The Lesser of Three Evils by The Obsidian Warlock

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 15/05/2008
Last Updated: 12/04/2009
Status: In Progress

When Voldemort murdered Lily Potter, she made a supreme sacrifice to save her son. 10 years
later, young Harry, never able to win the love of his aunt and uncle, is thrust into a world that
calls him a hero. As the years count down to a brutal war, Harry must unravel the mystery of his
mother's gift to save his friends, and decide to whom he owes his allegiance: The man who
murdered his parents; the corrupt politicians of the Ministry; or a man more than a century old,
whose ideals mark him as a genius ... or insane. AU right from first year. H/Hr. Minimal Weasleys.
Hufflepuff!Harry. Rated R for the content of later chapters.




1. I'm What?
------------

**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.*

**Author’s Note:** *Sorry for the gaps between my postings, but I have very few chances to
sit down and write these days. I’ll always make some time for it, and I’ll update when I can, but
until mid-summer or so, you’ll have to be very patient with me.*

*In between working my other stories, this one came together, meshing my ideas of a Hufflepuff
Harry with a different take on exactly how Harry was affected by Voldemort on Halloween ’81. It’s
meant to stand beside MEtyK, which is my Ravenclaw Harry. I have yet to solidify ideas for a
Slytherin Harry, but I might one day. The pacing of this story will be a little quicker, because
like MEtyK and TMF, I have lots to do after the Hogwarts years.*

*Aside from some very mild tweaks to canon, this story features slightly adjusted Dursleys as
well, and I’ve based Harry’s attitude concerning them on a few at-risk children I’ve worked with
and their relationships (or the lack thereof) with their parents. For those who are new to my
writing, I am completely aware of all canon details. If something appears differently in my story
than Rowling portrayed it, it’s because I chose to make it so.*

*For old readers:*

*Chapter 3 of MEtyK is 95% done. Chapter 3 of the Pale is 85% done. Chapter 2 of Rose, Oak and
Tower is 60% done. Chapter 7 of TMF is 40% done. This chapter just happened to get finished
first.*

*I would like everyone that reads this chapter to post a review, even if it’s just a couple
words, and even if it’s anonymous. More importantly, I’d like those who read to skim through my
other stories, if you haven’t already read them. In your review of this chapter, I want to know if
you want me to focus on finishing one story, or keep updating all of them as I go. If you want me
to focus, then which story should I focus on?*

*I look forward to hearing your opinions.*

*For now, I present to you the first chapter of The Lesser of Three Evils. Many thanks go out
to Phae, who has taken up the challenge of being my beta, and to mathiasgranger, who plays Devil’s
Advocate for my storylines.*

*Enjoy!*

*~TOW*

**I’m What?**

*^*^*^*

Little Whinging was known for its cookie-cutter suburbs, where individuality lost out to
conformity on a near-daily basis. This was especially true on Privet Drive, where all fences were
white and well maintained, and no one had a car older than last year’s model. Every house featured
a perfectly manicured lawn and spotless sidewalks. Neighbours smiled at each other and basked in
their artificial perfection, smug in the fact that Privet Drive had a secret weapon in the fight
against time and entropy, and the utopia it created was well worth the cost.

That secret weapon currently lay on his bed at #4 Privet Drive, counting the money he had
earned. School had been out for weeks now, and that meant a summer of odd jobs around the community
for him. He couldn’t bring himself to complain anymore, though; the community certainly paid well
to keep their houses and yards perfect.

This summer would be his eleventh birthday, and he was determined to treat himself in some way.
That would mean extra working hours around the house and the neighbourhood, though – he had to make
his money last the entire year.

He bit back a sigh, thinking about life as a Dursley. Vernon Dursley had a good job as a
supervisor at a drill-making plant, good enough to support his stay-at-home wife, Petunia, and
spoil his son, Dudley. The family had a new car, new appliances and furniture, and the best
televisions and computers on the market. Their son was getting ready to attend a private school,
and had new books, new uniforms, and more birthday presents than anyone could imagine. Yes, life
was comfortable as a Dursley.

The problem was that he wasn’t a Dursley.

He was Harry Potter.

To say that his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loved him was to call the midday sky red. They fed
him, certainly; he had clothes, school supplies, new glasses, and just last month the family’s
dentist had patched two small cavities for him. His tiny bedroom had a bed with a night table, a
dresser, and a desk with a lamp for his homework. That was the extent of the Dursleys’ “love.”

Unlike other young boys, Harry worked the summer, doing every job he could get his hands on.
Other children would have an allowance from their parents for doing chores, or in Dudley’s case,
simply for breathing. Harry never did; he had to earn every penny he had, and then fight to keep it
at school, because Dudley had a big mouth when it came to Harry’s finances. Sometimes, Harry had to
fight Dudley himself, whenever his fat cousin blew through his allowance too quickly.

The bruises from those fights lasted for weeks, and the teachers would always yell at him for
it. It didn’t matter, though; he held on to his money, even against the older boys. Uncle Vernon
never really punished him for doing that, unless he was fighting Dudley.

Uncle Vernon didn’t much care what he did, and said so on several occasions. Harry was past the
years of crying softly in bed when his aunt and uncle celebrated Dudley’s good reports, while
Vernon just signed Harry’s with barely a glance. It didn’t matter that Harry’s marks were far
better than Dudley’s were; Harry wasn’t a Dursley.

Easier to accept were the lack of birthday parties and the second-hand clothes – they were just
things, after all. Harry was hardly proud of himself – if his uncle thought for a moment that he
was he would remind Harry that no child who barely survived a car accident caused by his two
drunken parents – who didn’t survive – should be proud.

Harry was mostly past that pain, too, but sometimes the tears came anyways. He was especially
prone to crying when he saw himself in the mirror: Black hair and bright green eyes stared back,
marking him forever as a non-Dursley. Tearing through his right eyebrow and up past his hairline
was a scar that zigzagged like a lightning bolt, a permanent reminder of how his parents had
died.

Scar… *trough* was more like it, as if a psychopath had removed flesh from his forehead
with a potato peeler. The skin refused to knit back together properly, and the scar would sometimes
flare up and seep blood – those were not Harry’s best days.

The perfect and politically correct people of Little Whinging paid no attention to his scar,
though – to be openly biased was to be imperfect, after all. No, Harry could do yard work and
manual labour like a team of four grown men, and that’s what Little Whinging remembered; that’s
what they paid for.

His uncle would probably allow him garage space if he bought himself a new bicycle. That would
mean better mobility, and maybe a few extra jobs a day, since he could get around faster. Harry’s
work made the Dursleys a popular family, so his uncle would most likely go along with it.

After storing his cash under a loose floorboard, Harry pulled out a small notepad and pencil,
and began to scribble a new entry. The notepad had several messy entries in it, spanning more than
five years. Every entry coincided with what his aunt would call a “freakish occurrence,” one of
several he had each year.

He started the journal at five, when his hair kept growing back, despite his aunt’s best efforts
to trim it. He missed a few entries back then – writing was hard to do. He put more effort into it
after the time that Dudley and his friends tried to beat him up, only to find that he had somehow
made it onto the school roof.

His current entry was much the same. Just yesterday, he was mending the fence at #13, and after
turning away for a moment to wipe his brow and wish the work was done already, he turned back to
see a flawless, perfectly white fence in front of him.

He hadn’t even cracked open the paint.

It was another thing that marked him as different, but it was something that he was beginning to
think he could control. Every instance was something that he wanted, an outcome that he was all but
praying for, that miraculously occurred. That fence incident netted him an extra thirty pounds from
the astonished man, and gave his reputation for unparalleled handiwork a huge boost. Being so close
to the 31st of July, Harry considered it an early birthday present.

If only he knew more about this, he could make his life better. Maybe the Dursleys would even be
nicer to him, if he could use it to help. That, more than anything, appealed to Harry.

As if the world had heard his thoughts, his door opened forcefully, admitting his uncle. Vernon
looked angry – so angry, that his face was redder than a stove element.

“Here, read this,” he said tersely, handing Harry an envelope. “And before you ask a stupid
question, yes, it’s true. Make sure this doesn’t bother us. We want no part of this…
freakishness.”

Vernon was out the door before Harry could say a word. Confused and slightly hurt, Harry looked
at the envelope.

**Harry Potter**

**Smallest Bedroom,**

**#4 Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging, Surrey**

Smallest bedroom? That was an unusual, if accurate, address tag. Harry tore the envelope open,
and stared in growing confusion at the embossed letterhead, realizing that his fingers were not
feeling paper, but a thick, rough parchment that must have cost ten times as much to produce. His
eyes scanned the title repeatedly, as if they refused to register the print.

**Hogwarts** **School** **of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

“No way.”

His uncle had said it was real, though, and Vernon wouldn’t pull a prank. As Harry read through
the letter – an acceptance letter into a magical school, no less – Harry’s doubts began to fade,
vanishing almost completely when he found the reply address to get more information.

Finally, his dream of understanding these events was coming true. “Brilliant,” he whispered to
himself as he re-folded the letter. “This is going to be brilliant.”

*^*^*^*

It was an agonizing two days before Harry received a reply to his return letter. A large, thick
envelope came in the post, containing several pamphlets with information that Harry soaked up – not
the least of which were the directions to a place called Diagon Alley. There was also a form to
fill out, setting up an appointment with one of the professors to act as a guide. Harry debated on
sending that form, ultimately deciding to explore this Diagon Alley by himself.

It took slightly over an hour for Harry to reach the Leaky Cauldron, a pub that acted as a
doorway from London to the Alley. As he approached the pub, he noticed that everyone else on the
sidewalk seemed to avoid it, stepping well around the entrance. Once he was near the doorway, they
seemed to avoid him, too.

“Cool,” he said as he watched people pass him by, oblivious to his presence. He laughed and
smiled, said hello to people as they went past, made faces – nothing seemed to attract their
attention. He even went so far as to trip a man as he passed; the man simply righted himself and
carried on, not sparing a single glance at what might have caused him to stumble.

Eventually tiring of his little game, Harry opened the door to the pub, and stepped inside. The
sight that greeted him was intense: Everyone wore flowing coats – no, those were robes – and the
clothing underneath looked like it was in style at least two hundred years ago. The clothing wasn’t
the worst of it, either. Plates of food drifted through the air on their own, making their way to
paying customers. Harry glanced at the bar to see an old man waving around a short stick that Harry
assumed was a wand, directing food as it went out.

Harry slowly walked towards the man, hoping to have at least a few questions answered. As the
bartender caught his eye, he almost literally tripped over his own feet, stumbling toward Harry
with his hand extended.

“Bless my soul,” he exclaimed as he pumped Harry’s hand. “It’s Harry Potter! Welcome back, Mr.
Potter! Welcome back!”

Harry was too stunned to answer, as he was suddenly the center of a riot of people, all wanting
to shake his hand and thank him. Feeling like the world’s biggest idiot for not knowing why, Harry
smiled and thanked people, working his way through the crowd until he reached the bar.

“Excuse me?” he asked. “Do you have a moment?”

“Anything for you, Mr. Potter,” replied the enthusiastic barman, giving Harry a wide,
gap-toothed smile. “What can old Tom do for you?”

“Well, a couple of things, actually…” Harry carefully explained his need to visit Diagon Alley,
as well as his relative newness to everything.

“Well, you’re in a spot of luck!” Tom said happily, guiding Harry to a man wearing a turban.
“Mr. Potter, meet Quirinus Quirrel, a professor at Hogwarts.”

“Hello, sir,” said Harry, offering his hand. Quirrel shook it quickly before jerking his hand
away.

“P-pleased to m-m-meet you,” stuttered Quirrel. “L-looking f-f-f-forward to H-Hogwarts, are
y-you?”

“You bet!”

Tom patted Harry on the shoulder, and turned to face Quirrel. “Professor, Mr. Potter needs a
guide to set him up for the year and introduce him to the Alley.”

“O-oh. A-a-alright, then...” Quirrel beckoned Harry over to a plain brick wall at the end of the
pub. Taking out a wand much like Tom’s, Quirrel tapped the wall in a few places. With a low rumble,
the bricks began to move, turning out to form an archway to a narrow street crammed full of
bustling people and the shouts of vendors hawking their wares.

Harry followed the bizarre professor around the Alley as he pointed out the various shops and
locations. Despite his stuttering, Harry found that Quirrel was a funny man, and he gave Harry a
sneaky look as he pointed out the entrance to a place he called Knockturn Alley, where shops
catered to the community’s shadier needs.

Their first bout of work was getting access to Harry’s bank account, needing to retrieve Harry’s
key from Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry was surprised to know that he had an account at all, which
led to the professor reluctantly explaining the death of his parents at the hands of the Dark Lord
Voldemort almost ten years ago, and Harry’s miraculous survival when Voldemort tried to kill him,
too.

Harry sat back when Quirrel had finished, rubbing his temples the way he’d often seen his uncle
do. “They were murdered? I… I was lied to?”

“M-m-maybe,” Quirrel said. “Its p-p-possible t-that n-no one t-t-told your r-r-relatives
anyth-thing. Y-Y-You-Know-W-Who is a t-t-t-touchy t-topic.”

“I can find a book or two on it, right?”

Quirrel nodded, and Harry changed the subject back to school supplies, much to the jittery
professor’s relief.

Once his key had arrived by mail owl, Harry adopted his uncle’s seriousness about money and made
a detailed inventory of his vault. He had five thousand galleons, give or take the smaller coins,
which he estimated to be about twenty-five thousand pounds. There was also a list of larger
accounts and properties held in trust for his seventeenth birthday, the wizarding age of majority.
Gathering the money he needed for his supplies and some extra to convert to pounds, Harry began to
shop.

Quirrel was very helpful, directing him from shop to shop, and often suggesting which items were
worth paying extra for, and which ones weren’t.

“T-t-two things all s-s-students should h-h-have,” he said, “Is a t-t-trunk that c-c-can shrink
its-s-s-self, and h-h-h-high q-quality r-r-robes. Exp-p-pensive, but w-worth it.”

“The trunk, I understand,” agreed Harry. “Why the robes, though?”

“T-t-they can t-take more ab-b-buse and s-st-still be repaired. Bes-s-sides, it n-n-never
h-h-h-h-hurts t-to l-l-look nicer.” The professor offered a smile, and Harry grinned back. It would
be good to look nice, and it wasn’t too much more, so he agreed, and spent some extra time at Madam
Malkin’s while she took his measurements.

The last place Harry went was to Ollivander’s for a wand. The old man had an eerie presence, but
he seemed very knowledgeable and dedicated to his work.

“You remember every wand you’ve sold?” Harry asked when Ollivander had commented on it. “How do
you do that? That’s amazing!”

“It has a lot to do with making them,” Ollivander hedged, “and the rest is experience.”
Ollivander measured all parts of Harry’s body, and then gathered a handful of wands he thought
might work.

“I really like the way this one feels,” Harry said, running his hand across one of the wands on
the table.

“Hmm. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches… well, give it a go.”

Harry grabbed the wand, and golden sparks shot from the tip, dancing in random directions across
the ceiling.

Ollivander clapped his hands. “My, my, what a bond! I think you’ve found your wand, Mr.
Potter!”

Harry nodded enthusiastically, feeling the wood warm beneath his hands.

“It feels amazing! So, do I need anything to hold the wand – a holster, or something?”

“Good gracious, no!” laughed Ollivander. “My wands are the best for a reason, you know. You’ve
bonded well with your wand, so this should be easy for you. Hold your wand down to your side, like
so. Now, let it go – don’t worry, just let go.” Harry did, and instead of falling, the wand moved
up, defying gravity and resting snugly against his inner forearm.

“Cool!” exclaimed Harry as he shook his arm around. Try as he might, nothing would dislodge the
wand. Harry made a downward wrist-flick on impulse, and to his surprise, the wand fell down again,
coming to rest in his palm just as he closed his hand to catch it.

“Well done!” said Ollivander, clapping lightly from behind his table. “Just so you know, you can
place your wand just about anywhere – your leg, your back – and it will stay there. That release
motion, of course, only works when you allow it to attach to the forearm. Otherwise, you must grab
hold yourself.”

“Okay, then.” As Harry retrieved his money, he noticed a signboard at the back of the shop
advertising specific components of a wand for sale. “Uh, Mr. Ollivander, if you sell wands, why do
you sell the parts?”

The wand-maker glanced back at the sign, and then smiled at Harry. “The best wand match is
always the one that you make for yourself. Of course, those skills come with time. It’s not a very
common thing anymore.” He gestured to Harry’s new wand. “Many people bond so well with the wands I
make in the store, like you have, that there’s no purpose to making their own.”

Harry nodded his understanding, and said his farewells. All the way down the street, Harry kept
playing with his new wand, letting it slide up his forearm, before flicking it back to his hand.
Smiling at Harry’s excitement, Quirrel took Harry past Eeylops Owl Emporium, where Harry walked out
with a snowy owl perched on his shoulder, hooting happily.

“N-n-ow, y-you’re g-going h-h-home with a-all, that, r-r-right, P-Potter?”

“Of course, Professor. There’s a bus that’ll drop me off a block from my house.”

“G-g-good. S-s-send y-your owl ah-h-head, she’ll alr-r-ready know t-the w-way.”

After saying goodbye to the professor, Harry placed his now-shrunken trunk of belongings in his
pocket and turned to his new owl. “I was thinking of calling you Hedwig. You like that?” Hedwig
blinked at him and hooted, prancing in place on his shoulder. “Great! Can you find my house, then,
Hedwig? I’m the left window on the north side.”

Hedwig bobbed her head in an almost-human nod, and leapt from Harry’s shoulder, flying up into
the air, and disappearing into the blue. Harry turned and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, his
thoughts moving from his owl to bus schedules.

*

It was early evening by the time Harry got home, and he entered the house to see his uncle and
aunt looking over financial statements in the living room. The sound of the television from
Dudley’s room announced his cousin’s whereabouts.

“It’s more than we can afford right now,” Vernon said quietly.

“But it’s our only chance to enrol Dudley!” Petunia protested. “Surely, something else can make
way?”

“And ruin our credit with overdue payments? I think not! I can free up that kind of money, but
it would take at least a month.”

“We need it this week, though!”

Harry frowned, and walked over. Hadn’t the Dursleys already dealt with Dudley’s enrolment? After
all, Dudley had all his school supplies already. He glanced quickly at the papers they were looking
at – Dudley’s acceptance letter for Smeltings, along with another letter about the fees involved,
and several bank statements. Vernon scooped the papers away from Harry once he noticed him.

“Mind your own business, boy.”

“I can get you that, if you want,” Harry offered, still excited from his trip to the Alley. “My
parents left me with money to get through school, but there’s enough extra.”

His uncle gave him an incredulous look. “You can come up with two thousand pounds, just like
that?”

“I can get it tomorrow,” Harry assured him.

Vernon grunted, looking as though something sour had gone down his throat. Petunia, however,
looked at him pleadingly, and he finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll pay you back by the end of the
month.”

“You don’t need-”

“I’ll. Pay. You. Back. By. The. End. Of. The. Month.” The look in his uncle’s eyes was
frightening, and Harry immediately backed away.

“A-alright.”

Vernon nodded sharply and left the room, and Harry walked silently upstairs, collapsing onto his
bed, trying desperately not to cry. It didn’t hurt anymore that his aunt and uncle didn’t buy him
gifts, but he never thought that they would refuse a gift from him.

“I was only trying to help,” he whispered to no one as his tears began to fall. “I just… just
wanted…” His voice choked away, but his mind finished for him. It would never matter; Vernon would
never care.

He was not a Dursley.

*^*^*^*

Even the sting of his uncle’s words could not keep Harry’s mood down for very long. Avoiding his
grumbling uncle, Harry spent as much time as he could in Diagon Alley, poking his head through
books in Flourish and Blotts, and buying the interesting ones. Many of the shopkeepers recognized
him, and Harry took the time to ask as many questions about his family as he could.

*

“No, Mr. Potter, I’m sorry,” said Madam Malkin when he stopped in to pick up the rest of his
order. “I never knew your parents, aside from when they came in for robes. They seemed happy,
though, and they were certainly over the moon when Lily was pregnant with you.”

*

“Heard your mother was amazing at Potions,” the apothecary wheezed, as he swept his shop.
“Professor Slughorn was Hogwarts’ Potions Master at the time, and he told me he was very impressed
with her work.”

*

“James would come in for equipment all the time,” crowed the owner of Quality Quidditch
Supplies. “New pads, new broom kits… you’d think he ran into the ground every match he had! Well,
maybe he did, but he was a bang-up Chaser for Gryffindor; won two games for his team even though
they lost the Snitch! At the school level, that’s saying something!”

*

“Inseparable, they were!” the woman at the counter of Magical Menagerie said longingly. “Called
themselves the Marauders and they wreaked havoc on the school. Those were fun times… before things
got bad. James, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black…” her tone darkened as she reached
the last name. “He switched sides near the end, I hear, and betrayed your parents. The Ministry
holds him responsible for their deaths, and Peter died fighting him just after. He’s in Azkaban
Prison, and he’ll stay there ‘till he dies. Sad thing, really. Sad…”

*

“Remus?” Tom scratched his head, before shaking it slightly. “Haven’t seen him in a couple years
now, I’m afraid. He’s always been a quiet man, but after your parents died, he almost faded away.
Tell you what, you let me ask around, and we’ll see if I can’t find him for you.”

*

Harry waited patiently as the minutes ticked by. Shortly after 1, the London-side door opened,
and a man in threadbare, patched robes walked in. His salt-and-pepper hair was short, and he kept a
small moustache. A permanent sadness hung from his features, and it made him seem far older than
Harry thought he was.

The man’s head swivelled, spotting him immediately. “Harry?” he asked, looking astonished.

“That’s me,” replied Harry with a smile. “Mr. Lupin, right? I’m pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine. And please, call me Remus – I can’t ever imagine you calling me by my last
name.” They shook hands, and sat back down at Harry’s table. Hours quickly passed as Remus talked
about his parents, and Harry filled in the events of his youth. As they talked, Remus seemed to get
younger and younger, the melancholy falling from him as easily as a dog sheds fur.

*

Feeling more than a little empowered from his conversation with Remus, Harry decided that now
was as good a time as any to confront his uncle. When he arrived back at Privet Drive, Harry walked
up to Vernon, who put down his coffee and frowned.

“What do you want, boy?”

“I need to know something,” Harry said. “You told me my parents died in a car accident;
why?”

Vernon’s eyebrow rose slightly, and his thick greying moustache twitched, a sign of annoyance.
“I told you that because that’s what Petunia told me. What of it?”

“They didn’t die that way; they were murdered – well, assassinated, really, in part of a
war.”

“By some freak wizard, no doubt?” Harry nodded once, and Vernon scoffed. “Figures. In a way,
that’s worse than drunk driving. Reckless heroics; how stupid do you get?”

Having heard more than enough, Harry turned and left the kitchen, going to the upstairs
washroom. He had expected his uncle’s vitriol, but the one small happiness that he garnered from it
was that despite Vernon’s continued rejection, at least his uncle hadn’t lied.

When Harry saw himself in the mirror, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad anymore. That
vicious scar on his forehead was from a dark wizard’s curse, and there was an undeniable sense of
‘cool’ that went along with that.

*

Harry met Remus several more times at the Cauldron, and as Remus continued to expand on his
parents’ history, the empty piece of Harry’s heart reserved for his Uncle Vernon filled slightly,
in the form of Remus Lupin.

*^*^*^*

True to his word, Vernon came into Harry’s room August 31st and slapped an envelope
full of money on his trunk before turning to leave just as quickly. Harry wordlessly pocketed it
without checking the amount – Vernon would never cheat on a debt. He carefully packed a backpack
with a set of robes and two fantasy novels to read to pass the time. Deciding to expand his journal
of magic, Harry also packed his notepad of experiences. Tapping his trunk with his wand to shrink
it, Harry placed that in the backpack, too. The next day, Harry trudged out of the house, feeling
very much like every other boy heading off to school.

“Head to King’s Cross,” Harry instructed Hedwig. “Find me on the Hogwarts Express.” With a hoot,
Hedwig flew off, and Harry walked off to the bus stop.

Harry soon found himself walking inside King’s Cross Station, staring at the false wall between
Platforms 9 and 10. There were obviously wizarding families there, and Harry quietly observed a few
pass through the portal before Harry steeled himself to do the same. He felt like a fool walking
into a wall, but just like the others, he passed right through, and found himself staring at a
large red steam engine, with a plaque that read “Hogwarts Express.”

The inside of the train was large and spacious – exactly the opposite of what Harry expected
from the old train cars. The train was obviously larger on the inside than it was on the outside:
Each compartment was big enough for six grown adults, and the hallways were wide enough for nearly
thee people to walk side-by-side.

“So cool,” he muttered to himself as he chose a compartment to sit in. He opened the window, and
not five minutes later, Hedwig arrived, flying in and perching on the back of his seat.

The train slowly filled, and Harry pulled out one of his books to read, losing himself in the
story.

“Excuse me?”

Harry looked up to see a girl with brown bushy hair in muggle clothing looking at him. A rather
portly boy in a wizard’s robe was a few feet behind her. “Is it alright if we sit here?” the girl
asked. “The other compartments are quite noisy.”

Harry smiled and motioned to the seats. He stopped reading long enough to help the other boy
heave his and the girl’s trunks up onto the storage rack, and then sat down again.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the girl said, offering her hand.

“Neville Longbottom,” mumbled the boy, following Hermione’s lead and putting his hand out.

“Harry Potter.” Harry shook both their hands; Neville’s face registered his shock, while
Hermione gave a thoughtful frown.

“I’ve read about you,” she said.

“I’ve read about me, too. The books knew more about my family than I did.”

“Really? That’s awful!”

Harry gave a small shrug. “Yeah, well… that changed pretty quickly. I spent all of August
rooting around Diagon Alley finding out what I could. It took me awhile to track down a family
friend and get some good stories, though.”

“What about Gringotts?” Neville suggested.

“Tried that; the goblins know what’s in my vaults, and not a whit more. Still, I met one man –
Remus Lupin – who knew my parents. I plan on asking the professors if they knew my parents, and
maybe send out some letters with Hedwig here.”

Hermione’s brown eyes brightened as she looked up past Harry’s shoulder. “Is that your owl?
She’s very pretty.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“I wish I had an owl,” she sighed. “I couldn’t afford a pet, and my parents are allergic to a
lot of animals, anyways.”

“Well, if you want, you can use Hedwig. I’m sure she won’t mind; will you, girl?”

Hedwig gave an affirmative hoot, puffing out her feathers, and grooming her wing.

They talked for a while, as the Express moved slowly out of London. Eventually, Hermione turned
to her schoolbooks, and Harry again pulled out his novel.

“Why are you reading that?” asked Hermione when she saw his book. “Aren’t you worried about
learning magic? I tried hard to memorize all our books…”

“I spent all August reading,” Harry said dismissively, not looking up from his novel. “A few
hours on the train aren’t going to make me smarter.”

“But it’s all so fascinating! I’ve tried a few spells – nothing big, mind you…”

Harry’s head snapped up. “You did? How’d you get past the Trace?”

Neville looked confused. “The what?”

