Their Way by IronChefOR

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 02/07/2005
Last Updated: 24/09/2007
Status: In Progress

My first fanfic. My first "creative" writing ever, actually. A long, slow, sweet story
about how our favorite hero and heroine, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, get together. Set
immediately after Book 5 and started before Book 6 was published... seeing it through to the end
now. An alternate Year 6, of sorts. There are no dastardly plots here... no convenient plot devices
introduced at the last second (such as unbeatable wands). It's just a story about how two
clueless teenagers realize their feelings and finally admit them, thereby allowing themselves to
fulfill their destinies. But there might be a few surprises along the way. Chapter 39. You Only
Have 009 Lives: A Decision You May Not Live To Regret. MI6 Special Agent 009 smiled in grim
satisfaction. “Sorry, Voldy, time’s up,” he said calmly, then turned his attention back to his
weapon. He looked down the barrel and made sure the sights were lined up true: the soft, most
vulnerable part of the Auror Kara Thrace’s neck, behind which he knew was hidden Voldemort’s head.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to the beautiful witch one last time, and pulled the trigger.




1. This is Going to be a Looonnnnng Holiday
-------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. He is the wonderful creation of J.K. Rowling. I’m just
playing here.*

*A/N: First things first. I wanted to send two big thanks out to a couple people. First to
Petronilla, who saved me from giving up on fanfics. I hate speaking ill of other people, but when I
first discovered fanfics, the first several I read (on another site) were so badly written, I
almost gave up completely on reading any more of them. That was until I found her story Secrets From The Past. It was she who also
introduced me to the wonderful world of Portkey. If you check out her story and like it, she is
hard at work on the sequel, Secrets From The
Future.*

*Second, but by no mean any less, is to my beta, MapleMountain. Without running on and on
about how much I love his story Keeping a
Promise, I wanted to say thank you for innocently suggesting to me that I write my own story.
It may not seem like much, but it honestly had never occurred to me before to do so. THANK YOU, to
both of you.*

*Finally, just a couple quick notes about the story itself. The first two chapters deal with
Harry’s handling of Sirius’s death. Certainly not “light” reading. In fact, there are only six
words spoken in the two chapters combined. After that, however, things will pick up as Harry
rejoins the land of the living.*

*Second, this story is about them getting together. It’s how Harry goes from no obvious
romantic feelings for Hermione at the end of Book 5 to where we all want them to be. One of my
reviewers used the term “slow burn” to describe this. I like that. This is definitely a slow burn
of a story. It takes him fifteen chapters just to realize his feelings. I wanted to see how he got
there.*


Chapter 1. This is Going to be a Looonnnnng Holiday.

Harry Potter’s sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had started out OK, at
least as good as could be expected after losing one’s godfather. The holiday before said school
year was another story altogether.

To make a long story short, Harry had been tricked by his mortal enemy, the evil Lord Voldemort,
into falling into a trap at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries, with five of his
friends. The purpose of this trap was to obtain a small spun-glass sphere that was stored there, a
record made sixteen years earlier of a prophecy describing the birth of one who would have the
power to defeat Voldemort: Harry.

After escaping the trap, Harry and his friends were joined by members of the Order of the
Phoenix. Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black was among them. In the fierce battle that ensued, Sirius
was knocked back by a spell and fell through the Veil of Death, a stone archway with a mysterious
veil that, for all intents and purposes, separated this world from the next. Just like that, Sirius
was gone.

And so it was that Harry’s holiday that followed had threatened to become totally consumed by
anger, guilt, and grief. Harry was being battered by profound waves of grief over the loss of his
godfather. He could feel terrible pangs of guilt weighing down his stomach over the injuries
sustained by the five friends who had accompanied him there on that fateful night. But holding all
of it in check was his anger.

His anger was like a tightly focused beam of light, like that of an old fashioned lighthouse
that swept out into the night and kept at bay the inky blackness of his grief and guilt. He was
angry at himself for allowing it all to happen. He felt... he knew... that he could have... should
have... been able to prevent it. If only he’d tried harder to learn Occlumency to block Voldemort
from entering his mind. If only he’d believed Hermione when she’d suggested it might just be a
trick to lure him there. If only he hadn’t let his friends follow him there. If only...

Every single night, his sleep was plagued by dreams, nightmares in which he was forced to relive
those horrifying memories. Many nights, he watched Sirius fall in slow motion through the Veil of
Death. He could clearly see the look of surprise on his face as he fell backwards.

When Harry’s mind felt like tormenting him even more, Sirius would turn his head and look
directly at Harry as he fell, the look of surprise seeming to ask, *“How did this happen,
Harry?”* And Harry always knew the answer: because he didn’t prevent it. Occasionally, Harry
even chased after Sirius as he fell, but he always seemed to wake up right as got close enough to
touch the Sirius or the veil.

Sometimes, instead of watching Sirius fall, he would watch his friends being injured, one by
one, in their battle at the DOM... Luna lying unconscious on the floor after being thrown against a
desk, Ginny lying unconscious with her broken ankle, Neville screaming in agony as Bellatrix
Lestrange, one of Voldemort’s most faithful Death Eaters, used the Cruciatus Curse on him.

As bad as it was to see them hurt, it was even worse watching what happened to his two best
friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. During the battle, Ron had been hit by something that
made him laugh at everything. When they were in a room containing a tank filled with what looked
like brains, he (thinking it’d be funny) summoned one of them to him. When he touched it, the
tentacles of thought that had been trailing behind it started to wrap around him, threatening to
suffocate him.

And then there was Hermione. He would watch her fall as the purple flame of Dolohov’s curse
struck her. Even now, he could still feel the warmth in her shoulder after he had dropped to her
side, though at the time it hadn’t really registered because of the sheer sense of panic that
enveloped him as he thought, *Don’t let her be dead, don’t let her be dead, it’s my fault if
she’s dead...*

Those words had become as ingrained in his mind as if he had screamed them aloud with all his
strength. Of course since this was a nightmare, his mind always conveniently neglected to include
the part where Neville told him that she still had a pulse and the overwhelming sense of relief
that followed.

All of their injuries, all of their pain... it was all because of Harry. The odd thing about
these dreams however, was that deep down Harry knew that Voldemort had nothing to do with these
dreams. He could feel it. Even more, he didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad
thing.

Whatever Voldemort was doing (probably trying to figure out what to do after the arrest of so
many Death Eaters that night), he had more important things to do that torture Harry by forcing him
to relive those moments again and again. No, these dreams were coming up all on their own. Why
would Voldemort need to torture Harry when he was perfectly able to do it himself?

About a week into Harry’s annual exile to number four, Privet Drive, each of his friends who had
accompanied him to the Department of Mysteries that night sent Harry a letter. They all thanked him
for saving their lives by teaching them how to fight and defend themselves during their D.A.
meetings. They all swore that they would have followed him there no matter what, and it was only
because of him that they were still alive today.

While the letters did nothing to make him feel better, they also did nothing to make him feel
worse. Harry had already decided that their injuries were his fault, so their reminders that they
were with him, that they had been injured while they were with him, really didn’t make him feel any
worse that he already was. It merely confirmed to him that he deserved what he was feeling.

The five letters had arrived over the course of two days. The only thing he did feel in regards
to their letters was a slight amusement in seeing how different yet similar they were. Reading
them, he was quite sure that they had not told each other that they were writing to him. It wasn’t
that they were keeping it secret from each other; Harry just somehow knew that it was something
that each of them had all decided to do on his or her own, without discussing it with the others.
And yet, each of his friends in their letters had said almost exactly the same things, each in
their own way.

Ron’s letter was so Ron, short on emotion, with a few Quidditch references here and there.
Ginny’s was full of the same fiery determination and spirit he’d come to expect from her as well as
from the Weasley family matriarch.

The letter from Neville had to be the perfect embodiment of him. There was so much untapped
potential lurking in his words that he could quite possibly become a phenomenal writer with the
proper encouragement. It also, unfortunately, demonstrated his dreadful memory, as the letter
started to wander a bit on near the end; he actually repeated a couple of things twice.

Luna’s letter was probably the strangest thing he’d ever read in his entire life, even stranger
than some of the more colorful articles in *The Quibbler.* And yet, buried within with her
entirely unrelated analogies and references to the Crumple-Horned Snorkack was the same thanks and
praise he had read in the first three letters.

As he read her letter a second time (seeing as how the first time he had to stop after each
sentence to figure out what she was saying), Harry thought briefly back to “That Night” (as he had
taken to calling it) and was actually... not unhappy... that she, of all people, was there with the
others.

Harry recalled the night of the end-of-term feast when he ran into Luna posting signs asking for
the return of the things people had taken from her. She had told him about the death of her mother
and how she wasn’t worried about never seeing her again. She referred to the voices that Harry was
sure he had also heard coming from just behind the veil.

If Sirius was now one of those voices behind the veil, maybe Harry would find him there waiting
for him when he... He remembered how though he had no desire to talk about Sirius at the time, he
didn’t seem to mind her talking about him. Perhaps it was because that she too had seen death, in
her case the death of her mother. Even now, he again felt a tiny bit better simply remembering how
back then he’d felt slightly better after considering what Luna said and the possibilities it
suggested.

But alas, Harry’s storm of anger and despair soon returned after Luna’s letter joined the other
three in his dresser drawer. Considering how everyone else had sent him a letter, he was sure there
was bound to be a fifth letter anytime now.

Although Hedwig had gone out hunting, he realized he would not at all be surprised if she
somehow came back with a letter attached to her leg in addition to a frog in her beak. This would
be the letter he was most and least looking forward to: Hermione’s letter.

Harry was actually looking forward to Hermione’s letter because he knew that she always seemed
to know exactly what to say to make him feel better or help understand whatever it was he was
trying to figure out. By the same token though, it was also the letter he was least looking forward
to because if there was any one person in the world who would be able to convince him to talk about
Sirius, it was her. And right now, he felt that he was just not yet ready to talk about that...
with anyone.

Sure enough, a few hours later right after sunset, Hedwig returned with something small and
furry dangling from her beak and a piece of parchment tied to her leg. Even from across the room,
as Hedwig stood on his desk waiting expectantly for him to remove his delivery so she could enjoy
her dinner, he could see his name written on the parchment; he instantly recognized the
handwriting.

As he started untying it, he could already start reading the letter in his mind. He knew exactly
what she was going to say before he even opened it. There was even one sentence that, word for
word, was exactly how he expected it.

To his great surprise however, he was wrong about one thing. Hermione made no mention of Sirius.
As Harry wondered why Hermione hadn’t brought up Sirius, it soon dawned on him that neither had any
of the others (he went back through everyone’s letters just to be sure).

Not a single one of them mentioned Sirius or anything about what had happened in the Death
Chamber in their letters. He’d half expected each of them to mention Sirius one way or another in
their letters. It puzzled him that he didn’t notice that they hadn’t mentioned Sirius until he saw
that it wasn’t where he most expected it to be.

After reading Hermione’s letter two more times just to check for words or phrases that Harry
thought might be secret code for *“Let’s talk about Sirius”* (he found none), he went to put
her letter away with the rest.

As he set Hermione’s letter down on top of the others, his mind again flashed back to That
Night. He could see with great clarity how she fought that night, how at several points the two of
them were practically side by side casting spells at the Death Eaters pursuing them.

He knew that if he ever had to pick just one person to stand at his side in a fight, someone he
knew he would feel completely secure about trusting his life with, it was her. For all the talk of
Albus Dumbledore being the greatest sorcerer alive (he himself had said something to that effect
once or twice), Harry just no longer felt the same about him anymore.

The way in which Dumbledore and Harry’s last meeting had ended, the way in which Dumbledore
himself admitted he’d made mistakes, it all deeply shook Harry’s confidence in his aged Headmaster.
In a nutshell, it was simply that Dumbledore was no longer his most favorite person in the world.
Now, Hermione was.

*Yeahhhh,* Harry thought to himself dryly, *THAT didn’t come out the way it was supposed
to.* It wasn’t that Harry ever worried that Dumbledore would betray him in a fight or anything
like that. It was just simply a matter of Dumbledore being knocked down a few pegs and no longer
being the first person Harry thought of when it came to matters of trust. *Much better,* Harry
thought, feeling a little more secure with that statement.

Harry was most displeased at how much vital information the Headmaster had withheld from him,
information that most certainly would have made a difference in the way a great many things played
out that year. Then, of course, there was the maelstrom that was the prophecy.

*Honestly!* Harry practically shouted in his mind. The timing of Dumbledore’s revealing of
the contents just plain sucked, for lack of a better word. Less than half an hour after losing one
of your last ties to your long-ago murdered parents was NOT the ideal time to also learn that it
was your destiny to either be the murderer or victim of one of the most evil wizards in
history.

Harry remembered asking Dumbledore if it was what the prophecy meant. Now, it was no longer a
question. *One of us has got to kill the other one ... in the end.* Now, it was a statement, a
truth. *Destiny. Fate,* Harry thought. Those were words that now had meaning to him, something
that most witches, wizards, and Muggles could never truly understand.

Once he finally set Hermione’s letter down, he looked for a moment at the stack of five letters
now in the dresser drawer. The pile was not stacked perfectly straight; he could see all five of
them sitting at slightly different angles. Harry remembered back to when the six of them were
arguing over who was and wasn’t going with Harry to the Ministry.

He recalled that at the time, he thought that if he’d had the chance ahead of time to choose who
would accompany himself, Hermione, and Ron, he would’ve never chosen Neville, Ginny, and Luna. Now,
he couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d rather have had with him than them... if he *had* to have
someone with him, that is... since they’d *insisted* on following him, of course.

And then, that was it. As fast as those thoughts had appeared, they subsided just as quickly. As
soon as the dresser drawer was closed and the letters out of sight, his previous mood returned.
Since all five of them had let the matter of Sirius go unaddressed, Harry did too. He went back
over to his bed, laid down, and returned to doing what had been doing before the letters arrived,
which turned out to be very little of anything.

Several days later, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mr. Lovegood, and Neville’s
grandmother all sent Harry letters similarly thanking him like their children had. Again, he knew
each family had not talked to the others.

This time though, he could tell that the parents had discussed it with their children and had
read the letters they sent him. And again, despite their words, the letters did little to change
Harry’s mood. With little fanfare, the four new letters joined the five other tucked away in his
dresser drawer.

Finally, after putting off writing replies to those letters for about another week, Harry
received one more letter, a rather long one from Hermione. He had *intended* to write replies,
if only to be polite, but he just seemed to never get around to it (not that he was doing anything
else at the time).

Expecting yet another round of encouragement and praise, Harry was (very) briefly tempted to not
even read it. However, seeing as how it was quite a bit longer than any of the others, he decided
the least he could do was read it. He could always choose to ignore it later if he felt he needed
to.

As he read, his anticipated sense of unfeeling indifference slowly changed to confusion as he
tried to figure out exactly what she was saying... where her letter was going. Finally, it rapidly
changed to anger once he realized exactly what she was saying. The entire letter was about Sirius,
about Harry needing to deal with his godfather’s death.



2. The Tenth Letter
-------------------


*A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. He is the wonderful creation of J.K. Rowling. I’m just
playing here.*


Chapter 2. The Tenth Letter.

Every word he read made him angrier and angrier. His first instinct was to tear her letter into
a thousand pieces and use them to line Hedwig’s cage. His surging anger, however, seemed to make
him oblivious to all reasonable courses of action (and at the moment, tearing up the letter seemed
very reasonable). Like a spooked horse charging into a burning building, it blindly drove him to
read on even further. This, of course, only served to make him even more upset the more he
read.

Hermione stated in no uncertain terms that he had to come to terms with the fact that Sirius was
gone. It was perfectly all right, natural in fact, to miss Sirius and grieve his loss. He was not
allowed to blame himself for Sirius’s death however, she said. He had to accept and believe that
Sirius’s death was not his fault. Not to his surprise, she of course reminded him who WAS to
blame.

It was Voldemort, she said, who tricked Harry into going to the Department of Mysteries that
night. *It’s kinda funny, actually,* Harry thought to himself, *seeing his name written out
again. I don’t think I’ve seen it since the Chamber of Secrets. Sure, Hermione and Dumbledore say
it out loud, but in print, it always that ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ rubbish.* It was Bellatrix
Lestrange (*Bitch!*) who cast the spell that knocked Sirius back towards the... And of course
he wasn’t allowed to forget about Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters.

Hermione seemed to go to great lengths to remind him how it was all of them who were the ones
who were to blame for Sirius’s death. There was even a cryptic comment that almost anyone else
would have thought nothing of, but Harry knew it was Hermione’s way of saying she felt that
Dumbledore’s hands were not entirely clean of it either... not bloodied by any means, but certainly
not clean.

As he read, he realized how impassioned, how forceful her words were. He was actually surprised
she decided to write it all down in a normal letter rather than sending a Howler. As he read her
words, his own inner voice angrily reading her words gradually changed to hers, complete with all
the emotional emphases on certain words and dramatic pauses he knew she would have used had she
been saying this directly to his face. He cringed at the thought that any Howler sent by Hermione
would easily rival anything ever sent by Mrs. Weasley.

Her letter culminated in a detailed analysis (well, detailed by Harry’s standards... probably
brief by hers) of the events of That Day, from the moment Voldemort sent him the vision of Sirius
being tortured to the final moment when Sirius fell through the veil. It described in great detail
every possible choice Hermione felt Harry could have made (and even a few he never would have
thought of) and showed how they all resulted in Sirius’s death, one way or the other.

She even made a diagram of the chronology of the events with lines and boxes that mapped out the
timeline of That Day. It showed how, as the saying went, all roads led to Rome. It was the Damned
Bloody Sodding Flowchart of Death! If he wasn’t so miserable, he might even cry. Yes, crying would
have been an improvement on what he was feeling.

Voldemort was singly determined, she said, to obtain the prophecy. Any possible hope Voldemort
had to ever be able to “defeat” Harry (*Oh thanks, Hermione! THAT word makes it SO much
better...*) depended entirely on knowing what the prophecy contained. Every encounter Voldemort
had had with Harry resulted in, at best, merely being thwarted, and at worst, the destruction of
his physical body.

Even *if* Harry *had* known for a fact that there was never any need for him to ever
go to the Department of Mysteries (*Thank you, Dumbledore!*), Voldemort would have stopped at
nothing until he got that prophecy. One way or another... sooner or later... he’d find a way to
“encourage” Harry to come to the Department of Mysteries. And once Harry was there...

If Harry hadn’t been so absolutely furious with her at that moment, he would have written her a
*very* short letter telling her exactly what he thought of her letter... two words probably.
While he was quite capable of thinking of colorful pairs of words to less-than-subtly express his
feelings, Harry was so furious that he couldn’t string together two complete thoughts. *How dare
she write something so... so... an analysis of why Sirius was destined to die!*

But as it turned out, he was much too angry to write anything at all. He wanted to be alone
right now (*You are alone right now, you idiot!*)... alone, even from his own thoughts. After
reading the last sentence on the page, his hands went slack as he tried to tune out the rest of the
world. The letter fell from his hand to the floor. Maybe he could use something from those
insufferable Occlumency lessons, something that would help keep even him out of his own
thoughts.

As it was starting to get dark outside, he turned out the lights, sat down on his bed, and then
curled up into a little ball under his pathetic sheets and miserable little threadbare blanket. He
hoped, he prayed, that when he woke up he’d find that this was all just a bad dream, that Sirius
would be there waiting for him. If not, he’d be willing to settle on waking up to find that that
letter—that proclamation of death—was only a nightmare he wouldn’t be able to remember.

Once Harry had finally become enveloped in the soothing calmness of unconsciousness, his
restless mind once again resumed its nightly routine: replay, relive, remind, resign. Once again,
Sirius was dueling with Bellatrix. He taunted her. She cursed him (Harry was never really sure what
spell she had cast at Sirius). And he fell backwards, slowly, gracefully, in slow motion, towards
that innocent looking veil that fluttered seductively in the still air as though there were a
slight breeze or it had just been touched.

It seemed to take a long time for him to fall. Harry knew that when Sirius fell through, he
would not reappear on the other side (in this world at least). And yet, each time he watched it, he
always had a sense of anticipation, as though maybe, just maybe, *this time* he’d reappear as
if he’d fallen through any other stone archway.

Sirius was still slowly falling backwards. Even though he was helpless to do anything about it,
Harry thought nothing of how long it was taking for Sirius to fall. This was after all, a dream,
and in dreams even the impossible can occur and seem as normal as anything else. As Sirius started
to near the veil, Harry focused his attention on the veil as he waited for what he knew was going
to happen, happen.

He stood there, his eyes transfixed on the ragged piece of cloth. The eerie fluttering had an
almost hypnotic effect on him; he could not help but stare at it. Right as Sirius began to enter
his tunnel vision on the veil, suddenly the veil changed from an ancient, tattered piece of fabric
to a drawing, almost a cartoon version of itself. The folds of the fabric were replaced with
intricately drawn lines; every nick, tatter, tear, and hole was replaced with a little box, circle,
or other similar shape. Finally, fine lines of text in Hermione’s handwriting written vertically
appeared and disappeared one line at a time across the face of the drawn veil, similar to the large
electronic reader boards Harry remembered seeing on the Muggle side of King’s Cross Station. The
scrolling effect made the drawn veil appear as if it too were fluttering in a slight breeze.

Harry turned his attention back to Sirius. The look of fear and surprise on Sirius’s face still
had not faded away. When he looked at Harry, Sirius’s eyes locked intently on Harry’s, and he
cocked his head slightly as if he were judging him, trying to make a decision. Whatever he was
going to say, Harry never found out. As soon as Sirius opened his mouth to say something, he
immediately changed into Hermione. Again, this being a dream, Harry found nothing unusual about the
sudden change.

The moment he realized it was Hermione, as he had done with Sirius occasionally, he immediately
started to chase after her, even though he knew he would not reach her in time. Right as she was
about to reach the veil, she looked at him and repeated something from her letter, *“You did*
everything *you could. Sirius would* not *want you to treat yourself like this.”*

The instant she touched the veil, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, woke up in his bedroom in
Little Whinging, Surrey, shouting his best friend’s name, “HERMIONE!”

Harry sat up immediately and looked around his room. He could see Hedwig sitting on her perch.
She opened her large amber eyes and stared at him reproachfully, as if to complain about him waking
her up. “Sorry girl,” Harry whispered.

“Shrrmmrruummph muhhhllffump Pott...” The muffled grunts of Harry’s Uncle Vernon came from down
the hall. Obviously he had heard Harry, but it must not have woken him up, since it was lacking the
usual threats and expletives customary whenever one of Harry’s nightmares actually woke someone
up.

He sat there for a few moments trying to collect himself; he wiped the cold sweat away from his
forehead and neck. As his hand brushed the scar on his forehead, he was thankful that at least he
was sure Voldemort again had nothing to do with the dream. He supposed to himself, however, that it
didn’t make him feel any better either. As his sleepy brain struggle to engage, he closed his eyes
and tried unsuccessfully to remember what he had just witnessed.

*Hermione... Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.* Harry said her name to himself several times
very quickly as he strummed his fingers on the mattress, trying to remember something. *Something
about Hermione... I was thinking about her because of something...* As the fog of sleep slowly
began to break up, Harry’s eye caught on something lying on the floor.

The light from the street lamp outside the house hit the ceiling and cast a dull glow in the
room. It was barely bright enough for him to be able to see it, but... there it was. Harry’s lips
pursed together tightly and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he remembered with distaste what
exactly was lying on the floor there. *Ah, yes... the letter. Oh bugger, it’s still here.*

Harry looked over at his alarm clock. The glowing red LEDs told him it was 3:17AM. Actually, it
didn’t really say 3:17 *exactly* since the ‘3’ looked like a backwards ‘C’ and the ‘1’ was
only half of a ‘1.’ It seems that the clock (a birthday gift to Dudley from Aunt Marge) had been
damaged when his cousin hit it because the alarm had woken him up. Since a free broken clock was
cheaper that the cheapest clock money could buy, it was given to Harry so he could be sure to get
up in time to make everyone else’s breakfast.

Seeing as how he was now fully awake, Harry decided he needed to do something other than stare
at the ceiling until he felt he was ready to fall back to sleep. At first, Harry tried to ignore
the pieces of parchment lying on the floor. He tried to forget everything Hermione had written.
Unfortunately, he concluded, the damage had been done. She had done what she had probably intended
to do all along: plant an idea in his mind that he would be unable to rid or ignore.

The harder he tried to banish those words from his mind, the more he found them entrenched. He
half considered *Obliviating* himself to purge the unwanted thoughts, but he quickly decided
against it, since he didn’t know how to properly use the spell. If he wasn’t careful, he might end
up giving himself the Lockhart treatment and wiping *everything*; he had no intention of
letting himself forget why Sirius had died.

For some unknown reason, Harry felt compelled to go over and pick up Hermione’s letter and read
it again. The weak glow in the room was not bright enough to read by, but he didn’t dare turn on
the light. The last thing he needed at this moment was someone to wake up to use the bathroom and
see the light peeking out between the door and the carpet.

Sure, the Dursleys had gone out of their way to avoid starting any *unnecessary* rows with
Harry after Moody’s little chat back at King’s Cross, but to blatantly tempt them by doing
something so vile as to waste electricity by reading at night was more than he was willing to risk.
Harry took the letter over to the window and held it up directly into the light of the street lamp
coming through the window. It wasn’t exactly ideal reading conditions, but since his eyes were
already adjusted to the dark, it was enough.

Maybe it was that he was secretly hoping the letter had somehow changed since the last time he
read it. Maybe he just wanted to be doubly sure that what he knew was written in there was really
written in there. That way, he could feel justified for what he was feeling about that letter.
Whatever the case, Harry quickly confirmed that it was in fact still the same letter he had read
earlier. *Damn*, he thought, more resigned than angry.

As he read, the crushing waves of grief, guilt, and anger came surging back. While grief by far
made up the largest portion of the tumult that was Harry’s psyche, it was kept in check by his
anger, that intense spotlight of emotion that was pointed directly at himself. He felt like he was
lit up on stage, for all the world to see how he had failed his godfather.

Perhaps part of the problem was how exactly Sirius had died. Maybe it would have been easier if
Sirius had just been killed outright with a simple *Avada Kedavra* killing curse, or even shot
with a Muggle gun. But it wasn’t that simple. Instead, Sirius was taken from him, seemingly one
piece at a time. First, there was the spell that knocked Sirius off his feet. With all the spells,
hexes, and curses, including Unforgivables, flying in the fighting, Harry never knew which spell
had been cast.

There were only three spells he recognized by sight: a stunner, the killing curse, and the
purple curse Hermione had been hit with (true, he didn’t know what it was, but the sight of it was
something he’d never forget). For all Harry knew, it could have been an overenthusiastic
*Expelliarmus*. He didn’t know why, but for some reason, simply not knowing what had caused
Sirius to fall only added to his feelings of failure, and consequently his anger.

But more than that, there was the Veil of Death itself. Harry thought about it on several
occasions in the past few weeks. When he did think about it, it wasn’t so much in regards to Sirius
as it was his curiosity about the stone archway and veil itself. While Professor Lupin held on to
Harry to keep him from running after Sirius, he had said that Sirius was gone. They all acted as
though he were dead, when all he really did was simply fall through it.

Luna had said that there were people “in there.” She could hear them; Harry could too. When she
mentioned those voices, she said she knew she would see her mother again. Did that mean that beyond
the veil was “the next great adventure,” as the headmaster had once described it: that which is
beyond this life? When Sirius fell through, did it “kill” him, or did he simply continue his fall
unaware of any change and land on the floor... on the other side, and then get up and go join his
parents for tea?

Harry had heard Professor Dumbledore refer to that room as the Death Chamber. From the layout,
he assumed that it was a place where executions were carried out. He also supposed it was possible
that people at the ends of their lives went there voluntarily to leave the physical world
painlessly and with dignity. But what *was* the veil exactly? A device? A gateway? All of this
uncertainty nagged at him; it was like wondering about someone who had been missing for years. If
only he knew *something*, then maybe he could begin to deal with it.

As he read Hermione’s letter, Harry felt so helpless against her words. He knew she was trying
to convince him that Sirius’s death was not his fault. Despite her repeated statements to the
contrary, Harry still felt responsible for Sirius’s death. He felt he needed to prove her wrong; he
needed to prove that this all WAS his fault.

Since Hermione had gone to such great lengths to show that there was nothing he could’ve done
differently that would have led to Sirius surviving, Harry decided that the best course of action
would be to do the same: to follow the sequence of events and find just one example of how he
could’ve saved Sirius. After all, how could it simply be fate that Sirius was destined to die like
that? Harry didn’t believe in that kind of thing. Did he?

*And what of the prophecy? Weren’t you just—* asked a voice in his mind.

*Shut up!* interrupted the other, *No one asked you.*

Again, the first voice asked, *So it can be your destiny to be the one to face Voldemort, but
not Sirius’s to GIVE his life to save yours?*

The second voice didn’t reply.

Once he stopped arguing with himself, he set out to do what he had decided. It seemed so simple:
simply find a way (only needed one) he could have kept Sirius alive. To be fair though, he knew he
would not be satisfied if Sirius merely survived that day. Harry conceded to himself that Hermione
was right about one thing: Voldemort was determined to get the prophecy.

Even if Dumbledore hadn’t withheld so much vital information and Harry hadn’t gone there that
night, Voldemort would have tried again. So, all he really needed to do was to find just one way to
*guarantee* Sirius’s survival. And to do that, all he needed to do was prove Hermione wrong.
*Erm... OK...* Harry thought to himself uncertainly. Suddenly he thought maybe it’d be a
little harder than he expected.

To make it easier on himself, Harry decided to start with the examples Hermione had used. He
went though them, one by one, trying to figure out some way that Sirius could survive. Every single
time it was the same: Harry could not find a way to *guarantee* Sirius’s survival. Each time
he failed to disprove one of Hermione’s scenarios, he started getting angry again.

This time however, he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself for not being able to save
Sirius. He was angry at Dumbledore for withholding information. But most of all, he was angry at
Voldemort, Bellatrix, Malfoy, or any of the other assorted Death Eaters... whoever was responsible
for Sirius’s death in that particular scenario.

By the time Harry had finished going through all of the scenarios he could think of, he was
completely exhausted mentally. Unlike before when he blamed himself entirely, his anger now
stretched out in all directions. He felt as though he knew what it’d be like to be a boggart in a
room full of people. With so many people to be mad at for Sirius’s death, Harry could no longer
focus his anger.

The intense spotlight his anger had become, pointing at himself, was now starting to lose its
focus. When finally combined with his exhaustion, he found he could no longer keep it up. It was as
though the entire top of the lighthouse had been removed. Without the reflecting mirror and
focusing lenses of the lighthouse chamber, the once intense beam that could sweep out for miles
into the blackness of his grief was now nothing more than a small unprotected flame that stood atop
a very small building on the rocky shore of a stormy coastline.

With the intense focus of his anger now lost, Harry was now finally and completely at the mercy
of his grief. And, oh, how the grief rushed his shores. The first wave quickly advanced and his
once sustaining anger was no match. Harry immediately broke down and did something he promised
himself he would never do: he started crying.

Harry never wanted to ever let anyone see him cry. He felt that he had had to put up with too
much misery in his own life to ever admit to himself by crying that it might’ve just been too much.
Fortunately, he knew no one would ever see him here in his own little mini-Azkaban. Perhaps that
was why he didn’t fight it as hard as he usually did. Quickly losing the strength and willpower to
do anything, Harry simply set the letter down on his night stand, crawled back into his bed, and
buried his face in his pillow and began to cry out fifteen years worth of restrained tears.

At some point in the night, Harry fell asleep. When he awoke, he realized that he felt
different. Something had changed. Harry looked around the room as he thought about what had
happened. His eyes fell upon Hedwig and he watched her as she slept in her cage. He stared at her,
mesmerized, thinking about how simple her life must be... no prophecies, no war... the only real
thing to worry about was finding the addressee on a delivery and whether dinner would be warm
blooded or cold blooded.

He felt transfixed by the sight of her breathing, in and out, in and out. As he watched, he
became consciously aware of his own breathing. He soon also became acutely aware of the feeling of
emptiness inside his chest. His crying had not lessened his feeling of loss for Sirius, but
*something* had changed.

He was still mad. Voldemort, Bellatrix, Malfoy, Dolohov, the other Death Eaters, Dumbledore...
they were all still the subjects of Harry’s ire. Harry still held them responsible for Sirius’s
death, each in their own way. *Sirius.* As Harry said his name to himself, he suddenly
realized that he felt differently about the way Sirius died.

By no means was Harry happy about his death; he would’ve given his own life to save Sirius’s.
That was it! As bad as he felt about losing him, Harry now also felt a sense of pride in the way
Sirius met his death. *We all will face death,* Harry admitted with a knowing acceptance that
no fifteen year old should have, *the only question is how and when.*

Since it HAD to happen sometime, Harry could not think of a better time or way for it to happen
than coming to the rescue of someone he loved. Harry had been so focused on *how* Sirius died
that he didn’t give any thought to *why*. If Sirius was giving his life to save another’s, did
it really matter whether it was by bullet, Unforgivable curse, or mysterious stone archway?
*No,* Harry admitted to himself.

His own possible death a matter of prophetic record, Harry knew that if his time were to come
sooner than later, he only hoped that his death would have purpose, and not be in vain. With his
new found pride in how Sirius faced death, Harry hoped that he would be as lucky. If he HAD to die,
he felt he could do so with a clean conscience if it meant saving the lives of his nearest and
dearest.

Harry thought back to the battle in the Department of Mysteries. What if Dolohov’s curse had
been a certain green one instead of a mysterious purple one? Fortunately it hadn’t been, but if he
had been close enough, Harry could now honestly say he would have jumped in front of it to protect
his best friend. *Does “fortunately” adequately cover it?* Harry wondered. He would have died
to save Hermione’s life.

His inner voices started up again. *You know, that certainly sounds—* the first one
started.

*It does not sound anything!* the other defended. *And I’m not afraid to say it: I would
give my life to save Hermione’s! And yes, I would’ve also for everyone else there that night: Ron,
Luna, Ginny, and Neville. So there!*

Harry resolved then and there that if his only two choices were to kill or be killed by
Voldemort, the world would probably be better off if it were the former rather than the latter.
*I, for one, don’t have any problems with Muggle-borns,* Harry thought to himself with a
grin.

Returning his attention to Hermione’s letter, Harry reread it one more time. As he did, he found
himself crying again. But this time, there were more than just tears of pain. For one thing, he
felt as though he had finally been able to let go of a tremendous weight that he had been forcing
himself to carry around: his anger at himself.

Anger was still there, in abundant quantities to be sure. When it was directed at others who
Harry held responsible for Sirius’s death however, it seemed much lighter than when it was pointed
at himself. With that weight released, all that remained was his sense of loss for Sirius, which
was no small burden by any means. There was also a little guilt for letting the other five follow
him that night, but that seemed to have been slowly fading as he had been reviewing their bravery
That Night.

As bad as he felt, now that he was finally honestly facing the loss of Sirius, he knew that he
would be able to get through it. With the paralyzing anger now gone, he could begin to come to
terms with his feelings. And the best way he felt he could do that was to be in the company of his
two best friends, plus three more.

And with that, Harry immediately resolved to write back to all five of them... honest, heartfelt
replies to the letters they sent, as well as their parents. That meant five letters to his five
friends for the letters they had sent him so soon after his arrival, plus four more to their
parents.

But there was a tenth letter also. A tenth letter he knew he had to reply to first. This last
letter, that would be the first of his replies, was the keystone to all the other replies. If he
could not find words for this one, the others could be worse. If he could not be honest to himself
and what was in that letter, he had no chance of doing so with any of the others. And what he felt
he needed to do most of all at this very moment was to honestly tell his friends what they meant to
him.

Harry pondered what to write in response to that tenth letter. He started to let his mind go
blank as he stared at the ink, focusing on the tiny spidery veins here and there resulting from the
parchment fibers absorbing the ink. His eyes landed on the word in the letter where he remembered
finally figuring out what this letter was about. He began to smile slightly (the way one does when
realizing what a prat he was being) as he remembered his initial reaction, how he wanted to send
her a very short response telling her in two words what he thought of her letter.

He skipped ahead to the last two sentences in her letter.

*Remember Harry, I’m here if you need me. We all are.*

He had the strangest feeling that those last three words were added at the last minute. He was
no expert, but he had seen enough of Hermione’s handwriting on his homework to notice that the
handwriting didn’t flow (he couldn’t think of a better word) as it did throughout the rest of the
letter.

But that wasn’t important at the moment. What was important was what he was going to write in
response. As Harry stared at those words, it finally came to him what to write. It wasn’t eloquent
by any means; no wordsmithing or second drafts would be required. The following day, after he
appeased the Dursleys, he immediately set out to start his replies.

Once he had the first, most important reply finished, he sent his beloved snowy owl out into the
pleasant evening with instructions to deliver it to Hermione immediately. He told her to stay the
night and rest there, because when she returned the next day, he would have nine more letters for
her to deliver to the four families of his friends.

As Hedwig flew off into the summer afternoon, Harry started writing his nine other replies,
which, after the first one, he found much easier than he had expected. He looked up occasionally to
watch as Hedwig flew toward his best friend’s house, slowly becoming a tiny dot on the horizon.
Attached to her leg was a piece of parchment that had written on it two words that, he thought,
very clearly expressed what he felt about her and her letter: *THANK YOU.*



3. A Pack of Thank Yous
-----------------------


*A/N: One final “background” chapter... Harry will be rejoining the land of the living next
chapter, so things should start picking up a bit. All this reflection and self-analysis isn’t
always the easiest read (it isn’t any easier to write), but it has been necessary however. Got to
deal with “Angry Harry” somehow. If you’re reading this, you’ve obviously hung on this far, so I
thank you. Second, if there really is a Kwik-E-Freez anywhere, sorry for using your name, or,
you’re welcome for the free advertising, whichever you prefer. I just made it up... it reminded me
of the Kwik-E-Mart from “The Simpsons.”*


Chapter 3. A Pack of Thank Yous.

As Hedwig winged her way to Hermione’s house with the first of his replies, Harry set out to
write responses to all of the other letters he had received. All of his friends knew perfectly well
how he had taken his isolation the previous summer; they had obviously gone to great lengths to
make sure they kept in contact with him this time.

Harry remembered back to the previous year how all of the letters from Hermione and Ron had been
extremely short, essentially doing little more than telling him that they couldn’t talk about much.
This year however, it seemed they all had free reign to say as much as they wanted. All of the
letters were of course devoid of anything that might be damaging to the Order if they happened to
be intercepted. Other than that though, they were surprisingly in depth.

*Dumbledore must’ve had some role in that,* Harry thought to himself.

Now that Voldemort’s return was common knowledge, the threat of attacks by him or his Death
Eaters had only increased. As such, the likelihood of letters to and from Privet Drive being
intercepted was greater than ever. That said, Harry was surprised that his friends and their
families had been allowed to write so much to him. Perhaps it was Dumbledore’s way of attempting to
make amends for “an old man’s mistakes,” as he called them.

Harry knew what he wanted to say to all of his friends. He just didn’t know how to say it. As
bad as it seemed, it was a vast improvement over two days earlier. If it wasn’t for Hermione’s
second letter, Harry probably wouldn’t have even bothered thinking about what to write in reply in
the first place. He’d have just written “Thanks for the letter. I’m fine,” to all of them, the same
he had been writing for the inquiries from Order members about his treatment by the Dursleys. Now
that his anger at himself had left him, he actually wanted to say certain things.

He went over to his dresser drawer and retrieved the letters that his friends and their families
had sent him. Each of his replies started out the same as his entire first letter to Hermione,
“Thank you.” Looking back, Harry was quite proud of the way he attempted to “deal” with Hermione’s
second letter. He had gone through her all of her scenarios one by one, trying to disprove them.
This of course had resulted in what he suspected Hermione had intended he do all along: prove to
himself that Sirius’s death was not his fault, that he was not to blame.

Harry hoped that a similar approach to his would help get the ink flowing on his other replies.
Ron was the first to send him a letter, so his reply was first. He knew that Ron was not one for
mushy, emotional talk, so Harry kept his letter simple. Harry thanked him both for accompanying him
to the DOM that night as well as for sending his letter. He said that it was “really cool” how well
Ron fought that night, and that in regards to the D.A., “See, Hermione does know what she’s talking
about sometimes.”

The most emotional he got was telling Ron that he was proud to have him as a best friend; he
hoped Ron wouldn’t gag too much over that. Harry spent the rest of the letter talking about
Quidditch. That was something the two of them could share freely and openly without any awkward
moments, on either side. Right now, Harry felt that the most important thing to do was to talk to
his friends. It didn’t matter what it was about... anything would do. All that mattered was that he
have some connection—any connection—to those he cared about.

After he was finished with Ron’s letter, Harry wrote a reply to Arthur and Molly Weasley. Harry
thanked them also for their letter. He told them the same things he told Ron: that he was impressed
with the bravery Ron showed that night, and that he was proud to call Ron his best friend. He tried
to explain to them that he felt they could never understand how truly relieved and happy he was
that Ron was not permanently injured that night. Harry went on to say that he knew Ron was a little
jealous of his pile of gold in Gringott’s as well as all the attention he received from the rest of
the world.

Trying to see clearly through watery eyes, Harry wrote that he understood why Ron did this, and
that he did not blame him for it. Harry knew the feeling too. He was jealous of the Weasley family
and the attention Ron received from them. He told Arthur and Molly that he would trade a thousand
Galleons for a family dinner like the Weasley’s anytime. He also asked that they not tell Ron that,
unless he really, really wanted to know what was in his letter. Harry said that he was afraid Ron
would give him a hard time for being so “girly” in his letter (but he ended the sentence by drawing
a small smile to let them know he was joking).

Next, Harry wrote Ginny’s letter. He thanked her for the diversion she helped create the
previous year so he could check to see if Sirius was still at Grimmauld Place. It was also
important, he felt, to let her know how grateful he was for telling him that he wasn’t being
possessed by Voldemort when he witnessed the attack on her father. He explained that he was so
worried that he was being possessed that if she hadn’t said that, he probably would have run away
to try to keep them safe.

Remembering something else, and with a smile on his face, Harry also told her that he wished he
could’ve been there when she hexed Draco Malfoy in Professor Umbridge’s office that night. He would
have loved to see the effect of her Bat-Bogey Hex on the ferret boy in person. He also asked that
if he ever got out of line, she at least give him fair warning to shape up before she would do
something like that to him.

When it came time to write letters to Neville and his grandmother, Harry decided to write one to
both of them. Harry started with the same praise and thanks he had written already written three
times in the last hour. No matter how many times he wrote the same thing to each of his friends and
their families, he felt each time was no less meaningful.

Harry then suggested to Neville that an official account of what exactly happened that night
might be useful someday. There was already a brief description in the *Sunday Prophet* of what
had happened that night, however it had been given from the unique point of view of the
less-than-reliable Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, of course. Harry asked Neville if he would
be willing to write down everything that had happened that fateful night, from the he joined the
others in Professor Umbridge’s office to the moment Dumbledore arrived in the Death Chamber.
Sirius’s death and Bellatrix’s use of the Cruciatus Curse on Neville still fresh on Harry’s mind,
he assured Neville that if there were any parts Neville wasn’t sure how to write, that he could
skip them for now, and they’d work on it together later.

Harry had to think a while about what he could possibly say to Luna and her father. He had spent
so little time around her that he wasn’t really sure he knew her well enough to know exactly what
to say. Finally, after rereading her and her father’s letters one more time, he decided to just ink
his quill, start with “Dear Luna and Mr. Lovegood,” and see where it took him. Once he had finally
finished it, it was the shortest of all the letters he had written thus far, save Hermione’s of
course.

In the end, he simply told her and her father exactly what he wanted to say. She seemed so open
and straightforward that he hoped it would suffice. In retrospect, it seemed obvious to simply say
what he wanted to say. However, he had been so worried about how to say it that it never really
occurred to him to just do it; it just sort of happened as he wrote.

Remembering her seeming fascination with *Ronald* the previous school year, Harry was
tempted to say something to the fact that he “and Ronald” were looking forward to seeing her again,
just to give Ronald a hard time. He eventually decided against it in the off chance that there was
something more to it than met the eye (not unlike Luna herself). Harry brought the letter to a
close by wishing the two of them luck on their expedition to Sweden to look for the Crumple-Horned
Snorkack.

With most of his replies finished, Harry stopped for a few moments to rest his hand, trying to
relieve some of the tension. He sent Hedwig off to Hermione’s in the early evening; it was now just
after sunset. He had spent the last two hours writing a total of five letters. His hand aching,
Harry was glad that he had decided to combine several of his replies into one. He hadn’t done this
to get out of writing the letters; it simply seemed to make more sense to him to combine those. As
Harry sat there rereading his letters making sure they said everything he wanted them to, a cool,
refreshing breeze blew in through the window.

This summer, like the last several before, had been very hot. Several days earlier, Harry had
overheard the weather forecast on the seven o’clock news. The local weatherman relayed a report
from the Meteorological Office saying that the jet stream was expected to shift south bringing with
it pockets of cool marine air. This, combined with the already warm muggy weather they were already
experiencing, was likely to create afternoon and evening storms over the next several days. While
Harry didn’t understand what most of that meant, the word “cool” had certainly caught his
attention, as well as the rest of heat-fatigued residents of Little Whinging.

Harry set down his quill and looked out the window. The sight before him was breathtaking: a
beautiful summer sunset. The sky itself was a pale blue; a broken layer of clouds was rolling in
from the north. The clouds nearest him were a deep blue-purple color, which gradually shifted to
gray-purple as the clouds approached the horizon. What made the sight truly stunning was the light
of the setting sun reflecting off the bottom of the clouds. It started out a deep maroon closest to
him, lightening to an almost glowing magenta the further away the clouds were, finally ending in a
vibrant orange. This, combined with the distortion of the heat still rising from the paved roads
created a shimmering effect that made it appear as though the clouds were alive with fire.

Taking in several deep refreshing breaths of the cool air, Harry again turned his attention to
his letters. He had answered all of them, except for two. Two letters remained: Hermione’s first
letter, as well as that of her parents. Harry leaned back in his chair at his desk. Rolling his
head around several times to work out the kinks (along with several satisfying pops), Harry then
stared up at the ceiling, running his hands through his untidy raven hair, massaging his weary
scalp. He felt drained mentally. It was as though saying everything that he wanted to say had taken
everything he had out of him.

He wanted to finish writing his replies tonight so they could all go out tomorrow. Picking up
his quill again, Harry sat there for a moment, trying to decide which to write first. Seeing as how
he could not decide, he pulled out two new sheets of parchment and started both. He hoped that
something would stir in his mind, giving him some direction on how to proceed with their letters.
As hard as he tried, he could not get past “Dear Hermione,” and “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger.” (Harry
was embarrassed to admit to himself that he still did not know Hermione’s parents’ first names)

Harry sat there for several minutes, inked quill in hand, staring blankly at the two sheets of
parchment. He knew what he wanted to say, but did not know where to begin.

*Didn’t we just go through this with Luna’s letter?* the annoying voice in Harry’s mind
taunted him. *Just write something! After that Pulitzer Prize-winning composition you sent her a
couple hours ago, she’ll be impressed if it’s a full sentence!*

Harry’s more reasonable side (which, not surprising, all too frequently spoke in Hermione’s
voice) asked back defensively, *Who said anything about trying to impress her?*

*I’m just being sarcastic,* he replied. *Geez, don’t get so defensive! You know, that
letter that was two entire words long...*

*Well,* her voice retorted, still defensive, *what else need you have said? It said
everything that needed to be said right then and there. We both know that THAT isn’t something you
can discuss in a letter. IF you’re going to talk to someone about something like that, you have to
do it in person. Besides—*

“Anyway...” Harry spoke aloud to stop the internal debate. He looked down at his quill that he
had been holding midair over the sheets of parchment. “We’ve been sitting here so long that the ink
has dried on the quill. It’s ruined. Now I’ll have to cut a new nib.”

Slightly annoyed, he set down the quill and again looked out the window. The sky was now a light
orange and all the clouds were similarly hued, from a shade of orange not unlike the Weasleys’ hair
to bright yellows. “Let’s pick this up tomorrow, shall we?” Harry proposed. A small part of him
wondered if he should be worried about talking to himself.

*Well, at least the Dursleys aren’t here to hear you,* his reasonable side replied to
Harry-proper.

“Yeah, that’s true, I suppose,” he replied with a small chuckle. The Dursleys had gone out about
an hour ago to take Dudley to the local Kwik-E-Freez for an ice cream sundae. Uncle Vernon had
reasoned that, what with the heat and all, Dudley deserved a nice cool treat. And besides, in his
uncle’s opinion (and Aunt Petunia’s), one ice cream sundae with whipped topping, chocolate fudge,
and chocolate chunks would not hurt the diet Dudley was still on. Harry had smirked when he heard
his uncle say this to his aunt.

*Sure,* Harry thought to himself. *ONE won’t hurt his diet, but when he’s eating one
everyday for the last two weeks...*

Harry tidied up his desk, putting away the spare sheets of parchment and his now ink-clogged
quill. He tucked his letters and replies safely away back into his dresser drawer, just in case a
strong gust of wind came blowing in during the night. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Harry
turned out the light and crawled into bed. Getting comfortable, Harry stretched out in his bed.

As he lay there, he finally realized how completely exhausted he was, both mentally and
physically. He hadn’t had a solid, uninterrupted night’s sleep in at least the last week. In fact,
he was quite certain that in the approximately three weeks since he had returned, he could count on
one hand the number of times he slept straight through the night. But still, even that was of
little relief. Even if his nightly dreams didn’t wake him up, he still felt unrested and
unrefreshed the following morning.

As Harry stared up at the ceiling, he tried to picture what his friends were doing right at that
very moment. Though he was already in bed, it was still early by a normal teenager-on-holiday’s
standards. He imagined Ron was home at the Burrow, making every effort to bury his books under a
pile of anything, so he’d have some excuse for not starting his homework until about August 25.

Ginny... well, he really didn’t know what Ginny might be doing. Ever since second year when he
learned of her crush on him, he had secretly taken great strides to not know too much about what
she was doing (but not be obvious about it), lest his innocent knowledge of her routine be
misinterpreted by her as a sign of returned feelings that she so desperately wanted.

Since it now seemed she had finally moved on, Harry decided he should try to not be so oblivious
to her. Maybe she was out playing Quidditch, or maybe she was helping Fred and George in their new
shop. Harry smiled slightly as he imagined Neville in his grandmother’s house, meticulously caring
for his prized *Mimbulus mimbletonia,* meanwhile forgetting to reminder her that he still
needed a new wand. Luna, he imagined, was probably humming “Weasley Is Our King” as she packed for
her expedition to Sweden.

Hermione was the easiest for Harry picture of them all. He was quite sure he knew what she would
be doing right now. Well, almost. Unsure of how long it would take for Hedwig to reach Hermione’s
house (since even he didn’t know where she lived), he expected that she was doing one of three
things. If Hedwig had already arrived, she was most likely writing a lengthy reply to the reply he
had sent her. If Hedwig hadn’t yet arrived, he expected that she was either curled up on some couch
somewhere reading *Hogwarts, A History* yet again, or was sitting at a desk like he was only
ten minutes earlier, doing her homework, scribbling away in her tiny but neat handwriting.

Even though they had just finished their O.W.L.s, they all still had homework assigned.
Regardless of what N.E.W.T. level classes students chose to take, everyone would still be taking
Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms in one form or another. Imagining stacks of texts and long
rolls of parchment piled around her desk, Harry finally fell asleep.

When he awoke the next morning, he felt better than he could remember feeling in months. He
slept the whole way through the night without waking up once. What’s more, he didn’t have any
nightmares at all. In fact, he couldn’t remember having any dreams at all. Hermione had once told
him about dreams, about REM sleep, so he knew that it was highly unlikely that he didn’t actually
have any dreams that night. Considering how he felt that morning, he assumed that whatever he did
dream about must’ve been something pleasant.

After making everyone’s breakfast that morning, Harry went outside and started his chores. It
felt good to be outside again. He’d spent so much time hidden away in his room the last several
weeks that it felt great to be out in the sunshine again. It was a glorious morning. The evening
storm had done much to improve life in Little Whinging. While there had been no rain (something
about it evaporating before it reached the ground), the winds had scoured out all of stuffy, humid
air that had been hovering over the city for weeks, suffocating all comfort and enjoyment.

In fact, as Harry looked up and down Privet Drive, he could see almost all of his neighbors out
working in their yards, taking advantage of the downright pleasant conditions, while they lasted.
His attention returning from the end of the street, Harry’s eye caught on something lurking beneath
the car in the drive of number three across the street. It was Mr. Tibbles, one of the many cats
owned by his batty neighbor who lived on the adjoining Wisteria Walk, Mrs. Figg.

Harry’s mind snagged on something. *Hang on. She’s a Squib. Now that I think about it, the way
her cats act, it reminds me a lot of Crookshanks. I wonder if they’re actually Kneazles.*
Looking around to make sure no one was looking directly at him at that moment, Harry nodded to Mr.
Tibbles in hello. He could have sworn the cat nodded back. *Yep, probably a Kneazle.*

About an hour into the front yard, mowing the small lawn, pulling weeds (it had been so hot
lately that the weeds were rather limp and didn’t fight back too hard against being removed), and
pruning the roses, Harry was almost finished. There were only two rose bushes left. His head down
looking at the Sweet Dream in front of him, Harry suddenly noticed a small shadow move across the
rose bush in front of him. He looked up to see a pair of white wings fly into his room; Hedwig had
returned from Hermione’s.

Harry’s angle of view, combined with the fact that Hedwig’s tail feathers were fanned out to
help slow her down prevented him from seeing whether or not she had a letter. Since he only had two
roses remaining, Harry decided to finish them, giving her a chance to eat and drink before he went
back inside and pestered her to see if Hermione had replied to him.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was finished with the front yard. He gathered all the tools up and
took them around to the back yard. He knew he would have to do that soon, preferably today before
the sultry air returned. He went inside the house to take a very short break.

“Front yard done, boy?” Vernon asked gruffly over his Sunday paper; he had not moved one inch
from the kitchen table all morning.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Harry replied conciliatorily. Fearing a run-in with “that brute of a man
with the blue eye,” Vernon and Petunia had been quite lenient when it came to Harry’s chores. Well,
lenient by their standards. They still expected the same level of perfection as always. However, as
long as the desired results were achieved, they didn’t hover over him too much, fussing about how
he should have weeded before pruning, or that he was getting the garden trowel dirty. Harry wasn’t
sure whether this was because they were afraid of Moody and his eye dropping by, or if they were
just trying to avoid him. Either way, life with the Dursleys had been slightly more bearable since
returning from King’s Cross.

“Hmpph. Well, don’t forget the back yard needs attention too,” Vernon replied without even
looking up from his paper.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I’ve already taken the tools around back. I just need to give Hedwig some
fresh water and food to keep her quiet, and then I’ll start on the back yard.” Harry had found that
he could justify the attention he gave Hedwig to his relatives simply by putting in it terms of
keeping her quiet.

A non-committal grunt was all Harry got in reply. After clearing away Vernon and Petunia’s empty
tea cups, Harry went upstairs to check on Hedwig. He hadn’t really been expecting anything in
reply, but Harry’s heart leapt up into his throat the instant he saw a piece of parchment tied to
her leg.

Nearly tripping over the dirty clothes strewn about the floor, Harry practically ran over to
Hedwig to retrieve the letter. In the time Harry was outside finishing the roses, Hedwig had fed
and watered herself; she was now waiting patiently for him to untie his letter. Letter in hand,
Harry started stroking his beloved familiar.

“Thanks girl,” he told her; she nibbled at his fingers in affection.

A strange swooping sensation of anxiousness started growing in Harry’s stomach as he looked at
the letter in his hands. He was not sure why. Perhaps it was because of what he feared he might
find in the letter. While he would be eternally grateful to her for helping break him out of his
stupor, he felt he was not quite ready to start talking about it as if it were the latest
Transfiguration assignment. It had been, after all, only one day. Putting his fears and doubts
aside, he trusted (and hoped) that Hermione would once again know how he was feeling. With a brave
face, Harry opened Hermione’s letter.

*Dear Harry,*

*You don’t know happy I was to see Hedwig come flying into my room last night. I must admit
she quite startled me. I wasn’t expecting to see her so soon.*

“Or at all?” Harry said aloud to himself, feeling slightly guilty while still smiling at the
same time.

*As I held your letter in my hands, I could see that there wasn’t much ink bleed through on
the parchment. I knew it was a very short letter. I was deathly afraid of what you might say in so
few words, considering how I pretty much sprung that last letter on you. I hope you can forgive me
if I made you angry. All I will say in my defense was that I felt it was important to say certain
things. I do hope you understand.*

*When I finally opened your letter, I could not hold back the tears. And before you start
thinking I’m turning into Cho over here, just know that they were tears of joy. I do not think you
could have written ANYTHING that would have made me happier than what you did. Well, actually I
can, but that’s a different subject. Anyway, those two little words made all the debating and
agonizing over writing that letter worthwhile. I know they were only two words, but somehow I knew
that those two words said more than a foot long scroll saying everything else except that.*

*Just so you know, no one else knows that I wrote that letter to you. I dare say that I know
you would’ve been most upset if you felt we were talking about you like that behind your back. I
won’t mention it to Ron or anyone else. If you want to tell them how I bullied you into acceptance,
I won’t try to stop you.*

Harry was quite sure Hermione was trying not to laugh as she wrote that.

*I also wanted to tell you that something wonderful has happened. Professor Dumbledore came to
visit us—*

“‘Us?’ Who’s ‘us’?” Harry wondered aloud mid-sentence.

*—this morning. He told us that the situation has changed, and different plans were being
arranged. I can’t tell you here, for obvious reasons. But I promise you this: the only reason I
agreed to not tell you despite the Headmaster’s concerns was because he promised to inform you
himself. I didn’t want you to think this was going to be a repeat of last summer. All I can say is
that preparations are being made. Please, do try and keep yourself out of trouble. I know that’s
asking a lot of you, but I’d really hate for any of this to fall through. Please, keep your head
down with that pitiful excuse of a family of yours, and try to avoid any more encounters with
dementors.*

Again, Harry pictured Hermione sitting at her desk chuckling.

*I’d suggest that you wait until at least tomorrow before sending Hedwig out again. Give her a
rest and an owl treat. She deserves it after delivering your most important letter. Believe me, it
was important. Expect to hear from the Headmaster soon. If he hasn’t contacted you by tomorrow,
please let me know. I’ll “remind” him of our little agreement.*

*I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to talk... about how you think you did on
your O.W.L.s (I’m so excited to get mine, aren’t you?), about what N.E.W.T. classes you’re going to
take, even about Quidditch (hey... don’t laugh, I go to all your games don’t I? and I HAVE read*
Quidditch Through the Ages*), or anything else... you’ll know where to find me. I said it once,
and I’ll say it again, I’m here if you need me. Please, don’t push us away if you need us.*

*Love, as always, from,*

*Hermione*

Harry set the letter down. He was quite sure he knew what she meant when she wrote “or anything
else...” although he didn’t feel too worried about it. She expected him to talk about Sirius at
some point. However, as he saw it, she seemed to make it clear that he was free to do it on his own
terms and when *he* felt he was ready. Harry was again impressed by Hermione’s ability to know
what he was feeling.

He thought that he would want to talk about it with someone sometime; he just didn’t know when.
All he did know was that time was not now, at least not immediately. By encouraging him to talk,
but not pressuring him into it, he found it rather reassuring to know that when he decided he was
ready, there would be at least one person waiting. He was also comforted by the fact that he was
quite sure it was someone he knew would not judge him harshly for whatever he might have said, no
matter how stupid or silly.

Harry went over to his dresser drawer and put her letter away with the rest. Hermione’s letters
had somehow become separated from the rest. *Oh yeah, because I wrote replies to everyone else’s
letters last night, and not hers.* Looking out the window, he saw that there was not a cloud in
the sky; it was nearly noon and would be hot again soon. Hopefully, another storm would roll
through tonight, bringing a refreshing cool evening breeze to his home away from home. Knowing
there was more work to be done in the back yard, Harry gave Hedwig another pat on the head, and
then went out back to start on the remaining yard work.

By the time Harry had finished, it was late afternoon. While the morning had been cool and
pleasant, the afternoon had become hot, sticky, and miserable. The Dursleys had gone out to the
local shopping center to do a little post-birthday shopping for Dudley. Evidently, he decided he
didn’t like some of his birthday presents... several weeks after receiving them. He especially
didn’t like the ones he broke. This suited Harry just fine. He’d finally be able to take a decent
shower for once without one of the Dursleys flushing the downstairs toilet to remind him his two
minutes of water were up.

Feeling more invigorated that he had in quite a while, Harry looked out the bathroom window.
There were clouds on the horizon. Another storm was hopefully on its way. Returning to his room,
Harry was so surprised by what he found waiting on his bed that he dropped the towel he had wrapped
around himself. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s pet phoenix, was perched on his headboard. He had a small
envelope tied to his leg.

After pulling out some clothes and properly covering himself, Harry walked over to the
magnificent red and gold animal.

“Hello, Fawkes,” Harry greeted him.

Fawkes replied with a few chirps that, not for the first time, filled Harry with a reassuring
strength. He stuck out his leg to allow Harry to remove the letter. As soon as Harry had the
letter, Fawkes flapped his wings several times to get airborne, and then disappeared in a flash of
fire.

*Dear Harry,*

*First, I must tell you to not set this letter down until you have finished reading it and
understand everything in it.*

*I do hope Fawkes finds you in better spirits than this same time last year. I trust that your
friends have written you. I hope you have taken to heart what they had to say.*

*There are many preparations still to be made, so my time is short and I’ll get straight to
the point. Your situation has changed somewhat very recently, yesterday morning to be exact. I feel
that it is in your best interests that certain changes be made to reflect and promote this
change.*

*You have spent enough time at your aunt’s house this summer to ensure that your mother’s
protections remain intact. Without getting into it too much, you have suffered a loss. We all have,
but you most of all. With your physical protections reestablished, it is my belief that other
things must be taken into consideration as well.*

*I’m sure you will not argue with the assessment that your remaining at your aunt’s house is
the surest and most convenient way to guarantee your safety. That said, I do not believe that is
what is best for you. I feel, therefore, that it is not necessary for you to remain there any
longer than necessary.*

*Tomorrow, you will leave number four, Privet Drive for the rest of the summer. Please have
all of your belongings packed and ready to go by noon tomorrow. Please make sure Hedwig is ready to
travel as well. Unfortunately she cannot be allowed to fly to her destination if this is all to
work. I do not think you need me to explain how much has been involved to make sure this transfer
is handled safely. All you really need to know is that timing is critical. Please be ready promptly
at noon.*

*I have heard from reliable sources how well your reception was received by the Dursleys. You
may assure them that your departure will be done in the most “normal” and Muggle way we could
arrange. It is my hope that this assurance will lessen any objections they may have to your
removal, thought I doubt there is much risk of that.*

Harry was sure Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling as he wrote that.

*I trust you will find your reception committee satisfactory.*

*Once you have arrived at your destination, you may send Hedwig out to communicate with your
other friends as necessary. She need only be carried by you through the door for everything to
work.*

*If there is anything you feel you wish to talk about, please make yourself available to your
friends. I know firsthand that they want to be there for you. Whilst you are there, if there is
anything you wish to discuss with me specifically, you may of course send Hedwig. She will find me
wherever I am.*

*As long as everybody remains on time, I am quite certain that security shall be maintained.
Do not worry about this communication. Fawkes is a somewhat more secure method of delivery than
standard Owl Post (no offense intended to Hedwig, of course). Once you have finished reading this
and understand everything contained within, you may set it down. Once it is no longer needed, this
letter will self-destruct.*

*Sincerely,*

*Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.*

Harry could not believe it. He was leaving for the rest of the summer. He looked at the letter
again. *‘Other friends,’ what does that mean?* Harry wondered to himself. *Probably going to
Grimmauld Place. Ron and his family are probably there already.* Harry reread the letter one
more time just to be sure he got everything. Once he was sure he no longer needed the letter, he
set it down on his desk. It immediately burst into a huge fireball. Harry was so surprised by what
had happened that the flame had died before he even had a chance to react. He looked at where the
letter was only seconds before. There was not a trace of anything: no ashes, no burn marks, not
even a warming of the wooden desktop.

That little adventure over, Harry quickly started packing. It did not take long, as he really
hadn’t unpacked much after arriving several weeks ago. He just really never got around to it.
Within half an hour, he was ready to go. The only bad thing was that he was not leaving until
tomorrow. Deciding that a little unexpected surprise could not hurt, Harry decided to go downstairs
and give the kitchen a quick cleaning, just to make sure everything shined. If they were already in
a good mood, learning that they could be rid of him almost a month and a half early might make them
even happier.

About an hour later, the Dursleys returned with Dudley’s second round of presents. Having left
his bedroom door open, Harry heard a surprised reaction from down in the kitchen.

“Well, I do say that this IS a pleasant change. The boy is earning his keep without having to be
yelled at. See Petunia, I told you I was finally getting through to the boy!” Vernon exclaimed with
triumph.

Harry smiled to himself. If only Vernon knew he was leaving tomorrow, he’d probably be dancing
around the kitchen, an impressive accomplishment for a human his size. But in the end, Harry didn’t
really care what Vernon said or thought. All that mattered was that in less than twenty-four hours,
he would be somewhere else. He assumed he would be returning to Grimmauld Place, but he didn’t know
for sure. *I don’t care. Anywhere’s better than here,* Harry thought to himself quite
happily.


*A/N: If you’re curious to see what Harry was looking at out his window, this might give you
some idea. This picture and this
one too are two that I took a couple
years ago when I was playing around with a digital camera. I thought it was pretty.*




4. The Very Friendly Dursleys
-----------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. He is the wonderful creation of J.K. Rowling. I’m just
playing here.*

Chapter 4. The Very Friendly Dursleys.

Fawkes had left not three hours ago, and Harry still was as excited now as he was when he first
read the Headmaster’s letter. He was leaving Privet Drive, and hopefully he would not have to see
his aunt, uncle, or cousin again for another eleven months.

Harry looked out his bedroom window. He was again treated to another beautiful sunset. *I
can’t imagine ever seeing anything that beautiful again,* Harry thought to himself. From
downstairs, he heard a word or two related to food, which told him it was time for him to head down
and help his aunt get dinner started.

Once everyone (except Harry) was well fed and watered, Harry got up and cleared away the table.
Again Vernon seemed impressed with Harry’s sudden change in attitude, though he tried to hide it.
Voldemort would sing Christmas carols before Uncle Vernon praised Harry. Vernon’s earlier comment
was more about his own “getting through to the boy” than it was about Harry’s behavior itself.

After the Dursleys had migrated their way over to the living room and made themselves
comfortable (but before they turned the television on), Harry decided that now was probably the
best time to inform them of his pending departure. They all seemed to be in good spirits, so Harry
was sure this would only make them happier. He hoped that happy Dursleys would mean avoiding a
repeat of his departure two years earlier, right before the Quidditch World Cup.

“Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked, when he saw his uncle was about as comfortable as he ever would
be.

“Hmmm?” Vernon replied, disinterested.

“I just wanted to let you know that some people from school are coming to get me tomorrow. They
are going to take me for the rest of the summer.” Harry decided it would be much simpler to simply
inform his uncle of this change, rather than ask if it was okay for him to leave. He was quite sure
that whichever Order member came to retrieve him would take him regardless of whether the Dursleys
approved.

For one of the few times in his life, Vernon Dursley was very interested in what his
good-for-nothing nephew had to say. “What did you say, boy?” he asked.

“I said, some people from school were picking me up tomorrow for the rest of the summer.” Even
if he wanted to, Harry decided that it was neither the time nor the place to explain the Order of
the Phoenix to his relatives.

“They are, are they?” Vernon replied with a suspicious, slightly fearful tone. Harry could tell
his uncle was considering the possibilities, wondering what could possibly happen to them
again.

A hut on the sea, a broken window, a destroyed fireplace and living room... those memories were
still as vivid in the Dursleys’ minds as though they happened yesterday. And what happened to poor,
defenseless Dudley was just beyond what one perfectly normal family could take: a pig’s tail, a
swollen tongue, and attacks by dementors.

“Yes,” Harry replied. *Can’t forget the magic words,* he reminded himself. “For the
*rest* of the summer. Tomorrow. Noon.” A look of sheer joy mixed with fear filled Vernon’s
already purple face.

“People from... your school... are coming here?”

“Yes.” Harry was glad Vernon was catching on. “They said to tell you that they would be coming
by *normal* means,” he emphasized. “None of the neighbors with notice anything out of the
ordinary.”

This seemed to seal the deal for both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who had been hovering
fearfully behind the chair Vernon was sitting in. “Well, don’t expect us to take you to that
blasted train you ride. Once they have you, you’re their responsibility until we have to come
collect you next year. We do have to come collect you again, I suppose?” Vernon asked most
eagerly.

“I assume so,” Harry said. Vernon’s entire body dropped in disappointment. “But a lot can happen
in a year,” Harry added. His uncle’s eyes lit up in hope.

“What time did you say again?” Vernon asked.

*Maybe he wasn’t paying attention,* Harry thought to himself annoyed. “Noon tomorrow. And
from the sound of their letter, we’re on a tight schedule. I have to be ready promptly at noon.”
Remembering something Hermione said in her letter, Harry added, “It almost sounded as though if I
am late, this will fall through. I might have to stay here for the *entire* summer. If there
are any chores you need me to do tomorrow, we should get them done early so I don’t run late.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Dudley can do those tomorrow,” Vernon replied with glee.

Harry heard a shocked “What?!” coming from the refrigerator where Dudley had his head
buried.

“Quiet, Dudley!” Vernon shouted for the very first time in his life. Apparently his love of
making Harry do the household chores was eclipsed only his desire to be rid of him.

Amazed at how well everything had gone thus far, Harry decided it was best to not temp fate by
staying downstairs with them any longer than necessary. “Is there anything else you need tonight
from me? If not, I should probably go back upstairs and pack and get ready. And then I’ll go to bed
when I’m done.” He neglected to mention that he was already almost completely packed.

His aunt and uncle shook their heads no, trying their hardest to contain their obvious
expressions of pleasure at him leaving nearly a month and a half early. With that, Harry wished
them all good night and then turned to walk upstairs.

Unbeknownst to any of them, the moment Harry set his foot on the first step, he, Uncle Vernon,
and Aunt Petunia all thought simultaneously, *Less than eighteen hours,* all equally
happy.

When he returned to his bedroom, Harry gave it a once over just to make sure he didn’t forget
anything. The only things that hadn’t yet been stowed away in his trunk were the ten letters his
friends had written him; they were still in his dresser drawer where he had left them. He also
still had the unwritten letters to Hermione and her parents. He really wanted to finish writing
them, but unfortunately he was no closer to finding words for their letters than he was the night
before.

In the end, Harry decided he would let the replies go until tomorrow. He’d just sleep on it;
maybe something would come to him. To help inspire him, he decided he would read Hermione’s first
letter one more time, as well as the one from her parents. Pulling those two letters out, he left
her second letter in the drawer.

He had already answered it, but more importantly, even though he was feeling better than he
could remember feeling in a long time, his feelings of loss and grief were still there. It wasn’t
that he was trying to hide from them. On the contrary, he was just starting to face them. But, he
felt that he didn’t need any long, detailed reminders of exactly what had happened. His own
memories sufficed fine, thank you very much.

After reading their letters again, Harry put them away and walked back over to his window. The
sun had already set; a layer of clouds now completely filled the sky. As Harry looked out, another
cool refreshing breeze blew in. He felt a strange mixture of happiness and sadness. This odd
combination slightly amusing, Harry was quite sure that *he* had more than the emotional range
of a teaspoon.

*I’m sure if Hermione were here, she could explain it,* Harry mused as he considered how
his current emotions should have clashed, but yet seemed to fit together. Taking in several deep
breaths, Harry stared off blankly at the horizon. With watery eyes and a smile on his face, Harry
spoke in barely a whisper, “I miss you Sirius.”

The following morning, Harry again woke up feeling quite good. As the fog of slumber rolled
away, it carried with them the last few words of the dream that had been interrupted *...you need
me.* As difficult to hold onto as fog itself, by the time he was fully awake, the words were
gone. He could not remember what they were. All he knew what that they, and the voice he heard
speaking them, seemed familiar somehow. He must have heard them recently, whatever they were.

Harry got dressed and went downstairs to start breakfast. By the time the bacon was finished,
Vernon and Dudley were downstairs ready to eat. The smell of bacon wafting upstairs was all the
alarm clock they ever needed.

Two things surprised Harry that morning at breakfast. It was the first time in his life he could
remember them allowing him to eat as much as he wanted. Perhaps they were trying to make a good
impression on him should Moody be one of the people coming to claim him. The other thing, which
quite frankly surprised him the most, was that Dudley volunteered to clear away the dishes (after a
hard stare from his father). Evidently, Vernon and Dudley must have had a chat on how to hurry
Harry on his way after Harry had gone to bed.

“Right now, these people you mentioned. They’re coming at noon, correct?” Vernon asked as though
he were planning his own vacation.

“Yes,” Harry answered.

“And how did you say they were coming?” Vernon asked expectantly.

“Erm... actually, I don’t know how they’re coming. All they told me was that they would come by
*normal* means. I assume that means by car, but I don’t really know for sure.”

“Well, that seems fine by me. You all packed and ready to go?” Harry nodded. “Why don’t you go
up and take a shower and put on some nice clothes? And run a comb through that hair of yours.
You’re still in our care, and I want everyone to know that we take good care of you while you’re
here.”

Harry had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing or even smiling at what his uncle had
said. Deciding he should leave while he was still under control of himself, Harry again nodded,
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

When Harry got to his room, he went over to Hedwig’s cage. Remembering what Professor Dumbledore
had said in his letter, he opened the door to her cage. “Hedwig, we’re leaving soon. You have to
come with me in the car or whatever they send. You can’t fly wherever we’re going. I don’t even
know where we’re going or how long it’ll take to get there. Go out and see if you find a little
snack for the road. And take care of any other business you might have,” Harry said as he glanced
down at the bottom of her cage; it desperately needed cleaning. “Just be back within one hour.
We’re leaving in an hour and a half. OK?”

The snowy owl hooted normally, which Harry took to mean that she understood. He reached into her
cage to give her a quick pat on the head. She returned the sentiment by gently nipping at his
fingers. Hopping off the perch in her cage, she stretched out her wings and then flew off into the
morning sky.

Half an hour later, Hedwig’s cage was as good as new, quite fit for human cohabitation in very
small enclosed spaces like a car. Because of the earlier heat, Harry had been leaving his window
open for several weeks; he really hadn’t noticed how bad the smell had become until now when he
spent more than thirty seconds next to it.

Now that Hedwig’s cage was properly clean, Harry turned his attention to himself. Some of the
fragrance from Hedwig’s cage seemed to have attached itself to Harry and his clothes. Over the past
several weeks, Harry had worn the same several sets of clothes every day. In his earlier mood, he
really hadn’t cared much about his appearance, so he had never even bothered to have them washed.
As a result, the only clothes he had that were still clean were his school uniforms that he had
left untouched in his trunk after the end of school.

Pulling out a pair of trousers and one of his shirts (he’d skip the tie, jumper, and robes for
now), he headed to the bathroom. After a thorough shower, he finally felt that he’d gotten the
smell of dirty bird cage linings off of him completely. Once dressed, he turned to the mirror and
ran a comb through his wet hair. No effect. At least this mirror wouldn’t point that out.

Returning to his room, Harry found that Hedwig had already returned. She looked as though she
was quite happy with her clean new cage. Packing away the rest of his dirty clothes (*Grimmauld
has a laundry room, doesn’t it?*), Harry turned his attention to the only thing left: the
letters from his friends. Harry couldn’t carry all ten of them and Hedwig’s cage at the same time,
so he decided to put them all into his trunk, except for Hermione’s and her parents’. He still
needed to reply to them. If they were in his pocket, it would make for easier access in case he
decided to try to write those during his “normal” trip.

Everything finally ready to go, Harry first carried his trunk downstairs and then brought down
Hedwig’s cage with her in it. After setting everything next to the front door, Harry sat down on
the couch and waited nervously. He looked at the clock: twenty minutes to noon.

*Twenty minutes,* Harry told himself, more as a reassurance than anything else. He had
survived this long into his holiday without getting into trouble; he could make it another twenty
minutes.

Ten minutes later, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came downstairs dressed very nicely. They were
obviously hoping to make a good impression on the nice people (even if they were freaks) who were
relieving them of Harry’s company. Maybe if the Dursleys were lucky, they’d keep him next year
too...

“What is that you’re wearing?” Vernon asked, clearly surprised at how... normal Harry looked in
his white school dress shirt and trousers.

“These’re my school clothes,” Harry explained. “They’re the only things I had clean. I... erm...
neglected to put any of my dirty clothes out into the laundry these last three weeks,” he added
rather sheepishly.

Vernon grunted slightly, indicating he had heard and understood Harry’s answer. “So, do you know
who’s coming to retrieve you?” he asked.

“Actually no. The letter didn’t say,” Harry admitted. “All it said was noon today, normal means.
I have a couple guesses who it might be, but that doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that
everyone is on time.”

After a few more minutes had passed, Harry again looked at the clock above the television: five
minutes left. Not really knowing what else to do, Harry pretty much just sat there staring at the
clock. He watched as the second hand slowly made its way around the face of the clock several
times.

As he waited, he thought about who would be coming to collect him. Tonks would surely be there,
as would Lupin most likely. Moody might be there also, but then again he might not. Dumbledore’s
letter had mentioned the Dursleys’ reactions to Moody, so he might’ve stayed back at Order
Headquarters this time.

At 11:59:45, Harry heard a car pull into the driveway. He had been staring at the clock so
intently that he didn’t see it drive by in front of the living room window. Two car doors opened
then closed. No matter how accurate or inaccurate the Dursleys’ clock was, considering who was
coming, he was not at all surprised when there was a knock at the door at exactly 12:00:00. Harry
stood up and walked over to the front door. Knowing that his release was finally at hand, Harry
grabbed the doorknob, took a deep breath, and then opened the door.

Harry never really knew who to expect to pick him up. It could have been anyone in the Order.
But never did Harry ever expect to see the two people who were now standing in front of him. They
were looking at him with slightly amused expressions as they saw the bewildered expression on his
face.

A lump in his throat, Harry finally found his voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger?”

*Disclaimer: How’s that for a cliffy? This won’t be one of those angsty stories (not that
there’s anything wrong with them, it’s just not what this story is...), so this is about as big a
cliffhanger as you’ll find here. So, was anyone surprised by Harry’s rescuers? Good, that’s what I
was hoping. Was anyone expecting it because they picked up on the half dozen or so subtle hints I
threw in along the way? Good, that’s what I was hoping. Was anyone expecting it simply because this
is Portkey? Good, this IS Portkey, after all. :-)*



5. A Real Home
--------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. He is the wonderful creation of J.K. Rowling. I’m just
playing here.*


*A/N: First things first. Credit needs to be given to my wonderful beta and friend
MapleMountain. The whole “Prince Harry” joke in here was his idea. He said it as a smart-aleck
comment in one of his edits. I liked it so much I wanted to include it, but I didn’t tell him as I
wanted it to be a surprise. In my eagerness, I forgot (gasp, horror of horrors) to credit him the
first time I posted this chapter. Thank you, and I’m sorry.*


*As for the Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s first names, I know it’s been done many times before... so
here it is again. Honestly, I can’t think of anything I like better, so why mess with
perfection?*


*We will be taking a slight break after this chapter, long enough to give me time to read
Half-Blood Prince and absorb everything, a week (or two if I want to read it twice). I promise this
story will continue with little or no change in what I had planned. The only possible change I
foresee is that, depending on what happens in canon, I may want to incorporate some of that... and
this may become longer. But everything I already have planned will not change.*


Chapter 5. A Real Home.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger, dressed very nicely, were standing in the Dursleys’ front doorway. They
were still smiling; Harry still had a surprised look on his face.

“May we come in please, Harry?” Mr. Granger asked politely.

His ability to speak coming and going, Harry stood there for a moment, his hand still on the
doorknob. After about ten seconds opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, Harry’s
brain finally snapped back into gear.

“Yes, yes. Please come in,” he replied very enthusiastically, and led them into the living
room.

Uncle Vernon, who had been observing the scene intently, eyed the Grangers warily as they
entered his perfectly normal living room. Still unsure of what to make of these newcomers, he threw
a glance at Aunt Petunia that seemed to say *“Well, at least they LOOK normal enough...”*
Harry’s aunt had been standing in the corner nearest the hallway from the front door to the living
room; she was positioned such that she could see the Grangers once they had entered the living
room, but they could not see her until they actually turned around.

Finally walking into view, Aunt Petunia put on her best “gracious hostess” air. “Would you two
like to sit down?” she asked.

“Thank you very much,” Mrs. Granger replied.

Once everyone was settled, everyone sat for a few moments, looking at each other. No one was
sure what to say. Finally, Harry’s uncle decided to start. It was his house, after all.

“So, you two are from our nephew’s... *school*, are you?” he asked.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Granger replied with a smile. “Actually, we’re just the parents of one of his
friends there. We live on the outskirts of London, actually.”

Mr. Granger immediately picked up where his wife left off. “Just like you, actually. Another set
of parents who live out here while their children head off to their own world.”

Harry had never formally met Hermione’s parents; he had only seen them in passing on several
occasions before and after the school year. Despite that, he had a feeling that something about
this conversation just wasn’t right. It seemed rehearsed; he didn’t know why. It reminded him
strongly of when Hermione put on her little show for Professor Umbridge the previous year when she
saved him from the Cruciatus Curse, even though he knew *that* wasn’t rehearsed.

Vernon visibly relaxed as Mr. Granger said this. “Oh, so you’re not part of... *their
lot?*” he asked.

Mrs. Granger smiled. “Well, only so far as a parent *can* be involved in their child’s
life. But no, we’re just normal, ordinary people, if that’s what you mean.” Maybe it was because
she reminded him so much of Hermione, but Harry was quite sure the smile on her face was fake.

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other, and for once, looked almost quite happy. Perfectly
normal people, except for Harry of course, in their perfectly normal house.

“Actually, we were asked to pick Harry here up for that very reason.” Mr. Granger shot Harry the
most fleeting of glances and a trace of a smile. Fortunately, Vernon’s gaze had not yet returned to
Mr. Granger to see this. “We were told that some of your neighbors might object if they were to see
anything out of the ordinary... even if it was something as simple as wizarding robes.” As his
uncle turned back to the Grangers, Harry could see the slight remnants of a wince that his uncle
had tried to hide upon hearing the “W” word.

Now giving Mr. and Mrs. Granger his full attention, Vernon laughed innocently as though he had
never heard anything so preposterous. “Yes, well, some people are awfully sensitive about the
silliest things.” Harry could tell his uncle was trying his hardest to keep from looking at him
after saying that. This was a good thing as Harry himself was trying not laugh out loud to that
statement.

After finally collecting himself, Harry looked back at the clock. Seeing the time, he decided
they had all be there long enough. It was 12:02.

“I hate to break up this pleasant conversation, but the Headmaster’s letter said that your
schedule was tight. We should probably be getting along then.”

Mr. Granger pulled a gold watch out of his pocket; Harry caught a glimpse of it. It strongly
reminded him of the one he had seen Professor Dumbledore carry with him. “Harry’s right of course.
We best be on our way. Time’s a ticking. Harry, are you ready to go?” he asked.

Harry had to force himself to not shout out *“Hell yes, I’m ready to go.”* He nodded
towards his trunk and Hedwig’s cage. “Yes, Mr. Granger. Everything’s ready,” he said carefully, to
avoid any obvious signs of how happy he was to be leaving with them.

Standing up, Mr. Granger turned one more time to Vernon, “I do hope we didn’t cause you any
inconvenience today, to meet us here on a Monday during the day. We both had to take the day off
work to make it out here and back.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Vernon replied most enthusiastically. “Actually, I had the day off
anyway. It was very nice to meet the two of you.” Harry noticed that Vernon looked almost quite
sincere as he said that. The truth was that he had called in sick this morning. There was no way
that anyone even remotely associated with Harry and his world was going to be in his house without
him there.

Mrs. Granger stood up and with a smile, clapped her hands and then rubbed them together. “Right
then. Dear, will you take Harry’s trunk? I’ll carry Hedwig’s cage, and then we can be off.”

“Of course,” Mr. Granger replied. He offered his hand to Vernon, who shook it eagerly. It seemed
he was quite impressed with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. After all, they were perfectly *normal*
people who also just happened to be taking Harry with them. What could possibly make them any
better?

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” Mrs. Granger said as she offered her hand to Petunia. Harry’s aunt
shook it, but not as eagerly. It looked funny, but what did he expect? That they’d hug each other
goodbye like old friends? “Since we’re taking Harry now, we thought it’d be easier for us to make
arrangements to see him to King’s Cross at the end of next month. I hope you don’t mind.”

*That’s what would make them better,* Harry thought, amused.

Vernon acted as though he was afraid it might be too much of an imposition on them to offer
something like that. “Well, I *suppose*. I’d *hate* for anyone to have to make a special
trip just on our nephew’s account. We could easily come and get him if need be.” Petunia’s face
paled ever so slightly as Vernon said this.

“Oh nonsense!” Mr. Granger replied. “It’d be an awful shame for you to have to make the trip all
the way into London just to pick him up and then take him to the station. It’s no trouble at all.
Really. Someone around will be able to do it.” Mr. Granger then grabbed Harry’s trunk and headed
for the front door. Petunia rushed to open it.

“And besides, even if it is us, don’t forget we have to take our own child there also. Please,
don’t give it another thought,” Mrs. Granger added.

Seeing at the looks on his aunt and uncle’s faces, Harry thought to himself, *Don’t worry,
they won’t.*

Once he was outside with Harry’s trunk, Mr. Granger waited for his wife and Harry to come out
also. A few seconds later, Harry emerged with a huge grin on his face, along with Mrs. Granger
carrying Hedwig’s cage. It was obvious Hedwig was familiar with Mrs. Granger, since she was so
tolerant of her carrying her cage while she was still in it.

As soon as everyone was on the front step, the door gently (but very quickly) closed. Now
separated from the Dursleys, Harry heaved a sigh of relief, “Finally!” He immediately stopped
grinning.

Harry turned to look at Mr. Granger and try to find some way to explain that remark. He was
surprised to see Mr. Granger smiling at him. “Our thoughts exactly, Harry. Let’s get everything
loaded into the car so we can get out of here.”

Harry could only smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Mrs. Granger was still carrying Hedwig’s cage.
“Oh... here, Mrs. Granger. Please let me carry that. You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Oh nonsense, Harry,” Mrs. Granger objected. “Don’t be silly. We’re your chauffeurs today. Now
get in the car before I ask my husband to carry *you* to the car too.”

*At least now I know where Hermione gets her stubbornness from,* Harry thought, amused.

Harry walked over to the car parked in the Dursleys’ front drive. It was a medium sized SUV, not
extravagant or grossly expensive, just very nice. *Very practical,* Harry decided. *Any
surprise about that?*

Harry opened the door and then climbed into the backseat. Mrs. Granger put Hedwig’s cage on the
seat next to Harry and strapped the seat belt around the cage. A minute later, Mr. Granger had
loaded Harry’s trunk into the cargo area in back. As soon as he got into the driver’s seat, he
again pulled out the pocket watch he had been carrying.

“Pretty good, if I do say so myself. 12:05. Professor Dumbledore said we had a ten minute
window.” Mr. Granger looked quite pleased with himself.

Mrs. Granger turned to her husband. “Dear, would you please put that away so we can get going? I
don’t want to stay here any longer than Harry does.” She then turned to Harry. “You’ll have to
excuse him, Harry dear. Your headmaster loaned us his pocket watch for this little outing. He
wanted to make sure we were on time, according to your clock. We had a very narrow time frame here,
so he wanted to be sure we were able to take advantage of every second. When he gave it to us, it
had a dozen hands on it that we couldn’t make sense of. He gave it a tap with his wand and it
turned into a regular watch that just so happened to be synchronized with the Dursleys’ clock.”

*And now I know where she gets her analytical side too,* Harry mused. After listening to
Mr. Granger talk about the watch for five minutes as they started their drive towards London, Harry
thought to himself, *Scratch that, she gets THAT from both of them.* Again, Harry could only
smile.

Once they had finally left Little Whinging, Mrs. Granger turned around again in her seat. “Sorry
about not introducing ourselves properly back there. We’ve heard so much about your relatives that
I didn’t really want to get too cozy with them. Just get you and get on our way.”

“You have?” Harry asked, confused. Mrs. Granger smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course: Hermione,”
Harry reasoned, answering his own question.

“Well, you ARE her best friend after all. Even though we see so little of you, and her for that
matter, I feel as though I’ve known you ever since she sent home her first letter back in her first
year at Hogwarts.” Mrs. Granger had a very warm look on her face. Harry, not sure what to say, only
nodded.

“Speaking of proper introductions... Where is my head? Harry, I’m Emma Granger and this is my
husband Dan. It is very nice to meet you finally. As I said, we’ve heard *so* much about you.
We’ve seen you every year before or after school in Diagon Alley or at King’s Cross, but we’ve
never actually been properly introduced. It’s funny, you’d think someone didn’t want us to get to
know each other, at least not yet.”

Stopped at a train crossing, Dan Granger turned around in his seat to shake Harry’s hand as his
wife turned back to face ahead. “Nice to meet you finally, Mr. Potter. Not that our daughter hasn’t
wanted us to meet you, of course... it’s just that something always seemed to conveniently come up
to keep it from happening.”

After shaking Harry’s hand, Dan took on a very serious expression. “Are you the boy our daughter
kissed a year ago?” Harry heard Emma let out a small sigh as though she was not happy with what Dan
had just said.

Totally unprepared for that, after he felt his slight blush die down, he just sat there
completely dumbfounded. Under the calculating stare of the father of an only daughter, securely
strapped into an enclosed space was a very unnerving place to be. Slightly afraid, he had
absolutely no idea how to respond.

Dan sat there with a deathly serious look on his face for a few seconds until he could no longer
hold back his chuckle. “I’m sorry, Harry. I promised Hermione I wouldn’t do that, but I just
couldn’t resist. I’d tell her the look you had on your face, but then she’d be upset with me. I can
tell you this: you don’t want a Granger female mad at you.”

“Dan,” Emma said to him, still looking straight ahead.

“Yes, dear. But you already *knew* that, didn’t you Harry?” Dan teased with a bit of a grin
on his face. “Five years at school with our daughter, and I’m sure you learned that pretty
quickly.” His grin faded slowly. “She showed us that letter, by the way... her second one. We’re
very sorry for your loss.”

Surprised by Dan’s sudden change of topic, Harry initial fear had shifted to relief, but was now
replaced by sadness.

Dan, realizing the change in Harry’s demeanor, tried to lighten the mood. “Nice clothes there
Harry. Let me guess: it was the only thing you had clean?”

Harry tried not to smile, but failed at his attempt.

Dan shook his head in an amused way. “You may be great wizard Harry, but you’re still a
guy.”

“*Dan,*” Emma said again, this time more urgently. “The train ended a few moments ago. The
queue is clearing.”

“Oh, yes dear,” Dan exclaimed, quickly turning around to pay attention again to the traffic.
About ten seconds later, the queue had cleared and they were on their way again.

Emma again turned to Harry. “My husband’s *childish* sense of humor aside, we really are
sorry for your loss, Harry. We know that you really haven’t had much of normal family life.” She
turned slightly towards Dan. “Ten years in that house, and I didn’t see so much as a single picture
of him, *anywhere*. Even all the family shots were only of the three of them.”

Dan nodded. “I know. And the way his eyes just lit up when you said we were *normal*. I was
ready to leave.”

Emma Granger again turned back to Harry. “We hope we can change that slightly, at least for a
little while.”

Harry, unsure of what she meant, said so. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Granger.”

“Please, Emma. Well, actually, I can’t tell you. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just part
of the situation. ‘Preparations,’ Professor Dumbledore told us. Something about it being a secret.
I *can’t* tell you, nor can I tell you who can. I do hope you understand.”

Harry was beginning to. *The Fidelius Charm?* he wondered. “Yes, actually, I think I do.
Thanks.” He still wasn’t yet ready to call her Emma, but he didn’t want to call her Mrs. Granger
either after she asked him not to.

Harry was now pretty sure that he was going number twelve, Grimmauld Place, since it seemed as
though there was a Fidelius Charm involved. But considering he had already been wrong once today,
he wasn’t going to make any bets. Even the direction they were driving didn’t help any. He had only
been to and from Grimmauld Place by broom at night, Portkey, and the Knight Bus, none of which were
any use in trying to determine the location of a place, regardless of whether it was hidden or
not.

Considering it was the lunch hour on a work day, the trip was relatively easy that day. Traffic
was fairly light on the A308 and the A316. After about half an hour, Harry began to wonder where
they were going. *Going the back way, aren’t we?* he wondered. If they were going to London,
wouldn’t the M25 and M4 have been faster?

His curiosity finally getting the better of him, Harry finally asked. “Did you say we were going
to London?”

“Oh, no dear. But we’ll get there soon,” Emma assured him, thinking he was trying to find some
polite way to say that he needed to use a restroom.

Knowing she couldn’t really tell him any more, he was satisfied with her answer. His bodily
functions were perfectly fine, too. After his first trip to Grimmauld Place, Harry was sure to make
sure all of his business was taken care of before he left. *What a memorable entrance that’d
be,* Harry thought to himself with a smirk. *Running past the waiting hugs and handshakes and
making a beeline to the toilet.*

Harry looked out the window and just watched as the scenery went by. As they took an exit off
the main motorway, Harry noticed the sign indicating the direction they were heading. They were
heading towards Wandsworth. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry always thought it had a
nice ring to it. He always thought it’d be cool to tell his friends that he lived in Wandsworth.
Then again, telling someone that he lived *anywhere* other than with the Dursleys would have
been nice.

A short while later, they arrived at their destination. When they finally came to a stop, they
were in the drive of a very nice pale blue two-story house. The front yard was beautifully kept,
though the grass in the lawn was clearly drying up (it had been very hot for weeks, and hosepipe
use restricted). Harry noted how all the houses on this street had dry lawns, while many of the
ones on Privet Drive were green and lush, as if there was no water concerns at all. A beautiful
wrought-iron fence covered in creeping flowering vines lined the walk to the front door.

Harry took everything in. This was certainly not Grimmauld Place. Since he didn’t know this
street was his final destination, he hadn’t paid attention to the street name sign when they turned
onto it. He looked at the front door and saw a post box hanging there. Harry was far enough away
that he could not see if there was a name on it or not. However, considering how perfect this house
seemed, Harry had a fairly good idea where he was.

His feeling was strengthened when he looked back at Dan and Emma. The looks on their faces after
seeing his awed expression as he looked at the house could only be described as overwhelming
pride.

“In you go, Harry,” Dan said. “You have to carry Hedwig with you. I’ll get your trunk.”

“Just go up and ring the bell, dear.” Emma encouraged him. “Someone is inside waiting.”

Nervous (he didn’t know why), Harry got out of the car, collected Hedwig’s cage, and walked up
to the front door. He stopped a moment and looked at the post box. Number 8, Broomhill Road.
Shifting Hedwig’s cage in his arms slightly, he was able to reach to bell. Within three seconds of
ringing the bell, the door opened. Standing there was the only proof he needed of where he was:
Hermione.

But Harry was taken aback slightly. This was not the Hermione he was used to. It was Hermione
away from school, alone with her family. This was Hermione on holiday. No worries about homework,
no school books, no boring sea of black robes. Harry had seen Hermione in Muggle clothes many times
but never anything like this. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but the first word that came to
mind was ‘cute,’ though he wasn’t sure that did it justice.

She was wearing a pair of tan shorts and a pink T-shirt. On the shirt in sparkling, glittery
silver letters was the word “PRINCESS.” She must have had the shirt for a long time since the pink
was fading and the sparkling material of the letters was cracked and beginning to fall off. It was
also obvious to Harry that it no longer fit her very well.

“Harry! Come in, come in!” Hermione said very excitedly. Behind him, he heard Dan unloading his
trunk from the car.

As Harry walked through the door, he felt... something. He wasn’t sure what it was; it could
have just been the sudden drop in temperature from the air conditioning.

As soon as he had set Hedwig’s cage down, Harry found himself with a face full of bushy brown
hair and a pair of arms wrapped around him in a bone-crunching hug.

“Oh Harry! You’re here. You’re finally here! It’s SO good to see you again!” A little surprised,
Harry couldn’t really do anything but return the hug. After the first few seconds, which were very
nice and pleasant, Harry began to feel something else.

His eyes were starting to get warm. After what he had been feeling for the last three weeks,
being hugged like this was starting to break down every emotional barrier within him. The last
thing he wanted was for Hermione to see him cry. It wasn’t that he was afraid she wouldn’t
understand. Perhaps it was that he knew she WOULD understand. He didn’t want her to have to deal
with that only thirty seconds in the door.

Fortunately, he was spared that possibility when he heard Emma clear her throat behind him.
Hermione immediately let him go, and then quickly turned to pick up Hedwig’s cage. As she turned,
he could have sworn her eyes were glistening slightly.

Doing her best to keep her back to him, Hermione carried Hedwig’s cage into the living room. In
an uneven voice she said, “Let’s just move this out of the hallway.” By the time she returned, her
eyes (and his) had returned to normal.

Harry stood there for a moment, and then finally asked what had been on his mind from the second
the door opened. “Princess?” he inquired with a smile.

Hermione quickly looked down at her shirt. With a slightly embarrassed look, she laughed
lightly. “Oh yes, this. Actually, it’s something of an inside joke with my dad. He always called me
his ‘Little Princess’ when I was small. Then, when I went to Hogwarts, he bought this for me. You
know... how fairy tales always seem to have magic and princesses in them. I’ve had this since first
year.”

“Makes sense. It’s very nice, really,” Harry said with a grin. The grin slowly got bigger.
“Though... I suppose it could’ve been worse. He could’ve bought you one of those “Property of
Prince Harry” shirts I saw all of those girls wearing on the television a couple weeks ago.”

Hermione’s earlier embarrassed look was nothing compared to the one she was fighting to control.
Harry’s grin became as wide as humanly possible*. He DID buy her one of those too,* Harry said
to himself, trying not to laugh.

Hermione, finally recovering from her blush, gave Harry a quick look over. “Well, I wouldn’t be
too quick to judge if I were you, Harry. Mr.
I-don’t-have-anything-clean-so-I’m-going-to-wear-my-school-clothes.”

Now thoroughly embarrassed for the third time in two hours over his attire, Harry decided he
should quit while he was ahead (if he even was).

As Dan carried Harry’s trunk into the living room and Emma headed to the kitchen, Harry and
Hermione, not for the first time, exchanged as series of looks that contained an entire
conversation, without even saying a word.

A searching stare from Hermione. *Do you want to talk?*

A slight shake of his head by Harry. *Not really.*

An unsure nod and a slightly piercing look. *OK, but you need to... sometime.*

A resigned nod, then a half smile. *Yes, I know. Later, I promise.*

A much happier smile. *OK, whenever you’re ready.*

Another happy smile. *Thanks. I promise.*

With that, Hermione gave Harry another hug, this one much quicker and more for reassurance.
Again, Harry could only return it. Once they separated, they walked into the kitchen where Emma had
started a kettle. As they walked in, they were followed by Dan.

“Care for a cup of tea, Harry?” Emma asked.

“Yes, please,” Harry answered.

“Well, while we wait, Hermione dear, why don’t you explain to Harry here what exactly is going
on,” Dan suggested. “Both your mother and I know you’re the only one who can.”

“OK,” Hermione started, and then took a deep breath. “To make a long story short Harry, you have
been relocated away from Privet Drive for the rest of the summer. This was done, as I *hope*
the Headmaster told you, because it was in *your* best interests. Not in the best interests of
him, or in the Order, but you. I’m quite sure you know why.”

“Yeah,” Harry said grimly. “If they had left me there to wallow in my own misery all summer, I
probably would have just wasted away. Can’t you just see the headline in *The Prophet*? ‘The
Boy Who Lived Loses Will To Live.’“

Unnerved, Hermione quickly replied, “You shouldn’t joke about things like that, Harry.”

“I wasn’t,” he whispered, almost resignedly.

Now completely shocked, Hermione continued, “All the more reason to get you out of there.” Emma
and Dan, who Harry had completely forgotten were there, nodded emphatically.

“So then, with your ‘blood protections,’ as he called them, intact, he set about transferring
all of the other protections from Privet Drive elsewhere. It turns out there were quite a few.
That’s why it took him almost an entire day to cast all the necessary the charms,” Hermione
explained. “Obviously, the Burrow is out of the question, as it was last year. Unfortunately,
Grimmauld Place is not an ideal place for us right now. I’ll explain that later.

“So that left us with only one option left. Once it was decided, the Headmaster started putting
the charms in place. The keystone to everything is a new Fidelius Charm to replace the one that was
protecting you at number four.”

Harry interrupted, very surprised. “But isn’t all that a lot of work? Especially the Fidelius
Charm? Why would he do all that?”

“It was because of ‘an old man’s mistakes,’ he said,” Hermione explained. “He said you would
understand that.”

Harry did, and he wasn’t sure how he could express that.

“So, to let you in on the big secret...” Hermione started, very excited. This was obviously what
she had been waiting for. “You’re staying with us, Harry!”

Ever since he saw the house, he had a feeling that this was where everything was leading.
Hearing Hermione say that he was staying with them, he felt a very peculiar sensation sweep through
him. He wasn’t sure what it was.

Allowing a few moments for everything sink in, Harry considered everything that had been said so
far. “You said there’s a new Fidelius Charm in place protecting me here? But your parents
*couldn’t* tell me where I was staying. Who’s the Secret Keeper?” Harry asked, still not
putting two and two together.

Fighting to keep the huge grin on her face from taking over, she replied very quickly, “I
am.”

Harry smiled. *I should have known,* he said to himself. *That probably explains that
feeling when she told me I was staying here. After all, what else could that have been?*


*A/N: There is actually a Broomhill Road in Wandsworth. Click here if you’d like to see it.*

*I was looking around London (thank you Google maps) trying to decide where to set the
Grangers’ home. I saw Wandsworth, and decided it was too perfect to pass up. Zooming it to street
level, I found Broomhill Road. A few miles west of Broomhill Rd. is another street I almost used:
Radcliffe Square. It would have been really funny I thought, but Harry and Hermione wouldn’t be
able to share in that. So I went with Broomhill. I just made up the house number. If there really
is a Number 8, Broomhill Road, I’m sorry, or you’re welcome, whichever you prefer. :-)*




6. Settling In
--------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though after HBP, I’m not sure I would want to. No, I
take that back, I would want to own it, just not be the one to write it. No, I take that back too.
I would want to. Then maybe HBP wouldn’t have happened like that. I’ll show you delusional. Oh, I’m
wandering, aren’t I? Where was I? Oh yes.... I’m just playing here.*


*A/N: First chapter post-HBP. I need a warm and fuzzy feeling. I must again acknowledge my
wonderful beta, MapleMountain. Even your smart-aleck comments help make this story better... but
you already knew that, didn’t you? :-) Thank you.*


Chapter 6. Settling In.

Harry stood there for a few moments, slightly amused seeing how excited Hermione was about the
whole situation. Leave it to Hermione to get this excited when there’s a fancy bit of magic
involved.

Staring at the grin on her face, he literally jumped when the kettle started to whistle. He had
forgotten that Emma put it on only minutes earlier until the water started boiling. Now, it was
everyone else’s turn to look at Harry with amused expressions. He tried as hard as he could to look
offended at their stares, but even he thought his startle was funny. By the time Dan had taken the
kettle off the stove and poured the water into a teapot, everyone in the kitchen was laughing,
including Harry.

The effects of his laughter still not having yet worn off, Harry stared for a moment at the tea
cup placed in front of him. He wasn’t even looking at the cup; he didn’t notice the Hogwarts crest
on the cup and saucer. As Emma poured the water in the cup, he watched as the tea leaves absorbed
the water. As the leaves began to swell, he realized he was feeling the same thing.

It was as though his own insides were beginning to swell. The empty hollowness left by Sirius’s
death was no longer quite as large. He had just laughed, really laughed. He could not remember the
last time he laughed like that.

Before today, all there was was nearly three weeks of misery and emptiness. Before that was That
Night (which he *still* called it) at the Department of Mysteries, and the aftermath that
ensued. And before that was what seemed like unending months of haunting visions of dark corridors
and locked doors.

*There had to be some laugher in there, somewhere. Wasn’t there?* Harry asked himself. If
there was, he could not remember it. All that he knew was that he was starting to feel better than
he had in a long time. He knew it would be a slow process, but it would happen. Despite the fact
that Voldemort was now more dangerous than ever, he felt as thought things could only get
better.

As Mrs. Granger finished pouring the water into his cup, he lifted his gaze to see Hermione, who
had sat down across from him at the table, quickly look down at her own cup. He was quite sure she
had been watching him as he stared blankly into his cup.

Harry turned to Emma. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Granger,” he said.

As she filled the other cups, she replied back kindly to him. “You’re very welcome, Harry. And
remember, it’s Emma. Whilst you are here, Emma.” Setting down the tea pot, she put on a most
serious expression, one that Harry knew was just for show. “Or else I shall have to start calling
you Mr. Potter. And I guarantee you *don’t* want me doing that.”

Harry could see Dan nodding his head most emphatically behind Emma’s back. This was the second
time Emma had asked him to call her by her first name. Knowing how insistent her daughter could be,
he decided he would not try for a third.

“Yes Emma,” Harry said with a sheepish grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione
smile.

“Good! I’m glad that’s settled,” Dan chimed in as Emma sat down to wait for her leaves to
steep.

Fully agreeing with Dan’s sentiment, Harry looked back down at his tea cup. “Hey, these have the
Hogwarts crest on them. Hermione, you didn’t—”

“No, I most certainly did not, Harry,” Hermione retorted quickly, looking quite scandalized. “I
found them in a shop in Diagon Alley. I bought them for Mum and Dad back in the beginning of second
year. I sent them home as a Christmas present.”

Harry smiled. He imagined that while Dan and Emma were trying out their new tea set, their
daughter was lying in one of Madam Pomfrey’s hospital beds trying to figure out how to sit
comfortably with a tail.

Once everyone had finished their tea, Harry stood up and gathered all the tea cups. Immediately,
Emma tried to reach out and grab her own. “Harry, dear. Please don’t bother with that. You’re our
guest here.”

“Please, Emma,” Harry replied, “it’s the least I can do. The three of you rescued me from the
Dursleys and have graciously offered to take me into your home for the time being. Clearing away a
few tea cups seems only fair.” Harry noticed that Emma and Dan both smiled slightly when he said
“three of you rescued me.” He assumed they were just remembering the “drama” of his rescue.

Emma didn’t protest, this time. To be honest, she was pleasantly surprised that he used her
given name so quickly. If the three of them were going to provide Harry a warm and safe
environment, one that they and many other people felt he needed after recent events, the first
thing that had to go were the formalities. If Harry didn’t feel comfortable around them, or worse,
felt anyway intimidated by them, then there was little chance he would be able to assimilate this
latest loss.

Emma smiled at Harry. If Emma was anything like Hermione, he knew it meant, *Fine, but don’t
think you’re doing the dishes later.*

Once the table was clear, Dan stood up and walked towards Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Harry, let’s get you settled in.” As they walked back into the living room, Harry noticed
that Hermione and Emma had remained in the kitchen, still sitting at the table.

Back in the living room, Harry went over and picked up Hedwig’s cage as Dan reached for Harry’s
trunk. “What do you say, girl? Do you like it here already?” Harry asked his winged companion.
Hedwig stared back at him with her large amber eyes, hooting quite contentedly.

“Yeah,” Harry continued wistfully, “I suppose you do. You’ve already been here before, haven’t
you?” He reached into the cage and stroked her head several times. She tilted her head up to nip at
his fingers affectionately.

“We have a guest room upstairs, Harry,” Dan explained as he started up the stairs. “That’s where
you’ll be staying.”

“Okay,” Harry acknowledged. “You’ll probably get tired of hearing me say this, but thank you.
Thank you for picking me up and thank you for offering to let me stay here.”

As he and Harry walked into the guest room, Dan chuckled slightly. “You’re welcome, Harry. You
know, I probably shouldn’t tell you this... but this was all Hermione’s idea. Earlier, when you
said ‘three of you,’ it just struck me as amusing. *Our* only involvement was driving the
getaway car. We agreed of course, but Hermione was the mastermind behind it all. Listening to
her... *convince*... your headmaster was all the convincing we needed. And don’t feel bad
about saying ‘Thank You.’ Good manners are never to be ashamed of,” Dan said pleasantly, watching
Harry very carefully.

“Well, to be honest Dan, I haven’t always shown them. For much of last school year, I felt the
whole world was against me. On more than one occasion, most regrettably, I wasn’t the most friendly
person to be around.”

Harry’s eyes were beginning to get warm again as he recalled with shame his behavior. He blinked
a couple of times. “Your wonderful daughter, I feel, bore the brunt of it. Not because I was really
upset at *her*, but because she always seemed to be there at my side.”

It was starting to become difficult for Harry to see clearly as his eyes started to water. He
did notice, however, that Dan seemed to conveniently turn around right after he started blinking.
As Harry was talking, Dan wheeled his trunk into a corner and placed Hedwig’s cage on the table
nearest the window. Dan kept his back to Harry until he finally finished talking.

Dan turned around just in time to see Harry quickly pull his hand down after brushing away a
tear. “Yes, Harry, I know.” Dan said in a very quiet voice. “She actually writes home a lot during
the school year. She wants us to be involved in her life as much as we can, even when we’re down
here and she’s up there at school.”

Moving over to the bed, Dan sat down on the end of it. “We always seem to find out whenever you
make some spectacular grab to catch the Snitch or when Draco Malfoy, is that his name—” Harry
nodded, “when he said something particularly mean to you. You’ve made quite an impression on our
daughter. And yes, we heard about most everything you went through last year.”

Harry sat down on the chair Dan had waved his hand towards. “Now that it’s come up, that is
something I wanted to talk to you about.”

*Uh oh,* Harry thought to himself. *Here it comes. ‘How dare you be so cruel to my
daughter?!’*

“As I’m sure you know, Hermione is our only daughter. She means the world to us. I’m sure you
can imagine how protective I am of her. I know there are things she hasn’t told us about what
happens up there at your school.” Dan’s expression was very guarded. Harry could not tell what he
was feeling. “If we had known then what we know now, we might not have let her go off and join your
world. But, at the time, it seemed like such a wonderful opportunity, so how could we have
refused?

“As the years went by, and we read more and more about what went on in your world, as we started
seeing less and less of her on holidays, we knew that the day might come when we truly regretted
letting her go. But it had already been done. She was now a part of that world. Taking her away
might have killed her.” A muscle in Dan’s jaw twitched.

“Not physically, of course. But mentally, emotionally, spiritually, yes. We might have gotten
her back alive, but *SHE* would’ve been dead.” As Dan paused for a moment, he shifted
uncomfortably on the bed. Harry could tell that his eyes had gone out of focus; he was staring at
some nonexistent point on the wall behind Harry.

“She took last year pretty hard, Harry. She did her best to keep it hidden from you, but we
could tell. It was hard for her to watch you go through everything you had to endure. You are her
best friend, Harry. Every time you weren’t the most friendly person to be around, it hurt her.”

Feeling even worse after hearing what Hermione had really gone through, Harry looked down and
started staring intently at his trainers. Seeing the expression on Harry’s face before he looked
down, Dan quickly clarified.

“Harry, you are wrong about one thing. She did not have to bear the brunt of it all. You did. It
hurt her... *not* because she was near you during your outbursts, but because she could do
little to help make it better. About the only two things I remember her getting truly excited about
were that study group the two of you led and that interview you gave in that magazine.”

Harry suddenly lifted his head. “But she *did*, Mr. Granger — er — Dan,” Harry quickly
corrected himself after seeing the mock evil glare Dan had given him. “She did make things better.
*She was there.* She was always there with me. She always has been. Even when Ron and I didn’t
see eye to eye during the Triwizard Tournament, she was there.” Harry felt betrayed by another tear
falling from his right eye. Dan, however didn’t seem to notice it.

“You should probably tell her that, Harry. I think deep down she knows it, but it would probably
make all the difference in the world for her to actually hear you say that. I know I’ve said this
several times now, but, Harry, you are her best friend. She needs to know that she *was* able
to help you.”

Dan’s expression lightened slightly. “She’s happy now, now that you’re here, but she’d been in a
right state ever since she came home three weeks ago. When you didn’t answer her first letter, it
really worried her. After waiting for three days for your response, she immediately sent letters to
both your Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. I don’t know what was in them, but when their
replies came back... well, let’s just say she wasn’t at all happy with the responses she got back.”
Dan smiled slightly.

“The female Granger temper?” Harry asked with a smile, his eyes still watery but at least no
longer leaking.

“Ohhhh yesssss,” Dan confirmed in a whisper. “That’s when she started writing that second
letter. I don’t think I’ve every seen her put so much time and effort into anything she’s ever
written.” Dan smiled again. “Then again, I don’t get much opportunity to see her homework, other
than what she has over the summer, so I haven’t much to compare it to.”

Harry smiled again. “Well, I can tell you that I’ve read her class notes for the last five years
and read many of her essays. Even I was impressed by that letter. And that’s coming from someone
who was so mad when he first read it that he almost tore it into a thousand pieces.”

Harry took a deep breath. “You know, I think that letter may’ve saved my life. I doubt I was in
any mortal peril, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually, yes. I quite possibly may have just sat
there, locked away in my room all summer. Who knows what would have emerged on September first. I
mean, I did after all manage to ignore nine letters over the course of about two weeks.”

Dan’s attention snapped back onto Harry. “Nine letters?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. It seems you and Hermione weren’t the only ones to write me letters.” Harry pulled
Hermione’s letter and Dan and Emma’s letter out of his pocket. “The others are in my trunk.
Somehow, I managed to never get around to writing replies to them. But then she sent me that second
letter. After a *very* long night, I finally felt as though I had finally come out of a long,
dark tunnel that I had been trapped in.”

Harry paused and took another deep breath. “I was quite sure that that letter must have been
hard for her to write, so I knew I had to let her know what it meant to me for her to do that.”

Remembering how he had felt before and after reading that letter, Harry’s eyes again began to
water again slightly. He tried blinking to reduce the effect, but his attempt was futile.

Dan, who by all outward appearances still seemed to not have noticed Harry’s difficulty,
surprised Harry by pulling a tissue from a box on the bedside table Harry hadn’t noticed.

“We haven’t used this guest room for quite a while. As a result, I’m afraid it may be a little
dusty in here. It looks as though you may have gotten something in your eye. Here,” Dan encouraged
Harry as he handed him the tissue.

“Dust?” Harry asked. He looked around the room. It appeared spotless. The sunlight pouring in
through the window illuminated no trace of dust in the air.

“Yes, Harry. Dust,” Dan replied with an understanding look.

Harry took the tissue and cleared the “dust” away. “Thanks,” he told Dan.

After pointing to a bin in the corner of the room, Dan again turned his attention to Harry. “If
you don’t mind my asking Harry, what was in that letter you sent her? She seemed so withdrawn until
that letter arrived. And then it was like she just came back to life,” Dan explained. “We could see
her holding it, and it didn’t look like there was much written there. We asked, but she didn’t want
to show us what was in it.”

Harry seemed surprised and slightly amused by this revelation. “Actually, it was just two words.
Well, now that I think about it, there might’ve also been a ‘Dear Hermione,’ and a ‘Harry’ in there
too, but to be honest, I don’t even remember. I spent so much time worrying about what to say in
that letter that I didn’t really focus on anything else.”

Harry smiled slightly in an embarrassed sort of way. “It’s funny actually. After all that
thinking and debating and worrying about what to say, in the end, I ended up only saying two words.
But they were probably the hardest two words I’ve ever had to say in my life.”

Harry paused and thought a moment. “But at the same time, they were also the easiest two words
I’ve ever had to say.” Harry looked at Dan. He was quite sure every emotion known to man was
playing out across Dan’s face. But most of all there was anticipation and confusion. “I’m sorry. I
don’t suppose I’m making much sense here, am I?” Harry conceded.

“Well, it might help if you actually told me what those two words were. I can think of a lot of
combinations of two words. Some good, some... not so good,” Dan observed with a slight laugh.

Harry looked surprised. “I didn’t actually say what they were, did I?” Dan shook his head,
amused. “I’m sorry,” Harry laughed. “We’ve been dancing around it the whole time and I never even
said what it was. ‘Thank you.’ The two words I wrote were ‘Thank you.’“

Dan’s expression immediately cleared.

“I didn’t know what else to say. Everything else seemed meaningless without that. After that
one, all the rest were much easier. I started writing replies to all of the other letters. I got
them all done, except for two.” Harry again held up the two letters in his hand. “I had a hard time
with these two. All of the others, I just sat down and started writing. Once I got started, the
words just seemed to flow until I had said what I needed to say.”

Harry looked down at textured gray carpet. “But with these two... I don’t know. I know what I
wanted to say, but I just couldn’t. It was like I had so much to say that none of it could get out.
Like a bunched up queue at a door. Everything tried to get out at once, so nothing ended up getting
out. I—”

“Harry,” Dan interrupted him. “I understand. I can’t speak for my wife, but I think this little
chat here has said more than any number of written words could ever say.” Dan stood up and
smiled.

“Though I will admit ‘Thank you’ comes pretty close,” Dan said. “Powerful words, Harry, as
powerful as most any spell you can think of. It’s ironic. Sometime we can say more in two or three
little words, words we’ve all heard a million times, than some public speaker and an army of speech
writers ever could.”

After a few awkward silent moments, Harry also stood up. After setting the two letters down on
his bed, he started following Dan out of the room. Right as he reached the doorway, Dan suddenly
stopped and turned around. It was so sudden, Harry nearly bumped into him. Dan seemed to be
debating on whether or not to say something. After a moment, he finally decided.

“Speaking of thank-yous, Harry, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. As my
wife mentioned, it seems as though we’ve been intentionally kept from meeting you properly all
these years. Fate can be a cruel mistress, Harry. At least now I can finally tell you. Thank you,
Harry. Thank you for rescuing my only daughter.”

Harry looked stunned, and then guilty. Realizing that Harry was about to say something to the
effect that it was his fault for her needing to be rescued, Dan quickly continued to explain what
he meant. “Thank you for rescuing her from herself. As you may or may not know, our little Hermione
can tend to get a teensy bit carried away with her books and school work.

“She didn’t really have many friends at her school before Hogwarts. When she got the letter, we
were so hopeful that this exciting new world might help draw her out a little more.” Dan paused for
a moment and then sighed lightly. “Then we got her first letter after school started. She had found
the library.”

Harry smiled in understanding; Dan sighed in defeat. “Her entire letter went on and on about all
the new things she was learning, and all the new books she had found. We were worried that she
would drive herself further into her books and studies, now that there was this whole new world for
her to explore.

“I mean, out here, for example, she might not have known every little detail about the French
Revolution at eleven years old, but she knew that it was there... waiting to be studied. She would
get to it when she got to it. But in there, *everything* was new to her.” Harry smiled as he
remembered similar feelings.

“She didn’t know what there was that she didn’t know. Does that make sense? Out here, she knew
the world was just one big puzzle, a puzzle with the edges assembled, but still a lot of empty
places for her to fill in. But *in there*, not only was she given an empty puzzle board, but
she didn’t even know what the boundaries of that puzzle were. It only excited her even more. She
wanted to learn about everything.

“Though, I must admit, we were surprised about one thing. Buried in with all the books and
spells she was so excited about, in that letter there was actually a reference to another human
being.” Dan gave Harry a pointed stare, then smirked slightly. “Of course, we shouldn’t have been
surprised really. It was just *some boy* she met on the train, a boy she—” Dan nodded, “had
read about in a book.” Harry blushed for some reason; he didn’t know why.

Smiling at Harry’s reaction, Dan continued. “After the second letter, we were beginning to
wonder if there was anyone at that school other than the teachers and the librarian.” Dan and Harry
both chuckled for a moment. Once he had stopped, Dan’s face dropped slightly. “Then she wrote us
about Halloween. She told us how *someone* had said some mean things about her, and how she
had... well, not reacted well to it. She told us how she came out of the toilet stall and looked up
to see what was in there with her.”

Dan’s face paled slightly, but then quickly returned to normal. “And then she told us how you,
and your friend Ron too, had saved her life. From that point on, her letters started sounding less
and less like book reports, and more like a child spending time with her friends. Over the years,
we heard all about the trouble the three of you would get into, all the confrontations you had
with, what did she call him, the ‘foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach.’“ Harry tried not to
smile.

“She even told us about your Quidditch matches. You know, before she went to Hogwarts, I don’t
think Hermione knew the difference between a football and a volleyball. I mean, they’re both round,
they’re both white, and they’re both about the same size. One just has black spots on it, right?”
Dan smiled again.

“But ask her anything about the history of Quidditch, ask her what the final scores were in any
of your games. Ask her how many times you’ve had some accident during a game, and she can tell
you.”

Harry looked surprised, to say the least. “As I said Harry, thank you for rescuing her from
herself. If it weren’t for you... and your friend Ron, she wouldn’t be the person she is today.
She’d have probably moved into the library by now, and not known the name of a single person at
that school who wasn’t a teacher.

“This may be hard to understand, Harry, but I’d rather her be out there, getting into a
*little* trouble every now and then, than to be locked away in the library or her dormitory,
isolated in her books from everyone.”

Dan now turned his attention fully to Harry and looked directly into his eyes. “And YES, I’d
even rather her live a full life and face a little danger everyone once in a while, than for her to
lock herself away in a room where she won’t *live* at all, even though she’s perfectly
safe.”

Again, Harry looked like he wanted to say something, but Dan didn’t let him. “Do you know why,
Harry?” Harry shook his head. “It’s because *you’ve* always been there by *her* side. We
both know that the world is not a safe place for either Muggle or Wizard. She may
*conveniently* leave out some of the details in some of her letters, but I think we’ve picked
up enough here and there over the years to know that all of you are not as safe as your professors
would like us to believe.”

Dan took a step towards Harry. “But... but... I know that she will always be safe as long as you
are there with her. She *could* just stay home and knit more of those hats she’s always
talking about, but she’d still be in danger... sometimes trouble comes looking for you. I’d rather
her be somewhere where there are people—” Dan put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “who can help keep
her safe. Thank you, Harry. Thank you.”

Dan extended his hand to Harry; Harry reached out to shake it. As he did, Dan suddenly pulled
his arm in and reached his other arm around and drew Harry into a quick hug. One pat on the back
later, they separated, both straightening out their shirts trying to look nonchalant.

“Aww, isn’t that cute?” a voice behind them cooed. Both Dan and Harry jumped in shock. “Trying
to wipe each other’s boy-germs off themselves. Absolutely precious. Oh, I wish I had my camera with
me.” Emma started laughing.

“Hermione,” she called downstairs, “you just missed the most adorable scene here a moment ago.”
She continued to laugh.

“Emma,” Dan hissed, “you scared the living daylights out of me. How long were you standing there
anyway?”

“Not long,” Emma replied mysteriously, “but long enough,” she finished with a smile. “I just
wanted to check on the two of you. You’ve been up here for quite a while and we hadn’t heard
anything, so I just wanted to make sure you were both still alive, and to make sure you didn’t read
Harry the riot act about living in the same house as ‘your only daughter.’“

“What’d I miss?” Hermione’s voice called up eagerly from downstairs.

Seeing the look on Dan’s face, Emma answered back, “I’ll tell you later.”

“No, you won’t,” Dan immediately told her in a whisper. Emma smiled deviously back at Dan.

Knowing that he already lost that battle, Dan turned back around towards Harry. “Well, dear, we
never got that far in our little talk. Did we Harry?”

Harry looked confused and shook his head, unsure if he should or not.

“Right. But to be honest, after talking with him, even if I thought I *needed* to talk to
him about *that*, I don’t really think I’d need to.”

Harry started blushing again. *Why’d that have to happen? I didn’t do or say or think anything
off-color!*

Dan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “I’m sure Harry here is quite aware of what our
daughter is capable of. In the end, I’m sure he’d rather face an angry me than an angry Hermione.
Isn’t that right Harry?” Dan asked.

Thoughts he had never before associated with Hermione suddenly raced into his mind. Everything
was swept away as the sight of an enraged Hermione appeared, with her wand pointed at *him*;
Harry visibly shuddered. He wondered what might appear on his face if he ever did something
dishonorable to Hermione... if he still had a face, that is.

Emma laughed slightly. “Yes, I can see what you mean, Dan.” The sound of Emma laughing brought
Harry back to room he was in. The amused expressions on Dan and Emma were hard to ignore. Harry
couldn’t help but give an embarrassed smile.

“Well boys,” Emma started, “if you’re all settled in up here, what say we head out for a little
shopping? We’ve already taken the day off work, so we might as well make the most of it.” Emma gave
Dan a fleeting glance. “I dare say he could stand for some new clothes.”

Dan clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “What do you say, Harry? Want to get out of the house
for a bit?”

The idea of being anywhere other than back in his room on Privet Drive certainly appealed to
Harry. But then a thought struck him. “But, I don’t have any money with me. It’s all back at
Gringotts.” For some reason, Harry didn’t feel uncomfortable saying that.

Dan smiled kindly. “Don’t worry about that, Harry. We’ll cover everything while we’re out, and
then you can just repay us when we go to pick up your school supplies for next term. Deal?”

Harry felt greatly relieved. “Deal,” he said with a smile. The three of them then left Harry’s
new room and headed downstairs. They found Hermione sitting on the sofa that faced the staircase.
Not surprisingly, she was reading a book. At the sound of them coming down, she looked up and
smiled. Harry was surprised by how comforting he found that smile. It was as though some things
always seemed constant. What exactly those “things” were, Harry was not entirely sure. But they
were comforting all the same.

Hermione set down the book. “So, are you coming Harry?” She looked genuinely excited. “I
mentioned to Mum that your regular clothes were little more than your cousin’s old hand-me-downs,
so she suggested we go shopping.” Emma tried to hide a smile when Hermione said the word
*“little.”*

“We needed to make a trip anyway, so I figured we could do it all at once,” Hermione explained;
Harry nodded.

Hermione jumped up and started towards the stairs. “I’m going to change real quick, and then we
can go.” Harry sat down on the same sofa Hermione had been in. Since it faced the staircase, he
watched her go upstairs. He could not help but find it funny as she practically leaped and bound up
the stairs. He held back a laugh and shook his head in amusement.

Harry turned towards Dan and Emma, who had sat down in the loveseat on his side. “So, are we
going to be waiting here long?” he asked.

Emma turned and looked back at the stairs. “Well, it depends if she tries to do anything with
her hair. If so, we might be here a while. If not, she’ll be down in a couple minutes.”

A couple minutes later, Hermione came walking down the stairs. Her hair was pulled back into a
ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of jeans and a different T-shirt. A shirt he recognized...
from television... a few weeks ago.

It was now Harry’s turn to feel embarrassed by that shirt, which he noticed was curiously
new-looking. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I was only joking about that shirt. I didn’t realize he actually
bought you one.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dan vigorously shaking his head as if to say
*“Don’t blame me for that.”*

Hermione, who seemed to have not noticed her father’s reaction, slowly looked up at Harry with a
guilty grin. “Well... it *is* a nice shirt, and I obviously can’t wear it to school. Can you
imagine Malfoy’s or Snape’s reactions if they saw me wearing this? Or Lavender’s or Parvati’s? Or
worse, Ron’s or Ginny’s?”

Both of the teenagers shared a laugh. “Besides, we’re going to be in the middle of a Muggle
shopping mall. No one there knows you’re Harry. So, are we all ready? Got your wand, Harry?”

Harry’s face immediately blanched. He had forgotten his wand! It was still in his trunk. How
could he have forgotten to take out his wand?!

Hermione immediately read the look on his face and her face changed into mothering mode.
“Harry...” she lectured.

“I for— erm — sorry. It’s still in my trunk.” Harry leaned forward as he started to stand
up.

“No, no, I’m still up, I’ll go get it,” she offered.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry replied sheepishly.

Hermione stared at Harry for a moment and cracked the faintest hint of a smile. “Yes, well... I
promise you won’t be thanking me if there is a next time.”

As she turned to go back upstairs, Harry could not tell if the look on her face was teasing or
threatening. *Probably a little of both,* Harry decided wisely.

Harry looked back at Dan and Emma. Dan was wearing an *I told you so* expression. Emma saw
this and elbowed him in the ribs lightly. “Professor Dumbledore seemed to think you should be
relatively safe in the middle of a Muggle city for short periods. Who’d think to look for you in
the middle of Wandsworth, especially since that spell precludes anyone from even thinking you’d be
with us? But, there’s never any excuse for being unprepared, is there?”

“No,” Harry agreed. In all honesty, for the last three weeks, he really hadn’t cared at all,
about anything. That was why his wand was still tucked away uselessly in his trunk. *In my
trunk,* Harry remembered. Harry was suddenly embarrassed at the idea of Hermione having to dig
through all his dirty clothes to find his wand. He really wished he had put out some laundry back
at Privet Drive.

Hermione soon came bounding down the stairs, obviously none the worse for her experience. As
Harry stood up, she handed him his wand and shook her head in feigned disappointment. “Thanks,” was
all he could muster.

She smiled. “You owe me one,” she warned.

Harry safely stowed his wand into his pocket as Dan and Emma stood up. As he watched Dan help
Emma to her feet and saw her smile lovingly in return, Harry felt a twinge of... well, not
*jealousy*, but longing, maybe, as he wondered what it would feel like to be able to help a
special someone up like that and have her smile back at him like that.

His thoughts were interrupted by Dan’s cheerful call of “Everyone ready?” Getting three nods in
reply, they all headed for the front door.

As the four of them headed down the walk towards the car, Harry thought for a moment about the
last twenty-four hours or so. A little over a day ago, Hedwig had delivered Hermione’s reply that
had seemed to set everything into motion: Dumbledore’s letter, packing up to move out of the
Dursleys’, Dan and Emma picking him up, and finally arriving here, his new temporary home.

He could not ever remember feeling this excited. He should be miserable after Sirius’s death. He
should be scared with Voldemort on the loose. But instead, he was happy and care free... his only
concern currently about actually having to choose his own clothes for the first time in his life.
He didn’t know what had brought about these changes in the way he was feeling. He promised himself,
however, that if he ever figured out what it was, he wouldn’t ever let go of it, for anything.


*A/N: Check out an AWESOME photo-manip made by Evernight based on a scene in this
chapter!*


*http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=799*




7. Gone Shopping
----------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though after HBP, I’m not sure I would want to. No, I
take that back, I would want to own it, just not be the one to write it. No, I take that back too.
I would want to. Then maybe HBP wouldn’t have happened like that. I’ll show you delusional. Oh, I’m
wandering, aren’t I? Where was I? Oh yes.... I’m just playing here.*

*A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left a review. It is incredibly motivating! Thanks! And of
course, thanks to my beta MapleMountain. As we’ve seen in this story and in RL recently, three
cheers for A/C!! Yay!*


Chapter 7. Gone Shopping.

The car ride to the shopping center was surprisingly quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the
dull roar of the road noise as the tires drove on the asphalt and the radio station Emma had tuned
into as they started on their way.

At one point or another during the drive, Hermione, Emma, and Dan had each intended on trying to
strike up a conversation with Harry just to break the silence. They all decided against it however,
when they saw the look on his face.

Harry was sitting in the back seat, next to Hermione, with the biggest grin on his face any of
them had ever seen, including Hermione. The only word that could describe it was excitement. As
they drove, he was constantly looking around at the city that passed them by, trying to take in
everything.

Harry felt like a little kid who had just moved to a new town. To be honest, it really wasn’t
that far from the truth. He wanted to see everything. He watched as they drove past a park that was
filled with children on the play equipment. He looked at all the advertising billboards they drove
by.

He was even excited to see some guy in a sports car being given a traffic citation by the local
constabulary. All around him, it was life as normal. No war. No Voldemort. No worries, except how
hot it would get and if the stores would run out of ice cream.

Finally, they arrived at their destination: the main shopping center in Wandsworth. Harry could
not help but be impressed. In his first ten years, he could count on his fingers the number of
times he had gone shopping with the Dursleys.

They always made every effort to unload him onto their neighbor, Mrs. Figg, whenever they went
out. If they ever had to go out to buy “things” and she was unavailable, they always put the trip
off until she could watch him. On the rare occasion Harry had accompanied them out, it was only to
the grocery store. Even then, he had been told to not look at anything and to not touch anything.
And as usual, there were the constant warnings against any “funny business.”

Harry was so excited, he could barely contain himself. As the four of them walked through the
car park, Emma tapped Harry on his shoulder to get his attention. “Where do you want to go,
Harry?”

Harry looked at her with a happy, but slightly bewildered look. “You tell me, Emma. This is my
first time in a shopping center. Where do I need to go?”

A slightly sad look swept across her face for a fraction of a second, but was then replaced with
her normal cheerful expression. “Well, we need to stop at the grocery, but we’ll do that last. I
imagine Hermione here will want to stop in the book store.”

Apparently this was a family joke as Harry could see Dan in front of him chuckle a little.
Hermione, who was walking next to him, threw her shoulder into Dan’s left arm. In a playfully angry
voice, she quipped, “Yes, yes. ‘Hermione can’t resist a book store.’“

Smiling, Emma continued. “So, other than groceries, this trip’s mainly for you. We will
definitely need to stop at the department store to get you some new clothes. We can wander around
the other shops and see if anything catches your eye. I know everything you *need* to buy in
is Diagon Alley, but maybe you’ll find something here that you *want* to buy.”

The shopping center they were in was a nice, relatively new mall with about thirty small and
medium-sized shops lining a central promenade. At each end were two large stores, a department
store on one end, and a grocery store on the other. Walking through the entrance in the middle of
the mall, a collective sigh from all four of them could be heard. The mall was air conditioned.

Once they had reached the promenade, they turned right and started in a leisurely stroll towards
the department store. Every so often, one of them would see something in a window and walk into the
store, the other three following. Coming out of one of the stores, Dan had put his arm around Emma
and together the two of them walked side by side.

Again, Harry was surprised by the sudden feelings that evoked. He was quite certain he wanted to
do that too. Not to Emma, of course, but to someone... his own special someone, if he ever found
one.

He could not help but recall the previous year when Cho Chang rushed up to him after his
interview in *The Quibbler* and started holding his hand. At the time, he seemed happy. But
now that day, not that long ago, seemed a mere shadow of its former self, as though it were
something he only witnessed instead of actually experiencing.

As he watched Dan and Emma surreptitiously, he was vaguely aware of hearing someone call his
name. He nearly had a heart attack when he felt Hermione put her hand in his.

The warmth of her skin touching his blocked out every other sensation in his body. He looked
down dumbly at their joined hands. Their arms were now rising towards horizontal as she moved away
from him. He looked at her; all he saw was the back of her head as she was pulling him somewhere.
Finally feeling a tug in his shoulder, he numbly followed wherever she was leading him.

As they left the skylight-lit promenade, Harry was barely aware that they had entered a shop
when the lighting intensity decreased. He was still too entranced by the warm, pleasant feeling
that had started in his hand and which was now traveling up his arm to notice where they were.

He had held Hermione’s hand before. Why did this seem so strange? No, not *strange*...
just... different. He tried to remember all the other times he had held her hand. He supposed it
must feel different when you weren’t being chased by werewolves, angry centaurs, or Death Eaters.
*That must be the difference,* he convinced himself.

He recognized where he was by the smell before he even looked up. It was a very comforting
smell; it reminded him of being back at school. He could feel his entire body immediately relax. It
was the smell of parchment. No... that wasn’t it exactly. It was the smell of paper, not parchment,
with a hint of ink and glue. Hermione had dragged him one store back, into the book store. He
hadn’t even noticed it when they walked by.

Feeling quite out of his element in a book store, he let Hermione lead him around. They slowly
wandered around the store, pausing occasionally as she looked at the books in one section or
another. He watched as the shop owner, a middle-aged woman, greeted Hermione warmly. It seemed
obvious that she recognized her as a book lover, since he assumed it was unlikely she knew Hermione
personally, considering she was away at school for more than nine months a year.

The owner then glanced at Harry as he walked by. As he returned her smile, he recognized the
all-too-familiar glance up to the scar on his forehead. Unlike every other time however, after she
saw it she simply returned to whatever it was she was doing, as though it were unimportant and just
any other oddly-shaped scar.

Secretly, Harry found this very comforting. He never really like crowds before... all those
people gawking at him, or probably more accurately, his scar. It didn’t really matter to him
whether they were pointing in awe, admiration, or more recently ridicule. He just didn’t like being
the center of that kind of attention.

He thought back to the scene that had captured his attention right before being led into the
book store. If he *had* to be the center of attention, he’d rather it be the attention of just
one person, rather than the entire world. Someone who would hold *his* hand and take
*him* shopping and...

His musings were interrupted when he heard Hermione snicker slightly. He looked up at the shelf
of books she had turned away from. It was shelf with a dozen or so random books on witchcraft,
sorcery, and magical folklore—or at least the Muggle ideas of them. Harry could not help but smile
as he passed them by also.

Finally, the two of them stopped in front of a large bookcase of used books. There were probably
a hundred or so on the shelves and they were not organized in any logical fashion. Hermione ran her
hand along the books, reading each title as her fingers passed over the spine. She didn’t seem to
be looking for anything in particular, simply looking at each one to see if anything interested
her.

On the third shelf, Hermione must have seen one that did interest her, for she grabbed it and
pulled it off the shelf. As she brought it closer to her, Harry suddenly felt his own left hand
being pulled up suddenly. Evidently Hermione had forgotten she was still holding his hand.

“Oh! Sorry,” she whispered to him, blushing slightly. She immediately let go of his hand and
took the book, opening it and flipping through the pages. Still able to see traces of pink on her
cheeks, Harry thought it was quite funny that she had forgotten she was still holding his
hand—funny, that is, until he realized that he too had forgotten she was still holding his
hand.

Harry had been so intrigued by the sensation of her hand in his when she first started leading
him into the bookstore. When he entered the store and noticed the smells that reminded him of being
at Hogwarts, it drove the conscious awareness of that sensation from his mind.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t still feel her hand. It was as though that feeling were the most
natural thing in the world. It was so natural that he didn’t notice it, just like how a person
might not be aware of their own breathing.

Just like a breath of air, now that her hand was gone, Harry seemed to notice its absence more
than its presence. His hand felt curiously cold and empty. Of course, that only made sense since
the warm presence was now gone. But still, he felt strangely disappointed by its removal.

Harry looked around for a moment. Dan and Emma were nowhere to be seen. “Erm, Hermione? Do you
know where your parents are?” he asked quietly.

Not looking up from her book, she turned another page. “They probably went into to the bath
store. It’s two stores up.”

“The bath store?” Harry asked. “Don’t you already have a bath?”

Harry saw her turn her head an inch or so towards him, and then back to her book. She smiled
slightly. “No, Harry. It’s not a store where you buy bath tubs. It’s a store where you buy stuff
for the bathroom. Fancy linens, natural sponges, bubble solutions, specialty soaps... you know,
that kind of stuff.”

Harry did not know. He had quite an incredulous expression on his face “You mean they have
stores just for soap and bubble baths?” Hermione nodded. “But why?” he asked sincerely.

Harry saw the book Hermione was holding drop a millimeter or two. “It’s just a girl-thing,
Harry. Sometimes we like flowery-smelling soap, or adding scented oil to the bath water. It can be
quite relaxing actually, after a long day.”

Harry looked confused. “But, if it’s a girl-thing, why would your dad go in there too?”

Hermione’s mouth twitched as though she was fighting to not smile. “Because, Harry. They’re
married. They do *everything* together,” she explained, still not looking up from the
book.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Harry reasoned. This time Hermione was unable to hold back her smile.
“Of course they’d go shopping together.” She let slip a chuckle. It made perfect sense now that she
explained it; he didn’t know why she thought it was funny, however.

Finally deciding she didn’t want to buy the book, Hermione closed it and put it back on the
shelf. “Anything in here in particular you want to look at, Harry?” she asked.

He looked around at all the shelves of books in the store. “No,” he decided. “There are a couple
things I might be interested in reading about, but I don’t think we’ll find *those* books
here.”

“No,” she admitted, “I don’t think we will. I know what you mean. When I come in here, unless
I’m looking for something specific, I usually just go look through the used books. Somebody read
them, so they must’ve been interesting to someone. I just look through them and see if anything
catches my eye. Nothing today, unfortunately.”

As the two of them headed towards the exit, Harry under his own power this time, Hermione waved
goodbye to the shop owner.

“Nothing today, dear?” the owner asked; Hermione shook her head. “We should have another
shipment of used books come in, in a month or so. Be sure to stop by again before you go back to
school.”

“I will,” Hermione promised as they walked out the door and back onto the promenade. As they
started walking towards the bath store, Hermione glanced over at Harry and saw the inquisitive look
on his face. She knew what he was debating on whether to ask her. “No, Harry, she doesn’t know
where I go to school. You may find this hard to believe, but every time we come shopping here, I
stop in there.” She looked over and saw Harry with an exaggerated look of disbelief; she rolled her
eyes.

“Since the only times I can come shopping with Mum and Dad are on holidays, she only sees me
then. She always remembers me, but she can never seem to remember my name.”

“Well, it is a hard name to remember. It does have four syllables, you know,” Harry said
teasingly. Hermione lightly swatted his arm.

“So, anyway, she asked why she saw me so often in such a short period, and then never again for
so many months. I just told her I went to a private boarding school up north.”

As they reached the bath shop, Harry and Hermione looked in the window. They saw Dan and Emma in
the middle of the store, looking at a bottle of something pink. Grabbing his hand again, she pulled
him into the store. “Come on, let’s go get them. They’ll be in here all day if we don’t,” she said
with a sigh.

As soon as they came up to Dan and Emma, Hermione let go of Harry’s hand. “Hey Mum, Dad,” she
said.

Emma turned around. “Oh, there you are, dear.” She looked down at Hermione’s empty hands.
“Nothing in the bookstore you wanted?” Hermione shook her head. For the first time that day, Harry
suddenly felt quite relieved that she had let go of his hand.

“Oh well, we can always stop at Flourish and Blotts later. Oooh... there is something here you
just have to see. Here Dan, hold this for a moment.” Emma handed him the bottle of pink liquid.

The two of them hurried off to the back of the store to look at the specialty soaps. Harry and
Dan looked at each other. Harry had to admit that Dan did look a little awkward standing there
holding a bottle of pink *something*. Dan laughed awkwardly. “So Harry, the men are abandoned
while the women run off to giggle about soap, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed back as he looked over and saw Hermione and Emma holding something between
them and talking excitedly.

“They may be a few minutes, so you might as well go look around,” Dan suggested. “Believe me,
you’ll look stranger just standing in the middle of the store than you will looking at all of the
different bath oils.” Harry nodded and then started to walk around. As he started looking around,
he was surprised at how many guys there actually were in the store.

*Probably buying things for their girlfriends,* Harry thought with envy. *Oh well, when
in Rome...* He continued looking around the store.

He saw a small display in one corner. Above it was a picture of a silver tap that was pouring
water in to a bath filled with bubbles. He opened the sample bottle and smelled it. The scent was
very familiar. Harry suddenly remembered back to his expedition to the prefect’s bathroom back in
fourth year to solve the mystery of golden egg from his first task in the Triwizard Tournament.

He *had* been most impressed with all the golden taps on the edge of the large marble bath.
There were about a hundred of them that poured different types of bubbles and foams and scented
clouds. He was beginning to see the appeal of this store.

A few minutes later, Dan, Emma, and Hermione had bought whatever it was that they wanted, and
they were again on their way to the department store. Once they had reached the clothing
department, Hermione and Emma headed off to the women’s section while Harry and Dan headed to the
men’s.

“So, Harry, did I hear you right earlier? This is your first time in a shopping mall?” Dan
asked. Despite the smile on his face, Harry could tell Dan didn’t enjoy having to ask that.

“Uh huh,” Harry replied. “I mean, I’ve been to the grocery store a couple times, and I’ve
shopped in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, but never anywhere like here. All the clothes I have that
aren’t school clothes were all once Dudley’s. If you’ve ever seen me in them, you’d probably know
you could fit three of me in them,” Harry said with a bit of a sarcastic laugh.

Dan replied with a smile. “Well, once we get you outfitted, what do you say we get rid of all
your old stuff?”

“Sounds fine by me,” Harry replied eagerly. “So, where do we start?” he asked Dan.

“Well, since we’re here,” Dan said, waving his hand at all the shirts in the shirts section,
“this is as good a place as any to start. Then we can head over and get you some pants and maybe
even some shorts too. They are very nice on these hot days. Oh, can’t forget socks and underwear.
You can never have too many of those. So, how much do you think you’ll need, Harry?” Dan asked.

Harry looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

Dan, seeing Harry’s confusion, continued helpfully. “If you were at a regular school, I’d say
you’d need at least ten sets of clothes, one for each day of the week, plus a few extras to rotate
in or for emergencies. That way you don’t have to wear the same clothes every day. But since you
have school clothes also, I don’t think you’ll need as much. So, what do you think?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I think five sets should suffice. A couple for weekends, and a few
more in case we plan on wandering around outside. If you don’t go out wandering the school grounds,
everyone usually just stays in their school clothes.”

Dan nodded, and then Harry started walking around looking at all the clothes. Picking out
clothes was hard. There were so many from which to choose. He didn’t understand why girls seemed to
like to do this. After about five minutes, he had found six shirts that he didn’t think looked too
hideous.

Next, the two of them went over and picked up some jeans and a couple pairs of shorts. Harry
then took everything into the fitting rooms and made sure they all fit. This, he thought, was the
most amusing part of all.

He knew it was perfectly logical, but after being given Dudley’s clothes all his life, it just
seemed strange to make sure clothes actually fit before getting them. True, he did have to get
fitted for new robes every year, but that wasn’t so much “trying them on” as is was just standing
there while Madam Malkin draped a new robe over him and then made adjustments. As for his actual
school clothes, he always found them, properly sized, waiting for him in his dormitory the first
day back; he didn’t know how that worked.

Six sets of clothes later, they walked over to the socks and underwear. “Do you get these at
school too?” Dan asked. Harry nodded. “Oh well,” he said indifferently, “grab some anyway. Like I
said, you can never have too many of them. I don’t know about you, but I always seem to be missing
a sock.”

A thought suddenly popped into Harry’s mind. *Didn’t Professor Dumbledore say something like
that once, about not having too many?*

Twenty minutes after separating from the women, Dan had all of Harry’s new clothes purchased and
bagged up. The two of them then left the men’s department in search of the female Grangers. After
spending about five minutes wandering around the women’s department looking exactly like two lost
men searching for their women, Dan suddenly stopped in the middle of the aisle. “Oh, there they
are,” he said.

Harry, being shorter than Dan, could not see as far through the many aisles of clothing. Dan
turned around and handed Harry the bags containing his new clothes. “Here, Harry. Hold these for a
second. I’m going to run over to them and tell them we’ll be upstairs finding you some new shoes.
I’m sure you’d like something a little nicer than those old trainers of yours that’re about to fall
apart.”

Harry looked down at his pitiful pair of trainers. Now that he actually thought about his feet,
he realized that he had put his old trainers on with his nice school clothes. It looked quite silly
in his opinion. He looked back up at Dan with an amused expression. “I didn’t even pay attention to
what shoes I had put on. My good school shoes are still in my trunk.”

Dan laughed lightly, and then quickly looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Don’t
worry about it too much, Harry. I said it before. You might be a great wizard, but you’re still a
guy. Coordinating footwear isn’t exactly our specialty. Hang on then, I’ll be back in just a
tick.”

Harry moved to the side so that he wasn’t blocking the center of the aisle. He watched as Dan
started weaving his through the maze of clothing racks and floor displays. He seemed to be working
his way to one of the back corners of the store. By now, all he could see was his head.

Emma and Hermione, who were about as tall as Harry, could not be seen, where ever they were.
*Where is he going?* Harry wondered. *OK, now he’s stopped. That’s where they must be.
What’s over there? Ah, there’s a department sign over there on the wall. This stupid SALE sign on
the rack in front of me is blocking it. That’s better. Intimates. Intimates? Oh...*

Harry’s eyes suddenly went wide in realization. Feeling as though he just got caught out of
bounds by Filch without his Invisibility Cloak, he quickly put the SALE sign back where it
originally was, blocking his view of the offending department sign. Turning to very intently
examine the rack of women’s jackets next to him, Harry eagerly waited for Dan to return.

A minute later, Dan returned with a highly amused expression on his face. “Women!” he complained
with a laugh. “They weren’t even buying anything... ‘Just looking.’ When I walked up to them, you’d
think I barged into the changing room or something.”

Harry feigned ignorance about what they might have been looking at. “Huh?”

Dan’s moment of amusement having since passed, Dan sighed slightly to clear the last of the
chuckles. “Oh, never mind. So. Let’s go find you some decent shoes, shall we?”

The two of them walked over to the escalator in the center of the store and headed up to the
second level. Reaching the shoe department, Harry sat down; Dan sized his foot with a steel
instrument that Harry thought would look quite at home in the Headmaster’s office. After about ten
minutes, Harry had found a pair of shoes and a pair of trainers he liked. The best part about them
though was that they actually fit him.

Harry’s new wardrobe now complete, Dan and Harry started heading back to the department store
entrance, and to the promenade. “I don’t know how much longer they’ll be, so I told the ladies we’d
meet them in the food court. Are you hungry, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said eagerly. “I haven’t had anything since breakfast, except that cup of tea back
at your house.”

Dan sighed in disappointment. “I’m sorry, Harry. I assumed you would’ve eaten lunch before we
left Privet Drive. *Most* parents feed their children before they send them on trips.”

Harry laughed once in sarcasm. “The Dursleys aren’t *most* parents. At least with me.”
Harry and Dan walked silently towards the food court.

When they arrived, they slowly walked around the court looking at all the offerings. “See
anything that strikes your fancy, Harry?” Dan asked.

Harry looked around. “Lots,” he replied simply. “Though, since we’re out, I’d like to try
something a little different, something they don’t serve at Hogwarts. Any recommendations?”

Dan too looked around. “Hmm... something they don’t... How about Chinese? I don’t remember
Hermione mentioning anything like that. Ever had Chinese food?”

“Does leftover white rice count?” Harry asked, smiling.

“No, Harry, it doesn’t. Chinese it is. Technically, it’s not authentic Chinese food *per
se*, but rather the American version of it. It’s still very good though,” Dan explained as they
walked over to the order station. Dan looked at Harry questioningly.

“Whatever you like,” Harry answered. “I don’t know what I like, so I’ll just try your favorite.”
Dan nodded, and then bought two orders of General Tsao’s Chicken with pork fried rice and two
Cokes. Finding an empty table, the two sat down and started in on their lunch.

Harry was quite unprepared for how spicy the chicken was. He put an entire piece into his mouth
and immediately started chewing very quickly to get it down, drawing in great breaths of air to try
to cool the burning sensation. Once he had finally swallowed it, he took a big drink.

Dan watched, slightly amused. “Small bites, Harry. Small bites. Get some rice in there too. Not
so hot that way. It’s got quite a kick, it does.”

His eyes watering, Harry nodded.

About ten minutes later, Emma and Hermione returned from the department store, empty handed.
“Didn’t find anything you liked?” Dan asked his wife and daughter. Harry stared intently at his
food as he ate, not daring to look at either of them.

“I told you we were just looking,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone. Though he was still
looking at his plate, Harry could almost hear Hermione rolling her eyes at her father.

“Are either of you hungry?” Dan asked. “Harry hadn’t had lunch yet, so we decided to broaden his
horizons a little beyond the regular school food fare and Dursley leftovers.”

“We split a sandwich while the two of you were up ‘bonding’ in Harry’s room,” Emma teased, “but
that wasn’t really enough to count for lunch. Oh Dan, why’d you get two orders? You know they give
such big servings.”

Dan threw a quick smile at Harry then looked back at Emma. “Because I knew the two of you would
be here in a few minutes. I knew neither of you would want a full order yourselves, so you’d just
sit and stare expectantly at our food until one of us caved and offered you something.”

*That’s why he brought two extra forks,* Harry thought to himself, quite impressed. *I’ll
have to remember that one.*

“How sweet of you,” Emma said sarcastically as she sat down next to Dan. She then smiled
genuinely and kissed him. “Thanks, dear.”

“Okay Mum, children present at the table,” Hermione said in a tone of voice Harry had never
heard her use as she sat down next to him. If he had to describe it, it was almost a comedic whine.
As she sat down, Harry reached over and grabbed one of the extra forks. He captured a piece of
chicken on it and handed it to Hermione as a gesture of “caving in.”

“Thanks,” she said to Harry.

Emma looked back at Hermione as though she were still an eleven year old girl. “Oh come now,
dear. I’m quite sure you’ve seen worse at school.” Harry hid his smile behind his cup as he took a
drink. He’d heard about some of the detentions Filch had given after catching students in the broom
closets looking very breathless and with very disheveled hair.

“Yeah,” Hermione retorted, “but they weren’t my mum and dad.”

Harry almost choked on his drink. After forcing it down so he didn’t spray it over everyone, he
started coughing and gasping for air, all the while a few stray laughs slipping out. Hermione
immediately started patting and then rubbing his back to help settle everything.

Dan and Emma, across from him, looked at him with concern. Once he had caught his breath, he
started laughing and their expressions slowly changed to amusement. Out of the corner of his
tear-filled eyes, he could see the same reaction play across Hermione’s face. “I’m so sorry about
that. It’s just something I never expected to hear Hermione say... Complaining about you kissing in
front of her.”

Hermione took her hand off Harry’s back and picked up the fork she’d dropped so quickly. “Well,
how would you like to be at Ron’s house and have to watch Mr. and Mrs. Weasley snog each other
while *you* tried to eat? *Or,*” she added very dramatically, a wicked gleam in her eye,
“if it were your—”

Harry quickly turned his head towards Hermione, pointing his plastic fork at her threateningly.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Miss Granger.” The hint of a smile betraying him, he made a
slight jab towards her with his fork to back up his words. Hermione didn’t at all look threatened.
He turned his attention back to his lunch. After staring at it for a few seconds, he let out a
defeated sigh and looked back at her. “Thank you for that mental image... my aunt and uncle.”

Hermione smiled back at him in what could only be described as a very evil grin. “You’re very
welcome,” she replied.

Ten minutes later, Dan and Emma had finished Dan’s food, and Harry and Hermione had finished
Harry’s. Once they had dumped their trash in the bin, they headed off towards the other end of the
promenade. When they reached the entrance in the middle, Dan and Harry took everyone’s purchases
back to the car so they wouldn’t have to carry them around as they did their grocery shopping once
they reached the other end.

When they returned, they found that Emma and Hermione had wandered off on their own. They
decided to just work their way down towards the grocery store. Sooner or later, they’d see them in
one of the shops. If not, whoever got to the end first would simply wait for the other two by the
shopping baskets.

Along the way, Harry saw a small sporting goods store that he wanted to visit. Inside, Harry
asked Dan, “I wonder if I should get Ron a football. One of our dorm mates, Dean Thomas, is also a
Muggle-born. He likes Quidditch now, but he’s still a big football fan. Ron never seemed to be able
to understand the game. Maybe if I get him one, it might help.”

“Possibly,” Dan said. “But just remember, you don’t have to buy everything today. If you’re not
sure, we can always come back later.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “let’s go look at some of the other stores.” Three stores down, Harry saw
a games and hobby store. “That might have some potential,” Harry said to Dan. Hermione’s birthday
was still several months away, as was Christmas. Ron’s birthday was even further off. However, he
rarely got an opportunity to go shopping separate from Ron or Hermione in Hogsmeade or Diagon
Alley, so he definitely wanted to make the most of this chance in case he saw something.

As they walked in the store and looked around, Harry was absolutely certain it did have
potential. The store was filled with (Muggle) games of every type imaginable. There were card games
and board games and computer games. There was even an entire section dedicated to puzzle and logic
games. Harry spent several minutes looking at those.

Making note of several items that certainly had gift potential, Harry tore his attention away
from the Japanese Puzzle Boxes. As he turned around, his eye caught on two glass display cases in
the middle of the store, next to the cashier. They were filled with exquisitely beautiful chess
sets.

Harry walked over to them as quickly as he could without actually running. He was awestruck by
all the different types of sets in the case. There was a second display case facing away from him
that also had chess sets in them, but he couldn’t see them very well from his point of view.

Whatever was in those cases did not matter, however, as the sets in front of him were beautiful
enough. There were six sets in the case; all of them looked handmade. They also looked expensive.
The cheapest one Harry saw was £149. The pieces were either hand carved out of natural materials
like wood or stone, or were cast out of solid metal. All were highly detailed, most painted by
hand.

There were several sets with standard style pieces. One set, on the bottom most shelf, caught
his eye first. It appeared to be made of cast metal that had been gold- and silver-plated. The
price tag on that one confirmed his suspicion. Another set looked like it was made of intricately
carved pieces of dark and light wood. A third set was made of what looked like black and white
marble.

As Harry looked at them, Dan walked over and joined him. Also in the case were several specialty
sets. One of the sets had different animals as the pieces. It looked like warm-blooded against
cold-blooded. The king of the warm-blooded side was a lion. The bishops of the cold-blooded side
were snakes. *Gryffindor versus Slytherin,* Harry could not help but think.

The last two sets in that case caught Harry’s interest. Fortunately, they were on the topmost
shelf so he could see them closely. The set on the left was a magical and mythological set. It
appeared to be made out of pewter. The king and queen on both sides were wizards and witches. The
other pieces were other characters and creatures of a magical or mythological nature. The rooks
were cauldrons.

When Dan saw Harry looking at this set, he spoke very quietly. “See anything there familiar,
Harry?” he asked with a knowing voice.

Harry pretended to study the pieces carefully. “Well, it looks like the knights are supposed to
be griffins, though I think they look more like Buckbeak if you ask me. And those goblins and elves
for pawns are much too tall,” he said with a smile.

The last set in the case had a military theme, though he wasn’t sure what they were.
Fortunately, he just happened to have a Granger standing next to him who was more than willing to
tell him all about them.

“These pieces represent two branches of the American military, Harry,” Dan explained. “This
side, with the white uniforms, is the US Navy. The other side, with the dark blue uniforms, is the
US Army. Army versus Navy. I’ve heard there is a long standing friendly rivalry between them, more
so than between any other branches. These uniforms are called, I believe, dinner dress. I suppose
they have them dressed like this because they get into fights in pubs on leave,” Dan finished with
a smile.

“I thought maybe Ron might like a chess set for his birthday, but I don’t know if he’d like a
regular set.” Harry lowered his voice to keep it from traveling. “Half the fun of wizard’s chess is
watching the pieces fight each other.”

“Do you see anything in here you want to buy, or are you just looking for ideas?” Dan asked.

After throwing a quick glance back at some of the logic games, he thought for a moment. “No,
I’ve got some ideas, but I don’t want to buy the first thing I see. Definitely some possibilities
here though. I might see something a little more *interesting* when we go school shopping, so
I’ll wait for now.”

“All right,” Dan agreed, “let’s go see if we can find the girls.” They returned to the promenade
and resumed walking towards the grocery store. Seeing no other stores either of them wanted to
visit, Dan and Harry reached the grocery store before Emma and Hermione.

They tried to look as comfortable as they possibly could simply standing next to a shopping
basket. About ten minutes later, Emma and Hermione finally joined them. They were carrying several
bags. Selecting a cart, Emma and Hermione put their purchases in the basket. There wasn’t much room
left for groceries.

As the four of them started walking into the grocery store, Emma directed her voice in Harry’s
direction. “Since you’re our guest Harry, is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner
tonight?”

This was one of the questions Harry had feared. He didn’t know what he wanted. He was never
given a choice about what to eat at the Dursleys. At Hogwarts, there was always so much wonderful
food that he simply took whatever looked good. Even at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley always made lots of
food, what with having to feed five Weasley children (six if you counted Ron’s stomach separate
from himself) plus Arthur and herself, so he never really had to ever decide what was going to be
made.

Seeing the looks on all three of their faces, Harry knew that “Whatever you want” would not be
accepted. Fortunately, Harry was struck by an idea that saved him from having to find out.

“Are there any Granger family specialties I should try?” he asked. Harry was very pleased with
himself.

Emma and Hermione looked at each other excitedly. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she
said smiling. “All right then, let’s get cracking.”

Turning down the first aisle, Dan suddenly looked as though he realized something. “Hermione,
let’s go take these back to the car so there’ll be room in the basket.” He grabbed all of the bags
and the two of them headed back into the promenade, towards the entrance.

As Emma and Harry walked through the aisles, he was surprised at how little they talked. Other
than Emma’s frequent reminder to “just grab it if you see something you like,” they really didn’t
say much. Considering how much Dan had talked with Harry during the day, he expected she would do
the same. However, Harry also noticed that she also had a highly organized shopping list in her
hand, one she had pulled out of her purse as soon as Dan and Hermione left.

It was clear to Harry that she was in shopping mode. Actually, it looked more like hunting and
gathering mode, since almost everything that went into the basket was already on the list. There
was the occasional “Oh, we’ll need that too,” as she made modifications to her list as she
considered what to make for dinner. As he thought about it, it reminded him a great deal of
Hermione gathering her supplies to prepare a potion.

About fifteen minutes later, Dan and Hermione had returned, and the shopping basket was nearly
full. Ten minutes later, everything was paid for and they were on their way back to the car park.
Once the groceries were loaded, they were off on their way back home.

Harry was a little shocked to realize that he didn’t at all find it odd to think those words:
*back home*. Ever since his first day at Hogwarts, he always considered the castle his home.
Privet Drive was little more than his home away from home. And yet, looking at the clock on the car
radio, Harry had left Privet Drive less than four hours earlier, and already Harry had thought of
Hermione’s house as, well, not home *exactly*, but it was more than just another home away
from home. It certainly now ranked higher on Harry’s list of places he’d like to stay that Privet
Drive ever did, though he didn’t suppose that was saying much.

A short while later, they arrived back home. Harry made sure to look at the street name sign
when they turned onto the road. For some reason, he just wanted to see it. *Broomhill Road.*
After they parked, everyone helped unload the shopping. Hermione was the first one out and started
handing Harry’s bags to him.

After loading him up with his new clothes, she grabbed her bags that had been set against one of
the side walls. Fully loaded down, they lumbered up to the front door. Harry noticed that her bags
looked heavier than he remembered seeing her carry earlier. He waited as Hermione tried to hold
onto everything and pull a key out of her pocket at the same time.

“Don’t you just wish you could...?” Harry started to ask.

“Believe me, yes,” Hermione said with a flustered sigh. “But I won’t be of age until September.
So... until then, keys it is.” Finally setting down one of her bags, she was able to get the front
door open.

As Dan and Emma put away the groceries, Harry and Hermione took their bags upstairs. Dragging
everything into his room, he set all of the bags into the corner next to his trunk. He would empty
out his trunk and hang up his new clothes in the closet later. Turning around, he was surprised to
see an envelope sitting on his bed.

As he walked over to the bed, he heard Hermione come back into his room. It sounded as though
she was talking to herself. He only heard part of whatever she was saying. “...doesn’t make any
sense. I don’t even have an...” Her voice trailed off just as he picked up the envelope. He looked
at the address on the envelope.

*Harry James Potter
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey*

Assuming she had been talking about something she bought, he turned and looked at her amusedly.
“Owl forwarding?” he asked, showing her the envelope.

“I suppose. Hardly anyone knows you’re here. Who’s it from?” Hermione asked, looking a little
more interested than seemed normal for an ordinary letter.

Harry turned over the envelope. The hand holding the envelope started shaking. He appeared to be
in a state of shock. Hermione immediately rushed over and took the envelope from him, putting her
other hand on his right shoulder. Harry was in no state to notice there was something already in
the hand she placed on his shoulder.

She looked at the seal on the back side of the envelope. There, embossed in the wax, was the
emblem of Gringotts Bank. Hermione looked from the letter addressed to Harry in her right hand to
an identical letter addressed to her in her left hand. Her eyes widened suddenly in
realization.

She let out an almost silent gasp, and then spoke to no one in particular in barely more than a
whisper.

“Sirius’s will.”



8. Erm... Did We Forget Something?
----------------------------------


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though after HBP, I'm not sure I would want to. No, I
take that back, I would want to own it, just not be the one to write it. No, I take that back too.
I would want to. Then maybe HBP wouldn't have happened like that. I'll show you delusional.
Oh, I'm wandering, aren't I? Where was I? Oh yes.... I'm just playing here.


A/N: No, I didn't forget about the "cliffhanger" from the last chapter, though our
new housemates seem to have. Yeah, it looks as though they may have gotten slightly distracted
there. Oh, how horrible for them! :-) Thanks, as always, to my beta, MapleMountain. I told you so.
You keep making snarky comments and they may end up in the story. Never stop, please.

Chapter 8. Erm... Did We Forget Something?

Harry and Hermione stood silently for a few moments. The muffled voices of Dan and Emma putting
groceries away downstairs seemed to be the only signs of life in the room. Harry still had his arm
stretched out in front of him from when he looked at the letter, his eyes still locked on his now
empty hand.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. He did not respond.

The silence was broken by the sound of a soft *thump*. Crookshanks had evidently followed
his mistress into Harry's room and jumped up on the bed to see what had captured her attention.
As Hermione slowly reached out to try to lower Harry's still-raised hand, Crookshanks suddenly
mewed softly.

Harry seemed to awaken from his frozen state and turned to look at the ginger-colored cat that
was now sitting on his bed, staring up at him. Crookshanks had the appearance of just having woken
up from a long and restful catnap.

"Hello Crookshanks," Harry greeted the half-Kneazle. He reached down and absently
started to scratch his head. Crookshanks immediately stood up on all fours and started pushing his
head into Harry's hand as if demanding he not stop. As Crookshanks enjoyed a good head
scratching, Harry's body began to relax from the highly tensed state he went into upon seeing
the Gringotts seal.

After a few moments, Harry slowly sat down on the bed. Crookshanks made sure to not let
Harry's hand get too far away from his head. Hermione, unsure of what to do, simply sat down
beside Harry on his left. After staring blankly at the chair across from him, Harry started looking
around the room. On the far corner of the bed, nearest the door, he saw the two unfinished thank
you letters he had set there only hours earlier.

After retrieving them, he held them in his lap and stared at them for a moment. He then cleared
his throat and spoke in an uneven voice.

"I need to send out my thank-you letters," he said. It sounded as though he was saying
it to himself more than to anyone else.

"Harry," Hermione again whispered, trying to get his attention.

"I wrote them after I wrote yours... but... I didn't... get a chance t... to send
them," he managed to get out, his voice beginning to break up. He turned and set down his
unfinished letters behind him.

Hermione set down the two Gringotts letters and reached over, putting her right hand over top of
Harry's left. "Harry, stop," she whispered.

Harry stopped talking and closed his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and
stared at Hermione's hand on top of his. Crookshanks mewed again, obviously satisfied with his
head scratching. He took a couple steps forward and then sat down so Harry could now scratch his
back.

"We'll send your letters out this evening," Hermione promised him and then gave
the back of his hand a comforting squeeze. Even though she was sitting beside him and he was still
looking down, she could still see his face lighten a little.

"Thanks," he told her in a very quiet voice.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"No," he answered honestly, his voice trailing as though he hadn't finished his
sentence. Much to Crookshanks disappointment, Harry stopped stroking his back and moved his right
hand towards his left. He took hold of Hermione's wrist and lifted her hand off his. If he had
looked at her at that very moment, he would have seen a look of disappointment to match
Crookshanks; fortunately for him, he did not.

Before she had a chance to say anything though, Harry turned his left hand over, palm up, and
then replaced her hand in his. "But I will be," he said, finishing the sentence he had
started only two seconds earlier. He then gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and then resumed
stroking Crookshanks' back. If Harry had looked at either of them at that moment, he would have
seen identical looks of contentment.

A couple minutes later, Harry broke the peaceful calm that had settled upon the room.
"I'm sorry," he said.

Hermione, her eyes having gone out of focus after staring intently at her right hand, suddenly
looked up at Harry. He was still staring at his left hand; he seemed unwilling yet to look directly
at her.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry for that... a couple minutes ago.
Today's been the best day I can remember in a long time. I almost forgot that Sirius was gone.
Then I saw the letter from Gringotts. It just sort of knocked the wind out of me," he
explained. "I knew what it was... without even opening it, I just knew what it was."

"It's OK, Harry. You don't have to apologize. It's OK," Hermione reassured
him.

Harry closed his eyes again and bowed his head. "I wish I could believe it was, Hermione. I
really do," he whispered.

Harry felt Hermione remove her hand from his. Again, he felt cold and empty with its removal. He
was surprised at how much stronger it felt this time than the last time. He stopped scratching
Crookshanks' back; his eyes still closed and head bowed forward, he took off his glasses and
massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Harry, look at me," she whispered. He replaced his glasses and then turned to look at
her. When he opened his eyes, he saw Hermione looking directly back at him. On her face was not a
fake smile put on just for display. Instead, what he saw was a smile that seemed full of sadness.
She was sad for some reason, and yet she was smiling. When he looked into her eyes, instead of
finding pity and sympathy, he found acceptance and understanding.

As he studied her eyes, he also saw them as though he had just seen them for the first time.
Ever since the day he first met her all those years ago, he knew she had brown eyes. But now, he
noticed that her eyes were not as he assumed they always were. He simply expected that they were
brown, plain and simple.

Now however, he saw that mixed in those pools of liquid milk chocolate (yes, it was lame, but as
hard as he tried, he could not think of any better way to describe them) there were tiny flecks of
caramel, imperfections in the color of her irises. He had never noticed that before. And yet, that
uniqueness seemed to make the sight before him even more real than he might have ever expected. He
simply assumed that brown eyes would be all-brown. Then again, he never had cause to study
someone's eyes, so what did he know?

As he stared into her eyes, he could just barely see her smile widen in his peripheral vision.
He didn't think it was possible, but he could actually see that smile translate into her eyes.
As he did when he saw her smile from the sofa a couple hours earlier, he again felt comforted by
that smile. He had been so afraid to not see that smile.

When he finally did see it, he felt a sensation starting in the pit of his stomach sweep through
him. He was totally unprepared for the intensity of it. If he had to describe it, and for some
reason he felt the need to, it reminded him most of his feelings of relief when Neville told him
that Hermione still alive after being hit by Dolohov's curse in the Department of
Mysteries.

Finally forcing himself to stop staring into her eyes, he noticed that she was talking. The odd
thing was that he couldn't hear any of her words. He watched her talk for several seconds, not
taking in a single word she said. He watched with some amusement as she continued to speak. He saw
how her lips formed words that she obviously thought he was hearing; lips, he could not help but
notice, that were so very... not moving?

She had stopped talking. Hermione was now looking at him with a decidedly amused expression on
her face. She said something again. Harry couldn't read lips, but he was pretty sure what he
saw looked familiar. *Eh-Ri?* he thought to himself. *Why does that look familiar?* he
wondered. *Harry!* he suddenly realized. She was saying his name, trying to get his
attention.

Harry snapped back to attention with a visible start. Hermione seemed slightly surprised by the
suddenness of it.

"Harry? Harry! Are you all right?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Hermione," Harry exclaimed with a surprised sounding voice. "I'm so sorry.
Yes... Yes, I'm fine. My mind was just a million miles away there for a second. I didn't
hear anything you said. I'm so sorry."

She gave him a searching look he knew meant *Are you sure you're OK?* He nodded his
head in assurance.

"I was saying that it's OK, Harry. You don't need to apologize for your
feelings," she told him. "Look, I won't sit here and tell you that I know or
understand what you're feeling right now, because I don't. I've never lost anyone who
was important to me."

Hermione paused for a moment, and then again put her hand on the back of his.

"But," she continued, "I will tell you that I have read a little about it."
A small smile threatened to break through Harry's guarded expression. "Do you know what I
read?" she asked. Harry shook his head no.

"It said that even though there are some common stages that everyone seems to go through,
in the end, everyone has to deal with it in their own way," Hermione explained to him in a
very soothing voice. "I can't give you some *Kwik-Spell* instruction manual on how to
handle this. What I can do," she promised, "is to simply be there for you, to help you,
however you want me to. We all will... me, Mum, and Dad."

Crookshanks chose that very moment to meow again softly. "And Crookshanks," Hermione
added, trying not to laugh at the timing. Evidently however, Crookshanks' meow was to indicate
that he was bored. Since it was obvious (to Crookshanks) that his favorite one, who brought food
and cleaned his litter box, and this nice one, who scratched his head and didn't threaten to
curse him *(unlike the red-haired one)*, were now paying more attention to each other than to
him, he decided he would go find something else to do.

Crookshanks jumped down off the bed and headed to the door, his bottle-brush tail twitching as
he looked around for another source of entertainment or attention. As Harry and Hermione watched
him go out and head downstairs, Hermione jokingly added, "Or maybe not." She then
returned her attention to Harry.

"If you want to sit around one day and just share memories, we will. If you want to go talk
to someone who specializes in helping people with the loss of family members, we will.
Honestly," she promised him after seeing the surprised look on his face. "If you want us
to let you sit up here and *brood* for the rest of the summer, we will." Harry was
entirely sure that last one was a bluff. The interesting thing however was hearing her say it like
*that*, it was now absolutely the last thing he wanted to do.

"*If,*" Hermione said, emphasizing the word as though this was what she thought
was best, "you want to just take things one day at a time and try to have a nice, pleasant,
normal holiday, we will." As Harry looked at her, he noticed that her expression had a degree
of finality to it, as though this option had already been selected for him. Harry knew he
should've been mad that she seemed to have already decided what was best, but as hard as he
tried, he just couldn't.

"Life goes on, Harry," she continued. "What's in the past is in the past. All
we can do is learn from it, and use that knowledge to decide how we want to handle today and
tomorrow."

Harry stood up and walked over to the window. Looking out, he ran his hand through his always
unruly hair. After letting out a deep sigh, he turned around and looked at Hermione, remembering
something she said. "When did you read it?" he asked.

Hermione immediately blushed slightly and quickly looked down at the floor with an extremely
guilty expression on her face. "Erm... the day before yesterday," she finally admitted
after some hesitation. It was now Harry's turn to roll his eyes at her.

Harry thought back for a few seconds. "Saturday? The day I sent you the thank-you
letter?" Hermione nodded, still blushing and looking down. He thought again for a second.
"Before or after you received it?" he asked as he suppressed a smile, even though he was
already sure of her answer.

Hermione looked back up at Harry and did her best to look as guilty as possible as she answered.
"After."

"Should've known," Harry said in mock-defeated voice; he was actually quite
impressed. "What would I have ever done without you?" he asked. It was intended as a
rhetorical question, but Hermione, seeing an opportunity, decided to answer it anyway.

"You'd've probably gotten yourself killed by now," she said in a very guarded
voice. Her eyes then narrowed as though she were going to lecture him. "Or worse,
*expelled,*" she deadpanned.

For a few deathly silent seconds, Harry and Hermione looked at each other as though they were in
a staring contest. Then Harry blinked. The two of them burst out laughing as they remembered when
she said that nearly five years earlier. Wiping the tears of laughter out of his eyes, Harry
suddenly remembered his earlier conversation with Dan.

He walked over to the chair he sat in earlier and sat down again, facing Hermione. "You are
wrong about one thing though, Hermione. I do need to apologize for something." He paused for a
moment and shuffled his feet nervously. "I'm sorry for my behavior last year. I know
it's a *little* delayed, but I just wanted to say it anyway. I'm sorry. I never really
meant for any of it to hit you, but you always seemed to be there right next to me, so you
know..." his voice trailed off. "What do they call that, 'friendly fire?'"
he asked, trying to lighten the situation a little. After saying it, he wasn't sure if it was a
good idea to make jokes like that, but it seemed like it was at the time.

Hermione looked as though she was about to say something; Harry put up his hand to stop her.
"I also wanted to say 'Thank you.' There were times last year when I felt so helpless.
It seemed like everyone was against me. But you were always there. Even in fourth year when Ron
wasn't talking to me, you were always there." Harry had already said all this a few hours
earlier, so he thought it should be easier the second time. He found however, that it was actually
harder.

"Now that I think about it, I *really* don't know what I would've done if you
weren't there. I probably would never've come out of Buckbeak's room after Ron's
dad was attacked. I mean, I know it was Ginny who told me I wasn't being possessed by
Voldemort," Harry conceded, "but I wouldn't have even given her the chance to talk to
me in the first place if you hadn't dragged me out." He paused for a second. "I know
I would've never thought to start the D.A. And I as sure as hell wouldn't've agreed to
do that interview with Skeeter if you weren't there, regardless of whether it was your idea or
not."

Harry silently wondered for a moment if he was intentionally tailoring what he was saying based
on what Dan had said earlier. As he thought about it, he knew that Hermione had helped him out in
so many ways the previous year. These, however were some of the most important to him, even to this
day. He supposed it was simply a coincidence that the things that were so important to him also
just happened to be the ones that Hermione got so excited about.

Without really realizing it, Harry's train of thought suddenly jumped onto a different set
of tracks. "I think that's why I got so frustrated last year when the two of you were
fighting all the time... you and Ron. My two best friends constantly having at each other. I think,
deep down, I was afraid I might lose you if one of the rows got too big. I was scared that you
might stop talking to me because Ron would still be around me. Or Ron and you, vice versa," he
quickly added.

"You know, I think he fancies you," Harry suddenly blurted out, the thought seemingly
coming out of nowhere. *Where the bloody hell did that come from?* Harry asked himself, as
irritated that he actually brought it up as he was surprised.

Hermione, who seemed to have been hanging on Harry's every word, suddenly flinched at
Harry's sidetrack. He expected her to be as unprepared for his unexpected outburst as he was.
Hermione's slight sigh, however, only added to his own surprise.

"Yes, I've suspected as much," she admitted. "Though I think that'll be
the least of his worries soon. I think there's some other witch out there with her eye on
him," Hermione added with a look that suggested she knew more than she was letting on.

Harry leaned back in his chair and let out a chuckle. "Yeah, and somehow I don't think
Luna's the type to take 'no' for an answer." Hermione immediately looked as though
someone spoiled her big secret.

"You knew?" she asked, sounding both disappointed and impressed at the same time.

"I suspected," Harry corrected her. "But hearing *you* say it pretty much
confirmed it for me."

"But I could've meant Lavender or Parvati or Susan Bones. How did you know I meant
Luna?" she asked.

"Well, I do have eyes, you know," Harry said pretending to act hurt. He leaned forward
in the chair. "I saw how she acted around him. I mean, she *is* a little different than
everyone else, but the way she acted around Ron was different than even that. *Don't* tell
anyone I said this, but she seemed absolutely fascinated by him."

Hermione looked at Harry as though she were appraising him. "How is it, Harry, that you can
be so perceptive like that sometimes, and yet *other times*...?" she said, leaving the
question unfinished.

"You mean *other times*, like with Cho?" he asked, seeing right through her. The
guilty look on her face answered for her. She then raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to
answer.

Harry again leaned back in the chair and then stared at the ceiling for a couple seconds,
thinking. He brought his hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. "I don't know...
maybe because it didn't involve me? When I saw Luna, I didn't have my own feelings for her
getting in the way, playing tricks on me. I wasn't worrying about whether she did or didn't
fancy me... All I saw was a friend of mine who seemed very interested in another friend of
mine."

"So... what do you think about them... the two of them... *together?*" Hermione
asked in a very innocent sounding voice.

"Call me crazy, but I think they'd go well together. I don't know why... I just do.
Assuming Ron ever took a moment to notice her, that is. I'll admit, when I first met her, I
thought she was really strange. But now that I've gotten to know her a little better, I really
like her." Hermione seemed to again be paying very close attention to every word he said.

"What I might've then thought strange now seems unique and special. You see, this is
exactly what I was talking about. If last year you had asked me the same question, but about Cho
and *anyone* possibly getting together? I would've been tripping over myself to find a way
to not like the idea. But now, I mean, I like Luna a lot, but I don't fancy her, so everything
just seems easier, and makes sense. Luna certainly seems to like him, so I'm sure if he just
gave her a chance... you never know...."

Hermione certainly seemed pleased about something Harry said. He noticed this and decided to ask
her opinion. The fact that Ron seemed to fancy Hermione did not appear to come as any surprise to
her. Since she asked him what *he* thought about Ron and Luna getting together, he was only
naturally curious about how *she* felt about it.

"So Hermione, since you brought it up, what do *you* think about the two of them
getting together?" Harry asked her. For the first time in the conversation, Hermione seemed
surprised by what he said. A strange look came over her face for a second, one that Harry could not
read. He was afraid maybe he had crossed some invisible line of things boys weren't supposed to
ask girls. Whatever she may have been feeling, Harry could not detect any signs of anger. In fact,
if anything, she seemed happier than she had been since Harry first mentioned Ron.

"I think they could go well together. You're right though, of course. Ron *would*
first have to take half a second to actually look at her, and see the real Luna... the way you
do," she added, almost as an afterthought. A slightly pink hue appeared on her face for a
second or two. Harry had no idea what that was all about. She didn't appear to be out of breath
and he couldn't think of any reason why she might be embarrassed.

"If he ever got beyond that," Hermione continued, "I think there's some real
potential there. And that, I think, is another thing that Luna has going for her. How do I say
this?" Hermione mused to herself, obviously trying to find a delicate way of saying whatever
she was about to. "Forgive me Harry, I know he's your best mate, and he's my friend
too. But *sometimes,* Ron can be... high maintenance." Harry smirked. Hermione visibly
relaxed seeing Harry's reaction.

"Sometimes, he can just be so..." Hermione trailed off, trying to find the right
words.

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed. "Pigheaded?" he volunteered.

"Your word, not mine," Hermione said quickly in defense. "I know that *some
people* out there just could not stand to be in a relationship like that where the two sides
were constantly butting heads like that." Harry was quite sure he knew who she meant by
*'some people.'*

"And then we met Luna last year. I mean, she's obviously been here all along; we just
never really got a chance to meet her. But she seemed to already know you *and* Ron. Sure, who
*doesn't* know who Harry Potter is—no offense," Hermione quickly added. Harry shook
his head to indicate that none was taken. "But for her to already know Ron? I don't know,
but it makes me wonder if she's had her eye on him for a while," Hermione reasoned.

"And if that's the case, then surely she must've seen how well *we* get
along," Hermione said, pointing to herself, "and she must've seen what happened in
the beginning of the tournament," waving her hand towards Harry.

"If she sees all that and still is interested in him, then I think she truly is something
special. She's seen through the outer layers and already knows what lies beneath... what you
and I both know is there." Hermione paused for a minute, shifting her position slightly.
"But, like you said... who knows? If he got to know her better, maybe he'd start arguing
with her too. I'm sorry, but if it were me, I just couldn't be in a relationship like that
where we were always fighting. But if he doesn't... then I think he has a real shot at
something good."

Something about what Hermione said caused a strong surge of hope to rush though Harry. He had no
idea why, but he decided to take a guess at it. Almost without even realizing it, he said under his
breath, "Yeah, it'd be nice if some of us did."

Hermione quickly pounced on what he said. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.
Harry's sudden panic attack that he might have said the wrong thing diminished when he realized
her voice seemed inquisitive, not accusatory.

"Well, look at us," Harry tried to explain. Hermione's eyes went wide as though
she were afraid of what he said. "You, me, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville... I mean, look at what
we've been through together." She seemed to relax a little. "You'd think that
people who've been through what we have should deserve to find something nice like that. But
look at us. I'm not seeing anyone. You're not seeing anyone. You're not, are you?"
Harry found himself asking unexpectedly. He'd never asked her about her love life before, but
he assumed he'd hear about it if there was some development on that front.

Hermione shook her head. Unexplainably worried that he might not have noticed something like
that, he continued, feeling a little better. "Ron's not. Luna's not, as far as I know.
Neville's not. The only one who is, is Ginny, but she seems to be rotating though them right
now. You've got six lost souls here, and if any of us could find something nice for themselves,
so much the better. Especially now that this war might be picking up."

Hermione's expression seemed far away. After a few seconds, she focused her attention back
on Harry. When she finally spoke, her voice had something of a dreamy quality to it. Quite frankly,
if Harry hadn't been watching her speak, he might have thought it was Luna talking, rather that
Hermione.

"Yes, it would be..." She cleared her throat then hastily added, "Nice, if some
of us could find something." If Harry didn't know better, he would've thought she
looked a little embarrassed. "'Six lost souls'?" she asked with a curious look on
her face.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I heard my aunt say something like it once. I think she read
it in one of her 'scarlet woman' books," Harry said with smirk, remembering what Ron
had said a few years earlier,

And on that note, the wonderful little discussion Harry had been having with his best friend
suddenly ended, simply because neither knew what to say next. Hermione cleared her throat again,
rubbing her hands on her knees as if to just do anything to keep her hands busy. "You said you
had letters that needed delivering?" she asked.

Harry nodded, pointing at his trunk where the rest of his completed thank-you letters were.
"I'm going to go downstairs and help start dinner," Hermione said. She walked over to
the closet, sliding opening one of the two doors. "Why don't you start getting yourself
settled in? There should be enough hangers here for everything." Reaching behind the other
still-closed door, she pulled out an empty laundry basket, showed it to Harry, and then put it back
behind the door. "Just put anything you wanted washed in there. We usually do laundry on the
weekend. Did you buy enough to last until then?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

Hermione walked by the dresser where Hedwig's cage sat, glancing at the owl which was now
napping. Not wanting to wake her, she waited until she was on the other side of the room next to a
desk before speaking again. "How are you on owl treats?" she asked.

Harry had to think for a moment. While he had kept her adequately fed and watered, Harry really
had otherwise neglected Hedwig since returning to Privet Drive. "I... still have half a bag I
had left over from school," Harry admitted, feeling quite guilty. Fortunately, Hermione
didn't seem to notice; she didn't know how many treats he *should've* had
left.

"OK, well, let me know if you need any more," Hermione told Harry. "I still have
most of the bag I bought for Hedwig in case she showed up here." She looked at the desk next
to her, and then looked expectantly at Harry for a couple seconds. "While you're
unpacking, you can put your school books here. Don't give me that look, Harry," Hermione
warned.

"You didn't *really* expect that you could live with me *and* be allowed to
*not* do your homework, did you?"

Harry noticed she had a bit of a sparkle in her eyes as she said that. He couldn't quite
place it, but it was there nonetheless. Hermione wouldn't joke about homework, would she? He
shook his head.

"Good," Hermione said, looking quite pleased. "But don't worry. I'll be
generous. I'll wait until *tomorrow* before I start reminding you about your
homework." The sparkle returned, Harry noticed; if anything, it looked mischievous. Hermione
then looked around the room, checking to see if she overlooked anything. Her eyes landed on the
night stand next to the bed.

"Oh, and before I forget," Hermione added. "I put a couple of hooks on the
underside of the table next to your bed. It's perfect for keeping your wand close at hand, but
still out of sight. With all the preparations the headmaster made to make it possible for you to
stay here, I don't expect any trouble. That said, however... you know... 'Constant
Vigilance,'" Hermione explained.

"Yeah, I know." Harry agreed. He decided it didn't sound quite as annoying when
Hermione said it in her normal voice as compared to Moody's repeated shouts. Hermione smiled
and then turned to the door. When she was nearly at the door, Harry suddenly turned to look back at
her and decided something very quickly.

"Hermione?" he called.

She stopped and turned towards him, with the same happy look on her face as before. "Yes,
Harry?"

Harry walked over to her very quickly. He put his hands on her shoulders. Trying to summon all
the gratitude he felt, he looked deep into her eyes. "Seriously," he assured her.
"Thank you. *For everything,*" he said, and then Harry Potter did something he had
never done before, and scooped her up into a great big hug. Hermione had always been the one to
initiate the hugs.

Harry could feel her tense for a fraction of a second as though she had been completely taken by
surprise. By time he registered that feeling though, he felt her relax and return the hug. Harry
hadn't intended to, but with his face buried in Hermione's hair, he could not help but
smell it as he took in a breath. As he inhaled, the fragrance of whatever shampoo she used slowly
began to seep into his brain. He didn't know exactly what it was, but it was floral, and very
relaxing... and very familiar. It reminded him of the sample bottle of bubble bath he found back in
the bath store. That, of course, reminded him of the bath in the prefect's bathroom back at
Hogwarts.

Harry's face suddenly went bright red and he was immediately grateful that his face was
hidden by Hermione's hair, where she could not see it. He hadn't actually *pictured*
anything in his mind, but simply associating Hermione and the prefect's bath together in the
same thought was enough to make him so embarrassed that he felt as though his face were on fire.
When he was reasonably sure the blazing inferno on his face had died down somewhat, he released her
from the hug. Not wanting her to see how many different shades of red his face could turn, he
turned around as quickly and as casually as he could. He prayed his body wouldn't further
betray him with any other physical reactions.

Looking away, he could not help but see her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. He
watched her as she watched him, again as though she were trying to decide something. She then
noticed that he was watching her through the mirror. She turned her head to look directly at him,
through the mirror.

"Dinner should be ready in an hour, hour and a half. Once you're unpacked, you can come
down and help if you want. You don't have to of course... you're our guest. But you can...
if you want, that is." She looked very hopeful as her voice trailed off. Harry smiled;
Hermione smiled back then turned and headed down the stairs.

Once she had left, Harry turned and made his way to his trunk and shopping bags. As he opened
his trunk, he could hear Hermione downstairs talking to Emma. "So Mum, what're we
making?" Even thought it had carried all the way from the kitchen downstairs, he could still
hear how cheerful her voice sounded. After that, they must have lowered their voices since he could
no longer clearly hear what they were saying.

A half hour later, Harry had all of his clothes unpacked. His robes and his other sets of school
clothes, as well as all the clothes the Grangers had purchased for him were all now neatly hanging
up in his closet. All of his dirty laundry was tucked away in the basket, waiting to be washed. He
then went through the remaining items in his trunk.

As he rummaged around in the trunk, he came across a few old Every Flavor Beans and an empty
Chocolate Frog box. "*Ron...*" Harry muttered to himself as he threw away the empty
box. Finding a few more beans, he decided now was as good a time as any to completely empty it and
see what other surprises, good or bad, he found.

Pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, he decided they would be secure
in the dresser for the time being. To be safe though, he wrapped the map in the cloak and put it in
the bottom-most dresser drawer where no one would have noticed it unless they actually touched
it.

He also retrieved the completed thank-you letters from his trunk, setting them next to
Hedwig's cage. Seeing as she was still napping, he retrieved an owl treat from his bag and
quietly wedged it between two of the bars of the cage, a nice little present for her when she woke
up.

Finally, the last things remaining in his trunk (at least of the things that were
*supposed* to be in there) were his supplies of parchment, ink, and quills, as well as his
school books. He looked over at the desk, and then at where Hermione stood a few minutes
earlier.

Hermione and her parents had taken Harry into their home. They offered him a room of his own, a
bed of his own, a closet, desk, and dresser of his own. They did this freely and willingly, without
any thoughts of the loss of the extra space (at least as far as he could tell). If taking things
one day at a time, helping cook dinner, and doing his homework were all that were expected of him
in return, then he decided he was more than willing to pay that price.

And so, probably for the first time in his life, Harry happily pulled his books and school
supplies out of his trunk and set them on the desk, ready to be used. Once everything was set out,
he looked at his books and smirked. *Well,* he thought to himself, *I've got until
tomorrow at least before I have to start.* Returning to the trunk, he carried it over to the
trash bin and lifted it up, shaking out the remaining trash (a few more beans and empty candy
wrappers).

Harry looked around the room, just as Hermione had done. Everything seemed to be in its place.
With a strange feeling of accomplishment, Harry then went downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, he
joined Hermione, Dan, and Emma in helping prepare dinner. All throughout the preparation, Hermione
and Emma kept Harry and Dan busy chopping vegetables and preparing the side dishes while they
worked on the main entree. They did their best to not let him see what they were making. The smells
wafting over promised that it would be worth the wait.

A short while later, dinner was ready and the four of them started bringing serving dishes full
of food into the dining room and setting them on the table that Dan and Harry had set. When
everything was nearly in place, Dan discreetly nudged Harry's arm and raised one eyebrow, as if
to say *"Watch this."*

As Emma moved to go sit down, Dan stopped her and then pulled out the chair for her. Once she
was seated, he helped push her chair in. He then went and sat down opposite her. Hermione, who had
been the last one in the dining room with a bowl of mashed potatoes (roasted garlic mashed
potatoes, Harry would soon discover), caught Harry's eye after observing that scene and rolled
her eyes and shook her head with an amused smile.

Harry, not wanting to be outdone by Dan, innocently kept himself busy as he delayed returning to
his seat. When Hermione set down the potatoes, she made for her seat. Harry then quickly stepped
over and stopped her, pulling out the chair for her as Dan had done, then helped push it in once
Hermione was seated. He then finally took his seat across from her. *So that's why he
insisted I leave the chairs pushed in,* Harry realized as he remembered what Dan had asked him
to do while they were setting the table.

Emma, who had been watching intently, let out a small laugh. She looked from Dan in front of her
to Harry on her left. "Such gentleman," she said in a sarcastic voice, even though it was
obvious she was highly amused. "So, which one of you put the other up to that, hmmm?"

Dan and Harry looked at each other with puzzled, very innocent-looking expressions on their
faces. Though neither had intended to, they both answered identically and simultaneously. "I
don't know what you're talking about."

With their duplicate responses, all four of them immediately started laughing. After catching
their breaths, they all looked eagerly at the food waiting for them. At Dan's proclamation to
"Tuck in!" they all started loading up their plates.

Whatever Hermione and Emma had made, it was absolutely wonderful, Harry decided. It was some
sort of stuffed chicken breast dish. He knew there was cheese in it along with many herbs and
spices. There was also some kind of tomato-based sauce that had been placed on top of the crispy
breadcrumb coating.

At one point in the dinner, Harry had asked Hermione and Emma what exactly the dish was. "A
Granger family specialty, as requested," was all Emma said.

"We *could* tell you," Hermione added, as Harry turned to look at her, "but
then I'd have to *Obliviate* you." He knew she was joking, but he decided this dinner
was too nice to risk forgetting about, so he agreed anyway.

After dinner, Emma was the first to stand up. She looked Harry in the eye and told him,
"Everyone takes their own dishes to the dishwasher." Seeing him nod, she added, "But
if you really want to help later, I'll let you press the start button once it's full. How
does that sound?" Smiling, Harry nodded.

As Harry walked over to the dishwasher with his plate, silverware, and glass, he looked out the
window over the sink. It was now early evening, but there were already storm clouds on the horizon.
It promised to be another cool refreshing evening, the last one for the foreseeable future,
however.

Harry remembered hearing a brief weather forecast on the radio during the car ride home from
shopping. They said that... well, he couldn't remember what exactly they said. *I'm a
wizard, not a weatherman,* he said to himself. All he knew was that whatever had been causing
the storms was beginning to break up, which would mean the evenings would become hot and muggy as
they had been before. Fortunately for Harry, his new home was air conditioned, so no matter how
miserable it was outside, he was sure to find a comfortable, inviting environment inside.



9. The End of the First Day
---------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N: Sorry it took so long for this chapter. R/L stuck its nose in there for a several days
so I lost some prime writing time. But to make up for it, I put down a few more words this time. I
hope you like it. And in case you're wondering, yes, my cat does make another guest appearance
in this chapter. I figured Crookshanks is smarter than she is, so if she does it, he could
too.*


*Thanks, as always, to my beta, MapleMountain. I honestly picked the motel at random, but it
was he who looked it up and found that it was actually only about a half mile away (you'll
understand when you read the chapter). Must've been fate, I guess.*


*Credit for whole magical-Gringotts-letters bit goes to my beta also. I wrote Chapter 8 in
several sittings. Each time, I managed to forget that I had already taken the letters out of his
trunk. So by the time I finished it and did my first complete edit, I realized that Harry had taken
the letters out of the trunk three times. My beta jokingly suggested they were charmed so they
would return to the trunk each time *I* forgot about them. Thanks again!*

Chapter 9. The End of the First Day.

After dinner, Harry, Hermione, and her parents sat around the dining room table. He listened
raptly as they told the tale of the last several weeks, from the Grangers' point of view, and
how Harry came to stay with them.

"After she sent you her first letter," Emma began explaining, "Hermione waited
anxiously for days in hopes of a receiving a reply from you. With none by the end of the third day,
she was so worried that she sent letters to your professors." Harry looked down at the
tablecloth. He could tell from the tone of Emma's voice that she wasn't telling him this to
make him feel guilty. Even though she was simply telling a story, he just couldn't help but
feel guilty for not replying.

Hermione, upon seeing Harry's reaction, then picked up the story. She hoped that if Harry
heard her tell it, he might take it a little better. "I sent letters to the Headmaster and to
Professor McGonagall."

Seeing that he was starting to think about something for a second, Hermione explained before
Harry could ask. "Since I don't have an owl, before I left, Professor McGonagall told me
how to call for Fawkes if I ever wanted to send her or the Headmaster any letters. It seems she,
erm, *expected* that I might have a few N.E.W.T. questions during the summer." At this,
the three other people in the room smiled knowingly.

"She wanted to make sure I had a way to get in contact with them without using magic. It
appears that despite what we did for the Ministry that night, Fudge was determined to make sure we
got in as much trouble as possible for any little bit of underage magic we did." Hermione
observed Harry carefully when she said "that night." She was relieved when he only looked
down at the table for a few seconds.

"He knew his days were numbered," she continued, "so he wanted to try to take as
many of us with him as he could. Since Fawkes moves under his own magical power, *technically*
I'm not using magic when I call for him. I'm only speaking." Hermione looked very
pleased with herself.

She then suddenly remembered something. "Oh, I forgot! Fudge got sacked last week. Did you
hear?" Harry shook his head. "They've already picked a new Minister. I'll tell
you about that later."

After pausing for a second to remember where she was in her story, Hermione continued. "So,
I sent them letters telling them that I was worried about you, that you hadn't replied to my
letter." Right as Harry began to feel another pang of guilt approach, Hermione shot him a
quick, reassuring smile.

Seeing the smile immediately swept away the impending guilt. Somehow he just knew that things
would be OK as long as that smile was there.

"I asked them why you had to stay with those awful relatives of yours," Hermione
explained. "I asked them why you couldn't stay somewhere else... somewhere where either
they wouldn't lock you in your room, or they wouldn't *let* you lock yourself in your
room." Hermione paused for a moment to collect herself. She appeared to have gotten slightly
agitated as she recalled her initial letters to her professors.

"Professor McGonagall replied first," Hermione finally continued. "She said that
while she agreed with me, it was not her decision to make, and that there were 'larger
issues' in play. I *finally* got it out of the Headmaster later that those
'issues' were unique protections that were inherent to number four, Privet Drive."

A look of annoyance then appeared on Hermione's face. "It's a good think Fawkes
travels fast. I sent him three letters that day, and got back his responses." Hermione then
chuckled slightly. "I suppose it's the Wizarding equivalent of email. I don't imagine
you've ever used email before, have you?" she asked Harry.

Harry shook his head. "Dudley got a new computer this year. When he's not terrorizing
the neighborhood children, he's on sending messages to his cronies. Oh, and he looks up
*stuff*," Harry said, peaking his eyebrow (in a very Mr. Spock sort of way, as Hermione
futilely tried to explain the next day), "lots and lots of *stuff*."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head (at Dudley's online activities) and then
continued her story. "It felt like Professor Dumbledore was trying to steer me in a certain
direction. He gave half-answers to some of my more direct questions. It seemed like he was trying
to get *me* to convince myself that you needed to stay there."

Hermione frowned slightly. "But, since I didn't know anything about what magic was in
place there, I couldn't really make a convincing argument against you staying there other than
that I just didn't like the idea of you being there all alone.

"I knew there was more to it than just what he wrote, and that he *could* do more for
you if he really wanted to. It started to make me mad that he seemed willing to just leave you
there, as if it were simply the most *convenient* solution.

"I decided that if they weren't going to help you, then I'd just have to do
something—" Hermione paused to take a deep breath as though she were steeling herself to
actually say it, "to help you help yourself." Hermione gave Harry a nervous look as
though she still wasn't sure if she did the right thing.

Fortunately, Harry was able to see this, and immediately gave her a reassuring smile. When he
silently spoke the words *"Thank you,"* her expression immediately brightened.

Dan then picked up the story. "As I told you earlier, she spent the next week and a half
working on that letter." Embarrassed that he told Harry how much time she spent on it,
Hermione immediately shot an evil glare at her father.

She then resumed the story suddenly, as though to keep her parents from saying anything else
that might be embarrassing. "It was too much... I couldn't work on more than a couple
paragraphs at a time... it was too painful. But I knew I had to do it. I must've had five or
six drafts of that letter by the time it was done."

Harry suddenly remembered back to the letter. He did notice that the handwriting of almost the
entire letter had a certain flow to it. It did look like that it had all been written at once, or
now that he thought about it, copied from an earlier draft. *But then why did that one sentence
look like it was added on?* Harry wondered to himself.

"I called for Fawkes," Hermione continued, "and asked him if he could send Hedwig
over when she went out hunting. I couldn't summon her or another owl with a standard Owl Post
spell, of course. Even with Fudge gone, it'd still be underage magic. I didn't really know
if Fawkes could do anything, but I had to try. I hoped that if my letter arrived with Hedwig, it
might be received a little better than if you thought it came from the Headmaster via
Fawkes."

Harry had to agree with that assessment. Prior to receiving Hermione's letter, he was quite
sure he would not have been happy to see Fawkes with what he assumed would be a letter from
Dumbledore.

"But," Hermione continued, "it obviously worked, since Hedwig showed up here
Friday evening. She seemed eager to see me and was quite happy when I offered her a couple of owl
treats. After talking to her for a little bit, I sent her on her way with the letter. All I could
do then was wait." Hermione fidgeted a little in her seat.

"And then the next day, Hedwig arrived with your thank-you letter. Well, I already told you
in that letter how I felt about that." Hermione tried to keep her smile in check as she spoke.
Dan and Emma had to suppress their smiles too.

"I immediately called Fawkes again and sent the Headmaster *another* letter. I told
him I had to talk with him as soon as possible. He eventually agreed to visit us here the next day.
Once that was settled, I, erm, started reading up on *other* things." Hermione had a
slightly guilty look on her face.

"The only thing we had here was one of those home medical references. There was just a
short couple paragraphs about... loss, but that was all I really needed." There was a very
pregnant pause as everyone seemed to think this was an ideal moment to take a deep breath. Hermione
then continued her story.

"So then, Sunday morning, yesterday, Professor Dumbledore came and visited us. What exactly
he expected, I don't know. But I will admit he did seem taken aback. I let him know in no
uncertain terms that I felt you should be moved out of there. Do you know what he said?"
Hermione suddenly asked Harry. He shook his head.

"He said that he had been monitoring your emotional state all along. One of those hands on
his watch. He said that you had seemed to come through a bit of a breakthrough, and so all the more
reason to not bother you with distractions. Oooh, it made me so MAD!" Hermione actually
slammed her hand down on the kitchen table. Harry seemed surprised, though he noticed Dan and Emma
weren't, as though they had seen this particular reaction recently.

"He's known *ALL ALONG* what you've been going through there, and he did
*NOTHING* to help you!" Hermione seemed to be getting upset. Harry reached across the
table and set his hand over top of the one she had just slammed down. She closed her eyes for a
second and then immediately seemed to calm down. As her face visibly relaxed, Harry suddenly
remembered than Dan and Emma were sitting on either side of him.

Suddenly self-conscious, he withdrew his hand as casually (and quickly) as possible, refusing to
look at either of them. If he had, he would have seen them trying to hide the slight smiles they
had given each other.

A look of pride suddenly appeared on Hermione's face. "Do you know what I asked him? I
asked him why there was a change. He didn't know. He said he hadn't been watching you
*that* closely, to give you *some* privacy. He was simply monitoring your condition. I
gave him my final draft of my letter and told him that was why."

Dan suddenly interrupted with a slight grin on his face. "Well... I wouldn't say
'gave' exactly. More like 'threw at him.'"

Hermione shot a reproachful glare at her father then looked to her mother for support. Emma made
no effort to correct Dan's assessment.

Knowing she wouldn't be saved by her traitorous parents, Hermione resumed the story.
"He read my letter to you. When he finished... if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have
believed it. He actually seemed to be surprised. But then within a few seconds, it was gone. He
handed the letter back to me and asked if you had made any reply yet. I showed him your letter. Oh,
I'm sorry. I hope you don't mind," she suddenly added.

Harry smiled and shook his head. Hermione smiled in relief. "The Headmaster read your
letter. He actually turned it over to see if there was anything else written. He thought about it
for a minute or so, and then seemed very pleased about everything.

"He started his little effort again to try to get me to convince myself you needed to stay
there. After about five minutes of us going back and forth, I could again tell he was carefully
trying to avoid something.

"Finally, one of his answers changed slightly. He said you needed to stay with your aunt,
instead of at number four. Suddenly, things started falling into place. The things he seemed to be
avoiding, the way he was trying to steer me in a certain direction to convince myself... it all
began to suggest that this all had to do with the protections at your *aunt's*
house." Harry noticed her emphasis.

"Now, I didn't know everything," Hermione started to say. Harry visibly scoffed at
the statement; that earned him an "*Oh honestly*," and a roll of her eyes, even
though she did look amused. "But, as soon as he mentioned your aunt specifically, I realized
that whatever was protecting you may have been tied more to her presence, rather than the house
*itself*. If that was the case, it suggested you didn't have to stay in the house there
the whole time. Besides, you've always been able to leave early before, so why was this year
any different?"

Harry realized he hadn't considered that. It seemed so obvious now that Hermione had
mentioned it. "And so I asked him how long you *HAD* to remain at your aunt's
house." A look of satisfaction appeared on her face. "He just sort of stared at me over
his glasses for a few seconds. He then said I had figured out too much already, so he decided to
tell me exactly why you had to stay there, so I would at least know the truth. He seemed to be
under the impression I would better accept you staying there that way.

"I told him you've been able to leave early for the last four years. I again asked him
how long you *had* to stay there. He said it was for the best that you remain there."
Hermione paused again for a moment. "I *again* handed him the letter I sent you, and then
waved the letter you sent in reply in front of him. 'Best for whom?' I asked him very
quietly.

"He sat down in one of our chairs and closed his eyes for a second. I don't think
I've ever seen him look as old as he did just then. He then looked back at me and said
something very quietly, more to himself. It sounded like 'I'm doing it again.' He
wouldn't explain what he meant by that. He said you could, if you chose to," Hermione
added very subtly.

Ten minutes later, Harry had recounted everything that had happened in Dumbledore's office
after they returned from the Department of Mysteries. Everything that is, except the parts about
the prophecy. Harry wasn't ready to drop that bomb on Hermione just yet, at least not on the
first day.

Once everyone had digested Harry's new information, Hermione then picked up where she had
left off. "He sighed deeply and then stood up. He handed back my letter and finally admitted
that you had *already* been there long enough to ensure your blood protections. I was
*about* to say something I knew might earn me a detention, even though we're on holiday,
when he interrupted me before I even got started.

"He again just sort of stared at me for a few seconds and then asked what *I* had in
mind on how to resolve the situation. I told him that you needed to be somewhere more supportive
than with the Dursleys. The Burrow was out of the question just like last year. If anything,
it's even more of a target than last year. Because of that, Ron and his family are staying at
Grimmauld Place, so you couldn't stay there either."

Seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face (along with a hint of relief), Hermione quickly
added, "Oh, I never did tell you about that, did I? In a minute. So, that seemed to leave just
two options left: Hogwarts or... here."

Hermione thought for a moment, and then she smiled. "Or, I suppose we could've just
booked you a room at that Holiday Inn we saw when we drove back from our shopping trip." Harry
shook his head at the idea of spending the rest of his summer in some motel room, even if it was
close to the Granger's house.

"He then asked me again what I had in mind to resolve the situation," Hermione
explained. "I told him that I didn't think Hogwarts was the best choice. For one thing,
most of the professors have gone on holiday themselves, so it'd probably be pretty lonely
there. And for another thing, you probably wouldn't be very welcome there anyway."

Harry was about to ask when Hermione explained, beating him to it. "The castle needs a
holiday from the students too. The castle tends to get cranky if it doesn't have some time to
itself. The moving staircases, the trick doors and stairs, they all are a little less amusing when
they're... *encouraging* you to leave. Honestly Harry, are you *ever* going to read
*Hogwarts, A History*?" she asked at the surprised look on his face.

Fortunately, Harry already knew the answer to that question. He grinned and shook his head.
"Why would I ever need to when I have you... to tell me what it says, that is?" he said,
slightly embarrassed at the way it sounded originally.

Hermione tried to give Harry a disapproving glare, though she was given away by a slight grin.
"So, since Hogwarts wasn't really that good of a choice, I told the Headmaster that...
I-thought-you-should-stay-with-us," she said very quickly.

Not wanting to continue down this path, Hermione then returned to an earlier topic. "Do you
remember I said that Grimmauld Place wasn't really an ideal location for you right now?"
she asked; Harry nodded.

"Well, since the Headmaster *originally* planned on you staying with your aunt and
uncle for the *whole summer*, he told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that they could stay there for the
summer. Professor Lupin had moved into Sirius's room, and then everyone else moved back into
their old rooms from last year. Everything would have been fine for you to join them, but then
Fudge got sacked.

"When they got rid of him, they got rid of all of his staff also. And that meant Percy
too," Hermione said. Harry was tempted to grin at Percy's *misfortune*, but the
slight frown on Hermione's face suggested that there might be more to the story and that it
wasn't the right sentiment at the moment. He quickly quashed the smile.

"Percy was out of a job," Hermione explained. "And not only that, but he was now
blacklisted as one of Fudge's people. No one would hire him. Penelope kicked him out when he
demanded she choose between him and Professor Dumbledore. He had nothing left. He had no choice but
to go *crawling* back to his family.

"Ron, Ginny, and Fred and George," Hermione paused for a second to think, "and
Bill, and Charlie, and Mr. Weasley... they weren't too eager to welcome him back. But Mrs.
Weasley told them all that now was not the time to turn their backs on him. Even if they all
couldn't come to terms with each other, they still should at least give him a place to
stay."

Hermione paused again to take another deep breath. "So, they let him in. Professor Lupin
moved out temporarily, and now they have the whole house to themselves. Mr. Weasley asked everyone
for as few distractions as possible while they tried to see if they could reintegrate Percy back
into the family."

Hermione let out a slightly disappointed sigh. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned to me he has
already been by there twice to undo whatever Fred or George did to Percy. I don't know if
they'll be successful or not, welcoming him back, but everyone else is doing their best to give
them that chance. Even the Order is meeting elsewhere for the time being."

Harry let out a slow breath. "To be honest, I'm glad it happened. I'm glad that
there's even the slightest chance that they might be able to bring Percy back. And I'm glad
he got sacked." Harry scowled slightly. "Percy's an insufferable prat,"
Harry's scowl faded, "but he's still their family. And right now, family means more
than it ever did." Harry's eyes seemed to go out of focus for a few seconds as he stared
at nothing just over Hermione's shoulder.

As his eyes came back into focus, he fixed his stare on Hermione for a moment. "And I'm
glad I'm here now. I just don't think I'm ready to go back there yet. I know I'll
have to eventually. I'm sure Sirius left it to me..." Harry's voice faded away as he
realized he had forgotten all about his letter from Gringotts.

Harry watched as Hermione came to the same realization as he at the same time. A look of
surprise came over her face. "Merlin's beard, Harry! You never opened your letter!
Let's go get it! Mum, Dad, Harry got a letter from Gringotts and we think it has to do with
Sirius's will!" she spoke very rapidly, very excited. "We'll be back in a
second."

Harry and Hermione stood up and walked into the living room towards the staircase. Right as they
reached the stairs, Dan turned in his chair towards them. "Harry," he called, "while
you're up there, don't forget to send your letters. *All* of your friends need to hear
from you." Dan gave him a heavy stare as he spoke.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I just need to send out the *rest* of them."
Harry hoped he understood.

Dan nodded slightly. "When you're done, come back down and we'll see if we can find
something to do tonight."

As the two of them reentered Harry's room, they noticed Hedwig was now awake. She had eaten
the owl treat and looked about as happy as an owl can. Harry walked over to the bed and retrieved
his Gringotts letter from the middle of it. He noted with amusement that Hermione had managed to
set it down in exactly the same place he originally found it.

He held the envelope of heavy parchment in his hands gingerly, as though he expected it might
explode. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Hermione sat down on the chair across from him; she
looked at him expectantly. Harry knew she wouldn't wait much longer. With a brave face, Harry
broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

He could feel Hermione watching him closely as he read the letter. He couldn't tell if she
was watching him for an emotional reaction or if she just wanted to know what was in the letter. It
was a very short letter. Once he finished it, he set it down and looked up at her. It took
everything he had to not laugh at what he saw.

Hermione was practically perched on the edge of the seat in anticipation. She looked as though
someone was about to tell her the secrets of the universe. Harry half expected her to jump him
right there and throttle him for answers. Fortunately, she decided to simply ask instead.

"*WELL?* What does it say?" she asked most dramatically.

Harry looked back at her with a disbelieving grin. "Probably the same thing *YOURS*
does," he replied, trying to mimic the tone and urgency of her voice. "I saw you had one
too when you sat down next to me earlier."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when she suddenly stopped mid-word, "Wel—." She
appeared completely dumbfounded. "Oh my goodness! I completely forgot about that! How could I
have forgotten about it?" She now looked highly embarrassed.

Hermione stood up and walked over to Harry's bed to retrieve her letter. "It's so
silly of... Where is it? It's gone! I set both of them down together on the pillow. It was
right here!" Hermione started to look unsettled.

She began to walk around the room, searching for her letter. She looked under the pillow, and on
top of the night stand, and behind the bed where it was pushed up against the wall. Harry even
watched as she got down on her hands and knees and stuck her head under the bed to see if it had
somehow fallen under it.

Finally giving up, she sat down next to Harry and tried retracing her steps in her mind.
"It was here when I set it down," she said aloud to herself. "And then we talked,
and then we went downstairs to make dinner. And then I didn't remember it until..."

A sudden dawning look or realization washed across Hermione's face. "Of course!"
she exclaimed. "I forgot all about it." She seemed very pleased with herself, considering
that she had forgotten about it. Grabbing Harry's hand, she abruptly stood up and started for
the door, pulling him behind her. "Come on, Harry. Let's go get it."

Since Harry had no idea what she was talking about, he simply followed her (as if he really had
any choice anyway). After walking out the door, instead of turning left to go downstairs, she
turned right and led Harry down the hall to a part of the house he had not yet seen.

As they walked down the hall, Harry was sure to make note of the bathroom on the left. *Always
important to know where that is,* Harry thought to himself. At the end of the hall were two last
doors, one on the left and right. Hermione turned right and led Harry into her bedroom.

Upon entering her room, she let go of his hand and immediately strode over to her bed. There,
Harry saw a Gringotts letter identical to his sitting on the bed, in exactly the same place as he
found his. Harry could not help but think how curious this was.

After picking up her letter, Hermione turned to Harry and showed him the letter. "I forgot
all about it while we were talking," she explained. "These Gringotts letters are for
official banking business. They're charmed to only be opened by the addressee. If you lose it,
or it's stolen, or you forget about it," she added sheepishly, "it will automatically
return to its place of delivery where you originally found it.

"That way," she continued, "you can never say you didn't get it. If you ever
lose track of it, you simply go back to where you first found it, and it'll be there waiting
for you."

Harry *was* impressed. "Brilliant," he proclaimed, though he wasn't sure
whether he was more impressed with the goblin banking magic or Hermione's knowledge of it.

A slight grin appeared on her face. "Well, I did read a little about the history of
Gringotts."

Harry simply nodded. He then looked at her expectantly. "Well? What does it say?" he
repeated. Hermione opened the letter and began to read it. As she read it, Harry quickly looked
around her room. Harry knew his room back at Privet Drive was much more a reflection of his life
there than he himself. He was very curious to see how Hermione's room reflected her.

As he looked around the room, he quickly came to one conclusion: the room looked exactly like
the sixteen-year old Hermione he knew had recently moved into a room belonging to an eleven-year
old Hermione he had never met.

The room was predominately pink, like her "Princess" T-shirt, with lacy, frilly things
like the curtains. Here and there however, there were recent additions of red and gold. The
comforter on the bed (which Harry noticed was made... when was the last time he made his bed?) was
certainly of Gryffindor design, red with gold trim and a large lion embroidered in the middle. This
must have been something she had found in some shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Resting against
the pillow were two stuffed animals.

Against the wall behind her was what he most expected: several bookcases full of books. There
must have been at least a hundred books all together. Beneath the window next to the bookcases,
where the afternoon sun was sure to pour in, was a cat basket, currently filled with a napping
Crookshanks. Against the side wall was a dresser, upon which sat several hair brushes and combs (of
which Harry was going to make no comment). Above the dresser, next to the large mirror was a framed
copy of the previous March's edition of *The Quibbler,* in which Harry gave his now famous
interview.

As he looked at the photograph of him grinning sheepishly back at him and the accompanying
headline, he recalled that at the time he wasn't entirely sure about giving the interview. Now,
it was one of the best things from that year.

As his eyes continued to scan around the room, he came across the closet. Just as his had been,
the right sliding door was open and the left was closed. Neatly hanging where he could see them
were Hermione's school uniforms and robes. Like most human beings presented with a closed door,
Harry was curious what was behind it. But, that would have been crossing a line. As much as he
didn't want to sample Ginny's Bat Bogey Hex, he was absolutely sure he'd take that any
day over whatever hex Hermione might throw at him should she be provoked.

In the corner was what looked like a bookshelf. Instead of books however, it was filled with
stuffed animals. *Must be a collection from her pre-Hogwarts days,* Harry deduced. He had
never seen her with one, nor had she ever mentioned them, so he assumed they were from when she was
younger. They were all teddy bears of different sizes, styles, and colors. All of them were in
varying states. Some were in relatively good condition while others were quite worn.

Harry quickly looked back to the two animals on the bed. These two were not bears like the
others on the shelves. One was what looked like a reindeer. He grinned slightly, checking for a red
nose; surprisingly however, it didn't have one. The other one was small gray animal. He had to
think about it for a second before he realized what it was: an otter. Harry smiled as he remembered
watching her Patronus wander around the Room of Requirement.

Returning to where he had left off, he had nearly finished circling the room when he saw
Hermione's desk. Neatly stacked on some shelves above the desk were her school books, in
addition to the home medical reference she had mentioned. In the center of the desk were her quill
and ink, as well as a stack of parchment.

Seeing the blank sheets, his eyes immediately wandered to the bin next to the desk. He could see
a small mountain of crumpled up sheets of parchment. Returning to the desktop, he saw several
picture frames on the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione was still reading;
it had only taken him about ten seconds to look around the room so far.

As she was still occupied, he could not help but take a few steps forward to get a better look
at the photographs. He was pleasantly surprised when he heard his reasonable side (in
Hermione's voice) reassuring him.

*The pictures are out where anyone can see them. That's what pictures are for.*

On the right side of the desk were three portraits, Muggle photographs. The first one was a
family shot of Hermione, Dan, and Emma. By the looks of her, it had been taken within the last year
or so; he assumed it was last summer before she went to Grimmauld Place. The second picture was of
a pair of older couples that Harry expected to be her grandparents. The third picture looked to
have been taken at a family reunion. There were hints of Hermione, Dan, and Emma all throughout the
photograph. He guessed that these were her aunts, uncles, and cousins.

When he approached the desk, his eye was immediately drawn to the photograph of Hermione and her
parents; it was the largest one, after all. As he finished looking at the three on the right side,
he noticed something gold on the left. Looking on the other side, he found two wizarding
photographs. Harry immediately recognized the one on the left. It was a picture of himself,
Hermione, and Ron from first year. He had the exact same picture. Hagrid gave it to him when he
gave Harry the album of photographs of his parents; Hermione must have gotten one too.

The second picture Harry did not recognize. Since it was a magical photograph that displayed the
same scene continuously, he had to watch the entire loop before he could figure out what it was.
The picture was of people flying around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. It looked like it was taken
from the stands, which were empty. *Colin,* Harry thought to himself. Harry was so used to
seeing his housemate taking pictures that he no longer noticed the flashes of the bulb.

In the few seconds that were displayed, Harry watched himself zoom by (quite close to the camera
actually), his arm stretched out in reach of the gold blur he was chasing. He had mixture of
excitement and determination on his face. *Is that really what my hair looks like when I'm
flying?* he wondered.

Harry now knew first hand why his father kept ruffling up his hair as he saw in Snape's
memory. The memory of his father mercilessly tormenting Snape when they were in school still did
not sit well with Harry. As such, he promised himself he would not repeat his father's
primping, even though he had to admit that his hair did look cool.

Behind him, he saw... one, two, three redheads fly past and wave at the camera... and in the
distance, a fourth was hovering near the goals along with two more people on either side of him,
all also waving. This must have been a Gryffindor practice session from last year... before he and
the Weasley twins got kicked off the team by the evil Toad Woman.

When the picture reset itself, starting again, he could not help by smile broadly. This, he most
certainly *would* have to comment on. *She likes Quidditch a little more than she lets
on,* Harry thought to himself triumphantly, as he recalled Dan's comments from earlier.

Between the two photographs was the golden item that had caught his eye a few seconds earlier.
It was Hermione's golden Galleon from the D.A. She had it set up in display on a small frame
that Harry guessed was designed for displaying coins. If it were any other Galleon or coin, he
would have thought very little of it. But now, this particular Galleon, displayed as it was, it
looked like some medal she had been awarded.

After quickly glancing at the two wizarding photographs again, Harry again looked back at the
photograph of Hermione, Dan, and Emma. It was a regular, non-moving Muggle photograph. As he looked
at it, he began to notice how the lack of motion actually seemed to capture something that was
missing from the moving pictures. It was literally a single moment, frozen in time.

Dan and Emma were standing side by side, each with an arm around the other. Hermione was
standing in front of them, between them. Dan and Emma each had their free hands on Hermione's
shoulders. The image seemed to have a timeless quality to it that somehow enhanced all of the
details. All three of them were smiling, for the camera of course. They looked so happy,
though.

They looked like they didn't have a care in the world. Dan had lamented on how little they
saw of their daughter anymore. He supposed that they made every effort to enjoy themselves while
they were together. Hermione looked especially happy being there with them. She had done something
different with her hair for the picture, Harry suddenly noticed.

The photography studio must've had a stylist there for last minute adjustments to help
people look their best. Normally, her bushy brown hair was simply pulled back, out of the way. Now,
her styled and slightly curled locks cascaded in brunette rivulets over her shoulders. Harry had to
admit that Hermione did look very pretty in that picture.

Surprised by that admission, Harry wondered briefly if he should be worried about it or not.
*"But I don't think you're ugly,"* he remembered telling her a few months
ago. He wasn't sure if that made it better or not. But, he knew it was the truth, and as far as
he was concerned, it wasn't whether he thought she was pretty, it was whether everyone else
knew he did. And he didn't really expect her or anyone else to ask him if he thought she was
pretty, so he wasn't going to worry about it *too* much.

Feeling that he had explored enough for one day, Harry turned his attention back to Hermione. It
had been about thirty seconds since she started reading the letter. If this letter was the same as
his, she should be done any time now.

Sure enough, about five seconds later, she finished reading it and looked back up at Harry. She
handed the letter to him. "Is this the same as yours?" she asked tentatively. Harry took
it and began to read.

*To Hermione Jane Granger,*

*In the Matter of the Resolution of the Will of Sirius Black,*

*Your presence is hereby requested and required at Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley on the
morning of August 1, at 9:00AM.*

*Upon your arrival, please go to the Estates Department and ask for Darmok, Executor of the
Black Estate.*

*Please make correspondence with the Executor if you will be unable to attend. As per the
Banking Reform Act of 1993, unclaimed Inheritances or Estates become the Property of the Ministry
of Magic after one Month has elapsed. Therefore, it is your responsibility to make arrangements in
a timely manner if you will be unable to attend.*

*According to our records, you are currently not Of Age. As such, the presence of your Parents
is also requested, however it is not required.*

*With Regards,*

*Martok*

*Gringotts Probate Department*

Harry looked back up at Hermione. "Yeah, it's the same as mine," he confirmed.
"Though mine says 'guardians' instead of 'parents.' I guess they're
sticklers for details," Harry said as he shrugged his shoulders.

Harry thought about the letters for a moment. *Well, at least we have a few weeks before we
have to do this,* Harry thought to himself with a mixture of emotions. He was sad of course that
he had to even do this in the first place. He knew he would gladly rather be helping Sirius clean
up after Buckbeak, the Muggle way... with a shovel, than finding out how much money he would be
receiving.

But at the same time, he was glad that he had several weeks to prepare for it. He knew that no
matter what, it would not be easy. But after receiving Hermione's letter, he knew it that he
would be able to face it. He hoped that the next few weeks would lessen the impact.

Harry began to wonder about something. "Erm, Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"How did you know that these letters were about Sirius's will?"

"Oh," Hermione said, relieved that Harry seemed to have taken the letters as well as
she hoped.

"Well, at first I didn't know what it was," she admitted. "I don't even
have an account at Gringotts. I had no idea why they would be contacting me. We normally just
exchange our pound notes for Galleons and then go do our shopping.

"But when I came into your room and saw you had an identical letter, it just sort of
clicked. Why would the both of us be getting a letter from Gringotts at the same time? I knew it
had to be for important banking business, since Gringotts never contacts their customers unless
*they* need them to come in. After all, a contacted customer is just another opportunity for a
withdrawal, right?" Hermione smiled lightly.

"So, considering we both got letters at the same time, and considering the timing of it
to... recent events, it just seemed to make sense," Hermione explained. Harry nodded slightly
and gave the letter back to her.

After a few moments, Hermione started to raise her arm as though she were going to put her hand
on his shoulder, but stopped after a few inches, returning it to her side. Suspecting that she was
about to ask if he was alright, Harry saved her the trouble.

"Well, at least we have a few weeks before we have to do this," he said, voicing his
earlier thoughts. After both silently agreed, Harry and Hermione returned to Harry's room. He
strode over to Hedwig's cage, opening it. He reached in and stroked her head, allowing her to
nip at his fingers affectionately.

"So girl, do you feel up to delivering some letters, letting my friends know I'm alive
and what a git I've been?" Harry asked with a smile. Hedwig let out a few quick hoots and
shifted left and right on her perch in what appeared to be eagerness.

Harry retrieved his completed thank-you letters and brought them to Hedwig. As he tied the
letters to both legs and put one in her beak, he explained her deliveries. "Now I know
there's a bunch of them, but it's only three stops. The one on your left leg goes to
Neville Longbottom and his grandmother. The one in your beak is for Luna Lovegood and her father. I
don't know if they're back from Sweden or not, so you can just drop it in their house if
they're not. And then the last three are for Ron Weasley and his family. Think you can handle
all that?" he asked with a smile.

Hedwig puffed herself up and flexed her wings slightly as if to assure him that she was a proper
mail owl and could handle any delivery. Harry walked over and opened the window. As she started to
head for the window, Harry told her, "You can stay the night with Ron if you want. It'll
probably be late by the time you get there." Once in the air, Harry called out at the last
second after her, "and be nice to Pig while you're there."

When they returned downstairs, Harry and Hermione both showed their letters to Dan and Emma.
After reading them, Emma looked up and over at the calendar on the wall. "Well, August first
is on a Friday. It's far enough that we can reschedule any appointments... if you want us to
come, that is."

Hermione nodded her head and looked very happy. "If we know what our classes will be by
then, we can make it a day and do our school shopping as well. If not, we can always go back. I
never got around to asking Professor McGonagall how class selection worked, since we have to wait
to get our O.W.L. results first."

Once it was decided that they would all go together, the Grangers and their new house guest
decided to move into the living room to enjoy the remainder of their evening. As Dan and Emma
settled into the loveseat and got comfortable (very comfortable, Harry noticed, but nothing
inappropriate for mixed company), Harry took a seat on one end of the sofa. Hermione headed over to
the entertainment center.

Harry watched as she walked over and started looking through the video cassettes. Emma's
voice caused Harry to look back at them. "We only have one rule when we spend time together as
a family: No books." Harry smiled slightly.

"We never discourage Hermione from reading, of course," Emma explained, "but
since we've had so little time with her these last five years, when we are *together,* we
only want activities that we can *all* share in, at the same time. I'd rather have the
four of us enjoy a movie or television show *together* than for each of us to be lost in our
own book. I hope you can abide by that rule, Harry."

"Don't worry," Hermione suddenly added, still looking at the videos, "he
will." Harry didn't know if she was teasing him or warning him; either way, he had the
good grace to look guilty.

"So, Harry, anything in particular you'd like to see?" Dan asked. "I
don't imagine you're much of a movie connoisseur considering your... background." That
much was certainly true. Harry could remember going to the movies twice. Both times it had been
because Vernon and Petunia couldn't find anyone to watch him, and Dudley had made such a fuss
about possibly missing the movie that he actually yelled at them to just bring Harry with them so
they could leave and he could get there early enough to get the seat he wanted.

Both times, it hadn't been the experience Harry hoped it would. For one thing, the movie was
always what Dudley wanted to see. That usually ended up being some terribly violent and bloody
horror movie. Harry noticed that even his aunt and uncle didn't seem to enjoy them. And for
another thing, Harry always had to sit wedged between his aunt and uncle where they could keep an
eye on him. Sitting next to his beefy uncle was not a pleasant experience, as he was literally
spilling over the sides of the theater seat and onto Harry.

As Harry considered the movie viewing possibilities, he could not help but hear Hermione's
voice echo in his mind. *"One day at a time,"* he remembered her promising him. He
decided the best way to live up to that was to try to make the most of the time he had there with
Hermione, and her parents. He wanted to enjoy himself as much as possible.

"How about a comedy?" Harry finally suggested. "As you know, my... experience is
limited, so if any of you have a favorite, that's fine with me."

Right after speaking the word "favorite," Harry hear Hermione let out a quiet snort of
laughter, as though there was no question as to what comedy they should watch. Indeed, within a few
seconds, she had pulled a video cassette out of its cardboard sleeve. He couldn't read the
title from where he was sitting, though he did see that the box was blue and had what looked like a
knot on the cover. In his mind, Harry shrugged his shoulders and trusted that Hermione knew what
she was doing.

At that thought, Harry smiled, trying not to laugh at himself for thinking that.

After putting the cassette in the VCR, Hermione returned to the sofa and asked Harry if he
wanted popcorn. When he said he did, she asked her parents if they wanted any also. When they
nodded, she headed into the kitchen to start it. As she left the room, the movie started.

*'Airplane!'?* Harry wondered to himself. He looked over and saw that Dan and Emma
seemed to be grinning in anticipation. He turned back to the television and waited to see what was
going to be so good about this movie.

By the time Hermione had finished making the popcorn, Harry was already watery-eyed and having
difficulty breathing from laughing so much. Much to his relief, he heard Hermione calling him from
the kitchen to help carry the drinks. He hoped this brief interruption would give him a moment to
recover.

As Harry walked into the kitchen, Hermione took one look at his face and smiled. "Enjoying
the movie so far, Harry?" Harry only nodded; he didn't dare open his mouth for fear of
starting to laugh again.

After picking up the two large bowls of popcorn, Hermione nodded towards the tray with four
glasses on it. "Would you carry that please?" she asked. As Harry began to pick it up,
Hermione glanced back into the living room. When she was sure Dan and Emma were still paying
attention to the movie, she turned back to Harry, whispering.

"If the chance arises, please make sure you let either Mum or Dad see you brushing your
teeth. Yes, I know it sounds strange, but you have to remember they're both dentists,"
Hermione explained. "They don't mind if we have Cokes and popcorn for special occasions
like this, but they expect proper dental care afterwards. You know, sugary drinks and popcorn
shells that get stuck between your teeth. They'll have my head if they think I haven't
instilled good brushing habits in you."

Harry gave Hermione a funny look, but seeing she was serious, he agreed. "But only if the
situation arises." He then added jokingly, "I'm not going to run around the house
yelling 'Look Mummy, I can brush my teef.'"

Picking up a small stack of serviettes, Hermione then returned to the living room. She handed
one bowl of popcorn to her parents, and then settled on one end of the sofa. Following behind her,
Harry handed two of the drinks to Dan and Emma, and then one to Hermione. He then sat down on the
other end of the sofa. Everyone now settled, they all turned their attentions to the movie.

After Hermione had asked for the bowl of popcorn for the fifth time (it had been going back and
forth between them for the last twenty minutes), Harry turned to her and tried to look as annoyed
as he could, even though he really wasn't.

"You know, this'd be a whole lot easier if you just sat next to me instead of all the
way over there," Harry said in an exasperated tone. "I don't have boy germs, you
know." Emma immediately let out a snort and then started laughing, though not from the movie.
Dan was able to escape with only a few chuckles.

Hermione, not knowing what everyone found so funny, looked at her parents. "What?" she
asked.

"I'm sorry," Emma said. "That was my fault. I had accused them of being
afraid of each other's boy germs earlier today."

Hermione looked at her mother skeptically for a moment and then slid over closer to Harry. After
Harry set the bowl between them, she turned back to the movie, shaking her head in disbelief, as if
to say "*Parents!*"

About ten minutes later, Harry heard a strange scratching noise behind him. Subtly moving his
hand towards his pocket where he still had his wand, he asked Hermione as calmly and innocently as
he could (just in case someone was nearby), "What was that?"

"*That,*" Hermione said, clearly not concerned, "is Crookshanks climbing up
the back of the sofa." In fact, she even sounded slightly annoyed. "He's smelled the
popcorn, and now he'll be up on top here begging for some."

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously. "He likes popcorn?"

"Only the buttered pieces," she clarified, still watching the movie.

"He really likes popcorn?" Harry repeated, still surprised.

"Yeah. Just watch. He'll pace back and forth between us until one of us starts eating.
Then he'll mark them as his target." Hermione looked over at Harry with a bit of a
grin.

"Go ahead and try it," Hermione dared him. "Eat some slowly, but whatever you do,
don't pay any attention to him."

Harry knew Crookshanks was smart, but this he had to see for himself. Sure enough, Crookshanks
made it to the top of the sofa and started walking back and forth between Harry and Hermione,
mewing very softly. No one visibly paid any attention to him.

Harry then grabbed a handful of popcorn, and slowly ate it, one piece at a time, making sure to
give Crookshanks a chance to see him. Within a few seconds, Crookshanks was sitting above
Harry's right shoulder purring very loudly. As Harry continued to watch the movie, he could see
Hermione shaking slightly in silent laughter.

When he grabbed another handful of popcorn, Harry felt Crookshanks put his two front paws on his
shoulder, as though he was starting to climb down. The purring intensified and then Crookshanks
mewed again, this time a little more insistently. Harry heard Dan stifle a laugh. Hermione had
turned her head enough so she could watch what she knew was about to happen.

When Harry slowly brought a particularly buttery piece of popcorn towards his mouth, Crookshanks
suddenly swiped out with one paw and grabbed a hold of Harry's hand with his claws.
"Ouch!" Harry exclaimed. He could feel Crookshanks trying to pull his hand towards
him.

Surprised by the "attack," Harry dropped the piece of popcorn. Crookshanks immediately
jumped down and began to eat his prize. *Ouch again*, Harry thought as Crookshanks' claws
retracted out of his leg.

Harry wanted to be mad at Crookshanks for the new holes in his hand and leg, but seeing him grab
hold of his hand was just too funny. He finally gave up and joined the other three in laughter.

Crookshanks was now looking up at Harry, purring again. "Yes, yes, more popcorn," he
said to the animal.

"Only a couple more, Crookshanks," Hermione warned her familiar. "You eat too
much butter and it makes you sick." Harry could have sworn Crookshanks scowled at
Hermione.

A few pieces later, Crookshanks tried to curl up into a ball for a nap on Harry's lap, but
the frequent bouts of laughter quickly dissuaded him from that; he eventually jumped down and
headed upstairs.

Near the end of the movie, everyone seemed quite exhausted from the nearly constant laughing.
After first asking Hermione if she wanted them, Harry put the last couple of pieces of popcorn into
his mouth as he looked away from the screen. Then he heard one of the actors say "She's
beginning to shake."

As he glanced back at the television and saw what Striker was referring to, Harry began laughing
so hard, he nearly choked on his popcorn. Everyone else in the room looked at him in amusement when
they realized he was okay.

After catching his breath, Harry looked at everyone, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry about
that. I guess I need to relearn how to eat," he joked, thinking about how this was the second
time today he had nearly choked on something.

"Or *maybe* we just need to start screening these movies for the jiggly bits and tell
you when not to look?" Dan suggested teasingly.

"No," Harry quickly assured him, "No, I just need to learn how to eat. No need
for anything drastic like that," he said with a slight grin.

"*Well,*" Hermione mused dramatically, "I don't know. He does spend a
lot of time around Ron, Seamus, and Dean. Their less-than-noble attitudes toward women may have
rubbed off on him slightly." She looked like she was only a few seconds away from a fit of
laughter.

"I assure you that won't be necessary," Harry promised with a smile. After the
scene he had just watched in the movie, it took every ounce of strength he had to keep his eyes on
her face.

Finally, the movie was over. It was getting late. After putting the dishes in the kitchen, Dan
and Emma said they were going to head up and start getting ready for bed. As Hermione got up to
turn off the television and put away the movie, Harry sat on the sofa for a few moments reflecting
on his first day in his new home.

He had moved out of number four, Privet Drive today. He assumed all along that we would be going
to Grimmauld Place. Now that he wasn't, he realized that he really hadn't been looking
forward to returning there. Fortunately, Hermione had come to his rescue (again) and found a new
temporary home for him: hers. They had gone shopping and Harry got all new clothes... clothes that
fit him.

They had a most excellent lunch and the best dinner Harry could remember in a long time*. Yep,
I think Ron is rubbing off on me,* Harry thought to himself. He had been notified of
Sirius's will, and had survived it. But he had nearly choked on his food twice. Yes, all in
all, it was a very busy day; he was quite ready for bed.

Hermione was turning off the last of the lights downstairs as Harry began to head upstairs. When
he reached the second floor, he noticed Dan and Emma's bedroom door was still open. Bypassing
his room, he went down and knocked on the doorframe, being sure to stay back so he couldn't see
in the room, just to be polite (and safe).

When Dan came to the door, Harry tried to look embarrassed. "Sorry, I know this may seem
odd, but you don't happen to have any spare toothpaste? I forgot I'm all out," he
lied. He knew he had some left.

"Ah, you happen to be in the right house for that, Harry," Dan said with a smile. He
disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a small, travel-size tube of toothpaste. "We
actually have cases of these. We always carry a box of these around with us in the car when we go
visit schools. I just happened to bring them inside recently since schools are on holiday, and
since they don't like being left in a hot car all day. Anything else, Harry?" he
asked.

Harry shook his head. "Then I'll wish you good night," Dan said. "We have to
go back to work tomorrow. Somehow I doubt you're an early morning person, so if not, we'll
see you in the evening when we get back."

"Good night, and thanks," Harry said, holding up the toothpaste. As he headed back for
his room, Hermione came up the stairs. As she passed him in the hall, she saw the toothpaste and
smiled. She then went to her room.

Harry went over to his bed and sat down for a minute. As he began to relax, he quickly felt his
tiredness begin to sneak up on him. Knowing he might fall asleep right there if he wasn't
careful, he gathered his pajamas and toothbrush (and newly acquired toothpaste), and headed back to
the bathroom.

Harry returned to his room several minutes later to find Crookshanks sitting on his bed, waiting for him to return. Harry sat down next to
him; Crookshanks immediately began to purr has he had on top of the couch.

"Sorry Crookshanks," Harry apologized. "I don't have any more popcorn.
Besides, I don't think Hermione would like it if I gave you any more tonight." The purring
stopped.

Not to be complete denied, Crookshanks butted his head against Harry's arm. Harry looked
down at the half-Kneazle and smiled. "Will you settle for a good scratching?" he
asked.

Harry reached down and began to scratch Crookshanks' head. After finding a cozy spot,
Crookshanks sat down to enjoy the pampering while it lasted. A few minutes later, Harry heard
Hermione's voice coming down the hall towards his room.

"Harry, have you seen...? Oh, I see you have," she said, staring at the cat on the bed
next to Harry. From the doorway, she watched the two of them. "I think you're in trouble,
Harry," she warned. "Now he knows who will spoil him. They say the way to a man's
heart is through his stomach. You've just discovered the hard way that includes
Crookshanks."

Hermione came over and sat down on the opposite side of Crookshanks. She began to scratch his
back; Crookshanks looked to be in heaven, what with one person scratching his head and one his
back. A few seconds later, Emma appeared at the door in her bathrobe.

"Don't be up all night, you two. Tomorrow is another day, and there are plenty more
after that," she said with a smile. After Harry and Hermione wished her good night, Emma
paused for a moment before leaving the room. She intentionally looked at Harry's wide-open
bedroom door then stared pointedly at Hermione; Harry was quite sure that contained an unspoken
conversation. Emma then smiled again at both of them and bid them good night.

For one of the first times in his life, Harry had no idea about what to say to Hermione. After a
few awkward silent moments, they eventually settled upon discussing their favorite scenes from the
movie. Several minutes into it, Harry yawned uncontrollably.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"That's OK," Hermione assured him. "You've had a long day. Surely you
must be tired."

"I am," Harry agreed. Hermione was secretly disappointed by his response, though she
gave no indication of it.

"Well, I'll head to bed then. Good night, Harry," Hermione said.

"Good night, Hermione," Harry returned.

Hermione stood and picked up Crookshanks (after unhooking Harry's blanket from his claws).
When she got to the door, she reached for the light switch.

"Hermione?" Harry called, his voice as heavy as he could make it. He wanted to be sure
she knew he was going to say something very important.

Hermione turned and looked back at Harry, looking very hopeful. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry stared at her for a moment. "Don't call me Shirley."

Hermione's face lit up with a huge grin as she switched of the light.



10. The Weeks that Followed, Act One: The Second Day
----------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*

*A/N: First, foremost, and always, thanks to my beta MapleMountain. Thank you!*

*Second, sorry this chapter took so long. As originally planned, I was already on page 20 of
this chapter when I realized it needed to be split up, or else it would never get finished. So I
found a perfect stopping point on page 14. But, the up side at least is that Chapter 11 is now
already half done! Yay!*


Chapter 10. The Weeks that Followed, Act One: The Second Day.

It was a dark and stormy night. Mother Nature, it seems, had decided that this was to be the
last night England would enjoy the cool breezes of a summer storm (at least as far as the seven day
forecast predicted); she would make it a night to remember. Though there still was no
precipitation, those who were awake (and light sleepers) were treated to a beautiful display of
lightning with an impressive accompaniment of thunder. Harry Potter however, soundly slept through
it in his new temporary home.

Before sleep (and the storm) arrived, Harry lay there on his bed, waiting for his exhaustion to
overtake him. He didn’t know how long he would be with the Grangers. As he thought about it, he
realized that he wasn’t in any rush to leave.

On one hand, leaving would most certainly mean returning to Grimmauld Place. Even if he was
ready to face Sirius’s house (which he wasn’t), going there meant having to intrude upon Ron and
his family. Harry knew that he was a large factor in Percy’s estrangement from his family. He still
thought of Percy as a big enough prat that that knowledge didn’t cause him to lose any sleep.
Still, he had no desire to gloat over him, nor did he wish to risk impeding any possible mending
with his presence. No, he was quite content to stay where he was.

And on the other hand, Harry *WAS* quite content to stay where he was. He had simply
enjoyed himself too much today to want to leave any time soon. Deep down, he knew that today was
probably something of an exaggeration of how things would be from here on out. Today was the first
day. Harry was getting settled in and everyone was just getting to know each other.

That evening, right before her silent conversation with Hermione that had something to do with
Harry’s door being left open (*Oh,* Harry realized), Emma had told Harry “Tomorrow is another
day, and there are plenty more after that.” Harry knew that if the days that followed were even
half as good as today, he was probably in for the best summer of his life. And it was with that
thought that Harry finally fell asleep.

Harry awoke the following morning to a most wondrous smell. *Bacon!* his mind shouted. For
the briefest of moments, he had to look around to remember where he was. It was a rare occasion
when he woke up to the smell of food. Back on Privet Drive, he was almost always the one cooking it
to wake up his relatives. At Hogwarts, the Great Hall was too far away for the aromas to make it up
to Gryffindor Tower. In fact, the only way food really played a factor in Harry’s awaking there was
when Ron roused him in his eagerness to get to breakfast.

The only times he did remember waking up to such a wonderful smell was with Ron and his family,
either at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Harry imagined that right at this very moment, the entire
Weasley family was sitting around the table in Sirius’s house, silently eating their breakfast. He
suspected that every few minutes, someone would shoot a furtive glance Percy’s way, all the while
Mrs. Weasley would glare daggers at whoever was the last person to try to start a row.

Until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said that it was okay to have visitors, however, Harry wasn’t going
to dwell on it too much. This was something that he knew they had to work out on their own. They at
least all had each other to lean upon. It suddenly struck Harry that he was in a similar situation,
though for different reasons. While he didn’t have any blood family who would be there for him, he
knew he had something that was every bit as good: his best friend and her family. A friend, he
reasoned, did this by choice, not because of some genetic relation.

*Speaking of people sitting around eating breakfast,* Harry thought to himself as his
stomach rumbled. It seemed as though his stomach was quickly becoming quite annoyed with him the
longer he lay in bed while the seductive fragrance of frying pig flesh relentlessly assaulted his
senses.

In a flash, Harry was up and out of bed. He grabbed a set of his new clothes and headed for the
bathroom for a quick shower. Before entering the hall however, he quickly checked to make sure
Hermione was still down in the kitchen. He wasn’t quite ready for her to see him in his present
condition. He expected that the sight of him first thing in the morning would likely give her or
anyone else cause to scream.

With the coast clear, he dashed into the bathroom. After a refreshing and relaxing shower, Harry
dressed and stared at the mop on top of his head. Just for once, he wished it would behave itself.
As he combed it, it actually seemed to tame itself (a little), though he assumed that was probably
because it was still wet.

Finally certain he was decent for human eyes (though he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so
much today), he finally headed downstairs for breakfast. As he entered the kitchen, Hermione was
just plating up the last of the eggs out of the frying pan. On the table were plates of toast and
the eagerly anticipated bacon.

As she turned to take the last plate to the table, Hermione saw Harry standing in the doorway.
“Well, good morning. I see your stomach woke you this morning. *Just in time* for breakfast,
huh?” she teased with a smirk.

Harry tilted his head from side to side, neither confirming nor denying the assessment. “Need
help with anything?” he asked as approached the table.

“Just grab some glasses, would you? Second door on the right,” she indicated, nodding towards
the cupboards on the wall.

Harry looked at the coffee mugs and glasses in the cupboard. “What do you want?” he asked her.
“I don’t suppose you have any pumpkin juice here, do you?”

“No,” Hermione confirmed, “just coffee, tea, milk, and orange juice. That’s what I’m having.
Would you grab me a glass please?”

Deciding orange juice would be nice also, Harry grabbed two glasses and returned to the table.
After setting the plate of eggs down on the table, Hermione headed over to the refrigerator to
retrieve the orange juice. “There’s strawberry jam here if you want any for your toast,” she told
Harry.

“Yes please,” Harry replied with a little more enthusiasm than he intended. Once the table was
equipped with all the necessary essentials (jam, salt, pepper, silverware, etc.), Harry and
Hermione sat down to enjoy their breakfast. With loaded plates, they dug in.

When their plates were finally clear, Harry sat back in his chair to enjoy the afterglow of a
wonderful breakfast. “I don’t know about you, but that was certainly the best breakfast I’ve had in
weeks.”

Though she was still looking down at her plate, Harry could see a small smile form on Hermione’s
face. She looked up at him as the smile continued to grow. “Thanks,” she replied.

“And while we’re on that topic, dinner last night was absolutely brilliant! Thank you. Remind me
to thank your mum too.” Hermione must not have been one to take such compliments lightly, for a
slight blush appeared as she smiled in an embarrassed sort of way.

“Thank you,” she replied in a very small voice.

“I mean it,” Harry assured her. “Hogwarts has never served anything like it, and since food like
that doesn’t come in fifty-pence cans, I never had it before at the Dursleys’. The two of you kept
your backs to us the whole time. What did *you* make?” Harry asked.

“I made the chicken. Mum made the potatoes,” Hermione explained. “Dad doesn’t really care what
we have, as long as she makes the potatoes.”

“They were very good. You know, at school and at the Dursleys’, they always remove the skins
from the potatoes. But leaving them on and mashing them in made it different. I really liked it.”
Harry paused for a moment. “You made the chicken?” he asked with an obvious look of wonder on his
face.

“Yes. Did you like it?” Hermione asked very anxiously.

“I already said it, but yes, it was brilliant!” Harry looked at Hermione appraisingly for a
moment. “You know, it’s not that I didn’t think you could cook, it’s just that I never knew you
did.”

A determined smile appeared on Hermione’s face. “I don’t know why some people assume I can’t
cook. It’s no different than making a potion. You just add the proper ingredients in the proper
quantities, in the proper sequence, following the proper cooking instructions.”

“How very proper of you,” Harry teasingly interjected.

“The nice thing about cooking,” Hermione explained after rolling her eyes and sticking her
tongue out at him, “is that you rarely have to worry about a tomato sauce exploding and setting the
house on fire if you start experimenting with the recipe.”

“That and you don’t have our illustrious Potions Master sweeping over you,” Harry added
dramatically, “looking positively disappointed because it was just right... not too chunky, not too
watery.”

“And that too,” Hermione agreed. She got up and took her plate and Harry’s to the dishwasher.
After Harry brought over the silverware and glasses, Hermione spoke as she dried her hands after
washing them. “So, tomorrow you’re making breakfast, right?”

“Cereal it is,” Harry agreed with a big grin. Hermione threw the dish towel at him (which he
caught deftly thanks to his Seeker skills).

The kitchen now clean, Hermione leaned against the counter. “So... did you have any plans for
today?” she asked in way-too-casual voice, which Harry immediately noticed. Hearing the fake
innocence in her voice, he knew where this was leading. He wanted to be able to give her some witty
comeback, just to sound clever. Unfortunately, for the life of him he could not think of one.

“Not really,” he answered lamely. “I had my fill of ‘brooding’ and ‘staring at the ceiling’ back
on Privet, so I’m quite ready for a change. Somehow I doubt we can go shopping everyday.” Right as
he finished the sentence, his mind suddenly screamed out *World domination! World domination!
Damn... too late! Oh well, maybe next time.*

“Well,” Hermione started slowly, as if testing the waters, “if you didn’t have anything better
to do, how about we get started on our homework?”

*Bingo!* Harry thought to himself with a smile. Sure enough, Hermione was true to her word
from yesterday about waiting until today to start in on their homework (not that he ever really
doubted her).

Homework-wise, Harry was very glad that this was the summer after O.W.L. exams. Since sixth-year
class selections couldn’t be made until after O.W.L. results were delivered, Harry only had Charms
and Defense Against the Dark Arts homework so far. These were the two classes that all sixth-years
would be taking in one form or another, regardless of their O.W.L. results.

The bulk of the spells a witch or wizard used in everyday life were learned in Charms. As a
result, it was standard for all students to take Charms for all seven years (some at the N.E.W.T.
standard, some not). Similarly, it had been decided many years ago (coincidently right around the
time of Voldemort’s first rise to power) that Defense Against the Dark Arts was also a subject that
all students would take for the entirety of their Hogwarts career.

Considering he was expecting this, and since he had decided the day before that doing his
homework was a fair price to pay for getting away from his oh-so-loving relatives, Harry
immediately answered without hesitation. “Okay.”

Hermione immediately continued on. “Come on, Harry. We only have Charms and Defense Against the
Dark Arts. If we get it done now, we’ll have the rest...” her voice trailed off when she realized
Harry had agreed. “Oh! You said yes...” Harry smiled and nodded; Hermione looked slightly
embarrassed.

Hermione began to look slightly uncomfortable for having pleaded with Harry to start his
homework without really focusing on his answer first. He started to head toward the stairs. “I’m
going to bring down my books and things,” he told her, just to get the conversation moving
again.

Still slightly out of sorts, Hermione merely nodded then followed him upstairs. Entering his
room, Harry noticed that Hedwig had not yet returned. He walked over to his desk and retrieved his
books and writing supplies. After setting out a couple owl treats next to her cage, Harry went
downstairs.

Deciding that if he was going to do his homework, he would at least be comfortable, Harry went
into the living room. He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa. After moving the TV listings
and remote to the far end of the table so he could spread out his stuff, he then sat down on one
end of the sofa. A few minutes after he was settled and comfortable, Hermione came down the stairs.
A moment later, he heard her sigh. Looking up, he noticed she was standing in front of the coffee
table, looking at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied. “It’s just you’re sitting where I usually do if I don’t do my
homework in my room,” she explained after she sat down on the love seat to his side.

“Yeah, well first-come, first-served,” Harry teased in as friendly a voice as he could. He knew
that could be taken the wrong way, but since she sat down before she told him about the seat, he
assumed it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Pulling out his parchment and quill, Harry realized that the quill was still clogged with the
dried ink from his letter writing the other day. Staring at the end of it, he asked Hermione if she
had a penknife he could use to cut a new tip.

“Sorry, no penknives,” she said, “but you can just use one of the knives in the kitchen. That’s
what I do.” Harry got up and headed to the kitchen. Pulling a knife out of the rack, he expertly
trimmed the nib and then went back to the living room. Upon his return, he found that Hermione had
shifted all of his stuff to the love seat and reclaimed her favorite spot on the sofa.

She was intently staring her Charms book (her eyes weren’t moving as if reading), failing
miserably at hiding the large Cheshire Cat grin on her face. Harry stood over her for a moment,
watching her intently. As the seconds passed by, she began to bite her lower lip to stifle her
impending laugh.

When he could tell that she was about to lose control, he huffed once. “*Well!*” he
objected in as offended a voice as he could produce. As he sat down, he looked back over at
Hermione.

She had finally looked up from her book and put on a very innocent looking expression. “Finders
keepers,” she explained.

“This isn’t over, Miss Granger. Not by a long shot,” Harry promised.

“We’ll see, Mister Potter. *We will see*,” Hermione challenged.

With the two of them now both overcome by wide grins, they finally set about to their homework.
By lunch time, Harry had made it through about a third of his assigned Charms reading. As they ate
the sandwiches Harry made for lunch, Hermione updated Harry on the developments he had missed in
his self-imposed seclusion.

“So you really didn’t hear *anything* about Fudge and the new Minister?” Hermione asked
incredulously between bites.

“Hermione, if it wasn’t written on my ceiling or in a letter you wrote, then I don’t know about
it,” Harry assured her.

“Well,” Hermione began to explain, entering teaching mode, “about a week after we got back from
school, a vote of no confidence was held with every member of the Ministry voting. Ever since the
article came out about Voldemort’s return at the Ministry, everyone had been stewing on everything
that Fudge had or hadn’t done since your trial last year. Inaction can be just as damaging as wrong
action, Harry.

“You and Professor Dumbledore had been saying all along that Voldemort was back, but Fudge did
everything he could to deny it, simply because he didn’t want to believe it. So that, combined with
the arrest of Lucius Malfoy, really tipped the scales against Fudge. According to one of the
interviews in the *Daily Prophet*, there were very few people who did not remember seeing
Malfoy and Fudge together at one point or another over the years.

“The vote was pretty overwhelming... four to one against him. Fudge was out. And all of his
personal staff, as I mentioned. That was last Monday. By the end of the day, they had already
short-listed a group of possible replacements. On Wednesday, Amelia Bones was elected. She’ll serve
the rest of Fudge’s term, and then she’ll be up for reelection.”

“Susan Bones’s aunt?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Yeah,” Hermione confirmed. “I hesitate to say that *you* had anything to do with it, since
I know how much you enjoy that kind of attention... but...” Harry looked at Hermione with great
anticipation (or was it dread?), “several people were quoted as saying that it was her treatment of
you at your trial that swung their vote towards her instead of the other candidates.

“I mean, she already had a good record as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,”
Hermione explained, “so when the rank and file of Ministry staff went back and read the transcripts
of your trial, people realized that she seemed to be very fair, very level-headed. They moved your
trial, remember? The only ones who made it were the ones Fudge wanted or needed there,” Hermione
explained about people reading the transcripts.

“She seemed very nice,” Harry said of Madam Bones, now Minister Bones, actually. “Have we heard
anything of what she’s going to do about Voldemort?”

“Not much yet. According to the *Prophet*, she’s met with Professor Dumbledore twice
already since being elected. The article made it sound like she means business. Apparently she took
her successor as well as the new Head of Aurors with her to meet the headmaster. The new head of
law enforcement is a man by the name of Rufus Scrimgeour. There wasn’t much said about him. He used
to be Head of the Auror office. They haven’t publicly announced the new Head of Aurors. I suppose
that’s a position they don’t publicize much, for fear of giving out too much personal information
making him or her an easier target,” Hermione theorized.

Harry took a few minutes to digest all of this new information (and his sandwich). “Well, we’ll
just have to wait and see how she does. Though I suppose most anything would be an improvement over
Fudge,” Harry quipped.

Seeing that Hermione was finished with her lunch, Harry gathered up the dishes and set them in
the dishwasher. Before resuming his homework, there was one other thing Harry wanted to address.
“Hermione?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a favor?” Harry asked timidly.

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione assured him. “Anything.”

“Erm... Well, please don’t take this the wrong way... but I was hoping... that... I wouldn’t
have to...” Harry spluttered. “What I mean is that I know you said I was your guest here. But
*I* would feel like I’m imposing if you asked me what *I* wanted for dinner every night.
Maybe it’s just ten years of the Dursleys talking.”

Hermione looked at him quizzically, not sure what he was trying to say.

He paused for a second, took a deep breath, and started in again. “Look, you said we would try
to have a normal summer, right?” Hermione nodded. “Well, isn’t part of ‘normal’ having to eat
whatever *‘Mum’* makes for dinner?”

Hermione grinned broadly and nodded. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’ll let Mum know you’re to
be treated like the rest of us when dinner time comes. But that doesn’t mean she still won’t ask.
We all usually have some input on dinner one way or another. I’ll just be sure to steer her away
from anything I think you won’t like.”

“Perfect. That way,” Harry reasoned, a grin on his face too, “if we have something I don’t like,
I can just blame you.”

“Just for that,” Hermione retorted, “I’ll be sure we have bouillabaisse one of these nights. I
remember quite well that you didn’t seem too impressed with it back in fourth year when the
students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were here. Or was that just because *Fleur* didn’t
ask you if you liked it?” Hermione asked with a calculating look on her face.

Considering the two of them had been going back and forth with the teasing, Harry assumed she
was about to set him up for something big by bringing up Fleur now. He took the only way out he
could see. Unfortunately it meant sacrificing his other best friend.

“No. If memory serves me, it was Ron who was drooling over Fleur (and the bouillabaisse, while
she was standing there). Now me, on the other hand,” Harry admitted with a sigh, “if I was drooling
over anyone, it would have been Cho, who was sitting only a couple seats away from her. And memory
serves me quite well, unfortunately, on that point.”

Treated to another one of those horribly awkward moments when a conversation just dies
completely, Harry decided that was a perfect time to resume to his homework. When the two of them
returned to the living room, Hermione excused herself for a minute and headed upstairs. As she
climbed the stairs, Harry stared at her seat on the sofa, a devilish grin on his face. His mind
made up, he took a step towards the sofa.

“Don’t you even *think* about moving my books, Harry James Potter!” Hermione called from
out of sight, and then promptly closed the bathroom door. Quite dejected that his grand diabolical
scheme had been thwarted before it even got off the ground, Harry unfortunately could think of no
other way (for now) to exact revenge other than to wait to resume his reading until Hermione
returned.

*Hermione: 2. Harry: ¼,* he tabulated to himself, awarding himself a quarter-point for the
“delayed homework” thing.

Finally reaching the end of a particularly befuddling chapter (coincidently enough about
Confounding Charms), Harry decided now was as good a time as any to take a break for a minute and
(maybe, possibly, hopefully) convince Hermione it was time to call it a night, at least as far as
homework was concerned.

Hermione had said that her parents would be home between 5:30 and 6:30, depending on traffic.
Harry looked up at the clock; it was 5:45. *Definitely time to stop,* Harry told himself.
Silently closing his book so as to not draw Hermione’s attention (not yet, at least), he looked
over to see where she was; they both had the same Charms homework assignment.

In the time it took him to get through nearly two-thirds of his reading, not only had Hermione
finished all of hers, but she was already two paragraphs into her three-foot long essay. *How
does she do that?* Harry secretly wondered, impressed.

For some reason even he didn’t understand, he quietly watched her for a couple of minutes. At
some point (most likely when she started writing), Hermione had moved off the sofa and was now
sitting on the floor facing the coffee table. She had several rolls of new parchment in front of
her and had started her essay.

While he had seen her doing homework for years, he had never actually *watched* her do it.
This time, however... this time it seemed different somehow. Being alone with her, in her house,
sitting across from her, watching her write... he felt as though he was seeing her in her element,
her natural environment, like she was somehow now more “Hermione-like” than ever before. Whatever
it was, he could not help but watch.

Fascinated, he watched as she wrote, the words flowing from her mind, the ink from her quill. He
watched as at least once per sentence she crossed out a word and wrote something else.
Mid-sentence, a lock of hair had fallen down out of place and must have obscured her vision, for
she immediately tucked it back behind her left ear without even missing a beat in her writing.

The most interesting thing Harry observed (at least he thought so) was when, mid-paragraph, she
crossed out an entire sentence. She then jumped down the page, leaving about two inches of blank
parchment, and (he assumed) rewrote the sentence she had just crossed out. She then went back and
resumed writing where she left off. She wrote until she reached that sentence. *It must have been
a better concluding sentence,* he suspected.

Finished with the paragraph, Hermione set down her quill and suddenly looked up at Harry.

“What?” she asked with a slight smile, as though something about the situation was mildly
amusing. “You’ve been watching me for the last few minutes.”

“I have?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised. He knew full well that he had been watching her. And
yet at the same time, he was still surprised that he had.

Hermione nodded. “Is something wrong?” she asked, suddenly becoming very self-conscious. “What?
Is there something on my face?” She started brushing her hand across parts of her face as if trying
to find something stuck to it.

“No, your face is perfect as always,” Harry instantly replied (later that night he would replay
that line again and again, wondering where that came from).

Hermione’s smile returned. “What is it then?” she inquired. Something about all of this seemed
amusing to her. Harry wished he knew what it was.

Feeling very on-the-spot, Harry could sense the blush that was creeping across his face. Partly
embarrassed because he didn’t know what to say or do, but mostly for simply getting caught staring
at her, Harry’s mind raced to figure out what to say. He knew the truth was going to be stranger
than fiction. At the moment though, he couldn’t think of any believable fiction, so he settled for
the truth.

“Nothing. I was just watching you do your homework,” Harry admitted. “I stopped reading for a
minute after the last chapter, and happened to see you writing. Yes, yes, I know it’s stupid, but
for some reason, I just started watching... just for a minute.”

Hermione considered Harry’s answer for a moment. “Well, it’s not stupid really, just...
uncommon,” she finally decided. “Did you learn anything?” she asked with a smile that conveyed a
challenge.

*Leave it to her to turn some brain freeze into a learning experience,* Harry thought to
himself with a laugh. “Well, I know that your first drafts are *very* messy, and that you
sometimes write the last sentence of a paragraph before you write the middle of it.” Harry thought
back a little more. “Oh, and you chew on your lower lip when you cross out a word and are trying to
think of a different word.”

A smirk appeared on Hermione’s face. “You know, you really ought to be careful about whom you
watch that closely. Somehow I doubt Ron would appreciate it if you watched him closely enough to
tell him what faces he makes when faking his way through his Divination homework. And I bet
Malfoy’d just *love* to hear what he looks like when you catch the Snitch right out from under
his nose.”

Harry laughed a little at the memory of Malfoy’s face the last time Harry caught the Snitch in a
game (he’d seen, but not watched...). Returning her smirk, he teased her, “Oh, so it’s okay that I
watch you though, right?”

“Yep,” she instantly replied with a big grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry replied as he set his book on the coffee table. Hermione must
have also decided that it was a good time to stop for the night, since she closed all of her books
and started to tidy her rolls of parchment.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hermione asked. “Your first day and you got, what, half way
through your reading?”

“Two-thirds, actually,” Harry corrected her, trying to sound proud of his accomplishment.

“You see? At this rate, we’ll be done in a few days and then we’ll be completely homework free
until our O.W.L.s arrive,” Hermione explained.

Harry was loath to admit it, but now that he was almost done with his Charms reading, the
prospect of being completely homework free until his O.W.L.s arrived was becoming very appealing.
There was also the little detail that he knew he would have a whole slug of new homework once he
knew what classes he would be taking. And there was that little bit about a “fair price to
pay.”

After taking their homework back to their rooms, Harry and Hermione returned to the living room
to watch TV until Dan and Emma returned home. Since his room was closer to the stairs, he was back
down before she was. Seizing his opportunity, Harry reclaimed his favorite TV viewing spot from
last night (which just happened to be Hermione’s favorite homework spot).

Upon seeing Harry looking entirely too comfortable stretched out on the sofa, Hermione casually
walked by him, giving him an appraising sort of look. When she was sure he wasn’t going anywhere
anytime soon, she walked by the coffee table (which Harry had returned to its original position)
and immediately snatched up the television remote.

*Damn! I forgot the remote,* Harry swore to himself. *Minus points for that. Hermione: 3.
Harry: 0. I better stop counting while I’m still this close,* Harry mused. *It’ll only get
worse.*

While he had never been allowed to touch the television remote at the Dursleys’, he knew it was
a great source of power in Muggle households. With a triumphant look on her face, Hermione
immediately settled back into the love seat. She turned on the television and waited for her
favorite show to come on... a little quiz show of American design called “Jeopardy!”.

About five minutes before the show was to start, the phone rang. After double checking the time
and staring longingly at the television, Hermione begrudgingly got up to answer the phone.

“Hello. [...] Oh, hi Mum. [...] Yeah. [...] No, just did homework most of the day. [...]
*(exasperated)* Yes, he’s still alive! [...] Okay then. [...] No, not yet. [...] Yeah, that
sounds fine. [...] Just get one of each. More leftovers for Dad’s breakfast, you know. [...] Okay,
we’ll see you then. [...] I love you too. [...] Bye.”

When she returned to her seat, Hermione relayed the phone call. “That was Mum. She and Dad are
running late. The two of them had a brother and sister for their last appointments. Two kids full
of rotten teeth, even by the Brit standard, as Mum described it. They’re only now just leaving.

“They’re going to pick up a couple pizzas on the way home. Neither of them really feel like
making anything. Besides, we haven’t had pizza for a while. Dad just loves cold pizza for
breakfast,” Hermione explained, smiling as she shook her head slightly.

A half hour later, Hermione had questioned every answer correctly (yet another thing Harry was
impressed by; he only got about a quarter of them right). Not really caring what was on next, they
continued to watch the same channel until Dan and Emma pulled into the drive. After helping them in
the door, Harry and Hermione went and set the table while her parents went up and changed out of
their work clothes.

Three slices of Super Pepperoni later, Harry was quite stuffed and ready to enjoy the rest of
the evening. With little time to think about their evening plans, everyone agreed on another movie
night. Heeding Harry’s request to not make all the decisions (relayed by Hermione while he had his
mouth full of pizza, therefore unable to object), Emma chose the movie tonight.

“*The Princess Bride* is one of my all-time favorite movies, Harry,” Emma explained after
everyone returned to their movie seats from last night.

After the movie, since it was still relatively early and everyone felt too lazy to do much of
anything else (and there wasn’t really anything on TV worth watching that night), Emma decided to
break her own rule and retrieve from their room the novels she and Dan were reading. The two of
them again settled into the love seat.

“If we’re going to break the rule, we might as all do it together,” she explained to Harry.
Hermione went up to her room and fetched her copy of *New Theory of Numerology*. Even though
he had been reading all day long, he didn’t really want to be the odd man out. He went upstairs and
retrieved his trusty (and well-worn) copy of *Quidditch Through the Ages*.

When Harry came back downstairs, he found that Hermione had once again reclaimed her favorite
studying and reading seat. *This’ll be fun,* Harry thought to himself with a grin as he
settled on the other end of the soft. He envisioned some kind of game of musical chairs (but
without music or chairs...) with him and Hermione battling for control of that one particular end
of the sofa.

As Harry opened his (only) favorite book, his eyes suddenly landed on something he had seen
before, but never paid any attention. “Hermione? What was the name of Madam Bones’s replacement?
Scrimegour?”

“Scrimgeour. Rufus Scrimgeour. Why?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, I was just wondering if he was related to the guy who wrote *The Beaters’ Bible*. See?
It’s not that common a name, is it?” Harry asked as he handed Hermione his book.

Sure enough, Hermione found as she looked at the printed praise for *Quidditch* that *The
Beaters’ Bible* was written by one Brutus Scrimgeour.

Hermione seemed very impressed by Harry’s observation. “I don’t know, Harry. They could be
related. It isn’t a common name. Then again it could be just a coincidence. We could look him up
when we get back to school, if you want,” Hermione offered.

“If we do,” Harry considered, “we’d probably have to do it the day we arrive on the train.
Somehow I have the feeling,” he said cynically, “that we might not have time for little research
projects like that this year, what with starting N.E.W.T. courses and all.”

After about an hour, Dan and Emma decided they would head up to bed. A short while later, Harry
decided he had had enough reading for one day (he knew there would be plenty more over the next
week or so).

“I’m going to head up and see if Hedwig has returned yet,” Harry told Hermione. She looked at
the clock.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head up too,” Hermione agreed. “I’ll finish this chapter in my room. Let me
know if you get any replies back.”

Harry found that Hedwig had indeed returned at some point in the evening. Tied to her legs were
two letters. After he removed them, Harry went down to Hermione’s room. He knocked on her door and
waited for her to answer (she stuck her head out from behind the door); he told her that Hedwig had
returned with replies.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a second,” she told him.

Imagining (*No, wrong word,* Harry told himself) Assuming she was in a state of partial
undress behind the door, Harry hastily retreated to his room. Not wanting to put her in the same
position, he decided to just sit down at the head of his bed. He’d wait to change until after she
left. A few minutes later, Hermione entered his room in her pajamas and wearing a bathrobe. Harry
opened the letter from Neville first.

*Harry,*

*Thanks for your letter. Gran and I are happy that you are feeling better. I got a new wand by
the way!*

*If you really think that an official account of our trip to the Ministry would be beneficial,
then of course I would be more than happy to help write one. Believe it or not, I actually kinda
like writing sometimes.*

*I can’t write too much more now. Your owl is standing here waiting for me to finish. I assume
she wants to take my reply. I’ll start and let you know if I have any questions or
problems.*

*My grandmother says hi!*

*Thanks,*

*Neville*

“What was that account he was talking about?” Hermione asked.

“I asked Neville if he would be interested in writing up a record of our little excursion to the
Ministry. The only thing out there is Fudge’s version of what happened. After reading Neville’s
thank you letter, I got the impression he might be a good writer if he was just a little more
confident about it. Besides, goodness knows I have no desire at this point to write something like
that. I thought it might be something he would be good at.”

A warm smile came over Hermione’s face. “Aww, that was so nice of you Harry.” Sheepishly
grinning, Harry now opened Ron’s letter.

*Harry,*

*Mate, so many things to say. So little time. Hedwig’s sitting on Errol’s old perch, watching
me write. I think she wants to bring this back with her. Oh, Errol finally died, by the way.
Everyone was sad. Combine that with Humongous Bighead’s return and it’s been a LONG couple of
days.*

*I heard about your new living conditions. Good luck! You’re a braver man than I. At least
you’ll get your homework done! Ha ha!*

*Mum and Dad want to wait to see you in person to talk to you. You know what that means. Wear
your jumper as padding for the hugs, and don’t eat for a week before you come.*

*Ginny’s been bugging me to use Pig. I think she wants to send Hermione a letter. Oh, by the
way. She broke up with Dean already. That didn’t take long! I know she said she was over you, but I
think she wants to say thanks in person too. (hint hint)*

*Gotta go. This house was bad enough last year, but now... with you and Hermione not here, it
seems too empty, but with “You Know Who” here, it seems way too full. Well, at least it’s safe. I
suppose you know all about that too, considering where you are. Hope to see you soon.*

*Oh, you’ll never guess what happened!! Loony Lovegood sent me a letter a couple weeks ago!
Can you believe it? Wasn’t much, she just told me that she was headed off to Sweden and told me all
about what they were planning on doing. I’ll write again after Pig gets back from Hermione’s.
There’s more, but I’ll tell you later. I think Hedwig is getting impatient. Pig is going bonkers
like usual. Hedwig won’t let him anywhere near her. It’s hilarious!*

*Ron*

*Chudley Cannons Rule!*

“‘Living conditions’?? ‘Good luck’?!” Hermione bristled. “Well, at least he didn’t say anything
too revealing in the letter. After Professor Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm, I wrote them a
note telling them that you were staying here. He delivered it to them personally. I told them to
always write us separately and send with separate owls, just as a precaution.”

“What do you think about that, Luna sending Ron a letter?” Harry asked Hermione.

A sly grin played across her face. “Well... if she’s doing what I think she’s doing, then it
proves why she’s in Ravenclaw. And you *can’t* say this to Ron. Promise?” Harry nodded.

“I think she’s trying to get Ron’s attention. She’s, if you’ll forgive me, trying to weasel her
way in under his radar. She’s simply sending him a letter, talking to him. Nothing too forward that
might scare him off. Just trying to get him to see her as a real person. That’s what I think, at
least.”

The really strange thing about it was that it all made perfect sense to Harry. “Well, I guess we
should wish her luck then, huh? I have a feeling she may need it.” The two of them shared a knowing
smile.

“So, um,” Hermione started uncertainly, as if she was unsure if she should ask what she was
about to. “What do you think about what Ron said... about Ginny?”

Harry let out a sigh without realizing it. If Ginny did fancy him again, he didn’t want to
disappoint her again. He wanted to be able say that he didn’t know what to think or feel about it.
But he did know how he felt about it. And he saw no point in lying about it. That, he knew, would
only make things worse if he was ambiguous or in any way led her on, even unintentionally.

“You too, huh? What’s the expression? ‘Tread lightly?’ I just hope I’m reading more into what
Ron said than what’s really there. It was nice last year, having her act normal around me.

“You know, I think I got to know her better more last year than all the previous years combined.
It seemed like she hardly ever said more than two words to me before.”

Harry paused for a moment, and then took a deep breath. “And besides, she’s Ron’s little sister.
Isn’t there some rule against dating your best mate’s sister? And I’ve practically known her since
she was ten and begging Mrs. Weasley to let her see me on the train my first year. Ron’s like a
brother to me. Ginny almost feels like my sister. I mean, how weird is *that?*” Harry paused
again for a moment.

“With you, at least—” Harry started absently, before stopping suddenly. He was about to explain
how, *hypothetically speaking*, it wouldn’t at all be weird if Hermione was his girlfriend.
Unlike Ginny, Hermione wasn’t Ron’s sister, so that covered the whole best-mate’s-sister thing. And
Harry never really ever thought of Hermione as a sister. She was simply his best friend... who just
happened to sleep in the girls’ dormitory.

But as soon as he realized what he was about to say, he froze. He suddenly realized that, until
that moment, he had never really considered that fact before: Hermione *WAS* a girl. Sure, he
had eyes and he knew perfectly well that Hermione was a girl, and a very pretty girl at that (as he
discovered yesterday). But he had never really thought of her *in that way* before.

When Harry met Hermione, girls weren’t really anything special to him. They simply had longer
hair and did strange things like go to the bathroom in groups. By the time he had figured out that
girls were *different* and why that was a good thing (sometime in third year), one had already
caught his eye: Cho Chang. And from that point on, until about a month or two ago (he wasn’t
entirely sure when *that* changed), Cho was the only girl he ever *noticed*.

But now... now with Cho out of the equation, things were different. There *were* other
girls in the world. And there was a *very* pretty one sitting in front of him on the other end
of the bed, trying to figure out what he had just said.

“What do you mean ‘With you, at least’?” Hermione asked immediately.

*Damn! Damn! DOUBLE-DAMN!* Harry cursed himself. The instant those words came out of his
mouth, he knew Hermione would seize upon them. *THINK!* he shouted at himself.

“Erm, what I said...” Harry stuttered, “what I meant was...” He was crashing and burning.
*Something! Anything!* Finally, something came out. “I was going to say that at least you
don’t have to worry Ginny fancying you.”

Harry’s stomach sank. *That made abso-bloody-lutely no sense, AT ALL!* Harry was quite sure
his face was as red as a tomato right about now. *This is worse than when I smelled her hair and
thought about her and the Prefect’s bathtub. NNNOOOO!!!! Stop it! Think unsexy thoughts! Think
unsexy thoughts!*

Steeling himself, Harry took a deep breath. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe Hermione would believe
his ridiculous response. Maybe she’d miss the fact that his face was on fire. *At least she’s not
a Legilimens,* Harry consoled himself. He finally looked up at her. She was looking at him
suspiciously. *She’s not buying it...* He knew he was doomed.

Finally... “Well, that’s true, I suppose. I know *Ginny* well enough to be sure of that.”
That certainly didn’t make Harry feel any better. On the surface the words were exactly what he
wanted to hear. But, there was just something in her eyes and in her voice that told him otherwise.
Something about the way she emphasized “Ginny” warned him that what she was really saying was *“I
know you well enough to be sure you’re lying.”*

But, whatever she did or didn’t know, she didn’t call him on it. He was safe (for now). How long
would that last? How long until he stuck his foot in his mouth again?

To Harry’s great relief, Hermione decided she would go and finish her chapter and then turn in
for the night. After she returned to her room, Harry changed into his pajamas, turned out the
light, and climbed into bed. For the next half hour until he finally fell asleep, he replayed that
scene over and over again, trying to figure out what went wrong. He also pondered his little “Your
face is perfect” blurt.

*At least,* he told himself, *I know THAT just came from seeing her picture yesterday.
Yeah. And that foul up just a minute ago? That was just me realizing a silly, tiny, inconsequential
little detail like the fact that, by definition, Hermione could be a girlfriend. No big deal!
Right? Ron must’ve already figured that one out.* HE’S *the one who fancies her. I’m just
catching up now that Cho’s gone. Just call me Captain Oblivious!*

Now that Harry had convinced himself that everything was okay, he finally fell asleep.



11. The Weeks that Followed, Part Deux: O.W.L.s and Owls
--------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N: Oops, I did it again... I got to page 22 of this chapter when I realized it needed to be
split up, or else it would never get finished. Gee, that sounds familiar... So I found a decent
splitting point somewhere in the middle. Because of that, Chapters 11 and 12 are more like two
halves to one really long chapter rather than separate scenes. Chapter 12 will pick up literally
where 11 left off. Just keep that in mind when this chapter ends rather suddenly. Fear not,
however. Chapter 12 is more than half done! As Homer says... Woo-hoo!*


*Second but by no means lesser, thank you to my beta MapleMountain.*


*And finally, just a reminder... this is PG-13. I haven't done much to earn it (yet). But,
sometimes "real life" is not rated G, though I promise we won't earn a pirate rating
(Arrrrr.) Yes, that's my mature sense of humor showing itself. :-)*

Chapter 11. The Weeks that Followed, Part Deux: O.W.L.s and Owls.

