Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Well, as much as I had planned to update MEtyK first, this chapter seemed to pop up faster. MEtyK should be along quickly, but there are a couple of scenes that have given me so much trouble, I've thought about simply skipping the entire thing and referring back to it later in the story. Still it would only serve to break Harry's narration, so I've plodded along as best I can. Besides, I don't want to update with a short chapter.

As for this story… Well, the setup's complete, so it's time to begin unfolding the mystery, as well as filling in back-story.

~TOW

Nothing; Everything Between

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The Train emptied quickly, students escaping the cars like sardines falling out of a tin can. Harry and Hermione were off quickly and soon knee-deep in first-year students, guiding them towards Hagrid and keeping luggage on the train. Urged along by the prefects, the older students soon walked towards the coaches, while the first years gathered around Hagrid.

The energy of the first years, especially the muggle-born, rubbed off on Harry. What were to him simple charms to hover, shrink and enlarge the students' trunks were feats of great power and mystery to them. The wizarding children had done a marvelous job informing the muggleborn of exactly who their Head Boy was, and close to fifty sets of wide eyes on tiny heads watched him reverently as he went about his duties. They laughed at his jokes, gasped when he used magic, and exclaimed in amazement when Harry introduced them to Hagrid.

Harry jogged briskly, heading towards Hermione's cloaked figure as she stood near to the Thestrals of the coach she was holding for them. His smile conveyed all he had to say about his time with the first years, and he jumped up into the coach, throwing himself down on the first empty seat hard enough to send Ginny, who sat beside him, nearly half a foot into the air. She squealed in delight as he caught her at the waist on the way down, pulling her over and into his lap. Ron and Luna sat across from them on the other bench seat, both smiling at Harry's antics. Hermione climbed in and sat beside Harry in the now vacant seat.

Luna and Ginny had apparently broken Ron's silence, and the three of them continued a rather animated discussion about their upcoming classes. Harry was content to listen, and split his attention between the conversation and running his fingers across Ginny's sides, making her squirm. Hermione interjected her opinions now and again, but she mostly sat back with a relaxed expression on her face.

Home again, Harry thought, pride and sentiment welling up as they approached the enormous castle. Home again.

The inside of the castle was pristine, showing none of the damage caused in the battle. With the exception of Dumbledore's tomb near the lake, there was nothing to show that anything had transpired here at all. Harry felt a mixture of relief and irritation as he walked towards the Great Hall. While it was comforting not to see reminders of the fighting, there should be something: A flag flown or small monument, perhaps. Anything to remind the students of the blood shed for the sake of the school.

Hermione interrupted his train of thought, pulling against his sleeve. "They have us sitting up at the Head Table!" she whispered, excitement and trepidation warring in her voice. "Why are they keeping us apart from the students? That's never been done before!"

"It wasn't Harry Potter and Hermione Granger before," he whispered back, his thoughts darkening.

"That can't be right," she countered. "McGonagall wouldn't allow something so biased. Maybe it's just new for the Head Students?"

"We can only hope."

The Sorting Hat turned on the chair to nod at Harry as he and Hermione walked past its stool towards the Head Table. There were two seats on the end beside Hagrid's large chair, and Harry happily sat down, his worries about the seating arrangements fading. Hagrid told the best dinner stories, even if they were a bit crude. Hagrid showed up only moments later, entering through the side door, and soon both Harry and Hermione were laughing uproariously as Hagrid related a much-embellished story of the first years' antics on the boats.

Despite her appointment as Headmistress, Professor McGonagall still brought the first-years into the hall. They whispered to each other excitedly, the front few eyeing the Sorting Hat with trepidation. After the Hat gave its customary rhyme, the new students soon found themselves sorted and seated at their new house tables.

McGonagall was Headmistress in body, but it was clear that her heart wasn't in it. Her start-of-term speech was short and dry, covering only what needed to be covered. Harry wondered silently whether Minerva McGonagall would ever truly recover from the war. Harry made eye contact with as many prefects as he could over the course of dinner, reminding them silently of what he had said. With diligence on his part, he decided, they would make a difference, and Professor McGonagall could mourn in peace.

It was disconcerting not to walk towards Gryffindor tower. Instead, the Heads' dorm was a mere two corridors away from the Great Hall behind a portrait or a nondescript wizard acting as a door. "Set a password, please," he said in a bored tone.

Harry looked at Hermione sadly before offering the phrase "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment and Tweak." The portrait swung open for them, admitting them to a rather cozy common room.

Soft blue tapestries hung from the walls of the room, and a thick, navy rug ran its length. Four large multi-paned castle windows comprised most of the back wall, offering a twilight view of the grounds. Two oak desks sat near the windows, facing the walls on each side. A large circular enclosed fireplace dominated the center of the room, around which sat a large, comfortable-looking couch and two chairs, each a rich midnight blue. Between the desks and the couch on each side were doors: the right led to Harry's room, while the left led to Hermione's room. Etched into the wood of both bedroom doors were their first names.

Harry slowly made his way through the common room, taking in the details. Hermione ran her hands across the furniture, murmuring in satisfaction. They stood for a moment at the back windows, admiring the view of the night asserting itself over the lingering light of the sunset, before separating to look at their respective rooms.

Harry found that the theme of light blue walls, dark blue furniture and oak wood trim continued inside his room. It reminded him slightly of how a hotel room might look: A four-post bed, slightly larger than those in the Gryffindor dorms, stood roughly in the middle of the room, its headboard against the outside wall. Large windows were on either side of the bed, each roughly the size of one of the window sections in the common room. A large armoire stood opposite to the bed, its doors open and waiting for Harry to unpack his trunk. At the back of the room was a door to a shower and toilet of modest size, in the normal white and ivory of general facilities.

Reaching into his pouch, Harry withdrew his trunk and expanded it to its full size to the side of the armoire. Harry quickly had his robes flying out of the trunk and settling properly around hangers in the armoire while his trousers, socks and underwear found their way into the drawers underneath. With a deft flick of his wand, his schoolbooks and Dumbledore's journals, along with his other school supplies, danced out the door to rest on his desk in the common room. Harry closed the now-empty trunk, and walked outside to find Hermione.

Her room was an exact replica of his own, and he noticed that there were no charms barring his entering the room. His surprise only lasted a moment before he realized that any prospective Head Boy would have spent six years proving his character. Any boy still immature enough to require forceful barring from a girl's room was obviously not Head material.

"This is wonderful," Hermione said, walking out of her shower. "It's exactly what I thought it would be. It's like, well, it's like a suite in an expensive resort!"

"I was thinking something similar," Harry said, smiling at Hermione's exuberance. "It's kind of like going to school and being on vacation at the same time."

Hermione enlarged her own trunk, and surprised Harry by opening it and beginning to remove her robes by hand. "Not going to use magic?" he asked.

"There isn't really any spell I've found that sorts everything properly," she replied, causing Harry's eyebrows to rise. Apparently, he hadn't been blatant enough with Dumbledore's charms at the Burrow. With a wave of his wand, Hermione's robes stood upright, causing her to yelp and step away. Hermione watched in amazement as her robes flew up to their hangers, and her underwear, hose, socks and skirts sorted themselves neatly into the drawers. Harry placed her small library of books around her desk, settling her ink, quills and parchment in between the stacks.

"How did you do that?" she asked, eyeing Harry with undisguised envy. "I've been trying to get the standard packing charms to work in reverse for ages! I mean, the books sure, that's easy. You'd think that every witch in the world would have these spells for clothes too, but... where did you learn that?"

"Dumbledore's stuff," Harry said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the desks. "He apparently figured those charms out in his fourth year, after deciding that unpacking a trunk was very annoying to do."

"Dumbledore..." she whispered, shaking her head, "you'd expect grand spells from him, but... household charms?"

"You have no idea how much of a neat freak Dumbledore was," Harry said, holding his arms out wide. "I've enjoyed using those all summer at the Burrow."

Hermione's look of surprise slowly turned mischievous as she walked towards Harry. "And how is it, Harry, that you know all about sorting women's clothing?"

"Ask Ginny when the last time was that she's had to sort laundry," he replied with a grin.

"You sorted her laundry?" she asked incredulously.

"Hey, I needed to practice somehow! I have exactly three changes of clothing, so there's not a lot to work with there. Ginny's a girl, so that was a lot better."

The sides of Hermione's mouth curled upwards. "A girl? What, exactly, does that mean?"

Counting off his fingers, Harry recounted Ginny's wardrobe. "Seven skirts, Eight pairs of trousers, twenty-three blouses, fourteen T-shirts, four sets of dress robes, nine pairs of shoes, an ungodly amount of underwear, seven bras with three obviously too small but she keeps them anyways, socks that date back to when she was three..." Harry trailed off as Hermione began to laugh. "So yeah, I got a lot of practice."