Hermione shook her head. “Oh, I didn’t! I tried my spells in Diagon Alley. They didn’t send me
any warnings the first time, so I kept doing it. I don’t think they can track us there.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I did that, too. I was hoping for a better shortcut.”

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. “So, what spells have you tried?”

“*Reparo*, *Scourgify*… you know, stuff that makes life easier.”

“You guys have done magic?” Neville stared at them, horrified and excited all at once. “Didn’t
the Ministry catch you? I mean, I thought that we couldn’t do magic except at Hogwarts ‘till we’re
of age.”

Harry smiled as Hermione launched into an explanation of the Trace, and turned back to his
book.

The train stopped several times on its trip, and more and more students piled on board as they
headed north. As luck would have it, however, no one bothered them in their compartment. Hermione
immersed herself in studying, while Harry read his book. Twice, he had to jump up to help Neville
catch his toad, Trevor, who seemed eager to escape.

Finally, the train pulled into Hogsmeade, and Harry quickly unfolded his robes, throwing them
on.

“Where’s your trunk?” asked Hermione in her now-expected tone of curiosity.

“In there,” he replied, pointing to his backpack.

“Isn’t a backpack going to look a little odd for a wizard?”

Harry finished dressing, and then smirked. “Here’s another spell I thought was too useful not to
learn. *Reducio*.” Harry’s backpack shrunk itself to the size of a small wallet, and Harry
picked it up and put it in his pocket.

“Cool!” exclaimed Neville. “My gram always does that. I wish she’d have done my trunk before we
left.”

Hermione gave Neville a critical eye. “And who would have enlarged it?” Not having an answer,
Neville blushed and looked down. Hermione turned back to Harry with a worried expression. “You can
enlarge your things again, can’t you?”

Harry nodded. “Yup. The trunk can enlarge and shrink itself, though.”

Hermione was immediately interested. “Really? I thought those were terribly expensive.” Neville
quickly elbowed Hermione from the side, making her yelp.

“He’s a Potter,” he explained to the irritated girl. “If anyone’s got money, Harry does.”

“Yeah, I’ve got money,” Harry agreed sadly. “It’s about all I’ve got, though.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Neville, suddenly very quiet. “I know what that’s like… they got my parents,
too.” Harry looked over at Neville, surprised. Hermione looked stricken at the news, and Harry
shared a small smile with Neville as Hermione tried her very best to cheer them both up.

*^*^*^*

As Hermione prattled on about what she’d read in Hogwarts: A History, Harry looked around at the
smooth stone halls and archways. A boat trip across the enormous lake had certainly been an
impressive way to introduce the school, and the castle was massive. Towers and buildings grew off
each other in a way that made Hogwarts a fairytale come to life, a castle that only magic could
build.

The Great Hall was enormous, and the four Houses of students looked at the first years from
amazingly long tables. Up at the front of the Hall, the professors looked on from a head table, and
a small stool sat just in front of them, with a ratty old wizard’s hat sitting on it. Harry swore
the hat was looking around, its wrinkles and creases forming the likeness of a face.

Harry paid close attention to the Houses as the Sorting Ceremony took place. The table to his
far right was Slytherin, where all the students had green and silver trim to their robes. Most of
the students had impeccable grooming, not a hair out of place, and seemed to take great care in
their comportment – he’d never complain about table manners in that House, judging from the way
they sat. A few students in the House looked like mindless brutes, but even they were mindful of
their looks.

In sharp contrast to their appearance and their etiquette, the conversations that filtered to
Harry’s ears were appalling. A great many of them were placing bets on which first years were
Mudbloods, which Harry knew was an insult. Others were debating on which ones “looked like
Slytherin material,” and which ones “were doomed to be ‘Puffs.”

Harry couldn’t help but look at the students around him; a tall, slender boy with white-blond
hair, grey eyes and aristocratic features all but screamed Slytherin to him. The girl beside him
had slightly darker blond hair, a darker shade of eyes, and a slightly upturned nose. Regardless of
those differences, Harry was certain she’d be in Slytherin, too. Feeling more than a little put off
at the apparent elitism, Harry hoped he didn’t end up in their House.

The next table, just to his right, was Ravenclaw. The students here were muttering to themselves
about school assignments, and a lot of them had their schoolbooks with them. Ravenclaw prided
themselves on their studies, and Harry could all but feel their general disdain as they looked at
the newcomers. Only when the Sorting Hat announced “Ravenclaw!” did their opinion of a student seem
to change.

The table featured mostly wealthy students, just like Slytherin. A few of them were scruffier,
but they were by far the minority.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were to his left and far left, respectively. Harry noticed that there
was a lot of talking and laughing at those tables, and – more telling – a lot of talking and
laughing *between* those tables. Most of the yellow and red trimmed robes were lacklustre;
Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were obviously the ‘common’ tables, while Ravenclaw and Slytherin were
the ‘elite.’

Slytherin looked like it required family ties, money, or something that set the student apart.
Ravenclaw required some prerequisite genius. Gryffindor supposedly valued courage and risk-taking,
and Hufflepuff valued loyalty and hard work; none of those values were limiting, though.

Harry frowned as the crisp voice of Professor McGonagall announced Hermione’s name. Here was the
first indication…

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry blinked, and thought furiously as he applauded. He’d expected Ravenclaw for Hermione, but
she seemed quite happy with the outcome. Something was wrong with his theory. Neville ended up in
Gryffindor, too, but that was less surprising. There had to be something to his thoughts, though,
because both the blond kids – Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson – became Slytherins just as he had
guessed.

“Potter, Harry!” called McGonagall. The whispered conversations reached a crescendo at his name,
and Harry walked forward cautiously. The Hat was a little large for his head, but he was interested
to see just what this Sorting involved.

A deep, rumbling laughter echoed between his ears. *My, but you’ve got a sharp mind*, a
voice said. *The Houses aren’t as black-and-white as you think they are, you know.*

“Are you the Hat?” Harry asked in a small whisper.

*Indeed. Ah, I see that Slytherin’s worst tendencies have poisoned your opinion of them
already. Such a pity, you’d do well there…*

*Hmm. Ravenclaw could use you, but no… Your studies are a little too focused for a true
academic, wouldn’t you say?*

“Can I stay with my friends?” he asked, glancing over to where Neville and Hermione were
sitting. “It doesn’t seem to matter if I’m in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.”

*Oh, it matters,* the Hat replied, *it matters more than you think.*

“Hufflepuff, then.”

*Is that what you want?*

“What I want? I thought – that’s it, isn’t it?” Harry’s voice rose a bit, but quieted at the
continued murmuring of the Hall. “The Slytherins and Ravenclaws, they’re all there because they
chose to be, aren’t they?”

*Mostly true. Slytherin is a House tainted by its past. The only students that are sorted
there are those who choose to be. Ravenclaw has its resident geniuses; many also choose that House
to help them along in their studies. If all your friends are academics, after all, chances are you
will be, too.*

*It’s not friendship that drives your choice, though, is it? I see images of your uncle behind
this.*

Harry’s mood fell at the Hat’s remark, but he remained silent.

*Is that your decision, then?*

“Yes.”

*Very well*. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry smirked as he heard the shouts of protest from Slytherin table and the cheers from
Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. “Take that,” he whispered as took the hat off, leaving it on the stool.
He walked over to his new House, sitting far enough down to talk to Hermione and Neville.

A girl – a seventh year, by the look of her – tapped him on the shoulder. “How’d you end up in
Hufflepuff?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer but stopped, staring at the girl’s hair. It shifted smoothly
through a myriad of colors, tending towards violent neon in their brightness.

“Um, nice hair,” he said once he’d gathered his wits. The color change ceased immediately, stuck
in-between a bright green and a platinum blond. “Going for Slytherin colors?” A blush formed on the
girl’s cheeks, and her hair faded to brown.

“That’s really cool,” he said, offering his hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Tonks,” she said, shaking his hand. “Just Tonks, please. Now how’d you end up with us?”

“Who cares?” shouted a red-haired boy from the Gryffindor table. “We’ve got Potter!”

A boy identical to the first stood up, and the twins did a small circular war dance, chanting,
“We’ve got Potter, we’ve got Potter!” while everyone laughed.

“To answer your question,” Harry said, loud enough for the nearby Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors to
hear, “I chose to be here.” The cheering rose in volume, and even Neville and Hermione cheered at
his statement.

The tapping of a crystal goblet from the head table cut through the clamour and silenced the
students. The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, rose to speak, holding his long white beard away from
his dinner plate as he did so.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” he called, his voice far more powerful than Harry expected. “This will be
a wonderful year, I’m sure; but for now, we must eat!”

The sound of cutlery quickly overcame the sound of students as the tables filled with amazing
amounts of food. Harry quickly filled his plate, extremely hungry after the long train ride.

Soon, stuffed to the gills and content from an evening spent talking with his new friends, Harry
happily followed Tonks to the Hufflepuff dorms, and collapsed in his new bed, falling asleep
immediately.

*

The morning found him in the office of his head of house, Professor Sprout. “How was your first
night in Hufflepuff?” asked the professor, smiling kindly at him.

“It was fine,” he replied. “Everyone’s friendly. Hermione and Neville are happy in Gryffindor,
so it’s all good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The professor stopped for a moment to glance at the parchment in front of
her. “According to this, you were raised by muggles?”

Harry nodded. “My Uncle and Aunt raised me.”

“So, you’re comfortable with muggle society?”

“I’ve worked my summers for the neighbourhood for three years now,” he replied somewhat proudly.
“I’m pretty sure that there aren’t any surprises left for me to learn.”

“And you intend to keep in touch with muggle society?” Harry nodded. “Good,” she said, marking
something on the parchment. “Now, then: I have an assessment test that I want you to finish for me.
It isn’t a big deal,” she added, seeing his surprise, “every student writes it. It helps us
identify any weak areas, and it gets you used to our grading system. Scoring an Acceptable on the
test means that you’re perfectly ready for Hogwarts, so don’t fret on getting everything exactly
right.”

“What are the other scores?” asked Harry, interested.

“The other passing scores are Exceeds Expectations and Outstanding. Either of those means that
you’re quite advanced in your studies.”

Harry nodded, and took the test from Professor Sprout, heading back to the common room to write.
It took him an hour to finish it, and covered everything he thought he’d ever learned: Math,
reading, writing, even science. As Harry got to the end, the parchment folded and crumpled at the
bottom, forming the shape of a mouth.

“Hello,” it said. “Speak with me in English, please.”

Harry stared at the paper in surprise. “Uh, alright…”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m good, thanks. Um, how about you?”

“Very good, thank you. What is the weather like outside?”

On and on the parchment talked, and Harry answered as best he could, eventually getting over the
shock of talking to the parchment. Was this part of the test?

In answer, the parchment paused, and then opened its ‘mouth’ again to speak.

“Bonjour. Parlez avec moi en Français, s’il vous plait.”

“Uh, oui,” stammered Harry, uncertain. “Um… je peux parler un peu…”

“Bien. Comment ça va?”

“Pas mal… et tu?”

Harry repeated most of the same conversation he had just had, struggling over the language. The
parchment even asked him if he could write in French, but Harry said no. As it finished, Harry
waited as it paused, and then started again.

“Hallo. Sprechen Sie bitte mit mir auf Deutsch.”

“Oh, boy. Ah… Ich werde … versuchen. Err… Sprechen Sie bitte … etwas … langsamer.”

“Selbstverständlich,” the parchment said, speaking much slower, as Harry had asked it to. “Wie
geht es Ihnen?”

Harry struggled through the conversation, even worse at German than he was at French. Were all
wizards multilingual? He’d picked up smatterings of languages from his neighbors; Little Whinging
was on the outskirts of Surrey, and immigrants who had some money to their name often moved into
the area. Working around those families, Harry began to pick up on their language. Every now and
then, one of the men would take a liking to Harry and teach him a few swear words too.

“Konnichiwa. Watashi no nihongo wa wakarimasu-ka?”

Harry rocked back. “What? Was that… Japanese? Sorry, I can’t speak that.”

“That is fine,” the parchment said, and it switched again.

“Hola. Hable por favor conmigo en Español.”

Harry smiled, recognizing Spanish. “Puedo hacer eso.”

Again and again, the parchment switched languages, but aside from when it spoke Portuguese,
Harry didn’t recognize any others. “This test is completed,” it said after a long hour of switching
languages. “Please give the test back to your head of house.” The mouth disappeared, folding neatly
back into an unblemished sheet.

Harry shook his head, staring at the paper in amazement. Gathering his wits, he walked to
Professor Sprout’s office again, and knocked on her door.

“Come in!” he heard, and the door opened with a click.

“That was awesome!” he said as he handed her the test. “I can’t believe it spoke so many
languages!”

“It is a very good charm, isn’t it?” said Sprout as she paged through his test. “It also mostly
corrects itself, too… well now; you’ve picked up a few languages, haven’t you?”

Harry blushed and looked down. “I just talk a lot with my neighbors.”

“It’s a good thing, Mr. Potter. Most students come in here with just English, so it’s nice to
see that you’re better-rounded.”

Harry stifled a sigh of relief – he wasn’t behind, after all.

“This test is very well done,” Sprout continued, putting the parchment down. “I’ll go through it
more thoroughly later, but I’d say you’ve earned an Exceeds on it – good job.”

“Thanks, professor.” Harry left her office, heading to the Great Hall for lunch.

“Hey, Harry!” Hermione waved him over, and the Gryffindors shifted to make room for him. Harry
smiled and sat beside Hermione, smiling across the table at Neville.

“How’d your test go?” she blurted, an eager look on her face. Harry rolled his eyes – trust
Hermione to ask about that first thing.

“It was horrible,” he said sorrowfully. “I failed everything.” Neville’s eyes widened for a
moment, but Hermione just smacked Harry on the arm.

“Says the boy who reads novels and studied all August. Tell me!”

“Sprout says I’ve got an Exceeds,” he said with a shrug. “She was pretty happy that I knew more
than English, too.”

“Really? I could speak and write French, but that was it. What can you speak?”

“Cool. Can’t write anything but English. Um… Some French, Spanish, Portuguese, and a little bit
of German. Learned from my neighbours.”

“Wow, that’s really good!”

“You did really well,” agreed Neville. “I’ve only got English; got an A on the test, though, so
I’m happy.”

“I hope I got an Outstanding,” Hermione said, a trace of worry in her voice. “I mean, I think I
did everything right…”

Harry resisted the urge to snicker. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you did.” Neville shared Harry’s
mirth, but Hermione smiled brightly at the praise.

*^*^*^*

Classes began the next day. The assignments were harder than the standard Harry was used to, but
not outlandishly so. Papers to write, spells to learn, and exercises to be completed using those
spells. The professors were an eclectic bunch, ranging from the by-the-book McGonagall to the
denigrating Snape. That man made Potions the hardest chore, but Harry was immune to his spiteful
comments and sarcastic barbs. Snape, for all he seemed to hate Harry, had nothing on the apathetic
Vernon Dursley. So completely and utterly ignored by Harry, Snape began to focus on other students
halfway into their second lesson.

Defence was also fun. Quirrel was a cautious teacher, and the students often giggled at his
speech impediment, but Harry liked him. The professor would often bring books into class for Harry
to take with him that had some good spells in them, and Harry gave the course his absolute best
effort.

All classes had two houses at a time; the classes he shared with Hermione and Neville quickly
became his favourites. The Ravenclaws tended to ignore the Hufflepuff students, while the
Slytherins openly mocked them.

Even in their flying lessons, the Ravenclaws looked like they had studied brooms to death, and
expected to do well. Everyone was shocked when, by the end of the lesson, Harry was rolling and
diving, laughing as he urged his broom faster and faster.

After their instructor, Madam Hooch, convinced Harry to come down for air, she went to fetch
Professor Sprout.

“That was great!” called a Hufflepuff girl named Susan. “Do you think you’ll try for the team
next year?”

“Team?” Harry didn’t get an answer, however, as Professor Sprout descended upon him, guiding him
quickly through the castle towards the Defence classroom. She poked her head into the class, and
Tonks joined them in the hall, a questioning expression on her face. That expression quickly
cleared as Sprout whispered excitedly in her ear, and then turned back to him.

“Mr. Potter, I’d like to introduce you to the captain of the Hufflepuff team, Nymphadora Tonks.”
Harry saw Tonks wince as Sprout said her name and her hair shifted from light pink to a deep blue
for a moment.

“We’ve met,” Harry said, smiling at Tonks.

“Wotcher!” she said, clapping Harry on the shoulder and turning him around, walking down the
hall. “Professor Sprout says you’re a good flyer. Ever played Quidditch before?” Harry shook his
head. “No? Well, I’ll get you up to speed. We need a new Chaser badly, and Sprout thinks you’re
it.”

“I’ll give it a go,” he said.

“Confident, ain’cha? Okay, Potter, let’s see your moves!” Once they were out near the Quidditch
pitch, Tonks tossed Harry her broom, and he shot off into the air, whooping for joy at the power
the higher-quality broom afforded him, pulling all sorts of loops.

“Hey, fly-boy!” shouted Tonks from the ground. “Catch!” A red ball flew into his vision, and he
reached out and snagged it. Seeing the triple hoops at the end of the pitch, Harry rocketed towards
them, flying for the center hoop. At the last moment, he jerked left and threw with all his might,
sending the ball through the side hoop.

“Who-hoo!” Tonks cheered from beneath him. “He’s trainable! Alright, Potter, get down here, and
I’ll show ya the ropes!”

*

Hermione looked both excited and confused when Harry explained where he was that afternoon. “So,
you’re a Chaser for Hufflepuff then?”

“Seems it,” Harry said. “Tonks was happy with my flying, so I’ll go to their practice on Tuesday
evening, and give it a shot.”

“But, what about a broom? First years aren’t allowed to have one at school.”

“Professor Sprout said that Quidditch teams are the exception to that, so I’ll get one this
weekend.”

Hermione hesitated, and then said, “Your dad was a Chaser, wasn’t he? It’s kind of like you’re
following in his footsteps.”

Harry gave her a tremendous smile. “Maybe a different house, but it’s really cool to think that
my dad did this, too.” Hermione matched his smile, and listened as Harry talked about Quidditch for
the rest of the afternoon.

Quidditch training was long and hard, and the game was painfully complicated. Sprout handed him
a new Nimbus 2000, and he put it through its paces, working with Daniels and Everett, the other two
Chasers. Cedric Diggory, their Seeker, took the time to train Harry for his position just in case
Cedric wasn’t able to play.

“Ravenclaws are mediocre, and Slytherin are horrible,” Tonks said as she lectured him on the
other teams. “They play rough, though, so the longer the game goes, the more likely Slytherin is to
win. Gryffindor…” she trailed off, blowing out a long breath. “They’re a good team; really good.
Don’t know how we’re going to deal with them, really. They’ve got the best Beater team, the best
Chaser team, and a pretty good Seeker.”

“So we get better,” Harry said with a shrug. “I mean, they got that way by practising, right?
So…” Harry stopped, struck by an idea. “Tell me; are there any recordings of past games? Not from
here, but professional ones.”

“Sure,” Cedric said. “I’ve got a few from the Falcons.” The rest of the ‘Puffs took shots at him
for his choice of team, but Harry waved them down.

“Just let me finish, alright? Okay, can you get those owled in, Cedric? Whether the team’s
‘good’ or not, what they are is better than any school team.”

Tonks plopped herself down beside the two of them. “Where’ya going with this, Har?”

Harry shrugged, his cheeks reddening at being the sudden center of attention. “Well… I reckon
that if we use the Falcons as a goal, work on using plays that they use, we’re going to get a lot
better – we’d have to, if we could pull them off. It’s better than just practicing the usual and
worrying about how good Gryffindor is, right?”

Tonks ruffled his hair, and he laughed as hers changed color to neon yellow. “It’s a good idea,
let’s give it a shot! Diggory, if you can bring some of those in, we’ll see if we can’t get just a
little bit more pro, and take the wind out of Wood’s sails.”

Cedric delivered as promised, and the team struggled to master plays that their brooms could
barely tolerate. Tonks was a good Beater, and her counterpart, Qold, already knew a few good moves,
and didn’t have much issue taking to some of the Falcon’s Bludger tactics. Mallory, the Keeper,
went through a rough workout as Harry flew through the Falcon’s plays with a Dursley’s
determination. Daniels and Everett, both fourth-years, balked at the idea of a first-year telling
them how to play. Under direct threat of dismissal from Tonks, they followed Harry’s lead as best
they could on their older brooms. True to Harry’s prediction, their coordination did increase.

By the time Hufflepuff’s first game came up, they looked much more cohesive as a team.

“We actually have a chance to win!” Tonks said as she paced in front of them in the changing
room. “Not just this game, but the Quidditch Cup itself! This game’s all about nerve. No one
expects the plays we’re going to try, and I think that we’ve finally got a Chaser team that can
compete.”

Harry, Daniels and Everett gave a hearty cheer, and Tonks beamed at them, her hair flashing
through several colors.

“I want this game to set the tone for the year. Cedric, your job is to stop up Ravenclaw’s
Seeker completely. Her name’s Chang, and she’s fresh meat. Try not to foul, but keep her from
moving. Their Beaters are rubbish, so Qold and I are going to take the Bludgers to their Chasers,
and break up any plays they have. Potter, Daniels, Everett, I want you three to score at least 160
points. I want Ravenclaw to lose regardless of the Snitch, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!” roared the team, and Tonks snapped a salute at them.

“All right, men! Let’s go!”

*

“Welcome to the second Quidditch match of the season!” roared Lee Jordan’s voice from the
announcer’s booth. “It’s the second grudge match, folks! Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Earth and Air,
Intelligence versus Diligence!”

The crowd cheered appreciatively at Lee’s setup, and he continued with a wide grin.

“This year sees new blood on both teams! Ravenclaw has a talented new Seeker, while Hufflepuff
shook their lines up with new Chaser blood. All right, here come your teams! First, wearing the
blue-and-bronze, we have newcomer Cho Chang, and returning players Hawkins, Groeber, Hatcher, Bohr,
Browning and their Captain, Davies!”

The crowd gave an enthusiastic greeting to the team as they took their positions on the pitch.
Harry noted that Slytherin seemed to support Ravenclaw from the stands, while many Gryffindors
sported Hufflepuff colors. Hearing Tonks give the signal, Harry mounted his broom and took off,
flying out over the pitch in formation with the team.

“And wearing the yellow-and-black, we have the returning team of Captain Tonks, Qold, Mallory,
Diggory, Everett, Daniels, and their new Chaser, the Boy Who Lived himself, Harry Potter!”

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs went nuts at Harry’s name, and he felt himself flush bright red.
The Ravenclaws and Slytherins looked shocked, but there was a fair amount of applause from those
houses. Looking quickly over to the stands, Harry saw Professor Quirrel smiling at him and
applauding, and the rest of his pre-game jitters faded into excitement.

“The Captains have shook hands, and everyone’s in position. There goes the Snitch – and there go
the Bludgers! Madam Hooch tosses the Quaffle – Cor, look at Potter go! A clean grab and he’s behind
the Ravenclaw lines, one-on-one with Bohr – and HE SCORES! 10-0 Hufflepuff!”

Hufflepuff roared its approval, while Professor McGonagall could be heard chastising Lee for
swearing. Harry fell back in line with Daniels and Everett, and they quickly signalled to each
other as Bohr brought the Quaffle back into play.

“Bohr throws out to Davies, who speeds down the pitch – one armed Sloth grip to get away from
Tonks’ Bludger, and – Everett steals the Quaffle! Long pass to Potter, who burns back up the pitch.
He sh- no, it’s a pass to Dan- SCORES! Daniels scores! It’s 20-nil Hufflepuff! That was a pro play
by Potter and Daniels. Where did they get these moves?”

On and on the game went, Harry, Daniels and Everett scoring with nearly every play they made,
while Davies and his line fought to cross the pitch against a withering barrage from Tonks and
Qold. Ravenclaw regained some momentum, but Harry urged his fellow Chasers on. They had the Quaffle
more often than not, and Bohr could barely keep up with their plays. The game was passing at
light-speed, and only when Tonks hollered to Cedric did Harry look up to the scoreboard. His face
split into a savage grin, seeing that they were ahead 170-40, very close to the gap Tonks had
requested.

“Come on!” he called to Everett. “We’ve got three goals to make up!”

“Potter’s got the Quaffle again!” Lee announced. “He’s tearing up- whoa, that was close! Potter
just barely avoided losing his face to a Bludger. He lobs over to Everett, who’s struggling to lose
Browning. He backs off, and settles for a pass to Daniels, who drops it to Potter. Potter flies up
the center, and Davies and Hawkins are all over him. Everett loops overhead! It’s a high lob pass
to Everett, who fires to Daniels! It’s Daniels on Bohr; he goes left – SCORES! Right through Bohr’s
legs!

“Bohr throws back out to Davies, and – wait, Diggory’s after the Snitch! Look at him go! Chang’s
a ways off, and I don’t think she can catch up! He’s reaching, reaching – he’s got it! Diggory’s
got the Snitch! Hufflepuff wins, 330-40!”

*

Half of Gryffindor had come down to the Hufflepuff common room to join in the celebration,
including their entire Quidditch team.

“Good show, Potter!” their Captain, Oliver Wood, said as he pumped Harry’s hand. “You’ll do your
team proud – those were some great moves!”

The rest of the team, including the notorious Weasley Twins, Fred and George, also stopped to
congratulate him. Tonks introduced him to several of her friends, and Harry played the dutiful
socialite for a good hour and a half, before grabbing a Butterbeer from the ice buckets and
retreating to a corner with his friends.

“That was a really good game!” said Hermione as they lounged near the fireplace. “You did really
well; I’m actually kind of surprised, since you were new and all.”

“Dealt with it like everything else,” he said. “A lot of sweat.” Neville nodded and laughed,
while Hermione wrinkled her nose cutely.

*^*^*^*

The next day, Quirrel held him back at the end of their Defence class.

“T-That was a g-g-good game,” he said. “C-C-Congratul-l-lations.”

“Thanks, professor,” said Harry, fighting a blush. “I think everyone played really well.”

The professor nodded, and walked around his desk to squat down in front of Harry.

“Y-y-you’re v-v-very good at t-the material in t-t-this course,” said Quirrel, smiling proudly.
“I’d l-like to g-g-give you a ch-chance to d-do something outs-side of the c-c-curric-c-culum.
H-H-How would y-you l-l-like t-to c-c-come in f-for extra l-l-lessons? S-say, T-T-Thursday
evenings?”

“That’d be great!” Harry said, nearly jumping in place. “I’d love to learn from you!”

Quirrel gave Harry’s shoulder a pat and sent him on his way, and Harry had to resist the urge to
run up to the library. Extra Defence lessons with Quirrel, Hermione would be so jealous!

*

Harry’s intention had been to focus on duelling spells, but Quirrel admonished him to start with
the basics. Several weeks went by while they worked on Harry’s footwork and sense of location,
before Quirrel was satisfied enough to trade some light spells with him.

Hermione was indeed jealous, but not overly enthusiastic about the idea of duelling. She seemed
more than satisfied with Harry’s description of their lessons, and other than the Body Bind and the
Shield Charm, she wasn’t very interested in combat spells.

On their seventh lesson together, Quirrel told Harry about the Philosopher’s Stone hidden in the
out-of-bounds third-floor corridor, and his small frustration at not being able to see the
contributions of the other professors.

