Re-Awakening

A/N: Okay, here's my first story. Hope y'all like it. Any and all comments are appreciated (and I mean any and all). Even flames, I'll accept `em. Just to lay this out now, yes this is a Harry/Hermione piece, although the actual fluff stuff will take a few chapters to get to, for obvious reasons once it gets going. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely borrowing and hoping to return the merchandise in roughly the same shape that I found it . . . now on with the show!

Imprisonment

How long Harry spent sitting crammed into the backseat of his Uncle's car, bunched into the corner to make room for his whale of a cousin Dudley, was inconsequential. The ride home could have lasted only half an hour, or it could have taken three. To Harry, it felt like an eternity.

After Mad-Eye Moody's “pep talk” with Vernon and the other Dursleys, all three seemed to have withdrawn from Harry even more than usual. While this was normally a blessing and a godsend, in this instance it gave Harry ample opportunity to be alone with his thoughts, none of which he wished to deal with any more than his relatives. For every thought, no matter how hard he tried, wound its way back to one subject: Sirius. And how Sirius was now . . . no, he would not allow himself to think it. Sirius was merely trapped inside the veil, and Harry would find a way to rescue him.

`You know he's gone, and he's never coming back,' said a voice in the back of his head, oddly familiar, yet he could not quite place to whom it belonged.

`No! I know he's out there somewhere! I will bring him back!'

`Harry . . .'

`NO! I won't listen to you! You don't know for sure if he's . . . He is alive, and I will find him.'

`You know full well that he's not here anymore. Not after falling through the veil. Why do you think they call it the veil of death?' the voice shot back in somewhat bossy, highly familiar yet still unrecognizable tone.

“ARGH! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

“ALL RIGHT, BOY! I'VE HAD ENOUGH! I'VE PUT UP WITH ENOUGH OF YOUR GRUMBLING, COMPLAINING, AND THAT, THAT, ABNORMALTY! I'VE HAD IT!” Apparently, Harry had yelled out the last part in his frustration, just as Vernon had begun to say something. Harry, trapped in his own thoughts, had not realized his uncle was talking. And by the looks of it, Uncle Vernon really had had enough. If ever Harry could remember a time when he had seen that face more purple, witnessed a pair of eyes more bulging, or seen as many veins throbbing, he certainly couldn't remember at the moment.

With what appeared to be a great amount self-restraint, Uncle Vernon managed to turn back around, focusing once more upon the task of driving in time to avoid a near collision. Slightly startled, Harry took a quick glance at both his aunt and cousin before retreating back into his thoughts while staring mindlessly out the car window as the scenery rushed by unseen. For the rest of the trip home, Harry neither said anything nor looked at anyone. Unfortunately for him, Harry did not notice the various death glares he was receiving from each of the Dursleys, nor did he notice the maniacal, mad gleam in his Uncle's eyes whenever they lit upon him in the rear-view mirror.

When they arrived at Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry got out like he did every year and started to head for his trunk. He had just reached down to pick his trunk up out of the car when he felt a sharp blow to the side of his head and found himself sprawled face-down on the driveway pavement, his Uncle standing over him, a look of almost feral satisfaction. Head reeling slightly from the impact, Harry began to get up, but his Uncle had other things in mind.

“Oh no you don't, you worthless, vile, disgusting cretin!” Uncle Vernon said as he pressed his foot down on Harry's back, hard, forcing Harry back onto the ground. He then knelt so his large knee was jutting painfully into Harry's back. Leaning close, he spoke in soft but dangerous tones,

“Now you listen here, boy. I'll only say this once, and only once: my patience is up. I've had it. No one, I say, NO ONE, tells me what I can and can't do, especially in my own house! You best be watching your behavior, or things will get rather, unpleasant, for you.”

At the word unpleasant Uncle Vernon rested even more weight on his knee, squeezing most of the air out of Harry's lungs. While struggling to draw breath, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's next words in utter disbelief.

“So, if you know what's in your best interests, you'll be wise to do what we say, like the worthless dog you are. Now drag your trash out of my car and inside.” Harry had heard many threats before, but most of them seemed idle and enjoyable compared to this most recent assault.

At this, Vernon stood up and looked down at Harry with the utmost contempt and loathing, mixed with a deep satisfaction. For a moment, Harry could only stare in disbelief at his uncle, who had never in all the past years acted with such ferocity. He didn't get long to sit and ponder, however, before he was pulled up roughly by his hair and shoved toward the car.

Trunk and Hedwig's cage in hand, Harry made his way into Number Four, but was stopped as soon as he began to ascend the stairs. “Where do you think you're going with that? Oh no you don't, boy, not this year. We've been far too lenient in the past, but not any more. Into the cupboard it goes!”

“But what about my homework? If I don't do it I'll-” Harry began, but was cut short when Vernon grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Pinning him tightly just below his neck, Vernon said,

“Apparently I did not make myself clear, boy. You will do as you are told, or pay the consequences! Now, I said in the cupboard, and I MEAN NOW!! Perhaps you would prefer if I locked you away in there too? Hmmm, that's not actually a bad idea, now is it? Unless you start following orders like a good mutt, you'll wind up in there with the rest of your things!”

And with that, he released Harry, by means of flinging him towards the landing. Harry managed to prevent from falling on the floor, but in the process he ran hard into the wall. Now, not only did the side of his head and his back hurt, he seemed to have gotten a slight bump on the back of his head and his shoulder was starting to throb slightly. Harry narrowly avoided more injury by dodging sideways when his uncle threw the trunk down at him, landing it with a loud thunk right where Harry had been standing moments before. `Thank Merlin for Quidditch training.'

But Harry was tired of this kind of treatment, and after the show in Kings Cross Station, he wasn't about to put up with any more. “No. I won't listen to you. You can't make me do anything I don't want. Otherwise I'll write to the Order and they'll come and hex you all. You haven't forgotten about Mad-Eye's threat, already, have you?” Harry said, figuring the threat of magic still had sway over the Dursleys as it had in the past. Looking at his uncle's fuming, rapidly reddening face, Harry realized that taunting them with this had been a very big mistake.

He was proven correctly when, after taking three very quick strides over to him, his uncle pulled back is arm and landed a very solid punch into Harry's gut. Harry, unable to draw in any air, collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach in pure agony. Vernon then grabbed a hold of Harry's hair and pulled up firmly. When he was sure Harry could hear him, Vernon said in a deathly quite tone, “Can't write to your freak friends without an owl, can you?”

“Y-You . . . wouldn't d-dare.” Harry said, pausing in large gaps to try and suck in as much air as his lungs could manage.

“Oh, really? You feel like testing me? Eh, mutt?” Vernon replied with a mad gleam in his eyes, all too obviously daring Harry to challenge him. “You don't know what I'll do!”

With that, Vernon tossed Harry to the side and picked up Hedwig's cage ominously. Fortunately, Harry had released her earlier on the train to stretch her wings, so she was not there at present. “Where are you going with her cage?” Harry demanded.

“Oh, this? Just a little insurance. Realize this here and now, mutt; I'll not hesitate to kill that bloody bird of yours, or you for that matter. I swear, just give me a reason, and so help me . . . I'll be keeping this, and that beast, locked in the parlor, where you will write you damned letters every other day. Under my careful eye, of course.”

Harry stood speechless, rooted to the floor, not willing to believe what was happening. He was trapped, and he knew it. He had no way out, no power that he could use to gain an advantage. He was utterly at the mercy of his relatives, and they knew it. So, not wishing to push his luck any further than he already had, he stowed his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, and made to go up to his room.

“Not so fast, mutt! There is work to be done around here. You've been away a long time, and things seem to have pilled up. For starters, this house is filthy!” At this moment he waved his arms around him, indicating the gleaming walls and floors that, Harry thought, had probably never knew the meaning of dust. “You will mop the all the floors, dust the entire house, vacuum all the carpets, water the plants, and do the laundry. Then there's the manner of the outside. Dreadfully atrocious, I'm afraid. You see, our good lawn mower has broken down, and all we have are these old pair of shears. Guess they'll have to do. Now get to work! And no supper if you're not finished by sundown!”

And so, with a heavy heart and a deep sense of foreboding, Harry set to work. He knew he would never be able to finish in time; he had less than four hours till sundown to begin with, and these chores normally would have taken at least a full day's worth of work. Harry knew it was pointless to try to tackle the lawn, so he focused his energies on cleaning the inside of the “filthy” house. Truth be told, he would most likely have been able to finish the inside if he hadn't been set back so many times. Usually when he had just finished dusting or mopping, one of the Dursleys would come along and drop something, or make a scuff or mark here or there that would constitute as a reason for starting from the beginning and doing the whole thing all over again. Always, Petunia was never satisfied, even though she couldn't have possibly done a better job herself. But the worst part was after he had started a load of laundry and had moved on to vacuuming the family room (for the third time), someone (Dudley, Harry suspected) added in half the box of laundry soap, causing the washer to erupt in a flow of bubbles. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Harry would have found great amusement in the spectacle. Instead all he got was great pain.

“Idiot boy! Buffoon, inane ass! How much soap did you add?” Screeched Petunia when she came upon the scene.

“I only put in one scoop! Honest!”

“One scoop! Does this look like one scoop to you! Do you take me for some kind of fool!”

“No, not at all, I - ”

But what Harry was about to say was cut short when his Aunt blew into a whistle shrilly, blasting Harry and almost deafening him. Seconds later, a once again fuming Vernon stood looming over Harry, who was by now quite aware of what a scene like this would mean for him. One look, and Vernon flew into a rage, shouting, gesturing, sputtering, and when it appeared like he would literally burst at the seams, he struck out at Harry, catching him off guard. The blow landed near his left temple, just above his eyebrow, and Harry could tell, through the pain and the wet feeling on his forehead, that he had been cut and was bleeding.

When Vernon was calm enough to speak, he rounded on Harry, grabbed not only his hair, but part of his scalp, and said, “It's back to the cupboard for you! Now clean this up. If I come back and I so much as find one bubble, it'll be the belt for you!”

*********

As Harry lay curled on his side on his cot in his cupboard under the stairs, he wondered how he would survive. True to his word, when Vernon had found several bubbles remaining on the floor before Harry had time to mop them up, he had dragged Harry aside and whipped him with his belt.

With all of the distractions and setbacks, Harry had only managed to do half of Vernon's impossible demands. When he was finally told to finish, Harry at first had been glad, until he found he would then be cooking dinner, a dinner he would not be able to eat. He had briefly thought of sneaking some food, but the voice in the back of his head, the oh-so-familiar voice, told him not to, that it was too big a risk and wasn't worth it. Fortunately he listened, for he had been watched closely by Vernon, and any signs of trying to sneak food would have earned a very grave punishment indeed.

Fearing the worst, Harry had hidden his father's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map and (hesitantly) his wand up under the loose floorboards in his old room when he had been dusting earlier. And not a moment too soon, for when he finally made it into the cupboard, he found his school trunk had a huge padlock placed on it, which Harry, despite his best efforts, could not possibly unlock. Hedwig had not yet returned, and Harry hoped that she would stay away for three days so the Order would come and check on him, and then free him from this newest hell.

Shifting on the cot, Harry removed his glasses and placed them next to his alarm clock, which read midnight, and with a threadbare blanket wrapped around him, he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position, a task that had been hard enough when he was younger; almost impossible now he was older and a good foot taller. After finding a position that didn't bother his back or the lumps on his head, Harry started to doze off, terrible visions of the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries already starting to flash before his eyes. And so he slumbered, a prisoner in his house, but even more so in his own mind.

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A/N: Okay, here comes Chapter the Second . . . I've gotten some good reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy. The next couple of chapters get a little dicey for Harry, so please stick with me!

Disclaimer: A new chapter and yet still nothing is mine! *Sighs* Sometimes life is so depressing . . . ah well. Like I said, I'm just borrowing and trying not to damage. On with the show!

Bending

“Well done Ha-” Hermione began, but was silenced as a purple flame struck her, cast by Dolohov. With a look of shock and surprise, she crumpled to the floor and moved no more.

****

“Colloooaaaaarhg . . .” Luna Lovegood was flying across the room. SMACK! Slamming into a desk, sliding across, and coming to rest on the floor behind it, motionless like Hermione.

****

Ron's form, sprawled on the floor, wrapped tightly by the constricting tendrils of the brain, being slowly crushed, a look of pure terror and pain in his eyes.

****

Ginny was shouting, then was hit in the face by a stunner and yelled no more.

****

“Crucio!”

Neville's screams filled the room. Neville was curled up tightly into a ball as if trying to shield himself.

****

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Sirius yelled, laughing and taunting Bellatrix. Then came the second curse. The shocked look on his face. He flew back, arching in the air. As he passed through the veil, Harry saw his face, a look of fear and surprise and shock. Then, he was gone . . .

****

Pain. Pain beyond pain. Pain such as he had never felt before flooded him, took hold of him, bound him. Harry was powerless. Then, he spoke, but he was not the one who said the words, “Kill me now Dumbledore . . . If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy . . .”

****

Hermione's face flashed before his eyes again, shock and pain etched in as she fell. Then, Sirius, falling into the veil. Hermione, Sirius, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Sirius, Hermione, Neville, Ron, Sirius; each memory flashed before him, each time more unbearable than the last, and then, pain. The unbearable pain of being possessed by Voldemort. With that, Harry woke up screaming. Shaking from head to foot, he felt violently ill, and was already starting to retch.

After he was finished vomiting, Harry realized that the horrible visions and pain of his nightmares was not what had originally awaken him. Well, the pain had woken him, but it wasn't from his dream. The reason for his sudden (and rather welcome) departure from dreamland was standing before him, readying to strike again.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you mutt?!” Vernon shouted as he brought his fist down onto the top of Harry's head. An unfortunate move for Vernon, for jarring Harry like that induced another wave of dizziness and sickness, the results of which nearly landed on his feet.

“You vile, disgusting beast! How dare you!” Vernon roared. “When I'm finished with you, you'll wish you looked as good as that mess, which you'll be cleaning up right after I'm finished with you.”

Then, Vernon grabbed Harry by the neck and slammed him against the back of the cupboard, rattling boards and sending dust floating down. Abruptly, Vernon smashed his other fist straight into Harry's face, breaking Harry's nose. As blood began to trickle down, Vernon released his hold on Harry's throat, then caught him on the side of his head with a right hook.

Harry fell onto his side and began to curl up, which only seemed to infuriate his uncle even more. “Oh no you don't! Out of there, now!” And grabbing Harry's arm, Vernon gave an almighty wrench. Harry almost screamed in pain as he felt his shoulder begin to dislocate, and would have in fact if his throat had allowed. Harry felt shard blows on his side and vaguely registered the fact that he was now lying on the floor, being kicked by Vernon.

After a few well-placed kicks, Vernon stepped back and said, “Now get up and clean up this mess, mutt!” then walked away and back up the stairs.

Harry managed to drag his way back to his bed, and found his glasses. Putting them on gently, he looked at his broken alarm clock and found it to be just after four in the morning. Groaning, he stood up and made his way to the downstairs bathroom to clean off. Splashing water on his face served to remind Harry of just how much damage had been done. Looking in the mirror, Harry could see that there was a cut above his left eye, his nose was almost as crooked as Dumbledore's now, and the bruising and swelling was becoming more and more noticeable. It looked as if he would have at least one black eye, if not worse.

Feeling slightly more awake from the cold water, Harry set about thinking of what he was going to do. He knew he was in trouble, big time. He had to do something, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't tell anyone because Vernon would be watching him, and even if he did try anything then Vernon would kill Hedwig. Harry was absolutely sure of that, especially the way his uncle had been acting. Even the act of refusing to write in order do draw out the Members, would surely be met with the death of Hedwig. And Harry absolutely refused to allow himself to be the cause of more death. As soon as he thought that, he began to shake uncontrollably. No, no, he couldn't start thinking that way. He had to stay focused. His only hope, then, would be if Hedwig did not arrive for another day or two. Until then he would have to do as he was told.

`Let's just hope I can last this long.' Harry thought dejectedly.

`Of course you will. You're an amazing wizard, Harry,' the voice echoed inside his head.

`Thanks, whoever you are . . .'

And with that, Harry grabbed a mop set to work cleaning up the mess “he” had made. It was very slow going, seeing as how his back, stomach, and now his sides all bristled with pain. He had to pause every few minutes to prevent himself from collapsing in agony.

He had just finished and put away the mop and laid down to try and relax is tired muscles and aching body when the shrill voice of his aunt snapped him back to the present. “Get up! Get up now! I swear, such a lazy and ungrateful boy! In the kitchen now! Vernon and Dinky Diddydums will be down shortly, and breakfast better be ready, or you'll have hell to pay!”

Groaning from pain and exhaustion, Harry managed to lift himself up off the bed and onto his feet. Stumbling slightly, he made his way into the kitchen. Glancing as he passed the sink to start getting breakfast prepared, he did a double take that left a painful crick in his neck and made his head spin, even more than the sight before him was making him. Sitting there in the sink he had worked so tediously at the night before lay what appeared to be the Dursleys' entire stock of dishes, bowls, cups, glasses, silverware, pots, pans . . . almost if not everything in the kitchen was piled in there.

“W-Wha-What's all this?” Harry stammered.

“The dishes. They were filthy! You didn't do your job properly yesterday, so now you must do them again. Now hurry! You can't make breakfast until you clean them, so get started!”

Speechless, Harry just stood and stared for a moment. How could they be so cruel. He had lived with the Dursleys for so long, and they had both been able to tolerate each other, and yes they had been mean before, but this, this was downright evil! Harry's revere was cut short when he noticed her raising her whistle to her lips again. This put Harry into motion immediately. He moved the dishes to the side and into some semblance of order, filled the sink, and began to scrub. Despite the aches in his arms and shoulders, he moved furiously and quickly, trying not to give the Dursleys any more reason to beat him, or give him more work.

*****

Harry collapsed onto his cot, thankful for the end of the day, wanting to put everything behind him. He hadn't had anything to eat except a small crumb or two from when he was making dinner that night, and his stomach was letting him know just how hungry he was. But worse than the emptiness in his stomach was the emptiness he felt in his heart.

It appeared that everything would be fine after breakfast, but then no less than three owls had swooped into the kitchen and dropped letters for Harry onto the table. Harry had only gotten a quick glimpse at the various scrawls and handwritings letting him know that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Hagrid, and Lupin each had sent him a letter before Vernon snatched them up, tore them apart viciously, and threw away the remains.

“You'll be receiving no mail, not while you're here! I'll see to it personally!”

And so Harry was sent outside to work, with the images of his friends' shredded letters fresh in his mind. He knew it was no good complaining, and wondered briefly at what would befall him if he dared to voice is concerns before turning away, shuddering. Fortunately for Harry, he was able to find the old-fashioned push mower stowed in the back of the shed, ending the threat of trimming the entire lawn with shears. However, the work was still slow and frustrating, so he might as well have used the shears. The blades of the mower had hardly (if ever) been sharpened, so the grass required several runs to cut to the right height, and Harry had to stop on several occasions to untangle grass from the jammed blades.

Just as he was about to retreat to his “room,” his uncle's loud shouts stopped him abruptly. “Mutt, MUTT! Get in here now!”

Wondering what else could possibly go wrong, Harry got up with a grunt and walked cautiously into the parlor. Waiting for him was Vernon, a grumpy, irritated look set on his face. “Get in here!” He barked out. “Now then, it's time you start pulling your weight around here. We've been soft far too long! For the past five years you've lived like royalty! It ends here and today. Every day you will water the lawn, pull any and all weeds from the garden, wash dishes, dust, vacuum, do laundry, and spar with Dudley.”

“What?!” Harry yelped.

WHAP! Vernon's hand hit Harry's head before he continued, “Do not speak unless spoken to, mutt! You'll be sparring with Dudders, helping him keep up in form. Plus this should help keep you in line. If you've got a problem with it, then you'll have to deal with Dudley and me as well! Got it?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry merely nodded.

“Good. On top of the standard chores, you will have special projects to ensure you don't cause trouble. Once every three days you will mow the lawn, you will do the laundry when need arises, you will do the shopping, wash the cars, clean the gutters, and that's just the standard stuff. You also need to replace the lawn edging, repave the front drive, replace the fence, and remove that old tree in the back.”

Harry sat, utterly dismayed and bewildered. He knew how to do most of the chores, but some of those things he had no idea about. Lawn edging? Repaving the drive? How would he do those? From the sounds of it, they all seemed to involve large amounts of physical labor. Then his uncle spoke up again,

“And I want all of these projects done in one week! For every day that you fall behind, for every task that is not done, I'll destroy a personal item of yours from your trunk here.” At the mention of Harry's trunk, Vernon had walked over to the table and pulled out from under it . . . Harry's trunk. Sometime during the morning he had taken it from the cupboard and brought it in here. He opened it and pulled out one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books and looked at it warily. “I daresay you have too many of these, these abnormal, freakish things anyway.”

Thinking about what Vernon had locked away in his trunk at the moment made Harry shudder involuntarily. Among all his school supplies, it held his broomstick servicing kit, his Sneakoscope, and his family photo album. Knowing Vernon's temperament, Harry couldn't even begin to imagine the tortures that could be derived from those objects.

Sparring with Dudley had been just about exactly what Harry had expected; Harry was all but threatened into standing still providing little or no defense while his bulky cousin swung away mercilessly. Harry hadn't noticed before on the ride back, but Dudley wasn't nearly as fat as he had been. He had almost slimmed down to his girth of three years ago, and in the process gained a fair amount of muscles. His aim and precision were dead on, so that Harry's head was throbbing dully after the first ten minutes. After an hour of being Dudley's personal punching bag, Harry could hardly stand, and couldn't feel anything on his face. `Well, at least he was wearing gloves,' Harry thought.

How much more could he possibly take before breaking down, he pondered to himself. Lying on his side, Harry set his glasses down next to his clock, which read eleven. Groaning, he tried to get comfortable, knowing that tomorrow was hardly going to be even better than that day. Too tired to think, his exhaustion carried him off to sleep almost instantly.

****

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Sirius yelled, laughing and taunting Bellatrix. The curse hit his chest, sending him flying backward toward the veil.

****

Hermione, crumpled to the ground, Dolohov standing behind here with a sick look of triumph and pleasure in his eyes.

****

Neville's shrieks and cries echoed off the walls as his prone form twitched and convulsed on the stone floor.

****

Sirius falling again, this time meeting Harry's eyes, as if to ask him `Why did you let this happen? How could you?' The vision of Hermione was next, in her eyes a look of hurt and accusation. Suddenly, his visions changed, and he was no longer in the Department of Mysteries, or even in the Ministry itself. A voice, cold, high and cruel, spoke up from the back of his mind, “Pleasant dreams, Potter? Well, then, allow me to assist you in weaving a world of nightmares.” Darkness fell, only to be replaced by the image of Ron sitting in a chair, bound and gagged. Shadows began moving in the background, occasionally drawing close. Suddenly, one swept across Ron, blocking him from view temporarily. When it withdrew, a long, deep gash had appeared across Ron's chest, and blood began flowing freely. Ron cried out in pain, and muffled pleas of help could be heard, but laughter was the only response. Then, as if agitated by the laughter, the shadows swarmed Ron, each time they swooped by a new gash was cut, spilling blood, and Ron would cry out anew. After sever seconds, the shadows merged into one huge form, and then swept once more over Ron, severing his head, which landed by Harry's feet, staring up garishly.

Instantly, the scene changed and Hermione was now in front of him, limp and hanging from the wall from manacles clapped to her wrists. This time, instead of shadows, a wand appeared, floating in midair, and out of it, the Cruciatus began flying. Hermione's anguished screams filled the air. But this version of the Crucio was different, it left bruises and welts where it hit, and within minutes, Hermione had blood pouring out her mouth and nose. She began to shake violently, convulsions almost rippling through her. Suddenly, she gave out a cry louder than the last, and her heart exploded.

At this moment, the pain in Harry's scar leapt to a crescendo unlike any before it. Harry woke with a start and was momentarily blind from pain, yelling out as loudly as he could, thrashing his arms and legs wildly. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the images and pain vanished, leaving behind only the memory. Voldemort's voice once again filled his head, `They will die, and you will be witness! Then it will be your turn . . . Prepare yourself for death, Potter!'

Shaking terribly, Harry picked himself off the floor and sat down heavily on the cot. The images, they had been so real, so gruesome . . . suddenly Harry wretched, and, not wanting a repeat of the earlier morning, ran to the bathroom. Crawling his way back to his room, Harry was met halfway by Vernon.

Vernon's fist impacted Harry's skull, and, had it not been for the intense pain, Harry would have blacked out then and there. Vernon pulled Harry up then slammed him against the wall. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, you vile piece of crap! Waking us all up at ungodly hours of the night, screaming your head off!” With that, Vernon jabbed his fist into Harry's gut then threw him bodily into his room. “You stop this nonsense now, or I'll make it so you can't make any noise at all!”

Then his uncle clambered back up the stairs, stomping particularly forcefully on the steps above Harry's head for added emphasis. Harry checked his clock for the time, and saw it was only three thirty. It would appear, Harry thought, that I was saved from a savage beating by Vernon still being half asleep. Harry went to feel the back of his head for any damage, and realized he was still shaking terribly. He walked back to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, which helped a little.

For the next two hours, Harry tried his best to keep the nightmares out of his waking mind, with little avail. It took little thought to bring the image of Sirius falling through the veil into mind, and even less for the ghastly images of his friends' torture and deaths that Voldemort had planted. Harry tried to calm his mind using what he knew of Occlumency, but seeing as how that expertise was limited, the exercises weren't very effective.

And so it was that at five thirty, a pale, shaky Harry Potter was to be found trying to make breakfast. “Be careful, boy,” his aunt quipped. “Otherwise you'll drop the eggs and ruin breakfast, not that you wouldn't anyway.”

Sure enough, just as Harry had gathered the dirty plates to wash them, a sudden loud screech made him jump, and in his panic and fright, he dropped the plates. With the tinkling of broken porcelain on the floor came complete and utter silence. Staring down at the broken shards, Harry remembered one time, long ago, when he was maybe seven or eight and he had broken some dishes. His punishment then had been no food for a week as well as being locked in his cupboard. Thinking of the possible punishments he could incur made him physically shake all over.

“Mutt,” Vernon said in a strained and barely-controlled voice, stressing each syllable, “get over here. Now.”

Suppressing his shudders the best he could, Harry made his way over to stand to the right of his fuming uncle, gulping as he came to a stop. To say Harry was frightened was an understatement; he was lividly terrified.

It would appear that Vernon's anger was to be double-fold this morning, for sitting in the middle of the table next to a tired-looking Hedwig was Harry's Firebolt. Tied to it was a note. Picking up the note and thrusting it at Harry, Vernon managed to grunt out a “Read it,” before he started mumbling incoherently under his breath. With shaking hands, Harry untied the scroll and read,

“Dear Harry,

Suffice it to say that with the removal of Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts, all Educational Decrees have been rescinded and all bans have been lifted, including your life-long Quidditch ban. Let me be the first to welcome you back to the Gryffindor team. I hope you don't mind me borrowing Hedwig; I thought you might like your Firebolt back as soon as possible. Be sure to take good care of this most valuable of prizes. Watching you fly, I can all too easily see your natural Quidditch talent, and I must say your father would be quite proud.

Don't worry about sending your letter to the Order right away, we know Hedwig will be a trifle tired after such a long flight, so you can give her a little rest and send her out again tomorrow. If the need should arise, you may always summon an owl from the Wizarding Post to send your letters; do so by simply waving your wand (or wand arm) in the air in an `O' shape. An owl will then appear shortly.

Take care this summer, Mr. Potter. I dare say I'll be looking forward to receiving your course selections for N.E.W.T. classes later this year!

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress”

After Harry finished reading the note, which was shaking in his hands, he looked up at the oddly still form of his uncle. Seeing this only made Harry start shaking even harder. Normally, a calm Vernon would be a welcome thing, and most people would have been gladdened and relieved by what they saw. Harry knew better, though. He had seen this version of Uncle Vernon before, and it never indicated anything good. The last time he had seen his uncle in this relaxed of a state was back when he received his first Hogwarts letters. Vernon had acted nothing short of mad then, trying to find a place to hide. Now, here, under very different circumstances, what would he do?

“So, mutt, this thing is valuable, is it.” Vernon said as he picked up the Firebolt. “How much is it worth, then?” asked Vernon in a casual voice that normally Harry would have thought nothing of. However, in his eyes there was a vicious, triumphant glean that was shaking Harry to his core.

“I, I d-d-don't k-kn-know,” Harry managed to stutter out.

“What. I don't believe you, you dirty filthy lying sack of crap!” snapped Vernon “Now tell me how much money it's worth! And it would do well to show some respect, mutt.”

“I d-don't know, s-sir. I-I-it was a g-g-gift.” Harry said, his eyes looking down at his feet, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Hmph, a gift indeed! You probably stole it! Well, vermin like you don't deserve such nice things!” And with that, Vernon brought the Firebolt down hard over his knee, cleanly snapping it in two. To Harry, the sound of the snapping wood seemed to echo on forever. His brain ground to a screeching halt, and his heart seemed to both freeze up and start beating out of control at the same time.

`No, no, no. My Firebolt, how could he? I can't believe it. It's gone. My Firebolt is gone. What will I do now? It was my last connection to Sirius.' With this sudden realization, Harry sank to his knees hard, a tear or two managing to leak out the corners of his eyes.

Vernon, seeing the blow he had already dealt Harry, decided to go for the kill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Holding it up to the twigs at the base, he said, “This is what you get for being a freak, for going to that damnable place, and for then daring to show your filthy, vile face around here,” and lit the remains of the Firebolt on fire. Once there was a nice fire going, Vernon turned and said, “And now your punishment for the dishes you broke!”

Vernon rushed at Harry, caught him by surprise, and pushed him to the floor. Then, he began to beat Harry furiously with the burning end of the Firebolt, striking Harry wherever he could, with as much force as he could muster. Each time the burning twigs made contact, Harry's pain was two-fold; the first pain came from the mere force of the blow, the second and worse of the pain came from the minor burns inflicted. When it appeared that Vernon was tiring, he switched strategies, and merely held the now dimly glowing broom up to Harry's skin, burning him in several places. Sometimes it would be a simple tap; other times he would hold it in place until Harry screamed out in pain. The smell of burned flesh soon filled the room. This continued for five, ten, fifteen minutes, until,

“Vernon, stop!” Petunia yelled over Harry's anguished screams. For a moment, Vernon stared at Petunia with a look of incredulousness on his face. Harry couldn't believe it. Had his Aunt Petunia actually stepped in to defend him? Then she added, “The neighbors will hear him! Either stop burning him or gag him. We don't need any more disruptions!”

“Right, hadn't thought of that. All right, you, worthless mutt, I want you up and working in five minutes! You hear me?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry managed to squeeze out through the pain.

“What was that? I thought I told you to show some respect! You're nothing but a worthless mangy dog, and I am your master! You understand me, mutt?” At the word `mutt' Vernon delivered a sharp kick to Harry's side.

Harry let out a moan of pain, then, drawing deep breaths, said, “Yes *gasp* M-Master.”

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A/N: Here we go, Chapter Number Three! We continue the downwards spiral, reaching the bottom. I am fully aware that some of you may not like the chapter, and just so ya know, it's been one of the hardest to write. But, please continue along with it anyway! I swear upon my life, name, honor, money, and cello that it gets better! (oh, bye-the-bye, I'm an avid cellist). So, read it, and tell me how much you liked it, or how much you hated it, whichever the case may be!