"I'll bet you did." Hermione took Harry's hand and pulled him towards the door. "Let's go sit by the fire. Since we're already unpacked, there's nothing to do but relax." The two of them made their way to the couch, Harry splaying out with his back against one armrest, while Hermione sat more properly near the other. The fire crackled and danced in front of them, waging a quiet war with the moonlight to dominate the room.

Part of Harry missed the chaos of the Gryffindor common room. He missed Ron's incessant chatter about Quidditch and girls. He missed Ginny painfully, too. They had eaten dinner apart, and had shared only the briefest of kisses goodnight when Harry had left the Great Hall. After seeing Ginny every day over the summer, it was difficult to adjust to the idea of so much time apart. The forced separation from Ginny seemed to Harry to be a repetition of sixth year. Then, they had been divided by year, different circles of friends, and Ginny's relationship with Dean. All of those things were resolved this year, and still they found walls between them.

It would be Harry's duties as Head Boy that kept them apart now. McGonagall had been firm in her order that Harry and Hermione invite no one into their common room; it was a luxury for the Head Students alone, a comfort amidst the stress of NEWT exams and organizing the student body. His status as Head Boy provided him an override password for the house common rooms, but he could tell already that his visits to Gryffindor House would be few and far between this year, as his position would monopolize his time.

His thoughts soon focused less on school, and more on Ginny: Her laugh, her hair, her skin... Harry loved the feel of her firm stomach, running his fingers across her now prominent abdominal muscles. Just after a pick-up Quidditch match in the evening was the best, when her skin glistened with sweat, and the soft hairs of her skin stood up in the cool breeze. Her entire body was firm, her smooth skin concealing surprisingly hard muscle. She had the lithe body of an athlete, the curves of her breasts and waist accented further by her toned legs and arms. He and Ginny had spent many evenings that summer in the orchard or broom shed exploring each other's bodies with their hands and lips, while her parents and brothers valiantly pretended not to notice. Even Hermione would simply smile at them while they walked away, hand in hand, and turn back to her books.

Hermione; another mystery to add to his life.

Only yesterday, he had lain on Hermione's bed, kissing her with as much passion as he could muster. Only yesterday, though the trip to Hogwarts made it seem like an age ago. Hermione, now that he truly looked at her, had her own feminine qualities, beautiful in the timeless way that Greek statues of Helen were beautiful. Where Ginny's beauty was lean and rugged, flamboyant and immediately apparent, Hermione's was soft and subtle, with simpler curves that lead to fuller hips and breasts. Harry didn't see any distinguishing features as far as Hermione's physical beauty went; her true beauty, he decided as he watched her, lay in the absolute symmetry of her face and body, a geometrically exact ideal of quiet femininity that attracted the eye with its unearthly perfection. Each curve flowed into the next, trapping his eye to travel admiringly from one area to another. Her hair in all its chaos contrasted perfectly with her plain but perfect face. It took willpower to force his gaze back to the fire.

Something else turned Harry's head as well, something that the recent war had brought to the forefront of his senses. Unlike Ginny, Hermione did not possess any of the characteristics of pureblooded wizards. Ginny, for all her beauty, shared many of her features with most other young witches in Hogwarts: Long straight noses, eyes and eyebrows tilted just so, long straight hair, and the predominance of what muggles would consider recessive genes. Hermione's features were nearly universally neutral and ever so slightly rounded; her skin naturally tan and her hair and eyes a wonderfully dark brown. She represented the absolute average of the human race, and that made her utterly unique in the wizarding world.

Harry's mixed blood affected his own traits: His eyebrows straighter, his skin a shade or two darker, his nose less pronounced, his cheekbones more rounded. While he had his father's hair and general looks, his features were subtly different when he examined them closely, and his eyes were a color seldom if ever seen in pureblooded society. Ginny called his looks 'a witch's fantasy' while they dated in sixth year. Now, Harry believed he understood: His looks were both traditional and exotic at the same time, offering the best of both worlds. It was ironic that the two girls closest to him represented the best of both extremes to which he belonged.

Hermione's presence certainly aroused him, evidenced by the tightness he currently felt in his pants. Much of that had to do with the attention she had showed him yesterday, he knew. His carnal thoughts clamored for Hermione to choose less conservative blouses and shorter skirts, rather than the sweaters and long skirts that she usually wore. Another part of him enjoyed that she wore those clothes, as it was always a pleasant surprise when she hugged him that underneath those clothes lurked a beautiful young woman.

Comparing Hermione to Ginny was difficult in his mind, and Harry felt guilty doing it. Ginny obviously qualified as the prettier girl by societal standards; Hermione's beauty required that the beholder actually be looking for it, while Ginny's proclaimed itself to everyone within line of sight. More than physical beauty though, both girls cared for him greatly and were fiercely loyal, and that was the root of Harry's grief.

He loved both of them; he could live with either of them, and be the happiest man on earth, because both would return his love.

Before the Battle of Hogwarts, before his death and return, Harry would have never thought about this for more than a moment. Ginny was with him, Ginny had his loyalty, and while Hermione was possibly his closest friend, he would not betray Ginny's trust. Dying, talking to Dumbledore, and finally overcoming Voldemort had reformed his opinions of himself, though.

What did he want? Which of the two could offer him more? Which of the two needed him more?

Am I reading too much into things with Hermione? Should I just let last night go? Those two questions were the most prominent in Harry's head, and they occupied his thoughts as he watched the firelight play off Hermione's face.

Hermione's increased presence in his mind caused Harry to yank his stream of thoughts away so forcefully that Hermione visibly flinched. She looked disappointed for a moment, before schooling her face into something more calculating. "Keeping secrets are we?" she asked suggestively.

"Nothing in here that you need to be worried about," Harry said, giving his head a tap.

"Of course Harry," she said in a knowing manner, and Harry could feel his old defensiveness begin to creep up in indignation. All he was 'hiding' were lustful thoughts of her and Ginny, the type of thing he usually shielded from her anyways.

Why not show her, Harry considered his as he held his thoughts away from Hermione's probe the same as he might hold a treasured item up and away from curious child. If she wants to see, let her. Let's see how she reacts to this.

Letting go, Harry allowed his thoughts to collide with Hermione's probe. Vivid images of Ginny's naked body against his coupled with his own feelings of arousal caused Hermione to blush heavily and look anywhere but Harry. Despite her discomfort, she didn't pull away from his thoughts. She paged diligently through his musings, following his hand as it traced across Ginny's breasts and stomach, and drifted down her legs. She watched with even greater interest as Ginny touched Harry in a similar manner, moving across well-defined muscles, combing through the hair on his chest, and lower...

With a lurch, Hermione pulled away from his thoughts.

"Careful what you ask for," Harry said relaxing back into the couch. Hermione said nothing, and she continued to avoid his gaze, her face flushed. "You know full well I generally don't show you stuff like that. Why push this time?"

"You're evil, Harry," she said, regaining some semblance of control. "Pure, unadulterated evil."

"Well, you were more than a little evil yourself yesterday," he returned, prompting a meek grin from Hermione.

"Is your relationship with Ginny always that... intense?" she asked, her curiosity returning along with her composure. Harry shrugged, squirming around to get comfortable.

"I guess so, if that's what you consider intense. Ginny's a very physical person and she has absolutely no issues with being naked. If I had been at Grimmauld Place this summer, and she'd been visiting, she'd probably have been walking around naked the whole time."

"I'm a little surprised," Hermione said, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. "I thought that Ginny would be a little more conservative, being raised by Mrs. Weasley."

"Ha! I don't think Mrs. Weasley was particularly innocent when she was young. Ginny paints a different picture of her mother." Hermione's eyebrows rose at Harry's insinuation, but she motioned for him to continue. "I also think that Ginny's a bit of a rebel, too. Her father and brothers are as straight and narrow as you can get; even the twins and their pranks never really crossed any lines.

"She's also one of those girls who like to pose in the mirror," he said in a conspiratorial tone, and Hermione held her hands to her mouth, grinning madly. "Oh yeah, she's just like those television commercials where the young boys flex their arms and in the mirror they see the bodybuilder flexing back. She's actually had me pose with her; she's told me pretty bluntly that she enjoys the fact that I'm trying to build muscle."

"Well, you do look really good." Hermione eyed Harry's arms and chest as she said this with only a trace of shyness in her expression.

Harry's smile broadened at her compliment. "Thanks," he said. "I'm glad you think so.

"But yeah, Ginny's keen on her looks and her Quidditch. Unlike Ron, Ginny's very competitive; she pushes as hard on a broom as I do. The only real advantage I have on her in Quidditch is my reaction time." Hermione made a noise that Harry interpreted as disagreement, but she didn't press.

"Ron was kind of like that," Hermione said. "He would go on and on about pro Quidditch, as if it was his destiny."

"It might be," Harry allowed. "He is good when he's of a mind to be, but heaven help us when he gets into a funk."

"I know," Hermione said dryly. "I Confunded him onto the team, after all."