“I j-j-just w-want t-to s-s-see h-how my c-contribution compares,” he said. “A-anyways, b-best
that y-y-you keep q-quiet about it, P-Potter; you s-shouldn’t know ab-b-bout it, after all.”

Harry felt far too indebted to Quirrel for his kindness to let it pass, though; it would be such
a small thing to try to get answers for him, and it seemed harmless enough, as Quirrel was in on at
least some of it, too. He was too afraid to approach Dumbledore, and the idea of approaching Snape
was appalling, but he worked up the courage to talk to the other involved professors, hoping that
aside from their answers, they might also know more about his parents.

“I’m not sure I should be talking to you about this,” McGonagall said, looking quite put out
that he’d mentioned the Stone at all.

“Professor Quirrel just talked about it in passing,” Harry said. “He mentioned that you’d done
some impressive magic to help out, and he was wondering how it compared to his contribution. I
don’t mean to pry, but I thought maybe I could get an answer for him.”

McGonagall frowned, but slowly sat down at her desk. “I suppose…” she said grudgingly, “do you
play chess, Potter?” Harry nodded. “Well, think big, and consider some of the games played by Judit
Polgar…”

Harry left McGonagall’s office with a slight headache, and a profound respect for the way the
old woman thought. Quirrel would never believe the amount of effort she’d put into that trap.

Flitwick was thrilled to discuss his trap with Harry. “Your mother was amazing at Charms work!”
he exclaimed. “She’d be very impressed with this; you’ll like it too. It involves brooms.”

Sprout was almost as pleased, though for a different reason. “You’ll actually see some of that
in your next class,” she said. “It took a long time to breed that plant, and it’s placed just
perfectly.”

Hagrid was actually thrilled that Harry knew about the dog. “Fluffy’s great; Yeh can tell
Quirrel that nothin’ll get pas’ Fluffy, ‘less it knows a good tune. A few minutes o’ music’ll put
‘im right to sleep, but yeh won’ find no music here!”

Harry spent his next lesson with Quirrel talking about their various traps, and Quirrel thanked
him profusely, sending him away with a Dark Detector. “N-never kn-kn-know when y-you’ll n-n-need
one,” he said, smiling.

The Dark Detector reminded Harry of his friends, and the fact that Christmas was quickly
approaching. A letter to Remus produced cards and small gifts to owl to Hermione and Neville, both
of whom had gone home for the holidays. After some deliberation, he also had Remus pick up some
small items for Tonks and Cedric, who were very friendly to him, and a high-quality quill and ink
set for Professor Quirrel, who’d been an amazing mentor so far. Quirrel had made Hogwarts so much
more interesting than just a school, and Harry hoped that he’d stay on as a professor at least
until Harry graduated.

*

Christmas Day dawned with presents – a foreign concept for Harry. There were presents from
Hermione and Neville, as well as a mysteriously unmarked present that held something beyond his
wildest dreams:

An Invisibility Cloak.

Harry used the cloak to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library once, just to see if he
could. After that, though, the urge to use the cloak quickly faded – there simply wasn’t anything
to do where he could put it to use. He was far happier to spend the holiday chatting and sparring
with Quirrel, who seemed to open up a little without the other students around.

Christmas break soon ended, and Harry spent the first evening up in Gryffindor tower, trading
stories with Hermione, Neville, and Neville’s friend Ron Weasley.

“Someone gave this to you?” Hermione said, holding up his cloak. “How… I mean, do they have any
idea what you could do with this?”

“I kind of think that they mean for me to be a little bit immune to the rules,” said Harry,
running his fingers over the smooth fabric.

“But why?” asked Neville. “I mean, it’s cool, but… won’t it get you expelled?”

Harry shrugged. “Not if I’m careful.”

With the start of classes, Quidditch practices, and Quirrel’s evening lessons, Harry’s chances
to use his cloak decreased dramatically. He always kept the cloak shrunk in his side pocket, but
there never seemed to be a good chance to use it.

*^*^*^*

January became February, which warmed slightly into March. Harry maintained his grades, and
gently ribbed Hermione for not beating him in Defence. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, to the
amusement of the rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Harry repeated his performance on the Quidditch pitch, dominating the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game.
Too small and too fast for the Slytherin Chasers to catch, Harry scored nearly every time he had
the Quaffle. Cedric outperformed Higgs handily, catching the Snitch just as Harry scored his
fifteenth goal, and the two shared a lap to the thunderous applause from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor,
for a 320-60 victory.

Harry was all smiles for the rest of the month. This entire school year was perfect, an amazing
turnaround in life. He had friends, adults that cared about him, and he was doing well in school.
Life couldn’t possibly be better, and he said as much to his friends.

*

In late March, Dumbledore was absent at breakfast – an oddity to be sure. Quirrel approached him
that day after Defence class.

“T-t-tell me,” he asked, “w-w-would y-you like t-to h-help me c-check up on the S-S-Stone?”

Harry’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Really? Sure! Why are we checking on it?”

“J-just a r-r-routine check.”

Harry walked with Quirrel to the third floor, nearly bouncing in excitement. After learning so
much about the Philosopher’s Stone and its defences, he would finally see them in action.

Quirrel calmly took out a harp, and enchanted it to play on its own as they approached Fluffy’s
room. When the opened the door, the giant three-headed Cerberus was already dropping off, and its
heads barely grunted to acknowledge their presence. Quirrel led him quickly to the trapdoor at the
massive beast’s feet, and dropped through.

There was a burst of flame, and Harry jumped down at Quirrel’s command.

“You burned the Devil’s Snare?” Harry said, looking at the dying plant.

“I-It w-w-will g-grow back,” he assured him. “It’s a h-h-healthy plant.”

Harry nodded uncertainly, and kept walking. Professor Sprout hadn’t mentioned that Devil’s Snare
would recover from fire.

As they approached the next room, Quirrel looked to Harry. “C-care to do the h-honours,
Potter?”

Smiling, Harry mounted one of the brooms in the room, and quickly chased after the
oldest-looking flying key, dodging and weaving through countless others. Very shortly, he had it in
his hand, and offered it to Quirrel, who unlocked the door quickly.

“I’ll deal w-with this one,” he said confidently, and Harry sat back and watched as Quirrel
pulled out a small book and dominated McGonagall’s chess game in very short order. Quirrel ducked
ahead into the next doorway, and screamed a curse. There was a flash of light, and Harry ran to
catch up.

“Just a Troll,” Quirrel said as Harry entered the room. “They’re very hard to deal with, if you
don’t know just what curse to use.”

“That was your defence?” Harry asked, looking at the Troll on the ground, looking quite
dead.

“Yes – he’ll be up and about quickly, so let’s move.”

Harry followed Quirrel into the next room, and flames sprung up in both doorways, trapping them.
Quirrel stooped over a set of potions on the far side, and quickly pointed one out. “This one,” he
said assertively. “You and I will both drink, and we’ll pass through.”

Harry quickly did so, and they passed through a wall of black flame, and into an enormous room
with a mirror in its center.

“What’s this?” asked Harry, mystified.

“Dumbledore’s defence,” Quirrel spat. “And he would, of course, use the most infernally annoying
artefact, wouldn’t he?”

Harry stopped walking, shocked at Quirrel’s change in attitude. Where was his stutter? Why was
he angry?

“Professor, what’s going on?”

“What do you think’s going on, Potter? Come on, use that head of yours; you’re actually pretty
intelligent, you know, more’s the pity.”

“I… you…” Harry shook his head, unwilling to make the obvious connection. “I… I don’t…”

Harry backed away from the grinning professor, drawing his wand and feeling for the wall behind
him.

“Are you finally getting it?” asked Quirrel, his face now alight with maniacal glee. “Are you
finally putting the pieces together? Did you enjoy your perfect year, Potter? Aren’t you so happy
you met me in Diagon Alley? Because I’m extremely happy to have met you!”

“No, you can’t! We’re here to help protect it! You helped set these defences up!” Harry
instinctively backed away from Quirrel as he approached, walking in a wide circle near the edge of
the room.

“Does it hurt?” mocked Quirrel as they circled each other. “Does it pain you to know that I used
you to gain access to the Stone? Those fools would hardly consider Harry Potter to be a threat to
their security, after all. And who’d ever suspect poor, s-stuttering P-P-Professor Q-Quirrel?”

“I trusted you,” Harry growled, sparks shooting from his wand as it reacted to his growing
anger. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Of course you did,” Quirrel said, speaking as though Harry was stupid. “I wanted you to feel
exactly like that. After all, if you or anyone suspected me even a little bit, this would have been
a lot more difficult.”

The mirror stood before them both, and Harry deliberately kept his gaze away from it, and locked
on Quirrel’s wand. The professor had him dead, but there had to be something he could do, some way
to keep him away from that mirror. This was his fault – he’d fix it. It’s what his uncle would
do.

“I think that we’ve spent enough time talking, don’t you?” Quirrel brought his wand to bear
against Harry, and Harry instinctively ran towards the professor, desperate to reach the wand
before the spell fired. Quirrel laughed as he backpedalled casually.

“*Avada*…”

Harry pushed his legs as fast as they’d go, closing the last remaining feet and lunging at the
professor.

“*Kedavra*!”

A burning sensation shot across his left arm and side, but Harry pressed forward, barrelling
into the shocked professor and knocking his wand away. Harry kept pushing ahead to stay well inside
the bigger man’s reach. He pummelled Quirrel’s kidney with vicious left hooks, swinging as hard and
fast as he could. Quirrel yelped in pain with each hit, and struggled to throw Harry off of him;
after a half-dozen solid hits, he finally secured a grip on Harry’s shoulders, and shoved him away
roughly. Quirrel then lunged for his fallen wand. Harry, suddenly remembering his own wand, quickly
took aim.

“*Petrificus Totalus*!”

The Body Bind hit Quirrel dead center just as he stooped to grab his wand. He went rigid
immediately, toppling sideways and hitting the ground with a painful thud. Harry fell over the
immobilized professor to pound repeatedly on Quirrel’s unprotected face, dropping his wand to use
both fists.

“You sodding bastard!” he screamed, flailing away as Quirrel’s face became a sea of blood. Harry
felt the crunch of bone under his fists, and stopped swinging. As the haze of anger cleared, he
looked at Quirrel with horror.

The professor’s face was gone, unrecognizable, the bone completely caved in. A dark mist was
trailing away from under Quirrel’s turban, making its way to the exit. As Harry looked towards the
doorway, a figure emerged through the flames, scattering the mist to the side.

“Harry!” Dumbledore shouted, rushing over. “Harry, what’s happened?”

“I killed him,” he whispered, far too shocked to say more. “I killed him.”

“Harry, Harry, look at me.” Harry numbly obeyed, staring into Dumbledore’s intense blue eyes.
They seemed to calm him, pulsating with a soothing light. Harry felt his eyelids droop, and before
he could think to stop it, a welcome darkness engulfed his thoughts, plunging him into sleep.

*

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he took in his surroundings. Blurry white… probably
the Hospital Wing. Groping around for his glasses, Harry finally located them and put them on. Yes,
definitely the Hospital Wing.

“Harry?”

He turned immediately, panicking as he recognized Dumbledore’s voice.

“Calm down,” soothed the headmaster, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I was able to go over
most of the events in the chambers, and I believe that Voldemort was using you to get to the
Stone.”

“Voldemort!” blurted Harry. That wasn’t what he had expected to hear.

“Yes, that was the black mist I stepped through, no doubt. Voldemort had possessed Quirrel, to
be as near as he could for when Quirrel retrieved the Stone.”

“But… but… I killed him. I… he helped me, and, and I thought…” Tears came quickly, and Harry
pulled his knees to him, rocking miserably. “I thought he was my friend,” he choked out.

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore simply reached his arms around him, and pulled Harry into a
strong embrace. Harry fought against it, but the sobs were uncontrollable.

“I hate him,” he growled when he regained control of his voice. “I’m glad he’s dead. I hate
him!”

“Let it out, Harry,” Dumbledore coaxed. “No one can hear you; let it out.”

“I HATE HIM!” he screamed. “I HATE HIM FOR USING ME! I HATE HIM FOR NOT CARING! WHY?! WASN’T I
GOOD ENOUGH? WHY AM I NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR PEOPLE TO CARE?! WHY?! Why? Why…?”

Harry trailed off, panting, and Dumbledore held him close, rocking back and forth.

“I’m not sorry I killed him,” Harry decided after a moment’s silence. “Someone would have had
to; I’m glad it was me.”

He felt Dumbledore sigh around him.


“I’m not saying its right, or that it was a good thing,” he defended, “but someone, maybe an Auror,
maybe you… someone would have had to do it. It was just… just a job to do… and it’s taken care
of.”

“Yes Harry,” said Dumbledore. “It is taken care of. You’ll forgive me, I hope, for believing
that such a responsibility should have been mine, and not yours.”

“I know… but I was there, so…”

“Yes.”

“How…How did I kill him? I mean, I can throw a punch, but I… I… crushed his face.” Harry winced
at the memory. “That can’t happen… can it?”

“I think it has mostly to do with the protection you carry from Voldemort.” Harry turned to look
at Dumbledore pleadingly.

“Your mother died to save you,” he explained, “and in so doing, she gave you a powerful form of
protection from Voldemort – even the people he possesses, such as he did Quirrel. Your very touch
causes him pain, and it likely exacerbated the damage your fists were causing.”

“Some spell of his didn’t work, either,” Harry supplied. “Something like *Avada
Kedavra*.”

“What?!” Dumbledore leaned back and stared at Harry, his eyes regaining their frightening
intensity. “Are you certain?”

“It went right down my side,” Harry confirmed, tracing the path. “What is that?”

“An Unforgivable Curse,” Dumbledore said darkly. “A death spell.”

“Oh… so, my protection again…?”

“Maybe.” Dumbledore looked away pensively. “Maybe… I’ll have to think on that. I wouldn’t have
expected it.”

Harry shrugged, his emotions returning to normal. “Well, I’m just glad it’s there.”

Dumbledore managed a small smile, and his eyes were once again calm and friendly. “Yes, Harry.
Be very glad.”

Dumbledore talked with him for another hour, as they ate a small meal. Harry related the year’s
events with Quirrel, and they chatted about Harry’s time in general at Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s watch
eventually made a gong-like sound, and he stood to leave.

“As best you can, I want you to put this behind you,” he said kindly. “Nothing will come of it,
and I will deal with Quirrel’s obvious absence. I would like you to focus on the present and the
future. You have done well, Harry; I hope, however, that we can both leave any future events to the
Aurors.”

They both left the Hospital Wing in relatively high spirits, Dumbledore heading for his office,
and Harry heading to the library to look for Hermione.

*

“…So the whole thing was one big trap,” he summarized to his friends. “The entire bloody setup
was meant to slow someone down and alert Dumbledore, so he could come and deal with whoever it was.
That’s why Quirrel wanted all the information on the traps, and why he had to wait until Dumbledore
had left the school – it was the only chance he had at getting through fast enough to get the Stone
before Dumbledore showed up.”

“And you almost handed it to him,” Ron finished for him; Harry scowled at him.

“Yeah, don’t remind me. Anyways, Dumbledore moved the Stone out of Hogwarts. Now that
Voldemort’s been flushed out, there’s no reason to keep it here.”

“I don’t like it,” Hermione said unhappily. “Professor Dumbledore brought You-Know-Who into the
castle; he put everyone at risk!”

Harry shrugged. “I thought it was a pretty good idea, actually. Quirrel would have had to take
some serious risks to figure everything out, if I hadn’t been a complete idiot and handed him
everything.”

“It’s not your fault…” Hermione started, but Harry cut her off.

“It is my fault!” he snapped. “Quirrel played the nice guy right from the beginning, and I
couldn’t see a bribe when it was right in front of my face! All those extra lessons…”

“Hey, at least you learned something,” offered Neville, giving Harry a tentative smile. Harry
scoffed, looking away.

“Yeah, fat lot of good that did. What did I do when he pulled a wand? Charged the wanker and
took a curse to the side for it.”

Hermione swatted his arm. “Harry, stop swearing!”

“Fuck, fuck, fucketty-fuck fuck!” he returned, and the conversation derailed as the boys
descended into hysterical laughter, with even Hermione giggling.

*^*^*^*

School went on, with Dumbledore himself finishing Defence classes for the year. Despite
Quirrel’s betrayal, the class became even more interesting to Harry than it had been, and even
though he no longer had special lessons, he maintained the top mark for the year.

The final match of the season pitted the far superior Gryffindor team against Hufflepuff for the
Cup, a gruelling game that Hufflepuff won 160-150, when Harry finally slipped a goal past Wood’s
impregnable defence just before Cedric caught the Snitch. An amazed Oliver Wood handed the
Quidditch Cup to Harry and Cedric, who both presented it to an ecstatic Nymphadora Tonks. The
Gryffindors stormed the Hufflepuff common room for the celebration, which lasted well into the
night.

Led by Hermione’s ability to earn house points in classes, Gryffindor edged ahead of Ravenclaw
for the House Cup, handing that house its first defeat in several years. Buoyed by the recent
victories and his admittedly good exam results, Harry was in a good mood as the year drew to a
close.

“Well, you officially beat me in Defence,” Hermione said, comparing their marks while Harry read
over her shoulder, absently folding a robe to pack into his trunk.

“Cool. Not bad everywhere else, too. An A in History, but E’s everywhere else… Nothing on your
sea of O’s, but I’m happy.”

“You should try a little harder in History, you know…”

“Save it,” he said, snapping his trunk shut, and shrinking it with a tap. “It’s a boring class.
Bother me about it in four years, when the OWLs come up.”

Hermione gave him a dramatic sigh, and Harry reached over and snatched up one of her bushy locks
of hair, playing with it. Hermione quickly stole it back, giving him a quirky smile.

*

The trip back to King’s Cross was noticeably happier than the trip to Hogwarts. Harry took to
reading his novels again, happy to be doing something other than schoolwork for a change. He leant
his first novel to Hermione, who read happily beside him while Neville and Ron played Exploding
Snap with Fred and George.

“You’ll send Hedwig with letters, won’t you?” asked Hermione as they pulled into the
station.


“Of course,” he replied. He offered a hug, and Hermione took him up on it, squeezing as hard as
she could.

“Have a good summer,” she said, blushing slightly. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Tell you what; if we can, let’s meet up. Maybe we can catch a movie or
something?”

“That would be great!” she said, suddenly much happier. “Oh! I see my parents! Bye, Harry!”

“Bye!”

Harry waved as she ran to her parents, hugging them with the same ferocity that she had hugged
him.

Saying goodbye to Ron and Neville, Harry hoisted his backpack and made his way carefully out of
the station, looking for the nearest bus stop. There was one stop he needed to make before
returning to the Dursleys.

*

“Hello, Mr. Potter. I’m surprised to see you back so soon. Is there anything wrong with your
wand?”

“No, no,” Harry answered quickly. “It’s great… Mr. Ollivander, I’m looking for a place to work
for the summer…”

“And you’d want to work here?” Ollivander’s eyebrows rose. “My shop does reasonable business,
but it’s not very exciting. Surely this wouldn’t be your first choice.”

“I think it’d be fun. I also… I know that it’s a little early, but I was hoping you’d show me
how to make my own wand.”

Ollivander gave him a sad smile. “You would miss out on those lessons, wouldn’t you? Such a
pity, to lose your parents. If you’re certain of the job, I’ll not turn away a helping hand. Shall
we say… 5 galleons a day?”

Harry quickly did the math, and nodded. “It’s more than I’d earn with the muggles.” Easier work,
too, but Harry thought it best not to mention that.

“Excellent! As for the wand, I’ll warn you again, you’ve got a strong bond already, so you won’t
see any great difference…”

“I know. I’d just like to say I’ve done it, and maybe run some designs around the outside. If I
have to look at the thing the rest of my life, it should at least be interesting.”

“Agreed!” laughed Ollivander. “The wand should reflect the wizard.”

They talked a while, and Harry agreed to come in at the start of the new week. Satisfied that he
had secured summer spending money, along with an easy way to practice his magic during the break,
Harry walked back to the Cauldron, waiting for the bus to take him home.

*^*^*^*

Ollivander’s concept of ‘reasonable business’ was selling three or four wands a day, along with
some accessories on the side. Within a week, Harry was able to manage the front of the store by
himself, and since most witches and wizards knew their wand specifications when looking for
replacements, Ollivander only made an appearance if a child was getting their first wand. Even
then, he often took the time to show Harry how to gauge the bonding, and the customers were very
patient, being more than thrilled to be served by Harry Potter.

More helpful to Harry was the fact that he was in Diagon Alley every day. Using Flourish and
Blots as a library, Harry quickly finished research for his summer homework on his lunch breaks,
and wrote the papers when he arrived at the Dursleys in the evening.

The Dursleys seemed not to care that Harry arrived home close to 8pm every night. Dudley did,
but that was only to whine that Harry had a later curfew than he did.

“And why, exactly, are you home so late every night?” asked his Aunt Petunia, eager to placate
Dudley.

“I have a summer job,” mumbled Harry as he ate his cold dinner.

“What’s this?” Vernon looked up from his newspaper. “You’ve got a job?” Harry nodded. “And it’s
a job with … them, right?” Harry frowned at the implied insult, but again nodded.

Vernon’s face contorted. “Are you telling me that these freaks are willing to employ children?
What kind of wages are they paying you?”

“It’s not bad,” Harry protested. “I’m just helping at a shop. It pays about, err… hold on…
six-ish hours … so about eighty … a little over 4 pounds an hour.”

“Hmm.” Vernon sat back, his face relaxing. “Better than your normal fare, then.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. “A lot better.”

Vernon grunted, and turned back to his paper, signalling the end of the conversation. Shaking
his head, Harry left the kitchen, heading upstairs to collapse on his bed. It had been a long year,
but things hadn’t much changed here. He still wasn’t a Dursley.

But he felt much more like a Potter.

*^*^*^*

*Please review! Remember, what I said in my A/N above: I’m counting on you all to tell me what
you want!
*

*~TOW*



2. Fear and Regret - W.I.P.
---------------------------



**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:** Without a word of exaggeration, the last year has been hell. Most rewarding and
punishing of all was a job change that took three months to accomplish, and six months to wait out
the probationary period.

To drive a bus.

All bus drivers out there, I know you'll cringe appropriately when I say the words
"split shift." You'll wince in sympathy when I speak of fourteen-hour days, where the
splits between actual driving cannot be used in any truly constructive manner.

My writing slowed to an agonizing 30-minute session here and there; me, who prides himself on
writing lengthy, intense chapters.

And yet, here I present an incomplete chapter that's taken me months to write, and edit,
with the inestimable help of Phae and the nitpicking of mathiasgranger. --> Phae, Matt, I
apologize for my long absence from the net. I'm back on day shifts, which will give me some
evening to be online again.

AND IT'S STILL NOT DONE.

Let's say that again:

**THIS CHAPTER IS INCOMPLETE. THERE'S A COUPLE OF CHUNKS MISSING, BUT I WANTED TO POST IT
ANYWAY, BECAUSE IT'S BEEN FOREVER.**

I'm sure most of you thought I had given up or had a heart attack at the keyboard. But I
haven't.

That being said, I got fed up with this chapter right around the diary. I wanted to include it,
and I'm happy with how it worked out - but I'm quite ready to move on. So, when you find
the rough edges, please be kind.

There's been a question raised at what I've changed. The list is actually short: Just
like 'More Equal than you Know,' the specifics of what happened to Harry on Halloween 1981
have changed slightly - this is the most important change. If I ever do the 'Slytherin'
version, it too will feature a different aftermath of 1981.

The rest is just my visualization of the HP world showing through. Vernon Dursley is guilty of
being an ass, but not of being a child-abuser; Dumbledore and Voldemort are not losers; and
finally, the wizarding world has a somewhat believable economy and government setup, and I've
rounded off some illogical edges to suit how the world works. There are also some assumptions that
I'm making about the world that you all would have figured out already: There are no child
labour laws in the wizarding world, for instance.

Here, you see Harry's relationship with Hermione take a small step forward. Here, you see
some of he ramifications of the slight changes I made in the Dursleys, the politics of the
wizarding world, and the exact specifics of what happened to Harry in 1981. Here, you see
Dumbledore the politician and schoolmaster, and Voldemort the psychopath and necromancer.

Oh, right! This chapter earns its "R" rating for sure! Here's the requisite
disclaimer:

***** WARNING!!!! VIOLENCE! CHARACTER DEATH! EXTREME VOLDEMORT SCENE AT THE END! SERIOUSLY,
SKIP THE VOLDEMORT SCENE IF YOU'RE SQUEAMISH!*****

There we go.

Those of you that read 'More Equal than you Know' will see hints of that plotline, as
the two stories are somewhat streamlined, especially concerning events of second year. I've
grown since that story - as both a writer and a person, and so I feel that MEtyK is rendered
obsolete in the face of what I will accomplish with Three Evils.

That's my opinion, of course. I fully intend to finish all the stories I've started, but
finding time is now an exercise in frustration, so you may be stuck with updates to only a single
story. Right now, my planning for The Meaning of Father and Three Evils is the most detailed and
complete, so if I update any of my stories, it'll be those two. If I luck out and sign bus runs
that offer me more time in front of my computer, I'll ramp up my efforts accordingly.

Because I can't stop writing. For now though, shuttling people from point A to B without
pissing them off takes my first priority - at least it handily pays the bills, and my wife's
happy.

Enjoy the ride!

~TOW

**From** **The Book of Freakish Occurrences**:

…

July 30, 1991: Fence of #13 repaired and painted itself in less than 30 seconds.

July 31, 1991: Letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - apparently, I'm a
wizard. Explains all occurrences?

March 27, 1992: Quirrel tried to kill me with the Avada Kedavra, and it didn't work.
Dumbledore says I also survived it in 1981 when Voldemort tried to kill me. Immune, or just when
Voldemort casts it?

June 29, 1992: I have to use my magic to feel a tree. Seriously, I have to use my magic to
*feel* a tree. Maybe it's not `freakish,' but it's certainly weird.

*^*^*^*

“That's it,” said Ollivander, looking over Harry's shoulder. “Can you feel the pulse of
life in the tree?”

Harry shook his head absently, his concentration fixated on the small oak in front of him. The
wind played lightly with his lengthening hair, and he absently flicked the black locks out of his
face. Several sparrows were doing their best to distract him, twittering loudly from the other
trees in the glade.

Barely a week ago, he would never have considered `feeling' a tree, but a week around
Ollivander was as eye opening and different from Hogwarts as Hogwarts was from the Dursleys.
Hogwarts had bombarded him with profound magics - if simple - and major shifts in his perspective;
with Ollivander, magic was far more about subtlety and details, such as what he was attempting
now.

A tiny vibration, almost imperceptible, drew Harry's attention to his hand. The buzzing
sensation shifted, and he let his hand roam, following the feeling.

“Very good; follow it,” the wand-maker instructed. “Let it guide you to the proper piece. Never
assume that a tree is ignorant; it knows why you're here, why you've forged this
connection. Let it tell you which piece to cut.”

Slowly, Harry moved his hands across the tree's branches, moving further and further along,
until…

“Found it!” he said excitedly. “It feels different - like it's anxious, or something.”

