Unofficial Portkey Archive

Introduction, explanation, and apology:

I thought I could do it, but like Ron Weasley on a visit to Honeydukes, I bit off a bit more than I could chew. I'm referring to my foolish belief that I could conceive and write a full-length novel in the year preceding the publication of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I'd barely got a dozen chapters done before I realized that it was an impossible task. So I gave it up and moved on to other things, including the recently posted Dog Day Afternoon.

But as the publication date of DH drew nearer, I realized that I, like the people in my story, was faced with a decision. One of the reasons I wanted to write this novel was to present a bold (and, I admit, hopeful) theory explaining all of the odd goings-on from the two previous HP novels - explaining them in a way that vindicates those of us who still believe in the H/Hr ship. In fact, I accomplished this as planned. I conceived this novel as a seventh-year saga that would toe the canon line in every respect except the romance angle. But this was not to be mere stuff and nonsense that completely ignored what had been set down in OotP and HBP. Rather, I intended to present a reasoned explanation that would justify a H/Hr pairing that had been present all along, hidden behind a tapestry of deception and misdirection of the type that J.K. weaves so well. The difference was, I didn't want to wait for that romance to flower in Book 7. By using the facts at hand and manipulating them just right, I intended to bring Harry and Hermione together in the midst of the turmoil that was HBP. This I could accomplish by the simple expedient of having the characters see through J.K.'s smokescreen a little sooner than they did (or will).

The novel that begins directly below takes place in a world basically the same as we have all seen in the books, up to and including the Battle of Hogwarts culminating in the death of Dumbledore. The only difference is, by the time that happens, Harry and Hermione are already a couple. This will be explained in the form of sequential flashbacks, all drawn from established canon events, and some involving actual scenes from HBP, albeit in slightly reworked form. But in every case, I have striven to keep the spirit of the original intact, the better to justify the outcome. I believe that the events in question, in HBP as well as throughout OotP, are not what they seem on the surface. I have drawn the curtain back, so to speak, to throw new light on old shadows, that they might be dispelled to reveal the truth that has thus far remained carefully hidden. I repeat, I do this mostly out of hope, but also with the belief that something in the nature of my explanation will ultimately be revealed by the end of DH. For my own purposes, I chose to accelerate matters by a year rather than write a standard, canon-friendly seventh-year fic that ends with Harry and Hermione as the couple they by all rights should be. Still, the blueprint I followed in my reasoning is one I sincerely believe may be seen, at least in part, when the final chapter of J.K.'s saga had been writ. If a mea culpa is wanting, my crime is impatience, and I plead guilty as charged.

But now comes the apology. Due to the circumstances enumerated above, I must break my heretofore Unbreakable Rule and (*shudder*) post a story that is not yet finished. More than that, since this novel is still many dozens of chapters from completion, I have no idea when it will be finished. What I have in hand suffices to present my explanation for the canon events that have twisted a knife in our guts for so long. I have a lot more story to tell, but that, for the most part, is woven from thread spun from my own twisted brain. I have copious notes from which I hope to fashion the body of my novel, but it will be a long and torturous process. For the present, I submit for this site's entertainment the finished chapters, wherein my theory regarding the curious events directing the characters' personal lives will be set forth with as much clarity as I can manage. This I want to do before DH is released. If I'm even the least bit right here, I want to be able to bask in the golden light of my inspiration and wallow in my well-deserved glory. And if I'm dead wrong, I at least want it said of me that I had the bollocks to stare the skrewt in the eye (wherever that is) without blinking and risk getting my head bitten off. To quote Arabella Figg, "Might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg."

I'll have a job posting even these few chapters before the deadline. I've made each one far longer than is usual for me, befitting the greater depth of the story I'm attempting. Proofreading will be a nightmare, and I hope I don't let too many errors slip through my strainer. With so little time remaining, I'll have to average about three chapters a week to get in under the wire. If the results aren't as polished as they might be, I'll trust the readers to be kind in regard to their critiques.

When the last of these chapters has been posted, this story will be officially marked as Paused, in which state it will remain for a bit of time, I fear. Bear that in mind when reading. One of my writing goals has always been to get a reader hooked into wanting more, then delivering the goods as promised, and I feel like a rotter by not being able to carry on as I would have wanted. I apologize again in advance for putting everyone in this position. I hope at the very least that my explanation, when fully revealed, will not go amiss with the readers. If I can't manage an O or an E on my final exam, I'll settle for an A. Until we know the truth, for good or ill, all we really have to go on is hope - that, and J.K.'s proven record of never telling us the whole story until the very end. She fooled us into thinking that Snape was trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone in the first book. She misled us into believing that Sirius wanted to kill Harry in Prisoner of Azkaban. She let us think that Mad-Eye Moody was teaching at Hogwarts, when it was really a Polyjuice impostor all along. Time after time she has led us down the garden path, waiting until the last possible moment to draw aside the final curtain separating us from the truth.

Don't let us down, J.K. You can do it again, just one more time.

* * *

Disclaimer: All persons, places, names and events original to the Harry Potter novels are the property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, nor will this story, or any part of it, be used at any time to secure profit.

Harry shot straight up in bed, barely swallowing a gasping cry before it could escape his lips. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, pasting his dark bangs across the lightning scar graven on his forehead. Coming to his senses, he jerked his head toward the door and listened intently, his breath trapped in his lungs. He heard the rattling snores of Uncle Vernon reverberating from the hallway beyond his door. He sighed in relief.

This was the third night in a row that Harry had been awakened in this manner. The first two times, his outcry had awakened Hedwig, whose frenzied screech had in turn roused his uncle, and in the bargain his uncle's wrath. This time, at least, he had managed to keep his inner cry from manifesting itself.

But the dream...the dream had been the same, to the smallest detail. Which meant, Harry now knew with absolute certainty, that it had not been a dream at all. Nothing as random as a dream could have unfolded with such precision, varying not a whit with each nightly appearance. Though Harry was now fully awake, the images burned into his mind remained as sharp as they had done in his night-vision. Peering into the darkness of his room, he could still see the wise, aged face hovering before him, could hear the calm voice speaking to him in tones of quiet urgency. And he knew what he must do.

"I understand now, sir," he whispered into the stillness. "I'll do as you say. Don't worry."

And as he spoke these words, he seemed to see the face from his dream nod and smile. A feeling of resolution spread through Harry like a draught of hot butterbeer, bringing a satisfaction and tranquility of spirit that swept away his last fragments of doubt. Smiling inwardly, Harry lay back and nestled his head against his pillow, confident that this was the last time he would be visited by the face in the dream. With a final nod at the darkness, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

"And just where do you think you're off to, boy?" demanded Uncle Vernon, his walrus moustache blowing with barely-suppressed rage.