Disclaimer: Thank you Mrs. Rowling for the use of your brilliant characters. I will do my best not to mar them in any way, shape, or form . . . wait, scratch that, too late. Ah well, I do promise to return them in one piece . . . well, okay, I'll at least return all the pieces . . . eventually. Enough of my rambling! On with the show!

Broken

One week later found a very miserable and entirely unrecognizable Harry Potter finishing the last of his daily chores and about to start pulling up the old tree in the back yard. So far he had only managed to replace the edging and the fence, and still had to repave the front drive. He had been given hardly any food, and ate whatever he could scrounge up. And, if it was possible, he received even less water. Fortunately he could drink from the hose outside on occasion, but it was hardly enough. He was deathly gaunt and pale; his skin was taught and stretched over his small frame. His hair, normally wild and sticking out at odd angles, was greasy, grimy, and matted to his head. He hadn't been able to properly bathe the entire week he had been back, and was certain he would be forever covered in a small, thin layer of filth. `Perhaps it was just as well,' Harry thought sadly, `this way people won't see the scars and burns.'

Over the past week, Harry had done his best to follow Vernon's directions, but he never quite seemed to get it right. Vernon always found something dissatisfactory, and used it as an excuse to beat Harry. Sometimes it was a couple of jabs to the head, others it was his back or sides. On the rare occasion Harry managed to mess things up really bad, Vernon would whip Harry with his belt. Standing up and stretching was enough to remind Harry of his most recent punishment. Harry had been working on replacing the fence all day two days before, but had only managed to complete up to half of the side fence. As he was putting his tools and supplies away for the night, Vernon came over.

“Mutt, once you are done, come inside, up to Dudley's second room. I've got a few choice words I'd like to have with you.” Vernon then walked away, glaring at Harry occasionally from over his shoulder. When Harry walked into his old room, Vernon was waiting, and it became quite clear what his “words” were going to be. He stood before Harry with his belt in one hand, the other gesturing for Harry to come and stand in front of him. Wanting to get it over as fast as possible, Harry complied. This time, however, things were to be drastically different.

Instead of assaulting him verbally like he always did, Vernon remained silent as he grabbed a length of rope off the desk and began to bind Harry's hands together. Then, he shoved Harry over to the bed, and tied the other end of the rope to the foot of the bed, leaving Harry trapped with no possible means of escape or defense.

“What did I tell you, mutt, about getting your work done?” Vernon half shouted, half grunted. “Thanks to your slow-assed-ness, we have a gaping hole in our fence, fit for anyone to see! If you weren't such a lazy, good for nothing, vile son-of-a-bitch freak, you could have finished hours ago! I'll learn you to sloth about and waste our valuable time, money and resources!”

With that, Vernon struck at Harry with his belt. Now, normally Vernon would use the leather end, which would sting terribly and leave great, red, angry welts wherever the belt landed. As soon as the first blow landed, barley being able to contain his moan of anguish, Harry realized that Vernon was now using the hard metal buckle. In a mere manner of seconds, Harry was on his knees, doing his best not to scream out in pain, his back gashed open in several places, blood seeping out wounds both old and new. Harry felt as though his skin was being ripped and torn off in strips, piece by piece, by some foul beast with rather blunt claws. After about half an hour, it appeared Vernon was too tired to continue, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, which caught abruptly in his throat as he heard his uncle say, “Alright, your turn Dudley.”

Harry heard the belt whip through the air again, and felt the blow land on the back of his head. As he began to slip into the coming darkness, Harry heard his uncle reprimanding Dudley, “No, no, son. You're supposed to be aiming for its back. Hitting it in the head will only make it loose consciousness. See? You've knocked it out cold, so now it won't feel the pain. Don't worry, you'll do better next time.” At that, Harry slipped under, mercifully unaware of the blows that rained down for ten minutes straight.

When he awoke he had found himself bound and gagged in his cupboard, as was now normal. After three nights in a row of being woken halfway through the night by Harry's screams, Vernon had decided to do something about it. While the gag did keep Harry's screams confined to the cupboard, his would strain against his bindings as he thrashed, and would wake up with burns around his wrists from where the rope bit him. Harry found he was thrashing more and more as the nightmares became worse and worse. His mind had begun to replay not only the night at the Ministry, but also scenes from two years ago in the graveyard as well. Now Cedric Diggory's face loomed out of the dark recesses of his mind as well as those of Sirius, Hermione, and his other friends. After several hours of terrible visions, Voldemort usually made an appearance and turned Harry's dreams towards that of the capture, torture, and murder of his closest friends. However, last night Voldemort had remained fairly quite, content to merely watch as Harry's own imagination created scenes more gruesome and horrible than even Voldemort would have thought up, including Ron being eaten alive by hundreds of rats that looked identical to Scabbers, and one scene of Hermione being skinned alive.

As a result of his night terrors, Harry got very little actual rest, and the results, along with physical fatigue, were starting to have drastic effects on him. So far he had botched three meals and burned his left arm badly. As punishment, Vernon had broken out the trunk and burned (in front of Harry, of course) five of his books and had broken his Sneakoscope with a bat, then taken a good swing at Harry for good measure.

Each morning, Vernon made quite a show of gathering all of Harry's letters from his friends and destroying them in whatever way suited his fancy. Some mornings it would be the flames that took them, other times they were merely shredded. Sometimes Vernon would read through them first, glaring at Harry and daring him to object. At first he received letters from many people, but as the days wore on and Harry never “responded”, fewer people began writing. At one point only Ron, Lupin and Hermione sent letters. In the end Ron and Lupin stopped writing, and only Hermione continued to write letters, which seemed to have doubled over the week.

Harry had, of course, been forced to write the obligatory letters to the Order, and Vernon's means of censoring Harry were extremely effective. Vernon would stand next to Harry, reading over his shoulder at what he wrote, while at the same time he had a revolver aimed right at Hedwig, which he would cock every time Harry wrote or got close to writing something unsatisfactory.

Sparring with Dudley had improved, if only slightly. Complaining that Harry was too easy to hit, Dudley got Vernon to let Harry dodge blows instead of just trying to defend. As a result, Harry's face was hit much less often, although it was still a prime target. During one particularly brutal day, Harry had made the mistake of trying to fighting back. He managed to get off one shot, which his Uncle unfortunately happened to see. This made Vernon as angry as he'd ever been, and as punishment Vernon held Harry down while Dudley wailed away, and then vice versa.

Looking back, Harry wasn't quite sure how he managed to make it as far as he did. All he remembered is that there was a voice in the back of his mind that helped to keep him calm, and give him strength. It was a calm, soothing, and familiar voice full of care and concern. Strong at first, the voice served to comfort and protect, often times catching Harry just in time to prevent making a costly mistake. But as the days wore on, the voice became quieter and spoke less frequently, and Harry was beginning to feel alone and isolated again; shut off from his friends. This summer was definitely worse than the last one in terms of communication. Last year he didn't receive any information and was kept in the dark. This year it appeared that he was being given information, but had no means of receiving it.

Sighing, Harry set to work on the old dead tree. Somehow, he had to chop it down, break it apart, and then dig up the trunk and roots, and all in less than three hours. Harry found that the more work he had to do, the easier it became if he shut off his mind and merely did what had to be done; let things come naturally. Harry therefore was too focused on his work that he did not notice that during the next three hours four owls arrived for him, all bearing letters from Hermione, nor was he witness to his Uncles growing fury at receiving multiple owls.

After working for four hours straight, the sun began to set and Harry could no longer see what he was doing. So far he had managed to cut down the tree and hack it into smaller pieces. However, he had just begun to dig at the roots and trunk when he was forced to quit, no longer able to see where he was swinging the pickax. It was not without trepidation that Harry entered his uncles home to tell him he hadn't finished with the tree yet. Standing before the kitchen doors, Harry took deep soothing breaths and tried to gather whatever courage remained from deep within him. Realizing he had been standing in front of the door for probably too long, he took one final relaxing breath and took the plunge into the kitchen.

Inside, the Dursleys were all gathered around the table, waiting for Harry to serve up dinner, as was customary. Sensing no immediate danger, Harry went to work on the dinner, once again submerging himself completely in his work and almost completely ignoring everything around him. This probably saved Harry, for if he had but once glanced at his gathered “family”, he would have begun shaking too terribly to continue cooking, and would have been liable to break something or burn himself.

However, his luck soon ran out. As soon as he set the plates down on the table Harry sensed something was wrong, he could almost feel the tension in the room choking him; one quick glance at Vernon and Harry could practically see waves of anger and stress radiating from him. “Mutt, get over here!”

“Yes, sir? I mean, Master” Harry quickly added, almost forgetting. The rule of calling Vernon “Master” was quickly growing tiring and cumbersome for Harry, and if it hadn't been for the friendly voice inside Harry's head, he would have long since stopped remembering to say it.

“Explain to me why the bloody hell this bitch keeps writing to you! How could you be so bloody important to her, let alone anyone? Tell me!”

“I-I don't know. Master” Harry was struggling hard to contain the rage he felt when Vernon insulted Hermione. Once again it was the calming voice in the back of his head that saved him.

`Relax, Harry. He's trying to get a rise out of you as an excuse to hurt you even more. Don't give him the satisfaction.'

“Don't give me that bullshit! Who is she? How do you know each other? She isn't another freak like you, is she?”

`Careful, Harry. Just relax. His words mean nothing.'

“Yes, master, she and I go to the same school. We're close friends.”

“Humph, likely. Along with that infernal letter you write tonight, you'll be sending a message informing this Hermi-whore of yours to butt out. Got it?

`Harry, don't. He's not worth it, he's not worth it. It's what he wants.'

“Yes, s-master.”

****

Writing that letter to Hermione was one of the hardest things Harry had ever done. Originally, it read something like this:

“Dear Hermione,

Sorry I haven't responded, but I've been terribly busy. I'm doing quite fine now, but thanks for your concern. It meant a lot. However, I am becoming a little concerned that all those owls you send might give away my location to Voldemort. So, could you please not send any more? I really am doing fine. See you in Diagon Alley? If not then I'll see you on the Express.

Yours truly,

Harry”

However, Vernon would not accept this, and tore it to pieces. In the end, Harry was forced to re-write his letter five times, each re-write containing less and less, and each rewrite costing Harry a sharp blow to the head. Harry's final letter simply read,

“Hermione, stop sending letters.

Harry”

As Harry watched Hedwig fly off, each beat of her wings seemed to sink Harry's heart lower into his stomach.

`Please don't let her hate me for it. I couldn't stand to loose her. Oh, please, let this be all right.'

`I'm sure it will work out fine Harry. Don't worry, what's done is done. Focus on the present, not the past . . .'

Harry was just starting to feel at ease when fate decided to give him a sharp, swift kick in the balls, via Vernon Dursley.

“MUTT! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!” Heavy footsteps accompanied the thundering voice of his uncle, until a very red-faced Vernon was standing right in front of Harry, breathing hard in his face.

“O-O-of w-w-hat, m-m-m-master?”

“Don't give me that! You know perfectly well what I mean! I thought I told you to get those jobs done! What's wrong with your lazy ass! I've given you plenty of time and opportunity to finish the jobs, and yet, there's the tree stump still in the ground, and our front drive still has cracks in it! EXPLAIN!!”

“I-I tried. Honestly, I did. I worked my har- ” But Harry was cut off when Vernon's fist impacted his mouth.

“I don't want to hear your bloody excuses. There are NO excuses for this kind of sloth and waste, mutt. Since you've wasted so much of our valuable resources, I think it's only appropriate to waste some of yours, don't you think?” Harry just stood there, half in fear of his life, half sick to his stomach at what was to come.

“I asked you a question, mutt. ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!!”

“Y-Y-Yes, m-m-master.”

WHAM! Vernon sent Harry collapsing to his knees with a hard punch to the gut. When Harry next looked up, Vernon was leafing through a thick leather-bound book that was all-too familiar. `No . . .'

“Hmm, what have we here? Looks to be a very personal item, here. I think this will do nicely . . .” Vernon brought out his lighter and began to turn the pages randomly, stopping here or there, obviously looking for the perfect starting point. “Ah, here we go. I think here is a good place to start!” Harry's breath caught in his throat; it was the picture of his parents wedding. As Vernon swooped in to pick up the picture, his parents and Sirius, as if sensing the impending danger, began to run for the edges. As Vernon picked up the photo and looked at it, his face seemed to fall a little. “Hmm, where did those two go? Oh well, still got that one, and that's good enough to begin with.” And so Vernon lit a bottom corner on fire.

As Harry stared in horror, the picture began to burn, and trapped within it was Sirius. Slowly, the flames crept closer and closer, all the while Sirius was trying to put as much distance between him and the flames as possible. Finally, the flames caught up with the image of Sirius, who began to flail his arms in an attempt to put them out. On his face were mingled looks of horror and pain. His mouth was wide open in what was obviously a scream, but no sound issued forth. Harry watched, unable to look away, as his godfather once again died before his eyes, burned alive.

As soon as the picture was done burning, Vernon once again opened the scrapbook. “What the hell? Where did they all go?” He began leafing through the pages madly, until, “Aha! There they are! Fools! They should know there's nowhere they can escape to!” With that Vernon tore out the picture that all of the members of the scrapbook had tried to hide in. Not expecting such a sudden action, almost all the portraits were trapped. With great flourish, Vernon lit his lighter and held it just out of reach of the photo. “Now watch, this is what they deserve, and it's what you'll get, sooner or later! Look at your future, mutt!” Then, he brought the picture into contact with the flames, and very soon all the images of Harry's family, his final link to his lineage and his past, were aflame. While the images may have been screaming in silence, Harry's mind easily and readily supplied the screams.

Once the flames had reduced the photograph to cinders, Vernon turned and lit the rest of the scrapbook on fire, while Harry sat on the floor, stunned and dismayed. He had already lost his family once, and now he had just lost them again. Already the images were burned in his memory and beginning to surface again.

“Get up mutt. I'm tired of looking at your vile freakish form! I want you out of my sights now! Into your cupboard!” With that, Vernon dragged Harry up by his hair and tossed him towards the hallway, Harry just barely able to keep from falling down again. Soon, he was bound and gagged in his cupboard, trying his best to fight off the darkness and the nightmares, but failing terribly.

Harry was walking along a secluded path surrounded by trees. Ahead was a clearing; visible just inside the clearing was a small-looking cottage. Stopping outside the fence surrounding the house, he saw a mailbox with the word “Potters” on it in gold letters. Godric's Hollow . . . his parents' home, his home. He opened the gate and began to sprint towards the front door, but he had hardly taken three steps when the entire cottage burst into flames. He could hear screams coming from inside, but the flames prevented him from attempting to rescue whoever was inside. Suddenly, the house collapsed and the screams stopped.

A voice spoke from behind Harry, hoarse and deep, “You could have saved them, but you didn't. You let them die, Harry. Why? How could you? They were your parents!” It was Sirius, or at least it looked like him. “How could you do that to them, to me? How could you let me die, Harry? It's your fault! If you hadn't been so stupid, I would still be here. How could you . . .”

With that, the vision faded into darkness, but the heat from the fire seemed to remain. Suddenly, there was a bright flash, and Harry found himself standing in the middle of a burning street. People were running around, screaming, panicking. Advancing down the street were several figures wrapped in long, black robes, each wearing a mask over their face. As one, they all raised their wands to shoulder level, and then, as if in one voice, they all shouted out “Avada kedavra!” A bright green flash followed, and dozens of people lay dead in the street, expressions of shock and surprise on their faces. A voice sounded in Harry's ear, “It has begun, Potter. Muggles and Mudbloods will die! How long till you see your friends' faces? You will die, Potter. Soon, you will face my wrath!”

With that, Harry woke with a start, a scream of pain still passing his gagged mouth. He realized that he was shaking terribly, and while the pain in his scar had died down considerably, his head was still throbbing. He tried to sit up, only to find his left wrist shoot in pain, almost causing him to shout out again. It would appear he had finally broken it, as his had was pointed at a rather sickening angle. Harry noticed that his bindings had also broke during the night's struggle. Biting down on the gag, Harry tried to straighten out his wrist to set it and help it heal better. The pain was incredible, and almost made him pass out.

Cooking breakfast was very awkward with just his right had to work with. Already his left wrist was swollen and looked a very angry shade of red, and would twinge painfully whenever Harry would brush something against it. Somehow, he managed to avoid burning or dropping anything, and felt proud of himself for doing so. However, that feeling of jubilation wasn't to last past breakfast.

Harry had just finished clearing off the table when Hedwig soared in, returning from a night of delivering letters. However, she had not returned empty-handed. Tied to her leg was a letter, apparently addressed from Hermione. This was not a normal letter; the red quivering envelope with steam pouring out the corners clearly indicated it was a Howler. Vernon grinned evilly at Harry before saying, “Go ahead then, open it up, mutt.” But before Harry could reach it, it exploded (rather violently) into flames, and Hermione's magically magnified voice boomed out, each syllable wavering with cold fury,

“HARRY JAMES POTTER! HOW DARE YOU! I WORY ABOUT YOU, FRET OVER YOU, WONDER ANXIOUSLY HOW YOU ARE DOING! I PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO MY LETTERS, ONLY TO HAVE YOU TELL ME TO STOP! DO I REALY MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU? ARE THE PAST FIVE YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP WORTH NOTHING TO YOU? WELL, DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME SENDING YOU LETTERS ANYMORE, POTTER, BECAUSE I NEVER WANT TO SEE OR SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!! I HATE YOU!!!”

Harry stood, blinking furiously, trying to stop the tears. It was worse than he had feared. Hermione appeared beyond furious with him. Heck, she hadn't even said those things to Ron, and he was more of an annoyance than Harry had ever been.

`No, how could I have let this happen. I can't loose her. I won't loose her! I will fix this. I don't care what happens, I will not let this happen!'

Vernon's voice broke Harry from his reverie. “Good. That should take care of the bitch. Now, get to work mutt!”

Harry quickly dashed out of the kitchen and set to work, but not on Vernon's chores. No, Harry was going to make things right with Hermione, to try and explain and beg forgiveness. He was going to write her a letter, tell her everything. Ten minutes later, Harry watched as Hedwig took flight. Considering all he had put down in the letter, ten minutes was good time. He was just about to relax and start to work when he heard Dudley's booming voice shout out, “DAD! HE'S SENT AN OWL! HURRY!!”

Harry turned to look at Hedwig, who was now a full block away. A small smile appeared; he knew Vernon couldn't possibly stop the letter. He had finally fought back, something he had been wanting to do for so long. And damned be the consequences. Soon the Order would know what had been really going on, and would put a stop to it, if Hermione didn't kill the Dursleys herself. Hearing the stomping approach of his uncle, Harry turned to meet whatever punishment he would be served, only to be struck on the side if the head by something hard. Looking up, Harry's heart froze and he couldn't breathe. Standing in front of the window, Vernon was taking careful aim with a rifle. Harry sprang to his feet to try and stop him, but Vernon fired before Harry could reach the muzzle. Fearing the worst, Harry quickly turned to look outside the window.

Hedwig, almost an invisible dot on the horizon, appeared to be tumbling in midair, as if she had been hit head-on by a bus. Then, she began to fall, slowly at first, then faster and faster. As Harry watched her fall, his mind was raging, swirling; he was barely breathing, and couldn't hear any noises. With each second, every foot she fell, Harry felt more of himself break away; break down; shut off. Tears were streaming down his face. He shuddered once, feeling as if some force or presence was leaving his body. For a brief moment, it appeared as though Hedwig froze in midair, then, she was gone . . .

`No, please no . . . I failed. She's gone. They're both gone. Hedwig . . . Cedric . . . Sirius. All gone. My parents, gone. My family, gone. Hermione, gone. Ron, Lupin, Dumbledore, gone. All gone. My fault. All my fault. Alone. All alone. Nobody left. Everyone dies. Nothing left . . . . all alone . . . . . . . no . . one . . . . here . . . . . '

Vaguely, Vernon's voice came through, saying, “Get up, mutt. Get to work. If you finish everything today I might be lenient.”

Slowly, the boy before Vernon stood. Hunched over, head and eyes cast down, a low, weak, monotone voice spoke. “Yes, master. Right away, sir.” As Harry passed by him, Vernon saw the look in his eyes, the look of a person who had been completely broken.

****

Miles away, Lord Voldemort shuddered. He had felt a burst of, something, from Potter, then, nothing. Absolute silence. He was very troubled. What could it possibly mean?

A/N: Whew! Another long one! Have I managed to offend anyone? I certainly hope not! Review if you can!

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A/N: Ah, we finally move away from Harry slightly, and you guys start getting some answers! I tell ya, you're gonna love these next few ones (those of you that are still reading the fic, bye the way). I imagine I lost quite a few people by now. I mean, the first chapter has about 2000 hits, the next one has 400 . . . hehehehe. Well, I won't keep you guys waiting any longer, even in the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I'm makin' this short. Nothings mine, get over it. Now on with the show!

Letters for Harry

The soft afternoon sunlight drifted in through the open window of the room of Hermione Granger, who was at the moment curled up in her chair, reading through her favorite book, Hogwarts: A History. Or, at least she was trying to. Invariably, her mind drifted back to her dilemma with . . . . him. It had been over a week since she had sent the Howler, and yet she had heard nor received anything in return. Now, several of her strongest instincts were fighting for control within her. She was incredibly furious with Harry for his response, or rather lack thereof, and she was refusing to allow herself to forgive him. She had had to dig deep to find the courage to put what she did in that letter, and he goes and responds by telling her, in not so many words, to piss off! The nerve of that boy!

In opposition to her anger and fury was the equally strong desire to protect Harry and make sure he was all right. Something about the entire situation didn't sit well with her, but she couldn't figure out what. Perhaps he hadn't read any of the letters? What if he was in trouble, what if somehow Voldemort had found a way to get to Harry? Or was it just Harry withdrawing into a self-imposed prison? What if . . . Harry hated her?

Suddenly, Hermione was shaken from her reverie by a gentile knocking on her door. “Hermione, dear, you have a visitor in the kitchen. Says he's a professor from your school, or something.”

“Okay, mum, I'll be right down.” Wondering who would be visiting her and what she had done to warrant a visit, Hermione made her way downstairs. Surely it wasn't about her injury; she had finished her treatment days ago, and was feeling perfectly healthy. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sight that met her stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Hello, Miss Granger. Good to see you again. Would you care for a lemon drop?”

Sitting before Hermione was none other than her Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, yet it was a Dumbledore the likes she had never seen before. Normally clad in long flowing robes of various bright and vibrant colors, Dumbledore had instead donned a plain brown Muggle sports jacket with matching brown trousers and shoes. Under the jacket could be seen a black shirt with a sharp red tie. On his head was perched a similar brown bowler with a gold stripe running the circumference. Leaning against the table was a well-polished cane.

“P-P-Professor Dumbledore! Um, what, I - no, thank you. Um, Professor, sir, what are you doing here?”

“Please, do sit down. I'm sorry to drop in and surprise you like this, but I was `in the neighborhood,' so to speak, and I have a small favor to ask.” With that he motioned to the table, where a letter was sitting. “This is a letter from Gringotts, addressed to Harry.” At the mention of Harry's name, a scowl appeared on Hermione's face. Noticing this, Dumbledore stopped and asked, “Is something wrong, Miss Granger?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing, sir. Please continue.” Hermione shook herself mentally and forced herself to remain neutral.

“As I was saying, this is a letter for Harry from Gringotts bank. I would like for you to deliver it to Harry. I would deliver it myself, but I am terribly busy at the moment, and I do not entirely feel that my presence is welcome.” As he said this, Dumbledore got a sad look in his eyes, which quickly passed.

“But, sir, if you don't mind me asking, why not just send Harry the letter by owl post? Why should I have to be involved in this?” Right now, her anger was in full control and in no way did she feel like seeing Harry.

“Well, you see, it has been tried already. Three times to be exact. However, none of the letters have reached our young Harry's hands.”

“Oh, so you mean he refuses to open it? Humph, well good -” Hermione began, but was cut short by Dumbledore.

“No, Miss Granger. I'm afraid that is not the case. Harry's hands literally have not once touched them. As for the letters themselves, they would appear to have been destroyed in some form or another. Normally, I would look into it myself, or on the least send a member of the Order. Unfortunately, we are extremely stretched to our limits as it is, what with Voldemort's recent waves of attacks, and the matter, put simply, is that we do not have the available resources. In fact, for the past week and a half, we have not even had enough people to maintain the guard over Harry's house. I haven't been to check on the wards in quite some time, and I really must do so soon.”

“But - What - How?” Hermione was taken a little aback by this bit of information. Harry hadn't received his letters? Could that mean he had never even read hers? Was he in trouble? There was no one to watch him . . . something bad could have happened. She could feel her anger quickly ebbing away and a sense of dread for Harry rising to replace it. Hermione suddenly had a lot of questions to ask, and settled on starting with, “How can you be sure he has never touched the letters, Professor?”

“Simple. On matters such as these,” Dumbledore said while indicating the letter, “Gringotts puts a charm on the envelope. When the intended recipient touches the envelope, the goblin that cast the charm feels a pulse of magic, which serves as the signal. This way they can make sure such urgent and important business is completed.”

“Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what business does Gringotts have with Harry?” Hermione asked slowly, already knowing the answer.

“The reading of the will of Sirius Black. This is another reason I am asking if you would deliver this letter to Harry: to be there for him and support him emotionally. He is going through a very difficult time right now and needs all the friends he can.” At the Headmaster's words, Hermione felt a small pang of guilt. “So, Miss Granger, do I have your cooperation in this? I know it is a lot to ask of you, but rest assured I believe you are quite up to the task. Oh, and you needn't worry about your parents, I have already asked them and they agreed.”

Hermione was in great conflict. She was still furious, terribly furious with Harry, but a great part of her (one that was growing, still) was worried about him. `No, I refuse! I couldn't possibly face him! Nor do I want to!'

`That's not entirely true, now, you know . . .'

`I know, I know. But, he's hurt me so badly! I won't do it! There's absolutely nothing in the world that will make me go!'

*****

An hour later, Hermione was sitting on the Knight Bus, or rather, picking herself up off the floor of the Knight Bus. `Curse me for being so weak! Why am I doing this! Aren't I supposed to be furious with Harry?'

`Yes, but you know you can't stay mad at him for long.'

`That's only for the normal stuff! This time it's serious, this is something major!'

`That's exactly why you need to see him! You need to talk things out. What if it's all just one big misunderstanding.'

`Yeah, right, and I'm the Minister of Magic! No, this is bound to be Harry doing his stupid withdrawal thingy again. What is wrong with that boy? Sometimes I can't stand him!'

`But you love him anyway.'

Hermione sighed to herself. `Yeah, you're right, I do love him.'

`Now that that's settled, let's enjoy the beautiful scenery and the ambiance of the ride!'

A retching sound was heard below as the bus jumped with another loud bang, and Hermione once more had to pick herself up off the floor. `Oh, do shut up!'

*****

BANG! “Okay, `ere we are, Privet Drive. `At'll be `leven sickles, then. Thanks for ridin' the Knight Bus.” Hermione paid Stan as she stepped of, her right hand wrapped around her wand in her pocket, her left hand clutching the letter.

`What'll I say to him? Oh, he must hate me! But it is his fault . . . I think.' Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself. `Regardless of what was and will be said, I have a job to do. So, let's get it done.'

As Hermione wandered down Privet Drive, she took note of how, well, normal everything looked. All the houses were similar, most of the lawns were beginning to brown a little from the heat, and every house looked deserted. Well, almost every house. There at the far end she could see a man out working in the garden. Soon, she had covered most of the street and had only a few houses left. Deciding to save time, Hermione walked over to the man working to ask for help. As she drew nearer, she realized he was actually much younger than she first thought, possibly only a year or two older than herself. He was extremely filthy-looking, and his hair was matted down and greasy. He also had a look about him of one who had recently lost a lot of weight fairly quickly She noticed he seemed to favor his right hand, and that his left wrist seemed a little swollen and red.

Gathering up her courage, Hermione approached the man (teenager?) and asked, “Excuse me, but can you tell me which house is Number Four?” Without even looking up or stopping his work, the stranger pointed to the house he was working in front of. “Is anyone home at the moment? Or is it just you?” He merely shook his head no, again not stopping or otherwise acknowledging the fact that she was there asking him questions.

“Okay, well, I need to deliver this letter to Harry Potter. Do you know if he'll be back soon?” This time, she noticed, he stiffened and halted in his work.

“Harry Potter . . . there is no Harry Potter here. There is no one here. Just it . . .” He spoke in a monotone voice, almost as if he wasn't a person at all, more like a machine that talked.

“It? What's `it'?” asked Hermione. The strange being made no signs of response. “Well, what about yourself? What's your name? Where do you live? Is this your job?” Really, Hermione wasn't that interested; she was just looking for something to do to pass the time until Harry returned. Instead of answering her, the stranger simply stood up and started walking toward the back yard. “Hey! I'm just trying to be polite, no need to treat me like that!”

Hermione thought she heard him say, “It's sorry, very sorry,” but it came out in a low monotone rumble, so she wasn't sure. Hermione followed the young man, while taking a good look around the yard. It had been well kept like the front, as the grass was still very green and the garden looked superb. A loud sound distracted her observations, and she turned to find that her new `acquaintance' had attempted to lift several shovels, rakes, and other various instruments at once, but had overdone it and had fallen down. Quickly, she sprinted over and began to help him up.

“Here, let me help you . . .” Hermione began, pulling on his arms, but fell silent as she finally saw his face. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his eyes, his very green eyes. “H-H-Harry . . . ?”

A/N: AAHHHH! Evil cliffy!!! I know, I know, please don't kill me. If you do, you won't get to read what happens next! Wait a minute, strike that, you probably think I kill Hermione or something. Well, I don't! So please, just let me crawl into my panic room and barricade myself in in peace. Please? Tell me what you think!

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A/N: Hello, anyone out there? *Pulls head back quickly to avoid large objects flying at it* I guess so . . . Okay, okay, I surrender, I'm coming out unarmed. Here, this white flag I'm waving is the next chapter, so blow me up and it goes, too! Whew, that seems to have worked! Okay, I think I've made you wait long enough, so, without further ado . . . here it is! My favorite chapter so far! Oh, but first, to all of those that leave reviews, I do reply to them, you just don't check them! Click on the Review link next to my name, to see my responses. It kinda bothers me that after I spend all that time responding no-one reads em! Now I'm done!

Disclaimer: Same as before. Now on with the show!

Re-Awakening

“Harry?” Hermione was shocked. It seemed impossible. What could have happened to him in two weeks to change him like this? She could hardly recognize him. He was incredibly pale and dangerously thin, and obviously hadn't bathed in ages. There appeared to be a bad burn that hadn't quite healed on his left arm, and she swore that she saw several bruises and small scars. Looking up close, she saw that his left wrist had definitely been broken, and was in the process of mending again. His nose looked to be broken in at least three different places, and his glasses once more had been heavily wrapped in tape, and there were even several cracks and scratches on the lenses. However, the biggest difference between this Harry and the one she said goodbye to at Kings Cross Station was his eyes. Gone was any sign of life. Gone was the sparkle, the flash, the flare, the gleam, the shine; any and all emotion. What Hermione saw in his eyes could only be described as death. The one thing that proved that he was indeed Harry Potter was the scar on his forehead, the infamous relic of an infamous past.

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. “No, not Harry. There is no Harry, only It.” Suddenly the full meaning of his words sunk in, and Hermione felt tears well up. She blinked hard to keep them from falling. She was worried and incredibly distressed. What had happened? Why is he like this? What did the Dursleys do? The Dursleys!

“Harry, tell me, what happened? Who did this to you?” Hermione's voice was beginning to shake, both from sadness and anger. Harry only shook his head.
“No, Master said no speaking. Must work. Am behind, terribly behind.” Harry went to grab for his tools again, but Hermione stopped him.

