The Warren

A Gryffindor Darkly by Xelan

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: The Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin… Okay, I’ll buy that, but only if he acts like it sometimes. This is what happens when you make Dumbles’ desire to redeem evil gits work for the Hero instead of the other way around.

XXXXXX

"And what do you have to say for yourself, Mister Potter?" Albus queried in his faux grandfatherly way. He expected an angry outburst involving injustice and darkness... He was only half right.

"Sir, I think I'm going dark."

"...."

"W-what? Why whatever would make you think that, my boy?"

"Well, sir. I've been beaten and abused, malnourished, mistreated, tortured, ridiculed, and hounded by enemies, reputed friends, and people claiming to be my best friend. I have no social life, no real friends except for Hermione, and every person aside from her that has loved me has been taken from me. Exactly why wouldn't I be turning dark?"

Dumbledore stood frozen for a moment, digesting what had been summarily dropped in front of him. Surely it wasn't that bad. "Beaten, Mister Potter... who would do such a thing?"

He rolled his eyes. "The Durselys." He pulled up both sleeves to show multiple scars. He pointed out which ones were non-school related. "My back is much worse. They've been doing it for years up until I got my Hogwarts Letter."

"You must be exaggerating, my boy. No magical family would ever do such a thing. There must be some other explanation for those horrendous and numerous scars." He was wearing his Made-Up-My-Mind Face.

"You do realize that you left me with my Muggle relatives, right? As in, non-magical... they aren't a magical family and in point of fact, they literally despise magic and have repeatedly tried to beat my magic out of me."

"Really?" he croaked. This was bringing back memories from his own childhood. "That sounds rather painful."

"Oh, trust me. It was very, very painful. I've been tied to a banister and whipped*, worked over with a cricket bat*, had bones broken with a fireplace poker*, and was nearly blinded once when my uncle broke a wooden post across my face."

"Hmm... I will admit, there is a strong correlation between unhappy childhoods and turning dark, but you come from a very light aligned family. Also, you have the wonderful learning environment that is Hogwarts and the highly professional staff and faculty of Hogwarts and all of your numerous friends here to offset any such leanings."

"You do realize that I was one and half years old when my parents were killed in front of me and that I have no clear memories of them except of when my mother died?

"Blood is thicker than water, dear boy."

"Perhaps, but how about the fact that since I've been here I've nearly been killed well over a dozen times?"

"Preposterous. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world while I am Headmaster. That you have ever been in life threatening danger is patently impossible."

Harry raised a hand and started listing events and ticking fingers. "One, nearly killed by a troll; two, nearly killed by a three headed dog and various other traps; three, nearly killed by a Voldemort possessed teacher two times; four, nearly killed by acromantulas; five, nearly killed by Lockhart; six, nearly killed by a Basilisk; seven, nearly killed by Lucius Malfoy; eight, nearly killed by dementors; nine, nearly killed by a werewolf; ten, nearly killed by different deranged death eater. Now bear in mind that this list is only the highlights and even then only covers through Third Year; I've already run out of fingers to count higher."

Dumbledore looked around the staff table and observed chagrined expressions and slowly nodding heads. Can it be true? he wondered again. He took several long looks around the house tables. Lots of nodding heads there as well. Damnation, he inwardly cursed.

"Does that mean that you believe me about how unsafe Hogwarts has been for me?"

"For the sake of argument, let's say that I believe you. That still leaves my other points that should keep you from turning dark."

"You have a ghost teaching history, badly I might add; A death eater teaching potions, who happens to bully me at every turn, was responsible for my parents deaths, and hasn't produced a single NEWT level potions student during his entire tenure; also not a single DADA professor has successfully returned for a second year, and most of them have tried to kill me at one point or another."

Dumbledore looked again to the staff table - their heads were hung with shame and McGonagall was weeping. Filius was misty-eyed, Pomona was blowing her nose loudly, Hagrid was bawling his eyes out, Pomfrey worried her napkin, and Vector and Hooch were sad. Oh, and Snape's body twitched and spasmed where it lay on the floor. His lips instinctively tried to scowl, but inevitably failed due to the massive trauma.

"Well then, Harry. What would you have me do?"

"First, I'd like to have my prefectship, that you unjustly gave to Ron, and I would like Delores Umbridge made into my minion/slave. Also, as a Dark Lord in training, I think I should have a band of loyal followers and be able to get away with murder."

Dumbledore nodded his head. When put in just that way, it certainly made sense. He summoned the badge from young Mr. Weasley and curtly informed him that his trial period had ended in failure and he was returning the badge to its rightful owner.

Harry pinned it on his robes with great glee.

Dumbledore turned to Delores Umbridge who was still bound, gagged, magically silenced, and had summoned toads hopping happily over her squirming, fly-covered body; she wriggled in protest. "In a few moments, I shall head off to the Ministry to remove Minister Fudge, regain my political power and standing and appoint another puppet minister. Once I have finished, you shall be demoted from your Inquisitor post and will resume your post as DADA Professor and as Mister Potter's minion/slave. We must try to do all that we can to return Mister Potter back to the light.

Draco, who had been duct taped to the ceiling finally managed to rip the tape off of his mouth (along with his peach fuzz and eyebrows) shouted angrily, "Why hasn't he been punished. He assaulted a prefect! When my--", but Dumbledore silenced him before he could continue.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, will be part of Mister Potter's inner circle of loyal followers. Obviously, as Mister Potter is an aspiring dark lord, he must have followers. Once I return, if you have not cut yourself down, I will do so and then perform the appropriate mental modifications so that you can fulfill your roll in the tradition of your subservient family."

"Why does Harry get to do all this and I lose my badge?" Ron groused.

"Because, despite my best efforts, Mister Potter has started to go dark. Once started down that path, it is nearly impossible to turn back unless you become fully dark. Once fully established, then and only then is it possible to repent and return to the light. Naturally, due to my failure to notice his descent into darkness, I must hurry him along so he can repent and be saved."

Around the room, various people, mostly from pure-blood families, began nodding their heads in approval. A cheer went up. "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!" filled the hall.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Shall we leave dinner a bit early and start on our homework so we can get to our prefect rounds? I discovered a broom closet that went missing in the 1970's that is just begging to be explored."

Hermione looked at her boyfriend... for the first time in her life she was too stunned to even lecture him. "How - what - why?" she started but couldn't continue.

"I really got tired of Mister Bottom-less Pit always playing up that he was a prefect and got to spend time with my girl instead of me. This time, I did something about it." He took her hand in his. She did not resist and actually smiled.

Ron was outraged. "Your girl? Herms! You slapped me for less during rounds. Tell 'im what you told me. Tell him that you're one 'a those independent women and that you can't be owned or treated like a possession. Tell him that you two are at best friends and or maybe like brother and sister. Tell him!"

She slapped the silly ponce so hard he fell into his pudding. "Be quiet! It is none of your concern to whom I grant liberties. Furthermore, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, NEVER . SHORTEN . MY NAME! How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick head?"

Harry looked at Hermione. "What?" She noticed his eyes flicking down toward the stunned and messy redhead. "Oh that. Well, I warned him, and besides, if I'm going with a dark lord in training, then I thought I should act the part." She paused a moment, then pulled out her wand and pointed it at Ron. "Incontinento," she cast.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Incontinence curse."

Harry smiled at his girlfriend and together, hand in hand, they left the Great Hall.

Fourth Champion

A/N: I’ve not seen anyone do this particular version before, but I would imagine someone out in the wide, wide world has already had a similar idea. Be that as it may, this is my take. Don’t worry about Sirius. He will be explained in another short section to be posted later.

XXXXXX

Albus raced down the hallway. It wouldn't do for him not to be there for the announcing of the Triwizard Champions. Afterall, he was largely responsible for the resurrection of the ancient and deadly tournament in modern times.

*Crack*

"Damnit" He ground out through clenched teeth. He grabbed his throbbing foot and bounced up and down in place several times. Fortunately, no one could see him. Being disillusioned while running at a breakneck pace was certainly useful in getting to somewhere fast, but it did not allow for keeping track of one's long legs. He had stubbed his toe painfully on one of the uneven stones that made up the long hallway. Oh, the things I do to maintain my reputation...

Once again, Albus wondered whether it would really be all that dangerous for people to know that he hurried from time to time, that sometimes running left him out of breath, or that even he was occasionally late. Then he remembered the last time he was lax with himself - Voldemort was unleashed upon the world. He resumed his run. He was already late, he knew, but he was sure McGonalgal would be more than adequate... at least he HOPED she'd be more than adequate as least until he got there.

Rolling his ancient and tired eyes, Albus, released his foot and resumed his running.

XXXXXX

As he ghosted around the room, he noticed the throng was in an uproar, no doubt due to the inexplicable fourth Champion that the Goblet had chosen. He smiled as he eased up to the doorway behind that very same Goblet; briefly he wondered if any of the students would be loyal enough to Harry to actually stay with him through this year's challenge. The only one he was certain that wouldn't burn bridges was the Weasley chit. She was so head over heels for the boy that Albus was sure that she would, at the very least, hold her tongue.

Dropping the disillusionment, he strode confidently into the room, an equanimous air about him. He prepared himself to act shocked over the discovery of his underage charge being chosen for a dangerous, life-threatening tournament against people several years his senior, which also happened to be a wonderful way to further distance him from his peers, break his spirit, and teach him the skills he would need to survive for a little while longer. Such genius could only have come from one such as I. He gloated to himself.

"Minerva, forgive me for the delay. Alastor was feeling unwell. How did the Champion selection go?"

Cold eyes all around the room swivelled to focus on the Hogwarts Headmaster. Karkaroff and Madame Maxine appeared even more upset than he had anticipated. My plan goes even BETTER than I envisioned. When Crough gets out of the Hospital wing, I shall have to buy him some firewhiskey. Even under truth serum, I shall be held blameless for this.

"Actually, Headmaster, the Champion selection had some... irregularities.”

Minerva was colder to him than usual. Albus resolved to tweak her mental conditioning later. After all, it would not do for his deputy to be disrectful to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"What sort of Irregularities, Minerva?"

Madame Maxine chimed in. "Irregulare'ities! 'Zis is an outrage! A fourth champion is unheard of!"

"I agree, Albus! How could you let this happen?" demanded Karkaroff.

Dumbledore looked benignly clueless. "I'm sure we can work everything out to everyone's satisfcation. Minerva, what is this about a fourth Champion?"

"Exactly as it sounds Headmaster." She pointed to Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum, and Miss Delacour. "These three were selected by the Goblet as one would expect, but then a fourth name came out of the Goblet. I immediately reconvened a meeting with the other officials in this room. Headmaster Karkaroff and Headmistress Maxime have both threatened to withdraw if this isn't cleared up."

Albus pretended to look shocked. He glanced at the other heads of their respective schools. They nodded firmly to show their agreement.

Albus prevented himself from smiling, but only with exceptional effort on his part. "And has the fourth Champion been informed, Minerva?" Curiously, Minerva McGonagall seemed to hesitate, as if deliberating over something. Albus assumed it was due to the fact that she had always had a soft spot for young mister Potter, but Albus had put a stop to the possibility of her interfering shortly after she had gotten him his first broom. How else would boy learn to be independent and distrustful of authority if he had professors he could actually rely on? Dumbledore mused.

"No... He has not been informed yet, Albus."

“This is quite serious. The Goblet is a powerful magical artifact and once it has chosen there is no alternative but for the Champions to compete. If one does not, he will certainly lose his magic and perhaps his very life. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Crouch?"

"That is so, Headmaster Dumbledore. All chosen by the Goblet must compete." Crouch agreed while staring dully ahead.

Imperiused up the wazoo, thought Dumbledore. The old greybeard twitched his lips for a moment. "Very well, have him come here and I shall inform him of what has happened and hopefully he will not die from the Tournament."

Normally, all people jump quickly to do whatever Albus Dumbledore decrees, but this time, all stood still, eyes darting back and forth in confusion.

"What seems to be the source of the confusion? Bring Ha-ahem-the student here. Surely that isn't a difficult concept?"

"Well, that's the problem, Albus," explained Sirius Black. "It isn't a student who was chosen as the fourth Champion. It was you..."