"Does it matter?" Harry replied indifferently as he finished dragging his trunk down the stairs. He had to stop every few steps to adjust his shirt, which, being one of Dudley's hand-me-downs, was so large that it kept slipping down his shoulder to interfere with his grip on the handle. In addition, his jeans were so baggy that he had to cinch them around his waist with his belt until they looked like a rubbish bag with the drawstring pulled tight. His cuffs were rolled up as far as they could get before the fabric would permit no more adjustment. Looking at himself in the hall mirror, Harry reflected that he could easily be mistaken for a clown from a traveling circus.

Having finally negotiated the last step, Harry stood his trunk on end and pushed it against the door to the cupboard that had served as his bedroom for five long years. Hedwig's empty cage sat at the corner of the bottom step, accompanied by Harry's Firebolt, which stood propped against the railing.

"You're damn right it matters," Uncle Vernon spat. "You're not yet of age, and the law says - "

"Muggle law," Harry grunted as he rested his elbows atop his trunk and took a breath. "But I'm not a Muggle. I'm a wizard. And under wizarding law - "

"You dare to use that - that foul language under my roof?" Uncle Vernon exploded, his eyes bulging. "I'll not have it, do you hear?"

"Then don't have it," Harry said unconcernedly. "As soon as I'm gone, I won't be under your roof, will I?"

Uncle Vernon lunged at Harry, but recoiled almost immediately as Harry's hand darted lightning-fast into his pocket and brought his wand to bear, pointing it directly between his uncle's eyes.

"Y-You're not allowed!" Uncle Vernon blustered, his face going white. "You've already been warned. I read those letters you got last time by way of those pestilent owls. If you do any more of that - unnaturalness, they'll lock you up in that ruddy prison your godfather escaped from."

Harry winced inwardly at this callous reference to Sirius, but his manner did not alter.

"I'll be seventeen in one week," he said calmly. "That gives me a certain flexibility. The wizarding world isn't as tight-arsed about such things as Muggles. They honor the spirit of the law over the letter. I might get a warning and a fine, but nothing more. And being as it's in the family, I'm not breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Everyone in this house already knows I'm a wizard." Harry smiled as Uncle Vernon winced again at the sound of the vilest word in his personal lexicon. "An underage wizard is allowed to use magic if he's being threatened with bodily harm. So all you have to do is keep your distance and I won't have an excuse to turn you into a toad or something."

Apparently taking Harry's warning to heart, Uncle Vernon backed away from his nephew, eyeing the threatening wand apprehensively. His strained breathing relaxed somewhat as Harry slipped his wand into the special pocket he had sewn (with no small degree of difficulty) inside the left leg of his jeans.

"I dunno what you're so fussed about," Harry said, his eyes warning his uncle that the wand he had just pocketed could just as easily be re-drawn at need. "You never wanted me here, did you? It was only Aunt Petunia's promise to Dumbledore that kept you from chucking me out. Now you're finally getting your wish. After today, you'll never see me again. You should be happy."

"And what do I tell the authorities if they come asking about you?" Uncle Vernon grunted. "I'm still your legal guardian in the real world, and I'm for it if anyone turns up with questions about your disappearance."

"That's a fair point," Harry conceded.

Heretofore, Uncle Vernon had explained Harry's disappearances by telling everyone that he attended St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. This tale would have carried the Dursleys for another two years under ordinary circumstances. But when Harry failed to return to the Privet Drive while still shy of his 18th birthday, his absence was bound to be noticed by one or more of the nosy neighbors. Harry mused on this for moment, then shrugged indifferently.

"Tell them I ran off," he told Uncle Vernon. "I reckon it's true enough in its own way, isn't it? If I'm the rotter you've made me out to be in their eyes, that won't surprise them. If you want to make a good show of it, call the police and report me missing. They won't find me, and after a year, when I'm legal under British law, they'll stop looking. If the neighbors ask where I've gone, tell them I emigrated to Australia. Tell them I died. Tell them anything you want. I don't care. From this moment, Harry Potter ceases to be a part of the Muggle world."

"Right, then," Uncle Vernon said, drawing himself up in an attempt to regain his dignity. "Off you get, and good riddance! I never should've let Petunia talk me into keeping you on after that dementy-whatsis nearly killed Dudley. We're well shut of you. And I warn you, if I ever see you anywhere near this house again - "

"If you ever see me within a mile of this house after today," Harry said calmly, his hand resting on his hidden wand, "you'd better run and hide - and Duddikins had better watch his backside." When Uncle Vernon's face paled, Harry responded with a disdainful sniff. "But there's little chance of that. When I walk out that door, I'm never coming back."

"Why did you come back?" Uncle Vernon said angrily. "Why didn't you just stay with those - those - weirdos you're always hanging about with?"

"I came back to activate the spell," Harry said in mild exasperation. "Weren't you listening when Professor Dumbledore explained it to you last year? He placed a protective spell on me after my parents were killed by Lord Voldemort."

Harry waited for his uncle to recoil at mention of Voldemort's name, as nearly everyone in the wizarding world did. But Uncle Vernon merely glared back at Harry, who shrugged.

"The special protection my mum gave me when she died is tied to blood," Harry explained patiently. "She and Aunt Petunia were sisters. The spell is activated by my proximity to Aunt Petunia. I had to spend at least a fortnight here every year to trigger the protection. But now it's done. The spell only works until I turn seventeen. That's why I have no need to return here again. When the spell wears off, Lord Voldemort will be able to find me wherever I am. He might even kill me. That should make you happy. I'll remember to have someone send you an owl so you can throw a party."

Uncle Vernon was in the process of opening his mouth to issue some retort when the doorbell rang. Harry turned quickly - almost excitedly, his uncle reflected - and opened the door. Uncle Vernon peered over his nephew's shoulder with a frown, expecting to find another freak from the magical world on his doorstep. He retained vivid memories of the time when certain members of the Weasley family had burst from his fireplace, turning his living room into a shambles. If his nephew was planning more such mayhem -

But when Harry opened the door, Uncle Vernon was surprised to see a very normal-looking young woman standing on the threshold. She was dressed very simply, in accordance with the heat of the day, and she gave every appearance of being perfectly at home in such attire. She wore a pair of baggy shorts that extended to mid-thigh, a loose-necked, short-sleeved blouse that was buttoned high to reveal little or no cleavage, and a pair of sandals. Her thick brown hair hung loosely about her shoulders, and she wore a very polite and reserved expression, conveying respect for her host and his home. Uncle Vernon relaxed, certain that this visitor was no one to be wary of.

Uncle Vernon did not find her overly attractive, with her bushy hair and uninspired features. But Harry's face burst into the most brilliant smile his uncle had ever seen as he greeted the newcomer with arms thrown wide. The woman hurled herself at Harry in a most undignified manner, her arms locking around his neck. Uncle Vernon was further horrified when Harry placed his hands on either side of the woman's face and kissed her fiercely, causing her hair to spill over his shoulders.

