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A/N: It has been over a year since I pos­ted anything on PK...life over the last year has been too real, without much fantasy. This is a story to rectify that sin, as much as to get my stilled creative juices flowing. It's randomly set at the end of 4^th year.

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“Harry, what are we going to do now?”

“He's back,” Harry looked out at the grounds by the lake. His mood did not match the cheerful play of the shadows on the water.

“Let off, Ron,” Hermione lightly scolded him.

The trio fell silent. Inwardly, Harry was seeing Voldemort's resurrection vividly in his mind's eye. He knew it was very real, every bit of it, but he could not escape the dreamlike impression of the memory.

“What are your summer plans, Hermione?” he turned and asked her abruptly.

“What?”

Hermione was caught off guard by the suddenness of the question.

“What are your plans for the summer?” Harry smiled at her. He seemed unperturbed by the gravity of his thoughts.

Hermione studied him for a moment. “Spend time with my parents,” she said with a hint of caution. “Read up on next year's books, you know we have O.W.L. exams coming up.”

The smile stayed on Harry's face. “Ron?”

Their redheaded best friend was appalled at Hermione's plans. “Definitely not what she's doing,” he replied impressively, waving a hand. “Eat, sleep, do some pranks with the twins. The usual, you know. You're welcome to come up anytime, you know.”

“You know it, mate,” Harry agreed. “I'll sneak away if I have to, so have a plate ready.” His smile was gone, but the hint of one that played on his lips now got the response he was looking for.

“You will do no such thing, Harry Potter!” Hermione told him matter-of-factly. “The blood ward pro-“

The rest of whatever Hermione was going to say was cut short, when out of the blue, Harry placed his lips on hers - her eyes opened wide as saucers and Ron dropped the pumpkin pastry he was holding, along with his chin.

Harry withdrew, an unreadable look on his face.

“What the bugger was that?” Ron was the first to come to his senses.

He looked at Harry expectedly, and Harry looked back at him. “I don't know,” his eyes met the stone pavement.

“Hermione?”

For the first time in her life, Hermione was rendered effectively speechless. She squeaked something unintelligible, but she was sure they could hear her heartbeat from three feet away.

Right then, Hagrid's booming voice announced the imminent departure of the train and the last call for boarding.

“We'll talk about this, Ron, I promise,” Harry said loosely, still collecting his thoughts. Ron looked utterly confused, and perhaps a little angry too.

Hermione, beaming, joined Harry's side. With a last look at Hogwarts, the trio set off for the platform for another summer in the Muggle world...

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A/N: based on popular demand, this is going to turn into a multichapter story!

Chapter II: Privet Drive Musings

Hermione had held Harry in a really tight grip at Platform Nine and Three Quarters after they had disembarked from the train. He wasn't sure if his head felt lighter at the end of the kiss, but Hermione seemed to just float away towards her parents after they parted - after, of course, profuse promises to see him before the summer was out.

His uncle had not appeared yet, so Ron hung back for the much needed private conversation he expected, following the fiasco that we saw happen earlier.

“What was that?”

His tone was changed, strangely high - quite unusual for Ron, Harry thought.

“What was what?”

“Don't play dumb, Harry.”

“Alright, alright, I'm sorry.”

“So?”

“That night changed me Ron. Almost dying, again, puts things into perspective,” Harry explained himself as simply as he could. “Hermione means too much for words to me. I didn't know what to tell her.”

“And what about me, don't I mean anything?”

Much like our readers, Harry groaned inwardly. Ron's jealously was legendary.

“Of course you do, Ron. You're the only friend I would trust with my life.”

“Doesn't Hermione do that, now?” There was that hint of bitterness that threatened to get stronger.

“I trust her with my heart, Ron.”

That response stopped whatever Ron was going to say next, dead in its tracks. His mouth opened, closed, and he pondered the answer for a few seconds.

“That - that makes sense.” He was still processing the thought. “Where do we stand, then?”

“Nothing has changed between us, mate,” Harry sought to reassure him.

“I'm still going to take a while to get used to this, you know,” Ron pointed out. “There might be the odd jealous fit, too.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, Ron,” Harry said - meaning to be lighthearted, but the note of seriousness got through anyway.

“I care about her a lot, too,” Ron admitted, looking down. “I guess, until today, I fancied the thought too.”

“You'll get your shot,” Harry said. “There's plenty of girls out of you in Hogwarts!”

“Yeh, I haven't thought about any, honesty. Guess I better start.”

“You gonna be ok, mate?”

“Eventually,” Ron gave him a somewhat hollow smile. “I fancy her too, you know.”

Harry couldn't help but look sheepish. “If I knew before, I'd probably do something to help you, but it just came over me, you know?”

“Yeah, like when I get jealous,” Ron said neutrally. “I know.”

“I'm glad you understand, Ron.”

“Where's that boy - “

The familiar annoyance of Vernon Dursley's booming voice carried over to Harry.

“Well, there's your cue,” Ron told him sarcastically. “See you when I see you at the Burrow?”

“Tell your family hello for me,” Harry told him. “My uncle doesn't like me to linger.”

“Your luck is amazing, mate,” Ron sighed. “I'll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded resolutely. “Later.”