XXXXXX

-Meanwhile, in the Great Hall-

Harry sat with his arm comfortably around Hermione’s waist. They were two beacons of calm in the cacophony that was the Great Hall. No one noticed, but each had a small, thin, piece of flesh colored material pressed to an ear. They were listening intently to Harry’s mirror. As agreed, Sirius had left his own mirror active but hidden so that the two could listen in on the proceedings.

XXXXXX

-The Weighing of the Wands-

"Ah, Albus. I'd heard you would be competing. Terrible luck, that. Let us see.
One of mine, I remember it well." Olivander gently plucked the wand from Albus'
hand and examined it closely.

"It should be in excellent condition," Albus said with a smile. "

"I see..." Olivander commented while closing one eye and bringing the tip of the wand
so close that one might worry about residual spell fire. "-and you've done
wondrous things with a wand these past 57 -no- 59 years."

"Indubitably." offered Dumbledore, with no little forced cheer.

"But not with this wand." he said simply. As Dumbledore had handed over his
original wand (now his backup), his current wand was tucked away out of sight,
and he had not expected this reaction - he was helpless with what came next.

"Accio Albus' other wand", murmured the aged Wand maker.

Shortly, another wand flew from Albus' sleeve and dropped into Olivander's
waiting hand. "I thought so. No evidence that the wand you handed me had been
used for several decades - more than half a century since it has seen regular use.
You should know better than to try to hand over any but your everyday wand at an
official judging." He looked down at the new wand. "Not one of mine... but it
appears to be... -YIPE!-"

Albus' eyes widened.

Olivander dashed away. "Oh Mr. Black! I must speak with you." And with that,
both Olivander and Sirius Black excused themselves to the hallway.

Several moments passed and the two re-entered the room.

Sirius spoke. "After some deliberation, it has been officially decided that
Champions shall have only one wand for use in the competition. Here you go
Champion Dumbledore." He handed back Dumbledore's spare.

"I think I would prefer my other wand as the primary." A hint of desperation caught in
his voice.

Sirius looked at the old man shrewdly. Leaning close enough to whisper,
"According to Olivander, that wand can summon un-summonable items and stun even
very large magically resistant creatures un-aided. It would be an unfair
advantage... don't you agree? I can offer a receipt from the Ministry, but unless
circumstances change, you won't be seeing that wand again for the rest of the
term."

"What circumstances?" He asked. His face was tight with concern.

"Why, when you're no longer a Champion."

"But it is a binding magical contract. I haven't found a way out of the
tournament yet."

"Not my problem, Albus. Good day."

Albus wished Sirius Black was still a student... If he was still a student, then Argus would
have had cleaning help for the rest of the year.

A Gryffindor Darkly - Prologue

For any readers in the U.S., my British friends let me know that a Heath Robinson machine is basically equivalent to a Rube Goldberg machine. Admittedly, I fear that most of my fellow Americans still won’t know what I’m talking about unless they use some google-fu.

XXXXXX

The door to the Room of Requirement slipped silently open and soft footsteps made their way toward the young man seated at a table with a quill in his hand. She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned over his shoulder to glance at the many pieces of parchment he seemed to be sketching on. “Is that a Heath Robinson machine you’re working on?”

“Hermione, what did you just say?”

“I asked if you were designing a Heath Robinson machine.”

Harry blinked a few times and then asked, “What’s a Heath Robinson machine?”

He doesn’t know? She marveled. Then what was that he was sketching out?

“If you can’t explain it, then don’t worry about it. I’ll check the Library in the morning.”

“No, no. There’s no need for that. I was just surprised, that’s all. A Heath Robinson machine is any complex machine that accomplishes something very simple. They started as humorous drawings of comical ways to accomplish everyday tasks, but in recent times, people have actually begun try to make working versions. Daddy is an avid fan and likes to tinker about with a local club. They travel about putting their creations to the test in competition with other groups. He’s taken me to a few of their meetings, but stopped after I tried making one at home by myself.” She blushed a little at this admission.

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “You mean you’ve made one of these Heath Robinson machines before?”

Hermione scowled prettily and blew a lock of hair away from her face. “Not one that worked. Stupid, sub-standard, rubber bands,” she grumbled.

“I take it that means that the one you made ‘almost’ worked.”

“Should, Harry. It should have worked. At six years old I didn’t take into account that old rubber bands are more likely to snap under sustained tension.”

“Could you design and build one now?”

“Well... I suppose so. With magic I would think it would be even easier.”

“Excellent.”

“Why?”

“I’m working on, well, I suppose you could say it’s an experiment.” He showed her his rough sketches. “I have some half formed ideas if you want to have a look them.”

“Sure.” She smiled at her boyfriend as she took the proffered parchment – she loved when he used his intelligence.

Studying the rather crude drawings more closely for several moments before turning to face him, “Harry, you do realize this is more a Wile E. Coyote Plan To Catch The Road Runner than a Heath Robinson machine, don’t you?”

“Umm... Road Runner?”

“Right... no cartoons growing up. I remember now.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I can conjure something like duct tape or perhaps something a little bit stronger. At home, Daddy uses something similar called Gorilla Tape. He says that stuff would tear the stripes off of a zebra if given the chance.

“What do you think about the artificial lightning spell coupled with the broken glass and vinegar?”

“It all looks promising, but I don’t see how you’re going to get it to hit your target with the lightning spell. The Great Hall is filled with metal and something is bound to act like a lightning rod and redirect it.”

“Ah, but that’s why I’m using the blocks of congealed water. Once the spell breaks, they should drench whomever they land on.”

“Duct taped to the wall, severe electrical burns, blunt force trauma, a magically reinforced chain connected to the castle gate system designed to pull a body zipping all through the castle at breakneck speed, and summoned toads to top it off... My, my, my I think I may actually feel sorry for the dummies you’re going to test your experiment on.” Hermione opined; a picture of complete innocence.

“Dummies. Right...” Harry coughed lightly.

“HARRY!”

“I promise. No dummy that doesn’t deserve it will be used.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful and not get into trouble.”

“If everything goes according to plan, then there shouldn’t be any problem. Harry smiled his most charming smile, the one he only used for her when they were alone. “You are so brilliant, I could kiss you!”

“Is there any reason not to kiss me?”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, not really.”

“Then by all means, do get on with it.” She grinned as he closed the distance.

*Knock*Knock*knock*

Harry opened the door.

“Is Herms in there? Some midget First Year is complaining about something.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You don’t need Hermione, you’re a prefect too, Ron. Why don’t you take care of it?”

He smiled blithely. “Too busy, ‘a course. Right in the middle of an absolutely ripper chess match with Seamus. If I leave it for too long, then I forfeit. ‘Sides, I’m sure Herms doesn’t mind. She likes helping midgets.”

Behind the door, Harry could just barely see his girlfriend’s face out of the corner of his eye. She looked furious. Her normally pretty face was covered in a scowl and her eye twitched slightly every time Ron Weasley shortened her name. Harry knew that if he didn’t get rid of the red headed moron quickly then Hermione’s patience would very shortly run out and she might finally give into the desire to try out her new canary spell.

“Well, is Herms in there or isn’t she?” he demanded.

“I haven’t seen Herms around here. Maybe check the Library or something. Bye now!” He took a half step back and swiftly closed the door. He had shortened Hermione Jane Granger’s given name... no good could come of this, he was certain. Taking a fortifying deep breath, he turned to his right, fully expecting a verbal tongue lashing, a magical punishment, or both.

Instead, he got a passionate kiss. Hermione was obviously pleased with his actions on her behalf. He made a mental note to include Ron in his payback plans for the mental anguish he had caused Hermione.

“You are a wonderful man,” she breathed after breaking the kiss.

“I have a wonderful woman, so it’s only natural, but there is one thing I just don’t understand.”

“Why you don’t get a bollocking for shortening my name?”

“Uh huh...”

“Simple. You’re my boyfriend and he-” she kissed him again, “-is not.”

“So I can use a nickname for you?”

“Naturally, I prefer my own name to anything else, but with the right person, in other words, only with you, I don’t mind so much.”

“How about ‘Mione?”

Visibly mulling over the term of endearment, she finally declared, “It isn’t awful, but anyone who is NOT Harry James Potter gets a bowel loosening hex for using it or any other nickname. I won’t stand for anyone else doing it aside from you.”

Special thanks to J. N. Fischoff who provided the Goblet of Fire scene that I used as the basis for my own story. Ralph S. who gave me advice and support. Illiad over at Userfriendly from whom I got the ‘Surrounded’ joke.

A/N: Just to be clear. There are some parts that are VERY similar to what was written in GoF. Not word for word, but plot-wise very similar. Jo wrote GoF and this is my take in a similar manner.

XXXXXX

"Ron, I need you to take me to the ball as your partner."

"What? No!" his face aghast. It was his sister asking him, after all.

"All those witches parading themselves in front of Harry... I can't not be there, Ron. I mean, can you imagine them dressed to the nines? There's no way Harry will be able to resist them." Her face was deadly serious.

Unfortunately, she didn't have her brother's full attention. Ron's eyes had glazed slightly as her description had led him to begin contemplating the beautiful Fleur Delacour.

Ginny's imagination was also similarly focused. "I mean, gorgeous periwinkle blue ball gown-" that should have been mine, "-primped and powdered-" with a half dozen bottles of Sleak-easy, "-being held tight-" that SHOULD BE ME, "-gazing into his dreamy, toad green eyes-" MINE! "-while they whisper sweet nothings into each others' ears." Ginny blushed.

Ron was still out of it.

"Ron!"

"What!?" her blurted. The daydream had just started getting good.

"Well, will you take me to the Yule Ball or won't you?"

"What are you, soft in the head? Of course I won’t. There are loads of good-looking girls I could take." Images of Fleur Delacour and that blond in their year with the fantastic baps pranced throughout his mind. "Why on earth would I want to take my little sister?"

"Ron. Think! I'm only a Third Year. I can't go unless one of the upper years invites me. And for your information, I am a good-looking girl!"

“You’re my little sister! Even if you were good-looking, and I’m not saying you are, you don’t count!”

Ginny began a slow burn. “For your information, Ronnie-kins, Neville Longbottom already asked me.”

Ron scoffed at the thought of pudgy little Neville working up the courage to ask Ginny out. So skeptical was he that he did not even bother getting over-protective. “Well then why are you wasting my time if you already got asked by little Nevy-wevy?” He hated being called Ronnie-kins when his older brothers did it, he was not going to let it pass from his younger sister – especially since she was asking him for a favor when she did it.

This seemed to short-circuit Ginny famous temper and her expression softened. “I need to attend the ball so I can keep Harry away from all the harlots…” Her eyes flicked up and she glared at him. “If you repeat what I’m about to say to ANYONE, I will hit you with so many Bat Bogey hexes that you’ll think you’re surrounded.

Sneering lightly and rolling his eyes, he made a continue motion with his hand.

Breathing deeply then letting out a large sigh, she admitted, “I think Neville may fancy me. Eventually Harry and I will be together and so I don’t want to encourage him. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“What about me, then? Don’t I have feelings?” blustered Ron.

Sometimes I wonder… mused Ginny. “I don’t see girls lining up to date you, Ron. I figure at least if you take me, then you’ll have someone to dance with. I’ll even promise I won’t complain when you step all over my feet.” She smirked. “That’s a real plus, unless you’ve miraculously learned how to dance since you had to escort Aunt Muriel over the summer?”

Ron’s ears turned a bright red. He’d been trying to suppress that memory for months and had largely succeeded until she had reminded him just now. Anew the horror had returned in full force. His teeth grit together and the sneer on his lip returned. He stood, turned abruptly on his heel and strode out. “Bugger off. I’ll find someone good-looking to partner with even if it kills me.”

XXXXXX

Hermione leaned back against Harry; his left arm nestled comfortably against her left side and conveniently covered by her robes. Idly, his fingers ran back and forth along the top of her skirt, every so often skimming the top of her sensitive skin.

By no coincidence at all, every so often Hermione had to suck in her breath and marvel at the casual intimacy. She was having a lovely day. She had decided a few days before to try out her new ball gown.

She had shown it to exactly two people: Harry and to Ginny. Hermione had always planned to show it to Harry, but showing it to Ginny had been a last minute decision. She wanted something to de-frizz her hair so she would look nice for Harry, and so she had turned to Ginny for magical beauty product advice. Of course Ginny had insisted on seeing the dress before she would help. After a few minutes of being at a loss for word, Ginny had hugged her very tightly, mumbled something about a product called Sleak-easy and then left in a rush.