The next few days at Hermione's house each started much like his second. Sometimes, however,
it was he who woke Hermione up with the smell of whatever he decided to make for breakfast (and
sometimes they had cereal). They did their homework, ate lunch, and then did some more homework; in
the evenings after Dan and Emma came home they had dinner and then spent the evening together.

Sometimes they watched TV. The Summer Olympics had started the previous week, and since it was
being hosted in the States in Atlanta, it promised to be highly televised (along with "a few
words from our sponsors"). Other nights, they played games. Thursday night, Dan and Harry were
knocked out of Monopoly within half an hour; Hermione and Emma battled on for another half hour
until Emma finally won.

The tables were turned, however, the next game night when they played Risk. After Dan and Harry
spent nearly two hours trying to take over the world, Harry was in pretty bad shape after what he
thought was a bad strategic decision made in the beginning of the game. Things were looking pretty
bleak, but after a series of bad rolls of the dice on Dan's part, Harry finally had been
awarded enough armies to begin an unstoppable campaign from his obscure little corner of the
map.

When he evaluated his position, Dan (whose armies were now thinly spread across the rest of the
board) wisely conceded. This elicited a grateful sigh from Emma and Hermione, who had been
unsuccessfully pretending to be interested in the outcome of each roll of the dice after being
wiped out early on.

By lunchtime Friday, much to his surprise, Harry was finished with his homework. During lunch,
Hermione had insisted to Harry that if he did anything while in the Muggle world, he had to watch
all three *Star Wars* movies. People were more likely to believe he was a wizard than that he
had no idea who Darth Vader was. That afternoon, they watched *A New Hope* ("Erm,
Hermione, why does this start at number four?" Harry asked.)

Harry found that he and the Grangers were quickly settling into a routine. It was this daily
routine that he found very comforting. It was simply life as normal (as he'd thought of it
earlier when he first drove through Wandsworth). One of his favorite parts of that routine was his
daily battle with Hermione over possession of their favorite seat on the sofa. Somehow, it always
seemed to work out that Hermione won when they were doing their homework, and Harry won when
watching TV.

Before Harry and Hermione knew it, the weekend was upon them. On Saturday, the four of them
spent the morning and early afternoon in King George's Park which was right across the street
from Broomhill Road. Even though he was nearly sixteen, Harry was having way too much fun in the
park making up for all those lost years on Privet Drive.

There was a play park in Harry's neighborhood on Privet Drive, but his experiences there
consisted mainly of running away from Dudley's gang or trying to find something they hadn't
broken. He had been perfectly content playing on the equipment until Hermione decided she would
instigate a game of Tag. Considering he was a Seeker, he was quite surprised at how hard it was to
catch his prey with both feet on the ground and without a Firebolt, particularly when the prey had
a mind of her own (and especially when said mind belonged to one Hermione Jane Granger).

Once the two of them were sufficiently tired from chasing each other around (Dan and Emma just
took a leisurely walk around the park), they all walked back home, got cleaned up, and headed into
town. After driving around for a while showing Harry all there was to see in Wandsworth, they
stopped at the local Kwik-E-Burger for dinner, which Harry enjoyed just as much as all of his other
dinners (he was beginning to suspect that cardboard would taste good as long as he had the right
company). After dinner, they returned home and watched *The Empire Strikes Back*. (When Darth
Vader revealed his true identity, "*I* am your father," Harry actually gasped.)

After the movie, Harry returned to his room to find that Pig had been by to deliver a letter
from Ron. Hedwig's disgruntled appearance, as well as the splashed water from Hedwig's dish
confirmed Pig's presence. Ron updated Harry on news from the Percy front. He told him all about
the pranks Fred and George had pulled on Percy. Charlie had been spending most of his time
refereeing between Percy and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, while Bill had been spending an increasing
amount of time with his now official girlfriend Fleur Delacour.

Ron mentioned that Percy and his parents had a major blow up. Even Ron didn't recognize some
of the words exchanged. But afterwards something changed, for they were now at least listening to
each other, even though they weren't agreeing. Before, it was like each side was talking to a
wall.

To Harry's (pleasant) surprise, Ron again mentioned Luna's letter. Granted it was mostly
Ron repeating what was in her letter, and him asking if Harry though Luna as unusual as he did. It
seemed however that Hermione may have been right about what Luna was doing. While by no means did
Ron at all seem interested in her, she was at least on his mind.

After a late breakfast on Sunday, they drove into London for some sightseeing and shopping. They
spent half the day visiting the local tourist destinations (Harry *was* a tourist for all
intents and purposes), and the other half at one of Emma's favorite stores: Harrods.
Afterwards, they had dinner at a very nice Italian restaurant, La Volpe e l'Uva. They returned
home in time for Harry to complete the trilogy with *Return of the Jedi*. (*Ewww! You kissed
your sister!* That certainly had an impact on Harry after a certain discussion earlier in the
week.)

On Monday, with his homework finished the previous Friday, Harry enjoyed his first weekday free.
He had to admit... there *was* a certain dangerous thrill involved in procrastinating as long
as possible. But, now that it was actually done, it was a far better feeling to know that he was
finished. That nagging sense of guilt he felt in the back of his mind while wasting time doing
something else was completely absent. Harry decided to celebrate that feeling by sending Ron a
letter.

*Ron,*

*How's life in that grim old place? Sounds pretty exciting.*

*Maybe I can stop by and visit sometime. Our O.W.L.s should be arriving soon, so I imagine
we'll all have to go shopping for books and stuff. Maybe we can meet up then.*

*I really hope things work out with Percy. I know a lot happened between you, but he's
still your brother, even if he is a Humongous Bighead.*

Harry stopped writing for a minute. What would he say about Luna? Harry really didn't want
to be playing matchmaker. He'd seen Lavender and Parvati doing that enough, thank you very
much. But he couldn't just ignore it; Ron had mentioned it again, so Harry assumed he wanted to
talk about it, in some way or another. What would *he* do in Ron's place?

*Luna sent me a letter too. She pretty much just said the same things you did in your letter a
couple weeks ago... but just in her own way. I sent her a thank you letter too.*

*You know, you should also send her a letter, just to be nice. Just thank her for her letter,
ask her how her trip was. You know, the same things you'd say if you were talking to her in
person. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? She'll tell you all about the
Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks.*

*I'll send you an owl once I get my O.W.L.s so we can make plans.*

*Oh, and in case you were wondering... Yes, my homework is done. And, yes, I DID do it by
myself, though I did check to make sure everything was correct before finishing.*

*Thanks,*

*Harry*

Satisfied that he had said what he wanted to for now, he gave the letter to Hedwig and sent her
on her way to Ron.

During lunch that day, Hermione brought up a subject that Harry had actually managed to forget
about.

"So, Harry. I couldn't help but notice that it's your birthday this Thursday,"
she said, trying to look disinterested as she poked at her leftovers from the Italian
restaurant.

Harry set down his fork containing the last bite of his. "It is, isn't it?" Harry
responded, surprised. Time had flown by in his exile on Privet Drive, and even more so here on
Broomhill Road.

"Did you have any idea what you wanted to do for it? It is Sweet Sixteen, you know,"
she said with a look and a tone of voice that implied something about sixteen was special. If he
had had normal birthdays for most of his life, maybe he'd understand it too.

"I had actually forgotten about it, to be honest. I've had more important things on my
mind lately. You know, like getting to the sofa first," he added with a wink. Hermione had
said several times that she didn't care where she sat. Everyday, however, she tried just as
hard as Harry did to get to that coveted seat first.

"But," Harry added after thinking for a few moments, "I think I would just like a
small party. I suppose that we'd have to have it at Sirius's house if everyone's going
to be there." Harry paused for a few moments.

"I think that'll be OK, as long as it's only for a while. Besides, if there's a
party, it shouldn't be so bad," Harry finally decided. "Oh, and if he doesn't
already have any plans, I'd really like it if we could have a combined party for Neville's
birthday too. It's on Wednesday."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Hermione said, slightly surprised. Harry felt this
would've been a perfect moment to tease her about not knowing something, but then he realized
that he wouldn't have known either if Professor Dumbledore hadn't told him. He didn't
want to have to explain that he learned about Neville's birthday when he and the Headmaster
discussed the prophecy.

The prophecy. Harry still hadn't told Hermione or Ron anyone else about it. Ron was easy:
that just wasn't the sort of thing you told someone about in a letter. He had an easy excuse to
delay that. But what about Hermione? He saw her everyday and still hadn't told her.

Ever since they became best friends after the troll incident in first year, Harry felt he could
talk to Hermione about anything. Sure, there were things he didn't *want* to talk to her
about (like Cho, or his "detentions" with Umbridge), but he knew he *could*, if he
needed to. He always could. Well, except maybe during the whole Firebolt episode third year. Then
again, that did actually helped solidify his trust in her afterwards when he found out that she was
right, that Sirius did send him the broom (even though she was wrong about his motives).

So, should he tell her about the prophecy? Could he? Would he? He had always been pretty sure
that she would be there to listen if he needed her to. Now, after this last week, there was
absolutely no doubt in his mind that she would. The question was did he want her to know about it?
Would that change things between them? Would that put her in danger knowing?

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it), he was spared from having to
answer those questions because Hermione was still waiting for him to answer her question about his
birthday party.

"Yeah, Professor Dumbledore mentioned it to me once." Harry suddenly mentally kicked
himself for that, though he tried not to show it. *Didn't I just decide NOT to talk about
that?* Luckily for him, Hermione accepted his answer without question.

"So, you said small. Have you given any thought to who you want there?" she asked.

"Well..." Harry pondered for a moment, the wheels of his mind turning. "Neville
obviously. Ron and his family of course, Percy too if they've worked things out... not, if they
haven't. And Luna, of course." Harry paused for a moment. "If Professor Dumbledore
and Professor McGonagall wanted to come, that would be OK too. And Professor Lupin and Tonks, also.
Hagrid. I can't forget Hagrid."

Harry stopped and thought again for a few seconds. "That's about everyone, I think. I
really don't want the whole school invited. Especially if we're going to have to do this at
Sirius's house. There certainly isn't room for that. Right now, just the people who are
important to me," Harry said emphatically.

Harry noticed a look of feigned annoyance on Hermione's face. "Is that *everyone*?
You're not forgetting *anyone*, are you?" she asked suggestively.

Harry again thought about it for a few seconds. "No, I'm pretty sure that's
everyone. Why, do you think I'm forgetting anyone?" he asked. This was a lot harder that
he expected.

Hermione started at him expectantly.

"Oh! I'm sorry. Did you want to come too? You're welcome also, if you want."
Harry finally said. Truth be told, hers was actually the first name to pop into his mind when she
asked who he wanted at his party. He did say "we" several times, didn't he? The way
she had asked though just seemed too good of an opportunity to be missed. It had taken everything
he had to not start laughing as soon as he finished his list of "approved" guests.

He fought as hard as he could, but finally Harry's control failed and he began to laugh out
loud. As Hermione continued to glare disapprovingly at him, she too eventually began to grin as the
sight of Harry laughing began to look funny. Finally, her resolve broke as well and she joined him
in laughter.

As is often the case, the laughter actually grew instead of diminishing as the seconds passed.
With both of them laughing, they quickly reached the point where they were simply laughing at each
other's laughter. Harry, who had started first, was definitely worse off. Tears were streaming
and his face began to turn red.

Finally, his lungs reached their limit. Desperate for a much needed fix of oxygen, they spasmed
suddenly, drawing in a large volume of air, and also causing Harry to snort loudly. This sent
Hermione over the edge; she spread her arms out on the table and buried her face in them to laugh
even harder. In the process, she knocked over her glass of milk.

Harry and Hermione were laughing so hard that neither of them noticed it until she let out a
surprised squeak as the spreading spill finally reached the edge of the table, where it began to
soak into her shirt.

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed between laughs, which were now subsiding.

The sustaining fuel of Hermione's laughter now gone, Harry began to stop, finally and
properly catching his breath. Hermione jumped up and rushed over to cabinet under which the paper
towel holder was mounted. Tearing off several sheets, she tried to blot up as much as she could
from the fabric. Harry grabbed the dish towel from the refrigerator door handle and began to clean
up the mess.

After cleaning up the floor and the chair, Harry set the towel on the small puddle on the table.
Looking at it, he suddenly began to laugh again.

"Well, I guess there's no point in crying over spilt milk," he said with an
idiot-grin on his face. Hermione, though not at all happy with the large wet spot on the front of
her blue shirt, could not help but laugh as well.

"Oh Harry, that was absolutely awful!" she finally said once she stopped laughing.

"Yeah, I know, but you still laughed," he replied.

"Git," she retorted. Since they were both pretty much done with their lunches anyway,
they finished cleaning up the table and then washed their dishes rather than leave them sit for a
week (they had finally filled the dishwasher after brunch yesterday; Emma let Harry put the soap in
and push the start button as promised).

After lunch, Harry decided he would go and watch some television. Hermione went upstairs to
change and then fetch her Numerology book. *This should be fun,* Harry anticipated. *I'm
watching TV and she's reading. What's she going to do to get back her seat?*

Harry walked over to the coffee table and started looking through the listings to see what was
on. He had heard several of his Muggle-born classmates mention daytime "talk" shows. The
way he heard it, they were supposed to be pretty interesting, and sometimes unpredictable. After
scanning through the listings for a minute or so, he found one that had started only a few minutes
ago. He picked up the remote, turned on the television, and switched to the right channel.

Right as his backside was about to hit the seat cushion, Harry heard a shriek coming from
Hermione's room. By the time he heard her calling out his name, he had already leapt up,
vaulted over the coffee table, and was half way up the stairs with his wand drawn.

As he raced down the hall, he saw that her door was closed; he didn't want to waste any time
with the doorknob in case it had been locked by a spell. As soon as he was close enough, he kicked
in the door and burst into Hermione's room, ready to stun or kill whatever had caused her to
scream.

What he found was Hermione standing next to her bed, looking towards his right, clad in naught
from the waist up. The shirt she had been wearing (along with her... *intimates*) was lying on
the bed, next to a clean set. Though Harry didn't actually see *anything*, the unexpected
sight of so much exposed skin effectively wiped all conscious thought from his mind. He had to
concentrate for a moment to remember why he had barged in there in the first place.

After a half-second or so, his mind clicked back into gear and he turned on his heel to confront
the threat. There, standing on Hermione's desk, was a beautiful snowy owl (that was not
Hedwig). Attached to its leg was an envelope, tied with a red ribbon. Harry was now officially
confused.

"What?" he asked Hermione, still on defense watching the owl.

"It's... it's our O.W.L.s," she said breathlessly, staring at the owl on her
desk.

Now that he actually looked at her face, he realized that she must have shrieked in excitement,
not fear. That also explained why he ended up not seeing a side of his best friend he had never
seen before. In her excitement, she had clasped her hands together and brought them up to her
chest, her arms effectively covering all of the entirely unfamiliar parts in the process. Harry
also realized that her level of clothing had not changed in the last three seconds. He looked down
at his feet; it was the only place he trusted himself to look.

"I'll... ah... OK then... I'll just be in my room if you need me."

Putting his wand back in his pocket, he quickly turned to go back into the hall. As he spun
around and headed out the now broken door, he heard behind him a shocked "Oh my God!"
Hermione must have just now realized her state of (un)dress.

On his way back to his room, Harry was struck by a sudden thought. Sure enough, upon entering
his room he found another large, majestic snowy owl on his dresser. This owl, mostly white like
Hermione's, must not have been quite as well behaved as hers for it had its head in
Hedwig's cage, trying to get at her food dish.

"Hey! Get out of there," he scolded the bird. Harry went over to the dresser,
retrieved a few treats from the drawer, and gave them to the owl as he untied his letter. After
finishing its snack, the beautiful creature took flight and headed out the window. Harry sat down
on his bed and looked at the envelope in his hands. This was it.

Harry stared at his name written on the envelope. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see his
results or not. He knew he had to; they would determine whether he could go on to become an Auror.
But did he really want to read them? He sat there for another minute simply looking at parchment of
the envelope, almost as if he hoped he could somehow absorb the information inside without actually
reading it. Twice he started to open the envelope, but each time he stopped himself.

Fortunately, to his great relief, Hermione (now fully clothed) came into his room, carrying her
unopened envelope in her hand. The owl that delivered it hadn't left yet; it was perched
precariously on her shoulder (it was obvious to Harry that she wasn't accustomed to having an
owl sitting there).

"It won't leave," Hermione explained after seeing Harry stand up and look
curiously at the owl.

"Well?" both asked each other simultaneously.

"I haven't opened it yet," they again overlapped.

After a shared laugh, both Harry and Hermione stared nervously at the envelopes in their hands.
Neither seemed able to open them; they looked pleadingly at each other. A moment later, they
exchanged envelopes. Harry opened Hermione's letter; Hermione opened Harry's.

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment and began to read.

*Wizarding Examinations Authority*

*Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Hermione Jane Granger*

*Your Ordinary Wizarding Level results are as follows:*



Ancient Runes
O
(9.7/10.0)


Arithmancy
O
(10.0/10.0)


Astronomy
O
(9.8/10.0)


Care of Magical Creatures
O
(10.0/10.0)


Charms
O
(10.0/10.0)


Defense Against the Dark Arts
E
(9.0/10.0)


Herbology
O
(9.9/10.0)


History of Magic
O
(9.9/10.0)


Muggle Studies
O
(10.0/10.0)


Potions
O
(10.0/10.0)


Transfiguration
O
(10.0/10.0)



*According to the information provided by your Head of House, your career plans are UNDECIDED.
Your O.W.L. results permit you to take the necessary courses to pursue any field of study.*

*Your overall average O.W.L. score is 9.845. This is the highest overall score achieved in the
last fifty-five years. Congratulations.*

*It is a long held custom for the Wizarding Examinations Authority to award an owl to the
highest ranking student in his or her class. Please accept this owl as congratulations on your
achievement.*

*A copy of your results has been forwarded to your Head of House, who will be in contact with
you shortly regarding the selection of N.E.W.T. classes.*

*I wish you the best in your N.E.W.T. years.*

*Professor Griselda Marchbanks*



Pass

Fail



Outstanding
10.0-9.1
Poor
7.0-6.1


Exceeds Expectations
9.0-8.1
Dreadful
6.0-5.1


Acceptable
8.0-7.1
Troll
5.0-0.0



"Oh," Harry said as he read about the owl.

"What?!" Hermione asked very anxiously, looking up from Harry's results.

"That explains the owl on your shoulder," Harry explained. Hermione was wearing a
mixture of confusion and anticipation on her face. "Do you want me to explain it or do you
just want to read it for yourself?" he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll read it," she finally said,
opening her eyes. Harry handed her the letter. She didn't take it. "Just tell me! How bad
did I do?!"

Harry could not resist grinning. "Eleven out of eleven O.W.L.s! Best score in fifty-five
years! AND you get to keep the owl," Harry exclaimed, nodding towards her shoulder. He was
very happy for Hermione. At least he knew that one of them would pass.

Harry's stomach began to turn knots. "And mine?" he asked very hesitantly.

Hermione slowly looked down at his letter, and then fixed him with a very somber stare.
Harry's heart sank.

"YOU DID IT!!" she shouted with glee. "Seven out of nine O.W.L.s. You passed
everything you needed to! And don't you *dare* talk to me about your Defense score!"
she warned him with a smile. They traded envelopes back. Harry began to read his own results.

*Wizarding Examinations Authority*

*Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Harry James Potter*

*Your Ordinary Wizarding Level results are as follows:*



Astronomy
A
(7.8/10.0)


Care of Magical Creatures
E
(8.9/10.0)


Charms
E
(8.6/10.0)


Defense Against the Dark Arts
O
(10.8/10.0)


Divination
P
(6.1/10.0)


Herbology
E
(8.8/10.0)


History of Magic
D
(5.1/10.0)


Potions
E
(8.5/10.0)


Transfiguration
E
(8.9/10.0)



*According to the information provided by your Head of House, your career plans are AUROR.
Your O.W.L. results permit you to take the necessary courses to pursue this field of study.*

*Your overall average O.W.L. score is 8.167. Your score of 10.8 in Defense Against the Dark
Arts is the first time in nearly 150 years that a student has earned more points than an O.W.L.
exam is worth. Congratulations.*

*A copy of your results has been forwarded to your Head of House, who will be in contact with
you shortly regarding the selection of N.E.W.T. classes.*

*I wish you the best in your N.E.W.T. years.*

*Professor Griselda Marchbanks*



Pass

Fail



Outstanding
10.0-9.1
Poor
7.0-6.1


Exceeds Expectations
9.0-8.1
Dreadful
6.0-5.1


Acceptable
8.0-7.1
Troll
5.0-0.0



"How in the bloody hell did you get a 10.8, Harry?" Hermione asked sharply, though it
was obvious she was very happy for him. It was strange to hear Hermione swear like that; he found
it quite amusing actually (though he knew better than to show it).

"My examiner heard about my Patronus, from someone at my trial, I think. He gave me a bonus
point for demonstrating it."

"Well," Hermione started very dramatically, "it is very unusual to award bonus
points during testing. But," her face lightened, "if anyone deserves it, it's you. A
Patronus *is* N.E.W.T. standard. Congratulations Harry!"

*He had done it!* The letter said he could be an Auror! As that fact began to sink in, he
felt as though a great weight of uncertainty had been lifted off of his heart, one that he
hadn't really noticed was there until now that it was gone. Finding himself quite overwhelmed
by his sudden burst of happiness, he did the first thing that came into his mind: he rushed
forward, gave Hermione a great big hug, kissed her on the cheek, and then hugged her again.

"Thank you," he told her. When he finally let go of her, he stepped back and looked at
her; she was blushing furiously.

"For what?" she was barely able to ask.

"For being there. For helping me study, for yelling at me for not studying. For just being
you. You know," he said nonchalantly, "pretty much everything that happened last
year."

Hermione's tendency to be overwhelmed by such compliments seemed to return for she forced
herself to look down at her shoes. After a moment, she seemed to collect herself and looked back
up.

"Thank you, Harry. And you're welcome."

Now that everything had finally sunk in, Harry suddenly realized that he just kissed Hermione.
It was now his turn to blush; his blush far surpassed hers in intensity.

"Oh... I'm... I just... It... And then..." Harry babbled, gesturing vaguely
towards his letter and then her cheek. Hermione began to smile, though she pursed her lips together
to try to hide it; she didn't succeed. Harry eventually stopped talking and took a deep,
steadying breath, "Sorry about that," he eventually said guiltily. "I guess I just
got carried away there for a second. I was just so happy..."

"So you *snogged* me?" she asked, finally abandoning her attempt to hide her
amusement.

Harry turned red again. "Well, erm... No... It's just..." Another pause, another
breath. "Yes?"

"Relax, Harry," Hermione told him, trying to reassure him. "I understand.
It's OK. I was just kidding. Don't worry about it. You just got carried away. It was just
an accident."

*An accident,* Harry suddenly thought to himself. He turned red, once again. "Oh my
God! I'm so sorry about bursting in on you like that." Hermione now regained her own
bright red hue. "I heard you scream," he tried to explain.

Feeling rather exposed (literally, in this case), Hermione again looked down at her feet for a
moment before speaking again. "I had been facing away from my desk as I started to change my
clothes. My shirt and... they both got wet," she explained, very embarrassed. "After
setting them down, I turned and saw the owl in my mirror. I wasn't at all expecting it there.
Seeing it like that so suddenly, it just scared the daylights out of me.

"As soon as I saw it (after I screamed), I just knew it was our O.W.L.s. I was so excited
that I yelled to tell you they were here. I, ah, forgot what I was, or wasn't wearing at the
time," Hermione said, blushing again.

After she finally regained her composure, Hermione began to look at Harry curiously. "Why
did you kick in my door?" she asked

Feeling quite guilty, and embarrassed, for his sudden entrance, Harry stared at the owl on
Hermione's shoulder as he talked. "I was sitting down on the couch when I heard you
scream. As I ran down the hall, I saw your door was closed. I figured that if you were in trouble,
your door would be charmed and the doorknob wouldn't be any help. So I just decided to kick it
in as soon as I got to it," he admitted.

Hermione began to laugh; Harry wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. "Oh Harry.
Don't you know that if my door *had* been sealed, you wouldn't have been able to kick
it in?" she asked, fighting to stop her laughter.

"Erm, I forgot," he admitted sheepishly. "I really didn't think that far
ahead."

"So... what do you think?" Hermione asked, looking at her new owl.

As Harry looked at it perched on Hermione's shoulder, he could not help but think how much
it reminded him of when Hagrid had bought Hedwig for him. Hedwig was a little smaller back then
(*As was I...*), just like this one. He seemed to recall that the black spotting pattern on
her feathers was lighter when he got her, just as this one's was also.

He remembered the Eeylops clerk mentioning once when he stopped by to buy some owl treats that
an owl's spot patterns were as unique as fingerprints. This owl of course had a different
pattern than Hedwig, and also had a smaller number than she did. Harry smiled. He remembered how
excited he was to get Hedwig. He was always very proud of her; a lot of students had commented over
the years how much they liked her. And right now, Hermione seemed to be looking at her owl in just
the same way.

Harry knew that Hedwig was still out delivering Ron's letter, but he still checked anyway,
just to be sure, before answering. "She's very beautiful." He didn't want Hedwig
to get jealous of another owl (let alone another snowy owl) in the house. As he began to consider
this, his post-O.W.L. happiness began to be replaced by a Post Owl concern.

Would Hedwig and Hermione's yet-to-be-named owl get along? Harry knew that Hedwig didn't
seem to like Pigwidgeon all that much (more like barely tolerated his existence). And she
wasn't at all impressed by the flashy tropical bird that had once delivered a letter from
Sirius. Hedwig seemed to be a very proud, very independent owl. How would it be with another owl
right next door, literally?

Fortunately, as his concerns began to grow, he immediately thought of a way to express it that
he knew Hermione would understand (and appreciate).

"I have a bad feeling about this," he admitted (Hermione smiled slightly). "What
if they don't get along? I've heard that snowy owls are very territorial. Do you think it
will be OK for them to be in the same house?"

Recognizing that Harry was genuinely concerned, Hermione did her best to alleviate his fears.
"It'll be OK, Harry. You have to remember that these are Wizarding Post Owls. They
aren't wild owls. Not only are they magical creatures, but over generations, they've had
most of their natural instincts bred out of them.

"For example, most owls are nocturnal, and generally quite unremarkable in intelligence
according to the Muggle experts. As you know though, post owls sleep the same hours as we do
(besides the naps) and I don't have to tell you how smart Hedwig is. Furthermore, haven't
you ever noticed that all the school owls don't disappear for a couple months during spring to
find mates? They've been bred in captivity for centuries, raised by wizards, and of course are
affected by magic. These aren't 'natural' owls."

Now that Harry thought about it, he suddenly realized that one could argue that post owls were
no better off than house-elves. As he saw it however, there were several important differences.
Fearing the creation of S.P.O.W., Harry tried to convey his thoughts to Hermione.

"Yeah, now that you mention it, they really aren't what you'd call wild animals.
It's a good thing people treat them like beloved pets instead of lowly servants. We're so
dependent on them to deliver messages. Where would the wizarding world be if they were treated like
house-elves? They could all just up and fly away if we treated them badly." Harry hoped
Hermione wouldn't analyze that too closely. He knew it was a bit of an exaggeration; the
Ministry had figured out how to live without owls out of a practical necessity.

Fortunately with the invoking of her favorite cause, Hermione seemed to simply accept it and
agree. "Yeah that's true. And back to your concern about being territorial, it
shouldn't be a problem. Remember that all of the school's and students' owls live
together in the Owlery. They all get along fine. I think Hedwig and, hmmm, I need to find you a
name," she said to her new owl. "They'll be fine here for the next month or so.
They're smart enough to know that they need to get along."

Harry nodded his head; He really liked Hedwig, and he hoped Hermione would really like her new
owl.

"Speaking of things going wrong," Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "I don't have
anything for an owl, other than a few treats. What do I need? I know I need a cage for her. Oh,
does it have to be a magical cage or will a regular one work? We could pick up some stuff for her
at the pet store, if it doesn't have to be magical. Is there anything else? Oh, this is so
exciting!" she exclaimed, again clasping her hands together and holding them up to her chest
in a way that Harry would never forget.

Having an owl was now second nature to Harry; he had to stop and think about it for a second.
"Well, you'll need a cage, some newspapers to line it, food, and water. That's about
it. I don't know about the cage. Hedwig came from Eeylops with her cage," Harry
remembered. "Maybe you could 'break her in' and ask Hagrid. You'll need to clean
her cage on a regular basis and let her out to hunt. I know Hedwig likes a little variety, frogs,
mice, and the like. At least there's a big park at the end of the street. I still don't
know where Hedwig went hunting back on Privet Drive."

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "I'll ask Professor McGonagall. I need to ask
her some other stuff anyway. I'm sure she would know. The Transfiguration Department has a
whole collection of animals they use for classes. Here Harry, would you take her for a minute while
I go write a letter?"

Harry went over to his closet and put on his jacket. He then held out his arm like a perch, onto
which the new owl flew. "Talons and long sleeves," Harry explained. Hermione sat down at
Harry's desk, grabbed a blank sheet of parchment, and started writing a letter to Professor
McGonagall.

After about a minute, Harry realized that Hermione was probably asking a *few*
N.E.W.T.-related questions, so he coaxed the owl onto his shoulder (his arm was quickly getting
tired) and carefully sat down on his bed. Several minutes later, she finished her letter. As
Hermione walked towards the two of them, she smiled slightly. "Sitting on your shoulder like
that, she really does remind me of Hedwig the first time I saw her." She then rolled up the
letter and tied it her owl's leg.

"I would like you to take this to Professor Minerva McGonagall. She's probably at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I don't know for sure." The owl blinked
twice and hooted softly. Both Harry and Hermione hoped that indicated understanding; every owl
*was* different, after all. After taking flight, Hermione went to the window to watch her new
owl fly off.

"You know, I really need to find her a name," Hermione said. "I hate to keep
calling her 'girl' or 'her,' simply because I don't have a name yet. And
'it' is just plain *rude*. How did you name Hedwig?" she asked Harry.

"It was just a name I found in one of my magic history books that I liked. It's as
simple as that. It doesn't have to have any secret meaning, you know. Just as long as it's
something that you like."

"So, if I named her Cho, would that be OK?" Hermione asked, a teasing grin on her
face.

Harry gave Hermione the best eye roll he could. "If you did that, I'd probably have to
move out," Harry said, returning the grin.

"OK, 'Cho' is definitely off the list."

With both of their owls gone, Harry and Hermione turned their attention from their owls to their
O.W.L.s. Both began to examine them more closely.

"An 'E'? I got an 'E' in Potions. Not that I'm complaining or anything,
but I thought Professor McGonagall told me that I had to get an 'O' in Potions to get into
the N.E.W.T. class," Harry said out loud, more to himself than to Hermione.

"Yeah, that's what she told me too. Does it matter?" Hermione asked. "I mean,
sure, it would have been *nice* if you had gotten an 'O', but still, 'E' means
'Exceeds Expectations.' It's still a very good grade. Besides, maybe Professor Snape
was so impressed by your 'E' that he decided to let you in anyway."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other seriously for a second.

"OK, maybe not," she said with a grin. "But still, the letter says you can take
the class, so don't worry about it. Believe me, you'll have plenty of time to worry about
it once we get our homework assignments." Harry shuddered. Oh, it was nice to be homework free
for a while. But soon he would get his first N.E.W.T. homework assignment, and then once that was
done, he had two more years of Potions to look forward to.

"Yay," Harry said unenthusiastically.

Hermione heard the sarcasm in his voice and patted his shoulder encouragingly. "That's
the spirit, Harry!" she exhorted, though she knew Harry felt otherwise. "Come on, the
letter said you can be an Auror. That's what you wanted, right? Don't worry about the rest.
I mean, you collapsed during your History test, so that grade doesn't really reflect anything,
and we all know how useful Trelawney's classes were."

Harry smiled a little. "You're right, of course. Thanks. What about you? Eleven
O.W.L.s. Not too shabby if you ask me."

"They took off a whole point in Defense," Hermione said unhappily. "I completely
failed the boggart, *again!* I'm pretty sure about everything else on the test. I just
knew it when the examiner started writing afterwards."

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise. "Didn't you have the same problem for Professor
Lupin's test?" he asked gently.

"I remembered what happened last time, so I thought I was ready for it this time. But the
boggart was different this time. I wasn't expecting it. And of course the examiner didn't
tell me it was a boggart beforehand." Hermione stopped for a moment to take a deep breath.
From the look on Harry's face, it was obvious he was waiting for her to continue.

"I was in the middle of my test, when all of the sudden Professor Dumbledore walked into
the room," Hermione began to explain. "He said that there had been an attack and that...
that I needed to go to the Hospital Wing immediately. My heart just sank. For him to interrupt a
test, I knew it had to be bad. It was my worst fear come true." She paused again for another
shaky-sounding breath. For a second, Harry thought he saw her eyes moisten slightly as she relived
what had happened, but she turned away from him before he could be sure. She then continued her
story as she stared off into space.

"As I ran to the door, the examiner called out to me. I glanced back just in time to see
him point his wand at the Headmaster and shout '*Riddikulus!*' I knew I had just
failed that part of the test," Hermione said, resigned.

After thinking for a moment, Harry came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder, giving
her a comforting squeeze. "You know, someone a lot smarter than me once told me that
what's in the past is in the past and all we can do is learn from it so we can know how to deal
with today and tomorrow."

A small smile began to break through the look of defeat on Hermione's face as she turned
around to face Harry. "It sounds like this person knows a thing or two."

"A thing or two," Harry agreed, smiling. "She's the smartest person I know.
Sometimes I think I would be lost without her." As he watched a smile replace the
disappointment on Hermione's face, Harry realized he still had his hand on her shoulder. He
quickly removed it and returned his attention to his O.W.L. results.

"So," he started after clearing his throat twice, "Professor McGonagall will be
owling us with class selections, I suppose?"

"Yeah, even though you already know that you can take the classes needed for the Auror
program, you'll still have a couple holes in your schedule," Hermione explained.
"I'm sure she'll send us a listing of classes we can sign up for. I had a few other
questions for her also."

"One or two?" Harry asked knowingly.

"One or two," Hermione responded with a slightly guilty look.

"So," Harry asked casually, "what are we going to do about, *hem hem*, your
door?" Harry tried to put on the most innocent expression he could muster.

"Well, you certainly gave it a good kick, I'll grant you that," Hermione said
after a slight chuckle. "If only I were a few months older, I could take care of it myself.
We'll have to get it fixed. I doubt we have all the parts we need, so Dad'll probably have
to go buy it.”

"I'll let you tell the story," Harry quickly volunteered. "Speaking of which,
is there a garden center or nursery around here? I was thinking about something I could get Neville
for his birthday."

"Well, the home improvement center has a garden center. If you don't see anything you
like there, London's not that far away. I'm sure there're plenty of places around to
find whatever you want. Do you know what you want to get him?" Hermione asked.

"Not exactly," Harry admitted. "Just some kind of Muggle plant, something exotic
if I can find one. Anything really, as long as it doesn't squirt Stinksap," Harry said
with a laugh as he recalled his first encounter with Neville's prized plant.

"Well, I'm going to start going through some of my books and see if I can find a name I
like for *my new owl*," Hermione said, finishing in a sing-song voice. After she returned
to her room, Harry looked at his O.W.L.s one last time, just to make sure it was still true. He
*had* passed. He could continue in his plans to become an Auror.

Tucking his letter into the desk drawer where he had put all of the thank you letters from his
friends and their families, Harry turned around and gave a quick glance at Hedwig's empty
cage.

"Good luck girl," Harry said to the empty cage. "I hope you get along. I'd
hate it if we had to leave if you didn't," Harry said sadly.

Coming soon to a monitor near you!

Chapter 12. The Weeks that Followed 3: The Quidditch Captain *(and an owl)* is Named.


*A/N again... In case anyone was wondering, La Volpe e l'Uva is a real Italian restaurant,
it's just not in London... it's in Italy. It's one of the favorite restaurants of my
friend Petronilla. Thanks so much for letting me include it in my story.*


*Do I really believe that Hermione would watch the* Star Wars *movies? She reminds me so
much of myself at her age (minus the magic, of course), so yes, I do believe she would like*
Star Wars*. She's only about a year younger than I am (in 2005) so the timeline works out
just fine too...*


*Hey MapleMountain! Thanks for the Risk addition. It was fun to imagine the women sitting
there pretending to actually care! Ha ha!*




12. The Weeks that Followed, Episode III: The Quidditch Captain
---------------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N:* *OK, finally. Sorry it took so long. I could have split this chapter also, like I
already did twice before but I really wanted Harry's birthday to be Chapter 13. So, at least
you'll get a nice long chapter out of this one: twenty pages... yikes! I expect we should be
back to regular lengths next chapter. Of course, now that I've just said that, I'm sure it
just became one page longer... Better stop while I'm ahead.*


*You may notice that I borrowed a certain scene from a certain book, though I fixed it so that
it was actually believable... heh heh...*


*And finally (yes, finally). There are some song lyrics in this chapter. I wouldn't call
it a songfic... just a fic with a song. I put the credits at the bottom to give you a chance to
recognize it first.*


Chapter 12. The Weeks that Followed, Episode III: The Quidditch Captain is Named.

*"Well, I'm going to start going through some of my books and see if I can find a
name I like for my new owl," Hermione said, finishing in a sing-song voice. After she returned
to her room, Harry looked at his O.W.L.s one last time, just to make sure it was still true. He*
had *passed. He could continue in his plans to become an Auror.*

*Tucking his letter into the desk drawer where he had put all of the thank you letters from
his friends and their families, Harry turned around and gave a quick glance at Hedwig's empty
cage.*

*"Good luck girl," Harry said to the empty cage. "I hope you get along. I'd
hate it if we had to leave if you didn't," Harry said sadly.*

Feeling better now that he knew he had passed his O.W.L.s (*Well, at least the ones I needed
to, as Hermione said,* he thought to himself), Harry decided he would return downstairs. The
talk show was still there waiting for him.

As he walked down the stairs, he could not help but grin broadly; Hermione had beat him
downstairs and once again reclaimed her favorite seat. Harry settled in the loveseat and began to
learn about the fascinating world of married men who cheat with their best mate's sisters. He
turned the TV off after about a minute and went and got one of his school books to read. Anything
was better than watching *that*.

Several hours, and many thick, heavy books later, Hermione had finally chosen a name for her new
owl. As she searched, she had created a list of a dozen or so possibilities. Slowly crossing them
off one by one, she was finally left with one. Turning to Harry with an excited look on her face,
she held up the piece of parchment in her hand and showed it to him. He couldn't read it at the
angle she was holding it.

"Metis," she proudly announced.

Harry smiled slightly. "Let me guess. The god of knowledge, or something like that,
right?" A surprised Hermione looked down at the sheet of parchment and then back up at
Harry.

"Greek, actually," she clarified, still looking very proud (though for some reason he
wasn't sure if it was from the name or his guess). "A minor Greek deity, the goddess of
wisdom and prudence." Harry smiled; it was the perfect name for an owl belonging to her.
Hermione huffed. "First wife of Zeus and mother of Athena... and they call her a
'*minor* deity...'"

Hermione then turned back to Harry. "So, what do you think?" she asked eagerly.

Harry thought about it for a moment. It certainly wasn't a name he would have chosen for his
own owl. But that was the point: Metis was Hermione's owl, not his. She seemed very happy with
the name. As far as Harry was concerned, that was all he cared about.

"I think it's perfect," he said honestly.

"Really? Oh thank you, Harry. I'm glad you like it," Hermione said very excitedly.
"I've always wanted an owl, but I never got one since I knew I wouldn't be able to
take it with me. I can only bring one animal to school, and I could never leave Crookshanks at
home," she said with a slightly disappointed look.

Her face then brightened. "But this will be perfect! I can take Crookshanks to school with
me and leave Metis at home. That way, Mum and Dad will be able to write me whenever they want to. I
know they'll just love her."

"OH!" Hermione gasped. "That just gave me a great idea on how to tell them about
her." She stopped for a moment, obviously planning something before continuing. "Anyway,
the first time I wrote them with Hedwig, they mentioned how impressed they were by her. They were
used to school owls by then, but seeing her fly in majestically, they said it was just different
somehow." Hermione appeared quite breathless when she paused for a moment.

Harry suddenly remembered the owl that delivered his results. "Hermione? The owl that
delivered my results was a snowy also. In the last five years at Hogwarts, I've seen very few
snowy owls. I've seen three today. Hedwig, Metis, and the one that delivered mine. Is there
anything special about them?"

"No... and yes," Hermione replied unhelpfully. "No, in the sense that they're
simply uncommon in this part of the world. They usually live in a much colder climate. Yes, in the
sense that the Wizarding Examinations Authority has a whole parliament of snowy owls to make
deliveries. They use them to create an image of impartiality, kind of like how Muggle judges
usually wear black."

Hermione then gave Harry a critical look. "Though I suppose I should question that
impartiality, what with some students getting 10.8s and all." Harry knew there was a smile
lurking beneath.

"Yeah," Harry retorted, grinning, "well, when they put you on trial, I'll be
sure to mention your Protean Charm, OK?"

"Thanks," Hermione said unenthusiastically, to which Harry gave her his best imitation
of an Umbridge grin. "As for not seeing many of them, it's not surprising really. At most,
there'd be two at school: one each for a sixth and seventh year student. And that's
assuming they both weren't already bringing another animal. I'll have one, and I'll be
leaving her at home," she explained.

"Oh, that makes sense," Harry agreed. "So, what's this plan of yours?"
After Hermione explained it, they both agreed to not mention their O.W.L.s if possible until Metis
returned. They hoped that would be tonight or tomorrow, since Hermione still needed to know what
kind of cage to get.

That evening, Dan and Emma came downstairs after changing clothes. They both looked slightly
uneasy. Dan remained standing at the foot of the stairs, his arms folded; Emma sat down next to
Harry.

"So," Dan started uncertainly, "not that I'm jumping to any conclusions, but
does anyone want to tell me what happened today upstairs?" he asked seriously.

Harry and Hermione immediately looked at each other, blushing slightly as they remembered
*everything* that happened. Fortunately, even if they omitted a certain part of the story, it
was still embarrassing enough that the blushes were justifiable.

Several minutes later, Hermione had finished recounting the memorable events, omitting the parts
about Metis and the state in which Harry found her. Dan and Emma looked very relieved; Dan was
close to laughing as he imagined Harry kicking in the door (*now* it seemed funny). After Emma
eagerly asked them to bring their O.W.L. results down so she and Dan could "share in their
accomplishment," Harry and Hermione started to head upstairs.

As Harry walked by him, Dan suddenly put his hand on Harry's shoulder, stopping him. The
mirth from only a moment ago had evaporated; Harry could see that there was something else in his
eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, whether it was fear or concern or worry. Whatever it was,
it was something that certainly wasn't happy. Dan gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze.

"Like I said, sometimes trouble comes looking for you," Dan said unevenly. For some
reason, Harry could tell that he wanted to say *"Thank you"* but just couldn't.
Harry nodded a silent *"You're welcome."* With that, Dan nodded back and then
slapped Harry on the back a few times, the last one pushing him up the stairs to fetch his O.W.L.
results.

After passing their letters around twice, Emma finally asked about the owl mentioned in
Hermione's letter. Harry was impressed with how easily Hermione shrugged it off, saying that
she didn't bring it down with her and that she would show them later (which *was* true),
as if it were something like her prefect's badge.

After dinner, Dan and Emma, tired after a long day of surgeries, tried to relax a little by
stretching out on the sofa, each on one end; Harry and Hermione shared the love seat. The four of
them spent the rest of the evening sharing their proudest moments from their academic careers (as
well as some not so proud): Harry and Hermione at Hogwarts, Dan and Emma at their schools and
universities.

Metis returned from Professor McGonagall the following morning. She had sent a very short reply
saying that it would be more efficient for her to visit in person, due to the number of questions
Hermione had asked, as well as the fact that final class selections still needed be made. She also
evidently wanted to speak to each of them about "additional matters."

As promised, Professor McGonagall arrived that afternoon at precisely 1:00, though in a manner
neither Harry nor Hermione were expecting; she knocked on the front door. As they opened the door,
they were greeted with a most unusual sight: Professor McGonagall dressed sharply in a woman's
business suit. Behind her in a chauffeur's uniform was Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair was jet black
underneath her driving cap; Harry almost didn't recognize her. Parked in the Grangers'
drive was what Harry recognized as a Ministry car.

After letting them in, a series of greeting handshakes went around.

"Miss Granger, Mister Potter. It is nice to see you again," their Head of House
greeted them in as warm a voice as either of them could remember hearing her use.

"Wotcher Harry, Hermione! I agree. It's great seeing you two again," Tonks
concurred. "You're both looking well," she said, allowing her gaze to linger on Harry
a little longer than she did with Hermione. "I hope your holidays have gone
smoothly."

"I had a slow start," Harry admitted after Hermione nodded in reply to Tonks,
"but, as the song goes, I got by with a little help from my friends." Out of the corner
of his eye, he could see Hermione smile shyly and look down at the floor. Tonks and Professor
McGonagall looked at Harry confused. "It's a Muggle song. I saw it on the telly the other
day."

"Well Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall started sharply, "I do hope you
haven't spent all of your time in front of, what do they call it, the 'moron
box'?" she finished with a neutral face. In her case, that probably meant she was slightly
amused.

"'Idiot box,'" Hermione corrected her. "And you'll be happy to know
that Harry and I both finished our homework *last week*."

"*Indeed?*" Professor McGonagall responded, surprised. Harry saw Tonks behind her
with an exaggerated look of shock on her face. "Well, then you'll both be happy to know
that you'll soon have more homework to occupy your time. You are moving into your N.E.W.T.
years, after all."

"Yes, we know," Hermione quickly replied. To Harry's surprise however, it seemed
to lack the enthusiasm he normally heard in her voice when she talked about homework. Maybe she
enjoyed homework-free time too.

"So Tonks, to what do we owe the honor?" Harry asked.

"Ah. Today, I'm just a driver," Tonks replied modestly. "Well, maybe a little
more than *just* a driver," she said winking as she pulled the handle of her wand out of
her uniform pocket enough for Harry to see, then re-pocketing it.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Tonks," Professor McGonagall called, "please excuse us while I
attempt to address all of Miss Granger's inquires." She and Hermione then went upstairs,
closing the door behind them (well, as much as it would since the latch was still broken).

"So Harry, how's your summer been? Really?" Tonks asked quietly now that they were
alone. Harry realized that this summer must have been difficult for her as well; she was
Sirius's cousin, after all. Harry sighed and sat down on the sofa.

"Honestly? It was horrible the first few weeks," Harry conceded. "But then, as I
mentioned, someone helped me, and it's been better since then. 'Life goes on,' they
told me afterwards. I still miss Sirius a lot, but he's gone now. I can't change that. All
I can do is go forward. I've been doing my best to live again." He paused for a moment to
take a deep breath.

"How are *you* doing?" he asked her.

Tonks looked down at her feet. "Better now," she said. "Not so much
earlier," she said sadly. "He was my favorite cousin when I was growing up, you know. I
was only about seven when he went to Azkaban, but I still remember how kind he had been to
me." Tonks stopped for a moment to enjoy a fond memory.

"It sounds like you had a slightly better time of it than I did," she continued,
sounding slightly envious. "Old Rufie dragged me down to the healers at St. Mungo's. They
wouldn't let me leave until I had 'come to terms' with what had happened. Everyone
there wanted to talk *to* me about it, but no one wanted to talk *with* me."

Tonks chuckled sarcastically. "It took a while," she said as she looked around the
Grangers' living room. "Remus has been helping me a lot." A slight smile played
across her face as she mentioned his name, while at the same time inspecting the television
remote.

Harry suddenly remembered what Hermione had told him about Professor Lupin moving out of
Grimmauld Place when Percy came back. It wasn't possible, was it?

"So, where is Moony living now?" Harry asked with a slight grin on his face. "I
heard he moved out when Percy came back."

"Oh, he's in a flat in my building," Tonks answered easily. Harry smiled; how long
had it been since his former professor had a real job, and therefore rent money?

"I see, and what's the going rate for a flat these days?" Harry asked with a
weighted voice.

Tonks eyed Harry suspiciously, and then turned slightly pink. "OK, fine! He moved in with
me! But don't get any ideas mister! It's *not* what you think! He's sleeping on
the sofa!" she defended. "We've just been talking, sharing stories about Sirius. It
was hard for him too." She still seemed a little embarrassed though. Remus may have been on
the sofa, but Harry suspected there might be a little more than what Tonks was saying, at least
from her side. Harry smiled and nodded.

"It's a good thing they've got you holed up in some undisclosed location,
Harry," Tonks quipped, still a little defensive. "Can you imagine the headlines if they
had put you in some *interesting* living arrangement?"

*Thank God for the Fidelius Charm,* Harry said to himself. Professor McGonagall had to have
told Tonks that she was driving to Hermione's house to meet both her and Harry. Here Harry was,
in said house, sitting comfortably on the sofa as if it was his favorite seat in the world (which
it was), and it never even occurred to her, a trained Auror, that he might actually be living
there.

Hermione had explained to Harry early on that this Fidelius Charm was different than the one
protecting number twelve, Grimmauld Place. That charm literally hid the knowledge of the location
of Order headquarters. Since Hermione's house was in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood,
surrounded by neighbors who were accustomed to seeing a house there, Professor Dumbledore had to be
a little more creative.

Hermione, however, had beaten the Headmaster to it. While he was considering different options,
Hermione innocently asked if they couldn't simply use the spell to hide the knowledge of where
Harry was staying. After chuckling and making some comment under his breath about the minds of
children, he immediately began to make preparations to cast the charm to work exactly as Hermione
had suggested.

This way, it didn't really matter whether they were in their own house, or even at the
aforementioned Holiday Inn; since Harry was staying with Hermione and her parents, the location of
wherever they were was secret. It was still advantageous to remain on Broomhill Road, however.
Since Professor Dumbledore couldn't hide the house, he cast a number of charms to protect it.
After all, if a Death Eater just happened to stroll into the Grangers' living room, he or she
would've been able to see Harry; they just wouldn't have known he was living there.

While he was sure the Fidelius Charm would prevent him from actually telling Tonks that he was
living there, Harry still wanted to avoid saying anything else he might regret, so he simply
answered her question directly. "Yeah, actually I can. I've been no stranger to the
*Prophet's* headlines over the years. So, care to share any of Moony's stories about
Padfoot?" Harry asked with a grin.

About half an hour later, Harry and Tonks heard Hermione and Professor McGonagall talking as
they walked down the hallway towards the staircase. Harry looked up as they descended the stairs;
his Transfiguration teacher was wearing her usual strict appearance.

"Well, Mr. Potter. The door has been repaired, and I do say that I shall have to talk with
Professor Flitwick about a refresher course in unlocking spells. I seem to recall Professor
Dumbledore telling me that Miss Granger had mastered that one back in first year. Isn't that
correct, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she agreed eagerly as she smirked at Harry from behind
McGonagall's back. If Hermione was thinking what he thought she was thinking, then they were
both remembering how they found a three-headed dog behind the first door she unlocked.

"Now, Miss Tonks. If you don't mind, I would like to talk to Mr. Potter for a few
minutes," Professor McGonagall said.

"Ah, perfect!" Tonks exclaimed. "I wanted to talk to the person who put the old
man in his place! I heard in passing," she said, casting a nervous glance at Professor
McGonagall, whose lips pursed together tightly, "that someone actually questioned one of his
decisions, and, quite forcefully I hear," another nervous glance, "convinced him to alter
his plans. Rarely happens, or so I'm told," Tonks finished with a satisfied smile.

Professor McGonagall sighed lightly. "That's the last time I talk to you while
we're driving, Nymphadora Tonks," she said. "In fact it's the last time I go
driving at all. If it weren't for Albus's apparation and Floo wards..."

Tonks cringed at the use of her first name. "Fine, now we're even," she said.
Hermione and Tonks then went upstairs to give Harry and Professor McGonagall some privacy.

"So, Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?" she asked as she sat down on the sofa. "I
take it your current environment is an improvement over your previous." Harry looked at her
uncertainly as he sat down in the love seat. "Miss Granger wrote me a letter explaining the
situation and had Albus deliver it to me when this was all arranged," she said as she waved
her hand vaguely around the room.

"Things are better now than they were. 'Life goes on,' Hermione told me," he
repeated again, "and that's all I can really do now, go on living." It was the second
time this hour he said it, but it did seem a little easier this time.

"Well, I said it last year, and I'll say it again: I'm glad you will at least
listen to Miss Granger." Harry wasn't sure about it, but there appeared to be a trace of a
smile on her face.

"So, Mr. Potter, down to the business at hand. I received a copy of your O.W.L.s. I must
congratulate you. A 10.8 *is* quite an achievement, particularly considering who you had for
an *instructor* last year." Harry could hear the disdain in her voice.

"Here is a partial timetable of your classes next year," she said, pulling a piece of
parchment out of a pocket in her jacket that wasn't there earlier. "That is, of course,
assuming you wish to continue in your plans to become an Auror. As you can see, you still have
several openings that need to be filled," Professor McGonagall said, tapping each of them with
her wand, causing them to glow bright red.

*She said she had a copy of my O.W.L.s,* Harry thought to himself. *She knows I got an
'E.'* Since she made no mention of it excluding him from N.E.W.T. Potions, he decided to
do as Hermione suggested and not worry about it.

"Please make your selections and send them back with either Hedwig or Metis as soon as
possible," Professor McGonagall requested. "Several of this year's N.E.W.T. courses
have not been finalized yet, so I will send your book lists and homework assignments as soon as
they are ready.

"I understand that you will be in Diagon Alley on Friday, correct?" she asked
cautiously. Harry nodded. "All of the class details should be in place by then. If they are,
and you have made your selections by then, I will have your book lists delivered to you
there." Harry knew which 'there' she meant. "If not, I will send them to you by
owl.

"There is one other matter I wish to discuss with you," Professor McGonagall said,
pulling something out of another pocket. "As you may or may not know, with the removal of our
previous *Headmistress*, all of her punishments have been canceled. It is therefore my
privilege to inform you that your Quidditch ban has been rescinded."

Harry's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He could play Quidditch again!

"You will have to tryout again, I'm afraid," Professor McGonagall interjected.
"I will not interfere in the internal structure of our House team. I am quite certain,
however, that you will regain your position as Seeker. That being said, it brings up a related
matter.

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team is in need of a new captain," she explained. "This
obviously is a position of great importance. It is not a role to be accepted lightly. Do you know
of anyone who would be willing to accept such a position?" she asked with a genuine smile on
her face. Harry looked down at her hand which she had just opened in front of him. Resting on her
palm was a small golden badge, the image of a broomstick and Snitch embossed on it.

Quidditch Captain! She was offering him the position of captain! It was what he always wanted.
Wasn't it? He knew that part of him had always thought how cool it would be to be captain of
the team. But now that the badge was literally staring him in the face, was it really what he
wanted? Was he really up to the job?

Harry had always been Seeker. It was the only position he ever played. While it was true he had
been in every game (if you excluded injuries, attacks, and lifetime bans), he rarely actually
*watched* his own team play, even in practices; he was almost always chasing after the Snitch.
Over the last five years as a spectator in the stands, he had actually seen the other three
Houses' teams play more than his own. He knew their moves better than he knew Gryffindor's.
If he was honest with himself, all he really knew of how his own team played was what was written
on the blackboard.

He knew enough about Quidditch strategies in general to be able to answer all of Hermione's
questions about what just happened when they were watching the other Houses, or to be able to
follow along with Oliver Wood or Angelina Johnson's game plan diagrams. But to actually be the
one designing those game plans? That was an *entirely* different matter all together.

In his opinion, what a Quidditch Captain really needed to be was someone who excelled at
strategy, someone who had a good vantage point from which to watch the game. The only thing Harry
really ever saw up in the air (other than streaks of shiny black hair back in third and fifth
years...) was the Snitch.

Harry made up his mind and smiled at Professor McGonagall. "Yes ma'am, I do. With your
permission, I would like to suggest as Quidditch Captain... Ronald Weasley."

Harry's Head of House seemed to be surprised slightly by his nomination; she quickly
recovered with another genuine smile. "Very well, Mr. Potter. There are two conditions that
must be met, however, before I can appoint Mr. Weasley as captain.

"First, I cannot allow him to be both Quidditch Captain and house prefect. Both positions
require a certain level of commitment. I have it on good authority that he did not take to his
position of prefect with as much enthusiasm as I or the Headmaster would have hoped."

The look Harry gave her silently asked the question he would not verbalize.

"From someone who would know," she replied, unintentionally glancing at the stairs for
a moment. "In order for me to name him captain, he would first need to voluntarily give up the
position of prefect."

Harry smiled. "Professor, I think if he knew his choice was prefect or Quidditch Captain,
you'd have his badge before you finished the sentence." Professor McGonagall didn't
allow herself to smile, though Harry could see her agreement with his assessment in her eyes.

"As I mentioned, there is a second condition that must be met as well. If Mr. Weasley does
volunteer to step down as prefect, I must appoint a new house prefect. Unfortunately, this is not a
position for which I can solicit suggestions. The decision has already been made.

"Before I can offer the captain position to Mr. Weasley," she explained, "the new
prefect must agree to be his replacement."

"That sounds easy enough," Harry reasoned. "When are you going to ask Ron's
replacement?"

"Right now," Professor McGonagall replied smiling. "Are you willing to become the
new Gryffindor prefect, Mr. Potter, assuming Mr. Weasley is willing to step down?"

"Yes," Harry replied instantly, a happy smile on his face. He felt Ron truly deserved
this chance to be captain. As much as he loved playing Quidditch, when it came to actually being
captain, he really would rather have someone who knew strategy be captain, like Ron (if his chess
games were any indication). He was content to just go out and play, and be prefect with
Hermione.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I would ask that you not mention this to Mr. Weasley. I want him to
make this decision without the knowledge that you would become prefect in his place. He must accept
the responsibility because he wants to, and not because he knows you will benefit as well,"
she explained. Harry nodded.

"Thank you. I will not bore you right now by explaining all of the duties of a school
prefect. I am quite sure Miss Granger will be more than willing to explain everything once you tell
her."

Professor McGonagall looked at her watch (which just happened to match her suit). "Now, you
must forgive me, but I have an entire class of O.W.L. letters to finish writing." She tapped
the watch on her wrist with her wand. Several moments later, he heard Tonks and Hermione coming
downstairs. Looking up, he saw Tonks shaking her wrist.

"That hurt," she said, looking at an identical watch on her wrist. "I don't
know whose idea these were..." she complained.

"Yours, as I recall," Professor McGonagall replied dryly to Tonks. "Well Mr.
Potter, Miss Granger. I shall see you on Thursday. Again, congratulations on your O.W.L.s, to both
of you," she said, then opened the front door and walked out towards the Ministry car.

"See you two later," Tonks said, bidding them farewell. When Professor McGonagall was
out of earshot, Tonks turned back to Harry and Hermione. "So, Hermione. *Why* was your
door closed when Harry kicked it in?" she asked with a devilish grin on her face. Harry and
Hermione looked at each other, blushing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll have to remember that one," Tonks said as
she finally went out the front door, closing it behind her.

"Well, that was certainly informative," Hermione decided.

"I'll say," Harry agreed, though he didn't know to which part she was
referring. "Did you actually complain about Ron being prefect?" he asked, unsure if he
really wanted to know.

"What?" she asked as she turned to him, confused. "Well, I did mention to
Professor McGonagall once that he seemed less than enthusiastic about being prefect. It was early
on in the year. But no, I never actually filed a complaint or anything like that. Why? How did you
know about that?"

"Oh," Harry replied, feeling much better, "she mentioned it to me... when she
offered me the position of prefect," he finished, smiling.

"WHAT?! Are you serious? This is WONDERFUL! I'm so happy for you, Harry," Hermione
spoke breathlessly. A few seconds later, her expression suddenly changed as though she just
realized something. "But... what about Ron? She didn't..."

"No," Harry answered. He told her about his discussion with Professor McGonagall about
the captain position.

"So, Ron will be captain, but only if he steps down as prefect, and only if you agreed
ahead of time to take his place?" Hermione asked; Harry nodded. A large smile grew on her
face. "This is going to be *so* much fun!"

Harry returned her smile, but looked at her quizzically. "Do you really think being prefect
is fun?" he asked, genuinely unaware of how she felt about being prefect now that she had
actually done it for a year. He was pretty sure he knew just how Ron felt about the all of the
extra duties.

Hermione backtracked a little. "Well, I wouldn't say 'fun' *exactly*. It
*is* a lot of extra work. But, you know, things like that are ALWAYS better when you're
with a friend." Harry smiled and nodded. On the inside however, he was trying to figure out
what, if anything, she meant by that. To him, the way she said it, it sounded like she meant being
with him was somehow different than being with Ron.

That afternoon, the two of them sat together on the sofa comparing their timetables and looking
at the list of classes from which they could select to fill their open time slots. Crookshanks sat
between them, purring quite loudly, enjoying double attention. In the end however, they decided not
to return them today. Professor McGonagall had told Hermione that a regular bird cage would be
acceptable for Metis. They therefore needed to go out shopping tonight to buy one.

Before they could do that however, Hermione still had to tell her parents about Metis. She
needed both owls there in order to do it the way she had planned. They decided now was as good a
time as any for the two owls to be introduced (Metis had stayed in Hermione's room all day;
Hedwig in Harry's).

Once at the top of the stairs, Hermione began to get nervous, even though she had been the one
to convince Harry everything would be fine. "Harry, do you want to hold Metis? Since I
don't have a cage yet, I'll have to carry her in. You have more experience actually holding
an owl than I do. I really don't want her to be able to fly around freely, just in case things
don't go well."

"Honestly? No. I really don't want Hedwig to see me holding her," Harry replied.
"I don't want her to get any more jealous than necessary. Don't worry, I'll show
you how to hold her." Harry offered.

After carefully demonstrating where to place her arms and hands to hold properly hold Metis
(plus a couple of practical adjustments of her arms and hands once she was actually holding Metis),
Harry went back to his room to "prepare" Hedwig. After coaxing her out of her cage onto
the dresser, he fed her a few owl treats and stroked her head and back several times to put her in
a good mood.

"Now Hedwig, there's someone I want you to meet," Harry tried to explain.
"Metis is going to be staying here from now on, so I really hope the two of you can get
along." Hedwig stared at Harry with her large amber eyes and clicked her beak; he wished he
knew what that meant. He could just barely hear Hermione talking softly to Metis as she walked down
the hall towards his room.

"Metis is Hermione's new owl, OK?" he explained. "This is their home,
we're just guests here." Hedwig blinked her eyes.

Right on cue, Hermione entered the room with Metis in her arms. Hedwig immediately turned her
head to look at the second snowy owl. Her eyes immediately locked on Metis; Metis's immediately
locked onto Hedwig. For several moments, each stared at the other. Any movement either made was
immediately matched by the other, as though they were in some sort of staring contest where neither
would let the other gain the upper hand.

"So far, so good," Harry said quietly.

After a few moments, Hermione decided there was one last thing that had to be tested for her
introduction plan to work. She walked over to Harry's desk and set Metis down on it and then
stepped away. Both owls were now free to move (*or fight*, in Harry's mind) if they wanted
to.

But after all the worrying Harry had done, nothing happened. The two owls simply continued to
stare at each other. Finally after about a minute or so, Hedwig must have gotten bored, or hungry,
for she turned away from Metis and took off, flying out the window.

"Well, that went well, I suppose," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. Looking
back out the window, he watched as Hedwig flew towards King George's Park. "She must be
hungry. I don't think she's been out all day."

Right as Hermione began to step towards Harry's desk, Metis too suddenly took flight and
headed out the window towards the park. "Oh, poor Metis," Hermione started sadly. "I
don't think she's been out at all except for *her first delivery*," she said
cheerily. "See Harry. I told you everything would be OK," Hermione finished in a very
sure voice.

Harry looked at her and smirked. "Yeah, this coming from you who wanted *me* to hold
*your* owl in case things didn't go well."

"Well," Hermione answered sheepishly, "*you* know how to hold an owl,"
she said, trying to justify herself.

"Uh huh," Harry said, entirely unconvinced and smiling the entire time.

"Anyway," Hermione battled on, "even if they didn't get along, even though I
knew they would, it wouldn't have really made any difference, would it? After all, Metis would
be in my room and Hedwig would be in yours."

"Yeah, of course," Harry said with a laugh. *Idiot,* he mentally kicked himself.
*All we would've had to do was keep them in their own cages then let them out separately.
Here I've been worried all this time that I might have to leave if they didn't get
along.* Harry breathed a great sigh of relief now that he knew he wouldn't have to
leave.

Later that evening, Hermione went upstairs to see if Metis and Hedwig had returned from hunting.
Dan and Emma were due home any time now.

"Hedwig's back," Hermione called as she walked past Harry's room. "So is
Metis. Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry got up from the loveseat and started to head up to Hermione's room. Halfway up the
stairs, he heard a very unhappy Hermione in her room. "Ughhh. Gross. Oh, Metis..."

Harry immediately turned around and went into the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels and
some cleaner. Climbing the stairs, he called up to her with a laugh. "*That's* why
you really need a cage with newspapers."

"Oh shut it, Harry," she called back.

After helping Hermione clean up (a task with which he was *not* unfamiliar), Harry began to
put Hermione's plan into motion. "All right, do you remember what I told you about how to
have her sit on your shoulder so you're both comfortable?" he asked her after getting
Metis up on Hermione's shoulder.

"Yes," Hermione answered, not wanting to move her head any more than necessary by
nodding. She slowly walked downstairs and into the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table in
the one seat that was not visible from the living room. She then opened the book she had brought
down with her and began to read.

Harry, for his part of the plan, returned to his room to wait for Dan and Emma to return home.
Reading by his window, he heard their car pull into the drive about ten minutes later.
"They're home," he called downstairs.

"OK," she called back.

"It's showtime," Harry said to Hedwig as he put her on his shoulder.

"Hello?" Emma called as she and Dan walked in the front door. Upon entering the house,
they found the TV off and no one in the living room.

"Hello," Hermione responded. "In the kitchen."

"Where's Harry?" Dan asked as he closed the front door.

"He's upstairs," Hermione replied. "Hey Mum, Dad, what do you think about a
new addition to the house?" she asked. Having absolutely no idea what their daughter was
talking about, Dan and Emma started to walk to the kitchen with confused expressions on their
faces.

Harry, who had been listening to the scene play out below from his bedroom door, recognized his
cue; he walked to the top of the staircase once Dan and Emma had walked beyond it. He slowly and
quietly came down the stairs.

When Dan and Emma entered the kitchen, they stopped immediately upon seeing Metis on
Hermione's shoulder. "I was thinking about keeping her," Hermione explained.
"So, what do you think? Would you mind a post owl in the house?"

Dan and Emma were now thoroughly perplexed. "You're going to *keep* Hedwig?"
Emma asked. "What does Harry say about all this?"

"What do I say about what?" Harry asked as he stepped off the staircase behind Dan and
Emma. They both immediately spun around.

"Hermione says that she's..." Dan started, but then stopped when he saw Hedwig on
Harry's shoulder. Baffled, Dan and Emma walked back into the living room towards Harry.
Hermione, in the meantime, stood up as soon as her parents' backs were turned and started to
sneak into the living room behind them.

Seeing that she had slipped past them and was now standing between the sofa and loveseat, Harry
took advantage of Dan and Emma's momentary puzzlement to walk past them. He went over and stood
next to Hermione on her right. With Metis on Hermione's right shoulder and Hedwig on
Harry's left (as planned), the two stood shoulder to shoulder, with their owls wing to
wing.

"Mum, Dad. You already know Hedwig," Hermione started, turning slightly to look at
Hedwig. "I'd like to introduce you to Metis," she said warmly, reaching up and
stroking Metis's back. "She's my new owl."

"What was it you wanted to ask me about, Emma?" Harry asked again. He and Hermione
stood there for several moments with large grins on their faces, both reveling in the rare moment
when Hermione was able to so completely surprise them that they were both speechless (or so she
said as she detailed her plan earlier). Metis and Hedwig, on the other hand, simply looked at each
other; they appeared entirely uninterested in what their owners had planned.

Emma was the first to recover. She at least now seemed to accept and understand that there were
two owls. "So that's *your* owl?" she asked uncertainly.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "Remember that owl in my O.W.L.s that I said I didn't bring
down with me and that I'd show you later?" Emma nodded. "Well... Ta-da! Here she
is!"

Dan began to smile as he began to piece together what they had done. Emma slowly began to smile
also. "But I thought it was a pin or a badge or something like that," she said
uncertainly.

A slight smirk played across Hermione's face. "Well, that kinda was the idea. I had
already sent Metis on her first delivery so I couldn't properly introduce you," she
explained. "I wanted to wait until she got back."

"What did you say her name was again, dear?" Dan asked.

"Metis," Hermione repeated.

"Metis?" Emma pondered. "That name seems vaguely familiar," she said,
looking at Dan who shook his head.

"Metis is the Greek goddess of wisdom and prudence," Hermione explained.

Emma smiled and nodded. "I knew I had heard it before. It's been a few years since
Introduction to Mythology back in my first year at university," Emma laughed. She started to
move forward to hug her daughter but stopped short for fear of jostling Metis.

"Congratulations dear," she cried. "We should go out and celebrate! Let's go
somewhere fancy for dinner tonight," she suggested, apparently forgetting that they had gone
out for Italian only two nights earlier.

"Actually," Hermione interrupted, "could we maybe delay the dinner and stop by
the pet store instead? I *really* need to get her a cage, *tonight*." A small smile
appeared on Harry's face.

"OK then," Dan agreed. "Let us change first and then we can be on our way. I
think they close at nine." He and Emma went upstairs to change clothes. Harry and Hermione
followed them up to put their owls back in their rooms (Hermione had set down a layer of newspapers
on top of her dresser).

Returning downstairs, Hermione sat down in the loveseat to wait for her parents. "That went
well," she said, satisfied.

"You were right. That *was* fun," Harry said with a grin as he sat down next to
her.

"O, ye of little faith," Hermione replied, elbowing him lightly.

"They certainly seemed to like Metis... *once* they realized you weren't stealing
Hedwig."

"Wait until I tell them that she'll be staying with them during the school year.
They'll really love that," Hermione said in anticipation. "They'll be able to
write me whenever they want. Before, they only could send replies back whenever I owled them
first," she explained.

A few minutes later, Dan and Emma came downstairs, ready to head out. As the four of them headed
down the walk towards the car, Hermione began to reveal her last surprise for her parents.

"So, you guys really like Metis?" she asked.

"Very much," Dan and Emma replied simultaneously; they looked at each other and
grinned.

"Well, that's good," Hermione said as she climbed in the car, setting the
bait.

"Why's that?" Emma asked, taking the bait. Hermione explained the last part of the
surprise as they began to drive down Broomhill Road. Needless to say, Dan and Emma were very
excited.

After leaving the pet store with a new cage for Metis (and Harry trying not to laugh at the
small selection of "bird toys" Hermione also bought), Harry ended up suggesting that they
should go out to eat since the night was still young. The three Grangers shared a quick glance and
said they would just find something at home, and save dinner out for *"another
night."*

Back in the pet store, Harry had set his hand in something wet and most likely disgusting as he
walked by the veterinary check in counter. After returning from the loo, he found Hermione, Dan,
and Emma standing together talking quietly. As soon as Emma saw him, they all stopped talking and
subtly took a step away from each other. After that, hearing the way Dan said "another
night," Harry was sure they had planned something for his birthday, in addition to whatever
happened at Grimmauld Place.

On the way home, they drove past the home improvement center which, according to Hermione, had a
very nice garden center. Still needing to get Neville a present, Harry asked if they could stop.
While Dan and Emma went off to find new door hardware (Hermione forgot to mention that it had
already been fixed and Dan had no reason to check to make sure it was still broken), Harry and
Hermione wandered around the garden center together looking at different plants.

Finally, in the mini green house section, Harry found something that was exactly what he was
looking for: a Venus Flytrap. "It's not Devil's Snare, but it's pretty wicked as
far as Muggle plants go," Harry explained. As they started wandering the aisles looking for
Dan and Emma, Hermione had a decidedly worried expression on her face.

"I still don't know what to get him," Hermione explained after Harry asked what
was bothering her. "I didn't even *know* it was his birthday until you mentioned it.
At least with you, I knew when it was so I had time to get it taken care of."

"'Get it taken care of'?" Harry asked with a laugh. "You make it sound
like there was some big production involved."

"What? No, of course not. I just meant that I had time to think about what I wanted to get
you. Oh, there they are!" Hermione suddenly said as she saw her parents carrying a new door
handle and latch. She then quickly walked over to meet them; Harry had to also to catch up with
her. After returning the door hardware, Dan purchased the plant for Harry. They then returned home
for the evening.

The next day, Wednesday, Harry and Hermione were in the kitchen eating lunch when they were
suddenly startled by a thumping noise at the French doors that opened onto the backyard.

"What does Ron *feed* that bird?" Harry asked as he watched Pig flutter madly
around at the door, waiting to be let in. After Hermione untied the letter that was addressed to
her, Pig began to zoom around the room. After a moment, Harry was able to lure Pig down to the
table by holding up the plate containing the remnants of his lunch.

After Ron's tiny Scops owl decided to pass on Harry's sandwich, he hopped up to
Harry's glass of water and began to drink eagerly from it. After drinking his fill, he began to
fly around the room again as Hermione continued to read the letter from Ginny. Looking at his glass
with distaste, Harry dumped the remaining water out in the sink and got a new glass.

Finally becoming annoyed at the constant twittering, she set down the letter and looked up at
Pig. "You can go now," she said in a slightly irritated voice. "I'll send a
reply later. It's no wonder Hedwig doesn't like him," she added to Harry. As Hermione
got up to open the door, Harry glanced over at the letter on the table.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he began to look at the letter. *Gah! For a girl,
Ginny certainly has messy handwriting,* Harry thought to himself. *And of course it's
upside down. I can't read anything... not that I'm snooping or anything,* he tried to
convince himself.

Harry was now so intently looking across the table, trying to read even a single word that he
nearly jumped out of his chair when Hermione's hand came slamming down on the letter.

"Don't you dare try to read that, Harry," she warned him. Her face then
immediately brightened. "It's just birthday stuff. You wouldn't want to read about
that, now would you?" she asked with smile that just screamed *"I know something that
you don't!"*

"Well, that depends now, doesn't it?" Harry replied. Hermione looked at him,
waiting for him to elaborate. "Depends on whether it's good or not."

"Well, I didn't think it seemed too out of line," she said, clearly unable to
contain herself. After looking at him for a few moments her grin began to get bigger and bigger;
finally she had to turn around to keep from laughing out loud. That certainly didn't set Harry
at ease.

*I have a bad feeling about this,* Harry repeated to himself. *She's happy... I mean,
she's been happy since I got here, according to Dan, but this... this is like...
super-happy,* he decided. He began to consider what might lie in store for him. There were so
many possibilities that he could not focus on a single one.

*Well, if Hermione approves, how bad can it really be?* Harry finally decided. *I mean, I
doubt anyone will get arrested, or anything like that. What's the worst that can
happen?*

Later that afternoon, Hermione asked Harry if she could borrow Hedwig to send a reply to Ginny.
After he teasingly asked if she forgot about Metis, Hermione explained that, if Harry was willing,
she wanted to introduce Metis to Ginny and Ron and everyone else the same way she did to her
parents. He agreed and she went to go send her letter.

Later that afternoon, Hermione realized that they had forgotten to go through their class
timetables to select classes to fill the openings. After about half an hour, she completed her
selections, though she refused to tell Harry what they were until he selected his own.

Harry, who quite literally had given zero thought to what he wanted to do other than be an
Auror, had a much more difficult time making his decisions. In fact, he didn't. By the time he
had given up for the day, he had not selected a single class, though he did listen to Hermione
explain all of them for much of the afternoon (he finally found out what was so wonderful about
Arithmancy).

After another series of late surgeries, Dan and Emma came home tired that night, bringing with
them takeaway Chinese food. This time however, they brought home four small meals, everyone getting
their own favorites. Harry sampled a little of everyone else's (they told him what they were,
but he couldn't remember the names now), but in the end, he decided he liked his General
Tsao's Chicken the best.

That night, Harry found it very difficult to fall asleep. Tomorrow was his birthday... his
sixteenth birthday. Now, if Hermione's behavior today was any indication, it meant that is was
supposed to be something special. What exactly it was, he didn't know. But in the end, he
trusted that she was right and decided not too worry about it. A short while later, he finally fell
asleep.

The following morning, Harry awoke to a knocking at his door. *It's too early,* Harry
complained to himself. Now that he was awake, he vaguely heard music coming from the stereo
downstairs in the living room; it was too muffled though to make it out. *Can't a bloke sleep
in on his birthday?* The knocking continued for several more seconds before Harry finally gave
in. Considering who was on the other side of the door, he knew there was no point in even trying to
ignore her.

"Come in," he finally said, after rolling over so his back was to her to hide himself.
He was also hoping she'd get the hint that it was far too early. As she opened the door, he was
finally able to hear what was playing downstairs.

*Somewhere after midnight*

*In my wildest fantasy*

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione greeted him cheerfully.

*Somewhere just beyond my reach*

*There's someone reaching back for me*

He could hear her go over to the window and pull back the curtains, allowing the sunlight to
flood the room. "Happy birthday!" He could feel her standing over him.

"Just five more minutes," he whined, pulling his blanket tighter around him.

*It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet*

"It's already after ten o'clock, Harry," she replied in a
mother-lecturing-her-child tone of voice. He listened to a short instrumental section as she went
into the hall to pick up something she had set down when she opened the door.

"Ugh," he groaned. "It certainly—" His complaint that it didn't feel
that late was cut off by a more primal urge that he just now noticed.

*Up where the mountains meet the heavens above*

"Is that bacon?" he asked, inhaling deeply, then quickly sitting upright, dropping his
previously coveted blanket onto his legs and lap.

*I could swear there is someone somewhere*

*Watching me*

He looked over to discover that she had brought up a breakfast tray filled with a small feast of
pancakes, bacon, and orange juice.

*I can feel his approach*

He drew in another deep breath as he gazed fondly at the tray. Before he could do or say
anything, Crookshanks jumped up on the bed and came up even to Harry, looking at the tray as well,
purring insistently.

*Like a fire in my blood*

"Hey!" he complained to the cat. "That's mine!"

Hermione set the breakfast tray down on Harry's desk and went over to collect Crookshanks.
After picking him up (and most of the blanket for he had dug into it with his claws), she took him
back to her room and shut him in. While she was gone, the song was in another instrumental section.
*I think I like this song,* Harry thought to himself as he looked back at the tray.

Right as he was about to get up to get the tray, Hermione returned to the room and picked up the
tray again.

"Let's try this again, Harry, *sans* hungry cat. Happy birthday!" she said as
she brought the tray over to him.

*I need a hero*

"I love you, Hermione," said Harry, sinking back in the bed, rubbing his eyes
wearily.

*I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light*

Hermione turned faintly pink, but merely said, "Don't let Cho hear you saying
that."

*And he's gotta be sure*

*And it's gotta be soon*

*And he's gotta be larger than life*

After he scooted back a little so he could sit up against the headboard, Hermione set the
breakfast tray over his legs. "You don't like her much, do you?" he asked,
smirking.

Looking caught slightly off guard, Hermione quickly recovered. "As I recall, she was the
one who didn't like me," she said, avoiding the question.

"True, but you didn't answer the question, now did you?" he prodded her.

Trying not to smile, she simply headed back towards the door. Once there, she turned to look
back. "Hurry up and eat. Fawkes was by. Professor Dumbledore will be here to pick us up at
eleven. And as for Cho, I try not to speak ill of anyone..." she trailed off, implying she was
about to say more.

"Yes, and?" Harry asked suggestively, eager for her to continue.

Hermione smiled, wagged her eyebrows, then turned and left, saying nothing. Harry laughed to
himself and then started in on his breakfast, listening to the rest of the song.

*Hero*

*Oh he's gotta be strong*

*And he's gotta be fast*

*And he's gotta be fresh from the fight*

*I need a hero*

A half hour later, he had finished eating and went to take a shower. Upon returning to his room,
he found that Hermione had been up to take the tray. She had also made the bed; it was the first
time it was made properly since Harry had arrived.

When he went downstairs, he found her sitting patiently in the loveseat, watching Crookshanks
clean his face in front of the sofa (having just been fed) as she waited for the Headmaster to
arrive. On her lap was a neatly wrapped present, roughly square-shaped, several inches thick. Harry
smiled; since it was from Hermione, he was pretty sure he knew what that was.

"Thanks for breakfast," he said, sitting down next to her.

She turned slightly to look at him. "Yeah, well don't get used to it. And just so you
know, I expect the same on *my* birthday," she said smiling.

Harry laughed. "Well that may be a little difficult, seeing as how I can't get up the
stairs into your room at school."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Oh well, I'm sure you'll figure something out,"
she chuckled.

"So, what was that song you were listening to earlier?" Harry asked.

"Huh? Oh that? It's called 'Holding Out for a Hero.' It's something I heard
Mum listening to once, and I really liked it." Hermione chuckled slightly. "I kept
borrowing it so often that she ended up just buying me my own CD for my birthday.

"It's funny. I'd heard her play it before, but the summer after third year, some of
the lines caught my attention. Do you know which ones?" she asked.

Harry tried to remember the lines he was able to hear. One of them had caught his attention too.
"Someone somewhere watching me," Harry guessed. "When I heard it, I thought about us
under the Invisibility Cloak watching ourselves when we used your Time Turner."

A huge grin lit up Hermione's face as she nodded. "It's my favorite song now,"
she told him. Harry then asked her to play it again so he could hear the whole thing.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. Neville isn't coming," she told him.
"Ginny sent Pig this morning. She said that Neville and his grandmother were visiting their
family for his birthday, so he wouldn't be able to come. She said to tell you that Neville was
sorry for missing your birthday, and that he wanted to thank you for offering to have a combined
party."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping I'd be able to give him his present and suggest
he name it Audrey II," Harry said, remembering the movie that was on television last week.

"You still can," Hermione said, "You can give it to him when we get to
school."

After several silent minutes sitting there waiting for the Headmaster to arrive, Harry began to
feel very awkward. "Erm, Hermione? Before Professor Dumbledore arrives, there is something I
wanted to tell you. I know I said it earlier, but I just wanted to say it one more time." He
paused for a moment and looked down at his knees; he began to nervously rub his hands on his
pants.

He found himself unable to speak until Hermione reached over and grabbed his left hand to stop
him. She looked at him almost pleadingly, encouraging him to continue.

"Thanks. I just wanted to thank you, for all of this. I haven't even been here two
weeks, and this is already more like a real home to me than I ever had at the Dursleys. I don't
know if I would've been able to make it through the summer there." Harry paused and
sighed. "Tomorrow is the real test. I'm glad Gringotts said you needed to come too."
Harry smiled slightly. "It saves me from having to figure out how to convince you to come with
me."

Hermione, who was clearly misty eyed and made no effort to hide it, squeezed his hand. "You
need only have asked," she affirmed, smiling.

A few minutes later, a flash of fire in the kitchen signaled Professor Dumbledore's arrival
with Fawkes. Hermione quickly let go of Harry's hand and stood up to go and greet him.

"Good day, Miss Granger. I trust the situation has improved since the last time we
met," the Headmaster said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"It has, Headmaster," Hermione replied, very happy.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greeted Harry cautiously. Neither of them had forgotten
their last face-to-face meeting.

Harry walked up to him with a stern face. After looking at him for a few seconds, Harry smiled
broadly. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore. Thanks for allowing me to stay here."

The Headmaster smiled in return. "Ah Harry. You should be thanking Miss Granger here and
her parents for that. Me? I just handled... the logistics, that's all."

Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione. "Well, I already did, many times. But I just wanted
to say it to you as well. Thank you."

"In that case then, Mr. Potter, you're welcome," Dumbledore replied. "Now,
before we all get too teary-eyed in our thanks, we really should be leaving. Everyone *is*
waiting."

Dumbledore then turned to Hermione. "But, before we do, Miss Granger, I should very much
like to meet your new owl. Professor McGonagall was very impressed, if I do say so myself,"
the Headmaster said with a slight chuckle. "Though that might've had as much to do with
the fact that in the last 150 years, you are second only to her in overall O.W.L. scores," he
said, the eyes behind his half-moon spectacles twinkling.

Hermione appeared speechless. "Th- Thank you sir. I didn't know that. The letter from
the exam board didn't say who that person was fifty-five years ago."

"No, I don't imagine they would. That isn't the sort of information they would
distribute freely," Dumbledore explained. "I can assure you though that she does not mind
you knowing. I must congratulate you Miss Granger. Quite an accomplishment."

Professor Dumbledore then turned to Harry. "And congratulations to you too, Harry. First
score over 10.0 in a century and a half. Very impressive."

"You wouldn't happen to know who was the last person to receive such a score, would
you, Professor?" Harry asked with a slight smile. He was pretty sure he already knew the
answer.

The Headmaster looked as though he was thinking for a moment before answering. "Ah, yes.
I'm quite sure I know the individual. He's probably some crazy old wizard with more gray
hair than common sense, and a tendency to care about people *too* much. Not exactly the
'right crowd,' if you ask me, Harry," he answered. His mustache twitched slightly,
unable to hide the smile beneath.

"Now, Miss Granger, if you don't mind, before we leave, I would very much like to be
introduced to Hogwarts' newest O.W.L. owl."

Hermione led Harry and the Headmaster up to her room, taking Harry's present with her. Metis
was sleeping contently. "Time to wake up," she encourage the sleeping owl. "We have
a party to go to."

Upon seeing Metis, Dumbledore smiled and spoke softly. "Ah, a truly beautiful creature. A
tribute to the breed. Have you selected a name yet?" he asked.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "Metis. I named her after the Greek goddess."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore replied. He stared thoughtfully from Hermione to Metis for a
moment, his eyes twinkling merrily all the while. "Wisdom and prudence. A truly fitting choice
on your part, Miss Granger. I expected no less."

Receiving such high praise from the Headmaster, Hermione blushed slightly. She then went over
and told Metis that she was going visit Ginny and Ron and to follow her there. Harry went and told
Hedwig the same thing.

"Well now, I do believe it is time we are off to your party, Harry," Dumbledore
exclaimed once they Harry returned to Hermione's room.

Professor Dumbledore pulled out of his pocket a small golden ring. "We can't apparate
or Floo from here, and I didn't think you wanted to take the Knight Bus," he explained as
he held it out for Harry and Hermione to touch. "On the count of three," he began.

"One."

Between counts, Harry began to think about how excited he was. It was true that the party would
be in Sirius's house, however everyone he wanted to be there would. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Hermione fidget a little as she waited. He was sure he would be able to survive it.

"Two."

After 'two,' Hermione shifted slightly in anticipation of the familiar sensation of
Portkey travel. As she did, her hand brushed against Harry's. He immediately felt a very
familiar lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach. Since this was near his navel, he ordinarily
would pay it no mind; he was quite used to the feeling by now, though it was no more enjoyable than
it had ever been. There was, however, one inescapable fact that even Captain Oblivious could not
ignore: the Portkey hadn't activated yet.

"Three," the Headmaster said, and they were gone.


*A/N: Thanks as always to my beta, MapleMountain. Hey, it wasn't that I gave up searching
for the pronunciation of Metis. It's that I never DID search for the pronunciation of it... I
just kept searching for the name itself! Just goes to show you don't find what you don't
look for... :-)*


*Song credit... In case anyone was REALLY paying attention to it, they might realize that I
used the version by Jennifer Saunders from* Shrek 2*. Yes, I know that movie was years after
"sixth year." But hey, Dudley got a Playstation in the summer of 1994 even though they
weren't released until September 1995, so I can use this, right? :-) Sure, I COULD have used
the classic Bonnie Tyler version; that CD was released in 1990. I just like the Jennifer Saunders
version better. And since that's what inspired this section... This IS fiction after all,
right? :-) By the way, if anyone is familiar with Jennifer Saunders from the British comedy
"Absolutely Fabulous," I think she'd make a wonderful Professor Umbridge. Just my two
cents...*




13. Holding Out for a Hero
--------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N: Whew! What was it I said about “regular length chapters” last time?? Yeah right!! Oh
well, it’s been fun all the same! And awaaaayyyy we go!*


*Of course, even if I ever did forget to thank him (like that one time...), I could never
forget to be thankful for my beta, MapleMountain.*


*And finally... I’m SO sorry, Harry, for what fate (i.e.: the author) does to you in this
first paragraph...*

Chapter 13. Holding Out for a Hero.

When he landed in an un-catlike fashion in the entrance hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place,
Harry *very* quickly became aware of a gut-wrenching reality. As Hermione also landed
ungracefully next to him, she lost her grip on her present. Harry knew with nauseating certainty
that her present was much, much heavier than it looked. When it finally made contact with him, it
landed on its corner, effectively concentrating all of the energy of the fall (with almost
pin-point accuracy) onto a part of Harry’s body that never before had received such
mistreatment.

Harry immediately curled up into a ball and then rolled over onto his side, effectively wedging
Hermione’s brick of a present further into his groin as it became sandwiched between his legs and
chest. Whatever discomfort this might have caused was overpowered by the pain he was currently
feeling from the high energy impact he had already taken. Choking and coughing, tears began to
stream down his face.

Hearing Harry in such obvious pain, Hermione immediately sat up from her undignified fallen
position, looking over at him to see what was wrong.

“Are you all right, Harry?” she asked, very concerned.

Unable (and unwilling) to say what her present had done to him, he tried to focus his attention
away from the heavy, throbbing stabs of agony that were synchronized to the beat of his heart; he
could not ignore them even if he tried. “Yes, I’m fine,” he lied pitifully, in an unnaturally high,
shaky voice.

Still unaware of Harry’s condition, Dumbledore chuckled to himself merrily as he stood up, quite
spryly actually, for a man on the bottom half of his second century. While the pain had not
lessened, Harry had become acclimated enough to the point where he could at least roll onto his
back and uncurl himself from the fetal position. The ten-ton boulder of a gift still sat atop
Harry’s midsection; it was still sitting there, but at least it wasn’t falling, or colliding, or
impacting.

Hermione looked at the gift she had been so anxious to give Harry. When she saw where it now
rested, followed by her noticing how quickly the color had drained from Harry’s face, her face
paled also as she realized what must have happened. She turned her head to look at the Headmaster,
who was still busy brushing off his robes.

“No matter how many times I do that...” he said aloud to himself, thoroughly entertained by his
latest Portkey transport. “The only thing better, for a man of *my* age of course, is a good
Muggle roller coaster. I—” Dumbledore stopped as his eyes landed on a tear-stained Harry Potter
lying beneath a neatly wrapped present; he visibly winced at the scene before him.

The sight of Albus Dumbledore, a man Hermione held in high regards as one of the most powerful
wizards alive, cringing at Harry’s situation did nothing but make her feel worse. Wanting to help
Harry, she began to reach for the present to remove it. Dumbledore signaled for her to stop with a
wave of his hand.

“Harry?” he asked very gingerly, almost as if he too were in pain. “Are you all right?”

“N... no,” Harry squeaked back weakly, his eyes still tightly clenched shut.

“If you are able, Harry, would you please hand your present back to Miss Granger and attempt to
stand?” Dumbledore asked gently. “I may be able to remedy your situation, once you are
upright.”

Dumbledore’s offer of apparent salvation motivated Harry to open his eyes. He reached down below
his waist, removed the wrapped box, and gave Hermione her gift. Summoning every ounce of strength
in his pain-weakened body, he sat up, then slowly climbed to his feet. He was shaky, but
standing.

Dumbledore moved to stand in front of Harry, retrieving his wand from his robes. “Miss Granger.
If you do not mind, would you kindly look the other way for a moment? While there is nothing to be
seen here, I’m sure Harry would be more at ease knowing he wasn’t under such... scrutiny.” Hermione
looked momentarily at Harry. She could see him watching her out of the corner of his eye; he
quickly looked back at the Headmaster. Hermione nodded then looked in the opposite direction, still
sitting on the floor.

Dumbledore made an intricate series of movements with his wand over Harry’s midsection. A pale
blue, pulsing glow appeared below his waist.

“No permanent damage,” Dumbledore said to Harry, “One picks up a few things when he has been to
the Hospital Wing as many times as I have to sort out the latest *whodunit*” he explained. He
then took a step back, and carefully took aim with his wand.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Dumbledore asked in a soft voice. Even though Harry was still in misery,
and even though Dumbledore said this would help him, it was still a very scary sight to see a wand
being so carefully pointed *there*. Harry nodded slightly.

“Don’t move,” Dumbledore said politely. Harry closed his eyes.

*“Occaeco!”* he heard the Headmaster say gently. The next instant, Harry felt all of the
pain in his midsection disappear completely; his entire body relaxed now that that unique and
unforgettable pain was gone. He opened his eyes again.

“How do you feel now, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. Hermione decided it was safe and looked back.
Harry stood there for a moment, obviously trying to sense any lingering pain.

“Much better now. The pain’s gone,” he said, relieved. After rolling around on the floor, his
trousers had shifted slightly out of position. Harry hooked his index fingers through two of the
belt loops and gave a slight tug to pull everything back into place. After doing so, a slightly
confused look appeared on his face.

“Well, *that* would explain why I don’t feel any pain anymore,” Harry said to no one in
particular.

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. “A simple, localized numbing charm. Quite effective at relieving
such isolated pain, especially when there’s no serious physical damage that needs repairing. Though
obviously it has a side effect. Not a popular remedy for married couples, or so I hear. Don’t
worry, it will wear off eventually.”

Choosing to ignore the implications of those statements, Harry turned his attention to Hermione,
still sitting on the floor and wearing a very guilty expression on her face. “Are you all right
down there?” he asked her.

“*Me?* Yes, I’m fine. Are *you* okay? I am *SO* sorry Harry!” she said very
apologetically.

Harry smiled slightly. He found her concern rather endearing. And it really looked kinda cute.
“Yeah, all better now. But what about you? You haven’t gotten up yet. Did you hurt your leg when
you landed or something?”

“No, I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s just that when I saw you there, and saw what had
happened, I just felt so awful that I didn’t move. Then Professor Dumbledore told me to look away.
I guess I just never got around to standing up,” she admitted sheepishly.

Harry began to laugh. He had had his first personal introduction to a very obvious male
vulnerability. He’d been very lucky in his first fifteen years, especially considering how much
Quidditch he had played; he’d seen it happen to others, but never actually experienced it for
himself. With the pain gone, *now* he could laugh about it.

“*I’m* the one who got hit, and *you* felt bad?” he asked in amusement. “I guess I
should be glad it was only an accident. I’d hate to think what I’d feel if you ever got truly mad
at me,” he said as he tried to control his laughter.

Hermione looked up at Harry; seeing him laugh like that allowed her to smile slightly. “So would
I, Harry. So would I.”

With his laughter finally under control, he looked down at her and smiled again. He put his
hands out in front of him towards her. “Come on, let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

Hermione grasped his hands firmly as she pulled herself up, As he felt her hands in his, Harry’s
stomach begin to do flip flops. The last time he felt something like this was a few minutes earlier
at Hermione’s house, right before the Portkey activated. And the time before that was all those
months ago when Cho...

Pulling Hermione up (and fighting the almost instinctual desire to not let go of her hands),
Harry wondered if that feeling was simply another side effect of the numbing charm. However, even
Captain Oblivious knew that that charm was in effect over a place slightly lower on his body. Just
like how deep down he knew that the Portkey activated *after* he felt that swooping sensation.
But he *had* to believe those were just coincidences... for the only other possibility he
could think of was just simply too... *delusional*.

With Hermione safely on her feet, and with the pain on his front side abated, Harry finally
noticed the pain on his other side. As he discretely tried to massage his aching backside, upon
which he had unceremoniously landed, he cast a quick look at the Hermione. She was attempting to do
the same.

When he realized exactly where in the house he was, Harry immediately turned to where he knew
the portrait of Mrs. Black was. He was surprised to find that in its place, or more accurately, in
front of it, was a brand new curtain. It was tightly attached to the ceiling, floor and walls
around Mrs. Black’s painting and her moth-eaten curtains.

“We still haven’t been able to remove her,” Dumbledore said behind Harry, startling him. He had
forgotten that the Headmaster was there. Harry noticed that he had been doing that a lot lately:
forgetting there were people in the room other than to whomever he had been talking. He also
noticed that Dumbledore had been speaking at normal volume. Everyone usually whispered around Mrs.
Black.

Right then, Harry heard Mrs. Weasley come up the stairs from the kitchen in the basement. “Harry
and Hermione, dears. It’s so good to see you again,” Molly greeted them warmly, giving each of them
a small hug. She then stepped back and took a closer look at Harry’s face.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked, concerned. “You look like you’ve been crying,” she said, then
suddenly paled as she realized that she might have said the wrong thing.

Dumbledore immediately spoke up, chuckling. “Not to worry, Molly. Just some minor landing
difficulties, that’s all.” Dumbledore then turned to Harry. “Speaking of which, Harry, unless you
would care to recount for everyone what happened...” he said, taking out his wand again. Harry
smiled and shook his head. Dumbledore flicked his wand at Harry’s face; his tear streaks and
watery, red eyes immediately cleared.

Molly then turned to look at the curtain she had seen all three of them looking at when she
entered the room.

“It’s so nice not having to listen to her anymore,” Molly said with a hint of relief in her
voice. “It was Ron’s idea, actually... to put a silencing charm on her curtain. I’m not sure I want
to know *why* he knew to suggest that...” she said, more so to herself. Harry kept his
attention squarely on the curtain. Since every bed at Hogwarts was a four-poster with curtains (at
least in the boys’ dormitories), hardly anyone ever mentioned “silencing charm” and “curtains”
together in the same sentence. Harry wasn’t going to either.

“But anyway,” she continued. “We tried it, but her curtain refused to hold the spell. So we put
up a second curtain around hers, and it worked perfectly. Peace and quiet ever since,” she said
happily, but then added, “at least from her,” looking upstairs to where Harry assumed the rest of
the Weasleys were assembled.

“Go on up, dears,” she encouraged Harry and Hermione. “I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to
finish your cake.” Dumbledore, Molly, and Hermione all smiled when they saw Harry’s eyes light up
at the mention of cake.

Harry then turned back to the Headmaster, who had moved unnoticed towards the stairs that led up
to the drawing room.

“Shall we?” the Headmaster asked with a slight smile. Harry briefly looked back to Hermione; she
smiled and nodded.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore. “We shall.”

Harry climbed the stairs, followed behind by Hermione, and then the Headmaster. As Harry opened
the door at the top of the stairs, he immediately heard a dull murmur of voices; everyone was
simply milling around, waiting for them to arrive. Before anyone was able to notice him, Harry took
a quick look around the room to see who was there.

Indeed, everyone he had hoped would be there was, except of course for Neville, who was with his
family. Harry was surprised to see Percy as well, sitting quietly in the emptiest corner of the
room. He was talking with Remus. Harry noticed that everyone else seemed to avoid walking in that
direction.

With Hermione and Dumbledore behind him, he had to take several more steps into the room to
clear the doorway. His presence was detected on his third step.

“Harry!” Ron called out from the other side of the room. Harry turned to see Ron attempting to
extract himself from what looked like an in-depth conversation with Luna Lovegood. He also noticed
a small stampede of all the other guests heading toward him. He was immediately surrounded by a
small armada of his friends. It took several minutes for Harry to get thorough all the greetings,
handshakes, and hugs.

Finally, the crowd began to break up as Molly worked her way through it, calling out for
everyone to give him some room; she was brandishing a frosting-covered wooden spoon at anyone who
didn’t move fast enough.

When she reached Harry, she patted him on the back. “Well I see everyone knows you’re here now,”
she said warmly, and then handed him the spoon. Harry noticed happily that Molly had obviously left
a lot of frosting on the spoon. “Here you go, dear. Just finished.” As Molly turned back, she saw
the four youngest Weasleys eyeing the spoon enviously.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned them. “It’s Harry’s birthday. He gets the spoon.” The
four of them looked rather put out.

“I’m sure there’s a bowl somewhere that needs cleaning,” Harry suggested to them, holding the
coveted spoon protectively. He noticed Ron inching forward slightly.

“Go on!” Molly said to the four frosting fanatics. “And while you’re down there, someone can
clean that bowl properly once you’re through with it. And remember Ronald, Ginerva,” both cringed,
“you’re both still underage, so you get your brothers to do it, or you do it yourself by hand.
Bring the trays of lunch back with you. Fred, George, if you spill even a single item with one of
your levitations...” she warned them.

All four of them immediately made a dash for the door. As they ran down the stairs, Molly
suddenly remembered something and rushed to the door. “And if I find that so much as a fingerful of
frosting has been pilfered from Harry’s cake, so help me, *none* of you will get any of it!”
she shouted down to them as they ran to the stairs to the kitchen. Harry smiled as he heard someone
groan at being denied that opportunity.

Molly then returned. “Well, that should take them about two minutes,” she said in good humor to
Harry and Hermione. “Hurry up and eat that, dear, before they return. I can’t make any promises
once they get back.” Molly smiled at both of them, then she went over to join Arthur, who was busy
talking to Professor Dumbledore.

Harry took one great big lick of the spoon and was immediately in a chocolate-induced heaven. It
was one thing to feel the effect of Honeyduke’s best after a dementor attack; it was another thing
entirely to experience it when it had been whipped up and was in state where it *so easily*
melted in your mouth. Three licks later, he had completely cleaned off the back of the spoon.

Deciding that something this amazing had to be shared, Harry turned to give the spoon to
Hermione. He was a little surprised (and unnerved) to find that she looked as though she had been
watching him intently the whole time he had been enjoying his treat.

“Here,” Harry told her, handing her the spoon, “absolutely *brilliant!* You *have* to
try it.” He made sure to hold the spoon at the very bottom of the handle, to keep his hand out of
the way of hers.

Hermione smirked slightly as she took the spoon. “Yeah, I could tell,” she said. Not wanting to
intrude upon her chocolate bliss (and for other reasons also), Harry turned back to the group right
as she began to lick the frosting from the bowl of the spoon.

Molly was right. About two minutes after the four youngest Weasleys departed for the kitchen,
they returned, each carrying a large tray of food for lunch. Fred and George were carrying theirs.
Harry assumed they were unwilling to take the risk of spilling anything.

After setting his tray down on one of the two large tables that had been set up in the drawing
room, Ron came over to Harry.

“Blimey, mate. I’m sure glad you’re here finally,” Ron said to Harry, looking at the three other
trays Fred, George, and Ginny also brought up. “We’ve all been going insane today, smelling
everything that Mum’s been cooking. She wouldn’t even let...” he trailed off, then began to smirk
at Harry now that he got a good look at him.

“Harry, where did you learn how to eat?” Ron said with a laugh. “You’ve got chocolate all over
your mouth!”

“I learned by watching you,” Harry retorted.

*“Touché,”* Hermione said on Harry’s right.

“Ouch,” Ron conceded, still laughing.

Harry then turned to Hermione. “You knew?” he asked her, and then began to smirk as well. “Why
didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a playfully hurt voice.

“Oh Harry, it was just too funny looking. Believe me, you’ll laugh about it later,” she told
him.

“Oh, I know I will,” Harry replied mischievously. Hermione looked at him quizzically.

Ron then turned to Hermione also. “Yeah, Hermione. It’s not very nice to not tell someone when
they...” Ron trailed off, then he began to laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve got chocolate on you too,” Ron said very pleased, though his laughs had begun to
subside. “You’re as bad as Harry. How could you two *both* get chocolate on your—?”

Ron suddenly stopped and then began to look back and forth curiously between the two of them.
Harry suddenly sensed a possible “situation” developing with Ron. He recalled with great clarity
how jealous Ron seemed to be when Hermione went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. Sure, Harry was
pretty certain he could understand why Ron might get jealous of Viktor, but still, to go off
half-cocked like he did was a little much, in his opinion.

Fortunately, Hermione stepped forward to save the day. *As usual,* Harry thought to himself
fondly. She held up the now chocolate-free spoon she had been holding at her side. “Harry gave me
the other half of his spoon. The frosting was very good. What did you think of it?” she asked
Ron.

Whether it was the sight of the spoon or the mention of the frosting he had just sampled
downstairs, Ron immediately began to yammer on about how much he loved it. It took everything Harry
had to not start laughing at how easily Hermione was able to divert Ron’s attention away from them.
*Not that we had done anything, of course,* Harry said to himself.

A few minutes later, Molly came over to Harry and gently shepherded him towards the second of
the two tables. She then was able to silence the room with a very powerful clearing of her
throat.

*“Hem hem.”* The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. It was scary how much she
sounded like Professor Umbridge. Harry caught Hermione’s eye on the other side of the room and gave
her an *“I’m impressed”* look, which she returned, smiling.

*Like daughter, like mother,* Harry said to himself, recalling when Ginny did the same
thing in the Hog’s Head to distract Hermione from her “discussion” with Luna about the existence of
Heliopaths.

“All right everyone. Now that we’re all here and the food is here, let’s give Harry his presents
so we can all eat. I’ve already seen four people eyeing the fried chicken, so I think we’re pushing
our luck to wait much longer.”

Molly then turned back to Harry. “Just set your presents down on that table and then you can
open them after everyone has eaten,” she said cheerfully. “Somehow I doubt there will be any food
left if you open them all now.”

Her head then snapped to the other side of the room where the food was. “Ronald!” she shouted.
Ron withdrew his outstretched hand away from the small mountain of fried chicken.

“Yes, Mum,” he said sheepishly as his six other siblings began to snicker.

Molly then turned back to the group. “Okay everyone. *It’s time...*” she said in an unusual
voice. Harry suddenly had the feeling that something was odd.

*Are they planning something?* Harry wondered.

As requested, Harry went over and stood next to the table. Once he was ready, everyone in the
room began to gather in an informal line. Whether it was planned or not, Professors Dumbledore and
McGonagall were at the head of the line.

“Mr. Harry James Potter,” the Headmaster said to Harry, but loud enough for all to hear. “Born
in early afternoon, on this day as the seventh month came to a close, sixteen years ago. I will not
bore you all by recounting some of Harry’s more embarrassing moments.” Ron, Fred, and George booed
in the background. Dumbledore then chuckled slightly. “I will save the boredom for the start of
term announcements.” Everyone in the room began to laugh.

“However I will say that no matter what Mr. Potter has in store for us in the future, one of my
fondest memories will always be of the day he got me sacked, not just a few months ago,” the
Headmaster said, his eyes twinkling as most of room began to snicker. “It was quite a holiday for
me, if I do say so myself. My only regret was that I missed all of the Weasley twins’ escapades...
something about fireworks... and a swamp, if I got all the tales sorted out correctly?” He then
turned back to Harry.

“Unfortunately, it would be considered rather inappropriate if staff were seen giving presents
to some students and not others. So, please consider this as simply me making a delivery,”
Professor Dumbledore said quietly as he handed Harry a parchment envelope; the wax seal was stamped
with the emblem of the Ministry of Magic.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said as he shook Harry’s hand. As Harry turned to
set the envelope on the table, the Headmaster stepped to the side and Professor McGonagall stepped
in front of him.

“Happy birthday... Harry,” she also said as she shook his hand. As they were both unaccustomed
to her using his given name, he nodded slightly and told her thanks, resulting in a half-smile from
his Head of House.

Next in line were Arthur and Molly Weasley. As they came up to him, Harry happened to notice
that Percy was several places back, looking very uncomfortable.

“Harry!” Arthur exclaimed. “You saved my life when you saw... well, you know what. What more do
I need to say?” He paused for a moment. “Other than to say that I would be happy to call you our
seventh son. Happy birthday!” Mr. Weasley shook his so vigorously that for a moment Harry was
afraid he might lose his arm.

Before moving aside so his wife could get a shot at Harry, Arthur came in close and lowered his
voice. “And we really do need to get together some time so you can explain what a credit card is.”
Harry smiled and nodded.

As he turned back, Harry had time enough to see Molly come rushing forward with her arms
stretched out. *Uh-oh,* he thought as she wrapped her arms around him. Fortunately, it wasn’t
quite as fierce a grip as Hermione had on him when he first arrived at her house.

“Oh Harry, dear. I don’t want to battle on here too much,” she said, a little choked up.
“Everyone is waiting in line behind me. Let me just say that you’re welcome to come over and have
dinner with us any time you want to, free of charge of course,” she added with a smile, referring
back to the thank you letter Harry sent her. “Happy birthday!” she cried as she hugged him again.
When she handed him his present, a seam in the wrapping paper separated slightly; the wonderful
smell that escaped foretold that it would not be around for long.

Next in line were Remus Lupin and Tonks... together, Harry noticed. *Then again,* he told
himself, *they must’ve come with each other since they were living together... in the same
house,* he hastily corrected. *Shouldn’t jump to any conclusions,* he chided. *After all,
Hermione and I are living together too.* As those words passed through his mind, he felt his
stomach surge as though he had hooked his foot on something very heavy, say... an anvil, and just
barely caught himself on his other foot before falling. *Yep, best keep those conclusions to
myself,* he thought as he tried to shake off the feeling.

All of this inner musing did have one drawback; he completely missed everything that Tonks had
said to him. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have snapped out of it if she hadn’t given him a quick
hug. “Happy birthday,” was all he heard her say.

Lupin was next; maybe later Harry could talk him into repeating what Tonks had said. “Harry,” he
started after clapping him on the back, “you were born to two of the best friends a man could have.
And you were godson to the third. They were all taken from you long before their time, but the love
they had for you has obviously lived on, for here you are, standing before us all, ready to
celebrate your sixteenth birthday.” Lupin was getting a little misty-eyed, as was Harry. “I,
*ahem,* found this in Sirius’s room when I was in there a few weeks ago,” Remus choked out. “I
know he would have wanted you to have it,” he said as he handed Harry a small present.

As Lupin and Tonks walked off to join the others who had already wished Harry well, Harry looked
back to see that Percy was next. He still looked as uncomfortable as before. He quickly glanced
past him to see Fred, George, and Ron all standing together, watching. Harry could not read the
expressions on their faces.

“Well, hello there Harry,” Percy started uncertainly. He shifted his weight nervously from one
foot to the other. “I guess all I can say to you is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m
sorry for the things I said about you. And most of all, I’m sorry for that letter I wrote Ron. I
was wrong about everything that mattered. I hope I’ll have the chance some day to start over with
you.” Percy then stopped talking and stood there silently, staring at his feet.

Harry knew it must have humiliating for Percy to do this in front of everyone. As he listened to
Percy say his piece, he remained undecided about what to do. It may have seemed heartless, but as
far as Harry was concerned, he really didn’t care one way or the other if he and Percy reconciled
their differences. What Harry did care about was whether Percy and the rest of his own family
did.

Harry looked over Percy’s shoulder and glanced back at Arthur and Molly, who were standing near
the back of the room. They had a mildly concerned look on their faces as they watched Percy talking
to Harry. When Arthur saw Harry looking at him, he gave him a very slight nod that no one else
saw.

With that, Harry made up his mind. He assumed that the worst blood had been with Arthur; if
things were on the mend with him (maybe not fixed, but at least progressing), then Harry was more
than willing to give Percy another chance. He stuck his hand out toward Percy. “I’m Harry Potter.
Nice to meet you, Percy Weasley.” Percy eagerly shook Harry’s hand, then he quickly retreated back
to his empty corner of the room.

Next to greet Harry and bring their presents were Charlie, Bill, and Fleur. “Well, Harry. It
seems that Charlie and I will have the easiest time here,” Bill said with a grin. “We really
haven’t had much chance to get to know you other than what we hear from Ron and Ginny.”

Charlie then picked up. “And believe you me, those two aren’t the most reliable when it comes to
telling us what a prat you really are,” he said as everyone began to laugh. “So, we’ll let you get
away with just a Happy Birthday.” Both Bill and Charlie also shook Harry’s hand.

“Oh, ‘Arry,” Fleur cried as she came up to him. “I will never truly be able to zank you enough
for ze bravery you showed when you rescued Gabrielle. I know now zat she was safe all ze time,
‘owever neizer of us knew zis at ze time. If you are ever in *Francaise*, please stop and
visit. I know Gabrielle would be *very* ‘appy to see you again!”

For some unexplainable reason, Harry found himself glancing over at Hermione. She didn’t look
entirely thrilled about something. *Then again, she never really did look happy whenever Fleur
was around,* Harry thought to himself as he suddenly remembered some of the looks he caught on
her face, like after the time Fleur kissed him when he rescued Gabrielle.

Harry’s remembrances were cut short as Fleur stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks.
*“Joyeux Anniversaire!* ... I mean, ‘Appy Birzday, ‘Arry!” she said, then stepped away with
Bill after they set his present on the table. Again, Harry looked unexpectedly at Hermione. To his
surprise however, he found that she was smiling. If her previous behavior, as he remembered it, was
any indication, he expected that she wouldn’t be. But yet she was. Before he had anytime to think
about it though, Hagrid came up next.

“I’s good ter see yeh again, Harry,” Hagrid said after giving him a slap on the back that nearly
caused him to fall down. “I’ll never ferget the day I took yeh on Sirius’s ol’ bike ter ‘em
horrible relatives of yehrs. ‘Bout broke me heart knowin’ yeh’d have ter spend so long with ‘em.
An’ I can never thank yeh enough fer savin’ ol’ Beaky. Anytime yeh wan’ ter come’n visit’m, jus’
lemme know. Happy Birthday, Harry!” Hagrid then lifted a large sack of something up from behind
him. As he set it down on the table, Harry distinctly heard the sound of solid, heavy objects
rubbing against each other. *Rock cakes?* Harry thought to himself fearfully.

As Hagrid worked his way to the back of the room, Harry took a quick glance at the remainder of
the informal line. All that were left were Fred and George, then Ron, Ginny, and Luna, then finally
Hermione. Fred and George were up next.

“Harry, old pal,” Fred started (or was it George?). “We won’t stand up here all day and tell
stories of how you saved us. Come to think of it. George,” Fred said to his brother, “I don’t think
he ever has saved our lives.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that, Harry?” George asked in mock offense. “What? Are we not good enough
to be saved?” he asked, trying to maintain a straight face.

Looking around the room, Harry saw that most everyone was trying not to smile. “No,” he replied,
“I think you’re simply the smartest ones in the room. You’ve never *needed* to be saved.”

“You know what, Gred?”

“What, Forge?”

“I think he’s calling us chickens.”

“I do believe you’re right, dear brother.”

“Just you wait, Harry,” George warned teasingly. “One of these days you’re going to bite into
the wrong piece of candy, and then we’ll all see who the chicken is around here.”

“Um, George,” Fred said in a stage whisper, nudging him with his elbow. “Those are Canary
Creams. We don’t have anything that does chickens... yet.”

George’s face screwed up in concentration for a moment as he tried to remember something. After
obviously being unsuccessful, he put on his earlier face of warning.

“Like I said,” George continued dramatically, “we’ll all see who the canary is around here!”
Everyone in the room burst out laughing, even Percy. George then came up and clapped Harry on the
back. “Happy birthday, Harry!”

Fred then stepped forward to wish Harry well also. At first, Harry thought Fred and George did
not have a birthday present for him. While he was always ecstatic to get any present (after ten
years of Dursley birthdays), he really didn’t care if he got one or not. What really was important
to him was that they were there. Besides, they had already given him the Marauder’s Map, and that
present would probably account for many birthdays worth of presents.

At the last second, Fred pulled a very small package out of his pocket. It was unlike any other
of the other presents. “Wrapped in plain parchment for your privacy,” he said very quietly, and
with a grin.

“We were thinking of making that a delivery option for our catalog... only one Sickle extra,”
George beamed. He then took on a slightly devious grin. “Absolutely guaranteed, Harry.”

“Yeah, we, um, tested it ourselves,” Fred piped in, glancing awkwardly at his twin. George
appeared to shudder slightly at some memory, then he promptly took one step away from Fred. Harry
took the present and looked at it with trepidation. It was very small, probably no larger than a
salt shaker. Knowing the source, this was either a very good sign, or a very bad sign. Harry
decided to err on the side of caution; he very gingerly set it down on the table, as far as he
could away from the rest of the presents.

Right before joining everyone in the back of the room, Fred and George quickly looked at each
other with a grin then turned back to Harry.

“Oh, and Harry,” Fred said.

“About next year,” George finished.

“We solemnly hope that you will *still* be up to no good,” they both said
simultaneously.

Ron was next. He looked about as uncomfortable as Percy did, though Harry suspected for
different reasons. A pattern seemed to have emerged with everyone sharing some personal story. Ron
really was never one for this kind of talk. He trudged up to Harry, his present under his arm. When
Harry later looked back on this, he would admit that he was pleasantly surprised.

“Well mate. I don’t really know what to say. We’ve been best mates since the day we met on the
train. We’ve survived trolls, spiders, dementors, Death Eaters, Snape, and even a bossy know it
all,” Ron said with a laugh. For some reason, Harry didn’t think it was quite as funny as Ron did;
it was worth a grin, but not a laugh, he thought.

He glanced over Ron’s shoulder and caught Hermione’s eye. When she saw him, she shook her head
slightly with hint of a smile as she rolled her eyes. Harry shot a quick grin back at her, and then
returned his attention to Ron who was still talking.

“—than a bouncing ferret,” Ron finished with a happy sigh as he recalled one of his favorite
memories of all time. Everyone else in the room began to chuckle, so Harry, who really hadn’t been
paying attention, forced one as well.

Ron’s face then became serious. “Harry, for almost five whole years, you’ve been the best mate a
bloke could have. Happy birthday, Harry!” Ron said before giving him a quick one-armed hug (he was
still holding the present).

From somewhere in the back of the room, Harry heard one of the two twins shout out as Ron handed
Harry his present. “Okay now Ronniekins, give him his birthday snog.” As everyone else in the room
(except Ron and Harry) sniggered, Harry could see both Fred and George ducking as they tried to
escape the reach of a determined, though smiling, Molly.

Adding Ron’s present to the ever growing pile on the table, Harry could not help but notice how
heavy the present felt for its size. Acutely aware of how heavy Hermione’s was, he thought to
himself, *He didn’t get me one too, did he?*

Now that Ron had rejoined the rest of the group in the back of the room (standing so that Molly
was between him and the twins), only Ginny, Luna, and Hermione remained. Harry noticed how the
three of them seemed overly happy. Well, truth be told, Luna looked to be her normal dreamy self.
But Ginny and Hermione definitely seemed to be looking forward to something.

As he looked around the room, Harry could not help but notice that every single other person in
the room wore a knowing smile on their faces, as though they were expecting that something was
about to happen, something that Harry was obviously not clued in on.

Harry looked again at Hermione. She, more than anyone else, seemed to be wearing the largest
grin. *“Well, I didn’t think it seemed too out of line,”* he remembered her saying the day
before. Whatever *it* was, he was pretty sure he was about to find out very shortly.

Ginny stepped forward; she seemed to be having a bad case of the blushes. It wasn’t however,
quite as bad as Hermione had, he recalled, when he kissed her cheek after letting his emotions get
away from him after receiving his O.W.L.s.

As Ginny began to speak, Harry noticed that her lip began to tremble slightly. “You came after
me when I was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. You killed the basilisk, and destroyed Riddle’s
diary and him at the same time. You saved my life. Me, who had been chasing you around all year.
You, who had been running from me chasing you. And yet you still risked you life to save mine.

“And then this last year, you started the D.A.—” *and Hermione,* Harry thought to himself a
little defensively, *it was her idea,* “—so that we all could learn how to defend ourselves
after that fraud made it clear that she wasn’t going to teach us anything,” Ginny said more
confidently, now that her determination had begun to replace her embarrassment.

“At the Ministry, we were outnumbered two-to-one by Death Eaters, but what we learned from you
kept us alive until the Order arrived.” As soon as she said it, Ginny winced slightly as she
realized that she was indirectly mentioning Sirius. She paused for a moment. Harry suspected that
she had something more to say, but was debating whether or not to, after bringing up Sirius.

In the end, she must have decided against it for she immediately regained her determined face
and put on a smile. “Happy birthday, Harry!” she exclaimed as she handed him her present. As he
took it, she fixed him with a very piercing stare. When he saw this, he suddenly felt very exposed,
as though he was being observed and judged by everyone, which really wasn’t that far from the
truth.

When Ginny saw the slightly confused, slightly fearful look on Harry’s face, a delighted smirk
appeared on her face. “Don’t worry, Harry. I won’t kiss you like Fleur did,” she assured him.

Harry, who had been thinking nothing of the kind as he set her present down on the table, was
about to ask what she meant when he very unexpectedly found out *exactly* what she meant. In
what seemed to Harry like super fast motion, Ginny rushed forward, put her hands on his face to
hold him in place, and then gave him an intense kiss on the lips.

When she finally released him, she stepped back, and blushing brightly, told him, “Happy Sweet
Sixteen, Harry!” She seemed very breathless as she said it, though Harry seemed to be okay in the
oxygen department. As she walked hurriedly to the back of the room to join a very satisfied looking
Ron, Fred, and George, Harry replayed the scene in his mind to try to figure out exactly what had
just happened.

He recalled her wishing him a happy birthday, then, something he missed the first time, he heard
one of the twins shout out *“Do it!”* She then stepped forward and kissed him. Though it was a
regular closed-mouth kiss, he could remember feeling that there was some eagerness by Ginny behind
it.

As he recalled the feeling of Ginny’s lips on his, he was surprised to realize that it didn’t at
all feel awkward or unpleasant, like he imagined kissing a sister would be. On the contrary, it
reminded him a great deal of how it felt when he kissed Cho Chang; it was rather nice, actually.
Though his experience was limited, Harry knew enough to know that kissing was quite an enjoyable
sensation.

At the same time, however, he realized that it was different also. Unlike when he kissed Cho,
all of those many months ago, there was no swooping sensation in his stomach. There was no lurch in
his insides that told him that the kiss *meant* something to him. There was nothing, except
simply the pleasant feeling of a warm pair of lips pressed against his.

As his mind returned to the living room of Grimmauld Place, Harry realized that he in fact did
not consider Ginny a sister, at least in *that way*; at the same time however, and with a
small amount of inexplicable satisfaction, he also knew that he didn’t have any feelings for her in
that way either.

Harry’s thoughts suddenly shifted to Hermione. She knew what he had said earlier about Ginny
being like a sister. As he looked at Hermione, he was surprised to see that she had a large grin on
her face. That didn’t make any sense. As far as Hermione knew, Harry had just been given an intense
kiss by his sister, and she seemed amused, almost excited.

He then remembered what she had said the other day about his party. She knew something was going
to happen. Was this it? As he looked around the room, everyone was wearing quite satisfied grins on
their faces, as though they had all been waiting to see this; Fred and George were even
chuckling.

Harry looked back to Hermione, who was still standing behind Luna. When she saw him looking at
her, wordlessly trying to ask if this was what she was talking about when she mentioned being out
of line, she merely smiled even wider and wagged her eyebrows as if to say... well, actually, Harry
didn’t know what she was trying to say. All he knew for sure what that there was some message
hidden in there. He would have to ask her later.

Luna stepped forward next, holding her thin present. The way her unblinking eyes stared at him,
he felt as though she was looking right through him and seeing the wall behind him. “Hello, Harry,”
she said in an airy voice. “I was told that I was supposed to do this. Everyone said it was
tradition. I’ll admit it’s not one I’m familiar with, but who am I to decide that it’s strange? So,
I’ll just play my part, and wish you well on this fine day.”

As Luna handed Harry his present, Harry began to wonder what exactly she had been talking about.
*What was tradition?* Harry asked himself. *And why is Ginny making a wolf-whistle?*

Harry’s consideration of what exactly Luna meant and what Ginny was doing was brought to an
abrupt halt when Luna stepped forward and gave him a very nice kiss on the lips as well. When she
finally stepped back a second or two later, she looked at him again. “Happy Sweet Sixteen,
Harry.”

If Harry was surprised by Ginny’s kiss, then he was even more so by Luna’s. *Was this was
Hermione had been hinting about?* Harry wondered to himself. *That they would be giving me
birthday snogs?* Now that he thought about it like that, he remembered one of the twins shouting
*“Give him his birthday snog,”* to Ron. If everyone knew that the girls were planning this, it
would certainly explain a few things.

While he hadn’t been expecting what Ginny did, he at least thought he knew why she kissed him.
In fact, now that he thought about it, he noticed that there wasn’t that little something extra in
Luna’s kiss that there was in Ginny’s... something that suggested feelings behind it.

What Luna may have lacked in emotional investment, she certainly made up for with skill. Luna,
to Harry’s immense surprise, was a very good kisser. He didn’t know much about her personal life,
but he assumed that she didn’t have much practical experience. If that *was* the case, then
she certainly had natural born talent, not to mention very nice lips.

As pleasurable an experience as it was, again, he noticed that while even now he still felt a
slightly tingling sensation in his lips, there was no tingly feeling in his chest, like the one he
had felt so long ago, so many miles away.

Harry looked around the room again. Everyone looked quite pleased with Luna’s second gift...
except Ron, however. After having just watched his best mate being snogged by Loony Lovegood, Harry
expected to see Ron in riotous laughter. Instead, if anything, he seemed confused by... something.
*Maybe Ron didn’t know what was planned,* Harry wondered.

Harry finally again looked at Hermione. She was certainly looking like the cat that ate the
canary. *She knew! She knew all along that this was what they were going to do!* Harry said to
himself amused. He felt as though she had outsmarted him somehow, even though he didn’t know that
there was anything going on between them.

*Payback time,* Harry said to himself. Hermione was next; she was the last one, actually.
If Hermione had been aware of the plot, then it seemed perfectly logical that she was going to kiss
him also. A slightly devious smile appeared on Harry’s face. He remembered how much she blushed
when he accidentally kissed her after reading his O.W.L.s. He would have to make this a kiss for
her to remember... strictly for payback, of course.

Harry saw Hermione return his devious smile when she realized that he knew what was coming. He
was so intent on trying to figure out what he should do that he missed a quiet voice in his head
asking, *Payback for what?*

Finally, everyone in the room settled down. Everyone had been very quiet as they listened to
what each person had to say. With the second of Harry’s two best friends ready to speak, everyone
was most anxious. Hermione stepped forward in front of Harry.

Hermione stood there for a moment, without saying anything. She smiled lightly, as if to break
the ice. Harry returned the smile.

“Being the last one, Harry,” Hermione started, addressing the room more so than Harry directly,
“it’s given me a chance to see a pattern emerging. Harry saved the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry saved
Mr. Weasley. Harry saved Buckbeak, and Sirius, for that matter.” Harry felt a surge of something as
Hermione mentioned saving Sirius from a dementor’s kiss.

He expected that he’d feel bad being reminded that Sirius was now gone. All he could remember
right now however, was seeing him alive in Flitwick’s office that night, knowing that he was safe
as they flew away with Buckbeak. He remembered how tightly Hermione had been holding on to him, all
the while muttering how much she didn’t like flying. An irony suddenly struck an amused Harry:
Hermione didn’t like flying and she lived on Broomhill Road. Harry’s wandering mind was reigned in
as Hermione began to speak again.

“Harry saved Gabrielle and Ron from the merpeople,” Hermione continued. “Of course they weren’t
in any danger, but he didn’t know that. Harry saved Ginny and destroyed the memory of Riddle. Harry
battled wand to wand with—” she looked left and right as if to look at everyone behind her, and
then winked at Harry and grinned, “*You-Know-Who.* Not only did he survive, but he also
brought Cedric back home to his parents. And then, just a few months ago, he faced him again and
came out alive, once more.

“I once told him that he had a *saving-people* thing. Whatever my intentions at the time
had been—” Harry smiled slightly as remembered *that* discussion; he could smile this time
because he knew that she’d been right, all along, “he’s certainly been able to prove that it’s true
over the years. And well earned, I might add.”

“Yes, it certainly seems that Harry here *IS* the hero.” She took a half step forward. He
knew he was jumping the gun, but he could not help but look at her lips before she continued to
speak. When she did continue, even though he could not hear any change in her voice, for some
reason he felt as though she was speaking directly to him and him alone, even though the room was
full of people. Her voice sounded exactly the same as it did just a few seconds ago, but yet...
somehow, it just *felt* softer for some reason.

“He’s gotta be strong. Facing Voldemort five times? Yeah, I’d say so.” Harry assumed that most
everyone in the room had shuddered when Hermione spoke Voldemort’s name, but somehow he didn’t
notice anyone else’s reaction.

“He’s gotta be fast. Getting the golden egg from the Hungarian Horntail with your Firebolt?
Yep.

“He’s gotta be fresh from the fight. Breaking down my door because you thought I was in trouble?
*Most definitely.*” A huge grin and a slight blush appeared on Hermione’s face.

“He’s gotta be larger than life. Jumping on the back of a fully-grown mountain troll?
Absolutely.

“The song said I’m holding out for a hero. Well, it’s wrong. I *already* found my hero.”
Harry blinked a couple times. His eyes were beginning to feel slightly warm. He looked back at
Hermione. Her eyes seemed to have a slight sparkle to them also, though she looked happier than he
could ever remember seeing her.

She took another half step forward. Again, he found his gaze being drawn to her lips. He knew
what was coming. “Harry,” Hermione said unevenly, “you’ve saved my life more times than I care to
remember. And believe me, once is one time too many. You *ARE* my hero. Thank you. Happy
birthday,” she said quietly.

Hermione handed Harry his present for the first time (that other time, it just seemed to fall
out of the sky and land in his lap, literally); it was still as heavy as he remembered it.

He knew what was about to happen. She had kissed him before in fourth year; he kissed her just
this week. This would be just the same... no big deal. Right?

As he turned to set the present down on the table, he thought for a moment about what he could
do to make good on his plan, to make it a kiss for her to remember, since he seemed intent on
getting payback. Again, he missed the voice nearly shouting, *FOR WHAT?*

She had known that the other two girls were going to sneak their kisses in. He couldn’t just
simply stand there and *let* her kiss him without doing something. It would have been like
letting her have her seat on the sofa without even trying. Sure, it had been a while since he
actually *tried* to sit there, but he at least had been pretending to try to take it all
along, just for fun.

So, what could he do? He knew it was just a birthday kiss, so he couldn’t do anything too
dramatic. Plus, everyone was watching. *Oh well,* he told himself, *maybe I’ll just think of
something when the time comes.*

Harry set the present down and turned back to face Hermione. She took another half step forward.
There was now only two feet or so between them. Hermione looked at Harry; Harry looked at Hermione.
This was it.

But now that the moment was here, all he could feel was his insides tearing themselves apart in
anticipation, as though there were some monster in there like in that movie Dudley loved to watch.
He was quite unprepared for the intensity of it. It was like nothing he had ever felt in his
life.

“Do it!” Harry heard one of the twins shout.

Harry looked into Hermione’s eyes. She was standing there, staring at him, smiling. *Am I
supposed to do this, or is she?* he wondered. Ginny and Luna did all the work. Harry was just an
unwitting passenger along for the ride. But now that he knew, was he supposed to do it?

“Come on... do it!” he heard the other twin plead in a teasing voice.

Hermione took yet another small step forward. She looked as though this was exactly what she
wanted, and yet she seemed nervous about it too.

“Hermione,” Harry started.

“Go for it, Hermione” Ginny cheered in the background while Harry was still talking.

“Everyone is watching,” Harry continued. A determined smile appeared on Hermione’s face as she
heard Ginny. “I think they’re all waiting for you—”

“Harry? Just shut up and kiss me,” she said in a very matter of fact tone, still grinning from
Ginny’s exhortation.

“As you wish,” Harry replied, quoting that oft-used response to being given an order in Emma’s
favorite movie. Hermione smiled, then she closed the remaining distance between them.

*A/N: Oh, I am in SO much trouble! Heh heh heh. I seem to remember saying something back in
Chapter 4 about not having cliffhangers. Hmmm... Looks like I was wrong! :-P*

*Also, a big nod to MapleMountain (again) and his totally awesome story,* Keeping A
Promise*, for the “Just shut up and kiss me,” line. I know you’ve told me before that you’re not
the first person to use that line, but you are where I got the idea from. As soon as I decided to
start writing, I knew I wanted to have that line in here at least once. Maybe even more than
once....*



14. Where My Heart Will Take Me
-------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N: When I first started writing this section, the song “Where My Heart Will Take Me”
immediately popped into my mind.*


*First and foremost, thanks to my beta MapleMountain. I felt like such an idiot after
posting Chapter 13. I borrowed the “Just shut up and kiss me” line from his story. I had been
waiting thirteen long chapters to be able to finally use it, and when I did, I forgot to credit
him. Sure, I went back and fixed it, but not before most everyone already read it.*


*We’ve seen a little father/son talk with Dan and Harry. Now we’ll get a chance to see a
mother/daughter talk.*


*I truly believe that everything here is completely in character, even though we’ve never seen
anything like it in canon. (Then again, there were certain parts of HBP that I didn’t think were
based on canon, so what do I know? )
Remember, we’re dealing with teenagers. It would be unbelievable if they didn’t deal with these
things. The real question is how do they act upon what they are feeling. As a wise man once said,
“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”*


*Remember, real life... PG-13...*

Chapter 14. Where My Heart Will Take Me.

*“Harry? Just shut up and kiss me,” she said in a very matter of fact tone, still grinning
from Ginny’s exhortation.*

*“As you wish,” Harry replied, quoting that oft-used response to being given an order in
Emma’s favorite movie. Hermione smiled, then she closed the remaining distance between
them.*

It was a very curious sensation. Harry watched as Hermione smiled after he quoted *The
Princess Bride*. He was surprised he thought of that, actually; it was the first thing to pop
into his mind. She then took that last step toward him. That was when things really started to get
strange.

For lack of a better description, Harry felt as though time itself began to slow down the closer
Hermione got to him. He could see her hair sway in slow motion as she moved forward. There was only
a foot separating them, and yet it seemed as though it took an eternity for her to reach him.

Hermione finally began to close her eyes as she tilted her head slightly. He recalled when Cho
kissed him under the mistletoe back in the Room of Requirement. It was the first time he had ever
kissed anyone. It was true that Hermione had kissed him on the cheek the year before, but he hadn’t
kissed her back.

Harry recalled with great clarity (*What’s the saying? Hindsight is 20/20?*) how awkward it
was with Cho. He had absolutely no idea what to do. He had never done *that* before. It
certainly didn’t help any that she had been crying. *Ron was right! What kind of girl cries when
you kiss her?! Honestly! At least Hermione isn’t crying! Heh heh... she looks happy,
actually...*

*What was I talking about?* Harry wondered to himself. He was quite unnerved how much his
mind was wandering. If anything, he’d describe it as babbling. *Oh yeah! Hermione.* She had
tilted her head slightly so that their noses wouldn’t crash together. *Wish I had known that last
year,* Harry thought with some regret. *This is really bizarre how everything seems like it’s
in slow motion.*

Hermione was now so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of her face. With the time
finally at hand, Harry decided it would be better if he closed his eyes also. Ginny’s and Luna’s
kisses had come so suddenly that Harry didn’t have time to close his eyes. They’d both closed their
eyes, but he hadn’t. Strictly from a practical standpoint, it was very uncomfortable trying to look
at someone when they were literally one inch away from your face.

With his eyes now closed, Harry felt as though he was on autopilot. He could no longer see
Hermione, and yet, somehow, he knew *exactly* where she was, down to the millimeter. He heard
her take a breath at the last moment, one last chance to stockpile oxygen. Harry did so as
well.

After what seemed like hours, Harry finally felt Hermione’s lips upon his. In that moment, the
entire universe stopped. The monster of anticipation clawing away at his insides disappeared. His
restless mind silenced. He was even pretty sure the beating of his own heart stopped. There was
nothing except his lips and Hermione’s.

Ever since the moment he realized that Hermione was going to kiss him, he had planned to do...
something. He couldn’t simply stand there and just *let* her kiss him without doing something.
She had known, after all, that the other two... whose names he couldn’t recall for some reason...
were going to kiss him.

And yet, now... he found that that was *exactly* what he was doing. All of his intentions,
all of his plans, they were all swept away the instant her lips touched his. At first, Harry felt a
sense of exhilaration. He had to admit, kissing *was* very nice... whether it be Cho, Ginny,
Luna, or Hermione.

But this... this felt different somehow, different than the other three. Maybe it was because he
knew it was coming. Maybe it was because he had time to prepare for it. For some reason, this whole
thing... kissing Hermione... it seemed to stretch out forever. He had time to feel it. He was ready
for it.

And then suddenly, without warning, he realized why *this* felt different. He *WAS*
ready for it, for *this*.

As the kiss continued, Harry became aware of a simple truth: this made sense. It didn’t make
sense that it made sense... and yet... *it made sense*.

When Cho kissed him, it *was* nice, to be honest, but everything about the situation had
been awkward. He was terrified, paralyzed. He felt as though he had been put on the spot by
standing under the mistletoe. She had been crying. And to top it all off, she was crying because of
Cedric. *She said she really liked me, and yet she kept thinking about him... kept bringing HIM
up.*

It was a little better when Ginny and Luna kissed him. It had all happened so suddenly that all
he really had time for was to feel it... to feel the sensations of them kissing him. Only
afterwards did he have a chance to think about what had happened. Even then, it was just how Ginny
wasn’t his sister, how... skilled... Luna was. But that was it.

As he stood there, kissing Hermione, he suddenly realized that he did enjoy it... but not in a
way that he expected. Before their lips actually made contact, Harry never really got around to
thinking about what might happen or what he might do. He assumed that it would be just like kissing
the other two.

But this... here... now... it was all different. He felt as though he had all the time in the
world to think about what was happening, to analyze the situation. But instead, all he did was
stand there and enjoy it while it lasted.

*It made sense.* Those words never actually crossed through his conscious mind. It was
simply a feeling that penetrated his entire body... a state of understanding, a feeling of
completeness, a sense of security that one felt *only* when things made sense.

It was at this point that Harry did something he would wonder if he would regret. Until now, he
had simply stood there and let Hermione kiss him. As that sense of security grew, he knew that he
could not let go of it. And so he began to return the kiss.

He didn’t really know exactly what was different about it; he didn’t know if he actually did
anything different, physically. Maybe it was simply a matter of intention. He *wanted* to kiss
Hermione. He knew that he shouldn’t. He knew that this was just some meaningless birthday snog. But
every instinct in his being told him that he *had* to kiss Hermione. So he did.

As he began (in his mind, at least) to return the kiss, he vaguely became aware of the fact that
he was still in a room filled with people. Everyone was watching them. He wanted desperately to be
able to kiss her like he had seen in Emma’s favorite movie. But he knew he couldn’t. So he focused
all of his attention on finishing this one kiss. He had gone into it intending it to be something
for Hermione to remember. How surprised he was to find out that it was now something for *him*
to remember.

Finally, after what seemed like years, he felt... well, *sensed*, actually, the strength of
Hermione’s kiss decrease slightly, then grow even stronger for the briefest of moments. In Harry’s
addled mind, it was as if she moved to break the kiss, then decided to kiss him again, even more
intensely. Shortly after that, he felt his lips grow cold. So cold and alone.

He opened his eyes to see that Hermione had begun to step back away from him, her eyes still
closed. As she stepped away, Harry felt and heard a great rush of sight and sound, as though he had
been thrown back into the normal flow of time.

He quickly looked around the room. Everyone was looking at him exactly the same as when he
kissed Ginny and Luna... looks of amusement and satisfaction. No one watching them seemed aware
that anything had happened out of the ordinary. Harry was absolutely sure that if anyone suspected
even a fraction of what had been racing through his mind, someone would have said something,
whether in lecture, anger, or ridicule. But no one seemed nonplussed by any of it.

No one, that is, except Hermione. When Harry finally looked back at Hermione, he found that she
was staring at him intently, with a slight look of confusion (and possibly fear?) on her face.
Harry’s stomach felt as though it fell to his feet.

*She knew!* Harry said to himself in panic, though he struggled to maintain a brave face.
*Somehow she knew!* Harry was scared. He himself didn’t know exactly what was going on, but it
was obvious she already knew... whatever it was.

*Hermione’s POV...*

Hermione was scared, though she tried not to show it. She had been so eager to give Harry his
birthday kiss. She promised herself that she wouldn’t get carried away. Harry didn’t fancy her. He
couldn’t. She never really expected that she’d ever get the chance to kiss him the way she had
wanted to for so long.

But then Ginny wrote to her, asking what they should do for Harry’s sixteenth birthday.
Unbeknownst to Harry, she and Ginny had written back and forth daily, sometime with Pig, sometimes
with Hermes (it seemed as though Ron had been doing some letter writing as well, according to
Ginny). Hermione had told Ginny that Harry didn’t really want anything extravagant... it was more
important to him who was there than what they did.

Quite at the last minute, yesterday to be exact (when Hermione nearly had a heart attack from
seeing Harry trying to read the letter), Ginny suggested that since they weren’t going to do
anything else special, it’d be fun to give Harry a Sweet Sixteen birthday snog. If it were any
other person, Hermione would’ve refused without even giving it a first thought. But she couldn’t
refuse this.

Even though she knew that Harry didn’t think of her in *that way*, some part of her still
clung to the hope that if the day ever came when Harry saw her differently, things might change.
The fairy tale princess in her hoped that she might be able to “wake him up” with a magical
kiss.

Perhaps that was why she had been so eager to kiss him. Well... to be honest, that wasn’t the
*only* reason she wanted to snog him senseless. But *THAT* was an *entirely*
different matter all together. Still, some small part of her hoped that maybe if she was able to
break through to him, he’d see her as someone other than the “bucktooth, bushy-haired, bossy,
bookworm know-it-all” that she believed everyone thought her to be.

Even though her teeth were fixed over a year ago, anytime her self-doubt wanted to reassert
itself, it always managed to summon that painful alliteration that had managed to ingrain itself
upon her mind at her other school all those years ago... before Hogwarts, before Harry.

Despite everything that her heart told her, her mind was able to keep herself in line. Harry
didn’t fancy her. If she just went up to him and started snogging him, it would ruin everything. At
the very least, she’d scare him to death. And he might even get mad at her. That would destroy any
chance she might’ve ever had with him. Even worse, he might not want to be her friend anymore. How
awkward would it be for him to be around her if he knew how she truly felt about him?

That was what scared her most of all: losing her best friend. She could deal with not being able
to be *with* Harry the way she wanted to; she’d done it for two years now. The only reason it
was even bearable was because Harry was still her best friend. If Harry didn’t want to be around
her anymore because he felt uncomfortable, it would absolutely and totally devastate her. She knew
how he felt about being around Ginny when she still fancied him. And she’d had a front row seat
(much to her secret delight) for the end of Cho.

So now... now that she had given Harry his birthday kiss, as she stepped back from him, she
looked at him and realized what she had done. She went too far. The moment her lips touched his,
she felt herself being swept away. Even though he was just standing there, she could feel her
entire heart pouring out of her and into him in her kiss. And then she felt it.

Harry did... something. She had no idea what, but she could feel a change in the way his lips
felt. Part of her, the part that believed in elf-rights, in S.P.E.W., the part of her that other
people might call delusional... that part of her hoped that he was kissing her back. But the rest
of her told her that Harry must have realized what she was feeling.

She knew going in that she was too eager for this. She knew that there was a very likely
possibility that Harry would realize that this wasn’t any ordinary kiss, that it *meant*
something to her. And when she felt him do whatever he did, she knew it was all over. As panic
began to flood into her, she moved to break the kiss.

At the last moment however, she felt like her heart was breaking, so she had to kiss him just
one last time. She feared it might be the last time she would ever be near him again. Before
breaking contact, she kissed him again, putting everything she had into it (at least, as much as
she could without opening her mouth).

When she finally looked at him, he wasn’t meeting her eyes. He was looking everywhere in the
room, *except* at her. When he finally did look at her, she could see fear in his eyes. *He
knew!* At that moment, she knew that Harry must have known how she felt about him... and he was
afraid. She had done exactly what she had promised herself that she wouldn’t do... exactly what her
mother advised against.

*Flashback to Harry’s first day at the Grangers’...*

Hermione stood there, watching Harry trying to figure everything out. “You said there’s a new
Fidelius Charm in place protecting me here? But your parents *couldn’t* tell me where I was
staying. Who’s the Secret Keeper?”

Hermione had been waiting for what seemed like forever for this moment to arrive... ever since
Professor Dumbledore agreed to move Harry to her house. It only made it better when he asked how it
was all possible. Somehow, she hoped that by telling him that this was all her doing, it would
somehow change how Harry looked at her. Well, that and the terribly uncomfortable T-shirt she was
wearing. Suddenly, she noticed Harry’s expectant, yet puzzled look and realized he had asked her a
question.

Fighting to keep the huge grin on her face from taking over, she replied very quickly, “I
am.”

A few moments later, the water began to boil and the tea kettle whistled; Harry visibly jumped.
It was just so funny to see how startled he was, it took everything she had not to start laughing
right then and there. As they all went to sit down and her father transferred the water to a
teapot, everyone finally began to laugh from Harry’s jump.

Hermione watched very closely as Harry laughed. She couldn’t really remember the last time she
saw him laughing like that. That sight alone caused her heart to flutter; it made everything worth
it. Writing that letter to Harry, arguing with the Headmaster. Even all of fifth year seemed worth
it now... now that she saw Harry laughing out loud.

As stopped laughing, Harry stared down at the tea cup in front of him. Hermione watched him
intently, trying to figure out what he was feeling. Harry began to smile slightly. She didn’t know
if it was from what he was feeling or if he just now noticed the school crest on the cup. As Emma
slowly poured the hot water into Harry’s tea cup, Hermione suddenly noticed that her mother had
seen her watching Harry. She quickly turned her gaze back to Harry, only to see him look up at her.
She knew she had been caught... worst of all, by both of them.

Hermione watched as her father put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and led him into the living room.
“Come on, Harry, let’s get you settled in,” he said as they left the living room. Hermione stayed
at the table. She knew her mother wanted to talk to her.

Hermione watched Harry as he picked up Hedwig’s cage. She could hear him talking to his owl; he
spoke so softly that she couldn’t make out the words. He looked happy though. That was all that
mattered. He then reached in and petted her head.

Hermione continued to watch as he moved out of sight (there was no point in hiding it from her
mother *now*), finally going upstairs with her father. When she was sure the two of them were
out of earshot, she turned back and looked at her hands, which she had set on the table top in
nervousness.

“So, tell me,” Emma began, now that they were alone and Hermione had indicated that she was
ready to listen, “how far gone *are* you?”

Hermione tried not to laugh. Her mother was almost always able to read her perfectly. “Am I
*that* obvious?” Hermione asked in amused defeat.

“Only to me and your father... and only because we’ve read every single letter you’ve ever sent
us from school,” Emma answered with a slight smile. Hermione felt better knowing that her mother
could at least smile about it.

“You do realize that in the last five years, you’ve never sent us a single letter that didn’t
mention Harry in one way or another?” Emma asked in good humor.

Hermione shook her head since she didn’t realize she had done that, but then smiled since she
really wasn’t at all surprised that she had.

“The funny thing is... it was your father who first noticed it,” Emma explained. Hermione looked
at her in surprise.

“The first few letters we received, we didn’t think anything one way or the other about him. He
was, after all, just some boy you read about in a book. And then later, he was just the friend of
another boy who was mean to you. And then he was some boy who saved your life.” Emma chuckled
slightly.

“Even though we were terrified to hear about the troll incident, Harry still just seemed like
another classmate of yours,” Emma explained. “But then Quidditch season started. When you wrote the
letter mentioning Harry’s first game—not Gryffindor’s first game, Harry’s—your father said to me,
‘The day our daughter becomes interested in sports is the day there’s a *boy* in her life.’”
Both Emma and Hermione laughed lightly.

“With every letter you wrote, we knew he was something special to you. It didn’t seem like you
had any... feelings for him, yet, but we knew he was different than everyone else. When you came
home for Christmas first year, you told us all about him. We were so happy for you. We knew things
hadn’t been going as smoothly at your other school.”

Hermione smiled. “I remember that,” she said fondly, “telling you all about Harry and Quidditch
and my classes.”

“In that order too, as I recall,” Emma added with a smirk. Hermione turned slightly pink, but it
quickly passed.

“I know that Harry is very special to you,” Emma prodded gently. “When we agreed to allow Harry
to stay here, we knew that you quite probably did have more than *just* friendly feelings for
him. And we were willing to trust your intentions. But what I just witnessed a few moments ago
suggests that maybe there’s a little more going on than we realized. So, to my original question:
how far gone *are* you?”

Hermione sighed then stared at her hands for a moment. “Mum?” she asked, not looking up, “how
did you know when you were in love with Dad?”

Emma’s head dropped slightly. “I see,” she said. The way Emma said it, Hermione couldn’t tell if
she was happy, sad, or even angry. She had to try to explain herself a little better.

“How did you know that it was more than just some schoolgirl crush? Harry... He... I...” She
paused and then sighed as she collected her thoughts, and then continued “All I know is that he’s
more than *just* my best friend... at least to me.” Hermione then finally looked up at her
mother.

Hermione could see a wide variety of emotions on her mother’s face. But most of all there was
happiness mixed with guarded concern. “Well,” Emma started, a little uncertain of where to begin
with her daughter, “why don’t you tell me a little more about you and Harry?”

“Well, you already know most everything there is to know,” Hermione began. “I’m sure I’ve given
you his life history in my letters over the last five years. He’s my best—”

“No,” Emma interrupted, “*tell* me about *you* and Harry,” she clarified.

Hermione nodded, then looked down at her hands as she wrung them nervously.

“Perhaps I should start at the beginning,” Hermione suggested; Emma nodded with a slight smile.
“It all started on the train ride into school. One of the other students lost his pet toad, so I
was helping him look for it. I walked in on a small, bespectacled little boy who was watching his
new friend try to cast a spell. It wasn’t a real spell, of course.

“Somehow I knew that he was just like me, from a non-magical family. I could just see the wonder
and excitement in his eyes as he watched Ron wave his wand around. He seemed rather put out when
nothing happened.” Hermione paused for a moment then smiled slightly. “Then again, that could have
just been from me. I, ah, seem to remember coming across as rather abrasive with Ron. Little did I
know that it would mark the beginning of five *years* of abrasion with Harry’s other best
friend,” Hermione chuckled in good humor.

“The school year began to progress,” Hermione continued. “I began to notice how I was starting
to drift away from my classmates. I just felt like I had to prove myself against everyone else who
came from magical families.” Hermione looked up at her mother to see her grinning at her. Emma then
looked at her wrist as if to check the time.

“Yes, yes, I know. *I know.* Harry. Get to Harry. I’m just trying to put it into context,”
Hermione explained exasperated, though with a smile. She knew her mother was just teasing... but
not by much. Hermione could easily sit there all night recounting the story if she wasn’t prodded
along a little.

“The point *was*,” Hermione said, mock-glaring at her mother, “that Harry and I
*weren’t* friends, but at least he didn’t seem to dislike me like I felt everyone else did.”
She paused to take a deep breath. “And then came Halloween. I already told you about the troll, and
what Harry did. But I never told you how I felt afterwards.

“I was absolutely terrified. I just knew I was going to die right there. And then he went and
jumped on the troll’s back. Ron was the one who knocked it out with its own club, but I’ll never
forget the sight of Harry hanging there on that troll’s back. To a small, petrified, twelve year
old girl, seeing him like that, risking his own life to save mine, with literally no thought
beforehand whatsoever of the risk to himself, he just seemed... larger than life. I know it seems
so cliché, but that’s how I felt. Harry was the hero who saved my life.

“From that point on, we were friends. All three of us,” Hermione quickly added. “He was
*just* a friend. Then, at the end of the year, he went to face Quirrell and Voldemort. I was
so scared that I might lose him, my first real friend. I practically jumped on him, hugging him. I
told him I thought he was a great wizard. You know what he said?” she asked her mother, who shook
her head.

“He told me that he thought I was better than he was. ‘Books! And cleverness!’ I told him.
‘Friendship and bravery’ were more important, I said. I knew then that Harry was different, that he
was special to me, more than just a friend. But I didn’t know why.” Hermione looked back down at
her hands and smiled, slightly embarrassed at the memory.

“I really wasn’t *interested* in boys yet, so he was just special, somehow. I guess that’s
when I started to consider him my best friend. I didn’t know if *I* was *his* best
friend, and I really didn’t care. He was *my* best friend, and that was all that really
mattered to me.

“Another year went by. Harry had another whole new set of adventures, and we became closer
friends... all three of us, really,” she added honestly. “Everyone thought he was the heir of
Slytherin, attacking the other students, so it was a rough year for him. But then again, when has
he ever had an easy year?” Hermione added, almost as an afterthought.

“Things started to change slowly in third year. Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and was
after Harry, or so we all thought. I was worried. I was scared that I might lose my friend. It
terrified me when Ron was attacked. Partly because my other friend was in danger, but mostly
because it *could’ve* been my Harry,” Hermione said shakily. Emma was barely able to keep a
neutral expression when Hermione said “my Harry.” She needed to hear the rest of the story to
decide what to make of it.

“Every time something happened that year that scared me, Harry managed to come out okay,” she
said with an obvious look of relief that was beginning to mix with another, more affectionate look.
“Every time he came out okay, I could feel a wave of relief and happiness wash over me. I could
feel myself being drawn closer to him, emotionally.

“I told myself that it was perfectly natural for someone to feel that way when their best friend
dodges a bullet, and that it was nothing more than that,” Hermione explained. “But deep down, I
knew that I didn’t have *as intense* a reaction when Ron came through his scary moments.”

Hermione stopped for a moment to get a glass of water, partly to help relax herself, and partly
because her throat was getting irritated. She’d spoken more today than she had in the weeks since
arriving home.

“It’s after lunchtime,” Emma said quietly. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m not too terribly hungry right now,” Hermione said as she stood by the sink, looking out the
window into their backyard. “My stomach’s still a little jumpy from the anticipation of seeing
Harry. Want to split a sandwich?”

Emma smiled and headed for the bread box. “What would you like?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” Hermione requested.

Emma turned around to look incredulously at her daughter, smiling all the while. “It’s been a
few years since I’ve made one of *those* for you,” Emma said happily.

“I may be nearly of age in the wizarding world, but you’ll always be my Mummy... with or without
bandages,” Hermione said as she took her glass of water and sat down, fondly remembering her
favorite Halloween costume that her mother wore.

Emma smiled slightly, quickly turning around to return to the bread box. Hermione could see her
raise her hand to her eyes. “I’ll make it, and you continue your story dear,” Emma said as she
headed to the cabinet where the peanut butter was, keeping her back to her. “You said you could
feel yourself being drawn to Harry, but not Ron,” she said, reminding Hermione.

“Oh yeah. Well, everything came into focus at the end of the year,” Hermione explained. “We had
gone back in time to rescue—”

Hermione was interrupted when her mother began to chuckle. “I’m sorry dear,” Emma said as she
turned around, rubbing her face in amusement with her hand. “You know how your father and I love
sci-fi, but I still can’t get over the fact that you *really have* traveled through time.”
Emma smiled and shook her head in amazement, and pride. “*My* daughter has actually traveled
through time.”

Hermione allowed her mother to enjoy her moment. Using a Time Turner didn’t have quite the same
excitement as driving a DeLorean eighty-eight miles per hour or accelerating past Warp 10 as you
slingshot around the sun, especially when you were trying to take multiple classes at once, as well
as saving two innocents from an unjust death. *And it was gigawatt, not jiggawatt,* the
perfectionist in Hermione complained to herself, recalling her biggest cinematic pet peeve. After a
few seconds, Emma gestured her hand towards Hermione to indicate that she could continue.

“So, Harry and I had *gone back in time* to rescue Sirius and Buckbeak,” Hermione said with
a smirk, emphasizing those words. “We had to use Buckbeak to fly up to a window. I was terrified. I
hated flying. But what choice did I have? Tell my best friend, ‘Sorry, I can’t help you rescue your
godfather because I’m scared’?

“So, I let Harry help me up onto Buckbeak. He climbed on, then we took off. I remember quite
vividly muttering, ‘I don’t like this — oh, I *really* don’t like this,’” Hermione recalled. A
very contented look then appeared on her face. “I was so scared that I held on to Harry with all my
strength. I pretty much just buried my face in his back.

“When Buckbeak made a sudden turn, I was startled and inhaled suddenly,” Hermione explained. “He
was a little... not his freshest... from running around. But more than that, I noticed something
else. The first time around, he had been attacked by the dementors. He had stains all over him from
when he fell to the grass. As I sat there, holding on for dear life, I remembered smelling the
grass.”

Hermione paused and smiled to herself. “It reminded me of the Quidditch pitch where I always
watched Harry play. I remembered thinking that I was holding onto Harry for my life. I smelled him,
the grass stains on his clothes. I closed my eyes and suddenly I felt safe. There I was, terrified
of flying... I was probably fifty feet off the ground on the back of a flying horse, and I felt
absolutely safe, holding onto Harry. I knew that I never wanted to let go of that feeling, ever
again.”

Hermione looked up at Emma who had sat down across from her. In her recollection, Hermione
hadn’t seen her set the half sandwich down in front of her. Emma was smiling, holding her partially
eaten sandwich in her hand; her eyes were glistening.

Hermione took this moment to begin eating her sandwich. Emma sat there for a moment, thinking
about what her daughter had just said. A sudden look of realization appeared on her face.

“And then you came home and heard me listening to ‘Holding Out for a Hero’?” Emma asked. “I
remember you coming out of your room, suddenly *very* interested in that song.” She then
thought for a moment again. “‘Isn’t there a white knight, upon a fiery steed?’ Hermione smiled,
nodded, and blushed lightly.

“But what was even worse than that...” Hermione said, letting her voice trail off. “Do you know
anything about hippogriffs?” she asked her mother, who shook her head. “They’re symbols of love,”
Hermione explained simply. “They’re also symbols of the impossible... there’s a medieval saying,
‘to mate griffins with horses.’ Kind of like ‘when pigs fly.’” Hermione saw the inquisitive look on
her mother’s face. “I was *motivated* to do a little research on hippogriffs,” she
explained.

“For a while, I was sure that it was a sign that I didn’t, couldn’t, or shouldn’t have feelings
for Harry. A hippogriff was a sign of the impossible. But then I realized that *that* didn’t
matter. It represented the impossible, and yet... *there it was*. It was real. It existed. I
had flown on the back of one, holding onto someone that made me feel safe, holding on for my
life... holding on *to* my life?” Hermione said quietly, almost as if asking herself.

“Fortunately, the school year ended soon after that,” Hermione continued. “I wasn’t sure if I
wanted to be around Harry until I had sorted everything. I was deathly afraid that he’d find out.
Practically half the girls in school had secret crushes on him. The last thing he needed was to
find out that I did too. Plus I was afraid he would tell me that he didn’t like me back.”

She took a few bites of her sandwich and continued her story. “As fourth and fifth years went
by, my feelings for him only grew. It, of course, didn’t help at all,” Hermione said, smiling,
“that he always seemed to come to *me* for help. But he never talked to me about Cho, thank
heavens, until it was already too late.

“I saw him in fourth and fifth years constantly sneaking glances at her when he thought no one
was looking. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have noticed if *I* hadn’t been sneaking looks at
*him*,” she admitted with a guilty grin.

Emma chuckled slightly. “Yeah, I remember that, *all too well* back in my day.”

“So I sat there and watched him watch her. It hurt a little,” Hermione said with a sigh. “And I
was jealous of her as well. But I had convinced myself that it would never work out with them
anyway. Desperate? Maybe. But it was what I believed. She was already going out with Cedric in
fourth year.

“I knew Harry wasn’t going to ask me to the ball. He was too focused on her to notice anything
else. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he even noticed Cedric until he realized that he was her
dance partner. I was so glad that I had already said yes to Viktor when Ron asked me to go.

“It just infuriated me to no end that Ron had *assumed* that no one would ask me, and that
he expected me to just simply sit around and wait for *him* to ask me. We argued, really
argued, after the ball. He was mad that I went with Viktor. He said that he had wanted to go with
me all along. If he’d really wanted to go with me, he should’ve just asked. I probably would’ve
said yes. The truth was that I *only* went with Viktor because I really did believe no one
else would ask me.” Emma looked at her knowingly, and Hermione grinned sheepishly in response.
“Well, I may have been a bit flattered, too... being noticed by such a famous wizard, that all the
girls seemed to have a crush on, and he asked *me* to go with him.”

Hermione paused for a moment. “I wasn’t willing to give up on Harry just yet, but I also refused
to be one of those people who wastes their life away, pining for something they can’t have. In my
heart of hearts, I believed that Harry and Cho wouldn’t work out, so I was willing to wait. But, in
the meantime, I promised myself that if anyone better came along, that I would not let it pass me
by.”

Hermione was still staring at her hands, as she had for most of her entire story, so she did not
see her mother begin to smile when she said “if anyone better.” “After my date with Viktor, I
realized then I truly believed that there *was* no one better than Harry. Viktor was nice,”
she admitted. “He had his little quirks that were... annoying, but I promised myself that I’d give
him a chance.

“When he asked me to come visit him in Bulgaria over the summer—” Hermione started to say when
Emma suddenly dropped the last bit of her sandwich on her plate.

“You were only *fifteen!*” Emma interrupted, shocked.

“I know,” Hermione replied defensively. “He told me that he never felt like that about anyone
else before.” Emma scoffed in disbelief. “I believed him, Mum. The *point is* that when he
said that, I realized that we weren’t on the same page. He *was* nice, you know, and I was
happy that he wanted to take me to the ball. But I was *NOWHERE* near ready for anything like
that. And, even if I *was* ready for that kind of commitment, I wasn’t going to run off to
another country after one dance.

“The truth was that I just didn’t feel any chemistry with him. When he kissed me goodnight after
the ball, I didn’t feel *anything*. Nothing. When they left to go home, he pulled me aside and
asked again if I would come visit him. I told him I couldn’t, that I just didn’t return the
feelings he had.”

Hermione then smiled slightly. “He told me that he understood... that he too knew what it was
like to fancy someone and not have them return those feelings. He said that as he glanced back at
Harry. Evidently, I, uh, mentioned Harry a few times when Viktor and I were together.”

Emma smirked. “A few times?” she asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tilted her head to one side as if to say *“Guilty as
charged.”* “He told me that I shouldn’t give up on someone if I really cared about him, at least
not until I knew that it was too late. Just like how he wasn’t going to give up on me.

“He asked if we could still be friends, write letters occasionally. He promised he wouldn’t make
the first move. I had already... politely declined once, so he said he was willing to *just*
be my friend if that’s what *I* wanted. But he left it open, saying that if I ever changed my
mind... I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I knew I wouldn’t.

“But, at the same time, it actually gave me a little hope. For all intents and purposes, here
was the Bulgarian version of Harry, in terms of how everyone else saw them. Here he was, and
*he* fancied *me*. It gave me hope that that if Harry got over Cho, he might see me. No
one else seemed interested in me... at least no one who could carry on a civilized conversation
without constantly fighting with me... so I didn’t see any harm in holding out hope.”

“After the train ride home, when no one was looking, I kissed Harry goodbye on the platform.
Partly because he looked like he needed it, and partly because I wanted to,” Hermione admitted,
mostly to herself.

“When fifth year came, it was all I could do to just be there for him. Everything was going
wrong for him and he wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around. I already told you about most of
it. The dementors, the trial, the nightmares, Occlumency, *Umbridge*.” Even Emma’s eyes
narrowed at the name of the professor she had heard so much about.

“But what I didn’t tell you about was Harry and Cho. They got together, *finall*y, around
Christmas, but things were already on the rocks by Valentine’s Day. Hearing her in the loos, all
she did was cry over Cedric. And that was the *last* thing Harry would’ve wanted to talk
about. When she wasn’t crying over him, she was bad mouthing me, for being Harry’s friend.”

A decidedly wicked smile appeared across Hermione’s face. “And she was right to be jealous of
me,” she said with a chuckle. “I *was* after her boyfriend. But she obviously refused to
believe that I wouldn’t try to steal him from her, like he was some sort of trophy.

“But what was worse was that she couldn’t see that Harry *did* fancy *her*, and that
he *didn’t* fancy *me*. I’m just guessing here, since he didn’t talk about her much, but
I’m willing to bet that she would’ve, at some point, forced him to pick between her as a girlfriend
and me as *just* a friend.”

Hermione smirked again. “Now, of course I don’t know for sure, but I like to tell myself that he
would’ve picked me... as just a friend. Harry really didn’t like her crying all the time, and I
think he took it hard when *her* friend ratted us out.”

“Is that the one you told us broke your contract?” Emma started to ask.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “So then at the end of the year, we went
to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius. When I was hit, as I fell to the ground, I
remember telling myself ‘It was all worth it,’ before I lost consciousness.” Hermione
absent-mindedly rubbed where Dolohov’s curse had struck her. The visible scars were gone, and she
was down to one potion a month until school started again.

“And then I came home, and the rest, I think, you know,” Hermione finished.

“Whatever happened with Viktor after he left?” Emma asked, surprising Hermione.

“We wrote to each other several times. Truthfully, I did enjoy writing to him. However, I only
ever replied to his letters. I was never the first one to send one. Then in March, I think it was,
he sent me his last letter, saying that he had met someone... someone very special.”

An embarrassed, but happy smile came over Hermione. “He told me that he had secretly been
comparing every girl he met to me, and he finally found someone who was worthy of me.” She laughed
fondly. “He told me that he meant that as the highest compliment he could think to give me. He told
me that he had found his own Hermione, so he wished me all the luck in getting my Harry.”

Emma sat there for a few moments, thinking about all that her daughter had just told her. “What
are your feelings for Harry right now?” she asked bluntly.

Hermione quickly looked into the living room to make sure her dad and Harry were still upstairs.
“Harry... means the world to me. He...” her lower lip began to tremble slightly, “he... I can’t
imagine my life without him anymore. I know that sounds drastic at sixteen, but I truly can’t. Even
if he were to fall in love with someone else... I’d be devastated of course, but as long as he was
still my friend, I’d survive.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but I’d give my life in a heartbeat to save his,”
Hermione said as her eyes began to tear up. They were, however, tears of raw emotion, both happy
and sad. “Harry’s my first crush, and I’m only sixteen, so I don’t want to throw the L-word around.
That word means too much to me to use it lightly. But at the same time, however, I feel so strongly
for him that I have to at least wonder about that word.”

Emma studied her daughter very carefully. “Do you want to have sex with him?”

“MUM!!!” Hermione shouted as loudly as she could in a whisper.

“It’s a perfectly fair question to ask,” Emma said, “especially since he’s going to be living
with us. The *only* reason I ask,” she tried to explain, “is that I see in you some of the
things I remember from when your father and I were dating. *I* don’t know if you’re in love.
Only you can answer that. But I am pretty sure that this is more than just a passing fancy.”

Emma broke eye contact for a moment to allow both of them a chance to collect themselves. After
a few moments, she then turned to her daughter again. “I also happen to see that you’re wearing a
shirt that you haven’t worn since I first took you bra shopping. *Honestly, dear!* Were you
*trying* to give him a heart attack when he first saw you?”

Hermione immediately turned bright red and put her face in her hands. After a few seconds, she
began to chuckle. “This shirt is awful, isn’t it?” she asked her mother as she looked up, after
wiping away the evidence of her earlier emotion.

“Well... I’m sure Harry enjoyed it. But can you see where I’m coming from, dear? You’ve told me
how important Harry is to you, and then I see that you’ve... put yourself on display. Can you at
least understand why I *might* want to know your feelings on *that*? We had ‘the talk’
years ago, and I even signed that permission form you owled to us. Do they really only teach that
to the girls?” Emma asked, suddenly switching topics.

Hermione was secretly grateful for the change of subject. When her mother mentioned about when
she and Dan were dating, Hermione knew that they were getting dangerously close to the one subject
in the world that Hermione could not handle: her parent’s sex lives. Hermione could spend hours
talking about sex with her mother... it was simply all academic to her. The talks they had about
pregnancy, diseases, the moral and social contexts, they all didn’t faze her in the slightest. It
was all just information.

Hermione was even perfectly comfortable talking about her personal feelings about her own sex
life... since it was still entirely theoretical. But if her mother even mentioned a single word
about the fact that she and her father had ever had sex (even though, intellectually, she knew they
had to have done so at least once...), it really made Hermione uncomfortable. She herself was
amused by the fact that she’d rather face Death Eaters than listen to one more story that ended
with *“and then we... oh, never mind.”*

“Like I told you once, the wizarding world is still a little old fashioned,” Hermione explained.
“They feel that only the girls can be trusted with that kind of information. Part of me doesn’t
agree with that mentality, that *that* information should be restricted. Then again, part of
me also wonders what the school’d be like if every male, third year and up, knew that with a single
word they wouldn’t have to worry about getting a girl pregnant.

“It’s kind of nice, actually, knowing that they *do* have to worry about getting a girl
pregnant, especially since *we’re* the ones who have to carry the child... oh, sorry,”
Hermione said quietly as she looked up at her mother. Emma shook her head to indicate no apology
was necessary. “If they all knew a second, simple word protects against diseases... well, let’s
just say that I’m sure the broom closets would no longer be safe for brooms.

“You know what the really sad thing about all that is?” Hermione asked her mother. “That the
‘special meeting’ with Madam Pomfrey and Professors McGonagall and Sprout actually started out
centuries ago as the exact opposite. Back when marriages were arranged and people got married at
fourteen to sixteen, that class originally started as a way for the school nurse to *teach*
the girls about... *married life*.”

“So, Hermione, do you want to have sex with Harry?” Emma asked bluntly, changing the subject
back again. Hermione looked down at her hands and mumbled something unintelligible, though Emma was
pretty sure of what she said. “Sorry?”

Hermione closed her eyes, looked up at where she knew her mother’s eyes were, and then opened
them. “I said... *at some point,* yes.” Hermione fidgeted in her chair slightly. “Look, I
don’t know whether it will be on my wedding night, on my engagement night, or next Thursday night.
*You know what I mean,*” she added defensively when her Emma blinked at the ‘next Thursday’
part.

“All I can promise you is that I am in no rush to do that. And I decided years ago that I was
not going to commit my body until I had already committed my heart, mind, and soul to someone.
Believe it or not, my mind would actually be the last to agree, since I wouldn’t... until I knew
that he... *whoever* he was... until I knew that he had also committed *his* heart, mind,
and soul to me.

“*That...* the way *you* described it, the merging of two bodies into one, it sounded
too... meaningful... to simply throw it around casually, even though I knew I could, if I wanted
to, what with the protection spells that we learned. I’ve actually heard several girls talking
about it in the loos or in the dormitories when I was on rounds... about their first times.. Most
of them made it sound so rushed, so awkward, that I knew that wasn’t what I wanted to do.” Hermione
then closed her eyes and rested her head in her hand again, waiting for her mother to speak.

Emma cleared her throat. “Hermione, dear. I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud that you’ve
decided to not rush into anything, *especially* considering that you know how to... take care
of yourself, in both the magical and non-magical worlds. This is a decision *you* have to make
for yourself. Please remember, if you ever want to talk to me or your father about *anything*,
our door will always be open.”

A slight, guilty grin appeared on Emma’s face. Unfortunately, Hermione did not notice it until
it was too late. “Unless of course our door is closed. Then you should really knock first.”

“MUM!!” Hermione hissed.

“And speaking of doors being open,” Emma continued, eager to get out from under Hermione’s death
glare. “Considering where we are *now*, there is one last thing I want to tell you. I know how
uncomfortable you get when I tell you... personal stories, so I’ll try to spare you the details.
But I *need* for you to listen.”

Hermione wanted to complain, but her mother had never actually requested that she listen to a
“personal story.” They usually just happened by accident. So she decided that she would give her
mother the benefit of the doubt.

“As you know, your father and I met in our first year at university. By second year, we were
dating seriously. At the time, we both felt that we might’ve found the person with whom we wanted
to spend rest of our lives. At one point, your father’s dormitory roommate left for the weekend. We
both decided we wanted to sleep together... *JUST* sleep.

“We’d both fallen asleep together on the dormitory common room couch enough times trying to pull
all-nighters that we both realized that we enjoyed the feeling of waking up next to each other, so
we wanted to try it for real... but *only* that. Friday night came and went, and we woke up
together Saturday morning, without anything else happening.

“We were so happy. We had the most wonderful evening the night before and started the day
perfectly, waking up together... all without taking things too far. Dan took me to lunch, we saw a
movie, and then we went back to the dormitory. Since it was Saturday, the other students were
rather boisterous, so I closed the door behind me as we walked in to help block some of the noise.
I also locked it since his next door neighbor liked to just walk in unannounced to visit Dan’s
roommate.

“I thought that was rather rude, so I locked the door... for that reason and no other. It was
early afternoon, so we just hung out, listening to music, talking about the movie. At some point,
your father said something entirely innocent... I honestly don’t remember what. I just suddenly
stared at him, tackled him, and starting snogging him senseless.

“It wasn’t the first time I had done that, but after the day, and night, we had had, it was just
different this time. I could feel raw desire coursing through my veins. It was obvious he did too.
*Skipping ahead,*” Emma said, emphasizing that she was leaving certain details out, “we both
woke up several hours later, around dinner time. We were content, in each others arms, wearing
nothing but our smiles.

“It then suddenly dawned on us what we had done. While by no means did either of us regret it,
we were, however, absolutely terrified. It all happened so suddenly, we hadn’t taken any
precautions. Fortunately, we were each other’s firsts, so there was no concern in that area, at
least. But neither of us wanted to be parents at nineteen.

“When nothing came of it, we were so relieved.” Emma sighed slightly. “Though, looking back, if
we had known then how hard it would be for us to conceive when we *were* ready, we wouldn’t
have been so happy that nothing happened then...” Emma trailed off, then looked at her daughter. It
was obvious that Hermione was uncomfortable, but she *was* paying attention.

“The point, my beautiful, miracle baby, is that when you care for someone that deeply, when
you’re at the point when you wonder about the L-word, the time *will* come when you will want
to be *with* them, physically. From the sounds of things, you at least know that, for you,
that time is not now.

“When it does come, whether it’s on your wedding night, your engagement night, or next Thursday
night, it will hit you hard. It’s hard to understand what that means if you haven’t *felt* it
for yourself. When that time comes, you won’t be able to stop yourself... you won’t *want* to.
And if you’ve put yourself in a situation where you don’t HAVE to stop yourself, you won’t. You may
end up doing something that can’t be taken back.

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s your decision. If you know that the time is not now, then
just... don’t close the door. Leave the door open. If we’d left the door open, we would’ve had to
stop to close the door. That would have at least given one of us a few seconds to allow the
hormones to settle slightly, to give us a chance to catch our breaths.

“It’s a remarkably effective... calming method... knowing that, with the door open, a neighbor
might walk by unexpectedly... or when I was visiting him at his home, the possibility that his
parents might walk in on us suddenly.”

Emma stopped for a few moments to finish off her sandwich. Hermione was sitting there, staring
blankly at her still mostly uneaten sandwich, lost in deep thought.

“Tell me something, dear. Why did you want Harry to stay with us?” Emma asked gently.

“Because he *needed* to get away from his relatives,” Hermione answered honestly. “He
needed to be somewhere where he would receive support to help him with the loss of Sirius. I hate
to say it, but it’s clear now that, if I hadn’t interfered, he wasn’t going to get that from the
Headmaster. The Weasleys are too tied up now with their own familial problems to be there for him.
Besides, I think Mrs. Weasley would have smothered him. He as sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten it
from the Dursleys. So, as far as I could see, that left only me... us.”

“Was there *any* other reason you wanted him here as well?” Emma asked, knowing her
daughter all too well.

“I missed him. I wanted to see him, to be near him. Even if he doesn’t return my feelings, I
still have them. He makes me happy just being around him.” Emma smiled lightly and patted
Hermione’s hand affectionately. She then stared at Hermione again, waiting for the last part,
waiting for the reason she wore that particular shirt.

Hermione looked down at the table again, then looked back up. “And... a small part of me was
hoping that if we could spend some time together, even with you and Dad around, that maybe he’d
start to see me a little differently. That’s why I wore this shirt. I wanted him to realize that
this was me at home, not me at school.”

“But dear, *this,*” Emma said, indicating her shirt, “*isn’t* you at home.”

“I know,” Hermione conceded, “I just needed to... make a strong first impression.”

Emma thought for a moment, unsure if she should be amused or not. “What impression exactly
*did* you want to make?”

“*All* I wanted to do,” Hermione answered honestly, “was to make sure the last thing he saw
me as was ‘Hermione at school.’ He’s so used to seeing me in my school uniform and my regular
clothes that I had to find something that he’s never seen before. And it wouldn’t hurt if it
reminded him that I was a girl. But I promise you that *that* was all I had in mind.

“I wasn’t going to jump him, or anything like that. And I didn’t intend to wear this again.”
Hermione fidgeted in her seat a little. “This shirt is horribly uncomfortable,” she said with a
chuckle.

“The last thing Harry needs right now is some girl throwing herself at him, especially his best
friend.”

“Best friends make the best lovers,” Emma suggested, watching her daughter’s reaction
carefully.

“My point is that *that* is not what he needs right now. All I want to do is be there for
him. Period. Now... if he happens to start to look at me differently along the way...” Hermione
said with a slight grin as she trailed off. “But this shirt definitely goes back in the
dresser.”

“Or, better yet, into the rag bin. I’m really surprised you were able to squeeze into it today.
You know, sometimes boys are more likely to notice little things about a girl he fancies than if
you just hit him over the head with an anvil,” Emma offered. “If you come on too strongly,
sometimes it scares them away.”

“That’s certainly true,” Hermione agreed, thinking of her other best friend. She was pretty sure
Ron had fancied her since at least fourth year, but if fighting with her was how he showed it, then
she could certainly consider that “coming on too strongly,” and it certainly had not endeared him
upon her.

“If all you truly want to do is be there for him, then just do that. Don’t worry about anything
else,” Emma advised. “I guarantee you will slip up every once in a while and do or say something
that will hint at your true feelings for him. If he’s paying attention, he’ll notice. He may not
put it all together, but he’ll notice.

“If, as you hope, he ever gets to the point where he does start to notice you, I guarantee you
he’ll start watching you, trying to figure out how you feel about him. But,” Emma conceded, “if
that time never comes, then at least you’ll never have to worry about doing something that can’t be
undone... like just walking up to him and snogging him senseless.

“I don’t envy you, dear, in this. Falling for your best friend is possibly the most dangerous
thing to do in a relationship. But it is also potentially the most rewarding,” Emma said with a
happy sigh. “Your father *is* my best friend. Sometimes you just have to take a chance. Take a
chance that you might lose him. But only you can decide when the time is to take that chance. That
said, it seems obvious that *that* time is not now.

“Just *be there* for him. Don’t worry about the rest. The rest will take care of itself,”
Emma finished confidently. Seeing that Hermione was listening intently, she could not resist adding
one last thing. “And leave the door open,” she said with a wicked smile.

“Mum!” Hermione complained. Emma held up her hands as a peace offering.

“I just couldn’t resist. And dear, I did know what you meant when you said ‘next Thursday,’”
Emma explained. “It just caught me off guard because I thought you told me a couple of days ago
that Harry’s birthday was *next Thursday.*”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Oh no! I completely forgot about that.” She looked pleading at her
mother. “I still haven’t figured out what to get him for his birthday.” Her eyes went wide again
when she realized what she had said earlier. “OH!” she gasped, “I swear that I didn’t mean anything
by ‘next Thursday,’ I just meant it as any random date. I—”

“It’s okay dear, I understand. Your reaction alone was proof enough of that. What *is* the
date next Thursday, anyway? The thirty-first? The first?” Emma asked, more to herself. “We’ve been
so busy lately with parents bringing their kids in during the summer holiday...”

“Mum, do we still need to go shopping? Harry really needs some new clothes. All he has, other
than his school uniform, are seconds from his cousin, which obviously don’t fit.”

“Yeah,” Emma confirmed. “We need to get some groceries. We can go to the department store as
well.”

“Would you do me a favor?” Hermione asked after finishing her sandwich. “If you or Dad see him
looking at anything that might make a nice present, would you please let me know? I was so focused
on getting him here that I forgot about picking something out. The last thing I want to get him is
a book, so I’m hoping he’ll see something that he might like. Can you ask Dad for me?”

“I will, dear,” Emma agreed after setting the dishes in the sink. “Speaking of your father and
Harry, I should probably go check on them. They’ve been awfully quiet up there. I guess that means
he hasn’t started yelling death threats at Harry about living under the same roof as you,” Emma
teased.

“Dad wouldn’t do that, would he?” Hermione asked.

“No, I don’t think so, dear,” Emma replied. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to tease Harry with
a warning about making *you* mad,” she said, grinning.

“Harry knows better than that. Both he and Ron were there when I smacked Malfoy. I don’t think
they’ll ever forget *that*,” Hermione said, looking quite satisfied as she recalled that
memory.

Hermione then stood up from the table and she and Emma headed back to the living room. Not
knowing how long until they would leave to go shopping, Hermione went and sat back down on the
sofa, picking up the book she had been reading while she waited for her parents to return from the
Dursleys’ with Harry. Emma started up the stairs towards the guest room, which was now Harry’s
room.

*End flashback...*

Hermione had done exactly what she had promised herself that she wouldn’t do... exactly what her
mother had warned her about. She went too far. She knew that she was starting to get carried away
when she started recalling lines from her favorite song. Once she started however, she couldn’t
stop herself. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. *“**Then at least you’ll never have to
worry about doing something that can’t be undone... like just walking up to him and snogging him
senseless.”*

That was exactly what she did. It was under the guise of a birthday snog, but standing there,
finally feeling what she had waited two years for, she lost her head and let her heart take
control, always a dangerous scenario with an unwitting partner and a room full of witnesses.

Hermione wanted to leave. She wanted to run and hide under some rock somewhere. But she knew she
couldn’t. The only thing worse than getting caught by Harry would have been to make a scene and try
to escape in front of everyone else. She was pretty sure Harry wouldn’t say anything to anyone, but
if she suddenly bolted for the door, he’d have to explain then. And then everyone would know, and
Harry wouldn’t want to see her anymore, and her life would just be over.

And it was all her fault. *You brought this all upon yourself,* she chastised herself.
*At least you had no control over what Cho did or didn’t do. This is ALL your own doing!*

And so Hermione put on a brave face and pretended like nothing happened. All she had to do was
make it through the rest of the party, and then she could go home and drown herself in her
misery.

*--- Harry’s POV ---*

Harry stood there, still absolutely terrified at what he had done. He watched as a range of
expressions crossed across Hermione’s face, all within a few seconds. He still wasn’t sure what had
just happened. All he knew for certain was that when he kissed Hermione, *something*
happened.

Fortunately, with the present giving and kissing portion of the party over, everyone began to
break up and started to swarm around the other table with the four trays of Molly’s finest. Harry
waited for an opportune moment to excuse himself to “wash his hands.” He then made a beeline for
the nearest bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom, he locked the door, put the toilet lid down, then sat down, propping
his elbows on his knees, resting his forehead in his hands.

Something just happened. He needed to figure out what.

*Something... that’s the understatement of the century,* Harry said to himself
sarcastically.

*If you’re so smart, then you tell me what happened,* the other voice in his mind replied.
For the first time, it really freaked Harry out hearing that part of his mind in Hermione’s voice.
He had always... maybe not enjoyed it, exactly, since it was usually the part that pointed out when
he was wrong, but it had at least always been a comforting presence.

*Our best friend just snogged us, and it was the most amazing experience in the world. Better
than flying! Better than Quidditch! Better than casting a silencing charm on the curtains and...
You know, it’s a damn good thing there’s a numbing charm in effect right now! I can just see it
now: ‘Hello, my name is Harry Pervert Potter. I just snogged my best friend and then got excited by
it!’ Wouldn’t that have been a laugh for everyone to see?! Bloody brilliant!*

*You know, NOW is probably NOT the best time to be thinking about THAT!*

*And what’s even worse, we SNOGGED HER BACK!! AND WE WANTED TO!!*

*Well... is there anything wrong with that? You seem to be so certain that we wanted to. If
that’s true, then what’s the problem?*

*What’s the problem?? She’s our BEST FRIEND!!*

*So?*

*So? SO?? You... I... You obviously just don’t understand.* Not for the first time, the
part of Harry that tended to react first and think later was at a loss what to make of everything.
At the same time, that other part of him simply sat there and did nothing, except gather data and
wait to make a final decision.

*So what do we do now?* the “*Stupefy* first and ask questions later” part of him
asked.

*Now, we go back to the party and have lunch. We’ll just give her her space, but not be
obvious about it, of course. If she really wants to talk about what happened, she’ll pull us aside,
or wait until we get home. Or, if she’s really angry, she’ll hex us into oblivion as soon as she
sees us. Either way, I don’t see any point in worrying about it now and ruining the party.*

*Yeah, that’s true, I suppose. And... there IS cake...*

Harry stood up, washed his hands, then opened the door to go rejoin the party.

*--- Hermione’s POV ---*

Hermione was secretly grateful when Harry went to wash his hands. It gave her a few minutes to
collect herself. If she’d just walked right up to him, she’d probably just start apologizing right
there in front of everyone. She needed to catch her breath, and wait to see what Harry did
first.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny waving her over to the buffet table. Deciding this
was the perfect diversion, she went over and joined her friend. As she reached for a plate, she
noticed that she still had a few smudges of frosting on her fingers. *There must have been some
on the handle.* Deciding she could stand a little soap herself, she headed for the nearest
bathroom.

She assumed that if Harry was feeling uncomfortable around her, he’d head for the farthest
bathroom, just to delay his return as long as possible. That’s what she’d do; that’s why she
didn’t. When she got to the bathroom, she reached for the doorknob.

*--- Harry’s POV ---*

Harry opened the bathroom door to find Hermione standing right in front of it, with her hand
stretched out to grab the knob. He jumped in surprise; Hermione did too.

“Geez, Hermione. You scared me half to death,” Harry said with a chuckle as his
adrenaline-spiked heart rate began to drop.

“I could say the same thing, Harry,” she replied, equally amused.

As he saw a smile break across her otherwise impassive face, Harry could feel that annoying
swooping sensation return and his heart rate begin to elevate. He could not stand to look at her
face any more. The longer he did, the stronger the feeling became.

As he drew his eyes down towards his feet, where he knew they were safest, he happened to see a
few traces of frosting still on her fingers. He smiled and then looked back up at her.

“Went a little crazy with the frosting there, didn’t you?” Harry asked with a cheesy grin on his
face. *That was lame,* he complained to himself.

Hermione held up her hand for a moment and looked at it. “Yeah, there must’ve been a little on
the handle of the spoon.”

As both he and Hermione looked at her hand, Harry suddenly thought of an even better way to
remove the frosting from her hand. He then quickly decided he needed to get back to the party
before any other bright ideas entered his mind.

“Well, the bathroom’s all yours,” Harry said quickly, eager to put some distance between them,
while he still could.

“Thanks,” Hermione said kindly. She stepped back to let him out, then went in and turned on the
tap to wash her hand.

Harry returned with great haste back to the party. *What the hell was that all about?* he
wondered as he hurried down the hall. Just like with the Portkey and that hand-holding thing
earlier, he had a pretty good idea of what *that* was all about, but he was hoping to find
some *other* explanation for what just happened.

*A/N: Please note, there may be a delay in the next chapter. I am working on a personal
project in anticipation of a certain event come November 18.*

*A friend asked me if I was going to reread the book before I went to see the movie. I told
them the answer was easy: no. I know that there’s no way to turn a 734 page book into a 2 ½ hour
movie without cutting out certain parts. And other parts will need to be changed to tie up any bits
left dangling due to the deletions. And even more parts will be changed simply because they don’t
translate well from the written page to the cinematic screen. I enjoy the book, and I want to enjoy
the movie, so I will be viewing them as separate entities. The movie is BASED on the book; the book
is not a script for the movie. The easiest way for me to enjoy each as they are is to not focus on
every single difference. Just my two Knuts.*



15. Where My Heart Has Led Me
-----------------------------


*Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Never did. Never will...*


*A/N: As always, thanks to my beta MapleMountain. Without him, I’d still be lurking around
Portkey, hoping to stumble across a story that had Hermione grab the backside of Harry’s hand, then
he lifted it, turned his hand over, and replaced her hand in his...*


*Second, a nod goes out to my friend Petronilla. One of Harry’s birthday presents here was
inspired by one his Christmas presents from* Secrets From The Past*. Obviously I’ve made it my
own, but still, it was the inspiration, so credit where credit is due. :-)*

Chapter 15. Where My Heart Has Led Me.

*Harry returned with great haste back to the party.* What the hell was that all about?
*he wondered as he hurried down the hall. Just like with the Portkey and that hand-holding thing
earlier, he had a pretty good idea of what* that *was all about, but he was hoping to find
some* other *explanation for what just happened.*

Upon his return, Harry found Ron trying to determine how many chicken wings he could pile onto
one plate.

“Oy! Mate,” Harry called out in good humor as he approached Ron. “Leave some for the rest of us,
why don’t you?” Ron turned around to see Harry standing behind him with his hands on his hips,
trying to look at Ron with a disapproving glare.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, *Hermione*,” Ron retorted as he turned back to the table.
Harry flinched, but quickly recovered. He then grabbed a plate and moved over next to Ron, trying
to ignore his last remark. He didn’t know what Ron meant by that, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted
to find out. Harry looked at the small feast before him.

The lunch at Harry’s party was being served in a buffet style, and since the seating in the
drawing room was very limited (the large furniture had been removed to make room for everyone),
Molly had prepared foods that could be eaten standing while holding a plate: fried chicken, a
varied assortment of sandwiches all cut into halves, some sort of casserole, and a fruit salad that
was bound together with what appeared to be whipped cream... simple foods, but extremely delicious
nonetheless.

Ron was still at the tray of the highly coveted fried chicken. By the looks of the pile, there
seemed to be six chickens worth. By the looks of Ron’s plate, he had all twelve wings.

Harry, amused, looked at the pile on Ron’s plate.

“What?” Ron asked when he saw Harry looking at it. “They’re small,” he explained, then moved on
to the sandwiches. Deciding it was probably not wise to come between Ron and his food, Harry just
smiled and said nothing. After grabbing a breast piece, he waited for Ron to decide which of the
three types of sandwiches he wanted (he ended up taking one of each).

While they were loading up their plates, Molly had brought up from the kitchen several large
flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. After filling their large glasses with butterbeer, Harry
and Ron worked their way over to one of the corners of the room where a small table stood. They set
their drinks down and began to eat.

After finishing his sandwich, Harry happened to look over and see Hermione on the other side of
the room, standing with Ginny and Luna; Hermione and Ginny were talking while Luna appeared to be
just standing there, lost in her own dream world, eating her fruit salad. When he saw that Hermione
had started to turn her head to look in his direction, Harry quickly turned back to Ron, who
appeared oblivious to everything other than what was on his plate.

A small part of Harry was impressed to see that Ron had been keeping up with Harry as he ate.
Ron had gone through all of his wings (he *only* managed to get ten of the twelve) and three
sandwiches in the time it took Harry to get through his one piece of chicken and one sandwich. Then
again, Ron had always been a fast eater.

Harry assumed that rapid eating was simply instinct for Ron after sixteen years of Weasley
meals. Being the sixth of seven children, Ron probably learned at an early age to eat quickly, lest
one or more of his older brothers (two guesses which) found some way to relieve from Ron the burden
of eating his lunch.

After finishing the last bite of his sandwich, Ron stopped for a moment to take a long draft of
his butterbeer.

“So, mate, how’s life in the library?” Ron asked with a grin.

“The library?” Harry wondered, befuddled. Ron just rolled his eyes at him. Seeing him roll his
eyes, Harry suddenly realized that he meant Hermione’s house. “Oh, the *library*.”

“Yeah, the *library*,” Ron repeated, laughing. Harry, for some reason, didn’t find it all
that funny. Truth be told, he had started to think of Hermione’s house as home. Even more, he was
pretty sure he himself had called it that recently. And it wasn’t when he told her thank you before
they left her house. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure it had just slipped out
recently. It felt perfectly normal to say, so he *hadn’t* noticed it earlier.

“It’s not a library, Ron,” Harry replied, trying his hardest to sound like he was joking also.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve only read my school books, as well as *Quidditch*.” Ron was
still looking at Harry with a sense of disbelief. Now Harry started to find it slightly amusing.
“What did you expect? Surely you didn’t think I’d be able to stay there and *NOT* get my
homework done, did you?”

Ron’s face dropped ever so slightly. If he hadn’t specifically been worried about Ron’s reaction
to the idea of him living with Hermione *(awkward swooping feeling)*, Harry probably wouldn’t
have noticed. “No, not really. Actually, I didn’t know what to think at first,” Ron admitted.

After Ron said that, Harry suddenly realized that he’d been half-expecting Ron to reply
*“Don’t call me Shirley.”* Harry suppressed a laugh and thought to himself in amusement,
*Wrong best friend for that.*

Ron sighed slightly and set down his plate of food. He then looked over to the other side of the
room. Harry followed his stare and saw that he was looking over to where Hermione, Ginny, and Luna
were. Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“Harry?” Ron asked uncertainly. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Harry quickly replied back. He said it, hoping to make himself feel a little
better. He was sure Hermione would’ve said something like that; *he* thought it was pretty
funny. Ron however, did not seem to think it was funny. In fact, he didn’t seem to think it was
much of anything, for he just stood there, staring blankly towards... *the other side of the
room*, Harry tried to convince himself.

Seeing that Ron had not reacted to his little joke, and more importantly, he had actually put
down his food, Harry decided that humor was probably not a good idea at the moment. “Yeah, Ron, go
ahead,” Harry finally said as he set down his plate as well. He found himself watching
Hermione.

Hermione was trying to appear interested as Ginny and Luna talked. Harry smiled suddenly. As he
watched the three of them, he realized that it was probably easy for Ginny and Luna to talk, and it
was easy for Hermione and Ginny to talk, but he highly doubted that the three of them would easily
be able to share in the same conversation.

“This is just between us, okay?” Ron asked, suddenly snapping Harry back into attention. Harry
nodded sideways to Ron; the two of them were both staring at... the other side of the room.

“How do you know when you fancy someone or not?” Ron asked suddenly, but quietly. The smile died
from Harry’s face; he forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. He now felt very
uncomfortable again.

“Hermione?” Harry asked in barely a whisper, and with an overwhelming sense of dread.

Ron turned his head slightly and looked at Harry incredulously. At first, Ron looked as though
he might deny it or ask where on earth Harry got that idea. However, after Harry stared intensely
back at Ron, almost daring him to say otherwise, Ron’s face changed again. “How did you know?” he
asked.

Harry tried not to smile. Now was *definitely* not the best time for that, particularly
because he really didn’t feel like smiling. The instinct to laugh had merely been from disbelief of
Ron’s question. “I do have eyes, you know,” he said, trying to maintain his friendly tone.

Ron smiled faintly, then turned back away from Harry; that only made Harry feel worse. Harry
felt a slight constricting feeling in his chest, as though it were becoming difficult for him to
breathe.

“I just figured you might be able to tell me what I was feeling,” Ron said as he shrugged his
shoulders. “You and Hermione always seem to be better at the whole feelings thing than I am.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat when Ron said *“You and Hermione.”* He tried to ignore it.

Harry *really* didn’t want to be talking about this right now... about Hermione...
*and* Ron. But... Ron was still standing there. He had put down his food, so it must have been
more important than the small mountain of fruit salad still on his plate.

Ron took a deep breath then finally started. “And you can’t breathe a word of this to
anyone.”

*Yeah, like I want to talk about this ever again,* Harry heard his reasonable side quip to
himself. For some reason, hearing it in Hermione’s voice lifted his spirits slightly.

“I suppose you know that I’ve fancied her for a while...” Ron said, allowing his voice to trail
off, unsure where to go next.

“I suppose,” Harry parroted back as his aforementioned spirits dropped back to where they were
originally. He really didn’t feel he could give any better response than that. It was really
becoming difficult for him to breathe. He felt as though he was in a small enclosed room where the
walls were slowly moving in on him. He could still breathe, but he knew the walls were coming. He
felt like he was being chased and running out of time.

“It’s probably been a year and a half now, or so,” Ron said, confirming Harry’s fears. He was
already pretty sure of the timeline of Ron’s feelings, but that statement pretty much confirmed
that this *was* what they were talking about. Harry didn’t say a word; he couldn’t.

Just at that moment, Hermione, obviously bored listening to Ginny and Luna’s conversation,
decided to go talk to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. As she walked over, she looked
quickly over towards Harry and Ron. Harry could see her look briefly at Ron and then at him.

Since he was still in the stupor he had begun to build to insulate himself from whatever Ron was
about to say, Harry didn’t quickly look away like the last time when she looked at him. Hermione
smiled at Harry for a brief moment, and then quickly turned away to address their Head of
House.

Though she was no longer looking at him, Harry immediately felt all of his feelings of dread and
discomfort get swept away. A dazed smile appeared on his face, and he felt a cheery, almost giddy
feeling bubbling up. His momentary bliss was interrupted when Ron suddenly turned to look at him;
Harry was still looking at Hermione though he could see Ron in his peripheral vision.

“Harry,” Ron whispered through clenched teeth, “she’s watching us.”

“Huh?” Harry whispered back. *No she’s not. She’s talking to Professor McGonagall and
Professor Dumbledore,* Harry thought, confused.

“Okay, maybe she’s not watching us, but Luna’s definitely looking in our direction. I can’t talk
about this in front of her. What if she can read lips?” Ron said, sounding slightly panicked. Harry
quickly looked over at Luna. Sure enough, Luna was looking in their direction while she still
continued to talk to Ginny.

He couldn’t tell if she was looking at either of them specifically, or simply facing in their
direction. Either way, Harry felt a little unnerved. He had forgotten about her; he had forgotten
about everyone else, really. How long had she been looking in their direction? Had she seen
anything?

*What’s to see?* Harry wondered. *There wasn’t anything to see. Was there?*

Harry turned back to face Ron as though they were in normal conversation. He picked up his plate
again and showed it to Ron, indicating he should pick up his plate again just so they would look
casual. Ron did and started picking at his fruit salad with his fork. Harry stood there, waiting
for Ron to begin. He just couldn’t bring himself to start the conversation.

Ron seemed to brighten a little after a few bites of his mother’s fruit salad. He suddenly
started talking as though he just picked up in the middle of a conversation he’d been having with
himself.

“What I mean is that all this time I was absolutely sure I fancied her. I don’t know why,
really. It’s just that, you know, she’s a girl, and... I like girls.”

*Yeah, she’s definitely a girl,* Harry agreed to himself, recalling that photograph of her
with Dan and Emma... followed by a memory of her in a *certain* pink T-shirt with silver
lettering. He then kicked himself mentally for allowing his mind to wander. He really needed to pay
attention to what Ron was saying, though deep down he knew that he also really didn’t want to hear
whatever Ron was about to say.

“You have absolutely no idea how jealous I was of Viktor back in fourth year,” Ron said.

A small chuckle escaped Harry’s lips. “Yeah, actually I do have an idea of how jealous you were.
It was hard to miss, Ron.” A slightly embarrassed look appeared on Ron’s face.

“Well, anyway. I just kinda got used to that feeling, of feeling comfortable around her... when
we weren’t fighting, of course,” Ron added with a chuckle.

Hearing Ron say that with a laugh really irritated Harry. “Well, then you must not feel too
comfortable around her, since you always seem to be fighting,” Harry snapped without realizing. He
paused for a second to take a calming breath. “Why *do* you always fight with her, Ron?”

“I don’t know, because sometimes she really annoys me, I guess” Ron answered. Harry unexpectedly
found himself clenching his jaw. “She always has to be right. She always has to point out when you
or I are wrong. She’s always trying to drag us into her stupid spew thing.”

Harry sighed. “First of all, Ron, it’s S.P.E.W., not *spew*. Second—” He was interrupted by
Ron starting to laugh.

“Blimey, mate,” Ron exclaimed between laughs. “You really need to look at yourself in a mirror
one of these days. I think all that time at her house is starting to rub off on you. The way you
just rolled your eyes at me and told me it wasn’t spew, you looked exactly like Hermione.”

Ron laughed a little more. “And earlier, when you complained about me taking all the chicken,
the way you glared at me looked exactly like she does when we don’t do our homework,” Ron
explained, looking very entertained.

“I did?” Harry asked in disbelief. “I didn’t even realize that I rolled my eyes at you.”

“Believe me, you did,” Ron assured him. “Like I said, I think you’re spending too much time with
her,” he said in joking manner.

*Somehow I doubt that’s possible,* Harry thought fondly. “Yeah, well, what can you do?” he
asked rhetorically about himself. “Move back to the Dursleys?” He almost added *“or Grimmauld
Place,”* but stopped himself before he spoke it.

Harry really didn’t like the idea of that right now, even though things seemed to be better with
Percy, and he didn’t seem to feel too bad being here in Sirius’s old house. It was as if he was
afraid they might accept his joking suggestion and actually ask him to join them there. It
*would* have been a hassle to have to pack up all his stuff again to move out of Hermione’s
house.

Ron flinched slightly at the idea of Harry returning to his relatives. “Yeah, I guess you’re
stuck there,” Ron said, making it sound like defeat.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Harry said with a smile; it really didn’t seem like a defeat at all.

“Anyway,” Harry resumed, “what I was about to say is that she always has to be right because she
doesn’t like to be wrong. Do *you* like having the wrong answer when McGonagall calls on you
in class?” Ron shook his head, looking as though he never considered that before.

“And she tells us when we’re wrong... *because* we’re wrong. She wants *us* to know
what we’re doing as well. Do you remember *me* pointing out when you performed a spell
incorrectly during our D.A. meetings?” Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but Harry didn’t
let him. He was feeling a little too protective of her at the moment.

“It’s the same exact thing, Ron,” Harry said, silencing him. “And as for *S.P.E.W.,*” Harry
continued, smiling as he emphasized each letter, “she gets excited about it because it’s something
that’s important to her. She just wants to share it with us because she’s excited. How often do we
try to get her to play Quidditch?”

“Too often,” Ron joked. Neither of them had ever had any success getting her onto a broom.

“We don’t have to like S.P.E.W., or even participate in it, but we should at least support her
and encourage *her* to do what *she* enjoys. Sometimes it’s about what *she* wants
to do, not what *we* want to do, Ron.”

Ron stood there, taking it all in. Harry got the feeling that he didn’t disagree with him, he’d
just never thought about it like that before.

Harry sighed. “Let me ask you something, Ron. If all these things about her annoy you, then why
do you fancy her?”

“That’s the thing, Harry. I don’t really know,” Ron replied sounding slightly confused. “But now
that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure if I *do* fancy her anymore,” he added quietly,
almost as an afterthought.

That certainly got Harry’s attention. He suddenly found it a little easier to breathe. “What do
you mean by that?” he asked, part of him eager to find out what exactly he meant. Another part of
him was highly annoyed that Ron, or anyone else for that matter, could not know whether or not they
fancied such a wonderful human being like Hermione Jane Granger.

“Well, when Professor Dumbledore brought us her letter telling us that you were going to stay
with her, I thought I’d be jealous of you. It wouldn’t have been the first time.” Ron grimaced in a
way that indicated he wasn’t entirely proud of some of his earlier behavior.

“But I didn’t care. What I mean is that it didn’t bother me,” Ron explained. “If anything, I
felt a little sorry for you. I mean, I *don’t know* what she’s like at home, but I just had
this picture of some stuffy house that smelled like a library and was filled with bookshelves and
everyone sat around the kitchen table reading.”

*Hey! There’s nothing wrong with it smelling like a library,* Harry thought to himself,
recalling how he felt when he walked into the bookstore when they went shopping at the mall. For
some reason, Harry didn’t feel like confirming or denying Ron’s impression about what Hermione’s
house was really like... except for one thing.

“Well, there *are* a lot of bookshelves,” Harry said with a grin. “In the living room, in
her parents’ room, in her room. None in my room, though.” Ron looked curiously at Harry for a
moment, and then his expression returned to normal as though whatever he had been thinking wasn’t
really important.

“And then when she gave you your birthday snog... nothing. Except that we all wanted to laugh
seeing as how the girls had all planned it to surprise you. You did look pretty surprised when
Ginny kissed you,” Ron said, smirking.

Realizing that they had drifted off topic slightly, Harry tried to steer them back to something
that was really bothering him.

“So then why *did* you fancy her?” Harry asked.

“Well, you know...” Ron started, looking towards Hermione again. Harry followed his gaze to her
also. “Like I said before... she’s a girl, she’s always around, it just seemed to make sense, you
know, to fancy her,” Ron explained. “It just seemed easy to do.”

Harry unexpectedly found himself becoming very irritated. He couldn’t bring himself to look at
Ron; he knew he was more upset than he should have been. If he looked at him, Ron might’ve seen his
annoyance. As a result, he continued to look in Hermione’s direction as he spoke. “You don’t fancy
someone just because it’s easy, or convenient. You fancy someone because you *just do*.
Because you want to spend your time with her. Because she makes you happy just by being near
her...” Harry said, allowing his voice to trail off.

Harry turned to see that Ron was looking at Harry with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Blimey,
Harry!” Ron said, sounding slightly awed. “Is that how you felt with Cho?”

Harry’s stomach sank slightly. He really didn’t want to be talking about Cho right now. And yet
he had been talking about her... *hadn’t he?* “For a little while,” he admitted, hoping that
was the end of it. “But then...” he added, shrugging his shoulders, hoping Ron would get the hint
that was the end of the matter.

However, just in case Ron didn’t... “But we’re not talking about Cho now, are we? We’re talking
about Hermione,” Harry reminded him. Ron nodded slightly. Harry quickly looked around them to see
if anyone appeared to be paying attention to them. He had been talking for several minutes,
oblivious to everyone else around him... well, *almost* everyone.

“Is *that* how you feel about Hermione?” Harry asked Ron seriously. “Do you want to spend
your *free time* with her? Do you find yourself inexplicably happy when she does something as
small as smile at you? Do you want to walk around the mall holding her hand?”

Ron looked slightly lost. “‘Mall?’ What’s a ‘mall’?”

Harry suddenly felt very confused. “‘Mall?’ N-no, I said ‘hall.’ You know, like walking around
the halls at school.” *I did say ‘hall,’ didn’t I?* he tried to convince himself.

“Oh,” Ron said, his confusion disappearing as he accepted Harry’s answer.

“So, *is* that how you feel about her?” Harry asked; he was eager to stop trying to think
up examples, as well as overly anxious to hear Ron’s answer. Ron stood there for a moment, thinking
about it.

*Come on! What’s there to think about? If you DID, you should already know the answer!*
Harry thought to himself impatiently.

Harry could see Ron searching through his memories and feelings, trying to decide what he felt
for their bushy-haired friend. After a few moments, Ron looked as though he had come to a
surprising (to him) revelation.

“No... I don’t feel like *that* about her...” Ron finally said, and then turned again to
look curiously at Hermione.

*YES!* Harry heard a voice in his mind shout out, though he couldn’t tell which. He fought
valiantly to keep from saying anything out loud.

“But... but...” Ron spluttered, “I thought I *did* fancy her...”

“Well, maybe you did, at some point,” Harry conceded. “But maybe it went away. Just because you
fancy someone, it doesn’t always mean that they will fancy you back. It’s hard to have feelings for
someone if they don’t return them. No offense intended, but just look at your sister. How long did
she fancy me before she gave up?”

Ron’s earlier lost expression disappeared in a snicker that he tried to hide in his hand. “Who
says she’s given up?” Ron said. That earned him a friendly punch on the arm from Harry.

“Heck, forget about Ginny, look at me,” Harry said with a slight laugh, sincerely hoping that
Ron’s comment was just a joke. “How long did I just sit there and stare at Cho?” Harry asked,
thinking now about how pointless that had all been.

“But the two of you *did* get together, *eventually*,” Ron reminded him. Oh, how
easily Harry could forget about *that*.

“Ah yes, but I, Ron, am a clueless git. And besides, look at how *well* we turned out. I
mean, sure, for a *very* little while there, I felt like I was flying on my Firebolt, high up
in the sky. And we did... snog... a couple times... that was kinda nice,” Harry admitted, somewhat
embarrassed.

“But the rest of the time, it seemed like all she ever did was cry. We didn’t *argue* with
each other all the time,” Harry said, emphasizing the word and staring heavily at Ron. But, now
that he thought about it, with what little time they had been able to spend together, they had
actually argued a lot more than he thought was normal.

“When we did argue,” Harry added unexpectedly, “oddly enough, it was usually about Hermione,” he
remembered with a slight grin. *What did that have to do with anything?* he wondered in
confusion, then shook his head slightly to clear that thought.

“But anyway,” Harry trooped on, desperate to get this conversation back to something that was
vaguely recognizable as coherent. “The point is that sometimes two people aren’t meant to be
together... sometimes they are better as just friends. If you try to push something that isn’t
there, look at what can happen” Harry said, pointing to himself. When he said it, he intended to
mean himself and Cho, but a small part of him also secretly meant Ron and Hermione.

“Let me ask you this,” Harry continued. “Think about how much the two of you argue. Do you
*really* think that’s a *good* thing to have in a relationship?”

“No,” Ron admitted. He then scrunched up his face in confusion as though he was trying to
justify something to himself.

“But... I always kind of thought that it was like... tension... between us, you know,” Ron tried
to explain.

“I always kind of thought that it was like... anger... between you, you know,” Harry found
himself retorting back before he could stop himself. Fortunately, Ron seemed to simply accept what
he’d said as a valid point, without argument or question.

“I always kinda thought that we were... I mean, I’d heard some people say that we fought like we
were flirting, or like some old married couple,” Ron said with an embarrassed smile.

Harry suddenly felt his irritation suddenly spike, approaching anger. That idea *really*
did not sit well with him. Finally, his five years of torment with Professor Snape paid off: he was
able to resist the urge to say something he might have a hard time explaining.

“You know, Ron,” Harry forced himself to say civilly, “I’ll admit I’m not the world’s best
expert on understanding girls—”

“That’s for sure,” Ron quipped with a grin.

Even Harry had to agree that was funny. As he smiled, he felt most of his annoyance with his
friend disappear.

“But,” Harry continued, “I am pretty sure that arguing is *not* flirting. At least not the
way you two do it.” Ron shook his head a little, agreeing with Harry’s assessment. “I would
think... I would *hope*... that if you were flirting with someone, you would both enjoy it.
Isn’t that what flirting is about? I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure that when the two of
you fight Hermione doesn’t enjoy it. I don’t recall many times seeing her walk away smiling after
one of those ‘flirting’ sessions.”

Entirely unexpectedly, Harry suddenly recalled his little battles with Hermione over their
favorite seat on the sofa. And the times he teased her about not knowing *everything*. And the
time he made fun of her for using the word “proper” too many times. *Whoa!* he said to
himself. Had he been *flirting* with Hermione? He wasn’t entirely sure. His prior experience
with flirting was nonexistent.

In the little time he’d spent with Cho, he really hadn’t done anything that *he’d* consider
flirting. He thought that flirting was supposed to be playful. He had certainly never done anything
like that when they were together. And before that, all he really ever did was just stare at her
across the Great Hall, or watch her fly around the Quidditch pitch when Ravenclaw was playing.

So... *had* he been flirting with Hermione? The only thing stranger than that possibility
was the fact that he already knew the answer. *Whatever* he’d been doing, he enjoyed it,
immensely. And he didn’t feel guilty about it either. He couldn’t recall seeing anything that might
have indicated that Hermione was hurt by it. She certainly didn’t look like he so often remembered
seeing her after she had snapped at Ron for whatever idiotic thing he’d said.

Ron stood there for a moment and processed everything that had been said. “So... maybe I don’t
fancy her...” he mused quietly to himself. “But I know I feel differently about her than I do any
other girl,” he added, still confused.

“Well, of course you do. So do I.” Somehow, that felt slightly hollow as Harry said it. “She’s
our best friend. Of course she’s more special to us than, say, Seamus or Parvati or Susan Bones, or
Malfoy,” he added, smirking. The unexpected addition of the infamous ferret boy caused Ron to start
laughing very loudly. Everyone else in the room turned away from their own conversations to see why
Ron was laughing so hard.

Harry happened to notice that Hermione was still standing with the Headmaster and Professor
McGonagall. When she caught his eye, she looked at him inquisitively and raised her eyebrow as if
to ask what was so funny. *Oh... now I get what she meant about the eyebrow thing and Mr.
Spock,* Harry thought as he recalled Hermione showing him one of Dan and Emma’s favorite TV
shows a few days earlier.

Harry just smiled at her and shook his head slightly to indicate it really wasn’t worth trying
to explain. Truthfully, it really *was* easy to explain; he just didn’t want to go anywhere
near trying to explain to her what he and Ron had been talking about. She nodded slightly, and then
smiled at him. As she returned to her conversation with their professors, a big, stupid grin
appeared on Harry’s face.

As he shifted his stare right, back towards Ron, he suddenly noticed Luna on the other side of
the room again looking in their direction. Harry felt strangely exposed under her unblinking stare;
he really hoped she’d been watching Ron. As he waited for Ron to stop laughing, he took several
drafts of his Evercold-charmed butterbeer. Butterbeer was just as good warm or cold, depending on
the weather.

Now that he and Ron had stopped talking, or at least paused for a while, the other party guests
managed to work their way over occasionally to make idle chitchat. After about ten minutes, Molly
and Arthur slowly worked their way over to Harry. Seeing his mother approaching, Ron took several
steps away from Harry, unwilling to get in the way in case she decided to go in for another
hug.

“All right, Harry dear,” Molly said warmly. “It’s time for you to open your birthday presents.
I’m sure everyone here is dying to see what you got.”

Harry nodded and allowed her to lead him over to the table with all the presents. He had to
admit, he too was eager to see what his friends had gotten him. He was particularly dying to know
what that present was that made him *feel* like he was *dying* not twenty minutes
earlier. When he was ready, Molly again silenced the room. “Okay everyone, *present time!*”
she said in a sing song voice.

Before he could reach for the first present, Professor Dumbledore stepped forward and pulled out
his wand. He waved it quickly and conjured a large throne-like chair. As Harry looked at it, it
reminded him strongly of something from a Muggle Christmas advertisement. It was the type of chair
in which Father Christmas would sit.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkling as usual. “I’m
sorry, Harry. I just couldn’t resist. Present giving always puts me in a festive mood, regardless
of the occasion. Have a seat, Mr. Potter.” Harry looked around the room; everyone was smiling at
him, bordering on breaking into laughter. Feeling his face heat up, Harry sat down in the
chair.

“If you don’t mind,” the Headmaster started, waving his wand towards the presents. Not sure of
what he meant, but unwilling to ask since he still felt on the spot, Harry simply shook his head.
With that, Dumbledore gave a quick flick of his wand towards the presents. They all began to hover
slightly.

The letter Dumbledore had “delivered” began to rise and floated towards Harry. He would later
realize that the Headmaster had enchanted them to deliver themselves to Harry in the order he had
been given them. This suited Harry just fine. Although he was most eager to see what Hermione had
given him, for some reason, he wanted hers to be last.

Harry reached out and plucked the letter from the air. He looked at it again; it was addressed
to him, and sealed with a stamp from the Ministry of Magic. Harry looked up at Dumbledore. Just as
he had in his office when confronted by Umbridge with the D.A., the Headmaster gave Harry the
tiniest of nods, imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t been looking for it.

Harry opened the letter and began to read it. After the third sentence, he looked back up in
shock. He looked at Dumbledore, then down to the letter, then back up again, silently asking if he
was supposed to read it aloud. Another nod. Harry cleared his throat, and then took a deep
breath.

“To: Mister Harry James Potter.

“It is my distinct pleasure to inform you that due to your selfless acts of bravery on the
evening of June the 18th and morning of June the 19th of this year, the Ministry of Magic is
honored to award you an Order of Merlin, Third Class.” Harry heard a female voice breathe in
suddenly. He kept his eyes on the letter; he was pretty sure if he looked up at everyone, he
wouldn’t be able to continue reading.

“Also to be awarded Orders of Merlin, Third Class, are Hermione Jane Granger—” Harry heard the
same gasp again; he tried not to smile, but didn’t succeed, “Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ginerva Molly
Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. A private awarding ceremony will be held at your
convenience.” Harry paused for a moment to take another deep breath. As he did so, he could hear an
excited murmuring in the room.

*A private ceremony?* Harry pondered. *I certainly like the idea of that. No* Daily
Prophet *reporter around misquoting me or spelling names wrong. I can just see it now:
‘Hermyonee.’ I bet she’d just love that!*

He continued to read aloud. “Furthermore, due to the events of said night, and considering the
nature of the conflict I fear you may soon find yourself in, I hereby decree that you, and the
above named individuals, are to be exempt from the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of
Underage Sorcery. I trust that you will make good use of your time away from school, if I am to
believe the words of the Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot.

“Congratulations on your award.” When Harry saw the next sentence, he quickly skipped to the end
of the letter.

“Sincerely, Amelia Susan Bones, Minister of Magic.”

As Harry finished the letter, he looked up and saw that everyone in the room was silent.
Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all appeared stunned. Even Luna appeared genuinely surprised, and that was
saying something. While they all processed what had been said, Harry reread the paragraph he had
not read aloud.

*Congratulations on your award. I know that it has come at too high of a price. It may be of
little comfort, but after discussing the events of fifteen years ago with the Chief Warlock, I just
wanted to let you know that I am personally investigating the possibility of having your
godfather’s conviction overturned, as well as a public apology issued. It won’t bring him back, but
it will set right a wrong done too long ago. I know how you feel about your godfather. The least I
can do is try to make sure everyone else sees him in the same light.*

Once everyone had seemed to regained their senses, Professor Dumbledore stepped forward for a
moment. “As Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot,” he said, humorously trying to sound stuffy and
pompous, but then his voice returned to normal, “I would like to point out that you all are still
subject to the Statute of Secrecy. Intentional violations will not be ignored.”

Seeing that all five of them seemed to understand, Dumbledore then smiled. “Congratulations, to
all of you,” he said.

*Please don’t applaud,* Harry begged silently. He was already dying of embarrassment enough
from sitting in that oversized throne; he didn’t think he could take it if everyone started
clapping. Fortunately, the Headmaster then cheerfully shouted out “Next!” The letter returned to
the table and Molly’s present slowly began to rise.

Harry eagerly watched this present float over to him. He knew what it was before he even opened
it. He tore back the wrapping to find a gloriously large dish of his absolute favorite dessert:
treacle tart. Even though everyone was watching him, Harry could not resist stealing a sample.
Saying that it was phenomenal was all that was necessary.

Next was Remus’s present. Harry’s breathing hitched for a moment when he tore away the wrapping
paper and saw... himself. It was Sirius’s mirror, the second of the pair of matching magical
mirrors his father and Sirius used to talk to each other. Feeling a sudden upwelling of emotion,
Harry looked up at Remus and nodded a thank you. It was all he could manage. He now regretted
breaking the other mirror. He hoped he would be able to fix it.

After the mirror returned to the table, a small box floated over to Harry. This was from
Charlie. Harry had been too busy trying to figure out Hermione’s reaction to Fleur kissing him that
he hadn’t seen Charlie leave a present on the table. When he opened the box, a small model of a
Hungarian Horntail took flight out of the box and lazily flew in a small circle around Harry’s
hand.

Harry was absolutely delighted by Charlie’s present. His original model of the Horntail from the
Triwizard Tournament was broken sometime early in fifth year (probably during his initial flight to
Grimmauld). When Harry found the pieces under one of his books, he had thrown them away; it was,
after all only a model.

His attempt to repair it failed, as whatever enchantment gave it its lifelike appearance also
interfered with his *Reparo* spell. After thanking Charlie, rather than let it return to the
table, Harry set the Horntail down on the arm of the chair, where it promptly curled up to take a
nap.

Harry suddenly found himself becoming very anxious. He really wanted to see what Hermione got
him. But he had to get through everyone else’s first. Harry made every effort to speed his way
through the remaining presents, however still taking enough time to express genuine, heartfelt
thank yous.

From Bill and Fleur, Harry received an eleven Galleon gift certificate to Quality Quidditch
Supplies in Diagon Alley. Hagrid had indeed given him a large bag of rock cakes. It really tested
Harry’s acting ability to genuinely thank Hagrid. *It’s the thought that counts,* Harry
reminded himself.

Harry held Fred and George’s present with trepidation. When he looked up at them, they were
*conveniently* looking away, busy digging all of the peas out of Molly’s casserole. Harry tore
back the plain parchment wrapping and found a small phial of... something. The glass was opaque, so
he couldn’t see the contents. A very small card tied around the stopper read “Do not open in a
crowded room!” That was good enough for Harry right now.

When Harry opened Ron’s present, he was pleasantly surprised to see that he was correct: Ron did
give him a book. But it wasn’t just any book. *A Compendium of Common Curses and Their
Counter-Actions*. He’d seen a copy of it in the Room of Requirement when they were holding D.A.
meetings, but he’d never gotten around to looking at it. *This* was a really cool present. As
soon as he got home, he’d have to start looking through it for new ideas for the D.A.

The D.A. Until now, Harry hadn’t given it too much thought. With Umbridge gone, there probably
wouldn’t be a *need* for it anymore. Virtually anyone the Headmaster selected to fill the
position would be able to teach it effectively. But still, Harry enjoyed the meetings. Maybe he
could make it an official school club, or something like that. He’d have to ask Hermione later what
she thought about it.

*Damn,* Harry suddenly cursed himself as school crossed his mind. *I forgot to fill out
my timetable. Oh well. Just have to have Hedwig deliver it to McGonagall later.*

Harry opened Ginny’s present to find two small bottles of vibrant blue and green liquids. The
blue was labeled “Dr. Koolskin’s Aftershave,” the green “Exactly YOU Cologne.” Harry could not help
it as he felt his face began to warm up slightly. *I wonder if this is how Hermione felt when she
thanked Ron for the “interesting” perfume.* He looked up to see Ginny smiling shyly, trying to
hide her face behind her hair; the two were the same color at the moment.

Ginny was also trying out of embarrassment to get Hermione to stand in front of her. After
finally succeeding, she buried her face in the back of Hermione’s shoulder and, by the looks of it,
began to giggle. Hermione did not look at all amused. Seeing her roll her eyes in annoyance, Harry
shot her a quick grin of amusement; her mood seemed to brighten immediately.

Luna’s present turned out to be a copy of *The Quibbler*. It was the issue in which he gave
his interview earlier that year. Before a confused Harry could ask, Luna explained that it was the
very first copy off the printing press. Her father always kept the first five copies for
sentimental and archival reasons.

Finally, there was only one present remaining: Hermione’s. This was what Harry had been waiting
for. As he reached to grab it out of Professor Dumbledore’s hovering spell, he had to remind
himself that it was heavier than it looked. He *very carefully* set it down on his lap.
*Yep, still numb,* he confirmed.

With great haste, Harry tore away the wrapping paper. Even the wrapping paper was perfectly
folded and taped. Based on the size and shape, as well as the weight, he had simply assumed that
her present was a book. What he found was certainly not a book.

Hermione had given him a chess set. Harry laughed to himself. *A book from Ron and a chess set
from Hermione.* This however was unlike any chess set he had ever seen. It was an exquisitely
beautiful chess set, at least as far as the picture on the box was concerned. According to the
packaging, the squares and playing pieces were made of quartz and obsidian.

A word on the packaging suddenly caught his attention. *Holly.* The frame of the playing
board was made of holly. Harry looked at the picture again. This holly didn’t look anything like
the holly of his wand. Then again, his wand hadn’t been “skillfully milled by master craftsman,”
nor was it “painstaking stained to bring out the unique character of this uncommon wood.” No, Harry
assumed the wood for his wand had been selected for its magical properties, not its aesthetic
appeal.

Harry was speechless. It was so beautiful, he didn’t know what to say.

*How about ‘thank you?’* he suggested to himself. He tried but couldn’t form any words.

Hermione broke free of Ginny’s grasp and stepped forward. “And there’s one other thing, Harry,”
she started, taking the box out of his lap. She set it on the table and removed the lid, handing it
to him. Inside the cardboard box was a fancy wooden case that safely contained the board and
pieces. Harry looked at the cardboard box again as Hermione opened the case.

He recognized this packaging. It was from the game and hobby store they had visited earlier. All
of the chess sets there were made by this same company, and all had similar packaging. At the time,
he had been focused on the sets themselves. But now that he thought about it, he recalled seeing
the company’s logo on the price tags.

“Here, Harry, see?” Hermione called his attention. Harry stood up and stepped forward to stand
shoulder to shoulder with Hermione as they, and everyone else in the room, looked at the chess set
on the table. Harry could feel the upper part of his left arm resting lightly against Hermione’s
right. It began to feel oddly warm.

Hermione removed the board as well as two pawns: one white and one black. She set each of them
on its starting square, across from each other. She moved the white piece (technically, crystal
clear) forward two spaces, then the black piece forward two spaces.

To Harry’s great surprise and shock, the roughly hewn foot soldier (these *were* pieces of
carved crystal and volcanic glass, after all) suddenly came to life and attacked its black
counterpart, causing it to break into many pieces with an appropriate, yet oddly satisfying
shattering sound. The broken pieces quickly reassembled themselves and the pawn then walked across
the board, and back into the wooden case.

“Wow!” was all Harry managed. He looked at Hermione in wonderment. How was this possible? As far
as he knew, this was an ordinary Muggle chess set. Before he could ask her, he felt Ron’s hand on
his right shoulder, pulling him back slightly so he could get a better look.

“Wicked!” Ron proclaimed. “Will you let me have a go sometime?” he asked in excitement.

Harry smiled and nodded. While Harry had to admit to himself that Hermione’s present was by far
and away his favorite, he wanted to make sure Ron knew that he hadn’t already forgotten about his
present, and that he liked it also. “But only if we can go through some of the spells in here,” he
proposed, pointing to *Compendium*.

“Deal,” Ron agreed eagerly, and then picked up a black and white knight, inspecting the pieces
closely.

With Ron presently occupied, Harry turned back to Hermione with an inquisitive look, to ask
about the set.

“Later,” she said happily as she looked over his shoulder. Harry turned and saw that Molly had
brought up the cake and set it down on the table where the leftovers from lunch had been
consolidated onto two trays and pushed over to one side.

Harry felt Hermione put her hand on his back and push him slightly towards the table. He didn’t
think he could’ve put up any resistance to that, even if his head hadn’t started swimming at her
touch. When he got to the cake, he found that it was in the shape of Gryffindor Tower. On the
glorious Honeyduke’s chocolate frosting was “Happy Birthday Harry!” written in red and gold
icing.

Molly handed him a large knife. “If you would do the honors, dear,” she said kindly. Harry
looked at the cake, and decided to start with the spire of the tower. As he began to cut, the cake
suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream. Harry let go of the knife in shock; it remained stuck in
the cake. From the cut, what appeared to be strawberry gel filling suddenly started gushing out
like blood. Fred and George began laughing riotously. Everyone in the room turned to look at
them.

“What?” Fred asked innocently. “We didn’t touch the frosting, *like we were told.*”

Molly appeared to have the wrath of God in her eyes as she began to take a step forward.
Deciding he would save the twins, but torment them a little at the same time, Harry quickly cleared
his throat.

“Please Mrs. Weasley,” he started. She turned back to look at him. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about
it.” Fred and George grinned at each other. Harry then put on the most innocent looking expression
he could manage. “I’ll deal with them... *later*.” Molly turned to look at Fred and
George.

Seeing the looks of genuine fear appear on their faces (which rarely happened), Molly turned
back to Harry and smiled at him. “Very well. If you insist. But please don’t do anything that might
get you sent to Azkaban,” she said seriously; Harry knew, however, she was enjoying it as much as
he was.

Fred and George smiled again, realizing it was all a joke. Unfortunately for them, Harry saw
them smile. “Oh don’t worry about that, Mrs. Weasley. I would never do anything... *like
that,*” he said, then smiled innocently to Fred and George. Their looks of fear returned. Harry
heard Hermione cough beside him to conceal a laugh.

A couple minutes later, the cake was cut (George generously volunteered to remove the screaming
charm, as well as the charm that caused the filling to gush out). For a minute, Harry was standing
by himself, eating his cake before Ginny came over and stood by his side.

“Hi Harry,” she greeted him excitedly. “How’s the cake?”

“Brilliant! Remind me to thank your mum,” he replied as they both watched the rest of the guests
wander around chatting.

“I made the strawberry filling,” she offered hopefully.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Harry replied. As soon as he said it, he realized it sounded less
enthusiastic than he meant. “It’s very good,” he added, as he turned his head slightly to look at
her. Ginny seemed to perk up a little.

“Did you... um... like my present?” she asked shyly. Harry could see a slight pink tint return
to her cheeks.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry replied. “I’ll have to try them out when I get home,” he added. Ginny’s pink
hue faded.

“Well... that’s good. I hope you like them,” she said. She then looked over at Ron and suddenly
changed the subject. “Looks like Ron’s in trouble again.”

Harry looked over and saw that Luna had again seemed to ensnare Ron in a conversation. She was
standing there, waving a fork with a piece of cake on it around as she spoke. Ron was staring
intently at his own cake as he ate it. Harry couldn’t tell if he was listening or not (he assumed
not).

Hermione joined Harry and Ginny a minute later, stepping in between them. There was barely
enough space between them for her to fit without bumping into either of them, but she managed it
anyway.

“Hey Ginny, what do you say we go rescue your brother, huh?” Hermione offered.

Ginny seemed to brighten a little. “Okay,” she said, and the two of them left for the other side
of the room. Part of Harry was disappointed that Hermione hadn’t spoken to him, but part of him was
glad he wouldn’t have to talk about his new cologne with Ginny.

Harry watched as Hermione and Ginny walked over to Luna and Ron. Hermione skillfully interrupted
them; Ginny appeared very pleased. Her face dropped slightly when a few moments later, Hermione
sent Ron back over to Harry while she, Ginny, and Luna stayed on their side of the room.

“Thanks a lot,” Ron said sarcastically as he walked up to him. Harry was confused. He assumed
Ron would welcome the interruption. He looked blankly at Ron, hoping he would explain.

“‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ you said,” Ron started. “She’s been writing to me every day
since then. That’s what happened.”

Harry fought to not smile. “Who? Luna?” he asked innocently.

“Yeah, Luna,” Ron replied. “Ever since I replied to her letter, she’s written to me every day.
Do you know, they have the weirdest owl. It just sits there and watches me. Kinda like her,
actually, now that I think about it,” Ron said, looking back across the room over at Luna.

“Maybe the owl fancies you,” Harry teased. “You know... kinda like...” Harry let his voice trail
off, wagging his eyebrows.

“And of course,” Ron continued, either not catching Harry’s hint or intentionally ignoring it,
“I had to reply to each one of them, *just to be nice,*” he said, repeating what Harry wrote
in his earlier letter.

*And when has Ron worried about not being nice to someone?* Harry wondered, amused.

*“Under his radar.”* Hermione’s words suddenly echoed thought Harry’s mind. Ron *did*
say that he’d replied to each one of them. He *could* have ignored her. And as annoyed as he
appeared, he didn’t actually seem to be angry.

Harry considered Ron’s reaction for a few more seconds, then asked, “Well, was that so bad?”

“Well... no... not really. It’s just that... well, it’s Loony Lovegood, that’s all,” Ron said,
as if that explained everything.

“And it did give you someone to talk to, didn’t it?” Harry pressed on. “I’m sure writing to me
every day wouldn’t have been a good idea. They might’ve traced the owls.”

Ron considered this for a moment. “Well, that’s true, *I suppose*.” Neither Harry nor Ron
knew that Hermione had been corresponding daily with Ginny leading up to the party with no worries
about the owls being traced.

“Better than talking to Percy,” Ron said sarcastically.

“She isn’t quite so bad, you know, when you actually talk to her. You kinda get used to her,”
Ron said as he looked back to Luna. “She still says some weird things sometimes I grant you, but,
you know, what do you expect?”

*Under his radar, indeed,* Harry thought to himself. He decided to take a chance. “And she
*is* a brilliant kisser,” he whispered to Ron. As soon as he said it, Harry remembered Ron’s
confused reaction after seeing Luna kiss him. He decided to take another chance.

“So, Ron,” Harry started casually, “what do you think of her, *as a girl?*”

Ron looked suddenly surprised. “Who? Luna?” he asked incredulously. Harry nodded. Ron looked as
her as though he was studying her, as if he never really consciously considered that
possibility.

“Well...” Ron started uncertainly. “She... is... kinda cute... in her own weird way. She is a
blonde. That’s always a plus. And... you do have to admit... she is rather... *well put
together,*” Ron said, turning his back to everyone and holding his cupped hands in front of his
chest with a sly grin.

Harry took a second look at Luna. She certainly wasn’t unattractive, by any means, and as far as
being *put together*, she seemed rather average. But if Ron thought otherwise, Harry certainly
wasn’t going to say anything.

Ron continued to stare at Luna for a few seconds, obviously mulling things over. Unexpectedly,
Luna looked over towards Harry and Ron. Upon seeing Ron looking at her, she immediately turned back
to Ginny.

Seeing this, Harry nudged Ron in the arm. “Did you see that Ron? I think she might fancy you,”
he said in a teasing voice. He had suspected it for quite awhile, but now seemed to be the perfect
chance to actually bring it up with Ron.

“You’re mental,” Ron said in disbelief.

“Am I?” Harry asked. “Remember how she was always staring at you last year? Remember how she
wanted to carry Pig’s cage? Oh, you weren’t there for that. Remember that lion hat of hers?
Remember her always singing ‘Weasley—’”

“Enough,” Ron interrupted, “I get the point.” He looked positively embarrassed, though he was
still looking at her.

“You know, half the fun is simply knowing that they already like you. Go on, talk to her,” Harry
prodded him. He pushed him a step forward. Ron didn’t resist, but also didn’t continue walking
either.

“Go on,” Harry exhorted. “What’s the worst that can happen?” Ron turned and looked askance at
Harry. “Okay, fine. What’s the *best* that can happen?” Ron stopped and seemed to consider
this for a moment. Harry couldn’t resist. “She’s blonde, you know? And a great kisser.” A moment
later, he suddenly realized he didn’t want to know what Ron thought might be the best that could
happen.

A slight smile appeared on Ron’s face, but then he quickly hid it. “Wouldn’t it be nice if ‘the
trio’ became a quartet?” Harry suggested. Coincidently enough, the additional possibility of Harry
adding someone *and* Hermione adding someone to make it a group of six never occurred to
him.

Ron put his right foot forward, then back again as though he was debating what to do. “Just talk
to her,” Harry encouraged him. “You don’t have to ask her out. You don’t have to snog her. Just
talk to her.”

“A good kisser, huh?” Ron asked.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he noticed it this time. “Just *talk* to her,” he
repeated.

“She is kinda cute,” Ron repeated, as if he was trying to talk himself into doing it. “No
offense, but now that I think about it, Hermione *is* rather plain looking. I...”

Whatever Ron said after that, Harry did not hear. All he heard were both voices in his mind
scream out simultaneously.

*WHAT??!!*

After that, all Harry could do was stare dumbfounded at Ron, watching him speak, but not hearing
any of his words. He could only make out bits and pieces of the overlapping screaming in his
mind.

*Of all the...*

*... planet are...*

*How dare...*

*...most beautiful girl...*

And then suddenly... silence.

*What was that?* Harry heard his own voice asking.

*Um... nothing. I didn’t say anything,* his reasonable side replied, sounding entirely
unconvinced. It was strange for Harry to hear such uncertainty in Hermione’s voice. He knew it
wasn’t Hermione, but still, it sounded like her voice.

If that voice had a face, Harry was certain it would be smirking right now. *No... I’m pretty
sure you just said something... something about Hermione being the most beautiful girl you’ve ever
seen.*

*No I didn’t.*

*Liar!*

For another moment, silence. *Oh bugger! How in the bloody hell did that happen?*

*It’s true then!* Harry’s voice exclaimed in triumph.

*Of course it’s true. And you know it.*

*Yeah I knew it. But I had to wait for YOU to say it to know that it REALLY was true.*

*When did Hermione go from just our best friend to the most beautiful girl we’ve ever
seen?*

*Honestly? I think it happened when we were asking Ron all those questions about whether he
fancied her or not. Every time we listed an example, somehow she just got prettier with each
one.*

*Well... so what?* Harry’s reasonable side argued. *No big deal right? There are lots of
beautiful girls in the world. Hermione’s just the most beautiful. It doesn’t mean anything.
Right?*

*If you say so.* Harry’s voice didn’t seem at all convinced. *It’s just that she suddenly
became that in the last two weeks,* it said sardonically. *She must’ve obviously just grown
into it... in two weeks. Right? Nothing ELSE could have changed, right?*

*Right,* Harry’s reasonable voice agreed, though it didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Suddenly, Harry realized Ron was waving his hand at him, trying to get his attention. “Are you
all right mate?

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” Harry assured him. “I was... just thinking about something. My mind
was wandering for a moment.”

*Wandering where?* Harry’s internal voice teased.

*Shut up!* the Hermione-voice snapped, though Harry could somehow just feel that it was
embarrassed.

“I was just saying that I must be mental for even considering this,” Ron explained, casting a
glance over at Luna. He then laughed slightly. “But not as mental as any bloke that fancies
Hermione,” he added under his breath. He then listed again everything about her that annoyed him,
adding a couple more this time.

As he stood there, Harry realized that all those same qualities Ron thought annoying, he found
rather endearing.

“Just talk to her?” Ron confirmed. “What the heck! I’ll give it a shot.”

Harry wanted to tell Ron that you don’t just “give it a shot,” but he had already started to
walk away. Before going over to Luna, Ron must have decided he needed a little gastronomical
courage, for he first made a detour back to the food table and grabbed another sandwich and took
two bites, and then just stood there holding it protectively like a security blanket.

At the table, Ron did not move. He looked unwilling to approach Luna with Hermione and Ginny
standing there. He looked pleadingly at Harry, who nodded and started starting intently at
Hermione, hoping he’d get her attention. After a few seconds, Hermione must have felt him watching
her, for she turned to look at him inquisitively.

Harry jerked his head back slightly to indicate she should come over. Hermione tilted her head
as if to ask why. Harry stared hard at Ron, then Luna, then back to Ron. He then looked back to
Hermione, then Ginny, then back to Hermione again, then nodded his head back once more to again ask
them to come over.

A surprised, but pleased look appeared on Hermione’s face. Harry nodded with a smile, and then
signaled a third time for them to come over. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna really hadn’t been talking,
just eating their cake; Hermione turned to Luna and said something (probably that they would be
back in a minute), and then politely grabbed Ginny by the arm and dragged her away.

Harry watched Ron take one last motivating bite of his sandwich, and then throw the half-eaten
sandwich back onto the tray with the other sandwiches. As he approached Luna, Ron suddenly looked
over at Harry and stared pointedly at him. Harry nodded, then turned away so as not to watch
him.

When Hermione and Ginny came over to him, Harry set down his now empty plate and then grabbed
their hands and turned them so they too weren’t looking in Ron’s direction.

“Ginny,” Harry asked quietly. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Harry,” she eagerly replied.

“Would you go ask Fred and George to leave Ron alone for the next few minutes?”

“Why?” she asked. Ginny then glanced over her shoulder and saw Ron talking to Luna, his hands
stuffed into his jeans pockets in nervousness. “Oh,” she realized, her face dropping slightly.

“Um, okay,” she finally agreed without much enthusiasm. “But I doubt they’ll listen to me.”

“Just tell them that I’m *asking them politely,*” Harry said, grinning.

Ginny seemed unconvinced, but... finally, “All right.” She then walked over to where Fred and
George were standing. They were watching Ron intently with devious smiles on their faces. When
Ginny went over to them, she said something to them. The twins then turned simultaneously to look
at Harry; Harry just smiled innocently at them. The look of disappointment mixed with a hint of
fear was quite amusing. Ginny then walked over and joined her parents.

“So I take it I missed something,” Hermione asked quietly with a slight grin.

“Just kill me now,” Harry begged her with a smile. “I think I’m turning into Parvati and
Lavender over here. I just talked Ron into talking to Luna... *‘talking’* talking.”

“You didn’t?” Hermione asked in amazed disbelief. Harry nodded weakly.

“Please, promise me that you’ll never try to hook me up with some complete stranger,” Harry
asked with a smile.

Hermione considered him for a moment.

“No strangers, huh? That I can do,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

Harry saw her grin. *Maybe I should’ve been a little more specific...* he mused to himself.
But, alas, it was too late. He worried that if he brought it up again, it would look suspicious.
He’d originally said it just as a joke, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew there was
more truth in that statement than he’d first realized.

Hermione looked at Harry again. “But only if you promise that you won’t try to hook me up with
anyone either,” she said, grinning again.

*Yeah, like I’d ever try to get you interested in anyone other...*

“That I can do,” Harry mimicked back, and then smiled. With the conversation ending abruptly,
Harry could do nothing but look at Hermione for a few more seconds. As he did, he suddenly felt an
overwhelming sense of anticipation.

He could feel something building in his chest. Something that reminded him of how he felt when
he kissed Hermione just a little while ago. Something that reminded him of how he felt when he took
her hands and helped her off the floor after their Portkey arrival, or when she touched his back
earlier to guide him to the cake As this feeling grew, he began to worry that it might cause him to
do something that he could not undo.

So he smiled once more then forced himself to look away. Harry turned to sneak a glance at Ron.
Ron still looked as nervous as before, but it did appear that he was actually talking to Luna. He
didn’t seem to notice Harry looking at him.

Ron’s earlier words echoed through Harry’s mind. *“But not as mental as any bloke that fancies
Hermione.”*

Considering his behavior in the last few minutes, Harry expected that this would annoy him. And
yet, now, he found it mildly amusing.

*Based on the last five years, and especially these last two weeks,* Harry’s reasonable
side said humorously, not paying attention where this thought might lead, *if anyone were to
start fancying her, it’d be me.*

The voice managed to get out one laugh before suddenly silencing itself.

Harry had heard the word used once or twice before, but now he finally, truly understood what an
epiphany was.

*OH MY GOD!! I FANCY HERMIONE!!* Harry distinctly heard both voices in his mind scream in
panic.

It was a rare occasion when the two voices came to the same conclusion. It wasn’t so much that
they disagreed with each other; they simply looked at the world differently, and therefore usually
came to different conclusions. One was more based on instinct, emotion, and subconscious thoughts.
The other was more rational and, ever since he realized it was Hermione’s voice in fifth year,
tended to act also as his conscience.

So, when they did say the same thing, it was impossible to ignore. Harry’s eyes widened in
shock. He quickly looked around; no one was looking directly at him. That made him relax a
little... but only a little.

Was it true? Could it be true? Deep down, he knew it was true. It just seemed too fantastic to
believe. He fancied her. Harry James Potter fancied Hermione Jane Granger. It seemed impossible to
believe... and yet... *it made sense*.

Again, he never said or thought those words. It was simply a feeling, an understanding. It
*was* true.

And as quickly as that, every odd thing that had happened in the last two weeks finally fell
into place.

How he felt when he first saw Hermione at the front door. How he felt when she told him he was
staying with them. How he felt before going shopping, when he realized that something was causing
him to be happy when he should have been sad. There were lots more, but Harry knew they were all
the same. He remembered thinking before they left for the mall how he promised himself that if he
ever figured out what “it” was that had caused the changes, he’d never let go of it.

Well, now he knew: it was his best friend. His best friend whom he just happened to fancy and
think was the most beautiful girl in the world. It was as simple as that.

Harry slowly turned to look back at Hermione. Fortunately the look of shock had finally died
from his face. His insides however, were a right mess. Excitement, fear, happiness, terror,
anticipation, dread... it was all there.

When he finally could see her properly, Harry could see that Hermione too had been watching Ron
and Luna. She looked at him and smiled again. Harry immediately felt all of the fear washed away by
that same bubbly, giddy feeling he felt earlier. He was so overwhelmed by it, he was tempted to
start giggling. Fortunately, his self control was strong enough to at least keep him from doing
*that*.

In a daze, Harry grinned dumbly back.

*Oh, I am in trouble now,* Harry thought to himself.

*A/N: FINALLY!! YAY!! Harry figured it out. I must say though that we aren’t at the end yet.
Remember, this story is planned to end once they are together, so we still have a few more chapters
to go. Many of these chapters will be “live,” covering only a very brief window... for example,
July 31 lasts 6 ½ chapters: last half of 12 through 18. Other chapters will be much more sparse.
August will probably last one to two chapters (unless I’m struck by some NEW rabid plot bunny). I
PROMISE it won’t take Harry two years to get together with Hermione, like it did with Cho.
Remember, I know how the story ends, so I’m just as eager to get there as you are!*



16. Of Owls and Elves
---------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so there!*


*A/N: Hello everyone. Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. R/L reared its ugly nose
there for a short while, and combined with Thanksgiving, I lost several prime writing days. But, I
trust that I will be able to make up for it... with this... a double update! Well, not exactly,
since the second chapter will be posted a couple days after this one. But hey, at least it’s not
two weeks! Heh heh heh. Monday, at the absolute latest... I PROMISE!*


*Thanks go out, as always, to my beta, MapleMountain, who braved a snowstorm to edit my story.
Well, that and he had to return to his family... but hey, details!*


*And speaking of details, yes, I know the scientific name for snowy owls here is “now”
incorrect. But since this is set several years ago, and since the wizarding world tends to be
behind the times a bit, I decided to use the older one.*

Chapter 16. Of Owls and Elves.

*When he finally could see her properly, Harry could see that Hermione too had been watching
Ron and Luna. She looked at him and smiled again. Harry immediately felt all of the fear washed
away by that same bubbly, giddy feeling he felt earlier. He was so overwhelmed by it, he was
tempted to start giggling. Fortunately, his self control was strong enough to at least keep him
from doing* that.

*In a daze, Harry grinned dumbly back.*

Oh, I am in trouble now, *Harry thought to himself.*

Harry stood there, staring at Hermione in complete shock... and bliss. He had to say it (okay,
fine, think it) just one more time, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining it. *I fancy
Hermione.* He didn’t believe it, and yet, it *felt* absolutely right. It *was*
true.

Before he had much of a chance to decide what to do next, Hermione turned to him again, looking
very excited. “Harry, she’s going over there!”

“What?” he asked numbly, snapping out of his reverie.

“Professor McGonagall just walked over to Ron,” she said. “Aren’t you paying attention?”

*Yeah, to you,* he thought. “Erm, no,” he answered.

“I bet she’s going to offer him the captaincy now. That means you’ll be prefect soon!”

“Oh no!” Harry suddenly whispered. Before she could ask what he meant, he grabbed her by the
arms and turned the two of them so that he was directly between Ron and Hermione, and so his back
was to Ron.

“I can’t let Ron see me,” Harry explained. “If he looks over at me, I’ll probably start grinning
like an idiot. He’ll know that I know. Like McGonagall said, I don’t want him to do it because I’ll
be prefect. I want him to do it because he wants to. The only way he’ll be a good captain is if
*he wants to be.* Tell me what happens... but don’t be obvious that you’re watching him!”

Hermione laughed at Harry for just a second. “Okay. She’s talking to Luna. Luna’s walking away.
She actually looks annoyed at being interrupted with Ron. Wow! Okay. McGonagall’s talking to Ron
now. Quietly, it looks like.” Hermione suddenly pulled her head back in so she couldn’t see
Ron.

“Ron just started to look over here. Only saw his face for a fraction of a second, but he looked
to be in shock. I think she just told him.” Hermione peeked her head back out. “Okay, he’s looking
at her again. *Heh heh*, she probably told him to not look at you, that she was asking him,
not you.”

“Well, she did...” Harry whispered.

“But does Ron need to know that? Besides, as I recall, you never did say that she asked
*you* to be the captain. She just asked you if you knew of anyone willing to *be* the
captain. Right? You can’t be one hundred percent certain she wanted *you* to be captain, can
you?”

Harry caught on. “I guess I can’t,” he agreed, smiling.

“Okay, Ron just ran out, nearly knocked Ginny over. Probably going to get his prefect badge,”
Hermione said, smirking.

“Okay, I think it’s safe to turn around now,” Harry decided, though he had been perfectly happy
to stay there all day, watching Hermione, and her lips, speak. Ron returned a minute later, nearly
knocking Luna over this time (though he did stop to apologize). He quickly strode over to Professor
McGonagall and surreptitiously put something in her hand. She then pulled something out of her own
pocket.

Professor McGonagall turned to face the crowd. “Your attention, everyone. Your attention,
please. As Head of Gryffindor House, I have several announcements to make. First, I am proud to
announce that Gryffindor has a new Quidditch Captain this year.” Harry noticed everyone in the
room—other than Hermione, Ron, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore—look in his direction. He
had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too much.

“Mr. Ronald Weasley,” McGonagall finally announced as she handed him the Quidditch Captain
badge. The awkward silence that should have followed would have been deafening if it weren’t filled
with the enthusiastic cheers and applause from the four who already knew.

After a moment for it to sink in, and once everyone realized that Harry seemed genuinely happy
to “again miss out” on what was a highly coveted position, everyone else joined in congratulating
Ron. Molly rushed forward to envelope her youngest son in a death grip of a hug. Harry noticed Luna
staring dreamily at Ron as usual.

“One more announcement, please,” Professor McGonagall spoke above the hubbub. “Being captain is
a tremendous responsibility. I therefore cannot allow him to be both captain and prefect at the
same time. So, with Mr. Weasley’s rather enthusiastic permission, I am pleased to announce our new
sixth year prefect: Mr. Harry Potter.”

This time, it was Ron and Hermione’s cheers, along with his professors’ applause, that filled
the stunned silence. But then everyone else began to applaud energetically as Professor McGonagall
came over and handed him Ron’s prefect badge. Harry saw Molly come barreling toward him. As he
mentally and physically prepared himself for his fate, he was surprised to find a pair of arms wrap
around him... arms that did not belong to Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione, to Harry’s ecstatic surprise, had captured him in another one of her death grip hugs.
It certainly was worthy of the one he received on his first day at her house. As he felt her warmth
against him, he could feel his mind washing away as the pleasant floral scent of her shampoo once
again invaded his senses.

Only a burning sensation on his cheek snapped him out of it. Hermione had kissed him on the
cheek.

“Oh shush, you two,” Hermione scolded Fred and George after she let go of Harry and they began
to whistle suggestively. “I’m just congratulating him,” Hermione said exasperatedly, though she did
look a little self-conscious. “If you two made prefect or captain, you’d get one too.”

“*Hey,*” Ron called out from across the room in a mock-offended voice, “I’m captain. How
come I didn’t get one?”

“Because, *Ronald,*” she explained, “*I* am on this side of the room, and *Harry*
is on this side of the room. *You* are on that side of the room.” Hermione then smiled. “But
if you insist...” she added, holding out her arms as if inviting him for a hug.

A voice suddenly spoke up. “That’s okay. I’ll do it.” Before anyone realized it, Luna went up to
Ron and gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek and then walked back to where she’d been
standing as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Fred and George looked pleadingly at Harry; he nodded. They then turned and started whistling at
Ron and clapping. Ron turned bright red and then touched his cheek where Luna had kissed him. A few
minutes later, everyone had made it around the room to congratulate the new prefect and
captain.

About an hour later, Harry was talking to Tonks about the Auror training program when something
white caught his attention at the window behind her. Harry focused his attention and saw that it
was Metis. After excusing himself for moment, he started to head to the window.

Hermione however must have seen Metis before he did, for she beat him to the window and opened
it, allowing her owl to hop into the room. A moment later, Metis was sitting contentedly on
Hermione’s shoulder. Harry looked to the window. If Metis was here, Hedwig would not be far behind.
He strained his eyes and saw off in the distance, a small white speck.

Eagerly waiting for Hedwig to arrive, Harry looked over at Hermione and nodded slightly, ready
to play his role again in their little owl game.

As he turned to look back out the window, Harry heard Ron come up to them. “Whose owl is that?”
he asked curiously.

Harry turned back to Ron. *He couldn’t...* “What do you mean?” Harry asked innocently.

“I mean, whose owl is that?” Ron said as if it was the most obvious question in the world,
which, really, it was. “I mean, I’ve seen Hedwig for five years now, so I know that’s not her. And
I don’t know anyone else with an owl like her, *so... whose owl is that?*”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other; they knew this wasn’t going to work. So, Hermione
decided to fess up.

“Well, now you do know someone with an owl like Hedwig. This, Ron, is my new owl, Metis. Isn’t
she beautiful?” The fondness in her voice strongly reminded Harry of Hagrid looking at some
illegal, dangerous creature.

An envious, but not jealous, look appeared on Ron’s face. “No way!” Ron shouted in excitement.
Most everyone in the room turned to look and see what he was shouting at. With perfect timing,
Hedwig flew in the open window and landed on the ledge. Harry held out his arm, to which she flew.
He then set her on his shoulder.

With the arrival of this new snowy owl, everyone rushed over to hear Hermione’s story of how she
got Metis. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tonks smirking at him. She obviously remembered
the extended version that included a broken door.

A short while later, Ron brought down Hermes’ and Errol’s perches (Hermes was in his cage in
Percy’s room). After some water and leftover chicken, Hedwig and Metis were soon perched
contentedly, watching the goings on of the party.

Luna soon came up to Harry and Hermione. “Such a beautiful *Nyctea scandiaca*,” she said in
her usual dreamy voice.

“A what?” Hermione asked a little surprised.

“A snowy owl,” Luna replied. “Didn’t you know their Latin name? My father is an avid bird
watcher. We have all sorts of books on different species of birds. I could loan you one, if you’d
like, since it seems you might like to learn more about them,” Luna said rather
straightforward.

Hermione seemed rather wrong-footed, though Harry suspected it was more from the fact that Luna
knew something that she didn’t, rather than her rather abrupt way of saying it.

“No thanks,” Hermione said politely, but tersely.

“Okay,” Luna replied airily as if she didn’t notice anything about Hermione’s tone. She then
walked away.

Harry looked at Hermione for a moment. “It really bothers you that she knows more about owls
than you do?” he asked gently.

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. Seeing Harry look disbelievingly at her, she softened
slightly. “Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Well, she IS a Ravenclaw, after all.” Harry said. “It was bound to happen sooner or later that
one of them would know something that you didn’t. But at least she didn’t hold it over you... at
least I don’t *think* she did.” Harry shook his head slightly. It *was* hard to read Luna
sometimes. He then smirked. “Can you imagine if it had been Cho?”

“Don’t remind me,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, then smiling. “I know all about Post Owls
and their magic... but I’ve never really gotten around to studying the individual species
themselves. I probably know about as much as you do about regular owls themselves.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” he teased. “Fine, if it makes you feel better, I’ll find
you the ultimate guide to birds for your birthday, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said half-heartedly, and then smiled.

About half an hour later, Pig returned after delivering a work-related letter to Gringott’s for
Bill. No one paid any attention to him until a loud, almost barking sound was heard. Everyone
turned to see Pig fluttering madly around Hedwig and Metis. Both of the larger owls’ feathers were
ruffled and they were flapping their wings, as if to shoo Pig away. Metis kept trying to snap at
Pig as he flew by.

Hermione turned to Ron and called across the room. “Ron, I don’t think my owl likes your
owl.”

Ron turned and looked annoyedly at Pig twittering around. “Yeah, what else is new? Bird’s bloody
annoying,” he said, shaking his head. Luna slowly walked over to near where Pig was zooming around,
watching him fly with fascination. Hedwig and Metis, in the meantime, flew up to the top of one of
the bookcases where there wasn’t room for Pig to fly around above them.

To everyone’s immense surprise, Luna suddenly reached out and literally snatched Ron’s tiny
Scops owl from the air, mid-flight. She did it so quickly, even Harry was surprised, and
impressed.

“Maybe he just wants a little attention,” Luna said simply. “A bird like this is probably always
feeling overshadowed by the larger owls.” Luna began stoking Pig’s head, just as Harry often did to
Hedwig. Pig immediately seemed to calm down.

“You should probably go put him away for now,” Luna said as she brought Pig over to Ron, holding
him out for Ron to take. Looking at her in shock, Ron simply nodded dumbly and started to head to
his room. Luna followed, still holding Pig.

Right at the last moment, Ron must’ve snapped out of it, for he turned to Luna as they walked
out the room, “Hey, Luna, you ever play Seeker in Quidditch?”

Watching Ron and Luna walk out, Harry let out a slight laugh. He turned around to Hermione.
Before he could comment of what had just happened, several things happened in very rapid
succession.

First, Harry heard a loud cracking noise that was vaguely familiar. He realized he was stepping
on something. He heard a loud yelp, then felt his feet leave the floor... then darkness consumed
everything.

Harry awoke a minute later lying on the floor, with a splitting headache and a very warm hand.
*Owww...* he thought to himself. While his head throbbed, his hand felt very nice. He opened
his eyes to find Hermione kneeling over him, looking down at him, very worried. The warmth he felt
was her hand in his.

He struggled to sit upright. “What happened?” he asked weakly. Before anyone could answer him,
he saw an unconscious Dobby lying on the floor. Professor Dumbledore then stepped forward.

“It seems, Harry, that in his excitement to get here, Dobby appeared literally underfoot... your
foot to be exact. I’m afraid you discovered the hard way a house-elf’s defensive magic. He reacted,
knocking you away when you accidentally stepped on his foot. He seemed intent on beating his head
against the wall when he realized what he did to you, so I had to stun him for a moment.”

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked, helping him stand up, still holding his hand.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said once he was sure his legs wouldn’t fall out from under him. He gave
her hand a squeeze in reassurance. She finally let go of it.

“Well, we should probably wake him up, now that I’m up,” Harry said, trying to smile.

*“Ennervate!”* Dumbledore said, waking the elf.

Dobby opened his eyes, blinking. When he saw Harry standing over him, he immediately jumped up
and then fell to his knees, sobbing.

“Dobby is most sorry, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is not meaning to hurt him. Dobby reacted when he
is stepped on... Dobby is most sorry!” he wailed.

“Dobby!” Harry shouted firmly, to get his attention. Dobby looked up with his large, tear-filled
green eyes. “Did you mean to hurt me?”

“NO, SIR!”

“Was it an accident?”

“YES, SIR. Dobby is MOST sorry!”

“Then I forgive you, Dobby. You don’t need to punish yourself any more.”

Dobby’s face lit up. “Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is feeling most better. Dobby
wanted to bring you his gift, sir. Harry’s Wheezy said master would be liking them. Dobby is most
happy to give them. Dobby paid for them with his pay from Hogwarts.”

Dobby handed Harry a box which had obviously been wrapped by someone at Quality Quidditch
Supplies. Harry looked over at Ron. His ears had turned slightly red and he was looking away,
trying to appear interested watching Hedwig and Metis watch him.

Harry opened the box to find a pair of red boxers with tiny gold snitches all over them. He
heard a squeak of an “Oh!” right next to him. Turning, he saw Hermione walk quickly away and join
Ron watching the owls. Harry felt like his face was on fire.

“Th-Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said through his embarrassment. “I’ll... erm... try them
later.”

“Dobby is having one more present for sir. Dobby is wanting to clean up for sir after the
party!”

“Oh! Thank you. I’m sure that can be arranged,” Harry said as he looked around the room for
Molly. His eyes landed on Hermione instead. He turned back to the elf. “But only if I can pay you.”
Before Dobby could reply, Harry added in a whisper, “But I’ll let you tell me how much to pay you.
Deal?”

The diminutive house-elf considered it for a moment. “Deal,” he finally agreed. “Dobby must be
paid... one Sickle, sir.” Harry reached down to shake Dobby’s hand; his tennis ball-sized eyes
began to water as he shook Harry’s hand.

Harry could hear him muttering to himself as he walked away towards the staircase to the
kitchen. “Sir is offering to shake Dobby’s hand...”

Harry went over to join Ron and Hermione to see what was so interesting about Hedwig and Metis.
He put a hand on each of their shoulders as he came up to them; both jumped.

When he turned around, Ron was snickering slightly; Hermione was still a little pink in the
cheeks.

“So... did *sir* like Dobby’s present?” Ron asked, trying not to laugh.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said in good humor. “I’ll be sure to have him give you the same thing in
front of Luna at your party.”

“Hey,” Ron defended, “I never told him to give it to you then. I just made an innocent
suggestion to him of what to give you when he stopped by earlier.”

“What? He was here earlier? When was this?” Harry asked curiously.

“Oh,” Ron said as if he just remembered something. “Soon after we moved in, we found Kreacher
dead in his little den.” Hermione gasped suddenly.

Ron looked like he wanted to say something about Kreacher or S.P.E.W. just then, but he wisely
decided against it after a hard stare from Harry.

“Anyway, we couldn’t get him out. Anytime anyone tried to reach in to get him, they would get
shocked. Professor Dumbledore brought Dobby here to... fix... it,” Ron said, not knowing how else
to phrase it. He then closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he’d heard earlier.

“Dobby said that when the last member of a family died, the house-elf bound to that family died
a short while later. Long enough to... *put the family affairs into order?*” Ron said
uncertainly, still trying to remember everything. “Afterwards, all of its leftover magic sort of
hovers over its body protecting it... or something like that.

“Professor Dumbledore said that was one of the reasons he brought Winky to Hogwarts,” Ron
explained. “Since she is now bound to the school, she wouldn’t die after the Crouches did.”

“But what about Malfoy’s mum?” Harry chose not to mention the other female Black.

“‘The family dies with the name’” Ron quoted. “Mum said that even though she was born a Black,
she’s now a Malfoy. And you just know that families like *that* would never get married
without binding magical contracts... so, now... in a magical sense, she’s a Malfoy and not a
Black.”

Hermione smirked. “So much for the sanctity of pure blood lineage.”

“Yeah,” both Harry and Ron agreed.

“So, what happened with Kreacher?” Harry asked.

“Oh,” Ron replied, beginning to look a little uncomfortable. “Dobby asked us to give him a large
knife. He then asked us to leave the room. Said it was private house-elf business. A few moments
later, all of the elf heads on the wall disappeared.

“When he said we could go back in, Dobby said it was done,” Ron explained. “Kreacher was gone.
He then asked Dumbledore to take him back to school. He didn’t want to talk for a while after
that,” Ron said quietly.

As the afternoon drew on, the number of guests began to dwindle. Hagrid was the first to leave,
saying, “I’s feedin’ time, Harry. Got ter go an’ feed’m befer they eat me outta house’n home.”
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all looked at each other, not wanting to know. The Headmaster and
Professor McGonagall accompanied him, saying that they had plenty of start of term business to
attend. Before leaving, Professor Dumbledore promised to return promptly at five o’clock to see
them back to Wandsworth.

The six oldest Weasleys, plus Fleur but minus Molly, all decided to pay a visit to Fred and
George’s shop. The twins said they had some brand new items they wanted to show off before
unveiling. Tonks said she had a bunch of paperwork waiting back at the Ministry with her name on
it. Remus, who had nothing else do to, offered to go with her. Ginny and Luna headed to her room to
talk about whatever they talked about when they talked.

With the departure of most of the guests, the drawing room once again had enough room for
furniture. Molly carried all of the shrunken furniture in from the other room, then returned it all
to normal size. When she said that she would head down to start cleaning up, Harry quickly pulled
her aside.

“Mrs. Weasley? Do you have a second?”

“Of course, dear. Anything for you.”

“I was wondering... would you prevent someone from giving me a present because you wanted to do
the same thing?”

Molly looked aghast. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

Harry was slightly embarrassed. That hadn’t come out the way he intended. “That’s not what I
meant. What I meant is that Dobby is downstairs. He wants to clean up the house as part of his
present to me. You *will* let him give me his present, won’t you? By himself... unless he asks
you for help?”

Molly looked like she wanted to object, but after a moment, she finally realized what he was
trying to get at earlier. She finally relented. “Yes, Harry, dear. I *will* let Dobby give you
his present... but *only* because it’s your birthday.” She smiled slightly.

“But I’m still making dinner for my family tonight. His present was only to clean the house.
I’ll fight him if I have to, to get to my pots and pans,” she added with a wink. “By the way, I do
hope you like your present. I’ve never made treacle tart before, so please let me know how it
is.

“I must confess, it wasn’t easy to find out what your favorite dessert was. I asked Ron, and he
didn’t know. I asked Ginny, and she didn’t know. Fred and George didn’t know either. Finally, I
asked Ginny to ask Hermione. She knew, of course, so it all worked out in the end. Well, I should
probably get down there and tell Dobby of our agreement.” She then headed downstairs.

Harry turned around to find both Hermione and Ron come up to him at the exact same moment and
begin speaking simultaneously.

“Harry, do you want—?”

“Harry, could I—?”

The two of them stared at each other, waiting to see who would back down first. Harry
immediately began to laugh. “All right, who was first?” he asked, just for the fun of it.

Both Hermione and Ron again looked at each other. Amused by the stalemate, Harry decided to
intervene by putting on a very annoyed face. “What do you two want?” he whined even as a smile
threatened to break through.

Ron quickly turned to gaze longingly at Harry’s new chess set; Hermione’s focus, while just as
longing, was directed at Harry’s new book (well, slightly used, but Harry didn’t care... it was new
to him). They both then looked pleadingly at Harry.

“Yes, and yes,” he answered them both. Excited, Hermione grabbed *Compendium* and got
settled in on the old fashioned davenport while Ron eagerly opened the chess set, pulling out the
pieces. He then levitated one of the medium sized tables and set it next to the davenport. Dragging
a squashy armchair over from the corner, he set it on the other side of the table.

After setting up the board and taking the black pieces, Ron settled in the armchair. “Ready,
Harry?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Harry replied in good humor as he moved one of his quartz pawns. He
jokingly wondered what it would be like to ever win a game against Ron. After Ron’s first move,
Luna returned from Ginny’s room. She went and stood directly behind Ron’s chair, watching the game
intently. After two moves, he’d obviously become very aware of her presence directly behind him,
and seemed to be slightly unnerved by it.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked her uncertainly after making his move.

“Oh, why thank you, Ronald,” Luna said rather dreamily. She grabbed a wooden chair from next to
the writing desk that once contained a boggart and set it beside Ron’s armchair.

“You know, I’ve never actually ever watched anyone play chess,” Luna suddenly explained as she
sat down. “It’s quite popular in Ravenclaw, if you can believe that. I’ve never played myself, or
even watched, but then again, I’ve never kissed anyone before today either, so it’s been a day full
of new experiences.”

Harry and Ron looked up at each other, and then back down at the board. “Do you mind if I
watch?” Luna asked. Harry shook his head; Ron did as well.

A few minutes later, Hermione must have found a particularly interesting chapter, for she asked
Harry if he minded if she stretched her legs out to get more comfortable.

“No, I don’t mind,” he squeaked, and then promptly cleared his throat to resolve whatever
non-existent impediment he hoped everyone else thought caused that.

Ten minutes into the game, Harry knew he was going down in defeat in record time, but it was
still fun to watch and listen to the pieces shatter as they attacked and counterattacked. He never
had so much fun losing. Suddenly, Hermione’s voice interrupted his fun.

“Was there something you wanted, Ginny?” she asked. Harry quickly looked at Hermione and saw she
was looking towards the door. He turned and saw Ginny in the doorway, looking in on the four of
them.

“What? Oh. Oh, I was just wondering where all of you were,” Ginny said without much energy.
Harry noticed she looked a little tired.

“Hey, Ginny. Want to play some chess?” Harry offered. “I’m about six moves away from being
checkmated—”

“Four,” Ron corrected with a grin.

“Four moves,” Harry agreed. “It’d be nice if I actually had a chance for once. What do you say?”
Harry asked, smiling.

Ginny seemed to consider it for a moment. “Okay,” she finally agreed, looking a little happier
right away. Four moves later, Harry’s king knelt in surrender to Ron’s queen and Ron stood up,
looking very satisfied.

“Wicked board, Harry!” Ron said in awe, casting one last, envious gaze at the quartz and
obsidian pieces. “If you don’t bring that with you to school, I *will* kill you,” Ron
warned.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Harry laughed back.

“Well... time to check out the leftovers,” Ron decided before heading downstairs.

“You just ate two hours ago,” Hermione called out incredulously, looking up from the book as Ron
descended the staircase.

“Now, now, Hermione,” Harry said as he turned to look at her fondly, patting her left shin, “it
*has* been at least an hour. You know, everyone waits an hour after eating before going
swimming. Ron waits an hour after eating... before eating again.”

Hermione shook her head in amusement before looking back at Harry. “I just hope no one else was
planning on having any leftovers tomorrow,” she replied, grinning. She then ever-so-quickly glanced
down at her left leg where Harry had patted it, before returning to the book.

Harry suddenly felt very guilty. *I need to pay more attention to what I’m doing,* he
chastised himself. He’d done that simply on instinct, without even thinking. *That’s a good way
to get my face hexed off.*

Harry quickly turned away, back to Ginny, whom he found wearing an expression he couldn’t quite
decipher. Deciding that now was as good a time as any for a bathroom break, he asked Ginny if she’d
reset the board and said that he’d be back in a minute.

After answering the call of nature and washing up, Harry left the bathroom and found Ginny
standing against the wall halfway down the hall. As he started walking towards the drawing room
(and by default her), she approached him. They met halfway.

“Harry?” she asked quietly, almost in a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

Having been down this road once before with another Weasley, Harry knew how to answer. “Yeah,”
he said in a friendly voice.

“Well... um... I was just wondering...” Hearing the nervousness in her voice, Harry was pretty
sure he knew what she was about to ask.

“Do... do you... *like* me?” she finally said after a deep breath. Harry stood there,
feeling like a deer frozen in headlights. “Do you... think of me as *more* than just a
friend?”

“Ginny...” Harry stuttered. He knew *what* to say. He just didn’t know *how* to say
it... the way he *wanted* to. She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled, as if hoping it
would help make him more relaxed. He knew that if Hermione had done that, he’d be so relaxed his
knees would probably buckle. But when Ginny did it... it didn’t make things worse, but it didn’t
make them any easier.

“Ginny... you’re my best mate’s sister. You *are* very important to me,” Harry said
truthfully. Ginny held her breath for a moment. “But...” he started. Ginny’s face immediately
fell.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Harry whispered after taking a calming breath of his own. “The last thing I
want to do is hurt you. But I know I’d hurt you even more if I lied, or tried to ignore it, and led
you on in the process.”

Harry put a hand on her arm. Ginny’s eyes immediately closed and she smiled wistfully. “I’m
really sorry,” he repeated as he gave her arm a comforting squeeze. She brought her other hand up
to his and held onto it tightly. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and let go of his
hand.

Harry could see her smile was genuine, even though there was pain in her eyes. “*Is* there
anyone you’re interested in right now?” she asked.

Harry hadn’t been expecting that. How did he answer that? He couldn’t just blurt out *“Yeah,
your best friend.”* But he was also pretty sure he couldn’t lie about it either. The last thing
he wanted was for Hermione to think he *didn’t* fancy her. But, he also wasn’t sure he wanted
her to know that he *did* fancy her... at least not yet. It had only been about two hours
since he himself figured it out. *This is bloody confusing!*

“Ginny... I... I...” Harry stuttered, trying to figure out what to say.

“No, no, you’re right,” Ginny interrupted. “It isn’t my place to ask.” Harry smiled and nodded;
it was a nod of gratitude, not of agreement.

“Well...” Ginny started uncertainly, “I think I’ll go downstairs and help Mum finish up putting
away whatever Ron hasn’t eaten,” she said, putting on a labored smile. Harry smiled back.

“Ginny?”

“Yeah?”

“I really *did* like your present. I was just a little surprised when I saw it. It seemed
pretty personal.”

Ginny smiled embarrassedly. “That kind of *was* the idea,” she admitted, turning slightly
pink. She then turned to head to the staircase. At the last second, she turned back.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Ginny said, and then stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, allowing it to
linger for several seconds longer than was necessary; since he *hoped* it meant she was
letting go, Harry didn’t object.

Harry returned to the drawing room in somewhat of a daze over what just happened. Ginny had, for
all intents and purposes, just asked him out, and he’d told her no. Now that he *knew* she
wasn’t his sister, he had to admit... she was quite pretty... and there was just something about
her long red hair he found appealing (and Susan Bones too, now that he thought about it...).

But, just because he admitted a girl was pretty, it didn’t mean he *had* to fancy her. And
as he’d told himself earlier, there were lots of pretty girls in the world... and plenty at
Hogwarts too. But none of them caused his breathing to hitch like a certain brown-haired girl did.
None of them could turn his insides to goo with a simple smile, like a certain bookworm could.

It was with that exact thought Harry walked back into the drawing room and found a certain
brown-haired bookworm sitting on the davenport, looking entirely too comfortable reading *his*
birthday present... well as much as he could see of her, at least. She was now sitting with her
knees up, the book resting on them; her face was hidden behind it.

Harry sat down in Ron’s armchair and stared at the still-unreset board.

“So, did Ginny find you?” Hermione asked coolly from behind the book.

“Huh?” Harry asked, recovering from his goo-like state. “Oh yeah, she did. Wait. How did you
know she was looking for me?”

Hermione lowered *Compendium* enough to look over it at him. “After you left, she said she
was going to get something to eat.” Hermione explained. Harry wasn’t following. “When she left the
room, she turned right, towards the bathroom. The staircase downstairs is to the left, Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Oh yeah,” he said, grinning. He couldn’t see the rest of her face, but Harry
thought that her eyes seemed to be missing the sparkle he had become accustomed to seeing in the
last few weeks. *Oh sure,* now *I notice that.*

“What did she want?” Hermione asked in a very business-like tone, still watching from behind the
book.

Harry smiled; he could not help it. It had gone so well. He’d turned her down, and she accepted
it... at least she seemed to... only time would tell for sure.

Still smiling, Harry finally answered. “She... erm... she pretty much asked me out.” Hermione
blinked once.

“And?” she asked briskly, and then looked back down at the book. Harry smiled again and looked
down at the chess board. It *had* gone a lot better than he’d expected. He looked back up to
see that Hermione had tilted the book down slightly and was staring at him intently.

Harry smiled once again. “And... I told her... that I was sorry but I didn’t feel that way about
her.”

Hermione quickly went back behind the book. “How did she take it?” she asked. Her voice suddenly
seemed a lot brighter than it had since he’d returned from the bathroom.

“About as good as could be expected, I guess,” Harry decided. “We’ll just have to wait and
see.”

“Did she—?”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, “do we really have to discuss this any further? I mean it just
feels inconsiderate to talk about her like this.”

Harry could see Hermione’s grip on the book tighten for a moment, then he heard her sigh. “I’m
sorry. You’re right, Harry. I just got a little carried away there for a moment.” She stretched her
legs back out, set the book down in her lap, and looked at him. “Forgive me?”

Harry found himself getting lost in her beautiful eyes... the way they were watching him
hopefully, awaiting his reply. “Always,” he answered easily. The slight look of apprehension on her
face immediately cleared and was replaced with a brilliant smile. Her whole face seemed to glow,
though he figured that was probably just because of his new found feelings.

Harry could feel that giddy, bubbly feeling begin to return. If he wasn’t careful, it would
overwhelm him. It wasn’t that he really *cared* if it overwhelmed him; he just worried about
doing or saying something completely mental. He tore his longing gaze away from her and turned it
to the chess board in front of him. Smiling, he looked back up.

“Want to play a game?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows and looking back at the board. Hermione
looked at him for a moment, and then suddenly snapped the book shut. She set it down and moved to
sit in front of the table.

“Prepare to lose, Potter,” she challenged him.

“Bring it on, Granger,” he replied. Hermione started the game by moving her white knight
first.

A half hour later, Harry finally admitted defeat; Hermione had his king surrounded in one
corner. It was the first time she’d ever beat him. Harry would like to have complained that it
wasn’t fair, that he’d been distracted, but that most likely would’ve involved explaining what (or
was that *who?*) had distracted him.

Harry certainly wasn’t ready to admit that in front of everyone yet. During the game, Ron, Luna
(*Merlin! I didn’t even notice she was gone!*), and Ginny all returned from the kitchen. Upon
his return and seeing a game in progress, Ron immediately sat down in the chair next to Harry and
cheered him on. Ginny and Luna, right behind Ron, went and joined Hermione on the davenport to
watch the game.

As promised, Professor Dumbledore returned precisely at five o’clock. After gathering up all of
Harry’s presents, he placed them all in a horribly ugly, brown hard-plastic Muggle suitcase that
he’d conjured. He shrunk the suitcase to literally wallet-sized, and placed an unbreakable charm on
it.

“Just in case of any more landing difficulties,” he explained about the unbreakable charm with a
twinkle.

Hermione looked up at Metis and Hedwig, who were napping contentedly on top of one of the
bookcases in the room. Pig had not made a reappearance since the earlier... incident; then again,
Ron probably shut him up in his room.

“Oh,” Hermione complained. “I feel bad for making them fly all the way here, only to have them
fly all the way back home a few hours later. But I did want everyone to meet her.”

Dumbledore turned back from Harry. “Not to worry, Miss Granger. Not to worry,” he said with a
smile. “It’s in their nature. Flying is what they do. Well, that and other things too, of course,”
he added with a chuckle.

“But, as long as they’re not making heavy deliveries, I’m sure they’d thank you for the chance
to get out and stretch their wings,” he said with absolute confidence. “A couple of owl treats, a
nice mouse or two, and they’ll both be right as rain.”

Hermione nodded in acceptance and then walked over to the bookcase.

“Metis. Hedwig. Time to go,” she called up to them gently. Neither owl seemed interested in
waking up. She reached out and knocked on the side of the case, hoping they’d feel it. Evidently
they must have, for the pair of them slowly opened their eyes and stared down at Hermione.

“Time to go home,” she repeated. The two owls went through the motions of waking up, blinking a
few more times, clicking their beaks, and flexing their wings. Hedwig was the first to be ready,
for she soon hopped up to the edge of the bookcase and flew down to the table upon which they’d
been playing chess earlier.

Hedwig made her way over to a dish of water that Harry conjured and took a few drinks before
taking flight out the window. Metis followed her out a minute later.

“I forgot about that,” Hermione admitted somewhat embarrassed. “That we can do magic now.” Harry
just rolled his eyes at her.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Harry,” she warned, as she proceeded to roll her eyes at him.
Harry just smiled and walked over to the Headmaster.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I did have a question for you,” Harry asked.

“Just one moment, Harry,” Dumbledore said, turning back to the scrap of wrapping paper he’d
summoned from one of the bins.

*“Portus,”* Dumbledore said, pointing his wand at the scrap of paper, which glowed
momentarily. “Yes now, Harry. What can I do for you?”

“I was just wondering about the Statute of Secrecy, sir,” Harry explained. “On how it applies to
performing magic in front of Muggles who already know about our world.”

The Headmaster looked over his glasses at Harry for a moment. “If you’re thinking about an
unannounced visit to Privet—”

“No sir!” Harry interrupted. He then had the decency to look slightly abashed for interrupting
the Headmaster. “You couldn’t drag me back there!” Harry assured him. “Well... maybe *you*
could drag me back, *next summer*, only because I *have* to go...” Dumbledore smiled.

“Actually I was thinking about Dan and Emma... erm... Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I mean, sir. Would
we get in trouble if we did magic in front of them, sir? After all, they already know about our
world. How does the Statute apply there?”

“Ah, a very good question, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “And I have a very good answer. Since Mr.
and Mrs. Granger... Dan and Emma... already have full knowledge of our world, you would not be in
violation of the Statute of Secrecy by performing magic in front of them. I would advise against
doing it outside the house, however, or even in their back yard, just to be safe.

“If the two of you were to, say, conjure up dinner in the kitchen... or practice your Patronuses
in the living room, you would be fine. But if you two decided to use a color-changing charm to skip
repainting the house... then we *might* have a problem,” the Headmaster said with a
chuckle.

“But what about at my trial?” Harry asked suddenly, confused. “They said I was in trouble for
casting my Patronus in front of Dudley.”

“Harry, we could sit here all day discussing the merits of the charges Cornelius had brought
against you last year, and not have much to say at all.” Both Harry and Dumbledore shared a
smile.