“Hurry up, boy!”

Uncle Vernon was rapidly gaining the red shade that predicated an explosion, and for Harry, having to put up with spit flying in his face. This time, seemingly, was no exception.

“Hi, Uncle Vernon,” Harry greeted his kin mechanically.

“Today's is Dudley's boxing match, so hurry up, you runt, I don't want to miss it!”

Harry lifted his trunk into the trunk of the car and put in Hedwig in her cage, before he made for the passenger side seat.

“Sit in the back!”

Some things never change, Harry thought to himself. He obeyed to avoid angering one Vernon Dursley further.

“How is aunt Petunia?” he asked conversationally when they had left the platform.

His uncle glared at him in the mirror - surprisingly, it remained unaffected from the anger in his eyes.

“Fine.”

The curt response signalled the end to that exchange, and the rest of the trip passed in an awkward silence.

The perfectly trimmed and arranged neighbourhood was just how Harry had remembered it from last summer. The peculiar lady with the binoculars, three houses down from the Dursley abode, seemed fixed to the inside window sill of her living room permanently. Although, her head did move as Uncle Vernon drove by.

The trunk was summarily unloaded. “Upstairs in the bedroom, quickly!” Uncle Vernon hissed.

Aunt Petunia was bustling around in her surgically clean kitchen, seemingly too preoccupied to greet her nephew. There was no trace of Dudley either - he had to be out with his usual gang of thugs. This time, Harry felt thoroughly depressed. Any glimmer of hope he had that coming back would not be as bad as years past, was quickly extinguished.

“We are going to call you down for supper,” Uncle Vernon told him obnoxiously.

“Yessir.” All resolve was gone in Harry's voice. He dragged his trunk upstairs.

“Don't destroy my stairs!”

The bed creaked loudly as Harry threw himself on it. In the corner, a pile of Dudley's old toys remained, but he paid them no attention. The accumulated dust told him nobody had been up here in a while. Even the dust he kicked up from the tattered blanket.

Hedwig looked at him inquiringly and cooed.

“And keep that damned owl silent!”

“You got any other ideas?”

Promising that he would write Hermione as soon as he arrived home, he stood up and took out a piece of parchment from his trunk. The quills, however, were too buried and he found an old pen in one of the desk drawers.

Dear Hermione,

I've arrived safe and sound. Ron and I had a talk about...you and me, at the station after you left, and he seemed alright with us doing - I'm not exactly sure what it is we're doing yet, but it's definitely something.

The Dursleys are being their usual pain, so there isn't anything new here. I want out of here as soon as I can. Maybe I can hope for a motorcycle rescue again. In the meanwhile, I'm stuck in my old hovel of a bedroom - that is, Dudley's old toy storage. He's out again somewhere, probably beating up another little girl for her candy.

I don't know if I love you, or know what love is, but I think I love you. I don't know.

Yours,

Harry.

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A/N: Much like Harry, I don't have a plan for my relationship with this story either.

Chapter III: Hermione

Yours,

Harry

Hermione had to restrain herself not to squeal in delight. It was fast, she was out of breath, exhilarating - she hadn't felt this way since buying her first magical textbook! In hindsight, even that fell to second place now, and only Harry would be able to displace her most sacred memory to date...

Should she write back to him immediately? Or, hold off? Maybe she would appear more mysterious if she did restrain herself, and make her more alluring to him? Her hand was already instinctively going for the quill, as the opposing thoughts fought to confuse one another in her head.

“Enough!” She said out loud to herself.

Hedwig just stared at her oddly. Hermione reached for an owl treat sitting on her bedside table.

“Do you have any ideas, girl?”

Hedwig gave Hermione her best Harry-already-asked-me-that-question look, if that was even possible for an owl to do. Somehow, the message got lost in translation.

“I suppose I can write him after lunch.”

Hedwig raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, tonight,” Hermione conceded. She looked at the owl again to make sure she wasn't imagining things. “You deserve a break.”

An appreciating hoot - Hedwig flew from the sill to the perch in the corner of Hermione's bedroom.

Truth be told, Hermione could not sit still since she had arrived back, a mere two days ago. She hadn't heard the exchange between Harry and Ron about her and the green-eyed heartthrob that she could now call a boyfriend, dating, and she could not trust Harry fully to tell her the truth about it, because he tended to hide problems, as she knew all too well...

Automatically, her mind turned to making a to-do list when she saw Harry. For the first time, it also added a “Too in appropriate to mention” column...she downright blushed at the realization, not realizing really how rampant her imagination could be!

If Hedwig could read minds, she would be smirking from wing to wing.

Hermione flopped down on her bed and opened a book in an attempt to distract herself from her conflicting thoughts.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, fourth edition by Ruckus Morningstar

It was the book they were initially supposed to use this year, but it had been changed in the last minute by Mad-Eye Moody's potion-ed alter ego. She had made it a point to read this particular book over the summer, after the frustrating trip to Hogesmeade's only book store on the second day of school.

And You-Know-Who? Saying the name still gave her chills, and it amazed her Harry could say it without fear.