Harry shrugged; everything he could say about Hermione's dealings with Ron, he had already told her.

"It's not important," she said with a tone of finality. "Ron... I think that Ron wanted our relationship to be physical like Ginny has with you." Harry's eyebrows rose again in surprise. He was quite impressed that Hermione would openly discuss her time with Ron.

Hermione took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. "I won't say that Ron was like Ginny, but he thought that he looked pretty good. I... well I thought he looked good, too. He also started to think outside the box of wizarding society, and that's when I felt like we had a chance. He finally sounded like someone that I could truly fall in love with.

"I enjoyed being with him, especially at first. He cared about me, and when the two of us went to Australia to find my parents, he was very sensitive and thoughtful. Everything was perfect."

"So, what happened?"

Hermione's eyes glimmered, and the couch they were sitting on rose from the floor. "This happened," she said, motioning with her hands. "I started to develop powers that I couldn't understand, so I naturally started to research as fast as I could. I didn't find much, of course, but that's another matter.

"It put Ron off quite a bit. He asked me what I was worried about school for. When I told him it wasn't really about school, he suggested I slow down on the books a little, 'because there are only so many books in the world,' he would say."

Harry nodded slowly, and then frowned. "Didn't he ever ask you what was wrong, or why you were studying?"

"Oh, thank God you understand." Hermione seemed to deflate with relief. "I can't tell you how frustrating it's been. He always assumed that I was fine, that I never had any problems. It's in his nature, I guess, but it was so infuriating that he never bothered to ask me about what I was doing."

"I didn't, either," Harry said, holding his hands up in a shrug.

"You weren't my boyfriend," she returned moodily. "I can't honestly have expected you to come chasing after me, especially since I usually come to you. Is it too much to expect from your boyfriend, though?

"I mean, he made some attempt at being sweet: He brought me flowers a couple of times, he was quick with his compliments on how I looked. Not once, though, did he ask me anything more personal than how my day was.

"Then there's his ambition to be better than us, and my studies and research kicked that into overdrive. I became a little more distant because I felt hurt that he never asked me about what I was doing or how I was. He felt that I was turning back into the bookworm that he always felt inferior to. He never told me, of course, but I was in his head a lot.

"When you started working out and practicing your dueling even more than you normally did, he collapsed into nearly the same mood that he was in when we went after the Horcruxes, and started to make odd comments about my studying or your practicing; mostly about me, though.

"That was just before we talked that night. I was already worried about where my relationship with Ron was going, and then you told me that I was trying to fix him. I really didn't want that, you know. If Ron can't make me happy on his own ability, what's the point?"

Hermione alternately clenched and relaxed her hands, clearly upset. Her eyes found Harry's again, and she continued. "I tried to talk with him about it, but he was horribly defensive, and we worked our way up into a huge row. I ended things at the end of the fight, and I didn't get much sleep that night. I wondered if I had done the right thing; I was going to talk to him again."

"Let me guess: Then I got Head Boy." Hermione's sad expression was all the confirmation that Harry needed.

"It's like fourth year all over again," she said miserably. "This time he's a being little more diplomatic about it, but his anger is so… focused, now, it scares me. At least now I know that I made the right choice."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

"I wish I knew where I went wrong," Hermione muttered into her hands as she rocked pensively. "I'm sure I could have helped him along somewhere…"

"No." The word came from Harry's mouth with enough force to startle Hermione, and the couch wobbled precariously in the air. Harry waited a moment for Hermione to reassert control before continuing. "Don't think like that, it goes back to what I was saying about trying to fix him."

"Everyone affects others," Hermione said with a frown, but Harry cut her off quickly, his brow and mouth tightened slightly in frustration.

"Yes, yes, I know that! The point I'm trying to make is that there's a limit to how much you do. You got after me and tried to change my mind lots of times, but you did it based on who I was; you decided that I was already worth your time, you didn't try to change me."

"I wasn't trying to go out with you, either," she pointed out, her frown still firmly in place.

"Yeah, and you sure scared me off with the way you treated Ron. Would you have done that to me, too, if we were dating?" Hermione looked uncomfortable with Harry's question, and she shrugged in response. Harry let the weight of the question hang, staring at Hermione while she fidgeted. "Yes," she said eventually, her voice quiet. "But you wouldn't have let me. I think it's one of the reasons I never thought much about dating you."

"That's what I thought," Harry muttered unhappily, relaxing again into the couch, and rubbing his hands tiredly across his face.

"You're different now, though," Hermione said, reaching right over to take hold of Harry's hand. "I don't think it would even cross my mind now."

With a grim, knowing smile, Harry rubbed his finger up and down his scar. "I'm not Voldemort anymore. Most of my anger and my depression disappeared with the Horcrux. For the first week after the battle, I was stupidly happy. I literally felt fifty pounds lighter, like the whole world was different; I still do, to a point. I'm a different person now, Hermione. The entire time you've known me, at least part of my personality was Voldemort shining through. Now, it's just me."

"How do you know that? It could have been all you, there's no way to tell." Hermione's incredulity caused Harry's smile to widen. Even with her experiences with such vague notions as prophecies, souls, and her own inexplicable powers, Hermione could not accept his answer on faith alone.

"Would you agree with me that flying is the ultimate high for me?" Hermione nodded, and Harry continued. "Only when I was flying did I feel truly free. Once I was off the broom, reality set back in and my mood would fall several notches down. Dating Ginny in sixth year was kind of the same, but once again, my mood would crash as soon as she was gone.

"Now, I haven't read a lot about psychology or anything, but if those moods were mine, due to the Dursleys or whatever, then the symptoms should persist, right?" Hermione nodded hesitantly, her brow creasing as she thought. "So where are they?" Harry asked, lifting his arms to indicate himself. "I've not once been truly angry, sad or depressed since the battle, and we're talking through funerals and everything. I've cried and mourned, I've shouted down reporters, I've given speeches, and I've been forced to recall some horrible moments, and I still felt happy and normal at the end of the day. How else can you explain it except to say that the cause of the moods is now gone?"

"I… don't know," Hermione said. Her expression was in conflict, as though she was fighting an internal battle over his words.

"Now that I think about it, I'm actually happy that you thought I needed changing then, but not now. It kind of underlines my point." Harry felt a quiet satisfaction as Hermione looked away and shrugged, signaling her abandonment of the argument. It was the greatest acknowledgement he had ever known Hermione to give when backed into a logical corner. Harry broke whatever tension might have remained by lying forward on the couch, placing his head on Hermione's knees. Hermione made no complaints; she simply shifted to better support him, and they spent the rest of their evening discussing Dumbledore and his writings, while Hermione's hands played through Harry's hair.

Morning came all too quickly, and Harry spent much of the breakfast hour walking up and down the house tables, talking about house activities with the prefects and telling tales of his classes to the first years. Hermione trailed some ten feet behind him, following up on his stories with quiet facts and reassurances. While Harry devoted most of his time to the first years, Hermione spent far more time with the prefects, discussing coordination and logistics of the house events they were planning. The only awkward moment was at the Gryffindor table, where Ron steadfastly ignored Hermione and the other prefects, continuing to eat breakfast mechanically.

Ginny frowned at Hermione, but took the opportunity to kiss Harry good morning. After comparing schedules and finding their mornings relatively free, Harry suggested a walk near the lake, once the students were on their way, to which Ginny enthusiastically agreed. Once breakfast was finished and the excited first years were on their way to their classes, Harry and Ginny walked hand in hand out the main gate, and across the grounds.

"Has Hermione said anything about her and Ron?" Ginny asked. "Ron's still taking things pretty badly."

Harry related the basics of his talk with Hermione, editing out everything but their discussion of Ron. "I don't get her," Ginny said as they reached the lake. "He's acting like your typical teenage boy. I'd know; I've dated a few. Why does she expect him to all of a sudden act like he's Dad?"

"Probably because it's the way I act," Harry said, careful to ease these comments out of range of Hermione's perception. "It's her basic formula with Ron: If I can do it, he can do it."

"Right; and it pisses him off so much that he's ready to kill," Ginny said angrily. "It's not fair of her to judge him based off of you. If she wanted you, she should have gone after you in the first place!"

"Actually, she told me pretty straight up that I wasn't dating material back then. She also knew that I wouldn't put up with her nagging like Ron did, so she never even considered trying for me."

"What a bloody bitch," Ginny muttered, kicking a rock into the lake. "Ron wasn't good enough, you weren't good enough. How the hell is anyone supposed to satisfy her? She'd better not have her eye on you now, either! You're mine!"

Harry bit back a laugh at Ginny's comments. Without even knowing it, she had hit squarely upon the situation. "I don't think she does, Ginny," Harry managed quickly through his snickers, passing his amusement off as his reaction to Ginny's comment. Ginny only responded by muttering several more uncomplimentary things and kicking another rock.