“So, if there’s nothing else... I think it’s time we got you two on your way. Miss Granger, are
you ready?” the Headmaster called over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned quickly to see her walk up to
him, smiling as usual. Harry felt his stomach swoop as she walked up to him.

He turned back to Dumbledore. “Say goodbye to Dobby for me, sir, if you would, please.”

“Goodbye, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said suddenly behind Harry, causing both Harry and Hermione
to jump in surprise. “Dobby is seeing you at Hogwarts. And Harry’s Her... Herminony... Hernimony...
Harry’s girl friend too.”

Hermione suddenly swallowed wrong and started coughing. As Harry tried patting her back to help
settle her, Dobby began to look fearful.

“Is Miss hurting? Can Dobby help?” Harry looked back at Hermione to see her shake her head
slightly.

“What did you say?” Harry fearfully asked Dobby. Honestly, he quite enjoyed hearing the sound of
that, until he realized Hermione and Professor Dumbledore were standing right next to him. Harry
looked over at the Headmaster. He seemed to be quite fascinated by the switch for the old fashioned
gas lamps in the room, and appeared oblivious to everything else in the room.

“Dobby is sorry, sir, but he is having problems with Miss’s name. So since Miss is a girl and is
sir’s friend, Dobby calls her Harry’s girl friend.”

Harry didn’t dare look at Hermione. “Oh...” he said, realizing what exactly the little elf said.
“It’s just that that sounds like something else that means something entirely different. You should
be careful saying things like that. The same would probably apply to ‘boy friend’ also.”

Dobby looked confused. “But Dobby *must* show respect for Harry Potter and his friends. Sir
freed Dobby. And he cannot saying her name,” Dobby looked like he was about to start crying.

“Dobby,” Hermione interrupted. “If you cannot pronounce my name, you may call me Miss. Is that
acceptable to you?”

Dobby’s bat-like ears immediately perked up. “Oh yes, that is most agreeable. Dobby will always
be nice to Harry’s Miss. Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Dobby,” Harry and Hermione both said, as the overjoyed house-elf disappeared with a
crack.

With Dobby gone, Hermione turned to Harry and smiled slightly and sighed. “Well, better than him
calling me Harry’s Grangey,” she said. Professor Dumbledore then suddenly reappeared, holding out
the scrap of wrapping paper for them to take.

“On the count of three...” he started, as they took the paper out of his hand.

“One.”

As he stood there, surreptitiously watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye, Harry
suddenly realized he never even asked Ron about his O.W.L.s. He wanted to know how his other friend
did as well, to see what classes they would or wouldn’t have together.

He groaned to himself. He even forgot to talk to Professor McGonagall about his timetable. They
wouldn’t be able to do their school shopping tomorrow. Well, at least *he* wouldn’t. He
vaguely wondered how he could’ve forgotten to do all of that. In his peripheral vision, he could
see Hermione standing beside him. *Oh yeah. That’s how,* he thought, smirking to himself.

“Two.”

Harry closed his eyes in preparation. He was amazed at how easily he could feel Hermione’s
presence standing right next to him, even though his eyes were closed. Or maybe it was
*because* his eyes were closed. Either way...

“Three,” Harry heard the Headmaster say as he felt the familiar tugging sensation behind his
navel.



17. A Happy Birthday? Indubitably.
----------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*


*A/N: Here you all go!! This is more the second half of a thirty-one page chapter than it is a
second, separate chapter. I went back and looked at some of my earlier chapters. Heh heh heh... To
think, there was actually a time when I posted ten-page chapters. I borrowed a thing or two from
the new movie. Couldn’t resist.*


*A special thanks to one of my business associates, Erika, who is originally from Britain. She
generously took a minute out of one of her phone calls with her family to verify that digital
clocks made for the UK (versus those imported from the US) do indeed display a 24-hour clock,
instead of that “PM-dot” thing.*


*And of course, a special thanks to my beta, MapleMountain. No matter how many times I say
this, it never feels any less important.*


*Remember, real life... PG-13...*


Chapter 17. A Happy Birthday? Indubitably.

Harry and Hermione’s landing back in the Grangers’ living room was no more coordinated than the
one six hours earlier... but at least nothing fell on either of them this time. Being the first one
standing, Harry was all too happy to help Hermione up.

Once she had done the obligatory “brushing off her clothes” thing (even though her house was
always clean), Hermione immediately pulled out her wand.

“So, Harry,” Hermione said excitedly, “ready to undo the Headmaster’s shrinking spell?”

“Eager much?” Harry asked, trying not to laugh as he pulled the miniature suitcase out of his
pocket. “We’re home not ten seconds and you’re ready to do magic already.”

“Well... it’s just that we can, now! Oh, come on Harry! Aren’t you excited?” she asked, almost
breathless.

“Yeah I am,” he agreed. “It’s just that I’d like to take this upstairs before I cancel the
spell,” he explained about the suitcase as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Unless of course *you* wanted to carry a heavy suitcase upstairs for me?” he asked, smiling
as he raised his eyebrow.

Hermione smiled back. “Sure, Harry. I can do that.” She then pointed her wand at his closed
hand, inside of which was the suitcase. As soon as he saw her mouth begin to form an ‘F’ sound, he
immediately dropped the suitcase (it *was* unbreakable, after all) and jumped back. He hadn’t
expected her to do it *while* he was still holding it.

Hermione grinned mischievously as her wand followed the suitcase down. Once it landed, she
finished what she’d started.

*“Finite Incantatem!”* The suitcase returned to its original size. “And for my next
trick...” she said dramatically as she looked back to the suitcase.

*“Wingardium Leviosa!”* A swish and flick later, the suitcase was floating in midair. “You
wanted me to carry this up for you? I *suppose* I could manage that...” Keeping her wand
pointed at the suitcase and following behind it, she directed it upstairs and into Harry’s room.
She then deposited it on his bed.

“Piece of cake, Harry. Anything *else* I can do for you while I’m here?” she asked
perfectly innocently.

Harry was barely able to stop himself before he answered that question in a way that surely
would have gotten him in trouble. “Nah... I’ll just unpack.” Hermione then left his room to go find
Crookshanks.

Harry made quick work of unpacking his presents. After setting the box containing Dobby’s gift
on top of the dresser, all that remained was the box containing the chess set. If he’d been paying
more attention to the world around him, and less attention to the present Hermione gave him, Harry
might’ve noticed that his stack of school books had grown by one while he was away.

Looking back to the empty, ugly suitcase, a smile grew on Harry’s face. *“Evanesco.”* The
suitcase vanished as he repocketed his wand.

“I love magic,” he said aloud to himself, and then started to head for downstairs. Right as he
reached the door, he suddenly remembered Fred and George’s present. He still hadn’t opened it. At
least now he wasn’t in a room full of people. Harry went and retrieved the small phial from his
desk drawer where he’d put it for safe keeping.

He was about to open it when he suddenly reminded himself that it *was* from Fred and
George. *Probably safer to have a witness around,* Harry wisely decided. He took the glass
container and headed back downstairs.

Harry found Hermione in the kitchen, refilling Crookshanks’ water dish... magically, of
course.

*“Tsk, tsk,”* Harry tutted behind her.

Hermione spun around and looked slightly guilty. “Yes, I know. I just couldn’t resist.”

Harry shook his head in amusement. “Best be careful there. You might get over excited with that
water spell and spray Crookshanks. I hear cats aren’t too fond of getting wet.”

“You’re telling me that you haven’t cast a single spell since we got home?” Hermione asked
incredulously.

“Of course I haven’t,” Harry lied, pathetically. Hermione’s eyebrow rose in knowing disbelief.
Harry quickly changed the subject. “So, what’s the plan for this evening?”

“No idea,” Hermione answered honestly. “Mum and Dad just said we’d do something special tonight,
but you came back before we could decide what.” Harry grinned inwardly. He knew it! They *had*
been discussing his birthday at the pet store.

“What do you have there?” she suddenly asked, looking down.

“This,” Harry said, holding up the phial and eyeing it suspiciously, “is Fred and George’s
birthday present.”

“What is it?”

“No idea,” Harry repeated automatically. “It’s a potion of some sort, I suppose. Fred and George
whispered to me that was guaranteed to work. When I unwrapped it, there was this little note on it.
See?” He showed her the card.

“Do not open in...” Hermione read aloud, and then looked at the bottle suspiciously as well.

“So anyway, I figured now was as good a time as any to find out what it was.” Harry then grinned
at Hermione. “Plus I figured it’d be nice if there was someone around to avenge my dead and broken
body should this not turn out well... or at least contact St. Mungo’s if need be.”

“Well, here goes nothing,” Harry said bravely and then held the bottle out at arm’s length.
Hermione immediately took several steps back; Harry looked at her with a teasing smile that said,
*“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”*

“What?” she asked, then grinned also. “How can I avenge you if I’m dead too?”

Harry turned his attention back to the bottle, and opened it carefully. Nothing happened...
*yet*, at least. After a few moments, he was able to smell something. It was faint at first...
so faint he couldn’t tell what it was. He brought it a little closer and took a slightly deeper
breath.

Harry laughed. “Smells like chicken.”

“I think that’s ‘tastes like chicken,’ Harry,” Hermione replied with a laugh, moving closer.

“No, seriously. It smells like chicken,” Harry said. “I wonder if it’s a potion to turn me into
a chicken. They *were* threatening to turn me into a chicken at the party.”

“Well...” Hermione mused. She certainly wouldn’t put anything past the Weasley twins. Confusion
suddenly appeared on her face as she finally was able to smell it also. “I don’t smell chicken,
Harry. So... it’s a potion that smells differently to different people...”

He hadn’t exploded yet, or grown feathers, so he brought it a little closer and smelled again.
This time, he smelled... it was the bookstore, from the mall. Hermione moved to stand right next to
him; he could hear her smelling it also. Harry smelled a third time... something floral... he
turned his head slightly and glanced at Hermione’s hair, and then turned back to look at the phial
in shock. *What WAS this?*

After her third deep breath, Hermione suddenly froze. “Harry,” she whispered, “I think I know
what this is.” When he turned to look at her, he was surprised to see a strange expression on her
face. It was almost fear, with maybe a little anger thrown in. Harry immediately held the potion
back out at arm’s length.

“I think this is a love potion, Harry,” she said in a very quiet voice.

“What?!” Harry shouted, his head whipping back to the phial in his hand.

“If it is, then Fred and George have gone way too far this time,” Hermione said angrily. “Love
potions aren’t things that should be trifled with. They shouldn’t even exist, in my opinion. But...
obviously...” she said, looking down at the bottle in defeat.

“The real question is, what kind of love potion is it?” Hermione said.

“Why does *that* matter?” Harry asked. “Isn’t a love potion a love potion?”

“It matters,” she explained patiently, “because there are different... flavors... of love
potions. Which one it is will dictate how potentially problematic it is.” Seeing Harry’s lost look,
Hermione decided to explain. But first...

“Put the stopper back in that for a minute, would you?” she asked. “Thanks. There are different
types of love potions. One type is very specific. It makes the drinker fall in love with a specific
person. You just add a bit of the ‘target’ person to it. If you were to put one of Professor
McGonagall’s hairs into it, and then gave it to Professor Snape, he could be on the other side of
the world and he’d immediately fall in love with her as soon as he drank it.”

Harry shuddered slightly at the thought. Hermione smiled slightly. “Just using unlikely examples
for illustrative purposes.”

Harry cringed slightly. “Yeah, well, let’s not get any more creative with the examples,
okay?”

“Now, the other two types are more... risky... because they are not specific,” Hermione said,
continuing her explanation. “One would make the drinker fall in love with the first person he or
she saw. It’s sometimes called the ‘Love at First Sight’ potion. Another type is the opposite. It
makes someone irresistible to everyone else of the opposite gender. *This* one has a very,
shall we say, colorful and well documented history. It’s also been known as the Casanova
Potion.

“The problem is,” Hermione said after a sigh, “is that they all smell the same, since they’re
all derived on the same base, but with different formulations. Technically, they don’t have any
smell at all. When a person smells the ‘vapors,’ if you will, they make the person’s brain think
they are smelling whatever attracts them.

“For example, *just suppose* I fancied a... let’s say a Muggle football player. When I
smell this, I might, say, smell the grass of the playing field,
if-that-was-something-that-reminded-me-of-him, that is,” she added very quickly

Harry looked back to the phial in his hand. *Why would Fred and George give me this?* he
wondered. Was it a joke? Or did they really expect him to use it? And which kind was it? For all he
knew, if he drank it, he might suddenly fall in love with Percy (or, knowing Fred and George, it
would more likely be Ron).

Harry suddenly realized that everything he smelled, he associated with Hermione... the floral
and bookstore smells were easy, but the chicken? Harry had to think for a second. It was that
chicken dish she made he was so fond of. *Through my stomach, indeed,* Harry thought to
himself amused. As he began to think about it more, the amusement quickly died.

Now that he knew he fancied her, the idea of some *potion* causing her to artificially fall
in love with him was a very disturbing thought. No matter how much he liked the idea of her
returning his feelings, if it happened like that, he’d feel like he was taking advantage of her...
of abusing her. *THAT* he would not stand for. And so quite easily, he decided what to do with
the potion.

When he turned to look at Hermione, he saw she’d turned away and walked over to the
refrigerator, where she was now absently playing with the dish towel.

“What are you going to do with that, Harry?” she asked quietly, not looking at him.

Harry looked back to the phial. Before he could answer her, something from the party popped back
into his mind.

*“Yeah, we, um, tested it ourselves,” Fred piped in, glancing awkwardly at his twin. George
appeared to shudder slightly at some memory, then he promptly took one step away from Fred.*

Harry suddenly began to laugh; Hermione came over to him. “What is it, Harry?” she asked
uncertainly.

“There are antidotes to love potions, right?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” she quickly answered, but then her eyes darkened. “*Why?*”

Harry could not hold back his smile. “When they gave it to me, Fred whispered to me that they’d
tested it on themselves, to make sure it worked. They looked at each other, remembering something
they obviously didn’t want to. George then stepped away from Fred.”

Hermione looked at Harry curiously as she tried to understand what he was saying. A look of
surprise suddenly appeared on her face, then she began to chuckle.

“I’m doubting they’d test something like this without an antidote already on hand. But, based on
their reactions, I’m willing to bet the guinea pig got in a snog or two before the tester could
apply it.” Harry began to laugh out loud. “I think they might’ve gotten to know each other a little
better than twins ought to,” Harry said, struggling to not grin too broadly.

Once his joviality faded, his uneasiness about the potion returned.

“And as for *this*... I’m dumping it down the sink,” he replied with some satisfaction.

“You are?” she asked; her voice sounded very hopeful... and relieved.

“Yeah. Love is too special to *pervert* with some artificial concoction brewed in a
laboratory or dungeon somewhere.” Harry strode over to the sink, removed the stopper, and then
immediately poured the potion down the drain. Feeling an enormous amount of satisfaction, he
allowed himself one last whiff before turning on the tap to wash it all away. As he again smelled
that comforting scent of the bookstore, he knew without a doubt why he’d done it.

“This’ll be perfect though,” Harry said with a satisfied expression. “I really hadn’t planned on
doing anything to them about that screaming cake. But now, after this...” he said, an evil grin
appearing, “I’m sure I could hold their testing escapades over them... maybe even get them out of
the love potion business...”

* * *

Dan and Emma returned home an hour later. Emma came in carrying a plain brown paper shopping
bag. Dan had what looked like a stack of booklets with him. After setting their stuff down, the two
came over to Harry.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Emma said, giving him a small hug.

“Happy birthday,” Dan agreed, shaking Harry’s hand. He then quickly looked over at Hermione,
before looking back to Harry. “Did you open all of your presents already?”

“Yeah, it was my best birthday ever!” Harry said enthusiastically. As he thought fondly of his
new chess set, he quickly looked back to Dan. “Did you tell her about those chess sets?”

Dan smiled. “So then, I trust one more present would be welcome?” he asked as he pulled a
wrapped present out of the shopping bag. He held it up and waved it in front of Harry.

Harry was dumbfounded and had a hard time speaking. “You two didn’t have to get me
anything.”

Emma took the present out of Dan’s hand. “You’re right, Harry. We didn’t *have* to. We
*wanted* to. And if the next two words out of your mouth are anything other than ‘thank’ and
‘you,’ and in that order I might add, we’ll go out right now and buy you another one.” Dan came
over and wrapped an arm around his wife.

*Never cross a female Granger,* Harry jokingly reminded himself.

“Thank you,” he said honestly.

“Well, go on. Open it!” Emma practically scolded him with a smile.

Harry took the present and sat down on the loveseat. He was secretly very happy when Hermione
came and sat down next to him. Dan and Emma remained standing in the middle of the living room
watching. Harry tore back the wrapping to find a matte black cardboard box. From the angle he was
holding it, he could only see three of the six sides. Printed on them were a magnifying glass, a
pipe, and a number: 221B.

*221B?*, Harry thought to himself. *Why does that seem familiar?* He turned the box
around and also found a violin and a deerstalker hat. The last side he saw, which turned out to be
the front of the box, had written on it what this was.

*The Complete Sherlock Holmes.*

Harry laughed to himself. *Figures it’d be on the last side I looked.*

“Hermione told us that you were interested in becoming an Auror,” Dan explained. “We were
*pretty sure* there wasn’t a spell out there called ‘Solve the Mystery,’ so we figured a
little old fashioned detective work might come in handy. It has all four novels and fifty-six short
stories.” Harry could see Dan reading the cover of the collection box.

Harry looked back up at Dan and Emma. “Thanks. I *really* like it,” he said honestly and
enthusiastically. He then turned to Hermione.

Harry felt a nearly irresistible urge to hug her for telling them. Scratch that. He felt an
irresistible urge to hug her, period. But he knew he couldn’t do that, so he just settled for plain
old gratitude. “Thanks,” he said.

“Oh, and while we’re on the subject of birthdays,” Dan said to Hermione, releasing Emma and
picking up the booklets he brought in with him. “You know David down the street, right? Well, his
wife Eve works at the DVLA, so I asked him to have her bring home some stuff for you. So!” Dan said
excitedly, “come September 19, are you interested in getting your provisional driving license?”

Hermione looked slightly surprised, but happy. “Oh! I’d completely forgotten about that!” Her
face dropped slightly. “But I’ll be at school then. Oh! I’ll be eligible to take my apparating test
then. But I don’t know when the test is. But if get my license, maybe I can apparate home to take
it. Oh, but I don’t know how far I can apparate,” she said very quickly.

“Or,” Emma interrupted, staring hard at Dan for a moment, and then smiling at Hermione, “you can
wait until you come home for Christmas holiday, and take it then.” Her smile faded slightly. “That
is *if* you come home this year.” Though it may have sounded otherwise, somehow Harry just
knew it was a lament on Emma’s part, and *not* an attempted guilt trip.

He noticed that Hermione seemed torn about the whole issue. She certainly seemed excited about
the prospect of learning how to drive, but she seemed sad at being reminded that she had missed so
much time with her family. Events in the past few years seemed to be conspiring to take her away
from her family.

Harry suddenly remembered that tomorrow he would be attending the reading of the will of one of
the last two direct ties to his own family. The Dursleys were family by blood, not by heart. While
that might have been good enough for a magical spell, it was not good enough for him. He quickly
made a decision that he knew certainly was presumptuous, and might even considered brash or
rude.

“She’ll be home for Christmas this year,” Harry promised Dan and Emma. All three Grangers
appeared surprised. Hermione looked like she was about to say something, however Harry would have
none of it. He held up his hand to stop her.

“No, Hermione. No arguments. Do you remember where we’re going tomorrow? You’ve missed far too
much time with your family... usually on my account, in one way or another. I can’t let you do
that. Not this year. Not after these last two weeks. Anything short of a full blown war, and you’re
coming home for Christmas this year. And if I have to, I’ll tie you down to my Firebolt and fly you
here myself, Disillusioned or not.”

A slight smile began to break through his determined visage. “So, make it easy on yourself,
Hermione. Tell your parents you’re coming home for Christmas this year.”

Hermione looked at Harry through glistening eyes; her lower lip was trembling slightly. She
began to smile, looking as though she found something mildly funny. She slowly turned around to her
parents.

“I guess... I’m coming home for Christmas this year,” she finally said. Dan and Emma immediately
scooped Hermione up into a big hug, all three of them with tear-filled eyes. Harry took a step
back, deciding they needed a moment alone. When Dan saw him do this, he immediately reached out
with one arm and grabbed Harry quite roughly (accidentally) by the shoulder, pulling him into the
hug.

* * *

Later that evening, the topic of where to go for Harry’s birthday dinner finally came up.
Smiling in a somewhat embarrassed manner, and taking great effort to not look at Hermione (thanks
to the memory of a certain potion), Harry asked if it would be possible to have a repeat of the
dinner from his first night there.

After Dan started making a less-than-subtle coughing noise that sounded amazingly like
“Potatoes! Potatoes!” Emma and Hermione finally relented; he noted that it really didn’t take much
convincing on their parts. This time however, since it was not a surprise, Hermione encouraged
Harry to help her, rather than relegating him the side dishes. Emma *convinced* Dan to do
those.

After dinner, they all headed out of the local Kwik-E-Freez. While he had eaten ice cream plenty
of times at Hogwarts and in Diagon Alley, Harry was curious to see what was so wonderful about the
dessert that had been single-handedly thwarting Dudley’s strict diet regimen. He quickly realized
the answer when he saw the picture on the wall in the store. It was so large and so rich that Harry
and Hermione ended up sharing one, as did Dan and Emma.

As they headed back home, Hermione suggested another movie night to finish off the festive
evening. When asked for requests, Harry said that he didn’t care, as long as it was funny. As soon
as he said it, Dan pulled the car into the first car park, turned around, and headed to the local
video rental center.

Returning to the car with a cassette in a plastic protective case (Harry couldn’t see the
title), all Dan would say was that it was *his* favorite comedy. Harry could see Hermione
smile. When they got home, Harry went upstairs to check if Hedwig and Metis had returned yet
(“Since you’re up there, Harry,” she said, smiling innocently and batting her eyelashes; Harry
wouldn’t have been able to resist even if she *hadn’t* done that). Seeing that she was back,
when he went to close Hedwig’s cage door, she squawked at him, evidently not eager to be locked
in.

*Looks like Professor Dumbledore was right,* Harry mused to himself. *Now that she’s
somewhere where she can come and go freely, unlike at the Dursleys’, she probably doesn’t like
being shut in.* Hedwig tolerated it at the Dursleys’, but only because she (and Harry) had no
choice. From that point on, Harry wouldn’t even bother closing her cage any more.

Now that he could legally do magic, he cast a weather-repelling charm that he’d found once (when
he did a little Quidditch-related research on Hermione’s *Impervius* charm) on his open window
so he could leave it open with no concerns about it affecting the Grangers’ air conditioner.

This way, Hedwig could come and go at her convenience, and not wait for Harry to open her cage
or the window. Upon finding Metis back in Hermione’s room, Harry decided he’d leave Metis’s cage
door open as well; he cast the same charm on Hermione’s window.

When he reached the top of the staircase, Harry could see Hermione sitting in the loveseat,
waiting for her parents to start the movie. He watched her for a moment, wondering how he could
have not *noticed* her before. Now that he *saw* her, and realized what she meant to him,
he knew things would be different from here on out. What exactly that entailed, he did not
know.

The one thing he knew for certain was that he was unwilling to lose her friendship. He did not
want things to end with her like they did with Cho. At the same time however, he knew what he felt
for her was so different than what he felt for Cho. Even though he only realized his new found
feelings today, he was pretty sure they had been five years plus two weeks in the making, as he
himself told... himself (*That didn’t come out quite right,* Harry thought).

Again, what *EXACTLY* those feelings were, he did not know, *yet*, but he knew it was
more than just some *“Oh, she’s cute”* fascination. And for that reason alone, he promised
himself it would not take two years to ask Hermione out. But first, he had to figure out what she
thought about him...

Harry laughed at himself in annoyance. *Would Cho and I have EVER gotten together if it wasn’t
for that mistletoe? Maybe it wasn’t entirely a waste after all. At least now I know what NOT to
do,* he thought, smirking.

As he descended the stairs, Dan and Emma walked in from the kitchen and proceeded to sit down on
the sofa and got comfortable together for the movie. Before today, he would’ve thought nothing of
this, but *now*... now it meant he would be *forced* to sit next to Hermione on the
loveseat. *Oh darn,* he thought to himself, quite happy. *One of these days I’ll have to
figure out some subtle way to thank her for choosing that seat.*

About to sit down, Emma quickly spoke up. “Harry, be a dear and go start the movie.” As he
turned to look at Emma, Hermione suddenly chimed in behind him.

“Last one sitting down has to start the movie. That’s the rule.” Hermione was wearing a large
grin and looked to be enjoying herself way too much. As he walked to the entertainment center,
Harry heard Dan mimic Emma in a playfully hurt voice.

“Yes Harry, *be a dear and go start the movie*.”

“Awww,” Emma cooed, “you’re not jealous are you, Dan?”

“Insanely!”

Even though his back was to her, Harry imagined he could just hear Hermione rolling her eyes at
her parents. At the VCR, Harry realized that the cassette wasn’t there. Looking around, he saw it
still sitting on the coffee table. He’d walked right by it. *Got to pay a little more attention
there, Potter. The world doesn’t revolve around Hermione, you know.*

*Yes it does,* the other voice added.

*Yeah... it does,* the first voice accepted.

Walking back to the coffee table, Harry looked at Dan and grinned. “Nothing to fear, Dan.
Nothing to fear,” he said as he picked up the cassette and walked back to the VCR. “I have eyes for
only one, and *she*, absolutely no offense intended, is not your wife.”

Harry was immensely happy that his back was to everyone, for he immediately clenched his eyes
shut and winced as though he’d just told Snape what he could go do with his wand.

*I cannot believe I just said that! I cannot believe I just said that!* Harry chanted to
himself as he fumbled with the cassette, trying to put it into the VCR. Fortunately, he could feel
that his face had actually lost color rather than gain it after saying that, so it was much less
likely that anyone would notice his current state. The only thing he could think to think was,
*No, she’s your daughter.*

He knew he could not stand there forever staring at the VCR, so he quickly turned around and
headed back to his seat. The first thing he saw was Dan smirking at him with his eyebrow raised.
Emma, on the other hand, who was snuggled in front of Dan in his arms, did not share his
sentiment.

He had a hard time interpreting it, but if anything she looked almost disappointed, or maybe
afraid. *Maybe she HAD taken it the wrong way?* Harry wondered. *Maybe later I can ask
Hermione if... Oh, bugger!* When he saw her, Harry knew that Hermione too was not amused.
*They did take it the wrong way! I’ll just have to talk to her later about it.*

Harry quickly returned to his seat and watched as the movie started. Though Dan certainly
enjoyed the movie, and he did too, Harry could just feel some unknown uneasiness hovering in the
air between himself, Emma, and Hermione. Much to his desperate relief, a scene partway through the
movie eliminated it.

After witnessing the full effects of Ludicrous Speed on the evil Lord Dark Helmet, Harry looked
over at Hermione, smiling, and said, “It’s a good thing he was wearing that helmet.”

When, literally half a second later, Colonel Sandurz said, “It’s a good thing you were wearing
that helmet,” all four of them broke out in riotous laughter. After that, everyone seemed to enjoy
the movie much more. Whatever “it” was, it now seemed forgotten.

* * *

Roundabout ten o’clock, everyone decided they would get ready for bed. All four of them had a
potentially long day ahead of them... certainly emotionally, if not chronometrically. Tomorrow,
they would be going to Gringotts for the reading of Sirius’s will. If Harry had filled out his
timetable like he was *supposed* to, Professor McGonagall would’ve had their class schedules
ready with book lists, so they could also do their school shopping.

However, since he didn’t, she wouldn’t, so they couldn’t. *Then again,* Harry said to
himself, *that does mean we’d all have to go out together again, at some point.* By “all,” he
was *really* only thinking about two people, even though he knew there’d be four in the
entourage. *Merlin, I’m pathetic,* he laughed to himself.

After brushing his teeth and putting on his pajamas, Harry grabbed his new Sherlock Holmes
collection and climbed into bed. He propped his pillow up, leaned against the headboard, and
started looking through it, trying to find a story that interested him. He still wasn’t tired yet,
so he figured that maybe he could kill some time and see if he liked these stories and if they’d be
of any value to him in his goals of becoming an Auror.

Right as he decided upon “The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor,” someone suddenly knocked on
Harry’s halfway-open door. He looked up to see Hermione, in her pajamas and bathrobe, standing in
the doorway.

“Hey,” Harry said simply, with a smile.

“Hey,” Hermione replied simply, with a smile. She then walked in, casually brushing against the
door, causing it to open all the way.

“Did you do something to my window?” she asked, standing in the middle of the room. “When I
walked in, I noticed Metis’s cage was wide open. I went to close it, but she didn’t seem to like it
too much. So I decided to leave it open. But then I saw that my window was wide open. I went to
close it and as I put my hand up to it, I could feel something.

“There was this funny feeling there. It was kind of like a buildup of static electricity, kind
of as if there was a forcefield there or something. It didn’t make any sense for it to be there in
the middle of an open window.”

“Sorry, no forcefields, but I did cast a weather repelling charm on your window. You could
actually *feel* that?” Harry asked a little surprised, but then he continued. “Hedwig didn’t
want to be locked in either. I guess Professor Dumbledore was right about them liking to be able to
fly around.”

A grin appeared on Hermione’s face. “You *guess* he was right?”

“Well, he has been wrong before,” Harry admitted.

“So... did you have fun today?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah,” Harry said simply and with a slight chuckle. “One of the best days ever,” he said
honestly. *For several reasons,* he added to himself. “It ranks right up there with my
eleventh birthday, when Hagrid came and took me away from the Dursleys, and also that first day on
the train.”

“What was so special about that day?” Hermione asked, curious.

Harry looked at her as though he could not believe his ears. “It was the day I met you and Ron.”
He maintained his smile, even as he prayed that she didn’t ask why he said her name first even
though he met Ron first. *Getting a little paranoid, aren’t we?*

Hermione smiled fondly as she climbed onto the corner of Harry’s bed and sat down facing him.
“Yeah, I seem to recall coming across rather harshly back then. ‘Are you sure that’s a real spell?
Well, it’s not very good, is it?’”

Harry looked at Hermione in amazement. He’d forgotten her exact words from way back then, but
hearing her say it again, and with the exact same inflections as he remembered, suddenly he could
hear her words from almost five years ago as clearly as though she had spoken them yesterday.

This time of course, her voice seemed much richer, fuller than back then... as did the front of
her robe, as he suddenly remembered the pink bathrobe she wore first year when she came to tell him
and Ron off for going to meet Draco Malfoy for a wizard’s duel. *Hey, hey, hey!* he scolded
himself. *Eyes above the neck! Mind out of the gutter!*

“Nah... you were just being you... pointing out when we were wrong,” he said fondly, smiling.
Truth be told, his very first impression of her hadn’t been exactly like that, but by some
*amazing* coincidence, his memory had become a little more selective very recently.

“Besides, you couldn’t have been that bad. I’m still hanging around you after all these years,
aren’t I?” he asked, grinning.

“Lucky me,” Hermione quickly replied with a smile.

Something began to gnaw at Harry’s insides. Watching her smile at him, he began to feel guilty
about what he’d said earlier about Emma. They’d seemed to have forgotten about it, but he couldn’t.
If there had been any misunderstanding, he wanted to clear it up. He worried that he might be
overreacting a little, but he couldn’t help it. Hermione’s opinion of him really mattered to
him.

After a few moments, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I was just kind of
joking with your dad about him being jealous of what your mum said. The way it came out when I said
it, after seeing her reaction, and yours, I was afraid that the two of you took it the wrong way. I
didn’t mean to imply that there was anything wrong with your mum, or that she was unattractive, or
anything like that.”

Harry sat there for a second... *Well, that’s half of the truth...*

“Oh... is that what you meant? I was afraid you meant something else...” Hermione said, allowing
her voice to trail off.

Not wanting to know what she thought he might’ve meant, Harry continued. “I just didn’t want
either of you to be mad at me.”

“Oh, Harry. It would have taken more than just some silly little misunderstanding for us to get
mad at you. But thanks for telling me,” Hermione said, smiling shyly at him.

“You’re welcome. So,” Harry added quickly, happy that everything was okay, but still eager to
change the subject, “you never did tell me about that chess set. It looked like one of those sets
from the shopping center.”

“Oh yeah,” Hermione remembered, a slight look of pride appearing on her face. “I asked Mum and
Dad to see if there was anything that caught your eye while we went out shopping. I wanted to get
you something, you know, a little more personal. I’m sure you’re sick of school stuff, and I
certainly didn’t want to get you a book.”

At her words, Harry again felt that wonderfully delicious, yet highly annoying ‘tripping over an
anvil’ feeling in his stomach. Remembering what Ginny said about her own present, Harry thought
about Hermione, *If only she meant THAT...*

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a book,” he replied aloud, holding up the book he’d set in his
lap earlier. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him; Harry grinned sheepishly. “Okay fine. There’s
nothing wrong with a book when someone gives it to you as a gift. But don’t expect me to start
checking them out at the library now,” he said smugly.

“Anyway, when Dad and I took our shopping back to the car while you and Mum got the groceries,
he took me into the game store. He said you seemed interested in the chess sets. Dad said you
seemed to like the mythological and military sets. But there was also another display case with six
more sets in them, one that he didn’t think you looked at.

“We looked at those also. There was even one with cars on it! Race cars, buses, and the like.
But this one,” Hermione said, suddenly looking around the room, trying to see where he set it,
“this one caught my eye,” she said after seeing it on the desk.

“I thought it was very handsome,” Hermione explained. “I looked at the display card. It was it
was quartz and obsidian. And then I saw it. The frame was made of holly. I couldn’t believe it. I
didn’t even realize it. I mean, I’ve seen your wand often enough that I recognize your wood by now,
and I...”

Hermione immediately turned bright red. Harry looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
He really hadn’t thought anything of what she’d said... until she got embarrassed by it. It
*was* a perfectly innocent thing to say, unless you started thinking about it.

But now that she’d said it, he couldn’t help but think about it. Maybe it was the thoughts that
suddenly entered his mind, or maybe it was just seeing her so embarrassed, but Harry quickly became
embarrassed as well.

“Oh my God, Harry. I’m so sorry. That sounded absolutely awful,” she said, covering her face
with her hand to hide her embarrassment, and grin.

“Anyway... you were saying about my... the... about the frame of the board,” Harry stuttered,
trying to get them moving again.

“Anyway,” Hermione agreed, “I asked the clerk about it. He said it was the last one left over
from last Christmas. They had several in stock then that were made of holly. Once Christmas was
over however, no one seemed to want it. Holly is a rather uncommon... it is rather uncommon. All
the better for me though, since they had it reduced down to £199 from £279.”

“£199?” Harry asked, shocked. “But that’s like...”

“It’s about forty Galleons,” Hermione confirmed.

Harry’s jaw dropped. While he understood the math of Muggle money (1, 5, 10, etc.) much better
than Wizarding money (1, 17, 29, etc.), he knew what a Galleon was worth. He knew what a Sickle
could buy. “Forty Galleons? But that must have been—”

“Exactly what I wanted to get for you, Harry,” Hermione finished his sentence for him, with a
note of finality. “Look. You and I both know that we can both afford to buy whatever we want to. I
may not have your inheritance, but my parents do okay, and if I want to buy something special once
or twice a year, they certainly don’t mind.

“Besides, I thought it was the thought that counted, Harry. Not how much I spent,” she said,
looking very determined.

*Oh no,* Harry thought to himself. He knew she was setting him up. “Of course it’s the
thought that counts. It’s just...”

“*Just what?*” she asked with a weighted voice, beginning to smile. Now he *really*
knew that he had no way out. Except... there was one possibility...

“It’s just that that doesn’t explain how the pieces move,” Harry finally said, feeling quite
relieved.

She smiled as though she knew what he’d done, but continued with her explanation. “Remember that
chess board from when we went after the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“How could I forget?” Harry asked with a smile.

“Well, when I wrote to Professor McGonagall that first day with Metis, I asked her if she could
teach me how to turn a regular chess set into a wizard’s chess set. When she came over earlier this
week, she said that she wasn’t allowed to teach me that. Something about restrictions on spells
that cause inanimate objects to come alive and attack other things.

“When I told her it was for your birthday, she seemed a little surprised. But then she
reiterated that she couldn’t teach me the spell, though she *could* perform it herself. So I
dug the set out from where I’d hidden it, and then she did the enchantment, and *voila!*”
Hermione finished with a very satisfied grin.

“Well, I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Thank you. I love it. And...” he trailed off,
getting lost in her eyes again. “And it’s very nice,” he finished.

Right as Harry was about to ask Hermione what she thought about continuing the DA next term,
they heard a soft knock on Harry’s door; it was Emma in her bathrobe.

“Hey you two,” she said warmly. “We have an early morning tomorrow... well, early for Harry, at
least,” she added with a smile. “Time for bed.”

“Yes, Mum,” Hermione and Harry both said simultaneously, and in the same tone of a child having
been scolded; Emma held back a chuckle.

Hermione turned back to Harry. “Good night, Harry. I don’t think we need dress robes tomorrow.
Just dress nicely.”

“Okay, thanks. Good night, Hermione,” Harry said. *I just love saying her name,* he thought
to himself. It seemed a little silly, but, oh well.

“Good night,” Harry then said to Emma. She wished him good night in return.

After she closed the door, Harry could hear the two of them talking quietly as they walked down
the hall, though he couldn’t make out their words through the door. He hoped Hermione was relaying
his apology.

Harry got up, went over and turned out the light. When his finger touched the light switch, he
laughed slightly as he remembered that he could now do that with a flick of his wand.

He was glad when he finally climbed into bed. It had certainly been a long day. It started with
breakfast in bed. He jokingly told Hermione he loved her. At the time, he thought it was just the
bacon talking. While the L-word itself was still a mystery to him, now at least he knew it was
certainly more than just the bacon.

And then there was the birthday party. It started very painfully, but quickly got better. There
was frosting and presents and snogging too.

Oh yeah... and then there was the little detail of realizing that he fancied his best
friend.

Yes, it had been a very long day, and he was ready for it to end. Busy days like that took their
toll on a person. As exhausted as his body was, his brain was still racing, trying to make sense of
all that had happened.

Hermione had kissed him, and he liked it. Then he kissed her back. At the time, he of course
desperately tried to find another explanation for it all, but that was about as likely as Snape
dancing a jig. Now at least, he knew what that *HAD* been all about.

He was so tired that he felt like he should fall asleep immediately, but instead, Harry lay on
his bed for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, hoping that if he stared at the same spot
long enough, maybe his eyes would get tired. He refused to look at the clock... that would only
make time pass more slowly.

Finally, just as he felt his eyelids getting heavy and he thought he was about to fall asleep,
he heard something. At least... he thought he did.

*Knock, knock.*

He did hear it. It was a very light knocking at his door. At least it sounded like it. He
reached under his night stand to grab his wand.

*“Lumos,”* he whispered, causing a very faint wash of light to appear on the door, at which
he was pointing his wand.

“Come in,” he whispered as quietly as he could, just in case he was imagining things. Only
someone listening at the door would have been able to hear his voice.

To his relief (since it meant he wasn’t imaging things), the door opened very slowly and
quietly. A smile appeared on his face as his wand light illuminated the face of his visitor; it was
Hermione.

She quickly walked inside his room, closing the door behind her, and locking it.

Harry looked at his alarm clock: 23:55. “Hermione,” Harry whispered, “is something the matter?”
he asked, concerned.

“No, Harry, everything is perfect,” she whispered back as she started to move away from the
door. The small, dim spotlight of wand light began to travel down her body as she closed the
distance between them. Harry suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.

Hermione was wearing some kind of nightgown or negligee; it was insidiously thin and sheer. It
left *nothing* to the imagination... well almost nothing. A floral pattern on the fabric
obscured some of the details. In the end, he really saw no more than when he kicked down the door
when she was changing. But still, it left no doubt what was, or more accurately *wasn’t*,
underneath.

Though his breathing had stopped, he could feel his heart begin to race.

“What are you doing?” he asked weakly as she stopped in front of his bed.

“Giving you your last present, Harry. There’s still time left,” she said as she looked at the
clock also.

“What is it?” he asked lamely; he didn’t see her bring anything into the room with her.

She leaned down and put her head next to his. “Me,” she purred into his ear.

Stunned by her answer, his hand slackened and he accidentally dropped his wand next to him on
the bed. Hermione immediately climbed on to the bed, straddling Harry’s chest. It took all of
Harry’s strength to keep his eyes on her eyes.

*Thank GOD the sheets are between us,* Harry thought to himself. Almost as if reading his
mind, Hermione picked up his wand and waved it over him. The sheets vanished. There was now nothing
separating them except his new boxers from Dobby, and her negligee, which really wasn’t much of
anything, as far as garments went. Hermione then tossed his wand over her shoulder. It landed
somewhere on the floor. The still-lit wand beam hit the wall, causing a surreal glow to enshroud
the room.

Hermione then leaned down and began to kiss Harry with fevered abandon. His higher cognitive
functions having abandoned him as soon as he realized there was nothing under her negligee, Harry
could do nothing but return in kind. It was a battle of wills, of tongues, a struggle to see who
could literally pull the breath out of the other, of how long each could survive without coming up
for air. Harry could feel his excitement and desire growing, emotionally *and* physically.

Harry released Hermione’s mouth and gasped suddenly as she began to tickle his ear with her left
hand. He could feel her smile in amusement as she began to kiss him again. Her right hand...
somehow he seemed to lose track of it.

A few minutes later, Hermione finally broke contact, sitting back upright. For some reason,
Harry felt compelled to look at the clock; Hermione did too: 23:58.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Hermione whispered to him. He then suddenly became VERY aware of where
her right hand was. As Hermione sat on his chest, staring intensely down at him, he could feel her
other hand slowing working its way in a southerly direction.

When he felt her fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, she stopped, and then smiled at him
as she leaned back down again.

“I’m *really* sorry about what happened when we landed at Grimmauld Place,” she whispered
into his ear. Hermione then again locked her mouth onto his as he felt her fingers start to lift
the waistband of his boxers.

Harry immediately bolted up in his bed, gasping for air. He was sweaty and his heart was racing.
He looked around the room. It was dark; Hermione wasn’t there.

“*Lumos,*” Harry whispered. A soft light suddenly appeared under his night stand. His wand
was still there. It was all a dream. *A very intense dream,* he realized as he felt a
*very* restricting feeling in his briefs and pajama bottoms.

Just to be safe, he retrieved his wand and pointed it at the dresser. The box containing Dobby’s
gift was still there. He looked at the clock: 3:26.

As he began to catch his breath, he realized that he was still *very* uncomfortable.
*Well, at least now I know the numbing charm has worn off,* Harry thought to himself, almost
in pain. It *had* been several months since he’d last... fantasized. With everything that had
happened in the last couple months of school, he really hadn’t been in the mood.

But now that it was *frustratingly* obvious that that part of his brain was working again
(okay, so it wasn’t JUST his brain... he was sixteen, after all), he knew he *had* to do
*something*. He certainly couldn’t spend the rest of the summer walking around like
*this*.

Harry thought about it for a few seconds. He could do magic. He could cast a silencing charm. He
could close his eyes and (considering the intensity of his current state) a minute or two later,
he’d be free of all his tension and frustration.

Harry looked around the room, looking at the door and walls, considering his options. As he was
about to cast a silencing charm, he suddenly heard both voices in his mind stop himself.

*No, we can’t do this,* one said.

*It’s not right,* the other agreed.

*Hermione’s not just some faceless, meaningless, physical fantasy girl.*

*She’s not some quick wank to get you through a lonely night.*

Harry groaned quietly as another stab of frustration coursed through him, his body crying out
for release from its testosterone-induced torture.

*Okay, fine,* his reasonable, logical side decided. *Pick someone else, anyone else. This
is killing us. I guarantee you, it’ll only take a minute. At this rate, we might not even need to
think about someone...*

*No,* his emotional, instinctual side stood resolutely. *We can’t do that... not here,
not in the house... in the bed... that they’ve generously offered.*

Another wave racked him. Even his emotional side was not entirely immune to the unrelenting
hormones his body was enduring.

*Okay fine, maybe later... when we get out of the house... we can sneak away... find a
bathroom somewhere... BUT NOT A MOMENT BEFORE! And this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence!
We’re not going to turn into the dormmate-who-shall-not-be-named. I wonder if he realizes that
there’s little point in using a silencing charm if everyone hears you say the incantation, and
therefore KNOWS what you’re doing!*

Harry looked at the clock again. It was way too early in the morning to be taking a cold shower.
*First thing in the morning,* he promised himself.

Harry extinguished the light on his wand and then put it back under his night stand. He lay back
down in his bed and rolled over onto his side. He hated sleeping on his side; his arm always fell
asleep and would become numb.

But there was no way he’d be able to sleep on his stomach... not tonight. And he certainly
didn’t want to sleep on his back. Since it was warm out, his bed was dressed with only a set of
thin sheets and a lightweight blanket. Should a plane crash in the backyard and they all ran in to
retrieve him, there’d be no question as to what he was having to currently put up with.

Harry stared intently at the wall; behind it he knew Hermione was sleeping only a few feet away.
Immediately, an image of her sleeping in her bed in an insidiously thin negligee came to his mind.
He tried unsuccessfully to clear it from his mind. “Oh, I am in *SOOO* much trouble now,” he
whispered to himself as he tried to go back to sleep.


*A/N: Holy Hormones, Batman! What just happened? Ordinarily, I wouldn’t tell you exactly what
I have up my sleeve, but I figured this time I would. I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t a
prelude to the story increasing in rating. It’s just a teenage boy struggling with teenage
“issues.” This dream is meaningless... Well, not meaningless. What it is, is merely a vehicle for
Harry to help understand what exactly he feels for Hermione, in THAT respect. After all, I’m
certainly not ready for Dan and Harry to have “the talk,” so he needs to figure SOME of this out on
his own.*


*It’s obvious to him that she excites him, but how does he feel about that? He realizes that
he DOES NOT want to use her like that, to merely satisfy his body’s physical needs. She means more
to him than that... than to just be a “quick wank.”*


*Oh yeah... Who is the unmentionable dormmate? Does it matter? :-) Actually, I haven’t
decided... but it isn’t Ron. I figured Ron would know better, what with five older brothers and
all.*


*Oh, and finally... (saving the best for last) Check out an AWESOME photo-manip made by
Evernight based on a scene in this chapter!*


*http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=780*




18. Like a Bolt Out of the Blue...
----------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*


*A/N: First, I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year! I hope everyone made good use of the
leap second. I hope you all enjoyed the holidays. If you give and receive presents, I hope you all
got something you liked. You know you’ve “officially” grown up when you’re happy to get new shoes
as a present.*


*Several of you astutely observed in your reviews that too much has happened “today” for me to
not tell you what is going on in Hermione’s as well as Dan and Emma’s minds. So, for all of you who
saw this coming... Congrats! Here you go! We won’t even hear from Harry this chapter. I figured he
needed a break after where we left him hanging last chapter. Besides, this is another one of those
“half chapters” that I post when I realize that the chapter I started writing turns into something
a whole lot longer.*


*This is pretty much one of the last “setup” chapters, where most of the last pieces to the
puzzle are put into place. From Chapter 19 on out, for the most part, we’re pretty much on cruise
control. Most everything has already been put into play, so we’re now just navigating the
course.*


*Finally, I just wanted to say thank you once again to everyone who has ever left a review.
Thanks of course are given to my trusty beta, MapleMountain. Wow, this is a really long A/N. But
hey, it’s worth it.*


*Remember, real life... PG-13... My intent is not to titillate but to make this as real as
real life gets... within the bounds I have set for myself in this story.*


Chapter 18. Like a Bolt Out of the Blue...

*Harry stared intently at the wall; behind it he knew Hermione was sleeping only a few feet
away. Immediately, an image of her sleeping in her bed in an insidiously thin negligee came to his
mind. He tried unsuccessfully to clear it from his mind. “Oh, I am in* SOOO *much trouble
now,” he whispered to himself as he tried to go back to sleep.*

* * *

*Hermione’s POV, a little over five hours ago...*

“Well, I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Thank you. I love it. And...” Harry’s voice
trailed off. Hermione watched as his eyes seemed to glaze over for a second. *Trying to find
something eloquent to say, no doubt,* she thought to herself.

“And it’s very nice,” Harry finally said. *Oh,* Hermione sighed to herself happily,
*exactly Harry.*

Harry looked as though he was about to say something else when Hermione heard a soft knock on
his door. She turned around and looked; it was her mum ready for bed.

Hermione groaned inwardly. *Just ten more minutes!* she begged silently. She’d been so
happy. They weren’t doing anything special... they were just sitting there... talking.

Hermione quickly changed her mind. They *were* doing something special: they were just
sitting there... talking. No school, no homework. It was just him and her, talking about their day.
She was amazed at how nice that felt... to just sit and talk. She could easily get used to that.
Not that they didn’t sit and talk at school... it’s just that... well... she knew what she
meant.

“Hey you two,” her mother said in a friendly voice. “We have an early morning tomorrow... well,
early for Harry, at least. Time for bed.” Hermione was glad she was still looking at her mum.
Somehow she didn’t think Harry would appreciate it if he saw her smiling at that comment about it
being early for him.

“Yes, Mum,” she replied; she heard Harry say the exact same words at the same time. She sighed
again silently to herself. Oh, how she could get used to hearing him say *THAT* too.

Hermione turned back to Harry. “Good night, Harry. I don’t think we need dress robes tomorrow.
Just dress nicely.”

Harry looked slightly relieved. He probably didn’t know how he was supposed to dress for such an
occasion.

“Okay, thanks. Good night, Hermione,” Harry said, and then wished her mother good night as
well.

“Good night, Harry,” Emma replied in return.

Hermione reluctantly climbed off Harry’s bed and followed her mother out the door. After closing
it, Emma wrapped her arm lovingly around her only child as they slowly walked down the hall.

“So, tell me the truth. How did today go?” Emma asked with a smile.

Hermione thought for a second. It would have been much too complicated to say exactly how today
went, so she settled for an overall opinion, now that the day was over.

“Great,” she answered simply. And she meant it too... now that the day was over.

“That’s good,” Emma replied happily. “I was a little worried there for a while that it might’ve
ended badly.”

Hermione, feigning annoyance, quickly replied. “Actually, it *did* end badly, when you came
and knocked on the door and interrupted us just now.” She then winked at her mother and grinned.
Emma pulled her arm tightly around Hermione in sort of a half-hug.

“I *was* somewhat curious about what he said as he started the movie. But I take it
*you’re* not worried about it,” Emma asked as they reached their bedrooms at the end of the
hall. Hermione looked over her mother’s shoulder to see where her father was; she didn’t see him.
She was pretty sure her father had some idea how she felt about Harry. It wasn’t that she didn’t
want him to hear, she just didn’t want to have to tell the story twice if he was there.

“Actually, I did notice what he’d said. I *was* worried about it for a while. I was afraid
he let slip that he fancied someone. I knew there was no way he could’ve ever meant me, so I—”

*Emma’s POV...*

Whatever Hermione did, felt, or thought, Emma did not get a chance find out for she immediately
led her daughter into her room, closed the door, and sat her down on her bed. She then pulled the
chair from her desk, set it beside the bed, and sat down as well.

Emma stared at her daughter for a moment. It had been... well, she didn’t know exactly how long
it had been since the last time she had to do this. All she knew was that it was a very long
time.

In what was immediately recognizable as her “I am *not* amused” voice, Emma asked sternly,
“What *exactly* do you mean by that, Hermione Jane?”

Emma watched as her daughter blinked. They both knew that *that* moniker was reserved
exclusively for when Hermione was about to get a lecture... and not a “brush your teeth before bed”
lecture either.

“What?” Hermione asked, clearly surprised at the direction this conversation had turned.

“*What do you mean* you knew there was no way he could’ve meant you?”

“Harry doesn’t fancy me,” Hermione said quickly and simply, as if nothing else needed
saying.

“Did he *tell* you that?” Emma asked sharply. Her tone was directed at her daughter, not
their house guest. She knew there was no way Hermione would’ve been able to hide it if Harry had
said that to her face.

“Of course not,” Hermione replied, looking almost offended that her mother would’ve even accused
Harry of such a thing. Emma could tell that Hermione was uncomfortable under her stare. The stare
would remain for as long as she had to wait for an explanation.

“It’s just that he doesn’t. I would know if he did,” Hermione said quietly.

“Does *Harry* know how *you* feel about him?” Emma quickly asked.

“No,” Hermione replied. The confusion in her voice betrayed the fact that she was still unsure
of where this was going.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve done everything I could to hide it from him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was going out with Cho Chang. And even before they got together, he’d still fancied
her for at least a year before that.”

“Why haven’t you told him now? You said they broke up a few months ago.”

“Because he doesn’t *need* that right now... some girl throwing herself at him,” Hermione
replied, exasperated.

“*Fine.* That’s why you haven’t told him yet. I can accept that,” Emma said placatingly,
even though she really wasn’t at all fine with that answer. “But why do you *know* that there
was no way he could’ve ever meant you?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hermione replied defensively.

“‘I was afraid he let slip that he fancied someone. I knew there was no way he could’ve ever
meant me,’” Emma quoted. She knew her daughter wasn’t thrilled that she’d repeated her exact words
back to her. Emma’s ability to remember exactly almost anything she ever heard came in quite handy
at times. It was her phonographic memory, as she liked to call it.

Caught, Hermione sat quiet for a moment then sighed. Seeing that she didn’t seem to be in a mood
to put up a fight, Emma decided to press on.

“Is there anyone at school who, in your opinion, knows you better that Harry does?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “Not really. Ginny’s a close second... but we talk about
different things.”

“Does Ginny know how you feel?” Hermione shook her head emphatically, but then stopped for a
second. “At least I don’t think she does. I’ve certainly never said anything to her about it.”

“So, if the two of them don’t know *everything* about you, isn’t it *possible* that
you don’t know *everything* about Harry?” Emma challenged.

Hermione sat there for a moment with her mouth open, ready to speak. Emma could see that she
wanted to say “no” but wasn’t able get the word out. “It’s *possible*,” Hermione finally
admitted.

*Finally!* Emma thought to herself. “Good. Now, and I hope you’re paying attention... until
you actually *ask* him how he feels about you, I *FORBID* you from ever telling yourself
that it isn’t possible that he could ever feel that way about you. Do you understand me?”

Hermione sat there for a moment, clearly at a loss for what to say. She finally nodded
meekly.

Emma reached out and put her hand on her daughter’s. “You know that we’ve never forbidden you
from doing anything, unless we were absolutely convinced it was for your own good. And even then,
we always explained exactly why you weren’t allowed to do that.

“But I won’t explain it this time,” Emma told her. “I’m sure you already know why I am
forbidding this. But if you don’t, you’re just going to have to figure it out for yourself. And if
you can’t figure it out, then maybe you don’t deserve to be with such a wonderful young man as
Harry.”

It was breaking Emma’s heart to have to say this to her daughter, but she knew that it had to be
done. For all of her intelligence, once Hermione got an idea stuck in her brain, it often took a
monumental effort to get it out. The only way that usually ever happened was if she was able to
prove it to herself, whatever *it* was.

If she was motivated enough, Hermione could usually do it by herself. But sometimes, she had to
be tricked into proving it to herself by someone else. Fortunately, both Emma and Dan were two of
the few people in the world capable of doing that.

“Good! I’m glad we got that settled. I’m sorry if I came on a little harsh. I just couldn’t
believe my ears to hear you sound so certain of something like that when I *know* he hasn’t
told you that. So, are we okay now?”

Hermione finally nodded.

“Good,” Emma said in relief. “Now that we’ve been there and back, what *did* he mean? You
said that you *were* afraid, so that implies that you no longer are afraid... which suggests
he told you what he meant... which might help explain how I ruined your day by interrupting you,”
Emma said with a knowing smile.

“He did tell me, in fact. Actually, he just kinda blurted it out, saying that he was afraid we
misinterpreted what he said,” Hermione explained. “He said that he just didn’t want us to think he
meant there was anything wrong with you or that he thought you were unattractive, or anything like
that.”

“Oh... okay,” Emma said evenly. She could understand why Harry might think they’d misinterpreted
his words. But there was just something about that whole thing that just didn’t fit. Maybe Dan
could explain it. It was nice having Dan around for such things. It was like having her own
personal copy of the super secret, highly classified guide, *Stupid Things Males Say, and Why
They Say Them*.

Of course, there were *other* reasons Emma also enjoyed having Dan around (and vice-versa),
but she knew Hermione didn’t want to hear about those.

Emma cast a quick glance at Hermione’s clock; it was nearly twenty after ten. She still had a
little while longer before she wanted to go to bed. It had been so long since she’d been able to
just talk with her daughter, alone. In fact, other than their heart-to-heart on Harry’s first day
there, she really couldn’t remember the last time that they had.

Emma stood up from the chair, climbed onto the end of Hermione’s bed, and got comfortable. “So!
Tell me about today!” Emma asked with an excited look. A surprised but pleased look appeared on
Hermione’s face. She grabbed her pillow, got seated under the covers, and then put her pillow
behind her back as she leaned against the headboard.

Emma waited patiently as Hermione thought for a few seconds, smiling happily. “This morning,
Crookshanks kept trying to eat Harry’s breakfast. You know how he can get when there’s bacon
around.”

“Probably the same as most males get, I would wager,” Emma interjected with a grin.

“You know, I said it was a great day, and it was,” Hermione explained. “But it was quite the
roller coaster ride to get there. The party ended up being really great. When we got to... the
party, everyone who could make it was there.”

Now that the fact Harry was staying with them was some sort of “magical secret,” Emma finally,
truly understood what her daughter meant the year before when she tried to explain that she was
incapable of saying where she was going.

Hermione started to turn slightly pink. “When we all gave Harry his presents... Ginny had talked
the three of us, me, her, and Luna, into giving him a birthday snog.”

*Talked us into?* Emma thought to herself. A slight smirk appeared on her face. The color
on her daughter’s face intensified.

“Okay, fine! So I eagerly volunteered. But I hid it well. And it *was* Ginny’s idea in the
first place,” Hermione defended. “Anyway, when I kissed him, I could feel myself get carried away.
For a few scary minutes, I worried that he had realized that I was practically snogging him as if
my life depended on it.

“But he never said anything, so I figured that it was just my own feelings for him getting in
the way... you know, my mind playing tricks on me because I wanted him to snog me back. I got to
snog Harry Potter, and in front of everyone too.” Emma smiled; Hermione seemed very pleased.

“Later, it took another downward turn but then bounced right back,” Hermione resumed. “Off and
on all day, Ginny seemed a little... I don’t know. I’d been watching her discreetly whenever she
was alone with him... I couldn’t help it. But then when they were playing chess, Harry left for a
minute. She sat there for a few seconds, and then suddenly a very determined look appeared on her
face.

“When she stood up, she told me she was going to get something to eat. When she left the room,
she turned the opposite way and followed Harry. My heart sank. Somehow I just knew she was going to
ask him out. I yelled at myself, wondering why I couldn’t just go and do the same thing.

“They were whispering... I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then I saw Ginny walk past the
door and head downstairs. I could hear him returning. I hid behind the book I was reading. I just
couldn’t let him see the look on my face. When he came back, he had the strangest smile on his
face. I was so afraid he’d said yes. He’d told me earlier that he didn’t fancy her... but maybe
he’d changed his mind.”

Emma sat there patiently. Hermione had said it was a great day, so this must’ve turned out
better than it was sounding.

“He told her no. I guess he was smiling because she seemed to take it better than he expected.”
Hermione smiled broadly, and then put her head down as she brushed her hand across her face and
began to chuckle slightly.

“Oh, Harry, bless his heart... in the course of one day, he managed to kill three birds with one
stone. Now, I’ve never said this to anyone,” Hermione warned, staring intently at Emma, “but if I
had to pick three people I most worried about throwing a wrench into things, it would be Ron,
Ginny, and Luna.”

“Ron is obvious, since I’ve known he’s fancied me for quite a while. I was afraid it might
complicate things *if* they were to both fancy me. There was never any question as to who I’d
choose, but I worried how it might affect their friendship. Ginny’s obvious too, since she’s
fancied Harry since before she even met him,” Hermione said with a hint of annoyance.

“Luna was the dark horse, however. As much as the two of us don’t see eye-to-eye on... most
everything, I could just sense that there was something about her that Harry might someday find
appealing. Most of the rest of the girls that he knows are too... giggly, I think, for his
liking.

Maybe it’s because she sees the real Ron... I don’t know... Maybe I was worried that if she lost
interest in Ron, she could just sweep in out of nowhere. If she sees the real Ron, she’d certainly
see the real Harry. I think he’d like someone who saw just plain old Harry, not the Boy Who
Lived.”

*And which way do you see him?* Emma said to herself. She debated whether she should
actually ask her, even though she already knew the answer.

“But, anyway, in the course of just a couple of hours, Harry seemed to take care of all three of
them,” Hermione continued. “He said no to Ginny, *and* he got Ron and Luna talking to each
other. We both thought that Luna might fancy Ron, but he certainly didn’t seem too terribly
impressed with her. I have absolutely no idea what Harry said to him, but the next thing I know,
he’s asking me and Ginny to come over so that Ron could go over and talk to Luna. I *still*
can’t believe it. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens with them.”

Hermione looked embarrassed again. “You ever been just sitting there and suddenly you swallow
wrong for no apparent reason, causing you to start coughing?” Emma nodded. Hermione buried her face
in her hands again for a few seconds. “I did that today. It wasn’t intentional of course, but it
wasn’t for ‘no reason’ either.

“Do you remember me telling you about Dobby?” Hermione asked.

“Is he the elf who Harry set free?” Emma knew that Hermione believed that the elves she talked
about should be treated as equals. And while she could find no reason not to, it still sounded
strange to her to call an elf a “who” instead of a “that.” Then again, simply talking about elves
was still new to her as well.

“Dobby has a hard time pronouncing my name, so he called me Harry’s girl friend... his female
friend. Maybe I breathed wrong or swallowed some air or something. I don’t know, but I about choked
to death right there,” Hermione said with a slight laugh.

“How did Harry react to that?” Emma asked, curious.

“Oh, he just started patting and rubbing my back, trying to help settle my coughing,” Hermione
answered very happily.

Emma smirked. “No, I mean about what Dobby said. Talk about a one-track mind!” she teased.

“Oh. Yeah. He just told Dobby to be careful about saying things like that, since *girl*
friend sounds like girlfriend. Dobby ended up calling me Harry’s Miss.” Hermione grinned a little.
“It was better than Harry’s Grangey. He calls Ron Harry’s Wheezy.”

Emma nodded in acceptance, though there was just something... about something... that she
couldn’t put her finger on.

“Then we came home,” Hermione continued. “We discovered that Fred and George had given him a
love potion,” she said darkly. That certainly caught Emma off guard. She knew there were strange,
dangerous things in the magical world. The idea of a love potion however, seemed to be a very
dangerous one in her opinion.

“For the briefest of moments, I was scared that he might actually use it. He asked me if there
were antidotes for them. I feel so guilty now for even doubting him... but I was just so scared.
When I smelled it, I knew the potion was for real. How many guys out there would turn down free
love in a bottle?”

Emma quickly interrupted. “*Real* love? A lot more than you might expect. Meaningless
physical love? Well, let’s just say that number goes down a little...”

“But, as it turned out,” Hermione resumed, “he wanted to know for another reason.” She smiled
briefly. Emma assumed there was another story behind that, but since Hermione didn’t volunteer it,
it probably wasn’t worth telling.

“Do you know what he did? He dumped it down the sink. He said that love was too special to
pervert with some potion. Oh, I could’ve just snogged him senseless right then and there.” Hermione
chuckled again slightly.

“And then I was afraid he said he fancied someone. And then he said that *he* was afraid
we’d misinterpreted what he meant. And then we just sat there and talked for a while,” Hermione
said, a very content look upon her face. “And then *you* came in and interrupted that!” she
finished, reverting back to her playfully annoyed voice.

“So yes, lots of ups and downs, but all in all, a very good day,” Hermione finished. Hearing
everything that happened today, Emma still felt that there still was something that just wasn’t
adding up about what Harry had said before the movie. But as hard as she tried, she just couldn’t
understand what. She knew that she would probably have to have Dan translate for her.

But in the meantime, she didn’t want to bother Hermione with it just yet. Emma glanced at the
clock again: half-past.

“Well dear, we should probably be getting to bed soon. We *do* have an early day tomorrow.
We’ll want to leave no later than eight o’clock. The morning rush most likely will have cleared by
then, but we don’t want to take any chances being late. What should we wear?” Emma asked.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it in the morning,” Hermione said with a glimmer of a smile.
Emma knew her daughter had something in mind, but considering the nearly endless depths of that
mind, she knew there was no point in trying to guess what. She’d find out when Hermione showed
her.

Emma climbed off the bed and went around to the head of the bed. She leaned down and kissed
Hermione’s forehead. “I’m happy Harry had a good birthday. And I’m happy you had a good day too.
Good night, dear. I love you.”

“Good night, Mum. I love you too.” As Hermione got settled under her covers, Emma headed towards
the door. She turned out the light and left, closing the door behind her.

As she walked back into their room, Emma saw Dan come out of their master bathroom in his
nightclothes.

“Problem?” Dan asked good-naturedly.

“Just had to have a little talk with Hermione Jane,” Emma replied.

“Hermione Jane, huh? What did she do?” Dan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Emma quickly turned around to double check that Hermione’s door was still closed; she then went
back to the doorway and looked down the hall to make sure Harry’s was as well.

Turning back to Dan, she sighed. Although she had been quite happy to hear about her daughter’s
day, her earlier frustration was still present. “Oh, she just seems intent on convincing herself
that there’s no possibility that Harry might ever have feelings for her... even though she’s never
*actually* talked to him about it.”

A small smile appeared on Dan’s face. “Is this about his little slip of the tongue earlier?”
Emma nodded. “Why doesn’t she just ask him? If he really does fancy someone, wouldn’t it be easier
on her in the long run to find out now?”

A slightly lost look appeared on Emma’s face. “But that’s the weird thing about it. Harry
*did* talk to her about what he said. But she said he didn’t say anything about fancying
someone.”

Dan laughed briefly. “Emma, trust me. I was his age once. Heck, I was even a first year
university student once too,” Dan said with an embarrassed smile. “He has his eye on someone. We
don’t say things like that unless our brains are so addled with the thought of someone
*specific* that we don’t think about what we’re saying. I guarantee you: that was his mouth
working faster than his brain.”

*Must be chapter two of the guide,* Emma thought to herself in amusement. “Are you sure?”
she asked, still unconvinced.

“I’m sure. He fancies someone. I’d call it a man’s intuition, but since I’ve been told on
multiple occasions that men do not have intuition,” he said, teasing her, “let’s just call it a
manly gut instinct. Or... how about... testosterone-based ESP.”

After grinning broadly, Dan looked at Emma and smiled in a sappy sort of way. “Don’t you
remember *me* doing that all that week before I finally asked you out... saying completely
mental things?”

Emma smiled fondly in remembrance. “All too well,” she said happily. Her lost look then
returned.

“But why would he lie to her about it?” she asked. “Harry doesn’t seem the type to lie to her
about anything.”

“Well...” Dan mused, “it’s probably unfair to say that he’s lying. He’s probably just not
volunteering any extra information. What exactly *did* he say?”

“She said that he told her he was sorry about what he said. He said he was afraid we thought he
meant that I was unattractive or something like that. I *did* think he let slip that he
fancied someone else, and I’m sure I showed my disappointment. It might’ve looked like I was upset
or offended, so I *can* understand why he might think that. But... there’s just something...”
Emma trailed off, unable to express exactly what about all of this just felt odd. She took off her
bathrobe and started to get ready for bed.

As Dan hung her bathrobe on the closet door and put his clothes in the hamper, he laughed again.
“Yeah, he’s definitely hiding something. Everything he said *makes* sense about him worrying
about you being offended. You’ll notice though that it has *absolutely nothing* to do with
*why* he said ‘I have eyes for only one’ in the first place.”

Emma stood in front of her mirror, looking at Dan through it as she continued to think. Hermione
*had* told her that Harry had effectively removed Ginny and Luna from the playing field. She
addressed Dan’s reflection. “But *why* would Harry try to hide from her who he...?”

Emma’s eyes widened in shock as a very interesting possibility suddenly occurred to her. It must
have occurred to Dan at the same time as well for he immediately froze. He then turned slowly to
look at her through the mirror, his eyebrows raised in poorly hidden surprise.

For several seconds, neither Dan nor Emma was able to speak as they both considered this new
possibility. The wheels in Emma’s mind spun as she considered what this might mean, not only to
herself and Dan, but also to Hermione. If it *was* true, it would explain everything that had
been bothering her about all this. She quickly turned around to face Dan.

Before Emma was able to say anything, Dan, who was able to read her much better that she would
prefer to admit, accurately derailed her train of thought before it could start to run away.

“No,” Dan warned, though he was smiling.

“But she...” Emma started.

“No,” Dan finished.

“And he...” Emma continued.

“No,” Dan concluded.

“And they...” Emma persisted.

“No,” Dan insisted.

“*Dan,*” Emma whined. She knew he had a hard time refusing her when she whined. He always
said he found it too cute. As such, she had to use it sparingly.

“Emma Watson Granger: *No!*” Dan stood firm. He went over and closed the door, turning off
the ceiling light. The lamps on their bedside tables were still on.

Emma stuck her lower lip out in a pout, something she knew he also found adorable. But alas, it
was to no avail this time.

“Emma, A: We don’t *know* anything for sure. And B: *NO!* Honey, look. You remember
how we got together, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma said with a smile, distracted by happy memories. “But the way we met is nothing
like how they met.”

“Exactly!” Dan exclaimed. “Whereas I was sitting in my 8:00AM Calculus class, trying not to fall
asleep, and suddenly the most ravishing creature I’d ever seen walked in and sat down next to
me...”

“It was the only seat left in the room,” she reminded him with a smile.

“They, on the other hand, have known each other since they were eleven,” Dan continued his
comparison. “They’ve practically grown up together. They’re best friends. You and I became best
friends *after* we started dating. We’re talking about two people who are already best friends
and *then* start dating. You’re right: their situation is nothing like ours was.

“I knew nothing about you. That’s why I asked you out so quickly. I wanted to get to know you.
They *already* know everything about each other. Well... obviously *not* everything,” Dan
added with a smirk. “He obviously doesn’t how she feels... and *if* we’re right about him...
she doesn’t know how he feels.

“They’re probably worried about losing their friendship,” Dan suggested. “If I read between the
lines correctly in one of her letters, Harry’s last relationship didn’t end very well.”

“But they’ve been friends for so long. I really can’t imagine them losing that simply by
asking,” Emma said.

“But they don’t *know* that,” Dan replied. “As far as I know, this *completely
hypothetical situation* we’re discussing would be her first serious relationship. And it would
be his second... if you could even call it that, since his first one sounded rather... flimsy...
from what I read. Then again, that could’ve just been Hermione’s opinion of it...

“Regardless though, they don’t have much, if any, experience,” Dan pointed out. “All they can
see are their fears of what *might* go wrong.”

“My point exactly!” Emma interjected. “If we just *told them* how the other person
felt...”

“And what if we’re wrong about Harry?” Dan interrupted.

“You know we’re not!” Emma countered.

Dan would neither confirm nor deny that charge. “But what *if* we are? Are you willing to
take that risk? If we told Harry how she felt, and it turned out he *didn’t* fancy her, she’d
never forgive us for betraying her secret.

“And what might Harry think? That we’re *trying* to set him up with her? That might
*really* drive a wedge between them.”

Emma appeared to lose most of her fight, but was still not ready to throw the towel in just
yet.

“Emma, dear,” Dan said lovingly, “Harry still has a month left here... at least I think he does.
The headmaster never did specify a timetable for his departure. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, he
still has another month here. Don’t you think we at least owe it to them to give them the
*chance* to figure it out for themselves?”

Emma was almost convinced. But what if they just...

“I’ll make you a deal,” Dan said, interrupting her thoughts. “Let’s give them the month. I’ll
keep an eye on Harry... discreetly of course. It’s a lot easier to know what to look for when
you’ve done it yourself,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“So, come September 1, if we’re *sure* that Harry *does* have feelings for her, and
they haven’t made any visible progress, when we send them through the barrier at King’s Cross,
we’ll give them a figurative shove as well. But we say nothing and do nothing until then. At least
nothing obvious,” he added quickly. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Emma finally relented after a few moments. “What do you mean ‘nothing obvious?’”

“Well...” Dan said slyly, “you know... things that there’s no possible reason we could be
faulted for doing. I suddenly realize that I much prefer sitting on the couch with you,” Dan said,
wagging his eyebrows. “You know... rather than on the loveseat.” Dan chuckled a little. “Though, I
think Hermione figured that one out today.

“And you know... we haven’t gone to the cinema for a while,” Dan continued. “The four of us
should go out and see a movie or two this month. And we really should get two large boxes of
popcorn, instead of four small ones. Now, if we sent them through the Tunnel of Love together,
*that* might qualify as ‘obvious.’”

Emma looked at Dan suspiciously. “When did you get so devious?” she asked with a look of
wonder.

“Trust me. When we put our minds to it, you’d be amazed at how complicated men can make
things... *when* we put our minds to it. It’s the Rube Goldberg gene. Most men have it.”

Emma smiled at her husband affectionately. As soon as she did, a wicked gleam appeared in Dan’s
eye.

“What kind of middle name *is* Watson anyway? Where on earth did you get a name like that?”
he teased.

Emma smirked. Dan was up to one of his little games again. She certainly didn’t mind them, for
they often led to *other* games that she also enjoyed.

“Now Dan,” she teased back. “You know full well that Watson was my grandmother’s maiden name.
Just like how Jane is *Hermione’s* grandmother’s maiden name. And hopefully, years from now...
many, *many* years from now, Hermione’s daughter’s middle name will be that of *her*
grandmother,” she said with a wistful smile.

“I can just imagine it now: Perdita Puckle...” While Emma prevented the premature pronouncement
of her preferred pairing for her precious progeny, the pending plosive peal was perfectly
perceptible. Dan pondered his permanent partner pensively.

“Emma...” he started.

“I *didn’t* say it!” she defended.

“No, but you were *thinking* it,” he correctly ascertained.

“Well... you must’ve been thinking it too if you saw that so quickly...” she countered. Dan did
not respond immediately. As she realized that Dan too must have at least considered the
possibility, she felt a sudden shift in her mood. Feelings that had been settled a little over
seventeen years ago began to resurface. She knew why they were now coming back, but it did not make
it any easier.

“Well... maybe she’ll pick a name other than Perdita,” Dan said with a slight chuckle as he
fondly remembered something that happened many years ago.

One day, when Hermione was much younger (old enough to comprehend the books she read, but not
old enough to have yet been explained the facts of life), she was told the source of her name. Once
Emma quickly retrieved the appropriate book from one of their many bookshelves, Hermione
immediately sat down to read about her namesake. After she’d read the story several times, Hermione
went up and proudly announced to her parents, *“When I’m Mummy’s age, I’m going to go out and buy
a daughter and name her Perdita too.”*

Hearing Dan say the name only helped intensify what Emma was feeling. “Do you really think she’d
pick anything other than that?” she asked solemnly. Dan still hadn’t seen the shift in her
demeanor.

Dan turned and looked at the wall in the direction of Harry’s room. He shook his head and smiled
sadly. “Honestly? I don’t know anymore. She’s no longer the same person to whom that first Hogwarts
letter was delivered. And I don’t regret it either.”

Emma was losing control. She knew where she was in her monthly cycle. Her hormones were all out
of whack and for these few days, she was susceptible to sudden changes in her mood. And oh, how her
mood did swing.

Still standing in front of her mirror, now clad in her nightgown, she put her hands down on her
dresser and bowed her head. When she let out an emotionally-pained sigh, Dan immediately came over
and held her. After twenty-six years, twenty-two of them in marriage, he too knew where she was in
her cycle, even without any physical or emotional signs. It was, after all, rather predictable...
except once, a little over seventeen years ago...

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you something?” he asked tenderly.

“I want another child, Dan,” Emma said weakly.

It was obvious Dan was caught off guard by the sudden yearning. It was also obvious that he was
sympathetic to her desire. Both of them already knew the answer, however. While they hadn’t
actually *tried* to have a second child in the last sixteen years, they also hadn’t done
anything to prevent it from happening. If it happened, they would welcome it.

“You know that’s not possible,” he said as gently as he could, for it was not easy for him to
say either.

“I want a son-in-law,” she suddenly said, clarifying her previous desire.

“Em...” Dan whispered.

Emma knew what he was about to say. Deep down, she knew it too: she was getting ahead of
herself... years ahead of herself. But she couldn’t help it. This had been twenty-two years in the
making. It had only come into focus a few minutes ago.

Emma turned and looked deep into her husband’s eyes. “Do you believe in fate, Dan? In destiny?”
she asked. She’d never asked this exact question before, but since they had discussed related
topics many times over the years, she was already certain of his answer.

Dan blinked a few times in surprise at her question. He stood there for a few second,
considering her.

“Generally, I believe in what I can see,” he replied, exactly as she expected. What he said next
though caught even her by surprise. “However, I refuse to believe that you and Hermione came into
my life purely by chance. So... yeah, I guess I do... for the *important* things.”

Emma smiled slightly and pulled his head down, giving him a quick kiss. After releasing him, she
continued to stare deep into his eyes.

“Do you want to know what I see, Dan? I see twenty-six years of seemingly random events suddenly
lining up, pointing to something. I see everything that has seemed to go wrong in our lives, be it
big or small, suddenly be the set up for something more.”

“You pined for Michelle for two years in high school *and* first term at university, and
yet you let her slip through your fingers. Someone *else* asked her out a month before the end
of first term, and you didn’t even try. Why?” Emma asked rhetorically; she knew Dan did not know
why either. “Never in my life had I ever overslept for a class, and yet first day of second term, I
did. I walked into that Calc class twenty minutes late and found only one seat left.

“Both of us thought we hated Shakespeare,” Emma continued. “How could a Capulet compare to
Captain Kirk? And yet when we grudgingly took that literature class third year to fulfill our
graduation requirement, we found out how wrong we were. We even named our daughter after one of the
characters.”

Emma put her head down on Dan’s shoulder and stared off to the side of the room. Her eyes landed
on the family portrait they had taken the summer previous, before they sent their daughter off to
wherever she had to go. “And when we got married... we wanted a family. We tried for five
years.”

Emma lifted her head back up and looked into Dan’s eyes again. “*Five years*, Dan. The
doctors told us again and again they couldn’t find any reason why we couldn’t. It was simply as if
we weren’t meant to have a child... *then*,” she added in a whisper.

“Even when we considered adopting, it always fell through for some reason... the biological
parents’ situation changed... *our paperwork got lost*.” Eighteen years earlier, she said
those words with anguish and vehemence. Now it was with some amount of reverie. She put her head
back down on Dan’s shoulder.

“And then, on our anniversary, seventeen years ago... It was the same as our first four... we
spent the day together... we went to a movie...” Emma tightened her arms around Dan’s neck, “we
made love.

“We both knew something was different that night. It just felt... magical. Not that you haven’t
always had the magic touch,” Emma added with a slight grin to herself, “but you know what I
mean...” she trailed off as she continued to stare at the portrait that was the proof of what
happened that night.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Dan agreed. “I felt it too... It seems a very fitting word...
magical.” It was a word that most people used when they couldn’t think of a better way to describe
something. But after that fateful day six years ago when Professor McGonagall arrived at their
doorstep with a most unusual letter, they knew then that it *truly* was the only word that was
appropriate.

“And even once she was here, for the first ten years, as happy as we were, we knew there was
something missing. She was so bright... and she always got top marks... but it was hard to watch
*her* struggle in school.” Emma felt a few tears fall from her eyes.

“And then our world suddenly got a whole lot bigger,” she concluded.

“And then she met Harry,” Dan added. Emma looked back at Dan. More tears fell. The first few
were in sadness. These were in happiness.

“Harry,” Emma repeated. “Harry, who had his family taken away from him, who was forced to live
with people who didn’t love him. By legacy, he should be a spoiled, rotten brat. By upbringing, he
should be a hateful, bigoted, broken-down shell with serious mental problems.

“But instead, he’s one of the most caring, selfless, decent human beings I’ve ever met. We
really only met him a few weeks ago, but I’ve felt as though we’ve known him for years. Ever since
that first letter she sent home.”

Emma tightened her grip on Dan again. “She’s falling in love with him, Dan. I watch her, and I
can see it,” she said as tears continued to fall freely. “Hermione, the brightest witch in a
generation, as her Head of House wrote to us once. Harry, the only person to ever survive the
unsurvivable. The young man who has some lost prophecy written about him. A prophecy, a *real*
prophecy,” she said, almost in awe.

“The young man who, by Hermione’s own words, has the potential to be the most powerful wizard in
all of history. The young man who has completely bewitched her, merely for who he is, not what his
name is.”

“I can see it in him too,” Dan added. “He may not be consciously aware of his feelings, but it’s
obvious he cares for her a great deal. She’s always been there for him. And most importantly, he
*knows* that. He knows what she means to him... even if he doesn’t *know* what she
*means* to him.”

“I see them, Dan,” Emma continued, the tears slowing. “I watch them. Before a few minutes ago, I
was content to just stand on the sides. But now... now that there’s the possibility of this all
falling into place, I want to help them. I want to be there for them. I want them to have a chance
of having what we have.”

“Emma,” Dan said quietly as he tightened his own hug. “If this is all true,” he said, pausing
for a moment as he considered his next words. Somehow Emma knew he was saying “if” merely for the
record. Unconsciously, she held her breath in anticipation of what he might say.

“If this is all true,” he resumed, “then I don’t think they’ll have *any* chance of having
what we have. They’re going to have so much more.” Emma began to breathe again as Dan looked deep
into her eyes. She could see a tear begin to form in his eye.

“Emma Watson Puckle. I love you with every fiber in my being. You are my best friend, my better
half, the mother of my child,” he said with a shaky voice and a smile that always melted her heart.
“But if it were possible for two people to love each other more than I love you, it would be our
daughter and that bespectacled young man down the hall... when *their* time comes...” he
finished and then gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Emma watched as Dan smiled at her again. “Do you believe in fate, Emma? In destiny?” he asked
her.

“I believe in my daughter. And Harry. And them,” she answered confidently.

“Then don’t you think we owe them, and fate, a chance to discover each other on their own?” Dan
asked.

Emma looked up at Dan and nodded. “But we still get to go to the cinema, right?”

Dan started laughing as he wiped away the tear that refused to fall. “Yes, we can still go to
the cinema.” Emma looked pleadingly at him again. “And we’ll get two large boxes of popcorn.”

Now that she had finally gotten that off of her chest, Emma suddenly felt a whole lot lighter.
Those same out-of-whack hormones that had taken all of her secret feelings and manifested them in
that little breakdown suddenly began to turn her current happy feeling into something more.

She turned to Dan again with a predatory look in her eye, not unlike that of a lioness about to
pounce on her prey. “Am I *really* the most ravishing creature you’ve ever seen?” she teased,
starting another game. Her games led to the same place Dan’s did... which, incidentally was where
she was now slowly backing him towards. There was something else she needed to get off her chest:
her nightgown.

Over the past twenty-six years, Dan had regularly shown his unflagging desire for his wife. She
simply liked to put him on the spot every once in a while and make him put into words that which he
showed so well without.

Emma could see Dan recognize the look in her eyes and saw when he felt his calves bump against
their bed. He studied her for a moment. “You, my dear, are like a fine wine. You only get better
with age.”

Emma sighed to herself contentedly. It was by no means original, but she knew, and standing so
close to him, could *feel* that he meant it sincerely. She saw him look over her shoulder,
just to be doubly sure their door was closed.

“And I also have to remember to let you breathe,” he added huskily.

“Care to make a wager on who has to come up for air first?” she asked.

“Same stakes as always?” Dan asked.

Emma nodded. “Next shower, winner gets to wash the other person’s back. Loser has to wash the
other person’s back.”

“Excellent!” Dan said as he pushed Emma back a step or two. Emma was very grateful he did this.
They’d learned many years ago the hard way that if their feet were too close together when what was
about to start started, they would actually trip over each other.

She was also glad he’d already turned off the ceiling light. She also knew neither of them would
have much energy left later. Fortunately, their bedside table lamps were touch-sensitive.

As Dan smiled one last time at her, she took a deep breath, tackled him, and started snogging
him senseless.

* * *

*Hermione’s POV, back where (and when) we last left her...*

Hermione thought about everything that had happened today as her mother climbed off her bed and
then came and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m happy Harry had a good birthday. And I’m happy you
had a good day too. Good night, dear. I love you.”

“Good night, Mum. I love you too.” Hermione was glad when she finally got settled into bed. It
certainly *had* been a long day. After her mother switched off the light closed the door
behind her, she stared up at the ceiling and resumed her cataloging of the day.

It started with her making breakfast for Harry. She wanted to surprise him with a special treat
today. While she cooked, she listened to her favorite song. No matter how many times she listened
to it, she never tired of it. She must have listened to it forty to fifty times over the past
couple years. She had to listen to it while she could, for she was not able to take her CD player
to school. Well, she could, it just wouldn’t work.

After she brought him his breakfast (and divested him of her cat) he jokingly told her that he
loved her. She knew it was just the bacon talking, but she didn’t care. Just hearing those words
come out of his mouth... his perfect, snoggable mouth... caused her heart to flutter. She was
certain she blushed at that as well.

And then, like an idiot, she had to go and bring up Cho Chang again. She couldn’t help it. She
just did not like that Ravenclaw. She knew Harry didn’t fancy her anymore, but she’d brought her up
several times over the past couple weeks, almost as if she wanted to hear him say something bad
about her.

He never did, directly, of course, but this last time, he looked almost as if he wanted to hear
her say something bad about Cho. She wouldn’t, directly, of course, but it did make her feel a
little better for some reason.

Right before they left, he went and told her how this was more of a home to him than the
Dursleys’ ever was. While it literally brought a tear to her eye, she had to remember to not let
him disparage his relatives too much.

As part of his failed attempt to convince Hermione to allow to remain Harry at the Dursleys’,
the Headmaster had explained that Harry need only consider their house as *a* home for him.
Dumbledore knew that Harry considered the wizarding world, specifically the castle, to be his
*real* home. But as long as Privet Drive was considered by him to be *a* home, at least
for brief periods, and as long as Petunia allowed him to stay, it was enough to keep Lily’s
protections in place.

Yes, it had been a very long day, and she was ready for it to end. Busy days like that took
their toll on a person. All of her thoughts about Harry, particularly her recollection of what she
considered to be proof that he really wasn’t *that* bad at kissing (as he’d once wondered),
had begun to reignite in her a desire that she’d done her best to ignore ever since Harry arrived
there.

She’d long gotten over her guilt about fantasizing about Harry. They were, after all, only
fantasies. What’s more, she now knew that they were no longer *meaningless* fantasies. As soon
as he arrived, however, she stopped... *indulging* them. With him literally sleeping only feet
away from her, she wasn’t quite *that* comfortable.

That said however, she certainly didn’t object when Harry visited her in her dreams... which
happened more often than she would care to admit, even to herself. As the longing slowly grew, she
*really* hoped Harry would visit her again tonight...



19. Everything’s Going to Change Now, Isn’t It?
-----------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*


*A/N: First things first. I’m so sorry this has taken so long to get posted. I could give you
any number of excuses, all of which valid, but I won’t. Needless to say, real life happens, and you
just have to deal with it sometimes.*


*So, I decided the least I could do would be to give you all another double update: this
chapter today, and another one in a couple days.*


*Just a very quick reminder where we are. We are now FINALLY into August 1... only hours after
Harry has realized his feelings. I know it’s been an eternity for us (even worse for me), but
again, it’s only been about fifteen hours for Harry. But they’ve been the most important few hours
of his life up to this point. Once we get to August 2, the rest of the month will pass very
quickly, in only a couple chapters (compared to the six that his birthday took...)*


*Thank you again, MapleMountain, my most vocal reminder (“So... when do I get the next
chapter?”) for working your magic as always. I should be glad you’re several states away from me.
Any closer, and you’d probably be pounding on my door, “encouraging” me to hurry up.*


*Remember, real life... PG-13... And on that note, please know that the rest of the story will
not be as focused on “growing up” as these last few have. It’s just been a very busy day for Harry.
He’s had a lot of things to sort out. Things might pop up here and there, but it won’t be as
focused as we have lately.*


*And finally (yes finally), Dan is quoting something from a TV show that he’s seen. I haven’t
mentioned the show by name yet, but I think I’ve established that he’d watch it. Ten points to
anyone who can spot it. If you don’t recognize the name of the Executor, then you probably won’t
get it. But hey, it’s just for fun, so no worries... :-)*


Chapter 19. Everything’s Going to Change Now, Isn’t It?

*She’d long gotten over her guilt about fantasizing about Harry. They were, after all, only
fantasies. What’s more, she now knew that they were no longer* meaningless *fantasies. As soon
as he arrived, however, she stopped...* indulging *them. With him literally sleeping only feet
away from her, she wasn’t quite* that *comfortable.*

*That said however, she certainly didn’t object when Harry visited her in her dreams... which
happened more often than she would care to admit, even to herself. As the longing slowly grew,
she* really *hoped Harry would visit her again tonight...*

** * **

*Harry’s POV, back where (and when) we last left him, 3:26...*

Harry stared intently at the wall; behind it he knew Hermione was sleeping only a few feet away.
Immediately, an image of her sleeping in her bed in an insidiously thin negligee came to his mind.
He tried unsuccessfully to clear it from his mind. “Oh, I am in *SOOO* much trouble now,” he
whispered to himself as he tried to go back to sleep.

He was so tired that he felt like he should fall asleep immediately, but instead, Harry lay on
his bed for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, hoping that if he stared at the same spot
long enough, maybe his eyes would get tired. He refused to look at the clock... that would only
make time pass more slowly.

Finally, just as he felt his eyelids getting heavy and he thought he was about to fall asleep,
he heard something. At least... he thought he did.

*Knock, knock.*

As Harry’s mind treated him to a repeat of the dream again, he had no memory of going through it
the first time. As such, it felt just as real this time as it did the first. The main difference
however was that this time, since his body was still... *affected* from the first dream, it
had a head start on this second one. Thus, when this dream finished to completion, so too did
Harry.

Harry’s eyes shot open, very awake, the instant he realized what was happening. They then
quickly clenched shut tight as waves of the single most intense feeling he’d ever experienced
(excluding the Cruciatus Curse of course) radiated out through his body. It had *NEVER* felt
like *that* before.

As Harry slowly descended down from his apex, his breathing began to return to normal and his
eyes slowly fluttered open. Looking up, the ceiling sparkled with thousands of tiny pinpricks of
lights. Evidently his eyes were none too happy with the mistreatment by their own eyelids.

Harry vaguely became aware that he was tightly grasping onto something in his hands.
Intentionally avoiding looking in a certain direction, he raised his head slightly and focused his
attention on his right hand. He clearly remembered holding a wand in his dream only a few moments
ago. He looked and found instead that the only things in his hands were the bed sheets and mattress
cover beneath. He’d managed to pull up everything but the mattress itself.

Willing himself to release the grip on his defenseless sheets, Harry set his head back down,
closed his eyes again, and took in a few steadying breaths. As he did, he found himself considering
what had just happened. That had never happened before, at least not like *that*. He’d always
required his own... *assistance* before now. But there was no mistaking what had just
happened. This was certainly going to change things, for him at least...

Before he was able to get too far into his introspection, Harry heard something. At least... he
thought he did.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

Now truly awake, Harry had full recollection of his first two dreams. A small part of him
laughed at the injustice of it all. In the past twenty-four hours, Hermione had gone from just his
best friend to the girl he now knew he fancied... the girl whom he now knew was the most beautiful
in the world... the girl who’d been able to make him do something, *while he was unconscious no
less*, that he’d only ever been able to do previously with a silencing charm and some
deliberation. And to top it all off, now there was someone knocking on his door.

Unlike in his previous dreams however, this time it was a regular knock, not a quiet one. Harry
quickly looked around to consider his options. While he *finally* felt free of his earlier
mental and physical frustration, he was still in a compromising state. He didn’t know anything of
the theories about how a full bladder placed pressure on the prostate causing a stimulatory effect,
but he had recognized a pattern over the years that a full bladder in the *morning would*
often cause the same condition.

With no time for anything else, Harry quickly sat up in his bed and pulled as much of the sheets
as he could into his lap to hide himself, just as he had done the previous morning when Hermione
brought him breakfast.

“Yes?” Harry answered the knock. The door opened quietly. He wasn’t sure if he was glad at who
he saw enter his room. It was Dan, looking fresh out of the shower.

“Harry,” Dan greeted him cautiously. “I was walking by and I thought I heard you moan. Are you
all right?” he asked as he approached. “You look a little peaky.”

*Peaked is more like it,* Harry thought to himself. He brushed his hand over his face. It
was still a little sticky from sweat.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a dream,” he said rather vaguely.

“Nightmares again?” Dan asked in concern.

It took everything Harry had to not laugh. “Not exactly,” he said before he realized it.
Embarrassed and still feeling exposed (though he was perfectly covered), he unconsciously grabbed
another handful of blanket and drew it towards his lap.

Though Dan did not look away from Harry’s face, he was still able to see the movement and the
vicinity in which it was located.

“Ah,” he said simply in recognition. He looked around the room for a moment in awkwardness. “If,
uh, you wanted to make a quick escape to the bathroom for a shower, now would be a good time.
Hermione is chasing Crookshanks around the backyard right now and Emma is still in her bath. The
hallway should be safe from prying eyes.”

Harry suddenly felt eternally grateful to Hermione’s father. He seemed to understand the
situation and hadn’t killed him yet. That certainly was a plus.

“So,” Dan said with a laugh, “who is she?”

If an answer hadn’t come to him so quickly, Harry might’ve panicked at Dan’s question.

“The girl of my dreams,” he answered easily and with a hint of defeat (that Dan knew it was
about a girl).

“Smooth one,” Dan replied quickly with a smirk. Harry began to wonder if Dan was actually going
to ask him who she really was.

“Don’t worry. I’d never ask you who she was. We’re all entitled to our secrets. Besides, it’s
not like I even know her, *right?*” Dan asked innocently as he looked at Harry intently.

Harry quickly looked away for a moment. Since he was turned away, he did not see the momentary
look of triumph on Dan’s face. Some idiotic part of his mind wanted to scream out Hermione’s name
at Dan’s question. He wanted him to know how special his daughter really was, completely ignoring
what happened in his dreams. He knew that if he continued to look at Dan, he’d just blurt it
out.

Dan turned to walk back to the doorway. As he stepped out into the hall, he stopped for a moment
and looked both ways down the hall and down the stairs. He then turned around and walked a few
steps back into Harry’s room.

“Harry, you *do* know that Hermione’s told us a lot about you, right?” he asked.

Harry remembered Emma saying something to that effect when they picked him up from Privet Drive.
He nodded.

Dan looked a little awkward at what he was about to say. “At several points, I thought to myself
how hard it has to’ve been for you to not have your father or your godfather there for you... you
know... to answer any questions you might have... about growing up.” Dan looked embarrassed.

“*Look,* I’m not trying to take anyone’s place, nor am I asking you to say anything you
don’t want to,” Dan said with a certain amount of uneasiness. “And I’m *quite* sure it’s not
my place to have ‘the talk’ with you. But... I am willing to answer any *simple* questions you
might have.”

Dan rubbed the back of his neck as he continued to explain. “I just remember what it was like
when I was your age. *My* father believed that *those* weren’t the kinds of things you
talked about. I had to ask some of my friends about... certain things. Not only was *that*
embarrassing, but... talk about the blind leading the blind,” he said with an embarrassed
laugh.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he resumed, much to Harry’s relief. “I just wanted
you to know that you had another option, besides your classmates. I’d hate to think that they were
your only source of information, especially considering they’re probably just as scared and
confused as you are... about growing up. They at least have their parents they can talk to.”

Harry wondered for a moment if he should be offended at being called scared and confused. And
don’t even get him started on how Dan had actually brought up the fact that he didn’t have his
parents there for him. But then he realized though that he *was* scared and confused. He
*didn’t* have anyone to talk to about *that*.

Who could he talk to? Remus? Maybe... but he was his professor once; that might be a little
weird. Ron? Fred and George? They’d all probably start laughing at the mere mention of anything
sexual, no matter how serious Harry tried to be. Poor Neville’d probably faint. And he was pretty
sure he didn’t want to know what his other two dorm mates thought about those topics. Who’d that
leave? *Draco?*

Everything had changed so quickly in the last twenty-four hours. He *was* quite familiar
with the particular event he’d woken up to, but... it had never before happened like *that*.
It had never been that intense. And it had *never* been associated with Hermione. Who was he
going to talk to? It was just so much to take in all at once.

But more than anything else, there was one thing that...

As Dan turned to leave the room again, Harry spoke quietly. “Is it *normal?*” he asked
timidly as he stared intently at the end of his bed. “*Is* it normal to have a dream... about
someone... and...” he trailed off, unintentionally glancing *down* for a fraction of a second,
then looking back. He was desperate to hear the answer, and yet afraid to at the same time.

Harry watched as Dan studied him intently for a few moments. Finally he seemed to make some sort
of decision. He didn’t actually smile, rather his expression merely lightened in understanding and
sympathy.

“Yes, Harry, it *is* normal. Sometimes our dreams help us understand what we want or need.
Sometimes they help us understand what we *don’t* want.” A small smile then appeared. “And
sometimes they don’t make *any* sense and don’t help us at all.

“That said, I suspect that if it has you this... concerned, then you *do* know what it
might mean. Sometimes our unconscious mind can tell us more than our conscious mind, especially if
we’re unsure of or *afraid* of the answer.”

Harry looked down at his feet still under the sheets and nodded slightly, for his own benefit,
really.

“Just remember, Harry... everything, all this,” Dan said, waving his hand at the world around
him, “in the end, it’s all just a bunch of signals that get processed up here.” He tapped the side
of his head with his index finger. “When the dream feels real enough, your brain will send
*out* the same signals as if it *were* real, and your body... will react accordingly.

“If you’re sure about your dreams,” he continued, “but you feel bad that you are having them...”
Dan smiled in a guilty manner when Harry looked back up at him. “Hey, trust me. I was your age
once. Been there. Done that.

“Remember,” Dan continued, “a man can’t be held responsible for what his mind does when he’s
asleep. If you really do ‘*have eyes for only one*,’” he said, raising an eyebrow to indicate
that he too spoke *guy* and had not missed what the women did, “then as long as your eyes and
your dreams are on the same one, then I wouldn’t worry *too* much about it.

“Just remember though,” Dan added quickly, becoming serious but not threatening, “dreams are
only dreams. You might not be held accountable for your *dreams*, but you are still
responsible for your *actions*.” He smiled in a way that Harry found rather reassuring. Dan
seemed to understand what had happened and he didn’t seem at all angry.

It seemed obvious to Harry that Dan did not suspect who he’d dreamt about. While part of him was
very glad for this, since it meant he would not die today (at least at the hand of an angry
father), another part of him was slightly... depressed? If Dan did not even seem to consider the
possibility that he might fancy Hermione, how did that bode for his chances?

Did Dan consider his daughter to be way out of his league? Truth be told, a small part of Harry
worried that exact thing. *How could such a beautiful person like Hermione (forget looks for a
moment) ever possibly be interested in someone like me?*

Or, even worse, maybe Dan knew something about how his daughter felt about Harry? *Maybe he
isn’t worried because he knows that she* isn’t *interested in me? Maybe he knows that she
already fancies someone?*

Harry *had* gotten the impression from her that she wasn’t interested in Ron. Who else
could it be? *Maybe she’s still writing to Viktor?*

Harry suddenly felt a seething fire of jealously roar to life in his chest. *Bloody Durmstrang
took HER to the ball, attacked Cedric in the maze...*

“Now, I’ll leave you, and your empty hallway, to your shower.” Dan said, interrupting Harry’s
internal tirade and dousing his flames slightly (though they continued to smolder). He then turned
and left, heading down the stairs. The whole episode hadn’t even lasted more than a couple seconds.
Harry shook his head slightly. *Get a grip, Potter! She’s hasn’t even mentioned him once since
Christmas. Don’t overreact!*

After taking several calming breaths, he reached under his night stand, grabbed his wand, and
flicked it towards his door, closing it. Dashing around his room, he quickly grabbed Dobby’s gift,
some clean clothes, his bathroom kit, and finally Ginny’s gift. Now was as good a time as any to
try out both of his new presents.

When Harry opened his door, he double checked to make sure there was no one in the hall, just as
he had his first morning there, and every morning since then. Even though he was holding his
clothes protectively over his midsection, he still didn’t want to take any chances of anyone seeing
him in his present morning-state.

After a revitalizing shower (first very cool to *calm* him, then very warm to relax him),
Harry quickly decided he might need to do a little revising on his cleaning charms. Trying to
vanish the evidence of the somniatory incident, he suddenly found himself with one fewer pairs of
briefs. It was a good thing he had picked up some new ones when they went shopping.

After brushing his teeth and shaving, Harry looked at the box containing Ginny’s gift. The
bottle of Dr. Koolskin’s Aftershave *was* very practical. Dragging a sharp razor blade across
one’s face on a daily basis was not always the most comfortable thing in the world. He had to
admit, that was probably the only thing he envied of his uncle’s: his electric razor... not that
he’d ever used one, but it did look to be more comfortable.

Harry opened the aftershave and applied some to his now slightly irritated skin. A relieved
smile appeared on his face as the cobalt blue concoction worked its magic (though that probably
went without saying). He was surprised however to notice that it didn’t have any smell. Then again,
it came bundled with a bottle of cologne, so maybe it wasn’t supposed to have any smell.

Harry now examined the bottle containing the bright emerald green liquid.



He turned the bottle over to read the back label to find out exactly what was so “him” about
it.

*Congratulations on buying ‘Exactly YOU Cologne!’ You will be joining the select few
experiencing the latest in Wizarding style.*

*Inspired by Amortentia, this unique and patent-pending formulation smells different to each
person who smells it. THIS IS NOT A LOVE POTION, SO DON’T GET ANY IDEAS! NO REFUNDS IF YOU WANTED
THIS FOR A LOVE POTION!*

*Just a few drops applied on the sides of your face and this groundbreaking advancement in
Wizard grooming will take effect. Once applied, each person who detects this amazing product will
immediately smell whatever positive olfactory attribute they best associate with you.*

Harry laughed to himself as the text began to scroll since there was more there than the label
could display.

*Whether it be that bouquet of flowers you always buy for your special someone, or the smell
of butterbeer for your drinking mates (yes, it works on guys too... Hey! It’s not a love potion, so
don’t worry about it!), everyone who gets near you will smell EXACTLY YOU... whatever THEY think
that is!*

*WARNING: Known side effect: People who dislike you but secretly envy something about you may
be upset by this product. It tends to remind them of what you have that they don’t. Don’t say we
didn’t warn you.*

*REMEMBER: This revolutionary fragrance was only inspired by Amortentia. It is NOT a love
potion. It won’t make that girl you’ve been secretly fancying suddenly fall in love with you. But
you will at least smell good to her. So don’t complain when it doesn’t happen. And don’t come
looking for a refund either.*

Harry started chucking once he reached the end of the label. “I wonder if they got a visit from
someone’s solicitor,” he said quietly to himself.

Opening the top, he took a tentative first smell. He didn’t smell anything. Of course, he hadn’t
put it on yet. Applying a few drops to his hands, Harry then rubbed them on the sides of his face
and his neck. He still didn’t smell anything. Then again he rarely noticed his own scent, unless he
was really dirty, in which case that certainly wouldn’t be a “positive olfactory attribute.”

Harry returned to his room, adding the aftershave and cologne to his bathroom kit and putting
them away. Glancing at the clock, he took note of the time: 7:30. Turning back to the door, his eye
caught on Hedwig’s cage... her empty cage. His heart jumped into his throat for a second in panic
until he remembered that he’d allowed her to come and go as she pleased.

Arriving in the kitchen, Harry found Dan finishing breakfast while Hermione sat at the table
reading her morning *Daily Prophet*.

“Still nothing?” he asked. Hermione shook her head, not looking up. “Not that I’m complaining
about the lack of activity, but sometimes I just feel like I’d almost prefer if something
*did* happen... something small. Otherwise it just feels too quiet, you know?”

Hermione set down her paper and looked at him as he sat down across from her. She smiled at him
in a sad sort of way. And just like that, with that smile (though sad), all thoughts of Viktor were
finally extinguished. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she agreed solemnly. “But if our only two
choices are no news or all-out war, then no news is good news, I suppose.”

Harry returned her sad smile and nodded in agreement. Dan began to bring over plates of
breakfast. Emma came downstairs a few minutes later and joined them.

After breakfast, as they put their dishes in the dishwasher, Emma turned to Hermione. “You look
well rested this morning, dear.”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “Well... you know, a, uh, good night’s sleep can do wonders sometimes.
I actually woke up rather early, around six. I really wasn’t in a mood to go back to sleep, so I
just lay there for a while, you know, nice and warm under the covers.

“By the way, *Harry*,” Hermione said, emphasizing his name as she elbowed him slightly,
“remind me to be mad at you later. I about had a heart attack this morning when I saw Metis was
gone. But then I remembered about your little window trick.”

“Well, at least this time you didn’t scream and cause someone to break down your door,” Harry
teased. He heard Dan cough slightly to hide a laugh. Hermione glared at the two of them, but
somehow he knew she wasn’t *too* angry with them.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Harry told her. “You already got your revenge. I had a similar
reaction when I came back and saw Hedwig was gone too. I’m sure she’s loving it. I always have to
keep her locked up at the Dursleys’.”

A few moments later, Dan looked up at the clock; it was nearly eight o’clock. “Well gang, I
suppose we best be off. Everybody ready? Does *everyone* have their wand?” Dan teased.

If anyone had looked at Hermione at that very moment, they would have seen her biting her lower
lip, fighting valiantly to hide her embarrassed smile as she recalled *exactly why* she woke
up early that morning. Fortunately for her however, Dan and Emma were too busy teasing Harry; Harry
was too busy trying to *look* offended at being teased.

“Hey now! It’s been weeks since then!” he replied defensively.

“Do you have your Gringotts letter?” Hermione, now recovered, asked knowingly as she pulled hers
out of her jeans pocket.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed briefly. “I was just on my way up to get it,” he said
unconvincingly. “Why do we need it anyway?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied simply. “But how would you feel if we got there and they
suddenly asked you for it for some reason?”

Harry smiled slightly. He couldn’t find any fault with that bit of reasoning. Then again, that
wasn’t at all really surprising, considering the source. While he was up in his room retrieving his
letter, he took a moment to put an owl treat in Hedwig’s cage for when she returned.

He then turned his attention to Neville’s Venus Flytrap which was sitting near his stack of
school books. He would need to feed it soon. Since he assumed that he would be able to give it to
Neville at the party yesterday, he hadn’t bothered to look at the feeding instructions that came
with it.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry heard Dan and Emma’s voices raised in surprise.
“*HERMIONE JANE!* What did you just do?!” He walked quickly into the kitchen where he found a
flabbergasted-looking Dan and Emma in very nice wizarding robes, looking at their garments in
shock. A grinning Hermione was dressed similarly.

As he walked in slightly confused, Hermione turned to him. “We never did get around to telling
them that we were now allowed to do magic outside of school, did we?”

“No, you most certainly *did not*,” Emma replied, looking relieved. “And here I was scared
to death that a bunch of Ministry people would suddenly swoop in here and put you on trial too for
that little stunt just now.”

“Sorry about that, Emma,” Harry intervened, much to Hermione’s relief. “We just found out
yesterday that we’ve been exempted from the underage ban. Guess the topic never came up.”

“Well that’s good to know, *now*,” Emma said, staring pointedly at Hermione, who smiled
embarrassedly.

Turning away from her mother, Hermione then studied Harry for a moment. “Is that what you’re
wearing?” she asked.

Harry looked down at himself. He was dressed in his school uniform again. She *said* to
dress nicely... This *was* the nicest thing he had, other than his dress robes. All of the
clothes he picked up when they went shopping were casual, everyday wear. She *told* him not to
wear dress robes. He hadn’t worn them in a year and a half. Not since the Yule Ball. And Hermione
in that blue dress... Periwinkle...

Looking back up, he was about to say that it *was* what he was going to wear when he saw
Dan behind her, staring at him with his eyes wide and shaking his head emphatically. Emma saw him
do this and slapped his chest lightly, smiling all the while. *Glad they find this funny,*
Harry thought to himself.

“Erm, no?” Harry said uncertainly. Hermione then pulled out her wand and transfigured his jumper
into robes to match theirs; the shirt and tie remained.

Dan and Emma tried to hide their smiles at him having to be dressed as well. “Everyone ready?”
Dan asked.

Once outside, the four of them headed down the walk towards the car. Harry felt the car door
close behind him in his chest as much as he heard it in his ears. He could feel something heavy
begin to weigh down upon him. This was it. There was no funeral; there would be none. Essentially,
this was Harry’s last goodbye to Sirius: the reading of his will.

After a few moments in the car, all three Grangers took in an extra breath at about the same
time, as though they’d suddenly smelled something and were trying to figure out what it was. Harry
could understand why they hadn’t noticed it during breakfast. He himself rarely noticed anything
else over the smell of bacon.

None of them said anything about his cologne, but Harry could see looks of recognition appear on
both Hermione’s and Dan’s faces (Emma was directly in front of him, so he couldn’t see her). As he
thought about what the label said, he realized they were just smelling whatever they associated
with him, so that was probably why they didn’t say anything: they just smelled *him* (but in a
good way).

The drive was very quiet, albeit short. They ended up driving only about a mile to the nearby
Underground stop, the East Putney Station. The Leaky Cauldron was on the opposite side of London as
Wandsworth. Though it was after the morning rush, driving all the way through the city (or
completely around it) would take a long time. And good luck trying to find a place to park once
they got there.

At different times on the train ride into London, all three Grangers noticed the shift in
Harry’s mood. Hermione, who was sitting next to him, and Dan and Emma on the opposite side of the
train all looked at him with concern at one point or another. Each silently asked with a look if he
was okay. Each time, he replied with a nod.

He wasn’t really okay, but he *was* holding on. So in a way, the nod *was* true
enough. Finally, the four of them arrived at the Underground station nearest The Leaky Cauldron.
After a brief walk, they saw the big book shop they all knew so well. It was the one right next to
the record shop. Or so it appeared that way to the Muggles walking by.

But Harry knew better. As soon as he was close enough to get a good look at it, the tiny, grubby
looking pub suddenly appeared. The four of them stood there for a moment, looking at it.

“What time is it?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked at her watch. “Eight-forty,” she replied.

Harry nodded and took a deep breath. He grabbed hold of the door handle and opened it. None of
the passersby on the street paid any attention to the four people wearing overly warm clothing as
they disappeared from the street outside.

As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the dark pub, he was immediately greeted by several witches and
wizards, all eagerly shaking his hand. With Voldemort’s return now common knowledge, people were
scared. There’d been no attacks yet, but still...

No one who was not in the Department of Mysteries a month and a half ago knew the full details
of what happened that night, other than what Fudge *chose* to tell them. Despite that, the
sudden arrival of the Boy Who Lived into their small world brought them some semblance of hope.

Harry slowly worked his way through the patrons and the attention towards the back of the pub.
It was surprisingly full for 8:40 in the morning; then again, they were serving breakfast to all of
the people who had taken rooms. Perhaps it was because they were unknown faces in normal wizarding
attire, but no one paid any attention to Dan and Emma, who were the last in the door. Those who
knew enough of Harry from the *Prophet* over the years also cast glances at Hermione as she
followed him.

A couple of witches cast disapproving glares at her. As she was literally only a step behind
him, Harry could see them as well. One in particular caught his attention. In the middle of the
crowd was a middle-aged woman he did not recognize. When he looked at her, she reminded him a great
deal of his Aunt Petunia, not in appearance but in attitude. She had the look of a person who made
other people’s business her own.

Remembering that the last time Hermione’s name was in the paper it was in regards to her toying
with his affections in fourth year with Viktor, Harry again began to feel very protective of her.
He knew that, if properly provoked, Hermione could probably easily hex half the bar into oblivion
(and he would *gladly* take the other half for provoking her). Despite that, he still felt
protective of her. He knew that she probably didn’t *need* his protection; he just wanted to
stop the unwarranted glares in the first place.

Harry slowed, stepping slightly to the side, allowing Hermione to come up along next to him as
they continued to walk. He then placed his hand on her back in the guise of directing her around a
chair. As he did so, he looked directly at the woman and glared with such intensity to cause her to
blanch and return to her breakfast.

To everyone else however, who’d been focusing their attention on the legend standing only a few
feet from them and not on his companions, it merely looked like the Boy Who Lived had directed a
friend around an obstacle as he looked off towards one corner of the room.

Finally, they reached the back of the bar and walked out into the courtyard behind it. Harry
stared at the wall that separated them from Diagon Alley. After a moment, he pulled out his wand
and walked up to it. He closed his eyes for a moment and willed himself to be strong. He had to do
this for Sirius. He opened his eyes and then tapped a certain brick three times, a brick he now
recognized without having to count so many over and so many up.

The four of them watched as the bricks began to rearrange themselves, forming an archway that
opened up onto a street behind it. When the bricks stopped moving, Harry and Hermione stepped
through onto Diagon Alley, with Dan and Emma right behind them.

The party of four slowly strolled up the street, working their way towards Gringotts Bank. It
was a quiet morning: too early for a majority of shoppers, and too late for people who had to work
to be out and about. Each of them looked in the windows of the shops as they walked by. There would
be time for that later.

All too soon, they found themselves before the front doors of Gringotts. As he stood there
looking at them, Harry discovered that these burnished bronze doors stood between him and what he
*now* suddenly realized he was actually looking forward to.

Until this very moment, in the back of his mind, the reading of Sirius’s will was nothing more
than a business transaction... the exchanging of money and property. The coldness of that, combined
with the fact that it was the proof that Sirius was dead made it something to which he’d not been
looking forward.

But now that he was here, waiting to be let into the still-closed bank, he realized that if
Sirius had gone to the effort of divvying up his property, then maybe, just maybe he also took a
minute to leave a message of some kind for him. It was, Harry knew, the kind of message that would
have been intended to literally be the last thing Sirius would ever say to him. Now that he thought
about it like that, he was actually beginning to feel slightly hopeful about this. Rather than a
final farewell, it was now another chance to (figuratively) talk to his godfather.

Standing in front of the doors, he felt someone come up and stand next to, and slightly behind
him. The person was too far back to even be visible in his peripheral vision, though he really
didn’t need to be able to see her to know who it was.

“What time is it?” Harry asked her again.

“Three minutes later than the last time you asked me that,” Hermione replied. Harry could
somehow hear that she was smiling as she said it. She was trying to lighten the mood a little.
Though he was certain he was feeling well enough to not need the mood lightened, he was still
extremely grateful that she seemed to care enough to even try.

Hermione took another tiny step forward, coming up directly beside him. As she did, Harry could
feel the fabric of his robes rustle slightly as the fabric of her robes brushed against his.
Although there was no actually physical contact, Harry felt comforted merely by her presence.

A minute or two later, he turned to see where Dan and Emma had gone. He found them a few yards
behind him, happily admiring some of the architectural details of the very old building. While he
wasn’t really surprised that they might do something like that, he had the strangest suspicion that
something about it wasn’t right.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, Harry felt as though they’d been studying him, and not the
building. Deciding that if they were, it was because of their concern for how he was feeling, he
shook the feeling off and returned to staring at the front door.

About five minutes later, Harry was beginning to wonder how this was going to work. The letter
said to be there at nine o’clock in the morning, but the bank didn’t open for business until ten.
He was about to ask Hermione about this when suddenly...

“MATE!” Ron shouted out, about a foot behind him; both Harry and Hermione jumped in surprise.
The two of them turned around to find a small army of gray robes, all topped with red hair,
standing with Dan and Emma. They all appeared highly amused.

Though they hadn’t been doing anything, Harry and Hermione both took a slight step away from
each other simultaneously, unbeknownst to the other until it was too late. What should have been a
very subtle movement by one now looked rather obvious when combined. Harry hoped that if anyone did
notice this, they would assume it was simply the last movement from turning around.

“Ron, Ginny,” Harry started as he saw that all of the Weasleys were there. “Are you all here for
Sirius?” he asked. He figured that if they were, there was no point in actually mentioning the
will.

“Yeah,” Ron answered solemnly after he stopped grinning from startling him. “Mum and Dad got a
letter a while ago saying that we were all supposed to be here.”

After a couple minutes of idle chit chat (Harry couldn’t help but notice Ginny watching Hermione
intently as she and he talked to Ron about their O.W.L.s), a large group of people suddenly
apparated into the street behind them.

It was a group of six Aurors led by Kingsley Shacklebolt, all looking as though they were
scanning the area. Once they seemed satisfied with whatever they were doing, Kingsley tapped a
watch on his wrist with his wand. A moment later, five more people apparated in: Lupin, Tonks,
Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, and none other than the Minister of Magic herself, Amelia
Bones.

“Why am I always the one on the receiving end of these bloody things?” Tonks cried out in
complaint immediately as she rubbed her wrist, wincing.

“Because they were your idea,” Lupin, McGonagall, and Amelia Bones all replied in unison.
Evidently this was not the first time they’d had this discussion. Tonks immediately sought to
separate herself from her traveling companions.

“Ron! Ginny! Harry! Hermione! *Anyone!*” she greeted them desperately, “Save me from my
heartless associates!”

“Hello, Tonks,” they all replied, returning the smile she was now giving them.

“What’re we all standing around for?” she asked as she walked towards the front door, nearly
tripping over one of the cobblestones in the street.

“Gringotts is still closed,” Ron replied.

“Did anyone knock on the door?” Tonks asked. “They *told* us to be here at nine, after
all.”

Everyone else looked at each other with comments like “Never thought of that,” and “Didn’t get
that far.” Tonks knocked on the door. A few moments later, a disgruntled looking goblin opened the
door. Harry recognized him as Griphook.

“Is there a problem?” Griphook asked disdainfully. “We don’t open for another hour.”

“We’re here to see Darmok,” Tonks said in a tone full of authority. Harry tried not to laugh at
the surprise he felt. He was so used to seeing her with pink hair and tripping over things that he
sometimes forgot she was an Auror. She certainly must’ve been able to present herself properly when
the time was required.

“*Ah...* the Black Estate,” Griphook replied with pleasure, as though he’d been waiting for
them. Now that he knew that they were *supposed* to be here this early, his demeanor changed
immediately. “Come right in, come right in.”

Walking through the silver doors upon which the warning to *“those who take, but do not
earn”* was engraved, Harry thought about how when every time he walked through these doors, he
was reminded of the first time he came here with Hagrid, when they retrieved the Philosopher’s
Stone. How long ago that now seemed.

As they walked through the marble bank lobby, Amelia Bones came up along side of Harry. “Mister
Potter,” she greeted him warmly. “A pleasure to meet you again. Almost been a year now, hasn’t it?”
she asked with a hint of a smile.

“Yes, it has,” Harry replied. “And I must say that it’s much more agreeable to see you outside
of a courtroom,” he said, returning her smile. As the large group approached a conference room at
the back of the large hall, Harry began to wonder something.

“Minister, please forgive me for asking, and no offense intended, but why are you here?” he
asked with as friendly a voice as he could speak.

“Oh, no offense taken, Mister Potter. May I call you Harry?” she asked suddenly as they reached
the door to the conference room and waited; Harry nodded. “Honestly Harry, I don’t know. I received
an owl addressed to Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, requesting his presence today. Since it was
addressed to him as Minister and not him personally, I am here in his place.”

Madam Bones chuckled slightly. “Somehow I suspect that our dear Mister Black had a few choice
last words for my predecessor.” Harry began to look slightly anxious about what Sirius might have
had to say to Fudge and how Madam Bones would have to endure that.

She must have noticed his apprehension for she quickly spoke up. “Not to worry, Harry. Though I
am now Minister in Cornelius’s place, I still know that it was addressed to him. I promise I won’t
take anything your godfather had to say *too* personally.

“Who knows? I might even get an honest opinion of Cornelius for once.” Seeing Harry’s confused
look, she continued. “You’d be surprised. Even now that he’s gone, people are still often wary of
criticizing him. Not because they care that he finds out, but rather that they don’t want to be
seen as complainers.

“After all, if they’re willing to complain about Cornelius now that he’s gone, maybe people will
think they’ll complain about me too, or about their department heads, *et cetera.* Do you
understand what I mean?” she asked. Harry shook his head unsurely.

“Tell me Harry, what do you think of your Potions Master?” Madam Bones asked unexpectedly.

“Snape?” Harry asked in surprise.

“*Professor* Snape,” she corrected him.

“Oh, yes, Professor Snape. Well... he’s... erm... he’s very knowledgeable about potions,” he
spluttered, feeling very on the spot.

“I see,” Madam Bones replied. “And is he an effective teacher in your opinion?”

Oh, Harry knew the answer to that question all too easily. But for some reason, he found himself
having a hard time saying it to the Minister of Magic. He could complain for hours about
*Professor* Snape to his classmates, but now he found it rather difficult.

“I see,” she repeated after a few moments of silence. She then leaned forward and lowered her
voice. “So you *don’t* think he’s a slimy, greasy-haired git?” Harry blinked in shock at what
he just heard the Minister of Magic say.

“I *do* have a niece at Hogwarts, you know,” she explained. “I hear all about him from her.
But amazingly enough, none of her friends have ever told me that when I asked... even before I was
Minister. They all seemed to struggle, like you, to *try* to find something nice to say about
him, rather than just answering honestly. Did you know that he’s very punctual?” she asked with a
smile. “So yes, I am actually looking forward to whatever Sirius has to say.”

A few minutes later, at precisely nine o’clock, the door of the conference room opened. Behind
it stood a rather tall goblin (by their standards) dressed in a very formal business suit; most
Gringotts goblins wore the standard uniform of scarlet and gold.

“Good morning,” Darmok, Executor of the Black Estate, greeted them. “Please, step inside.” The
assorted conversations that had been going on while they waited immediately died down as everyone
started to file in. Everyone, that is, except for one person.

Once inside, Harry turned slightly and noticed that Professor Dumbledore had not joined them. He
returned to the doorway.

“Aren’t you coming in, sir?” Harry asked.

“No,” the Headmaster replied simply. “I was merely accompanying the Minister here after my
latest visit.”

“But... this is for Sirius,” Harry said in a rather lost voice, almost feeling wounded.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I cannot attend. I was not invited,” Dumbledore explained with a hint of
sadness. The look on Harry’s face was obviously one of shock and confusion. He opened his mouth
twice to try to speak, but nothing came out.

“Harry, Sirius and I did not see eye to eye on a great many number of things last year. It is
not entirely unexpected therefore that he might not have wanted me here today.” An almost fond
smile appeared on the older wizard’s face. “I like to think that this is his way of having the
final word from our last ‘discussion.’”

While part of Harry did understand Sirius’s feelings and part of him did not, none of him knew
why the Headmaster looked as though he was almost happy about it.

“The last time Sirius and I talked, he said some things. While I heard his words, I quite
possibly did not *listen* to what he was saying. Call it another old man’s mistake. That was
the first week of June. Needless to say, I became somewhat busy after that, and did not have
another chance to speak with him... ever again.”

Harry was too focused on the Headmaster to see or hear the sound of several people arguing on
the other side of the lobby by the front doors.

“I left things at a place where, today, I would rather I hadn’t. Even now, the Marauder is able
to teach me a thing or two. So... no, Harry, I am not upset to be left out of this meeting. I have
no need for more possessions... as I’m sure you can well attest.”

Dumbledore looked over his glasses at Harry, his eyes sparkling and twinkling as happily as he
could ever remember seeing them. Seeing his Headmaster in such good spirits about this helped wash
away some of his own discomfort about the situation.

“If this is his last request of me, then I am happy to honor it,” Dumbledore finished. He then
set his hand on Harry’s shoulder, gave it a couple pats, then turned and headed back into the
lobby, still obscuring the view of what was going on out there.

As Harry turned around to where everyone else was seated waiting for him, the earlier commotion
finally reached the conference room.

“... *demand* to be let in! I am of direct relation to him!” a tall, slim, blonde woman
insisted, barging into the conference room.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Madam Bones greeted the new arrival courteously but coolly. “A pleasure to
see you again, *today*. And Mister Malfoy. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” she added
as Draco arrogantly came striding in behind his mother. Upon his arrival, he immediately began
glaring at Harry.

“Minister?” Narcissa replied, clearly surprised. She also did not appear to be entirely thrilled
at seeing her here. Then again, Mrs. Lucius Malfoy usually looked like that, so who was to say?
“What’re you doing here?”

Madam Bones cast Harry, who was standing between the two women, the most fleeting of glances
before speaking. “My business is my own, so I don’t ordinarily answer such questions. However, to
be honest, I don’t know. The attendance of Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was requested, so...
here *I* am.”

For some reason, the mention of Fudge’s name seemed to make Narcissa a little happier. Harry
wondered if possibly she hoped to get something out of this if Fudge was supposed to have been
involved.

“What brings *you* here on this fine day?” Madam Bones asked. Harry was quite certain he
already knew the answer.

“One of my relatives has died,” Narcissa replied, sounding very sincere; Harry *was*
impressed. “I am here to assist with any of the final arrangements, in any way needed.”

Harry *SO* wanted to say something just then. *Now* would’ve been a very ideal time
for one of those two-word responses he’d once considered a couple of weeks ago. However, seeing as
how the Minister had been handling the situation very nicely so far, he decided to see what she did
first.

To Harry’s surprise, Madam Bones actually smiled as she turned to go to her seat. But there was
something about her smile that told him that this was not over just yet. He glanced over to
Narcissa and Draco to see both of them wearing their usual arrogant, smug expressions. Draco
sneered at him, glanced briefly towards where Harry assumed Hermione was, and then silently mouthed
the words *“scarhead”* and *“mudblood.”*

Deciding it not wise to start a fight in front of the Minister of Magic, Harry turned around to
find a seat.

The conference room was very informal in arrangement. Amazingly enough, it seemed ideal for this
type of meeting. A large business table was in the front of the room, upon which sat a few sheets
of parchment and a small stack of envelopes. Built into the table was a small speaking podium,
obviously designed for someone of goblin stature.

In front of the table were a number of squashy sofas, each of which would comfortably seat two
or three people. Also coincidently enough, the sofas seemed to be arranged to match the
occupants.

A small grouping of four sofas on the far side of the room sat all of the Weasleys. Another four
on Harry’s side sat Hermione, Dan and Emma, Tonks and Lupin, and Professor McGonagall. And in the
middle of the room were three for Madam Bones and her Auror escorts. Seeing an empty seat next to
Hermione (and her subtly glancing at it as she looked at him), Harry sat down next to her.

“Mr. Darmok,” Madam Bones called, indicating he may begin.

“Thank you all for coming here this morning,” Darmok started. “But before we begin... What was
your name again, madam?” he asked, looking towards the two Malfoys.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” she stated professionally. The goblin continued to stare at her. “Mrs. Lucius
Malfoy,” she said, very proudly.

“Ah, thank you,” Darmok replied as he started looking at a sheet of parchment. “I’m sorry, but
according to my records, you have no business here.”

“WHAT?!” Narcissa shouted out indignantly. “Sirius Black was my cousin! How can you say that I
have no business here?!” At Darmok’s raised eyebrow, she quickly lowered her tone of voice, though
it was evident that she was still enraged.

“Quite simply, madam.” Darmok replied very professionally. “Your name is not on the list of
bequeathments,” he explained as if he personally didn’t care whether *she* was there or not.
All he seemed interested in was who was on the list and who wasn’t. Harry wondered slightly how she
knew about this meeting if she wasn’t invited. Then again, small details such as actually being
invited didn’t seem be of much importance to families like the Malfoys.

“There *MUST* be some mistake!” Narcissa argued, beginning to lose her composure.

“I doubt it,” Darmok replied. “However... What is your ancestry?”

“The House of Black,” Narcissa replied confidently.

“What is your lineage?”

“*Pureblood,*” she said with relish. Both she and Draco then cast an obvious look of
contempt at both Harry and Hermione.

“When you married Mr. Lucius Malfoy, did you take the traditional pureblood marriage oath?”

“Of course,” Narcissa replied proudly. Just then, Harry felt Hermione nudge him subtly with her
elbow as she sat next to him. He smiled slightly; he too realized where this was leading.

The Executor of the Black Estate certainly did not disappoint. “Thank you,” Darmok replied
professionally. “Since you have not been invited by the Estate, you have no business here in this
private transaction. By your confirmation of pureblood marriage oath, a binding magical and
*legal* contract, you no longer have any claim to the family name Black. You therefore have no
legal stature to contest the validity of this Will.”

Narcissa Malfoy, and Draco, looked fit to be tied. “WHAT?! How *DARE*—”

“If you would like to debate this further,” Darmok interrupted her, “you may discuss it with
them.” He then pointed behind Narcissa. Everyone who’d been watching the tall goblin with rapture
simultaneously turned to see where he was pointing.

In the doorway now stood two *very* unfriendly looking goblins. Both Narcissa and Draco
seemed to freeze for a moment when they saw them. These goblins did not wear uniforms of scarlet
and gold like the others. Instead, they wore black and white; they were surprisingly reminiscent of
the uniforms of the Metropolitan Police. All that was missing was the iconic checkerboard cap.

The battleaxes these two carried however, suggested that they did not respond to telephone calls
to 999, nor did they issue citations for running red lights. After silently staring at the sharp
implements for a few moments, Narcissa seemed to regain her head of steam. She turned back to
Darmok and opened her mouth to start again.

Darmok cut her off before she could speak. “Now, I must ask you to leave. You are *disrupting
banking business*.”

Those must have been the magic words, for both Narcissa’s and Draco’s faces immediately drained
of color... an impressive, though unflattering sight for people as pale as they normally were.
*Now* they looked at the goblins in black and white in genuine fear. Neither spoke another
word and immediately turned to leave, giving the security goblins a wide berth as they passed; the
goblins followed the Malfoys out, closing the door behind them.

“My apologies,” Darmok offered to the group.

“Not at all. It was our pleasure, I assure you,” one of the two twins immediately piped up.
Everyone began to snicker slightly.

“Very well. Your presence has been requested here today for the reading of the Last Will and
Testament of Sirius Black. A Will can be made in many ways. Mister Black has elected to write a
letter to all of you that I am to read. Then, the actual bequeathments will be made in the form of
private letters that he wrote to each party listed. If there are no questions, we will begin.”

Seeing none, Darmok picked up a solitary envelope that was sitting next to a larger stack of
envelopes. He ran his finger over the envelope several times, presumably to verify authenticity, in
a fashion not unlike when Griphook opened vault seven hundred thirteen almost five years ago.
Seemingly satisfied, he opened the envelope and began to read the letter inside.

“Dated 29 February, 1996.”

*Why am I not surprised Sirius would do this on the leap day?* Harry mused to himself.
*Oh, and he hasn’t updated it since then...*

“My dear family and friends,

“I wish that I could say this letter finds you well, but I have this dogging suspicion that if
you are reading this, then I am dead. That certainly has to have put a damper on things.

“I have much to say to each of you here today. If I’d been able to get out a little more these
last couple years, I might’ve been able to do this with a little more pizzazz. However, since I’ve
been cooped up here, you know where, doing who knows what, I had to settle for writing letters.

“To be honest, now that I’m finished with them all, I must confess that I rather like it this
way. I think I prefer to be able to leave you all with a letter... something more than a few gold
coins and a useless recording of my voice or some Pensieve echo of a memory.

“Each of you will be getting your own letter where I will be able to say the things that I
really wanted to. I don’t want to be repetitive, so I’ll keep this letter as short as possible.

“But, before we get into it, there is one little detail I felt I needed to add. I have the
feeling that *some* of you, (stare pointedly at each person in the room)...” Darmok said, then
paused for a second, staring at the letter. “Oh, my apologies. That was a note for me,” he said,
looking slightly embarrassed.

“I have the feeling that *some* of you,” he resumed, pausing for a second to stare
pointedly at each person in the room. At this point, Harry could not help himself. He put his head
down, covered his face with his hand, and began to shake slightly. When Hermione leaned forward
slightly about to ask if he was alright, she noticed that he was not fighting back tears, but
rather laughter.

“... might try to sit there and say that you refuse to accept whatever I’ve left for you, that
you’d rather have me back than some trinket.” Harry’s stifled laughter had subsided by now, though
he still hadn’t lifted his head yet.

“But, we all know that isn’t how the world works. Since I refuse to allow any unclaimed
inheritances to go to my dear Minister Fudge, I have decided that if any of you should decline to
accept your gift, that it be split evenly between my dear cousins Narcissa and Bellatrix. I hope
that’s motivation enough to stop the ‘I don’t want any money,’ objections.

“So! Down the business at hand.

“I, Sirius Padfoot Black (Padfoot not my legal name), of...” Darmok said, then stared at the
letter again and sighed. Harry suddenly burst out laughing. Everyone in the room turned to look at
him. Now that the ice had been broken, several other people allowed themselves to start laughing at
the difficulties Sirius was putting his executor through.

“I’m... so s-sorry... ev-everyone,” Harry choked out between laughs. It was just that whole
‘stare pointedly at everyone’ thing a minute ago. It just made me want to laugh. I’m sorry. And
then when Sirius did it again with his name... I just couldn’t help it.”

Once he and everyone else was settled, Harry looked up to Darmok, who was obviously waiting for
them to finish.

“Again, I’m sorry, Mister Darmok. Please continue.” The goblin nodded, slightly in gratitude,
slightly in annoyance.

“I, Sirius Black, of competent mind, do hereby bequest upon my friends and family the so-named
items contained in the attached, sealed letters.

“Please, all of you, though I am no longer with you in body, know that I will always be with you
in heart and spirit. I look forward to the day when you will join me. But remember, as Remus can
attest, it takes me forever to pack and unpack my school trunk, so, please, don’t be in any rush to
join me here. I’m not in any hurry. And besides, it isn’t as if I’m getting any older.” A couple of
snickers could be heard in the otherwise quiet room.

“I love you all.

“Padfoot,” Darmok finished, set the letter down, and then grabbed the stack of envelopes and set
them on his podium. He then began speaking from memory as if he had given this speech many times
before.

“Here you will find your individual letters. You will find there is a place for each person to
sign at the bottom of the letter. For transactions of property, your signature constitutes a legal
contract to take ownership of said property. Any person not Of Age receiving property must have a
parent or legal guardian signature as well.”

Harry suddenly became worried. Did that mean he would need to have the Dursleys there? But then
he remembered that the letter said their presence was requested, but not *required*.

“For transactions of money only, your signature confirms that you have accepted and received the
sum. It will also automatically complete the transfer to your account. No parent or guardian
signature is required for monetary transactions. Persons who have individual bequests but do not
have their own vault should see the Executor, me, before signing.”

Darmok then began going through the envelopes, calling names and handing out the letters as they
came up.

“Minister of Magic. Minerva McGonagall. Hermione Granger. Gred, Forge, and family. Tripsy.” Upon
hearing that name, Harry looked around to see if he’d somehow missed someone in the room who he
didn’t recognize. A slightly red-faced Tonks came up and took the letter.

“Moony.” On her way back to her seat, ‘Tripsy’ smacked Lupin in arm when she saw the grin on his
face as he walked up to get his letter.

Harry’s letter was the last one called. “Prongs, Jr.,” Darmok read.

Everyone was waiting for him. Since he was designated as the primary beneficiary, no one could
open their letters until he opened his.

Sitting back down on the sofa, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened his
eyes, he looked down at the envelope, broke the wax seal, then opened it and pulled out the
letter.



20. Where There’s a Will...
---------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*


*A/N: OK! I know I said a “couple days.” I had every intention of it being a couple days...
but a couple parts slowed me down. But... it’s done NOW! YAY!!!*


*As for my note from last chapter... Dan quoted Captain Picard from the episode “Attached”
of* Star Trek: The Next Generation*. In that episode, his and Dr. Crusher’s minds were linked
by an alien device. Before it was removed, she tells him that “**thanks to the implant, I got
to ‘hear’ some very interesting dreams of yours.” After an awkward moment, he replies in good
humor,* *“**a man can’t be held responsible for what his mind does when he’s
asleep.**”*


*Like I said... just for fun... but if I’m going to blatantly borrow, I want to say so.
:-)*


*And of course, THANK YOU to my beta, MapleMountain.*


Chapter 20. Where There’s a Will...

Harry sat for several minutes, staring at the still-folded letter, listening to the sound of
everyone else unfolding theirs. He just couldn’t read it yet. He wanted this to be over with as
quickly as possible, and at the same time, he also wanted it to take as long as possible.

As the minutes slowly passed by, he heard several people walk up to the table sign their
letters, and then return to their seats. Though he didn’t look to see who they were, hearing from
where in the room they walked, he knew it was the Minister, Professor McGonagall, Remus, and Tonks.
He soon heard a gasp from the opposite side of the room, and then came the disbelieving voice of
Molly.

“No...”

*That much?* Harry wondered as he looked over to the other side of the room where all of
the Weasleys were standing around Fred and George. He was quite certain that the more money Sirius
left them, the more likely they would have been to refuse it, if it wasn’t for his “little detail.”
He also thought it fitting that the Marauder would put Fred and George in charge this time.

Harry also threw a quick glance towards Madam Bones. He was relieved to see her smiling as she
re-read the letter. He wanted to turn around to see Professor McGonagall, Tonks, and Lupin, but he
felt that would have a little too obvious, not to mention intrusive. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to
see Hermione’s reaction.

A few minutes later, Harry heard Hermione fold her letter back up and set it in her lap. After a
few moments, she turned in her seat to face him. He looked back up and turned to look at her as
well. Her eyes glistening slightly, she took his hand and then whispered to him, “I promise.”

Harry stared at her with a slightly confused look on his face. “You promise what?” he whispered
back.

“Didn’t you read your letter?” she asked incredulously. He shook his head guiltily. Hermione
rolled her eyes and then gave him a look that clearly meant, *“READ your letter!”*

Harry nodded and began to open it. As he did, Hermione went up to Darmok to inquire about
opening an account and getting her own vault. Harry began to read.

*Dear Harry,*

*There are so many things that I want to say to you. First, let me just say that I plan on
rewriting this letter every so often, just to try to keep it up to date. This is the fifth time
I’ve written it since you and your friend rescued me. I know it may seem a little morbid, but
considering there’s a war brewing and that I’m still a wanted man, unfortunately it’s the only way
I can make sure my last words to you are the ones that I want to say now.*

*I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to be there for you for all those years I was locked away. I
know that it was out of my control, but it doesn’t make it any easier. What’s done is done, and we
can’t change it.*

*I’m also sorry that I won’t be there for you in the future. I would’ve loved to have been
there for you to have you ask me all about girls and Quidditch (and girls).*

*I would’ve loved to have been there standing with you as you asked that one special girl to
spend the rest of your life with you. I was lucky to be able to do that for your father. It was the
second happiest day of my life. The happiest of course was the day you were born to my best
friends, and they told me they wanted me to be your godfather.*

*Please, just know that although I won’t be able there standing beside you, I will still be
there with you. Oh, Merlin. Didn’t I just say something about not being repetitive?*

Harry let out a slight chuckle.

*Harry, please tell me that someone laughed at something in my letter. I tried to put a couple
little somethings in there. I figured that everyone would’ve had enough of being sad at my funeral,
so I hoped that a laugh or two might help lighten everyone’s spirits.*

*These past few months have changed my outlook slightly, so I must admit that this latest
letter is unlike any of the previous four that I’ve written. Obviously, if you’re reading this,
then I haven’t rewritten it yet, so everything in here should be recent enough that it makes
sense.*

*In my earlier letters, I left you with all kinds of advice on how to live your life. I even
put in a few “amusing” stories to share with Remus. But not this time.*

*This time, there is only one thing I want to ask of you: LIVE!*

*Live your life. And I don’t mean “don’t get yourself killed by Voldemort.” I mean, LIVE your
life!*

*Being locked away here these past few months, I’ve realized that there’s no point in being
alive if you don’t LIVE that life.*

*And so, I want you to promise me something: I want you to LIVE every day that you are alive.
It now means more to me to know that you will enjoy and think more about your life ahead of you
than relive whatever stupid pranks your father and I pulled on poor Snivellus and bemoan the fact
that I’m gone.*

*That also means trying a little harder than I did in my last two years of school. You never
know when some obscure charm OR POTION might save you someday.*

*Snivellus “accidentally” put me in the Hospital Wing for four days in seventh year. He knew
I’d been sliding my way through Defense. He pulled that spell straight out of the assigned
reading... reading that I hadn’t done. People will use your own weaknesses against you. Don’t give
them the chance! (Oh, and don’t worry... Snivellus had his own accident a month later.)*

*If I died in battle, then you need to know that it is important for you to LIVE your life
because there is a war coming. The time will soon come when you find yourself in the middle of that
war. When it does come, you may not have any more after it, so I hope that the time you did have
was well spent.*

*If I died by getting hit by the Knight Bus, then you need to know that it is important for
you to LIVE your life because there are never any guarantees in life. Tomorrow may never come. If
it doesn’t, I hope that the time you did have was well spent.*

*If I died at the hands of an angry father... well... do as I say and not as I do. Just make
sure you get to know the girl’s father a little better before hand.*

Harry chuckled again, considering he thought something along those lines a couple hours ago.

*Oh, come on! You had to have laughed at THAT!*

The chuckle turned into a laugh.

*And finally... if by some tiny chance, Severus had anything to do with my death, I want you
to promise me this: do NOTHING! Your life is too important to me to have you spend the rest of it
in Azkaban because you decided to seek revenge. Please, hear me out.*

*I promise you this: a person can not play both sides for very long before he finally loses
his footing and slips. Sooner or later, Snape will slip up and he will die, at the hand of either
Dumbledore or Voldemort.*

*If by some miracle he makes it through the war unscathed, I firmly believe in the saying that
the best revenge is living well. I DON’T CARE what happens to Snivellus if I know you are LIVING
well. Enjoy your life. Get married. Have a couple kids. All while Snivellus rots away in his
dungeon alone.*

*So, Harry, here’s the hard part. I want you to promise that you will do everything in your
power to LIVE your life.*

*I want you to tell your friend Hermione that you promise to do as I’ve asked. You won’t need
to tell her what you are promising. All that matters is that you promise. I’ve told her to expect
your promise. I’ve also asked her to promise something to me as well.*

*Why Hermione? Well, let me just say that I’m speaking from personal experience on this one.
James, Remus, and I all found it much harder to lie to Lily than to each other. We could rarely
pull the wool over her eyes... Well, except for your father, but that was only because it was her
jumper and then... well, somehow I don’t think you want to hear about that.*

Harry let out a small groan. Now he *really* knew why Hermione was complaining about Dan
and Emma snogging when they were in the mall eating lunch that day. It was one thing to think about
his aunt and uncle snogging. Harry had to close his eyes for a second to brace himself against
*that* thought.

It was another thing entirely to have Sirius cause him to consider the possibility that his
father would actually take off his mother’s clothes... and then they might even... have sex... with
*each other*, no less! Harry shuddered at the thought.

*So, Harry, time to pay up. Promise me that you’ll do everything you can to LIVE your life.
What’s the point in defeating Voldemort if you wallow away your years because I’m not there?
Promise me!*

*And now, finally, let’s get to the business: business.*

*I, Sirius Black, do hereby bequest to Harry James Potter the entirety of the Black Estate,
minus all other bequests as itemized on the attached schedule.*

*Harry, I am leaving you everything that remains after I hand out a few parting gifts. More
than the money, which is not an insignificant figure I might add, there are two things I wanted to
address specifically: Grimmauld Place and my motorbike.*

*They are both yours. I am willing them to Remus temporarily to be put into a trust until you
turn seventeen. If I tried to give them to you directly, today (whenever today is...), then we’d
need your uncle here to sign for it, and I’m sure neither of us would want that. The motorbike
should be safely stored away. Hagrid should know where. Heck, I wouldn’t even have put it past him
to take it out on occasion!*

*You will notice that a small mark will appear next to each of the listings as everyone signs
their documents. Please do not sign yours until everyone else has finished. It makes things easier
in the long run.*

*I do not want a single Knut to go to the Ministry as part of an unclaimed inheritance. You
may think my insistence odd, but I found it highly coincidental that Fudge would quietly push
through a banking reform measure only days after I escaped from Azkaban. He knew that I hadn’t had
the time or ability to write a will while I was in Azkaban. All that money sitting in my vault was
obviously too great a temptation for him. Was it any wonder he issued orders to kill me on
sight?*

*Imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning in one of my early hiding spots to find a
letter from Gringotts explaining the change in banking law. On that note Harry, I strongly
encourage you to write a will yourself.*

*You’re going to be a very wealthy man by the end of the day, so you’re going to want to make
sure it’s safe when you leave this world. There are plenty of Fudges and Malfoys out there, so make
sure your money goes where you want it to. And don’t fuss too much about exactly how to divide it.
You can always change your mind later. And if you do it by owl (or tropical bird) like I did, it’s
really easy. So no excuses!*

*Remember that life here is but a blink of an eye compared that to which waits for us beyond,
regardless of whether you live to be twenty or two hundred twenty. I think Dumbledore once called
it the “next great adventure.” While you’re HERE, make the most of this adventure.*

*And make sure you kick Voldemort’s arse for me!*

*P.S. By the way, I lied about refused gifts going to my other two cousins. Anything refused
will go to you. Actually, I did have this set up like that once. But now that this thing with Percy
Weasley has come up, I had to take that out since I knew there was a good chance he would not be
here today. If he’s here today, great. If he’s not, oh well, it’s his loss. I just REALLY didn’t
want all that money going to my other cousins. As long as you claim your “balance of Estate,” Fudge
won’t get anything.*

*Love forever,*

*Sirius*

Included with the letter was a summary schedule that listed all of the actual disbursements.

*Gringotts Bank*

*Black Estate*

*Article A: One property, attached house, and non-itemized contents contained therein: 12
Grimmauld Place. (77,515 Galleons)*

*Article B: One magical motorized vehicle. (2,602 Galleons)*

*Article C: Sealed box containing non-itemized jewelry, Gringotts Vault 711. (500 Galleons
[deposited/value declared by A.P.W.B.D.])*

*Article D: Moneys, Gringotts Vault 711. (1,367,973 Galleons)*

*Total Value of Estate (as of 1 August, 1996): 1,448,590 Galleons.*

*Disbursements:*

*[ ] Granger, Hermione: 50,000 Galleons.*

*[X] Hagrid, Rubeus: 10,000 Galleons. (Contacted, To be Signed by Owl, Allocated)*

*[X] Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (c/o MM): 100,000 Galleons. (Student
Scholarships)*

*[X] Lupin, Remus: 100,000 Galleons; Articles A, B, & C, to be placed in Trust until Harry
James Potter’s seventeenth birthday.*

*[X] Ministry of Magic (c/o AB): 10 Galleons.*

*[X] Order of the Phoenix (c/o MM): 10,000 Galleons. (Business Use Only)*

*[X] Tonks, Nymphadora: 75,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Arthur & Molly: 75,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Bill: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Charlie: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Fred: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, George: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Ginny: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Percy: 10,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley, Ron: 25,000 Galleons.*

*[ ] Weasley Wizard Wheezes: 5,000 Galleons. (Business Use Only)*

*===*

*[ ] Potter, Harry: Balance of Estate (currently 1,072,963 Galleons)*

Harry watched for a few minutes as marks slowly appeared by the rest of the names on the list
and his balance recalculated (not that he really cared about the amount; it was just interesting to
watch).

Before they could sign, each of the Weasley children had to go and get their own vaults; Arthur
and Molly were the last ones to sign, excluding Harry. By now, Hermione had returned to her seat;
he could feel her watching him, waiting for him sign his name and make his promise. The time had
come. He looked at the list one last time. Every name had a mark by it, except his; he was now down
to (only) 857,963 Galleons.

As he looked at the list, he suddenly realized that there was something strange about his
balance. Setting Sirius’s letter aside for a moment, he held the summary schedule out to
Hermione.

“Does this make sense?” he whispered to her as quietly as he could; he hoped Darmok wouldn’t
hear. The last thing he wanted was to make the goblins think he was accusing them of something.

Hermione started looking down the list of bequests. He trusted her not to say anything about
what everyone else got. Since she’d never seemed to care how much money he had, he didn’t care if
she saw how much he got either.

“Look at my balance,” Harry indicated, since it seemed she was still trying to figure out what
he was concerned about.

“The value of the estate ends in a zero. All of the bequests end in zeros, so should my balance
end in a zero also? It ends with a three. So doesn’t that mean there are at least seven Galleons
missing?” he finished, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

“Oh, I see,” Hermione said, now that she knew what she was looking for.

She looked over the numbers for a few moments. “No, here it is, Harry,” she said finally,
pointing at the sheet. “Technically, the property, motorbike, and jewelry are going to Remus to be
put into trust until you are seventeen. See? They’ve deducted those three items from your balance.
Looks like all of *that* is entirely cash. That way, you don’t have to have your uncle’s
signature,” Hermione explained.

“Oh, thanks,” Harry said gratefully. Maybe he needed to revise his earlier feelings about money:
he understood it when it was a couple Galleons in his pocket, not when it was nearly a million and
a half on paper.

If everything made sense to Hermione, then Harry trusted that everything was in order. He knew
he had two things left to do; he did the easy one first and walked up to the table. Grabbing the
inked quill, he signed his name on the letter.

As soon as the ink dried a few moments later, all of the signed portions of the letters,
including his, refolded, and then stacked themselves up in front of Darmok. Taking the stack, he
bid everyone a good day, told them they were welcome to remain in the conference room until the
bank opened in half an hour, and then quietly left.

Wanting to delay the second thing he had to do, Harry decided to walk around the room for a bit
and talk for a while. He knew Hermione would not let him leave the room without making his
promise.

Remembering her smile, Harry first headed over to Madam Bones to ask her what she was going to
do with her ten Galleons. As he walked up to her, the same smile as before appeared on her
face.

“Well, I must confess, Harry, your godfather certainly did not disappoint me. I shall have to
take a closer look at a couple things when I get back. Do you know, he even left the Ministry ten
Galleons for us to go buy a compass and a map to help us find our own...? Well, I don’t think you
need me to finish that sentence.”

She looked at Sirius’s letter one more time, and then led Harry to a quiet corner of the room.
“Now, please forgive me for being so bold, but there is something that I must impress upon you. We
will never be able to prove what Cornelius’s motivations were for pushing through his little foray
into financial fine print.

“That said, considering the times we are in, I feel that, *temporarily*, this may be for
the best. I would feel better knowing that unclaimed finances are floating around the Ministry,
rather than into the hands of Death Eaters. Money rarely stays idle for long, especially when it’s
unclaimed.

“If there is one thing government is good for, it’s bureaucracy,” she said with a hint of a
smile. “We may not be able to stop all Death Eater financing, but at least we can tie up unclaimed
money in so much red tape that it’s as good as useless to them. Now, to my point. While I like the
idea of keeping money out of You-Know-Who’s hands, I’d much rather it go to wherever it was
supposed to in the first place. Please, Harry, make arrangements should that time ever come to keep
your money in the right hands.”

Harry nodded slightly, still not liking the idea of having to do something like that any more
than he did when Sirius told him.

Madam Bones nodded. “Good man,” she praised him, and then led him back towards everyone else.
Once she had rejoined her Auror escorts and indicated to them that she was ready to leave, she
turned to Harry again.

“Care to make a wager, Mr. Potter, as to whether Mrs. Malfoy will be outside the bank, waiting
for me?” Harry looked at her curiously. “She stopped by my office first thing this morning. She
said it was vital that I attend her husband’s hearing today at Azkaban. No, it’s not that kind of
hearing,” she assured him at seeing the worried look on his face.

“He requested a meeting this afternoon, claiming he had valuable information he was willing to
offer freely as a sign of good faith, and with the hope that certain accommodations... at least be
*considered*.” Madam Bones’ level of belief in Lucius’s sincerity was readily evident.

“Actually, I’m quite glad I came here this morning. It gave me a ready excuse to avoid the
journey out to Azkaban. I’d already rescheduled one of my normal morning meetings to this
afternoon, at the same time as his hearing. Had I refused for no reason, she might have tried to
make an issue of it. You know as well as I the likelihood of Lucius betraying... Voldemort...” she
said, wincing. Apparently, the Headmaster was trying to get her to use his name as well.

“*We* know he’s not likely to betray his master for a cell with a better view and a more
comfortable bed. Fortunately my successor, Rufus, is going out there today anyway to supervise the
processing of eight new prisoners. I asked him to pay Lucius a visit and notify me if he seemed
genuine. Needless to say, I don’t expect to hear from him today,” she finished with a knowing
smile.

“If that is all, Harry, I will bid you good day then. I do have a small amount of paperwork
awaiting my return.” Halfway to the door, she snapped her fingers and suddenly turned around.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry. I forgot about your awards this morning. I could have brought them
with me and given them to all of you today,” Madam Bones explained, looking regretful.

“No worries, Minister,” Harry replied shaking his head as he smiled. “I’ve never been one to
accept praise eagerly.”

“Maybe,” Amelia replied thoughtfully, “but sometimes it’s more important that praise be given
than it is for it to be accepted. Unfortunately, for me to give that praise, you’re going to
*have* to accept it.” Harry thought about what she said then nodded finally.

“Good. Just stop by the Ministry when you have some free time and we’ll have you properly cited.
Alas, this is more of desk job than my previous, so I don’t get out much anymore. If I happen to be
in a meeting when you stop by, just leave a note with my assistant, wander around for a while, and
they’ll call you when I’m free. You shouldn’t have to wait too long. I try to keep meetings as
short as they’re productive,” she explained.

Harry had to think about that one for a few moments. By the time he figured out what she meant,
the Minister and her escorts were already out the door. Turning back to the group, he noticed his
Head of House approaching him with several pieces of parchment.

“Mr. Potter, I *still* have not received your completed timetable,” she greeted him,
cutting right to the chase.

“I know, Professor. I forgot,” Harry admitted.

“Not an auspicious beginning for a new prefect,” she admonished him.

“No, Professor,” he agreed. Part of him actually felt relieved by this. While the smiling,
friendly Head of House routine was nice during her earlier visit and his party, *this* was the
professor he was used to.

“You *do* realize that the amount of homework assigned will not lessen just because you
were late in selecting your classes?” she asked.

“Yes, Professor,” he replied.

Professor McGonagall stood for a moment, scrutinizing him until he felt sufficiently guilty.

“Very well,” she replied, then handed him the top piece of parchment of the stack she’d been
carrying. It was a duplicate of his timetable. The way she remained standing in front of him,
looking at him, clearly indicated that he was to complete it before he left. After nodding, he went
and sat down at the table while she went to talk with the Weasleys, presumably about Ron’s O.W.L.s
and classes.

Harry stared at his timetable for several minutes, hoping it would magically fill itself in. All
N.E.W.T. level classes were double classes. So, assuming he took the required classes to become an
Auror, that meant double periods of Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and of
course, Potions. *Joy!*

The only problem was that he was still left with several openings. Harry considered his options.
He was none too thrilled with the idea of more Care of Magical Creatures. One year of Blast-Ended
Skrewts was more than enough, thank you very much. And besides, what Harry enjoyed most about the
class was Hagrid, certainly not his latest *“Isn’ it beau’iful?”* find. There’d be plenty of
time to spend with Hagrid outside of class, wouldn’t there?

As other thoughts of fourth year swirled around his mind, he suddenly realized he could take
Herbology. His “E” was enough to qualify him for that class. Remembering his run-in with gillyweed
that year, the fact that he hadn’t known anything about it was enough to cause him to write it
down. *One down,* Harry thought to himself.

The thought that popped into his mind next surprised even himself. *What about
Divination?*

Now that there was a real prophecy hanging over his head, Harry decided he ought not to be so
dismissive of the subject. Besides, with Firenze expected to be sharing the teaching
responsibilities with Professor Trelawney (much to the delight of many of the female students), he
supposed that it could only be an improvement over his first three years of the subject. He smiled
as he suddenly had a vision of Ron’s tea leaves spelling out *die, Ron, die*, as Ron had once
joked.

The only problem with that however was his abysmal O.W.L. score. No N.E.W.T. class would accept
a “P.” If he really wanted to take Divination, he’d have to retake the O.W.L. class. His only
consolation for that possibility was that if he did, he at least would not be in a class with a
bunch of fifth years. O.W.L. classes for sixth and seventh year students were separate from the
fifth year O.W.L. classes.

*“It’s quite simple really. Think of it like this,”* Harry remembered Hermione explaining
about class selections that day their O.W.L.s arrived. *“Getting your fifth year O.W.L. is like
graduating from Muggle high school. It’s the big push for everyone to do. N.E.W.T.s, on the other
hand, are like a university major subject: it’s in relation to what you expect your career to
be.*

*“An O.W.L. class in your sixth or seventh year is like a university minor subject. It’s
thought of as supplementing or rounding out your N.E.W.T.s. Not entirely accurate mind you, but a
close enough analogy.*

*“For one thing, an O.W.L.’s an O.W.L. regardless of what year you get it. The only difference
is that since so much emphasis is placed on ‘getting your fifth year O.W.L.s,’ they keep those
classes fifth-year only. Since there are fewer students in six-seven O.W.L.s, they allow sixth
years and seventh years to take them together... though... I suppose that’s obvious.”* Harry
smiled as he remembered the little embarrassed smile on her face as she admitted the redundancy in
her explanation.

And now that he thought about it, he was quite sure Professor McGonagall had said the exact same
thing sometime at the end of last year when she discussed their impending O.W.L. exams and the
procedures for the beginning of sixth year. For some reason though, it didn’t make sense until
Hermione explained it. *Probably ‘cause I was actually paying attention to Hermione,* Harry
thought to himself.

So... *did* he want to take Divination again? More trips into the forest-classroom,
listening to Firenze downplaying his own predictions? More reading tea leaves and making dream
charts? *NO!* Harry quickly decided as soon as “dream charts” entered his mind, even though he
usually made them up anyway. He was none too eager to think about his dreams at the moment.

Now that *that* had returned to the forefront of his mind, another possibility suddenly
occurred to him. It *was* a complete unknown to him, but the way it had been described, it
couldn’t have been *that* bad. Could it? While it had many applications, only a *few* of
which involved divining the future, it certainly seemed better than staring at a crystal ball.
Besides, if it got to be too much, he was *certain* he’d be able to find a tutor.

And so, with that and a small (okay, fine, LARGE) amount of trepidation, Harry re-inked the
quill and wrote down his selection: *O.W.L. Arithmancy.* Whatever ended up happening, he was
certain his feelings about it would not be ambivalent: he would love it or hate it. He’d find out
in a month.

Since the Arithmancy class was O.W.L. level, it was also a double period; this left him with one
free period first thing in the morning (*YES!* Harry thought to himself) and one free period
immediately after lunch. There was no point (he saw) in taking Muggle Studies. He didn’t want to
take N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures, and he was excluded from the N.E.W.T. Astronomy, History
of Magic, and Divination classes.

So, short of retaking one of those O.W.L. classes, which he didn’t want to do unless forced (to
fill the free periods) he realized that there wasn’t much else he *could* take. Once Professor
McGonagall had finished with Ron, Harry nodded to her, asking her to come over; he handed her his
timetable.

“I think this is everything I can take, Professor,” Harry said, trying to steer her away from
retaking some of his classes.

Professor McGonagall examined his schedule. “Arithmancy?” she asked with a doubtful look on her
face.

Trying to think of a prophecy and not a tutor, Harry replied, “Well, it was that or Divination.”
McGonagall’s opinion of Divination was evident as soon as he said the word. “You do know about the
prophecy, don’t you?” he added quietly.

“I know there *is, or was,* a prophecy, yes,” she replied, her voice equally low. Her
expression then... became less stern. “I must confess... I am pleased to see you taking an active
role in dealing with this newest... piece to your puzzle. While I am dubious of Divination, I do
know prophecies are real, so if this helps you at all, then so be it.”

His Head of House continued to examine his schedule. “Well, considering your O.W.L. results,
about the only other thing you could’ve taken was Care of Magical Creatures, but that is at the
same time as Arithmancy.”

*Oh yeah!* Harry remembered. He doubted Professor McGonagall would give him a Time
Turner... not that he wanted one.

“And I see little point in you taking Muggle Studies,” she continued. “Yes, I think this is
about everything you can take this year.

“Since you now have prefect duties this year, I trust you will consider taking advantage of your
free periods for your homework,” she said, looking at him pointedly.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied. He would... *consider* it.

“Very well, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall put the last two pieces of parchment she was still
carrying on top of his timetable, then tapped the whole stack with her wand. He could see the
bottom sheet glow green where his newly selected classes filled themselves into his timetable. Once
the glow died, she handed him all three sheets. The top two turned out to be his Hogwarts letter
and book list and homework assignments.

“Good day, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall wished him, and then left the conference room.
Harry slowly turned and headed over to where Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were. The
remaining Weasleys had joined Lupin and Tonks with Dan and Emma on the other side of the room.

No one really seemed to want to talk about Sirius, though it was obvious he was on all of their
minds. They ended up talking mostly about Fred and George’s shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. That
topic, however, was to soon dry up since it seemed pointless to talk about their latest creations
without being able to show them, especially with their shop only right up the street.

Finally, right before the conversation ended, Ron pulled out his newly obtained vault key and
started fiddling with it absently. “I wonder how much it would cost to buy Honeydukes...” he mused
aloud.

“Thinking of going into business already?” Fred asked his younger brother, actually looking
half-impressed.

“Are you kidding?” Ron asked, stunned. “No, for all their candy, of course! Haven’t you been
paying attention all these years?”

“You’re not seriously going to take the money Sirius left you and use it to stuff your face and
buy a new Firebolt, are you?” Hermione asked him disbelievingly.

Ron started chuckling. “*Seriously,* the money *Sirius* left me,” he mimicked back.
“What’s the point of having all this money if you’re not going to spend it? A *Firebolt?!*
Didn’t think about that!” Ron stood for a moment and thought about it with a dreamy look on his
face.

“Oh *come on*, Hermione! Don’t tell me you’re *not* going to go out and buy about a
million books with yours! Oh yeah, how much did you get, anyway?” he asked eagerly.

“What I got is none of your business, *Ronald!*”

Ron leaned towards Harry and spoke in a whisper that was loud enough for the six of them to
hear. “Guess she only got ten thousand too.”

For the briefest of moments, Harry thought that Hermione looked as though she was about to tell
Ron *exactly* how much Sirius left to her. He knew Ron would *love* that.

“Believe it or not, but I won’t be going out and buying ‘about a million books,’” she said
acidly. “I *might* buy one or two, however.” Ron laughed in victory.

“And then,” she continued, doing her best to ignore the laugh, “I’ll repay my father for Harry’s
present and—”

“Your *dad* bought Harry’s present?” Ron interrupted in shock.

“Of course he did,” Hermione retorted. “When we were at the store, I didn’t have enough money
*with* me, so he paid for it, *then*. And now, I’m repaying him. It *was* my
present, after all. And *then*, the rest stays in my vault until I *need* it.”

“Well... *I* need some Chocolate Frogs,” Ron replied resolutely.

“Money like this doesn’t come along everyday, you know. Spend your money however you want, Ron.
It’s yours.”

Ron’s earlier look of victory was fast fading. Harry had the impression that Ron no longer felt
that he came out on top of that little exchange. Then again, how often *did* he?

“Well,” Ron said lamely, his mood now thoroughly dampened, “now that we have our book lists, I
suppose we ought to go buy our books. At least get *that* over with. Though, just because we
buy our books, doesn’t mean we need to do our homework, does it?” he asked Harry with a wink as his
spirits picked back up again.

“Oh, *honestly* Ronald,” Hermione interjected exasperatedly. “It wouldn’t kill you, you
know, to get your homework done early for a change. That way, once you’re done, you’ll have the
rest of the holiday free to do *whatever* you want... with no thought of homework until school
starts.”

Secretly, Harry had to agree with Hermione’s reasoning. He still disliked homework as much as
ever, but having actually gotten it done early, *for once*, the idea of a free holiday with...
all three Grangers... was very appealing. He doubted Ron would believe him, but at least he didn’t
have to find out.

“Oh, *honestly* Hermione,” Ron mimicked back, sounding annoyed at the mere mention of
homework with an entire month of holiday remaining, “it probably *wouldn’t* kill me, but why
take that chance?” he asked rather smugly. “No offense, but just because *Harry* is trapped
there, it doesn’t mean I am too. I’m sure I’ll manage perfectly fine on my own, thank you very
much.”

“‘Trapped?’ ‘*Trapped?*’ Is that what you think?” Harry could see Hermione’s ire quickly
step up several levels. She looked quite upset, even by her standards. “Just because
*YOU*—”

“Okay, okay!” Harry interrupted, stepping between them. “Boy, look at the time,” he said as he
grabbed Hermione by the arms and quickly led her away from Ron. “I think we ought to be heading
down to the vaults so we can buy our books and then visit Fred and George’s shop. Mr. and Mrs.
Granger?” Harry called to get their attention, “I think I still owe you some money from
earlier.”

Dan and Emma, seeing Harry dragging Hermione away from Ron, immediately cottoned on. “Ah, yes,
of course, Harry,” Dan replied. “Nice to talk to you again Arthur,” he said very quickly as he and
Emma walked hurriedly towards the door. “If we run into you in the bookstore, remind me to tell you
about answering machines.” And as quickly as that, Harry and the Grangers were gone.

Back in the conference room, Ginny turned to Ron and smacked him on the arm as the remaining
Weasleys and Tonks and Lupin came over.

“Brilliant, *Ronald!*” Ginny chastised him. “I don’t know how you ever expect her to fancy
you if you keep doing stupid things like that!”

Ron’s ears turned slightly red. “I don’t know where you get ideas like that,” he said
awkwardly.

“Oh, come on, ickle Ronniekins,” Fred goaded him. “It isn’t like subtlety is one of your strong
suits.”

“Okay fine,” Ron admitted, “maybe, at one point, I *thought* I fancied her, but not
anymore. Besides, I think I prefer *good looking* blondes,” he said with an odd smile and a
slightly far away look.

“Ooooo,” Fred and George both teased as Bill playfully punched him on the arm.

“What the bloody hell was *that* for?” Ron asked as he rubbed his arm. “I wasn’t talking
about *Fleur*,” he said defensively.

“Yeah right,” Ginny retorted. Suddenly, she, Fred, and George all quickly looked at each other.
Just as she was about to open her mouth, Ginny instead cast a wicked smile at her twin brothers.
All three silently agreed to not say anything for now, saving it for a more... opportune moment.
Ron, of course, noticed none of this.

* * *

As he continued to lead Hermione through the lobby of the bank over to the tellers, Harry
wondered slightly why that little “discussion” had escalated so quickly. Feeling it not the best
time to ask her, he decided to allow his curiosity to remain unsatisfied for the moment. Before
walking up to one of the tellers, he turned to Dan.

“How much do I owe you for clothes and food and stuff?” he asked.

“Well, as for food, you’re our guest, so that’s covered. As for ‘clothes and stuff,’ here you
go.” Dan retrieved from his wallet three sales receipts from the department store and home
improvement store. “I knew you’d insist on paying every penny, so I kept these for you.”

Harry blinked when he saw the receipts for his clothes, shoes, and Neville’s birthday present:
together, they were nearly £150. He knew he could easily afford it; he was just surprised it was so
much. Then again, six shirts, four pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts (which he still hadn’t worn
yet), one eight-pack of socks, two three-packs of underwear, two pairs of shoes, and one Venus
Flytrap tended to add up rather quickly.

“Do you mind if I round this up to an even one-fifty?” Harry asked Dan. “It makes the conversion
a little easier.” Dan shook his head to indicate he didn’t mind. “Do you want to come see the
vaults? It’s quite a ride,” he offered eagerly.

“No, I think they’d prefer to stay here,” Hermione answered for her parents. Harry looked at her
questioningly. She lowered her voice. “Dad tends to get motion sick sometimes.” Not low enough,
obviously.

“I *heard* that!” Dan replied. Emma grinned and turned to her husband.

“*Do* you want to go down?” she asked him knowingly.

Dan acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “I have decided that we shall remain *here*,” he said
proudly and confidently.

“Uh huh,” Hermione replied. She and Harry then walked over to one of the goblins to get a cart
to take the ride down. Hermione knew all about the carts, but had never before ridden in one. She
must have felt the breakneck speeds a little too much like flying for she held tightly onto Harry’s
arm the entire way down to her new vault. Halfway there, she evidently tired of muttering how much
she didn’t like it, for she stopped and actually opened her eyes.

On the way down, Harry caught sight of the level at which they’d stopped a few years earlier.
Mrs. Weasley had to empty out the family vault to pay for five children in school during second
year. It was on one of the upper levels (and there was never an easy way to say it) where the
smaller vaults were. They’d certainly need to be moved to a lower level this year.

During the past few weeks, Harry had come to realize that money was not a big issue for Hermione
or her parents. They *did* have to work for their money, but they did “do okay,” as she put
it. And being dentists, their livelihoods were secure.

That said, when the goblin attendant opened the door to Hermione’s new vault, number five
hundred three, the sight of fifty thousand gold Galleons before her caught her by surprise
slightly. Taking out her money bag, she grabbed enough to repay her father, cover her school
supplies, and leave her with some pocket money for the rest of the holiday.

As the two of them climbed back into the cart, Hermione again clamped onto Harry’s arm. After
breathing in deeply through her nose twice, she turned to the goblin operating the cart. “Let’s
go,” she said, and gave Harry a weak smile.

“Just think of it like a roller coaster,” he suggested. She nodded and the cart started to move.
By the end of the short ride, she too was screaming in excitement with Harry at the hairpin
turns.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” he asked as they climbed out and walked up to vault six
hundred eighty-seven. He took out his key and looked at it for a moment.

“Key please,” the goblin asked; Harry gave it to him (he never did get this goblin’s name).

After five full years of school, Harry was used to seeing stacks and stacks of Galleons,
Sickles, and Knuts piled in his vault. There was always enough in there that the piles hardly ever
seemed to shrink. But when the door opened this time, even he was stunned.

It was obvious that his vault had been reorganized, either by goblin or magic (or goblin magic).
His original inheritance from his parents—the mounds of gold, columns of silver, and heaps of
bronze—was now all neatly stacked up on the right side of his vault. Almost all of the Sickles and
Knuts had been converted into Galleons to free up space. The reason space was needed was on the
other side of the vault.

The balance of the Black Estate had been moved into Harry’s vault, on the left side. While he’d
never before counted his money, nor ever made any other attempt to quantify it, it was now patently
obvious that the amount his parents left him was only slightly less than what Sirius did.

Piled high in neat stacks against the left wall were 857,963 gold Galleons. Harry walked up to
the pile with his mouth open in unhidden shock. The coins were so perfectly stacked that he was
actually afraid to touch them lest he knock them over. He walked around the three sides, just to
make sure it was real.

The stacks of Galleons stood out more than two and-a-half feet deep from the wall, and were more
than nine feet wide and almost six feet tall. Conveniently, the inheritance from his parents was
the exact same size, except about six inches shorter.

At the very back of the vault between the two piles of coins stood a small wooden table. Sitting
on the table was a beautiful wooden box and another letter, addressed to him. Recognizing the loopy
handwriting immediately, he looked back to the box. He suddenly remembered something from the
schedule on the will.

*Article C: Sealed box containing non-itemized jewelry, Gringotts Vault 711. (500 Galleons
[deposited/value declared by A.P.W.B.D.])*

Harry returned his attention to the letter and opened it.

*Dear Harry,*

*The night they learned they were marked for death, James and Lily asked that I do something
very important for them: they asked that I keep this box, your mother’s jewelry box, safe.*

*They put in there several items that they desperately wanted you to have should the worst
actually occur. It is a good thing they did. I am sorry to say that by the time I got out there,
many of your family’s valuable items had already disappeared, presumably thanks to “souvenir”
seekers. Suffice it to say, I am confident that the items your parents felt irreplaceable were kept
safe. Everything else is excess.*

*When I went out there that fateful night, it took a while, but I finally found the box in
your room. They’d hidden it in the dresser drawer containing all of your freshly laundered nappies,
of all places.*

*I am writing this letter to you now during your fourth year to tell you about this box. I
intended to add this letter to the contents of the box, however I confess that I have been unable
to open it to do so. As such, I am certain it will be just fine on top of the box.*

*I have been in contact with Sirius. He has generously volunteered to take it into his
possession so that he may give it to you when he feels the time is right. He has authorized me to
have it deposited in his vault for safe keeping.*

*For nearly the past thirteen years, this box has sit upon a shelf in my private quarters, a
reminder to me of the good friends I lost that night. So, tomorrow, it is with a slightly heavy
heart that I head down to Gringotts and say goodbye to your parents one last time.*

*I do not know what you will find in here, though I do have some suspicions. Just know that
your parents wanted you to have everything contained within. If I am right, I also know that they
would have been honored if you ever chose to use anything that you find in here.*

*Sincerely,*

*Albus Dumbledore.*

Harry set the letter down and looked at the box more closely. The sides and top were adorned
with ornate decorations of sculpted wood. On the top of the box was a circular area in the design
of the carvings. Engraved in that space were an intertwined “JP” and “LP.”

He could not see any seam where a lid or door might be. Knowing that things were not always as
they appeared, he took hold of it and simply attempted to open it as if there was a lid. Nothing
happened.

While on the one hand he was disappointed that he could not open it (for now), he was also
slightly heartened since it suggested the contents were still secure inside. He looked at the
letter one last time.

*I am confident that the items your parents felt irreplaceable were kept safe. Everything else
is excess.*

He *did* feel a little better. Turning around, he found Hermione directly behind him, with
her back to him. She was standing in front of his original stack of money, holding two Galleons,
one in each hand. Lifting them up and down alternately, it looked as if she was trying to see if
one was heavier than the other.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked, amused and curious.

“Oh! I was just wondering... I mean, if all these Galleons were actually made of gold instead of
just gold-colored metal... how much would it all weigh?”

Harry immediately began to laugh. “Oh Hermione! Have I ever told you how much I... how you never
cease to amaze me? Here we are, standing in front of what, by all rights, is an immense fortune,
and all *you* want to know much it would weigh if it was actually made of gold!”

Because he was laughing, Hermione had a slight smile on her face, but her expression was still
guarded as if she wasn’t sure exactly how he meant it.

“Please, don’t ever change!” he finally said after a few more laughs. Walking past her, still
clutching Dumbledore’s letter, he returned his attention to the nearly perfect rectangular pile of
Galleons that was Sirius’s estate... now his. He just stared at the stack in disbelief: a foot and
a half feet deep, four feet wide and six feet tall. He *really* didn’t care how many were
there... but Holy Merlin! That was a lot of Galleons. And there was another stack almost as big
directly behind him!

*I wonder how much these’d all be worth if they WERE made of gold?* he thought, now that
Hermione had planted the idea in his mind. Though he didn’t know any specifics, he did know that
the value of gold was such that if a Galleon coin *was* made of solid gold, it would be worth
a *whole* lot more than five pounds. There’s no way the goblins would miss that little
detail.

His pecuniary pondering was cut short by a gasp behind him.

“Oh... *Harry*... They’re *beautiful!*” Hermione whispered in awe. He quickly turned
around to see Hermione standing in front of his mother’s jewelry box; she was blocking his view.
Taking several great strides, he came to her side as rapidly as possible. Now standing next to her,
he could see what was so beautiful.

His mother’s jewelry box was open. His mind in a jumble and not working at optimum performance,
he reached over and shut the lid without even looking inside.

“What did you *do*?” he asked in shock. Only after the words left his mouth did he realize
that they might have sounded harsher than he meant them. Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened in fear
and regret.

“Oh, Harry. I’m SO sorry,” she said, wringing her hands in anxiety. “I didn’t realize what it
was. Please... I wasn’t trying to snoop...”

Seeing how upset she was, Harry immediately took hold of her hands to calm her. “No, no, no,
no,” he said very quickly, trying to explain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant
it literally. *What* did you do? I couldn’t open it when *I* was looking at it.”

Hermione seemed to calm down immediately; Harry let go of her hands. “When you stepped away from
it, I was wondering what you were looking at. I just walked up to it and touched the box to see
what it was. The lid suddenly appeared and... I opened it,” she admitted in guilt.

“I wasn’t really thinking about whether I should or not. It was just sort of a reflex, you know?
A lid suddenly appears on a sealed box. You just have to open it. I guess I just figured that you
would have said something if I wasn’t supposed to look at it. I’m sorry, Harry,” she apologized
again.

“It’s okay,” he replied, trying to smile. “Hey... at least now it’s open and I can see what’s in
there,” he said, looking at the box with a fair amount of excitement.

“What... is it?” Hermione asked tentatively, as she slowly reached toward the box again.

“My mother’s jewelry box,” Harry replied simply. Hermione immediately retracted her arm.

“I can’t... I shouldn’t,” she answered when he looked at her inquisitively. “It’s your mum’s....
you should open it.” He reached for the box... the lid was still there. Something was bothering him
though.

“How come you were able to open it, but I couldn’t?” he asked her.

“You said it was your mother’s, right?” she asked uncertainly. “It’s a woman’s jewelry box.
Since it was sealed, maybe you have to have a female to open it, to unseal it.” Hermione didn’t
seem too confident about her theory; in fact she seemed rather uneasy about the whole thing.

Since it was the most reasonable answer he could hope to get, Harry accepted it, not wanting to
question it any further. Taking hold of the lid, he lifted; it opened. He drew the box closer so he
could he see it better.

Now, Harry would be the first to admit (if asked) that he knew hardly anything about jewelry.
But, Hermione was right: the contents of the box were beautiful.

Resting on the top were two necklaces of different styles. One appeared to be made of silver and
had a small emerald pendant on it. Knowing how many times he’d been told he had his mother’s eyes,
he recognized the exact shade of green immediately: it was the same color as his eyes also. The
other necklace was gold with a ruby pendant. *Gryffindor colors,* Harry suspected, *or a
ruby to compliment her hair.*

Beneath the necklaces (the box contained stacking layers of lined boxes) were several pairs of
earrings. Beneath them, in the bottom box, were two small velvet-covered boxes, one about twice the
size of the other. Harry’s breathing stopped for a moment. He’d seen boxes like this on television
advertisements enough times to know what was in them.

As he slowly reached for the box, he noticed that it was absolutely silent in the vault;
Hermione was holding her breath too. Once he stared at the black velvet box sufficiently long
enough, and feeling the need to breathe again, he finally opened it.

The glow of gold and sparkle of diamond greeted him. It was his mother’s engagement ring. A
simple, but beautiful gold band with a single flawless diamond. In the larger box were two gold
wedding bands.

Harry quickly began to feel awkward standing in front of the jewelry box. Looking *at*
wedding rings with Hermione was just a little too much for him to take just yet. Sure, he wasn’t
looking *for* a ring, but still... the whole situation just felt a little too... weighted.

He closed both ring boxes, and put them back in their shelf. As he did, he noticed that the
shelf wasn’t sitting level, even though it was the bottom one. It was as if it was sitting on
something. Lifting up the bottom shelf, he found a small envelope with his name on it in
handwriting he did not recognize.

When he opened the sealed Muggle envelope, he found two brief notes inside along with a second
sealed envelope.

*Harry,*

*When we learned that we were running out of time, we wanted to make absolutely sure certain
things were kept safe. If you are reading this, then I am relieved to know that they have.
Obviously by now, you’ve already seen everything else in here. It our sincerest hope that if you
ever find a use for anything in this box that you do so. It would make us so proud of you, our only
son.*

*Love, Dad*

*My dearest son,*

*Your father deftly handled the contents of my jewelry box, so I wanted to tell you about this
envelope. When Professor Dumbledore brought us the news, one of the things we did was send all of
our family photographs to our friends, to keep them safe. All except for these. These are the few
that we did not. Your father and I (with a smile) felt that you might not appreciate it if we sent
these out. So we decided to leave them in here for you. It is our hope that they bring you a smile
or two when you need it most.*

*Love forever,*

*Mum*

Inside the second envelope he found two wizarding photographs. The first one was of what he
assumed to be himself crawling on the floor, in a circle around his father and Sirius, chasing
after a Golden Snitch (at very slow speed). Sirius and James were sitting on the floor, watching
him. Sirius appeared to be in riotous laughter; James was not quite as amused.

The reason for their expressions was easy to determine: baby-Harry was wearing a infant girl’s
dress... *hopefully* some joke on Sirius’s part. The loop of the photograph lasted long enough
that he was able to make it in a complete circle around the two in the middle. While at first James
appeared annoyed, by the time Harry made it all the way around, he was laughing also. It also
appeared that whoever was taking the picture (Lily probably) started laughing as well, for the
picture began to shake slightly.

The second photograph was of a slightly older Harry, naked as the day he was born, being given a
bath by Lily. As shampoo suds clung to his head, he appeared to be giggling as Lily would slap the
water in front of him, splashing him. Harry would then try to do the same back. As sixteen year-old
Harry watched, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed.

Hermione’s voice decided for him. “What are they, Harry?”

He quickly stuffed the pictures back in the envelope. “Nothing,” he said lamely, his face
turning slightly red. Hermione just looked at him.

“Okay, fine. They’re pictures. Baby pictures... of *me,*” he said. Hermione’s face softened
as if it was the cutest thing she’d ever heard.

“*Embarrassing* baby pictures,” he clarified, hoping she’d get the hint that he didn’t
intend on showing them to her.

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly amused. “I have some of those too. Bath time, or dinner time?”
she asked knowingly.

“*Bath* time,” he gritted out. Hermione smirked.

“Mine are of my first run in with chocolate cake,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. “I
think they said I was two. I think there’s some law that says parents have to take embarrassing
baby pictures.

“And there’s a couple of me in the bath too,” she admitted. “They’d tried so long to have a
child when I finally came along that they decided to photograph everything. *Everything.*

“*FORGET IT, HARRY!*” Hermione said when she saw the look on his face. “You’re not seeing
them... unless you show me yours.” Harry shook his head. “Didn’t think so,” she responded
triumphantly. “Besides, I don’t even know where they are anymore.

“Mum and Dad hid them so that I wouldn’t ‘accidentally lose’ them,” she explained and then let
out a little laugh. “They told me after second year that if ever I brought a boy home to them, that
I be sure I really fancied him, since they would drag out all the baby photos and proceed to
embarrass me to death.”

Harry put on a very innocent smile then pointed to himself. “Brought home as a boyfriend, Harry.
As a *boyfriend,*” she said exasperatedly, thought she was still smiling.

“I know, I know. I was just kidding,” he replied. “Had to try.”

“You know, as much as I’m sure you’d *love* to carry those pictures around with you,”
Hermione started, “you should probably leave them here. Technically, they’re not yours until you
turn seventeen. I doubt we’d be chased out of here by a giant boulder like in *Raiders of the
Lost Ark* if you did remove them, but still...” she said, trailing off.

“Raiders of the lost arc?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Harry. I guess we have some more movie nights coming up
for you.”

Harry replaced the two notes and photographs into the larger envelope, then put it back on the
bottom of the box. He then replaced all of the boxes of jewelry, and closed the lid. As he did, he
ran his hand across the sculpted lid. He had to do a double take when he looked at the engraving.
Where it once was engraved with his parents’ initials, it was now engraved with “HJP.”

Sighing at the sight of his initials, and deciding he’d had enough of jewelry and magical boxes
for one day, Harry returned to his original pile of money, grabbed enough to cover all of his
expected expenses, then walked out of his vault with Hermione right behind him.

The ride back up to the lobby was not a fast as the ride down, but it was still enjoyable. On
the way up, as they approached the level they’d stopped at earlier, Harry could see torch light
flickering ahead. Sitting on the tracks in front of them was another goblin cart. When they neared
it, the second cart merely jumped off the track and onto a small ledge on the opposite side as the
vaults.

Looking towards the vaults, he saw eight open vaults, all side-by-side. When they finally
reached them, he could see the entire Weasley family huddled around the first one; Arthur and Molly
were standing inside the vault talking. The effect of the doorway directing the sound straight out,
combined with the fact that they were moving allowed Harry to only hear a brief snippet of what was
being said as they passed by.

“... this money, *Ronald*...” Molly lectured. It was enough to get a general idea of the
conversation.

Once back in the lobby, Harry and Hermione looked to see where Dan and Emma were. They found
them on one of the marble benches, trying to look as though they were actually comfortable sitting
on the slab of calcium carbonate. They eagerly got up to join the two teenagers.

“Ready to go?” Emma asked.

“Almost,” Harry replied, looking over to the row of teller windows. The bank would open in about
ten minutes; he wanted to get his Galleons exchanged as soon as possible. Since it was the first of
the month, and a Friday no less, he expected the bank would be very busy today.

Walking up to the counter where a goblin had arrived for his shift early, Harry handed him fifty
Galleons to convert to pound notes. That would be enough to cover his clothes and leave him with
about one hundred pounds for the rest of the summer, in case he wanted to buy anything out in the
Muggle world before they went back to school.

Since Galleon-pound exchange rates varied like any other currencies, the goblin returned with
£253.12 (Gringotts kept the half penny). Hermione had to wait for Harry to finish his transaction
before converting her Galleons as well. Upon seeing customers in the bank early, none of the other
goblins appeared eager to approach their counters until ten o’clock actually arrived.

A few minutes later, the entourage of four was walking up the street, ready to do their
shopping. Immediately upon turning a corner, they saw Lupin and Tonks sitting at an outside table
in front of a restaurant, enjoying a late breakfast (or early lunch).

“Professor. Tonks,” Harry called them. Tonks and Lupin turned to see who’d called their
names.

“Wotcher Harry, Hermione!” Tonks greeted them.

“Hello, Miss Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Remus greeted them as well, then turned his
attention squarely to Harry.

“Harry, Harry, Harry. How many times must I tell you? I’m no longer your professor. Please, it’s
just Remus.”

“Yes, Remus,” Harry replied reluctantly. “How are *you* doing?”

Harry’s former professor looked at him for a moment. “Better now. Earlier, not so.” His eyes
then glanced towards his left slightly without turning his head. “But I’ve had some help. I’m
getting through it... *we’re* getting through it.” Tonks, on Remus’s left (now that he was
turned facing Harry), nodded solemnly in agreement.

Harry turned his attention to Tonks and began to grin. “Tripsy?” he asked. Tonks began to turn
red again; he knew it had nothing to do with her Metamorphmagus abilities. She cast a warning glare
at Remus when he began to smile.

“That was Sirius’s nickname for me. He liked to give everyone nicknames. Where do you think
Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs came from, Mr. Prongs, Jr.?” Harry shook his head. He also noticed that
she’d managed to omit the fourth Marauder (and he didn’t care, either).

“Normally, he only used them for people he liked, but I guess he gave nicknames to his other
cousins before they went their separate ways. I heard lots of... what did Professor Dumbledore call
them... colorful metaphors? Anyway, I always heard lots of colorful metaphors attached to
*their* names... Trixie and Cissy.”

Tonks, Lupin, and Harry looked at Emma when she suppressed a laugh. “‘Colorful metaphors.’ It’s
from a movie,” she tried unsuccessfully to explain.

“I’ve never been to a movie,” Tonks said with a hint of regret. “I understand they’re quite
popular with Muggles. Are they any good?” she asked Dan.

“Some of them are very good. Some of them... enhhh,” he said, making a face that indicated that
some of them weren’t that good.

“I went to a couple movies years ago,” Lupin added suddenly, surprising everyone. “Back in the
summer after sixth year, Lily asked all of us to come with her to see a movie. There was a very
popular movie that had come out... May, I think. Her parents told her it was really good movie, but
she couldn’t go see it until we got home. *Petunia* wouldn’t go with her, so she asked us to
come.”

Remus chuckled a little. “Ol’ Peter didn’t care too much for the villain in the movie. Said he
scared him... the man in the black suit with the breathing problem... what was his name... Dark
Vader?”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “*Darth* Vader? You guys went to see *Star Wars*? In the
theaters?” Remus nodded. “I wish I could’ve seen it on the big screen,” she added longingly.
“What’d you think?”

“It was okay,” Remus said casually.

“Okay? *Just okay?*” Hermione replied, almost offended. Dan and Emma seemed to share her
sentiment.

“What? I’d never seen any movies before. I had nothing to compare it to,” Remus defended. That
didn’t seem to placate Hermione any. “Fine, it was the best movie I’d ever seen,” he offered.
Hermione grudgingly accepted the answer.

“She asked us to go with her again when the second one came out. If Peter was scared of Darth
Vader in the first one, he was terrified of him in the second one. Though... looking back, I
suppose that he may have reminded him a bit much of Voldemort. Peter had already turned spy by
then. But we didn’t know that at the time, of course. This was, mind you, when Lily was seven
months pregnant with Harry.”

A fond look then appeared in Remus’s eyes. “That reminds me. Your mother was none too happy with
you at the time, Harry. She said you kept kicking her all throughout the movie. Near the end of the
movie, you managed to kick in the general vicinity of her bladder, so she had to get up to use the
loo.

“While she was gone, we learned that that guy was that kid’s father. It was so funny. There was
this collective gasp of shock throughout the entire cinema. Some guy down in the front row actually
shouted out ‘No!’”

Dan let out a laugh. “That could’ve been me!” he admitted in embarrassment. Seeing the
disbelieving looks on Remus, Harry, and Hermione’s faces, Dan sought to determine if this was a
really scary coincidence. “You didn’t see it in London, did you?”

“No, we watched it in the cinema nearest Godric’s Hollow. Probably some *other* distraught
individual,” Remus said smirking, then resumed his story. “When your mum came back, she leaned over
and whispered to James, asking if she missed anything while she was gone.” Remus then began to
laugh a little.

“Your father just turned to her, looking completely stunned,” he continued. “I guess he was
surprised by it too. Before he could say anything though, someone behind us shushed Lily. James
never did tell her what she missed until they got home.” He laughed again. “She made him take her
back the very next day to see it again. Fortunately *for you, Harry*, you let her sit all the
way through it the *second* time.”

“Way to go, Harry!” Hermione chastised him after swatting him on the arm.

“Don’t be so hard on him, dear,” Emma said to Hermione. “*You* started crying three times
throughout the movie. Fortunately *for you, dear,*” she mimicked Remus, “that cinema had a
crying room where your father and I could take you and finish watching the movie.”

Harry turned and looked at Hermione with a big grin on his face. Remus then turned to her as
well. “*That* was a great movie,” he added with more enthusiasm. Tonks, smiling, glanced at
her watch. A look of shock rapidly appeared on her face.

“*Merlin’s beard!* I was supposed to be back at work four minutes ago!” She quickly
finished off the last few pieces of fruit on her plate and then stood up and walked towards the
center of the street. Remus stood up also and followed her as well. Apparating out so close to
objects was generally not a good habit to get into, in the off chance that the person might be
bounced back by an anti-apparation field.

“Thanks for breakfast, Remus. I didn’t get to eat anything this morning before I left,” Tonks
said as she smiled slightly and put her hand on his arm.

“I know, I was there,” he replied in a friendly voice. She stared at him for a moment, then cast
an awkward glance towards Harry and Hermione. “See you later. Don’t forget about tomorrow,” she
added quickly, then let go of his arm and apparated away.

Harry glanced quickly at Hermione with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “I hope we
didn’t interrupt anything, *Professor.*”

“What?” Remus asked absently, now turning his attention to Harry. “No, of course not,” he
replied, though he didn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes.

“So what’re you doing tomorrow?” Harry asked in as innocent a voice as possible.

Remus still would not look him directly in the eye. “I’m just going out to buy some new
clothes... now that I actually have some money to spend freely.” He then looked at the clocks in
the window of the clock repair shop on the other side of the street.

“Well, I probably should be off as well. I’ll see you later, Harry. We have a few financial
matters we need to discuss at some point... though there’s no rush right now. Good day, Miss
Granger.” Remus then walked over to Dan and Emma and shook their hands.

“Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. If I don’t see you before school starts, let me just say again
that it was very nice to meet you.” Remus then turned and nodded to Harry, then apparated away.

“Nice man,” Emma said.

“Charming young woman,” Dan added.

“Are they... *together?*” Emma asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno,” he replied. “Nothing official, at least,” he added.

“The two of them seem to get along pretty well, though,” Hermione added. “That’s always a good
sign.”

“Speaking of people getting along,” Harry added to her, “were you all right earlier? Your
‘discussion’ with Ron seemed to escalate a little faster than usual.”

“Of course, Harry,” she answered a little too quickly. “Nothing’s the matter. Just another
Ron/Hermione moment,” she added defensively.

“Hey, now,” he said gently, putting his hand on her forearm. “I’ve been right in the middle of
those moments for five years now. He said something that really bothered you. Don’t tell me he
didn’t. I know you better than that.”

Hermione quickly glanced at her parents, who were busy admiring the clocks through the window of
the building next to them.

“Do you *really* care about what Ron does with his money?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. “It’s not about the money, Harry. It’s not about the homework, either.” She
paused for a moment, glancing at her parents again. “You don’t feel trapped at my house, do you? Me
making you do your homework and wash the dishes and all. I know you said you felt it was like
home... but you could’ve just been being polite. I didn’t really expect you to tell me if you were
unhappy there.”

A worried look appeared on her face. “Please Harry, tell me the truth. Do you feel trapped at my
house? We can still move you in with the Weasleys if it would be better.”

Harry could’ve laughed at the absurdity he felt at her statements, but he knew it would be taken
wrong. He moved his hand from her forearm to her shoulder, then took hold of the other one to
straighten her out and hold her still.

“Hermione, you of all people should know what it means to me to call a place a home. But let me
just say it again to be absolutely clear: these past few weeks have been the best of my life.
Period. No questions asked. I *was* trapped at the Dursleys. Now I feel as free as I could
ever hope to be.”

A relieved smile replaced the fear on Hermione’s face. “You know, you never *did* make your
promise to me,” she said softly, still smiling. “The one Sirius told me to expect.”

Remembering what Sirius wrote, what he asked of him, even the photograph of him laughing at
baby-Harry crawling around in a dress, Harry’s eyes began to warm up slightly. He closed his eyes
for a moment as he replayed some of the words of the letter in his mind, watched the photograph
again.

The act of closing his eyelids concentrated all the moisture that had begun to accumulate. As a
result, when he reopened them, there was a single tear in the corner of each eye, waiting to fall.
He gave a brave smile then finally spoke the words.

“I promise.”

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked, repeating the question she’d asked on his first day at her
house. Harry blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, concentrating the moisture even
further.

“Yes,” he finally answered as one of the tears began to roll down the side of his face. Hermione
reached up with her left hand and brushed it away with her thumb.

“I’m still sad that he’s gone, but I’m happier than I can ever remember being. I know that if
I’d been stuck in Privet these last couple weeks, this’d probably be the worst day of my life. But
instead... And I know that it’s all because of you. Thank you *so* much.”

Harry stood on the side of the street, looking at the most beautiful girl in the world. Her hand
was still on the side of his face where she’d put it to brush away his tear. He found himself
unconsciously leaning into it.

He sensed a strong feeling begin to well up inside of his chest. It was remarkable similar to
that bubbly, giddy feeling he’d felt on his birthday, though much stronger in intensity. Hermione
seemed to be getting closer. He was pretty sure he wasn’t moving, and he didn’t think that she was
pulling him. It was simply as if the distance between them was decreasing on its own.

His eyes found themselves drawn to her eyes. There, he found the most beautiful color known to
man: brown. He watched her. He watched her watch him.

His eyes were then drawn to her lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He *needed* to kiss her
again. Nothing else mattered. And so, for the second time in two days, Harry Potter went to kiss
his best friend.

“Harry!” Ron shouted out behind him innocently after turning the corner.

“Ron!” Harry and Hermione both gasped, snapping out of their respective dazes and releasing each
other.

“DAMN IT!” Emma cursed, startling everyone.


*A/N: One of my readers, Evernight, has made what I think is a totally AWESOME photo-manip
based on a scene from this story. Click the link to check it out! Please leave a kind word if you
like it. It made my day when I saw it! THANK YOU, Evernight!!*

http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=780

Here are a few more (the search function doesn't work yet...).

http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=785
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=702
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=674
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=659
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=654
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=500
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=471
http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=472





21. Double Trouble: Misters Weasley & The Games Begin
-----------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Never had it. Never will.*

*A/N: First and foremost, thanks go out to my beta MapleMountain. I SHALL resist the urge to
start copying and pasting that in here each time.*

*Here you all go. I had an idea for how this chapter unfolds. I’m happy with the way it turned
out. I hope you like it too. And on that note... Similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional...
AS ARE the differences.*

*This is yet another one of those chapters that became so long that I had to split it so that
I could get something posted. It will end very suddenly, and Chapter 22 will start exactly where
this leaves off. I’m sorry for that, but I didn’t want to delay this another week or two. But the
flip side is that I have a good head start on 22, so it should come out much quicker than 21 did.
Yay!*

*Finally, I keep forgetting to mention this. Here is a picture of the real Broomhill
Road and King George’s Park, in case you were interested. The address numbers are fake, however...
Just for fun. Credit Google Maps.*


Chapter 21. Double Trouble: Misters Weasley & The Games Begin.

*His eyes were then drawn to her lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He* needed *to kiss
her again. Nothing else mattered. And so, for the second time in two days, Harry Potter went to
kiss his best friend.*

*“Harry!” Ron shouted out behind him innocently after turning the corner.*

*“Ron!” Harry and Hermione both gasped, snapping out of their respective dazes and releasing
each other.*

*“DAMN IT!” Emma cursed, startling everyone.*

The next words out of everyone’s mouths were lost as they all turned to look at Emma. The
suddenness of Emma’s curse caused Harry and Hermione, whose bodies were still facing one another
(though they’d let go of each other) to quickly turn their heads toward her. Nine Weasleys, one
Potter, and one Granger all stared at Emma in concern. Whatever had caused such an outburst had
to’ve been extremely important.

The other Granger, Dan, turned away from Emma and quickly walked over to the window of Quality
Quidditch Supply, which was right behind him, next to the clock repair shop. He put his arms up
against the glass, buried his head in them, and began to laugh uncontrollably. Emma, very red-faced
and with her hand over her mouth, stood frozen facing Harry and Hermione.

“What’s the matter, Mum?” Hermione asked worriedly after casting an odd glance at her father.
Emma slowly brought her hand down from her mouth, though it was clear she was still highly
embarrassed.

“I... um... I...” Emma finally began to stutter. “I... just remembered... that... that I
forgot-to-check-to-see-if-we-put-Crookshanks-out!” she said very quickly and in nearly a shout.

Granted, Harry had really only known Emma for a couple weeks now, but he’d never heard her use
such language before. And judging by Dan’s reaction, which still seemed odd, he assumed that she
didn’t all that often.

So, while he could understand why they’d want to put Crookshanks out while they were gone, it
didn’t make any sense why it would cause her to swear. After all, Crookshanks was in all the time
anyway. And besides, there was a litter box in the utility room.

Harry turned his head back to look at Hermione; she appeared quite suspicious of her mother. And
Dan, who was still laughing, was no help at all. Trying to gauge Hermione’s reaction, since she
didn’t seem want to question Emma’s outburst, Harry didn’t either. Besides, Emma’s own little
colorful metaphor seemed to provide the perfect distraction away from what he’d almost done.

*IDIOT! Brainless IDIOT!* Harry cursed himself. *You almost snogged Hermione! Out in the
street! In front of everyone! What were you thinking?!*

*How beautiful she is,* his reasonable voice answered. *How perfect her lips are.*

*That was a rhetorical question!*

Hermione turned her head to look back at Harry. She rolled her eyes as if to tell him to not
even bother trying to figure out what that was all about.

Harry quickly shrugged his shoulders in agreement and then finally turned and faced the
approaching red-headed family; Hermione turned also. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, who’d
evidently accepted Emma’s explanation without a second thought, were now coming over to join
them.

Ron walked up to them with a grin as if nothing unusual had just occurred with Emma. Though
there *was* one thing he *had* noticed.

Coming right up to Harry, Ron looked at him curiously. Pointing at Hermione (but still looking
at him), he started to open his mouth to ask a question. He stopped himself when he got a good look
at Harry’s face.

Harry realized that his eyes were still slightly damp from the tears that Hermione had brushed
away. With her beautiful, perfect, silken thumb...

“Oh. Never mind...” Ron mumbled awkwardly as he tried to look anywhere but directly at him.
Harry quickly reached up to rub his eyes to banish the remaining moisture. He also used it as a
moment to try to focus his mind to excise all thoughts of how wonderful it felt to have Hermione’s
hand on his face.

“It’s okay, Ron,” Harry said quietly once he felt presentable again. Ron’s smile returned. It
then faded again when Harry saw his shoulder move slightly. The look on Molly’s face suggested that
she’d poked him to remind him of something.

“Oh yeah,” he said to himself. “I’m sorry for what I said back in Gringotts. I know you didn’t
ask for all this to happen, so I shouldn’t have said you were trapped there.”

Ron’s apology, which seemed genuine though obviously prompted, had gone part of the way towards
the evaporation of Harry’s annoyance with his friend... the one he didn’t fancy. There was however
one detail that still stood in the way. And unfortunately, this part was much bigger than the
first, as there was in his opinion, one *slight* problem with Ron’s apology.

“I’m not the person you should be apologizing to, Ron,” Harry said as neutrally as he could. He
didn’t intend it to be rude or cutting, merely informative.

Ron was confused, Molly too. “It wasn’t *my* house that you implied was so bad that I was
*trapped* there,” Harry explained, again in his informative voice. Ron thought about it for a
couple seconds, then a look of understanding appeared; he nodded hesitantly. Finally, he turned to
face Hermione.

“I’m sorry for implying that your house was so bad that Harry was trapped there,” Ron apologized
to Hermione. Harry could see the tiniest of smiles on her face before she told Ron she accepted his
apology. He couldn’t ever recall seeing her take pleasure from when Ron apologized. Then again, he
couldn’t really recall Ron actually apologizing all that often.

When Ron looked back at him, Harry merely nodded his acceptance of Ron’s earlier misdirected
apology. He accepted it, but he also wanted Hermione to literally have the last word on in, since
he felt it was more important Ron apologize to her than to him.

So, with the questions of damnation and forgiveness addressed for the moment, the two entourages
came together finally. While Ron was apologizing, a now-recovered Emma had dragged Dan (still
teary-eyed from laughter) back to the group.

Already acquainted with the older Weasleys, Dan and Emma took several moments to properly
introduce themselves to the remaining family members. Whether by coincidence or design, Ron was
last. As he turned to him, Dan momentarily looked over Ron’s shoulder at Harry and gave him another
one of his *“watch this”* looks.

“Ah, so *this* is the infamous Mr. Weasley,” Dan said with a calculating voice. Ron seemed
to shrink back a bit; Fred and George were smirking. If Dan and Emma already knew so much about
Harry before he even arrived, then they must have known as much, if not more, about Ron. Certainly
Hermione had to have told them as much about her other friend with whom she’d had such spirited
discussions.

Though Dan looked upset, Harry could tell he was rather enjoying this. Emma, however, appeared
to be glaring daggers at Ron for some reason. Dan took one step forward; Ron took two steps
back.

Ron gulped audibly. “Yes, sir,” he replied meekly.

“You are aware that Hermione is my only daughter?” Dan asked. Harry saw the slightest twitch in
one of the muscles around his mouth that suggested a much larger struggle to repress a smile. Ron
nodded.

“You are aware that I will fiercely protect her from anyone who is unkind to her?” Dan
continued. Ron nodded again. Harry turned his head slightly towards Hermione. When he caught her
eye, she raised her eyebrows then rolled her eyes as she smiled. She too recognized this.

Harry then quickly glanced at the remaining Weasleys off to his side. Since Ron was the last one
to officially meet Dan and Emma, everyone else had stepped back after the handshakes and were all
therefore behind Ron. They all must have been able to read the looks on Harry and Hermione’s faces
for none of them seemed perturbed by this “introduction.”

“And do you know what my daughter has to say about you?” Dan asked, his voice becoming more
weighted. This was almost at an end. Ron opened his mouth as if to answer, however Dan cut him off,
deciding to put him out of his misery.

“She told us that you, *Mr. Weasley*, are one of her closest friends.” Dan then grinned
broadly and put out his hand to shake. Ron still stood frozen, lacking most color in his face. He
blinked several times as the words finally sunk in.

“You... were... you were just putting me on, weren’t you?” Ron finally asked as he hesitantly
took Dan’s hand.

“Yeah,” Dan replied simply.

After shaking Dan’s hand, Ron heaved a sigh of relief. “Bloody hell, Harry. Did you have to go
through that when you got there too?”

*No, he just asked me if I’m the boy his daughter kissed at the end of fourth year,* Harry
thought to himself, amused. He was about to describe the little show Dan and Emma put on for his
aunt and uncle when Dan beat him to the punch.

“Oh, please, Mr. Weasley. Harry here was practically in tears when I was finished with him on
his first day there.” The way Dan said it, everyone began to chuckle slightly, assuming he was just
taking the mickey out of Harry. The funny thing was that what Dan said *was* exactly true;
Harry got a kick out of it too.

He caught glance of the knowing smiles on Dan and Emma’s faces... and Hermione’s too. Emma must
*have* told her what she found so adorable that day.

“So? She told you all about me, huh?” Ron asked Dan, smirking. He turned and looked back at
Ron.

“No, not *all* about you,” Dan replied, fully aware that Hermione could hear him. “She does
mention you a couple times a year... usually whenever the two of you had a particularly... vigorous
discussion, or whenever your wonderful friend Draco Malfoy decided to grace you with his
presence.

“But the rest of her letters were her regular fare... what books she was reading, what her
homework assignments were, *what boys she secretly fancied...* you know... the usual,” Dan
said nonchalantly. Though her back was now currently to him as she faced her mother, Harry could
see Hermione shake her head slightly as her shoulders dropped.

Ron began to laugh. “Yeah right. The *first two,* I believe,” he said as he walked back to
join his family. The large group then started walking up Diagon Alley toward the stores they needed
to visit today.

“Well, Weasleys, where shall we stop first?” Arthur asked as he rubbed his hands together
eagerly. “And Harry and Hermione too, of course,” he quickly added. Harry looked up the street and
saw that Madam Malkin’s was only a few doors away.

“Might as well start here and get our robes,” Harry said as he pointed at the sign on the shop.
As he walked up to the door to the shop, he stopped suddenly with his hand outstretched for the
handle.

“Ughh.” Harry grimaced as he let out a sigh of disgust. “Let’s come back and do this later.
Malfoy and his mum are in there right now,” he explained as he looked through the window.

“He is?” Ron asked eagerly. “Come on, let’s go in and give him a proper greeting, now that we
can do magic,” he suggested. Ginny, Fred, and George all seemed rather keen on the idea. Arthur,
Molly, and Hermione, on the other hand, appeared as though they had other ideas.

Ordinarily, Harry would be the first in line to give Draco Malfoy a “proper greeting.” Today was
a special day, however.

“Let’s not,” he counter-suggested. “He and his mum are probably in a right foul mood after what
happened at Gringotts this morning. And as much as I *don’t care* how he feels, *I* am in
a surprisingly good mood right now considering from where we’ve just come. That doesn’t mean
however that I’m eager to hear him start badmouthing Sirius.”

Harry then looked back at Ron. “Besides, ‘proper greetings’ at school are called pranks. Out
here, they’re called ‘assault.’”

Ron thought about it for a second then nodded in annoyed acceptance. “Damn it,” he cursed under
his breath.

“*Ronald!*” Molly admonished.

“What?” he complained. “Hermione’s mum gets to swear.”

Harry was pretty sure he’d rather face Voldemort again than be on the receiving end of the twin
glares that both Molly and Emma shot Ron.

“Right then,” Arthur chimed in. “Fred and George’s it is,” he said as the group resumed walking.
Harry and Hermione had been several steps ahead of the group when they walked up to the Madam
Malkin’s shop door. When the decision was made, everyone else was still in the street. As a result,
when Harry and Hermione left the doorway and rejoined them, they were now at the back of the
group.

Harry listened as Fred and George described their newest and most proud creation: a product that
doubled as both a wicked prank (the ‘prank’ pieces in the box) and a *“dietary supplement”*
(the ‘antidote’ pieces, when used *without* a prank piece). Right as they were about to
explain what was so hilarious about the name they chose, Harry felt Hermione latch onto his arm and
pull herself quite close to him as they continued to walk. Dangerously, but wonderfully, close.

“Thanks,” she said to him quietly.

“For?” Harry asked just as quietly. Hermione appeared to speak softly so as to not draw
attention from the Weasleys; Harry did so because he currently lacked the ability to speak loudly.
He was too busy reminding himself that this was just a friendly gesture on her part.

“For getting Ron to apologize to me. I don’t mean to be rude, but I honestly can’t remember the
last time he apologized to me. You know, actually *said* the words.” Hermione then let out a
little sigh. “We usually just arrive at some mutual ceasefire agreement.

“I know he usually doesn’t intend to be mean, but still...” she said, trailing off. “It’s just
nice to hear it once or twice every five years.” Harry glanced over at her and saw the little smirk
on her face. The smirk then changed into a warm smile. “Thanks,” she repeated then pulled his arm
against her side tightly for a moment.

“Yeah, well... I figure you’re worth an apology or two,” Harry said nonchalantly, then returned
the smirk and tightened his arm around hers for a moment as well. A few seconds later, when she
*didn’t* let go of his arm as he expected her to, he snuck a quick peek and saw that far away
look on her face he recognized from whenever she was thinking about something. About five seconds
later, he found out what.

“Or a dozen or so,” she added quietly, wearing the same satisfied grin that she usually wore
immediately upon completing some bothersome (her word) Arithmancy calculation.

“A dozen what?” Harry asked, confused.

“Oh, I was just thinking... you’ve apologized to either me or my parents at least a dozen times
since you moved in. And that’s not including whatever you might’ve said when I wasn’t around.”

“You’ve been counting the times I’ve apologized?” he asked in surprise.

“What? Oh no. I haven’t been counting them. I just *remembered* them,” Hermione explained.
“I only *now* tried to count them. You apologized when I thought you were mad at me for
opening the jewelry box. To Mum about the restriction on underage magic...”

“Hey, that shouldn’t count!” Harry playfully complained; Hermione just smiled as if to say
*“Too late!”*

“You really remember all that?” he asked in wonder. “Oh, and sorry, no. I wasn’t
*complaining* about the counting. Like with the jewelry box, I was just surprised.”

Hermione turned her head and looked up the street. Harry did as well and saw what had caught her
attention: a large purple poster with flashing yellow letters that was sure to be Fred and George’s
shop. There was a small crowd of eager kids (and their not so eager parents) waiting outside the
shop. He also noticed that the two of them must have slowed while walking.

When they rejoined the entourage back at Madam Malkin’s, they were immediately behind them. Now
they were a good five or six yards back. With everyone else at their destination beginning to look
around to examine the twins’ shop (and the crowd), Hermione finally let go of Harry’s arm. Before
stepping away from him to put some “normal walking distance” between them, she lowered her voice
one last time.

“Oh, and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s one more.”

Harry let out a laugh.

A few moments later, they too reached number ninety-three, Diagon Alley. Fred and George had
already made their way through the throngs of youngsters anxiously waiting to unload the pocket
money their parents had given them this morning (yesterday was payday, after all). When the door
unlatched, what ensued could best be described as a stampede (though avalanche was also close).

The group remained back a couple minutes as the hoard of midgets (as Ron eloquently described
them) herded themselves into the store. While they waited, Harry was finally able to read the
flashing poster. He began to laugh as he read all about U-No-Poo. Ron soon came over to join
him.

“Absolutely brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “Mum’s none too thrilled though. Afraid they’ll wake up
dead one morning.”

“No they won’t!” Harry replied, still laughing. “Woe betide anyone who tries to break into
*their* shop.”

Once the mob mentality had finally subsided, they all headed into the store. As he walked
through the doorway, Harry glanced at the sign on the window of the door.

*Weasley Wizard Wheezes will be opening late today, Friday, 1 August. Mr. Weasley and Mr.
Weasley shall return: NOW.*

“Kinda like our clock,” George explained as he saw Harry examining the sign more closely.

“Nice robes,” Harry said, smirking, when he got a good look at the magenta robes George was
wearing.

“Yeah well, with all the students running around this place, we had to have something that looks
cool, and that stands out from everyone else,” George explained as he looked around to find his
twin brother. He found him trying to shoo away all the boys and girls younger than sixteen,
including Ginny, who were inquiring about their Patented Daydream Charms.

“Besides, I rather like they way they complement our hair. What with two handsome wizards like
myself and Fred running this place, you have to have something that distracts from our natural
beauty,” he said with a smirk. “The girls’ll all be coming in to ogle us and not our products.

“*Speaking of ogling product,* where’s Ron run off to?” George added to himself under his
breath. Harry, Hermione, and George found Ron at the front counter, inspecting with delight the
Reusable Hangman. He was prodding with his wand the tiny little wooden man as it ascended the
gallows steps.

“Oy! Careful with your wand there, little bro. That does operate on magic, you know. You break
it, you bought it!” George warned.

“Oh, and that reminds me,” he continued, “you’re welcome to take anything you want... as long as
you pay for it!”

“What?!” Ron replied in shock, looking rather offended. “I’m family!”

“Yeah, and that’s why we *aren’t* charging you double! Besides, I thought *you*
couldn’t wait to spend your money fast enough,” George retorted, as though he already knew how Ron
would reply.

Ron’s ears turned slightly pink as he looked around to see where his mother was. He found her
trying to block the view as Arthur was carefully examining the U-No-Poo with interest.

“No, I’m going to be well-mannered with my inheritance, and use it sparingly for my education,
along with the *occasional, responsible* indulgence.”

George, looking quite satisfied, then turned to Harry. “And while we’re on the subject. You, Mr.
Potter, have a one thousand Galleon store credit. All of our employees know, so just show them what
you’re taking, flash ‘em your scar, and you’re all set.”

Harry started to open his mouth to complain about the ‘flash ‘em your scar’ bit. He knew that
there was no way Fred and George would allow him to refuse repayment, so he decided there was no
reason to argue that point.

Thinking Harry was about to do just that, George cut him off. “And don’t you even think about
balking at our repayment of your original investment. Without it, this store wouldn’t exist. And
now that I think about it, I’m going to take a page out of your dear godfather’s book. One word of
objection to the store credit, and we’ll double it to two thousand.”

*Those two are good,* Harry thought to himself in amusement. “Agreed,” he said. He then
decided he wanted to see if he could turn things around back on them. “Any objections if I allow
Hermione and Ron to use that credit too?”

George pretended to consider it for a few moments. “It’s your money...” he said in a tone of
voice that conveyed the impression that Harry was just wasting it. “But *only* if you’re
present at the checkout counter with them.

“I’d hate to think that one of your friends,” George said with a weighted voice as he looked
directly at Ron, “might try to take advantage of your generosity.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Ron defended.

“*I* thought so,” George replied, grinning.

“Mr. Weasley?” a young witch with short blonde hair, also wearing magenta robes, asked. “There’s
a customer looking for a joke cauldron. Mr. Weasley is still busy at the Daydreams, so he said to
come ask you.”

“Okay, just a moment, Verity,” George replied as the blonde disappeared back behind the curtains
she’d just come through.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all looked at each other with the same smile. “*Mr. Weasley?*”
they all asked in unison.

George turned to Ron first. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s *Mister* Weasley to you.” He then
turned to Harry and Hermione. “Shut it, you two,” he told them then headed into the stock room as
well.

Hermione wandered off to find her parents and warn them to be careful about what they touched.
When Ron quickly bored of the Muggle magic tricks, he pulled back a curtain that separated another
room. Since it was not overflowing with energetic ten-year olds, it immediately appealed to
Harry.

Of course, there was a reason it was not filled with energetic ten-year olds: there was hardly
anything in there. The room had an unused look to it, as if it was there for overstock items, or
just waiting for a future store expansion.

“What’re you...?” Fred began in nearly a shout, but then his voice dropped. “Oh, it’s you two. I
don’t suppose you noticed this room was off limits—hence the curtain—did you?” Fred asked Ron.

“What are these?” Harry asked, trying to draw Fred’s attention, as he pointed to the unmarked
hats on the shelf.

“Ah, this is something even you would appreciate, oh magnificent benefactor,” Fred said with
flourish. Harry just rolled his eyes at him. A smile appeared on Fred’s face.

“Told you,” Ron said in undertone to his brother. Harry scowled at Ron. “Told you again,” Ron
added.

When the magnificent benefactor turned his scowl to the grateful benefitter, Fred quickly
decided to answer the question.

“These are our latest creation,” Fred explained. “Haven’t even got packaging designed for them
yet.”

“Shield Hats!” George finished as he joined his brother. “We originally made them for a laugh,
just like those Headless Hats last year. But after Fred and I tried to jinx each other about a
dozen times, we decided they might have a more practical use as well. We were thinking about
selling them to the Ministry.”

Fred and George glanced at each other; dreamy looks then appeared on their faces. “Government
contracts,” they said in unison.

“Now that we got these down,” Fred then resumed, “we can apply the same effect to any other
article of clothing... cloaks, gloves, and what have you.” He then looked around and lowered his
voice. “We were also thinking about a more discreet line... rings, watches, and the like, for
Aurors and higher-ups.

“The smaller items, naturally, would take a little more work,” George picked up, “so there’d be
a *slight* premium in the price of course,” he said with a grin.

Just then, Hermione came marching into the room, dragging Dan behind her by the arm. He was
steadfastly looking away, and appeared to be following rather reluctantly.

“Well?” she asked Fred and George in a huff.

“Well what?” Fred replied carefully. It was evident that she was not in a mood with which to be
trifled.

“Tell them,” she said to her father. Dan finally turned his head; everyone was surprised to see
him with an ugly black eye.

“I was looking at this telescope in the other room, and it...” Dan started to explain. While he
appeared to be embarrassed more than upset, that was not the case with Hermione.

“Ah,” George said with a nervous chuckle. “You’d be surprised how often that happens around
here.” Hermione did not appear surprised; George hurriedly took a small jar out of his pocket and
handed it to Dan

“Just use this, and you’ll be as good as new shortly,” George explained. When Dan took the jar,
Hermione grabbed hold of his arm for a moment to stop him. She fixed both of the twins with a very
intent stare.

“It is *safe*, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Course it is,” Fred said bracingly as he glanced worriedly at his twin. Just as Dan opened the
jar, Fred looked over his shoulder.

“I think I hear Verity. Coming!” he called out as he grabbed George’s arm and quickly led him
back to the main sales floor. Harry smirked; he was quite certain he did NOT hear Verity.

About half an hour later, Ron and Harry worked their way up to the sales counter, Ron’s arms
laden with merchandise.

“That’ll be three Galleons, nine Sickles, and one Knut please,” Verity, now working the counter,
said to Ron even though she was clearly staring at Harry.

“I’m buying it,” Harry said. “Supposedly I have some store credit.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Potter,” Verity said with the slightest hint of a giggle; a faint pink tint
was beginning to appear on her cheeks. “You have nine hundred ninety-six Galleons, seven Sickles,
and twenty-eight Knuts remaining.” He watched as she pulled out a sheet of parchment from beneath
the counter and began to write on it.

*Harry Potter, 1/8/96, 3G 9S 1K*

“Please sign here,” she said, pointing at the bottom of the parchment. After Harry signed it,
she immediately tore the sheet in half. When she put the half with his signature into her pocket,
he looked at her questioningly.

“This is for Misters Weasley, for their records,” Verity explained, holding up the half with the
amount of Ron’s purchase. “The other half... is your autograph... for me,” she said as her giggle
finally escaped. She then turned and retreated behind the curtains that lead to the stock room.

“Another empty-headed Harry Potter Fan Club member, no doubt,” Harry heard Hermione’s annoyed
voice behind him. He turned around to find her standing between him and Ron, but a step or two
behind them.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry said, slightly impressed. Maybe it was because he was in such a
good mood considering how well the reading of the will had gone, but Harry was rather amused at
what Verity had done, the audacity of it. Or maybe it was because something about her reminded him
of something else... something he just couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Ron said exasperatedly. If anything, he actually seemed a little jealous.
Maybe something about Verity reminded Ron of something (or someone) too... though he was pretty
sure he and Ron weren’t thinking about the same thing.

“What? Just because she’s blonde, it doesn’t mean she’s empty-headed,” Harry said. Now he knew
what about her caught his attention. “Didn’t you see how quickly she added up your purchases and
calculated my balance?”

At that moment, Harry was struck by what he thought to be a bit of brilliant inspiration.

“Besides,” he said, choosing his next words very carefully as he looked back to the curtain
through which Verity had disappeared, “I think I rather like smart girls. It’s too bad for her,” he
said as he turned around to face Hermione, “that I’ve never really had a thing for blondes.” He
then intentionally looked at her hair for a split second before turning back to Ron.

He’d said that intentionally, hoping she was paying attention. He was nowhere near ready to
actually tell her how he felt. He was hoping though that this “innocent” comment might catch her
notice. If Hermione thought he liked smart girls (which he did... one especially...), maybe she’d
somehow make some sort of association between him and her.

If she did, then maybe, just maybe she might at least give a first thought to the idea of him
being more than *just* a friend. None of that would ever happen, he knew, if she never thought
about him *in that way*. Sure, the whole idea of it all was a little mental, and a lot
desperate. But wasn’t that the definition of “teenage male who fancies his best friend?”

For all of his mental desperations, he never saw the result of his effort for he knew he could
not look at her just yet. It had to seem like something he’d just said “in passing.” She couldn’t
know that he already fancied her.

*Oh yeah, that makes a WHOLE lot of sense!* his instinctual side observed sardonically.
*You want her to fancy you, but you’re afraid that she won’t... if she knows that you already
fancy her?*

*It makes perfect sense,* his reasonable side defended. *You just have to think about it
for a bit.*

Though there was no response, Harry could feel the doubt begin to creep in.

*It DOES make sense,* he tried to tell himself.

“Harry...” Ron said awkwardly, still trying to hold onto everything he bought. “Do you... are
there any bags around that I can put all this in?”

“Eyes bigger than your pockets?” Harry teased. He looked to the end of the counter and saw a
stack of magenta-colored paper bags. Grabbing one, he opened it and set it on the counter in front
of Ron. “There you go.”

Though the bag was clearly not big enough (on the outside) to hold even half of the items Ron
bought, it readily continued to take them as he piled them in, with no signs of filling up. With
only two items remaining, the bag suddenly started spitting items back out each time he tried to
put either of them in, regardless of which one.

After his fifth unsuccessful attempt, Ron let out a growl of frustration. Just then, Verity
returned to the sales counter.

“Difficulties?” she asked, casting a dubious look at Ron.

“Stupid... bloody... bag... won’t... take...” he complained, trying to stuff items into the bag
between words. When he held one of the larger items in the bag with his hand, one of the smaller
items that had previously remained in the bag now jumped out. Harry and Hermione were now watching
with a fair amount of amusement.

“You have to pack the bag properly,” Verity informed him. “It won’t let you put items in there
such that the ones on top might damage the ones beneath. You’ll need to repack it. Do you
require... *assistance?*”

Ron stared at Verity open-jawed. He let his grip on the larger item slip; it jumped back out and
the smaller item jumped back in. Harry put his hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh.

“No,” Ron gritted out. “I’m sure I can manage,” he said as he began taking everything out of the
bag and setting it back on the counter.

“Of all the mental things to...” Ron began to mutter under his breath.

“Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley felt it very important that customers’ purchases did not damage
themselves during their trip home, whether by Floo Powder, Portkey, broom, or even Muggle
Underground. We can’t have your trick wand turning into a chicken before you get it home, now can
we? They also felt however that they could not be held responsible if you dropped the bag or
accidentally sat on it,” Verity explained seriously.

*In other words, if YOU break it, you have to come back and buy a new one,* Harry thought
to himself with a grin.

The shopping bag now empty, Ron looked back up. “Well, why didn’t they just put a cushioning
charm on the bag, or something?”

Verity quickly glanced at Harry and Hermione, who were still watching Ron with amusement. A tiny
smile appeared on her face before she turned back to him.

“But then where would be the fun in *that*?” she asked before quickly disappearing behind
the curtains again. Ron spluttered in frustration.

Not wanting to add to his consternation, Harry and Hermione decided to wander around the store a
little more while Ron continued to struggle with the bag.

* * *

The wheels in back of Hermione’s mind were still spinning. They’d been that way since she read
the letter Sirius wrote to her. But that, and the promise she’d made, had to be set aside for a
moment due to bigger issues.

She did it again: she got carried away. But this time, there was no birthday-snog tradition to
cover it up. Ever since that completely brainless moment when she almost kissed Harry, she’d been
replaying it, trying to figure out what happened.

What really scared her more than anything else was the fact that her mind now seemed to be
playing tricks on her. For the briefest of moments, she actually thought that Harry was going to
kiss her too. And then her mother... well, that was another story all together.

At first, Hermione was afraid that something really was the matter. However, as soon as her
mother had come up with that completely lame excuse about Crookshanks, she pieced it all
together.

Her mother knew how she felt about Harry. They’d had two heart-to-heart talks about it. From the
direction the talks had taken, it certainly seemed that she was amenable to the idea of the two of
them getting together. And her mother also knew that she wasn’t going to push it until she felt
Harry was ready to deal with girls chasing after him again.

And so there the two of them were in the middle of the street, obviously caught up in some
moment. She’d asked him if he was all right, and he said yes. She could see a tear fall. She knew
he never wanted her to see him cry. Without even thinking, she reached up and brushed it away. She
hoped that once it was gone, somehow it would be as if it was never there in the first place.

But then for some reason, she left her hand there on his face. She felt him lean into it; she
knew she didn’t imagine *that*. She was sure she was imagining it when she thought Harry was
going to kiss her, but she hadn’t imagined *that*. And then right as she was about to cross
the line, Ron showed up and interrupted, and her mother cursed.

Why else would she have cursed so loudly at the exact moment when Ron walked up? And more
importantly, why else was she looking directly at them when it happened? Hermione remembered seeing
both of her parents looking at the clocks only a minute earlier. There was no way her mother could
have moved that quickly. Hermione’s head had snapped to her mother within a split second of the
outburst. She *had* to have been watching them.

Her mother WANTED her to kiss Harry. It was the only possible explanation.

Hermione would definitely have to have a little chat with her mother when they got home.

But then, just a few moments ago, everything... all that she’d been worrying about, it all went
out the window. Because for the first time that she could ever recall, she actually saw the
slightest glimmer of hope that she might actually, some day, get together with Harry.

When Verity had conned Harry out of his autograph, he seemed impressed. And then he said it. It
sounded like it just slipped out. It was entirely possible, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized
what he was saying... but he said it nonetheless. He said that he *“rather liked smart
girls.”*

Oh, how Hermione’s heart jumped up into her throat. She had no reason to doubt it. Cho Chang
*was* a Ravenclaw, after all. As blind as Hermione felt that girl was about some things, she
had to be smart. That was a given.

And then, after making some off-handed comment about not being particularly interested in
blondes, she was absolutely certain he actually looked at her hair. It was only for a second.. but
still... she was sure of it.

It was exactly the sort of thing she’d been looking for all these years. A crack in the door...
something she could stick her foot in... something to get his attention. She wasn’t sure he’d
realized he’d opened the door, but she was going to go for it.

He said he liked smart girls, and didn’t really have a thing for blondes.

She was a smart girl who wasn’t a blonde.

Yes, yes. She knew that he already knew she was a smart girl. But now, she had something to work
with. Now, it was simply a matter of getting him to associate the “non-blonde smart girls” he said
he liked with the non-blonde smart girl who was standing right next to him.

She saw an opening, and she was going to do whatever it took to get him to notice her... under
the terms he’d just set out. *Let the games begin,* Hermione thought to herself.

* * *

Looking at all of the items displayed in the front window, something outside caught Harry’s
attention. Draco Malfoy was walking up the street. Harry felt as though his wand was burning a hole
in his pocket. He really would have loved to give Malfoy a “proper greeting” for barging his way
into Gringotts this morning. But then he suddenly realized that something was missing... or more
accurately, *someone*.

“Wonder where his mummy is?” Harry asked himself quietly, amused.

“Who?” Hermione asked behind him. Harry turned his head towards her.

“Malfoy. He’s heading up that way,” he said as he watched through the window. When the Slytherin
moved out of the field of view of the window, Harry then walked over and stuck his head out the
doorway. He watched as Draco walked up the street, nodding politely to a very nicely dressed
couple, and ignoring everyone else, including several other very nicely dressed shoppers.

Hermione came up behind Harry; she put her hand on his back as she stood directly behind him
(Harry felt a shiver run down his spine). She watched the despised blonde over Harry’s shoulder.
Draco finally stopped a few moments later. Trying to appear casual, he looked around for a few
moments. When none of the shoppers on the street were looking in his direction, he turned left and
disappeared down the side street that wasn’t on the normal Diagon Alley tour.

“Big surprise,” Harry said to Hermione. “Knockturn Alley.”

“What do you think he’s doing?” she asked as she stepped away and removed her hand from his
back.

“Knowing Malfoy, probably nothing good.” Harry turned around and looked at Hermione. “Either
that or he’s looking for some non-pureblood repellant,” he said grinning.

“Hmm... I didn’t know they made *eau de Malfoy*,” Hermione said with a smirk. “Think we
should see what he’s up to?”

Harry looked back to the site of Draco’s detour. Oh, how he’d love to catch him buying something
illegal. Both Malfoys in Azkaban? But, as much as he hated him, he knew his school nemesis was too
slick to get caught that easily. Besides...

“I doubt we could go meandering through all those Dark Arts stores asking, ‘Did you see a greasy
git come through here?’” Harry said with a smile. “I mean, maybe if by some incredibly fortuitous
happenstance I just *happened* to have my Invisibility Cloak with me, maybe a pair of
Extendable Ears, then we could see what the ferret was doing. But, as it is...” he trailed off,
shrugging his shoulders.

“Besides,” Harry continued, looking back into the store at the front counter where Ron was still
struggling with the shopping bag, “I really don’t think we should leave Ron unattended, do you?” He
then nodded his head in Ron’s direction. When she saw Ron, she shook her head in agreement. She
then turned back to Harry.

“A fortuitous happenstance?” she asked with a smile. “Those are mighty big words there,
Harry.”

He chuckled slightly. “Yeah, Ron said I was spending too much time with you, that you were
rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get when you hang around smart girls. Besides, is that a bad
thing?” she asked with a mock pout.

Harry grinned; she *was* paying attention. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell if she meant
anything by it or not. It *could* have been a perfectly innocent thing to say. But at least
now he knew that if he tried something similar again, she’d notice it.

“What? Hanging around smart girls, or hanging around you?” Harry asked teasingly. He laughed
when she intentionally didn’t answer, which he knew she meant *“same thing.”*

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know once I see my homework assignments,” he answered.

“Prat,” she teased, then gave him a shove as she led him back into the store. Harry and Hermione
walked up to Ron, still at the sales counter. All of his items were now spread out over the
table.

“I know there’s got to be a way to do this,” Ron said annoyed. “I’ve seen other customers
walking out of here with their purchases in these bags.”

Harry’s mind wandered back to the grocery store in Wandsworth. “You know, Ron. Muggles our age
usually get paid doing this,” he noted.

“I just know there’s got to be some trick to doing it!” Ron sighed in frustration. His
particular choice of words, combined with what Verity had asked about where was the fun in it
suddenly gave Harry an idea. They *were* in a joke shop, after all. If you couldn’t figure the
bag out, then *why try?*

“Did you watch how the other sales people packed the bags?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. “It’s so busy in here, I can’t see or hear across to the other side of the
room.”

“Do you mind if I give it a try?” Harry asked.

“Knock yourself out,” Ron said eagerly, giving up. Harry gathered everything up into one big
pile and set it next to the bag. He then looked at the magenta bag and thought for a moment. What
was so blindingly obvious that you *couldn’t* see it if you weren’t looking for it?

“Pack!” he commanded the bag. All of the items then jumped into the bag in the proper order.
Once the bag sealed itself, blinking words appeared on the bag.

*You No 2?
Buy U-No-Poo*

Harry grinned as he picked up the bag (which was now light as a feather) and handed it to
Ron.

“There you go. All done!” Harry said, trying not to start laughing. He was certain, however,
that he heard a cough-covered laugh behind him. Ron just stared at the magenta bag in his hands. He
then looked up at Harry with a large question plastered across his face.

“We *are* in a joke shop, Ron,” Harry pointed out.

“I’ll kill Fred and George,” Ron muttered.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked his red-headed friend.

“Yeah, I think I’ve had enough of this place for one day,” Ron agreed. “Let’s go find everyone
and we can head to our next stop.” Harry waited outside while Ron and Hermione retrieved their
families.

About five minutes later, the group had reassembled outside of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, minus
Fred and George, of course. While he was not surprised to see Ron and Mr. Weasley coming out of the
store with magenta bags, he was surprised to see Hermione with one. He was also glad to see that
Ginny did not have one.

While he had been wandering around the store earlier, he came across Hermione and Ginny in front
of a display of WonderWitch products. He’d become somewhat concerned when he heard Ginny asking
Hermione whether or not she thought the love potions really worked.

Fortunately, he already knew how Hermione felt about love potions, so he was certain she’d be
able to dissuade Ginny from the idea... if she ever had one (he hoped she didn’t). Either way, he
was glad she was there to talk Ginny out of it, *just in case.*

Their next stop was Flourish and Blotts (Madam Malkin’s was in the opposite direction). As they
walked there, Harry’s curiosity began to get the better of him.

“Wha’d’you buy?” he asked Hermione, pointing at the bag she was carrying.

“Nothing, actually,” she answered, causing Harry to stop walking for a moment. When he caught up
with her, she looked to make sure her parents were still busy talking to Arthur and Molly.

“When I went to get them to leave, I found Mum and Dad rather excited, looking at a display near
the counter. When I saw the picture on the box, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know why they
were interested in them,” Hermione explained with a hint of annoyance.

“When they asked me if the Patented Daydream Charms were any good, I read the label. I made some
off-handed comment about it being extraordinary magic. Fred overheard me and said I could have one
for free. I figured it’d be rude to turn him down, so I took one,” Hermione admitted.

“You needed a magic bag just for that?” Harry teased.

Hermione smirked. “No, so I could get out the door. Remember when George yelled at that kid
about pocketing anything?” Harry nodded. “Well, in this case, he also meant it literally. Let’s
just say that if you try to take anything out the door, *not* in one of their bags, you’ll get
introduced to some of their other creations... creations they don’t bestow upon *paying*
customers.”

“He told you that?”

“Well, he had to seeing as how I complained that taking a bag for such a small item was rather
wasteful,” Hermione explained. “So he told me just to give the empty bag to Ron or Ginny and they
could reuse it later.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at Flourish and Blotts. While Harry, the Grangers, and Ron and
Ginny went inside, the remaining five Weasleys decided to browse the other stores. Once in the
store, Ron and Ginny went off to one part of the store while Harry followed the Grangers.

He knew that Ron and Ginny would want to be in and out as quickly as possible. Hermione, Dan,
and Emma, on the other hand, would most likely want to... explore. He pulled out his booklist.
N.E.W.T. classes: all new books this year.

*The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six* by Miranda Goshawk.

*Numerology and Grammatica* by Hike Seshat

*Confronting the Faceless* by Remus Algeron

*Plants You Didn’t Want to Know About* by Flora Mahonia

*Flesh-Eating Trees of the World* by Abnoba Silva

*Advanced Potion-Making* by Libatius Borage

*Guide to Advanced Transfiguration* by Emeric Switch

As he looked at his booklist, Harry suddenly realized something. “Hey, Hermione,” he called
quietly. It wasn’t Madam Pince’s library, but still, it felt... *unnatural* to be loud in a
book store.

He pointed at his booklist when she came over. “Do you think this means they’ve found a new
Defense teacher this year already?”

“Possibly. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Binns are about the only three, I think, who always
use the same...” Hermione’s voice trailed off as her eyes drifted one line up from where he was
pointing.

“Harry?” she asked tentatively. “Why is *Numerology and Grammatica* on your booklist?”

“Oh!” he replied surprised. He never did mention that to her, did he? “Yeah... well I... erm...
had three openings in my timetable, and I didn’t think Professor McGonagall would let me get away
with that, so... erm... what-with-the-prophecy-and-all,” he said very quickly, and trying to cover
it up with a good throat-clearing, “I... erm... decided to... give Arithmancy a shot.”

Harry hadn’t really given much thought to exactly how Hermione would react when she found out he
was taking Arithmancy, but if he’d been forced to make a prediction, stunned silence probably
wouldn’t have been his first guess.

“The prophecy? I thought it was destroyed. What does *that* have to do with anything?” she
asked quickly when she regained her voice a few moments later.

*Damn,* Harry thought to himself. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her about the
prophecy. But at least he had an excuse not to... this instant. The middle of Flourish and Blotts
was not the place to do it, if he ever did. *Evade... for the moment,* he told himself.

“Well... prophecies are real, after all,” he replied carefully. “You said that part of
Numerology dealt with making predictions based on studying numbers, right? I just figured that
maybe I ought to give it another shot... especially now that I know that it’s for real. It’s gotta
be better than trying to see through my Inner Eye, right?” he quipped.

Hermione let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, or gazing into a crystal ball.”

“Besides,” he admitted, “if it doesn’t work out, I can always drop it. It isn’t like I NEED to
take it to be an Auror. I’m just trying something new. It’s about trying new things, right?”

Hermione’s glowing smile dimmed slightly when he mentioned dropping Arithmancy, though it did
not fade entirely. “Don’t worry, Harry,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s my favorite
subject. And yes you’re right: it *is* about trying new things. Just give it a chance,” she
exhorted.

“As for your book, you needn’t worry about that. You can have mine,” Hermione offered. “Plus, I
still have all my notes from third, fourth, and fifth years. I have to buy a new book for the
N.E.W.T. class anyway. Here, help me find it, would you? It’s called *Spell By Number,* by
Raziel Metron.”

Five minutes later, Harry found *Spell By Number* (Hermione’s search had been distracted by
her discovery of *Magic, Stoichiomologically Speaking, Of Course*). His gentle calling of her
name going unnoticed, on a whim, he opened her N.E.W.T. Arithmancy book at random and looked at
what was on the pages he saw.

What he found was an immensely complicated number chart on the left page with a truly
evil-looking mathematical formula on the right page. It was evil looking because it was filled with
ancient runes.

He’d done addition and subtraction and a little multiplication at his other school before
Hogwarts. But this kind of math, if it could be called that, was way beyond that. It had ancient
runes in it, after all! Immediately his eyes began to glaze over. He scanned the entire page,
desperately looking for anything he might recognize.

He chuckled slightly in defeat when he realized that the only things he recognized were the
actual numerals themselves, along with the word *“Protego”* above both the number chart and
the formula.

“Oh, Merlin,” he moaned to himself in a whisper. “What *exactly* have I gotten myself
into?” Suddenly, Hermione’s hand reached over and closed the book and took it out of his hands.

“Don’t look at that Harry. It’ll just scare you. You won’t be doing anything like this,” she
assured him. “Remember, Nastily Exhausting level,” she said with a smile.

“Can you understand that?” he asked with both fear and wonder in his voice as he pointed at the
book. Since it was a brand new book and had only ever been opened to that one place, when Hermione
held it by the spine and let the front and back covers fall on their own, it opened right back to
the same page Harry had found originally. Hermione studied the charts and formulas for a few
moments.

“I’ll admit I don’t understand this *entire* formula, YET,” she added heavily with a
sparkle in her eye. “But, basically, it’s an analysis of *exactly* how the *Protego*
spell works,” she explained.

Harry let out a laugh. “Well, of course I knew it involved *Pr*... Wait. What? What do you
mean ‘exactly how *Protego* works?’” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Hermione’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise that he seemed interested. She thought for a few
moments on how to best put it into terms he’d understand.

“Well, you know how *Protego* can block some spells but not others?” she asked; Harry
nodded. “And you know how one person’s shield can be stronger than other another’s?” Another nod.
“Well, basically, this calculation shows exactly why that is.

“In this case, *Protego*, if you can convert the *attacker’s* spell into a number, and
the *defender’s* shield into a number, then all you have to do is compare the two numbers.
Whichever number is bigger, wins. If my jinx is stronger than your shield, I win. If your shield is
stronger than my spell, you win.”

“Until you jinx me again,” Harry added with a grin.

“True,” Hermione smirked. “But, here’s the interesting part. How strong is your shield
*compared* to my spell? If your shield is only marginally stronger, it will merely dissipate
my spell and then collapse. But, if it’s significantly stronger, it can reflect my spell back to
me. Then, I have to defend against my own spell.”

“Really?” Harry asked in amazement; Hermione nodded. “Do you think it would be helpful to know
these kinds of things for the D.A.?” Hermione’s earlier glowing smile returned to full
brightness.

“Definitely,” she readily agreed, then paused for a moment. “Kind of,” she added. Seeing the
*“please continue”* look on Harry’s face, she did. “It would probably only be useful for
*you*. Remember, this is all theoretical. It’s all numerical... all analysis. It just helps
you understand how the spells actually function, how they interact with other spells.

“It will never take the place of actually going out and practicing the spells. You won’t have
the luxury of asking a Death Eater to allow you to probe him with analysis spell, or get him to
test fire his *Cruciatus* into a measuring crystal.

“The calculations can help *you* better understand how the magic actually works, and can
even possibly help you devise a defense. But... *in the end*, it really just boils down to
drawing your wand and putting your heart into whatever spell you’re casting. They’re just numbers,
Harry. They don’t DO anything. They merely... *measure* what *you* are doing. Does that
make sense?”

Harry seemed overwhelmed by the information, but in a good way. “I think so,” he said finally.
“But that’s just the spell analysis part. There’s also the Numerology too, right?”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “They’re simply different branches of Arithmancy... just like in math
how you have different disciplines like algebra and geometry and calculus. At the O.W.L. level, you
get a little bit of everything. N.E.W.T. level is primarily the spell analysis.

“I *heard* from last year’s Head Girl,” she continued, her excitement approaching flood
stage, “that for the last part of seventh year, starting right after Easter midterm examinations,
they even get into basic spell creation. Not enough to actually create your own spells, mind you,”
she said, her disappointment evident, “but a basic overview of the theories and processes.”

“Somehow I doubt you’d let a little thing like that stop you from trying to learn how to make
one,” Harry observed with a grin. A few moments later, he let out a small groan.

“I forgot about those... midterm examinations,” he said; Hermione just looked at him. “Yes, I
know: N.E.W.T. years.” He then let out a laugh. “A *basic* overview... for two, two and a half
months? To me, a basic overview is one lesson... *maybe* one whole week.”

Hermione just looked at him again. “Yes, I know: N.E.W.T. years,” Harry repeated.

“But, like I said, you won’t be doing that,” she reminded him. “At the O.W.L.—”

“Hermione?” Ginny interrupted as she came around a row of books. “Oh, sorry,” she apologized
when she realized she’d just cut her off mid-sentence. “Got everything?”

Hermione turned around to face her friend as Ron came up too. “Huh? Oh yeah... I mean, no. So
far we’ve only found my Arithmancy book. We got distracted. I was just explaining to Harry about
N.E.W.T. Arithmancy.”

At the word “explaining,” Harry could see Ron’s brain disengage. The broom was flying, but there
was no one holding the handle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry,” Ginny teased Hermione. “Hurry up and get everything else, and then we
can go find Mum and Dad, and then we start heading back towards Madam Malkin’s. I imagine Malfoy’s
outta there by now.”

“He is,” Harry added absently, before he realized that they hadn’t shared that with anyone else.
“I saw him walk by Fred and George’s while we were in there.”

“Good!” Ginny proclaimed. “I need to get some new dress robes this year, and I don’t need him
there, hovering around, making smart-ass comments while we’re taking our clothes off. Then
afterwards, I imagine these two...” she said as she looked at Ron. She swatted his arm when she too
recognized the vacant look on his face. “I imagine these two will want to stop at Quality Quidditch
Supply.”

“Hey!” Ron complained as he rubbed his arm. “And besides, who was it who kept borrowing my
*Quidditch Illustrated*, reading the broom reviews? Hmm?”

Ginny ignored her brother. “Go help Harry find his books,” she ordered. Ron looked highly
annoyed, but complied anyway as he did his best to ignore her. “Grab Hermione’s books too while
you’re at it. I’ll help her with her other books. Then we can find her parents and get out of
here.”

“Same as Harry’s,” Harry heard Hermione tell Ron.

Ron looked down at his own books in his hands. “Just go set them down on the counter,” Ginny
said exasperatedly.

“So, mate. What books do you need?” Ron asked as he and Harry headed towards a different section
of the bookstore.

“Charms, Defense, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration,” Harry replied.

“Brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “Same as me. It’s gonna be so nice this year. We’ll have three free
periods. One first thing in the morning, one after morning break, and one after lunch. Can’t
believe McGonagall let me get away with that. ‘Course, she did try to get me to take Muggle
Studies! Can you believe that?!

“I told her what’s the point when I have you and Hermione around, right?” Ron said with a grin.
“She gave up pretty quickly after that. But, she *did* make me promise that I use one of those
free periods for captain stuff... planning tryouts, game plans... you know... *important*
things like that.

“She said she wasn’t ready to hand the Quidditch Cup back over to Snape again. Speaking of the
greasy git,” Ron suddenly added as he pulled their new Potions book off the shelf.

*One book,* Harry noted. Without even looking back, Ron then headed in another direction.
Harry grabbed a second copy.

Ron certainly seemed eager to leave the bookstore. He darted around the store, grabbing Harry’s
books quickly as he went, since he’d just done this for himself a few minutes earlier. In a rush
and never looking back, he never noticed Harry following behind him, picking up a second copy of
each book.

About five minutes later, Ron had accumulated all of Harry’s new books and started looking for
his sister and Hermione. He found them in the aisle between two fields of shelves. Since Harry was
behind Ron and still between two rows of shelves, no one could see him when they were all in the
aisle. Where Ron was standing, he was blocking Harry from moving out into the aisle.

“Great,” Ginny said. “Those Hermione’s?” she asked.

“Hermione’s?” Ron asked, confused. “No, these are Harry’s.”

“Ron!” Ginny complained. “I told you to get Hermione’s too. We were looking for her other
books... you know, for her *other* classes... the ones you *don’t* take? And we were
looking for her parents too!”

“But, you said...” Ron spluttered.

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny asked impatiently.

“Right here, behind Ron, between the shelves,” Harry replied. When he turned around to look at
Harry, Ron finally moved enough so that he was no longer blocking the way; Harry slipped through to
join everyone in the aisle.

Before anyone could say anything, Harry handed Hermione the stack he’d been collecting. She
added her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books to them. Now in the aisle, he could see that Dan had
rejoined them. He also noted that Dan’s black eye was almost completely healed.

“Mum’s in the back looking at *Muggle Mathematics Through the Eyes of Wizards,*” Hermione
explained when she saw Harry looking around.

“Thank you, *Harry,*” Ginny said emphatically. “Nice to see one of you can follow
instructions.”

“Well, let’s get these paid for so we can be on our way,” Harry said, hoping to interrupt
whatever might come next. Ron and Ginny then headed for the sales counter to pick up their books,
with Harry and Hermione right behind them.

“Thanks,” Hermione whispered to Harry as they followed the two youngest Weasleys.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back with a wink.

Everyone had to wait in line for a few minutes to purchase their books. Dan moved to near the
front door to look at a couple other books that caught his eye. Evidently Hogwarts letters had come
out already for there were other students in the store buying their books as well. They must have
come out very recently, however, since there were only a few students in so far.

While still in line, Harry’s heart fell to his stomach when he heard a familiar voice drawl
behind him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the trash of wizarding world: Scarhead, the mudblood, and the
weasels,” Draco said, his voice filled with loathing, though he clearly seemed to be enjoying
himself.

“Bet you enjoyed that today, Potter,” Draco vented, “stealing my mother’s rightful
inheritance.”

“The only thing I enjoyed about that,” Harry retorted, “was watching you be escorted from the
building.” He watched for a moment as Draco stewed for a second or two. “You know, the thing I am
most surprised about is the fact that I haven’t once heard you threaten anyone with your usual
‘Just wait until my father hears about this!’

“Tell me,” Harry goaded him, “where *is* dear old Dad? Oh, that’s right, he’s in Azkaban.
Funny how those things work out like that.” Harry heard a couple snickers that he was sure came
from Ron and Ginny. Draco’s attention then turned to Harry’s two red-headed friends.

With Draco’s attention now on Ron and Ginny, Harry noticed that the wizard that Draco had to’ve
walked by to get to them was in fact Dan. Since Dan was wearing wizards’ robes and had been looking
at a book, Draco must have paid no attention to him when he walked by him and not realized who it
was. In fact, he doubted Draco even recognized Hermione’s father in the first place.

“It’s such a waste,” Draco sneered as Dan approached him quietly from behind, listening, “that
such a large pureblood family with such potential would stoop to levels like this,” he said as he
waved his hand towards Harry and Hermione. He then took a half step forward and made a show of
smelling the air.

“For the love of Merlin, you even reek of your friends, Potter!” Draco said with a look of
revolt. “Just some pampered half-blood prince with his pet mudblood and trained rodents.

“What’re *you* smirking at?” Draco spat at Hermione. With Dan now directly behind Draco,
Hermione made no attempt to reply. “I asked you a question, mudblood! Maybe you need some obedience
training.” He then quickly pulled his wand and pointed it at Hermione.

Before anyone could react, Dan immediately put his hand on Draco’s shoulder; his face
immediately screwed up in extreme pain. Draco’s grip on his wand immediately loosened and his arm
dropped slightly. Harry couldn’t really see what Dan was doing, but if anything, it looked like he
was pressing his fingers into Draco’s shoulder.

“Listen carefully, you twitchy little ferret,” Dan breathed dangerously. “I may *just* be a
Muggle, but I will defend my daughter with every ounce of strength in my being.” Draco winced
again. “If I *ever* hear you insult her again, or any of her friends, I will show you
*exactly* what us Muggles are capable of, even without magic.”

Harry saw Dan’s fingers move slightly. An even greater stab of pain appeared on Draco’s face as
his arm fell and he dropped his wand.

“Do I make myself clear?” Dan asked. Though Draco refused to speak, he did at least nod. “Harry,
please hand this young man back his wand. I do think he’s ready to leave.”

“*Accio wand,*” Harry called as he pointed his wand at Draco’s, instead of kneeling down to
pick it up. Though Dan’s hand was still firmly attached to Draco’s shoulder, Harry didn’t trust
himenough to put his head within reach of Draco’s foot.

He was also pleased to see a flicker of surprise appear on the young Slytherin’s face at his use
of magic away from school. For all of Draco’s blustering, Harry would have been truly surprised if
he’d actually attempted to do anything that would’ve violated the Decree for the Reasonable
Restriction of Underage Sorcery, especially with the recent change in administration.

Harry turned his head slightly towards Hermione. She, Ron, and Ginny all drew their wands, but
kept them lowered at the ready. Truth be told, Harry was pretty certain that holding a stack of
books under their other arms would not enhance their abilities to cast spells.

He hoped however that Draco was in too much pain and too scared of the Muggle causing said pain
to think that far ahead. His hopes were confirmed when Draco glanced anxiously at Ginny’s wand.
Harry *really* wished he could’ve been there when she hexed him the previous school year.

Draco’s wand in hand, Harry looked back at Dan, who nodded. Harry returned Draco’s wand to him,
business end first (so that if he wanted to try something, he’d need an extra second to turn it
around and grab the handle).

“Good day, Mr. Malfoy,” Dan said sweetly and then released the Slytherin. Draco immediately spun
on his heel and made a beeline for the door in as most a dignified manner as he could (but also as
quickly as he could without actually running).

Right before heading out the door, Draco turned around for a moment to try to get a look at
Dan’s face, but unfortunately Dan’s back was to him. Draco then cast them all the most deadly glare
he could manage (which no one really found particularly threatening at the moment) before finally
leaving and sulking back towards The Leaky Cauldron.

The half-dozen or so other Hogwarts students in the store (none Slytherin, obviously) let out a
small cheer once Draco was gone and then turned back to their own business. After the three of them
re-pocketed their wands, Ron turned to look at Harry incredulously.

“Do mine ears deceive me?” he asked.

“Doth mine,” Hermione corrected. “*Doth* mine.”

“What?” Ron asked.

“Never mind,” she replied with a sigh.

“Can you believe it? Malfoy actually called us your friends. Didn’t think the git knew what the
word meant,” Ron said in amazement.

Harry suddenly recalled what the label of his cologne said. Something about how people who
disliked him being angered by it since it reminded them of what he had but they didn’t.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Harry mused aloud, getting all of their attentions. “It’s the cologne Ginny
gave me for my birthday,” he tried to explain.

“You gave him cologne?” Ron asked Ginny, shocked.

“Well... yeah...” Ginny replied, slightly embarrassed.

“So that’s what I’ve been smelling,” Ron said suddenly, forgetting about Ginny as he put the two
together. “That’s so cool, Harry! I didn’t know they made Quidditch cologne. I can’t explain it,
but you smell like Quidditch. Wicked!”

A look of recognition then appeared on Hermione’s face. “So that’s what we smelled when we got
in the car this morning. I could smell the field. I just figured it was the cool morning air
carrying the smell of the lawns over from King George’s Park.”

“Actually, now that I think about it, it smelled more like a broom and a polishing kit,” Ron
replied, slightly confused.

“Erm... no actually... it wasn’t a Quidditch cologne,” Harry said sheepishly, afraid to tell Ron
what it really was. After explaining all about Exactly YOU Cologne, Ron and Hermione both looked
terrified, Ginny appeared quite pleased (since he’d actually used her gift), and Dan just looked
plain confused.

“It’s just *inspired* by a love potion, Ron,” Harry tried to explain. “It makes you
*smell* whatever you associate with me... it doesn’t *make* you fancy me.” He quickly
glanced at Hermione then looked back to Ron; she still looked slightly uneasy about it.

“Trust me, if someone did give me a love potion, I certainly wouldn’t use it on you, Ron,” he
said with smirk. Ron looked relieved. Harry then looked back to Hermione and saw her worried look
disappear as she recalled Harry’s suspicions about Fred and George’s testing procedures.

“So then you think Malfoy smelled the cologne...” she started.

“... and then thought of my friends... you guys. Maybe it made him mad because he *doesn’t*
know what friendship means,” Harry finished. “I mean, honestly. Do you really think Crabbe and
Goyle are his *friends*? Or do you think they just hang around him because they’re afraid of
him, because he’s Lucius’s son?”

Hermione began to laugh. “Oh, Harry. I knew exactly what you meant, but the words just don’t
make any sense at all do they? They hang around him because they’re afraid of him.”

“Yes, yes. Make fun of my grammar why don’t you?” Harry retorted.

As they all thought about it, Ginny turned to Dan. “What *did* you do to him anyway, Mr.
Granger?” she asked.

A slight smile appeared on Dan’s face. “You kids know what pressure points are?” he asked.
Harry, Ron, and Ginny shook their heads. “Well, now you do. A little Muggle self defense
technique,” he explained.

Once they’d all reassembled, the small expedition began to head down Diagon Alley, back towards
Madam Malkin’s. Along the way, Harry remembered something.

“Hermione?” he asked. “Why *were* you smirking when Malfoy was talking?”

“Oh, yeah. That. Well, he called you a prince. When he did... I... uh...” she stuttered,
sounding as though she was embarrassed, “it, uh, made me think about my, *ahem*, about that
T-shirt. My *Prince Harry* T-shirt,” she clarified, then quickly sped up to walk next to her
mother. When he realized he’d stopped walking, Harry had to jog for a moment to catch up to
everyone else.


*A/N: Saving the BEST for last, AGAIN. Here is are several more photo-manips made by
Evernight. If you visit the galleries often, then you’ve probably already seen them. But if not,
here they are. Please, leave a kind word if you like them.*

Scene from Chapter
13.

*I love them all, but these two by far are my favorites. They say that a picture is worth a
thousand words. Well, I know for a fact that isn’t enough because these two are certainly worth the
over 18,000 words combined from these chapters.*

*Scene from Chapter
20.*

*Scene from Chapter
6. (I know I shouldn’t play favorites, but, hey, I got to pick the font!)*




22. Double Trouble: Something Wicked This Way Comes
---------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Many thanks to give this time. First and foremost, my beta, MapleMountain. You keep me
SANE!!!*

*Second, another thanks to my business associate, Erika, who again helped me with some of my
British-isms. All the research I did about “new money” and “old money” didn’t tell me that they
really do say “fifty-pea.” I may not be speaking like a native, but I’m a lot closer now.
:-)*

*Third, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten around to replying to all of your reviews yet. I make it a
point to reply to each one, but this chapter has gotten away from me. I will get to them all, I
promise!!*

*And fourth, but by no means least, thanks to Evernight for conspiring with me as I developed
the scene in Madam Malkin’s in this chapter (link at bottom of page... no, don’t look now!). I gave
him a rough outline of what I wanted to happen, and then he visualized a single moment to
capture.*

*What he captured with his Photoshop magic was so EXACTLY what I wanted (even though the
outline I gave him was actually completely different) that I actually rewrote almost half of the
scene in Madam Malkin’s to fit the picture.*


Chapter 22. Double Trouble: Something Wicked This Way Comes.

*“Hermione?” he asked. “Why* were *you smirking when Malfoy was talking?”*

*“Oh, yeah. That. Well, he called you a prince. When he did... I... uh...” she stuttered,
sounding as though she was embarrassed, “it, uh, made me think about my,* ahem*, about that
T-shirt. My* Prince Harry *T-shirt,” she clarified, then quickly sped up to walk next to her
mother. When he realized he’d stopped walking, Harry had to jog for a moment to catch up to
everyone else.*

As they slowly strolled back in the direction whence they came, stops were made here and there.
They walked first to the Owl Post office so that Bill could send a letter for Fleur to her family,
thence they continued on.

Hermione made a stop in the Magical Menagerie to inquire about potions for preventing hairballs
for Crookshanks. Ginny accompanied her in. After Hermione made her purchase and they emerged a few
minutes later, Ginny immediately began a less-than-subtle whispering campaign to suggest that the
puffskeins they were selling would make an excellent present for her upcoming birthday.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Percy all went into Eeylops. All of them except Hermione needed to buy
more owl treats. Hermione—who still had the full bag she’d bought at the end of fifth year “in
case” (in the hopes that) Hedwig might stop by—went in to see if there was anything of a magical
nature that she might want to buy for Metis.

Since she was going to leave Metis at home with her parents, she wanted to be aware of any
remedies she could easily send them. After all, Hagrid wouldn’t be there at her house to provide
care for her magical creature.

There were some expense feather-care potions available for promoting healthy, shiny-looking
feathers. She decided against them considering owls had existed for millennia without them. It
certainly didn’t hurt that Harry said Hedwig had done perfectly fine without them either. She did
make note of a owl-care potion for dealing with parasites however, such as the biting louse that
was found only on owls, *Strigiphilus garylarsoni*, just in case.

The trip to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary was actually very easy this year. Harry, Hermione,
Ron, and Ginny went in alone, however. Dan and Emma had both been eager to look at all of the
strange ingredients, something they hadn’t done since first year. They quickly turned around as
soon as they walked through the door way.

“Good Lord!” Dan complained as he returned to the street. “*Now* I remember why we waited
outside before second year.” The horrible smell of bad eggs and rotten cabbage took a lot longer to
get used to than most other smells did.

Now entering N.E.W.T. level Potions, Harry, Hermione, and Ron needed a large assortment of
ingredients they’d never used before (at least in class... they did have some
*extra-curricular* experience with powdered horn of bicorn in second year). They also needed
to buy new scales.

The scales used at the O.W.L. level were only accurate to one gram; N.E.W.T. classes required
accuracy to one-hundredth of a gram... or so the booklists said in the supplies section.

“One hundredth of a gram?” Ron complained. “Why in the name of Merlin do we need anything like
that?”

“Because, *Ronald*, a single grain of coarse sand weighs, on average, about one-hundredth
of a gram,” Hermione explained, quoting directly from the booklist which explained the need for
such precision. “And since several of our ingredients will be in powder form, which is much finer
than coarse sand...”

“How does she *know* that?” Ron asked Harry, nettled.

“Do I *really* need to answer that?” Harry replied with a grin; he’d read it on the
booklist too.

As for their ingredients, with so many new, advanced potions in the N.E.W.T. class requiring new
ingredients, it was simply easier to just buy a complete sixth year Potions kit. Anything they had
left over from the previous year could just be added to the kit.

While they waited for the shop owner to gather (rather grumpily) all of the necessary
ingredients for three kits (and Ginny wandered around selecting what she needed to refill her
supplies for her O.W.L. year), the three of them had little to do. As such, they wandered around
looking at some of the more exotic ingredients.

Looking at two large jars on a shelf, Hermione let out a small chuckle. When the shop owner
walked by to gather another item for their kits, she stopped him for a moment.

“Excuse me, sir. Forgive me for asking, but I was just wondering. Did you put these two next to
each other on purpose?” she asked, pointing to the two jars.

“Ah, I did indeed,” he replied in surprise. “Nice to see that some people still appreciate the
classics, even if he was a Muggle.” He then resumed his gathering, though his mood seemed to
brighten considerably.

When the shop keeper walked away, Harry came over to see where she’d pointed. “Eye of newt, and
toe of frog,” she told him. “It’s from a play called *Macbeth*,” she tried to explain when she
could see he didn’t recognize it.

“I’ll show it to you later,” she said and then continued to look around. About ten minutes
later, their sixth year Potions kits were ready. After removing three scales from the shelf behind
him, the shopkeeper turned back to Hermione.

“Did you find the scale of dragon next to the tooth of wolf?” he asked with a large grin;
Hermione nodded.

“Fillet of a fenny snake?” the shop keeper quizzed her, trying to suppress his excited
laugh.

“In the cauldron boil and bake,” Hermione answered after a moment, quoting the next line of the
play.

“By the pricking of my thumbs?” he asked.

“Something wicked this way comes,” she answered with a smile.

The shopkeeper began to laugh and clapped his hands together.

“Ah, excellent! Excellent!” he replied, very pleased that she knew something of *Macbeth*.
“Just for that, I’ll knock a Galleon off each of your totals.”

The three of them each left twenty-three Galleons lighter (eleven for the ingredients, thirteen
for the scale, minus the discount). Since Ginny was only refilling her supplies, she made it out
the door five Galleons, thirteen Sickles later (after discount).

Ron, tickled pink at the extra Galleon in his pocket, turned to Harry once they were back out in
the street.

“See, Harry? I knew there was a reason we kept her around,” he said. Hermione, to Harry’s
surprise, actually grinned at Ron’s comment.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you have a smart girl around, Ron,” she said before going
to rejoin her parents. Before walking off however, she turned to look at Harry. It was literally
only half of a second, but in that moment, Harry could have sworn she wagged her eyebrows *ever
so slightly* at him.

He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. If she *did* do what he thought she
did, it was so subtle, he was positive he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t be watching her so
intently. Once she was ahead of him, Harry shook his head slightly to stop the racing that had
begun inside.

That was the second time she’d said that. Once was just once. But twice was just... well...
*twice*! He was definitely going to have to start paying much closer attention to what she
said. Sure, it didn’t necessarily mean anything, but still, it was a foot in the door.

* * *

Upon walking into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Ron and Ginny raced to be the first to
start looking at new dress robes. Both knew that Madam Malkin’s attention would be at a premium
once fittings started. They had to wait a moment, however, until they reverted the transfigured
robes they were all wearing. Madam Malkin ordered everyone to immediately cancel the
transfigurations the instant they entered.

“Transfigured robes? Not in MY store!” she admonished them.

Twenty minutes later, neither Ron nor Ginny had found anything they liked (both had already gone
through four sets each already). *Finally,* Ron found something he seemed to like. His fifth
selection was a set of dark maroon robes. The pleats in the fabric offered the slightest hint of
Quidditch robes. As for the color, well, somehow Ron managed to pull it off... not that Harry would
ever admit that to anyone.

By now, Harry (and Hermione) had been wandering around the store, trying to make as many
decisions as they could before they tried anything on. After five sets for Ron, and currently on
numbers six and seven for Ginny, Madam Malkin’s patience was wearing thin.

Ginny finally seemed to be down to two. The problem was that she could not decide which she
liked better. All of the ones she was interested in showed off her shoulders and quite a bit of
chest... nothing inappropriate for formal school events, but enough to remind everyone of
*some* of the differences between males and females.

The problem was that with so much exposed skin, the color of her robes had to be balanced
against not only her red hair, but the abundance of freckles now visible. Her two finalists were a
shimmering, satiny-silver and a deep forest green.

Unlike the silver, the velvet-like green material seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it,
causing waves of near-black to ripple across the material as it moved. Both, Harry thought, looked
very nice.

Hermione and Dan had agreed fully with Emma’s assessment that both were very lovely. Arthur and
Molly had given up trying to render a verdict that Ginny would accept when she was still at numbers
three and four. Bill, Charlie, and Percy had skipped the now full robes shop in the first place and
wandered ahead to Quality Quidditch Supply.

Poor Harry made the mistake of telling Ginny that both were “nice” and that she should just go
with whichever one she liked better. When Ginny hastily retreated to the dressing room to put on
the green one for the third time, Dan discreetly came up behind Harry.

“We need to have a chat at some point about what *not* to say when a female asks your
opinion,” he whispered quietly so that no one else could hear.

In the end, Ginny actually enlisted Ron to help her decide, once he returned from the dressing
room. She asked him which one he thought looked sexier on her. When he reacted with a much more
horrified complaint of “Don’t ask me things like that! You’re my sister!” to the green one, Ginny
smiled and made her choice.

“I’ll take the green one,” she told Madam Malkin, beaming.

Harry thought he heard a whispered “Finally!” come from at least one of her parents... but then
he realized it could have been any one (or all) of the adults that had whispered.

With Ron now out of the dressing room, Harry felt it important to give him a good ribbing for
his help in selecting his sister’s robes. Once Ron was sufficiently annoyed, Harry went and grabbed
his first selection (he’d had ample time to narrow them down by now).

Honestly, he didn’t really see the need for new dress robes in the first place. If it wasn’t for
the undeniable fact that he’d grown nearly a foot since Molly bought his current bottle-green set
two years earlier, he probably would’ve skipped it all together.

Harry’s first choice was a set of black robes with an open front that required a white dress
shirt underneath. Returning from the changing room wearing a pair of black dress trousers and the
required shirt, he stood in front of the mirror as Madam Malkin draped the robes over him and began
making adjustments.

The resulting ensemble very much resembled a Muggle tuxedo. All that was missing was a black bow
tie. Harry studied his reflection while Madam Malkin continued pinning up the bottom of his robes
here and there. Considering how critical Harry was of himself, even he had to admit that he looked
rather presentable.

Almost as if that thought summoned them, Hermione and Ginny, fresh out of the changing room,
appeared. Both came up behind him (Hermione on his right and Ginny on his left) and looked over his
shoulders at his reflection.

“Looking good, Harry!” Ginny said enthusiastically, wagging her eyebrows at him
suggestively.

Hermione took an extra second or two to answer. “Not bad, Potter. Not bad at all,” she said with
a smirk.

“Not bad?” Emma’s voice suddenly added as she walked up and joined the other two in assessing
his appearance. “He’s bloody handsome!” All three of them began to laugh as Harry started
experimenting with his facial colorings.

“Though...” Hermione added once she stopped laughing, “there *is* something missing.” She
turned to her mother and tapped the collar of her own shirt.

“Of course,” Emma said, nodding knowingly. She then headed off to where Harry had gone to get
the white dress shirt.

Ron, with his newly purchased robes in a bag, came up and stood where Emma had. He’d obviously
heard everything.

“You’re so hot, Harry,” Ron teased, trying to mimic a high-pitched female voice.

“Prat,” Harry grumbled.

Not until Ginny had finally made her selection (and sealed it by actually buying them) did
Hermione walk over to the racks of witches’ dress robes and quickly select two. She stopped and
looked hard at a green one on the end of the rack, but ended up skipping it.

While she never appeared to get caught up in the intricacies of fashion as most of the rest of
the girls at Hogwarts seemed to, Hermione did at least want to be sure she didn’t get the same
thing as Ginny. She decided early that it’d simply be easier, and faster in the long run, to let
Ginny decide what she wanted and then adjust her choices accordingly to eliminate any blatant
similarities, rather than the other way around. The green one, now eliminated, was one of her top
three.

“What *is* it with girls and dress robes anyway?” Ron asked quietly, referring back to the
Ginny-seven dress ordeal. His head suddenly snapped towards the window. Looking in the same
direction as Ron was, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of long blonde hair walking just out of
view, in a group of several other people.

“Be right back,” Ron mumbled as he headed for the door. In the doorway, he stuck his head out
and looked up the street, appearing as though he was trying to find someone. Evidently giving up
the visual search after about ten seconds, he walked out the door and headed up the street in the
same direction he’d been looking.

Suppressing a smirk, Harry turned back to see Hermione return with her two selections draped
over her arm.

“Which one should I try first, Harry?” she asked, examining the fabrics as she set both down on
a table. He turned his attention to the two sets of robes. Both of the fabrics *were* nice,
however his eyes were immediately drawn to one. It wasn’t periwinkle, but...

“I don’t know... I’ve always thought you looked rather nice in blue,” he admitted, trying to
sound as objective as possible.

“The blue one, huh?” Hermione mused, picking it up. “Midnight Sapphire,” she said aloud to
herself as she looked at it. She then turned around and scrutinized him slightly.

“You’re not trying to take the easy way out, are you, Harry? Sapphire *is* my birthstone,
after all,” she informed him.

“What? No. Of course not,” he defended. How was he supposed to know what the birthstone for
September was, or any other month for that matter? He’d never had reason to need that kind of
information before. Then again, now that he knew, it *was* a handy tidbit of knowledge to
have... should he ever have the chance to use it.

“I didn’t know that sa...” Harry trailed off as he realized from the look on her face that she
was just giving him a hard time. As Hermione headed off to the changing room, Emma returned with
what looked like a thin strip of black fabric.

“Don’t forget your tie, Harry,” she said as she handed it to him. Harry looked at the piece of
material in his hands. He knew it wasn’t supposed to be one, but he could not get over the fact
that it did not look like a necktie. He could knot a regular necktie in his sleep; he’d been doing
it since first year. But a bow tie?

Madam Malkin looked up just then and saw him holding the unfurled accessory apprehensively.
Returning her attention to one of his hems, she casually flicked her wand up towards him. The bow
tie immediately jumped out of his hands and perfectly tied itself around the collar of his
shirt.

“Just temporary, dearie,” Madam Malkin said, not looking up. “You’ll still need to learn to do
it yourself at some point.”

Dan now came over to see what all the fuss was about.

“Very nice, Harry. You look a bit like James Bond like that,” he said, clapping him on the
shoulder.

James Bond, Harry knew. He was able to catch bits and pieces of many of the movies over the
years as he cleared the table and did the dishes while the Dursleys watched television. Aunt
Petunia, it turned out, was *very* fond of James Bond (at least four of the five of them,
sorry George). Vernon and Dudley liked the movies too, especially when stuff blew up. And there
were the Bond girls too, of course.

“You think so?” he asked Dan. He looked into the mirror again, straightened his back, then gave
his robes a quick tug (much to the consternation of Madam Malkin at his feet) as if to make sure
they were properly seated. “Potter. Harry Potter,” he introduced himself to his reflection.

Something suddenly caught Harry’s eye. He turned his head to find Hermione walking out of the
changing room in the dark blue dress robes. He was pretty sure his jaw didn’t really drop open, but
it sure felt like it. Beautiful was such an inadequate word (in his opinion) to describe how she
looked in her robes.

Stunning might have been technically more correct since he felt unable to move or speak. All he
could do was stand there and watch her walk up to the second fitting table next to his. Hermione
cast him a quick glance before turning to face the mirror. The last thing he saw of her face was a
blushing smile. Was the look on his face *that* obvious?

*So THAT’S what it is with girls and dress robes,* Harry said to himself.

While Madam Malkin began making adjustments, Harry slowly moved a couple steps to the side to be
better able to see her in the mirror. Strangely, when she was walking out of the changing room,
he’d seen her, but hadn’t actually looked at the rest of her; his eyes never left her face.

When they did finally leave her face, he could feel his mouth dry out. She’d done nothing
special with her hair, but she still looked absolutely beautiful. The blue material seemed to have
some sort of sparkly effect. Even the slightest movement would cause thousands of tiny sparkles to
appear. Any curves in the fabric seemed to accentuate the sparkles, and unfortunately for
Harry’s... *resolve*, dress robes were not as adept at hiding curves as standard school robes.
If anything, they seemed to accentuate them, but without being too revealing.

Also overwhelming his willpower was the fact that Hermione’s robes were of the same cut as
Ginny’s. They showed off her shoulders and a fair amount of her chest as well. Again, nothing
inappropriate for formal school events, but thank Merlin she wouldn’t be wearing these every day...
and damn Merlin too, now that he thought about it.

The worst (and best) part about these robes was that Harry now knew Hermione had a small mole...
*there*. He hadn’t seen it before when he accidentally barged in on her because her arms were
in the way. And he hadn’t seen it in his dreams this morning, since he couldn’t see anything in his
dreams that he didn’t see when he barged in on her. He was so glad his new robes were still very
loose and very oversized so that they hid everything.

Ginny, Molly, and Emma quickly huddled around Hermione to examine the robes (Emma was now
standing between the two of them).

“You’ll knock ‘em dead!” Ginny told Hermione; Harry agreed.

“Lovely, dear,” Molly added; Harry agreed.

“My princess in blue,” Dan added from the other side; Harry agreed.

“Absolutely beautiful, honey,” Emma said; Harry agreed.

“How about a male point of view, one that isn’t her father’s?” Emma added suddenly. Still
slightly stupefied, Harry felt himself being maneuvered to stand directly beside Hermione. “What do
you think, Harry?” she asked, then casually moved everyone back so that the two of them couldn’t
see anyone else in the mirror.

Standing next to her, it felt like it took an eternity before Harry was able to find his voice.
In reality, it only took about three seconds. Of course, in a silent room with everyone waiting for
a response, three seconds *was* nearly an eternity.

“Y-yeah...” he finally croaked out, thinking of the descriptions so far. “Yeah, what they said,”
he finished once his voice smoothed out slightly. When he saw Hermione looking at him through the
mirror, he smiled and gave a tiny nod as if to confirm that he really did mean what he said...
however inarticulate he’d been.

When she looked back to her own reflection, Harry’s attention quickly wandered down about a
foot.

*Oh dear,* he thought to himself. Now that he knew that mole was there...

With his gaze firmly attached to that tiny mark on her skin, Harry did not notice Hermione look
at him in the mirror again. A smirk of triumph slipped out when she realized that his distracted
attention was proof that he was looking at her differently now, if only by definition.

Even if she never got a chance to wear these robes at school, they’d already paid for
themselves. She had his complete and undivided attention... at least for the moment. She didn’t
know if it was anything more than hormonal, but it was certainly progress.

She’d never seen him look at her like that before. And there could be no doubt now that these
robes reminded him that she *was* a girl.

Thinking about their conversation that first day, Hermione realized her mother was right (not
that she really doubted it). Maybe, sometimes boys *did* respond better to a subtle song than
an anvil chorus. Looking back, her “PRINCESS” T-shirt *was* rather overt. But this... this was
just her buying something that she needed to buy. Totally innocent, right?

Deciding that sooner or later, Harry would realize he was staring, Hermione turned her attention
back to the dress and her own reflection. Her mind was already made up. She supposed she ought to
at least look like she was actually thinking about it though, so as to not be obvious.

Harry finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he *did* look as obvious as he
felt. Of course, since he knew he was the only one who knew how he felt about Hermione, he was
certain no one else would recognize it. And Hermione still seemed to be thinking about it, so he
was sure she didn’t catch him staring.

Just then, Molly then started looking around. “Where did Ronald go?” she asked.

“I think he saw someone outside and went to talk to them,” Harry answered, forcing himself to
look at his own robes again.

“Well, Hermione, dear,” Molly resumed, “I guess you’ll have to settle for the four of us, plus
Harry. What do you think? Do you want to try on the other one?” she asked.

Needless to say, but the gold dress she’d also pulled from the racks was put back without ever
having been tried. The whole thing, from the time she emerged from the changing room until she
actually returned had taken all of about two minutes, much of which was spent standing next to
Harry in the mirror.

Right as Hermione walked through the curtain that led to the changing rooms, the front door
opened and Ron walked back in. Harry noticed he had a decidedly disappointed look on his face.

“Where’d you go?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh. I, uh, thought I saw someone. But it turned out it wasn’t h... them,” Ron finished.
Harry noticed that he’d changed his word at the last second. He also noticed Ron’s ears begin to
turn slightly pink.

“So, what? Now do we have to wait for Hermione to try on her robes too?” Ron asked, looking
around to see where she was.

Harry smiled. “Nope. She’s already picked hers out. She’s just changing now.”

Ron looked stunned. “What? Are you serious? I was only gone a minute!”

“Yeah, well, Hermione isn’t Ginny,” Harry replied, making sure Ginny couldn’t hear him. *Oh,
and how true that is, in so many ways,* he added to himself happily.

“What about you?” Ron then asked. “Still can’t decide yet?”

“What?” Harry asked, surprised. He’d decided the moment he met double-oh-Potter.

“You’re still standing there, looking lost,” Ron pointed out.

Harry let out a laugh. “Oh, no. I’m getting these. I just got hooked into by these four,” Harry
said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards Molly, Ginny, Emma, and Dan on the other side of
the store, “into giving an opinion on Hermione’s robes.”

Ron shuddered slightly at the opinion he was forced to consider for his sister. “So sorry,
mate,” Ron consoled him.

As he returned to the dressing room, Hermione’s words echoed in his mind, *“Midnight
Sapphire.”*

* * *

Just before noon, the large group finally found themselves back where they started their
shopping trip: in front of Quality Quidditch Supply (and the clock shop next to it on the left).
While the older Weasleys had lunch at the same restaurant where they ran into Tonks and Lupin
earlier, Harry, Dan, Ron, and Ginny went in to wander around.

Hermione, in the meanwhile, offered to pick up new parchment, ink, and quills for everyone while
they all looked at brooms. Leading her mother towards the stationery store on the other side of the
Quidditch store, she also said she wanted a little quality mother-daughter shopping time. Why Emma
looked nervous, Harry did not know.

Walking out about half an hour later, Ron let out a laugh when the door closed behind them.

“One thousand Galleons, mate,” he said to Harry.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“A Firebolt.”

Dan stopped mid-stride. “Are you telling me, Harry, that your broom cost five thousand pounds,
plus or minus?”

“I guess so,” Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. “It was a gift from Sirius. I never knew
how much it cost. The sign on it said ‘Price Upon Request.’”

He then turned back to Ron with a grin. “You requested?”

Ron managed to look guilty as he grinned. “Just for fun. Wasn’t really going to buy one. I’ve
gotten rather attached to my Cleansweep, if you must know.”

“He talks to it, you know?” Ginny added from behind them. “When he’s polishing it. If you sneak
up on him, you can hear him whispering to it.”

“I do not!” Ron defended resolutely. Harry could see a slight twinge of pink appear in his
ears.

“Uh huh,” Harry replied. “Is that why you bought the extra large tin of High-Finish handle
polish?”

“You bought some too,” Ron replied, his ears getting brighter.

“Yeah, but I only bought a standard refill for the servicing kit Hermione got me for my
birthday,” Harry teased. “I didn’t buy the super, jumbo sized tin.”