Harry had moved his hand to rest comfortably against her stomach, still covered by her robes.

She absolutely loved how warm his hands were. She snuggled back into him and allowed a satisfied grin to form on her face. Harry had reacted well just seeing the dress and since Ginny reacted so strongly, she expected quite a reaction on the night of the ball after she had styled her hair and made herself up properly. She couldn’t wait…

XXXXXX

Back from evening meal, Ginny stepped over the portrait entrance into the common room. Quickly spotting the Golden Trio, she began walking toward them. “Why weren’t you three at dinner?”

“Because — oh enough with the laughter, you children — because Ron has just succeeded in getting rejected by both of the girls he asked to the ball!” Hermione informed her. “We’re trying to help, right Harry?”

The two males of the Trio suddenly found THAT a lot less funny; Ron because he was embarrassed and Harry because he recognized that tone.

“Thanks loads, Hermione.” Ron whined theatrically.

“All the good-looking ones taken, brother dear?” asked Ginny. The smirk was just barely visible on her face, but if you listened, you could hear the gloating smiles.

“A certain underclassman that you described as ‘plain’ must be beginning to look quite fetching to you at this late hour, I should think." There was a bit more acerbity in Hermione’s voice than she had intended; Ron just naturally grated at her like that.

"Well, there has to still be someone shallow and vapid enough to agree to accompany you.” Offered Ginny in a ‘not my problem anymore’ sort of tone. He’d had his chance and that broom had flown.

But Ron couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Ginny. His eyes were wide, as though suddenly truly seeing her for the first time in his young life. The stare was a little unnerving.

“Ginny… Neville might have been onto something. You… you’re a girl…”

“Congratulations. Do you want a trophy?” she almost spat, but deciding spitting was unladylike, and refrained, but only just.

“This is brilliant! If I can’t go with my first or second choices, then I’ll just take you!” He was really warming up to the idea. He ignored the fact that Ginny had broached this very same idea a couple of days before and at the time he had ridiculed her and then turned her down flat.

“No, I won’t!” declared Ginny. If her brother thought she’d take pity on him after the way he’d treated her than he had another thing coming to him.

“Oh come off it, Ginny” Ron wheedled. He was getting bored with the discussion topic already, “I need a partner and anyone below fourth year isn’t even invited unless one of the upper years asks you. In any case, just imagine our family’s loss of face if I’m forced to show up without a partner, I mean, I swear it seems like everyone else has already paired off . . .”

Remembering the ridiculous name draw Ginny had organized to try and set him up with someone; Harry glanced at Hermione and found himself smiling for no particular reason.

Hermione noticed the glance and the accompanying smile. She turned to look at him and smiled her special smile, one for his eyes only.

Harry’s smile increased in size.

“I already said I won’t be going with you,” repeated Ron’s kid sister, now flushing in embarrassment and annoyance, “In case you haven’t figured out the reason, it’s because I’ve already agreed to attend with someone else.”

“Oh, yes you will!” said Ron. “You’re just using the same excuse you used to get rid of Neville! Well, it won’t work on me. I’ll get Mum involved if I have to.”

“You’re accusing me of lying? That’s low, even for you. Oh and then bringing Mum into this, you-you, pathetic flobberworm excuse for a man.” Ground out Ginny, and then her eyes flashed dangerously. “Just because it’s taken you my entire lifetime to notice, Ron, does not mean that nobody else has realized I’m a girl!” Ginny spent a few precious seconds glancing toward Harry, but nothing came of it. He was staring at Hermione and seemed to have a goofy grin on his face.

Ron didn’t notice Harry’s inattention, but continue to stare at Ginny. Finally, he grinned again.

“Okay, alright, I get it. You’re a girl,” he said. “I’ve said it, do you need it in writing or will that do?” he made a mock bow and extended an arm. “Will you hurry up and just agree to come with me already?” Despite the inappropriateness, he still let the sarcasm slip through.

“I’ve already TOLD you! Bloody Hell, I’ve even told you TWICE!” Ginny said very angrily. “I AM GOING TO THE BALL WITH SOMEONE ELSE! Why does that not seem to register with you?” She glanced at Harry and Hermione, their attention back on the Weaslys. “I mean, you two heard me, right?”

Both Harry and Hermione nodded.

Throwing her hands up in disgust, Ginny stormed off toward the girls’ dormitories.

“She’s lying,” said Ron casually as he watched her stomp away. “’Just got to be. I mean, can you imagine someone wanting to take her to ball for real?”

Harry and Hermione just shook their heads in disbelief – not at Ginny but at Ron.

For such a petite girl, she really could make a lot of noise on the castle’s stone floor, Hermione mused.

Harry was of similar thoughts. Hate to be on the other end of that shoe if she was mad at me…

“No, she’s not,” said Hermione in a stage whisper. It was easily loud enough for Harry to hear, but she’d planned for it to be loud enough for Ron to hear as well. Plausible deniability was important. The Marauder’s had stressed that time and time again.

“Then who IS she going with? If you know, you have to tell me!” demanded Ron.

“I’m not telling you, it’s really none of your concern,” answered Hermione. Her voice sounded chill.

“Riiight,” muttered Ron. This entire situation was putting him off his dinner… though come to think of it, he hadn’t actually eaten supper yet. With a sigh at the annoyances in life that generally involved a bratty sister, he turned to Harry. “This is getting stupid. Hey Harry, how about you go with Ginny, and then Hermione and I can just —”

“He can’t,” said Hermione, and she began to blush prettily. “I’m going with Harry. He asked me a bit ago before the two of you mended fences. Remembering the excuse they had come up with in the, in his opinion, likely or, and in her opinion, unlikely, event that she got asked by someone else, and I thought . . . well . . . even though I’m entitled to go, I would have decided not to if I didn’t have an escort.” She looked extremely pleased. “I think we should go and have dinner,” she said, and then she stood up and walked off to the portrait hole. It was wrong, she knew, but she found she liked to at least have the illusion of choice, even if she would always choose Harry.

Ron goggled at Harry as he called out to his departing future dance partner. “I’ll just be a few more minutes!”

“What’s gotten into you?” he demanded. “And when did you decide to take Hermione? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Harry paid Ron little attention. Something far more important had caught his attention, and it was for that reason that he wasn’t currently enjoying Hermione’s company. He had seen Parvati and Lavender entering the common room from the portrait hole. He was looking forward to the ball now, but if Ron couldn’t go, well a good friend doesn’t just leave a friend hung out to dry. The time had come for some drastic action, and since Ron appeared to be cleaning his ears out with his wand, it looked like it fell to him. *Sigh* A hero’s work is never done. He cringed. He hated that saying and then and there resolved to never make use of it again.

“Wait here,” he said to Ron, and he swiftly made his way to Parvati. Utterly cool and completely lacking in self-consciousness (because he already had a date, thank you very much) he asked, “Parvati? Are you going to the ball with anyone?”

Parvati turned to her best friend in all of Hogwarts and immediately fell prey to a fit of the giggles. Harry patiently waited for them to subside, and he was even gentlemanly enough not to roll his eyes. For luck he crossed his fingers in his robe pockets. This was arduous, but he didn’t want his long time friend to miss out on the ball.

“Not at the moment. Why, Granger cancel on you?” Her eyes were alight with interest.

“No, it’s nothing like that. You see, a certain long time friend needs my help - anyway I was wondering if you would be willing to go to the ball with Ron?”

Parvati raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to give Ron an astonished look.

Deliberating it over in her head and then glancing at Lavender for corroboration she finally said, “Yes, all right then.” As soon as she finished saying those words, she began blushing furiously.

“Thanks,” said Harry, in relief. A thought occurred to him. “Lavender, could you go with Neville?”

“Sorry, Harry. She’s already promised to go with Seamus,” volunteered Parvati, and the pair of them giggled harder than ever.

Harry sighed. “Can’t you think of anyone who’d go with Neville?” he said, lowering his voice so that the entire room wouldn’t hear.

“What about Ginny Weasley?” suggested Parvati.

“She said she’s going with someone else. ”

Parvati looked astonished. She was, after all, only a third year.

“Ooooh — do tell?” she asked. Gossip was always fun, except if it was about you and even then, sometimes.

Harry shrugged. “She never said,” he shrugged. “So, any ideas of a partner for Neville?”

“Well…” Parvati began slowly, “I suppose I could try to convince my sister.. .Padma, you know . . . looks just like me but sits at the Ravenclaw table. I can ask her if you want me to.”

“Oh, definitely. If you would, then that would be great,” admitted Harry. “You will let me know just as soon as you find out, won’t you?”

Parvati and Lavender both started giggling and Harry took that to be a yes.

As he hurried back over to tell Ron his good fortune before heading off to catch up with Hermione, he had the distinct feeling that this ball was going to end up a lot more trouble than it was worth. Granted, seeing Hermione in that dress would be worth a great deal, but everyone else was really troublesome. He hoped very much that Padma Patil liked Gryffindor men on the shy side.

A/N: A bit ago, a reviewer expressed disbelief that Ron Weasley, a pureblooded wizard, could possibly know to use the term ‘gosh’ due to it being Muggle in origin. Honestly, I thought it was a little funny; especially if you consider Arthur Weasley’s job and hobbies and that Harry and Hermione are both Muggle raised, it didn’t seem too far of a stretch that Ron might have picked something up by osmosis. Taking it a step further, I wrote this…

XXXXXXXX

*Pop*

Arthur Weasley, head of the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and father of seven, appeared on his front doorstep. The door was unlocked and he stepped through the doorway to exclaim to his family, "Two raids! Two! Perkins and I must have had to modify the memories of a dozen Muggles!" He pulled out a large polka dot handkerchief and began blotting his face vigorously.

"Mundungus again, Dear?" came Molly's voice from the kitchen. She was standing by the stove making sure the pudding was coming along all right.

"Mundungus and Ravenscroft, though I can only prove Ravenscroft's involvement. One of these days, I'll catch Fletcher in the act, mark my words!"

"’A course you will, Dad," Ron idly commented from his chess game with himself. His attention was focused almost solely on his game and he didn't want to stretch his resources too thin. THIS TIME he was determined to win. Somehow, and I'm not exactly sure how, but Ron Weasley always seemed to lose whenever he played against himself. Normally when playing against oneself, you win as often as you lose, but in Ron's case he seemed to lose twice as much. Odd, that.

"Oh, there you are Ronnie! I learned the most wonderful new Muggle word when Perkins and I followed Mundungus into a Muggle Kinema (or Cinema for you Muggles out there). It was dark and there was this great big talking dog!"

"Yeah, that's great Dad, but can you just hurry up and tell me this new word? I'm kinda trying to play a match here and I really think I have a chance this time."

"All right, the word is 'gawrsh'. And from what I can tell, it's used to express surprise, amazement, or pleasure."

"Gawrsh, huh? Sounds kinda silly." He smiled as he pictured Marvin the Mad Muggle using the term, "I'll have to remember that one."

%%%%%%

-Years Later-

"For the 27th time, Ron, it's pronounced 'gosh' and not 'gawrsh'. You sound like a complete moron when you say it wrong."

"Shows what you know, little Miss Know-it-all," he sneered. “I owled my Dad and he agrees with me, he even remembers where he heard it for the first time."

Hermione, who was sitting on Harry's right while Ron sat to his left, just rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, fine. Keep sounding like a moron if that's what you want. Don't come crying to me if people who hear you think you're mentally challenged... well, at least not due to you saying 'gosh' wrong." Hermione quietly went back to working on her essay and playing footsie with Harry.

Harry, who had never seen a cartoon in his life, agreed with Hermione and thanked the stars above that his girlfriend could multitask and that his girlfriend was even kinkier than her hair.

Ron pushed his untouched parchment back and slid out the tiny travel chess set Harry had given him for his birthday. He was always fascinated by the little Magi-nets that Harry had said kept the pieces on the board even when you held it upside down. Of course, since it was a Muggle set, the pieces didn't move, but it was much easier to sneak into the library than his older and louder wizard set. Today was the day. Today, he was determined to finally win against himself!

Working Title: A Platinum Duo

A/N: Credit where credit is due. Was inspired to write this scene after I read ForcedInduction’s Nocturnal. Excellent story. Eagerly awaiting more chapters of the sequel. This note was added before I uploaded this to PK – Starwberry_nerd can’t access FF.net so this one’s for our favorite Katdemon.