She believed him when Harry said he was back. The look in his eyes plainly spoke the truth, and she knew it intimately from watching him these last 4 years of their relationship. What surprised her was how many did not believe her. From the early indications of the Ministry, they were going to pretend everything was just as normal as before.

If things got out of hand this coming year, she could very well die at Harry's side. He had said it before, and they had come close on more than a few occasions, but she stuck with him every time. Yes, it terrified her, but it felt right that she was at his side; somehow she did not want to have it any other way. The prospect of a walking and talking Voldemort able to wield a wand indeed added a new, even scarier dimension to her choice to be with Harry, but oddly and normally, it only intensified her feeling to be with him.

Would he withdraw like he usually did when faced with trouble? Leave midway through the year and go at it alone? Rather than Harry's arch-nemesis, this particular thought made her stomach turn more than anything else.

Hogwarts' ancient magic was well-suited to protect the school against attacks, even by its own rogue products. She didn't worry about that as much as she did whether Harry would stay within its protection? Would he also blame himself for exposing everyone he loved to danger?

That last one was a complex Hermione knew she would have to fight with all her power, because it had the sway to make Harry disengage from those he loved almost fully.

After surviving the tournament, what would Dumbledore make Harry do next? The relationship between pupil and student had been strained over the past year, and as much as Harry still respected the bespectacled headmaster, their relations could deteriorate further over the year.

She remembered Harry telling her and Ron about the Dementor attack on Privet Drive the previous summer, and wondered if Azkaban's finest might return for a visit?

The book she was holding had slipped on the bed beside her, but she hadn't noticed. But, when it hit the floor, it snapped her out of her reverie.

She was good friends with Ginny, but how would she react to this newest of unexpected development. Maybe Ron had already told her and the rest of his family. And Molly? Ron's mother was a fierce personality, and she knew where he got his jealous streak from - how would she feel about her and Harry dating?

Moreover, she could feel that Ron's friendship was going to be essential to both of them in the adversity that was shaping up to face them in her mind. While he was unstable at times, she hoped his loyalty would stay true, even if his behaviour did not always quite match.

And her academics? For the first time, she began to question the unquestionable priority her books represented when she saw the tribulation through which Harry was going, Ron, when he became jealous of his best friend and almost didn't speak to him for good, and her unwavering support for him throughout. A gut feeling told her that there were indeed more important things than the book and she would realize the truth of that idea yet further over the next year.

Most importantly, how was she to handle an entire summer without Harry?

Would he come to see her, and would the Dursleys let him? It wasn't that they were much of a threat to him, but the wards that protected the house were essential to Harry's survival, at least until he finished Hogwarts; and there were hawks circling around him at all times.

Why did the last of those thoughts suddenly make her giddy and excited?

She put it down to nerves...there were more than usual, lately, anyway.

Hedwig hooted quietly in the background and Hermione impulsively reached for another owl treat. She heard the snowy owl flap her wings and a second later, landed on her shoulder.

“Here you go, girl,” Hermione held up her hand. “I know you prefer mice, but this is all I have.”

Regardless, Hedwig took the proffered treat with satisfaction.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

Hermione did not hear the door to her room open, but her mother had peeked her head in to check on her daughter.

She turned around, startled, “Oh, fine, mum.”

“Didn't mean to scare you, dear. Do you need anything?”

“No, I'm alright for now, thank you,” Hermione told her. A part of her became an irritated and she left the overwhelming desire to be left alone. “I'll be down in a bit, mum.”

“Alright, do let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, mum.”

With that, the door was closed and Hermione sank back in her thoughts.

**'

Dear Harry,

I am happy to hear you're safe and well. I am alright too. Mum and Dad are happy to see me, and I'm happy to see them - I haven't told them anything about this year yet, and I don't know where to begin and what to leave out? Do you have any idea?

I still contend the Dursleys have more than stones for hearts! If you don't come, I'll come and take you away myself. If you aren't going to be my Prince Charming, I will be your Charming Princess! Don't fight with them, it will only make things worse. I promise, I will see you soon.

I think I love you too. Only, I seem to have perfect clarity about it, whatever this thing love is. I don't think I'll find it in the Library, even in the Restricted Section.

Yours,

Hermione

**

Watching Hedwig fly out, a silhouette against the full moon, inexplicably welled up Hermione with a sense of hope. She closed her eyes and drifted off peacefully...

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A/N: Now we get some alone time with Harry

Chapter IV: Privet Drive's Demons

After dinner, Dudley made ready to go out. Harry could hear his dimwit friends waiting at the edge of the driveway, guffawing about something. He rolled his eyes, and was about prepared to go back to his prison, when -

“Dudley, why don't you take Harry with you,” Aunt Petunia said out of the blue.

Uncle Vernon nearly dropped the mug of tea he was holding. His moustache quivered. “No such thing will transpire in this house, Petunia! Have you lost your mind!”

She cowed under his fierce stare. “It will be good for the body, Vernon, learn to be normal like Duddeykins!”

Harry was amazed she stood her ground.

“Hmph!” Uncle Vernon grunted. “Watch him,” he motioned to Dudley, instructing him as if he were to look after livestock.

“Don't worry, Dad, he isn't going to step out of line,” Dudley cracked his fists.