“Ah, there they are,” Ron said, looking in the other direction, clearly trying to change the
subject. Harry turned to see the elder Weasleys waiting for them at their table. Hermione and Emma
were sitting a couple tables away from the others, talking quietly to each other.

“Well gang,” Dan called as everyone began to get up, “are we all finished with our shopping
today?” Hearing all affirmatives, he then rubbed his hands together. “Who’s up for lunch?”

“ME!” came the simultaneous reply from all three Grangers, Harry, Ginny, and not surprisingly
Ron. Labored groans indicating satiation came from the remaining Weasleys.

Everyone else seemed to let Dan be in charge at the moment, so he turned to Harry. “Since you’ve
pretty much been taken along for the ride these last two days, what do you say we let you pick
where we go for lunch? Any ideas, Harry?”

Harry thought about it for a few moments. An embarrassed grin appeared on his face. “Erm,
actually, you might laugh, but yeah, now that you mention it. Wasn’t there a Kwik-E-Burger up the
street near the Underground?” he asked smiling. “For some reason, a hamburger sounds really good
right about now.”

Dan, Emma, and Hermione all nodded in agreement. “What about you two?” Dan asked Ron and Ginny.
“Ever been to a Kwik-E-Burger? It’s the pinnacle of Muggle cuisine,” he said with a grin. Harry
noticed Arthur’s attention perk up.

Ron and Ginny both shook their heads to indicate they hadn’t been there. “Do they serve food
there?” Ron asked with a grin; Dan nodded. “Then I’ll eat there.”

“Sure,” Ginny agreed also.

“Do you mind if I tag along?” Arthur asked excitedly.

“You just ate!” Molly admonished.

“I just want to see the straw dispensers,” Arthur promised. “Did you have any other plans today,
dear?” he asked. Molly shook her head.

“Why don’t you, Bill, Charlie, and Percy go on home then? I’ll go with this lot, and then stop
by the Ministry to pick up a couple things on our way home.”

Molly agreed. As unenthusiastic as she was to sit in another restaurant for another half an
hour, she also seemed uneasy about making the trip back to Grimmauld Place without Arthur.

Bill, seeing his mother’s uneasiness, stepped in. “Don’t worry, Mum. I know my way around the
Underground. I have to use it occasionally to get to the Bank of England Museum. Have any of you
ever been there?” he asked.

Only Arthur and Dan nodded. “All of Gringotts’ financial transactions with the Muggle world go
through the Bank of England,” Bill explained. “The extension office is in the museum... of all
places. Wizards who choose to live in the Muggle world can go there to set up a special Muggle
account that will tie into their Gringotts vault. With one of these accounts, they can access the
gold in their vaults, electronically, from any local branch bank in England.”

“Oh, so that’s how it worked,” Hermione said quietly to herself; Ron’s eyes looked glazed
over.

“Plus, it’s conveniently located. It’s just right down the street from King’s Cross.” Once Bill
stopped talking, Ron seemed to wake up.

With everyone’s plans decided, they all started to head back to The Leaky Cauldron. Once in the
small courtyard beyond the brick wall, they took a moment to shrink their purchases so they could
be easily carried while they walked around.

After everyone said goodbye to Tom the bartender, they walked out the front door to rejoin
Muggle London. None of the passersby on the street paid any attention as eleven people reappeared
on the street outside.

When The Leaky Cauldron finally disappeared between the bookstore and the record store, a young
woman, who’d been looking directly at them as she approached, suddenly jumped in surprise. As her
face began to flush in embarrassment, she turned to walk around the group. She offered a small
apology as she walked by Emma (closest to her).

“Oh, I’m so sorry. My mind must have been a million miles away. I didn’t even see you standing
there until the last moment.”

“Not to worry, dear,” Emma consoled her in a friendly manner as she walked by. “It happens to
the best of us sometimes.”

“Yeah, especially when you really do appear out of thin air at the last moment,” Hermione added
in a whisper to Harry; he nodded.

When they reached the entrance to the Underground, Molly, Bill, Charlie, and Percy separated
from the rest of the group to start their journey back to Grimmauld Place. She took with her
Arthur’s, Ron’s, and Ginny’s purchases. Everyone else continued walking down the street to the
Kwik-E-Burger on the corner.

As they walked in the door and the smell of rapidly prepared food washed over them, Harry’s
suddenly recalled Arthur’s enthusiasm and excitement at everything Muggle about the Underground
when they journeyed to the Ministry for Harry’s trial. He moved to walk along side Arthur as they
approached the order counter.

“Remember, Mr. Weasley. This is a restaurant and they can’t clean up with a wave of a wand,”
Harry whispered. “I don’t think they’ll take kindly to you if you start touching everything.
*Observe discreetly.*”

“Yes, of course Harry,” Arthur replied in a tone of voice that was both a mixture of happiness
that he was allowed to look and also disappointment that he wasn’t allowed to touch.

“All right everyone,” Harry told them as they all looked at the menu boards, “my treat today. No
argument.” Happy that he got none, he turned to Ron and Ginny, who both appeared lost as they
looked at all of the options.

“What do I want?” Ginny whispered to Hermione, afraid to let any of the other customers see that
she didn’t know what she was doing.

“Just get a combo meal,” Hermione whispered back, “a hamburger, chips, and a drink.” Ginny
nodded.

“Right, do you want any modifications?” Harry asked the younger Weasleys. “You know, toppings
taken off or added to your hamburger?” he clarified. The look that Ron gave Harry was clearly one
of offense at the idea of removing anything edible from his hamburger.

“Right,” Harry said to Ron with a laugh. “Ginny?” Ginny again looked at Hermione.

“No onions for Ginny,” Hermione answered for her. Ron looked aghast (and confused).

“I thought you liked onions just fine in your food,” Ron asked. As he did, Ginny finally saw a
picture of the hamburger on the wall.

“I like onions *in* my food, not *on* it,” Ginny explained as she saw the toppings
that came included. “If you’d ever paid any attention, you’d know that.”

Ron, who quickly turned away to get out from under the wrath of his sister, suddenly started
tugging on Harry’s arm.

“Oh! Harry! Can I have one of *those?*” he asked eagerly, pointing at one of the
illuminated signs showing a picture of a triple cheeseburger.

Harry looked at Ron dubiously. “That’s three-quarters of a pound of meat, Ron,” he pointed out.
With a big grin on his face, Ron just nodded happily. “Okay.”

While the females went to scout out a table for seven, Harry and Dan went up to order. Ron and
Arthur came up behind them (Ron to get a better look at all the food behind the order counter,
Arthur to watch the cashier use the ‘little box with all the buttons’).

“Can I help you?” the young, pretty girl behind the counter asked, then put on a brilliant smile
as she looked at Harry.

“Yeah. Can I get three number ones, two extra pickle, one no onion, one number three with extra
everything...” Harry started, but then paused as he could see the cashier wanted to interrupt.

“Extra *everything*?” she asked; Harry nodded. “That’ll be an extra 30p for the extra
cheese and 90p for extra tomatoes. Is that okay?” Ron nodded before Harry could consider it. The
cashier looked at Harry; he nodded. Ron then looked back up at the picture and saw a small sign in
the corner of it.

“OH! And add bacon!” he tacked on. He then put his hand on Harry’s arm in excitement. “Do
they—?”

“No, they don’t do extra bacon,” Harry cut him off. He then gave the cashier a smile that told
her *“No, you don’t do extra bacon.”* He looked up at the sign on the picture also.

*50p/2 pc per patty*

“You’re already getting six pieces as it is,” Harry pointed out.

“Okay,” Ron replied, still happy.

“And...” Harry continued his order, trailing off as he looked at Dan.

“One number two and one number six, extra pickle on both,” Dan told the cashier. As he did,
Harry noticed Arthur beginning to lean over the counter to get a better look at the cash register.
Harry reached over and put his hand on Arthur’s arm to stop him. The cashier glanced at Arthur for
a moment then looked at Harry questioningly; Harry just smiled as if to say, *“Don’t
ask.”*

“Would you like to upgrade any of your meals to large or Mega-sized?” she then asked. Harry
briefly glanced at Ron (who appeared fascinated watching the workers behind the cashier assemble
the burgers).

“Yeah, better make the number three Mega-sized,” he wisely decided.

The cashier repeated the order then fixed Harry with a very intent stare. “Can I get you
*anything else?*” she asked in what he felt was a rather flirtatious voice.

“That’ll be all,” Harry replied with a fake smile.

“Twenty-five eighty-four, please,” the cashier told him his total. Out of the corner of his eye,
Harry could see Ron flinch. He pulled one of the £50 notes he got at Gringotts out of his pocket
and handed it to the cashier.

After taking his change in one hand and their drink cups in the other, Harry led Ron and Arthur
toward the soft drink fountain. As they approached it, he turned to Ron. “Pounds, Ron, not
Galleons. Twenty-six pounds.”

Ron shook his head. “Yeah, I figured that out after my heart attack,” he said in good humor.

Emma remained seated, holding their table (it was a busy lunch hour, after all), while Hermione
and Ginny went up to get their drinks. Dan took the stack of cups out of Harry’s hand and handed
them out. A flummoxed Ron stood staring at the soft drink fountain.

“It’s nothing like butterbeer,” Harry said to Ron when he saw him begin to point at the root
beer. While everyone else got their drinks, and knowing that Ron might take a moment (or ten)
deciding which drink to try, he began to idly play with the coins he got in his change, having
already put the paper notes back into his pocket.

“Was I just imagining things, or was that girl flirting with you, Harry?” Ron asked. Harry
suddenly became *very* interested in the coins in his hand.

“What girl?” Hermione asked, sounding entirely uninterested as she filled her cup.

“The girl taking orders,” Ron answered, still staring at all the drink options. “*Sprite?*”
he asked aloud to himself.

“Ooh, she’s cute, Harry,” Ginny cooed after looking at her. “You should ask her out,” she teased
(at least, Harry assumed she was teasing).

“Thanks, but no,” Harry replied awkwardly, desperately trying to memorize each of the different
designs on the four £1 coins he got. Thanks to the rotating use of different effigies of the Queen
on the obverse and various images on the reverse representing the UK, Scotland, Wales, Northern
Ireland, and England, there had been only three duplicate designs since the pound coin replaced the
pound note in 1983.

This year’s design was the “second” effigy, along with the Celtic cross and pimpernel which
represented Northern Ireland.

In his change, Harry also happened across a two pence coin. Looking at it, he suddenly recalled
something from many, many years ago. For one of his birthdays, Harry had actually received a small
handful of coins from his Uncle Vernon. The day after that birthday however, he found out why
Vernon gave them to him.

They were some old coins his uncle had found in a box back from his own school days... back when
there were twenty shillings to a pound and twelve pence to a shilling. Now that there were one
hundred “new pence” to the pound instead of the old two hundred forty, those old, worn out coins,
all these years after decimalization in 1971, were now effectively worthless.

Dudley took great pleasure in pointing that out to Harry. And the only reason Dudley even knew
anything about it was because Vernon had to explain to him why he actually gave their nephew, who
took hard earned food off their table, any money in the first place. It was easy to give a small
boy tiny, worthless bits of metal.

But in the end, Harry didn’t really care. Because contained in those seven old coins was one of
the old twopence coins, the “tuppence” made famous by a certain movie that his Aunt Petunia had
once tried to make Dudley watch when it was on television, instead of the more violent movies the
eight-year old preferred.

She only tried to make him watch it once however, for not only was there the fact that it was on
television and would probably not be on again for another year or two, but Dudley screamed at the
fact that there was singing in the movie.

Then of course, Vernon had locked Harry back into his cupboard for a week after that when he
found out it had been on television, threatening him to not get any funny ideas about people flying
around on umbrellas. It would be a few more years before that threat made any sense to Harry.

So, as Harry stared at the current twopence in his hand, he was reminded fondly of the old
tuppence he’d managed to hold onto until one day when it disappeared from his cupboard while Vernon
had let him out to use the toilet. Harry remembered that Dudley was unusually happy that day.

In the five seconds that had elapsed while Harry reminisced, Ron turned back to look at the
cashier again. “Hey, even I think she’s kinda cute, and I like to think my standards are pretty
high,” he said grinning.

*Not if you think Hermione is plain-looking,* Harry thought to himself with a grin,
forgetting the coins for the moment as he put them into his pocket.

“Or... what? You don’t have a thing for brunettes either?” Ron teased. Harry quickly glanced at
Hermione, then rapidly turned his head in an attempt to make it appear as he meant to look at Ron.
*This time*, he hadn’t meant to do that. It was just an irresistible reflex. Oh, how he’d love
to slowly run his hands through that bushy, brown hair...

Harry refocused his attention on Ron. He didn’t know how to respond to his comment. He couldn’t
say that he didn’t, but he couldn’t say that he did either. Fortunately, the flirtatious cashier
called his order number just then, and they all went up to grab the four trays of food.

As Harry, Ron, Dan, and Ginny carried the trays, Hermione went and grabbed napkins and straws
for everyone. Arthur watched with delight as she pushed the little lever on the dispenser and one
paper-wrapped straw popped out. After the second one, Arthur asked if she would allow him to press
the lever. He did it four more times.

Once they were all seated, since Dan and Emma were on the far end of the table and Ron and Ginny
didn’t understand the little markings on the sandwich wrappers, Harry handed out everyone’s lunch:
hamburgers with extra pickle for himself and Hermione, hamburger no onion for Ginny, triple bacon
cheeseburger with extra everything for Ron, double cheeseburger extra pickle for Dan, and grilled
chicken sandwich extra pickle for Emma. Hermione handed out the boxes of chips.

It took Ron a few seconds to figure out how to unwrap his burger, but once he did, he put nose
down next to the monstrous burger and took a deep breath.

“Blimey...” he sighed with a very content grin and then dove straight in. Harry was pretty sure
he couldn’t open his mouth that wide to take a bite of anything that large, however in good humor
he did suppose that Ron had had some practice putting his foot in his mouth, so it worked out just
fine for him.

After two large bites of his burger and a large handful of chips, Ron (fortunately) took a
moment to swallow and then looked at Harry in contentment after he returned from taking the trays
back to free up space on the table.

“We *have* to get them to start serving these at school, mate!” Ron insisted; Ginny agreed.
As Ron resumed his attack, Harry finally got a chance to start eating. He immediately opened his
hamburger and took off the tomato and set it on the opened wrapper of Hermione’s (who was sitting
next to him). She then took it and added it to her hamburger.

Ron saw this and (between overflowing mouthfuls) let out a laugh.

“Eat here often?” he teased. Harry looked at Ron confused.

“I mean, you already knew what she wanted on hers and you knew she would take the tomato,” Ron
explained.

“Actually, no, this is only the second time I’ve been to a place like this,” Harry explained.
“As for knowing about what she likes, as your sister *so eloquently* pointed out, it’s easy to
know what someone likes if you just pay the slightest bit of attention to them,” Harry said
grinning, and winking at Ginny.

“And besides, it was easy to remember. They all got the same thing: extra pickles. Since the
first time they ordered mine that way too and I liked it, I did again. And since I don’t like
tomatoes on my hamburger, this way I don’t have to throw mine away and she doesn’t have to pay
extra for an extra one.”

“But you like tomatoes just fine,” Ron pointed out, confused.

Harry grinned. “As someone once said, I like tomatoes *in* my food, not *on* it.”
Harry just didn’t like raw tomatoes, so the cooked tomatoes in the sauce of the Grangers’ chicken
dish (and in the other things he ate) were perfectly fine. Perfect, actually, as he’d told Hermione
several weeks ago.

Ron thought about it for a moment, trying to remember how he’d missed little details like that
about his best friend and his sister. He smiled when he realized that he didn’t notice much else
when there was food in front of him, and then took a large drink.

Harry could see a look of surprise appear on Ron’s face as he forced down his drink. He then let
out a cough of surprise as he grinned broadly.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Ron explained. “It’s like it’s... bubbling... in my mouth.”

“That’s because it is,” Dan replied, leaning forward to look across Ginny who was between him
and Ron. “It’s a carbonated beverage. There are...” he paused for a moment, searching for a way to
describe it, “thousands of bubbles hidden in the liquid, and they pop when you drink it.”

A look of sheer amazement appeared on Ron’s face. “You can DO that? Wicked!” Ginny, who hadn’t
yet taken a drink yet, did so. She began to giggle afterwards.

“It tickles,” she said. Butterbeer was foamy and frothy and did have tiny, tiny bubbles in it
from the manufacturing process, but it was nothing like a Muggle carbonated beverage.

Dan and Emma watched the two youngest Weasleys in silence, seeing them so impressed by things
considered commonplace by Muggles.

Arthur could no longer contain himself. “What’s it like, Ron, Ginny?” he asked quietly; he knew
he didn’t want to draw attention to himself surrounded by the rest of the lunch crowd. “How does it
feel? What does it taste like? How long does the bubbling last?”

Harry looked over at Dan and saw the look of amusement on his face too. He fished a quid out of
his pocket and handed it to Arthur.

“Go up. When the girl asks you what you want, tell her you want a 99p drink,” Harry told him.
“Give her the coin. She’ll give you your cup and a penny back in change. Then go over and get your
drink. You watched how we filled the cups, right?”

“Which kind do I get?” Arthur asked, almost nervously.

“Whichever one you want,” Harry replied. “Try the Sprite. We all got Coke, so you could try
something different. I’m sure Ron would be willing to share some of his Mega-size drink with you.”
Ron looked up at Harry scandalized.

Harry watched from his seat as Arthur, coin in hand, nervously walked up to the cashier. He saw
him place his order and then hand over the coin. The cashier then handed him his change and
receipt, and then his cup (he appeared quite fascinated by the receipt too). Arthur approached the
ice machine with trepidation, got some after a moment of hesitation, and then finally filled his
cup. He then presumably went to grab a lid and straw. Harry couldn’t see them from the angle he was
sitting.

Looking even more excited than the ten-year olds in Fred and George’s shop, Arthur Weasley
successfully returned from his first ever Muggle soft drink purchase. Harry did notice however,
that there was one slight hitch: he returned with eight straws.

“You only need one, Dad,” Ginny pointed out.

“I know,” he replied, then began to look guilty. “I just wanted to take some extra ones home
with me.”

Harry and the Grangers let out a small laugh; Ron and Ginny shook their heads in disbelief.

It was a good thing Harry had ordered the Mega-size upgrade for Ron’s meal. He finished all of
his food at about the same time as everyone else. Harry and Ginny both had to smack Ron’s hand away
from taking the last of their chips. Ron was most disappointed when he reached the bottom of his
Mega-size cup. It quickly changed to ecstasy when Harry informed him he was allowed to get a refill
to take with him.

Finally, lunch was finished, and after dumping their garbage (Harry observed Arthur pocketing
all of the unused ketchup sachets), they returned to the street outside. Sitting on a bench on the
other side of the street was an elderly woman, tossing bread crumbs to about a dozen pigeons in
front of her.

Harry didn’t remember much of that movie that had been on television all those years ago, but he
did remember parts of two of the songs, which both incidentally mentioned tuppence. He remembered
them, probably because they advocated doing things that served no useful purpose, in Vernon’s
opinion.

Suddenly flooded with the memory of several of the famous lines from those two songs, Harry
reached back into his pocket and dug out the twopence. He showed it to Dan.

“Should we go feed the birds?” Harry asked, then nodded his head towards the woman on the other
side of the street. Since the coin in his hand wasn’t the tuppence from the song, Harry’s question
didn’t immediately click in Dan’s mind. “Or do you want to go fly a kite?” he asked grinning.

Dan looked at the coin one more time, thoroughly confused. However once he connected the two
activities together, Dan broke out in riotous laughter.

“Oh, Harry!” he belted out, clapping him on the shoulder. “That was a good one. It took me a
minute to figure it out,” he said as he took the commonplace coin and looked at it fondly, as if
seeing the old coin.

“Wow,” he sighed. “It’s been what, twenty-five years, since the switch?” Dan asked Emma in
amazement.

“Yeah,” Emma confirmed. “It was the *day after* Valentine’s Day, a Monday... in *second
year*.” Hermione could hear the emphases her mother placed and noticed the subtle grin she shot
Dan. She *really* hoped that wasn’t the weekend her mother told her about.

“Yeah, I remember *that*,” Dan replied. Now Hermione was sure they *weren’t* talking
about Decimal Day.

“Everyone running around,” Dan continued, unaware of the annoyed look on his daughter’s face,
“asking, ‘How much is that in old money?’ That was fun,” he said sarcastically.

“So, we can feed the birds?” Ron asked, unaware of what everyone was talking about (the
significance of the movie, of 15 February, 1971, and of the weekend before).

“Birds?” Dan asked, as he came out of his remembrance. “Oh! No... Harry was... there’s a Muggle
movie, they sing about feeding birds and flying kites, all for tuppence,” Dan explained, handing
Ron the twopence. “The old 2p coins... well I suppose I should say 2d. Anyway, the old two pence
coins were called sometimes called tuppence. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Ron lied as he looked at the coin. “You Muggle-borns,” he said jokingly to Harry and
Hermione.

Those who knew Ron well enough (i.e. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Arthur) could tell from his
voice that he was just kidding, and that there was no ill will. Dan, who only knew of what Hermione
had shared with him (not the most ideal picture), was not so sure.

He could see that neither his daughter nor Harry seemed the slightest bit affected by Ron’s
comment, so he trusted that there was no disparagement intended. But still, it did remind him of
how little he knew of Hermione’s other friends. Remembering some of their reactions in the
Kwik-E-Burger, it also illustrated how little they knew of the Muggle world. An idea began to form
in Dan’s head.

As the seven of them started to head back towards the Underground Station where they’d go their
separate ways, Dan allowed himself to fall back slightly, bringing Emma with him. He whispered his
idea to his wife to get her opinion.

When she readily agreed, he tapped Arthur (who was also behind the four teenagers) on the
shoulder. After he pulled back also, Dan asked his permission for what he had in mind. Arthur
instantly agreed, though it was obvious he was envious.

When they reached the entrance to the Underground, the group stopped. Before Dan could announce
his idea, Harry turned to Arthur.

“Mr. Weasley. Did you say that you were going in to Ministry today?” Arthur nodded. “Well, Madam
Bones said that we could stop by when we had some free time to pick up our awards. I was thinking,
if we had some free time...” Harry asked, looking at Hermione and Emma who both nodded, “that we
could go now.

“I really don’t remember how to get to the visitor’s entrance,” he admitted, “so I was wondering
that if you, Ron, and Ginny were going there, that maybe we could come too?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Harry,” Arthur exclaimed. “It’ll give your parents a chance,”
he then directed to Hermione, “to see a little more of *our* world.” He then shot Dan a grin
(which all of the teenagers saw but none understood).

“Okay everyone, back to The Leaky Cauldron!” Arthur directed. “We can Floo in from there.”

“Can Muggles use the Floo Network?” Harry asked. “I’ve never heard anything about it said either
way.”

“Of course they can,” Hermione answered readily. “The magic is in the network and the powder, so
anyone can use it. The only possible problem might be them knowing when to get out at the right
grate.”

“Covered on that one, Hermione,” Arthur replied. “Since Ron and Ginny are not Ministry
employees, we have to use the visitor’s Floo entrance. There’s only one grate there.”

While they waited for The Leaky Cauldron to reappear, Harry’s eyes wandered across the windows
of the record shop next to the pub. They were filled with signs announcing the latest releases,
adverts offering to *“Turn your records into CDs,”* and even posters of various musical
groups. There would be no posters of the Weird Sisters at this store.

After everyone greeted Tom hello again, Arthur asked permission to use his fireplace to visit
the Ministry. Now facing a lunch time crowd (it was around just after one o’clock by now), Harry
again had to weave his way through the greetings.

Finally they found themselves in front of a fireplace in a back room. Arthur took a small pot
filled with glittering powder off of a small shelf next to the hearth.

Arthur quickly explained the basics of Floo travel to Dan and Emma; Harry noticed Hermione was
paying close attention as well. *Has she ever used the Floo before?* he wondered.

“Harry, Hermione, why don’t you two go last?” Arthur suggested. “After her parents... you know,
to bring up the back, as the Muggles say.”

“Bring up the rear,” Hermione corrected him; Arthur smiled and nodded to himself, making a
mental note.

“Remember, speak clearly,” Arthur reminded them. “As long as you do, you’ll be fine. There’s
only one grate there.” He then stepped up to the fireplace, took a pinch of Floo powder, and threw
it into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose all the way to the top of
the hearth. Arthur then stepped into the fire, shouted, “Ministry of Magic Visitor’s Entrance!” and
was gone.

Dan and Emma, already squeamish at the sight of him standing in the middle of a fire, jumped
when he vanished. Next Ron repeated the scene, then Ginny. Finally it was Dan and Emma’s turn.

“Just remember what Mr. Weasley said,” Hermione told her parents confidently. “Speak clearly,
eyes closed, elbows in. When you feel yourself stop, open your eyes and step out of the fireplace
on the other end.”

“And try not to kick up any ash when you step into the fire,” Harry added, remembering his first
time using Floo powder. “It’s easier to speak if you don’t swallow the ash,” he said grinning.

Dan nodded meekly, took some powder from the pot that Harry was now holding and stepped up to
the fireplace. He threw it in; the flames roared to life again. Taking a deep breath first, he then
stepped into the fire and shouted out his destination. The fire consumed him and he too was
gone.

“Give him a couple extra moments to arrive and step out,” Hermione suggested, again sounding
confident. More nervous than she’d ever been in her life, Emma nodded and reached into the pot,
repeating *exactly* everything Dan did. Just in case he did something wrong, she was
determined to follow him there, wherever he went.

When her mother disappeared, Hermione let out the breath she’d been holding. “Our turn,” she
said, now not sounding so confident.

“Ever used the Floo before?” Harry asked. He was beginning to suspect that her confidence was
merely a show for her parents’ benefit. Hermione shook her head.

“Thought not,” Harry said. He then repeated her instructions for her parents back to her, word
for word. In her simplified form, they were easy to remember.

“Just remember what Hermione said,” he teased her, “speak clearly, eyes closed, elbows in. When
you feel yourself stop, open your eyes and step out of the fireplace on the other end.”

“Git,” she teased back.

“Yeah, but you love me for it.” Since it was an expression, Harry really hadn’t intended it to
be any sort of test. He did immensely enjoy saying it however.

“Yeah, I do,” she replied, not looking at him as she stared at the fireplace. She knew it was
just an expression, so she really didn’t expect it to mean anything. She did immensely enjoy saying
it however.

Another roar of the fireplace, and Harry was left in the back room of The Leaky Cauldron alone.
Returning the pot to the shelf, he took his own pinch of powder and stood in front of the fireplace
apprehensively. Harry wasn’t sure which he liked less: Floo powder or Portkey.

Harry arrived in the Ministry of Magic Visitor’s (Floo) Entrance in a much more dignified manner
than he had in Borgin and Burkes four years earlier. He stepped out of the fireplace to find
everyone tidying up. A few quick cleaning charms and they were all good as new.

The visitor’s Floo entrance turned out to be little more than a plain room, empty except for a
fireplace on one side and a door on the other. As they approached the door, Harry noticed a small
slot next to it. Arthur knocked on the door. Harry immediately heard the same cool female voice
he’d heard in the telephone-box before.

*“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”*

“Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, escorting visitors,” he identified himself,
then looked at Harry.

“Harry Potter, to visit the Minister of Magic,” Harry said. The remaining ‘visitors’ similarly
identified themselves.

*“Thank you,”* replied the bodiless voice. *“Visitors, please take the badges and attach
them to the front of your robes.”*

There was a click and a rattle, and Harry was not surprised to see six silver badges slide down
into the slot next to the door. Arthur, being the closest, grabbed them and handed them out. Harry
looked at his: *Harry Potter, Minister’s business*. He pinned it to the front of his school
shirt.

“I bet with Fudge around, they had these stamped *en masse*,” Harry quipped, causing
everyone to laugh.

“Only if you could afford one,” Hermione replied.

*“Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for
registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. The Ministry of
Magic wishes you a pleasant day,”* chimed the voice, and the door opened.

Harry, being the last one through the door was consequentially the last to see where they’d
arrived. This looked very familiar. Harry turned around to find that they’d just walked through the
same doorway that he had when he’d used the telephone-box entrance. He was about to ask how that
was possible when he realized he already knew the answer: it was magic.

The party of seven made their way toward the security desk at the far end of the Atrium. As they
walked past it, Harry noticed that the fountain and gold statues looked exactly as they had the
first time he’d seen them. There wasn’t any trace that the statues had been running around in the
middle of a battle.

Sitting at the security desk was the watchwizard in peacock blue robes, reading the *Daily
Prophet*. Harry half wondered if someone could just walk by him unnoticed. When they approached,
he set down his paper and looked up at them. It was the same watchwizard Harry met the first time,
Eric Munch. He looked as just as bored (and badly-shaven) today as he did a year ago.

Though Arthur stepped forward, Eric’s attention immediately turned to Harry.

“Escorting some visitors today, Eric,” Arthur said.

“Not in trouble again, I hope, Mr. Potter?” Eric asked, clearly remembering him.

“No,” Harry replied coolly but politely. “We’re here to see the Minister.”

“The Minister is a very busy woman, you know?” Eric said, sounding important.

“That’s for the Minister to decide,” Arthur said firmly.

“Yes, of course,” Eric replied, obviously deflated. “Step forward,” he said gruffly.

Harry did so and Eric picked up his aerial-like golden rod to perform the standard scan. He also
examined the bag containing Harry’s purchases.

“Wand,” he said, bored. Harry submitted it. “Eleven inches, phoenix-feather, five years?” he
asked in an uninterested voice after reading the slip of parchment that came out of the scale-like
brass instrument on which he’d set Harry’s wand.

“Next,” Eric called as he kept the parchment and retuned the wand. He then repeated the
procedure on Hermione, Ron, and Ginny as well (he made sure to give Ron’s drink cup an extra
scan).

Arthur interrupted right before Eric started with Dan. “They’re Muggles, actually,” he
explained.

“Muggles?” Eric asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Arthur replied, “they’re Miss Granger’s parents.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied, clearly not caring. Since they were non-magical and did not have wands,
it clearly meant that there was nothing they could possibly do to cause trouble. He did perform his
scan on both of them however since they could’ve been carrying a magical device.

A few moments later, they were in front of the lifts, waiting for an empty one so they could all
ride together. A number of paper airplane memos followed them inside. Though no one else got on
(because it was full with seven), the lift stopped at each level to allow memos on and off. The
cool female voice noted the levels as they rose. Level Seven.

At Level Five, Arthur decided it was time to inform his two youngest children of Dan’s
offer.

“So, youngest Weasleys,” he began excitedly, “did either of you have any plans for tonight?”

“No,” both Ron and Ginny replied unenthusiastically.

Level Four.

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were wondering if the two of you would like to spend the night at
their house tonight!”

Ginny squealed in delight and Ron clapped Harry on the back and said something to the effect of
“Cool!”

Level Three.

“So... I take it you two would like to come over?” Emma asked with a large grin.

“I guess that’s settled then,” Dan noted right as Ginny just let out another *SQUEE* and
Ron nodded enthusiastically.

*“Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic
Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”*

“First stop everyone,” Arthur told them. The four memos destined for this level zoomed out as
soon as the lift doors opened. As they walked past the rows and rows of cubicles that was the Auror
Headquarters, Harry noticed that it seemed exactly the same as it did a year ago.

The open area was again buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos continued to zoom from one cubicle
to the next. All around him, Aurors were doing their jobs. This time however, they were looking for
Voldemort, not Sirius.

As he walked by one of the cubicles, Harry caught sight of something familiar out of the corner
of his eye. Stopping and going back to look through the open doorway, Harry saw one of Sirius’s old
“Wanted” posters on the wall, with a large, red X hand-drawn across it. When he was close enough,
he could see that there was no one in the office, however items laying about suggested they were
merely away from their desk.

Almost as if he expected Harry to see it, Arthur immediately came back to grab Harry and keep
moving toward his office.

“Not now, Harry,” Arthur asked. Harry started to open his mouth, however he didn’t get the
chance to start speaking. “I know. I have to walk by it every day too,” he said sincerely. “Give
the Minister a chance... it won’t happen overnight.” Harry relented.

Soon they ran into Kingsley Shacklebolt near the back of the office. Again, he and Arthur spoke
as though they only knew each other in an office setting.

“Afternoon, Weasley,” Kingsley greeted him. “Can’t get enough of this place that you’re coming
in on your days off now?” he asked in a tone of voice that *sounded* like he was implying
Arthur was just ‘trying to look good for the boss.’

“Actually, Shacklebolt,” Arthur replied coolly, “I was just here to pick up a few personal items
that I wanted to take home but forgot yesterday.”

“Well, since you’re here, would you mind taking a look at this?” Kingsley asked as he led them
all down to Arthur’s office. Harry always did feel that Arthur’s office was little more than a
refurbished broom cupboard. Well, if it was the case, then Arthur had moved up in the world...
slightly. He was now in the larger broom cupboard on the opposite side of the hallway. The “office”
was larger, but the *Misuse of Muggle Artifacts* brass plaque was still tarnished.

“Arthur, how are you?” Kingsley asked in a friendly tone now that he was out of earshot of
everyone else in the office. After Arthur replied in the positive, Kingsley looked at his six
traveling companions. “Taking the whole gang on the Ministry tour, are we?” he asked grinning. He
then reached out to shake Harry’s hand.

“And you two are...” Kingsley continued as he turned to Dan and Emma, looking at their badges,
“Miss Granger’s parents. I’m honored to meet you. Quite the natural fighter your daughter can be,”
he said with a grin. “I’m glad she’s on our side.”

“So are we,” Emma replied with a laugh.

“So, what brings you down here today, Arthur, besides Minister’s business?” Kingsley joked.

“Well, in a minute, we’re going to go up to talk to the Minister. She’s going to give you know
who,” Arthur said, nodding head towards the four teenagers, “the you know whats for what they did
you know where, you know when.”

“If it hasn’t been said yet, then congratulations to all of you,” Kingsley said quietly. “I
think you all deserve it.”

“But first,” Arthur continued, “I just wanted to stop by and pick something up. I found one of
those... ele-tronic Muggle watches last week. It still works, at least when I get it away from
here, so I wanted to take it home so I could take it apart to see how it worked.”

“Really?” Kingsley asked, trying to sound interested. “You know, Thrace, down at the other end,
she’s Muggle-born. You might ask her about it first before you take it apart. Do you remember what
happened the last time you tried to take something apart?” he asked knowingly.

Arthur didn’t reply.

“I told you that ‘No user serviceable parts’ meant what it sounded like,” Kingsley reminded
him.

Arthur went over to his desk and retrieved the digital watch from a drawer, while at the same
time depositing the straws and ketchup sachets he’d brought back from the Kwik-E-Burger.

He stared at the watch for a moment, debating whether he’d interrupt someone while they were
working. But... it was an ele-tronic watch! He just had to know how it worked.

“What’s her name?” Arthur asked.

“Kara.”

“All right kids, you can just sit right here. I’ll be back in two minutes,” Arthur told them. He
returned twenty-five minutes later.

* * *

*“Level One, Minister’s Office and Administration,”* the voice announced before the doors
opened. As they disembarked, a score of outgoing memos flocked into the lift. Walking past rows and
rows of cubicles, Harry and everyone else walked up to the secretary outside the Minister’s
office.

“May I help you?” he asked in a very friendly and courteous voice. Harry felt Arthur nudge him
discreetly. This was Harry’s show, after all.

“Yes. Harry Potter and several others to see Madam Bones, please,” Harry replied in an equally
friendly voice.

“Did you have an appointment?” the secretary asked innocently as he looked down at a day
planner.

“Erm, no, but Madam Bones told me this morning to just stop by when we had some free time. She
said to have you tell her we were here, and that we could just wait for her.”

“Very well,” the secretary replied, again very courteous. Almost no one, other than Albus
Dumbledore of course, ever showed up and just expected to meet with the Minister. It was simply
assumed by all that you needed an appointment.

He had no reason to believe what Mr. Potter had told him, but he had no reason not to either. He
knew though that *that* wasn’t *his* decision to make. Though he’d only had this job
since Madam Bones replaced Cornelius Fudge, he already knew that much, to be sure.

If the Minister did not tell Mr. Potter (who he knew very well from the papers) such a thing,
then he and his friends would be sitting there waiting for a very long time. And if they refused to
leave at closing time, the watchwizards were always just a wristwatch-tap away.

*Bloody clever invention,* the secretary thought to himself. *Hurts like hell though. I
really shouldn’t have had so much butterbeer at lunch. Maybe I can sneak off to the toilet if they
go in.*

“If I could just get all of your names,” the secretary asked, “I’ll let her know you’re
here.”

The secretary wrote their names down on a piece of parchment that appeared to be adhered to the
surface of his desk, along with a note saying that they were here to see her. Harry watched as the
ink was absorbed into the paper and disappeared.

*When good magic goes bad,* Harry thought to himself, recalling another time he witnessed
writing on a page disappear like that.

The secretary then tapped his wand to a miniature golden chair that was sitting on his desk.
Seven chairs suddenly appeared along a wall. He then waved his hand towards them to indicate they
could sit down and wait.

Harry was pleasantly surprised. They only had to wait about half an hour to see the Minister.
Considering they showed up unannounced and unexpected, he thought that was pretty good. He’d kept
himself occupied by unshrinking his new Defense textbook and looking through it.

Ron looked at him funny for reading a textbook, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders. What else
was he going to do? Just stare at the ceiling and watch the memos fly around like Ron did? When he
showed him that it was the Defense book he was reading, Ron nodded his head in grudging
acceptance.

“Well, I guess that isn’t so bad,” Ron decided. “Least you’re not reading Potions.” Harry
shuddered and shook his head in agreement with Ron’s sentiment. With all of the office chatter
around him, he wasn’t able to read much, but what he did read made him very curious about who their
new Defense professor would be.

It was obvious that whoever selected this book knew what they were doing. They knew what was
involved in the fight against the Dark Arts. Harry had jokingly said to himself earlier that
virtually anyone the Headmaster selected would be able teach it effectively. Coming from a year of
Umbridge, that wasn’t saying much. However, if this book was any indication, this new person had
some tremendous potential.

A small chime sounded. “Mr. Potter,” the secretary called. “You may go in now.” The group stood
up to see six witches and wizards come filing out of the Minister’s office, half looking very
pleased, the other half not so pleased.

Madam Bones was the last one out of her office. She greeted Harry warmly when she saw him.

“Harry, Harry. Nice to see you again. I must say, you do work rather quickly, stopping by only
hours later. But, no matter, no matter.

“Arthur!” she then turned her attention as she led them into her office. “I’m sorry I didn’t
have a chance to speak with you earlier, but I was on a rather tight timetable. How are things down
in the Misuse office?” she asked.

“Slow, actually, but we’re hoping that’s a good sign...” Arthur said, allowing his voice to
trail off.

“My feelings exactly,” Amelia said as she closed the door. Though she did nothing, Harry heard
it make the same odd squelching sound as when Hermione sealed the doors in the Department of
Mysteries with *Colloportus*.

Amelia noticed that Harry’s attention was drawn to the door and she smiled. “Ah, did you catch
that, Harry?” she asked. “Seals the door and prevents eavesdropping. Dear Cornelius had that charm
installed, I suspect, when he was working on some of his more... *creative* endeavors,” she
explained, nodding towards a small table behind her desk upon which sat four separate stacks of
files sealed with different colored ribbons; red, green, blue, and black.

“But, we aren’t interested into forays into financial fine print, now are we?” she asked with a
grin. “No, *we* are interested in getting you properly cited for your actions last June,” she
said as she sat down at her desk. A small, white cardboard box suddenly appeared on top.

“I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” she asked as she reached for the box.
Opening it, she reached in and pulled out half of a sandwich as well as a goblet and pitcher of
pumpkin juice. She immediately took two bites of the sandwich, poured herself a goblet, and took a
large drink. Harry’s eyes widened in regret. It was nearly two o’clock, after all.

“I’m sorry Minister,” Harry apologized. “We can come back...” After getting her first few bites
down (and a look of relief appeared on her face), she held up her hand to stop him.

“That’s quite all right, Harry,” she assured him. “My days are pretty full right now, so since
you’re here now, we’ll do it now. Though I may sneak in a couple bites between awards. Pumpkin
juice, anyone?” she offered. Everyone declined (Ron was still working on the last of his Mega-sized
drink).

“Now, before we get to the fun part,” Amelia began, “I have something more important that I
would like to discuss with all of you first.” She then paused for several moments and took a deep
breath. Her entire demeanor changed. She seemed hesitant to bring up whatever she had to.

“I recently had a discussion with your headmaster about the events that occurred here in June,”
she began, addressing the four of them; they all listened carefully. “As you know, the version of
events that was reported to the *Daily Prophet* was woefully incomplete. It made no mention at
all of what the six of you did.

“As you may recall,” she directed to Harry, “you were only mentioned in the form of
non-retraction retractions of everything bad they’d printed about you, as well as the reprint of
your interview from *The Quibbler*.

“After reading the debriefings of nearly a dozen Aurors who arrived after it was all over, and
comparing them to the reports from the Order members who were there, I noticed a very interesting,
though very obvious, detail. It turns out,” she continued, “that no one who was not actually down
in the Department of Mysteries that night knows exactly what happened, nor do they know who exactly
was there.”

Madam Bones fixed Harry with a heavy stare before continuing. “What that means is that the only
people who know the full truth of what happened, and of who was there, are those who WERE there,
aside from myself and Mr. Scrimgeour, of course, since he’s head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry could feel something begin to form in the back of his mind. Something about what she was
saying had very important implications. He could feel it, but it was just still out of reach.

“Miss Granger,” Amelia asked, “have you discussed with anyone the *entire* truth about what
happened that night... anyone who did not *already* know?”

“No, Madam Bones. No one other than Harry,” she replied. She then stopped for a moment and
stared blankly, lost in thought. A guilty look appeared on her face. “And my parents,” she added
finally. “I didn’t *talk* to them about it, but I did write to Harry about what happened that
night, and I showed it to them. And the Headmaster, but he already knows.” Hermione appeared upset
with herself.

But to everyone’s surprise, Madam Bones actually smiled. “So, they know the truth, but only
because they were told by *someone who was there?*” she confirmed. Hermione nodded.

It suddenly clicked in Harry’s mind; he actually snapped his fingers when it did. “Voldemort and
his Death Eaters were there too, that night,” he observed.

“The Death Eaters captured that night have not been in contact with anyone since their arrest
and conviction,” Amelia said, then nodded, encouraging Harry to continue.

“But Voldemort and Bellatrix escaped,” Harry reminded everyone. Amelia continued to nod. “So if
no one on *our* side tells anyone the truth about what happened, then anyone who does know...
will have to’ve gotten that information directly from Voldemort or Bella.”

A large smile broke out across the Minister’s face. “All Order members have volunteered to
remain silent about what happened that night. We hope that containment on our side will reveal
leaks on their side. If someone knows too much, then they’ll have to explain how they got that
information.”

“Is that why you wanted to have a private awarding ceremony?” Harry asked the Minister.

“Yes, Harry. I wanted to be able to show you that your efforts were invaluable, however I didn’t
want knowledge of those events to become public. At least, not yet... not until this is all
over.”

“So, essentially, you want us to sign off on Fudge’s version of what happened that night?” Harry
asked.

“Sign off on it? No. Volunteer to *not add* to it? Yes,” the Minister clarified. “I’m the
first to admit that his version has robbed you of a little positive publicity. It has however
provided us with a possible opportunity to reveal spies lurking in our midst. Again, if they know
too much, I’d be interested to learn where they got that knowledge.”

Harry thought about it for a few seconds. “I can’t speak for anyone else here, but I can
honestly say that the last thing I need or want right now is more publicity. You have my promise to
not say anything, Minister,” Harry pledged.

*Neville,* Harry thought to himself, recalling that he’d asked him to write an account of
what happened. He’d owl him straight away as soon as he got home to tell him to stop. He then saw
Hermione look at him with a note of concern. He knew that she too was thinking about Neville. He
nodded slightly to let her know it was already taken care of.

Everyone else, including Dan, Emma, and Arthur, all agreed to remain silent about what really
happened in the Department of Mysteries that night.

“Excellent,” Madam Bones said as she stood up to shake their hands again. She then opened a
drawer in her desk and pulled out a small wooden box. Coming back around to the front of the desk,
she set the box down, and opened it. She pulled out a small bronze medal that hung from a red
ribbon then turned around to face Harry.

“Due to your selfless acts of bravery on the evening of 18 June and morning of 19 June of this
year, I, Minister of Magic, Amelia Susan Bones, am honored to award you, Harry James Potter, an
Order of Merlin, Third Class. Congratulations,” she said, then reached out to shake his hand.

After doing so, she handed Harry his award, rather than putting it around his neck.
Unfortunately, remaining silent about that night also meant remaining silent about the awards...
for now.

Harry returned to his seat and began to think about what she’d said, about restricting
information to try to reveal spies. As he sat there and watched Madam Bones present the rest the
awards, he couldn’t help it, but he began tune her out. Thinking about the plan, he began to feel
anxious.

He really didn’t care whether he got public credit for helping with the capture of the Death
Eaters. The captured Death Eaters. His thoughts were dwelling on them. They’d been locked up there
in Azkaban for nearly a month and a half now. They hadn’t spoken to anyone. No one knew what they
knew or saw that night.

This was risky. Very risky. Everything depended on this working. Well, not everything, But it
certainly would make things a whole lot easier if it did work. There were so many things that could
go wrong, but if it worked...

The more he thought about it, the more his anticipation grew. He could feel it building.
Whatever it was, it was almost within reach. It felt like he was simply waiting for the right
moment, when everything would fall into place.

Just as Harry felt as though his anticipation would burst, a tiny buzz was heard coming from the
top of the Minister’s desk as she shook Hermione’s hand. Everyone looked to the source of the noise
and saw a wristwatch sitting there. Harry recognized it immediately.

“Truth be told, as useful as they are, I rather don’t like those wristwatches of Auror Tonks’.
She is right about one thing, they do sting something fierce when they activate,” she said
grinning. A moment later, a piece of parchment similar to that from the “wand scale” at the
security desk came out of a small box on her desk.

“Ah, that must be Mr. Scrimgeour, making his report, no doubt. Remember that appointment I
mentioned at Azkaban with Mr. Malfoy?” she asked Harry, then looked at he clock. “It was scheduled
to begin right about now.”

“Did you want to get that?” Harry asked. The unexpected interruption from the wristwatch caused
all of Harry’s anticipation to vanish. His stomach had been so knotted that as his mind cleared, he
felt so relieved that things were the way they were supposed to be. He suppressed a smile. He still
didn’t know what exactly he’d been so focused on, but it felt so much better that the anxiety was
gone.

In fact, it felt really good. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel an odd soaring sensation
in his stomach, as though he was flying... that everything was going according to plan. It was
wonderful. All that waiting, the build up, it was finally paying off.

“In a minute,” Madam Bones replied. “We just have two of you left.”

As she began to present Ron his award, Harry was only vaguely aware that Madam Bones was still
talking. But he didn’t care. Everything would be all right now. He just knew it.

After a few minutes however, that happy feeling began to fluctuate. He didn’t know if there was
something wrong exactly, but something wasn’t adding up. He could feel it. Just like how a sweet
fragrance could become sickly sweet, so too did his pleasure shift into some kind of sickly-happy
feeling. A slightly queasy reaction to that feeling began to develop in Harry’s stomach.

Something was wrong. There was a problem. How could this happen? All of that work... all of that
planning... it was all falling apart. Harry began to get frustrated. It began to intensify his
queasy feeling. He was starting to feel nauseous. While still staring blankly at the Minister,
Harry subtly held his arms to his stomach in hopes of settling himself. Hopefully he could ride
this out. Hopefully things could still turn out.

There was another slight buzz from the Minister’s watch. He still wasn’t hearing her words, but
he did see that she’d stopped talking for a moment to look curiously at the watch. Harry could feel
his frustration rapidly shift to anger. Everything was falling apart. The Minister reached over to
grab the second slip of parchment that came out of the box, as well as pick up the first one she
hadn’t read yet.

She looked at the first slip of parchment, bringing her monocle up to her eye so she could read
it clearly; her face paled. Harry was now furious. Everything was ruined! Could no one follow
instructions? It was such a simple plan. Harry’s stomach was positively roiling by now; he was
quite certain he would lose his lunch soon if it didn’t stop. He clutched his stomach even more
tightly and bent over in his chair.

“What is it, Minister?” Harry vaguely heard Arthur ask.

“Harry? *Harry?* Are you all right?” he heard Hermione ask.

Harry suddenly screamed out in agony. Pain he’d only felt when inhabited by Voldemort in the
Atrium erupted from his scar. His hand instinctively went to clutch his forehead, but it made no
difference. Harry felt himself fall to the ground in the middle of the Minister’s office.

Though his eyes were squeezed shut, he could see a brilliant dazzle of light and color, caused
by the intense stress his body was under. Every muscle was clenched tight as he writhed in anguish.
Harry suddenly had a vision. He knew his eyes were closed, but he could still see. He saw the image
of a dark and foreboding castle or fortress. All around it he could see dark and light shadows.

He had no idea what he was looking at, but what he saw enraged him. Trying to get his bearings,
Harry forced his eyes open, to try to see where he was. He knew he was still the office, but he
knew he was somewhere else too.

As he opened his eyes, he saw the floor... but it was sideways... he was lying on his side.
There was a pair of knees in front of him. He could see both images simultaneously, the office, the
fortress, one overlapping the other. The conflicting images began to make him dizzy.

And just like that, as quickly as it started, the pain in his scar vanished completely. All of
the emotions rolling through him did as well. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was cold; he
was drenched in sweat. The moisture evaporating in the cool office air made him feel so cold. He
felt a pair of warm arms envelop him, helping him sit up. Harry tried to focus. He was now sitting
upright. The warm arms were still holding him tightly.

And he was still nauseous. The sudden disappearance of the pain caused a powerful wave of relief
to wash over him. That, combined with his nausea and the gentle rocking motion he was now feeling,
finally caused Harry to lose the battle against his stomach. Everything went away after that.

Harry regained consciousness a few minutes later. The first thing he noticed was that he was
still being held protectively by the same warm arms. The second thing he noticed was a strong acrid
smell. He immediately grabbed hold of the arms that were around him and held tight onto them. His
head was still spinning.

“Harry?”

“Harry?”

Harry finally opened his eyes. All he saw were feet and the bottoms of legs. He looked up to see
everyone standing around him, looking at him in fear and concern. Everyone that is, except
Hermione. He couldn’t see her. She was gone. He began to panic. He tried to stand up, but the arms
held him down.

He looked down to see his stomach contents spread out on the floor in front of him. And on the
sleeve of the person holding him. He recognized that sleeve. He’d seen it before. In fact, he’d
seen it all day since they left Madam Malkin’s.

“Hermione!” Harry called out.

“Yes,” he heard her reply gently just behind his ear. She was holding him. He grabbed hold of
her vomit-covered arm even tighter. Right now, he didn’t care if he fancied her or not. He didn’t
care if anyone saw him hold her. Hell, he didn’t care if she was married to Viktor-bloody-Krum
right now. All he cared about was knowing that she was there, to feel her presence. All he needed
was to hold on to her... if only for a moment.

“VOLDEMORT!” Harry gasped out, tightening his grip on her arm even further. “Something’s
happened! He’s furious!”

“We know, Harry,” she said soothingly behind him. “The dementors have attacked Azkaban.”


*A/N: Whew! Twenty-nine pages! Longest chapter yet. Just a couple final notes.*

*I’ve never said this in an official Author’s Note, but I have many times in replies to
reviews. Harry and Hermione will not be getting together until after school starts. That is why the
month of August will fly by so quickly. July 31 and August 1 are the most important days, which is
why I have spent so much time on them.*

*The rest of the month will be them “playing their games,” testing the waters (along with at
least one more surprise). And we don’t need to see that in such detail. He only realized his
feelings “yesterday” and she’s hidden her for two years. They won’t become a couple on August
2.*

*So, the point of that is since the month will fly by, I’m going to write it in much smaller
chunks... chunks that I can publish more quickly. I’m thinking closer to ten pages rather than
thirty. Please note that smaller chapters WILL NOT affect the total amount of writing that I will
do. It merely means that there will be smaller updates more frequently.*

*A couple examples of Evernight’s awesome work!!*

*Scene from Chapter 21,
in Flourish and Blotts.*

*Scene from Chapter 22,
in Madam Malkin’s.*

*And finally, this has absolutely nothing to do with anything... other than showing what a
complete dork I can be. It just made me laugh while I was tearing my hair out to get this chapter
finished. I often send my beta smart-ass comments about things that I write. For example, when Emma
casually moved everyone away from the mirror leaving only Harry and Hermione there, I highlighted
the word “casually” and commented “YEAH RIGHT!”*

*So, when Ron’s ears turned bright red after buying the broom polish, this suddenly popped
into my mind, so I sent it to him.*

Rupert the red-eared Keeper,
Had a very shiny broom,
And if you ever saw it,
You would even say it zoomed.

One of the other Seekers,
Used to laugh and call him names,
He never thought poor Rupert,
Could ever win his games.

*I stopped there, saying that I needed to get back to writing the story, not Christmas songs.
My beta then turns around and sends the following back to me. Oh, it made me laugh so hard, I just
had to share it with you all!*

Then one soggy Quidditch match,
Evanna came to say,
“Rupert with your ears so bright,
Won’t you block the Quaffle tonight?”

Then after “Luna” kissed him,
Emma shouted out with glee,
“Rupert the red-eared Keeper,
Might just stay away from me!"




23. Revelations
---------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: So many people commented on the scene in the Kwik-E-Burger! It makes me so happy... it
was so much fun to write!*

*Well, I’ve gotten the “shorter” part down, now it’s time to work on the “faster.” Lately,
chapters have been 20-30 pages every 2-3 weeks. When I first started this story, chapters were 5-10
pages every 7-10 days. That’s what I’m shooting for... to help speed us through the rest of
August.*

*Thank you, MapleMountain, for your invaluable help and observations!*

*Again, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional... AS ARE the differences.*


Chapter 23. Revelations.

*“VOLDEMORT!” Harry gasped out, tightening his grip on her arm even further. “Something’s
happened! He’s furious!”*

*“We know, Harry,” she said soothingly behind him. “The dementors have attacked
Azkaban.”*

“The dementors have attacked Azkaban?” Harry asked, though he knew it was true. He’d seen it in
his mind: Azkaban. He hadn’t known it was Azkaban, but he saw it. The dark shadows he saw flying
around it must’ve been the dementors. The light shadows he saw were probably Patronuses from the
guards.

Harry quickly looked around the room. Everyone still wore looks of concern on their faces. Ginny
appeared near tears; Ron was so pale one might think he’d been told Quidditch was canceled and the
Hogwarts house elves had gone on strike. Dan and Emma appeared to be to the most affected by it
however.

Harry remembered Dan telling him that he’d picked up on enough in Hermione’s letters that he
knew far more happened than she told them. Harry suspected however that even if she’d told them
*everything*, hearing about it would be nothing compared to actually seeing it first hand.

“Ron, would you...?” Hermione asked quietly as waved her hand towards the floor.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Ron mumbled as he shook his head to snap himself out of the daze he was in. He
drew his wand and vanished the remnants of Harry’s lunch. With a perfect cleaning charm, the carpet
was as good as new. Ginny then thoughtfully performed an air freshening charm.

“A life saving charm to know when you have six older brothers,” Ginny explained with a slight
smile as she reached up brush away her unshed tears. Everyone laughed a little at that, even Ron,
and this lightened the mood considerably.

Harry felt Hermione’s arms and hands apply slightly upwards pressure, encouraging him to stand.
He still was slightly dizzy; he held onto her as he rose.

“What happened?” he asked once he was standing and Hermione had let go of him.

“We don’t really know yet,” the Minister replied. Harry turned his head to look at Minister
Bones and found the room spinning again. He could feel that Voldemort was gone, but the double
vision and the foreign thoughts and feelings flowing through him earlier created a disorientation
that was hard to shake.

Behind him and seeing him wobble slightly, Hermione steadied Harry by grabbing hold of his arms
so that he would not fall.

“Whatever it is, it is still going on,” the Minister continued. Her hands tightened around the
two slips of parchment that came out of the box on her desk. “So far, we’ve received only two
communications. The first, from Mr. Scrimgeour, a very brief one saying merely ‘dementor attack.’
The second was a few minutes later from the Aurors arriving there, confirming the attack.”

“And?” Harry asked impatiently. He then felt Hermione, who was still holding onto him, squeeze
his arm ever so lightly. He didn’t *mean* to be rude, but the suddenness of the situation, the
gravity of it, had him wound tightly.

“Has there been any update?” he asked much more calmly.

“No,” Madam Bones replied, “but that’s to be expected if they’re in the middle of a fight.”

Harry nodded. He needed to sit down. The pain was gone, the dizziness was gone, but he was weak,
tired. The writhing of his muscles when he was on the floor had exhausted him.

“I need to sit down,” he said as he headed for the nearest chair. Hermione let go of him to
allow him to walk but followed, sitting down beside him. Right as he sat, his stomach let out a
very loud growl, followed by a gurgle. He was no longer nauseous; now he was simply hungry. His
stomach had been emptied, after all.

Harry could see that everyone else had heard it too and was looking at him oddly. He realized
that it was entirely possible that the noise his stomach made was such that it might have been
interpreted as something else.

“That was my stomach, I swear,” he assured them. Everyone laughed.

“Well, at least you didn’t try to blame it on your owl,” Ginny said to Harry with a grin.

“Hey!” Ron complained. “What is this? ‘Take-the-Mickey-Out-of-Ron’ Day?”

“Ginny never said it was *you*,” Hermione pointed out to him with a smile. “*You* just
implicated yourself.”

Ron thought about it for a second. “Damn it,” he swore, then thought for another moment. “In
that case, it was Fred!” Everyone began to laugh again.

“Fred does not have an owl,” Ginny reminded him smugly. Ron did not try for a third.

“Blimey, Harry. Are you hungry again? We all just ate!” Ron teased, trying to change the
subject. Harry was very relieved that Hermione had laughed at all the jokes. Though he tried to
hide it, he was absolutely mortified that... she’d been caught in the line of fire.

“Minister, do you have a cafeteria or tearoom here, somewhere where I can get something for
Harry to eat?” Emma asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s down off of the Atrium. The doorway’s near the fountain. Would you like me to
have something sent up for you?” she offered.

“Oh, no thank you,” Emma graciously declined. “I’ll go get it. A brief walk will help settle my
nerves,” she explained. She then looked at her daughter. “Hermione, dear, would you like to come
with me to get something to eat?”

“No,” Hermione politely, but firmly, declined. Harry was completely caught by surprise by her
reply. Though she was nice about it, he’d never heard her say no to her mother like that
before.

The only thing that surprised him more was that Emma did not at all seem surprised or upset by
her daughter’s response. In fact, she actually nodded her acceptance (though maybe not approval) of
her decision. Emma then turned to Ginny.

“Ginny, would you care to show me the way?” she asked hopefully. “Besides, it’ll give me a
chance to get to know one of my daughter’s other best friends a little better without all the men
around... woman to woman.”

Ginny turned to look at her father, silently asking his permission. Arthur turned to look at
Harry; Ginny saw and followed his gaze. Both appeared to be asking him the same thing: was it safe
for them go down?

Harry tried to concentrate his focus on every sensation he’d ever felt or associated with
Voldemort. There was nothing... just like it had been for weeks. Harry nodded back to Arthur and
Ginny.

Emma took hold of Ginny’s hand as they headed for the door, which opened before them. As they
walked out, Ginny asked loudly, obviously for all to hear, “So, Mrs. Granger. What’s the most
embarrassing thing Hermione’s ever done?”

As the door closed behind them, an anxious Hermione looked at her father. “She wouldn’t
*tell* her, would she?” she asked Dan, sounding somewhat mortified.

“Nah,” he replied; Hermione nodded then looked down at the floor, relieved. Dan then shot Harry
a quick wink. “At least I don’t think she would,” he added. Hermione’s head shot up.

Before she could say anything though, a soft, pleasant chime rang, similar to the one they heard
before entering the Minister’s office.

Madam Bones walked over to her desk at looked at another piece of parchment that was adhered to
the top. After reading it, she picked up her wand and flicked it towards her door, opening it.

“He’s here,” she said with a smile, sounding relieved. “A new record, I do believe.”

In to the Minister of Magic’s office strode the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster
of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore. The door closed behind him. Rather
than the robes of varying color that he always usually wore however, today Harry’s headmaster wore
the plum-colored robes with the ornate silver ‘W’ of the Wizengamot.

“My apologies, Minister, for not being here sooner,” Albus greeted Madam Bones, shaking her
hand. “However when one of the young Aurors in the room blurted out where he was off to in such a
hurry, you’d think that more than a few of my esteemed colleagues appeared quite flustered by the
news. If one were so inclined to believe, one might even suspect they were panicked.

“I however am quite secure in the belief that they merely ate something that did not agree with
them, and were most anxious to depart to avail themselves of the facilities,” Dumbledore continued
as he looked at Harry, the usual twinkle in his eye as bright as ever.

“And speaking of what goes down must come up,” he continued as he put his hand on Harry’s
shoulder, “I saw Mrs. Granger and Miss Weasley fetching you a replacement meal as I was speaking
with the Minister’s assistant,” Dumbledore said, turning back to the Minister.

“Promising young man, Minister. Graduated, what, three years ago? Class of ’93. Prefect in fifth
and sixth years, and if I was forced to render an honest opinion, quite possibly the best Head Boy
we’ve had in the last fifteen years,” he continued, keeping his gaze fixed on her.

“All in all, an ideal student and the perfect representative,” he said as he turned a weighted
stare to Harry, “of the House of Slytherin.” Dumbledore then turned to make greetings to Hermione,
Dan, Ron, and Arthur.

“I confess: I do so enjoy visiting here, seeing so many former students. The day I am remembered
more for my less important job,” he continued, tilting his head in such as way as if he was
admitting he really was wearing Wizengamot robes, “will be a sad one indeed.”

Dumbledore’s mood then became serious. “What news have you, Minister?”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” she admitted, sitting back down behind her desk wearily, still
clutching the slips of parchment. “I received word of the attack from Rufus not even ten minutes
ago, followed a few minutes later by confirmation from the Aurors arriving on scene. As of this
moment, nearly the entire Auror division is out there on the island. I am waiting for an
update.”

“*All* the Aurors?” Harry interrupted in worry. “What if it’s a trick, to draw everyone
away from here?”

“Which is why the entire Magical Law Enforcement division has been mobilized here within the
Ministry building,” Amelia assured Harry. “Of course, to avoid a panic, they all think it’s one of
my *bloody annoying* drills,” she explained, obviously quoting someone. “The end result’s the
same though.”

Harry nodded and began to think about it. The Minister seemed to have done everything she could.
The Aurors had been dispatched (whilst he was unconscious, presumably), and the entire building was
on alert... quietly, but on the alert, nonetheless.

“Have you any idea of what is happening, Albus?” Amelia asked.

“Many, I assure you,” he replied with a small smile. “All, however, are purely speculation. I
have no more knowledge of what goes though Lord Voldemort’s head *than do most*,” he said,
continuing to look directly at the Minister.

“What do you think is happening, Harry?” Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry immediately looked at Dumbledore, unsure of whether he should say what he saw. Other than
the prophecy, the fact of his unique connection with Voldemort was probably his most closely
guarded secret. He saw out of the corner of his eye Hermione turning to look at the Headmaster
also.

*Well, maybe* second *most guarded secret,* he thought to himself with a slight
smile.

Almost as if he knew what Harry was thinking, Dumbledore turned to the Minister. “Might Harry
and I have a few minutes alone please, Minister?”

“Of course,” she readily agreed, standing up and starting for the door. She held out her arm
towards the door, politely asking everyone else to follow her out. With a slight nod from Harry,
Dan allowed himself to be ushered out of the office.

Harry was surprised at how happy he felt to see that both Hermione and Ron appeared none too
eager to leave him. After what’d they both witnessed, he half feared them to bolt out the door
given the chance. But... if they wanted to stay, he wanted them to also.

“No, wait, they can stay,” Harry said of Hermione and Ron as they walked as slowly as possible
to the door. He didn’t even bother looking at them after he’d said it; he knew they’d both be
happy. What he was concerned about was much larger than just a little peep show into Voldemort’s
mind.

He wanted them with him. He *needed* them with him. Both of them. But he knew it would be
selfish and unfair of him to ask them or expect them to stand by his side if they did not know the
truth... the *entire* truth, of what they were getting into.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. Oddly, he appeared pleased, not inquisitive. Somehow,
Harry knew that the Headmaster was not asking if he wanted them to remain in the room. He nodded
and Hermione and Ron both sprinted to sit down in the chairs on either side of him.

Dumbledore then waved his wand towards the door and it closed itself. He then looked around the
room, carefully and deliberately. Seemingly satisfied, he then nodded slightly to Harry to indicate
that he should start.

As he began to consider what he was about to tell them, Harry could not help but smile and let a
tiny laugh escape.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry actually managed a genuine smile. “Oh, I was just thinking about how I’d told myself that
the middle of Flourish and Blotts was neither the time nor the place to tell you about the
prophecy. I guess I just never expected that only a few hours later, I *would* be telling
you... in the middle of the Minister of Magic’s office.”

Hermione and Ron both started to open their mouths to ask something; they stopped however when
they saw Dumbledore raise his hand slightly to ask them to remain silent for the moment. They both
turned to look back at Harry.

“The prophecy *was* destroyed that night. However the sphere was merely a record of it. The
person to whom it had been originally told still knew of it.” Harry then paused for a moment,
looking at Dumbledore for any indication that he should stop.

“When this person was interviewing a prospective employee,” he began slowly and deliberately to
allow Dumbledore a chance to indicate he should omit names (he didn’t), “Professor Trelawney went
into some sort of fit and made the prophecy. Since it was spoken to him, Professor Dumbledore was
able to remember it perfectly.”

Hermione and Ron both turned to look at the Headmaster. Since he was still watching and
listening to Harry intently, they both turned back to him.

Harry took a deep breath before beginning. He’d only heard it once, but he knew he’d never
forget the words as long as he lived. Somehow he suspected that they would be the only thing going
through his mind the moment that he, or Voldemort, or both of them, met his death at the hand of
the other.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice
defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.” Harry
paused for a moment to take another breath.

“But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other
for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
will be born as the seventh month dies.”

The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor Hermione or Ron
made a sound. Harry stared at the floor in front of him, unable to look at either of his
friends.

After a few moments that seemed to stretch out like centuries, Harry felt Hermione take hold of
his hand and grasp it firmly. Up until now, anytime either of them had taken hold of the other’s
hand, for any reason, they’d literally just held hands. This time however, she interlaced her
fingers with his, and then held tight. She said nothing. Nothing *needed* to be said.

Ron, seeing this, shuffled awkwardly in his chair. He put his own hand on Harry’s shoulder,
clapped it twice, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and then let go. Sounding slightly hoarse, he
finally spoke.

“I’m sorry. You’re my best mate, and I’ll stand by you until the very end, but I’m *not*
going to hold your hand.” Harry turned to look at him. Ron was visibly affected by what he’d heard,
but he was smiling slightly. Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand briefly, then let his hand go
completely lax, silently asking her to let go for a moment.

When she did, Harry got up and stood in front of Ron.

“Stand up, Ron,” he asked. Ron quickly and nervously looked from him to Dumbledore to
Hermione.

“Why?” he asked anxiously.

“Because I’m going to hug you.” Ron again quickly looked from the Headmaster to Hermione again.
He appeared panicked. Harry decided to do his best impression of Molly.

“*Ronald Bilius Weasley!* If you do not stand up this very moment, I’m going to kiss you as
well!” Ron shot up out of his chair and happily agreed to Harry’s original hug. To be kind to Ron
however, Harry made it as short, masculine, and non-emotional as he could as he said “Thank you” to
his best male friend.

Hermione was already standing by the time Harry turned around to face her. She certainly didn’t
seem to require any threats. As he gave her a hug (keeping it as brief as his arms would allow him,
while keeping hold of her as long as he could without feeling too conspicuous), he whispered softly
in her ear, “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt her shiver slightly, but she gave no indication that
anything was the matter.

Neither Hermione nor Ron asked Harry why he’d never mentioned the prophecy before now. Both
seemed to already know the answer. Hermione *was* curious about one thing, however.

“*When* did you hear it, Harry?” Since she was looking at Harry when she asked, she did not
see Dumbledore react ever so slightly to her question. Harry, who was still looking ahead, did.

“Professor Dumbledore told me right after we got back from the Ministry that night.”

“*Immediately* after you got back?” she asked, her voice heavy. Harry turned to look at
her. Her eyes narrowed and seemed to darken considerably. He nodded. Her head whipped to face the
Headmaster and she stood up quickly.

“You told him he was destined to kill or be killed *within MINUTES of witnessing his godfather
be murdered?!*” she asked dangerously as she slowly stalked forward. Dumbledore actually
appeared caught unprepared by her reaction and took a small step backwards. He found himself
backing into the Minister’s desk.

Before she was too far away, Harry leaned forward and grabbed her hand to stop her. He held it
tightly for a moment, then pulled slightly to ask her to sit back down. When Dumbledore saw that
Harry was actually holding her back, he let out a pained sigh.

“Now, Miss Granger, I trust you understand what I meant by ‘an old man’s mistakes,’” he
admitted. Harry squeezed her hand and gave a slight pull one more time, and she finally sat back
down.

“What do you think is happening at Azkaban, Harry?” Hermione asked, clearly wanting to change
the subject to something that didn’t upset her as much.

Harry closed his eyes for a minute to try to remember what little he’d seen and felt.

“Voldemort’s furious. He’s been planning this for a while,” Harry began to explain. “Soon after
the attack began however, something wasn’t right. Things started to go wrong. I don’t know what,
but whatever it was, it began to make him madder and madder.

“Finally, I think he realized that his plan had failed and his rage exploded. That’s when I...”
he trailed off as he unintentionally rubbed his scar. The vivid memory of the excruciating pain
left a slight, almost itchy feeling, but nothing more.

Dumbledore listened attentively. “Do you really believe it was a trick to lure the Aurors away?”
he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry finally decided. “It was just a first reaction, I think. After
all, news of the attack came from Azkaban itself, not from him,” he said as he tapped his
forehead.

Dumbledore seemed to consider Harry for a moment. “Tell me, Harry. Save a few minutes ago, have
you felt anything from Voldemort of late, since that night in June? Your scar... has it been
hurting at all?”

Harry intentionally brought his hand to his forehead and slowly traced the lightning-shaped
mark.

“No,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining about it, but I really wasn’t too focused on it at the
time. With no news of Voldemort, either in the papers or up here,” he said, again tapping his
forehead, “I’d hoped that maybe he’d disappeared for a while, gone away for a while as he figured
out what to do.

“Besides, the dreams I’d been having at the time kept me plenty occupied,” he admitted as he
recalled the nightmares that had plagued his time on Privet Drive. “And I could feel that those had
nothing to with Voldemort.”

“Any *new* dreams recently?” Dumbledore asked innocently, picking up on the nuance in
Harry’s choice of words.

Harry stared intently at the floor. He hoped he didn’t blush. “None relevant to Voldemort,” he
answered honestly, not volunteering anything further.

“It would appear then, however, that your hopes were not to be,” Dumbledore admitted. “Now, this
is all speculation, mind you. After the incident with Nagini and Arthur, he realized the dangerous
access you had to his thoughts and feelings. I suspect *now* that he allowed the connection to
remain open at the time to give him an opportunity to plant false information in your mind.

“As you yourself have confirmed,” Dumbledore continued, “I expect that you would now regard with
much more suspicion and caution anything that Tom might attempt to place in your mind. I trust you
are familiar with the expression, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me’?”
Dumbledore asked; Harry nodded.

“Thus, with little or nothing to gain from attempting to plant information in your mind, and
everything to lose by accidentally allowing you into his, I suspect that he is now employing
Occlumency against you.”

“Voldemort’s using Occlumency, *against me?*” Harry asked incredulously.

“For the obvious reasons I suspect, yes,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Forgive me for being blunt,
Harry, but Tom *is* an accomplished Occlumens. It would not take a great effort on his part to
keep you, or anyone else not trained in Legilimency, out of his mind, especially as such...
excursions... have been unintentional.”

“But, then, what happened today?” Harry asked.

“*That,* Harry, is a very good question,” Dumbledore observed. “Could I ask you to recall
for me as much of what you experienced? Your thoughts... your feelings... anything that you can
remember.”

Harry did his best to describe everything he felt: from how he felt as though his thoughts and
feelings were spiraling away from him, all the way to the increasing nausea and eventual rapid
egress of his hamburger with extra pickles.

“How did it finally end?” Dumbledore asked, appearing quite interested in everything Harry had
described.

“When I was lying on the floor, I could see what he was seeing. I knew I was still here, but I
also knew I was somewhere else also. I felt as though I had to open my eyes... just to prove to
myself I really was still here,” Harry explained as he looked down at the slightly damp spot on the
carpet. At least it was clean...

“When I opened my eyes, I could still see Azkaban, but I could also see the floor and Mr.
Weasley’s shoes. Seeing the two images overlapped certainly didn’t help my stomach any,” he quipped
with a smile.

“And then, just like that, everything went away. It all stopped. The thoughts, the feelings, the
pain, it all shut off like a switch,” Harry explained. Dumbledore stood silently leaning against
the Minister’s desk for several moments looking contemplative.

“Again, this is all conjecture, however it seems reasonable and appears to fit the facts,” the
Headmaster explained. “I suspect that as the moment of the attack drew near, Tom’s anticipation and
focus on the upcoming allowed his concentration to drop slightly and you began to pick up on what
he was feeling.

“You said that you saw what he saw?” Dumbledore confirmed. “And that it all ‘shut off like a
switch’ when you opened your eyes?” Harry nodded.

“It’s possible then, he was so angry that he completely dropped his defenses. You saw what he
saw, and he... most likely saw what you saw, namely the floor of the office along with a pair of
shoes. If he had, he would have immediately realized that you again had access to his mind, so he
immediately blocked you out,” the Headmaster suggested.

Harry thought about it for a few moments. It seemed as reasonable explanation as anything else.
“What do we do now?” he asked anxiously.

Dumbledore looked over glasses at Harry for several moments. “Now, we will be patient,” he said
pointedly. “It is inadvisable to do anything without proper information. And unfortunately, at the
moment, information is something we do not have in abundance.”

Harry felt as though he should be doing *something*... but *what?*

“Remember, Harry, that a lack of offense does not mean that you are doing *nothing*,”
Dumbledore said, almost as if he knew what he was feeling. It would not surprise Harry if he
did.

“Perhaps we will know more later, once we have word from Azkaban,” the Headmaster suggested.
Harry nodded again. “Unless there is anything more, I suggest we return the Minister’s office to
her,” Dumbledore said with the usual twinkle in his eye.

* * *

A couple minutes after Dan, Arthur, and the Minister reassembled in her office, Emma and Ginny
returned from the cafeteria. Emma was carrying a bowl; Harry instantly recognized the wiggling,
wobbling dessert.

“Jelly?” he asked with a grin in genuine surprise.

Emma smiled fondly. “Strawberry. When Hermione was small, I would give her it to her after she
was sick. She needed something to eat, and it’s simple enough that her stomach didn’t object too
much to it,” she explained.

While Harry proved there was always room for jelly, especially when one’s stomach was empty,
another slip of parchment appeared on the Minister’s desk.

“The situation is contained. Someone will be here shortly to deliver a preliminary report,”
Madam Bones relayed the message, before crumpling up the slip and throwing it in the bin. She then
slumped down into her chair.

Part of her appeared relieved that the news sounded hopeful, but there was also the sense that
she was not entirely looking forward to the report.

“We’ve taken casualties,” she assumed, speaking to no one in particular. “If the Aurors can’t
tell me immediately that all are well, then presumably we’ve sustained losses.” She stared blankly
at the first two original slips of parchment that were still sitting on her desk.

No one spoke until the report arrived. Everyone knew things were under control, but the
suggestion of casualties darkened the mood. The hard part was the waiting: waiting to hear how bad
it was or wasn’t.

Finally, after about ten minutes of waiting, another soft chime was heard. Upon the door
opening, Kingsley Shacklebolt walked in. Harry barely recognized him. Kingsley was a tall,
powerfully built man. His stature and deep voice conveyed an image of great strength.

The man who walked through the door, though he had not a single mark on him, bore no resemblance
to the Kingsley Harry knew. The man before him looked nearly lifeless. He seemed drained, defeated,
devoid of the sparkle of life. Harry recognized the look immediately. Anyone who’d faced multiple
dementors, and lived to tell of it, knew that look.

“Shacklebolt!” Madam Bones gasped in shock. “You look absolutely ghastly! Have you had any
chocolate yet?”

Kingsley only barely shook his head, as if knew he was required to answer, but at the same point
didn’t really see the point in living. She immediately reached down, opened her bottom desk drawer,
and started rummaging around. A moment later, she pulled out a slightly battered, though otherwise
fine, bar of Honeyduke’s chocolate.

“Here! Eat this immediately!” she ordered as she unwrapped it and broke off a large piece. “This
is my emergency nibbles supply, but you have much more need of it than I.”

Kingsley reluctantly took the chocolate. As he ate it, life could visibly been seen returning to
his appearance. Madam Bones gave him the rest of the bar once he finished the first piece.

“Thank you, Minister,” Kingsley said once he’d finished. “I came here straight away from Azkaban
once it looked like everything was under control. There were still a couple of dementors there when
I left, but they were surrounded.” With the dementor’s draining effect eliminated, Kingsley began
to feel the aftereffects of his earlier adrenaline surge.

He began to shake slightly and his knees went weak. Dumbledore immediately conjured a very
comfortable, squashy armchair.

“Merlin’s ghost,” Kingsley said quietly as he rubbed his hand over his face and allowed himself
to sink into the chair. “Dementors everywhere. There must have been thirty or forty of them.” The
Minister allowed him a few moments to collect himself.

“Did you have a report for us?” she finally asked.

“Yes, Minister,” Kingsley replied, sitting upright at attention. He pulled a scrap of parchment
out of his pocket and handed it to the Minister. From the looks of it, its torn edges and messy
scribbles, Harry could tell it was hastily prepared.

Madam Bones read what little writing there was. She swallowed hard, then put the scrap in her
pocket. “Can you give me a brief recount of what happened?” she asked.

“The moment we got... Mr. Scrimgeour’s message, we quickly summoned all the Aurors that were in
the building, and recalled all within apparition range. We wanted to all Portkey in simultaneously.
After a minute or so, we had about thirty of us and didn’t want to wait any longer.

“While we all got into position and took hold of the special Azkaban Portkey, everyone spent
that minute building up some happy memories. Everyone was told to cast a Patronus immediately upon
arrival. We arrived and found the dementors there, waiting for us. The nearest dementor was only
about five yards away, but fortunately, everyone was able to cast before they got too close. We all
started to feel the cold immediately, but we’d all already cast.

“We’d banished maybe three-quarters of the dementors when a Death Eater landing party arrived,”
Kingsley said, then stopped for a moment. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have
believed it. The dementors nearest them attacked them too!

“Not a single one of them even attempted to defend themselves. From the looks of things, they
weren’t expecting *that*. They were all kissed before any of them even got out of their boats.
There were six of them in six boats. Presumably they were there to ferry prisoners far enough away
to get free of the apparition and Portkey wards.”

“Anything else?” the Minister asked.

Kingsley stared at the pocket where he’d seen her put the scrap of parchment, then shook his
head. “That’s all, so far. Other than doing a quick head count, no one’s started looking at
anything yet.”

“Thank you for your haste in reporting,” Amelia replied politely. “Are you certain that the
situation was under control out there?”

“I wouldn’t have left otherwise,” Kingsley assured her.

“Mrs. Granger, was there any of that glorious chocolate cake left in the cafeteria when you were
down there?” the Minister asked suddenly.

Emma, surprised that she was being addressed, took a moment to respond. “Four layers, filled
with chocolate ganache and topped with whipped Honeyduke’s?” she asked, looking at Ginny
inquisitively to make sure she remembered the name correctly.

“Ohhhh yesssss, there is,” Emma said dreamily. “If we weren’t bringing Harry something to eat,
we would’ve stayed down there and each gotten our own pieces,” she said, winking at Ginny.

“Very well. Mr. Shacklebolt. Please report to the cafeteria, have a piece of cake, and then raid
the kitchen for enough Honeyduke’s to take to all of the Aurors still out there on Azkaban,
Minister’s orders. Once you feel the island is completely secure, contact the MLE investigators,
and have them report out there to determine what exactly the hell happened.”

“Yes, Minister,” he replied enthusiastically. Evidently, Kingsley Shacklebolt was a fan of the
way this new minister ran things. “Fortunately, with the dementors no longer guarding the
prisoners, most of them are in good mental condition. We should get some reliable eyewitness
accounts of what happened before we arrived.”

“Oh, and by the way. The MLE staff thinks this is a drill,” Madam Bones told him, to which he
replied with a grin. “I didn’t want to start a panic by allowing misinformation and speculation to
run rampant. What was that expression again, Professor?” she then asked Dumbledore. “Need to
know?

“At *this* very instant, only the investigators need to know,” she informed Kingsley; he
nodded in agreement. “Hopefully we will have some solid information from them before everyone goes
home tonight. Oh, and please send Steve in on your way out.”

“Thank you, Minister. I will have them report to you with whatever we have confirmed, no later
than 16:45,” Kingsley promised her, then left the office in search of his cake.

The Minister’s assistant, Steve, came in only moments after Kingsley left.

“Yes, Minister?” he asked.

“Please send out a memo. No one leaves early tonight,” she told him.

“Performance feedback on today’s drill?” he asked in confirmation, genuinely unaware of what had
happened.

Smiling, he explained upon the Minister’s surprised look. “I saw the MLE guys come up here a few
minutes ago, *trying* to look like they weren’t doing anything in particular. And then
Professor Dumbledore and Shacklebolt showed up. It’s a likely guess.”

Madam Bones smiled. “Something like that,” she replied evasively. “But just keep the memo as I
worded it, please,” she asked.

“Yes, of course, Minister,” he replied politely, then returned to his desk.

Once the door sealed behind him, she turned to Dumbledore with a smile. “I have to give him
credit. An excellent Junior Assistant, and a smart young man. I never said anything to him about
today’s *drill*.”

As she walked back to her desk, she put her hands in her pockets. Feeling the scrap of parchment
she’d put in there earlier, she pulled it out and stared at it somberly. The lighter mood that had
developed since cake had been brought into the picture immediately disappeared.

For those few moments (knowing that the attack *hadn’t* succeeded), everyone seemed to be
able to set aside the fact that there had been casualties. She stared at it as she slowly sat down
in her chair.

“Minister?” Dumbledore asked gently.

Madam Bones set down the piece of parchment and looked up with unfocused eyes.

“Rufus Scrimgeour is dead,” she said blankly. “Kissed. So are fifteen guards, the eight
prisoners sent over today, and one already at Azkaban. All kissed by the dementors. And the six
Death Eaters, of course,” she added as an afterthought.

“Well, so much for spending the night at Harry’s,” Ron said before he could stop himself. He
immediately looked horrified that he’d said it.

“*RONALD!*” Arthur shouted.

“Please, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore interrupted the elder Weasley male. “What were you saying?” he
then asked the younger.

Ron appeared too stunned (and guilty) to speak. Dan stepped forward.

“Emma and I invited Ron and Ginny over to spend the night with us,” he explained. “We were
looking forward to a nice evening to better get to know our daughter’s other two friends. Plus, we
thought it might be fun for them,” he said, sending a small grin to Arthur.

Dumbledore appeared slightly surprised, but pleased, by the offer. He considered it for a few
moments.

“Well, I see no reason why your plans need be canceled because of this... little incident,” he
told them. Everyone except himself, Ron, and Ginny all looked as though they were about to say
something when he cut them all off.

“We can not allow our lives to be ruled by the fear of what *might* happen,” he said
confidently, looking directly at Harry and Hermione. “If we do, Voldemort wins. Whatever will
happen, *will happen*. All we can do is do our best to be prepared for when that moment comes.
And in the meantime, we go on and continue to live our lives.”

Dumbledore didn’t know it, but both Harry and Hermione were hit hard by his words.

“The Grangers’ house is as safe as I can make it. To be quite honest, I do not believe that Mr.
and Miss Weasley would be any less safe there than at their current domicile. If an evening
together for the four of you,” Dumbledore said, indicating the teenagers, “would bring a small ray
of sunshine into the storm clouds that have suddenly developed, than I most heartily suggest that
you continue with your plans.”

A large smile could be seen behind his moustache and long beard. “Who knows? Depending on what’s
for dinner, I might even pop in, with your permission,” Dumbledore added, turning to Dan and Emma,
who both nodded.

The Headmaster then pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it for a moment. “Well, I think
that was a sufficiently long trip to the loo, don’t you?” he asked to no one in particular. “I
called a brief ‘comfort break’ after all of the Aurors in the room left suddenly. I must be getting
back or else they shall be wondering where I’ve gotten off to.

“Good day, Minister,” Dumbledore said, bowing his head slightly. “Good day,” he then said,
bowing slightly towards Harry, then everyone else.

After the Headmaster left, Arthur slowly turned back to Ron and Ginny. “Well, children,” he
finally said, “the Professor seems to think it’s safe for you to go, so that’s good enough for me.
It’s up to you two.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Ron and Ginny were stepping out of the fireplace in the back room of The
Leaky Cauldron, accompanying Harry and the Grangers back to Wandsworth. Arthur made arrangements to
pick his children up at the East Putney Station the following afternoon if they weren’t able to
secure a Portkey from Dumbledore (for convenience).

He then decided to stay at the office a little while longer to resume his discussion with Kara
Thrace about how batteries worked, and also Floo Molly to tell her about Ron and Ginny’s visit.

He also wanted to allow Ron and Ginny enough time to arrive at the Grangers’ home before he
actually told her about the “little incident.”

The second one out, as she stood on the sidewalk outside the pub waiting for the others,
Hermione watched surreptitiously as Harry stood idly in front of the record store next to them,
looking in the windows. He froze for a moment as though he’d just realized something, then turned
to her with a poorly hidden smile.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Harry told her, then quickly walked into the record store. Hermione
walked over to the window and peered in next to the posters. She saw him talking to the shop owner.
She nearly jumped when he pointed at her.

She quickly realized however, that Harry must have been merely pointing in her direction, for he
never actually turned and saw her. He emerged a minute later with an even bigger grin on his face.
He tried to suppress it, but failed spectacularly.

“What?” she asked him, finding his expression amusing.

“Nothing,” he replied airily, then rejoined the group as they headed for the Underground. He
resisted all of her attempts to pry out of him what he was smiling about.

On the train ride back to Wandsworth, Hermione observed as Harry, across the aisle from her,
stared at the floor in front of him. With nothing to do but sit and wait, his momentary exuberance
had faded into the same solemn quiet he shown since learning of the attack.

She wanted to sit next to him, just to be near him. She remembered with great clarity how he’d
held on to her after regaining consciousness. He seemed calmer when she was there, and she was only
too happy to oblige.

Unfortunately however, she’d been lost in thought about the record store when they boarded the
train, and Ginny had managed to pull her into a seat next to her. Although he appeared to be
intentionally keeping his stare on the floor, at one point, he must’ve felt that she was watching
him intently, for he looked up at her. She gave him a small smile, trying to reassure him that
things would be okay.

Half way back home, Hermione noticed that Harry had pulled Sirius’s letter out of his pocket and
was rereading it. She could not help but be reminded of what Sirius wrote to her. There was never
any question in her mind whether she’d do what she promised. Simply the fact that he asked her, of
all people, had a tremendous impact on her.

She retrieved her own letter from her pocket and began to read it again.

*Dear Hermione,*

*Well, if you’re reading this, then obviously the worst has happened. It’s funny. I’ve been
sitting here in the kitchen for several hours now, writing these letters.*

*I started doing this a couple years ago, right after you and Harry rescued me. I knew that
with me a wanted man, it was entirely possible that I might be killed at any time. I wanted to make
sure I was able to have a few last words of advice for my godson.*

*I must make a confession. At first, I only wrote letters to Harry. He was the only one who I
felt NEEDED to hear from me.*

*But as time has passed, and I began to hear more and more about what he’s been up to (I have
my sources), the more I heard about you and Ron. As the years went by, I eventually began to
include the two of you in my letters.*

*I didn’t really know either of you very well (and still don’t, I regret), but I knew enough
to know that you were both important people in Harry’s life. That was enough for me to want to say
a few things to both of you as well.*

*I told Harry that this latest letter was unlike any of the previous I’d written him. In my
earlier letters, I’d given him all the usual godfather advice: it only matters if you get caught,
girls are always right, torment Snape for me... you know, the standard stuff I’m supposed to tell a
teenage boy.*

*But this time, I threw it all away and told him that it all didn’t matter now. Now, there was
only one thing I wanted him to know... wanted him to do for me.*

*After rewriting his letter, I looked over my stack of letters to everyone else, deciding what
needed to be updated in the rest of them. Aside from a few financial modifications, most everyone
else’s letters remained mostly unchanged. They only needed a little updating to bring them up to
date.*

*And then I came to yours. Yours was last. It always is. Harry’s is always the first one to
write. Yours is always the last one.*

*Harry’s letter is always the easiest for me to write. Yours is always the hardest.*

*I finally realized why this Christmas.*

*You’ve always been there for Harry. That’s why it’s the hardest one for me to write.*

*It’s something I’ve always known, but wasn’t consciously aware of until Arthur was attacked
this Christmas. I could tell that something was bothering Harry after he got back from St. Mungo’s.
When he shut himself up with Buckbeak, everyone allowed him to just be alone, myself
included.*

*It was what he wanted, right? Who were we to tell him otherwise?*

*Then you showed up. Ron and Ginny told you what they’d heard and how he’d shut himself away,
ignoring everyone. And then you asked everyone quite shrilly why any of us hadn’t actually gone up
there to talk to him. Well... it sounded shrill.*

*I must admit, they way you said it, I nearly started laughing... until I realized that I too
had not tried to go talk to him. I’ll never forget the way you said it: “I’ll go talk to him.” It
wasn’t so much your words as it was the tone in your voice. The weight in it, the finality of it...
as if you were going in and weren’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. You practically ordered Ron
and Ginny to meet you in his room while you went and fetched him.*

*That was when I realized it, that you’ve always been there for him.*

*You were there with him and Buckbeak when you rescued me. I could see how scared you were...
I assume from being up that high. I wondered why you were with him if you were so scared. But I
didn’t dwell on it for too long since we WERE in the middle of a jail break.*

*The next school year, during the tournament, you were the only one to stand by him,
especially when he and Ron had their... differences. That made a big impression on me.*

*What am I trying to say? Well, I’m not entirely sure myself! Sorry. Give me a minute to go
reread what I wrote to Harry. I know I had a point when I started this.*

*Okay! Sorry about that.*

*In my letter to Harry, I asked only one thing of him. What I am asking of you is to make sure
he keeps his promise to me.*

*I told him I wanted him to live. I wanted him to LIVE his LIFE.*

*Being locked away here has reminded me that merely existing is not enough. We must live our
lives. It won’t matter if he defeats Voldemort if he spends the rest of his life feeling sorry for
himself because I am gone.*

*I’m sure you are wondering why I am asking you. It’s quite simple really. I felt that this
kind of request was one that I could really only make of one person.*

*If there is any one person I trust in this world with Harry’s life, it’s you.*

*Please, do not misunderstand me. It isn’t that I distrust Remus or Ron or Dumbledore, or
anyone else. It is merely that I trust you more.*

*I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why my faith in Ron and Dumbledore is not entirely at 100%.
My faith in Remus IS absolute. However, he is simply not in a position where he can be there for
Harry whenever he might need him. I mean, aside from his monthly visitor, Hogwarts IS a long way
away. So, if I am to ask only one person, it is you.*

*And yet, as I write these words, I know there is something more too. I don’t know if I should
tell you or not. Hell, I’m dead now, it’s not like I’ll have a chance to do it later. I can always
tear this letter up and rewrite it if I ever change my mind.*

*When I look at you, you remind me a little of Lily. Yes, I know Ginny bears more physical
resemblance to her than you do, but there’s more to a person than the color of her hair.*

*I see in you some of the things that I remember so well about her character. Her
intelligence, her determination. Her fierce protectiveness. Lily would defend those she cared about
with her own life if necessary. When they first met, James and Lily didn’t exactly get along.
However, once the two of them started dating, it was clear where her loyalties lie.*

*James and I were quite well known to be quite the pranksters. Everyone knew not to draw our
attention or ire. If you did, you might just wake up on top of the Owlery. But once the two of them
started dating, everyone knew not to cross her either. She might not prank you, but she did strike
lightning quick if provoked.*

*So, Miss Hermione Granger, cleverest witch of your age, I humbly ask you now: please promise
that you will make sure Harry keeps his promise to me, that he lives his life.*

*Whatever that entails, I will trust to you. You know him better than I. Whether that means
dragging him away from his books to go play Quidditch—*

Hermione still smiled when she read that again.

*—or dragging him off to one of those Muggle movies Lily was always dragging me, James, and
Lupin to. Just make sure he lives his life as if he really were alive. I’ve given you a couple
extra Galleons, partly to cover the price of a movie ticket, partly to show my appreciation for all
you’ve done for Harry. Hey, I’m dead. Giving away money is about all I can do at this
point.*

*Please promise me! I want you to make that promise to Harry. He won’t know what you’re
promising, but he will know to expect your promise. I asked him to promise you that he would do as
I asked, to live his life. Make sure that he makes his promise.*

*I know it sounds like I’ve asked a lot of you, but at the same time, I really don’t think
that it is. The two three of you (I don’t mean to exclude Ron. I know that both of you are
important to Harry) are still so young. All three of you should be out there living your lives.
Enjoy life, while you can.*

*Dumbledore once told me that “we are all facing dark and difficult times” when he was trying
to justify some of the choices he’d made regarding Harry this year. While I STILL don’t agree with
many of them, he was right about one thing. We ARE facing dark and difficult times. Live today, for
tomorrow may never come.*

*But at the same time, live FOR tomorrow, for it may very well might. I actually told Harry
that he should try harder than I did when I was in school. I’m sure you’d like that. Partly because
he might actually learn something that might help defeat Voldemort. And partly because if when he
does defeat him, he will need to go on living his life.*

*That means getting a job, starting a family, all of that good stuff. Since he’s managed to
get himself a lifetime Quidditch ban, I guess that means he’ll actually have to rely on his
education. I’m sure you’d like that too!*

*I guess I’ll just leave you with one last thing. It may not make sense to you, but I’ll say
it anyway, considering what I’ve said so far. If she were alive today, I’m sure Lily would’ve loved
to have met you. I think the two of you would’ve gotten along wonderfully. Being privileged to have
known her as well as I do, that is the highest compliment that I can think to give you.*

*Hoping you’ll keep my godson living,*

*Sirius*

Hermione refolded the letter and contemplated Sirius’s words. She really *didn’t* think
Sirius was asking too much of her. She knew she would’ve done something similar anyway. But now she
felt her resolve strengthened by his request.

Her thoughts drifted back to something Sirius told her. When she first read it, Hermione really
didn’t know what to make of his comments about Lily. What had happened down in Harry’s vault really
caught her off guard.

Lily’s jewelry box. She remembered seeing James’ and Lily’s initials engraved in the lid. The
‘J’ and the ‘L’ were intertwined with each other; the two ‘P’s simply lined up, one slightly offset
from the other. After Harry closed it, she saw that it now had Harry’s initials on it. She could
not help but notice the fact that IF they were to get married, her initials would match his.
*Their* initials on that box would match up perfectly, as if it was meant to be.

It scared her to realize that thoughts such as those were going through her mind. But what
scared her even more than that was the fact that the box opened when *she* touched it... not
when Harry did.

She really *didn’t* know why the box opened when she touched it. There were lots of
different ways a personal item like that could be locked. Since it was a woman’s jewelry box, it
*could* have been charmed to require any female to open it, like she originally (desperately)
theorized.

Since it contained their wedding rings, one could assume that his parents intended for him to
have them, and presumably use them. It could’ve been charmed to only open when someone who cared
deeply for (loved, maybe?) Harry touched it. And, for all she knew, it could’ve even be charmed to
open only when the two of them felt the same way about each other. It did contain wedding rings,
after all.

At the time, not knowing why the box opened, combined with Sirius’s comments that she reminded
him of Lily actually worried her. She felt as though fate was setting her up, building up her
hopes, all so that it could all crash down around her.

But now... now she wondered if just maybe it was possible the opposite was true.

She *had* been right about her mother. When she confronted her in the stationery store, her
mother admitted she *had* been watching them, that she *had* hoped that the two of them
would kiss.

She promised that she wouldn’t interfere, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t watch hopefully from
the side. Expecting to be upset, Hermione actually ended up quite happy that was the case. It meant
that she at least had her mother in her corner.

Emma also confessed that she and Dan had actually talked about the possibility of the two of
them getting together. Hermione could tell that she was holding something back. Considering their
first conversation, it was probably sex-related. If that was the case, she really didn’t want to
know about it; having *that* conversation once was enough.

While she didn’t expect them to let Harry move into her bedroom anytime in the next few years,
it was rather reassuring to simply know that your parents approved of the boy you fancied.
*Everything in steps,* Hermione reminded herself.

So, after everything that had happened today, now she was beginning to look at what Sirius had
said much differently. She was now immensely pleased that he thought that she and Lily would’ve
liked each other. Somehow she felt it was the closest she’d ever come to “meeting the parents” and
getting their approval of her.

Harry told her he liked smart girls. It all came back to that, again. With that subtle
admission, now she finally felt as though she actually had a chance. It was all circumstantial, but
it did give her hope, something she really hadn’t had before (because she knew he had been so
fixated on Cho).Back in the vault when she told him her thoughts about the coins, he actually
started laughing, saying how much she amazed him, and that he hoped she never changed.

Harry would never know how much those simple words meant to her... unless she ever told him, of
course. This lead back to why she smiled in the first place. Harry had actually given her the way
to do it: just get him to *see* that she was a smart girl who was not a blonde.

A large grin appeared on her face as she stared at the folded piece of parchment in her hand.
She might not be brave enough (yet) to tell him what those words meant to her, but she could
certainly show him.

It would be easy enough to figure out... She had a Galleon and a ruler. With that information,
she could calculate the exact volume of all of the Galleons Sirius left him (since she knew how
many there were). And then, after looking up the density of gold, she could tell him *exactly*
how much they weighed.

She could even look up the price of gold today and calculate the value of the metal content if
they were gold. That, she knew, might be going a bit too far, so she’d save it only if he responded
positively. Sure, it might’ve seemed like showing off, but what else could she do to get his
attention?

*Well, besides wearing those dress robes again,* she thought to herself with a grin.

While she certainly didn’t mind *Harry* looking at her like that (he had, after all, done a
LOT more than *just look* in her dreams), she wanted to be sure he noticed more than only her
rather lacking (in her opinion) physical attributes.

Hermione wanted to be sure he saw her for her. Any boy could notice a pair of breasts. The
*Playwizards* she’d confiscated while on rounds proved that. Well, except for the
*Playwitch* she’d confiscated from the Slytherin fourth-year boy once.

The terrified boy actually hugged her when she assured him that he was only in trouble for being
out of bounds with *an* adult magazine (she vanished it on the spot to prove that she couldn’t
remember which one it was). She also told him that she wouldn’t deduct any points, *this
time*. It was a good thing, she felt, that Ron had skived off ten minutes early that
evening.

* * *

A short while later, the train slowed as it approached their stop. Looking up from her folded
letter, Hermione noticed Harry watching her. He glanced down at her letter. Dan and Emma were the
first ones off the train, with Ron and Ginny right behind them.

Before re-pocketing his letter, he held it up slightly to show her. He fixed her with an intent
stare.

“I promise,” he again told her.

“I promise,” she replied, holding up her folded letter.

The two of them stepped off the train and hurried to catch up with the others.



24. Gone Shopping, Redux
------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Hmm... my plans for shorter and faster haven’t exactly materialized. At least I’m
keeping up with my old schedule. Maybe NEXT chapter will be a ten-pager in only one week!! Heh heh
heh... we’ll see!*

*Blatant borrowing of a joke from one of the* Naked Gun *movies in this chapter... just
saying.*

*Thanks to my beta, MapleMountain, for everything you do!*

*Again, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional... AS ARE the differences.*


Chapter 24. Gone Shopping, Redux.

*Before re-pocketing his letter, he held it up slightly to show her. He fixed her with an
intent stare.*

*“I promise,” he again told her.*

*“I promise,” she replied, holding up her folded letter.*

*The two of them stepped off the train and hurried to catch up with the others.*

After exiting the Underground station, the Granger/Potter/Weasley party made its way through the
car park towards the Grangers’ car.

“Hmm... didn’t think that far ahead,” Dan mused to himself once they arrived at the SUV. All six
of them looked inside; there were only four seats.

“Well, can’t we just...?” Ron started to ask as he reached toward his pocket where his wand was
stowed.

“Ron, NO!” came the simultaneous response from Harry, Hermione, and Ginny.

“What? We can do magic now,” he reminded them all quietly, making sure his voice didn’t
carry.

“Yes, but there’s still the Statute,” Ginny reminded him. “We’re out in public where everyone
can see us.”

Ron looked genuinely embarrassed. “Oh, yeah,” he said sheepishly.

“Not to worry, Ron,” Dan assured him. “Even us Muggles can do a little magic now and again,” he
assured him. He unlocked the car, then opened the back door. Two latches and one lever pull later,
the cargo area was miraculously converted into a third row of seating.

“Fold-away seating,” Dan explained to an amazed-looking Ron and Ginny. Returning to the side
door, he then pulled another lever, and the regular passenger seat popped forward, allowing access
to the not-exactly-spacious back seats.

“Unfortunately, two of you are going to have to climb into the back. They aren’t exactly
captain’s chairs, but they should be bearable for the *long* trip home,” Emma teased.

“Harry and I will take the back,” Hermione volunteered. “Give Ginny and Ron a chance to actually
be comfortable.”

Hermione climbed into the car first, bending forward slightly as it was not possible to stand
inside the car. He didn’t look on purpose, but as she made her way to the farthest most seat, Harry
could not help but notice how flattering her jeans were to her posterior.

Following her in, he quickly realized just how not-exactly-spacious the third row seats were.
The fold down compartment had to fit between the wheel wells of the car. As such, the bench seat
was exactly wide enough for two people with no room to spare. The two of them ended up being quite
literally pressed together (not that he minded). It was a good thing their shopping bags were still
shrunk down. There would have been no room for them otherwise.

“You two comfortable back there?” Emma asked.

“Fine,” Harry and Hermione chorused.

Less than two minutes later, they were home. Ron and Ginny were actually disappointed at how
short a trip it was.

“Is this your home?” Ginny asked in awe as they pulled into the drive.

“Number 8, Broomhill Road. Home sweet home,” Emma confirmed.

“It’s beautiful!” Ginny said, clearly impressed. Even from all the way in back, Harry could tell
Emma was slightly overwhelmed by the praise. Ron was still staring through the car door window,
lost in thought.

As they approached the front door, they all saw Crookshanks come running from his favorite
napping spot in the flower bed. He beat them to the front door, then turned around and looked at
them, meowing insistently to be let it.

Ron let out a laugh. “Looks like you were worried about nothing, Mrs. Granger,” he told her.
“Cat’s been out the entire time.”

“Huh?” Emma asked, confused. She then suddenly remembered her earlier outburst. “Oh yeah, I
guess we did put him out,” she said, flashing a quick grin to Hermione who steadfastly tried to
ignore it.

Once inside, while Dan and Emma gave Ron and Ginny the one-minute tour, Hermione excused herself
for a moment, saying she wanted to go check on Metis and put away her shopping. Upon her mentioning
of her owl, Harry remembered he still needed to send a letter to Neville about their little writing
project.

He politely excused himself while Ron marveled over strange Muggle devices. “So this is one of
those tee-vee-visions Dad is always talking about.” Harry heard it being switched on as he walked
into his room.

Going over to his bed, he canceled the shrinking spell then laid everything out. He headed to
the closet with his new dress robes. Since he didn’t plan on wearing them anytime soon, Harry
decided to hang them up in the far corner of the closet so they’d be out of the way. After he slid
open the door that normally remained closed (hiding the laundry basket), he let out a small gasp of
surprise.

There, propped up in the back corner of the closet, was his Firebolt. With everything that had
happened at the end of the school year, Harry never bothered to ask for his broom back. With Sirius
dead, it didn’t seem important enough to remember anymore.

He didn’t even realize that he didn’t have it until he completely unpacked his trunk that first
day here. He hadn’t made a big deal of it however, since he couldn’t fly it anyway. Besides, it was
safely stowed away at Hogwarts. *Very* safely, if it was still in the dungeons.

Since his and Hermione’s closets were side by side and the interior walls were not insulated,
Harry could hear her through the wall, moving stuff around inside her own closet and then finally
sliding the door shut. After hanging up his new robes, he grabbed the broom handle and looked at
it; there was a note attached to it. He immediately recognized the handwriting.

*I know you can not use this whilst at the Grangers’, however since it is yours, I felt there
was no reason not to return this to you.*

*I do hope you find my present to you useful. Please let me know if you have any
questions.*

*Albus Dumbledore*

“Present?” Harry wondered aloud, quietly. *What present? He said he wasn’t supposed to give me
one? He can’t mean the broom, can he? He just said not to use it,* he debated with himself. In
the end, he decided to just put the broom back and not think about it. He knew there was little
point in trying to read between the Headmaster’s words. It wouldn’t make any sense... until it did.
Leaving his new school books and Potions kit on the bed for the moment, he turned to go back to his
desk.

Glancing at her cage, Harry was pleased to see that Hedwig was there, napping. She’d been out a
lot lately, no doubt enjoying her freedom... and the great big park at the end of the street.
Pulling out his quill and a piece of parchment, Harry sat down at his desk and began a quick note
to Neville.

*Dear Neville,*

*I hope you enjoyed your birthday with your family. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you your
present sooner, but I didn’t know you wouldn’t be there until just yesterday.*

*First things first. Have you heard from the Minister of Magic yet? If you haven’t yet, there
were a couple of things she wanted to discuss. The only one I’ll mention now is this: The six of us
are now exempt from the ban on underage magic! Can you believe it? But Professor Dumbledore
reminded us that the Statute of Secrecy is still in effect, so don’t get careless.*

*There was something else, but I think I’ll let her tell you herself. On a related matter,
there is something I wanted to ask you.*

*Have you started writing that essay yet, the one I mentioned? If you haven’t, don’t. I think
we should change some of the analysis arguments in it. If you’ve already started, go ahead and get
rid of it. We won’t want the old one lying around anyway.*

*If I don’t see you soon, I’ll send your present over with Hedwig one of these days.*

*Happy Birthday!*

*Harry*

“Where are Ron and Ginny?” Hermione asked, startling Harry as he reread his letter. He turned to
look at her.

“Your mum and dad are giving them the grand tour,” he explained. “I heard someone turn on the
telly as I came up, so they all might be still stuck there,” he said with a knowing smile. Hermione
looked at the piece of parchment in front of him.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting your homework now,” she teased.

“Are you kidding?” Harry shot back. “If I was, Ron would probably hex me on the spot.”

“What are you doing then?” she asked as she came over directly behind him, standing and looking
over his shoulder. Harry turned back to his letter.

“I was just writing a quick note to Neville about not saying anything about what happened back
in the Department of Mysteries. You know, exactly the opposite of what I asked him two weeks ago.
Here, do you want to read it?” he asked, handing it up to her. She took a few moments to read
it.

“Trying to talk in code, are you?” she asked.

“Well...” he admitted sheepishly. “There’s no reason to be obvious about it, is there? I mean,
if we’re going to keep quiet about it, it didn’t seem right to go out and write in a letter that
might be intercepted, ‘Hey, we need to keep this a secret so please put away that highly detailed
written account.’”

Hermione shook her head in agreement. “Neville’s smart. He’ll understand what you’re trying to
say. Do you think we should say something to Luna too?”

“Maybe,” Harry supposed. “Though I doubt she’s the type to talk about something like
*that*. But, as someone is fond of saying, constant vigilance, no?” Hermione was still
standing over him, so he tilted his head back to look directly up at her. He then gave her a big,
upside-down (to her) grin.

“Perhaps someone should say something to her, just in case. Know of anyone we could...
*volunteer* for that task?” he asked suggestively.

“Perhaps,” Hermione grinned back, looking directly down at him.

“You know what?” Harry then asked.

“What?”

“This is really uncomfortable,” he said, still looking up, as she grinned and shook her head
slightly. He tilted his head back down. Hermione started back towards to the door. “Tell them I’ll
be down in a minute after I send this.”

“’Kay,” she replied as she walked toward the door. Harry turned and looked at Hedwig’s cage; she
was still asleep.

“Hermione? Is Metis there? Is she awake?” he suddenly asked as she was about to turn left to the
stairs.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, turning around.

“Do you mind if I borrow her, to send this? Hedwig is asleep.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “No, go ahead,” she said then headed downstairs. Harry
sealed his letter in an envelope, addressing it to Neville. He then walked down the hall to
Hermione’s room.

“Metis,” Harry called gently as he approached the currently-eating owl’s cage. “When you’re
done, can you deliver this for me?” he asked.

Upon looking up from the dish filled with owl treats, Metis’s large amber eyes stared at Harry
questioningly, unblinking.

“Hedwig is sleeping,” he explained. The owl continued to stare. “But, if you’d prefer that I go
wake her up...”

Metis suddenly took a drink of water, then hopped out of the cage onto the table. A feathered
leg was extended. Harry smiled then tied the letter on.

“I’ll put in a good word for you with her,” Harry promised, then realized he wondered who Metis
might’ve thought he meant: Hermione or Hedwig. Either way, the second snowy owl seemed
appreciative. Metis hooted contentedly, then nipped affectionately at his fingers as he stroked the
soft white feathers.

*Let’s just hope Hedwig didn’t see that,* Harry thought to himself. “I need you to deliver
this to Neville Longbottom, okay?” Metis let out another small hoot, then took flight, soaring out
the window into the hot afternoon.

As he turned around to leave, Harry suddenly noticed that something about Hermione’s room was
different from the last time he was in here. It felt... lighter... emptier... as if something was
missing. Curious, he looked around briefly.

For whatever reason, Harry looked at her desk first. And right away, he noticed something was
missing: one of her pictures. When he was in here the first time, there had been five photographs
on her desk. Now there were four; one of the wizarding photographs was gone. It was the picture of
the Quidditch team.

*Maybe she doesn’t want Ron to see it...* Harry mused to himself with a smile.

Before he could really give it much thought, he started looking around a little more. He quickly
noticed something else was missing. Her framed copy of *The Quibbler* was gone too. It had
been hanging on the side wall next to her mirror. The hanging hook was still there, however, so it
was unlikely that she’d simply decided to get rid of it for good.

Maybe... Luna *did* say that that issue was a very good seller. Maybe they ran out and she
had to ask for this one back to give to Harry? But then why did Luna say that his present was the
first one off the press? Hermione couldn’t have gotten that one, could she? Thoughts of the
Quidditch picture were forgotten as he wondered if Hermione had actually given him two
presents.

*Or three,* he quipped to himself as he remembered his dream from this morning. Becoming
extremely embarrassed thinking about *that* in her bedroom, Harry literally fled out the door.
Once back in the safety of his own room, he also decided to change clothes while he was there. He’d
been in his school shirt and trousers long enough today, thank you very much. At least now in jeans
and a T-shirt, he wouldn’t look quite so dressed up.

* * *

Harry returned downstairs to find everyone in the kitchen talking; the tee-vee-vision was off.
Everyone was seated at the table, except Hermione (the table only sat four). Ron was sitting with
his back to him. It didn’t take very long to determine the topic of conversation.

“And so, Harry and I were sitting there in the compartment. I was about to try to turn my rat
yellow.”

“Scabs, or something like that?” Dan interrupted.

“The one that turned out to be that man in disguise? That man who betrayed Harry’s parents?”
Emma asked. Harry couldn’t see his face, but the way Ron paused, Harry imagined he was very
surprised that they knew. Not wanting to dwell on his former pet, Ron then quickly continued his
tale.

“Yeah, that one. Anyway, so I was about to use the spell, when in walked Hermione with Neville.
He’d lost his toad again. She was helping him look for it,” Ron explained. Hermione, who was
leaning against the back counter, saw Harry walk in and glanced at him. She smiled and rolled her
eyes.

Harry grinned at her and wagged his eyebrows, indicating he was going to do something.
Considering they’d just talked about this last night, he knew exactly what to do. He turned and
watched Ron as he spoke. At different points in Ron’s story, Dan, Emma, and Ginny all saw Harry
standing there in the doorway behind Ron, but he held his finger up to his lips to tell them to be
quiet.

“She saw that I was about to do a spell, so she asked to see it. I did it and nothing happened.
Now, of course, I *knew* nothing would happen. I’d already done it before. I was just showing
Harry.”

“You were going to show Harry that the spell *didn’t* work?” Emma asked, confused. Ron
paused for a moment, scratching his head as he thought about it.

“Well... if you put it like that... then... I guess, yeah,” Ron admitted, slightly embarrassed.
“Anyway, after I did the spell and nothing happened, she says—”

“Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it?” Harry interrupted, doing
his best to mimic Hermione’s original tone as best he remembered it; Ron jumped in his chair.
Everyone in the room began to chuckle, even Ron.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron complained, turning around to look at him. “You could give a bloke a
heart attack like that,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

“Honestly, if I have to hear that story one more time,” Hermione complained jokingly. “Besides,
I didn’t *know* that you knew that it didn’t work.”

“So, what do you think?” Harry asked Ginny, making a show of looking around the kitchen.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” she said, impressed. Harry looked at Ron.

“It’s nice,” Ron said. Though short, Harry could tell from his voice he was being genuine. High
praise, he felt, considering Ron’s “trapped” comment earlier that morning.

“Thank you, both of you,” Emma said, almost embarrassed by their complements. “And please, call
me Emma. I had to tell *Harry* here that twice before it finally sunk in. Let’s see if *you
two* can do better than that.”

“Yeah, well, Harry here can be a little thick-headed sometimes,” Ron jabbed at him. If everyone
else hadn’t been watching Harry feign guilt at that, they might have seen Dan and Emma shared a
look that clearly meant, *“He’s not the only one!”*

Eager to move the conversation away from himself, Harry decided steer it in another
direction.

“So, did we have any plans for today?” he asked, glancing at the clock; it was just after three
o’clock.

“No, no plans, really,” Dan admitted, surprising everyone. “Just thought it would be nice to
spend some time with Ron and Ginny.” He then looked at Emma. “Anything you need or want to do?”

“Well, we need to go to the store again. The fridge is about empty. We could look around the
other stores for a while, if anyone’d like,” Emma suggested.

“Either of you two been to a Muggle shopping mall before?” Dan asked the Weasley children. Both
shook their heads but Ginny looked extremely interested.

“No, but one of the girls in my dormitory is Muggle-born. She’s always talking about it. Can we
go?” she asked excitedly.

“What about you, Ron?” Dan enquired. Harry could tell Ron didn’t seem entirely thrilled about
the idea of going shopping, but since he didn’t have any better ideas...

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, just glad to be doing something, anything, different for a change. Life
at Grimmauld Place could get very old, *very* quickly. After deciding to leave Crookshanks in,
everyone headed back out to the car. Once there, Emma suddenly realized something.

“Oh, but we’re not going to have anywhere to put the shopping,” she said as she looked at the
back seat.

“Dad, can you turn the car around so the back is facing the house rather than the street?”
Hermione asked. “I can put an Always Room charm on the little space between the back seat and the
door. I just need the car the other way so no one can see me do it.”

Dan got in the car and made a quick three-point turn, backing into the drive. He then got out,
eager to see his witch-for-a-daughter perform some actual magic for the second time in his life.
She’d performed some accidental magic when she was ten, summoning a book she wanted from the
top-most shelf. No one saw her do it however, and even she didn’t realize what she’d done at the
time.

With the back door now raised, Hermione had her parents stand on one side and Harry and Ron on
the other to block the view from the neighbors’ houses. All of their neighbors were at work, but it
never hurt to be safe.

After casting the spell, a sparkling effect was visible in the air between the back seat and
where the door would be when closed. It faded a few moments later.

“There you go,” she told her parents. “All done.”

Dan and Emma looked... not unimpressed... but rather... hesitant. Shouldn’t there have been
something more? Hermione could see their reactions.

“Go on, reach in there,” she encouraged them.

“In *where?*” Dan asked.

“In *there,* into that space between the seat and the door. Try to grab the back of the
seat,” she said with a knowing smile.

Dan put his hand out and leaned forward. He, like most humans (including witches and wizards),
based their *existence* in the physical world on the tenet that seeing was believing. Though
he thought otherwise, since he only saw six inches of space, he truly believed, deep down, that his
hand would touch the back of the seat after six inches.

Leaning forward, after his hand traveled one foot, he actually lost his balance and fell into
the back of the car, landing on the floor of the compartment. From the outside, looking “through”
the field, it appeared as if the upper half of his body had been compressed to fit within those six
inches.

After letting out a gasp of shock, Emma leaned down and looked “into” the field. She saw her
husband, properly proportioned, sprawled out on the floor of the car, beginning laugh. It appeared
as though the back end of the car had been stretched to fit him. The seat was slightly beyond his
reach. Even when he pushed himself forward several inches, it always remained just out of
reach.

“Let’s go,” was all Dan said after he pulled himself out, looking both amused and embarrassed at
the same time. Again, Harry and Hermione took the back seat. And again, Harry allowed her to get in
first.

* * *

Not surprisingly, the first stores visited in the shopping center were the bookstore and the
bath store. Hermione, and Harry, separated from the group as they walked into the bookstore. Ron
noticed this, stopped, and then watched Dan, Emma, and Ginny continue on two more stores down. He
stood in front of the bookstore, looking very torn between the two. A bookstore or a bath store? He
decided to go on down to the bath store.

“Hello again, dear!” the shop owner greeted Hermione happily. She then cast a quick glance at
Harry. “Didn’t have to *drag* him in this time, did you?” she said to her with a wink. Harry
could see Hermione blush a little at her comment.

The friendly woman then turned to look directly at Harry. “*Did she?*” she then asked him,
winking at him too. It was now his turn to blush a little. Again, he noticed her glance briefly up
to the scar on his forehead, and again she then looked away as if it meant nothing to her. And
again, he found this very comforting.

One minute later, Ron came back to the bookstore.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron breathed. “Soap and shampoo everywhere. Scented bath oils, little
puffy, scrubby things,” he continued, looking more and more horrified. He actually shuddered
slightly.

“Girls like those kinds of things, Ron,” Harry told him. Ron gave him a *“How do you know
that?”* kind of look.

“Because I have to share a bathroom with her,” Harry reminded Ron, whispering so Hermione
wouldn’t hear. “Besides there’s nothing wrong with a little Morning Flower shampoo.”

Ron looked absolutely mortified. “Please, Harry! Please don’t tell me you’re using her shampoo,”
he begged quietly.

Soap and shampoo were about the only two things Harry did not have in his bathroom kit. The
Hogwarts bathrooms were always well stocked with those sorts of things. While on Privet Drive, the
Dursleys actually demanded that he use theirs. Evidently, the only thing worse that letting him use
the soap and shampoo they paid for was the possibility of him bringing home some freakish devil’s
brew made of frog spawn and bat guts.

Harry had to suppress a little laugh. “No,” he replied honestly. “Fortunately Dan had the
forethought to give me a small bottle of his. Nice, plain, ordinary, *manly* shampoo,” he
assured Ron. He may not have been using her shampoo, but he did make sure to take note of which
kind it was this morning.

Seemingly satisfied, Ron started walking idly around the store, waiting for them to finish.
Harry went over to the used book shelf to see if Hermione had found anything she liked.

“Anything new?” he asked her.

“A few,” Hermione replied without much enthusiasm. “They haven’t gotten in that big shipment yet
that she mentioned, but there are some new ones here.”

“How can you tell?”

“She actually has these shelves sorted by when she got the books in,” she explained. “Evidently
she gets a lot of people who come in regularly and browse the used books. It’s a lot easier to do
that if you know that the newest ones are on the top most shelf.”

Hermione then pointed to a book five in from the right side on the top shelf. “This book was the
newest one the last time we were here. These are the new ones since then,” she said, indicating the
dozen or so to the left of that one. “This way, I only have to remember the title of this one book
if I know I’m going to come in soon. Everything to the left of that is new.”

“Makes sense,” Harry admitted. And it did. If one came in regularly and wasn’t looking for
anything *specific*, it certainly seemed to be the most efficient way to organize the used
books. A person only had to look through the new ones. “Find anything you like?”

“Actually... yes,” she said suddenly, grinning, as her eyes landed on the second to last new
one. “Never got around to reading the book. The movie was amazing, so let’s see how the book is.”
She then pulled the book she found off the shelf and handed it to Harry.

“*Jurassic Park.* What’s it about? A retirement community?” Harry asked honestly.

Seeing that he was serious, Hermione resisted the urge to swat his arm and prevented herself
from laughing. Just barely.

“No, I think you’re thinking Geriatric Park. You’ve got your words mixed up,” she explained.
“This is a story about an island... sort of a biological preserve... where scientists bring
dinosaurs back to life.”

“Dinosaurs?” Harry asked incredulously. “As in really big lizards? As in makes a Hungarian
Horntail look like a puppy?”

“Or as in really big birds, depending on your point of view,” she added, confusing Harry. “Never
mind.”

“Are you two done yet?” Ron whined quietly, coming up to them.

“Just a little bit, Ron,” Hermione responded. “Just go look around for a minute, or go on up
with Mum and Dad.”

“I’ve already been there. And I’ve already looked at the entire store here! Let’s go!”

Harry could see as Hermione looked straight ahead (away from Ron) and then rolled her eyes at
the book shelf. “*Fine!*” she hissed. Ron was lucky there were only about a dozen new books
that she needed to look at. She went over to the sales counter and bought her book. Harry and Ron
followed behind her.

“Remember, my next big shipment of used books should be in around the nineteenth or so. Be sure
to stop by again,” the shop owner said. Harry noticed that she was directing her speech at both
Hermione *and* him.

“I will,” Hermione promised. “Goodbye.”

“Have a nice day, dear,” the owner told Hermione. “Goodbye,” she then said to Harry friendlily.
He replied in kind. She then said goodbye to Ron.

“Bye,” Ron said quickly, though not rudely.

None of them heard the owner mutter to herself after they left the store, “Third wheel.”

Ron looked very uncomfortable in the bath shop. He ended up following close behind Harry as he
did the “walking around” thing, like he did the first time. Dan and Emma evidently still had plenty
of whatever it was pink they’d bought last time, so they decided to look for a new natural
scrubbing sponge this time.

After he bumped into him for the third time, Harry was about to tell Ron to just go wait outside
if he didn’t like it in here so much. He stopped himself, however, when something caught his eye.
At first, he was surprised to see something like that. But then as he looked around the store and
saw all the different kinds of specialty soaps and shampoos, he realized he really shouldn’t have
been surprised at all.

He’d never associated any specific fragrances to her, but seeing *this*, for some reason it
just reminded him of Luna Lovegood. He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and opened the top.

“Here, Ron, smell this,” Harry said, shoving the open bottle directly under his nose. He made
sure his hand covered the label.

Ron jerked back in reflex, but not before getting a good whiff of it. He visibly stuttered as
the scent registered with his brain. A look of wonder slowly came over his face.

“What *is* that?” he asked, very curious.

“What does it smell like?” Harry asked knowingly.

“For some reason, it reminds me of...” Ron trailed off, thinking. A moment later, he quickly
looked away, embarrassed. “It smells like... pumpkin,” he finally said, since he knew he had to say
something to try to cover his first, aborted sentence.

Harry repressed a smirk and handed him the bottle of Pumpkin Essence Shampoo. “Amazing what they
can come up with these days,” Harry said, before leaving Ron alone with his shampoo.

Ten minutes later, they finally left the store. Emma bought a new sponge; Ginny had two bags of
stuff. Though Ron didn’t buy anything, Harry did notice him go back and smell the pumpkin shampoo
twice more before they finally left.

Skipping the department store this time, the walk down to the end of the promenade and back to
their starting point in the center was very brief. Back at the entrance in the middle, Dan and
Harry quickly ran everyone’s purchases out to the car so they wouldn’t have to carry them around in
the grocery store.

With a large shopping center attached to it and customers bringing shopping bags in with them,
the grocery store was very susceptible to... shrinkage. As such, “Customer Assistance
Representatives” were stationed at the entrances to inspect bags. They were an effective deterrent
to those who might be tempted to pilfer the produce or purloin some sirloin.

As they walked toward the grocery store, Dan and Emma kept Ron and Ginny with them, chatting all
the while, getting to know their daughter’s other friends better. This allowed Harry and Hermione
to fall back a few steps to walk separately from them. They were still close enough to hear the
conversation and contribute when necessary. For the most part however, the two of them simply
enjoyed walking side by side.

Separately, both of them knew that they were walking far closer to each other than they
otherwise normally might. Neither of them however wanted to say anything about it as it might cause
the other to move away. And so neither did. As a result, they continued to walk, nearly
shoulder-to-shoulder, behind the others, both secretly enjoying it.

Ron and Harry went into the sporting goods store after Ginny dragged Hermione into what Harry
called the “teenage girl’s jewelry store,” which was on the opposite side of the promenade. Dan and
Emma went to go sit down on one of the benches in the center, between the two stores.

“When Ginny went to grab Hermione, did you notice how close the two of them were walking
together?” Emma asked Dan.

“Yeah,” Dan confirmed. “It’s obvious that they certainly seem to enjoy each other’s
presence.”

“I nearly started crying seeing her hold onto him after he collapsed in the office,” Emma
admitted. “And the way he grabbed hold of her arm once he realized it was her, you’d think he was
afraid of falling down again if he let go... even though he was already down.

“Is there really any doubt in your mind anymore about his feelings?” she then asked Dan
cautiously.

“No, I don’t think there ever was,” he admitted. “I was just trying to slow you down a little,”
he said with a sheepish grin. Emma playfully swatted his arm.

“Patience, luv,” Dan advised, again sensing where she was about to go. “It’s not even been
twenty-four hours. Now, granted it has been a very busy day, but it’s still only been *one
day*. After hiding her feelings for years, she’s not going to admit them,” he snapped his
fingers, “just like that.

“And Harry...” he continued, “I don’t know when he developed feelings for her, but it was very
recently.” Emma turned to look at Dan, eyebrows raised.

“All I know is that he didn’t have romantic feelings for her, consciously at least, when we had
our little chat.” Dan explained. “What was it, Monday last? I may have already known him from five
years of her letters, but I’m still a dad. I had to size him up, to see if he was as
advertised.”

Sitting on the bench, Dan looked into the sporting goods store and watched as Harry pointed out
to Ron the various sporting instruments.

“What about Ron and Ginny?” he suddenly asked. “Do you think they know? Or see it?”

“Well, Ron... from what I’ve read... and from what I’ve seen of him today, he’s a wonderful
friend for them,” Emma said. “I suspect, however, that there are times you could drive a lorry
through his bedroom and he wouldn’t notice it. And he *really* does have the worst timing in
the world,” she said, winking at Dan.

“Ginny, on the other hand, is a different story,” Emma began. “I don’t want to say she suspects
them, but the thought has certainly crossed her mind.” It was Dan’s turn to look at Emma with
eyebrows raised in surprise.

“She actually asked me about them today,” Emma confessed. “As we were coming back to the lift
from the cafeteria, she asked me if I thought there was anything going on between the two of
them.”

“She just brought that up, right after what happened?” Dan asked in surprise, almost
offended.

“Well...” Emma paused, shifted slightly, and looked quite guilty. “It may not have been
*entirely* from out of nowhere. I’d been asking her about Harry, and telling her how much
we’ve enjoyed having him with us. I... uh... may have gotten a little carried away, and made a
comment or two about how good of friends they are. It may have gotten her to thinking.”

“You just can’t keep your big mouth shut, can you?” Dan said with a grin in an entirely teasing
voice. He’d teased her similarly this morning after her little outburst back in Diagon Alley.

Emma knew he was teasing and could give as good as she got. “Nope. Besides, I thought you liked
it when I opened my mouth,” she said with a great big smirk. Dan actually blushed at that, and
quickly looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them.

“You were saying about Ginny?” he said quickly, desperate to not allow this particular
conversation to continue any further... at least in public.

“Anyway, so I was going on and on—”

“And on,” Dan reminded her.

“—about the two of them,” Emma resumed, again looking guilty. “On our way back to the lift, she
asked if I thought there was anything going on between them.”

“And?”

“And I told her the truth,” Emma said. “I told her that I hadn’t seen anything to indicate that
there was anything going on *between* them. I *also* reminded her that Harry was dealing
with the loss of Sirius, and that he was going through a difficult time.

“I told her that *all three* of us were trying to help him with that while he was with us,
and it was perfectly natural that the two of them... or the four of us even,” Emma added, “might
seem a little closer because of it.

“That seemed to placate her. Fortunately, she never *did* flat out ask if I thought either
of them fancied the other,” she said, obviously relieved. “I can be selective about volunteering
unnecessary information just fine, but I’ve never been a good liar.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Dan added with a smirk, thinking of her pathetic excuse about Crookshanks
this morning.

Emma thought about it a little more. “It goes back to what Hermione and I talked about last
night,” she explained. “She told me that she knew who the competition was. She said she worried
about Ginny and another girl called Luna, about them drawing his attention.

“Ginny obviously knows who her competition is too,” Emma said with a small, satisfied grin.
“Hermione said that she, Ginny, asked him out yesterday, and that he said no. I think if she’s
realized that he doesn’t fancy her, that she’s now stepping back a little and is beginning to
notice things, about the two of them... things she might’ve missed before because she was too
close.

“It’ll be interesting to see if...” Emma trailed off as she saw Harry and Ron coming out of the
sporting goods store.

“Anything exciting?” Dan asked Ron.

“Well, cricket sounds interesting enough, but I’ll take a broom and a Snitch any day,” Ron said.
“Have either of you seen a Quidditch game before?” he asked quietly. Dan and Emma shook their
heads.

“Well, you see, there’s the problem,” Ron decided. “You can’t appreciate a game like that
without seeing it in person.”

“Well, we’ve *heard* about it from Hermione,” Dan defended.

“No offense, Mr. Granger,” Ron said, “but Hermione telling you about Quidditch is like...
well... like me telling you about... the goblin riots of 1645, or whatever year they happened.”

“1546, Ron,” Harry said behind him, then shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to Dan to
indicate he really didn’t know either and was just kidding.

“Exactly!” Ron said, thinking that Harry just proved his point... which, in a way, he did.

Dan and Emma just smiled and didn’t say anything in response. While they knew Hermione did know
a lot more about Quidditch than she let on, they also knew Ron was right about one thing. They knew
there were *seven* players on a team, and they suspected that there was more to the game than
just what the *Seeker* did.

“You know, you guys should come to one of our games some time,” Ron suddenly said, looking very
excited. Harry turned to look at Ron with a look that suggested to Dan that if it weren’t for
Hermione, he might just kiss him for that.

Dan laughed a little. “Well, I don’t know if that’s possible, Ron,” Dan said, trying not to get
too excited by the idea.

“Sure it is!” Ron countered. “Parents come to games loads of times!”

“But how would we *get* there?” Dan pointed out.

“Oh yeah,” Ron realized. “I didn’t think about that.”

Harry stepped in at this point. “If we figure out a way, would you guys like to come to a game
sometime?” he asked very hopefully.

Dan and Emma could both see his eagerness at the idea, which in all honesty they shared. They
looked at each other; there really was no way they could turn down an opportunity like that. They’d
never seen anything of their daughter’s world more than Diagon Alley, and after today, the
Ministry.

“If you guys can figure out how to get us there, and if we can coordinate our schedules,
then...” Emma trailed off, grinning, “HELL YES!” All four of them started laughing at that.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked them all as she and Ginny walked up.

“What’d you buy?” Ron asked Ginny when he saw her carrying a bag from the jewelry store,
starting a separate conversation that overlapped the other.

“Oh, your mum was just swearing again,” Harry replied with a grin.

“Earrings,” Ginny answered.

“What about, *this time?*” Hermione inquired as she looked at her mother, jokingly shaking
a finger at her like a parent scolding a child.

“Hey, today’s my one bad day a year!” Emma defended.

“How’d you buy them?” Ron asked.

“Oh, Ron actually had the brilliant idea to ask your parents to come to school some time and
watch a Quidditch match,” Harry explained. “*If* we can figure out how to get them there, that
is.”

“Hermione bought them for me. I didn’t have any Mu... any pounds with me, so she paid for them.
I gave her some Galleons when the cashier wasn’t looking,” Ginny explained.

“OH! That would be SO wonderful if you could come some time,” Hermione exclaimed, very excited.
“I’m sure there are many ways to get them there... or at least to Hogsmeade. We’ll figure out a
way, I promise!”

“Wait! What? You’re coming to school with us?” Ginny suddenly asked Dan and Emma when the other
conversation registered in her mind.

“*Maybe,*” Emma said, “to watch one of your Quidditch matches, *if* there’s a way we
can get there.”

“I’ll ask Dad,” Ginny offered. “They bring Muggle parents in for graduation ceremonies every
year. I don’t know how, but I know they do.”

“Well, the season doesn’t start for several months, so let’s worry about this later,” Emma said,
eager to get them moving again.

* * *

“Now *this* is a cool store!” Ron exclaimed as they all walked into the games store. Harry
immediately took Ron over to look at the chess sets. The six sets he saw the first time were still
there, but he also wanted to be sure to get a look at the other display case before he left.

“Oh, Harry. These are so wicked!” Ron said, clearly impressed. “They almost make up for the fact
that they don’t move,” he added quietly. Just then, Harry happened to hear the cashier greet Dan
and ask if he was enjoying the chess set he’d just bought. Salespeople tended to remember customers
who dropped £199 on a chess set without blinking an eye.

Again, two hundred pounds really *wasn’t* “nothing” to Dan and Emma, but Hermione always
asked them for so little, so an indulgence like that once a year or so wasn’t a big deal.
Especially considering the recipient.

Harry distracted Ron while the salesperson and Dan spoke. For some reason, he really didn’t want
Ron to know how much work Hermione put into getting this present for him, or how much it had cost.
With twenty-five thousand Galleons in his own vault now, he assumed Ron wouldn’t make a big issue
of it; Harry just felt it was a private matter between himself and Hermione.

No one ended up buying anything, but Ron thoroughly enjoyed the fifteen minutes or so they spent
in there. Remembering what stores were between here and there, Harry expected the grocery store
would be their next (and final) stop. If Ron enjoyed the game store, he wondered how he’d react to
a modern, Muggle megamart.

Returning to the promenade, Hermione made sure to stay with Ginny this time, and behind Harry
and Ron. She knew there was a music store near the end, just before the grocery store. She wanted
to try to watch Harry and see what he did as he walked by it.

Back at the record store outside The Leaky Cauldron, what he did and the way he said
*“Nothing”* just about drove her insane wondering what he was doing. It therefore was quite
maddening when, as they walked by the music store, Harry didn’t go in. He didn’t even look or slow
down in the slightest.

He obviously hadn’t bought anything back there, so *whatever* he talked to the shop owner
about, he must’ve gotten it taken care of, since he didn’t seem at all interested in this store.
She promised herself she would figure out what he was doing, even if it was the last thing she ever
did.

As they walked into the grocery store, Ron was clearly blown away. He looked like... well,
*exactly* like Ron Weasley in a very large building completely filled with food.

“I’ve died and gone on,” he said dreamily.

“Stay!” Harry ordered as Ron was about to wander off on his own. As they started shopping (okay,
fine, Emma started hunting and gathering), Dan asked Ron and Ginny a little about some of the more
mundane details of wizarding life.

“So I take it you don’t have stores like these where you live, right?”

“Blimey, no,” Ron replied. “If we did, I’d go shopping with Mum all the time!”

“We have... *had*... a garden. Mum grew a bunch of stuff there,” Ginny explained. “There’s
a small shop down in Ottery St. Catchpole where Mum goes to buy the stuff we can’t grow ourselves,
but it’s *nothing* like this.

“I mean, really, it’s little more than a small room with a bunch of shelves. You grab a bag of
flour off the shelf and another appears to take its place. I really don’t know how it works,” she
said. Harry smiled as he saw Hermione move as if she was about to explain *exactly* how it
worked, but then stopped herself, deciding against it.

“What do you mean ‘had’ a garden?” Dan asked gingerly, realizing he might be straying into
dangerous territory, but unable to stop himself at the same time. And speaking of people being
unable to stop themselves, he then suddenly reached out to grab hold of Ron’s shoulder to keep him
from wandering off again.

“Oh,” Ginny replied easily, since it really wasn’t that big of a deal. “We had to move out for a
while, since they felt it might be dangerous, what with You-Know-Who out now.”

A sad look came over her face. “Honestly, after what Dumbledore said today, I don’t know why we
have to stay there anymore anyway! They made us move out at the beginning of last holiday,” Ginny
explained. “They let Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie go back midway through the last term.

“But as soon as we came home for holiday again this year, they had to move out again. Honestly!”
Ginny exclaimed. Evidently Harry wasn’t the only one to subconsciously pick up Hermione’s preferred
interjection. “I think we’re all starting to go stir-crazy there! It certainly isn’t the most
inviting of places.

“Dumbledore was right!” Ginny continued, now on a full head of steam (though she was keeping her
voice low). “We can’t live in fear of what *might* happen. I’d rather live in *my* home,
and be just a little bit more at risk, than to be holed up somewhere hidden, out of the way. Harry
here is the lucky one in all this. You weren’t exactly at home in Surrey anyway, were you?”

Harry smiled and shook his head in agreement. “At least now you’re with people who don’t bar
your windows,” Ginny pointed out.

“And besides, all of us are coming and going often enough that if someone really wanted to get
us, they could just wait for us somewhere else. So what if *absolutely* safe inside? We have
to go outside *eventually*.”

Everyone seemed to agree with that assessment but let it go at that since it didn’t seem that
there was much to be done about it. Unbeknownst to them however, on the other side of London an
almost identical conversation was occurring via Floo between Arthur and Molly Weasley.

Harry made the mistake of offering to use his pound notes to pay for anything Ron wanted, like
Hermione did for Ginny. Once he did, the flood gates were opened. Harry eventually went to grab a
second trolley just to keep Ron’s purchases separate when even Hermione could no longer keep track
of everything he’d selected.

Grocery shopping was soon finished and they were on their way back to the car. By the time he
decided he had enough “for now,” Ron had spent nearly £40, much of it on sweets, snacks, and
crisps. He also bought enough Coca Cola to last the average person a month. Ron might get a week
out of it... maybe two. No one had the heart to say anything to him however, since every single
item he bought was something that was simply not to be found in the wizarding world.

Dan and Emma were both so eager to use their new-found, seemingly-endless cargo space that
neither of them would let the teenagers help load the groceries, even Ron’s bags. In fact, there
was actually a momentary stare-down when both of them grabbed the last bag at the same time. Emma
won of course.

Back on Broomhill Road however, the four witches and wizards were not so fortunate. By the time
they got home, the newness of the Always Room charm was gone, and now it was just like any other
storage compartment. Everyone helped take the groceries in (not that anyone complained,
though).

Round about half-past five, a brief, soft roar of fire could be heard in the kitchen. Harry
turned around and looked into the kitchen from the loveseat where he was sitting. He saw a piece of
parchment float down onto the table, accompanied by a single phoenix feather.

As he went to retrieve it, he continued to listen as Ron and Ginny, on the sofa, recounted some
of their adventures, from their point of view. Dan and Emma, sitting on chairs they’d brought in
from the kitchen, listened with rapture. They were always eager to learn more about the magical
world, to say nothing of their desire to better get to know Ron and Ginny.

“What is it?” Hermione asked as Harry sat back down next to her.

“Professor Dumbledore wanted to know if we were here, and if he could drop in,” he said after
reading the note.

“Tell him yes, of course,” Emma insisted. Harry pulled out his wand and tapped the piece of
parchment twice, as per the instructions. Less than a minute later, both Dumbledore and Fawkes
arrived in the kitchen.

After a few brief greetings, everyone returned to the living room to get more comfortable. With
a wave of his wand, Dumbledore quickly resized the entire room to accommodate a second loveseat
along with his usual preferred armchair, so that everyone could be comfortable. As they sat down,
Dan and Emma stared curiously at Fawkes for several seconds.

“Is... is that a *phoenix*?” Dan asked in awe.

Dumbledore smiled. “Quite right, Mr. Granger! It pleases me that you recognize him.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Dan admitted, then smiled. “I mean, not even in the movies or on
television, not *life-like*. All I’ve ever seen were sketches in books and cartoon renditions.
He’s truly beautiful.”

Fawkes trilled softly then tucked his head under his wing, as if embarrassed.

“So, what brings you by this evening, Headmaster?” Emma asked. “Dinner?” she asked suggestively,
remembering his earlier comment.

“No, I’m afraid not, Mrs. Granger. I find myself needed *elsewhere* this evening. I have a
meeting or two to attend,” Dumbledore explained. “I did however want to stop by and bring an update
on that little incident earlier this afternoon. Miss Granger, are you still taking a subscription
to the *Prophet*?” Hermione nodded.

“You will be getting a special edition soon this evening, reporting on the day’s events. As they
are all already en route, and the MLE investigators left Azkaban not fifteen minutes ago, it will
be lacking in any conclusive information.

“Here is what we have been able to piece together,” Dumbledore began. “Now, this is based on
prisoner witness statements and Auror debriefings, along with what you told us this afternoon.
Eight prisoners were taken to Azkaban this afternoon. One of them, it seems, may not have gotten
himself arrested by accident.

“As you may or may not know, Lucius Malfoy insisted that he have a hearing today. Mere minutes
before it was scheduled to begin, the dementors attacked. Whilst Mr. Scrimgeour and the guards were
attempting to repel them, those prisoners huddled in a corner, hoping to stay out of the way. One
did not.

“One of the prisoners slipped away from the group and made his way to the guard station,”
Dumbledore narrated. “All of the guards were fighting so it was unattended. He immediately pulled
the cell-door release lever. All of the cells were suddenly unlocked. The first prisoner to escape
found himself facing the battle as it was between him and the way out.

“We assume he did not know the dementors were there assisting in the escape. Whether he was
charging to attack the nearest dementor barehanded in self-defense, or simply trying to run around
the battle will never be known. The nearest dementor however did not distinguish. It swooped down
and performed the kiss mid-run. He fell, dead.

“Losing prisoners was most likely *not* part of Voldemort’s plan. The prisoner who’d opened
the cells saw this and, it seems, moved to try to stop the dementor. A second one abandoned its
advance on a guard and turned instead on the unarmed prisoner. As you know, dementors will not
distinguish between those they hunt and those who get in their way.

“All dementors can feel when a soul has been taken by any one of them. By then, with the
absorption of two souls, their... blood lust, for lack of a more fitting term, took over.”

“Is this what worried you so about the dementors, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Miss Granger. The dementors were perfectly content to work in our employ at Azkaban, as
long as they were kept well fed by the feelings and memories of the prisoners. Lord Voldemort, no
doubt, must have promised them more: souls. In actuality, the dementor’s kiss was rarely performed.
Most prisoners wasted away on their own.

“When it did happen, it was usually during an attempted escape,” Dumbledore explained. “That is
why no one, *almost no one*, ever escaped Azkaban. A prisoner without a wand stood virtually
no chance outside of his or her cell.”

Everyone sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “So, are you
saying the dementors simply got carried away?” he asked.

Dumbledore thought about it for a few moments. “Essentially, yes. They were there for a reason.
When prisoners, and even accomplices got in the way, the dementors made no distinction.

“The situation rapidly deteriorated from there. Emboldened by their first two kills, the
dementors turned on anyone out in the open, including the seven remaining prisoners. All were
kissed. The guards’ Patronuses *were* effective for a while, however they were quickly
outnumbered two-to-one by the dementors. None survived.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment. “All of the other prisoners, witnessing this, remained in their
cells. Whilst a dementor can feed off a person’s feelings merely by being in proximity, they must
make physical contact to perform the kiss. The cells in Azkaban were designed as much to keep the
prisoners in as to keep the dementors out. Even unlocked, as long as the doors were closed, the
remaining prisoners were safe... from the kiss, at least.

“By the time the Aurors arrived (and the cell doors relocked), every soul outside of a cell in
that part of the prison had been taken. A closed hallway door prevented the dementors from killing
every guard in Azkaban. The dementors waited there, hungry for more. Only the immediate,
simultaneous casting of Patronuses by the Aurors was able to push the dementors back. A Patronus
*can* destroy a dementor. As such, they began to retreat.

“At this point, you heard what Mr. Shacklebolt said. Outside, the Death Eater landing party
arrived. Still hungry for souls, the dementors then turned on them too.”

“Didn’t Voldemort think this might happen?” Harry asked.

“Tom has a very narrow view of the world, Harry” Dumbledore explained. “You are either
pureblood, or you are not. You either have power, or you do not. In his mind, the only way to have
power is to *use* it, against people. You are either with him, or you are against him.

“That, I think, is the source of his defeat today,” Dumbledore explained. “Since the dementors
were not against him, then by his reasoning, they must have been with him. He would not believe
that they simply had their own agenda, and for the moment, their separate objectives merely
coincided on the same path.”

“What happens next?” Harry asked.

“I do not know,” Dumbledore admitted. “The dementors took thirty souls today. Dementors
*feed* off the feelings, thoughts, and memories of humans. It sustains them. Taking a soul, if
you’ll forgive the analogy, is like giving them a stimulant, or a vitamin boost.

“The stolen life force makes them stronger, gives them... energy. For all the talk of the
dementor’s kiss, it is quite rare when they actually take even one soul. No one knows what might
result from taking thirty.”

“What do we do?” Harry asked, interrupting the ominous mood that had settled upon them.

“For now, we be patient,” Dumbledore told them again. “Revision on the Patronus charm is
certainly a good idea, but other than that, we be vigilant and go on with our lives.” Everyone in
the room nodded at that.

“Well, Fawkes and I must be on our way,” Dumbledore said, standing up. “I have to—” His words
were cut off by a sound coming from upstairs. Both Harry and Hermione recognized the almost
barking-like sound from the day before.

“Metis!” Hermione gasped.

“Please wait here,” Dumbledore said calmly, then walked absolutely silently up the stairs,
drawing his wand as he went. A few seconds after he entered Hermione’s room, everyone could hear
him chuckle and then speak fondly to someone, though they couldn’t make out his words. He returned
downstairs a few moments later, smiling and holding a copy of the *Daily Prophet*.

“A fine guard owl you have there, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster told her as he handed her the
paper. “I am quite sure the owl that delivered this *still* does not know what hit him. Do not
worry, Miss Granger. No actual contact was made,” he assured her after seeing the concerned look on
her face.

“Metis merely had him cornered. It is a good thing the *Prophet* employs owls in shifts. I
dare say this particular owl will not want to deliver here again. Wizarding owls, familiars in
particular, can be very protective of those they value.”

“It’s a good thing Metis and Hedwig seem to get along just fine,” Harry noted with a grin.

“It is,” Dumbledore agreed, returning the smile.

“Sorry, Ron,” Hermione apologized, also smiling, as she remembered Metis’s reaction to Pig the
previous day.

“That’s okay,” Ron said. “He tends to bring out that reaction a lot. Errol was too old to care,
but Hermes *tolerates* him barely. I guess they have to since they’re like brothers, or
something like that. I guess that’s the same with your two.”

“Something like that,” Dumbledore said. He smiled, then pulled out his wand since everyone was
standing. After returning the room to normal, he held his arm out towards Fawkes.

“Oh, before you go, Professor,” Dan began. “Mr. Weasley asked if it would be possible for you to
leave a Portkey, if it isn’t too much to ask, so that Ron and Ginny could return tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed. “It is a rather long journey there and back. Does anyone have
something they can take with them, that I might use?”

Ron pulled one of the pieces of candy he bought out of his pocket and handed it to him.
Dumbledore took it, smiling, and thanked him. As he charmed it into a Portkey, Ginny reminded Ron,
“You do realize that you can’t eat that now, until after we get back?”

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, looking disappointed. “Oh well, there’s plenty more,” he said happily,
looking over at his shopping bags that were sitting in the corner.

“Five o’clock tomorrow,” Dumbledore told them as he handed back the piece of candy. “If that’s
everything, I will wish you all a good day.” After everyone said goodbye, Dumbledore looked at
Fawkes, who extended his wings. He flapped them once; the two of them rose off the ground a
fraction of an inch then disappeared in a flash of fire.


*Here is another manip done by Evernight. I like it because it brings to life a scene that
otherwise night get lost in the words.*

*Scene from Chapter
23.*




25. Dinner and a Movie
----------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Previously: “Maybe NEXT chapter will be a ten-pager in only one week!! Heh heh heh...
we’ll see!)...” NOPE!!! As Emma once said, “Damn it!”*

*I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to get this out. This really is the ten pager (well,
fourteen) in one week I’d promised you. At least, it only took a week to write. Unfortunately there
were also about ten days in there where I didn’t get any writing done. Easter, visiting family, a
minor technical issue, and other RL issues all played a part. I think there were even some flying
monkeys in there too! Sigh...*

*A couple notes: Yes, my cat does make another guest appearance here. Honestly, you can’t make
this stuff up! There is a truly hideous bit of grammar in this chapter. It’s an intentional play on
words based on something Harry has no doubt heard numerous times.*

*And finally... you may or may not have noticed, but I rarely use any heavy-duty swear words
(based on what you can see in primetime US broadcast TV) in this story. For the most part, I find
them over-used in everyday life. That said, there are times when a good $!#%& is just what is
needed to fit the mood. There’s one in here. ;-)*

*Thanks to my beta, MapleMountain, for everything you do!*


Chapter 25. Dinner and a Movie.



Hermione quickly read through her special edition of *The Daily Prophet* after the
departure of the Headmaster.

“There really isn’t much of anything in here,” she said as she set the paper in her lap. “It’s
all pretty much just what Kingsley told us when he first arrived. That and repeated reminders that
no prisoners escaped and that Death Eaters were also killed. Nothing the Headmaster told us was in
there.”

“Even wizards have press deadlines,” Dan observed.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Emma asked.

“For now, be patient,” Hermione said, repeating the Headmaster’s words.

“Exactly!” Emma exclaimed in triumph. “So, for now, let’s put the paper away and enjoy the rest
of the evening!”

No one could argue with that.

After Ginny asked Hermione to see her room, Ron and Harry tried to explain the rules of
Quidditch to Dan. For the next several minutes, he nodded at all the appropriate times while trying
to follow Ron’s exuberant explanation of how the game was played. There certainly *was* more
to Quidditch than just the Seeker catching the Snitch. In all honesty though, football still
sounded more exciting to him. He supposed a person just had to see it for himself to get it.

Then again, Dan wasn’t much of a footballer either. He never really was into sports. He could
watch and enjoy a game just fine, but he never went out of his way to see one. No, he—like his wife
and daughter—definitely tended to prefer a book to a ball, a lightsaber to a baseball bat.

Once the talk of Quidditch seemed to dry up, Ron, eager to have another go on Harry’s new chess
set, challenged him to a game. Harry, not eager to lose for a third time in two days, declined.

“I’ll play,” Dan volunteered.

“Perfect!” Ron exclaimed. “C’mon Harry, let’s go get that set of yours and show him the
*proper* way to play chess.”

* * *

“I love your room,” Ginny said to Hermione as she walked around, looking at everything. “That
was one good thing about being the only girl in family of seven children: I never had to share a
room with anyone.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said quietly, “I think it might’ve been nice having a brother or sister
around sometimes. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Harry all those years with his
relatives. You can *hardly* count his cousin as a sibling.”

“Harry,” Ginny said flatly upon hearing her best friend bring his name into the
conversation.

*Why am I getting so jealous all of the sudden whenever she says his name?* Ginny asked
herself. She’d been okay—not happy, but at least okay—with the idea of Harry living with Hermione,
ever since she first read her letter. This was just temporary, and then they all go back to school.
She and Harry could get together, and Ron and Hermione could get together (somehow, she hoped, if
her brother didn’t screw it up), and then the four of them could be one big happy family and live
happily ever after.

But then her perfect plan started to fall apart. Not only did Hermione seem to miss every chance
that popped up for her and Ron to spend some time together yesterday and today, but she also
managed to somehow appear whenever she and Harry had a minute alone together. Now, *of course*
it was all coincidental, but it was bloody annoying.

Then, as icing on the cake, Ron somehow managed to pick that day, of all days, to notice Luna
Lovegood. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the quirky Ravenclaw; it was just that things were simpler
(for her) if Ron and Hermione got together. But, in the end, none of it would matter.

In the end, she just decided to go for it. She’d always hoped *he* would ask *her*
out, that he’d just fly in and sweep her off her feet. But now seeing signs that the second half of
her perfect family scenario might not go according to plan, and sensing (at the time)
*something* going on between Harry and Hermione (which thankfully today Hermione’s mum
explained away), she just decided she would ask him.

It was easily the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. That whole episode with
You-Know-Who back in first year really wasn’t painful, not like this was. She simply hadn’t been
aware of any of it at the time. It was one thing to wake up and wonder why you had feathers on your
jumper. It was another entirely to have your hero, the boy you practically worshipped, tell you
that he didn’t fancy you.

And yet, and she would have never thought it possible, but after her heart had been ripped out
(on its own... *he* didn’t do it), he’d actually been able to make her feel better about it
afterwards. Everything he said made it that much more bearable. Harry Potter said no, and she
survived.

*Besides, what’s there to be jealous of? This is Hermione Granger of all people, after all.
When she looks at him, she doesn’t see THE Harry Potter. I see him, who he is: the Boy Who Lived...
the savior of the wizarding world. All she sees is her best friend... “just Harry.” Not that
there’s nothing wrong with that... that’s just the difference between us. Besides, her mum said
they didn’t fancy each other. Maybe I...* Ginny stopped herself, realizing that she wasn’t
paying attention to what Hermione was saying.

“... any friends either, but at least I had my parents here for me,” Hermione explained
solemnly. “That was one of the things Mum and I, and Dad, wanted to do for him while he was here:
just be there for him, you know? Just provide support but not overwhelm him.”

*Why couldn’t he have spent these last few weeks with us?* Ginny half-wondered,
half-complained. *Oh yeah, that’s why: Prat-Face Percy.* Something Hermione said did stick out
in her mind though. *Mum WOULD probably have smothered him. If he was as bad as he was at the end
of school, he probably would’ve never left his room, just like at Christmas,* she conceded.

Ginny thought back to what she’d seen of Harry yesterday at his birthday party and today while
they were shopping. *He DOES look a lot happier than the last time I saw him in June. If being
here did that, then who am I to take that away? I CAN be jealous of Hermione getting all that time
with him,* she thought to herself with a grin, *but I could never take his happiness away from
him.*

Looking over, Ginny saw Hermione with her back to her, straightening her collection of stuffed
animals on the bookshelf. *I’m just annoyed that she’s the one getting to spend all this time
with him, rather than me,* she admitted to herself as she sat down on Hermione’s bed. Her smile
broadened as she saw the stuffed animals at the head of the bed. She picked up the one that looked
like a deer and started stroking it absently, the shape of it not consciously sinking in.

*I mean, who WOULDN’T want to spend the summer with the Boy Who Lived?*

Something she’d just thought suddenly registered with something she’d heard Hermione say
yesterday. She’d meant to ask about it, but got distracted by the party.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me. Right before you gave Harry his snog, you mentioned a song, something
about needing a hero. What was that?”

* * *

“Oh, that,” Hermione said, not turning around. She didn’t want Ginny to see her so embarrassed.
That song was rather special to her; she knew she’d gotten a little carried by it when she started
quoting the lines.

“It’s a song I heard my mum playing one day a couple years ago,” she explained selectively.
“Everyone was talking about Harry being the hero, so that reminded me of parts of the song.”

“Can I hear it?” Ginny asked.

Hermione turned around to face her best female friend and nearly panicked. She saw that Ginny
was holding her stuffed animal... the one she’d searched high and low for... the one that was like
Harry’s Patronus.

She’d actually found her otter before Harry’s stag. One wasn’t likely to walk into a toy store
and say, *“Yes, I’d like a stag please.”* Stuffed animals like that weren’t exactly
commonplace. So she’d found this one instead. Sure it could do double duty as a deer or a reindeer,
but that didn’t matter; it was the thought that counted. It was something of Harry that she could
hold onto when she needed to.

And now *Ginny* was holding it.

*Damn it!* Hermione cursed to herself as she smiled at Ginny. “Okay,” she replied, eager to
leave the room for a moment. She was mad at herself for forgetting about that. As soon as they’d
gotten home, she ran upstairs to hide her two pictures of Harry... the framed issue of *The
Quibbler* and Colin’s picture of Harry from Quidditch practice.

She probably *could* have explained away the Quidditch picture as a picture of the team...
even though in her mind it was clearly a picture of Harry. *The Quibbler,* however, was a lot
harder, so she just hid both of them in her closet.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Hermione said as she walked out the door. “The CD’s still in the
stereo downstairs.” Down in the living room, as she retrieved the CD, she heard her mum in the
kitchen.

“Hermione, dear?” Emma called upon seeing her. “Any recommendations for dinner? I’d like to make
something, or go somewhere, for something that Ron and Ginny haven’t had before.”

Hermione had to stop and think about it for a moment. “Well, if we hadn’t had it the day before
yesterday, I’d say Chinese again. I’m sure they’d like that. Hmm... How about pizza? I’m sure
they’d love it. And they can take the leftovers home, since we had it last week.”

Emma grinned. “Well, I’m not sure that *your father* would be too happy about giving away
all the leftovers, but that sounds good. Eat out, or takeaway?”

“Let’s go out,” Hermione suggested. “We had takeaway last time. And besides, I haven’t gone
*out* for pizza in years. HEY! Is that place we used to go to still open?” Emma nodded,
smiling. “Let’s go there!”

“Okay, half an hour?” Emma asked.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, barely hearing her as she quickly returned to her room with the CD.
She was so excited to be going to the pizza parlor they hadn’t gone to since she started going to
Hogwarts that she forgot all about worrying about her stuffed animals.

Back in her room, she put the CD in her player, forwarded to the appropriate song, then hit
play.

* * *

Ron took a quick look around as the two of them walked into Harry’s room. “Loads better than
your old room at the Dursleys’, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry readily agreed. “At least here, the only lock on my door is on the *inside*
of the room.” Ron nodded quietly but would not meet Harry’s eyes.

“What’s this?” he asked, seeing Neville’s present on the windowsill.

“It’s called a Venus Fly Trap. It’s a Muggle plant that actually catches and eats bugs,” Harry
explained.

“Really? How does it do that?” Ron asked disbelievingly as he was about to poke one of the open
traps with his finger.

“Do that, and find out,” Harry said to Ron with a grin as he nodded towards the outstretched
finger. Ron looked closer at the plant. Upon seeing that the traps actually looked a little like
open jaws, and also that two of them were closed with something trapped inside, he quickly withdrew
his finger. He started rubbing it protectively as if it had been bitten.

“Um... that’s okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Hello, girl,” Harry greeted Hedwig, noticing that she was now awake. He fed her a few owl
treats, then reached into her cage, patting her head. “Oh, and by the way, Metis made a delivery
for me while you were sleeping, so I wouldn’t have to wake you up. So you had better be nice to
each other, okay?” Hedwig pushed her head into Harry’s patting, then reached up and nipped at his
fingers affectionately.

Ron chuckled. Harry turned around to find him looking at the empty box next to him... the box
his boxers came in.

“You have to admit, that *was* pretty funny,” Ron said.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky your birthday is like eight months from now. I’ll buy a pair of boxers
and give them to you in front of Luna.”

The smile immediately faded from Ron’s face. “You wouldn’t, would you?” Harry just gave him the
same innocent smile he gave Fred and George at his birthday party. “And also, why do you keep
teasing me about Luna?”

Harry just smiled at Ron as he remembered everything that had happened in the last two days:
from Ron’s *“She is kinda cute”* and *“I’ll give it a shot”* at the birthday party, to
his sudden disappearance after Harry *thought* he saw a blonde walk by Madam Malkin’s. Sure,
it *could* have been his imagination, and it all *could* have been a bunch of
coincidences, but he wasn’t going to let Ron get away with it that easily. After all, what were
best mates for if not to tease each other about girls?

“I don’t know,” Harry said suggestively. “Is there a reason I *should* be teasing you about
her?”

“Of course not,” Ron answered a little too quickly, then turned back to the desk where the chess
set was sitting. Even from the back, Harry could see his ears turning red. He decided to let it go
however, since it was too easy for Ron to turn it around and say something about him and Hermione,
even just as a joke. Though as far as he knew, his ears did not turn red, he suspected his reaction
would be just as readable as Ron’s.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ron started (Harry gulped). “At your party, Hermione said something about
a song. She sounded like she was quoting lines from it. What was that all about?”

Almost as if on cue, they heard Hermione’s CD player begin to play.

*“Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods?”*

“Speak of the devil,” Harry said, grinning, as he held his hand out towards the wall, indicating
the direction of Hermione’s room. The two of them walked into her room to be better able to hear
the song, Ron carrying the chess set. They watched as Ginny flittered around the room, looking
around, her hand or head occasionally moving to the rhythm of the song.

Harry noticed Hermione taking her last two stuffed animals that were once on her bed, and
putting them in her bookcase that held all the others. In the process, she accidentally knocked one
over. Righting it, it now partially hid the reindeer.

“Where’d you get this?” Ginny asked, picking up the photograph of Ron, Harry, and Hermione from
first year.

“From Hagrid,” Hermione answered.

“How come Ron didn’t get one?”

“Get one what?” Ron asked, hearing his name and walking over to his sister.

“Well, maybe he didn’t ask for one,” Hermione replied.

“Ehh,” Ron dismissed. “I’m not a pictures sort of bloke anyway. I have to see his sorry face
enough as it is,” he teased.

“I’m honored,” Harry said dramatically. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll cross you out
of mine, and it’ll just be me and Hermione,” he teased back to Ron. Ginny looked at him curiously
for a moment, then shook her head and looked at Hermione.

“Boys!” Ginny jokingly complained. Once the song finished, Hermione switched off her CD player,
then the four of them headed downstairs in anticipation for going out to dinner. There was still
enough time for one game of chess.

Looking back, Ron would learn a valuable lesson from this particular game of chess game. It
started out perfectly normal until one of Ron’s pawns took one of Dan’s. The adult Grangers were
caught completely by surprise that this set was now a wizarding set. They gasped in shock at seeing
the pieces come alive.

Harry knew that Dan was at least aware of Wizard’s Chess; he himself had mentioned it to him
during their first shopping trip. It seemed obvious however that they didn’t know this set had been
enchanted. Both of them looked over at Hermione questioningly. Harry followed their gaze to see her
shake her head slightly. Maybe *she* didn’t want Ron and Ginny to know about it either.

After that, the game continued normally for three more moves, until Dan started to ask Ron all
about Quidditch. He seemed to want to know everything there was to know about it: the history of
the game, the most important tactics, even Ron’s favorite team, stories from his own time
playing... *anything.* Once Ron mentioned his favorite team, Dan asked him to tell him all
about them.

As this continued for the next fifteen minutes, Harry began to notice something. Dan wasn’t
really paying attention to what Ron was saying... not much at least. Just enough to nod
appropriately. He was however paying great attention to the chess board.

At the same time, Harry noticed that the more Ron talked, the faster his moves were. Whereas
before, he’d been known to take as long as a minute or two to make a move, now that he was telling
Dan the history of the Chudley Cannons, he made his moves within five to ten seconds. The longer
Dan took to make his move, the more Ron talked, paying little attention to the game. The faster Ron
made his own move, the sooner he could go on about the Cannons.

Dan, it seemed, had found Ron’s secret weakness: get him to talk about Quidditch or himself.

Finally, with only fifteen pieces left on the board and Dan thirty seconds into considering his
own move, Ron seemed to run out of interesting facts about the Cannons. Either that or he was just
tired of talking. He then looked down at the board and began to stare at it. Up to this point in
the game, there hadn’t been a single check yet.

“Check,” Dan said finally, after moving his rook. Ron continued to stare at the board. Harry
could see him looking over the entire board, twice checking out his own lost pieces, which had
dutifully marched back into their case after being shattered by Dan’s. After nearly an entire
minute, Ron looked up at Dan with an obvious appearance of awe on his face.

“I’m going to lose, aren’t I?” he asked. There was the slightest hint of irritation buried in
there. Harry could tell though that Ron directed it at himself, not his opponent.

“Yes,” Dan said simply with a smile. “I’m actually fairly decent at chess... I had a good
teacher,” he admitted with a smile. “But from what I’d heard about you, I didn’t really expect to
beat you. But when I realized you were paying more attention to your story than to your game, I
decided to take advantage of that.

“There’s a saying that you may or may not have heard before. I’ll modify it to make my point:
Flattery will get you everywhere. Don’t let your opponent distract you... with yourself.”

Ron nodded then looked back down at the board one more time. When he surrendered his king at
that first check, the rest of his own pieces turned to him and started making rude gestures.

“It’s a tactical surrender,” Ron explained to them. “If you know you’re going to lose, there are
times when you fight to the death, and times that you don’t. Besides, there’s always next game,” he
promised them. They stopped objecting, and Ron and Dan put the board away.

“Which, if you’re up for it, we can play tomorrow,” Dan offered. Ron readily agreed. “No
Quidditch talk next time... or dentistry either,” Dan added.

“Who’s ready for dinner?” Emma asked enthusiastically.

“ME!” Ron replied before anyone else could.

Half an hour later, the six of them found themselves sitting in a pizza parlor in downtown
Wandsworth. The Grangers hadn’t been there in over six years. Aside from some minor redecorating,
they were pleased that it was exactly the way they remembered it. Hermione especially.

Hermione had always loved coming to this particular restaurant, more than any other. The kitchen
where the pizzas were made was separated from the dining area by a series of large side-by-side
windows. In front of the windows was a small ledge where small children could stand and watch their
pizzas being made, only a foot in front of them.

Immediately after their order was placed, four teenagers—one raven-haired, one brunette, and two
ginger—could be seen kneeling on that same ledge, watching their pizzas being made. Dan and Emma
had to keep themselves from laughing seeing them next to several smaller children who were standing
next to them.

Hermione’s and Emma’s earlier concerns about what to do with the leftovers were to end up being
for nothing; with Ron present, there were no leftovers.

After dinner, Ron was curious to see what Muggles found so interesting about tee-vee-vision. It
was quickly decided to finish the evening with a movie or two. When informed of the wide range of
movies genres, Ginny quickly spoke up.

“Let’s see something scary... but not too scary,” she clarified, and then glanced at her
brother. “Something with spiders in it!”

“No! No spiders!” Ron warned.

After shooting Harry a quick grin, Hermione said she knew the perfect movie. Even better, they
already had it in their home collection.

“Like a puppy,” she whispered to Harry as she joined him on the loveseat again. Dan and Emma had
been sitting there when Ron and Ginny took the sofa; they volunteered to use chairs from the
kitchen again when Harry came back from the bathroom.

Ron and Ginny both seemed quite mesmerized by the talking-picture box in the entertainment
center, though it was hard to tell if it was from the television set itself or the ominous
beginning of the movie.

“What’s in the crate?” Ron asked anxiously as the workers in the movie began the unloading
process.

“You’ll see,” Hermione said knowingly.

Ron and Ginny figured out pretty quick what the movie was about, but they had absolutely no
expectation as to what they’d actually be seeing. Right as Dr. Hammond welcomed his visitors to
Jurassic Park, Ron’s exact words at seeing the dinosaurs on screen were, “NO! BLOODY! WAY!” Harry
was no less impressed, though he at least was able to not shout out since he was expecting it after
her “puppy” hint.

Movie night would not be complete without popcorn. Once the pizza had settled sufficiently, Dan
and Emma got up to make some. Ron kept shooting annoyed glances towards the kitchen. The noise from
the hot air popper (and microwave melting the butter) *was* rather distracting. They returned
with three bowls for the six of them to share just as Dr. Hammond shouted to “Check the vending
machines!” in their search for Dennis Nedry.

As the smell of freshly popped, hot buttered popcorn permeated the house, the movie goers were
quickly joined by one more.

Ginny started looking around curiously as she heard Crookshanks claw his way up the back of the
sofa behind her.

“Crookshanks,” Harry answered her unasked question as the orange animal reached the top and
began mewing softly, walking back and forth between Ron and Ginny.

“Wha’s’e wan’?” Ron asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Popcorn,” Hermione replied; Ron and Ginny both turned to stare at her.

“The buttered pieces,” Harry clarified.

*Meow,* Crookshanks asked, slightly more insistently.

Ginny grabbed a piece out of the bowl and held it out towards the cat; Crookshanks ran over to
her and ate it greedily.

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed. Crookshanks then turned around and
returned back to Ron. He turned his purring up to full intensity. Ron, not eager to give away any
popcorn, did his best to ignore him. This of course only encouraged the half-Kneazle even more.

As he did with Harry, Crookshanks came up directly beside Ron. He leaned forward on top of the
sofa as much as he could, practically purring in Ron’s ear. Still getting no results, he then
partially climbed down, putting his front legs onto Ron’s shoulder, letting out the softest, most
*“I’m so helpless, please feed me”* mew.

Ron, not finding this as amusing as everyone else, grabbed a piece of popcorn out of the bowl.
He then reached over as far as he could and *pretended* to set it down on top of the sofa;
Crookshanks ran over to eat it. Upon finding none, he then returned to right above Ron’s shoulder
and began to clean his face, appearing as though he’d given up on the popcorn.

Ron grinned then held up the piece he’d hidden in his hand.

“See? You just have to be smarter than them, that’s all,” he said confidently. Looking up and
seeing Crookshanks was no longer interested, he showed him the piece of popcorn.

“Sorry boy, but this is for me. Popcorn isn’t for YEOWWW!” Ron screeched as the cat suddenly
swiped out with his paw, claws out. Ron’s “detained” hand was close enough that Crookshanks was
able to grab the piece with his mouth. He then jumped down off the backside of the sofa and raced
over to his favorite one, where he knew he could enjoy his prize under her protection.

“You were saying?” Harry asked. Once the pain wore off, even Ron found it amusing. But he did
decide not to tease animals with food anymore.

Ron and Ginny loved the movie. They loved it, that is, until the dinosaurs began escaping their
paddocks. When the “blood-sucking lawyer” was eaten by the T-Rex, Ron actually lost his appetite.
Temporarily. Ten minutes later, he was bugging his sister for the popcorn bowl again. Hermione had
cut Crookshanks off after Harry had given him two more pieces; he quickly settled into her lap for
a nap, purring contentedly as she stroked his back while she watched the movie.

After the movie, Ron began to stretch out slightly. “Brilliant movie, Harry! Though we should
have watched it tomorrow. I’m going to have nightmares for sure now,” he complained. “Hmm...
spiders or dinosaurs? Tough call. I think I’ll stick with spiders, since they’re still alive.”

Hermione looked at the clock: it was just nearly ten o’clock. “Well, if you’re up for it, we
could watch another movie,” she suggested. “Something funny, maybe.”

Ron let out a great yawn. Since they were contagious, Ginny, Emma, and Harry followed right
behind him within a few seconds.

“Yeah, sure,” Ron said enthusiastically, contradicting his oscitancy. Everyone else seemed to
share his desire for another movie, even though they all also were starting to feel the pull of a
very long day.

*Spaceballs* was suggested again (since the first part of it was clouded by Harry’s slip of
the tongue last night), however the idea was nixed considering there were too many Muggle-jokes
that would have to be explained. Try explaining Pizza the Hutt to someone who didn’t know anything
about Pizza Hut or Jabba the Hutt...

So, in the end, Emma couldn’t resist, and suggested *The Princess Bride* again. Since Harry
was the last one standing after generously volunteering to put the empty bowls in the kitchen, he,
by rule, was forced to go start the movie. At least he didn’t make any declarations this time... at
least none heart-felt...

“Be kind. Rewind,” Harry said aloud absently as his attention was drawn to the fluorescent
sticker on the rented video cassette sitting on the shelf. He could hear Dan and Emma snicker
quietly behind him.

Harry too glanced at the clock as he sat down. He certainly didn’t mind watching the movie
again, but it had been a long day. Busy days like that took their toll on a person. He really
wanted to see it again, but he knew it was entirely possible he’d fall asleep during it. As the
movie began, Harry did his best to stay awake.

*SNORE!!!*

Harry jolted forward in his seat as Ron’s loud snore woke him up. He had absolutely no idea when
he’d fallen asleep. He was pretty sure he’d at least made it to the Fire Swamp, but he couldn’t be
sure.

Quickly looking around, he noticed Hermione also was asleep in the loveseat next to him. She was
sitting back against the cushion, though her head had rolled over to one side. If she hadn’t been
asleep, she’d be looking right at him.

Another loud snore drew Harry’s attention to Ron. He too was sitting upright, though he was
leaning slightly. He looked as though if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall over onto Ginny... who also
was asleep. She however had her head drooping forward. Harry’s brain wasn’t working too well, but
he was pretty sure she was snoring also, though no where as loudly as Ron.

Harry finally turned to see Dan and Emma snuggled against each other (as much as they could in
chairs from the kitchen), silently watching the movie. Noticing him stirring, Dan looked over at
Harry and shot him a big grin, then glancing over at the sleeping siblings. Harry just smiled and
shook his head in amusement.

“We’re going to go to bed,” Dan whispered to Harry. “Are you going to stay up and watch the rest
of this?”

Harry looked at the television and remembered that they were near the end of the movie, maybe
only about half an hour left. He nodded. As Dan and Emma retired upstairs for the evening, Harry
turned and lightly shook Hermione’s arm, whispering her name softly to wake her.

As her eyes fluttered open, a large, happy smile appeared on her face once she could properly
see Harry.

“Hi,” she said softly, still slightly foggy as she looked at him. “Now I know what Mum was
talking about. I could wake up...” she trailed off once her eyes were fully open.

“I could wake up with a real crick in my neck if I fell asleep on the couch like this again,”
she finished, massaging her neck. Another loud snore from Ron drew her attention to the other side
of the room as she leaned forward to stretch. Even Harry could hear the small *POP!* in her
neck as she turned her head.

“The movie’s almost over. Do you want to finish it or just stop for the night?” he asked
her.

“Let’s just finish it.”

“Should we wake them?” he asked, nodding towards Ron and Ginny.

“Only if you’re going to get up. I’m too comfortable right now,” she said with a grin as she
settled back into her seat. Since they’d been sitting there for so long, the cushions of the
loveseat had settled slightly in the middle. As a result, she was now leaning towards him ever so
slightly. With her that much closer, that decided it for him: Ron and Ginny would not be woken up
until they *had* to get up.

One minute, Harry was watching Westley challenge Prince Humperdinck “to the pain,” and then
next, he was on his Firebolt, soaring just above the lake at Hogwarts. And of course, since he was
dreaming, the sudden change seemed perfectly natural.

Flying on his broom, the wind blowing through his hair, he felt completely at ease. He was safe.
The world made sense; he felt secure, protected. A familiar sound on his left drew his attention;
it was his familiar, making a sound. Hedwig was flying along side of him.

“Hello, girl,” he said fondly to her as she flew.

“Careful, Harry. I can get very jealous, you know,” came another familiar voice on his right. He
looked over to find Hermione on a broom, flying with him also. Over her shoulder, he could see
Metis flying along with her. He looked down and noticed the handle of her broom. He recognized it
immediately.

*“A Broomhill 8, the beautifulest broom in the world!”* he could remember excited voices
saying when they saw one in the window of Quality Quidditch Supply back in third year.

Hermione then flew up beside him so that the two of them were flying shoulder to shoulder,
exactly like they had been walking in the mall. A moment later, she was sitting directly in front
of him, facing him with her arms wrapped tight around him, her face resting on his chest.

Simply enjoying the moment, Harry looked out ahead of him. He saw the exact same sunset he’d
seen the night before he left Privet Drive. He remembered thinking to himself at the time that he
couldn’t imagine ever seeing anything that beautiful again. Looking down and seeing a head of bushy
brown hair, he realized exactly how wrong he’d been.

Now he knew he would never see anything more beautiful in his life. And he was just fine with
that. Even the bed of lilies he (suddenly now at this very moment) decided to plant on the site
where Voldemort finally died would never look so pretty.

“So beautiful,” Hermione said in a whisper about the sunset, even though she still had her head
against his chest. Her voice, muffled by his jumper and the wind, sounded almost like Emma’s.
“Where’s my camera?”

“You don’t have a camera, remember?” Harry reminded her; she replied by snuggling even closer to
him. He certainly wasn’t going to complain.

A flash lit up the sky. It was another one of those summer storms that had so wonderfully
scoured out the miserable heat for a short while. Another flash signaled it was time to return to
the castle. A refreshing summer storm did no good to a person *struck* by the lightning.

“Time to go,” Harry called to the owls on either side of him. Hedwig and Metis both turned
toward each other, flying in a graceful arc of a U-turn, crisscrossing each other’s paths directing
in front of Harry. He then turned his broom around and followed the two owls back to the castle. As
they turned to head for the Owlery, Harry separated from them and flew back to the Gryffindor
common room.

When the exterior stone wall of the castle simply vanished, revealing the common room behind it,
Harry finally realized he was dreaming. Touching down, he walked over to his favorite couch and sat
down, Hermione still holding onto him the whole while. Hey, it was a dream; it made sense at the
time. Details like how exactly he was carrying her and what happened to her broom were
unimportant.

Staring at the crackling fire, Harry realized he’d never felt so safe, so complete in his entire
life, in Hermione’s arms. He’d been so terrified, so lost this afternoon the moment he realized he
couldn’t find her for those few seconds after the attack began.

Finding her again, he held onto her like a lifeline. He knew he might get swept out to sea if he
let go. Back on Privet Drive, he’d been at the mercy of the angry, roiling ocean that was his grief
over the loss of Sirius. When he finally surrendered to it, it had actually ended up being for the
better; it overpowered his anger that had been preventing any chance for him to heal.

He knew though that this time, dropping his defenses and getting swept away would not have a
happy ending. This time, it would not be a sea of grief that cleansed him of his anger. This time
it was the tempest of the impending war that would surely overwhelm him. And anyone with him.

The only way for that to not happen was to not let go of his lifeline. He could weather the
storm if he had his anchor. As the knowledge that he was dreaming again returned to the forefront
of his mind, one of those annoying things that tended to happen during such moments, happened.

The more he became aware of the fact that he was dreaming, the harder it became to hold onto the
dream. He was waking up. Just as the easiest way to fall asleep was to try to stay awake, the
easiest way to wake up was try to stay asleep during a pleasant dream.

As Harry regained consciousness, the wonderful feeling of sitting on the Gryffindor common room
couch in Hermione’s arms was replaced by a decidedly pleasant sensation of sitting on the Grangers’
living room loveseat... in Hermione’s arms.

*BLOODY HELL!* Harry’s mind screamed out, borrowing from Ron’s lexicon. Hermione was in
fact snuggled against him with her arms around him, just like in his dream. He turned his head as
slowly as possible, trying not to wake her. The way her body was positioned, it looked as though
she’d simply fallen over in her sleep and onto him. She’d then, evidently, grabbed hold of him as
if he were a pillow.

He braved a glance over to Ron and Ginny; if anyone saw him like this, he was sure he’d die of
embarrassment. What Harry saw, it took everything he had to not start laughing. Ron, it seemed, had
also fallen over in his sleep. He was lying on his side on the sofa, curled in a ball, with his
head resting on his sister’s lap. Ginny, whose body had shifted due to Ron’s extra weight, was now
leaning towards and slumped over him.

It was just too funny. He began to shake slightly in silent laughter. As he did, he felt
Hermione’s arms wrap tighter around him. He forced himself to stop laughing. The last thing he
wanted to do was wake her up.

How mortifying would it be for her to wake up and find herself like that? If he woke her up,
they’d both be embarrassed; it would just be a nightmare. Harry thought about it for a minute.
About the only thing he could think of was to act as if he was still asleep until she woke up. That
way, she could let go of him and then she could pretend like it never happened, and there would be
no awkward moments.

*Yeah, that should work,* he decided.

Harry glanced over at the clock; it was early morning, about ten minutes before seven o’clock.
He knew Dan and Emma would be up soon. He didn’t know exactly when they woke up, but they were
always early risers, even on the weekends. If Hermione wasn’t awake by 6:57, he’d try to jostle her
slightly as encouragement.

Harry simply sat there silently for several minutes, listening to the world around him. It was a
fresh new day; the world, for a few moments, was in complete peace. The television off, he could
hear everything: birds chirping out in the back yard, the occasional car driving by on the nearby
Buckhold Road, Ron and Ginny’s snoring, and most of all, Hermione’s breathing. It was all
beautiful.

At 6:55, Harry heard something else: muffled voices from upstairs.

*Oh, SHIT! They’re awake!* Harry panicked. The only thing worse than getting caught like
this by Hermione would be getting caught like this by her parents. He’d have to wake her up; they
could deal with embarrassment later. He looked down, only to find her looking back up at him, fully
awake. The same exact terror he felt was clearly mirrored on her face.

“They’re awake!” they both whispered to each other anxiously. The two of them jumped up out of
the loveseat and raced into the kitchen.

“Quick! Get some stuff out so it looks like we got up early to make breakfast!” Hermione
whispered behind him in a rush. “I can’t believe we fell asleep again.”

After grabbing a box of cereal (it was the first thing he thought of), Harry turned around to
look at her and apologize. Instead however...

“Hermione!” Harry warned. “You’ve... erm... you... while you were asleep...” he floundered,
pointing at her mouth. She’d fallen asleep with her mouth open, and as such had minor containment
problems (she’d been drooling). There were obvious signs. It certainly wasn’t a sight he’d ever
expected to see, but that wasn’t important at the moment.

She reached up and touched her face. Finding the offending leakage, she quickly wiped it away.
As she did, her eyes widened in fear.

“Oh no! Harry!” she whispered, pointing back at him. Harry looked down to find a large wet spot
on his shirt. She’d drooled in her sleep all right, *on him!*

“Here, put this on quick!” Hermione said. She grabbed Emma’s apron off the hook and threw it at
him; he quickly put it on. Much to their relief, the wet spot was completely covered. “All we can
do is hide it for now. If we try to *Scourgify* it, it’ll leave an even bigger wet spot. Oh,
I’m so sorry, Harry!”

Before Harry had a chance to tell her not to worry, they heard the bedroom door open upstairs.
Harry and Hermione both looked at each other. She held a finger to her lips; her meaning was clear:
*Not a word to Mum and Dad!*

As Emma walked into the kitchen in her dressing robe, both Harry and Hermione turned to look at
her. Both felt they still looked extremely guilty, but as long as neither of them slipped up, it
would all be okay.

“Good morning, Mum,” Hermione said cheerfully. “We just got up early to start breakfast for
you.”

“How nice of you, dear,” Emma said sweetly with a large smile.

“Well, I’m going to go get the newspaper,” Hermione replied, clearly wanting to get out of
there; Harry could hear the nervousness in her voice. “Why don’t you sit down and have some orange
juice, Mum?” she suggested then practically ran out of the room.

“Good morning, Harry. Sleep well?” Emma asked as she went over to the refrigerator to get the
orange juice (since it was still in there, and not on the table where Hermione had pointed).

“Erm, yeah,” Harry said anxiously as Emma filled a glass then set the juice carton down on the
table, smiling all the while. Why was it when you did something, it always felt like everyone
already knew? Hermione returned a few moments later slightly confused.

“Did we not get a paper this morning?” she asked.

“We did,” Emma answered with a mysterious smile. “I came down and got it about twenty minutes
ago.” Harry could feel his stomach sink. He looked at Hermione. The look on her face confirmed what
he suspected. “I think I’d like waffles this morning,” Emma said as she headed back towards the
staircase with her orange juice.

“Oh, and Harry,” she added, not looking at him as she started to climb the stairs, “don’t forget
to change your shirt. You don’t want to walk around all day with slobber all over it, now do
you?”


Yay! We’re now finally on August 2, which means we can now start to fly over the month so we can
get them back to school so they can FINALLY get together. But, just because we’re flying through
the month, it doesn’t mean nothing will happen. There’s still that trip to the cinema that Dan and
Emma are planning... among other things...

*And finally, last but certainly not least, here is another wonderful manip done by Evernight,
from this chapter. I was truly caught off guard when I first saw this. It really is a touching
picture. As of the instant I posted this, the Portkey Gallery was being flaky, so if when you click
this link you can’t see the picture, just try back again later. Please leave him a review if you
like it. Thanks!*

*http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=943*




26. Smile! You're on...
-----------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Ten pages in ten days! Woo-hoo! I did it this time (if you add a few more for editing).
A short chapter this time. Just something to hold you over, really.*

*I’d intended on this chapter taking us all the way through their trip to the cinema the
following Friday. But, condensing an entire week into half of a chapter was proving trickier than
I’d expected. So, with the end of “today” finished, and “next week” still in progress, I just
decided to post what was already finished, rather than making you wait for it. Plus, the separation
between “today” and “next week” seemed an ideal stopping point anyway.*

*The flip side is that I’m already five pages into Chapter 27, so if all goes well, you should
have another chapter in about a week! YAY!*

*Once again, as Emma explicitly points out, I am quoting someone from a TV show. Five points
if you recognize it. Like I said last time... just for fun.*

*Thanks to my beta, MapleMountain!*


Chapter 26. Smile! You're on...

*“Oh, and Harry,” she added, not looking at him as she started to climb the stairs, “don’t
forget to change your shirt. You don’t want to walk around all day with slobber all over it, now do
you?”*

When he heard Emma’s bedroom door close upstairs, Harry walked over to the refrigerator and
softly banged his head against it four times, quietly muttering to himself between hits.

“Effing. Brilliant. Effing. Brilliant.” He then turned around to look at Hermione, who was still
standing in exactly the same spot, though she looked lost in deep contemplation.

“So, how much trouble are we in?” Harry asked, half-joking, half-surrendering.

Hermione considered his question for a few moments.

“Honestly? Not much, I think. No more than we’ll make for ourselves, at least,” she replied.
Harry just looked at her completely confused.

“What I mean is that our embarrassment from getting caught is probably more than enough for her.
After all, the middle names never did come out. If she called you Harry James, then you’d know it
was time to pack your trunk. Besides, she probably rather enjoyed that,” Hermione added in an
undertone.

“What?” Harry asked, hearing her.

“Oh,” she replied, realizing he’d heard her. “Well, she said she came down to get the paper
around 6:30, 6:40, so obviously she saw us then. How else would she have known about... your
shirt?” she added guiltily.

“But she just left us there, and then proceeded to let us dangle on a hook as we pretended to be
making breakfast.” Hermione finally noticed that Harry had grabbed cereal in his haste.

“Brilliant choice there, Harry,” she teased. “Yeah Mum, we got up early to make you a bowl of
cereal.”

“No worse than pointing at the orange juice on the table when it was still in the fridge,” Harry
shot back with grin.

Hermione let out a chuckle. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“What? Lying, or getting caught?” he asked with a smirk.

“Both,” she admitted.

“How is it that I can go years not getting caught by Snape, and then your mum catches me the
first time?”

“Mum’s a lot smarter than Professor Snape.”

“No argument there,” Harry replied with a slight chuckle. He then remembered something and began
to smile.

“Did you see Ron and Ginny?” he asked Hermione; she shook her head. “Go in and look at them.
They’re still on the sofa. But be quiet though.” Hermione went into the living room and returned a
few moments later. She looked like she was about to start laughing too.

“When I woke up and found you... *where you were*,” Harry said, feeling a little
embarrassment begin to creep back, “I was worried about what Ron and Ginny’d say if they saw us.
Then I saw *them*.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine them saying anything unless they wanted us to return the favor,” Hermione
replied with a mischievous smile. “Did you see Ron all curled up? He looks pretty comfortable
there.”

As he remembered seeing Ron like that, Harry suddenly remembered something else.

“Erm, Hermione? When I heard your mum’s voice upstairs, I was going to wake you up. But when I
looked down again, I saw that you were already awake.”

Hermione chuckled nervously. “Oh yeah. Well, actually, I was awake. I’d been awake for maybe ten
minutes before that. Wait. How long were you awake?”

“Seven minutes,” he replied instantly, since he’d been able to see the clock.

“But then why didn’t you wake me up?” both of them asked each other simultaneously. After a
shared laugh, Hermione answered first.

“Well, something woke me up. Maybe it was Ron snoring or maybe it was even Mum closing her
bedroom door. I don’t really know how long I was awake. With my... um... head buried in your
shirt,” she said delicately, “I couldn’t tell what time it was.

“Anyway, when I realized... *where I was*,” she continued, using his earlier words, “I
became extremely embarrassed. I’d been dreaming that...” she trailed off, speaking the last of her
sentence very quietly and into her hand to try to hide it. Harry thought he caught at least one of
the words however.

“You were dreaming that you were what?” he prodded her in amusement, intentionally not
mentioning the word he thought he’d heard.

Hermione shot him a glare that, if what he thought she said wasn’t so funny, he’d actually find
scary. “I’d been dreaming that I was...” she said, pausing with a sigh, “that I was cuddled up with
a great, big teddy bear... *like I used to do when I was small,*” she added emphatically in
explanation.

Harry dropped his head and covered his mouth with his hand and began to laugh uncontrollably. As
he stood there, his laughter muffled by his hand, Hermione swatted his arm several times.

“It’s not funny!” she hissed at him repeatedly. Each time though, as he continued to laugh with
his head down, he could hear her annoyance change to amusement. After the third swat, her voice was
crackling slightly, about ready to laugh herself.

Feeling his own laughs subsiding, Harry just looked back up at her. “Yeah, it’s pretty funny,”
he said. Hermione conceded defeat and nodded in agreement, then continued her story.

“Anyway, once I was awake, I figured I’d pretend to be asleep—”

“So that I could wake up and disentangle you from me, then we could both pretend like it never
happened,” Harry finished, interrupting her. Hermione looked at him incredulously.

“When *I* woke up and found that I was your own personal teddy bear—OW!” he complained when
his comment earned him another swat.

“You deserved that,” Hermione said with a slight smile.

“I think you broke my arm,” he continued.

“Baby,” she replied.

“When I woke up,” Harry resumed his story, “I did the same thing... pretended to be asleep so
you could wake up and... remove yourself from me... and then we could pretend it never
happened.”

“Fat lot of good that did,” Hermione observed with a smile. “We were both sitting there awake,
both pretending to be asleep, both waiting for the other to wake up.”

Something else clicked in Harry’s mind.

“I probably shouldn’t ask,” he began tentatively, “but if you were awake, why did you grab hold
of me, in the middle of it... I mean even more than you already were?”

“Well... while I was sitting there pretending to be asleep, I kept my eyes closed and head down,
just in case you woke up,” she explained. “I felt you move a little and then begin to shake a tiny
bit.”

“That would’ve been me seeing Ron and Ginny and stifling my laughs,” Harry explained.

“I thought maybe you were having a nightmare,” Hermione said, then let out another sigh. “I
remembered back in the Minister’s office after you’d collapsed. Please don’t take this the wrong
way... but when you were on the floor, you seemed to calm down quite a bit when I grabbed hold of
you.” Harry noticed that as she talked, all of her embarrassment had disappeared, and if anything,
she almost looked proud.

“So, *thinking that you were having a bad dream*, I... thought that maybe if someone was
there to hold onto you again, that maybe you’d feel better, again.”

Harry was stunned, to say the least. While he certainly hadn’t been having a nightmare (in fact
the dream he had been having just prior *was* quite nice to be honest), he was touched to know
that she’d do something like that for him. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. One thing did come
to mind, however.

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, what are friends for?” Hermione asked with a grin.

“You mean besides being a teddy bear?” That earned Harry a fifth swat on the arm, though
Hermione’s embarrassed smile was bigger than ever.

* * *

Harry made the batter and preheated the waffle iron while Hermione went upstairs and changed
clothes. There was no point in Ron and Ginny knowing what happened, both decided.

Upon her return, Harry noticed her carrying this morning’s *Daily Prophet*. “It’s a good
thing you put that charm on the window,” she said. “Otherwise Metis wouldn’t have been able to get
out to go hunting during the night. It’s a good thing she’s still out. The delivery owl was sitting
there, waiting to be paid,” Hermione said, waving her newspaper.

Right as he was about to head upstairs to change his clothes, Harry noticed that the headline of
the Prophet said something about Azkaban. He started to lean over to read it.

“Go change your clothes first,” Hermione told him as she started poured the first waffle. “Then
you can read the paper.”

As he came down the stairs, the smell of freshly-made waffles was beginning to fill the house.
*Ah, very nice,* Harry thought to himself as he took a deep breath. He then began to take a
quick mental count to see how many they should make. *Better count Ron twice,* he decided. He
was interrupted by a shout from the living room.

“AH! GERROFF! GERROFF ME!!” came the panicked voice of Ron, which was followed immediately by a
heavy, dull *THUD!* Harry and Hermione both ran into the living room to see what was the
matter.

They found Ron in a disheveled heap on the floor, rubbing his backside as he glowered up at his
sister. Ginny was looking down at him with a rather amused expression. Seeing that no one was being
attacked by Death Eaters or anything like that, Hermione quickly returned to the waffle that was
about ready to burn.

“It’s not funny!” Ron protested to his sister. Harry smiled remembering a similar conversation
only moments earlier.

“Oh, please, Ron. You’d think you fell asleep on Malfoy the way you were carrying on. And
besides, I don’t know why you were yelling at me to get off of you, when you were the one to fall
asleep on me,” Ginny pointed out. She then noticed Harry standing at the edge of the room and
glanced momentarily at him with a slight grin.

“Let’s just be glad that Harry and Hermione didn’t see us like that,” Ron said. “If they did,
they’d probably say—”

“How absolutely adorable you looked all snuggled up in your sister’s lap,” Harry finished,
startling him. Ron whipped his head around with a horrified look on his face.

“Oh, and you snore, too,” Harry added.

“I do *not* snore!” Ron protested.

“Yeah you do,” Ginny added victoriously.

“So do you,” Harry pointed out to Ginny.

“I do not snore!” Ginny whined.

“You do too!” Hermione assured her from in the kitchen.

* * *

After breakfast (Dan and Emma both walked into the kitchen with a smirk, but said nothing),
there was some discussion as to how they’d spend the rest of their time together on such a
wonderful Saturday. Hermione quickly scanned the *Prophet* while they were eating and said
that this issue contained everything that the headmaster had told them yesterday, but there was
nothing new (to them). The morning was still pleasant so, just as they had the previous Saturday,
much of it was spent in King George’s Park.

On their walk down to the end of the street, Emma mentioned that she’d brought her camera with
her. She explained that this was the first time they’d ever spent much time with any of Hermione’s
friends. Since there were only four photographs remaining on the roll of film, she asked if Ron and
Ginny would mind if she took some pictures. They agreed on the condition that they got a copy of
the pictures so that they could enjoy them also.

As the sun approached its zenith and the six visitors felt sufficiently worn out from their
morning of fun (plus it was just plain starting to get hot), everyone made the short walk back to
the house. Once they were back in the house, it was only a matter of time until either Ron or Dan
brought up their planned chess rematch.

Ron lasted about five minutes.

What he lacked in patience, Ron certainly made up for in his game. As agreed, both opponents
focused on the game, though Ron asked Dan what his favorite toothpaste was after making his first
move. He then promised he was only joking and he and Dan shared a laugh.

“Checkmate!” Ron finally called half an hour later. He then admitted that Dan was “pretty good”
and that he’d hate to have play against whoever taught him how to play.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dan said thoughtfully, “I’ve always felt that I learn more by losing to a
better opponent than I do just beating the socks off someone. Why else do you think I keep playing
my teacher when I have yet to win? When it’s just a game, losing can actually be an extremely good
thing, depending on how you look at it.

“And,” he then added with a self-satisfied grin, “when you lose to someone not as skilled as
yourself, it can illuminate deficiencies you may not have realized. Sometimes a tactically lesser
opponent can be just as dangerous as a superior opponent, as they might be more... creative in
their attack to make up for it.”

After putting the board and pieces back in their case (Ron made sure to leave it out on the
coffee table in case anyone else wanted to have a go later), Ginny surprised everyone with a lunch
request.

“Dean told me about this restaurant that he liked to go to, but I can’t remember the name. They
served all kinds of Asian cuisine there,” she explained. Ron immediately made a grimace of
disgust.

“I don’t like raw fish!” he complained.

“You don’t have to eat the raw fish!” Ginny hissed back. “We *never* go out into the Muggle
world, and while we’re here, *I* want to try it!”

Harry and the Grangers all looked at each other with a small amount of hesitation. As Hermione
had pointed out the previous evening, they’d just had Chinese food just three days earlier, on
Wednesday night. But they all knew that the point of Ron and Ginny being over was for them to
experience the Muggle world (and to spend some time with their friends, of course).

“Well, we could go to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. It just so happens that our favorite one
is literally right up the street from here,” Emma suggested.

“And, Ron,” Dan added, “they don’t serve raw fish there. They *do* have an
‘all-you-can-eat’ menu option too.” Suffice it to say, but Ron was willing to give it a try. Before
going to the restaurant, they made a quick stop at one of the local shops to drop Emma’s roll of
film off for a quick one-hour develop.

On Ron’s fourth trip back to the buffet, only his selection of an *extremely* spicy dish
kept him from eating the restaurant out of business. Ginny was stuffed after two trips, and Harry
and Grangers knew what they wanted so they ordered regular lunch entrées which allowed them to take
their leftovers home. ‘All you can eat’ meant, after all, all you could eat, and not all you could
take home. No longer able to taste his food, Ron decided he’d had enough.

“Well... how was I supposed to know how hot the sign *meant* it would be?” he asked in his
defense as they walked back to the car.

“*Extremely* spicy,” Hermione reminded him of what the sign read.

“Better have the air-freshening charm handy tonight,” Ginny observed grimly.

There was still a good twenty minutes remaining until their photographs were due to be picked
up, so they just drove around for a short while showing all the sights there were to see in
Wandsworth. When Emma returned to the car with the photographs, she said she’d give them their
pictures later.

By the time everyone was once again comfortable in the house, it was just after two o’clock.
Ron, who could not get enough of Harry’s chess set, hit him up for another game. He was saved from
having to decide whether he wanted to play when he saw Emma behind Ron subtly shaking her head at
him.

“I’d like to try it,” she said behind Ron. Harry watched as Ron’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He
returned his face to normal before turning to face her.

“Sure, why not?” Ron decided.

As the board was set again, Emma spoke a great deal about how she’d found wizard’s chess
extremely interesting, about how the pieces moved, and of course how she’d never played before.
Dan’s first game still fresh in Harry’s mind, he could not help but notice how she never actually
said that she’d never played *chess* before; everything she said was in reference to
*wizard’s* chess.

Harry also remembered that Dan never *did* say from whom he’d learned to play chess.

As he got comfortable, Harry noticed Ron watching Emma suspiciously as she spoke. Perhaps he’d
learned Dan’s lesson well. Once the game began, the two players engaged in idle chit chat, but
neither made any real attempt to distract the other.

Ten minutes in, it was clear that both of them were serious and intently focused on the game.
Twenty minutes in, it appeared Emma and Ron were pretty well evenly matched. At the half-hour mark,
Emma had a slight lead on Ron. Forty-five minutes in, it was clear Emma was winning. Ron knew it,
but this time, it *was* the time to fight to the death... or at least to the checkmate.

Finally, after fifty-seven minutes (Hermione had timed it by occasionally looking at the clock),
Ron’s king kneeled down in defeat. It was the first time Harry could remember seeing Ron beat by a
better player (yesterday didn’t count).

From what he’d seen of him in his limited experience as Gryffindor Keeper, Harry didn’t expect
Ron would take this defeat very well. As the game had progressed, Ron’s brow was constantly
furrowed in concentration. He couldn’t tell if Ron was upset or not. He was therefore very
pleasantly surprised when Ron stood up from the kitchen table after the game wearing a large
grin.

“*THAT* was the best game I’ve ever played,” he said, running a hand through his red hair
and massaging his scalp as if his brain was tired. “I’m not sure whether I made a wrong move or
something, but still, it was a challenge the whole way thorough... which *was* kinda fun.”

As Emma stood up, she smiled graciously. “Ronald, you learn a lot of things as you go through
life. Fortunately—or unfortunately depending on how you look at it—if I hear something, I remember
it. That makes me extremely susceptible to quoting movies and television programs. I’m going to
quote you something from one of my favorites. ‘It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose.
That is not a weakness. That is life.’”

Ron stared at Emma, confused. “If you don’t win,” she tried to explain, “don’t automatically
assume that *you* lost the game. There will always be someone out there who is better than
you, smarter than you,” she added, sending the briefest of glances to Hermione. Having spent two
weeks with Hermione’s parents, Harry got the distinct feeling that *that* was a reminder to
her of some conversation they’d shared at some point.

* * *

Faster than anyone expected, and sooner than they wanted, it was ten minutes to five o’clock.
“Well, probably time to get going,” Ron noted as he climbed off Harry’s Firebolt. He’d begged Harry
to just let him float around his bedroom on it for a few minutes.

The children were forbidden from flying their brooms while they were at Grimmauld. Molly, having
plenty of experience dealing with Weasley children, had therefore locked all of their brooms in her
bedroom, knowing that was the only way to ensure someone didn’t “accidentally” find themselves
flying around the neighborhood.

“Well, Harry mate, don’t tell Hermione I said this, but I really did have a brilliant time
here,” Ron said. “It’ll be nice though getting back to the magical world.”

“What do mean by that?” Harry asked, slightly confused.

“Well, the Muggle world is a fine place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to *live* here,” Ron
explained. “Take after breakfast this morning, for example. You guys actually had to wash out the
popcorn bowls from last night. Why *wash* them when you can just...?” he asked seriously as he
waved his hand as if he was holding his wand.

“Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that... it’s just not me,” Ron explained. “Like
I said, it’s a great place to visit... And I did have fun here. But just don’t tell her I said
that. She’d never let me live it down.”

*Don’t worry, I won’t,* Harry thought to himself. He was certain Hermione would enjoy
reminding Ron about his time here if she heard that. He was also certain that if she heard the
second part, Ron would need to worry more about *living*, than he would ‘living it down.’

While Dan and Emma were in the kitchen looking for some envelopes to put Ron and Ginny’s
photographs in, the four teenagers said their goodbyes.

“Are you happy now?” Ginny asked Ron with a smirk when she saw him and Harry descending the
stairs. Ron nodded, looking almost guilty. “He’s been bugging Mum about getting on his broom ever
since we moved in,” she explained to Hermione.

“I still can’t believe your mum beat me,” Ron said with a slight laugh to Hermione.

“What’d you expect,Ronald? She’salways been the best chess player in our family,” Hermione
replied. Ron just shrugged his shoulders.

“All right everyone!” Emma practically sang as she and Dan returned from the kitchen. She handed
both Ginny and Hermione an envelope. They both opened them and removed the photographs.

Emma had said earlier that there were four photographs remaining on her roll of film. No one
sixteen or younger noticed that there were six photographs in their envelopes.

“They don’t move,” Ron said, pointing out the obvious, as he stood next to his sister to better
see them. Harry stood next to Hermione.

The first two photographs were taken by Dan. The first was of the four of them, just standing
together in King George’s Park. Emma intentionally had them stand together for that one. The second
one was of the four of them, all on the swing set. Harry and Ron had challenged each other to see
who could go the highest, while Hermione and Ginny swung leisurely and watched them as best they
could.

Whether by luck or on purpose, Dan had snapped this particular photograph at the exact moment at
the top of Harry’s swing when it felt like gravity let go for a split-second and the chains
actually went loose. Just like he remembered when looking at the photograph of Hermione and her
parents, seeing that moment frozen in time had a much stronger effect than if he’d seen it
moving.

The third and four photographs were taken by Emma, and were of the four of them chasing each
other around playing Tag. Ron complained about not seeing the point in that game until he was “It”
and the other three started taunting him, saying he just couldn’t catch them.

In the third one, Ron was about two seconds away from tackling Harry and knocking him to the
ground. Harry thought it funny to accuse Ron of running as if he was flying a school broom. At
Hogwarts, that was the only thing worse than for one boy to tell another that he ran like a girl.
That, and no one ever said the other because the girls at Hogwarts often hexed boys for saying
things like that.

The fourth picture was of Harry reaching out to help pull up Hermione, with Ron and Ginny
looking on concerned in the background. Harry was now “It” and had been chasing Hermione, since Ron
and Ginny were further away. She’d slipped on a wet patch of grass caused by a leaky underground
sprinkler. The fields in the park were used part-time for youth group football games, so the park
was exempt from the ban on lawn irrigation for safety reasons to keep the ground soft. Ironic,
no?

Thanks to the soft ground, and the tendency for witches’ and wizards’ bodies to be slightly more
durable than Muggles’, Hermione hadn’t hurt herself when she fell. Since she was already laughing
at Harry as he tried to catch her, she merely found her fall even funnier. The picture showed both
of them laughing as he pulled her up. At the time, Harry had a sense of déjà vu as he recalled
similarly pulling her up back in the hallway of Grimmauld Place.

As Harry and Hermione lingered on that particular photograph, they suddenly heard Ron and Ginny
burst into riotous laughter. The two of them looked up at the brother and sister.

“I didn’t think it was *that* funny,” Hermione said, befuddled by their reaction. “Yeah, I
fell, and I laughed, but nothing like *that*.”

“N-n-not th-that!” Ron managed to choke out between laughs.

“*THIS!*” Ginny exclaimed as she turned their stack of photographs around. The two of them
then began to laugh even harder.

Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened in shock as they saw the photograph. They then went to the
next one in their own stack. As they looked at them, Hermione had shuffled the top photograph to
the bottom of the stack as they looked at them. Since she hadn’t bothered to see how many photos
there were in her stack, after four, she simply assumed that was the last one. That, and she (and
Harry) were very content to look at that fourth photograph.

The fifth photograph in their stack was of Harry and Hermione, asleep together on the loveseat.
Harry suddenly heard a voice in the back of his mind. *“Where’s my camera?”* he remembered
from his dream this morning. Hermione’s and Emma’s voices did sound somewhat alike, but the more he
thought about it, the more he remembered that it was *Emma’s* voice in his dream, not
Hermione’s.

The summer storm... there were flashes, but he never *did* see any bolts of lightning, nor
did he hear any thunder. He must have heard Emma when she was getting the newspaper and seen
thorough his closed eyelids the flash of the camera and simply incorporated them into his
dream.

And so now, there were photographs of the two of them snuggled up together, asleep on the
loveseat. All at the same time, Harry felt ashamed, humiliated, guilty, and embarrassed about
getting caught like that, and that Ron and Ginny now knew. As for the picture itself... *Nice
photograph!* he thought to himself.

“MUM!!” Hermione practically shouted, looking very upset. Harry looked over at Emma and saw a
look of amusement die on her face, as though she hadn’t been expecting such a strong reaction from
Hermione. Standing next to her, out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione’s face start
to get red. At this angle however, he couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger.

By now, Ron’s laughter had subsided enough that he could now talk properly. “Oh! Well, well,
well. Look at who was making fun of *us* for falling asleep on the sofa. Thought you could get
away with it, did you?” he asked finding this extremely hilarious. “Well, it looks like Hermione’s
mum didn’t let you, did she?”

At those words, Ginny immediately stopped laughing and looked back down at the photographs in
her hand. She very slowly, and almost in fear, flipped one more to the sixth and final photograph.
Her face paled at what she saw.

“Ron,” Ginny whispered, “let it go!”

On his side, Harry saw Emma make a motion with her hand. He looked over to see her moving her
index finger in a circular motion, trying to tell them to flip to the last photograph. Once they
realized what she was trying to tell them, Harry and Hermione looked at the last picture. They then
burst out into laughter.

“Yeah, now you think it’s funny!” Ron exclaimed with a grin when they started laughing. But then
he quickly realized they weren’t laughing with him. “What’re you laughing at?” he asked.

“This!” Ginny said, annoyed at her brother as she shoved the pictures in front of his face.

“Bloody hell!” Ron shouted loudly as he saw a photograph of himself asleep, curled up in the
fetal position, with his head in Ginny’s lap. “It’s not funny!” he repeated himself from this
morning.

Between laughs, Harry managed to get a few words out. “Oh, I think it is!”

“Please, Harry, mate, *my best mate!* You won’t tell anyone about this, will you?” Ron
begged.

Harry already knew his answer, considering the contents of the fifth photograph, but he decided
to stretch it out a little.

“Well...” he pretended to consider, “I don’t know. It depends.”

“WHAT?!” he heard Hermione whisper to him, sounding aghast.

“Depends on what?” Ron asked desperately, not hearing Hermione’s whisper. Harry grinned and held
up the picture of himself and Hermione on the loveseat.

Ron suddenly looked very disappointed. “That’s blackmail, you know.”

“I prefer to think of it as a mutual agreement,” Hermione said. Harry was relieved she’d
cottoned on to what he was doing. Ron stared longingly at his own picture of them on the loveseat.
He didn’t appear eager to remain silent.

“It’s your decision, Ron,” Harry said. For added emphasis, he flipped back to Ron and Ginny’s
picture and showed it to them.

“Fine,” Ron grudgingly agreed.

“FINE!” Ginny agreed also.

“We keep this to ourselves,” Hermione proposed. “We don’t tell anyone, and we don’t show anyone
the pictures.” Ron and Ginny acquiesced.

By now, it was 4:59. “Time to go,” Dan said urgently. Ginny quickly put the pictures back into
the envelope and stuffed it into her pocket. Ron went over to the corner of the living room and
fetched his and his sister’s shopping, shrinking down all of their bags. He knew that now was
probably not the best time to tell his sister to shrink them herself (because of the
photographs).

“I had a great time!” Ginny said as she gave Hermione a quick hug goodbye as Harry and Ron
watched the exchange (since guys didn’t do that sort of thing). After putting his now miniaturized
purchases into his pocket, Ron went over retrieved his piece of candy-come Portkey and went over
next to Ginny as she similarly stowed her shopping.

“Twenty seconds,” Dan warned them as he looked at his watch. It only made sense that the
Headmaster would set the Portkey to activate at five o’clock according to whichever clock they
looked at. Actually, if anyone had checked closely, they would have noticed that every single clock
and watch in the house now showed exactly the same time, down to the second.

Ginny reached out and put her hand on the Portkey.

“One. Two. Three,” Dan counted. Ron and Ginny disappeared, on their way back to 12 Grimmauld
Place.

Hermione looked back down at the photograph of her and Harry, showing it to him again.

“Well,” she said loudly and dramatically so that her mother could hear, “at least Mum took the
picture at an angle so you can’t see me drooling.”


Just for fun... I LOVE Google!!





27. The Month that Followed: Unexpected Tidings, and a Movie
------------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Only the wacky things I put them
through.*

*A/N: Sorry I haven't answered everyone's reviews yet. I spent several hours answering
about half of them on Saturday when suddenly the entire site disappeared. When it returned, almost
all of the replied I'd sent were now gone. I'm going to give it another day or two to see
if they magically reappear before I try to answer any more.*

*Confession time: I made a mistake. GASP! My days are off. I’ve been keeping a calendar of
events (nerd) just so I can see at a glance where everything was and when it happened. As I was
updating it for this chapter, I casually glanced ahead as I toyed around with ideas for the train
ride back to school. And then I realized it. I started this calendar on September 1, and filled all
the dates is forwards and back from that point. I kept thinking, “back to school, September 1,
Monday.” But today I finally realized it: they take the train back to school on September 1, yes,
and classes start on Monday, yes, But those two events CAN’T happen on the same day. September 1
has to be a Sunday!*

*Okay, it isn’t anything major that ruins the plot; it’s one of those embarrassing things for
people like me who USUALLY pay such close attention to the details. Nothing changes... it just now
means Harry’s birthday was a Wednesday instead of Thursday... no biggie. I’m not going to rewrite
the first 26 chapters to fix it, but I will use the correct dates from here on out. So if you look
at my calendar, see bottom, you’ll see my little oops on there.*

*Well, as a birthday present from me to you, I give you... thirty-six pages (longest one yet)!
That, and this chapter just didn’t want to come out at ten pages. So, make them last, as there will
be a delay until the next chapter comes out. I won’t say how long because I still don’t know yet.
There are a couple things I’ve been putting off in favor of writing these last two chapters, but I
really can’t anymore. Just know that I’ll be back at my keyboard as soon as I can.*

*I just want to say that I defend fully the dinner table scene. Let me just say that I have a
sister, and I also spent six years in high school and college assisting with my high school’s
softball team, so I know exactly what even the most bookwormish of girls are capable of in the
right circumstances. What circumstances those are, I think Emma accurately explains.*

*There’s another just-for-fun shout out to one of my favorite TV shows in here. Ten points if
you recognize it. Here’s a clue. If you know what Barty Crouch Sr., Barty Crouch Jr., and Madam
Hooch all have in common OUTSIDE of the HP world, then you’re likely to get it... no appointment
necessary.*

*As always, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional... as are the differences.*

*Thank you, thank you, thank you, MapleMountain for trudging through thirty-six of
them.*

*And finally, congratulations to Renaiya for making it through Muggle high school. I’m sure
you would have preferred that diploma be from Hogwarts instead of you-know-where, but still, an
accomplishment nonetheless! CONGRATULATIONS!*


Chapter 27. The Month that Followed: Unexpected Tidings, and a Movie.

With the activity and excitement of Harry’s birthday, the reading of Sirius’s will, school
shopping, and Voldemort’s failed attack behind them, life at number 8, Broomhill Road soon settled
back into a routine.

The *Sunday Prophet* was pretty much devoid of any new information about the attack at
Azkaban. After a late breakfast and leisurely morning, Emma announced that it was cleaning day.
After Dan, Harry, and Hermione all went through the customary “Do we have to?” whining period (and
Emma replied with an equally whining “Yes, we have to,” they all got to work. Cleaning house wasn’t
so bad when *everyone* helped do it.

Everyone was responsible for their own bedroom of course, but aside from that, Harry was
assigned the upstairs hallway, bathroom, and staircase, Hermione the living room, and Dan and Emma
the dining room and kitchen. Afterwards, Harry and Hermione worked on the front yard while Dan and
Emma did the back.

Even with the lack of rain and watering, weeds still were able to grow, well, like weeds. A few
of Hermione’s neighbors out and about stopped to say hello as they hadn’t seen her since the
previous summer.

“Hullo, Hermione, m’dear,” Hermione heard a familiar voice call as she was on her knees weeding
the front flowerbed while Harry worked on the narrow bed along the wrought iron fence.

“Oh! Hello, Eve! How are you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!” Hermione exclaimed as she
stood up and gave her neighbor and former babysitter a warm hug.

“Oh, I know m’dear. Not since last summer. I’m fine. And yourself?” Eve asked.

“Just wonderful!” Hermione replied. “So what are you doing today?”

“Oh, just taking the little one out for her walkies,” Eve explained as she indicated the
highly-energized Pomeranian that was now excitedly jumping up at Hermione’s leg.

“Hello, Precious,” she greeted the dog as she leaned down to scratch that little “scritchy-spot”
(as Eve called it) that she knew the small dog loved so much. While Hermione was kneeling down, Eve
finally noticed Harry in the upper part of the yard.

“And who is this *strapping* young man you have weeding your mother’s vines?”

Hermione turned simply out of instinct to look in the direction her neighbor was pointing. She
found Harry facing away from them, currently bending over to pick up a pile of weeds. Hermione
wondered how Eve knew Harry was so handsome. Then again, the view he was currently offering them
*was* quite nice as well.

“Oh, that’s Harry. Just a friend from school,” she answered as the two women watched him dump
his pile into the clippings bucket. As he turned back to the fence, Hermione turned back to Eve,
only to see her with her eyebrow raised and wearing a look that clearly asked without words,
*“JUST a friend?”*

To be entirely honest, it was not such a large leap to make that assumption. If asked, any of
Hermione’s neighbors would have realized that they’d never seen any boy over at her house...
ever... until now. It was one of those things that people didn’t notice the absence until now that
he was here.

Hermione knew that Eve was a very warm, very friendly, very talkative person who could easily
say the wrong thing in front of Harry by accident. She knew that she *had* to explain to Eve
why it was important that she be careful about what she said. There was only one way to do
that.

Blushing slightly, she could only smile and hold her hands together in a “hoping” sort of way,
and then brought her finger to her lips to ask her to not say anything. Eve nodded in
understanding.

“May I at least *meet* him?” she asked. “Or are you trying to keep him away from every
other female on the planet?” she added quietly.

“Yes to both,” Hermione replied quietly, then turned to Harry.

* * *

Three little words. Harry hadn’t been *trying* to listen to Hermione’s “reunion” of sorts
with her neighbor, but her words had carried.

*“Just a friend.”*

They echoed in his mind as he walked back to the fence. *“Just a friend.” “**JUST***
*a* **FRIEND***.”* He had not at all been prepared for the impact they would have on
him. They cut through him like a cold wind on a sharp winter morning.

“Harry?” Hermione called, which he didn’t hear.

He really couldn’t have expected her to answer that question in any other way. But still, it
reminded him of where he did, and didn’t, stand with his best friend, whom he just happened to
fancy.

“HARRY!”

Harry’s mind snapped back to reality as he turned towards the sound of her voice. He walked over
to them as they looked at him with bemused expressions.

“Sorry, my mind was wandering there for a moment,” he explained lamely.

“Eve, this is Harry. Harry, this is Eve. When I was small, she used to watch me after school
until Mum and Dad came home from work.

“Nice to meet you, dear,” Eve said warmly, offering her hand to shake. Precious also noticed
Harry and began pulling on her leash in an attempt to investigate the new human being. Harry looked
questioningly at Eve, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to pet a strange dog without permission. “Just
hold out your hand and let her get a good smell.”

Precious came over and sniffed Harry’s outstretched hand. She must have decided he seemed safe
enough, for she immediately began to wag her tail and lick his hand.

“That’s enough,” Eve said to her dog, and pulled very gently on the leash. “Oh, by the way. Did
you get the booklets for getting your driving license? I gave them to David to give to your
father.”

“I did. Thank you.”

“I know you’re going back to school at the end of the month, so be sure to look them over before
then. If you have any questions at all about anything, give me a call. Also, once you’ve taken your
theoretical, let me know when you get ready to take the practical, and I’ll talk to my friend over
at the DSA and make sure you get one of the *good* examiners.

“Well, I best be off,” Hermione’s neighbor suddenly said. “Need to let Precious have her fun in
the park before it gets too hot today. Heard it’s supposed to get to thirty-four today. Far too hot
if you ask me.

“Like I said, it’s wonderful to see you again. I know your mum and dad said it’s a wonderful
school, but I don’t get to see you anymore, dear. Be sure to stop by and say goodbye before you
head back. Nice to meet you, Harry.” Eve then gave Hermione one more hug and shook Harry’s hand
again. She and Precious then continued walking down the street towards the park.

As the two of them returned to their weeds, Harry did his best to banish from his mind those
words that had so thoroughly put a damper on the rest of his day. He knew it was a straightforward
question and a literal answer. But still...

After that, the only *good* thing about the rest of Sunday, in Harry’s opinion, was that
while still sunny it was significantly cooler than expected. The official, recorded maximum
temperature for the day ended up being a downright pleasant twenty-two, twelve degrees below
forecast. No one knew why. Then again, no one complained either.

Monday soon arrived and Dan and Emma went back to work. With little new to discuss (which is
probably more accurate than ‘report’) about the “incident” at Azkaban, the *Prophet* returned
to one of their favorite, and profitable, topics: Harry. Things were a little different this time,
however.

*HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?*

*After the failed attack on Azkaban Prison on Friday, talk has begun to resurface again about
the mysterious disturbance at the Ministry of Magic six weeks ago. While there were no reports that
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was directly involved in the siege of Azkaban, the presence of Death
Eaters suggests his involvement.*

*“We’re not allowed to talk about it. Don’t ask me anything. Don’t you have anything better to
do on a Sunday night?” asked one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the
Ministry last night.*

*The possible reappearance from the shadows of You Know Who, combined with what appears to
have been an attempt to free prisoners has brought attention back to the incident in June. Highly
placed sources within the Ministry, speaking under condition of anonymity, have confirmed that the
disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.*

*Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a
place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving
sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy.*

*The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry
Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to
have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call Potter “the
Chosen One,” believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.*

*The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page 2,
column 5)*

“Great!” Harry spat, annoyed, as he carelessly tossed the newspaper onto the kitchen table,
nearly knocking over his glass of milk. “Another title for my collection.”

He glared at the piece of magical newsparchment with such intensity that one might think he was
hoping to scare it into changing the article. Hermione, having already read the full article,
picked up the newspaper and refolded it neatly.

“There wasn’t much else in the rest of the article,” she told him since he’d only read the front
page. Harry nodded vaguely.

“Looks like Madam Bones was able to keep your vision quiet,” she added hopefully. Harry nodded
vaguely.

Realizing the sour mood he was now in, Hermione stared at the headline for a few moments.

“You know what we really ought to do?” she said seriously. “We should have some badges made for
you. You know, like the ones you get at the Ministry. They could say things... all sorts of
things.” Hermione then changed her voice to mimic Yogurt as he professed the wonders of
merchandising in *Spaceballs*.

“‘Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived,’ ‘Harry Potter: the Chosen One,’ ‘Harry Potter: the
*Flamethrower!*’ The kids, they love this one!” A small smile began to break though Harry’s
glowering visage, along with a quizzical look. “With the right fire spell,” she clarified. “Do I
*need* to continue?”

Harry smiled sheepishly and shook his head. “People are going to call you what they will, Harry.
It’s just a title. What’s important is how you see yourself.”

“I know,” he said petulantly in the tone of a small child being reminded of that which he
*knew* he should have known better. “It’s just....” He didn’t finish the sentence when he
realized the look on her face warned him that she wasn’t going to let him start a pity party.

“*FINE!*” he conceded exasperatedly, trying to give the impression that he really was
irritated. Whether he was or not, the tiny uptick around the corners of his mouth betrayed the fact
that he knew she was right... again.

Already done with his breakfast, Harry waited for Hermione to finish hers, occasionally casting
brief glances at her. As he thought about her words, he began to think about something of Hermione
he’d noticed all along, but really hadn’t given any conscious thought until now.

“Erm... can I ask you a question?” he asked tentatively. She looked up at him and waited. “Yes,
right. I just did,” he conceded.

“Well, I was just wondering... how come you’ve never talked about movies before? I really don’t
remember you ever talking about them much in the last five years. I mean, it feels like all we’ve
done is watch movies together these last few weeks. Now, don’t get me wrong,” Harry added quickly,
“I *LOVE* watching movies with you, and your parents. I feel like I’m making up for all those
lost years with the Dursleys. It’s just that I didn’t know that about you before.”

Hermione sat there for a moment; she seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “Well,
*there’s* a question I wasn’t expecting,” she said with a small smile. “I guess part of it is
because I really didn’t think I had anyone to talk to about it. Most everyone at school lives in
the magical world, so their exposure to movies is quite limited, if not nonexistent. I know Ginny
once mentioned to me that she’s never seen a movie or watched television before. I’m pretty sure
the same is true for Ron. And I got the distinct impression that you weren’t much better off.

“Part of it is also that, believe it or not, but as I started going to Hogwarts, my movie and
television intake has actually increased. When I was at my other school, I never watched movies or
television. I was always reading books. Yeah, imagine that,” Hermione snarked as she saw Harry’s
grin.

“Remember Mum’s rule about no books when we spend time together? She and Dad started that
*after* I went to Hogwarts. I don’t think they really were prepared for me to be gone for
nearly ten months out of the year. I usually read in my room, so for me to be gone for most of the
year, and *then* be hidden away in my room reading when they got home from work was a little
hard on them.

“That summer after first year was when she instituted that rule. I could do my homework and read
as much as I wanted while they were at work, but when they got home, they wanted to make sure we
all did something *together* as a family... even if it was sit *together* and watch
television or a movie.

“When we’re all reading, each of us is encapsulated into our own little world,” Hermione
explained. “At least when we’re watching a movie, we’re all doing the same thing. We laugh together
at the same jokes, we all fight against each other to answer the game show questions first.

“As the years have gone by and I’ve spent less and less time at home during holidays,
*together* time has become even more important. By the time they get home and we’ve had
dinner, there’s really only enough time to watch a movie or a couple programs before they’re ready
to go to bed. So in that sense, I’ve really only started watching movies since I started going to
Hogwarts, which is also pretty much why I didn’t really talk about them early on.”

For some reason, the tone of her voice as she finished that last sentence suggested that there
was one more thing that she hadn’t shared.

“And?” Harry encouraged her.

“And... I am my parents’ daughter. My preference in movies reflects theirs. Let’s just say that
there are more than a few who would consider their tastes as... nerdy... geeky? I’m already the
bookworm of Hogwarts. The last thing I need is for people to know about my movie habits as well.
So, run for it, Harry! You’ve now just seen the *real* Hermione Granger; the one I keep locked
away until I’m at home.”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Oh, okay then,” he said simply. “So the *real*
Hermione Granger is the same as the old one, except now we get to watch movies also?” Hermione
thought about it and finally nodded. Harry then jokingly held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, the
*real* Hermione Granger.”

“Git,” she teased, as she playfully swatted his hand away.

“The *real* Harry Potter,” he confirmed. “Or should I say the *Chosen One?*” he
replied grinning.

“Never,” Hermione replied. “Just Harry. You’ll always be just Harry.”

Harry felt as though his heart skipped a beat as she said that. Seeing that she was now done
with her breakfast, he desperately tried to think of something clever to say to cover his own
flustered feeling. Knowing that she’d had the last word about his titles, he quickly thought of
something he hoped would give him the last word. Or it might just get him killed and they’d
*be* his last words.

“By the way, I think you forgot one,” he said innocently as he started to walk around the table
in case he needed to start running. “Harry Potter: the teddy bear!”

He was right; he did need to run.

* * *

With their sixth year classes selected and books purchased, Harry knew it was time to start his
homework (once he’d unlocked himself from the safety of the upstairs bathroom). A closer look at
his homework list promised a lot of reading and far too many essays.

“Yay!” he said unenthusiastically about starting his homework, repeating himself from the
previous Monday when he’d gotten his O.W.L.s and realized he had two more years of Potions to look
forward to since he qualified for the N.E.W.T. class.

“That’s the spirit, Harry!” Hermione again encouraged him, just as she had before. Right before
lunch, Hermione went upstairs to use the bathroom. As she climbed the stairs, the telephone
rang.

“Would you grab that, Harry?” Hermione called from the top of the stairs. “If they’re selling
anything, tell them we don’t want any and to not call back.”

“Hello?” Harry answered the phone.

*“Hello, Harry. It’s Emma. Is Hermione there?”*

“Erm, yeah, but she’s... *busy* at the moment.”

*“Busy? What is...? Oh, smart boy. Anyway, Dan and I will be home late tonight. We let all of
our month-end paperwork slide this weekend, so we’re going to stay tonight to try to finish it up.
Let Hermione know. We’ll grab something to eat here, so tell her F.F.Y. tonight. Oh, gotta go.
Dan’s got a fighter in his chair. Doesn’t like coming to the dentist, this one.”*

“Little boy or little girl?” Harry asked, hearing the amusement in Emma’s voice.

*“Neither,”* she replied. *“Man, thirty-something. REALLY doesn’t like dentists.”*

“Before you go, there’s something I needed to ask you real quick. Is it all right if I use the
telephone? To call someone I mean,” Harry asked tentatively.

*“Of course, dear,”* Emma replied. *“As long as you’re not calling the States or
anything. I don’t want to find any calls to Oregon or somewhere like that on our phone bill this
month. You’re not calling some secret girlfriend, are you?”* she teased.

“No, just wanted to call a shop in London,” Harry explained. “There’s... something I wanted to
get... someone... for their birthday, and I needed to talk to the shop owner... about it.”

*“Someone, huh?”* Emma asked shrewdly. Harry could tell she saw right through him already.
Knowing her, it’d only be worse if he denied it. He wouldn’t be too obvious about it, however.

“Yeah, and I can’t exactly go back into London, into the store, on my own without tipping my
hand to this person, and ruining the surprise.”

*“I understand completely. Oh, and if you need either me or Dan to pick something up for you,
just let us know.”*

*Wow!* Harry thought to himself. He really hadn’t thought that far ahead yet in his plan.
He’d briefly discussed his idea with the store clerk he’d spoken to in the record store, but was
told he’d need to speak with the manager, considering the unusual nature of his request.

He knew that at some point he’d need to pay for and pick up his present, assuming it could be
done. But since he still didn’t know if it *could* be done, he hadn’t given thought to the end
part of it. At least now he knew he had a way to pick up the present without Hermione finding out
about it.

“Thanks, Emma, I will,” Harry replied.

*“Gotta go, Harry. See you tonight. Don’t fall asleep again. Bye,”* Emma said, then hung
up, not giving Harry a chance to say anything. He was pretty sure he heard her chuckling as she
hung up the phone. He turned three shades of red by the time he put his own receiver back on the
hook.

“Hermione was right: this IS worse than being yelled at,” he commented to himself. Knowing that
she could be back at any second, he decided to look up the telephone number and make the call
another time.

Ten minutes later, Harry realized that Hermione still hadn’t returned from the bathroom. He was
about to the point of debating whether to knock on the door when he heard it open and heard her go
into her room, closing the door. Several minutes later, she returned downstairs and immediately
returned to her Arithmancy text.

“Everything all right?” Harry asked gently; Hermione nodded. “I was about to start wondering if
you’d fallen in,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” she said with a slight chuckle, “everything’s fine.” A moment later, she added, “Though...
I should probably warn you.”

Harry looked at her in concern. “I just want to apologize in advance if I suddenly scream at you
or attempt to remove any number of your body parts. I might be a little tetchy for these next few
days.”

“Why? What’s so special about this...? Oh! *That* time of the month,” Harry whispered.

Hermione just glared at him, but softened when she saw nothing but concern and support on his
face. “Um, yeah,” she admitted. “And I can’t take anything for it.”

“Erm... aren’t there... Muggle medicines you can take?” Harry asked awkwardly, genuinely trying
to help. “Feminax?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Oh, how he wished he could sink
through the sofa and disappear.

The only reason he even knew the name of *that* particular medication was because Dudley
would make fun of the actors in the advertisement when it was on the telly. It was one of the few
times Aunt Petunia actually looked displeased with her precious son.

Again, Hermione glared at Harry; this time, he did find it quite scary. But again, seeing his
own discomfort, she relented.

“No, I can’t take *anything*,” she explained. “No potions, no pills, nothing! Not even an
aspirin. I’m down to only one potion per month... you know, from June. But I’m not supposed to take
anything else that might interact with it... at least not until Madam Pomfrey sees me again, and
that won’t be until we go back to school.

“Ordinarily, I just bring the appropriate relief potion home for the summer. She brews it by the
gallon for all the girls at school. The problem with using such an effective potion is that your
body gets accustomed to it. Now that I *can’t* take it, everything feels five times worse than
it normally would.”

“I’m sorry...” Harry began to say.

“Don’t you DARE apologize for that night again, Harry,” Hermione snapped at him. “I would have
followed you there no matter what... and you KNOW it... so let’s not start that, okay?”

“Erm... okay.” Harry said, almost afraid. “Actually, I was just going to say that I was sorry
that you were feeling bad, and was going to ask if there was anything I could do for you.”

Hermione just smiled sadly. “Just promise that you’ll forgive me for any *more* snappish
moments.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed smiling. “But I will defend myself if you try to remove any of my body
parts. I am rather fond of all my bits and pieces, thank you very much.”

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed gratefully. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Oh, just your mum. She said they’d be home late tonight. She also said to tell you F.F.Y. I
didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”

“Fend for yourself,” she explained. “It means we’re on our own for dinner tonight.”

“Ah... cereal. Perfect!” Harry joked.

Tuesday was the sixth, Harry’s turn to make breakfast, allowing Hermione to sleep in until the
tantalizing aromas from below became too much to ignore. It was, she decided, one of the few good
things about his’s time with his relatives: he was actually a very good cook... at least of those
things the Dursleys liked to eat.

When her stomach (and her nose) would no longer allow her to lie in bed, she roused herself and
dressed quickly. Her shower could wait until after she’d been fed; that, and she was hoping to be
able to sneak up on Harry and watch him cook for a few moments before he noticed her.

She always found it... *reassuring*... to see him do everyday sorts of things: cooking,
homework, watching television with her, sorting his laundry into light and dark piles. It was
associating with him the mundane details of life that fascinated her the most. It suggested that
there was more to him that just defeating dark lords.

It gave her hope that once everything was all over, he would be able to go on with his life. She
tried not to think about it *too* much however. When she did allow herself to get swept away
in one of her fantasies about how the future might play out for the two of them, it often led to
certain *other* fantasies; fantasies that might have her more closely investigating foreign
cultures... certain Veela customs, for example.

As she descended the stairs and approached the kitchen (it smelled like eggs and sausages this
morning), she heard him talking to someone. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she made sure
to stay out of sight as she crossed the living room.

“I’m holding for your manager,” Harry said. His voice sounded pleasant enough, but after five
years, she could hear the annoyance in it.

*He must be on the phone,* Hermione reasoned to herself. She could hear him continue to
make breakfast as he talked on the phone. Cordless telephones were very handy.

“How many people are there in a store that size?” Harry muttered to himself, still on hold. “I
don’t have all day. She’ll be up... YES! Hello? [...] No, that’s all right. I didn’t mind waiting.”
Hermione smirked to herself.

“I don’t know if the guy I talked to told you, but I stopped by on Friday and asked him about
the possibility of getting a... [...] Yeah, that’s it. *That’s me.* [...] Oh, well, first I
was just wondering if it was even possible. I saw that thing you had and wondered if it could go
the other way. [...] Yeah. Exactly.”

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be listening in on Harry’s conversation, but she just couldn’t help
herself. She was nearly positive he was talking to the record store owner, or at least the manager.
What he’d been doing in there, she was *still* determined to find out. The way he almost
playfully told her it was nothing the other day was like dangling a bit of string in front of
Crookshanks.

“You can? I mean, it can be done? Brilliant! *What’s it for?* Erm... well...” he stuttered
awkwardly. “Yeah. How’d you know? [...] Oh. Is it obvious? [...] Well, no, not yet. I wish.
Actually, that’s kinda what this is for. At least partly. [...] Thanks. So, what’s involved. What
do I need to do? [...] Oh, there are? What’s the difference between the two?”

What Hermione wouldn’t give for a pair of extendable ears right about now. Of course, she wasn’t
really sure if they’d be much help. And fortunately for her conscience, she knew that if she tried
to pick up one of the other phones, there would be an obvious *click* as it connected. That
saved her from having to even decide if she wanted to go that far.

“Okay. The small one would be fine then. I really only need room enough for one. [...] No,
nothing original. [...] Yeah. [...] Okay, so I have to buy it first, then you can do the...
process... or whatever it is? [...] No, that sounds fine. [...] Now, what would something like this
cost? [...] *Oh. Really?* Twenty-five? Well, I wasn’t expecting that. I only needed... [...]
No, that’s fine. I mean, if that’s how it is, then that’s how it is. I’ve just never ever thought
about it before.”

Hermione felt as though she was about to scream. She was getting so much information about what
he was up to, but without the other half of the conversation, she couldn’t make sense of any of it.
She was beginning to reconsider taking the risk of picking up on of the other phones when Harry
laughed.

“Well, there you go. Now you know. If anyone else comes in and wants to do the same thing, you
can tell them that they’re the *second* person to ever ask you about it. [...] So, considering
what you said, what *are* we looking at for cost? [...] Oh, okay. [...] Well, like I was
saying... I really didn’t have the faintest idea about any it. I didn’t know if it would be ten
pounds or a thousand.”

Hermione could hear the surprise in his voice, but without seeing his face or knowing what the
manager said, she couldn’t tell if it was a good surprise or not. He mentioned ‘twenty-five.’
Twenty-five what? Pounds?

“And I have to pay in advance? Okay. That might prove tricky. [...] No, it’s not the money.
Money’s not a problem. It’s just getting it to you. I can’t drive yet, and if I were to jump on a
bus or take the Tube, my absence *would* be noticed.” Harry laughed again. “Exactly! What
if... what if I have someone else pay you? Would that work? [...] Okay, great! [...] Well, I don’t
know who it would be yet, but I’ll tell them to tell you it’s for me. [...] Of course. It’s Harry.
Harry Potter.

“So, how long does something like this take to do? [...] Oh, really? No, that’s great! [...] Oh,
they are? Erm, how long will they be gone?” The disappointment in his voice was evident. “Oh. That
*is* cutting it rather close. [...] Well, ideally I would liked to’ve had it in hand by the
first of September. I’ll be leaving for Scotland on the first. But there is some room in there. I
absolutely, positively have to have it on September 19, or this whole thing will have been for
nothing.”

Hermione put her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Whatever he was doing, it was
for HER birthday... it had to be! She heard him flip the calendar on the wall... at least she
assumed he was since he was talking about dates and she heard the rustle of heavy cardstock
paper.

“The nineteenth is a Thursday, so, allowing a few days to get it delivered to me, and with my
luck, *for anything else to go wrong*, can we plan on having it done by Monday the sixteenth?
[...] Brilliant! [...] Oh, no, of course not! If we can get this started before they leave so they
can get it done by the first, then by all means! I’d even pay extra as a rush fee if necessary.
Like I said, I can’t have it any later than that day, but much earlier is perfectly fine too. It
would just be easier on everyone here in the long run if we could have it done before I leave.

“Okay, if anyone calls, just make sure they ask for me. [...] Oh, Mer- I don’t even know the
telephone number here,” Harry said, embarrassed. Simply in reflex, Hermione opened her mouth to
start to tell him it. She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth again when she realized she
almost gave herself away.

“No,” Harry said with a laugh, “I don’t see it written down anywhere.” When Hermione was small,
their telephone number was written on a sticker on the telephone itself in case of emergencies. But
when the phone finally stopped working a few years ago and they replaced it, no one saw the need to
write the number down again. “It’s a long story, but I’m just staying here temporarily. [...] Well,
I’ve never *needed* to call her at her parent’s home before. Like I said, it’s a long
story.”

Hermione could only imagine the look on Harry’s face as he verbally danced around with the
manager. It wasn’t always easy thinking up believable answers to simple questions when the real
answers were of a magical nature (*“I don’t know her telephone number because I would ordinarily
send a message by owl.”*)

“Okay, I’ll call you back a little later once I find out the telephone number. If I’ve figured
out the money by then, I’ll give you the details then too. Otherwise I’ll just have whoever comes
in mention my name. [...] Okay, and what’s your name so I can tell them who to ask for? [...] Okay.
Listen, thank you *SO* very much. I don’t know how to thank you for your time in helping me
figure all of this out.”

Harry laughed again. “All right, all right. Payment will be thanks enough. Okay, I probably
should go now. Breakfast is done and she’ll probably be up soon. [...] Okay. Thank you again.
Goodbye,” Harry said as he hung up the phone. Hermione, on the other hand, had retreated back up
the stairs as soon as he’d mentioned breakfast, knowing he’d be up to fetch her soon.

“Breakfast is ready!” Harry said as he knocked on the bathroom door. He could hear the sink
faucet running as he walked by.

“Okay, I’ll be right down as soon as I finish brushing my teeth,” Hermione replied. Harry
thought it odd that she was brushing *before* she ate, but simply chalked it up to being the
daughter of a dentist. Besides, he really didn’t care at the moment because now he finally knew
that that little stroke of inspiration he’d had looking through the windows of the record shop next
to The Leaky Cauldron was finally coming to fruition.

Everything he’d hoped was possible. Sure, it would take some money, time, and a little
coordination, but it was more than worth it. Regardless of anything else that might or might not
happen between now and then, he was absolutely sure this would be the best birthday present
ever.

Over breakfast, the two of them got caught up on the latest updates. Today finally brought the
first real *new* news about the attack at Azkaban. In actuality, it was little more than
rampant speculation, the kind the *Prophet* was all too well known for in recent years. It
didn’t appear until today however since it had to wait for everyone to get back to work on Monday
and start gossiping about it.

“It says here that neither the Minister nor her office is commenting on suggestions that the
dementor’s attack was actually an assassination attempt on her,” Hermione read to Harry.

“What?” Harry asked in shock.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, then began to quote from the story.

“Sources familiar with the investigation, speaking under condition of anonymity... surprise...
report that the Minister’s presence was specifically requested by one of the prisoners at a hearing
at the exact time of the attack. The Minister was unable to attend however as a previously
scheduled but unpublicized meeting forced the postponement of several other meetings that morning
to the afternoon, at the same time of the attack.”

Hermione started speaking quietly to herself as she scanned down the article, deciding which
bits were worth reading aloud.

“Hmm,” she said, sounding intrigued, then resumed quoting. “An anonymous owl reported that the
Minister was in fact attending the reading of the will of Sirius Black that morning.” She skipped
ahead a little. “One shop owner near Gringotts recalled numerous cracks of Apparition that morning
and seeing a large entourage, including multiple Aurors, entering the bank early that morning.”

Hermione let out a small snort of disgust. “I wonder who that anonymous source was,” she said
sarcastically.

“Probably someone who found themselves not invited,” Harry observed. “I’m still amazed that my
name hasn’t been mentioned yet.”

“I’m still only on the front page,” she joked back in a tone of voice that would have been very
fitting if he’d actually been hoping that he was mentioned. She continued to scan the first page,
occasionally quoting something she felt particularly interesting. Finally, on the second
page...

“Oh, I spoke too soon. Here you are,” she said, to which Harry groaned. “Well, not *you*
exactly... just *related* to you,” she tried to explain.

“As I said before,” Hermione read a quotation of the Minister, “I will not comment on that point
as it may interfere with certain investigations. But to your other question, I will say this.” She
then paused for a moment. “Hmm, I think the *Prophet* may have quoted her out of context,
since I can’t find in here what those two questions were. Top-notch reporting, as always,” she
said, rolling her eyes, then returned to the quote.

“I will say this. As you may or may not recall, when You Know Who’s return was first reported,
and subsequently denied, immediately after the Triwizard Tournament over a year ago, also reported
was the existence of Peter Pettigrew.” Harry watched as Crookshanks walked into the kitchen and
jumped up into Hermione’s lap. She absently began petting him as she continued to read.

“Mr. Pettigrew was supposedly killed by Mr. Black that night all those years ago. All that was
found of him was a finger. As originally reported by *The Quibbler*, the ‘hero’ Pettigrew had
in fact been living comfortably all those years, minus said finger, biding his time waiting for You
Know Who’s return.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, comfortable except for when Crookshanks was trying to eat him.”

“Oh, yes, and what a good boy you were,” Hermione said in a very sweet voice as she set down the
paper and vigorously scratched the sides of the cat’s neck and the top of his head. Crookshanks
looked so happy and content at that very moment that he probably would’ve fallen over if Hermione
let go of him.

Now looking over her four-legged familiar, she quickly scanned through the article, looking for
anything else. At one point, she made a small noise of interest, then began to quote
mid-paragraph.

“... which begs the question: what else didn’t Mr. Black do that night? How many of the crimes
for which he spent thirteen years in Azkaban for was he actually innocent? If he didn’t kill
Pettigrew, then maybe he didn’t kill all of those bystanders also.” Hermione then finished reading
to the end of the article.

“Well, I am impressed,” she finally said, folding the paper back up. “She seems to be starting
by building public sympathy for Sirius now. Most everyone knows they didn’t get the truth about
Voldemort last year. Some call it lies, some call it a ‘misunderstanding.’ Personally, I think
‘head in the sand’ is the most fitting,” Hermione said with a satisfied grin.

“But regardless of how or why, they know they didn’t get the truth. And to *now* find out,
*or at least be reminded*, the Pettigrew is still alive and that he played an active part in
Voldemort’s rebirth,” she said, pointing at a paragraph that she didn’t read aloud, “I think it’ll
have a profound impact on people’s opinions about Sirius.

“Did you also notice that at no point did she ever mention your name? There were half a dozen
times in here she could have dropped your name and try to tie herself to you. Most of the stuff in
here was straight from what you went through. Thanks to Luna and her father, everyone knows that.
And it looks like she isn’t trying to take credit for that. Not for that information, and more
importantly I think, not for *you* either.”

The day ended up being pretty much the same as Monday: plenty of reading, Dan and Emma working
late to finish their paperwork, and cooler temperatures. With all of the weather forecasters
looking quite silly for being so wrong about their predictions (again, no one complained about the
break from the heat; it was now simply a matter of forecast-ego), they had all taken great care to
explain this morning why the weather was supposed to be hot again.

They displayed repeating loops of satellite images that showed cloudless skies. Barometric
pressure maps showed high pressure hovering over the country, keeping temperatures hot. And despite
all of that, they were wrong again. Forecasts were off by nearly twenty degrees today. At only
thirteen degrees, these unexpected cooler temperatures were quickly beginning to shift from
pleasant to downright cold. And to top it off, there were scattered reports of fog around the
country.

*“But there is none, according to the Doppler radar,”* one frustrated forecaster was caught
saying on camera. Taking Harry’s mind off the strange weather were two surprises. The first was a
welcome, if curious, letter: Neville had written back.

Hermione heard the owl tapping at her kitchen window about an hour after lunch. She sent it on
its way after offering a drink of water and giving the letter to Harry. Neville started by
expressing concern for Hedwig, since he didn’t recognize the owl that delivered Harry’s letter. He
then thanked Harry for the sentiment about his birthday and said he could deliver his present
whenever it was convenient.

He also told Harry that he found an invitation to tour the Ministry waiting for him upon his
return home. He went, met some people, but stressed that he felt it was rather something of a
“third class” tour. Harry grinned seeing that. He also agreed that the premise of their essay was
now completely wrong, so he got rid of it. The part Harry felt curious was the last paragraph.

*There is one other thing I wanted to ask you. I don’t know if you know, but Sunday, the 11th,
is Ginny’s birthday. I don’t know if they’re going to have a party for her, what with everything
going on and all, but I still wanted to get her a present. I really wanted to get something that
she would really like, so I was wondering... if it’s okay with you... if you knew of anything, or
if maybe you could QUIETLY find out from Ron what she wanted.*

*Thanks, Neville.*

Harry read it several times, trying to figure out what about it caught his attention. How did
Neville know when Ginny’s birthday was? It wasn’t a secret by any means, but as far as he knew, it
simply never came up as part of everyday conversation since it was during the summer.

But more than that (since there were lots of people who knew when her birthday was, and Neville
could have asked them), there was that one little bit that kept drawing his attention: *“if it’s
okay with you.”*

Maybe it was just his imagination, but the more Harry read it, the more he thought Neville was
asking his permission. Why would Neville be asking anything of Ginny from Harry?

“What if... what if Neville *fancies* her?” Hermione asked in surprise after Harry shared
his thoughts with her.

“Fancies her?” Harry asked in shock. “But how does that involve me?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?,” Hermione answered. “Everyone knows that Ginny has fancied you
practically forever. It could be that he’s subtly trying to find out if you fancy her.”

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, think about it. If you did fancy her, *would* you be amenable to helping him find
her the perfect present?” she asked.

Harry looked at the paragraph again, and substituted Hermione’s name for Ginny’s. As he reread
it, he felt the green eyed monster (very fitting for him) awaken.

“No,” he admitted. He handed her Neville’s letter when he saw that she wanted to read it, then
started to think about it some more. *Neville fancies Ginny?*

“Well, he *did* ask her to the Yule Ball,” Harry remembered. “She might have originally
wanted to go with someone else,” he added embarrassed, “but she seemed to have a good enough time
once they got there.” He raked through his memories, trying to look for anything else.

“And he *did* come to her defense last year from Umbridge’s squad. No offense, but this is
Neville we’re talking about. How often does he go out *looking* for confrontation?” Harry
observed.

“And you’ll notice,” Hermione added, “that he doesn’t seem too eager to attract Ron’s attention.
We all know about how Ron feels about Ginny having boyfriends.”

“Unless they’re me,” Harry added glumly.

“Well, that I think might’ve just been him trying to get you out of the way,” she replied
absently, still looking at the letter.

“What do you mean, ‘out of the way’?” Harry asked.

“Well,” she said with a nervous chuckle, “you know, get the two of you together so that she
isn’t with anyone else... you know... get it over and done with... out of the way. I think Ron
trusts you with his sister... if you were interested, that is.”

“Well, I’m not,” Harry assured her, “but I suppose that’s sort of a compliment... if he trusts
me with her. At least, I think it is,” he added, now confused.

“If Ginny was *your* sister,” Hermione said, changing the subject, “would you trust Neville
with her?”

“Yes,” Harry replied without hesitation. “If she was my sister, I *wouldn’t* want to know
about them... doing things... snogging... but I would trust his intentions.”

“So, back to his original question, do you know of anything that she might like? Pretend we
*knew* for a fact that he *didn’t* fancy her. Does that change anything? Do we still know
of anything that she might like?” Hermione asked.

“Wasn’t there something that she wanted from the Magical Menagerie?” he asked. Truth be told, he
was a little too preoccupied with watching Hermione walk (and not get caught by anyone) to pay much
attention to what Ginny was saying.

“Puffskeins,” Hermione replied with a slight smile. Harry nodded and smiled back in response as
he made a note of it on the parchment so that he could reply later.

That evening, after they’d finished off their leftovers from the Chinese restaurant from
Saturday, the second surprise arrived: a second letter, this one from Ron... delivered by Hermes.
While Harry was a little curious why he would use Percy’s owl (unless Pig was currently delivering
a letter to someone else), the contents shocked and delighted him. He also noticed it was quite
possibly the longest letter Ron had ever written, even longer than his first thank you letter about
a month ago. He would soon find out why.

*HARRY!*

*WE’RE GOING HOME!!!*

*When we were gone Friday, Mum and Dad had a long talk with each other about what Dumbledore
said about not being scared about what could happen. They both decided they felt like they were
hiding here, so they told him they wanted to go back home.*

*AND DUMBLEDORE AGREED!*

*Dad said that Dumbledore was glad they’d decided on their own, since it saved him from having
to ask us to share the house with some others. Oh, I think Dad said that he wanted to talk to you
about that too.*

*Anyway, we’re all getting packed up again. We’ll be moving this weekend. Mum’s going to throw
a huge party on Monday. It’s going to be a combination of everything: Ginny’s birthday, moving back
home, not being afraid, and Bill getting engaged.*

*OH! Did I forget to tell you? Bill asked Fleur to marry him!! Can you believe it? Damn,
that’s one HOT blonde off the market. Course, there are still more out there, so there’s still
hope, right? But bloody hell, mate. She’s going to be my sister-in-law! Believe me, that’s a whole
lot more effective than a cold shower!*

*Hang on. Ginny’s bugging me to make sure I say this and that.*

At this point, Harry noticed the handwriting switched to Ginny’s.

*That is SO disgusting, Ron!*

*Mum was so furious with Bill at first, but now she’s so happy. Seriously! She and Bill had a
huge row over it.*

*** Flashback to 12 Grimmauld Place, last Saturday, 5:00PM ***

Ron and Ginny landed in the entrance hall reasonably well; all of their shopping survived
intact, and that was what mattered.

“Quiet, innit?” Ron asked curiously. “Where *is* everyone?”

“Do you hear that? They’re down in the kitchen,” Ginny answered. Sure enough, muffled voices
were carrying up from the kitchen downstairs in the basement.

“Dad’ll go crackers when he sees everything we bought,” Ron said with a grin as they started to
descend the stairs. “We should probably set some aside for him... you know, to stave him off.”

“I doubt he’ll want any of my jewelry,” Ginny replied.

“Gin, this is *Dad* we’re talking about here. If it’s Muggle, he’ll be begging you for it.
He won’t wear it, but he’ll still want it. He took *straws* from the burger place,
remember?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” she agreed. They were just about to announce their arrival and open the
kitchen door when they heard their father’s voice through the door.

“So, what’s so important that it just couldn’t wait?” he asked. “Ron and Ginny will be home any
minute, and I want to tell them the big news.”

The youngest Weasley siblings looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders and wondering what
could have their father so excited... aside from a new car or something like that.

“Mum, Dad,” Bill finally said, his nervous breathless audible even through the door. “Fleur and
I are getting married!”

Something crashed inside the kitchen as it was dropped. “WHAT??!!” shrieked Molly. “What do you
*mean* you’re getting married?” she asked, not yet shouting but her voice definitely
raised.

There was an awkward pause. “I mean... I asked Fleur to marry me, and she said yes. What
*else* could I possibly mean?” Bill asked defensively.

“Where did this come from? When did this happen?”

“It *happened* today. And it came from the two of us realizing that we loved each other,
and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,” Bill replied civilly.

“But you’re so young! And this is all happening so fast!” Molly shot back. Her voice then raised
up another level. “You CAN’T possibly understand what you’re getting into!”

Muffled sobs could now be heard through the door. Ron and Ginny looked at each other with a
sickening feeling in their stomachs. They had the feeling that this was Percy-Part II about to
happen.

“You’re right, this *is* happening fast, but in case you didn’t notice,” Bill said acidly,
“there’s a war going on out there. A war that just yesterday started back up again! Anything could
happen to anyone of us. At any time. Whether we do this today, or next month, or next year, it
doesn’t change how we feel about each other! How would it be any different?”

“IT WOULD BE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!” Molly shouted back. But she was unable to find anything to
say about how it would be different.

“The only thing that would be different would be the time lost together!” Bill said.

“That’s NOT the point!” Molly stormed. “You ARE together! Whether you call it married or not,
you ARE together!”

“THAT’S EXACTLY THE POINT!” Bill practically screamed back. “We WANT to be married! We WANT to
be husband and wife. There are no guarantees in life, especially in war. We HAVE to seize the time
we have NOW!”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Molly said, coldly, furiously. “That’s what this is all about,
isn’t it? ISN’T IT?”

Ron and Ginny’s eyes widened in shock as they looked at each other. Whether Fleur was pregnant
or not, Molly’s accusation and the way she made it had just taken this argument to an
*entirely* new level.

“WHAT THE *BLOODY HELL* DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE IF SHE’S PREGNANT OR NOT??!!” Bill
roared.

“IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD!!” Molly screamed back.

“*You know what?* At least *I* didn’t use a love potion to get her attention!” Bill
spat venomously.

Several gasps could be heard coming from inside the kitchen. The whole house felt like all the
air had been sucked out of it. Ron looked at his sister, completely lost. He stared at her
intently, silently asking her what that meant. Ginny avoided his eyes. She shook her head, not
wanting to answer for several reasons, the *least* of which being giving away their
presence.

A deathly silence hung over the kitchen for several seconds, broken only by the occasional quiet
sob.

“Bill,” Arthur said quietly, restrained. He hadn’t spoken a word up to this point.

“Dad... I’m sorry... I shouldn’t’ve... I didn’t mean...” Bill spluttered, his voice beginning to
crackle.

“Stop,” Arthur said in the same voice; Bill stopped.

“Don’t you *DARE* compare...” Molly seethed dangerously.

“Molly,” Arthur interrupted calmly, at which she stopped too. “*Are* you pregnant?” he
asked in a calm, rational voice. Ron and Ginny slowly started to face each other, suddenly
realizing what his question implied. They were sure of what they were about to hear, but terrified
just the same.

“No,” came the voice of Fleur, her voice broken from crying. Ron and Ginny looked at each other,
horrified. She’d been there the *whole* time. The entire argument had gone on right in front
of her.

“I don’t believe you,” Molly scathed.

“*Molly!*” Arthur interrupted again. Unable to see anything going on inside the kitchen,
the stunned children on the other side of the door could hear the different tone in their father’s
voice, even though it was no louder than before.

“Bill and I ‘ave not been... *togezer* yet,” Fleur answered, proudly. A noise of disbelief
could be heard coming from Molly. “Eet ees true. Veela tradition demands eet. Veela mate for life.
Custom demands zat we *‘ave* been... *intimate* with each ozer, to ensure physical
compatibility and attraction. But it also demands zat ze *final* act of joining be reserved
for after bondage... bonding... marriage.”

Inside the kitchen, the tension was so heavy that no one noticed. On the other side of the door
however, for two unintentional eavesdroppers to hear their brother and his girlfriend (now fiancé)
defend their sexual activities—what they *had*, and *hadn’t*, done—and then for the word
‘bondage’ to be thrown in mistakenly, it was almost too much. Almost.

Ron and Ginny both looked at each other and did everything they could to keep from laughing out
loud at what had to be the Freudian slip of the year.

Inside, Fleur’s word had gone unnoticed.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Molly asked sharply. “Why didn’t she just say she wasn’t
pregnant?” Her voice was still angry, but no longer quite as loud.

“Why would it have mattered?” Bill asked again, also still upset but not as loud. Arthur
interrupted again, since he already knew where this would lead, having been there a minute ago.

“Bill, Fleur,” he said calmly. “Look at me. Tell me that you know this is all very sudden.” They
agreed after a moment. “Tell me that you both know that marriage isn’t something that should be
rushed into.”

“But, Dad,” Bill began, but Arthur cut him off.

“*William,*” Arthur said. Ron and Ginny’s attentions perked up. Bill’s name was not
William, but Arthur used it occasionally when he wanted to make a point of talking to him as an
equal, not as a father lecturing a son. “I know that you don’t *need* my approval or blessing
to get married. But as your father, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be able to give
it to you anyway.

“So let me... how do the Muggles say it... run this up the yardarm... just as a thought. I will
give you my blessing, and support you completely... on one condition.” A moment of silence
suggested that Bill and Fleur were willing to listen.

“I will support your engagement. I will support the two of you living together, *under our
roof* if you wish,” he said pointedly. Fleur had been staying in a flat near Gringotts in Diagon
Alley since moving from France. The two of them had been visiting each other on a daily basis, in
both places.

“I will support the two of you getting married... IF the two of you agree to wait a little
while... to delay the actual wedding ceremony a little.”

There was another long, silent pause.

“For how long?” Bill asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered honestly in a tired voice. “Until I’m sure that the two of you
know and understand exactly what you’re getting into. All I’m asking is to delay the wedding. We’d
go ahead with the engagement... but then just slow things down a little after that... and before we
set up an aisle somewhere.”

Yet another long, silent pause hung in the air.

“Eet *would* give us time to plan ze most perfect wedding,” Fleur finally said to Bill, who
remained quiet for a few more seconds. “I would like your parents’ blessing, if zey are willing to
give eet.” Bill must have given some indication that he was waiting for his mother, for Arthur now
addressed her instead of Bill.

“Molly?”

“So... he’s... they’re... we’re...” she said weakly.

“We’re going to take it slowly, going forward from *here*,” Arthur told her. “Bill and
Fleur are engaged. They’re going to get married. And we’re going to be happy for them. Then they’re
going to take their time, to make sure everything gets done when the time is right.”

Seconds passed by like hours. After what felt like three hours, Ron and Ginny heard their mother
completely break down as she burst into uncontrollable sobs. That was immediately followed by a
small *OOF!* as she threw herself upon her first-born in a world-famous Mrs. Weasley hug
(patent pending).

“Oh, Bill!” she cried into his chest. “I’m SO sorry for what I said. I was completely out of
line.”

“‘T’s okay, Mum,” he wheezed under her grip, letting out a groan when she finally let go.

“And you, dear. You must think me mad for wailing like a banshee, saying such horrible things as
if you weren’t even there. Please, can you ever forgive me? And please, enough of this ‘Mrs.
Weasley’ business. You’re going to be family soon. Please call me Molly.”

“Of course I forgive you, Molly,” Fleur replied, her voice a little stronger. “Eet was all very
sudden,” she squeaked as Molly gave her a hug too.

Molly was still crying, but now for a different reason. “Oh, Arthur! Our little boy is all grown
up and getting married! And Fleur! We’re getting another daughter!” Now Arthur could be heard
struggling within his wife’s grasp.

About a minute later, after many shared apologies and reassurances, Arthur again spoke up.
“Well, it looks like we’re going to have one more thing to celebrate. Merlin’s beard! It’s nearly
twenty after! Ron and Ginny must’ve gotten back ages ago!” he gasped in realization.

The two youngest Weasleys looked at each other in panic; everyone would come looking for them in
a minute. Not wanting to be caught by the door, they quickly whispered a foot-fall silencing charm
on each other that they’d picked up from the twins (without their knowledge), then ran up the
stairs.

*** End flashback ***

*Ron and I then ran up to his room and pulled out his chess board and set up the pieces to
make it look like we’d been playing a game the entire time.*

*Fleur as my sister-in-law? At first, I thought it was going to be so wonderful. A beautiful
wedding, and finally I could have a sister.* (Harry got the distinct impression Ginny was
writing to Hermione now) *But the more I think about it, the more I’m not so sure. I mean, Fleur
is a bit like a Pepper-Up potion. In small quantities, she’s brilliant, energizing. But in large
quantities, you feel like your head is going to explode. I agree with Ron (but for non-perverted
reasons): BLOODY HELL!*

*Let’s just hope Bill moves into her place and not the other way round!*

The handwriting now switched back to Ron’s.

*That’s a first... Ginny agreed with me. And who said anything about being perverted. I’m a
bloke, she’s a veela. It’s hard not to notice her.*

*So anyway, the party for everything is going to be Monday. If you see Hermione, be sure to
let her know. You’re both invited. Oh, and by the way. I think their engagement is supposed to be a
surprise. When Dad came up a couple minutes after we did, he said we were going to have a big party
to celebrate.*

*Ginny asked to celebrate what... absolutely innocently! It’s a good thing she did it. I
probably would have started laughing. Anyway, that’s when he told us about going home (that WAS a
surprise) and said it was for that and for her birthday. But then he added it was for something
else... a surprise. So yeah, I guess it IS supposed to be a surprise. Oh well, too late. Just be
sure to act surprised.*

*I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.*

*Ron*

“Wow!” was all Hermione could say after reading the letter.

“Yeah!” Harry confirmed.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, Dan called home to inform them that he and Emma might be a little late
coming home that night; they *would* be home for dinner this time, however. He asked them to
be thinking about what they wanted so dinner could be started as soon as they got home.

Harry and Hermione, up to their eyes in their own “paperwork,” could fully relate to how her
parents must be feeling. As such, they decided they would surprise them by making dinner and having
it ready for them when they got home. Rummaging through the cupboards, they decided to make
spaghetti.

Actually, Harry ended up making the entire dinner by himself. He insisted on it, saying it was a
small gesture on his part to express his appreciation for them letting him stay there during the
summer.

“I hope the three of you like garlic,” Harry called from the kitchen into the living room where
Hermione was reading.

*Only if you don’t mind me snogging you with garlic breath,* Hermione thought to herself.
“Yeah,” she replied aloud.

Dinner was ready half an hour before Dan and Emma actually arrived home. With the help of
several warming charms however, no one knew any different. As they sat down to eat, Dan jokingly
observed that all that was missing was a lovely loaf of French bread. The magic of their warming
charms fresh on her mind, Hermione went over to the bread box and retrieved four slices of sandwich
bread. She set them on a plate on the table with a slight grin.

Dan and Emma blinked in surprise when their daughter transfigured them into four slices of
French bread. They were truly at a loss for words. They’d known for years that their daughter was a
witch, but they were never allowed to see her do anything at home because of the underage ban.
They’d seen a few bits of magic performed here and there during their trips to Diagon Alley over
the years, and to last week’s visit to the Ministry, but all of those were performed by
*other* people.

They’d watched her expand the space in the back of their car, but that didn’t really “look” like
much; there wasn’t much to see happen. But now, to witness first-hand four slices of bread
magically (appropriately, and yet also for lack of a better word) change into something else was
really quite powerful for them. Their daughter *was* a witch. They’d known it for years, but
now, for the first time, they were actually able to *see* it. And they were so proud of
her.

But, Harry’s spaghetti dinner was waiting, and they were famished, so they just said ‘thank you’
as if it were any other everyday occurrence (because, deep down, they knew it really *was* for
their daughter), and then they all began to eat.

Everyone ate far too much that night as evidenced by their inability (or unwillingness) to get
up out of their chairs for a good ten minutes after they’d all finished eating. They all basked in
the glow of a wonderful meal.

*Burp!*

The other three burst into giggles as Harry apologized profusely. “Excuse me! I definitely ate
too much. It just slipped out.”

“Well, they say that a good burp is a compliment to the chef,” Dan joked. “So... are we just
bragging now, Harry?” Shaking her head in good humor, Emma was the first to finally get up to take
her plate to the sink.

*Hic-BAAAARRRRRRP!*

The hiccup-triggered belch rolled through the otherwise silent kitchen like thunder. Emma didn’t
need to turn around to know from whom that came. Her hearing was working perfectly well, thank you
very much, and it told her that that miniature earthquake came from the person sitting
*directly* behind her.

“HERMIONE GRANGER!” Emma scolded in her dutiful motherly way.

“EXCUSE ME!” Hermione replied genuinely.

Emma cast quick glances at Dan and Harry. Dan was looking at his daughter with a decidedly
impressed look on his face. *Figures!* Emma thought to herself. He never really was ever able
to “crank one out” like that. After twenty-two years of marriage, they were long past the point of
being embarrassed by little things like burping. In fact, when they were alone, after a
particularly good meal, and if the mood struck them, they’d even try to out-do the other. Emma won.
She always did.

Emma noticed that despite the stunned look on his face, Harry didn’t at all look offended or
disgusted. He just looked as though he’d just heard Hermione belch for the very first time... which
was probably the case.

In the *privacy* of her own home and in the presence of the two people who were her
*family*, Hermione had no compunction about relieving excess pressure if needed. It was rather
uncomfortable, after all.

It was from that, therefore, that Emma wondered if her daughter didn’t actually try very hard to
*not* eruct in front of Harry. Oh, it was obvious that it *was* an accident... the spasm
of her diaphragm from the hiccup causing the uncontrolled release of pressure. But... she
*could* have closed her mouth.

*Had* Hermione become so comfortable around Harry these past few weeks, Emma wondered... so
used to his presence that she now treated him literally as one of the family? If so, Emma was quite
certain that “brother” was not the familial role her daughter had in mind.

Harry just sat there, Emma noted, shocked, bewildered, maybe even impressed. He also looked like
he wanted to start laughing but wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. Whatever Harry was feeling,
whatever Hermione did or didn’t do on purpose, Emma knew what she had to do... at least for show.
*Daniel Radcliffe Granger, would you quit grinning like an idiot?!*

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Emma asked her daughter.

“Um... my compliments to the chef,” Hermione said timidly, almost in the form of a question.
Emma was glad that Dan finally let out a snort of laughter at that, for it covered her own. The
show must go on, however.

“You two,” Emma said to the two teenagers, “such behavior at the dinner table I cannot believe.
Dishes, the both of you, now!” she said sternly. Harry looked confused, afraid even that he was
actually in trouble. Emma knew however that her daughter saw right through her. Fortunately she
went along with it.

“Now, now dear,” Dan suddenly said consolingly to his wife. “It *was* an accident. I think
you’re just jealous that your daughter can now out-belch you.” He then turned to Harry and added in
a undertone, “She definitely is her mother’s daughter in that regard.”

If there was any good thing about what Dan just said, Emma decided, it was that Harry was now
grinning and Hermione *now* looked genuinely embarrassed. Dan, on the other hand, knew he was
in trouble.

“Harry, Hermione? You two, go on into the living room and watch some television or something.
Dan. *Dishes.* I’m going to take a nice long bath. And NO, you can’t join me when you’re
done.” Emma turned away from her husband and started towards the living room. As she passed the
other two, she shot them a wink on her way out of the kitchen.

Out of sight from all of them, Emma smiled to herself as she climbed the stairs. Harry was now
grinning, Dan was doing the dishes and annoyed about the bath thing, but she knew he would get over
it for she still owed him a back-washing from their earlier wager. Hermione was grossed out by the
blatant reminder that the two of them bathed together. All in all, everything worked out, she felt.
For her especially, as there was a nice hot bath in her imminent future.

Voices from the living room made her smile even more just as she closed her bedroom door. “Were
we really in trouble?” Harry asked.

“Nah,” replied Hermione. “Middle names never came out, remember?”

That evening, around eight o’clock, the doorbell rang.

“Professor! Tonks!” Harry greeted their visitors warmly as he invited them in (with his wand
behind his back).

“Hello again, Remus, Miss Tonks,” Dan also greeted them. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Business, I’m afraid,” Remus said regretfully. “Might I borrow Harry and your daughter for a
few minutes?”

Dan’s smile faded at the mention of business. “Of course,” he said, directing them towards the
kitchen. “Would either of you care for a cup of tea?” They both politely declined.

“Well, I’ll leave you four to it then. I, uh, think I go on up and check on Emma,” he said with
small grin to himself.

The four sat around the kitchen table quietly for a few moments. “It’s been a very busy day
today, Harry,” Remus said. “Very busy. Some of it you will read in the *Prophet* tomorrow,
some of it you won’t. But we felt you should be aware that things are now in motion.”

“‘We’?” Harry asked, confused.

Tonks now spoke up with a large smile on her face. “Yes. Of course *he* wouldn’t tell you
himself. Remus here now has a full time job. He’s been... deputized... would be the most accurate
term. With all of his years of experience, the Ministry feels he should be gainfully employed,
fighting the forces of darkness and all that good stuff,” she said, obviously enjoying herself.

“I’m not a full, official Auror mind you,” Remus tried to downplay himself, “but at least they
don’t have me out there doing probie-work, chasing down kids who blow up their aunts. But I am on a
bit of a leash, so to speak, until I complete the Auror training.”

Harry noticed Remus become slightly embarrassed as he said that. “Whose leash?” he could not
resist asking, having a pretty good feeling he already knew the answer. Tonks just grinned evilly,
not saying a word.

“So, what’s happened today?” Hermione asked, getting back to the “business.”

“Well, several things actually. I’m not sure which is worse, so I’ll just pick one and start
there,” Remus said. “A reporter came up to interview Kingsley this afternoon, wanting more
information about the Department of Mysteries. Ever since that article came out, *Mr. Chosen
One*, interest has picked up again.” Harry scowled at Remus for bringing his new title up again,
but the werewolf laughed it off.

“So, what’s new about that?” Hermione asked. “They’re always trying to dig something up.”

“Well, he gave up rather easily on the Hall of Prophecy when we gave him the usual ‘no comment’
routine,” Remus explained. “But then he switched tracks. He wanted to do an article about the six
of you who were there that night. Said he wanted to give the *six* of you the credit you
deserved.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry scoffed.

“Wait,” Hermione suddenly said. “How did he know there were six of us there that night?”

“See? I told you she’d figure it out,” Tonks said triumphantly to Remus.

Remus ignored her and continued. “Did the Minister talk to you about ‘need to know’?” Harry and
Hermione nodded.

“Well, so, Kingsley and I decided to play along. We asked him to tell us what he had and we
would ever so generously fill in the gaps, since it was for such a noble cause as bringing Harry
Potter publicity. He didn’t have much to say, actually. He briefly mentioned that he knew about you
two, Ron, Ginny, and Neville. But he was very interested in ‘the young blonde girl.’ He didn’t know
anything about her, and wanted to find out as much as he could.”

“Of course!” Hermione gasped. Harry looked at her surprised. “Don’t you see, Harry? They don’t
know anything about Luna. Everyone knows you were there, and anyone who knows you well enough would
know who Ron and I were. And it’s not exactly hard to guess who Ginny is if Ron’s around. And
Neville. Bellatrix had to’ve known who he was. But no one knows who Luna is. He had to be a spy
fishing for information, wasn’t he?” she asked excitedly.

Lupin smiled in pride at his former student, but then it faded. “Yes, and no,” he replied. “He
*was* after information, but he wasn’t a spy. At least not a willing one.” Harry looked at him
ominously; Lupin nodded. “He was under the Imperius Curse.

“We arrested him and put him in a cell. We had someone come in and look at him, and were able to
get the spell lifted. Unfortunately for us, the caster was much more skilled at memory
modifications than he or she was at Unforgivables.

“So, Mr. Harry Potter, Miss Hermione Granger, I am here to inform you that with increased
interest in the six of you now apparent, it has been decided that you shall all have minders from
now on. They’re not babysitters, they’re not chaperones. Just think of them as an extra pair of
eyes, in case *you* need them.”

“Great,” Harry complained. “Who are *we* getting?” he asked, fully expecting some first
year Auror who no doubt *would* treat this like babysitting. That, or Mundungus Fletcher.

Remus grinned broadly, as did Tonks.

“Are you serious?” Harry asked enthusiastically.

“No, I’m Remus,” Lupin deadpanned. “Oh, come on, Harry. I saw that one coming a mile away!”

“Harry gets Remus here,” Tonks said, “and I have the pleasure of tending Miss Granger.
*Although,*” she added dramatically, “I wonder if I’m really needed what with Harry over here
all the time.”

Remus looked thoughtfully at Harry for a few moments, but then turned to Hermione.

“We’ve been told that both you here, and Harry at his undisclosed location, are relatively
protected. Not having to watch *you two* twenty-four hours a day will free us up for more...
leisurely activities, like tracking Voldemort,” he said.

“As I understand it, about the only time either of you should need either of us is if you plan
on going out for extended periods, say for more than an hour or so. Just let us know where you’re
going and when you’re leaving, and we’ll take care of the rest. Neither of you should even see us
unless you actually looked. The entire goal of this is to not interfere in your lives. You’re
*not* under lock and key,” Remus emphasized. “We just want to know where you go so we can tag
along... out of sight.”

Remus and Tonks looked at both Harry and Hermione for a few moments to allow everything to sink
in. They knew that out of the six, these two would be the most likely to object. And they
*still* didn’t know where Harry was staying. They both knew it would be hard keeping track of
Harry (assuming he cooperated) without knowing where he was. Every time the subject came up, no one
was able to tell them.

Harry thought about it for a few moments. It did sound a lot better than last year... though
that probably wasn’t saying much. “How do we get in contact with you?” he finally asked.

“Well, if there’s enough time in advance, you can owl us. I understand Miss Granger has her own
owl now. Or... you can just call us,” Remus said as he pulled a Muggle mobile phone out of his
pocket; Tonks did as well. Harry and Hermione stared at them in surprise.

“Mobiles?” Hermione asked, impressed.

“Unlike most of the rest of the Ministry, or much of wizarding Britain for that matter, the
Auror Division does try to keep current with Muggle technology,” Tonks explained. “It’s crucial for
when we have to be out in public. You can’t exactly send an owl if you’re following someone along
the streets of downtown London, now can you?”

“What about Tonks’ wristwatches?” Harry could not resist asking.

Tonks gave him the evil eye then returned to the mobiles. “The only drawback is that they don’t
work in locations of high magical concentration, such as the Ministry building and St. Mungo’s.
They actually work quite well in Diagon Alley.

“So if you telephone us and get a message saying we’re out of the service area, then you’ll know
where we are,” she explained. “But then again, if we’re in the Ministry, you can just call us by
Floo.”

“What about my house?” Hermione asked. “The Headmaster said he put a Floo ward over it... not
that it was ever hooked up to the network.”

“Well, now it is... temporarily,” Remus informed her. “Now that we’re doing this, the ward has
been modified. Think of it like bars on a window,” he said, then looked awkwardly at Harry,
silently apologizing. Harry shook his head to say no apology needed.

“You can look through them. You can speak through them. You just can’t *travel* through
them,” he explained.

“Oh, okay,” Hermione replied, seeming satisfied. Except, “I don’t have any Floo powder.”

“Got you covered on that, dear,” Tonks said, pulling a small bag out of a third pocket that just
now appeared on her black leather jacket.

“And you too, Harry,” Remus said, pulling a similar bag out of his sports jacket. Harry noticed
that Remus looked almost exactly the same as he did when he was teaching, except now all of his
clothes were new. And he looked like he’d been eating well also.

“And speaking of the Headmaster,” Remus segued. “There is a matter he asked me to discuss with
you, Harry. Paperwork aside, Sirius’s house is now yours. With the Weasleys returning home, he
would like your permission to resume using it for his... extra-curricular activities, if you catch
my meaning.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed immediately. “Just be sure they clean up after Snape.” Everyone
smiled; their love for the head of Slytherin House was evident.

“Was there anything else?” Hermione asked, remembering Lupin’s earlier words.

“Yes,” Tonks said solemnly. She looked at Remus.

“There was another dementor attack today,” he said, “in Cardiff.”

“Cardiff?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Why does *anything* happen in Cardiff?” Remus joked, to which Tonks immediately jokingly
(and yet not) punched him on the arm.

“My dad’s mum was from Cardiff!” she admonished him. “Just because the south Wales coast could
fall into the sea and London wouldn’t notice, it doesn’t mean you can... Oh, I sound like Nana,” a
stunned Tonks observed, then glared at Remus. He nodded guiltily, apologized, then continued with
his report.

“Do you remember Dumbledore telling you that no one knew what would happen from them taking so
many souls?” he asked. Harry and Hermione nodded in foreboding. Remus looked like he might become
sick. “The dementors are breeding.

“We don’t know how,” Remus answered Hermione’s unasked question of how that was possible. “All
that we know is that they are. And that’s what’s affecting the weather. The Aurors who arrived on
scene reported a heavy mist in the area... unnaturally cold... just like you feel with the
dementors. The scattered reports of fog around the country, we suspect, are sites of additional...
dementor activity.”

“A few Auror visits and several memory charms later, we’ve learned that there have been
unexplained deaths in each of those places,” Tonks now picked up. “But it’s all happened within the
last couple days. All of the Muggle investigations are still ongoing so nothing’s made it into the
press yet.

“And since *we* only just found out today about the dementors, we’re already that much
further behind. If there hadn’t been a Muggle-born wizard living in that same neighborhood who
recognized the dementors’ cold, we might never have found out about it until many lives later.”

“What do we do?” Harry asked grimly.

“Brush up on your Patronuses is about all you can,” Remus replied. “Of course, as I recall, for
*you*,” he said to Harry as a small, hopeful smile returned to his face, “that may be
*more* than enough.”

“Any more happy news?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“Actually, I would like to talk to Harry alone for a moment, if you don’t mind,” Remus said to
the two females, surprising them. After they went into the living room, he slid closed the pocket
doors that were tucked into the walls between the kitchen and living room. Harry’s curiosity was
piqued when he cast a silencing charm on them.

The last Marauder (who Harry actually cared about, that is) sat down across from him. He set his
hands on the table and looked awkwardly at them. After clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

“On our drive over here, Tonks told me that this is the second time she’s come over and you’ve
been here with Miss Granger... with Hermione. If the two of you...” Remus started to say, extremely
uncomfortably. He then cleared his throat again.

“This is really something James should be talking to you about, or even Sirius,” he managed to
force out.

*No,* Harry thought to himself, becoming embarrassed. *No, no, no, no, no, no,
no.*

“But, since they’re not here, I guess it falls on me then,” Remus trooped on valiantly. “I
seriously doubt your uncle would have this discussion with you. Harry, if you and Hermione
are—”

“We’re not!” Harry said in a panic, desperate to stop this conversation before it went any
further. He was *somewhat* certain he didn’t care if Remus knew how he felt about Hermione,
for he knew he could trust him to keep his secret. But the last thing he wanted was for him to
think there was anything “inappropriate” going on.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Harry insisted.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Remus tried to assure him, not believing him. “Hermione’s a wonderful
young woman, and I think the two of you—”

“Professor, I swear. There’s *nothing* going on between us. I’m here because...” Harry
started to say, but then a very strange thing happened. Right as he was about to tell his friend
why he was always here, he suddenly found that he could no longer remember. It was as if the
knowledge of why he was in her house simply disappeared from his mind. He honestly did not know why
he was in Hermione’s house.