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Ron was screaming in just the same hysterical way that he normally screamed when a garden spider perched itself on his leg. He screamed and screamed and screamed until finally, Harry began to wonder if he would pass out due to lack of oxygen.

Now, it is a relatively little known fact that magicals, as opposed to mundanes, are more damage resistant. That isn't to say that they are bullet proof or any other such nonsense, but as the case of Neville Longbottom proves, being thrown headfirst from an upper floor window is not necessarily life threatening. Consequently, magicals have a difficult time understanding certain rules that most mundanes take as a matter of course.

Seatbelts, for instance, are considered a necessity for every person riding in the car in the United States, while in other parts of the world; only the driver using a seatbelt is the norm.

Harry, being mundane raised immediately fastened his seat belt upon entering the Ford Anglia, but Ron, in a fit of 'I'm Magical, So Why Would I Need This Silly Muggle Belt' decided to forgo it. The fact that he didn't quite understand how to work the buckle probably played no factor in his decision at all.

Ron's many screams came so quickly that Harry could have sworn they were really just one long scream. Not that Harry blamed him all that much, because, lest we forget, they did appear to be on a collision course with the Whomping Willow. And really, aside from the slight headache his screams were causing, it was relatively less irksome than the sound of chainsaws and tortured cats that Ron routinely assailed the dormitory with during the school year.

The car; however, seemed to have had enough. It bucked and jolted in midflight and the doors flew open and Ron did a fantastic dive headfirst toward the swaying tree. Harry stayed firm in his seat, his seatbelt kept him following Ron's example. Out of reflexes Harry didn't even know he had, he reached over, grasped the wheel and yanked it hard. The Anglia protested at first and refused to deviate from its seemingly inevitable collision, but Harry yanked harder and the car swerved slightly.

It is said that 'a miss is as good as a mile' and in this case, that proved true. The very slight course correction changed the car's course just enough to avoid crashing into the tree. An added benefit of the departure of Ron was that his foot was no longer depressing the accelerator. The car began to slow as the engine started to spin down. The high strung Anglia loosened its vice-like grip on its steering system (Ron had a habit of holding the wheel loosely at 8 and 4 and the car had gotten a little motion sick). Harry was able to circle around in midair with a large loop and as the car came in for a perfect landing, it blew greeting as loud as it could with its horn.

The entirety of the school came rushing out with the professors in the lead, only to catch the tail end of his landing and gape at the sight of an apparently muggle vehicle parked on the back lawn of Hogwarts. Everyone was too stunned to speak until a young second year with bushy, brown hair pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd. She rushed toward the car and flung open the partially open door and began checking the still strapped in boy who was just sitting there breathing heavily as the adrenalin cleared itself from his body.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen were staring at him. The second thing he noticed was that he was no longer flying through the air. Then what he had noticed first decided he should focus his attention toward her again and hugged him and sniffed a little as she began to realize how close she had come to losing one of the most important people in her world again. She had his complete attention as he endeavored to hug her back.

%%%%%%

"Now Severus, I'm sure Mr. Potter only went with Mr. Weasley to keep him out of trouble. Isn't that right Mr. Potter?"

Harry gave a shaky nod.

The sarcasm oozed off of Professor Snape like slime off of a slug. "Oh, yes. And he did such a splendid job of it too."

Either he ignored the sarcasm or he failed to notice it, but Dumbledore seemed to take the statement at face value. "You thought so too? I think 50 points to Gryffindor should suffice."

Snape would have protested, but his cheeks were too red and he was too angry to make his voice work properly. McGonagall just smiled and led a still shaky but unharmed Mister Potter to the castle and ultimately to the Hospital Wing. Hermione had an arm wrapped around her best friend and steadied him as he walked. The third member of the trio was temporarily forgotten amid the muggleborn cheers and the polite clapping of most of the purebloods.

Among the purebloods, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis were clapping politely and watching Harry and Hermione very closely. They shared a glance and a nod and then disappeared back into the castle. They had a new project to work on. A scowling Draco Malfoy followed into the school soon after.

In the houses of the quick-witted and loyal, Susan Bones and her best friend Hannah Abbot noticed a blonde first year clapping enthusiastically and whistling as Harry and Hermione walked past. Her enthusiasm was infectious and the two walked up beside her and began to do the same.

The blond girl's interaction with the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was not lost on Cho Chang. This changed things a bit. She resolved to adopt a wait and see approach. Marietta may have picked the perfect student to torment a little, but if she had friends like that, then it just wasn't worth the risk. She had her sights on the prefectship after all.

Parvati and Padma Patil were some of the last students to leave the scene of the perfect landing. They were conversing in the language of their parents and though no one else in school could understand all that they said, it quickly became apparent what the primary topic was due to the numerous times the word 'Potter' came up.

Finally, Ginny Weasley and Argus Filch were the last two people on the back lawn. Ginny tugged softly on Mr. Filch's grimy clothes to get his attention. "Sir, I don't see my brother Ron."

At the mention of his name, a groan came from a pile of grass clippings and small twigs. It was Ron! The Anglia, fearing for its life made a dash for the forest before anyone could react. Filch went looking for a professor to levitate the unconscious boy to the Hospital Wing.

Ginny, unsure of what to do, crept closer to get a better look.

*snap*

Wondering why that twig was so much louder than any other, Ginny glanced down and gasped. That’s a wand! Actually, that kind of looks like Ron’s wand... RON’S WAND! OH NO!

Ginny decided to make herself scarce.

When Professor Vector arrived, she noticed the snapped wand and pocketed it while levitating the unconscious boy ahead of her as she made her way back to the castle and the waiting hospital wing.

%%%%%%

Omake:

Harry: Healer Woodcock, will he be all right?

Healer: I'm truly sorry, Mr. Potter. Our tests show significant mental retardation. He seems to only be able to focus on Food, Quidditch and Chess. For a second year student, he seems to only retain partial knowledge of first year spells, and even then his recall is sorely lacking.

Harry: Oh good, for a second I was worried he had been hurt.

Barriers

By Xelan

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Succinct explanation of my views: Hated Jo's ending, my Hermione's middle name is Jane, dislike several Weasleys, and Harry and Hermione are fated in my opinion.

A/N: Wow, I’m tired. Work is taking a lot out of me at the moment. It happens this time every year. I suppose it is somewhat worse this time around, but Good News Everybody! Starwberry_nerd, who is a wonderful Harmony author, has written the wedding scenes for Good News and Balancing Debts. This is especially good news because I was probably never going to write them myself due to my inability to do them justice. After consultation and with my blessing, she has written and posted them under her profile. If you liked my stories, then you should head over and give The W Files a read.

XXXXXXXXX

He stood at the foot of the steps. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron both stood behind him, back near the doorway. It was dark and from where he stood, he could see the edge of the forest. Now was the time.

Harry looked pointedly up over his shoulder and saw that this was probably the best location he could hope for. Here, the bastions and curtain wall gave him the opportunity to wall off the stairs so he could not be followed. Certainly, they could re-enter the castle, run to another exit and then give chase, but by then he would have disappeared into the inky darkness of the forest.

It was a plan. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good plan, but that was to be expected; Hermione hadn't come up with it - he had.

Harry cast his spell, turned back a moment to imprint her face into his memory and then began to briskly walk off to face his destiny.

%%%%%%%

All three dashed to the foot of the stairs. They all called after him. They still didn't have a plan yet and they were confused as to why he was walking away from them.

Harry ignored them all, until finally Ginny said something that caused him to stop.

"I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were fighting him."

Silence. Harry said nothing but at least he wasn’t moving away.

Ginny gulped before continuing, "Just finish this. Finish it and come back to me."

Now Harry turned back to face them and spoke. "I'm not coming back... "

This was not what Ginny expected. Wasn't he a hero? No, he wasn't JUST a hero-he was HER hero. This wasn't right. "Harry. You'll beat him. I know you'll win. Don't give up!"

Harry's mouth tightened at that last remark. "Give up? Give up! He's an immortal, dark psychopath. He's got more magic in his little finger than most people have in their entire body. He's killed dozens, if not thousands of people, and he’s a fully trained wizard. Why the hell should I want to give up? He bit out in a rough voice, suffused with barely contained emotion.

Ginny's jaw wobbled and tears filled her eyes. "You can beat him, Harry. I know you can. Do it for me. Do it for-"

But he didn't let her finish. "I'm not doing this for you." His gaze shifted noticeably away from her. His eyes focused on a figure standing a few steps behind Ginny.

There, with concern etched on her face, stood Hermione Granger. Dirty, disheveled, and so very tired but steadfast and resolute - both hands clenched tightly in front of her, her wand gripped tightly. Ron Weasley stood beside her and had an arm wrapped possessively around her shoulder.

Ron's face was grim and darkness ringed his eyes. "I reckon this is something you need to do on your own." There was an edge to his words. He wanted Harry to understand... to realize that he and the rest of the Trio had come this far but would go no further - it was all up to Harry now.

The only one who hadn't spoken was Hermione. She had locked eyes with the last scion of house Potter and felt ashamed. After everything they had been through, after all they had done for one another; this was how it was to end? Ron's words and their meaning had not been lost on her. In one deliberate motion, she slipped free from Ron's arm and briskly moved forward to stand beside Ginny. She never broke eye contact with Harry, nor did she want to.

Ginny tried again. "No, Harry!" and she stepped forward to embrace her hero...

But she ran into an invisible wall. She pushed against it; strained trying to move forward, but the invisible barrier was as unyielding as stone. She moved her hands all over, probing for a weak spot and when she found none, she lifted her wand and cast curses and hexes, trying to breach the wall. Each spell that shot out of her wand failed and so she continued to try more and more powerful and destructive magic.

Ron stepped up beside his sister. He had an ironic smile on his face as he reached forward and tapped the barrier with his knuckles. "Cute. Like the spell Snape used to seal the tower off. Should a' known you'd protect my sister. 'Least the Greasy Git's memories were good for somethin'."

Hermione turned to Ron, her visage dark, her tone full of venom, "You. Know. Nothing!" She turned to Harry and instantly her features softened. "Harry, we're NOT letting you do this alone. Let us through... please."

Harry's expression remained firm and unchanging; he betrayed no shock or any other emotion as Ron snorted at Hermione's words. He obviously didn't want to go any further than this. Nor did the minuscule shake of Ginny’s head escape his notice. To Ginny and Ron, Voldemort was worse than the boogey man – Voldemort was real and from birth she had been taught to fear the Dark Lord and revere the Boy-Who-Lived that had defeated him. Facing him herself, even by Harry’s side, was just too much to ask.

Only Hermione’s resolve was unwavering. Coming up to the barrier, her left hand flat against the unseen wall, her right fist pounding against unyielding nothing and her voice imploring him to talk to her, trying to get him to react.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened there was deep sadness in his eyes. Emotion filled his voice as he spoke to her alone. "It's no use, Hermione. Surprisingly, Ron's two for two tonight. I've got to face him. You know the prophecy,” he paused for a moment as if gathering strength. “It's my destiny,” he almost spat.

Slowly shaking her head in horror as she denied the injustice of what he was saying; Harry’s eyes that were already filled with sadness that clutched at her heart were now filled with pain. “Anyway, you've chosen. I thought... after the tent-but, no..." He took a calming breath and shut his eyes for another brief moment. When he opened his eyes, all emotion had drained from his face. "That spell was one of Snape's, and it's completely intent based. There are only two ways through it. One way is to be more powerful than the caster. Barring that, the only other way is to have no doubts about wanting to go through while having nothing you value left behind. Basically, you either brute force your way through or you would have to forsake everything to pass through with no regrets."

Harry turned to leave.

Hermione, her resolve strengthening with each breath she took, gritted her teeth and pushed forward against the barrier with everything she had. She channeled her hopes (A bucktoothed girl with frizzy brown hair made friends with a dark haired boy on a train after she fixed his glasses), her dreams (After waiting for weeks for her best friend to ask her to the Yule Ball, she finally agreed to accompany Viktor Krum; having stalled for three days by asking for time to think it over. Was it so bad that she had wanted to dance?), her desires (She resolved that if this was to be her last year as a student, then it would be a normal one. And, by Merlin, she WOULD have a boyfriend this year, even if it wasn't Har-err-her first choice. At least this one she had a chance with. He was a real fixer upper, so it couldn't be too hard, right?), her love (And when she had been tired, depressed and so alone after they had been deserted in the tent, Harry had been there for her. He cooked for her, he took care of her, and he was there for her. He had opened his heart and she had given herself to him. Her first time with anyone), her frustration (The memory was so hazy, frustratingly difficult to remember. Ron had opened the Chamber of-wait... Ron? It had been Ginny. Hadn't it? Her head began to pound), and her fears (Harry's deathly sad eyes as he turned away from them - from her); the wall began to bend.