“Don't I get a say in this?” Harry ventured.

“No,” Uncle Vernon remained as stern as ever. “Go.”

If Harry was glad for one thing, it was that he carried his wand everywhere with him - and discreetly so. He did not mind risking expulsion if the opportunity to blast Dudley with a hex presented itself. Somehow, he felt indifferent about being with Dudley and his gang in the same space, because facing Voldemort, not two weeks previously, made the threats his cousin gave not even remotely serious to him. So, he went.

The walk to the park passed generally in silence, Harry felt he made the air in the group rather awkward - they were not used to interacting with the person Dudley had told them so many negative things about. Moreover, he didn't seem strange either to most of them...

Harry didn't feel obliged to do anything about it, either. To him, this was a forced exercise, something he did not want or need to do, but for keeping the general peace in the house, until he got away to his favourite life-threatening situations again.

“What's up with your cousin, man? He seems fairly normal.”

“Really, I am,” Harry could not hide the sarcasm in his voice. “What has Duddeykins been saying about me?”

“Duddykins,” sniggered another, “that true, mate?”

“Shut it, Pierce,” Dudley snapped. “Don't listen to him.”

“Duddums gets cranky after he hasn't had his evening milk,” Harry kept it going to another round of guffaws.

“Your cousin is great, Dud,” one of his friends made the mistake of admitting.

To his satisfaction, Harry could see the back of Dudley's neck growing redder, even in the final wisps of sunlight in the last stages of the dusk.

“I said, shut it,” he fought to control himself. “He is one weird, misguided charlatan.”

“Biggest word he's used all year,” Harry explained. “I'm almost proud of him.”

This was equivalent to over a decade of repressed hatred of Dudley rearing itself up within Harry. He didn't necessarily enjoy that he was the one stooping so low, but the baser part of him thoroughly enjoyed the torment he was giving Dudley in front of his pals. That part, unfortunately, had the upper hand now.

“Look, you mutt,” Dudley turned around suddenly and jabbed his finger in Harry's chest. “Stop talking about me, or you're gonna get it. Bad.” The threat ended slightly awkwardly, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“If you know what's good for you, cousin,” Harry told him on his own turn, “you won't try anything funny.”

“You're outnumbered,” Dudley sneered.

Harry looked around himself to enhance the effect, but then focused right back on Dudley. “That's not going to be a problem for me, Duddykins,” he said calmly. Despite Dudley's aggressive behaviour, he saw the flicker of doubt fly across his face for just a moment.

The rest of the gang was split between supporting Dudley and looking rather confused at the strange exchange between the two cousins.

“Keep it cool, Dudley,” Harry said. “We don't want any...issues.”

He was enjoying watching Dudley battle with himself, but in the end, he seemingly managed to regain control. “Stop doing that. Or you'll really get it.” Dudley formed a fist in Harry's face to make the point, but Harry remained just as unaffected.

Still, he played the sport. “All right, I'll stop.”

The show worked for the gang, though. They had newfound respect for Dudley's ability to deal with competition and adversaries, even if all that depended on Harry's whim the entire time.

The downside was that Harry felt bored again, but they had reached the park by now.

A little girl was playing on the swing set where he knew Dudley and his gang usually hung out. He trudged along a little bit behind them as they made for their usual spot. The girl looked on apprehensively as they approached.

“Beat it, kid,” Dudley snapped when they were within earshot.

Harry did not even have time to think about a reaction. The child bolted from the swing.

“Haha, nice one, mate,” Pierce reinstated his subservient role to Dudley. Harry rolled his eyes.

“D'you guys feel a chill?” another of the gang said suddenly. Harry thought he heard his name as Bradley.

“Don't be a fool, Brad, it's a damn summer night,” Dudley snapped at him in turn. Harry had been right in his assumption, he noted vaguely in his mind.

“I think he's right, Dud,” Pierce visibly shivered.

There was only one thing that could explain such a sudden drop in the air temperature to Harry. In fact, he had his wand out before he even consciously registered the fact.

Hermione's lips on his in the train station...mind exploding...

“Expecto Patronum!”

The stag roared out of the tip of Harry's wand in a blinding flash of brilliant light, meeting the descending Dementors head on - screeching, three of them veered away back up into the sky, while the other two were engulfed and overwhelmed by the force of the spell - they fell motionless on the ground.

Harry kept his wand pointed high and in the direction of the Dementors. One had gotten a ways off and making for Pierce. He stood petrified, motionless with horror, in the path of the approaching Azkaban keeper. Harry drove the stag towards the Dementor, but it did not make contact until Pierce was already forced to be intimately acquainted with his worst fears and memories.

“No! Make it stop!” he screamed and writhed.

The stag drove off the Dementor, but Pierce remained in shock. The other two Dementors circled around the troop, looking to avoid the still circulating stag. Clouds had formed in the sky and the temperature had fallen below freezing. Dudley's face was pale as a sheet, the rest of his gang was cowering around him, Pierce was lying motionless, shocked on the ground, blinking helplessly and Harry kept a rapt focus on the two remaining enemies.