"What I don't get is why Ron seems hacked off at me," Harry said, diverting the conversation. "I mean yes, I'm Head Boy, but I would think that Ron factored that possibility into his head already."

"Not really," Ginny said, her long hair bouncing a little as she shook her head. "Ron figured that you three were out of the running. He didn't once say anything about wanting to be Head Boy to me until after the owls came. I think he felt like he never even had a chance; I mean he never expected that he was considered at all, and then you and Hermione get the positions, and you acted like you expected it all along."

Harry shrugged and nodded. "I did. There was no way McGonagall could bring me back to Hogwarts and not make me Head Boy; not only would the community eat her alive, but no one would respect whoever it was that was named Head over me."

"I guess… Still, I figured that they would at least consider him for the position. He did make prefect, after all."

With a sigh, Harry related the tale of Dumbledore's decision about the Gryffindor prefects in his fifth year, and watched the heat creep up Ginny's face as her temper began to fray.

"So he just up and decided to take it away from you, who actually deserved it, and give it to my brother, making him believe that he was actually starting to achieve his dreams. Then, after he's hurt you both by doing this, he claims he did it for your sake. What a bastard."

"I think that he was probably right to do it," Harry said. "I'd hardly have been good prefect material in the mood I was in."

"Well, then why doesn't that factor in? Ron's been a decent prefect, why can't he be Head Boy?"

"Excuse me," Harry said, his face and voice tightening. "Are you saying that I should continue to be punished for something that should never have been a factor anyways, more than three years after the fact?"

Ginny was already in front of him, rubbing his chest in soothing motions. "No, love, calm down. I'm not saying you don't deserve the position. I'm not arguing with you, I'm on your side." Harry's annoyance faded quickly, and when his expression cleared, Ginny continued. "What I'm getting at here is that the professors are crossing back over their own decisions, and it's ended up pitting Ron and you against each other. If Dumbledore had really wanted to do you a favor, he'd have given the prefect position to Neville."

Harry shook his head after a moment. "Neville wasn't confident enough to do it. He wasn't well-enough known to enforce the position, anyways. I figure it's why Malfoy and Parkinson got their positions: They were well-known enough to be respected by the other Slytherins."

"Fine; give it to Dean, then, or Seamus; anyone but Ron. Then do the same thing with Head Boy. It would have avoided the whole issue between the both of you, and maybe even prevented what was clearly a farce of a relationship between him and Hermione from taking root. And if whoever's Head Boy can't hold their own against you in the school, it's not Ron, so who cares? If Dumbledore was doing you favors, then he should have heaped the shit on someone else's plate."

Harry nodded, and kissed Ginny lightly. "Sounds like a good plan, and I'm sure he'd agree now, if he could. Still, what's done is done, and now we have to live with it."

"I'll talk with Ron," she said. "He'd probably want to hear this, and it might mellow him a little. At least he's taking his courses seriously, though. Hermione should see him study!" Ginny lapsed into a retelling of Ron's immediate trip to the library after the welcoming feast and his near-obsessive study habits over August. Harry painted an interested look on his face, masking his worry.

Ginny didn't need to know, Harry decided. There was no conceivable way to make her believe him without outing Hermione's ability at Legilimency at the very least, and even if that revelation wasn't catastrophic to Hermione's friendship with Ginny, he still wanted Hermione's permission. This 'studying' that Ron was doing merited looking at, though; as Harry had learned with Malfoy, it never paid to allow someone to plot unwatched.

Saying goodbye to Ginny, Harry stopped by the library on his way into the castle. Madam Pince had no issues showing the Head Boy the short list of books checked out, as well as which students had checked them out. He found Ron's name scrawled messily beside the titles of books on advanced Transfiguration, Defense, and… Occlumency. A chill shot up his spine, and he forced himself to continue perusing the list to avoid drawing any suspicion. Thanking Madam Pince, he hastily left the library, searching in his mind for Hermione's presence and hoping that her tricks worked in reverse.

When he found Hermione's presence hovering near the edges of his perception, he gave it a sharp poke, and pictured their common room strongly in his mind coupled with a sense of urgency. He felt Hermione's presence brush across the image, and then felt what he believed was her acknowledgement. A blurry image resolved in Harry's mind of Hermione talking with Luna outside the Arithmancy classroom. Harry did his best to convey his own acknowledgement as he stepped inside the portal to their dorm, and he sat down on the couch to wait.

Hermione entered a few moments later, a questioning look on her face. "My next class starts right away. What's wrong? I was kind of surprised that you contacted me that way, but I gather that's not what you wanted to talk about."

"Not at all," Harry said. Hermione's expression changed to one of concern as she caught the darker tone of Harry's voice. "I just finished talking with Ginny about Ron, and he's apparently developed some impressive study habits. Goes along with what you were saying before, right?

"Well, I decided to be snoopy, and checked the list of books out right now. Among other things, Ron has books out on Occlumency."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh shit," she said.

"Yeah, I wanted to warn you to stay out of his head. If he gets even a whiff of you in there, there'll be hell to pay."

Far from appeased, however, Hermione's worry seemed to increase. "Shit, Harry. Shit, shit, shit. I've dug nearly all the way through his head. Exposure to powerful Legilimency can cause subtle changes in a person's mind, kind of like ripples in water. They're easy for me to see, and easy for the victim to feel. I could see Snape's affect on you, and you probably feel them as a sense of repulsion that goes along with the memories."

Even as she spoke, he felt the difference: There was his dislike of Snape, and there was a separate, unrelated loathing of the Legilimency sessions themselves, only attached to Snape because he was the Legilimens involved. He had always assumed all of it was directed at Snape naturally, but the distinction was now as clear as day.

"You found it?" Hermione asked, obviously aware of his emotions. Seeing him nod, she continued. "That was easy for you to do, I'll bet. Ron might take a while, but he's going to eventually find traces of me in his mind."

"Which brings us back to there being hell to pay," Harry said. He and Hermione looked at each other uncomfortably, before Hermione excused herself and left for her class. A time bomb had just been set, and how much time there was on the clock was unknown. For the first time since last year, Harry felt the familiar pressure of inevitability weigh on his shoulders and head.

-----

"Welcome to your final year in Defense against the Dark Arts." Professor Simonson, a retired Auror, stepped through his introduction with the clipped tone indicative of his former position. Harry listened with half an ear, confident that he was well beyond anything even an Auror might ask of a seventh-year class. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared the class this year, so Harry sat with all four of his friends, Ginny and Hermione on either side of him.

"Our focus today will be on spells that were used by the Death Eaters, the most recent manifestation of the Dark Arts we've seen. Aside from the three Unforgivables, are there any other Dark curses you know about them using?"

"Sectumsempera," Harry said reflexively, drawing the attention of both the professor and the class. Hermione and Luna looked at Harry in surprise, while Ginny looked down sadly. Ron showed hardly any reaction, but Harry thought he saw his ears perk up slightly.

"I'm unfamiliar with that incantation, Mr. Potter," the Auror said, motioning to a training dummy standing at the side of his desk. "It's very likely a unique creation from within the Death Eater ranks. I know your role in the war was considerable, and I know from experience that we often pick up the enemy's weapons when the situation calls for it. If you're willing and able to do so, is it possible for you to demonstrate that spell?"

Harry closed his eyes for a second before nodding once. Silently, he drew his holly wand and cast in one fluid motion as he stood, and an arc of purple light sailed over Ron's head and towards the dummy, cleanly separating its head from its shoulders. The class stared in shock as the dummy's head hit the floor and bounced with an echoing thump.

"I recognize that curse," Simonson said in a tight voice. "Where… who…?"

"The curse was created by Severus Snape," Harry said, drawing gasps from all around him. "He discovered it in his school years at Hogwarts and used it in retribution against my father's attacks against him. It started as something small; a nick here, a cut there, but as you can see, the spell can cause large slashes across the body. My friend George Weasley lost his ear to this spell. Since the curse is inherently Dark magic, the ear won't grow back. Professor Snape had a way to mend the damage, but I haven't found mention of it anywhere. There's a counter to the curse, like so." Harry slowly moved his wand through the air, repeating the motions several times as several students scribbled hasty diagrams.

He felt Hermione's desire for more information echo through his head, and he mentally directed her to the memories of his studies while he fielded questions from the professor about the curse. "You've given me a choice example Mr. Potter," said Simonson, satisfied finally with Harry's answers. "You've also helped put to rest some of an old Auror's concerns; twenty points to Gryffindor. Anyone else with an example?" Harry sheathed his wand and sat, and the class carried on.

"Been practicing that one?" Ron asked as they walked down the corridors to their next class. Ginny held Harry's hand, and Hermione flanked his other side, well Ron walked to the side of his sister. Luna trailed slightly behind them, and the three girls were chattering away happily. Students moving in either direction parted like water to allow the group passage, making Harry wonder if his earlier demonstration of Sectumsempera had already made its way around the school.