Ginny seeing that Hermione was making progress tried to shoulder her aside and make it to her hero. But Hermione might as well have been made of stone. Despite not seeing how, she was swatted away and tumbled back a dozen meters away.

Hermione was singularly focused, but a red-arsed fly buzzed in her peripheral vision - she brushed it away with only a thought. Harry had taken one-no-two steps away from her. Unacceptable. She somehow pushed harder. The wall stretched further - her fingers digging into the magical barrier as if it were thin plastic.

Ron, seeing what had happened when Gin had tried to push Herms aside, rubbed a couple of brain cells together and eventually decided on a different tack. He strode up to her to grab her arm and say, "Come on Hermione. Harry has to do this alone. You'll just be in the way." But he never got that far. The instant his hand touched the fabric of her top, he was smashed back. Despite never having played, seen, or even heard of golf before, the sensation he felt as he was knocked back to land spread eagle on the ground was most similar to that of a golf ball being driven by a wooden driver. His entire chest and mid-section was all one great big bruise.

The wall should be buckling soon. It would buckle. It HAD to buckle. Another insignificant bug fluttered in her periphery. She didn't have time to be distracted - she swatted at it. Four steps, now five. Ugh... soon he'll be out of sight. “NO. Not going to happen,” she growled to herself.

Deep breath..."HARRY!" she yelled one final time.

He stopped. The desperation and force in her voice resonated with something deep inside him. He turned to glance back over his shoulder. His eyes bulged as he took in the sight. She had stretched the barrier's magic out the length of her body. It looked seconds away from ripping asunder, and Hermione didn't look like she was about to quit anytime soon.

*FWOOSH*

The barrier parted not with a bang but with a whimper. What had been a nigh immovable object suddenly parted and allowed her passage through. Nearly tripping over her own feet as the resistance suddenly ceased, she found herself being supported by Harry's strong arms. "I'm going with you," she declared.

Looking ready to protest, Harry saw the determined look in her eyes. "What about..."

"-I'M going with YOU" she interrupted.

Harry knew from long experience that she would brook no argument.

Ron had crawled to the once more seamless barrier. His scrabbling fingers tried to find purchase to lever himself up, but his fingers merely grasped at solid, slick nothing. "Herms!" he shouted after her retreating form.

Hermione didn't answer.

Ginny, being far less injured than Ron, loudly called Harry's name from a safe distance.

Harry didn't answer.

Harry and Hermione disappeared together into the forbidden forest.

%%%%%%%%

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered to her. Disbelief tinged his voice. This absolutely CANNOT mean what I think it means. Things like this just don’t happen to me. There must be some other explanation...

"I'm where I’m supposed to be," she whispered back. Huh... That was easier than I expected, and not even a shred of regret.

"No, I mean it's impossible for any of you to have gotten through that barrier. My magic's stronger and you left Ron behind. You shouldn't be able to be here." I don’t deserve to be happy. There must be something I’m not seeing.

She glanced at him sideways. "So why am I here, then?" Her cheek twitched slightly as she bit it to keep a straight face. Harry looks so adorable all confused and uncertain; much better than heartbroken and depressed.

Harry scratched his head. "I don't know," he admitted. But I wish you’d tell me.

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. "You don't know?"

He shook his head. "No, do you?"

She shrugged. "Well, if everything was as you explained it and since I know I’m not more powerful than you, then I can only conclude that nothing that was back on the other side of the barrier was more important to me than what was on this side of the barrier."

"Oh..."

His eyes still looked confused.

“Oh!”

Sounds like he’s figured it out, Hermione mused. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?" She held out a hand.

"I think so." He reached out to grab her hand.

"Good."

They scanned the forest for enemies before resuming their advance.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"When this is all over..."

"Yeah?"

"Will you..."

He smiled at her. He had an idea what she was trying to ask. "Anything, just you name it."

She smiled back at him. "Will you take me dancing?"

This stopped Harry in his tracks and he abruptly turned to stare at her smiling, hopeful, and simultaneously naughty face.

Smiling at the absurdity of the conversation in the face of nearly certain death, he decided that two could play at that game. "All right, when this is all over, you and I will have the first dance at our wedding." His face broke into a wide grin. "Will that suit you?"

Hermione leaned over and kissed him. "That suits me just fine."

XXXXXXXXX

Please leave a review. It really helps with the creative process.

End Notes: Special thanks to Ralph and all the wonderful people at Seel’vor’s Yahoo group. This story would be much worse without their help.

“You look like you’re just about ready to spit nails,” he whispered into her ear.

Predictably, the lady being whispered to jerked slightly as she became aware of his presence. “Daniel Granger!” she bit out tersely. “What have I told you about sneaking about like that?”

The man identified as Daniel Granger stepped around to stand by her. He had a cheeky smile on his face. “Oh, I dunno... Something about not doing it anymore? I didn’t pay that much attention at the time, since I don’t intend to stop.” He started to move to give her a light peck on the cheek.

Emma saw the movement for what it was and gave him such a glare of utter disdain that she froze him in mid-motion. He was utterly motionless but his eyes were watching her intently. Seeing that he was still frozen several moments later, she cleared her throat and mentioned in a casual tone, “You’re doing it wrong.”

Daniel’s brow raised at that pronouncement. Not needing to be told a second time, he unfroze, rushed forward, swept her up and into his arms and thoroughly kissed her.

She reciprocated in kind and they were together like that for several minutes.

After several minutes had passed, the two were once more standing together in their living room. He was deftly massaging her shoulders and she was trying to look stern and mildly menacing. She wasn’t succeeding very well. Daniel’s hands just felt so wonderful and it was all she could do to try and at least appear disapproving of it.

“Why do you always do that when I’m trying to be stern and mildly menacing?” she groaned out as he was launching a two pronged assault on her back. It was amazing to her that he could target the juncture where her neck met her shoulder and the small of her back at the same time all the while keeping her intimately pressed against him.

He kissed her neck lovingly and answered, “Because that’s not who you are – not really.”

"Card carrying man hater, remember? I will rake any boy over hot coals if he even thinks of mucking about with MY daughter."

“Ah... So that’s what this is about.” He murmured as he finished his impromptu massage and moved his hands teasingly lower.

“Of course it is. We’re a progressive household. I can be just as threatening as any father. Besides, Hermione has you twisted around her little finger. There’s no way you’d deny her anything or, for that matter, anyone. Men are devious, conniving and absolutely cannot be trusted - even the not yet grown up ones.” Emma mildly ranted.

Daniel Granger wrapped his arms around his wife. "And yet you married me."

The fierce expression on Emma Granger's face softened. "I know you love me, so it's not really a fair comparison,” she contradicted. “That you survived the hell I put you through during the years I spent recovering from what that Bastard did to me before he finally went to prison leaves no doubt in my mind about that. "

"You know that isn't a very good reason to marry someone. That I stayed with you through everything could just mean that I'm a stubborn idiot,” said Daniel as he nuzzled behind her ear.

"True, but I have a good sense for people." She nuzzled right back.

"..."

Daniel wasn’t moving.

"-The Bastard notwithstanding," she hastily amended.

Normal service resumed. "All right. I'll grant you that. That you married me couldn't have anything to do with you feeling the same way I feel about you, could it?

"Pfft. Marrying you was the least I could do." She blushed. "In any case, he is exactly the reason why all men should be locked up!"

"I'd hope you would come and visit me on those cold and lonely nights."

She rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you, when I start ranting about men, I don't normally mean to include you - except when you forget to put the seat down."

"Cheers to the former and, as always, I'll try to remember the latter."

Sighing a little louder than necessary, Emma Granger tilted her head back to lean against her husband's shoulder. Her hands went lower to cover the hand that was gently stroking her stomach through her blouse and hold it in place. "Your hands are so warm..."

"Uh huh. Other parts of me are just as warm or warmer."

"Yes, I know. That's why I let you share my bed."

"Oh, is that why?"

"Absolutely. You're a sight cheaper than one of those electric heating pads. Plus, I don't have to worry about unplugging you or worry about you causing a fire."

"Ah, you're referring to my function as a foot warmer..."

"Of course. What other use are you?"

Daniel's hand slipped lower and started to rub once again.

Emma began to purr.

"Do I need to demonstrate further?" He asked.

Despite facing the wrong direction, she could easily imagine the satisfied look on her husband's face simply by hearing it in his tone. "Not fair; you marry a man and raise just one daughter together and the man starts to think he can take liberties.”

"So that's a no, then?"

"I didn't say that." She slipped from his grasp but held onto one hand. She began to pull him toward their bedroom. "After careful consideration - yes. I think additional demonstrations are in order, but not here. I think this calls for a change in venue."

"Yes, Dear."

She stopped in mid-step and remarked, "We've discussed this before."

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Emma dear."

"Better," she declared and then resumed her hurried pace.

As they made their way quickly up the stairs, she slowed briefly and turned to her husband. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” Her eyes glinted and a smirk covered her face. “You’re trying to soften me up before Hermione brings her friend home. Well, let me tell you right now -it won’t work.”

Daniel had a completely smitten look on his face as he gazed at his wife. He loved the contrasts of this woman: firm and unyielding outside, but tender, kinky and highly sexual on the inside. Highly intelligent and possessing of an iron will in most things, but when it came to him, their daughter, or the exploited or abused, then she was kind and gentle. She had even consented to marry him without too much fuss despite swearing off men completely after the incident with The Bastard. “Do you have any idea what you do to me when you look at me with those glinting eyes and that know-it-all tone?” he was beginning to breathe heavily his eyes were starting to look a bit predatory.

Feeling a shiver run through her spine, she leaned in close. “You better believe I do,” she challenged.

Reaching his breaking point, Daniel scooped her up and in his arms in a bridal carry and resumed his dash up the stairs.

Squirming about in his grip, her dislike of heights that her daughter had also inherited quickly came to the fore, “You-you, MAN!” she yelled in an exasperated tone, all the while trying to clutch to his neck.

Daniel halted in front of their bedroom. He was just about to kick the door open with his foot. “As I would never force myself on you, I think I should ask if you want me to stop...” He breathed deeply.

Emma, with her arms wrapped around his neck, with her hair a mess, with her blouse missing several buttons and showing wonderful cleavage encased in satiny red, and with her skirt hiked up revealing her equally red and damp knickers, gave a sigh. This is the price I pay for falling in love with a man who desires AND respects me. Pulling herself closer to him to stare him in the eyes, “Just shut up and fuck me. They’ll be here soon and I’ll need time to get ready again.”

And he did.

%%%%%%%%%%

Standing in the kitchen doorway, a wide-eyed Harry leaned back into the kitchen proper. His mouth wasn’t gaping, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why not. His lips formed a small ‘O’ and he felt flushed. The sight he had seen in the living room and on the stairwell was, to be quite honest, one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

Sirius just sat at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and chuckling at the poor gob smacked teen. “I hope you took some good notes, Harry!”

Harry sucked in a breath and turned to his girlfriend. “Hermione,” Harry hesitantly asked. “Should I have been taking notes?”*

Hermione, who shared many amazing qualities with her mum: a fear of heights, a dislike of men not named Harry Potter or Daniel Granger (but in a different way), a kinky streak, and a curious lack of gag reflex, turned to her boyfriend and raised an eyebrow.

Harry looked down at Hermione’s note filled spiral bound notebook complete with illustrations and her ballpoint pen. “Shall I assume that you’ll be sharing your notes.”

“Actually, I was thinking we should get some hands one experience. Just copying MY notes wouldn’t help you learn the material. Only through constant practice and repetition can you truly master a subject.”

Harry spoke in stunned amazement. “Repetition...”

“Constant.” Hermione assured her boyfriend with a smile.

Sirius chuckled again but more loudly. “Harry, do try not to forget the charm I taught you.”

“Bye, Sirius,” the two teens both chorused.