The pair parted at last, and Harry turned to see Uncle Vernon looking past him agitatedly, as if dreading the neighbors to have witnessed such a vulgar display through the open door. Closing the door smoothly, Harry turned toward his uncle and essayed an elegant bow.

"Uncle Vernon," he said in a very proper voice, "allow me to present Hermione Granger, Head Girl and top student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Uncle Vernon recoiled as if struck a physical blow.

"You're - " he stammered, his face going blotchy, " - you're a - a - "

"I'm a witch, yes," Hermione said with a friendly smile. She extended her hand, but Uncle Vernon made no move to take it. "Harry and I are classmates," she went on, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as her hand dropped back to her side.

"And a bit more besides," Harry said, his eyes devouring Hermione avidly. Addressing his uncle once more, he said, "Hermione is Muggle-born, like my mum. You'd never know to see her now that she's the thumpingest witch at Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon seemed to be choking as he strove to retrieve his voice from the chasm into which it had sunk. Finally he croaked, "Out. Out! I'll not have your kind in my house, do you hear? Out!"

Hermione's smile fell slightly, but Harry's grew proportionately larger as he rolled on the balls of his feet in a kind of stationary swagger.

"You might want to know," he said casually, "that Hermione is of age, so she can legally use magic any time she wants. And I feel I should warn you that, as the keenest student at Hogwarts, she knows spells that would curl your moustache - not that it needs it."

This remark brought a chuckle from Hermione's throat. She was about to assure Uncle Vernon that she had no intention of abusing her legal status to hex her host, but she never got the chance. She blinked her eyes once, and suddenly she and Harry were alone in the hallway, the door to the dining room slamming resoundingly behind Uncle Vernon.

"He's not keen on guests," Harry explained mildly, his benign expression belying the devilish gleam in his eyes.

"At least, guests from the wizarding world," Hermione said wryly. She turned her eyes from the door (from which the sound of a clicking lock was now heard) and gave Harry an appraising look. "How have you been?" she asked with genuine concern.

"It's been a long three weeks," Harry said, taking Hermione's hands in his and caressing them. "The longest of my life, in fact. Made the time just after Voldemort's return seem like a day at the zoo."

Hermione was staring into Harry's eyes, as if probing for something hidden behind their emerald depths.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable under Hermione's scrutiny.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, still probing Harry's eyes. "You tell me."

"You have the making of a good Legilimens," Harry laughed lightly. "I'll have to go back to my Occlumency lessons if I'm to keep any secrets from you."

"Are we keeping secrets from each other now?" Hermione asked quietly.

"No," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hands gently. "I'll tell you all about it directly. Right now, all I want is to get shut of this place once and for good."

Nodding her understanding, Hermione deftly changed the tone of the conversation by tugging at the neck of Harry's shirt, which had fallen over his left shoulder and halfway down his arm.

"Nice look," she said with a wry half-smile. "Nick this off an elephant at the zoo you just mentioned, did you?"

"As near as," Harry replied as he tried to adjust his oversized shirt without success. "Ever since I learned I was a wizard, I've wanted to use a Shrinking Charm on Dudley's leftovers. But I've had enough owls from the Ministry to last me a lifetime, and I'm not keen to see another, not when I'm so close to being legal."

"May I?" Hermione asked.

"Go ahead," Harry said.

Drawing her wand from the concealed pocket in her loose-fitting shorts, Hermione pointed it at Harry's shirt and said, "Reducio!" The shirt immediately began to shrink. Harry could feel the neck opening rising up his chest. When it had just reached his collarbone, Hermione let her wand drop, canceling the spell. Harry examined himself with approval. The shirt was not snug by any means, but it now hung from his shoulders with a kind of casual ease that brought a smile to his face.

"I left it a bit loose so it would be more comfortable," Hermione explained. "Today is supposed to be the hottest day of the year so far."

As Harry adjusted his sleeves and tugged his collar straight, he was suddenly aware of the contrast between his shirt and his oversized jeans, which were now fully exposed after being hidden under his formerly tent-sized upper garment.

"Step two," Hermione announced, gesturing at Harry's waist with her wand.

Harry unrolled his cuffs quickly, feeling even more like a buffoon as he found himself standing in two denim puddles gathered at his ankles.

"Better remove the belt," Hermione said. "If it shrinks with the jeans, it'll cut you in half."

The moment Harry undid his belt, he felt his jeans slip down over his hips, exposing the elastic waist of his knickers. He gathered the sagging material in two handfuls and gave Hermione the go-ahead with a hurried nod. She repeated the incantation, and Harry's jeans retreated until they were almost molded to his legs. When Hermione lowered her wand, Harry made to replace his belt, only to find that he no longer needed it. His jeans hugged his hips so snugly that there was no danger of their falling even a centimeter.

"Neat bit of magic," Harry said as he tossed his belt aside and stuck his thumbs into the waist of his jeans.

"I had to be careful not to overdo it," Hermione said as she pocketed her wand. "Fabric doesn't take kindly to being shrunk and enlarged repeatedly. That's why Madam Malkin takes such care measuring people for their robes. She's learnt that it's always best to get it right the first time."

"That's pretty much been your trademark at Hogwarts, hasn't it?" Harry said admiringly.

"Not always as often as I wished," Hermione said, a haunted look passing briefly across her face before her smile returned. "But I have to make that my priority from now on. If I'm to become a certified Healer, I can't be experimenting with cures on living patients. I need to know exactly what to do, and when, and do it precisely every time. The alternative could be disastrous."

"I have every confidence in you," Harry said sincerely.

Blushing slightly, Hermione said, "Well, I think we'd better be off, don't you?"

So saying, Hermione drew her wand again and waved it at Harry's trunk, which immediately rose into the air.

"Non-verbal," Harry said, impressed.

"I've been practicing over the holidays," Hermione said seriously. "Ever since - "

"Right," Harry said, cutting her off from a topic neither of them wanted to resurrect just yet. He looked at his hovering trunk, then back at Hermione. "Can you manage my trunk?" he asked with a note of concern. Though Hermione was fully licensed to Apparate (unlike Harry), she was still a novice, and the job of transporting an object as large and heavy as Harry's trunk might prove too much for her just yet.

"Possibly," she replied with a note of doubt. "But I'd rather not risk it. If the seams should split in transit, I don't think you want your knickers scattered over Cornwall, do you?"

"I can think of a better place I'd like to scatter them," Harry returned, bringing an even deeper blush to Hermione's cheeks. Turning her eyes aside, she spotted something that brought her back around with a questioning look.

