is, how am I supposed to stand and face the greatest dark wizard of all time and kill him when he knows so much more than me?”

“You are at a disadvantage,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “You fight for the side of good. Voldemort will use any and all means to achieve his goals, and will not care who dies in the process so long as it’s not him. You do not have that luxury.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered.

“And in many ways you’re fighting an uphill battle,” Dumbledore continued as though Harry had not said anything. “Prisoners of war are not casualties to Voldemort, he simply breaks them out of prison. We have lost many more lives than he has. But none of it matters.”

“And why is that?” asked Harry grimly.

“Because no matter how far down you may appear, no matter how largely the odds are stacked against you, you are never out until you’re out,” Dumbledore said. “We are all willing to give our lives to make sure we win this war, because in the end, nothing else matters.” There was a thoughtful silence after these words.

“Sir, why are Neville and Luna here?” Harry asked. Dumbledore frowned.

“I do not wish to keep things from you Harry,” he said. “But I will not tell you the answer to that unless you swear to me not to discuss this with your friends until Luna and Neville deem it is time to. Is that understood?” Harry nodded. “Two of the attacks that have happened this summer directly affected Neville and Luna. The one against the Lovegoods fortunately did not kill anyone. Dr. Lovegood was away at the time, and Luna was at the Burrow. I assume, you’re aware that she and our young Ronald are together now?”

“Yeah, I assumed so when I saw the way they were making eye contact during the party,” Harry said.

“Her house was destroyed,” Dumbledore said. “She and her father have been living here for the past two weeks. Her father was called in for an emergency at the office, or he would have been here for your party too.” Harry nodded.

“And Neville?”

“His grandmother was killed in the attack,” Dumbledore said gravely. “He was away at Mr. Thomas’ house for a...what do muggles call them? A sleep-over? He was brought here when we learned of what happened.”

The silence was shattering. He had only met Neville’s grandmother once, and it was a very brief encounter. Nonetheless, Harry couldn’t help but feel that it was a personal insult to the Longbottoms, especially Alice and Frank, and it was then that he decided that he would forever stand up for Neville in any way he could. They were the same now, no living (or in Neville’s case, healthy) family to speak of, willing to go to any means to help the ones they cared about, and somehow bound by the twisted fate that made the prophecy. Harry wondered if Hermione had not come into his life, would he and Neville have turned out as carbon-copies of each other? He seriously doubted that he would have any academic skills, much less knowledge of herbs and fungi if Hermione hadn’t helped him. Hermione. Somehow it always drifted back to her.

“I think perhaps we should return to the party,” Dumbledore said. “People are probably beginning to wonder where we are.”

“If you don’t mind, Professor,” Harry said. “Could you tell them that I really enjoyed it, but that I’m not feeling so well and went to bed? I’m not really in the mood for socializing anymore.”

“Certainly,” Dumbledore replied. They walked towards the door whereupon reaching it, the headmaster removed the charms he had placed and rested his hand on the knob. “Harry, I want to reiterate how deeply sorry I am for what has happened in these past few months.”

“I know,” Harry said.

“It means a great deal to me that you will even speak rationally to me, even more that you would consider accepting my apologies.”

“I can accept your apologies,” Harry said. “But it’ll take me a little longer for me to forgive you for what happened last year.”

“I’m only surprised that you’re willing to forgive me at all,” Dumbledore said. “Now, let’s sneak you off to your room, shall we?”

Harry smiled and Dumbledore opened to the door, letting them both out. Dumbledore turned left, while Harry went right to go up the stairs to his room. Arriving at his destination, he opened the door and closed it quietly when he entered the room.

“Hi, Harry.”

Harry spun around and drew his wand, and found that he had it leveled in between a pair of chocolate-brown eyes.

“Hermione...” he breathed while lowering his wand and his heart rate. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Are you all right? I saw you leave with Dumbledore and when you didn’t come back I came up here to check and see if you came up here but you didn’t so I was just about to head back downstairs when you came in and–”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Harry said putting his hand to her mouth to keep her from rambling.

“Sorry,” Hermione apologised again, blushing slightly. “So why are you up here and not downstairs enjoying your party?”

“You’d be surprised how much a conversation with our esteemed headmaster can kill the mood,” Harry said with a grim smile as the two of them sat down on his bed.

“Sirius?” Hermione asked.

“No,” he replied hesitantly. “The prophecy that got smashed in the Department of Mysteries in June.” Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry held up his hand to silence her. “We’ll leave it at that the prophecy was made to Dumbledore, and he told it to me. I’m don’t have the strength or the courage to tell it to you right now, but when I do decide to tell someone, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

That answer seemed good enough for Hermione, although it was easy to tell she was disappointed at the prospect of having to wait to find out what Harry's fate was.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she offered.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Harry replied. “Tell me exactly what has happened to our dear friend Ron that has caused him to fall for Luna.” Hermione chuckled.