A sigh escaped Sirius’ mouth. “Just as soon as I finish my sandwich and make my introductions to Hermione’s parents.” He smirked at the couple who were investigating each others’ tonsils. “Do try not to rip each others clothes off until I can get away.”

XXXXXXXXXX

*Thanks Mike (MoA)

Omake:

"Hermione," Harry asked. "Should I be taking notes?"

By Mike (MoA) Fairbanks

A loud boom echoed through the open air. The sounds of pillaging and plundering ceased and all eyes turned toward the crew manning the canons. They had already captured the mansion, the canons should be silent.

First Mate Black took a swig of grog and cursed mightily, comparing the canon mates to the goats that Aberforth was so found of and promising that moldy bread and stale coffee was in their future if they didn't shape up and shoot right.

The canon mates looked down at the First Mate, then Captain Potter, and then Miss Johnson. Each time, they held up their hands palms up and shook their heads. They hadn't made that shot.

Another loud shot filled the air and scant seconds later part of Rookwood's roof disappeared in a hail of wood and shingles.

Rookwood, who had been cowering under an overturned couch peaked his head out to see a young man in an odd red coat with gold trim. His glossy high buckled black boots shown in the sunlight along with his gleaming saber and dirk. The pirate captain's hat atop his head completed the look and Rookwood couldn't help but gulp as he took in how pointy the saber looked while pointed at his throat. But the man's attention wasn't focused on him.

From beyond the tree line behind the estate, a mast could be seen among bending trees moving relentlessly forward. It flew the Union Jack from its main-mast.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He shouted to his crew. "Hurry up, ya' scurvy sea dogs!"

As the bow slipped out from between the trees, the flag shimmered for a moment and then was replaced by the predominantly red of the privateer. Just before the ship completely cleared the tree line, a second flag could be seen from Mizzen-mast ­­­-- solid black with a witch holding a book in one hand and cutlass in the other.

Harry kicked Rookwood in the mouth, sheathed his blade and then neatly turned on one heel to begin stomping back to his ship. "Clear out, you bilge rats. We've got company!"

Still in pain and missing a few teeth, Rookwood came to his shaky feet. His mansion was in ruins, the pirates had demolished the entire front of his home and the other ship had taken off half the roof--"

*BOOM!!*

*CRASH!!*

*SPLINTER!!*

Rookwood dove underneath his couch once more as the rest of his roof came crashing down. There he stayed until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Commodore Granger at your service," said a pleasant but forceful voice.

He looked up in surprise. She was resplendent in her blue, white and gold - and the bicorn hat completed the ensemble. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter's gone rogue. He's cut a swatch of destroyed mansions and plundered estates all across Magical Britain."

"No, I mean, what are YOU doing here!? This is a job for the Aurors!"

"No need for Aurors. They'd spoil my chances." Hermione said simply. She reached slowly into her uniform coat and withdrew a sheaf of parchment. "Letters of Marque signed by Fudge himself." After giving the prone man a few moments to read the documents, she replaced them in her coat.

"All right. So you're in charge of capturing Potter. I understand that. But why specifically YOU?"

Commodore Granger smiled a perfectly white, straight, toothy grin. "Because in all the world, I know Harry Potter best. And when I find him, I'll tie him down," to my bed, "torture him," with silk scarves and gentle caresses, "and teach him the true nature of his folly," by bedding him until he wilts. "He shall know my wrath," for playing pirate without me. "By the end, he will scream my name begging for mercy," and release!

Rookwood couldn't help by smile at the image the mudblood painted. That sort of goal he could stand behind. The effect was ruined by the two missing front teeth. "Allow me to aid you in your quest," he declared with a lisp. Painfully, he went to his dresser, mercifully spared the fates of his paintings, bookshelves and wall safe. If Commodore Granger hadn't arrived, then he felt sure the pirates would have left him completely penniless.

Limping painfully back to the muggleborn privateer, he stood before her, opened his money sack and counted out a handful of coins to hand to her to aid her fight against the dread pirate Potter.

But Hermione was quicker. Before Rookwood could hand her the galleons, she had relieved him of his money bag and was already tying it to her waist. Gob smacked and still holding the four galleons, Rookwod could only gape as Hermione thanked him for his contribution and walked off with the full, weighty bag of gold jingling against her white breeches.

Recovering his ability to speak, Rookwood began to yell about the damage to his house. From what he could see, none of her shots had damaged Potter's vessel in the least but had instead removed HIS roof.

Just stepping onto her deck, she called back, "Sorry about that. Our gunner's mate is still getting the hang of black powder. Isn't that right Miss Lovegood?"

"Aye Captain!" chirped Luna. Smiling wildly, her face smudged with power, she gave a smart little salute with the ramrod, which was already blackened from spent powder. Her long blond hair was pulled back by a pirate bandanna and her Butterbeer cork necklace seemed right in place around her neck.

Motioning for her first mate, Miss Bones, to make ready to sail, she yelled to her crew. "We'll catch that scallywag yet. Mark my words."

The crew on deck composed of Hannah Abbot, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and the Patil Twins answered in unison. "Aye Aye Captain!"

*SWISH*

*SWISH*

*SWISH*

Hermione's chest felt cold. Not again...

Eyes closed and biting her lip, she glanced downward. Her white blouse was hanging open... again. He’d ruined another shirt and another bra. Fortunately her crew was all female and the only male immediately around was Harry. Not like he hasn’t see it before a couple hundred times.

*sigh*

She looked up to find Harry had escaped back to his own ship.

Her eye twitched for a moment as she glanced into the distance and spotted another ship closing in on them. Aurors. Damn them to Davy Jones!

She fell to her knees in frustration. “WHAT’S A WITCH GOTTA DO TO GET SOME ALONE TIME WITH HER MAN!?”

The Deal

A/N: This is unusually grim coming from me. So grim in fact that I raised the rating just for this. Anyway, I recall hearing that Ron Weasley's birthday had recently passed. I wanted to do something special for the event; however, I was delayed a bit. Word of warning, grim things ahead, I'm a devote Harmonian...

You’ve been warned…

XXXXXXXXXXX

“You killed Hermione.” It was a statement. Admittedly, a simple statement but with repercussions that were anything but simple.

“She was askin’ for it, mate. Her fault, really…”

“SHUT. UP.” He applied the electrode to the bastard’s nutsack.

“ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He stopped electrocuting the bastard as the smell of burned hair and charred flesh started to become noticeable. “Now, you were saying something?”

“Haa-hah-Harry…” he panted. “You’ve got to believe me. She was leading me on. She’d been leading me on for months—maybe Years! Always flirting with me, always helping me with assignments and always hanging around me. She was a manipulative little bitch. Can you really blame me that I didn’t take it well when she said no?”

Harry poured more water over the restrained body and began affixing alligator clips to various parts of the last living Weasley. “She wasn’t flirting, she was arguing; she helped you because I asked her to, not because she wanted to; and she wasn’t hanging around you, she was hanging around me and you just happened to be there.”

Ron didn’t know what to say.

A voice carried over from the newly opened door. “Be sure to shower or at least cast an appropriate cleaning charm after you’re done with the bastard. I don’t want the smell of charred flesh and burned hair to spoil our dinner.”

“Yes, Dear.” Harry called out after he smiled at his wife. He was so blessed to have her back. He was also equally lucky that the terms of the agreement he’d made had precluded her from taking her own revenge. His smile turned wicked as he thought, So much the better.

Ron’s jaw dropped as the voice registered. “Bu-b-but… I killed her. I know I killed her. How can she BE HERE!?” He spared a glance at the retreating figure. His eyes widened fully at the sight and a whimper could be heard escaping the gaping maw that is his mouth.

Harry leaned forward and pulled the bastard’s face closer by the hair. “I got her back.”

Ron was breathing heavily “But she was dead! DEAD!” the redhead argued and tried to thrash despite the shackles and straps.

Harry slammed Ron’s head backward against the metal frame of the chair resulting in a dull metallic clunk sound. “Death was willing to deal with me.” He almost spat on the young man he had once considered his friend.

Eyes shut tightly in pain; he managed to croak out, “A deal… I-I don’t understand.”

Unconcerned with Ron’s confusion, Harry brought the generator to full power. “It’s no longer your concern.”

The whirr of the machine was ominous as it filled Ron’s ears and he could see equipment sparking madly. In desperation he began to plead, “Harry… Harry. Come on, mate. This is a joke, right? Tell me it’s a joke and we’ll have a good laugh down at the pub. No hard feelings, right? Forgive and forget and all that. She’s alive so no harm done.”

Harry’s green eyes were like ice. “No harm done?” he asked coldly.

“It’s me, Harry. It’s Ron, your best mate. You don’t need to do this!”

Harry placed his hand on conspicuous looking lever and closed his eyes. “Actually, I do. There’s one final payment to be made.”

*click*

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End

A/N: I own nothing you recognize. My Hermione’s middle name is Jane. Anyway, I wanted to write something a bit darker and more emotional.

Setting: I envision this happening in St. Mungos around the Canon time period toward the end of fifth year. Let's suppose Ron summoned some living brains and it latched on tight. That's why he's unconscious. Unsure whether there was a battle in the Ministry or whether this was just a field trip to the Dept. of Mysterious or something equally mundane. This is during visiting hours.

XXXXXXXX

As Harry’s breathing grew deep and even, Hermione slowed her stroking of her best friend’s brow. He looked so peaceful in sleep – she didn’t want to spoil his rest so she quietly cast a silencing charm around him. There was something she needed to get off of her chest and it wasn’t anything Harry needed to know.

After the spells were in place to warn her of anyone approaching the room or anyone trying to eavesdrop, she addressed the figure lying on the bed. “According to your chart, you’ve been heavily sedated and you’re not expected to wake for several hours yet.” Hermione leaned back and stretched out her neck –her long hair gently brushing against her delicate skin as it settled. “You, laying there unconscious and insensate presents an unprecedented opportunity to me.”

“I never thought I could feel like this about anybody. Harry doesn’t know. I’ve tried very, very hard to hide it from him. In fact, it’s really the only secret I’ve kept from him.”

“Though I don’t think I could ever admit this to your face... well, at least not unless numerous other very specific events had already occurred.” She cleared her throat and began again. “You see, Ron, the truth is...” She closed her eyes as she prepared to make her confession.

“I-hate-you,” she said in a rush. Pausing for a moment, she let out a little breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding.

“My god, that feels liberating to say,” Hermione mused aloud.

“I know that people bandy about the word ‘hate’ a lot these days, but I’m not exaggerating when I say that I HATE you. Honestly, I truly and thoroughly hate you. Just thinking about you causes periods of black, blinding rage that I have to carefully hide. The hatred I have for you is a passionate, nearly all consuming fire, burning through me.” She let her head drop back as far as it would go. Her hand came up and began to massage her forehead for a few moments before resuming her discourse.

“If you were able, then I’m sure you’d be wondering how I can be sure that this pure, absolute hatred I feel for you is what I think it is. Well, all I can say is that I AM sure – absolutely... positively... and completely sure. Not a doubt exists in my mind about that.” Her eyes had taken on a steely look, the normally milk chocolate colored eyes now seemed more like flint.

Now if someone was listening, then that listener would surely agree that Hermione had adopted a more philosophical tone – still self assured but not as harsh. “I suppose, if I hadn’t experienced real love, then I might have conceivably mistaken this pure hatred I have for you for something else – perhaps something equally as pure. Maybe I might have even confused hate for love, but lucky for me, I’ve been fortunate.” She looked down at her exhausted young man leaning against her. She brushed back his unruly dark locks from his forehead, then leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss directly over his old scar, hoping to keep the bad dreams away. Again, an observer would note she seemed calmed by the gesture – possibly from long practice and possibly for some other reason.

Turning her gaze back towards Ron, a frown settled on her face. “Now, if you could hear me, then you’d also probably be wondering why exactly is it that I hate you oh-so-very-much? The answer may or may not surprise you.” She conjured a drinking glass on the bedside table and filled it with water from the nearby pitcher and took a short drink.

Throat no longer parched, she continued. “You’ve hurt me. Sometimes, I actually wonder if you even mean to, but I suspect it wouldn’t matter whether you mean to or not. The point is that you do and that you do it constantly. That, in and of itself, isn’t all that bad. A person can develop quite a thick skin over the course of many years. I’ll be clear, if it were only me, then I might have someday found it in my heart to forgive you.”