He knew that he was *supposed* to know why he was here, but no matter how hard he tried to
remember, he just couldn’t. As soon as he *stopped* trying, the information suddenly
reappeared. He was at her house because he was living with them for the summer.

He quickly opened his mouth to try again while it was still there. “I...” he started, and then
it was gone again. Remus began to smile.

“It’s all right. I understand. I do. I was your age once, believe it or not. I think it’s
wonderful that the two of you are together. I trust your judgment, Harry. And hers. It’s just that
once you’re together, the time quickly comes when you begin to think about being together in
*other* ways as well.

“All I want is for two of you to be safe. Maybe you’re not at that point yet, but I know it will
come much faster than you might expect. And I know that they don’t teach you that at school.”

Harry felt his face become so hot from embarrassment that he wondered if his hair might catch
fire.

“Please, Harry. Whatever is or *isn’t* going on, wherever you are or *aren’t,*” he
said, stressing the negatives as though he really didn’t believe him, “just know that I’m here for
you if you have any questions. ANY questions. I just don’t want your schoolmates to be your only
source of information. Bad things can happen that way.”

Well, at least Harry was *slightly* amused by the fact that Dan had said the same thing
about his classmates. He was still extremely embarrassed and frustrated that Remus didn’t believe
him.

Harry growled in annoyance as he grabbed his friend’s hand and led him into the living room.
Sound rushed at them as the silencing charm was broken when the doors slid open.

“Hermione,” Harry called in desperation. “Please tell Remus why I’m here. I can’t. I’ve tried
twice and I keep forgetting.” Hermione looked at him, perplexed. “He thinks... that I’m over
here... that you and I... that we’re... *you know*...” he said, trying to imply that they were
doing *more* than just studying.

Hermione however did not understand his implication the same as it was intended. She took it as
he meant that Remus thought they were merely dating. She felt as though her breath had been knocked
out of her.

*Fine!* Hermione huffed to herself, rather upset. *If he’d rather share the secret than
let anyone even think that we could possibly be dating, then that’s PERFECTLY FINE with ME!*

“Professor,” Hermione said calmly, “Harry is over here because he is living with us, with me and
my parents.” And with that, suddenly Tonks and Remus understood. Both of them recognized the effect
of a locked door being removed from their minds.

“Oh,” Remus said in realization. “Sorry,” he said to Harry sheepishly.

“It’s okay, Professor. I just didn’t want anyone jumping to the wrong conclusion,” Harry
replied, relieved.

Hermione stared coolly at Harry. She was pretty sure she was overreacting about what Harry said,
but she was having her period. She felt bloated (and Harry’s *phenomenal* dinner didn’t help
that at all) and she had cramps, so she felt she was entitled to overreact a little. She sat and
stewed in her own juices as the three others started talking again.

“So when did the Auror thing happen?” Harry asked Lupin.

“Today, actually,” he admitted. “That reporter from the *Prophet*? He came in right as
Kingsley was swearing me in.”

“Wow, you work fast,” Harry said with a laugh. “So what about Ron and Ginny? And Luna and
Neville? They’re getting babysitters too?”

Lupin glared at Harry about the ‘babysitter’ comment but then went on. “Yeah, we’ve already
talked to them. You two were last since we actually had to *drive* here,” he explained at
Harry’s curious look. “They’ll all have minders. Well, except for the Lovegoods for a while.”

“Why not them?” Harry asked.

“They’re leaving for Sweden next week.”

“I thought they *already* went to Sweden,” Harry replied, confused. He’d simply assumed
that their trip would be during the first part of the summer, not the last. He never *did* ask
her about it. And now that he thought about it, Ron only said that she’d written him every day. He
never did say what they discussed.

“I don’t know,” Remus replied. “Her father said something about this month being when the mating
season was. Believe me, at that point, I *didn’t* want to know any more. I *still*
remember her from in class.”

* * *

Ten minutes after Lupin and Tonks left, Hermione was still silently brooding as she watched
television.

“I still don’t see what the big deal was,” she suddenly said, surprised that she’d verbalized
her thoughts, but grumpy enough that she didn’t care at this point.

“About what?” Harry asked.

“About what Remus thought and why you had to have me tell them the secret,” she explained.

Now Harry was confused. Did she misunderstand... that which he didn’t actually say? Okay, maybe
innuendo wasn’t the most reliable form of communication, especially when it *could* be taken
different ways.

“Hermione,” he said, then dropping his voice even though he knew Dan and Emma were still
upstairs... doing what, he didn’t want to know. “Remus thought we were having sex!” he
whispered.

“WHAT?!” she whispered back.

“YEAH! He got flustered, and then started talking about how Tonks told him I was always over
here, and then he kept talking about you and I, you and I, getting more and more embarrassed. He
said it should have my dad telling me this since they don’t teach it at school, but that he just
wanted us to be safe, whatever we were doing.”

Hermione groaned as she leaned back in the loveseat. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry!” she
apologized.

“Well, *now* it’s no big deal,” he replied from over on the sofa. “The last thing I wanted
was for him to think we were doing anything inappropriate, or that I was taking advantage of you or
something like that.” Harry neglected to mention the part about Lupin saying that he thought the
idea of them together was wonderful.

Hermione was pretty sure she was overreacting *again*, but still, the thought of Harry
defending her honor was quite possibly the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

* * *

Thursday came and went with no new information... for them, at least. There was no mention in
the *Prophet* about their “influenced” reporter. The dementor attacks more than made up the
space in the headlines however. It detailed the latest attack, as well as the others that were
suspected. It also briefly mentioned the strange chilly mist that was beginning to spread across
the country.

Up until this point, there had been no mention of the strange weather other than that the
Muggles were baffled by it. Amazing how there was no mention that the wizarding world didn’t know
anything either until there had been a “witness” who had felt the dementors’ presence.

In the morning, Harry finally started reading *Numerology and Grammatica*; he’d put
Arithmancy off until last. He wanted to do all of his reading first (to let it “soak in”), and
*then* he’d start his essays. Hermione, done with all of her reading, decided to take a break,
so she started reading her driving manual instead. This being their fourth day of homework, they
decided to do something different after lunch: they quizzed each other.

“What’s the numerological significance of the number four?” Hermione asked. Harry closed his
eyes for a moment, trying to remember.

“Four... four legs on a table. Four represents stability,” Harry said and began to grin. This
one in particular had caught his attention when he read about the meaning of the numbers. “People
who are fours enjoy hard work. They are practical, reliable, down to earth. They prefer logic and
reason to flights of fancy. They are good at organization and getting things done. Like the four
seasons, they are predictable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, *most* of the time. They can also be stubborn,
*overly* practical, and prone to angry outbursts.” Harry grinned again. “Gee, I hadn’t
noticed.”

Hermione smiled sweetly back to him. “Keep it up, mister, and I’ll show you an angry outburst.
Okay, your turn.”

Harry took the driving manual she’d handed him and opened it to a random section. “What is the
difference between double white lines and double yellow lines on pavement?” he asked.

“That isn’t one of the approved test questions, Harry,” she complained.

“*Angry outburst,*” he replied in a sing-song voice.

“Fine,” she said succinctly. “Double white lines prohibit overtaking. Double yellow lines that
run *along* the carriageway indicate no waiting at any time.” Harry was about to confirm her
answers when she continued. “Double yellow *transverse* marks on a curb, on the other hand,
indicate no loading or unloading of vehicles at any time.”

Harry looked down at the book again. He hadn’t read that part. She was right, of course. He
looked back up at her; she smiled again.

After the nice diversion of the quizzing session Thursday afternoon, they both returned to their
normal routine on Friday. Harry resumed his reading and Hermione began her essays.

Dan and Emma were home early Friday evening, as compared to the rest of the week. They must have
left immediately at five o’clock. Within five minutes of them walking in the door, Harry and
Hermione found out why.

“Do you two have any plans tonight?” Dan asked eagerly.

“Nope,” both replied simultaneously.

“Well, what do you two say to going out tonight to go see a movie?”

“YEAH!” they both replied enthusiastically.

“Which one?” Hermione then asked. “There’re several coming out tonight.”

Dan just looked at his daughter as if she sprouted a second head. “Do you *really* need to
ask which one?” he asked her dramatically. “Aliens attacking the earth, *and* it has Lonestar
and Mr. Data in it?”

Hermione smiled and turned back to Harry. “*Independence Day*, Harry.”

“Oh yeah, *that* one,” he said, remembering the previews on television. “With the aliens,
and the guy who was Lonestar from *Spaceballs*. And that guy from *Jurassic Park*,
too.”

“When’s the next show?” Hermione asked.

“Well, the movie’s nearly two and a half hours. There’s one starting right now. The next one’s
at 8:45.”

After calling Lupin and informing him of the theater and show time (Harry was quite certain he
heard Tonks in the background shout, *“We get to go to a movie?”* and then promptly knock
something over), the four of them had a light dinner. Sandwiches were the general rule, however
Emma found in the refrigerator her leftover Chinese food from earlier and decided to finish that
off. That left plenty of room for the movie-mandatory hot buttered popcorn... or at least popcorn
with lukewarm *“buttery-flavored topping.”*

On the short drive to the cinema, Dan explained how the movie had been released over a month
earlier in the US to coincide with their Independence Day holiday weekend. “Despite some mixed
reviews, it’s doing quite well over there, so I figure it’s worth seeing at least once. Besides,
it’s been ages since all three of us have gone out to watch a movie. What about you, Harry?”

“Erm, I don’t know... seven or eight years ago?” Harry remembered. Silence filled the car. “The
only reason they even took me was because Dudley started screaming about getting there late, since
they were having a hard time getting hold of Mrs. Figg.”

“Well, there’ll be no screaming tonight,” Emma promised, “unless it’s from the movie being too
scary for you two.”

“Honestly, Mum,” Hermione complained. “It’s rated ‘12’. I think we’re all old enough to not get
scared by the movie.”

As they stood in line, Harry noticed a movie poster for a small independent film that would be
opening soon. He recognized that the title was in Welsh, but he’d never learned how to read or
speak it.

“Do you know what that says?” he asked Emma while Dan was purchasing their tickets.

“*Blaidd Drwg*,” Emma replied.

“Do you know what that means?” Harry asked.

“No,” she said as she smiled and shook her head. “I know how to pronounce it, but I never
learned the language.” Harry shrugged his shoulders as they walked into the cinema.

“Go pick out a seat, Harry,” Dan said as they entered the theater. It was a good thing they
arrived early, for now with fifteen minutes before the movie started, the auditorium was already
nearly half full.

Harry lead the group down to about the middle where there was still a row mostly empty, with Dan
and Emma right behind him and Hermione bringing up the rear. As Harry and Hermione sat down, Dan
and Emma between them merely took off their jackets and set them in their seats.

“Popcorn for both of you? Drinks too?” Emma asked. Replies were in the affirmative. As the two
headed back for the aisle, Emma nearly tripped over Hermione’s leg as she tried to get past
her.

“Scoot down, dear, would you?” Emma asked. “I’d hate to stumble over you and spill everything
when we come back.”

After moving down next to Harry, Hermione began to massage her abused shin. Harry started
looking around in his seat to see if he could find either Remus or Tonks. He jumped in surprise
when he saw them grinning at him in the two seats directly behind him and Hermione. He was
absolutely certain they weren’t there when sat down.

Remus let out a little laugh. “*I told you* you wouldn’t see us unless you actually looked
for us.”

About five minutes later, Hermione started to get up but stopped when she saw that the rest of
the seats on her side of the row were almost completely full. The ones on Harry’s side on the other
hand were still mostly empty.

“Harry, would you mind going and making sure Dad doesn’t drown my popcorn with that fake-yellow
seasoning salt they have? He loves that stuff, and just goes crazy with it sometimes.” Harry
agreed, seeing she really couldn’t easily get out on her side.

As he got up, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Remus and Tonks already had their popcorn. He
knew for sure they hadn’t had that before. *How do they do that?* he wondered.

Returning to the lobby, Harry found Dan and Emma waiting in the concessions queues. He went over
to stand beside them. As he did, the person behind them gave him a dirty look for jumping the
queue. Harry pointed to Dan and Emma, and the person held up his hands in apology.

When he joined them, Dan and Emma were talking to each other. He missed the first part of their
conversation, but what he heard, it sounded like they were talking about two people, coworkers most
likely considering the subject.

“I think that the two of them sharing a drink would be classified as obvious, Emma,” Dan said in
a tone that suggested they’d discussed this before. Harry didn’t want to eavesdrop, so he tried to
listen as little as possible while at the same time still paying enough attention that he could
know when to safely interrupt to deliver Hermione’s message.

“Maybe it’s time to *start* being obvious,” Emma replied. “They’re so close you can almost
feel it. And yet...” Harry smiled slightly to himself. Now he knew they were talking about two
people and whatever was going on between them. From the sounds of things, he felt sorry for whoever
they were, being so close and yet not knowing it. He only wished he was that close himself.

“Which is all the more reason to stay out of it,” Dan reminded her. “Give them the chance to
figure it out for themselves... in their own time, their own way.”

Emma sighed in agreement. Harry felt now was as good a time as any to interrupt.

“Hey, Dan,” Harry said. Both Dan and Emma jumped.

“For the love of... Harry, don’t *DO* that!” Dan complained. “How long have you been
standing there?” he then asked suddenly.

“I don’t know, less than a minute? Hermione just wanted to make sure you didn’t put any of that
yellow stuff on her popcorn. She says you always put too much on.”

“Told you so,” Emma happily chimed. Dan glanced at Emma momentarily, but then returned to
Harry.

“Okay, no yellow stuff on your popcorn. Was that all?” Harry nodded. “Okay. Would you do us a
favor and grab napkins and straws for everyone? Two fewer things for us to carry.”

“Harry,” Emma then said hesitantly after looking around for a moment. “I just wanted to
apologize for Hermione’s behavior at dinner the other night. It wasn’t very ladylike of her.”
Behind her, Harry could see Dan grin as though he felt Emma was not one to be talking.

“Oh, please don’t apologize, Emma. I could tell it was an accident, and like Dan said, it is
supposed to be a compliment, right?” he said. “She’s hardly even hiccupped at school, so to hear
*that*, it makes her seem... I dunno... a little more real. Believe it or not, but that made
this whole summer worthwhile... the ‘before I moved in’ part, I mean. *Moving in* made this
summer survivable.

“And yes, I know she would kill me slowly and painfully if I ever told anyone about it, so it’ll
just be our little secret,” he finished, grinning, and then returned to the theater auditorium.

Dan and Emma returned with their four drinks and two large boxes of popcorn just as the movie
previews were beginning to play. “Two larges are cheaper than four smalls,” Dan explained.

Since they had to share the same box, several times within the first half hour of the movie,
Harry and Hermione each reached for the popcorn at the same time, their hands getting in each
other’s way. After the second time, they felt it was becoming quite humorous. The third time it
happened, Hermione decided to simply smack his hand out of her way.

*Oh, she did NOT just do that!* Harry said to himself. He began to watch her out of the
corner of his eye. When she started to reach for the popcorn again a few minutes later, he grabbed
her hand, immobilizing it. He then reached over with his other hand and took some popcorn.

Hermione, not one to be outdone, immediately grabbed that hand with her other one. They then
began to struggle with each other to break free, desperately trying not to burst into laughter in
the middle of the silent theater.

Only the clearing of a throat behind them snapped them out of it. They both immediately let go
of each other. Harry turned and looked at Remus with a very guilty look on his face. Harry’s minder
raised an eyebrow in a “lecturing” sort of way, then nodded towards the movie screen.

As Harry began to turn back to the movie, his eyes dropped. In doing so, he saw something that
almost made him shout out in surprise. Looking forward, Harry’s mind raced. He knew there was no
way he could keep this to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Hermione had set
her arm on the armrest between their seats.

He casually moved his own arm next to hers and then set it on the narrow armrest as well,
intentionally pressing it against hers. He could see her move her head slightly in his direction,
but it didn’t seem like he’d gotten her full attention yet. He pressed a little more firmly. She
finally turned slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

Harry looked down at his own hand, then gently touched the back of hers. She looked down at
their hands for a moment then looked back up at him. He then turned his head slightly and rolled
his eyes in the direction of Remus and Tonks as he let go of her hand. Hermione waited a few
moments, then snuck a glance at their minders.

She quickly looked back at the screen. Harry could see her grinning in surprise. He knew she’d
seen it: Remus and Tonks were holding hands. Their hands weren’t next to each other; they weren’t
on top of each other. They were actually holding each other’s hands!

Though there was no screaming, the fact that the movie was rated ‘12’ did not mean it didn’t
have its scary moments. Harry certainly didn’t mind when Hermione grabbed his arm when she was
startled (along with almost every other person in the audience, including himself) when the alien’s
biomechanical suit unexpectedly popped open on the examining table. She immediately let go and
mumbled an apology as the fixated her attention back on the screen.

Aside from just being plain creepy, Harry was actually quite disturbed by the scene in the movie
where the alien was speaking through and controlling one of the doctors. It was a little too
reminiscent of when Voldemort had inhabited him in the Ministry that night. It also caused him to
think of the Imperius Curse.

The reporter from the *Prophet* had come after Harry and his friends (indirectly) because
of that curse. Not that the other two Unforgivables were to be taken less seriously, but the
Imperius Curse probably scared Harry the most of the three. The Killing Curse was merely death; a
flash of green light and it was all over instantly. The Cruciatus Curse was simply pain;
excruciating to be sure, but still, *just* pain.

But the Imperius Curse was much more sinister than the other two in Harry’s mind. A person could
be made to do *anything* the caster wished. Murder, lies, betrayal, torture, they could all be
performed remotely. A lot of people didn’t have the stomach to take a life or to torture another
human being. But to simply make someone else do it? That was so much easier, so much... tidier. And
that was what scared him the most.

And worst of all, the “instrument” didn’t even know they were doing it. From the sounds of
things, most people couldn’t defend against it.

Harry began to wonder about the curse. Professor Moody... erm... Barty Crouch, Jr., had shown
him how throw off the curse. But therein lie the problem. Practice made perfect. He could practice
his Patronus for use against dementors. He could practice stunners to incapacitate an attacker. But
how could he practice throwing off that curse?

He certainly didn’t plan on picking a fight with a Death Eater in the hopes they’d cast it on
him. But was there another option? He’d have to discuss it with Remus after the movie.

While they waited for the ladies to “powder their noses” after the movie, Harry pulled his
former professor aside. “Remus,” he began, remembering the repeated requests to not call him
‘Professor’ anymore, “that reporter from the *Prophet*? I was wondering if you could tell me a
little more about the Imperius Curse.”

“Well, that depends on what *specifically* you wanted to know.”

“I guess I was wondering just how ‘unforgivable’ is it?” Harry explained. “Suppose I
*wanted* someone to use it on me. Would they be sent to Azkaban. Crouch used it on us in
fourth year, teaching us how to throw it off. I was thinking about wanting to practice that again.
But I’d need someone to cast it on me to do that.”

Remus considered the question for a few moments before answering. “The Imperius is a crime
against a person. If someone cast it on you, you’d have to press charges for them to be punished.
There is no light that starts blinking down at Auror Headquarters anytime someone uses an
Unforgivable.” Harry was secretly very glad about that. As far as he knew, no one knew about his
own use of the Cruciatus on Bellatrix (besides her, of course).

“However, if you were killed or in some other way incapacitated and unable to level charges,
then your family or the Ministry could do it on your behalf. But if you are a willing volunteer and
you don’t want charges filed, then there really is little that can be done.” Remus explained. Harry
nodded thoughtfully.

“If you are seriously contemplating having someone perform the Imperius on you, I suggest you
discuss it with Tonks first. All Aurors are taught how to resist it as part of their training.
Whether they succeed of course boils down to their strength of will, but they’re still all taught
how. She can definitely give you some specific suggestions however on what to, or what not to
do.”

The two of them looked over from the isolated corner they’d moved to, to see that they were
still waiting for Hermione. Remus began to smile slightly. “You know, I’ll admit that thanks to not
having a crucial bit of information, both Tonks and myself jumped to a hasty conclusion as to why
you were always over at Hermione’s house.”

Both of them appeared to be equally embarrassed, though for different reasons. “That said,”
Remus continued, “after that little display during the movie, I must admit that if I didn’t know
any better, I’d almost say it looked like the two of you were flirting with each other, Harry.”

Harry suddenly became very interested in the *Blaidd Drwg* poster on the wall beside him
(even though he still had no idea how to pronounce it). “I’m the first to admit that I might have
been a little premature in miserably failing my way through ‘the talk,’” Remus said with a
chuckle.

“*But,*” he emphasized heavily and then lowered his voice, “let me just say that although
my deductions were wrong, I still stand by my earlier statement. Hermione is a wonderful young
woman, and I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone better than her... *if* you’re
interested.” Remus smiled as he watched Harry turn red again.

“And since I’ve embarrassed you again, let me finish it off properly. When the time *does*
come when you feel you might *want* to have ‘the talk,’ regardless of who that special someone
is, please do not hesitate to ask me. And let’s just leave it at that, for now.”

Thankful that Remus was letting the subject drop, Harry was about to explain that it was
Hermione’s fault, that she started the whole popcorn fight by slapping his hand away. As he was
about to, what he was going to say suddenly sank in: Hermione *was* the one who started it.
Truth be told, he did rather feel like he was flirting with her, again, much to the credit of
Remus’s observations. But now there was a new piece to the puzzle: what was *she* doing?

While Hermione tried to *briefly* explain to Remus how movie special effects worked, Harry
spoke with Tonks the entire way back to the car about how to practice throwing off the Imperius.
She gave him some generic advice that, based on his memories of doing it in fourth year didn’t seem
very helpful; he’d give them a shot though. What he did find very useful were her suggestions on
how the spell should be cast upon him... the setting in which to do it, what kinds of commands
should be given, etc.

Eager to focus all of his attention on this crucial bit of defense practice, Harry allowed his
ponderings on the popcorn fight to be put off to the back burner... for now.

Saturday soon arrived, and a thoroughly awake Harry wandered into the kitchen to find everyone
getting ready to eat breakfast.

“Rise and shine, Harry,” Dan joked as Harry took his seat. “Nice of you to join us for
breakfast,” he said with a grin. Harry decided he wouldn’t share with them the reason he took a
very long, very cool shower this morning. At least he’d only had one dream this time... unlike last
time. He still needed a cold shower though....

As they all began to eat, Harry could not help but notice that Emma didn’t quite look up to par
that morning. He also noticed Dan surreptitiously watching her (and her scowling back at him
whenever she caught him doing it).

After breakfast, they all went into the living room to enjoy a slow quiet morning before
deciding what to do with the rest of the day. It was very cold today. By now, the ethereal mist had
spread across most of country, even though there were no new reports of dementor activity. The
Muggle investigations into the deaths had finally been concluded Friday, and were published in this
morning’s newspaper in a small, unimportant side note.

Autopsies revealed no definitive information; the causes of death were therefore ruled as
“Unknown, probable natural.” With zero physical evidence of *anything*, it was deemed that
there was virtually no chance of human involvement in their deaths. Oh, how right they were and
they didn’t even know it. The different Muggle medical examiners compared their findings with each
other for the unusual cases. Again, with no physical evidence of anything, they ruled the eerie
similarities as merely coincidence.

Stretching out on the sofa, Emma enjoyed a hot cup of tea as she relaxed. Dan’s mollycoddling
was addressed when she finally snapped at him when he brought her a blanket after she shivered
slightly. In both of their defenses, it *was* rather cool in the room.

“Would you stop it?” she chided him. “It’s nothing. I’m just cold. It’s cold in here. The
central air system is still set to ‘cool’ mode, not ‘heat.’ If you want to do something, go change
the setting so the furnace comes on instead of the air conditioning *not* coming on.”

Hermione glanced curiously at Harry, then looked expectantly at her mother.

“Oh, your father is just being his usual overprotective self again. I’m not feeling one hundred
percent this morning, and he feels it necessary to pad everything now, to start pre-chewing my food
for me. Honestly, dear,” she said to Dan, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You threw up this morning,” Dan replied, not backing down.

“It’s nothing,” she assured him. “All this cold weather, I’ve probably caught something. Or
maybe that leftover Chinese food was a little *too* leftover. You’re making a big deal of
nothing. I hardly ever get sick.”

“Exactly my point,” Dan insisted. “You hardly ever get sick. I honestly can’t remember the last
time you were sick enough to actually *be sick*.”

“Dan, listen to me. I’m. Fine. Just let me relax, enjoy my cup of tea, and I’ll be good as new.
*MEN!*” Emma exclaimed exasperatedly, with a hint of a smile.

Hermione returned her mother’s smile. “Yeah, they do tend to have a ‘saving people thing’
sometimes,” she said, fighting back a laugh.

“Hey now,” Harry objected, also with a smile, “don’t drag me into this one.”

“They just can’t help it,” Hermione added. “Always have to rescue the damsel in distress... even
if it is just a stomach bug or overly-ripe Moo shu pork.”

Dan wisely did not reply, but continued to watch Emma protectively. “Fine,” she eventually said.
“If I don’t feel better in the morning, I’ll stop by the doctor or chemist at lunch, okay?” Dan
agreed.

“*MEN!*” Emma again complained, this time more humorously.

About an hour later, when they all decided it was time to get the day properly started, Emma
certainly did look much better. Before they decided how they would spend the day, Dan and Emma
shared a look, then addressed Harry.

“Harry, there’s something we’ve been meaning to ask you for quite a while, but we never really
got around to it. We’ve talked a little with Hermione about it, but we figured we really had to go
to the source.”

“Mum, Dad, no. Don’t do this. Harry didn’t come all the way here for this,” Hermione
complained.

“Hush dear,” Emma said with a smile. “As I’m sure you can imagine, this is really important to
us, so I’ll just ask.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, looking embarrassed. “I tried to stop them.”

“Harry, when was the last time you’ve been to the dentist?”


Next time...

Chapter 28. The Month that Followed, More Unexpected Tidings: Life, and Death.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, “you’re reacting to all of this as if you had gotten me
pregnant.”

“Hermione,” Harry, annoyed, replied louder than he intended, “They had *SEX!*”

Exactly like in the Muggle movies, Ginny’s birthday party came to a complete halt as every
single person in the room stopped whatever they were doing and turned to look at them. If a
phonograph had been playing, the needle surely would have been scratched across the record.



*A brief credit. Undoubtedly there are numerous schools of Numerology. The one I referenced in
this chapter comes from* The Sorcerer’s Companion*, by Allan Zola Kronzek & Elizabeth
Kronzek.*

*And finally, last but certainly not least, here is another wonderful manip done by Evernight,
from Chapter 25. I was truly caught off guard when I first saw this. It really is a touching
picture. As of the instant I posted this, the Portkey Gallery was being flaky, so if when you click
this link you can’t see the picture, just try back again later. Please leave him a review if you
like it. Thanks!*

*http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=943*

*A link to my calendar of events
for the story.*




28. More Unexpected Tidings: The Circle of Life
-----------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: I’m baaack! OK, A few words of note.*

*First, all I can say is, “FINALLY!!!” This has been a long time in coming. I can now use
personal pronouns, instead of having to try to find creative (and subtle ways) of not using them.
Go reread the earlier chapters... you’ll see!*

*Second, many people correctly caught the Blaidd Drwg (Blythe Droog) reference to the new
Doctor Who series.* *Zoe Wanamaker (Madam Hooch) played the voice of Cassandra (the ‘last’
human) in episode 102, “The End of the World” and also again in 201, “New Earth.” David Tennant
(Barty Crouch, Jr.) is the new Doctor in the second season, which is currently showing in the UK.
Roger Lloyd-Pack (Barty Crouch, Sr.) plays John Lumic, the villain of episodes 205 & 206. And
most recently, Shirley Henderson (Moaning Myrtle) played Ursula in 210. It’s fun to see all the HP
guest stars in other shows.*

*The first part of the story has certain repeated elements. I did this on purpose to show what
really happened, and then how it was perceived, then how it was remembered. The section with Ginny
in her room has more feelings of repetition, but again it’s intentional. She’s working through
everything, trying to figure it all out. Hopefully it all makes sense. Give her the benefit of the
doubt. This is growing up, not a temper tantrum.*

*As always, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional... as are the differences.*

*Thank you to my beta, MapleMountain! That one comment alone was worth an entire box of black
raspberries!*

*I PROMISE I'll get through my backlog of reviews this weekend!!*


Chapter 28. More Unexpected Tidings: The Circle of Life.

*Thirty-three years ago.*

Thirteen year-old Molly Prewett was sitting with her friends, enjoying the Welcoming Feast that
heralded the beginning of her third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And then she saw him.

An older boy she vaguely remembered seeing in passing once or twice the year before walked into
the Great Hall, surrounded by several of his friends. She didn’t know much about him... she didn’t
even know his name. All she knew was that he was absolutely *gorgeous!*

Why had she never noticed him before? She’d seen him, sure, but never like *this.* Then
again, she was thirteen-going-on-fourteen. Born on October 30, she was one of those students whose
birthdays only just missed the cutoff date of September 1. Last year, in second year, while most of
the students in her class had only had only recently turned twelve, she was two months away from
being a teenager.

Originally, she’d hated it because she had to wait an “extra” year to go to Hogwarts. Now
however, she liked it because she was one of the oldest in her class. Any girl who started
displaying certain female attributes in second year was easily queen of her dormitory room.

Back in the present, the rest of her third year feast was pretty much of a blur. She’d managed
to get a little food down, but that was only because the living god at the far end of the table had
turned towards her direction. Of course she knew he was only reaching for the flagon of pumpkin
juice, but she didn’t want to take any chance of him catching her staring.

Oh, he was such a dream! Red hair, fiery like a sunset, much more vibrant than her own
red-brown. And oh so gorgeous! Did she mention that already? Molly couldn’t keep her mind off of
him. What was his name? Did he have a girlfriend? What year was he in?

*Please don’t let him be in seventh year! Please don’t let him be in seventh year!* Molly
prayed to herself. *Mum would kill me if I fancied a seventh year.* Molly was startled when
one of her friends told her the feast was over and it was time to leave. Weren’t they supposed to
have start of term announcements? Then again, she really wasn’t too surprised that she’d missed
them, even without the Auburn Adonis sitting twenty feet away from her.

Headmaster Dippet could have told them there was a three-headed dog in the school and few would
have noticed. Even the Slytherins didn’t bother making fun of him; they were that bored.

“Who’s he?” Molly whispered to her friend as the Gryffindors marched their way upstairs to their
tower.

“Which one?” her friend, who was in fourth year, whispered back with a giggle.

Molly waited a few moments until they could see him as he climbed one of the opposing
staircases.

“Him!” Molly whispered, pointing him out. “The red one.”

“Oh! He’s cute! He looks familiar for some reason. I think he’s in fifth year. Who is that with
him? Is that... it is! Okay, you see his friend, the *blonde* one? I *do* know who he is!
And now I know why I remember *your* boyfriend. I don’t know his name, but I do know his
friends call him Wart sometimes.”

“Wart?” Molly asked, aghast. “Do I *want* to know?”

“It must be a nickname or a joke, since he doesn’t seem to mind it,” Molly’s friend
explained.

“And just how do you know they call him Wart, anyway?” Molly asked.

Her friend grinned. “I had to follow the blonde one around for a while last year to find out if
he had a girlfriend.”

“And?” Molly asked suggestively.

The scowl on her friend’s face answered that question just fine. “Seventh-year Hufflepuff,” she
answered with distaste. “The bitch!”

Molly and her friend then started laughing. Oh, it was so much fun to insult the girlfriends of
the boys they fancied.

“What about mine?” Molly asked one flight of stairs later.

“I don’t know,” her friend replied. “I don’t *remember* seeing him with any girls last
year. Then again, I wasn’t watching *him*.”

That was good enough for Molly Prewett.

Over the next few weeks, Molly tried to find out as much as possible about her mystery man. It
was a lot harder than she expected. He was two years ahead of her, so they didn’t share any
classes. Because of that and the age difference, they each had their own groups of friends, so they
always sat at different parts of the table for meals.

When it came down to it, he literally did not know she existed. Their uniforms had the same
color trim, but that was about it. They were fellow housemates, nothing more.

The more Molly thought about it, the more she felt that if he would simply *notice* her, he
would like her as much as she liked him. Determined to get him to notice her, she used her Potions
know-how to whip up a batch of (entirely forbidden) love potion. Although never invited to one of
his “parties,” all of the Prewetts were well known to then Potions Master Horace Slughorn.
Evidently it took more than skill or intelligence to get an invite, however.

After much planning, Molly finally succeeded in slipping some of the illicit substance into the
dreamy Arthur Weasley’s morning pumpkin juice. Her diligence paid off in spades. They were
officially boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the day. The only reason they weren’t together by
the end of breakfast was that the enamored young man was terrified that the girl of his dreams,
Molly Prewett, would reject him in front of his friends.

It was a very long day for young Arthur Weasley as he waited for an opportunity to talk to the
enchantress privately, away from the prying eyes of his friends. After all, what chance was there
that the living goddess whom he’d just noticed this morning could ever say yes to someone nicknamed
Wart (the regal source of that name was irrelevant, of course, in his frenzied state)? Why
*hadn’t* he noticed her before?

Young Molly was easily the happiest girl at Hogwarts; everyone could see it. Sure, both parties’
sets of friends thought the new romance a bit sudden, but it was simply chalked up to hormones... a
good three-quarters of the school knew full well about that. Still too young to comprehend the
darker side of brewed romance, Molly gave no thought to using up the rest of the magical elixir. It
was oh so easy too; Arthur was more than willing to drink the butterbeer she handed him, even after
he watched her pour something into it.

Molly was happy; Arthur was happy. The fact that everything about it was completely against
school rules was beside the point. The ends justified the means.

All of that changed however when her meager supply of happiness-in-a-bottle ran out. She’d been
so distracted by her perfect life that she’d neglected to pay attention to how much she had left.
The phial, now empty, signaled to her that his feelings for her might quickly go the same way. The
last dose would wear off before she could start and finish another batch.

She’d been so easily swept away. How could she have forgotten that at some point it would run
out? How would she be able to keep his attention without resorting to the kinds of attentions some
the sixth- and seventh-year girls were known to give? Faced with all of these questions and
uncertainty, another even more terrifying thought occurred to her... one she honestly had never
even considered.

How would Arthur react once the potion wore off? Only then did she realize how much trouble she
could get into. Love potions were forbidden! She could get expelled! If Arthur’s parents wanted to,
they could even press charges! She’d never meant for all of this to happen! All she’d wanted was
just to get him to notice her. That was her only intention when this all started.

Even if she hadn’t carefully calculated how much longer that final dose would last, Molly could
see the difference that first morning. As he walked into the Great Hall breakfast, Arthur walked
right past Molly, as he innocently had done for the two years prior. Only when he finally saw her
did everything fall into place in his mind.

And then the dragon poo (as Fred and George’s fireworks might say) hit the ceiling.

In the seclusion of the Forbidden Forest (forests have ceilings), the two of them had the first
of what would *later* be known as a Weasley argument. As the betrayed Arthur railed against
everything she’d done and how he thought he knew her and couldn’t understand how she could do
something like that to him, he began to realize something.

He *didn’t* fancy her (now that the potion was gone), but he actually *did* quite like
her as a person... if he ignored what she’d done. When they weren’t locked at the lips, so smitten
was he that he drank in every word she ever spoke as a parched man might water. As he’d gotten to
know her, he found out that they had a lot in common. She really was just about everything he could
have hoped for in a girlfriend. Just about.

She *didn’t* share his love of all things Muggle, but she did *tolerate* his “unusual
hobby.” All of the other girls he’d ever been interested in didn’t want anything to do with the
Muggle world. They didn’t *dislike* Muggles... it was just that there was the Muggle world and
there was the wizarding world, and they saw no reason to mix the two.

Now that he personally knew her as he did, she was no longer just another face wearing red and
gold. Even though his amorous feelings had been artificially coerced, he’d still *had* them...
and, he *still* had them.

After he’d had his chance to rant and rage at her, and justifiably so, he stopped to give her a
chance to say something. Whatever she said he felt would determine what would happen next.

Molly, to her credit, made absolutely no effort to defend her actions. All she did say was that
she’d never meant for things to turn out like this, for things to go this far. All she’d wanted,
she told him through her tears, was to get him to notice her. Everything else had followed from
that, not out of deceptive intent or some grand scheme, but rather from the *lack* of
forethought... *any* forethought.

She simply hadn’t given any thought to what happened next... to where things might lead... to
the consequences of her actions. She told him all of this, not as an excuse or defense, just as an
explanation.

Arthur did not know which was worse: the betrayal, violation even, he felt at being drugged, or
the complete loss of her should they become estranged. Part of him never wanted to see her again,
and part of him would be devastated if he never did (and yes, both of those parts were above the
waist). He honestly could not make that decision. So he forced her to. What would happen next was
up to her now.

She could confess what she’d done to Headmaster Dippet and swear a wizard’s oath to him (Arthur)
that she’d never again make a love potion. If she did, they could start over from scratch as “just
friends” and then see where things went. He specifically told her that there were no guarantees
that things would ever develop beyond that point, or that they would even remain friends as time
progressed.

Or, she could walk away from it all and never speak of it, or to him, ever again.

Armando Dippet was not exactly the most forceful headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen (some might
even call him feeble), nor was he *respected* by mischievous students like his successor was.
That would probably explain why Molly only got a week’s worth of detention for her actions after
she confessed. It was two very long months where Arthur and Molly struggled to salvage whatever
they could. But within a year, the two were known for getting caught snogging on the common room
couch.

Molly burst into tears when Arthur surprised her one day by celebrating their one-year dating
anniversary... on the same day she first gave him the love potion. He said he wanted to do that
because he felt it was the ultimate expression of the idea that “which does not kill us only makes
us stronger.”

He added with a grin that he wasn’t going to let her out of her love potion oath, however. That
night, the two of them didn’t get back into the school until four in the morning. Arthur “took one
for the team,” so to speak that night by heading off the caretaker as Molly was having a hard time
waking the Fat Lady.

She found a way to make it up to him though.

*Thirty years later (three years ago)...*

On the morning of September 1, the day Ginny would be traveling back to Hogwarts for her second
year, Molly, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting around a small table in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting
for the boys to drag themselves out of bed and come down for breakfast. Arthur was rather
distracted by his *Daily Prophet*, reading all about the escape of the convicted murder,
Sirius Black... the man who betrayed James and Lily Potter.

“Mummy!” Ginny exclaimed excitedly, “Can you tell us a story about when you were at school?”

“Oh, I doubt there’s anything I could tell you that would interest you two girls,” Molly
said.

“Tell us about how you met Daddy!” Ginny prodded with a slightly dreamy look on her face. Her
mind wandered to the dreamy Harry Potter, he who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and who was
currently just one floor above her.

Molly, intrigued, looked to her daughter and her best friend. Both looked excited to hear the
story.

“Well, it all started in my third year,” Molly began to explain. “I was sitting in the Great
Hall with my friends when all of the sudden the most gorgeous boy walked in,” she said with a
smile, then a wink. Ginny and Hermione giggled.

“Then what happened?” Ginny prodded.

“Well, not much. I didn’t even know who he was, and he didn’t know who I was. But other than
that, it was love at first sight,” Molly said with a slight giggle herself.

“And then?”

“Well, it took a while to find out everything I needed to know, namely what his name was and
whether he had a girlfriend,” Molly said, waggling her eyebrows. Ginny and Hermione giggled
again.

“But since he was two years ahead of me, we didn’t have any classes together, so it was
practically impossible for me to get his attention, short of flashing my knickers, which I wasn’t
going to do.”

“So what did you do?” Ginny asked breathlessly, clearly enthralled.

“I spiked his morning pumpkin juice with a love potion,” Molly said, almost as if it was the
punch line to a joke.

Ginny—twelve years old, a small little girl head over heels for the Boy Who Lived, about to
enter her second year—just sighed and smiled as if it was the most romantic thing in the world.
Even thirteen year-old Hermione, who’d never fancied a boy yet, giggled.

Ginny felt it all sounded so simple. Love in a bottle. Her thoughts were interrupted when she
noticed Hermione look up towards the staircase and wave. Ginny looked and her breathing caught in
her throat. Harry had just come downstairs, surrounded by her brothers.

“I just wanted a little something to get his attention, so I... uh, snuck into the Restricted
Section of the library and found a book that had love potions in it. Oh, dearies, when he took that
first drink, he certainly took notice of me then. He...”

Ginny’s attention drifted away from her mother as Harry and her brothers walked by. She felt
that usual twinge of jealousy when Harry absently smiled hello to Hermione as he walked by but yet
didn’t seem to notice her, Ginny. Yes, she knew that Harry and Hermione (and Ron) were friends. But
oh, how jealous she was. Without even trying, Harry noticed Hermione, but despite all of Ginny’s
efforts last year, including that singing Valentine, he never seemed to notice her. If anything, he
seemed to avoid her.

Ginny watched as Harry’s smile-of-a-hello faded as he and Ron resumed whatever they’d been
discussing earlier.

“What were you saying?” Ron asked Harry as they sat down.

“Later,” Harry muttered as Percy stormed in. Now that Harry was thoroughly enthralled by his
breakfast with the arrival of Percy, Ginny turned back to her mother.

“...very long months. But in the end, it was just one of those things that, if you survive it,
it only makes you stronger,” Molly finished.

Ginny noticed the happy smile on her best friend’s face. “I’m just glad it all worked out for
you in the end,” Hermione said, then looked at Ginny. Ginny, who’d missed much of the middle of the
story, just returned Hermione’s smile.

“Well, like I said, that which does not kill you only makes you stronger. The *‘that which
does not kill you’* being the important predicate,” Molly said with a giggle. Hermione giggled
back. Since Ginny still didn’t know what she missed, nor did she know what ‘predicate’ meant, she
just joined in their laughter as well.

Everything had worked out between her mum and dad, after all.

*Present day, 10 August.*

Ginny lie on her bare bed in her empty room at Grimmauld Place. The occasional tear rolled down
the sides of her face as she stared up at the ceiling. She already finished packing up her stuff,
ready to move back home. Actually, everyone had finished packing up their stuff... except Ron.
Everyone was waiting on him to finish up.

Ginny took these few moments alone to lock herself in her room as she took stock of where she
was.

This was too hard. It was too hard, fancying Harry. In her mind, it was supposed to be the
obvious, classic, storybook romance. She was the fairy princess, the first Weasley female born in
what seemed like forever. Harry was hero who defeated the great monster. He was the Boy Who Lived.
They were meant to be together, weren’t they?

She thought so. It seemed rather obvious to her at least. She’d practically fallen in love with
him before she even met him. They had everything in common: he liked Quidditch; she liked
Quidditch. She knew that things would always be easy for him with her. Harry would never have to
talk about his problems with her; that’s what Hermione was for.

And of course, don’t forget, everyone always talked about how much Harry looked like his father,
James. Everyone knew that his mother was a redhead. Ginny was too! It was just so simple, so
perfect: James and Lily, Harry and Ginny.

But it wasn’t that simple, Ginny knew. *Harry didn’t fancy her.* The whole universe as she
saw it seemed designed to set the two of them up, and yet... it didn’t happen.

And that hurt. It wasn’t exactly the fact that he didn’t fancy her. If it was possible for a
person to feel good about being let down, then that was what Harry did after she’d asked him out at
his birthday.

The problem was that she still had feelings for him. It was hard to fancy someone when you knew
they didn’t fancy you back. If it was just that, then she probably would have continued on like she
had been: acting as though she’d moved on, but still secretly harboring her hopes and desires for
things to change.

But it wasn’t just that. When she and her brother overheard her mum and Bill arguing about his
and Fleur’s engagement, his scathing remark about the love potion shocked her to the core.

Ginny clearly remembered when her mum told her about the love potion she made to catch her
father’s attention. At the time, the world was much simpler to Ginny and a love potion sounded so
simple... the perfect way to get a person to notice her. She also remembered commenting to herself
how Harry never seemed to notice her.

And then just over a week ago, when they were shopping in the twins’ store, something had
happened that began to put everything into perspective. She’d seen the WonderWitch products. She’d
wondered out loud to Hermione whether or not they worked.

On the one hand, she really wasn’t surprised by Hermione’s reaction. She just felt Hermione
Granger wasn’t the kind of girl bold enough to try a love potion. And yet on the other, she
*was* surprised because Hermione had been rather giggly about it when her mum told them the
story.

*“But that was different back then,”* she remembered Hermione saying. *“That was before
I... before I ever actually fancied anyone.”* Before Ginny could ask if she meant Viktor,
Hermione continued. *“Let me ask you this. Pretend you fancy Harry.”*

Ginny smirked. That was easy to imagine.

*“Now, imagine that you actually went and bought this love potion,”* Hermione said as she
picked up the pink, heart-covered bottle, *“and then slipped it into Harry’s drink. How would you
feel?”*

Hermione paused to allow Ginny to think about it, but then resumed the instant Ginny started to
open her mouth to reply. *“How would you feel, knowing that it wasn’t real? Knowing that the
feelings he displayed for you were coming from* this bottle*, not from his* heart?”

Ginny *hadn’t* considered that. Thinking about it like that, she didn’t really like the
idea of that. She’d dreamed about Harry returning her feelings. But if they weren’t real? Was that
what she wanted?

*Of course not,* she thought. She wasn’t going to buy the love potion to actually
*use* on Harry. She was just *looking* at it, wondering if it worked.

When she heard the venom in Bill’s voice as he threw their mother’s use of a love potion back at
her, she suddenly realized how bad it sounded. The idea of someone, especially herself, using a
love potion to trick Harry into fancying someone positively turned her stomach.

It was then, lying on her bed, that Ginny realized it. Back in the twins’ shop, she *would*
have bought that love potion. If Hermione hadn’t been there, complaining about it, she most
certainly *would* have bought it.

Not to use it, of course... but just because it was there, on the shelf, in a pretty pink
bottle. It just seemed like some fun little novelty. Love in a bottle. She honestly, truly did not
have any plans to use it on Harry.

But, once she had it... Ginny wiped away another tear. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
*“A little something to get his attention.”* All Ginny really ever wanted was to get Harry to
*notice* her. She would never have given him a love potion to make him fall in love with
her.

She *hadn’t* had any plans for the love potion. But once it was in her hands... it was just
one of those things. If separate ideas float around in a person’s mind long enough, they might just
suddenly come together at some point. *“Something to get his attention.” “Love potion.” “He
certainly took notice of me then.”*

It was that realization that was making her cry. Ginny Weasley would never buy a love potion to
make Harry Potter fall in love with her. But if it hadn’t been for Hermione, she probably
*would* have bought it, just because it was there, begging to be bought.

And once she’d theoretically had it, she couldn’t guarantee herself that she wouldn’t have taken
a page out of her mother’s book. It wouldn’t have been planned... it was just one of those things
that just sometimes happened on its own. *“Something to get his attention...”* that was
all.

Without even the slightest intent of using a love potion on Harry, Ginny could envision a series
of events that could have unfolded in such a way as that the end result would have been Harry under
the influence of a love potion, by her hand. The thought of what *could have been* mortified
her, sickened almost even.

This was too hard. It was too hard, fancying Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived... now the Chosen
One. And yet she did. Why? Why did she fancy him? Why was this so hard? And it wasn’t that Harry
didn’t fancy her back. She’d already been through that. So what was it?

For the next ten minutes, Ginny searched her memories and heart as she listened to the sounds of
her brother swearing at his stuff in the vain hope that it would hasten his packing. Part of her
vaguely noted that Ron had been in a particularly surly mood after receiving his most recent “just
a letter” from her other best friend, Luna.

Finally, Ginny noticed a common thread linking everything together... something that went all
the way back to before she even met him. And that was the key: it went back to before she met
him.

Was it possible, Ginny wondered, that she didn’t fancy *Harry*, but rather she fancied the
*Boy Who Lived?* And therein lay the problem: Harry *was* the Boy Who Lived. Harry
*was* the Chosen One. They were one in the same person. She couldn’t separate them.

Deep down, she knew that she fancied him before she ever met him. So how could she fancy
*Harry* when all she saw was the Chosen One... the one who would defeat You Know Who, once and
for all? The last five years had proved that she couldn’t fancy a title, or rather that a title
couldn’t fancy her back. But that’s all he was to her. He was the Boy Who Lived.

And yet at the same time, she also knew that there were some things about *Harry* that she
was certain would make good boyfriend material. He was loyal, trustworthy, smart. Okay, maybe not
Hermione-smart, but compared to goons like Crabbe and Goyle, he was a bloody genius. He was
brave... he came and rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets.

So, Ginny decided that what she needed (in a perfect world) was to find *another* Harry...
someone who was everything that Harry was, just someone who wasn’t Harry Potter, the Boy Who
Lived.

Oh, and it really helped if he, whoever he was, fancied her too. Five years of fancying someone
who didn’t return her feelings made that abundantly clear.

Ginny was not such the fairy princess to think that the universe revolved about her. But it
would be nice, she felt, to be the center of *someone’s* universe. Was that too much to ask?
That someone out there... just *one* person... might think her more important than anything
else?

At that very moment on the other side of London in Diagon Alley, Neville Longbottom was
finishing up his own school shopping. Armed with the suggestion Harry had owled him, he was about
ready to head to the Magical Menagerie to make his final purchase of the day.

On his way there, he decided to stop into Weasley Wizard Wheezes to check out Fred and George’s
new shop first. It was his first time there, and he wasn’t too keen on carrying a live animal
around a joke shop... at least one owned and operated by the Weasley twins. Thoroughly impressed by
everything he’d seen, Neville was about to walk out the door when a familiar sound caught his
attention.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and
purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

“Pygmy Puffs,” said George. “Miniature puffskeins. We only started selling them this week and
already we can’t breed them fast enough. And you know the saying, ‘don’t count your puffskeins
before you feed them.’”

Neville stared at the little creatures in the cage. They were so cute, he’d even buy one for
himself if he didn’t already have Trevor... and if they weren’t pink or purple.

He looked at the sign on the cage. To be entirely honest, the price was about one Galleon higher
than he felt it ought to be. Then again he knew that demand versus supply had an effect on prices.
In any regard, it was well worth the price if it really was what Ginny wanted. Harry said he’d been
shopping with the Weasleys when she mentioned she wanted one.

“Can I buy a purple one?” Neville asked George.

“Only if you have money,” George replied back with a grin. After putting one of the little
fluff-balls into a traveling box, he took Neville’s money, then handed the cage over.

“Wise decision, mate,” George said. “The purple’s not too bad, but the pink is really too
girly.”

“Oh, it isn’t for me. It’s a present,” Neville replied.

“Who for?” George asked conversationally, curious.

Neville turned bright red and said nothing.

“For a girl, huh?” George teased. “Way to go, Nev! As a desperately single guy, I only have two
words for you: GOOD LUCK!”

“Thanks!” Neville said, then headed out, down to the Leaky Cauldron to find his grandmother. He
didn’t know how the twins (or Ron) would react if they found out it was for Ginny, so he just took
the good luck wish and left it at that. Besides, they’d *all* find out who it was for soon
enough.

* * *

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, looking embarrassed. “I tried to stop them.”

“Harry, when was the last time you’ve been to the dentist?”

Before he knew it, Harry found himself scheduled with an appointment in Dr. Granger’s (didn’t
know which one yet) dental chair. He was impressed; even the Death Eaters didn’t attack that
quickly.

On the Friday morning before they went back to school, Harry and Hermione were to accompany the
elder Grangers into their London surgery. Afterwards, they could take the Tube back to Wandsworth,
then hop a bus back home. Stop ‘A’ was not even three hundred feet from the intersection of West
Hill and Broomhill Road, after all.

“We have nothing but respect for you, Harry, but we just don’t think magic and teeth should
mix,” Dan explained to him as he cast a weighted glance at Hermione. Harry remembered her saying
something to that exact sentiment when she got her teeth fixed by Madam Pomfrey back in fourth
year.

With everyone’s dental safety assured, talk finally drifted back to what to do with the rest of
the day. The weather was such that it certainly looked to be a stay-in sort of day. Ginny’s
birthday was tomorrow; Harry realized he still needed to get something to give to her at the
combined birthday/returning home/“surprise announcement” party which was tomorrow. After all, why
would they have Ginny’s birthday party on Monday instead of Sunday, unless of course someone got
the days mixed up originally.

Harry asked the Grangers if they would mind terribly a trip into Diagon Alley to go shopping.
Since none of them really had anything else to do, they all agreed. After calling Tonks and Lupin
to tell them of their plans, they all loaded into the car and set out for London.

On the drive in, Harry realized that this would also be a perfect chance to stop by the music
shop to get everything there started. The trick would be to find some way to separate himself from
Hermione so as to not draw her suspicion.

After a light lunch in the Leaky Cauldron (and Harry being enthusiastically greeted by patrons
as the Chosen One), the four of them stood for a few moments just on the other side of the brick
wall at the entrance to Diagon Alley, deciding where to go first. When he noticed Hermione was
looking away from him up the street, Harry decided now was a good time to try to split them up for
a little bit.

To his luck, Emma was looking in his general direction. He only hoped she remembered their
earlier telephone conversation. Once he subtly got her attention, Harry nodded his head backwards
slightly in sort of a *“come here”* manner. He then stared pointedly at Dan and Hermione and
nodded forward slightly, hoping she’d understand he wanted her to send them away.

Fortunately, Emma Granger was just as smart as her daughter... not that he ever doubted it.

“Dan,” Emma said suddenly. “Why don’t we split up? You can go with Hermione while I stay with
Harry. This way we should be able to get everything done in half the time. We can then get home
that much sooner.” Ordinarily all four of them would like to have spent more time in Diagon Alley.
Since they all had to wear their jackets today however, none were too eager to argue against the
idea of returning to a nice, warm house.

Making plans to meet back in front of the brick wall in half an hour, the two groups went their
own ways. Harry slowly wandered over to the window of the shop nearest him as he watched Hermione
drag Dan up the street towards the stationery store.

Harry turned back to Emma once they were out of sight.

“Alone at last,” Emma joked in what sounded to Harry to be a sultry voice. “I thought they’d
never leave.”

Harry tried to play along by waggling his eyebrows suggestively, but unable to come up with an
appropriate comeback, he just burst out laughing instead. He then asked her, “Do you remember our
phone conversation?”

“When I offered our help in keeping a surprise present a surprise?” Emma confirmed.

Harry nodded then looked seriously at her. “I need your help,” he said. The two of them then
headed straight to Gringotts. After repaying Dan, buying Ron’s food, and other incidental expenses,
Harry was about out of pound notes.

Emma knew that Harry was financially secure thanks to his parents and Sirius, but nothing could
prepare her for the sight of seeing just over 1.6 million Galleons neatly stacked up in the
vault... not that she knew how many there were.

As Harry went to fill his money bag with enough Galleons to cover his purchase at the music shop
as well as replenish his pocket money, Emma slowly looked around in awe. Each one of these gold
coins represented about five pounds.

*Hang on,* Emma noted to herself, unable to resist her inquisitive side. *Thought so,*
she said to herself after picking one up and feeling its weight in her hand. “Gold-plated base
metal,” she observed absently, mainly to herself.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed behind her, startling her. “They’d be worth far more than five pounds if
they were solid gold.” Emma nodded then put the Galleon back.

She only lasted until halfway up the cart ride back to the lobby. “I wonder how much they would
weigh if they were all made of gold,” she finally asked. Harry began to laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Hermione wondered the exact same thing when she was down there.”

“Well, you can’t expect any less from a Granger,” Emma said with a smile.

After converting the Galleons to pounds, the two of them returned to Muggle London and went next
door to the music shop. Fortunately for Harry, the manager worked Saturdays.

* * *

Hermione was not fooled for an instant. She knew full well that Harry was trying to get away
from her so he could get her present. What she didn’t know was how involved her mother was in all
of it. *That* could be trouble. Her only consolation was that it seemed Harry had already
decided what to get, so she felt it unlikely that her mother might make any gift suggestions with
an ulterior motive.

Hermione felt that she had everything well in hand when it came to how things were progressing
with Harry. The last thing she needed, she felt, was for her parents to get involved and start
mucking about.

Then again, if her mother was with him, then maybe she could find a way to get it out of her
what Harry was doing.

Yeah, Hermione didn’t think so either.

* * *

Five minutes later, Harry and Emma walked out of the music shop; they were, after all, only
paying a deposit on the gift. She noted that he was grinning so broadly and looking so excited that
she felt he might just float away if a strong breeze came along.

Emma had to admit to herself that she was *very* impressed with Harry’s present. She
listened patiently as he rattled on breathlessly about how he got the idea, pointing out what he
saw in the store that got it all started. She had a strong feeling that if the two of them hadn’t
figured things out by then, that the moment Hermione saw what Harry had bought for her, they’d both
figure it out pretty quickly then.

“Thank you again, for helping me with this. And thanks for agreeing to pick it up.”

“For the fourth time, *literally, Harry,* you’re welcome,” Emma replied. As they waited for
the bricks to rearrange themselves to grant them reentry to Diagon Alley, Harry became very
pensive.

“Oh, wow, I forgot! I still need to get something for Ginny.” Emma suppressed a smile. He used
his Ginny-shopping-time to go buy Hermione’s present. She felt sorry for the small redhead.

*The poor girl never stood a chance,* Emma thought to herself.

“Do you have any recommendations?” Harry asked her suddenly.

She was surprised. “You mean you don’t know what to get her? You seemed to do quite nicely on
Hermione’s,” Emma pointed out.

“Yeah, but Hermione’s was easy,” Harry replied absently. On the inside, Emma smirked. There was
nothing easy about what he was buying her, hence the need for one hundred percent prepayment.
“Besides, I don’t want something that might give Ginny the wrong idea.”

Again, Emma smirked on the inside. *And what idea might Hermione get from your
present?*

“Well, what message *do* you want to give her?”

“Erm, Happy Birthday... to a friend... just a friend,” Harry replied.

“Well, nothing quite says ‘just a friend’ like something that is heavy on utility and light on
sentiment. Oh, and you can *really* kill the mood by giving something that you could just as
easily give to Ron as well.”

A smile began to appear on Harry’s face. “Just be sure it’s something that Ginny would like too.
Giving her *Ron’s* present says that you couldn’t even be bothered to spend five seconds to
pick something out for *her*. That sends an entirely different message... one that everyone
will notice. And believe me, it *won’t* be pretty.”

Harry smiled again. “I know just the thing,” he said as he grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her up
the street.

With about two minutes to spare before they were due back in front of the wall, Harry and Emma
walked out of a store with Ginny’s new present: a broomstick servicing kit.

Emma kept trying to remember as they walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron. “Isn’t that what
Hermione bought you a few years ago?” she finally asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, grinning.

Emma chuckled. “If you’re trying to *not* send her mixed signals, then I think you’ve found
the perfect gift. Extremely useful... completely lacking in emotional sentiment and involved
planning... and it could just as easily be given to Ron. And forget what I said before... NOTHING
says ‘I don’t fancy you’ more than the exact same gift as what another girl gave *you*. Trust
me on that one.”

Emma thought back to the chess set Hermione gave him. That wasn’t just ANY chess set. She
*could* have given him a regular set, or she could have bought a wizarding set. But no...
Hermione went out and found an exquisitely beautiful regular set and then had it changed into a
wizarding set. Emma quickly looked around as they walked back to the meeting point to see if
Hermione was anywhere in sight. She knew she might get in trouble for this.

“But, just to safe, Harry. There’s nothing special about this kit, is there?” Emma asked. “It’s
just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill servicing kit. You didn’t special order it? You didn’t magically
enchant it to turn it into a self-servicing kit, did you?” She then added to herself, *You know,
exactly like what Hermione did for your present, and what you’re doing for hers?*

Harry looked at Emma out the corner of his eye. “Merlin, when you say it like *that*, you’d
think I hated her or something. I just want a plain old birthday present... something that doesn’t
have *any* hidden meaning.”

Emma had to backtrack a little. She knew she’d laid it on a bit thick. “And that’s what you
bought her, Harry. It only sounds bad because we’re over-analyzing it. Trust me, if I were Ginny
and I got this, my thoughts would be, ‘Oh. A servicing kit. Isn’t that what Hermione bought you?
How unoriginal and uninspired. If he actually fancied me, you’d think he’d spend a little more time
picking out a gift for ME.’”

Emma smiled, then added to herself one last time, *Like what you’re getting Hermione, and what
she got you.*

Harry began to laugh. “It is a bit unoriginal and uninspired, isn’t it?”

“Well, but let’s not forget however that it is still a very nice present,” Emma reminded him. “I
just don’t thing it’s something you get a girlfriend to say, ‘I’m thinking about you, Ginny
Weasley.’ At least, not until after you’ve been married for a few years. My last birthday present
from Dan was a new set of kitchen knives. Extremely useful, not at all sentimental, and exactly
what I wanted.

“The trick, you see,” she explained, “was that all of the sentiment was expressed when he took
me out to dinner beforehand.” Emma stopped her story there. The truth was that Dan further
expressed his sentiment later that evening... several times.

Harry and Hermione showed each other what they bought Ginny on the drive back home. Hermione had
found an elegant note-taking quill that featured a built-in spell-correcting charm... very handy
for Ginny’s O.W.L. year. She joked that it wouldn’t help Ginny if she wrote that Europa was covered
in mice, but at least she’d spell Europa correctly.

“You make *one little mistake* saying Saturn’s moons have a rodent infestation and it
follows you around for the rest of your life,” Harry joked. Hermione looked scandalized.

“I was just kidding!” he promised. “Jupiter!”

“That’s better!” Hermione admonished him, but with a small smile. “What did you get Ginny?”

Harry showed her the broomstick kit; Hermione looked less than impressed. “Well... it’s very...
*useful*,” she finally said. *If he buys me a musical bookmark... or a bottle of perfume,
I’ll kill him.*

“I know!” Harry agreed excitedly. “It’s brilliant!” Hermione looked to the front of the car when
she heard her mother cough, covering up a single laugh.

Once they got home, since everyone still had no plans for today, and before anyone got too
settled in for a lazy day, Harry decided he would ask Hermione if she would help him with the
Imperius Curse. Based on Tonks’ advice, he felt it would be best if Dan and Emma were present.

“I was wondering if you would help me with something. It’s not exactly homework-related, but...”
Well, he didn’t exactly know how to describe what it was. ‘Life or death’ struggle seemed a little
too dramatic.

“Oh?” Hermione said with interest. “Homework on a Saturday? Surely you jest.”

Harry grinned his unspoken *“Don’t call me Shirley,”* then laughed awkwardly. “No.
Actually, I was wondering...” This was it. It was a lot to ask of a friend... to have her perform
an Unforgivable on him. “I was wondering if you would help me practice against the Imperius.”

Hermione looked surprised. He could see it on her face, the confusion. Deep down, she knew what
he was asking, but she just couldn’t, or didn’t want to, believe it.

“You want me to...?”

“I need you use the Imperius on me, so I can try to throw it off,” Harry said clearly, so there
was no mistaking his request.

Understanding appeared on her face, but she still looked uncertain. “But...” she started.

“I already talked to Lupin about it. It’s all right if I’m a willing volunteer,” Harry assured
her. Hermione didn’t seem entirely convinced. He stood up from the sofa where he’d been
sitting.

“Please, this is important to me. I can’t practice this by myself. Do you remember that reporter
from the *Prophet?* It would kill me if I hurt someone because of that spell. It’s been years
since we did it in class. I NEED to know that I can fight it,” Harry said urgently.

He watched as Hermione looked down at the floor as she seemed to weigh something in her mind.
Would she help him with something like this? Finally, she looked back up at him.

“If you’re *SURE,*” she said emphatically, not looking enthusiastic. “But only on one
condition,” she added.

“Anything,” Harry said without hesitation.

“I won’t perform the Imperius on you until I’m sure that it won’t hurt you... that *I*
won’t hurt you. I have to know *exactly* what’s involved in this before I do it,” she told
him.

Deep down, some part of *Harry* knew what *she* was insisting, but his conscious mind
wouldn’t accept it. “What... what do you mean?” he asked.

Hermione also stood up from her spot on the loveseat. “You’ll have to do it to me first,” she
said simply.

Dan and Emma, who didn’t know what the Imperius was, immediately saw the look of concern and
worry on Harry’s face.

“*What* does he have to do first?” Dan asked insistently as he stood up the sofa where he’d
been sitting next to Harry; Emma also rose from the loveseat. Hermione ignored her parents and
locked her gaze on Harry. He knew she wasn’t going to back down.

He wanted to argue with her, to tell her that there had to be another way. But he knew there
wasn’t. That’s why he was asking her in the first place. And now that she was demanding on being
“involved,” he knew there was nothing he could say to talk her out of it. He hated that about her.
But more importantly, he loved that about her.

“The Imperius is a mind control spell, essentially,” Harry explained to Dan and Emma. “The
caster can make the target do anything he or she wants. *Anything.* It’s so hard to resist
that Death Eaters were able to avoid Azkaban during Voldemort’s first war by claiming they were
doing his bidding under the spell.

“But it can fought,” he then added confidently. “The problem is, I can’t do it by myself.
Someone has to use it on me. And I’d *prefer* that to be someone I trusted.”

“Is it dangerous?” Emma worriedly asked Harry. She didn’t know anything about the Imperius, but
mind control *sounded* straight-forward enough (and she couldn’t believe that thought just
went through her mind). Her own concern came from Hermione’s demands that Harry do it to her first,
and his subsequent hesitation.

“If it’s safe enough for Harry, then it’s safe enough for me,” Hermione answered before Harry
could say anything. Emma turned to look back at Harry.

“Is it *safe?*” she asked. With two willing participants with no desire to harm each other,
as well as Tonks’ suggestions, it was reasonably safe. Safer than not being able to defend against
the curse at least. Harry simply didn’t want to have to subject Hermione to it.

“With a few simple precautions... yes,” he finally answered. Harry STILL didn’t want to perform
the curse on Hermione. Dan and Emma then both looked back to Hermione.

“Let’s get started then,” Hermione said.

Harry briefly explained what would be involved, based on Tonks’ suggestions. First and foremost,
suggestion #1: make sure the participants don’t need to use the loo when practicing this. According
to the Technicolor-haired Auror, the extreme mental focus summoned when attempting to repel the
attack had been known to cause a *momentary* loss of muscle control on very rare
occasions.

Harry wasn’t sure if Tonks was joking or not, but he didn’t want to find out.

Her other suggestions for the logistics were pretty self-explanatory. Always have witnesses in
case there was ever any question about a person’s willingness to participate. Bystanders were also
useful to catch a person should they fall, either from exhaustion or from a semi-successful
attempt. Harry’s kneecaps knew all about that.

Tonks’ next suggestion surprised him, but it made more and more sense as he thought about it.
All parties involved should agree upon, in advance, what they would command the other to do. The
last thing anyone wanted was for some secret to be revealed by accident.

It wouldn’t do to surprise someone under the curse by telling him to snog his best male friend,
only to find out that secretly he really wanted to... because he didn’t resist the curse. Resisting
only worked when the person truly didn’t want to do whatever was asked of them.

And finally, it was suggested to try several different commands so that a person could feel how
they reacted to the curse. Everyone was different, after all. They were to perform at least four
tests: willing commands with and without magic, and unwilling commands, with and without magic.

A willing command was one the target *would* want to do. It was like a control experiment,
a way for the target to feel how the curse affected them without the element of having to fight
against it. They also needed to do something with magic so they could feel how their magic was
affected.

An unwilling command, obviously, was one that the target didn’t want to do. This was the true
test: whether a person could resist the command. Again, both with and without magic were tested.
Commands that required the use of magic were easier to throw off, as simply the act of using magic
required a certain amount of concentration (dependant on the witch or wizard, of course). That
concentration used in casting the spell essentially subtracted from the amount of willpower needed
to throw off the curse. In other words, it was harder to force someone to use magic than it was to
make them do something that didn’t require magic.

After a minute or so, Harry and Hermione had agreed upon what four things each would try to make
the other do under the Imperius. It was with trepidation that the two of them returned downstairs,
each with a cherished possession: Hermione’s favorite stuffed animal (Harry’s suggestion) and
Harry’s Firebolt (Hermione’s suggestion). Dan had already returned from the garage with a small
metal stepladder and set it off to the side.

Emma went to stand behind Hermione, ready to catch her if necessary; Dan was behind Harry. “Are
you ready?” Harry asked after a deep breath. Hermione nodded.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, then drew his wand and pointed it at her.
*“Imperio!”*

Harry could see all of the tension in her body wash away as that unique feeling of being under
the Imperius spread throughout her body.

*First things first,* Harry thought to himself as he cast a glance at Emma, who nodded. He
then looked back at Hermione who was smiling blankly.

*Turn around and hug your mum,* Harry ordered her in his mind. He really didn’t know how
“talking” to her in his mind was any different than to himself. Then again, maybe it wasn’t...
other than in intent. Intent was everything when using magic.

Hermione immediately turned around and gave her mum a great big, warm hug. Emma looked extremely
unnerved by it, but eventually relaxed and returned the hug after Harry smiled at her and nodded.
*This is the control,* Emma remembered. *Making her do something she wants to, to get a feel
for the curse itself.*

*Turn around...* Harry told Hermione; she did. Next...

*Turn your stuffed animal into a tea cosy, and then return it to normal,* Harry ordered her
next. Hermione immediately drew her wand and pointed it towards the floor where she’d set the toy.
Harry watched as the reindeer, or whatever it was, transformed into the aforementioned
covering.

Tea cosies frequently looked like woolen hats. It was not surprising then that the transfigured
one before them looked exactly like the ones Hermione had knitted for the house-elves. Since it was
another chance to witness magic in action, Dan and Emma watched eagerly. Hermione then canceled the
transfiguration and returned it to normal.

Harry looked at Hermione again; she was still wearing the same, vacant smile. He knew what was
next; they all did. Hermione said she would be embarrassed if she let them hear her sing.

*Jump up on the loveseat and sing ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence.’*

The smile disappeared from Hermione’s face. Everyone could see her tense up, ready to move;
she’d been so relaxed for her first two tests. She started to turn towards the loveseat, but then
stopped herself.

She seemed indecisive... Harry had to push her until she either turned back to him to show she’d
successfully thrown it off, or until she demonstrated her singing voice.

*Jump up and sing!* Harry ordered more forcefully.

After another false start, Hermione finally climbed (not jumped) up onto the loveseat. After
another moment of hesitation and another order from Harry, Hermione finally began to sing.

*Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye.*

*Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie.*

*Stop,* Harry “told” Hermione. *Climb back down.*

He could see the disappointment on Emma’s face. Harry held up his other hand to her to indicate
this wasn’t over yet. *Well,* Harry thought to himself, *at least I can tell her that she is
actually a decent singer.*

There was one last command. Harry watched the happy, vacant smile return to Hermione’s face
while Dan set the stepladder down between them and then set the stuffed animal on top of it.

Before returning behind Harry, Dan looked questioningly into his eyes, silently asking if he was
sure about this. Harry nodded; in actuality, he was only about three-quarters sure.

*Draw your wand*, he told her. She did, holding it at the ready; there was no command for
her to fight against yet. Harry took one last deep breath and again focused his attention on
Hermione. In his opinion, he was ninety-nine percent sure he would be able to stop her before she
performed the magic, should she fail to throw off the curse.

*Set your stuffed animal on fire,* he finally ordered her. Hermione looked down at her most
favorite stuffed animal. Immediately her face screwed up in concentration. Her arm began to shake
as she slowly lowered her wand to point directly at the toy.

*Burn it!* Harry ordered, while simultaneously watching for the slightest sign that she
would actually do it, so he could stop her. She began to tremble from the intense concentration.
Her mouth moved slightly; Harry was ready, but did nothing yet. He knew she had four syllables with
which to fight.

Hermione’s wand was now directly pointed at the stuffed animal and it had stopped shaking. It
seemed as though now that she had gone that far, she was no longer fighting against that
aspect.

*“In...”* she started to say, but did not finish it. *“Inc...”* she stuttered. Her
eyes moved from the stuffed animal to the wand in her hand. Harry saw this and realized what might
happen. Tonks had told him about what often happened when people tried to resist performing
magic.

She also told him what they did in Auror training to counter the instinct. At Tonks’ suggestion,
he hadn’t told them about this part.

Harry knew he had to let this play out, one way or the other. *BURN IT!*

*“Incen...”* she again tried to say, but again stopped herself. Her hand began to shake as
she stared at it. Harry knew it: she was trying to let go of the wand. If she couldn’t resist the
order, she was going to try to remove her ability to perform it by dropping the wand.

Still focusing his attention on Hermione, Harry now spoke to Emma.

“Get ready to catch her, Emma. I promise you this won’t hurt her.” Emma nodded; she didn’t know
what he was going to do, but she trusted him and did as he asked.

“BURN IT!” Harry ordered one last time, this time both in his mind and out loud.

Hermione let out a gasp then dropped her wand. “NO!” she shouted.

*“Stupefy!”* Harry said calmly, stunning her as gently as he possibly could. Again, intent
and intensity mattered; he didn’t want her out for half the day. Hermione collapsed unconscious
into her mother’s arms. Harry stumbled backwards as he broke the connection created by the
extended-duration Imperius. Dan caught him easily.

“Harry?” he asked uncertainly.

“She’s okay,” Harry assured them.

“What about yourself?” Dan asked.

“I’m okay. I’m amazed at how much that took out of me. I can’t explain it, but I had to fight
her fighting me. I wasn’t expecting how strong she’d be... not that I doubted her... I’ve just
never done this before,” Harry said. He and Dan slowly walked up to Hermione and looked down at
her.

“It was a very light stunner,” Harry explained. “She’ll be awake in a minute or so.”

*“Accio wand,”* Harry summoned the dropped wand. Emma looked up at Harry after brushing
Hermione’s hair out of her face.

“You look pleased, Harry,” she said in confusion.

“I am,” he quickly replied. “She left herself open to an attack by dropping her wand, and
believe me, it bothers me to have stunned her, but... she did it. She was able to fight me enough
that she didn’t set it on fire. I’m really proud of her. For her first attempt in just under two
years, I think she did really well.”

Harry waited anxiously as Hermione began to stir. She opened her eyes and looked up at Harry,
blinking several times.

“You stunned me!” she said, more in surprise than accusation.

“You dropped your wand,” Harry explained. “You left yourself defenseless. A Death Eater might
have killed you instead. You have to resist the urge to drop your wand and focus on fighting the
curse.” Hermione looked down at the floor for a few moments, then nodded dutifully. After she
climbed back to her feet, Harry walked up to her and held out her wand.

“But,” he then said, “you *were* able to resist enough to actually drop your wand.
According to Tonks, most Auror trainees can’t even do that on their first try.”

As she reached for her wand, Hermione noted that he held it out to her handle first. “You do
realize that I could stun you before you even let go of it, when you hold it like that?”

Harry smiled. “I know.”

“My turn,” Hermione said with a wicked grin, and then the two of them took their places
again.

Seeing her unasked question, Harry nodded that he was ready after repocketing his wand.

*“Imperio!”* he heard her say, then that familiar, wonderful floating sensation returned as
every thought was gently wiped away. He wouldn’t realize it until after it was over, but he no
longer remembered what Hermione was going to tell him to do. Then again, he really didn’t remember
much of anything. It was too nice, too easy, not having to think. Why bother thinking about
anything at all?

*Shake my dad’s hand,* came the voice of Hermione as it echoed through his empty mind. It
was her voice, but then again, it wasn’t. There was something odd about her disembodied voice. It
sounded distant somehow... cold... hollow.

But that wasn’t important at the moment for the voice told him to do something. It was so much
easier to not have to think for himself and to simply be told what to do. And it seemed like such a
perfectly nice thing to do, to shake Dan’s hand. He really liked Dan; so he did.

Harry turned around with a blank grin on his face and shook Dan’s hand, then turned around
again, back to Hermione.

*Levitate your broom,* Harry was told now. Oh, that would be so much fun to watch his broom
fly around on its own. He drew his wand and happily pointed it at his Firebolt.

*“Wingardium Leviosa!”* Harry said, extremely pleased with himself for doing what the voice
told him to.

*Stop,* he was now commanded. Yeah, the voice was right. He’d done that long enough. Harry
was enjoying his empty-headed feeling so much, he paid no notice of Hermione patting her mother’s
shoulder in a reassuring way.

*Tell my mum she’s the worst cook in the world and that you hate her food,* the
Hermione-like voice ordered.

Harry was confused. Emma was a wonderful cook; he really liked her food. His only fear about her
cooking was that someone might ask him to compare hers and Mrs. Weasley’s.

*Tell her you hate her cooking!* the voice ordered more insistently.

*But that’s not true,* came another voice in the back of his mind. He remembered that
voice. Back when the imposter-Moody's voice told him to jump on the table, there was another
voice that appeared and told him it was such a silly thing to do, and then asked why he should.

*Tell her she’s awful!*

*But she isn’t. You really like her cooking,* that other voice reminded him.

Now it was Harry’s turn to gasp. He recognized that voice finally. The first time he’d heard it
in fourth year, surprised by its presence, he simply thought it as “another voice,” but he hadn’t
identified it. But now, hearing it again, he did.

Surprised by the recognition, without thinking about it or even knowing what he was doing, Harry
pushed Hermione out of his mind. So forceful was her mental expulsion that she actually stumbled
backwards as if she had been physically pushed. Drained from expelling her, Harry also fell
backwards. Both teens were caught by their respective adults.

For some reason, Harry found himself out of breath. “It was you!” Harry gasped, looking at
Hermione. “It was your voice!” he said in shock. Ever since that first time back in fifth year he
recognized her voice telling him he was being reckless, Harry knew that his reasonable side, his
conscience, spoke in Hermione’s voice. He didn’t know why; it was just something he’d come to
accept.

But now he knew that her “voice” had been there with him for much longer than that. He’d just
never recognized it until now.

“What was me?” Hermione asked in concern as she got back to her feet. Now Harry was stuck. He
wasn’t sure he wanted Hermione to know about that. Even without his feelings for her, it still
might be a little weird for her. But he knew it was too late now. After ejecting her so
unceremoniously, he knew she wouldn’t let it go.

Okay, how could he downplay it as much as possible?

“Have you ever argued with yourself?” Harry asked her. “Ever had a debate with yourself where
part of you said one thing and part of you said something else?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course,” she said simply. “Everyone does.”

*Okay,* Harry said to himself. *That isn’t making this any easier.*

“Well...” he said slowly, not eager to reveal this. “Sometimes one of those voices in my mind...
is... yours.” Harry looked up at Hermione to see her with her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“The part of me that says to look before I leap, the part that asks me why I should jump up on
the desk, the part that reminds me when I’m being reckless...” Harry trailed off with an
embarrassed grin.

Hermione looked very thoughtful. “When we did this in fourth year, you said some voice in the
back of your mind told you that it was stupid to jump up on the desk. That... was... me?” she asked
slowly.

“Well, your voice, yes. But I didn’t realize it at the time,” Harry quickly clarified. Hermione
continued to look at him thoughtfully.

“So, to employ a euphemism, are you saying I’m the voice of your conscience?” Hermione asked
with a smile. Harry couldn’t tell if she was pleased or just taking the mickey out of him.

“I know it’s pretty weird,” Harry said dismissively, trying to play it down.

“Personally,” Hermione slowly said, “I think that’s one of the highest compliments you could pay
me... to know that even when I’m not there, I’m still keeping you in line,” she said with a
mischievous grin. It was obvious she was enjoying this very much.

“Actually, if it makes you feel better, do you want to know something?” she then asked.

*This should be good,* Harry decided; he nodded.

“First of all, let me tell you that you, Harry Potter, are the last person in the world who
would be the voice of my conscience. All I ever seem to do is get in trouble when I’m around
you.”

*This isn’t making me feel good at all!* Harry complained to himself. *What’s she on
about?* She was smiling, so he hoped this was actually going somewhere more pleasant.

“So, once the voice of my conscience, my voice, tells me that I have to go with you anyway to
keep you out of trouble, and hence I get in trouble, sometimes there’s another voice that pops in
there from time to time. It’s a voice that only appears once I am in trouble. It’s the one that
keeps me safe... that gets me out of trouble.

“Do you remember when we were in the Department of Mysteries? It was *my* voice that told
me I had to go with you that night. When we were in the room with the Veil that first time, it was
*your* voice that told me we needed to leave.” Hermione looked off into the distance as though
she was reliving that moment.

“It was quite odd, really, to hear your voice warning me we had to get out of there, to get away
from the Veil, and then having to try to convince the real you of that,” she said.

Harry shuddered. “There was something about archway that just drew me to it... even before I
heard the voices in there.” Harry looked down at his feet. “It was just a stone archway, but I felt
like I needed to walk through it for some reason. How dangerous could it have been? If I’d been
there alone, I probably would have.”

Dan cleared his throat after a few awkward silent moments. “Well, I think that’s enough for one
day. We can come back and do this again tomorrow, after you’ve both had some rest.”

“No. There’s just one more test to go,” Harry said, determined. He returned to his position,
drew his wand, and pointed it at his Firebolt, giving a meaningful stare to Hermione; she
nodded.

“One more, then that’s it for today,” Hermione said with a note of finality. Harry agreed. She
then cast the Imperius once again.

Now that Harry recognized that “other” voice he heard, he actually now found it much easier to
listen to it rather than the empty, hollow-sounding Hermione voice that was ordering him to destroy
his broom with a Reducto. He was able to successfully throw off the curse on his first try.

Despite his success, it was not an easy matter to do however. He could feel the weight of her
ordering voice, the strength of her command, the power of her mind trying to impose itself upon
his.

He was able to draw strength from the “warm” voice that was telling him to not destroy his
broom. It was a good thing he did for he needed every bit of it to consciously throw off the curse.
Pushing her out of his mind completely the first time was a fluke; he didn’t know what he did.

Afterwards, as both were quite exhausted mentally, they decided they would give their minds a
break and watch some television. Later that evening, they had a light dinner. Harry and Hermione
both wanted something light, as did Emma, “just in case” the following morning started just as this
morning did. Considering neither of them was very hungry, Hermione didn’t say anything when she
caught Harry feeding Crookshanks a few bits of his leftovers. Afterwards, the two of them wrapped
their presents for Ginny.

Harry also went and found a box that he could put Neville’s plant into so he could wrap it in
the morning right before they left. A quick check of the traps on the plant indicated it was still
working on a few bugs, so he wouldn’t need to feed it. That was good since the instructions told
him that he needed to feed the plant bugs. For some reason, he thought he could just feed it bits
of meat, but the instructions warned that could kill the plant.

He also hoped Neville would even be there. He’d asked Ron to see if they could invite Neville
since he hadn’t been able to make it to Harry’s party. He hoped the invitation was delivered as he
hadn’t heard back from Ron since his last letter.

* * *

The following morning, Hermione woke up to the sound of the front door closing. A few moments
later, she heard their car starting up in the driveway. By the time she’d gotten out of bed and
made it over to her window, she was just in time to see her parents’ car back out of the drive,
then drive away down the street.

Hermione looked at the clock: almost eight o’clock. She groaned silently to herself. It was a
good half hour before she normally got up on her own. Ordinarily, her parents made breakfast for
the four of them on the weekends, while she and Harry made their own on the weekdays. But if they’d
just left to go somewhere, then that most certainly meant that they’d have to make something
themselves.

Tomorrow was Harry’s turn, so she figured she might as well do it today. Besides, she was
already awake. Hermione quickly got dressed, waited for the *Sunday Prophet* owl to deliver
(fortunately Metis must have been out hunting), then headed downstairs.

Sitting on the kitchen table Hermione found a note and this morning’s newspaper.

*H,*

*There’s an early-bird sale over in Camden Town E saw in the paper this morning that she
wanted to go. So we are. It’s about 8 now, should be back by 10. If you leave for Ginny’s before we
get back, leave us a note.*

*Love,*

*Dad*

*PS: Be sure to take a look at this morning’s paper, Community section. Maybe it’s time to
revise your open-window policy.*

Hermione opened up this morning’s newspaper and started looking at the articles. She quickly
found what she was looking for.

*Fowl Play: Local Mystery Solved*

*If you thought you saw something in King George’s Park but just chalked it up to your
imagination, you may very well have.*

*Regular visitors to King George’s Park in Wandsworth have reported unusual bird activity in
the last two weeks.*

*“I take my dog for her walkies in the park everyday,” said Eve Berg, a resident of the
surrounding neighborhood. “In the past week or so, every once in a while, out of the corner of my
eye, I could have sworn I saw a pair of white birds in the trees. But when I turned back to look
again, they were gone. I assumed it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, or something shiny
making a reflection, so I never mentioned it.”*

*Eve was not alone.*

“Brilliant,” Hermione said sarcastically to herself as she looked up from the newspaper. Still
standing, she’d leaned against the counter as she read. Before she could continue, she cringed as
she heard the wonderful sound of Crookshanks’ claws scratching at the glass of the back door.
Someone must have let him out earlier this morning. Glancing from where she was standing, she saw
his paw swiping at the glass, letting her know he wanted in.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she said, not really looking up from the paper. After opening the door,
he quickly ran past her and then up the stairs. About all she saw of him was his back end.

“Good morning to you too,” she said, then went back to the paper.

*The local bird-watching society has fielded numerous telephone calls about the unusual
sightings. Some reports were of one mysterious white bird, however a majority were indeed of two of
them.*

*Details are murky however as no one has been able to get a good look at them. All of the
reports were similar in that they were gone whenever anyone tried to get a better look.*

Hermione groaned. “I can just see the *Prophet* headline now: ‘Wizarding world exposed by
Hogwarts students’ owls.’ What are those two up to?”

* * *

An odd noise woke Harry up. He listened for it again. There it was. Scratching... at his door.
What? Did Crookshanks need let out?

He groaned to himself. And speaking of odd noises, he really needed to have a little chat with
Hedwig this morning. All night long, his sleep was broken by her shuffling around in her cage. He
could hear the sounds of her moving around inside of it. If he didn’t know better, he’d think there
were half a dozen owls flying in and out all night long. More than once, he called Hedwig’s name
during the night, grumpy from being woken up.

But before his wizard-owl chat, Harry *really* needed to use the bathroom. He quickly got
up, not bothering to put his robe on. If Crookshanks was scratching at his door, then everyone else
must have still been asleep, so there’s be no one around to see him with his male morning malady.
He could safely put the cat out... but after he used the bathroom.

Harry opened his door and indeed did find the ginger cat waiting for him. There was an
unpleasant surprise waiting for him as well. Crookshanks had a mouse in his mouth.

“Ughhh!” Harry groaned. “Crookshanks!”

“What?” came Hermione’s voice from downstairs in the kitchen.

“Your cat has a mouse!” Harry complained. He looked down at the half-kneazle. The half-kneazle
looked back up at him, his tail twitching in what appeared to be happiness. “And he appears quite
proud of himself.”

Harry could hear Hermione laugh downstairs. “That’s what you get for feeding him at the table,”
she replied back. “He will sometimes bring us... presents if he’s particularly happy with us for
something.”

“Ughhh!” Harry articulated again.

“Just get rid of it,” Hermione called up.

“Put it down, Crookshanks,” Harry asked; the cat did. Harry went over to his night stand to
retrieve his wand. “You’re next,” Harry informed his owl, not bothering to look in her cage. He was
about to vanish the dead mouse when he noticed something.

“It isn’t dead!” Harry called back downstairs. “It’s obviously badly injured, but it’s still
alive. I can’t kill it!”

There was a momentary pause. “Well... just give it to Hedwig, then. The circle of life, and all
that.” That, he could do. It had already been caught, so if Crookshanks wasn’t going to eat it
(Harry certainly wasn’t), then he supposed Hedwig could. He would just have to remind her that this
wasn’t a treat for keeping him awake half the night.

Harry levitated the mouse and directed it towards Hedwig’s cage as quickly as he could. He
*still* needed to use the bathroom. As he walked over there, he finally looked in her
cage.

*What the...?* Harry said to himself. *Why’re you sitting on the bottom of your cage?*
Harry was now close enough to get a good look inside her cage. *What’re...*

* * *

After telling Harry to give the mouse to Hedwig, Hermione returned to the newspaper after
finding where she left off.

*All of that changed this week however, when another local resident, intrigued by the reports,
set out to spot the elusive, and alleged, spectacles.*

*“Oh, they were real, all right,” confirmed Kara Thrace, resident of Croydon. “I’d heard talk
of birds that just disappeared like magic, so I thought I’d come and see them for myself. Or not
see them,” she added with a smile.*

Hermione let out a growl of annoyance. She recognized that name. It was that Muggle-born witch
from the Auror Department they’d met earlier... well... Arthur met her. And to top it all off,
she’d used the magic word: ‘magic,’ on purpose, most likely. One of the ways the Ministry kept tabs
on strange goings-on in the Muggle world was to monitor the media.

When Muggles reported things that happened “just like magic,” (or any other decidedly non-Muggle
sounding way) they usually had. Someone from the Ministry, whether an MLE officer, an Auror, an
Obliviator, or even someone from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office (in other words, Arthur
himself) would then be dispatched to make sure the whole thing quietly went away.

So, now that the magic word had been used, the Ministry was certain to take notice.

*Great,* Hermione thought to herself, *I’ve had her for two weeks, and already I’ve
gotten in trouble.* Post Owls weren’t licensed. Maybe they wouldn’t know it was hers if Metis
didn’t get caught. And (almost) no one knew that Hedwig was in Wandsworth. Hermione could only
hope.

*Miss Thrace visited the park several times in the hopes of catching sight of the elusive
critters.*

*“Birds can be quite skittish sometimes, so considering so many people reported them
disappearing, I picked a bench, sat down for a while, and did everything I could to not appear as I
though I was looking.*

*Did her covert tactics work? “On my second morning, I saw them!” she told us. And what was
the source of this avian enigma? Lost cockatiels? Escaped white parrots? Albino pigeons?*

*“Seagulls,” Kara said. Yes, after all of the mysterious sightings, after all of the concern
about lost winged companions, it turns out all of the fuss was over a couple of garden-variety
gulls... the kind anyone with food about considers a pest.*

“AHHH! HEDWIG!” came the shout from Harry’s room. As Hermione flew up the stairs drawing her
wand, a very startled, agitated Crookshanks streaked out of his room and ran down the hall to
Hermione’s room.

*At least his door is open,* Hermione vaguely remembered thinking before bursting into
Harry’s room. He was standing next to the dresser, staring at Hedwig’s cage in shock.

Hermione did not see any of that, however. Her attention was elsewhere. She didn’t mean to look;
she didn’t even try to look. It was simply not possible to NOT look. It was *very*
obvious.

Harry, having woken up only moments ago, and still in need of using the bathroom, was quite
literally pointing at Hedwig’s cage, both with *and without* his arm. And the lightweight
material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide that fact either.

Hearing her come in, Harry turned to look at Hermione. It took a moment for him to realize that
she wasn’t looking at the cage or at him... his face at least. It took a moment to realize in which
direction she was looking; he looked there too.

“Oh, God!” Harry swore in panic as he remembered the state he was in. He’d forgotten all about
it from the shock of what he saw in Hedwig’s cage. At least Fate had been kind enough to him that
he’d been so tired the night before from the Imperius practice that he’d been lazy and just dropped
his shirt on the chair next to him. He quickly snatched it up, used it to hide his midsection, then
ran out of the bedroom for the bathroom.

Hermione snapped out of the trance-like state she’d been in when Harry bolted. She was pretty
certain she’d heard a mumbled *“So sorry”* as he ran past.

Hermione knew about “morning wood.” And she really hated the fact there wasn’t some technical
term for it (the morning variant, at least). Living in the same room as Lavender and Parvati, it
was hard not to hear them giggle about it. And she really needed to avoid that word right now.

Ginny too had complained about it on several occasions. Living with six older brothers, most of
whom were not morning people and hence were usually not very cognizant of their surroundings as
they blundered their bleary-eyed way to the bathroom in the morning, it was ha... impossible for
her to not notice it on occasion.

And so because of her abundant *secondhand* knowledge of the phenomenon, Hermione knew how
to handle her first *firsthand* encounter. *Note to self, ‘handle’ is also now a forbidden
word,* she decided. *And ‘firsthand’ and ‘secondhand’ too.*

With Harry out of the room, Hermione shook her head to clear “those” thoughts from her mind. She
really needed to find out what had him so alarmed. She moved closer to the cage, with her wand
still drawn, just in case. At first, all she could see was a very agitated Hedwig watching her
intently, feathers ruffled, occasionally snapping her beak and hissing in irritation, most likely
from Harry’s shout.

“What’s the matter, girl?” Hermione asked soothingly as she got closer. “What’s gotten Harry so
upset?” Whether the owl was showing her the source of the problem, or merely moving because she was
still upset, Hermione gasped when she saw it.

“Oh my God,” Hermione whispered. “It’s not possible.”

And yet, there it was, plain as day.

*It’s not possible,* Hermione reasoned with herself. *How could it be possible?*

*Well, there is one obvious... but that’s not possible. She’s a... She is! Isn’t she?*

This was starting to make Hermione’s head hurt. No wonder Harry screamed.

*The only way that could be the case is if she is a... But she’s not! I’m sure of it! Didn’t
the thing say so?*

Hermione thought back to what she’d read. She reread it in her mind again.

*No... it never did say there. But then how did WE know?*

A sobering thought crossed Hermione’s mind: DID they know?

She then replayed the sequence of events trying to figure out where it all started.

*First I saw her... then I screamed... then Harry came in... then he left... then I realized I
was topless.* Hermione couldn’t help but laugh to herself. *Well, I guess we’re even now for
seeing things we weren’t supposed to.*

She then continued through her recollection, skipping some parts that weren’t relevant. *And
THEN I asked him... and then HE replied back...*

*Oh my God,* Hermione again gasped as she realized something. *That could be it. How did
he know? He didn’t check. I didn’t check. No one checked. And it didn’t say anything in the letter.
And once he said IT, we just took it and ran.*

Hermione looked again at Hedwig. “Did we make a mistake, girl? A huge mistake?” she asked
timidly. Harry was still hiding in the bathroom, so Hermione returned to her room and got down on
her hands and knees as she started looking thought the three-ring binders she’d assembled over the
years and were now tucked away on the bottom shelf of one of her bookcases.

*First year, first term class notes. First year, second term class notes,* she read as she
examined each one, looking for that handout that she knew contained the spell that she thought
she’d never in her life ever use, at least on herself. *Ah, third year, first term class
notes.* She pulled the notebook out and started looking through all of her old class notes.

As she did, she heard the bathroom door open up. A moment later, she heard a drawer open and
close, she heard some clothes hangers swing against the wall in the closet as he removed something,
and then finally she heard the bathroom door close again.

Finally, she found it. Removing it from the notebook, she then went back into Harry’s room, up
to Hedwig’s cage. At least the owl had seemed to calm down quite a bit. Hermione couldn’t say the
same thing about herself. She took another look at the handout to make sure she had the incantation
correct. After performing it, a faint, pale glow appeared around Hedwig.

*Well, THAT much was obvious,* Hermione noted sardonically. The glow faded after a moment.
There was little for her to do but wait now... wait for a certain someone to return so she could
test her theory.

Hermione stared with morbid fascination at that which had cause the uproar. She was still having
a hard time coming to grips with all of this. But, as the saying went, the deed had been done. She
decided to sit down on the bed for a moment to think about everything.

A few minutes later, Harry returned from the bathroom, now fully dressed. It took every ounce of
strength in her being to keep her eyes on his as he walked into the room. It was for that very
reason that she knew that he was looking everywhere in the room, except at her.

*He doesn’t want to talk about it.*

Considering his face was still red from embarrassment, Hermione was perfectly fine with that...
as long as he didn’t start making a big deal about it, in terms of feeling guilty or blaming
himself. It was an accident.

Harry walked right past Hermione, not saying a word. As he passed by, she allowed her gaze to
drop for a instant, but only for an instant. She noted with relief that he was wearing her least
favorite pair of jeans of his... the ones that were of the heaviest material, and hence obscured
the most amount of detail, front or back.

Harry stood in front of Hedwig’s cage, appearing as if he was afraid to look in again. Hermione
went and stood next to him.

“Is that...?” he tried to ask. “Is it?”

Hermione could tell from the tone of his voice that he wanted her to tell him that it was not.
But it was.

“Yes, Harry. It’s an egg.”

“But how?” he asked weakly. Hermione turned to look at him. “I know HOW!” he defended. “But
*HOW?*”

Fate again must have been listening for just then, Metis flew in through Harry’s window,
carrying a freshly caught mouse. The second owl looked for a moment from Hedwig to Hermione to
Harry, then jumped up to Hedwig’s cage.

“Now is as good a time as any,” Hermione decided, then cast the charm again.

The same glow she witnessed before again surrounded Hedwig for a few moments. But another glow
surrounded Metis as well. The glows were so faint that Hermione could hardly detect any color in
Hedwig’s the first time. But now, seeing the two glows side by side, she could discern the
difference in hues.

The glow surrounding Hedwig was a very pale pink; the glow surround Metis was a very pale
blue.

*Quod erat demonstrandum,* Hermione admitted to herself.

Harry looked from Hedwig to Metis and then to Hedwig again. “Do those glows mean what I think
they do?” Harry asked with a strangled voice. The two of them looked at each other. Hermione
nodded.

“I performed the charm on the egg. The pink glow indicates that Hedwig is the mother.” A deep
breath. “The blue glow indicates Metis is the father.” Harry said nothing, but blinked a couple of
times. “Harry, Metis is a male.”

The beating of wings drew their attention back to Hedwig’s cage. Metis, who’d obviously passed
the mouse over to Hedwig when Harry and Hermione weren’t looking, was now trying to get back out.
Hedwig’s cage was certainly not designed for two.

Once Metis was back out, he briefly looked at Harry and Hermione, then flew out the window.


*Like I said, FINALLY I can use personal pronouns. It’s so much easier to say “he” or “his”
sometimes.*

*Congrats to Korval for being the only person to have have actually asked me about
Metis/Hedwig, despite everything I did to try to trick you!*

*Okay, so I didn’t get to that scene in Ginny’s birthday party yet. I didn’t have time to do
that and still get this out before the holiday weekend. But at least you know whodunit. Emma just
had mild food poisoning from her week-old leftovers. She even told you so!*

*There’s still lots of stuff great for short, quick little chapters before we get to the “back
to school” part. Yeah, I know I keep saying that I’ll post shorter chapters faster. I swear... they
all start out that way!*




29. Married... With Children, Part 1: 'Straightening' Some Thi
--------------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Holy Heck! Hello? Anyone remember me? Where do I begin? First, let me begin by
apologizing for the extremely long delay. The last two months have stressful, to say the least.
But, I seem to be settling into my new position at my company now, so that’s allowed me to get back
to the story.*

*Next, I want to send out a HUGE thank you to spoonjosh for mentioning this story on the
call-in for the July Harmony podcast. It’s sad: I work for one of the largest independent resellers
of iPods in the US, and I didn’t even know about the Portkey podcast until someone mentioned it in
a review. See? That’s what happens when you’re an author... you get the ‘head buried in the sand’
syndrome. THANK YOU, SPOONJOSH!!!*

*A very special thanks goes out to my beta, MapleMountain. He very patiently allowed me to
rant and rave about everything I’d been stressing out about over these last two months, then calmly
offered sage bits of wisdom to keep me on course.*

*I jokingly say this chapter was going to be titled “Chapter 29: Uber-update.” When I sent my
beta the first draft (which was maybe 5 pages unfinished), it weighed in at 42 pages. He wisely
suggested I split it up. Even his daughter, who DOESN’T get sneak peeks, said I needed to split it
up. So, here you go, 24 pages today with an 18 page head start Chapter 30.*

*For everyone eager for the resolution, I wanted to assure you the end is in sight. (Of
course, I think I said that four chapters ago also...) I was going to tell you that NEXT chapter
would end with them back at King’s Cross Station, but that will now be Chapter 31 instead of 30.
But I will make the promise: King’s Cross at 31!!*

*As always, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional... as are the differences. And
yes, that trademark symbol is in there on purpose. It just looked too funny seeing it again and
again on the company’s website to not put it in.*


Chapter 29. Married... With Children, Part 1: “Straightening” Some Things Out.

*“Harry, Metis is a male.”*

*The beating of wings drew their attention back to Hedwig’s cage. Metis, who’d obviously
passed the mouse over to Hedwig when Harry and Hermione weren’t looking, was now trying to get back
out. Hedwig’s cage was certainly not designed for two.*

*Once Metis was back out, he briefly looked at Harry and Hermione, then flew out the
window.*

Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry was trying to ignore the implications of what
they’d just discovered. It really wasn’t that big a deal of what happened, she felt.

“What was that charm you just used?” he asked.

Hermione sighed internally. He *would* ask that. Technically, *officially*, boys
weren’t supposed to know about reproductive magic charms until they were of age. It wasn’t that
girls were *expected* to be the ones responsible for being... *responsible*. It was just
one of the idiosyncrasies of the wizarding world that it was felt boys couldn’t be trusted with
that kind of information.

It was the same reasoning that powered the girls’ dormitories staircases: girls could go into
the boys’ dormitories, but boys couldn’t get into the girls’.

*At least, not unless they were escorted by a girl, one step at a time,* Hermione added.
*Not now,* she then reminded herself. Having been known to break a school rule or two (or
three dozen) on Harry’s behalf, she decided to just tell him.

“That, Harry, was the *Paternus* Charm... certainly not the Patronus Charm. As you might
suspect, it reveals the parents of a child,” she said in as clinical a voice as she could
manage.

“The glows were the proof that the charm was working,” Hermione explained. “Actually, I wasn’t
entirely sure that it would work, you see. The charm is designed to be used on human beings.
However, I didn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work on any living creature that reproduced
sexually.”

Harry just turned and looked incredulously at Hermione; she stopped her rambling. Okay, so maybe
she was a little more affected by this than she thought she was. She calmed herself. She now knew
she was wrong: it was a big deal. At first it was just a scientific fact... Hedwig and Metis were
the biological parents of a new life.

But now it was starting to sink in. Even now part of her didn’t want to believe it. But DNA
never lied (even if wizards didn’t know that was what was being “illuminated” by the magical glow).
Her owl... and Harry’s owl...

“I performed the charm on the egg,” Hermione said, again regaining her clinical voice. “If they
were human, the colors would be more prominent, but since they’re much smaller...” Hermione again
reined in her babbling with another look from Harry.

After staring at the spot where the second snowy owl... Metis... *he...* had been standing,
Harry then seemed to snap out of it. “Great!” he huffed, agitated, then promptly walked out of the
room and downstairs.

Hermione turned to looked back at Hedwig once more. The mother-to-be seemed to calm down
considerably (unlike her owner) and was eagerly eyeing the first mouse that Crookshanks had brought
in, which was now sitting on the bottom of the cage (thanks to Harry’s levitation). She’d already
finished off the one Metis delivered.

She didn’t know why, but Hermione wanted to give Hedwig some privacy, so she shut Harry’s door
as she left his room. She then quickly walked down to her room to check on Crookshanks, who’d fled
from Harry’s room like a bat out of hell after he’d startled him. Finding her furry companion under
her bed, and *clearly* in no mood to be bothered, she left him there, closing her own door
behind her.

Hermione found Harry standing in the far corner of the dining room reading the newspaper she’d
dropped. She could tell he still didn’t seem too eager to talk, so she let him be for the moment.
She wouldn’t let him go on like this forever, however.

“Well, now I guess we know what they were doing,” he said sarcastically, indicating the
newspaper article. “And isn’t this that witch from the Auror Department?” Hermione nodded. “Yeah,
that figures,” he said.

An uneasy tension hung in the air as they heard the front door open and Dan and Emma walked back
in. They hadn’t heard the car pull into the drive. Neither said anything.

“... must’ve left the coupons on my dresser,” they heard Emma say as she walked upstairs and
went into her bedroom. Dan walked into the kitchen and jerked in surprise when he saw Harry and
Hermione there. He hadn’t been expecting them since they hadn’t said anything when he walked in the
door. Since they were standing on opposite sides of the room, he hadn’t been able to see them when
he was in the living room.

Dan had just begun to notice the odd expressions on their faces when he heard Emma come back out
of her bedroom.

“Those two must still be asleep,” she said as she descended the stairs. She then stopped at the
bottom of the stairs. “I should probably go wake them up before we leave again. They have to leave
soon.”

Dan grinned as he turned around to face the living room where Emma was. “Oh, nag, nag, nag,” he
said in an entirely teasing voice. “Just leave them be. I’m sure they can get up on their own.”

Emma smirked as she started to walk towards her husband, thinking the two teenagers were still
upstairs, asleep. She chuckled.

“If I’m the nag then you’re my handsome stallion. Giddy-up! As soon the kiddies are away, even
the neighbors will hear when I ri—”

*“AHEM! AHEM! HEM HEM!”* Dan cleared his throat violently as his face went white, then
bright red.

“Good morning, Mum!” Hermione called from where she was standing.

“Good morning, Mrs. Granger!” Harry called. This was one time he felt it might be better to
stick with the formalities.

A very red-faced Emma walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She steadfastly avoided
looking at any of the three people in the room. Since she had no knowledge of how *Harry*
would react to what had just been said, she directed her voice in his direction, while still
looking out the window over the sink.

“I see you’re up early this morning.”

Hermione couldn’t help it, and let slip a chuckle; Harry glared at her.

“Actually, I woke up when you left a little while ago,” Hermione explained.

“Yes, well, we didn’t even make it across the river before your mother realized she’d left the
coupon in her room,” Dan explained.

Emma sighed after taking another drink. Evidently the water was helping calm her embarrassment.
“I’d set it beneath my purse last night so I wouldn’t forget it. I then neglected to look under my
purse when I picked it up this morning.”

Once her blush had died, she then turned to look at Harry (she still didn’t want to face her
daughter). “So, are you two ready to go to Ginny’s party?” Both nodded.

“How are we getting there?” Harry asked, finally getting around to wondering. “Ottery St.
Catchpole has got to be four or five hours away from here by car.”

Emma finally turned to look at her on the other side of the room. “After I finished wrapping my
present, I called Tonks to ask her. She said that we’ll have to take the Knight Bus. If it wasn’t
so far away, they could meet us away from the wards and we could Apparate there,” Hermione
said.

Harry’s eyebrows rose in interest. “Really?”

Dan interrupted. “Apparate? That’s the one that’s like beaming, right? Like teleportation?” he
asked excitedly.

Hermione smiled. Explaining magic to her parents was always easier when there was an analogy
they could understand. “It is, except that there’s no magical infrastructure, no transporter room,
or Floo Network, necessary to operate it. Apparation is powered by your own magic.”

“And the Floo Network?” Emma now asked. Harry smiled. Dan and Emma never did ask too much about
using the Floo when they visited the Ministry. They just trusted their daughter and dove head-in
(well, technically they stepped in). Besides, even now he was learning something.

“Just think of the Floo Network like the Underground: an established network with stops only at
certain locations, i.e. fireplaces,” Hermione explained. “Speaking of which, that reminds me.
*Our* fireplace has been temporarily been hooked up to the network, for communication only. So
if you see either of us with our heads stuck into a roaring green fire, you don’t need to come over
and rescue us.”

“Good to know,” Emma pointed out seriously. She still hadn’t forgotten her initial fear when
Hermione transfigured her clothes the previous week, having forgotten to mention their exemption
from the ban on underage wizardry.

With no one having anything to say at the moment, a silence filled the room. Hermione noticed
Harry look back down at his feet. Dan and Emma nodded at each other, silently telling each other
they were ready to head back out to resume their shopping.

As they started to leave the kitchen, Hermione thought to herself that she knew she would have
to tell them about Metis and Hedwig at some point. And since she didn’t know how long she and Harry
would be gone today, she didn’t want them discovering it on their own, the way she did... the hard
way.

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself. *STOP using that WORD!*

She gave Harry a meaningful stare, then looked up in the direction of his bedroom, asking him if
they should tell her parents about the new development. She watched as he took a deep breath, then
nodded in a rather dutiful way. He certainly didn’t seem enthusiastic about this. Then again,
neither was she... about telling her parents. Her feelings about the actual situation itself were
still mixed.

Harry and Hermione started to follow Dan and Emma into the living room. Hermione grabbed the
newspaper that Harry had set down, since there was obviously some correlation between the two.
Right as the adults were about to open the front door, Hermione took a deep breath herself.

“Mum, Dad?” she said. When her parents turned around, she put her arm around Harry in a ‘we’re
in it together’ sort of way, like she’d seen on television many times before. She could feel Harry
tense up. Honestly, she didn’t blame him.

After delaying it as long as she could possibly manage (about half a second), she just finally
said it. She didn’t know why she used the words she did. Maybe it was because she’d put her arm
around him.

“Harry and I are going to be grandparents!”

In retrospect, Hermione would realize about five seconds *later* that the combination of
putting her arm around Harry and using those exact words was probably not the wisest thing she’d
ever done. After all, that sort of combination was usually used for a nearly identical
announcement... one not so “grand.” In the meantime...

“WHAT?!” Emma shouted in shock as Dan dropped the car keys he was carrying, shock on his face as
well. “Oh, Hermione... I thought you said you weren’t going to rush into...” she trailed off, then
blinked several times.

The words must have sunk into Dan’s mind as well. “*Grand*parents?” he asked. Both of them
now looked completely baffled.

“You know what happens when you assume, right?” Hermione asked, having let go of Harry at her
mother’s shriek. Both of her parents nodded.

“Well, it seems that there was more than met the eye about *someone* in this house.” After
speaking, she gently tapped with her index finger the newspaper she was holding.

Because the entire universe had seemed to stop with Hermione’s sudden announcement, both Dan and
Emma’s attentions were drawn to the sound of her finger tapping. As the two of them stared blankly
at the newspaper, they finally remembered the article contained within.

After another few moments, Dan and Emma finally looked at each other, then looked up and to
their right in the direction of Harry and Hermione’s rooms.

“Hedwig?” Emma asked quietly; Harry nodded.

“And Metis?” Dan finished; Hermione nodded.

Finally, after yet another few moments of silence in which Dan and Emma both looked back and
forth between Harry and Hermione, an odd smile then appeared on Emma’s face.

Hermione didn’t know what to expect, but she wasn’t expecting *that*.

“Oh, okay then,” she said simply. Hermione blinked in surprise.

“What? Are we *supposed* to be angry?” Emma defended her lack of an outburst. “They’re
owls. It’s what they do: eat, sleep, mess, and make more owls. Honestly, dear! Have a little more
faith in your old mum. After all, it isn’t like *you’re* the one who got pregnant!” she said
with a grin, as her initial panic was still fresh in her mind (and the adrenaline still flowing
through her veins).

“We’ll talk about it more later tonight when we all get back,” Emma said as she turned back to
the door and Dan bent down to pick up the keys. Eager to show that he was a valuable member of the
household not deserving eviction (even though technically it was Hermione’s owl that did the... the
doing), Harry moved over to open the front door for them as they walked out. Hermione stayed firmly
rooted where she was, evidently still surprised about her parents’ reactions.

Harry watched as Dan and Emma walked down the sidewalk towards their car, amazed that,
considering what had happened, things had gone so well with them. He blinked and snapped out of his
haze when he noticed Emma slap Dan on the arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were standing there in the kitchen?” Harry heard her scold Dan as
she grabbed the car keys out of his hand.

“How was I supposed to know you were going to just shout out about us having—?” Dan’s voice was
cut off as Harry quickly closed the door (and locked the deadbolt for some unknown reason), not
wanting to hear anymore.

He finally spoke after leaning against the front door for several seconds. “So, the Knight Bus,
huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione confirmed; Harry groaned. “Tonks said she and Remus *would’ve* Apparated
us there, except that it was too far away for them. Side-Along-Apparation takes a lot of energy.
Most witches and wizards who can Apparate can also take a passenger with them, but distance is
limited.”

“Ron lives too far away,” Harry half complained-half joked, vehemently vexed about revisiting
the violently violet vehicle.

“Actually, it’s not so much the distance as it is the distance relative to the mass. For
example, Tonks did volunteer Remus to stop by and pick up our presents before we left. At least
those’ll arrive un-battered and un-bruised. As for us...” Hermione trailed off with a small
smile.

“If the presents are lighter, why not just put a Lightening Charm on us?” Harry asked
hopefully.

“Mass, Harry, not weight.”

“What’s the difference?”

Hermione looked as thought she was about to explain, but just smiled instead. “Another time,
perhaps. Remember I told you about spell analysis in Arithmancy? There’s actually a neat little
formula that calculates the mass-to-distance ratio. I could show it to you sometime, if you’re
interested.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “Another time, perhaps,” he said, then finally smiled, genuinely
smiled, for the first time today. Hermione decided not to tempt fate and just leave him be for the
moment. She knew he was still bothered by the egg-stenuating circumstances (Hermione thought it was
funny), but if she could get the occasional smile to hatch out of his shell, then she wouldn’t
henpeck too much.

Harry nodded, thinking about how much he loved taking the Knight Bus. “What time are we
leaving?”

“About 9:30,” Hermione replied.

Harry nodded, then looked at the clock. “That’s about an hour, enough time for us to shower and
eat breakfast. Which do you want to do first?”

Hermione tried, mostly successfully, to not dwell on the idea of “us” taking a shower, and then
just nodded vaguely (in agreement with Harry’s assessment that there was enough time left). “I’ll
shower first. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll start it while you’re in there.”

“Honestly? We’re going to a Weasley party, so I think just cereal. We’d probably explode
otherwise once we got there.”

Hermione agreed. “And that’s to say nothing about losing it on the way there. Remember that lady
from Christmas last year?”

Harry smiled again. Hermione then headed upstairs as he sat down at the kitchen table. Once he
heard the shower running, he *gently* banged his head against the table as he cursed himself
for letting Hermione see him like that this morning.

True, it was something that happened all on its own every day. But still, one of the dreams
(which he noticed were increasing in frequency, but at least not in intensity, *yet*) he’d had
not long before waking had done nothing to lessen his embarrassment. If anything...

Finally, Harry heard Hermione coming downstairs. She noted without comment the red mark on his
forehead that had formed from it resting on the table the entire time.

* * *

Harry returned downstairs some twenty minutes later to find Hermione waiting for him so she
could start breakfast. He could not help but smile slightly when he noticed she’d already put out a
bowl of breakfast cereal for him. It was his favorite: corn flakes with raisins.

“Thanks,” he said kindly, then dug in. He looked up at her and smirked when he noticed the corn
flakes were completely soggy... exactly how he liked them best. She must’ve poured the milk while
he was still in the shower.

“You’re not the only who can pay attention to how people like to eat their food,” Hermione
explained with a mysterious smile, then looked away as she poured the milk over hers, ensuring hers
were still crunchy, exactly how she liked hers best.

“An owl arrived for you while you were in the shower,” Hermione told Harry. She handed him the
small slip of parchment. Harry opened it to find only a small note in Ron’s (what he called)
handwriting that read, *“Bring your broom!”*

After reading the note, Harry finally asked how they would catch the Knight Bus.

“I called Tonks while you were in the shower. Remus will come and pick up our presents, then we
can just go out and catch it out on the street. Tonks will already be on the bus and Remus will
just Apparate to the Burrow from down the street where the wards end,” Hermione explained. Harry
started to ask something, but she beat him to it.

“Muggles can’t see the Knight Bus, so if we’re under your cloak, no one would see anything more
than a wand and maybe a few fingers floating in midair. And anyone who *did* see that, and was
more than a few feet away, wouldn’t even know what they were seeing.”

Harry thought about it and nodded. “How did *you* get to the Burrow for the Quidditch World
Cup?”

Happy that he was even talking to her, Hermione was all too eager to explain. “Same thing.
Someone gave me an Invisibility Cloak and I caught the bus right out front.”

Harry looked surprised. “Who gave you the cloak?”

“You’ll never believe me if I told you!” Hermione replied, amused at the memory.

“I promise!”

She thought about it for a second, then told him. “It arrived in a box via Royal Mail!”

“You’re joking!” Harry replied.

“I told you!” she replied. “Honestly! A cloak was delivered by Muggle overnight delivery.”
Seeing that Harry still found it hard to believe, Hermione decided to just put him out of his
misery and tell him without any more games... even though she greatly enjoyed them.

“My house wasn’t hooked up to the Floo Network. Since it involved pulling quite a few strings
getting Privet temporarily hooked up, and since it was felt I could travel without requiring a
large Dursley greeting committee,” Hermione said with a smirk, “Mr. Weasley decided to just have me
take the Knight Bus on my own.

“So he borrowed a cloak from someone in the Order, packed it in a box, and then took it down to
the Muggle Relations Department to have them ship it to me,” she continued, then smiled. “To be
entirely honest, I think he went through all of that just so he could use the Muggle postal
service.”

Harry thought back to the letter Mrs. Weasley had sent him the summer of the Quidditch World
Cup, completely covered in stamps. He could just imagine Mr. Weasley excitedly standing in some
long queue at a downtown London Post Office™, surrounded by irritated, grumbling Muggles, waiting
to purchase some stamps.

He grinned. “Okay, *now* I believe you.”

“Well, for when it absolutely, positively has to be there,” she said with a smile, even though
she knew that was Federal Express, not Royal Mail.

“Don’t you think that was a little risky, sending a cloak through the mail?” Harry asked.

“Well, I *did* say Mr. Weasley did it, not the Ministry, didn’t I?” she pointed out. “He
has been known to get a little carried away, hasn’t he, when it comes to Muggle things?”

Harry thought about it and agreed. He could go the rest of his life never seeing another Ford
Anglia, and he would be just fine with that.

* * *

After being invited into the house a few minutes before 9:30, Remus picked up the presents he
was going to ferry to the party. When Harry brought down his Firebolt, his former professor’s eyes
widened in admiration.

“I’ve never been on a Firebolt before, Harry. You don’t mind if I take this for a little test
flight at the Burrow, do you?” Remus asked hopefully.

Thinking his friend was just joking and asking like everyone else in the world seemed to, Harry
just laughed. “Knock yourself out!” he said. After shrinking everything down to place in his
pockets, Remus then left, heading for King George’s Park, looking for a secluded place from where
he could Disapparate.

After a minute or so of adjusting, Harry and Hermione were standing out on the sidewalk of
Broomhill Road, huddled very close together under his Invisibility Cloak. They certainly no longer
were eleven years old. And both of them were secretly *very* glad about that. Since she’d done
it before, Hermione carefully arranged the cloak so she could stick her wand out without revealing
themselves.

A moment later, the Knight Bus practically exploded out from nowhere, and stopped right in front
of them. The door opened and down the few steps strode the conductor, Stan Shunpike, pimply as
ever.

“Welcome to the Knigh...” he started then trailed off, seeing no one. “’S’no one ’ere! Oy, Ern!
You sure ’ere’s no Ogden’s in’at tea’a yours?” Stan shouted to the driver as he turned around.

“Wait!” Harry called. “We’re here!”

Stan turned around. “’Oo’s ’ere?”

“*We’re* here!” Hermione said, annoyed. “We’re invisible!”

“’Choo invisible for? ’Fraid summuns gonna see ya er sumfink like ’at?” the purple-clad
twenty-something asked, looking around beadily.

“We’re *in the middle* of a Muggle neighborhood,” Hermione explained exasperatedly.

Stan looked around. “Oh, are we?” he asked, surprised. “Didn’ notice. ’Sides, ’em Muggles never
notice nuffink!”

“They’d notice if we disappeared out of thin air,” Hermione’s bodiless voice retorted from
somewhere on the curb.

“Right,” Stan said as thought he’d never considered that. “Well, come on, come on!”

Harry and Hermione climbed onto the triple-decker bus as best they could while still under the
cloak. Once aboard, they removed the cloak. Stan’s eyes lit up upon seeing Harry, while Hermione
stuffed the cloak into the book bag she brought... for the sole purpose of hiding the cloak (Harry
jokingly made sure the bag was empty before they left the house).

“Blimey, Ern! I’s ’Arry Potter!” he shouted. The normal murmur of the routine conversations
immediately died. Almost all of the passengers, on all three decks clamored to turn around or look
over the railing to catch a glimpse of the Chosen One.

“Thanks,” Harry said, annoyed. He felt Hermione put her hand on the side of his arm. To everyone
else, it looked like she was just trying to move up off the stairs and stand next to him on the
deck. But Harry knew better. He looked at everyone, put on a fake, polite smile, then nodded a
hello. He then politely stared at everyone sufficiently long enough for them to get the hint they
were allowed to return to their own business.

“Where can I take ya today, Mr. Potter?” Stan asked proudly. Harry turned around to face front
so people wouldn’t hear their destination.

“Ottery St. Catchpole, the Burrow,” Harry replied.

“That’ll be fifteen Sickles each, please.”

Hermione started to reach for the money she brought for bus fare when she heard Harry mumble an
“It’s okay.” He then pulled out two Galleons and handed them to Stan. “For both,” he said
quietly.

While Stan gave him their tickets (and kept the change per Harry), Hermione fought back a scowl
when she noticed several younger witches on the bus admiring the backside of Harry’s jeans. She
groaned internally when she recognized several of them.

“Pop’lar destination,” Stan replied as Harry handed Hermione her ticket to the Burrow. Harry
found out exactly what he meant when he turned around again.

“Hi, Harry!” came the simultaneous, enthusiastic greetings from Parvati and Padma Patil, three
seats back. They’d both been hidden behind copies of *Witch Weekly* when he did his
meet-and-greet.

“Oh, hello,” Harry said in surprise. “You going to Ginny’s party too?” Both nodded.

“I fink ’ere’s seats still on’a secon’ deck,” Stan said to them as they headed down the
aisle.

“Bye, Harry!” the twins chorused. They both giggled and again inspected his jeans as he walked
past. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew everyone was used to seeing Harry in
Muggle clothes... *Dudley’s* clothes. So for him to be wearing something that actually fit him
(very well, Hermione knew), it was not surprising that his female classmates would eagerly take
notice, herself included. Parvati and Padma then smiled a simple, silent, polite hello to Hermione
as she made her way by. They then returned to their magazines.

“Gimme a shout when ya foun’a seat!” Stan called to them as they climbed the stairs from the
ground deck to the first deck.

The first deck was also full; Harry received another “Hi, Harry,” and Hermione a polite wave,
from Lavender Brown all the way in the back. Trudging up to the second deck, they found a few open
seats near the back. Since the bus was waiting for them (that’s what a four Sickle tip earned a
passenger), Harry was tempted to just tell Stan now to go ahead. Any one of his trips on the Knight
Bus however was *more* than enough to remind him otherwise. He would not say a word until they
were safely seated.

Finally they were seated; Hermione on the semi-padded back bench seat facing forward and Harry
across from her in one of the hard wooden side seats, facing back. There was just barely enough
room between Hermione and the older witch next to her for Harry to fit if he’d wanted to. It would
have been a little obvious however if he’d sat there instead of in the empty seat across from
her.

“Okay, Stan!” Harry called up to the front of the bus below, then turned back. He looked back
just in time to see Hermione looking over his shoulder.

“Neville!” she called out in greeting.

Harry *really* should have known better. He started to let go of the handrail in order to
turn around to see his friend when the bus took off with a *BANG!*

Harry was thrown forward (from his point of view, to the back of the bus) and onto Hermione. As
luck would have it, since he was directly across from her, they came together in almost a perfect
match: his knees crashed into hers. That launched his upper body forward. He started to throw his
arms forward to stop himself, but it turned out they were not needed.

Their final position would have been quite eyebrow-raising in other circumstances: forehead
against forehead, nose against nose, lips against lips. Harry’s outstretched arms were now planted
against the wall on either side of her head, almost as if he was playfully trapping her. Yes, it
would have been downright romantic in another place and time, if it wasn’t for the fact that his
motion had been stopped not by his hands, but by the dull *THUD* of the literal head-on
collision of skulls.

The pain made Harry’s arms give out, causing him to fall face-first into Hermione’s lap. He
immediately rolled off to her side and weakly sat down next to her, wedging himself next to the
other witch. Each of them was clutching their forehead. The two teens were in too much pain to have
even noticed how he’d landed, and all of the witnesses on the top deck were too sickened by the
sound of flesh-covered bone striking flesh-covered bone to pay any attention to *that*.

“That’ll leave a mark,” Hermione finally ground out a minute later. The two of them looked up to
see Neville sitting in Harry’s original seat across from them. Since the bus was currently speeding
north along the M1 (in the opposite direction of the Burrow; there was no point in trying to make
rhyme or reason of the route the Knight Bus took to go anywhere), it was relatively safe to move
around for a few moments. The older witch had gone up to take Neville’s original seat.

“You two all right?” Neville asked once they’d finally taken their hands off their
foreheads.

“I don’t suppose you have an aspirin?” Hermione asked jokingly (since she knew she wasn’t
allowed to take one).

“No, sorry,” Neville replied, genuinely trying to help. The two of them managed a smile when
they heard a frightened squeak come from one of the breathing holes cut into the gift-wrapped
present Neville was holding.

* * *

The drive back from the annual back-to-school lingerie sale at a lovely little boutique in
Camden Town was unusually quiet. It was a sale for parents, to celebrate their children going back
to school. It was *very* popular... for those who knew. This particular boutique was not part
of a national franchise, so only their loyal customers knew about the buy-one-get-one-free sale.
Fortunately Emma had been a loyal customer there since she was thirteen.

Since it was not part of a large corporate conglomerate, the business was literally a two-woman
show, owned and operated by a mother and daughter. This allowed them to offer “old-fashioned”
customer service. It was what they were best well known for. They still offered personalized
attention for when mothers brought their daughters in for their very first fittings. Emma’s mother
brought her here; Emma brought Hermione here. Hermione however had refused to go back once she
figured out what was in the “Other Room,” and why her mum went in there.

The “Other Room” was the other half of what made that store so popular. While they specialized
in “old fashioned” customer serviced, they strived to stay in the forefront of intimate apparel.
Emma remembered the first time her mother brought her here. She remembered the first time she
brought Hermione here (the third time was the last). And she remembered the first time she brought
Dan here, too.

On the car ride back home, Dan and Emma were usually giggling about their purchases. They would
usually be contemplating using their purchases in the time between the afternoon of September 1 and
Christmas holiday. Today was different however. This summer was different. This time, they could
not ignore the last three weeks.

As she drove over the Thames, Emma finally spoke. “Would it be presumptuous of me if I said I
wanted to ask the Dursleys if we could become Harry’s guardians?”

“Yes,” Dan replied with a small smile.

“Do you think they would object?” she then asked.

“No,” he responded.

“What do you think about it?”

“I’d say no,” Dan replied honestly, even though he had to admit to himself it wasn’t a half-bad
idea.

“What?! Why?” Emma asked, whining.

Dan smiled. “Because I don’t think your daughter would approve.” Once stopped at a red light,
Emma looked over and stared at Dan, waiting for an explanation.

“If we did, wouldn’t that, legally, make him her *brother*?” Dan pointed out.

“Oh. Yeah,” Emma said, smirking. “I knew there was a reason I keep you around. Well, that
and...” she trailed off, glancing down at the fancy, pink paper bag on the floor between Dan’s
feet.

“Yes, well, let’s not finish that sentence, shall we?” Dan suggested with his own smirk. “At
least not until we send them off on the train. For all we know, Hermione and Harry could be in the
back seat under his Invisibility Cloak.”

“True,” Emma admitted.

Once back home, Emma headed upstairs to safely stow away her purchases... somewhere where her
daughter wouldn’t accidentally come across them when helping with the laundry. It was the same
place she kept the embarrassing baby photos.

On her way to her own room, Emma suddenly found herself stopped in front of Harry’s bedroom
door. She could not resist, and quietly opened the door. Upon walking into the room, Emma noticed
Hedwig sitting on the bottom of her cage, instead of on the perch where she usually sat. She
appeared to be napping.

Sitting on Harry’s dresser next to the cage was Metis, evidently on guard, looking out the
window. His head immediately swiveled around; his eyes were fixed intently upon Emma. Knowing that
wizarding Post Owls were smarter than normal owls, Emma held out her hands as if to indicate she
meant no harm.

Cautiously, she approached the cage. Once close enough to get a good look inside the cage,
Hedwig opened her eyes. Emma smiled to herself. She too found it hard to sleep sometimes when she
carried Hermione.

“Hello, girl,” Emma whispered to Hedwig. “Did your babies surprise my babies this morning?” she
asked playfully, one mother to another.

Hedwig shuffled slightly, allowing the egg to become partially visible from beneath her
feathered body.

Emma gasped. “So beautiful,” she whispered in awe as tears began to form in her eyes. She then
looked up at Metis who was watching the two of them carefully.

“Now, you take good care of them, okay?” she whispered to the smaller, almost pure-white male
owl. She then slowly reached out towards Metis and patted the top of his head. He reached up and
nipped at her fingers in what Emma assumed to be a promise.

As she withdrew her hand, Emma noticed Metis turn his head to look behind her. Turning her own
head slightly, she noticed Dan standing in the doorway, watching. Knowing that three was already a
crowd, she retreated to the door. As she turned, she noticed a sheet of parchment partially tucked
under one of the sheets of Harry’s unmade bed.

Picking it up, Emma saw that it was a school handout.

*Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Personal Health for All Third-Year Witches*

*Madam Poppy Pomfrey, R.H. & Professors Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprout*

The upper portion contained a brief synopsis on female anatomy and biology. The middle section
contained dosing instructions for “cyclic female relief potions” as well as instructions for
intimate cleansing charms.

Emma marveled as she looked at the document. A few words reminiscent of Latin followed by a
series of schematic arrows which, after watching her daughter practice her wandwork (with a
chopstick), she knew to be instructions for wand motions.

Then there was the bottom section, titled *“Intimate Relations.”* Here, there was the
standard (according to the handout) contraception charm, good until the sun rose. Also listed were
charms for preventing infections of any kind that could be passed from one person to another.

She also saw that there was a note in this section reminding the reader that all of these charms
were effectively one-time-use only. Young witches were encouraged to talk with their parents,
significant other, and personal healer about long-term potions that were also available for
“committed” relationships. These were important, the handout reminded, because charms were only as
effective as the witch was diligent in casting them.

The upside of the potion, should it be needed, was that it was brewed specially for each couple:
it required a small bit of the witch and wizard in question, such as a hair. When properly
administered by a healer on a full moon, it was one hundred percent effective for exactly nine full
lunar months.

Other benefits of the potion (depending on one’s point of view) was that it could not be made
for anyone not of age without the witch’s parents’ permission (again, the whole witch vs. wizard
mentality). The potion also encouraged fidelity; since it was made from bits of the witch and
wizard, any *extraneous* intimate relations would incur a nasty, and painful, reaction that,
while non-public, would make anyone wish they were merely a “sneak.”

And then listed in the *“So Things Didn’t Go Quite According to Plan”* section were two
last charms, a “morning-after” charm (*“MUST be used prior to the next sunset”*) and a
paternity charm (*“for when you just don’t know, or he won’t admit it”*). Emma would have been
quite shocked if she hadn’t already known that witches and wizards tended to name or title things a
little more colorfully that Muggles did.

Finally, at the bottom, there was a reminder that it was considered “inappropriate” to discuss
this information with male classmates, unless deemed absolutely necessary (i.e. it was being
used).

As she looked over the handout, Emma saw that Hermione had made extensively annotations on the
parchment. She noted, with not a small amount of satisfaction (as much as any mother with a
daughter old enough to deal with these issues could), that her notes were limited to only in the
first two sections. In the last two sections, there was only a small, handwritten star next to the
comment about discussing long-term potions with parents.

In their talk on Harry’s first day there, Hermione had said she was in no rush to jump into a
physical relationship. While in no way did Emma not believe her daughter, it was one thing to hear
a child say that to a parent. It was another thing entirely to know that she said it to herself, in
this note-to-self sort of way. Emma also realized that, based on her timeline of her feelings,
Hermione had made this decision before she set her sights on Harry. She trusted that was a good
sign.

After examining the sheet of parchment for a moment, Emma placed it back exactly as she had
found it. She knew her daughter would not intentionally leave something like this lying around. She
could only imagine what had happened in this room while they were gone.

Once satisfied with putting it back to exactly where she found it, Emma walked over to Dan,
turned around, and backed into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around her as he placed his chin
on her shoulder.

“So what *do* you think about this new development?” Dan asked quietly as he watched as
Metis resumed his watch out the window.

“I think it’s a blessing in disguise,” Emma replied after taking a deep breath and holding it
for several seconds. “I think this will help bring them even closer together, regardless of when
the two of them figure it out for themselves.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dan agreed lazily, content to just stand there with his wife in his arms, looking at
new life. “You know, I had a little talk with Harry the morning of the first when we went to
Gringotts. I mentioned to him how I knew it wasn’t my place to have ‘the talk’ with him. But at the
same time, I promised myself that if the two of them did get together, we *would* have that
discussion.”

Dan chuckled slightly. “While I don’t think either of them is anywhere near *that* point
yet, I think this little episode will have more of an impact on them about the risks of pregnancy
than *any* talk you or I might *ever* have with them.”

Emma chuckled as well. “Yes, I do suspect this might have a sobering effect on them, when
*that* time comes... decades from now, I hope,” she added cheekily. She then paused for a
moment. “Why were you discussing ‘the talk’ with Harry?”

“Oh,” Dan said dismissively, “nothing that bears repeating at this point. Just boy problems,” he
explained. Whenever Emma and Hermione had a mother-daughter moment about a subject that Dan was
literally ill-equipped to truly understand, she would explain it was *“nothing that bore
repeating, just girl problems.”* Dan knew that Emma would not withhold something critical from
him. As such, Emma understood what Dan meant, even if she didn’t know what he *meant*.

Deciding they’d taken enough of the lovebirds’ time, Dan and Emma left the room, closing the
door behind them. Once out in the hall, Dan noticed the pink bag on the floor.

“You know,” he said casually, “the, um, kiddies will be gone for *several* hours... and
it’s a *very* long time until the afternoon of September 1.”

Emma grinned wickedly. “My thoughts exactly.”

* * *

Nearly half an hour after embarking, the Knight Bus finally arrived at the Burrow after a few
quick stops in Nottingham, Aberdeen, and even Hogsmeade. Having traveled nearly 550 miles north (by
road, which the bus stuck to... mostly) and then back, and then the 175 miles southwest from London
to the Weasley farm, the birthday guests were the only ones remaining on the bus when it came to a
very abrupt halt. Fortunately, everyone was holding onto something this time.

The partygoers eagerly unloaded themselves, glad to be on solid ground. Lavender, Parvati, and
Padma all bolted for the house to go find Ginny. Harry and Hermione found Remus and Tonks waiting
for them, along with one other person they assumed to be Neville’s minder.

“Were you on the bus?” Harry asked Tonks; she nodded. “I didn’t see you.”

“Did you *look* for me?” she asked knowingly. Harry shook his head. “I told you, you
wouldn’t see us unless you actually looked for us,” she said, grinning.

Remus stepped forward. “Love the broom, Harry,” he said happily as he handed Harry back his
Firebolt as well as his and Hermione’s presents.

Harry was stunned. “You actually rode my Firebolt? You play Quidditch? I thought you were just
joking,” he said disbelievingly.

“Hey, I was a young man once,” Remus defended.

“You’re *still* a young man,” Tonks interrupted meaningfully.

Remus smiled and bowed his head slightly in a placating manner, as if he’d heard that before,
and was no longer going to argue the point.

“I was also friends with your father. Sirius and I may not have been on the team, but we knew
our way around the pitch just fine.”

Harry still seemed skeptical. “Don’t believe me? Just ask Ron. I gave him a good chase around
their yard. Just don’t listen to him if he tells you I almost slid off the front when I stopped
suddenly,” the werewolf added sheepishly.

The three teens slowly walked up the dirt drive towards the house while their three minders fell
back a short way to be unobtrusive.

“Um, Harry?” Neville asked anxiously. “What do I, um, say if Ginny asks how I knew what to buy
her?”

“You tell her the truth, Neville,” Hermione promptly answered. “You’re not likely to gain a
girl’s favor by lying to her, even if it’s about the little things. *Especially* if it’s about
the little things.”

Even thought Neville had asked him, Harry was very glad Hermione had answered instead. He really
didn’t know what Neville should have said. Of course, he would never have suggested Neville lie to
her; he just didn’t know what to suggest that he *should* say to Ginny.

Once Hermione had said what she had, Harry realized his confusion seemed quite silly, really.
There were really only three things Neville *could* say: the truth, a lie, or absolutely
nothing at all (which almost never worked anyway when asked a direct question). When unsure of what
to say, simplifying the situation down to *how* to answer, rather than *what,* often made
the decision much easier. The truth, a lie, or nothing.

Once they were close enough to hear the noise of the pre-party preparations, Harry had to admit:
it was good to be back at the Burrow again.

Taking in the sights, he noticed that the fields around the house had a decidedly overgrown
appearance, looking exactly as though the house had been vacant for an extended time. He grinned as
he heard in the distance the chatter of gnomes in the tall grass. Near the house, all of the grass
had been cut down in anticipation for the party.

Something about it though felt missing. As they reached the picnic tables that had been set up
in the back yard, Harry finally realized what. It didn’t smell like it had been mown, which he felt
was a real pity.

Most magical spells were created by a small, dedicated group of Arithmancers, working in
obscurity at some undisclosed location. Arithmancers took great pride in their work, and hence
strove to make their spells as efficient as possible. It was because of that, that the standard
garden trimming spell, equally useful for mowing large lawns or pruning a single branch,
automatically sealed the cut ends, promoting rapid healing for the plant.

When blades of grass were severed in this way, rather than physically cut with a blade,
chlorophyll was not spilt, hence no wonderful fresh-cut-grass smell. Sure, if grass was cut with an
ordinary cutting charm, such as *Diffindo*, one would get the full sensory experience, but
using that spell would be like mowing the yard with a pair of scissors.

Little did the wizarding public know, but all regulation Quidditch pitches were mown with
magically-driven bladed mowers. No magic spell had ever been able to efficiently replicate the
alternating patterns of light and dark green achieved by mowing the grass in different directions,
at least not without the caster having to walk up and down the field dozens of times, flattening
the grass down with a repelling charm. It was *the* look prized universally by baseball,
football, Quidditch, and Quodpot fans alike.

A bladed mower was the tightly guarded secret of professional pitch groundskeepers the
world-round. Not even Harry or Hermione knew; it certainly was not written in any book. It was no
accident that no one ever saw Madam Hooch sitting in the pitch stands while everyone was in
lessons, using her wand to direct around the field the strangest looking contraption. Only the
Muggle-born students would have been able to guess what it was... not because of what the device
looked like, but because of how the grass looked after it passed by.

The smell of the field was the one element almost always missing in a home Quidditch pitch (even
the Malfoys’). It *was* what made Quidditch smell like Quidditch... until the game started at
least. Then, Quidditch smelled like butterbeer, stale ale, and stale spectators.

It was almost ten o’clock. When all the guests (except one) had arrived, Ginny Weasley’s
fifteenth birthday party started out with a bang. Literally, courtesy of Fred and George (with a
little *encouraging* from Mrs. Weasley).

And from that point on, things pretty much went downhill, as far as Harry was concerned. As this
was a girls’ birthday party, a good majority of the guests were female. Besides the other girls
from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the Patils, Lavender, Hermione, and Luna (who had owled ahead
to say she would be late), there were also about a half-dozen or so soon-to-be fourth- and
fifth-year girls Harry only vaguely recognized.

In fact, the only non-adult males there were Harry, Neville, and Dean Thomas (Ginny’s and his
breakup had been amicable). Predictably, the girls soon started to gravitate together. With so many
potential witnesses around who might notice his more-than-platonic feelings for his housemate, and
combined with everything that had happened this morning in his bedroom, Harry decided it would be
best to limit his exposure to Hermione at the party.

The end result was that he made every effort to pay as little attention to her as possible.

And so, when the boys quickly bored and a pick-up game of Quidditch was suggested, Harry eagerly
agreed. Now he knew why Ron suggested he bring a broom to Ginny’s party. Because he tried to not
keep track of where she was (lest anyone see him looking), Harry did not notice that Hermione had
not gone off with the rest of the girls to go do whatever it was they were doing, and was now
sitting alone on the side of the house, watching him play in the distance.

Fortunately, Remus and Tonks soon came and joined her, keeping her company as they discussed a
wide variety of topics.

Harry, for his part, quickly realized that this quick game of Quidditch would not be all that he
hoped it would. As soon as they met, Harry was vaguely aware that Ron seemed a little distant.
There wasn’t anything he could put a finger on; it was just a gut instinct. As soon as the game
began however, Harry knew something was up.

The moment Ron was in the air, he was constantly looking towards the hill that was in the
direction of town. So unfocused was he that he let several goals in. After several complaints which
were followed by profuse apologies, the boys decided to call it quits. Harry got the distinct
feeling that Fred and George knew what was wrong (since they weren’t cutting into him too deeply),
but the knowing smirks on their faces didn’t really tell him much.

About an hour into the party, everyone came back together to give Ginny her presents. A large
number of the presents consisted of various WonderWitch products, and even one Patented Daydream
Charm (much to the consternation of Mrs. Weasley). Fortunately, there were no love potions. Ginny
soon came to Hermione’s gift, the note-taking quill. As soon as Hermione explained it, she seemed
genuinely appreciative. “I’m almost as bad a speller as Ron is,” she joked.

Next Ginny opened Harry’s present. Because he was specifically watching for it, as soon as she
saw the broomstick servicing kit, Harry saw the look of surprise that clearly indicated she was not
expecting *that*. She then could not help but glance in Hermione’s direction, who was on the
other side of the room from Harry.

Ginny then put on a warm smile and thanked him for a wonderful gift, saying she couldn’t wait to
use it, just as soon as she got her own broom. Harry said he thought it would be useful because
she’d been thinking about buying a new broom when they’d all gone shopping back in Diagon
Alley.

Finally, the last person left was Neville. He’d done everything he could to be last, not because
he hoped to “save the best for last,” but rather because if Ginny didn’t like it, he hoped everyone
would easily forget about him and his present as soon as they then went on to have cake. That’s
what he hoped at least.

Unnoticed by anyone while Ginny was opening her other presents, Neville had been gently rocking
his box to get the Pygmy Puff to fall asleep, so as to not tip off Ginny by squeaking while she
unwrapped it.

Ginny stared curiously at the air holes in the side of the box, not knowing what to make of them
as she unwrapped the present. As soon as the paper was removed, Harry saw when Fred and George
immediately recognized one of their own traveling boxes. In the back of the room, the twins
immediately put their heads together and started whispering. A few moments later, they came back up
with appraising looks on their faces as they stared at Neville.

When Ginny recognized the triple ‘W’ on the box, she smiled as she went to remove the lid. “It’s
a good thing I know where to find my dear, twin brothers, just in case this explo...” she trailed
off as her eyes landed on what was inside. Her eyes immediately went as big as saucers. A beaming
smile slowly began to appear on her face.

*“Oh!”* she said in a squeak as she gently reached into the box and gingerly removed the
sleeping purple puff. She held it in both hands and brought it up only a few inches away from her
face.

“Oh, *Neville.* How did you know?” Ginny asked in a whisper, obviously in love with the
tiny creature that had just woken up and was now wiggling around in her hand.

“Um, Harry told me,” Neville said hesitantly.

“Harry told you?” Ginny asked, lifting her eyes and turning to look directly at Neville.

“Um, yeah,” he replied, becoming embarrassed. “I, um, asked him if there was anything you
wanted, and he told me this.”

Ginny gave Neville a thoughtful sort of look. “It’s *exactly* what I wanted. Thank you!”
She then carefully returned the Pygmy Puff to its box.

“By the way, everyone,” she now addressed the guests. “The thirtieth was Neville’s sixteenth
birthday. Harry wanted to share their parties on the thirty-first, but Neville was visiting his
family then. Anyway, at his party, we all gave Harry a birthday snog, so I think the *three of
us* still owe Neville here a...” she said as she looked around. “Oh, Luna’s still not here
yet... and where did Hermione go?

“Oh well, I guess you’ll have to settle for just me, then. Happy birthday, Neville!” Ginny said
as she moved forward, took Neville’s face in her hands, and gave him what Harry assumed to be the
same kiss Luna and Hermione had given him: a birthday snog because she was supposed to.

When Ginny pulled away a second later, everyone in the room gave a cheer (even Dean), just as
everyone had at Harry’s party. When Neville, dazed and smiling, stumbled slightly, Ron had to catch
him. This elicited a few giggles from the other girls in the room.

Ron, on the other hand, was decidedly not in a giggling mood. Harry felt though that it had
nothing to do with his sister snogging Neville, as he had been getting increasingly moody as the
party progressed.

Even an extra large slice of birthday cake (no screaming or “bleeding” charms this time), had
done little to improve Ron’s mood. Harry was still trying to limit his direct interaction with
Hermione as much as possible, so he and Ron had somehow managed to drift off to the side of the
party to be alone as everyone else mingled, ate cake, and generally enjoyed themselves.

Everyone else, that is, except Hermione.

She couldn’t prove it, but she got the distinct impression Harry was trying to avoid her. As
Hermione rejoined the party (she and Molly were retrieving the cake and pumpkin juice while Neville
was getting the best birthday present ever), she saw Harry suddenly turn and look away from
her.

She knew they really hadn’t had a chance to talk about what had happened this morning...
*either* of the two surprises. She was willing to give him his space if he felt he needed it,
but if he was going to ignore her (and hence the subject altogether), then that just wasn’t going
to stand.

Nearly an hour later (and not so much as a single word spoken between Harry and Hermione), the
birthday party was showing signs of beginning to break up. Harry, Ron, and Neville were off on the
side of the room chatting about Quidditch. Facing the front door, Harry noticed when Luna came
rushing in, looking rather flushed as though she’d run all the way over.

Even as she gave Ginny a brief hug, whispered what appeared to be a breathless apology, and then
went over to greet Molly, Harry did not miss Luna looking glancing over in his (and Ron’s)
direction three times.

As Ron and Neville—their backs to the front door—continued to debate the Chudley Cannon’s latest
choice for Keeper versus that of Puddlemore United’s, Harry observed with interest as the still
red-faced Luna walked into the kitchen drawing her wand, then returned a moment later looking
completely refreshed with her wand now tucked behind her ear.

If he hadn’t been discreetly watching her, Harry might not have noticed as Luna slowly and
casually made her was around the room and, unfortunately, earning a few odd glances from the other
party guests who only knew her as “Loony.”

Finally the blonde Ravenclaw made it around the room and was now standing only a few feet behind
Ron.

“Hello, Harry,” Luna greeted serenely. Harry was pretty sure Ron gained an inch or two in height
as the slouch that had weighted him down for most of the day suddenly disappeared. “Hello,
Neville,” she continued. Once Ron’s eyebrows had receded from his hairline, he struggled valiantly
to wipe away the grin that *almost* flashed across his face at the sound of her voice.

“Hello, Ronald,” Luna finally finished.

“Eh... erm... He-hello, L-Luna,” Ron stuttered as he turned around to face her. His ears were
already on their way to bright red. Harry caught Neville’s eye, and the two of them quietly made an
exit, unnoticed by the other two.

Finally with a few minutes alone with his fellow dorm mate, Harry led Neville into the kitchen
where Remus had set the present Harry had gotten for him.

“Sorry it took so long, Neville,” Harry apologized. “I bought it back in July, but it seems to
be all right still. I’m sure it will need feeding soon, though.”

“Feeding?” Neville asked dubiously. Hesitantly opening the present, he looked immensely pleased
when he saw what it was. “A Venus Fly Trap! Thanks!”

“You like it? Brilliant! At the time, I wasn’t able to get anything magical, but I thought this
was pretty wicked as far a Muggle plants went,” Harry explained.

“No, really, it’s great!” Neville exclaimed; he wouldn’t have been able to lie about it if he’d
even wanted to. Harry watched as his friend removed the protective plastic top to get a closer
look. As Neville carefully inspected the open traps, Harry realized something.

“Oh! I left the instructions at home!” he apologized. “It came with care and feeding
instructions. I took them off the side of the pot when I found out I would be plant-sitting for a
while, but I must have left them on my desk.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Neville assured him. “If there’s one thing I have, it’s books on
plants,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah, speaking of home, I forgot to ask,” Neville suddenly changed subjects. “You didn’t get
a new owl, did you?” he asked. Harry never did get around to addressing Neville’s original concern
about Hedwig from his letter Monday.

“Erm, no, actually,” Harry replied awkwardly. “It, uh... he... wasn’t actually my owl.”

“*Neville?*” floated into the kitchen Ginny’s voice from the living room. The owner was
only a second behind it. “There you two are! Mum wants me to make sure you tell me about any
special instructions I need to know about Arnold.”

“Arnold?” Harry and Neville asked in unison.

A happy, very proud smile appeared on the redhead’s face. “Arnold. That’s what I named my Pygmy
Puff.”

“Oh, okay,” Neville replied with a slight chuckle. “Well, they really—”

“No, in the living room with everyone else,” Ginny interrupted him. Neville appeared confused.
“Mum wants to make sure she’s there when you tell me how to take care of it, *just in case I
forget*.” She then smiled and rolled her eyes as if it were the most absurd thing she’d ever
heard.

Ginny and Neville then walked back into the dwindling party (Dean had left by now, as had all of
the girls Harry didn’t really know). As he walked back into the room, Harry could see all of those
remaining still enjoying themselves. Walking up to his friend and his unique conversation partner,
he could see that Ron’s early momentary excitement was long gone.

This time, however, instead of being rather grumpy, Ron this time looked positively
disappointed. Harry felt it best to not intrude, though he was able to hear a brief bit of their
discussion as he walked by.

“...Sweden tomorrow? We just got back here yesterday, and I, uh, was thinking...” Harry heard
Ron say to Luna, his voice rather dejected. Moving right along, he continued to walk around the
room until he approached Lupin and Tonks. While the two of the talked, Tonks moved slightly to
reveal Hermione standing behind them. Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. He’d tried as hard as
he could to push the owl incident out of his mind, but the moment he saw her, it all came rushing
back abruptly.

Before Harry had a chance to decide what to do, Hermione saw him. She politely excused herself
to Lupin and Tonks, then walked purposefully towards Harry.

“Could I borrow you for a moment?” Hermione asked him in a sweet voice that indicated he was in
trouble. Once she dragged him over to an isolated corner of the room, she then proceeded to give
him a piece of her mind, albeit quietly.

“Where have you been all day?” she asked firmly. “You haven’t spoken a single word to me since
we got here, and you’ve been avoiding me the entire time!”

It was a total bluff on her part; she couldn’t prove he’d been avoiding her. But proof wasn’t
necessary: she *felt* as though he’d been avoiding her, and when it came to hurt feelings, how
the offense was perceived was more important that how it was intended.

Harry didn’t even bother trying to reply. She was right. He had been avoiding her; she knew that
he had been avoiding her. Even if she hadn’t said anything to Neville about lying to a girl you
fancied, Harry knew he couldn’t lie to her. He never could. At least, not to her... not
successfully.

Sure, he’d tried to lie to her before (inconsequential things like doing his homework, flossing,
solving the golden egg in fourth year...), but it never really worked out. He always seemed to feel
guilty about it, or he couldn’t quite look her in the eye, or she just plain saw right through him.
He was just glad that little brain freeze he’d had when started to explain why it wouldn’t be weird
if Hermione was his girlfriend (versus Ginny) happened before he realized he fancied her.

Caught, Harry did the only thing he could. He let out a genuinely regretful sigh. “I’m sorry.
You’re right.” Hermione moved the two of them further into the corner.

“Is it about Metis and Hedwig?” she asked, trying to not let her annoyance get the better of
her. She tried to remind herself that because of his wonderful upbringing, Harry was not the best
person in the world at discussing the things that were bothering him.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, “you’re reacting to all of this as if *you* had gotten
*me* pregnant.”

The way he saw it, it *was* as bad as if he had gotten her pregnant. Fortunately the entire
notion of having sex with Hermione (for the sole purpose of procreation) had not even factored into
his discomfort, so that at least made things a *little* less complicated. Harry became annoyed
that she seemed so nonplussed about the whole thing.

“Hermione,” Harry replied, louder than he intended, “Our owls had *SEX!*”

Exactly like in the Muggle movies, Ginny’s birthday party came to a complete halt as every
single person in the room stopped whatever they were doing and turned to look at them. If a
phonograph had been playing, the needle surely would have been scratched across the record.

Harry and Hermione turned their heads to look at everyone else in the room.

No one moved.

No one even blinked.

After about five seconds of complete silence, Hermione finally let out a nervous chuckle.

“Well, as most of you know,” Hermione stammered, “I got an O.W.L. owl this year. As you may
know, they use snowy owls, and they let me keep mine.” She stopped for a moment to glance
hesitantly at Harry.

“Well, I, um, we, um, we all assumed it was a female. The letter didn’t say of course. So, we,
um, thinking that she was a she, we, uh, didn’t give it any thought whenever my owl and... and, um,
Harry’s owl were alone together. Anyway, it turns out my owl was male all along. And they, the two
of them, well, they, um, figured it out.”

Harry could not remember ever seeing Hermione so flustered. As he looked around the room, he
could see eyebrows beginning to rise in surprise as everyone began to figure it all out. He now
spoke up. “And so now... now there will be another owl coming along soon.”

Most everyone in the room wore expressions that looked to be the result of not knowing whether
to laugh, congratulate them, or just remain silent. In the end, everyone decided to remain silent,
although Ron and Ginny and Fred and George seemed to be leaning towards laughing, even though they
didn’t. Ron and Ginny, because they’d had the most exposure to Metis (possibly even because of a
certain photograph they were holding as blackmail against a certain other photograph). Fred and
George, well, because they were Fred and George.

As everyone else continued to decide how to react, Hermione decided to excuse herself for a
moment.

“If no one minds, I need to borrow, the um, the father of the bride here for a few moments.”
Without waiting for a reply, she then quickly led Harry outside. Once they were a good twenty yards
away from the house, and felt sufficiently protected by the large tree they were standing next to
(even though they were between it and the house, and not vice versa), Hermione put her hand on
Harry’s arm.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” she asked encouragingly.

“I don’t know. It’s just... it seems like everything has gone wrong today,” he replied with an
air of defeat.

She glanced towards the house to make sure no one had followed them. She did see Remus standing
in the open doorway, watching them, though at this distance, she knew he could not hear them if
they whispered.

“Is it because ‘our owls had sex’ or because I saw you with an erection?” Harry winced and
automatically moved his hands to cover himself up, even though the awkwardness of the moment
guaranteed there was no need to hide anything.

“Erm, both,” he finally admitted. As much as he wished the earth would just open up and swallow
him right there, a certain part of him knew that it was just better to bring everything up and out
into the open. Figuratively, at least.

“Harry, look. You remember what my mum said. It’s what they do: eat, sleep, and make more owls.
It’s in their nature.”

“But you said that they were magical creatures,” Harry replied defensively, “that all of their
natural instincts had been bred out of them. They weren’t wild owls.”

“They *are* magical creatures, Harry. They might not be wild owls, but they’re still owls.
And I said they had *most* of their instincts bred out of them. If they’d had *all* of
their instincts bred out of them, then they’d have died out long ago.”

Harry stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. “What do we do now?” he asked
wearily.

“*We* don’t do anything, Harry,” Hermione informed him. “Metis and Hedwig are perfectly
capable of handling this on their own. It’s in their nature,” she reminded him. Seeing that he
seemed to be a little less wound up, Hermione knew there was one more subject that needed
handling.

*Oh, HONESTLY!* Hermione chastised herself.

“Now, as for the other matter...” she started. Harry immediately began to get embarrassed.

“Look, Hermione, I’m sorry for what happened,” he interrupted. “You weren’t supp... I didn’t
mean... I should’ve...” he spluttered, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say, even
though he really didn’t know what he wanted to say.

Harry just finally decided to say the truth. “I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. I’m
just sorry for... *it*. I’d just woken up, I really needed to use the bathroom, and I got
distracted by Hedwig, and, well, I’m sorry. I was just afraid that you’d think less of me for, you
know, for *that*. You see, in the morning, when a guy wakes up...”

All right, *now* Hermione was on the verge of getting embarrassed... not because of what he
was trying to say, but rather she knew *she* would get embarrassed watching *him* get
embarrassed.

“Harry, it’s all right,” she assured him, hoping he’d stop. “You don’t need to explain. I know
all about that.”

“You do?” he asked, mortified, almost as if it were worse that she knew about the things his
body did without his control.

“Remember, Harry, Ginny has six older brothers,” Hermione reminded him. “And as you well know,
they aren’t exactly morning people. Meaning, they aren’t exactly aware of their surroundings when
they walk down the hall after waking up. Ginny would pay real Galleons to *not* know about
that.

“And of course,” she continued on, “Ginny’s so traumatized by it that she insists on telling me
all about it, about how horrifying it was for her. Misery loves company, I suppose. Trust me,
Harry, it’s okay. It was an accident. It’s not a big deal,” she assured him.

Despite her efforts, Harry didn’t seem to want to let himself off the hook. “It *is* a big
deal,” he countered. If it were any other person, she might have wondered if he was being boastful
or trying to insinuate something.

No one would ever doubt the fact that Hermione had a quick wit. She was always ready with a
clever comeback, however as the really good ones were often “off color,” she usually kept them
under lock and key. Odd that something that would seem un-Hermione-like was in fact *very*
Hermione-like... when she was truly herself, away from school.

The snappy response that immediately popped into her mind suddenly gave her a brilliant idea.
Harry seemed unable to get past this, to accept that it really wasn’t the major crisis he seemed to
think it was. She decided then that what she needed to do was to make a joke of it. If she could
get him to laugh at the situation, at himself, she knew he would be able to laugh it off. Honestly,
how can anyone take anything seriously that they are laughing at?

And so, probably for the first time in her life, to someone other than her parents, Hermione
unleashed her quick wit on Harry, not one-half second after he assured her it *was* a big
deal.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t say that it was a small deal. But, I have no basis for comparison,
so I’ll just have to take your word for it,” she said with a defiant look on her, almost as if she
was daring him to respond.

It took him a second or so to process what she just said. Once he figured it out too, she could
see him cringe.

“Oh, God, Hermione, please don’t say things like that. You’re not making this any easier.”

“What, am I supposed to make it harder?” she asked, the faintest hint of a smile beginning to
appear on her face.

“Please...” Harry begged with a strangled voice.

“Oh, come on, Harry. Relax. Don’t let it go to your head. I’m just trying to get a rise out of
you.” It was only for a fraction of a second, but Hermione saw the tiniest of twitches in his mouth
that suggested she was beginning to succeed. She now had that sort of upside-down smile people had
when they were trying not to laugh.

“Hermione,” Harry tried to admonish, though she could hear that his voice was definitely
lighter, losing its anguish.

“All right, *fine,*” she assured him. “I promise to never bring it up again.” She knew she
had finally succeeded, and the two of them began to laugh together. As his laughs began to subside,
Harry shot her a mock glare.

“You’re absolutely awful, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” she said, repeating his comment from back in the Leaky Cauldron
ten days earlier.

“Yeah, I do,” he sighed as he wiped the tears from laughing away from his eyes.

“So, are we all right now?” she asked. “About *everything?*”

Harry looked at her for a moment. “Yeah,” he assured her. “You promise you won’t tell anyone
about my morning greeting?” he asked, still looking a little awkward, though he did have a slight
smile.

“Yeah, as long as you promise not to tell anyone about my unorthodox way of complementing your
cooking,” Hermione replied.

“Awww,” Harry whined. “I’m sure Ron would *love* to hear about that,” he said with a
mischievous grin. “Heck, I bet he’d love to *hear* that.”

“And I’m sure Ginny and Lavender and every other girl in school would love to hear about you
saluting me.” She then grinned devilishly in return. “Heck, I bet they’d love to *see* that
too.”

“Touché, Granger, touché.”

“Ready to face the music?” Hermione asked him.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said as the two of them started back for the house. “Oh, and
Hermione?” Harry added as he began to walk slightly faster.

“Yeah?”

He turned back to glance at her once he was about a full step ahead of her. “About promising to
‘not bring it up again’?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said as he started to run for the house, laughing the
entire way. Hermione was tempted to respond back, but seeing as he’d managed to make a joke at
himself, she decided to give him the last laugh. She just smiled a large, satisfied smile and
trotted back to the house, adding a skip or two along the way.


*A/N: And finally, even though my story has been sitting idle lately, others’ have not. For
anyone who had been following my friend Petronilla’s story* Secrets From the Future*, I wanted to let them
know several new chapters have been posted. She took an extended holiday a while back, and when she
returned, she reposted the story, which somehow seemed to break the old links and chapter
notifications. Her latest Chapter 17 will be posted as soon as I finish editing it!*

*Also, I once mentioned that my beta inspired me to start writing. Well, I am overwhelmed to
say that I seemed to have done the same for someone else. I am now also betaing a second story
called* Healing*, by Cpt_Slog. After
sixth year (HBP), Ginny seems to have taken the break up well. Harry seems to be at his wit’s end,
fruitlessly chasing the Horcruxes. Ron is his usual sensitive, tactful self. And something
threatens to tear Hermione away from everything and everyone important to her. Rated NC-17 for sex
in later chapters (that we haven’t gotten to yet)... but it is not a “sex story.”*

*Please leave them a kind word if you enjoy their stories. While I wasn’t able to do much
writing in my own “vacation,” I was able to do some editing for them. That, and my beta, helped
keep me sane! ;-)*




30. Married... With Children, Part 2: The Circle is Now Complete
----------------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Hello again! You know, I honestly thought this would only take a week or so. I figured I
had a good head start, so I only needed “a few more pages” to get them to where they end here (no,
don’t look ahead). That way, I can get them to King’s Cross at the end of next chapter. Yeah, that
really worked out! I said I was afraid of an uber-update last time? Well, that’s what this turned
into. Forty-five pages this time!*

*Along those lines, someone sent me a rather shy email asking what I meant by ‘this chapter is
X pages long.’ I had to laugh (at myself) because I realized that only me and my beta see that.
When it is posted, it’s actually just one VERY long page. This chapter is simply 45 pages long in
Word when I write it. But what is 45 pages? It’s 45 pages they way I have it formatted to make it
easy for me to read. But what if it were formatted differently?*

*Look at the hard-bound US version of* Order of the Phoenix *(the last book I was happy
to read). If I formatted this chapter exactly like in the books—paper size, font, spacing,
margins—it would be 72 pages long. Sure, it doesn’t really mean much of anything, but if one person
asked, then I figure there’s got to be a few more out there who didn’t ask also...*

*Speaking of which, Chapter 29 officially made this story longer than* Order of the Phoenix
*by word count. That surprised even me! Then again... 72 pages this time. At least I don’t count
my “brief” author notes in there!*

*BTW, If anyone thought I did, I didn’t mean to imply that next chapter was the last chapter
of the story. I said earlier they can’t get together until they get to school. Next chapter is
merely the proof that the summer will actually end and they will be returning to school. One summer
in thirty-one chapters. Wow.*

*I wanted to say that I was happy that most everyone understood what I was trying to convey
last time. Hermione ISN’T one to tell dirty jokes in mixed company. But she does have a quick wit,
and can think up snappy comebacks with the best of them. She WOULDN’T say them at school, but
alone, at home (or beside a tree with Harry), she reveals that is normally hidden from everyone
else. We all have aspects of our personality that only our family sees... Harry is simply starting
to become included in those displays now.*

*Happy Birthday to Hermione Granger. I missed posting on the same day because I actually fell
asleep while trying to do a very late night edit to get it out in time. Sorry!*

*A quick hello to Shawn out there for correctly guessing what Hermione’s present will
be.*

*Oh, and I borrowed a couple of lines from a classic ’80s comedy. Just saying so...*


Chapter 30. Married... With Children, Part 2: The Circle is Now Complete.

*He turned back to glance at her once he was about a full step ahead of her. “About promising
to ‘not bring it up again’?”*

*“Mm-hmm?”*

*“Don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said as he started to run for the house, laughing the
entire way. Hermione was tempted to respond back, but seeing as he’d managed to make a joke at
himself, she decided to give him the last laugh. She just smiled a large, satisfied smile and
trotted back to the house, adding a skip or two along the way.*

Once back inside, Hermione found that what was left of the party had resumed, although Lavender
and the Patils seemed to have taken their absence as a good time to leave. Neville’s minder had
decided to “get some air” outside for a while, finally admitting to Remus and Tonks that he really
wasn’t good with “kids.” Neville could have told him that ten minutes after meeting the man.

With Harry and Hermione gone, Ginny with her mum and Neville, and Ron with Luna, the only people
left for the girls to interact with were adults, which was a good sign to them that the party was
just about over. They’d politely interrupted Ginny to wish her well and genuinely thank her for a
great party. The Knight Bus had jumped away just as Harry walked back into the house.

A short while after the raven-haired teen’s return, Remus made his way over to him.

“Looks like I was trying to give ‘the talk’ to the wrong person there, eh?” he asked. Harry’s
lack of comprehension was evident. “Your owls. Looks like they’re the ones who needed to be told
about the birds and the bees.”

“Well, knowing Hedwig and Metis, they’d try to eat the bees if they didn’t know they’d get
stung,” Harry joked.

“So what are the two of you going to do now?” Remus asked. Harry glanced over in Hermione’s
direction, who had joined Ginny with Neville and Molly. He caught her eye, and she shot him a small
smile; he returned it.

*How on earth could I have even tried to ignore her?* he asked himself disbelievingly.

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry answered his minder’s question. “Hedwig and Metis are perfectly
capable of handling this on their own,” he repeated Hermione’s answer. “It is in their nature,
after all.”

Remus smiled and nodded thoughtfully. As Harry turned to look back at Remus, he noticed the
probationary Auror looking in Tonks’ direction, who was currently talking to Arthur.

“You know,” Harry said innocently, “speaking of ‘the talk,’ do we need someone to have one with
you?” Remus turned to look at Harry, confused. “Hermione and I saw you in the cinema.” Remus still
didn’t seem to understand. “You and Tonks... *holding hands?*”

Harry couldn’t ever remember seeing Lupin truly embarrassed. He’d seen the Marauder in a lot of
different emotional states over the years, from Dark Arts professor to Order member, even as a
teenager in Snape’s Pensieve memory, but never did he recall him blushing. It was answer enough for
him.

“So, you and Tonks, huh?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Don’t get any ideas, young man,” Remus tried to threaten him, failing miserably. “Nothing’s
official, or anything like that. We’ve, um, grown a little closer together, living together,
supporting each other about Sirius. We’re just taking things slowly, trying to see if there’s
something there, or if it’s, you know, just from Sirius.”

Remus’s statement hit Harry like a ton of Hagrid’s cakes. His words seemed to exactly match his
own situation with Hermione. Was it possible?

It was impossible even for Captain Oblivious to not notice that he and Hermione had somehow
become a little closer because of their living arrangements. But what if that was the case with his
feelings for her as well?

Was he imagining them? Were they real? Or were they only there because he was with her nearly
every hour of the day (sleeping excluded)? He knew that he pretty much saw her just as much at
school as he did back at her house, but there was just something different about being with her at
home. *Would* his feelings vanish as soon as they got back to school?

“Harry, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this quiet,” Remus said, preventing the teen from
getting too worked up over this new possibility, “quiet at least until Tonks and I figure things
out. If things don’t work out, it’ll be easier, I think, for us to go back to being ‘just friends’
if everyone didn’t know that we were exploring something more.

“But, if things *do* work out,” he said as he looked back at Tonks with a small smile that
suggested he was hoping they would, “then everyone will find out quickly enough anyway.” Remus then
looked back down at Harry. “So, for the moment, no, I don’t need ‘the talk.’”

He then smiled broadly, “Yet.

“Oh, and what I meant about ‘what are you going to do’ was what are you going to do about going
back to school?” Remus clarified. “You’re only allowed one animal. How soon will there be another
owl coming along? If you have Hedwig and Hermione has her cat, then will you be able to take Metis
and the new owl, or will they all have to stay with the Grangers?”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock. He’d never even considered that before. “I don’t know,” Harry
said quietly, starting to worry, “about any of it.”

“Well, send an owl to Professor McGonagall. I’m sure she can answer everything for you.”

About ten minutes later, Bill and Fleur finally arrived. They’d been packing up her flat on
Diagon Alley, getting ready for her to move out tomorrow. And they certainly hadn’t been doing
anything *prohibited* by Veela tradition. Harry had to admit: Fleur looked absolutely
stunning. She was practically glowing. He suspected her radiance was due this time more to the
(supposedly surprise) announcement that was still pending, rather than her heritage.

When Bill moved to the center of the room and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention,
Harry shot Hermione a knowing grin. Their discussion about what to do about Hedwig and Metis in
regards to the one-animal rule could wait until later. It was all supposition anyway without their
Head of House or the headmaster there.

Besides, there was an engagement to announce!

Harry could see Bill’s hands tremble slightly in anticipation. It was a good thing Fleur had
already said yes.

“There are a lot of expressions in life,” Bill began. “Life is short. There are no guarantees in
life. Live for today, for tomorrow may never come. These past few weeks have begun to show that for
any who might not have been paying attention. The wizarding world as a whole has been lucky so far.
But we all know that luck, by its very nature, implies that it will run out at some point.

“‘Seize the day,’ someone once said,” he continued. “One week ago, I realized *that* was my
day. I realized the greatest opportunity of my entire life had been there right in front of me the
entire time. It was my day, so I seized it,” he said, making eye contact with Fleur. It was
something that went unnoticed by all those who did not know what was coming (which turned out to
only be Neville, Luna, Remus, and Tonks).

Fleur made her way forward into the center of the room to stand in front of Bill. “Imagine my
surprise when I found out I wasn’t the only one who felt that way,” he said as he reached out and
took her hand. Those not in the know still weren’t exactly sure what was going on.

Until Bill dropped to one knee.

“One week ago, I asked Miss Fleur Delacour to be my wife, and she said yes.” With his free hand,
Bill reached into his pocket, then began to speak to her instead of the room. “One week ago, I gave
this to you as a symbol of my commitment. Allow me the honor of doing so once again, so that all
may know.”

Both Bill and Fleur’s eyes shone with emotion.

“Fleur, will you marry me?” Bill asked with a voice that was nervous, even though he’d already
received his answer a week earlier. Once the words were out, an amused smile appeared on his face.
“Again?” he added as he lovingly slid the engagement ring on her finger.

*“Oui!”* Fleur cried. “*Oui!* Nuzzing would make me ‘appier!”

As Bill stood up, he smiled a smile that betrayed the fact that he felt he was the luckiest
bloke in the entire universe. He then moved in and kissed his fiancé as intensely as he could
manage without incurring the wrath (of any kind) of his family members, whether it be his mother
(embarrassment) or his twinned brothers (teasing).

Harry watched the scene in front of him with a similar feeling of longing as on his first day at
the Grangers when he observed Dan and Emma together for the first time. Again, his feelings weren’t
directed towards Bill or Fleur specifically, but rather what they had *together*.

Harry suddenly felt someone grab onto his arm tightly. He looked to his side to see Hermione
wrapped around his arm, with her head resting on his shoulder. She’d just let out a long sigh and
was beginning to tear up.

“Hermione?” Harry whispered, wanting to be sure she was all right.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered back. “It’s just a girl thing, crying at weddings... or
engagements.” He looked up to see if anyone was going to make fun of him for this, only to find
that Hermione was right: it *was* a girl thing.

Every female in the room had latched onto the male nearest them and was... swooning similar to
Hermione: Molly had grabbed onto Arthur; Tonks to Remus; Luna, Ron; and Ginny had captured Neville.
As he looked around the room, Harry noticed that *all* of the detained males (except Arthur)
were similarly looking around the room, all wearing the same looks of awkwardness, terror, and, was
it possible, hope?

Whatever the actual feelings of the four now-captured but officially uncommitted males, once
they all realized they were all in the same awkward position in the middle of the Weasleys’ living
room, they all shared a smile that was ‘guy’ for *“I won’t laugh at you if don’t laugh at
me.”*

* * * Flashback to earlier that afternoon * * *

*Neville. Neville Longbottom.*

Ginny Weasley had to say his name to herself several times as she considered him. She was almost
absolutely positive he fancied her. Just two weeks earlier, she wouldn’t have even given him a
first thought. To be fair however, she really wouldn’t have given anyone much more than a first or
second thought.

It had always been Harry. If she was honest with herself (and for the first time in her life,
she was), her little dalliances with Michael and Dean had merely been something to hold herself
over until the day when the Boy Who Lived would notice her. A little fun, maybe even a snog or two,
but nothing more.

But then came her “day of awakening.” Yes, it was corny, but that’s what she decided to call it.
It was the day in which she realized that the Boy Who Lived wasn’t going to come in and sweep her
off her feet, like in that song Hermione seemed to like so much. She knew this because it was the
day she finally realized that ‘the Boy Who Lived’ didn’t exist.

It was just a title, given to a baby named Harry Potter... a boy she finally realized she really
didn’t know all that very well. That brought her back to Neville. She actually did know him pretty
well. He’d taken her to the Yule Ball back in third year, something for which, at the time, she was
grateful to him for no other reason than because she wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise.

She *was* looking forward to going to the dance, but her enthusiasm didn’t overflow onto
her date. It wasn’t that she was *unhappy* about going with Neville, she just lacked
enthusiasm about going with him. She just didn’t really know him. He was just this shy, quiet,
slightly pudgy little boy who was her ticket in the door.

But then she started actually talking to him.

It was the weirdest thing. He hardly said two words to her through the first two dances. At
first, she thought he was staring at her chest, which on some insecure level she found flattering,
but then she realized he was just staring at his feet: he was counting his steps. His focus was so
intent that it looked as though he’d been practicing this for quite a while.

After he stepped on her foot for the fourth time, she decided he hadn’t been practicing enough.
If he went for number five, she was out of there... even if it meant she had to leave the ball.

In one last ditch effort, Ginny decided to try actually talking to him. His silently mouthed
*“one, two, three, four,”* had done nothing to liven the moment. She hoped that if she could
distract him with a real conversation, maybe he’d stop moving all together. Her feet would
certainly thank her for that.

Ginny got his attention by telling him that “my eyes are up here.” After looking up at her, he
quickly assumed she thought he was looking elsewhere. This of course caused him to immediately look
directly at her chest in reflex. He then flushed bright red and stammered out an apology.

Once she was actually able to engage him in a real conversation, he suddenly focused all of his
attention onto her. At first this was noteworthy only because his dancing actually improved greatly
once he stopped *thinking* about it and just *did* it (because of his earlier
practice).

But then something strange happened, It soon dawned upon Ginny that he *was* focusing all
of his attention on her.

As far as she could remember, no one had ever done that before. Even though she was the
youngest, and the only female of seven children, *and* the first born-female Weasley in what
seemed like forever, Ginny had never been the sole focus of anyone’s attention. It was simply not
possible in a family of that size.

And then... there the two of them were, waltzing around the Great Hall, and Ginny felt like the
only girl in the room. Not because *Neville* was looking at her, but because Neville was
looking at *her*.

Once he’d forgotten about counting steps and dipping and twirling, Ginny managed to get him to
start talking. She was amazed. She knew he was quiet and shy, but once she got him started, he just
did not stop. He just seemed to need a little encouragement. She wondered, was this the same little
boy whom she saw flinch whenever Draco or Snape entered the Great Hall for a meal?

The truly amazing thing was that all throughout the dance, Ginny found herself unable to tear
herself away from him. She’d gotten several requests to cut in (even one from a hunky-looking
seventh year), but each time a request came, by chance Neville was at a point in whatever he’d been
talking about where she felt unable to leave his story incomplete.

“Maybe next song,” she would tell them, distracted. Who would have believed a story about a
plant could actually be funny? Neville, obviously, for his anecdotes were, to be direct, *not*
a waste of her time.

By the time the end of the dance arrived, Ginny realized that she’d spent the entire evening
with Neville. It had certainly not been the evening she had envisioned; it certainly was not the
evening she would have chosen.

To be honest, if after the dance she’d been given the chance to go back and relive the evening
but instead land Harry as her date, she would have. Neville was a lot like Harry in certain ways,
but he was, after all, not THE Harry Potter. Nevertheless, she *had* enjoyed herself that
night, dare she say it, with Neville.

When they finally did decide to call it a night (they were some of the last dozen or so to
finally leave), the two of them silently walked up to the tower together. There *was* a
friendly distance separating them, but they did walk together, side by side the entire way. It only
seemed polite after all... walking back to their common room with him, rather than running off on
her own.

Once they finally reached the staircases that separated the boys’ and girls’ dormitories, Ginny
thanked him for a “nice” evening, and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek. In all honestly,
having passed no less that eight couples mid-snog on their way up, it really would have been
impossible to not do so otherwise.

Besides, it really was only a friendly, I-had-a-nice-time-but-don’t-expect-anything-more
kiss.

At the time.

And she really did think it funny, but strange, that he started humming one of the waltzes from
that evening as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory.

Two years later, she kissed him again: a sweet sixteen snog.

The dying ember that still pined for the Boy Who Lived would have preferred that kiss be awkward
and gross. It would not be the last time it would be disappointed. There weren’t fireworks (for
her, at least). There wasn’t a magical shock that connected them. But it *was* pleasant
enough.

When Neville stepped away, Ginny could see how downright loopy he looked; he nearly even fell
over. Michael or Dean never looked like that! And Dean was the one eager to take things “to the
next level.” What exactly “the next level” was after two weeks of dating, she did not know, but she
wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to find out. It was a good thing she’d already decided to actively
(and directly) pursue Harry again. If she hadn’t, she might have taken Dean up on *some* of
his advances, if for no other reason that to try to make Harry jealous.

As the party progressed, no matter how hard she tried, Ginny could not stop thinking about how
Neville had reacted to the snog. To be perfectly honest, she felt he looked like she imagined she
did whenever she was around Harry the four years previous.

Was it possible? *Does Neville fancy me?* she wondered.

*Of course he does,* the snide voice (that thought of itself as Super!Ginny) in the back of
her mind replied. *Who wouldn’t fancy you? Who COULDN’T fancy you?* This voice of course had
always the strongest proponent for chasing after the Boy Who Lived. It was, therefore, a voice
Ginny had begin to tune out ever since she heard her brother attack her mum with the love potion
incident.

Super!Ginny haughtily asked who couldn’t fancy her. Real-Ginny knew the answer: Harry. And while
she was not overjoyed by that fact, she now knew she could live with it.

And it was a good thing too, for that voice was soon getting to the point where it was beginning
to consider more... *elaborate* ideas. All it was really looking for was *a little something
to get Harry’s attention*.

The part of Ginny that realized Harry was Harry James Potter, and not the Boy Who Lived, thought
back to what she felt she really wanted in a boyfriend. She wanted a second Harry, someone who was
everything good that Harry was, but just wasn’t the Boy Who Lived... because that was the only way
she’d ever known Harry ever since she’d been old enough to be told the tale of... the Boy Who
Lived.

And then it hit her. Of all the boys she knew, and she knew a lot of them (in passing, because
they *all* knew her... something about redheads with long, silky, flowing hair), if there was
one of them who most embodied Harry, it *was* Neville. She suppressed a laugh; she’d even said
as much two years earlier after the Yule Ball.

Over the years, the pro-Harry voice all-too-frequently heralded the famous teen wizard for
saving her life back in first year. As she thought back on it, Ginny could not help but notice it
had curiously stopped promoting that fact after her trip to the Department of Mysteries back in
June.

Ginny felt the answer was obvious: if saving her life was all that was necessary for her to
fancy someone, the voice certainly didn’t want to remind her of Neville’s actions before they left
for the Ministry. True, he didn’t save her life as such, but he certainly *had* come rushing
to her rescue from the members of the Inquisitor Squad.

Even to this day, many months later, she could still hear clearly in her mind Neville’s voice
shouting out her name in shock from the other end of the corridor. Nothing had sounded so sweet to
her ears as him screaming, *“LET GO OF HER, YOU BASTARD!”* as he ran down the hall, towards
her and her captor.

She recalled with a slight wince as Warrington did exactly as he was asked: he passed her off to
a large Slytherin girl she didn’t recognize and stuck out his beefy arm. He then proceeded to
viciously clothesline the charging Neville (not that she knew that particular maneuver was called
clotheslining).

As Ginny stood next to her mum watching her brother continually cycle from ecstatic to
despondent as he talked to her quirky Ravenclaw friend, she knew what she wanted: a boy who was all
the good things Harry was, but was also something that Harry *wasn’t*... a boy who fancied
*her*.

It also had not escaped her attention that Neville had apparently gone out of his way to find
out what she wanted for her birthday. Now, there was nothing *wrong* with what Harry had given
her. But honestly, to give a girl the exact same thing as what another girl (whom she’d considered
competition) had given him a few years early? Could anyone *be* any more un-original, or
un-romantic?

Well... except maybe for Ron. Chocolate frogs, while not unwelcome (chocolate was a girl’s best
friend after all, right after diamonds), were certainly not *un*expected. But Neville’s
present *was* entirely unexpected (from him), and EXACTLY what she wanted.

Ginny had come full circle and was back to where she started: saying Neville’s name to
herself.

Did she fancy Neville? *Could* she fancy Neville? She liked him as a friend, to be sure,
but could there be *more?* There was only one way to know: talk to him, spend some time with
him, and find out.

But first, she had to find Neville. And think of a reason to talk to him. *And* discreetly
figure out what her mum thought about him. Things would be so much easier if her mum approved of
him. While Ginny was *mostly* certain she would date whomever she wanted, regardless of what
her mother said, she wasn’t yet ready to waste a perfectly good, potential boyfriend to test that
theory out.

With perfect timing, Arnold, her newly named Pygmy Puff, squeaked from his box. She’d asked her
mum to perform a gender charm so she could name it properly. Not that she would want to, but one
couldn’t perform a “visual inspection” on something like a puffskein to determine gender. How the
critters figured it out for themselves, she didn’t want to know.

Arnold’s announcement that he was now awake gave her the perfect excuse. She didn’t know what
she was supposed to do to take care of it. As much as she had wanted a puffskein, she never did
bother to find out what kind of maintenance was involved before asking for one.

Where *was* Neville? She looked around the room. Both he and Harry seemed to be missing.
Craning her neck to look into the kitchen, she saw Harry with his back to her, talking to someone
just out of sight.

Ginny smirked to herself. Even if she had moved on from Harry, she could still admire the view.
She had to admit: if there was anything good about Harry having spent the last few weeks at
Hermione’s house, it was that he’d obviously, finally gotten himself a decent wardrobe. The jeans
in particular...

*Bloody hell,* Ginny said to herself. While the ones he was wearing now were *okay*,
the ones he had on back at his birthday party were certainly much more flattering. Shaking her head
before the snide voice took too much interest in what he was wearing, Ginny started to head for the
kitchen.

*“Neville?”* she sang out in a sing-song voice, a slight bounce in her step.

* * * End Flashback * * *

It was soon time for Harry and Hermione to return home. Bill and Fleur, along with Charlie and
Percy, had headed off to Diagon Alley to get a head start on moving boxes. As Luna hugged Ginny
goodbye, a very grouchy Ron stomped up the stairs to his room. Luna then came over to Harry and
Hermione.

“Please tell your owls that I wish them congratulations,” Luna said to them as she came up. “I
must admit I was very confused when I first met Metis. He seemed so protective of Hedwig from
Pigwidgeon at Harry’s party that I immediately felt he was male. But when you called him a ‘her,’
it confused me to no end. It was worse that trying to figure out what happened to all of the
Heliopaths now that Minister Fudge is gone.”

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. They shared a
small smile.

“Erm, Luna?” Hermione then asked. “Didn’t you say you had a reference book on birds?”

“Oh, yes!” Luna exclaimed excitedly. “Daddy just loves birds. We have several just about owls,
even. Would you like to borrow them while we are away?” Hermione smiled and nodded. Harry hid a
smirk. Finally, Hermione and Luna had something they could talk about, if only for a moment:
books.

“Will either you be staying here much longer tonight?” Luna asked Hermione. Hermione glanced in
Harry’s direction; he shrugged his shoulders.

“No, we’ll be leaving soon,” Hermione replied.

“I’ll send it off as soon as I get home. I do have a question for the both of you, if you don’t
mind?” Luna then asked. “You both arrived here by Knight Bus this morning? And you arrived at
Harry’s party by Portkey, correct?”

Harry and Hermione shared a nervous glance. Fidelius or no, could or would Luna figure out their
living arrangements?

“I was just wondering, did either of you feel lost at Harry’s party? I was told when the Portkey
was delivered that I couldn’t be told where I was going. While I accepted the answer, as soon as I
arrived, I immediately felt isolated somehow, like I was cut off from the rest of the world. Did
either of you feel like that?”

Now was definitely a time to not say anything about Grimmauld Place, assuming they even had a
choice in the matter. As it was, in this unique situation, they told the truth as completely *as
they could*.

“No,” they replied together. They didn’t feel cut off, as they knew exactly where they were;
they just couldn’t tell her that.

“Hmm. I think I would very much like to go there again, to study that feeling. I think it would
make a wonderful article in *The Quibbler*, don’t you think? ‘My Trip to Nowhere,’” Luna
mused, sounding excited.

She then abruptly changed topics. “Have either of you seen Ronald?”

“I think he went upstairs a minute ago,” Harry replied.

“Of course,” Luna said simply. “I did notice he was drinking a lot of pumpkin juice today. Maybe
I could help him out.”

Both Harry and Hermione stared at Luna, eyes wide and jaws dropped in shock.

“I’m sure if he ate a little food, the liquids wouldn’t go through him so quickly. I wouldn’t
want to disturb him, however, so perhaps you could tell him for me?” the Ravenclaw asked Harry.

“Erm, I think I’ll wait for him to get out first,” Harry said awkwardly, even though he doubted
Ron was actually in the bathroom.

“Oh, okay then,” Luna said indifferently, as though she wouldn’t have thought it odd if Harry
had gone in to deliver her message while Ron was using the facilities. She then took a moment and
looked longingly upstairs.

“Would you tell Ronald that I said goodbye?” she asked Harry. “Daddy and I are leaving for
Sweden tomorrow, and we won’t be back until the thirty-first.” Harry nodded.

Luna then turned towards Hermione. “You’re welcome to keep the books until I get back. If you
don’t mind, you can return it to me on the train back to school.”

And then as quickly as that, Luna turned and then walked out the door, heading back home.

“Okay then...” Harry said as he blinked several times at the suddenness of her departure.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, I suppose I ought to go deliver Luna’s message, doncha think?” Harry said with a
grin.

“As long as he’s not in the bathroom,” Hermione said with wink.

“Yeah, I’ll let her handle that one.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, then shook her head, smiling.

* * *

Harry walked into Ron’s room and found Mr. Cheerful standing in front of his window with his
arms folded. Harry slowly walked up to him.

“Hey,” Harry said quietly; Ron jumped.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron wheezed as he caught his breath. “You could give a bloke a heart attack
like that.”

“I just wanted to let you know we’re leaving soon,” Harry told his friend. Ron nodded absently,
still looking out the window. A few moments later, he let out a sigh, then turned and went to lie
down on his bed.

Harry went over and stood where Ron had been and looked out the window. Ron’s window overlooked
the road into town. Harry was just in time to see a head of blonde hair disappear behind a small
hill in the road.

“Everything all right, mate?” Harry asked.

Ron sat and thought about it for about ten seconds. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s just the timing of it
all sucks.”

Harry remembered what he’d overheard Ron saying earlier. “Luna lives right up the road from you,
you move back, and now she’s leaving?”

Ron lifted his head to stare at Harry with a look of having been caught, though this time he
didn’t at all look embarrassed. He then put his head back down on his pillow.

“Merlin help me, but I think I’m actually starting to like her,” Ron said as he stared at the
ceiling.

“She asked me to come up and say goodbye for her,” Harry added.

A smile began to appear on Ron’s face. “She did?” he asked hopefully.

“Yep,” Harry replied. “But I really think she would’ve rather said goodbye in person.” Even with
Ron lying down, Harry could see his eyes shoot wide open. He leapt up off his bed and rushed over
to the window. Harry managed to step out of the way just in time, even though he knew Luna was
already long gone.

“Damn it,” Ron muttered to himself, then trudged back to his bed, flopping down.

“Why didn’t you just stay downstairs with the rest of us?” Harry asked. “You wouldn’t have
missed her then.”

“I don’t know. I was just mad, I suppose.” Ron then let out a little laugh at himself. “Yeah,
imagine that... me, Ron, sulking. I was just feeling sorry for myself, I suppose. We’ve been
writing each other, you know?” Harry figured as much.

“It’s strange how you can get to know someone, just by writing to each other. You know, she’s
really not that bad once you get to know her,” Ron said matter-of-factly, as if he was cluing Harry
in on the biggest secret in the world.

Harry smiled slightly. He remembered a similar discussion back at his birthday party with Ron
along the same lines, though it seemed as though Ron had forgotten.

“I mean, she just looks at the world differently, and once you accept her for that, she can be
quite interesting. I really don’t think she actually expects me to believe much of what she says,
but as long as you just listen to her and then just let her believe what she does, she seems happy
with that.

“Although,” Ron then added with a small grin, “I do have to admit, some of her ideas about the
management of a couple of the pro Quidditch teams are pretty... complex. I, uh, was actually hoping
to get a chance to debate some of them with her.” Ron’s face suddenly darkened. “But *then*
she had to go to *Sweden,*” he added sulkily.

Harry realized then that Ron had been caught off-guard by the timing of her Snorkack holiday.
“But didn’t you know when she was going?” he asked Ron. “I mean, if you’ve been writing to each
other, wouldn’t you have known that she was leaving?”

“We never really got around to talking about that,” Ron admitted, now starting to get a little
pink around the edges. Harry decided to spare him any further embarrassment by not pursuing that
topic any further. Something did stick out in his mind, however.

“Well, if you’re going to discuss her Quidditch theories, just keep Cho Chang in mind, all
right?” Harry asked.

“Huh?”

“Just remember that there is a fine line between debating and *arguing*,” Harry reminded
him. “I doubt Cho will *ever* talk to *you* about the Tornadoes again.”

Ron looked guilty. “Oh yeah, right,” he said. A semi-horrified look then suddenly appeared on
his face. Somehow Harry was willing to bet that it had something to do with the idea of Luna never
talking to him again. “Oh... *right*...” Ron then whispered to himself.

Harry then put on a cheery face. “So! Are you going to come say goodbye to me, or are you going
to spend the rest of the day lying in bed, moping?”

Ron sat up in his bed. “Oh, are you two leaving?” He’d obviously not been paying attention when
Harry first walked in the room.

“Yeah, I figured we probably should be getting back soon. Hermione’s mum and dad wanted to have
a little chat with us about Hedwig and Metis,” Harry explained.

Ron got up and went over to Harry, clapping him on the shoulder consolingly. “Rotten luck on
that, mate.”

Now that he’d seemed to have gotten over the ‘our owls had sex’ thing, Harry didn’t at all see
what was so rotten about the whole thing. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kinda neat, really. Life
goes on, even in war. You know, just like with your brother and Fleur.”

Ron’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “Blimey, mate. She’s going to be my sister-in-law soon.
Wouldn’t have minded bumping into her on my way to the shower in the morning,” he said
dreamily.

“Yeah, well, you make sure you’re covered up first thing in the morning. If *she* sees you
like that, I’m sure you’ll have Bill to deal with.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron realized. While he certainly did not at all mind looking at Fleur, and to be
honest, had even had a fantasy or two (or three dozen) about her, he certainly did not want to
inflict himself upon her, even accidentally. It was bad enough those two times when he had to
listen to Ginny screech at him about how she’d been blinded. If there was an accident with Fleur,
somehow he suspected it wouldn’t be his eyeballs at which his brother’s hexes were aimed.

“Either that, or she’ll just start laughing at you,” Harry immediately teased in typical best
friend fashion.

“OY! Watch it, mate!” Ron warned in good humor. “You better be careful yourself. One of these
days Hermione is going to burst in on you one morning while Mister Happy is still up and about.
Good luck explaining *that* to her.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’d figure something out,” Harry replied evasively. *Actually, she’d explain it
to me!* he added to himself. A puzzled grin then began to appear.

“Mister Happy?” Harry asked; Ron immediately turned bright red. *“Mister Happy?”*

“Oh, come on, like you haven’t given him a name,” Ron defended.

“I bloody well have NOT!” Harry assured him, trying not to laugh.

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were soon standing outside the Burrow, ready to depart. As Harry
glanced at Remus, Tonks, and Neville’s minder standing by the road (he still did not know the man’s
name; he certainly was not Mr. Conversation), he suddenly realized something.

“Don’t you and Ginny have someone watching you?” he asked Ron.

“Yeah, but they only come when we need to go out somewhere,” Ron explained. “We’ve been so busy
going back and forth here and there with the moving that we haven’t had a chance to go out anywhere
else.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry realized, embarrassed. Just then, he heard more gnome chatter from the
overgrown fields completely surrounding the farm. Ron turned his head in the direction of the sound
as well.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry,” Ron complained. “Me, Dad, Charlie, and Percy all spent three hours
yesterday trying to de-gnome the house and just this small area that we cut down. They’d completely
taken over *everything!* The little blighters even managed to get inside the house while we
were gone. Fortunately there was nothing for them to eat in there, but oh what a mess they
make.

“It’s a good thing Ginny and I can use magic now. Mum had to call Fred and George over after
work yesterday so we could get their wands too. We’re all experts at Confounding gnomes now,” Ron
said, shaking his head.

He then lowered his voice. “Mum even found one hiding in her china cupboard. I bet you even Luna
heard that. She’s now started looking for a more *permanent* way of reducing their numbers...
at least enough to get them down to more manageable numbers like before we left. I even heard her
complaining about how the grass cutting charm only cuts grass.”

Ron then pointed around them at nearly two dozen spots where the grass was several inches
taller. “See all those? That’s where there were gnomes when Dad cast the charm.”

“Goodbye, Hermione,” Ginny said, hugging her friend. “Thanks for coming, and thanks for the
quill.” She then turned to Harry.

“Thanks for the broomstick kit, Harry,” she said as she gave him a polite hug. Neville, already
flushing from merely the idea that he might get a hug, was next.

“Thank you SO much for Arnold, Neville,” Ginny said as she gave him a great big hug. She then
gave him a kiss on the cheek as she grabbed hold of his arm to keep him from moving, or falling
over. “I’m really sorry we missed your birthday party,” she said as she stepped back slightly, then
moved to stand next to him as her parents came up. She did all of this without letting go of his
arm (she was curious to see how she felt about, and how he reacted to, her touching him).

Neville, for his part, looked as though he had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he
certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Thank you all for coming,” Molly gushed as she gave Harry and Hermione hugs (Neville didn’t at
all feel left out in not getting a hug; he knew the two of them were much closer to the family than
he was). “Don’t be strangers,” she told them. “Send an owl if you can’t send yourselves.” Ginny
finally let go of Neville.

Right as they were about to head for the road to catch the Knight Bus, Arthur pulled Harry
aside. “The next time you come over, if you could bring a little more of that... soda pop, I’d be
in your debt. I’ve only managed to get one from Ron.”

“I will,” Harry promised with a smile.

As they walked towards the road, Hermione quickly pulled out some money to pay the bus fare back
to Wandsworth. She wasn’t trying to “even the score” with Harry; she just wanted to treat this
time. She also wanted to give Stan an extra tip to make sure the bus stopped at her house when
there were no other passengers, so they could put Harry’s Invisibility Cloak back on without anyone
seeing them.

With a *BANG!*, the Knight Bus appeared a few minutes later. The three teens and three
Aurors climbed aboard and all found seats on ground deck. At this time in the afternoon, there
weren’t nearly as many people aboard as in the morning. All in all, the return trip back took about
as long as the first one. The smaller number of witches and wizards aboard was offset by the
increased number of stops necessary to ensure they were alone when they disembarked. Remus and
Tonks remained on the bus to head back to wherever they were going.

On the ride back, Remus had asked Harry if he minded if he used Grimmauld Place the following
week: the full moon was in a few days. Harry immediately agreed, then asked him if he would be
staying there afterwards... just as he had been prior to the Weasleys moving in.

Remus cast a quick glance at Tonks and became embarrassed again. He said he really hadn’t
thought that far ahead yet. He then said he’d think about it. Harry was pretty sure that meant
no.

Still under the safety of the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione was surprised when the front door
didn’t open when she turned her key in the doorknob. It took a second to realize that the deadbolt
was locked. Unlocking it, she opened the door to find her parents stretched out on the sofa looking
extremely comfortable.

Dan and Emma looked in their direction as the door opened. They weren’t even surprised when the
two teenagers suddenly appeared out of nowhere from beneath the cloak.

“Why was the deadbolt locked?” Hermione asked, curious but unconcerned.

Dan and Emma shared a look. Hermione obviously (thankfully) had no idea just how relaxed... how
truly *sated* they were, and why the lock was really locked. “Oh, must have just locked it out
of habit,” Emma quickly answered as if it were unimportant.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement; she herself had done the exact same thing all the time...
locked the deadbolt out of habit, that is.

Emma waved her hand towards the loveseat; Harry and Hermione sat down. “Did you two enjoy
yourselves today?” she asked.

Both teens agreed. They certainly had... once they’d “straightened” a few things out.

“We looked in on your owls this morning,” Dan said.

“Uh huh,” Hermione replied hesitantly.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Dan commented. “Out here in the Muggle world, no one knows that a war is
brewing. Inside, I can only imagine *what* is going on. And yet amongst all of that, well, as
Ian Malcolm would say, ‘Life finds a way.’”

“*Jurassic Park*,” Hermione whispered to Harry.

“I remember that,” Harry teased.

“I know I said we’d talk about this later,” Emma reminded them, “but is there really anything
you think we still need to talk about?” she asked. She and Dan were pretty certain this incident
would have the sobering effect they hoped it would, so they didn’t really feel the need to discuss
that.

Harry and Hermione both felt that they’d settled everything that needed settling standing out by
the tree (except what to do about Hogwarts’ one animal rule), so they didn’t think anything else
needed discussion.

“No, I think we’re okay,” Hermione answered. “Luna will be sending over a few books on owls
later today, so I’m hoping that will address any... technical questions we might have about what’s
to come.”

“You guys might want to consider a larger cage now,” Dan pointed out. Even from where he’d been
standing in Harry’s room earlier, he could see that Hedwig’s cage certainly was not designed for
her to be sitting on the bottom rather than her perch. It certainly was not designed for two...
soon to be three.

“You’re right,” Hermione observed, then turned to Harry. “Shall we do a little redecorating,
*Dad*?” she asked Harry jokingly.

“Need to make room for a growing family, *Mum,*” he joked back. As the two headed upstairs
chuckling at their new nicknames, the adults were pleased to hear the two teens seem to eager to
tackle such an important responsibility... *especially* since they weren’t doing it for
real... meaning Harry and Hermione were the “grandparents,” and not Dan and Emma.

“Just think of it as practice for when their time comes,” Dan whispered into Emma’s ear once
Harry and Hermione had gone upstairs.

“Yes, well, some things you can’t practice for,” Emma whispered back. “Hermione certainly wasn’t
the size of an egg when I had to hatch her,” she joked.

“Oh, I remember,” Dan added. “You nearly broke the bones in my hand on that last push.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?” Emma asked as she snuggled deeper into Dan’s arms.

“Yeah, it was,” he replied as he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

* * *

After surveying the layout of Harry’s bedroom, Hermione went to fetch Metis’s cage from her
room. After setting the entire stack of his fifth-year books on the floor out of the way, she
decided to set up a new, larger cage on his desk. Since they’d been doing all of their homework
downstairs together anyway, he’d never really even used his desk yet. He hadn’t even *looked*
at the stack of his old books since returning from his birthday party since they’d managed to get
that part of their homework done early.

After expanding Metis’s old cage to nearly three times as large, Hermione decided to wait until
Luna’s books arrived before moving Hedwig, so she could know how to “decorate” the cage to make it
more like it would be out in the wild.

While Hermione was expanding the cage, Harry had sat down on his bed. He immediately heard the
sound of parchment crumpling beneath him. He stood up, pulled back the sheets, and found something
he’d never seen before... something he didn’t even know existed.

He’d read about three-quarters of it before he found his voice again. “Personal Health for All
Third-Year Witches?” Harry asked as he continued to read. Hermione immediately spun around, looking
wide-eyed at his discovery.

“Give me that, Harry,” Hermione asked abruptly as she started to reach for it.

“What is this?” he asked, holding it just out of her reach. For once, Hermione cursed the fact
that Harry was taller than her.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione lied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Harry pointed out as he looked up at the sheet he was holding
high above his head where she couldn’t get it.

“Intimate relations.... contraception spells, the Paternus charm,” he read off, “where did all
of this come from?” he asked. He’d mercifully not read aloud anything from the anatomy and hygiene
sections, though he did find them extremely interesting *strictly* from an academic standpoint
(honestly! Where would he have learned about that kind of thing prior to now?).

“Please, Harry, give that back to me,” Hermione asked again, quietly this time. Seeing that she
truly wanted it back from him and was not just saying it for the sake of saying it, he immediately
gave it to her.

“What is that from?” he asked again, however.

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds. “How much of it did you read?” she asked.

“Most of it,” he admitted.

Since the figurative cat was out of the bag now, Hermione decided it would just be easier in the
long run to tell him.

“Basically, it’s sex ed for witches,” Hermione admitted. Harry looked surprised.

“When did they teach that?!” he asked in shock.

“Third year, Harry,” Hermione reminded him. He looked slightly guilty that he’d forgotten so
quickly.

“Where was *I* during all of this?” he asked, sounding offended at being left out of the
loop. “Or was this one more form my aunt and uncle *didn’t* sign?”

“No, it’s only for witches,” Hermione explained.

“Why?” Harry complained. “Don’t you think I should know about that too?”

“Why? Are you planning on getting someone pregnant?” Hermione joked. When the words left her
mouth, she’d said it hoping to lighten the moment. But at the same time, a tiny part of her felt a
little defensive and jealous. Why *did* Harry want to know about *that* too?

“No, of course not,” he replied. “It’s just that... well,” he said as he glanced in the
direction of Hedwig and Metis, “that if I was going to be *intimate* with someone, I would
think I was just as responsible to know about... *that kind of stuff* as the girl was.” He
started blushing.

“Oh, Harry, I could just kiss you for that!” Hermione exclaimed. “I know we’ve never... that
*none* of us have really ever talked about... had a frank discussion about sex, but it makes
me so proud of you to know that you actually care about being responsible.

“Unfortunately, wizarding society as a whole does not agree with you. This is something that is
taught only to the girls. It’s just like at school. They trust me to come up to your room, but they
don’t trust you to come up to my room.”

“Hey, I’m trustworthy!” Harry defended jokingly.

“Yes, I know *you* are, but can you say the same thing about *all* of the boys at
school?” Harry quickly shook his head. “Imagine if every boy knew just how easy it was to prevent
pregnancy.”

“But...”

“At least this way, they don’t know, so *in theory*, it would make them more cautious. The
saying is, ‘it takes two to tango.’ As long as all the girls know... when a boy and a girl... well,
at least one of them knows.”

“But...” Harry tried to say again.

“Trust me, Harry. I really don’t agree with that either. Knowledge is power, and in this case,
knowledge is responsibility. But, it is the way it is.”

“Well, I *still* think they should teach us that stuff,” Harry insisted. “If guys knew just
what was involved in being responsible, it might make them more responsible about being
responsible.” He then stopped for a second to replay that sentence in his mind. He nodded to
himself once he was sure it made sense.

“Well, you know, Harry,” Hermione said casually, ready to unleash her wit again, “reproductive
magic is an important topic. Since I’m campaigning for elf rights, maybe you could campaign for
this. I’m sure if it came from the Chosen One, people would listen.”

“Erm...” Harry said, not sure of what else to say.

“I have S.P.E.W. You could start your own group. We could call it the Society for the Promotion
of... of... Equitable Reproductive Magic.” Hermione could no longer stop smiling.

“Yeah, and I’m sure it would be very popular,” she continued. “Everyone knows me as the
*spew* girl, so you could be the...”

“You know what?” Harry cut her off. “Let’s work on one campaign at a time. We’ll focus our
attention on S.P.E.W.,” he said making absolutely sure to spell out each letter, “and then we’ll go
from there. In the mean time, I’ll just trust you to perform the contraception charm.”

Hermione’s eyebrow rose.

“Erm... eh... uh...” Harry spluttered. “You know what I meant!”

“Yeah, Harry, I DO know what you meant,” she said. A few silent moments later, they both finally
began to laugh.

* * *

Later than afternoon, Harry and Hermione decided to have another go at throwing off the
Imperius. Both felt bolstered by their performances the previous evening, so they wanted to try
again, to be sure. They also decided to up the ante by increasing their risk if they failed.

After Dan again fetched the metal stepladder (after reluctantly putting down Harry’s cloak; he’d
been amusing himself with it for most of the afternoon), the two of them returned downstairs with
two valued possessions this time: two stuffed animals for Hermione and the Firebolt and crystal
chess set for Harry.

Harry went first this time. Again, because he knew what voice to listen for, he was able to
throw off several different commands, each on his first attempt. When it was Hermione’s turn,
however, she struggled at first but finally succeeded in throwing the curse off without dropping
her wand.

After a few minutes of rest, she made her second attempt. While still not as fast as Harry, she
was able to throw it off more quickly this time. Also, on this attempt, she noticed how Harry still
staggered slightly afterwards from his exertion due to the extended duration Imperius.

On her third time, Hermione decided to try something. The warm sound of Harry’s voice of warning
countermanding the hollow-Harry voice gave her the strength to throw the curse off immediately. She
intentionally did not, however.

Rather than breaking the link, she continued to struggle with the voice for several minutes.
When she was able to hear his voice weaken slightly (the hollow sound made it almost seem drowsy),
she then threw off the curse with all of her strength. Because she had been toying with “it” the
entire time, she really hadn’t tired much at all.

Harry, on the other hand, *had* been fighting against Hermione’s will the entire time.
*He* didn’t know she was just dragging things out. He was actually beginning to worry that she
was going to fail this time. When she finally did expel him, Harry started to fall back just as he
had the very first time he’d done this the day before. Just as before, Dan moved to catch him.

This was exactly what Hermione had been waiting for.

Quickly drawing her wand, she immediately stunned Harry. Dan had been so surprised by the ray of
red light that shot towards Harry (and him) that he instinctively let go of the now-unconscious
teen and jumped back, like a person might after dropping a sharp knife.

Harry fell to the floor with a painful sounding *THUD!* It was a good thing he was already
unconscious.

“DAD!”/“DAN!” came the simultaneous shouts from Hermione and Emma.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Dan chanted to Harry’s unconscious body as it lie on the
floor. Hermione ran over and kneeled down behind him, cradling his head in her lap. She glared
angrily up at her father. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he kept repeating.

Hermione began to run her fingers across the back of Harry’s head to see if he’d hurt himself
upon begin *dropped by her father!* She scowled up at him again.

Fortunately Hermione had only stunned Harry lightly, so he woke up a couple minutes later. He
came to with a dull throb in the back of his head, which was being offset by a most wondrous
feeling: fingers (that were not his own) gently massaging his scalp. He’d done this countless times
before when tired or in pain, but when it was someone else’s fingers, it felt a hundred times
better. The feelings caused him to actually shudder with pleasure before opening his eyes.

When he opened his eyes and saw Hermione looking down at him, he was glad he hadn’t opened his
eyes earlier. If he had, his shudder... well, never mind.

After Harry had assured everyone he was all right (and accepted Dan’s fifteen apologies), he
decided it might also be a good idea to do a brief review on the Patronus Charm. Partly because the
Headmaster had suggested it, and partly because it had been on his mind ever since Hermione
mentioned the Paternus Charm.

Hermione briefly explained to her parents what a Patronus was and how it was used while Harry
cleared the room to make more space. He moved his and Hermione’s possessions off to the side,
setting them on one of the steps of the staircase. Perhaps because it just looked strange the other
way, Harry set the two stuffed animals down so they were facing out, as if looking into the living
room. He then shrank down all of the furniture and bookcases in the room; he shrank everything
except the entertainment center.

While the Grangers’ television, VCR, and stereo all worked in the vicinity of Harry and
Hermione’s magic, neither he nor she was willing to test what would happen if either of them
actually performed a spell on said device.

It was not merely the *presence* but rather the *concentration* of magic that created
havoc with electronics. *“There’s too much magic in the air,”* Hermione said once about
Hogwarts in fourth year. That was why Remus and Tonks’ mobile phones worked in places like Diagon
Alley. It was an everyday sort of destination for shopping and dining, so magic wasn’t constantly
being used there to the extent it was in other places like Hogwarts, St. Mungo’s, or the Ministry
building. It was also why electricity worked in Muggle/wizard villages like Godric’s Hollow.

Fortunately with everything else from the room reduced to dollhouse size and placed in the
kitchen (Dan and Emma laughed when they saw everything sitting on the kitchen table), Harry felt
there was enough room. It wasn’t as large as the Room of Requirement, but then again there were
only two of them this time. Dan and Emma stood in the kitchen and watched.

Once they were certain all of the curtains were tightly closed, Harry and Hermione stood in
front of the television, to ensure the Patronuses were cast away from the electronics, just to be
safe. With just the two of them, the “magic in the air” was quite low (at least the magical kind of
“magic in the air”). But should they perform a spell *on* the television, or into it, the
concentration would effectively be one hundred per cent. Harry was comfortably wealthy, but it
didn’t mean he wanted to waste money on a new television simply because he’d been careless.

“Ready?” Harry asked.

“Ready,” Hermione replied.

Harry closed his eyes and remembered how he felt waking up with Hermione in his arms. Meanwhile,
Hermione closed her eyes and remembered how she felt waking up in Harry’s arms.

*“Expecto Patronum!”* both cried out simultaneously.

All four people in the room were momentarily blinded by the surge of brilliant light that
flooded the room. When it had faded enough, Harry was finally able to see the stag form of his
Patronus walking around the Grangers’ living room, looking as though it was inspecting its
surroundings. He could not help but grin as he saw Hermione’s otter gamboling around the room.

It playfully waddled around in circles around Dan and Emma’s legs. Emma, unable to resist,
kneeled down to try to touch it. Although it appeared transparent, she gasped in surprise when her
fingers made contact.

“It feels like real fur,” Emma said as she stood up and looked at her hand in awe.

“It does?” Hermione asked.

“You seem surprised,” Dan astutely observed.

“Well, we didn’t really study this spell in class. It was more of an extra-curricular activity,”
she explained. “The book I read said that Patronuses took on different traits depending on their
strength.

“A weak one is just a nondescript shape, like a silver mist. Even stronger is one that takes a
corporeal shape, but is just an image. It has no substance,” she explained, as if quoting from a
book. “Next is one an image that has a nondescript substance, as if you were touching fog, or maybe
even water.

“*An even more powerful Patronus,*” she emphasized, “has true corporeal form and substance,
but no mass. It looks and feels at first touch like its image, however it is still partially
transparent and not entirely solid. The only thing more powerful is the true Corporeal Patronus,
with a capital ‘C.’ It’s completely solid, completely opaque, and even has mass. In fact, it is
identical to the real thing in every way, except that it is made of magical energy instead of flesh
and bone. It’s so rare that when people talk about a corporeal Patronus, they are talking about the
lesser ones, with a lowercase ‘c.’” Hermione finished breathlessly.

“I think the book I was reading said that a true Corporeal Patronus has only been produced less
than a dozen times in all of history. It’s so powerful that everyone within miles of it can feel
its presence in some form.”

Emma suddenly let out a small gasp and started to look at her hand again.

“What?!” Hermione asked, concerned, as she and Harry moved forward, leaving their Patronuses to
wander around on their own.

“What happens if you touch even one of the weaker corporeal ones?” she asked, trembling as tears
began to form in her eyes.

“It transfers its energy to whatever it touches,” Hermione replied. “In the case of dementors
and lethifolds, it allows them to feed off of it instead of the person casting it. If the Patronus
is strong enough, it will repel or even kill it.”

“You said it was created by thinking happy thoughts, that it’s essentially a mass of positive
energy?” Emma asked; Hermione nodded. “I think that’s what I’m feeling. When I touched it, it
transferred some of what you put into it, into me.” Emma’s eyes darted to the right a bit, in the
direction of Harry, however she was able to prevent herself from actually looking at him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked. Emma was now able to look at him. As she did so, she was still
able to feel the lingering remnants of her daughter’s feelings for Harry. It was then that Emma
truly knew that Dan was right: that when their time came, they would have so much more than what
she and Dan had. If she ever had a reason before, now she knew why she couldn’t interfere and rush
them together faster than they were destined to be.

Emma smiled the exact same smile Hermione would have in her place (since they were Hermione’s
feelings for Harry she was feeling; they weren’t her own). “I’m fine, Harry,” she assured him. “I
was just a little overwhelmed by the suddenness of it... or the sudden delayed onset, I suppose I
should say,” she said with a small chuckle. “I’ll be okay.”

“What are they doing?” Dan asked, drawing everyone’s attention to the other side of the room.
There, everyone saw the two Patronuses, which in all honesty they’d all forgotten about, standing
at the foot of the staircase. Harry walked over to see what they were doing while Hermione stayed
with Emma to check her hand further. They’d never touched their Patronuses before during the D.A.
meetings, and Harry had once mentioned that the one he’d conjured in third year faded just as he
reached out to try to touch it.

Harry was shocked at what he saw. Hermione’s otter had put its two front paws up on the first
step and was looking at the stuffed animal representation sitting on the second. It almost appeared
as if the glowing otter was trying to smell the toy version, to see if it was real. Because of the
way he’d set it earlier, it appeared as though the two were looking at each other.

But what caught him by surprise even more than that was to see his own stag Patronus with its
head down, doing the exact same thing to the other stuffed animal. From the moment he first saw it,
Harry simply assumed the second of the two animals Hermione kept on her bed was a reindeer. But
now, all he could see was a stag.

He’d always associated the gray stuffed otter with her Patronus. But was this other one
representative of his? After staring blankly at the two stags looking at each other, Harry finally
heard Hermione’s voice behind him, still by her mother.

“What is it, Harry?” she asked. Harry debated whether or not he should ask her about the brown
toy. He just HAD to know. He turned around, ready to ask. But as soon as he did so, he saw Hermione
standing next to her parents. For some reason, he just couldn’t do it in front of her parents.
Patronuses were very personal, after all.

*“Finite,”* he said turning around and pointing his wand at his Patronus. It evaporated
away into thin air. He reached down and picked up the gray toy, gently tossing it to Hermione. Her
Patronus then turned around and excitedly chased after it, circling her legs as if it wanted to
play.

“They seemed fascinated by their counterparts,” Harry replied, hoping Hermione might react to
the plural form of the noun. If she or her parents did, no one let on. She looked at her stuffed
animal in her hands, down at her Patronus, over to where Harry’s Patronus had been standing, and
then back to Harry again. She then canceled her Patronus as well.

After dinner, thoughts soon turned to the week ahead. As the prospect of five more days of work
and homework loomed out in front of them, they decided to enjoy what was left of the evening with
another movie. Harry could not help but smile as he thought that he certainly was making up for
fifteen years of missed movies.

He also found out what Hermione was talking about when she had mentioned being chased out of his
vault by a huge boulder. He was certain that seeing the Nazis’ faces melting had to have been the
grossest, and coolest, thing he’d ever seen.

After the movie, Harry was tempted to tease Hermione about making them watch the end credits,
until she’d explained that the theme from this movie was one of her favorite movie soundtracks of
all time. He nodded attentively however as she rambled excitedly on about the interview with John
Williams she’d seen on television once. He’d explained that theme was actually the result of
merging two different themes that had proposed to the director, Steven Spielberg. After hearing
both possible themes and loving both, he turned around and asked back, “Can’t you use both?”

Harry smiled at her enthusiasm and made a mental note that he’d need to telephone Shawn, manager
of the music store, once again.

As everyone was getting ready for bed, Hermione came and knocked on the doorframe of Harry’s
open door.

“Luna’s owl is here,” she told him.

The very first thing Harry noticed as he followed Hermione into her room was the large barn owl
sitting on Hermione’s dresser, where Metis’s cage had previously sat. He remembered Ron commenting
on the appearance of the Lovegood’s owl. Now he knew why.

A barn owl seemed oddly fitting for Luna Lovegood. One of her most noticeable features was her
large, unblinking eyes. A barn owl, with its facial feathers almost sculpted to draw attention to
its eyes, just seemed perfect for the Ravenclaw. This owl also never seemed to blink, and stood
there on the desk as if it had nothing else to do but watch them. Hermione was finally able to
convince it that it was all right for it to leave after offering an owl treat.

“That is definitely Luna Lovegood’s owl,” Hermione commented as she canceled the shrinking spell
(which, thanks to the aforementioned Arithmancers, also included a built-in lightening charm).

She then immediately sat down on her bed and started looking through the larger of the two
books, flipping immediately to the index.

“Page 457,” she commented aloud, finding the subsection on snowy owls. She then started reading
down the pages.

“*Nyctea scandiaca*... females larger than males... males pure white or mostly white,” she
noted, then continued to scan the paragraphs. “Barking sound when threatened or protective...
breeding season typically midwinter to April... specimens in captivity known to breed year round,”
she said and took a deep breath and sighed.

“It was all right here... if I’d bothered to look it up...” Hermione commented darkly to
herself.

Harry had just come to terms with what had happened (thanks to Ron, surprisingly enough), so he
wasn’t going to let her get too upset by it. She’d seemed fine earlier... until she’d realized what
clues she’d missed. He felt his best opportunity was to reassure her, then distract her.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from reading some of the Sherlock Holmes stories your parents
gave me, it’s that a clue is only a clue if you are looking for it. It’s easy to connect the dots
after the fact, after the puzzle has already been revealed. And besides, I think ‘in captivity’ is
just the Muggle way of saying they live indoors, or in a controlled environment. I doubt many
Muggles have them as pets. And they’re certainly not fortunate enough to have them as
familiars.”

Hermione looked up from her book and smiled slightly. His plan had worked. “That’s true, on both
counts.”

“What does it say about... nesting?” he then asked, still a tiny bit embarrassed saying the
word. Hermione reopened the book to where she’d placed her finger as bookmark, and started reading
again.

“Usually nests on the ground,” she paraphrased. “Well, I guess all we need to do is give them a
pile of dirt. Let’s see what this other book says. Yes... yes...” Hermione confirmed as facts from
the two books matched. “Hmm... mating season May to September?”

She made a disgruntled face. “Well, that was helpful. The two books say practically the opposite
things for mating season. No wonder they can mate year round in captivity. Even *they* don’t
know!” she half-joked, half-complained.

Before it got too late and Emma came over to encourage them that tomorrow was another day, the
two of them returned to Harry’s room to finish the newly expanded cage. Fortunately, transfiguring
stuff into dirt and rocks was pretty easy, so she was easily able to furnish the large cage
appropriately.

Convincing Hedwig and Metis to use it was another thing all together.

Only after she closed Harry’s window was Hermione able to draw Metis’s attention towards the
cage. Neither knew if he understood what she was explaining about the wonderful new cage, but once
he’d gotten a good look at it with the distraction of an open window removed, Metis flew over for a
closer examination.

He must have liked what he saw for he immediately hopped into the cage and began scratching his
talons into the dirt in what almost appeared to be an appraisal. Hedwig, for her part, seemed to be
attentively watching the goings on across the room.

Hermione came over to her. “Want to check it out?” she asked the nesting owl. “A lot more space
than in here.” Hedwig stepped back slightly to look down at her egg, and then back up again. “We
can move it for you,” Hermione offered kindly, then made a motion with her hands as if she was
going to pick it up.

Hedwig hissed threateningly at Hermione, then stared intently at Harry, who was standing several
feet behind her, by his bed. He came over and patted her on the shoulder consolingly. “Don’t take
it personally. I’m sure Crookshanks would prefer you be there if he ever fathered kittens.”

Hermione chuckled. “Well, *that* would certainly be a medical miracle for him. But to be
safe, please, Harry, promise me you’ll never buy a cat. And if a someone offers you one, just say
no!”

“Awww... but what if it had three heads?” Harry joked, then went to move towards Hedwig’s
cage.

“Especially if it has three heads!” Hermione replied as she stepped back and out of the way.
Hedwig carefully climbed out of her cage, then flew over to the larger one. She too must have
approved of her new surroundings for she immediately began digging out a nesting hollow. Harry
wrinkled his nose at all of the dirt she was kicking out onto his desk. After a few minutes, Hedwig
seemed satisfied with her effort.

Harry felt more terrified than he could possibly ever remember as he carefully picked up the
precious, fragile object. The eight foot journey across the room felt like eight miles, but
finally, it was resting safely in its new home.

“Home sweet home,” Hermione commented as she walked over to look into the cage. As Harry
withdrew his hands from the cage, Hedwig and Metis both nuzzled their heads into his hand in
thanks. Metis then hooted softly in Hermione’s direction, and moved closer to the bars of the
cage.

Hermione carefully put her hand into the cage (just in case Hedwig still disapproved) to give
Metis an encouraging pat on the head. Since it was within her reach before she could withdraw it,
Hedwig quickly tilted her head up and nipped affectionately at her hand.

“It’s okay, girl,” Hermione assured the nesting owl. “No hard feelings. I understand.”

* * *

Harry’s slumber was slowly and gradually interrupted by the activation of the radio on his
clock-radio alarm clock. He really didn’t know what music he was listening to, but he found it a
much more pleasant way of waking in the mornings. There was no rush to get up, but he didn’t want
to sleep in the entire morning.

Harry lie there, his face buried in his pillow, as he listened to whomever it was, singing
whatever it was he or she was singing.

*What the...?* he complained groggily, still blind from having not opened his eyes. Why was
it on in the first place?

*What day is it?* He was still mostly asleep, so it took a good five seconds to remember.
*Monday.* Another few seconds. *The twelfth?* A few more. *Twelve... even... my turn
for breakfast.*

That was why he’d set the alarm last night.

Harry groaned. He was so comfortable wrapped up in his sheets that he really didn’t want to get
up. They’d decided back in his first week there that they would alternate making breakfast on an
odd/even basis. It had seemed silly at the time, but it really was an easy and efficient way to
share the responsibility.

Within a few minutes, Harry had dragged himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom for a
quick shower. He made sure to carry his clothes with him.

Ten minutes later, he was showered and fully awake, heading downstairs to ponder what to make.
As he stood in front of the open refrigerator (letting all of the cold air out) looking at what lay
inside, the telephone unexpectedly rang.

*Should I answer it?* Harry wondered. *Who could be calling here this time of
morning?* He glanced at the clock; it was nearly half past eight. *Maybe it’s Dan or Emma,
saying they forgot something?* Before the second ring even sounded, another possibility occurred
to him.

What if it was Shawn from the music store? What if there was a problem with his present for
Hermione? If that was the case, he certainly didn’t want her answering the phone. And really, in
any case, he didn’t want for her to be woken up unless it was necessary.

Harry picked up the receiver just as it was beginning its second ring.

“Hello?”

A silent pause. *“Um... Hello? Sorry, I must have the wrong number,”* a woman’s voice said.
*“I was looking for the Grangers.”*

“This is the Grangers’ residence,” Harry replied.

Another awkward pause. *“And with whom am I speaking?”* the woman asked hesitantly.

“I’m Harry, Harry Potter, a friend of...”

*“OH! Harry! Yes! Hermione’s friend. Oh yes, Em told me you would be staying with them this
summer. I’m so sorry,”* the woman said, chuckling. *“She told me you would be there, but it
completely slipped my mind.”*

The voice that had at first sounded hesitant, almost concerned, was now much lighter and
friendly.

*“Imagine my surprise when I call there and a BOY answers the phone first thing in the
morning. I swear, sometimes if my head wasn’t attached...”* she explained.

*“Well, Mister Harry Potter, nice to meet you, on the phone at least. My name is Bonnie. Emma
is my sister,”* Bonnie explained.

*“Is she there?”* she then inquired.

“Emma, or Hermione?” Harry asked.

*“Sorry, Emma. Is she there?”*

“No, sorry. She and Dan left for work a while ago. I don’t know when, but they’re long gone by
now.”

Bonnie sighed. *“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I just wanted to call here first in the hopes of
catching them before they headed in for the day.”* By now, the jovial tone had faded.

“Is there anything I can help you with, or maybe Hermione? Want me to take a message?” Harry
offered.

Bonnie let out a long sigh that sounded almost tired. *“No, that’s all right. I’ll just call
them at their office.”* Maybe it was because he could use no sense other than his hearing, but
something in her voice sounded like something was wrong, or at least bothering her.

“Is everything all right?” Harry asked. “I can go wake up Hermione if you’d like.”

*“No, that’s all right. Let her sleep in today. I’ll just call and leave a message with their
receptionist. I’d call now, but they don’t turn their phones on until they open at nine. What time
is it there? Eight-thirty? Would you please let them know I called, if they don’t get my message at
work?”* Bonnie asked.

“Of course,” Harry promised.

*“Well, it was nice to finally meet you, Harry. You must’ve made a big impression on my sister
and Dan if they’re leaving you at home alone. Oh, and don’t tell my sister, or her daughter, that I
forgot that you were there,”* she asked.

Harry could hear that a smile had returned to her face. “I won’t,” he promised.

*“Say hello to Hermione for me, will you?”*

“I will.”

*“Thanks, Harry. Goodbye.”*

“Goodbye,” Harry finished, switching the phone off and returning the handset to the cradle.
Something about that conversation sounded wrong. Was something the matter? Or was Emma’s sister
just still a little off kilter from hearing him, a boy, answer the phone first thing in the morning
with Dan and Emma gone? And how was he supposed to know if they got her message or not?

About half an hour later, Hermione had come downstairs, looking refreshed and ready for a brand
new day... of homework. Fortunately, at the slow but steady rate they’d been progressing, they
would be done in the next day or two.

Now, seeing exactly what he’d gone through thus far, he knew that if he’d put it off until the
very end like he usually did, it would have meant several nasty, grueling days of rushed reading
and feverish scribbling at the very end.

Not this time.

“Did someone call earlier?” Hermione asked, then tucked into her breakfast; Harry nodded. “I
thought I’d heard it ring this morning, but I couldn’t tell if it really had, or if I’d dreamt it
ringing. Since I only remembered hearing it once, I just assumed it was a dream and went back to
sleep.”

Harry smiled and nodded in understanding. He really hated it when he dreamt about hearing the
doorbell ring early in the morning.

“It was a woman, said her name was Bonnie?” Harry said, asking Hermione if the name was
familiar.

“Aunt Bonnie!” Hermione exclaimed with a large smile. “She’s Mum’s sister. How is she? What did
she want?” she said excitedly.

“Oh, she wanted to talk to your mum,” Harry explained. As for how Aunt Bonnie was, he debated
what to say. In the end, he just explained how she sounded “off” but added that it could have
easily just been from her surprise at him answering the phone. Harry was able to word it in such a
way that he didn’t admit Emma’s sister had forgotten that he would be there.

“Well, Mum and her usually talk to each other every Sunday night, but she and Uncle Matthew have
been on a cruise for the last month or so,” Hermione explained. “Maybe they got back early.”

After another moment or so, she finally decided she didn’t know what to make of it either, that
she wouldn’t worry herself without direct reason, and that she would just ask her parents when they
got home.

Several hours later, the two teens were back sitting at the same table for lunch. A subdued
sense of anticipation was growing inside both of them. The light at the end of the tunnel was now
visible. By her own estimation, Hermione would be finished with her homework tomorrow; Harry, maybe
Wednesday.

This would mean that they would have more than two full weeks of holiday remaining, with
absolutely nothing they *had* to do. Both of them, separately, were looking forward to doing
things together that they *wanted* to do. And amazingly enough, each of them, separately, was
hoping to pick up where’d they’d left off in their “playing games...” the ones they’d started back
in Fred and George’s shop eleven days earlier. The events of this last weekend had been somewhat
distracting, after all.

Once the dishes were washed and put away, Harry looked out the French doors into the backyard.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not get used to seeing the fog day-in and day-out, fog that
seemed to chill him to the bone. Whether it was the actual temperature or merely the knowledge that
it was caused by the dementors did not matter. Either way, he was glad to be indoors.

He continued to stare absentmindedly out the glass doors, looking at but not seeing the
neighbor’s house behind the Grangers’, which sat on the next street over, Merton Road.

*WHAP!*

Harry jumped as a very ruffled-looking tawny owl slammed into the glass door, then dropped to
the patio below. He could see it was carrying some parchment.

“What was that?!” Hermione asked as she turned around in her chair.

“The *Prophet*, I think,” Harry hazarded.

“I was wondering why I didn’t get one this morning,” Hermione commented as she walked over and
opened the door. The two of them looked down to see the owl right itself then shake its head to
clear the fog it no doubt must have been experiencing after flying into a glass door. Its feathers
looked rather uneven, as if it were molting, or based on the memory of another owl with similar
delivery methods, balding from old age.

“About time for retirement, this one?” Harry asked in good humor.

“I guess,” Hermione agreed as she ran upstairs to fetch some money for payment. Dazed and
disoriented as it was, the owl would not let Harry remove the newspaper until Hermione returned; it
was her subscription after all.

And she still need to pay.

Hermione promptly returned, paid the owl, and collected her newspaper. She quickly scanned the
front page for any major crises; there were none, thankfully (today). Finally on the third page,
something must have caught her eye for she actually spent a minute or two reading something.

“I knew it,” she said, then showed Harry.

*Post Owls Spotted in Muggle London*

*For several weeks, mysterious sightings have been reported by Muggles in a park on the
outskirts of London. Reports to the local bird watching organization mentioned glimpses of birds
that seemed to disappear like magic upon sight.*

*Kara Thrace, an Auror with expertise in Muggle-Worthy Excuses, was dispatched to the area to
investigate.*

*“I set up surveillance immediately upon my arrival at the park in question. Not soon long
after, I was able to positively identify them as Post Owls,” Auror Thrace explained.*

*“They appeared to be merely hunting for a morning meal, and seemed healthy and not otherwise
impaired or lost.”*

*Auror Thrace then determined that the increasing sightings had drawn the attention of the
local Muggle newspaper.*

*“It was just one of those local, communities oddities that they felt needed answered as at
least a dozen Muggles reported glimpses of the owls. After confirming they were in fact Post Owls,
by chance I stayed in the park a little longer to watch and see how the non-magical folk reacted to
the momentary glimpse of a magical creature.*

*“I soon noticed a woman walking around the park with a note pad, talking to every person she
met, and pointing towards the trees where I had seen the owls. As luck would have it, this woman
was in fact a reporter from the newspaper.*

*“I was able to convince her that the birds were actually seagulls. A plausible yet boringly
mundane explanation often is the best one for diffusing attention from magical
occurrences.”*

*According to her, Auror Thrace then applied a harmless glamour charm to several local pigeons
in the park, just in case anyone wanted to see for themselves. Any Muggle who saw the disguised
animals would see the seagulls instead. Evidently so near the Thames it is not an uncommon sight to
see seagulls, especially in areas where careless Muggles throw their uneaten food on the ground,
like in a park.*

*“With the local Muggles now thinking they are seeing gulls, the mysterious reports should
decrease. However,” Auror Thrace added importantly, “it still does not address the fact that two
Post Owls seem to have made a Muggle park as their preferred hunting ground.*

*“Short of attempting to capture the owls, identifying them may be impossible. Considering the
distances a Post Owl is capable of flying in search for food, that leaves hundreds of square miles
in which they might live. Any witch or wizard living within owl-flying distance of London is
encouraged to monitor their owls’ hunting habits.*

*“Fortunately, we are able to narrow the search down considerably. The owls seen were both
snowy owls, and based on the fact they appeared to be hunting cooperatively rather than in
competition, they are most likely a breeding pair.*

*“I strongly recommend that anyone who owns a pair of white owls keep close monitor on them.
While the Muggle interest has hopefully been satisfied for now, continuing sightings may prompt new
reports.” Auror Thrace then explained that in such an event, Ministry officials could be forced to
locate the owls and place a tracking spell on them to trace them back to their owner.*

*It should be noted that violating the Statute of Secrecy in a manner such as this is strictly
a minor matter, but could result in charges of up to several hundred Galleons, depending upon the
number of Muggle witnesses involved.*

Harry sat thoughtfully for a minute or so as he considered the article. “Well, at least we
already knew about the breeding part,” he said with a small smile. “Can you imagine if we read this
two days ago?” Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I suppose that Hedwig won’t be going out hunting anymore,” she ventured, “and we *could*
only let Metis out at night. I don’t want them feeling like they’re being locked in, but we also
can’t have them getting caught.” Harry thought about it for a few moments, then nodded his
agreement.

With the “open window” policy now suspended, Metis was transferred from guard duty back to
delivery service. After showing him that Harry’s window was now closed against any possible
intruders, Hermione was able to send him off to Professor McGonagall with a letter asking about
bringing both Crookshanks and Metis with her to school.

As they were on a fresh new week of homework, and as both knew they were nearly done, they
decided to take a short while for a little more quizzing. Hermione challenged Harry to determine
her Numerological *Character Number*; he was not at all surprised when it calculated out to be
four, the same as the number she had quizzed him on earlier.

Harry flipped to the road signs section of her driving manual and asked her to explain three
different road signs.



“The one on the left means ‘no entry,’ the middle ‘no stopping,’ and the right ‘no waiting,’”
Hermione recited proudly.

“And what *exactly* is the difference between ‘no stopping’ and ‘no waiting’?” Harry
cleverly asked.

Hermione hesitated. “Um... well, one is... and the other... I mean, we see them all the time, in
all sorts of places...” she explained. “FINE! What IS the difference?” she finally admitted.

“Dunno,” Harry also admitted with a grin. “The Highway Code manual you’ve been reading only
*identifies* the signs here. It says to go buy *Know Your Traffic Signs* for ‘a
comprehensive explanation of our signing system,’” he quoted.

Hermione half-heartedly scowled at him for what she considered a trick question.

“Just because the answer wasn’t in here, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fair question,” Harry
noted, seeing right through her. Hermione just rolled her eyes at him, though she was unable to
completely hide the smile she had knowing he was right.

* * *

Harry and Hermione put away their homework when they heard the family car pull into the drive.
Both noted the time: 5:30PM. They were home early today; they must have left a little early.

Dan and Emma were unusually quiet as they walked in the house. Harry could not help but notice
the envelope that Emma was nervously playing with in her fingers.

“Hermione?” Dan said quietly as he and Emma sat down on the sofa. They both looked exhausted.
Hermione could see something was wrong; her mind immediately returned to the phone call from this
morning. She sat down on the loveseat; Harry joined her.

“Aunt Bonnie called work this morning. They had to cut their cruise short...” Dan said, his
voice trailing off. He then looked to Emma to say what she needed to say.

“Your grandfather is in the hospital...” she said finally.

“Gran-da?” Hermione gasped in a whisper. Her hands clenched in anxiety resting on her legs.
Harry set his hand on hers in support.

Emma looked back at her husband as she fought to keep her now-watery eyes from overflowing. “We
have to go...” Dan said.

“Go?” Hermione asked, not understanding.

“Your mother would like to see her father... we need to go.”

“Now?” Hermione asked incredulously.

Dan cast a quick, uncertain glance at Harry, then back to his daughter. “They don’t know how
much time... *we* have, not much, they think,” he said as Emma grabbed hold of his hand.

“When?” Hermione asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“You’re leaving, tomorrow?” Hermione asked, again not seeming to understand.

This time it was Emma who gave Harry a pained look. In her eyes, he could see her heart-felt
apology. Suddenly he knew what they were trying to say, without actually saying the words. Harry
suddenly felt his heart sink to his stomach, but he knew it had to be done. Hermione did not
notice; she was still looking at her father disbelievingly.

“*You’re* leaving tomorrow, Hermione,” Harry finally said. Hermione suddenly pulled her
hand out of his as she turned to look at him, shocked. She looked at him as if she could not
believe her ears, as if he’d told her the earth was flat.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, Hermione,” Harry repeated, his voice a little stronger this time. It
hurt knowing their summer together might be at a end, but he of all people knew it had to be
done.

“No,” Hermione whispered.

“Hermione,” Harry tried to say.

“NO!” she shouted, then jumped up and ran up the stairs. *“I’m not going!”* they heard her
say right before her bedroom door slammed shut. Dan and Emma both sighed and rested their forehead
in their hands. Harry looked off in the direction Hermione had stormed.

On the one hand, it seemed so unlike her to do that. And on the other hand, it made perfect
sense. If he’d had his way, she wouldn’t go either. But he knew this wasn’t about him. It wasn’t
even about Hermione. It was about their entire family.

Emma was the first to look up. “Thank you, Harry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to say it outright.
And I’m really sorry this means our time together has been cut short. We’ve enjoyed so much having
you here with us for this last month. It’s meant the world to us to have our daughter back for the
summer. This is the longest we’ve seen her since, what, summer before third year?”

“Please, don’t thank me, Emma. I know what it’s like. This past month has been the best I can
ever remember, so even if it has to end like this, it’s been worth it!” Harry said emphatically. He
suddenly looked guilty. “Oh, I didn’t mean...”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Harry,” Emma said, actually managing a small, weak laugh. “I know
what you meant.” She sighed, then all three of them looked up the stairs in the direction of
Hermione’s room.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Emma said, then slowly headed up.

Dan and Harry looked at each other awkwardly. “I’m really sorry about this, Harry. If this were
any other hospital visit for Emma’s father, we might have let her stay. But Bonnie and Emma both
know it... this isn’t like the other times.”

Dan then put on a brave smile that still let show this was affecting him too. “But, he’s had a
long and happy life, and he knew it was coming. He’s had time to prepare. You know, he has a
strange sense of humor. He liked to intentionally quote people out of context to make a point. It
was he who turned Emma on to science fiction in the first place. If he could talk at the moment, I
imagine he would quote Darth Vader, ‘The circle is now complete.’”

Harry smiled at the very fitting reference. Only yesterday was a new life started. Soon another
would end. The circle of life, indeed.

He also noted without comment that Dan had probably given away a little more than he intended
about his father-in-law’s condition.

“Did you know him well?” Harry found himself asking, surprising himself.

Dan too appeared surprised by Harry’s question, but then smiled. “Yeah. After Emma and I got
married, he became more like an adoptive father than simply ‘the father-in-law.’ My father and I
weren’t especially close,” he said, and left it at that.

Just then, Emma came downstairs. “She’s locked her door,” she said, but in Harry’s
direction.

“Should we get the key, or just let her be for a while?” Dan asked.

“The doorknob itself is not locked. The *entire* door is closed shut,” Emma said, still
looking at Harry.

“She’s sealed it,” Harry realized, “magically.”

He thought back to the last few weeks, at how Hermione had been there for him the entire time.
Things *had* been getting better. While by no means had he forgotten about Sirius, he was no
longer obsessing over his death. And when he did think of him, usually when he was lying in bed
alone at night, it still hurt a little, but it was slowly getting better.

Life went on, just like Hermione said. Harry knew the least he could do would be to be there for
her too. He stood up, drew his wand, and headed upstairs.

“She didn’t abandon me when I needed someone, so we’re not going to abandon her,” Harry said
intently as he walked towards her door.

Emma was about to object that no one said anything about abandoning anyone, but Dan interrupted,
smiling at her in a way that said, *“Let him do this.”*

Harry walked up to the door and knocked on it. It made absolutely no sound. The door was
absorbing all sound; Hermione must have cast a silencing charm on it. Knocking or asking if she was
all right would be pointless. She wouldn’t have heard.

*“Alohomora,”* Harry said, trying the first thing that came into mind. He was surprised
when her door unlocked. She probably didn’t give much thought to coming up with something more
elaborate than *Colloportus*. Or perhaps on some subconscious level, she actually wanted Harry
to get in.

Either way, the door opened, and Harry slowly walked in, followed closely behind by Dan and
Emma. He felt his heart break in two as he saw Hermione lying face down on her bed, tightly
clutching her two favorite stuffed animals, one under each arm.

Harry immediately went to her side, sitting next to her on the bed. He put a hand on her
shoulder. She immediately climbed up and threw her arms around him.

“Why, Harry?” she asked with a voice thick from crying, although she wasn’t anymore. “Why did
this have to happen? This has been the best summer ever, and then this has to happen,” she said
into his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” was all Harry could say as she held onto him. He heard her mumble something
unintelligible under her breath. He couldn’t make out the words exactly, but enough vowel sounds
survived that it was possible she might have said that she didn’t want to go.

“You need to go, Hermione,” Harry replied, in case he was right. Even if she hadn’t said that,
it still needed to be said. “You need to be with your family right now. And more importantly,
*they* need *you*.”

“But what about you?” she said with a slight sniffle. “I thought... you needed me... us...
here... after Sirius,” she said timidly.

For some reason he didn’t understand, Harry found her statement amusing. Before he could try to
figure out why though, the answer popped into his head. “Hermione, I don’t think I’ll ever NOT need
you,” he said with a slight chuckle into her bushy hair. He was surprised when Hermione actually
let out a laugh too. “But right now, your family needs you more.”

Hermione pulled away a bit, and then looked searchingly into his eyes. It was his turn to give a
brave smile. She them looked at her parents, and found them looking exactly as if they truly needed
her at that moment. She turned back to Harry after a moment. “What if you came with us?” she asked
hopefully.

Harry quickly turned to look at Dan and Emma. Before he was able to get his hopes up, he could
see the look of shock and realization on their faces. Harry then remembered the envelope that Emma
was still clutching in her hand.

They already had tickets. They’d already made travel arrangements, and judging by the looks of
guilt on their faces, they must not have thought to include him. In all honesty, Harry didn’t blame
them. He couldn’t feel upset about it even if he tried.

He knew this was a time for Emma’s family. Even though he had come to think of this house as
‘home,’ even if Dan and Emma had enjoyed having him here as much as he enjoyed being here, he knew
that wherever they were heading, he would be an outside element for the rest of the Granger
family... erm, or whatever Emma’s family name was... since Granger was Dan’s name.

Before Hermione could say anything else, and before Dan or Emma could say anything, Harry took
the initiative. “This is a time for you and your family, Hermione. I’ll just be in the way. I’ll be
all right. I’m sure the Weasleys would be begging to have me over for a while. Besides, I think I’m
due for a few ribs to be broken by Ron’s mum anyway,” Harry joked.

Hermione sat there for a few moments, looking very thoughtful. He got the feeling she wanted to
object as much as he did, but both of them knew what had to be done. Finally, Hermione took a deep
breath, then nodded, turning to her parents.

“Paris?” she asked; Dan and Emma nodded. “What time is our flight tomorrow?”

“Erm, actually we’re taking the train,” Dan said.

“The train?” Hermione groaned. “But it’s like three hours from London to Paris by train. Why
couldn’t we fly?”

“Because plane tickets at this short of notice would have been several hundred pounds more,” Dan
explained patiently.

“And... there’s something else,” Emma added hesitantly. Hermione looked to her. “Crookshanks
can’t come.”

“WHAT?”

“Pets aren’t allowed on the Eurostar. And even IF we did get plane tickets, there isn’t time to
get his traveling papers ready. You *know* that if he leaves the country without his papers,
he’ll have to be put in quarantine for six months when he gets back.”

“I know,” Hermione admitted petulantly.

“He can stay with David and Eve,” Emma answered before Hermione could ask where he could go.
“You know how much Precious loves him.”

“But Crookshanks *hates* Precious,” Hermione complained. “There’s something about the
Kneazle in him that Precious loves,” she explained to Harry. “She gets so excited around him and
chases him around wanting to play all day long. He just gets tired of her after about five minutes.
It’s a good thing he’s as big as she is.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry, and part of his brain immediately sent it off to his mouth
to speak before he could properly think about it.

*I couldn’t help it! It just popped in there,* his instinctual side fretted.

*What? What just popped in there?* his logical side asked.

*I... I... I tried to think...*

“I can take Crookshanks,” the words finally came out. Harry groaned internally; he’d made the
offer without even thinking whether the Weasleys, or Ron, would like having the ginger cat
around.

“Oh, could you, Harry? Would you? I know he’d be so much happier with you!” Hermione
exclaimed.

* * *

The rest of the evening was rather subdued. Dan and Emma retreated to their room to pack and
telephone family, informing them of their scheduled arrival tomorrow. Harry remained in Hermione’s
room while she packed. He got the feeling she didn’t want him to leave; she kept asking him to hand
her things to pack away that she could have easily gotten up and retrieved for herself.

He didn’t mind however, for it kept his mind off the fact that he was leaving too. Besides,
something about it seemed kind of funny. He was tempted to start saying, *“As you wish,”*
after each of her requests, though he never did.

Even though Hermione could pack by magic, this time, today, she chose to do it by hand. She did
use magic, however, to make sure everything fit into a small, carry-on bag. Before they left the
room, she’d told her parents that she would shrink down the contents of their luggage too. It would
make traveling on the train that much easier. Even without the use of magic, her drawers of clothes
were already so neatly arranged that it only took about five minutes anyway.

As Harry wandered around the room, he was surprised to see the framed copy of *The
Quibbler* back up on the wall again. On the one hand, he was curious why it had disappeared when
Ron and Ginny visited. But on the other hand, he was glad Hermione hadn’t had to part with it for
Luna to give him her present.

*And besides, it is a nice picture,* Harry’s internal voice observed. *Maybe someday, if
we’re lucky, it could be a real picture of us hanging up there, lovingly framed like that magazine
is.*

“Yeah,” Harry agreed rather dreamily aloud. Captain Oblivious might have started noticing a
*few* things, but he didn’t get his name for nothing.

“Did you say something?” Hermione asked.

“What? Oh, no,” he hastily denied, moving away from the magazine and over towards the picture of
him and the Gryffindor Quidditch team practicing, which was sitting on the desk. His eyes gliding
past the “in-the-zone Harry” chasing after the Snitch, he noticed again the large family reunion
picture on her desk. He picked it up, looking at it.

“Which one is your grandfather?” Harry asked as he looked down at the portrait. He could see
both sets of grandparents in the separate photographs of them, but he wanted to see the one
everyone was worried about while he was surrounded by his family. Hermione came up beside him,
leaning against his arm for support as she too looked at the non-moving photograph.

“Him,” she said as she pointed out an elderly gentleman sitting in a chair in the front row.
Harry had to take a second look at both photographs. He barely recognized the man sitting in the
reunion photo as the same one in the separate pictures of just the two pairs of grandparents.

“This was taken in October of last year,” Hermione explained of the reunion picture. She could
see Harry also looking at the other picture. “That one was taken about three years ago.” He was
shocked that her grandfather had seemed to age so drastically in only two years.

Hermione then started to point out some of her other family members. “This is my Aunt Bonnie,
the one you talked to on the phone this morning. And that’s her husband Matthew. This is my dad’s
brother, Rupert, and his wife Evanna.” Hermione then pointed to the eight children who, even in the
picture, Harry could tell were dying to start running around.

“And these are all of my cousins. It’s funny, both my aunt and uncle had large families, but Mum
and Dad only got me.” Harry could hear the disappointment in her voice. Fortunately, he knew her
well enough to know that it was because she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, not because her
parents only had one child.

But still... “A *more* than fair trade, I think,” Harry said honestly. Hermione turned away
from the photograph to look at him.

“Thanks, Harry. Has anyone ever told you you’re sweet?” she asked, then leaned over to give him
a perfectly friendly, very brief, kiss on the cheek. She stepped back and looked at him again,
smiling in amusement. “You know, you’re cute when you turn bright red,” she said unabashedly, then
left the room to go check on her parents’ packing progress.

Wearing a grin from ear to ear and feeling lighter than air, Harry returned to his room and
looked around. He realized that packing up all of his stuff would not completed anywhere nearly as
easy as Hermione’s had been. Fortunately, this was not a time when it was a matter of right versus
easy. This time, it was only easy versus hard.

*“Pack!”* he said, pointing his wand at the clothes hanging in his closet. Unlike Tonks,
Harry’s magical packing *was* rather neat and tidy. Then again, he hadn’t tried to pack up
everything in the entire room, only the closet so far. Another casting emptied his dresser drawers.
He was about to do his fifth- and sixth-year school books when he heard a voice behind him.

“Cheater!” Hermione said, smirking as she entered the room.

“Oh, come on,” Harry joked, “I’m nowhere near as organized as you. I’d be here for days trying
to pack up everything. Besides, you’re only packing to go visit family. I’m packing up to leave
forever!”

“Well, that’s true,” Hermione agreed as she came over to look in on the two owls, who were now
effectively locked in during the day; both appeared to be napping comfortably. How Hedwig could be
comfortable sitting on an egg, Hermione did not know. Then again, some day, maybe she might find
herself in a similar situation... similar biologically, not orthopedically.

“True that you are nowhere near as organized as I am,” she added cheekily.

“Hey!” Harry objected.

“And besides, it’s not forever, now is it?” she then added. “Your dentist appointment, remember?
You *have* to come back here for at least that,” she reminded him.

“Oh yeah!” Harry recalled. He was never so happy to be having his teeth checked as he was at
that moment. He never really was fond of visiting Madam Pomfrey for those dental potions she gave
him. Merlin’s beard! He actually managed to get a cavity in his very first term at Hogwarts from
eating all of the sweets available on a daily basis.

He really didn’t know what was involved in Muggle dentistry (as if the Dursleys would take him),
but it had to be better than those vile orange, smoking liquids. One mouthful of Denta-Fix was
enough to guarantee his first cavity was his last.

Ron, on the other hand, still seemed to prefer his sweets. Even in fifth year, he returned from
his two semi-annual appointments in the hospital wing wearing the unmistakable look that came from
gargling and swishing, and thereby repeatedly bathing the tongue in the one potion in the world
that tasted worse than both Skele-Gro and Polyjuice combined.

“Finished yet?” she asked him.

“Just my books” he replied.

“Well, no time like the present” Hermione replied, moving towards the stack of fifth year books
on the floor, while Harry went for his new ones on his desk.

Because they were books and because she was Hermione Granger, Hermione stopped and looked at
each book as she put them in his trunk. She stopped and looked curiously at the very last one.

“Harry...” she said, sounding confused. “What is this book? Where did you get it?”

“What book?”

“This one. *Advanced Defense*. Strange, there’s no author,” she commented as she opened the
book.

“I have no idea where—”

“HARRY!” she gasped out. “LOOK! Here, look!” she said breathlessly, thrusting the book into his
hands.

Harry looked at it. *Advanced Defense*. “What?”

Hermione just rolled her eyes at him. “Open it!”

Harry opened it and found a slip of parchment sitting inside the cover.

*Dear Harry,*

*I told you it would be considered inappropriate if staff were seen giving presents to some
students and not others, so I had to make sure I wasn’t seen. I do apologize for the intrusion into
your room after you and Miss Granger left for your party today.*

*Please consider this a book more of a long term loan than an outright gift. This has been
handed down from person to person for countless generations. The only terms of the loan are
threefold and simple.*

*First, that you share this book with no one, unless you feel it important to do so. The
information contained within may be freely shared as needed, however the book itself must be
protected from casual hands. Trust me when I say it is a one-of-a-kind item.*

*Second, if you learn something new, that you add it to the book. In the back of the book you
will find a magical index. It lists additions in any way you may wish: by date, subject, or even
author.*

*And finally, should the time come that you no longer need this book, that you pass it on to
someone else whom you feel is worthy, so that the process may begin again.*

*I regret that you will someday find this book useful; however I pray you do find it
useful.*

*Sincerely,*

*Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.*

*P.S. Look in your closet.*

*The closet?* Harry wondered. *My Firebolt!* he remembered as he recalled finding his
broom returned to him.

It was well past 1AM when Harry finally fell asleep. The book was... well, amazing would be an
understatement. He joked to himself that he could never show it to Hermione; he might never get it
back. Hedwig and Metis had objected to the bedroom light being left on all night, so Harry was
reading by wandlight, ironically enough with his wand tucked behind his ear, pointing at the book
in his lap.

*If Ron could see me now,* he joked to himself.

* * *

It was fortunate that Tuesday greeted everyone cold and gray, like every day since the dementors
began breeding; it matched the mood of everyone in number 8, Broomhill Road perfectly. Harry’s mood
took a drastic swing up however when he went to greet Hedwig and Metis good morning.

There were now two eggs in the cage. Harry could not help but smile as he walked downstairs. The
dementors and their weather be damned!

After making a certain *other* phone call while Hermione was still upstairs, Harry called
Remus to see if he could arrange some transportation to the train station so the Grangers wouldn’t
be forced to leave their car there for an indeterminate period of time, or to try to take the bus
whilst carrying their luggage.

He also used the Grangers’ fireplace to Floo the Weasleys and ask if they would mind one more.
He knew it was short notice, but worst case, he could always stay at Grimmauld Place. It was his
now, after all.

Needless to say, but Molly had practically ordered him to move in to the Burrow as soon as Harry
was able to convey that the Grangers were leaving. Harry recalled being told how the connection was
restricted to allow communication only. Remus’s analogy of bars on a window was eerily accurate.
That was pretty much how it felt; he could stick his head in the emerald flames, but his shoulders
would not pass.

After Harry was finished with the phone, Dan used it to make a few last minute calls to ensure
all of their appointments were rescheduled with another dentist in their office building whom they
had covered for in the past. Good friends of theirs, he certainly did not mind the extra business
sent his way. Taking the receiver, Dan smirked at Harry, having heard what he just ordered from the
music store (he *still* didn’t know what he’d ordered originally, and Emma had refused, with a
very large grin, to tell him).

By noon, all of the details seemed to be finalized, except one: how to move Hedwig and Metis,
and their now growing family. Coincidently enough... or perhaps not... that problem was solved just
as Harry and Hermione began to consider it: Professor Dumbledore and Fawkes arrived.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Emma asked innocently, enjoying herself. “He telephoned this
morning while you two were still upstairs to say he would be stopping by this afternoon.”

The surprised teenagers both gave Emma *and* Dan looks that plainly said, *“Yes, you DID
forget to tell us!”*

“Professor McGonagall shared with me this morning that you had a question for me,” Dumbledore
said to Hermione. Not that anyone was surprised, but his eyes revealed that he already knew what
the question was.

“Well, sir,” she began hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable about asking for a way around school
rules. “I was wondering about bringing animals to school. I know we are allowed to bring
*either* a cat, an owl, or a toad. I know that exceptions have been made to bring different
types of animals, a rat for example. I was wondering if there was anything about bringing more than
one.”

“There is, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster replied. “Unfortunately, school rules on this point are
very clear: one animal only. Exceptions can not be made. If exceptions are granted for one, then
they must be granted for all.” Hermione looked heartbroken.

“May I ask why you are inquiring, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked. Again, he looked as if he
already knew the answer.

“Well... you see, sir...” she faltered.

“Metis is male, sir,” Harry answered. “He and Hedwig... well, there will be two more owls
soon.”

“Two?” Hermione, Dan, and Emma all asked simultaneously in surprise.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Harry asked with a smile, though it really was the
truth.

*“Yes, you bloody well did!”* was the silent response he got back from the three of them.
Twinkling eyes behind half-moon glasses watched the exchange with amusement.

“Ah, I see your predicament, Miss Granger. Do you take your cat or your owl?” he asked
rhetorically. “Again, I’m afraid the rules are quite rigid in this regard that only one animal is
allowed per student.

“However,” he added before anyone could feel any worse, “there IS no rule against one animal
bringing another.” Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened in incredulity but also hope. “In fact, I do
not believe this particular situation has ever been addressed in all of Hogwarts’ history.”

Hermione looked stunned. “The school owls breed most years, yes, and there have even been
instances of two students’ owls mating,” the Headmaster explained. “However in those rare cases,
the students in question did not have any other animal they were also bringing, so it was never an
issue.

“So, in this case, since there is no rule at all to cover this particular case, I believe there
will be no problem. However,” Dumbledore added importantly, “I must stress one fact. Officially,
Metis will be a guest of Hedwig this year. Most bondings last only for the one season. Should the
two of them choose to not mate again next year, this exception can not carry over.”

“I understand, Headmaster,” Hermione said happily.

Dumbledore then smiled. “So! When was this wondrous discovery made? I was wondering how long it
would take the two of them, or the two of you, to figure it out.”

“Sunday, actu...” Hermione laughed, then suddenly stopped. “Excuse me, sir. You were wondering?
Did you know about Metis all along?” she asked, her voice becoming a little sharper, though still
under control.

“Hermione Jane!” Emma chastised, able to read her daughter’s voice.

Dumbledore cast a quick glance at Emma that informed her it was all right.

“I did, Miss Granger,” he admitted. “As soon as I saw him, I knew immediately. One does not get
to be my age without *knowing* certain things along the way. Are you familiar with magical
auras?” he asked; Hermione nodded.

“For lack of a better description, auras are ‘colored’ by the gender of an organism. I suspect
that you performed a Paternus Charm to verify your discovery?” he asked. Again she nodded.

“And what was the result?”

“Pink and blue glows around Hedwig and Metis, respectively,” Hermione answered.

“This is something you would not learn until post-N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy, should you continue
your education” Dumbledore explained. “Technically, the charm only produces *a* glow in the
auras of the two parents. The gender of each influences the glow.

“Your own magic picks up on that, and causes you to interpret that influence as color. If you
traditionally associated, say orange and green for male and female instead, you would *see*
those colors instead of blue and pink. In time, you will be able to pick up on such influences, and
many others, without the need for charms to illuminate the way.”

Hermione was silent for several moments as she absorbed everything; she seemed positively
fascinated by a new view on the world.

“But why didn’t you say anything?” she then asked. “Why did you let us think he was a she?”

“Why should I have?” Dumbledore asked plainly. “What difference would it have made? Would it
have caused you to do something different?” Hermione tried to say something, but stopped as she
didn’t know the answer. “Would you have worried what might happen if you had known Metis was male?
Would you have tried to prevent them from mating?

“Nature must take its course sometimes, without our interference, or without our... permission.”
A small smile could be seen forming beneath his moustache. “And, I hope this will be an important
lesson for *both* of you,” he said, now looking in Harry’s direction. “I trust you are both
familiar with the Muggle expression of what happens when you assume?”

Harry and Hermione both nodded guiltily, but with a grin as they both knew what it made “U” and
“ME.”

“Now, Miss Granger, Mister Potter, was there anything else you needed this perfectly gray
afternoon?”

“Well, actually, we were just starting to wonder how best to move the eggs to Ron’s house,”
Harry said. “I was planning on Flooing over to the Burrow from Grimmauld. Remus is moving in there
for the full moon, so I decided I’d accompany him after we drop the Grangers off at the train
station.

“I often don’t make a clean landing,” he admitted, “so I wasn’t entirely eager to take them with
me.”

“Well, if your owls permit, I may have a solution,” Dumbledore said. “I happen to know that
Fawkes here would be honored to carry the four of them to the Weasley home. It would be nearly
instantaneous and completely turbulence free, despite how it might appear from the outside.”

* * *

A very few short hours later, it was time for everyone to leave. The house was locked tight,
newspaper and mail stopped, and refrigerator cleaned out. Not knowing how long they would be gone,
Dan and Emma simply decided to send all of the perishables with Harry. All four of them were pretty
sure they could find *someone* at the Burrow to eat it all.

Getting Crookshanks into his traveling basket proved to a bit of an adventure. He’d been out all
morning and had returned to the house with yet another mouse in his mouth. Evidently he too had
known all along about Metis’s surprise, and had therefore was eager to be helpful when Hedwig
revealed her surprise.

After vanishing this mouse (fortunately this one *had* been dispatched during catching),
Hermione told Crookshanks that they were leaving. He sat on the patio by the back door, looking as
though he was listening attentively. The moment she said that *he* was going to Ron’s house,
he turned his head away from her; he appeared as though he was trying to ignore her. His tail
thumped against patio in displeasure several times.

As soon as she explained however that he could either go with Harry to the Burrow or spend the
time with Precious, his ears immediately perked up. He ran over to Harry and started rubbing up
against his leg, purring eagerly.

“I suspected you’d change your tune,” Hermione commented to her familiar.

At three o’clock on the dot, a Ministry car pulled in front of number 8. Remus and Tonks,
dressed as chauffeurs, got out to help with the luggage... Crookshanks’ basket, Harry’s trunk, and
three small, carry-on bags that each magically contained a full week’s worth of clothing for the
Grangers. The lighter mood that had surrounded them had left with Dumbledore and the winged
companions.

Not a word was spoken on the drive to Waterloo Station. No one seemed happy about the change in
plans. Finally, the silence seemed to get to Emma for she turned around in her backwards-facing
seat. She pressed the button to lower the black privacy glass that separated the front and back
seats.

“Is there a radio in here?” she asked Tonks, who was driving.

“I believe so,” she replied. “This was a Muggle limousine at one point. There are a bunch of
controls behind the panel on your right.”

“Ah, here we go,” Emma said in relief. “It’s just too quiet in here.” She began to tune to
different stations to find something she liked after putting the window back up again.

*“... killing me softly...”*

*“... eeeh, macarena ...”*

*“... not in a shy way ...”*

*“... wanna be my lover ...”*

“Spice Girls...” Emma muttered under her breath. “Hey! Was that Ol’ Blue Eyes?” she asked
herself, tuning back a couple stations. Harry could see Hermione shake her head ever so slightly.
“Perfect!” Emma said as she found the previous station.

*“I did it my way.*

*“For what is a man, what has he got?*

*“If not himself, then he has naught.*

*“To say the things he truly feels;*

*“And not the words of one who kneels.*

*“The record shows I took the blows,*

*“And did it my way!”*

“Mum fancies Frank Sinatra,” Hermione whispered to Harry, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Shush!” Emma said as she tried to swat at Hermione on the opposite seat, becoming embarrassed.
“I forgot the oldies station was having a Sinatra marathon today,” she said, looking very
happy.

The next song began with four notes played on strings that were instantly recognizable to most
Muggles, especially any who knew who the television character Al Bundy was. Sappy, almost dazed
smiles appeared on both Dan and Emma’s faces.

*“Love and marriage, love and marriage,*

*“Go together like a horse and carriage,*

*“This I tell you brother,*

*“You can’t have one without the other.*

*“Love and marriage, love and marriage,*

*“It’s an institute you can’t disparage,*

*“Ask the local gentry,*

*“And they will say it’s elementary...”*

Emma finally noticed the curious stares from the two people who didn’t know how much that song
meant (separated by the privacy window, Remus and Tonks couldn’t hear). She nudged Dan with her
elbow.

“Dan used this song to propose to me when we were in dental school together,” Emma
explained.

“You never told me that,” Hermione said, sounding almost disappointed.

“You didn’t want to hear about us being mushy, remember?” Emma asked knowingly. “Anyway, the
school we went to wanted to have a ‘mixer’ type dance to help everyone get to know each other
better at the start of term.

“Unbeknownst to me, Dan just happened to know one of the guys in the jazz band they hired for
the night. How much was it?” she asked him.

“£100,” Dan answered, looking both embarrassed and proud of himself at the same time.

“Dan paid him £100 to have the band play this song at the very end of the evening. He’d managed
to get me out in the middle of the dance floor. Then, right after his friend sang the last line,
Dan, right there, in front of everyone, said he *couldn’t* have one with out the other,
dropped to one knee, and asked me to marry him.”

“Oh...” Hermione sighed rather dreamily.

“We’d been dating for several years by then,” Dan picked up, “but had never mentioned marriage
outright, yet. But each of us *had* made off-handed comments in our senior year that suggested
we were both interested in making our relationship long term...”

“Very long term,” Emma corrected.

“Permanent,” Dan trumped her.

“So, I decided to pity the poor fool and say yes,” Emma teased. “What *was* his name,
anyway? Your piano-playing friend who was also a very good Sinatra sound-alike?”

“Shane,” Dan reminded her.

“Ah, yes,” she recalled happily. “So anyway, I guess you could say this is our song.” Just then,
the last stanza began.

*“Love and marriage, love and marriage,*

*“Go together like a horse and carriage,*

*“Dad was told by Mother,”* Dan looked at Emma and grinned.

“You can’t have one,” Dan sang over top of one of the members of the legendary Rat Pack.

“You can’t have none,” Emma sang over the chorus.

“You can’t have one without the other,” the two of them finished the song together.

*“Duh duh duh duh duh,”* they mimicked the last few instrumental notes, *“Bah
buh.”*

The two of them moved to kiss each other, but stopped at the last second and looked
apologetically at Hermione.

“Fine! Go ahead, just get it over with!” Hermione said exasperatedly. The two adults nodded
thanks, then gave each other a brief kiss. Hermione just rolled her eyes then looked at Harry as
she shook her head and smiled. Harry grinned in return.

After two brief commercials, the next Sinatra song in the marathon started, just as the car
pulled into the Waterloo Station car park. No one noticed (besides Tonks and Remus, of course).

*“For once in my life I have someone who needs me,*

*“Someone I’ve needed so long,”*

Dan and Emma both noticed as Hermione smiled absently as she stared at some point on the other
side from her, somewhere above Dan’s head.

*“For once unafraid I can go where life leads me,*

*“And somehow I know I’ll be strong.*

*“For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of,*

*“Long before I knew,”*

Dan and Emma both noticed Harry smile blankly as *he* stared at some point on the other
side from him, somewhere above Emma’s head.

*“Someone warm like you,*

*“Would make my dreams come true.*

*“For once in my life I won’t let sorrow hurt me,*

*“Not like it’s hurt me before,*

*“For once I have something I know won’t desert me,”*

Positively content looks appeared on both Harry and Hermione’s faces.

*“And I’m not alone anymore.”*

Suddenly, the song stopped and the door was opened by Remus. “We’re here!” Tonks said cheerily
as she climbed out of the driver’s seat. Emma saw the looks of disappointment on Harry and
Hermione’s faces from the sudden termination of the song. She smiled and made a mental note that
she’d need to telephone Shawn, manager of the music store.

* * *

Harry plus the Grangers found themselves standing on the platform in front of the Eurostar with
about ten minutes to spare before departure. Tonks and Remus stayed with the car... something about
vehicles being left unattended in loading zones. Hermione noticed Harry had brought his book bag
with him from the car, but did not mention it.

Dan shook Harry’s hand. “I’m really sorry about this, Harry,” he assured him.

“Please, don’t give it another thought, Dan,” Harry said. “You guys were here for me this
summer. The least I can do is let you be there for your own family now.”

“Thank you,” Dan said, and was immediately swept out of the way by Emma. She came up to Harry
and gave him a hug that easily rivaled the ones given by Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. Harry smiled to
himself thinking that he’d get his cracked ribs before he even arrived at the Burrow.

“Now, don’t forget, young man,” she told him, “you still have your dentist appointment at the
end of the month. We should be back by then, so we’re coming to get you for that.” Harry got the
distinct feeling his dental appointment was now merely a convenient excuse, but he wasn’t going to
object.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, and he knew she was referring to him convincing
Hermione to go with them. Finally Emma let go of him.

Harry turned to Hermione. She immediately threw her arms around his neck while his settled
naturally around her back. “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” she promised him.

“No,” Harry replied, not letting go of her. He continued to look at the train behind her; if he
looked *at* her, he wouldn’t be able to say it. “No, you stay as long as you need to. I’ll be
all right. Just be sure to come get me for my dentist appointment.”

He heard her laugh over his shoulder. “We will,” she promised. Harry let go of her and stepped
back.

“I, erm, wanted to give you something... before you left,” Harry said awkwardly. “In case you
wanted to talk.” He reached into his book bag and pulled out Sirius’s two-way mirror, the unbroken
one Remus had given him.

“You can talk through these, if you can find somewhere where people won’t see you,” he
explained. “The glass in the other one, the one I have, is broken, but hopefully if I can fix it,
they’ll work again. My father and Sirius used to use these to talk to each other when they were in
detention.”

Hermione looked at the mirror in her hand as if it was the most important thing in the world.
“Do you know how the spell works? Do you know how to fix it?” she asked anxiously as Harry pulled
his broken one out.

“No,” he admitted.

Hermione looked from the one in her hands to the broken one in Harry’s hands. She then looked
back and forth once more. “Here, let’s trade,” she suggested, holding her other hand out towards
Harry’s mirror.

“Just in case... I might be able to figure it out sooner... and then we could... I mean, if I
needed to talk to *someone*, then it wouldn’t take so long,” she stammered.

“Of course, that makes perfect sense!” Harry agreed. Honestly, he was very glad she suggested
it. He really had no idea how his father and Sirius had created the mirrors, and didn’t know where
to start to fix them. And he had to admit that getting them fixed sooner than later had its
advantages too.

The train horn sounded a warning. It was time for the Grangers to get aboard. Harry looked over
to the side where Dan and Emma were waiting for their daughter. They appeared to be reading the
Departures reader board. He turned to look back at Hermione.

“Remember, be there for your family. And let them be there for you.” He then leaned forward and
gave her a kiss on the forehead as a gesture of support.

Hermione looked over to where her parents were waiting for her. They appeared to be reading the
Departures reader board; she knew they were secretly them. She turned to look back at Harry.
“Goodbye, Harry,” she whispered, then stepped forward to give him a kiss goodbye on the cheek.

At the last second however, Hermione made a slight detour and instead kissed him on the very
corner of his mouth. There was no lip contact, but the kiss lasted a good second longer than was
necessary. She then turned around and quickly walked over to her parents to board the train, never
looking back.

Harry stood on the platform for several moments in a daze, holding his hand up to where she had
kissed him. A minute later, a female voice announced over the PA system the departure of the train,
and the train horn blasted again.

As the train began to move, Harry caught sight of Hermione, Dan, and Emma all waving to him
through one of the windows. He waved back to them. A few moments later, they were gone.

Harry slowly walked back to the Ministry car, where Tonks and Remus were waiting for him. He
climbed in silently and they started heading for the other side of London. For the entire ride to
the train station, Crookshanks was quiet in his basket; now he desperately wanted out. Harry opened
the flap and the orange tom immediately jumped up into his lap.

Harry stared blankly out the window and watched the city pass him by as he absently stroked
Crookshanks’ back. Suddenly, the cold mist he hadn’t noticed at all back on the platform suddenly
seemed to increase ten-fold, though on some level he knew there really hadn’t been any change.

Harry paid no attention as the car turned onto a street called Drury Lane. He paid no attention
as it turned again a minute later from Drury Lane to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t notice as they
drove around the small square that was said street. He didn’t see as the past-their-prime houses
passed him by: eight, nine, ten. The car came to a stop outside of eleven. He felt a small shudder
reminiscent of Disillusionment wash over him as Tonks cast a glamour charm on him.

After re-securing Crookshanks, Harry calmly climbed out of the car and grabbed the basket (while
Remus retrieved his trunk from the boot), and walked over to in between numbers eleven and
thirteen. His mind thought back to that small piece of parchment he’d been given just over a year
ago. Grim, old number twelve suddenly squeezed itself into existence between the two other houses,
dreary as ever.

Everyone in the rundown neighborhood was either at work, at school, or in a chemically-induced
state of indifference. If anyone had seen them however, they would have only seen a utility vehicle
and three maintenance workers who appeared to be inspecting the streetlamp nearest number thirteen,
which seemed to go out mysteriously for no apparent reason... on a fairly regular basis in the last
week or so.

Harry walked up to the front door; it opened at his touch. As he walked in, he did not see Tonks
give Remus a quick hug and wish him well for the next few days. He headed downstairs towards the
fireplace in the kitchen, finally hearing the front door close. He was only beginning to notice
Lupin’s footsteps on the stairs behind him.

Harry walked over to the fireplace and looked at it, taking a deep breath.

“Harry?” Remus asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he replied. It was partially the truth.

“If you need me, you can call me by Floo here, or... at Tonks’ later,” he said, looking a little
embarrassed. Harry managed a smile, and meant it. “If you can’t get hold of us by Floo, try our
mobiles. There is a public phone in town in Ottery St. Catchpole. Do you have any Muggle
money?”

Harry nodded.

“If you need me, don’t hesitate to call,” Remus implored.

Harry stopped and thought about it. He would be with Ron and Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
And besides, Hermione had the other mirror. He would be okay.

“Thank you, Remus,” Harry said, genuinely appreciative of his former professor’s help. He then
drew his wand. *“Incendio!”* The fireplace flared to life.

Harry stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and threw it into the fire. He took
another deep breath and then stepped into the green flames.

“The Burrow!” he shouted, and was gone.


Next time: Harry gets some quality time to be alone with his thoughts as he replays everything
that has happened in the last month. Dan and Emma finally ask Harry for something as payment for
staying with them for the summer. And Harry and Hermione get their “shoves” through the barrier at
Platform 9¾ by Dan and Emma.




31. The Major-Witch Project
---------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The characters aren’t mine (well, maybe some of
them)... only my mind’s mindless wandering...*

*A/N: Wow! An interesting chapter. I’m not apologizing for the chapter itself, but rather that
I wasn’t able to get to any of the big points I mentioned last time. I allowed myself to get a
little carried away with a particularly rabid plot bunny. Fifty-seven “book” pages later, I’d only
gotten a start on one of them, and that was in the first few paragraphs!*

*So I decided I could either throw it all away, post nothing, and still make you wait another
two weeks for the chapter I had in mind at the end of Chapter 30. Or, I could post this now to hold
you over until I finish the chapter I had in mind at the end of Chapter 30.*

*So, that said, I DO hope that you enjoy this, because I like it very much, as it adds another
element to the story. This story is turning into as much “how things might have been” if certain
tiny details had been different. I’m sure you’ll understand as you read. The scene in the
Minister’s office alone took a week of tinkering to get it to where I wanted it.*

*I PROMISE the shortage of fluff this time will be made up for in the next chapter. ;-) Please
also know that I feel terribly guilting about not replying to your WONDERFUL reviews yet. Two
months in, I’m finally settled into my new job, but my hours are longer, so I have on average two
hours per day fewer in which to write. So, for these last two chapters, replying to reviews gets
pushed back in favor of writing. I will get to them eventually, as many of you have questions or
make valid observations that I want to answer.*

*Eternal thanks go out to my beta, MapleMountain! Figured I should also mention I got a little
historical help from answers.com.*

*Oh, and yeah, for you* Battlestar Galactica *fans out there, I couldn’t resist an
Admiral Adama quote there at the very end. No, don’t cheat by peeking!*

*And finally, once again, similarities to Book 6 are intentional, as are the differences. Oh,
how I wished Tony Blair was PM in 1996 when I titled this chapter.*


Chapter 31. The Major-Witch Project.

*Harry stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and threw it into the fire. He took
another deep breath and then stepped into the green flames.*

*“The Burrow!” he shouted, and was gone.*


Upon his arrival at stately Weasley Manor, Harry had been rather numb to the outside world. He
just couldn’t believe it: the best summer he’d ever had, had come to an end. And he couldn’t even
be mad at anyone about it; there was no one to blame.

Dumbledore had been right (it was about something else, but it applied equally well here too):
nature had to take its course. It most definitely did so without their permission. And Ron was
right too: the timing of it all just plain sucked!

After his egress from the fireplace, he was literally caught by Mrs. Weasley as he tumbled out.
This was a good thing, for his hands were full with his school trunk and Crookshanks’ basket. He
realized that it was impossible to feel bad when he was being given a warm, loving hug. He’d
actually discovered that on his first day at Hermione’s house, three weeks and one day earlier.

As he had all of the air squeezed out of his lungs by Mrs. Weasley (and welcomed it), Harry
could not help but smile. That day back then, when he was surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Granger on
the Dursleys’ doorstep, that day when he didn’t even know their first names, felt like a lifetime
ago.

It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet it had only been three weeks and one day. Now that he
looked back on it, Harry was actually a little scared at it all. So much had changed in the last
three weeks.

*“Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?”* He had the vaguest memory of Hermione
saying that once. He could hear her voice, Hermione Granger, cleverest witch of her age, saying the
words, and yet he couldn’t remember when it had happened. Oh well, maybe he’d heard it in a
dream.

Anyway, everything *had* changed. It was a little scary, but it had to be worth it. All
Hermione had to do was smile at him, and he felt like Voldemort was nothing more than another Draco
Malfoy, a little brat who, while not harmless, was more bark than bite. Harry knew that was not the
case, but sometimes it felt like that. And as the Patronus Charm (and Unforgivables) showed,
sometimes the feelings behind a spell mattered more.

Once released from Molly’s grip, Harry turned to find Ron eagerly waiting to help take his stuff
upstairs. Actually, he rather suspected his redheaded best mate was more interested in one
particular item that was most likely in the trunk. But Harry was perfectly fine with that. He
suspected he would need a lot of chess to help keep his mind off of... his mind occupied.

As he reached for Harry’s trunk, Ron froze. His eyes had landed on Crookshanks’ basket. He
looked at Harry dubiously, and less than enthused.

“They couldn’t take him with them on such short notice,” Harry explained. He conveniently left
out the part that there had been another option available.

Ron seemed to be trying very hard to find an upside to the situation.

“Well, it’ll be fun to watch him chase Arnold around, I suppose,” he said with a grin. His head
suddenly jerked forward.

“OW!”

“I heard that, *Ronald!*” Ginny said after smacking the backside of his head. She’d just
walked into room behind him as he came up with his brilliant idea. “I, *for one*, am happy to
have him here if it helps Hermione out. *Besides*, Crookshanks like *me*. And he likes
Harry. In fact, I’m sure he likes everyone who hasn’t tried to kill him,” she said, teasing her
brother.

Ron wanted to defend himself and his actions from third year, but that also would have meant
defending Pettigrew. So in the end, Ron just stood there with his mouth moving but no words coming
out while Harry and Ginny watched in amusement.

“Oh, I’m sure the little guy has forgiven me by now,” Ron finally said, sweetly. He leaned down
and started to reach for the still-closed basket. Crookshanks let out a soft growl; not loud enough
to be threatening, just enough to know he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Ron either.

Harry and Ginny smiled. “I don’t think he’s forgiven you about teasing him with the popcorn,”
Harry joked.

“Ronald? Are you teasing Crookshanks again?” Molly called from across the kitchen. Harry and
Ginny chuckled.

“Yeah, Ron, are you teasing Crookshanks again?” Ginny asked, mimicking her mother’s voice.

“*Leave him alone,* and go help Harry take his trunk upstairs,” Molly called out. As Ron
levitated Harry’s trunk up to his and Ron’s room, Harry let Crookshanks out of his basket.

“Go chase some gnomes,” he encouraged the feline. Crookshanks ran over to the kitchen door,
which was usually left open thanks to an insect-repelling charm. Once at the door, he crouched down
and began to stalk outside, on the prowl.

Turning around to head upstairs, Harry found Molly standing behind him with a plate of
sandwiches.

“Hungry, dear?” she asked.

“Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I ate a little while ago,” he assured her. Molly stood her ground.
“Well, maybe half of one,” he compromised as he took one of sandwiches that had been cut in
half.

Molly smiled as she turned back to the kitchen. “At least Hermione and her parents are taking
good care of you over there,” she said mostly to herself as she put the remaining sandwiches in
their magical icebox.

“How are they, dear?” Molly then asked as she turned back to Harry. “Hermione and her parents...
how are they?”

The smile faded from Harry’s face. “They’re doing all right, I suppose. I mean, as well as
anyone could be expected when a loved one was in the hospital.”

“Is... everything... is everything all right?” she asked hesitantly. “There’s nothing...” she
stammered. Harry looked at her encouragingly. She took a breath and finally asked what had been
bothering her ever since her seventh son’s head appeared in their fireplace the day before.

“It has nothing to do with You-Know-Who, right? He’s not going after them, is he?”

“No,” Harry replied. “As far as I know, it’s just the circle of life completing itself,” Harry
said, using Dan’s words.

“And besides, it’s Emma’s dad. If it *was* Voldemort, I can’t imagine him being that
subtle.” Harry was surprised to see Molly shudder at the mention of Voldemort; he’d gotten used to
Dan and Emma saying the name without any difficulties (let alone hearing it). With her wince out of
the way, she then appeared visibly relieved and was eager to switch topics.

“So, will you be with us for the rest of the summer?” she asked. “Will Hermione be joining us
when they get back?”

“Depends on when they get back, if she’ll be visiting,” Harry answered. “But I most likely will
be going back to their house, at least right before school starts. Dan and Emma scheduled me in for
a dentist appointment that last Friday. Hermione and I both have appointments that day.”

Molly smiled. “Shouldn’t’ve been surprised at that,” she said, amused. She too knew Hermione’s
parents were dentists. Part of her smile was also for the fact that Harry had used their first
names and seemed so comfortable doing so.