“Harry, please, tell me . . . what happened?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then a car door slammed out in front, followed by a loud “Mutt! Where are you! You have better finished with the yard work! Get out here now! I've brought my new business partner over for dinner, and he needs help with his things!”

Without even so much as a glance at Hermione, Harry let go of his tools and began walking toward the front lawn. “Wait! Harry, wait!” Hermione was left holding on the tools Harry had been attempting to carry to his next worksite. Dropping them, she began to run after Harry, who at this point in time had already passed around the house and out of view. Hermione rounded the corner, and the sight in front of her made her stop in her tracks and pale considerably. Harry was bowing to his Uncle, and standing just behind and to the side of Vernon Dursley was . . . Lucius Malfoy!

“Mr. Malfoy here has made a generous offer for a partnership that will profit the both of us, so you better treat him with the utmost respect, hear me?” Vernon then noticed Hermione, who was standing stock-still. “Who's that? What did I tell you, mutt! You know the rules!” Vernon then rent Harry a sharp blow to the head that knocked him back and down. Malfoy then noticed Hermione and a huge, cruel smile appeared on his pale face.

“Granger,” he hissed.

Vernon turned and looked at Hermione. “Granger . . . Granger . . . That's right, you're that bitch that's been sending all those bloody letters!” Vernon was clearly about to go on a rant, when he stopped suddenly and looked suspiciously at Malfoy. “How do you know her?” Vernon stopped short at the sight of Lucius Malfoy, wand out and pointed at Hermione. “You're one of those freaks, aren't you? What do you want!”

“I'm here for the boy. I'm to take him to my master, where he will be killed.” Malfoy turned his wand to Harry and said, “So, Potter, ready to die?”

“Now wait just one moment! That thing there,” Vernon pointed at Harry, “is my property, and I won't allow you to steal my property!”

“I never said you had a choice in the matter, now did I?” With that, Malfoy whipped his wand at Vernon and before anyone could do anything; “Avada Kedavra!” Vernon Dursley dropped to the ground, dead before he landed.

Next, he rounded on Hermione, who had just managed to get her wand out. But before she could do anything, Malfoy shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Hermione watched in horror as her wand flew through the air and was caught by Malfoy. “My, my, how the tables have turned!” With a wave of his wand, ropes sprang forth and bound Hermione tight. “Well, Potter, going to go quietly, or do I have to persuade you?”

Harry was still sprawled on the ground where his (late) uncle had knocked him down. His face was paler than before, and he was breathing quickly, almost in gasps.

“Harry! Run! Get help! Please!” Hermione was yelling, trying to get through, but Harry was still staring at the corpse of his uncle.

“Filthy Mudblood! Silence! I was going to let you live as a witness to the destruction of Potter, but now I think I'll kill you first. Hmm, or maybe I should just torture you to madness instead. How does that sound, Potter? Care to watch your precious Mudblood be tortured?” Harry turned his head sharply at this, and was now looking from Malfoy to Hermione, a look of disbelief and fear on his face. “Very well, then. Crucio!”

The curse hit Hermione, and she felt as if she could die. So much pain! She bit her lip, trying not to scream out in pain as she jerked about, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction. But, soon the pain overcame her, and she began screaming out. Once she started screaming, she felt as if she would never stop. Too much pain, there was just too much pain. She knew she couldn't last long.

Malfoy looked over at Harry as Hermione lay on the ground, convulsing more and more, to find that he had his head in his hands, as if he were the one in pain. Smiling even more, Malfoy turned his attention back to Hermione. He lifted the curse, and said, “Listen to her, Potter! Listen to her screams! Feel her pain! Hahahahaha! CRUCIO!”

Hermione's screams once again filled the air, and Harry's mind. Harry's head was throbbing horribly, almost as if there was something fighting to get out. Images and scenes flashed before him, memories he had not thought about in a long time. Something within Harry's mind was struggling to break free.

`I have to help her . . . must stop Malfoy . . . need my wand . . . wand? . . . I'm a wizard . . . I have a wand . . . Potter . . . my name is Harry Potter . . .' At that, the throb became a pain, and Harry had to clasp his head. He began to cry out in pain.

“Well, while this has been fun, I am running short on time. I will kill Granger now, then you will go with me to meet your death, Potter!”

`Granger . . . Granger . . . Herm . . . Hermi . . . Hermione! . . . NO! . . . HERMIONE!!!'

“HERMIONE!! AH!” Now, the pain had moved from his head and spread all over. He felt as if he was going to explode. Suddenly, with a loud, animalistic roar, Harry felt something inside snap.

“Avada Kedav-” Malfoy began, but stopped at the sight of Harry, who was no longer shouting. Instead, Harry was rising to his feet, and as he did so, the air around him began to shimmer, as if a great heat was coming from him. Malfoy could feel the magical energy washing over him. Not wanting to waste any time, he raised his wand again on Hermione again and shouted, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The green light rushed towards Hermione, and there was nothing that could stop it! Malfoy smiled at the thought of what was to happen next. The death of Hermione Granger would be a great honor and pleasure, and he would be rewarded for sure. The spell was closing in quickly; ten feet, five feet, two feet! But then, a semi-transparent blue dome appeared around her. The curse struck the dome, and for a moment looked as if it was fighting to pass through, before the curse shattered and sent bright green sparks flying. Malfoy looked, dumbstruck, from a barely-conscious Hermione surrounded in a blue aura, over to Potter. What he saw almost made him drop his wand. He did, however, drop Hermione's.

The shimmering air around Harry was no longer merely shimmering, it had turned a deep blue color, and it surrounded Harry in an aura at least a foot thick. From it radiated an incredible feeling of power that seemed to even dwarf that of Dumbledore. But that was not the most amazing part; the thing that truly scared Malfoy was that Harry was floating. Yes, floating, and a good three feet above the ground as well!

Quickly snapping back to action, Malfoy sent off a barrage of spells at Harry, including several stunners, impedimentas, reductos, a few cruciatus curses, as well as a barrage of other dark curses. However, all the spells seemed to stop as if they hit a solid wall, and eventually burst apart in a shower of colored sparks. Suddenly, Malfoy was flung through the air, hard. He landed several yards away, and had barely gotten up when he had to fling himself back down again as what appeared to be a dozen blue spherical projectiles flew at him. Looking behind him, Malfoy saw that wherever one happened to land, they exploded violently, leaving behind small craters. Whipping his head back to face Harry, Malfoy saw another batch heading for him.

Rolling to the side, Malfoy shot off several curses, but they had the same affect as before. Actually, they did seem to have one effect: Harry seemed to be getting angrier, and his aura changed from a blue color to a violent red one. Harry leaned forward in the air, as if he was getting ready to sprint. With a sudden jolt, he was flying towards Malfoy at an incredible speed. Malfoy didn't even have time to raise his wand in defense before Harry slammed into him. Harry stopped immediately, while Malfoy went flying down Privet Drive, almost as fast as Harry had. Before he landed, Harry appeared suddenly in front of him, caught him, them flung him up into the air. Harry extended his right arm, pointing his hand at Malfoy's tumbling form, and a red burst shot out towards him. But before the energy hit, Malfoy had apparated away. The red ball exploded where Malfoy had been seconds before, and the resulting shockwave shook the ground and blew out the glass of the house directly below the blast.

Instantly, Harry was kneeling beside Hermione, his aura now a soothing white. He touched her head with both hands, and the aura began to envelope Hermione too. Her eyes flickered open, and she stared, open-mouthed, as Harry once again began hovering in the air. His eyes were closed; he was breathing hard, and looked exhausted. Suddenly, the aura vanished, and Harry Potter collapsed on the ground, out cold.

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A/N: Okay, here's the next chapter. I'm gonna be nice and post two, since this one is incredibly short, and to make up for the double-cliffie. I originally wanted it all to be one huge chapter, but it didn't quite fit, so I had to split it, and that is where it split best. Sorry about the sudden change in writing style with the last chapter, some of you didn't really like that. I'm just experimenting with different styles at the moment, trying to find what people like the most. I appreciate all the input (and yes, I mean all the input)! Things are gonna start smoothing out now, so I hope you like!

Remember

Harry was aware of a vast space surrounding him, but could not see anything but the pitch dark. Somewhere off in the distance, Harry heard a noise. He turned his head left, then right, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, but all he saw was the uninterrupted darkness. Suddenly, a bright white light shone forth from a short distance in front of him, blinding him. Harry closed his eyes tight, but even then he could still see the glare. As his eyes began to adjust to the sudden bright light, the glare began to diminish as well. Finally, Harry opened his eyes and saw a figure standing before him, who was apparently the source of the bright light. It was neither a man nor a woman; it was simply a body of pure energy with nothing distinct about it. Harry was staring, transfixed, when the mysterious being spoke,

“HARRY POTTER, YOUR POWER GROWS AS YOU NEAR THE END. BUT BEWARE; WITH GREAT POWER COME TEMPTATIONS. REMAIN TRUE TO YOURSELF AND THOSE YOU LOVE, OR ALL WILL BE LOST. REMEMBER THE SACRIFICES THAT HAVE BEEN MADE, REMEMBER THE PRICES PAID; REMEMBER WHAT YOU ARE FIGHTING FOR. THE DARKNESS IS GROWING, AND THE LIGHT BEGINS TO FADE. IT HAS BEGUN, THE BEGINNING OF THE END . . . REMEMBER, HARRY POTTER, REMEMBER . . .”

With that, the being faded out of sight, leaving Harry surrounded by darkness again, its mysterious voice echoing softly around him.

******

Harry opened his eyes, and was nearly blinded by the intensity of the light in the room. He quickly shut his eyes, wondering where he was. `My room is never this bright, nor does it have this much room. Oh no! I've overslept! Master will be furious!' With that thought in mind, Harry opened his eyes again, squinting through the bright light, looking for his glasses. With great effort, he raised his head to the right and saw them sitting on an oddly familiar bed stand. When he put them on, the room came into sharp focus. Harry was confused. Everywhere he looked he seemed to see white: endless numbers of white beds, white pillows, white privacy curtains. One thing was for certain; he wasn't at the Dursleys' any more. `I must be in a hospital ward of some sorts.'

Suddenly, it clicked. `Hogwarts' Hospital Wing . . . but how did I end up here?' Harry leaned back against his pillows, trying to recall what had happened. `Everything's fuzzy . . . I remember doing my duties to Master . . . oh no! How long have I been gone? I let myself get behind; so many things undone! Master will be furious!' Shaking himself mentally, away from images of what would await him when he returned home, Harry set back to trying to remember how he had come to be in the Hospital Wing.

`I was working, and someone came. A . . . a girl . . . I think I know her. She seems awfully familiar. She was getting in the way of Master's work, though. Master came home . . . I remember that. He had a guest . . . and then . . .' All of a sudden, it all came pouring back. He remembered everything, from when Malfoy first struck, till he passed out from the intense pain just before Malfoy was going to kill Hermione. `Wait, Hermione!'

A wave of fear paralyzed him. He could barely breath, and all he could picture was a motionless Hermione lying before him. “He-Her-Hermione . . .” he chocked out. He quickly looked left and right at the other beds, only to find them all empty, looking as if no one had ever even touched them. His panic began to rise, his heart was beating faster, and his head was starting to spin. “Hermione? HERMIONE!” Harry shouted out, although it came out hoarse, gruff, and it made his throat hurt.

With a loud BANG the doors the Hospital Wing were thrown open, and what appeared to Harry as a brownish streak was flying towards him. Harry heard someone shout his name. He cringed and flinched, waiting for the blow to land, but was instead surprised (and rather shocked) when instead he felt a pair of arms wrap around him tightly. Somewhere from the region of his chest, through a thick layer of bushy brown hair he heard, “Oh, Harry, you're awake! Thank Merlin, I was so worried! You haven't moved in three days, and I thought you . . . that you might be . . .”

`Bushy brown hair?' Harry pondered, momentarily shaken into a stupor. `Oh! Hermione!' Instantly, his arms went up around her, surrounding her in almost as fierce a hug as she had attacked him with. It couldn't be real . . . she was gone . . . they were all gone . . . everyone gone. “You can't be real. You can't be here.” Harry murmured.

“Wh-What?” Hermione had pulled back when she heard this and was looking at Harry incredulously. “What do you mean, `I'm not real'? I'm sitting right here, aren't I?”

“No, no, it can't be real. You're gone. Everyone is gone. No one here but Harry . . . all alone.” Harry didn't even seem to realize that she was in front of him; her arms still wrapped partway around him. She looked up into his eyes, and saw that he truly believed what he was saying. It was a look frighteningly similar to the one she saw when she first met him. Looking deeply, she saw his despair, his fear, and his pain. All she could think about was taking it all away and making everything all right for Harry.

“Harry . . .” Hermione said, as she gently placed her right hand on his cheek. He winced at the contact at first. “Harry, I'm not here to hurt you. I won't ever let anyone hurt you again. I promise.” As she said this, she looked him straight in the eye, trying to convey to him that what she was saying was true, that she was really there and would protect him.

“But, you can't . . . you can't . . .” Harry's eyes still held their pain and fear.

“Why can't I, Harry? What's to stop me?”

“You can't because you're d-dead. Malfoy killed you. I couldn't stop him, I failed again. Everyone's gone because I failed . . .” Harry lowered his head, breaking eye contact at last.
Hermione could only stare at Harry, utterly flabbergasted. `He doesn't remember . . . he doesn't know that he saved me . . .'

“Harry, look at me.” When he didn't comply, she put her hand under his chin and gently lifted his head up, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Tell me, do I look real?”

After a slight hesitation, Harry answered, “Y-Yes.”

Hermione then grabbed Harry's hand and placed it over her heart. “Can you feel my heartbeat?”

Silence again, before Harry answered, “Yes.”

Hermione looked deep into his eyes again, and while the pain and fear were still there, she also saw signs of hope. “It's me, Harry. Hermione. I am alive, Malfoy didn't kill me. I'm here, and you're not alone. I'll make sure that you are never alone. I give you my word.”

Slowly, Harry brought his free hand up to Hermione's face, where he hesitated slightly, then traced his finger along her jaw. “Her-Hermione?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Harry, it's really me.”

That was all it took. He now knew she was real; that she was really there, that he wasn't alone anymore. Harry broke down at her answer, throwing his arms around her and burying his head on her shoulder. She could hear his sobs, feel his body quake, and see his shoulders shaking. Immediately, she was holding him close, comforting him and calming him. They remained like this for several minutes, until finally Harry's sobs died down. Noticing that Harry had finally calmed down, Hermione leaned back to look at him. She noticed immediately that he looked exhausted; no, that wasn't quite right, Harry looked beyond exhausted. “Harry, you look tired. Why don't you rest now. I'll leave you to sleep.” She stood up to go, but had hardly taken one step when Harry's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

“Please, don't go. Don't leave me alone.” She turned to look at him, and what she in his face, his eyes, almost broke her heart. He was frightened, absolutely terrified, at the aspect of being left alone. She could feel his hand on her wrist beginning to shake. Immediately, and without second thought, Hermione said, “Never,” and crawled into the bed. Harry moved as close as he possibly could, and practically latched himself onto her arm. With her free arm, Hermione gently rubbed Harry's arms and shoulders for a while, until she felt his deep, even breathing. Hermione lay for a while, staring at Harry and thinking about how much had happened, and what else could have happened. `I will stay with him and protect him, no matter what!' Hermione closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, all the while thinking of Harry.

A/N: Okay, there's a bit o' fluff for ya. Give me a couple of secs before I post the next one, and then continue with the recovery!

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A/N: And here's the second one. This is my biggest chapter up to date, and if I had kept the two together, it would have just been too big. I hope this makes everyone happy! Or, at least makes y'all hate me that much less!

Discussions and Explanations

Hermione opened her eyes. She had just been having the most wonderful dream . . . it involved herself, Harry, and a picnic on the green rolling grounds of Hogwarts. She smiled at the thought of her and Harry, then looked over at the real-life Harry currently using her as a teddy bear, and her smile widened. `Ah, if only I could stay like this forever . . . but alas, nature calls.'

Moving slowly, Hermione managed to get up without waking Harry. She leaned over and gently stroked his forehead, thinking of how peaceful he looked. `He's been through so much . . . and he has such incredible power, yet he has no idea . . .' Her face turned serious as she continued thinking. `That's all there is to it, then. I will help him. I will protect him. And I will never abandon him, never!' Harry let out a contented sigh, and seemed almost to smile in his sleep. Hermione turned and began walking to the restroom at the end of the Hospital Wing, pausing once or twice to turn and check on Harry.

As Hermione was getting ready to go back to Harry, she caught a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror. Now, let it be said that Hermione wasn't one to set much importance on looks, make-up and clothes; she had never felt the need nor the desire to. However, even Hermione thought she looked ghastly, and proceeded to splash water on her face, which also served to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. She had just turned off the water and was drying her face when she heard a noise; it was low, and mostly mumbling. Then, suddenly, there came a loud, “NO!” Hermione turned and ran as fast as she could (which was quite fast, incidentally, having had to keep up with Ron and Harry's humongous gaits while in school) to Harry.

He was tossing and turning, the sheets wrapped around him like some bizarre cocoon. He was beginning to thrash more and more, and Hermione was afraid that he would hurt himself. She grabbed his shoulders firmly and tried to hold him still while she called out, “Harry! Harry, wake up! Harry, it's me, Hermione, please wake up!”

Harry shot up, nearly knocking Hermione off the bed in surprise. He was pale, sweating, and shaking all over. “He-Hermione?” he asked, looking around as if making sure she was really there. Then his eyes met hers; he drew a great shuddering breath, then grabbed her and pulled her close in a fierce hug. “Hermione. I thought you were gone. I thought you were d-dead.” As he said the last word, a small shudder ran through him.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Harry? You can't get rid of me that easily.” Hermione spoke seriously, yet there was still a slight sense of humor behind her words. “Harry; I promise you I will always be there for you. No matter what.”

“Th-thank you, Hermione. I'm so sorry. It was all my fault.”

“Harry . . .” Hermione's said, with a little edge to her voice. “It is not your fault. If anything you saved my life that day. I should be thanking you.”

“Wh-what? I saved you? But how?”

“That's exactly what I would like to know, as well, Harry. Or should I say, Miss Granger?”

Harry and Hermione quickly pulled apart and turned to look at the owner of the voice. “Professor Dumbledore, sir! We didn't hear you come in!” Hermione said, the first to recover from seeing the aged headmaster standing two beds down.

“Quite all right, I assure you, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore with a smile and trademark twinkle in his eyes. Then, as Dumbledore looked over to Harry, the twinkle disappeared, and the smile turned to a look of surprise. “It's alright, Harry. It is only me, you can put your wand away now.” Hermione looked quickly at Harry and found him with his arm raised, wand pointed right at Dumbledore. Harry blinked, shook his head slightly, looked at his arm, and lowered it slowly. `Harry moved so fast, I didn't even see him draw his wand, let alone raise his arm. Wait a minute, Harry's wand?'

Harry noticed that Hermione was looking at him warily. “H-Hermione, did I do something wrong?” He was definitely starting to feel worried now.

“Harry,” Hermione began, “your wand . . .”

“Yeah, what about my wand?” Harry responded bewildered.

“Well, you, um, you didn't have it on you when we arrived.”
“So? Somebody must have brought it here, right?”

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore responded. “We didn't know where your wand was located. We couldn't find it.”

“What? It was at the Dursleys, under the loose floorb - ” Harry stopped mid-sentence, the sudden realization hitting him hard. “B-b-but, h-how did it get here?” Harry looked from Hermione to Dumbledore and back, almost as if he would find an answer hidden somewhere with them. Hermione's face was scrunched up in deep thought, yet Dumbledore's face was blank and unreadable. He knew Dumbledore had some idea of what was going on, and he wanted desperately to know. “Professor Dumbledore, sir? What does it mean?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry before asking, “Harry, can you please tell me what you were thinking as you reacted to my sudden appearance?” Not quite expecting this, it took Harry a little while before he could start to recall.

“Well, I, I thought that there was danger, and I, well, I guess I just wanted my wand. The next thing I know, it's here in my hand. I didn't really even think about it. It just . . . happened.” Dumbledore nodded at this, before continuing,

“I have a fairly good idea about what has happened. However, in order for me to affirm this, I need to know exactly what happened at the Dursleys.”

“Well, sir, Mast - Vernon - had just gotten home, and somehow, Lucius Malfoy was with him. Malfoy, he, he killed Ma - Vernon. Then, he went after Hermione. He disarmed her, tied her up, then, then, he . . . he used the Cruciatus Curse on her.” Harry closed his eyes and lowered his head, unable to continue. “Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

Hermione took Harry's right hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, forgive you for what?”

“For not doing anything while he put you in pain. I didn't do anything. I should have stopped him. I should have done something - anything, but I didn't. I was too weak, too pathetic, too - ” Hermione placed a finger over his lips, stopping his rambling.

“Harry, I don't blame you. There was nothing you could have done anyway. Besides, you did do something; you saved my life.”

“What? No, I didn't. I only endangered you. Someone else saved you. I blacked out just before Malfoy used avada kedavra.” Harry turned to face Dumbledore. “Sir, I - please forgive me, I have failed. I failed you, I failed Hermione, I've failed the whole wizarding world. Please forgive me.”

Dumbledore sat down on the bed after hearing Harry's heartfelt plea for forgiveness, utterly shocked at the pain and insecurity in his words. “Harry, you have failed no one, except possibly yourself. I do not know any of the details, but I do know that when I and other Order members arrived in response to Malfoy's attack, all that we found was you, lying unconscious on the ground, and Hermione, trying to bring you back around.”

Harry's eyes widened. “B-but if you didn't save Hermione, than who did?”

“I already told you Harry, you did,” Hermione said.

“I did? But, but how?”

“I don't know; I couldn't see anything. All I remember seeing is you, floating in the air before you passed out.”

“Miss Granger, if I may?” Dumbledore suddenly cut in.

“Of course, Professor.”

“There might be a way for all of us to witness the events, as I am sure Harry very well knows.” As Dumbledore finished he gave a slight wink to Harry.

“A Pensieve?” Harry remembered all too well the last time he had used a Pensieve, and was rather reluctant to relive the experience.

“Of course!” said Hermione, who then got an excited gleam in her eyes. “Even if the user has a faulty or incomplete memory, we witness everything in a third person view! Oh, that's brilliant, Professor! Besides, I don't think I'd be able to explain it even if I had seen it.”

“Very well then. I will go and ready my Pensieve. I suggest, Harry, that you freshen up a bit; while the scourgify charm is effective; nothing quite beats a warm shower. And you, Miss Granger,”

“Hermione, if you please, Professor,” Hermione said, rather shyly.

Dumbledore seemed to perk up slightly at this; his smile returned, and the twinkle in his eyes was more pronounced. “As you wish, Hermione. Now, as I was saying, it would do you well to go and get something to eat. I know you have spent all your waking moments next to Harry's side, and I highly doubt that if it wasn't for Madam Pomfrey's insistence you wouldn't have eaten anything at all.” Hermione blushed slightly at the Headmaster's words, while Dumbledore smiled warmly at her. “I leave you to your devices. I believe that everything will be ready in about, say ten minutes,” Dumbledore said, looking at his watch. “I shall return.” With that, Dumbledore stood up and swept out of the Hospital Wing.

*****

Harry walked back into the Wing, feeling much refreshed. `Dumbledore was right, nothing beats a shower.' Harry reached his bed and began looking around. `Now where did I leave my shirt? Ah, there it is!' Just as he reached for it, he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. Spinning around quickly, Harry saw Hermione standing a few feet away, hands over her mouth, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“Oh my god, Harry . . .” Hermione slowly approached him as he hastily pulled the shirt over his head, trying to hide the scars. “Harry . . .” Hermione rushed to him and wrapped him tightly in a warm embrace. Harry could feel her silent tears on his shoulder.

Harry heard a soft noise and looked up to see Dumbledore standing nearby, a slightly worried look on his face. “Is there anything wrong, Harry? Miss - ah, excuse me - Hermione?”

“No, sir. Nothing's wrong,” Harry said, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Hermione, do you still feel up to the task? We can always wait while you rest up. I'm in no hurry.” Dumbledore's voice was kind, and held deep concern for his two top pupils.

“I'm alright, sir,” Hermione sniffed out, obvious to Harry's discomfort at discussing his wounds. “Just a little overwhelmed is all.” She gave a weak smile to show she was okay, then walked over next to where Dumbledore was standing, leading Harry by the hand. “What do I need to do?”

Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured a table out of thin air, upon which he placed the Pensieve. “The process is quite simple, really. All you must do is concentrate on the thought or memory you wish to be placed in the Pensieve; sometimes I find it easiest if I replay the entire memory first. Once you have your memory picked out, simply place the tip of your wand on your temple, like this.” Dumbledore raised his wand to his temple, and a moment later pulled it away, something wispy and silver clinging to it. “A `copy' of sorts will be made, which you then transfer to the Pensieve, like this.” At that he brought his wand down to the basin and placed the thought within. “Do you understand? Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir. I'm ready. All right, here goes nothing . . .” Hermione screwed up her face in concentration. After about five minutes, she brought the tip of her wand to her temple and pulled it away, as Dumbledore had done, dragging behind it a thin, silvery wisp. As the strand broke free, Hermione gave a soft “oh” of surprise. She stared, awestruck, at the memory attached to her wand.

“Quickly, now, place it in the Pensieve. If you wait too long, the memory will dissipate into the air and you'll have to create a new one.” Dumbledore's warning snapped Hermione out of her trance, and she quickly placed the memory into the Pensieve. Just as Harry had seen many times before, the mist of thought began to swirl faster and faster. Suddenly, the mist parted, and he looked down at the familiar houses of Privet Drive.

“Harry, would you care to lead us? Seeing as how you have had previous experience.” Harry could have sworn he saw Dumbledore wink, and he began to wonder just how much about his Occlumency lessons with Snape Dumbledore knew about. `Probably more than I do,' Harry thought bitterly. Harry turned to the table and placed a hand on either side of the Pensieve. He suddenly wasn't feeling too good about this. It almost seemed wrong to be violating Hermione's memories like this, but she did volunteer, and this would hopefully hold answers. Harry took a deep breath before literally plunging his head in. Harry once again felt the unpleasantly familiar sense of falling headfirst, and found himself again inside another person's memory.

In almost no time at all, Hermione, then Dumbledore stood with him and watched, together, as the memory-Hermione made her way up to Number Four. They watched as she walked over and began talking to the strange being working in the garden. Dumbledore had a bemused expression on his face. “Hermione, I thought you said that when you arrived you found Harry. Who is this?” Hermione got a sad look in her eyes, but before she could answer, Harry spoke.

“It's . . . it's . . . it's me . . .”

“What? But that can't be? That boy there looks so pale and thin compared to you, and . . .” Whatever else Dumbledore was about to say was cut short when he got a good look at memory-Harry's face, and saw the scar. “It is . . . it really is you. Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize . . . I had no idea.”

Dumbledore was stopped short, however, by the sound of a car door slamming, “Mutt! Where are you! You have better finished with the yard work! Get out here now! I've brought my new business partner over for dinner, and he needs help with his things!” The memory version of Harry suddenly streaked past, practically running to answer Vernon's summons. At the sound of his uncle's voice, Harry (the real Harry) had started to tremble slightly. Noticing this, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, looked up at him, and gave him a small smile. Harry looked down, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Thank you.”

At this point, the memory-Hermione had appeared, and was frozen in place, staring at the scene in front of her. “So, Malfoy did get past the wards. I should have checked them more often.” Dumbledore fell silent, however, to hear the exchange that had begun. Vernon had just struck out, sending Harry sprawling backwards. Dumbledore's face filled with anger, and he merely said, “I see.”

“I'm here for the boy. I'm to take him to my master, where he will be killed.” Malfoy turned his wand to Harry and said, “So, Potter, ready to die?”

“Now wait just one moment! That thing there,” Vernon pointed at Harry, “is my property, and I won't allow you to steal my property!” Knowing what was to come, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“Avada Kedavra!” Harry heard a thump, and squeezed Hermione's hand harder. She squeezed back, and Harry looked at her to find she was focusing her attention solely on him.

“It's all right, Harry, it's just a memory. Nothing can hurt you, or me.” At this, Harry relaxed a bit and turned back to the fight where Malfoy had just bound Hermione in ropes.

“Harry! Run! Get help! Please!”

“Filthy Mudblood! Silence! I was going to let you live as a witness to the destruction of Potter, but now I think I'll kill you first. Hmm, or maybe I should just torture you to madness instead. How does that sound, Potter? Care to watch your precious Mudblood be tortured?”

This time, it was Hermione that began to shake. Harry understood why immediately: the pain of the Cruciatus isn't something you can easily forget. He knew all to well. Harry draped one of his arms around Hermione's shoulders and pulled her close, as much an act of comfort for her as it was for himself. In response, Hermione turned and embraced him, her self-restraint too far spent.

“Very well, then. Crucio!” memory-Hermione's screams soon filled the air, causing the real Hermione to tremble. Harry chanced a glance at Dumbledore, to find that the Headmaster had turned his head away, his eyes closed and a look of extreme pain on his face. But there was also a very deep feeling of rage beginning to wash off from him, and Harry was starting once again to feel Dumbledore's powerful aura.

“Listen to her, Potter! Listen to her screams! Feel her pain! Hahahahaha! CRUCIO!”

Something within Harry was starting to stir. Harry realized it was anger, and hatred. He swallowed, a difficult thing at the moment, and pulled Hermione closer. He could feel her start to sob quietly, and he immediately turned his full attention to her. He gently cupped her chin with one hand and lifted her head up. “Hey, remember, just like you told me. It's only a memory, nothing can hurt you.” She merely nodded in response.

Suddenly, memory-Harry's cries drew their attention. Three heads snapped in the direction of the scene, three pairs of eyes were riveted to the three bodies before them.

“Well, while this has been fun, I am running short on time. I will kill Granger now, then you will go with me to meet your death, Potter!” All three participants held their breaths as they heard memory-Harry cry out in pain. All three were eagerly waiting to see what had happened. Suddenly, memory-Harry let out a cry like a wild beast, and became oddly still. They heard Malfoy begin the killing curse, then heard him hesitate, and soon felt the reason why. An intense wave of magical energy slammed past them. Even though Dumbledore's aura had broken out in full force as he had watched the torture, it was soon masked by the immense power radiating from memory-Harry.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” As one, all three heads snapped to memory-Hermione's prone form lying on the ground and the rapidly approaching jet of green light. Suddenly, a blue sphere enveloped her. The killing curse smashed into the shield, stopped dead in its tracks, then exploded into a burst of sparks. Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore all stared open-mouthed. No one had ever seen or heard of such a thing before. Not even the blood protection of Lily Potter had been as effective.

Hermione shrieked, pointed toward memory-Harry and said, “L-look at Harry! He-he's floating!” Harry's jaw dropped even further, and Dumbledore sat down hard. Harry's aura had appeared. It enveloped him in a layer that looked to be over a foot thick, and it was the same blue color as the shield that surrounded Hermione. The scene stretched on, oddly still. Then, motion. Malfoy was sending an impressive barrage of spells at memory-Harry, so many that not even Dumbledore could have successfully blocked them all. The three viewers watched, dumbfounded, as all the spells stopped short of Harry, just as the killing curse had done, and burst apart.