“Very good,” praised Ollivander. “Now, use your wand to make the cut. Remember, it must be
quick; *Diffindo*, immediately followed by *Episkey* on both the tree and the
cutting.”

Harry grunted his acknowledgement, straining to hold on to the sensations from the tree branch.
Taking several deep breaths, he prepared himself, and brought his wand up to touch the tree.


“*Diffindo*,” he said, tracing his wand through the motions. The branch broke cleanly, and he
immediately reversed the twirl of his wand. “*Episkey*! *Episkey*!” The healing charm was
crude - he would have never tried it on a person - but even his beginner's spell work was
enough to heal a tree branch.

Ollivander stepped forward to inspect the tree, then Harry's cut piece, giving Harry a small
smile. “Good work, very good for your first try. This will make an acceptable wand. Now, take one
of your hairs and pull it out. This is important - it must still have the root attached, as
it's still alive; no cut hairs will work.”

Harry coiled a hair around his finger, and yanked it out of his head, wincing at the pain. He
rubbed his sore scalp as he checked the hair for the small whitish root at the bottom.

“Very good; now wrap it in a spiral around the wood…”

He held his hair to the branch, focusing strongly on the joint sensations of life that came from
the two objects. His watch ticked away more than half an hour as he mentally coaxed the two shards
of life to merge into one. This directing of his magic was nothing like the exact wand-work of
school. While he was certain there was some progress, it was as difficult and frustrating as trying
to hold a bubble of air under water, and he could feel both objects quickly fading. A sense of
panic seeped into his determination, and he struggled to maintain control of his emotions. If his
concentration slipped now, it was all over; he'd never be able to focus again in time.

“Air opposes earth,” he whispered, chanting Ollivander's teachings over and over, using it
as a mantra. “Opposition kindles life.”

With a nearly audible buzz, the hair sank into the branch. Their dwindling energies stabilized,
sustained by their new coexistence.

“Excellent,” said Ollivander as he looked down at the newly created wand. “All that remains is
to carve and design the wood - a detail, really.” He took the branch and rolled it around in his
hands, then gave it a slight wave.

“This won't be your new wand,” he said, shaking his head. “Your existing bond is much, much
stronger. The weakness is likely due to our choice of wood, as well as how long it took you to
finish the joining.”

Harry shrugged; he wasn't surprised that his first try would be less than perfect. “It gives
me a chance to practice,” he said, and took the new wand back, setting it in his robe pocket,
leaves and all. “So, back to the store?”

“Back to the store,” Ollivander agreed. “Let's see if you can't get the measuring tapes
to behave today.”

*

One disconcerting side-Apparition later, Harry entertained Ollivander with his attempts to
control the measuring tapes as they cavorted around the store, doing anything but what he wanted.
As the evening hours encroached, Ollivander bid Harry goodnight and retired to his home above the
shop, while Harry left by the front door, locking the store behind him. The key was heavy, cast
from bronze or brass, he couldn't tell which. A faint trace of magic hummed against his fingers
as the key turned and the shop wards activated.

It felt strange, he mused, to be trusted with a key to the shop. It certainly made things
easier, but his uncle would never...

“But it's not Uncle Vernon,” he muttered, shaking his head. He looked around quickly - no
one had noticed his mutterings, so he made his way to the cauldron for a late dinner, and then
walked out into downtown London to wait for the bus.

“Spare any change?”

Harry shook his head, moving to avoid the man in the alley. He was obviously drunk, and he
reeked like the plague.

“Here now,” the man said, moving to block him. “I asked you if-”

Harry rammed a fist into the bum's groin, and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.
Seizing the advantage, Harry drew-

“Damn it!” he swore, breaking into a dead run, allowing his wand to snap back up to his forearm.
He couldn't draw his wand out here; the Ministry would have no problem detecting him. The bum
struggled to his feet, and his friend - who Harry hadn't seen - gave chase, but Harry was a far
faster runner. He flew down the street, counting three bus stops before deciding it was safe to
stop and wait again.

When the bus finally came, Harry slammed his fare into the box, drawing an angry comment from
the driver. He flopped down into an unoccupied seat, and seethed the entire trip home.

*

More than an hour later, Harry unlocked the door to #4, only remembering at the last second not
to let it slam shut.

“Finally home?” Harry turned to see Vernon looking up from his newspaper. “You missed dinner.
There might be leftovers in the fridge.”

Harry nodded, and kicked off his shoes before turning towards the stairs.

“One of your *friends* called.” Harry winced at the emphasis in Vernon's voice. “Call
them back so they don't bother your aunt again, and leave something for the long distance.”

“Yes, uncle.”

Once he was safely in his room, Harry found a scribbled note on his desk - Hermione's phone
number. Getting comfortable on his bed, Harry quickly dialled the number. The phone had barely rung
once, when someone picked up.

*“Hello?”*

“Hermione? It's Harry.”

*“Harry!* *I was hoping you'd call back!”*

“I gathered. Sit by the phone much?”

*“Oh, shut up! How've you been? Are you enjoying yourself? Have you started your
homework?”*

“Am I ever going to get a word in?”

*Hermione's laughter was loud enough to make the speaker buzz. “I'm sorry, but I miss
you. At school, we can talk all the time. I can't believe it's already been a
week!”*

“Believe it.”

*“So...?”*

“I'm good. Got started on homework to kill my lunchtimes, and I've got myself a summer
job.”

*“A job? Really? Why?”*

“Money, experience, less sitting around at home...”

*“But...”*

“And you'll never guess where.”

*“...Hogwarts?”*

“Ha!” Harry struggled not to laugh. “I wish; but this is close enough. I'm working at
Ollivander's.”

*“No!”*

“Yes.”

*“Seriously?”*

“Yes.”

*“I... wow. What's it like?”*

“I'd love to tell you all about it, but I'm on the hook for long distance, here.”

*“Oh! I'm sorry!”*

“It's not a problem, but maybe we could meet at Diagon Alley?”

*“Of course! I've been dying to get back there!”*

“Well, whenever's good. I'm there pretty much every day.”

*“Well, this week's bad, but how about next? Tuesday, maybe? I'm sure I can come; my
parents will likely come too, is that alright?”*

“Sure, whatever you like.”

*“Okay, Tuesday for lunch, then?”*

“Sure, ice cream at Fortescue's, if you like.”

*“Sounds great! Bye, Harry!”*

“Bye.”

*

True to her word, Hermione and her parents met Harry at Florean Fortescue's next Tuesday.
Harry took an immediate liking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were just as good-natured as
Hermione.

“Its fun working here,” he told them when they asked about his job. “Everyone's used to me
being around now, so no one stares or points anymore; they just say hello and ask about Mr.
Ollivander.”

“What's Mr. Ollivander like?” asked Hermione.

“He's great! I've learned more about magic working for him than I did all last
year!”

“Must be nice,” she pouted. “I'd like to be able to do magic all summer. Do you actually get
to use magic, since you're working?”

Harry nodded. “It's got to be for work, though, so it's not as exciting as you think.
Summoning, banishing, levitating, cleaning... he's got a couple of custom charms for his stuff,
and I've had to do a few repairs, but that's pretty much it.”

Hermione looked immediately intrigued. “Summoning and banishing charms are fourth-year material,
aren't they?”

Harry gave a small shrug. “I guess. Mr. Ollivander showed me how to do those charms, and how to
work his measuring tapes, and let me go at it. Those measuring tapes are horrid things to control,
too - the first time I tried, they spent all evening crawling up the walls!” Hermione laughed, and
her father chuckled; her mother, however, seemed concerned.

“I hope you don't mind my asking” said Mrs. Granger, “but why are you working? I understand
from Hermione that you've got money.”

“It's what I've always done,” he replied with a shrug. “I've been working for
spending money for years, now. I'd feel odd not having a job... and I've seen that look
before, too.” Harry gave a resigned sigh. “Go ahead and ask, Mrs. Granger.”

“Well… you're eleven… why?”

Harry sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. “It's a … thing… between me and my
uncle. He's not fond of me; I mean he takes care of me, but anything outside of food, clothes
and my glasses is my business to take care of.”

As he expected, Mr. and Mrs. Granger's faces deepened into a scowl, while Hermione stared in
wide-eyed shock.

“It's not a big deal,” he said quickly, holding up his hands, “at least, not anymore. I know
what you'll tell me - you and like, fifty different teachers. I always say the same thing - it
doesn't matter anymore. It's not like I'm trapped or anything; I've got more
freedom than most kids my age, and a lot more money.”

“Every child should have a loving home,” Mrs. Granger insisted.

“Yeah, I've heard that too, but I really don't think I'd fit in anywhere. I mean,
you're a good family, right? You all love each other?” All three Grangers nodded. “Right; so,
I'm in Diagon Alley everyday, working, eating, popping through the stores to get anything I
want, and I eventually make it home in the evening. I think you'd be lying to me if you said
that you'd let Hermione do that much by herself, without ever worrying about her, or without
trying to set up a whole bunch of rules to follow.”

Harry held up his hands to forestall the inevitable exposition from Hermione and her mother.
“I'm just saying, is all; lots of rules, and then punishments for breaking them. Kind of like
school, actually…” he shook the thought away, and focused on the Grangers again. “If I'm
honest, I have to say I like the freedom my uncle gives me - or at least I can't give it
up.”

Mr. Granger shook his head as he listened. “I don't know,” he said when Harry had finished.
“It's more than a little distressing.”

Harry couldn't help but shrug. “Sorry; I like working, and I get paid well enough to afford
pretty much anything I want. It's nice to be involved in the day-to-day life of the - uh,
world, I guess, that I'm supposed to be a part of, and if I can avoid draining my parents'
money, I will. Mr. Ollivander probably answered a thousand questions for me by now...”

His attempt to change the subject failed completely; both Mr. and Mrs. Granger still looked
ready to argue. Hermione derailed the conversation entirely by claiming Harry's hand and
announcing their departure to the bookstore. Smiling at her diversion tactic, Harry followed along,
the elder Grangers' protests quickly fading into the background.

“You didn't have to do that,” he said while they were walking. “Aren't you going to get
in trouble for leaving them like that?”

“I don't think so; Mum's smart, she knows why I did it. I don't like what you've
said any better, but it's not right for my parents to grill you, either.”

“Could be worse, I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “I could've told them I was a werewolf or
something.”

“Shut up! That's not funny! I read - Oh, look!” Harry looked up towards the bookstore; a
sign outside the store proclaimed in large, colourful letters that Gilderoy Lockhart, apparently an
author of some renown, was currently signing books in the store. “I've heard so much about him!
Let's go in, Harry! Please?”

Dragged along by Hermione, Harry entered the store, and found a media frenzy around the table
where Lockhart sat. The man himself was dressed in a gaudy robe that alternated between violet and
hot pink. An instant later, the man's gaze locked with Harry's, and an unnaturally wide
smile split across his face.

“Well, look who's here, everyone! Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived himself!”

The crowd swivelled in almost perfect unison, and Harry struggled to morph his shock into a
smile. He approached as Lockhart beckoned him; somewhere near the halfway mark, someone pulled
Hermione away. Before he could react, though, Lockhart descended upon him in a flurry of color.

“Smile for the camera's, Harry! I'm very, very happy to meet you!”

“Likewise,” Harry lied, shaking the man's hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“We both have interesting stories, that's for sure!”

Harry glanced at his watch regularly as Lockhart prattled on, absently nodding where he thought
it appropriate. Five minutes... seven minutes... ten minutes... God, would the man ever shut up?
Almost without warning, Lockhart shoved a book into his hands. He quickly flipped through the
proffered book, and then looked back up to Lockhart. “There's too much about hair,” he said
dryly, “and not enough about vampires.”

The reporters laughed, and Lockhart grinned widely. “I'm sure that hair will be important to
you, too,” he asserted, “especially once a pretty girl catches your fancy.”

Harry just gave a shrug and a smile, and handed the book back.

“Oh, no, keep it Harry; keep the whole set! I insist!” The crowd around them made approving
noises, and Harry allowed Lockhart to give him his books, before begging off.

“Mr. Ollivander is expecting me, so I'd best be going.”

“Of course, of course!” Lockhart shook his hand again - a rather awkward undertaking as Harry
juggled the pile of books. “Off you go, and I'll see you at Hogwarts - or maybe again in my
second signing here, in August!”

Harry smiled at Lockhart's sickeningly hopeful face, and walked away as fast as he could.
Quickly locating Hermione, he took her by the arm and made haste for the exit.

“Wasn't he wonderful?” gushed Hermione, still looking back over her shoulder while Harry led
them away.

“You could go back,” offered Harry, grinning when Hermione whipped her head around to him.

“Prat! It's not like he'd speak with me, or anything.”

“Sure he would; after all, your Harry Potter's best friend. I'll bet he creams himself
at the thought of picking your brain.”

“Eww! Harry, you're disgusting!”

“Actually, I'd be surprised if he did any of it,” he said. Hermione gave him a shocked look,
and he rolled his eyes. “Look, I just glanced at his book there, and it's a bit… fluffy. If
he's done as much as he's said he's done, then he's got a lot more interesting
things to do than teach at Hogwarts.”

“He wouldn't have published books if he hadn't done what's in them,” she asserted.
“I bet when you're older, you'll publish books, too.”

Harry again rolled his eyes, but said nothing more.

The two made their way back to Fortescue's, and Harry gave his Lockhart books to Hermione
before saying his goodbyes. A handful of customers come over from the bookstore to see him, but
soon, the day returned to its usual peacefulness, and Harry busied himself with cleaning behind the
counter.

The door chime rang, and then a tiny voice yelped in surprise.

Harry looked up to see a small red-haired girl walk in with her mother. She stared at him with
wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Welcome to Ollivander's,” he said politely to the mother. “I'm Harry Potter. Are you in
for a replacement wand, or is this her first, or…?”

“It's her first,” the mother said kindly. “It's also nice to meet you. I'm Molly
Weasley, Ron's mother. This is my youngest, Ginny.”

“It's nice to meet you!” he said, walking from around the workbench to shake her hand
properly. Ginny inched behind her mother's legs, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

“Hey,” he said, making an exaggerated motion to peer around Mrs. Weasley. “Your Ron's
sister, are you? I'm Harry.”

“H-H-Hello,” she mumbled, looking at her feet.

“You'll have to forgive Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said with a chuckle. “She's been dying to
meet you for ages now, and I imagine she's quite shy.”

Harry nodded at Mrs. Weasley, and turned back to Ginny. “Well, if you want to meet me properly,
you'll have to come out here and shake hands, right?”

Blushing almost as red as her hair, Ginny inched out from behind her mother, and tentatively
reached up to take Harry's hand. Harry squeezed it lightly, and gave a small shake.

“So, you're right-handed?” he asked. Ginny nodded, and Harry motioned over to the
workbench.

“Mr. Ollivander's been letting me gauge wands for a couple days now, so if you like,
I'll get you set up with your wand. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please,” said Ginny. Her voice was slightly stronger now, and she had the beginnings of a
smile.

“Great! Okay, hold your arm out.” Harry quickly took her measurements, quite pleased that the
measuring tapes were behaving themselves. Once they'd returned, he recorded their findings and
compared them to Ollivander's charts. “Okay, let me grab a few wands - I think I have an idea
of what will work for you.”

Harry quickly grabbed as many wands with dragon-heartstring core as he could, and walked back to
the counter. Ginny carefully handled each wand, and gave a huge smile as she picked up the one in
the middle.

“Go on,” urged Harry, “give it a wave.”

Ginny waved it excitedly, and bright red sparks shot from the wands end, trailing across the
wall.

“That's really good,” Harry said, scrutinizing the patterns of sparks with narrowed eyes.
“The bond's nice and strong. It's not perfect, but it'll do great for Hogwarts.” He
turned and looked to Mrs. Weasley. “I think that Ginny will probably benefit from making her own
wand when she's older, but this one's a good match.”

“I'm sure she will,” said Mrs. Weasley, running her fingers through Ginny's hair while
the girl played with her new wand. “Thank you for helping us. Are the wands still seven
galleons?”

Harry nodded, and took their payment. Ginny came forward and hugged him, before stumbling away,
flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, if only every pretty girl that came along hugged me,” he joked. Mrs. Weasley laughed, and
Ginny went even redder, and ducked her head. “I'll see you at Hogwarts, right?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. She gave him one last glance, before leaving the shop with her mother.

“Cool,” he said as he returned the rest of the wands, “another Weasley for Gryffindor.”

Not five minutes after the Weasleys left, the door chime rang again.

“Harry Potter, right?”

Harry looked up to see the blonde Slytherin girl from last year. He wracked his brain for a
name, before coming across his memory of her sorting.

“Pansy Parkinson?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, clearly surprised. “You know me! Well, that's good. Now, what exactly
are you doing… here? Behind the counter, I mean.”

“Working for the summer.” Pansy gave him an incredulous look, and Harry sighed. “Okay, I've
been asked about three hundred versions of `why?' over the last couple of weeks. What version
of `why?' is this?”

“The Potters were a wealthy family,” she said. “Surely you've inherited.”

“I have,” he agreed, “but this gives me a chance to learn a little more about our society. You
know I was raised with muggles, right?”

Pansy gave a sharp nod, her look of distaste a clear indication of her opinion on muggles.

“Right; like I said to Hermione, I've learned more about magic and the world with Mr.
Ollivander than I did all last year in Hogwarts. The money's just a small bonus on the side -
keeps me from draining my vault. Besides, I wasn't keen on not being able to use magic all
summer.”

“Well, you certainly have your priorities straight,” she said, brightening into a smile. “I came
in here to avoid an undesirable person, and get my wand repaired and polished. Is Ollivander not
in?”

“He's in the back,” Harry gestured to the door behind him, “but I've had run of the shop
for a while now. If you've got a few minutes, I'll take care of your wand.”

Pansy looked ready to argue, but stopped, considering him for a moment. She hesitantly handed
over her wand, and Harry went quickly to work, checking and fixing small fractures in the wood, and
then polishing the wand. Pansy loomed over him, scrutinizing his work in a manner that reminded him
strongly of Snape. Just like Snape, Harry ignored her.

“There you go,” he said when he finished. “It should last you through next year. That was a lot
of cracks for a new wand, though…”

“That's my business,” she said, taking her wand. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don't worry about it,” he said. “What good's working here if I can't do a favour
for a classmate?”

“What, indeed.” Pansy's smile returned full force. “It's been an unexpected pleasure,
Potter. I'll see you at school.”

“See you.” Harry waved as Pansy left, the shop, and returned to his cleaning. Pansy seemed like
a nice person; maybe he'd have a chance to talk to her during school. It was something to
ponder later - there was work to do. The shop was almost in order... drat. Harry rolled his eyes as
the door chimed yet again.

Harry turned his head as the door closed, and saw a thin, frail girl with long, matted blond
hair walk in. She seemed to be another first-year… Harry flicked his eyes behind her, but saw no
parents.

“Hi,” he said. “Welcome to Ollivander's. I'm Harry; looking for a wand?”

The girl said nothing; she merely looked at him with wide, silvery-blue eyes.

“You alright?” Again, no reply. Harry scratched his head, and resolved to wait for whoever the
parent was. “Tell you what,” he said, levitating a chair out of the back room. “Have a seat, and
when you're ready, I'll be right here.” He placed the chair close to the front window, and
the girl promptly sat down on it, kicking her dangling legs back and forth.

As the silence drew on, Harry returned to his work, storing new wands on the shelves with
well-placed banishing charms.

“You're Harry Potter.”

Harry turned back to the girl and smiled. “Yeah, I'm Harry Potter. Who're you?”

“Did you know that oak wands promote the rotting of teeth?” she asked, completely ignoring his
question. “Daddy did a huge article on it last year. I hope that you don't sell oak wands. Or
if you do, maybe you should also sell people muggle toothpaste - it's ever so effective…”

On and on the girl rambled, and Harry's initial surprise faded into confusion. Something
wasn't right with the girl. She seemed to know what she was saying, but when he interjected,
she'd start right up again, speaking even faster.

Maybe it was nerves.

Channelling as much of a particularly entertaining third grade teacher as he could remember,
Harry made a long, sad face, and turned back to his wands. The girl's chattering ceased almost
immediately, and he heard the scuffle of small feet approaching the counter.

“What's wrong?” asked the girl, sounding very concerned.

“I feel sad,” Harry replied in his most pathetic voice. “A pretty girl came into my shop, and
she won't tell me her name.”

A burst of chaotic giggles erupted from the girl, and she nearly lost her balance. Harry fought
against his own laughter, as the girl rocked back and forth from her right foot to her left, with
random bouts of mirth escaping her. After a moment, she recovered, and looked back up to Harry with
her large eyes.

“I'm Luna Lovegood.”

“Luna… that's a nice name.”

“It is, isn't it? Daddy says that everyone likes it so much, they even named the moon after
me.”

Harry adopted an expression of amazement. “They did? Wow, you must be really famous.”

“Not as famous as you.”

“I don't know… I don't have a moon named after me.”

“You're silly,” she said, laughing. “Moon's aren't that important. After all, we all
left the moon to live here.”

“True,” he agreed as seriously as he could manage, “very true. So, I imagine that you'd like
a wand; after all, us ex-lunar people all need a wands… otherwise we fade away until there's
nothing left.”

“Really?” Luna's eyes were now as wise as saucers. Harry nodded emphatically.

“What do you think happened to Voldemort?” he whispered conspiratorially.

That was all it took for Luna to sit patiently through her measurements, and quickly pick out a
Unicorn-hair wand, appearing very thankful that her wood was not oak. Luna stayed for the rest of
the afternoon, playing with her new wand while Harry tidied up the shop and closed it for the
day.

Harry trailed around the Alley, Luna still attached to his arm like a child - which he supposed
they both were, though he often felt more like an adult. He wasn't tall for his age, but Luna
was tiny compared to him; she seemed to fit snugly inside his shadow, and she apparently had no
intentions of leaving.

“How long are you staying out?” he asked, as the sun began to dip beneath the buildings.

“Oh, Daddy should be here soon,” she said. “He sometimes works late, so I keep myself busy while
he's away.”

“Cool. Well, whereabouts do you meet?”

“The Cauldron, usually.”

“Perfect,” said Harry. “Let's get some dinner, then, and wait for your Dad.”

The waiting turned into an hour of light conversation about Hogwarts before the girl's
father showed up, looking every bit as eccentric as his daughter sounded. “So sorry I'm late!”
he said, and in less than thirty seconds, father and daughter had disappeared through the floo
connection in a puff of green flame.

Harry shook his head, and patiently finished his food - and Luna's - before walking towards
the London exit. “Well, Hogwarts just got weirder, that's for sure.”

It had been quite an eventful day. But it was a Tuesday, after all; and Tuesdays were often
strange days.

*

Remus came by the shop to visit on Thursday; he looked quite ragged around the edges, but
radiated happiness. Those edges bothered Harry, though, and he felt comfortable enough with Remus
now to ask about them.

“Is there... can I... get you something, Remus?”

A small, self-depreciating smile appeared on the werewolf's face. “No, pup, I'm fine.
I'm well-used to the hard life.”

“But I can help! I've got more than enough-”

“It's for *you*, Harry; don't spread it around too thin. I still manage the odd job
here and there, so I'm not dead broke...”

“Um, right.” Harry gestured to Remus' frayed robes, and the older man let out a deep
sigh.

“It's not like I can hide I'm a werewolf. Wolfsbane wasn't available until my late
teens when I was out of Hogwarts, and your father, Sirius and Peter only managed the animagus
transformations near the end of fourth year. Until then, I clawed and bit myself quite thoroughly.
No educated wizard can see these scars and not know what I am, and any who don't know will
figure it out very quickly when I keep missing work every full moon.

“Werewolves aren't a trusted lot, so finding a legal job is practically impossible, and the
more illicit options tend to get you killed. While I might be able to run a store of my own, I
don't have the money to start up.”

“What if I gave you the money?”

“Harry-”

“I'm serious!”

“Sirius? Where?”

Harry laughed at the unexpected joke, and Remus grinned like a teenager. He must be in a good
mood to crack jokes about Sirius Black, of all people, so Harry wound up and tried again. “Look, at
least do the math, and let me know if I could - I mean it's not like you're a stranger or
anything.”

“We'll see, alright?”

“Fine... Hey, Remus? Can I come over to your place?”

“Um...”

“I want to visit; and I want to visit somewhere where I can use magic for a bit.”

“Sure, why not? Just don't expect a palace, or anything. Not even close to one.”

*

Remus, Harry decided, was the king of understatements.

Remus' house was rundown and very, very dirty. It was a small abandoned house in the worst
part of downtown London, with a strong enough muggle-repelling charm to keep the gangs and city
surveyors away. Harry spent his entire first visit casting dozens and dozens of cleaning and
repairing charms. Remus tried several times to dissuade Harry, but was soon caught up in his
enthusiasm and joined in the efforts, reinforcing the structure and layering slightly stronger
wards over top of the repelling charm.

On Harry's second visit, he braved the mess in the basement and discovered Remus'
punching bag, heavily used and often repaired, for what Remus called “werewolf stress relief.”

“While I had a muggle job,” he explained, “I used to take martial arts lessons - karate, I
think. I never really cared for the belts, but physical action is an outlet, and I figured that I
wanted to do better than just swing my fists if I had to fight a muggle. I still try and practice
what I know; it helps keep me calm.”

Harry smiled; this was his opening. “Tell you what; I'll use some of my money to keep food
around here, and we can both do that karate stuff, since you like it. The only other thing I care
about is a couple more robes for you, or at least muggle clothes. As long as you're eating and
dressed properly, the rest doesn't really matter.”

Remus' protests were much less vehement this time, and by Monday, Harry spent his evenings
at the local dojo with a very happy werewolf.

Harry took to the lessons well, but there were parts he didn't appreciate. There was a lot
of talk of 'proper living' that he had to endure, and the other children that came to
classes acted as if they were six, frustrating everyone else.

Sparring was another sticking point: The instructor was quick to include Harry in the sparring
matches, but he kept reprimanding Harry for “excessive force” when he sparred with the other
students. This quickly led to Harry sparring with adult partners, and when the adults complained,
he worked solely with Remus, who could take the blows.

“Like it's my fault that I've had to fight for real all my life!” he complained to
Remus. “How the hell do you 'pull' a punch or kick, anyways? Hitting is hitting!”

Remus shook his head. “It isn't, and you'll figure it out. Sparring is like a sport,
though these guys are a little more full contact with it. You aren't trying to kill each
other.”

“Yeah, but then how do you practice the really heavy stuff?”

“On me. I'm a werewolf; I can take it.”

And he took it.

As July progressed, Harry slowly began to spar with other students again, as he learned to
control his attacks. Remus, however, he still hit full-force; a twelve-year-old boy could do very
little to hurt a grown werewolf.

The closest Harry came to hurting him was on July 31st, his birthday, during one of
their more serious sparring matches back at Remus' house. Struggling free of Remus' attempt
at a throw, Harry spun, catching Remus with an elbow to the side of the head. To Harry's
credit, Remus grunted in pain and his legs gave way; within two fast heartbeats, however - before
he even hit the floor - Remus was once again standing.

“Good shot, Harry! I didn't even see that one coming! You'd have knocked a normal person
out for sure!”