Ever since she found out that Harry was leaving those awful Dursleys early, she’d felt that the
only place for him to go was to come stay with them. But the situation with Percy had prevented
that.

Her third son still spent much of his time either out of the house, looking for a new job, or
tucked away in his room away from everyone else. But he did join them for meals everyday, and he
was beginning to join in the conversations. That, of course, had not been the case when Harry was
forced to move in with the Grangers. When Harry left the Dursleys’, she was still finding Percy
stuck to the ceiling or flapping around him room in the form of a canary.

Molly wasn’t sure how to feel when she found out that Harry was moving in with the Grangers. By
no means did she *not* trust Dan and Emma at the time. Even though she really didn’t know
them, they’d obviously raised Hermione, so that made them fit parents in her mind.

Rather, it was simply that she’d wanted Harry with her where she could keep an eye on him
herself.

Looking at him now however, it was clear that he’d obviously been in good hands the entire time.
The fact that he felt so comfortable around them spoke volumes alone. Perhaps everything had worked
out for the best after all. She was slowly getting her almost-lost third son back, and Harry, her
seventh son, was safe.

And now, he was here with them for a while.

Harry nodded, almost in guilt, at the fact that he’d been roped into a dentist appointment.
“Yeah, that’s the price you pay living with dentists,” he said with a laugh.

*“Harry! Hurry up!”* came Ron’s whine from upstairs.

“I believe his highness would like a game or two before dinner,” Molly said as she looked up in
the direction of Ron’s room. As he started to climb the stairs, she called back to him once
more.

“Any requests for dinner tonight, Harry?”

Just like with the Emma, Harry was pretty sure Molly would not let him get away with
*“Whatever you want.”* So instead, he tried something Dan had once mentioned when the girls
had been out of the room.

*“’Whatever you want,’ sounds like you’re too disinterested to care,”* Dan explained in a
whisper. *“This however accomplishes the same thing, but puts an entirely different spin on it.
This way, you’re saying that you trust them enough to make that decision for you. Just make sure
you really do trust them, as it can go terribly wrong otherwise.”*

“Surprise me,” Harry said. Molly smiled and he resumed upstairs.

* * *

Midnight tolled on 10 Downing Street as the Prime Minister leaned back in his seat. He closed
his eyes, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. He’d finally finished the last of the
seemingly never-ending memos and reports and mandates and studies and projections that made their
way across his desk. At least, he’d finished the ones that were in the stack that was set before
him fifteen and a half hours earlier. Tomorrow it would start all over again.

Sometimes he felt trapped by the walls that enclosed his “business” office, but at least the
chair was comfortable.

He glanced at the time zone clocks to verify the time that his body already felt. It was just
after seven in the evening in Washington. If he hadn’t called by now, he probably wasn’t going to
until tomorrow. The Prime Minister (well, one of his aides, actually) had a call into the President
(well, one of his aides, actually) of their neighbor across the pond.

The PM was rather annoyed that his call had not been returned yet. True, his counterpart was
getting ready to ramp up his campaign for reelection. But really, even at this early of a stage, it
was accepted that his opponent faced an extremely uphill battle. And that brought him back to his
phone call.

Even though his own election was still months away, change was in the wind. Everyone could feel
it. And *most* unfortunately, it had absolutely nothing to do with the unseasonably cold and
misty weather. More focus groups and telephone surveys than he cared to know about told him that
his constituents were looking to be led in a different direction.

His “advisors” had suggested he take advantage of a few photo opportunities with the extremely
popular politician. Even if they had no intention of instituting the same kinds of policies, any
meetings would provide photos would make good front-page headlines. Those same advisors had told
him again and again: sometimes it was more important to look like he was doing something than to be
actually doing it.

The Prime Minister sighed as he flipped back to the confidential memo buried amongst the
intelligence reports and economic forecasts. His advisors, even with months to go, were taking
seriously the threat of the opposition. If public sentiment was shifting in a direction that
favored their opponents’ policies, about all they could do was to attack their opponents directly,
rather than those policies.

The PM took another deep breath and stared again at the walls that surrounded him. Sometimes he
felt more trapped by his “advisors” than these walls. At least the walls were decorated nicely.

And the chair was very comfortable.

So, on the one hand he was rather annoyed that the president had not returned his call
immediately, for it meant he would have to deal with it again tomorrow. And yet on the other hand,
he was glad the man did not call, for it meant it could wait until tomorrow. After all, while it
was currently 7:15PM on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, it was 12:15AM in Number 10.

The Prime Minister tidied his desk and locked away everything that needed to be locked away for
the evening. He leaned back in his very comfortable chair, propped his elbow up on the arm of his
chair, and rested his forehead in his hand.

With everything he *had* to do today taken care of, he used these few spare minutes before
he retired to his flat upstairs to consider what he *wanted* to do. If he knew his advisors
well, and he did, he knew the direction they would insist he go in the upcoming months.

A clearly defining issue needed to found. If it could not, then the entire election would be
reduced to “stay the course” and “a new direction.” With increasing interest in “a new direction,”
all that was really left were personal attacks. And that was a path he was not at all eager to
trod. He stood up and walked over to the window.

When he wanted to let his mind wander, he always came to this particular window and looked out
at the street below. For some reason, he found it easier to think when he was looking out at the
outside world. Tonight, the full moon seemed to cause the fog outside to glow. The luminescence
helped encourage his mind to clear.

As he looked though the thick but perfectly clear armored glass, he pondered his situation. For
the sake of his election, for the sake of his job, for the sake of his conscience, he *needed*
to find an issue.

*“Ahem,”* came a soft cough behind him.

The Prime Minster froze where he stood. His gaze automatically refocused from the police car on
the side of street to his own scared-looking reflection. He knew that cough. He had heard it
before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room.

“Hello?” He cringed at the sound of his own voice. It clearly betrayed his anxiety.

In the fraction of a second that passed, the PM allowed himself the infinitesimally small chance
that it was just his imagination, that the one painting in this office no one else ever seemed to
notice (except that one time he tried to have it torn off the wall) would not answer him back.

There was a reason it was infinitesimally small, for the froglike man with the silver wig
immediately replied.

“To the Prime Minister of the Muggles. It is urgent we meet. Please respond as soon as possible.
Sincerely, Madam Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic.”

The PM felt his stomach fall out from under him. Every time this painting spoke, trouble
followed. Those advisors’ memos were starting to look good again. And he had been waiting for a
telephone call, hadn’t he?

“Er, this actually isn’t the best moment, you see. I’m expecting a very important—”

“You know he would never call you after midnight to discuss a publicity stunt,” the portrait
replied immediately. The Prime Minister sighed. He knew that too.

“Very well,” he conceded as he looked in the direction of the fireplace, expecting an arrival.
“Oh, wait!” he called out as ran over to it. “I need to move the screen first!”

It was too easy to forget that what was in this office was no ordinary fireplace. A gift from a
family member, he’d placed a decorative fireplace screen in front of the hearth, to help liven the
room. Crashing into a cast iron depiction of St. George defeating a dragon was generally not
considered to be an appropriate way for one Minister to greet another.

“It’s clear now!” he called strongly up to the portrait. He didn’t think he would ever get
accustomed to this method of communication. If he ever spoke more than five or six words through
the painting, for reason he kept getting louder and louder. He was usually shouting by the time he
was done. Shouting was also generally not considered to be an appropriate way for one Minister to
greet another.

He hurried to his desk to make himself look presentable. By this time of night, his tie was
halfway undone; his shirt was un-tucked, and his suit jacket draped over one of the many desks in
the room. Once appropriate attired, he returned to his chair and relaxed all of his muscles, trying
to sink into it as deeply as possible. Whatever this new Madam Bones (whom he’d still hadn’t met in
person) needed to discuss with him at midnight, at least he could be comfortable.

About a minute later, the empty fireplace roared to life with bright green flames. A moment
later, the (new) Minister of Magic arrived in 10 Downing Street for the very first time.

Refusing to process the fact that a woman had just appeared out of thin air (or rather fire),
the Prime Minister’s attention was immediately drawn to the ash that she brushed off of her, and
onto the antique rug beneath her feet.

More than anything, he wondered how he was going to explain to the maintenance staff how ash
could come from a fireplace that had not seen a fire in it for a long time.

“Ah... Prime Minister,” she said, striding forward with her hand outstretched. “Good to finally
meet you in person.”

The PM honestly did not know how he wanted to respond. It *was* agreeable to finally meet
in person the new Minister of Magic. But at the same time, as he had just observed to himself,
meetings like this meant trouble. All he could do was hope for the best, so he replied in kind as
he went to shake her hand.

“Madam Minister, I agree. It’s nice to meet you in person. I received notification of your
appointment,” he said as his eyes darted to the exact spot on his desk where he found that letter
only a few short weeks ago, “but it is nice to put a face to a name.”

Finally accepting that the new Minister of Magic was now standing in his office, the PM was
finally able to take in her appearance. It never ceased to amaze him how he’d always built up some
mental picture in his mind of what someone looked like whom he’d never met.

He therefore was often times surprised that a person looked nothing like he expected, even
though he’d had nothing upon which to originally base his initial impression. This time was no
exception.

And yet, something about this new Minister of Magic lodged in his mind. She did not at all look
anything like he’d expected. And yet, the moment he saw her, he knew she looked exactly like she
was supposed to.

Yes, he knew that was probably the most obvious assessment ever—even to the point of
“Duh!”-level as his son might say—but to have one’s preconceptions shattered by a face-to-face
meeting, many people never get over the fact when someone doesn’t look like they expected.

But still, something about her struck a note within him. Maybe it was her short gray hair that
instantly reminded him of one of his favorite teachers when he was a child. Maybe it was the
monocle. He hadn’t seen someone with a monocle in a long time.

Whatever it was, he immediately had a good impression of her. Something about her appearance
conveyed... sturdy... reliable. He trusted her... as much as any head of a government could be
trusting.

He led her back to his desk, subtly directing her to the more comfortable of the two chairs on
the other side of his desk. He intentionally had two different chairs placed in front of his desk:
one very hard and very uncomfortable, the other rather pleasant (but not as nice as his own).

He often used these chairs to dictate how much of his time a person was allocated. If he didn’t
like the person, or just wanted them gone in a hurry, he made sure they got the lesser of the two
chairs. Few people could stand to sit in it for more than fifteen minutes; most were ready to leave
after five. Everyone else however, got the comfortable chair.

Once both were seated comfortably, the PM looked appraisingly at the other Minister. “So, what
*do* I owe the pleasure? Or were we just out for a lovely stroll in the foggy moonlight?” he
asked, trying to be a friendly as possible. He would never admit it, but he never really did like
her predecessor. He saw an opportunity for a fresh start. He desperately wanted to seize it.

The Minister of Magic smiled at the Prime Minister. She’d read the private notes left behind by
her predecessor. The picture he’d painted bore no resemblance to the Muggle in front of her. That
alone was a good sign.

“Business, I’m afraid,” she replied wearily, after her smile faded. She noted that his smile
faded as well.

The Prime Minister leaned forward, listening attentively. From what little contact he’d had over
the years, he’d gotten the impression that something was... well, something. He didn’t know what,
but there was just something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Oh, nothing had ever been said outright, nothing except the “matter” at hand, but a pattern was
developing, one that even a mere Muggle could see. For woven in with almost all of the “matters”—a
single escaped murderer, the boy named Harry, the tournament with its dragons, and most recently
the mass breakout from the previously escape-proof prison—was a single common thread, a man, a
wizard who could not be named.

The “Other Minister” (as the PM thought of him) constantly assured him that things were under
control, that Lord Volde-something-or-other (that was about as much as he ever got) was dead. But
the nameless man kept popping up, something the deceased tended *not* to do. The PM got the
distinct impression that his counterpart saw things as he wanted to see them, and then governed
accordingly.

The fact that there was now a new Other Minister, that she was visiting him past midnight,
confirmed his suspicions. He-who-he-didn’t-know-what-else-to-call-him was back.

The Minister of Magic leaned forward in her chair. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

“Actually, somehow I suspect I’m going to need something a little stronger,” the PM said with a
slight laugh. To his surprise, the witch across from him laughed as well.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” she agreed. She pulled out her wand and conjured two glasses of
whiskey and one cup of hot chocolate. She offered the PM one of the whiskeys and then poured some
of the other into her chocolate.

The two Ministers each took a single drink and allowed it to go down slowly. They both then sat
back in their chairs.

“As you know,” the Minister of Magic started finally, “it is not under the most of ideal of
circumstances that I found my way into this position. I...” she trailed off, and took another large
drink from her cup.

“Oh, hell,” she finally said, setting her cup down. “Minister, I need your help.”

The Prime Minister set his drink down and leaned forward. “Please, John,” he insisted. “With the
two of us, I think there are far too many Ministers in here all ready.”

The Minister of Magic laughed in agreement. “Amelia,” she asked.

“Please, Amelia, what can I do?”

Amelia took another quick drink. “I guess the best place to start is for me to ask you how much
you know of what is happening on our side of the wall. I’ve been in office exactly four weeks as of
today, well, yesterday, and I find I spend half of my time picking up the pieces from where dear
Cornelius left off. Again and again, there is the truth and there was Fudge’s version of it.”

For the next fifteen minutes, John recounted for Amelia as much as he could remember of what he
knew about the magical world, what he’d gleaned from the few visits he’d received. Sensing that the
formidable-looking witch in front of him would be nothing like Fudge, he held nothing back. He even
went as far as to give her his honest opinion of Fudge and the way the wizarding world did
things.

Always the politician, he quickly made sure to limit the scope of his criticisms. “That is to
say, it was like that, the way *Fudge* did things.” Amelia smiled then finished off her drink.
Forced to become a quick study in the countless intricacies of politics, she recognized what he was
doing.

And she took it as a good sign. To her, it signified that he wanted to leave the past in the
past, to learn from it, and move forward. She hoped that was what he wanted, as moving forward was
exactly what she needed to do. Quickly.

“Well, for the most part, much of what you heard is true,” Amelia explained. “About the only
correction I need to give is to say that most everything he flat out denied was true.”

“So it’s true then? What’s-His-Name has returned? He’s alive.” John said.

“Yes. Voldemort is alive and well,” she confirmed. John immediately took notice that she used
his name. That was one of the things that really contributed to his lack of faith and trust in
Fudge. No matter how evil or vile Voldemort was, if Fudge couldn’t even bring himself to say the
name, how could he stand up to him in a real confrontation, such as something like, say...
WAR?!

This fact alone, that she could say the name, cemented his trust in her. It would take a
powerful person to bring her down. For the next few minutes, Amelia caught John up to speed with
the most recent goings-on.

“And *that* is what brings me to why I am here at such an obscene hour,” she said, then
taking a moment to steel herself. “We’ve received communication from Voldemort, a threat. I’m to
step aside and release his followers from Azkaban, or he’ll make an example.”

John’s stomach sank. “What kind of example?” he asked fearfully. Amelia reached for her cup but
stopped herself upon seeing it was empty.

“An example that would result in the deaths of many, many Muggles.”

John’s first reaction was to push the little button on the underside of his desk. Within thirty
seconds (twenty-six on their last drill), Number 10 would be filled with at least fifty armed
police, and at least one hundred more regular, non-armed street officers would be outside in the
surrounding blocks within two minutes. And that was to say nothing about the status of the
military.

But what would he tell them?

However, just because he couldn’t push *that* button right now, it didn’t mean he was going
to simply roll over and surrender.

“It would be the last mistake he *ever* made,” the Prime Minister said confidently, and
justifiably so... from *his* point of view. He did, after all, have at his command one of the
most powerful arsenals on the planet... if it came down to it.

The Minister of Magic looked up at him incredulously, and actually laughed. “And what would you
do?” she asked frankly. John could sense that it was intended as a serious question and not a
sarcastic attack, yet her directness took him aback.

What *would* he do? It seemed so simple in his mind at first. He had guns and tanks and
aircraft carriers, even nuclear weapons. He had the Royal Navy, the Marines, the RAF, the SAS, even
certain other... *unmentionable* resources at his disposal. He could even get NATO and the UN
and the Americans involved if he needed to. Yes, it seemed so inconceivable that anyone could
attack Great Britain and not be utterly destroyed.

But this was a foe like no other.

And Madam Amelia Bones explained exactly why.

“My dear Minister. I do not believe you truly comprehend what you are facing,” she said bluntly.
John was amazed that she was able to say this in a way as to not sound condescending. “You are so
used to dealing with normal adversaries, enemies who fight with bullets and tanks, and are housed
in barracks and have command posts.

“How do you stop a Killing Curse with a bullet-proof vest? How do you lock yourself in some
sealed command center when the people who want to kill you can Apparate... teleport through walls?
How do you bomb their headquarters or meeting place when its location is so secret, it literally
can not even be mapped... when you could look right at it and not see it?”

John wanted to be able to give answers to her questions, but found he had none. Amelia looked at
him carefully and saw that he was actually listening to what she said. He was beginning to realize
the nature of the threat before him.

“Now, let me assure you,” Amelia resumed, “I have absolutely no intention of rolling over and
surrendering.” John actually managed a slight smile that she’d used the exact same words as had
gone through his head only moments earlier.

“I do, however, have a slight problem: manpower. He’s given me a deadline of 4PM this Friday to
submit to his demands. If I don’t do as he asks, he says he will destroy the Brockdale Bridge while
it is loaded with Muggles on their way home from work.

John was unable to stifle a gasp. He knew that bridge. He’d been out there not four months ago
as part of a traffic commission study. The bridge, built within the last decade, was on a new
motorway that was intended to ease rush hour traffic out of London. It had worked, kind of. The
traffic on the other motorways in the area *had* decreased noticeably... and all moved onto
this new route. At the height of the evening rush, there could easily be a hundred cars or more on
the eight-lane overpass.

Once the look of shock and nausea had worn off, it was replaced by doubt.

“You see my dilemma,” Amelia explained as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ve been given an
obvious target. Will it be his real target, or is it a diversion away from something else?
Voldemort is the type of enemy who would tell you of his intended target to create fear, and
because of his confidence in his own abilities. But it’s just as likely to be a trick.

“So what do I do? I could probably successfully stop him if I pool all of my resources there.
But that would leave everything else unattended. Or I could spread them out evenly across the
country, but that most certainly would not leave enough people in any one place to stop him.

“And stop him, I must,” Amelia said emphatically. “He’s just come off of one highly-publicized
defeat. Oh, sure, innocent people died, but his objective failed. Did you know, the wizarding
community is actually starting to feel more confident?

“People are still scared, but they are beginning to feel like it’s actually possible that we
might win this war. He attempted to attack the prison to release his followers, and he failed. The
dementors, which originally seemed to be on his side, now seem to be out for themselves, which
actually makes them easier to fight and contain, since they aren’t organized.

“And most of all, the wizarding world now has a symbol that they can believe in, a chosen one
who is supposedly prophesized to defeat Voldemort once and for all. People are beginning to have
faith, which is why Voldemort is determined to strike in a very visible way,” Amelia explained.

“In effect, he’s a wounded animal, and he feels the need to strike out to remind everyone he
still has claws,” she said.

“Animals are most dangerous when they are wounded,” John warned, though he wasn’t trying to
dissuade her.

“Yes, but they are also the most *vulnerable* when wounded. And that is why we must
succeed. If I step aside, he wins. If I release his followers, he wins, and increases in strength
countless times over. If I do nothing, countless innocent Muggles will die, and he wins. The only
way to ensure he does not win is to ensure that he loses.

“Do you remember how I said this was not an enemy you understood how to fight? Well, the same
things you had never considered make it no easier for me to fight either,” Amelia admitted. “How do
I fight an opponent that is invisible and appear and disappear at random? A foe that can use mind
control to force people to help him? An enemy that has absolutely no reservations about
slaughtering innocent bystanders?”

Again, John didn’t really know how to answer.

“You fight them the only way you can: directly. You have to be there when they attack; you have
to be standing in the line of fire, casting spells at them while they cast spells at you. And there
in lies my problem. Voldemort’s cause may be wounded and vulnerable, but that *does* make him
more dangerous than ever.

“And that is made worse by the fact that he is one of the most evil, and most powerful, wizards
to have ever lived,” Amelia said solemnly. “*That*, Minister, is why I am here tonight.”

“I do not know if we will succeed in tracking him down before he strikes. And should he strike,
I do not know if we will prevail. I simply cannot ignore his promise to attack this particular
target, nor can I afford to ignore all other possible targets. To be blunt, I am stretched too thin
to guarantee success on my own.”

Amelia stopped for a moment to conjure another cup of hot chocolate; she skipped the whiskey
this time however. She resumed after taking a long drink.

“You have to understand something, John. The wizarding and Muggle worlds have been separate for
centuries. ‘Live and let live,’ I think Fudge once said about you, about the Muggle world, after
one of his meetings with you. No one... almost no one... would blink an eye if I insisted to do
this on my own.

“In fact, most would be shocked to know I am here right now. But to be honest, John, I’m scared.
I’m scared that my best efforts won’t be enough this time. I have every Auror and Hit Wizard and
quite a few others out there right now, looking for him. But I don’t expect they’ll find him.

“At 4PM Friday, they’ll all be relocated out across the country, guarding possible targets,
ready for him to attack. We’ll have a larger force stationed at Brockdale, but I’m afraid it won’t
be enough. What I need from you is your help.”

Amelia took another drink from her hot chocolate. She then looked John squarely in the eye.
“What I need from you are your MI6 00-Agents.”

*That* was something the Prime Minister was most certainly not expecting to hear from the
Minister of Magic.

“My dear Amelia. I’m afraid you watch too many movies,” John chuckled with well-rehearsed
ease.

“Actually, I’ve never seen a movie,” she replied seriously. “I know you don’t have 00-Agents any
more than I have Mages,” she said, giving him a weighted look. “I know you use the movies as cover
for them, just in case someone accidentally lets something slip.

“What I also know is that now is not the time to be worried about whether or not I know about
them. It is time to be worried about if we fail this Friday,” Amelia stressed. “Because if we fail,
it won’t stop with the one bridge. Every victory Voldemort achieves strengthens his cause, bolsters
his support.

“This conflict goes way beyond Muggles and wizards. There are many other parties involved...
parties that up to now have been content to sit on the side and stay out of the fighting. Centaurs,
giants, goblins, trolls, *vampires, werewolves*... these are all communities that usually live
isolated from the Muggle and wizarding worlds.

“Under normal circumstances, they would live off on their own with no reason to attack. But with
a few victories in Voldemort’s favor and certain promises only he would make, they might find
reason to join his side.”

John could hear the desperation beginning to creep into Amelia’s voice.

“The Ministry *can* keep the vampires at bay, or we can keep the werewolves under control.
But if they *all* joined him? What if he offered the blood of every man, woman, and child of
London to the vampires? What if he offered the flesh of every resident of Birmingham to the
werewolves? What if he offered the entire Bank of England to the goblins?

“Voldemort would not hesitate to make these offers. *Right now*, even if he did make those
offers, I doubt any would take to his cause. But with a high-profile victory or two? That is why he
must be stopped here and now, while he is most vulnerable!” Madam Bones closed her eyes for a few
moments to calm herself. She finished off her second hot chocolate and pulled out a handkerchief to
dry her eyes, which had begun to get misty from of the intensity with which she tried to convey the
gravity of the situation.

“John, now is our chance. Now is the turning point that may dictate the future of this war. Will
we defeat Voldemort Friday? We might not defeat him, but at this point I’d settle for just making
sure we prevent *him* from winning. Or *will* he win Friday and send out a message? A
message that innocent people will be murdered if he doesn’t get what he wants?”

The Prime Minister just leaned back in his very comfortable chair and took a deep breath, the
kind those facing a no-win scenario often took. The Minister of Magic seemed to be struggling to
recompose herself and took no notice of the PM’s expression.

Ever since he sensed that she was trying to ask for his help, something about the whole thing
had been bothering him. Now that Mugg— (*Good heavens, now even I’m starting to think of us as
‘Muggles,’* John was amazed) Now that non-wizards were being drawn into this magical war, now
that *he* was being drawn in, he just had to say it.

“For heaven’s sake... you’re *wizards!* You can do magic! Surely you can sort out...
well... *anything!*”

Amelia looked up at him slowly. She managed a smile as she said kindly, “The trouble is, the
other side can do magic too, Prime Minister.”

Finally the Muggle Prime Minister understood. The two sides were stalemated; they were, in a
way, evenly matched. The Ministry’s superior numbers were offset by the difficultly in finding a
very small group that was hidden, combined with Voldemort’s willingness to kill innocent civilians.
What she was looking was a way to till the balance in the Ministry’s favor... and since she was
here, something unexpected, something that didn’t involve magic.

“Why do you want the 00s? I mean, why just them?” John asked. “Why not *everything*? With a
single phone call, I could have 100,000 troops mobilized.”

“And how long would that take?” Amelia asked cleverly. “We have less than forty-eight hours. But
more than that, this all must be kept secret. The fewer people that know, the better. Can you
imagine the panic if the general population knew that magic and dragons and vampires were real and
that an evil wizard was hell-bent on conquering the world?”

Madam Bones remembered that he was first and foremost a politician. “Either that, or they
wouldn’t believe you, and they’d lock you away for having gone round the bend.”

John was quite deflated at this. It had just occurred to him at the very last minute that this
could be *the issue*, his ticket to a guaranteed reelection. He was going to be the PM who
helped save the United Kingdom from Lord Voldemort. It meant he could rally on something, and not
succumb to all of those mud-slinging memos.

Unfortunately for him, Madam Bones had only been a politician for four weeks. She was first and
foremost a fighter. She’d been in the MLE in various positions ever since she’d graduated from
Hogwarts. She’d never been especially fond of politicians, and as such had learned to read them
pretty well. She had seen his reaction.

“Were you hoping to use this as a publicity stunt, Minister?” she asked, displeased. Maybe Fudge
had been right about the man in front of her after all.

“No, not a *stunt!*” John defended. “I was just thinking... well... what’s the harm in
taking a little credit for a job well done... for both of us?”

“Because the magical world must be kept secret at all costs!” Amelia explained. “This war may,
for the moment, be confined to Britain. But exposure of the magical world would have drastic
consequences, not just here, but the world round. Millions of witches and wizards all over the
world would suddenly find themselves cast out into a weary and untrusting world.

“Even today, here in England, you know there are groups of people who would have us burned at
the stake if they knew of us,” Amelia said, disquieted. She knew it was pointless to try to burn a
witch at the stake. It was the motivation behind it that was unsettling. Plus, she knew it was
still a powerful image for Muggles.

“Even to this day, here in the great civilized lands of England and America, there are still
book burnings. Every time some popular book about magic or wizardry comes out, the fires light up.”
John winced; he knew she was right. Sometimes those who considered themselves to be the most
righteous were the first to pick up stones.

“Sometimes it is more important to do what is right, and not receive any accolade for it, other
than to know that you did what was right,” Amelia said. “A very wise man told me this recently. It
was he who suggested I enlist your help. I probably would have tried to do this by myself were it
not for his advice.”

John actually chuckled at that, which confused Amelia. He’d been thinking about what his
advisors would say if they were here now.

*“Advisors,”* he practically spat out. “What’s the point in having an advisor if you
already know what he or she is going to say... if their advice never deviates from a predetermined
path, or the party line? Every situation is different, so how can the answer to every problem
already be decided?”

Amelia looked at John appraisingly again. Perhaps her initial impression of him was correct
after all. Not being a politician at heart, she felt she had the luxury of changing her mind as a
situation changed. It was why staying the course just to stay the course was no better than change
for the sake of change. Situations changed, so responses needed to adapt.

Amelia looked at John and smiled in understanding. “My dear John, trust me, you are not alone in
that. My office is filled with the very same advisors you face. But every once in a while, you find
someone who is different... someone who puts the welfare of everyone ahead of just those who voted
for him.”

John chuckled. “I’d certainly like to meet someone like that. You won’t find anyone like that
around here... at least not in *this* building. Most people like that don’t make it beyond
MP... not political enough.”

“Sometimes the best political advisors are those who eschew politics,” Amelia said. “I could ask
him if you would like to meet him sometime. You may have heard of him. His name is Albus—”

“Dumbledore?” John finished, surprised. The look on Amelia’s face was clearly one of surprise
that he was surprised. “Well, it’s just that the impression I got of him from Fudge...” the look on
her face at that exact moment explained everything, “was his own,” he finished.

“I think, Minister,” Amelia said as she vanished their empty cups, “that if you are honest with
him, you will find him a refreshing change. You may not agree with him, but he will definitely give
you food for thought. As I mentioned, it is he who... *encouraged* me to not go this alone and
ask for your assistance.”

“Which you will have, Madam Minister,” the Prime Minister said formally with a smile.

“Thank you, John.”

“So, how many of the 00s do you envision needing?”

Again, Amelia looked him squarely in the eyes. “All of them.” Again, John was surprised, but not
as much this time. “I trust you understand the seriousness of the situation. We might not win, but
we cannot fail. We need the best of the best. And it must remain absolutely secret.”

“Agreed,” John said.

“Excellent. What is their deployment? Do they normally work in groups of six, or four, or what?”
Amelia asked.

“They usually work alone, one agent per mission.”

If that was true, Amelia *was* impressed. The actual amount of intelligence the Ministry of
Magic had on MI6 was actually very minimal... little more than the fact that the 00-Agents actually
did exist and that they were the best Muggle Britain had to offer. There were several...
*doubtful* comments associated with them in the files, but that could have easily just been
the typical wizarding underestimation of Muggles.

“They’re that good?” she asked.

“They’re 00s,” John said proudly. Madam Bones looked at the clock; it was nearly one in the
morning.

“Very well. With your permission, I will meet you here in your office Friday at noon for lunch,”
she said. “You can wow me with your favorite lunch menu, and I will see if I can convince Albus to
join us as well. Afterwards, we’ll see if we can’t surprise even your 00-Agents with a magic trick
or two,” she said as she went over to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder into it.

“With everything they’ve been through over the years,” John said, “I doubt they’d be that
surprised.”

* * *

Seven o’clock dawned too bright and way too early for Nymphadora Tonks. She’d slept restlessly
all night, unable to think of anything except Remus. He’d already gone through one full moon while
he was staying with her. She’d been concerned for his well being then, but... well, that was
*before*.

Tonks had woken up several times throughout the night. Each time, she could have sworn she heard
a wolf howling, but she knew it had to have been her imagination. He was miles away, on the
opposite side of London from her. And she knew that he had taken his Wolfsbane potion, so he’d be
little more than a puppy curled up on the rug in front of a warm fire.

Okay, so she knew that he was far from a puppy, but he would be safe, safe from himself, safe to
others. But she knew it would not be easy or pleasant from him. She’d gasped when she saw his
appearance that first morning after the full moon a month earlier. She’d felt so helpless to do
anything for him. All she could do was watch as he did what he had to in order to recover.

Not this time. This time, she knew what he needed. This time, she would be there at his side,
with him, for him.

By 7:30, she was showered, dressed, and had called into Shacklebolt that she would be taking a
personal day. Kingsley knew that their mutual friend was “under the weather” today, so he had no
objections to her taking a day if it meant it helped Remus. Besides, according to her records, it
was the first time she’d *ever* asked to take a day off since becoming an Auror (her time off
after Sirius’s death was ordered by their former boss, Rufus Scrimgeour).

Tonks Apparated into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place and immediately started a fire in the
stove to get it warmed up. She then went upstairs to check on Remus. She found him curled in ball
on the floor in front of a now-dead fireplace in Sirius’s old room. The oversized clothes he wore
during his transformation (to afford himself *some* modesty) were stained in now-dried
sweat.

His skin, where she could see it, was almost pink, raw and irritated from the physiologically
violent transformation. A blanket that at one point had been covering him had been kicked off
during the night. He looked cold.

Tonks drew her wand and relit the fire. She then went over to the window and opened it, allowing
light and fresh air in. On her way out, she stopped and knelt down, pulling the blanket back over
him. He had told her that he would not wake up for anything until his body and mind had healed back
up to a certain threshold.

Since transformations under Wolfsbane were relatively controlled, Remus knew from experience
that this would not be until at least eight o’clock, and could be as late as eleven, depending on
at what time the height of the full moon was. He had explained this to Tonks in the event that
there was some emergency. He didn’t want her, or anyone else, to worry about him being unresponsive
in case she, or anyone else, showed up unexpectedly.

Tonks didn’t know if he was implying that he suspected she would come, or subtly requesting that
she do, but she had known that she was going to come anyway.

All she could do now was wait for him to wake up. She returned downstairs and put a pot on to
start some strong, black coffee... something Remus preferred while recuperating from his
transformation. He had asked her to make some for him last month after returning from wherever he’d
gone.

Remus woke up just shy of 8:30. He noticed three things immediately. First, every single part of
his body screamed out in agony. He was quite sure that even Merlin himself would cry out at such
torture. But he was used to it by now; he did this every month. Second, he noticed the lovely,
warm, crackling fireplace... the fireplace that should have died out hours ago. And third, his
hypersensitive olfactory sense was regaled by the seductive smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Remus smiled. No one besides Tonks knew about the coffee... at least no one alive. It wasn’t a
secret; it was just something Lily (who at the time was still just another girl James was ogling)
had suggested he try once after he felt lethargic after one particular transformation back at
Hogwarts.

She had told him that the beverage he’d never before tried often “jump-started her day.” Since
at the time Remus had secretly fancied Lily a little (back when she was still not at all impressed
with James), he was all too eager to try out her suggestion.

His skin felt like it had been scrubbed with a cheese grater and his muscles felt like they had
been slow-roasted to medium-well and each and every one of his bones felt like it had been
shattered into a thousand pieces, and yet he smiled, feeling better than he could remember in a
very long time.

He just wanted to say it to himself: *Tonks is here, and she made coffee.*

* * *

Thursday afternoon, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting outside the Burrow, taking a break from
their most recent game of three-on-three Quidditch. Ron’s team (since he *was* Gryffindor
Quidditch Captain) consisted of him as Keeper, Harry as Seeker, and Bill as Beater. Ginny’s team
was comprised of her as Seeker, Charlie—who wasn’t due to return to Romania until September—as
Keeper, and to everyone’s surprise, Neville as Beater.

“What?!” she asked Ron sharply at his initial reaction to her suggestion. “We need one more.
*Fleur* won’t play,” she said annoyed, and out of earshot of her other brother. With Arthur’s
earlier blessing, Fleur had moved into the Burrow the day after Ginny’s party, the day before Harry
moved in. The honeymoon between the two females was clearly over already.

“Fred and George are at work, so who does that leave?” Ginny asked defensively. Only because he
was used to seeing it on his dorm mate, Harry noticed Ginny’s ears turn a faint shade of pink. They
then turned red as Ron opened his mouth to say something.

Ginny did not give him a chance to say anything however as she answered her own question by
rattling off the names of six other boys she knew full well Ron would not have happy spending any
quality time with her. From that point on, and for the rest of the summer, Ron would never again
object to when Neville came over to fill out a Quidditch team or when Ginny volunteered his
services (before telling him) to her mum to help get their garden back in order.

Oh, Molly was furious at what the gnomes had done to her beloved garden during the six weeks or
so while they were gone.

And speaking of gnomes...

While Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting around the backside of the house, and while Neville was
down on his knees literally examining the dirt with his hands as Molly explained the problems she
was having (and Ginny attentively watched the two of them interact), Crookshanks was having the
time of his life, chasing around more gnomes than he could keep up with.

Since he couldn’t be with his favorite one, Crookshanks knew he had to go with the nice one, the
one who scratched his head and gave him popcorn, and had joined with his favorite one. He knew his
favorite one and the nice one weren’t ready to have a litter, but the Kneazle in him could sense
that they had already bonded for life.

Oh, and since that was the case, Crookshanks supposed he should now start calling him
‘*his* nice one’ rather than ‘*the* nice one.’ If the two of them were now joined, that
meant the fact that Hermione was his property now transferred by default to Harry as well. The
*cat* in Crookshanks knew that. As most cat “owners” could attest, the difference between cats
and dogs was that a dog rubbed up against a person to show how much they loved their owner. Cats
rubbed up against people to mark them as their property.

So, even though he was with *his* nice one, he still wasn’t entirely thrilled to be with
the red-haired one. But at least his nice one, the fiery one (who also had red hair, but
Crookshanks didn’t see Ginny that way), and the feeding one kept the red-haired one from
threatening to curse him. He also hoped the same-ones would be here soon, as he enjoyed it when
they teased the red-haired one.

And at least the loud, yappy, white one who chased him around trying to bite his tail was not
here.

Harry and Ron watched in amusement as Crookshanks would slowly stalk up to the taller grass of
the surrounding fields. He would crouch down near the edge of the lawn and sit there waiting
patiently for a few moments. They silently chuckled, as he would then spring forward and start
running into the field, in hot pursuit of a gnome.

The two best friends watched as the cat ran after the small creatures. He still was never able
to catch one. That didn’t stop the two of them from cheering him on though.

Little did they know however that Crookshanks didn’t care. He himself knew he wasn’t able to
catch them; they were just too fast for him, despite their appearance. Little did Harry and Ron
know... little did the gnomes know that Crookshanks wasn’t actually *trying* to catch
them.

He was trying to chase them. Or more correctly flush them out. Whenever Crookshanks went after a
gnome, all of them in the area would take off in all directions. He would give chase, trying to
chase them in the direction of the large tree off the side of the house... the very same one
beneath which, unbeknownst to him, his favorite one and his nice one had straightened a few things
out earlier that week.

After three attempts, Crookshanks was getting tired. The random scattering of the gnomes was
just too, well, random. He’d let them settle down, then try once more before dinner, and then give
up for the evening.

“So, mate, good to be back?” Ron asked as he stretched out in his chair, enjoying the lazy
afternoon. It had been a good day. He’d avoided his homework, properly trounced Harry in a game of
chess, had lunch, experimented to determine which foods went well with cream cheese—something not
found in the wizarding world (and ate the *entire* 300g block in the process)—and then enjoyed
a great game of Quidditch.

Harry too leaned back in his chair. “Sure beats the hell out of the Dursleys’,” he said happily.
He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to make a certain other comparison.

Ron then lowered his voice. “So, what do you think?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About Mr. Greenwand over there,” Ron whispered as he nodded in Neville’s direction. By now,
Ginny had wandered off to “help Mum,” which pretty much consisted of standing there and listening
while Neville explained to Molly how to make a homemade pepper solution she could apply to her
plants to keep the gnomes from gnawing on them.

“What about him?” Harry asked.

“*‘What about him?’* Harry, this is the third time he’s been here this week!” Okay, so Ron
would only question his presence when it wasn’t for Quidditch, and when his sister couldn’t hear
him.

“So?” Harry asked justifiably. Ron started to open his mouth, but Harry cut him off. “Ron, it’s
*Neville!*”

Harry meant that in a good way. Ron started to say something again, but again Harry preempted
him. “Are you *ever* going to give her a break? You didn’t like Michael. You didn’t like Dean.
Now, what? You don’t like Neville?”

Just then, a very rare event occurred: Ron stopped and thought about his response before
actually speaking.

Finally, after inhaling to start talking three times in about ten seconds, Ron finally made up
his mind.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. At least we don’t have to worry about him trying to take advantage
of her.”

So close, and yet...

Harry wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, or both. Just for that, he decided to
mess with Ron a little.

“If anything, I think you should be more worried about *her* taking advantage of
*him*.”

Ron’s eyes widened for a moment and then a very unhappy look appeared on his face. “Oh,
*man!*” he whined as he turned towards the garden. He now started watching his sister
suspiciously instead of Neville.

Harry suddenly nudged Ron with his elbow. “Here we go again!” he said as he nodded towards the
field. Crookshanks was on the prowl once more.

The two best mates watched as Hermione’s cat began his routine. They quietly cheered as he took
off after one.

“Oh, look at that one,” Ron pointed out. “It’s heading straight for the tree. If he thinks
Crookshanks can’t follow him up it, he’s in for a big sur—”

*FWUMP!*

Harry and Ron were stunned speechless. Both of their mouths were wide open in shock. It happened
so fast. There was this momentary white blur and then... nothing (everything was hidden from this
distance by the tall grass).

“Did you just...?” Ron tried to ask.

“Yeah...” Harry tried to answer.

Metis had just dive-bombed down onto the gnome from some branch high up in the tree. A moment
later, Crookshanks came trotting out of the tall grass, his bottlebrush tail swishing happily. He
looked quite like the cat that ate the canary... or perhaps in this case, the cat that helped the
owl catch the gnome.

Crookshanks immediately ran over and jumped up into Harry’s lap, purring contentedly. Harry and
Ron looked back towards the tree just in time to see Metis take flight, carrying the gnome in his
talons. He was headed around to the side of the house where Ron and Harry’s room (and its open
window) was.

Harry was still a little surprised. “Well, your mum *was* looking for a way to thin out
their numbers. At least this way we don’t have to poison them.”

Molly was still searching for ways to reduce their gnome infestation. Unfortunately, there
*was* only one spell that could extinguish a life, any life... at least, not without getting
messy or cruel. Humane “rodent potions” were largely ineffective against the resilient gnomes, so
that really only left strong poisons and of course various *physical* methods, neither of
which were desired for the same reasons as spells: they were just too messy or inhumane.

Ron was still watching Metis fly away in shock. He could only think of one thing to say. The
words slowly came out in a whisper, clearly expressing his amazement at what he’d just seen.

“Son of a bi—”

“*RONALD!*” Molly shouted, standing right next to Ron.

“Bird! I was going to say bird!” Ron hastily tried to cover, even though it was quite obvious
that *wasn’t* what he was going to say.

Evidently Molly had either seen or heard Metis’s attack, and had come over to the two boys. The
actual dive bomb itself was silent, but landing on the gnome was not. Of course, by then it was too
late. In fact, the last thing the gnome was aware of was something knocking it to the ground.

Molly too watched as Metis finally disappeared around the side of the house, an early dinner for
him and Hedwig in his talons.

“One down, plenty to go,” she said in satisfaction. “Though you two boys might want to stay out
of your room for the next little while or so.” Harry and Ron nodded; frogs and mice could be eaten
whole. A gnome would require some disassembly.

* * *

At ten o’clock that night, Harry was in bed, reading his Sherlock Holmes stories. He was
currently in the middle of *The Red-Headed League*. It seemed rather fitting at the moment.
Ron was over in his bed, reading Harry’s *A Compendium of Common Curses and Their
Counter-Actions*.

Now, *technically* it was not homework, and Ron refused to let Harry describe his actions
as “reading.” No, Ron was... absorbing offensive spells and strategizing defense scenarios. And it
certainly was not homework.

*“Harry?”*

Harry’s head jerked up. It was bad enough he was constantly thinking about Hermione all the
time. Now he was hearing her voice.

*“Are you there?”* He heard it again. *“Is this working?”*

THE MIRROR!!

He quickly looked over at Ron; Ron was still rea... er, scanning the words that were printed on
the page. It didn’t appear that he had heard.

Harry quickly reached over to the desk drawer beside him and opened it quietly, pulling out the
unbroken mirror. His stomach did the biggest somersault to date when he looked into the mirror. For
in the mirror was not his reflection, but an image of a very haggard-looking Hermione.

He could honestly say (though not to her face) that he had never seen her look worse. And yet he
had not seen anything so beautiful since when she waved goodbye to him as their train departed.

The only strange thing, however, was that her image was shattered. His mirror was fine, but the
image was broken in exactly the same way as was the other mirror. In fact, there was even a
wedge-shaped hole in the image where one of the shards must have been too damaged to work.

As Harry looked into the mirror, Hermione’s face brightened ten-fold.

*“Harry!”* she said happily. He looked up again at Ron, who still didn’t seem to take
notice of the sound of Hermione’s voice coming from Harry’s bed.

“Hermione?” Harry said tentatively, then looked up again. Ron still didn’t seem to hear.

*“Harry, the mirrors... they work!”* she pointed out unnecessarily, but with great
enthusiasm.

“Yeah, they do,” he chuckled, feeling so much better now that he was talking to her again. Up
until this moment, he *thought* he’d been feeling okay. But now... now it felt like he’d been
holding his breath the entire time and hadn’t even known it. Now, it felt like he was breathing
again.

“You fixed them! What did you do?” he asked. He was starting to think it odd that Ron still
hadn’t taken any notice of the conversation ten feet away from him.

*“I didn’t do anything. I just tried talking into it. I figured I should start there,”* she
explained. *“You did try that, didn’t you?”* Harry had to look away, embarrassed. *“Didn’t
you? Harry...”*

Harry looked back, grinning sheepishly at his own faulty assumption that the mirrors didn’t
work, simply because the glass was cracked. The only time he’d ever tried it was after Sirius had
died. It hadn’t worked then because there was no one on the other side.

“Well, I think you’ve established they work after all,” Harry finally said. He could not help
but look at Ron again. This was just getting really weird.

“Hermione, have you figured anything out about these mirrors yet?” he asked. “Ron is sitting not
ten feet away from me, and it doesn’t look like he’s heard a word of anything you or I have said.
In fact, I don’t think he’s even looked up even once.”

*“Well, before I got too involved trying to fix them, I wanted to try them out, to see if they
actually worked.”* Harry looked properly guilty when she gave him a weighted stare to emphasize
the last part of her sentence.

*“I would imagine that there is some sort of privacy or distraction charm on these, something
so that people don’t notice you when you’re talking through them. I can’t imagine any of the
professors* letting *your dad and Sirius use these during their detentions.”*

Harry nodded; that made sense. *Excuse me, Professor Snape. Do you mind if I chat with
Hermione instead of mashing up your beetles?* he imagined himself asking his beloved Potions
instructor.

He looked back into the mirror. He suspected Hermione did not call him just to see if the
mirrors worked.

Harry’s voice immediately became serious yet gentle. “So, how are you? How is your grandfather?”
The brave façade Hermione had been wearing immediately crumbled.

*“Awful, Harry! It’s awful,”* she said as her lower lip began to tremble. *“He doesn’t
know who I am. He doesn’t remember me, or Dad. He only barely recognizes Mum and my aunt, and even
then only because they resemble how he remembers them as kids. It’s like he’s lost the last thirty
years.”*

Harry wished he reach through the mirror and hug her, not because he fancied her, but because it
looked like she needed a hug at that moment.

“How are your mum and dad? Where are they?”

Hermione looked over to her left. *“They’re asleep right now. We got back from the hospital a
little while ago. Gramma insisted we stay at her house, but with my aunt and uncle and their four
kids there, it was just too crowded. So Mum got us a motel room.”*

She then looked around for a moment. *“Look at me, Harry. Here I am, alone, in one of the most
beautiful cities on earth, and we’re stuck in a Holiday Inn!”* She laughed sarcastically then
looked away and mumbled something under her breath.

“Sorry?” Harry asked. Hermione turned back to the mirror.

*“I said, I wish I hadn’t come here. I wish I hadn’t let you talk me into coming,”* she
sighed as though she’d given up. *“I feel so useless here, so helpless. I feel like... like we’re
all just sitting around, waiting for him to die.”* Harry could not remember Hermione ever
looking or sounding so hopeless.

“Hermione...” he tried to say.

*“I should probably be getting to bed now,”* she said suddenly as her face hardened
slightly. *“We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow. Good night.”* Her image then
disappeared in a swirl of fog, leaving only Harry’s reflection looking back at him.

“Hermione, wait!” Harry said as his other hand reached out towards the mirror in instinct, as if
he was going to try to stop her from turning away from him. But it was too late. All he could do
now was rest his hand on the mirror where her face had been. “Good night,” he whispered.

Harry looked up again. Ron was now playing a miniature game of Exploding Snap on his desk.
Evidently the magic in the mirror was making him find ways to distract himself. It didn’t appear as
though he’d heard or seen anything. Harry returned the mirror to the drawer and then got up to use
the bathroom. He was *quite* ready for bed now.

Upon his return, Harry climbed into his bed and, with a wave of his wand, extinguished the
candles on his side of the room. With the mirror put away, this finally caught Ron’s attention. He
turned around and looked at Harry.

“Going to bed already, mate?” Ron asked with an amused smiled, unaware of everything that had
just transpired. “It’s not even 10:30 yet!” Thus far, they’d been averaging a bedtime around
midnight.

“Yeah, I’m just tired tonight.”

“Everything all right, Harry?” Ron asked, genuinely concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Harry unexpectedly lashed out. “Hermione’s grandfather is dying, and
we’re sitting here, playing Quidditch and reading books. No, Ron, everything is NOT all right.”

Despite the fact that he appeared more stunned at his outburst that Ron did, Harry then sank
even further under his blankets and drew them all the way over his head, trying to shut out the
outside world.

*Bloody hell!* Ron thought to himself as he put everything away and put out his candles
also. Now was probably a good time to call it a night as well. *What’s got his wand in a
knot?*

* * *

It was nearly eleven o’clock that night; the moment Remus Lupin had been waiting for, for nearly
a week, had finally arrived. He was about to climb into a soft bed to go to sleep. It was about the
only thing he *could* look forward to when that time of the month came for him.

After the body-breaking process of transformation had been completed, the feeling of slipping
into a soft, warm bed, heck even a cold, lumpy bed, was simply beyond description. It *was*
better than sex. Well, at least just that *first* night after a transformation.

But, to get all the way to this point, it had been one very long day for Remus. The first day
after the full moon always was. But at least this time he hadn’t faced it alone.

After lying on the floor in front of the fire for about half an hour until he felt strong enough
to move, Remus finally made his way downstairs.

One pot of coffee and a huge breakfast of steak, eggs, and potatoes later (cereal just didn’t
cut it after a transformation), he was finally beginning to feel like he was human again.

Once Remus was up and about, albeit moving gingerly, Tonks had decided to take advantage of her
day off and get half dozen or so errands she’d been putting off finished. But not before she made
him take a bath.

After helping him back upstairs (it was easier coming down than going back up), Tonks led him
into the bathroom to draw a hot bath for him. Remus watched as she poured in at least seven
different “Trust me, they help” ingredients—soaking salts, oils, and the like—none of which he
could identify.

He did suspect however that one of them was plain, ordinary bubble bath. It was, she said, her
own personal mix that she used to help relieve her aching body after the grueling Auror training
sessions.

When she told him to go ahead and get in, Remus looked at her expectantly, then down at his
clothes, reminding her that he was still dressed.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” she said without any trace of embarrassment. After watching her
actually Apparate away, just to be safe, Remus returned to the bathroom, disrobed, and climbed into
the tub.

At first, the salts in the water stung his irritated skin fiercely, but it was nothing compared
to what he felt during the actual transformation itself. Remus would deny it if asked, but Tonks’
concoction was quickly beginning to work wonders on his body. The scented oils she added were so
relaxing he actually fell asleep while still in the tub. Fortunately, the old-fashioned claw-footed
soaking tub was a good foot shorter than he was, so there was little chance of him sliding
underwater.

And so now, eleven o’clock, Remus was in his pajamas, standing in the doorway of Sirius’s
bedroom, looking at the bed he was so eagerly looking forward to slipping into. Having slept in
this bed before the Weasleys moved in, he knew it was a *very* comfortable bed. Old Padfoot
had always been fond of a comfortable bed... for reasons Moony hoped he would never have to explain
to Prongs, Jr.

There was just one hitch, however: Tripsy was already in said bed.

Remus stood in the doorway, surprised and uncertain, as he looked at Tonks sitting comfortably
under the covers in her pajamas. When they each lived alone, Remus ordinarily wore boxers and an
old shirt to bed, while Tonks usually wore a skimpy little nothing of a nightgown. Sharing a flat
temporarily, both decided to invest in a proper set of pajamas, simply for the sake of decency...
and embarrassment.

“Um, Tonks?” Remus finally asked as he found his voice.

“Yes, Remus?” she said as she looked up at him and put down her copy of *Wands and Hexes*,
a magazine geared towards witches and wizards in law enforcement, as well as dueling enthusiasts.
It did not escape his attention that she was sitting on the right side of the bed and not in the
middle.

“You’re staying here tonight?”

“Well, of course. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you in case there are any lingering effects,”
she replied. She was quite familiar by now with those lingering effects, specifically the
terrifying nightmares that he sometimes experienced.

While the wolf inside his body had been appeased with the passing of the moon, sometimes his
mind would relive the transformation in his sleep in the day or two immediately following. He would
occasionally wake up screaming, having relived in a fully-human mind the horror of becoming a
werewolf.

During his transformation, Remus’s *existence* was drastically altered. He was more basic;
his feelings and emotions much more primal and powerful. This was normal, and tolerable, for his
human consciousness was dulled at the same time.

But for the *wer* to know the *wulf*... to experience the raw power and strength, the
lack of control that he experienced in his lycanthropic state, in a fully human state, it was
absolutely terrifying.

“Oh, uh, okay then,” he said hesitantly. “I’ll just be in Harry and Ron’s room.”

“Don’t be daft!” she said firmly before he could turn to leave. “You know none of the other beds
are made up. And don’t even think about sleeping on that davenport in the drawing room. Those
stodgy cushions are no place for your back so soon after a transformation.”

Remus regretted Molly’s efficiency and tidiness. Before they left, she made sure all of the beds
were stripped down and the sheets put away so that they would be clean and fresh, ready for the
next time they were needed.

“Er...” he started to ask.

“Come on,” she said, almost sounding impatient as she pulled back the covers, revealing the
empty, left side of the bed.

Remus quickly looked from Tonks to the empty half of the bed, twice.

“Well?” she asked. “For the love of Merlin, Remus. We’re both adults. I’m sure we can share a
bed together and *keep our passions under control*,” she said in a joking voice. Even though
they had both admitted to each other that they were willing to slowly explore the new territory
between them, Remus was still sleeping on the couch in Tonks’ flat.

Because both were worried that what they were starting to feel for each other was based not on
genuine affection but rather mutual sympathy over a shared loss, both were adamant about proceeding
cautiously, to make sure they didn’t do something that couldn’t be taken back.

It was also why they were eager to be subtle about it. Both hoped that if things didn’t work out
it would be easier to go back to “just friends” if there weren’t a bunch of awkward questions to
answer from their friends. It was because of this deliberation that up to now, they’d done nothing
more than hold hands a few times and exchange a few kiss-on-the-cheek-goodbyes, despite their
mutually admitted interest.

Sharing a bed together was definitely a big step forward... even if both fully intended on not
allowing *this* big step forward to lead to any *other* big steps.

For a split second, Remus was terrified. He didn’t know what to do. And then he realized it: he
didn’t know if he *wanted* to say yes, but he knew he absolutely could *not* say no.

“All right. But if you hog the blanket or start snoring in the night, I’m kicking you out of
bed,” Remus said as he finally entered the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Friday, 16 August, 1996. 13:30.

In an undisclosed room five stories somewhere beneath the Secret Intelligence Service building
at Vauxhall Cross, MI6 Special Agent 009 sat in his chair in the oval briefing room, chatting with
Special Agent 0010, who sat next to him. There had been a particularly exciting football game on
the telly last night, and it was always nice to be able to talk about it afterwards, especially
with someone who rooted for the right team... unlike a certain 0016.

When 0010 paused for a moment to take a drink of water, 009 quickly looked around the room.
*Must be a training exercise,* he thought to himself. *Everyone’s here.*

Indeed everyone *was* there. At the moment, there were currently twenty-five 00-Agents on
the active list (i.e. alive): 001 to 0026. One number was always intentionally skipped. The reasons
were obvious: to pay respect to their fictional counterpart... and because no one wanted the
pressure of being 007.

As he looked around, 009 noticed many of the other 00s also looking around as he was. It was
rare that they were all called together like this, usually only for training scenarios. As luck
would have it, none of them were currently on assignment.

The average 00-Agent had two to three missions per year. The remaining ten to eleven months of
their year were spent training. In order to be a 00, agents had to be experts at pretty much
everything: shooting, driving, fighting, and yes, even snowboarding and gambling. Training like
that took time, lots of time. Twenty-five agents training in rotation meant that there usually were
three or four on actual missions at any given time.

But not this week. This week, those with missions had finished them early allowing them a chance
for a little R&R. With all twenty-five agents present, any practice scenario would prove most
interesting. More agents meant more things could be thrown at them in their training.

A door opened on the side of the room and all the chatter immediately died down. All eyes
quickly fell upon C, the director of MI6, and his three guests.

Every 00-Agent knew that the very first director of MI6 (then called the Foreign Section of the
Secret Service Bureau) was a man by the name of Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming. He
often dropped the ‘Smith’ and used his initial ‘C’ for his code name, something that was then
adopted by all subsequent directors.

Every 00-Agent *also* knew that it was generally believed that the fictional M from Ian
Fleming’s novels was derived from the same real person... just a different initial.

As C approached the center of the room, around which the twenty-five agents sat, 009 noticed
that his three guests remained on the side of the room, as was customary. Everything in MI6 was
“need to know,” and if the 00s didn’t need to know who they were, then they wouldn’t.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t look (at least until C started talking).

The first thing 009 noticed was their guests consisted of an older man and woman, as well as one
very large man. This, in it of itself, was not uncommon. The highest-ranking members of the
Admiralty and Parliament were often the same age as his own parents. And the various security
officials and bodyguards he’d seen walk into this room were frequently imposing individuals.

His attention was first drawn to the woman, as the large man was obviously not the one in
charge, and the older man was currently looking away from him, evidently inspecting with great
fascination the large electronic world map on the wall listing all current Threats... those that
weren’t classified, at least.

Special Agent 009 couldn’t explain it, but something about this woman inspired trust.

Maybe it was her sharp business suit combined with her short-cropped hair. It exuded
professionalism with a hint of a military or law enforcement background. He knew she had to be
someone important to be in this room. But, even if he hadn’t seen her *here*, he got the
distinct impression she was *someone*, and someone not to be trifled with at that, despite the
fact she had gray hair and wore an eyepiece.

The second man needed very little said about him. He obviously was the muscle of the three. The
trained assassin took an extra moment to size him up. Despite the fact this man was nearly a foot
taller than him, and probably weighted a good three stone more, 009 was quite confident he was
perfectly capable of killing this dark-skinned man in hand-to-hand combat if necessary. It was not
ego; it was a professional, tactical assessment.

It *was* entirely possible however that he would sustain a broken bone or two in the
process. Very high praise from a 00-Agent.

The third man finally turned around, allowing a clear look at him. He was an older man with a
long beard and a moustache. His navy blue velvet suit certainly seemed odd, but 009 had the feeling
that he was supposed to know *why* it was out of place. He had bright blue eyes that sparkled
even from...

MI6 Special Agent 009, who *was* licensed to kill, sat in his chair in complete and total
shock. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. It WAS NOT possible! It was *him*. He didn’t
remember the man’s name, and he’d only seen his picture when he sneaked a look at his brother’s
cards once. 009 had been trained for years to expect the unexpected. But never did one of Britain’s
finest ever expect *this*.

*“Ahem,”* C cleared his throat to begin the briefing. The surrounding lights lowered,
plunging the perimeter of the room into darkness while he and the twenty-five agents remained
brightly lit.

“It’s rare that we are all gathered here together at the same time,” C addressed his agents.
“Some of you are usually out on missions, while the rest of you are in training. But seeing as how
it’s been a slow month with only two diabolical plots to thwart, we’ve been pretty lucky.”

All of the agents shared a small chuckle at their director’s sense of humor. They all knew each
and every mission truly was a life or death mission. The fate of the world literally rested in
their hands. After all, 00-Agents were not sent out to track down crazed serial killers who had
killed tens or even hundreds. No, 00-Agents were sent out to track down perfectly calm, rational
men and women with designs to kill millions.

While he listened to every word C said, 009 could not help but constantly glance in the
direction of where he knew their guests were standing, even though they could no longer be seen in
the darkness. This was something that did not go unnoticed by C, though he did not say
anything.

“So, while I wish I could say I was here to tell you you’re all getting raises or that you’re
all getting knighthoods,” C resumed, “or even that we were here for a training session, I am afraid
I cannot. No, I am afraid we are here on business.”

Although everyone was paying full attention, the mood in the room suddenly became that much more
serious. Every person in that room (who was a member of MI6, at least) knew that nineteen times out
of twenty, missions were assigned on one-on-one basis. The agent most qualified was simply called
into the director’s office for the assignment.

Again, nineteen times out of twenty, they only ever met in *this* room for post-mission
debriefings and of course practice mission planning.

But of course, there still remained that one in twenty time. With C’s words, all of the 00s
began to suspect that this was one of those times.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Britain now faces one of the greatest threats the world has ever known...
or should I say *not* known.” It was their years of experience that allowed the 00s to realize
the deathly-serious nature of the first part of their director’s sentence while still appreciating
the humor intended in the last... even if they didn’t know why exactly it was funny.

“To better explain the situation, we are honored to have three very special guests here today.”
C turned and nodded towards the three visitors in the darkness. “Double-ohs: *stand tall,*” he
said formally.

All twenty-five 00s immediately stood up at attention, the deference they showed to any head of
state. All agents but one had absolutely no idea why they were doing this—since they all knew the
entire life history of each and every *known* head of state, official and otherwise, in the
entire world—but none questioned the order.

As the three guests walked towards the center of the room, 009 could not help but let his eyes
be drawn to the man he still could not believe was here in front of him. In the meantime, C had
disappeared into one corner of the room and returned a moment later carrying a small wooden
box.

“Thank you. You may all be seated,” the woman addressed them. She briefly looked at C, her two
other companions, and then clasped her hands together. “Ladies and gentleman. I am told that you
represent the best that the United Kingdom has to offer. I truly hope that is the case, for
*all* of our sakes,” she said as she slowly looked around the room.

None of the agents knew who this woman was (009 didn’t know either, but *could* make an
educated guess), but all recognized that something was afoot.

“I understand that you all live in a world of secrets,” the woman continued. “Well, I am about
to let you all in on quite possibly the greatest secret in the history of the world. I must stress
this upon each and every one of you: this secret goes beyond your oaths to Queen and Country.”

*“Understood?”* C suddenly asked sharply.

“Understood!” all twenty-five agents replied in unison.

The woman then looked questioningly towards the older man, shooting him a dubious, *“If you
say so”* sort of look. There was something about him, the *other* twenty-four agents 00s
noted, that drew their attentions *away* from him. Something about him seemed so unassuming,
so unthreatening, that most people would consider him harmless. This fact alone caused the agents
to suspect the exact opposite; *he* was the most dangerous. The older man’s eyes twinkled
behind his glasses as he smiled and nodded back.

“You may have heard, ‘Ve hav vays of making you tok,’” the older woman mimicked an old movie
voice, which caused many of the agents to smile. “Well, ve hav vays of making you *forget*.”
Again, all but one of the agents had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but all knew
she was not joking.

“Once I finish, I have the feeling that a small demonstration might be necessary. Perhaps a
volunteer?” she offered cheerily.

C already knew the perfect person for the job... even though he didn’t know why his agent had
seemed so distracted.

“009! Step forward,” C called out. Surprised that he was called... then again maybe not, 009 did
as he was ordered. He cast a glance at the older man as he approached, and was somehow reassured by
the smile he received in return.

C opened the wooden box he was holding when his ‘volunteer’ stood in front of him. “Your weapon,
please,” he asked. 009 looked into the box and saw a Walther PPK pistol that was identical to his
own in every way except one: the normally black plastic handgrips were replaced with blue plastic.
The blue color indicated this was a training weapon, and was to only *ever* be loaded with
blanks.

009 immediately withdrew his own weapon, removed the ammunition magazine, cleared the live round
from the chamber, and set all three pieces in the empty half of the box. He then picked up the blue
handgun, quickly loaded the five provided blanks into the empty magazine, loaded it, and drew back
the slide, putting a round in the chamber. He then holstered his weapon under his arm.

MI6 staff had always been rather fond of the Walther PPK; both the real and fictional MI6 had
been using them for decades. While military and law enforcement personnel around the world were
quickly adopting more “modern” weapons such as the Glock, MI6 remained steadfast in their love for
the PPK.

Yes, it *was* true that the .380 cartridges the PPK used was smaller than the 9mm or .40
caliber rounds that were quickly becoming the norm. So, while *some* members of the armed
forces crowed about the size of their gun barrels, 00s were always ready with a snappy, albeit grim
comeback: “*You* may think more lead means more dead. But you’re just as dead when *I*
put the lead in your head.”

Not that they ever got to actually use it however. Since their existence was so secret they
didn’t even “exist,” it generally wasn’t a good idea drawing attention to themselves by getting
into Glock fights.

“Double-ohs: hands on the table,” C called out, informing the remaining agents they were about
to witness a training session and that they were not to intervene under *any* circumstances.
The other twenty-four 00s put their hands on the tables.

“Defend yourself,” was the only instruction C gave to his standing agent. 009 stepped a few feet
back to put a safe distance between himself and the three unique guests... safe from a training
standpoint, for there still was risk of injury from the muzzle flash if the training weapon was
fired too close to someone.

As 009 stepped back, the oldest of the visitors whispered to him in a voice that was strangely
easy to hear, “You will not be harmed.”

From the moment he was selected as the volunteer, 009’s mind raced at what was to come. He knew
very little, enough to fuel his imagination, but not enough to temper it. The whispered words,
which he was pretty sure no one else heard, reassured him enough to focus on the task at hand:
listen attentively to the greatest secret in the world... one he already knew, at least in
parts.

“Very well,” the woman began. “I supposed the best place to begin is to start with a simple
question. Do any of you recognize any of us?” Everyone looked around the room at their fellow
agents. Only 009 raised his hand, and only after a few moments of hesitation. The older woman
appeared surprised, but pleased.

“Which one of us?” she asked politely. 009 immediately nodded towards the oldest man, who then
spoke.

“Might I ask how you recognize me?” he asked warmly and with a smile that was buried beneath his
very long beard. While highly unusual, the long beard was certainly not the strangest thing ever
seen inside this room.

009 took a deep breath before answering. “My brother, sir. I saw your... *you*, once, many
years ago on a... some sort of collectable card of his. I don’t think I’d ever forget seeing that,
though I admit not noticing your name.”

“Your brother?” the older man asked, interested.

“Yes, sir,” 009 replied. Memories came flooding back to him, words he’d heard, words he’d
forgotten simply from more than fifteen years of disuse, were suddenly as clear as day. “We were
told he was what you called a Muggle-born wi... Muggle-born, sir,” he finished, unwilling to be the
first person in the room to say *that* word.

“Did he perchance ever mention his house?”

009 loved his brother; he remembered everything he ever told him about his amazing new school.
Very little, unfortunately, but it was enough to awe him, who was five years younger than his
brother. The only bad thing about it was that he wouldn’t be able to follow his brother. They only
saw each other a few months each year, during summer and Christmas holidays. And that was cut back
even more once he was finished with school.

His brother wanted to be an... an Auror. He was accepted straight out of school, and excelled
through the program quickly. He saw his brother less and less over the next four years, but the
letters his brother mailed regularly (owls were far too conspicuous in their housing complex)
contained all the proof they needed that he was having the time of his life.

And then, fifteen years ago, one of his brother’s weekly letters didn’t arrive.

And then came a knock on the door: 12 October, 1981.

He, 009, was seventeen at the time. His first impression was that the man standing in their
living room looked rather like a lion. He had a lively mane of tawny hair and a bushy set of
eyebrows. His eyes... he had piercing yellowish eyes that lay behind a pair of wire-rimmed
spectacles. He carried himself quite well, though he walked with what appeared to be a stiff leg...
perhaps a freshly healed injury, or the early onset of arthritis.

He’d listened as the man told him how his brother fought with bravery, how he and his team had
been going after one of the evilest men to have ever existed. Something with a V... he’d blocked it
out. Even then at the time, 009 had noticed the lack of emotion in the man’s voice. There was an
immediate impression of toughness, something that might or might not be a good thing, depending on
whether there was any compassion or sympathy to tame it.

It was explained to his parents, rather impersonally, that they could have him buried in either
world, with full honors either way. His parents elected—and 009 agreed—to have him buried with the
other Aurors that died that night. They, his family, wouldn’t be able to visit him there, but he
would be with his friends.

That, they felt, was more important: that he be with his friends. He’d lived with them and
trained with them. And he died with them. The least they could do was let him be buried with them.
There were other ways, better ways they could remember and honor him, besides leaving over-priced
flowers on a tombstone.

And finally, 009 had watched as his parents were presented with his brother’s wand, in a small
wooden case with a glass cover. It had, of course, had its magical core removed first, rendering it
safe for Muggles. Even to this day, 009 could clearly see in his mind where the wand had been
scorched.

Even more, he could see the finger-shaped marks where it had not.

Whenever he prepared for a mission, 009 would go back and reread the letters he brother had sent
him. Send via Muggle post, they were of course devoid of anything compromising. However, looking
through the eyes of an intelligence officer with fourteen years under his belt, he could sense that
his brother’s excitement had been building: he had been preparing for some big, important
mission.

There was nothing in the letter to overtly indicate that, of course. It was just the gut
instinct of a man who had been a 00 for just over two years now.

00-Agents lived and died by their gut instincts, and he’d seen and done more in his two years
than most intelligence operatives did in an entire lifetime. It was his brother’s death actually,
that made him join MI5. He dedicated himself to his brother’s memory, putting himself on the fast
track to MI6. In honor of his brother, he wanted to follow in his footsteps as best he could.

“Ravenclaw, sir,” 009 answered immediately. The other agents observed the exchange, deducing
that they were discussing some boarding school. Considering the demanding requirements necessary to
become a 00, this was something most agents were familiar with, as most of them had attended elite
boarding schools.

The older wizard nodded and both of their attentions returned to the woman.

“Well, one out of twenty-five... far better than the national average,” she chuckled. “I think,
therefore, that we shall begin with a few introductions. My name is Amelia Bones, and these two
gentlemen are Kingsley Shacklebolt and Albus Dumbledore. Allow me to make your world a whole lot
bigger.”

For the next twenty-five minutes, Amelia gave the assembled agents a brief history of the
magical world, to say nothing of informing them of its existence in the first place. While they
were all attentive, it was clear that the twenty-four still sitting were skeptical.

It was one thing to accept the notion of a madman threatening to detonate a stolen nuclear
warhead beneath an unstable geologic fault (yes, it really did happen; Lex Luthor would have been
proud... and then sued for the rights). It was another thing entirely to think about dragons and
vampires. MAGIC?!?

Having seen the skepticism on the face of C less than an hour earlier, this was not lost upon
Madam Bones and Kingsley.

“And so we are faced with a defining moment. Now is the chance to stand tall in the face of the
threat Voldemort represents. Now is the chance to—”

*BANG! BANG!*

*BANG! BANG!*

It was a very good thing the remaining twenty-four 00s had their hands on the table. The
Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix might have found themselves without leaders. Or
Albus Dumbledore would have been forced to reveal *exactly* how powerful he truly was. Either
way, it was a good thing neither happened.

What *had* happened, however, was that everyone in the room, Muggle and wizard alike, had
just witnessed an amazing demonstration of what each side was capable of.

While Madam Bones was talking, Kingsley had subtly withdrawn his wand from a pocket in his
Muggle-style trousers, something that *did* go unnoticed by everyone else in the room. Though
009 had been rather captivated by the Minister’s story and speech, he still was a hard-trained
00-Agent.

He saw out of the corner of his eye Kingsley suddenly raise his wand. While the Auror had one of
the fastest wand draws in the Ministry, 009 was just as fast drawing his weapon. So, while Kingsley
was busy thinking the incantation for his wordless stunner, 009 was busy pulling the trigger,
twice.

Just as Kingsley thought the last syllable and the spell was about to fire, 009 saw Madam Bones
draw her wand and begin to point it in his direction. He spun and fired off two more rounds at her
just as Kingsley’s stunner hit him.

The fifth bullet he had intentionally saved for Dumbledore—who was standing seven feet away at
his eight o’clock—just in case he needed it. Rule #3: Always keep track of how many bullets you
have left.

Rule #1? Always keep track of your friends and foes. All subsequent rules were pointless if this
one failed. Rule #2: Always keep track of your weapon. All subsequent rules were pointless if this
one failed.

A split second after being stunned, 009 was then hit by Amelia’s levitation charm.

It was a very effective demonstration for all. The 00s learned that magic *was* real (a
body floating in midair was hard to ignore), and that they had absolutely no way to defend against
it, aside from killing their attacker, or as they would later be explained, taking cover behind
something substantial.

And Kingsley and Amelia learned first hand *exactly* what the 00s were capable of. Each of
them had been “shot” twice before either could finish their first spell. If real bullets had been
used, both were certain the spells would have quite literally died on their lips... or the front of
their minds.

The rest of the briefing proceeded rather rapidly. Both sides had quickly earned the respect
that both rightly deserved. Madam Bones explained that she only had enough resources to cover
roughly fifty targets with four-man teams of comprised of MLE officers, Aurors, and Hit Witches and
Wizards.

The last target, Brockdale Bridge, would be covered by her own equivalent to the 00s: Mages. She
had eight Mages; they would *all* be at Brockdale.

C then went on to explain that the twenty-five 00s would be assigned to twenty-four of those
fifty sites, those deemed to be the greatest targets... in other words, the greatest potential body
count. Two 00s would be assigned to Brockdale.

“I don’t think I need to tell you, boys and girls, that this mission comes straight from the
top. I about choked on my lunch when the PM introduced *this lot* to me,” C said as he waved
his hand towards the witch and wizards. All could tell he meant it in a friendly way.

“This may very well represent the beginning of the end,” C emphasized. “Whether it’s our end or
Voldemort’s rests in your hands, as well as those of our magical compatriots.”

C turned and nodded one last time to the Minister of Magic, the temporary head of the Aurors,
and the Chief Warlock on the Wizen... Wizzen... wizarding court system. He then looked back to his
agents.

“Good hunting!” he wished them all.



32. Four Down, Four to Go
-------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But I did recently sell something to someone named
Hermione.*

*A/N: I’m back! Finally! YAY! I’m sorry it took so long. Real life... holiday rush working in
sales... blah, blah, blah. Come on, get to the chapter! Well, here you go. I’ve promised you twice
that we’ll get to the end of the summer “this time,” and twice we don’t get there. Honestly,
sometimes this story takes on a life of its own, taking me where it wants to go, rather than where
I had planned.*

*I was able to get through about half of the backlog of unanswered reviews tonight. I hope to
finish them all this weekend. Your reviews are very important to me, and I try to answer each and
every one.*

*That said, I am not at all unhappy with where this went. A reviewer recently commented that
it’s like they’re already a couple and they just don’t know it yet. That’s EXACTLY the point. I
will admit that I... erm, got some “dust” in my eyes... as I wrote a certain part of this. I hope
you like it.*

*As for YET AGAIN not getting to the end of the summer THIS time, well..... Oh, I know! How
about this? Depending on how you want to look at it, you can expect 2 to 4 MORE chapters before
Christmas. Yeah! Really! And yes I know that’s less than two weeks away. You’ll understand what I
mean by the variable number once the chapters are posted.*

*I am overflowing with thanks to my beta MapleMountain, who I am happy to say that I finally
got to talk to for the first time “in person” this week! Hurray for cellphone free long distance!
Too bad my battery died in the middle of the conversation. I’ll save that for next time when I give
you the long and short of Chapter 33.*

*And so with that, I give you Chapter 32, seventy more “book” pages. Say hello to my cat
again... similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional, as are the differences... and beware
getting “dust” in you eyes.*


Chapter 32. Four Down, Four to Go.

*“Well?” she asked. “For the love of Merlin, Remus. We’re both adults. I’m sure we can share a
bed together and keep our passions under control,” she said in a joking voice.*

*“All right. But if you hog the blanket or start snoring in the night, I’m kicking you out of
bed,” Remus said as he finally entered the room, closing the door behind him.*


“Remus.” *Giggle.*

“Mm hmm?”

“Remus.” *Sigh.*

“Hmm?”

“Remus!” *Groan.* “I have to go!” Tonks complained as Remus reluctantly detached his lips
from the nape of her neck. She shivered significantly when he gently blew against the little spot a
few inches below her hairline that had become wet from his kisses.

Things had *definitely* changed for them during the night.

At some point in the night, Remus and Tonks both had somehow worked their separate ways towards
the center of the bed, despite both starting on the outside edge. They woke up sometime around six
in the morning to find themselves in an entangled knot of arms and legs.

As they looked into each others’ eyes, neither could deny it anymore. Their first *real*
kiss was short and simple, a little peck on the lips. It was small enough to silently ask
permission to continue, but urgent enough to carry the promise of what lay beyond if they
agreed.

And agree they did. Once they were both sure (it *didn’t* take very long), the floodgates
were thrown open.

They spent the next fifteen minutes joined at the mouth, exploring this new territory eagerly.
When they both felt that eagerness begin to manifest itself physically, they finally decide to stop
for the moment. Only one day after his transformation, fifteen minutes was very fast for Remus. It
usually took two to three days before he was *fully functional*.

Once back at work, Tonks was able to keep her exuberance to herself... mostly. Her hair did
spontaneously change color twice when a particularly entertaining memory (or new fantasy) surfaced,
but she was able to successfully explain it away as Metamorphmagus “conditioning,” something she
*fortunately* was known to do while sitting at her desk working on paperwork.

Before leaving for an important lunch appointment, Kingsley had encouraged her to get in a good
lunch since they would be meeting later that afternoon to brief for their big mission. Regardless
of what she ate, there was only one place she wanted to be for lunch... with Remus.

She Apparated back to Grimmauld, just in time to find him hobbling around the kitchen with a
cane, looking for something to eat.

“Did I wear you out this morning?” Tonks teased from the doorway. It hadn’t been anything more
than snogging (and maybe a wandering hand... or four), but it had been very enthusiastic.

“If this morning was any indication, I fear for my health,” Remus joked back as he turned back
to look at her.

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure we put that werewolf stamina to good use then, won’t we?”
she quickly retorted with a grin. Both then immediately flushed at the implications of that
statement. Neither could say it was inaccurate.

“Yes, well, all in good time,” Remus finally said.

“All in good time,” Tonks agreed. They’d obviously crossed the line beyond friendship this
morning, but they didn’t want it to mean they had to rush in and cross certain other lines. Oh,
they’d be sharing a bed again tonight (at least they both individually hoped so), but they wouldn’t
be doing anything more than sleeping.

Well, maybe some snogging. And a wandering hand... or four.

“Any lunch plans?” Tonks asked as Remus rummaged through the cupboards. Since the house was
again being used by the Order of the Phoenix, the kitchen was well stocked. And yet, the cabinets
were full of food but nothing looked particularly appetizing at the moment.

*Present company excluded,* Remus could not help but think as he cast a quick back in
Tonks’ direction.

“Nah, just looking about to see if anything jumps out at me,” he replied as he put back the box
of biscuits favored by Professor McGonagall. “Unfortunately in a house like this, that tends to
happen every once in a while,” he said, chuckling.

“Well, how about you give up The Great Biscuit Hunt and join me?” Tonks asked.

Remus closed the cupboard door and turned around. “Sounds brilliant! What’s on the menu?”

Tonks pulled the bag from behind her back. “Shepherd’s pie,” she replied. “It was one of today’s
two lunch specials in the cafeteria. The other one appeared to be some sort of mystery meat with
mystery sauce. So I figured this would be safer.”

Remus made a show of smelling the air, then looked confused. “I sealed the bag,” Tonks explained
playfully. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Oh, Nymph, my dear, you read my mind before I even knew what I wanted. Shepherd’s pie sounds
perfect.” Remus noticed Tonks staring at him with a contemplative look on her face; she was
obviously trying to decide something.

“What?”

“‘Nymph,’” she repeated. “You called me Nymph.”

“Uh... did I? Must’ve slipped out. Sorry. I know how much you—”

“I hate *Nymphadora*,” she clarified, “but *Nymph*...” She continued to scrutinize him
as she pondered the sobriquet. Remus was understandably nervous. *Everyone* knew how she felt
about her first name.

Finally, a smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. “If *you* say it... and only in
*private*... and you don’t add any extraneous *vowels* at the end... I think I like
it.”

“Well, my dear Nymph-no-extra-vowels, let’s enjoy our lunch and then see if we can find a way to
keep ourselves entertained until you have to go back to work,” he said with a truly wolfish
grin.

* * *

Remus and Tonks lay cuddled together on the davenport in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place,
enjoying the silence after delicious lunch and an even more delicious snog session.

“Remus?”

“Mm hmm?”

“I should be heading back soon.”

“Unh uhh,” he replied, expressing his displeasure at that idea. He kissed the back of her neck
again, about the only part of her he could reach with her lying in his arms.

Tonks actually laughed. “Didn’t we go through this this morning?”

“Mm hmm. And we’ll go through this every time you leave for work without me.” Tonks leaned
forward out of his arms and turned over so that she was now lying on top of him, but facing him. It
was a decidedly tantalizing arrangement. She looked into his eyes.

“I should be going with you,” Remus said solemnly.

“Yes, you should,” Tonks agreed. “But not today. You’re no good to me, to us, if I have to worry
about you tripping over your cane. I trip enough for the both of us,” she joked.

Remus smiled. He knew that despite her naturally clumsy nature when off duty, she somehow always
managed to turn it off when she put on her Auror robes. There simply was no way she could have been
an Auror if she was constantly knocking things over when tracking down a suspect.

“You *could* call in sick,” he longingly, though not seriously, suggested. He would never
actually suggest something like that... especially not considering what was on the line this
time.

“Oh... as much as I would love to, I don’t think You-Know-Who would take kindly to me not being
there when we capture or kill him.”

“What time was it?”

“His deadline was four o’clock,” Tonks reminded him. Because of the unfortunate coincidence of
the recent full moon, all of his information had been coming from her. The information and the
mission was classified, but he’d been left out of the loop simply by being absent, not by design.
As an Order member, he would have known anyway.

Remus nodded then quickly stole another kiss. “What about Harry? Where’s he going to be during
all of this? Does he even know?”

“As far as I know, no, Harry doesn’t know. At Wednesday night’s Order meeting, *which you
couldn’t be bothered to attend*,” Tonks teased, “Dumbledore made it clear he didn’t want Harry
to know about it ahead of time. Since by all indications this threat has nothing to do with Harry
and is merely You-Know-Who trying to flex his muscles, he didn’t want to interrupt his summer any
more than necessary.”

Remus nodded in agreement. He didn’t like withholding information from Harry, especially
considering how poorly last year went. However, from what he understood of the situation, there
really wasn’t much the son of one of his best friends could do, besides worry. And that wasn’t
something anyone needed... worrying *unnecessarily*.

“For some reason I thought we’d have to convince her, but Molly was actually the first person to
agree that Harry shouldn’t be bothered with this,” Tonks explained. “As for where he’ll be, again,
as far as I know, he’ll be out at the Burrow.

“Dumbledore said he would ‘drop by’ for a friendly visit round about four, so with him, Arthur,
and Molly there, it should be pretty well supervised,” she continued. “With the entire Auror and
MLE divisions scattered out across the country, the Order will, *unofficially of course*, be
keeping an eye on things in places like the Ministry building and St. Mungo’s.”

Tonks let out an unexpected laugh. “You’ll *never* guess who’s watching Diagon Alley.”

“Fred and George,” Remus guessed. Tonks stared at him in surprise.

“Molly was livid when she found out about that,” she recalled. “But they want to join the Order.
Dumbledore won’t let them, *yet*, but he did agree to let them ‘be helpful’ today by keeping
an eye out. Molly relented—kind of like how an angry lioness relents when its jaws are forced
open—when Arthur reminded her that they were of age and could do what they wanted, and when
Dumbledore explained they were given explicit instructions to do *nothing* more than keep an
eye out.”

Remus laughed. “Knowing those two and their bottomless bag of tricks, I strongly suspect Diagon
Alley will be the most secure place in all of Britain this afternoon.”

With a natural pause in the conversation, both Remus and Tonks took a moment to glance at the
clock: it was ten minutes before two o’clock. The two then turned back to each other again.

“I really do need to get going,” Tonks said earnestly. “Kingsley said we would be meeting at
two.” Remus nodded reluctantly and let go of her, allowing her to stand up. They held hands until
they reached the staircase, as it was too narrow to comfortably allow two adults to walk
side-by-side.

Once in the entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs, they cast a quick glance at Ron’s
silenced curtain, behind which Mrs. Black’s portrait hung. Still not a peep had been heard from her
since it went up. Every person who had seen it had gone to Hogwarts (or been there, like Fleur), so
they were all familiar with the four-poster beds, and the curtains on them.

Honestly, it brought back memories of the same thing for *all* of them.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Tonks admitted, embarrassed.

“Me either,” Remus admitted sheepishly, and then they turned back to each other. Remus looked
into Tonks’ eyes.

“Promise me you’ll come back safe tonight,” he begged. Tonks was tempted to make some joke about
dying before breaking that promise, but she felt now was not the time for something like that.

“I promise.” It didn’t need to be said, but it was true: she *would* die before breaking
that promise.

There was, however, something else that needed to be said. There still was a few minutes left
before she had to leave.

“With the Weasleys gone, were you... planning on staying here from now on?” Tonks asked
nervously. Outwardly there was no visible sign that Remus’s heart rate had just doubled.

“Oh... well... I... um... really hadn’t thought about it,” he lied. He’d thought about it
several times in fact, after Harry (of all people) mentioned it at Ginny’s birthday party.

“Well, almost all of my stuff is still over at your flat,” he continued cautiously, “so I
suppose, if it’s all right with you, that I might stay at your place for at least one more night.
And then after that I can figure things out.”

“Yeah, at least one more night,” Tonks said, pursing her lips together tightly to keep from
betraying her hopefulness at the thought. Remus didn’t think he put any unnecessary emphasis on the
words ‘at least,’ but he had made sure to intentionally say them. So for her to repeat them back,
he took it as a good sign.

Right as Tonks was about to Apparate back to the Ministry, Remus stepped forward, took her face
in his hands, and gave her a long, slow, gentle kiss.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said to her.

“Yes, you will,” she said with a smile, and then popped away.

* * *

Friday started out pretty poorly for Harry. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, not
getting much sleep. The brief conversation he’d had with Hermione the night previous through the
mirror really gnawed at him. He could tell she was in pain. He wanted nothing more than to simply
go to her side and be there for her, just as she had been for him.

Harry thought back to the past few weeks at Hermione’s house. He remembered some of the things
she’d offered early on they could do if he wanted to: sit around and share good memories of Sirius,
even talking to some sort of family loss specialist. They hadn’t done any of that.

They really hadn’t *needed* to.

The topic of Sirius hadn’t come up much since he left Privet Drive, aside from the day of the
will reading. And that was okay. Getting that one last letter from Sirius turned out to be probably
the best closure Harry could possibly have hoped for under the circumstances. It gave him something
(the letter) he could take with him and look back on in the future if he ever needed to.

What Hermione had done, along with her parents of course, was to simply *be there* for him.
Sometimes it was more important to simply *know* that someone was there for you, than it was
to actually need to use them.

And he wanted to be able to do the same for her. So, while Ron went to “drain the tank,” Harry
pulled out the mirror, hoping to be able to talk to her again. After looking into the mirror and
seeing his own reflection, he called out her name to the mirror.

He watched his own image stare impatiently at the piece of charmed glass. After a few moments,
he called her name once more.

There was nothing.

She must have been away from the mirror. Hearing the flush of the toilet down the hall, Harry
quickly put the mirror away again and got up to grab some clothes. He felt he would need a nice hot
shower to really get *this* day started. From day one there, he made absolutely sure to carry
his clothes in front of him. That was the one downside to being in a house with so many people:
there always seemed to be someone up and about, especially in the early morning when he was “up and
about.”

While he waited for Ron to return, Harry made a quick stop by Hedwig and Metis’s cage to greet
them good morning. For the second time, Harry found his sour mood being swept away by what he saw.
There were now *three* eggs in the cage.

He quickly threw his clean clothes onto his unmade bed, nearly hitting Crookshanks in the
process (who’d taken to sleeping at the end of Harry’s bed in Hermione’s absence). He raced over
and dug through his trunk, looking for one of the books Luna had sent over.

Since the information contained in the two books was pretty much the same (except for the
“debate” about when the mating season was), Harry and Hermione had each taken one so they could
look things up should they need to while they were apart.

After searching for a few moments, Harry finally found what he was looking for. It said that a
Snowy owl’s clutch size varied depending on the size of the local lemming population, the usual
source of food in the wild. His eyes widened in shock when he read that though the average was
three to five eggs, it could be as high as twelve!

Harry felt a little overwhelmed by that possibility. *Twelve more owls?* He wondered... how
did the squirrel population at King George’s Park compare to lemmings out in the wild? His eyes
went wide again. The Burrow was overflowing with gnomes, and those things were huge compared to
squirrels and lemmings!

Well, he’d find out in one to two days, and again every one to two days thereafter, until new
eggs stopped arriving.

At the same time though... no matter how scary he thought a dozen owlets might be, Harry
couldn’t help but smile as he looked in on the two sleeping birds.

When he went down for breakfast, Harry was surprised to see that Arthur hadn’t gone in to work
today. Arthur explained it was for family reasons. It turned out that, unbeknownst to everyone
else, Percy had been getting rather desperate in his search for a new job. Evidently, public
sentiment at the moment was such that being Fudge’s Junior Assistant was enough to close most doors
without even a second glance.

While Arthur and Molly were in no rush to have Percy out of the house, they were adamant about
him finding a new job. It was crucial to him getting back on his feet. Arthur said that he’d
decided that the two of them would go out together and “hit the pavement” today (he managed to get
this expression correct).

They’d then be back home before four o’clock, and then the entire family, minus Fred and George
who couldn’t leave early work today, could all enjoy a lovely afternoon together.

Molly made a small feast for breakfast (as usual), one that everyone enjoyed immensely. While
the Britain’s magical population was orders smaller than the non-magical, it was still large enough
to require some form of efficient distribution system... in other words, a wizarding equivalent of
the modern Muggle megamarts.

Because certain mechanized industries greatly outperformed anything wizards could output (a
sheer necessity due to the immensely larger Muggle population), certain food staples were purchased
from Muggle suppliers in bulk and then repackaged and distributed for wizarding consumption.

So, for all intents and purposes, the milk that wizards drank was exactly same as what the
Muggles did. That didn’t stop Arthur however from insisting that he drink the milk that came in a
plastic jug with the Sainsbury’s label on it, rather than that which Molly bought at the local
market in the glass bottle.

Molly and Harry shared an amused head shake as Arthur finished off (with pleasure) the last of
the semi-skimmed.

* * *

It was about 3:45 when the six people touched back down into the Burrow’s back yard. Harry had
finally finished the last of his homework about an hour after lunch and wanted to celebrate with a
game of Quidditch. Ron, who still *hadn’t* started his, was all too eager to join in that
celebration. Teams were a little different this time: Harry, Ron, and Percy on one team, and Ginny,
Charlie, and Neville on the other. Bill and Fleur were back at work at Gringotts.

Arthur and Percy had returned from their job hunt early today, around three o’clock. Upon his
arrival, Percy looked as dejected as he had every day, returning still unemployed. To the untrained
eye, Arthur appeared just as disappointed. But to Molly, who knew him like the back of her hand and
was all too familiar with him trying to hide things from her (Muggle-related), there was something
else on his face. There was a secret smile buried beneath that frown, one she knew she’d have to
wait to have explained.

As he drank his pumpkin juice, Harry could not help but glance at Neville. As far as he knew,
nothing had happened between him and Ginny. However, the more time he spent over here, the more
confident he began to look. The Quidditch games alone were proof of that.

To be brutally honest, Neville wasn’t all that great at Quidditch. Some people just weren’t cut
out to be Seekers or Keepers... or Chasers... *or* Beaters. Neville wasn’t destined to be any
of those.

But no one cared.

None of the Weasleys seemed to mind that Neville missed the Bludger as often as he hit it. Harry
didn’t care that despite the fact he had a very nice and perfectly capable Cleansweep 10, Neville
was the slowest one out there.

But most importantly, no one laughed harder than Neville did when on one of the few times he
even was even *able* to catch the Quaffle, he got turned the wrong way around and threw it
through one of his own team’s goals, scoring *against* his own team.

Everyone was simply enjoying themselves in a friendly game of Quidditch.

“Who’s that?” Charlie asked as he glanced towards the drive. Everyone turned to look. The hair
and beard were a dead giveaway.

“Headmaster!” Harry called out in warm greeting as the older wizard approached them.

“Harry, my boy,” he returned in a friendly way. “Assorted Weasleys,” he continued with a jovial
lightness, “and Mr. Longbottom and Miss Delacour, nice to see you all today.”

“So, what brings you here this fine day?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore cast a glance at Arthur so brief that no one noticed (besides the eldest Weasley, of
course), before turning to Harry with a genuine smile.

“My feet, Harry. I felt like visiting today, and as it just happens to be Fawkes’ burning day, I
decided to Floo into town and walk here. Quite invigorating actually, a nice brisk walk. It gets
the blood flowing again.”

Dumbledore then noticed the half-dozen brooms stacked up against the table. “Then again, so does
a friendly game of Quidditch. Harry,” he then turned and addressed, “might I have a word?” As he
and the headmaster moved off to the side, everyone else began to head inside.

“So, how are things, Harry?” Dumbledore asked once the immediate vicinity wasn’t quite so
crowded. “Anything from Tom recently? Are you enjoying being back at the Burrow?”

“No, nothing from Voldemort,” Harry replied happily. “And yeah, it’s nice being back here. Nice,
but different. I suppose I was a little surprised at how hard it’s been getting settled back in. I
keep expecting to be woken up by my, erm, Dan’s radio alarm clock and hear the quiet roar, I guess
you could say roar, of the nearby street traffic. You get used to it, actually, you know?” Harry
grinned.

“Now I get woken up by the not-so-quiet roar of Ron’s snoring and one of the assorted Weasleys
banging on the hallway bathroom door, yelling for whoever’s in there to hurry up. You can actually
get used to that too,” Harry added with a chuckle. “It’s great being back here, it’s just
different, you know?” he repeated himself without realizing it.

“I guess I just got a little more used to Hermione’s house than I expected I would,” he
finished, his voice on a slightly quieter note.

Dumbledore studied Harry for a brief moment before smiling. “Variety is the flavor of life,
Harry. It can be beneficial, in more ways than you might believe, to look at the world through a
different set of eyes. It truly was her idea, but I hope your time at Miss Granger’s house has
been, if you’ll forgive me, a learning experience. I trust it has given you a new outlook on some
things.”

Harry and Dumbledore then both shared a (introspective) knowing grin. Neither knew the exact
same words were going through each others’ minds. *One thing in particular.*

“So, Professor. I take it you didn’t come all this way to talk about housing arrangements. Is
there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, Harry, actually there is.” Harry smiled in a friendly sort of way, encouraging the
headmaster to continue. “I was wondering if you might like to accompany me on a little Hogwarts
business.”

Harry was suddenly reminded of Hagrid saying that repeatedly when they went to retrieve the
Philosopher’s Stone back in his first year. While he doubted they would be turning base metals into
gold, simply the fact that the headmaster had invited him was reason enough to get excited.

After informing Arthur and Molly of their short excursion (Ron decided to pass when Harry
invited him but Dumbledore assured them it was strictly school business), Harry and Dumbledore
walked into the other room. In the corner of this room was the Weasleys’ grandfather clock, one
that told not time, but where all of the Weasleys were.

“As I’m sure you would understand,” Dumbledore began to explain, “after the incident with the
*Prophet* reporter, certain basic security measures were put into places around a few key
residences, specifically the Grangers’, the Weasleys’, the Longbottoms’, and the Lovegoods’. One of
those, of course, being anti-Apparation wards.

“Unlike at Miss Granger’s house, since here we do have witches and wizards constantly popping in
and out, the wards here have been modified. One needs only be recorded as approved, and then he or
she would then be allowed to Apparate in and out freely.

“Please, Harry, touch the side of the clock. There, on that panel,” Dumbledore pointed out.
Harry glanced at the clock for a brief moment. All of the hands were pointed at “Home,” except for
the ones representing Fred, George, and Bill, all of which were at “Work.”

Harry touched where the headmaster had indicated, and felt the wood become strangely warm for a
moment. After removing his hand, the headmaster did the same.

“What was that, sir?”

“We were just recorded. The wards will now let us Apparate in and out.”

Harry blinked a couple times, his mind racing with what this might mean. A moment later, he
found out he was right.

“You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test,” Dumbledore said as he led them outside
and a few feet away from any nearby objects.

“No,” Harry replied. “I thought you had to be seventeen?”

“You do,” Dumbledore confirmed. “So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly.” Harry’s
eyes widened in excitement. Although he had what he felt were about a million questions to ask
about Apparation, he was just a little too excited to actually get the words out, so he simply
gripped the proffered forearm.

Harry felt Dumbledore’s arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip. The next thing he knew,
everything went black. He was being pressed very hard from all directions... he could not breathe;
there were iron bands tightening around his chest... his eyeballs were being forced back into his
head... his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then—

He gulped great lungfuls of stale, foggy, afternoon air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt
as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he
realized that the Burrow had vanished. He and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a
quaint village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His
comprehension catching up with his senses, Harry realized that he had just Apparated for the first
time in his life.

“Are you all right?” Dumbledore asked, looking down at him solicitously. “The sensation does
take some getting used to.”

“I'm fine,” Harry answered, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Ron’s house
rather reluctantly. “But I think I might prefer brooms...”

Dumbledore smiled and straightened his robes which had shifted slightly while ‘in transit.’
“This way.”

They set off at a brisk pace, past a bustling inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a
nearby church, it was just short of four o’clock.

“Harry, I must ask a favor of you. Our timing today is not entirely coincidental, and I would
like you inform me if you feel anything from your scar. Do not dwell on it, but do not attempt to
ignore it either.”

“Why, sir? Is Voldemort planning something?”

Dumbledore sighed, barely audibly, as though he’d preferred this topic not arise, even though
he’d obviously been the one to bring it up. “Yes, Harry. Voldemort *is* planning something.”
He said nothing for a few moments; he appeared as if he was trying to decide how best to say it.
Harry allowed him those few moments.

“As you know,” he started, then could not help but chuckle lightly, “you better than most, Tom’s
efforts as of late have not come to fruition. It is my suspicion that, with a new Minister, he is
eager to confront her. Partly to see ‘what kind of stuff’ she’s made of, and also simply in attempt
to put himself in a better position.

“He has threatened that unless she concedes to his demands, that he would do something that
would surely result in the deaths of many, many Muggles.”

Just then, the church clock began to play its top-of-the-hour chime, while Harry stopped in his
tracks.

“WHAT?!” he shouted then immediately lowered his voice, having attracted a curious stare from
the one of the village residents. “When is all of this supposed to happen?”

Dumbledore held his reply for a few seconds to allow the clock to ring out the four, individual
chimes that indicated the hour.

“Four o’clock, Harry.”

“Now?” Harry whispered, afraid to let anyone hear. Dumbledore continued to lead the way.

“His deadline was four o’clock, Harry. There is no way to know exactly when he might try to make
some move, but I suspect it would be not long thereafter.”

“Where, sir? What’s he planning? How come I didn’t hear about this before?” Harry asked in rapid
succession.

“As for your first two questions, Tom has threatened to destroy the Brockdale Bridge if the
Ministry does not submit to his demands.”

“He told you where he plans to attack?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Indeed,” the headmaster confirmed with a bit of what sounded like amused surprise in his voice,
as if even he was surprised that Voldemort named the target in advance.

“And that has actually made it even more difficult for the Ministry to respond, as now they have
to treat it both as if it were his real target, and as if it were merely a decoy.” While Harry
attempted to process what exactly that meant, Dumbledore continued on.

“As for your third question, I had felt, perhaps wrongly,” he conceded, “that since this
potential attack appeared to have no direct link to you, it might have been better to leave you out
of the loop so that you might enjoy your time with the Weasleys without worrying about an attack
that might or might not happen.”

Dumbledore stopped walking for a moment to look directly at Harry. “Now, I fully admit that I
have, in the past, been known to place your happiness above keeping you completely informed. If I
have done so again, then I sincerely apologize. I once said that it was an old man’s mistake.
Permit me to use that explanation, not defense, once again.

“When one gets to be my age, one tends to find it harder and harder to keep from falling into
the same old routine despite, or rather perhaps *because of* what I felt was in your best
interest.”

Harry stood for several moments and considered the headmaster’s words. While he had once again
withheld information from him in favor of keeping him happy, Harry knew that this was not the same
as withholding the prophecy or the nature of his connection with Voldemort.

“Sir, I appreciate your honesty, even if it is a bit late,” Harry finished pointedly, though he
didn’t intend to be rude. “He knows part of the prophecy, so he knows that sooner or later, it will
come down to him and me, in the end. I would therefore submit that *everything* Voldemort does
has some link to me, one way or another.”

Dumbledore merely nodded silently, the way one often does when reminded of something they
*shouldn’t* have forgotten.

“That said, and with that in mind,” Harry continued, “if you will trust me with the information
I *NEED* to know when I need to know it, then I will trust you to decide what information
*is* ‘need to know.’”

Harry smiled slightly and continued. “You are right in that I can’t be kept informed of each and
every single step Voldemort takes. I think my head would explode with that amount of information,
or I’d worry myself to death if I heard every single plot and plan and rumor out there.

“Perhaps if you weren’t sure if you should tell me, then maybe you could tell me and then
explain why you considered not. That way, I *could* know if it turned out that it was
important, but I could also understand why it might not be important, in the hopes that it keeps me
from tearing my hair out.”

Dumbledore smiled what could be described as a great sign of relief. “Thank you, Harry. I will
do exactly that. Forgive me if I am out of line, but I must confess that this summer has shown
quite possibly the greatest amount of growth I have ever seen from you.

“You have been forced to grow up faster than any person should, and I think that this summer you
have demonstrated that you will be able to handle it better than any of us could have possibly
hoped. It’s a crude analogy, but it’s as if something has ‘clicked into place,’ and everything that
you have been forced to endure over the years you could now handle with much more confidence than
ever before.

“I suspect some of that has been from saying goodbye to your godfather, as well as... other
things too. Regardless, whatever happens in the coming days, months, and years, I trust that you
will be able to handle it.

“Remember though that no one is invincible, and no one can do everything by himself. Do not
forget that there are people here who love you, and would do anything to help you. Trust in your
friends, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir. I will,” Harry promised. With that, the two of them resumed their walk through
town. A few minutes later, they turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry
looked sideways at Dumbledore again.

“Professor?”

“Harry?”

“Er — where exactly are we?”

“This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.”

“Isn’t that in Devon too?” Harry asked. He thought about it a little more, trying to remember
his geography. “That’s not that far from here, is it? From Ron’s house, I mean.”

“Correct, Harry. About ten miles by owl.”

“And what are we doing here?” Harry finally asked the question he’d been eager to ask (before
the mention of Voldemort, that is).

“Ah yes, of course, I haven’t told you,” said Dumbledore. “Well, I have lost count of the number
of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We
are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.

“Actually, we are here to *re*-convince him,” he clarified with a grin that could be heard.
“I had persuaded him to return at the end of July. However with the attack on Azkaban, he has,
shall we say, developed cold feet.”

“How can I help with that, sir?”

“Oh, I think we’ll find a use for you,” Dumbledore replied vaguely. “Left here, Harry.”

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. The odd chill that had lain over
Broomhill Road and the Burrow for two weeks persisted here too, though it didn’t seem so ominous
when juxtaposed against a quaint neighborhood thoroughfare.

It was just now only four o’clock so most people hadn’t returned home from work yet. But still,
there were enough people out and about to see that it was life as usual. The wizarding population
now knew that the dementors were responsible for the fog, and yet the general population was still
going about their day-to-day lives.

In the past two weeks, people had begun to learn how to live their lives with the threat of
random dementor attacks. They were, of course, bolstered by the knowledge that Voldemort’s attack
had failed. If even You-Know-Who’s plans could be thwarted in part by dementors, and if dementors
could be banished with a Patronus, then perhaps it was possible to prevail against
You-Know-Who.

It was the type of transitive reasoning that usually didn’t stand up to careful scrutiny (since
a Patronus was N.E.W.T. level and the average witch and wizard didn’t progress beyond the O.W.L.
level), but it was still very comforting to the general population.

And sometimes it was more important for a person, or a population, to have confidence about what
it might be able to do that to know what it was only able to do. After all, both wizarding and
Muggle histories were replete with examples of the underdog triumphing over a tactically superior
opponent.

*Perhaps ignorance is bliss,* Harry wondered. Because while the average *person* was
taking the dementors in stride, when in groups, *people* could still be easily panicked. He
suspected that if they all knew that there might be an attack happening right now, the mood would
be drastically different, even if it was happening some two hundred miles away.

Thinking of dementors and the possible attack, Harry cast a look over his shoulder and allowed
his hand to rest upon his jeans pocket for a moment, just long enough to feel confident that his
wand was within easy reach.

“Professor, why couldn’t we just Apparate directly into your old colleague’s house?” Harry asked
as they turned left onto a smaller street.

“Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door,” Dumbledore explained.
“Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case,
most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for
instance —”

“— you can’t Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds,” Harry finished quickly.
“Hermione told me.”

Dumbledore turned his head to glance at him for only a split second, but it was more than long
enough to make Harry feel self-conscious and look away. The older wizard smiled briefly, unseen.
“And she is quite right. We turn left again.”

Eager to change the subject, Harry allowed his mind to drift to Madam Bones. It was no secret
that the headmaster and Fudge hadn’t exactly seen eye-to-eye in the last few years. Harry therefore
was naturally curious about what Dumbledore thought about Madam Bones. Her first month had been
busy enough that surely the headmaster had to have formed some sort of opinion about her.

Sure, Harry knew how *he* felt about the new Minister and her performance thus far. But for
some reason, he felt the need to have his opinion validated. It simply wasn’t enough that he felt
she had been doing a pretty good job. He needed to know that other people felt the same too... the
headmaster especially.

“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, I was wondering... the new Minister, Madam Bones... is she...
Do you think she’s good?”

“An interesting question,” Dumbledore replied. “She is able, certainly. A more decisive and
forceful personality than Cornelius.”

“Yes, but I meant —”

“I know what you meant. Amelia is a woman of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of
her working life, does not under-estimate Lord Voldemort. While it is certainly not a requirement
of being Minister,” he continued with a chuckle, “she does, on occasion, ask for... my perspective
on certain issues.

“She does not, however, accept my suggestions blindly, nor does she reject them out of hand. We
do *not* always agree. However, on such occasions, she has adequately explained her thoughts
such that I understand her reasoning even if I do not agree entirely. And vice versa as well. For
that very reason, I have yet to leave the room feeling as though I’ve been, as you might say,
bashing my head against the wall.”

Dumbledore turned to glance at Harry again. “Why do you ask, Harry?”

Harry was going to say there was no reason for wondering, however upon seeing the knowing smile
on the headmaster’s face, he decided to just say it. “Oh, I was just hoping I wasn’t the only one
who thought she was loads better than Fudge.”

Dumbledore nodded and then turned back to look up the street. “This is the place, Harry, just
here...”

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. They turned off the street,
opened the gate, and started to walk up the carefully tended front path. Once there, Dumbledore
knocked on the front door.

A few moments later, the door opened. Partially.

“My dear Horace,” Dumbledore greeted grandly.

“I’m not changing my mind,” the wizard called Horace replied. Dumbledore was standing directly
in front of the door while Harry was off on the same side the door was partially open. Since the
man had to be looking out at an angle, Harry could not see him, nor could he see Harry.

“Might I come in to rest for a few minutes then?” Dumbledore asked. “It was a very long walk
here.”

“If you’d like,” the other wizard replied. “I’m still not changing my mind. Come in.”

The front door opened fully now and Harry could hear the home owner walking down the narrow
hallway. He could still not see the man as he was the last one in. As they entered a sitting room,
he could finally get a good look at his surroundings.

The room was opulently decorated; it was clear the owner enjoyed the finer things in life. It
was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and
footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions.

If Harry had not known who lived there, he would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady. A
majestic grandfather clock stood against one wall while a piano sat in a corner, turned so that the
player would be facing the room and an audience... if there ever was one.

Finally, Harry’s eyes landed on the reason they were here this afternoon: an old colleague of
Dumbledore’s. Sitting comfortably in a very plush sofa was an enormously fat, bald, old man. He was
holding his lower belly—in a way that a more jolly-looking man might resemble Father Christmas—as
if he was quite proud of a lavish life style. Or perhaps with his stomach in the way, he had
nowhere else to rest his hands.

The light from the overhead chandelier cast a warm glow on his shiny pate, his prominent
pale-gooseberry eyes, his enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache, and the highly polished buttons
on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing. Though he was sitting, Harry suspected the top of this
man’s head would barely reach Dumbledore’s chin.

The other wizard was about to say something to the headmaster when his gaze fell upon Harry.

“Oho,” he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry’s forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it
bore. *“Oho!”*

“This,” Dumbledore began, moving forward to make the introduction, “is Harry Potter. Harry, this
is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. “So that’s how you thought you’d persuade
me, is it? Well, the answer’s no, Albus.”

He then folded his arms across his chest and turned his face away resolutely with the air of a
man trying to resist temptation.

“I suppose we can have a drink, at least?” Dumbledore asked. “For old time’s sake?”

Slughorn hesitated.

“All right then, one drink,” he said ungraciously. “The answer is *still* no.”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and directed him toward another chair which stood right beside the
inviting fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry took the seat with the distinct impression
that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep him as visible as possible. Certainly when
Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes
fell immediately upon Harry.

* * *

After Harry left with the headmaster, Ron and Ginny looked around for a moment, trying to decide
what to do.

Since there was just over two weeks left before school started, Ron opted to avoid his homework
some more and talk his father into a game of chess. While not the greatest player, Arthur was keen
to get a closer look at Harry’s chess set. After all, Ron had practically been drooling over it
since Harry arrived, fortunately not literally... although not by much.

Since there was just over two weeks left before school started, Ginny decided now was as good a
time as any to start her own homework. It was her O.W.L. year after all. Listening last year to
Hermione fret about her workload, and Ron whine about his, she pledged she would do what she could
to try to stay on top of it this year.

Of course, listening to Hermione fret *every* year about her homework, and Ron whine, Ginny
pretty much made the same pledge every year after her first year. She usually lasted until about
the time Quidditch started.

The upside this time however was that she had a “study buddy.” Yesterday, Neville had treated a
particularly nasty blight on some of her mother’s ornamentals (“Ordinary baking soda!” Molly
marveled, “who would have known?”). Ginny innocently made an honest observation about how he was so
much better at Herbology than she was.

Stammering the entire time, Neville “casually” mentioned that if she ever had any problems with
her Herbology homework, he would be happy to help her out. Of course, Ginny did what any fifth-year
O.W.L. student would when presented with free homework help: she promised herself she would take
full advantage of his offer.

The trick, though, was to make sure she didn’t take advantage of *him*. If she knew boys as
well as she thought she did (if Michael and Dean were representative of the male population), she
was pretty certain Neville *wouldn’t mind* if she took advantage of him.

*Well...* she chuckled to herself, *I’m sure THAT’S true too. Let me rephrase
that.*

Ginny was pretty certain Neville wouldn’t mind if she over-extended his offer of homework
help... especially if she gave no indication that she wasn’t interested in him (i.e. she strung him
along). That of course was assuming that she *wasn’t* interested in him.

And THAT was something she just wasn’t sure of yet.

So what it meant was that she would have to be careful about how she took advantage...
redeemed... his offer of homework help. Fortunately, since a lot of Herbology was hands-on, the
amount of written work she had to do was quite manageable.

All she had to do over the holiday was write an essay and create a chart describing the kingdom,
phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species of the fifty most important “plants” studied in
Herbology. In the chart, she was also to list the three most important magical uses of each of the
fifty items. Since she had absolutely no idea how to start that, she decided to work on her essay
instead, two feet on the magical uses of non-magical plants.

Thinking about it, Ginny was pretty certain she could get at least a six-inch outline, or maybe
even a one-foot first draft done by tonight. Then, she could invite Neville back over after dinner
to have him look it over to make sure she was on the right track.

When she saw that Neville was getting ready to return home (he couldn’t think of a good excuse
for staying), she quickly went over to him and asked if he’d started his homework yet. He confirmed
he was mostly done, so she asked if he would Floo over after dinner to look her essay over.

Of course, Neville agreed all too quickly. She smiled brightly and put her hand on his lower arm
just above his wrist.

“Thanks, Neville. You’re such a great friend,” she said honestly, but also calculatingly. Ginny
smiled inwardly when his face lit up at her touch, but fell slightly at the word ‘friend.’

About a half hour later, Harry returned with the headmaster. The two shared a few brief words
out in the yard, then Dumbledore Apparated away. Ron came running down the stairs when Ginny called
upstairs that he had returned.

“So, what’s been going on?” he asked eagerly.

“Nothing really,” Harry replied. “It was just school business.”

“Come off it!” Ron objected. “You’ve been off with Dumbledore! It had to be important for him to
go in person.”

“This from the person who was excited to know what it was all about... until you found out what
it was all about,” Harry reminded him.

Ron grinned. “Yeah, well, it was school business, after all. Couldn’t get too excited about
that, now could I? I’m not Hermione, after all.”

“That much is certain,” Harry said with a laugh; Ginny giggled.

“So... GIVE!”

“It wasn’t that exciting,” Harry told them. “He just wanted me to help him persuade this old
teacher to come out of retirement. His name’s Horace Slughorn.”

“Oh,” Ron replied, looking disappointed. “Was hoping it’d be a little more exciting than that.
But I suppose it was what I expected.”

“You were?” Harry asked, amused.

“Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts
teacher, don’t we? So, er, what’s he like?”

“Well, he looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin.”

“Did he seem like he’ll be a good teacher?” Ginny asked.

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “He can’t be worse than Umbridge though, can he?”

“I know someone who’s worse than Umbridge,” Ginny whispered conspiratorially with a devilish
grin. Harry fought the urge to smile. He knew who she meant. “The way she talks to me, you’d think
I was about three!”

“Can’t you lay off her for five seconds?” Ron said annoyed.

“Oh, that’s right, defend her,” Ginny teased. “We all know you can’t get enough of her.”

Harry refused to insert himself into the middle of this. On the one hand, Harry could understand
the source of friction between the three females in the house. Ginny was used to being the only
“girl” in the house, and Fleur was used to having everyone adore her.

As for Molly and Fleur... well, Molly certainly did not *dislike* Fleur, but she wasn’t
exactly adjusting to the idea of another adult female in the house. Especially one was sharing her
baby boy’s bedroom... despite whatever Veela tradition demanded they *not* do before marriage.
Perhaps it was the flowing blonde’s occasional decorating suggestions or the recommendation of
certain menu ideas. And perhaps it was Veela tradition too... for while it prohibited some things,
it encouraged others.

And then on the other hand, Harry did seem it a bit silly that the females weren’t getting along
swimmingly. After all, he, along with every other male in the house (even Percy), seemed to get
along with Fleur brilliantly.

Ginny suddenly started making a coughing sound. *“Phlegm! Phlegm!”*

* * *

Around seven o’clock, the fireplace roared to life and out tumbled Neville with his Herbology
books.

“She’s in the other room, dear,” Molly greeted him warmly. “I’m so grateful you’ve offered to
help my little girl with her schoolwork. It is her O.W.L. year and I do so hope to see an ‘O’ or
two... *this* time.

“And thank you again for all of your help with my garden. I was so heartbroken to see it in such
a sad state when we returned,” Molly gushed. “I just hope I’m not taking up your time, you being
over here so much lately.”

“It really was no problem, Mrs. Weasley,” Neville assured her. “Ginny said you needed some help,
so I figured it was the least I could do. I really do enjoy getting my hands dirty, if you catch my
meaning.”

Molly just smiled. She’d once heard Ginny use the Floo to ask him to come over, so she knew that
Ginny was volunteering his services before telling him. She didn’t want her daughter abusing their
friendship, but at the same time, she didn’t want to interfere if there was something else going
on.

From what she’d heard of him, Molly thought quite highly of the Longbottoms’ son. Yes, he was a
bit shy, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She’d noticed her daughter had taken a bit of an
interest in him recently—what *exactly* that interest was, she didn’t know—but it was the
first time (as far as Molly knew) Ginny had shown *any* sort of interest in any boy other than
Harry.

As much as Ron disapproved of Michael and Dean, he wasn’t brave (stupid) enough to incur his
sister’s wrath by actually telling their mother about them. Neither were Fred and George.

Molly had always been rather keen on the idea of her only daughter becoming involved with Harry.
It would be the perfect excuse, after all, for her to be able to keep a closer eye on him, if he
were around more often. And she meant that in a good, mother-caring-for-her-young sort of way.

But as nice, as convenient, as that would have been, Molly did notice that Harry never really
seemed to take much interest in her daughter... in the “boy meets girl” sort of way. No, Harry just
always seemed a little too busy fighting basilisks and being chased by dragons and fighting
You-Know-Who to take much notice in anyone.

Yes, he and Hermione and her youngest son seemed inseparable. With that thought, she was
reminded of her reaction to those articles a couple years ago. She’d been rather worried Ginny’s
reaction to Harry and Hermione dating. She’d assumed that there was nothing going on between them,
considering her daughter’s rather dreamy, hopeful thoughts.

Rita Skeeter’s article said otherwise. And she had been okay with it, since it wasn’t her
business. Until, that is, that next article came out that said Hermione had been toying with his
affections with another boy, and a fellow Triwizard champion at that! Molly had been so furious
with Hermione when she first read about it, and disappointed in Harry for choosing an unfaithful
girl like Hermione over her own daughter.

And THEN, of course, she learned that none of it was true in the first place. She felt so guilty
about jumping to conclusions about the two of them that she promised herself she’d *try* to
stay out of Harry’s love life. After all, until Harry himself made some kind of announcement, there
would always be rumors, speculation, and gossip. Molly felt the least she owed him was to not jump
to any conclusions again.

So, even after all that, she could not help but keep an eye on Harry, in regards to how he
reacted around her daughter. She could still be hopeful. What she had seen this summer was the same
as what she had seen ever since she learned of her daughter’s crush on him. As far as she could
tell, there was no interest on Harry’s part. She wondered if treating him like a son had caused him
to see Ginny as a sister.

Whatever the case, it seemed clear that Ginny would not be bringing Harry home to her any time
soon. She was, however, bringing Neville home. And on a fairly regular basis too. Even if nothing
ever did happen, Molly did like Neville, and she felt it was a good thing to have such nice boys as
him and Harry as friends.

As long as they were around, Ginny would always be comparing any potential boyfriend to them,
even if only subconsciously. And that, Molly felt, was a very good thing. Ginny hadn’t said
anything yet, so Molly wasn’t going to either. She would just try to make Neville feel welcome
here.

“Yes, well, thank you again. And enough of this ‘Mrs. Weasley’ business. You’ve been over here
enough lately that it’s all right if you call me Molly.”

“Erm, all right,” Neville said hesitantly. Molly knew it might take a while for him to actually
say it (Harry still had a hard time saying it), but she wanted to let him know it was okay if he
did so.

“Now, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy are visiting Fred and George, and Harry and Ron
are outside practicing Keeping, so you two should be undisturbed for a while. Now, you go make sure
my last child doesn’t fail herself out of Hogwarts,” she shooed him into the other room with a
smile.

Always the mother, and a Weasley mother at that, Molly knew where every mirror and shiny surface
was in the kitchen. With them, she could pretty much see every part of the other room. It was a
very handy, and very discreet, way of keeping an eye on her children... especially Fred and George,
while she was working in the kitchen. From here, she could keep an eye on the two of them without
getting in their way.

* * *

Ginny sat on one end of the sofa with her knees tucked under her, watching as Neville on the
other end read her essay. She’d managed to get a first rough draft of about eight inches done so
far. She knew there was plenty more she could add to make it the necessary two feet, but she wanted
to make sure she wasn’t doing it wrong.

Ginny felt she was at a crossroads. She was absolutely certain Neville fancied her. She’d been
doing things and saying things this past week, trying to figure him out. The way his face would
soar or fall with her words, they way he’d flush at even the slightest touch, she knew he liked
her.

The question was: did she fancy him? She just didn’t know. Oh, she liked him, that was a fact.
He’d become a good friend surprisingly quickly. And she loved how she felt knowing that he, that
*someone*, liked her. It made her feel important, special. Again, in a family of seven, being
able to stand out clearly from everyone else—even if only to one person—was incredibly important.
Though she was the youngest *and* the only girl, it was still sometimes just was too easy to
simply blend into the mass of red hair.

So, again, did she fancy Neville?

She knew that in the story books, people fell in love at first sight. That had certainly been
the case with Harry... or rather it had been love the first time she heard his story. But she also
knew that most people didn’t fall in love at first sight. Rather they grew to love each other over
time.

She hadn’t fallen in love at first sight. It wasn’t even lust at first sight or crush at first
sight. But, she had become good friends with Neville, and she *could* envision spending more
time with him in the future. Whether that would be as just friends, or as something more, only time
would tell.

She realized though that she did at least want to *try* to find out. Maybe she didn’t fancy
Neville. Maybe she did. She would have to take it to the next level to find out. And unlike
whatever Dean might have meant, she knew what the “next level” was. They’d have to try to be more
than just friends.

She also knew she would have to make the first move. But she was okay with that. She knew that
she was not the type to simply sit back and *let* a relationship happen. She wanted to feel in
control. To employ a euphemism, she wanted to be on top. She knew that also had an entirely
different connotation, but that was a completely different subject to worry about... much, much
later.

Perhaps that was why things with Dean worked out the way they did. Ginny realized quickly that
he too liked to take the lead. But unlike her, well, he wasn’t comfortable with not always being on
top. This by itself was not a bad thing, for he never did anything mean or rude. She simply
realized that in the long run, he was... incompatible.

Ginny wanted to be on top; she wanted to be in control. She was willing to share that control
however... that they both be equals and share, if he (whoever he was) wanted to be. But at this
moment, today, here and now, she knew she would have to be the aggressor.

With that in mind, Ginny slowly scooted a little closer to Neville as he read, hoping he
wouldn’t notice. Neville set down the piece of parchment and was surprised to find that she was now
sitting directly next to him, looking at him intensely. It seemed like just a few seconds ago there
was an entire seat cushion separating them. Now there were only a few inches.

Neville could not help but be entranced by her fiery red hair. Oh, how he wanted to reach out
and—

“So, what do you think, Neville?” Ginny asked in a voice that he thought was impossibly
soft.

“Erm, well, yeah, *heh heh heh*,” he laughed in nervousness, “I think you’ve got a good
start. Just expand your introduction and conclusions a little... make sure they relate to each
other. Add a few more examples. Oh, and you’ve completely forgotten about... about... um....
fungi,” he fumbled, getting flustered at how close she was to him.

“Just make sure to include... um... those, and I think you’re just brilliant, um, well, *heh
heh heh*, I mean you’ll be fine.” Neville then turned bright red. Ginny only nodded.

She looked at him again, taking a moment to make absolutely sure she wanted to do this. As his
color returned to normal and he desperately tried to look around the room at anything but her, she
knew she did.

Ginny also knew that now was the perfect time. There were just over two weeks left before school
started. She’d heard of summertime romances. She felt that would be the perfect thing to try here.
She wasn’t entirely sure if this would work, so what she really wanted to do is to try this while
they were away from school.

They could have two weeks to see if there was anything there. If there wasn’t, then they could
go back to being friends and wipe the slate clean, as it were, just in time for school to start.
And if things did work out, well, then... so much the better. There seemed to be plenty of snogging
spots at Hogwarts.

Ginny reached out to take back her first draft. She made sure to grab it in a way such that she
brushed her fingers against his. She saw as his eyes widened and he stopped breathing for a few
seconds.

“I was wondering about the chart we have to make,” Ginny continued, still sitting so painfully
close to him. She knew he was uncomfortable, and yet at the same time she knew he wouldn’t do
*anything* to make her move away.

“Uh huh?” Neville squeaked in a high-pitch voice.

“I don’t really understand what Professor Sprout wants in the chart. Do you think you could show
me how to set it up? I’d fill it in, of course, but if you could just show me how to arrange it, I
think it would make much more sense.”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He quickly turned away from her to grab a new sheet of
parchment. As he turned, Ginny noticed the slightest amount of perspiration forming in the upper
most corner of his forehead. She was surprised; what she really having that much of an effect on
him? If so, she felt that was a good sign. She smiled.

“Well, uh, as you know, there are, uh, five kingdoms,” he said, trying to focus on the homework,
and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Animalia, Plantae, Fungi, Protista, and Monera. The, um,
the, um, only two you’ll need to worry about on the chart are Plantae and Fungi, but I think it’s a
good idea to show the other three kingdoms on the chart. You know, just to let Professor Sprout
know that you know what they are. You’d just leave them blank, of course.”

Unable to avoid looking at her any longer, at least without appearing obvious that he was trying
to avoid looking at her, Neville turned back. He was unnerved to find she was still sitting just as
close as she had been before.

“You make, erm, the two main columns wide enough to write in, and just add the last three on the
side real small, just so she knows you know about them. Then you just go down, making rows for each
and... Um, Ginny?” Neville finished in a squeaky voice. He was finding it extremely hard to
concentrate with her so close to him at the moment.

“Yes, Neville?” she asked. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear her voice was rather coy.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anything to say at that exact moment. His mind was rather
blank. Fortunately, she broke the silence by speaking. It certainly wasn’t something he expected to
hear.

“Neville? Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked. There was nothing coy about her voice now.
Nothing vain, either. Her voice was so soft, so honest, so vulnerable. That might have been why
Neville was able to actually answer. His mouth still wasn’t working, but even he was surprised when
his head managed to nod.

She immediately began to smile. Seeing her smile, Neville finally found his tongue again. “Erm,
well, yeah,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, “yeah, I think you’re really pretty.”

Ginny’s insides soared at this. Believe it or not, but no one had ever told her she was pretty
before. By “no one,” she of course meant boys. She’d heard words thrown around in passing before,
but they really didn’t mean much to her. Michael had said she was cute... but puppies and
puffskeins were cute too, so since he never elaborated on that, it didn’t really mean anything to
her.

Dean had said she was hot, but that didn’t mean much of anything either... at least not in a way
she wanted to have to deal with right now. Words like ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ and ‘gorgeous’ and even
‘ssssmokin’’ (that came from a Muggle-born Ravenclaw; she assumed it was related to ‘hot’) didn’t
mean anything to her. Those words... they just felt empty somehow, hollow. All she ever wanted was
to feel important, to be special to someone. She wanted to feel pretty.

And now she did.

“Thank you,” Ginny said and actually blushed a little herself. She leaned just a little bit
closer. Neville’s look of panic began to turn into a shy smile, as though he was happy that he had
made her happy. “Do you like me, Neville?”

It would be an understatement to say that Ginny was surprised when Neville smiled the biggest
smile she had ever seen on him. She had to admit, he could be rather cute himself when he smiled.
And she certainly didn’t mean cute like a puppy or puffskein.

He seemed to have lost his voice again, but he was able to manage a rather enthusiastic nod.

“Good,” was all Ginny said. She then smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile, something
that would let him know it was okay.

She showed him what was okay by leaning forward those last few inches and gently pressing her
lips to his. She brought her hands up to gently hold the sides of his face to let him know she
didn’t want him to pull away.

It took a moment, but she finally felt him relax and tilt his head slightly to make it easier to
return the kiss. Ginny felt as though her breath had been taken away; this was *very* nice,
actually.

She’d snogged Michael and Dean a couple times last year, but it was nothing like this. Then,
they were just quick little pecks goodbye between classes, awkward attempts at affection shown
while walking in Hogsmeade or back from a Quidditch match.

In short, they felt quick and rushed... almost meaningless in their haste. But this... this felt
different. She felt like there was no rush to snog Neville, that she could take her time and enjoy
it. She knew she *couldn’t* take her time just right now though, because her mother was still
in the kitchen and could walk in at any minute. She finally broke the kiss after a few more
seconds. All in all, it had only been about ten seconds, but it had felt a whole lot longer than
that.

And that, Ginny felt, was a *very* good thing.

* * *

Molly managed a silent sigh of happiness as she watched her only daughter, her baby girl, pull
away from Neville. She’d been watching them through their reflection on the glass of one of the
portraits on the wall.

As any parent could attest, it was possible to be too quiet, so when the voices died down, she
would sneak a glance every minute or so, just to make sure everything was okay. The first time, it
was nothing to be concerned about... Neville was just reading Ginny’s essay. Then they started
talking again, so Molly busied herself again. But then their voices lowered again in that way that
immediately drew a parent’s attention.

She looked back to find Ginny sitting unnaturally close to Neville... unnatural as in it
couldn’t have been accidental or a coincidence. When Ginny finally leaned forward and kissed him,
Molly fought the urge to rush in there and break them apart.

After all, what chance would Ginny have to find a nice boy if her loving, caring, protective mum
swooped in to pull them apart? Molly suppressed a chuckle. Oh, she was so glad all of the boys were
out of the house at the moment. And besides, she knew *they* both knew she was still in the
kitchen. They wouldn’t let themselves get carried away.

And if they did, well, Molly *was* watching. All she had to do was drop a spoon or
something and that would get their attention.

When she saw them separate a few seconds later, Molly quickly retreated to the other side of the
kitchen. The last thing she wanted her daughter to think was that she was spying on her. Molly
didn’t consider her observation spying. No, she was merely... chaperoning them... without their
knowledge.

* * *

As Ginny pulled back away from Neville, several things happened rather quickly. While entirely
an accident, this would serve to address one of Neville’s greatest fears about being around Ginny
so much... especially now that if they were going to snog... *especially* if future snogs were
even *half* as good as this one.

Because Ginny had earlier been trying to scoot forward closer to Neville without him noticing,
the easiest way she could do that was for her to be sitting on her knees and legs. That way, she
could “walk” *forward* on slightly on her knees, rather than having to get up and sit down
repeatedly as she made her way *sideways*.

What this ended up meaning what then when she finally stopped right next to Neville, her knees
were perched on the very edge of the seat cushion. To lean forward to kiss him, she “stood up” on
her knees.

And so when she went to lean back after breaking the kiss, when she shifted her weight
backwards, her left knee slipped forward into the space between the cushions. This caused her to
fall forward slightly. On instinct, she put her hand out to stop herself. Her hand ended up landing
in his lap.

Fortunately for Neville, she did not hurt or injure him. Unfortunately for him, Ginny found out
that he had become *very* excited at the idea of snogging her. Her eyes widened in surprise
and Neville became more embarrassed than she could remember seeing.

Interestingly enough, and perhaps it was because she just snogged him silly, but she thought he
also looked rather cute when embarrassed, just like when he smiled brightly.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny,” Neville started to apologize.

Ginny quickly removed the offending hand and then placed both of them on the sides of his face
again. She wanted him to know that he hadn’t somehow hurt her hand, that she wasn’t mad at him, and
that she wasn’t afraid of him.

“It’s okay, Neville,” she assured him. *More than okay,* she added to herself, feeling
rather flattered. She immediately shut that line of thinking down, however. Neville might not have
been Michael or Dean and she didn’t feel awkward about *that* this time, but *that* was
still something she didn’t want to have to deal with for quite a while yet.

Still holding onto his face, and with more stable footing now, she leaned forward one more time
and gave him a soft, gentle kiss. She then pulled back and repeated, “It’s okay.” Finally she
nodded, answering his question of *“Are you sure?”* before he even asked it.

Neville had been deathly afraid of embarrassing himself exactly like this, so for it to happen
within the first five minutes, well, he figured it would be over before it even got started.
However, when Ginny didn’t slap him or run away screaming, he felt such a weight removed that,
without even thinking, he did something he imagined would take months to do, if *ever.*

When she let go of his face, *he* took her face in his hands, *he* leaned forward, and
*he* kissed her. Even *he* was surprised about being so forward. For the first time
though, he wasn’t afraid. When they separated from their third snog of the day, Neville looked into
her eyes.

“Thank you for not slapping me or running away screaming,” he said, and then the two of them
shared a laugh together.

With their laughter came the sound of Molly dropping a spoon in the kitchen. The two teens
turned to look towards the kitchen. Neville put a hand up to his mouth and began laughing into it.
Only now did he remember that Molly had been there the entire time. She could have walked in on
them at any moment.

Ginny reached out and took both of his hands in hers. She gave them a gentle squeeze and then
let go.

“Homework can wait. Let’s go outside and fly around a bit with Ron and Harry.”

Neville smiled and nodded in agreement. After they stood up, Ginny took his hand again and held
it as they walked into the kitchen. Neville had wanted to do this, but was uncertain as to whether
he should. It was, he felt, one thing for him to take the initiative and kiss her when they were
alone. It was another thing entirely to be so bold as to make a public declaration by holding hands
like this, without asking her first.

“Hey, Mum,” Ginny said causally as she walked into the kitchen. Molly turned around and looked
at the pair of them. Her eyes briefly glanced down at their joined hands. She said nothing, but her
smile was just a tiny bit bigger when she looked back up. Ginny did not miss that fact.

“Had enough homework for today?” Molly asked cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Ginny said slowly as though that question, or rather its answer, had extra meaning for
her. “Yeah, as he talked, I realized what I needed to do, and so now we can work on it from here on
out.”

Molly just nodded in understanding. She then turned to Neville. “Well, just know that you are
welcome to come over here anytime you would like to work on your homework. The *living room*
is at your disposal whenever you two would like.”

*The living room, where I can chaperone the two of you,* Molly added to herself.
Considering how busy the Burrow normally was, she knew it would be rare when if Ginny and Neville
ever had a moment alone together. She’d let them get away with a snog or two, but she wanted them
somewhere where she could keep an eye on them. She remembered all too well what she and Arthur
could get up to in *only* a few minutes alone. It was a good thing the caretaker caught them
only that one time.

Only a fellow Weasley could notice the barely perceptible emphasis Molly placed on the words
“living room.” Ginny knew the hand holding was a sure giveaway, but this was just her mum letting
her know that she knew about the two of them, and that she was “encouraging” them to stay out of
trouble.

*Besides,* Ginny thought to herself, *we were able to sneak in a few snogs this time. If
the boys aren’t around, I’m sure we can manage a few more.* She then squeezed Neville’s hand
encouragingly.

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. “Homework is so much better when
you’re with someone.” He then squeezed Ginny’s hand back. Neville was shocked at how easy, how
natural this seemed. He’d never had a girlfriend before, and he had always imagined he would be
agonizing over every decision. Would the girl let him hold her hand? How would he know when it was
the right time to kiss her?

“We’re going outside to fly around with Ron and Harry for a while,” Ginny said.

“Okay,” Molly replied. “Neville, dear, we all just ate dinner a while ago, so I was planning on
making a little something for dessert. Would you like to join us as well?”

The very first thing to pop into his mind was, *No thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I already had
dessert.* And no, his grandmother hadn’t given him anything sweet after dinner. Neville fought
back a laugh. He didn’t know where any of this was coming from, and quite honestly he didn’t care.
If being with Ginny made him feel like *this*, then he could spend every day of the rest of
his life with her and live a very happy life.

*Whoa!* That thought sobered Neville up real quick, and brought him back to the here and
now. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I’d love to.”

“All right. Ginny, dear, tell Ronald and Harry that it’ll be ready in fifteen to twenty
minutes.”

“’Kay, Mum,” Ginny replied, then she and Neville headed out the door. As she watched the two of
them walk out into the back yard hand-in-hand, Molly sighed another happy sigh and then turned back
to her cupboards to find something that she could make to use up the very last of the Grangers’
food.

Arthur and Ron had managed to eat almost all of it by now, but Molly had had the forethought to
hide one item when Harry explained it to her. She was entirely familiar with whipped cream, but
this Tip Top Squirty Cream took her completely by surprise.

It was this funny little metal can. Harry would push the little thing on it, and, well, out
*squirted* whipped cream. Instant whipped cream! In a can! *“It’s amazing what Muggles can
come up with,”* Molly admitted at the time. Of course Harry pointed out that technically it was
“whipped topping.”

After seeing it, Molly immediately hid it in the very back of their ice box, beneath several
large heads of broccoli... a sure way to keep it hidden from her children. It wasn’t so much that
she worried about them eating it (for it had “two-thirds less fat than single cream”). Rather, she
had an ominous vision of Ronald, or Arthur, placing the tip in his mouth and pushing that little
thing until the whipped topping filled his mouth and came gushing back out.

Or worse, Fred and George stopping by unexpectedly and, upon seeing a can that squirted whipped
topping, becoming “inspired.”

Harry had said the can was about half empty so there was probably enough for dessert for
everyone. She could use the last of it up and be rid of it. Fred had once joked a few years ago
that Ron’s tombstone would read, “Death by Dessert.” If that were the case, she jokingly thought
that no one would believe it was from drowning.

* * *

Ginny and Neville walked out into the backyard just as Harry and Ron were touching down. She
noticed when both of their eyes were immediately drawn down to her and Neville’s still linked
hands. She felt Neville try to let go of her hand; she grasped it more firmly.

“Mum’s making something for dessert, *Ronald*,” she emphasized, trying to draw his
attention back up. It didn’t work. Harry, on the other hand, had looked back up and was now just
grinning at the two of them like he couldn’t be happier. Their looks of embarrassment at his
buoyant reaction was all the confirmation Harry needed.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry replied. “Is it ready now?”

“She said it would be fifteen to twenty minutes,” Neville answered, as he had felt bolstered by
Harry’s reaction. His, he had been most worried about, even more so than any of her brothers’. “We
were just coming out to go flying with you two, but if you’re done now...”

“Oh, no,” Harry replied quickly. “I could go back up for another twenty minutes easy! Ron?” he
asked. Ron was still staring dumbly at their hands. It would be unfair to say that he was scowling.
What he was doing, lost in his own world, was trying to decide what he thought about this.

“Ron!” Harry called more forcefully as he smacked the side of his arm.

“Ow! What?!” Ron demanded, snapping out of it. Harry, Ginny, and Neville snickered.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Broom. Flying. Up in the air. Twenty more minutes? Dessert? Yum yums?” Harry was fighting to
not burst out laughing.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I suppose I could do with a bit more practice,” Ron finally replied,
shaking his head and turning around to head back out to the field. As they headed out, Harry came
up and walked behind Neville and Ginny, putting his arms around them and setting his hands on their
shoulders.

When Ron took off into the air, Harry pulled back on their shoulders slightly to stop them for a
moment. He leaned forward and put his head between theirs.

“I think the two of you really ought to snog in front of Ron or something,” he whispered
deviously as he gave Neville a small, congratulatory pat on the back. The two of them managed to
get embarrassed again. Ginny recovered first.

“Aw, but we wouldn’t want to kill my poor, dear Ronniekins, now would we?” she asked
sweetly.

“Nah, you’re right. I don’t think Luna would ever forgive us,” Harry said as he mounted his
Firebolt and took off into the sky.

* * *

















Saturday’s morning *Daily Prophet* was understandably late. Plenty to report today. Molly
was nearest the window when the delivery owl flew in, so she got the paper first. Harry noticed her
stricken reaction upon looking at it. She quietly waved for Arthur to come over.

Harry watched the two of them carefully as they looked at the paper. They looked at it only
briefly. Considering what the headmaster had said yesterday, based on their reactions, Harry
suspected that they too had known something of the attack in advance.

Of course, that only made sense since they were in the Order.

*So that’s why he insisted on being home by four o’clock,* Harry suspected of Arthur.

Ron, on the other hand, clearly knew nothing of the attack, for when he saw the headline he
nearly choked on the three pieces of bacon in his mouth.

When he saw the headline, Harry finally understood the look of relief rather than panic (but an
absence of anything more positive) on Molly’s face. The attack hadn’t gone well for the Aurors, but
it had definitely been worse for Voldemort.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron exclaimed after reading the article more closely. “You-Know-Who himself
was there! Only three people survived: two wizards and a Muggle. Says here the Muggle said
You-Know-Who was injured before Apparating away. Wonder why there was a Muggle there. And how does
he know about Apparating?”

“Dunno,” Harry answered. “Wrong place, wrong time, I suppose. He probably just saw Voldemort
disappear.” Ron twitched. “How many Aurors were there?”

“Fourteen, looks like it,” Ron replied, “the twelve that died plus the two that didn’t. And four
Muggles all together. Harry, look!” Ron exclaimed as he pointed at something. “It says they took
the Muggle to St. Mungo’s. He must’ve been hurt really bad.”

“Do they know who was out there? Any names?” Harry asked solemnly.

“No names,” Ron replied grimly.

“Tonks called by Floo early this morning,” Arthur interjected. “She was one of the two that
survived.” The entire table went silent for a few moments, realizing that one of their friends had
been out there.

“She just called to let us know she would be okay. They wouldn’t let her say anything else
though, as it’s still under investigation.”

“How come there were only fourteen Aurors out there?” Bill asked. “I mean, thirty-six Death
Eaters plus You-Know-Who himself... that’s a major attack! The whole Ministry should have been out
there!”

“They were,” Arthur said. “The *entire* Auror and MLE divisions were out scattered across
the country. He could’ve attacked anywhere, so they couldn’t put everyone all in one place.”

“They knew in advance he was going to attack?” Ginny asked.

“*You* knew?” Ron asked, annoyed. Arthur nodded to both of them. “How come you didn’t tell
us?!”

“It was Order business, *Ronald*,” Molly replied defensively. “As long as you’re not of
age, I won’t have you putting yourself in the middle of it!”

“The Order?” Ron said as if just remembering about them. He whispered as if someone might hear.
“Was the Order out there?”

“No,” Arthur replied. “With the *entire* Ministry out in the field, Albus volunteered the
Order to keep an eye on things behind the lines, as it were.”

Ron looked more closely at the newspaper again. “What’re all of those blinking things in the
photograph?”

Harry took it and looked more closely, moving his glasses around to try to sharpen the already
small and fuzzy moving image. When he realized what they were, he knew this really had been a major
incident, despite whatever cover-up there was bound to be. He handed the paper back to Ron.

“They’re police cars.”

“Let me see that!” Arthur spoke quickly as he practically ripped the newspaper out of Ron’s
hands. He went over to a drawer to find a magnifying glass, hoping to get a better look at the
“please-men.”

“You lot’ll *never* guess who was watching over Diagon Alley!” Fred spoke up triumphantly.
He and George had popped in for breakfast before opening their shop. Harry noticed Molly glaring
daggers at her twinned sons.

“You two?” Harry asked in amazement. Considering their looks of pride combined with Molly’s
comment about being of age, he suspected Molly had recently lost an argument along those lines.

He’d been silent since asking about who was present. He really didn’t want to volunteer the fact
that he too knew at least something about the attack in advance. The headmaster *had* been
right. With the entire Ministry out preparing for the attack, with Apparation wards around the
Burrow, with two Order members present, there was little point in worrying everyone
unnecessarily.

Harry noticed Ginny stare expectantly at her brothers as well. If there had been a tremendous
commotion here that evening following the attack, then maybe whatever had happened with Neville
wouldn’t have. It was definitely a good thing they hadn’t known.

“Yep, us two!” George confirmed. “We got wind of an Or—”

“You were eavesdropping on your father and me!” Molly admonished.

Fred and George had the decency to appear guilty. *Appear* guilty.

“We couldn’t get into the meeting though,” Fred added quickly as if their inability to attend
uninvited made up for snooping, “so we cornered Dumbledore afterwards and told him we wanted to
join the Order.”

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all looked at Fred and George stunned, with newfound respect.

“He said we could join later and that we were to guard Diagon Alley.”

“*Cor blimey!*” Ron breathed in amazement.

“Albus said he wasn’t ready to let you join the Order yet, and that you were *only* to keep
an eye on things. *‘Observe only!’*” Molly repeated Dumbledore’s words, though with more
emphasis that he had used.

Fred and George both shrugged their shoulders simultaneously. “Same difference,” they both
replied with a smirk.

“Now, young men!” Molly began, gathering momentum. “As for you two listening in...”

“Now, now, dear,” Arthur interrupted. “They just got lucky this time. If they want to listen in,
they do so at their own risk. One day they might just get a real ear-full. Isn’t that right,
Mollywobbles?” he asked with a heavy voice. He then puckered his lips as though kissing her across
the room.

Though slightly embarrassed at the use of her pet name, Molly immediately strode over and
planted on Arthur a searing kiss that proved even after all these years they were still madly in
love with each other.

When they came up, the kitchen was a great deal less crowded as all of the Weasley children (and
Harry) had run screaming out of the room, Fred and George in the lead. Well, maybe not screaming.
But they did run.

The only ones left in the room were Molly, Arthur, and Fleur.

Fleur began to chuckle. “I told you zat would work,” she said as she sat down to resume her
breakfast. Molly smiled back at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law for one of the few times that
summer.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the mood about the Burrow picked up dramatically when Tonks called again
to say that she had been released from St. Mungo’s. Harry was in the kitchen when she called.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Harry insisted.

“Merlin, Harry! You’re as bad as Remus!” Tonks’ head in the fireplace replied.

“Remus, huh?” Harry asked shrewdly. Even through the green flames she appeared embarrassed... or
guilty.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Tonks replied, changing the subject back. “My arm’s still a little sore, but
I’ll be all right, thanks to the healers at St. Mungo’s.”

“What about the other two?” Harry inquired. “The *Prophet* said there were two wizards and
a Muggle that survived. Are they okay? And why did they take a Muggle to St. Mungo’s?”

“Harry, I can’t talk about any of that just yet,” Tonks apologized. “But I can tell you that
everyone will be all right. The other witch is staying there with the Muggle until they figure out
what to do with him.”

“So, are they going to have to Obliviate him?” Harry asked automatically.

“Harry,” Tonks warned. “Try not to worry about it. How is Hermione? Have you heard anything from
her?”

Harry quickly looked around; he was the only one in the kitchen at that moment. “She’s not doing
well. This has really hit her hard. I’m going to try to talk to her again tonight.” He looked to
the stairway again. “Someone’s coming. Did you want to talk to Molly or Arthur?”

“No, that’s all right, Harry. Just wanted to call to say they released me. I’ll stop by a little
later once I finish all my paperwork.”

“Oh, Merlin! Paperwork on a Saturday?” Harry jokingly complained.

“Such is the life of an Auror, Harry,” Tonks reminded him. “Talk to you lot later,” she said.
Just as she was about to close the connection, Harry finally noticed it: Tonks’ hair was different.
It was now purple and shoulder-length (he liked it). He also noticed that the change seemed to
coincide with her now being able to become embarrassed with mention of Remus. Harry smirked.

“Hey, Tonks.”

“Yeah?”

“Nice hair,” he said teasingly, but also managing to be sincere.

Tonks noticed the smirk; she knew there was only one way to respond.

“Thanks. Remus likes it too,” she said, waggling her eyebrows before her head disappeared; the
fireplace went dead again.

“Who was that?” Ron asked as he strode into the kitchen looking for his hour-after-lunch
snack.

“Tonks. She said she’d been released.”

“That’ll make Mum happy,” Ron observed with relief as he found some biscuits buried in the very
back of one of the cupboards. He turned back to notice the big, open, empty kitchen table.

“Wanna play Exploding Snap?” Ron asked eagerly. Even he had had enough chess for one day.

“Sure.”

Midway through their game, Crookshanks came trotting into the kitchen.

“Hey, there’s the sneaky little devil!” Ron greeted enthusiastically. He’d been rather impressed
with the way Hermione’s cat and owl had been working together to catch gnomes.

Crookshanks thoroughly ignored Ron and rubbed up against Harry’s leg.

*Meow?*

Harry looked down. “What is it, boy?”

*Meow.*

“Are you hungry?”

Crookshanks rubbed up against Harry’s leg again and started purring.

“But you’ve already eaten this morning,” Harry said apologetically. “Hermione said you get dry
food in the morning and canned food in the evening. And that’s it.”

*Mew.*

“Oh, go on, Harry,” Ron implored. “Everyone deserves a snack once in a while.” Crookshanks
immediately ran over to one of the kitchen counters and looked up at something. Harry looked to see
what the ginger cat was looking at.

Directly above him was the small jar in which Molly poured the bacon drippings after breakfast.
She frequently saved them in order to fry potatoes and the like in later on. It certainly might not
have been the healthiest thing in the world, but, Merlin, it tasted good!

Ron suddenly got what he must have thought was a good idea. He stood up, went over, and picked
Crookshanks up. He then set him on the kitchen counter and removed the lid from the jar.

Crookshanks raced over to the jar and reached his paw in, digging it into the now-cool bacon
fat. He would then pull it out and lick it clean. He started doing it again and again. Ron began
laughing.

“Ugh, Ron... that’s gross! That can’t be good for him,” Harry said, having a vague recollection
of Hermione mentioning that too much buttered popcorn made him sick.

“No, no, Harry, don’t you see? This is brilliant! Besides being hilarious to all hell, this is
the perfect chance for me to make that cat of hers like me. I have all this time to show him what I
nice guy I am without Hermione here saying what a git I am.”

“You *are* a git,” Harry teased.

“Yeah,” Ron joked, “but Crookshanks doesn’t know that.”

At the sound of his name, Crookshanks looked up at Harry and Ron mid-paw lick.

“Oh, I’m sure he does know it, Ron,” Harry jibed.

* * *

Okay, so Ron *hadn’t* had enough chess for one day. He and Harry were in their room a few
hours later, playing another game.

“So, I noticed you haven’t said much yet,” Harry noted.

“About?” Ron asked as he debated about moving his King-side Rook.

“About your sister and Neville,” Harry reminded him. Ron knocked his Rook over just as he was
about to pick it up.

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly, “well, I figured the best way to keep my foot out of my mouth was to
keep it closed.”

“That might work,” Harry joked. “But seriously, you’re not mad or anything, are you?”

“No, not really. I mean, she’s my baby sister, Harry. I don’t think I’ll ever be overjoyed to
see her with some bloke. But...” he said slowly as if pondering something, “as far as blokes go, I
suppose Neville’s all right. If it can’t be you, I suppose it could be him.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said sarcastically. “Seeing as it won’t be me, that’s high praise for
Neville.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant, Harry,” Ron defended. “All I meant was that I would trust you
with Ginny, and... well... I... suppose I trust Neville too.”

A short while later as their game was nearing the end, Crookshanks came in. Instead of jumping
up onto Harry’s bed though, he went and jumped up in Ron’s bed this time. Ron saw this and a look
of triumph came over his face.

“Oh... ho, ho, ho!” he chortled. “Lookie here! I told you I could win him over!”

“Bribed him is more like it,” Harry observed with a smile. Harry wouldn’t realize it until it
was too late, but something about Crookshanks was off. Instead of his tail high in the air like
usual, it was hanging limply. It was almost as if he was scared or hurting. And instead of his head
up looking around, it too was down low as if he didn’t want to be so far from the ground.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get,” Ron observed wisely. “All it took was half a jar of bacon
fat.”

“You did throw the rest of it away, didn’t you?” Harry asked. No matter what he felt about
Hermione’s cat, or how bacon-fried things tasted, he didn’t fancy eating anything if Crookshanks’
paws had been digging around in it.

“Of course I did,” Ron immediately replied. “There was no way I was going to eat...” Ron trailed
off as he looked curiously at the cat.

“What is he doing?” he asked. Harry looked over to see Crookshanks standing on all fours with
his head down low. He appeared to be coughing... or gagging.

“Dunno,” Harry replied. Right as Harry began to speak, Ron’s eyes widened in panic. He started
to get up to run over to his bed. “Looks like he’s about to...”

*HWARF!*

Harry and Ron just froze and stared at Crookshanks, who looked much happier, and *much*
more comfortable now.

“About to vomit up all of that bacon grease you fed him,” Harry finished his sentence, now that
he knew what the cat was about to do.

Ron came over and sat down on his bed, looking as though he’d just lost the most important
battle of his life. Harry came over and cleaned up the mess with a wave of his wand.

“I give up, Crookshanks,” Ron sighed. “You win.” Crookshanks came over and nuzzled up against
the red one, butting his head against his hand, letting him know he wanted to be petted.

“See, Ron? You just have to let him know who’s boss. He is,” Harry said.

* * *

It was just short of midnight that Saturday night. Ron was already snoring away and Harry was
just about ready to fall asleep. He’d told Dumbledore that it was possible to get used to Ron’s
snoring. And it was... it just took twenty or thirty minutes.

*“Harry?”*

It was Hermione’s voice, in a whisper so soft he wouldn’t have heard it if he’d been asleep. But
he wasn’t asleep, and he *had* heard it. Harry shot up out of bed and reached over to the desk
drawer where the mirror was.

*“Harry?”* came Hermione’s voice once again. Though she was whispering, Harry thought he
could hear some desperation in it. Finally Harry found the mirror. He looked into it; he couldn’t
see anything. The room was dark. He couldn’t see much of anything. *Idiot!*

“Hermione! Hermione, I’m here!” Harry whispered in a panic, hoping she’d hear him. “I’m going
downstairs where I can put on a light or something.” He grabbed his wand and his dressing robe and
ran downstairs. Once in the living room, he lit the lamp nearest the sofa and grabbed a blanket off
the back of one of the other chairs before sitting down.

It was chilly this time of night and he planned on sitting there for as long as Hermione needed,
so he wanted to get relatively comfortable. Settled in, Harry took one look at the mirror. There
was no need to even ask.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” Harry said simply. He was shocked at how devastated he felt for her
and her family’s loss.

*“It’s all right, Harry,”* Hermione replied. *“No, really, it is. It’s over now. He’s at
peace now,”* she choked out. She’d obviously cried herself dry by now.

*“He woke up this morning. He’d been in such pain this whole time. He woke up this morning and
he said he felt fine. He also remembered all of us.”* Hermione smiled brightly. *“The doctors
said that his body was shutting down. The parts that hurt were shutting down, so the pain went away
and he felt better. They also said that when near death, the brain sometimes floods itself with
endorphins, making it feel better. They don’t know if that was that, or maybe it was part of his
brain shutting down, but whatever had caused his memory block was gone too.”*

Harry could see Hermione’s eyes begin to tear up. *“We had him back. We knew it might only be
for a few minutes, but we had him back. He’d been an empty shell of himself ever since he first
woke up. No one cared that his time was almost up. We all knew it, even he did, but no one cared.
We had him back for that little bit.”*

Harry could feel his own eyes begin to tear up, partly in sadness at her loss, but also in
happiness for her, since she seemed so happy to have her grandfather back, even if only for a few
minutes.

*“When he woke up, he just looked around the room at all of us and then smiled. He said that
he felt like he’d just woken up from a bad dream. He remembered not remembering us, and he said he
was sorry for that, and that he was so happy that we’d all been so patient with him.*

*“Every time he woke up before, he’d forgotten who we all were from the last time. But he at
least knew that he’d forgotten, so he tried to take it in stride. Looking back on it now, it was
hard on us, him not remembering. But at the same time, it was a unique experience. It was like he
got to meet a long-lost family he knew nothing about, over and over again.*

*“As bad as it was to know that he didn’t know who we were, seeing how happy he was to meet us
for the first time, again and again... it more than made up for it.”*

Harry couldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to. He wanted to let her talk as much as she wanted
to for as long as she wanted to. He would just sit there and listen. He felt one of his own tears
roll down the side of his face.

*“Once he looked around the room and saw all of us there, he just put on this big smile. He
said he was so happy to see us, that it was like he’d woken up from a bad dream,”* she repeated
herself, unaware. *“Still with a smile, he said he was pretty sure this was the list time he’d
wake up again, so there were things he wanted to say...”*

Hermione looked away for a moment, blinking repeatedly, trying to hold back the tears.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered, letting her know she didn’t need to hide. Hermione turned back and
let the tears fall unhidden.

*“He said he thought this was the last time he’d wake up again, so he wanted to talk to us one
last time... that there were things he wanted to say before he... before he went to sleep
again.*

*“He said he wanted to talk to us separately, so we all left the room while he talked to
Gramma for a while. All we could do was sit around the hospital waiting room and stare at each
other and wait. There were newspapers and magazines there, but none of us could read
anything.*

*“She came out about ten minutes later. She was crying, but looked so happy. No. Not happy.
She was at peace, I guess you could say. I assume they’d said what needed to be said, and left it
at that. My aunt and uncle and their family went in next. They were only in there for about five
minutes before they came back out. The two little ones were crying... but my aunt and uncle, and
their oldest son and daughter, who were both old enough to understand what was happening, they all
looked sad but happy too.*

*“Then we went in. Mum went in and sat down on his right side and held his hand while Dad and
I were on his left. He reached over and grabbed Dad’s hand and asked him to make sure he took care
of his baby girl, Mum. He then squeezed both of their hands, I could see him do that, and he told
them to make sure they took care of his granddaughter.”*

Hermione managed another tear-filled smile. *“He said that since he wasn’t going to be around
anymore, he wanted them to make sure they spoiled me rotten like any good grandparent should.
Gran-da always did his best to spoil me. I didn’t get to see him much because they were in France,
but every time he saw me, he always made sure to buy me at least three books.”*

Hermione accidentally snorted as she tried to hold back a sniffle. Both she and Harry shared a
small laugh at that. A huge smile then came across her face.

*“Harry, I told him. We told him about me, that I’m a witch.”* Harry’s attention perked up.
*“You know what he did? He started crying. He’d been the strong one, the brave one the entire
time, and now he started crying. He let go of Mum and Dad’s hands and took both of mine in his. Oh,
they were so cold, Harry,”* Hermione said suddenly, distracted by that memory. *“He took my
hands and gave me a big smile and told me that he always knew there was magic in this world. He
said now he knew it for real.”*

Hermione smiled again. *“He asked me to turn Dad into a toad for him, as warning in case he
didn’t buy me as many books as I wanted.”* Hermione began to laugh again. *“I told him I
couldn’t do that, but that I would do something else. I conjured up some of those bluebell flames
and put them in a nearby, empty water glass for him.*

*“We were up on the third floor. Gramma had closed the curtain on the door window for some
privacy, so no one could see that.”* A mischievous look then appeared on Hermione’s face. *“I
then pointed my wand at Dad and levitated him around the room for a bit. He and Mum got a real
laugh out of that. Dad didn’t seem to like it so much though while he was still in the air. But
once he was on the ground, he started laughing too.”*

Hermione looked up a bit for a few moments, as though she was staring off in into space at some
point just above the mirror in her hands. *“A few minutes later, we were still sitting around
talking when he stopped and closed his eyes for just a moment. He blinked a couple of times as if
surprised by something.”*

Hermione’s lip began to tremble slightly. *“He said, and I’ll never forget this, ‘Em, would
you be a dear and go fetch my wife and my other daughter, please? Just them? Quickly please.’ He
then looked at me and Dad. We started to leave but he shouted ‘NO!’ quickly. He begged that we stay
with him. It was just for a moment, but he looked so scared then, for the first time. I think he
was terrified of being alone just then, even for just an instant.*

*“Mum and the others came back a few seconds later. Mum and my aunt sat on one side of the bed
while Gramma sat on the other. Dad and I went and stood out of the way in the corner. He just
looked at the three of them. He told them he loved them and that he was so happy to have been
blessed with a wonderful wife, two beautiful children, and five magical grandchildren. He smiled at
me as he said that.*

*“Gramma leaned over and kissed him and told him she loved him. It...”* Hermione cleared
her throat a couple times, *“it started getting hard for him to talk. He looked to be fighting
for every second. He looked over at my aunt and told her to tell everyone else that he loved them
too. He looked at each of us in the room, said, ‘I love you all,’ and then...”*

Hermione’s face began to contort as she fought to remain in control. *“He said ‘I love you
all,’ then he put his head back down on the pillow, smiled at all of us... And then he... closed
his eyes and went to sleep.”*

She finally stopped, closed her eyes, and let the tears fall freely. Only now that she had
stopped did Harry realize that he had been crying along with her for the last couple minutes. He
allowed her all the time she needed. It was good though, for it allowed him time to recompose
himself.

*“You know how in the movies and on television, people always seem to have just enough time to
say what they need to? Now I know why. After watching him, I could see he was fighting for those
last few seconds. Once he had said what he needed to... he simply let go. He just closed his eyes
and went to sleep.”*

Hermione looked down for a few minutes to clear the tears away. When she looked up at Harry
again, she saw that he had been crying too. She’d been *looking* at him the entire time as she
told her story, but really hadn’t *seen* him. *“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to...”*

“No, no, it’s all right, Hermione. Really it is,” he said as he wiped his eyes. “I figured the
least I could do was cry along with you.”

Hermione smiled for a moment then began to twitch her nose. She reached out of view for a
tissue, turned her head away and blew her nose rather noisily. *“You didn’t see that,”* she
said when she turned back. Harry just smiled and shook his head.

As much as he had been enjoying talking with her... or rather listening and crying with her,
Harry did begin to wonder about something.

“Erm, Hermione? Where are Dan and Emma?”

*“They’re asleep right now. The whole family, all of us, spent all afternoon and evening
together. Mum and Dad were so tired after such a long day that they just dropped off as soon as we
got back to the motel room. I couldn’t sleep though. I tried to read for a while, but even*
Hogwarts, A History *didn’t interest me. Git!”* Hermione teased as she saw the exaggerated
look of shock on Harry’s face.

*“I just couldn’t stand the silence. I couldn’t go and wake Mum and Dad up, not after today,
and I didn’t want to be alone.”* Hermione suddenly sat up much straighter. *“Oh, Harry! I hope
I didn’t wake you up. I knew you were an hour behind us, but I didn’t even stop to think if you
were still awake or not.”*

“It’s okay. I was in bed but hadn’t been able to fall asleep yet.”

*“Let me guess. Ron was snoring?”* Harry laughed. *“Don’t forget, I had to sleep with his
sister at Grimmauld last year,”* she reminded him.

After a few moments of awkward silence where neither knew what to say, Hermione finally started
again.

*“So, tell me. Have I missed anything exciting?”*

Harry was surprised at her question, then realized that she’d probably been in a Muggle hospital
and motel the entire time.

“You don’t know?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral, just to be sure. Hermione shook her head.
Even through a broken mirror and with puffy eyes, Harry thought she still looked radiant as she
smiled.

Harry then progressed to tell her about everything she had missed in the last few days:
Voldemort’s attack, meeting (who they assumed to be) their new Defense Against the Dark Arts
professor, Neville and Ginny, Crookshanks vomiting on Ron’s bed and the two of them subsequently
burying the hatchet, Crookshanks and Metis hunting gnomes... oh yeah, and the third egg.

Since it was now his turn to talk at length, Harry’s voice quickly got gravelly. Soon into his
story, he got up to get a drink of water. It was nearly one o’clock before he finished recounting
everything that he felt worth sharing.

After another few moments of silence, Hermione looked at Harry carefully. *“You’re not tired
anymore, are you?”* she asked.

“No,” Harry replied with chuckle. “I feel like I could sit here and talk with you all
night.”

*“Me too,”* Hermione admitted. *“You don’t mind, do you?”* she asked shyly. *“I’m
still not tired yet, and I’d rather not be alone.”*

“No, I’d love to,” Harry replied. “But... I will need to take my leave of you for a minute.” On
a relatively empty stomach, all of that water had seemed to go through him rather quickly.

*“Okay.”*

Harry climbed up out of the little blanket-cocoon he’d built himself and started to head
upstairs. Since he’d been holding the mirror in his hands the entire time (whereas Hermione had set
hers on a chair while she sat on the floor and leaned against her bed), Harry didn’t even realize
he was still carrying it.

*“Um, Harry?”* Hermione asked after about five steps. The way he was holding the mirror at
his side, all she could see was a sideways view of the Weasley’s house that swung with his arm as
he walked.

Harry stopped and brought the mirror up, looking into it. “Yeah?”

*“You’re... not taking me to the bathroom with you, are you?”* she asked, looking rather
embarrassed.

Harry just looked up the stairs to where he was headed, and started to laugh, covering his mouth
with his hand to muffle the noise.

“Yes, yes I was,” he admitted sheepishly. He immediately turned around and went back to the
sofa, setting the mirror down on it. “Let’s try that again,” he said dramatically.

Harry returned a minute or so later, just in time to see Hermione sit back down on the floor
next to the bed. *“Oh, hang on,”* she interrupted before he could start. She disappeared for a
moment, then returned with a folded up blanket. *“Found this in the closet.”*

Once they were both cuddled up in their blankets, hundreds of miles apart, they simply started
talking. Harry and Hermione spent the next hour and a half talking about everything and
nothing.

Harry talked about his favorite Quidditch moves while Hermione listened attentively. Hermione
talked about her favorite books while Harry listened attentively. These were things they both
really already knew about each other. They just wanted to talk.

Talk quickly turned to things they could both discuss and actually talk *with* each other,
rather than one talking *to* the other. The first thing, of all things, to come up was
S.P.E.W. Hermione admitted that it hadn’t been working out at all like she had hoped it would.
Rather it had been, in her mind, a complete failure.

No one took her seriously (*“except you”* she added hastily), but worst of all, the
house-elves themselves didn’t take her seriously. Actually, it was more like they’d taken to
shunning her; they were all afraid of her giving them clothes.

“Well, maybe we’re just going about it the wrong way,” Harry observed. He’d made sure to say
‘we’ to let her know he supported her. He might have thought her initial approach as a little
heavy-handed (essentially forcing clothes on the elves by hiding them where they might accidentally
pick them up), and he wasn’t exactly eager to have the elves mad at him too, but he did support
*her* one hundred per cent. He (now) was happy she seemed so passionate about it from the
beginning, even if he was certain it was doomed from the start.

“Remember Kreacher? Remember what Ron said about Winky? It sounds almost as if house-elves will
die without a house to serve. They are *house*-elves, after all.”

*“But what about Dobby? Didn’t you free him in second year? And we didn’t see him again until
fourth year. Where was he all that time?”* Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. He tried to think back... he had a vague recollection that Dobby
had been hired right about the same time Winky had. That would have made it around the time of the
Quidditch World Cup. Harry thought back again. Ron had only said that Dobby told them house-elves
died when their “house” did, or soon thereafter rather.

It didn’t mean they *couldn’t* be without a house to serve, if they were set free. But
still, even Hagrid, who loved all creatures magical and non-magical, had said that house-elves
needed to serve a family. It might not kill them, but it could devastate them if they were all “set
free” suddenly. The entire Hogwarts house-elf population’s reaction to Dobby was a hint at
that.

Maybe they couldn’t be set free. But that didn’t mean they had to be treated like Dobby had been
by the Malfoys.

And then Harry realized how to explain it. And it was already in the name too!

“Well, no offense intended, but Dobby isn’t a good example of how most house-elves behave.
Actually, what I was thinking is this. What does the ‘W’ in S.P.E.W. stand for?”

*“Welfare,”* Hermione answered instantly.

“Welfare, right. Not ‘freedom.’ Maybe the better place to start is to *promote elvish
welfare*, not advocate for the complete upheaval of wizarding and elvish societies. I know you
want to take over the world someday, Hermione,” Harry joked, “but even you need to start small
sometimes.

“I’m sure ninety-five per cent of the families out there who own house-elves *wouldn’t*
object to you promoting the humane treatment of elves. Once everyone was happy with treating their
elves nicely, then you could work on wages and holidays and the like.

“Remember, *everything* we’ve seen of house-elves, Dobby included, shows that they want to
serve wizards. Which is better? Aiming for the stars and knowing you’ll never even leave the ground
because the stars run away from you?

“Or is it better to aim for merely the moon and knowing that you could actually get there. And
then once you’re there, setting your sights on Mars, and Jupiter... and Europa, which is covered in
mice.” Harry smirked and Hermione laughed.

“I would never try to talk you out of your dreams, Hermione. All I’m suggesting is that maybe
you try a different route to get there. It might take a long time to get there, but eventually is
always faster than never. And you can actually do some real good along the way.”

Hermione closed her eyes and sat there silently for a few moments. *“You’re right, Harry. I
guess I’d been thinking of the saying to aim for the stars so that if you miss you can still hit
the moon.”* Hermione looked at him shrewdly. *“Which I suppose is why you used that
analogy.”*

Harry just grinned and cocked his head slightly as if to say that was exactly what he was
doing.

*“But as important as it is to ‘aim high,’ I suppose that out in the real world it IS possible
to set your sights TOO high. It’s obvious I wasn’t getting anywhere as I had been going before. I
know! It’s like trying to pole vault instead of doing the high jump. In the high jump, even if you
miss the bar, you’ve still moved forward,”* she explained, moving her hand in graceful arc from
Harry’s left to right.

*“But in the pole vault, if you don’t make it up high enough, you fall back to where you
started.”* She then raised her arm with her elbow as pivot, and then let it fall back down.
*“Does that make sense?”* she asked. He smiled and nodded his head, even though it didn’t
really. *“Right,”* she said slowly, knowing otherwise. *“Anyway, it’s back to the basics,
Harry. It’s time for the S. to P. E. W.”*

Hermione looked at Harry expectantly. *“No?”* she asked when he didn’t laugh. He shook his
head. *“Well, it was funnier in my mind.”*

Eager to move on from her failed attempts at analogies and humor, Hermione quickly changed the
subject to a different topic, one that had been triggered by something she’d just said.

*“Speaking of high expectations, Harry,”* Hermione began grandly, *“have you given much
thought to being a prefect yet?”*

Harry sat up a little more attentively. “Actually, I’d been wondering about it off and on ever
since Professor McGonagall gave me the badge. But she didn’t tell me anything about it.”

*“She didn’t tell you?”*

“Well, she said she expected you would tell me all about it.”

*“Me?”* Hermione asked, surprised.

“Yeah. She seems to be under the impression that I actually listen to you.”

*“Perish the thought,”* Hermione quickly replied. *“So, what do you want to
know?”*

Harry just smiled. “I don’t know. How about you just tell me everything that you think is
important for me to know about being prefect?”

Nearly half an hour later, Harry decided he should’ve been a little more specific about what he
wanted to know. Not only did she cover their main duties (that took about five minutes), but she
also started to delve into a number of famous, and infamous, incidents involving prefects over the
years. She said it was important to know all of this to put everything into historical context: the
position, the rules, everything.

Only the fact that Hermione too needed to get up finally to get some water did Harry get a
chance to interrupt. Personally, he *really* didn’t think it all that necessary to know the
*entire* story behind why prefects weren’t told the other houses’ passwords but rather given
badges that simply unlocked the doors. But still, he just didn’t have the heart to stop her. She
simply looked too happy telling him all about it.

When Hermione returned to her blanket with her disposable, plastic cup full of water, Harry
waited for her to take a drink (and hence, stop talking) before asking her about the only two
things she didn’t explain.

“So, *can* prefects take points away?” Harry asked seriously. He still wasn’t entirely
clear on that.

*“No, Harry, prefects can not take points.”*

“But, Malfoy last year...”

*“Was one of Umbridge’s goose-stepping morons,”* she said in a strangely familiar Scottish
brogue, *“in her Inquisitorial Squad. She pretty much gave them free reign over the
school.”*

“Well, yeah, that’s what I thought. But when Malfoy took the points last year, I remembered when
Percy did too in second year. Remember, when he caught us outside Myrtle’s bathroom?”

*“Percy was just bluffing. You might find it hard to believe, but that was the first time
anyone had ever done that. Centuries of prefects knowing that they couldn’t take points, and Percy
was the first to try to trick students into thinking he could take points. There was, after all, no
rule against it.”*

Harry thought about it. He remembered how much Percy loved being prefect and Head Boy. “Yeah, I
can believe it.”

*“Anything else?”* Hermione asked.

“Erm, yeah, actually there was one other thing. You said we were allowed to use the prefect’s
bathroom. I was just wondering... how does that work? I mean, there are only...” Harry had to count
for a second, “twenty-four of us, but surely there has to be times when two people by chance want
to use it at the same time.

“The bath is huge! It’s like a swimming pool, and I don’t remember anything like dressing rooms.
Do they just expect us to wander about naked while someone else is in there?” he asked, looking
mortified. “Or make us stand outside the locked door and wait for the other person to finish?”

*“No, of course not, Harry. It’s actually pretty sim... Hang on,”* she stopped suddenly.
*“How do you know about the bath?”* The look she gave him was rather scrutinizing.

“Oh! Well... Cedric showed it to me in fourth year,” Harry replied quickly, carelessly.

Hermione’s eyebrow arched quickly and an amused smirk appeared. *“Really? And just what, Harry
Potter, were you doing in the prefect’s bath with Cedric, hmm?”*

“What?! No! Get your mind out of the gutter, Granger!” Harry said, mock-offended. “No, Cedric
didn’t take me into the bathroom. He just told me about it. That’s where I figured out the egg from
the tournament. After I warned him about the dragons, he said I could use the bath to figure out
the egg and not be disturbed.”

*“Oh, darn,”* Hermione teased, feigning disappointment. *“Actually though, that is a good
question. It really depends on how shy you are.”* She continued quickly when she saw Harry’s
eyes widen.

*“You can either use the bolt on the door, locking it behind you, and not let anyone else in.
Or, you can re-lock the door with the password. If you do that, it will activate the privacy
charms. If another prefect wants to use the bath too, they have to announce themselves, and the
person inside has to give them permission to enter.*

*“If they don’t, the door stays locked and the other person has to just come back later. If
they do give permission, the privacy charms activate. Curtains appear and divide the bathroom in
half.*

*“The bathroom IS designed for multiple occupancy, so most people do share it. There ARE only
twenty-four of us. Share and share alike. If you don’t share with others, then they probably won’t
share with you. You just might find yourself standing outside the locked door, waiting for the
other person to finish.*

“Have you ever been in there with someone else?” Harry asked. Hermione could hear in his tone of
voice that he might’ve been a little uncomfortable with the idea, and was wondering if she was
too.

*“A couple times. There were a couple occasions when the Head Girl and I happened to arrive
about the same time. And the seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect. She liked to soak after Quidditch
matches, so I’d have to go in when she was already there.”*

“Ever been in there with Ron?” Harry asked, amused.

Hermione however did not take his amusement the same way, as she gave him a look that made him
glad for the first time there was several hundred miles between them.

“No! NO!” Harry quickly defended. “I wasn’t implying anything! I was just thinking about how I
would feel if I had to share the bath with Ron if we were both prefects. Or Malfoy, for that
matter.”

Hermione seemed to calm down considerably. *“No... no, I never had to deal with that. Come to
think of it, I seem to remember Ron mentioning once that he preferred to be in there really late at
night, just to make sure he could be there by himself.”* She shrugged her shoulders.

*“I was in there with Ernie once. I’d just gotten in when he knocked on the door. You know
Ernie,”* she said, implying something good. *“I figured we were both mature enough handle it.
I’ll never do THAT again!”* Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head.

Harry immediately began to feel a fire burning inside of him. Ernie was SO dead! *“No, Harry!
Ernie didn’t do anything. It’s just... well, the privacy curtain... it’s a visual and physical
barrier. But you CAN talk to the other person.*

*“The point of the prefect’s bath, at least the way I see it, is to be a special treat for
prefects. It’s a chance to get away from everyone and everything. It’s a chance to go to this
enormous, gorgeous bathtub, fill it with all sorts of bubble baths, and just sit there and relax
while you soak all of it away.*

*“Well, like I said, you know Ernie,”* she said again, now implying something bad. *“He
spent the ENTIRE time while I was in there talking to me about all of his ideas on how to more
efficiently allocate sixth-year prefect duties based on O.W.L. scores, picking different rounds
rotations to better coincide with the average time the students of a house went to
dinner...*

*“Oh, Harry, he just went on and on! Honestly, after spending half the night clearing out
broom cupboards and tracking down roaming Slytherins, when I’m neck-deep in bubble bath, the LAST
thing I want to talk about is prefect duties.”*

Harry didn’t say much of anything after that. The thought of her neck-deep in bubble bath was
just a little too distracting. Fortunately he was spared by a sudden, deep yawn from Hermione.
*“Oh, wow!”* she exclaimed at her sudden tiredness. He looked back to see her glance off to
the side of the room.

*“Oh my God, Harry. It’s after four o’clock in the morning! I didn’t even realize the time. I
knew you were an hour behind me, but it just got away from me.”* She rubbed her face as her
weariness quickly began sinking in. *“I can’t believe it’s been three hours. It felt like five
minutes!”*

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Harry admitted. “But hey, at least it’s only three o’clock here.”
He grinned broadly.

*“Don’t be smart, Harry,”* Hermione quipped, smiling and yawning at the same time.
*“That’s my job.”* She started stirring, beginning to unwrap herself from her blanket.

*“Harry? The funeral is going to be the day after tomorrow, no, tomorrow.”* She stopped for
a moment to rub her eyes wearily. *“I’m still stuck on Saturday. It’s going to be Monday. We’re
going to spend tomorrow with Gramma and help her around the house. Mum wants to spend some time
with her sister, so Tuesday we’re going to go out to their house.*

*“It’ll be nice, I suppose. I haven’t seen my cousins in years. With everything that’s been
going on these last few days, we really haven’t had much of a chance to spend any time together...
besides sitting around in waiting rooms.*

*“Mum wants to make the most of it while we’re here. With me being away from home so much
these last five years, we haven’t had a proper vacation since I was ten.”*

*“*That’s good,” Harry forced himself to say, even though he really DID mean it. A small,
selfish part of himself had just been hoping that they would come back now that... now that the
waiting was over. But even he knew it. Now was the time they needed to be there the most. Now it
was time for life to go on again.

Harry knew he would have her back again on September 1, at the latest. But for their families,
it could easily be years.

“You should spend some time with your family. Get to know your aunt and uncle better. Get to
know your cousins. How old are they, anyway?”

Hermione had to stop and think for a moment. *“The youngest is... twelve? And the oldest?
Merlin, I think she’s nineteen.”*

“Reason enough to get to know them better, if you can’t remember how old they are,” Harry
pointed out. “Just think how much you’ve changed since you were ten.”

Hermione rolled her head and looked up at the ceiling as if totally overwhelmed by that thought.
*“Oh, Harry, don’t say things like that. I can’t even imagine my life anymore before I met y...
you and Ron. I was going to say before I started Hogwarts, but that’s not exactly right. It’s
really ‘before the troll’ and ‘after the troll,’ because those first few months of first year
before we were friends, it was a lot like my old school, except with magic.”*

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, but wasn’t sure if he should push it or not.
He suddenly heard a loud, sharp noise, one that caused Hermione to jump and look over her shoulder.
She grinned as she continued to look for about ten seconds.

*“Dad. He doesn’t normally snore, but just snort-snored really, really loudly, and I think Mum
heard him in her sleep because she started mumbling while she was still asleep for him to be
quiet.”* Hermione let another deep yawn escape.

*“I should probably be getting to bed now. It’s going to be another long day tomorrow,”*
Hermione said as she pulled the blanket off of her finally. Right about the time Harry thought she
would say goodnight, she suddenly leaned forward close to the mirror.

*“Harry? I remember what I said the other night. I just wanted to tell you now that I’m so
thankful you talked me into coming here. I don’t know how I would have felt if I’d learned about
Gran-da by owl or even phone. Just... seeing him one last time... getting to say goodbye to him...
letting him say goodbye to me...”* Hermione’s eyes began to water slightly. *“Seeing how happy
he was to remember us when he woke up this morning... I’m just glad I was here for all of that.
I... I don’t know if I can ever repay you for that.”*

“Just do one thing for me, Hermione.”

*“Anything.”*

“Enjoy yourself,” Harry said simply. “Spend time with your family, and enjoy it as best as you
can, given the circumstances. Oh, and... maybe you could take some nice pictures of you and your
family. Maybe do a little sightseeing. I’ve never been to France. It might be nice to see a little
of the local color.”

He grinned wickedly. “Though I suppose they frown upon taking a camera to those nude beaches of
theirs.”

Hermione shot him a mock glare. *“Harry James Potter, you are the worst!”* she jokingly
scolded him. *“But, now that you mention it, I’ll do you one better. I’ll bring the mirror with
me.”* Harry’s eyes went wide like saucers. *“To my aunt’s house!”* she said exasperatedly.
*“They live out in country and have beautiful lands around it. You know the expression ‘Wish you
were here’? If I can find some time, I’ll slip out for a walk and I’ll show you what it’s like
here.”*

“I’d like that,” Harry said wistfully. There might be hundreds of miles between them, but he was
pretty sure he could actually imagine what it might be like to go for a long walk in the beautiful
countryside with her.

*“Thanks again, Harry, for listening.”*

“You’re welcome. And thanks for assuring me I don’t have to share the prefect’s bathroom with
Malfoy.”

*“Glad to be of service. Good night, Harry.”*

“Good night, Hermione.”


*Here is another wonderful manip done by Evernight. This scene is from Chapter 26. Yes, that
really is the entrance to King George’s Park. My business associate friend visited London recently,
and I was able to get a few souvenir photographs. Gee, imagine that... it’s foggy!*

http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=1194




33. Shades of Gray
------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Hello everyone! I’m back! First and foremost, I want to apologize for the extremely long
delay. I won’t bore you with the details, but a more-than-two-month-delay in this update divided by
Real Life... well, I think you can do the math. But the important thing is I’m back now! I just
want to say THANK YOU once again for all of the wonderful reviews you all have left me. When they
arrive in my inbox, it’s just a little ray of sunshine that peeks through whatever clouds may be
darkening the skies.*

*So less apologizing and more story! Okay, how about a double update? Yep! Two huge chapters,
this one (65 “pages”) now and the next one, even longer, once the chapter comes back from my beta
(and when I have access to the internet again). I’m headed out for a majorly-needed vacation in,
like, literally five hours. Where I’ll be staying doesn’t have Internet access, so I’ll have to
sneak down to the local internet cafe to post the chapter.*

*Third, I’ve said it before how sometimes a chapter takes on a life of its own. That CERTAINLY
was the case this time. The very first draft of this chapter simply wrote itself and ended up
exceeding this story’s PG-13 rating. Oh, the things that go through teenagers’ minds. So after some
liberal editing, I’ve managed to pare this down to squeak by, but still give a general idea of what
has been happening.*

*But at the same time I didn’t want to merely delete all that so, on the suggestion of my
friend and beta, MapleMountain, I have decided to post an “extended version” in a separate story.
Doing it this way gives me a chance to explore that one last realm—I have never written ‘adult’
content before—and they say that you have to try new things to grow, so I will.*

*If you are interested in joining me in this experiment, and it IS an experiment, then keep an
eye out for the “Extended Edition” of this chapter, which will be posted in the near future. For
those who have no desire to exceed a PG-13 rating, and I understand that too, then fear not. For
while the extended version will expand upon certain scenes in this chapter and even fill in a
little historical background on a few of our characters, it will do nothing to advance the H/Hr
plot any more than this chapter does.*

*In other words, there will be nothing in subsequent PG-13 chapters that require that you have
read the R or NC-17 version. It might help you better understand certain aspects of certain
characters, aspects that aren’t examined in canon, but overall they won’t be key to the plot...
just me being able to finally put to rest a few random mature-themed plot bunnies.*

*And finally, thank you, thank you, thank you to my beta, MapleMountain. You know what you’ve
done recently. Let’s just leave it at that.*


Chapter 33. **Shades of Gray.**

*“Thanks again, Harry, for listening.”*

*“You’re welcome. And thanks for assuring me I don’t have to share the prefect’s bathroom with
Malfoy.”*

*“Glad to be of service. Good night, Harry.”*

*“Good night, Hermione.”*


The following afternoon... or rather, much later that *same* day, Harry didn’t wake up
until nearly 12:30. Ron tried to rouse him early for breakfast, but Harry, still mostly asleep,
mumbled, “G’way... awake late.” Molly was only a few moments behind Ron and shooed him out the
door.

She’d woken up a little after midnight for some unknown reason, and decided to take a quick look
around the house, just to be safe. She assumed it was the ghoul upstairs making noise again.

Once out in the hallway, she noticed light coming from downstairs. She’d made it a few steps
down before she saw Harry sitting on the sofa, curled up in a blanket. His face was wet with
tears.

The really strange thing though was that for some reason she didn’t understand or question (the
distraction and privacy charms in the mirror), she didn’t feel any need to go to him and ask if
anything was the matter. She simply felt that everything was all right... not ‘all right’ in the
sense that all was well, but rather ‘all right’ in the sense that everything was as it was
*supposed* to be and therefore needed no investigation.

The mirrors were, after all, intended for use during detentions with the professor in the
room.

Molly therefore returned to bed and tried to go back to sleep. She was vaguely aware of hearing
Ron’s bedroom door close later that night. She didn’t know what time it was, but knew it had to
have been much later.

Over breakfast, Molly warned everyone to let Harry sleep in. She didn’t know why he was up late,
or why he was crying. And she *really* couldn’t understand why she would’ve just left him
there. But she did know Harry would explain himself if it was important, so she just told everyone
he was up late and omitted the tears.

* * *

Harry wasn’t really sure what to think when he woke up and realized it was lunch time. He didn’t
even remember telling Ron to go away, though later that afternoon Ron would take great pleasure in
assuring him that he did.

When Harry came downstairs, he found everyone just starting to sit down to eat. As he walked in,
everyone turned and looked at him. They all wore looks that clearly showed they wanted to ask, but
no one did.

Yet. Just as he was sitting down next to Ron, it happened.

“So, late night, mate?” Ron asked with a slight laugh. He really *wasn’t* trying to pry; he
was just trying to tease him about waking up so late, like a proper best mate should.

Harry could hear Molly inhale deeply and could feel her glaring at Ron even though she was
behind both of them. So Harry decided he would let Ron off the hook by telling everyone why he was
awake so late. He knew they all wanted to know, out of concern for him. Someone would ask sooner or
later. Or they’d all go crazy by not asking.

“Hermione’s grandfather died yesterday,” Harry said quietly. Gasps were heard all around the
room. He picked up his fork and began poking at the fried potatoes on his plate; he really hoped
Ron threw away the rest of the bacon fat that Crookshanks had been eating.

Expressions of sympathy came from all sides.

“Oh, no!”

“The poor dear.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, ‘ow *‘orrible!*” Fleur cried. “You spoke wiz ‘er, no?”

Harry actually smiled. He was glad that it had been the last question asked, not the first. He
guessed that a small part of him had expected Ron or Ginny to jump on that little detail... of how
he had known. He supposed it meant they both might have really moved on if they were more concerned
with Hermione, than why or how he was talking to her.

“Yeah, she called me late last night, after her parents had fallen asleep. She couldn’t sleep...
and I think she just wanted to talk to someone. We talked for nearly three hours.” Harry smiled
again. “It’s a good thing Ron’s snoring kept me awake for a while. I might not have heard her if
I’d been asleep.”

“How did she call you, Harry?” Ginny asked, genuinely curious. “She didn’t use the Floo, did
she? Her grandparents are Muggle, right? So wouldn’t they’ve been in a Muggle house or
hospital?”

Now that the cat was out of the bag, it only made sense that they might wonder how. So he told
them about Sirius’s mirrors, how he’d gotten them, how he’d given one to Hermione before she left
(he left out the part where he kissed her on the forehead), and how she’d established that they
actually did work.

Ron looked more amazed at having missed their first conversation than in being excluded. Clearly
impressed with the mirrors, he did however ask why Harry hadn’t told *him* about the mirrors
first. He looked sufficiently appeased when Harry explained that he hadn’t received the second one
until his birthday, and how he’d assumed they were non-functional because his was shattered.

Molly admitted that she had seen him during the night, but hadn’t seen the mirrors. Harry
explained Hermione’s theory about the privacy charms. When he described their original usage, Ron
gained what could best be described as a dreamy look on his face.

“You best be thinking about a way to stay out of detention, Ronald Weasley,” Molly warned,
glaring at him with her hands on her hips, “and not how you’ll chat with Harry once you’re
there.”

Ron ducked his head and grinned sheepishly.

* * *

Hermione found herself walking down one of the many corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry. The knot in her stomach and lump in her throat... and the hunger *elsewhere*,
told her what was going to be happening very soon. She was going to meet up with Harry... and break
a few school rules.

Oh, and how she was looking forward to that!

The real question though was where *exactly* was she headed? She knew she was dreaming—she
always did—but that didn’t make it feel any less real. But where *was* she going?

The library? Where they ended up at, or rather *on top of*, the book checkout counter? What
about the ever-popular Astronomy Tower? There was a reason it was so well known. While one’s breath
was busy being taken away, the view of the night sky above was quite breath taking.

Hagrid’s paddocks perhaps? Only very recently, she’d suddenly envisioned Harry riding naked on
the back of a horse. She wasn’t sure where that one came from... but she didn’t object either,
especially since horses, unlike hippogriffs, could not fly.

How about the Quidditch locker room? Who knew anyone could get so *dirty* beneath a shower?
The next turn Hermione made eliminated all but two possibilities. *Oh.* The Potions Dungeon?
Hermione blushed and her heart raced at *those* memories. Professor Snape would never again
have Harry serve detention there if he knew what happened on his desk.

One final right turn, and Hermione’s destination was clear (only in her dreams could the Potions
Dungeon be on the fifth floor): the prefect’s bath.

Of course... though she didn’t know why it felt inevitable this time.

Hermione quickened her pace, alternating back and forth between running a few steps and then
walking a few steps as she covered the final thirty feet. She couldn’t wait to get inside, but
didn’t want anyone to see her running. The corridors, which were empty a moment ago, were now full
of students... now that she was worried about being seen. She reached the door and whispered the
password.

“Ninety-nine point forty-four.” She half-moaned in anticipation as the door swung open. Once
inside, she quickly muttered the password again, relocking the door.

She hurried over to the full-length mirror, looking at herself to make sure she was presentable.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to her Head Girl badge as it glimmered in the candlelight. Lowering
slightly, she also noticed something else. She giggled in excitement, and *excitement*. It
wasn’t *that* cold in here.

Another glint then caught her eye. She looked down and found the source: a simple band of gold
on the fourth finger on her left hand. Her heart fluttered and she sighed in contentment. It was
her wedding ring, once Lily’s.

Earlier this year, Harry had asked her to marry him. He actually proposed to her down in his
Gringotts vault, in front of her mother’s jewelry box. It was the only way he could keep it a
surprise and a secret, from both her and the press.

Kneeling on one knee, Harry simply looked up into her eyes and opened his heart and soul up to
her, allowing her to feel what he felt for her. After that, no words were needed. Except of course
for...

“Hermione Jane Granger, will you marry me?”

Hermione had actually answered the question with a resounding “YES!” before he finished
pronouncing her first name. As Harry slid his mother’s engagement ring onto Hermione’s finger, the
images of James and Lily had actually appeared.

“I hope you don’t mind a slightly used engagement ring, dear,” Lily said to Hermione, who shook
her head happily. “Let’s just say that I insisted Harry use ours. I can be very persuasive.” Behind
Lily, Hermione could see James nodding fervently.

“Welcome to the family, my daughter,” Lily said.

As the images faded, Hermione turned and looked at the lid of the jewelry box again. There she
saw what she had longed to see for more than three years, ever since she first saw the box back
before her sixth year. Intertwined in the engraved “HJP” of Harry’s initials was now a second
“HJP.”

If anything was ever needed, there it was: the double, intertwined “HJP” that was now
*their* initials (at least in spirit). True, they weren’t actually married just yet, but it
was a dream of the memory. Things tended to work out more conveniently that way.

Returning from the memory, Hermione looked up and saw herself again, suddenly now twenty-two
years old, fast approaching her second wedding anniversary, and, teaching Charms, the *second*
youngest professor in Hogwarts’ history. The youngest of course was Harry. Having nothing to do
with being The Stud Who Won, he was the most popular Potions professor that Hogwarts could remember
in generations.

Don’t ask. *Somehow* it made sense in the dream.

‘The Stud Who Won’ incidentally was yet one more title for Harry’s collection—one Hermione had
given him. It was the only one she ever actually used. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with that title
either... at least not until Hermione showed him what kind of “special treatment” he could get by
waving that name around.

Knowing Harry was on his way, Hermione quickly disrobed and did a cannonball into the tub,
which, empty upon entering the room, was conveniently now already full and overflowing with sensual
bubbles. She was feeling frisky tonight. After swimming a quick lap to make sure she was good and
limber, Hermione heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she sang.

“*Harry James Granger,*” came the playful response from the other side of the door. Harry
was feeling frisky tonight too. The thought sent a shiver through Hermione.

“Come in!” she sang back, smiling at the words.

As the door began to open, privacy curtains immediately appeared, separating the two. Hermione
moaned at the torture this created, being denied the sight of her husband.

*“Anything interesting happen today?”* Harry asked in a tone that suggested he was trying
to tease her by drawing things out.

“Yes, actually. My dear husband nearly got his bits hexed off today. But he was able to redeem
himself at the last second, which was a very good thing, as I’ve become rather attached to said
bits.”

“Interesting,” Harry replied. “I’m rather attached to them too. And just how did he redeem
himself, I wonder?”

“He hurried his very cute arse up and got in the bath.” Hermione couldn’t stand to wait any
longer to see Harry, so the curtains simply vanished. Behind them stood her twenty-one year old
husband, Harry James Potter. Amazingly enough, he didn’t look a day over 16.0466.

“And how is the love of my life?” Harry asked, looking down into the bath. Completely exposed by
the now-clear water, Hermione did nothing to hide herself.

“*Waiting!*” she replied with extra emphasis. Harry just nodded and grabbed the collar of
his entire school uniform, replete with prefect badge (even thought he was a professor), pulling it
completely off with one tug, like something out of a Muggle comedy movie. Beneath he was wearing a
*very* familiar pair of pajamas.

Hermione hadn’t had *this* particular dream for some while now, so some part of her noted
that his appearance had been updated, and upgraded, with the new information she’d obtained since
the last time.

Still in his pajamas, Harry too did a cannonball into the bath, causing waves to caress over her
in exactly the same way as his hands did. As he began to walk towards her, agonizingly slowly, his
pajamas were simply gone as if he had never worn them in the first place. He came up to her and
took hold of her hands, kissing the side of her neck.

“Make love to me, Harry,” she whispered in his ear. Harry pulled back for a moment, looking into
her eyes. He then leaned forward again, kissing her on the other side of the neck. He always seemed
to find that spot that made her whimper.

“As you wish,” he said, removing his lips for only long enough to speak.

* * *

About five minutes later, Hermione gasped as she woke up in her motel room.

“No,” she sobbed quietly. The dream ended too soon! She had been so close. She was so close it
hurt. She still was. And it still did. She turned her head towards the clock on the nightstand
between her bed and her parents’. It was just after seven in the morning. She looked beyond the
table. Her parents were still sound asleep.

And Harry was no longer in the bedroom right next door to hers.

She quickly got out of bed, grabbed her wand, and hurried into the bathroom. Once inside, she
quickly locked the door, cast the strongest silencing charm she could manage, and then a warding
charm immediately thereafter. She then turned and magically filled the shower/bath with water
instantly. She couldn’t wait for it to fill on its own. Shedding her pajamas in record time, she
eagerly climbed into the hot water.

Two minutes later, Dan and Emma awoke with a start to the sound of shattering glass inside the
bathroom. Inside, Hermione was brought back to reality by a frantic knocking on her door.

*“Hermione? Hermione! Are you all right in there?!”* came the worried voice of her father.
She opened her eyes only to discover darkness, except where light was peeking in under the
door.

“Um... yeah,” Hermione said after a moment for her collect her bearings. She reached up and
grabbed her wand, which she’d set on the wall-mounted soap holder.

*“Lumos!”* she said, then used the wandlight to look around at the room. What she found
shocked her. She’d been rather distracted at that exact moment; she hadn’t noticed the glass
breaking.

Evidently, *somehow*, there’d been an uncontrolled and unfocused, yet incredibly powerful
blast of magical energy inside the bathroom. Hermione had placed silencing and warding charms on
the inside of the bathroom. It would take a powerful witch or wizard to crack one of her wards.
Amazingly enough, she herself *was* one such person.

The *first* explosion of magic had utterly destroyed her own warding charm. A second one
came only a few seconds later. While not even half as powerful as the first, with the warding charm
gone, the second blast was still strong enough to shatter everything in the bathroom that was made
of glass: the sliding doors of the shower/bath, the mirrors, and the light fixtures and bulbs.

Fortunately, since Hermione was the epicenter and the burst of magic radiated outward from her
in all directions, it caused all of the glass to shatter and fall away from her. Only the fact that
the porcelain sink, toilet, bidet, and bath were heavy-duty commercial fixtures saved them from a
similar fate.

The second blast also knocked out her silencing charm, which was what allowed her parents to
hear the breaking glass. Though they instantly awoke, they were still too groggy to realize how
much glass had to have broken for them to hear it.

*“It sounded like something shattered. What happened in there?”* Emma asked. Hermione
looked around, blushing in the dark, wondering how she would explain it. Did they *really*
need to know *exactly* what had happened? She quickly looked around. She could fix
everything...

*Almost everything,* she noted as she saw the broken light bulbs. She could repair the
broken glass. However when bulbs shattered, the filaments inside were exposed to oxygen, causing
them to all burn out immediately. That, she could not fix. She saw the broken hand mirror on the
sink counter.

“Erm, the lights in here burnt out. It was rather sudden and it surprised me, so I dropped the
mirror,” she lied. “Don’t worry, I can fix it. I’m all right.” Her movement inside the bath caused
a sloshing sound.

*“Were you about to take a bath?”* Emma asked. Hermione blushed again as she looked down at
herself in the bath. She *really* hadn’t gotten in for the purpose of taking a bath.

“Uh, yeah, I was about to,” she replied, trying to still her movement. *Since I’m already in
here...*

*“Well, you can’t do that in the dark. Why don’t you give Dan and me five minutes to put some
clothes on? We’ll go downstairs and find a newspaper and some breakfast. Then you can open the door
to let some light in while you take your bath. We’ll be back in about half an hour, and we’ll bring
you back something to eat. Is that all right?”*

“Yeah, Mum, that’ll be fine.” Hermione set her still-lit wand back on the soap holder and slid
completely underwater for a few moments. She remained under for a long as she could comfortably
hold her breath. Staying perfectly still, she relaxed as she felt the calmness wash over her.

Hermione came back up a few moments later and scooted against the back of the tub, which
fortunately was angled to accommodate soaking like this. *Oh, this is nice,* she thought of
the afterglow, soaking in the hot water. She jolted forward a few minutes later when she heard her
parents call out that they would be back soon, and the room door closed.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered to herself. *I about fell asleep in here. Now I know why they
always joke about the guy falling asleep afterwards.* She could feel exhaustion pulling after
her. After two major releases, one of the emotional kind last night and one of a more physical
nature a little more recently, running on less than three hours of sleep her body desperately
wanted to climb back into her bed... which was probably still warm as she’d woken up less than ten
minutes ago.

After a quick pass with soap and shampoo, Hermione drained the tub and grabbed a towel from the
rack. It was easy to do since there was no glass in the doorframe anymore. Once sufficiently dried,
she grabbed her wand and cast several *Reparo* several times, fixing everything that she’d
broken.

With all the glass off the floor now, she was finally able to open the door and let the outside
light in. Looking back, she had to admit, it certainly did create a cozy, intimate setting, bathing
by wandlight.

She wrapped a new, dry towel around herself, quickly dried her hair (with *her* hair, magic
really did work best), and went back out into the room, taking her old nightclothes with her. She
wrote her parents a note explaining she’d been awake most of the night talking with Harry, put on a
clean pair of her warmest, softest, fluffiest pajamas, and climbed back into bed. She was sound
asleep within five minutes.

* * *

Because she was asleep until the afternoon, Hermione missed out on the first trip to her
grandmother’s house. With her grandfather’s health deteriorating over the last two years, there was
an enormous list of around-the-house projects that had piled up. None of them was serious by any
means, but an accumulation of two years’ worth of “honey-dos” tended to be rather large.

Hermione woke up when her parents returned around one o’clock. Her parents showered after a long
morning of minor repair projects and yard work. They had to leave the bathroom door open as they
did so, as Dan hadn’t informed housekeeping yet. He didn’t wanting anyone in their room changing
light bulbs while his daughter slept.

Afterwards, the entire family—Grangers, Lewises (Hermione’s aunt and uncle), and Gramma, the
last Puckle—all went out to a fancy, and seriously over-priced restaurant for lunch prior to the
funeral later than afternoon. The food was good, at least.

Hermione resisted the urge to call Harry again after the funeral. Her first instinct was to talk
to him, but she knew she needed to spend time with her family. She wanted Harry to be there for
her, exactly as he had the night before. Deep down though, she knew that her parents probably
wanted *her* there for *them* as well.

Late Tuesday morning, Hermione and her family were packing up, in preparation to check out of
the motel. They were going to pick up her grandmother and then drive to her aunt’s house to spend
some time there. One day? Two? A week? They just didn’t know yet.

There was a knock at the door. They weren’t expecting anyone, but it could have been the
maintenance man coming back, trying to figure out a way to add a few Francs to their room bill.
He’d been rather suspicious that all four bulbs in the fixture over the sink had burnt out
simultaneously, muttering something in French about “*touristes*.”

He was rather annoyed that they had indeed burnt out, for they showed absolutely no indication
of any damage (“Must’ve been a power surge,” Hermione suggested vaguely).

A pair of folded jeans still in hand, Dan went over to the door and looked out the view hole. He
jerked back and dropped his pants in surprise (the ones he was holding). Shooting Hermione an
incredulous look, he quickly retrieved the fallen garment and opened the door.

“Headmaster!” Hermione exclaimed in surprise as she quickly stuffed into her bag one of her more
personal articles of clothing. “What are you doing here?” she asked in excitement.

Dumbledore politely remained outside, standing in the hallway. Hermione had never seen him in
any sort of Muggle clothing. With his knowledge of the Muggle world, she was surprised that he
would wear something so... uncommon. Then again, the robes he usually wore often made quite an
impression, sometimes almost regal.

The sea green velvet suit he was wearing certainly made an impression.

Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened. Though she doubted he was a boggart, memories of her failed
O.W.L. test suddenly flooded her. “Has something happened? Is Harry all right?!” she asked,
starting to become panicked.

Looking back and forth between the two of them, Dan finally kick-started back into action.

“Professor, please come in.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said as he entered their room. He immediately spoke to Hermione. “The
answer to both of your questions is yes. Yes, something has happened. And yes, Harry is all
right.”

Hermione immediately sat down on the side of her bed, holding her hand to her chest. She
couldn’t believe how fast her heart was beating at the moment.

Dumbledore wasn’t sure how much his second favorite student knew (not that he could even admit
to having a favorite student, let alone two). So he decided the best place to start was at the
beginning... at least in regards to her question.

“*Many* things have happened, Miss Granger. I suppose I should ask if you are aware of what
happened on Friday afternoon.”

Hermione explained that she’d spoken with Harry over the weekend, so she knew all about the
Brockdale attack, at least as much as was reported in the *Prophet*. Dumbledore was very
intrigued by this. How had she spoken with Harry?

As far as Dumbledore knew (and he knew a lot), Harry had not left the Burrow since Friday
afternoon, so he couldn’t have received a telephone call. And even if Hermione *had* access to
Floo powder, there were no fireplaces in the motel, to say nothing of Floo-connected fireplaces.
Yes, Albus Dumbledore was very curious how the two of them had spoken, but he wasn’t going to ask.
Not these two... not right now.

“Actually,” Dumbledore began, eager to return to the reason for his visit, “I just happened to
be in Paris on business today. As head of the Wizengamot, I had a meeting this morning with the
French Minister of Magic. Later this afternoon, I will be visiting Beauxbatons on a little school
business as well.”

Though not unhappy to see the headmaster (and still relieved that Harry was all right), Hermione
was a little confused about something. “Forgive me for asking, but what does that have to do with
me?” She became even more confused. “And how did you know we were *here?*”

The headmaster put on a look of helplessness and spoke in a very frail-sounding voice. “You
would not force an old magician to reveal all of his tricks, now would you?” Hermione smiled and
shook her head.

“And as for why I am here, a unique staffing opportunity has arisen, and I would like your input
before I consider the matter any further... and before I resume my journey to Beauxbatons.”

“My input?” Hermione asked, quite frankly shocked. “I hardly believe *I* am in any position
to offer input on staffing matters.” She stopped for a moment. “This hasn’t anything to do with
Professor Slughorn, has it, sir?”

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. “Horace? How did you...?” he stopped himself; he promised he
wouldn’t ask. “No, Miss Granger. Actually there is another matter.” He looked over to the chair by
Hermione’s bed. “May we sit down?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sir,” Hermione answered. She led him over to the chair and table by the
window. He noticed as she grabbed a broken mirror that was sitting on the table to move it out of
the way. As she carried it past him, he was able to sense a magical aura surrounding it.

Though the glass was broken, there was definitely some sort of benign enchantment on the object.
It was currently inactive however, which explained why he didn’t feel it until it was within his
immediate vicinity. In that brief moment, he could feel some sort of... tension in the aura, as
though something were pulling on it... as though it were connected by a taut string.

This mirror, Dumbledore realized, was connected... *tethered* to something else... an
object... something of similar size... something far away....

*Several hundred miles away, possibly? Somewhere in Devon, perhaps? Interesting,*
Dumbledore mused to himself.

Once they were seated comfortably, Dumbledore on the chair and Hermione on the bed, he indicated
to Dan and Emma that they return to their packing. He did not want to take any of their time, and
they didn’t need to leave the room for this discussion.

“First, to your earlier statement. I do believe, Miss Granger, that you are an ideal person to
provide input on this matter. If you will allow me, I have met few students in the last fifty years
who are as dedicated to and interested by the educational process as you are. You are, of course,
Muggle-born. And I daresay that your final grade of 312% in Muggle Studies makes you uniquely
qualified to render an opinion in this matter.”

Hermione became embarrassed from the headmaster’s praise.

“Tell me, Miss Granger. What is your opinion of the Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts?”

Hermione sat up a little straighter. She was about to begin when Dumbledore cut in. “I trust you
understand what I am asking. Please, be honest.”

Hermione hesitated. She hated to criticize something that seemed to be working, simply because
she thought it should be run differently. She knew she had to proceed delicately. He seemed to want
constructive criticism, but there was always the risk that her criticism would be interpreted to
fall directly upon the person in charge... namely her former Muggle Studies professor, Charity
Burbage. She would feel tremendously guilty if something she said got her sacked.

The way Dumbledore was attentively observing her, she knew she would not be able to beat around
the bush, or sugarcoat her words. She would just need to be sure to put everything into
context.

“Well, sir, I think that the course, as it is currently, is largely pointless. By design, I feel
is fundamentally flawed.”

Hermione half expected to hear crickets chirping in an empty theatre like in cartoons as the
entire world seemed to come to stop with her words.

“I see,” the headmaster said dispassionately.

“It’s not the professor’s fault, sir,” Hermione quickly needed to explain. “It’s just... well,
the goals of the course *are* spot on. But everything about the way it’s structured sets it up
for failure.

“It’s a joke, sir. Students consider it to be a soft option. It’s too easy.” *Merlin, Ron
would never speak to me again if he knew I said that.* “The fact that I was able to score 312%
in that class is proof enough. Even Hermione Granger *shouldn’t* be able to score that high on
a test. I’d be thrilled with a 10.8 on my O.W.L.s, but if I’m honest with myself, there’s just
something not right about the design of a class where someone can be marked that highly.”

“Please continue,” Dumbledore said, again with no indication of pleasure or displeasure.

“The Muggle world *vastly* outnumbers the magical world, sir. What’s the current UK
population? Let’s say 58 million. The magical population in Britain is nowhere near 58,000. But
let’s just say that the ratio is a thousand to one, just to make it a nice round number. The
magical world is so isolated from the Muggle that most wizards have don’t even know what movies
are.

“*Ronald* couldn’t even pronounce the word ‘telephone’ back in third year! How can a course
intended to help witches and wizards understand a world that outnumbers them by a thousand times be
considered an easy pass?!

“How is it *allowed* to be an easy pass?” Hermione finished, then stopped abruptly, looking
at the headmaster. There *was* one other fundamental flaw in the course, one she was unwilling
to mention. Well, actually it wasn’t so much a fundamental flaw as it was a detail that merely held
the class back from being all that it could be.

She still wasn’t going to mention it. It was just too risky.

And that was to say nothing about what she’d *preached* already. Dumbledore was sitting in
his sea green velvet suit in the standard, motel-issue chair, looking at the student before him,
completely silent.

“And?” he eventually asked.

Hermione shook her head. “That’s about all, sir,” she lied. Off to the side, she could see her
mother looking at her. Quickly glancing, Hermione could see the look was clearly to the effect of,
*“You call THAT dissertation ‘that’s all’?”* Fortunately Dumbledore could not see Emma from
the angle he was sitting.

The headmaster paused for a few moments. He appeared quite thoughtful as he looked over his
glasses at her. She got the distinct impression he knew she was withholding one more thing. She
fought the urge, though, to look away.

“Very well,” he finally said. He paused for another moment. “As you know, our esteemed Muggle
Studies professor has been teaching the course for a very long time. It seems that few in the
wizarding world are interested in teaching such a course, especially one, which as you so honestly
stated, is considered a joke by many of the students.

“What you may not know is that she has had a standing request for retirement filed in my office
for the past several years. Ever since the summer after you scored 312%, if memory serves.”

Hermione looked guilty. “Oh, please do not feel bad, Miss Granger. It seems that she too agrees
with you, at least in part. No student should be able to score that highly on a final exam. Your
accomplishment of exactly that, as well as sharply declining enrollment, was as she put it, a sign
that it might be time for some new ideas in the course.

“She also has been teaching the course since 1938,” Dumbledore reminded her, “and would like to
try something new in life while she still has time to try something new in life, as well as spend
some time with her great-grandchildren. She offered to remain in the position until a suitable
replacement could be found, but asked that if someone of interest became available, that I offer
the position.

“I was, in fact, on my way to Beauxbatons this afternoon for a little last minute school year
planning with Madame Maxime. I was hoping to see how their class was structured.”

Hermione suddenly felt extremely relieved. *If* Professor Burbage was leaving, then it was
by her own choice. With a natural pause in the conversation, Dumbledore began to stand up.

“Well, I would love to sit around and chat all morning, but I *do* have an appointment, and
it appears you have a check-out time to meet. Thank you for your candidness, Miss Granger. I shall
take your words into consideration.” Dumbledore then turned to Dan and Emma.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it is nice to see you again, although I wish the circumstances were
different. My condolences.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Emma said.

As Dumbledore began to head for the door, Hermione suddenly stood up and began to follow him.
There *was* something she’d held back. But if her former professor was planning on leaving
anyway, she now felt she could say it.

And there might not be another chance anytime soon. With the notable exception of Defense
Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts teaching positions were usually held for decades.

*Well,* she thought to herself, *as the old saying goes, ‘in for a penny, in for a
pound.’*

“Sir,” Hermione called out, “there was something else.” Dumbledore turned around, a small smile
on his face as though he’d suspected there was something else.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

Hermione took a deep breath before beginning. If *certain* people knew what she was about
to say, her upcoming year would be a very long one indeed.

“If the goal of Muggle Studies is to help wizards better understand the Muggle world, then I
think that...” she took another breath, “...I think that the biggest failure of the class is that
the wrong students are taking it.”

Okay, that was very much true, but that wasn’t what she’d been holding back. That just suddenly
popped in there. But, it was still a valid point, and now that it was out, she might as well
elaborate, especially considering Dumbledore looked as though he was waiting for her to do exactly
that.

“Sir, if you ask me to be honest, I think those who would benefit the most from a Muggle Studies
course are those who would intentionally choose to *not* take it. By no means am I advocating
integration of the magical and Muggle worlds. However, regardless of whether it’s due to prejudice
or merely disinterest, I think the magical community is doing itself a tremendous disservice by
choosing to remain ignorant of the larger world around them, a world that outnumbers them by more
than three orders of magnitude.

“I think, in the long run, the wizarding world would have a better understanding and
appreciation for Muggles if *everyone* took the course.” Hermione knew Dumbledore was waiting
for her to say it. “And the *only* way that would happen is if the class was non-optional,
just like Charms and Defense. Certainly not seven years’ worth, but definitely a, erm, a
*mandatory* class.”

“I see,” the headmaster said thoughtfully, again giving away nothing of whether he agreed or
disagreed. That, Hermione felt, was worse than if he’d simply rejected her ideas. At least
*then* she would know. Finally, after another few agonizingly long seconds of
contemplation...

“And?” he asked slowly. Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. He seemed to know
there was still one last thing. How did he do that? This really was the first thing to come to
mind, but it was the last she would speak.

“And...” she said reluctantly, “I think if you were going to have a course on Muggle Studies,
that maybe it ought to be taught by a Muggle.”

THERE! She’d said it!

“Honestly, sir. I think I’ve read every book there is on Quidditch. I’ve been to every one of
Harry’s games at school in the last five years.” The words came out before she could stop herself.
She only hoped the headmaster didn’t think to over-analyze her words, like she knew she was doing
right now.

She couldn’t help but associate Quidditch with Harry. She hadn’t been to *every* Quidditch
game at school, but she had been to every one Harry was at, whether he was there as player or
spectator. In fact, if Harry *hadn’t* been at school, it was quite likely she wouldn’t have
gone to any of the games. Instead she would have stayed in the lovely, quiet, *empty* Common
Room to read a good book.

She truly *was* glad to have Ron as a friend, but if Harry hadn’t been there, she honestly
couldn’t see how she and Ron would have ever become friends originally. If Harry hadn’t been a
buffer between the two of them—the glue that held the three of them together initially—she really
didn’t know how a friendship could have formed with her chess (and Quidditch and food) loving
friend.

Hermione simply would have avoided him like she had everyone else at her “regular” school before
Hogwarts. Ron would have continued to think her a “nightmare.” And of course, what happened
Halloween night of first year quite probably would have ended differently.

Now, that didn’t necessarily mean she would have been killed by the troll that night. Simply
put, if Harry hadn’t been there, then Ron wouldn’t have said what he had to Harry at that exact
moment he had, right as she was walking by. No, there were simply too many variables to try to
second-guess what might have happened in his absence.

But, regardless of what might have been, *it had not*. Harry, Hermione, and Ron *were*
friends... best friends.

“But, just because I know all about Quidditch doesn’t mean I’m the best person to teach it,” she
continued immediately with no audible pause after her previous sentence. “Any more than a Muggle
who’s memorized the words and wand movements is the right person to teach Charms.

“If you want to teach wizards about Muggles, I really think you need a Muggle to do it. There
are just some things a born-and-raised witch or wizard would never be able to answer. Maybe a
wizard could explain how to use a telephone, but what if someone wanted to know why there were also
letters on the number keys? You just have to live some things to understand them. And if they don’t
understand it, how can they teach it?”

“How indeed, Miss Granger? How indeed?” Dumbledore said cryptically, though he looked pleased.
“Again, thank you for your input. Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” he said nodding slightly, “a pleasure,
considering.”

Dan and Emma returned the cordial nod. Dumbledore then headed for the door again. Hermione, ever
the courteous student, escorted the headmaster, opening the door for him. Right as it closed, she
realized that he had never said what would happen with the position. Then again, she hadn’t asked,
either.

She quickly opened the door again. “Pr—?” she started, but her voice died as she looked to
see... nothing. The motel hallway was empty. She looked left and right. There was no one; the
headmaster was gone. The nearest stairway was four doors down on her left. Not even Harry on his
Firebolt was that fast.

*Is he invisible, or did he Apparate?* Hermione wondered.

*Does it matter?* she asked herself sardonically. She closed the door and returned to
finish packing her bag.

* * *

*Very* early Wednesday morning, Harry stepped out of the Weasleys’ bathroom feeling rather
conflicted about what he’d just done. He’d managed to make it one day, but it was simply a matter
of time before all that (perfectly innocuous) talk about Hermione in the prefect’s bath caught up
with him.

Unfortunately, his body had not found relief on its own this time while he slept. This time, he
*had* to take things into his own hands. He could not ignore it anymore.

It might seem strange to some, but Harry was still getting “re-accustomed” to a certain part of
his body having a mind of its own. Back in third and fourth years... back when he had to deal
“merely” with escaped murderers, dragons, mysterious golden eggs, and Polyjuiced Death Eaters...
back then, whenever his body had irresistible urges caused by the raging hormones of puberty, he
would simply find some quality alone time to release those urges.

It was amazing what a stress reliever that could be.

But then fifth year arrived. Then he started facing a whole new set of problems... problems that
were vastly more complex than anything he’d experienced before.

Though things were pretty much already on a damper by then, Nagini’s attack on Arthur that year
for all intents and purposes had completely shut down his sex drive. It was ironic: he’d spent
nearly two years fantasizing about Cho Chang, literally *and* figuratively, and once they
finally became a couple, he was no longer “in the mood.”

Of course in the short term, teenage flights of passion and all, this was probably a good thing.
But realistically, in the long term, a complete lack of *interest* did not bode well for their
chances.

So, on the one hand... erm, very, *very* bad choice of words... now sixteen and with the
testosterone flowing freely, it was a simple, inarguable fact: he needed *release* every once
in a while. Finally getting that release after almost three weeks (truly an eternity for a
teenager), well... it was bloody brilliant!

But yet on the other... um, side of the coin, he felt guilty... guilty for doing *that*,
with her, to her, whatever. True, he hadn’t exactly been fantasizing *about* Hermione, but he
had certainly finished what she in his dreams had started. He tried to ignore the *urge* for
the first nine minutes of his ten-minute shower.

He still felt guilty, because she meant so much more to him that just *that*. But that last
minute *had* been bloody brilliant!

Returning to his bedroom, Harry found Ron awake and getting ready to take his own shower. He was
greeted with a silent but knowing smirk. He wasn’t making fun of Harry; rather Ron was just
grateful to be reminded that he wasn’t the only one who did *that*.

“You just looked way too happy for this time of morning,” Ron explained.

* * *

The rest of the week went by a lot faster than Harry could have possibly expected. He ended up
speaking to Hermione only once more before the weekend, well, twice technically.

She had called him late Tuesday morning just before (unbeknownst to Harry) the headmaster had
visited her. They spoke only for a few moments, but Hermione wanted to let Harry know that she’d
try to call him again Thursday afternoon and show him around her aunt and uncle’s house.

Her relatives lived just outside of Bordeaux, so on Wednesday they would stop along the way and
make sure they earned their *“touriste”* badges by visiting the Palace of Versailles.

Thursday quickly came and at precisely two o’clock, Harry heard the voice he’d been waiting to
hear since, well, since the last time he’d heard it. He was immensely happy for another reason too:
he was in the middle of his fourth game of chess that day. It was hard trying to find reasons to
stay in his room.

As soon as the mirror activated, Harry could see Ron’s attention glaze over. The privacy and
distraction charms were working perfectly well. Ron couldn’t be torn away from the board.

And yet, it just seemed weird to talk to Hermione as though Ron wasn’t there... while said
individual was only two feet away. Harry clicked his fingers a couple times to get his friend’s
attention again, and then told him that he was going outside to talk to Hermione.

Ron reluctantly looked up from the quartz and obsidian board and stared vaguely at the mirror in
Harry’s hand. He nodded absently then looked back down to the board.

Perhaps it was because he was still somewhat distracted by the charms on the mirror. As Harry
walked out of the room, Ron called after Harry without looking up from the board. What he said was
the absolute truth, but Ron would probably never say it if he was in full control of his faculties
and not so artificially distracted. Kind of like how people often say what they *really* think
when they’re drunk.

“Say hi to Hermione for me. Tell her we all miss her and are sorry for her family.” Harry turned
around and looked at Ron in amazement. Sometimes speaking without thinking worked both ways. Ron
was currently lost again in his now one-sided chess game.

*I always knew there was a reason he was my best mate,* Harry joked to himself.

Harry went outside and found a nice, quiet spot where he could be alone with... erm, his mirror.
He was sitting beneath a tree a couple dozen yards away from where he’d had his talk with Hermione
at Ginny’s birthday party, and which was Metis’s favorite hunting site.

Sitting comfortably, Harry looked in to the mirror again.

“Hi,” he said.

*“Hi,”* Hermione replied. *“Ready?”*

Harry nodded and then Hermione started walking, showing him around her extended family’s house.
According to her, one of her uncle’s ancestors was one of the many support staff who helped design
some of the beautiful gardens on the grounds of Versailles.

Unable to leave his work at work, he would come home (when he was allowed to) and apply his
passion to his meager little home. Years, decades, centuries went by, and the meager little plot of
land slowly grew. The small (by palace standards) gardens were still there, dutifully maintained
all these years, but the family business had expanded as well.

Hermione’s uncle’s great-grandfather made a very fateful decision one day. Evidently, grapes did
pretty well in and around the Bordeaux area, so he decided to plant a few vines to see what would
happen.

There were thousands of wineries in France, and the vineyards were small by commercial
standards, but the family label was well known enough in the region to be popular locally.

It only took about half an hour for Hermione to give Harry the grand tour. Walking (or sitting)
hand-in-hand with a mirror wasn’t exactly all they’d hoped it would be (actually, it was kind of
weird), but it was still better than nothing.

On the walk back to the house, Harry felt it was just too quiet, so he decided to tell Hermione
what had happened the night before, Wednesday.

“You’ll never guess who came over to Ron’s house last night,” Harry said, trying to sound
secretive.

Hermione thought back to Dumbledore’s visit to the motel Tuesday morning. *“The
headmaster?”* she asked.

Harry wasn’t expecting that answer. “No,” he said hesitantly, almost in the form of a question.
“I told you he stopped by Friday before the attack, right?” He was certain he had, but wanted to
make sure. Hermione nodded confirmation.

*“Who, then?”* she asked, having no idea.

“Penelope Clearwater!” Harry said quickly.

Hermione was certainly surprised. *“Percy’s old girlfriend?”* She never would have guessed
her. *“What happened?”*

Harry began to relay the story Arthur told them over dinner as best he could remember. “Percy
and Mr. Weasley were out looking for a job most of Friday. While Percy was inside one of the
lesser-known shops in Hogsmeade... yeah, Hogsmeade, they were getting desperate.

“Anyway, while Percy was inside one of the stores, Mr. Weasley was outside waiting. He ran into
Penelope and her father out shopping that day. They didn’t know Percy was with him. Penny said hi,
said that she hoped everything was going all right for the family.

“I don’t know how, but eventually the topic of Percy came up. Evidently she hadn’t heard from
him since she kicked him out. She said she was still mad at him, but she still missed him.”

*“Well, that’s not too surprising, is it?”* Hermione asked. *“The two of them are...
unique individuals. I honestly don’t think there were many people who could stand to be around
either of them that much. But somehow the two of them seemed to get along just fine, for the most
part. I guess you could say they were perfect for each other.”*

“I guess,” Harry agreed. “So anyway, Mr. Weasley told them that Percy had moved back in with
them, and that they were all trying to put things right again. She seemed happy about that. Ron’s
dad then asked if she would like to come over for dinner one night.

“Long story short, she came over, surprising Percy, and since dinner went well enough, now her
dad is going to give Percy a job. He has a small shop in Diagon Alley, and it seems that was the
one place Percy didn’t even bother visiting to ask for a job.”

*“That’s good, isn’t it? They really did seem rather good for each other. What’s he
doing?”*

“Bookkeeping, I think. Her dad’s not very good with numbers, and he’s been meaning to hire an
accountant for quite some time. He just never really got around to it because he didn’t know if he
could afford it or not. It’s a far cry from being the Minister’s Junior Assistant, and not exactly
Percy’s preferred profession, but it’s work.”

Harry looked up for a moment and saw Crookshanks running towards him. He smiled.

“Looks like someone else is eager to see you too,” Harry said as he saw the bottlebrush tail
weaving its way through the tall grass like a periscope.

Hermione could see him looking off to the side and realized someone must be coming. *“Who is
it, Ginny?”*

“Nope!” Harry replied with a knowing smile. “Here you go.” With the half-Kneazle now at his
feet, Harry turned the mirror around and pointed it at...

*“CROOKSHANKS!”* Hermione squealed.

Hermione’s cat began to simultaneously purr and meow at her urgently, as though he was upset
that she had been gone so long. Honestly, Harry couldn’t blame the feline.

*“I know, I know!”* Hermione apologized. *“I’m sorry. We’ll be home soon, I promise!”*
Crookshanks let out a long, low mew, almost a warning. He then turned away from the mirror and
jumped up into Harry’s lap, nuzzling against him. Harry having turned the mirror around, Hermione
saw this.

Crookshanks looked back into the mirror, then trotted off back towards the house. Hermione sat
there for a few moments with a curious look on her face.

*“Did he... did he just threaten me?”* she finally in a somewhat high-pitched voice, all at
the same time insulted and amused. *“I don’t know about you, but I got the distinct impression
that he’s going to leave me for you if I don’t come back soon.”*

Harry grinned. “Well, I guess that means you need to come home soon then,” he teased.

*“We will. Mum and Dad’re going to check on return tickets tomorrow. Prices tend to be more
reasonable mid-week, so it’ll probably be Wednesday or Thursday. Just in time for your dentist
appointment,”* Hermione quickly added, grinning.

Suddenly, her smile faded and she turned around to look behind her. It looked as though she was
looking through the boxwood wall behind her. She turned back a moment later, not quite as
happy.

*“I should probably go now, Harry. My cousin’s looking for me.”* The lack of enthusiasm was
evident.

“Trouble in paradise?” Harry asked.

*“No, not really,”* Hermione explained in an unconvincing voice. *“She’s just... she’s
like a nineteen year-old Lavender or Parvati. Makeup and mobile phones, bleached-blonde and boys,
that’s her in a nutshell. She’s insistent upon giving me a complete makeover. I might just have to
Obliviate her,”* she said, not really serious.

“Ah, well, let her have her fun,” Harry joked. “Just don’t let her do anything permanent. Let
her know I expect you back in the same condition I... erm, same as when you arrived.”

*“You’ll get no argument from me on that one,”* Hermione replied quickly. She then turned
to look back again.

*“She’s getting closer,”* Hermione said grimly. *“Do me a favor, Harry. Remind me to kill
anyone who calls me ‘Mione, or Herms. She seems to think it’s a trendier way of saying my name.
Honestly!”*

“Yeah!” Harry agreed. “What’s wrong with ‘Hermione?’ It’s perfectly nice... it’s unique, it’s...
well, *you,*” he finished rather simply, since nothing else needed saying as far as he was
concerned.

*“THANK you,”* she said in a tone of voice as if she was glad he agreed with her. *“Oh,
I’m probably going to have to put the mirror away tonight. There’re just too many people around
here to risk trying to use it so much. I know it has the charms on it, but it’s still a risk.
Besides, I really should be spending my time here talking to them, rather than to a
mirror.”*

“But it’s such a nice mirror,” Harry added, “even if it’s broken. Speaking of which, before I
forget... if you’re going to put the mirror away, Ginny wanted to talk to you about something. Will
you have time tonight?”

Hermione looked uncertain. *“Yeah, I guess. What did she want to talk about?”*

Harry grinned, having already heard the answer to his own identical question. “Girl stuff.”

Again, Hermione looked less than enthusiastic. *“All right. I’ll have to get away again. Make
sure she has the mirror after eight o’clock. Seven o’clock,”* she recalibrated. She looked away
again. This time Harry could hear a faint voice calling Hermione’s name.

*“Okay, I really need to go this time. There’re only so many corners in this garden that she
can look in before she finds me. I’ll talk to you later.”*

“Hermione?” Harry asked quickly.

*“Yeah?”* she replied, sounding hurried to hide the mirror.

“Remember, she’s family. She might annoy you to high heaven, but at least you’ve got her, to
annoy you to high heaven.”

Hermione smiled. *“I know, Harry. I know. That’s why I haven’t Obliviated her... yet,”* she
finished smiling as the mirror faded.

* * *

It was, Harry felt, the worst thing in the world a bloke could do: fancy his best friend after
knowing her for five years.

It was also, he felt, the best thing in the world a bloke could do.

It was brilliant because he’d already known her for five years. He knew what she liked, what she
didn’t like. He felt he already knew everything there was to know about her.

Or so he thought.

This summer, he’d come to realize that there was an entirely different side of her that he’d
known nothing about. Hermione, who loved *Jeopardy!* and *Star Wars*. Hermione, who had a
favorite song and stuffed animals, and who liked pickles. Hermione, who could put Ron to shame when
it came to belching.

He’d known her for five years at school, and yet he hadn’t known any of this.

Of course, it did make sense if he thought about it. Everyone had aspects of themselves, their
lives, that only their family knew about. They were his family only in the most technical of terms,
but the ‘Harry’ that lived with the Dursleys was not the Harry everyone else knew.

Whatever else had happened, Harry knew that having shared much of this summer with Hermione, and
Dan and Emma, had allowed him a unique opportunity to see an entirely different side of his best
friend. (And he wasn’t referring to when he accidentally burst in on her nearly topless.)

And that was something he’d always be thankful for. (And he wasn’t going to object to having
accidentally burst in on her nearly topless.)

What *had* happened this summer, of course, was Harry realized he fancied Hermione. The
reasons why he felt it was the best thing in the world were so numerous, he felt there little point
in actually trying to list them all. Instead, one simple statement pretty much summed up everything
that needed saying: it was Hermione.

The reasons why it was the worst thing in the world... ah, well, *that* was a little more
complicated.

And ‘complicated’ was a very good word to describe the situation. Fortunately, for once, he knew
the source of the problem. He’d even unwittingly told Hermione all about it: his own feelings for
her were getting in the way. They were clouding his judgment.

Harry wanted Hermione to fancy him so badly that now, suddenly everything she did he saw as some
sign that she did in fact have feelings for him. Still worse, not only was everything she was
currently doing proof that she fancied him, but just about everything she’d ever done seemed to be
evidence of that which he now so desperately wanted to see.

After all, the human mind had the uncanny—and infuriating—ability to see what it wanted to, even
if it wasn’t actually there. That went doubly so for love-struck teenagers.

Why was Hermione spending all this time talking to him about her grandfather? Why not her
parents? Or Ron and Ginny? Obviously it was because she wanted to talk to *Harry*. Or it could
have just been because her parents were asleep at the time and Ron and Ginny didn’t know about the
mirrors.

Why was she always hugging *him*? She hardly *ever* hugged Ron. Was it because she
wanted to hug *Harry*, or was it because, well, quite frankly, Harry needed more hugs than Ron
did?

And speaking of ‘Ron versus him,’ Harry had definitely gotten the impression that Hermione
sounded as though she was going to enjoy being prefect more with him than with Ron. Was that
because she wanted to spend time with *him*, or was it simply because Ron didn’t exactly
embrace the duty? Oh, he liked the authority, but wasn’t so keen on the responsibility.

What was up with what she’d said while she packed to leave, and that kiss on the platform at
Waterloo Station? Did she really think him cute, or was it just because he was blushing? She’d said
he was sweet, but then again, he’d just complimented her by saying one of her was worth more than a
huge family of anyone else. Outside the train, he had given her a kiss on the forehead for no
reason other than as a gesture of support. Was that all hers was too?

Going back a bit, Hermione *had* always seemed to show a bit of an interest in his love
life. She had certainly seemed to want to know what had happened with Ginny at his birthday
party... and Cho too at Christmas in fifth year. She’d even noticed his interest in Cho back in
fourth year. Was that jealousy, or just a friend trying to stay involved in another friend’s
life?

Now that he thought about it, something about it *did* seem a little strange. She’d seemed
eager enough to know about what was going on, but as soon as he actually started to talk about it,
she became rather disinterested about it... almost detached, or distracted.

Why would she want to know about his love life, and then seem completely indifferent by hiding
behind her letter to Viktor in fifth year, or the book at the party? Was it because maybe she
really *didn’t* want to hear if he was involved with someone? Or perhaps he was just imagining
it, and maybe she really didn’t *care* about his love life... in the sense that she wasn’t
personally concerned about the answer.

Why was it that it seemed like *everyone* thought there was something going on between the
two of them when there wasn’t? Well, okay, maybe not *everyone*, but the two people whose
opinions truly *were* relevant certainly seemed to think so: Viktor Krum and Cho Chang. Harry
*hadn’t* fancied Hermione in fourth year, but Viktor definitely thought there was something
going on between the two of them.

And let’s not even get started on Rita Skeeter. The things that woman printed about him and his
love life. And yet... no matter how sleazy or skewed her stories were, there always was at least
some basis for them. The facts might have been taken out of context, but there always was some
factual basis in there somewhere. So what facts had Skeeter picked up upon?

Also, now that Harry thought about it, Hermione never really did ever deny what Skeeter had
written. All she ever did was tell Harry to ignore it. It would have been so easy for her to just
say that she didn’t fancy Harry. So why hadn’t she?

As for Cho... well, it was no secret how Cho felt about Hermione. Of course, though he was sure
it wasn’t her intent, the fact that Hermione had effectively broken up Harry and Cho’s Valentine’s
Day date (not that it was all that enjoyable) did nothing to dissuade Cho from her accusations. And
the fact that Harry hadn’t objected to leaving early hadn’t helped either.

But, Harry hadn’t fancied Hermione then. So what *did* it all mean?

Everything Harry could think of—because he was now looking, he could find lots of little things
going back to first year, but really mostly fourth and fifth years—he could find ways to interpret
it all as evidence that Hermione fancied him. But, because his teenaged-mind liked to torture
itself, he could also explain it all away as perfectly innocent in nature.

Was Hermione jealous of the Veela, both at the Quidditch World Cup and when Fleur kissed him
after the Second Task? Or was she just disgusted that he and Ron succumbed so easily to the Veela’s
charms? He remembered how excited she looked when she invited him to knit some house-elf hats with
her last year. He also remembered how disappointed she looked when he less-than-smoothly blew her
off. He had said *no*... or *he* had said no?

This summer, Harry was definitely being “playful” with Hermione as they fought over the seat
cushions at home, and the popcorn at the movie. And she played along, to be sure. But were “they”
flirting like Remus had suggested?

Harry lay on his bed as thought about, pondered, and analyzed all of these things. It was a lazy
afternoon, so Crookshanks was lying on the foot of his bed too, in what he’d claimed as his
preferred sleeping spot. Harry stared blankly as the half-Kneazle sat there and purred, kneading
his claws into the blanket.

As Harry petted him absently, he decided that what he needed was a test of some sort. Sure,
there seemed to be loads of evidence that Hermione fancied him, but it all *was*
circumstantial. All of these things *did* happen. The question was interpretation. If he was
wrong... if he was being delusional... he couldn’t jeopardize his friendship by pursuing something
that wasn’t there. He would not let how things ended with Cho to happen with Hermione too... if he
was wrong.

He just needed something a little more definitive... some sign that was just a little more
concrete. And as quickly as that, he knew what to do.

Harry knew how he felt about Hermione, so he knew what he was feeling on the inside. To be
perfectly honest, after spending the most amazing month with Hermione and her parents, being apart
from her all this time was pretty much torture. Sure, he got to see her and talk to her through the
mirror, but that just wasn’t the same.

He needed to be with her. He needed to feel her presence. Even if it was just only as a friend.
It was just a Muggle expression, but never had an expression held greater meaning for Harry.
Absence *had* made his heart grow fonder. He knew that the moment he first saw her, whether
getting off the train at Waterloo, or maybe stepping out of the Floo in the kitchen of Grimmauld
Place, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to run up to her and sweep her up into a
hug.

But he needed to. If she was feeling anything remotely like what he was, he hoped her reaction
would be the same. So what he would do is watch her reaction. If she looked even *half* of
what he felt, he would know then that she fancied him. It would be the proof he needed.

* * *

It was, Hermione felt, the worst idea she’d ever had: inviting Harry over to spend the
summer.

It was also, she felt, the best idea she’d ever had.

It was great simply because she’d been able to spend almost an entire month alone with him (even
with her parents). For those few weeks, Harry had become a part of her family. It was a place where
she wanted to see more of him for a very long time to come.

Somewhere in the furthest reaches of her unconscious mind, the words *“for as long as we both
shall live”* floated around unspoken. Her subconscious kept them buried however, for fear of
causing a panic. So for now, they remained unspoken, out of the forefront, always just out of
reach. They remained there however, waiting for when that time came.

Yes, having Harry spend the summer alone with her and her parents was going to be the best thing
she’d ever done.

Or so she thought.

The problem was now that she’d had him alone for so long, she couldn’t help but look at him
differently. Things *had* seemed to change between them. But how? And why?

Harry definitely seemed a little “friendlier” with her, open to innocent displays of
affection... hugs and innocent kisses. He’d even given some himself, whereas it had always been her
to initiate it in the past.

Did it mean anything? Or was she just projecting her own feelings onto her observations of him?
They *had* become closer; that much was a fact. But was it simply because he had been hurting
after Sirius’s death, and he’d simply latched onto her... because she *put* herself out there
for him to latch onto?

That both scared her and gave her hope. Back at Ginny’s party when Harry was off playing
Quidditch, Hermione had spoken to Tonks when the two of them had a few minutes alone. She had asked
the Metamorphmagus about the handholding she’d seen at the cinema that night.

Never a good liar (at least when not on duty), Tonks admitted she had feelings for Remus. But
she was worried about pursuing them. A loss shared together could often be the catalyst to bring
two people together. But it was a very poor basis for a relationship. A true, meaningful
relationship couldn’t be based solely upon a common injury.

Once that pain subsided, what happened then? Two people who might become connected by mourning
together might suddenly realize they had nothing to keep them joined once their wounds healed. Then
what? What if, in their mutual pain, they had done something together to ease that pain, if only
for a few minutes? Something that might result in consequences that lasted a lifetime? A lifetime
they might *not* want to share together?

Tonks had said she had to be careful about what she did with Remus, just in case the feelings
they both seemed to have turned out to be merely a temporary attachment because of Sirius.

That was what worried Hermione. Harry *definitely* seemed different around her recently in
the last few weeks. Was it merely a side-effect of his healing process? There were just all these
little things....

He kept saying things... things that could easily mean nothing, or everything. He liked smart
girls. Even today, a few hours earlier, he’d said, *“Looks like someone else is eager to see
you.”* Was he just saying it as an expression? Or if Crookshanks was the “someone else,” was
Harry the first “someone”? Or was she just reading too much into everything and over analyzing it
all?

*Bloody hell!* Hermione swore to herself. She wasn’t one much for profanity, but a good,
internal curse could do wonders for relieving tension. Well, that, and accidentally breaking all
the glass in the motel bathroom.

Simply put, Hermione knew she was too close to Harry to make in impartial judgment about him.
Her feelings for him clouded her vision. Almost every thing he did, her mind could find some way to
twist around to mean that he fancied her. But it all could have been innocent!

*Argh!* Hermione screamed again to herself.

She always thought it ridiculous in the movies or stories, how two people in love always seemed
to be the last two to realize it. She always thought that was a load of codswallop. She knew
exactly how she felt for Harry, so if those feelings were to be returned, how could she *not*
see it?

For herself at least, she finally realized why everyone believed it: it was true. She *did*
see feelings for her returned. And that was the problem: she just didn’t know if they were real or
imagined. If they were real, fine, great, brilliant! Everyone would live happily ever after. Well,
except for Voldemort.

But if they weren’t real, if she stood up and declared herself like Ginny had done for years, if
she, well, gushed all over him like Cho did, would she become like them? Would Harry be
uncomfortable around her like he used to be with Ginny? Would they become strangers to each other
like Cho had seemed to be on the train ride home?

That, Hermione would not allow.

And so, she felt like she had two options. One: ask for an outside opinion. The only people she
felt she could trust for that were her parents and Ginny. Seeing as how she wasn’t quite ready to
spill the beans to her ginger housemate, that really only left her parents.

Ordinarily she might not find that an ideal prospect, but seeing as how they seemed to like
Harry enough as it was, and since they already knew about her feelings, it seemed to be a safe
decision.

Her only other option (and maybe she would do both) was to find some sort of way to test Harry.
Try to find something that she could observe and measure (okay, maybe not measure) that might
indicate that she wasn’t imagining things.

It was pretty simple too.

She remembered all too well how she had taken to greeting him after extended periods apart. She
nearly suffocated him at the start of fifth year when he arrived at Grimmauld. And she was pretty
sure she heard a joint or two creak when she pounced upon him that first day at her home.

She knew how she would react to seeing him again after all this time (all one to two weeks of
it), so what she needed to do was carefully observe how *he* reacted to seeing her for the
first time. Yeah, she’d seen him several times through the mirror. But that just wasn’t the
same.

So, all she needed to do was suppress her urge to tackle him and start snogging him senseless
and see what he did. How hard... er... difficult... could it be?

Hermione groaned to herself as she already knew the answer.

But in the meantime, she needed to talk to Ginny about whatever her “girl problems” were. To be
entirely honest, Hermione was quite surprised that Ginny wanted to talk to her. “Girl problems”
could be infinitely complex, but they often could be reduced down to one of two categories: biology
or boys.

If it was “feminine” problems, Hermione didn’t at all know why Ginny would need talk to her. She
could just go talk to her mother. And if it was boys... well, Hermione didn’t know why Ginny would
ask *her*. It wasn’t as if she had much experience in *that* field.

Hermione looked at the clock; it was just after eight o’clock. The Weasleys should have been
finished with dinner by now... or at least everyone else was, and Molly had evicted Ron from the
table.

She glanced in the mirror and sighed at her reflection. Never in her life had she worn mascara.
It was a decision she never had, and never would regret. But she had to keep it on. She promised
her cousin she would keep it on for the rest of the day... to let it grow on her.

That, incidentally was exactly how it felt: like there was a caked-on layer of gunk on her
eyelashes. And there was the lipstick. And the blush. And worst of all... *hairspray*.

“Ginny?” Hermione called.

After a moment or so, the mirror swirled with fog and Hermione was greeted by the youngest
Weasley.

Before she could say anything, Ginny’s eyes widened.

*“Merlin, Hermione!”* she exclaimed. *“What happened to you?”* Hermione didn’t think
it possible, but Ginny looked to be both horrified and ready to burst out laughing at the same
time.

“My cousin felt I needed a makeover,” Hermione explained in annoyance. It was at that moment
that Ginny said the most terrifying thing she’d heard in her life.

*“Ron! Harry! Come here!”* Ginny yelled out of her room as she propped the mirror up on her
desk.

“Ginny, NO!” Hermione whispered, as if worried they might somehow hear her whispering, but not
Ginny yelling.

*“What?!”* came Ron’s irritated voice from somewhere off to the side.

*“What?”* came Harry’s calm voice as well. Hermione began to panic.

*“Hermione got a makeover!”* Ginny explained excitedly, finding the whole thing
hilarious.

*“Bloody HELL!”* Ron exclaimed as he saw Hermione (after he picked his jaw up off the
floor). *“You look so... so... you know, different.”*

“Thanks ever so much for that assessment, *Ronald*,” Hermione shot.

*“Whadda ya think, Harry?”* Ron asked. *“She looks kinda like those sexy models in...
uh... magazines, all made up like that.”*

Hermione cringed. She was pretty sure she knew to which magazines Ron was referring. She’d
confiscated one or two such *publications* while on prefect rounds. While she didn’t think she
really looked as bad as any of *those* “models,” she did think she looked a bit like what
might be the result of a high-speed collision between a runway fashion model and a cosmetics
salesperson.

Considering her oldest cousin, it was not entirely surprising she’d ended up like this.
Honestly, the girl must’ve had a subscription to every magazine available in France dedicated to
fashion, beauty, style, and young women (that is to say, *for* young women... an important
distinction).

Harry came into view. Needless to say, but he did not look happy to see her. It was the first
time in her life Hermione was glad he looked like that.

*“So, what do you think, mate?”* Ron egged Harry on. Ginny came up behind Harry and stood
on her toes to look at the mirror over his shoulder.

*“Honestly, I think she looks a bit like a tart like that,”* Harry said bluntly, looking
pained and apologetic. *“I’m sorry, Hermione, but it’s just not you.”* Ron looked
flabbergasted, and Hermione could see Ginny start to smile.

*“Well, it’s good to know that at least one of you has taste,”* Ginny quipped, elbowing
Ron. *“I’m sorry, Hermione, but you do really look awful... for you.”*

“HEY!” Ron complained at having been overruled.

*“I just didn’t want to say it,”* Ginny finished.

“No, really, thanks,” Hermione said. “I didn’t like it, but I promised my cousin I’d give it a
try.”

*“Okay you two, out!”* Ginny ordered. *“That is, of course, you want to hear all about
heavy and light flow days.”*

*“GAH!”* Ron shouted as he stuck his fingers in his ears. *“I’m not listening! La la la
la la la...”* he started singing to himself as he began to flee. Harry too looked horrified
about the topic and turned to leave.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile as he snuck her a tiny wave goodbye before leaving the view of
the mirror. Ginny left for a moment; Hermione could hear her locking the door and casting a
silencing charm.

“Somehow I get the feeling you didn’t want to talk about heavy and light flow days,” Hermione
said once her friend reappeared. Ginny sat down at her desk and looked into the mirror
desperately.

*“No,”* she admitted.

“Is it about Neville?”

Ginny looked surprised. *“How did you know that?”*

“Harry told me that the two of you appeared to be an item now,” Hermione admitted.

Ginny shook her head with a smile. *“Is there anything you and Harry DON’T talk about?”*
she joked.

“Heavy and light flow days,” Hermione instantly replied with a grin. *Then again, that’s not
entirely true,* she reminded herself. They didn’t get into *details*, but she did warn
Harry when it was that time of the month.

Hermione’s smile slowly faded. “Erm, Ginny. I don’t know if I’m the right person to talk about
this. After all, I haven’t exactly had many—”

*“No, you’re perfect!”* Ginny interrupted. *“Besides, it isn’t really about Neville. It’s
more about me. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but the fact that you haven’t had any
boyfriends besides Viktor is exactly why I wanted to talk to you. Besides, I trust you completely.
There’s no one I’d rather talk to about this than you!”*

“Um, okay then,” Hermione said cautiously, but pleased that Ginny wanted her advice.

*“Well, anyway,”* Ginny began nervously. *“When we were down sitting on the sofa the
other day, I had sort of snuck up and surprised him. I sort of crawled across the sofa.”*

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. It just sounded funnier than she knew it probably was.

*“Anyway, after we, um, snogged a bit...”*

“Just a bit?” Hermione teased.

*“Well, it was a VERY nice bit,”* Ginny said with an odd smile. *“Anyway, I was sort of
perched right next to him on the edge of the seat. When I went to lean back, my knee slipped
forward and I fell forward... and, um, my hand sort of landed in his lap.”*

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you mean it ‘sort of’ landed in his lap?”

*“What do you think it means?”* Ginny asked exasperated. *“I felt Neville up!”*

“You felt Neville up?!” Hermione asked in shock.

*“I didn’t mean to!”* Ginny defended honestly. *“It was an accident!”*

“Okay, so you *accidentally* fondled Neville,” Hermione said, still finding it slightly
funny. “What’s the problem?”

*“The problem is,”* Ginny replied emphatically, *“that I can’t stop thinking about it. I
just can’t help myself. It was a complete and total accident, but I...”* Ginny looked around to
make sure she was in fact alone in her room and that the door was locked and silenced. She leaned
forward and lowered her voice.

*“When I was with Michael and Dean... we snogged a bit. It was nice and fun... but it never
really, you know, GOT to me. It never really AFFECTED me.”*

Hermione sat stunned. Never did she expect Ginny would talk to her about this... at least not
so... quickly. It hadn’t even been a week. Unfortunately, Ginny mistook Hermione’s stunned, blank
expression for a lack of comprehension. She growled in frustration.

*“Oh, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? They were great snogs, but they never really
lit my fire. They didn’t turn me on. They didn’t make me randy!”*

“I get it!” Hermione declared, eager for her to stop.

*“Well?!”* Ginny demanded.

“Neville?” Hermione asked weakly, still in shock.

*“YES! Neville makes me horny! Is that what you wanted?! For the love of Merlin...”* Ginny
sighed.

“Neville?” Hermione repeated, even weaker than before. Ginny ignored her.

*“Well, it wasn’t so much the snogging that got me,”* she clarified. *“It was more the
‘accidentally feeling him up’ part... actually, ACCIDENTALLY touching, you know,* him*. I
started thinking about it... remembered how... excited he was... and I started realizing that I
wanted to do it again... just not accidentally. And I wanted to do it so he knew it wasn’t an
accident either,”* she confessed.

Still listening to Ginny, Hermione finally started to break out of her stunned state. *Well...
why not Neville?* she asked herself. There’s nothing wrong with him. He was as good looking a
guy as *most* anyone else. And while he wasn’t in the very best of physical condition, he
wasn’t exactly in bad shape either. If she had to pick an affectionate term for Neville’s physique,
it would be “cuddly.”

And since girls really did only want to cuddle sometimes, that could be a very good thing. In
fact, although Hermione had never really considered Neville (because it had always been Harry), the
only bad thing she could think to say of him was that he wasn’t Harry. Considering how she felt
about Harry, that was absolutely no reason for *anyone else* to discount Neville. So... in a
way... she supposed that was somehow a complement, right?

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts and get back on track.

“Okay, so thinking about groping Neville lights your fire. What’s the big deal?” she asked.
(Ginny fought back a smirk.) Hermione didn’t understand the problem; Harry lit her fire *all*
the time. And seeing him in his pajamas that one time only served to throw petrol on it.

*“I’m scared,”* Ginny said plaintively. *“I’m scared that I’m just going to give in and
jump on him one of these days. I’m going to not-accidentally touch him and then one thing will lead
to another...*

*“A month ago, you would have never convinced me that I’d be thinking about getting into
Neville Longbottom’s pants. And now, here I am, fantasizing about it. Hermione,”* Ginny said
desperately. *“It hasn’t even been a week! How can I be feeling like this so quickly?”*

Hermione sighed and looked down for a few moments. “Ginny...” she said, trying to sound as
honest as she could manage, “I really think you should be talking to your mum about this.”

*“I don’t WANT to talk to my mum about this!”* Ginny replied sharply. *“I already know
what she’s going to say. We already talked about this!”* She looked thoughtful for a moment.
*“Well, we didn’t really talk about THIS specifically, about Neville, I mean. We just had ‘the
talk’ back in third year when she had to sign that form for Madam Pomfrey’s class.”*

Hermione knew this was dangerous territory. She didn’t want to get between Ginny and Mrs.
Weasley, especially not about *this*.

“What did your mum say?” Hermione asked, trying to stay out of this conversation.

*“She said I wasn’t* allowed *to have sex until I got married. She was being a total
hypocrite about it! I know she and Dad went at it like hippogriffs in heat when they were at
Hogwarts.”* Hermione could see Ginny shudder slightly at the thought.

“How do you know that?” was all Hermione could think to ask.

*“Because I heard Dad giving Ron ‘the talk’ once. He certainly didn’t encourage Ron to go out
and shag the first girl he met, but at least he was a little more honest about he’d done with Mum,
and explaining why he was saying what he was.”* Ginny grimaced again. *“Okay, a LOT more
honest.”*

“Heard, or eavesdropped?” Hermione asked shrewdly, still wanting to stay away. Ginny didn’t
answer immediately.

*“It doesn’t matter how I heard it,”* she finally replied. *“What matters is that she was
all high and mighty, lecturing me about what I was forbidden to do, and then I find out it was all
a lie!”*

“Now, wait a moment,” Hermione interrupted. “*Did* she lie to you? Did she say *that*
was what she did?”

*“Well... no, but she did say that was how her parents raised her. But then I find out that
wasn’t what she did!”*

*Tread lightly,* Hermione said to herself. “Well, maybe she was trying to encourage you to
NOT do what she did. Maybe she wishes she hadn’t done the things she did.”

*“Well, from the sounds of things, it couldn’t have been that bad if they were like that.”*
Ginny sighed. *“Besides, who cares if that is or isn’t what my parents did, or what their parents
did? What if it isn’t what* **I** *want to do? It’s my life. What if I decide I want to
drag Neville in my bedroom and...?”*

“Ginny!” Hermione interrupted. “Is that what *you* want to do?”

*“No. I don’t* know *what I want to do,”* Ginny said weakly, sounding near tears.
*“My mind says I don’t want to ruin things by moving too fast. Do you KNOW how awkward things get
once you’ve had sex?”*

“Um, actually no,” Hermione admitted. Besides ‘conventional wisdom,’ she’d heard no first hand
accounts about how awkward it made things. And besides, things were never awkward in her dreams.
Then again, *that* was in her dreams.

*“Well I do. Hearing stuff float around, it can really mess things up.”* Ginny’s voice then
became a little more desperate. *“But at the same time, I know it can make things so much better.
I mean, look at my mum and dad. They did it, and they’ve been together for like, forever.”*

“Look at my mum and dad,” Hermione agreed painfully. “They’ve been together forever and they
still go at it like hippogriffs in heat.”

*“Eww...”* Ginny replied.

“Tell me about it. Even Harry knows about it,” Hermione said, recalling what her mum had said
the morning of Ginny’s party when she thought the two of them were still asleep even though they
were actually in the kitchen with Dan.

*“EWWW!”* Ginny repeated more strongly, mistakenly thinking that perhaps he’d been a
helpless witness to the offense.

“The important thing to remember, Ginny, is that it can make things better, and it can make
things worse. Until *you’re* sure about how it will affect you and Neville, perhaps that’s
reason enough to wait.”

Hermione took a moment to consider what she said next. Dan and Emma *hadn’t* raised her to
believe that she *had* to wait until marriage. But they—okay, Emma, for the really heavy
discussions—had done everything to encourage her not to rush into anything.

She didn’t want to work against Mrs. Weasley, nor did she want to encourage Ginny *into*
anything. But, if Ginny *was* going to reject her mother’s lecture, then Hermione felt as
though she at least owed it to her friend to make sure she knew that she didn’t *have* to go
out and shag Neville the next time she saw him.

The question of whether a person chooses to wait until marriage *is* black and white: one
does, or does not.

Unfortunately, by viewing it as black and white, all too often the “does not” is taken to mean
that it was open season to go out and shag anyone, anytime they wanted.

But, if those were the black and the white, then that meant there were all number of shades of
gray in between. If Ginny was rejecting her mother’s advice on one end of the spectrum, then
Hermione felt that her own personal middle-monochrome hue was a far better alternative than
automatically swinging to the opposite end.

Hermione would have to thank her mother for that most embarrassing conversation they’d had on
Harry’s first day on Broomhill Road.

“Ginny, do you want to have sex with Neville?”

Ginny again looked around to make sure she was alone.

*“I... I don’t know. My mind says to not rush into it. But a... um... certain other part of me
is screaming yes.”* Ginny raised her hand looked at it curiously. *“Even my hand says
yes.”* Hermione gave her a *very* strange look.

Ginny blushed. *“I remember what... ‘Neville’ felt like in my hand, and it wants another go at
him.”*

Ah, yes, Hermione remembered Ginny saying something to that effect. She’d even dreamt about
doing that to Harry too.

“So, if you’re not one hundred per cent certain you’re ready, then don’t you think maybe that’s
reason enough to wait, at least for now?” Hermione added the ‘at least for now’ on purpose. It made
the idea of waiting seem that much more palatable for someone who might choose otherwise.

A person who refused to ‘wait for marriage’ might be willing to ‘wait... for now.’ After all,
‘wait’ was the key word. The longer a person waited, the longer they waited, plain and simple.

Ginny thought about it for a moment. *“I suppose,”* she admitted.

“Let me ask you something else. Regardless of who, where, when, or how, you only have one first
time. Do you want Neville to be your first?” Hermione asked, trying to make sure her question
didn’t sound judgmental, as if there was something wrong with him.

*“Well... I don’t think I’d mind if he was,”* Ginny admitted hesitantly.

“Yes, but do you *want* him to be?”

*“I... I don’t know,”* Ginny said again.

“Let’s say that you get to the point when you decide Neville is the one you want. *How* do
you want your first time to be? In a broom cupboard?”

*“I don’t know,”* Ginny whispered, sounding more scared than ever. She was terrified
because her body was telling her one thing, something that her mind just wasn’t sure about.

“Do you remember how you said it was your life and how you asked me what if it wasn’t what
*you* wanted to do?” Hermione asked; Ginny nodded. “Well, remember, we’re all blessed and
cursed with free will. You have to choose to *not* do what your mum wants. That also means
that you can choose to not do what your, um, *hand* wants.”

They both knew they weren’t talking about Ginny’s hand.

*“Okay, I see your point. But, oh Merlin, Hermione. Sometimes I get these... ooo...
URGES,”* Ginny said, making a frustrated noise.

Oh, Hermione knew all about *that* noise.

“Hey, Ginny, you’re fifteen years old,” Hermione laughed. “There’s an estrogen war raging inside
you! Of course you’re going to have urges. Do you want to know a secret?”

Ginny nodded excitedly. Hermione flushed a little. “Even I get urges,” she admitted. “Oh,
Merlin, do I get urges!”

*“How do you handle them?”* Ginny asked hopefully.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling at Ginny’s choice of words. Now it was her turn to
look around and make sure she was still alone. This time, instead of sitting tucked away in an
isolated corner, Hermione had sat down on a bench near a fountain in the garden. She wasn’t hidden,
but she could see anyone approaching.

“Well... I find some nice, quiet alone time, and I... satisfy those urges... *alone,*”
Hermione said slowly and deliberately, looking directly at Ginny as she said so.

Ginny giggled in surprise, not trying to be mean. She just never really associated *that*
and Hermione together. They’d never really talked about anything like *this* before.

*“Really?”* Ginny asked, amazed that Hermione had admitted as much. *“Does it... work? I
mean, is it worth the... effort? It just seems... you know... I mean, you hear about how much guys
do that.”*

“Yeah, it definitely takes the edge off,” Hermione said honestly. “It makes it easier to control
my... ooo... *urges*,” she jokingly mimicked. She was surprised; she actually found it quite
liberating to talk to Ginny about these things. Partly because this particular topic had never been
openly discussed before. But mostly because she hoped she might be able to help Ginny too.

“And as for guys... well, maybe that’s a good thing. I mean, it definitely sates the need.
Imagine how bad guys might be if they didn’t do it so often!

“Now, is it worth it? Ginny, you have to swear you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.
*Anyone!*” Hermione warned.

*“I promise!”* Ginny swore.

“If you do, I promise you’ll be *wishing* I used your Bat Bogey Curse!” Ginny nodded. “The
only bad thing about having Harry over at my house this summer was that I felt awkward doing
*that* while he was staying with us. So I let my *urges* build up. At the motel here the
other day... I finally got a chance to take a nice hot bath... and release some tension.”

*“And?”* Ginny asked in anticipation.

“And when that tension released, it snapped like a rubber band and my magic exploded and
shattered everything made of glass in the bathroom.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. *“Merlin! That must have been one hell of an —”*

“You have *nooooo* idea,” Hermione agreed. “The point is, can you imagine what might have
happened if I’d released that... energy on some poor bloke?”

*“He would have died very happy!”* Ginny joked.

“No,” Hermione corrected. “I wouldn’t have been able to control myself, I wouldn’t have
*wanted* to control myself. I would have done something that I couldn’t have taken back.

“It’s embarrassing to talk about, and even more so to admit that we do it, but if...
self-release makes it easier to control our urges, then I’m all for it!”

*“Especially if you break the glass,”* Ginny teased. *“I know, I know,”* she said
after an embarrassed but warning glare from Hermione.

*“So what do I do while I’m with Neville?”*

“Well, I’ll tell you what my mum suggested to me. First, let me ask you this. Where’s the best
place for a snog?”

*“Anywhere!”* Ginny immediately answered with a smirk. *“Somewhere where we won’t get
caught.”*

“Wrong,” Hermione replied. “The best place is somewhere where you have some privacy, but you
*can* still get caught.” Ginny looked confused. “If you know you might get caught, you might
not let things go too far. You said you snogged Neville in the living room, right? I assume
everyone was outside at the time.”

Close enough; Ginny nodded. “See? You have some privacy, but anyone could walk in at any moment.
If you’re locked away in your bedroom alone, well... *who knows* what could happen.” Hermione
said suggestively. “So, I’ll tell you what my mum told me. Leave the door open. If you’re alone
together in a room, leave the door wide open so you don’t let yourself get out of control.”

*“But Ron might...”*

“No offense, but Ron can sod off. Harry and Fred and George and your mum and dad too. Worry
about you and Neville, not them. Besides, think about this. What do you think would happen if your
parents or one of your brothers found your door locked and knew you and Neville were inside
alone?”

*“They’d probably break down the door,”* Ginny laughed.

“So, would you rather have the door wide open and them walk in on you mid-snog, or have them
break down the door while you’re mid-shag?”

*“Ah, I see your point,”* Ginny grinned. *“Besides, that might just be a good idea
anyway. Ron’s been a bit too quiet about this so far. Harry seems to be all for it, but Ron has
been curiously silent. Perhaps letting him walk in on us might be in order. There’s another kind of
tension he’s famous for, and maybe that needs a little letting off before that builds up too
much.”*

Ginny and Hermione shared knowing grins and nods.

*“Thank you so much, Hermione. I don’t know how to thank you for everything. I just... I just
felt like I had to do the exact opposite of what Mum told me, once I realized that she didn’t do it
herself.”*

“Well, that’s why I told you what I did. I’ll be honest with you. My parents never told me I was
*required* to wait to have sex until I got married. I, however, have chosen to not rush into
anything. I *want* to wait until I know the moment is right. Maybe that means I do end up
waiting for marriage... if that’s what *feels* right.

“It might be on my wedding night, on my engagement night, or next Thursday night,” Hermione
repeated what she’d told Emma what seemed like ages ago. “But whenever it is, I know that it will
be when the two of us, whoever he is, when we are both ready... and not a moment before.”

Ginny looked at Hermione, rather awed. *“Wow! I wish Mum would have just said that to me,
rather than to practically order me to not do what she herself did, and not leave any room for
discussion. We didn’t even talk about it. She just gave me a lecture, and that was it.”*

“Just remember, you only have one first time,” Hermione reminded Ginny. “Don’t let it be some
meaningless bonk in a broom cupboard at school, or behind your dad’s shed at home.”

Ginny began to giggle. *“I never would’ve imagined you saying ‘bonk’ like that.”*

“Well, I want it to sound like some shallow, meaningless thing. If you feel the *need* to
scratch an itch, just take a really long bath and work things out in there.”

*“What is it with you and baths anyway?”* Ginny teased after a brief laugh. She thought for
a few moments then sighed.

*“And what you said... I promise I will,”* she said absently. Hermione knew it could have
been taken either of two ways: about remembering, or about the other. She intentionally took it to
mean the latter, just for fun.

“Just make sure you clean up any broken glass.”

*“If I’m THAT lucky,”* Ginny said blushing, and grinning. Now Hermione wasn’t so sure which
Ginny meant. There *was* one thing though that she *was* sure of.

“And, Ginny? Don’t *automatically* discount what your mother said just because she didn’t
live what she preached. Consider what she said. Ask yourself why you think she might have said it,
even if it wasn’t what she actually did. *Then* make your own decision.

“In the end, it *has* to be your decision to make. Whatever you decide, you will have to
live with that choice. Be confident you are making the right decision, *before* you make
it.”

*“I will. And thank you so much, Hermione. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I
still don’t. But at least I know now that I won’t do anything until I am sure. Thanks.”*

“You’re welcome.”

*“Hey! Do you know when you’re coming back yet?”*

“No, not yet. Sometime mid or late next week. Harry and I have dental appointments next Friday,
so we’ll have to be back before then.” Only now for the first time did Hermione realize that their
appointments were actually quite pointless now. What good was an appointment if the dentists were
gone too? Oh well, it was easy motivation to return that much sooner.

*“Well, if there’s time, you should see if you can come over here for a while, or maybe Ron
and I could go over to your house. It’d be nice to spend some more time with you before school
starts.”*

“That’d be nice,” Hermione replied. “I’ll Floo you from my house once we get back and we’ll see
what we can do if there’s any time left. I’ll talk to you next week. Say hi to Neville for me. And
before I forget, congratulations to the two of you. He’s a really nice guy, Ginny.”

*“I know, isn’t he?”* Ginny gushed, becoming a bit embarrassed again. *“You might not
think so, but he’s a great snog too. He’s a fast learner. He’s still a bit timid; he won’t be the
first one to do something, but once I show him it’s okay to do this or that, where he* can
*put his hands, he catches on pretty quick.”*

Ginny grinned.

*“Thanks again for everything, Hermione. Call us as soon as you get back. Talk to you
later.”*

“Bye, Ginny.”

* * *

The following five days seemed to fly right by for everybody. The summer holiday was coming to a
close, so as the number of days remaining dwindled, the faster each one seemed to pass.

And at the same time, each day seemed to drag itself by. Harry looked forward to the day he
would find Hermione’s head in the fireplace, telling him that she was back home and how he would
get back. Hermione was looking forward to the day she could stick her head into those green
flames.

And even Ron too was getting antsy. Unlike Harry and Hermione (not that he knew of any
significance to their talks), he had been completely cut off from Luna. He had before at least been
writing to her on a regular basis. By now he knew he fancied her. There was no getting around
*that*.

Looking back, he knew that Harry had been right. Perhaps he never really had fancied Hermione.
What Harry had said really did make a lot of sense. He didn’t want to spend his free time with
Hermione. He didn’t get that, well, *bubbly* feeling inside of him whenever he saw her. The
same bubbly feeling that made his heart jump up into his throat when he first heard Luna’s voice at
Ginny’s birthday party.

Oh, and by the way. Any witch or wizard who breathed word that Ron Weasley felt bubbly, for any
reason, was dead!

In the days between Harry’s and Ginny’s birthday parties, Ron began to think more and more about
Luna Lovegood. Harry was right: she was a girl. And a damn fine good looking bird, if Ron did say
so himself. Sure, he’d always known she was female. Harry hadn’t done this, but essentially until
he pointed out that Luna had boobs, Ron never really did think about her as a *girl*. All
she’d ever been was “Loony Lovegood.”

*Lovegood...* Ron snickered to himself. *I hope so!*

So, while he was still stuck at Grimmauld Place, as he began to consider her more and more, as
he continued to write to her on a daily basis, he quickly realized that he was looking forward to
each letter.

She was just so unusual. And that made her all the more interesting. Let’s be honest. Lavender
was pretty hot. And she had a great rack. But... she was a little *too* predictable. Boys,
makeup, gossiping, and *Witch Weekly*. That pretty much summed her up. About the only thing
that *would* surprise him about her was if it was revealed that she and Parvati really were
more than *just* friends.

There was a time when the thought of that would send Ron’s mind spinning as blood was redirected
away from his brain. But he hadn’t had that dream anymore. No, his dreams had started to become a
little bit stranger, and a whole lot more interesting.

Oh, they all started out seemingly innocent enough: Luna would tell him all about mating habits
of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack or the fertility rate of the Umgubular Slashkilter, or why Nargles
liked mistletoe so much (curious how Ron *now* seemed to remember the names). They would
frequently end with any number of her singing, or *humming*, different renditions of “Weasley
is My King” and Ron...

Well, no one could say that Ron was inept at performing cleaning charms. Now, he was a *bona
fide* expert, not only in casting, but doing it nearly silently so as to not wake Harry. Okay,
maybe it wasn’t so curious as to why Ron seemed to remember those topics.

In any event, none of that had ever happened with Hermione. Seeing her never quickened his pulse
(unless he was mad because they’d been arguing). If given a choice of watching a Quidditch game
he’d already seen and doing something, anything, *alone* with Hermione, he’d’ve taken the
Quidditch game.

Especially if he had to be *alone* with her for an extended period... without Harry there
to help buffer them. It was strange. Ron had been alone with Hermione lots of times before, without
Harry. But rarely were they alone, *alone*. They’d always been in the common room, or in
Hogsmeade with other people around.

And even on the rare times that they were truly away from everyone else when they were on
prefect patrols, they were simply co-occupying the same isolated area. They weren’t there to be
alone with each other.

And Ron had certainly had never tried to imagine what Hermione might look like beneath her
robes.

*Harry was right. Maybe I never did fancy Hermione.* The three of them had been best
friends. Harry his best mate, and Hermione his best female friend. Somehow he had misidentified his
feelings for her. He had liked her more other than other girls. More than Lavender, more than
Fleur.

But he had liked her differently than he liked other girls. With Lavender, he looked forward to
the weekend when she wore those V-necked shirts of hers. If he timed it *just right*, he could
manage quite the eyeful if he waited to stand up to leave the table in the Great Hall until right
as she leaned forward to grab the pumpkin juice.

And as for Fleur, well, he was almost late to class once or twice every week in fourth year
because he’d on occasion take the long route to class. A route which incidentally happened to be
exactly ten feet behind Fleur as she made her way to class. Beauxbatons robes weren’t as
form-fitting the jeans Lavender often wore, but they did accentuate curves quite nicely.

Ron did feel something special for Hermione, but it wasn’t anything like that. She *was*
special to him. He was protective of her (when he didn’t want to hex her), just like he was of his
sister. And because she was a girl who wasn’t his sister, that must have meant he fancied her,
right?

After all, she was *his*. The thing was though that *that* feeling wasn’t one of petty
possession and chauvinism. No, she was his best friend, so she was *his*, exactly the same how
Harry was *his*. And he was theirs. They were best friends. No one could come between them. Or
could be allowed to.

And so he became jealous of others who showed an interest in her. He became mad at her when she
didn’t choose him. And he did the things he knew a boyfriend was supposed to do... be jealous of
others. He even bought girly things for her like perfume. It was irrelevant that she never wore
perfume; he just knew he was supposed to buy it.

He would even egg her on sometimes in their rows, just to keep that... intensity... that passion
alive. So many people had said they quarreled like an old married couple, that that had to be a
good thing, right?

But it wasn’t. When Harry said it, it finally made so much sense. It wasn’t sexual tension
between them. It was anger. When they fought, he didn’t do it because he wanted snog her or take
her to a bed and have his way with her. He fought with her because he was upset. Because he knew he
was wrong and she was right, and he just couldn’t let her have that without putting up some sort of
fight.

But that wasn’t the case with Luna. To Ron, Hermione was painfully predictable. Books, studying
and spew... er, rather S.P.E.W. That’s all she was. It was part of the reason he was glad he wasn’t
the one to get landed at her house for half of the summer. And even though once he got there and
realized that her house actually seemed, well, *normal* (for a Muggle home, anyway), it was
still filled with bookshelves. And that was enough for him.

But Luna on the other hand, now she was completely unpredictable. Every letter she wrote could
be completely different. From Heliopaths to her allegations of a plot by the Hollyhead Harpies to
hypnotize the oppositions’ Seekers, he never knew what to expect with her. And for some reason, he
found that exciting. And... *exciting*, as was evidenced in the noticeable increase in his
underwear turnover rate.

Yes, for the very first time, Ronald Weasley was looking forward to the end of summer holiday.
(Technically, the summer before his first year couldn’t be counted, as that was essentially an
eleven year holiday). Partly because it *would* be good to be back at Hogwarts. But mostly
because Luna was due to be back on the thirty-first.

He didn’t know what time she was due back that day, but he wanted to try to find a chance, and
an excuse, to go and visit her before they headed back to school. He was hoping for a chance to
show her how he felt about her. Now that he was sure he really did fancy her, he couldn’t screw
things up that badly.

Could he?

* * *

Over on his side of the room, Harry was relieved to find that the rodent population of King
George’s Park must have been average or slightly below that out in the wild for Hedwig decided she
was content with only three eggs.

Ron’s tiny Scops owl, Pig, had been getting along just fine with Hedwig and Metis now. Part of
it was because (based on Luna’s recommendation) Ron had actually started paying more attention to
the energized puffball of feathers. In short, he started giving him the same kind of affectionate
attention Hedwig was used to.

By the way, any witch or wizard who could “accidentally” let it slip to Luna that Ron could be
very affectionate could expect to find a *very* large bar of Honeyduke’s chocolate waiting for
them.

And part of the reason for Pig’s mellowing the presence of Metis. Now that the diminutive owl
knew that Harry’s extremely sexy familiar was no longer single, he stopped trying to impress her.
After friendly owlish congratulations to the expecting couple, the three avians got along, well,
like birds of a feather.

And besides, Pig had his eye on a new owl: the Lovegood’s. And when no one was looking, that
little minx of a barn owl definitely enjoyed playing hard to get.

Neville had been spending an increasing amount of time at the Burrow lately. Mostly they were
finishing their homework, safely chaperoned by an unseen eye. There actually was a very good reason
Neville was over so much; he didn’t want Ginny over at his house. Over the weekend, Neville had
invited Ginny over to his house to see his greenhouse.

And no, that wasn’t a euphemism for something else. He really invited her over to see his
greenhouse.

When they tumbled out of the Floo, Neville’s gran did not miss the smile the two of them shared
as he helped her stand up. Neville had yet to tell his grandmother about Ginny, which was also part
of the reason for their visit.

Augusta Longbottom constantly encouraged her grandson to find himself a girlfriend. By
“encouraged,” what that really meant was that she constantly reminded him that he didn’t have one,
that people might start to wonder about him, and that he should find himself some courage and just
ask someone... *anyone*.

Every time he returned from the Burrow, Neville could feel his grandmother’s calculating stare.
She always asked him what he did while he was visiting the Weasleys... why he was there, who had
invited him, and who was there with him. At first embarrassed that he was visiting a girl, and then
later wanting to keep it a surprise until he could formally introduce Ginny, Neville had always
replied that he was just visiting “a friend.”

Augusta knew of the Weasleys as another pureblood family (not that *that* mattered), but
wasn’t familiar with them personally. She was only vaguely aware that they had a daughter (as she
had never been there when Ginny called), but she was acutely aware that they had six sons.

Most days, Augusta left the house and spent much of the day with the three other women that
formed her sewing circle. The sewing circle was less actual garment manufacture as it was sitting
in front of a window overlooking Diagon Alley. They would watch and “comment” on the people walking
by, all the while gossiping, sipping sherry, and complaining in general of all the failures in
their lives.

Neville’s father Frank had always been quite popular with the ladies when he was growing up;
Augusta had been so proud of him. Even to this day she constantly asked herself why he had settled
for that Alice woman. *She* certainly wasn’t good enough for her only son, Augusta knew.

She’d been rather disappointed when Frank had asked Alice to marry him. She *knew* that he
could have done so much better. She especially didn’t like the fact that the woman was an Auror as
well. The last thing she wanted was for that woman to make a widower of her son. When Augusta
learned Alice was pregnant, that was what clinched it for her. Now she knew: her son had gotten...
*that woman* pregnant.

That was why Frank was marrying her. Augusta was furious with her son.

She *refused* to see the fact that Neville’s date of birth suggested he’d been conceived
some *fifteen months* after Frank and Alice had been married.

So, with Neville *not* the handsome, strapping young man that Frank had been, Augusta began
to worry about him. He was shy, quiet. He *certainly* was not masculine. She therefore kept
after him to make sure he found himself a girlfriend. She worried about him spending so much time
with a family with six young men in it. She didn’t know if she would be able to bear it if her
grandson turned out... well, if he broke her heart by not carrying on the family honor, to say
nothing of the family line.

And so it was tremendous amount of relief Neville’s grandmother saw that it was a *girl*
who appeared in the flames shortly after her grandson. He had told her he would be bringing a
visitor over this afternoon, that he wanted her to meet “someone.” Never had such a perfectly
innocuous word caused her so much anxiety.

Normally restricting her imbibing to her sewing circle, Augusta had even poured herself a small
glass of sherry just to calm her nerves as she waited for the fireplace to flare to life so she
could see who it was he brought home to her.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a small glass. And maybe it wasn’t just one.

Ginerva Weasley definitely felt herself under close scrutiny as Neville introduced her as his
girlfriend. It had been over a week now, and they had done enough snogging (seventeen “sessions” by
Neville’s count) to warrant calling it official. So Ginny let him know it was okay that he called
her his girlfriend.

As Neville said the words, Ginny paid no attention to the weak, distant voice in the back of her
mind that was the dying breath of Super!Ginny (or was it Ginny-Sue?) objecting, *“It’s only
temporary!”*

After the cold, stiff, and formal introduction (his grandmother said nary a word), Neville
directed Ginny out of the parlor room.

As her grandson led the young Weasley girl (she *knew* what they said about redheads) out
towards the small glass-enclosed building in the back yard, her mind wandered back to her own son.
She poured herself one last glass of sherry as she stewed over how *that woman* had ruined her
son’s life... and hers by extension.

“Sorry about Gran,” Neville apologized. “I don’t know what’s the matter. Honestly, I think she’s
a bit pissed,” he said incredulously.

Ginny was about to shrug off his apology, saying that she too smelled the alcohol when, right as
Neville opened the door for her, something he’d said earlier that week suddenly popped back into
her mind.

“You built this?” she asked in awe, forgetting the odd introduction as they entered the eight
foot wide by sixteen foot long by six foot tall glass enclosure. Actually, the walls were six feet
tall, but the center of the ceiling was about ten feet off the ground, as there was a sloped
roof.

“Well, I assembled it,” he corrected as he pointed out the numerous two foot by six foot panels
that revealed how it was put together.

“It’s just a do-it-yourself kit I ordered from a Herbology magazine I get. I actually ordered it
right before we left school and had it delivered here. Moving all of these plants out of my bedroom
and into here... it helped keep me busy... you know, after that night at the Ministry. It’s nothing
really,” Neville said dismissively, turning back to the structure, “all the pieces just fit
together.”

Ginny, who had been holding his hand as they walked, let go for a brief moment. She quickly
wrapped her arm around his and then took his hand again.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Ginny said softly. “It’s not nothing. I couldn’t have done
anything like this,” she said as she waved her free hand around the room. “Look at this. This room
is full of life. There are people out there, Hogwarts students even, and all they care about is
death and destruction.”

Ginny looked up at Neville, who was taller than her, and smiled. Her left arm still wrapped
around his right, she took hold of his other free hand. “And speaking of things fitting
together...”

Neville smiled and leaned forward to initiate their eighteenth snogging session. After a minute
or so, they separated and he finished the guided tour of the plants. In all honesty, Ginny still
didn’t really care much for Herbology. But she did like that it Neville enjoyed it. She got the
distinct impression that not many things did make him happy—in this house especially—so she was
more than willing to indulge him.

Right as they were about to leave, Neville stopped suddenly, frowning at what appeared to be an
empty pot on one of the shelves.

“Oh no,” he said softly as he picked it up. Now closer to her, Ginny could see that there had
been a plant in it, but the dirt looked as if it had been pulled out, roots and all. Drawing his
wand with no urgency, Neville set the pot back and turned to the rather gangly-looking plant that
was next to it.

He reached out and touched a few branches that had what appeared to be pea pods on them. As he
did so, small vines began to creep out and try to grab his hand. The vines were so small that
Neville wasn’t even remotely in danger. Nonetheless, he did swat the vines with his wand. To be
honest, it almost looked more like spanking than repelling.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, curious. The vines having retreated, Neville stepped back.

“Harry gave me a carnivorous Muggle plant for my birthday. This other one is carnivorous too,
and releases a scent that attracts insects, so I put them near each other. I figured they could
catch flies together.

“You see these large, shiny broad leaves?” he asked, pointing at the larger plant. “That shine
is sticky. When an insect lands on it, the leaves curl up and trap the insect.” He then pointed at
an example. What Ginny had mistaken for a pea pod was in fact a closed trap. She also noticed that
all of the closed traps were on the side closest to the now empty pot.

“I guess this one didn’t like the competition.”

“You’re saying your plant... ate Harry’s?” Ginny asked; Neville nodded. “I don’t know whether to
laugh or not.”

Neville chuckled slightly. “Well, at least now I know why these things always grow isolated out
in the wild. I don’t know how I’m going to tell Harry.”

Ginny smiled. She really liked seeing Neville enjoy himself like this. *Nineteen,* she
thought to herself, and closed the distance between then once again.

“WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!!” Augusta Longbottom roared from outside the
greenhouse.

Neville and Ginny jumped apart, both scared nearly to death.

“Gran!” Neville gasped.

“SILENCE!” she hissed, shaking her crooked finger at her grandson as she strode into the glass
building. It probably explained a lot, but the shaking was probably as much to do with inebriation
as it was infuriation. She then pointed her finger at Ginny menacingly. The unsteadiness was not at
all amusing.

“And you... GET OUT OF HERE! You... you... *tramp*... you scarlet woman... you HARLOT! GET
OUT OF MY HOUSE!!”

“GRAN!!” Neville shouted.

“You hold your tongue, young man! Or perhaps I should have *her* do it for you?” she said
viciously. “All this time I’ve been worried about you becoming a nancy boy. Well, you’ve proved me
wrong in *grand* fashion!” The sarcasm didn’t drip from her words, it poured.