"How are you going to transport Hedwig's cage? I don't fancy carrying it around with us when we get to Diagon Alley. Should I shrink it so it can fit inside your trunk?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm leaving it behind. It's a bit battered, and it's time I bought a new one. Since Hedwig's not likely to turn up until we reach the Burrow, if then, I should have plenty of time to replace it."

"Are you going to bin it out back before we leave?" Hermione asked.

"Nah," Harry grinned. "I'm leaving it for Uncle Vernon, something to remember me by. You know how much he loves owls."

Hermione, remembering Harry's account of the "peck of owls" that assailed the Dursleys' house the Summer preceding Harry's fifth year, laughed.

"We all ready to go, then?" Harry asked, eyeing the trunk hovering steadily at the point of Hermione's wand.

"We can't hail the Knight Bus this early," Hermione said, her brow furrowing throughtfully. "Too much chance of being seen."

"Any ideas?" Harry asked.

"Is the fireplace still unblocked?"

"The electric fire is back in place," Harry said. "But that's no good anyway. Muggle homes aren't connected to the Floo network. Mr. Weasley made special arrangements when he came to get me to go to the Quidditch World Cup three years ago. I don't think they'll make another exception."

"I'd forgotten about that," Hermione said. "What are we going to do?"

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "I remember when I was going to run away after I blew up my Aunt Marge. I'd planned on making my trunk light, tying it to the tail of my broomstick, and flying off under the Invisibility Cloak."

"That might have worked at night," Hermione said, regarding Harry's trunk doubtfully. "But there's no way the cloak could cover you and your trunk."

"Unless..." Harry said slowly, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

"Unless what?"

"Unless we ride on the trunk - you know, like riding a horse on a carousel. That way, the cloak would hang down - "

"We?" Hermione said, her eyes going wide in surprise. Her wand arm fell, and Harry's trunk thudded to the floor.

"We wouldn't have to fly far," Harry explained quickly. "Just to some deserted spot where we could hail the Knight Bus without being seen."

Hermione was looking at Harry as if he'd lost his sense. "But how can we possibly ride on your trunk? It's not like we can bewitch it with a Flying Charm."

"What, you don't know the spell?" Harry teased. "I thought you were already halfway through our seventh-year Advanced Charms book?"

"That's not the point," Hermione said. "A trunk is classified as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects. You remember the fuss over Ali Bashir wanting to import flying carpets? When he was caught, he received a heavy fine, and only just missed going to Azkaban."

"I remember," Harry said with a smile. "But I didn't really have that in mind."

"Then what?" Hermione asked.

"If I strap the broom to the top of the trunk," Harry explained, "we can ride the broom and the trunk. All we have to do is make sure none of the neighbors catch sight of us in the back garden."

"Well," Hermione considered, "it should work, provided the trunk is weightless. But it's a frightful risk. If the cloak should blow off and someone sees you - "

"That's why the Sticking Charm was invented, wasn't it?" Harry replied. "But have you spotted that while I keep talking in the plural, you keep using the singular?"

"You know I don't like to fly," Hermione said quietly, her eyes not meeting Harry's. "I never have."

There was an electric tension accompanying this statement that neither of them needed to expand upon. Taking Hermione's hands in his, Harry said, "There's no shame in that. I reckon not everyone gets the same thrill that I do when I'm in the air. But you wouldn't be flying alone, you know." Harry lifted Hermione's hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "I won't let you fall. I promise. I've always wanted to take you up on my Firebolt. It's the one thing we've never shared - well, that and - you know..."

"Well...er," Hermione said awkwardly, her resistance overwhelmed by the impish grin on Harry's face, "I suppose I can bear up this once. And if it's only a short flight - "

"Smashing!" Harry said.

Releasing Hermione's hands, Harry fetched his Firebolt and proceeded to lash it to his trunk, pulling the binding straps tight. When he tested the fruits of his labors, the broom did not move even a fraction of an inch from where he had positioned it. Hermione looked at the result with a mixture of approval and disappointment, as if she had secretly hoped that something would go amiss and prevent Harry from carrying out his plan.

"Ready?" he asked Hermione brightly.

Nodding resignedly, Hermione said, "All we have to do now is cast a Levitation Charm on the trunk, and cover ourselves with the Invisibility Cloak."

Harry smiled in agreement, but his face suddenly went slack.

"What is it?" Hermione asked with mild concern.

"My Invisibility Cloak," Harry groaned. "It's still in my trunk."

Hermione began to giggle as Harry loosened the straps and opened his trunk to extract his cloak, which he handed to Hermione. Amidst mumbled curses and heavy sighs (and punctuated by Hermione's repeated laughter), Harry restored his trunk to its previous state. He reached for his wand, but thought better of it.

"I'm technically not allowed to do magic for another week," he said.

With a silent chuckle, Hermione raised her wand and, pointing it at Harry's trunk, gave it a smooth swish, followed by a sharp flick of her wrist.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Harry's trunk rose into the air, as weightless as Aunt Marge had been when Harry had inadvertently inflated her to the size of a weather balloon four years ago in this very house. Harry steadied his trunk with his hand - he didn't want it to float up to the ceiling, as Aunt Marge had done - and, after fumbling for a grip on his broom handle, guided the whole past the still-locked dining room door (Harry could not resist checking the handle with a grin as he winked at Hermione) and into the kitchen.

"Where are your aunt and cousin?" Hermione asked as she closed the kitchen door behind them and draped the Invisibility Cloak over a chair.

"Aunt Petunia is having tea with one of her friends. As for Dudley," he grunted, "probably off thumping a six-year-old on the playground and taking his pocket money. I swear, as soon as I'm allowed, I'm coming back and - "

"Harry," Hermione said urgently. "Don't."

"You don't know what it was like," Harry said, his face growing hot. "If I had a shilling for every time Dudley or one of his mates knocked me around, I'd be richer than the Malfoys. I owe him."

"Harry," Hermione said more softly, "you have to let the anger go."

"Yeah?" Harry grunted. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you to sink to his level," Hermione said. "Think about it. As a fully-trained wizard, you're a thousand times more powerful than Dudley. That would make you the bully, wouldn't it? The last thing you want is to become the very thing you despise. That's not the Harry Potter I know. You're better than that. Maybe you never had parents to love you when you were growing up, but I think you're better off than Dudley. It might be better not to be loved at all than to be loved in the wrong way. Dudley's parents helped make him what he is. They never taught him different. Theirs was a blind love - a destructive love that never gave Dudley what he needed to grow into a mature adult. I feel sorry for him. He'll probably never know what he's missed. For all his possessions, he'll never understand how poor he is - or how rich you are."

Harry found himself looking at Hermione with a greater appreciation than he had ever experienced. Releasing his trunk (which promptly floated up to the ceiling), Harry walked over to Hermione and cupped her face in his hands.

"I am so lucky to have you," he said. "I'm already richer than the Malfoys. I have you. You're my treasure. You're worth more to me than all the gold in Gringotts."