"Yeah," he answered absently. "It's not a nice spell, but it's damned effective." Ron nodded, turning for a moment to wave to Dean as he walked past.

"Kind of weird to see that spell again," Ron mused as they entered the Potions classroom. "It feels so long ago that everything happened here. It's like, I don't know. It's like we're in a different world or something." Their conversation, as much as Ron had ever spoken at once to Harry since the beginning of August, ended as everyone moved into pairs for the class. The five of them occupied seats as close to each other as possible, and slowly prepared their cauldrons.

A very boring hour and a half later, Harry was all too happy to bottle a sample of his potion and hand it to Slughorn, dashing out of the classroom as fast as he could. If Slughorn had been merely trying to 'collect' him in sixth year, he was completely obsessed with it this year. The only high point was Slughorn's awareness that Harry was pursuing the goal of becoming an Auror, which Slughorn wholeheartedly endorsed. Despite her outward acceptance of Slughorn's attitude towards Harry, Hermione's irritation at the attention the professor paid him - and thus the lack of attention to he paid to her work-trickled across the Legilimency link into Harry's mind.

The end of potions signaled the end of classes for the day, and Harry walked tiredly to the Head's dorm, banishing his school bag to rest near his desk and flopping down on the couch. There was some time before dinner, and the idea of a nap felt far too tempting to pass up. While he had yet to exert himself physically today, the rollercoaster of emotions from his talks with Hermione and Ginny were beginning to weigh on him. With Ron still somewhat distant, he had no one external to talk to, and unload his issues.

How he missed Hermione.

In all his years in the wizarding world, Harry had always been able to depend on Hermione to offer support and an objective opinion for all his issues. Now, though, Hermione was an issue, and even though she maintained a constant presence in his head, he felt as though she was miles away. While she had been with Ron, the equation had been clean and balanced. Her relationship with Harry had been completely transparent and stable. God damn you, woman, with your kisses and your heart.

The thought of talking to Luna crossed his mind. She would be the least likely to judge, and the most likely to offer honest advice. Approaching her would be slightly awkward, but he'd survived worse over the last two days. It was worth a shot, he decided; Harry banished his desire for sleep, and forced himself up off the couch with a groan.

Finding Luna was as simple as consulting the Marauder's Map, and then moving to intercept her. He found it both unsurprising and unfortunate that Luna was walking alone. She had her wand tucked neatly behind one ear as usual, and her long pale hair spread out in curtains across her front and back, having generated enough static over the course of the day to stick to her robe.

"Hey, Luna!" he called, getting her attention. "Got a few minutes?" Seeing her nod, he motioned towards the stairs to the castle entrance.

"You want to talk with me?" she asked, her eyes wide and curious. "What about? Usually, I have to go finding you if I want to see you."

"I should probably change that," Harry said as he walked beside her. "I'd like to see a little more of you, if at all possible. You painted such a wonderful picture of us all in your room, and I'd like to resemble that picture."

Luna stopped midstride, turned on the spot and walked straight into Harry, clamping him in a clumsy but strong hug. "Thank you, Harry. That was wonderful of you to say." When she pulled back, Harry saw her brush a tear away.

"You deserve it," he said. "You deserve a lot better than you've been given."

"It's people's right to believe as they want to," Luna said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm not worried about what they think."

"No, but they should be worried about what they think," Harry pressed. "We should be to a point, too. Isn't it wrong for the purebloods to persecute the muggleborn because of their blood?"

"Of course," Luna said. "It's a horrible thing."

"Then why would you so easily give people permission to do the same to you?"

"It's not the same thing," Luna said, shaking her head. Her voice was less certain than it was before, though, and Luna stared at her feet.

"It's also very inconsiderate of me as a friend to allow others to abuse you, with words or otherwise. I know that you wouldn't stand by while that happened to me." Luna looked up at Harry without raising her head; with the height difference between the two, Luna looked to Harry like a little girl caught doing something bad. Harry bit back a laugh, and reached out to raise her face by the chin, dispelling the disturbing image.

"Do you honestly think you're not worth defending?" he asked. "I know I did, but there were these wonderful people around me to convince me otherwise." Luna didn't answer, but continued to stare at him, her head tilted slightly. As they started walking again, however, he thought she might have been standing a little bit straighter.

"Well, we have time before dinner," she said, her voice once again light and airy. "Does this have anything to do with my father? He's still so terribly sorry, you know."

"Still? He's apologized for that what, six times now? If Death Eaters had taken my daughter, I might have done the same."

Luna turned her silvery eyes to regard him fully. "I don't think you would," she said after a moment of scrutiny. "I think that you would continue to fight, or perhaps try to rescue her. I haven't ever seen you break, Harry, and I doubt I ever will." Harry gave her a skeptical look, but Luna didn't seem fazed. Instead, she stepped a little closer, and stared up at him.

"It's like there are two of you: One is modest and kind, and one is capable of the most extreme personal sacrifices. Whenever you're relaxed, like you are now, you're the former. Whenever you're under stress, you shift into the latter. How come you can't be both at once?"

"Um, wow," Harry managed, caught completely off guard by Luna's analysis. "That's… pretty deep, Luna."

Luna backed away with a smile, and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "The only real conversations we've had together have been about dueling, death, and the war in general. I assumed that since you came to talk, it wasn't going to be about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks." Her voice took on a rueful tone near the end. Harry had never heard Luna be self-depreciating before; she was, however, right.

"Yeah, it's fairly serious," he agreed. "I need a good friend's advice." Luna managed to look even more surprised than she normally looked, and Harry couldn't help a small chuckle. "Before you ask, let me set the field: Neville's not here, Ron's being a git again, and Hermione and Ginny are involved. That leaves you."

Luna silently mouthed the last of Harry's statement, and her eyes lost a lot of their dreamy quality, focusing sharply on Harry. "This is a dating thing, isn't it?" she asked, her head tilted slightly. Not having any better description of it himself, Harry nodded. "Hermione's sending mixed signals, and you're confused?"

A small grin played upon Harry's lips. "No, I'd say that they're anything but mixed," he said.

"Oh. Well, that's got to be awkward, then."

Harry snorted loudly, looking away. "Yes, Luna, everything makes sense now," he said dryly.

"There's no need to be rude," she said, the slightest of frowns gracing her features for a moment. "I mean, could you say which one is more important to you? Ginny loves you dearly, but I suppose that Hermione must, as well. You're dating Ginny already, though, so that has to count for something."

Harry nodded, but his features displayed his internal conflict. "It does, but Hermione's… I'm worried about her."

"Oh! So I was right, then!" Luna said, smiling widely and clapping her hands together. "You do have an issue keeping your personalities together! Don't look so confused, Harry, its quite simple: You're very kind, and so you couldn't possibly hurt either Ginny or Hermione. Since you're dating Ginny, that means not breaking up with her, if you can. You're also very aware of who needs you the most, and right now, you think that Hermione does. It probably helps that Hermione's done so much for you, and you probably feel like she deserves anything you could do to help her, including your love. You're conflicted because, in your mind, you can't be with one without betraying the other."

"And you think I can?" he asked, traces of hope in his voice.

Luna looked at him closely again before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. I don't think you could live with just a partial solution, Harry. You're going to have to choose, or you're going to have to let things unfold as they do. You're a good man, and they both love you. Things will work out."

Things will work out.

Things certainly had not worked out, Harry mused. It was now Friday, the end of the short first week of school. After three days of mornings with Ginny, classes with everyone, and evenings with Hermione, Harry felt worse than ever. Ginny was a joy to spend time with, be it intimately or simply talking. Hermione, too, was open and talkative, and paid more attention to him than she ever had before. She was quicker with her hugs now, and enjoyed working together on the couch, where they could be in some form of physical contact. It seemed so innocent, a mere byproduct of her deep connection to Harry's thoughts.

His rounds finished for the night, Harry lay on the couch in his common room, watching the fire. The entire situation was so minor, so trivial, and yet Harry felt it quickly beginning to fester; a hidden, tiny wound tucked just beyond reach, and the infection was spreading. It gnawed at the edges of his heart, playing with his feelings of love, guilt, and pride.

"Harry?"

Hermione's tentative voice drew him out of this brooding. He turned to see her closing the portrait and walking over. She knelt in front of him, and reached out to touch his shoulder, her face at once caring and worried.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but the need for some sort of physical contact urged him forward. He brought his arm forward and around Hermione's head, drawing her close, and adjusting himself to lie at the edge of the couch. Hermione's arms immediately wrapped around him, gently tightening into a warm embrace, burying Harry's face in her woolen sweater.

There were uses for these sweaters, Harry decided. They were soft and yielding, and turned what was already a comfortable hug into a small piece of heaven. His mind went blank, and he drank in the comfort that Hermione radiated while she held him. Her grip on him tightened slightly, possessively, as his need permeated his mind, well beyond his control. Hermione nestled her face between his head and shoulder, lightly kissing his neck. "I'm here, Harry," she whispered. "Whatever it is, I'm here."