His Patronus split in two, as if of its own accord. Harry felt the greater strain of maintaining that connection, but surprisingly found that it did not cost him additional effort necessarily. A stag went after each Dementor, and the threat was summarily dealt with - the Dementors flew off into the distance.

The air began to warm noticeably again.

“Check on Pierce, Dudley,” Harry said, while looking around for any more unexpected magical threats.

His cousin stood frozen and fearful.

“Dudley!”

The small pig-like eyes shifted uneasily and looked at him. “Huh?”

“Look after Pierce,” Harry repeated himself.

“What about - “

“The rest of you - keep an eye out for anything strange. I'll be right back.”

“But - “

Harry was particularly worried about Death Eaters more than the Dementors. Pierce, while shocked by the brief exposure, would ultimately recover fully. However, it was potential Death Eaters that could do far more serious damage.

He walked around the park, but there was no trace of activity. Had someone sent the Dementors remotely? Dudley and his gang were just as uneasy in the distance, but for all intents and purposes, defenceless against magical threats. Harry would have to double back quickly. If there were no Death Eaters, then, who would know when to find Harry, let alone where?

Suddenly, a crack in the air coming from his side did reveal that someone had indeed come to keep Harry company. He swivelled immediately on his heel to meet the threat, ready to disarm the potential opponent at once.

“Exp - “ he had to catch himself mid-spell. “Remus!”

“Harry!”

Remus ran towards him, almost collapsing on his knees from exhaustion. He had to hold on to Harry to keep straight.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Harry quickly said, “What's going on?”

“There are Dementors coming your way,” Remus explained, still out of breath. “I came to find you.”

“They came and went, Remus,” Harry told him. “I fought them off.”

“Oh.”

The look on Remus' face was between surprise and comprehension, until the fact sunk in.

“You fought them off?”

“Yes.”

Remus ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “This is not good.”

“is Voldemort behind it?”

“Not necessarily him, Harry, but one of his servants. I'm worried, if we don't get you out of here, this could happen again, and you can't go fighting off whatever they decide to throw your way. What's more, they know where you live, and the protection your blood bond with your relatives might not be of much use if the attack is strong enough...”

“So, what do we do?” Harry, for the urgency of the situation, was not surprised in the least. In a perverse sort of way, he rather enjoyed it being the reason to leave Privet Drive prematurely.

“I think we need to talk to your aunt and uncle.”

A/N: Somehow, my writing always takes a darker turn. I'm not sure why.

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A/N: What should've happened way before book 7.

Chapter V: The Talk

Dudley and his gang were still reeling from the Dementors' visit. Harry and Remus ascertained that they would recover without lasting effects, beyond the momentary shock of the experience, and headed back to #4 Privet Drive for the aforementioned world with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Remus looked at Harry as they drew up to the front door. “Have they changed at all?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Expect the usual.”

Remus sighed -this was not going to be pleasant. Uncle Vernon opened the door.

“You,” the venom dripped from the monosyllabic word. “Who have you brought with you now?”

If looks could kill, Remus would have been stricken dead right there and then.

“This is Remus Lupin, uncle Vernon,” Harry kept his composure, hardened from years of experience. “He was one of my teachers at school.”

“And Harry is a very good student, if I say so myself,” Remus made his own vain attempt to break the ice sheet between himself and Harry's uncle.

The tense exchange was interrupted by Dudley shakily walking up the driveway, Pierce and another of his gang in tow.

“Dudley!” Vernon immediately abandoned Harry and Remus and proceeded to nearly waddle over them in order to check on the stricken younger image of himself. `What did they do to you, Dudley!”

“C-c-cold,” Dudley stammered, visibly shivering. “D-d-dark, cold, h-h-hopeless,” he was making no intelligible sense.

“What did you do to my son!” Uncle Vernon positively roared in Harry's direction.

Remus inwardly admired Harry's strong will. “Nothing,” he shrugged, “but if you'll let me explain, I'll tell you what happened.”

By this time, aunt Petunia had bustled out of the house, her yellow latex gloves still on her hands, to check on what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, my, Dudley!” she ran in her son's direction and joined Uncle Vernon at his side, almost trying to muscle him out of the way to assume Dudley all to herself.

Her eyes sighted Dudley's two friends. Piece was standing, scrawny, hunched, slightly mistrusting, but scared, while his other friend retained the shocked, blank looked on his face of not being able to comprehend what had just transpired.

“What have you done to my son and his friends?” Aunt Petunia's voice was trembling, not unexpected of her maternal instinct, looking to protect, but Harry still felt irritated at how obtuse his relatives could be to pretend he and his life did not exist, or affect them at all.

It was these rude awakenings he wanted to avoid as much as he could, but sadly the magical world did not work to his beat, and he had to put up with it inevitably.

“Dementors, aunt Petunia,” his well-trained patience kicked in to fill the details, “you know what they are.”

“What nonsense are you telling your good aunt!” Uncle Vernon snarled, but Harry only spared him a disdainful look.

“They suck away your happiness and good memories to feed off it. Prisoners in Azkaban can be sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss. It drives you mad.” He knew none of this would register with Uncle Vernon, but he felt no compulsion to expand what he meant.

“Harry saved your son and his friends,” Remus stated simply, cutting off a double-round of retort from Petunia and Vernon.