Harry kissed Hermione softly. When their lips parted, Harry stared into Hermione's dark, fathomless eyes, feeling as if could fall into them and drift forever in their comforting embrace.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you," Hermione whispered.

Harry kissed Hermione again, then turned and pulled his trunk down from the ceiling and held it hovering at his side. He peered out the window at the back garden. Hermione joined him at the window.

"See anyone?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione said.

"Right," Harry said. He directed Hermione to unfold the cloak and fling it over the trunk. Being designed to conceal someone of full height, the cloak hung down several feet past the bottom of the trunk, touching the polished wood floor. Harry nodded with approval. Hermione opened the back door, and Harry pushed the invisible trunk outside, careful not to slacken his grip on his broom handle, which he could feel perfectly well even if he could not see it. If the trunk got away from him outside the house, it would drift unseen into the stratosphere and never be seen again. Or worse, the Charm would wear off and the trunk would plummet like a meteor through someone's roof. What would the Ministry say about that?

"How are we going to do this?" Hermione asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

"You climb on first," Harry said. "That'll weigh the trunk down so I can get on. Quick as you're settled in, use your wand to attach the front of the cloak to the trunk with a Sticking Charm. I'll fasten my end down after I'm on."

Nodding, Hermione looked in all directions before lifting the edge of the cloak and easing her leg over the curving flank of the trunk. Harry could not see her under the cloak, but he heard her adjusting herself for a few moments. When the sounds of her movements ceased, Harry suspected that she was settled in at last. This was confirmed when Hermione's disembodied voice spoke from the seemingly empty space in front of Harry.

"Ready," she said quietly.

Checking for curious neighbors as Hermione had done and finding none in evidence, Harry slipped under the cloak. The moment his head dipped under the silky fabric, he saw Hermione sitting astride the trunk, her hands gripping the strap holding the broom firmly in place under her. As Harry started to climb behind Hermione, he realized that he had forgotten something. The Flying Charm on a broomstick would not engage until the broom's rider kicked off from the ground. How was Harry to kick off when he was seated atop his trunk, which was floating above the ground at a height beyond which his feet could not reach? This question seemed to have occurred to Hermione as well.

"How are we going to take off?" she asked, looking back at Harry.

Harry thought for a moment. He'd just referred to sitting astride the trunk like riding on a horse. He remembered something he had seen in the cinema years ago (back when the Dursleys still took Harry with them on outings, before they started leaving him with Mrs. Figg). In the American Western cinema, a cowboy would often leap onto his horse from behind, his legs spread wide as he landed squarely in the saddle. Harry hoped that something of that sort would serve him here. Instead of climbing atop the trunk behind Hermione, Harry planted his feet on the ground (aware that the lower part of his body was thus visible to anyone who chanced to look his way) and gripped the binding strap firmly with both hands.

"Hang on," he said to Hermione, who was regarding him with increasing concern. "On three. One...two..."

On three, Harry kicked his feet hard against the ground. Trunk and broomstick shot into the air. Hermione let out a small squeal as she felt herself rising upward at increasing speed. Too frozen to look around, Hermione did not see Harry behind her, his lower half dangling over the end of the trunk as the Invisibility Cloak fluttered in the wind. Straining breathlessly, Harry pulled himself forward until he was able to fling one leg over the side of the trunk. After a couple of tries, he was able to hook the heel of his shoe against the binding strap, giving him the purchase he needed. With a great, heaving lurch, Harry landed astride the trunk behind Hermione. Breathing heavily, he gripped the strap with his left hand while drawing his wand with his right.

The trunk was still rising at a slight angle. Harry couldn't tell how high up they were, but he was certain that, if he fell now, he would almost certainly plunge to his death. He would have preferred to fasten himself down with a Sticking Charm, bonding the material of his jeans to the trunk, but Professor Flitwick had warned everyone about the dangers of using the spell in the proximity of human flesh. "It can do very unpleasant things to the body," the tiny wizard had admonished, his squeaky voice sounding dire. "You must remember to use spell on non-living matter only. Never use it anywhere near living tissue."

Rather than risk the spell on himself, Harry trusted to the flying skills that had served him in six years of playing Quidditch (five and a half if one counted his suspension in Fifth Year by order of Professor Umbridge). Taking a few calming breaths, Harry set to it. With split-second timing, he released his grip on the strap and grabbed the corner of the Invisibility Cloak. Even as he felt himself sliding backward, he fastened the corner down with a Sticking Charm. He quickly caught up the strap again and pulled himself forward. He repeated the procedure on the right corner of the cloak, this time sliding so far back that he nearly missed grabbing the strap. But with the cloak now fully secured, it formed a barrier behind Harry, preventing him from sliding far enough back to fall off the trunk.

Let them charge me with practicing underage magic if they want, he thought. I'm allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations, and this definitely qualifies.

Pocketing his wand, Harry took a firm hold on the strap with his right hand, augmenting his anchoring left. Pressed close to Hermione, Harry felt her trembling slightly. At once he loosed his right hand and slipped his arm around Hermione's waist. As he hugged her gently but firmly against him, he felt her relax. Harry didn't know which was the more exhilarating feeling - the thrill of flying, or the blissful contentment of pressing Hermione's soft, warm body against his. The two in combination were indescribable.

Seeing easily through the fabric of the cloak, Harry rested his chin on Hermione's shoulder and peered ahead. There was nothing around them but blue sky. White clouds drifted far above, none low enough to obscure his view. Looking down, he saw that they were very high, though not, he believed, high enough to risk a collision with an aeroplane. Birds were another matter. Harry had no fancy for his epitaph to read that he had died from a head-on collision with a sparrow.

Now that their situation was secure, the time had come for Harry to take control. His right arm still encircling Hermione, Harry loosed his left from the strap and curled his fingers around the shaft of his Firebolt. Now that he was in proper contact with the broom, it would obey his slightest command. Using his body English, Harry eased his unconventional conveyance into a smooth, gliding descent. They were moving very slowly now as Harry scanned the topography for a likely place where they could hail the Knight Bus without being seen. On his own, he wouldn't have minded flying all the way to London. But Hermione was with him, and that under protest. Releasing his hold on her, he placed his hand on her shoulder and brushed her hair away so he could gently rub her neck.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Hermione said in a thready voice.

Harry was not fooled. He cast about more urgently for a location that would serve their needs. After a few minutes' scanning, he spotted what he was looking for. A drive-in cinema lay directly below; deserted in the daytime, it would come alive only when the sun went down. Harry gripped the broom handle firmly in concert with a crisp mental command. Broom, trunk and passengers descended lightly, hovering at last in the shadow of the giant cinema screen.

"Hang on," Harry told Hermione. "I'm going to cancel the Levitation Charm."