The warmth of the fire and Hermione's tender embrace left him light-headed. He felt drunken and slow to react, and the urge to relax into sleep was powerful. Only lying in the summer heat in thefield near the Burrow had Harry felt similar, and that was with Ginny...

The memory focused him, reminding him strongly of the source of his disquiet. Hermione's embrace lost none of its tenderness, but his mind was once again sharp and aware. Her presence permeated his mind now, both offering comfort and searching out the reason for his distress. He had nearly shut down in his comfort, however, so there was very little in his mind to see aside from the most prominent of memories of his past, towering in his mindscape like skyscrapers. The rest remained hidden as though beneath an impenetrable fog.

Carefully, he forged trails through that fog, well away from Hermione's active areas of searching. It would be several minutes before she knew he was thinking at all, and he needed that time alone to ponder. Could he tell her about this? Even Luna, despite any unease he felt towards talking with her, had made for far less awkward a conversation. Still, he couldn't see Hermione shying away from the conversation once he began it. The largest concern he had was that Hermione, who was directly involved, might end up affronted, afraid, angry, or, even worse, uninterested.

A shift in Hermione's presence told him that she was now aware of his more wakeful state. "Please talk to me," she said. Her breath hot against his neck, causing a shiver down his side. "Tell me what's wrong; I know I can help." You can help by not breathing on my neck, Harry thought well away from her perceptions. If only he could school his physical reactions, half as well as he had learned to school his mind. Harry shifted slightly, bringing his legs up closer to Hermione to mask the eventual obviousness of his arousal, as Harry had no intentions of breaking the embrace or asking Hermione to move.

"I really don't know what to say," Harry said against her sweater. "There just aren't words coming to me to describe it."

"Show me," she urged. "Please, let my try to help."

Her voice was as soothing to him as it was reassuring. One by one, his objections to talking to Hermione dissolved. Slowly, Harry relaxed his mind, consciously widening his stream of thoughts for the first time since Hermione had begun using Legilimency. Thoughts and memories flowed like water past his senses, and Hermione expanded to encompass his mind, reaching to touch all corners.

Slowly, Hermione's attention focused on Harry's thoughts of her and Ginny, his confusion over her actions, and the comparisons he drew. Harry heard her gasp slightly as she paged through those moments in his mind, and he tightened his hold on her, silently begging her not to pull away break contact.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his thoughts and memories stretched out, no longer under his direct command. Occlumency had placed a subtle strain on him, he realized. It was only now that he had released the restraints on his mind that he felt the difference. While Hermione absorbed his thoughts, he luxuriated in the feeling of absolute abandon, comfortable in the arms of a woman he loved. Who it was hardly mattered; he was at peace.

He felt Hermione's smile at his relaxed mood, and she held him both mentally and physically for a timeless eternity compressed into several minutes. Soothing waves of Hermione's power coursed through his thoughts, washing away any remaining feelings of stress and anxiety. Finally, sensing the last vestiges of strain vanish, Hermione's presence diminished to its normal strength, and Harry again focused his thoughts into narrow streams, asserting mental control.

Particularly sharp mental control.

"What did you do in there?" He asked, feeling around his thoughts, trying to sense the difference. Hermione smiled against his neck and shook her head slightly.

"Just a little house cleaning," she replied. "A little pain here, a little fatigue there; just smoothing out the wrinkles. Most of the feeling is probably just you coming to terms with how much your mind has changed since you mastered Occlumency."

"Maybe..." he trailed off, breathing in her scent through her sweater, "I think that I needed to unload more than anything, though."

"Probably." She shifted and pulled back a bit to look at him directly. "I'm sorry that it's me that caused a lot of that," she said, her eyes bright and deep. "I won't lie to you, you're different now, and I like it. I'm happy that you think I'm beautiful; I've never seen anything so amazing and surprising as your thoughts about me. Thank you."

"I should be thanking you," he said. "You've been nothing but wonderful to me almost since I've known you. I like to think I've done alright by you as well."

"You have," she said, the earnestness in her voice accented by the surge of emotion from her in his mind.

"I'm in an area that I've never been before," he said. "I'm with Ginny, but I want you to stay close. It feels... selfish."

Hermione caressed his cheek softly as she spoke. "You're allowed to be. You've done so much for me, let alone the things you've done for everyone else. I would do almost anything in return. Asking me to be close to you is hardly a chore for me, Harry. I know you in a way that even Ginny can't possibly know you."

"Yeah, and that makes this difficult."

Hermione shook her head. "I enjoy my connection to you, Harry. Is it really something that needs to be sexual?" Harry shrugged, unsure of the answer himself.

Hermione's eyes unfocused a little, as though she was in deep thought. "I'm happy where I am," she said eventually, kissing the bridge of his nose. While her voice sounded convincing, Harry felt uneasiness and small flecks of guilt around her mental presence. Harry nodded and smiled, but he wondered privately if this is what a lie felt like.

"Do you think maybe we should talk to Ginny?" Hermione suggested. "At least, it might make you feel better about all this."

"I can try," he said, sighing. "Haven't we kept this to ourselves for a reason, though?"

Hermione fidgeted a little. "Well, I was hoping that you'd keep your revelations to my Legilimency. It's hardly a unique thing, after all, and Ginny doesn't know enough about it to understand that the connection I have to you just can't happen normally. I'd like to keep my other abilities a secret."

Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione kept her wandless practice confined to their common room, and so most of it occurred in his presence. While he had yet to see her move away from the spells she already knew, he could feel her magic pulse from across the room sometimes while she worked. He used the time to study Dumbledore's journals. Dumbledore's writings continued to amaze him with his insight into the subtleties of magic. Harry truly believed in the power of those subtleties; they had saved his life several times, and led to Voldemort's ultimate demise, after all.

"I shouldn't have a problem editing that out," Harry said, bringing himself back to the conversation. "I hope you can figure out where your abilities came from. Not complaining, mind you, I'll quite enjoy having a powerful witch in my corner."

"Of course you will," Hermione said dryly. "Another 'advantage' to add to your list, then?"

"Absolutely!" Harry said, making them both laugh. "Though I have to admit, it'll be the oddest of all the advantages I've ever had."

"It's unique," Hermione said, nodding in agreement. "But then again, the two of us are about as unique as you can get."

Harry chuckled at that remark, and slowly brought the conversation into shallower waters, choosing now to begin discussing their plans with the other prefects.

Harry followed through with Hermione's recommendation. The next morning, he and Ginny sat out by the lake, talking in low voices as Harry related a slightly altered version of his experiences to his girlfriend, who seemed less than pleased with the news.

Ginny's voice was both incredulous and slightly acidic. "Hermione's been in your head since the beginning of August? And you're telling me now?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell," Harry said with a tone of finality. "Hermione hardly wants this going around. I'm telling you because she's comfortable enough with it now that it's less of an issue."

Ginny squinted at Harry, shaking her head slightly as though trying to discern something. "Why would it be an issue? Does she think that she's the Devil all of a sudden, just because she can use Legilimency?"

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. "You don't get it. She wanted to stay connected with me, and she wasn't sure if she could do it or what would happen, and she was worried about your reaction on top of it."

"Is she in there now?"

"She's always around," he said, closing his eyes. "She's not paying attention right now; she's studying, I think. I can get her attention if you like; grab her probe and give it a shake." Ginny shook her head, though, and looked out across the lake.

"Do you love her?" she asked eventually.

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Without question, I do. But you knew that already."

"That's not what I meant," she muttered, and Harry pulled her close to him.

"I've always been close to Hermione. Do you see that as a threat?"

"It's the biggest threat, Harry. You don't understand how scared I feel that you can so easily say you love her. Suppose one day you decide that she's better for you, what then? Not just-- listen to me, damn you! Not just as a girl, as a woman. As..."

"Mother to my children, or something like that?" he finished for her. Ginny nodded, unable to put it in words.

"I don't think it'll come to that," he said, cursing as his own mind reverberated with the lie. It was a lie, he knew; he was just as conflicted as he ever was, perhaps even more since his conversation with Hermione. The focus of their talking was black and white: Either Hermione was interested in him or she wasn't, and she had skillfully avoided stating her intent directly. What she did say smacked of untruth to the point that Harry found it impossible to ignore. With effort, he schooled his train of thought back to Ginny.

"I've never known you to be so nervous about anything, either. What happened to your confidence?"

"I've never been confident about you," she said quietly. "I always wanted to be with you, to at least have a chance at the real man behind my childhood dreams. Even if it didn't work out, at least I tried. Despite all my fears, you're here, you're amazing, and I love you. I don't want to lose that, and I know you wouldn't go behind my back. At least, not with just anyone.

"Hermione's got an in that no other girl has; she loves you, and she has your love already, and I really don't think you'd be able to say no."