“Look at him!” Uncle Vernon trembled again, trying to keep his composure. “What do you call that!”

“He will recover,” Remus said once more, “he has had a bad fright, but he will recover. The alternative would be complete madness.”

Dudley raised a shaking hand at Harry. “He...white light...freak...f-f-flying freaks...”

Pierce's legs had given out and he was sitting on the cool front steps, trying to stop shaking himself. Dudley's other friend continued his vacant stare in space.

“What flying freaks, Duddycums?” Aunt Petunia nearly cooed to her beloved son.

Despite the stress of the situation, Harry could not help but find the situation a little comical, and the corners of his mouth curved in the barest noticeable of smiles. He tried to maintain overall seriousness, though.

By now Remus had accustomed himself to the air of the situation. “I know a way your son, Dudley, will no longer be exposed to this risk.”

“How!” from comforting her son, aunt Petunia turned like a cobra, focusing on Remus with a hawk-like stare.

“Harry leaves,” Remus said simply, “and doesn't ever come back to your house.”

“We can do that?” Vernon positively beamed. “Why couldn't we do it before!”

“Yes, you can do that,” Remus said stiffly, affected by Uncle Vernon's second question.

“Great, pack up your trash, boy!” he instinctively went to grab Harry by the scruff of his neck, but Remus' wand jabbed against his swollen gut.

“You'll be a bit more civil to your nephew,” he said quietly, but in no uncertain terms.

Uncle Vernon, for his callousness, seemed to appreciate the input.

“Go,” he waved Harry off, “and hurry up.”

“That's better.”

Harry looked at Remus. “I won't be long.”

“Good idea, Harry.”

He could have jumped and sang all the way back to his room, and repelled all the world's Dementors at that moment.

There was not much to pack. His books and clothes were already packed from Hogwarts and he did not bother to take them out while he was at Privet Drive. Only the few t-shirts and the sentinel pair of jeans he wore in the summers. They were getting short, however, because he had grown considerably over the last year.

He wondered where he might go for the rest of the summer. There was nearly all of it still left to - enjoy! That thought was new, as he put the last shirt in the trunk.

“Hear that, girl?” he turned to Hedwig. “We're outta here!”

If owls could talk, then the response was definitely an enthusiastic hoot.

Trunk, owl and teenage wizard eventually all found their way down. Harry didn't know how to feel about the impromptu goodbye, but elation was a definite ingredient of the mix.

“Aunt Petunia,” he acknowledged her with a nod. “Thank you for everything.”

“Take care, Harry.”

In those three words, Harry felt more feeling from his aunt than any time previously that he had heard her addressing him. Dare he think, it had a shade of genuine concern and care.

“I will.”

Dudley had regained some measure of self-control at this point. “T-thanks. Take care.”

That was as close as Dudley might ever come to being human, Harry thought to himself. “You too, Dud.”

That left Uncle Vernon. He harrumphed something unintelligible. “Goodbye, Uncle Vernon.”

There was a noticeable finality in those words that everyone felt. It was a qualitative end -a conclusion, a chapter of Harry's life forever closed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Uncle Vernon waved him off, “just go away.” And with that, he shuffled back into the house.

He gave Aunt Petunia and Dudley one last look. Despite her attempts to look stone-cold and unfeeling, he could see her eyes glisten just a little bit.

At least she had some humanity left in her.

Harry opened the cage, and Hedwig flew out. She landed on Harry's shoulder, the brilliant white bird that she was. Remus shrunk the cage and the trunk and gave them to Harry.

“So, where are we going now?”

“I've got some chores to finish before I see you again, Harry,” Remus told him, “but you'll be going to Hermione's for the time being. It's far away enough to not draw attention, and not the Burrow, with the Weasleys generally being so high profile a family.

“Are her parents fine with that?” Harry asked. “I mean, I don't want to be imposing.”

“Nonsense, Harry, they were enthusiastic to take you,” Remus assured him.

“What did Hermione say?”

Remus smiled knowingly. “She was ecstatic.”

“Was?”

“Is, I mean.”

“Are we going to spend some time together before you leave me with her?”

“Unfortunately, I can't Harry,” Remus shook his head. “I will fill you in when the time is right, but right now, it matters that you be safe and lay low. With Voldemort back, it has changed a lot of things for a lot of people.”

Harry was dejected that, yet again, he was left to be coddled while others did the fighting for him. “At least, keep me posted on what happens.”

“That, I will do as much as I can, Harry. Maybe one of us can pay you the occasional visit -the whole idea is for you to stay down low, at least until you get back to school. Then we can definitely integrate you closer, because you'll be in a much better relative position.”

“But - “

“No emotions, here, Harry, just pragmatism,” Remus cut him off. “Now hang on to this portkey.”

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A/N: Dan and Emma. I cannot resist this particular cliché.

Chapter VI: Conversations

“Dementors!”

In Harry's personal opinion, Hermione was overreacting at the news. Not that he could blame her for it, she had every right to be concerned at what had happened just before they had come from the Dursley family home.

Fortunately, Harry could call that chapter of his life a part of the permanent archive now.

“We handled it, Hermione,” Harry said. “Remus was there, he helped too. It wasn't a problem.”