Malfoy was seen flying through the air, and while Harry and Hermione watched his flight with a strong sense of pleasure, Dumbledore kept his eyes focused on memory-Harry. He noticed that the floating form of memory-Harry hadn't even moved, yet somehow he had cast a spell, or charm, or jinx, which had launched Malfoy. Dumbledore's eyes widened when he saw nearly a dozen small balls of magical energy forming from memory-Harry's aura, and stared in amazement as they shot at Malfoy. Hermione and Harry had turned their heads at the motion of Harry's assault, and so watched as the blue projectiles flew at Malfoy, blew by when he ducked out of the way, and then explode upon contact with whatever they hit.

All eyes were focused now on the exchanges between Malfoy and memory-Harry. All three spectators gasped when Harry's aura changed colors from deep blue to violent red. When memory-Harry shot towards Malfoy, all they saw was a glowing red blur. Three heads turned as they watched Malfoy shooting down Privet Drive, then turned to look for Harry, who had stopped. When their eyes rested on where he last was, he was gone. Looking back quickly to where Malfoy was still flying through the air, they saw memory-Harry appear directly in Malfoy's flight path, snatch him out of the air, and launch him, tumbling, into the air.

Dumbledore stood up as he saw Harry raise his arm, hand pointing towards Malfoy's body. A burst of red energy shot forward at a terrifying speed. All three heads quickly snapped up to Malfoy's position, just in time to see him Disapparate out. And not a moment too soon, for seconds later, the red ball of energy exploded where Malfoy had been. The flash nearly blinded them, and they had to turn their heads away; the shockwave hit them then and knocked them all off their feet.

Blinking to clear their eyes, they stood up and looked to where memory-Harry was, but he had vanished again. A sudden white glow drew their attention; they turned to memory-Hermione and saw memory-Harry, aura now white, place his hands on her head. The bright aura extended around memory-Hermione, and they could make out her eyes opening. Memory-Harry, his aura now the original blue color, was hovering nearby. They saw him close his eyes, before the aura disappeared, and memory-Harry collapsed. Memory-Hermione was still for a few moments, before she crawled over to him and began shaking him, gently at first, then harder. There were sudden sounds of dozens of wizards Apparating, then the memory started to fade . . .

*****

The air was heavy with silence. After arriving back in the Hospital Wing, no one had said anything. Dumbledore conjured up a chair for himself, while Harry and Hermione sat down together on a bed. And so they sat for ten minutes, Dumbledore leaning back in his chair, fingers together, appearing deep in thought, Hermione was leaned against Harry, while Harry had an arm around Hermione's shoulders. The reality of what they had witnessed was almost too much for them. Finally, Dumbledore sighed, sat forward, and asked, “Harry, could you do something for me? I have a very good haunch that I know what happened, but I need your help to prove it.”

“What do you need, sir?” Harry responded, eager to find out what happened to him.

“I need you to cast a spell. A simple Lumos will do.”

“Cast a spell? But, but what about the Ministry and the Decree for Underage Wizardry?”

“There's no need to worry, Harry. I assure you. Being here at Hogwarts, there's already so much magic, that a little more won't hurt.” There was a very bright sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he said this.

“Alright, then, if you say so . . . Lumos!”

Night had fallen outside, and the Hospital Wing was dimly lit. Suddenly, a bright glare illuminated the entire ward. The normal spark of light that is produced by the Lumos spell instead appeared as bright as a small sun at the end of Harry's wand. Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore all had to cover their eyes and look away. Harry quickly muttered, “Nox!” and extinguished the light. For the next several minutes, nothing was said as the three waited for the spots to disappear from their eyes.

“Right, then. Now, just one more spell is all I ask, Harry. Could you please produce your Patronus?”

Harry nodded, and then closed his eyes, trying to conjure up a good memory. `Perhaps the thought of passing the Defense O.W.L. right in front of Umbridge . . .' but his thoughts soon strayed to the History exam, and from there to Sirius. `No! Stop! Focus! Umm, third year, winning the Quidditch Cup! That's a good one!' But third year reminded him of saving Sirius and Buckbeak. Harry was getting frustrated, and depressed. No matter what he thought of, it invariably led to Sirius and sadness.

Just as Harry was on the verge of giving it up, an image popped into his head. It was one he had never seen before, one he couldn't remember thinking about. The scene was at a beach, warm and sunny, with a gentle cooling breeze. He was lazing on the sand, thoroughly enjoying himself. Next to him laid a beautiful woman, with tan skin and long wavy brown hair. In his vision, he sat up, leaned over, and kissed the woman. Her eyes opened to reveal the brownest eyes he had ever seen and a very familiar smile appeared on her face. “Harry . . .” the woman said. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Hermione.”

Harry felt a tingle grow in his stomach, then spread throughout him. It was warm and pleasant. Without even stopping to think, still too dazed by images the vision, he raised his wand and said in a voice hardly above a whisper, “Expecto Patronum . . .”

Out of his wand sprang forth a great light, and soon the familiar stag stood before them. But it didn't stop there. The stag reared up on two legs, let out a snort and a melodious, unearthly cry, and began charging toward the open door. Out of Harry's wand sprang another stag, and another, and another. An entire herd was appearing, following the original in a stampede out the Hospital Wing. The ground was shaking, the beds were rattling, and Hermione and Dumbledore just stood there, gaping in disbelief.

After a few seconds, Harry lowered his wand and the herd stopped sprouting forth. But the Patroni still remained. They could still be heard rumbling through the great hall. Suddenly, the leader, the first stag to appear, sauntered back into the Wing. Behind him, what appeared to be close to one hundred full-grown stags followed. Soon, as many as could fit were standing in the Hospital Wing. Harry walked up to the lead, which bowed his head. All the others followed suite. Harry placed his hand on the stag's head, and said, “Thank you, Prongs. That's all for now.” The stag nodded, and then they all glowed brilliantly before vanishing.

Dumbledore shook his head, and then cleared his throat. “Well, that settles it. My hypothesis was correct.”

“Please, sir, tell me, what-what is it? What's happened to me?”

“It would appear, Harry, that you have somehow managed to tap into your full magic potential. Normally, a witch or wizard's power will grow when they turn of age, however you seemed to have unlocked yours early.” Seeing the nonplussed look on Harry's face, Dumbledore continued. “You see, it is believed that each witch or wizard has a limit, a maximum, to the amount of magical energy that they can channel at once. Normally, when a witch or wizard becomes of age, their limits increase. However, it would appear you have, well, broken your limits. It seems as though you have the capability to cast a limitless amount of magic.”

“L-l-limitless? What does it mean?”

“The exact extents of your powers I do not fully know. I do, however, know this, you must be trained to use and control your new ability. Over the remainder of the summer, I will work with you personally.”

“Y-you will? Really?”

“Yes, Harry. Now, there's just one more thing I wish to discuss with you, both of you as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, Professor, sir?” Hermione asked.

“It is the matter of where Harry is to stay. I am still not entirely sure why, but the wards around Number Four have disappeared completely. I have a speculation, but I will not voice it at this time. Partly because I do not have all my information, and partly because the time is not right. In the meantime, Harry needs to be someplace where he can be protected. Although Number 12 would be a safe haven, I fear it is not what Harry needs. Nor is Hogwarts. Harry needs to be someplace accepting. Hermione, I believe that the best place for Harry is with you.”

“Me, Professor?”

“Yes, you. Harry needs compassion, acceptance, but most importantly, he needs someone to be there for him. I highly doubt that you would allow any harm to befall our young charge, am I right?” At this, Dumbledore winked so that only Hermione saw it. Hermione hid her face, which was blushing brightly. “Harry, what do you think? Would you care to join Hermione for the rest of the summer?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore, then at Hermione, almost pleading. “Please, sir, I - I don't want to be left alone . . .”

“Very well.” Dumbledore turned to the bed next to him, tapped the pillow and mumbled, “Portus,” turning the pillow into a portkey. “This will take you to the Granger household. Hermione, Harry, please try and take things easy, and relax. Harry, I will stop by soon to begin your training. Hermione?”

“Yes Professor?”

“Please take good care of Harry. He will need your help in overcoming this recent trial. I have a bad feeling that we have hardly begun to scratch the surface of what has occurred.”

“Yes, sir. I will make sure Harry comes through. I promise you, and him.” At this, Hermione turned and looked at Harry. “I promise you Harry, I won't leave you.” Hermione then pulled Harry into a fierce hug.

“On three, then, Hermione, Harry.” Hermione and Harry reached out and grabbed the pillow, Hermione still half-hugging Harry. “One, two, three - ” Hogwarts and the Hospital Wing was soon gone in a swirl of colors and wind.

Hermione and Harry landed outside the Grangers' home. “Welcome home, Harry,” Hermione said as she stood up from where she had fallen from the portkey.

“Home . . .” came Harry's reply.

A/N: Whew! Okay, unfortunately, that's the end of the pre-written stuff, so now you'll have to wait for me to write the chapters before posting. I've started in on Ch. 8 (Surprises at the Grangers') and hope to post it by Friday. Wish me luck, and I wish you patience and a happy week!

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A/N: Okay, here it is. I finally managed to get it done! I've been fairly busy. And the next time I update may be even longer, unfortunately. Next weekend I leave town for three days to participate in my state's All-State Orchestra. I leave on Thursday and get back Saturday, so I have no clue when I'll be back to update. I hope you like it; I took my time writing it, and it's a big-a mother (longest by far!). Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: Okay, here's the normal deal: I don't own it, never have, never will. Yadda yadda yadda. Now, on with the show!

Surprises at the Grangers

“Mum! Dad! I'm home!” In a much softer voice, she turned to Harry and said, “Come on in, Harry, don't be afraid. My parents are wonderful people. You'll like them.” Hermione had no sooner shut the door after Harry walked timidly in when a woman with familiar brown eyes and dark blond, bushy hair rushed in and wrapped her in a very Mrs. Weasley-esque hug.

“Oh, Hermione, thank god you're all right! We were so worried!” She let go of Hermione before breaking in anew, “Don't you ever do that to us again! That attack in Surrey was all over the news! When I heard that Vernon Dursley was killed in a mysterious explosion, I nearly fainted on the spot! Then you don't write for over three days! You could have been seriously hurt, or killed!” Hermione's mother took a deep breath and grabbed Hermione in a fierce hug again. “Thank goodness you're all right!”

“Helen, dear, maybe you should let Hermione go now. I dare say she would appreciate being able to breathe again.” The voice came from a man that had just walked into the hallway, his blue eyes crinkled up in mirth, a hand running through his short brown hair.

“Oh, Robert, you know I'll never let her go! Not really.” Mrs. Granger looked back to her daughter, smiled, and said, “It's so good to have you back home safe and sound. Now, tell me, if you weren't harmed in the explosion, what's kept you? What could possibly be so important that you'd forget your dear old mother?”

“I think you and I both know the answer to that one, dear.” Hermione's parents shared a look, then focused on Hermione again, and said at the exact same time, “Harry Potter.” The slight blush that appeared on Hermione's cheeks was answer enough for them. A sudden noise behind them made Mr. and Mrs. Granger spin around suddenly; Hermione already knew whom it was.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Mr. Granger's voice was authoritative, and carried a slight hint of threat to it; all traces of joviality were gone. As he spoke he took a couple of menacing steps toward the intruder, who stepped further back into the shadows, cringing in fear.

“Daddy, stop!” Hermione ran in front of her father. She turned to the intruder, walked up, and placed her hand on his arm. The intruder flinched at the contact. “Don't worry, he won't hurt you. None of us will. It's all right, Harry. You're safe here, I promise.”

“Wait a moment, that-that's Harry? Harry Potter?” Mr. Granger's whole appearance changed instantly; he relaxed and the light, humorous voice returned. “Oh, well then, sorry about that, son. You startled me, and, well, you are in the shadows, there. Come here so I can get a good look at you. We've heard quite a lot about you, but have never been properly introduced.” Mr. Granger held out his hand to shake Harry's, a smile once again on his face.

“Go ahead, Harry. It's all right, I'm right here behind you,” Hermione encouraged Harry, gently walking him forward.

As soon as Harry stepped out of the shadows and into the better-lit center of the hallway, Mrs. Granger gasped, Mr. Grangers smile faded, and his arm drooped down to his side. “Holy . . .” Hermione's parents shot each other concerned looks, then looked back at Harry. Under the dim yellow light shining down from the electric chandelier, Harry's gaunt look was made even more garish. His pale skin stood with even more contrast against the many cuts, scratches, and scars. He had his head lowered, so that part of his face was still in shadow, with his eyes gleaming dully out from the darkness. The overall effect was to make Harry look like some kind of perverse wax figurine brought to life; like a very battered, evil-looking mannequin of sorts.

Hermione moved from behind Harry to place herself between Harry and her parents, like a sort of shield. “Mom, Dad, Harry has been through a very terrible and trying ordeal. I'm not sure as to what extent, but I do know that it is very bad.”

“But who did this? He looks like he's been tortured!” Mr. Granger was finding it hard no maintain his temper.

“Mom, Dad, that man that was killed, Vernon Dursley, he was Harry's uncle. He-he was the one that did this to Harry.” At the mention of Vernon's name, Harry gave a slight shudder. Sensing this, Hermione gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze, to which he didn't let go. Upon hearing Hermione's statement, Mrs. Granger gasped again, while Mr. Granger looked furious.

“He did this? But why? What possible reasons could anyone have to treat a person, a young boy at that, in such a manner?”

“Because, I'm a freak; a dirty, filthy, vile freak.” Harry spoke softly, yet the Grangers heard every word. Hermione let go of Harry's hand and moved until she was standing directly in front of Harry. She placed one hand on each of his shoulders, then said in a slightly trembling voice, “Harry, don't you ever say that about yourself. You know it's not true. You are a kind, caring, compassionate human being, and a powerful wizard to boot.” Harry slowly raised his head and looked her in the eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “I am a freak. I'm not normal, I - ” Hermione stopped him by placing her hand over his mouth.

“Harry, of course you're not normal, you're a wizard.” Normally, her voice would have held a bit of sarcasm and exasperation; now it was deadly serious, solemn. “But being different doesn't make you a freak. All it does is make you special, unique. And you, Harry Potter, are a very special wizard.” As she said his name, she gently tapped the tip of his nose. “At least, you're special to me. So, Harry, please stop degrading yourself. If not for your own sake, then do it for me. Please?”

Harry was still looking straight into her eyes, having not once looked away. All Harry saw looking out at him was kindness, compassion, and sincerity. Something within him was stirred by her look, a feeling he had long ago set aside: trust. He took a deep breath and lowered his head, unable to maintain the link. “I, I don't know if I can, Hermione. I can't escape who I am, what I am, what I was born.” He raised his head to reveal a solitary tear streaking down his face. “But, I'll try. For you . . .” Smiling warmly at him, Hermione pulled him into a gentle hug, and whispered into his ear, “Thank you, that's all I ask.”

The sound of Mr. Granger clearing his throat brought them back to reality. Hermione pulled away, reluctantly, then turned to face her parents. “Well, um, where was I? Oh, that's right, the Dursleys.” Hermione's face darkened before she continued. “Mum, Dad, exactly what did the news say happened, again?”

“Well,” began Mrs. Granger, “all they said was that there was a gigantic gas explosion that damaged several properties and left one man dead. Why do you ask, dear?”

“That wasn't an gas explosion. It was the result of an attack on Harry, made by a servant of Voldemort.”

“What? You were attacked? Did anything happen to you?” Before Mrs. Granger could continue, however, Hermione held her hand up to silence her.

“Yes, Mum, but I'm fine, thanks to Harry. He fended off the attacker (Harry was actually the one who caused the explosion). But, in the process, his uncle was killed.” Under her breath, Hermione added, “Which was far better than he deserved.” Returning to her normal voice, Hermione continued. “Now Harry doesn't have a place to live. Dumbledore recommended, and I highly agree with him, that Harry come and stay with us. That is all right, isn't it?”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger noticed the sincerity, and hope, in their daughter's voice. They looked at each other, before Mr. Granger spoke up. “Well, I certainly don't think there's anything wrong with that. What do you think, honey?”

“No, I don't see any problems.”

Hermione smiled and turned to Harry, but the smile faded when she saw the withdrawn look on his face. “Harry, what's wrong? My parents just said you're staying, you should be happy.”

Harry looked at Hermione, pausing briefly before he turned his gaze towards Hermione's parents. “Mr. Granger, sir, I'm sorry, but I can't accept you hospitality. I'm just not worth it.” Every syllable in his last sentence was spoken with heavy self-loathing. Harry once again dropped his head, as if hiding his face in shame.

“Why, that's nonsense! We have a spare guestroom that nobody is using that will serve just fine! And, please, call me Robert. Mr. Granger is my father.” Robert was once again smiling.

“Yes, and please call me Helen. It makes me feel younger than I really am!” Helen's face held the beginnings of laughter in every corner.

“Please, sir, don't waste your valuable resources on someone as worthless as me.” Harry still had yet to lift his head, and the words he spoke were both bitter yet sincere-sounding.

To say that the three Grangers were taken aback hardly does them justice. Helen and Robert, who were still not used to Harry, were staring at him, utterly bewildered and abashed. Hermione, who had already witnessed Harry like this before, was still shocked to see exactly how deeply the scars ran. `Just how bad is it? How much do we have to work through? Will I be able to do it?' A voice from her memories floated to the surface of her mind: `There is no Harry Potter here . . . only It . . .' Hermione shuddered before taking a step closer to Harry. `I will, I must!'

“Harry, look at me.” Slowly, Harry raised his head, yet he wouldn't meet her eyes. “Harry, please?” Hesitatingly, Harry looked at her. When his green eyes met her brown ones, he found himself unable to look away. “Harry, I made a promise to you. Do you remember that promise? Just in case you don't, I'll make it again. Harry Potter, I am not going to leave your side, nor will I allow you to push me away. You're stuck with me. So, if you do decide to leave and not stay, then I'll go with you, which would be a bigger hassle than if you stayed. So, why not save yourself the trouble, and stay here, where you'll have a nice comfy bed, plenty of food and water, and, most importantly, be welcomed?”

“It-it's just that I, I don't want to be a burden. I'm always a burden.” This time Harry spoke with much less scorn in his voice, though the sadness was still there in droves.

“Harry, you won't be a burden. In fact, there's very little I'd rather do than be able to spend time with you. Think of it as keeping me company, if it helps.” Hermione looked over at her parents, who both had knowing smiles on their faces. Blushing slightly, Hermione focused back on Harry, who was looking slightly less melancholy. Suddenly, he yawned tremendously, reminding both of them exactly how tired they were. Looking over her shoulder at her parents, Hermione said, “I'll go show Harry to his room, then head to bed myself. We've had a very busy day. Good night, Mum, Dad!”

“Good night, honey,” responded Helen.

“If you need anything, we'll be up for a while longer,” was Robert's reply.

“Come on Harry, let's go. I can only imagine how tired you must be.” When Harry didn't move fast enough, Hermione grabbed his hand and half-pulled him up the stairs. “Harry, you room is right here,” Hermione said, pointing to the door to the right of the top landing. “The bathroom is the second door on the left. My room is the one right next to yours.”

Harry walked into his new bedroom, Hermione following him not far behind. It was fairly simple; not incredibly large, but larger than anything he had ever been in before (save his Gryffindor dorm). The bed was on the opposite side of the room as the door, and ran parallel to the wall. It had on light blue-green sheets with a comforter folded up at the foot and a couple of pillows at the head. On the wall to the left of the bed was a window, underneath that sat a desk with a small computer perched on top. The wall opposite the bed held the dresser, dark cedar with four drawers and a mirror on top. The walls were simply white, and the floor was brown carpeting. Harry felt a calming presence that seemed to radiate from everywhere. “Sorry if it's not much.”

Harry turned and looked Hermione straight in the eye. “It's wonderful. It's the best room I've ever been in. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione walked over and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his chest. “Harry, out of all the people I know, you deserve this the most. You've gone through so much, it's only right that you be repaid. I'm just glad I'm the one that gets to do it.” She released him and began to walk out. Just as she reached the door, she stopped, turned, and said, “All right Harry, time for you to get some sleep. Remember, I'm right next door, so if you need anything, you'll know where to find me. The bathroom is the second door on your left.” With that, Hermione turned to leave, but stopped once more. This time it was Harry's voice that stopped her.

“H-Hermione? C-could you stay here, at least for a little while?” Harry was starting to look anxious and frightened again.

“Of course, Harry. And, no, before you say anything, I don't mind. I'm not quite as tired as you, so I'll be okay.” Hermione sat down in the desk chair and scooted it closer to the bed. Harry, not having any other clothes, simply crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up. He lied down on his side, facing Hermione, and almost immediately felt his eyes become heavy and his mind begin to shut down. Hermione subconsciously reached over with one hand and began to play with his hair, letting her fingers run through it, massaging the scalp slightly. It was not long before Harry's breaths became deep and regular as he slipped into the world of the unconscious. Hermione stood up and bent over Harry's sleeping form, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “Good night, Harry. Sleep well.” Hermione whispered as she stood and quietly left the room.

*****

Harry was lying on the beach, sunlight washing over him. He opened his eyes to see crystal-blue skies with only the occasional fluffy ball of cloud. Sitting up he was able to see out over the water, which was clear and even for miles away. A gentle breeze blew, ruffling his hair. Harry heard a soft sigh of content coming from down in the sand next to his right. He looked down and saw a gorgeous woman stretched out, completely relaxed, eyes closed.

Harry leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, causing her to smile. “Harry . ..” she breathed out. Inching closer, Harry whispered into her ear, “I love you, Hermione.” Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes, and instantly was lost. So many emotions overcame Harry at the moment, swirling around inside and causing his heart to beat rapidly.

Hermione lifted her head up to meet Harry's lips and captured them in a kiss. It was a soft kiss, gentle and slow, but full of passion all the same. Hermione pulled away, leaving Harry breathing hard, and said, “And I love you, Harry.”

Suddenly, a sharp, strong gust of wind blew up, blasting Harry with sand. Looking up, the couple saw that the sky had become overcast and gray, thick with dark ominous clouds. Thunder could be heard not too far off. Without warning, the clouds opened up and a torrent of rain began beating down. Another blast of wind, and the storm was upon them. They jumped up and began running along, although to what destination Harry was unsure; Hermione was in the lead. Within moments, the sky was dark as dusk, and Harry could barely make out Hermione's form flitting ahead of him in the lightning flashes.

The ocean had grown choppy, and waves were starting to crash onto the shore. A wave hit Harry and he was knocked off his feet. He looked up, just in time to see a huge wave crash into Hermione and send her sprawling. When his vision cleared, she was gone . . . “Hermione! HERMIONE!!”

******

Harry woke suddenly, flashes of the dream still running through his mind. Looking around the room, Harry was confused. Where was he? Spotting his glasses on a nearby desk, Harry reached over and grabbed them. Slipping them on, he noticed a clock on the dresser read 5:00 a.m. Five! A dread panic started to rise in him. Oh no, he'd overslept! That left him hardly any time to fix breakfast before Master awoke. He'd have to hurry.

Harry jumped out of bed and ran, quietly, out of the room. `Upstairs? What am I doing upstairs? I must have passed out in Dudley's second room again.' Harry quickly sprinted down the stairs, hardly making a sound as he jumped the last four steps. The house was dark enough so that he could just barely make out where certain objects were located, but not what they were. `I must have gotten myself mixed up. This isn't the way to the kitchen.'

Somehow, Harry managed to find the kitchen, and then set to work straight away. Master liked his bacon well fried, his eggs scrambled, and his coffee fresh. Harry decided to cook up a big breakfast, just in case Master was angry with him this morning, as he sometimes was. As Harry began to flit around, his panic kept rising. `Where is everything. Nothing is where I remember putting it. I must have misplaced them when I was cleaning. Oh, I don't think I'll be ready in time! Must hurry!'

*****

Six o'clock rolled by, and Hermione's alarm went off, like it did every morning. Slowly she opened her eyes, rather uneager to shake off sleep. Once again, she was having a wonderful dream involving her and Harry and . . . Harry! With that thought in mind, Hermione was awake. She threw on her favorite bathrobe over her pajamas, and made her way to Harry's room. “Harry, are you up yet?” She stopped in the doorframe of a very Harry-free room. The sheets on the bed looked as if they had been thrown off in a hurry. From her new vantage point, she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen downstairs. `Hmm, Harry must have woken up and gone down with my parents.'

“Hermione, dear, is something wrong?” Helen's voice sounded just behind her, startling her.

“Hmm, wha? No, no, I'm fine. It's just that Harry's not in his room. So, you think it safe to leave Harry alone with Dad?”

“Leave whom alone with me?” Robert's voice came wafting down the hall. He appeared suddenly standing next to Helen; both of them wearing similar bathrobes.

“But, if you're both here, who's downstairs? Harry!” With that, Hermione tore past her parents and down the stairs. Helen and Robert followed shortly thereafter, beginning to worry what had their daughter so worked up. When they reached the entrance to the kitchen, they found Hermione standing frozen, looking in. Looking past her, they saw what had arrested her progress. Harry was dashing around the kitchen as if he owned it, hastily dishing up various breakfast items.

“H-Harry?” At the sound of his name, Harry looked up, and promptly dropped the silverware he had just gathered to set. An outsider looking in would have found the scene incredibly amusing. The Grangers were standing outside the kitchen, staring in surprise at Harry, who was in turn staring at the Grangers with an equal look of surprise. The sounds of sizzling bacon soon snapped Harry out of his shock, and he sprung back into action, moving at an even greater pace than before.

Within minutes, he had set the table for three, with serving plates piled high with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast, and a fresh pot of coffee to top things off. Harry stepped back from the table, and looked nervously at the Grangers. “I-I'm sorry breakfast wasn't ready in time. I-I overslept, and then I couldn't find things, and, please, please forgive me. I won't let it happen again, I swear!”

Robert was the first to recover, taking a step forward into the kitchen. “My word . . . and it smells so good! What - how, how did you cook all of this? And why?”

“I, I woke up at five. I got here as quick as I could. I'm sorry I wasn't faster; I kept getting lost. I - I always make breakfast. I always have . . .” Harry said, turning his head away. Hermione, who had walked in with her mother, stepped over to Harry. “It's okay Harry. This isn't the Dursleys, you didn't have to do this.”

“She's right, you know. As always,” Helen quipped. “Harry, dear, you're our guest here. We should be the ones feeding you, not the other way around.” Helen paused to take a good look at the table. “I must say, though, that I am very impressed. It all smells so wonderful! Thank you, Harry. But, from now on, leave the cooking to Hermione and me, all right?”

“Are you sure about that, dear?” Robert asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, you remember the last time you let Hermione cook.” As both of her parents looked at her, Hermione blushed, and mumbled, “I said I was sorry. Besides, that was three years ago.”

Looking at Harry, Robert said, “Hermione here thought she could cook.”

“Daddy, please!” Hermione's face was growing redder.

“As I recall, her attempts gave me food poisoning for three days.” Seeing the look on their daughter's face, both Helen and Robert broke out laughing. A few seconds later, Hermione forgot her embarrassment and began laughing with them. At one point, Harry even began to smile, even if it was just at the absurdity of the situation. As the last ringing of laughter died away, the Grangers seated themselves at the table, ready to tuck into Harry's marvelous-smelling (and looking) breakfast feast. Hermione turned to the empty side of the table reserved for guests to ask Harry how he had slept, only to find it empty still. Looking around the kitchen, Hermione saw Harry standing in front of the sink, about to start washing the dishes.

“Harry, aren't you hungry? Come on, sit and have some breakfast with us.” Hermione waved her hand to indicate the empty chair as she spoke.

“Yes, do sit. Don't you want to try the wonderful pancakes you made? Delicious, by the way!” Helen looked at Harry as she spoke, her admiration and fondness of the boy growing greatly already.

“What? J-join you, and eat?” Harry looked bewildered, and slightly frightened. “B-but, there's still work to do . . . I have to clean the dishes,”

“Harry,” Hermione said gently.

“ . . . wash the laundry,”

“Harry,” this time a little louder.

“ . . . sweep the - ”

“Harry!” Hermione finally shouted, out of frustration, stopping Harry mid-sentence. At the loud utterance of his name, Harry's face lost the bewildered look, leaving only fear. His entire body seemed to stiffen, and he immediately dropped his head. Realizing what her outburst had done, Hermione jumped up and made her way quickly toward him. “Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that.” As she spoke, she gave him a gentle hug. While he had tensed up even further at first, Harry slowly began to relax after hearing her gentle words.

When Hermione sensed that Harry had fully relaxed (or at least was as relaxed as he would get), she stepped back and looked at him. “Harry.” Hermione paused to make sure she had his full attention, before continuing. “Harry, I'm sorry for what the Dursleys did to you, and I feel terrible that I did nothing to stop it. I should have realized that something was wrong sooner.” She could sense that Harry was about to say something, so she hurriedly pressed on. “But you're not at the Dursleys anymore. Whatever they said or did no longer applies, all right? You're here at the Granger household now, so you'll go by what we say, not the Dursleys, got it?” Hermione ended with a smile on her face.

“Yes, Hermione,” Harry replied, once more dropping his head. Hermione sighed to herself. This wasn't exactly what she was hoping for. She was about to say something else to reassure Harry, when Robert spoke up.

“Harry, can you come here, please?” Harry walked over slowly and stood next to Robert, uneasy about what would come. Hermione followed close by, wondering what her father was up to. Robert had a very stern and serious look upon his face. “Harry, I'm glad to see that you know how things are going to work around here. However, I'd just like to lay out a few . . . ground rules. I'll only say this once, so pay attention, understand?” Harry nodded solemnly. “Good. I have just one thing to say to you.” Robert's face broke into a wide grin. “Do whatever you like, and make sure you enjoy yourself. And absolutely no work or labor of any sorts, do I make myself clear?” Harry, who was looking extremely confused, merely nodded his head as if in a daze. “Good. Now that that's settled, would you care to join us for breakfast? You look absolutely famished.” Harry absentmindedly sat down at the table, grabbed a plate, and began to serve himself. Hermione turned to her father, a huge `thank you' ready to escape her lips, but before she could say anything, Robert winked at her, then said, “you too, Hermione. Your breakfast is getting cold.” Hermione sat down, Harry on her left, her father on her right. She glanced again at her father, who was still grinning at her, then over to Harry who was now eating the single pancake he had picked out. `Well, it's not much, but at least it's a start,' thought Hermione before digging in to her own breakfast.

*****

Harry sat in the backseat of the Grangers' car, Hermione sitting on his right. The last couple of hours had been some of the strangest of his life by far. All three of the Grangers had decided to remedy Harry's clothing problem by taking him shopping. For over two hours he was asked, or rather, forced to try on item after item. While Helen and Hermione had gone off looking at shirts, pants, and who knows what else, Robert had taken Harry aside.

“Harry, I've got a few important questions to ask you. I hope you don't mind.” As he was talking, he began to walk, not hurriedly, or in any seemingly specific direction.

“No, sir.” Harry said, automatically.

“Now what did I say? Please, call me Robert. No need to be so formal, now!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry - Robert.”

“Ah, that's better.” Robert smiled down at Harry, who was looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Relax, Harry. There's no need to worry yourself. I promise I won't bite.” Harry still looked uncomfortable, but he did appear a little more relaxed. “Good. Now then, question one. How, at this very moment, do you feel? Are you nervous, scared, happy, sad, exhilarated?” Caught off guard, Harry could only stutter for a while.

“Um, uh, I mean, er. I, I suppose I'm a little nervous, sir. I mean, Robert.” For a brief second, Harry looked frightened, but it quickly passed when Robert gave him a huge smile. “I mean, I don't even know you, and yet here you are, treating me as if I was a normal person. Like I meant something to you. I don't know why . . .” Harry's voice faded out, and he seemed to withdraw in himself.