This he did, and the trunk, laden with the fifteen-stone weight of its passengers in addition to its own burden, thumped heavily to the ground. Looking about quickly, Harry jerked the Invisibility Cloak off (the corners yielding easily to the temporary Charm holding them in place) and cast it aside. He placed both hands on Hermione's wrists, feeling the tenseness in her muscles and tendons as he disengaged her fingers from the strap which she had been holding for dear life. That description seemed appropriate as Harry beheld the repressed fear in Hermione's eyes. When her hands were free, Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and snuggled his face against her shoulder, inhaling the flowery scent of her disheveled hair.

"We're down," he said, doing his best not to laugh.

"Are we?" Hermione said in a shaky voice. "I hadn't noticed."

"Like flying, do you?" Harry teased gently.

"Love it," Hermione laughed uneasily. "Can't wait to do it again."

"Right," Harry said, pressing his cheek against hers so that he could feel her slight trembling. "How about your birthday? Say, 2079? Make a nice centennial celebration, that."

Hermione responded with a genuine laugh as she turned and smiled at Harry.

"It's a date."

Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek, then slid easily to his feet and helped her to stand. She wobbled for a moment before regaining her equilibrium. She felt like a sailor setting foot on land after a year at sea. After a moment, she sat down on the trunk, breathing more easily every moment. When she felt both her strength and her composure returning, she looked around and nodded approvingly.

"This should do nicely."

Harry stepped away from Hermione, looking around for any sign of human scrutiny. Seeing none, he raised his right hand high in the air, then jumped back quickly. There was a loud bang, followed by a squealing of tires and the groan of very ancient-sounding brakes. Faster than blinking, Harry found himself staring up at the flanks of a triple-decker, violently purple bus. The door opened, and a young witch fell out, nearly tripping over her own feet. Harry was momentarily surprised until he remembered that the previous conductor, Stan Shunpike, was currently residing in Azkaban (on what many, Harry included, considered a very doubtful charge). The driver was still unchanged. Harry nodded at Ernie Prang, who saluted briefly before turning back to stare with professional detachment over his steering wheel. Harry turned back to the witch, who had now regained her feet, if not her dignity.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," the witch said as she brushed a lock of stringy hair out of her eyes. "Emergency transport for the...for the..."

"For the stranded witch or wizard," Harry finished pleasantly. "And you are...?"

"Um..." The witch fumbled for a moment with the collar of her uniform, which seemed even more ill-fitting than Stan's had been. Harry would not have been surprised if the witch had not inherited Stan's old uniform along with his job. Remembering herself, she smiled at Harry and said, "I'm Elspeth Woggon, your conductor."

"Shake a leg, Elspeth," Ernie said without looking around. "Got a schedule to keep."

"Right," Elspeth said. Spotting Hermione over Harry's shoulder, she asked solicitously, "Where can we take you, sir and madam?" It appeared that she had taken neither of them for Hogwarts students, dressed as they were in Muggle attire, and that far more convincingly than most magical folk could have managed.

"Diagon Alley," Harry said. "The Leaky Cauldron. But it's only cargo, not passengers."

"Sir?" Elspeth said uncomprehendingly.

"We have a trunk that needs to get to Diagon Alley," Harry said. "We'd like you to deliver it to The Leaky Cauldron. We'll be there to pick it up. That's okay, isn't it?" For Elspeth was now looking to Ernie for instructions.

"I have a room there," Hermione said, peering up at Ernie. He looked at her for a moment, as if searching her expression for the verity of her statement, and gave a short nod.

"Same fare as for passengers," he said.

"Right," Harry said. "Eleven Sickles?"

"Fifteen," Elspeth said apologetically. "Sorry. Times bein' what they are - "

"No problem," Harry said. "I'll get the money from my trunk."

"Don't bother, Harry," Hermione said as she approached the young witch with a smile, Harry's Invisibility Cloak draped over her arm. "I have some money with me."

Hermione opened a small coin purse and handed Elspeth a Galleon.

"Keep the difference," Hermione said, smiling more brightly.

Elspeth saluted enthusiastically, knocking her hat off. She picked it up and replaced it, her cheeks glowing. Hermione, pretending not to notice, pointed her wand at Harry's trunk and said, "Locomotor trunk!" The trunk floated toward the bus, and Harry hastened to untie his broom.

"This goes with me," Harry said. In a lower voice, he added as if to himself, "Sirius gave it to me."

With the straps now undone, Hermione opened Harry's trunk and placed the Invisibility Cloak inside. Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the lock, which clicked shut with a spell that could only be negated by Harry's own counter-spell. When the trunk was loaded, Elspeth saluted again, this time avoiding knocking her hat off. Stepping up to the young witch, Hermione said, "Did the driver say your name is Elspeth? That's a lovely name."

"Not many as has it," Elspeth said proudly as she mounted the lower step and placed her hand on the door to slide it closed.

"My mum had the same notion about my name," Hermione said by way of formal introduction. "Hermione. Hermione Granger." Elspeth responded with a polite bow. "And this," Hermione said, turning to Harry, "is Harry Potter."

Elspeth's smile melted like ice on a hot stove.

"Blimey! Harry Potter?"

Harry felt Elspeth's gaze fix, as had so many before her, onto his scar. The young witch mouthed silently for a moment before Ernie waved his hand at the door, which slammed closed in front of Elspeth. The next moment, there was another loud bang, and the Knight Bus was gone.

"Well," Harry said with a weary smile, "the word will be out in no time that The Boy Who Lived is back in the wizarding world."

"Voldemort's spies are probably all over Diagon Alley," Hermione said reasonably. "They'll know almost the moment we arrive, anyway."

"Not a comforting thought," Harry said.

"Surely he won't strike in broad daylight?" Hermione said.

Harry only shrugged. Hermione walked over and placed her hands on Harry's shoulders.

"If Voldemort has any brains," she said, "he'll run and hide. Harry Potter is back and ready to kick his arse."

"Not yet, I'm not," Harry said seriously. "But with a little help, maybe I will be someday."

"You know you can count on me to help in any way I can," Hermione said.

"When have you ever not?" Harry said, his eyes touching Hermione's with gratitude and love.

They shared a fierce hug, parting only when Hermione began to gasp painfully from the pressure of Harry's embrace.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "You know I cherish you, don't you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "I've always known."

"Even when I was making moon-eyes at Cho?"

"Even then," Hermione said. Harry detected a hint of pain in her voice.

"It was only her looks that attracted me," he said, realizing almost at once what this confession implied. "I mean," he added quickly, fumbling for words, "that's not to say - "

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione smiled gently. "I've always known I'm not pretty. I've never been all that fussed about it. There are more important things to worry about."