Harry just shook his head, and sat on the floor, thoroughly exhausted. “That's enough,” he
panted. “I'm done.”

“Alright, let's get changed. We have less than two hours 'till the birthday boy needs to
be at the Cauldron.” Remus disappeared into the next room to change.

Harry proceeded to pull his sweat-stained shirt off, and stopped as caught his reflection in a
mirror.

“Holy shit.”

“What's up?” Remus poked his head back into the room, and smirked at Harry. “Vain,
much?”

“I look a lot ... bigger ... than I used to.”

The werewolf chuckled, and walked into the room, ruffling Harry's hair, and staring at his
image in the mirror. “Nah, you're still scrawny. Keep it up for a few years, though, and
you'll have an impressive build.”

Once Harry finished changing, he walked upstairs into the living room, where Remus was
waiting.

“Nothing replaces practice and sparring,” said Remus. “If you keep practising somewhere at
school, you will do yourself the most good. I doubt you can spar, but that can't be helped.” He
handed Harry a thick book. “This is the best book I could find on our type of karate. The pictures
and instructions are good - for a book. You're welcome to try anything, but if you can't
figure out a technique, or trying it causes you pain or discomfort, wait till you get back.
Improper practice will hurt your knees and back, and you're not a werewolf, so you don't
automatically heal those things every month.”

Harry nodded, and shrunk the book down to the size of a postage stamp. Then he grabbed
Remus' arm, and the two disappeared with a resounding crack.

*

Harry and his friends took up half the tables at the Leaky Cauldron. The Weasleys minus the
elder brothers, Hermione and her parents, Neville and his grandmother, Tonks and *her*
parents, Cedric and *his* parents... and Remus along, to boot. Even Mr. Ollivander made an
appearance - it was quite a crowd. The adults gathered around their own table, while Harry and his
friends occupied three smaller ones.

By far, the most entertaining person was Ginny, who chased after Fred and George all night with
her new wand, while Mrs. Weasley tried desperately to rein them in. Every now and then, Ginny would
flash him a mischievously evil grin, before launching hexes that emulated disgusting bodily
excretions, the mildest of which was something she called the Bat Bogey Hex.

Her hexes and the twins' retaliations drove most of the other patrons of the Cauldron out.
When Mrs. Weasley finally petrified the three of them and floated them home, Harry tipped Tom an
extra twenty galleons to keep him smiling.

Tonks was next to leave, giving Harry a crushing hug and a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

“I'm going into Auror training!” she said, a proud smile on her face. “Starts tomorrow, in
fact. Three years of hard work - though I hear there's ways to make it shorter if you've
got experience. I can't wait!”

“You'll do great,” Harry assured her.

“Thanks! You look after the team, you hear me? Make sure we win!”

“Ced and I will manage.”

“You bet,” Cedric said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “I've bought a couple more
recordings, so we've got new material to try out.”

That prompted a ten-minute conversation on Quidditch and Cedric's promotion to Captain,
before Tonks again said her goodbyes and disappeared into the floo, along with her parents.

Cedric and Neville were the next ones to leave, which left Ron and Hermione. Mr. Weasley, Remus,
and Mr. and Mrs. Granger huddled around one of the smaller tables, talking; Harry took Hermione and
Ron out to walk the alley, chatting about school and Harry's work. Ron was thrilled with the
Nimbus 2001 broom that floated in the window of the Quality Quidditch, and was soon extolling the
broom's virtues like a salesman. When Mrs. Weasley returned to collect the rest of her family,
Ron immediately pounced on her about the Nimbus. Harry tried his best to tune out the conversation,
though the increasing volume made it difficult.

“C'mon, Mum!”

“Ronald, *no*. Now, stop fussing.”

Ron hung back muttering as his mother walked towards the other adults. “S'not fair,” he said
to Harry. “Why can't I ever have anything new? S'just a broom.”

Hermione shook her head. “It's really expensive; I don't think they could afford
it.”

Ron's look darkened considerably. “I bet if it was Ginny asking, she'd get it. She gets
new *everything*.”

“Well, she's a girl...”

“Why does that matter? Why is she more important?”

“Ron, you're being-”

“Hermione, you're not helping.” Harry gently pulled her away from Ron, and moved in
closer.

“Look mate, I've been working all summer, and there's no way I could afford that
broom.”

“You've-”

“I know I can get it if I want to, but then how long's it going to be before I can put that
money back? Two years? Three? *Four*? I can't afford it, plain and simple. Your dad's
the only one working, Ron. He makes loads more than I do, I bet, but not so much that
four-hundred-and-eighty galleons is pocket money.”

Ron looked mulish, and Harry shook his head. “Think, mate; first food, then clothes, then
whatever your house needs, then anything your mum needs, then anything that needs replacing... how
much has he got left?”

“Not much,” Ron muttered, scowling at the ground. “It's... all my life, I get told no.
Nev's a great friend and all, but he's got so much, and for all he complains about his
Gran, she almost never tells him no. I can't wait to be grown up, and do what I want.”

“There's a lot more to being grown up than just doing what you want,” Hermione retorted.

Harry shrugged. “Hey, what do I do now? Just like your dad, I work all day, pay for food and
anything else I have to, and save the rest. If I leave, say, about seven galleons a week to blow on
stuff I want to have, I'll have about a hundred galleons saved from this summer. I probably
won't spend that much, so let's say a hundred-fifty.

“And that's all going to Remus, so that he's got food, a couple of robes, and can keep
going to his classes. I think that's way better than a broom.”

Ron never had a chance to reply, as Mrs. Weasley came bustling back, snatching Ron up in her
wake. “We'll see you again soon, dear!” she called back to Harry, and within the blink of an
eye, they were gone.

“That... sounded a lot like Dad,” Hermione said quietly, a small frown on her face. Harry gave
her a questioning look, and she blushed and looked away. “Sorry, it's just that you sound a lot
more like an adult than a boy sometimes - but it's a good thing.”

Harry gave a one-sided shrug. “Okay. I think it's mostly that I know a bit more about it,
working and all. I mean, this is what it's like for a grown-up. School's, well... fake, you
know? Maybe that's not the right word...”

“An illusion?” offered Hermione, and Harry nodded emphatically.

“Yeah! I mean, we get classes on cool magic, but it's all just so that we know what
we're doing, and then we can get a job, you know?”

Hermione looked offended. “There's more to school than that!”

“Yeah, I know, but that still comes down to a job - just a better one, is all.”

“You still sound like my Dad.”

Harry scoffed. “I sound like my uncle sometimes - and that's not a good thing, trust me.
I'm trying to sound more like Remus - he's great.”

Hermione nodded, and then frowned. “Remus said you were doing karate? More fighting, Harry?”
Hermione's voice carried a hint of distaste.

“Nah, it's not that; I just wanted Remus to take care of himself, eat and have decent
clothes. He looks a lot better now, and that's the important part. He's got the money to
keep taking lessons, and buy food for the year, and I'm sure he'll do that - that's
what I really wanted out of this, and if I know how to throw a kick or two, great. I left him a lot
more than I earned over the summer, but don't tell him that.”

Hermione gave a small “humph,” and changed the subject. “I wonder if Mrs. Weasley would let Ron
work. I asked my parents, but they said no.”

“You wanted to work? Why?”

“So I can stay around here and do magic, of course.”

Harry laughed; Hermione pouted.

*

August whittled away slowly. The days - even weekends - he spent tending Ollivander's shop
or trying to make a wand, with his failures more and more respectable each time. The evenings he
spent with Remus, either attending classes or simply hanging out. Even with Remus side-apparating
him everywhere, it was close to ten by the time Harry made it home each night.

Uncle Vernon never said a word. It was equal parts relieving and disappointing.

All too soon, Harry found himself shaking Mr. Ollivander's hand as they locked up his shop
on the last day of August, and Harry handed over his key.

“Thank you for all your help, Harry.”

“It was fun working for you, Mr. Ollivander. Would you like me to help you next summer?”

“Let's allow next summer to arrive first. However, I doubt I'd ever refuse you.”

*

King's Cross Station teemed with people, which made Harry doubly glad he had only a backpack
to carry. Hermione had done a superb job with her trunk, shrinking it to the size of a matchbox; it
now resided in a pocket of his backpack while they walked side by side, talking. They had yet to
see Neville, though they had already spotted the Weasleys, a small puddle of red in a sea of brown
and grey.

By the time Neville appeared, Harry had greeted the Weasleys, entertained Luna and shared a
passing hello with Pansy. Neville and Harry scouted out a compartment, and quickly set themselves
up by the window, leaving Hermione room to lie out on the seat beside Harry.

As the train began to move, Harry and Neville began to talk animatedly about their summers,
while Hermione rested her head against Harry's leg, reading a textbook.

A timid knock at the door stopped their conversation. Harry stood and slid the door open;
outside, standing not much taller than the enormous trunk she dragged behind her, was Luna. Her
eyes wide and bright with tears and her arms shook with both emotion and exertion. She shook her
head back and forth, as if warding off his questions. She looked so very, very sad.

It broke his heart.

“Come in, Luna,” he said, absently shrinking her trunk. “You're always welcome here.”

After a moment, the conversation began again; the only difference was tiny Luna sitting on the
floor tucked safely between Harry's legs, happily reading her Quibbler magazine.

*

The carriages that bore them back to school were seemingly horseless, but something existed up
front - almost, but not quite, visible - that made Harry very nervous. He sat quietly beside
Hermione, with Luna on one of his knees, while Neville took up the seat opposite them. Hermione and
Neville were discussing classes, but Harry's attention was elsewhere. Even the scene Luna had
caused with Hagrid when she demanded to ride with Harry to the school rather than take the boats
hadn't managed to shake a growing unease that gripped him as he approached the school.

Hogwarts felt different this time, as Harry watched the castle loom ever closer. There was a
hint of darkness that he had never noticed before; a sense of foreboding that permeated the area,
warning of danger. Though his watch assured him it was still September 1st, the
crispness of the air and the depth of the fading twilight made him shiver.

Something was wrong.

Or maybe, something had always been wrong, and working with Ollivander had taught him how to
sense it.

*

Ginny made it into Gryffindor as expected, and spent a great amount of time blushing and
stuttering around him. She was almost as endearing as Luna was. Still, she lacked Hermione's
self-confidence to follow him to the Hufflepuff common room, which limited her attempts at
conversation. For some reason, Hermione took great satisfaction in this.

Luna ended up in Ravenclaw, which made Harry curse quietly. How was he to look out for her in
one of the houses he couldn't influence? It was a mystery to solve, to be sure. Lockhart's
introduction and the resulting cheers from the girls of Hogwarts had left his ears ringing for an
hour.

Despite Harry's best intentions, Luna soon became a tertiary concern as classes started full
swing. He made time for her whenever he saw her, but Hermione was riding him to stay ahead in his
schoolwork, and Neville wanted Harry to teach him how to duel “both the muggle way and the
traditional way.” Combined with his Quidditch practice, his days were quickly loaded to
capacity.

*

It was official: Defence against the Dark Arts was now a joke. While the Gilderoy the Gormless
stood grinning behind a personal shield as he backed into his office, the students screamed and ran
wild, chased around the classroom by scores of Cornish pixies. They charmed several students with
weird appendages, and dragged others kicking and screaming to be hung from the ceiling. Only a few
students tried to fight back, including Harry and his friends.

Hermione walked around freezing pixies solid with some kind of charm. Ron and Neville both put
*Petrificus Totalus* to use - and then chased their pesky blue targets around, as the Body
Bind did not stop the pixie's wings. Harry targeted one pixie at a time, aiming a precise
banishing charm to sending it flying back to the cage, unlocking the cage when it neared, then
locking the cage behind them as it flew in. He repeated this several times, picking off the pixies
that were chasing his friends, though he had to pause frequently to allow others to throw pixies in
the cage; after a small eternity, the room was pixie-free.

Harry slumped down in his chair, feeling weak in his center from casting so much, so quickly.
Most other students were sweating from running around, but seemed fine otherwise. The hungry ache
running up and down his spine made him think that while his method was effective, perhaps running
around might have been *less* stressful.

“Are you okay?”

He turned to a concerned Hermione and smiled, trying to correct his posture despite the ache.
“Yeah, I just used a bit too much magic.” Harry winced as he heard the wheeze in his voice.

“I should say so! That was what, sixty spells?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I got about twenty or so. Probably should have done what you did...
don't know that spell, though.”

“No, no, what you did was great; I mean you were in control of the cage opening and closing, so
they couldn't escape again - that was a big help by itself.”

“I agree,” said Lockhart as he re-entered the classroom. “That was a very impressive use of the
Banishing charm, Harry - isn't that fourth-year material?”

Harry closed his eyes for an instant to prevent them from rolling, and then turned to Lockhart.
“Stocking shelves at Ollivander's has its benefits. Pixies aren't wands, but they can be
'shelved' just the same.”

“You're absolutely right! Take ten points for your efforts, Harry! And five points to
everyone else who helped! You've all earned it!”

There was a collective groan, and they spent the rest of the class rescuing the hanging
students, and helping the badly hexed to the Hospital Wing.

The pixies set the pace for many a Defence class; Lockhart was hardly a model teacher. Besides
his fondness of releasing creatures upon them, he enjoyed digressing into tales of his exploits,
much to the joy of Hermione and the other girls. Harry found himself missing Remus strongly in
those classes. His tales of the Marauders put Lockhart's stories to shame; it was patently
unfair that Remus was a good man and lived a horrible life, while Lockhart was so obviously a liar
- or at least very lucky and egotistically naive - and lived a life of luxury. Even Quirrel was
better, despite his betrayal and his fake stutter. Betrayal or not, Harry had learned a lot about
duelling and defensive magics from the man.

Lockhart managed to cover the necessary topics, though - barely - so Harry held his tongue,
grumbling quietly to himself in class, and studying Defence on his own in the library. He made
particular effort to learn any creature-specific spells, as he was quite tired of magical vermin
ambushing them in class.

Other classes followed their expected norms: McGonagall was strict, Snape was demeaning,
Flitwick was funny, Sprout was cheerful, Sinistra was aloof and mysterious and Binns was flat-out
boring. Harry found his developing sensitivity to magic quite helpful in Transfiguration and
Potions, where precision and detail mattered most. Charms, too, became easier, mostly due to his
efforts in learning how to summon and banish, as well as his struggles to control those fiendish
measuring tapes.

By contrast, he allowed himself to coast along in History and Herbology. Those classes had the
longest essays and projects, and with all the other demands on his time, he decided that something
had to give.

The Quidditch locker room was ample space to exercise and practice his karate without attracting
attention. Neville, Cedric and Hermione knew about it, though Hermione begged off. Neville was
eager to join in, and Cedric sometimes came to watch. Harry talked the older boy into the
occasional duel, to keep up with what Quirrel had taught him and to help teach Neville.

By October, every class had gone through several assignments and tests; pleased with his
individual assignments, Harry glanced at the mark sheets posted in the common room. He topped
Defence by a fair margin, and was pleased to find himself in the top five for Transfiguration,
Charms and Potions. Neville was top in Herbology, showing a natural talent that no one else in his
year possessed. Now that her name caught his eye, Harry was surprised to see Pansy Parkinson at the
top of the marks list for Potions, and not too far down the list anywhere else. Hermione was top in
History, Transfiguration, Charms, and Astronomy, and a close number two in the other three.

Luna surprised Harry in that she was top student in all her classes. She was now friends with
Ginny, and the two spent all their time together, which pleased Harry to no end. He felt very
unqualified to be a big brother.

November arrived without snowfall; the grounds were a dull, lifeless brown, and the trees had
long since shed their foliage. Harry walked the castle halls with a constant warming charm, the
fruits of Hermione's reading ahead. Mid-terms were creeping up on them, and it had different
effects on everyone: Hermione sequestered herself in the library in full-study mode, while Neville
retreated to the Gryffindor common room to hang out with Ron and escape the stress. Luna and Ginny
were hanging out, and Cedric was rarely available in any event, with a two-year gap between them.
Hufflepuff had won their only Quidditch game of the term, which meant that practices were on hold
until January.

Left to his own devices, and unwilling to ramp up his own study efforts, Harry found himself
with a fair amount of free time. After a lonely walk through the empty halls, he impulsively
decided to bother the one person he hadn't talked to this year, and went in search of Professor
Dumbledore.

Reaching the entry point to the Headmaster's office, a large stone gargoyle loomed over him,
blocking the staircase.

“Um, can you...?”

“The Headmaster is aware of you,” it answered, and Harry winced - its voice was like car tires
on gravel. The gargoyle slowly stepped out of the way, and Harry walked up the spiral stairs to
Dumbledore's office, walking through the open doorway.

The office itself was spectacular, combining the best parts of a library, observatory,
laboratory and living den. The furniture alone was worth a fortune in his estimation, all antique
wood design, with bronze trimmings and edging. Over by a large fireplace was an enormous desk;
small arcane devices sat on the edges, whirring an clicking away, and a quill scribbled noisily,
very intent on finishing whatever it was writing, pausing only so that the parchment could roll
itself along.

Books removed themselves from the shelves and flew off to other rooms, quickly replaced by new
ones that flew in, and then every book on the shelf shuffled around some to sort the new books
properly. On a raised level, a large telescope turned and shifted, focusing on some new object in
the sky. On a nearby worktable, another quill was writing away, documenting - or perhaps drawing -
whatever the telescope saw.

The sudden appearance of a hot cup of tea drew Harry's attention to the desk; a tall glass
of pumpkin juice appeared as well. Near to where the glass appeared, a comfortable chair grew from
the floor - which Harry supposed was for him. Not five seconds later, a bright fire erupted in the
air between Harry and the desk, warping and coalescing into the form of Albus Dumbledore. A
magnificent crimson bird, easily the size of a large eagle, took flight from the Headmaster's
shoulders, and alighted on an ornate, bejewelled stand nearby.

Dumbledore smoothed down his long white beard and stalked briskly over to his desk, his purple
robes and cloak billowing out behind him. “Excuse the dramatic entrance, Harry. Please, have a
seat.” Harry took the seat that had grown for him, while Dumbledore settled into his own. The quill
and parchment slid over to the edge of the desk, and kept on writing.

“I... wow,” breathed Harry, still glancing around at the office, and taking in the sight of the
bird.

Dumbledore smiled. “I know, Harry, I know. One day, these will all seem simple cantrips to you,
and your own home or office will be every bit as splendorous as mine is. I admit to liking my
creature comforts.

“I have just stepped back from a rather intense session of negotiations for international trade.
Apparently, the Pacific Rim has had a drop in their currency value, and suddenly all proponents of
free trade or nearly free trade has cold feet. The European Council is especially conservative and
proud of the galleon's standing, and they see any fluctuations, however natural, as cause for
panic.

“But I could use a break from all that, at least for a while. I have allotted thirty minutes for
you, Harry - will that suffice?”

Harry blinked, and then shook his head furiously. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt
anything, especially if you're busy. I can go, if you like...”

Dumbledore shook his head throughout Harry's rambling, smiling all the while. “Its fine, my
boy - they'll not miss me for thirty minutes; I daresay they could use the break, too. Now,
tell me, what brings you to my office?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, and flushed with embarrassment. “Well, I'm... bored.” His
blush deepened as Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but the man's smile was still there, so Harry
soldiered on.

“Everyone else is taken up with studying, or pretending homework doesn't exist. I'm
ready for my mid-terms, Quidditch is done for now, and I... don't really have anything to do. I
... I was wondering if there was anything you needed done - you know, for the school, or
something?”

“Do you mean to say that, since you have a few moments to yourself, you wish to *work*?”
Dumbledore's grin was all teeth, and Harry ducked his head as Dumbledore began to laugh.
“Harry, oh Harry, I wish everyone shared your work ethic. I would find this so very unhealthy in
most children, but it's not as though you've deprived yourself of fun or friends.” With a
sigh, Dumbledore regained a more serious mien. “I'm sure you've realized that Hogwarts is a
wealthy institution. Whatever our professors cannot handle, we have House Elves to accomplish, so I
don't believe that I have anything nearly as engaging for you as Ollivander's was over the
summer.”

“M'sorry,” Harry mumbled, looking down again. He was disappointed, and now that he'd
done it, he felt about two years old for whining to the Headmaster that he was bored.

“Harry, look at me.” Harry found himself unable to resist the command, and their eyes locked. “I
can't help you if you don't tell me what you need.”

Again, Harry felt the compulsion irresistible.

“I've worked all my life,” he whispered. “Ever since I knew that Uncle Vernon didn't
care about me - Aunt Petunia hates me, probably because of my mum, but Uncle Vernon just
doesn't care... and so, if I wanted anything, I worked … Around the school, around the
neighbourhood... I was good at what I did, they paid me... I'm used to working... sitting
around is odd, it doesn't make sense. I've done my exercises, my Quidditch, my homework, my
studying; I've seen my friends as much as I could... I've done everything there is, and
there's still time... I want to *do* something...”

“But *why*, Harry?”

“Because... because that's what Uncle Vernon does, he works all day, every day... and
maybe... maybe I can make him proud of me...”

Dumbledore's eyes were dancing with light; Harry wondered if they always did that when the
elder man was thinking. And he certainly was thinking - his face showed all the subtle signs of
stress.

“Come with me,” he commanded, and held out his hand. Harry took it, and Dumbledore's bird
flew over, landing on the Headmaster's shoulder. There was a bright flash, and the office was
gone.

For the next several moments, all Harry could look at was the liquid sky - waves rolled gently
above him, and schools of fish played in the cyan waters over his head. The sun shone through,
infusing the water with a glow that reflected on the white marble surfaces of the building around
him.

He found equal delight in the building itself. Ornately carved pillars rose to unseen heights
through the water, while the floor looked like beaten gold. The entire structure screamed magic at
him, more so than even Hogwarts.

There was no subtle darkness here; there was incalculable power and with it, safety.

A hand squeezed his, drawing his attention to Dumbledore. “Welcome, Harry, to the single
surviving building of what once was Atlantis. This is home to the International Confederation of
Wizards, and where I spend a great deal of time throughout the year.”

“Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore…?” Harry turned to see an elderly man in stately robes, eyeing him
with a small degree of confusion.

“Ah, Mugwump Fotoya, your timing is impeccable. May I introduce to you Harry Potter, from my
school? Harry, this is Mugwump Hitoshi Fotoya of the Pacific Rim Ministry.”

“Mr. Potter,” Fotoya echoed, moving forward to shake Harry's hand, “Your exploit as an
infant is legendary, I must say. I wish you nothing but peace and prosperity for the remainder of
your life.”

“Thank you,” Harry managed, a little surprised that a non-British wizard would be well versed in
his history.

“I have brought Mr. Potter here for a brief tour of the complex. I believe that you and the
others could use a pleasant diversion; what do you say?”

“What an excellent idea! Allow me to gather the rest.” There was a spring in the old man's
step as he left the room.

Dumbledore gave Harry's shoulder a pat. “You see, Harry? Nothing pleases old, grumpy men
like the presence of a polite child - it gives their hearts another reason to continue
beating.”

“Won't I be a bother or something?”

“Not at all; just being able to put a smile on someone's face is a power all its own, my
boy.”

*

“...was amazing, Hermione! Every room had this massive crystal in it, and power just oozes off
of them! It's nothing at all like Hogwarts - it's a hundred times better!”

Harry decided he'd grossly underestimated Hermione - she was a good friend, and a great
listener. She sat beside him in the common room while he talked, completely enraptured by his
descriptions. Neville sat across from them, taking in Harry's animated speech, though he seemed
less amazed; he'd probably already heard of the place.

Harry's respect for Dumbledore had grown to immense levels. It would have been more than
fair for the Headmaster to send him on his way; as it was, Harry had expected advice of some sort,
or an admonishment to study ahead or stay with his friends. But that... that had been amazing, and
it had opened his eyes to just how *big* the world was, magic or not.

When Hermione finally begged off to study, Harry went with her to the library, and while she
searched for books on Transfiguration, he looked for books on Atlantis.

That night, dreams of large, glowing sea crystals filled his mind.

*

Harry set his quill down, satisfied with his performance on his last exam. He had more than
defended his efforts for the term, and almost immediately put them out of his mind. Ron and Neville
looked pale, a dreary look of relief on their faces. Hermione looked anxious, but Harry immediately
disregarded any concern she might have - if her exams weren't perfect, they were close enough.
And so, Harry asked her something completely different.

“Hey Hermione, will I be able to see you over the holidays? We never did get to a movie over the
summer.”

Hermione gave him a look of surprise, and then a tiny smile. “Sure, I'd like that.”

“Great! I promise this time; I'm not working over Christmas.”

Hermione's smile grew, and they continued walking to the Hufflepuff common room. When
Harry's hand bumped into Hermione's, she grabbed hold, and kept it for most of the
trip.

As Harry packed the last of his belongings and shrunk his trunk down, a knock on the doorway
turned his attention to Professor Sprout.

“Harry, do you have a moment?”

“Of course, professor.” Harry set his trunk on the bed beside his backpack and turned to face
his Head of House.

“I've noticed that your marks are quite impressive - in most classes. However, in History
and Herbology, you're not really trying. Is there something wrong?”

Harry couldn't help but blush, but he tried to keep eye contact. “Um ... not really,
professor. I just have to a get lot done, and I ... um ... figured that History and Herbology would
matter the least in the end. I'm sorry, I must sound like a horrible student but maybe its
better that you hear me say it's my own choice.”

“I see.” Harry winced at the tinge of disappointment in Sprout's tone. “I won't say
you're the first to have made that choice, Harry, but please remember that I take pride in what
I teach, and it is important material, even if it's not as exciting.”

“I don't want to disappoint you, professor, but … well … you give maybe the most homework
ever, besides Professor Binns. I'd love to make you happy, but, well, I'm not Hermione - I
can't just fire off a three-foot essay like a letter home. I worked at Ollivander's over
the summer, so if you wanted to know about trees, I could tell you a lot. But I can't promise
to do better; there's too much to do, and...”

“And …?” Sprout's tone indicated she understood perfectly what Harry didn't say, and
that irritated him.

“Why do you want me to put my foot in my mouth? Are you trying to get me in trouble with
you?”

“All I want, Harry, is for you to try your best. It will help you in the long run.”

“Yeah, well...” Harry took a breath, swallowing as much of his budding anger as he could - every
bloody teacher said the same, useless lines over and over and over... “Look, I'm sorry if
I've disappointed you, but it's my decision, and unless you suddenly decide to give out
less homework, I'll probably stick with my choice.

“Oh, and the last teacher who told me to 'try my best' sent a letter home to my aunt and
uncle when I told them that. My uncle threw it in the garbage. Just wanted to let you know, in case
you think I have 'support' at home, or something.”

“I see.” Sprout turned to leave, and now that he'd finished his venting, Harry's
conscience demanded immediate reparations.

“Professor?” Sprout turned her head back to him. “I want you to know that I like *you* just
fine - you're a great teacher and a great Head of House, I'm just not that into
Herbology.”

“Of course, Harry. Thank you.” She seemed to dismiss his concern, but Harry thought she was a
little happier when she turned to leave this time.