“Harry, I thought we already agreed that you would stop beating yourself up over this. Besides, you seem to be so caught up in yourself that you've failed to realize that you do mean something to me, to my wife, and most importantly, to my daughter, Hermione. I don't think you realize exactly how valuable your company has been over the past few years.” At this, Robert turned sharply to walk down an aisle.

“Question two,” Robert began as soon as Harry had caught up, “Tell me what you think about my daughter. I want to see if you might be taking her for granted.”

This sudden question once again caught Harry unawares. But this time, instead of stumbling along with words, he remained quiet, lost in his thoughts. What did he think of Hermione. No one had ever asked him that before, nor had he been given time to think. For the first time ever, Harry looked back over all the years he had known Hermione, looking at what she had done, what she had helped him with. Robert looked at Harry as they walked along, quite proud of himself. Harry, meanwhile, was so lost in thought he hardly watched where he was going, and had to be pulled out of the way of oncoming people (and support pillars) several times by Robert.

Finally, Harry looked up at this strange man and began to voice his thoughts. “I suppose, that I owe her my life. On more than one occasion. I - she - she's just always there. Always Hermione, exactly what I need, when I need it. I owe her so much. I don't deserve to have her as my friend. I can't believe I had the audacity to take someone as kind, caring, beautiful, generous, trustworthy as Hermione, and make her miserable. You shouldn't let her be near me anymore. You - ” Harry was cut off when Robert placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and stopped them both.

“Harry,” Robert said warningly, “that's more than enough.” He sighed, then began, “Harry you're not a bad person. As I said before, your companionship with Hermione over these last five years has made her very happy. Before, she didn't have many friends, and was rather lonely, I'm afraid. But, after her first year, she came back home talking about her new classes, but even more about her new friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Thank you for helping to make my daughter happy.” Robert looked closely at Harry and saw that he seemed to have calmed himself a little bit.

“Last question, Harry.” Harry raised his head and looked at Robert. “Boxers or briefs?” Harry looked extremely puzzled, and looked around. Realizing where he was, his face grew to a bright shade of red. He had been so focused that he wasn't aware that Robert had led him right into the men's underwear section. Harry made a nondescript mumbling sound in response. “I'm sorry, Harry, didn't quite catch that.” Robert said, an annoyingly large grin on his face, his eyes lit with laughter.

“I said, boxers,” Harry said, growing redder.

*****

By the time they had returned to the Grangers' and Harry had packed away his new clothes, it was just after two in the afternoon. Harry was lying on his bed, feeling a little antsy at not doing anything, when he heard a soft knock on the open door. “Hey, Harry. I'm not bothering you, am I?” Hermione asked as she came in.

“No, not at all.” Harry said without looking up. Hermione sat down in the chair, and turned to face Harry.

“Is anything wrong? You seem a little, tense.”

“Well, it's just that, normally I'd be doing . . . things. I guess I'm just not used to relaxing,” Harry said morosely.

“How about we take a walk? That way, you won't be restless. There's a beautiful park nearby that's lovely this time of day.” Harry looked over at Hermione. While her tone of voice had been off-hand, he could tell she was hopeful he would like her idea. Harry sat up, smiled, and said,

“Sure, Hermione. That sounds like a great idea.”

Harry and Hermione made their way downstairs, where they found Robert reading the paper. “Dad, I'm going to go and show Harry the park. We'll be back in about an hour or two.”

“Alright. Be careful. Don't stay out too late!” Robert called out after them.

The ten minutes it took t walk to the park were spent in silence. Hermione, naturally, would give out the occasional direction, but said nothing in the remainder of the time, which she spent quietly studying Harry. Harry, on the other hand, was busy contemplating what had happened to him in the past couple of days. His main focus began on the scene he had witnessed in the Pensieve. He still couldn't believe that had been him. But why couldn't he remember it? His mind then flashed to the discussion with Dumbledore. Harry was beginning to feel anxious about his soon-to-be training with the great Dumbledore. He remembered vaguely the fight in the Atrium between Dumbledore and Voldemort, and how helpless he had been. Now he would be facing off against Dumbledore, learning from him. Would he be able to measure up, or would he surely fail again like he always did? His thoughts once more strayed, this time to the subject of the venerable old wizard himself. Harry once again had the feeling Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on. A sudden flash of anger welled up inside him, yet Harry could place no cause other than Dumbledore.

“Harry, we're here.” Hermione's voice shook Harry from his thoughts. Harry shook his head to clear the remaining images, and then looked around. He found himself in one of the most relaxing places he had ever seen. All around him there were small swells of green earth, rolling gently, cluttered by clumps of green trees. The afternoon sun was shinning down, the heat feeling warm and comfortable on his face. A breeze blew by, shaking the leaves in the trees so that they whispered to Harry in their soft voices, as if in greeting. Harry soon felt all the tension leaving his body, all the nightmarish images fading from his mind, and an easy peace come and take their places. He sighed in content.

“So, Harry, how about that walk?” Hermione asked, pointing to a path that could be seen snaking its way around tree and hill. In response, Harry simply nodded his head, still too wrapped up in the utter beauty of the park. Sensing Harry's momentary mental leave of absence, Hermione shook her head, grabbed Harry's hand, and began to walk. They continued in this way for several laps around the park; Hermione glancing at Harry, her mind rarely pausing in thought about him, while Harry was looking around at everything and nothing.

As they passed by a small wooden bench under the shadow of a tree, Hermione stopped them and asked, “Harry, why don't we rest here for a while before heading back, alright?” Harry nodded and sat down with Hermione, still holding her hand. Sitting there on that bench, bathed in the warm sunlight, Hermione's comforting presence next to him, Harry found himself wanting to nod off. He leaned into her, and rested his head on her shoulder. Sensing the sudden weight against her, Hermione freed her hand from Harry's and wrapped her arm around him. `Oh, Harry. If only I could have been there for you sooner. How could I have been so foolish? I allowed myself to get emotional and I overreacted. I don't know how, but I'll make it up to you. I'll protect you from now on. I won't let anything else bad happen to you!'

After allowing Harry rest for half an hour (as well as enjoy the sensation of him resting against her), Hermione gently woke him up. “Come on, Harry. It's almost five. Time to head home.” Harry blinked slowly, then sat up straight. Instantly, he felt colder and missed the warmth from Hermione.

“You're warm and comfy, Hermione,” Harry mumbled out, half-awake, before he began rubbing the sleep from his eyes (and therefore missing Hermione's blush). Looking around, Harry noticed how late it had gotten. “Oh! It's late! Hermione, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, I didn't mean to fall asleep. Oh, now your father is going to be furious, isn't he? I'll - I'll say it was my fault, and take the punishment. Hermione, I'm sorry.”

“Harry! Relax! It's all right. We're not late, the hour is. My father won't be angry, although he will begin to worry if we stay out much longer. You see, I, um, kinda tend to, uh, loose track of time, when I'm here, so my parents are used to me coming home late. And besides, why would we be punished?” Sudden realization struck Hermione. “H-Harry? W-what I saw in the Hospital Wing, those scars,” Harry tensed up suddenly, and Hermione held his hand, giving it a comfortable squeeze. “W-were those, punishments?”

Harry began to tremble slightly. “I . . . I . . . It's mostly all just a blur, the past few weeks. I can't recall much, but I know I often did wrong things, bad things, and needed to be punished.” At this point, Harry closed his eyes and shivered, despite it being a warm day.

“Harry . . .” Hermione couldn't think of anything to say, so she simply turned and hugged Harry hard. Harry, still catching brief glimpses of his days spent with the Dursleys, flinched bodily at the first contact. Looking up, he saw Hermione's face, tears ready to spill out her eyes, and remembered where he was and whom he was with, and relaxed.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione sniffed out, rubbing her eyes. “Let's go home. Dinner will be ready shortly, I imagine.” As one, they rose from the bench and began the long trek home, Hermione once again grabbing Harry's hand.

*****

“Mum, Dad, we're back! Sorry we're a little late!” Hermione shouted into her house as she closed the door. Somewhere from in the kitchen, Helen's voice responded,

“That's all right. Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Oh, by the way, Hermione, you had a delivery while you were out. A letter of sorts. I've got it in here with me.”

“Thanks, Mum!” Hermione shouted back. She turned to Harry and asked, “Do you want to come with me? I'm sure it will only take a moment. Besides, if you're hungry you can grab a snack to tide you over.” Harry still looked doubtful, but agreed all the same; he didn't feel like being alone at the moment, or at least, he didn't want to be away from Hermione.

As Harry and Hermione entered the kitchen, they saw Helen busy working at the stove. She looked up at them when they entered, and said, “It's over there on the kitchen table, along with the owl that sent it.” Harry looked rather confused.

“The owl that sent it? Why is it still here? I thought an owl would return to its owner once it delivered its message.”

“Well, I suppose that may be the case, but this owl didn't fly off because it's - ” Helen was cut off by Hermione's loud cry,

“Hedwig! What happened to you!” Harry felt dizzy, and promptly his legs gave out, sending him dropping to the floor, landing painfully on his knees.

“Harry, are you all right? What's the matter?” Helen was now on the ground in front of Harry, but Harry wasn't responding. Harry didn't see Helen, the Granger kitchen, or anything else before him. He was watching a memory, a horrible memory. He was climbing to his feet after being hit on the back of the head. He looked up and saw Vernon with a rifle in his hands, taking careful aim. He rushed at his uncle, his last-ditch effort to stop him. BANG! The rifle went off before he had even moved two steps. Harry turned his head to look out the window, and saw Hedwig falling, falling, falling . . . .

Next, as if bursting from a dam, memories began flooding forth, visions of pain, toil, and nightmares. The sound of a belt whipping through the air . . . the crackling of fire consuming a broom . . . a blow was aimed at his head; he couldn't move . . . his uncle's loud voice, insulting him and his family as He beat him . . . Ron, bound to a chair . . . Hermione, hanging from manacles . . . screams of pain and misery . . . Sirius' face, his voice echoing loudly, “You killed me, you stood by and did nothing . . . it's all your fault . . . you're to blame!” Darkness began to appear, slowly blocking Harry's vision. The noises began to fade, and soon all he could hear was Hermione's faint voice echoing in the distance.

*****

“Harry? Harry! Harry, can you hear me?” Hermione's panicky voice was soft and sounded far away. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes to find Hermione leaning over him. As soon as she saw he was awake, Hermione swooped in upon him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, burying her head in his chest, and breaking out in a fresh wave of tears.

“H-Harry, I was s-s-so worried ab-bout you! Y-You sc-scared me to d-d-death!” Hermione managed to squeeze out through her sobs. Harry moved his arms to capture Hermione in a hug, and found that he was crying, too. In a shaky voice, Harry said,

“H-Hermione? I - I remember. I remember everything. It - it - it's terrible. I - ” Harry's breath hitched in his throat; he could no longer control himself, and he broke down as well.

“H-Harry? I-in your letter, y-you told me everything. E-everything they did to you. Harry, I'm so sorry. I - I am to blame. I - I acted selfishly, I overreacted. I shouldn't have s-sent the Howler. Please, forgive me. I - I abandoned you.” As she finished, she broke down anew. All Harry could do in response was to hold her closer. His mind was still reeling from all the images of his past two weeks. He felt dizzy, nauseous, terrified, angry, and tired.

Slowly, the sobs slowed and turned to sniffs, which eventually passed entirely. All that was left was a very emotionally drained Harry and Hermione. Slowly, Hermione sat up, wiping her tear-streaked face. “Harry, I-I'm sorry. If only I had known . . . oh, you must hate me for sure. What kind of friend turns her back on . . .” was as far as Hermione got before she let out a small hiccough as well as a few more tears.

“Hermione, I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I just - I just can't loose you.” Harry closed his eyes. “I've seen you die so many times, in my dreams, so many ways . . . I can't let that happen. I won't.” At this Harry looked at Hermione, and she could see a fiery glow in his eyes, which quickly passed back into a look of exhaustion.

“Harry, I th-think we've both worn ourselves out,” Hermione said with a weak chuckle that came out as more of a half-sob. “Let's go to sleep. I'm just so tired . . .” Hermione stood up to leave.

“Hermione, wait. Please don't go. I - I can't bear to be alone. Please?”

“For you, anything Harry,” Hermione said as she walked back over and crawled onto the bed next to Harry. “Rest, now, Harry. You n-need it. I'll be right here.” As Hermione said this, Harry wrapped his arm around hers, and whispered, “Thank you.” Within minutes, he was asleep. Resting her head back, Hermione once again thought of Harry's desperate letter and all that had happened to him. `How could Dumbledore have let this happen? I will never forgive him for it!' With that last thought, Hermione drifted off to sleep, both her and Harry still both fully clothed and on top of the sheets.

A/N: Okay, so how many people saw that coming? I hope that pleases a lot of you out there. The next chapter will deal once more with Dumbledore, so give me a bit to get it out! Thanks for reading, now leave me a review!!

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A/N: Ooookay, I'm finally back! Here it is, the long awaited and greatly wanted update! I am soooooooooooo sorry about the long wait. I've been writing my ass off the past few days, and earlier I hardly had any time at all to write! As you can see, this chapter is a whopper, so that also took me some time. At over 10,000 words, it's the biggest thing I've written yet! I hope this'll satisfy you guys!

Disclaimer: Here we go again, time for everybody's favorite part of the story; the Disclaimer. Once again we find ourselves lacking in ownership of anything and everything. What a shame! Ah, but that's life! Now, on with the show!

Dumbledore's Debacle

Harry opened his eyes to look up at a crystal blue sky. A gentle breeze blew by, carrying with it the sounds and smells of the ocean. He could feel the sun's rays wash over him, and the cool sand beneath him. Harry sat up and looked, for a moment, out over the sea, peaceful and calm. He caught a sign of movement out of the corner of his eye and smiled before turning to his side. Leaning over, he planted a kiss on her cheek, to which she responded by smiling. “Harry . . .” she sighed, but was stopped when Harry captured her mouth in a kiss. Pulling back, Harry whispered into her ear,

“I love you, Hermione.” Hermione began giggling, then jumped up.

“Tag, your it!” And with a quick peck on the lips, she was off. Harry was still for a moment, half in a daze and half lost in admiring Hermione. He was soon brought back to reality by the sound of Hermione's laughter, and quickly gave chase. While she had had a decent head start, Harry was slowly catching up. Hermione began to climb a sloping hill that led to a cliff overlooking the sea. Harry caught up with Hermione to find her staring out at the sea.

“I've got you now! Nowhere to go!” Harry cried gleefully. Hermione spun around, a huge smile lighting her face, her hair whipping behind her in her wake, shinning as it caught the sun's rays. For a brief moment, the scene stretched before Harry; Hermione, happy and smiling, the sun's golden rays casting a golden aura around her, seemingly frozen in time. Then, her smile disappeared, replaced by a gape of horror. Her arms began to cartwheel as her momentum continued to carry her; her foot slipped on the dewy grass and she fell, vanishing over the edge of the cliff. “Hermione!” Harry shouted, running to where she had just stood, barely stopping in time to prevent himself from following her over.

Looking tentatively over the cliff, Harry's heart stopped and his blood ran cold; Hermione had fallen and been impaled on the sharp rocks at the bottom. Darkness began to cloud Harry's vision, and soon he was surrounded by it. All the noises of the sea disappeared, and Harry found himself on his hands and knees, completely alone. Suddenly, he heard the resounding sounds of footsteps, and off in the distance a figure appeared; a woman walking with her back to him, her long, brown bushy hair bouncing with each step.

“Hermione!” Harry began running towards her, but she didn't respond, let alone give any signs of recognition, just continuing to walk on. “Hermione!” Harry had almost reached her; his arm was raised, poised to grab her shoulder, her name once more on his lips. He opened his mouth and drew in breath, but his call was silenced, caught in his throat as Hermione spun around and faced him.

Hermione had a huge, gaping hole in her stomach from where she had been impaled, and Harry could see inside to her organs; part of her intestines were hanging out, and blood was seeping everywhere. She had trails of blood pooling out her mouth, and her skull was cracked over her forehead, revealing a sliver of brains. But the worst part were her eyes; they were a grayish-white, without pupil or iris, and were staring up at Harry, incessantly and unblinking. From deep within the cavity of her chest, she drew a raspy, bubbly breath, then said in a voice incredibly gravely and coarse, “Harry, you killed me . . . now you must suffer . . . now you will pay . . .”

Harry began backing away in terror, but bumped into something solid not more than three steps away. Spinning rapidly in place, Harry let out a cry of fright, then covered his mouth to keep the bile down. Before him stood Sirius Black. Or, what was left of him. He was little more than a skeleton, with bits of flesh strung from rotten bone to rotten bone. His lower jaw grinned eerily its starch white smile, while the skin on his skull was stretched tight. Sirius' long black hair fell forward, hiding his face from view. Sirius stretched up to his full height, lifting back his head to reveal a small black hole where his nose had been, and the same soul-less eyes white eyes Hermione had.

Sirius' voice echoed out of the darkness, harsh and accusing. “Harry, how could you . . . you killed us! You killed us! It's all your fault; you're to blame.” Sirius lifted his arm and pointed a rotted finger at Harry. “You are to blame, and you must pay!”

Harry stepped back, away from the accusing finger, but to no avail; Hermione and Sirius were closing in on him, drawing nearer and nearer, closer and closer. Harry turned and broke into a mad run. Looking over his shoulder, Harry briefly saw them, still following, before he tripped over something massive and was sent flying into the ground. Harry scrambled to his feet and turned to see what had waylaid him. The site before him made him sink weakly to his knees.

Sprawled on the ground on his side, lying exactly as he had fallen at Privet Drive was Vernon Dursley. His skin was pale and he appeared more bloated than usual, but he was unmistakably dead. “No . . . no . . .” At the sound of Harry's voice, Vernon's eyes snapped open, revealing the ghastly deadened white eyes. Vernon's arm shot out, grabbing Harry by the throat with a cold hand, choking him. The trademark vein was pulsing on Vernon's forehead, beating faster and faster and pulsing bigger each time. Suddenly, the skin burst open, revealing, not blood, but a giant maggot. Soon Vernon's skin was pulsing and crawling with hundreds of large maggots. Harry somehow managed to break free of his uncle's grasp, and crawled backwards, clutching his neck as if he had been burned.

“Freak, you did this to me! Because of you I'm dead. If you were a normal child I would still be alive. It's all your fault, Freak!” Vernon said as he slowly climbed to his feet. As Vernon began to advance on him, Harry turned, flung himself up, and ran as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, ran for dear life. From out of the surrounding darkness, their voices rose, echoing around Harry.

“How could you do this to us?”

“You are to blame.”

“Your abnormality killed us all!”

“We trusted you.”

“Your hands are soiled.”

“You're worthless, pathetic, and weak! If you couldn't even manage to protect us, how can you possibly save yourself, mutt?”

“No! No! Leave me alone!” Harry cried out, putting his hands over his ears. He stumbled, then fell. “I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . I didn't mean to . . . I didn't mean for it to happen . . .”

As one, Hermione, Sirius, and Vernon spoke, “You have killed, Harry Potter. You have killed, and you will kill again. Justice must be served; you must pay for your sins!” Harry lifted his head to find all three of them standing, surrounding him. They began to reach for him, attempting to grab him. Harry leapt to his feet and tried to get away, but Sirius had already grabbed his right wrist. Hermione soon had his left wrist; both grips were hard and cold. As Vernon drew closer and closer, Harry struggled harder to break free, with little avail. “Help me! Someone help me! No! NO! NOOOO!”

*****

Hermione opened her eyes, shaken awake from the world of sleep. She had heard a noise, loud and nearby, but wasn't sure what it had been. It was a shuffling sound, as if there was something crawling around inside her bedroom wall. `Wait, my bedroom? How'd I get here?' Hermione asked as she sat up, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. Judging by the sounds of the birds outside, day was just beginning to break. Hermione glanced at her clock to find it was just after five. `The last thing I remember was crawling in to bed next to Harry . . .' As she realized the implications that had, she blushed slightly, a blush that quickly faded as she remembered the events that led to their mutual exhaustion. She sniffed and fought back her tears. `No, I must be strong. Harry needs me to be strong, for him.'

Then, she heard it again; the same rustling, scraping sound on the other side of her wall, a little louder this time. Putting her ear against the wall, Hermione heard a faint mumbling sound, as well as the same rustling sound. All of a sudden, there was a loud, bump, and Hermione heard the mumbles increase, crescendo-ing in a loud spoken “No!” Hermione realized it was coming from the guest room next to hers, where Harry was staying. `Harry must be having a nightmare. Oh, why do bad things always have to happen to him? I'd better go and check on him, and make sure he's all right.'

Hermione's hand had barely touched her doorknob when an explosion of sound came from Harry's room. “NOOO! NOOOOO! HELP! HELP ME! NOOOOO!” Harry was bellowing out at the top of his lungs, and sounded as if he were scared to death. Hermione threw open her door, turned, and ran into Harry's room. Harry was thrashing violently, his screams louder now that she was in the room with him. She immediately ran to his bed and grabbed his arms to stop his thrashing.

“Harry! Harry, wake up! It's me, Hermione. Please, wake up!” As she spoke, she started shaking him slightly, then more firmly when he wasn't responding. Harry seized up, arresting all motion. His eyes shot open; he sat up, and began to scream even louder.

“AHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Hermione drew back slightly, startled at Harry's loud outburst. She had just collected herself and was about to rush in and calm him when Harry closed his mouth, looking pale and sick. Harry covered his mouth with his hand, then scrambled out of his bed and ran for the door. He was moving too fast to correct himself, so he ran into the wall in the hallway before turning and dashing to the bathroom. Hermione followed in time to hear retching and a sickening splash. She stopped at the door, looking in to find Harry crouched over the toilet, heaving once more.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked as she walked towards him, resting her hand on his back. As soon as she touched him, Harry sprang backwards, landing on his back.

“NOO! DON'T TOUCH ME! LET ME GO!” Harry jumped up and tried to run past Hermione and out into the hall. Unfortunately, he was fairly weak and shaking slightly, and his foot caught the edge of a rug, causing him to fall painfully to the floor. Harry brought his arms up to protect his head, and curled into a ball.

“Harry, it's me, Hermione! Please, calm down. I won't hurt you, I promise.”

“No! You - you said - you said I had to die!” Harry's voice was shaking, but not nearly as much as he was.

“Harry, it was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. I would never hurt you.” She knelt down in front of him, but not so close as to make him feel threatened. While she wanted nothing more than to hold him and comfort him, Hermione realized that doing so was not be the best thing in this situation, and would only aggravate Harry further.

Slowly, Harry lowered his arms, revealing a scared, tear-stained face. As soon as she saw him, Hermione's heart seemed to immediately shatter into tiny pieces. “A-a d-dream. I - it w-wasn't real?” Harry asked shakily.

“No, Harry. It wasn't real.”

“H-Hermione? Is that r-really you?” Harry asked, still shaking slightly. Hermione found she could only nod, her throat too tight for words. She lifted her arms up, holding them out to Harry, who rushed into them and began sobbing on her shoulder.

“Shhhh, shh. It's all right Harry. It's all right.” Hermione was rocking slightly, gently rubbing Harry's back in comforting circles. Hermione heard a soft ruffling sound behind her, and as she turned her head around to look she saw her parents standing by the door, both wearing bathrobes and expressions of extreme worry.

“Hermione, what's wrong? What happened to Harry?” Robert asked, stepping into the bathroom. Immediately, Harry froze up and became silent. He began to shake again, this time from obvious fear. Harry slowly turned himself to face Robert and Helen, and then fell to his hands and knees in front of them, as if bowing or begging.

“S-s-s-sir, p-p-please forgive me. I-I-I - I d-didn't mean to w-wake you up. I'm s-sorry. P-p-please, d-don't hurt me.” All through his stammering, Harry hadn't moved or looked up; when he finished, he brought his eyes up and met Robert's gaze for the briefest of seconds, before he looked back down again, shaking once more.

For a moment, Robert couldn't find anything to say. Shaking his head weakly to clear his thoughts, Robert said, “Harry, son, it's alright. I'm not angry with you, not at all. Actually, I'd say it was rather time for us to get up, anyway, so there was no harm done.” At this he smiled gently, attempting to make Harry feel better. Harry looked up slowly, still shaking, and met Robert's eyes again. “Honest, Harry. I'm not mad, just worried. About you.”

Helen moved and knelt before Harry, taking his hands in her own. “We all are. After reading your letter, we . . . well, let's just say it was a very emotional time. You gave us quite a fright when you passed out down there. Robert carried you upstairs, and I was just about to call the hospital when you woke up.” Helen paused, trying to rid herself of the memories. “Let me assure you, Harry, that while you're here, nothing bad will happen to you. You're safe here.”

Harry looked from Helen, to Robert, and then, turning, he looked at Hermione. Lowering his gaze, Harry softly said, “I'm sorry. Sorry for waking you up, sorry for worrying you all, but most of all, I'm sorry for being such a burden, for imposing on you like this. You - you've all been so kind to me, someone you hardly even know, and I've done nothing in return but cause you trouble.”

Hermione sighed, and then said, “Harry, I already told you, we don't mind having you, it's no trouble at all. And if you were to leave, then I'd follow you to make sure you stayed out of trouble, which would be even more of a bother than having you stay here. So, don't worry about it, okay?” Harry nodded, then sniffed.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Hermione smiled kindly at him, then rose to her feet slowly, helping a weak, shaking Harry to his.

“Harry, why don't we get you back in bed, so you can lie down and rest. This is hardly the best place for a nap.” Robert suggested, his tone oddly devoid of any humor, as he took hold of Harry's other arm. With Hermione and Roberts' help, they managed to get Harry down the hallway and back into his bed. “Hermione, sweetheart, why don't you go get Harry something to drink, as well as a wet washcloth? Thanks.” After Hermione left, shooting one last furtive glance at Harry, Robert turned and looked at Harry, and let out a soft sigh.

“Harry, I hate to have to do this, but I want you to tell me what was in your nightmare. I can easily see it shook you up pretty badly, and I know personally that holding something like that in isn't good for you. You need to talk about it, otherwise it will eat away at you from the inside, getting worse and worse.” Harry was looking reluctant and slightly afraid. Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, Robert said, “It's okay, Harry. I know what you're going through. I've gone through it myself.” Harry's eyes widened.

“You - you mean, you were . . .”

“Yes, Harry. I was abused growing up, too. It wasn't quite as bad as what you've gone through, granted, but it was abuse nonetheless. I want to help you, Harry. I refuse to let you suffer through this as I did. And if I can overcome my past, you can overcome yours.” Harry was unable to speak, the words he needed were beyond him. Robert smiled a little and said, “You're welcome, Harry. It's the least I can do.” His demeanor turned serious, his smile disappearing. “Alright, Harry. Now comes the difficult part; tell me about your nightmare. Wait, hold on a tic.” Robert stood up and walked over to the door, closing it softly. “I believe this will be easier on you if you are not distracted or disturbed. So, go ahead.” As Robert sat down in the desk chair, Harry took a deep breath and began to speak.

KNOCK! KNOCK! “Harry, Daddy? I've got the water and washcloth. Can I come in?” Robert looked at Harry.

“It's your call, Harry.”

“Y-yeah. Come in, Hermione.” Hermione came over and handed the glass over to Harry and set the moist washcloth down nearby. Harry took a deep drink of water, smiled at Hermione with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and said, “Thanks.” Hermione sat down next to Harry on the bed and squeezed his hand.

“Hermione, why don't you go and help your mother with breakfast? I need to have a private talk with Harry for a while.” Hermione rose from the bed, looking somewhat reluctant to go. She began walking toward the door, but was stopped when Harry refused to release her hand.

“Sir, please, I - I want Hermione to stay. I - she needs to hear this too, and it saves me the trouble of telling it twice.” Harry looked at Robert, who nodded his head. Once Hermione had seated herself next to Harry again, he took a deep breath. “It's - it's about my nightmare,” he said to Hermione. “It - it was terrible.” He began to shudder again. Hermione once again held his hand for comfort and support.

“Why don't you start at the beginning, Harry. It might be easiest to start there and work straight through this than skipping around,” Robert suggested. Harry nodded, and then closed his eyes, attempting to recall all the details, readying himself to plunge back in.

“It begins on a beach. It's peaceful, relaxing . . .” And so, Harry told Hermione and Robert about his nightmare, sparing no detail (except the opening scene with Hermione on the beach; he wasn't sure if he would be able to explain that). When he had finished, Harry felt completely drained, exhausted. And yet, at the same time, he felt lighter somehow, as if something that had been constricted around his chest, squeezing the life out of him, had disappeared. He lifted his eyes from the spot he had been staring at and brought his gaze to bear first on Hermione, then on Robert. Hermione looked stricken and on the verge of tears, while Robert was looking at Harry with a relatively blank face.

“Harry, first off I want to thank you for telling us this, for showing us the strength to go through it. If before I had had any doubts about your strength or character, this act here has completely blown any away. I know for sure that you are a strong enough person to get past this ordeal.” Robert smiled slightly and nodded at Harry. “Yes, you'll make it through, all right. Just as long as you continue to accept help when you need it. Don't forget that you're not alone in this, here.”

“Thank you . . . Robert.” At this, Harry broke into the smallest of grins.

“H-Harry? Are you sure you're all right?” Hermione asked. Harry turned his head to look into her eyes, and saw the concern staring back; mixed with something else he couldn't quite place. He breathed deep, and closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again.

“Honestly, Hermione, I don't know. I'm still scared; I'm still frightened; I still don't know what to do. But, your father was right; me keeping it bottled up wasn't good. I feel scared, exhausted, and confused, yet I feel lighter somehow. It's as if I can breathe easier.” Harry turned to face Robert. “Thank you. I - I don't know what I can do to repay you for all you've done. I still can't believe you - all of you - are willing to just set aside what you are doing to help someone like me, who doesn't deserve it.”

“Harry, if you really want to repay me, stop demeaning yourself; you are not always the source of the problem. More often than not, you are the solution.” Harry was looking doubtful, and it was clear he was about to say something in protest. “Look at it this way,” Robert cut in, “you say you are indebted to me. I am merely working on your behalf. Following logic, you are indebted to yourself. You don't need to pay me back; you need to make it up to yourself. Do so by having fun, relaxing, and learning to let go. It'll do you good.”

At that moment, Helen stuck her head into the room. “Oh, there everybody is! Just to let you three know; breakfast is ready, and waiting. So, come on down before it gets cold!”

As they all rose to their feet, Robert looked unblinkingly at Harry. “Remember, Harry, have fun, relax, and let go.” Robert then crossed the room and was soon walking down the stairs with Helen, arm in arm. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find Hermione looking up at him.

“Ready, Harry?”

Harry looked at Hermione before answering, “Yeah . . . yeah, I'm - I'm ready.” And so they set off down the stairs, Hermione wrapping her arm around Harry's.

*****

Breakfast was a quiet affair; some small talk was made, but Harry didn't take part. He still felt strange, sitting at the table eating with the Grangers; eating a meal he hadn't made. He kept glancing up from his plate to stare timidly at Helen, Robert, or Hermione, depending on who was doing what. Overall, Harry felt uncomfortable, in part because the experience of being a part of a family breakfast was still new to him, and in part because it felt, for a lack of a better description, right. He felt as if he belonged there, as if he had always belonged, though he couldn't understand why. `I don't belong here, I don't belong anywhere. I'm an outcast, a misfit.'

`Then why does it feel so right?' echoed a voice in the back of Harry's mind. Harry started; it was the same voice that had helped keep him sane during his first week at the Dursleys.

`They're a happy family, something I never had. Not that I ever deserved it.'

`Now now, Harry, none of that. But what about the Weasleys? Aren't they a happy family?'

`Yeah, I suppose.'