"There's a world of difference," Harry said, "between bring pretty and being beautiful. Cho may have a pretty face, but I found out the hard way that the outside doesn't always reflect what's on the inside. I remember Mr. Weasley telling us at the Quidditch World Cup that we shouldn't go for looks alone. It took me a while before I understood what he meant. I reckon I had a bit of growing up to do. When I did, I saw that the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts had been right beside me all along."

"I always knew we shared something special," Hermione said. "Something deeper than a simple fancy. I kept telling myself that I was lucky to have someone like you in my life, in any capacity. We were close in ways that no one could understand. There probably isn't a dictionary anywhere that can define the bond that grew between us. Whatever else I wished beyond that, I knew I was blessed to have what I did. I told myself it was enough."

"Maybe it was enough at the start," Harry said. "But not now. When I think of all the time we wasted..."

"Wasted?" Hermione said with a small laugh. "With all we shared, I don't think we wasted a moment. Oh, we never went on a date to Madam Puddifoot's, if that's what you mean. And," she said in a very small voice, "I did rather hope that you'd ask me to the Yule Ball after Cho said she was going with Cedric." Harry's eyes took on a pained look, but Hermione smiled softly. "None of that matters now. Our lives are an endless series of moments, woven together into a tapestry that goes on forever. If there are a few threads we wish we'd never added, and others we didn't add as soon as we might have done, what are they when measured against the whole picture? We've shared more in six years than most people do in a lifetime. Every one of those moments is more precious to me than gold. Any one of them is worth a hundred Yule Balls and Hogsmeade dates. And taken together, they're beyond price."

"I wish I'd seen that sooner," Harry said. "I was an idiot, too blind to see what was right in front of me."

"What's past is past," Hermione said wisely. "If you spend all your time looking back, how can you see ahead to where you're going? Regrets are chains that hold us down and prevent us from moving forward. Yesterday is gone. All we can do is live today the best we can, and try to make each tomorrow better than the one before."

"You're a very wise witch," Harry said. "You'd do to enter the Auror program with me. Moody says that forward planning is essential when one has to keep two steps ahead of the enemy. Add to that all the spells you know..."

"I think I'll stick with my original choice," Hermione smiled. "Unless there's an opening for a Healer in the Auror division?"

"I'll ask about that next time I see Kingsley," Harry said. "Of course, we might have to wait a bit. Both of our certifications are a long way off. But," he said with a thin smile, "I don't reckon we'll have any trouble keeping busy until then, will we?"

Looking at her watch, Hermione wondered, "How long do you think it'll take for your trunk to arrive at The Leaky Cauldron?"

"Long enough for us to have a butterbeer, I reckon," Harry said. "Will you do the honors?"

Tucking his broomstick securely under his arm, Harry reached out to take Hermione's hands.

"Can you manage both of us and my Firebolt?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure I can," Hermione said. "I may be new at Apparation, but a broom doesn't compare to a fully-loaded trunk."

"If my broom loses so much as a single tail twig," Harry said wryly, "I'm taking the difference out of your backside. One Knut at a time."

"Promises," Hermione responded, her dark eyes smoldering defiantly.

Loosing one of Hermione's hands, Harry reached around and slapped her playfully on the bum. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and amusement. Recapturing Hermione's hand (serving the added function of ensuring that she could not reciprocate in kind), Harry smiled. Hermione stifled a snigger before assuming a more serious mien.

"Clear your mind," Hermione instructed as she closed her eyes, holding Harry's hands firmly. Harry saw her brow wrinkle gently before closing his own eyes and following orders. Not being of age, he was not yet allowed to Apparate legally (though he had done so under special circumstances a few weeks - and a virtual lifetime - ago). Hermione would thus use her magic to transport the both of them. He emptied his mind, allowing Hermione full control over his body. He felt a lurch, like and yet unlike the sensation that accompanied travel by portkey. It was a bit like being sucked down a plug hole. It was over in an eyeblink. The empty cinema lot was replaced on the instant by a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by a stone wall. There was a door on one side, and Harry heard the sound of much talk and laughter from beyond. It was well that they had not Apparated directly into the pub. Granted, Hermione had been able to "see" their destination in her mind, but all the same, they might have blundered into someone shifting to one side at the last moment. It was always best to Apparate into as open an area as possible.

As they entered the pub, Harry saw the familiar bald head of Tom the bartender bobbing above the crowd as he served his many patrons with his usual dispatch. Leaving Hermione to find them a table, Harry elbowed his way through the mass of witches, wizards, hags, and various other magical folk until he came to the front door. Opening this, he peered up and down the street. A few Muggles passed on either side, but none seemed to see him. Neither could they see the entrance to the pub, which was enchanted for that very purpose. In addition, this enchantment extended out just far enough so that the Knight Bus could come and go without going noticed by non-magical peoples, making this spot the one place in London where that singular vehicle could appear right under the Muggles' noses at any hour without fear of detection. Seeing no sign of his quarry (nor hearing the telltale squeal of its tires, nor the groan of its brakes), Harry closed the door and made his way back through the press. He saw Hermione waving to him, and he sat down gratefully at the table she had secured for them, placing his broomstick across the table between them so it would not be out of his sight.

"Hmmm," Hermione said as she eyed the gleaming handle of Harry's prized broom (polished, no doubt, courtesy of the Broomstick Servicing Kit she had given him for his thirteenth birthday). "I wonder what Freud would say?"

"About what?" Harry asked.

"The way you placed your Firebolt here on the table. It might be interpreted as a sign."

"Of what?"

"Division," Hermione said. "It wouldn't be the first time that a broom came between a witch and wizard."

At first Harry thought that Hermione was serious, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought back a smile.

"Never happen," Harry said. Assuming a professorial mien, he explained, "If you'll notice, I positioned my broom so it's beneath the level of your head, thereby assigning it a place of lesser importance."

"When did you become so deep and psychological?" Hermione smiled.

"Association," Harry replied. "Hang about with a clever witch and something's bound to rub off."

Looking pleased, Hermione said, "Shall we order now? It may be a bit before your trunk arrives. We don't know how many stops the bus has to make."

"I don't have any money," Harry said foolishly, remembering all at once that he had left his money bag in his trunk.

Hermione opened her coin purse again. Harry frowned slightly.

"You don't mind that I'm paying, do you?" Hermione said.

"No," Harry said quickly, hoping he sounded convincing.

"The wizarding world is far more egalitarian than Muggle society," Hermione went on as she fished some coins from her purse. "There's no reason that a witch can't treat a wizard when they're out together, is there?"

"No," Harry said again, this time with more conviction. The truth was that he did feel a little awkward having Hermione spend her money on him, but he thought it best not to reveal this just yet.