Hermione took another sip of her water and took a moment to swish the almost room temperature water through her teeth before swallowing and then continuing.

“If it were JUST me that you hurt, then I might never have even contemplated saying anything, but it isn’t just me that you hurt. The fact of the matter is that Harry cares for me. He probably cares for me too much sometimes. When you let your mouth run like a broken fire hydrant, then you hurt me, and that hurts Harry. Again, it doesn’t matter whether you mean to or not, YOU hurt him. YOU force Harry to choose between supporting his best mate and supporting the woman who loves him more than anything on this Earth. YOU make Harry sad. Not just every now and then, but constantly.”

She sipped at her water again trying to center herself.

“The only reason you’re still breathing is because Harry thinks you’re his friend, and I will NOT be the person that forces him to choose. I will NOT be the one to tell him he has one less friend when he hasn’t had enough friends to begin with. Be grateful for his friendship and stop being such a selfish, stupid, immature, little fucking arsehole, or so help me God I will...” She paused for a moment as she waited for her chest to stop heaving.

“I would kill to protect Harry; I’ve done it before and I will likely do it again. I know you can’t consciously hear me, but modern medicine tells us that the mind is always listening. This is it. This is your warning wakeup call. Grow up now or else you won’t have a chance to grow up at all. Know that if you ever pull another stupid jealousy stunt, like what happened with the dragon back in Fourth year, which leads to Harry getting hurt, then that stunt will be the last thing you’ll ever do, because I will End you right then and there.”

“Harry’s happiness is one of the things in this world that I hold most dear. That’s what it means to be best friends.” She kissed Harry on the cheek. “So if I were you, Ronald Bilius Weasly, then I would tread very cautiously. It all comes down to Harry. You are his friend, but you’re not my friend and I would keep that in mind.”

Quick intro: Ralph S. wrote a drabble called Drabblet n!-2 on Seel’vor’s group. It basically involved ‘The Power He Knows Not’ and clapping. It ended with Ginny gasping due to something Harry did. I continue from there.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Ralph S. started this thought.

Drabblet n!-2 – Hidden Talents

Harry scoffed at the redhead. "You think that's something? Try this!" And Harry began to whistle Rule Britannia.

Instantly, Snape, Dumbledore, Filch, Umbridge, Ron, Ginny, Molly, Draco, and every single Death Eater dropped to their knees screaming until their brains simply shut down due to massive amounts of pain.

Hermione was most perplexed as people she thought were their friends lay on the ground as if dead. However, she stood by her Harry's side; her wand was still at the ready as she kept any eye open for additional aggressors.

Professor McGonagall, quite pleased about all the Death Eaters being down, was also quite concerned. "Mister Potter, what have you done now?"

Harry shrugged. "Still not quite sure why, Professor, but whenever I whistle that particular song, anyone who wishes me harm seems to experience excruciating pain. At least, that's what I gathered after I discovered it while staying with the Dursleys."

Minerva's mouth was pinched tight as she glared down at the Headmaster. His ears were leaking blood. "Very interesting, Mister Potter. As you might imagine, while it was not the best whistling performance I've ever heard, I thought it was quite passable.” She turned to look at Hermione. “Don't you agree, Miss Granger?" she asked.

Hermione hesitated and cleared her throat."That's Missus Potter, Ma'am. And yes, I thought it was quite lovely. Very stirring."

"Ah! My apologies, Miss Gran-err-Missus Potter." Minerva smiled at her two favorite student and then summoned all the unconscious bastards' and bitches' wands and magically restrained each and every one of them up. Having completed her task, she turned to Mister Potter once more and with a raised eyebrow asked, "Is that all of your unexplained hidden talents or are there still more?"

Harry actually looked a little embarrassed. He looked at Hermione for a second and she plugged her ears tightly. "Only one more, Ma'am."

With a twinkle in her eye, the elder witch gestured with her hand for him to continue. She conjured ear muffs for herself just be safe. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution.

Harry snapped his fingers on both hands simultaneously. Suddenly, there was a shriek from all single, beautiful women within earshot. Well, at least any single beautiful women with any desire at all for Harry Potter. They all chucked off their robes and ran racing to Harry intent to kiss, lick, grope and fondle
him and utterly mad in their need to have him reciprocate.

Before they could reach their target, Hermione stunned the lot of them.

McGonagall twitched her lip, clearly amused. It was an impressive feat to stun so many in such a short amount of time. "I assume that means you don't intend to share?"

Blushing, Hermione admitted, "No, no. I'm willing to share, but there's a process for these things; tryouts and resumés and such. I'll start accepting resumés and scheduling tryouts once they’ve woken up.” She winked at her mentor. “Only the best for my husband and me.”

"Ah, wonderful idea. That explains a great deal." McGonagall said before turning to go and floo the authorities.

Lights!

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Just something I wrote to cheer myself up. My new dictation software crashed and it took a snippet I was writing down with it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“That’s just GREAT, Hermione. Now what’s Harry supposed to play Quidditch on? Tell us that, you’re so smart!”

Hermione’s mouth was pinched very tightly shut and her head was lowered though her eyes stared up with conviction. Harry could just make out the hastily hidden beginnings of tears reluctantly forming around her eyes. “I had no other choice. It wasn’t safe.”

“Whaddaya mean it wasn’t safe?” demanded Ron. “It was a brand new, never before used Firebolt, for Merlin’s sake. And speaking of that, what do YOU know about brooms!?”

“By not safe, I meant that I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees, that Harry’s new broom was sent by Sirius Black,” she explained to Harry in a penitent tone.

Harry’s eyes widened.

Hermione turned to the side to glare at Ron and said, “And as to brooms, I’ll have you know that I researched everything I could about brooms, the Firebolt in particular, and I even wrote the company to ask additional questions.” She poked Ron hard on the shoulder several times (and inwardly cringed at how filthy he was, she resolved to wash her hand several times once this was over). “Well? What do you have to say about that?” Far from the penitent and remorseful pose she’d struck when talking to Harry, now she seemed self-assured. Haughty almost…

Ron was scowling. “I know plenty about brooms! Charlie used to let me--” he started, but Hermione interrupted.

“Charlie? He’s your brother isn’t he? So, what you’re saying is you don’t actually own a broom, and if your grades are any indicator, then you couldn’t research to save your life. Is that about the size of it?” She demanded.

Ron, face redder than even his hair, looked off to the side for a moment, his eyes motioned to Hermione and then the oddest thing happened. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. “It’s NOT supposed to be like this.” Ron bit out tersely.

“Tough.” Hermione responded.

Clenching his fists in rage, Ron looked as if he was going to start screaming, but he saw Harry had positioned himself behind Hermione and the glare was scarily similar to how Harry had looked when Lockhart had betrayed them in the Chamber. “BE THAT WAY!” He declared for all the world to hear and then stormed off and out of view.

Harry looked genuinely confused. “What now?” He asked in an uncertain tone to Hermione.

“Are you mad at me, Harry?” Hermione asked, her timidity had returned in full force.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Well, no, not exactly. I mean, I would have preferred you actually asking first before doing what you did, but I guess I can understand the need. But…” and Harry trailed off.

“What? What? But what?” Hermione asked while clutching at his robes with both hands.

“Though I hate to admit it, Ron did have a point… besides the one on his head.”

“Oh?” Hermione queried uncertainly. Ron actually having a point was a new proposition for her. “Explain.”

“What am I going to ride?”

Eyebrows rising at the question, Hermione released his robes and slinked up to him. “If you want something to ride, then ride me.” She said in a deeper, huskier tone than should have been possible for one so young. She then pressed her body into his.

Instinctively, Harry’s arms went around her to draw her body closer.

Lips found lips and suddenly a loud voice filled the room. “CUT! CUT! That is SO not in the script!”

Harry and Hermione didn’t seem to care.

The director, a man whose natural voice came in two flavors – loud and louder, screamed at his lead stars. “STOP IT YOU TWO! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! I GAVE YOU SOME LEEWAY FOR ARTISTIC PURPOSES BUT THIS ISN’T A LOVE SCENE! AND EVEN IF IT WERE, YOU TWO WOULDN’T BE THE ONES DOING THE KISSING!”

That stopped the young girl. “WELL, EXCUSE ME FOR WANTING TO KISS MY HUSBAND! IT’S NOT OUR FAULT THAT THE SCRIPT HAD BAD SOURCE MATERIAL!”

Much grumbling could be heard. “I AM NOT GETTING INTO ANOTHER ARGUMENT WITH YOU ABOUT PLOT HOLES AND INCONSISTENT CHARACTERISATION. IF I DID, THEN WE’D BE HERE ALL NIGHT. STOP ACTING LIKE YOUR 20 YEAR OLD SELVES AND START BEHAVING LIKE THE 13 YEAR OLD SELVES YOU’VE BEEN SPELLED TO APPEAR TO BE!”

“BUT--” Harry began.

“AND I DON’T CARE IF YOU ACTUALLY ACTED LIKE THAT WHEN YOU WERE 13. I NEED YOU TO FOLLOW THE SCRIPT. UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes, Director.” They both simultaneously chorused. Stepping apart, the two straightened their appearances and went back to their marks.

The director palmed his head for a moment and then raised his megaphone again. “SOMEONE GET WHATSISNAME BACK ON SET! TELL HIM IF HES NOT BACK HERE IN FIVE THEN WE’RE GOING WITH ANOTHER ACTOR!”

“Again?” A small, useless peon asked.

The director pointed his megaphone directly at the over-reaching peon. “YES! AGAIN! Now, GO!”

The Dealer

Prequel to “The Deal”.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: I couldn’t help myself. It is unlikely most of you will like this as much as The Deal, but I can always hope. As always, I’m very interested to receive intelligent comments and criticism. Be sure to read the omake at the end.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The candles were lit and he had used his own blood to form the pentagram. He cast a quick healing spell and took a swallow from a vial of blood replenishing potion. This would work... it had to.

He knelt within the pentagram and lowered his eyes to the motionless figure laid out in front of him. There were bruises all over her body, sections of missing hair and bald patches where it had been torn from its roots, numerous cuts, and a hideous blue-black band around her delicate neck where it had been ruthlessly wrenched when she fought back against her attacker.

A black, quiet hatred rose up within him as he remembered the examination after he'd found her.

Numerous defensive wounds could be seen on her hands and forearms (her fingers were broken, as well as her right arm close to the wrist) and several fingernails were broken or missing from her attempt at gouging her attacker's eyes out.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that her killer had to have taken her by surprise but she had not gone down easily. It was of little comfort. She had promised she would come back to him and he would do everything in his power to help her keep her promise.

%%%%%%%%

The candles burned low and the molten wax made strange shapes as it flowed and hardened on the candelabra. Soon, they would burn out and darkness would encroach again into the room occupied by the dead and one who had no reason to go continue living.

He had failed... God help him.

"Yoo Hoo," said a voice.

Harry started to breathe hard. It was all so clear to him now. If Hermione couldn't come back to him, then he would go to her... and he would bring the rest of the world with him.

"Harry?" the voice asked again.

Green flames began to burn about his body and emerald light bathed the room in unholy brilliance. He would DESTROY. THEM. ALL. The flames flared brighter still.

*SMACK!*

Through the haze of black, all-consuming hatred, Harry felt someone slap the back of his head. The flames extinguished and the room returned to being dimly lit. He lifted his eyes from his pain, loss, and vengeance and his mouth opened in shock at what he saw.

There before him was a young, beautiful woman. Tousled black hair reaching just below her shoulders, an odd stylized mark around one eye, a silver cross*(sic) shaped necklace, black lace-up boots, and fingerless gloves made of leather. Her black attire seemed to match her perfectly. As far as he could tell, she was amused though slightly annoyed. It stabbed at his heart as the thought made him miss Hermione even more.

She quirked a soft smile. "Done brooding?" she asked in gentle voice.

Harry focused on her smiling face with skin as white as death, hair the color of darkest midnight, and eyes of deepest ebony. In short, she looked dark and menacing... well, she would have looked dark and menacing except for two things that completely destroyed that image in Harry’s mind. First, she was smiling in a way that could only be called happy and warm. Second, she was wearing a large white T-shirt with the words, 'I <3 H/Hr' emblazoned on the front. The blackness of the rest of her clothing made the white shirt stand out even more.