`Then why have you never felt this relaxed, this at home with them?' Harry didn't have a response to this. `Is it perhaps because it's Hermione's family?' Before Harry was able to respond, Hermione's voice snapped him back to reality.

“Harry, are you okay? You've been awfully quiet, and you've hardly eaten anything. You're starting to worry me again.” Harry looked up at Hermione from his plate.

“I don't belong here,” Harry said softly, little more than a sigh. “You were already happy; you have a nice house, happy lives, and each other. Then here I come along and drop all my problems on you, disrupting your perfect lives and being a burden.” Hermione sighed as she set her silverware aside. She stood up, walked over to Harry, and knelt down in front of him, gently grabbing hold of his hand in hers.

“Harry, you do belong here. If not here, then what better place? And don't even think about saying the Dursleys.” Hermione had on her patented stern face as she said this, which then softened before she continued. “Listen, Harry, while it may be true that we do have good, happy lives, having you here doesn't detract from it; it can only improve things.” Harry looked up at her. “Actually, you're one of the first friends I've had stay over in a long, long time.” Hermione smiled as she stood up. “So, go ahead and eat up, and afterwards we can go and see Hedwig. In all the excitement last night, I don't think you ever had a chance to see her.”

Harry, realizing Hermione was right, began to eat in earnest instead of just picking at his food. As he was finishing, Helen took the perfect opportunity to properly nourish Harry. “That's a good idea, but nobody is to leave this table until Harry here has a second helping.” She looked sternly at Harry, who saw immediately where Hermione got her no-nonsense looks.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Harry as he sat back down and grabbed another waffle. Five minutes later, Harry jumped up and ran his dishes to the sink, and was just reaching for the faucet out of habit when someone put their hand over his, stopping him.

“Harry, you don't have to do those.” It was Hermione. “Mum, Dad, will you take care of the dishes, please?” Helen looked at Robert before they both nodded at the two teens. “Come on, let's go and check in on Hedwig.” With that, Hermione led Harry to the downstairs study, still holding Harry's hand. As they walked in, Hermione felt Harry's hold on her hand tighten, and turned to face him, finding solitary tears making their way down his face.

“H-Hedwig . . . you're alive . . . she's alive!” Harry turned and hugged Hermione fiercely, an odd combination of laughter and sobs escaping from him. When Harry paused to sniff and wipe his nose, Hermione took the opportunity to stand back and ask,

“Harry, are you feeling all right? What's the matter?” Harry certainly was an odd sight; he was sobbing, yet the corners of his mouth were pulled back in an unmistakable smile and weak chuckles were trying to escape between the sobs. The result pulled his features back into a sort of fierce grimace, which looked somewhat painful.

“S-she's alive! Hedwig's alive!” was the extent of Harry's answer. He was staring at Hedwig as if he had never seen her before, or as if she were some rare and near-extinct magical species. Harry began to walk over to the desk she was perched over, but was walking so shaky and unsteadily that Hermione had to support most of his weight. As soon as Harry reached the desk, he sank down into a chair right in front of Hedwig, who hooted cheerfully back at him in greeting.

Hedwig was sitting on a simple T-shaped perch, her left wing wrapped in bandages. Her feathers looked slightly disheveled, but other than that she seemed perfectly fine and happy. Harry reached out tenderly and pet Hedwig, who, in response, hooted gaily again.

“Hedwig, you're alive. But how? I thought for sure . . .” Harry was gazing raptly at Hedwig, almost completely oblivious to Hermione's presence.

“Harry, what do you mean? What happened to Hedwig?” Hermione asked, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry started slightly at the contact, having momentarily forgotten Hermione was there sitting next to him.

“Hermione . . . who - what - how did Hedwig get here?”

“I believe I can answer that, Harry.” It was Helen, who was standing with Robert just behind her near the doorway. They both walked forward and sat in chairs next to Harry, forming a sort of half-circle around him with Hermione. “It was about an hour or two after you and Hermione had gone off to the park yesterday when there was a knock at the door . . .”

----- Flashback -----

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! `I wonder who that is? Surely Harry and Hermione aren't back from the park yet?' Helen thought as she walked to answer the door. Opening it, she found a man that looked to be in his mid-twenties, whom had long blond hair tied in a ponytail and a thin goatee. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon. This would'na happen to be the Grangers', would it?”

“Yes, I'm Helen Granger. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it's just that I got a owl `ere with a letter for a `Hermine' Granger.” As he spoke he held up a small cage in one hand and a letter in the other, neither of which Helen had noticed before.

“Yes, that would be my daughter; and it's `Hermione',” Helen said, pronouncing the name correctly. Then, she took a closer look at the cage and the owl inside, a snowy white, very familiar-looking owl. “Hedwig! My goodness, what's happened to you?”

“S'far as we could tell,” began the man, “well, `we' bein' meself and my other friends at the clinic, she was shot at, but most of the damage resulted from the fall. See here?” he indicated Hedwig's bandaged wing. “Broken. I was actually the one `at found `er. Saw her fallin', probably from `bout fifty meter up. She wen' down, and I was scramblin' to get to `er.”

“That's terrible! How did she survive?”

“Well, I don't know `bout this for certain, but I could've sworn I saw her slow down just before I lost sight of `er. When I found `er, her wing was snapped back at a nasty angle, and she was out cold.” He paused and shook his head as if deep in thought.

“Oh, my! How did you know to bring her here to us, let alone find where we live?”

“Well, after I scooped her up, gentle-like of course, and brought her to the animal clinic where I work, we went straight away and patched her up, nice and good. We didn't know who's she was (`ere weren't any identification tags on `er); all we `ad to work with was this `ere letter, which we can't seem to get open.” He held up the letter, on which was hastily scribbled , `Hermione Granger.' “Took us a week t' find you. Luckily I've family out here I was plannin' on visitin'. Otherwise you would've `ad to drive clear out to Surrey! Anyway, `ere you go.” He handed Helen the letter and cage. “'Ere's your owl and letter. Take core of `er and try and keep `er still as possible. She should be out flyin' `gain in `bout a week or two.” Then, the man turned and walked away.

----- End Flashback -----

“Harry?” Hermione asked, “What happened to Hedwig? Did you see who shot her?” As Harry looked at her with a dark face, Hermione already had her answer.

“It was Vernon. I had just sent Hedwig off when they discovered me. I was helpless to stop them. All I can remember is watching Hedwig fall, tumbling out of the sky . . .” Harry closed his eyes and pushed the palms of his hands against them, trying to stop the flow of images. Hermione leaned over and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Harry,” Robert spoke up, “is that why you never responded to any of Hermione's letters? She was growing quite concerned and, frankly, a little annoyed at the fact that you weren't answering.” Harry dropped his arms back to his sides and looked first at Robert, then at Hermione.

“Gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry for worrying you like that. Yes, that is the reason why I didn't respond; I couldn't. Actually,” Harry paused, taking a deep breath, “I never even got to read my letters in the first place. Vernon would always destroy them.”

“You never read any of my letters?” Hermione asked, her voice laced with anxiety. `Oh, now I feel even worse for sending that Howler! Harry doesn't even know why . . . Oh, Merlin! I'll have to tell him in person! How? When?'

“No, Hermione. And I'm sorry about the first note you received. But that wasn't from me; it was Vernon. It was the most he would accept. When I got your Howler, I felt weak . . . I knew I couldn't lose you like that, not to Vernon. So, I wrote you, trying to explain, but I failed. I thought I had lost my last friend . . .”

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry! I never should have sent that Howler! I let my emotions get the better of me, something I never do, and I just lost it!” Hermione was looking stricken, and her voice kept rising as she rambled on and on. Harry found himself being squeezed tighter and tighter. Panic started to run through him. Whenever someone rambled like that, it usually meant trouble for Harry, and the increasing pressure around his shoulders wasn't helping things. He began to breath faster, his eyes glazing over. Robert noticed, and realizing what was happening, jumped in before things could get worse.

“Hermione, honey,” Robert said, placing his hand on her shoulder, “relax. What's done is done, for better or worse. All we can do is set the past aside and try and move on.” Robert then focused on Harry, who's breathing was becoming more and more shallow. “Harry,” he said gently, kindly. “Harry, relax. Breathe deeply now.” Hermione looked over at what she had unwittingly done to Harry.

“Harry! Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” She reached with her other hand to grab a hold of his in an attempt to comfort him, but the increased contact only served to further aggravate Harry.

“Hermione! Let go of Harry, now! Back off and give him some space!” snapped Robert, and Hermione, too surprised at the moment, obeyed without hesitation. They all scooted back, giving Harry about three feet of space. Harry was still breathing rapidly, though, and appeared to be getting paler. “Harry. Harry, listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice.” Robert was looking Harry dead in the eye, barely blinking. “You need to relax, control your breathing. You are having a panic attack. Focus on your breathing; make it even; longer. Longer . . . longer. Slower. Relax all your muscles and focus solely on breathing.” As Robert continued to coax Harry in gentle tones, Harry became less pale and his breathing began to slow, bit by bit. Suddenly, there was a bright burst of flames in the air behind the Grangers. Harry's eyes widened, he let out a strangled, choked yell, and promptly passed out.

*****

Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, wondering where he was, how he got there, and what had woken him up. The first question was answered easily as he sat up and looked around. Harry was lying on the sofa in the Grangers' living room. His last question was answered as an explosion of noise erupted from just around the corner. Harry was scared, for it was the sound of people yelling (angrily at that). Harry began wondering what he had done to make the Grangers sound so upset. Harry tentatively stood up and began walking slowly toward the shouting voices of Robert and Helen, thinking it best to face his punishments here and now before it could only get worse. Harry's foot caught on the edge of a large throw rug, causing him to stumble and pitch forward. Harry reached wildly at a nearby table in an attempt at stopping his fall, realizing too late that he had grabbed a miniature tablecloth instead. As he landed with a loud THUMP followed by an even louder CRASH caused by the metal fruit bowl that had sat on the table, the shouting voices stopped.

Harry heard heavy, rushed footsteps and knew he was in major trouble. Before he had time to pick either himself or the fruit bowl up off the floor, Hermione was kneeling by his side. “Harry! Are you all right? What happened? Thank Merlin you're awake; I was so worried!” She said all this in one breath while, at the same time, managing to help lift Harry to his feet.

“I'm sorry about the bowl. I didn't mean to disturb you. Please don't be angry with me, I didn't mean to.” Harry looked past Hermione to Helen and Robert as he said this, looking pleadingly into their eyes.

“Harry, it's okay, it was just an empty fruit bowl. Why would we be angry with you?” asked Helen, a somewhat confused look on her face as she stooped down to pick the bowl off the floor.

“You - you were shouting, yelling. You were angry. I-I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong. I'm ready for my p-punishment.” Understanding flashed across Robert's face. He quickly walked over and sat in a chair close to Harry.

“Harry, we aren't angry with you.” Robert said as soon as he met Harry's eye. “We weren't shouting at you, or even about you.” Harry was starting to look confused. “We were yelling at dear old Dumbledore.” Harry could almost feel the annoyance and irritation in Robert's voice.

“D-Dumbledore? He's here?” Then Harry remembered the burst of flames right before he had passed out. “Fawkes . . . it was Dumbledore.” Harry's face darkened, anger beginning to appear. “What does he want?” Harry asked harshly.

“I am here, Harry, to begin your training, as I promised.” Everyone turned and looked over by the doorframe. Standing there was Albus Dumbledore, dressed this time in one of his most magnificent blue robes. “And to apologize for the scare I seem to have given you just now. That was bad timing on may part, as Mr. and Mrs. Granger have so kindly informed me.” Dumbledore's eyes once again held their blue twinkle, something that was beginning to irritate Harry suddenly. Dumbledore looked from Harry to the Grangers, the twinkling disappearing at the hostility he found. “Truly, I am sorry, Harry. Had I known, I would have Apparated out in the front first.”

“And just what gives you the right to come barging in to my home uninvited?” Robert's voice was laced with anger and it carried a challenging tone. “I don't know about you wizards, but here in our world we have laws against that. Ever hear of breaking and entering, or trespassing?”

Dumbledore's face was one of shock and surprise. No one had ever before stood up to him in such a manner, and yet here was this Muggle man, who was virtually powerless against him, all but threatening him. Dumbledore made his face blank before he spoke. “Mr. Granger, as you very well know, I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts, your daughter's school. As you may not be aware of, I am also a member of the International Confederation of Wizards, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and I possess - ”

“I don't give a damn about your name or title or rank! What I care about is how you entered my house, unknown and uninvited! I have half a mind to call the police and arrest you, but I realize that would never work. I'm sure the great Albus Dumbledore would never allow himself to be apprehended by mere Muggles, now would he?” Robert was nearly shouting again, his voice filled with biting sarcasm. This time Dumbledore was completely taken aback.

“Mr. Granger, I am terribly sorry. You are quite right. Being a wizard, you sometimes tend to forget things, especially when you are as old as I am. I promise that from now on, I will never again Apparate directly inside your home, unless it is an extreme emergency.” Robert glared at Dumbledore, then nodded tersely. “If you would prefer, I can leave and come back at a better time, perhaps?” Dumbledore added.

“Oh, no! We're not through with you yet, Headmaster!” Robert snapped as he sprang up and stepped to block Dumbledore from leaving the room.

“My husband is right; you've got quite a bit of explaining to do concerning Harry here!” Helen's voice was soft, yet carried more danger in it than Robert's loud ranting had. “How can you justify sending Harry to live with those abominable people?”

Without even pausing or skipping a beat, Dumbledore responded, “It was for Harry's protection.”

“His WHAT?!” shrieked Hermione. “You mean to tell me,” Hermione began, her voice shaking, her eyes flashing, “that your idea of PROTECTING Harry was to stick him with monsters who TREAT HIM LIKE CRAP AND NEARLY KILLED HIM!!!” Hermione had stood up to her full height, which, although not exceedingly tall, was effective non-the-less. Her fists were clenched tight, and she was shaking all over in anger. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry cringe in obvious fear. She managed to calm herself enough to grab Harry's letter off the coffee table, walk over to Dumbledore, and thrust it roughly into his chest. “Read!” she growled out, before turning and tending to Harry.

Dumbledore carefully spread out the letter, and looked at each of the Grangers in turn before looking down his nose at the letter. By this point, Hermione had managed to console Harry, and they watched together as Dumbledore read through the details of his ordeal. As Dumbledore first began, his eyebrows scrunched together and fire appeared to blaze in his eyes. About halfway through reading, Dumbledore's face suddenly paled, and his hands began to shake. He deftly sat down in the chair Robert had abandoned. When he finished, Dumbledore's arms dropped to his sides, limp, and he looked at Harry with sorrowful eyes. “Harry,” he croaked out, “I'm so terribly sorry . . . I had no idea . . .”

“And whose BLOODY FAULT WAS THAT?!” yelled Hermione. Dumbledore cringed, then sighed.

“That would be my fault, Hermione.” Hermione let out an indignant snort at Dumbledore's response. “I should not have allowed myself to have gotten so wrapped up with the Ministry and Voldemort. However, I thought that the Order's talk with the Dursleys would have kept things smoother.”

“Wait, that was your idea?” asked Harry, finally finding his voice. Dumbledore looked at Harry and nodded slowly. “Well, great fucking load of good that did! Real smart, there, Dumbledore! Threatening my uncle certainly worked out nicely!”

“Hold on a moment,” interrupted Robert. “You threatened Vernon Dursley back at King's Cross Station?”

“Yeah, he did,” answered Harry. “Tried to have ol' `Mad-Eye' Moody and the rest of the Order intimidate Vernon.” Robert's eyes flashed as he stared at Dumbledore.

“You fool. The worse thing you could have possibly done was use a show of force to try and intimidate that man. What were you thinking? People like him don't react well to those kinds of threats, and will lash out violently as a last-ditch attempt. Basically, you pushed Vernon to this. This is your doing, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore looked down at the floor. “It is . . . I am to blame for all of this.” He lifted his head and looked pleadingly at Harry. “Harry . . . Harry, please tell me - what must I do to make this up to you, to regain your trust?” Harry simply glared at Dumbledore, saying nothing. “Please, Harry? I know I made a terribly mistake, and that it will take time, but - ”

“You're damn right you did!” exploded Robert. “You should be thankful Harry is even talking to you, let alone looking you in the eye!”

“Please, Robert, that's enough.” Robert's eyes widened in surprise. “Dumbledore, once again you have made a mistake when it comes to me and my so-called welfare,” Harry continued. “Fortunately for you, I have need of your services in training me, or I doubt I'd be talking to you right now.” For a brief second, Dumbledore looked as if he had been slapped, but quickly recovered. “Listen closely, old man. If you want to make things up to me, you can start by not holding back anymore. No more secrets. No more lies. I've had it. When I ask you something, I want an answer, got it?” Dumbledore nodded immediately. “I really don't want to have to be angry with you more than I have to. It's not productive. I'm willing to put this beside me, but you're going to have to prove you can. Prove yourself trustworthy again and I'll give you my trust.”

Dumbledore sighed out of relief and sadness; relief that he was still in one piece, and sadness that things had gotten to be the way they were. “Harry, it may not mean anything, but thank you. Thank you for your acceptance.” Harry snorted, and muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like, `Acceptance my ass.' Dumbledore ignored this and began rummaging around in the pockets of his robes. Finding what he was looking for, Dumbledore turned to look at Harry. “Harry, I understand that I have a lot to make up to you for. Consider this my first act of contrition.” With that Dumbledore handed Harry an official-looking paper. “It is an order of emancipation, signed earlier today by Fudge himself (although rather reluctantly). You are now officially an adult, Harry.”

Harry's eyes widened. “W-what? What does that mean?”

“You have been granted the status of a legal adult and wizard. You are no longer affected by the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, meaning you are now able to perform magic freely. Also, you may receive your Apparition and Animagus licenses, as soon as you pass the appropriate tests.” Harry's face broke out into the first true smile he had worn in a long time.

“Well, old man, you're on the right track.” Harry's smile then disappeared before he continued, “But you've got a long way to go.”

Robert cleared his throat. “Er, I hate to interrupt, but did you just say Harry can use magic?” Dumbledore nodded, and Robert's face lit up. “Really? Could you perhaps show us some?”

Harry once again broke out into a smile. “Absolutely. It's the least I can do to repay you.” Harry pulled out his wand.

“Careful, Harry,” Dumbledore warned. “We have yet to work on your control.” However, Harry had already started waving his wand. He pointed it at the fireplace and said, “Reducto!” Five heads turned as a giant beam of light stabbed toward the fireplace. There was a loud BOOM! Then, CRUNCH! When all the dust settled, five gasps were heard and five pairs of eyes widened. Where the Grangers' fireplace (and much of the surrounding wall) once stood, there was . . . a new doorway to the back yard; now the Grangers had a huge, five-foot wide hole in the side of their house.

Harry's face paled. “Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, I can fix it.” Harry turned his attention back to the hole, waved his wand, and said, “Reparo!” The Grangers gasped again; their wall and fireplace were back, and they looked better than brand new, if at all possible.

“Wow . . . “ Robert said as he looked at his wife. “Wow . . .”

“Ah . . . yes, that brings me back to the reason I came here in the first place.” Dumbledore turned his eyes away from the fireplace and looked at Harry. “Harry, obviously you need to learn how to control the amount of energy you cast in your spells. I would like to start today, it that is all right with you.”

“Alright. When can we start?”

“Wait, Harry, Professor,” Hermione said, “surely you can't do it here. We're surrounded by Muggles, and judging from Harry's last spell, they might notice if Harry loses control again.”

“Very good, Hermione. Thinking ahead, as always.” Dumbledore beamed at Hermione, who simply stared back. Her eyes narrowed at the wrinkled visage of the headmaster.

“Just because Harry has seen fit to forgive you doesn't mean I have. Once you've made it up to Harry, then we can talk.” Dumbledore let out a sigh.

“Very well, as you wish, Miss Granger. About the Muggle problem, I already have a solution. We will portkey to and from Hogwarts during training.” As he said this, Dumbledore pulled out a large old tube sock from his pocket. “Grab a hold Harry, and let's be off.”

“Wait!” Harry looked from Dumbledore and the waiting portkey over to Hermione. “H-Hermione? Could you come with me? I don't want to do this alone. I don't think I can . . .”

Hermione smiled warmly at Harry. “Of course, Harry, I'd love to go. That is, if I may?” Hermione looked at her parents with her best puppy dog look. Robert and Helen looked at one another before they both broke out laughing.

“Of course you can go, honey,” Helen said.

“Just make sure you stay out of trouble,” chimed in Robert, then added as an afterthought, “and the library!” Hermione blushed slightly before turning and grabbing the sock, her hand touching Harry's. Harry felt an unusual tingle in his hands before Dumbledore, holding the other end, began to count down.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .” The Grangers were soon gone in a rush of wind and a swirl of colors.

*****

When they arrived and the portkey had released them, Harry and Hermione tumbled to the floor of the Great Hall in a giant heap, tangled together. Harry's eyes met Hermione's, and as emerald green stared into chocolate brown, Harry felt something stir deep within his stomach, but dismissed the churning sensation as a result from traveling by portkey. Standing shakily to his feet, he held out his hand and helped Hermione up. “Thanks,” she said. Harry nodded in response, unable to respond. He was too distracted with looking at his had, which had begun to tingle where Hermione's hand had touched, as if charged with electricity.

“Come, let us begin, Harry.” With a wave of his wand, the light in the Great Hall diminished, and the enchanted ceiling seemed to dull. Soon the Hall was almost completely dark. “Now, Harry, I want you to cast the Lumos spell, just like you did two days ago in the Hospital Wing.” Harry nodded and cast the spell. As before, what appeared to be a miniature sun erupted from the tip of Harry's wand.

“Very good, Harry,” said Dumbledore as he shielded his eyes from the intense light. “Now, I want you to focus on dimming the light. Imagine you are closing a valve slowly.” Harry squinted his eyes shut harder and concentrated. Nothing happened.

“I - I can't get it. It's not working.”

“Relax your mind, Harry. You're trying too hard. Let it come naturally.” Harry closed his eyes again, concentrating and trying to relax at the same time. Still nothing happened; the light was shining as bright as ever.

“It's still not working,” Harry said as he extinguished the light. He was beginning to get discouraged.

“Don't worry, Harry,” Dumbledore said quickly. “I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to get any change at first. I believe that in order for you to control your magic, it would be beneficial if you know exactly what it was you were trying to control, correct?”

“I suppose,” replied Harry, confused as to what Dumbledore meant.

“I'll see if I can explain this. Granted, all I have to work with here are hunches and vague generalizations, seeing as how very little is actually known for certain.” Dumbledore sat down at the nearest table (which happened to be Hufflepuff). “Despite the vast knowledge of spells, hexes, jinxes, and curses, very little is actually known about what magic actually is, or where it comes form. Some theories state that every magical being or creature has a store of magical energy in their bodies from which they draw their magic and replenish continually. Meanwhile, other theories postulate that magic is rather a force of nature, much like gravity, and that we are simply channeling it through our minds, bodies, and wands. Harry was looking at Dumbledore with a blank face while Hermione was apparently enraptured, eager to learn more and having quite forgotten her anger with the Headmaster.

“It is, however, an accepted fact by every branch of thinking that an object or body has a specific capacity of magical energy that it can handle at once. In wizards, attempting to use more magic than your body can handle will kill you. The excess magical energy being used must find a way to be released, and if there is no way out, than it, for a lack of a better term, makes one. Literally.” Harry and Hermione winced at the mental picture. “Yes, quite.

“The aura a witch or wizard possesses is thought to be either a manifestation of the magical energy stored within their core, or the level of magic they can cast at once. Allow me to demonstrate.” Dumbledore closed his eyes, and soon after Harry and Hermione began to fell the power rolling off him, nearly visible. Dumbledore opened his eyes again, which seemed to be crackling with energy. Dumbledore smiled as the powerful aura diminished. “Personally, I believe that magic is a combination of the many theories; it is both something inside of us, like a core, and that it exists in nature as a force that we draw upon, focus, and direct.

“Harry, I would like you now to try and release your aura. I believe this may help you get a `feel' for your magic, and therefore make it easier to control.” Harry nodded in understanding, before asking,

“I see. Now, how do I go about doing this?”

“It is largely a mental task, making an aura appear outside of battle. Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would like to assist us in this practice?” Dumbledore looked at Hermione, who nodded. “Alright. First, you must relax yourself entirely. Loosen everything, let all your tension escape your body.” Harry and Hermione sat, eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply. Fortunately, the lights in the Great Hall were still dim, making it easier to relax. After a few moments of silence, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Good. Now that we have begun to relax, use your senses to feel inside yourself and search for your center, the singular place where all your energies meet. You will know when you have found it when you feel completely at peace, yet powerful and full of energy at the same time.” Harry still had his eyes closed, looking as if deep in a trance. Hermione, on the other hand, had her face set in intense concentration, her tongue just poking out of her mouth. Suddenly, she let out a small gasp of surprise, and opened her eyes.

“Professor . . . I - I felt something . . . It was incredible! I hadn't felt so at peace in a long time, and then suddenly, I felt this incredible energy surround me . . .” Harry opened his eyes and looked at Hermione in surprise. Hermione met his gaze briefly before blushing and looking down at her feet.

“Very good, Miss Granger. You've almost got it. The next step is to allow the feeling of power to wash over you, surround you. Let it grow and build up. Go ahead and try it. Harry, if you wish you may continue searching for your center.”

“I think I'd like to watch Hermione, sir.” Harry looked from Dumbledore to Hermione, who blushed again.

“Continue, Miss Granger, if you please.” Closing her eyes again, Hermione once again scrunched her face up in concentration. After about five minutes, Harry began to sense something pouring out of Hermione, as if the air around her had become alive. Hermione opened her eyes, a look of extreme surprise on her face.

“Wow . . .” she breathed out, seemingly staring past Harry and Dumbledore. Harry noticed the shimmering feeling disappeared.

“Very good, Miss Granger. For a witch of your young age, you have quite the remarkable aura, you know. Already you are only a few notches below Professor McGonagall.” Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Really, sir?”

“Yes. I believe that you will be quite powerful when you are older. I have thought so for quite some time, this has just proved I was correct.” Hermione blushed faintly, smiling all the same.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Quite all right, Miss Granger. Now, Harry, I believe it is your turn. Close your eyes, and relax. Look deep within, feeling for the place where there is natural harmony.” Harry, who had already closed his eyes and begun to concentrate, slowly tuned out Dumbledore's voice. Harry was searching, searching, though for what he wasn't sure. Then, out of the quiet, Harry thought he heard, or felt something calling to him. He opened his eyes, to find himself no longer in the Great Hall.

He was surrounded everywhere in pure white. “Hermione? Dumbledore?” Harry called out, his voice echoing around him. Suddenly the feeling inside of someone or something calling him grew stronger, and Harry found himself walking forward. Abruptly, he stopped, and turned to his right. Standing there before him was Hermione, clad in a long white robe, her hair loose and flowing behind her. Seeing her, he felt warm and safe, protected from the world. He walked over and took her into his arms, and she placed her arms around his shoulders. He rested his head on hers, and breathed in the scent of her hair, a faint scent of lavender. As he breathed in, he felt something swell within him as warmth spread throughout him, a gentle tingling of energy. The feeling kept growing, until he felt as if he could burst. He closed his eyes, and felt the energy change to power. He could feel it radiating around him, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Opening his eyes, he found himself back in the Great Hall, which seemed to be slightly brighter than he remembered it. He lifted his head and looked at Hermione and Dumbledore, and found them staring at him with their mouths open. “What?” he asked nervously, shifting slightly in his chair.

“H-Harry . . . look at your hand . . . it's glowing.” Hermione spoke almost as if she was asleep, or at the very least in a daze. Shrugging, Harry lifted his hand to look, and his mouth, too dropped open. He was glowing, surrounded by a dense aura that was a pulsating in a vibrant golden color. As he watched, the color began to fade, and the Great Hall dimmed once more. Harry felt the power draining away, slipping through him. When Harry returned to normal, he looked once more at Hermione and Dumbledore.

Dumbledore shook himself and cleared his throat. “Why don't we pause for a moment and have lunch before continuing.” Harry looked at his new watch and found it was already after noon. He looked back up, confused, at Hermione.

“Harry, you were in a trance for almost an hour. You wouldn't react to anything, not even an Ennervate. Then, we just felt this . . . power washing out. It kept going, and then you started to glow.”

“I was in a trance for an hour? But . . . it hardly felt like any time at all.” Harry and Hermione were interrupted from further musings when they heard a loud squeal.

“Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter has come to visit Dobby at Hogwarts!” Harry and Hermione turned to find Dobby standing next to Dumbledore holding a silver platter, upon which were their lunches.

“Hello, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning a small grin in spite of him self.

“Thank you, Dobby, that will do for now.” With that, Dumbledore dismissed the energetic House Elf, who disappeared reluctantly, with a sad look on his face. “Don't worry, he's perfectly fine. However, we do not have much time to spare, so let's tuck in!”

*****

Two hours later and Harry had just finished mastering how to limit the energy he put into his Lumos spell. Grinning broadly, he cast a normal Lumos for the tenth time in a row, before he opened up and let his magic flow. The light grew in intensity, before becoming blinding. With a quick whisper, Harry's light disappeared leaving only Harry, still beaming, holding his wand. “Very good, Harry! You've got it! I think that will suffice for today.” Dumbledore said. With a wave of his wand, the lights in the Great Hall returned to normal, and the enchanted ceiling revealed a sun that was fairly advanced in its position. “I am very proud of the work you have shown, Harry.” Harry gave a curt nod.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may also be happy to find that your exercises should help you in your Occlumency. Being able to calm your mind like this is primarily what an Occlumens trains to do. I will be working personally with you in our next lesson to see how your skills as an Occlumens may have changed.” Harry looked at Dumbledore with a surprised face.
“You mean I don't have to deal with Snape anymore?”

“Professor Snape, Harry. And yes, I do believe that is the case.”

Just then, a loud voice was heard, rapidly approaching them. “Headmaster, Headmaster! There you are! I have come to inform you of the Dark Lords latest - ” As soon as he stepped into the Great Hall and saw Harry, Snape froze cold, his sentence dying on his lips. “Potter! What are you doing here!” he snarled.

“Severus, Harry is here because I brought him. For his training.”

“Humph! Training indeed! This is just another chance to give that attention-seeking brat more special treatment! I tell you, Albus, that all this pampering is inflating his already overly large head! He is just as arrogant as his father! His father's arrogance nearly killed me, and Potter's arrogance killed Black, and endangered five other students! How can you continue to treat him like he's the perfect student? He should be - ”

“Severus!” said Dumbledore. “That's enough. If you would, please wait in my office. I must finish arranging Harry's future Occlumency lessons.”

“Occlumency! You can't be serious! Potter couldn't possibly become an Occlumens! I spent most of last year attempting to teach this weak boy here how to close his mind, yet Potter learned nothing! He didn't even put forth an effort! What makes you think you can succeed where I failed?” Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it, having had enough.

“Because he'll actually teach me something, instead of just attacking my mind!” Harry burst out. “You never taught me a damn thing! You only made things worse! I could have learned if you had been a better teacher, but no, you just had to hide behind your petty school rivalry with a dead man!” Snape's eyes narrowed as he stared at Harry.

“So, you think you can learn Occlumency, Potter?”

“I know I can!” shouted Harry in return.

“Prove it then! Show me you're not as weak and pathetic as I know you to be. Legilimens!” Snape moved too fast for anyone to stop him. The spell struck Harry, who locked eyes with Snape. Snape's eyes widened in surprise.