Drawing his wand, Harry sent red sparks into the air, commanding Tom's attention in the time-honored manner. As he shouted their order over the din, Hermione sent some silver coins arching toward the bar with a twirl of her wand. Tom caught the coins with the deftness of much practice (Harry suspected he might have been a Seeker on his House team back in his school days) and promptly sent two bottles of butterbeer flying back the way the money had come. Employing his own Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry caught both bottles in a blur of speed, eliciting a delighted squeal from Hermione.

"If the rest of the team is in such good form this year," she said as she opened her bottle with a tap of her wand, "I think Professor McGonagall can save some time and etch Gryffindor's name onto the Quidditch Cup straightaway."

"Do you think there'll be Quidditch this year?" Harry responded with a serious demeanor. "I'm not sure anyone's heart will be in it."

Hermione paused with her bottle hovering before her mouth. "I've thought a bit about it," she said at last. "And I think we might need the distraction of Quidditch more than ever this year. I doubt very much that there will be any Hogsmeade trips in the foreseeable future. Having Quidditch to look forward to would give everyone something light and less serious to focus on. Goodness knows we all need something to distract us, now more than ever. According to the dates on the plaques in the trophy room, no matches were cancelled during Voldemort's first reign of terror." She was careful not to speak Voldemort's name too loudly, lest she upset any of the pub's other patrons. "Voldemort was at the height of his power when your dad helped Gryffindor win the Cup in his last year at school, so there's no reason I can see that his son shouldn't do the same. And for the same reason. If we allow Voldemort to dictate our lives for us, he's won already. Until we begin the fight in earnest, this will be our way of showing him what we think of his threats." And she snapped her fingers dismissively.

"You always said Ron and I took Quidditch too seriously," Harry said as he opened his bottle and took a long pull.

"You do," Hermione said. "Maybe this year you'll understand that there are more important things in life than who wins the Quidditch Cup, and treat it like the diversion it was intended to be rather than a small-scale war to be won at all costs."

"But you still want Gryffindor to win?" Harry said experimentally as he regarded her over the top of his bottle.

"Of course I do," Hermione responded. "But it's still only a game."

Harry was thinking of the best way to reply to this statement when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang from beyond the outer door. Jumping up so quickly that he nearly upset his bottle (Hermione caught it before it could tip over), he squeezed through the crowd and burst out into the street. The Knight Bus was sitting at the curb, engine idling. The door was open, and Elspeth was struggling to drag Harry's trunk out.

"You should use your wand for something this heavy," Harry admonished as his trunk thudded none too gently to the sidewalk.

"Oh, I'm dreadful with Charms," Elspeth lamented. "That's why I took this job, if you get my meaning. Very little wand-work."

Harry opened his trunk (grateful to find it undamaged, though one corner bore a dent he was sure was not there this morning) and pulled out his money bag. As the door was closing behind Elspeth, Harry called out to her. She turned, and Harry tossed her a Galleon. Though startled, she caught it as deftly as Tom had caught Hermione's coins in the pub. Harry enjoyed the look of surprise on the young witch's face as she stared alternately at the Galleon in her hand and at the one from whom it had come.

"For your trouble," Harry said. "Thanks."

There was more than largesse involved. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Harry had not been entirely comfortable with the prospect of Hermione paying first for the transport of his trunk, and then for their drinks. He argued to himself that this was not attributable to pride, as with Ron (or so he judged). It was simply that Harry possessed what he considered to be an inordinate amount of gold to which he was not entitled. His combined fortune had come in the form of legacies, first from his parents, and then, only a year ago, from Sirius. Granted, these were legacies of love, and as such not to be despised. But Harry still felt ill-at-ease owning so much gold that he had not earned, especially when too many good people - the Weasleys, for example - had next to nothing by comparison. Harry thus felt it incumbent on himself to spend his wealth at every opportunity on persons other than himself.

He never considered that both Ron and Hermione might enjoy playing the role of host by the simple act of buying a round of drinks on a Hogsmeade visit. He knew only that the contents of his vault weighed on his soul, and the only way he knew to lighten that burden was by lightening the amount of gold heaped in his Gringotts vault. Hermione would not have hesitated to call him to task on this. He felt guilty at keeping this confession inside him. Should he not be able to trust her on this, as he had with so many other things? Maybe he was too proud, he decided. He promised himself that he would try to break down that wall between them. Hermione had never treated Harry any differently because he was The Boy Who Lived. Surely he could trust her in this regard; it wasn't as though she had not seen (and pointed out, sometimes in harsh terms) certain other flaws in his make-up, and always without harming their friendship. Indeed, that honesty was one of the foundation stones of their long-time fraternity.

But what they shared now was - he hoped - something more than friendship, and that, in his view, changed the rules to a certain degree. He was more determined now than ever to make himself over into a wizard who was truly deserving of the cleverest witch at Hogwarts. He wanted to present himself as someone she would be proud to spend the rest of her life with. He decided that the time was not propitious to reveal another imperfection to add to a list already too long for his liking. Later, when he had accumulated more positives to balance out the negatives, he could admit to this failing, among others. But for now, the tiny (if admittedly foolish) wound in his pride could be salved in only one way.

"Good luck," he called out to Elspeth as she slowly mounted the steps down which she had so laboriously dragged his trunk. Elspeth smiled, her thank-you cut off abruptly as Ernie, as he had done earlier, unceremoniously closed the door in her face. There was a loud bang, and Harry found himself alone on the deserted Muggle street.

Harry was about to follow his own advice to Elspeth and levitate his trunk with his wand, but he stopped himself with a frustrated growl. It was irksome to be so near to seventeen, when he could use magic freely. Not all his gold could erase the days, hours and minutes separating him from that status he longed for so desperately. Despite his threats directed at Uncle Vernon, Harry was not all that certain that the Ministry would not be as harsh on him now as it had been in the past on the subject of underage magic. In the end, he decided that it was not worth the risk. In a few days he would be of age. He would be allowed to use magic when and where he pleased (within reason, of course).

But there were two sides to even the shiniest Galleon. The moment he turned seventeen, the magical protection resulting from his mother's sacrifice would evaporate with the expiration of Dumbledore's spell. From that moment on, Harry's survival would depend entirely on his own wits and skill.

But that wasn't exactly right. He had his friends, people who had stood by him in hard times. They would be there for him again, he was sure. It was true that a few of them had wavered in the past. Harry still nursed a lingering hurt over Ron's unwillingness to believe that he had not entered his name in the Triwizard Tournament. Even after so long, there was still a part of him that could not completely forgive that betrayal, coming as it did from the one person he had thought he could trust above all others. Yet another flaw to add to the many already enumerated by Hermione, he reflected.

But Harry smiled as he thought of the one just named, the one who had never deserted him, who had ever fought at his side, defended him, protected him. Loved him.

She was waiting for him now, just beyond that door. His heart feeling light (even if his trunk did not), Harry dragged his burden into the pub, wishing against hope that all of his baggage could be so easily discharged.