“How is Dudley?”

Always emphatic, even about the people she didn't like - Harry loved that quality in her.

“He'll live. Shell-shocked, but otherwise fine.”

“And if the Dementors find him again?”

A macabre devil rose in Harry at the thought. “I hope so.”

“Harry!”

“Kidding, dear.”

Hermione turned towards the window - Harry noticed the dusk over the forest in the horizon. Moments like these were beautiful, he thought. Right then, the floorboards creaked behind them.

“Hermione?”

“Mum!”

“Sorry, dear, did I startle you?”

“A little,” Hermione admitted. “What's going on?”

“We will be having dinner soon, Hermione. Harry, do you need anything?”

“No, Ms. Granger, I'm fine,” Harry told her quickly.

“Emma, Harry,” she smiled warmly. “I don't need to feel any older than I already am.”

“I'll do that, then,” Harry reciprocated, “Emma.”

“Come down in ten minutes, or so.”

And then, our favourite couple were left alone again.

“So, how do you feel, Harry? Being out from the Dursleys, now....and here...with me?”

Hermione could not keep the slight quivering out of her voice.

Harry had thought the change was right up there with the moment he found out he was a wizard, and dare he think it, slightly better. But, he had never considered the matter too deeply. Now that Hermione vocalized it for the first time, and he had the time to consider it more thoroughly, some other thoughts did come up.

“Aunt Petunia,” he said, “as much a pain as she was, I think she was receptive to me more than Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Being my mum's sister and all...” Harry trailed off.

“She did seem to care a little more,” Hermione offered. “Not much, but she did care.”

“Uncle Vernon dominated everything. I don't think she had much of a choice to begin with.”

“Do you blame her?”

“For what?”

“Everything - the closet, how she treated you - “

“No, I don't” Harry told her firmly. “As cold a person as she was, I can see why she did what she did... I suppose she never transcended herself in light of my mum and her passing.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head.

“I still think I might miss her a little, though,” Harry mused. “She was not a completely terrible person.”

“Are you ever going to see them again?”

“I don't know,” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “But I am happy to be away from them.” He took a few steps forward and wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist. “And here with you.” Her breath hitched and what followed, was the kind of soft kiss only the best of writers can express and most readers dream about.

Hermione, for the second time in her life, would have been happy to melt in the very spot she stood.

“Should we head to dinner?” Harry snapped her out of her reverie, checking his watch in the process.

“Uhm?” Hermione looked at him dreamily. “Yeah...” and she floated out of the room, tugging Harry by the hand behind her.

Remus had also stayed behind at the Grangers' request, and he looked all the better for a moment of relaxation from his otherwise visibly stressful life. At least, Harry was happy to see him enjoy himself for a change, not rushing to do something or be somewhere, for once.

“Hermione, what have you told your folks about Hogwarts?” Harry asked Hermione, as they descended the stairs together.

“Not a whole lot,” she admitted. “Enough for them to not be worried. I would play down everything we've done...”

“So much for your integrity,” he smirked, but she couldn't see it.

But, she felt it. “Don't make me wipe that smirk off your face, Harry.”

“You're so cute when you're mad,” Harry gushed mockingly. But, he did surprise himself how comfortable he felt saying that to Hermione - had they progressed as a couple so fast that he somehow missed it?

“Oh, hush,” Hermione gave in, “but seriously, Harry, mind what you say. This isn't funny.”

“I will,” he promised her, completely seriously this time. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate Hermione's parents, and with that, potentially his budding relationship. Not even Voldemort could give him the chills that followed the thought.

The dinner party was not as intimidating as Harry thought it would be, and even Hermione visibly relaxed when her parents turned out to be far less prying of Harry's history than she feared. Remus, rather more interested in the sumptuous steak and potatoes, the scent wafting above the plate and pleasantly mixed with the spices, participated less in the conversation and seemingly wanted to make the most of the serene moment he was afforded.

“So, Harry,” Dan was inquiring between bites, “what is it you like least about the school?”

Harry was happy the question was not hard at all. “Potions,” he said without hesitation. “Snape is terrible.”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Hermione chided him out of habit. “He is a very intelligent man.”

“Just not very good with the students,” Harry expanded. “Unfair, sarcastic...”

“Is he really that bad, honey?” Emma turned to her daughter, wondering.

“No, not that bad,” Hermione shook her head. “Harry is exaggerating.”

“How am I exaggerating?” Harry turned to her. “He regularly takes points off Gryffindor when you blink.”

“He does that to every student.”

“You, specifically.”

“Well...”

“And he loves Slytherin,” Harry continued. “That's another of the houses at Hogwarts,” he explained to the Grangers' somewhat questioning look.

“Favouritism, then?” Emma summed up the description of the esteemed Severus Snape.

“Yes, and quite prickly,” Harry finished it for her.

“Alright, I'll settle for that,” Hermione conceded. “Unfair and prickly. But, still a genius.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed on his own turn. “He might know a thing or two.”

“Remus here was your teacher some time ago - isn't that so?” Dan proceeded to change the direction of the conversation.

“The best we've had, really,” Harry commented casually.