"She'd never hurt you like that," Harry said, kissing the top of Ginny's head. "You know she'd die before she hurt you like that."

"But here we are, coming really, really close to discussing our relationship," she whispered. They were silent for several moments, neither able to add to what Ginny had said. Ginny eventually snuggled closer to Harry, seeking warmth. Harry sighed and pulled her more tightly to him, and watched the waves ripple across the lake. Hermione had been partially right: it was a lesser burden he now carried, but the uneasiness remained. While he no longer felt guilty, his confusion remained, and it had passed to Ginny as well. A flock of mail owls heading towards the castle, their flight made uncharacteristically noisy by the letters and packages they bore interrupted the silence.

"Why did Hermione approach you about her Legilimency, anyways?" she asked, once the distraction had passed.

"Ron." Ginny turned her head, her eyes pleading for explanation.

"Hermione was picking up Legilimency during our time hunting Voldemort's Horcruxes, in case it would have helped me deal with my visions. Naturally, she wasn't anywhere near good enough to get into my head until after it mattered. Apparently, my pathetic Occlumency was more than enough to keep out a beginner Legilimens. So, she practiced…"

"…On Ron." Ginny finished. She shrugged when Harry confirmed it. "Makes sense, Ron would be easier to get into. Actually, that makes a lot of sense. Hermione saw something in there, didn't she? She saw something she didn't like, and pulled away from Ron."

"Pretty much," Harry said, shrugging his own shoulders.

"Tell me." Harry's questioning gaze met her determined one. "I know Hermione, and she's an all-or-nothing girl: If she told you even one word, she would have told you everything. Spill."

Harry smiled at Ginny's returning tenacity as he spoke. "Last year Ron decided, before he ever came to find us again, that he would do his absolute damndest to be 'better' than both Hermione and me. Better at dueling, better at magic, more successful in his career, richer... everything."

Ginny raised her eyebrow slightly as Harry finished. "And that's a bad thing? Even if he doesn't get there, those are decent things to aim for; you set a high bar, after all."

"Yeah, but Ron basically went nasty once he got proof that there was no way in hell he'd catch Hermione, and Hermione mentioned that he reacted in a similar way when he saw me step up my own practices."

"I know he was frustrated," Ginny said, pulling back her hair. "He tried to practice like you, but he couldn't do silent spells consistently. He's not as fast, and he while he's got muscle, he can't ignore his stomach long enough to get the ripped look you've got. He basically gave it up as a bad run."

Harry shook his head slowly as Ginny talked. "That's asinine," Harry said, exasperated. "How can he just decide that? Every single spell I use in my dueling, I've practiced at least a thousand times." Seeing the disbelieving look on Ginny's face, Harry sighed and began to explain.

"Well, most of this is from Dumbledore's notes from his time with Grindelwald, and I've just adapted and expanded it a little to work on my dueling. Here's the rundown: You take a new spell that you've never done before, and you learn the theory behind it at least well enough to attempt the casting. The first hundred times are to get used to the spell and build up consistency. By the hundredth time, the spell should work on demand, regardless of how weak it is. Fair enough?" Ginny nodded, and he continued.

"Okay, so the next two hundred times are for power: you push as much as you can, resting when you have to. By the time you're done two hundred strong repetitions of a spell, especially something like Stupefy or Reducto, it's practically firing out your wand to your heartbeat, and you'll have noticed that it's gotten about as effective as it's going to be on short notice.

"Now comes the hard part. The next two hundred times, you're going silent, exaggerating the wand movements and slowing them down to make it as easy as it can be. You're still doing what you did before, though; you're still pushing to make sure the spell is as strong as it can be. At about your fiftieth rep, you should get relatively consistent casting; at least, I did."

"After casting the spell three hundred bloody times?" Ginny interrupted. "I'd damn well think you'd get a response!"

"Well, exactly. This doesn't all happen at once, mind you; I manage a couple of spells a week doing this. If you take your Mum to be your average witch, then that means the casting around two dozen spells a day; that's way less than two hundred spells a week. You can imagine how exhausted two thousand spells a week made me in the beginning.

"So anyways, over the next one-fifty, your silent spell should be pretty much up to par with your verbal spell. If it's not, it'll get there as you keep going.

"Now, we're at five hundred. For the next hundred reps, you're working on making the wand movements as small as possible, so that you're just twitching your wand to cast. You're still being silent and you're still pushing, by the way. By then, your wand movements should fit in here." Harry made a circle with his forefinger and thumb, indicating the inside circumference. "In fact, for spells like Stupefy that are straight-line spells, I cast the spell through my hand like that for the last few reps, just to make sure.

"Now that the wand movements are small and the spell is both strong and silent, the next two hundred times you cast the spell, you're going for speed. You're flicking the spell movements off as fast as you can, and you only count the times you actually cast successfully. For me, it's usually the last sixty or so that I can pretty much count one after the other. Anyways, it's just bang, bang, bang, bang; fast as you can. Do I even need to say it?"

"You're still pushing; you're still silent, and you're still using small movements," Ginny said, counting off on her fingers with a grin.

"Right. After that, you have a hundred times to improve your aim while doing all that, always hitting the same spot on a tree or my eventual favorite, a Bludger charmed to fly erratically in front of you at varying speeds and distances. The goal here is to keep shooting constantly, not waiting to aim; you're working on your natural, on-the-fly aim with this. The last hundred is the hardest: You're still going for strength, speed, silence, minimal movements, and accuracy, but now you need to move around. Dive, roll, run, duck, and fall to the ground... you're never shooting from the same place twice in a row. You also want to alternate wand stances: your standard wand-forward stance, the Scorpion Tail..." he trailed off as he saw Ginny's confusion.

"The Scorpion Tail was Bellatrix's stance," he said, holding his wand up and over his head, aiming his arm over his opposite shoulder. "It's good for firing over obstacles, and for keeping your own spellfire from obscuring your vision.

"Anyways, you mix it up like that. By the end of August, I'd run out of spells that I wanted to do that with, so I'd just pick about twenty or so, go through some practice casts to make sure they're still up to form and then do that last exercise with them, moving around and shooting things. Spells like Protego you practice all thousand times, but you're obviously working on speed and placement, rather than hitting targets.

"Wow, that's... amazing," Ginny said, shaking her head. "If that's what Ron saw, no wonder he gave up."

"Well, it's stupid of him to think about it as a competition," Harry said. "He should be worried about getting there himself; start at the beginning, and work his way through, just like I did."

"Do you do that with every spell?" Ginny asked, apparently having lost interest in discussing Ron at all.

"Pretty much every spell I know got this treatment. All the combat spells go to a thousand, and everything else goes to six hundred. The last four hundred is all for dueling, and household spells and other miscellaneous crap aren't worth the agony of those four hundred reps. Hell, getting the wand movements smaller on most of those spells is more for pride than usefulness. I don't even need them silent, but it all comes back to the idea that drives my dueling practice: Simplicity. Whatever spells I learn, I want to be able to cast without even thinking."

Ginny continued to shake her head, though she now wore a smile. "God damn, you're amazing. Does Hermione practice like that?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. Hermione, break a sweat? I thought she was your friend." Ginny erupted into giggles at Harry's unexpected sarcasm. Harry, too, chuckled a bit. "It's true," he insisted. "This is now Hermione studies: Hermione looks up a spell and says 'Cool! A new spell!'" Ginny's laughter doubled, and she held Harry tightly for support.

"She now researches everything to do about this spell, including the exact date and time the ink dried on the book she found it in. This, naturally, takes her about three minutes."

"S-S-stop it," Ginny said, holding her stomach and nearly out of breath with laughter. "Oh God, my sides... stop, love."

"Fine, fine; less wit, then. Next, she takes her wand and quietly performs the spell. Since she's Hermione, it's a pretty good bet she gets it first try." Ginny nodded, regaining some control over her breathing.

"Once she's done the spell a couple of times, she immediately rejoices and begins ripping it apart to see if she can change it." Ginny's eyebrows crinkled and rose, and Harry nodded fervently. "I'm not kidding! She rips the spell apart, and then makes it do something that it was never designed to do. Once she's managed this, she claps her hands together like this, and finds someone so she can show off the new and improved spell; usually me."

Ginny snickered, then frowned a second, waiting for Harry to continue. "And then...?" she prompted when Harry remained silent. Harry simply smiled.

"That's it?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione's greatest feat is that she can reproduce any spell she's ever done after only having used it a couple of times, and have it work at least as well as it's supposed to, sometimes much better. I don't know if it's just because she gets bored with the spell or whatever, but I've never seen her pay any more attention to a spell than I've just stated. The only spell I've ever known her to take more than a few minutes with was the Protean Charm for the DA's coins, and that's just her telling me so; for all I know, she did those coins in five minutes flat."

The look of confusion hadn't left Ginny's face. "But there's no way that she can cast as well as she can, then!"