*

Harry took the time to un-shrink his friends' trunks before saying his goodbyes and leaving
the train. He made sure to go the long way around Ron, who was walking awkwardly past Draco Malfoy
and his parents. It was no mystery that Ron and Draco hated each other; leaving Ron to fend for
himself wasn't *too* evil a thing to do while they were still on the platform. Harry
suppressed a snicker, and carried on. He broke into a huge grin when he spotted Remus, and the two
shared a tight hug before Remus spun them on the spot, apparating them to his home.

Harry talked non-stop about his classes and about Dumbledore's tour of the ICW while he
unpacked his trunk, while Remus put an early dinner together in the kitchen.

“Good to hear your year's going to well.” Remus ruffled his hair as he stepped into the
room, and handed him soda. “How'd Quidditch go?”

Harry frowned, and took a long pull from his drink before answering. “Ravenclaw didn't
change a thing from last year, so I don't have a lot to say about the game - we won easily. As
for Slytherin and Gryffindor...” Harry shrugged noncommittally. “It really depends on the new
beater, Harper. If he and Qold can work together, then we can win against Slytherin, and we have a
chance against Gryffindor. Without coordinated beaters, Slytherin will destroy us, and the Weasley
twins will shut us down.”

“You sound a little morose over it.”

“Well, yeah; Harper's as green as they come. Slytherin ... maybe. But Gryffindor will take
the cup this year, for sure. Tonks was irreplaceable.”

“Come on now, Harry - look at what you did for them last year.”

Harry snorted and took another drink. “I'm a chaser; if we were missing a chaser or a
seeker, then yeah. But beaters and keepers need to be older years, just to be big enough to play
the spot. I think it's the biggest problem with Hogwarts Quidditch, actually: You can replace
chasers and seekers pretty easily, but if you lose a beater or keeper, your team could be screwed
for three or four years.”

“So how are you going to fix it?” Remus asked, a small smile playing on his face.

“I'm not,” Harry said bluntly, instantly annoyed at whatever Remus was trying to get at.
“Ced told me only two people tried for the position - Harper and some other bloke - and Harper won
the spot. So he didn't win because he's good or anything, he won because we needed a
beater, and he was it. You can't fix not having Quidditch players in the House.”

“But you could train them. Train several students at once, so that there's always someone to
fill in.”

“That's Cedric's job, not mine. He and Qold can train Harper, and that's it for a
couple more years.”

Remus' smile disappeared. “You're not much of a team player, you know.”

“I am too! I do my job, learn the plays and work with my chaser team. What more do you want?
I'm not being paid for it, you know.”

Remus looked at him blankly, and then shook his head. “You're right - you're not.
Let's talk Christmas, then. You're free for two whole weeks; what are your plans?”

*^*^*^*

Ginny was thrilled at Ron's gift. Who would have ever thought he'd be sensitive enough
to get a girl a diary? Mum had grilled him to death over where he'd gotten it and how much it
had cost, but she seemed satisfied with his answer - some other student had an extra, apparently.
She couldn't wait to begin writing.

As with all of her books, she carefully scribed her name in the upper left-hand corner of the
first page. To her shock, her name disappeared immediately! Suddenly this seemed a lot more like
Ron, or Fred and George. If this book was some sort of prank...

*Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom Riddle. How are you?*

Oh. OH! Never mind, this was the best gift ever! A diary that answered you? Ron could never have
afforded something so expensive. Maybe Harry had bought it. Yes, that was instantly her favourite
theory - Harry had bought it, and Ron had given it to her because Harry was shy.

Just like her.

With renewed fervour, she began to write in the diary, and the day crept slowly by.

*^*^*^*

Granger.

Granger, Granger, Granger.

Pansy leafed through a copy of the marks list for her year, interested in the performance of her
peers. Potter's name featured prominently in nearly all their classes. He seemed to have some
aversion to History of Magic and Herbology, though - something that would keep him from ranking in
the school.

He was untouchable in Defence against the Dark Arts. His demonstration of 'shelving'
pixies, to use his own words, was extremely impressive. Since that first class, there hadn't
been a creature that Potter didn't know the necessary spells to contain - spells that she
wondered if Lockhart had even bothered to look up.

Transfiguration, Charms, Potions... and a respectable mark in Astronomy - one that indicated he
wasn't willing to spend the extra hour to master the math he was doing. Typical boy, but
obviously gifted enough to get away with it.

His class performances weren't what stood out in her mind, though; it was his time minding
Ollivander's over the summer. Given the ease with which Potter had repaired her damaged wand,
marks weren't an accurate method of measuring his worth. Ollivander had a hand in his
instruction now, and that was in a league all its own.

Then there was whatever relationship Headmaster Dumbledore had with Potter - there was something
there, given their relatively frequent greetings and their body language. If there was truth to
that, then Potter had amazing connections for his age, which was a huge mark in his favour. His
friendship with Longbottom was another mark for him - Madam Longbottom was highly respected, and
her voice carried weight. By extension so would Neville Longbottom, eventually.

The Weasleys were non-entities, and so was Lovegood - she seemed to be Potter's current
pity-project. Still, the signs of a good family man were there. Cedric Diggory was present in
Potter's circle, as well - another upright family, if overly liberal in their political
standing.

No, there was only a half-mark against him.

Granger.

A muggleborn - a *lesser*. She would taint Potter's image in the worst way, biasing
other families' opinions of him by her mere association.

But she was obviously a prodigy, as evidenced by her standing in every single course. By the end
of her schooling, she would likely bring her name a fair degree of respect, perhaps enough to
forgive her low birth. Potter's mother had done much the same for herself, enough to convince
James Potter's parents to bless their marriage.

A lesser... the urge to grind her teeth was overwhelming. Tolerating Granger would be a
necessary step to befriending Potter, but she honestly wondered if she could. She looked at the
marks again - Granger was a solid first place overall, while she estimated herself somewhere near
tenth. Potter was just outside the top ten, courtesy of this History and Herbology marks.

Beaten handily and fairly by a lesser; it was frustrating and embarrassing. Still, Granger was a
fluke - a diamond in the rough. No other muggleborn in the school had broken the top twenty,
banished to the bottom of their classes by their lack of knowledge and perspective. In that light,
Potter had also adapted well - another mark in his favour, perhaps.

Granger would win respect - and so Pansy had to give her respect, consciously and willingly,
until it became second nature. That was the only way to reach into Potter's circle, and she
very much wished to do so.

Because Harry Potter, blood, upbringing and House membership aside, was a charming and well
put-together young man that her father would most certainly approve of, if she could get things
started in that direction.

*^*^*^*

Harry Potter was a wonderful person.

Luna enjoyed drawing his face on her ceiling, humming a Weird Sisters' tune while she
worked. She'd never met a wonderful person before, so it certainly deserved a drawing.

She'd met a few tolerable people - Daddy was Daddy, of course, but if Daddy weren't
Daddy, he'd be one of them - tolerable. Because he certainly did tolerate her, and she
tolerated him.

She'd met many rude people, who didn't even look at her, and evil people, who called her
names and stole her things, and insulted Mommy. It was horrible to insult a dead person, when they
couldn't fight back. There should be a law that says you can only say nice things about dead
people.

But only one wonderful person, so far.

Maybe Headmaster Dumbledore was a wonderful person, too - at least, Harry had described him that
way. She wondered if Hermione would be a tolerable person. She spent a great deal of time with
Harry, and probably wanted to kiss him.

Because Luna did. And Luna knew Ginny did. And maybe Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be very
interested in Harry, did too.

Wonderful people are automatically good kissers, after all. She didn't know for sure, but
they just had to be. She did know that they had comfy legs to lean against, and they played with
your hair, and they listened when you talked, and they gave you hugs when you were sad, and they
scared away the evil people when they were being evil, and they sent you funny notes with their
amazing owl, just to make you laugh...

Luna wiped the tears from her eyes; it wouldn't do to be crying when she was thinking about
a wonderful person; it certainly wouldn't do to think about why Daddy wasn't a wonderful
person - that would be wrong.

But true.

But still wrong.

A flutter drew her attention to the arrival of Hedwig, who carried what was undoubtedly a
Christmas card in her talons.

Wonderful people also send cards and letters on holidays.

Hedwig dropped the card, and flew over to Luna, landing on her outstretched arm. Hedwig was
large enough to lean over and nuzzle against her face, wiping tears away.

Obviously, owls could be wonderful people, too. There were now *two* wonderful people that
she'd met, and they coincidentally knew each other. She would have to write to Harry and see if
he was free at all for the holidays. If he were, then it would be the best Christmas, ever.

*^*^*^*

She had a date. Hermione Granger had a date. Her very first, in fact, and she was a writhing
mass of nerves.

Harry hadn't exactly *said* it was a date, of course, but he meant it. All the looks,
the hugs, the playful nudges … they way he played with her hair whenever they were alone or
studying in the library. It was all so innocent, but it was becoming serious now - because Harry
had asked her on a date.

It had to be serious, because her mother had cornered her about boys and sex again, to her
extreme mortification. Except that this time the talk wasn't so mortifying, because there was
actually a chance that something might happen.

With Harry.

It took effort to keep from bouncing around her room excitedly, and focus on taming the horrid
mop on her head. Oh, she should just cut it all off! But Harry enjoyed playing with it, so he must
like long hair. She'd leave it for now, but she'd ask him about it later … much later …
after their date. For which she was now late getting ready. There was still a dress and earrings to
pick.

Her heart leapt from her chest when the doorbell rang. He was here, and she hoped he was on the
same frequency she was. If he'd come in jeans, then she was wrong, but if he was dressed up a
bit, then she was right, and he really liked her, and… and she was a horrible date already, leaving
him downstairs for her parents to harass!

Hermione tore down the steps three at a time, and stopped, amazed to see Harry laughing away,
telling his parents about something he'd done with Remus. She was ready to slap herself - this
was *Harry*, who held a job and talked to adults all day. Of course, her parents wouldn't
bother him. But - oh, he looked good, and she was so glad she was wearing black! A warm sweater
that matched his eyes, dark slacks and shoes, and his hair spiked into the most adorable mess. A
gold watch, and golden wire-frame glasses - how much had he spent on himself? He must have done his
shopping over the summer. But when did his glasses change? Had he worn them all term, and she'd
only now just-

“Hi.”

Harry was staring at her, a grin on his face - and suddenly, thinking was overrated. “Hi.” It
was her last coherent thought for quite some time.

*

She couldn't remember the movie. She could barely remember what they'd had for dinner.
None of that registered as she let herself into her home, and took her coat off.

“Well?” she heard her mother ask. “How was your night?”

Hermione turned to look at her, slowly comprehending that Harry was gone now, and she was
home.

“Hermione, is everything alright?”

Her only real memory surged for release. “He kissed me!”

Her father nearly spilt his coffee, laughing uproariously at her blunt admission. Her mother had
a slightly exasperated look on her face.

“Let it go, dear,” her father called when he'd recovered. “She's obviously fine.”

*^*^*^*

Harry ran his hands tiredly across his face and through his hair. It had been quite a night.

It wasn't exactly a date he'd had in mind, but it was obvious that Hermione had
interpreted it that way. He was glad he'd decided to dress up, because Hermione had looked
amazing. Watching Hermione preening under his attention made him decide on the spot that it
wouldn't be so bad if it really were a date. So, as he brought her home at the end of the
night, he gathered his resolve and gave her a light peck on the lips before walking back to the
waiting cab.

It had lacked the grandeur and drama of the soaps - a quiet, simple date at a regular
restaurant, followed by watching Forever Young, which was as far away from an action movie as he
was willing to venture. A night spent talking about school, what they thought would be fun spells
to try, and what plans they might make for the summer. The only thing that betrayed it as a date at
all was the fact that they'd held hands nearly the entire time - and, of course, he'd
kissed her.

Yeah, that was good. He wasn't sure that his feelings ran as deep as hers did, but he fully
intended to let her try to change that. Hermione was smart, she cared for him and she'd just
proven that she looked great when she wanted to. There'd definitely be more of these nights,
and he was probably on the hook for flowers now. He'd have to ask her what type she preferred -
no sense filling her room with something she hated.

The cab dropped him off at Remus' house, and he walked inside, throwing his coat into the
corner.

“So, how'd it go?”

Harry turned and gave Remus a huge smile that the werewolf returned. Nothing else was necessary.
Remus ruffled his hair, handing him a cup of coffee. They passed the rest of the evening listening
to Quidditch on the Wizarding Wireless.

*

Harry saw Hermione as often as he could, and even managed to visit with Luna in the Alley, where
her father had once again abandoned her for the day. He received letters from Neville and, to his
surprise, Pansy. He laughed at the formality of their writing, and sent them letters of his
own.

Harry spent Christmas Day at the Grangers' home; Harry entertained Hermione's parents
with tales of the dreaded measuring tapes while she saw to dinner at her own insistence, though she
would occasionally poke her head into the living room to listen or talk.

“See, the best part of it all is that they're not magical - no enchantments, no anything.
All their action is based on the control charm I'm casting, and that's why it's so
hard.”

“It's more complex than your schoolwork, then?” asked Mrs. Granger, prompting him along.

“Yeah… let me think for a minute.” Harry paused, trying to formulate an explanation. He began
again slowly, testing his words. “Magic's kind of like my karate lessons, in a way. We start
right at the bottom, like learning how to throw a punch. All the spells we do are simple - just one
easy command: Lift, push, pull, light, darkness, restrain…”

“*Wingardium Leviosa, Depulso, Accio, Lumos, Nox, Petrificus Totalus*…” chanted Hermione
from the kitchen doorway. Her parents nodded at them both in understanding, having heard of these
spells numerous times.

“So, all those spells are kind of `learning how to punch,' if you get me. They're very
simple.” Harry motioned back to Hermione. “Hermione taught me how to do a warming charm in October.
It's an OWL spell, I think.”

“Fifth year Charms,” Hermione confirmed.

Harry grinned at her. “See how smart she is?” Hermione ducked her head and smiled while her
parents chuckled.

“I'm going to check on dinner,” she mumbled, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“She really is,” Harry continued. “That charm needs to sense what the temperature around you is,
what your temperature is, and calculate how warm the air around you should be to make you
comfortable, and then make it that warm. It's really complicated, and you have to set it all up
in one go.”

“That does sound awfully difficult,” remarked Mr. Granger. “And you and our little Hermione just
up and started doing advanced magic, just like that?”

“Well, Hermione's brilliant. Me … not so much. See, I'd never have gotten it if it
hadn't been for Mr. Ollivander's measuring tapes. Those tapes were even worse - I had to
specify what person, what limb, how to crawl, what measurement system to use, what parts of the
limb you measured from and to, how to come back to me and how to show me what the measurements
were. You only have a few seconds to work your wand, say the words and think the right things or
the charm won't work, so you can't even take your time; you've got to make all that
happen in one shot. So naturally, my first few times were horrid - they crawled up the walls, in
the drawers, up my trousers…”

Mr. Granger roared with laughter, and Mrs. Granger was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes; the
kitchen echoed with Hermione' giggling.

“Well, it's true! They did!” Harry sighed dramatically and waited for the laughter to die
down before resuming. “Anyways, after a couple of weeks, they sort of started to behave. But
it's those charms that made me understand how to cast multiple commands, so when Hermione
taught me the warming charm, I had half an idea about what to do.

“And that's kind of like going up in belts in karate, you see? More complicated moves and
stuff that you can only do after you know the basics.”

Mr. Granger nodded, smiling. “I understand completely - it's a natural learning process to
begin to focus on groups of things instead of singular things as you improve. So, these OWLs of
yours are like a test for a black belt, then?”

“Err, no, not so much, more like a brown belt. NEWTs are a black belt at the end of seventh
year. We have to do some pretty impressive things for those.”

“So, what's after then?” asked Mrs. Granger, slightly confused. “I was led to believe that
there wasn't much to do after Hogwarts, academically speaking. If you call the end of Hogwarts
a `back belt,' then where's the other half?”

“You can test for Mastery in a subject area,” Hermione shouted from the kitchen. “Everything
else is some sort of research or invention.”

“Like Hermione said,” agreed Harry. “Mastery means you can teach the area, or do whatever else
there is. It's the last level anyone bothers to test for, and the rest is like … like …”

“Like studying for a doctorate?” offered Mrs. Granger.

“I guess so; I don't know a lot about university and how it works.”

“A doctorate is the highest degree in a subject,” Mrs. Granger clarified. “You have to present
your own research in the area and defend your findings to a panel of other doctorate holders, and
they judge if your work is acceptable.”

Harry slowly nodded as he listened. “That's kind of what like Ollivander said, yeah. You
present your work to other Sorcerers, and they invite you to join them if it's good enough, and
you get to call yourself a Sorcerer. If you're like Professor Dumbledore and you make a whole
bunch of contributions, or maybe just one that's really important, then they call you a Grand
Sorcerer. Dumbledore told me that he presented all his work at the International Confederation of
Wizards, so if you become a Sorcerer, the whole world knows about it.”

“Grand Sorcery is like winning the Nobel Prize,” Hermione said from the kitchen door. “Except
that they gave him an Order of Merlin, First Class for it.”

“So naturally, that's what Hermione's going to do,” joked Harry, smirking at his
girlfriend. Hermione blushed prettily and fled into the kitchen once more.

“It would certainly suit her,” her father agreed, before looking towards Harry. “And what about
you, young man; any thoughts to your future?”

“I don't know. I'd like to have my Defence Mastery, and maybe if there's some way to
work further in that area, I would. Other than that, I'm not sure.”

“Dinner's ready!” called Hermione, and the conversation derailed into compliments for
Hermione's cooking and the noisy devouring of food.

*^*^*^*

Pansy let Potter's letter fall to her desk. She was annoyed - very annoyed.

Potter and Granger were dating. How … *muggle* of them. Pansy was far from ignorant; muggle
dating was effectively a betrothal whose terms were in the hands of the children instead of the
parents, which often made it temporary, but also made it dangerous because dating led to sex. And
sex was one of the largest differences between muggles and wizards: Muggles were welcome to their
`casual sex,' their perverse orgies, and disgusting habits of switching partners throughout
their lives. Despite the filthiness of such a life, there was no true danger to the muggles
indulging in such behaviour.

Wizards, on the other hand, followed different rules entirely - the rules of magic itself. Magic
was not the formless, universal power that muggle fairy tales made it out to be. It was personal,
an extension of one's very soul - it had rules and boundaries to it, just like light and
gravity; just like a person. Wizards and witches sacrificed a part of themselves to their partner -
their *first* and *only* partner - something that only death could recover. Sex created a
bond of power - it was marriage, plain and simple. And neither Potter nor Granger was aware - they
couldn't be, as no muggle could properly parent a witch or wizard.

Potter would get it first; he was intelligent enough to extrapolate from his time with
Ollivander and realize his innocent mistake in how he perceived magic. That was her hope, in any
case, as she didn't yet have the rapport with the two to begin such a personal
conversation.

There was an enormous list of couples who'd `married' well before any formal ceremony or
celebration because of their indiscretions in Hogwarts. In some cases - like the Weasleys, so the
rumour went - they were good matches, and survived. In others, the marriage was loveless and
barren, but short of murdering one's spouse, it was impossible to escape. By far, those who
held off on sex ended up with the most successful marriages; it was a fact hammered into every
proper witch and wizard by their parents. But not Potter and Granger - and now, if they weren't
careful, they'd be rutting like ignorant muggles and trap themselves.

And that would ruin any chance of her being with Potter, as well as her respect for him in
general. She could stomach losing to Granger after Hogwarts, when they'd both had years to turn
Potter's head. But not like this - not to ignorance and muggle lust. That would be
intolerable.

*^*^*^*

Winter term started with a flurry of new projects and assignments, and Harry looked forward to
his routines of Quidditch with Cedric, karate and duelling with Neville and studying with Hermione.
After only two days, however, two upset blondes derailed his well-set plans.

Luna tugged on his sleeve during breakfast on Wednesday, looking depressed. Harry motioned for
her to sit down, and she did. There was some murmuring from the Ravenclaw table, as none of their
House ever sat elsewhere for meals up till now. Harry, who sat at the Gryffindor table beside
Hermione, paid them no heed.

“So, what's up?” asked Harry, once Luna had settled.

“Ginny's being weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“She sits and writes in her diary all day, and doesn't do anything.”

“Yeah, Ron said something about that,” said Neville over his pumpkin juice. “He got her a diary
for Christmas, and she's glued to it.”

“Okay…” Harry wasn't sure what, exactly, was wrong. “So, she's a little obsessed with it
- that's not anything too horrible.”

“But she doesn't want to see me at all - we barely even talked in our classes.”

“That's too bad,” Hermione said as she leafed through a copy of the morning paper.
“She's been a good friend to you.”

“But-”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” said Harry. Hermione's comment had clicked the final
piece into place for him. “She's not doing this because of you. Unless there's something
you did…?” Luna shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Then it's settled. If
Ginny's ignoring you, ask her to spend more time with you. Just look at her once like that, and
she'll cave immediately.” A watery giggle erupted from Luna, and she gave him a strong hug,
before turning back to fill her empty plate. By the end of breakfast, Luna looked happy again.

It wasn't to last, however. Luna found him again in the library, interrupting his time with
Hermione. Harry invited her to sit at their table right away, shelving his annoyance. Hermione
wasn't so subtle about her annoyance, but she grudgingly held her tongue at Harry's silent
plea. Neither asked about Ginny; the answer was obvious by Luna's very presence.

When the professors posted the first updated mark sheets, Harry was surprised to suddenly see
Ginny suddenly jump several spots to the number two and three positions in her classes. Luna was
still top in everything, but since she wasn't hanging around Ginny anymore, he wondered where
the change came from. Luna took this change poorly, and Harry diverted yet more time to her.

Hermione was not pleased.

Harry found himself alone in the library one evening as a result, as Hermione had long since
finished her essays. He felt it rather petty of her to be upset over his taking care of Luna, and
they'd argued twice now over it; if studying alone was the consequence, he'd live with it.
His essay mark would drop maybe ten percent if Hermione didn't proofread it and as it was a
History essay, he wasn't concerned - and if he were, there was always Cedric.

Damn it all, he was thinking too much on it.

“You seem pensive, Potter.” Harry grunted in acknowledgement as Pansy sat down across from him,
clasping her hands somewhat formally. “Is that History you're working on? I'm surprised to
see you so engaged in a course you clearly dislike.”

“Just because I hate it doesn't mean I don't have to hand in the work,” he answered,
scratching out the rest of his current paragraph before setting the parchment aside to dry. “There,
that's done for now. There's enough on the page to pass, at any rate. So, what's
up?”

“Pass?” echoed Pansy with a frown. “Surely that doesn't satisfy you.”

“Not usually. So, what's up? History's probably not why you're here.”

“That's rude of you,” she sniffed. “If you don't want company, ask me to leave.”

“I am not starting with you,” Harry said evenly. “I have one girl upset at me, and another
clinging to me because everyone else seems to hate her. If you're here to pick a fight, I
don't need it. If you're here for something else, then let's get straight to that and
skip the small talk, because I really need something else to think about for a while.”

“Fine,” Pansy said in a clipped voice. “School first, then. I have an issue with the *Fera
Verto* spell: No matter how perfect the shape of the object is, it always keeps its animal
colors, and nothing I've done has fixed the problem.”

“Yeah, I had that problem, too. Hermione didn't, though.”

“Yes, and since you've resolved your problem, I'm asking you.”

Harry was unsurprised at Pansy's dismissal of Hermione's success, nor was he
particularly bothered by it - under normal circumstances, Hermione would be here to defend herself
and Pansy likely would've held her tongue. “Okay, you can do it my way, and twirl your wand
tightly just as the animal reaches the shape of the object.”

“But that will-”

“-Will give a command for color change,” Harry continued in a raised voice, “I know - don't
interrupt me.” Pansy frowned, but kept silent, and Harry continued. “You're not finishing the
command with anything, and you're not changing your thought-image, either. But giving the
command kind of `loosens' the animal's skin, and it'll take on the object's color
instead of keeping its own.”

“That's incomplete spell work.”

“Transfiguration's an art,” Harry said, waving a hand absently. “You use the spells any way
you have to in order to get what you want.”

Pansy was unmoved. “An OWL examiner would take a fifth of your grade away for something like
that,” she pressed.

“Why? The work's done.”

“The spell isn't mastered, and you had to address your own personal weakness by borrowing
from another spell - one that the examiner did *not* ask you to cast.”

“Then McGonagall-”

“McGonagall doesn't have the time to check everyone's spellwork that closely,” Pansy
said, cutting him off. “The OWL examiners will test you one-on-one, and they'll notice.
You'll lose your O if you use shortcuts like that - you'll get a low E or a high A at
best.”

“Magic's magic,” Harry scoffed, aggravated at the idea that such a detail was important. “If
I can use the tools to do the work, why do they care about the specifics?”

“Because magic isn't *just magic*,” Pansy said, raising her voice for the first time.
“It's not like some cheap muggle tool, like you and Granger think it is. It's *you* -
it's your *soul*, and being anything other than in complete control is
*dangerous*.”

Harry stared at Pansy, then out the window, forcing himself to digest what she'd just said.
He was angry - there was a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but he held it in. Pansy had used
some heavy language, talking about souls, and given the rather extensive vocabulary she liked to
use in her letters, it probably wasn't just for added drama.

It reminded him of similar words from the summer. Sensing Pansy's impatience, Harry thought
aloud. “My karate instructor told us that the strength of a punch or kick wasn't how hard you
threw it, but hitting the right spot with the right timing and the perfect body movement, and
really *wanting* to hit hard, too.”

“That sounds particularly barbaric, but it's the right idea. If a muggle can appreciate the
concept for something as crude as punching someone, then surely you can understand it. It's
entirely possible to perfect a spell, Potter - even as a student. If you cast a perfect *Fera
Verto*, then any animal will become any object - anything that McGonagall could do with the
spell, you could, too.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Another mainstream muggle stereotype that you have to unlearn,” she said crossly. “Age is not
power - *perfection* is power. Age tends to bring experience, and experience tends to bring
perfection, but perfection is possible for you *right now*, if you're determined enough.
I'll grant you that McGonagall probably casts perfect Transfiguration spells nine times out of
ten every day, but you're not responsible for every Transfiguration spell being perfect right
now - just the ones for this year.”

Harry grunted an acknowledgement, scowling at Pansy's smirk. He'd lost this particular
argument completely and fairly, so he stifled his rebuttals. “Fine,” he said after a moment.
“I'll work on it, and I'll let you know when I've fixed the problem. Is that fair?”

“It's more than fair,” she said, a genuine smile appearing on her face. “There are a lot of
things about magic that you should have been told as a child,” she said, her voice a little softer.
“It's all here to read, and you should look into it - and if you prefer talking, I promise to
answer any questions you have.”

It was impossible not to smile at that - Pansy was quickly becoming a friend to him. “Thanks,”
he said, his mood much improved. “I'll keep that in mind.”

They spent the rest of their time in the library on actual homework. Pansy offered to proofread
his History essay and was surprisingly thorough; aside from correcting mistakes, she suggested
easy, one-sentence corrections that she assured him would increase his mark. By the end of the
night, Harry was quite happy.

Hermione was even less pleased now, and just in time for Valentine's Day, too. Harry
wondered what an amazing day they would have, arguing over nothing. Holding her back one evening
after dinner in the Hall, he walked her to the Quidditch locker room.