“Luna only lives about a kilometer away from the Burrow. Ron was flying around one day, and she happened to be taking a walk at the same time. She saw Ron and called out to him, but being the loveable idiot that he is, he turned around on his broom to see who was calling him without stopping, and crashed headlong into a tree.” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at this.

“So Luna saved him, is that it?” he asked with a chuckle.

“More or less,” Hermione replied. “Being that we’re all underage and can’t do magic, she had a time getting him back to her place, but she managed it.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“She dragged him on his broom.”

“I’ll bet she had fun with that,” he said, breaking a small smile. “So they just wound up together after that?”

“From what I’ve heard, yes,” Hermione said. “Apparently saving people can stoke the fires of passion, or so I’ve read.” Harry blinked at her.

“You’ve read?” he asked skeptically.

“Erm...” Hermione suddenly became quite interested in a loose strand of fabric on the comforter.

“Don’t tell me, Hermione Granger reads those smutty romance novels?” Harry laughed with his best dung-eating grin.

“They are NOT smutty,” Hermione said, shooting him a glare that made him stop laughing. “They’re passionate and very well written.” Harry was trying his best to keep a straight face. “Oh stop it already,” she said, hitting his arm lightly. “You know, is it so wrong for a girl to wish to be rescued every now and then?” Harry considered her carefully.

“Well I suppose that’s a valid point,” he said nodding.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied.

“Of course it would be more valid if the troll incident in our first year had never happened. Or if there wasn’t that whole dementor business in our third year,” Harry said.

“What are you trying to say?” Hermione asked narrowing her eyes. “Are you saying that I’m incapable of defending myself?”

“Not in the least,” Harry replied. “But let’s be honest. Do you think you’d be alive if Ron and I hadn’t come and found you all those years ago on Hallowe’en? Or if I’d failed to produce a decent patronus to drive off a hundred dementors that were about to suck out our souls?”

“I suppose not,” she acquiesced. Harry looked her in the eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m not trying to glorify myself here. All I want to know is if you really want to be rescued, when I’ve done my best to do so already.” Hermione mumbled something that was indistinguishable. “What was that?”

“I want to be rescued from my mind,” she said. Harry’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I want all the bad thoughts and images to go away. I want to imagine life without you suffering and having to battle V-Voldemort all the time. Escaping to a fantasy world can help do that frequently.” Harry cupped her chin and raised her gaze to meet his.

“What do you really want?” he whispered. There was a silence between them as they simply stared into each others eyes, reading all the emotions that were coming forth.

“You,” Hermione whispered back.

“Me,” Harry said, to which she nodded. “How...why?”

“Why not?” Hermione asked.

“Because I’m me!” Harry stressed, frustrated. “Because I’m the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived! Because I nearly got you killed a few months ago! Because Voldemort’s going to kill me and I’m too bloody weak to do anything about it!” Harry’s eyes widened when he realised exactly what he had just said.

“Wha....what?” Hermione breathed, teetering on the edge of going into shock.

“Erm...”

“What do you mean Voldemort’s going to kill you?” Hermione asked. Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“Voldemort will either kill me,” he began. “Or die at my hand. That’s what the prophecy said.”

“Y-you mean–”

“That I either become a murderer or die,” Harry finished. “Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

The two of them sat there in silence for a few minutes. Harry was beginning to wonder whether or not Hermione was disgusted with him for his fate. After all, he’d had his insecurities about it. But somewhere deep inside him, his heart was saying that Hermione would never judge him on something he had no control over. Right?

All of his thoughts were silenced when he saw two silver streams of tears running down her cheeks and dropping onto her lap.

“Come here,” Harry said comfortingly, pulling her into an embrace. “Why are you crying?” Hermione drew away and looked at him as if he’d just grown pointed ears and put on a tea-cozy.

“Why am I crying?!” she yelled. “Because it’s not bloody fair! Why do you always have to be the one who risks his neck for others?! WHY?!” Hermione began hammering on his chest while sobbing hysterically. Harry did the only thing he could do and just try to let her work it out of her system. After about a minute the sobs subsided and he hugged her close to his body.

“It’s okay...don’t worry about it, I’m sure that–”

“I love you.”

It took Harry’s brain a few seconds to register what Hermione had just said, and then it was his time to start stuttering.

“W-what?” Hermione looked up at him with eyes full of tears, love, and sadness.