Augusta turned back towards Ginny. “If you’ve so much as caused a single impure thought in my
grandson, I’ll curse you and your entire FAMILY!!

“GRAN!!” Neville screamed. “SHUT UP!” Neville couldn’t help but glance at Ginny for a
second.

Nothing about this situation was even remotely funny, but Ginny did not miss *that*. That
was not anger; that was a blush.

“Oh, what would your father say if he saw you in here, *fornicating* with this... this
red-haired... succubus?!”

Neville stood silently for a moment, beginning to barely shake. “What do you care?!” he spat.
“You don’t even like going to visit him anymore! Or Mum!” He then turned to Ginny and smiled, or at
least tried to.

“Why don’t you go home? You don’t need to be here for this.” He then leaned forward and kissed
her for just a moment.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!” Augusta shrieked at Ginny.

Of their nineteen previous snogging interludes, some were hesitant, some bold. Some were tame
and some could (*and did*) raise more than just eyebrows. But this one was by far the softest
and gentlest they’d yet shared. And yet it somehow it said more than any of the others.

Ginny quickly escaped out the greenhouse’s back door. At first she walked, but as she could hear
Neville’s raised voice—muffled by the wall between them—shouting at his grandmother, she began to
walk faster and faster. Tears started to stream down her face. As she ran up the small lawn back to
the house, the greenhouse front door was now directly behind her.

“I don’t want you seeing her EVER AGAIN! I’ll not have you living a life of sin in my house!”
Ginny felt as the words stabbed her through the heart. Whatever Neville’s reply was, she did not
hear it as she burst into the house and ran to the fireplace. It was only with an incredible amount
of will power that she was able to clearly pronounce her destination that led her back home.



34. Summer Sunset
-----------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: I want to start by apologizing once again. Last time I implied I would update in a few
days. And I honestly, truly thought I would. And then I got to my vacation retreat and found that
while I could download all the porn and bomb-making instructions I wanted to, as soon as I
expressed interest in plugging my flash drive in to upload a file to the Internet, suddenly that
wasn’t okay. I guess they don’t distinguish between viruses, bad YouTube videos, and Portkey
stories. Fine, they just lost out on my $3 per 15 minutes.*

*And then I’m afraid to say that as soon as I got back, I immediately found myself back in the
same place that led to my earlier two-month delay. Except this time I had two weeks of work to
catch up on. Sigh. I love my computer and technology, but for the last few months, there are days I
can’t even stand to look at it. Double and triple sigh.*

*And to top it all off, my cat, which I’ve had since I was twelve years old and who has been
my inspiration for Crookshanks’ antics, may have to be put to sleep within the next few days... old
age, not bad food.*

*ANYWAY, the only reason I’m telling you all this is to let you know that it’s YOU that brings
me back to my keyboard. All of you, who leave me wonderful reviews, and even those who occasionally
point out when I might have slipped up on something. Korval, who occasionally shoots me an email,
giving me a friendly kick in my backside to hurry up. Evernight, who makes such wonderful creations
to illustrate my story. And of course, MapleMountain, who edits my story and makes it readable, and
tells me all about his mortgage, reminding me that life does go on despite all that may go wrong at
home or at work. THANK YOU, ALL!!!*

*Now, about the chapter itself. First, some people didn’t quite understand my interpretation
of Augusta Longbottom, so Neville will explain a little better, drawing from what little we know of
her in canon, as he attempts to smooth things over with Ginny.*

*Second, my description of Ottery St. Catchpole will vary somewhat from canon. We know SO
little about the town from canon, and anyone who has read THIS story can tell you that I like being
detailed, painting a full picture. As I set “my feet” firmly upon the ground in Devon, I knew that
some things just felt “off,” if the town really was as it was so sparsely described... almost as if
someone just invented it on the fly without any real thought about how things might work. The
Weasleys practically live in a Muggle town but don’t understand Muggle money? And can anyone see
Luna Lovegood or Amos Diggory walking around amongst the Muggles? So I made a few modifications
that addressed my concerns but also, I felt, retained the “spirit” of the locale.*

*And finally for anyone who doesn’t like long chapters, I must warn you, this update is HUGE.
Umm... by word count, 40,000+, it is more than HALF the length of* Philosopher’s Stone*. So it
is split up into 34 & 35, primarily because the Portkey’s upload processor usually hangs when I
upload anything more than about 40 pages... and this is a LOT more than 40 pages. And because I
need to rewrite a small scene in the last half. So if that’s too much to take in all at once, just
read it in pieces, stopping at one of the convenient breaks scattered throughout.*

*I promise, promise, PROMISE Chapter 35 will be up within 48 hours. Thanks for hanging in
there!!*


Chapter 34. Summer Sunset.

*Saturday, 24 August, 1996.*

*“I don’t want you seeing her EVER AGAIN! I’ll not have you living a life of sin in my house!”
Ginny felt as the words stabbed her through the heart. Whatever Neville’s reply was, she did not
hear it as she burst into the house and ran to the fireplace. It was only with an incredible amount
of will power that she was able to clearly pronounce her destination that led her back
home.*


It was with tears streaming down her face that Ginny Weasley tumbled out of the fireplace in her
kitchen and into the arms of...

Ron, who had just happened to be walking by the fireplace on his way to look for a little
between-snacks snack, caught his sister with surprising grace. Any objection he might have had at
being forced to touch his sister died instantly when he felt her grab him and start sobbing.

“What is it?” he asked with rarely seen tenderness. He might have been Ron, but Ginny was still
a Weasley.

“Neville...” she choked out.

Ron wrapped his arms around his baby sister even more protectively. “I’ll kill him...” he
growled.

“No!” Ginny sobbed. “Not Neville. His grandmother. He and I were... she said... she said...”
Ginny let out a few more sobs. “He said he didn’t want me to hear that... they were yelling at each
other.”

“It’s okay now. It’s okay now,” Ron whispered soothingly as he led her into the other room to
sit down on the sofa. Ginny refused to let go of him however, so he was forced to continue to hold
her as they sat down.

After a few minutes, Ginny quieted down a little. Fortunately Harry and Arthur returned a few
minutes later, having come back in from the shed where Harry had been giving Arthur a *very
basic* overview of how his newest acquisition worked: a rusty old lawnmower.

Harry made sure to tell him where *not* to put his hands.

Four times.

It had been a brief lesson however as they had to make sure they finished up, the mower
re-hidden, and the two of them back in the house before Molly returned from the market. Harry and
Arthur’s conversation stopped mid-syllable when they saw Ron comforting his sister.

Ron quickly waved Harry over. While not eager to be in this position, Ron wasn’t going to leave
her alone. But now that someone else—anyone else—was there, he could trade places. After carefully
extracting himself, Ron threw Harry beneath the emotional train wreck that was his sister. He then
led a murderous-looking Arthur back into the kitchen.

Ron had just opened his mouth to start to tell what little he knew when the fireplace flared to
life. Upon seeing a certain young man’s head in the flames, he held up a hand to his father,
pausing the yet-unstarted explanation. Ron stomped over to the fireplace.

“What in the *bloody hell* happened, Neville?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice from
carrying into Ginny.

“I don’t know,” Neville replied very apologetically. “My gran... she walked in while Ginny and
I...” he trailed off when he saw who was standing just behind Ron. “Oh, hello Mr. Weasley.”

“Neville,” Arthur greeted guardedly.

“I had taken Ginny into my greenhouse to show her my plants. My gran came in a little bit later
and started screaming at her.”

“Why did she start screaming, Neville? Were the two of you doing anything?” Arthur asked.

Undoubtedly on his hands and knees back at his house, Neville’s head withdrew slightly as he sat
back for a second to consider his answer. “Nothing that didn’t happen at her birthday party.”
Because of the flames, his blush was an interesting shade of green.

“I don’t think she was herself,” Neville explained. “We could smell her sherry on her breath. I
don’t know why she was drinking. She knew Ginny was coming over today.”

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked.

“Fine as ever,” Neville replied noncommittally. “Gran locked herself in her room, wailing about
what a disappointment her life has been. And then two minutes later I could hear her snoring in
there. I’m sure *she’ll* be fine. How’s Ginny?”

“Bad, mate,” Ron said grimly. “She even hugged me!”

Neville sighed. “Well, suffice it to say, but I don’t think she should be coming over to my
house again any time soon. And I probably shouldn’t...”

Neville’s face withdrew a little as he sat back again for a few moments. A steely resolve
appeared on his face. “You know what? I don’t care! Mr. Weasley, is it all right if I come
over?”

“Now?” Arthur asked, surprised and uncertain; Neville nodded. Arthur looked towards the living
room uncertainly. Neville knew the layout of the Weasleys’ house well enough by now that he could
tell that he was looking towards the living room (or the staircase in there).

“If she’s not feeling well, I’ll leave her be, Mr. Weasley,” Neville promised. “But I just need
to see her for a second, just to make sure she’s all right.”

“Okay, then,” Arthur agreed finally. Neville stepped out of the fireplace a few moments later
and immediately turned for the living room (or the staircase in there).

“Ginny...” Neville couldn’t help but call out as soon as he saw her crumpled up on the sofa,
holding onto Harry looking as if she was afraid to let go. Harry appeared quite glad at Neville’s
arrival for he quickly waved him over.

At the sound of his voice, Ginny immediately jumped up out of Harry’s arms and ran over to
Neville.

“Oh, Neville...” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

“Shhh...” Neville tried to soothe her as he led her back to the sofa. “Shhh, it’s okay now.” As
he passed by, Harry gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

“But what about your grandmother? Won’t she...?” Ginny started.

“Don’t you worry about her. You’re more important right now,” he said as the two of them sat
down on the sofa. As soon as Neville found a position that looked remotely comfortable, Ginny
immediately crawled up into his lap and snuggled up next to him. She then took his arms and wrapped
them around her protectively.

Neville got the idea.

“Are you going to get in trouble for being over here?” she asked quietly as she leaned back
against him and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down a little.

“I don’t care,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Neville? Thanks for inviting me over. And thanks for coming back over here.” With her back to
his chest, Ginny grabbed hold of one of his arms and lifted it towards her. She then kissed the
palm of his hand, about the only part of him she could reach like this.

Though it was the middle of the afternoon, the confrontation with Neville’s grandmother had been
emotionally draining, so Ginny was asleep within minutes. Right about that time, Molly returned
from the store.

Ron, who always seemed to have a sixth sense about when his mother arrived with food, went to
help her (or rather the groceries she was carrying) in the door, telling her to be quiet at the
same time. Assuring her he would explain later, he led her into the living room. There she found
her only daughter, sleeping peacefully in Neville’s arms, upon which she appeared to have a tight
grip.

Neville too might have appeared asleep if it wasn’t for the fact that he opened his eyes and
looked at everyone after a minute. He must have felt the presence of the four people standing on
the edge of the room, silently watching him. Arthur quickly gestured for him to stay where he was,
then turned around and quietly shepherded everyone else out of the room.

After a brief synopsis of what they knew, Molly went about making plans for dinner. There would
be one extra plate at the table if she had her way.

And really, did anyone think she wouldn’t?

Oh, and actually, she made plans for plus three, rather than just one. It was the weekend so
Fred and George were bound to pop in looking for a free meal.

* * *

Neville spent much of Saturday night lying in his bed trying to figure out what exactly the hell
had set off his grandmother. Remembering how she had found them (he grinned), he thought back to
all the years he’d lived with her.

It was no secret that Augusta Longbottom constantly criticized her grandson. He knew that he
didn’t live up to her expectations as compared to his father. He also knew she somehow felt let
down by her own son, Frank, when he ended up in St. Mungo’s.

He also knew his grandmother thought even less of his mother.

Augusta never *said* anything outright about her feelings about Frank and Alice. However,
having lived with her for more than a decade, it was something Neville could pick up on.

Oh, she *loved* to advertise the fact to anyone who would listen that his father and mother
had been tortured standing up to You-Know-Who’s followers. That was countered however, in Neville’s
opinion, by her less-than-enthusiastic attitude about regularly visiting them at St. Mungo’s.

If she was so proud of them, why did *he* have to insist they go visit them an entire once
or twice a year? Why did she act as if it was such a chore to go visit them? Despite their
condition, Neville cherished every second he spent with them. Why did his gran have to pretend that
she wanted to be there. He knew the smile was put on.

About the only form of “interaction” Neville had with his parents was his mother constantly
giving him empty bubblegum wrappers. Why did his gran constantly try to take that away from him, to
dismiss it by telling him to throw them in the bin?

After staring at his darkened ceiling for nearly an hour, Neville finally came up with a guess
about what had happened. It was surprisingly accurate... because he *knew* his grandmother. He
just didn’t know it *was* that accurate.

Despite what she might say to strangers, Neville knew his grandmother was disappointed with his
father. He didn’t know her personal reasons, but he also knew that his mother was in large part
responsible for that disappointment. Again, she never *said* it, but year-in, year-out, it was
something Neville could just *feel*.

He also knew that despite her feelings about his parents, or perhaps because of them, it was
very important to her that he carry on the family honor (maybe even in her mind *restore* it).
That of course would explain her constant criticism of him to be more than he was.

So, considering his gran’s need for him to amount to something in life to carry on the family
honor, Neville guessed that whatever else his grandmother might think or say about him, she knew he
was her last chance to do that, to make something of the Longbottom name.

Now, if he was his gran’s last chance... if his mother was somehow responsible for his father
not amounting to anything (because he was now bedridden)... Neville supposed that when his
grandmother walked in on him and Ginny snogging, maybe somehow she transferred some of her
animosity for Alice onto Ginny. Considering she was most thoroughly drunk, unfortunately it finally
exploded out.

Neville also knew that the intoxication also played a large part in all this. But why was she
drunk? She almost never drank at home. *“All this time I’ve been worried about you becoming a
nancy boy,”* he remembered her scathing. She was constantly after him to meet a girl, *any*
girl. And she was always suspicious about him spending so much time with a family filled with young
men....

* * *

The following morning, Neville gingerly asked his grandmother about the day before. Having been
totally zonked, she honestly didn’t remember what had happened. On the one hand he was concerned as
this meant a repeat performance was possible.

And yet on the other he was relieved, as it suggested that Ginny night not be greeted with such
ferocity if the circumstances were altered. He would do everything he could to talk Ginny up, to
make sure his gran liked her before they ever met... for a second time... if there was a second
time.

He certainly wouldn’t let her walk in on the two of them snogging. And just to be totally
certain, the *very* first thing he would do was make it absolutely, positively clear that
Ginny was a *girl*.

Neville had been serious. He didn’t care what his grandmother thought. He would rather see Ginny
in secret and let his grandmother continue to worry about him being a “nancy boy” if there was
*any* chance of another display as what had happened the day before.

He knew where to start.

“Gran, is it okay if I go over to Ginny’s today?”

Augusta looked at her grandson, genuinely (and pleasantly) surprised. This was of course because
until now, he had always been going over to visit “a friend,” in a family filled with young
men....

* * *

Finally, it was Tuesday, the 27th of August. In France, the Grangers were packing up all of
their belongings. The only bad thing about having small suitcases that magically held all of their
clothing was that they were forced to pack and unpack everything. They really hadn’t thought too
far ahead when they were preparing to leave originally.

Living out of their suitcases in the motel was one thing, but once they got to Aunt Bonnie’s
house, they all had to unpack everything and “put their luggage away,” out of sight. Hiding magical
luggage (though completely unplanned for) was a lot easier than explaining it.

It was as she retrieved her suitcase, and with *not* a small amount of annoyance, that
Hermione realized they could have saved themselves a lot of “cover-up” effort if they’d simply
enlarged their luggage to make it big enough to hold everything without looking suspicious. Oh
well, at least this time they wouldn’t have fun choreographing the loading of their rental car, to
obfuscate the lack of bulky baggage.

As she packed up her clothing, Hermione was tempted to call Harry and let him know they were
leaving today. She hadn’t used the mirror since Ginny’s talk. With all the hustle and bustle
involved in their departure however, she knew it wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, she could just use
the Floo once they got home.

The Granger and Lewis families said their goodbyes early that afternoon. Based on the scheduled
timetables, the only train that would get into London at a reasonable hour departed Paris at noon.
Considering it was a seven to eight hour drive from Bordeaux to Paris, they would need to leave
around 3AM Wednesday morning and drive all night to make it on time. Since neither Dan nor Emma was
keen to do that, they decided to leave that Tuesday afternoon, drive to Paris, then stay the night
in a motel.

By noon the next day, the Grangers were on the train back to London. Some three hours after
departing Paris, they arrived back at Waterloo Station... around two o’clock.

Hermione still enjoyed saying that to herself. Time zones were, she felt, the closest anyone
could get to traveling through time... without a Time Turner, of course. And considering she’d made
a *very* expensive call using the motel’s telephone (damned “guest rates”), Remus and Tonks
were there, standing on the platform, waiting for them.

Evidently Tonks thought it would be extremely amusing if she, in her Muggle chauffeur uniform,
were to be holding a placard reading “GRANGER.”

Dan, Emma, and Hermione all took it in stride though: they made Tonks carry their luggage.

About halfway back on the approximately seven mile drive from Waterloo Station to Broomhill
Road, Remus asked the Grangers if they would terribly mind a bit of a detour before they returned
home.

Originally eager to get settled back into their own home, now that they’d actually set foot on
English soil again, they no longer felt the urgency they had before. After a series of silent looks
between the three of them, Dan said it was okay, that they were in no rush to get home. After all,
going home did mean unpacking.

And besides, after two eight-hour drives in eight days, Dan didn’t really care where he went
anymore, as long as he didn’t have to do the driving. On the inside, Dan shook his head and laughed
at himself. The first time, Emma wasn’t really in any condition to drive, so he drove the entire
way. And on the return trip, wanting to be the nice guy, he had volunteered again.

Right about hour seven he decided he shouldn’t have so quickly waived off Emma’s offer to drive,
to make up for the first one.

Some ten minutes after leaving Waterloo and having not made a single stop yet, Emma leaned
forward in her seat and looked out the window to see where they were.

Honestly, how could anyone drive through the greater London area without stopping, even once for
traffic? Especially in the area near Waterloo, a part of the city surrounded by such busy tourist
destinations such as Westminster Abbey, Palace of Westminster with its famous Clock Tower (a.k.a.
Big Ben), and the nearby MI6 building.

Okay, so maybe the Secret Intelligence Service building wasn’t exactly a tourist-friendly
destination, but that didn’t stop people from driving by to look, especially now that they had
moved into their surprisingly high profile, new headquarters only last year.

When Emma looked out the window, she was shocked to see countryside. A passing road sign
informed her that they were on the M3 heading west. They had to be at least thirty miles outside of
the city by now.

Emma lowered the black privacy glass and turned around in her seat, sticking her head through
the divider. “Where are we going?” she asked Tonks and Remus.

“Just a little detour first,” Tonks replied mysteriously.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise,” Remus added.

Looking forward through the front windscreen, Emma saw all three lanes of the carriageway
blocked by queued up traffic. She was about to object to Remus and Tonks’ answers when she realized
that they weren’t slowing down.

She didn’t know how it was possible (well, okay, maybe she did), but the closer they got to the
stopped traffic, the wider the space between the lanes of cars seemed to be. It almost looked as if
the vehicles were moving out of their way. His wife suddenly silent, Dan also turned around to look
out the front.

Within a minute or two, they’d made it through the several miles of stopped cars and watched
with interest as several dozen motorists and police tried to herd the ten or so cattle back into
the broken down carrier. Back onto clear carriageway, Dan and Emma turned back around again.

“Huh...” Dan said, not in the form of a question, expressing his amazement. After witnessing
that, their questions about their destination seemed unimportant.

Not quite as easily impressed by such... magic tricks, Hermione still wondered where they were
going. When she finally looked out the window a few minutes later, she saw that they were just now
passing Basingstoke, which by her recollection was roughly forty-five miles from her house.

*Where were they going?* They certainly weren’t heading out to the local cinema or grocery.
What else could it be? There wasn’t anything out this direction where they could possibly be
going.

Well, actually... there was one place that was in this direction. It was quite a bit further
away, but it *was* in this direction. But they weren’t going *there*, were they?

Having successfully avoided answering Dan and Emma’s questions about their destination, Remus
sat back in his seat more comfortably. All was going well.

** * * Earlier this morning * * **

*Remus Lupin was a big enough man to admit when he was wrong. He, and Tonks, had been wrong in
his deductions about why Harry had been spending so much time at Hermione’s house. How was he
supposed to know he was living there? There was a Fidelius in place, for Merlin’s sake.*

*But... his original error still didn’t entirely dismiss his feeling that there was something
more going on. He might not be a teenager any more, but he was absolutely certain the two of them
had been flirting with each other during the movie a few weeks earlier. Oh, Harry denied it to be
certain, but...*

*No, wait. Correct that. Harry didn’t* deny *it. He simply avoided answering the
question. Remus grinned when he realized that. And he remembered quite clearly how Harry got
embarrassed when that suggestion was made.*

*And so Remus began to wonder about the son of one of his best friends. Was there something
more going on between him and the young Miss Granger? After Hermione had left him a voicemail early
this morning, Remus and Tonks popped on out to the Burrow to let everyone know that the Grangers
were due to arrive in today.*

*Since it was just after eight o’clock (still rather early for teenagers), they arrived there
and found only Molly and Charlie up, getting ready to start (a second) breakfast for the late
risers. Everyone else was either still asleep or had already gone to work.*

*After Remus passed along the itinerary, Molly expressed how glad she was that “the poor dear”
would finally be back home. Call it an Auror’s gut instinct, but Tonks thought Molly’s choice of
words odd (Molly could get emotionally invested in just about anything, but this suggested more
knowledge than she or Remus had relayed). Simply to satisfy her curiosity, she casually asked the
Weasley mother what she knew of Hermione’s family’s loss.*

*So Molly told Remus and Tonks everything she knew about what had happened. Of course, all of
this information had come from Harry by means of the mirrors. Caught by surprise, Remus immediately
seized upon Molly’s mention of the mirrors.*

*A very large grin appeared upon his face as he tuned her out, considering the development.
Harry had given Hermione one of the mirrors. Remus found this highly intriguing, and therefore
slightly funny.*

*In the letter Sirius left for Remus at the will reading, Padfoot had asked Moony to find his
own mirror and give it Harry, thereby completing the pair and hopefully providing for another
generation of mischief. (Obviously Sirius wouldn’t have known back in February that Remus had
already given Harry the mirror at his birthday party.) In the letter, Sirius mentioned that he
explained to Harry about how they worked, and how he and James had used them.*

*What Sirius didn’t tell Harry (because it hadn’t seemed important at the time) was that not
only had James and Sirius used the mirrors in detention, but once James and Lily started dating,
the two of them started using the mirrors to talk to each other when they were apart, such as on
holiday.*

*Sirius took great pleasure in making James grovel on his knees in order to give up the
mirror. He made James tell him how much he “loooooved” Lily, to complete the bribe. Sirius was
quite annoyed (and yet, at the same time a little impressed) when James did so without
hesitation.*

And so now Harry has given Hermione the mirror, *Remus mused,* and the two of them have
been talking with each other these last two weeks.

*Remus felt Tonks kick him lightly under the table. He’d zoned out in recollection there for a
few moments. Fortunately Molly had returned to the stove to resume the breakfast that was certain
to rouse the last three sets of lazy bones: Ginny, Harry, and of course, Ron.*

*A brilliant idea suddenly stuck Remus... at least, he thought so. He quickly cast a glance at
Tonks and waved his hand, indicating he would explain later. Remus then asked Molly what he wanted
of her, of course leaving out much of his reasoning for it. Even without an explanation why, Molly
had agreed to Remus’s idea immediately. She and Charlie also agreed to not say anything, thereby
keeping it a surprise. Remus couldn’t wait to see what happened.*

* * *

Hermione’s suspicions were confirmed when looking out the window she saw the sign welcoming them
to Devon County. A small grin on her face, she shook her head in amazement. Even *she* hadn’t
thought about this. Rather, she had been looking forward to using the Floo to call over to the
Burrow to let... um, *everyone* know they were back.

But this was going to be *so* much better! Deep down, some part of her hoped that maybe
Harry had somehow been involved in planning this. Whatever happened, she just had to remember:
watch for Harry’s reaction.

Dan too noticed that they had entered Devon. Actually, in his backwards-facing seat, he just
happened to see the sign reading “Leaving Devon” on the opposite side of the carriageway.

“Devon?” he asked in surprise to no one in particular. He looked down at his wristwatch. Turning
around, he lowered the privacy glass and again stuck his head through the divider.

Finally someone mentioned it. “We’ve gone from Waterloo Station to Devon County in about
forty-five minutes. How far is that?” he asked rhetorically.

“About one hundred fifty miles,” Tonks answered anyway, having checked the car’s milometer
(which incidentally was one of about a dozen different gauges, only five of which were factory
original that actually pertained to the *motorized* operation of the vehicle).

“That’s like two hundred miles per hour,” Dan said, amazed. “And as far as I could see of the
traffic, never once did you exceed the national speed limit.” A big grin appeared on his face. “Can
I hire you two to be our drivers from now on?”

Tonks turned her head briefly and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She too grinned.
“Return to your seat, Mr. Granger.” Remus stifled a laugh.

* * *

A few minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Sort of.

“Welcome to the charming little town of Ottery St. Mary,” Tonks announced as they started
driving down one of the local drives. Looking out the windows, the Grangers could see a few of the
town residents casting curious glances at the old-fashioned limousine paying them a visit.

“Ottery St. Mary?” Dan asked. “Isn’t that where you said the Weasleys lived?” As Hermione hadn’t
mentioned where exactly the Burrow was since before fourth year, this name sounded close enough to
what he thought he remembered hearing.

“No, it wasn’t ‘Mary,’” Emma corrected as she closed her eyes to try to remember what she’d
heard. “It was Ottery St. ...”

“Catchpole,” Hermione finished.

“I would have said that,” Emma said quietly; Hermione smiled. “Aside from you mentioning it, I
don’t think I’ve ever heard of Ottery St. *Catchpole*.”

“Right that you wouldn’t,” Remus confirmed. “Just like how Muggles have never heard of Diagon
Alley. In simplest explanation, Ottery St. Catchpole is a magical neighborhood of Ottery St. Mary.
Exactly the same as Diagon Alley in the middle of London, an entire magical community, hidden from
Muggle eyes.”

“It *isn’t* Unplottable,” Tonks added, “Muggle mapmakers just don’t know it exists.”

“How do you get in?” Hermione asked, curious. She’d never been here *this* way; the Knight
Bus always seemed to simply arrive at its destination.

“Same way you get into any other hidden magical locale: through the barrier,” Tonks replied.

“Oh, okay,” Hermione replied, satisfied, sitting back in her seat. She immediately envisioned
parking somewhere and walking through some brick wall or window, just like at Diagon Alley,
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, or St. Mungo’s.

A minute or two later, the car turned onto another street. With the privacy glass still down,
Hermione was looking out the front windscreen, but not really seeing. Her mind wandering amongst
raven-colored hair and emerald eyes, she was only vaguely aware that this street terminated in a
T-junction a few hundred yards down. A small park bordered the “top” of the intersection.

About one hundred fifty feet from the intersection, Hermione snapped out of her reverie as the
sight in front of her finally registered in her brain. The car wasn’t slowing down.

“Tonks?” Hermione asked. Tonks didn’t respond, neither did Remus. One hundred feet. With the
silence, Dan and Emma turned around and looked out the front window.

“Tonks?!” all three of them asked simultaneously, more urgently this time. They still hadn’t
slowed down and now were only about fifty feet from the intersection, and park. A small park
bordered by large, ancient looking boulders that would most certainly be... *unpleasant* to
crash into. Evidently they were there as much for decoration as to keep vehicles from careening
into the park. A park filled with small children and their parents.

A park named Catchpole Park. The small sign went unnoticed by any of the Grangers, as they were
slightly more concerned about the impending collision. Also unnoticed was the fact that none of the
park occupants seemed perturbed by the large, black automobile evidently bearing down upon
them.

Now about twenty feet from the biggest of the rocks, they could see clearly all of the
children... a little blonde girl... a red-haired boy... and many others. They were so close that
they could even see that at the back of the park, behind the impenetrable-looking hedgerow, was a
row of older cottages... simply another part of town. Still showing no indication of reducing
speed, all three Grangers screamed out.

“TONKS!!!” They all closed their eyes and braced themselves to hit the curb, and then the
rocks.

None of the Muggles living in Ottery St. Mary knew where the name of Catchpole Park came from.
Once or twice a decade, a town or county historian might try to track down the history of the
title. All of their research however always seemed to lead to a dead end. It was simply as if the
park didn’t want to give up its secrets.

However, since the town’s origins went back to at least the Eleventh Century (records were a
*bit* sketchy beyond that), that was plenty of time for there to be catchpoles around (sheriff
officers who arrested debtors). These medieval tax collectors often used catchpoles (wooden poles
with nooses on the end) to publicly lead their prisoners around, hence the officers’ *loving*
nickname.

With no evidence of any other explanation, that seemed as reasonable source for the park name as
anything else. After all, where else could the name come from?

When the violent crash didn’t occur, when the sounds of screaming children being run down didn’t
assault their ears, the three Grangers opened their eyes cautiously. They found themselves driving
down a quaint, cobblestone town road in what must have been the small village behind the park.

*“What?”* Tonks replied belated to their screams, sounding irritated even though the look
on her face suggested she found this extremely amusing. “Welcome to Ottery St. Catchpole.”

“That’s not funny!” Hermione objected as she looked ahead. Even from here, she could see the
hill behind which she knew the Burrow lay. Driving at a much more leisurely pace (because Dan and
Emma wanted to look at everything), it would take another five minutes to arrive at their
destination.

As they drove through the magical community (that consisted of about two streets), the car again
earned a few curious looks from the local residents. This time however, it was not because it was
an old fashioned limousine, but because the residents recognized it as a Ministry vehicle. Hermione
even recognized a girl from Ravenclaw futilely trying to peer in through the tinted windows (Miss
Fawcett, was it?) as they slowly drove by.

Only moments away from the Burrow, when Hermione finally recognized this particular stretch of
road from her Knight Bus journeys, she suddenly felt a little guilty for what she was about to say.
But she felt she needed to.

“Just remember, the Burrow is an old house that has been added onto many times for a large
family. And prior to this month, the Weasleys had very little money.”

Dan and Emma looked at Hermione in surprise, while Tonks and Remus couldn’t help but listen.
“Hermione Jane Granger! Are you suggesting that your mother and I would look down upon them because
they don’t live in a fancy house, or have a lot of money?”

“No, of course not,” she replied, truly apologetic. “It’s just that... well, when you *see*
the house for the very first time, sometimes people might get the wrong first impression if they
didn’t know the Weasleys. All I’m saying is, be mindful of your *very first* reaction upon
seeing it, even though you know better. Especially if they’re all outside waiting for us.

“It definitely won’t look like we’re in the middle of Wandsworth,” she explained. “Just remember
the house is held together more by magic and love than it is by hired carpentry.”

Dan and Emma trusted that their daughter meant well, so they simply took her suggestion without
further debate.

When they finally arrived at the Burrow, Dan and Emma were glad the Weasleys were not waiting
there for them. Still sitting in the car, looking through the now open windows, the looks on their
two faces was of surprise. There was nothing disparaging intended about their momentary looks of
disbelief.

It literally was surprise; they had never seen anything like it, and it was nothing like they
might have imagined, despite Hermione’s descriptions over the years. They could not help it: they
were simply accustomed to seeing normal looking Muggle houses (admittedly *upper* middle
class). But after the half-second or so of surprise wore off, Dan and Emma decided that they
*loved* the building.

The world was full of houses, but this was a *home* if ever they saw one.

As Remus opened the door for them, Dan and Emma cast quick nods of appreciation at Hermione for
her “reminder.”

“I’ll get your things,” Remus told them. “Go on ahead.”

“They know we’re here, right?” Hermione asked, thinking the lack of a greeting party a bit
dodgy.

“Of course,” Remus quickly replied. Well... Molly and Charlie knew.

* * *

Right about the time the Grangers were approaching Ottery St. Mary, Molly cast a quick glance at
the clock on the wall... the other one... the real one that actually showed time. It was almost
four o’clock; Ronald was *supposed* to have been back nearly a half hour ago. Hermione and her
parents would be here any time now. She glanced at the other clock in the room, the famous Weasley
grandfather clock.

Ron’s hand was currently pointed at “Work.” Actually, it wasn’t pointed at “Work,” but rather
more like what appeared to be one minute before “Work.” Ron, of course, didn’t have a job. But
since Fred and George were at work, and since Ron was at their shop, the clock put his hand
*near* theirs.

His hand *wasn’t* pointed at “Shopping,” since unbeknownst to his brothers, Ron had no
intention of buying anything. The clock always knew.

“Thank you for helping me, dear,” Molly said to Harry. “I’ve been meaning to rearrange this
cabinet for quite a while. It’s amazing how Ronald seemed to disappear over to Fred and George’s
right as I was getting ready to ask him,” she said in a motherly-lecturing-but-still-lighthearted
sort of way.

“Yeah, Ron has some amazing timing sometimes,” Harry agreed with a smile. Just then, he heard a
soft giggle come from the other room, and then a shushing sound.

Molly heard it faster.

Holding Harry back so he wouldn’t try to go into the other room, Molly started checking her
reflective surfaces. Again she found Neville and Ginny all cuddled up on the sofa, doing a light
bit of snogging. It didn’t appear to be anything too serious, but just to be safe... *One, two,
three, and... four.* Yes, all four hands were safely visible.

She turned back to Harry with a smile on her face. “Nothing to worry about, dear,” she whispered
with a wink as she returned to her cluttered cabinet. Having watched her, Harry too used the
reflection to see what was going on.

*Oh....* he thought to himself with a smirk as he returned to help Molly. A few minutes
later as they were in the middle of emptying the cabinet, another giggle could be heard. Harry saw
as Molly, smiling, rolled her eyes.

“Ginny!” Molly called into the other room with a light, friendly voice. Perhaps because he had
been listening for something, Harry could have sworn he heard the sofa creak just a tiny bit as he
imagined the two of them jumping apart.

*“Yeah, Mum?”* Ginny called back, her voice a bit shaky... or breathless.

“Will Neville be staying over for dinner tonight?” A few whispers came from the other room.

*“Is it all right with you?”* Ginny called back.

“Have him check with his grandmother,” Molly replied, “and if it’s all right with her, then it’s
fine with me. The more, the merrier tonight, I say.”

Harry thought this a bit odd, since *one* really didn’t seem like all that much more
tonight. But it didn’t seem *that* strange... at least, not enough to actually ask about
it.

*“Okay, he’ll check a little later then,”* Ginny replied. Molly turned back to her cabinet
when she heard the sofa creak again. She paused for a moment.

“Ginny? Are you and Neville doing anything in there?” she asked. Oh, that sentence could be
construed in so many several different ways. Harry was very impressed; Molly’s voice was so
straightforward, it sounded completely oblivious, even though the two of them knew otherwise.

*“Um, no, nothing important,”* Ginny quickly replied. *“Just reading since we already
finished our homework.”*

Molly and Harry shared a knowing look. “Why don’t you come in here and help me for a bit then?
That way, we can finish that much sooner, and Neville can check with his grandmother about
dinner.”

Several moments of silence were followed by a disappointed *“Okay.”* When the two of them
walked into the kitchen, Ginny went over to help her mother while Neville headed for the fireplace.
Harry could not help but notice that his normally perfectly groomed hair was slightly mussed up a
bit.

While Molly was taking some rarely-used pots and pans out to the tumbledown garage (that once
used to house a flying car), Harry caught sight of Neville standing frozen with his hand reached
out, about to grab the Floo powder. He followed the unmoving boy’s line of sight.

Neville, it turned out, was rather busy admiring Ginny’s... *assets*. She was on her hands
and knees on the floor and had partially crawled into the bottom most cabinet. Her back end was out
and up in the air as she tried to reach all the way into the back.

Curious... now that Harry was certain Ginny wasn’t his sister, now that he knew she and Neville
were a couple... now that he knew he fancied Hermione... *now* he realized and could admit
that Ginny was quite attractive.

But, there was a fine line between looking and leering, so Harry turned to look back at Neville.
After a few moments, Neville *finally* looked away... and right at Harry who was looking at
him with a raised eyebrow.

*“Reading?”* Harry mouthed silently, a devilish grin on his face. Neville Longbottom
flushed bright red immediately then made a hasty departure.

“Watch your head while you’re in there, dear,” Molly said, having returned from the garage.

*THUD!*

“Ow!” Ginny complained.

With Harry and Ginny’s help, about ten minutes later the cabinet project was done. Most of the
items simply got put back (albeit in a more organized manner this time), and some were moved out
into the garage, hardly ever used anymore. There was only one leftover item, something Molly didn’t
recognize. She suspected it was something Arthur had “procured.”

Harry confirmed that theory when she showed it to him. He recognized it as a Muggle cooking
accouterment. He said it was “one of those round, collapsible metal steamer insert basket things”
that got put inside pots to steam vegetables and the like.

Molly left it on the table for Arthur to “deal with” when he got home.

Harry, Ginny, and Molly were sitting down at the table enjoying a nice little post-chore treat
when there was a knock at the door. Not noticing it before, Harry now thought this odd too.
Normally the door was simply left open what with everyone coming and going constantly; charms kept
out the insects and weather.

“Be a dear and get that, would you please, Harry?” Molly asked, smiling. Harry glanced at Ginny,
who simply shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t know who it was either. As he got up, Harry noticed
Molly looking at the door expectantly, almost as if she knew who was there.

Harry went and opened the door.

The next thing anyone knew, there were two rather loud groans of satisfaction as the two
individuals in the doorway were suddenly trapped by two fierce hugs.

The two teens each had plans to try to gauge the other’s reactions to seeing the other again for
the first time in what both felt like was forever. Harry felt as though he’d ruined his plan by
being unable to resist and launching himself upon Hermione. He “knew” she was simply trapped in his
hug. Not surprisingly, Hermione felt the same thing about him.

And of course, they were both right... and wrong: they’d both thrown themselves at the other at
the same time.

Though still walking up from the car, Remus could see the *fifteen-day* reunion. He smiled
in vindication... and happiness. Not since James and Lily returning from holiday had he seen a
meeting like that. Well, actually, really... greetings like that between random people on the
street could be seen in public on occasion. But it had been a very long time since he’d seen one
that meant anything to him personally.

Not including of course his and Tonks’ greeting after she’d been released from St. Mungo’s. When
she got back home, the two of them greeted each other *very* enthusiastically.

In what felt to be too soon, Harry and Hermione’s little “friendly greeting” had to be
interrupted.

“Beep, beep,” Dan said, mimicking a car horn. “Come on you two, move it. You make a better door
than doorway.” He and Emma didn’t even try to hide the grins on their faces.

The two eagerly broke apart (because the room was full of people watching them), and moved out
of the doorway back into the kitchen. Turning back, they found Ginny standing and waiting for the
two of them. She was looking at them expectantly and appeared slightly disgruntled.

“What, don’t I get a hug like that?” she asked Hermione, sounding excluded. Standing right next
to Hermione, and feeling like a million Galleons because of it, Harry grinned broadly and stepped
forward before Hermione could respond.

“Oh, how rude of me,” he responded dramatically, throwing his arms wide. “Come here and give me
a big hug!”

Ginny swatted Harry’s arms away as she reached over for Hermione. “Oh, get out of the way, you
big bloomin’ git,” she teased. She too greeted Hermione enthusiastically, though certainly not the
same way Harry had. While still in their hug, Ginny started whispering in Hermione’s ear.

Harry didn’t try to listen, but with eight people in the kitchen, five of them adults, things
were a bit cramped. He couldn’t help but hear as a few words drifted his way... “Thanks [...]
Neville [...] helped.”

Harry was pretty sure he knew what they were talking about.

He was *sooo* wrong.

* * *

Just short of five o’clock, everyone was sitting around the living room relaxing and talking,
allowing the elder Weasleys and Grangers a chance to get to know each other better. Once their
charges had been delivered safely, Remus and Tonks had to return back to work for the rest of the
afternoon. They would be back tomorrow however to return Harry and the Grangers to Wandsworth.

For convenience, Tonks had briefly considered leaving the Ministry car at the Burrow overnight
and Apparating back to London. Upon seeing Arthur eyeing the vehicle with more than a passing
interest however, she wisely decided against it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Arthur... well... okay, she *didn’t* trust Arthur, at least
not when it came to Muggle automobiles. (She’d heard all about the Anglia from Molly.) Since Tonks
had been required to sign for the car when she went to pick the Grangers up from the train station,
she wasn’t at all eager to explain why it was returned with parts missing, or with random charms or
parts added (such as Muggle collapsible metal steamer insert baskets).

Yes, it would simply be better, and safer (for everyone—Arthur included) if Tonks and Remus
simply took the car back with them. On their drive back to London, Remus finally explained the
reasoning for this “little detour.”

Tonks had witnessed the happy greeting in the Weasleys’ doorway. A little surprised by the
enthusiasm displayed, she had turned to Remus. Her question was stopped in its tracks when she saw
the look of satisfaction upon his face at the sight before him.

Having become better acquainted with how the former Marauder’s mind worked, seeing the
exuberance, Tonks too began to suspect what Remus did. He confirmed it on the drive back to the
Ministry.

Back at the Burrow, while everyone chatted, Molly heard as the grandfather clock made its little
chime to indicate the hands were moving. Ron’s hand had now moved from next to “Work” to
“Traveling.” And in a moment, it would be pointed at “Home.”

And indeed a moment later, everyone could hear as the fireplace ejected the youngest Weasley
male. Giving everyone a polite smile, Molly stopped the conversation and turned her head towards
the kitchen.

“Ronald Weasley! Where *HAVE* you been?!” she called shrilly. Harry grinned. Oh yes, he’d
heard *that* before.

*“Fred and George’s, Mum,”* Ron called back exasperated, still in the kitchen. *“Can you
fix something for me? I tried* Reparo *but it went wrong a bit, so I didn’t want to ruin the
trousers too.”* Everyone could hear him rummaging about in the kitchen.

“Don’t get into anything, Ronald. I don’t want you spoiling your appetite before dinner,” Molly
threatened. Everyone in the room, Dan and Emma included, snickered at that thought. As if
*that* was possible.

*“Fred and George tried one of their new Wheezes on me, and it turned me into a... well, I
don’t know what it turned me into. But the tail I grew blew out the back of my trousers.”* The
scavenging now ceased and his voice started getting louder as he came into the room.

When he came into the room, everyone saw two things. First, Ron was wearing a set of the twins’
magenta work robes. Second, he was holding a pair of his (thankfully clean) underwear briefs up in
front of him as he walked, still inspecting the damage on the backside.

“I can’t believe it. That tail just tore right through...” Ron complained as he poked a finger
through the hole to illustrate. Still holding the briefs up in front of him, he really couldn’t see
much of the room. He could see off to the side however.

“Oh, hello Mr. Granger,” Ron greeted absently, then addressed his mother again.

“So I was hoping you could...” He stopped talking abruptly and slowly lowered the garment. He
was a bit shocked to realize that practically *everyone* was sitting there, looking at him. He
was then horrified to realize that they were also looking at him holding his briefs, with his
finger sticking through the failed repair job, wagging around like a small...

The worst part about it was that what it looked like... well, it was rather misleading, Ron
felt.

He quickly stuffed his underwear in a pocket on the inside of the magenta robes. As the fabric
rustled and the front opened briefly, everyone was immensely glad that he was at least still
wearing his trousers.

“Oh, hello everyone,” Ron said meekly. “I’ll... uh... be back in a minute.” He then ran upstairs
and into his room. As he left, if he had in fact blown out the back of his trousers, everyone was
also *very* glad he was wearing full-length robes from the twins’ shop.

* * *

It could have been the battle of the century. Two indomitable opponents of their realms were set
to square off over a colossal conflict of culinary control. Worlds would have collided.

But instead, sensing her opponent’s intentions, Molly Weasley agreed to let Emma Granger make
dinner that night. But it was not an all-out victory, for a compromise had to be made: Molly would
make breakfast.

It might have seemed silly for it to be such a big deal, but surprisingly it was not. In one
corner was Molly Weasley, a truly gracious and welcoming hostess, and mother to all. And in the
other corner was Emma Granger, who was beyond words in appreciation to the Weasleys for taking
Harry in.

And interestingly enough, the final “demand” Molly made before the armistice was signed (okay,
no it really wasn’t *that* bad) was one that Emma was going to insist upon anyway. Harry would
be drafted for kitchen duty too.

The thing though was while Molly had suggested it jokingly, Emma had done so for an entirely
different reason. It was in no way a slight against the Weasleys, but she wanted to make sure Harry
felt like he was a part of the family... the *Granger* family.

There never really was any question as to what they would make. A series of shared looks between
the four—not a single word spoken—and they’d all agreed. Sure, there were lots of variations on the
recipe... lots of similar dishes... but Emma’s *exact* recipe was her own devising, so it
truly was a Granger family specialty.

And besides, it had been nearly a month since they’d had it last... back on Harry’s birthday.
All three Grangers felt it was exactly what they needed to get readjusted back from what the French
called cuisine.

It was quickly learned that dinner at the Burrow tonight would be very crowded... much more so
than originally planned. Trying to establish and prove their independence and maturity, three or
four nights a week Fred and George would not come home for dinner. Molly made sure to invite them
tonight.

It should be noted that for the twins, “maturity” meant the ability for them and their business
to survive without parental assistance. It had *nothing* to do with their sense of humor.

Bill, Fleur, and Charlie would be home, of course. Having had to play chauffeur for the
Grangers, Arthur decided to invite Tonks and Remus over as well. Molly had already invited Neville.
And quite at the last minute, Percy, unaware of an overflowing house, called by Floo from the
Clearwaters’ shop in Diagon Alley to ask if he could bring Penelope home for dinner again.

Yes, all together, there would be eighteen for dinner tonight. Emma had never before cooked for
so many. But she hoped that if she could get the four Grangers (and yes, she meant that on purpose)
set up in some sort of assembly line structure, preparing dinner for eighteen shouldn’t be too much
harder than preparing it for four, as long as there was space to cook it all.

Molly assured Emma that her pots and pans would help them out too.

But, before dinner could be started *someone* would have to go shopping, since the Burrow’s
cupboards certainly were not stocked for eighteen. Emma asked Molly to accompany her on a nice
little walk into town to pick up provisions.

While the two matriarchs were out, there were enough people still at the Burrow to have a fun
little five-on-five game of Quidditch. Actually, it could have been six-on-six, but neither Remus
nor Tonks had brooms of their own. But the two of them didn’t mind as they went and joined
Hermione, Dan, Fleur, and Arthur as spectators. Everyone (except Percy) was quite surprised to find
that Penelope was a pretty good Chaser.

* * *

The walk into town was short, but Emma and Molly made good use of the time: they spent it
talking about Harry. For lack of a better term, the two of them compared notes (in a loving sort of
way), and caught each other up to date with the goings on at both houses. Emma did, however, leave
out one *certain* detail.

Though *that* had been omitted from discussion, it was impossible to avoid talking about
what role Hermione had played in everything that had happened this summer. It first started simply
as Emma explained exactly how Harry had come to stay with them. It then unavoidably evolved into
Molly recounting what Hermione had done for Harry over the years... what she knew of it, at
least.

None of this of course was any surprise to Emma considering she invariably got a full synopsis
of Harry and his adventures the first week after Hermione returned home every year... even before
she fancied him. It was interesting however to hear it retold from the point of view of a third
party, albeit mostly second hand via what Molly learned from Ron.

What all of this meant for Molly was that she began to look at Hermione in a slightly new light
now. Regardless of what she might have said, thought, felt, or wanted, there was *still* a
part of her that had hoped that Harry and her daughter...

Well, things were different now. Now that Ginny had seemed to find someone quite nice (in
Molly’s opinion), the Weasley mother bear was now more interested in finding someone nice for
Harry. No offense to Ron, but Harry came before her son in *this* matter. Molly simply knew
that her son had seemed to become quite infatuated with the young Lovegood girl. The fact that he
was writing letters to her, on actual parchment with an actual quill proved that much at least.

And besides, even if he wasn’t, she wasn’t entirely eager to actively insert herself into Ron’s
romantic interests. Doing so would be the ultimate exercise in futility. She knew first hand how
fickle and picky her son could be. His only saving grace, she *jokingly* felt, was that with a
few exceptions, he would eat just about anything.

So, with Molly’s thoughts now on “finding Harry a nice girl,” and she herself saying what a nice
girl Hermione was, it didn’t take very long for her to connect the two.

As the two of them neared the Ottery St. Mary side of the magical neighborhood, Molly sprung
into action. She tried to be subtle.

“Your daughter isn’t *involved* with anyone, is she?”

Molly Weasley was never known for being subtle.

The sudden nature of the interrogative caused Emma to pause for a second. This would have to be
delicately handled.

“She’s not,” Emma replied politely. She knew that Hermione had suspected Ron’s feelings for her.
“I don’t think it would work out, Molly,” Emma said apologetically.

“What, why not?” the other woman asked, disappointed.

“There’re just too many differences between them, I think,” Emma explained as she interlocked
her arm with Molly’s. The two of them resumed walking. “And she’s just too stubborn to be able to
be in a relationship with someone when they fight as much as the two of them do.”

“But...” Molly tried to object. As far as she knew, Harry and Hermione hardly ever argued. At
least, nowhere near as much she did with Ron. When Ron came home after every school year, he
invariable made some comment about finally being able to enjoy some peace and quiet... away from
Hermione’s nagging, her shrill voice, and their constant bickering.

Molly knew that when he said it, he didn’t mean it viciously. But still, he *did* say it,
so there had to be some truth to it.

“I know he’s a wonderful friend to Hermione, but sometimes people are better remaining
*just* friends,” Emma said as she passed the last house; they stopped. “Ronald is a very good
*friend*.”

“*Ronald?*” Molly asked, surprised. “I wasn’t asking for him.”

Emma paused again. *Well then, whom does she mean? It couldn’t be Ginny, could it?* Emma
wondered (she didn’t know about Neville). *She’s the only other one of them who knows Hermione
well enough for there to be some... ‘interest.’* Emma didn’t have any problem with it if Ginny
fancied Hermione; she just knew her daughter’s heart belonged to another.

Also, it could be quite embarrassing to suggest it aloud if she was wrong.

“Whom are we talking about?” Emma asked slowly.

“Harry, of course,” Molly replied, sounding a bit befuddled. “We’ve been talking about the two
of them for the last ten minutes.”

“OH! Harry! Of course, Harry!” Emma exclaimed, feeling like the idiot. It had never even entered
her mind that Molly might ask for Harry. Emma had simply assumed that Molly would only ever be
*that* concerned for her own flesh and blood.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in his love life anymore. But with the two of us
talking about the two of them, it just suddenly occurred to me...” Molly trailed off, giving Emma
what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Oh, Molly my dear, I am *waaaay* ahead of you on that one!” Emma exclaimed with a
giggle.

“Really?” Molly asked, all at once surprised, impressed, and pleased.

“Definitely,” Emma confirmed. “Maybe I’m being selfish, but a mother couldn’t hope for her
daughter to bring home a nicer boy than our young Mr. Potter.”

“I understand that fully,” Molly agreed. “There was a time when I too shared that dream.”

“And now?”

“And now I am happy to say that my daughter seems to have found someone who may very well give
Harry a run for his money, in that regard. Neville’s such a sweet young man, and a miracle in my
garden too!” Molly laughed. Emma nodded pleasantly without comment. Neville’s name *was*
familiar but her daughter had said little about him over the years, so she didn’t know what to
say.

“What about your daughter?” Molly asked. “Do you think there’s any interest there on her
part?”

“The real trick,” Emma cleverly changed the direction of the conversation, “would be in getting
the two of them to admit their feelings to each other, *if* there were any. Hermione has
always been very guarded about opening up to other people. I know Harry is too, and I know she is
very protective of him, especially about people meddling in his private life.”

Emma said this with the briefest of glances towards Molly. It may have been subtle, but it was
impossibly to miss.

“Yes, I learned that lesson the hard way,” Molly admitted, looking down.

“I know,” Emma said non-judgmentally, patting Molly’s hand sympathetically. If Hermione had
forgiven Mrs. Weasley for her earlier transgression, then she wouldn’t hold it against her
either.

“About all we can do is give them every opportunity to figure it out for themselves. If they’re
meant to be together, then they will be,” Emma said with complete confidence. “Again, the real
trick will be in keeping them from suspecting our involvement. For their sakes, you can’t say a
word about this to anyone... not to your husband, and especially not to your children.

“Can you imagine what it would be like if you found out from your best girlfriend that your mum
was trying to set you up with some boy?” Emma asked.

“Well, I suppose it would depend on the boy,” Molly replied with a wink.

Emma sighed with a smile. “That’s true,” she replied as she remembered back to a few high school
crushes. But she knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway once Dan came along.

“But with *these* two...” Emma said, returning to the subjects of the conversation.

“No need to say anything else,” Molly acknowledged. With that conversation seemingly at an end,
Molly finally took a look around to see where she was. They were right in front of a line of large
rocks.

A line of large rocks that corresponded to a line of large rocks seen in front of Catchpole Park
in Ottery St. Mary. There was no park on this side of the stones, nor was there a Muggle village
visible beyond (evidently the magical residents were content to *not* have a reminder of their
non-magical neighbors). Having been through the barrier to Diagon Alley about a half-dozen times
now, Emma was getting used to such things.

“Where are we going?” Molly asked hesitantly.

“Shopping for dinner,” Emma replied. “There was a small store I saw in town on our drive
in.”

“Oh, well...” Molly said, sounding a little uneasy. “I just assumed we’d visit the one back in
town,” she replied, turning her head to glance towards what she considered ‘town.’ Emma could feel
her pulling back on her arm slightly as she slowed.

“Is something the matter?” Emma asked, concerned.

“No, not exactly,” Molly replied. “I just feel a little out of place... *there*...
lost.”

“All the more reason to explore it, right?” Emma said encouragingly. “Just think about it: a
whole other world just on the other side of those stones. You’re lucky; at least you know and can
go back and forth as you please. The rest of us know nothing about this side.”

Though she harbored no antagonistic feelings towards Muggles, Molly *was* glad they didn’t
know about her world. In all of her years living at the Burrow, Molly had ventured into Ottery St.
Mary a grand total of five times.

All told, she’d spent nearly an entire hour in the Muggle town during those five visits. Fifteen
of those minutes alone were spent on her most recent visit.

** * * Two Years Ago * * **

*Molly wandered around the small Muggle village, hoping that she didn’t look as lost as she
felt, as she tried to figure out what to do with the letter she’d written to Harry’s relatives,
inviting him to the Quidditch World Cup.*

*Nearly ready to give up and leave the letter sitting in one of those “fellytone” booths
Arthur always went on about (the Muggle postman would know to pick it up there, right?), Molly sat
down on a nearby bench and rested for a moment, trying to calm the panic that had begun to rise in
her.*

*Just as she was about to stand up and just go back home, she noticed a small red-haired boy
walk out the front door of the building next to her. She could see he was carrying what appeared to
be a letter. As he walked by, the boy suddenly stopped and looked at her.*

*“Hewwo!” he said with a big grin.*

*It would be unfair to say that Molly was afraid of Muggles. But she certainly wasn’t
comfortable around them. But* this *child certainly did have a disarming affect upon her. He
couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.*

*“Hello,” Molly replied, genuinely smiling. “What do you have there?”*

*“A wetter for Mummy!” the boy said, giggling.*

*“And where does that go?” Molly asked sweetly.*

*“In da BOX!” he replied excitedly.*

*Molly wondered how the boy’s mother could let her son wander all over town by himself. She’d
certainly been across half of it, looking for this blasted post box. Oh, how she now wished she’d
simply let Arthur put it in the post at work like he’d originally volunteered. After watching him
practically salivate as he told her about his journey to buy Muggle postage, she decided that a
second outing would be too distracting for him.*

*“And where* IS *the box?” Molly asked, making it sound (in a non-threatening sort of
way) like a very important question. The truth was that for her, it* was *a very important
question.*

*“DERE!” the boy shouted with glee, pointing at the red hexagonal box directly in front of her
on the side of the curb. He then ran over to it and dropped the letter into the slot. He turned
back to Molly and then squealed and started laughing, clapping his hands and looking quite proud of
his accomplishment as if they were playing a game and he won.*

*Molly showed him her letter, the one addressed to the Dursleys, the one that was completely
covered with stamps, except for one square inch for the address.*

*“Is this enough stamps?” she asked, as she really didn’t know.*

*The small boy nodded his head emphatically. “UH HUH!” he confirmed. Not that it really
mattered, but unbeknownst to Molly, the boy had answered for himself, not for Royal Mail; he didn’t
know if the postage was sufficient for delivery. But yes, there were plenty enough stamps as far as
he was concerned.*

*The little red-haired boy then ran back to the front door of his house. Before entering, he
turned back to Molly and waved ecstatically.*

*“BYE!” he shouted, laughing, and went back inside the house. Molly waved back and then
noticed the boy’s mother standing by a window, watching. Molly waved to her too, and the mother
waved back, smiling. With her son back in the house, the woman disappeared from the window.*

*Molly then turned her head and looked back at the red post box in front of her. This was the
third one she’d walked by in her search. She never even gave them a second look. She simply assumed
it was one of those things that Arthur had told her about... those things the fire brigades would
attach hoses to in order to put out fires.*

*It was red, right? It had a slot in it where the water could come out, right? Okay, so she
didn’t actually look at it very closely. With Ottery St. Mary being an old and small village, the
post boxes had not been upgraded in a very long time. The embossed words identifying it for post
had long since been worn down by weather and hands, and covered by too many layers of paint. She
honestly didn’t know what it was, and didn’t want to be seen by the Muggles staring at it... as if
she didn’t know what it was.*

*But, now she did know what it was. So she quickly dropped the letter in the slot, exactly as
the little boy had. She then walked back towards Catchpole Park at a brisk pace, eager to get back
where things made sense.*

* * *

Molly felt Emma pull on her arm a little. With no other real choice, she allowed herself to lead
towards the stones. When they reached the edge, Molly glanced down at the small wizarding sign that
immediately preceded the barrier.

With apprehension (and fascination for Emma), Molly watched as it welcomed them to Ottery St.
Mary, informed them the current population was 7871, with thirty-seven more currently “on the way,”
and advised them of the local time and weather conditions. As if they were any different on that
side of the barrier than they were on this side....

“Come on, let’s go,” Emma said as she led Molly between the two largest rocks that were in the
very center of the cobblestone street they had driven in on. Actually, the two of them could have
even walked through the rocks themselves, as long as they were still on the road. Oh well, it was a
good guess.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, Emma and Molly returned to Catchpole Park, their arms laden with bags
of groceries. Ottery St. Mary was a small enough town that residents were accustomed to seeing
people walk home with their shopping.

Because of the size of the community, the market here was very small by modern Muggle megamart
standards. The only real difference Molly could see (compared to what she was used to), besides the
obviously greater range of products, was that the shelves didn’t restock themselves by magic.

What did appear like magic to her was how Emma paid for the purchases. The two of them had had
*that* quiet little discussion while they were walking down the sidewalk, *before* they
reached the store. The main reason Molly ended up letting Emma pay was because all she had with her
were Sickles and Galleons.

Molly was quite used to handing coins over to a proprietor in exchange for her purchases. The
fact that Emma could swipe a small plastic card (something called a Barclaycard) through a small
plastic box... well, THAT was beyond belief!

Ottery St. Mary might have been a small village in Devon County, but it was still 1996.
Electronic transactions were a must, especially for those smaller shops not eager to accept
out-of-town cheques.

With Emma still in the lead, the two matrons approached the line of boulders along the park. By
chance there was no one in the park at that moment, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Like with
the Ministry vehicle, no one would have noticed them disappearing. Finally feeling like she was
getting the hang of this magical barrier thing, Emma located the same two rocks she’d emerged from
(there was child’s chalk drawing on one of them), and confidently strode between.

And found herself walking on the grass lawn of Catchpole Park.

Emma stopped, turned around, and looked down at her feet, confirming there indeed was grass
beneath her rather than a cobblestone road.

Though she wasn’t laughing *at* her, Molly did find Emma’s confused and startled appearance
humorous.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Molly chuckled. “It didn’t even occur to me until you tried to get through.
You can’t get through by yourself. Even if a Muggle knows about the barrier, they can’t get through
on their own. You have to follow me through.”

“Oh... yeah...” Emma said in short, abrupt words as if she was completely expecting such a
result. “I knew that.”

Molly smiled then started walking forward, literally walking through the boulder. Emma, right on
her heels, was able to follow with no problem. Upon their return to the Burrow, the Quidditch game
was only a few minutes away from ending. Despite having heard all about it, Emma was quite
literally mesmerized by the sight of people flying around on brooms, so Arthur took in the
groceries she was carrying to allow her to finish watching the game.

* * *

Despite Molly’s assurances, Emma refused to allow the kitchen knives to chop for themselves. She
did however allow the pots and pans and utensils to do the cooking and stirring themselves.
Honestly, chopping potatoes for eighteen wasn’t that hard. Cooking and mashing potatoes for
eighteen *was*.

Much of the rest of the dinner preparations went the same: the actual preparations were done by
hand, and then the stove and pans did the actual cooking on their own... under Emma’s watchful eye,
of course.

And Dan’s too. Once the actual food assembly was done and cooking in progress, the eldest
Granger stood careful watch over his coveted mashed potatoes.

* * *

By now, all eighteen people who were expected to be present were. As dinner assembly progressed,
all but five had been banished from the kitchen with orders to go outside and work up an appetite,
chasing gnomes or playing another game of Quidditch... *anything* to stay out of their hair.
(Ron earned a swift elbow in his ribs from Ginny when, after Dan’s hair comment, he looked at
Hermione and started to open his mouth.)

It came as no surprise to Molly that Emma had been able to organize the rest of her family, plus
Harry, into an extremely efficient machine of food preparation and production. Even more impressive
to Molly was that the four of them managed amazingly (in her opinion) without the use of magic,
aside from the aforementioned pots that stirred themselves.

But more than anything was the tremendous gratitude and respect Molly felt for *all* of the
Grangers, at their ability to draw Harry into them. He was acting as if he *was* a member of
the family, in every sense. Harry always loved staying with the Weasleys at the Burrow, Molly knew.
But the way he acted wasn’t exactly the same. He was loved and welcomed, and he knew that he was,
but he always seemed to act a little more like a treasured guest than an actual family member.

*THERE!* Molly practically shouted out in her mind as she just witnessed something that
exactly proved her point. Molly rarely ever asked anything of Harry when he visited, aside from
eating third and fourth helpings of everything. But what she did occasionally ask, Harry always
agreed and did without any hesitation.

But just now, Emma had asked Harry and Hermione to get out all of the plates, glasses, and
silverware set the table for eighteen. Instead of immediately agreeing, both of them started
whining and complaining about being forced to do that. They were both joking of course, but
nonetheless, Harry actually complained about it... like all children tend to do.

He never complained to Molly about anything... not even jokingly. It might have seemed strange
that she felt the whining a good sign, but until now she never really noticed it. Seeing Harry
“complain” with such ease and light heartedness made her realize how natural it seemed. His
eagerness to do anything asked of him at the Burrow was more like a guest in someone else’s home.
But complaining about chores, even jokingly... in a strange way, *that* was what family
was.

Molly was especially interested in watching how Harry and Hermione interacted together as they
worked on their particular culinary tasks. For lack of a better description, Molly was very proud
of Emma, of how she had divided up the dishes such that there was a clear separation between what
she and Dan were doing, and what the two teens were doing. It was less like four people making one
large dinner, as it was two pairs making separate entrées.

* * *

With dinner finally ready, Neville came in to levitate some tables out into the back yard. There
were simply too many people present to eat indoors. With a new wand that had picked
*him*—rather than one that had picked his father—along with the obvious confidence he’d gained
thanks to numerous snogging sessions (he’d stopped counting after twenty) and even an
*semi*-innocent tickle fight or two (Neville was very ticklish and had to concede defeat when
he nearly wet his pants from laughing so hard), he was able to manage the task unassisted quite
admirably.

Unable to sit idly by any longer, Tonks volunteered Remus to help her set the table, taking that
job away from the previously “condemned.” All told, by the time everyone was seated, everyone had
helped in some way. Everyone, that is, except anyone named Weasley.

Each person had his or her own reasons, but they all wanted to try to find some way of
expressing at least some small token of gratitude for what one or more of this family had done for
them, or meant to them... even if it was as simple as Fleur conjuring up several *gorgeous*
vases of flowers to decorate the table.

Honestly, it didn’t seem like much at first, but once the blonde Veela was done, everyone had to
admit that it really did add a special touch to the atmosphere.

And with the amount of garlic Dan put in the potatoes, atmosphere would soon be very
important... in more ways than one.

A quick look around the table before the command to “Tuck in!” had been given, and there was
definitely a special feeling about the evening. Everyone could feel it, but it was hard to say
exactly what it was. Penelope, of all people, finally was able to explain it.

“With everyone here like this, this reminds me a bit of Christmas Dinner with my family.”

* * *

All in all, the Grangers’ dinner was received with great appreciation. In fact, ‘feeding frenzy’
was the best description of the scene. The only hitch came early on when Ron initially balked at
the notion of potatoes with the skins mashed into them. After a death glare from Molly, he decided
he really did like them... once he actually tried them.

Dan had to reserve judgment on whether or not to be insulted when Ron decided that as brilliant
as they were, the mashed potatoes needed one tiny, finishing detail. He went back into the kitchen
and returned a few moments later with a small plate of four rashers of bacon leftover from
breakfast (there was *always* bacon around). He crumbled up two of them and mixed the pieces
into the potatoes.

After thinking about it for a few seconds, Dan decided he was not at all insulted by Ron’s
actions; he realized that it actually probably tasted pretty good. So he made a big show of
stealing the remaining two strips from Ron’s plate to do the same.

Slightly embarrassed, Emma put her face in her hand and shook her head slightly. “Boys!” she
muttered.

* * *

After dinner, Fred and George were the first to leave. George was heard muttering something
about invoices—and Fred, receipts—to review; Molly beamed behind their backs. Everyone else settled
in for a quiet evening.

As the dishes washed themselves, Emma and Molly relaxed listening to the Wizarding Wireless
Network. Depending on the situation, Emma actually found hand-washing dishes relaxing. But she did
have to admit that listening to Celestina Warbeck and *watching* dishes wash themselves was a
whole lot more relaxing.

While the women were enjoying their scrub-free songs, Arthur cajoled Dan into “looking at
something” in the garage. Harry smirked upon seeing an amused Dan roll his eyes when they returned
to the house. He trusted that Dan too assured Mr. Weasley that adding a flying charm to the
lawnmower pretty much defeated the purpose of the device.

As soon as the dishes were done and Molly and Emma came in from the kitchen, Ron (unable to
resist the temptation) begged Emma for a game of chess... on Harry’s board, of course.

Because of the moving nature of the pieces, a much larger proportion of wizards considered chess
a spectator sport than did their Muggle counterparts. Despite the irresistible sound of the
shattering pieces however, everyone else soon tired of watching the slow pace of this particular
game. Ron knew what he could expect from this opponent this time, so he took great care (and many
minutes) making each move. Emma did as well.

As the game began to drag on, Remus came over to Harry to invite him on a small walk. While
there were *several* topics of which the werewolf wanted to discuss, unfortunately business
triumphed over pleasure. Badgering the young man about Miss Granger would have been quite fun.

“How are you, Harry?” Remus asked.

“Brilliant!” he replied.

“It may seem early to start discussing this with you just yet,” Lupin began, to which he noticed
the teen look slightly panicked, “but as there is no guarantee I will see much of you during the
school year, I merely want to mention it now so it isn’t quite the shock next summer.”

“Okay,” Harry replied hesitantly.

“Before your parents died, they set aside a small fund for you to draw upon during your
schooling. When you turn seventeen, you will gain access to the rest of it,” Remus explained.

Harry paused for a moment. “*Rest* of it? *Small* fund? You mean there’s more?”

“There is,” Lupin confirmed. “What’s in your vault is *yours*... what your parents set
aside to help support you in the event something happened to them. The remainder of the Potter
estate has been safely tucked away in the innermost depths of Gringotts.

“If James did as your grandfather insisted—despite his schoolboy reputation, he was quite the
responsible father, so I suspect he did—then I imagine that money has been sitting there
undisturbed all these years, collecting interest handsomely.”

“Okay...” Harry eloquently articulated again. He recalled back to the reading of Sirius’s will;
the Black Estate was just under one and a half million Galleons.

“Not that I suppose it really matters, but how much are we talking? One million? Two?”

Remus didn’t reply immediately. “Five million?” Harry asked.

“More like ten,” the werewolf replied gently.

Harry nearly tripped over his own two feet as they walked. “*Ten* million Galleons?” he
gasped.

Again, Remus hesitated. “Well, that’s what it was when we were still in school. I remember
hearing your father throwing that number around a few times... all the ways he would spend it, and
all that. But then of course, you came along and his priorities changed overnight.

“Then, it was all about the future,” Remus reminisced, “about what he could do to make it grow,
to ensure a secure foundation not only for him and Lily, but you as well. If it was invested, it
could have easily doubled by now.”

If Harry had trouble walking before, he did so doubly now. “Twenty *million* Galleons?” he
squeaked. Remus stopped him and the two of them just stood there in the middle of a field for a few
moments, looking at each other.

“All right,” Harry finally replied. “Now... if you would, remind me again why we’re talking
about this now?”

“I didn’t know how often I would be able to see you during the upcoming school year, and I just
didn’t want it to be quite such a shock when you found out on your birthday next year.”

Harry let out a rolling laugh. “Well, it’s quite the shock *now*!” he replied in good
humor.

“You don’t need to do anything about it now. Just keep it in the back of your mind that you’ll
be coming into some money on your next birthday. You’ll need to come up with some sort of financial
plan on how to manage it when it becomes yours. But again, *until* then, there’s nothing you
need to *do* now. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry replied for the third time, though this time a little more confidently.

“Any questions?” Remus then asked.

“Actually, yes. Only moderately related...” Harry replied. “In with the stuff Sirius left to me,
there was a box... it had stuff in there... for me... from Mum and Dad.” Remus’s curiosity was
piqued.

“There were some pictures... embarrassing baby pictures...” Harry blushed; Remus grinned. “There
were also a couple of letters.” Remus’s grin faded.

“I was wondering about the letters,” Harry said softly.

“Do you know, are there more? There were only two letters, one each from Mum and Dad, and I was
wondering... hoping... that maybe there were more. I mean, they wouldn’t have just left me only one
each, would they?”

“I don’t know anything about any letters. If there are more...” Remus said gently, shaking his
head. “Something you need to understand, Harry... As soon as your mum and dad found out they were
pregnant, it changed their lives completely.

“When they were first married, all they could think about was the now. They were in love,
married, and all they wanted to do was to spend each and every moment living in the now, enjoying
every second of every day together.

“And then Lily got pregnant. Suddenly everything was about the future. They didn’t stop enjoying
their lives, but they were focused on you, on bringing you into the world. They had all these great
plans to have you in their lives... because they felt there would always be time.

“When you’re twenty-something years old and you starting thinking about what life will be like
in ten years because you have a loving spouse, a nice little house, and the most perfect child on
the way, you simply assume that you *will* be there.

“And then a Dark Lord comes along and ruins all of those plans. People think they have all the
time in the world... until they realize that they don’t. And by then it’s too late, and *then*
it seems like there isn’t enough time to do even half of the things they wanted or needed to.

“If James and Lily only left you one letter each, then I imagine that was all the time they had
to do so,” Remus said sadly. “Things did happen rather quickly at the very end there.

“Live your life, Harry. Enjoy the time you have, because none of us, *none* of us, have any
guarantees. What is it?” Remus asked upon seeing Harry smiling.

“Live my life,” Harry repeated. “That’s what Sirius told me.”

“Well... I guess he was good for something besides tormenting Severus,” Remus chuckled. The two
of them then started heading back for the house.

“There was one other thing I was hoping you might know about,” Harry added as they began to
walk.

“Anything.”

“The box those letters were in... it was my mum’s jewelry box.”

“Thank Merlin!” Remus sighed. “I knew the house had been vandalized by people looking for
mementos after the fall of Voldemort. I simply assumed it was amongst the lost.”

“Professor Dumbledore found it. He kept it safe until he was able to have it put into Sirius’s
vault.” Harry paused for a moment. “Why’d he give it to Sirius? Why not to you or me?”

“Probably because Dumbledore knows that if Gringotts wishes to do business with the Ministry,
they are forced to comply with certain restrictions against so-called ‘half-breeds,’ including a
restriction against holding a vault.

“And as for yourself,” Lupin continued, “in the strictest legal sense, Dumbledore’s possession
of your mother’s jewelry box was not exactly legal. Considering the nature of that box, it must
come into your possession through strictly formal, i.e. legal, means. Inheriting it from your
godfather would accomplish that.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Harry chuckled. “I wanted to ask you about that too... the box
itself. When I first saw it, it was completely sealed and had my parents’ initials engraved on it.
But then later, it was open and had *my* initials on it.”

“*Really?*” Remus asked, extremely interested. “Tell me, were you alone when you opened the
box?”

Harry suddenly became very fascinated by the ants carrying away a dead insect on the ground.
“Does that make a difference in how the box works?” he asked vaguely.

“Well... it might,” Remus replied, also vaguely. “As I recall, and I do so very well considering
*I* gave it to your mother as a wedding gift, it is called the True Love Jewelry box. It
displays the initials of its owner. When that person gets married, it displays the initials of the
happy couple.”

“And being sealed?” Harry asked.

“Well, the intent is for it to be a family heirloom,” Remus explained, “something handed down
from one generation to the next. When it’s passed along, it seals itself, not to be opened until
the proper moment.”

“That moment being?” Harry asked with an inordinate amount of trepidation.

“Why, when you’re in the presence of your one true love, of course... hence the name,” Remus
explained, smiling. He knew full well with whom Harry had left the conference room that
morning.

“Now, it was a few years ago that I bought it so I might be mistaken, but I thought it could
only be opened by a female as it was a woman’s jewelry box. You did say you were alone when you
opened it, right?” Lupin asked, only barely able to restrain himself.

Harry, of course, did not answer.

“Oh well,” Remus said exaggeratedly. “I suppose there’s an exception in the charm should it be
given to a son. I suppose it just popped right open as soon as you touched it.”

Though Harry was still looking away, Remus could see the tiny twitch in his facial expression
that confirmed that was in fact *not* the case.

Not that it really mattered to either of them, but technically the engraving and sealing charms
were separate (because as a werewolf, Remus was hard-pressed to afford a fancier, all-in-one
version). The ownership/engraving charm was activated because the box was unsealed.

The box was unsealed because a female (it could have been *any* female) touched it in the
presence of its owner. And said owner was someone who just happened to be *very* special to
said arbitrary female. Yeah, it was pretty convoluted, and maybe even a little inaccurate in its
intended function for its owner, but such was the glitch in not being able to buy the fanciest
version. (No insult to Remus; it was still a *very* nice box.)

But none of that really mattered as Remus was under the impression Harry had touched the jewelry
box. And Harry was digesting the thought that Hermione could be his one true love (since it was
*his* box that was touched). He wasn’t scared *away* by the possibility; rather he was
just a little overwhelmed. And maybe just a little bit plain *scared*.

“If that’s all,” Remus resumed, “I had better be off. Tonks and I will be back tomorrow around
lunchtime so that we’re not gone so long this time. Okay?”

Harry finally looked back up at Remus again. “Okay,” he replied. With that, Lupin then Apparated
away. Harry returned to the house to watch the last of the chess game.

* * *

Some hour and a half after the game started, Emma finally won once again. Though he would have
preferred to win of course, never had Ron enjoyed losing so much.

With the end of the game, everyone agreed that it was time to get ready for bed. Neville finally
returned home; with everyone pointedly staring at him and Ginny, he left with only a quick peck on
the lips goodbye.

*“What?”* Ginny asked, sounding exasperated, but the pink tint indicated more amusement
than annoyance.

Nothing was said, but more than a few curious stares were passed amongst the teenagers when it
was realized that Penny *wasn’t* leaving tonight.

Earlier in the evening, Harry had noticed Percy in the kitchen talking with his parents in
hushed tones. Though he couldn’t hear anything, he had seen it end with Percy nod several times. It
looked like he was agreeing to one or more “somethings.” Now that Penny was staying, Harry thought
he had a pretty good idea what they’d been talking about.

This time, he *was* right.

And Percy and Penny did abide by Arthur and Molly’s stipulations for staying the night. Then
again, Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater and “following rules” went together like peas in a
pod.

At first, it seemed scary that Percy and Penny had started sleeping together so quickly (yes,
*just* sleeping) after getting back together. But really, prior to their breakup, they had
been dating for nearly four years. That—and their pledge of “appropriate behavior”—was what helped
convince Arthur and Molly to allow yet another “cohabitation” under their roof.

Even if it was only for one night. For now.

* * *

Before it got too late, Hermione and Ginny went into Ron and Harry’s room to see what they were
doing. In other words, they wanted to bug them. What they found certainly was not what either of
them expected. (But one of them was very pleased.)

As they walked in, they found Harry lying on his bed reading his birthday gift from Dumbledore,
*Advanced Defense*, and Ron at his desk scribbling furiously, surrounded by books and sheets
of parchment.

Much earlier in the summer, Harry had jokingly thought that Ron would put off starting his
homework until the 25th of August. He had been wrong: Ron had waited until the 28th. It seems that
with Hermione’s arrival, he finally decided that he finally ought to start it.

Both before and after making his sixth year class selections, all together Harry had spent about
two weeks working on his homework assignments... granted, at a leisurely pace. A sizable portion of
that time was spent on repetition. Each one of his essays had gone through at least two drafts,
with Hermione editing and commenting on each, before he “finished” them. And many of his chapters
he had read twice. He *had* to since Hermione was quizzing him on occasion.

Harry supposed that if he’d done them to his usual “read or write it once and be done with it”
standard, he could have been done with it all in about eight or nine days, instead of the two
weeks. Looking over at best friend writing frantically, he wondered if what he could have done
comfortably in nine days, Ron could do feverishly in four. They would all find out the following
Monday when classes started.

Harry did feel a little sympathy for the plight of his friend, but at the same time, it had been
*Ron* who chose to wait until the very last few days. Evidently he had forgotten that the
holiday homework assignments preceding their N.E.W.T. years were double that from their O.W.L.
year.

There was little Harry could do to help him. Ron hadn’t even bothered to ask to copy his
homework. There simply wasn’t enough time to read it all, and then try to figure out how to rewrite
it so that it wasn’t obvious he copied.

Harry looked up from his book to see the two girls standing in the doorway, obviously surprised
at their activities. He was about to say something when Ginny put her index finder up to her lips,
asking him to be quiet. She waited until Ron re-inked his quill, then paused and leaned over to
check one of the four books scattered open in front of him.

“RON!”

Ginny’s youngest older brother jumped, letting his freshly dipped quill fly out of his hand. A
few drops of ink splattered up when the quill landed on its tip and bounced back up.

“Ha ha, very funny!” Ron complained as he wiped the ink off his face.

“What are you to doing?” Ginny asked innocently.

“We *were* enjoying some female-free peace and quiet,” her brother replied
sarcastically.

Hermione took one look around the room. The room was a mess. There were candy bar wrappers,
crumpled up crisps bags, and empty Coke cans (the last of his supply) on every horizontal surface
on Ron’s side of the room. His clothes were *everywhere*.

“And is *this* the end result of ‘female-free’? I can’t believe your mum lets you live like
this,” Hermione complained.

“What? It’s not Saturday yet! I only have to clean once a week,” Ron defended.

*All of* this*, in less than a week?* Hermione wrinkled her nose in disapproval. And
Ginny, well, it didn’t faze her as she was quite used to it by now. It was like trying to stand
against the tide.

“You see, Hermione,” Ron explained, “in the absence of pretty birds to impress, blokes revert to
our *natural* state.”

“And what about Ginny?” Hermione asked. Ron looked at her incredulously, as if she’d just
suggested he take a Muggle Studies class.

“Ginny’s not a *girl*. She’s my sister.”

Hermione wisely kept her comment to herself, and then turned towards Harry’s half of the room.
His was a *little* better. He *was* living out of his trunk, evidently having decided to
forego actually hanging his clothes up. At least he didn’t have candy wrappers and dirty clothes
all strewn about the room. He did, however, have a small pile of socks on the floor next to his
bed.

It appeared as if every night, he climbed into bed and removed his socks, dropping them on the
floor in exactly the same spot. There appeared to be enough there for one pair per day since last
Saturday.

*Well, at least he’s changing his clothes everyday, and everything else is in the hamper,*
Hermione decided. She felt compelled to drag her shoe through the small pile, as if to emphasize
that there was more than merely one or two.

“I’m sure the future Mrs. Potter would be so proud, Harry,” she teased. Actually, she wasn’t
actually sure *what* that meant. What it really was, was the verbal follow-up to her
non-verbal thought. Fortunately it also could have been interpreted as a standalone sarcastic
comment.

But that didn’t really matter, as Harry already knew what to say.

“Don’t worry. If *Mrs. Potter* were around, I wouldn’t have been quite the slob Ron is,” he
joked. Neither of them forgot how clean he had kept his room at the Grangers’.

“Fully a bloke, and proud of it!” Ron said, smiling broadly before returning to two inches of
essay he’d managed to get started by now.

* * *

Once the two of them were in their nightclothes and ready for bed, Ginny felt it was time to
fill Hermione in on all of the latest gossip. That of course consisted almost entirely of Neville.
She told her all about what had happened with his grandmother during their first meeting, and how
things had gone on their second.

Yesterday, actually, Neville had finally invited Ginny back over to his house again. With Gran
thoroughly sober this time, and *not* walking in on the two of them making out, introductions
went much better this time. Ginny also got the impression that Neville had been telling his
grandmother all about her. She barely knew Augusta at all, but the elderly woman certainly seemed
to know a lot about her.

Ginny’s obvious giddiness started getting the better of her for she somehow found herself
talking about all the places the she and Neville had snogged so far.

“Okay, okay!” Hermione teased/complained. “I get it! Is there anywhere in or around your house
that the two of you *haven’t* been snogging?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Ginny knew the answer anyway. “Mum and Dad’s room, Bill,
Charlie, and Percy’s rooms, the bathroom... and the attic,” she added with a slight grimace. The
ghoul up there more than likely was apt to dampen the mood.

Hermione was about to laugh at the detailed list when she realized something. “Ron’s room?”

Ginny said nothing but grinned evilly. The two girls shared a good laugh over that. When the
laughter finally subsided, Ginny’s expression became serious for a moment.

“I’ve already said it twice, but I really wanted to properly thank you for what we talked about
last week,” she said sincerely. “Things might have happened differently if it wasn’t for what you
said.”

“I take it then that you haven’t... *rushed in* to anything?”

“No,” Ginny confirmed, “at least... not if you exclude some *alone* time.” She blushed.

“I still think Mum was wrong for what she said, but at least now I won’t automatically do
something just to spite her.” As she started thinking again about the invaluable advice one of her
best friends had given her, it was Ginny’s turn to realize something. She started giggling and
laughing at the timing of Hermione’s arrival.

“What?” the older witch asked, smiling at the redhead’s laughter.

“So, there’s still time left,” Ginny said after looking at the clock. “Are you going to shag
Harry tonight?” she asked in a fit of giggles. There was nothing at all suggestive in her voice; it
was completely and entirely a joke.

That didn’t help Hermione much, however.

After starting out pale white, she must have gone through a half-dozen or so variations of red
as she squeaked and spluttered.

“What?!” was the first intelligible thing Hermione was able to utter. Ginny just laughed at the
fit she was in.

“Remember when we spoke through the mirrors? You said you were going to wait for the right
moment, whether it was your wedding night or next Thursday night.”

Hermione nodded uncertainly. It was exactly the same thing she’d said to her mother weeks ago.
Ginny just waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“*Well,* in case you didn’t notice, tonight IS next Thursday night!” Ginny said, giggling
again.

Whatever color she had been before, it was now obvious Hermione was blushing. She chuckled
nervously.

“Oh, *honestly*, Ginny! I didn’t *mean*...”

The redhead just laughed even louder. “I know. But it was worth it to see the look on your
face.”

Hermione decided to try to turn this around. “Well, what makes you think it would be Harry,
hmm?”

“Dad’s married. Bill’s engaged. Charlie, well, he hasn’t said anything, but I’m not entirely
sure he would be... *interested*. Percy’s in bed with Penny right now.” Both girls made faces.
“Fred and George are chasing Angelina and Alicia. And I overheard Ron practicing what he was going
to say when Luna got back. That just leaves Harry,” Ginny finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

Hermione had to scrutinize her best female friend closely for a few seconds. When she decided
that the younger girl wasn’t insinuating anything (or reading her mind), she was able to breathe a
small sigh of relief and join her friend in laughing at the coincidental timing of her arrival. She
got an extra laugh remembering that the last time she had said that, the ‘next Thursday’ had been
Harry’s birthday.

*That* would have been quite the present. It certainly *had* been in her dreams that
night. It definitely explained why she woke up so early that following morning, the day of their
trip to hear Sirius’s will. She had said she was lying there, nice and warm under her covers. It
was certainly better than saying she was basking in the afterglow of a *lovely* dream.

* * *

The following morning dawned and the dwellers of the Burrow were all awakened early for a small
breakfast feast. With a still-larger-than-normal breakfast to plan, another shopping run was
required. Because they had visited the Muggle store yesterday instead of the wizarding one,
unfortunately their purchases had been limited by what they could comfortably carry in ordinary
paper bags.

Always fascinated by even the mundane differences between the Muggle and magical worlds, Emma
was quite intrigued by the small market. Small, that is, until they actually walked inside. Though
Hermione had mentioned it many times, and she had even seen it in her own car, Emma was always
unprepared for something being bigger on the inside than on the outside.

Aside from some of the obvious things like baskets of fruit levitating by themselves mid-aisle,
or shelves that replenished themselves when something was taken, or magical-only items like
cauldron cakes and Every Flavor Beans, the most noticeable difference was the drastically simpler
offerings.

A Muggle megamart, for instance, might have an entire refrigerator case dedicated to dozens and
dozens of cheeses, each in nearly every form imaginable: block, sliced, shredded, cubed, crumbled,
and even aerosol-canned....

But here, there were simply bulk wheels or blocks of all types... Cheddar, Stilton, Lancashire,
relative new-comer Stinking Bishop, and of course the *Wallace and Gromit* favorite,
Wensleydale.

If a wizard wanted their cheese cut, they had to do it themselves.

Similarly, a megamart might have butter, lightly salted butter, unsalted, garlic, herbed,
spreadable, whipped, whipped with yogurt... all in bricks, sticks, tubs, and even pre-packaged
single servings. There were also at least as many more butter-flavored spreads such as margarines.
Here, there was... butter.

Actually, like all dairy products, butter too was procured from Muggle dairies. For the need of
efficiency, the wizarding middlemen simply restricted their transactions to the plain variety. And
besides, wizards might have been perfectly comfortable with potions made of eye of newt and toe of
frog, but things like partially hydrogenated vegetable oil were probably just a little more than
they were willing to brave.

Since it had been decided the night before that Harry and the Grangers would leave around midday
to coincide with Remus and Tonks’ lunch break, they were all up early so they could say their
goodbyes before those who had to left for work.

* * *

It was nearly eleven o’clock and everyone was simply sitting around, enjoying the last of their
time together. It was a lazy morning, and everyone had pretty much settled upon watching
Crookshanks chase the gnomes. Right now, he was just playing.

Within a few minutes, Metis could be seen swoop by in front of them, on his way from the window
on the other side of the house to his favorite tree.

“Oh yeah! Here we go!” Ron said excitedly.

A few seconds after Metis was up in the tree, a single, clear hoot carried throughout the
Burrow. Crookshanks immediately stopped his pursuit and returned back to the spectators; he jumped
up into Hermione’s lap.

“Lunch time?” Hermione asked warily. On one hand, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to witness Metis
catch a gnome and take it off for dispatching. And then on the other, she was curious to see how,
according to Harry, her cat and owl coordinated their activities.

Purring, Crookshanks nuzzled his head against Hermione’s hand. He then jumped down and started
stalking towards the taller grass, ready to begin.

And it would be easy too. For when Metis hooted, not only had Crookshanks responded, but so too
did all of the gnomes. They all stormed up out of their gnomeholes to have a look around, to see
what had made the noise.

No one ever said gnomes were especially bright.

And with that, Crookshanks was off. Instead of dropping back down into their holes, the gnomes,
as always, took off running away from the feline, scattering in all directions like pins before the
ball in a ten-pin bowling game.

Once confident they weren’t being chased, the remaining gnomes liked to stop and watch as the
others were pursued. Watch, as one in particular was separated off from the rest of them. Watch, as
it was flushed towards a large tree. One particular tree.

Back by the house, all anyone could see was a white streak as Metis swooped down. A small cloud
of dust was kicked up, and it was all over. As the owl took flight carrying his prize, attentions
were returned to the remaining gnomes that had watched the entire scene.

Laughter could be heard coming from them as they returned to their dwellings. They found it
extremely funny that *they* hadn’t been caught. None of them seemed to care or notice that
each and every day there was one less of them. Yes, all of those *remaining* found it quite
funny.

No one ever said gnomes were especially bright.

* * *

Harry and the Grangers found it quite amusing how disappointed Metis and Hedwig appeared to be
upon having their cage loaded into the Ministry vehicle. When Fawkes initially transported them to
the Burrow, both owls appeared quite impressed with the red and gold creature. The way they ducked
their heads and lowered themselves, they almost appeared shy in front of the phoenix. When
Dumbledore made brief introductions between the three, the white birds even appeared to lean
forward slightly, as if in bow.

This time, they got the floor of the car, between the two limousine bench seats.

“Let’s go home, Crookshanks,” Hermione told her familiar as Dan finished loading Harry’s trunk
into the boot, and then climbed into the car as well.

Harry actually let out a groan as Molly squeezed the air out of his lungs.

It was strange. It wasn’t as if they all weren’t going to see each other a few days later at
King’s Cross. Harry had left the Burrow for school several times. But still, this time, his “moving
out” seemed just a little more significant to everyone for some reason, Molly especially. The
difference, everyone knew, was that this time, he was leaving the Weasleys’ for somewhere where he
was welcome... but *wasn’t* Hogwarts. But what difference could that possibly make?

Molly knew, when her Granger counterpart hugged her goodbye. “I promise to take good care of
him,” Emma whispered.

* * *

Much of the drive back to Wandsworth had been filled with talk of Quidditch. Listening to Ron
describe the game (rather well, actually) nearly a month earlier when he and Ginny spent the night,
neither Dan nor Emma had seemed particularly impressed with the sport. However, after watching a
game firsthand last night, both of them had decided they loved it. Perhaps it was because they
weren’t already biased towards a particular sport or team (like Dean Thomas was, for example).

Or perhaps it was because *Harry* played it, and they enjoyed watching him play and enjoy
it.

Despite the chills that went through them at seeing some of his more harrowing maneuvers, it was
easy to see how this could be the most popular game in the wizarding world. They were especially
impressed to learn that the moves they witnessed were actually “tame” by normal standards.

Although Ottery St. Mary was separate from Ottery St. Catchpole, Muggles could see the village
behind their houses and through the fences. They simply never had any desire to look any closer.
Anytime anyone wondered about their “ordinary” neighbors “on the next street over,” he or she would
always remember something more urgent that they needed to do, or had forgotten about.

No one ever felt an urgent need to try to visit that next street over... because they knew it
*was* the next street over. How different could it be... what could be so special about it, if
it was simply the *next* street over? That, combined with the magical deterrent of always
remembering something more urgent, had helped keep Ottery St. Catchpole hidden for centuries.

So, although magic helped keep the Muggles from getting too curious about the next street over,
it might not guarantee it should those Muggles just happen to see something as amazing as people
flying on broomsticks. And so wizarding children were always taught not to go too high so as to
attract unwanted attention.

* * *

Soon, traffic began to increase as the Ministry vehicle approached the increasingly urban area.
Harry was pleasantly surprised to realize that he recognized exactly where he was. A few quick
turns to get to the appropriate local streets, and despite the still-lingering mist, he finally saw
it.



They were back!



35. More Than Words Can Express
-------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Hey! Look at that. Forty-eight hours! Woo-hoo!*

*A couple quick shout-outs... for those looking closely, there are a couple tips of the hat to
Doctor Who. Coincidentally enough, in the newest episode that just aired Saturday in the UK, there
is a Harry Potter shout out there.* “Expelliarmus” *literally saves the day there too! There’s
also a nod to a game show in here. Never have I seen a program that I both so love and so hate at
the same time. :-)*

*My wonderful beta makes a guest appearance in this chapter. No, he doesn’t sound like Stan
Shunpike, and no his name is not “David Berg” (but he does know how that name relates to him). But
he is here, nonetheless.*

*Since I started writing, my intake of fan fiction has dropped drastically. (I’ve read maybe a
dozen fics in the last year.) Partially this is because time reading is time I am not writing. But
part of it is also because I’m afraid of accidentally lifting something from someone else’s story
and not even realizing it. That said, the scene in the bookstore... I would not be surprised if
someone else wrote a story with a scene just like it. I promise you however that I have not read
any story with a scene like it.*

*And since we’re talking about that scene, some people might start screaming about why Harry
and Hermione don’t just use their Gryffindor courage at this key moment in the bookstore. Well, the
easy answer is that if they did, they get together NOW and the story would be over NOW.*

*The real answer is as I explain (and so too will Dan next time)... all too often, our
“internal fears” (fear of failure, fear of rejection, etc.) are much more powerful and paralyzing
than our external fears (fear of Voldemort, death, etc.). Also, Harry and Hermione need to learn an
important and very painful lesson NOW, one they already know of others like Fudge, but perhaps not
of themselves: inaction can be worse than wrong action.*

*They need to learn first hand why it is so important to seize the moment, to live in the now.
If they don’t... if they hesitate, they will find themselves realizing that they’ve let the most
important thing in their lives slip through their fingers without even trying. The only thing worse
than that one special someone telling you ‘no’ is forever wondering if they might have said yes...
but never knowing because you never actually asked.*

*I promise, this is the moment that (to be crude) gets their butts in gear.*


Chapter 35. More Than Words Can Express.

*They were back!*

* * *

Every building has a smell. Sometimes they are good; sometimes they are not. Sometimes they
smell like something concrete, sometimes something abstract. The Burrow smelled like good cooking
and warmth. Number 4 Privet Drive smelled like cold and sterility... with a touch of cleaning
solution. Hogwarts smelled like “home.”

But Number 8 Broomhill Road didn’t smell like any of those. Yes, Harry himself had taken to
thinking of the Grangers’ house as home, but really, it wasn’t so much an absolute as it was
relative to Privet Drive. When he wasn’t home at Hogwarts, the month or so at the Grangers’ made it
feel more like a home than the first eleven years on Privet Drive had.

So, as Harry walked in the front door, wheeling his trunk behind him, he took in a deep breath
and locked that smell back into his memory. He closed his eyes for just a moment and *felt*
it. This was... right. He might have still considered Hogwarts more of a home than the Grangers’
(five years was hard to overcome), but if he wasn’t there, *this* was where he was supposed to
be.

This felt right. It made sense.

*Merlin, I hope I can come back again next summer... maybe even this Christmas
holiday.*

While everyone else took their stuff upstairs, Hermione made a quick detour through the kitchen
first to let Crookshanks out into the backyard. As she started to head back towards the stairs, she
noticed a blinking light on their answering machine. She counted the blinks: five messages. After
grabbing a pad of paper, she went over and pressed the playback button.

The machine’s tape mechanism made the same exact sounds each and every time, so Hermione had
them well memorized by now; her mind followed along with all the whirs and clicks as the tape
rewound, stopped, and finally began playing.

The first one was just a hang-up, a wrong number most likely. She wondered if they were all
hang-ups, as most everyone who might want to need to call them already knew they would be gone. The
second call was a message from the Grangers’ receptionist at their surgery, calling to remind
Hermione of her appointment. Definitely a joke, considering who Hermione’s parents were. The next
two messages very much interested her.

The third was from Shawn, the manager of the music store. It was for Harry, telling him that his
special order was finished and was ready to be picked up. It was vague and a bit cryptic, exactly
as one would expect a call announcing a present to be. It didn’t help her much.

The fourth call, however, was exactly what Hermione wanted. It too was from the music store,
however this time it was from one of the employees. A teenager, by the sound of his voice. A lazy
or careless teenager, considering that the message plainly announced that Harry’s order of an
album, “John William’s Greatest Hits” had arrived.

Hermione couldn’t stop grinning. That was *exactly* the kind of thing she would have loved
to get as a present. She was such a fan of John Williams that she jokingly decided that if a movie
was made about her life, she would want him to provide the soundtrack. She, of course, said that
exactly the same as anyone else might decide how to spend the money if they won the lottery.

Strangely, as much of a fan as she was (*Star Wars, Superman, Jurassic Park,* of course
*Indiana Jones*, and many more), it actually never occurred to her to actually buy a movie
soundtrack. But now it didn’t matter because Harry had done that for her. There was a very good
chance her current favorite CD might get retired, she decided.

The last message was also from the music store. The same bored kid left it, although this time
it was merely some Frank Sinatra album for her mum. Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. As if her
mother needed one more of those.

* * *

Friday dawned even earlier for Harry than Thursday did. He couldn’t remember the last time he
had woken up at 6:30 in the morning. By the time everyone was showered, dressed, and had eaten
breakfast, it was about 7:30, conveniently when Dan and Emma usually left for work to make it in by
8:30. Of course, their surgery opened at nine o’clock.

They really would have preferred to take the Underground everyday, however both their house and
their office building were far enough from the nearest stations that they would have had to taken
buses to and from both stations. Plus the office complex had a parking garage for employees, so the
hour-long drive really was more convenient.

* * *

“Good morning!” Dan called out into the office as he opened the door. Once everyone was in, he
relocked it behind him.

*“Good morning!”* a female voice called from behind an opening in the wall ahead.

“How’s the appointment schedule look today?” Emma asked as all four of them moved into the
waiting room.

*“Completely full!”* the voice called again.

“Good, now we can pay for that trip,” Dan muttered. Actually, Dan and Emma could have afforded
to take this trip to France without needing extra patients to compensate for it. But by always
treating every absence like it needed to be made up, it always kept them in a position of “paid up”
so that if they had an absence that couldn’t be made up, that buffer would have been available
then.

“Hello, Hermione,” the mysterious voice greeted her once she was in front of the reception
window.

“Hello, Rose,” Hermione replied.

“Ah, yes. Rose Tyler, this is Harry Potter,” Emma introduced now that Harry could see the pretty
blonde woman sitting at the desk. “Harry, this is Rose, our receptionist.”

After quick greetings, Rose turned back to the computer screen next to her. Harry could see what
looked like an appointment book on the monitor. Rose gently tapped the glass where his and
Hermione’s names were listed.

“Yes, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Our first victims of the day,” she said with a
grin.

“All right you two,” Emma said as she put her and Dan’s coats away in a small closet. “It’s
going to take us a little while to get everything cleaned up and ready for work today. Just have a
seat in the waiting room. Read a magazine, play with the kiddie toys, whatever. Just keep
yourselves entertained until we’re ready for you. ‘Kay?”

“‘Kay,” Harry and Hermione chorused like small children.

For the next thirty-five minutes, Hermione read through three magazines while Harry built what
he *claimed* was a representation of a Quidditch Pitch with the plastic interlocking-building
block table. The resemblance was dubious, of course, because the building blocks were not the kind
most associated with a company whose name is a contraction of two words meaning, “play well.”
Instead, they were actually the larger, jumbo versions from that same company, made for smaller
children.

It *could* have been a Quidditch Pitch. Or it could have been rectangular house with no
roof and three windows on the two far ends.

Harry soon gave up the table as not long after nine o’clock a father and child came in, early
arrivals for their 9:45 appointment.

While the father got checked in, the little girl (probably four or five years old) went and
marched straight up to Harry, who was still sitting in the miniature chair admiring his
creation.

“Can I play with this, please?” the small girl asked bluntly. Harry smiled at her directness. If
she were a year or two older, it would be considered rudeness. But at this age it was still
innocent. Harry nodded and got up to go sit down in one of the four waiting chairs.

“What do you say?” the father asked his daughter after suddenly turning.

“Thank you!” the girl said to Harry.

“You’re welcome,” Harry replied kindly, then cast a quick smile at the father. *Unlike* his
aunt and uncle, it was nice to see that parents were still teaching their children “Please” and
“Thank you.”

Harry sat and watched as the little girl immediately took apart his, erm, Quidditch Pitch, and
started building what was most accurately described as a large rectangular solid.

It’s amazing how playing with toys can bring out the small child in everyone... good and bad.
*What? No. NO! What is she doing?* Harry whined to himself. *What is that?! She took it all
apart to build a square?!*

“It was a very nice house,” Hermione whispered to him with a smirk.

“Quidditch Pitch!” he hissed back.

Just then the door on the opposite side of the waiting room opened and Emma stuck her head out;
the door was adorned with a (novelty) personalized vehicle registration plate.



“Mr. Potter?” Emma requested very formally, as if she didn’t know if he was present.

“Here,” he replied automatically, without even thinking. It was almost like a reflex.

“This way,” Emma directed him.

As he walked through the door, Harry lost his smile very quickly when he heard the little girl’s
voice behind him.

*“Daddy? Is it going to hurt again this time?”*

Not quite so confident about everything anymore, Harry allowed Emma to lead him to the chair. As
he sat down, he heard Dan go out and call in Hermione.

“It’s not going to hurt, is it, Emma?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“*Tsk, tsk, tsk,*” Emma tutted. “That simply won’t do, *Mister* Potter. It’s
*Doctor* Granger whilst you’re in my chair.” To illustrate that fact, Doctor Granger pushed a
button that caused Harry’s chair to recline all the way back; he was practically lying flat. There
was no doubt about who as in charge *here*.

“Comfy?” Emma asked, mimicking Steve Martin’s sadistic dentist from *Little Shop of
Horrors*, which they had watched on television about three weeks earlier.

“Yes, Doctor,” Harry replied automatically. As soon as he said it, he remembered that was how
Bill Murray’s masochistic patient responded too.

Emma, erm, *Doctor Granger* chuckled and turned away. “It isn’t necessary to call me
Doctor, Harry,” she said as she pulled fresh articles of disposable gear out of several boxes.

“Yes, Doctor,” Harry replied again, intentionally. When Emma turned back a few moments later, he
was caught off guard a little. She was now wearing a large, clear plastic face shield, a full-body
paper apron, and latex gloves. She looked like she was prepped for major surgery.

“Is all *that* necessary?” he asked, a little more uneasy this time.

“It is, I’m afraid, Harry,” Emma replied kindly. “I doubt you have any communicable diseases,
but alas, rules and regulations.” Harry nodded in understanding. “Now, let’s get started.”

After choosing his preferred flavor of mouthwash and a quick gargle (for *everyone’s*
comfort), Harry did as he was told as Emma approached him with a very, very long piece of dental
floss.

“Say ‘ah.’”

* * *

Exactly forty-eight minutes later, Harry felt the chair being returned to its normal position.
He was done. Because of his regular visits to Madam Pomfrey, there was very little for Emma to do.
Though, she did chide him a little about flossing *every* day, and taking a little more care
about more thoroughly brushing his backmost teeth. She then told him to be sure to let her know if
he experienced any unusual “dental” pain; his wisdom teeth were starting to emerge.

Once *Doctor Granger* was done with her lecture, however, Emma complimented him on his
overall good oral health. Harry just said thanks as quietly as possible and tried not to laugh. It
is nearly impossible for *any* sixteen year-old to resist the urge to snicker at the phrase
“oral health,” regardless of who said it.

All in all, Harry himself was quite pleased with how his appointment went. He knew how much
Dudley hated going to them, despite the fact that he always came back each time with at least three
bags of sugar-free candies from the local grocery store.

The candies were Dudley’s demand; sugar-free was Petunia’s compromise. Since he invariably
required some amount of work done on each visit, it was one of the few times when Petunia didn’t
cave completely to her son’s demands. And besides, he ate them so fast it was unlikely he would
have even tasted the difference anyway.

To feel someone else’s fingers in his mouth... the forced-flossing, the tooth-scrubbing,
polishing, and poking, the plaque scraping... they were all pretty weird, since it was his first
time doing it this way. Although, the little vacuum tube was kinda cool).

But, they were all still nothing compared to the horrid, smoking concoction that was the
Denta-Fix potion. Here, he got mint mouthwash and strawberry-flavored tooth polishing paste. At
school he got the fluorescent orange sludge that tasted like things unmentionable. Yes, Harry was
quite certain he preferred the Muggle way of doing things this time... regardless of the doctor’s
last name.

The proud new owner of a sugar-free lollipop, Harry returned to the waiting room to find
Hermione sitting in one of the chairs, reading the last of the offered magazines. The father was
still there, but the little girl was gone (obviously in with Dan now). Two more patients had
arrived and were also waiting for their appointments. It certainly was going to be a busy day.

* * *

As the two teenagers rode the lift down to the ground floor, Hermione asked Harry his
impressions of the last hour. Harry flat out said that it had been a lot better than he’d expected.
He even complimented Emma on her professionalism.

He explained that she’d not even blinked an eye when she patiently explained why she needed to
drape that heavy lead apron over his midsection when she took X-rays of his teeth. That actually
was part of the reason why his checkup had taken longer than Hermione’s. Emma actually had to
create a brand new set of dental records for him.

Mainly because she fully expected, and intended, on seeing him in either hers or Dan’s chair
again, if not this Christmas holiday, then at least next summer for certain.

As they waited for the bus to take them to the nearest Underground station, Harry pulled some
money out of his pocket to pay the fare. He realized then that he didn’t have any Galleons for the
upcoming school year.

The last time he was at Gringotts, he’d had all the coins he withdrew from his vault converted
into pounds, in anticipation of an entire month in the Muggle world. Two full weeks at the Burrow
with nothing but pound notes had curtailed his spending. When Hermione saw the money in his hand,
she realized the same thing.

“Gringotts,” the two of them said to each other at the same time.

* * *

They stopped at Hermione’s new vault first. She withdrew a modest sum, enough to cover whatever
she might spend on the train or in Hogsmeade for the first half of the year. They then descended
further, down to number 687.

Harry now knew there was a lot more money waiting for him when he inherited the full Potter
estate. By that right, he figured the amount of money before him now should look that much smaller,
considering Remus’s estimate of just how much more there was. But instead, the two perfectly
stacked piles before him actually looked even bigger than before. He knew how much came from
Sirius; his own original “small fund” was not much smaller. So together, they had to be worth
nearly....

If *this* was what one and two-thirds million Galleons looked like, then twenty million
more was just beyond imagining. He honestly could not wrap his mind around that. Twenty million
Galleons was worth *SO* much that it was almost to the point where it was worth nothing. It
was no longer money he understood... it wasn’t pocket change, books for a term, or even a thousand
Galleons for a Firebolt. Now it was merely a bland figure on a banker’s ledger sheet.

Harry felt Hermione tap his shoulder; staring at the gold coins he’d stopped and blocked the
vault opening.

“What?” she asked in a soft, soothing voice.

“I was just thinking... how much this is... how much it all is.”

Hermione looked around at the piles of coins. “It really isn’t...” she tried to lie.

“It’s all that, plus twenty million more,” Harry clarified.

That stopped Hermione for a moment. “Sorry. *Twenty million* more?” she asked, stunned.
Harry could see as she showed visible signs of trying to process that number. Harry repeated a
condensed version of what Remus had told him about his upcoming inheritance.

“Well, that’s not too much of a surprise, is it?” she asked, sounding a little unsure of herself
still. As she spoke, Hermione’s eyes were unavoidably drawn to the jewelry box sitting at the far
end of the vault. She didn’t mention it, however.

“The Potter family goes back for many, many centuries. It makes sense that there would have been
a, uh, sizable estate that built up over the years. It would be like any of the old family names...
Potter, Smith, Baker... you know, from all the way back when family names were derived from a
person’s occupation.”

Finally, Hermione tore her eyes away and turned around to look at Harry again. “But besides,”
she said, “it doesn’t really matter, does it? Does it change who you are? Does having twenty
million Galleons make you a better or worse person than if you only had twenty Knuts?

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s still just money, Harry. And you’re still you.” He didn’t say
anything in response, but the small smile that crept onto his face as he continued to look at the
piles of gold was good enough for her.

Hermione chuckled. Looking at the Galleons again, she was rather excited to realize now was a
perfect time for that little tidbit of trivia she’d been sitting on since the reading of Sirius’s
will.

“And besides, that would be really, really heavy,” she said under her breath, but fully
intending for Harry to hear.

“What?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about what I had said the last time I was down here,” she said
casually, acting as if she hadn’t rehearsed this four weeks earlier... back *before* failed
prison breaks, homework, and sick relatives had distracted her.

“I had wondered how much all these Galleons would weigh if they were made of solid gold,
remember?” she asked. Harry nodded and smiled, remembering how he’d almost blurted out his feelings
for her back then.

Thinking that was the end of the reminiscence, Hermione could see that Harry was about to turn
his attention to filling his moneybag.

“Just over sixty-four tons.”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, not sure he heard what he thought he did.

Hermione nodded her head towards the pile that was from Sirius, all two and-a-half feet deep by
nine feet wide by six feet tall of it.

“You had inherited eight hundred fifty-some thousand Galleons, right? Well, if they *were*
made of solid gold, then *that* stack would weigh a little over sixty-four tons. And each
Galleon coin, again if solid gold, would be worth about £540.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He looked down at her hands in reaction, feeling the need to look for a
calculator for some reason.

“You just figured all that out this instant?” he asked, clearly awed.

“No, not really,” Hermione admitted. “Actually, I’d figured it all out back on that weekend
after the will was read. I just *recited* the answers now. Since I’d rhetorically asked myself
the question, I couldn’t let it go until I answered it, since it *was* answerable.” She looked
embarrassed. “So one night, I measured my D.A. coin to see how big it was and then looked up a few
numbers, like the density of gold. A few more calculations, multiply by eight hundred-some
thousand, and *voila!* Sixty-four tons.

“Then I looked up the value of gold that next morning. A few calculations later, and presto...
£540.” Hermione suddenly stopped and looked at the coins again. She went over, picked two up, and
tapped them against each other. They clinked with a high-pitched sound associated with lightweight
metal.

“You know,” she said slowly, clearly starting to lose herself in Hermione-land, “those
calculations were based on solid gold. But pure gold is too soft to make good coins, so in reality
it would have to be some alloy, maybe like fourteen karat.”

Her eyes widened in excitement. “That would affect the density, so I would have to
recalculate—”

Harry held up a hand to stop her. “Hermione,” he said chuckling. “You had me at ‘sixty-four
tons.’ Quit while you’re ahead.” He grinned.

(His statement had been short for “you had me convinced.” Because *Jerry Maguire* wouldn’t
be released in the UK for another seven months, that line passed by without as much meaning as it
could have had. On the flip side, at least the phrase “Show me the money” could still be said with
a straight face.)

“All I really need to know is how much *this* actually weighs,” he said, holding up his
now-full moneybag. “And I certainly don’t want to think about what twenty million Galleons might
theoretically weigh.”

“Hmmm... twenty million... multiplied by...” Hermione teased.

“I’m warning you!” Harry teased back.

* * *

As the Leaky Cauldron vanished behind them, Harry and Hermione stood and watched briefly as the
bookstore and the music shop seamlessly grew back together. She really didn’t need to tell him that
she already knew what at least one of her presents was, did she?

“By the way, Harry. There was a telephone message for you on our machine while we were all gone.
A man named Shawn... something you’d ordered was ready and could be picked up.”

“It is?” Harry asked excitedly. “Brilliant!” He started to walk quickly towards the store’s
entrance.

“Erm, you’re not coming in, are you?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I?” Hermione asked.

“Well, it’s your birthday present, and I want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh honestly, Harry. It’s not like I’m going to be following you around, trying to sneak a
peek,” she admonished. “If it’s a surprise, then I won’t try to look and I’ll wait until my
birthday to find out what it is.”

“Erm, okay then,” he said finally. He then waved a finger threateningly. “I’m serious. No
peeking!”

Hermione just rolled her eyes at him and followed him into the store. While he went up to the
front sales counter, she wandered idly around the store, just looking. This was her first time in
here, actually. She’d walked by it probably a dozen times over the years, but never had she gone
inside.

Quickly bypassing the “current music” section, Hermione soon found the classical music section,
which was surprisingly well stocked for a store of this size. Groovacious Platters was a privately
owned store and not part of a large, national chain. As such, the operators were free to stock the
music their customers wanted (even if it was “popular”), and not what the publicity machine was
pushing (especially when it *wasn’t* popular).

Consequentially, the store was very well liked and sales were brisk. Naturally the “current
music” section, while not Hermione’s cup of tea, was quite busy. Likewise, several of the “niche”
genres that might otherwise be under-populated at a chain store were well represented here too:
classical music, along with Celtic and Irish music as well.

Hermione also noted with interest that the store seemed to do quite a lot of business with old
vinyl records too. Nearly a quarter of the store was dedicated to the classic format.
Proportionally speaking, there were as many people browsing those as there were browsing the CDs
(albeit the average age of the CD browser was about fifteen years younger than their analog
counterpart).

Hermione now turned her attention to the compact discs themselves. She picked one up and looked
at the silvery surface through the plastic jewel case. Of course she knew all about how CDs worked,
and she was quite familiar with using them at home.

However, always fascinated by the advance of technology, seeing a record and a CD side-by-side,
she could not help but be impressed how this little, silver plastic platter could hold more music
on one side than *both* sides combined of the much larger record.

On a related note, strangely, Hermione’s “evolution of technology” appreciation did not spill
over onto the laserdisc. She’d heard about them trying to replace the tried-and-true videocassette.
Despite their obvious cool, high-tech factor, how could anything that required it be flipped over
midway through a movie be considered progress? Little did she know that at this very moment,
industry executives were only months away from unleashing a new technology onto the world, one that
*would* do for video what compact discs did for audio: the Digital Versatile Disc.

Hermione looked up and saw that on the other side of the room, Harry was now talking with who
obviously must have been the manager. Okay, she had said that she wasn’t going to follow him around
trying to sneak a peek, but her curiosity was killing her. She HAD to know what her first present
was. It couldn’t have been the John Williams collection, since Harry hadn’t known of her fondness
for his music until after he’d already been in here.

Hermione slowly and casually made her way back towards Harry. Just as she was close enough to be
able to *accidentally* overhear anything they might be discussing, the manager led Harry into
the back room.

*Damn!* Hermione cursed to herself. Only a few moments later, Harry reappeared carrying a
large, brown paper shopping bag. There was obviously something in it, but the rigid, crisply folded
sides of the paper bag did much to hide the size of whatever was in the bag. Other than being
relatively thin, it could have been almost anything: a CD, a magazine, a book, even the
aforementioned VHS cassette or a laserdisc (not that they sold either of those here).

Under the general assumption that there were *two* presents for her, she wondered if the
bag was all there was... not because she demanded something large and impressive, but rather
knowing the size might help her guess what it was.

Her attempts at divination were not helped when the manager followed Harry back out only a few
moments later. In his hands was a plain cardboard box. From the looks of it, it was about the size
of a CD, although nearly three inches thick. Hermione silently growled to herself. That made it
worse; there could have been almost *anything* in there.

She watched as the manager led Harry over to the sales counter. After Harry signed a sales
receipt book, the manager gave him the box and a copy of receipt. Harry put them both in his bag,
and then gave the manager a very enthusiastic handshake. Hermione quickly looked away, to the CDs
in front of her: rap.

Harry found her before she could move to a different section.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.”

Harry looked down to see what she was browsing. He was definitely surprised; this was something
Dudley would listen to.

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” Harry observed.

“I don’t. I was, erm, um, just standing here.”

Knowing full well that she had been following him trying to get a peek (he’d seen her watching
him which was why he went in back to retrieve the presents rather than have them brought up front),
Harry found this quite amusing.

“You were just standing here? Standing here doing nothing? For no particular reason?”

Hermione knew she was caught. “Yeah,” she said with no conviction.

“Don’t you just hate cardboard boxes and brown paper bags?” Harry asked with a smirk.

“YES!” she replied, exasperated. Somehow it didn’t feel so bad knowing that she’d been caught,
that he’d called her on it, and that he was taking it all in good humor. The two teens then left
the store and headed back to the nearby Underground station.

* * *

While everyone was helping clear away the dinner table, the doorbell rang. Dan and Emma both
looked at the clock, and then shared a small grin. Dan went to fetch the door, while Emma handed
Hermione the stack of dirty plates to put in the dishwasher. Seeing Harry glance curiously towards
the front door, she cleared her throat softly, then handed him two dirty glasses.

While the kitchen cleanup was finishing, friendly voices could be heard from the living room.
The front door opened several times and it sounded like heavy boxes were being moved. Emma kept the
two teens busy enough that they didn’t have a chance to see much of what was happening in the other
room.

Finally they were done and they all adjourned to the living room. At the moment, only Dan was
there, however there were two equipment trunks labeled “Evernight Photography” laying next to the
sofa. A smile and look of recognition appeared on Hermione’s face.

Before Harry could ask, Dan explained.

“Harry, do you remember how, back at Gringotts, you asked how much you owed us for your clothes
and room and board?” Harry nodded.

“You also remember how I said that you were our guest so everything was covered, and you only
owed for your actual purchases?” Again Harry nodded.

“Well, Emma and talked about this summer over lunch today, and we both decided that we had
changed our minds. We are going to have to ask for some compensation from you.”

Harry was stunned. Hermione looked downright furious. The equipment trunk was the last thing on
their minds at the moment. Luckily for themselves, Dan and Emma continued to explain the “balance
due” before either of the teenagers could respond.

“Fortunately it was easy for us to decide what we needed, because there really is only one thing
we wanted,” Emma now explained. “Harry, can we take your picture?”

Harry sat silently for a few seconds. He wasn’t expecting *that*. Now he remembered the box
on the floor.

“You want *my* picture?” he verified, still obviously missing a few details. Dan and Emma
nodded.

“You see, Harry,” Dan began, “the one thing we as parents have most missed out upon in sending
Hermione to school is the official school photo. Most parents take them for granted I think, and
that’s something we haven’t been able to have. Hogwarts doesn’t do photographs, so we really have
nothing of her and her time there.”

“And to be perfectly blunt,” Emma continued, slightly embarrassed, “since you’re here, and
you’re Hermione’s friend, we’d like to have you in the photograph too. Pictures as souvenirs of
this summer, and that can be our school photos that we will never get.”

“Would you do that, Harry?” Dan asked with a smile. “I’d consider your lodging bill paid if
you’d stand in for a memory or two.”

“Of course,” was all Harry could reply, even if it that answer had nothing to do with being
asked for actual money.

“Good, we’ll let you know when we’re ready,” Dan said.

A couple minutes later, an older gentleman came in the front door, carrying one small hand case.
It was marked with the same label as the other trunks.

“All righ’y ’en. I fink I got ev’ryfink. ’Choo decide where yeh wanna do this?” the man asked
Dan and Emma. Harry said nothing, but (not intending an insult) he jokingly wondered if this man
grew up in the same place as Stan Shunpike.

“In front of the fireplace,” Emma replied.

“Oh, David. I want to introduce you,” Dan said. “This is Hermione’s friend from school who I
told you about, Harry Potter. Harry, this is David Berg. He’s a good friend of ours. He and his
wife Eve used to watch Hermione after school when she was small.”

“Oh yes,” Harry greeted friendlily as he shook the older man’s hand. “I met your wife a few
weeks ago when she was out walking your dog.”

“Ah, yeah,” David replied. “Precious does luv ’er walkies.” He then turned back to Dan. “Right.
Ev’ryone decide who’s where and wot all ’ey’re wearin’. It’ll be a cuppula minutes ’fore I’ve got
my camera all se’ up.”

David then started working, opening his box and pulling out very nice looking tripod from the
larger box, and also a very nice camera from the smaller box. He also retrieved a small, electronic
device out of the small hand case he’d brought last. The four others moved back into the kitchen
just to stay out of the way.

“If you couldn’t tell, Harry,” Dan explained, “David owns a small photography studio. He’s
always taken all of our family photos. But since this is all spur of the moment, and he’s quite
frankly all booked up for end-of-holiday portraits, I asked him if he would terribly mind coming
over and doing this for us.”

“We were planning on having him take a few different pictures, and we’d like you in two of them,
if you don’t mind,” Emma explained. Harry agreed all too quickly; he was thrilled that
*anyone* wanted to take his picture (at least, anyone who didn’t work for the *Prophet*
or the Ministry... or wasn’t Colin Creevy).

Once David was ready, he called everyone back into the living room to stand in front of the
fireplace. The first one was to be of all four of them together, their “souvenir” as Emma persisted
upon calling it.

Once they were all huddled up nicely in front of his camera, David came up to them and held his
little gizmo in front of them. As it was, his gizmo was a light meter.

David didn’t look entirely thrilled.

“Lightin’s not very good’n ’ere,” he said, partially complaining, partially apologizing. “So
close to ’at window’s floodin’ in the eve’nin sun.”

“Don’t worry about it, David,” Dan assured him. “Since you insisted upon doing this for free,
and since this is at such short notice, we promise we won’t hold any light or dark spots against
you.” Dan then clapped both Harry and Hermione on their shoulders.

“Besides, these two are leaving for school Sunday morning, so there’s not time to do this
properly in a studio.”

“M’kay,” David replied. “I’d jus’ prefer a perfect picture, bein’ the perfectionis’ I am,” he
said, grinning.

“And I’d just prefer a picture while my daughter and our guest are still here,” Dan shot back in
a friendly manner. David smiled, nodded in unavoidable agreement (because a picture can’t be taken
without the subjects present), and then returned to the camera.

“Smile!” David said, then snapped the picture.

“Okay, the other photo we would like with you in it, Harry,” Emma explained, “is our
pretend-school photograph. If you would, could you go put your uniform on?” Thinking their request
a little unusual (but then again, not all *that* much), Harry nodded. “In the meantime, while
you’re changing, we have another of just the three of us.”

As Harry started to head upstairs, Emma suddenly stopped him. “Oh, Harry, I just had a brilliant
idea. Since we’re *all* here, I’d like to make it the full deal.” Harry was confused until
Emma finished her sentence. “Hedwig and Metis?”

He seemed even more surprised by this request, but also pleased. He smiled and nodded one more
time.

While the three Grangers were getting their photograph taken, Harry pulled out his uniform and
put it on. It had been just over two months since he’d last worn this (in its entirety, at least).
But after these last two months (actually, now that he thought about it, end of term was exactly
nine weeks ago today), fifth year now seemed like a lifetime ago.

All decked out in his uniform (sans robes), Harry approached the enlarged owl cage. It came as
no surprise, but the two owls were currently napping. He was reluctant to wake them, as he knew
they had a busy night ahead of them... Metis hunting for two while Hedwig kept the clutch warm. But
they would be waking soon anyway, and he wanted them in the picture if at all possible.

So Harry woke them, getting two sets of annoyed owl eyes in return.

After explaining the situation (Post Owls always *did* seem to understand), and after
promising to cast a gentle warming charm on the nest in Hedwig’s brief absence, the two owls must
have agreed for they hopped out of the cage and onto the dresser. They both flapped their wings a
few times to help wake themselves up.

“Have you seen Crookshanks?” Hermione asked from the doorway, surprising Harry. He turned around
and shook his head.

“I want to get him in the picture too. He’s probably hiding somewhere, afraid that maybe
Precious came over with David too,” Hermione explained, grinning. She then looked at him critically
for a moment. “Brush your hair,” she said with a smirk then disappeared down the hall towards her
room.

“Brush your hair,” Harry playfully mimicked to himself, knowing that she was joking. He then
turned back to the two owls again.

Hedwig and Metis *really* must have understood what was being asked of them for they both
were now preening themselves, making sure all of their feathers were straight and looked nice.

* * *

“Oh! Don’t we look sharp today?” Emma said, impressed, as Harry descended the staircase. Harry
smiled meekly, embarrassed. He went and stood in front of the fireplace once again, trying to
decide the best place for two owls and a cat. Arms and shoulders for any of them just wouldn’t
work.

He looked around. The mantle above the fireplace would work for the owls. And Crookshanks would
be fine on one of the ottomans. Although the Grangers’ fireplace was functional, it really was used
more for decoration than heat (and of course the occasional Floo call recently). As such, it had
been factored into the overall layout of the room with two ottomans on either side of it.

Backless, the ottomans weren’t exactly the most comfortable things in the world for everyday
lounging, so they were hardly ever used, aside from the occasional neighborhood get-togethers and
monthly local dentists association dinner parties Dan and Emma would host once a year on
rotation.

The ottomans were, however, just the right height to have Crookshanks in the picture as well.
Besides, when he wasn’t walking along the tops of the sofas begging for food or demanding to have
his head scratched (or seeking refuge with Hermione when Ron visited), one of the ottomans was his
favorite place to sit while everyone relaxed. It was his perch, from which he could survey all that
was his.

And of course, being half-cat, he knew that meant *everything* was his.

Looking back upstairs, Harry saw Crookshanks approach the top of the stairs cautiously,
obviously looking around for a white Pomeranian. Convinced that nothing in the room was canine, he
trotted downstairs and jumped up on his favorite ottoman and started cleaning his own fur in the
little time that he had.

*Do they ALL understand what’s happening?* Harry smiled and shook his head. *Well, at
least I don’t have to wash my hair that way,* he mused as he watched Crookshanks lick his paw
then run it over the top of his head to reach the parts he couldn’t reach directly.

Harry turned back as he heard the long-familiar sound of wing beats; Hedwig and Metis flew down
stairs and perched themselves on his out stretched arms. It was a good thing he’d put on his
button-up sweater jacket. Although it was heavier than his standard pullover jumper (very nice
considering talons were designed for more than just sitting on perches), he could leave it open for
better ventilation.

For David the photographer however, the sound was not immediately recognizable, so he turned out
of curiosity.

“Holy Cricket!” he exclaimed. “’Zem owls? Real, proper owls! Wha’choo got owls for, Dan?” David
asked in amazement and disbelief.

“Oh,” Dan chuckled with (practiced) ease. “Oh, they’re not ours. They’re the school mascots. We
got them on loan for the day for the picture.” Unfortunately, having a witch for a daughter meant
the need for the occasional prevarication.

Fortunately, in the fifteen years that the two men had been neighbors and friends, David had
never once had cause to doubt anything Dan said to him. So he therefore took the
moderately-reasonable explanation at face value (since he knew many boarding schools did have
unusual traditions) and thought nothing more of it.

Attentions were yet again drawn back and up with the sound of footsteps on the stairs. If his
jaw hadn’t been locked shut from smiling at David’s enthusiastic reaction to the owls, Harry’s
mouth quite possibly would have dropped at the sight before him.

Hermione was walking down the stairs. And she was wearing her ordinary school uniform (though
her hair was a tiny bit more styled than normal). Harry’s jaw didn’t drop, but his breathing did
catch a little.

She was *absolutely* beautiful.

Since realizing he fancied her, Harry knew Hermione was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen,
no matter what Pansy Parkinson, Ron, or even her own cousin might say.

He’d seen her (perhaps with rose-tinted glasses) in her everyday clothes, nearly topless, in
some enticing, posterior-flattering jeans, and even her new mole-revealing Midnight Sapphire dress
robes. Each time he’d thought her more beautiful than the next. And don’t even ask about how much
he’d dreamt about her.

But all of that was now *nothing* compared to the sight before him. He’d enjoyed getting to
know a more private side of Hermione and her family. But *this* was what he knew best:
Hermione, in a plain old school uniform. Highlighted with red and gold pinstripes on the trim,
*this* was the bookworm he’d met almost exactly five years ago.

This was the Hermione Granger he was most familiar with... the one he knew and l... erm,
fancied.

Harry was still grinning like an idiot, but his eyes told a slightly different story; they were
wide with surprise.

“What?” Hermione whispered, a little uneasy at the scrutiny she felt she was under with his
stare.

Although quite happy to help Dan, David still hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so he was eager to get
this show on the road. He didn’t mean it in a rude way, but he didn’t have time for lollygagging or
tongue-wagging when there were some gorgeous lamb chops in the oven at home.

“All right then, ev’ryone ready? Good,” he said before anyone could respond.

Harry realized that David must have been quite the seasoned photographer when, before he had a
chance to answer Hermione (as if he knew what to say), he found himself positioned directly in
front of the fireplace, standing next to her.

“Smile!”

A quick flash of the camera and posterity was preserved. Little did Harry know that Dan and Emma
were both confident that the two teenagers would, in the *very* near future, look back on this
photograph and wonder how they could have been so dense.

Dan and Emma knew that it would be a few days before the pictures would be returned. They
probably wouldn’t be able to send them onto Hogwarts until the scheduled owl arrived to pick up any
delivery for Hermione’s birthday. They knew the two teens couldn’t truly see the scene they set at
this very moment.

As the elder Grangers witnessed this moment captured, they knew that if a picture was worth a
thousand words, then this portrait was of something more than words could express. This *was*
their summer. And they knew it was the beginning of their future. If someday, someone somewhere
wrote a story about this summer, this photograph would be cover of that book.

* * *

David made it back home just as Eve was pulling the lamb chops out of the oven. Better still,
there was a bit of leftover Yorkshire Pudding heating on the hob.

* * *

Late Saturday morning saw everyone back in the Granger family car, headed to the local shopping
center. Although they’d sent all of their perishables along with Harry to the Burrow before leaving
for France, the cupboards and freezer were well stocked and had tided them over.

But they really did need some groceries now.

As they parked the car, Harry briefly wondered over the fact that this was their third time here
this month. Then he realized that the Dursleys went shopping all the time, at least once a week.
They just never took him along.

“All right, everyone,” Emma said encouragingly. We’ve got an empty fridge to fill, and I know
Hermione will scream if we don’t get back to the bookstore one last time before school starts.”

“Oh honestly, Mum!” Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes.

“When it’s true, it’s true,” Dan added playfully.

“Don’t even think it, Harry,” Hermione warned upon seeing the smirk on his face.

* * *

Dan and Emma both were eager to get back home as quickly as possible so they could get settled
in for the evening, ready to return to work tomorrow. Once they arrived at the shopping mall, the
two pairs split up with orders to meet back in about an hour. Dan and Emma headed to the department
store first: new socks for Dan. Then, on to the grocery store.

As Harry and Hermione strolled down the promenade, it was obvious that it was near the end of
the month. Commission checks would be calculated soon, so salespeople were poised to pounce on all
who wandered too close. Hermione was nearly blinded by a cloud of perfume sprayed in front of her,
while Harry was harangued by the man who assured him his life would not be complete without one of
those Styrofoam airplanes that when thrown, would fly in a large loop. (Until the first time you
didn’t catch it and the wings promptly snapped off.)

Amidst the frenzy of “customer service representatives” desperate to add a few more quid to
their paychecks, one shop did catch Harry’s eye: an optometrist. It would come as no surprise to
anyone who knew him well enough, but Harry had never had an eye exam. All the Dursleys knew was
that when he started his first year of school the school nurse recommended he get glasses.

It was a lot easier *for them* to acquiesce than answer nosy questions about why they’d
gone against the recommendation. So they took him to a secondhand shop in one of the less
well-to-do parts of Little Whinging, pointed him at the box full of used glasses, and told him to
find a pair that would make it easier for him to see to do his chores.

As it *was* the end of the month, it didn’t take very long for a salesperson to approach
them and offer assistance. Harry explained that he wanted to get his prescription checked, and that
he wanted to look around a bit too. This also didn’t come as any surprise, but the salesperson
immediately suggested contact lenses. After all, why sell a pair of glasses once when he could sell
disposable lenses every month?

Plus, according to the cocky, young salesperson, contact lenses were definitely the “hot” thing
right now. Glasses, he said, were so “Mum and Dad.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say to Harry Potter. “My dad wore glasses,” he objected. “Everyone
says how much we look alike. And since he’s *dead*, I think I’d like to keep that, thank you
very much.”

*Okay, bringing up the dead parents was probably going over the top,* Harry admitted to
himself. *But at least it did wipe the smug look off the kid’s face.*

Honestly, before walking in, Harry hadn’t cared one way or the other about glasses versus
contacts. He’d never even given it any thought. But he was, however, very tired of people judging
him based on public opinion... regardless of whether it was his sense of style or his sanity. He’d
had enough of that in fourth and fifth years.

Harry was just about ready to leave when, by an amazing coincidence, the store’s telephone rang
just then. The manager on the other side of the room answered it, and then informed the beleaguered
salesperson it was for him. The manager then came over to assist Harry.

Actually, the manager, having sensed a negative customer satisfaction incident, picked up Line 1
of the telephone, dialed the store’s own number, then answered the call on Line 2. It was a sales
trick of the trade to subtly switch out salespersons when either the customer or rep was causing a
bad experience.

As the first salesperson went in back to “take the call,” the manager walked over just in time
to hear the last bit of the conversation.

“... even though you *know* they’re the same person. Besides,” the manager noticed the girl
add with a grin, “a lot of girls prefer the Clark Kent look over that of Superman.”

The manager smiled. It was surprising just how many times she’d heard the Clark Kent/Superman
analogy, both for and against glasses.

“So, while he’s on the phone, can I help you? What are we interested in today?”

Harry opened his mouth to start, but then first turned to Hermione. “Why don’t you go on ahead?
I’ll be here a little bit.” She agreed, and then left to continue on to the bookstore.

“Well, I just wanted to have my prescription checked, and then maybe look around a bit,” Harry
explained to the manager.

“When was your current prescription written?” she asked.

“When I first got my glasses,” Harry lied. He really didn’t like lying, but sometimes it was
just easier to be creative about certain details of his life with the Dursleys.

By the time he was done, Harry had had his eye exam and learned that his prescription was still
correct. In other words, by some stroke of luck... almost as if by magic... that first pair of
glasses he’d pulled from amongst the dozen or so in that box in the secondhand store just happened
to be exactly what he needed.

Next, he had to decide whether to get contacts or stick with glasses. He definitely got the
impression Hermione preferred the glasses.

*Well, THAT was an easy decision.* Finally, all that was left was frame style.

“Where do I begin?” Harry chuckled, feeling overwhelmed. There must have been at least a hundred
different styles on the wall. He *didn’t* know where to begin. Fortunately, the manager did.
She’d heard his comment about his father. She’d heard this young man’s girlfriend encourage him to
stay with the glasses. It certainly wasn’t one of their more popular styles, but all things
considered, it *was* the best place to start.

“Well, I always say the best place to start is right where you are,” the manager said
confidently as she lead him to the farthest corner of the display (with the less popular styles).
There, she pulled down a display sample and handed it to Harry. It was exactly the same as what he
was wearing... except *new*. But the hinges and bridge were a tiny bit different.

The manager could see Harry looking at them with a slightly puzzled expression.

“New hinge design,” the woman said proudly. “Won’t break or snap... *under normal
circumstances*,” she added hastily and almost under her breath. “But here’s the best part:
flexible bridge!” The manager then took the glasses and twisted the two halves in opposite
directions. “They spring right back, always back to the same place. Best of both worlds: latest
technology, same classic style. No one would even know they’re a new pair.”

Harry grinned. “I’ve seen commercials about shatterproof and scratch resistant lenses. What
about those?”

The manager now grinned. This would turn into a nice, handsome sale. *And* she wouldn’t
have to pay a salesperson commission for this sale.

* * *

After leaving Harry at the optometrist, Hermione made her way down the promenade in a leisurely
manner towards the bookstore. As she was every time, Hermione was greeted warmly by the shop owner.
She immediately headed for the used books.

“Huge shipment in last week, dear,” the owner told Hermione. “Lots of wonderful, previously-read
books needing a new home.”

Hermione smiled at the owner and nodded in acknowledgement, then turned back to the books. Since
these used bookshelves were sorted by most recently received to cater to the store’s group of
regular browsers, she remembered that the “last” book here on her previous visit was *Stranger in
a Strange Land* (she already had a copy... third shelf down on her north wall). So she started
looking for that to know where the new used books started.

It wasn’t on the top shelf, where it was last time... nor on the second... nor the third.

“Bottom shelf, dear,” the shop owner told her. “Filled up the top five shelves, I did, with that
last shipment.” Hermione briefly looked at the shelves. By quick estimate, that meant there were
probably 150-200 new books. Now it was Hermione’s turn to grin.

Very quickly, Hermione was deeply engrossed in her “browsing.” She’d look at the various titles,
and if anything looked interesting, she would pull it off the shelf and read a random paragraph or
two to judge its merit. A good ten minutes in, she hadn’t yet noticed the tittering that had just
begun behind her.

“Well, well, well. *LOOK* at what we have here!”

Hermione was so startled by the noise that she actually dropped the book she was holding. Her
heart began to race as she bent down to pick it up. She didn’t dare turn around.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Please, let it be anyone but...

Hermione recognized that voice. It had been more than five years, but she knew she would never
forget that voice. A twinge of panic began to rise in her throat.

“I’d actually forgotten about you. But I was turning around out in the corridor, and out of the
corner of my eye I saw you.” A cruel, cackling laugh broke for a moment. “Or should I say I
recognized the hair? And in a bookstore, no less! Say hello, girls!”

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the book directly in front of her. Maybe if she ignored
them, they would think she was someone else.

“Hello, Mangy Grangey!” came a vicious chorus of three female voices behind her. Hermione
clenched her jaw, determined to stay in control. She was nearly seventeen years old now. She could
handle this. She’d fought Death Eaters, after all.

Hermione slowly turned around. Oh, how she wished she had a Time Turner right about now. It was
them.

*Before receiving a most unusual letter on her eleventh birthday, Hermione Jane Granger had
attended West Hill Primary School. With Dan and Emma both working full time, this was very
convenient as the school was quite literally only the next street over, only a few hundred feet
away. Hermione could easily walk with her classmates to her neighbor and babysitter Eve’s house,
where she would stay until her parents returned home.*

*It should be noted however that Hermione didn’t really walk with her classmates as much as
she merely walked in their presence. Just as she was initially at Hogwarts, Hermione too was quite
isolated from her classmates here.*

*In fact, unbeknownst to her parents, there were* two *things at which Hermione excelled
at West Hill Primary School: her studies and hiding in the loo, crying.*

*And the three sources of 95% of those tears (a conservative estimate) were now standing over
her again. It had been more than five years, but she would never forget them. She never
could.*

*It was the Terrible Trio, as Hermione called them, three girls who for all intents and
purposes had controlled the lives of all the students there.*

*Worst of them, queen of the school, their leader, and always standing in the middle, was
Samantha, “Just call me Sam (*giggle*).” And flanking Sam on either side were her best
friends, Anna and Beth. But secretly, Hermione liked to call them Alpha and Beta, since they acted
more like robots, mindlessly doing whatever Sam told them.*

*And* why *did they make Hermione’s life such a living hell? Because they could. She was
different... she stood out. Half the time, she was as silent as a stone (which actually was quite
noticeable for a ten year old). When she did speak, it was at such great speed and such great
length that it felt like she had read them an entire book in less than a minute. And she always
went around spouting off things that made absolutely no sense, like how the Hundred Years’ War
didn’t last one hundred years.*

*But more than anything, there was her appearance. To girls like* them*, who by most
anyone’s definition were quite perfect, Hermione Granger stuck out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb
with very bushy hair. The girls had, predictably, seized upon this and quickly gave her their
favorite nickname, “Mangy Grangey.”*

*There was little that the Terrible Trio did not tease her for. The girls had once made a
derogatory crack about dentists. Hermione showed a surprising about of bravery and defended the
profession, and be extension, her parents. Of course, she did not realize the girls had once
overheard her mention her parents’ careers, so she did not know they were setting her up. Because
as everyone who met her before Hogwarts fourth year knew, Hermione also had certain dental
attributes that were ripe for ridicule.*

*The speed with which the girls verbally attacked Hermione suggested that they might have
planned this encounter, and actually spent all night coming up with a snappy insult. Such was born
the not-as-easy-to-say, but definitely more hurtful title, “The bucktooth, bushy-haired, bossy,
bookworm know-it-all of West Hill.”*

*Yes, these three girls had made Hermione’s life miserable at her old school. They weren’t at
all smart, but they were smart enough to not get caught making her cry. And besides, it probably
wouldn’t have mattered anyway. These three could pull off a cute, innocent routine so well they
already had all of the teachers at school wrapped around their fingers.*

*And even if Hermione* had *had friends, there would have been little for them to do
either, since all of the other students idolized them, as they were the prettiest and most popular
girls at school.*

And now, nearly seven years later (the girls were one year older than she, so her last year in
Primary School was relatively peaceful, though lonely, when they had moved onto Secondary School),
Hermione again found herself being backed into a corner as these three silkily glided in towards
her.

“Oh. My. God,” Sam punctuated in delight. “I can’t believe it’s really you... after all these
years. Well,” she chuckled, “actually I can. I saw this mass of mangy hair standing in front of a
bookshelf.”

Alpha and Beta giggled mindlessly, following Sam’s lead.

“So where have you been all these years? I’ve never found *anyone* I’ve enjoyed spending my
time with as I have you,” Sam sneered.

“A state school, probably,” Alpha injected.

“Yeah, I think all of the more *exclusive* schools have higher standards than her,” Beta
added.

Sam smiled and chuckled. “I think it would have been worth it though, to have her with us. I’m
sure we all would have had some good times together.”

Beta suddenly tilted her head slightly and held out her hand in a way as if to stop them from
talking while she tried to remember something.

“What was that nickname we had for you?” Beta asked Hermione, but also asking Sam and Alpha.

“It was something fun,” Sam confirmed. “Bookworm something...”

Beta smiled cruelly as she remembered. “Of course. Bucktoothed, bushy-haired, bossy, know-it-all
bookworm. Do you remember?” she said to Sam. “She told me off for taking too many napkins at lunch
time!”

Hermione stood frozen in her spot. She still hadn’t been able to move yet. Not that there was
really anywhere to go. The three girls now stood in a chevron, almost surrounding her. She looked
around, hoping that maybe the shop owner would see them and ask the girls to leave. She was
unnerved to discover the woman absent. Of all the times to go in back for a minute! Sometimes being
trusted in a store alone had its drawbacks.

Hermione was a formidable witch, but she felt defenseless in front of these three girls. She had
her wand on her, but she knew she couldn’t use it unless things got really bad. But she knew they
wouldn’t because these girls would never do anything to risk actual physical harm. Emotional
torture and the *threat* of bodily harm, definitely yes, but never anything as crude as a
physical attack.

Well, if she couldn’t magic her way out, maybe she could talk her way out. She was way smarter
than these three, and that was fact, not boasting.

“Well, there were other people in line too who needed them!” Hermione defended, finally
speaking.

“Oh! She speaks!” Sam cackled.

“Look!” Alpha exclaimed. “Her teeth! They look *normal!*”

“Her mummy and daddy must have had pity on her and had them redone,” Sam said. “Only makes
sense, of course. Nowadays, even the animals at the zoo get reasonable dental care.”

No matter how much she tried, Hermione could not stop all of the memories from resurfacing. She
could feel her eyes began to warm up as she remembered all of the tears spilt before.

“Just leave me alone!” Hermione said, a little louder than intended, her voice crackling. She
was both hurt and angry. She always encouraged Harry to just ignore people like Draco Malfoy when
they insulted him, so she tried to follow her own advice. Unfortunately these three did not know
just how powerful Hermione could be, so they decided to continue a little more aggressively than
even Malfoy would have.

“Or what?! What are you going to do to us if we don’t leave you alone? Are you going to throw
your A-Levels at us?”

The three girls laughed heartily and took a step—just one—closer to her. Hermione definitely
started to feel trapped in. She looked around trying to figure out what to do. The owner wasn’t
back yet... of course, it had only been a few seconds since the girls first entered the store.

Hermione was starting to feel a little desperate. Her other primary weapon, her intelligence,
was useless against girls like these. The crack about A-Levels proved that; no matter how clever a
response Hermione could come up with, she knew they would be able to turn it around to make fun of
her.

Somewhere deep down, she supposed (with an unseen internal smile) she could just smack one of
them like she had Draco. But there were three of them and only one of her, and she *couldn’t*
hold them at bay with the threat of a hex like she could Crabbe and Goyle.

Besides, knowing these three, if they didn’t retaliate with their fists, they probably would
with their phones. Mobile phones were still relatively new enough that few people had them, but
Hermione wouldn’t at all be surprised if these three did. Yes, she suspected that these three were
more likely to telephone their daddies and sob all about the mean girl who had viciously attacked
them, and pulled out their beautiful hair, all for no reason.

That would be all Hermione needed... to find herself sitting in the Wandsworth Police Station.
Well, at least it would have been convenient, since it was right up the street from her house. And
when she found herself convicted of Grievous Bodily Harm instead of ordinary assault and was
sentenced to life in prison... well, at least Wandsworth Prison was only a very short drive for her
parents to come visit her.

But really... no matter how cruel these girls were, Hermione couldn’t *hit* them. No matter
how painful, they were only words. And now that they’d moved that one step closer, they’d
effectively pinned her against the bookshelf behind her. They were still far enough away as to be
out of arm’s reach, but still close enough to prevent escape.

Hermione lowered her head slightly and simply stood there, preparing herself. All she could do
now was let them have their fun. She would try to ignore them as they made ridiculed everything
that she was. And once they were sufficiently amused and started to get bored of teasing her, she
would run to the nearest loo so she could have a good cry where no one would see her.

“Hello there,” came a male voice from the right. The familiar voice was strong and had the
slightest hint of urgency as if it wanted to interrupt.

Before she could react to the voice, Hermione could see a momentary flash of rage appear upon
Sam’s face. It was an emotion the generously-busted, sleek, blonde-haired beauty rarely showed (and
thereby tarnished her adorable image), but it was there nonetheless. How *dare* anyone
interrupt her belittling of this mangy nothing of a girl?

The rage was gone, but so too was her smile. There was plenty of venom in her voice though as
she turned to the source of the interruption.

“And just *who* in the hell-*lel-lo there!*” Sam did an instant, complete turnaround
as she laid eyes on quite possibly the most gorgeous hunk of man-flesh she’d ever seen. Wild black
hair that begged to have her fingers fun through it... a wicked cool looking scar on his forehead
that she longed to trace. And brilliant green eyes that seemed to pierce through her like a laser,
setting all parts of her ablaze.

As she gave him a quick appraisal, the rest of him she dare not even try to put into words, for
the attempt would be too distracting. She needed all of her attention to land this fine
specimen.

“Please, forgive my *atrocious* manners,” Sam gushed as she started fiddling with her
topmost shirt button coquettishly. “I thought you were someone else. My name is Samantha, but I
would love it if you called me Sam.” She then giggled.

Hermione felt a bit nauseated by the display. It was the exact same giggle that she remembered
from all of those years ago at school. She did appear to be embellishing on her tried and true
greeting for those she wanted to endear herself upon.

Sam held out her hand in offer of a handshake. “And *what*,” she said in a rather husky
voice, “is your name?”

“My name is Harry. A pleasure to meet you, *Samantha,*” Harry said as he smiled broadly. He
then took her hand and shook it in greeting.

Hermione could see as all three of the practically-drooling girls smirked at the sound of
Harry’s name. She had no doubt they were entertaining such thoughts as, *“I’d love to find out if
he is.”*

At Harry’s use of Sam’s full name, said trollop let out a mock pout. “Oh, being hard to get, are
we?” she giggled, still having not let go of Harry’s hand. “We’ll have to remedy that, I think,”
she said suggestively. Hermione cringed as she saw Sam ever-so-innocently and yet oh-so-obviously
flick her tongue out for a split second to moisten her lips.

Well, at least there was some consolation for Hermione. Sam had assumed that Harry’s smile and
his use of her full name indicated he was flirting with her. But Hermione knew he was doing the
opposite of what she wanted and that it was a fake smile.

It was, wasn’t it?

Despite their five years of shared history... despite everything they’d been through, Hermione
could feel her self-doubt begin to slip through. If there was anyone on this planet who could make
her doubt herself, it was these three girls. And Harry was focusing all of his attention on them.
He hadn’t even given her a first glance, to say nothing of the ever-important second glance.

Harry then looked expectantly at Alpha. Sam—having no intention of sharing him with her friends,
but knowing she shouldn’t appear too inconsiderate so quickly—introduced her friends.

“This is Anna,” Sam said, indicating her red-haired vixen-friend, “and this is Beth,” she said
of the black-haired bombshell.

Hermione could only watch in horror as the two of them eagerly took Harry’s proffered hand. She
was certain that if it was possible to seduce someone with only a handshake, then that was
certainly what they were doing. Those were no ordinary greetings.

And Harry had still had not looked at Hermione yet. More than anything the girls had said, more
than any of the memories this encounter had invoked, this hurt her more than anything else. She
didn’t feel betrayed by Harry; how could he know what kind of girls these were? But still, she felt
worthless... empty... defeated.

Everything... these last five years... they were all wiped away by a few suggestive handshakes.
How could Hermione Granger even be compared with girls like these? She wasn’t even in the same
league as them. Harry wasn’t a prize for her or anyone to win, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t
lose him. She had no interests along those lines, but even she could admit these girls were
extremely sexy. Almost any bloke’s idea of perfection.

It was good, she felt, that Ron wasn’t here. She knew he would be knocking things over right
about know. Well, at least Harry had a little more control over his faculties.

Hermione couldn’t bear to watch this anymore. The three girls had moved to put themselves on
better display for Harry, so she could now escape if she wanted to. But she couldn’t move. There
was no point anymore. All she could do now was look down at the floor in misery. Her eyes were
definitely watering now.

“And who is your friend here?” Harry then asked. Hermione looked up suddenly. The three girls
slowly turned to look at her in surprise, clearly unable to believe that gorgeous Harry Potter
would want to know who *she* was. With their backs turned to him, Hermione could see Harry
smirk then wink at her.

Hermione felt an amazing rush of emotion surge through her. Saying this was all a joke wasn’t
quite the right description, but Harry was definitely up to something. The sudden wave of relief
that swept across her caused her eyes to well even more, and a single tear rolled down the side of
her face.

Sam saw this and smiled in triumph. In all of their previous bullyings, the three girls had
always pushed Hermione to the point when they knew she was about to start crying, but left right
before. It was another one of their tricks to stay off the teachers’ radars: never be there when
the victim started crying. They’d never actually seen her cry, so this to them was like a double
treat, with Harry the main entrée.

Harry too saw the tear. Hermione could see as his smile faltered momentarily before he gave her
an encouraging smile behind the girls’ back.

“*Her?*” Sam asked in disbelief as she turned back to Harry. “She’s no one, just a girl
from our old school,” she said dismissively.

“Now, now,” Harry said in a joking but lecturing tone, “she’s not ‘no one.’” Sam turned back to
look at Hermione as he continued to speak. “The fact you’re talking to her proves that.”

Sam rolled her eyes, unseen by Harry, then plastered on a fake smile. “Of course, you’re right.
Where *are* my manners? Harry, this is Hermione Granger, one of my *favorite* friends
from my old primary school.”

Harry stepped forward, holding his hand out. Now in front of the three girls, they could not see
his face.

“Hermione Granger, *very* nice to meet you,” he said as she shook his hand. “You must be
pretty special to be friends with *these* three.” The grin on his face quickly faded when Sam
started to pull him away from Hermione. He gave her hand one quick last squeeze before Sam had
successfully detached him.

“So, Harry,” she said silkily, “where do you go to school? I’ve never seen you around here
before. And trust me, I’d *remember* you.”

“Actually, I attend a little-known boarding school in Scotland. Very exclusive, invitation
only.”

“*Really?*” Sam asked, impressed. “Well, it’s too bad we’re not at the same school. I think
we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad,” Harry said nonchalantly. “But they do have pretty high admission
standards.” Hermione could see that Sam was a little stung by his words, but the broad grin he gave
her completely disarmed her. It always turned Hermione’s insides to goo.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything, what do you say we get out of here? I’m sure you and I
could find something to do to entertain ourselves.” Sam then gave Harry another glance, this time
definitely looking *lower*. Regardless of the fact that he wasn’t, the downright blatant
nature of her “appraisal” made it quite evident she was advertising her intentions rather than to
check if Harry was *advertising* his.

Hermione also did not miss the tiny looks of concern on Alpha and Beta’s faces. They didn’t
appear too eager to let Sam get Harry all by herself.

Harry gave Sam a friendly smile. “As *tempted* as I am by that offer, I’m afraid I can’t.
I’m here with some other people.”

Sam took several steps closer to Harry, leaving less than a foot between them. Hermione hadn’t
noticed when exactly it had happened, but the topmost button on her shirt was now open. Cleavage
was definitely in play now.

“You’re not here with a girlfriend, I hope,” Sam said in a cute, pouting voice. “Because that
would be *such* a shame.” Hermione had really never been tempted to call anyone it yet, but
‘slut’ had a really nice ring to it right about now.

“I really don’t think...” Harry tried to say, but Sam would have none of it. She got even closer
and put her hands on his shoulders in a caressing sort of way.

“Are you *sure* you can’t get away for a little bit. I’m certain the three of us could make
it worth your while.” Alpha and Beta’s eyes lit up and they nodded vigorously to confirm the offer.
“And I’m *quite* certain a handsome stud such as yourself could easily handle all three of
us.”

As she spoke, Sam slowly started to run her hands down the sides of Harry’s arms. She took his
lack of saying anything as a sign he was interested in the same thing she was, so her offer was
obviously becoming a little more forward. In all fairness to Harry however, she really hadn’t given
him much of an opportunity to say anything.

The bookstore owner however did decide to interrupt, as she cleared her throat loudly.

“Can I help you young ladies?”

“We’re fine!” Sam snapped, not looking away from Harry.

“If you’re not interested in buying anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the owner
said firmly.

Sam finally turned her attention towards the older woman, letting go of Harry. “Shut up, you old
witch! We’ll leave when we’re good and ready!”

With the three girls glaring at the shop owner now, they did not notice the momentary flash of
anger in Harry’s eyes. Hermione did, however.

*A word of advice to all Muggles: NEVER attempt to use the word “witch” as a derogatory term
in front of a wizard. Even if insult is free of any magical connotations, wizards still tend to NOT
appreciate it.*

“Now, *where* were we?” Sam said huskily as she put her hands on the sides of Harry’s
chest, just below his arms. She again began to run her arms down very slowly towards his hips. “I’m
sure the three of us could find something fun to do. *Anything* you wanted.”

Harry actually smiled at this, delighting Sam and surprising Hermione. Harry was doing
*something*, wasn’t he?? He wasn’t being swayed by their... *charms*. Was he?!!!

“You three would do *anything* I wanted?” Harry asked in a very suggestive voice. Shocked,
Hermione couldn’t stand to look at this so she glanced over in the shop owner, who appeared as
stunned as Hermione felt. Perhaps that was why the woman hadn’t called mall security yet.

“*Anything,*” Sam promised. Hermione felt a little sick to her stomach.

Harry grinned and leaned forward. As he started to whisper something in her ear, Sam moved her
hands from Harry’s side to the front of his shirt.

They stopped suddenly.

“WHAT?!” Sam asked loudly as she jerked back, pulling her hands back.

Harry simply gave her a look that, without a word spoken, clearly meant, *“You heard what I
said.”*

“I’m not apologizing to *her!*” she said as she pointed blindly in Hermione’s general
direction.

“But you said you would do anything I wanted,” Harry said innocently.

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind!”

“Well, that’s what *I* had in mind,” Harry said plainly.

“Why in the *hell* should I apologize to her?”

“Because you were being mean to her when I came in, and I don’t like it when people are mean to
her.”

“Why do you care?” Sam asked. She then laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re here with HER?!”

“Actually I am.”

The Terrible Trio laughed riotously.

“Oh, that is the richest thing I’ve ever heard!” Sam cackled. “How could someone like her even
know anyone as gorgeous as you?”

“We go to the same school together,” Harry replied. That stopped the laughter... but only for a
minute.

“Well, Mangy Grangey here *is* enough of a bookworm brainiac to get into some exclusive
school, that I believe,” Sam admitted. “But there is NO way the two of you could be here together.
You know what I think? I think you were walking by, saw the three of us, knew you could lucky, and
only then just happened to notice Granger here.”

“You really think that’s what happened?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Sam replied instantly, her voice full of confidence.

“Well...” Harry replied, his voice hesitating. Hermione could tell he was making this up as he
went. “What if I told you she was my girlfriend?”

All three girls turned and looked at Hermione with a level of disbelief that was an insult in
its own right. The girls then started laughing. To be honest, Hermione felt a little of that
disbelief herself. Had Harry actually said that?

She glanced at him while the girls were still laughing and pointing at her. He quickly shrugged
his shoulders and made a face that clearly indicated that he had absolutely no idea what he was
doing. Talk about improvisation gone wrong!

“Oh, please! Now I know you’re lying. I’d be willing to believe that you actually know each
other from school, but now I think I know what’s going on. You’re the popular, hot school jock, and
she’s just the nerdy little girl who does your homework for you.

“But of course, now that you’re *here*, you can’t let her see you allow us to make fun of
her, so you’re protecting you golden ticket and defending her. And her,” Sam continued, turning her
gaze back, “she hasn’t even once yet said anything in her defense. You know why?” she said, now
addressing Hermione. “Because you *want* him to defend you.”

Sam scrutinized Hermione through narrow eyes. “I’ll bet you go to each and every one of his
games, don’t you? Oh, not the team’s games... *his* games. I’ll bet you that you can’t even
stand whatever it is he plays... football, rugby, lacrosse... barbaric, manly activities... but you
go and watch breathlessly from the sidelines anyway.

“And then after the game,” Sam continued as she slowly started to walk in a circle around
Hermione, “you’re always there to make sure he does his homework... gets those good marks.” Sam
came up and stood directly behind her, putting her hands on Hermione’s shoulders and her head next
to hers, so they were both looking at Harry. She now spoke to Harry.

“I’ll bet you she always comes up to you, stands close to you... hovers next to you... leans
over your shoulder while she reviews your homework. She sits down next to you while you’re reading,
accidentally brushing her hand against yours as she reaches for her pencil. Maybe she even gives
you a *friendly* hug after you’ve done well on an examination.”

Sam lingered over Hermione’s shoulder, relishing the thought that perhaps she’d embarrassed her
and called Harry on his bluff. She watched as Harry stood quietly for moment considering her words.
She could see that he was clearly upset, but in her mind Hermione was such of a nothing that the
only reason could be that she’d called his bluff.

Sam then went around and stood next to Harry, putting an arm around him. It was obvious (to
Hermione) that Harry was not at all impressed with Sam or her friends, but still, it hurt to see
her, well, her primary school nemesis with her arm wrapped around the man she’d fallen in love
with. But at least she took comfort in the fact that Harry had flinched as Sam did so.

“I’m sorry, my *dear* Hermione,” Sam cooed, “but it’s simply not meant to be. There are
people like you, and there are people like us,” she said indicating herself, her friends, and
Harry, “and it simply goes against the laws of nature that there be anything between you.”

By this point, Hermione was getting over feeling hurt and starting to get upset. But she could
hear in Harry’s voice that he had a head start on her.

“Are you really so sure?” he asked Sam quietly.

“Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry, please. There’s no point in pretending anymore. You know, I find it
very sweet that you would try to stick up for her. It’s a very noble thing to do. But you and I
both know that she’s simply not in the same league as us. I mean, just look at her!”

“I look at her every day,” Harry shot back confidently with an odd smile.

“A messy knot of hair, a plain face, plain brown eyes, hardly *any* figure at all...
probably an A cup... clearly no sense of style,” Sam said as she waved her hand towards Hermione’s
plain jumper and ordinary jeans. “There’s simply no comparison between us.”

“If you’re so certain, then how do you explain this?” Harry asked. Boldly striding forward, once
the three girls were behind him, he mouthed a silent *“Sorry”* to Hermione, and then took her
face in his hands and kissed her.

Very nicely.

Hermione was stunned, to say the least. Harry was kissing her. Hermione Granger was being kissed
by Harry Potter. She knew it was just a show for Sam, so despite this being the most amazing thing
she’d ever experienced, she promised herself she wouldn’t enjoy it, that she wouldn’t take
advantage of the situation.

Then, she glanced to the side and saw the looks of indignation and jealousy on Sam’s face. For
the first time since that first day at West Hill Primary School, Hermione didn’t feel like a
second-class citizen compared to Sam.

So, if this was just a show, Hermione was determined to make it worth of a BAFTA award.

And she decided she *was* going to enjoy this while it lasted. In fact...

She even reached up and laced her fingers into his hair (something she’d wanted to do for
years), and then pulled him in further, deepening the kiss. The tiny little start he made as she
did so proved he wasn’t expecting that either.

An eternity later—really only about ten seconds—Harry finally broke the kiss and stepped back.
The look on his face was an unusual combination. All at the same time, he was both surprised and
impressed by her “performance,” and also looking a bit like he wanted to start laughing in
disbelief at what they’d done.

She watched as his expression changed as he figuratively tried to wipe the smirk off his face.
Sam was still there, after all.

Once he felt sufficiently composed, Harry started to walk around Hermione so that he could face
Sam. He put his hands on her shoulders and his face next to hers, just as she had earlier.

“You seem surprised, Samantha,” Harry drawled.

“But she’s...” Sam stuttered condescendingly, “and you’re so...” she continued flatteringly.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Harry asked of Sam. “You see, you’re the kind of girl blokes like
have up on their walls as posters,” he explained. Sam (and her body) certainly could compete with
some of the models adorning the magazines he knew were “hidden” under Dudley’s mattress. “You’re
the kind of girl we might want to have a meaningless quickie with behind the football stands.”

Harry leaned his head just a little but closer to Hermione’s. “But Hermione here,” he said as he
ran his hands down her arms just as Sam had run hers down his, “she’s the kind of girl we
*want* to bring home to Mum. When you know that you want something more than *just* ten
or twenty minutes of fun, she’s the kind of girl we could only hope we are lucky to meet.”

Harry stepped back a little. Hermione could feel him stop stroking her arms and now put his
hands on her shoulders in a very protective sort of way. “And I just happen to be lucky enough that
I also enjoy a quickie in the football *locker room* with her too.”

When Hermione’s face reddened in a blush, Sam’s began to redden in anger. Whereas Sam thought
the blush was because Harry’s words were true, the blush was actually from the memory of a certain
dream.

“Speaking of which...” Harry trailed off before turning his attention to Hermione, speaking in a
stage whisper. “My mum and dad will be gone to the States on business next week. Why don’t you come
over and we can...”

Harry then leaned forward, cupped his hand next to her ear so the girls couldn’t see, and then
whispered, “Giggle like I just suggested something *naughty*.”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. She wasn’t at all good at faking it, but the way Harry had
said ‘naughty,’ it had sounded so... well, *naughty*. Seeing the look of envy and jealousy
grow on Sam’s face, Hermione also couldn’t help but ad-lib a little.

“Oh, Harry. Don’t you *ever* get enough?” she said saucily as she looked at him out of the
corner of her eye. Hermione then turned back towards Sam. “Honestly. I didn’t think it was possible
for a guy to outlast the girl,” she said matter-of-factly. “He wears me out most of the time. When
I lose that contest, trust me, *I win*.”

“You said Hermione had a messy knot of hair,” Harry reminded Sam after his blush died down. “I
prefer to think of it as *wild* and *unbridled*.” He stepped a little further to the side
now so that he could properly look at her, exaggerating the inspection for Sam’s benefit.
“Especially when I found it spread across my chest when I woke up that one morning,” Harry said as
he waggled his eyebrows.

Again Hermione blushed. After all, it did sound rather suggestive if he intentionally left out
the part about it being completely innocent because they’d simply fallen asleep on the loveseat
watching a movie, with Ron and Ginny just a few feet away.

“What you call a plain face,” Harry said to Sam, “I call the classic beauty of ‘the girl next
door.’ How many times have you heard that phrase in modeling?” Actually, Harry didn’t know, but he
had heard Lavender and Parvati mention it one or two *dozen* times last year out of *Teen
Witch Weekly*. He hoped Muggle beauty trends were comparable.

“You... *derided* her figure. Well, I think she’s adequately indicated I find her figure
quite enticing. And let me just add that sometimes *quality* is more important than...” Harry
paused, allowing his eyes to momentarily wander to Sam’s ample chest, “*quantity*.”

He chuckled. “I might get in trouble for this, but I must confess that, along those lines, she
has this cute little mole where... well, somewhere I wager *few* have seen.” Harry had to
remind himself to be ready with a fast explanation about those new dress robes, should she demand
an explanation of how he knew about *that*.

“You were right about one thing, however,” he continued, still addressing Sam. “You said that
you and I were not in the same league as her. Well... they say to aim for the stars. I think I
might have just caught one this time.”

Sam began to laugh derisively. “Oh my God, Harry! What, are you pulling this out of some bad
poetry book?”

Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione, who unfortunately wore a look that confirmed the
cheesiness of what he’d just said. He was on a roll now, however, so he wasn’t going to let that
stop him.

“Well, I guess that just goes to show that Hermione’s the kind of girl that can inspire a bloke
to write bad poetry.”

Harry looked again and now Hermione wore a smirk and raised eyebrow that silently said, *“Nice
save!”*

Emboldened by Hermione and annoyed by Sam, Harry turned back to the blonde. “Tell me. Have
*you* inspired anyone to write anything about you? I mean, besides on the walls in the boys’
loo?”

Anna and Beth let out the tiniest of gasps. Harry glanced at them and saw that despite being
shocked, they also appeared to be fighting back their own smirks. Evidently, it must have been a
very good insult if they were impressed.

It had been more than six years, but still, Hermione had never seen Sam look so small. To her
knowledge, the pampered little princess had always gotten what she wanted. Clearly not this
time.

Clearly unprepared for this turn of events, Sam’s confidence began to fall.

“But... Harry?” Sam whimpered as if he’d just broken off a long-term relationship.

“Like I said, there are different types of girls out there, and you’re just not the type I’m
interested in,” Harry said consolingly. “Oh, I’ll admit you’re *very* attractive. But from
what I saw of you before I interrupted, I don’t think there’s anything more to you than that.

“What happens ten years from now? Twenty? What are you when your hair starts going gray, when
those little fine lines start appearing?”

“Cellulite?” Hermione was unable to resist interjecting. Sam looked truly horrified. Harry was
unable to suppress a grin.

“What are you going to do when gravity starts to catch up with you?” Again he glanced towards
her chest. “Make that *five* years.”

“It won’t matter, because I’ll be happily married by then and he won’t care about that then!”
Sam retorted.

“What are kids going to do to that figure of yours?” Harry continued. Alpha and Beta’s faces
both blanched at that thought. “But forget that for the moment. Got anyone lined up for
marriage?”

Harry didn’t know how old these girls were, but they couldn’t have been more than eighteen or
nineteen. He knew realistically that was probably too early for most people to be considering
marriage, but he was trying to make a point. And he hoped they didn’t think about it too much
either.

As he expected, Sam looked a little aghast at the idea of being so committed at this point.
“You’re joking, right? I like to keep my options open, be free to meet as many people as I want to
until I find Mr. Right. Who is clearly not *you!*” she added suddenly.

Harry snorted a sound of mock disappointment.

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Harry asked. Sam smiled, looking as though her confidence
was growing again.

“Oh, too many to keep track of,” Sam chortled. “How many has Mangy Grangey had?”

“*Don’t...* call her that,” Harry threatened darkly. The Terrible Trio knew Harry wasn’t
joking. And so too did Hermione. Although she might have believed all of this was just an act for
Sam, she knew *that* certainly wasn’t.

For all of her raw power and cleverness, Hermione still knew little about magical auras. Sensing
them was something that could not be learned from books alone, but rather only by years of
experience. But she had felt *something*. She’d never experienced anything like it before, so
it was hard to describe, even to herself.

The best she could come up with was feeling a slight change in air pressure in her ears when a
door was opened rapidly, or perhaps taking off a heavy jumper and standing next to a metal object
and feeling the static buildup on her arm reaching out for the object. They were two such different
analogies, and yet in this moment, they felt exactly the same.

Strictly from an academic standpoint, she easily allowed herself to become distracted by the
idea that perhaps she’d just “detected” Harry’s aura for the first time... or, maybe not his aura,
but at least a fluctuation in it.

Unaware Hermione was currently off in her own world at the moment, Harry continued to press his
argument.

“And of all those boyfriends, how many of them did *you* dump?”

Sam appeared a little surprised by that question.

“Um, well, almost none of them, actually. It was pretty much mutual.”

It had been just a first impression, but Harry had suspected that someone like Sam would
consider herself to have pretty high standards. If that was the case, then he figured she wouldn’t
choose anyone that she wanted to ditch quickly. This was even better.

“What’s the longest you’ve been with anyone?”

“A couple weeks...” Sam said hesitantly.

“So you’re saying that you’ve dated so many guys that you can’t count them, and yet none of
*them* has wanted to be with you for more than a couple weeks?” Harry asked.

Sam looked very uncomfortable now. “Well... that’s not what I...”

“Because that’s how it looks to me. You’re nothing more than a pretty candy coating surrounding
a mean, cruel person who obviously has such self esteem issues that she needs to find a truly
beautiful human being and belittle her for the jumper she is wearing or the style of her hair.”

Harry then laughed in realization. “I know the perfect guy for you... but the two of you would
probably end up dumping each other at the same time because you each felt the other wasn’t good
enough. *That* is truly sad.” Only now for the first time did Harry make any sort of
association between Sam and Draco Malfoy. Sam was just so (yes, he could admit it) *hot* that
it had been impossible for him to even link the two of them in any way, shape, or form until now
that he’d said it.

Never in her life had Sam been confronted like this. No one had ever stood up to her like this,
least of all any boy! And so she did what many bullies do when outmatched, she ran away. Though in
her case, after it was clear Harry had nothing further to say to her, all she really did was turn
on her heel and stomp out of the store. Alpha and Beta stood an extra second or two longer,
obviously unable to decide for themselves what to do next. So they turned and followed Sam out,
having to run to catch up with her.

With the Terrible Trio now gone, Harry and Hermione both literally let out loud exhales of
relief. After a moment, they turned to look at each other. They both said the same thing at the
same time.

“I can’t believe we just did that!”

After a laugh, Harry began to look very self-conscious.

“I just wanted to apologize... for... you know, planting one on you like that. I was pretty much
making it all up as I went along, and it was the only thing I could think of, you know, to convince
her.”

“Well, *honestly*, Harry... there’s no need to apologize... it was w...” Hermione chuckled
nervously as she realized what she was about to say out loud, “Anyway, I think it worked, because
you just about convinced *me*.”

Harry blushed a little. “That was also kinda the point. I don’t think she would have bought it
if you’d hauled off and slapped me.”

*No chance of that!* Hermione thought, still flushed inside from the memory of his kiss.
Aloud, she said, “That’s true, I guess. Look, Harry, I’m sorry you had to get involved...”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Hermione,” Harry interrupted. “They’re the ones who
should be sorry. If anything, *I’m* the one who should be sorry. I guess it’s safe to say I
got a little carried away. At first I was just trying to convince them, but when they started
calling you names, well... I really couldn’t think of anything else. It wasn’t like I could
threaten them with a hex or something.”

“That’s what *I* said!” Hermione agreed suddenly, happily... “to myself, at least. Thanks
anyway.” She then looked at the floor for a moment, and blushed prettily.

“This probably *isn’t* the best time to tell you this, but remember last Christmas when you
thought that maybe you were a bad kisser?”

Harry rolled his eyes at being reminded of that.

“Well... for what it’s worth... you’re not,” she said, then looked down at the floor again,
clearly embarrassed.

Harry began to grin broadly.

“Well, I’m certain this isn’t the best time to tell *you* this,” Harry began, intentionally
repeating her words, “but for what it’s worth... you’re not a bad snog yourself.”

Hermione suddenly looked up at Harry and found him looking deep into her eyes. He was clearly
embarrassed for that admission, but he would not look away. She could feel something in the air...
something that had nothing to do with his magical aura... or perhaps everything.

Hermione knew that if she ever wanted to be with Harry, she would have to tell him how she felt
at some point. The question was, was *now* that moment? All she had to do was tell him how she
felt about him, about what he meant to her. Or maybe not that last part, in case it might scare him
away.

Or, perhaps if she couldn’t just say it outright, maybe she could turn it around a little and
ask him how he felt about her. She knew the message would be the same, but at least she could
actually leave *it* left unspoken.

She looked at him, and saw that he looked like he wanted to say something himself. Or maybe he
wanted to hear her say something. Hermione’s heart began to race. Could she do it? Could she summon
the legendary Gryffindor courage and just admit it? Facing external fears like Death Eaters was
nothing compared to facing her own internal fears over admitting her feelings.

Was now that moment?

Hermione spent so much time analyzing and second-guessing herself that before she could finally
decide if this was that movement, she realized that the moment had passed. Whatever had been
“there” surrounding them at that moment, it was gone now.

It was too late.

Moments like that usually came along only once in a lifetime, and she’d wasted hers,
second-guessing herself.

Harry too seemed to have realized that the moment had passed for he cleared his throat
nervously.

“Perhaps we should go meet up with your parents,” he said solemnly.

“I’m going to finish looking at these first,” Hermione replied as she turned away from him and
returned to the used bookshelves.

Harry nodded without much enthusiasm and walked off to the opposite corner of the store to just
look around while she finished her browsing. Hermione looked back at him, and when there were
several tall racks of books between them and she could no longer see him, she sighed, reaching up
to run her hand along the spines of the books, as she tended to do.

Her arm trembled as she raised it, clear evidence of the tumult inside of her. Now she really
wanted to cry. The Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw. She was supposed to be braver
than she was smart, right? So how come, when faced with what had to be the most perfect moment of
all moments to confess her feelings, she couldn’t?

Had she just blown her one chance to tell Harry how she felt about him, to be with him?

* * *

Harry wandered restlessly around the opposite side of the bookstore, trying to stay where he
couldn’t see Hermione.

Those girls were nothing but bullies (well, actually, another word came to mind that also
started with ‘B’). He knew Hermione couldn’t use magic, or even the threat of it, and surrounded
like that, he could tell she was lost.

He’d only heard their verbal attack from when the redhead (he’d forgotten her name already) had
commented on her teeth being normal, but it was enough to know that they knew her and she knew
them. He didn’t dare say it aloud, but not since the troll in first year had Harry seen Hermione
look so helpless.

He wanted to help her. He needed to help her. At first he’d interrupted simply to break things
up. But once it was quite evident what those girls’ feelings were for him and how they were so sure
Hermione was nothing to him, he was determined to show them just how wrong they were.

Sure, some of it was made up, and some of it was true but distorted out of context, but still,
it had all felt *right* to say.

And then afterwards when the non-magical witches had hastily departed, the two of them shared a
moment that was all at once pleasant and awkward, bold and embarrassed, and just plain, strange and
yet familiar. It seemed like the perfect moment... to do something... to say something.

But as he stood there, looking into her eyes, all he could think about was Cho Chang, about how
badly things had ended with her. And so he started second guessing himself, and before he knew it,
it was too late. Whatever that connection was that he had felt, it was now gone.

Harry too was feeling the same thing Hermione was. Something was beginning to gnaw away at him
on the inside. It was an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Had he just blown his one chance to tell Hermione how he felt about her, to be with her?

* * *

The bookstore owner was quite confused about what had just happened in her shop. Although she
was rather bad with names, she never forgot a face. And she remembered this young girl coming into
her shop for the last eight years or so. At first, her parents brought her in once a month or so,
and they always left with as many books as the girl could carry by herself.

Evidently that was how her parents limited her intake. And the bookstore owner agreed, for as
much as she herself loved reading, she knew that kids that age needed to get out every once in a
while and spend some time with her friends.

Then, for the last five years, the visits dropped to only once or twice per year, during the
summer. Curious, she had asked; friendly, the girl had explained: boarding school.

And then this summer, something new... the girl came with a boy in tow, literally. The two had
wandered around the store hand in hand. The two seemed so at ease with each other that she simply
assumed they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

After the three other girls had left, the owner was shocked to discover that the two of them
weren’t a couple. At least, that’s what she gathered after overhearing must of their conversation
afterwards. She didn’t *intend* to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but listen in anyway, just
to make sure the young woman was all right.

*Well,* the shop owner decided to herself, *perhaps they’ll figure something out. They
seem like such a nice couple of kids.*

* * *

A short while later, everyone met back together near the entrance where they’d arrived, ready to
head back home. Dan and Emma immediately could tell that something was up.

For one, the two of them were unusually quiet. They engaged in conversation whenever spoken to,
but it definitely *felt* as though they were avoiding talking to each other. And for another,
Hermione was carrying a bag filled with more than a dozen books.

Uncertain of herself, becoming more and more convinced that she might have made the biggest
mistake of her life, Hermione did what made sense to her, she retreated back a little to a point
where she was more sure of herself, where things made more sense. And because she just so happened
to be in a bookstore, that meant again reaching out for the familiar comfort of a hardbound novel,
or perhaps a paperback serial.

It was a good thing for her pocket money that all of the books she bought were used “previously
read,” and not marked up at full retail.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, Harry and Hermione were forced to spend more and more time talking to
each other. Things began to return more towards normal.

When given a silent minute alone, both of them still privately wallowed in their own self pity,
regretting how in the face of what felt like a perfect moment to make the next move, they’d each
hesitated, allowing it to pass unrealized.

All either of them could think about was how the two of them *could* be spending their time
together right this very moment, if they’d simply taken that final step and simply admitted their
feelings. It was amazing (and infuriating) how their hesitation at the bookstore had only allowed
them to see rejection as a possibility then, and how now their regret only allowed them to see a
(missed) positive outcome.

Then again, it did make a little sense. After all, how many people hesitate if they know the
outcome will be favorable? And how many people regret not making the wrong decision?

But regardless of all that, regardless of whatever opportunities were missed or might still be
out there, each of them knew that the other was still there. And for the moment, that was
enough.

* * *

For their last dinner together this summer, Dan and Emma asked Harry whether he wanted to go out
anywhere special. Wanting to make the most of his holiday here, he said that he preferred to stay
in tonight. When Dan asked for requests, Harry immediately knew the answer.

“Surprise me,” Harry cheekily replied.

Dan did.

While he was up in his room getting his trunk re-packed and ready for school (Molly hadn’t had a
chance to do laundry since Harry left before she expected), the smells of dinner began to waft
upstairs.

Fish.

Harry had never been terribly fond of seafood in any form... perhaps a few too many encounters
with dented tins of tuna fish from the discount store. At the beginning of his stay at the
Grangers’, he had asked that he be required to eat “whatever *‘Mum’* makes for dinner.” As it
turned out, they’d never made anything yet he hadn’t liked. This would prove interesting.

On his way downstairs, Harry heard Dan call up to him and Hermione that dinner was ready. He
approached the kitchen warily. Dan and Emma were setting the table as he entered: homemade fish and
chips. It was probably *the* poster child of the British gastronomy, and they hadn’t had it
yet until now (and he’d always skipped it when it appeared as part of the offerings at
Hogwarts).

“Ready to eat?” Dan asked enthusiastically.

“Um... yeah,” Harry replied cautiously, eyeing the surprisingly good-looking fried fish with
trepidation. It certainly did look a lot better than the “fish sticks” Dudley liked. Dan noticed
the pause.

“What’s the matter, Harry? You don’t like fish?”

“Um, no, not exactly,” he confessed.

Dan looked surprised. “Oh... I didn’t know that.” Harry then explained his thoughts on the
origins of his aversion.

“Well, I can assure you that these won’t taste anything like cheap cans of tinned tuna. Good
fish, fresh fish like this normally doesn’t have a fishy smell. The only reason you even smelled it
at all was because I was frying it.”

Harry quickly glanced around the kitchen counters to see if there was anything else being made.
There was not. He really didn’t want to try to make a meal of just salad and chips.

Dan noticed Harry look around and took pity upon him. He too had been a picky eater in his
youth; growing up with his father he had numerous bad experiences with many foods he now loved...
now that he’d had them prepared *properly*.

“I’ll make you a deal, Harry. You at least try two bites of these, and if you still don’t like
it, I’ll make you something else. Deal, or no deal?”

Harry was convinced he wouldn’t like the fish, but it seemed a fair enough compromise. And
considering Hermione had just walked into the kitchen, he didn’t want to seem too unreasonable, so
he agreed.

To his immense surprise (but not to Dan’s), after trying the fried fish fillets with the
traditional malt vinegar, Harry decided he loved it. It certainly was nothing like what he had
grown accustomed to on Privet Drive. He did, however, still prefer ketchup for his chips. That too
was something he’d grown accustomed to, but since he actually liked that, it won out over the
several other dipping sauces on the table.

Their last evening together was spent like their first (and many others): watching a movie. The
movie tonight was one Harry had never seen before (a common theme), and considering the title, it
really wasn’t surprising (again, a common theme).

While Dan and Hermione were out at the rental store getting the movie, Emma wanted to take
advantage of the few minutes they would have alone to show something to Harry. While he cleared the
table away (he insisted), Emma started digging through the small collection of television
recordings that had piled up over the past couple years. As Dan could (but never would) attest,
Emma was notorious for never recording over anything. *“But what if I want to watch it again
sometime (five years later)?”*

“Here it is!” Emma said to herself triumphantly. “Harry! Come in here when you’re done. I want
to show you something.”

Emma put the cassette into the VCR when Harry came in from the kitchen.

“What you’re getting for Hermione for her birthday... I just wanted to show you where that came
from. What you’ve made for her, well, it really does show that you’ve put a lot of thought and
planning into this. Even though I doubt she’s ever even thought about what you’ve done, when she
sees your present, she’ll know that this wasn’t something you just saw sitting on the music store
shelf and grabbed at the last second.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, not entirely sure what Emma was going to show him and how it would
relate to Hermione’s present.

“You know how every Christmas, the BBC has their ‘Children in Need’ special?” Emma asked.

Harry nodded and grinned. “Uncle Vernon hates those. ‘I pay my television license!’” he
grumbled, mimicking a blustering, angry voice. “‘I’ll be damned if I watch anything where they try
to get more money out of me!’”

“Hmm,” Emma mused, feeling the need to take a little out of Harry’s uncle. “I would have
expected your uncle to be the type to try to get away with not paying his license.”

Harry grinned again. “I’m sure he would, but I think he prefers reporting his neighbors and
coworkers when he hears about them getting new televisions. Not too smart of him to report everyone
and then be an evader himself.”

Emma smiled but said nothing, returning to the VCR remote to fast-forward to the part she was
looking for. “We’re all paid up, by the way,” she said with a wink, “not due again until April. Ah,
here we go.”

Harry turned his attention to the television as a BBC broadcaster he recognized from a few years
ago (who had since moved on) came into clarity on the screen as the picture returned to normal
speed.

*“... that the telephone lines will be open until eleven o’clock tonight. All right
everyone... don’t be surprised if you’re feeling a little...* foot loose *after our next
performer. Making her singing debut, she keeps the BBC absolutely fabulous, you know her as
Eddy...”*

Seeing the look on Emma’s face, Harry began to smile as the announcer introduced the singer, a
woman he vaguely remembered seeing on television before. Based on Emma’s cryptic comments, he had a
vague idea of what was going to happen. It was soundly confirmed when the woman walked up to her
microphone, nodded to the orchestra, and then turned to the piano player and requested a certain
key.

Now he understood what Emma meant about showing him where his present came from.

As the woman sang, Harry sat down on the sofa just to sit and watch and enjoy the song. He’d
never really been in a position much to enjoy music with the Dursleys (especially if one factored
in the eardrum-splitting screeching Dudley enjoyed). So for these few minutes, he just sat there,
not only listening, but watching as the woman singing somehow seemed to bring the song to life. He
soon found himself bobbing his head and tapping his foot along with beat.

As he allowed himself to be drawn into the song for those just-under-four-minutes, Harry
suddenly remembered something Hermione had told him in regards to this song... something that he
himself had also confirmed. When that thought collided with his one earlier about the song being
brought to life, a huge grin (well, more than what was already there) began to grow on his
face.

*Oh, no,* Harry thought to himself with a smirk. He’d just thought of another present for
Hermione’s birthday. That would bring the total up to three now. Somehow he doubted he could get
away with three presents without being obvious. Maybe he could count this as merely the second half
of the first one.

Then again, maybe he wanted to be obvious.

To his eternal annoyance, Harry had proved to himself that even in the face of what should have
been the perfect moment to confess his feelings, he’d faltered. If he was having such a hard time
telling her, maybe he could *show* her... give her a sign that he hoped would indicate more
than a passing interest in her, but wasn’t so forward that they could both pretend it meant nothing
should she not share his interest.

As the woman continued to belt out the words, Harry’s mind raced as he tried to envision ways to
further his idea, to bring this song truly to life. When the song ended, he was tempted to ask Emma
to play it again, however just then they heard the car pull into the drive.

Emma scrambled to put the old videocassette back into its case and back into the entertainment
center, speaking to Harry at the same time.

“I trust you have some idea of what this present will mean to Hermione, how much she’ll like it,
all things considered?” Emma asked. Harry nodded even though she was still facing away from him.
“When you give her the present, I guarantee you will have her full and undivided attention.”

With the videocassette now safely returned to where it belonged according to Emma’s
organizational scheme, she turned to give Harry *her* full and undivided attention.

“So, if there’s anything you might possibly want to tell her, that would be the time. Okay?”
Emma asked.

Harry nodded.

“Anything at all, Harry. Do you understand?” Emma pressed, although still very friendly.

“Mm hmm,” Harry assured her. Actually, he *did* understand exactly what she meant. The real
question was... did *she* understand what she meant? Was Emma trying to suggest something? Did
she *know*?

Harry decided he wouldn’t worry about that. Either Emma didn’t know and he was just reading too
much into her words, or she did know. But if she did know... perhaps that wasn’t all that bad, for
if she did know, she seemed to be encouraging him to tell Hermione.

*Oh, Merlin,* Harry whined to himself. *Talk about overanalyzing!* Harry just smiled
at Emma then went and sat down on the love seat as she had beaten him to the sofa.

Right as Harry’s backside hit the seat, Dan and Hermione came in the front door. Hermione was
humming something he’d heard in a television commercial somewhere before, but he didn’t know what
it was.

Soon everyone was settled, and the movie started. He very quickly learned what that song was, as
it turned out to be a *very* famous song. The last movie they would be watching was *The
Wizard of Oz*.

Uncle Vernon definitely wouldn’t have allowed this in his house.

All in all, Harry very much liked the movie. Being in the Grangers’ house now, and returning to
Hogwarts tomorrow, the theme of “there’s no place like home” struck a chord within him.

The *only* thing he wasn’t too pleased about was the fact that one of the songs had
somewhat of an infectious nature to it; he could NOT get it out of his head.

*We hear he is a whiz of a Wiz if ever a Wiz there was,*

*If ever oh ever a Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because,*

*Because, because, because, because, because,*

*Because of the wonderful things he does.*

*We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.*

After about a dozen iterations, Harry finally fell asleep. That night, he dreamt of (a
fully-clothed) Hermione wearing ruby slippers and dropping a house on a green-faced Professor
Snape.

It was a very pleasant dream (even if Hermione was fully-clothed).

* * *

Getting ready to take the train to school always felt like something of a minor emergency in
years past. Whether it was a purple-faced Uncle Vernon yelling, or the frenzied rush of what felt
like a swarm of eight hundred Weasleys trying to remember what they forgot, chaos was a gentle way
of putting it.

Harry *had* hoped that because they were less than nine miles away from Kings Cross Station
(by surface streets), this would be a chance for a nice leisurely departure... for once.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

Harry and Hermione had both been up late, finishing all of their packing to get ready to go back
to school. Forgetting their owlish lesson about what can happen when one assumes, neither set their
alarm, simply assuming Dan and Emma would wake them.

Dan and Emma had also been up late, talking in their bedroom. Both quite frustrated at the lack
of any *visible* progress on the teens’ parts, the two of them discussed how they would give
the thickheaded kids their figurative shoves, as they had discussed a month earlier. Dan and Emma,
of course, did not know how much emotional progress had been made in the last thirty days. All they
could see was that neither had *done* anything about it.

But then again, all the emotional development in the world won’t do a person any good if he or
she doesn’t DO anything about it. So Dan and Emma were going to give them both a much-needed
proverbial kick in the rear before sending them through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Knowing that the teens would need to be up early, neither of them set their alarm clock, simply
assuming *they* would wake them up.

So, naturally, after late nights all around, *everyone* overslept.

Harry was the first to wake, around 9:45. His brain still foggy, he stared at the numbers for a
good fifteen seconds, trying to decipher what the little LED digits were trying to tell him.

They had plenty of time... until eleven o’clock, right? But wait. There was something else...
Dan had said last night they should leave no later than ten o’clock however, since actually driving
those nine miles through Sunday morning traffic could take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour.
Harry’s eyes flew open.

*AHHH! I OVERSLEPT!*

Before dashing into the bathroom for a quick shower (yes, *just* a shower), Harry had the
forethought to stop for a moment in the hallway and see where everyone was. He listened. And heard
nothing. Everyone’s doors were still closed.

*AHHH! We ALL overslept!*

Harry ran down the hallway and banged on both bedroom doors.

“WE’RE LATE!!” he shouted, then ran back to the bathroom to get a head start on his shower. His
suspicions were confirmed when, right as he was about to turn his water on, he heard through the
wall the master bath turn on and four dull thuds, the distinct sound of two pairs of feet hastily
climb into the tub. A muffled *“OWW!”* seeped through the wall.

Harry made it through a complete shower in just about five minutes that morning, a new record
for him (when not living on Privet Drive). It must have not been fast enough however, for while he
was toweling off, someone pounded on the bathroom door.

*“Hurry up in there, Harry!”* came Hermione’s demanding voice from the other side. Deciding
that he was mostly done anyway (and that his clothes could finish drying any spots he missed),
Harry quickly dressed and opened the door. He found Hermione in her bathrobe on the other side,
looking extremely rushed, and her hair a truly frightful mess (even for her).

Harry wasn’t one to talk, however. As he stood there, waiting for Hermione to move and thereby
unblock the doorway, he could feel streams of water start to run down the sides of his face from
his own still-wet and horribly messed up hair.

“We’re *late!*” she said, flustered, and pushed past him into the bathroom. For some reason
he found this a little funny, considering he’d been the one to wake everyone else up. Harry felt
himself being ejected and heard the door shut promptly behind him. It was a good thing he’d had his
towel and pajamas in his arms after opening the door.

After packing his pajamas away into his school trunk (he was SOOO glad he’d packed everything
else away last night), Harry dug out his toiletries bag and found his toothbrush and comb; he went
over to the mirror to see what he could do. Well, at least his hair seemed to behave while it was
still wet. He knew that wouldn’t last long.

While he waited for the bathroom to free up again, Harry took a long, slow look around his room
to make sure everything was indeed packed away. Aside from his trunk and Hedwig and Metis’s cage,
the room looked exactly as it had the day he moved in. For all intents and purposes, he could have
been just another lodger in that Holiday Inn just up the street. He felt a little sad, partly for
reasons he already knew, but also a little because there was no trace he’d ever been there.

Well, except for the little hooks Hermione had placed underneath the nightstand for him to keep
his wand. He wondered if he should remove them.

Because of his preparations last night, aside from actually carrying the cage and his trunk out
the door, Harry was actually completely ready to go. So he quickly stripped all of the sheets off
of his bed and put them in the hamper (per Emma’s earlier request) and then sat on the edge of his
now bare bed and waited patiently for everyone else.

A few minutes later, Harry heard the bathroom door open and Hermione literally run down the hall
back to her room. About the same time, he heard Dan and Emma’s door open.

*“We’re late!”* Harry once again heard Hermione say, this time to whoever was in the
hallway. And again, it seemed a little funny.

“Harry!” Dan said a little breathlessly as he appeared in the doorway. “Are you ready to
go?”

“Everything except...” Harry replied, holding up his toothbrush.

Dan nodded. “Okay, be quick, then carry all of your stuff down and out to the car, okay? The
keys are hanging on that little hook in the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry replied, smiling at how many times ‘okay’ was being said. “Uh, Dan, speaking of
hooks, did you want me to remove the ones that are under the table?”

“What?”

“Hermione put them under the table, for my wand...” Harry reminded Dan, pointing at the
nightstand.

“Oh yeah! Those,” Dan replied absently, looking rushed as he too looked around the room to make
sure Harry hadn’t forgotten anything. “No, you can leave them. They’re not hurting anything. And
besides,” he said, now looking directly back at Harry, “maybe we’ll get lucky and have you back
here again sometime. If you have to tie Hermione down to a broom and fly her here for Christmas,
you’ll need a place to stay for the night, right?”

“Right,” Harry replied grinning.

“Good man,” Dan said. He then saw the alarm clock that told him it was just now ten o’clock.
“Damn,” he muttered quietly. “Okay, get your stuff ready, ‘cause as soon as Hermione is ready,
we’re outta here.”

“Okay.”

“Speaking of getting ready...” Harry said, pointing down. Dan looked and noticed he was still
barefoot, his shirt not tucked in... and his zipper down.

“Thanks,” Dan said hastily then returned to his bedroom.

After setting another speed record brushing his teeth, Harry grabbed his trunk and his wand and
headed for the hall. Rather than letting it thump down the stairs, he levitated it on its way. He
first went into the kitchen to fetch the car keys, and then back to the front door. Once out of the
house, he wheeled the trunk down the walkway and out to the car.

Returning inside for the owls and their cage, Harry heard Emma calling into Hermione’s room as
he ascended the stairs.

*“I’m sorry that we overslept, dear,”* Emma said in a voice that wasn’t angry, but
certainly wasn’t apologetic. *“But you should have been putting your uniforms INTO your trunk
last night, instead of taking books OUT. Don’t forget that you overslept too. How many of your
schoolbooks did you reread last night, hmm?”*

There was no reply.

Right as he was about to go back into his room, Harry saw Emma come out of her room and head
down the hall towards him. She looked at him, smiled, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. Yes,
Harry knew exactly where Hermione got that.

“Do you still have the car keys?” Emma asked Harry; he pulled them out of his pocket and gave
them to her. He then went into his room and headed over to the cage.

“Ready you two?” he asked the owls. They responded with a couple hoots. Another swish and flick
later, and their cage was now airborne; Harry carefully guided it down to by the front door.

“Ready?” Emma asked behind him.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

“You know, we’ve always gotten Hermione to the station with plenty of time to spare before. You
must be unlucky,” Emma said jokingly.

“I must be,” Harry replied in kind.

“You should probably stay down here for the moment. Hermione’s a little...” Emma shook her hands
in a way to indicate stress or panic, “at the moment, so you might end up getting hit in the head
with a flying trunk or something.” She then returned upstairs.

As Harry sat on the sofa, he listened to the hustle and bustle upstairs. After a few moments, he
heard Hermione’s muffled voice call out, unintelligible downstairs.

*“Where did you have it last?”* came Emma’s response. Hermione responded back with
something.

*“Well, did you check there?”* Once more, there was no response; Harry grinned. He liked
seeing this side of Hermione. Back at school, she always was so organized, always so prepared and
ready for everything. It was nice to see her like this, not because he wanted to make fun of her,
but because seeing these... imperfections that she never showed at school just made her seem
more... real (if that was possible, or even made sense).

Harry glanced at the clock on the VCR: 10:05. Now he started getting concerned. If traffic was
heavy this morning and it did take an hour as Dan said it could, then they would miss the train.
Remus and Tonks and a Ministry vehicle wouldn’t be available to get them to the station faster this
time.

Because Kings Cross Station was so near to the Grangers’, Remus and Tonks decided they would
instead go on ahead to scout out the station itself, just as a safety precaution

Just then, Hermione’s trunk came flying down the stairs towards Harry. It was a good thing he
wasn’t paying attention. If he had been, even though the trunk stopped well short of him, it came
at him so fast he probably would have jumped out of the way. By the time he noticed it, it had
already stopped and was now slowly hovering towards the door, where it gently landed. Hermione was
still up in her room. She called something else out to her mother.

*“We’ll find something to eat once we get there, if there’s time. Otherwise you’ll have to eat
on the train.”*

Somehow Harry didn’t think that would sit well with Hermione. The only thing available to buy on
the Hogwarts Express was from the old woman with the sweets trolley.

At 10:07, Hermione came walking down the stairs, brushing her hair with her right hand and
running her wand through her hair with her left hand. The highly choreographed act appeared to be
quite effective; by the time she was at the front door, her hair was under reasonable control. She
quickly threw her brush back into her trunk, pocketed her wand, and then wheeled her trunk out to
the car.

Emma came downstairs a moment later and walked over to the owls’ cage.

“Need a hand?” she asked; Harry nodded and got up. The two of them carefully picked the cage up
and carried it out to the car and loaded it into the back. They then loaded themselves into the
car. Dan came running down the walk from the house just a few moments later. They were all strapped
in and on the road by ten after ten.

Fate must have been shining kindly upon them this morning as traffic ended up being rather light
for a late Sunday morning. After getting a series of five green lights during the first two
minutes, no one said a word for the remainder of their drive. It was as if they were all afraid
their luck would be jinxed if anyone spoke. They pulled into the car park at exactly 10:30, and
found themselves standing on Platform Nine five minutes later.

The four of them all heaved simultaneous sighs of relief. “Twenty-five minutes to spare,” Dan
said, sounding quite proud of himself.

He and Emma then shared a significant look, not that either of the teens noticed. Emma spoke
next.

“Harry, are you hungry?” she asked. Now that she had mentioned it, Harry realized that he was in
fact starving. He nodded emphatically.

“Hermione?” Emma also asked, and received another nod.

“Why don’t the two of you find a seat for the moment?” she said to Dan and Harry. “Hermione and
I will head back over to the main station to find something to eat. There were a few restaurants by
Platforms One and Eight.”

As the two of them started to walk away, Harry took a quick look around. Unfortunately, this
smaller building which housed Platforms 9, 10, and 11 only had vending machines and a small coffee
stand. As Harry took a seat, he looked back towards Hermione and noticed that Emma had put her arm
around her. The two of them appeared to be talking as they walked back towards the restaurants.

“Have a seat?” Dan asked cheerfully as he wheeled Hermione’s trolley over to a bench just across
from them. Sitting was better than standing, so Harry pushed his own trolley over and sat down.

“Whew!” Dan said exaggeratedly after a few moments. “We made it!”

“Just barely,” Harry agreed.

“All thanks to my super-fine driving abilities, don’t you think?”

“More like hitting only three red lights the entire way and hardly any traffic this morning,”
Harry teased.

“Well... that might have been part of it too,” Dan agreed with a smile. The two of them then sat
in silence for about twenty seconds as they looked around and watched the people rush to board the
10:45 train on Platform Nine.

“Did you enjoy your summer?” Dan asked, sounding a bit forced as if he was trying to find
something to fill the silence.

Harry wasn’t trying to maintain the silence; he just felt that anything he might say about it
being the best ever would sound lame. So he just grinned and nodded.

“Good. At the risk of sounding lame,” Dan said (as a guy, he too knew about the risks of
sounding lame when speaking to another guy), “Emma and I really did enjoy having you stay with us.
It came about by necessity, but I’m glad it happened. Not just for you, but for us too.”

The two of them looked around the platforms for a few seconds.

“I trust you know this, but Hermione has very few friends at school, and she had even fewer
before Hogwarts. It’s just reassuring to know, as a parent, that there are real people in her life
now, and not just the ones she reads about in her books. Having Ron and Ginny spend the night,
having you here for much of the summer... well, it means more to us than you can know.”

Harry felt a little awkward at that moment. Not so much because he was embarrassed at what Dan
said, but rather because he didn’t know how to respond. Was he supposed to say “thank you,” or
“you’re welcome”?

“Well, it was really nice to be able to get to know you and Emma this summer,” Harry said
instead. *Yes, that’s MUCH better.*

“Prior to this summer, I’d only just seen you for a few moments, either on the platform here, or
maybe in Diagon Alley. I didn’t even know your names. Hermione’s my best friend. It was really nice
to finally meet the people who helped make her into the person that she is.” As Harry said that, a
warm (i.e. *lame*) look came over Dan’s face.

“And... it was nice to get away from the Dursleys too,” Harry added as a minor afterthought.

Dan let out a roar of laughter. “Oh, Harry,” he said after he caught his breath, “I was about to
say that was probably the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me or Emma, and then you had to
go and ruin it by adding the bit about leaving Privet Drive.” Harry chuckled.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, do you want to know what the best thing about having you
with us was?” Dan asked after a few moments; Harry nodded.

“That hallway bathroom has never been so spotless!”

Now Harry and Dan both began to laugh heartily, drawing a few curious and amused glances from
passersby. And it was true too. One of the scariest prospects about a guy and a girl living in the
same house together for the first time could easily be the thought of sharing a bathroom.

It had never been spoken of or acknowledged, but Harry and Hermione had each gone to great
lengths to ensure that there was never any evidence—of any kind—left behind that either of them had
used the bathroom, for any reason. No spilled dollops of toothpaste left lurking in the sink. No
stray hairs shed in front of the mirror or hairbrushes lying around. And let’s just say that prior
to their being allowed to use magic, the exhaust fan got a lot more use than the shower did.

“But seriously, Harry,” Dan resumed finally after the two of them looked around in reflex to see
all the people staring at them. “I threw it out earlier sort of jokingly, but I want you to know
that I mean it, we mean it. You have a standing invitation to come stay with us again anytime. I
know you usually spend your Christmas holidays either at school or with the Weasleys, but Emma and
I really would enjoy it this year if you could spend a few days with us again.

“Even if you don’t have to fly Hermione here on your broom,” Dan added quietly.

“I’d like that too,” Harry replied, laughing.

“Good. Now, before the girls come back with your breakfast-slash-lunch, there was one last thing
I wanted to ask you,” Dan said as he turned his attention back onto Harry, looking him square in
the eyes.

“Sure, anything,” Harry said, still feeling the jovial effects of the broom joke.

“When are you going to tell my daughter that you’re in love with her?”


Next time: Wise words from a wise guy.

Harry and Hermione won’t get to see this for several weeks, but here is “their” photograph. If
you like it, please leave a kind word for Evernight in the gallery.

http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=1350




36. Wise Words from a Wise Guy
------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: All right, boys and girls, men and women, Muggles and Wizards. I’m going to try
something different this time. A long time ago in a chapter far, far away, I decided that I would
try to post smaller chapters more frequently. My plan to do that was to (before I started a
chapter) arbitrarily pick its ending point in advance. Of course, what that immediately led to was
longer and longer chapters as I kept finding more and more stuff to write to lead up to that
point.*

*With my writing time increasingly unpredictable, I decided I was going to change how I decide
chapter lengths. This should ACTUALLY lead to faster turnaround times. Instead of picking an
arbitrary stopping point and then writing up to that point (such as to the end of the Welcoming
Feast where this chapter was originally planned to end), I am going to try to write until I get to
a good stopping point, and then post what I have that far.*

*It won’t change the overall volume of writing, just the frequency of updates. Whereas the
last two chapters combined were 135 book pages, this one is “merely” 23 pages. The flip side is
that it won’t take three months to get it done. The only alternative, of course, would be to NOT
post this finished section now and make you wait another month to post a larger chapter with this
half and the next one. So, this is certainly much shorter than we’re all used to, but these smaller
updates should come faster, which I’m sure everyone will like.*

*That said, I hope you all enjoy!*

*Thanks to all who have left reviews, and of course, thanks to my beta MapleMountain.*


Chapter 36. Wise Words from a Wise Guy.

Truth be told, Dan wasn’t entirely sure that Harry was in love with Hermione. That he fancied
her, there was no doubt in his mind. But love? That was a tougher question. There were still many
questions that needed asking. At least this would be a great way kick-start the conversation.

“When are you going to tell my daughter that you’re in love with her?”

* * *

Harry was *quite* certain he heard that wrong. Oh, how he hoped he had. But he knew he
hadn’t. His heart started to race and a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. *He’d been
caught.* Whatever he had hoped or wanted, he knew there was no point in denying it anymore.

But that wouldn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

“Sorry?” he laughed, although the shakiness betrayed his true condition. “I could have sworn
you’d...” Harry voice trailed off with a nervous chuckle as he started to look around. He was
actually looking for an escape. But it wasn’t as if there was anywhere for him to *go*. What,
was he going to run for the barrier, leaving his trunk and Hedwig behind?

“Harry,” Dan said in a very soft voice.

Oh, *that* was scary. Not since his first day there had he heard that voice. “Please, don’t
lie to me. Not now.”

Harry looked back at Dan. It wasn’t as if he *could* lie to him about this. But it also
didn’t mean he wanted to volunteer the truth.

“I...” Harry started.

“You...” Dan replied.

Harry opened his mouth to say *“I”* again, but nothing came out.

“You... have feelings for my daughter... that are more than *just* a friend, right?”

All Harry could do was nod meekly.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Dan asked.

Harry shook his head, a little confused. Everything Harry knew about the man told him that Dan
was very calm and rational. And yet, somehow he had expecting some sort of, well, *violent*
reaction should he find out. Its absence was unsettling. Would there be none, or was this merely
the calm before the storm?

“Well, come on now. Say something. You didn’t expect me to throw a tantrum, did you?” Dan asked
knowingly; he was beginning to smile. Harry was still a little shell-shocked. He thought it was
hard talking to Cho back in fourth year. Now he was trying to talk to Hermione’s father.

“I...”

Dan laughed. “Yes, we’ve established that you can say ‘I.’ Now let’s work on a complete
sentence. I, Harry Potter...” he began, nodding his head in a way to encourage him to finish the
sentence.

“I, Harry Potter...” he started, quickly looking around to see if anyone was listening, “really,
*really* like your daughter, Hermione Granger.”

Dan gave Harry a small round of applause, albeit in the form of the dreaded golf clap. “Yay! He
did it!” he said, smirking.

Harry felt his face heat up in embarrassment, so he buried it in his hands.

“You know, Harry. If I’m embarrassing you, you could just ask me to stop.”

Harry quickly looked up. “Oh, God. Please, STOP!” The two men looked at each other for a few
seconds, and finally began to laugh. As the laughter began to fade, so too did almost all of the
tension.

“So...” Harry finally said, unsure of what else to say.

“So...” Dan repeated. The silence that hung in the air for a few seconds was comfortable and
*that* said more than any number of words could in the same amount of time. The two of them
sat on the bench and just stared ahead for those few moments, watching the other people walk by.
Since arriving, Harry had already seen more than a dozen Hogwarts students in the station, all
making their way towards Platforms Nine and Ten.

Both of them could feel that the comfortable duration of the silence was about to expire, so Dan
started first.

“*Are* you in love with Hermione?” he asked directly.

Harry turned and looked back at Dan. He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly closed
it again, obviously thinking about something.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I mean, I know how I feel about her. I just don’t know if
that’s ‘love.’”

Dan nodded; that, he felt, was a reasonable—and truthful—answer.

“Am I in love with her? I don’t know,” Harry said honestly, shrugging his shoulders. “But it’s
safe to say that I fancy her... a lot.”

Dan glanced back in the direction Emma and Hermione had headed, back towards the main station.
Satisfied the girls would still be a few minutes longer, he turned back to Harry.

“Okay then. Go ahead,” Dan said; Harry looked confused.

“If it’s safe to say, then I want you to say it. And don’t say ‘your daughter.’ Say her name. I
want to hear the words, as much for yourself as for me. Go on. Say it aloud. Tell me. Tell
*yourself*.”

Again, Harry quickly glanced around. It was obvious now Dan *wasn’t* going to kill him, so
he could say it. He didn’t want it broadcast all around school however. Satisfied the immediate
vicinity was free of eavesdroppers, accidental or otherwise, he took a deep breath before saying
*it*.

Sure, he’d said it to himself many times in the last month. But he had never actually said it
aloud. What difference could it make?

“I fancy Hermione.”

Dan smiled. “Good. Now tell me.”

Harry smiled as he looked Dan in the eyes. “I fancy Hermione.”

“Now, don’t you feel better getting that off your chest?” Dan asked.

What difference could it make? Oh, it made *all* the difference in the world. It was such a
cliché, but it literally did feel like a weight had been removed from his chest. It was actually a
little funny how much better he felt having spoken the words, to say nothing of the fact that he’d
admitted it to Dan; Harry began to grin.

“*I told you so,*” Dan said in a sing-song voice. Smiling, they looked forward again for a
few seconds, watching the busy travelers for a few moments. Both felt the need to maintain the
light atmosphere by briefly breaking eye contact every so often.

“I guess the next question to ask is for how long?” Dan said after an appropriate pause.

Harry let out a laugh. “Since my birthday party. I suppose it had been a long time coming, but
that was the day I realized it.” He noticed Dan smirking.

“What?”

“Oh...” Dan replied evasively, grinning. “That was the day *we* realized it too.”

Harry blinked. *“We?”*

“Oh, please, Harry,” Dan chuckled. “*Emma* figured it out first. We didn’t say anything
because we were only about ninety-eight per cent sure. We wanted to wait to see if you would say
anything first.”

Harry thought back to all the times he could have sworn Dan and Emma were watching him.

“You WERE watching me!” he exclaimed, more amused than upset. Dan merely bowed his head,
acknowledging guilt. “So how obvious am I?” he asked, almost in dread.

“To me, a fellow bloke who’s done the same things? You were dead obvious,” Dan chuckled; Harry
deflated unhappily. “To Emma on the other hand... well, she witnessed the same things I did, and
even then, certain how you felt, she just couldn’t recognize all the things that I did so
well.”

“And Hermione?” Harry asked then started to hold his breath.

Dan hesitated for a moment. “What do you think?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the classic turnaround. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I would
*think* that if she noticed, she would say something, either way. But then again, she did say
that she did suspect Ron’s feelings. As far as I know, she never said anything to him about it. Or
to me, until I asked.”

Dan’s expression brightened a little.

“You asked her about she felt about Ron, and she told you, right?” Dan asked; Harry confirmed.
“Well, if you’re wondering if she’s noticed you, have you *asked* her? Have you told her how
you feel about her?”

The look of sheer horror (or fear?) on Harry’s face made his answer of “No” superfluous.

*Time for the big questions*, Dan knew.

“Why not?”

If Dan was expecting a well thought-out answer... if he was hoping for a coherent, logical
explanation that any reasonable, emotionally stable *adult* would find understandable... then
he would be sorely mistaken.

Fortunately, Dan remembered that Harry was still just a sixteen-year-old boy who, despite the
trials he’d been forced to endure, was still subject to, and plagued by, all of the confusions and
insecurities that came along with being a teenager. A teenager on the verge of falling in love...
and with a less-than-successful track record in the dating arena.

So Dan was not at all surprised by Harry’s answer.

“What if she says no?” Harry replied. Despite the hypothetical, the tone of his voice suggested
he was certain that was the only possible outcome.

“What if I tell her how I feel about her, and she starts to feel uncomfortable around me? When
Cho and I broke up, we went our separate ways. The last time I saw her on the train, we hardly even
acknowledged each other, as if we were trying to ignore each other.”

Dan could see there was a twinge of panic somewhere within Harry. He wasn’t sure if it was in
his eyes or his voice. It was probably both.

“I can’t lose her, Dan. I can’t. She’s too important to me to do that. I’d rather have her with
me, *just* as my best friend than risk driving her away in the vain hope of something
more.”

Dan wished that he could say that the raven-haired wizard was being unreasonable, but he knew
that Harry wasn’t... from *his* point of view. He knew what Harry was feeling; he’d felt the
exact same way back in his first year at university. He *knew* how paralyzing that fear could
be.

He also knew what had been the consequences of his inaction. Now, fortunately for him, he soon
met Emma afterwards and things truly did work out for the best.

Dan had always believed in what he could see, feel, touch, and measure. But having met Emma,
having had a witch for a daughter—a witch who had no friends until she met the wizard standing
before him—he started to believe that maybe there was something larger out there.

Call it fate... call it destiny...

He was a firm believer in that line from another one of his favorite movies, “there is no fate
but what we make for ourselves.” And yet at the same time, he was now certain that it was fate that
he and Emma meet, and that his daughter and Harry meet.

But, just because they might have been destined to come together, it still didn’t mean that it
all couldn’t be loused up by a little old-fashioned teenage angst and insecurity.

“You *can* lose someone by pushing them away, Harry,” Dan confirmed. “You can also lose
someone by not holding on to them. Are you *really* willing to let her go without trying?” Dan
asked, taking Harry’s reasoning (if it could be called that) out to its furthest most
conclusion.

Harry paused for a moment. It was obvious that wasn’t exactly what he had intended, even if it
was the predictable outcome.

“Even if I did tell her how I felt,” he started hesitantly, “what’re the odds that she could
ever return my feelings, that she could ever say yes?” he finished a little more strongly,
seemingly a little more certain about a negative outcome.

Harry could see that Dan was struggling with his answer. He looked like he wanted to say
*something*, but kept holding it back.

Dan knew there was every chance Hermione would “confess” first; Emma was having a similar
conversation at this very moment. He figured the odds of who would break first roughly 50/50: Emma
*was* more persuasive than Dan, but Hermione was more stubborn than Harry.

“What are the odds, Harry,” Dan finally countered, “that she would ever say yes if you never ask
her? Hmm?”

Harry wasn’t expecting *that*. Of course, it made perfect sense, but it did cut him a
little closer than he would have expected. Despite all of his insecurities telling him how it could
all go wrong and how Hermione could never say yes, he still somehow was able to cling to the
possibility that they might be together.

They never could, if he never asked her. Harry would have given all of his Galleons to make that
statement false, but deep down he knew it was true.

“What are the odds, Harry,” Dan began again, “that she would say yes to someone *else* if
he asked her? Why did she go to that ball with what’s-his-name? Because he *asked* her. Do you
think she wants to spend the rest of her life alone with nothing but Crookshanks and her knitting?
Do you think that maybe she might want to meet someone and fall in love someday?

“I don’t believe in love at first sight, Harry. You grow to love someone. It *all* starts
somewhere... with one person plucking up the courage to make the first move.”

Harry started to say something, but Dan knew it wouldn’t be conducive to getting these two
thickheads together, so he cut him off before he even started.

“How long have the two of you been friends? Five years,” Dan answered himself. “Do you really
think so little of her that you *honestly* believe she would throw that all away if she didn’t
return your feelings?”

*“Hey, Harry,” said Ron softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.*

*Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a
balaclava. His and Cho’s eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back
down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Ron’s
knight.*

*“What’s — er — going on with you and her, anyway?” Ron asked quietly.*

*“Nothing,” said Harry truthfully.*

*“I — er — heard she’s going out with someone else now,” said Hermione tentatively.*

*Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all.*

Harry couldn’t answer; he didn’t know what to say. All he could see was that little look on
Cho’s face when he saw her on the train ride home not even two months ago, and how she’d kept on
walking afterwards. He honestly couldn’t imagine either he or Hermione throwing their friendship
away over, well, *anything*. And yet at the same time, all he could think was, *What if*
that *had been Hermione?*

For the briefest of moments, a small part of him wondered if any of it was worth all this doubt,
confusion, and frustration. But before he could even finish that thought, he remembered that little
smile of gratitude she’d given him when he’d brought her a trolley for her trunk, and how he’d felt
because of it. And then he knew he had his answer.

Dan quickly glanced up at the digital clock hanging from one of the roof supports: 10:38. It had
only been three minutes; it felt longer than that. They still had plenty of time.

“Harry, I’m going to tell you that I know what you’re feeling. And I want you to know that I
really do.” Just as he was about to start, Dan grinned, realizing something.

“I *was* your age, actually, and I met a girl. We started out as friends. Over the months,
we became better friends. Finally after about a year, I realized I fancied her. We were such good
friends; we spent so much time together. I didn’t want to ruin that so I was willing to take what I
had.

“And I *was* happy being with her, just as a friend. But it was hard, not being able to
reach out and hold her hand the way I wanted to. *I knew*,” he emphasized, remembering how
he’d convinced himself of this decades earlier, “that the risk of losing her friendship was not
worth any gain of becoming something more.”

It hadn’t been his intention to stop here, but by itself the story dictated its own pause. Harry
thought the pause was intentional, so he took the next step and spelled out the conclusion. He was
pretty sure where this story was going; it seemed rather predictable.

“So you finally worked up the nerve to tell Emma how you felt about her, and then everything
else was history, right?” Harry’s tone was at the same time amused because he knew Dan was trying
to make a point, and also annoyed because he *was* making a point.

Dan just smiled that sad smile that can only be learned by experience... having loved *and*
lost.

“On her birthday, she was so excited to get a card from a ‘secret admirer.’ We were both
standing in front of her mailbox in the student center at university. When she read it, she just
looked at me with those big doe eyes of hers and started gushing about how beautiful the card was.
It was clear she suspected the card was from me. And she seemed quite happy that it be from
me.”

Dan smiled wistfully. “It *was* a very beautiful card. There was just one problem: it
*wasn’t* from me.” He then laughed sarcastically.

“My card was still in my pocket. I was in a bit of a panic mode that someone else had sent her
the card. She seemed so happy to get what she thought was a card from me that *idiot me* just
went on and let her think it *was* from me. Never did give her my card,” Dan added
regretfully.

He looked a bit uncomfortable, not from regret now but merely from remembering how painful the
aftermath had been.

“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. So I did nothing, and tried to play it cool. I just
needed a bit of time to figure it all out... what to do. The next day, her ‘secret admirer’
unmasked himself and asked her out.” Dan chuckled. “It was a guy from *the one class* she and
I didn’t share. And *then*, Harry, everything else *was* history.”

Dan fixed Harry a very intent stare. “I blew it, Harry. The first girl I’d fallen in love
with... and I let her slip through my fingers... Without. Even. Trying.

“She and him started spending more and more time together, and her and I less. By the end of
term, we’d grown apart. It sounds like such a cliché now, but it truly felt like a part of me had
died. Things that the two of us had done together, merely as friends, no longer were
enjoyable.”

Harry sat on the station bench, clearly at a loss for words. Granted, he knew little of Dan
other than what he saw, but this was definitely a unique insight. He couldn’t fathom the thought of
he and Hermione growing apart, but he already knew how he would feel. He’d already felt that once
before, when he saw her fall in the Department of Mysteries. He flinched as a chill ran down his
spine.

“The *only* thing more painful,” Dan said poignantly, “than intentionally or
unintentionally driving away someone you love is losing her because you didn’t hold on.” Harry had
been so drawn in by the story that he’d forgotten Dan had said something similar only minutes
earlier. But as soon as the words were spoken, he remembered the earlier warning and understood now
why it had been repeated.

“I can’t let her go, Dan,” Harry said, worried.

“I’m not the one you need to tell, Harry,” Dan replied.

“What if I tell her, and she doesn’t feel the same way, and... well, even if it doesn’t drive
her away, things would *still* be awkward between us.”

Dan fought the urge to smile. Oh, the memories this brought back. He *had* been there...
but it was more than twenty years ago. To be a worried, inexperienced teenager, blinded by
insecurity again....

“Yes, Harry, I’m sure things *will* be awkward. That’s a part of life and growing up. You
could let it drive you apart, or the two of you could use it to become that much stronger
friends.”

Dan could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. Perhaps Harry needed an example from his own love
life? Dan had certainly gleaned enough information over the years to do that. (And Emma had told
him about what Hermione had said had happened between him and Ginny at the birthday party.)

“Just remember, Harry, you *do* have control over how you choose to tell Hermione how you
feel. If you, say, chose to announce your feelings in front of the entire school with... what was
it, a singing dwarf?” Dan asked. Harry rolled his eyes then nodded, embarrassed.

“If you proclaimed your undying love for her like that and she didn’t return those feelings,
then... yes, that could certainly make things uncomfortable. But if you found a nice quiet moment
when the two of you were alone, I’m certain it would make things go much more smoothly, regardless
of the outcome.”

Dan wasn’t going to mention the *lack* of a traumatic incident following Ginny’s most
recent romantic advance back at the birthday party. It would have taken too much effort to find a
creative *explanation* as to how knew (he’d heard about it from Emma, who’d heard about it
from Hermione). He just hoped Harry would be able to make that link on his own.

“Sometimes, Harry, we are more afraid of other people knowing that we failed than we are of the
actual failure itself,” Dan said wisely. “A little selfish and petty, maybe, but it *is* human
nature.” Harry thought about it for a moment and then finally managed a small smile and nodded.

If Hermione *did* say no to him, he was certain it would be much easier if no one else knew
about it. He *wasn’t* ashamed of or embarrassed by how he felt, but that stubborn, noble part
of him knew it would be easier for *her* this way.

He knew she didn’t think of him in terms of his titles, but turning down The Boy Who Lived, or
the Chosen One, was bound to have public consequences. That was pressure he didn’t want her to
face. Strange as it seemed, as much as he wanted her to say yes (assuming he worked up the nerve to
ask), he wanted her to feel comfortable saying no.

After starting to notice a few Hogwarts students walk by (or at least, eleven to seventeen year
olds who obviously recognized Harry sitting next to him), Dan decided to wrap up this
conversation.

“I hate to do this to you, Harry, but because I remember myself, I know you.” Dan smirked.
“You’re going to wait and wait and wait until you find what you *think* is the perfect moment
to tell her. And you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life.

“So, we will be talking to Hermione on her birthday. We’ll either write her a letter, or, Emma
is asking if she can call us by fireplace. Either way, we’re going to ask her what happened between
the two of you.

“That gives you, *Harry*,” Dan emphasized, “just under three weeks to decide what you’re
going to say, how you’re going to say it, and when. *That is*, of course, assuming someone
else hasn’t asked her out by then.”

Dan bit his lip to keep from smiling at the look of panic on Harry’s face at the mention of
someone else asking her out. That might have been why Harry didn’t object to Dan’s obvious
interference.

And Harry *was* panicked... both at the thought of someone else asking Hermione before he
did, and at the short time frame. Just under three weeks might have been an eternity for some
people, but for Harry, it was just a blink of an eye. After all, it took him nearly a year to ask
Cho out to the Yule Ball. And it was another year before they finally kissed at Christmas. (Of
course, Harry *conveniently* managed to forget that he hadn’t tried to pursue Cho while she
was still dating Cedric.)

Harry nodded dumbly, unable to speak, as he reluctantly agreed to the timetable.

Dan knew that, in the short term, this would all be easier for *Harry* and *Hermione*
if he and Emma simply told them of each other’s feelings. But deep down, he knew it would be better
for *them* if they worked it out on their own. Good communication... having the really tough
discussions, was key to a successful relationship. If they couldn’t even admit their feelings, what
chance did they have?

There was never *just* “happily ever after.” Sharing a life together meant tackling the
really tough topics... marriage, having children, growing old together... and most importantly,
flatulence.

Dan might have been certain that the young man before him and his daughter were fated to be
mated, but he knew he shouldn’t interfere. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give them a nudge in
the right direction, even if it was simply in the form of a deadline.

“Whatever her feelings, Harry, I guarantee you the scene will be much prettier if she finds out
about how you feel from *you*, and not us. Trust me, we’ll have out hands full enough when she
finds out we knew all along and didn’t say anything.”

Dan could see as Harry’s eyebrows began to rise as he began to think about his choice of
words.

“Don’t even *try* to read anything into what I just said, Harry,” Dan said, smiling and
giving him a look of mock disappointment. “Even if I knew she was madly in love with you, I
certainly wouldn’t tell you that. It’s your job to figure that out.” He paused momentarily for
dramatic effect.

“And the *only* way you’ll ever know...”

“I know, I know,” Harry replied exasperatedly. “I have to tell her how I feel, and ask her how
she feels. As simple as that,” he finished sarcastically.

“As *simple* as that,” Dan replied certainly.

Still not at all confident about his prospects, Harry just rolled his eyes (he was smiling
though) and looked forward again, staring blankly at the train carriage wheels sitting on the rail
opposite him.

“I effed up, Harry,” Dan said suddenly. His bluntness startled Harry. True it wasn’t a swear
word *per se*, but the intent was clear. “I let go the most important thing in my life. And it
nearly destroyed me. Well...” Dan said reluctantly, grinning, obviously trying to de-exaggerate his
previous statement. “I got a second chance, though. I know *now* that I did make the right
decision back then.

“But, Harry,” Dan said quietly, drawing the teenaged wizard a few inches closer, “not everyone
gets a second chance. If you’ll bear with the proud father for a moment, it’s my humble opinion
that there are few girls out there like our Hermione.

“If you really do like her for her... if it’s more than just ogling her curves as she walks
around...” Dan said heavily with a look of warning in his eyes. Somehow, Harry knew the warning was
not so much, *“Stop staring!”* as it was, *“It had* better *be more than just
staring!”*

“If she really does mean that much to you... if you let someone else sweep her off her feet
before you get a chance to tell her... you’ll *never* forgive yourself.

“I didn’t,” Dan admitted. “I *couldn’t*. Regret, Harry, is probably the heaviest and most
painful emotion a man can experience. It’s the one emotion we *choose* to carry with us, no
matter how much we would like to set it down. That’s why it’s so hard to forgive yourself.”

Harry sat silently on the bench for a few moments, considering everything that had been said.
Dan knew he had laid it on pretty thick. But he knew he had to. It was the same reason Hermione had
to write that letter earlier this summer. Harry wasn’t good at confronting his own feelings; he
certainly hadn’t had good role models from whom he could learn.

But once faced with the truth, Dan knew that Harry could figure things out from there. The
little chat they’d had on Harry’s first day proved that. He was relieved to see that, based on the
growing comprehension on Harry’s face, all the little cogs appeared to be falling into place.
Things would be all right now.

And besides, this little chat could have been a *whole* lot worse. It could have been Emma
giving it.

Finally, Harry spoke.

“So...” he started cautiously, “I take it it’s safe to assume that you wouldn’t object, or, what
did you say, throw a tantrum if I *did* ask Hermione out?”

Dan grinned. “You may assume, Harry.”

Harry began to blush now. “Erm, well, supposing I did ask her... I’d want to do it properly.
Girls like flowers, right? They—”

Dan couldn’t resist interrupting. “Girls do like flowers, Harry. But it’s the motivation... the
reason behind the flowers that’s more important to them. Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, you know, the
usual.

“But probably the best reason of all is, ‘just because.’” Dan noticed Harry shake his head ever
so slightly. “What?”

“Oh, I was hoping that could have been my secret weapon. But it sounds like they already know
that one.”

Dan chuckled. “A bit of free advice, Harry. Never try to outsmart a woman. Especially a
Granger.” Harry shook his head no, in agreement.

“So, erm, does Hermione have a favorite flower? No harm in going all out, right?”

Dan smiled. “In for a penny, in for a pound? One way or another, Hermione will find out we did
know about you ahead of time, so I doubt we could get into *any more* trouble by telling you.
Her favorite flower is the St—”

Dan paused for a moment, scrutinizing Harry carefully.

“Now, Harry, I already said this, but I need to reiterate it. I was a love struck teenager once
too. I know how your mind can twist and turn anything around to try to read something into it.”

Dan started pointing his finger at Harry in a lecturing manner. Although serious, his tone was
warm and friendly. Harry suddenly had the impression that this might be what it felt like for a son
to get some good, honest fatherly advice.

“I don’t want you to overanalyze, or try to read anything into this. When she was little,
Hermione heard the name of a spaceship on a television show that Emma and I always watched, the
*Stargazer*. She simply liked the sound of the word: stargazer. And when she found out there
was a flower with the same name, she immediately decided it was her favorite flower... before she’d
even seen it,” Dan finished with a fond smile. “You *know* how she can get when she gets an
idea stuck in her mind.

“Again, this was years before she met, or even heard of you,” Dan said, again waving his finger
in a light-hearted but lecturing way. Uncertain where this was going, Harry just nodded.

“Her favorite flower is the Stargazer Lily.”

*Ohhhh,* Harry said to himself. Now he got it. And despite all of Dan’s warnings, the next
words to pop into his mind were, *Lily. What if...?*

Harry was, at least, able to stop himself from going any further. Dan could see the flicker on
his face as the wheels started to spin in his mind, and then as it faded almost instantly as he
stopped himself. There was only one thing to say to that.

“I told you so!” Dan said victoriously. Harry had the good grace to nod his surrender.

As if on cue, the 10:45 train on Platform Nine blasted its horn, signaling its departure. Dan
and Harry jumped in their seats in startle. They hadn’t even heard any of the departure
announcements. They both knew it was almost time to go. Looking back towards the main station, they
could see Emma and Hermione carrying bags of takeaway. Both were walking at a brisk pace; they knew
what time it was too.

Knowing that *his* ‘alone time’ with Harry was almost at an end, there was one last thing
Dan wanted to say.

“There’s one last thing I wanted to say, Harry.” Now Dan was looking a little awkward. “Do you
remember our little talk the morning of the August the first?”

If Dan was feeling awkward now, it was nothing compared to the bright red hue that appeared on
Harry’s face. It was embarrassing enough the first time that Dan knew that he had had an
“accident.” Now, Harry knew that Dan now knew who “the girl of my dreams” was.

“I told you I was certain it wasn’t my place to have ‘the sex talk’ with you.” Harry nodded
quickly as if to agree that was a *very* wise philosophy. But, alas...

“Well... should things work out between you and Hermione... and I genuinely hope they do... if
they do, well, we *will* be having *that* talk the next time we meet.”

It was amazing how quickly Harry’s face could go from red to white.

“I promise you, Harry. If you’re even *half* the man I believe you to be... if you are as
honest with me as you have been thus far, then I promise you that you *will* emerge from that
discussion alive and well, *and* with all your bits and pieces still intact.”

Harry could do nothing but nod again, this time in agreement with the “compromise” and promising
his truthfulness.

“Good,” was all Dan said as he stood up and turned towards Emma and Hermione, who were now
within hearing distance. While Dan watched his wife and daughter approach, Harry realized
something. Dan *had* known about Harry’s feelings the morning of his nocturnal incident. He’d
known, and yet he still discussed the matter rationally, and had even reassured him he’d done
nothing wrong, and that *that* was normal.

*Maybe, just maybe,* Harry hoped, he *would* survive ‘the talk’ with Dan. His bits and
pieces really hoped so.

As the girls walked up, Dan noticed paper bags they were carrying. “Kwik-E-Burger... at eleven
in the morning. Perfect for growing teenagers!” he said playfully.

“Well, it was about the best place available for something they could carry onto the train,
besides candy bars from the vending machines,” Emma complained. There was now just over ten minutes
before eleven o’clock. It was time to go.

“Ooohhhh,” Emma groaned as she gave Hermione a big hug. From the look on Hermione’s face, Harry
knew from whom she learned her hugs. “Have a good year, dear! Be sure to write us every once in a
while,” she joked.

“Oh, Mum!” Hermione complained. Harry and Dan just stood there and watched the women bemusedly.
They’d already settled all of their goodbyes with a simple handshake long before Emma had let go of
Hermione.

“Please, do *try* and stay out of trouble this year. But...” she continued with a note of
resignation, “we both know that’s not likely, so when trouble finds you, at least try to find some
place where you’ll be safe.” Emma turned her head to face directly at Harry as she said this,
though her eyes were still on Hermione. Even Captain Oblivious could guess where Emma was
suggesting.

Having released her daughter, Emma now approached Harry with her arms wide. It was his turn to
groan. When she released him, she put her hands on his shoulders and stepped back a little so that
she was exactly at arm’s length from him (amazingly, the most effective distance to say something
important). She looked directly into his eyes.

“Please take care of my daughter, Harry,” Emma said. It was a perfectly innocent, reasonable,
and logical thing to say. But the tiny little arch that rose in her eyebrow as she spoke told him
her words meant more than just their face value.

Dan said Emma already knew about his feelings. Clearly, she must have also known what Dan was
going to say about the deadline.

As luck would have it, a single word carried over from what Dan was saying to his daughter
several feet away in quiet tones. Not that Harry really doubted it, but whatever else Dan might
have said, this one word proved he was absolutely serious about everything he promised:
*“fireplace.”*

They really *were* going to ask Hermione how things turned out.

*Nineteen days,* Harry said to himself. Not for the first time this summer, Harry concisely
summed things up. *Oh, I am in so much trouble.*

With all of their goodbyes said, Harry and Hermione then went over to their trolleys. After each
of them took a deep breath, they shared a brief look, gripped the handlebars firmly, and then
headed for that one particular wall.

Partially because he was a gentleman, and partially because he *had* been known to ogle her
curves as she walked around, Harry allowed Hermione to go through the barrier first. As he started
his approach, he could hear Emma’s surprised voice behind him.

*“Since his birthday?!”*

Oh yeah, Harry knew what they were talking about.

Having now crossed the threshold from Platform Nine (and just now beginning to emerge onto Nine
and Three-Quarters), Harry only heard a few more words as the barrier closed behind him.

*“Well, I told...”* was the last Harry could hear from Emma. Considering the playful way
Dan had said it twice, he was quite certain Dan was now getting the *“I told you so”* from
Emma.

And he would have been wrong.

* * *

Back out on Platform Nine, their arms around each other, Dan and Emma watched as the solid brick
wall in front of them seemingly swallowed up their only daughter.

“So, how long has he fancied her?” Emma asked quietly as Harry waited a moment for Hermione to
clear the barrier.

“Since his birthday party,” Dan replied.

“SINCE HIS BIRTHDAY?!” Emma exclaimed in surprise, louder than she’d intended. “I knew it,” she
added in triumph quietly. Now that Harry had disappeared into the brick, she felt it safe to speak
freely.

“Well, I told her the same thing. She has until her birthday to tell Harry, or we would.”

“How did she take it?”

“How do you think?” Emma asked with a smirk.

It was strange. Now that the “kiddies were gone,” Dan and Emma had free license to rush home and
do things the neighbors might hear. But right now, they simply felt compelled to stay there for a
few more minutes.

They returned to the bench where Dan and Harry had been sitting and watched as the stream of
people disappearing thought the barrier began to slow as eleven o’clock approached. With Harry and
Hermione now gone, they actually were never able to “catch” anyone crossing the barrier anymore;
they always seemed to blink at the critical moment, or someone happened to walk by and block their
view. But they knew.

At two minutes before eleven, Dan and Emma heard a small commotion approaching them from their
left. They turned to look and couldn’t help but smile as a small flock of redheads came running
down the platform, obviously in a hurry. Dan and Emma didn’t take it personally when none of the
Weasleys acknowledged their presence as they ran by. They would be lucky to make the train on
time.

Moments later, despite their best efforts, Dan and Emma lost track of the Weasley family as they
somehow got lost in the crowd of three people that were standing next to where they knew the
barrier was.

Only after it was eleven o’clock did Dan and Emma finally stand up to head back to the car.
There was a cleverly hidden bag of lingerie just waiting for them at home, and yet this time, they
were in no rush to get back. There would be plenty of time for *that* later.

They slowly walked back to the car, considering all that had happened in the last six weeks.
They had faith that within the next few days, they all were about to begin new chapters in their
lives.


*A/N. Mildly related. My beta sent me these links, and I thought I would share them with you.
Have you ever wondered if somewhere deep down, at least some part of you is a nerd? Well, have no
fear. A simple, easy auditory test can now definitively answer that question for you.*

***a cappella** (ah kuh-PEL-uh) Here’s a hint. Think “Weird Al meets Rockapella.” The
following two songs are safe for all ages.*

*http://www.moosebutter.com/orders/index.php?playthisone=24
(give it at least 45 seconds for the “full” effect...)*

*http://www.moosebutter.com/orders/index.php?playthisone=48
(See? Even they recognize “Harmony” when they see it!)*

*If you find these funny (I was ROTFL), then I'm afraid to confirm that you are, indeed,
at least 18.75% nerd. ENJOY!*




37. Back To School
------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N: Hello! I’m back! It would take too long to explain the delay, so I won’t. Just know that
I am SO happy to be able to post another chapter. Huge thanks go out to MapleMountain and Korval
for the insights, comments, and constant friendly jabs to get me to hurry my butt up. As penance I
offer the longest chapter yet.*

*The size of the student population at Hogwarts is an unresolved issue, as it has never been
specified in canon. Many of the functional aspects of the school (staff size, class size, number of
“known” students, amount of time required to sort the first years, etc.) suggest a population
around 300. However most of the times when JKR throws around actual numbers in the books, it
usually suggests a population around 1000 (hundreds of Slytherin Quidditch supporters, hundreds of
carriages to transport students, Yule Ball seating for 1200). And I vaguely recall, but cannot
find, an interview with JKR where she said there were about a thousand students.*

*For the purposes of this story, I will be using the more canonical figure of one thousand. At
this point, the actual population has no real impact on the story other than that the Hogwarts
Express, just like the Weasleys’ magical tent and The Doctor’s TARDIS, is bigger on the inside than
on the outside. But even at three hundred, the train would have to be longer by my
estimation.*

*The remaining members of my beta’s family finally get their guest appearances in this
chapter. Just a quick shout out hello to them.*

*And finally, there is an inside joke in here for* South Park *fans. If you recognize it,
great. If not, no worries. Luna says enough strange things that it fits right in anyway, and you
probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t mentioned it.*

*And of course, similarities to Book 6 are entirely intentional.*


Chapter 37. Back To School.

*Dan and Emma shared a significant look, not that either of the teens noticed. Emma spoke
next.*

*“Harry, are you hungry?” she asked. Now that she had mentioned it, Harry realized that he was
in fact starving. He nodded emphatically.*

*“Hermione?” Emma also asked, and received another nod.*

*“Why don’t the two of you find a seat for the moment?” she said to Dan and Harry. “Hermione
and I will head back over to the main station to find something to eat. There were a few
restaurants by Platforms One and Eight.”*


As the two women started to walk back toward the main station building, Emma quickly put her arm
around her daughter. The two of them walked side by side in a way they hadn’t done in what really
was far too long.

Hermione moved to put her opposite hand on her mother’s and pulled slightly to tighten the
embrace. It really had been too long. She also had the distinct impression this was merely a
prelude to broaching the subject of Harry again. She was, of course, correct. And in no way did it
make the gesture of affection any less welcome.

“So... *Harry*...” Emma said with a casualness that would be more fitting were they
discussing the color of an orange than the young man who had captured the youngest Granger’s
heart.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “I knew it!” she chuckled in amusement. The annoyance and
irritation wouldn’t come until Emma put her on the spot to defend her having wasted an entire
month’s worth of opportunities to say something to Harry.

*Well, an entire month minus their impromptu visit to France,* she conceded. *Then again,
there* were *all of those little chats via the mirrors.*

Emma made the same arguments about having more faith in the strength of their friendship, the
likelihood of a favorable answer to an *unasked* question, and the power of regret. And
predictably, Hermione answered them with excuse after excuse.

For all of the similarities in the two conversations, there was one significant difference. Emma
knew Hermione had a two-year head start on her feelings over Harry. She knew her daughter would be
of age in the wizarding world in less than three weeks, and would no longer require parental
permission for all sorts of things. And Emma knew how fast *things* could happen, and how very
long it would be before she got another chance to speak with her daughter again. (And this sort of
thing didn’t work too well via letter)

So, while Harry was busy being horrified by a true story of opportunity lost, Hermione was being
horrified by a very blunt description of what Emma unabashedly called “alternate intimate
acts.”

Oh, Hermione knew people did *that*, and, if she was honest, she’d even thought (and, yes,
dreamt) about doing that to Harry herself. But, to hear those words coming out of her mother’s
mouth (she groaned internally at how even *that* sounded) was just a bit overwhelming. Sure,
they’d discussed the birds and the bees and spoken freely of their feelings on the subject, but
they’d never been this *specific*.

Hermione was tempted to run away, but she was too busy frantically looking around to see if
anyone could hear all the suggestive things Emma was describing. Fortunately, as she learned to her
detriment last year back at the Hog’s Head Inn, it was often easier to *not* be noticed in
amongst the hustle and bustle of a crowd.

She was very thankful that her mother at least paused while they were waiting in a queue to
order their lunch. Of course, Hermione was certain that was only because there was a family with
two small children directly next to them. Considering the train ride ahead of her, she ordered
appropriately.

Once their lunch was purchased, the two of them headed for a vending machine to buy some bottled
drinks. Paper cups didn’t travel too well. Fortunately they were easy to find as it pretty much
felt like they were stationed every twenty feet or so along the walkways.

While Emma was busy reaching into the landing bin to fetch the Dynamic Ribbon Device-emblazed
bottles of an ice-cold, refreshing beverage, Hermione took this chance to finally speak her
flabbergasted mind.

“Are you actually *encouraging* me to...?”

Cokes in hand, Emma turned around and interrupted in no-holds-barred, full mother mode.

“As hopeful as I am,” she stressed, “that you will fall in love and live happily ever after, I
am in *no rush* to become a grandmother any time soon. I already had that scare once from your
little announcement about Metis and Hedwig, thank you very much.

“Those spells and potions of yours might be one hundred per cent reliable, but as much as you
hate to hear it, my dear, beautiful, baby girl,” Emma said fondly, “*you* are not. Things
happen fast, and in the heat of the moment, you might swish when you should have flicked. Then a
whole new form of magic begins.

“A seed can’t grow if it’s not planted in the earth,” Emma finished.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the veiled, if obvious, analogy. Simply in irritation, she was
tempted to point out how that wasn’t entirely true, what with hydroponics and all, but she thought
better of it and decided against it. After all, she really wanted to get away from this topic,
analogies and all.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?” Hermione asked, feeling all at once pleased, hopeful,
confused, worried, and annoyed at the numerous implications her mother’s discussion (all of it, not
just the last part) might suggest. But most of all...

“Do you know something about Harry? I just get the impression you just seem so certain he will
say yes if I ask him.”

It was Emma’s turn to roll her eyes. Twice already she had deftly brushed away her daughter’s
attempts to overanalyze and make inferences from what had been said. If it wasn’t for the fact that
Emma was one of the few people in the world capable of outsmarting Hermione, the teen witch might
have seen through her rather blatant attempts.

More than once, Emma had to remind herself why she was even bothering with all the misdirection
and clever word trickery. A single, straightforward sentence... three simple words, *“Harry
fancies you,”* and all *four* of them would have been put out of their misery.

But Dan had been right: they needed to figure this out for themselves. Their deadline was just a
little motivation.

“*I’m certain,*” Emma emphasized, “that you are no longer a little girl anymore. You are a
smart, beautiful, brilliant young woman, and in three weeks, you will be an adult on the other side
of that wall. I’m certain that, if not Harry, you will meet someone sooner or later with whom you
at some point will *want* to become intimate.

“Since it will be more than three months before I get another opportunity to really *talk*
with you, if it *is* sooner than later, I just want to be sure you remember that it isn’t
necessary to, erm,” Emma paused for a moment to consider another clever analogy to spare mercy upon
her daughter, “well, that it isn’t necessary to score a home run on your first at bat.”

Emma decided the analogy was perfect for Hermione did blush heavily but did not complain. At
least, not verbally. That was good enough for Emma.

“Work the bases,” she said exactly like someone might suggest smelling the roses, “first base...
second base... *third* base...”

“MUM!” Hermione hissed.

Emma just smiled and left it at that, confident she’d made her point. She truly was ready to
call Harry a son (in-law), but she *also* really wasn’t eager to become a grandmother.

*Anything to keep her out of the delivery room before she’s ready,* Emma promised herself.
The remainder of the journey back to Platform Nine was silent. Hermione would need that time to
recompose herself... so that she wouldn’t give Harry a look-see that was too inappropriate.

Were some hypothetical third-party observer to compare notes, it would have come as no surprise
that the two conversations Dan and Emma had with their respective counterparts were amazingly
similar. The two adults did, after all, decide to forego their nightly alternate intimate acts (the
most they were willing to engage in after the “kiddies” overheard too much) in favor of planning
these ambushes.

It was a good thing that third-party observer was hypothetical. Anyone who had to sit through
*two* rounds of that would probably run from the train station, screaming and tearing out his
or her hair.

* * *

As usual, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was little more than organized chaos as eleven
o’clock rapidly approached. Harry allowed himself a brief moment to gaze upon the familiar scarlet
steam locomotive. He turned to where he *expected* he would find Hermione waiting for him, but
was surprised to see that she had already gone on ahead without him.

That felt strange. His own feelings for her aside, Harry had grown accustomed to Hermione being
in closer proximity to him this summer. Sharing the same house, doing things together with the
Grangers like one large family by definition meant a decrease in the physical distance between
them.

He also supposed that having spent all this time together meant he wasn’t quite as “new” this
time of year. After all, he *had* already received his strangling welcoming hug and flurry of
inquiries about his wellbeing a month and a half ago.

But it didn’t stop him from missing it all the same.

Harry sighed a little and redoubled his grip on the handle of his trolley. Although Metis wasn’t
all that heavy, the larger cage filled with dirt was. He didn’t at all feel slighted by having to
take the heavy cage by himself. He’d graciously volunteered back in the carpark, after all.

Besides, it was a necessity anyway. It wasn’t like they could share the weight across two
trolleys. That would have looked just plain silly, to say nothing of being awkward and potentially
dangerous. Looking back towards the carriages, Harry suddenly felt a little wind beneath his sails
when he noticed Hermione was standing on the platform by the carriage steps. She was standing there
smiling, looking back at him, waiting for him.

It was scary how much such an insignificant little thing like that could make him feel better. A
good scary.

As he approached, deftly dodging about half a dozen primary school-aged children running around,
screaming and chasing each other (obviously students’ siblings), Hermione hoisted her trunk and
Crookshanks’ basket into the carriage. She then climbed aboard and stood at the top of the steps,
waiting to assist him.

Turning back to grab the cage off the top of his trunk, Harry noted that once again, he appeared
to be the center of attention. Sort of.

As usual, most everyone’s attention was drawn immediately to The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One.
But this time, once on him their stares quickly gravitated down. Everyone who knew Harry Potter,
that is to say had at least *seen* him in person at Hogwarts, knew he had a snowy owl.

One snowy owl.

But there were two in the cage....

Someone used to unwanted attention, Harry jokingly made a bet with himself to see how long it
would take before someone actually said anything, and who it would be.

His money was on a fellow Gryffindor, and that it would be before he found a carriage.

With a secret smirk, Harry lifted the cage and handed it to Hermione. She took it and cast a
levitation charm, making it easier to navigate it down the narrow carriage corridors.

Because it was so late (10:52), the carriages were quickly filling. They had yet to find an
empty one. Unsure if Ron and Ginny were aboard yet, they continued to work their way down, looking
in the windows for either an empty compartment or any of four preferred faces.

Hermione fought the urge to grumble (audibly, at least) when, in compartment after compartment,
she saw teenaged witches point at Harry as he walked by, giggling and blushing.

Halfway down the second carriage, they finally found what they were looking for: Neville and
Luna alone in a compartment. Now, Hermione was sure Ron and Ginny weren’t here yet. Then again,
what was new about that?

Upon their entry, Neville quickly got up to help the two newcomers load their trunks into the
racks above. Luna briefly, but politely, greeted them and then returned to her *Quibbler*,
which, this time, was turned sideways. If someone didn’t know any better, he or she might wonder if
there was a centerfold model in there.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said to Neville as he maneuvered the owl cage to the far side of the
compartment, on the floor just beneath the window. It was as about out of the way as it possibly
could be, considering its size.

“Thanks, Neville,” Hermione added as she sat down on the same side of the compartment as Luna.
“I certainly think Ginny’s found a keeper with you.”

Neville stammered for a few seconds as he turned a bit pink, as Harry sat down on his side.
“Ginny and Ron didn’t come with either of you?” he finally asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught the faintest trace of movement that was Luna’s
head coming up a fraction of an inch. It was almost as if she was listening, also wondering the
location of at least *one* of the Weasleys. Almost.

“I haven’t seen them yet,” Hermione replied.

“Knowing them,” Harry added, “they’ll probably have to run and jump aboard right as the train is
pulling out.”

“Well, since the three of you are holding the compartment, I think I’ll go take a quick look
around... you know, just in case they’re still looking for a place to sit.”

“*They*, or Ginny, Neville?” Harry asked slyly. The embarrassed smile was response enough.
Only moments after Neville left, Luna suddenly set down her magazine and stood up.

“If you two don’t mind, I’ll be back in a minute. I need to use the loo.”

*Well, I certainly wouldn’t have been that forthcoming,* Harry thought to himself. Both he
and Hermione shook their heads to indicate they didn’t mind her absence.

*And that reminds me...* Hermione said to herself as the door closed behind Luna. She then
held up the bags containing their food and drinks.

“Lunch?” she politely asked Harry.

“Starved!” he replied eagerly. Hermione came over and sat down next to him. After distributing
their orders between the two of them, and after participating in the ever-important tomato
exchange, she then stood up and returned to the other side of the compartment.

Harry wrinkled his brow in confusion at this. Ever since leaving Platform Nine, Hermione had
felt somehow more distant than recently. He couldn’t exactly prove it... it was just a gut
feeling.

She didn’t wait for him to cross through the barrier. They didn’t walk to the carriage together.
She said hardly a word to him and barely even looked at him since they entered the compartment. In
fact their only interaction so far had been out of necessity in helping with the larger owl cage.
And now she’d gone back to the other side of the compartment when there was no *need* to; with
Neville gone, there was plenty of room on the seat to set out their food and eat.

None of it really meant anything, Harry knew. In fact, if anything, in the grand scheme of the
last five years, things were actually more like they were before this summer. But this summer
*had* happened, and having spent the last six weeks living together, eating together, sitting
on the sofa or loveseat together, and even walking together at the mall, she just did feel more
distant.

It was just a gut feeling.

After taking a few bites to appease the rumbling of his stomach, Harry’s curiosity got the
better of him.

“Hermione?” he asked softly.

Having looked everywhere in the compartment except at him, Hermione finally turned her gaze upon
him.

“Yes?” she replied after taking a drink.

“Is everything all right?”

“Of course, Harry,” she said in a very soothing, gentle voice. “Why wouldn’t you think so?”

*Oh, this is going to sound so lame...* Harry complained to himself. He knew she would ask
that, and yet he’d made no attempt to think up a reasonable answer.

“Well, erm, it’s just that ever since we got here, you’ve seemed quiet, withdrawn.” He really
hoped he wouldn’t be forced to explain it any more than that. His “proof” might have made him seem
a little needy, or worse, creepy.

Fortunately for him, Hermione knew exactly what he meant, as her change in demeanor had been
intentional. She didn’t really expect him to notice (but was honestly pleased that he did), so she
originally had no plans to explain. But since he did notice, and since he did seem concerned about
it, she decided to go ahead and tell him.

Hermione smiled. “I’m fine, Harry. I’m just getting settled back into the magical world,
*or,* more correctly, life away from home. Actually, if anything, I would imagine that I’m
more like I normally am at Hogwarts.

“Remember how I explained that the ‘me’ at home is a little more open than the one at school?
You’d never seen the entire ‘me’ in years past, so you’re only now noticing the difference.”

For some reason, Harry found it horrible that she felt the need to change who she was upon going
back to school. And he told her that.

Hermione seemed surprised by his assertion, but was certainly pleased as well.

“It’s not all that surprising, is it, Harry? When it’s just you and me and my parents, and maybe
Ron and Ginny, of course I’m more open and outgoing. But back at school surrounded by students I
don’t know personally, yeah, I might seem a little withdrawn. Remember first year, before we were
all friends?” she asked, smiling.

Harry nodded, conceding her point.

“And besides, not everyone would appreciate some of my more... *endearing* quirks,” she
added with a smirk that he hadn’t seen since, well, since yesterday when she was still comfortably
set on Broomhill Road. He quickly made sure they were still alone in the compartment.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he said, hoping it might cause her to think of a certain
conversation in the bookstore that started similarly, “you don’t need to hide your *Star
Wars*-loving, belching secret identity from me.”

“Thanks,” she said in mock seriousness, then returned to her lunch.

Only a few minutes later, the train suddenly lurched forward as the Hogwarts Express started to
pull out of Kings Cross Station. Harry was about to start getting worried at his friends’ absences
when suddenly Ginny appeared in the corridor, Neville right behind her, lugging her trunk.

After Neville securely stowed her trunk, Ginny gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then sat
down next to Hermione. He returned to his original seat next to the window, nearly stumbling over
Harry’s feet as he grinned widely.

“Isn’t he just the perfect gentleman?” Ginny cooed in Hermione’s direction, not really looking
at her.

“Any gentlemen in there want to help me out?” Ron grumbled from out in the corridor. He was
struggling to try to get both his own trunk and Pig’s cage in through the door at the same
time.

Both Harry and Hermione, who both still had their hands and mouths full with their lunch,
couldn’t respond or do anything. Neville was about to get up when Ginny held up her hand to stop
him.

“I’m sure if you snogged him, Neville would be happy to carry your trunk too, Ron” Ginny said
sweetly, and in a most helpful-sounding voice.

Ron muttered something darkly under his breath that indicated he wasn’t *that* in need of
assistance.

“How much of Honeyduke’s shop do you have in there anyway?” Ginny asked pointedly. “He about
wore out one of their delivery owls this weekend, stocking up for at least until the first
Hogsmeade visit,” she added to Hermione. When she finally saw what the older witch was eating, her
eyes widened.

Ron didn’t even have to look.

“Is that...?” he asked, sniffing the air loudly. Nearly dropping Pig’s cage, he spun around and
stared at Harry. His eyes too went wide. He didn’t really, but one could imagine that Ron also
started salivating immediately. It was too bad Pavlov wasn’t there with a bell.

“Mate, I’ll give you five Galleons if you give me the rest of that,” Ron said urgently,
indicating Harry’s half-eaten hamburger.

“Sorry, mate, can’t do that,” Harry said with a smile, not looking at all apologetic. Before Ron
could complain, Harry grabbed the paper bag that was next to him. He reached in and pulled out a
*very* large hamburger. The paper wrapping almost couldn’t hold it.

“Triple bacon cheeseburger, with extra everything,” Harry announced. Ron just stared at it as if
it were Fleur fresh out of the shower. At least his intentions were different, fortunately.

Ron started to lunge for it when Harry quickly pulled it back.

“Ah!” he cut off the redheaded glutton. “Put all your junk away first,” Harry mock-scolded as he
nodded towards the trunk lying in the middle of the floor, and Pig’s cage on the seat where Ron
should have sat.

Faster than was definitely safe, Ron stowed his stuff and then sat down on the seat, looking at
Harry almost beggingly. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement, then handed Ron the
monster burger. He then reached into the bag and withdrew another one, this one much smaller.

“Ginny?” Hermione asked, nodding towards the hamburger in Harry’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed eagerly, then took the proffered meal. Suddenly, everyone stopped and
turned to look at Ron, who was trying to remember how to hold the enormous sandwich without it
falling apart and making a big mess.

After a moment, he realized everyone was staring expectantly at him.

“What?” he asked.

*Hem-HEM!* Ginny cleared her throat loudly, glancing poignantly at Harry and Hermione.

“Wha—? Oh! Right. Thanks, you two,” he said genuinely, albeit belated, then returned to the most
important matter at hand... that which was *in* his hand. Everyone accepted his thanks,
convinced that was the best anyone would get out of him while he was distracted by food.

“Sorry, Neville,” Hermione apologized. “My mum and I didn’t know what you’d like; assuming you
even wanted any, assuming we even shared a compartment.”

“That’s okay,” he assured her. “Gran fed me a big breakfast before we left home this morning,
plus she packed a lunch for me too.”

“We figured getting a lunch for *these two* was a safe bet,” Hermione responded.

Harry was about to quip about how getting *ten* lunches for Ron was a safe bet when he was
cut off by an almost sensual moan coming from the male redhead. Everyone turned to look at him, and
found him with his eyes literally rolling back in his head as he thoroughly enjoyed his first
bite.

Harry figured now was as good a time as any, so he produced the remaining contents from their
takeaway bag: the drinks and boxes of chips. Again, Ron’s eyes bulged in delight. He quickly
snatched his share, wrestled off the lid, and immediately took a large drink.

After finally swallowing (thank Merlin he swallowed), Ron sat in his seat for a moment, looking
very sated. He turned to Harry, very content.

“I love you, mate,” he sighed happily. Everyone else in the compartment snickered.

Harry just smiled. “Ron, I suspect you would say that to anyone who gave you food or... did your
homework for you.”

Ron just embarrassedly bobbled his head as if to say, *“Yeah, that’s probably true,”* then
eagerly resumed eating.

A few bites later, when he slowed long enough to take a safe breath, Ron turned to say something
to Harry when he suddenly stopped and started to stare curiously. After a few seconds he began to
smile.

“Going for a new look there, mate?” he asked. When Harry just stared in confusion, Ron used his
rapidly disintegrating burger as a pointing implement and indicated Harry’s face.

“You didn’t shave,” he explained. “Going for the more rugged look, eh? Oh natural?”

Hermione and Ginny both snorted (sounding very unlady-like) and began to laugh, trying not to
choke on their food.

“That means *naked*, Ron!” Ginny said laughing, once she could speak safely. Ron nearly
choked.

“Well, actually, it also means ‘in a natural state,’” Hermione added. “So, *technically*,
he could have been correct.”

“See?” Ron needled his sister. “*Technically*, I’m correct!”

“However...” Hermione began.

“Oh, bloody hell, I *knew* there would be a ‘however’!”

“You did say it incorrectly. It’s *au naturel,*” Hermione corrected. “*Au
naturel.*”

“For all the time he spent staring at Fleur, you’d think he’d’ve picked up a little French along
the way,” Ginny teased.

“OY!” Ron objected. Any further response was belayed by the compartment door opening.

“Hi, Luna!” Ginny greeted happily. Ron tensed immediately then glared darkly at his sister,
almost as if warning—against what, Ginny did not know—before returning his full and undivided
attention to his lunch. If it was possible, he almost appeared to be trying to hide behind what
little remained of his hamburger.

“Hello, Ginny,” the blonde replied airily.

“How was your trip to Sweden?” she inquired.

“Okay, I suppose. Daddy and I wandered all around the country. We weren’t sure exactly where to
look, so we looked in the forests, and along the coast, and in some lakes, under rocks, and even in
the snowy mountains. We didn’t find any Snorkacks, but we knew we were getting close.”

Only a full mouth kept Hermione from suggesting it was hard to find that which did not
exist.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time. Isn’t that right, dear brother?” Ginny
asked.

“What? Oh, yeah.”

“Hello, Ronald,” Luna said quickly and quietly, returning to her seat without waiting for a
response.

“ ’Lo, Luna,” Ron mumbled, not looking at her. Harry glanced at Hermione and Ginny and was
relieved to see that they too were as confused as he was about the restrained greeting.

While he was staying at the Burrow, Harry remembered Ron mentioning at least half a dozen times
that Luna would be back the day before they left for Hogwarts: yesterday. He had even said that her
letter mentioned their Portkey returning at eleven o’clock. Harry also caught Ron rehearsing what
he was going to say when he went over to her house that same morning. He began to get a sinking
feeling that perhaps things had not gone too well.

For the next little while, the six occupants made small talk as everyone ate their lunches,
whether fast food or homemade. The one thing that was clear was that it appeared Ron and Luna were
avoiding speaking to each other. Of course, it might have only appeared obvious because three of
the compartment occupants were specifically looking.

Neville was blissfully unaware however, as Ginny was currently sitting sideways on his lap,
feeding him the remnants of her lunch. It was hard to tell what he was more interested in: the
bubbling beverage, or the giggling girl sitting on his lap. Well, maybe it wasn’t *that*, erm,
difficult.

Ron was busy nursing the last of his Coke, scowling at his sister sitting on Neville’s lap. And
Luna seemed to be keeping herself *thoroughly* entertained by watching Hedwig sit on her eggs
as she tried to nap.

* * *

About fifteen minutes out of the station, Harry had finished his lunch and was just getting
ready to decide how he would spend the next few hours of their train ride. Hermione answered the
question before he could even ask himself.

“Ready, Harry?”

“Huh? Ready?” he replied quizzically.

“We need to go up to the prefects’ carriage, remember?” she explained, raising an eyebrow almost
as if in lecture.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied sheepishly, having clearly forgotten.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Hermione said encouragingly. “We’ll go meet with the Head Boy and
Girl and the other prefects, and then patrol the corridors for a bit. Easy!” she finished with a
smile.

At this moment, Ron seemed to break out of his sullen mood long enough to let out a poorly
disguised snort of laughter.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “We were in there for a bloody hour last year!” Ron complained. “That
pompous git must be in love with the sound of his own voice. His first time as a prefect, it was,
and he acted like he was redesigning it all over again!”

“Who?” Harry asked automatically, but was pretty certain of the answer already.

“Ernie Macmillan,” Ron and Hermione replied simultaneously, earning a few snickers around the
compartment.

“Glad I’m not doing *that* anymore,” Ron professed as Harry nodded slightly towards his
trunk, wordlessly asking Hermione if he needed his robes or prefect badge for the meeting; she
shook her head no.

*“Have fun!”* Ron sang as the two sixth year prefects left the compartment, heading towards
the engine.

As they approached the prefect carriage, Harry turned his head and glanced back at Hermione.

“I know you told me everything, *plus a half*, about being prefect while you were still in
France, but are there any last minute words of wisdom for me?”

Hermione smiled bracingly. “You *know* that Malfoy is going to have something to say about
you being prefect now, or about Ron not. Just remember that you *are* prefect now and you have
an example to set.”

Fully prepared for *this* lecture, Harry just smiled back. “Just remember the same goes for
you too. I *seem to recall*,” he said playfully, “you calling Pansy an utter cow, or something
like that, when you came back from the meeting last year.”

“Don’t even get me started on that!” Hermione complained. “I can’t believe... she’s just a...”
Hermione paused. “Yes, you’re right, an example to set.”

* * *

As the door slid open, Harry was surprised that this carriage was different than the rest. All
of the other carriages on the train were passenger cars, each with multiple compartments. But this
carriage was a wide-open car with just one long bench seat that ran around the entire perimeter of
room, minus the the ends for the doors, of course. In fact, the prefects’ carriage was an old
lounge railcar that had been retrofitted into this meeting room.

“Guess we’re the first ones here,” Harry safely ventured, looking around the empty room. It did
not last long, however, as within a minute other prefects began to trickle in.

Harry *knew* it was coming. Of course it had to happen while his back was turned. But at
least the room was mostly filled by now.

“Granger! Knew they couldn’t drag you and your hair away from here,” Draco Malfoy drawled.
(Honestly, was he even capable of speaking normally?) Hermione slowly turned around as he and Pansy
Parkinson sauntered into the carriage. Harry decided to silently count to ten first before doing
anything.

“I don’t see your red rat around here. Did he finally develop a brain and...?” Draco trailed off
as Harry now turned around.

“Potter!” he snapped, both in displeasure and surprise. “What the hell are you doing in the
prefects’ carriage?!”

“Displaying better manners to my fellow prefects than you are, obviously,” Harry replied
silkily. The other prefects knew better than to get between these two, but most allowed themselves
a smile (if confused) at Harry’s reply.

“‘Fellow prefects’? What are you on about?” Draco asked as he and Pansy started to stalk around
Harry and Hermione in a circle. “Weasley’s the loser-excuse for a Gryffindor prefect, not you! And
besides, what idiot would pick *you* prefect?” he added with a cruel smile. The pug-faced
Slytherin witch sneered haughtily... not a flattering look for her.

“That would be me, *Mister* Malfoy, as you should well expect!” came from the doorway the
unmistakable voice of Deputy Headmistress and Gryffindor Head of House, Minerva McGonagall.

Draco flinched (only for a fraction of a second) at being overheard, and then glared murderously
at Harry for “getting” him caught.

“Professor!” Draco said cordially to this person who could, and would, land him in detention for
the entirety of the school year. “I wasn’t expecting to see you aboard.”

“I don’t doubt that, Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall said sharply. “But as it was, my presence as
Deputy Headmistress was required to assist a new professor through the barrier at the station.
Overwhelmed by an extreme sense of nostalgia for the Express, I decided to take the train back to
Hogsmeade, rather than Apparate.”

There was the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice. It was almost as if the ride hadn’t
been living up to her fond memories. Then again, maybe it was just the present company.

Both Harry and Hermione’s attentions perked up at the mention of the new professor. Harry was
curious if this was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His assigned reading had
been very productive; *Confronting the Faceless* appeared to be a very insightful book. He had
high hopes for this year’s class. Thinking back to the few minutes he’d spent with the man, Harry
half-expected his Head of House’s assistance was in the form of wheeling Slughorn’s luggage through
the Muggle train station.

Hermione’s attention was drawn too, but more so to the mention of providing assistance at the
barrier. A Muggle *would* need to be lead through the barrier.

She hadn’t really expected that Dumbledore would follow *her* recommendation that it be a
Muggle who taught Muggle Studies. But, what little data she had thus far *did* bolster her
hopes that she might have actually played some active part in improving the education received at
the venerable Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Professor,” Hermione couldn’t help but interject. “We have a new professor aboard?”

“Correct, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replied, her face softening, but only because she was no
longer addressing Draco. Said Malfoy rolled his eyes and started whispering to Pansy behind the
professor. The Slytherin girl’s visage suggested they’d found something else about which to deride
Hermione.

“Evidently our newest professor has a certain affinity for trains, and as such requested to ride
along with the driver.” McGonagall saw that *her* favorite student was about to ask something
else; she already knew what and decided to stem off any further distractions.

“Introductions will be made at tonight’s Welcoming Feast, Miss Granger.” The older witch’s back
straightened a little, then she turned to address the assembled students. Everyone took their seats
around the perimeter of the room as she walked into the very center.

“Now, if we are all finished insulting one another and inquiring of the faculty roster, I think
we can begin. But first, as Mister Malfoy so deftly noticed, there has been a change in
Gryffindor.” McGonagall slowly turned around as she spoke, ensuring she looked at everyone to see
that all were present... and that they were actually paying attention.

She made sure she was looking what was clearly the Slytherin corner as she began the
announcement about her own house.

“As all of our returning prefects may remember, last year, Mister Weasley was the Gryffindor
fifth year prefect.” The Slytherins were well behaved at this point, considering McGonagall was
looking directly at them. Harry did note however a couple of eye-rolls come from the Ravenclaw
corner on the opposite side, evidently testament that Fred and George weren’t the only ones
surprised by last year’s appointment.

“This year, however, Mister Weasley has been offered the position of Gryffindor Quidditch
Captain. He agreed, with great enthusiasm I am forced to admit, to step down as prefect and become
team captain instead. Mister Potter here has been appointed House prefect in his place.”

The look on Minerva’s face was as if she was daring the Slytherins to make a smart comment.
Getting none, she resumed her slow turn around the room, addressing the remaining prefects.

“Last term saw some... turmoil within the staffing at Hogwarts, and I understand that certain...
liberties were granted that ordinarily would not. I would like to take a few moments to briefly
remind *everyone* what is and is not acceptable behavior for a Hogwarts prefect.”

Thirty minutes later, Professor McGonagall yielded the floor to the Head Boy and Girl. The first
prefect meeting of the school year typically lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour
followed by a brief patrol of the train, before everyone was allowed to return to their
friends.

Last year’s meeting lasted about fifty minutes; Ron and Hermione were back to their carriage
within an hour. This year, after McGonagall’s long “introduction,” the Head Boy and Girl were eager
to speed through the meeting as quickly as possible. Because of that, and partly because the six
Slytherin prefects were *silently* sulking in their corner of the carriage, the meeting ended
half an hour later.

As they left the prefects’ carriage, Hermione decided that she wanted to change into her school
robes first before she went on patrol. She felt it gave off a more official air.

* * *

Returning to their carriage nearly an hour and a quarter later, Harry and Hermione found Ron
hunched over in one corner, furiously scribbling away on a sheet of parchment. Harry glanced at it
and shook his head a bit. It might have been their least enjoyable class, but the fact that it was
their least enjoyable professor should have been reason enough to not put Potions off until
last.

He thought it best not to say anything, however. Ron looked harried enough as it was.

Neville and Ginny were on the other side of the compartment from Ron, sitting on the same side
as Luna. They were passing the time engrossed in a little recreational reading (it was a long train
ride, after all). Sitting closer together than was *really* necessary, Ginny seemed to be
alternating back and forth between *Teen Witch Weekly* and *Quidditch Illustrated*.
Wriggling around in her lap was the purple puffball that was her Pygmy Puff, Arnold.

Neville was in the middle of *Magical Water Plants of the American Lakes*. Evidently this
book was part of a series, and having been given one in fourth year, he decided to read the rest of
them.

And Luna... well, Luna apparently *had* kept herself thoroughly entertained by watching
Hedwig sit on her eggs, for she was still doing so now.

All too happily, Ron looked up from his still-six inch short essay.

“Finally back, mate?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied as he slumped into the seat next to his friend. “Good thing the meeting
got out quickly.”

“Quickly?” Ron asked, bemused. “You were gone over an hour!”

“Well, quickly, once McGonagall finished,” Harry clarified.

“McGonagall’s on the train?!” Ron asked in a bit of a panic, sudden putting his hands over his
unfinished homework as if trying to hide it.

“Yeah, helping a new professor on board.”

It had been gnawing at Hermione as soon as she entered the compartment. She tried to resist the
temptation, but the urge finally became too strong.

“You know, Ron. If you’d done your *holiday* homework sometime during the *holiday*,
you wouldn’t need to be hiding it now,” Hermione admonished.

“And if I’d done it during the holiday, I wouldn’t have had time to reorganize my Chocolate Frog
card collection,” Ron shot back, clearly trying to make a point about which was more important.

Hermione was about to retort back when Harry turned to her and gave her a look. *Let it
go.*

“Don’t expect me to review it for you at midnight tonight,” she finally said after a moment’s
debate. She didn’t like it when either of her two best friends did poorly, but there *was*
only so much she could do. And literally losing sleep the night before classes began wasn’t amongst
the top one thousand things she’d like to do.

“I wish!” Ron lamented. “Be lucky if I finish this before midnight, at this rate.”

Satisfied that a row before classes even started was averted, Harry shot Hermione a small smile
of gratitude. As answer, she replied with a weak smile and a look that conveyed she knew that some
things, such as Ron’s study habits, were beyond even her power.

As Harry turned back away from Hermione, he was unsettled to discover Luna looking squarely at
him. He felt his face being to heat up. Why was she doing that? How did she do that, catch him
right at that moment when he felt as if he had his guard down, that his act to hide his feelings
was at its weakest?

Fortunately, a distraction was provided with the compartment door sliding open.

Unfortunately, the identities of the interlopers were all too predictable.

“Weeelllll, if it isn’t Saint Potter and his ragtag group of worshipers,” Malfoy half-sang,
half-sneered. Crabbe and Goyle just nodded dumbly and smiled in agreement.

“Well, it is. So I hope whatever clever follow-up you had planned if it wasn’t us, doesn’t go to
waste,” Harry suggested as the six of them stood up to face the intruders. “Maybe you can use it
the next time you see us, Malfoy.” Because Ginny had to tuck Arnold away into a safe corner of the
seat cushions, she was the last to stand and therefore drew extra attention.

But there were more important wizards to annoy, so attention returned to Harry.

“Don’t get comfortable, Potter!” Draco warned. “A prefect’s badge won’t protect you from what
you’re due!”

Harry let out a long slow sigh. Year in, year out, this was starting to get old.

“You know, Draco,” he said conversationally (one of the rare times he’d ever called him ‘Draco’
to his face); “I’m *never* comfortable when you’re around. You’re like one of those little
thistles that get stuck in my hand when I’m pulling weeds. With your lord and master after me, with
all of his Death Eaters after me, with half of the female population of this school after
me...”

“More than half,” Ron interrupted with a snicker.

“More like two-thirds,” Ginny added, grinning.

“Three-quarters,” Luna interjected, her voice sounding very unimportant. She might have been
‘loony,’ but she was very astute at observation, and this pattern of behavior was easy enough to
discern.

“Eighty-two percent, I’d wager,” Hermione finished. The growing look of rage on Malfoy’s face
made it worth it.

Harry nodded at Hermione in thanks as if he had been looking for that exact statistic. He then
looked back at Malfoy and smirked.

“With all of that, *and* eighty-two percent of the girls after my skin, *or certain other
parts,*” he added under his breath, remembering the girls from the bookstore, “forgive me if I
don’t exactly cower in fear at your blathering. All I *do* feel is the need for a pair of
tweezers.”

Before he realized it, Malfoy was now staring down the business end of Harry’s wand. The other
five had theirs drawn as well, though they were not pointed at the Slytherins.

“Please, go darken your own housemates’ doorstep.”

Since she had drawn his attention earlier, Draco turned his attention back to Ginny. After
Harry’s almost nonchalant rebuke, for some reason he was having a harder time than normal finding a
cutting insult. So he seized upon what was convenient.

“Building yourself a little harem here, Potter?” Draco sneered as he nodded towards the three
girls on the compartment. “Of course, if I was forced to be around hags like these, I’d need
*attentions* too.”

“So that’s why you’re always hanging around with Parkinson and Bulstrode too, eh?” Neville
asked, surprising everyone in the compartment. Everyone that is, except Ginny. She’d witnessed his
transformation as he gained confidence from their time together. (Snogging and getting his backside
pinched once or twice tended to bolster a bloke’s aplomb.)

Draco seemed to enjoy this new development. He’d noticed that Neville had taken a step towards
Ginny in what was clearly a defensive posture. Malfoy had high hopes this would be an opportunity
to make something, *anything* happen.

“Well, well, well. It appears the Witless Wonder has finally grown a pair. Did the Weaslette
here have anything to do with that?” Draco said mockingly.

“You shut your mouth, Malfoy,” Neville warned, “or I’ll do it for you!”

“Oh?” Draco crowed, pretending to be impressed. He turned to smirk at Crabbe and Goyle behind
him. “I wonder if Red here had to use her mouth to extract Longbottom’s *courage*.”

Draco Malfoy wanted to start something. And he did.

He turned back just in time to see Neville’s fist flying at his face. Malfoy was so surprised by
this that if he hadn’t used the bathroom after leaving the prefects’ carriage, he probably would
have sullied himself. By now, the only thing more surprising was the fact that he wasn’t in pain
yet. He opened his eyes.

At the last second, Ginny had pulled back on Neville’s other arm, causing the punch to fall
short.

“It’s not worth it, Nev,” Ginny said soothingly as she rubbed the shoulder she was pulling back
on. “He’s a prefect. You’ll get in trouble.”

Truly shaken by the near miss, Draco faked a calm exterior.

“Well, I guess we all know who wears the pants between those two,” Malfoy laughed, although his
heart was racing from the adrenaline surge.

“Neville likes my pants, thank you very much,” Ginny said to Malfoy with her own sneer. To
accentuate her statement, she lightly slapped her hip. And if that wasn’t enough, she then grabbed
Neville roughly by his shirt and pulled him to her. The searing kiss she gave him left
*everyone* in the room with an awkward twist in their knickers.

“Damn, if my girlfriend snogged me like that, I’d volunteer to be the skirt too,” Goyle
whispered to Crabbe, who vigorously nodded.

“You two thundering oafs don’t even have girlfriends, so shut the hell up!” Malfoy snapped. His
two goons looked a bit affronted, but did as they were told.

And with that comment, Ginny thought this was the perfect opportunity for a very specific verbal
attack. Honestly, she knew there had been rumors floating around regarding which side of the broom
Neville flew. They were mostly likely started by the Slytherins, but some people gave them weight
because he was quiet and shy and was certainly not considered a man’s man.

But there were just as many rumors about Draco Malfoy out there (*definitely* started by
the Gryffindors). He certainly wasn’t shy, or quiet. But he didn’t have an imposing build, and he
was always impeccably dressed, and was inordinately obsessed with his appearance.

“You know, Malfoy,” Ginny said, her voice turning cool. “I’d be careful about making inquiries
about other bloke’s bits. People might start to wonder if the rumors *are* true... about why
you have such meticulous grooming habits, that *pretty* hair of yours... about why you’re so
primly and elegantly dressed. They might start wondering just *how close* the three of you
are,” Ginny said, nodding towards Crabbe and Goyle.

For someone like Draco Malfoy, the only thing worse than insulting him via his bigotry was to
insult him by questioning his standards.

“These two?” Malfoy asked incredulously. “Please. If I were... *that way*... do you
honestly think I’d be interested in the likes of them?!” he asked as he pointed his thumb over his
shoulder.

For people like Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, the only thing worse than insulting their
prejudices was to hurt their shockingly small... *egos*.

“What? You think we’re not good enough for the likes of you?” the smarter of Malfoy’s
‘companions’ asked.

“YEAH!” added the dumber.

Draco was certainly caught off guard by this turn of events. Ginny decided to take advantage of
his momentary distraction and leave.

“Come on, Neville,” she said saucily. “Let’s go find the sweets trolley. You can buy me a Sugar
Quill.” She then grabbed hold of his hand and started to lead him out of the compartment.

“Pathetic,” Draco muttered as Neville passed by.

With his free hand, Neville just pointed at Ginny and smiled vacantly. He clearly was not
complaining about his place in the order of things.

Crabbe and Goyle, for their parts, decided they didn’t have to stand around and be told they
weren’t desirable... not that they *wanted* to be desirable to Draco. It was just a male-pride
thing. So they took advantage of Ginny and Neville’s departure and left themselves. It was probably
the most impressive feat of strategy they had ever employed. Or ever would.

Though unnerved by the sudden shift in odds against him, Draco was foolishly undaunted
nonetheless. Unsatisfied that his first attempt to provoke Harry had failed, he just could not
leave without giving it another go.

“You know, Potter, the merging of two pureblood families has to be one of the most important
events in the whole world, as it ensures a future pureblooded generation. But I have to admit that
the thought of the Weaslette and the Witless Wonder together has got to be one of the most
sick-en-ing...” Draco slowed and trailed off as he noticed something at the back of the
compartment.

“Oh? What have we here?” he asked whimsically. “Are you so boring that your pet chicken had to
go out and find company on her own?” Hedwig was sitting protectively on her eggs, and Metis by now
was hopping back and forth across the cage restlessly, keeping a sharp eye on Draco.

“Get out!” Hermione said dangerously. Crookshanks—who had been lying low in hopes of enacting a
sneak attack upon the kitty-Bon Bon that was Ginny’s Pygmy Puff—decided to make his presence (and
support) known at this point. He darted out from his secluded corner and stood in front of the
cage, his fur in full fluff. There were now four witches and wizards and an angry cat/Kneazle
between Malfoy the two otherwise helpless owls locked in their cage.

He would never admit it to anyone, except to complain about it, but Draco never forgot the time
Hermione had hit him. He was therefore careful to stay out of arm’s reach from her whenever
possible.

While Potter and all of his friends (even the loony girl) looked quite ready to hex him into
next term, from his safer, distanced vantage point, Draco did notice that it was Granger (and her
mangy animal) who appeared the most threatening at the moment. It was *they* who appeared the
most defensive.

He was loath to admit it, but Draco had resigned himself that she would be top of the class.
Again. He *knew* she would lord it over him. If she had the highest O.W.L. score....

He looked a little harder at the cage. The smaller one was highly agitated. But why was Potter’s
owl *just sitting there?*

“I should have known you’d win the O.W.L. owl, Granger,” Draco said, trying to sound bored. “You
know those W.E.A. owls aren’t even worth stuffing as trophies... just a bunch of inbred,
flea-bitten feather bags.”

“Well, you’d know all about inbreeding, Malfoy, wouldn’t you? It’s getting harder and harder
these days to find pureblood families, isn’t it?” Hermione asked sweetly. “Do your parents have a
cousin all lined up for you to marry yet? I guess you should be lucky you don’t have a sister.”

Draco looked back down at the owls in the cage. He was sorely tempted to try a depluming curse
he’d once read about. In times of war, just like with their human opponents, wizards devised
creative, *and cruel*, ways to “take care of” an enemy’s owl messengers. When used on a bird
in flight, the end result was usually the same as a Killing Curse, except it didn’t require
anywhere near as much energy to cast.

Plus it did have the benefit of making retrieval of communiqués a lot easier. Hitting a bird in
flight with the Killing Curse required perfect aim. Other spells that weren’t so finicky tended to
violently obliterate small organisms... and their valuable messages.