“We need to talk,” he started, and immediately regretted his choice words as she stiffened. “Not
*that* - I'm quite happy with you. But you're not happy, and I don't get what
I'm doing wrong.”

“Nothing, I guess,” she said quietly, looking away. Harry sat her down on a bench, and then sat
beside her.

“I don't want the `make Harry happy' answer,” he pressed. “Tell me what you're
thinking.”

“I … I want to spend more time with you - alone; without Luna and definitely not around
Parkinson. I … I miss you.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Harry's lips, and he stood and began to pace. How much time did
everyone think he had? Neville, Cedric, Hermione, Luna and now Pansy all wanted a large chunk of
his time, and that list didn't include his classes and homework.

“Okay, let's keep weekends for us,” he mumbled, thinking aloud. “Ced's just Quidditch
practice, and Nev's just for workouts … you like to study, but so does Pansy … and Luna just
wants company. So, it's just you, Pansy and Luna that overlap.”

“Luna keeps trying to get in between us,” Hermione interrupted him. “Whenever I try to hold your
hand or kiss you, or - or anything, really, she jumps into one of her stories about imaginary
creatures, and she gets right up in my face, or she wedges between us.”

“Come off it. She's not-”

“She is. I'm not making things up.”

“Alright,” he sighed, “I'll deal with it. Wait, you know what? We'll deal with all of
this in one go. I want you to start studying with me again.”

“Not with them.”

“*Yes*, with them,” Harry insisted. “If they have problems, I'll deal with them. I
don't have a problem with kissing you in front of them, so they can just live with it.”

“Um… okay,” agreed Hermione, seeming slightly alarmed. Harry just smiled at her and grabbed her
hand, leading her towards the library.

*

Poop.

It was the nicest thing she could think of to describe her mood; it wasn't a swear, but it
wasn't a happy word, either. Harry had done something very annoying: She'd just drawn his
attention to a book - conveniently placing it in front of Hermione's face, keeping her away
from Harry - and Harry had pulled the book away from her and leaned over to kiss Hermione. Then he
said, “Luna, I'm sitting beside Hermione because I *want* her to kiss me - if you keep
getting in the way, we'll find someone else to hang out with.”

Poop.

She'd stayed, of course, because Harry was still a wonderful person. He just didn't want
to kiss her - only Hermione. And that was sad. Oh well, maybe it would help make Hermione a
tolerable person; she'd probably be much more tolerant of her now that she wasn't trying to
keep her from Harry. Still, where would she find a wonderful person that wanted to kiss her? They
were ever so rare, and Hogwarts didn't exactly have the best selection of wonderful people - at
least, not the boys.

Maybe the girls would be nicer. She'd never thought of kissing a girl before; that might be
nice. She wondered what it might be like to kiss Ginny - since they were barely friends now, it
wouldn't do any harm - it might even be nice.

Much better than poop, anyways.

*^*^*^*

Pansy clicked her heels against the stone floor as she walked, both as a way to relieve her
frustration as well as to announce herself to those in her path, that they might clear it.

To her supreme discomfort, Potter insisted on keeping Granger close while they studied. It had
always been Pansy's intent to offer Granger a degree of respect, but the concept took some
getting used to, and Potter's abrupt change in study habits forced her to begin now, before she
had developed any prepared responses.

It was Lovegood's fault, in retrospect. The little girl butted her head unsubtly between
Potter and Granger at every instance, forcing Potter to take a firm stance on the issue. It would
be even more difficult to win Potter's affections with Granger constantly present. Still, it
was hardly impossible, just that much lengthier a process. No young `dating' couple ever seemed
to stay together for long in the muggle world; the two would fall apart at some point, and even
faster if Potter sensed someone else able to show him affection.

Still, his actions commanded respect - she couldn't think of any other boy in school, no
matter how well brought-up, that could so quickly diffuse a growing social issue like that - if
they even sensed an issue at all. It was small details such as this that proved Harry Potter a man
among boys, and well worth her efforts to attain.

Her larger problem was Granger. She was intelligent yet unsophisticated, verbose but without the
vocabulary to back her up. She took no time to tend to her looks aside from attention to hygiene,
and she dismissed most witches' pastimes as frivolous. Her only positive feature was an active
curiosity and an energetic, optimistic attitude that proved very contagious. And there lay the
enormity of the problem: Granger was easy to respect. So easy, in fact, that Pansy wondered if she
could avoid befriending her. That avoidance was absolutely necessary - to fight with another witch
for a wizard's affection was one thing, but to sabotage a friend's happiness was a bit
outside of her boundaries.

A noise drew her attention to an unused classroom. Just inside the door, she spotted the most
unlikely thing - Lovegood and Weasley - *Ginevra* Weasley - locked in an intense kiss. It was
shocking beyond words - all she could do was stare at the forbidden act, equally enraptured and
repulsed by the level of passion evoked by the kiss.

Weasley broke away first, and ran from the room like a shot, never even acknowledging Pansy.
Lovegood did notice her, though she simply shrugged, as if to say `oh well, I tried,' before
leaving the room at a more sedate pace.

*^*^*^*

**OH MY GOD****, TOM****! LUNA KISSED ME! SHE KISSED ME LIKE A BOY!**

*That's very strange, Ginny.*

**I don't think I like her like that. But I kissed her back. This is going to cause
problems, I'm sure of it. I've got to talk to her. But first, I need to go wash my mouth
out.**

*Was it that bad?*

**No, but Luna drinks coffee, and I don't like the taste. Be right back.**

*Of course.*

**Hi, Tom. I'm back.**

*You're sad, Ginny**; I can tell**. Why are you sad?* *Is this about
Luna?*

**It's Harry. I like him a lot, but he likes Hermione. They went out over Christmas****,
and Harry did something for Valentine's Day that made Hermione really happy****.**

*Oh, that's too bad. But* *…* *Christmas**, Ginny? That's a long time
ago**. I thought you told me everything.*

**I wanted to** **I do****n't know. I want** **to be near him, but Hermione chases
me off.** **I'd hex her, but s****he's two years older** **than I am. Hell,
she's a year older than Harry - that's so strange, but Harry likes her
better****.**

*So, what are you going to do?*

**I can't do anything. Harry doesn't spend time with me. Every time I see him,
Hermione's there.**

*So, why don't you try to get him alone?*

**You don't understand! She's Hermione! It would be like trying to** **fight**
**with a professor. She makes me feel stupid. I know it's wrong to hate someone, but I hate
her! I hate her because she got to Harry first, and Harry likes her back.**

*Oh, Ginny... that's so sad. Wouldn't it be nice if Hermione would simply go
away?*

**That's an awful thought. But yes, if she'd just leave, I'd be happy.**

*A**nd Harry?* *Wouldn't it be nice if he liked you?*

**Yes, m****ore than anything.**

*Maybe I can help you**.*

**But you're a book.**

*But I'm an enchanted book.*

**Yes, you are.**

*And I know many**, many* *things.*

**Yes, you do.**

*Haven't I made you as smart as your friend Luna? She was on top of everything, and now
you both are.*

**Yes, you have.**

*I can make Harry like you, Ginny. I can even make Hermione as good a friend to you as Luna
is. Because I know all the right things to say* *and do**.*

**Can you tell me****?**

*I could. B**ut do you think you could really pull it off? Could you speak so
confidently, that a professor would nod their head?*

**No. Probably not.**

*I can. I can speak for you, you know. Ron is a good brother to you - he got you a book that
can do* *amazing* *things.*

**What do you mean** **`****speak for me?****'**

*My magic would let me put words right in your mouth, if you let me.*

**Wouldn't that hurt?**

*Ginny, I'm offended. Ron didn't get me to hurt you. I can't do it at all if
you're not willing. If you don't want to, that's fine. I only wanted to help.*

**Okay. What do I have to do?**

*Just put both hands on my pages, and relax.* *Pretend* *you're going to sleep,
Ginny. Think nice thoughts, dream of Harry, think of what you and he would do if you were alone,
and had all the time in the world.*

*

Harry was kissing her. Harry was touching and holding her. Hands and lips everywhere, and Ginny
loved it. This was everything she had ever wanted.

*It's just a dream.*

Luna would be jealous - hell, every girl that had ever met Harry would be jealous, to see him
sucking on her, stroking her hidden areas aggressively, possessively.

*Harry doesn't have brown hair or brown eyes. Harry's not this tall.*

The aggressiveness increased, but she loved every minute of it. She was warm, safe, loved... As
her body built to orgasm, her mind drifted away, surrendering to the comfortable darkness that
waited in Harry's arms.

*Not Harry. This isn't Harry. Tom?*

But Ginny was already gone.

*

Her eyes snapped open, and flashed crimson with power and malice. “Success,” she hissed.

*^*^*^*

Pansy stirred in her sleep, as something brushed against her leg … then the inside of her other
leg … and now *between* …!

Her eyes flew open, and she kicked out reflexively. Who had the gall to-

Pansy went very still, except to slowly reach to her nightstand for her wand. It was no boy that
rested on her covers, pawing at her. A great snake lay coiled loosely on her legs, half-concealed
by her blanket. It watched her lazily, slowly extending itself along her stomach, drawing ever
closer to her face.

But Pansy was not slow.

“*Stupefy*.”

The serpent went rigid, and then fell limply against her, a hundred pounds of dead weight. With
a great heave, she pushed the snake and her covers to the floor, and stood on her mattress.

There was a great hiss from the floor - *another* snake? Pansy muttered “*Lumos*,”
illuminating her room. Her floor was a writing mass of snakes, dozens of the things. Most of these
types were poisonous. Whoever had broken into her *private* room, she would see them expelled
and arrested for attempted murder - *after* she'd removed their testicles, since only a
boy could be this stupid. Now, to escape this mess.

Pansy grabbed the drapes around her bed, and ripped them from their railing. With a muttered
“*Engorgio*,” they grew to massive proportions, and she banished them neatly over the floor,
easily covering the distance to the door. The snakes hissed and writhed underneath the drapes, but
she stepped quickly between the lumps and threw open her door, escaping into the hall -

The hall teemed with even more snakes. The screams coming from other rooms indicated that this
was no simple prank. A small pang of fear pierced her concentration and she stumbled, unsure for
the first time what to do. Where could she go that was safe? There were no spells in her repertoire
to combat such a large number of creatures. She thought herself relatively advanced in her magics;
the others would fare worse than she had, but how could she help? Was there anything that would
work against them?

One of the larger snakes slithered towards her, and she reacted immediately, “*Stupefy*.”
Not knowing what else to do, she inched down the hall, stunning every snake in front of her. She
made her way slowly to the Slytherin common room, and then towards the portal to the halls of
Hogwarts.

*^*^*^*

Ginny wasn't back yet. It was well past curfew, and Luna began to wonder if waiting outside
the Gryffindor tower was such a good idea. Ginny always came to bed well before curfew, and Luna
wanted to talk to her - maybe even kiss her again, if she'd let her. Ginny didn't seem to
like it as much, but maybe it would grow on her.

If a professor came, there'd be trouble. It was probably time to leave. There was a tingly
feeling like when Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was near. If she was here, then it was
*definitely* time to leave.

But this feeling was worse - much worse. It was like a hundred Mrs. Norris's, or even a
thousand … it was *big*. It was *evil*.

And it was *hungry*.

Something slithered past her leg, and she yelped, jumping back to the wall. Snakes - snakes were
everywhere! They were pouring out of the shadows, crawling over everything!

And something very, very large was in the shadows in front of her. She could almost see it, but
she kept her eyes away - to look upon it was death; she didn't know how she knew that, but she
believed it.

It moved closer, edging out of the shadows. The other snakes moved out of its way as its coils
unwound, occupying most of the hallway with its girth. She shivered and pressed harder against the
wall.

If she ran, it would kill her.

If she stayed, it would kill her.

If she looked up, it would kill her.

She didn't want to die like her Mum; she wanted to grow up and see things and be happy. But
there weren't any spells strong enough to help her. Not against *this*.

Maybe one.

But it killed Mum.

But it was coming, and she was going to die.

Dying like Mum was better than being food. Anything was better than being food.

Tears leaked down her face as she lit her wand and then tucked it behind her ear so that she
could see her shaking hands. Carefully bringing her magic to her fingertips like Mum taught her,
she slowly, fearfully began to trace a pattern in the air with her hands.

Her spell failed before it even started: She'd made the castle angry. Very angry.

From all around her came a powerful shove, and suddenly she was standing in the field outside
the castle, where the grass was damp and very, very cold. Her body, shocked, shivering and spent
from fear and exhaustion, made it very clear to her that it was upset too, and she pitched over and
threw up.

*^*^*^*

Hermione smiled at Harry's dozing form, and ran her fingers through his hair. He had very
soft hair, and his head had somehow managed made its way onto her lap - imagine that. She continued
flipping pages dutifully in the fifth-year Charms book she borrowed from the library, but her heart
wasn't in it anymore.

Harry had corrupted her, with his boyish charms, his soft hair and his wonderful kisses.
Studying wasn't as fun anymore, especially when Harry was sleeping so cutely in her lap.

What just hissed?

Hermione looked up towards the stairs to the dorms and went rigid - there was a huge snake on
the stairs! A snake! Huge! On the stairs!

She screamed.

*^*^*^*

Harry snapped awake and rolled off Hermione, bringing his wand down into his hand. “What the
hell?” he said, looking around frantically. Had they been found out? It was after curfew, but
he'd brought his cloak, and they'd been quiet -

“Snake!” shrieked Hermione. Harry turned to where she was pointing - there sat a very large
python, with a smaller one just behind it. A quick glance around revealed that more snakes had
begun to enter the room from … where, exactly?

Not having an answer, and needing to pacify his now-hysterical girlfriend, he brandished his
wand and used the only spell he knew worked on all animals: “*Fera Verto*!”

Hermione looked at him, then back to the rather simple wine goblet that stood on the stairs in
place of the python. Then she slowly brought her own wand to bear, and cast the spell herself.
Soon, all the snakes in the common room were wine goblets of varying degrees of quality. Harry
summoned them all to him, and banished the lot out of the window and into the freezing cold.

The rest of Gryffindor House soon was awake and screaming. Harry disappeared up the boys'
staircase, while Hermione went up the girls', and soon dozens of wine goblets flew out of every
dorm window as the entire House practiced their second-year transfiguration on the hapless
snakes.

In all the fuss, Harry quickly found Hermione, kissed her goodbye, and fled the tower under his
Invisibility Cloak. Now was the perfect time to get back to his dorm. He took the hall at a run,
and rounded the corner - and came face to face with a snake the size of a school bus.

Harry looked up into its blazing golden eyes, and his heart clenched. The most exquisite pain
coursed through his veins, and breathing was impossible. Somehow, he'd made it to his knees,
and then he was cheek to cheek with the floor. His legs would not move; his arms were too weak to
lift him.

His vision was blurry, but he heard the great serpent slither away. From somewhere near him, a
voice spoke.

“It knows where your girlfriend is, Potter. It won't take much to break into the tower, you
know. Not much at all.”

“G-Ginny?” he slurred. It was her voice, but it was cold, tainted by an unbelievable malice.

“Ginny's out-to-lunch at the moment,” the voice replied. “You can call me Tom - it's
only fitting that the boy famous for defeating me is given that luxury, after all.”

*No*. This was *not* happening. He forced himself to look up; forced his arms to obey;
forced his eyes to see. Ginny's face hovered before him, but there was no mistaking the crimson
gleam in her eyes.

“V-Voldemort…”

“*Tom*,” she corrected with a cluck. “Just Tom, Harry. May I call you Harry? I'm very
impressed with your inability to die, you know. Perhaps we'll sit down and trade methods one
day, once I've caught up with my older self. As it is, I'm just a seventh year. It's
amazing what you can learn in seven short years if you try hard enough. For now, though, I have to
run. Say goodbye to Ginny, Harry; it's the last time you'll see her alive.” Without
warning, Ginny closed the distance and kissed him soundly on the lips. “She always wanted to do
that, you know. She worshipped the ground you walked on, and her angst over your courting Hermione
Granger gave me the perfect way in. Cheers, Harry. Best you get on, before you have *two* dead
girlfriends to worry about.”

Harry struggled to his feet, the pain receding with every passing moment. How could he get to
the tower in time? That thing would break the portal open with no effort. Ginny sent it after
Hermione - Tom sent it after Hermione…

**(BREAK // MISSING CONTENT)**

*^*^*^*

**The Headmaster's Office:**

*A student has died…*

He was unprepared.

There was a presence … a familiar sense of dread … all those decades ago… the monster was loose!
Albus quickly flicked his wand about, charming his eyes and disillusioning himself to the point of
invisibility. It had taken him very little time to ascertain the identity of the monster when young
Myrtle perished in 1943. There had been no sign of injury or distress, nor any indication of the
*Avada Kedavra*. Only the gaze of a Basilisk could do such a thing, and now the monster was
loose again, just like fifty years ago. Just as before, the wards rang out in warning - but only
after a student had died, an unacceptable delay, and yet he had never changed it. The wards sang
again, and then again - *death*, they echoed, *the students are dying*…

Everything was happening again, just like fifty years ago… and again, he was too slow, too
complacent, too focused on his other duties to pay proper attention to Hogwarts. The Chamber of
Secrets was open, and *again*, Albus was unprepared. This time was much, much worse. Last
time, he had been close to the second-floor washroom and his magics were still primed from his
battles with his one-time friend Gellert. It had been nothing to rout the serpent, a wave of fear
that caused it to retreat almost instantly. Such magics were beyond him now - it had been more than
a decade since he'd truly prepared for battle, and now it would cost him the lives of his
students.

*Death… Death… Death…*

He flew; his feet leaving the ground as his magic propelled him forward, fighting against every
second that passed…

*Death… A student has died… A professor has died…*

The corridors whisked by as he closed in on the echoes of the serpent's presence. The
basilisk was near, and soon he passed the bodies - the limp forms of the deceased, and the rigid
forms of the merely petrified - those who had only indirectly looked upon the creature. At least
some would survive, he thought. At least some were fortunate…

And here was the beast, over the body of his Muggle Studies Professor, Burbage. Albus brandished
his wand, sending the most powerful severing charm he could muster. The Basilisk jerked sideways,
and a small cut appeared down the serpent's side. Great Merlin, how old was this beast that it
could so resist his magics…

It sped off down the corridor, and Albus followed, sealing corridors into solid walls to prevent
access to more innocents. There would be no more death now … only this thing's destruction. He
herded it back toward the second floor, back to the washroom where he'd first sensed it, where
it had first killed. There, he could deal with it alone.

But wait … The wards registered two students there - Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter. Harry…
*NO*! If anything happened to that boy, he would bleed the creature dry, and transfigure its
corpse to pure oxygen. He forced himself to fly faster, but the serpent was quicker yet, and it
reached the washroom first.

**(BREAK // MISSING CONTENT)**

“No, Potter, you don't understand at all, and you won't until the very end. My beautiful
pet is merely the distraction, a toy for all the teachers and Aurors to play with while I
disappear. By the time they come looking for little Ginny Weasley, all they'll find is her
corpse, lying beside yours - and I will be gone.” Harry's wand sparked, and Tom smirked.

A thousand tiny details coalesced into a horrific conclusion, and Albus surged forward, allowing
his disillusionment to fade. A small piece of him cringed as he unleashed a binding spell against
Ginevra; it was almost certain to cause the girl permanent harm if she survived this. To his great
surprise, she turned and redirected the spell, sending it towards Harry, who dove out of the way,
erecting a shield. The shield shattered on impact, but Harry was far enough away to escape the
spell's grasp.

Albus summoned two immense walls of fire, blocking Harry and the Basilisk from the fight. With a
flick, his Patronus was away, alerting the remaining staff. There was an annoyed hiss, and the
great snake was off down the corridor, with Harry chasing after it. A fear unlike any other sprang
to life in his chest, but he could not disengage to follow Harry now; he was committed, and Tom was
already casting. He could only pray that whatever had protected Harry from Quirrel last year was
also at play here, and that the boy would not die.

Great shards of frozen air ripped past him like razor blades, nicking and slicing him despite
his best efforts to shield. Choosing discomfort over true injury, Albus pulled his firewalls
closer, their intense heat melting the remaining ice before it ever reached him. The distraction
cost him, however, and he bent at the knees, squatting so low his face nearly touched the ground as
three viridian lines of death sailed over his head. Whipping his wand forward, he lashed out with a
whip of flame, intent on creating distractions of his own.

“Such immense potential in one so young,” Tom cackled in Ginevra's voice. “Truly a seventh
child - oh, I yearn to see her mother's face when she sees her daughter's corpse.”
Tom's wand had been moving the entire time he spoke, and the whip detached itself from
Albus' wand and flew towards Tom, taking the shape of a great serpent. “*Fiendfyre*,
Dumbledore? I could do better than this in my school years. Let me show you!”

But Albus was not listening; he concentrated on the stone beneath them, silently praying for
Hogwarts' forgiveness as he stabbed his wand towards the floor. The floor between them erupted
into the air, the rubble thinning and sharpening into deadly spines. Through the cacophony and dust
came a shriek of pain. Albus allowed himself a smile as he took the time to stand, and began to
weave a new spell on the stones.

The debris halted in mid-flight and shot towards a central point, growing and merging. A mammoth
humanoid figure emerged from the stone, its boulder-like hands clumsily swiping at Ginevra's
retreating form. Tom took no time to stop the blood flowing from Ginevra's body while he
retreated, and that was cause for great concern. Surely, it would take more time than this for Tom
to drain the necessary power from her body.

With a gesture, the walls of fire and the coiling serpent were instantly solid ice, and Albus
flew after Tom, his feat several inches from the ground - running would not be fast enough.

As he neared his golem, he saw the hastily scribed rune beneath its feet, and quickly erected a
spherical shield, gnashing his teeth at Tom's laughter from down the hall. The golem exploded,
and two hundred pounds of stone flew in every direction, battering Albus' shield, bringing it
crashing down. Albus fell screaming to the floor, pummelled by debris. He hoped beyond hope that
Harry fared better than he was, and that Minerva and the others would be here soon.

*^*^*^*

Harry ran after the snake as fast as he could; Dumbledore would see to Ginny, he was sure of it.
How could something so large move so quickly? Dumbledore had obviously blocked several passages,
but not all of them. The Basilisk was heading towards the Defence classroom, where he could hear
Lockhart trying to calm several nervous students.

Harry couldn't catch it, and he prayed that Lockhart was worth even half his reputation.

“My God, NO! Look away, everyone! Stay away, creature! Stay…”

Lockhart's high-pitched voice faded into a rasping breath, and a soft thump announced his
fall to the ground. The students screamed, and Harry ran all the harder.


“DON'T LOOK AT IT!” He roared as he neared the room. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T LOOK AT
IT!”

He rounded the corner, and could see them, at least a dozen, crammed into the back of the
Defence classroom, Lockhart's corpse between them and the basilisk. They all had their backs to
the monster, which was steadily approaching them.

“*Protego*!” Harry's shield split the room in half; the Basilisk sniffed at the
barrier, and then turned its attention to Harry; his skin ached and burned as they locked eyes.
While Harry struggled with the sudden pain, the serpent darted back towards the entrance, passing
him in the blink of an eye. The students continued to scream; Harry ground his teeth and forced his
legs to obey, chasing after it, casting another shield across the doorway.

“*Incendio*!” A line of flame licked the serpent's tail, and it launched itself
backwards, slamming into Harry and throwing him into the wall. He heard the snake hiss in annoyance
as it tested the shielded doorway, and then it was again moving. As Harry found his feet, the
basilisk's tail was disappearing into the Grand Staircase.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured, giving chase as fast as his aching body would allow. Ginny's
demonic laughter rang out from below him as he chased the basilisk across the moving stairs; an
echoing blast, and then Dumbledore cried out in pain. Hoping that the professor was doing better
than he was, Harry continued to chase the serpent, making gains as the creature struggled with the
moving stairs. So suddenly Harry nearly raised a shield, Ginny appeared before him, bleeding from
dozens of cuts and floating in the air beside the stairs as casually as could be.

Ginny hissed something unintelligible at the Basilisk; it seemed to have no issue comprehending,
as it turned suddenly, and launched itself at Harry, striking out at him and forcing him back.
Harry stumbled and dodged, but the snake was relentless, and its gaze wracked his body with pain.
On its third strike, its fangs sank into Harry's arm, puncturing straight through to the other
side.

“And so it ends,” Ginny said, her voice triumphant. For an instant, she smiled, her eyes
gleaming blood red. And then the light faded, and her face went blank. And she fell.

“No!” Harry wrenched himself to the rail, catching Ginny by the hair, barely noticing his wand
plummet into unseen levels below. She came to an abrupt stop and hung limply in his grasp, and made
no noise. The extra weight jerked Harry half-over the rail, and there was a sickening snap - from
him or Ginny, he couldn't tell. The Basilisk writhed and squirmed while Harry pulled at
Ginny's unresisting form, and finally freed itself, backing into a coil for another strike.
Harry felt one fang rip away from the snake, remaining lodged in his arm.

Harry fell back, Ginny collapsing into his arms like a rag doll. Still. Quiet. No pulse. No
breathing.

“Ginny.”

He lifted her head - surprisingly heavy without support - and looked at her face. Dull, lifeless
brown eyes stared endlessly back.

Tom Riddle's laughter echoed from below him; McGonagall shouted in anger, and Harry could
feel the power of their curses radiate up the staircase.

The scraping beside him warned him of the Basilisk's charge, and he turned and stood,
dropping Ginny's body. The Basilisk's fangs caught him on the chest, and the weight of the
snake bowled him over. The snake's eyes burned him, and the remaining fang dripped death into
his chest. But Harry didn't care.

Nearly blind with rage and pain, Harry reached across and tore the fang from his bleeding arm,
and clamped down on the snake's head with one hand, pinning it to his chest by its one fang. As
the snake bucked and writhed, shredding Harry's lung, he methodically began to stab at the
Basilisk's head with its own fang, the tooth easily piercing the monster's flesh. First the
eyes, then deeper, trying to get to the brain.

Ten times, fifteen times, twenty times. The pain from the basilisk's stare was gone, though
that hardly lessoned the agony now. His vision dimmed; all he could see was red, blood from both
him and the snake - mostly him.

And then it was dead; he felt the shudder, the release of bodily control. Ripping the head away
from him, he stood - and marvelled that his legs obeyed him, since he couldn't remember
breathing in ages. A loud ringing sounded in his ears, and his sight was blurry and shadowed. So
much red...

“Harry!”

He knew that voice, and soon, another person joined him in the blood, crushing him into a hug
that would have stolen his breath, if he had still been breathing. Long strands of untamed hair -
Hermione. Hadn't he locked her in her tower?

It was hard to think, and he could no longer see. How did they get to the floor? Wasn't he
standing? He could barely hear her screaming, could barely feel her pound on his chest... and then,
he felt his heart shudder, and lie still.

He looked up with the last of his strength, and for just an instant, he saw Hermione's
tear-stained face through the mists and shadows, staring at him in anger, sadness, and horror.

And then there was darkness, and he was free.