Harry could feel the presence of Snape's mind just outside his own, attempting to push its way in. `You want in to my memories, eh Snivellus? Fine, look at these!' Harry thought. With that, Harry wrapped his conscious mind around Snape's presence, trapping him. He then opened up the floodgates holding in his memories, and forced them upon Snape. Harry began playing back his memories of the previous two weeks he had spent at the Dursleys; every word, every blow, every punishment. Harry played them slowly, allowing the full effect of each vision to sink in before moving to the next one. Snape fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands.

“L-let me go, Potter! Stop, no more!” But Harry wasn't about to stop just yet. As images raced before him, Snape heard Harry's voice whispering in his head.

`What's wrong, Snivellus? You wanted me to prove I'm capable of learning Occlumency. Now I am!' The images began to slow down further, and now Snape was witnessing Harry's whipping. Soon, not only the memories but the emotions as well began to cross over. Snape was rocked with intense waves of despair, pain, and fear. Harry reached the memory of Hedwig falling, and held it out, stretching it as far as he could. Then, he started back at the beginning of his stay at Number Four and ran through all his nightmares. At this point Snape was curled into a ball; doing his best to shield himself from something he had no control over.

As Harry's last nightmare ended and the image of Hermione, Sirius and Vernon with blank soul-less eyes was finished burning itself into Snape's mind, Harry released his hold. Harry fell backwards, collapsing into his chair, Hermione at his side. Snape climbed to his feet, extremely pale and looking ill. Suddenly, he gave a retching sound, and Harry, without even thinking, waved his hand and a large bucket appeared right next to Snape.

When Snape came back up, he found Harry staring at him with cold, hard eyes. “Never call me weak again, Snivellus. I've lived through far worse things than you can imagine. I have had enough of your bitching and ranting. I've given you no reason to hate me, yet you do anyway. I've tried to get along, I've tried to do what you asked, and more, yet you never let me! You never even gave me a chance! You want me as your enemy? Then fine, you've got me.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke, trying to calm the situation.

“Oh no you don't, old man. Don't you dare start in; you're on thin enough ice as it is.” Turning back to face Snape, Harry continued to address Dumbledore. “I promise, if for nothing more than the sake of the school, that I'll not do anything during terms, unless provoked. But during the breaks, he'd better not come near me, or he'll regret it. I'm tired of him and his attitude!”

Snape rose up and turned to look Harry in the eyes. He looked as if he had something to say, but thought better of it, turning on his heel and storming out of the Hall towards the Headmaster's Office. Harry heard Dumbledore sigh, and then turned to look at him, scowling and daring him to object. Dumbledore looked at Harry for a moment before clearing his throat. “It would appear,” he began slowly, “that you no longer have need for Occlumency lessons, Harry.” Harry was certain he saw the corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitch as he said this.

“Harry? What did you do to him? Whatever you did shook Snape up really badly.” Hermione was looking at Harry almost reverently, with hints of concern also present.

“Nothing much. I just imprinted my memories of the Dursleys into his mind, showing him what I went through. I dare say he didn't like that,” Harry said, grinning evilly to himself.

Dumbledore looked surprised. “You forced your memories onto Professor Snape? That's impressive, especially for having never performed Legilimency before. Just another sign of your increased powers, I suppose.” With that, Dumbledore rose and invited Harry and Hermione to rise as well. “Now, I believe that has been quite enough excitement for one day. I shall come by again in a day or two once I have finished with the security measures on the Granger household.” He pulled the tube sock back out of his robes and handed it to Harry. Harry leaned in close to Dumbledore so that Hermione wouldn't overhear.

“Before I go, old man, know this: we will be having another talk soon, about you-know-what. I'm extremely angry with you on that point, but for Hermione's sake I haven't said or done anything . . . yet. You have been warned.” With that Harry stepped back to Hermione, and they both grabbed a hold of the sock.

“Very well, Harry, I'll be seeing you soon. Until then, take care. Three, two, one . . .” Dumbledore and the Great Hall were gone.

*****

When they landed back in the Granger living room, Harry, extremely weak from his day of focusing and the attack on Snape, sank to his knees and refused to get up on his own. Hermione reached down and helped haul him to his feet. “Oh! You two are back! We've been wondering when you'd be finished.” Harry and Hermione turned to find Helen standing with a wooden spoon in one hand. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, so why don't you two go and freshen up a bit?” They nodded and made their way up the stairs, Hermione supporting Harry's weary steps.

As soon as Harry sat down on his bed, his eyes closed, and he could hardly move. `I didn't realize that fight took that much energy out of me. So tired . . . I'll just rest a little while, then I'll be fine . . .' With that, Harry lay back down on his bed, and closed his eyes, images of Hermione's smiling face beginning to flash across his mind.

Half an hour later, Hermione walked up to Harry's room to bring him down for dinner. Opening the door slowly, she called out quietly, “Harry? Are you awake?” She saw him lying down, deep asleep, and smiled. “Sleep tight, Harry,” she said, walking over and placing a soft kiss to his forehead. As Hermione's footsteps descended down the stairs, Harry rolled over in his sleep and smiled.

A/N: *Pants* Okay . . . that should keep you guys satisfied for Spring Break, and maybe then some. I'm going away and I doubt I'll have computer access for a while, but I'll still be writing! Feel free to leave me any and all comments! Not to spoil anything, but the next chapter will finally see the true H/Hr romance! Woohoo! Okay, everybody out there stay safe and have a good Spring Break!

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A/N: Okay, let's see, got my bullet-proof Kevlar body suit, flame retardant body suit, riot shield, gas mask, hazmat suit. I think I'm all set. *Opens door and walks ten feet before surrounded by Nuclear Warheads* Umm . . . crap! (Longer author's note at end)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no money. I have no money. Ah, screw it, you guys don't read these things anyway. Well, as I always say . . . On with the show!

Revelations

Harry sat bolt upright, a scream echoing off his lips and through the dark Granger home. His mind was reeling from the images of his most recent nightmare, and he couldn't think clearly; all he could do was scream and scream and scream. Vaguely, he registered the glowing numbers of a clock reading 4:27. A sudden realization struck him and he stopped screaming; it was four thirty in the morning, and he had most likely woken the Grangers up, again. Harry had barely finished the thought when his door burst open and a figure swarmed in. Harry closed his eyes in anticipation, but felt nothing but the sinking of his bed beside him as the visitor sat down.

“Harry, what is it? Did you have another nightmare?” As she spoke, Hermione reached out and took hold of Harry's nearest hand. Surprisingly, Harry felt himself relax instantly to Hermione's touch, and squeezed her hand in response. He looked up at her, and found himself unable to say anything. Hermione's face was silhouetted against the curtains of her hair, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, and the bare skin of her arms were shining a radiant pearly white. Her eyes, full of concern, were glittering out at him brightly. There was only one word that Harry could think of to describe the scene before him: beautiful.

Shaking himself mentally, Harry realized that Hermione had been expecting him to answer, and so far he had simply been staring at her. Still unable to speak, Harry nodded his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “Oh, Harry,” Hermione said as she leaned over to pull him into a hug. Harry found himself almost eagerly leaning into the hug, and as he sat wrapped in Hermione's embrace, he felt a sense of security and warmth that he had never experienced before. “Harry . . . Do-do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked tentatively, afraid of Harry's reaction. Normally, Harry would have refused, withdrawing further into his self-imposed shell, but being surrounded by Hermione's presence and, with it, the sense of impenetrable security Harry once again nodded his head.

Shifting themselves so that they were both sitting against the headboard, Harry still leaning into Hermione's embrace, Harry began to tell Hermione his nightmare. “It started the same as the other one last night; you falling off the cliff. But this time, this time I managed to grab onto your hand. I had you; I had saved you. I felt so relieved. But then, you were gone, falling . . . somehow I let go. I - I failed.” Harry's throat constricted as the image of Hermione swam before his eyes, her face full of fear and disbelief, then disappointment and blame. Hermione, sensing Harry's distress, hugged him tighter, placing her head on his shoulder. Harry felt a soothing warmth spread through him, starting in his chest and spreading outward. The lump disappeared, and Harry found himself able to continue.

“L-Like before, everything went dark, except this time when I looked up I found myself in a cemetery. I was surrounded by tombstones; they were everywhere. And, each one, each and every single one, had the name of a friend or family on it; my parents, S-Sirius, the Dursleys, you, Ron and the Weasleys, Hagrid, even Dumbledore and McGonogall.” Harry gave a small shudder. “But that wasn't the worst. Under each name, they said - they said . . .” Once again a lump had formed in his throat.

“Harry, what did they say?” Hermione was looking at him consolingly, comfortingly. “Come now, I'm here for you, you can tell me.” Hermione was doing her best to comfort Harry and calm him down. She began to rub his upper back and shoulders in small circles with the arm that was wrapped around him. As if in response to Hermione's touch, Harry felt himself relax again, the feeling of warmth filling him. The lump lessened, enough for Harry to continue.

“They said, `Killed by Harry Potter.' Each and every single one of them. It was just so, so overwhelming.” Harry paused to wipe a tear that had fallen.

“Harry, you mustn't blame yourself for every single death. Nobody's death has been your fault.”

“Yes it was. It's always been my fault.”

“Harry, look at me.” Hermione waited while he slowly brought his watery green eyes to bear on her. “Listen, Harry. Were you holding the wand that took the life of Cedric? Of Sirius? Of your parents?”

“Hermione - ”

“Answer me, Harry. Were you?” Slowly, Harry responded.

“N-no. But - ” Hermione placed a finger on his lips.

“Did you order or force them to be killed?”

“No.”

“Well, then, you're not responsible. It's not your fault!”

“No! You just don't get it! It IS my fault!” Harry broke away and turned to face Hermione. “Everyone has died because I merely existed! All because of who I am! If it hadn't been for me, they all would still be alive! I wish I was dead, that Voldemort had gotten my long ago. Or, even better, that I was never even born!” As Harry finished, tears were flowing down his face, and he was almost shouting. Hermione looked like she had been slapped.

“Harry, don't you ever dare say that again!” With that, she pulled Harry into a fierce hug, effectively stunning the distraught young man. After a while, she pulled back slightly and looked at him. “Harry, if you never existed, I most likely would have been dead, killed long ago by a troll in a bathroom! And even if I had managed to survive on my own, I would be without any friends.” Her voice, which had started strong and full (but not loud), now dwindled to little more than a weak whisper. “Harry, you're one of the few friends I have, and really, my only true friend. If it weren't for you, I would have nothing.” After a moment spent hugging Harry again, Hermione said, “So, don't you dare think about taking that away from me, or I'll hex you to next week.” Hermione smiled weakly at Harry, who managed to bring the corners of his mouth up slightly. Hermione shifted herself so she was back to her original position against the headboard. “Well, um, we seem to have gotten a little off topic. Now then, where were we? Surrounded by graves?”

Harry nodded, and then took a deep breath. “I was standing in the graveyard, surrounded by all those graves, everyone I know. Suddenly, a - a hand broke out of the ground in front of me and grabbed at my foot. Everywhere, bodies were bursting forth from the ground, pulling themselves up. They were all rotted, barely more than skeletons. Their skin was grayish, and peeling away. They had no eyes, just black, empty sockets. Some were missing arms or legs, and one or two were without heads entirely.” Harry's voice then became flat, monotone, and emotionless.

“They began to chant something. At first I couldn't make it out, but after a while I did. They were saying, `Kill Harry Potter' over and over. They all began to converge on me. I tried to run, but I - there were just too many. I couldn't get away. Some started to grab me, restraining me, holding me down. They just kept coming, swarm after swarm. I was quickly buried. It kept getting heavier and heavier, and I couldn't breath. The last thing I can remember before waking up was a cold, rotten hand chocking me. I don't know how, but I know it was yours. I could sense it, somehow.” Harry fell silent, his head dropping onto Hermione's shoulder, tears trying to fall.

“Oh, Harry.” With her right hand, Hermione was holding Harry's, while her left had rubbed patterns through the hair on the back of his head, fingers grazing the scalp. Harry closed his eyes, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts of his mind. Harry felt Hermione's fingers running through his hair, and little by little found his mind relaxing. A warm, soothing sensation was spreading from where her fingers moved, drawing out and obliterating all the distress and tension he was feeling. The tears were conquered at last.

Without warning, Harry let out a huge yawn. “Harry, you really should get back to sleep.” Hermione stopped her hand motions and rested her head against Harry's. “You need to rest.” Before Harry could much as think of a response, he was stopped by another huge yawn. “See. Case in point!” Hermione shied off the bed, stood up, and pulled back the sheets. “In you get, now.” She spoke in a firm tone, yet there was still a gentleness and kindness rooted deep within.

Harry slowly laid himself down, his head coming to rest gently on the pillows while Hermione tucked him in. Sitting back down next to Harry, Hermione began running her fingers through his hair again. “Thanks, `Mione,” Harry mumbled. “For everything.” Harry closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth spreading from his head downwards. Minutes later, his breathing was deep, slow, and regular, in almost perfect synchrony with the motion of Hermione's fingers.

Hermione sat there next to Harry massaging his scalp and hair, watching him sleeping for about ten minutes before she began to grow tired herself. Gently, she slipped in under the covers next to Harry, nestling up close to him. “Good night, Harry. I love you.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek before closing her eyes and joining Harry in the world of slumber.

Robert walked back to his room, mind at ease. Like Hermione, he had been woken by Harry's loud, tormented screams. He had quickly pulled on his bathrobe and rushed down the hall, only to witness Hermione dash in to Harry's room. Robert, sensing the importance and intimacy of the moment, contented himself with watching and listening from outside the door. As he slipped back under the sheets and up next to his sleeping wife, Robert couldn't help but feel proud of his daughter. As Robert closed his eyes, he began to play back what he had just seen. Obviously, Harry, no matter how strong a person he is, cannot recover on his own. `He needs professional help. I think maybe it's a time to call up the ol' Doc.' The image that appeared to Robert was the final one he had seen before deciding to slip off back to bed: Harry had just crawled in bed and Hermione was tucking him in. Robert smiled to himself before falling asleep, leaving the house once more still and silent.

Harry opened his eyes to see his room lit by bright, late-morning rays. Harry buried his head deeper into his pillow and sighed in contentment. It had been the first time he had felt this rested in a long, long time. Not only that, but Harry felt an indescribable warmth and security flowing through him and surround him. Harry moved to draw the sheets tighter around him, trying to trap the warmth and remain this way as long as he could, only to find that he was not alone. Nestled up against him, head lying on his shoulder and an arm draped over him, was Hermione, a soft smile playing across her face as she slept. She looked so perfect lying there, asleep next to him. Harry could only stare at her, and wondered how he had not noticed her weight earlier. Harry realized that the warmth and security he had been feeling was coming not from the sunlight or the sheets but from Hermione. Smiling and sighing slightly, Harry subconsciously drew Hermione closer, closing his eyes trying to preserve the moment and delay the time he would have to return to reality.

“Good morning, Harry.” Harry opened his eyes in surprise; his vision was filled with deep, shimmering pools of brown and a warm smile, all surrounded in a glowing, golden-brown halo.

“H-Hermione, you're awake!” Hermione giggled slightly at Harry's response. “I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't mean to.” Harry's face became pained at the thought of having caused Hermione to lose sleep.

“It's okay, Harry. Besides, I dare say it's time we got up, anyway.” Hermione indicated with her eyes to the clock on the other side of the room, which read just after eleven o'clock. “Come on, let's get up and get ready to face the day.” Harry looked down at the edge of the sheets.

“Hermione, I'd - I'd rather not. I don't think I can do it. I just want to stay here where it's safe and sound, with you. Harry pulled Hermione a little closer and rested his head against hers. “I'm afraid, `Mione. I don't know what will happen to me. What if we are attacked, and I die? Or worse, you die? I just, I want to stay where it's safe. To escape everything.”

While not unexpected, Hermione was still unsettled; she was still trying to get used to this new Harry, as opposed to the old Harry that never gave up, that kept going no matter what. “Harry . . . nothing's stopped you from living your life before. You've never let it. So, why start now? You may be safe, but would you be truly alive? Is running from fear really living?” Harry was looking contemplative, and Hermione knew she was close to consoling Harry. Suddenly, an idea struck her. “Besides, Harry, if you never left this bed, how would you eat, what would you drink? And, if you did stay in here forever . . . ” Hermione leaned closer and in a voice little above a whisper continued, “ . . . you'd stink something awful!”

Harry, despite himself, laughed a little at this. Harry drew in a deep breath and released it, lost in the contentment of the moment. However, as the air rapidly rushed from his lungs, so too did the feeling of happiness that had suddenly flared up; as if his very breath was carrying it away, scattered to the winds. Harry stared at Hermione a moment before he spoke. “Hermione . . . so much has happened, I don't know if I can handle any more. I don't know what to do anymore.”

“Harry, it's okay, you don't have to have all the answers.” She paused a moment, looking at Harry with the utmost conviction and sincerity she could muster. Her eyes suddenly seemed to glow, and a smile spread its way across her mouth. “That's my job.” A barrage of images swam before Harry's mind; each one showing Hermione hunched over a stack of books or reading something with her nose mere inches from the pages. Once again, Harry found himself smiling. “You just focus on keeping on living, Harry. I'll take care of the rest, okay?”

“O-Okay. And, thanks, `Mione, for always taking care of me.”

“Oh, don't mention it. It's nothing at all, really.” Hermione was doing her best not to look and sound too happy with herself, and was failing. Still smiling, Hermione slipped away from Harry and stood up next to the bed (rather reluctantly on her part). “All right, lazy bones, time to get up! As late as it is, I'm surprised you're not - ” Hermione stopped as a low, loud rumbling sound rolled out from beneath the bed sheets. “ - hungry,” she finished. All she could do was grin at Harry, the sheepish look he was giving her making her break into giggles. “Let's go change and clean up a bit, and then we can go down and get something to eat.” Seeing Harry nod, Hermione slipped quietly out of Harry's room and back into her own.

After a quick shower for Harry and a rather long battle with a brush for Hermione, they both met each other on the landing outside their rooms fifteen minutes later. “Come on, let's go and see what's for breakfast.” Hermione looked down at the new watch on her right wrist she had purchased two days ago while shopping for Harry. “Or, should I say, lunch.” Hermione smiled at Harry before leading the way downstairs, Harry directly behind her. As they neared the kitchen, they heard the sounds of someone bustling about inside.

“Oh, you two are finally up and out of bed!” Helen walked over to Hermione, wrapped her in a hug, and planted a kiss on top of her head. “Good morning sweetheart. Or what's left of it.” Helen then turned and gave Harry a small hug as well. “Good morning to you, too, Harry.” Helen stepped back to the stove where a pot of water was beginning to boil. “What would you two like to eat? I imagine you must be quite hungry, especially you Harry. I'm fixing some noodle soup, if you'd like some.” Harry and Hermione nodded their approval before walking over and joining Robert in sitting at the table. As they sat down, Robert lowered and folded the newspaper he had been reading and looked at them, smiling.

“Morning, you two. How are we feeling this fine almost-noon morning?” Hermione rolled her eyes at her father's cheeky grin.

“I'm fine, Dad. I feel nice and well-rested.”

“Well, I would certainly hope so, seeing as how you've slept almost half the day away!” Robert noticed Harry's face fall slightly. “Harry, it's all right, you two are both free to do whatever you feel like here, be it reading, swimming, staying up late, or sleeping all day. It's summertime; your time. Use it however you see fit. Just don't spend the entire summer studying.”

“Dad!” Hermione let out an indignant huff. “I'm not all about books, you know that!” Just then, Helen walked over, lunch in her hands.

“Hermione's right, dear.” Hermione shot her father a smug look. “You forgot about all the practicing.”

“MUM!” Hermione folded her arms over her chest; slouching back in her chair and giving off a pout that made Helen and Robert break out laughing, with Harry joining in shortly after. It wasn't too long until Hermione dropped her scowl and managed a few chuckles herself. After a few minutes, when they had all settled down, they began to eat their lunches that Helen had finished serving. While he ate, Harry observed Hermione closely, swallowing his food before asking the foremost question on his mind.

“Hermione? When your mother mentioned practicing, did she mean you practiced wand movements and spell incantations?” Helen and Robert looked at each other and laughed. Hermione shot them both a harsh glare, which only served to make them laugh again. Harry sat there, completely confused as to what was going on. Hermione turned towards Harry and sighed, more to herself than anything else.

“Harry, what my dear Mother - ” Hermione shot Helen another glare, which was returned by a large, toothy grin; “ - was referring to was practice of a different sort. I've never mentioned this at Hogwarts, but I . . . I play . . . the cello.” Hermione looked at her hands, too nervous to look and see the reaction she would get from Harry. Harry, however, was looking at Hermione with a blank stare.

“Um, Hermione . . . what's a cello?” The grin slowly disappeared off Helen's face, Robert lost some of the sparkle in his eyes, and Hermione snapped her head up and blinked at Harry in disbelief.

“But, Harry, didn't your primary school have a strings program? That's how I got started.” Harry slowly shook his head, a confused look on his face.

“Strings . . ?”

“Yeah, you know; orchestra, band, symphony.” Harry's confused look remained, although it had lessened slightly. “Haven't - haven't you ever been to a concert?” This time, Harry's face fell, full of sadness.

“No.” Harry's voice was low, compounded by the fact that he had lowered his head and was speaking into his lunch. “The Dursleys never took me anywhere or to anything, if they could help it. Before Hogwarts, I hadn't gone any farther from home than my school or the zoo. I never deserved to go anywhere.”

Hermione looked horrified. “Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I didn't mean to upset you. Oh, I'm such a lousy friend. Please forgive me.” Hermione took a deep breath, preparing to begin again, at which point Robert decided to jump in.

“Harry, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It is in no way your fault the way you were brought up. It all comes back to these Dursleys. Understand, Harry, that whatever they said or did doesn't matter anymore. You no longer need to worry yourself with them; you are free of them now.” Harry looked up quickly, his eyes full of question and hope, fixing his gaze on Robert, as if pleading. Robert smiled kindly and answered Harry's unasked question. “Yes, Harry, you really are free. You never have to deal with the Dursleys again for the rest of your life.” Harry's eyes brightened as the first true signs of life returned to them for the first time since after the disaster at the Department of Mysteries. That small change alone seemed to alter Harry's entire appearance; he looked somehow younger and carefree, an almost tangible humor waiting to burst from beneath his very skin. Upon witnessing this transformation, the Grangers felt an inexplicable happiness well within them, and Robert actually laughed out. As Hermione looked at Harry, her stomach tingled and her heart fluttered and, for all intents and purposes, she fell in love with him all over again. “That's the spirit, Harry,” said Robert, mirthful eyes and trademark grin in place. “Time to be the master of your own fate.”

Time seemed to slow down for Harry upon hearing Robert's last words. The room became oddly silent and still, broken only by the unearthly echoing voice of Sibyll Trelawney as his memory of the Prophecy played before him. ` . . . And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . .' With a speed that startled all three of the Grangers, Harry's eyes deadened and his face hardened as he seemed to shrink up inside himself once more. A fell wind seemed to blow through the kitchen, dragging with it every aspect of the cheer that had previously pervaded the entire room. Hermione shivered slightly. In a dark voice that should never belong to a man so young, Harry responded to Robert's statement, “More like fate is the master of me.” Harry then lowered his head and began to poke at the noodles sitting in front of him, his appetite gone. Harry's sudden and rapid mood change had shaken the Grangers thoroughly, and the rest of the meal was carried out in relative silence, only being broken by the sounds of silverware scraping against the bowls.

Helen and Robert finished at around the same time, while Harry had barely even touched his food and Hermione had fared little better, being too concerned about Harry to give much thought to her lunch. As Helen and Robert stood up to clear their places, Helen decided to try and break the silent tension hanging in the air. She cleared her throat before addressing the two teens. “Well, your father and I are about ready to head back to the office now. Our lunch break is about over, and we're due back for appointments at one thirty.” She turned to take her bowl over to the sink, where Robert was already busy rinsing off his own, before turning back. “Oh, I've just remembered; Hermione, I found that letter of Harry's in the wash. It should be sitting there on the table somewhere.”

Harry looked at Hermione expectantly, forcing her to pick up the letter and hand it to Harry with shaking hands. When Harry took the envelope in his hands, a strange tingling wept through him in a wave, and the parchment glowed a bright blue briefly. As Harry sat looking intently at the envelope in his hands, noting the address and the seal of Gringotts, Hermione bit her lower lip out of sheer nerves, anxiety welling up inside her at the inevitable outcome. In one sift, deft movement Harry had broken the seal and opened the envelope, the letter peeping out harmlessly.

Harry reached for the official-looking letter slowly, hesitantly; afraid of what its contents might hold yet somehow knowing all the same what a letter from Gringotts would contain. With shaking hands, Harry opened the letter, spreading it out before him, before reading it aloud, unable to bear the thought of reading it silently in his head and needing to hear it to confirm the reality.

“Mr. Harry Potter;

It is with deep regret and condolence that we write to you in your time of grief, to inform you of the reading of the last will and testament of Sirius Black, last remaining heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Your presence is requested at the reading, being mentioned as a recipient in the will. The reading will take place in three days time on Thursday the 25^th; arrive at the main lobby of Gringotts at ten o'clock. You may bring any number of guests, at your discretion. If you fail to show, your share of the inheritance will be claimed by the Ministry of Magic and be transferred to the general treasury.

Once again, we send you our deepest condolences in this difficult time.

Rishgall, Head Goblin

Gringotts Wizard Bank

When Harry had finished reading the letter, his weak voice fading away into nothing, the room became absolutely silent. Hermione sat with her breath held, waiting for Harry's reaction while trying to think of responses to them. Robert and Helen had ceased their movements at the beginning of the letter; Robert halfway through placing his dishes in the washer, Helen standing with her bowl still in hand. The silence seemed to stretch on and on, each second more unbearable than the last.

In stark contrast to the deathly silence of the kitchen, inside of Harry was a loud, whirling, violent mix of thoughts and emotions. Harry sat clutching to the paper, his breathing ragged and uneven, hands crinkling the parchment with a white-knuckled grip. The letters and words began to blur together, and Harry blinked furiously, doing his hardest to maintain his rapidly deteriorating composure. All his life, he had learned that to show any sign of emotion meant revealing weakness. He had already been weak and lost control before; he must be strong and in control now. He must be strong. He must be strong and fight it. Fight his emotions. Fight his weakness. Fight against the growing wail of misery and anguish, swelling and ready to burst. Fight against the tight, dry feeling in his throat, against the tears springing forth. A dry, choked sound escaped his mouth, and a single tear fell, landing with an audible plop on the rigid parchment in Harry's hands.

The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the Granger kitchen. “Harry . . .” Hermione stopped, unsure of what to say. So, she did the only thing she could think to do; she moved closer to Harry, until she was practically touching him. The small scuffles her chair made on the polished linoleum floor seemed to have been missed entirely by Harry. She slowly reached out to place her hand on Harry's arm, finding it almost completely seized up; it was surprising he hadn't torn the letter in two. At Hermione's touch, Harry trembled and another strained, choked sound escaped his throat.

“Harry, you shouldn't hold it all in.” Hermione's voice reached out, touching Harry in its soft solemnity, although its own tones of mourning were not lost on him. “It's okay to mourn, Harry. We all need to, every now and then. S-Sirius, he . . . he wouldn't want you to live like this. Let go, Harry, let go.” Harry's hands, which had slowly begun to twitch as Hermione spoke, were now shaking. Harry was breathing heavily, shakily. With a sniff and a small sob, the letter was released from Harry's hands and began floating down. Before it even hit the table, Harry turned and buried his head on Hermione's right shoulder, his hands gripping the fabric of her sleeves. Harry's control gone, the tears began to fall, and the mournful wail escaped, bursting forth with such ferocity that Robert and Helen found themselves holding each other for support. So deep was the sadness and grief held within his cries, so much pain and suffering, that it seemed his very soul was being torn from his body, rent away with ruthless, merciless force. Within Harry's cries was the undeniable, almost tangible evidence of great and terrible pain, pain such as the normal person never dreams of experiencing.

Meanwhile, Hermione could think of nothing to say; what mere words could she possibly use that would comfort Harry? Taking over for her head, Hermione's heart told her what to do, and so she wrapped her arms around Harry, surrounding and embracing him. Though she could feel dampness spreading outwards from her shoulder, Hermione didn't care, nor would she have dared to remove the source. The only thing Hermione could think of was how much pain and grief Harry was releasing, and wonder over it. `How long has he held this in? How much is he still holding back? How much more will he have to deal with?' Dimly, Hermione was aware that she, too, was crying, albeit silently. `Look at yourself! Pull yourself together; Harry needs you to be strong.' With a slight sniff, Hermione gathered her energies and focused once more entirely on Harry, who had managed to quiet down slightly by this point, with one thought running through her head: no matter what the cost, she would protect Harry and help him any and all ways possible.

And so they remained, each lost in the agony of the scene, time a meaningless thing to them, yet winding on nevertheless. Gradually, Harry's anguished cries became heavy sobs, which became softer sobs, which became gentle sniffling, before finally fading away, leaving only the sounds of breathing in the room. The only motion was that of Hermione's gentle and tender rocking and caresses as she did her best to comfort Harry as a mother comforts her child. A sense of peace was settling in, much like the aftermath of a violent storm, not necessarily an easy or comforting peace, but peace nonetheless.

With a sudden harshness that made the elder Grangers start, the clock on the kitchen wall rang out, signaling the hour. “Oh, my! Robert, it's one, we're going to be late! We've got to get moving!” By this point Helen was already busy bustling about, cleaning up the last vestiges of lunch that remained. Robert looked at Helen a moment before turning and facing Harry and Hermione, who had yet to move in all the commotion.

“In a moment, dear. There's something I need to do first.” Robert looked back at Helen, meeting her eye. They looked at each other for the briefest of moments before Helen nodded once and set back to her work. Robert turned his attention once more back onto the two teens, clearing his throat before addressing them. “Harry . . . I don't know what I can say to ease the pain you feel. For what it's worth, I've gone through this myself, so I can relate with you.” Robert looked down at his hands and took a deep breath before he looked back up at Harry. “Harry, you have shown me an amazing strength and character that I didn't know could exist.” Harry lifted his head off Hermione's shoulder and looked at Robert through red, puffy eyes. “I know you are strong enough to make it through this. But, you can't do it alone, and while I am more than willing to help, I cannot provide you with everything you need.” Robert paused and seemed to be considering his next words very carefully. “I do know someone who can, however.”

In a soft, hoarse voice, Harry barely managed to ask, “Who?”

Robert continued in the same slow deliberate tone as before, “Harry, I would like you to see Dr. Kroger. He is a psychiatrist who can help you work through your abuse and your grief.” Harry closed his eyes a moment before speaking in a thick, gravelly voice.

“I - I see . . . I'm - I'm sorry for being so . . . so weak, so pathetic I can't even handle my own problems.” The resulting gasp from Hermione only made Harry feel even lower, and out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Robert's fists shaking.

“Stop this, Harry!” Robert's sudden outburst startled not only Harry, but also Robert himself, and he had to take a few seconds to calm himself while Hermione disengaged her arm from the death grip Harry had on it. “No, Harry,” he said in a softer tone, “you're wrong. You are far from weak. Any normal person would have cracked long ago under the pressure and suffering you've been through. Besides, seeing a psychologist isn't a bad thing; it doesn't necessarily mean you're crazy or demented. I am recommending Dr. Kroger because he was, and still is from time to time, my psychologist. He helped me, greatly. I trust him, and I know and trust that he can help you, too.”

“I - I just . . . I don't think . . .” Harry trailed off, his face containing a mixture of sadness and that of a lost child.

“It's all right, Harry. If you don't want to, I won't force you. I am only asking for your permission to set up an appointment and see if it helps.”