That she was wearing a T-shirt was very unusual in and of itself, but it was the crimson colored heart in the middle that contrasted so vividly with what should have been his normal perception of her that resulted in him somehow not feeling afraid. In fact, he felt his anger flow from his body like water. He thought again of Hermione, and his very soul seemed to ache at the absence of her, explaining the concept of rebuses, their role in the Middle Ages and how a variation of it was apparently popular among modern day mundanes. Hoping he was reading it correctly, he found himself speaking it aloud as he read, “I Heart HHr”.

She seemed pleased and by the sound of her voice, she sounded slightly embarrassed. “Oh, you were looking at my shirt. I thought you might be staring out my ankh.” She paused for a moment to wink at him. “Anyway, it is a nice shirt isn’t it?”

Harry still didn’t know what to think. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She made him feel... numb, like a shot of Novocain to deaden the pain. “It’s nice.”

The woman stood up and twirled around gracefully. She stood straight and looked down at him over her shoulder. “I especially like the back artwork.”

Harry looked up and saw a stylized image of a boy with messy black hair and a girl with curly brown hair riding on the back of a flying Hippogriff. He was seeing himself and Hermione when they were younger riding Buckbeak! He looked happy and so did Hermione and her hands were around his younger self’s waist. Despite the numb feeling, he could have sworn his heart broke even more and tears began to leak from his eyes despite his best efforts to stop them.

“Hey now... none of that. I mean, I know it’s good but it’s still nothing worth crying over.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I remember that night. It was one of the best nights of our lives. Sirius was saved, Hermione was safe, and we kissed for the first time by the lake under the full moon light.” He looked away. “And now she’s...” He trailed off.

Looking sad and understanding, she knelt down right beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders. “And now she’s dead,” she supplied.

Harry just closed his eyes again and his expression tightened.

“She loves you very much.” The woman stated matter-of-factly.

Harry whipped his head around to look at her serene face. “What?”

“The dead never really leave us, Harry. You should know that better than anyone. Your mother and father did everything and more to protect you; not those fanciful, so-called blood wards Dumbledore was so in love with. But enough about the past, you called me here for a reason. What was it, Harry?” she prompted him.

Harry’s gaze had become unfocused, lost in the past as he was, but her question brought him back into the now. “I called you?” He wondered uncertainly.

“You performed a completely wrong, made up summoning ritual once; one that was created by an insane wizard who spent 67 years using it to try and summon me – unsuccessfully, I might add, and through sheer willpower, devotion, and love, you did it on your first try. If that doesn’t say something about your feelings for this young lady, then I don’t know what does.”

“You’re Death!” He said in incredulous awe.

“Ooh, capital ‘D’. Very respectful, but you can just call me Dee-Dee.” She enthused.

“Dee-Dee?”

“Yes?” she prompted again. She rested her chin on her gloved hand and gazed expectantly at Harry.

“I have a request to make.”

Death incarnate, also known as ‘Dee-Dee’, nodded her head a few times to indicate he should continue.

Deep breath and then he asked, “Can you bring Hermione back to life?”

“Yes.” Again, Dee-Dee nodded her head.

“...” and the silence dragged on.

Harry tried again. “Will you bring Hermione back to life?”

An amused and happy smile graced Dee-Dee’s pale but lovely face and Harry wondered why he didn’t feel the least bit concerned that Death seemed to be smiling at his request. “Okay.” She responded in good humor.

“That’s it?” He asked cautiously.

Dee-Dee tilted her head. “Did you want it to be more difficult?”

“No, no! It’s fine if it’s easy, I just thought it was more difficult than this to get a loved one back from Death.”

Dee-Dee paused at this. “A loved one? Not the great love of your life for whom you would doom the world and sacrifice everything for?”

“I love her with all that I am, but...” And despite himself, doubts assailed him. So close to his goal, but the act of actually speaking with Death made him surprisingly candid. “I couldn’t protect her, I love her and she still died. What’s worse is that initially, I didn’t believe her when she warned me Ron was up to something. What kind of man doesn’t believe the woman he loves? If I had another chance, I would do so many things differently. As it is, I would die in her place if I could, but right now I don’t think my life is worth enough to equal hers.”

“Well, that just won’t do.”

Stricken, Harry asked, “What won’t do?”

“As you are right now, bringing Hermione back to life won’t change anything. With an attitude like yours, the same situation would just repeat itself and she’d be dead again in six months to a year. Keep in mind Harry, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity I’m giving you, so I don’t want you to waste it.”

“What do I have to do?” he asked, his resolve firming.

“I need a show of binding commitment between the two of you. Both of you need to do something to show your affection for one another AND you must demonstrate your resolve.”

“A binding commitment?” he asked, clearly confused.

Eerily, Dee-Dee started to whistle while playing with an unadorned silver ring. She slid it off and on, off and on, several time. It took several repetitions of this before Harry thought he realized what she was hinting at.

Understanding was on Harry’s face, but then doubt clouded over. “But, how can I--” he began, but Dee-Dee shook her finger at him. “In consideration of the good you’ve done, consider this an indefinite loan until you’ve satisfied all of my conditions.”

Dee-Dee knelt down next to Hermione’s cold body and ran a finger from the top of Hermione’s head to the tip of her toes. As her finger passed, every mark signifying her brutal murder disappeared. When she was finished, Hermione’s flesh was rosy pink and she looked just as alive and well, as the last time he had seen her before she’d... before she went away.

He felt his breath catch in his chest. Something still wasn’t right, but he couldn’t tell what it was. She looked exactly as he remembered her, then suddenly it hit him... she still wasn’t breathing.

Harry whispered, “Hermione...”

Death moved to stand next to Harry. “Now it’s your turn,” she said with another wink.

Harry gazed down at Hermione’s body. She looked gorgeous arrayed in front of her, but she was deathly still. He got down on his knees and took up her hand in his. She was warm and that comforted him as he took a deep breath.

A heartfelt apology came first. He tried as best as he could to express how much he missed her and how stupid he had been to disregard her warning. He promised to do better and swore he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

Hermione took a shuddering, shallow breath.

Harry very nearly stopped breathing at the sight of her. Her body was warm and she was breathing shallow but regular breaths; however, her eyes were still closed.

Harry looked at Dee-Dee for guidance.

Death had moved to lean against the door frame. Oddly, she looked distracted and was looking off to the side while absently tapping her lips with a finger.

Once again, it took Harry several moments to realize what was being said or in this case not said.

He looked down at her rosy red lips; they looked very moist and exceedingly kissable. They parted ever so slightly and Harry could have sworn his own heart had begun to beat out of control. He struggled to retain his composure long enough to say what he needed to say. “Hermione, I’ve missed you more than I thought possible. I would move heaven and earth for you. I love you deeply, and I want us to be together always. Please come back to me.”

Hermione’s breast swelled and she breathed deeply, but her eyes still wouldn’t open.

“You’ve never seen Sleeping Beauty, have you?” Dee-Dee said aloud.

“Umm... no... I don’t think so.” Harry answered cautiously.

Death looked un-amused “Ah, I thought not – something to be dealt with later. In any case, quick summary: Prince Charming awakens his Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. Now, hop to it.”

Harry flushed red in the face, but his countenance grew determined. “Come back to me...” he said as he leaned forward and brought his lips to hers.

The instant his lips came in contact with Hermione’s, her eyes flew wide and her arms wrapped around his head and neck. From those same parted lips darted her tongue and Harry’s mouth opened to receive it. He was surprised but incredibly happy. She was back, she was here, she was... she was sucking the breath out of him!

She broke the kiss and Harry found himself gasping for breath. “Yes, I will marry you,” she said as she also tried to catcher her breath.

“But I didn’t propose yet!” replied Harry.

“I was could hear everything you said. You may not have said the exact words, but it was close enough and I learned a lot about reading between the lines from staying with Dee-Dee all this time.”

He was shocked. Granted, he had received many shocks tonight, so by now he was almost used to them. “You were with Dee-Dee?”

Smiling, Hermione kissed his cheek. “She couldn’t interfere earlier, but she made sure I didn’t suffer too much. She’s been a wonderful host. ”

And then Dee-Dee was there. She wrapped her arms around the two and looked at each of them in turn. “Wow, you two are cute together.” She looked at Harry and her ebon black eyes were twinkling but in a completely different way to Dumbledore’s senility twinkle. “So, the love of your life has just come back from the dead for YOU, and she’s agreed to marry you. Isn’t there something you need to ask her formally?” She winked once more at him.

“Hermione, with you gone it was like a piece of me was missing. I don’t ever want to be parted from you again. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?” He held his breath.

“Harry...” she chided. “I already said ‘yes’, so there’s no need to look so expectant. I came back from the dead to be with you. I mean, honestly.” She kissed his nose impishly.

Harry wrapped her in the tightest hug he could muster.

Hermione returned the hug with as much gusto as she was able.

Dee-Dee cleared her throat. “Ahem, there is the little matter of you two showing your resolve to one another.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look confused. She’d heard that condition, but wasn’t sure what it meant. Suddenly, she had a very, very interesting idea. She whispered it to Harry.

Harry’s eyes shot up, but soon he was nodding his head and offering other suggestions.

Dee-Dee looked pleased with the two of them. Despite Hermione’s nudity, she seemed perfectly happy to be cradled in her fiancé’s arm while they discussed, debated, and planned.

Finally, they looked up at Death. Harry spoke first. “Dee-Dee, we owe you so much. We wasted a lot of time, but thanks to you we have another chance. I’ve promised Hermione that I will do right by her, listen more than once every full moon, and I’ve also sworn to make those responsible for Hermione’s premature death pay for their crimes.” He then turned to look at Hermione.

Hugging Harry tighter, Hermione continued, “We are going to get married and I’ve promised Harry that we will make it work, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death and even after. I’ve also sworn to make sure the people who made Harry’s life Hell, while growing up, will pay for their crimes.

Death seemed impressed. “Very good, though that’s a funny way to show your appreciation.”

The two young people looked confused. Hermione spoke first, “I thought we had to show our resolve?”

Dee-Dee waved it off. “And you’ve done it nicely. Although, you do realize that as everyone you’ve mentioned doesn’t follow any sort of organized religion that I’ll have to handle their cases personally once you’ve finished with them?”

Both Hermione and Harry looked embarrassed. They hadn’t considered that.

Dee-Dee just smiled at them. “Hey now, don’t worry about it. It’s what I do. I will say that since you’ve chosen to do this to show your resolve, I expect you each to carry out your oaths personally. For instance, if Hermione killed Ronald instead of you then that would be justice and not vengeance. Understand, Harry?”

Harry nodded.

Dee-Dee looked at Hermione, “The same goes for you Hermione. If Harry killed Vernon instead of you, then it isn’t vengeance but justice.”

Hermione nodded.

Dee-Dee clapped her hands together. “Well kids, it’s been wonderful spending time with you.” She hugged them both tightly and then turned and headed for the doorway. Almost absently, she called back, “I’ll consider Hermione’s soul on loan to the land of the living for as long as you live Harry Potter. So take care of her and, for her sake, take care of yourself. Oh, and as for the oaths you two made, I hope you both make me very busy within in the next year or two.” And then she was gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

End (for now)

A/N: Continues on into The Deal. *Yes, Dee-Dee is a creation of Neil Gaiman and a character of DC. The picture described on the shirt is a reference to a piece of artwork by the talented Gwendy, a renowned Harmony artist. I have a mug with the same picture.

OMAKE:

Harry pulled Hermione into an almost bone-crushing hug. “Thank god!”

“Who?” queried a voice.

Both Harry and Hermione jumped in surprise and then rapidly spun to see Dee-Dee smiling crookedly at them.

“Sorry about that. I forgot one very important thing.” She put her hand to her mouth and cleared her throat with a brief cough. “Ahem. If you name any of your children Albus Severus or Hugo, then all bets are off.” She smiled prettily at Hermione.

Hermione, despite her recent good feelings toward Dee-Dee, inexplicably felt as if she were a small fish and Dee-Dee was a great white shark. “Noted,” she squeaked.

Harry cut in. “How do you feel about flower and mythology based names?”

Dee-Dee turned the smile toward Harry. “Love them to DEATH. Why?”

Harry’s eye twitched. “No reason... just checking.”

Dee-Dee rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. Now that’s all taken care of, I bid you both adieu.”

They blinked and she was gone.