*

*“No! Not Harry! Take me instead!”*

*“You are beaten! You and your husband both! Move out of the way, you stupid girl!”*

*“Please! Please, no!”*

*“This is a waste of my time! AVADA KEDAVRA!”*

*

Blurry images swam in front of Harry, and he slowly turned his head left and right, trying to
get his bearings. His body ached, and his arm and chest throbbed painfully where the fangs had
punctured - those would certainly scar. As the Hospital Wing came into reasonable focus, Harry
groaned aloud. The Basilisk had stared at him - which had hurt - and it had bitten him, which had
hurt even more.

At least the thing was dead.

“Are you awake, Harry?”

“P-Professor Dumbledore?”

“Don't get up, my boy. It's been only hours - far too soon for you to be doing anything
but healing. How you survived the Basilisk's gaze or its venom remains a mystery to me, but
I'm very, very happy to see you alive.”

“M-me, too, sir.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Indeed. Well, the upside to this is that far too many professors and
students witnessed your fight with the creature. I believe that Minister Fudge is awarding you a
medal for this.”

Harry frowned, wincing as even his face hurt to move. “A medal? For what?”

“Protecting the school. Fighting an elder Basilisk is something that even experienced wizards
such as I would be at risk to do. The fact that you did so warrants the medal in and of itself. The
fact that you are alive to receive your accolades is, of course, a miracle.”

“Yeah… a miracle…” Harry looked away. “How's Hermione, sir?”

“Miss Granger is exceedingly upset about the event, I gather. She is also very worried about
you.”

“Probably pissed, too. I locked her in Gryffindor Tower.”

“So she says. The portraits say you also sabotaged the Hufflepuff Warren as well. Still, you
probably saved her life and the lives of several others by doing so. Miss Parkinson wishes me to
inform you that every Slytherin remained in the dungeons, and well away from the Basilisk. You also
rescued thirteen students in the Defence classroom, and countless others by fighting the
Basilisk.”

“That's good. I hoped that it would help. How... how many died?”

“No one you know personally, Harry. Eighteen students are dead, and twenty-three petrified - all
from the Basilisk's first trip through the school. Professors Lockhart and Burbage have been
killed, while Professor Sinistra was petrified.” Harry felt his heart constrict, remembering
Lockhart's corpse, and then Ginny's. Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder,
and his eyes danced with light, sparkling like stars.

“I want you to understand that you did your absolute best. No one could have realistically
expected you to fight that monster, let alone kill it. While I engaged Tom, you took it upon
yourself to do battle, and averted a tragedy of a far grander magnitude. Do not allow your heart to
dwell on thoughts of those unfortunate enough to be in the Basilisk's path. I am very, very
proud of you.”

And immediately, the coils around his heart loosened tremendously.

“Thanks,” said Harry, choking on emotions. “I... just, thanks.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely, and squeezed his shoulder. Harry wiped at his stinging eyes, and
then, with a shuddering breath, addressed the final remaining demon.

“What about Ginny, sir? What happened?”

Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back into his chair. “I fought as best I could,
but I haven't primed my magics for battle since your parents' deaths. When I fell,
Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape took up the battle; all three were injured, Severus worst
of all. We are not yet certain of his survival.”

“...Oh.”

“Harry, do not dwell on this; focus on yourself and leave worries and regrets to me. The
Ministry will lay the blame at the feet of Slytherin's Creature, now that the Chamber entrance
has been exposed and left open. No one will believe Voldemort's return, but everyone recognizes
that you confronted and destroyed a thousand-year-old Basilisk, and are still alive. The school
will recover, Harry, because they believe the danger to be ended.”

“But-”

“But we know differently, yes. And it would be folly for us to tip our hand just yet. Let morale
recover, Harry - it's important, so important, for people to feel safe. Let Voldemort go to
ground; I will forever bar Tom Riddle from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. We will take steps to ensure our
safety, and then work to end Voldemort's threat.”

Harry shook his head.

“Harry, you must understand that my first priority is the students. They must be safe here, and
that means that there can be no blood hunt until I have secured Hogwarts. Then, I shall hunt
him.

“He defeated me, Harry - not easily, not gracefully, and I certainly wasn't at my best, but
he defeated me, with only the knowledge he had gained by his seventh year. He will have assuredly
merged with his older self at the first opportunity - he likely has already. What would become of
you, or me, or our friends and allies, should we attempt to find him this moment? What will become
of the aurors that would pursue him?”

Harry scowled, but nodded, conceding the point.

“I know that you want blood now, Harry. I know that your youth is crying for vengeance. But this
is not the end of things; we must first see to our security, and then we shall turn to our
enemies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Harry?” Dumbledore seemed hesitant to speak now, and that stirred Harry's curiosity. “After
Ginevra's death ... when Tom reformed ... he took your wand.”

“Oh.” A twinge of loss and despair coursed through him. “Well, damn.”

“Indeed. I thought you should know.”

Within three hours, to Madam Pomfrey's bewilderment, Harry was fit to leave, and he walked
carefully out of the Hospital Wing with four round scars on his arm, one on his chest and a dull
ache through his body as the only lingering effects of his injuries.

He found Hermione seated in her “spot” on the large couch in the Gryffindor common room; she
steadfastly ignored him, keeping her eyes riveted on her book. Harry sat down beside her, and
looked away as she leaned away from him.

“Look, I'll go away in a minute, okay?” No response; Harry blew out a sigh. “I just...
I'm glad you came to me,” he whispered. “I remember you holding me at the end. Even though you
weren't ... aren't ... happy with me, I was happy, because I thought that even though I was
going to die, you were alive and I got to see you again.”

Hermione did not acknowledge him in any way, but Harry thought he could feel a great deal of the
tension ease from between them. While Hermione still did not speak to him, she stopped leaning
away, and when he got up to leave, she went with him. Though quiet, Hermione stayed close to him
for the rest of the week, and let him borrow her wand for his exams. While it wasn't the
greatest match, the wand seemed to recognize him as Hermione's friend and worked quite well for
him.

*

There would be no train ride back for them this year; the needs of Ginny's funeral took
precedence over tradition. Harry took Hermione through a quick shopping trip in Diagon Alley and
London, as she had neither the robes nor the makeup she desired to attend the funeral. For a
moment, it almost felt like Christmas again, but that flicker of happiness died in the face of the
trip's purpose.

The bus rattled down the nighttime streets of London; in stark contrast to the shaky vehicle,
the two lone passengers passed their time in silence. Harry leaned back, resting his head against
the window; Hermione, in contrast, leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees, and her head
in her hands.

Silence.

It had ruled their time together for the last week of school and it still hung heavy between
them, a barrier that neither seemed able to break for very long. Hermione would speak to him of
exams and studying, and little else; and once they had written and passed their exams, there had
been a marked absence of conversation.

Uncertainty fuelled it - at least that's what it was for Harry. With his eyes closed, all he
could see were images of the basilisk, its lethal glare and deadly fangs... but he had survived,
unbelievably, inexplicably.

Guilt and pride warred within his chest: Guilt at the sight of Ginny's corpse and
Hermione's tears; pride at the sight of the dead serpent, pride in the eyes of Dumbledore.
Together, they fused into the unsure, irritated feeling that passed for his current emotion.

Hermione was still simmering from when he locked her in the classroom … maybe. There was
something else there, too, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Every time he thought about
it, he came to the same conclusion: Hermione would have died, so he needed to keep her away. The
only way to do that without hurting her was to keep her away from the fight.

And so, they sat here. Harry couldn't bring himself to apologize, knowing it was insincere
at best and Hermione... well, she would eventually tell him what she felt, and he could work to fix
it.

Or maybe she would be silent, like this, and their friendship would fade.

"No."

Hermione looked up from the floor questioningly.

"I need you to talk to me. I'm not just going to be quiet and let you walk
away."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly. "I'm here with you,
aren't I? I don't have to be."

"But you aren't happy."

"I just want to be home."

Harry was at a loss to reply; there was really nothing to say, but that statement bothered him
quite a bit.

"There's nothing that's going to jump out and eat me there, there aren't any
psycho professors, there's only Mum and Dad. I don't have to worry about anything while
I'm home."

"...Alright."

"You should be dead."

Harry nodded. "Twice now: Once from Quirrel, and now this."

"What if next time you really die?"

It took every ounce of willpower not to shrug - it would only set Hermione off. "I
don't go asking for Voldemort to chase me, you know."

"But he is!"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to deal with it."

"And one day, he's going to win!"

"Shhh!" Hermione was far too loud for his liking.

"I don't care! Stop acting stupid about it! It's *Voldemort*! He's going
to *kill* you!"

"Hermione--"

"HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"Is everything alright back there?" The bus driver's voice blared out from the
cheap speaker above them.

"Sorry," Harry called towards the front. "She's upset because of a fight I
got into earlier today."

"Do you need the police?"

"No, we're heading home now - we're good."

"Alright, then."

Blowing a sigh, Harry turned his attention back to Hermione. There were tears in her eyes, and
she shook silently. She rebuffed his first attempt to put his arm around her, but on his second
attempt, she clung to him tightly.

"He's going to kill you," she whispered, barely taking time to draw breath.
"He's real, and he's going to kill you. Last year could have been… but now Ginny's
dead and he's real... he's real..."

"Shhh. It's okay now. C'mon, breathe..." Hermione hiccupped once, but ceased
her murmuring. Harry tightened his arms, and rocked her gently in her seat. “You should know by now
that I can't die - I'm immortal.” He felt Hermione stiffen, and he snickered over her head.
“Hey, I'm trying to be a good boyfriend here, and make you smile. Now smile, because I said
so.”

“It's not funny,” she sniffed against his chest. “You're not immortal and I don't
want you to die.”

“I promise not to die.”

“You can't promise that.”

“Maybe I can.”

“Please, please don't make fun of this. I'm scared, I'm so scared.”

“I know… I wish there was a way that I could make that go away. I … like being with you, and the
only thing I'm worried about is scaring you off, and I don't want to do that.”

“You won't.” Hermione gave a great sniff, and Harry couldn't resist a chuckle.

“Just snort it back and swallow it, already.”

“Yuck.”

“Or just let it dribble out on my shirt - Remus can do a cleaning charm when we meet up.”

“No. That's gross.”

Hermione cuddled in closer, and Harry basked in the warmth, feeling something return that had
been missing for two long weeks. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“My parents can't know anything, okay? Nothing about last year, nothing about this year -
just normal school stuff, okay?”

“Won't the professors tell them anyways?”

“No. Muggle parents never get anything about Hogwarts. Please, Harry?”

“Okay. We'll keep it quiet around them; I'll pass word to Remus about it.”

“Thanks … Harry?” Hermione seemed hesitant now. “I looked into the law a bit, when I was
thinking about my parents… they don't really have any rights in our world. They're like …
my property or something. If - if they try to pull me out of Hogwarts, they'll be
*Obliviated*…”

“I'll take care of you,” said Harry, answering the unspoken question. “I'd never leave
you alone to go through that.”

“Thanks.” For the first time since that terrible fight, Hermione reached up and kissed him.

*

Ginny's funeral was a private ceremony in the back of her home, which the Weasleys called
the Burrow. Harry felt awkward and strange there, dressed in black dress robes beside Hermione.
Luna was present, too, though she had long since wandered off somewhere. Contrary to the mood of
the gathering, the sky was lit up by a dazzling red, gold and purple sunset. The rickety wooden
structure of the Burrow itself creaked gently in the warm breeze, a soothing, comforting sound. The
tall grasses rustled quietly, and the crickets chirped at the potato-like garden gnomes chasing
them.

If there was a God, He was mocking them all.

The service was short and to the point, and Arthur Weasley gently laid Ginny's body to rest
in a small but beautiful marble tomb - a gift from Dumbledore to the Weasleys. Once the proceedings
were complete, the family seemed more intent on hugging their guests than talking. Harry wiped his
eyes every five seconds to prevent moisture from building up. He couldn't help but tear up
whenever he saw Molly Weasley; she looked broken and forlorn, and he wondered how she would ever
recover.

And then she was beside him, and she wrapped him in a powerful hug. “Harry, dear ... you look so
lost ... It'll be alright, we'll survive this.”

“I feel… out of place here,” he whispered quietly.

“Ginny thought the world of you,” she replied, “and you risked your life to try and save her.
This isn't the first person that man has taken from me. Your parents would be very proud of
you. Thank you for what you've done. Thank you so very, very much.”

He wasn't sure what his mumbled response was, but Molly Weasley's hugs were very
comfortable. He soon found himself walking away from the gathering, before he lost his control
completely and started to cry.

Approaching a nearby pond, Harry found Luna, who was playing on the rocks at its edge. She saw
him and turned, but kept his attention on the ground in front of him. He stopped when she
approached him, though, and wondered if he could possibly weather whatever conversation was coming.
Uncle Vernon had never prepared him to comfort people. Where was her father, anyways? He
couldn't see him anywhere.

But Luna did not speak. Thick trails of tears marred her cheeks, and she looked up at him with
such a hopeless expression that he could scarcely breathe. Without thinking, he lifted her into his
arms and held her tightly as she began to sob.

He sat down on the rocks, cradling Luna while she cried. An eternity passed, and Harry watched
the shadows grow and overtake the Burrow as the sun dipped below the horizon. And just as the light
disappeared, Luna sniffed, and looked up, and their eyes locked.

“I … I kissed her.”

“Okay.” Harry kissed the top of Luna's head. “You'll find another person to kiss,
I'm sure of it.”

A quiet moment passed, and then:

“He's late again.”

“Yeah, well ... I'm not.”

Luna gave him a tiny smile, and tucked her head against his chest.

The rustling of feet through the grass made Harry look up. Hermione stood nearby, looking just
as sad as he felt. Harry flexed his legs and stood, picking Luna up with him, and setting her on
her feet. Luna claimed his left hand, and walked beside him as he moved to join Hermione, offering
his right hand. With a shy smile, she took it, and the three walked back towards the Burrow.

Harry watched their shadows as they passed a floating lantern - two tall shadows and a short one
- and something, wordless and formless, stirred in his heart. This was important to him - this was
*right*.

*

Harry hurried to Ollivander's the next morning. For more than two weeks he'd relied on
Hermione's wand for magic; while he felt secure in her help, she was finally heading back to
her parents' house, and that meant a new wand as fast as possible.

“Good Morning,” Ollivander said as Harry entered the store. “Back already? Surely a few days off
are in order, given your extraordinary adventure.”

“Nah, I like to work. That and I need a wand. Voldemort took mine.”

A quiet understanding passed between the two of them: Another match like Harry's first most
likely did not exist in the store.

“I see. Well then, I believe that our first order of business is to continue where we left off,
and have you construct your new wand. Shall we find a passable substitute for the moment?”

“Yes, please.”

*

Harry ran his hands back and forth across his new wand the entire bus trip home. It was nowhere
near as friendly to him as Hermione's, but he had enough practice with the specific spells that
it would suffice for him to mind the store. He hoped fervently for success in making his own wand
this summer - he felt empty without the bond of a compatible wand.

He smelled dinner as he entered the house, and hoped they weren't finished. He dropped his
backpack on the floor, and it promptly fell open, exposing his poorly packed robes and his shrunken
trunk - he'd forgotten about that. That obviously had to come back to Ollivander's with him
tomorrow. Shrugging to himself, he walked into the kitchen.

“You're late.”

“Sorry, uncle. I had to get my summer job back.”

“You'll be getting a raise?”

“Maybe. Probably not.”

“Humph. There are leftovers in the fridge.”

*I almost died this year, uncle,* Harry didn't say. *Just like last year. I'll
even get a medal for it, too. Would you even flinch if I told you? Probably not - it would just be
`reckless heroics,' right?*

With a quiet sigh, Harry rummaged through the refrigerator, fixing himself dinner.

*^*^*^*

He stood on the shores of the rocky island, feeling powerful.

Feeling immortal.

Oh, how long had it been since he felt this way. His youth restored at the expense of a stupid
girl, and his elder essence absorbed. More than a decade of torture had finally ended in the most
exhilarating way - Snape crippled, Potter defeated and Dumbledore humbled.

In his hands, Harry Potter's wand pulsed with delight, every bit as potent as his first wand
had been, and so much more precious to him - the wand of his greatest enemy, the child who would
not die, perhaps even still.

And now, Azkaban stood before him, its massive walls and powerful enchantments barring any
escape from the mighty prison.

Casually, he traced out a large and intricate rune in the grey sands, which began to glow with a
demonic crimson light. A small ripple cascaded across the boundary wards, and he beckoned to the
silent, naked child behind him - a muggle girl of eleven, that reminded Riddle strongly of Ginny
Weasley. He caressed her chest, where one day there might be full, round breasts - and basked in
the feeling of power, knowing that she would never live to see them. No man would ever claim her;
no child would ever call her 'mother...'

This was power - the power of a God.

Like a mannequin, the child walked forward, stepping onto the rune, and the red glow shot up her
legs, across her genitals and juvenile breasts, pouring hungrily into every orifice - filling her
mouth, nose, and ears, coiling inside her developing womb and flooding her bowels. And he felt
every moment of it, experiencing the exquisite agony from within the child's frail and
crumbling mind.

The wards trembled.

And she screamed.

More and more, the light filled her, the very wards of Azkaban funnelling into her body,
infusing her to her very soul with eldritch power, so incomprehensible to her tiny muggle
perceptions, stretching her body and spirit to their breaking point.

The girl exploded - suddenly and violently, in a terrible chorus of rips and pops. Blood was
everywhere, pieces of bone, tissue and entrails spread in a circular pattern around the rune. Only
his shadow was clean; he licked the mess around his mouth, savouring the taste of death. An
ethereal wail echoed across the miles in every direction as her small, powerless soul came apart in
the wash of magical power - and the wards of Azkaban fell.

Orgasmic delight filled him, beyond the ken of any weakling who turned from power. “I am
reborn!” he shouted, laughing rapturously to the emptiness around him. “I am returned! *Tom
Marvolo Riddle is dead*! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!”

He gestured, and the blood and gore vanished, becoming yet more sand on the ground. Another
gesture and those sands shifted, obliterating and dispelling his rune. He stepped across the
now-powerless threshold, and walked down the gravelly path to the castle. Dementors floated across
the grounds, massive shadows, cloaked in black from head to toe. They fed on positive emotions, and
drained men of their souls; they were among the most dangerous of creatures, nearly immortal and
unquestionably evil.

And they bowed to him, scraped the ground he walked upon, unwilling to draw his wrath. He basked
in their subservience, their explicit demonstration of his superiority. They could not feed from
him or take his soul, and they knew he could end them; that he understood their secrets unlike
perhaps any other man on earth.

“Take me to my followers,” he commanded in a quiet voice. “Take me to my Death Eaters. Kill all
the guards, and open every cell. Then I will take you from this place, and grant you a feast you
have never before experienced.”

And they moved, a sea of shadows flowing like water throughout Azkaban, and new cries echoed:
Shouts of terror and defiance from the guards, and screams of joy and triumph from the
prisoners.

And a scream of exaltation, as a woman prostrated herself before Voldemort, kissing his boot
repeatedly, licking the very dirt from it as tenderly as if making love. “My lord,” she murmured.
“My lord, my lord...”

“Bella,” he crooned softly. “Your devotion makes you beautiful to me, even in rags, even
deprived and in Azkaban as you are... rise, my pet, my chosen... rise, and taste freedom once
again. Did I not promise you I was invincible, that nothing could stop me?”

“You did, my lord... I never doubted... the Dementors could never remove my belief in
you.”

She stared hungrily at him, and though she was older now by far, and frail, Voldemort was young,
and his body flushed with needs that he had long forgotten - needs he could now fulfil. And there
were easy fixes to such simple matters as apparent age and physical frailties.

“Soon,” he said, caressing her cheek gently. She leaned into his touch, purring with delight.
“Soon, my dear Bella, you will have everything you dreamed of. Only one thing stands between us
now.”

Her eyes widened, and a maniacal grin spread itself across her face. “Yes, my lord; one thing,
one easily correctable thing.”

The Aurors fought viciously against the criminals and Dementors; they were too busy to notice or
care as several prisoners escaped, and far too panicked to understand that the Dementors were
routing them away from one of the prison wings. Voldemort walked unnoticed out of Azkaban, flanked
by his Death Eaters, the bravest of the criminals, and several Dementors. He walked to the beach,
and scribed a large circle on the sands, beckoning his followers to enter. The circle shone with a
golden light, and a brisk wind whipped the sands about them - and when the winds died, they were
gone.

Barely an hour later - all the time a little girl's soul could grant - the wards sprang to
life again, and the remaining Dementors quieted. The Aurors forced the criminals back to their
cells, and began a furious series of communications to the Ministry, desperate to recapture any
prisoners that escaped.

*^*^*^*

And in his bed, Harry wept, unexpectedly and uncontrollably as a child's ghostly cry echoed
through the house and touched his heart. Pain, so much pain ... and no hope for recovery.

*^*^*^*

Albus' eyes snapped open as the cry reached his ears. The large, blue-glowing runes
encircling him pulsed with his heartbeat, and the air sang with power. He looked out the one small
window in the stone room. Guided by his will, the window rippled and shifted along the wall, until
it faced the northeast.

Towards Azkaban.

With a wave of his hand, the window expanded, becoming a doorway. Albus stepped out from the
still-glowing runes and through the door, on to the highest battlement in Hogwarts. He closed his
eyes and inhaled, relishing the crispness of the air, the pale light of the moon, and the feeling
of his magic coursing in his veins, awakened and primed for battle.

He was prepared, now.

His beautiful phoenix, Fawkes, appeared in a puff of flame, alighting on his shoulder. “Your
timing is impeccable, my friend,” he said, stroking Fawkes' crimson plumage. “Are you ready to
fight?” Fawkes replied with an energetic trill, small flits of fire arcing up from the
phoenix's wings.

“Tonight, Tom, we will see if the years have treated you as well as they have me.”

*^*^*^*

A lone, mangy dog detached itself from Voldemort's group when they reached the shores of
Scotland, unnoticed and unmissed. Voldemort had returned, and he would find a way to help, however
he could manage.

*^*^*^*

“You stand before me having proven your loyalty, Rodolphus,” Voldemort said, his eyes crimson
with malice and power. “Tonight, you will perform your greatest service to me yet.”

Rodolphus glanced down to the heavily cursed and enchanted ceremonial dagger that stood on a
table between them, and then back up to Voldemort. “My lord, I will do anything you command.”

“Very good, Rodolphus, very good. I will not command you, however. That honour falls to your
wife.”

“My wife?” The man's eyes held mild curiosity, before they lost focus altogether, and his
mouth went slack. He slowly reached down and picked up the dagger, and then slowly, ever so slowly,
pushed it into his chest until it reached his heart. With the last of his strength, he twisted it
violently and ripped it out, then fell heavily to the floor, twitching as he bled out.

Bellatrix stepped out from behind him, her wand - Snape's wand - tracing the motions of the
*Imperius*. She ended the now needless curse and gestured again, and Rodolphus' body rose
and floated above her. She picked up the dagger, holding it blade-first, letting the edges cut
deeply into her hand. She tilted her head up, and let Rodolphus' heart's blood wash over
her and into her mouth, swallowing noisily.

The dagger began to shudder and blacken, as something dark crawled from the wounds on her hands,
and wrapped itself around the metal, absorbing into it.

“Yes, Bella, yes,” Voldemort whispered from behind her. “What an amazing success. You have
surpassed my first attempts with grace and poise becoming of your station. Find your virgins, Bella
- find them, and reclaim your youth. An eternity awaits you, my love - my Lady.”

The words were everything she wanted to hear, he knew. Bellatrix was gone the very moment
Rodolphus' blood ceased to flow. Voldemort counted the minutes. Thirteen young muggle girls
would be child's play for Bellatrix to obtain.

Not five hours later, they lay naked and entwined on the bed of a dead muggle family. Bellatrix
sobbed into his shoulder as Voldemort thrust into her. She cried for joy as she celebrated the
attainment of her deepest desires - she was youthful, immortal, and *his*.

With a defiant roar, he climaxed, and she followed. And for the first time in his exceptional
life, Voldemort felt a small degree of comfort and safety, nestled into the shoulder of a woman who
had made the ultimate sacrifices for him.

His eyes snapped open; Dumbledore was here. “Bella, rise, quickly!” The hairs on his neck rose,
and he grabbed his wand, raising a spherical shield around them both. His scream was lost in the
roar as the house came apart around him.

*^*^*^*

The muggle before him froze in place, and began to glow as he shrunk, becoming a tiny pinprick
of light as he flew towards Albus' outstretched hand. Another mote of light flew to him, then
another… soon all the muggles in the area were gone, miniature stars in the palm of his hand. He
pocketed those stars, stowing them safely away from all danger.

Albus surveyed the muggle house in front of him in disgust - there was nothing left to save
here. Above him, his wand traced the motions of standard jinxes to impede magical travel and render
nearby floo connections dormant. He raised his free hand to the house, and traced a sigil of power
- the instant the sigil was complete, a wave of incredible force rushed out, reducing the house to
splinters as easily as a tornado might topple an outhouse. He heard Tom's battle cry, but this
time, Albus did not smile.

There would be no distractions this time, no Hogwarts, no students to stay his hand, and no rust
upon his magics. He raised his wand and called to the heavens.

A vortex of fire erupted above the house; its spout touched down, and burning debris filled the
air. Near the center stood Tom, naked, hair singed and straggled, his shield barely holding the
flames at bay. He worked his wand furiously in an attempt to dispel the flames. A dark-haired
woman, also naked, struggled to her feet behind him.

“Bella, help me!”

Bella? Bellatrix *Lestrange*? Indeed…

The vortex began to constrict, becoming thinner and shorter, compressing into an intense ball of
heat. Bellatrix now fought the flames alone. Now Albus did smile - what was Tom doing? He sensed
spatial magic, but he had thwarted that as best he could. He was committed to the pillar of fire,
and Bellatrix was no threat to his casting. The ball of flames pulsed once, twice…

A small hole in his anti-travel jinx ripped open. Tom snaked an arm around Bellatrix, and the
two of them vanished with a small crack just as the ball pulsed again. Heartbeats, Albus cursed.
Mere heartbeats.

The area was awash in white light, and when it retreated, the neighbourhood was a charred ruin,
burnt husks of cars and houses standing amidst blackened grass and skeletal trees.

What a wasted opportunity. Still, the overarching objective was complete - Albus had
demonstrated a clear superiority. He was certain that Tom, as practical as he was, would not seek
open battle again for quite some time. From another pocket in his robes, Albus pulled a large,
ornate hourglass. Three taps with his wand, and the glass flipped end over end, faster than the eye
could see.

Around him, the damage reversed: Burnt trees returned to life, houses sprang together, cars
repaired themselves and the grass became green once again. When the neighbourhood was once again
peaceful, Albus reached into his pocket and removed the small specs of light, and blew on them
gently. They all whisked away on an unseen breeze, and Albus took his leave.

As Albus vanished, dozens of muggles resumed their lives, completely unaware of the seven
minutes that an old man had stolen from them.

*^*^*^*

In the clearing behind the Burrow, in a white marble tomb, crimson eyes snapped open, and a
hungry moan escaped the stone. Slender, bloodless arms pushed the lid aside with supernatural ease,
and Ginny Weasley sat up, licking her elongated teeth as she eyed the darkened windows of the
Burrow.

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