“W-what?” Harry was staring at Robert incredulously, as if he had never seen such a thing before. Robert smiled kindly at Harry.

“I said I am asking your permission. This is something that will affect you directly, and therefore you should have a say in the matter. I can't and won't force you to do anything you don't want to, it isn't right.”

Harry turned away, wiping his eyes and whispering a watery, “Thank you.” Hermione reached over and began to massage Harry's shoulders while Harry attempted to regain control. Within moments Harry found himself relaxed and calm, as if soothed by her mere touch, and even rested his head against Hermione's shoulder, finding it quite comfortable.

When Robert saw the Harry was relaxed again, he continued. “So, Harry, what do you say? Do you want me to schedule an appointment with Dr. Kroger? Remember, if it doesn't work or if you don't feel comfortable, we can stop after this first one. I think you need it, but that's not up to me to decide. It's your choice, Harry. Just say the word.” Harry looked at Robert for a long moment, almost as if he was seeing through him. Slowly, he blinked before focusing on Robert, looking him straight in the eye before taking a deep breath.

“Mr. Granger . . . Robert . . . I trust you. I know you wouldn't harm me. If you think I should see this doctor, then I will.” Harry gave a weak smile, which was returned in part by Robert.

“Thank you, Harry. You won't be disappointed. I'll try and set up an appointment later this afternoon.” Robert heard Helen's urgent voice sounding near the garage, impatient to leave. As he stood up, Harry and Hermione did the same. All three turned and headed for the garage, Robert in the lead. When they reached the door, Robert continued through while Harry and Hermione stood together just outside the doorframe. As Robert reached for the handle of the passenger-side door, he paused and looked back at Harry. “Oh, and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“About this hearing on Thursday . . . We'd be more than willing to take you there and pick you up afterwards.” A tear and a sniffle escaped from Harry before he regained his control. Harry cleared his throat just as Robert had swung the car door open and was climbing in.

“Wait!” Robert stopped, halfway into the seat, door propped open. “Actually, I - I . . . I would like it if you, all of you,” at this Harry looked at Hermione and Helen, “came with me to the reading. I, I could use your support. Please?”

Robert and Helen shared a quick look, before Robert turned back to Harry and addressed in complete solemnity, “Thank you, Harry. We would be honored to go. When we return, we can talk more about everything. Right now, we're in a bit of a hurry, unfortunately.”

Helen leaned over to better speak with Harry and Hermione. “We'd rather stay and discuss things, but we have appointments to attend, and bills to pay. We'll be back as soon as we can. Until then, take it easy and relax. You've had enough excitement for one day. Maybe you should take a walk through the park; that's always soothing.” Helen looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Oh, dear heavens, we're late! Sorry kids, but we really have to go!” With that, Robert closed the door, Helen put the car in gear, and they rolled off, Harry and Hermione waving goodbye sadly from the door.

Hermione turned and looked at Harry, who was staring morosely at the spot the Grangers' car had just sat. “Come on, Harry, let's take Mum's suggestion and go walk for a while in the park. It's a nice day out, and the flowers and trees will look beautiful.” Silently, Harry nodded and followed Hermione, setting out once more for the park.

Miles away in his office, Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief as the last of the dark storm clouds vanished from over the Granger residence, returning the sky to its previous cheery blue. For the past half-hour or so, a fierce storm had blown up seemingly out of nowhere and raged on, with the center seemingly right over the Grangers and Harry. With a wave of his hand, the many magical instruments in front of him fell silent, save for the faint and regular puffing sounds, and the image of the Granger residence faded into thin air.

“Well, Fawkes, it would appear Harry has finally received his Gringotts letter.” As if in reply, Fawkes trilled out three melodious notes. “Hmm, yes, I suppose so. For Harry's next lesson, I will instruct him in the control of his emotions in his spell casting, which should hopefully help prevent things like this from happening again. It wouldn't do well for Voldemort to discover his whereabouts this soon.” Fawkes chirped again in agreement while Dumbledore resumed concentrating on building up the wards over the Grangers'.

When Harry and Hermione arrived at the park, it was surprisingly empty for being just after two in the afternoon, with no one in sight. As the two began a slow, leisurely pace, Harry let his mind drift away, no longer wanting to think about anything that had happened. No thoughts of Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Snape, Death Eaters, Voldemort, the Department of Mysteries fiasco, the death of Sirius, his friends, or his last two weeks with the Dursleys; all Harry allowed to soak in was the warmth of the sun on his skin, the gentle breeze blowing his hair, and the multitude of colors surrounding him.

Hermione, on the other hand, was too busy managing her thoughts to give pause to her surroundings. All her thoughts were centered on Harry; what he had been through, what he was going through, what he was soon to go through again, his newfound magical prowess, and certainly not least of all her feelings for Harry. She knew she would have to bring it up eventually, and certainly wasn't looking forward to that moment. Hermione snuck a quick glance at Harry and was somewhat relieved to find him looking at ease and almost serene.

`Perhaps now would be the best time to discuss . . . us. I don't want to place any more weight on his shoulders, heaven forbid, but I have to say something. I have to know . . .' Hermione took a deep breath and released it in an attempt to calm her nerves and gather her resolve. She looked once more at Harry, swallowed, and took the plunge. “Harry, I - ”

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, without looking back at her, “please, not now.” He paused to turn and look at her, his eyes filled with a desperate yearning for peace, and perhaps something more. “I just . . . don't want to have to think right now. It's all just been too much. I want to escape, if only just a short while. Later I'll talk as long as you want, I promise, but right now, I don't want to deal with it all. Please?” They had stopped walking and were now standing facing each other. Though she longed for an answer, one look at Harry's face and Hermione couldn't bear it; she just didn't have the heart. Hermione reached up and pulled Harry into a gentle embrace, her arms around his waist and her head resting on his chest. After a brief moment (too brief for her liking), Hermione let go and stepped back.

“Of course, Harry. I think I understand.” She paused and gave him a small smile. “I'm holding you to your promise, though. Later, we will talk, of that you can be certain. But for now, we'll just live for the moment.” Hermione linked her arm with Harry's and resumed their earlier walking. As she leaned her head against Harry's shoulder, Harry looked down at her and whispered a thank you, before they broke apart and resumed walking as before.

As the two continued their walk, they soon passed by the bench on which they had sat during their previous visit, only to find they weren't as alone as they first thought. What at first glance appeared to be a pile of filthy rags turned out to be a person, lying asleep curled up next to an empty bottle of whisky. As they passed closer, the vagrant rolled in their sleep, revealing the filthy, tangled hair of a woman. Not wanting to wake her, and having nothing to say else wise, Harry and Hermione passed by in silence, although Hermione doubted that even rampaging trolls would have woke the drunken vagrant.

And so they continued for minutes on end, not a word spoken between them, the time spent letting minds wander and appreciating the park for its beauty. Always, whenever they passed by the woman, she was still asleep; sometimes she was facing them while other times she had her back turned, but she was always there.

When the sun began to fall in the sky, Hermione's mind once again began to turn to thinking about Harry. She had spent three hours walking with him in comfortable silence, never tiring, but now the silence was becoming less comforting and more awkward with each lap, and her energy was waning. She realized that the time to reveal her feelings was rapidly approaching, and her heart seemed to strain against her chest in anxious anticipation. Once again her inner demons began confronting her, her insecurities welling up before her mind's eye and transforming her into something worse than Pansy Parkinson in grotesqueness. She began to feel a nauseas churning sensation in her stomach that intensified the more she thought. In a moment of almost blind panic, she realized she would have to begin the conversation, and the though nearly made her freeze in her tracks. She turned her head to look at Harry, and hardened her resolve. She was doing this not only for her sake, but also for his. He needed someone to be there, in every sense of the meaning. She just hoped she was worthy enough. Before she lost her nerve, she drew breath and began forming her opening words on her lips. `Here we go, no turning back now,' she thought.

“I miss him, Hermione.” Hermione froze; her nerve failed her at last and she remained silent, both annoyed and relieved. “There's just so much that I never said, that I took for granted, and now . . . Now I'll never get another chance.” Harry looked at Hermione, the sadness having returned to his eyes.

“I understand, Harry. I miss Sirius too. You never really know how much you'll miss someone, how important they are to you, until they're gone.” Harry was silent, Hermione's words echoing through his mind. A sudden, chilling thought struck him, and his breath caught in his throat. During his stay at Privet Drive, he had received many letters from his friends, but hadn't been allowed to reply to any of them.

“H-Hermione?” Seeing the panicked look in his eyes, Hermione answered Harry immediately.

“What's wrong, Harry?”

“The - the letters.” It took most of Hermione's self-control to not panic right then and there. Quickly regaining control, she decided to play it safe; he may not have even been talking about those letters.

“W-What letters, Harry? I'm afraid I don't quite understand you.” Hermione hoped with everything she had that her slight stutter went unnoticed.

“Ron's and Lupin's and Hagrid's, and everybody else's. I never answered any of them, and then they stopped coming, and everyone must hate me now - ” Sensing Harry was working himself up, Hermione stopped him by pressing her hand over his mouth.

“Relax, Harry. No, nobody hates you,” here she paused as a small smile lit her face, “although Ron certainly was getting somewhat annoyed with you.” Seeing the same look on Harry's face, Hermione once again became serious. “Harry, Ron only stopped writing to you because he and the rest of the Weasleys went on a family vacation, to the States, I believe. It's not that he didn't want to write, he couldn't.” Harry seemed slightly mollified, but not by much. Correctly guessing Harry's next question, Hermione pressed on. “And I'm guessing that, both being members of the Order, Lupin and Hagrid have been too busy with various assignments and missions and haven't had any time. Dumbledore practically told me so himself.”

“Oh. Are - are you sure?”

“Yes Harry, I am sure.” Harry was silent again, and Hermione relaxed, relieved she had apparently avoided the discussion of her un-received letters.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I - I'm sorry about not responding to your letters. I'm so sorry for whatever I put you through.”

“Harry, it's okay, you don't need to apologize. I actually owe you an apology for that Howler I sent. I never should have. It's just, I let my emotions get the better of me, and I wasn't thinking clearly, and, well, sorry.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief in her head; they came close that time. Her heart was still pounding, and her stomach had flopped over a few times.

Harry and Hermione were once more passing by “their” bench, as Hermione was calling it, and out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed the homeless woman was gone. Before she had time to ponder over the matter, Harry spoke again. “Hermione, what was in those letters? It's just that, I still feel terrible about never properly responding, and since Vernon saw some of them, he obviously knew that what he made me write down would hurt you. Please, I just want to fix whatever went wrong.” Hermione gulped as the churning returned worse than ever, and her heart seemed to shimmer and flutter.

“W-well, you see, Harry, it, um, really was, well, um, noth-nothing serious . . . I just totally overreacted . . . nothing at all, really.” Mentally Hermione cursed herself for sounding so jumbled and nervous, but she could control it no better than she could control the weather. Realizing she was beginning to blush, she turned her head away from Harry and picked up her pace a little more, despite the aches in her tired legs.

Harry reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand, bringing them both to a stop. “Hermione, please? I don't want there to be anything between us. You're my friend. Possibly my best friend.” When Hermione still wouldn't look at him, Harry moved in front of her, too quickly for her to react. “Hermione, please?”

Hermione finally made eye contact, and knew she had lost the battle. Resigning herself to fate, and hoping for the best, she drew a deep breath to clear her throat of all the lumps that seemed to have appeared. “O-Okay, Harry. I - I'm not sure how to say this.” Hermione turned away and walked a few steps before facing Harry again. “Harry, we've known each other for almost five years now.”

“Right.”

“During that time, we've done a lot of things together, and had a lot of fun.” Harry was silent, waiting for Hermione to continue. “And in that time, we've become very close friends, haven't we.”

“Sometimes it seems like you know me better than myself,” Harry responded with a small smile.

“You would tell me anything, right Harry?”

“Of course, Hermione,” Harry said. `I guess that means I have to tell her the prophecy now,' Harry thought guiltily. “And, you would tell me anything, right?”

“Absolutely, Harry.” Hermione sighed mentally. `Here goes.' Hermione crossed her fingers by her side. “This past year I've been doing a lot of thinking, and things have changed. A lot. You see, Harry, the thing is . . . I'm - I - I . . . I lo- ”

“POTTER!!”

Harry froze and blanched, his skin becoming deathly pale. “No . . . It can't be. No . . .” Hermione spun in her tracks while cursing herself for forgetting her wand. Harry, on the other hand, turned slowly, trying to postpone the moment he knew would come. Soon the two teens were both face to face with the homeless woman they had seen on the bench. “A-Au-Aunt P-P-Petunia?”

Hermione looked from the woman to Harry, whose eyes were filled with an inhuman fear, and back to the woman. Hermione strained her memory to recall an image of Petunia Dursley, and when she compared her memories to the Petunia standing before her, there was little resemblance. Where Petunia Dursley had always prided herself on cleanliness almost to an abnormal level, the woman before them was wearing clothes that were days old and covered in filth and dirt. Her hair was unkempt and her eyes were red and swollen. Yet there was no mistaking her, she was Petunia Dursley.

“You! You - you - you vile mutt! You took everything from me! Everything!” At this, she flung her arm down and smashed her empty whisky bottle on the ground, shattering it to pieces. The motion and sound caused Harry to flinch and draw closer to Hermione, who stepped instinctively in font of him to shield him.

“What do you want with Harry? Haven't you done enough, you vile woman!” Hermione could scarcely control her rage at this . . . thing that had allowed Harry to suffer so much. Hermione noticed that Harry was clinging to her arm, and placed on of her hands on his for comfort. Harry responded by loosening his hold slightly and stepping more to her side than behind her.

“You shut up, you little whore!” Petunia reached to the pocket of the tattered jacket she was wearing and pulled out a pistol, pointing it forcefully at Hermione. Instantly, Hermione's brain froze up and her righteous fury burned out, leaving her feeling empty inside. Both Harry and Hermione took a small step back as Petunia advanced on them.

“You . . . You killed my husband . . . You killed Vernon!” Petunia was practically shouting, her eyes bulging and gleaming with madness. “I took you in, provided for you, cared for you, and you repay me by killing my family!” By this point tears were beginning to fall from her eyes. “You always hated us! Always! Is that why you did it, then?! Is that why you killed them?!” Harry shook his head, shaking all over.

“I suppose it wasn't enough, then, to just kill Vernon, was it, you filthy mutt? You had to take EVERYTHING away from me, didn't you! DIDN'T YOU!” Petunia took another step closer, waving the pistol around wildly. “You killed Vernon, then you KILLED MY DUDLEY!” The pistol began shaking with her hand. “You killed my family, took away my house and my money! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!!!” Once again, all Harry could do was shake his head, too afraid to talk.

“Liar! You did it, and you know you did! But it's all right.” Petunia paused a moment, apparently to calm herself down. “It's all right, because I'm going to kill you. I'm going to take away what you took from me; my life.” Petunia trained the gun on Harry, her hand now steady and her demeanor one of almost complete calm except her eyes, her eyes that still held their madness. “I'll kill you, and your Hermi-whore.”

Suddenly, Harry seemed to unfreeze; he could think and move again. He looked from Petunia and the gun that was aimed at him, to Hermione, who was shaking slightly and had a tear running down her cheek. He knew what he had to do before he even looked at Hermione. Harry took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and stepped forward in front of Hermione. “No, Petunia. Leave Hermione out of this. She had nothing to do with anything. Kill me, and me alone. She doesn't deserve to die.”

“Harry, no! Don't!”

“Hermione, leave! Get out of here!”

“Oh, no you don't!” With a loud BLAM, Petunia fired the gun, and Harry moved without thinking to protect Hermione. He felt a sharp pain in his left arm, and pulling his hand away found blood.

Through gritted teeth Harry nearly shouted out, “Leave Hermione alone!” Petunia seemed to consider something for a while.

“Very well, then, mutt. I'll just kill you. Either way, it doesn't matter to me.” Petunia took aim again, this time at Harry's chest. “Good-bye, filthy Mutt!” Harry closed his eyes and waited for the shot, to feel a sharp pain in his chest, or maybe he wouldn't feel anything at all. Petunia pulled the trigger and the bullet sped toward its target. Harry heard the shot and held his breath, waiting for his life to end.

Instead of a sharp pain, Harry felt a heavy weight on his chest and shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, and his heart stopped. He was looking down into Hermione's eyes, full of determination. A spasm of pain crossed her face before she whispered, “I - I'm sorry, Harry.” Time seemed to freeze as Harry watched Hermione fall to the ground, their eyes never breaking contact. Harry could no longer hear anything over the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, could no longer breathe, could no longer think. All he saw was Hermione, falling. Hermione, lying still in the grass on her back, surrounded by a growing pool of red.

Harry fell to his knees, his body shaking and his heart throbbing. It just couldn't be . . . It couldn't . . . Hermione couldn't possibly be . . . She was . . . dead. Harry began to see red, and his breathing grew ragged. Harry heard something over the blood rushing through him, and looked up to see Petunia laughing. Laughing! Harry's face hardened. How DARE she laugh! Dimly, Harry heard Petunia speaking again.

“Well, it looks like I got my wish after all. Poor little Harry, did I kill your precious Hermi-whore? Whoops, how clumsy of me. So sorry. I suppose I should put you out of . . . your . . . misery.” Petunia stopped at the sight before her. Harry had risen to his feet again, and was now trembling, but not in fear.

“You killed her.” It was little more than a whisper, yet Petunia heard it just the same. “Hermione . . . You killed Hermione. You killed her.” His voice started to raise, fury breaking through. “You killed her, you killed her, YOU KILLED HER!” Instantly, all the sounds of the park were gone, and the sky overhead darkened, heavy black clouds blocking out the sun. The air around Harry began shimmering, and a wave of heat erupted around him, shooting outward in all directions. Harry stepped in front of Hermione's prone form, and where his feet fell, the grass withered away as if consumed by a great fire.

“Yeah, so what about it? It's no better than what you and all the rest of your kind deserve!” At this point, dark red-black steam began wafting off Harry. “I'm glad I did it! I'd do it again if I could!” This was the breaking point for Harry. His aura finally burst through, dark red flames, almost black, leaping out of his skin and surrounding him, outlining him.

Petunia blinked, leveled her pistol, and fired once more at Harry with a mad smile on her face. Harry didn't even flex a single muscle as the bullet sped towards him. Harry's eyes seemed to blaze with the same fire that surrounded him, and focused on a point a foot in front of his forehead, where the bullet had stopped in mid-flight, still spinning. Suddenly, the bullet burst into flames, and disappeared in a small cloud of ash. Petunia stepped back, fear outlined on her face this time. “W-What are you?” She raised the gun again, pointing it shakily at Harry's form.

BLAM! BLAM BLAM BLAMBLAMBLAM! Petunia kept firing and firing at Harry, stepping back as Harry advanced on her, until finally she heard a -click-. The clip was empty, and as Petunia looked up from the useless firearm to Harry's approaching form, the last of the bullets floating in front of Harry evaporated into nothing, just as the first one had. The ground behind Harry was scorched black and bare, a literal path of destruction.

“S-stay away! Leave me alone!” Petunia tripped and fell down, and was soon scrambling wildly, trying to crawl away from Harry. Not knowing what else to do, she threw the spent pistol at Harry, which exploded in the air after it had hardly left her hands. With a terrified yelp, Petunia scooted back even faster, until she hit the solid trunk of a tree and could go no further. Harry stopped as well, just over two meters away. Harry raised his arm and pointed it straight at Petunia, much as he had done with Lucius Malfoy several days earlier. The aura around the hand started to pulse, faster and faster, until a chunk of it seemed to break off and form a dense ball floating in air.

Petunia's eyes widened in realization, and she tried to press herself into the tree, perhaps in the hope she could pass through it. “P-please, don't kill me! Spare me! I didn't mean to! Please, don't KILL ME!!” If anything, the anger in Harry's eyes blazed stronger as his will hardened, and the ball of energy seemed to grow slightly.

“You ruined my life, and killed my friend . . . now you die.” With that, the ball sped forth, a dark beacon of death. The ball got closer and closer, seeming to scream through the air as it went. All of a sudden, with a loud ringing GONG, the ball was deflected to the left where it hit a nearby tree, which glowed brightly for a moment, before exploding violently. In front of where Petunia was cowering was a cracked golden shield, which soon broke into pieces and disappeared, revealing its owner standing behind it, breathing heavily.

“Harry, don't! Don't sink to her level!” Harry glared at the interloper, and the flames surrounding him magnified in height and intensity.

“Move, Dumbledore. Do NOT stand in my way!”

“No, Harry. I won't move. I won't let you do this to yourself!” Harry flung his hand out at Dumbledore, who was barely able to conjure up another shield before the energy wave hit, and even then he was pushed back a meter. As his shield once more dissolved, Dumbledore fell on one knee, panting. Dumbledore looked up pleadingly at Harry. “Harry, if you kill her, you are no better than her!”

“I don't care. Don't you see, Hermione's dead! Nothing matters now!” Harry swung his arm as if swatting at a fly, and Dumbledore was sent flying through the air to be pinned bodily against a large oak tree.

“H-Harry! Harry, let me down!” But Harry wasn't listening to Dumbledore. Harry had walked over to Petunia, who once again started scrambling for her life. Just as she managed to get up and started running, her legs snapped together and she fell flat on her face. Using her arms, she crawled as fast as she could, as far as she could get. Reaching her limit, she pushed off the ground in order to turn around in order to look behind her. Harry was standing directly over her. Giving up, Petunia rolled over onto her back, looking at Harry with tears flowing from her eyes, whimpering slightly.

Harry once more held out his hand and created a dark ball of energy. Holding it point-blank from Petunia's face, Harry said, “This time, I won't miss.”

“Harry! HARRY!!” Dumbledore managed to free his left arm, and waving his hand broke the bindings Harry had cast on him. Before Dumbledore touched the ground he had Apparated right next to Harry. “Harry, wait! Hermione's alive!” Harry froze, his eyes losing their fire. Harry looked at Dumbledore, bemused.

“What?”

“Hermione; she's still alive. But not by much. Harry, if you insist upon revenging yourself upon Petunia, then Hermione will die. However, if you act now, and quickly, you can still save her life.” Seeing no immediate reaction, Dumbledore pressed again. “Harry, hurry!”

“Hermione . . .” The ball of energy disintegrated as little orbs of light broke off and floated up, disappearing in the air. The fires surrounding Harry died down, and his arm fell limp to his side. “Hermione!” Harry spun on his heel, and before he had even stopped rotating he had vanished. Letting out a sigh of relief, Dumbledore looked over to Hermione's still form, where Harry was kneeling. Looking back at Petunia, he remarked, “Let us hope that he is able to save her, otherwise not even I will be able to save you.”

As Harry leaned closer to Hermione's body, he saw that she was indeed breathing, if not unevenly. Harry reached down and gingerly lifted her head up onto his knees, and as he did Harry saw the bullet wound on her back, just below her left shoulder. “What do I do, Hermione? What do I do?” Harry sniffed and kept back a sob. “You always know what to do. You've always been there when I needed you, and now when you need me, I can't do a thing.” A single tear rolled down his cheek. Suddenly, Hermione shuddered, almost a spasm.

“No, you can't go. Please, you can't!” Harry leaned closer as first one tear, than another fell. “You can't go, I need you! Hermione, you're my everything; I'm lost without you! I love you!” Harry froze. Had he really just said that? His breath was caught in his throat, and his heart seemed to have stopped beating. Was it true? Did he really love Hermione? `Look at the clues, Harry. It's all there.' Harry's eyes widened; it was the voice, the voice that had kept him sane and safe as long as it had. Harry finally recognized whose voice it was: Hermione's. All at once, everything made sense to Harry; the fear of losing Hermione, feeling at peace with her, the tingling sensations, and his visions of her. He knew; Harry knew he loved Hermione, without a doubt.

Another spasm from Hermione brought Harry back to the present, and to the fact that the woman he loved lay dying in his arms. “Hermione, no! Don't go!” Harry shouted through his sobs, for he was crying freely now; he knew there was nothing he could really do. “H-Hermione . . .” He rested his forehead against hers, and his tears fell on her cheeks. `I may not be able to save her, but, I can at least have a final kiss . . .' Harry closed his eyes, trying his best to push down the erupting misery. He lowered his head, and gently pressed his lips to Hermione's.

As Dumbledore watched, he lowered his eyes to give Harry his final moments in privacy. Dumbledore was halfway through his inspection of a suddenly fascinating leaf when a great light began to shine. Dumbledore looked up quickly, and had to shield his eyes while they adjusted. When he finally was able to see, Dumbledore stood transfixed. Before him, Harry and Hermione (Harry still kissing Hermione) were pouring off a bright, white light that seemed to pulse, much like the flames around Harry had done earlier. Dumbledore noticed that Harry's hair seemed to be blowing about, yet there was no breeze. The light kept growing and growing, and soon Dumbledore realized that it wasn't pure white, but rather a multitude of colors, all mixing together in glorious harmony. Almost as abruptly as it began, the light went out, and Dumbledore was left momentarily blind.

Harry wasn't sure how long he held the kiss, and he didn't care. It was to be his first, only, and last kiss with Hermione, so why should it be short? Harry let himself go, let himself get taken up in the experience, in the feeling of kissing Hermione. He was unaware, therefore, when Hermione deepened the kiss. He was aware, however, when a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Harry pulled away, looking unbelievingly, confounded at the smiling face of Hermione. “Y-you're alive . . . . You're alive!” Harry's face split into a huge grin, and he pulled Hermione tight. “YOU'RE ALIVE!” Harry could barely contain the joy and exhilaration he felt, and as he pulled out of the embrace, he couldn't help but keep saying “You're alive,” over and over again, until Hermione reached up with one hand and clamped it over his mouth

“Harry?” Hermione lifter her hand so he could reply.

“Yes, Hermione?” Hermione covered his mouth again to prevent him from continuing his chant.

“Shut up and kiss me again.” Hermione shifted her hand from Harry's mouth to his hair as their lips met again, and the rest of the world faded away.

Petunia sat up, and glared at the two. `I killed that freak! Why is she still alive?' Unnoticed by Dumbledore, Petunia scrambled to her feet, the Leg-Locker curse having disappeared when Harry stopped his attack. From one of her many torn and tattered pockets, she pulled out a gleaming six-inch kitchen knife. She began a mad dash at the two teens, shouting at the top of her voice, “Damn you freaks, why won't you die?!” Harry and Hermione looked up just in time to see Petunia leap savagely at them, knife drawn, a demented grin on her face. Hermione grabbed Harry's left arm in fear, while Harry, acting on instinct, threw up his right arm as if to protect them.

With a resounding THUMP, Petunia crashed into an invisible barrier, losing her grip on the knife, and was sent flying back several meters. When she landed (on her back), she looked up dazed, before she began screaming as the knife, which was thrown back with her, began its descent. Hermione buried her head in Harry's shoulder while Harry looked on in grim satisfaction as the knife landed with a sickening sound smack in the middle of Petunias forehead, ending her scream and her life. The dark clouds finally disappeared from the sky, and the sounds of the park resumed playing, while Harry and Hermione sat and stared at the dead corpse of Petunia Dursley.

Harry heard the sounds of someone drawing near, and drew Hermione close to him in a protective position, while turning to face this new threat, only to find Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked down sadly at Harry before speaking softly, “Harry, I'm terribly sorry. If only I could have gotten here sooner.” Harry looked back at his dead aunt, then back at Dumbledore.

“Dumbledore, sir?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I - I'm sorry, for what I did to you. I - I wasn't in control. And, thank you; thank you for stopping me. You were right.” Harry looked away from Dumbledore, as if he was ashamed.

“Harry, no apologies needed. I understand completely. Besides, no serious damage was done.” Dumbledore paused and looked around. “Well, maybe there was some damage.” Harry looked up, and noticed some of the twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes.

“B-but what about my Aunt?” The twinkle vanished, and Dumbledore heaved a large sigh.

“I'm afraid that, after the loss of her family and most of her possessions, Petunia Dursley went quite insane.”

“Does - does that mean that . . . that . . .”

“Yes, Harry. I'm afraid that Dudley Dursley is indeed dead.”

“How.” Harry appeared almost calm, yet Dumbledore knew what was going on behind the mask. Harry had just lost his family, and while they had mistreated him, they were his family.

“It wasn't Voldemort, I assure you. No, in some ways, Dudley's death was more tragic; it was from his own doing.” At this Hermione barely managed to stifle a gasp, and Harry's eyes widened, clearly not expecting this. Dumbledore bowed his head before continuing. “When Vernon was killed, both Dudley and Petunia took the loss hard. Petunia, however, remained strong if for nothing more than for her son. Dudley, however, was completely depressed. One night, Dudley went out with his gang, and drunk himself to death. He died on July 18^th, at two in the morning, of alcohol poisoning.” Harry's only response was to nod once, his features grim.

“With Dudley's death so soon after Vernon's, and the costs of the funerals and burials, Petunia was left with very little. The scant amount she did have, she spent on alcohol, and went in search of you, Harry, attempting revenge. That is how she came to be here.” Dumbledore had walked over and was kneeling next to Petunia's body. When he finished talking, Dumbledore vanished the knife and closed her eyes.

“But, how do you know?” Dumbledore turned and looked at Hermione.

“As soon as I saw the double obituary of Vernon and Dudley, I made it my business to know. Using certain . . . methods . . . I was able to attain the information I just presented to you.” Dumbledore looked long and hard at Harry before speaking again. “Understand, Harry, that you had in no way any involvement in these happenings. Everything that happened did so because of the Dursleys' own faults. Vernon's greed brought Malfoy to him, Dudley's continual substance abuse set him up perfectly, and Petunia's inability to handle the situation caused her to snap. Do not blame yourself. For once, it isn't your fault in the slightest.”

Dumbledore stood to rise, and invited Harry and Hermione to do so as well. Harry was up first, but began to wobble. Before he lost his balance, Hermione was there supporting him. Harry looked once more upon Petunia's lifeless body, before turning to the aged Professor and asking, “Dumbledore, sir, what are we going to do with . . . her? We can't just leave her here. It's, it's not right.”

“You're right, Harry. I will take care of the matter, don't worry. I'll call the police, and tell them that she tried to attack me, and was killed in self-defense. You and Hermione can go on back to your home. You've dealt with enough.” They both looked as if they were about to protest. “Please, you two. Let me do this as a favor, for all that I've failed to do.” Harry and Hermione shared a look, an entire conversation taking place at once. It was Hermione that addressed Dumbledore.

“All right, Professor. And, thank you.” With a solemn nod from Dumbledore, Harry and Hermione set off, hand in hand. When they had rounded the bend and were approaching the gates, Hermione looked down at their entwined hands, then back up at Harry. “Harry . . .” Harry looked down expectantly. “I love you, too.”

A/N: Ooookay! There you go, after (counts on fingers) three months, I finally got my act together! Okay, not really, I've been working on this for the entire three months. I told you guys that Spring was the worst time for me. It was just one thing after another. I am happy to say that one of my many distractions (the most pleasant one) involves a change in lifestyle; I GOT ME A GIRLFRIEND!!! Yes, it's true! I could go on and on for hours about her, but, you don't give a right rat's ass. Suffice to say, I'm a very happy boy.

Anyway, when Summer finally rolled around, I was digging up fence posts and replacing a fence, so that kept me busy. But, I hope it was worth it, because this monster tops off at just over 12000 words. Biggest on yet!

Sadly, I have to end with this note: tomorrow (Friday the 24^th) I am leaving for Interlochen. For those of you who don't know what Interlochen is, it's like boot camp for musicians. It'll be hella-fun, the only bad part is there's no internet connection. I'm signed up for six weeks, soooo . . . See ya in August! I'm outta here!

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