"Well, let's just consider Hermione a prodigy then," Harry said with a shrug. Considering she's not even using a wand, he thought, it's not as if she'd need the practice.

Ginny's eyes narrowed as she considered what Harry had said. "There's a 'but' in here somewhere, isn't there? Why haven't I ever seen you and Hermione duel?"

"I'm very glad she hasn't asked," he replied innocently. "It would be a tough duel." The smile on his face told a different tale, though, and Ginny caught it easily.

"You don't think she could beat you?"

"Maybe if I give her time to set up, but even then it's not likely. There's a quote from one of my muggle books, a book Hermione gave me, ironically enough, that states 'I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.' Do you get what he's saying?"

"Yeah, I do," she said, nodding as she spoke. "A whole bunch of sloppy attacks and defenses aren't as good as one perfect attack or defense."

"You got it," he said, kissing her firmly. "Hermione's dueling spells are decent, and so are yours and Luna's. You'll remember that decent didn't cut it against Bellatrix."

"Don't remind me," she said, shuddering. "That woman was insane, and I couldn't believe how fast she was."

"A few effective spells, and a hell of a lot of practice," Harry said, and Ginny nodded.

"I'm glad Mum managed to take her out."

"Yeah, that's another lesson Bellatrix was good for: Never underestimate your enemy." Ginny nodded but quickly frowned, opening her mouth to defend her mother's skill.

"Don't take it the wrong way," Harry said, patting the air between them. "I love your Mum and she was damned good, but I have to say truthfully that if Bellatrix had respected her as an opponent, we'd have lost her."

"I don't believe that," Ginny said, crossing her arms.

"I do; I was right there, and she nearly knocked me over to get to Bellatrix. I was ready to jump in, but I watched the duel and I saw Bellatrix make the same mistake that Sirius did: She broke her stance and taunted when she should have been casting. She was absolutely convinced that your Mum couldn't hurt her. It killed Sirius, and it killed Bellatrix." Ginny still looked as though she was ready to argue, but Harry knew she would not. He had just invoked Sirius' name in relation to the issue, and Ginny would not talk badly about Harry's late Godfather.

Eventually, Ginny's mouth drew into smirk. "Well, I'll simply have to tell Mother that you think poorly of her dueling skills," she said snootily, her nose in the air.

Harry barked out his laughter, reaching down to tickle Ginny's sides. "You do that," he said as she squealed and pulled away. "You tell your mother she's welcome to challenge me if she feels that her honor is impinged." Ginny was far too busy fending off his hands to talk, giggling with delight as she tried desperately to keep Harry at bay. Eventually Harry caught her up at the waist, and tickled her mercilessly. Ginny's laughter melted into a moan as he suddenly captured her lips, pulling her into a deep kiss.

They stayed out as long as they could, but their mutual hunger brought them inside the castle close to noon, heading towards the Great Hall.

"Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, if you please?" Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall approaching, a scroll in her hand. He turned and gave Ginny a quick kiss before excusing himself with promises to catch up.

"What can I do for you, Professor?" he asked as he walked over. As he walked, he prodded Hermione mentally, drawing her attention to the conversation.

"It appears as though you, Miss Granger and I should have a meeting concerning the plans that you and the prefects are developing," she said, indicating the scroll in her hands. "Insomuch as I approve of the nature of your initiatives, you've given me yet another small pile of work to do, and I fully intend to foist it back upon your shoulders."

"Oh! Well, we weren't trying to make things harder for you…" he trailed off as McGonagall waved away his response.

"It's not that, it's that I am both teaching and administrating, and as such I cannot oversee these events. It will fall to you and Miss Granger to see this through; any meetings you have with me are simply to update me or for anything you might need."

"Okay, why don't we meet… tomorrow afternoon?" he said, pausing mid-sentence to process the suggestion Hermione sent him before she turned her attention back to whatever she was doing. "I know that both Hermione and I are free that time, and it would give us some time to play with if it turns into a long meeting."

"That would be fine," McGonagall said, nodding once. "My other piece of business with you is the Quidditch Captaincy for Gryffindor. It is yours, if you're willing."

"That would be great," Harry said, a huge smile lighting his face at the thought of playing again. "Are Ron and Ginny still on the team, then?"

"I see no reason they would not be, however the team's membership is now once again your responsibility. You'll want to speak with Madam Hooch as soon as you can to book the pitch." McGonagall rummaged in her pocket for a moment, before pulling out a bronze Captain's badge. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Tradition dictates that you wear that to the left of a prefect or Head badge; please do so."

McGonagall smiled appreciatively as Harry attached charmed the badge to his robes, but quickly turned serious again. "There is another matter I wished to discuss with you," she said, lowering her voice. "Have you noticed at all that spells have been harder to cast?" Harry shook his head, and McGonagall continued. "The first years are having a horrendous time getting any spells to work; when they do work, they're quite weak.

"I've noticed that the higher years seem to have no problem with known spells, but any new material is met with the same results. You would be the first student I've spoken with who hasn't noticed any changes."

"That's probably because I'm pretty much through this year's material, Professor," Harry said, blushing slightly with embarrassment. At the professor's look of surprise, he elaborated on his studies, as well as his concept of spell practice."

"Well, that's certainly over-the-top, Potter," McGonagall commented when he finished speaking. "Most students can't possibly do that many repetitions; there simply isn't enough time in the day to practice like that."

"Why not the first three hundred, then?" Harry suggested. "It will make the spell familiar and help them build it up to where it's supposed to be."

"Hmm… well, I'll suggest it to Professor Flitwick, and we'll see if we can't give it a shot. If anything, it's a good target for competency." She then gave Harry a rare, full smile. "It's nice to know that I won't have to worry about your study habits this year," she said. After sharing a laugh at Harry's somewhat lazy career as a student, McGonagall said her goodbyes and walked off. Harry's stomach reminded him of his waiting lunch, and he walked to the Hall to meet Ginny. Ron was there, as was Hermione, and both exclaimed excitedly at Harry's new badge.

"Good on ya, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. Ron's eyes told Harry a different story, though; no matter how good Ron was at lying, he couldn't completely hide his disappointment. Harry walked with Hermione back their dorm, talking quietly about what McGonagall had said; Harry only half-heartedly participated in the discussion, his thoughts still on Ron's reaction. They parted once inside, both heading to their respective bathrooms.

Staring back at him from his bathroom mirror was Ron's dream: Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, with an extremely good chance at winning both the Quidditch and House Cup.

Enough. With effort, he pushed his thoughts away from Ron. He was Captain, and he felt that he deserved it.

Quidditch meant practice, and that meant that his half-week vacation from his workouts was now officially over. Stripping off his robes, shoes and socks, he put on an old pair of shorts and began going through a series of stretches and calisthenics. Hermione found him some time later on the floor of his room, sweat dripping from his brow and down his back as he struggled through one-armed pushups.

She didn't interrupt, and Harry acknowledged her by waving with his free hand and continuing his exercises, while Hermione perched on the edge of his bed, watching. Harry noticed her tracing her fingers across the badges on his robes, and felt her pride.

"Did you talk with Ginny?" she asked when he was between exercises. He nodded tiredly, and called his wand to him from the bed, banishing his sweat. Again, he felt Hermione's pride. "Do you realize that you're probably the only student in Hogwarts that can do that?" she asked. "Even I can't just call my wand to me yet, never mind so casually using Tergeo to clean my entire body, and silently to boot."

"Funny you should mention that," he said, grinning as he dropped onto his bed to sit beside her. He relayed his conversations with Ginny and McGonagall. As he outlined his practice routine for his spells, Hermione's jaw dropped lower and lower.

"A thousand times…" she whispered, "How could you possibly… I take it back, Harry. Maybe I can teach you the spells I've been studying."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Most of those are some sort of complex charm or transfiguration that needs an artist's touch, and I'm no artist."

"It'd only take some practice-"

"No, Hermione. If you find spells that might be good in combat or generally useful, I'd love to see them, but that's it."

"Well… alright," she said, obviously disappointed. Harry put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, bringing a small smile back to her lips.

"Tell you what," he said, an idea coming to his head. "If you want to find something for me, I have a favor to ask. It's big, mind you," he warned, seeing her eyes light up with excitement.

"Don't worry about that," she said. "What do you need?"

"I want you to find out what spell or magic Voldemort used to fly."

Hermione's expression melted into shock as she processed his request, but Harry held her gaze, trying to convey how serious he was. Slowly, Hermione began to nod.

"Okay," she said. "I'll find it for you. As long as it's not dark or somehow harmful…"

"Thanks. It would be amazing to be able to fly without a broom." Harry felt Hermione's sense of excitement return as her surprise at his request faded. He watched amused as she prepared to dash off to the library, having found a new mission. Once she was gone, Harry marshaled himself and turned once again to his exercises, his mind relaxed and blank as sweat began to pour off his face.