As he considered what Granger might turn him into, or exactly how hard she might hit him, Draco
noticed Potter’s owl move. She was just a small shuffle, but it was enough. Two owls... one cage...
now it all made sense.

Draco began to laugh riotously. He could only point for a few moments, until he was able to get
his laughter under control.

“Potter! Your owl got knocked up by Granger’s!”

There were now four wands pointed directly at Draco’s face, but for once he really didn’t care.
Even if he chose to do nothing else, this fact alone made it all worth it. He knew he and his
housemates could easily get at least a month’s worth of torment out of this.

“GET OUT!” Harry shouted.

For once, Draco *voluntarily* did as Harry ordered.

*“Two little lovebirds sitting in a tree, F-U...”* Draco sang as he turned and started to
leave the compartment. Just as he slid the door open, he thought of the funniest joke. He quickly
spun around.

“I had an early breakfast and am feeling a bit famished. Who fancies an omelet?” he asked as he
faked a long, loud laugh and *pretended* to reach for his wand.

Because he was too busy laughing, Draco never heard the spell cast at him. But he certainly felt
its effects.

Or didn’t.

His eyes widened in shock as his lower jaw started to fall open, useless.

“WHA IH YOU OO??!!” Draco tried to shout as he found his tongue non-functional as well.

“What did I do?” Hermione asked as she took a step forward. “Oh, nothing dangerous, nothing
permanent. Nothing *painful*,” she added, sounding almost regretful. “Just a simple, ordinary
numbing charm, quite useful for healers... and dentists.”

“I CANN THAH!!”

“And we will be *so* wanting without your words of wisdom,” Hermione said. Having spent
more time in a dental office than most kids could be paid to go, she’d gotten quite adept at
understanding people trying to talk with a mouth full of Novocain. The daughter of dentists,
perhaps that was how she’d thought of that spell. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to do
anything too drastic on the train ride *to* school.

Or perhaps it was the memory of when (and *where*) that charm had been used on Harry
previously.

“Run along, Malfoy. And do be careful. It would be a shame if you accidentally bit your tongue.”
By now, his limp oral appendage was starting to hang humorously out of his mouth like some
overheated canine; he was even starting to drool.

Unwilling (and unable) to say anything more, Draco turned and stormed out of the compartment,
closing the sliding door so hard the glass rattled. His other hand was holding his jaw shut.

Harry and Ron turned and looked at Hermione, clearly impressed. She had been on such a roll that
neither felt it necessary to add anything. (And it kinda would have looked a bit like a childish,
“Yeah!” sort of add-on.) Luna just tucked her wand behind her ear and sat down, returning to her
not-a-centerfold *Quibbler* article.

“That was *brilliant!*” Ron exclaimed breathlessly as he and Harry sat down. “How long is
he going to be like that?”

“How long did that charm last when Dumbledore did it on you?” Hermione asked Harry.

Trying not to blush, he managed, “Dunno, until sometime in the middle of the night?”

*As in 3:26 in the morning?* a certain voice in the back of Harry’s mind asked.

“Sometime in the middle of the night?” Hermione answered Ron, shrugging her shoulders.

“Brilliant!” Ron sighed, smiling. “When did Dumbledore do that to you?” he asked Harry,
curious.

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry replied vaguely. He had no intention of telling Ron later.

Confident that Draco would not be eager to show his face again for the remainder of the ride to
school, Hermione sat down for a few seconds, allowing her anger and irritation with the ferret wash
away. As it faded, she looked again at Ron and Harry.

Ron was dutifully inspecting one of his empty Chocolate Frog boxes; again it almost appeared he
was trying to avoid looking somewhere *else* in the room. Harry was sitting next to him,
leaning back against the seat, his eyes closed. Every few seconds, he would smile as if he was
replaying the entire scene again.

Once Hermione felt sufficiently calm and collected, she let out a small cleansing breath and
sighed.

“Well, Harry,” she said encouragingly as she stood up. “We should probably do our patrol now so
we can have some free time before we need to do it again later this afternoon.”

“*Mm-hmm,*” Harry agreed lazily without opening his eyes.

“I’m going to grab my uniform and robes, and will be back here in five minutes. Will you be
ready by then?”

“*Mm-hmm,*” he said again, this time thinking back to the other day when he saw her in her
uniform again for the first time... for the sixth time.

Looking at him, Hermione decided that Harry must have really been enjoying replaying Draco’s
retreat. She smiled and shook her head, then turned around and reached up to take her trunk down
from the rack.

Because she had lifted it over her head and twisted around as put it in the overhead rack, when
Hermione took it back down and set it on the seat, it was now upside down. But since standard
trunks like those that Hogwarts students used opened just as easily upside down as right side up,
she decided to open it as it was rather than fuss with trying to turn it over and risk hitting
Luna.

The only problem with that (as she chastised herself now that it was too late) was that her
uniform and robes, which had been on top, were now on bottom. Unwilling to publicize her mistake by
*now* flipping over the trunk (at least her initials were on the side Ron couldn’t see),
Hermione decided to just dig through her clothes to get to the bottom.

Harry sat very comfortably in his seat for a few more moments. His mind alternated back and
forth between recalling a month ago at 3:26AM, and trying to remember the look on Malfoy’s numb
face as best he could before it started to fade. Once both thoughts were sufficiently redeemed, he
reluctantly turned his head towards Ron and opened his eyes.

His redheaded friend was reading and rereading several of the wizard’s cards that came with the
Chocolate Frogs. Considering his earlier behavior, and considering Ron had almost the entire
complete set, Harry suspected Ron was again trying to ignore Luna.

*I really wished I knew what happened between the two of them,* Harry thought to himself as
he started to turn back towards Hermione to see if she knew what was going on. *Ron had been
so...*

All further conscious thought faded from his mind as he looked back and found Hermione standing
directly in front of him, bending over as she dug around in her trunk.

Harry knew that some guys were breast men. He knew some were fans of a nice set of legs. But
ever since he first started noticing girls, he knew that truly appreciated a nice posterior—hers
especially. Granted, he was quite fond of *all* of her, but still....

And so with Hermione’s backside not four feet away from his face, Harry just stared.

[...]

And stared. Two or three seconds passed by agonizingly slowly. And wonderfully, too.

[...]

He knew he shouldn’t objectify the female form (or Hermione) by staring, but he just couldn’t
help it.

[...]

And she was wearing his favorite pair of jeans, too. He even unconsciously tilted his head a
little to the left, as if seeing her from a slightly different angle would be even better.

[...]

It was.

[...]

He honestly didn’t know how girls could be allowed to walk around like—

*THOCK!*

Harry was broken out of his hypnotic state when something hit the side of his head. He looked
down into his lap (the folded fabric in his jeans from sitting hid everything, but he
*knew*...) and found an empty Chocolate Frog box. He turned and looked at Ron.

Ron was staring at Harry with his eyes wide, wearing a look that shouted, *“WHAT IN THE BLOODY
HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”*

Because he’d been in something of a trance-like state, Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Ron
meant. He shook his head in confusion. Ron’s eyes narrowed in irritation and he jerked his head
towards Hermione, never taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry turned and looked, and only *now* was consciously aware of what he’d been staring at.
*Oh yeah!* he remembered with a mental grin. All in all, it hadn’t even been ten seconds that
he was staring, but it was plenty of time for Ron to catch him.

Harry immediately turned bright red in embarrassment, and then looked down at the floor. Having
taken a few extra seconds to ensure she not scatter her more personal items of clothing around the
compartment as she dug through her trunk, Hermione finally pulled her robes out. As she turned
around in triumph, the first thing she noticed was a red-faced Harry staring at the floor.

“What?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Harry couldn’t speak, so Ron did.

“Um, well, I just gave him a new candy I found, a Lava Gummy,” Ron lied. “I don’t think he likes
it.”

“He’s all right?” Hermione asked Ron hesitantly, almost in accusation, as Harry had now closed
his eyes in further embarrassment as Ron had now just lied for him.

“Oh, he’ll be fine in a couple of minutes,” Ron said in a tone that suggested to Harry they
would be having a few words... in a couple of minutes.

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “Harry?” she asked anyway. He just nodded. “I’m going to change.
Will you be ready in five minutes?” she repeated herself from earlier. Again Harry nodded.

Evidently satisfied, Hermione reluctantly nodded and then opened the compartment door.

“Oh, wait!” Luna said suddenly as she put down her *Quibbler* she’d been reading behind.
“Do you mind if I come with you? I might as well change too.”

Considering what they’d all gone through together only two months earlier, Hermione had pledged
herself to become more accepting of the blonde Ravenclaw, no matter what strange things she said or
believed in. And if possible, maybe she could even become a friend.

And it was hard to resist the innate female urge to travel to the bathroom in groups.

So Hermione smiled and agreed to wait while Luna retrieved her robes as well. All the while, she
noticed that Ron was watching Harry like a hawk; she assumed this was to observe for any further
confectionary reactions. Actually, what Ron was really watching for was any more instances of
wandering eye.

A minute later, Harry and Ron were alone in the compartment.

“Well?!” Ron asked impatiently.

“Well what?” Harry replied, hoping he could avoid this.

“‘Well what?’ Bloody hell, Harry, you were staring. At Hermione’s BUM!”

“I was not! I was just thinking...” Harry started to lie.

“About Hermione’s bum,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

“Ron, you’re taking it all out of context,” Harry objected, somehow managing to sound less and
less believable.

“What you might have *thought* was staring was just me...” he tried to think of something
that might look like staring, “being lost in thought, remembering something.”

“Yeah, Hermione’s bum,” Ron supplied, now looking amused.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re imagining things, Ron,” he said, trying to make it sound like he
didn’t believe anything his friend was saying.

“Maybe, but at least I know what you were imagining... Hermione’s bum,” Ron added, grinning.
While he had originally been shocked that Harry was so blatantly staring at Hermione—of all
people—by this point it was simply more fun to just take the mickey out of him.

“You know, Harry. If you want to stare at her bum, that’s fine by me,” Ron teased, holding up
his hand in an appeasing gesture. “Just don’t let her catch you doing it. You know she’d kill you
for it. You remember how she reacted when she caught you and me staring at Fleur, right?”

Suddenly, Harry had a bad feeling about this.

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” he asked hesitantly.

“Tell her what?” Ron asked with well-practiced innocence. So worried, Harry actually fell for
it.

“That I was staring at her—” Harry said; Ron smirked, “—that you *imagined* I was staring
at her backside.”

“Oh, of course I would *never* do anything like that,” Ron said, this time *too*
innocently. Deep down, Harry knew his best friend wouldn’t... but it might require a trip to
Honeyduke’s as bribery to ensure him staying mum.

“Fine,” Harry agreed. “Let’s just get changed before they come back.”

“Dunno... after that, I’m not sure if I *want* to be the same room as you with your clothes
off,” Ron ribbed. After pulling down his trunk, Harry just glared at Ron a little. He knew he had
been caught, so he was willing to let Ron have a little fun at his expense, especially if it bought
his silence. But Ron was quite capable of taking his jokes a little too far, and now was just one
such occasion. The glare let the redhead know that.

Ron pulled down his trunk as Harry pulled down the blinds on the compartment, affording them
enough privacy to change into their uniforms. As Ron pulled out his robes, he couldn’t help but
snicker a little. Harry had to admit, from *Ron’s* point of view, getting caught probably
*was* a little funny.

* * *

There were approximately one thousand students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Putting most of them onto one train at eleven in the morning and not letting them off until after
sunset necessitated the need for more than just a single, cramped toilet compartment in each
carriage.

Near the front, middle, and end of the train were specially designed lavatory cars. As spacious
as any of the regular restrooms at school, they kept the school population happy and comfortable
for the nearly nine-hour journey. They even had magically-maintained litter boxes for the dozens of
cats (and half-Kneazles) aboard.

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or unnerved when she walked into the nearest girls’
restroom: it was filled with mostly Gryffindor girls. She was relieved because they were almost all
Gryffindors; they weren’t Slytherins. She was also uneasy because they were almost all Gryffindors,
since large groups of girls tended to indulge in gossip. Groups from the same house led to even
more gossip.

And participating in gossip was one of the few areas in which Hermione Granger felt completely
out of her league.

“Say what you want,” Ginny said in something of a ‘your loss’ tone of voice as she brushed her
hair, “but I think Neville’s just about the perfect boyfriend.” If she hadn’t already been seen by
the other girls standing in front of the sinks and mirrors, Hermione probably would have just
turned around and walked right back out.

But she couldn’t, so Hermione quickly and quietly walked into one of the curtained changing
cubicles.

“This, coming from the girl who practically drooled over the dirt beneath Harry Potter’s shoes?”
Lavender Brown asked incredulously.

“Okay, first of all, that statement could probably be applied to eighty-two per cent of the
female population here at Hogwarts,” Ginny said in defense of herself. Hermione faked a cough as
she stifled her unexpected laughter from Ginny’s use of the fabricated statistic.

“And second of all, Harry may be brave and noble and totally shaggable in those jeans of his,”
Ginny continued (Hermione coughed again), “but there is one thing that Neville has in his favor
that Harry doesn’t.”

“And what’s that?” Parvati Patil asked disbelievingly.

“*Neville* fancies me,” Ginny replied simply. Half undressed and behind her curtain,
Hermione couldn’t see Ginny’s face. But she knew the redhead well enough to recognize that there
was nothing disparaging in her tone about Harry. Rather, she was simply explaining what set the two
of them apart, as far as she was concerned.

“Neville?” Katie Bell asked, in confirmation.

“Neville,” Ginny verified. “He’s kind, he’s sweet, he’s cute in his own quiet way... there’s
just a lot of things about him that impress me.”

*Yeah, something else too,* Hermione thought sarcastically as she put her robes on.

“Well, speaking of impressive,” came a voice that Hermione didn’t immediately recognize. “Did
anyone see Harry on the platform this morning?”

Hermione stepped out of her cubicle and went to join the other girls by the mirrors, still
gossiping and primping themselves. She just wanted to make sure her hair was under control and her
robes in place and her tie properly straight. As she approached the one remaining empty sink, she
noticed the girl who had spoken last. She was a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent
chin, and long black hair.

Hermione was a bit embarrassed to admit that, what with all the life-or-death situations she,
Harry, and Ron had been in over the last few years, getting to know all of her
housemates—especially the years other than her own—had not been a top priority.

“Wasn’t he just *gorgeous*?” Padma Patil asked, giggling.

“He usually has such dreadful clothes. It’s those horrible relatives of his,” Parvati
observed.

“Oh, Merlin, but not this time!” the unfamiliar girl exclaimed. “I was half-tempted to run up to
him and give him a pinch! They might have been ordinary jeans, but he could have been a *Witch
Weekly* fashion model the way those clothes fit him!”

“That is to say, they actually *fit* him for once,” Ginny clarified, and then noticed that
Hermione had come in.

“Hello, Hermione,” Ginny greeted warmly. “About to go on rounds?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “Another year, another train-ride. Where did Neville go?”

“He went on further down the cars, looking for the sweets lady. I’ll catch up with him in a
minute.”

Hermione nodded, then grabbed one of the train-provided brushes (always magically clean) and
gave her hair a quick run-through just to put everything back into place after dressing.

The barely familiar dark-haired girl returned to the most important subject at hand.

“I wonder where Harry shops,” she mused significantly.

“You should ask Hermione. Harry spent half the summer at her house,” Ginny said a rather
detached voice, as if she was speaking without thinking.

The *very first* thing to run through Hermione’s mind was, *Well, I guess the Fidelius
has expired now that Harry’s headed back to school.*

As for the next thing to pop into her mind, well, there was about a twenty-way tie of choice
remarks, most not suitable for mixed company.

Ginny’s life was spared however because Hermione could see that the redhead was the most shocked
of them all by her announcement.

For the other witches, Ginny’s revelation unleashed a tidal wave of questioning. It all quickly
snowballed; the questions came at her rapid-fire from all sides, almost as if shot out by a machine
gun.

“Harry stayed at your house??!”

“For how long?”

“Did your parents know?”

“Were your parents there?”

“Did they leave you two alone?”

“What was it like having him sleep in your house?”

“Were there ever any awkward moments?”

“Did he ever see you in your knickers?”

“Did he ever walk in on you in the shower?”

“Did you ever see him in his underwear?!”

“Did you ever walk in on him in the shower?”

“Boxers or briefs?”

“Oh, my God! Did you ever see HIM naked?”

“Is it true he has a Hippogriff tattooed across his chest?”

“Does he have a smooth chest, or is he all manly hairy?”

“How big is he?”

“ENOUGH!!” Hermione shouted, finally overcoming the surprise at the instant inquisition... and
glaring at the black-haired girl for her last question.

Part of her was relieved that no one ever insinuated or asking if there was anything “going on”
between them. And part of her was disappointed that no one did.

But this could all still spiral rapidly out of control. The Hogwarts rumor mill would be ablaze,
especially considering the current occupants of the room.

“All right. First of all, aside from Voldemort and his Death Eaters,” Hermione began (she was
actually pleased for once when everyone flinched), “Harry’s relatives are probably the cruelest,
most awful people on the earth.

“We all wanted to get him out of there as soon as was possible. He normally stays with Ron and
his family—” (Ginny nodded) “—but because of complications he couldn’t this time. So my parents and
I offered to let him stay with us.”

“Why couldn’t he stay with you?” Parvati asked Ginny, curious and confused.

“We were having problems with my prat of a brother.”

“*Which one?*” Katie asked with a chuckle.

“Percy.”

All of the girls who had ever met Percy or had heard about him *“Oh”*ed in
understanding.

Thankful for the momentary distraction, Hermione decided to address all of the other “inquiries”
to stem off any further speculation.

“And as for all of your other questions...” she addressed all of the girls, then turned back to
the youngest of the group. “What was your name again?”

“Romilda Vane.”

“Of course, *Miss Vane*,” Hermione said coolly, then again resumed addressing everyone.
“Harry is my friend. He is also, for those who did not know, Gryffindor’s prefect this year. Anyone
who does not show him the proper courtesy and respect he deserves will land themselves in
detention, shoveling manure for Hagrid or extracting beetle eyes for Professor Snape.”

And with that, Hermione spun on her heel, her hair whipping around and nearly hitting Romilda,
and marched out of the bathroom. If he wasn’t such a slimy, greasy git, Severus Snape might have
even complimented the ominous way her robes billowed behind her as she stormed back into the
corridor. She had only gotten a few steps away when Ginny came out of the bathroom behind her.

“Hermione!” she said urgently, to which the brunette witch turned. “I’m sorry about that in
there. I didn’t mean to go blabbing about Harry’s business. It was just, with the charm and all, it
was all bottled up for weeks. First time it popped into my mind, it all burst out.”

“Like a broken dam,” Hermione agreed with a faint smile as she saw the apologetic look on her
friend’s face. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” The truth was, Hermione was a little disappointed
that the literal secret was now out.

She knew it was silly to even think such a thing, but somehow their summer together had seemed
just that little bit more special when no one else knew about it. She had the freedom to remember
it and interpret it any way she chose. Now, she *had* to describe it as merely a lodging
arrangement, at least publicly. She might have thought otherwise, but even just saying the words
felt like she was diminishing it.

Hermione’s mind then wandered to something else.

“What’s going on with your brother and Luna?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny frowned in confusion. “He went over to her house yesterday morning. He had
the lamest excuse for visiting: he wanted to borrow a cup of tea!” she laughed.

“Anyway, he came back pretty quickly... he couldn’t have been over there more than a couple
minutes. He was in quite the sour mood, talking to himself under his breath. He just stormed past
me and stomped up to his room. He was complaining about something... it was hard to understand
him... something about... could have been ‘waste of time’ since I did hear him say something about
getting his hopes up.”

Ginny then shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in confusion, not knowing anything more.
Hermione frowned in confirmation that she also didn’t know anything and that they should probably
just leave it be.

There was something however that Ginny knew shouldn’t just be left be.

“We need to keep an eye on that one, Romilda Vane,” she warned. “She’s a lot like I used to be
in her... *adoration* of Harry. Except, she’s a little more creative... more
passive-aggressive. If I were the type to wear sexy clothes to entice Harry, then she’d be the type
to sneak into his dorm room, lie on his bed, and wait for him, *naked.*”

“Well, as long as she keeps her sights off of Neville, *you’ll* be fine then,” Hermione
teased. Despite the humor, she took the warning seriously. Ginny’s comparison brought to the front
of her Hermione’s mind an observation she made earlier. “Though, I must confess I’ve noticed that
those jeans you’re wearing are awfully tight. They can’t be comfortable.”

“Truthfully, they’re not. But Neville likes them so I don’t mind them so much. One last little
treat for him,” Ginny said with a wink, “before it’s back to uniforms and robes.”

Hermione shook her head and chuckled. “Just promise I won’t catch the two of you in a broom
cupboard when I’m on duty, okay?”

Ginny smirked. “I promise... you won’t *catch* us in a broom cupboard.” She then turned and
started to head further down the train in search of Neville. Hermione continued her way back
towards their compartment to fetch Harry.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the bathroom, Romilda turned to the other girls as soon as Ginny ran after
Hermione.

“So what’s *her* problem?” Romilda asked the remaining girls. Her tone clearly indicated
Hermione, rather than Ginny who had just left.

“Where have you been all these years?” Parvati laughed at the younger girl. Hogwarts was small
enough that talk could spread like wildfire, but it was still big enough for students to not know
all of their fellow housemates personally, especially if there was more than one year between
them.

But still, anyone who had eyes should have known about Harry and Hermione (and Ron).

“Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hogwarts’ Golden Trio. You cross one, you cross them all,” Katie
warned.

“Harry and... they’re not going *out*, are they?” Romilda asked, remembering the
*Prophet* articles from a few years ago.

All of the girls started laughing at that.

“Last I heard,” Lavender interjected, “Hermione was still writing Viktor Krum. She must get
rather *lonely* that way,” she added with a smirk.

“VIKTOR KRUM?! What could he have *possibly* seen in her?” Romilda asked in shock. She was
a bit too young to have to have gone to the Yule Ball or been aware of all *that* back then,
other than what was in the newspaper and magazines. While she was momentarily distracted by this
revelation, Parvati winked at the other girls.

“Dunno. Maybe the same thing Harry sees in her,” she teased. “In any case, if you even want to
have thoughts about him, I’d suggest you not get on Hermione’s bad side. The last girl who did...
well, everyone knows what happened between Harry and Cho Chang.”

Cho Chang, Romilda knew about, as that had been only a few months ago. Hogwarts was small
enough, after all.

While all the four girls returned to their preening, Luna Lovegood, who had followed Hermione
into the bathroom, emerged from her own changing cubicle. For reasons that reached back into her
early childhood, she had always been a slow dresser. So although she hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on
the other girls, it had happened.

One good thing about this accidental snooping was that Romilda Vane’s “accusation” had given her
something new to think about. And for Luna Lovegood, that was always a special occasion. It would
explain a great number of curious observations she’d made during the last three times she’d seen
Harry, namely in the carriage this morning, back at Ginny’s birthday party, and at Harry’s too.

And strictly on a practical note, Ginny’s admission explained why they had always arrived
together.

Still unseen by the still-self-beautifying girls, Luna slipped out of the bathroom and started
skipping up the corridor, humming “Weasley is My King,” as she considered the way of the world.

*Now, if only this situation with Ronald could be solved this easily,* Luna sighed.

* * *

After dressing down a couple of girls who were loudly laughing about various colors for some
unknown reason, Hermione opened the door to the carriage with her compartment. A small part of her
was disappointed to see that the blinds on their windows were open. She wouldn’t have all minded
accidentally walking in on Harry mid-dress. Then again, that might have also meant walking in on
Ron too, and *that* would have been awkward.

“Ready for your first official patrol?” Hermione asked upon entering.

“Ready!” Harry replied, eager to prove himself.

“Just be sure to keep your eyes peeled for... *trouble!”* Ron sang before popping a piece
of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum into his mouth. He just smirked at the glare Harry gave him.

Because she had left not all that much after Ginny and Hermione, and because Hermione had
stopped on her way back to tell off those girls, Luna returned just as Harry started to stand up.
Ron suddenly froze and then ducked behind his *Quidditch Illustrated* that he stole
*back* from Ginny while she was gone. Luna quickly sat back down and returned to her
*Quibbler*. She was reading it normally this time.

Which, for her, probably meant she was hiding behind it too.

Harry looked at Hermione, hoping she might have an answer. She just rolled her eyes and waved
her hand dismissively. *Don’t ask ME. I haven’t a clue.*

Right as Harry was about to leave the compartment, he looked back at the last moment. He caught
Ron’s eye and was about to say something when he got a look that clearly, and without a doubt
meant, *“Don’t say another word!”*

Harry nodded, then headed down the corridor to catch up with Hermione. As he reached her, he
smiled guiltily. If he were having some sort of awkward moment with Hermione (such as getting
caught staring at her bum), the absolute last thing he would want would be for Ron to say something
stupid, in *front* of her.

Harry *was* about to ask Ron if he would be okay if he left him alone with Luna.

*That would have gone over well!* he chastised himself.

* * *

As the two best friends walked down the corridor of the next car, Hermione reminded Harry of the
many things they needed to patrol for. Fortunately for her, the next compartment had its blinds
closed.

The compartments’ pull-down blinds were required to be left open. It was generally accepted that
they might need to be closed briefly if someone was putting on his or her uniform, but they were to
be reopened immediately. Private compartments on a train filled with coed teenagers were an
invitation for mischief.

After she pointed out the potential rule violation, Harry was all set to rush in and break up
whatever was going on inside. Anxious to show Hermione he was a proper prefect, he suddenly
realized something: he didn’t have his prefect badge.

*While he had been waiting for Ron to finish changing, Harry was giving his prefect badge a
quick, last minute shine. He breathed on it then polished, using a clean sock from his open trunk
to remove his dulling fingerprints. Not paying attention, he hadn’t noticed that Ron had finished
and gone over to open the curtains again. He did notice a moment later, however, when there was a
tapping noise at the corridor window.*

*Several girls, third of fourth years by the looks of them, were looking into the compartment,
pointing and giggling. What had their attention was Harry’s still open trunk. On the very top
(because they were the smallest items and that was how he packed) were his socks... and several
pairs of his underwear.*

*Dropping everything in his hands (his badge, into the trunk), he slammed the lid shut as he
stood up in a sudden move. He promised himself he would have to have a little chat with Ron about
waiting until everyone was ready before opening the curtains. Looking back, the girls now appeared
quite disappointed that the show was over. They quickly left, giggling about navy, gray, black...
colors that coincided with the new underwear he had purchased in the department store back on his
first day in Wandsworth.*

Just as she was about to knock on the offending compartment’s door, Hermione too noticed Harry’s
uniform problem.

“Where’s your badge, Harry?”

“Erm,” was all Harry could say. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at him, giving him quite a
look of disappointment... but not so much that he needed to fear a lecture.

“Go on!” she scolded. “I can handle this one,” she said, pointing at the blinds.

“Okay,” he agreed. It wasn’t like he could say *no*.

Mentally kicking himself for having screwed up his very first prefect duty (and for not living
up to what he imagined were Hermione’s high expectations of him), when he got back to their
compartment, he didn’t bother looking in through the windows. Not really thinking, he simply opened
the door and walked in, looking straight ahead.

When he finally noticed, he first noticed that the seats where Ron and Luna had been earlier
were now empty. Then, in his peripheral vision, he noticed motion on the floor.

“HOLY FU...” Harry almost swore and quickly turned around to escape the carnage. He didn’t use
profanity much (aloud, at least), so it was actually quite easy for him to not utter the curse
word.

On the floor in front of him was a teeming, writhing mass of black robes; a few spots of red and
blonde hair stuck out on one end. The room was filled with the horrifying sucking, slurping, and
smooching sounds of a serious, furious make-out session.

Unfortunately, the door had closed behind Harry; his forehead ended up hitting the window as he
as he tried to abandon ship. The old-fashioned pane glass cracked from the impact.

Stumbling to sit down, Harry clutched his forehead in pain. When the stars had cleared, he
looked up and found Ron and Luna back in their seats as if nothing had happened. The only clues to
the contrary were the fact that Ron was holding (hiding behind) *The Quibbler* and Luna was
“reading” *Quidditch Illustrated*.

The fact that even their hands were red from a blush (or a flush) helped too.

“You all right mate?” Ron croaked from behind the magazine. He remained hidden.

“Luna, could I have a minute alone with Ron, please?”

“Okay,” her normally airy voice replied shakily. She put the magazine down and stood up to
leave. Harry noticed she was smiling broadly... smiling like he had never seen her smile before.
Her cheeks were still rosy red.

She took a step then suddenly stopped and pulled a piece of gum out of her mouth. “Oh, here you
go, Ronald,” she said, handing it back to him.

“Great! Thanks, Luna!” Ron said happily. “Thought I had swallowed that,” he added to himself as
an afterthought as he popped it back into his mouth.

After Luna wandered away, Harry stared at Ron expectantly.

“WELL?!”

“Well what?” Ron asked innocently, trying to pretend nothing had happened. It was not
intentional, but the irony of this conversation was not missed by either of them.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said sarcastically. “How about the part where I walked in on the two
of you rolling around on the floor, sucking each other’s faces?!”

“Ohhh.... *thaaaat,*” Ron suddenly ‘remembered.’ He couldn’t hide his grin anymore. Harry
knew that if his friend was going to play dumb or innocent, they would be here for a while. So he
decided to make this as direct as possible.

“What happened?” he asked. “The two of you were avoiding each other like the Plague, and then I
walk in on you sucking face.”

“We weren’t...”

“You were writhing, moaning, groaning... sucking face!” Harry insisted.

After the ‘staring at Hermione’s bum’ thing, he was going to make sure he paid Ron back in kind.
Unfortunately for Harry’s ‘all in good fun’ payback, Ron actually grinned instead.

“You were rehearsing last week what you were going to say to her... you were going to meet her
for her eleven o’clock Portkey yesterday... What happened?”

Ron’s eyes widened in shock that Harry knew all of that.

“Everyone knew, Ron,” Harry explained. “When you’re whispering to yourself, your voice carries a
lot louder than you think.” Ron clearly didn’t know that about himself; his look of embarrassment
proved that much at least.

“So what was going on today? What happened yesterday when she got back?”

“Nothing,” Ron replied simply. “Nothing happened. When I went over to her house that morning,
she wasn’t there. *They* weren’t there. Her letter said their Portkey returned at eleven
o’clock. I assumed in the morning. She returned at eleven at night. I came home annoyed that I’d
walked over there for nothing.

“And as for this morning, well, I guess you could say I was rather anxious to see her again
after all those letters we wrote. It was about all I could do to not snog her in front of all you
guys. Once everyone left and it was just the two of us, well, erm, I suppose the feeling was
mutual,” Ron finished, grinning and blushing again.

Exactly sixty seconds after departing, Luna returned.

“Did you two finish all of your male bonding?” she asked as she sat back down.

“Um, yeah?” Ron asked, not sure how to answer. “Oh yeah, what did you come back for, anyway?” he
asked Harry. “Not to check up on us, I hope,” he said, winking at Luna.

“Erm, no,” Harry replied, growing increasingly convinced he did not want to be present for
whatever the two of them were doing. “I dropped my prefect badge in my trunk when I slammed it shut
earlier. Hermione’s on up ahead, dealing with a compartment with their blinds closed.” And with
that, he stared heavily at Ron, silently warning him to not close the blinds.

After pocketing his badge and putting the trunk back up (and repairing the glass he broke with
his forehead), Harry decided it was time to leave... immediately. He couldn’t see either Ron or
Luna while he was stowing the trunk, but he got the distinct feeling that the two of them were
giving each other suggestive looks. He definitely didn’t want to be there for *that*.

“Keep the blinds open!” Harry warned as he started to leave.

No one acknowledged him, but he did hear Luna giggle (yes, giggle) as he opened the door.

“Can I have that gum back?” she asked.

“Come and get it,” Ron dared.

* * *

By the time Harry had caught back up with Hermione, she had already dealt with the closed blinds
and was slowly walking down the corridor of the next car.

“You’ll never guess what just happened back in our compartment!”

“What? Ron and Luna awkwardly quiet, sitting reading their magazines and trying to ignore each
other?”

“No,” Harry replied, grinning. “Ron and Luna rolling around on the floor in the midst of a major
snog-fest.”

“WHAT?!” Hermione asked in shock. Harry briefly recapped what he’d seen and what Ron said.

“Oh yeah, some serious face-sucking I walked in on,” Harry chuckled. “I suppose it’s a good
thing I did walk in on them when I did. Oh, and by the way, I warned them to not close their
windows. Hopefully that’ll keep them under control a bit.”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, slightly distracted. She was starting to feel a slight pull on her
heart. Neville and Ginny were doing brilliantly together. Ron and Luna seemed to have finally hit
it off. So why hadn’t she?

Why couldn’t she just *tell* Harry how she felt? It obviously seemed to have worked for her
friends. People say that hindsight is 20/20. Well, *foresight* always seems 20/20... when it
doesn’t involve *you*. But as soon as a person factors himself or herself into the equation,
well, he or she might as well be as blind as a bat.

“I’d say Ron is quite *moonstruck*, wouldn’t you?” Harry chuckled. “He’s over the moon for
Luna, eh?”

Despite her own introspection, and Harry’s lame puns, it was hard for her to be downbeat seeing
him smile as much as he was.

“I’m sure he is, Harry. I’m sure he is,” she agreed, feeling a little better, as they continued
their patrol.

They made their way up to the front of the train, turned around, and headed back. Most everyone
was being quite well behaved today. Their patrol took them by Draco Malfoy’s compartment twice (to,
and back). They didn’t stop either time but they did walk slowly enough in front of their windows
to ensure their presence was felt.

Still holding his jaw shut with one hand, he used his other hand to greet them each time with a
certain hand gesture.

A few minutes later, they had returned back to their compartment, but went past as they
continued their rounds. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief loudly; the blinds were still open.
Glancing in, the two prefects saw that Ron and Luna had evidently had their fill of face-sucking
for the moment. Luna had returned to her *Quibbler* while Ron was furiously scribbling away at
his Potions essay again. They were sitting on the same side, however, very close to each other.

* * *

A few cars down, Harry would finally come across his first real test as prefect: a small girl
out in the corridor, looking as though she was only moments away from crying. She seemed to be
lost, based on the way she was worriedly looking into the windows of the compartments as she walked
by.

“She’s all yours,” Hermione whispered as she slowed to fall back. “Just don’t call her a
midget!” she playfully warned. Whether it had been her intention or not, Harry knew he was about to
be compared to a previous male Gryffindor prefect. And no offense intended to Ron, but Harry wanted
to make sure he came out the victor.

Oh, yeah, and there was a lost little girl near tears too.

Harry took a deep breath before approaching. He did *not* like crying girls... no matter
how old they were.

“Hello? Are you all right?” Harry asked in the gentlest voice he could manage as he approached
the frightened little girl with brownish-red hair.

The small girl turned at the sound of his voice. As soon as she saw him, her eyes widened about
as big as they could possibly get.

“Hello,” he said soothingly. “My name is Harry.”

The little girl smiled and blushed.

“Harry Potter,” she whispered in awe, her eyes still like saucers. At least she no longer
appeared to be on the verge of a break down. For one of the few times in his life, Harry was glad
his fame preceded him.

“Yes,” he confirmed, trying (for her benefit) to sound impressed that she knew his name. “And
what’s your name?”

“Theresa,” she replied, ducking her head a little in embarrassment.

“Well, Theresa, now that you know who I am, I want to introduce you to my very best friend,
Hermione Granger,” Harry said, indicating with great flourish the witch directly behind him. Never
able to accept praise modestly, Hermione blushed herself a little at the attention Harry was
bestowing upon her, but managed to survive the introduction.

“So, are we just out for a stroll today, or are we looking for our compartment?”

Her blush returning, Theresa nodded unhelpfully.

“I had to go to...” she started, then paused. “I wanted to look around the train a bit, but on
my way back, I forgot which room was mine.”

Harry smiled and nodded in comprehension. It was easy for a person to get disoriented aboard the
Hogwarts Express their first time.

“Didn’t realize the train was bigger on the inside than on the outside?” Harry asked in a
friendly voice. Theresa shook her head no. On the outside, the Hogwarts express was a short train:
four passenger cars plus the engine. It had to be, to fit the stations at Kings Cross and
Hogsmeade.

But on the inside, the train was much longer. Again, it *had* to be, to fit aboard nearly a
thousand students. Each compartment held six comfortably; each carriage had eight compartments.
Allowing an additional carriage for prefects as well as three dedicated water closet cars near the
front, middle, and end of the train, all together the Hogwarts Express—not including the engine—was
a good twenty-five cars long... on the inside.

It was very easy for someone to get lost, especially for a first-time rider, as Harry
suspected.

“Is this your first time aboard the Hogwarts Express?” he asked the little girl.

Theresa nodded. “I turned eleven at the end of June!” she said proudly. “I hope I get sorted
into Gryffindor,” she said, then looked down as she hid her face in embarrassment.

“You can’t go wrong with Gryffindor,” Harry beamed. “I’m in Gryffindor,” Theresa smiled (she
already knew), “and Hermione too is a fellow lion. Only the best wear red and gold.”

“Well, I could end up being in any house, really,” Theresa replied, not quite as confident
anymore. “My brothers and my sister, they’re in all different houses. I’d be the first Gryffindor,
actually.”

Harry backtracked a little, feeling a little guilty for trumping up his own house so much.

“I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly wherever you’re sorted. *All* of the houses have their good
points really.” Harry was loath to do it, but he felt compelled to say *something* positive
about Slytherin. Maybe all of his time with Hermione had rubbed off on him a little more than he
expected, but he realized that the little girl’s statement about her siblings implied that at least
one of them was in You-Know-Where.

“I know what people say about Slytherin,” Harry continued, *because I’m one of them*, he
added to himself, “but even they have really good students there too.”

He paused for a moment to try to find an example of one such person. His own prejudice against
the house of Salazar Slytherin getting the better of him, he was not at all surprised he could not
think of one. However the noble Godric Gryffindor in him felt compelled to find something positive
to say about the house that contained, he presumed, one of her siblings.

But he really couldn’t think of any good examples. There *had* to be, he knew. Even
Dumbledore had said...

*OF COURSE!*

“Did you know, the Minister of Magic’s assistant was in Slytherin? Even Albus Dumbledore himself
said that he was the best Head Boy the school has had in years.”

The little girl smiled brightly. “He’s my oldest brother!”

Harry looked up and saw Hermione, who had moved around behind the little girl, was looking at
him expectantly. She was smiling, but she was definitely *waiting*. They needed to get back to
their patrol.

“Well, Theresa. What do you say we find your brothers and sisters so you can enjoy the rest of
your very first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express?”

The girl nodded vigorously, and in typical small child fashion, grabbed hold of Harry’s hand as
she resumed her search. She definitely was past tears now.

Knowing it would be rude to try to dislodge the girl, Harry allowed her to lead him down the
corridor... especially since it was in the direction they needed to continue anyway. He glanced
down at the small little hand that had such a tight grip on his.

“Were we *really* that small?” he whispered to Hermione as he and the girl passed her by.
She just smiled and nodded, following a few steps behind the two. Finally, two cars down, and in
the second to last compartment, the small girl finally found her siblings.

“*Found them!*” she sang. She then looked down at her hand in Harry’s, and then fixed him
with an intense stare.

“Can I tell them you’re my boyfriend?” she asked unexpectedly. Surprised, Harry quickly glanced
inside the compartment. The occupants seemed occupied with their books and games. At least it
appeared they hadn’t seen him yet.

Feeling helpless, Harry glanced at Hermione. How was he going to get out of this one? His
creative solution back at the bookstore was not an option this time, if the hesitant look on her
face was any indication. It was one thing to tell a complete stranger they were dating as an
escape. But to do it at school, well, that was bound to have some “interesting” repercussions.

*It worked pretty well last time. Maybe I can go halfway...*

After another quick glance at Hermione that said, *“What have I gotten myself into?”* Harry
put on a brave smile. How does one turn down an eleven year-old? What words were appropriate? The
last time he had to deal with such a determined eleven year-old, he was twelve. And then, he pretty
much just tried to ignore Ginny as best he could.

“Oh, you know, that’s really nice of you, but I’m afraid you can’t tell them I’m your boyfriend.
You see, I already have a girlfriend.” He braved a glance at Hermione; she was hiding a smirk and
rolled her eyes.

The small girl stared at Harry for a few seconds, looking deep in thought as she processed his
words.

“Oh, okay then!” she said suddenly, brightly. She looked as unconcerned as if he’d told her he
didn’t know what the time was.

*Oh yeah, this one’s definitely going to be a Gryffindor!* Harry thought to himself.

“Do you want to come in and meet my brothers and sister?” Theresa asked excitedly.

*‘No’* was NOT the first thing to pop into Harry’s mind, but neither was *‘Yes.’* But
again, he couldn’t really think of any way out of the situation without being rude.

“That’d... be nice,” Harry said. The sympathetic look on Hermione’s face confirmed that she knew
this wasn’t his first choice either.

At the sound of the compartment door opening, everyone looked up from what they were doing. And
then promptly dropped whatever was in their hands. Quickly scanning the room, it appeared that
three of the five other people definitely appeared related to the small girl.

“Everyone!” Theresa announced. “This is my new friend, Harry Potter! I got lost on my way back,
and he and his friend Hermione Granger helped me find my way back.”

Everyone else was still staring at him in awe. The three other girls in the compartment, both
older and one definitely related to the small girl, took on a slightly pink hue. Now, Harry wasn’t
so fond of his fame again.

Unaware of Harry’s awkwardness, Theresa quickly went around the room and made introductions.

“This is my brother, Michael. He’s second year, in Ravenclaw. This is Matthew, fourth year
Hufflepuff. And this is my big sister, Carolyn. She’s a Ravenclaw, sixth year.” In his peripheral
vision, Harry saw Hermione’s head move slightly, obviously in recognition of a fellow sixth year...
and since she was in Ravenclaw, presumably a studious one at that.

“And the other two are her friends, but I don’t know their names. She won’t tell me their
names,” Theresa added in a whisper. Carolyn was about to object to the accuracy of that statement
when she saw Harry grinning at the humor of how much “simpler” things seemed from Theresa’s point
of view; Carolyn merely blushed instead.

If Harry was ever tempted to wonder why so many girls seemed to do that, he need only remember:
he was The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. He then looked at the two mystery girls. They were
vaguely familiar; he’d probably had them in class once, or seen them in the corridors or the Great
Hall.

Still, no one had said anything, besides the little girl of course. Harry didn’t think it had
been the girl’s intention, but he suddenly felt himself up on display again. He was trying to find
a polite way of extracting himself from the position.

“Well, it was nice meeting all of you,” Hermione said, causing Harry to breathe a sigh of relief
internally. She suddenly set her hand on his shoulder, indicating him. “But Harry and I are
prefects and we do need to return to our rounds.”

As the two prefects turned to leave, Carolyn stood up.

“Miss Granger,” she called formally, as was considered appropriate for inter-house students who
didn’t know each other personally. “If you have a moment, could I quickly ask you something about
out Ancient Runes O.W.L.?”

Hermione’s desire to stay and discuss academics was confronted by her desire to not subject
Harry to the same. Fortunately, the two were not contradictory.

“Why don’t you go on, Harry,” she suggested, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ll catch up with
you in a minute.”

“Okay,” he agreed, also trying not to sound too eager.

Harry continued on down to the end of the carriage. At the end of the corridor, right where it
turned to meet the connecting door in the center of the carriage, he suddenly froze as he saw the
door from the next car open.

“Cho?” he asked, surprised.

“Oh, hi... Harry,” Cho Chang said awkwardly, then looking away, evidently inspecting the walls,
floors, and ceiling for defects. The two teens stood there silently for a couple seconds, neither
knowing what to say.

Harry was surprised. Logically, he had known that sooner or later, he would see Cho again. He
just hadn’t actually given much thought to how this moment would play out. If he *had* thought
about it, he might have decided that it would be uncomfortable. (It *certainly* was.)

But how would he react to actually seeing her? Would whatever intangible quality that had made
her so pretty before now be gone? Would she just become another face in the crowd?

What he *hadn’t* expected was to find that she was just as pretty as she had ever been. In
fact, not having seen her for nearly two months, she was even a little prettier than he thought he
remembered.

But that was it.

She was just another pretty face in the crowd... and there were plenty of pretty faces at
Hogwarts. That swooping feeling he used to feel whenever he saw her, that lurch in the pit of his
stomach that hit him every time she made eye contact with him, they were all gone now.

Well, actually, they were still there, but now they only happened when Hermione looked at
him.

Whatever spark there had been for the girl in front of him was now totally and truly dead.

But, after what his five closest friends had done for him this summer, Harry knew the importance
of having friends for support. Dean and Seamus were great mates, but they hadn’t been there with
him “That Night.” Just like with the troll in first year, having gone through that together had
begun to link the six in a way more profound than mere dormitory cohabitation ever could.

He had always suspected that Cho never fully came to terms with Cedric’s death. (Harry might
still not have been “over” Sirius’s death, but he at least had found the closure he needed).
Despite whatever difficulties they had had last term, he decided the least he could do was try to
be a good friend for Cho.

So Harry decided to suck up his pride and extend the first olive branch.

“How have you been?” he asked in a genuinely caring voice.

Evidently Cho had been expecting a *different* reaction; she paused for a moment before
finally answering.

“Okay, I guess,” she replied. It was clear from her tone that things hadn’t been great, but they
hadn’t been bad either. “How was your holiday?” she asked automatically, then flinched, remembering
what had happened at the very end of the last school year. She looked extremely embarrassed, almost
angry with herself.

“It was rough at first,” he said honestly, “but my friends were there for me.”

Cho nodded, not entirely sure what to say next. Her eyes landed on his robes.

“You’re prefect this year,” she observed, smiling slightly as she began to feel a little more
comfortable now that they were talking about, well, *nothing*.

“Yeah, Ron’s going to be Quidditch Captain this year, so he stepped down as prefect.”

“That’s good,” Cho replied. “Team captain is a much better fit for him. I’m sure Her—” she
paused for a moment. “He’ll be a good captain,” she finished, trying to say something nice but
sounding stilted from the abrupt change. Harry knew how Cho felt about Hermione, so he was quite
certain she was avoiding mentioning her.

“Yeah, he will,” he agreed, just trying to avoid as much awkwardness as possible.

Finally, after a couple seconds of *very* awkward silence, Cho let out a sigh.

“Harry, I want to apologize for how things ended last year. I was a little... and I
*know*... well... it... and... ARGH!” she cried. “Oh, I’m not making any sense at all, am
I?”

Harry chuckled slightly. “It was a little hard to follow,” he admitted. Cho began to smile
slightly.

“What I’m trying to say is that I know I was a little out of sorts for much of last year, and I
overreacted. I know Hermione is *just* your friend—” Harry bristled a little, trying to decide
if that emphasis was real or imagined, “—and it would be a shame if we threw away everything we had
over a little misunderstanding.”

*I’d hardly call everything that happened a ‘little misunderstanding,’* Harry sniped to
himself, but immediately buried that thought in the hopes of salvaging something of their
friendship.

“What I was really hoping is that... maybe we could start over? Everything water under the
bridge, you know?”

Harry was surprised at how appealing that sounded. As far as he knew, she was still dating
Michael Corner, and, well, of course, he truly *did* have eyes for only one. So, if Cho wanted
to *start over* like she suggested, then that might actually be nice. (If it worked. But he
was willing to give it a chance.)

He didn’t want to hold a grudge against her. If she wanted to go back to being just friends,
then he was all for it. (If it worked.) He suspected it would be easier this time, however, since
she was dating someone else, and he no longer had any desire to take anything beyond friendship
with her.

Harry smiled. “I’d like that. I really would,” he replied genuinely.

Cho smiled brightly. “I’m so glad, Harry.” She took a tiny step nearer, looked closely at his
face then giggled.

“Did you forget to shave this morning?” she asked coyly. She then reached up and caressed her
hand across his jaw line, against the grain of his stubble.

Harry was only sixteen so his growth of facial hair wasn’t exactly what might be called ‘burly.’
That said, it *had* been over twenty-four hours since the last time he’d used his shaving kit,
so there definitely was more than just a five-o’clock shadow.

He was certainly caught off guard by Cho’s action; it seemed a little more personal than ‘just
friends’ got. But, not wanting to break the mood since things had been going so well, he let it go
without comment.

“Erm, yeah...” he stuttered, “I overslept this morning so I didn’t really have time for anything
more than a quick shower. Even had to skip breakfast,” he continued, starting to feel more
comfortable as he approached a neutral topic, like food.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the compartment, waving goodbye to her fellow Ancient Runes classmate,
Carolyn. Hermione wasn’t exactly the sociable type, so she had made little effort to get to know
her classmates outside of class as anything more than *just* people who attended the same
classes together.

But having spent the last couple minutes discussing their Runes O.W.L. exam and what they felt
they’d done right or wrong, she had to admit it was surprisingly refreshing to be able to have a
purely academic discussion with someone in what could be considered a social context.

Reviewing Question #7 in the classroom or library was *not* the same as debating the value
of runes in everyday life. If pressed, Hermione would have to admit that their conversation—which
everyone else in the compartment had obviously tuned out—was quite enjoyable. She promised herself
that if she saw the Ravenclaw again studying in the library, rather than going to find her own
empty table, she would join her. And perhaps, if there was time after they finished their studying,
they could debate theoretical versus practical spell strength analysis.

Out in the corridor, Hermione quickly looked left and right, trying to see in which direction
Harry had headed. She saw him standing at the end of the corridor, just near the corner where it
turned to meet up with the carriage-connecting door.

As she approached him, her mind wandered back to the little girl, Theresa. *That girl’s
definitely going to be a Gryffindor*, Hermione thought to herself. She looked behind her once
more to make sure the two of them were alone in the corridor. After she passed the last compartment
and was only a few feet away, she let out a laugh.

“Is it just me, or do the girls seem to be getting bolder and bolder?” Hermione asked as she
remembered Sam from the bookstore, Romilda Vane from the girls’ loo, and now the soon-to-be
first-year.

*Or are they just normal and you’re the scared one?* the voice that kept her safe—Harry’s
voice—asked.

“Oh well, at least you didn’t have to snog me—” Hermione now saw Cho around the corner but it
was too late to stop the words from leaving her mouth, “—this time.”

If Harry thought things had been awkward earlier...

“Oh, hello, Cho,” Hermione said quietly. Both she and Harry could see as those two words slid
into place in Cho’s mind: *“this time.”*

‘This time’ also meant *last time*.

Cho looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione in a way he could only describe as
accusatory.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” she complained, looking suddenly upset. “You can’t keep stringing me
along. I have to know where I stand with you... versus *her*.”

Startled by this abrupt shift, Harry glanced briefly at Hermione; she appeared just as
discombobulated... if the height of her pretty eyebrows was any indication.

“You can’t have a girlfriend and a female friend like her at the same time. I’m sorry, Harry,
but it just can’t work like that.”

“Wha- what’re... *girlfriend?*” he stuttered.

“Yes, that’s what you said!” Cho insisted. Beside him, Harry could hear Hermione breathe in
sharply in surprise. It wasn’t a gasp, but rather just that sudden inhalation when a person
unexpectedly and unintentionally holds his or her breath.

“We talked about starting over again!” Cho reminded him.

*Yeah, starting over again, as FRIENDS!!* Harry didn’t say aloud. *Who said anything
about dating?!*

Not that he really cared for his own personal gain, but... “What about what’s his name...
Michael? I thought you were dating him!” Harry accused.

“Well... I *was*. But things didn’t work out between us... and then I ran into you in the
corridor,” she said hopefully.

Harry was flabbergasted. Obviously her idea of starting over and his were on different planes.
She’d spoken of thrown-away friendships, so ‘starting over’ meant *friendship* to him.
Obviously she wanted to start over somewhere else. For a brief moment, he wondered how he was going
to tell her he was no longer interested in *that*... at least, not without making things
*worse*.

Cho made that decision for him.

“I hate to do this, Harry, but it *can’t* work like this. If you really want there to be an
‘us,’ then you’re going to have to decide where your priorities lie. You have to choose. It’s
either *me* or—”

“Her.”

Harry would never hit a girl, but Cho blinked in shock as if she’d just been slapped. It quickly
passed and then she looked as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“Her,” Harry repeated, calmly and all-around ordinarily. Another person might have reiterated
himself with greater fanfare and emphasis, just for spite. But it was such an easy decision for him
to make, it was such an un-momentous moment to him that a plain, straightforward answer was all
that was needed.

Cho still could not speak but the look on her face clearly indicated she demanded an
explanation.

“Did you *really* think I would choose you over her?” Harry asked Cho incredulously. He
wasn’t trying to sound mean; he was just genuinely surprised. How could anyone not know that? Then
again, everything he thought and felt made perfect sense to him.

Well, almost everything. Most of the time.

“Hermione’s been my best friend since I was eleven. She’s been with me every step of the way,
and I can’t imagine these last five years without her. She was there to get me through the fire to
save the Philosopher’s Stone from Voldemort. Even when she was petrified, she helped me figure out
that it was a basilisk that was in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry was about to say something about rescuing Sirius in third year, but stopped himself at the
last second since it involved use of a Time Turner. He didn’t trust himself to not get carried away
and say something to get either of them in trouble.

“And she was the only person who stood by me the whole time during the Triwizard Tournament.” He
decided not to mention fifth year at this point; Cho was well aware of what Hermione did last
year... and he felt a bit bad about indirectly bringing up Cedric’s death by means of the
tournament mention.

“She’s helped keep me alive, *and*,” Harry emphasized as he cast a smirk at Hermione,
“she’s helped keep me from failing my classes. She’s the perfect definition of a best friend.”

His voice became a little firmer. “I would rather spend the rest of my life single and have her
as a best friend, than go on a single date with all the Fleur Delacours of the world if I was told
I couldn’t have her as a friend anymore.”

Cho laughed cruelly. “I don’t believe that. The day will come, Harry Potter, when you will meet
a girl. You will be so in love with her that you’ll do *anything* she says. And she will tell
you to dump your little bookworm friend. And you will,” Cho promised, “because you can’t have a
girlfriend and a friend like her at the same time,” she repeated.

“Well, if such a girl exists, I certainly haven’t met her yet,” Harry replied. “And with half
the girls in this school chasing after me, I’d think I’d met most of them. So until this mystery
woman of yours shows up, I’ll stand by my original statement.”

Harry and Cho were too busy staring each other down to notice the lustful look in Hermione’s
eyes as she stared at her best friend. If she didn’t have such good control of her hormonal
impulses, Harry might not have survived. She took in his words and twisted them around in all
number of different ways to make them mean more. But they could just as easily be worth only their
face value... that she was *just* a friend.

Fortunately Hermione had a fast mind and was quickly able to finish that daydream/debate just in
time to see Cho turn and glare at her coolly for a moment. It took everything she had to not react
in any way to the withering stare of which she was at the wrong end. Anything she did would likely
provoke Cho, and if there was anything Cho Chang did not need at this moment, it was more
provocation.

After one or two *very* long seconds, Harry’s first crush turned back to him.

“I’ll see you around, Harry,” Cho said dismissively. It was clear from her tone that they only
way they’d be seeing each other was if they happened to be in the Great Hall together at the same
time, and each sitting facing each other, and they were forced to actually look at one another.

Cho then pushed past both of them to continue on in the direction she had originally been
heading. As she passed, she “accidentally” bumped her shoulder into Hermione’s, moving her out of
the middle of the corridor.

“My apologies, *Miss Granger*.”

As Cho Chang stomped down the corridor, Harry stared wistfully at her retreating form,
regretting a bridge burned. Once she was down about three compartments, he sighed and turned back
to Hermione.

“That went well,” he said dejectedly. After another moment, he plastered on a fake smile and
nodded towards the door. “On to the next car.” He spoke of it no further.

Hermione however, could not follow his example. Halfway down the corridor of the next carriage,
she began to feel guilty, of all things.

“Um, Harry,” she began tentatively. “It was really nice what you said about me back there, but
you really didn’t have to...”

“Yes I did, Hermione,” Harry insisted, “and I meant every word of it too.” Having had to defend
her against other girls twice now, he was starting to feel comfortable telling her how he felt
about her... without actually telling her *everything*.

“If there was a girl who I wanted to date but she *required* me to drop you as a friend
first, then I wouldn’t date her. Period. What kind of friend would that make me? Now, if you
*want* to go out and find me a girl who causes me to flip so head over heels that I abandon
you, well, go right ahead,” Harry said, grinning.

“Well, I, uh, that wasn’t exactly...” Hermione stammered.

“I didn’t think so,” he replied smugly. He then smiled broadly. “Now, let’s go find some
misbehaving Slytherins.”

* * *

The remainder of their patrol passed by with no further excitement. Word must have spread that
McGonagall was aboard, so students seemed a little more well-mannered today. The two sixth year
prefects continued on down for one more car until they ran into the fifth year Hufflepuff prefects,
at which point they turned around and returned to their car.

Upon returning, both were slightly disappointed to discover that Neville and Ginny had returned.
This was a problem because the two of them were obviously *very* content to be sitting next to
each other. And Ron and Luna, on the other side of the compartment, seemed to be in quite the
similar state.

Granted, Ron was still scribbling away at the last of his Potions essay. But with the blonde
Ravenclaw sitting next to him, her arm casually against his, at the moment Professor Snape was
probably the furthest thing from his mind.

Harry and Hermione sat down in the remaining seats opposite each other. Separately, each of them
looked at the two happy couples and then stole a longing glance at the person across from them when
the other wasn’t looking. Both silently sighed.

It was hard sometimes to be *alone* amongst those who were not.

But that would be their fate for as long as could not confess their feelings. No one could tell
them how to do this... they would have to do it their way.

Just like their patrol, the remainder of the train ride to school was quiet... meaning Malfoy
didn’t cause any further incidents. He and Pansy were spotted around four o’clock performing a very
cursory patrol. Actually, the patrol consisted entirely of traveling down to Harry’s compartment
and glaring into the window.

It appeared that at least *one* of his fellow housemates was not entirely an idiot as
someone had performed the easy-to-locate numbing counter-spell. Considered a medical spell, the
numbing charm, *Occaeco*, could not be canceled by *Finite.* That spell was frequently
used to treat other magical maladies; healing spells that could be canceled by it were pretty much
worthless. Draco showed his recovery by silently mouthing a few choice words from behind the
glass.

* * *

It was getting dark as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Harry was getting
ready to run out and find a nice cozy carriage when Hermione reminded him he was expected to help
supervise the disembarking of the entire school population from the train.

“Don’t worry, mate!” Ron said grinning. “We’ll save you two a seat. I’ll even carry Hedwig’s
cage for you!”

Ron’s amusement faded when he took a second look at the cage. “Bloody hell, that’s a big cage!”
he complained to himself.

“You shouldn’t swear, Ronald,” Luna’s serene voice followed. “Curse words *are* cursed. If
you say one too many times, you will summon the dragon Geldon.”

“Wha?” Ron asked. His bewilderment was not unique in the compartment.

“There was a wonderful article in last year’s *Quibbler*. It told all about the eternal
battle between Geldon and the Knights of Standards and Practices. Even Harry knows about it.”

“I do?” Harry asked.

“Remember when he walked in on us on the floor and you had your hand on my—?”

Ron coughed loudly.

“I think we scared him. He almost said, ‘Holy fuc—’”

“LUNA!” Ron shouted.

“Yes?” she asked.

“YOU almost said it!”

“Said what? Fu—?”

“YES!”

“Oh, well, yes. It’s okay if you say it once in a while, if it’s important. But you, Ronald, I’m
sorry but you just swear too damn much.”

* * *

As Harry directed a couple of lost-looking first years towards the end of the platform from
where they’d be led to the boats, he heard something that made him grin. Above the din of a
thousand students disembarking came a certain booming voice, growing nearer and nearer.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way! Firs’ years! Leave yer trunks on’a train!”

Harry just stood in his spot and grinned, waiting for his large friend to approach.

“ ‘Ello, Harry!” Hagrid greeted. “ ‘Ave a good ride, did yeh?”

“Great, Hagrid, great!” Harry replied. True, in some ways this ride to school was
*lonelier* than all the others. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t *that* bad.
After all, he was almost back at Hogwarts.

“Where’s Ron and ‘Ermione?”

“Ron’s gone on to the carriages, and Hermione is...” Harry trailed off as he saw her kneeling
down in front a small little boy who looked terrified and was crying.

“Oh, gotta go!” Harry said as he hurried off towards the two of them.

“See yeh later,” Hagrid called after him. “Stop by fer some tea!” Harry heard Hagrid’s voice get
swallowed by the crowd as the two separated.

Once the first years were safely in Hagrid’s care and a majority of the students were on their
way to the carriages, the prefects were allowed to return to their friends. As they walked up the
dirt road to where the school carriages were parked, Harry and Hermione chatted about the history
of House passwords.

Or rather, Hermione lectured and Harry dutifully listened. In all honesty, he never would have
ever sought out this sort of information. But Hermione seemed to be enjoying her telling of the
tale, so he let her.

Nearing the carriages, Harry fell back a step or two, lost in the sound of her voice. His stop
was abrupt when his shoulder collided into her back; she had stopped in the middle of the path,
forcing the students following to walk around them.

He was about to ask her what was the matter when he looked up on ahead and saw them.

*Thestrals.* Hermione could see them now. She was silently staring at them. Harry put his
arm around her in a show of moral support.

“You all right?” he asked.

Before Hermione could answer, the two of them heard a harrumph behind them. Looking back, they
saw no one they recognized, but as they turned back around, they saw Cho Chang walk past. Evidently
seeing Harry with his arm around Hermione didn’t come as *that* big of a surprise to her. And
her *“Hmph!”* let them know that.

Hermione glared at the retreating Ravenclaw for a moment, before her face softened and she
looked back up at Harry.

“I’ll be all right,” she promised, smiling weakly.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Harry encouraged. “Let’s go find the others before any of them get too
comfortable and start another snogfest.”

* * *

Ron waited for his dinner impatiently as he watched all of the new first years get sorted into
their houses.

“Midgets! The whole lot of them!” Ron observed. “They get smaller and smaller each year!”

“Or it could just be that you get taller each year,” Hermione replied dryly.

“Nope, it’s them!” Ron shot back as he craned his neck to see how many more students
remained.

He hadn’t been watching for her, but Harry couldn’t help but pay attention when he heard
Professor McGonagall call the name of the small girl from the train, Theresa. He felt Hermione
lightly kick him under the table. She was smirking. Harry just rolled his eyes at her.

It came as little surprise when after about two seconds, the Sorting Hat shouted,
“GRYFFINDOR!”

* * *

Once the Sorting Hat had been put away and Professor McGonagall had returned to her seat,
Professor Dumbledore stood up and the room quieted.

This was the part that both Harry and Hermione had been eagerly anticipating: announcement of
new staff. Harry wanted to know who was taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione wanted
to know if they had hired a new Muggle Studies professor.

“We are pleased to welcome several new members of staff this year. First, Professor Slughorn—”
who stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big, waist coated belly casting the
table into shadow, “—is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions
master.”

“Potions?”

“Potions?” The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard
right.

“Potions?” said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry.

“But you said —”

“Professor Snape, meanwhile,” Dumbledore continued, raising his voice so that it carried over
all the muttering, “will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“No!” Harry shouted, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He did not care; he was
staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts
job after all this time? Hadn’t it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to
do it?

“But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!”
Hermione said.

“I thought he was!” Harry replied, racking his brains to remember when Dumbledore had told him
this, but now that he came to think of it, he was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what
Slughorn would be teaching.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore’s right, did not stand up his mention of his name; he
merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was
sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

Harry was about to fondly suggest that Snape might not be in that job for long, considering the
post’s history, when Hermione elbowed him slightly. There was one more staff member to introduce.
Still fuming inside, Harry was confused why she looked almost eager.

“And finally, it has come to my attention that there is one subject here at Hogwarts that has
been lacking somewhat of late.” When Hermione’s eyes widened even further in anticipation, Harry
turned to look back up at the staff table, curious to see what had her all worked up. He quickly
scanned the table; there was no one there he didn’t recognize.

“We do our best to teach all of you how to survive in the magical world. Charms, potions,
magical history, even how to fly a broom are all valuable courses... all necessary in the wizarding
world.”

Everyone turned looking forward, Harry felt Hermione put her hand on his back just below his
shoulder, her fingers digging into his flesh in excitement. *What* had gotten her so worked
up?

“But the world is more than *just* the magical world,” Dumbledore continued.

*OWWW!* Harry complained silently has be began to feel her fingernails, even through
several layers of clothes. He flexed his shoulder blade; Hermione realized what she was doing and
let go.

“The Muggle population of this world outnumbers the magical by more than a thousand times. While
you may choose to not interact with it, the Muggle world *exists*. We cannot, in good
conscience, allow you to face it unequipped anymore than we would send you out without knowing how
to block a jinx or levitate a chair.

“Therefore, after much discussion with the staff and the Board of Governors, I am proud to
announce a change in curriculum. Allow me to introduce our newest member of staff.” Dumbledore
waved his hand toward the door behind the staff table. “Please welcome Mister Brett Smith, our new
Muggle Studies professor.”

The door opened and out strode a new face at Hogwarts. A bit tall, he had short hair and rather
prominent ears. But what drew the most attention was his completely Muggle attire. Sporting a black
leather jacket, black trousers, and a purple undershirt, he was surprisingly stylish, so much so
that Harry decided he *had* to be a Muggle. And a bit handsome too, if the scattered giggles
and whispers from some of the females in the room were any indication.

“Our cherished Professor Charity Burbage had a long standing application for retirement, and
with my fortuitous discovery of Mr. Smith here, I accepted it. We are sad to see her go, but let us
welcome her replacement.”

Polite applause went around the room, though some of the girls were a little more enthusiastic
in their clapping.

“Mr. Smith brings to us an amazing a wealth of knowledge and experience in the Muggle world. And
so, to best take advantage of that, I requested, and the Board agreed, that one year of Muggle
Studies is now a mandatory at Hogwarts. All students will find his class added to their time
tables.”

A series of groans went around the Hall. Most were merely in complaint of an additional
class—Ron was very unhappy—but a few of them, mostly from a certain table, were certainly in
regards to the nature of the class, and of the professor.

Like an orchestra conductor, Dumbledore raised his hands to gain everyone’s attention. The room
was deathly silent. Though *almost* no one was happy about an extra class, everyone *was*
eagerly waiting for this.

“Tuck in!” he said with a smile, and the tables groaned from the weight as the feast
appeared.

* * *

A few minutes after the last of the desserts vanished and everyone was thoroughly stuffed to the
gills, Dumbledore stood up one last time. His blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled
once more to address the temporarily sated but soon to be sedated populace.

He gave the usual reminder of school rules, the reiteration that the ‘forbidden’ in Forbidden
Forest did in fact mean *forbidden*, and of course a notice that anyone wishing to earn a
detention was free to inspect the now-twice as long list hanging outside Caretaker Filch’s office.
It had tacked to it the entire Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes catalog, explaining the extra length. Also
mentioned were tryouts for the House Quidditch teams, and interestingly (but not surprising),
solicitations for new Quidditch commentators.

“Now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your
top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip
pip!”

As the students rose and began to head for the large doors, Hermione pulled on Harry’s arm to
hurry him along so they could help shepherd the first years up to the tower. He passed by a couple
of fifth year Ravenclaw girls giggling and pointing up at the staff table.

“What’s with all the girls?” Harry whispered to Hermione. “You’d think they’d never seen a
Muggle before. I mean, yeah, he is dressed pretty cool, but *really*...”

“Oh, I don’t know, Harry,” she replied back. “He is sort of handsome, in a rugged sort of way.”
Harry was relieved that at least she wasn’t blushing... like she tended to do in the presence of
another ‘handsome’ teacher back in second year.

“If you say so...” Harry replied, turning his head to take another look at the new Muggle
Studies professor. He had to admit, he *did* like the jacket.

As they approached the door, Harry and Hermione noticed Luna standing by it, obviously
waiting.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Hello,” they replied in kind. Luna seemed to find their simultaneous replies very funny.

“Have you seen...?” she began.

“Don’t wait up for me, guys!” Ron said teasingly as he came up behind them. He then put his arm
around the blonde Ravenclaw.

“Don’t be out after curfew then,” Hermione replied seriously, but politely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron called after them as the prefects went to meet up with the first years.
Looking ahead, Harry noticed two newly-minted Gryffindor and Slytherin boys already in a stare
down, so he ran on ahead to diffuse things.

Hermione continued to walk at her normal pace, so she managed to hear Luna as she and Ron walked
in a completely different direction.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” Ron happily agreed.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Harry and Hermione were sitting alone in the Gryffindor Common
Room. Everyone else had gone up to their dormitories to unpack and then get settled into bed. The
two sixth year prefects however stayed down, partially to enjoy a few quiet minutes away from the
busyness of settling in.

And yes, they were waiting up for Ron.

For a few minutes, Harry and Hermione sat side by side in the ancient but comfortable sofa. They
both seemed hypnotized by the crackling fire in front of them (and of course, being the presence of
the person next to them).

The tranquility was broken when the portrait door opened suddenly and Ron tumbled through. He
seemed dazed and confused; he was so pale, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

Well, actually, at Hogwarts that was a bad analogy. Considering his past, Ron looked like he’d
just tried to ask out Fleur Delacour.

Harry and Hermione jumped up and ran over to their friend, leading him over to the nearest
chair.

“Ron! Are you all right?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“What is it, mate?” Harry asked, equally concerned.

“L- Llll.... Luu...”

“Luna?” Ron nodded then took a deep breath.

“Luna... asked me to marry her!”



*WHEW! Longest single chapter to date! We’re nearing the end of the story now. For those
counting, I’d guess 3-4 more chapters remain.*

*In the writing process, there are invariably scenes that get rewritten, cut, or never written
in the first place. As part of my “apology” for the delay, I decided this time to go back through
some of my earlier drafts of this chapter and salvage some of the parts that got cut or changed.
And, I decided to go ahead and write some of those ideas that never made it into the “final”
draft.*

*In fan-fictions, these scenes are often called* omake*. The important thing to remember
is that these extras are considered “non-canon” to the original story, in this case,* Their Way.
*Just enjoy them as is, without worry about how or whether they fit into the “official” version
of this story. Also, because they got cut early (or never written), they haven’t been beta’d, so
forgive me (and my beta) for any typos.*

*http://www.answers.com/topic/omake*


Omake #1. A gaseous greeting. (Deleted.)

Mid way through his lunch, a familiar feeling began to build up inside of Harry. Neither Luna
nor Neville had returned yet, and the train was about to leave, so Ron and Ginny were bound to show
up any minute. This was probably the last chance he’d get for months. This would either work
perfectly, or blow up in his face, no pun intended.

*BURP.*

“Oh, excuse me,” Harry apologized, appearing quite innocent. Hermione stared at him dubiously
for a moment, then rolled her eyes and returned to her lunch.

*BURRRP!*

This time it was a belch, and there was no question it was forced. Hermione set her hamburger
down on the wrapper and glared at him. Ordinarily, Harry would be quite terrified of the look she
was giving him, except he knew otherwise. Yes, if he didn’t know she could out-belch Ron, he would
be very scared right about now.

“Don’t be gross, Harry,” she admonished.

Harry smirked. There was still a chance. “You’re just worried about me out-burping you,” he
taunted. He could tell she was scrutinizing him very carefully, giving away no indication of what
she would do next. When she shook her head and rolled her eyes again, Harry decided that maybe she
wouldn’t take the bait. He turned his attention back his own hamburger when Hermione grabbed her
drink.

Seeing that Harry appeared to be no longer paying attention to her, Hermione took a large drink
of her Coke. She quickly glanced out the windows into the corridor. It was mostly empty, with
almost everyone in compartments by now. She wondered....

It was unlikely she would get another chance for quite a long time. Only because Harry had
already heard her was she even considering it. If anyone else were here, she certainly wouldn’t do
it. Finally, after an eternity, (for her, about three seconds) she made her decision. If it meant
reminding Harry that “other” Hermione was still there, she would go out with a bang.

After first double-checking for an empty corridor, Hermione turned back to make sure Harry still
wasn’t paying attention to her. She waited for a moment, and then took another large drink of her
carbonated beverage.

*BAAAAAARRRRRRRP!!!!*

In the middle of Hermione’s belch, two things happened. First, Harry about knocked his entire
lunch on the floor. And second, the compartment door opened. Unable to stop herself in time,
Hermione could only turn and look at the now open door in terror, still belching.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not to see the back of Ron’s head as he backed into the
compartment, dragging his trunk behind him. For all of the times she chastised Ron about burping at
the table in the Great Hall, Hermione knew Ron would *never* let her live this down.

For his part, Harry was both surprised and impressed by the power of her belch. And at the same
time, he was happy because he knew the “real” Hermione was still there, even if hidden.

The one unintended consequence however was Ron’s untimely arrival. In trying to goad her into
this, he hadn’t expected anyone else hearing it. He knew Hermione would be mortified if anyone else
heard *that*. The look on her face right now clearly reflected that. So, Harry did what he did
a few days before, and winked at her, letting her know he would take care of it...
*somehow*.

Fortunately, Ron made it all too easy. Once his trunk was in through the door, he immediately
turned around and started laughing. He’d heard the belch start right as he reached behind him to
open the door. Only the weight of his trunk kept him from laughing sooner.

“Brilliant, mate!” Ron congratulated Harry. “I haven’t heard a belch like that since Fred
slipped me a faulty fizzy candy.” With his back turned, Ron hadn’t actually seen whether it was
Harry who burped, but considering there were only Harry and Hermione in the compartment, he really
couldn’t have imagined it the other way around.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, sounding proud. “I try.” He then shot a quick glance at Hermione and
winked again. Looking incredibly relieved, Hermione winked back.

“That is so disgusting, Harry,” Hermione ‘admonished.’ “I would have expected better from
you.”

“Yes, I know,” Harry apologized. “It was *so childish* of me. But it was pretty
impressive.”

“Bloody hell it was!” Ron agreed enthusiastically. He was a little confused when the other two
started laughing, but he didn’t care and just joined in anyway.

Omake #2. Return of the Prince. (Rewritten.)

As the two best friends walked down the corridor of the next car, Hermione carried on a small
internal argument whether she should go through with what she’d planned.

Her heart had come up with dozens of examples of what she considered hints and clues that Harry
fancied her. And simultaneously her brain had efficiently and unmercifully explained each and every
one of them away as being perfectly innocent. She either had all the proof in the world that Harry
returned her feelings... or she had a big pile that meant absolutely *nothing*.

If Harry saw *it*, his reaction should give her the proof she needed, either way.

Fortunately, the next compartment gave her the opportunity she needed: the blinds were closed.
Compartment’s pull-down blinds were required to be left open. It was generally accepted that they
might need to be closed briefly if someone was putting on his or her uniform, but they were to be
reopened immediately. Private compartments on a train filled with coed teenagers were an invitation
for mischief.

After she pointed out the potential rule violation, Hermione made a big act of patting her robes
down to make sure she was ready.

“Oh no!” she complained with well-practiced sincerity. “I forgot my prefect badge in my trunk!”
She looked longingly at the offending compartment’s door.

“Harry, could you do me a *huge* favor and go get it for me?”

“Erm,” was all Harry could say. She wanted *him* to look through her trunk? “Please?” she
asked, giving him the best puppy-dog eyes she could manage.

“Okay,” he agreed. It wasn’t like he could say *no*.

“Thanks, Harry. I can handle this by myself,” she said, pointing at the blinds.

Rather distracted by the thought of what he might do if he accidentally came across something
lacy in her trunk, when he got back to their compartment, he didn’t bother looking in through the
windows. Not really thinking, he simply opened the door and walked in, looking straight ahead.

When he finally noticed, he first noticed that the seats where Ron and Luna had been earlier
were now empty. Then, in his peripheral vision, he noticed motion on the floor.

“HOLY FU...” Harry almost swore and quickly turned around to escape the carnage. He didn’t use
profanity much (aloud, at least), so it was actually quite easy for him to not utter the curse
word.

*(unchanged section omitted)*

“Oh yeah, what did you come back for, anyway?” Ron asked Harry. “Not to check up on us, I hope,”
he said, winking at Luna.

“Erm, no,” Harry replied, growing increasingly convinced he did not want to be present for
whatever the two of them were doing. “Hermione forgot her prefect badge in her trunk and she asked
me to get it while she dealt with a compartment with closed blinds.” And with that, Harry stared
pointedly at Ron, silently warning him to not close the blinds.

“Really?” Luna asked, interested. “Forgetting her badge... that doesn’t sound like your
*friend*.”

Truth be told, Harry did think it a bit odd she would forget her badge. But just like how he
couldn’t say no to her request, what was he going to do? Interrogate her for a tiny oversight?

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Harry defended Hermione.

“If you say so,” Luna replied, sounding skeptical. Remembering that Hermione was probably
waiting for him by now, Harry quickly pulled Hermione’s trunk down off the rack. Bracing himself
for what might happen if he really did find something *enticing* in there (such as the
see-thru negligee from his dream), he opened the lid.

He was therefore both relieved and disappointed to find Hermione’s prefect badge sitting on the
very top of her neatly folded clothes, exactly where she had said it would be. Knowing that she was
planning this, Hermione made sure to put the trunk back up on the rack right side up after
retrieving her robes earlier.

The only thing Harry hadn’t been expecting was what else was in her trunk. He’d expected to find
most of her Muggle clothes in there, of course. But he hadn’t expected *that*. On the very top
of the pile was a certain shirt... a T-shirt upon which her badge had been sitting.

Harry was definitely going to have to ask her why she brought her “Property of Prince Harry”
shirt to school.

After pocketing Hermione’s badge and putting the trunk back up (and repairing the glass he broke
with his forehead), Harry decided it was time to leave... immediately. He couldn’t see either of
them while he was stowing the trunk, but he got the distinct feeling that the two of them were
giving each other suggestive looks. He definitely didn’t want to be there for *that*.

*This section was rewritten because everything comes together on Hermione’s birthday. I am
willing to have Harry be* oblivious *to a certain degree (honestly, us guys can be dense
sometimes), but having him ignore the ‘Prince Harry’ shirt for two weeks—a shirt she specifically
said she didn’t want anyone else to see—would require a level of cluelessness that even I wouldn’t
believe.*




*The following omake are scenes that never got written up in the first place, for obvious
reasons. But they were little mini-plot bunnies that did pop up, primarily for the purpose of being
awkward or funny. Writing them up* now*, as unofficial deleted scenes, I can take them further
than I would have in the real story.*

Omake #3. As bad as glue.

Alone in the compartment with Hermione as he ate his lunch, Harry started to feel a little
uncomfortable, *down there*. He cautiously started shifting in his seat to relieve the
annoyance.

Of course, he couldn’t get *that* lucky.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” he lied, obviously.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry,” she replied in a light tone as if this was some sort of game.
“Something’s the matter. You’re fidgeting.”

He sighed; he knew she would not let it go.

“Remember how you rushed me out of the shower this morning?” Hermione nodded.

“Well, you know how when your skin is wet, when it dries, it sticks to itself?”

“Yeah,” she replied. She often read at night after taking a relaxing bath, and lying on her
side, the inside of her arm often “stuck” to her torso as the water dried.

“Well, since I didn’t have a chance to dry off properly this morning, erm, well, certain parts
of my body that shouldn’t be sticking together... are.” He then glanced down into his lap.

“Oh,” Hermione replied, looking both embarrassed and as if that was way more information than
she needed.

“*You asked,*” Harry reminded her.

“Need a minute to adjust yourself?” she asked, giving him a chance to relieve himself since
she’d gone and embarrassed him.

Harry nodded, stood up, and then went over to close the blinds. His back to her, when she heard
the sound of his zipper being lowered, Hermione smiled.

“Need a hand?” she asked impishly.

* * *

Ron’s mind was on his stomach as he dragged his trunk behind him; Luna was following behind him
several feet. All he wanted to do was find the compartment number Neville had told him that Harry
and Hermione were in. There was food in his trunk and he was hungry; he didn’t give the closed
blinds a second thought. Or a first thought.

He was therefore quite surprised when he opened the door and found Hermione sitting in her seat
with Harry standing in front of her. She was zipping his jeans up.

“Oh!” Ron teased as he set his trunk on the opposite side of the compartment. “Missed out on all
the fun, did I?”

“Come on!” Luna said in a lecturing voice as she grabbed his arm. She started pulling him down
the corridor, towards one of the small, cramped toilet compartments in each carriage.

“What! What are you doing?” Ron asked in a panic. “Wait! Can’t we talk about this first? Or at
least get to know each other better? Maybe go on date first?

“Luna! LUNA!” Ron’s screams were cut off as Luna shoved him into the bathroom compartment and
then stepped inside, locking the door.

Omake #4. Secrets Revealed.

“And as for all of your other questions...” Hermione addressed all of the girls, then turned
back to the youngest of the group. “What was your name again?”

“Romilda Vane.”

“Of course, *Miss Vane*,” Hermione said coolly, then again resumed addressing everyone.
“Harry is my friend. He is also, for those who did not know, Gryffindor’s prefect this year. Anyone
who does not show him the proper courtesy and respect he deserves will land themselves in
detention, shoveling manure for Hagrid or extracting beetle eyes for Professor Snape.”

And with that, Hermione spun on her heel, her hair whipping around and nearly hitting Romilda,
and marched away. If he wasn’t such a slimy, greasy git, Severus Snape might have even complimented
the ominous way her robes billowed behind her as she stormed towards the door. Her hand was on the
door handle when she suddenly stopped and turned around.

She gave Romilda Vane a withering stare.

Hermione *didn’t* see him in his underwear (as Parvati was so keen to know), but she
*had* seen him in his pajamas. Although he was suffering from a certain morning male malady,
the fact that he was clothed prevented her from knowing exactly how he *measured up*.

But the amount of fabric displacement gave her a general idea.

“As far as you’ll ever need to know, Miss Vane,” Hermione said icily, “Harry is... *above
average*.” She then smiled graciously and took her leave of them.

Omake #5. As Yoda said, “Size matters not!”

When Ron had not returned after curfew, Harry and Hermione decided to go out looking for him.
Having Snape catch him out of bounds before classes even began would not be a good start to the
year for Gryffindor.

Wandering the halls, they saw an open door ahead and light streaming out. It was Firenze’s
forest classroom. When they were near enough, they could hear voices inside. Always a good idea to
look before leaping, they crept up to the door and listened, trying to determine who was in there
and what was going on, before just charging in.

“Can I see it?” they heard Luna’s voice.

“You want to see it?” Ron asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Luna replied, excitedly. “I’ve never seen one before, and I know how important it is
to all of you.”

“Erm,” Ron stuttered.

“Please,” Luna begged.

“Oh, all right,” Ron finally agreed.

Out in the corridor, Harry and Hermione looked at each other. They weren’t hearing... what they
thought they were hearing... *were they*?

Being teenagers, they felt they *needed* to hear more before deciding what to do.

“Oh, wow!” Luna said, sounding very impressed. “It’s very pretty!”

“Pretty?” Ron asked in horror.

*“Pretty?”* Harry silently mouthed to Hermione, equally horrified.

“Oh, yes!” she agreed happily. “How else would you describe it?”

“Dunno,” Ron replied.

“Hmm... interesting,” Luna mused.

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t really know what to expect, but somehow I thought it would be a little
bigger.”

“WHAT?!” Ron objected. “How big does it *need* to be?”

“I don’t know,” Luna replied honestly.

“But...” Ron hesitated, “it doesn’t really matter how big it is, right?”

“Oh no, of course not, Ronald. Size doesn’t matter,” Luna reassured him.

Still out in the corridor, the two sixth-year Gryffindor prefects were staring at each other
wide-eyed, unable to believe what they were hearing. Both were starting to blush a little.

But they still felt they needed to hear more before doing anything.

“May I...” Luna asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, of course,” Ron agreed quickly. “Just, you know, don’t break it or anything. I only have
the one.”

Luna laughed a little. “It’s very nice, Ronald. Harry has one too, right?”

“Of course,” Ron answered unabashedly. Harry turned bright red, smiling in embarrassment.

“Is his just like yours?”

“His is a little different. Of course they’re not *all* identical,” Ron laughed.

“Is his the same size as yours?”

“Well... no,” Ron admitted hesitantly. “His *is* bigger than mine.”

Hermione looked at Harry again. She was clearly shocked by what she heard... but there was
something else in her face too. She almost looked... curious?

Blushing heavily, Harry nodded modestly, confirming that Ron’s statement was true. Hermione then
smiled in a way that Harry thought almost looked like... pride?? The two then returned their
attentions to the open door... but not before he caught her glance ever so briefly *down*.

“But like you said, it doesn’t matter how big it is, right?”

“Right,” Luna confirmed. “*This* is yours, and that’s all that matters.

“Hmm...” she said again after a few moments.

“What?”

“I don’t know... it just looks a little dull, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it... it is looking a little lifeless,” Ron agreed. “Just needs a
good polish job.”

“Yes, I think it does!” Luna agreed happily.

“You know, I even heard that the Muggles call it a ‘spit shine.’”

“That’s so funny!” Luna laughed. “Could I do it?”

“Sure!” Ron replied all too quickly. “Just... start... yeah... rub it like... *that!*”

Harry and Hermione had heard enough. And they found themselves a bit hot under the collar as
well. They quickly threw open the door the rest of the way and barged into the classroom.

“What’s going on in here?!” Harry demanded. He hoped they attributed the flush of his arousal to
anger.

“Luna wanted to see my Quidditch Captain badge,” Ron explained, “so I was showing it to
her.”

“Badge?” Hermione asked, confused.

Luna held up the small metal badge. Shiny and freshly-polished, it gleamed in the torch light.
She then handed it back to Ron.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, confused. “Why? What did you think what going on?”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other apprehensively.

“Nothing!” both exclaimed, and then quickly turned and left the classroom.



38. You Only Have 009 Lives: Ships That Pass in the Night
---------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*WOW! I was so surprised by the responses I got to Chapter 32, the MI6 chapter. As I explained
(confessed), much of that chapter was the direct result of a plot bunny that got away from me.
Pretty much everything after Madam Bones said, “I need your help,” was completely unplanned and
unexpected.*

*I was afraid that because it ate up all the planned fluff, people wouldn’t like it. But, to
my pleasant surprise (and grateful relief) a lot of people really liked it.*

*At the same time though, several reviewers (correctly) reminded me that I’d wandered off
topic and been distracted by my little flight of fancy.*

*So, since they WERE right, and since so many people enjoyed it anyway :-) I settled upon a
compromise. I decided to finish out 009’s story and post it here in these two chapters, then pick
back up with Harry and Hermione in Chapter 41, which will be posted soon at the same time as 40,
the third piece to this “interlude.”*

*So, let me say that again. This chapter has absolutely nothing to do with Harry or Hermione.
This is simply a chance for me to finish out 009’s story arc. Writing this, I realized that I
really needed a small break from Harry or Hermione, sort of my “therapy” for moving past JKR
and* Deathly Hallows. *Not having our Hero and Heroine this time is what enabled me to KEEP me
writing. I hope you understand. I’ve done my best to make these next three chapters enjoyable even
without any servings of Pumpkin Pie. And on that note, there are some parts in here that are
probably unnecessary, and I COULD have trimmed, but, like I said, it was all “therapy.” I needed to
write it to make it feel complete to me.*

*And, yes, my dad was a police officer, if you couldn’t guess. :-)*

*Since they’re absent from this chapter, for those who just can’t wait for the next H/Hr
edition of* Their Way*, I offer those of you with brave souls something different. I’ve been
plagued by a few certain “frisky” plot bunnies recently... things that in no way conform to a PG-13
rating. So, I’ve decided to take a risk and write them down. For those of you who would like to
join me on this little experiment, keep an eye out for the story, to be entitled,* Caught
Red-Handed*.*

*Sorry, still going... long delays mean long author notes.*

*I always like things that help add a sense of realism to this work of fiction, whether they
be the use of real places like King George’s Park or Wandsworth Bridge, or even being able to “see”
a scene thanks to the wonderful manips done by Evernight. So when I was watching my DVD of* Hot
Fuzz *a few weeks ago, I was in the kitchen for a moment during a car chase. Hearing the
distinctive sirens that I associate with Britain thanks to my countless* Doctor Who *and*
Torchwood *viewings, I said to myself, “That’s what my scene sounds like! You know, minus the
gunshots.” So if you want to “ride along” with them, you can click the link and hear the
chase.*

*Disclaimer: 009’s personality is based heavily on Christopher Eccleston’s the Ninth Doctor, and Kara
Thrace’s is based in part (but not as much) on Katee Sackhoff’s Kara “Starbuck” Thrace.
If you’re a fan of either of the shows, I’m sure you’ll recognize them. Bringing those two together
was quite fun!*

*One more confession. I made an error in Chapter 32. Since 009 was a completely new character
added at the last second (kind of like Super!Ginny in HBP and Super!Ron in DH), I didn’t properly
think out a certain detail. I said he was notified of his brother’s death on July 13, 1980. What I
really had intended was October, 1981. I meant his brother died the same month that James &
Lily did. There is no correlation between the two events. Rather, Voldemort’s last month was, as
Albus admits, “a very busy month.” Doesn’t change anything, I just hate making mistakes.*

*And finally, yes FINALLY, I owe two huge debts of gratitude this time. First, to my beta,
MapleMountain, who dutifully trudged through the approximately 40,000 words of these two chapters,
trying to catch the many typos and awkward phrasings and omitted words that invariably creep in.
Thank You!*

*And second, a huge THANK YOU to Korval, who served as something of an unofficial technical
adviser for these chapters. I’m not a 00, and my knowledge of them is limited to the movies, but I
was hoping to make this as realistic as I possibly could. He made a casual comment back in Chapter
32 about what kind of person a 00 would NOT be. It was so simple, and yet it rang true so clearly
that I asked him to preview this chapter as it developed, to endure I didn’t get too carried away
by the fanciful movies. With his help, I trust this is a much more realistic depiction of the life
of a 00. I take my hat off to you, Korval. Thank you!*


Chapter 38. You Only Have 009 Lives: Ships That Pass in the Night Sometimes Collide.

Friday, 16 August, 1996. 4:56PM.

MI6 Special Agent 009 smiled in grim satisfaction. “Sorry, Voldy, time’s up,” he said calmly,
then turned his attention back to his weapon. He looked down the barrel and made sure the sights
were lined up true: the soft, most vulnerable part of the Muggle-born Auror Kara Thrace’s neck,
behind which he knew was hidden Voldemort’s head.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to the beautiful witch one last time, and pulled the trigger.

*Earlier that day....*

Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in the Minister of Magic’s office. While he waited for Amelia Bones
to gather all of her notes before they headed to their lunch with “the PM, *plus one*,” he
used the few moments to gather his thoughts.

They say that history is replete with turning points. Well, today was certain to be one of
those. They were at a potential turning point in the war, walking along the edge of a razor. The
next step they took, made properly, wouldn’t get them down to the end, but it would allow them to
take another.

But if they fell, regardless of whether it was onto or off of the razor, all was surely
lost.

Dumbledore struggled with how much he should tell the minister... both ministers.

The prophecy was quite clear: one must die at the hand of the other. Young Harry *was* the
Chosen One. And in an interesting twist of irony, it was Voldemort who chose him.

One must die at the hand of the other. There was no other way. It had been *prophesied*.
And prophecies had the annoying habit of being mutually exclusive. If there was one with the power
to vanquish the Dark Lord, then there was only *one* who had that power. After all, it was
called a prophecy, not an educated guess.

It *had* to be Harry. No one else could do it.

Dumbledore knew enough about prophecies in general to know then that if Harry wasn’t there—and
he just wasn’t ready to be there yet—then despite all of their best efforts... no matter what they
did today, Voldemort *would* survive. The *one* with the power would not be there...
could not be there.

Dumbledore was forced to admit to himself therefore, that it was pointless to plan today’s
response with the sole intention of killing Voldemort.

But just because they couldn’t kill Voldemort today, it didn’t mean they should simply stand
aside for him. After all, although a prophecy might prescribe the means for an outcome, thereby
precluding all others, they were also notoriously cryptic and vague.

Harry Potter might have had a power the Dark Lord knew not, but Professor Trelawney’s channeled
words did not say what it was. For many reasons, Dumbledore believed that power to be love. But
based strictly on the wording of the prophecy, it could have just as easily been Harry’s skills as
Seeker.

Dumbledore doubted there would be a Quidditch death match in anyone’s future, but it proved the
point. Harry alone had the power to defeat Voldemort, but the means to that end would never be
known for certain, until of course it *was* said and done.

Most unsettling of all about the prophecy, and Harry, was that Dumbledore knew there was
something larger going on. Harry was the Chosen One, but why was he The Boy Who Lived? The
generally accepted answer, known only to those select few Dumbledore, Harry, or Tom had told, was
that it was Lily’s sacrifice that had saved Harry.

But *why*? Why had the Killing Curse—which since its invention had never once failed—failed
to kill this time? What made Harry Potter special?

This was absolutely no way in disrespect to Lily Potter, but it was a little naïve to believe
that she had been the only person in all of history to sacrifice herself to save the life of her
child. It WAS her sacrifice that saved Harry. But why her, why him? That was the thought that would
sometimes keep Dumbledore awake at night. Understanding that was surely the key to the
prophecy.

And so, in the meantime, all they could do was continue to fight Voldemort every step of the
way, thereby buying time until that moment came when Harry was ready to fulfill his destiny... at
least as far as the prophecy was concerned.

Oh, they would *try* to kill Voldemort if they got the chance. But Dumbledore knew their
efforts would be more productive if they altered their strategy. Besides, there was nothing in the
prophecy that said they couldn’t do all they could to limit the damage Tom and his associates did
along the way.

“You’re sure about his?” Amelia asked, rousing Albus from his thoughts. “Letting Voldemort
escape, if it comes down to it?” She’d already made her impassioned speech to the PM two nights
earlier. But the more she thought about it, the more doubt crept back into her mind. Why not throw
everything they had Voldemort? Why not try to kill him, once and for all?

She remembered why. Hadn’t they been doing that all along (since Fudge was kicked out)? Hadn’t
they been doing that fifteen years earlier, during his first rise to power? And what had it gotten
them? Nothing but dead bodies... those who chose to fight, and so many more who were innocent.

Amelia Bones surprised even herself. Sometimes, the things Albus Dumbledore said to her made
absolutely no sense. But as she repeated the words he’d said, it made sense again. She did not
understand how Fudge could have ignored him.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dumbledore replied gently, merely reaffirming that which she already knew.

Albus Dumbledore was known for his affinity for Muggles. It was not uncommon for some of the
most famous Muggles to be quoted within the wizarding world. With the Muggle population so much
larger than that of the magical, they had that much more history to draw upon, that many more
speechwriters.

Indeed, when Dumbledore had suggested the importance of continuing life as normal in spite of
whatever threats came, she *did* recognize Franklin Roosevelt when he had reminded her what
was the only thing to fear. She’d been a young witch during the Second World War, after all.

So while the likes of Winston Churchill and F.D.R. were not unheard of (especially amongst those
of her own generation), sometimes Dumbledore found the most obscure references that virtually no
one in the wizarding world would recognize.

Amelia was therefore not surprised when he quoted a great warrior, a Muggle she assumed,
named... what was it... *Kay-less*?

“Destroying an Empire to win a war is no victory. And ending a battle to save an Empire is no
defeat.”

She’d never heard anything quite like it. Indeed, Dumbledore himself admitted he hadn’t either
heard anything else like it either, which was why he chose this it. And by means of that quote, he
had done nothing but give her a different way of viewing the upcoming battle. *And
yet....*

Amelia sighed as she stood up. Albus had once again made his point. It wasn’t that she disliked
him being right; she just disliked having been wrong in the first place. In fact, she liked that he
was there keeping her honest with herself. She just hated being wrong. What’s more, never once did
he tell her she *had* to do this or *had* to do that. Rather, he would make suggestions
or offer spot-on observations from his own unique standpoint, and leave it to her to make the final
decision.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I trust you know the way to Number 10?” Dumbledore nodded.

“I must confess my curiosity at who will be our ‘plus one’ at the meeting,” he admitted. Amelia
smiled mysteriously as she thought about the impending meeting with the PM and the head of the MI6.
She assumed Dumbledore knew of the 00s; there was little in this world he did not know... as far as
she knew. But was he expecting this?

“Albus, my friend. I have the feeling you’re going to like this next bit.”

* * *

*“This may very well represent the beginning of the end,” C emphasized. “Whether it’s our end
or Voldemort’s rests in your hands, as well as those of our magical compatriots.”*

*“Good hunting!” he wished them all.*

It was just after two o’clock when the briefing ended. Madam Bones and Shacklebolt still had to
meet with their own teams. Because the Ministry personnel had more time in which to prepare (since
they could travel from place to place instantly), their own briefing was going to be held
immediately following this one. And besides, there was no point in factoring the 00s into their
plans without knowing whether they would participate.

Just because they didn’t need extra time to drive to their assignments, it didn’t mean there was
any to waste. Amelia and Kingsley purposefully walked over to Dumbledore. They turned their backs
to the assembled 00s, and then he drew his wand and waved it in front of the two of them. The 00s
could see him quietly ask them each a question (no one could hear what), and then they both shook
their heads indicating no. The two of them then immediately Apparated back to the Ministry building
from steel and concrete-reinforced bunker, five floors beneath Vauxhall Cross.

One leaving right after the other, and since the oval briefing room had favorable acoustics (by
design), the staggered *CRACKS!* that accompanied their departure were amplified and literally
rolled around the curved walls. They therefore left with what sounded like an impressive rumble of
thunder, just like in bad horror movies.

The 00s, though, WERE very impressed. Without even intending it, Kingsley and the Minister had
left the agents with yet another reminder of what exactly they were facing.

Albus Dumbledore, however, did not leave with the other two. There was one last thing he wished
to do before he himself left. He stood back, out of the way in a corner (an impressive feat in a
round room), and watched quietly as the twenty-five agents stood up and chatted with each other
while they waited for their individual assignments.

Without even looking, Dumbledore could feel glances cast in his direction. If he happened to be
looking in the right direction at the moment, he would reply with a polite nod. He was heartened to
know that there appeared to be no ill will towards him or the wizarding world.

There was amazement, guarded acceptance, and also justifiable fear of what was to come in those
glances (even 00s got scared; it was how they handled it that made them 00s), but there was no
distrust or malice towards him.

Dumbledore did get the distinct impression however that one person in the room was doing his
best to avoid looking in his direction. Of course, it could have been that he was simply busy after
his *most* impressive demonstration. Regardless though, it was, in Dumbledore’s mind, the
*perfect* invitation for a lovely chat.

He watched discreetly as 009 went back over to C to return the training weapon and reclaim his
own. He observed with academic curiosity as the brother of a Muggle-born wizard reloaded his
decidedly-Muggle weapon. Just as with the blanks, he again loaded a live round into the chamber,
and then holstered the firearm. Dumbledore knew that, generally speaking, Muggles in the UK were
prohibited from owning handguns. That said, he was quite certain that storing a live round in the
chamber wasn’t something taught in most firearms safety classes.

It was no secret that Dumbledore was quite fond of the Muggles. It was also no secret that he
had been forced to take lives in battle over the decades. Considering the nature of his battles, he
had, not surprisingly, never held or used a firearm.

In the hands of these professionals, the amazing contraption consisting of wood, metal, and a
few simple chemicals could be just as much an extension of the wielder’s body as a wand was for a
wizard—and just as deadly. He had great respect for the men and women assembled before him.

As he reclaimed his weapon, 009 was well aware that Dumbledore had been watching him intently
for a few moments. He got the distinct impression the older wizard wanted to speak to him. Once
rearmed, the secret agent finally acknowledged him and went over to speak with the man while he
waited for his assignment.

“Hello, sir,” 009 greeted. “I figured it was best to give you a few moments alone to allow
everyone else to get their surreptitious glances out of the way,” he said with a grin as he
indicated around the room with his eyes. None of the other 00s hid their curiosity.

“Ah, yes, well, that was to be expected,” the headmaster chuckled. “Sometimes it is easier to
just let them satisfy their curiosity, especially considering it *is* so understandable.” The
two men nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Which of course leads me to my own ulterior motive for lingering...” Dumbledore then added
quickly with a smile and a completely innocent-sounding voice. “If you don’t mind my asking, what
was your brother’s name? I didn’t want to interrupt the briefing anymore than I already had by
asking earlier.”

“Oh, of course not, sir,” 009 answered. “Smith, John Smith.” Dumbledore smiled slightly and
nodded. All too used to having to defend his family name, he quickly continued. “It *is* a
common name.”

009’s identity, like everything else within MI6, was a state secret. On the rare occasion he did
tell someone his name, when that person heard the most common of Western family names, people often
seemed, well, *unimpressed*. It was never intentional, but it was often un-helpable: *All
that mystery and secrecy, and his name is ‘Smith?’*

“It is,” Dumbledore agreed, “but everyone is just as unique, regardless of what is printed on a
piece of paper.” 009 smiled and nodded; he liked this wizard that much more now. Dumbledore
resisted the urge to ask the name of the man in front of him. What good was a secret agent without
his secret identity... his *true* identity?

“Did you know my brother?” 009 could not help but ask.

“Well, that would depend which John Smith he was. I have seen a number come through my
doors.”

“Of course,” 009 chuckled. “He graduated in 1977.”

The look of surprise on Dumbledore’s face was hidden well, but not enough to fool a 00.

“Muggle-born Ravenclaw Auror, class of ’77? Yes, actually. I did know him,” he admitted. “He was
a very strong wizard, very smart. Being Muggle-born, he possessed knowledge that few others did. He
was quite the asset.”

Heartened to hear someone who knew his brother to speak highly of him, 009 smiled lightly.

“May I ask you something, sir?” he inquired.

“Of course.”

“This Voldemort... I remember hearing his name when they came... and told us about my brother.
Do you know? Do you know if it was he who killed my brother? They said his team was sent out after
him the day he was killed. It was the twelfth of October, 1981, sir.”

Dumbledore became quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I do not know if it was Voldemort who killed
your brother. The Killing Curse leaves no mark on its victims, so there is no way, *almost* no
way, to determine the identity of the caster. There were no survivors from the team sent out that
day. The only eye-witnesses therefore, as you can imagine, would be unlikely to assist in
determining guilt.”

“No, of course not,” 009 agreed.

Dumbledore considered what he was about to say next. It had been some fifteen years. As long as
he didn’t reveal any current, sensitive information, there would be no harm.

“What I can tell you is that your brother was not merely an Auror. Because of his talents,
intelligence, and knowledge of the Muggle world, he was invited to help take a more active role in
the fight against Voldemort. I trust you, of all people, could appreciate what that might
entail.”

The way Dumbledore straightened his back slightly gave 009 the impression he was intentionally
increasing the space between then, trying to subtly indicate the room they were in. Just like
shooting and advanced driving techniques, psychology and reading body language were critical skills
for a 00.

Perhaps his brother had done more than even 009 could have imagined? Perhaps like himself, his
brother had been a member of some secret order? It merely made him that much prouder of his
brother.

If it was true, then as a 00, he understood completely the need to keep secrets. Indeed,
Dumbledore himself had not *said* anything of the kind. But, reading between the words....

“Do not dwell on who *might* have killed your brother, since it *is* an unknown.
October, 1981 was something of the climax of Voldemort’s first rise. *Many* good men and women
died that month, unfortunately,” Dumbledore added sadly. “Instead, remember how your brother lived
his life, and how he faced its end. He died honorably, in the line of duty, fighting to save both
your world and mine.”

“Thank you, sir,” 009 replied. “We never were told any of the details of that night, and for a
few months back then, I had always been curious. But now they don’t seem all that important any
more.” Dumbledore smiled and nodded in understanding.

Out of the corner of his eye, 009 saw C with the remaining agents on the other side of the room;
there were only two left, not including himself. This enjoyable and enlightening conversation would
soon need to come to an end. After casting a weighted glance toward his superior, he turned back to
Dumbledore.

“Well, I’m afraid our time together must close. There’s an evil wizard out there, after
all.”

“There is,” Dumbledore agreed. “I have enjoyed talking with you, and should like to do so again
some time in the future. Perhaps, if you’re interested, I could show you a little of the world your
brother helped to defend?”

For several reasons, 009 wasn’t sure if he wanted to (or even could) do that, for both personal
and professional reasons, but he wasn’t ready to turn down the offer outright just yet.

“That might be nice,” he said politely.

Dumbledore noticed C begin to approach them from the other side of the room.

“Well, it was nice to meet you...?” His voice betrayed him and trailed off in question.
Dumbledore couldn’t help himself. He was used to knowing, well, *everything*. To not know the
name of the person standing in front of him was almost more than he could stand. The urge to at
least *ask* was irresistible. He knew that if 009 declined to answer, he would accept it. He
just had to ask.

“I’m sorry, do you mind terribly if I ask your name? Or, when they gave you a number, did they
take away your name?”

009 smiled in spite of himself. That actually *was* the first time he heard that one; no
one had the gall to try it before. He looked at the aged man in front of him and considered the
request for a split second.

“I suppose I can trust you to keep a secret?” 009 asked teasingly.

“Ah, well, I *do* have some experience in that area,” Dumbledore admitted gracefully.

“And I suppose you *could* just look up my brother’s school records and find my name listed
there as a family member?” 009 asked knowingly, in good humor, acknowledging the *real* reason
for agreeing to divulge his name.

“I *could*...” Dumbledore admitted, his eyes twinkling.

009 extended his hand. “Brett, sir. Brett Smith.”

* * *

2:10PM.

Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the front of a very crowded meeting room.
Although it was the largest room in the Ministry, and although it magically resized itself to fit
everyone comfortably, the sheer number of bodies still gave the distinct impression of feeling
crowded. The briefing was started with a report on everyone’s attempts to locate Voldemort prior to
the deadline.

The report was very short.

No one really expected that they’d suddenly capture the Dark Lord at the very last moment. He
*had* successfully hidden himself for a very long time, after all. It didn’t stop anyone from
trying though.

Taking the speaking podium, Kingsley tapped his wand to another one of those pieces of parchment
permanently adhered to the top. As he did, hundreds of scraps of parchment appeared around the
room, listing each person’s assignment.

All around the room, Hit Wizard, Auror, and MLE officer alike all looked at their assignments,
each wondering who would get Brockdale. None of them knew that no one *present* in the room
was assigned to the primary target. But, in another undisclosed room somewhere within the deepest
bowels of the Ministry, eight unique witches and wizards were observing remotely....

The distribution of available personnel was very deliberate. Those targets deemed to be at the
greatest risk—the highest potential for casualties—were assigned teams of four Hit Wizards. It
slowly worked its way down through the Aurors to the MLE officers. The smallest, most remote sites
(of those of highest risk) only got four run-of-the-mill MLE officers.

“Oh, and just one more thing,” Kingsley added before dismissing everyone. “Some of you will
notice that your assignments are numbered. Those of you with numbers on the backside of your
parchment, please remain behind for a moment. Everyone else, you may head out and scout your
sites.”

Nymphadora Tonks turned her sheet of parchment over; her breathing hitched a little. She had a
number. She read it to herself to see if it meant anything to her.

*Zero zero nine.* She turned the parchment; it must have been upside down. *Six
hundred.* “009” didn’t make any sense as a proper number. Then again, six hundred didn’t have
any significance to her either. Regardless, she wanted to fight of course. But she didn’t know
whether this number was a good sign or not.

“Remember,” Kingsley said as he looked at his watch, “the deadline is in... one hour forty-six
minutes. We expect that he will attack soon after that, but *nothing* is known for sure. He
threatened Brockdale, but it’s just as likely to be a diversion and he’ll attack somewhere else. Be
ready. Be prepared.”

“Good luck!” he said, dismissing the rest. Once they left, Kingsley and Amelia looked over the
remaining ninety-six Hit Witches and Wizards, Aurors, and MLE officers. Enough exactly for the
twenty-four sites getting 00s, excluding Brockdale of course.

“What I am about to tell you all,” the Minister of Magic began, “is *beyond* classified in
the Muggle world. You are to protect this information from *both* the magical and Muggle
worlds with the same urgency we enforce the Statute of Secrecy.”

Those assembled in the room looked around at everyone else in surprise for a moment. A
*Muggle* secret to keep?

“You are all familiar with MI5 and MI6,” Amelia began, to which everyone nodded silently. That
certainly wasn’t a secret; even the Muggles knew of Britain’s intelligence agencies.

“Within MI6 is a small group that is at the same time both completely unheard of and extremely
well known.”

As the Minister continued her explanation, in an ironic twist of fate it was the Muggle-borns
and the few witches and wizards well-versed in Muggle pop culture who had the hardest time
accepting that 00-Agents really *were* real. The remaining assembled staff simply accepted
them without question as an ultra-secret group dedicated to protecting Great Britain, as well as
the rest of the world.

After explaining that the 00s would be joining them, Madam Bones and Shacklebolt then went over
to an odd looking device that was appeared to be something of a cross between a Pensieve and an
ordinary Muggle classroom overhead projector.

It was anything but ordinary however as it functioned pretty much the same way too. It allowed
the replay of memories for an audience. Rather than a single person merely looking in or even
jumping in to relive a memory first hand, this device simply projected a two-dimensional image of
the memory onto a wall. It was just like going to the movies... for those who knew what movies
were.

Amelia and Kingsley drew their wands. Placing them to their temples, they withdrew a few key
memories of their meeting earlier, including one of being “shot” during the demonstration, each
from their own point of view. Everyone in the room was very impressed with the demonstration.

All Aurors knew what firearms were (even if they sometimes called them firelegs). But since
almost none of them had ever seen one used first hand, when “compared” to magic, they seemed like
little more than crude, clumsy noise-makers. To see what a highly trained Muggle could do with one
however, well... to employ a cliché, it seemed like magic.

Even the Muggle-borns were well impressed; it *was* an impressive display of reaction,
coordination, and marksmanship.

There was, however, one question that was floating around the room unspoken. A number of people
looked around, wondering who would be the first person to ask.

Muggle-born Auror Kara Thrace decided she wasn’t going to wait for anyone else.

“Minister?” she asked after raising her hand and being acknowledged. “Why is it that everyone in
the Pensieve has no face, except yourself and Auror Shacklebolt?”

Madam Bones appeared pleased that someone had finally asked.

“I wished to press my case to the 00s in person. Considering the highly sensitive nature of
their organization, as well as their identities, a compromise was reached to allow us access to
their facility. We agreed to have our memories modified to protect their anonymity, as well as the
exact location of the room we were in.”

An interested murmur went around the room. All Aurors were well versed in Obliviation, but the
skill displayed here was truly incredible. Normal memory modification created something of a haze
or fog-like appearance that obscured the information removed. But here, the precision was
astonishing. Only the faces had been removed, and it had been done so precisely and cleanly that
there was no haze. It literally looked as thought the individuals were born without facial
features.

But more than that....

“How was that possible?” Thrace asked curiously. Self-Obliviation was highly risky in the first
place, but doing it with such a high level of accuracy was impossible by definition.
“Cherrypicking” a specific fact or detail with such precision and leaving everything else intact is
extremely complicated.

To have that information disappear while trying to remove it invariably leads to a person
“Lockharting” themselves. The brain “gets lost” and ends up erasing anything and everything else it
stumbles across... such as who they are, or even how to perform magic.

Such risks would also rule out simultaneous Obliviations. Likewise, they couldn’t do each other
in turn. How would the second person know what to remove from the first? There would have to be a
third person present. (By chance, Dumbledore hadn’t been visible in any of the memories shown.)

“Albus Dumbledore performed our modifications, removing only what was necessary,” Amelia
explained.

“Why would Dumbledore do it?” someone else asked, taking them off topic. “Was he there too?”

“Would you trust anyone *else* to be so precise?” Amelia joked, trying to get them back on
track. She also wanted to steer the conversation away from Dumbledore if possible. The inevitable
conclusion, if someone followed the reasoning, was that Dumbledore alone was allowed to retain all
knowledge of MI6 and the 00s.

If that knowledge *had* to be entrusted to just one person to allow its safe and secure
removal from everyone else, then it was hard to find a better choice than Albus Dumbledore.

“And on *that* note,” Kingsley said significantly, trying to take them even further away
from speculation about Dumbledore, “after today’s mission, during your debriefing, you will all
submit to a memory modifications.”

Seeing more than a few looks of alarm around the room, he hurried to elaborate.

“We argued that the experience you gained today interacting with the 00s could be invaluable for
the future, so it was agreed that you would be allowed to remember everything... save the actual
identity of the 00 assigned to you. You will be organized into groups of four, with one 00 per
group.”

Everyone seemed to settle down considerably upon learning that they would forget nothing more
than the identity of the agent they met.

“The 00s will be arriving at their targets over the next hour or so, depending on how far they
have to drive,” the Minister then explained. “As soon as they arrive, introduce yourselves. Work
*with them* to come up with the best strategy you can that time allows, depending on field
conditions.

“Of course, we want to take *every* opportunity to not allow Voldemort to escape,” she
continued. Even to this day, many of the Aurors reacted to his name. “However, if you get to the
point that you need to lower your Apparition and Portkey charms to allow our reinforcements in, do
NOT hesitate to do so... even if it means risking letting their reinforcements in, or letting
Voldemort escape.

“IF it comes down to it, it is more important that he lose than we win,” Amelia stressed upon
them. She’d already explained this to the Muggle Prime Minister and to the 00s; now she was
explaining it to her own forces.

“And finally,” Kingsley said as he took the podium one last time. “The 00s do not have the
luxury of using magic to verify our identities. As such, they will employ the age-old use of secret
code phrases. Tap your wand to the number on the back of your parchment, and speak your own
personal password to reveal your team members and code phrases.

“Assemble your team and learn the codes like your life depended on it. Because it does. The 00s
will kill you if you do not identify yourself properly. *You* are to stun anyone who fails to
identify properly. Stun them, and then send them back here via Portkey for interrogation.
Understood?”

Everyone in the room nodded. He was about to let the teams go with that, but then remembered
something C had said that he had rather liked.

“Good hunting!”

Numerous casts of *Muffliato* could be heard around the room as everyone afforded
themselves a moment of privacy as they spoke their passwords to their parchments.

Tonks cast her own, then tapped her wand to the “600” and spoke.

“Romulus.” Only now that she looked at it again did she realize it *was* “009.”

Tonks grinned as hidden ink began to appear. She’d fancied Remus for quite a while now. Only
this past night, the first after the full moon, had the two of them finally taken their
relationship to the next level. They’d slept together—*just* slept—but they certainly had
found a rousing way to wake.

Whatever *else* might happen in a bed together, she knew that waking up entangled in the
arms and legs of a person she truly cared for was an incredibly emotionally fulfilling experience.
Tonks knew she was falling in love. She knew she had a head start on Remus... but she also knew he
was finally allowing himself to catch up.

And so, although she knew, and Remus knew, few others did. Almost no one at work did, and she
wanted to keep it that way for the moment.

Because of that, Tonks decided that a password of “Remus” or “Moony” might be a little obvious
if she were to slip up and someone heard. So she settled for the name of the mythical Remus’s twin
brother: Romulus. It was close enough that it always evoked the desired happy memories in her, but
obscure enough that only someone familiar with Muggle mythology might guess the significance.
Fortunately, few wizards were.

When the ink stopped moving, Tonks glanced over the page. She recognized her own name (of
course) as well as that of fellow Auror, Kara Thrace, who was to be their team leader. Also listed
were two names she only vaguely recognized, a couple of low-level MLE officers. She frowned in
curiosity upon seeing the location of her assignment.

She then read through the code phrase exchange. It was a little strange and cryptic, but then
again, most code phrases usually were. But there was a certain logic to it that made it easy to
memorize, and hence verify.

Re-pocketing her parchment, Tonks canceled her privacy spell and then went to find Thrace and
the two MLE wizards. Once the four of them had confirmed they all had the same assignment and that
they were all well-versed with the code phrase, they all disappeared, heading off to the specified
landing site, pre-approved for Apparition privacy.

* * *

2:25PM

Having landed into a deserted alley between two buildings, the four-person team assigned to
Wandsworth
Bridge took a few minutes to look around and scout the area. Although this particular bridge
*was* in the center of a busy urban area, it was only two lanes wide (three if the bus lane
was included). Fewer lanes meant fewer cars... and fewer casualties. As such, its high visibility
but low body count made it a medium-risk target; it was therefore assigned two Aurors and two MLE
officers.

It had been unseasonably cool and foggy for just over two weeks now (since the attack upon
Azkaban), but there had been no significant rainfall for the last couple months. So, as was typical
for the middle of summer, the River Thames was several feet lower than during the winter.

What this meant for the Ministry personnel stationed there was that they now had more to worry
about. Bridge supports that were normally in several-feet-deep of water were now within walking
distance. Assuming that the goal was to cause a complete collapse, the most efficient way of
causing the most casualties in the least amount of time would be to take out the supports. With
them much more easily accessible by foot, it was decided that the four should split up. Beneath the
bridge and out of sight, the two MLE officers Apparated over to the southern riverbank while the
two Aurors remained on the north.

“So, any particular reason you were assigned here?” Tonks asked her teammate.

“I live down the road in Croydon,” Thrace replied to the younger witch who she really only knew
in passing. “I expect they thought that made me better equipped to spot something out of the
ordinary here. What about you?”

“The same, I suppose. Kind of,” Tonks answered, not looking entirely sure. “I’ve been out here
in Wandsworth a few times in the last couple of weeks for my most recent assignment.”

“Ah, yes. *Babysitting*,” Kara said with a chuckle, using their favorite term for VIP
detail. Word traveled quickly around the office whenever someone received such an assignment. No
one liked having to tag along behind someone else. Although she had absolutely no idea who Tonks’
charge was, Kara did suddenly make an association.

“If you’ve been out here before, then that means there’s a witch or wizard living somewhere
around here, right?” she asked. Since the question was vague enough, Tonks was able to confirm.

“This person wouldn’t by chance happen to have a pair of snowy owls, now would they?” Kara
queried. Tonks smiled; it was answer enough.

“You mind telling them to keep a closer eye on their owls?” she asked seriously, a bit annoyed.
Risking the Statute of Secrecy by being careless with Post Owls was no laughing matter, after
all.

Thinking back to what had happened at Ginny’s birthday party, the surprise announcement of
Hedwig and Metis’s mating, Tonks could not help but start to grin. “Oh, don’t worry about that.
*They* will.”

“*They?*” Kara asked. Understanding there was only one ‘babysittee,’ she’d said ‘them’ and
‘their’ simply because the English language had no other *polite*, gender-neutral terms for
referring to a single person. The emphasis Tonks placed on the word suggested there actually
*was* more than one person.

Tonks nodded. “Actually, *my* charge only had one owl. The other one belongs to a friend of
theirs’.” She stopped for a second to bite her lip for a moment. Thinking back, Harry’s outburst
was rather humorous. *“Our owls had SEX!”*

“And... it turned out that one of the owls *was male*,” she said, rolling her head to one
side for comedic effect, “and one was *female*,” she continued, rolling it to the other, “and
the two of them didn’t know that... until they found a surprise waiting for them in the female’s
cage last week.”

Kara laughed. “You put two of the same kind of owl together... you’d think they’d stop and check
if they were boy and girl first?”

“Yes, well, *teenagers* these days. Their minds are always somewhere else,” Tonks laughed,
thinking back to her and Remus’s suspicions that perhaps more was going on between Hermione and
Harry than was generally known.

Kara chuckled again. It was particularly amusing considering that both she and Tonks were still
in their twenties. It wasn’t all *that* far from the kettle calling the pot black.

She stopped laughing though when something suddenly clicked in her mind. Kara was aware that
Tonks had at least *some* sort of involvement with the Order of the Phoenix. Teenager... snowy
owl... VIP detail?

“You’ve been guarding *Harry Potter*?!” Kara asked in a whisper, bewildered and
awestruck.

Tonks groaned, realizing that she’d said too much when she slipped about the fact that they were
teenagers. Kara Thrace was just too damned clever, she decided.

“No, I wasn’t guarding Harry Potter,” Tonks hissed, upset more at herself.

“I was going to say... because I thought he lived out in Surrey. So, what, does one of his
friends live out here, then?” Kara continued, trying to make sense of it all.

From his *publicity* over the years, Thrace knew the names of only two of Harry Potter’s
friends: his “on again, off again” girlfriend, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. Because of
Arthur, she knew the Weasleys lived in Ottery St. Catchpole. She didn’t know where Hermione lived,
but because the specific nature of the Fidelius protecting Harry and the Grangers precluded her
from thinking that he was staying with her, she therefore naturally assumed it was a friend she
didn’t know about.

Even if there hadn’t been a charm forcing Tonks to keep the secret, after this royal slip up,
she certainly wasn’t going to say anything more. She sent Kara a warning—though not
unfriendly—look.

Thrace knew Tonks couldn’t talk about it, so she let the subject drop.

Mostly.

“Two snowy owls, and they didn’t even think to check the genders,” she said with a smirk. Tonks’
grumpy visage slowly morphed into a smile.

“Idiots,” Kara quipped humorously.

“Teenagers,” Tonks confirmed with a smirk, raising her eyebrows in a *“What do you
expect?”* sort of way.

* * *

2:25PM

Working his way through mid-afternoon traffic, 009 tried to keep his mind focused on the cars in
front of him, and not on the mission ahead of him. With a smile, he knew that his brother wouldn’t
at all be impressed with him if he got himself killed in an automobile accident before the fighting
even started.

Still, it was definitely the longest drive of his entire life, even though it was less than five
miles. 009’s assignment was Wandsworth Bridge. Although he did have some prior knowledge of the
wizarding world, he had no more *first hand* experience with it than any of the other
agents.

He also didn’t have more *experience* than some of other agents. Agents 0013 and 0021 were
currently the most senior agents. They were the best. They knew it. C knew it. 009 knew it. So they
were assigned to Brockdale. Now was not the time for egos.

Now was not the time to worry about anything... except that bloody maniac who just cut him off
and nearly ran over the motorcyclist in the lane next to him.

*Speaking of egos...* 009 thought to himself smugly as he noted the enormous SUV the man
was driving, flashily decorated with gold (colored) accents. That vehicle, despite its size,
probably wouldn’t carry more than the driver, a passenger, and a couple of bags of groceries. The
rough terrain it was designed to brave was probably the speed bumps in the car park of the local
Heal’s department store.

*Compensating for something?* he wondered of the other man and his SUV, *very* secure
about what he himself was driving.

As he turned onto the service road that ran along the river towards the bridge, 009 hoped 0013
and 0021 would keep their lucky streak just one more time.

* * *

2:30PM

Parked on the service alley, well out of sight from the main flow of traffic and rummaging about
the boot of his car, 009 quickly prepared himself. Stripping off his shirt temporarily, he first
donned a Kevlar vest over his white undershirt. The large black man, Shacklebolt, had explained in
the meeting that bulletproof vests were useless against most spells.

However, ‘most’ was not ‘all,’ and since the specialty armor 00s wore was not all that
encumbering, it was decided to wear they would wear it anyway. Next, two shoulder straps that
connected and wrapped around his chest: his primary weapon, optional silencer, and two extra
ammunition magazines under his left arm. The same, his backup, went under his right arm.

He then lifted his left foot up onto the back bumper, rolling up his trousers. He secured around
his leg above the ankle a nylon holder containing a lovely set of throwing knives. He then attached
another holster, securing a third and final gun above his right ankle. And finally, he made sure
all three weapons had live rounds preloaded in their chambers, and that the safeties were engaged.
Safeties weren’t foolproof, but it was more foolish to have three loaded weapons strapped to his
body with them off.

He also often carried with him a KA-BAR knife, but he decided to skip it for now. With
everything else he was carrying, he really didn’t have anywhere else he could comfortably, or more
importantly *usefully*, conceal it.

* * *

Q-Branch had a large assortment of “goodies” available for their agents in the field. Their
high-tech nature however meant that almost all of them had some electronic component to them.
Considering they were likely to be in the middle of a magical firefight, it had been decided
therefore that it was better to not rely on anything electronic, and instead stick to the basics.
The only exception, of course, was their communication equipment, which they *had* to use, and
would until it stopped working... at which point, they were on their own. (Unless of course they
were close enough for smoke signals... which could *actually* work.)

The Quartermaster was understandably disappointed that virtually nothing from his beloved—but
predictably named—department would be used for this mission. Not that he knew what it was... which
in it of itself was unusual, but not unheard of. His mood changed quickly however when a follow up
set of orders arrived soon after the agents left.

*Develop non-electronic or electromagnetically shielded versions of all hardware, if
possible.*

Q found this to be quite an interesting challenge. Forty years ago, everything his department
developed was non-electronic. But the current Quartermaster had been in the position for only ten
years, and he’d gotten quite used to the silicon life. Who needed springs, gears, and levers when
simple timing circuits and micro servos performed more reliably than their practically Stone Aged
predecessors?

MI6 hardware, when subjected to the “wear and tear” of field conditions, naturally had a very
short life expectancy. That, combined with the blind eagerness decades earlier to adopt the “latest
and greatest” electronic technologies, meant that virtually nothing from forty years earlier still
existed, aside from a few MI6 museum pieces. Plans for the old hardware still existed of course,
but it simply wasn’t possible to rebuild their entire supply cupboard to non-electronic in one
day.

However, with electronic warfare only just beginning to emerge from its infancy, the need for
such non-electrical devices—primarily as backups—was only now beginning to be understood. For many
years, the concept of waging war against an enemy’s electronic systems was confined primarily to
military think tanks and recently-released James Bond movies.

The few discussions that *had* occurred behind locked doors were focused exclusively on
protecting large hard targets: corporate, financial, and government computer networks, military
command centers, satellites, and even smaller hard targets such as naval vessels, aircraft, and
vehicles.

But so early in its real world evolution, no one had really yet taken it on a practical basis
down to the human level. What about their mobile phones? What about the transmitters for the
newly-launched GPS system? What about the radio controllers they used to detonate explosives from a
safe distance?

Protecting the Internet was perfectly fine, but what was the point if there was no one to
connect to it because every laptop and desktop computer had been fried?

And so, with the discussion about how magic affected electronics, one unexpected surprise to
come out of the after-lunch meeting between the three magical visitors and C was the idea of
hardening electronic components against magical interference.

With first hand knowledge, unfortunately, of electromagnetic pulses and how to defend against
them being used as weapons, C casually wondered aloud if magic was anything like EMP. It seemed to
cause the same problems at least, so he wondered if the interference could be dampened
similarly.

It was an untested theory, but one that none of the witches and wizards in the room had thought
of, not even Dumbledore. They might not be able to design a mobile phone that was immune to being
stuck by a curse, but perhaps they *could* make an electronic surveillance “bug” that
*actually* worked in a high-magical environment, such as Hogwarts.

Rita Skeeter would be *very* pleased.

* * *

Satisfied that he was as ready as he would ever be, 009 closed the boot and started to head down
the walkway that led to the river bed. Without a glance back, he pulled out his key fob and pointed
it over his shoulder towards his car, pressing one of the buttons.

The chirp his car made indicated it was now secure. It probably went without saying, but a
burglar alarm was not the only thing that had armed itself within the car.

Looking around, 009 decided it was actually a rather pleasant day... gloomy, ever-present fog
notwithstanding. He started whistling as he strolled down the walk toward the river. His tune might
have suggested relax and distraction, but he was anything but. With every step he took, he
constantly scanned his surroundings.

As his walkway turned out onto the riverbank, the first things 009 noticed were two individuals
milling around idly on the other side of the river. While they didn’t appear to be doing anything
warranting investigation, the fact that they were out on the riverbank... *here, today,* was
enough to justify suspicion.

Looking down the riverbank, he saw two more people standing beneath the bridge on his own side.
He had been told there would be four people with whom he was to meet. And indeed there were four
people here. But were these the correct four? Pulling a very small pair of binoculars out of his
leather jacket pocket, he gave them all a quick first look, checking for any obvious signs of
danger.

It didn’t appear that he’d been spotted yet, so he stepped back into the service walkway and
looked around again as he put away the binoculars. Certain no one could see him here, he drew the
gun from beneath his right arm and tucked it into his waistband, behind his back. He opted to leave
off the silencer in favor of a faster, smoother draw.

Then, he put on a big grin and clasped his hands behind his back (giving himself something of a
strutting appearance), and started to walk aimlessly out onto the riverbank, towards the two
persons on his side. To any normal observer, he appeared as though he was out on a casual stroll
(albeit in a strange place) without a care in the world.

As he neared, 009 took in every detail he could about the two ‘persons of interest’ in front of
him, while still frequently looking around and checking on the two on the other side. His initial
observations were, of course, correct: the two he was approaching were women. From what little he
could make out of them at this distance, one appeared blonde and one had pink or purple hair. In
the middle of a big city like London and its surrounding boroughs, purple hair in it of itself was
not all that strange.

When he was about twenty feet away, the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet alerted the others
to his presence. His less-than-stealthy approach was intentional. They had been chatting with each
other; they turned and looked at him.

He cast a quick glance back at the two on the other side of the river. They still appeared to
minding their own business, but with these two aware of his presence, he didn’t assume that of the
others. He made sure his leather jacket, behind his back, was out of the way of his weapon.

Still looking exactly as if he was out on a stroll, he walked straight up to the two women. He
glanced at the two and nodded a polite hello to each, his gaze lingering on the blonde a little
longer than the other.

“Hello,” he said casually. “Lovely day out for a walk?” he asked, setting his hand against the
handle of his weapon, taking hold of it. His move was so practiced that neither of the two in front
of him could see that he’d done anything.

But he did notice that they were obviously aware that his hands were behind his back and hence
out of sight.

*Not bad,* he thought to himself of their observations. He also noticed that they had been
standing around chatting with each other as he’d approached, looking quite relaxed and calm with
their hands in their pockets. Their hands were still there, and through the material of their
trousers he could clearly make out the outline of what anyone else might have thought a pen or
pencil.

The purple-haired woman smiled at him and nodded. “It is a nice day,” she confirmed. “But rumor
has it we’re in for a change in weather.”

“That’s probably just because I’ve shown up,” 009 replied, turning his head to look at the
blonde woman.

“I doubt that,” she objected. “So, mister stranger, who are you when you’re at home?”

“Me? Oh, they call me The Oncoming Storm,” he answered, grinning, looking at both of them. Both
women smiled, though he allowed his attention to gravitate towards the blonde... again.

“Let’s hope the weather worsens, then,” she said.

“Let’s,” 009 agreed. He then grinned even wider and let go of his weapon. He dropped his hands
back to his sides where they could see they were empty. He then let out a laugh.

“Whew!” he said exaggeratedly. “I’m glad we got that out of the way!”

“Why’s that?” the purple-haired witch (now that he was certain she was a witch) asked,
bemused.

“Because now I don’t have to kill the two fantastic specimens of womanhood standing in front of
me!”

“Whoa!” the blonde laughed. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?”

“Well, maybe,” 009 grinned. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“What isn’t?” the purple-haired woman asked, smiling.

“That you’re both quite attractive, and that I’d’ve killed you,” he said seriously. The silence
hung about them for a moment; there only sounds were from the Thames and the surrounding city.

“But,” he said suddenly, cheerfully, punctuating the sobriety, “that didn’t happen, and here we
all are!” He stuck out his hand towards the blonde.

“MI6 Special Agent 009, at your service!” he introduced himself.

“Ministry of Magic Auror Kara Thrace.”

“Ministry of Magic Auror Kara Thrace,” he repeated as he took her hand and shook it. But instead
of letting go, he leaned down and kissed it like one might kiss the hand of nobility.

Thrace blushed. “You can call me Kara,” she said, flustered, after 009 let go of her hand.

“I hope to,” he said playfully. “And you are?” he asked as he turned to the other and made to
take her hand.

“Ministry of Magic Auror Nymphadora Tonks. You can call me *Tonks*,” she said pointedly,
but in a way that indicated displeasure with nothing but her name.

009 shook her hand cordially, but did not kiss it. Both witches noticed this; neither
complained.

“And those two across the river, they with you?” he asked, making absolutely no movement of
indication towards the men behind him. If they weren’t with these two, it would have been rather
foolish of him to do something so blatant as to point and wave at them unabashedly.

“Yeah,” Tonks confirmed. “Unfortunately with the river low, there’s more structure exposed, so
we decided to cover both sides. Plus, we didn’t know which side you’d arrive on.”

“Makes sense,” 009 agreed.

“So, those two are Magical Law Enforcement officers Smith and Jones.”

“Smith, eh?” 009 asked, seemingly amused.

“It’s a common enough name,” Tonks replied.

“So I’ve heard.” He then turned to look back at the officers on the other side of the river.
When he saw them looking back at him, he pointed and waved at them unabashedly.

Meanwhile, his back was to Tonks and Thrace; the two witches noticed the handle of the weapon
sticking out the back of his trousers. Now they understood how he supposedly was going to kill them
should they fail their identification.

Having finished waving, 009 then turned around so quickly that he saw both witches staring down
at his... well, where his weapon *had been* when he was facing the other way. Both quickly
looked up, embarrassed. Definitely someone of a playful nature, more so in the presence of such
attractive women, he decided to save any smart comment for a more *opportune* moment.

Facing the witches, he reached behind him and drew out his weapon and reholstered it beneath his
arm. The speed at which he did so surprised the two Aurors, despite what they’d seen in Madam
Bones’ and Shacklebolt’s projected memories. They still had no idea this was the same 00 they’d
watched earlier... not that it really mattered though.

“Have the four of you had a chance to scout the area yet?”

“We looked around as soon as arrived,” Tonks explained, “but we wanted to wait for you to arrive
before we made any plans.”

009 nodded vaguely then looked around. “Right. Won’t be a minute then.” He then strode off in
one direction, towards where the exposed section of gravel ended. Since the River Thames ran
through the middle of London, its edges were less actual riverbeds as they were more concrete sea
walls with occasional bits of exposed land here and there.

As he studied the area, he took special care to note any changes. He’d been out here yesterday,
scouting the site for several hours. The locations where the 00s would be assigned had been
determined the day before, so there was time to send them out for reconnaissance. Of course, none
of them knew at the time what their mission would be, nor did they know that *all* of them
were out scouting.

After walking back and forth several times, and a very thorough inspection of the surrounding
area, 009 decided that everything was as it had been the day before, and that nothing had
changed.

As he walked back to where they were standing, he allowed his mind to wander back to the two
witches beneath the bridge. They really *were* quite attractive. That purple hair had a
certain exciting appeal, but it really was the blonde one who caught his eye.

Sometimes, in the line of duty, it was necessary to seduce a woman. Seduction, like any other
skill such as hand-to-hand combat, prevarication, or sexual performance, required practice to keep
it honed. While he doubted with a silent laugh that there would be a chance to practice the latter
today, there *was* an opportunity to practice his charm.

A little flirting was definitely in order. It was harmless... he knew there was no risk to him,
*emotional* risk, since nothing could come of it. But considering how attractive he found
her—lust at first sight, definitely—this little exercise would prove to be fun.

*Very fun!* 009 mused as, with the immediate business addressed, he indulged in a little
pleasure and finally allowed himself to notice the blonde’s physique.

* * *

As 009 continued to wander around, examining carefully the surroundings as well as all of the
exposed bridge supports he could see, Thrace pulled Tonks back out of the way.

“He’s a bit handsome,” Kara observed.

Tonks shook her head and rolled her eyes in amusement. “Merlin’s beard, Thrace!”

“What?” Kara objected. “I’m just saying he’s handsome. I just met him, after all. It’s not like
I’m making plans, or anything. We won’t even remember who he is afterwards. And besides...” she
said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself, “I’m an Auror, and he’s a Muggle... a
00, no less. It isn’t like there’s a future in that!

“But honestly, you can’t tell me that a handsome man comes in and starts sweet talking you like
that... that you don’t find it even the *tiniest* bit exciting?”

“Well...” Tonks found it hard to object. The sweet talking Remus did this morning while they
were lying in bed together *was* quite... exciting.

“Look at me, Tonks! I’m twenty-seven years old. Half the guys in the Ministry are afraid to even
look at me because I’m an Auror, and the other half are either married or I wouldn’t *want*
looking at me. I don’t drink and can’t stand being around drunks, so that pretty much rules out
meeting guys in *pubs*.

“I have to take care of my mum so I live in Croydon, but I’m a witch so that makes dating
Muggles awkward. The dating scene isn’t exactly wide open for me. At least you have your little
secret thing with Lupin going on.”

Tonks’ eyes widened and her mouth started gaping like a fish out of water. Even her purple hair
blushed. She’d been experimenting with hair length and color lately... just to try something new.
Today by chance, she’d selected purple, shoulder length hair.

That *definitely* got a favorable reaction out of Remus this morning... *very*
favorable.

When she prodded him to ask what he liked so much about it, he confessed that he was always a
bit conscious of the age difference between them—she already suspected as much. Her usual short
bubble-gum pink, he admitted, sometimes had an almost childish quality to it... childish, as in
*under seventeen*... rather than “ridiculous.”

But this... the longer, darker, more muted purple... it had, he felt, a more mature look about
it. And that was something Remus could *definitely* appreciate. And purple was close enough to
pink that it was still “classic Tonks.” And for her part, Tonks was quite amenable to the change.
After years of pink, she’d been ready for a change anyway (hence the experimenting). That it
removed the last hesitation for him to do more than *just* hold her hand was completely
irrelevant.

Yeah, *right*.

“I’m twenty-seven and I’m single,” Kara complained. “I *notice* when people are making eyes
at each other. Don’t worry... I don’t think anyone else knows.” She glanced at Tonks again and
smiled.

“*How old* are you again?”

“Twenty-three,” Tonks replied hesitantly.

“And *how old* is Lupin?”

“Thirty-seven,” Tonks replied even more hesitantly. Her hair began to blush again. Kara smirked,
but let the subject drop.

She then ran a hand through her short blonde hair. “Look, I’m not going to ask him out or
anything like that,” she said, nodding towards 009. “But he seems pretty... outgoing... and a
little... playful banter might be fun. You know, to get the blood pumping... to feel
*alive!*”

Tonks glanced down at her watch: it was 2:45. She began to smile.

“You’ve got an hour left. Knock yourself out!” Tonks encouraged; Kara smiled. “*After*
we’ve worked out our plans.”

Thrace rolled her eyes. “Of course, business before pleasure.”

Fortunately for Kara Thrace, determining a strategy didn’t take all that long. Considering the
layout of bridge supports and what exposed shore there was, it was decided that the four witches
and wizards would wait Disillusioned. Tonks would be stationed on top of the bridge on the north
side, Thrace beneath. Similarly, Smith and Jones would wait on the south side. And since it was
more accessible by foot than the south, 009 would be on this side under the bridge as well, hiding
up amongst the girders. With their plans decided, he headed back to his car for “one last
thing.”

As an MI6 Special Agent, 009 was required to be proficient in all sorts of weapons, ranging from
throwing knives to anti-tank weapons. The sheer breadth of selection within the MI6 armory would
make even the most stoic of military commanders as giddy as a kid in a candy store.

Out in the field, in addition to any specialized weaponry deemed necessary, all 00s were
outfitted with a standard armament kit. As far as firearms went, agents always carried in their
vehicles three models.

The Walther PPK
was their handgun of choice; it was tradition. Its magazine and caliber weren’t as large as other
modern models, but for their normal uses—close range fighting, assassinating someone who was
asleep—it was perfectly adequate.

On the other end of the scale was the Accuracy International L96A1 sniper rifle. Straight from the factory, its
accuracy was impressive, even as sniper rifles went; once Q-Branch had done their tinkering, it was
almost magical. In his hands, 009 could engage a target well over a kilometer away with pinpoint
precision.

He smiled with justifiable pride as he recalled an assassination mission where he had hit the
target at a range that had even other 00s incredulous. The particular model of L96 MI6 employed had
a specified maximum range of 1500 meters. Fortunately, spec writers tended to be a bit
conservative, at least on paper.

Forced by the terrain to take the shot at a distance of about 1700 meters (over one mile), even
009 had his doubts. But fortune appeared to be on his side that day: the weather was favorable;
windage was favorable; terrain and elevation were favorable. All of that added up to one phenomenal
shot... and one dead bad guy.

009 spared a brief sigh for his trusty L96A1—it was simply the wrong weapon for this mission.
Its bolt action and high-powered scope made it perfect against a single target (*normally*
1000-1200 meters away), but those same features made it cumbersome and slow when facing multiple
targets at close range. It, unfortunately, would sit out this mission in its olive green,
well-padded case. An assault weapon was simply the better weapon for this mission.

And of course, 009 had one of those in his car too. He turned his attention to another
well-padded case in the boot of his car, this one black. Inside was the Heckler & Koch G36 KV
Assault Rifle, the most recent “official” revision to the 00 standard field armament kit. Even
if one were to ignore the long list of militaries and law enforcement agencies using it, including
the venerable Special Air Service (just like with the L96A1), the G36 was still an impressive
weapon.

With it he could engage a single target at medium to long range (up to 800 meters) or multiple
targets at close to medium range. Its cyclic firing rate of 750 rounds per minute made it a deadly
anti-personnel weapon, though that rate, a foolish operator would burn through the standard
thirty-round magazine in less than three seconds (or the 100-round magazine in eight). But
fortunately, it also had semi-automatic single shot and two-round burst modes, both of which would
allow a 00 and his five standard magazines to easily last almost any engagement they
encountered.

While the three weapons 00s routinely carried were impressive, some might wonder why they
weren’t even more heavily armed than that by default. The answer was quite simple, really. MI6 00s
were not one-man armies ordered in to single-handedly wipe out an entire regiment. They were
surgical tools dispatched to precisely excise a cancer; chop off the head and the body will die.
That said, the three weapons did have some teeth to them, should the headless body still have a
little fight left to it.

009 grabbed his assault rifle case, locked his car, and hurried back to the blonde... erm, the
two Aurors.

* * *

For the next twenty minutes or so, the three occupants on the north side made small talk as they
passed the time. Waiting was always the hard part. From his vantage point, it looked to 009 that
the other two wizards on the opposite side of the river were keeping themselves busy playing
cards... though he didn’t know why there were occasional puffs of smoke. Fortunately, sitting
directly under the bridge kept them hidden from the Muggles above.

Occasionally, a boat or rowing team went by; one of the two witches muttered a quiet spell he
could never catch. Tonks explained it as a Notice-Me-Not charm. It didn’t make them invisible, but
it compelled Muggles to look elsewhere—even just a few feet to either side—and therefore *not
notice* them.

* * *

“So, where are you from, exactly?” Kara asked.

“Can’t tell you. State secret,” 009 teased.

“Well, you *sound* like you’re from the North.”

“Lots of people are from the North!” 009 defended.

“And you won’t tell me your name?” she asked for the third time.

“Nope!” he replied rather gleefully, for the third time.

“*Hmph!* What good are you to me then?” she pouted.

“Oh, lots of things, I’m sure,” 009 replied, a lazy but confident look in his eyes.

Tonks, for her part, did her best to stay out of the way. The two in front of her seemed to be
doing quite well by themselves without her interrupting. Yes, the hormones seemed to be flowing
quite adequately, despite the fact that Thrace was twenty-seven and 009 appeared in his
early-thirties.

She tuned them out occasionally as she filed away some promising, suggestive line that one of
the two of them said. She tried to imagine how it might play out if she used it on Remus. She then
drifted back into the conversation later, having missed half of it.

“Look. *All I’m saying* is that I think you lot are too reliant on your magic. I’m not
saying magic’s a bad thing, just that you’re too dependent on it.”

One thing that Tonks had noticed about 009 was that he had an ever-present personality. There
was no escaping it. On the plus side, he seemed quite exuberant, to the point that he was
constantly smiling and flashing big grins.

But, his confidence, his unfaltering sense of self-assuredness tended to give him an air of
arrogance. He didn’t think less of a person for being *wrong* (as far as he was concerned),
but he did make sure to correct them and give them the “opportunity” to see things as he did.

So it did sometimes come across as arrogance.

“I mean, for example, what do you do if you lose your wand in a battle? What then? You’re
stuck!” he pointed out.

“Well, if we lose our primary wand, we draw our backup,” Kara explained reasonably.

009 looked for a moment as if he hadn’t considered that possibility, and seemed impressed. As
far as wands went, prior to today, what he “knew” of them came more from children’s stories than
from a real witch or wizard, related or otherwise. They seemed so special, so... *magic*...
that he simply assumed a witch or wizard would ever only have one.

He looked Kara over quickly, appraisingly. She’d had her wand out only moments earlier, showing
it to him and explaining a little (a *very* little) about the “magical science” behind the
physical nature of a wand... wood types, core materials, etc. He was now trying to figure out where
another one might be.

“And just where does one *keep* a backup wand?” he asked heavily. Oh, that could have been
taken *several* different ways.

“Somewhere the average wizard will never see,” Kara replied suggestively, picking the response
that she knew would best suit him.

Tonks bit her lip to keep from laughing. They were at it again.

“Really?” 009 drawled, somehow managing to sound both impressed and unimpressed at the same
time.

Thrace smirked. She pulled up her trousers leg, and—showing quite a bit of toned and muscular
(but still feminine) lower leg in the process—revealed her backup wand in its holder above her
ankle.

“*Very* nice.”

“My wand, or my leg?” Thrace teased.

“Both.” After another one of his larger-than-life grins, 009 returned to his original argument.
“So what if you lose *all* of your wands. Then what do you do?”

“That’s where Auror training comes in. We’ve got a few kids out there who can cast Stunners with
the best of us. We don’t spend three years in training just learning jinxes and hexes. It’s about
learning how to fight, both with spellwork and *without.*”

“They teach you hand-to-hand combat?” he asked skeptically. Thrace nodded. “*Really?*” he
asked, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Really,” Kara drawled in return, almost in the form of a dare.

A small mischievous smile came across 009’s face.

“All right. Prove it!” He put his hands on his hips and stood perfectly still. “One free shot.
Show me what you’ve got, then.” He was grinning again.

“All right,” Kara mimicked back to him. She had meant her earlier response as some kind of dare,
but she hadn’t intended *this*. But she couldn’t resist. Their ‘playful banter’ back and forth
had become quite intoxicating; she didn’t want it to stop.

The teasing had gotten quite suggestive at times, even to the point of innuendo, but never did
it ever cross over into anything that might be out of line or offensive. Right at this very moment,
Thrace wanted nothing more than to hit him as hard as she could. Not so that she could hurt him,
but so that he might be impressed with her... that he might see she was more than just a cartoon
witch waving a star-tipped wand over a bubbling cauldron.

Thrace quickly glanced the secret agent over. The ground beneath his feet was not level... he
appeared to be favoring his left leg over his right because of it. She made her move.

When Kara Thrace made her lunge at him, 009 was not disappointed. She had seen that he was
standing on uneven ground and should therefore be weaker in one leg over the other. At least, he
*hoped* she had and that it wasn’t just a lucky guess. But it didn’t matter; he knew he was on
uneven ground so he had compensated in his posture.

He twisted his upper body upon his “weaker” leg and dodged her punch easily.

“Not bad. *Not good...* but not bad,” 009 commented, sounding bored. It was a calculated
tone.

Thrace scrutinized the man in front of her.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“ABSOLUTELY!” 009 replied excitedly.

“My father insisted that I learn self defense when I was growing up. I’d been doing it for
several years before I got my Hogwarts letter. I kept up with it during holidays and after I
graduated.”

009 nodded.

“What the Aurors teach is different from what I learned, but since no one’s ever beaten me, they
exempted me from learning theirs.”

009 nodded again.

“No one has *ever* beaten me in a strictly hand-to-hand combat training session,” Thrace
emphasized.

“The real world is *not* a training session,” 009 replied in a challenging voice, hoping he
could provoke her. He really wanted to see what she could do.

“And besides, I’ve lost loads of times in *our* training sessions. Don’t worry, you’ll get
used to it,” he grinned.

Thrace smirked. “Okay,” she replied with her own grin.

009 clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully. “Fantastic!”

The clothing the Aurors and MLE officers were wearing was perfectly Muggle in appearance, but
the material was thick and sturdy; it was combat worthy, able to stand up to the wear and tear
involved in a hostile environment. Trousers that ripped the first time a person jumped over an
obstacle became a trip hazard, after all. But in a controlled training environment, the heavy
fabric simply led to unnecessary overheating.

Thrace took off her jacket and then handed it and her wand to Tonks. “Hold that for me, please?”
She then quickly stripped off her shirt and handed that to the purple-haired witch too.

009 could not help but be caught unprepared for Thrace’s action. He stood there dumbly for a
split second, taking in the sight before him. She had been wearing a Muggle sports bra beneath her
shirt, and while still adequately covered for decency’s sake, he could not help but admit to
himself... *WOW!*

Kara Thrace was not a wispy, petite witch. Not overly large by any measure either, she did
however have a very powerful frame. There was definitely meat on her bones, and by the looks of her
exposed midriff, it was decidedly muscle... but not all, for she still had soft curves in
*all* the right places. The highly supportive fabric of her undergarment certainly kept
everything restrained and in place, but left enough titillating cleavage to remind him that he
liked what he saw.

Yes, Kara Thrace definitely had the physical appearance of a woman who could easily kick 009’s
arse from here to next Tuesday. If he let her. And he was seriously considering letting her do
exactly that. The fact that he considered this alluring yet powerful figure the absolute ideal of
female perfection was completely irrelevant. Then again, maybe it had *everything* to do with
him wanting to let her “take him down.”

It only lasted for a second, but Kara watched as 009 looked her over with obvious appreciation.
She felt a knot of excitement begin to build in her stomach. It had been a long time since a man
had looked at her like that... at least, one she *wanted* to look at her like that.

Just like everywhere else in the world, the Ministry had its own share of lecherous old men,
leering at her and every other young witch from behind the shells of their stale marriages which
had long since passed their “Best if Used By” dates.

And then there were the fresh-out-of-Hogwarts interns... silly little boys who had no idea how
to treat, let alone handle a woman other than what they gawked at in their much-shared and
much-pawed-over *Playwizards*.

“Well?” Kara asked expectantly. She’d adjusted her posture, clearly now in a much better stance
to make something happen. She was calm, but her body tensed, ready for action.

009 nodded. He took off his black leather jacket and looked politely at Tonks. “Would you be a
dear and hold this for me?” Tonks rolled her eyes in good humor, but took the jacket. He then
reached behind his back. Thrace watched as the strap around his chest loosened and the two underarm
holsters carrying his weapons, silencers, and ammunition swung free.

She fought the urge to laugh. It just looked too much like he was taking off a bra.

After quickly shucking his trendy forest-green shirt, and with the loud tear of disengaging
Velcro, he then removed his Kevlar vest, leaving him back down to his white A-shirt. He then
carefully handed all of it over to Tonks, placing his weapons on top of everything else in her
arms.

“Careful with all of that, Tonksie,” he said politely but seriously. Tonks glared for a moment,
then used his jacket to bundle it all up and set it down on the concrete ledge that was part of the
bridge support. Pocketing Kara’s wand and setting her jacket and shirt down also, she then stepped
back out of the way.

Looking around and seeing no one else, she cast a Patronus. A brilliant, perfectly formed wolf
appeared, and she directed it up and along the underside of the bridge where none could see it, to
tell the MLE officers that the fighting they were sure to see would be intentional.

Over on the other side, the two MLE officers, knowing they couldn’t leave their posts, pulled
out pairs of Omnioculars from their trousers’ pockets and waited eagerly for the show.

And quite a show it was. For the next thirty seconds, it was nothing but a blur of arms and legs
as Kara attacked 009. Blow after blow tried to find a mark, but each time, 009 deftly blocked each
fist, elbow, knee, and foot. Tonks had to cast a silencing charm around the two within moments.
Thrace was under full steam now, and each strike was accompanied by a shout from her exertion.

The entire time, 009 did nothing but block her attacks, grinning as if this was the happiest day
of his life. It was clear that what Kara Thrace had studied growing up was merely “ordinary”
karate. But there was nothing ‘mere’ about it, as her skills demonstrated that she was clearly a
black belt. Any novice would-be attacker would easily be lying on the ground by now in major world
of hurt.

Finally, after about another fifteen seconds, Thrace threw yet another punch that 009 could
easily block. Instead of throwing it off however, this time he caught it and maintained his grip on
her fist. Partially trapped, she tried to land an elbow into his ribs with her other arm; he caught
that easily too. He then stepped forward, pinning her legs with his knees, preventing her from
kicking him. She leaned forward, as close as she could get to him.

“Give up yet?” she asked, clearly out of breath; sweat was already starting to pour down her
face. 009 leaned forward to match her posture, but made sure to keep his face far back enough
should she decide to try to head butt him.

“Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in months!”

Kara blinked. She didn’t know how he meant that. She had to admit to herself, she was rather
enjoying this. Her heart was pounding; the blood and adrenaline were flowing. Combine that with the
fact that her skin was getting hot from the exertion as well as the natural, latent attraction
she’d felt towards this man from the moment she laid eyes upon him, it was causing a myriad of
interesting sensations... *everywhere*.

Was he feeling the same thing she was? Or, considering how easily he’d been defending himself
against her, was this merely a joke to him? He hadn’t even broken a sweat! Was he not taking
this... not taking *her* seriously? She was stunned at how much that thought hurt.

Channeling all of her strength at once, she wrenched her body and broke free of his grip. In a
foolish, uncontrolled move, she pulled her arm back and swung wide, trying to land one last punch
with every ounce of strength she had left.

009 saw her fatal move; such a wide swing left her open. He ducked slightly and then kicked her
knee out from under her with only as much strength as was necessary. (He could have shattered her
knee if he’d wanted to.) As he expected, Thrace spun out of control, carried by the momentum of her
wild punch. He deftly caught her and turned his body around with hers, allowing her to fall safely,
but not hit the ground.

Tonks and the two MLE officers unknowingly held their breaths as they watched. The entire motion
had a graceful quality to it that gave it the appearance of a ballroom dancer dipping his partner
deeply.

009 looked down at Thrace as he held her easily in one arm. Her short blonde hair was matted
down with sweat; her face was flushed, and she was breathing hard. He’d seen that look before, many
times on the faces of many women. (And even one man... the intel certainly was wrong *that*
time about whether it was the grown son or daughter having second thoughts about their father’s
plans and secretly feeding MI6 information... but such were the risks incurred by a 00)

But alas, all of those times, it had always been *business*. Pleasurable, sure, but it had
never been *personal*. He was surprised how much that thought hurt... now that he *let*
himself think about it. Sex could be a weapon, and sometime *bedding* a woman was necessary.
(He preferred that term as it helped keep the encounter professional and impersonal.) He never
allowed himself the luxury of wondering if it could ever *be* personal.

It never *could*... that was the life of a 00.

Unable to read the strange look on 009’s face, Kara took a second to regain her thoughts. She’d
lost, obviously. Or had she? *The real world is* not *a training session.* It was not
over until she was dead... in the real world. She only needed a second’s worth of distraction.

“Are you all right?” 009 asked quietly.

Kara shook her head no; he appeared concerned. Since he was down on one knee and leaning over
her looking down, there wasn’t much distance between them. She quickly leaned up and kissed him.
She could tell he was surprised when he felt her tongue trying to gain access to the inner reaches
of his mouth.

She never got in, however, as she knew he was surprised *again* when he felt her backup
wand being pressed to his throat. She’d used the momentary distraction of the kiss to grab her
other wand from her ankle. She was sitting on her leg awkwardly after having it kicked out from
beneath her.

009 was very pleased with how this had turned out... the kiss was just a bonus. Only because
this *was* a training session that he *had* won did he allow himself to consider it
“over.” If this had been real, he would have killed her a long time ago, plain and simple. Or if
nothing else, he could have when she fell and was at his mercy.

He was very impressed with her determination and resourcefulness. With time and training, she
might have made a good 00. And that was the highest compliment he could think to give to give her.
He began to smile, even though he still had a wand at his throat. Thrace returned his smile.

“I win,” she said, managing a smile as she continued to struggle to catch her breath.

009 grinned even wider in admiration of this witch in his arm.

“How about we call it a tie?” he suggested tenderly, his voice almost sounding sensual as if he
were speaking to a lover.

Kara was about to ask what he meant when her whole body jumped in shock. She felt cold metal
pressing against the exposed hot skin of her back. His eyebrows rose as if to say, *“That’s
why,”* when she heard the unmistakable *Click!* as he cocked the hammer of *his*
second backup weapon. There was a second, fainter click as he disengaged the safety.

They might have been “playing,” but Thrace still had a deadly weapon pressed against 009’s
throat. He returned the favor.

Tonks hadn’t noticed when it happened, but somehow 009 had reached down while he was holding
onto Thrace and drawn another weapon from a holster around his ankle.

The Walther PPK had a double-action trigger, meaning that it could be fired by simply pulling
the trigger; the hammer didn’t *need* to be pulled back first. However, the fact that it had
an exposed hammer meant that it *could* be cocked. While this could have some actual benefit,
in practice it tended to be used much more for its powerful psychological impact.

“A tie?” Kara asked, dazed. Her head was spinning a bit... from the adrenaline, from the
shortness of breath, from the kiss....

“A tie, a draw, a stalemate, mutually-assured destruction,” 009 explained. “Though, I think I
rather like ‘mutual satisfaction’ better.”

“I think I do too,” Kara agreed absently. “A tie, then,” she agreed, and pulled her wand away
from his neck. She heard the much more reassuring clicks as he put the hammer back up and reengaged
the safety, before he returned the weapon to his ankle.

009 helped Kara to stand up on her feet, taking hold of her arm as he did so. He held on for
longer than he needed to.

“Are you all right?” he asked again. Thrace nodded meekly, her head moving quickly, but no more
than half an inch up or down.

Satisfied she was okay, 009 felt the need to get away from her for just a minute. This was
rapidly becoming *more* than just flirting. He reminded himself that that was all it
*could* be... But in another time and place... in another life....

Well, that was neither here nor there. Ships that pass in the night....

“Well, right then, I’ll, uh, just be over there for a moment,” he mumbled, pointing at where his
jacket and weapons had been set. After retrieving her own shirt and jacket, Kara went over to Tonks
to collect her wand. She saw the inquisitive look on her fellow Auror’s face. Kara began to
blush.

*“WOW!”* she mouthed silently to Tonks, grinning, looking both embarrassed and a little
dazzled. She then walked several feet away to put her shirt and jacket back on and recompose
herself. Only one application of a cooling and refreshing charm just wasn’t going to cut it this
time.

* * *

In the remaining time before the four o’clock deadline, the three on the north side of the river
shared some of their most memorable moments from their previous missions... with as much or as
little detail as was permissible by law.

Tonks and Thrace were amazed at some of the things the 00s had faced. The wizarding world as a
whole was still terrified by Voldemort. But if they only knew some of the things those handfuls of
evil Muggles were capable of....

Voldemort was evil to his very core, and was driven singly by his desire to purge the world of
those he did not consider pure. But compared to actual body counts... compared to potential body
counts... he was, to be blunt, a small fish.

It could take him months, if not years to purge nearly six billion Muggles. With enough money,
determination, and access to a few very *special* materials, a Muggle could do the same
thing... in *one day*.

But that certainly did not leave Voldemort off the hook. He was still dangerous. If given enough
time and left unchecked, his knowledge of magic would pose a genuine threat to ever living being on
the planet. The Muggle population as a whole was, after all, defenseless against magic. And the
wizarding world—save a one-year-old boy—had thus far been unable to do much to stop him.

009, for his part, listened as Tonks and Thrace told stories of their own dealings with
Voldemort and his Death Eaters. These accounts were much more detailed than what he’d heard back in
the briefing. Also, they were more personal, which made them that much more powerful.

He was curious about one thing, however. At several different points in the various stories,
there was a passing reference to someone... a person completely absent from the “official story”
given earlier. The name was mentioned repeatedly, but no stories were told about him specifically.
As four o’clock neared, 009 debated whether or not to ask about the name he’d heard three times
now: a mere boy named Harry Potter.

But before he could, Tonks looked down at her watch. It was almost four o’clock. As much as she
didn’t want to break up this lovely time they’d been having, duty did call. She did have to admit,
however, she was finding it rather amusing watching Kara and 009. For the first few minutes after
their fight, the two of them did their best to avoid the other as they tried to put their heads
back on straight.

But once the three of them sat down on the smooth river rock of the shoreline and started
sharing, it was clear there was something starting to form between the two of them. The constant,
furtive glances at each other... the embarrassed smiles catching the other looking. 009 had even
seemed to turn down his brilliant grins and suggestive looks. It was like he wasn’t *trying*
to make an impression anymore.

Tonks was under the distinct impression that these two had moved past the innocent flirting
stage. She felt a niggling pull in the pit of stomach as she remembered that nothing could come of
it. Assuming they all survived, once this was over, 009 would go back to MI6 and Kara was headed
back to the Ministry.

And then they would have their memories modified. To protect his identity, they would forget who
he was. Oh, they would remember *him*, that much was certain. He truly was unforgettable. But
they wouldn’t remember who he was. Perhaps that was the cruelest part of all. They could pass him
on the street and not even know it.

But, Tonks wouldn’t worry about that. *They* both knew the risks. *They* both knew
that their jobs dictated that they would never see each other again.

Right now, there was only one thing to worry about. Tonks cleared her throat.

“It’s time.” The smiles on Kara and 009’s faces faded away. The two shared a longing look.

“It’s time,” 009 finally said after a moment.

“It’s time,” Kara agreed, last.

Tonks tapped her wand to her wristwatch, sending a *friendly* reminder over to the MLE
officers that it was time. She resisted the urge to smile when she saw one of them shake his wrist
painfully, and then waved his hand at her in an unfriendly thank you.

After checking her watch again, just to be sure it really was almost four o’clock, Tonks nodded
to Thrace. The younger witch Disillusioned herself, and then Thrace levitated her up to the top of
the bridge; the nearest foot access was about fifty feet away, back where 009 originally came in.
Fortunately there was a large concrete overhang above, part of where the bridge connected to the
land. She could stand upon it, out of the way of vehicle and pedestrian traffic.

With Tonks in position, Kara gave 009 one last smile before she too disappeared from sight. He
jumped when he felt an invisible hand goose him; he followed the sound of her bodiless laughter,
tracking her to her position.

“Wicked witch,” he breathed fondly under his breath as he climbed up into the bridge structure,
out of sight.

In his perch, he quietly opened the carrying case he’d retrieved earlier, pulling out his
specially modified, collapsible G36 assault rifle. After loading one thirty-round magazine, he set
the four remaining extras on the bridge support in front of him within easy reach, before setting
the case behind him, out of the way. His PPKs stayed in his holsters, ready for any possible final
showdown. And then with weapons locked and loaded and the four witches and wizards Disillusioned,
the five of them waited.

Four o’clock came and went, and nothing happened.

*Yet*, they all thought. Four was the deadline for the Ministry to meet Voldemort’s
demands. Whatever would happen, would happen shortly thereafter. Everyone was on pins and needles
from that point on.

The wait ended at 4:10. It seemed illogical, but everyone was relieved. A crack of Apparition
shattered the calm of the river channel. The location of the intruder was easy to determine, as it
was immediately followed by a large splash.

The hapless wizard had Apparated into the middle of the river. 009 kept the wizard’s head within
his sights.

“*Wait,*” he heard Kara whisper from about two feet to his left; he nearly fell from his
ledge in surprise. She’d managed to climb up to the girder right next to him without him detecting
her.

“*There’s just one of them.*” The spluttering and floundering of the man in the river
easily covered the sound of her voice.

“There’s never just one of them,” 009 reminded her quietly. *Unless... this is a one-way
mission,* he added to himself darkly at the last second. *Then there might be only one of
them.*

“*Exactly. So let’s wait a minute.*”

“Agreed.”

“*See how easy that was?*” Kara whispered; he could hear her grin.

“What?”

“*Admitting that I was right. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.*”

He hesitated for a moment. “If things were different between us, I’d take you up on that,” he
whispered back. There was an invisible sigh.

“*I know.*

“*Here we go,*” she said a few seconds later, this time her voice all business. Their
careless arrival was swimming towards them. As soon as his feet could touch bottom, he began to
climb out onto the shore.

As soon as he was out of the river, the wizard immediately reached into his soaking wet robes.
009 noticed that his man looked to be driven by a singular mission; he didn’t stop to look around
or even to push his hair out of his eyes, which surely was half-blinding him.

*“On my mark...”* Kara whispered.

009’s attention was drawn immediately to a glowing blue orb the man had pulled out of one of his
inner pockets. The unladylike curse Kara swore told him this was not good. But why? They’d
discussed many things... green Killing Curses and red stunners and Death Eater masks and typical
team-shielding strategies. But there’d been no mention of blue orbs.

*“STUN HIM!”* Thrace shouted. Immediately, four bright jets of red light shot towards the
man who was just simply standing there: two from the opposite side of the river, one from just
beside him, and one from the overhanging ledge above.

But it was too late; the unknown wizard had already thrown the orb onto the ground.

Not understanding the significance of the blue orb and not knowing what else to do, 009 could
only trust that Kara and the other Aurors knew what was best in this situation. He kept his sights
trained on the now unconscious wizard, just in case he did something more provocative than just lie
there, unconscious.

When the orb hit the ground, it shattered like crystal; it sounded like crystal. The glowing
blue light contained within exploded out in all directions. 009 could feel as it blasted across
him. But whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have caused any ill effects.

He must have been wrong.

“Damn it to bloody hell!” Kara swore as she became visible again, jumping down to the riverbank.
She then started looking around, wand drawn, securing the area. 009 got the impression that the
immediately urgency was over. Still carrying his rifle, he jumped down and went down to join
her.

Looking at Thrace, he smiled, bemused.

“Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?” he teased of her language.

“I kissed *you*,” she replied, sounding as if it was a rather unpleasant experience; both
knew otherwise as a smile slipped through. Both also knew now was not the time for such interplay,
and they let it go with that.

Immediately to his right there was a large “splash” of gravel from a nearly invisible source;
Thrace and 009 both immediately spun and took aim. Tonks had jumped down from the top of the
bridge. As she too reappeared, he lowered his rifle. He looked at her, slightly perplexed.

“How’d you do that?” he asked. “You should have broken both of your legs.”

“Cushioning charm on my legs,” Tonks explained easily. 009 looked back to Kara; the look on her
face indicated she was not happy.

“What was that blue orb?” he asked.

“A self-contained Portkey and Apparition ward. It’ll last for about forty-five minutes and has a
radius of about a mile. We can’t cancel it, and now no one can get in or out of here by magical
means.”

Sure enough, within moments, numerous reports came in through 009’s radio that similar
occurrences had occurred at virtually all of the sites where 00s were stationed. Thrace would later
explain that wards were different from charms, which was why the radios still worked.

Tonks confirmed that the same thing had happened at all of the other sites where there weren’t
00s. Within a minute of the unconscious wizard’s arrival, all stations had checked in via radio or
magic... except one: Brockdale Bridge. With most of the Ministry scattered out across the country
unable to leave where they were, and no one able to get in, it was safe to assume that the attack
would not be here... or at any of the other sites “locked down.”

And then, as if that thought summoned it, the radio squawked with an urgent voice.

“*Brockdale confirmed! Repeat: Brockdale conf—*”

The radio squelched as the signal was cut off. 009 had been in combat enough times to recognize
the sound of a radio being destroyed mid-transmission. If Death Eaters were attacking, it was a
safe bet that the radio had been fried from a fierce magical firefight. The four solitary stunners
cast had obviously not created a high enough magical concentration to damage his radio.

The terminated transmission was followed a few moments later by another unidentified voice, one
009 recognized as belonging to C.

“*All units, return to base. Repeat, all units, RTB.*”

“Damn it!” Kara shouted in frustration as she kicked the gravel. It had been a calculated risk,
spreading their forces out across the country, instead of pooling them all at Brockdale. It
obviously was the wrong choice. Now, everyone was trapped where they were.

But, then again, the fact that they *were* trapped suggested that their response was either
known, or at least planned for. If they had put everyone at Brockdale, it was just as likely they’d
*all* be trapped there, with the attack occurring somewhere else. At least this way there
*was* someone at Brockdale.

Not two seconds after Thrace screamed out in frustration, it was 009’s turn to shout.

“Well?! COME ON! What are we standing around for?!” he lectured them from his earlier perch.
While Tonks and Thrace were standing around being upset about the situation, he had run back and
was now stowing his collapsible rifle back into its case.

Tonks and Thrace just looked at him, confused.

“*Brockdale!* Let’s go!”

“But we can’t!” Tonks argued.

“Remember? We can’t Apparate or Portkey!”

“You lot and your magic!” 009 muttered under his breath. “How do you think I got here?! We drive
there!” He did feel slightly vindicated seeing that they looked extremely embarrassed for having
forgotten about that.

Thrace sent her own Patronus—a viper—across the river to tell the two MLE officers to stay with
the unconscious wizard; they were to take him back to the Ministry when the ward dissipated. Being
a Ravenclaw made Kara’s discovery of her potentially polarizing Patronus form during seventh-year
N.E.W.T. studies much easier. Considering those-who-wore-blue were the ones those-who-wore-green
best got along with (not that that was saying much), Ravenclaw was the only house truly able to
appreciate that not everything that slithered was Slytherin.

009 and the two Aurors then took off in a run back toward his car.

“Will we get there in time?” Kara asked worriedly.

“No idea. But it’s better than just standing around,” he replied. It took less than a minute to
get back to where he had parked his car. As they ran up to it, he pulled out his remote again and
disarmed the car. The electronic chirp told the witches which car was his: a Cosmos Black 1995 BMW M3 coupe.

Well, that, and the fact that there were no other vehicles on the service road.

“Very smart!” Thrace admired as she ran up to it.

“Is it yours?” Tonks asked, equally impressed. She didn’t know much about cars, but having
learned how to drive the Ministry limousine and having been out on Muggle roads, she was able to
appreciate a fine looking automobile.

“No, it’s the Queen’s! Now get in!” he complained as he opened his door and popped his seat
forward so Tonks could climb into the back. Knowing Kara was Muggle-born, he trusted she could let
herself in through the passenger-side door.

Although she knew her way around the Ministry vehicles she’d driven, the coupe was a two-door
model and Tonks had never had to climb into a back seat before. She therefore was taking longer to
get in than 009 would have preferred. He gave her a pat on the bottom to help push her in.

“Let’s go!” he complained hurriedly.

“*If Remus saw you do that...*” Tonks muttered darkly under her breath. But as she sat
down, she thought of something else with a smile. *It might give him an idea.*

Already in her seat, Kara took a moment to look around the interior of the vehicle as she
fastened her seat belt. From the outside, the car looked exactly like any other BMW with privacy
glass. Once on the inside, she knew it was anything but.

Her first clue came when she opened the door; it felt about three times as heavy as any other
car door she’d ever opened. Looking in, the tinted windows appeared perfectly ordinary. But looking
out, she could tell the glass was at least half an inch thick... bullet-resistant, more than
likely. And the door itself was probably lined with steel armor plates, considering its weight.

The front windscreen too was a good half-inch thick and there was something mounted up against
the glass near the top, the entire way across.

Other than that however, the rest of the interior looked perfectly normal. Her eyes were
immediately drawn to the gear shifter. *Goldfinger* was the best Bond movie of all time, in
her opinion. Unable to resist herself, and not thinking about any possible consequences, she
grabbed the handle and tried to pop the top off, as if there was a secret button hidden beneath,
even though there was no visible seam to indicate it.

It did, and there was.

Realizing that she was way out of line for doing that, Kara could still not help but stare at
it. There was no way on earth she was going to touch it, but the sight of it... the downright
novelty of a big red button, hidden in the gear shifter, irresistibly drew her hand toward it.

Her finger hovered longingly over it, aching to push it... but there was no way she would
actually do it.

After handing Tonks the rifle case, 009 put his seat back down and climbed in the car.

“Don’t touch that!” he warned urgently upon seeing Kara’s finger near the button.

“I wasn’t going to!” she promised. “I was just looking at it,” she admitted, embarrassed that
she’d been so impertinent as to open up what was obviously a secret compartment in a vehicle owned
by the government. Actually, a super-secret organization within that government that could
undoubtedly make people “disappear” for a very long time for doing exactly what she just did.

“Good. You would’ve fired your ejection seat,” he replied seriously as he fastened his seat belt
and put the key in the ignition.

Thrace’s eyes widened and she just stared. “You’re joking!” she replied in shock.

For a moment, he just stared at her, emotionless, while he started the car and revved the
engine. He then cocked his head as his face lit up with another one of his huge grins.

“Yes, I am.”

Kara rolled her eyes, but could not help but smile.

“Everyone strapped in?” he asked back to Tonks, having already seen that Thrace already was;
Tonks replied in the affirmative.

Kara turned back to 009 and gave him a worried look. “Brockdale’s more than five miles from
here. It’ll take us probably forty-five minutes to get through Friday afternoon traffic.”

He gave her a small, reassuring smile, and then grinned broadly, once again.

“Not the way I drive. Everybody hang on!” He then ‘put the pedal to the metal’ and tore down the
service road. The standard factory model M3 could reach sixty miles per hour in less than six
seconds. The MI6 version did it in four and a half. But at that speed, they quickly ran out of
service road, and he slammed on the brakes as he turned out onto the main road and into
traffic.

And right in the middle of Friday afternoon traffic they found themselves.

“Damn,” Kara muttered.

“Push the red button,” 009 told her as he tried to maneuver the car to the center of the
roadway.

“What?” she asked, alarmed.

“*Push the red button,*” he repeated, shooting her a smile as he took his eyes off the road
for only a second.

She did as she was told, and pushed the red button. She was startled, but relived, when the
panel that housed the air conditioning controls popped open and slid out of the way. It revealed a
new control panel containing about a dozen buttons of different colors and knobs, all of which were
labeled with three- and four-letter abbreviations that didn’t mean anything to her.

“Got to have a little flash,” he smirked. He then reached for the only blue button, one labeled
‘STRB,’ which was next to a knob. Thrace tried to remember... she’d seen a knob *exactly* like
that somewhere, sometime before. But where? There was writing around the knob at various
‘settings.’ OFF, she could figure out, but WAIL, YELP, and PA... they seemed vaguely familiar. But
why?

“Everyone hang on. Here we go,” he warned. He pushed the blue button and turned the knob.

Tonks and Thrace both jumped in their seats as a siren somewhere under the bonnet began to wail.
They started to chuckle. The device mounted against the windshield Kara had noticed earlier was in
fact blue emergency strobe lights. 009 then pulled out into the opposing lanes and started to drive
around the stopped traffic.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Blue lights and a siren. Not exactly ‘James Bond,’ is it?” he joked. “But
it sure makes getting through traffic a lot easier.” And indeed, the few cars that were driving
towards them were ever so conveniently moving out of their way.

As they approached the next clogged intersection, Kara surprised 009 by reaching down to the
control knob and switching the siren from its slow “wail” setting to the fast “yelp.” He was about
to do the same thing. He quickly glanced at her; she appeared to be smiling.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he teased.

“Oh yeah! It’s just like on TV... except it’s REAL!”

“You seem to know your way around a police car,” he commented, but not looking away from the
road. “They teach you that at the Ministry too?”

“No, my father, actually,” Kara explained. “Metropolitan Police for twenty-two years before he
retired last year for medical reasons. He got special permission to take me out with him on his
last day.” She smiled. “The Chief Inspector asked my dad if he thought I could handle it... while I
was standing there. Dad said, ‘Sir, my daughter can kick *my* arse.’ Of course, he left out
the part about me being a witch, and an Auror.”

Kara chuckled again. “I guess you could say I became an Auror to follow in his footsteps as best
I could... being a Muggle-born witch and all.” She then switched the siren back to the slower wail
(which was no where near as grating) now they were now clear of the intersection. Glancing over at
her, 009 saw her looking ahead, dutifully providing an extra set of eyes on the traffic.

“He was a good man,” she said proudly, fondly; the timbre of her voice indicated it was the end
of this conversation.

* * *

It was Friday afternoon, and traffic was as expected: horrible. For the regular commuters, the
roughly five-mile drive from Wandsworth Bridge to Brockdale Bridge probably would have taken about
forty-five minutes. Utilizing his siren (now *Kara’s*), numerous alleyways, a few sidewalks, and even
the occasional one-way street (the *wrong* way), 009 made it in twelve minutes.

“Didn’t the guy on the radio say to return to base?” Kara asked at one point.

“Yes. But the ‘RTB’ afterwards was the counter-signal, overriding the previous command and
ordering us to converge on the target. Secret codes,” he explained, sparing her a quick glance and
grin, “just in case there were unfriendly ears listening.”

About a quarter mile from the bridge, 009 killed the siren and they drove the remaining way
silently. Approaching the bridge, they realized it was as they feared: eight lanes of
bumper-to-bumper traffic. Four lanes of city workers were fleeing home to the suburbs; four lanes
of city dwellers were returning from their jobs in the suburbs. At any one moment, there were
easily eighty or ninety cars on the overpass.

Even worse... if the attack on the bridge was successful, the Death Eaters could even come up
from below, onto the motorway. Stuck between a destroyed bridge and more stopped traffic, hundreds
more Muggles would be sitting ducks.

Looking out her window, Tonks could see curious stares the other motorists were giving them... a
fancy black BMW with tinted windows and blue strobe lights, creeping up the hard shoulder around
them. Maybe someone might think they were the police going to investigate a collision up ahead. If
only that were the case....

Within a minute, they had arrived. 009 felt his level of tension climb one notch. Parked on the
side of the road were two additional, identical black BMWs. One was in a small maintenance turnout,
sitting there neatly as if parked in no hurry. This would have been the vehicle 0013 and 0021
arrived in. And then there was another one, parked much more haphazardly; its emergency lights were
still flashing.

009 looked at the car’s number plate; he had them all memorized: this was 0016, his sworn
archenemy... well, at least as far as football rivalries went. Did he bring his magical team too?
It appeared that no one else had gotten here yet.

Climbing out from their side of the car, Thrace and Tonks immediately ran over to the side of
the ravine that dropped down on the riverbed below. The entire hillside was thick with trees and
undergrowth, but the sections of channel way visible from the road appeared clear.

There were however small pops and booms and crackles echoing up from beneath the bridge itself.
It was loud enough for the three standing on the shoulder to hear, but quiet enough that anyone
inside a vehicle with its engine running would not. It was the sound of the clash of spell against
spell.

Thrace and Tonks were about to run down the hill when they noticed 009 was not with them; he was
heading to the back of the car, carrying with him the rifle case he’d retrieved from the back
seat.

“What’re you doing?!” Thrace called back to him, confused.

“Extra insurance,” he replied.

A phrase like that just before a battle was always welcome, so the two witches ran back to join
him. They watched as he put the car key into the lock and turned it. But instead of the boot
popping open, he immediately reached over to the BMW emblem. They were confused when he started to
press the four blue and white quadrants of the logo in a certain order.

“Secret combination,” he explained to them without them having to ask. “Extra security feature.
Enter the wrong code in and you get a *lovely* 50,000-volt how-do-you-do. Short enough not to
kill you, but enough to knock you out until one of us can come along to collect you for...
questioning.” He grinned nastily.

“What if you forget that you *need* to enter a code?” Kara asked as she heard a latch
disengage after the last blue panel was pressed. As the boot opened, he looked at her and grinned,
seeming quite amused with the pending answer.

“BOOM!” he said, using his fingers to pantomime an explosion. Somehow, both witches knew he
wasn’t joking this time.

He turned back to the car; Kara looked in too. Inside she saw numerous small carrying cases,
most prominent though a metal briefcase and a long, olive green case. 009 opened the metal one.
Inside were two more PPKs with ammunition magazines and silencers. There were empty cutouts in the
foam where the three weapons he was carrying had obviously been.

“You can never be too prepared,” he said. He then turned and looked at them. “And *don’t*
be too reliant on your magic.” He held one of the unloaded weapons out towards Thrace. Fortunately
the two witches were standing side by side, so they blocked the view from the barely moving
motorists.

“Do you know how to use this?”

Kara nodded. “Kind of,” she replied. “Dad was always a bit of a hotshot, so he signed up for
SO19. He got permission to have a gun at home, so he made damned sure Mum and I knew how to safely
handle it, since it was in the house. But I’ve never actually fired one before....” she added,
almost apologetically.

“Good enough,” he replied. But considering her lack of hands-on experience, he loaded the
magazine and pre-chambered a round for her. He then engaged the safety and held it out to her; she
just stared at it.

“It’s loaded,” Kara said, confused. If there was one thing her father had stressed in his safety
lectures, it was that a weapon should never be carried with a live round in the chamber.

009 looked at her, only *slightly* irritated (because of the need to hurry this up).

“Yes, yes, gun safety is fine and dandy for the weekend huntsman. But *out here*, a gun is
only as useful as it is *ready* to be used, okay?”

Now that she thought about it, she *did* recall her father always clearing a live round
from the chamber anytime he started to take it apart for routine cleaning. Obviously, there was a
difference between what the trained professionals did in real life versus what they taught others
for safety. She nodded.

“Here’s the safety,” he then pointed out. “You should never *rely* on the safety. It won’t
save your life from your own stupidity if you are careless, but it will prevent most
accidents.”

Remembering a similar lecture from her father, Kara nodded again and then took the weapon and
put it in her jacket pocket.

What she didn’t know was that one of the motorists behind her was more interested in staring at
the backsides of the two young women next to the BMW than he was in watching the traffic that was
barely moving. When she took the gun and put it into her jacket pocket, for a split second, it was
plainly visible for the man to see. As attractive as these women were (as far as he could tell from
the back), they didn’t at all look like police. So naturally, he whipped out his mobile and dialed
999.

009 pulled out another unloaded weapon.

“Tonks?”

“I’m sorry. Other than the brief overview they gave us in Auror training, I just don’t know
anything about them. I’d worry that I might....” she trailed off.

“Good enough,” 009 replied, in exactly the same tone as before. But this time, he put the weapon
back into the case. “A weapon is only as safe as its operator,” he said, sounding almost pleased
that Tonks knew her limitations well enough to decline to take one.

Quickly, he checked his arms and ankles, making sure he had his weapons. Satisfied, he was about
to close the boot when he remembered that he wanted his KA-BAR. He opened yet another small case
and withdrew it and its sheath, attaching them to his belt. It was plainly visible; there was not
point in worrying about appearances now.

Speaking of appearances... he also grabbed a small, soft duffle bag before he finally closed the
boot, activated the alarm, and picked up the assault rifle case. The entire detour to the back of
the car had only taken about thirty seconds. Potentially, a worthwhile investment if it brought
extra firepower to the fight.

“What was in that big green case?” Kara asked.

“Sniper rifle.”

“Don’t you want that?”

“Nah,” 009 replied casually. “Too big, too slow. This little lovely will do just fine!” he said,
sounding almost affectionate of the weapon contained within in the case. “Might not be the
*biggest* gun in the world, but I assure you I *know* how to use it.”

The three of them then took off into a dash back towards the ravine.

“You’re just going to leave them on?” Kara asked of the two cars’ blue lights, which were still
flashing.

“Trust me, at this point, I think we’d all welcome a little extra attention... of the official
kind,” 009 pointed out; the other two could not object. The three of them began to descend the
hillside towards the battle below.


*A/N: SO19 is the branch of the Metropolitan Police Service that provides armed support for
the remainder of the service, which is, by tradition, unarmed. Now known as CO19.*




39. You Only Have 009 Lives: A Decision You May Not Live to Regr
----------------------------------------------------------------


*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that’s the truth. Pbbbbttttt.*

*A/N. PLEASE STOP! Important note. This is the second chapter of a delayed two-part update. If
you have not already read Chapter 38, which was posted last Tuesday, please go back and read that
first.*

*Again, special thanks go out to MapleMountain and Korval for their help with these two
chapters.*

*Several people emailed me to say that they were unable to view the spoilers I sent out in
advance of posting these two chapters. If that happened to you too, here is a link to them. As I
mentioned, being a nerd, I was inspired to create these by all of the* Deathly Hallows
*spoilers that leaked out early.*

*Chapter 38 Spoiler.*

*Chapter 39 Spoiler.*

*Like I said, just for fun....*


Chapter 39. You Only Have 009 Lives: A Decision You May Not Live to Regret.

As 009, Kara, and Tonks carefully climbed down through the scraggly undergrowth, the sounds of
the battle ahead slowly grew louder. But they could not move any faster; one false step and they’d
take the fast way down. The number of jagged rocks and trees between here and the bottom promised
such a journey would be hazardous to one’s health.

The one saving grace was that, according to the two witches, the fighting sounded rather slow.
Either there were only one or two of them left, or they had each other pinned down in crossfire.
His inability to hear gunfire in it of itself was not worrisome to 009. The use of silencers was
routine; it helped make locating the shooter more difficult.

On their slow and cautious journey down, he could not help but feel responsible for Kara and the
weapon he’d given her. Technically, giving her the gun was in violation of MI6 policy. But that was
like ticketing a person who leapt from a runaway car for not wearing his seatbelt.

Still, he did feel responsible, so he wanted to make sure she fully understood the use of deadly
force. He knew that while prepared to kill if necessary, Aurors were all quite accustomed to using
their ‘weapons’ to stun, or otherwise incapacitate.

“I want you to forget everything you’ve ever seen in the movies or on television... people
waving their guns around like it’s some sort of cross to ward off a vampire.”

“As if that actually works,” Kara quipped, to which Tonks laughed. He paused his lecture for a
moment, remembering that vampires were indeed real.

“A gun is not a threat,” he resumed. “A gun is a deadly weapon. Do not put your finger on the
trigger until you are *ready* to fire. It’s too easy to have an accident. Do not point it at
someone unless you are prepared to kill them. Of course, you *hope* that you don’t have to,
but adding a gun to the mix can escalate a ‘situation’ much faster than if it had been left alone.
You do not *show* deadly force unless you are prepared to *use* deadly force.”

“Yes, Dad,” Kara teased. She’d actually received a very similar lecture from her father not all
that long ago as he prepared to teach her how to use the gun in self defense. In fact, the only
reason she hadn’t ever actually fired a handgun was because his supposed ‘long term’ illness had
accelerated suddenly, and what with the treatments and all, he’d never gotten around to taking her
out to the firing range before it was too late.

“Hey now,” 009 mock-objected, “I’ll have you know that I’m old enough to—”

“To be my slightly older man-toy?” Kara suggested.

“Well, I *was* going to say ‘to have been a classmate at that school of yours.’” He made no
attempt to correct her other suggestion, however.

“Oh, and speaking of manhandling... another thing,” he added. “There’s none of this ‘trying to
shoot the gun out of his hand’ or shooting to wound. It’s too easy to miss. And once inside the
human body, a bullet can do unexpected things, especially if you hit a bone. What you intended to
be a minor flesh wound can end up fatal.

“If you’re going to use it, it’s called ‘deadly force’ for a reason. *Shoot to kill.* You
shoot them until they are dead.

“Now, if you’re not sure if they’re dead or not... fortunately, that’s easy enough,” he said
calmly and matter-of-factly. “All you have to do is walk up to them and put a bullet between their
eyes. Then you’ll know.”

Kara stopped for a moment and turned around to look at 009 as he walked by her. Listening to his
voice behind her, hearing him say that so casually, she half-expected that he was setting her up
for some kind of joke. But the only thing she could see on his face was focus as he watched where
he walked. He was serious, and it didn’t seem to be that big of a deal to him.

He didn’t enjoy the killing; it was simply a non-issue. He was a 00. That was what he did.

Kara kept getting swept away by his flirting and big grins that it was so easy for her to forget
that he *was* a 00-Agent. Now more than ever, she found him irresistibly fascinating. That he
could kill so rationally was not the appeal; rather, it was the strange juxtaposition of the
warm-hearted flirt and the cool and calm executioner. It appeared that he could be both; she wanted
to know for sure.

But she knew that could never happen, so she let it go.

A few moments later, they had reached the bottom and were on solid ground. They crept up to the
edge of the plant cover, peering out and taking in the scene. It was hard to see how many people
there were out there, but off in the distance, directly beneath the bridge, it definitely appeared
that the two sides had each other pinned down.

On one side, in amongst the trees on the other side of the road were, presumably, the Death
Eaters. Opposing them, and surrounding protectively one of the large concrete bridge supports was
group of witches and wizards. Both sides had built up barricades around them to help defend against
the exchange of spells. Their fortifications appeared made up of not only conjured barriers and
magical shields, but even summoned rocks and boulders. There even appeared to be a tree that had
been *Accio’d* straight out of the ground.

Trying to determine the best path of approach, they all noticed something else: dead bodies on
the ground.

“Suggestions?”/”Ideas?” Thrace and 009 asked each other simultaneously.

“Well... the classic: distraction,” he suggested first while he simultaneously shed his leather
jacket. He liked it very much, but in an intense fight, it would only be a hindrance. Kara and
Tonks similarly removed their jackets. Distracted by her survey of the battlefield and so
unaccustomed to carrying one, Kara had forgotten that she had a gun in her jacket pocket.
Meanwhile, 009 had unpacked his rifle from the case and loaded it, so he didn’t see that she hadn’t
taken it out of her pocket. He put two additional rifle magazines into his pockets before
explaining his plan.

“They appear to have each other pinned down. You two run in, wands blazing, and try to draw
their attention. Meanwhile, I’ll come in behind you and...” he held the rifle up and made a show of
looking through the scope, “pick off anyone I can.”

Tonks and Thrace looked at each other. “Good enough,” they agreed simultaneously,
both—unplanned—mimicking the agent’s earlier tone.

“Hold still,” Tonks told him. She then tapped her wand to the top of his head. He shuddered as
he felt the cold ooze down over him as if someone had cracked an egg on his head. When the
sensation normalized, he looked down at his hands. He actually gasped out loud (quietly) when he
found them and the rifle he was holding missing.

“You’re Disillusioned,” Tonks explained. “Not quite invisible, if you stand still or move
slowly, you’ll blend into the background unnoticed. But if you move too fast, people will notice...
something... a distortion in the shape of your outline.”

“Ah, like the Predator?” 009 asked, referring to the alien creature in the Muggle movie of the
same name. Kara smirked; Tonks was confused.

“Never mind,” he said.

Almost invisible and ready to join the fight, the three headed out in a sweeping arc towards the
Death Eaters, trying to come in from their side.

Tonks and Thrace had planned on creating their diversion about thirty feet away from the Death
Eaters. Still about thirty-five feet away, 009 felt an indescribable sensation as he passed through
something. All he could think of was that he had... passed through... something.

“Ah, damn,” Kara muttered quietly. The five Death Eaters nearest them turned and started firing
blindly in their direction.

Their presence had been detected; the three of them split up out of necessity in the face of the
flurry of wildly-aimed spells.

*So go the best laid plans,* 009 joked to himself, considering the plan was rather hastily
devised. He ran towards the hillside beneath the bridge, trying to try to get behind the Death
Eaters if possible. Hopefully there weren’t any more tripwire jinxes or proximity charms...
whatever it had been that gave them away.

With the addition of two new witches to the fight, two who were not trapped behind their own
defenses, the fight immediately picked up in intensity.

Nearing the bridge, 009 noticed the dust he was kicking up as he ran. He remembered that he was
*mostly* invisible; he started to drag his feet, intentionally stirring up even more dust and
dirt. He then stopped suddenly and crouched down, staying still, blending perfectly into the
background. The dust cloud he’d created continued to drift along his original heading.

Three of the five Death Eaters turned in his direction. One stood up to better see as he focused
on the rolling dust cloud. 009 took aim with his rifle. It wasn’t a true sniper rifle, but with its
three power optical sights, it was good enough. At the exact same moment he pulled the trigger, he
noticed something strange: telltale evidence of the Death Eater being struck by a high-powered
bullet... an exit wound easily fifty times larger than the entrance, along with the accompanying
gore and mess.

Except, this wound was on the side, not behind. 009 heard the report of another G36 rifle
somewhere to his left, from behind the defending wizards’ fortifications.

*Nice to see one of us is still around out there,* he mused to himself. Unsurprisingly, the
wizard immediately collapsed, dead. 009 was close enough to see some of the faces of the Death
Eaters, who by now had shed their masks in favor of unimpeded visibility. The looks of fury on
their blood-spattered faces confirmed that their associate had been killed by Muggle bullets.

Of course, the fact that the Death Eater had been struck nearly simultaneously by *two*
rifle rounds at a right-angle to each other also guaranteed that: there was little left of his head
above the lower jaw.

Before the mostly-headless wizard had even hit the ground, 009 turned his sights onto the next
Death Eater, this one still blocked from the other 00 by the assembled barrier. But it was too
late.

One of the other Death Eaters who been also been tracking 009’s dust cloud—the one who didn’t
lose his head, stand up in the middle of a battle, and *lose his head*—was looking in his
general direction when 009 fired. He and his rifle might have been Disillusioned but the muzzle
flash was not. The Death Eater either had phenomenal aim, or just plain got lucky; his
*Reducto* struck the barrel.

009 felt his rifle be knocked out of his hands by a violent jolt; it fell out of his
Disillusionment and became visible. The end of the barrel was shattered and bent.

*Q’s not going to be happy about that.* The Quartermaster was very protective of *his*
inventory.

Abandoning his destroyed weapon, 009 quickly scrambled to his feet and ran a few yards to the
right to find a bit of cover, dumping the now useless spare magazines along the way. He needed a
moment to scan the scene and plan his next trick. He didn’t plan on his respite lasting very long,
but it was even shorter than he expected.

*“Pythos Aspirare!”*

One of the Death Eaters trying to track him gave up on the usual spells and went with something
a little less conventional.

Some forms of magic cast a “wider net” than others. Most spells, including the likes of the
Killing Curse, *Stupefy*, *Reducto*, and *Diffindo*, required as much aim as a
Muggle bullet. A few spells however, such as *Expelliarmus* or *Finite*, merely had to be
directed in the general direction as the target.

Why trip a wizard in a fierce battle or magically de-feather an enemy’s Post Owl mid-flight when
you could hit them with a stunner or *Avada Kedavra*? Because you *had to hit them* for
those spells to work. The obscure, outdated suffocation spell was yet another example of a curse
that did not require perfect aim to work.

Ordinarily, the spell would cause the victim’s robes to begin to strangle the wearer. Because
the spell affected the outer-most layer of clothing, this time it was his weapons holsters and
accompanying shoulder and chest straps that started to constrict around him. Each time he breathed
out, they grew tighter, making it harder to take in a new breath. He had already exhaled twice
before he was able to work out what was happening.

All he could do now was to hold his breath to prevent the straps from tightening any further
(actually, an easy task considering he was finding it nearly impossible to inhale).

This particular curse was designed for use on wizards’ robes, which were much stronger than
modern Muggle clothing. 009 might have been able to simply tear off his shirt, if that had been
what was suffocating him. But unfortunately, the straps were made from the same material as
climbing gear, so he would not tear through that.

The straps were, however, vulnerable to a sharp blade. Before it was too late, he quickly
reached down and grabbed his KA-BAR. Taking care not to perform unintentional surgery upon himself,
he carefully slid the blade between the strap and his chest and then twisted it so the sharpened
edge was out. He then pushed every last bit of air out of his lungs.

The straps tightened again; the tensioned material snapped like a rubber band when pressed
against the razor’s edge. He could not silence the loud, wheezing gasp he made as his lungs
re-inflated.

Fortunately, none of the other Death Eaters were paying him any mind at this point. With five of
the Death Eaters’ attentions drawn away from the wizards guarding the bridge support, it created
enough of a drop in the barrage of spell fire to allow the trapped defenders to break out and rush
them.

Flashes of green light tried to cut them down but the surge was so sudden and the response so
disheveled that none hit their mark. Within seconds, the rushing wizards were close enough to the
Death Eaters to cause them to abandon *their* defensive position and scatter.

What had been essentially a deadly stalemate of trench warfare was now a chaotic
free-for-all.

Back where he had fallen, although he had just cut himself free, 009’s harness was still
attempting to kill him; the shoulder straps were pulling his shoulders together to compress his
chest, and the now-cut chest straps were attempting to tie themselves into a knot to reestablish
their strangle hold. Perversely impressed by the ingenuity of the magic, he abandoned the writhing
garment, salvaging only his extra ammunition magazines.

009 turned to run and rejoin the fight when suddenly a stray curse hit the ground in front of
him, exploding and showering him with dirt and rocks and knocking him onto his back. When he
landed, he felt his magical cover wash away.

He was perfectly visible again.

A little dazed but otherwise uninjured, he jumped to his feet and ran back into the melee. He
cut a small swath through the swarm, killing four more Death Eaters with the help of their own
ignorance; they ignored the Muggle in favor of the wizards.

One of the Death Eaters had seen the Muggle with the fancy green shirt running through the
crowd, killing four with his strange metal wand. The Muggle stopped behind a large tree and took
cover for a moment while he took a small metal box out of his pocket and put it *inside* his
wand. He saw as the man then partially emerged and took aim at another Death Eater whose back was
to him. In a moment of overconfidence, the Death Eater decided to teach the Muggle a lesson.

009 couldn’t hear the spell that was cast at him above the rest of the noise, but needless to
say, he was startled when his gun, which he’d just conveniently reloaded, literally jumped out of
his hand. The Death Eater who cast the *Expelliarmus* watched as the gun soared through the
air in a high, graceful arc back toward him.

He aimed his wand up at the airborne weapon and cried, *“REDUCTO!”* The gun exploded in a
shower of wood and metal.

Feeling rather proud of himself for destroying what he considered the Muggle’s only way of
hurting him, he looked back only to see the man’s arm sling toward him as if he’d just thrown
something.

With his weapon airborne, 009 was not eager to lose his second handgun so quickly should a
repeat magic trick occur. So while the Death Eater was busy watching the PPK fly back to him, the
MI6 agent was busy retrieving one of his five throwing knives from his ankle strap. The slight
glimmer of sharpened metal flying at him was the last thing the Death Eater ever saw.

Meanwhile, another Death Eater a little further away witnessed 009 throw the knife. He too
decided to have a little fun with the Muggle.

“*Accio* knife!”

It was hard to say what exactly the Death Eater had been thinking. He saw the large KA-BAR in
its sheath on the Muggle’s waist. Maybe he thought there would only be the one knife that he could
catch, vanish, or banish. Or maybe he was focused solely upon depriving the Muggle of his weapon
that he gave no forethought to what would happen when the knife came to him.

In any case, he was *more* than a bit surprised to see *five* knives flying at him,
the KA-BAR and the remaining four throwing knives. He hesitated for a split second, unsure what to
do. It was the last thing *that* Death Eater ever did.

“Thanks!” 009 said cheerfully to the dead man before going to his secondary weapon. Ordinarily,
he would retrieve his knives, but there simply wasn’t time in the middle of the still ongoing
fight.

* * *

Within ten minutes of 009, Thrace, and Tonks’ arrival, which broke the stalemate, the fighting
was over. It was nearly 4:40.

When the thirty or so Death Eaters Apparated in at 4:11—one minute after the remaining Ministry
forces found themselves trapped all across the country—all hell broke loose.

The eight Mages and two 00s assigned to Brockdale were the best in the country; they’d killed
six of the Death Eaters within the first thirty seconds. Unfortunately, by a purely dumb luck
happenstance of timing, coincidence, and which side was on the high ground when, the defenders soon
found themselves needing to take a moment to fall back and regroup. Since the Death Eaters’ goal
was to destroy the bridge, they fell back to one of the support columns. There, they quickly found
themselves pinned down.

The Death Eaters took advantage of the retreat and concentrated their attacks upon them. The
Mages quickly conjured and summoned materials to construct an impressive fortification they could
defend. Their primary objective above all else was to protect the bridge, thereby thwarting
Voldemort’s plans. If they killed or captured all of the Death Eaters in the process, that was
perfectly fine, but the bridge took priority.

Once pinned down, the Death Eaters were able concentrate their attacks to keep the Mages from
advancing. Immediately after the Death Eaters’ arrival, both sides had thrown up Portkey and
Apparition charms to keep any reinforcements from arriving. No one would be getting in or out.
Neither side, however, was willing to use a self-contained ward, as that was a different type of
magic that although temporary could not be canceled upon command.

The unexpected arrival of 0016 and his magical team about ten minutes into the fight did provide
a brief distraction. Unfortunately, 0016’s assignment was one of the lowest priority sites (of the
twenty-five highest priority targets). MLE officers outnumbered Aurors, so he got three of them and
only one Auror.

Against 0016’s advice, the three relatively inexperienced wizards blundered into the middle of
the crossfire, completely visible, and were killed immediately. 0016 and the Auror made a dash for
the fortification, but not before the Auror was felled with a well-timed Killing Curse. Another
Death Eater’s Bone Breaker Curse grazed 0016’s leg. Only feet away from cover, he fell. A
*Reducto* to his back insured he would never get up.

The arrival of 009, Thrace, and Tonks had proved to be of much higher tactical value. Their
surprise entrance created just enough of a distraction to allow the defenders to go on the offense
again.

Once the battle was over, the survivors surveyed the carnage. All thirty Death Eaters were dead.
But they were not the only casualties. 0016 was dead, along with the rest of his wizarding team.
0021 was missing. While the wizards began to clean up the area, 009 went over to 0013.

“Where’s Mike?” he asked one of the few female 00s quietly. The last anyone had seen of 0021, he
had been standing here, wrestling with a very large Death Eater. Quite successfully, evidently, for
about ten feet away was that same Death Eater, dead.

“Albert Runcorn?” Thrace noted with mild interest as she walked by, pausing. She’d been heading
over to help Tonks check for survivors.

“Familiar?” 009 asked.

Kara tilted her head in a way that wordlessly said, *“Sort of.”*

“Rumors and speculation. Alleged Death Eater. Supposedly a rising star amongst their ranks. Not
anymore,” she noted with a smirk. “Big man... strong... scary. Not the kind of guy you want to find
yourself...”

Kara paused as she finally realized something. She could see his face; his lifeless eyes were
looking up at the sky. The only problem was that he was lying on his chest.

“Broken neck?” she asked hesitantly. She’d never seen that before (and would be happy never to
again).

“Hand-to-hand combat,” 009 confirmed dispassionately.

Thrace turned and headed for Tonks again. She shook her head to clear the images from her mind.
Just because she didn’t shed a tear for the Death Eater, it didn’t mean she couldn’t find the sight
of his broken body unsettling.

009 and 0013 spread out to resume the search for their missing colleague. They’d seen him,
*right here*, not ten minutes ago. What none of the Mages, Aurors, or other 00s had seen was
two additional Death Eaters as they snuck up on 0021 as he tried to reset his shoulder. He had
dislocated it in the process of killing the very large Death Eater.

Near a series of boulders, 009 noticed a large blast crater in the exposed mudstone bedrock of
the river channel. He saw a damaged PPK several feet away behind it. He drew his weapon again, just
to be safe. He *hoped* the battle was over; he’d just loaded his last spare magazine.
Continuing to look in the same direction, he noticed a number of broken tree branches behind the
large rocks.

He called for 0013, who quickly joined him. The two circled around the rocks warily. Horror
spread across their faces as they found their comrade. 0013 looked like she was going to be sick;
009 couldn’t blame her. The two Death Eaters who took the injured 0021 by surprise decided to make
an example of him for so efficiently killing their comrade with his bare hands.

Both of 0021’s legs had been turned to stone, permanently anchoring him to the mudstone beneath
him. The Death Eaters must have then blasted him at his feet, as evidenced by the crater and the
fact that his stone legs beneath the knees were missing. But that was not what had made 0021’s
friends sick.

Airborne and flying helplessly towards the trees behind him, the other Death Eater had hit him
with an especially gruesome curse. This particular Death Eater had once been a nurse at St.
Mungo’s, and she had always been morbidly fascinated by a certain spell and what exactly it might
do, or rather she’d wanted to *witness* what it did. She was very excited to have been finally
able to use it.

She had been killed by one of the Mages less than a minute later however, so her elation was
short lived.

From the scope of the injuries visible, there was no way 0021 could have survived, but 009 felt
obliged to check anyway. From where he was standing, tree branches obscured his view of 0021’s
face. He could scarcely imagine how terrible a death this had to have been. As he leaned down to
check for a pulse, he stopped himself.

He now knew how painful the death had been. The agony was frozen on his lifeless face; 0021
*was* dead. He paused in thought for a moment when he saw what was the actual cause of death:
a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

009 stared at the gun in his friend’s hand. The chamber was locked open; the last bullet fired
*had been* the last bullet. If 0021 had followed his training, he would have known he had only
one bullet. He probably used it wisely.

* * *

In fact, that opinion was shared officially as well. Later that evening in the St. Mungo’s
morgue (under heavy Auror guard), the Ministry and MI6 medical examiners performed the autopsy on
0021 and forwarded the results back to C. Every mission, successful or not, was painstakingly
studied afterwards by all of the 00s. What caused one mission to succeed was just as important as
knowing what caused another to fail.

Because there had been no witnesses, all that was known was what 009 and 0013 and the two
medical examiners had reported. Considering the circumstances—physically isolated from the battle,
missing his legs and unable to rejoin the fight, in extreme agony and hemorrhaging from the
curse—everyone had agreed, sadly, that there was nothing else 0021 could have done.

Considering the severity of his injuries, ending his own suffering *was* the only thing he
could do. His suicide, therefore, was ruled justified. Ordinarily, the only time a suicide would be
considered justifiable was if it was to prevent capture.

And so, as was typical within the 00 department, the official cause of death was decided by
committee, not by fact. Even though the medical records clearly showed a gunshot wound to the head,
the *official* cause of death was listed as the Entrail-Expelling Curse on the Ministry’s
death certificate, and exsanguination due to severe gastrointestinal trauma on MI6’s.

It wasn’t the first time either side had falsified paperwork, but at least this time it was “for
a good cause.” Not that it really mattered though... no one but a few very highly ranking
bureaucrats, magical and Muggle, would ever read it, as the paperwork—like 0021—didn’t even
officially exist.

* * *

The two 00s returned to the rest of the witches and wizards, who seemed to have finished
gathering their fallen comrades together into one place, preparing to drop the Apparition and
Portkey charms so they could head back to the Ministry. They were now starting to collect the Death
Eaters’ bodies.

009 saw that one of them being levitated had five knives sticking out of his head, neck, and
chest. He was about to extract them when he noticed Thrace and Tonks standing about twenty feet
away, next to the last of the fallen wizards who hadn’t been retrieved yet. Knowing his cutlery
could wait, he quickly told the Mages he would be back for his knives and then politely excused
himself to go join the two witches.

“Are you two all right?” he asked. Tonks nodded, barely, but Kara merely shrugged
noncommittally. Unconsciously, she shivered slightly but it was due to the weather, not her
emotions. Mostly. Being in a river valley tended to concentrate the normal breeze, making it quite
a bit stronger. It could get a little chilly, actually, especially when the person was already
overheated to begin with. Just a few minutes ago, she’d gone back to their entry point and
retrieved her jacket. Only now that she put it back on did she realize that she’d forgotten about
the gun in her pocket; fortunately, she’d not had need to use it.

009 looked down at the dead wizard. He remembered mention of the Killing Curse in the briefing,
and had seen it fly several times today. But he’d not seen its effects first hand. There was not a
mark on this man; he looked as if he’d simply fallen dead. In fact, his face still wore the look of
determination (not fear) he’d had as he ran to make it to the Mages’ cover. 009 found it unsettling
how the expression could appear so lifelike while the face itself was so obviously devoid of
life.

Seeing the other two unable to move as they looked at the wizard, Tonks knelt down and closed
the wizard’s eyes out of respect.

“He sat next to me,” Kara said absently, not really talking to anyone in particular. “His desk
was right next to mine.”

Any person who worked in and around death had to have some sort of coping mechanism to deal with
the things he or she saw. The unsuccessful ones used or abused drugs or alcohol, or
‘relationships.’ Because it was so much apart of his personality already, 009 used humor; most of
the 00s used humor, as they all had similar personalities. It took a certain kind of person to be a
00, after all.

And so, with absolutely no insult intended to the deceased, he turned to Kara and joked about
the first thing to pop into his mind.

“He wasn’t your boyfriend, I hope?”

Glad for even a moment’s distraction from the death before her, Kara chuckled slightly.

“No. I hardly knew him,” she explained with a slight smile. “He just graduated from Auror
training this summer. He only moved into that desk two weeks ago.”

Kara Thrace wasn’t a cold, heartless person. Having known the dead Auror for so short a time,
the idea that he could have been her boyfriend seemed utterly absurd. And so, her mind trying to
protect itself from the reality in front of her eyes, she found 009’s comment funny, allowing her
to laugh and smile. If she hadn’t been staving off mental shock, she probably *would* have
kicked his arse from here to next Tuesday for his comment. Then again, if his mind hadn’t been
doing the same thing, 009 wouldn’t have spoken of the dead like that.

And besides, some small part of her was also a slightly please with what he’d said. It
*almost* sounded like he was jealous there for a minute. But remembering the divergent paths
their lives would take after today, she intentionally tried to pretend those last few thoughts
hadn’t happened.

Her mind returning to her work, Thrace looked around at the death and destruction surrounding
her. She noticed Tonks frowning, but realized it was not because of the losses.

Kara immediately started to get a bad feeling about this.

“Where’s Voldemort?” she asked, sounding more confused than anything else. “This was supposed to
be his big moment, his grand attack to make a statement against the Ministry. But he’s a
no-show....”

Tonks and 009 nodded in agreement. Both had feelings in the backs of their minds that
*something* about this was all wrong, but neither could put their fingers on it... until
now.

After thinking for a moment, Tonks smiled.

“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic,” the purple-haired witch laughed.

The laughter of the 00 and two witches died in their throats as they looked at each other in
realization. All three turned back towards the remaining Mages and 0013.

“STOP!” they shouted simultaneously.

But it was too late. One of the Mages had canceled the charms preventing the use of Portkeys and
Apparition.

The instant the spell was canceled, there was a deafening explosion followed by a blinding flash
of light. If not in the wrong order, it could have been a lightning strike. The fact that the order
was reversed was what gave the distraction spell its name: Thunderball.

Not ten feet away appeared the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort. Four additional Death Eaters stood
a few feet behind him. Everyone beneath that bridge there that day could see it: Voldemort was
angry. Very angry.

Today was supposed to be a grand victory, the first of many (ignoring the Ministry and Azkaban
fiascos). He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was going to send a message no one would soon forget... not the
Muggles, not the Ministry, and most of all, not the wizarding world.

Killing those least able to defend themselves, Muggles, would send a very power message,
indeed.

And so Voldemort sent his thirty best Death Eaters out to Brockdale to destroy the bridge,
exactly as he had promised he would. Well, *actually*, he sent out thirty of the best Death
Eaters he had left. His *best* Death Eaters were still locked away in Azkaban, having been
captured in the Ministry fiasco only months earlier.

And Bella, faithful, reliable Bella, was busy elsewhere with more important tasks.

Yes, Lord Voldemort was very angry indeed. He’d made arrangements ahead of time to have a
viewing crystal placed at the bridge site so that he may watch his glorious victory from the
comfort of his current hideout. There was, after all, no point in him dirtying his hands for such a
trivial exercise, for such a simple task. There was no point in him risking his neck....

It was sure to be an easy victory. Through much careful planning and what he considered a
brilliant change in tactics, Voldemort had learned of the Ministry’s plan of attack. In years past,
he would pick a Ministry official, kidnap them, and then use everything from his most powerful
Legilimency to the Cruciatus to various resistance-destroying (and life-destroying) venoms to
extract whatever information he needed from them. If often took hours, if not days, and usually
left the victim broken mentally and physically. He would then dispose of them, no longer
needed.

But this time, upon learning from one of his few remaining Ministry “resources” that virtually
every Auror and MLE officer would be involved in the response, he decided to be a little more
snake-like in his methods. He had dozens of his Death Eaters kidnap nearly a hundred Ministry
employees in the days leading up to the attack. No one was to use anything more powerful than
Veritaserum, or more dangerous or painful than the Imperius to extract information.

Voldemort made it *crystal clear* to his followers that he wanted no *mistakes*. Every
“victim” was to be missing for no longer than twenty minutes. Once it was all over, they were to be
more worried that they’d dozed off at their desks when trying to account for their lost time than
to have any reason to suspect that anything else had happened. He demonstrated that memories of
torture by the Cruciatus were especially hard to Obliviate. This “volunteer” had been a rookie
Death Eater who dared to wonder silently if the Dark Lord was being overly cautious because of two
well-publicized failures in three months.

True, the entire operation was extremely complicated to orchestrate, but fear kept the Death
Eaters from making any mistakes, for once. All of the effort was worth it, however. Piecing
together all the different bits he got from various Aurors, MLE officers, and even the nosy
maintenance staff (who often magically seemed to appear whenever someone suffered from a case of
loose lips), he had a pretty good outline of the Ministry’s intended response.

And the best part of all was that no one knew that he knew. After all, unlike in years past, no
one had disappeared. Aside from a few late arrivals to meetings, no one was ever missed. And no had
inexplicable pains from recently healed injuries or strange dreams caused by repressed memories of
torture reemerging.

Learning of their plans, he’d even changed his own. Originally, he named his target in the hopes
that he could lure the Ministry into a trap there while he simultaneously destroyed the iconic
Tower Bridge in London. *No one* would soon forget that. But as highly visible a target as it
was, it was still a small bridge. There couldn’t be many cars on it; he wanted a high body count.
(He’d only seen photographs of the bridge, and didn’t know there were Muggle tourists *inside*
the bridge structure.)

But now knowing that there would only be a few Aurors at Brockdale, he decided to attack it
instead. It would be filled with cars. But even better than that, he realized (*after* making
his decision) that an attack there would cause even more panic. Not only would there be many
casualties, but his ability to name a target in advance and *still* be able to destroy it
despite the Ministry’s efforts was sure to be demoralizing.

But it had all gone wrong.

For starters, the Ministry had Mages... actual, real *Mages*. How was Tom supposed to plan
for that?! They weren’t even real! They were myth... legend... the kind of thing wizarding mystery
authors with overactive imaginations wrote about. With the entire Ministry spread out across the
country, he’d expected maybe a handful of Aurors. But not eight Mages.

Voldemort made a mental note to himself to “politely” ask Lucius, once he was out of Azkaban,
why he had never learned of the Mages from former Minister Fudge.

And then there were the Muggles... four of them who fought along side the witches and wizards.
But these were no ordinary Muggles. They were obviously aware of the magical world, but they
possessed abilities that seemed impossible considering Voldemort’s opinion of them. He watched as
they used their metal wands, for lack of a better term, to kill his Death Eaters with disconcerting
accuracy. He watched as they killed his Death Eaters with their bare hands.

Muggles were weak. They were defenseless. How could this happen? How could his plan have failed?
It had been foolproof!

And so, yes, Voldemort was extremely angry. But he had to remember to temper his anger. He had
to stay in control. He’d allowed his guard to drop during the attack on Azkaban. He felt his
connection to the Potter brat reestablish. Ordinarily he would revel in torturing the child by
placing visions into his mind.

But this time he felt the connection more of a liability than an asset. Anything that Potter
might see in his mind, should Voldemort allow himself to become distracted, was likely to be of far
greater value than anything he might gain in attempting to search or plant something within the
boy’s mind.

And so when the Mages dropped their anti-Apparition charm, he let loose his anger and hatred as
best he could, while still maintaining control.

Before, the Ministry and MI6 staff had held their own quite handily against the thirty Death
Eaters, managing to kill all of them. They were, after all, Mages and 00s. They were some of the
best that the wizard and Muggle worlds had to offer, and they had lost five only by chance.

But with the arrival of Voldemort, the entire momentum of the battle shifted.

Before either 0013 or the Mages stunned by Voldemort’s literally explosive arrival could react,
the Dark Lord drew his wand in a great circle.

*“Pyros Sorcorus!”*

An immense ball of cursed, magical fire roared into existence and shot out into the disoriented
group. It passed through four of the eight Mages, as well as 0013. Being hit by concentrated
Fiendfyre at such close range—before it could expand and therefore “dilute”—instantly reduced the
five unfortunate souls to humanoid-shaped statues of cinder and ash; the incinerated bones quickly
crumbled under the statue’s own weight.

Voldemort was rather ambivalent about his handy work. He wasn’t pleased that he’d killed
*only* half of them with the first shot, but he wasn’t unhappy that he’d killed *half* of
them either. He was, however, smart enough to *not* allow the flames grow out of control. Far
too quickly, they would get to the point where even he would no longer be able to control them. He
immediately canceled the spell.

The four remaining Mages recovered from the blast enough to regain their senses and scatter.
Staying where they were would only make it easier to kill them. One of them had enough wits about
her to immediately reestablish their Portkey and Apparition charms.

No other Death Eaters would be getting in. And Voldemort wouldn’t be getting out.

Her timing was fortuitous, as at the exact moment she erected the charms, an eerily distant
sounding scream echoed throughout the space beneath the bridge; it seemed to come from both
everywhere and nowhere.

Two large piles of unidentifiable meat then landed with sickening splatters directly behind
where 009, Thrace, and Tonks had been standing. Apparition accidents, such as Splinching, could
range anywhere from minor to fatal depending on how they occurred.

Magic came in all different forms. If an Apparition *ward* was an ever-present field (like
gravity, or radiation) that simply disallowed the magical teleportation, and an anti-Apparition
*jinx* was like a set of manacles that bound the wizard to that location, then an
anti-Apparition *charm* was a self-contained bubble that surrounded a specific area, not
unlike a Muggle novelty snow-globe.

Just like with the snow-globe, once the charm was established, it was a hard shell that was
virtually impenetrable to all but the most massive of assaults. Trying to Apparate through a ward
or charm would merely cause the wizard to be bounced back harmlessly. (Granted, there was potential
for injury if he or she “bounced into” a solid object.)

While a charm was initially forming however, it was more like a shimmering soap bubble than a
hard, rigid shell. Just as how soap film scatters light to create a swirling rainbow effect,
Apparating *through* that roiling, expanding magic would similarly randomize a wizard. In
effect, they were literally turned inside out. It was truly a horrific way to die; it made the
Entrail-Expelling Curse look like a minor liposuction scar.

Even worse, it took the reassembled Death Eaters over a minute to die.

While the four remaining Mages attempted to scatter and regroup, Voldemort permanently dropped
two more with lazily-cast Killing Curses.

Mages might have been Mages, and 00s might have been 00s, but there was a reason Voldemort was
the Dark Lord. He was arguably one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Although propagated
and fanned unnecessarily, the fear he generated was not unwarranted.

Indeed, his power was even reflected in the way he fought; Voldemort wielded the Killing Curse
with as much ease as the average witch or wizard might use a simple levitation charm. His Death
Eaters had to use the Unforgivable sparingly; it took an enormous amount of magical energy, as well
as *intent*, to cast successfully. Repeated use of the curse during a fight would quickly
drain the average witch or wizard of their strength.

That was why most battles used “conventional” means of attempting to kill, such as
*Reductos*, cutting curses, and bludgeoning hexes. The Killing Curse was generally only used
at the very beginning or very end of fight, such as during the initial ambush or to finish off an
opponent who had surrendered and was of no further use.

With Voldemort’s arrival, 009, Thrace, and Tonks immediately took cover; they had been far
enough away from the initial blast to avoid being stunned. The four Death Eaters who accompanied
Voldemort started to pursue them while the Dark Lord himself went after the two remaining Mages; he
was determined to make an example of them.

He would destroy this entire bridge by himself if he had to. And considering the luck he’d been
having leaving his minions to do his dirty work for him, it looked like he just might have to do
that.

Running, 009 and the two witches saw curses fly past them, the four Death Eaters on their tails.
Each of the three of them headed off in his or her own direction. If they could split up their
pursuers, it would make them easier to fight.

Fresh into the fight, these four Death Eaters were still neatly dressed in their robes, masks
still on their faces. All appearing nearly identical, there was virtually no way to distinguish
them, other than merely labeling them based on who they chased: the first and second followed 009;
the third, Thrace, and the fourth, Tonks.

As he ran down the riverbank away from the bridge, 009 saw a nice sturdy tree ahead of him; even
better, it appeared to be a birch, known for its smooth bark. Running past it, he threw his left
arm out suddenly, grabbing the tree. He whipped around easily in slingshot, surprising the Death
Eaters. He managed to kill the first one, but only grazed the other’s arm before his momentum
carried him all the way back around again.

Bleeding and in tremendous pain, the second wounded Death Eater continued his chase, albeit more
slowly. Ahead, there was a large boulder 009 could use as cover to stop, turn around, and take the
fight back to his attacker. He was just about to reach it when he suddenly felt as though his feet
had been tied to each other. He’d been hit with a school-yard Tripping Jinx.

Thanks to his strenuous training, he threw out his arms to help break his fall... without
breaking any other part of him. Regrettably, impact with the ground knocked his weapon out of his
hand; it landed somewhere about fifteen feet ahead of him. Lost in the tall grass, it was all but
invisible. Knowing there wasn’t time to look for it, he made to reach for his third and final PPK
when there was a labored but cruel laugh behind him.

“Don’t move, *Muggle!*” the wounded Death Eater shouted.

Sprawled out on his stomach, 009 debated how quickly he could grab his gun from his ankle and
then turn around versus how fast the Death Eater could fire a spell from an already drawn wand.

*“Incendio!”* The warning shot to his left, which caused the green grass to burst into
flames, convinced him he wouldn’t win this quick-draw contest. Sometimes, the most important aspect
of a 00’s training was in learning when *not* to fight.

“Turn over. SLOWLY. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

He did as he was told. When unarmed, out of hand-fighting range, and at gunpoint (or, in this
case, wandpoint), sometimes it was best to comply. Initially, at least. After all, the longer you
were alive, the more time there was for another solution to present itself, especially if there
were friendlies still around.

Now on his back and sitting up, 009 could look at his attacker. The Death Eater took off his
mask, sneering in triumph, his wand pointed directly at his victim’s chest. At this very moment,
more than anything, he was feeling rather embarrassed and irritated. He might be killed after
*tripping*? That was only supposed to happen to busty, scantily-clad coeds in low-budget
horror movies!

The Death Eater felt this Muggle deserved to die in a way he could understand... not out of
honor or respect, but so that he could *know* what was happening to him, that it might make it
that much more real and terrifying.

“I want to enjoy watching you die... but not *too* quickly.”

Okay, now, was the time *not* to comply, 009 knew. He lunged for the weapon on his
ankle.

“*Sagitta!*” cried the Death Eater at the same time. A single arrow shot out of his wand
and hit 009 in the chest before he was able reach his weapon. The arrow was much bigger and heavier
than a bullet; the force of the impact knocked him onto his back. The Death Eater smiled in
satisfaction at the groan that emanated from the Muggle’s mouth upon the arrow’s impact, as well as
the sight of it sticking out of his chest as he lie motionless.

* * *

About thirty yards away, Thrace was still trying to shake loose the Death Eater that had been
following her. All she needed was to put enough distance between them so that she could stop, turn
around, and fire off a clean shot. They’d been casting spells at each other haphazardly, neither
one’s aim very accurate from running hard.

Off in the distance, she heard a scream; it was Tonks. The additional surge of adrenaline
generated by the fear from hearing her coworker and new friend scream gave her an extra burst of
speed. Luckily, it came at exactly the right moment. There was a low hanging branch just ahead.

If she ran under it, the Death Eater was sure to follow. Regardless of whether he blasted it out
of his way or leaned down to duck under it as well, he would have to take either his attention or
his eyes off of her for just a moment.

The Death Eater saw the Auror duck and run beneath the tree branch just ahead. One of the
smarter ones of the group, he knew better than to just run blindly under it. As she ran at top
speed, her arms (and wand) were swinging wildly in synch with her stride. She could have easily
hexed that branch without him noticing. But if he went around it, he would fall that much further
behind.

His own wand already out, he slowed just enough to aim carefully and let loose two spells in
rapid succession. Fortunately, it was a lot easier to hit a target that wasn’t moving.

“*Diffindo! Evanesco!*” The overhanging limb neatly separated from the rest of the tree and
then promptly vanished. As it transitioned into nothingness, his view was immediately replaced with
the sight of the blonde Auror pointing her wand directly at him.

At that very moment, the only thing to go through his mind was how he wished she didn’t have
that wand. That probably subconsciously affected the first spell that popped into his mind.

“*Expelliarmus*!”

Unfortunately for the Death Eater, Kara Thrace had fired her stunner first. He collapsed
unconscious before he could do anything else.

Unfortunately for the Kara Thrace, the Death Eater *had* fired his disarming spell, and it
traveled faster than a stunner. Despite her best attempt to keep hold of it, her wand jumped out of
her hand. Since he was now unconscious, instead of it neatly sailing back to him, it flew off
randomly in one direction.

She was about to reach down for her backup wand so she could summon back her first wand (no
point in just leaving it lost out there somewhere), when she heard a shout that caused her hot
blood to freeze.

“Don’t move, *Muggle!*”

Forgetting about wands, Kara immediately ran for the voice; it didn’t sound too far away. She
arrived just in time to see 009 sitting on the ground and lunge forward towards his ankle.

“*Sagitta!*”

Kara could not help herself and screamed out as she saw him fall backwards, an arrow sticking
out of his chest.

“NO!!”

In a moment of pure rage, she started to raise her arm to use the Killing Curse for the very
first time in her life. (With all the magical ways of incapacitating or detaining someone, prior to
today she’d yet had reason to take a life.) Except, there was just one problem. She didn’t have her
wand. The wounded Death Eater heard her scream and sluggishly turned his head to look at her.

In moments of extreme danger or panic, the human brain kicks into “fight or flight” mode,
enabling itself to process information at a dramatically higher rate. Being able to examine a scene
faster and in much more detail increases the chances for survival. It also gives the effect of
witnessing the moment in slow motion.

It was in slow motion, therefore, that Kara saw as the smile faded from the Death Eater’s face.
She knew he would now kill her. She also knew she didn’t have her wand, and that there wasn’t time
to bend down to grab her backup.

As she watched the Death Eater’s shoulders begin to turn, she suddenly felt something very heavy
in her jacket pocket.

*“Do you know how to use this?”* she heard 009’s Northern accent echo in her mind. Without
even thinking, she reached into her jacket pocket. When her hand came into contact with the gun
handle, all she could see in her mind was the grin on his face when he greeted them for the first
time... with his hands behind his back. She felt the metal and plastic in her hand; she knew he
must have been feeling the same exact thing.

“*Good enough,*” he replied in her mind as she withdrew the weapon.

“*A gun is only as useful as it is* ready *to be used,*” he explained as she raised
it. Now she understood, first hand, why both 009 and her father carried their weapons with live
rounds pre-chambered, going against “traditional” gun safety rules.

“*Do not put your finger on the trigger until you are* ready *to fire.*” Her arm still
rising, her thumb automatically moved on its own to disengage the safety, and her index finger slid
up oh so easily against the trigger.

“*A gun is not a threat. A gun is a deadly weapon. Do not point it at someone unless you are
prepared to kill them.*” She saw 009 smiling down at her before she leaned up and kissed him,
just as the firearm came into line with the Death Eater, who had almost completely turned by now.
Unfortunately for him, since he was right handed and Kara was on his left, he had to turn
completely around before he could aim properly.

“Shoot to kill*. You shoot them until they are dead.*” Kara knew that even 009 would have
blushed if he heard the foul name she thought of the Death Eater.

“*If things were different between us, I’d take you up on that.*”

*I know,* Kara thought as a smile for the fallen agent appeared on her face; she pulled the
trigger.

Everything still played out in slow motion. She pulled the trigger again and again, so many
times that she lost count. She fired so rapidly that she her aim suffered. Sometimes it was too
high from the recoil; sometimes it was too low from trying to compensate for the kickback. Some of
the bullets hit her target; some did not.

Those that did, Kara watched numbly as they struck the Death Eater with predicable results. Only
the fact that he was wearing heavy black robes prevented the scene from being *too* gory.

“*There’s never just one of them,*” 009’s voice reminded her again. She stopped firing when
she saw the Death Eater’s wand slip from his now lifeless fingers. Unlike in the movies, a bullet
impact did not have enough mass or energy to cause a person to be thrown backwards. Pain, shock,
unconsciousness, or death caused a person to fall.

In slow motion, he was dead but still standing. Only now that life left his body this very
instant did gravity finally win. When the Death Eater’s body hit the ground with a loud, deep, slow
impact, Kara’s brain was thrown back into the normal flow of time.

“*Always keep track of how many shots you fired, so that you know how many you have left.*”
She’d forgotten to count. Kara looked at the gun in her hand, the barrel still smoking. She knew
from television and the movies that the gun would lock open after the last bullet had been fired.
It hadn’t, so she still had *at least* one shot left.

But how many times *had* she fired? Four, five, six times? She *remembered* seeing
four impacts: two in his chest, one into the dirt kicking up dust, and one wild, post-recoil shot
into his left hand. (That was a bit gross.)

“*The real world is* not *a training session.*” It was not over until she was dead...
or until *they* were dead. Tonks was still out there somewhere. She needed help, by the sounds
of things earlier. Voldemort was still out there; he just plain needed to be killed.

But right now, there was something more important she had to do first.

She was about to run over to where 009 had fallen when she felt the effects of yet another
*Expelliarmus*.

She’d forgotten about the Death Eater she’d stunned earlier. Like herself, he was “juiced up”
with every stimulant the human body could produce during stress. So naturally, the stunner she’d
hit him with did not last very long.

The disarming Death Eater easily caught the gun by the barrel as it flew back to him. (He’d been
a Seeker back in his day.) He was about to kill the Auror when he felt the warmth of the recently
fired weapon slowly begin to seep into his hand. His curiosity got the better of him. With a quick
flick of his wand, he bound Thrace in ropes. Satisfied she was secure, he took a closer look at his
new prize (the gun).

Like most in the wizarding world, and Voldemort’s followers doubly so, this particular Death
Eater knew little about the Muggle world, to say nothing of their weapons. Ordinarily he would
treat the device with disinterest or contempt, but he’d seen the Muggle and the Auror use this...
*thing* to kill his associates.

Examining it more closely, he noticed the smell of something burning. He’s seen and heard
explosions when it was used, but that didn’t make sense. Unless... maybe it was like one of those
old fashioned cannons? But he hadn’t seen any cannon balls. Perhaps they were invisible? *That
was intriguing.* How could a Muggle make something invisible?

Double-checking that the blonde Auror was still secure, he started to look at the gun from
different angles. Albeit from a distance, he’d witnessed its operation. The Muggle held it like a
wand. The Auror held it like a wand. The Death Eater’s only basis for comparison for this weapon
*was* a wand. He therefore assumed it “activated” like a wand. In other words, he would have
to intentionally and deliberately say or think “the magic word” to make it fire.

It was human nature for a person’s attention to be drawn to the “business end” of any working
machine. If there was some hole that something came out of, then naturally that was the first place
to look at when trying to figure out how the device worked. Everything else, such as the little
curved piece of metal inside of another loop of metal, was secondary.

Quickly triple-checking that the Auror was secure, the Death Eater held the barrel of the gun up
to his nose to smell the curious odor of burnt gunpowder. He then held it up in front of him so
that he could look down the barrel with one eye but still watch the Auror with the other. It was an
awkward angle to hold the “wand” out in front of him, so he held it backwards from normal: his
fingertips on the back of the handle and his thumb sliding into that metal loop. He didn’t know
what the trigger guard was, but it certainly seemed an ideal place to put a finger while holding
the wand.

Making absolute sure he didn’t think of any possible “magic words” that might trigger the
weapon, he allowed his vision to refocus from the helpless Auror twenty feet in front of his right
eye, to the muzzle one foot in front of his left.

*How do you work?* he silently asked his new trinket. His fingers and thumb grasped the
weapon a little more firmly to keep it from shaking due to the awkward position.

*BANG!*

Kara Thrace stood dumbfounded as she watched the Death Eater shoot himself in the head. The
ropes binding her immediately vanished. If James Bond were there, he might think of something witty
to say like, “*Curiosity killed the cat.*”

But instead, Kara spared only a single word for the dead Death Eater.

“Idiot!” she spoke aloud before turning and running back to where 009 had fallen. What she saw
when she ran over to him shocked her so much, she tried to stop suddenly; her feet slipped out from
under her in the loose gravel.

MI6 Special Agent 009 was starting to sit up, rubbing the back of his head painfully.

“OOWW!” he complained, genuinely but humorously, looking back to the ground. He’d hit his head
on a large rock when he fell back, knocking himself unconscious for a few moments. Looking back up
from the rock, Kara could only stare wide-eyed at the arrow in his chest.

“But... you’re dead! He killed you!”

“What, this?” 009 asked bemused, grabbing hold of the arrow. “Nah... just knocked me down!” he
joked, hiding his own amazement and relief. He tried to pull it out of his chest; it didn’t
budge.

“Give me a hand with this, would you?” he asked politely. Kara approached him, almost in fear.
When she was standing directly in front of him, she looked more closely at where the arrow was
protruding. He was trying to pull the arrow out of his green shirt.

An ordinary bulletproof vest is designed to stop bullets. In the simplest explanation, it is
little more than a super-strong, super-fine net that catches “large” blunt objects, such as
ordinary bullets. A football kicked into a goal net would illustrate the analogy well.

Such a vest, however, is largely useless against knives or other piercing attacks, as the
sharpened point is often able to actually penetrate between the fibers of the fabric mesh, pushing
them apart. It was exactly the same as how that same football goal net is unable to catch a golf
ball.

Stab vests, on the other hand, are made from ballistic fabric woven with much thinner threads.
The finer weave prevents penetration by a sharpened point propelled by hand; the lighter material
however often does not have the strength to resist the impact of a bullet.

It would come as little surprise then that organizations such as MI6, as well as countless
military and law enforcement agencies, would be *very* interested in body armor that was both
bullet- *and* stab-resistant. (Nothing could be 100% anything-proof). Such multi-threat armor
*was* available, however at this point in its development, generally speaking it was too
expensive or bulky to be used widely in any form other than in heavy duty military flak
jackets.

But as with all manufactured products that evolve through a design process, with enough
development and money, anything that “wasn’t quite ready” for widespread use *could* be made
*immediately* on an extremely small scale.

If there was anything MI6 had in abundance, it was R&D staff (Q-Branch) and money. And by
mass-production standards, outfitting twenty-five was a very small order. It was from this,
therefore, that MI6 was able to equip its twenty-five 00-Agents, today, with real, concealable,
*wearable* body armor that protected against both ballistic and stab attacks. It would be
years before even the military saw anything like it.

Kara added her hands and the two of them pulled as hard as they could. After a few seconds, the
arrow broke loose with a sudden metallic snap, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. As
expected, the sharpened arrow point easily penetrated the bulletproof layers of the vest. The inner
stab-layers would have stopped it if it was a handheld knife, but the much heavier arrow was
traveling fast enough to punch through.

Penetrating through between two- and four-dozen layers of Kevlar (the exact number was
classified) did however disperse enough energy to slow the magically fired, but otherwise ordinary
arrow. When it finally struck the steel armor plate in the inner pocket directly over his heart,
the arrow finally, thankfully, stopped.

Thrace and 009 had a hard time removing the arrow because it had actually fused to the metal
plate. When two pieces of metal hit each other at very high speed, if all of that energy is
concentrated at a small enough point, such as a bullet or arrow tip, it can cause enough heat at
that localized point to actually create a miniature weld.

They had to break that weld and tear the arrow head back out through the penetrated layers of
Kevlar. All 009 could do at this point was to continue to use humor to keep his mind focused on
what was to come, and not what had just happened. He held the arrow with its now completely
flattened head out to Kara.

“I think I got the point.” When she finally took it, she still appeared stunned. She looked him
over head to toe, as if to verify he really was standing in front of her.

“You’re... really... *alive!*”

009’s first instinct was to crack another joke, but he decided against it. He took her free hand
and placed it on his chest so that her fingers landed directly over the hole in his vest.

“Yes, I’m alive,” he said gently. She poked her finger into the hole and felt the damaged steel
plate. He could see her eyes begin to glisten slightly.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered under her breath, almost as if she was saying it more to
herself than to him. He could see that she was just about to jump on him and snog the living
daylights out of him.

009 would have liked nothing more than for her to do that, but he knew now was not the time to
do that. Not only were Voldemort and an unknown number of Death Eaters still out there, but he knew
they would still lose each other again. Even if they both survived, they would still go their
separate ways afterwards. They would never see each other again.

He *wished* this was one of those times he could never say never again.

It was, up to this point, the hardest decision 009 ever had to make in his life, but right now,
it was the most important. He held onto Kara’s hand and arm firmly, preventing her from moving any
closer. If he let her kiss him... If he kissed her....

*This* was why 00s could not fall in love. He would have to live and let die these growing
feelings.

“We need to go,” he said bravely, as much for his own benefit as for hers. Kara could see the
look in his eyes. She knew he’d held her away intentionally and she knew why he did it. She also
knew he disliked it as much as she did. It was at least of *some* comfort to her... not much,
but some.

009 let go of Kara’s hand and quickly reached down to grab his final backup weapon from his
ankle. Seven shots left. He then quickly checked on the Death Eater Kara had shot, just to make
sure he wouldn’t be getting back up again any time soon. Her aim hadn’t been all that great, and
she might not have had a license to kill, but she got the job done.

He then ran over to the other Death Eater.

“What the bloody hell happened here?” he asked when he saw the dead wizard, the PPK he’d given
Kara only inches from his hand; he’d been shot in his left eye. She relayed the scene to him, as
well as her final thought of *“Idiot!”*

Even the death of a person trying to kill you can have an impact on a person, so as 009 knelt
down to take back Kara’s gun, his mind worked overtime. He came back up with a small grin, his
defense mechanism ready.

“Definitely what I’d call a view to a kill.”

Kara just rolled her eyes and shook her head; she was smiling, however.

“*What?*” he asked defensively, in good humor, though he knew full well why she was shaking
her head.

Knowing it was time to get back to business, she then turned and bent over to retrieve her
backup wand. Instinct—*male* instinct—asserted itself and 009 took a quick step to the side to
better enjoy the view.

Kara’s stance was not entirely accidental, and after verifying out of the corner of her eye
where he was looking, she responded, head still down, with a cheeky, “For your eyes only.”

She stood back up and turned around, facing him with an exaggerated, mock look of
disappointment. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed of having been caught in so blatant
a trap.

Knowing it was time to get back to business, the two of them then took off running in the
direction Thrace had heard Tonks scream not one minute earlier. As they ran, 009 checked the
magazine in Kara’s weapon; it was empty. There was only the one round remaining in the chamber. He
offered the gun back to her; she told him to keep it, saying he could make better use of it than
she.

He agreed with her... not out of ego but strictly fact. And besides, he suspected there would be
little point arguing with her about it. With his shoulder straps gone, he secured it in his ankle
holster. Not convenient, but better than accidentally dropping it.

The two of them found Tonks only a minute later, hidden in amongst some shrubs. She was sprawled
out on her stomach. They found a gruesome sight... not a bad as 0021, but not pretty, nonetheless.
Her right arm had literally been tied into a knot.

And if the swelling was any indication, her bones had been broken to do it; her brachial artery
punctured. Her arm was starting to swell and turn black... the ultimate bruise. She could very well
bleed to death without immediate medical attention.

Now that they could see her properly, 009 noticed something odd. It appeared she had been
intentionally dragged back here. But why would her attacker do that?

009 grabbed Thrace and threw the both of them to the ground....

*“Avada Kedavra!”*

Just in time as a streak of green death sailed right through where the two of them had been
standing. 009 could feel as the spell passed above him... a great rushing sound as though some
invisible immense thing had just flown over him.

“MOVE!” he grunted to Kara as he rolled off her and scrambled to his feet. He saw a swirl of
black robes about twenty feet ahead of him. He fired at the wizard, but the bullet only punched
through the trailing fabric of his robes harmlessly.

*Six left,* 009 reminded himself importantly. *Well, seven, including Kara’s gun.*

Now stalking his prey, he moved cautiously... slowly... deliberately. He saw movement ahead of
him; he took careful aim. Thrace had headed off to his left to try to cut around and come in from
the other way, so he knew this couldn’t be her.

But he couldn’t see anything. He remembered that the wizards could Disillusion themselves. He
decided to stop looking for a wizard who was hiding, and start looking for a wizard who was
practically invisible.

Not an impossible task, actually.

And the best place to start was where he *thought* he saw movement amongst the tree
branches. He stood still and quieted his already nearly-silent breathing, and just looked. As he
scanned, he allowed his eyes to occasionally shift out of focus. Sometimes it was easier to detect
subtle motion when not looking directly at the source.

He thought he saw something a few feet to the left. Zeroing in, he still didn’t see anything.
Except... There was a small branch that appeared to be bent upwards unnaturally. It was worth a
shot... *one* shot.

Most spells could be cast non-verbally, but they were always less effective than if the wizard
had spoke the incantation. It was a good thing then that the Killing Curse was one of the few
spells that could not be cast silently. Even Voldemort had to say the words. Not only did it
require a powerful bit of magic behind it, it also required great intent... a want to kill (whether
murder or self-defense). Indeed, a roomful of students waving their wands and *just* saying
the words probably wouldn’t so much as give the instructor a bloody nose. (Probably.)

Just as he was about to fire, 009 saw a streak shoot out at him from that exact spot. Prepared
for something from that direction, he twisted out of the way. Mostly. The cutting beam, intended
for his throat, grazed his right shoulder instead, slicing open a neat gash. It was only a minor
injury however, so he was able to return fire. He shot once, but nothing was there anymore; he
heard footsteps to his right.

Tracking the sound of the footsteps along with the faint distorted outline, he was able to get a
bead on the Death Eater. He fired twice more. The first of the two missed, but the second shot hit:
a minor, survivable, flesh wound to the upper thigh.

Still running, the Death Eater let out a blood-curdling scream of agony as his Disillusionment
failed. It would be unfair to say that any person, even a 00, was *truly* prepared to feel
what it was like to be shot for the first time. It was, after all, more than just a slight burning
sensation. That said though, it was clear that this Death Eater hadn’t even *imagined* what a
.380 caliber bullet could do when it hit the human body.

The pain in his leg too much to bear, the wizard stumbled as he ran, falling and rolling several
times. 009 was about to ensure no loose ends when he heard someone come running up behind him. He
quickly dropped to one knee and then rolled over, jumping back up facing the opposite
direction.

His finger had already started to pull the trigger—but only as far as he knew he safely could
without actually firing—when his eyes widened.

“Kara!” he exclaimed, surprised. “I could have shot you!”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she replied confidently with a smile. “And besides, if you’d killed me,
I’d never forgi— AHHH!” Kara screamed as she was hit with a bludgeoning curse from the wounded
Death Eater. She flew back about ten feet. Fighting every urge in his body to run to her, 009
quickly snapped his head back to her attacker.

It was unwise to blindly commit oneself to any particular course of action (attack or retreat)
without knowing what was in store for him either way. Sometimes it was better to stay and fight.
And sometimes, it *was* better to run.

009 saw the wizard pointing his wand at him.

Exactly like it was designed to do, 009’s years of training kicked in to save his life. After a
quick tactical analysis (that lasted about a millisecond), he knew that with only about fifteen
feet between them, he wouldn’t be able to dodge any spells cast at him, nor could he run faster
than the wizard could shoot them. All he could do was try to kill the Death Eater.

But, since he was still standing in exactly the opposite direction, could he whip his arm around
to fire faster than the wizard could cast his own spell?

It was now 009’s turn to watch in slow motion as the scene played out in front of him (or,
rather behind him, since he was still standing the other way, looking back over his shoulder).

The Death Eater he’d shot in the leg made a slashing motion with his wand. Even through the
long, slow, drawn-out perception of dilated time, he heard perfectly the words the wizard shouted
with all of his might.

“*Corpus Necrosum!*”

*That can’t be good!* he remembered the smart-aleck in him commenting.

A brilliant, nearly blinding jet of purple fire roiled out of the wizard’s wand and shot right
for him. He had enough time to joke to himself that it if he didn’t know better, it looked like the
bloke had a flamethrower.

As the column of violet fire approached rapidly (even in slow motion), he realized that he
wouldn’t be able complete his turn and fire off a shot before he was hit. Like with a flamethrower,
the flames did however appear to be tightly contained enough that he might actually be able to duck
out of the way... assuming they traveled in a straight line and didn’t follow him.

He had to take that chance. Abandoning his effort to swing his arm around, 009 now pulled his
own leg out from under him. Straight down was often the fastest means of escape.

His decision to drop prevented him from being hit head-on by the Death Eater’s spell. But his
hand was not so lucky. Because his torso was still twisting from his original attempt to turn
around, it swung his arm and hand out wide. The purple flames flew straight through his gun and
nicked the very tip of his index finger, still on the trigger. It was the slightest of grazes, but
it was a curse, and it was enough.

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, 009 had endured quite a lot in his two-year career as a 00. He
been stabbed, shot, had his foot run over, and even “lightly” tortured.

But none of compared even remotely to what he felt now. The pain was so intense, it was
paralyzing; all of his years of training were useless now. Now sitting on the ground from his fall,
all he could was stare at his hand. And the Death Eater just stood and watched too, admiring his
handiwork.

If forced to describe what he felt, 009 might suggest—assuming he could even *think*
straight at the moment—that it was like putting his hand into a blender with filled with volcanic
lava and dull, rusty razor blades, and then hitting “puree.” Oh, and then pouring some salt on
it.

And unfortunately, that wasn’t all that far from what was happening to him. The mysterious
purple flame curse the Death Eater had struck 009 with was *Corpus Necrosum*, the Flesh-Eating
Curse.

The ancient origins of the Killing Curse could be traced back to an attempt to devise the
“ultimate” conveyor of death. Magic so powerful that it was unsurvivable (well, except once), its
only flaw from the point of view of someone *wanting* to use it was that it killed instantly,
painlessly.

But where was the *fun* in that? Magicks such as *Corpus Necrosum* and even the
Entrail-Expelling Curse derived directly from the desire to make the deaths of “undesirables” as
cruel as possible. It was yet another inventive way that wizards at war had devised to kill one
another.

And the Flesh-Eating Curse it did exactly what the name suggested.

So out of his mind in agony, 009 could only watch as the tip of his finger literally began to
wither and rot before his very eyes. Once... *finally*... in a state resembling something that
might be found in an Egyptian museum, what remained of his flesh crumbled away from his bones like
large flakes of ash from a burning newspaper.

Even worse, the consumption was not limited to his fingertip. It spread down his index finger to
his palm, and then out to his remaining fingers. And finally, it started to spread up his arm.

He watched all of this happen still in his trace-like state.

In the span of just three seconds, his entire hand was completely gone. With the curse consuming
every bit of flesh, muscle, and connective tissue, the twenty-seven bones of his fingers, hand, and
wrist fell off one by one when there was nothing left to hold them to the rest of his body.

And now that the magic had begun to consume his much meatier forearm, the pain only got worse.
If he’d been capable of rational thought (and if he’d still had his gun; he dropped it when his
fingers fell off), he might have considered invoking the unspoken reason for always knowing when
there was one bullet left.

If this spell were left unchecked, it would consume his entire body completely within twenty or
thirty seconds. The only reason it took “that long” was because it started in an extremity. If it
struck in the chest as intended, he would have destroyed that much faster.

And then, as if he’d clicked his fingers... on his other hand... the pain went away. For a brief
moment, he wondered if he was dead. Seeing the purple glow still creeping up his arm like the amber
smoldering of a lit cigarette, he knew he had to still be alive. *Whatever* happened to him
after he died, *wherever* he went, he was certain it should have been either much better or
much worse than *this*.

And then he noticed something very strange indeed. His forearm, good flesh and bad, was falling
away from the rest of his arm from just below the elbow. He’d seen, but was only *now*
remembering, a thin, wide beam of white light streak through his arm at the exact moment with the
pain stopped. With the pain gone, he could think again; the first thing that popped into his mind
was that, based on how it had appeared, he’d just received the ultimate paper cut.

But what hit him was not a sheet of A4. He hadn’t seen as Kara struggled to her feet with a
cracked rib after being blasted by the Death Eater. He hadn’t seen the look on her face when she
witnessed him struck by the curse. He hadn’t seen her blast the Death Eater with a *Reducto*
so powerful that it caused him to fly back at least thirty feet back. If the foot-wide crater in
his ribcage wasn’t proof of his death, then the sickening sound of his head striking a tree surely
did. (It sounded a little *too* much like a watermelon being crushed.)

And he certainly hadn’t seen as she calmed herself just enough to remember how to combat this
curse. The Flesh-Eating Curse was so powerful that even if performed non-verbally—therefore far
less effective—it still could do quite enough damage to be going on with. But even at full,
horrifying strength, it was not foolproof. It was survivable... but by one means only... depending
on where the person had been hit.

“*Amputara Constringo: post-elbow right!*”

Now, the spell did not *require* the anatomical qualifier, but in a pinch, it did eliminate
the risk of a person’s aim being too high or too low. It would not do to accidentally amputate a
head because of a shaky arm.

009 watched as his severed arm fell to the ground. When it landed with a dull thud, he found
himself in real time again. It only took another half second or so before there was nothing left
but perfectly clean bone surrounded by ‘ash.’ There wasn’t even a drop of blood.

And speaking of blood...

Able to think clearly again, he could not help but look at the stump of his arm below the elbow.
The pain *was* gone, but the memory of it was so intense that it caused him to shudder
violently. There appeared to be what he could only describe as plastic skin stretched over and
around the wound. Whatever it was or did, it certainly stopped the pain, and appeared to be keeping
him from bleeding to death.

Like any kid with a bandage, he was tempted to poke at it with his other hand.

“Don’t touch it!” Kara warned as she came running up to him. “It’s just a battlefield patch.
It’ll only last about five or ten minutes, but that usually is enough time to get you help. Poking
it won’t make it last longer.” She looked around frantically for a few moments, occasionally
getting a vacant look upon her face as though her mind was headed off for another destination with
extreme determination and deliberation.

“I still can’t get out of here. Someone still has a charm up. We need... we need to get you to
St. Mungo’s.”

“No,” 009 said quietly. “Not until the mission is completed. Voldemort’s still out here. If
we’re trapped here, he is too.”

Kara looked at him pleadingly. “But... five minutes... you’ll...”

“No buts,” he replied in the same tender voice as when he’d suggested the tie after their fight
earlier. He started to reach out with his right arm to stroke the side of her face when he
remembered he no longer had a hand on it. It effectively killed the moment. Both were clearly
disappointed.

“Let’s go,” he said, getting them back to business. Remembering that he’d dropped his gun when
the bones of his fingers fell off, 009 started to look around on the ground for it. He found it
quickly enough; it was slightly disturbing to see a number of his own finger bones scattered around
it.

But that couldn’t be helped now. He started to reach down for his weapon with his good hand when
he noticed something strange: the gun was glowing purple... the same exact shade as the flame that
had hit him.

“Umm?” he started to ask, perplexed.

“*Finite!*” Kara said, trying to cancel the spell, having since retrieved both of her
wands. It didn’t work. “There must be something about the steel that’s holding onto the magic...
maybe it’s the carbon?” she mused, momentarily distracted. “I wouldn’t touch it,” she advised.

“I won’t touch it, then,” 009 quipped, trying to be funny to maintain his focus. He retrieved
his last weapon from his ankle holster; this was the weapon Kara had had earlier... one shot left.
After double-checking the bullet count one more time, he gave her one last meaningful glance.

“Let’s finish this!” The two then started to head back to where the fighting had begun, back to
where they’d last seen Voldemort. It was a bit of a run, since in their attempts to shake off the
Death Eaters, they’d run downstream probably a hundred yards or so.

As they approached the bridge, they started to hear muffled screams of agony, along with a
raised, amused voice.

*“Crucio!”*

They say that diamonds are forever, but Lord Voldemort’s tolerance for failure was not.
Everything had gone wrong today so far, and he wanted someone to pay for that. While his four Death
Eaters took care of the Muggle and two other two Aurors, he had finished off three of the four
Mages, and was now enjoying the last few minutes of his final victim’s life. It was the last of the
Mages, the one who was maintaining the Portkey and Apparition charms.

Kara and 009 were still about fifty yards away. They had to get closer.

“I’ll go in first and try to draw his attention. You’ve got one shot left. Make it count,” she
said encouragingly.

“I always do.”

Thrace and 009 just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other. Both of them felt an
overwhelming urge to embrace the other and kiss them goodbye, as though they each knew it might be
the last time they ever saw the other again.

His jaw clenched resolutely, 009 knew he couldn’t. A 00-Agent couldn’t....

He took a moment to tuck his gun into his pocket. He reached up with his left hand and cradled
the side of her face. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes as his thumb caressed her cheek.
She found him staring intensely into her eyes as she opened them.

He smiled bravely, the courage as much for himself as for her.

“Go,” he whispered.

With a nod, Kara pulled away from his hand. She turned, Disillusioned herself, charmed her feet,
and then started to run toward the others. Sparing nothing more than a sigh, 009 retrieve his gun
from his pocket and headed off in a different direction.

Nearing Voldemort and his victim, Kara saw a potential diversion. She was on Voldemort’s left; a
tree about ten feet to his right exploded. Being pelted by sharp, foot-long splinters of wood drew
his attention away from the Mage. Seeing no one in that direction, he quickly spun around in the
opposite direction, just in time to see a series of spells streaking toward him.

Kara Thrace knew she would only get one shot at the Dark Lord, if even that. He actually
appeared surprised when he turned around and saw her. At this distance, she knew her aim of an
unstoppable Killing Curse couldn’t be perfect so she’d fired off a volley of spells toward the evil
wizard: a stunner, a bone-breaker, and a *Reducto*, hoping that one or all might hit by
chance. If any did, it would give her a chance to get closer, stop, aim properly, and then fire
something that would finally rid the world of his menace (but which still required perfect
aim).

By chance, surprising even her, all three of Thrace’s spells did hit Voldemort, actually. But
she was dismayed as they all bounced harmlessly off a shield she knew she hadn’t *seen* him
cast; he must have had it up already. Even worse, his shield was so strong that all of her spells
rebounded straight back at her. Using her martial arts training, she was able to drop and roll
through the fall, ducking the first two, simultaneously erecting a shield just in case.

Her aim mid-stride on the *Reducto* had been downwards slightly, so angle of reflection and
all, its return was downward too; it struck her full on while she was still crouched down. The
shield absorbed the energy and protected her, but the impact still knocked her onto her back. She
tried to jump back up to her feet, but found herself unable to move.

For one terrifying instant, she thought that maybe she’d injured her neck somehow, but then she
heard something that terrified her even more: Voldemort was laughing.

Looking in the direction of the sound of his laughter, she waited for him to come into her field
of view, unable to move anything other than her eyes.

* * *

“Well, well, well. What *have* we here?” Voldemort chuckled as he approached the prostrate
Auror. Many of his Death Eaters, seeing an attractive witch spread-eagled and unable to offer
resistance, would find such a sight tempting, but the Dark Lord was so warped, he was beyond such
“delights.”

With a casual flick of his wand, the witch floated up and began rotate, as if dangling on a
hook. He saw the wand in her hand.

“*Tsk, tsk,*” he clucked in displeasure, exactly how a parent might at catching a child
with her hand in the cookie jar... although that certainly was not his frame of reference here.

“Careful now, *someone* could get hurt,” he lectured. A lazy twitch of his wand sent hers
soaring out of her hand; another caused it burst into flames before it landed.

“Is that all?” he wondered aloud, amused. A non-verbal *Accio* summoned her second wand. He
destroyed it mid-flight too.

But Lord Voldemort was not finished yet. One of the most important jobs of being a leader,
ruthless or not, was recognizing when someone might be of use. Satisfied the witch was no longer a
threat to him, he decided to see if *she* could be of any use to him, voluntarily or not,
before he disposed of her. It certainly had not escaped his attention that he had suffered greater
losses today than the Aurors had.

Turning her would be far more efficient than trying to train one of his incompetent Death Eaters
up to her Auror’s standard. Now, by no means was he going to hold his breath expecting that she
would agree.

Then again... nothing ventured, nothing gained. The sad truth was that human beings were capable
of *anything* when threatened with imminent death. Voldemort knew this well. A person could
even abandon his best friends when tempted by the thought of a hot meal and warm bed. Regrettably
though (for him), even the world is not enough for most people to betray everyone and
everything.

But, it didn’t hurt to ask. He could always kill her if she said no. His words were calculated;
whatever truth might or might not lie within them was merely part of the means.

“You and your friends fought well today, Auror,” Voldemort sneered, half truthful and half
sarcastic. “But *alas*, it was all for naught.” The sound of regret within his voice was
obviously fake, but then that was the point.

“All of this death and destruction,” he ‘lamented’ as he indicated around him. “For what? The
results are always the same. So many die. A few may live, only to die another day.

“Why persist in this destructive course?” he pleaded. “A hundred years from now, history will
look back and judge fools all those who prolonged this conflict longer than was necessary. But
*you* could help change that....”

It was always helpful to stroke the ego when attempting to make a person betray his or her own
side. Few people could be persuaded to become cannon fodder, or just another faceless minion. But
to be *the one* to make the difference? That certainly was a more appealing sell.

“So many lies have been spread about me,” he said, sounding saddened. “I do not wish for all of
*this!*” he insisted, indicating the tortured Mage and the piles of ash that used to be four
other Mages and 0013. “I am a merciful Lord. I have no desire to harm those who do not oppose me,”
he lied.

“I do, however, *reward* loyalty.” If by reward, he meant that he would not torture his
loyal followers to death, then that was true. Sometimes... if the death would not benefit or amuse
him.

Voldemort then began to probe around the Auror’s mind, looking for something that might help
entice her. Some people desired money. Some desired pleasures of the flesh. Others needed only to
be guaranteed that their loved ones would be spared. (If he didn’t *need* to kill them, then
perhaps letting a family member or spouse live might benefit him more.)

Regardless though, whatever this Auror’s weakness *was*, he needed only to initially
convince her to agree. The Dark Mark would help keep her loyal thereafter.

Voldemort could feel the Auror resisting him. He knew they were all trained in Occlumency. But
it didn’t matter; it never did. He always got in. In fact, he only *knew* of one person in the
world—Albus Dumbledore—who could block him completely.

*(Perhaps that was why Severus Snape was still alive. Not only could he block the Dark Lord
completely, but he also routinely allowed Voldemort to ‘break into’ his mind, showing him what he,
Snape, wanted him to see. Mentally complaining about Voldemort when he WAS being unreasonable was
dangerous, but it cemented the Dark Lord’s belief that Snape was not immune to his
‘eavesdropping.’)*

Voldemort could sense the Auror was attempting to protect something. What was it she did not
want him to know?

A few more moments of pressure—if she was not frozen, she surely would be screaming by now—and
he felt her resistance collapse. He always got in.

*There we are!* Voldemort cheered to himself. *What are you hid—?*

His eyes went red in anger. To think, he was actually trying to sway... *this*... to his
side?!

“You *will* die, *Mudblood!*” Voldemort hissed loudly in fury. He raised his wand and
pointed it directly between her eyes, releasing her from the Body Bind. She was still restrained by
the hovering charm, but at least now she was able to move. *Now,* she could scream. And he
*wanted* to hear her scream.

Kara Thrace saw out of the corner of her eyes moment to her right. It was a reflex; she looked.
Unfortunately, Voldemort noticed the movement too. Without taking his snake-like eyes off her,
Voldemort turned his wand and aimed it in 009’s direction.

“*Avada Kedavra!*”

* * *

009 watched as Kara Thrace disappeared from view. Amused, he followed her shoe impressions as
they appeared then disappeared in the dirt as she ran. She’d obviously done something to her feet
to make them silent as she ran, as well as prevent them from kicking up dust or leaving
footprints.

A certain part of him wanted to suggest that he go with her. (And, no, it wasn’t the part
between his legs. [*Well....*]) But he knew he couldn’t do that. It had to be this way. She
could fire as many times as she wanted to, creating a distraction or a diversion. He only had one
shot. He had to get closer.

009 did his best to travel along the riverbank tree line where he had a better change to remain
unnoticed. He kept his attention on his advance, as trying to keep an eye on the Disillusioned Kara
would have been pointless. He had covered about half the distance when he heard a grunt of
pain.

He looked out and saw a now visible Kara floating helpless only feet away from Voldemort, his
wand pointed at her. 009 drew his weapon and aimed. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to
pull the trigger, but his training stayed his hand. He was still about twenty-five yards away.

All of the training in the world could not counter the inherent design limitations of a handgun.
An ordinary bullet at this range was still lethal, but its ability to hit the *intended*
target was greatly diminished as compared to a rifle. The smaller amount of gunpowder, the shorter
barrel of the weapon, even the shape of the bullet itself robbed the shooter of accuracy at
distance.

A millimeter of inaccuracy here could translate to feet out there. Even the wind could make a
difference over this distance. And being in this river valley, it was breezy. If he had his rifle,
he could make the shot. If he had a fully loaded magazine, he could trust that at least one of his
shots would kill. But he didn’t have either. He had one shot, and he had to get closer.

009 forcibly repressed the debilitating emotion he was feeling—panic (for her, not for
himself)—and hurried his pace, even at the expense of his stealth. Fortunately Voldemort seemed
distracted toying with his captive.

Ten yards away. Still too far away to *guarantee* a kill with one shot. He *had* to
get closer.

About fifteen feet away, 009 felt confident about the range, but he realized he was out of
time.

“You *will* die, *Mudblood!*”

He needed another second or two; it was his turn to draw attention to himself. He made a leaping
lunge, intent on rolling through the fall and firing from a crouched position. This would have the
benefit of not only drawing Voldemort’s attention toward him, but more importantly, by the time the
wizard could react, 009 would already be several feet away from where he had been seen
originally.

As he leapt, both captor and captive saw; Voldemort quickly turned his wand and fired.

“*Avada Kedavra!*”

The one good thing that happened was that because he had leapt, 009 was now rolling across the
ground just as the Killing Curse flew right through where he had been standing only a moment
earlier.

The bad thing was that after everything he’d witnessed these pernicious Muggles do today,
Voldemort did not stand around waiting to see if his Unforgivable had done its job.

As 009 finished his roll and got himself in stable crouching stance from which to fire,
Voldemort immediately grabbed his floating captive and spun both of them, placing her between
himself and the attack. The Dark Lord knew that magical shields were great for protecting against
most spells, but they were largely ineffective against a physical attack, whether it be a bullet, a
magically propelled (but *real*) arrow, or even a well-aimed rock.

In the split second it took 009 to raise and aim his weapon, Voldemort had placed his wand to
the side of Thrace’s head. His human shield was now a hostage.

* * *

009 took in the scene. Now was probably a pretty good time for a quick sitrep. There were just
the four of them left: himself, Kara, Voldemort, and the dying Mage. He was down to his last gun...
his last bullet... his last hand. The purple-haired Nymphadora Tonks was lying hidden beneath a
shrub, somewhere out there. Her right arm had literally been tied into a knot. Unconscious and
bleeding to death internally, she might never wake up, but considering her injuries, thank God she
*was* unconscious.

And there, standing not six feet in front of him was the evil bastard himself: Voldemort. And in
typical coward fashion, he gone and gotten himself a hostage: the stunningly beautiful Muggle-born
Auror Kara Thrace (well, 009 thought so, at least).

Thrace couldn’t move because she had a wand to her head. Voldemort couldn’t go anywhere; moving
more than a few inches in any direction would certainly leave some critical part of him exposed.
And 009 couldn’t fire, because there was nothing to shoot. Not with *only* one bullet,
anyway.

And so, the three of them were at a stalemate.

Or so Voldemort thought.

The problem was that 009 *wasn’t* a hostage negotiator. He wasn’t a police officer. He was
an MI6 00-Agent. And in the kinds of missions 00s were sent out on, sometimes it was necessary to
sacrifice a hostage, if it was for the greater good.

“The greater good.” Too often that phrase had been used to justify horrible things. But the
world in which the 00s lived was different from the normal world. Considering the types of evils
they faced—Muggles who could and *would* kill millions in minutes—as long as there was a net
gain, the ends *did* justify the means.

009 didn’t *want* to sacrifice Kara Thrace. Despite his best efforts, he’d taken quite a
fancy to the blonde Auror. 00s didn’t fall in love. They *couldn’t*.

They... couldn’t....

*“If things were different between us, I’d take you up on that,”* he remembered himself
saying honestly.

*“I know.”*

He only had one bullet left. If he’d had two or three, he could shoot Voldemort in the arm or
leg in the hope that it would cause him to move enough to expose something more vital. But with
only one bullet, his first shot was his last, and it *had* to be fatal. If he’d had one of his
knives back... hell, if he’d even had a roll of duct tape he could probably work out another
option.

But all he had was the one bullet. And he had less than a minute, by the sounds of things. He
recognized the fallen witch only a few feet away from them; it was the one who had cast the
containment charms earlier.

He did not know what Voldemort had done to her, but the coughing and gurgling noises she was
making suggested that she drowning in her own blood. Thanks to their strategizing back under
Wandsworth Bridge, he knew that when the witch did die, all of the charms trapping Voldemort here
would collapse and he would be free to escape.

And in all likelihood, he would kill Thrace as a distraction in order to do so.

He couldn’t risk only wounding Voldemort; he had to kill him. He could see that Kara didn’t have
her wand anymore. If she did, he could have considered merely wounding him and hope Kara could
finish the job. But that wasn’t an option now.

The Dark Lord and the 00 stared each other down, waiting for the other to back down. Of course,
neither would.

009 knew he had to do it. There was no other option (that he could think of within the last five
seconds).

If Kara *had* to die, then 009 felt obliged to make damned sure he was the one to do it. If
nothing else, it would be far quicker than anything Voldemort might plan. Based on the way
He-Who-Was-Hiding *was* hiding behind Thrace, his head would be directly behind her neck...
her soft, silken neck.

With his training and at this range, even left handed, 009 could easily shoot through her to hit
Voldemort. It would kill them both, but Voldemort would be dead.

009 knew that doing so would also likely mean his death as well. If he sacrificed Thrace, the
battlefield patch she’d cast upon him earlier—keeping *him* from bleeding to death—would
surely fail. But even if her death didn’t cause the patch to fail, time would. She’d said five to
ten minutes. It could fail at any moment. But he knew his death would be a small price to pay, not
only for eliminating Voldemort, but for extinguishing the life of someone so beautiful.

If he did nothing else, 009 felt he at least owed her the truth.

And so he started talking... partially to apologize for what he was about to do, and also in the
infinitesimally small hope that Voldemort might slip up and do something foolish, giving him the
chance to end this differently. If even an inch of Voldemort’s head became exposed, he could end
this differently, *now*.

Knowing Kara was Muggle-born from their flirting earlier, he knew how to tell her in code what
was going to happen. And if he was really lucky, she might even be able to make use of it to their
advantage.

“Kara,” 009 said conversationally. “Are you a fan of Keanu Reeves?”

Thrace dare not move her head for fear of causing Voldemort to act rashly (as if *that*
even made sense), but she did look at 009 with interest. What was this about?

“I wouldn’t say that I was a fan of him *per se*, but I have seen most of his movies.”

“Silence!” Voldemort hissed. He had no clue what the blasted Muggle and the abominable
Muggle-born witch were talking about. All he cared about was to stay hidden behind his hostage long
enough to wait for the Mage to die, thereby causing the Portkey and Apparition charms to
collapse.

He would then be able to Apparate away, taking his hostage with him. Once in safety, he could
then kill the witch at his pleasure. And after the way today had gone, his pleasure would make it a
long, slow, and agonizing death.

“I take it you’ve seen *Speed*, then?”

“BE QUIET!” Voldemort warned. Thrace could tell he was becoming uneasy from this seemingly
random conversation. And while she wasn’t entirely sure where this was headed, it did give her a
chance to focus all of her attention onto the Muggle in front of her.

*Quite handsome, really,* Thrace thought to herself not for the first time, *even if he
has a gun pointed in my face.*

“Sandra Bullock fan,” she replied, doing her best to remain perfectly still. “Loved *While You
Were Sleeping*.”

009 chose his next words carefully. His normally effervescent personality wanted to grin right
now, to tell her everything would be all right. But he knew it wouldn’t. He had to tell her the
truth, though. Hopefully, she would forgive him.

“*Pop quiz, hotshot*,” he emphasized, hoping she would recognize the line. “Evil wizard
with one *very* beautiful hostage. He’s using her for cover and about to escape. You’re six
feet away and you have *only one* shot left. What do you do?”

Kara heard 009’s voice in her head again. *“You do not point it at someone unless you are
prepared to kill them.”*

He felt an intense stab of guilt wash across him as he saw Thrace’s eyes widen in recognition.
*She knew.* He felt as though her eyes were piercing right into him. For the briefest of
moments, he allowed his emotional guard to drop, and let her in.

It was only for a second, but Thrace could see the conflict within him. He didn’t want to do it,
but he knew he had to. And, being honest with herself, *she* knew he had to also. If he had
only one shot, then she knew it would not be a merely a flesh wound for her. She *could* try
to break free and take a chance that Voldemort wouldn’t curse her in the back. She *could*
hope that maybe he would try to make a run for it instead.

But that would make Voldemort a moving target. She had no doubts the MI6 agent was a good shot,
but a stationary target was easier to hit than a moving one. If he only had one shot left, then
their—the rest of the world’s—best hope was that he be able to deliver on the Muggle saying, “One
shot, one kill.”

If she stood still, Voldemort would stand still. She would die, and 009 most likely would as
well. And Tonks would too, if help didn’t arrive soon enough after all the charms collapsed.

But if they took Voldemort with them, it would be worth it.

009 could see in her eyes as she began to relax. She couldn’t move, but the calmness she now
wore indicated she knew what was coming and had accepted it. Sometimes, a warrior in the good fight
had to sacrifice their life in the line of duty. And sometimes, a 00 had to be the one to take
it.

Hopefully, today *would* be a good day to die.

By now, Voldemort was starting to worry. He didn’t know what these were talking about, but it
was clear to him they were speaking in some sort of code. Granted, it wasn’t all that complicated
to guess who had been meant by ‘evil wizard.’ But the fact that they *were* communicating was
unnerving.

“I’m so sorry,” 009 said to Kara, his voice laden with regret. She knew she was going to die...
and she found an eerie calm accompany that knowledge. She smiled a brave smile, accepting his
apology and silently forgiving him.

It was a good thing he was going to die, 009 thought to himself. Since having met “Ministry of
Magic Auror Kara Thrace,” he was beginning to have doubts about everything he did. Not whether it
was right or wrong, but whether he could continue to be effective at his job.

A 00-Agent couldn’t have doubts... he couldn’t hesitate. He never had... until now. He’d only
known her for a few hours, but something about this witch got to him in a way that no person ever
had before. He felt like he had been waiting to meet her all of his life. It was cliché... it was
sheer dumb luck. It was fate... it was magic.

Looking back, he knew he’d been affected by her from the get-go. The MI6 psychologist (whom the
00s often called ‘Dr. No Answers-Just Questions’) might ask him which head he’d been thinking with
when he challenged Kara to that fight.

The truth was that it was neither, but rather something that lay in between, pun intended... and
not intended. That was the stupidest and most dangerous thing he’d ever done in his entire career.
If Wandsworth Bridge *had* been the target, there would have been *every* possibility
that the Death Eaters would have arrived *before* the deadline, not after. How could he have
gone and shed himself of his body armor and weapons?!

All of this introspection passed within the blink of an eye. It was clear in hindsight that it
had been the wrong decision, strategically and tactically. And yet nothing in his life had ever
felt so right.

And now, to save her—and the world—he had to kill her. And consequently, himself.

Before today, before *her*, he would have done so already. But this time, he waited... he
hesitated... hoping that another option might present itself, hoping against hope he wouldn’t have
to do this.

“What are you sorry about?!” Voldemort demanded, immediately after 009’s apology.

“The answer to his question,” Thrace replied defiantly. She could feel Voldemort press his wand
against her temple a little harder. But she didn’t care anymore. Knowing what was to come, knowing
her calmness was lulling him into his own death, she actually found his action amusing. It was
macabre and morbid, but such was often the humor when facing the end.

“And that is?” Voldemort asked urgently.

Thrace smiled back at 009.

“Shoot the hostage.”

For one of the few times in his miserable, cursed life, Tom Riddle was scared. Surely the man in
front of him wasn’t going to do that? He *knew* Muggles were primitive and unsophisticated,
and generally unworthy to even exist, but he hadn’t expected *that*.

Voldemort was beginning to panic. Hidden pitifully behind his hostage, he couldn’t see the
Muggle to judge his expression, nor could he make eye contact to try to break into his mind. He
couldn’t move, and he couldn’t flee. All he could do was to try to bluff his way out.

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that you’re going to kill her yourself? What kind of
*hero* are you?!”

009 grinned broadly, flashing his pearly whites. He winked flirtatiously at Thrace. (In
retrospect, Voldemort would have probably been glad he couldn’t see this exchange.)

“Who ever said I was a hero?” he asked triumphantly. “A *Hero* swoops in at the last second
and performs some self-sacrificing act, kills the bad guy, survives *miraculously*, and then
they all live happily ever after. I think *you’ve* been reading too many fairy tales.”

009 hoped that his taunts might agitate Voldemort enough to make a move that would leave him
exposed. It didn’t work. He couldn’t know that Voldemort was too unsettled by him to risk doing
*anything*.

Voldemort *liked* heroes; heroes were predictable. This Muggle seemed just a little bit
crazy and was far too unpredictable for his tastes.

Though his insults were not working, 009 continued the effort. Anything to delay having to pull
the trigger and sacrifice Kara.

“I, on the other hand, am nothing but a *devilishly handsome* assassin,” he said, waggling
his eyebrows at Kara, “sent here to kill *you*... for Queen and Country... and for the whole
world now that I think about it,” he added as an amusing afterthought.

“A hero would sacrifice himself to save the hostage. An assassin would sacrifice the hostage to
kill his target.”

“But you’ll die too!” Voldemort reminded him, trying to sound condescending, but also at the
same time sounding *almost* panicked. “I saw the spell on your arm. You kill her, and you’ll
be killing yourself.”

“Ah, well... perhaps then I’m not a cold-hearted, self-preserving assassin either. She’ll be
dead. I’ll be dead. And *you’ll* be dead. Worth dying for, if you ask me.”

“Damn straight!” Thrace snapped in agreement.

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!” Voldemort yelled. Anyone who had ever met the Dark Lord
would be shocked to see him so agitated; it seemed so out of character for him. And yet, deep down,
it wasn’t. Everything about Voldemort was the direct result of his fear of death.

He couldn’t move; he couldn’t fight; he couldn’t escape. He didn’t know what this Muggle was
going to do. And that scared him. He truly *was* panicked.

And then all three of them heard that unforgettable sound... the sounds of a person in the midst
of a tortured death taking their final few gasps. The Auror maintaining the charms that kept
Voldemort from escaping was about to die.

Additionally, off in the distance, 009 could hear a chorus of sirens approaching from both
directions on the roadway above. It would have been music to his ears, if it had come a few minutes
earlier.

*Sorry guys, time’s up,* he thought to his approaching friends.

009 smiled in grim satisfaction. “Sorry, Voldy, time’s up,” he said calmly, then turned his
attention back to his weapon. He looked down the barrel and made sure the sights were lined up
true: the soft, most vulnerable part of the Thrace’s neck, behind which he knew was hidden
Voldemort’s head. He aimed slightly off-center to avoid her vertebrae; hitting bone greatly
increased the risk of his bullet being deflected in an unpredictable direction. He wanted it to
pass straight through her... and into Voldemort’s head.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to the beautiful witch one last time, and pulled the trigger.

Sometimes in a catastrophic moment, the brain will speed up, causing a scene to appear in slow
motion. But sometimes it blocks things out, making the fragmented memory seem like “it all happened
so fast.”

After he pulled the trigger, all 009 could remember was seeing the look in Kara’s eyes as the
bullet that *he* had fired struck her. He dared not look anywhere else but into her eyes. The
strange thing was, though, that she appeared much closer to him in his memory than he
*thought* he remembered her.

Oh well, it was probably a trick of his mind from having focused so intently upon her eyes. And
then he let out a shout as the pain in his amputated right arm unexpectedly flared into life
again.

Kara’s battlefield patch had failed.

As pain racked his body, he was only vaguely aware of the sounds of hundreds of cracks of
Apparition... first one, and then nearly two hundred more. To the Muggles above, it must have
sounded like automatic machine gun fire.

It was instinct to grab at an injury, so 009 could not help but clutch his with his other arm.
Somewhere within him, his medical training was able to reassert itself, but he could not, with one
bare hand, stop the flow of blood out of his perfectly severed limb.

And then, turning his attention away from the splatter of his own blood on the rocks around his
knees, he saw lying in front of him the crumpled body of Kara Thrace. Everything else in the
universe faded out when he saw her lying there. And he saw her blood, lots of it.

009 began to feel light-headed as blood that went into his right arm did not return to the rest
of him. Quickly losing strength and already crouching, he knew he would not be able to stand back
up again. Looking at the witch before him, he *thought* he saw her move, but that was probably
just a trick of his eyes. His vision had begun to waver as his eyes naturally watered from the
intense pain of losing a limb, to say nothing of the shock beginning to set into his body.

Oh, he was so tired.

He knew that if he closed his eyes, he would never reopen them; the drowsiness was irresistible
though. He could feel as his life literally bled away. The more blood he lost, the faster his heart
pumped it out of him, futilely trying to compensate for the decreased blood flow to his brain.

He fell face first into the rocks and dirt. Right at this moment, it felt more comfortable than
any bed he’d ever slept in. A little nap was all he needed.

But first, he wanted to see Kara’s face one last time. He looked up and found to his pleasure
that he’d fallen only feet away from her. Her arms had splayed out as she fell; it almost looked as
though she was trying to reach for him. The fact that she wasn’t moving told him otherwise.
Summoning his last bit of strength, he stretched his good arm out toward her, hoping to be able to
hold her hand in these last moments.

He couldn’t reach her.

Her hand was so close to his that as his fingers tried to reach hers, the gravel he disturbed
caused her fingers to move too. There was only an inch between them, and yet with his strength
leaving as fast as his heart could pump it out of him, it might have well have been a mile.

Fluttering on the edge of consciousness, 009 thought back to when he’d been shot with the arrow,
and when they separated only a minute ago. He’d held Kara back, preventing her from kissing him...
preventing himself from kissing her. Both times, he felt it had been necessary. But now, it would
be the one thing that would haunt him into whatever lay beyond this life.

Facing his own death, 009 thought back to that decision. *A 00 couldn’t fall in love.* That
was why he refused to let her kiss him again. And *now*, with the benefit of hindsight, he
knew it had been the worst decision he’d ever made. He would give anything... *anything*, to
be able to touch her one last time.

His eyes were streaming by now from the severity of his injury, but he wasn’t crying as far as
“intent” went. But now, knowing he would soon take his last breath, seeing her fingers just out of
reach, he decided he would allow one of those tears to be for her... for what *might have
been* between them.

Ships that pass in the night sometimes collide. And Kara Thrace had certainly impacted him. He
tried to fight it, making a conscious decision to listen to his training instead of his heart. He
was a 00; that was his life.

*Was.*

And now? Well, he knew he didn’t need to worry about it anymore. That was a decision he would
not live to regret.

*I’m sorry,* 009 thought one last time, apologizing to both himself and Kara for being an
inch too far away. His fingers stopped trying to reach her as darkness consumed him.


*Next time, two more chapters: the final chapter of 009’s life, as well as the final few days
of Harry and Hermione’s lives alone. The end is almost here.*

*Not an omake... consider it a “behind the scenes” production blooper. :-) I had every
intention of having this chapter posted within two days of Chapter 38. But predictably, the day I
posted 38, my co-worker’s father got sick, so she had to leave to visit him in the hospital for the
rest of the week. That led to many a late night for me at work, and even later nights trying to
finish this. (I don’t blame them, of course)*

*I quite literally fell asleep at my desk almost every night last week, trying to get this
finished. I would wake up some time in the middle of the night, quickly hit “Save” and then go to
bed. One time, here is what I found the next day when I resumed editing. You can see the exact
moment as I zonked out. I hadn’t noticed it the night before, so I laughed pretty hard when I found
it the next day.*