“I love you,” she repeated. “I have for years.”

“Why...why didn’t you ever say anything?” Harry asked.

“I was scared,” Hermione said. “But now that I know you have to fight Voldemort in the end...I want you to know.” There was silence after these words while Harry was processing everything that was said to him. “Please say something.” He looked up into her eyes and smiled.

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry didn’t give Hermione time to respond before he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft at first, both of them wanted to get the feel of treading in new waters, but that quickly changed when he felt her tongue slide across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. Harry quickly obliged, and their kiss deepened, each trying to desperately attach their mouths to the other’s permanently.

“Harry...what if....what if we get caught?” Hermione asked in between kisses.

“It’ll give them something to talk about,” he replied huskily. They pulled away slightly, their lips swollen from their confessions of love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“No I’m not,” Hermione said, a red tinge creeping up into her cheeks.

“Even more so when you’re blushing,” Harry said with a grin. She sighed and leaned her head against his body.

“What are we going to tell everyone?” Hermione asked.

“I think they already know,” he said with a small grin. Hermione looked up at him. “Well I don’t know about you, but everyone was telling me that we should be together.”

“Well then I guess it won’t hurt if we go to bed then,” she said.

“Okay,” Harry replied. “Wait, we?”

“If you don’t want me to stay–”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “Sorry, just caught me a little off guard.”

“Then maybe we can go to sleep?” Hermione asked.

“Sure,” he said, reaching over and shutting off the light. There was about a minute where neither of them spoke, but Harry had one more thing he wanted to say before he went to bed. “Hermione?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you too.”

Hermione rolled over to face him, and though they both had their eyes closed, they could each see the smile that the other was wearing.

=====

“Yeah, they’ve packed it in for the night,” Moody said, rolling his magical eye to view the kitchen. “Still fully clothed, too.”

“That was responsible of them,” Dumbledore said. “I’m glad to see they’ve finally figured it out.”

“Well we must have a toast then!” Remus declared. Everyone who was still present for the party (which was everyone minus Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid) picked up their goblets. “To Harry and Hermione, who remind me so much of Lily and James.”

“To Harry and Hermione,” the room echoed, with smiles all around.

“Took ‘em bloody long enough,” George said after drinking deeply from his cup. “Now, my dear brother, would you be so kind as to do the honors?” Fred grinned.

“Why of course, my esteemed associate,” he said, pulling a long piece of parchment from his robes. “Let’s see...let’s see...July 31st.......”

“What are you two on about?” Ron asked from Luna’s side.

“You two had a pool on Harry and Hermione also?!” Bill exclaimed while Fleur rolled her eyes.

“And why we wouldn’t we?” asked George, who was looking over Fred’s shoulder at the parchment. “We all knew it would happen even...tual...ly....” Both the Weasley twins eyes had just bulged out as round as dinner plates.

“It’s not possible,” Fred muttered, rummaging through his robes for something and finally producing a small pouch, which he emptied the contents of on the dinner table.

“The entry money?” Tonks asked. The twins nodded.

“I’m positive I didn’t sell her a spot,” George said. “Did you?”

“Not in the least,” Fred replied, counting out the small gold coins. “70 entries, right?”

“Yep,” said George. “You sure that’s the correct sheet?”

“Yes,” Fred said with finality. “Well it’s all here. She must’ve slipped in a galleon when we weren’t looking and written the entry down.”

“Would you mind telling us who this ‘she’ is?” Molly asked. Fred and George didn’t reply, they simply placed the parchment down on the table for everyone to read.

July 31st: Hermione Granger

“Well, would you look at that,” Dumbledore said peering over his half-moon spectacles. “I had a feeling that it would happen around his birthday as you can see.” He pointed to the next name on the list.

August 1st: Albus Dumbledore

“But I didn’t think it would take them only a day. How extraordinary.”

“I can’t believe that Hermione, of all people, pulled a fast one on us,” George said to which Remus chuckled.

“Like I said, they are very much like James and Lily,” he said. “She too, had an uncanny ability to pull the wool over all of our eyes from time to time.”

The amount of happy thoughts and smiles present were enough so that even Ron couldn’t have tried to digest them all if he were a dementor.

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

Well there it is. Again, I would like to reiterate: THERE WILL BE NO MORE. Thank you.

As for the other little thing I promise you folks...I give that to you now. Part III of the Second War Trilogy will be called Secrets of the Shadows, so be on the lookout for it. I hope you all enjoyed this second piece, and I do believe that there’s a little thing called the Reader’s Choice Awards that’s just sprung up again...wink wink.

May all your fics be fluffy, and all your ships sail strong.

-G.S.
Aka - TGF2K