“He is an excellent teacher,” Hermione agreed.

Remus looked up from his plate, slightly taken aback and blushing. “Well, I only did what was required of me.”

“Nonsense!” Harry came back. “Remus, don't undersell yourself.”

“I am not, Harry,” Remus told Harry patiently, and then turned to the Emma. “The dinner is fantastic, by the way, thank you!”

“Oh, don't mention it!” Emma smiled at Lupin. “If Hermione knows people like yourself, then I can be sure she is in safe hands!”

“Always,” Remus smiled slightly in return; his usually low voice was even lower for some reason tonight. Maybe he wasn't comfortable with the attention, Harry thought.

The conversation drifted back and forth between some of the quirks of Hogwarts, like the way owls delivered mail, some of the memorable feasts in previous years and how classes on magical creatures with Hagrid usually went.

Once the dinner party ended, Hermione's parents retired to the living room for a round of television shows Emma had been talking about for the previous fifteen minutes and left Harry, Hermione and Remus to entertain themselves.

“I think I'll be heading out,” Remus said.

“Nonsense, stay the night!” Hermione protested, resenting how self-conscious Lupin felt almost all the time.

“I literally cannot,” Remus remained insistent. “There is business I need to attend, which cannot wait.”

“Is it about Voldemort?” Harry asked him.

“You might say that,” Remus nodded. “But, I cannot say any more right now.”

“Why? I saw him directly,” Harry objected, “I think I'm ready to handle whatever it is you might be doing.”

“Not quite, Harry,” Lupin shook his head. “I don't have any doubt of your abilities, but there is a time for everything. You need to be patient for now.”

“Remus - “

“No more, Harry. I need to be going. In the meanwhile, enjoy your break. Believe me, you will need it.”

A moment later, he spun on his heel and was gone.

“Well, that was interesting,” Harry commented.

“Give it a rest, Harry,” Hermione told him, “Let's go out on the deck.”

Harry made a note to pick this bone with Remus the next time he saw him and followed Hermione through the side door, into the backyard.

The night was slightly brisk and he felt Hermione shiver against his touch. She wrapped her arms around herself and came closer to Harry - he tightened his grip around her shoulders. The moonlight reflecting off her hair caught his gaze and lost him for a moment; he stumbled over an unevenness on the ground, but recovered before Hermione could say anything.

The deck was a little distant from the house, a lone platform in the middle of a clearing, a few hundred yards away. Hermione's house was far from it neighbourhood and there was no surrounding light to interfere with, which made it perfect for stargazing, and this thought crossed Harry's mind as they approached the wooden deck.

The steps creaked to show their age, and a backbench sitting against the fence was draped over with a blanket; Harry couldn't tell what colour it was, but he thought it was perfect for watching the star-studded sky above. They sat down, and Hermione quickly melted into his embrace.

“I wonder what made Remus leave so suddenly tonight,” Harry closed the silent lull.

“I don't know,” Hermione said, looking above, “he said it had to do with You-Know-Who.”

“I don't like being left out, Hermione,” she felt him clench a determine fist, “I can't see more people dying because of me.”

“It isn't your fault, Harry.”

He picked up the distinct, but subtle note of exasperation. Still, he appreciated Hermion's patience in reminding him about this reality - or so she thought it was.

“I can still make a difference - I'm no good being idle.”

“To be honest, Harry,” Hermione turned toward him in a snaky motion, “the fact you are alive and well is good enough for me, Harry. And, that's plenty.”

“I know, Hermione, I know,” he agreed, “but you are the first in the long line of people who are important to me. I can't do nothing!”

“You aren't doing nothing, Harry. You also have to remember that you aren't the only one doing anything about Vodemort, and what you do has an impact on those around you.”

“That's the problem, innit,” Harry sighed. “The more people help me, the more they die.”

He laid back and let his head back. “You think Sirius is up there looking at us right now?”

“I don't know, Harry,” Hermione laid back beside him. “But I do know he's in your heart.”

He took her hand. “You're in my heart. I'm going to see him eventually.”

A grasshopper chirped somewhere nearby and another answered somewhere off to the left. A symphony began and the breeze picked up a bit. Hermione wrapped the blanket around herself and Harry and looked at him to grab the half on his side.

As he did so, his mind again drifted to how beautiful Hermione looked in the moonlight.

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A/N: The Disclaimer - I don't any characters in this fic, they're all JK's...does anyone put that in anymore?

Chapter VII: Accidents

While Harry was looking at nearly the entire summer being spent at Hermione's, that did not mean he would accept not seeing Ron at least several times, along with a visit at the famous Burrow. He particularly missed Molly Weasley's even more famous cooking - the thought of her chicken and potato borsch alone made his mouth water. It was nothing personal against Emma Granger, because her own cooking was stellar - and Mr. Granger pitched in to great effect himself, but Mrs. Weasley still took the culinary crown. Hermione would never admit this to her parents, and she compelled Harry to do the same; he was only too happy to oblige.

Remus had been out of touch for the last several days, Hermione's parents were gone for most of the day, and Harry and Hermione effectively had had the run of the house to themselves. The days were getting longer and hotter, and the Grangers' pool was a welcome relief, both from the heat and the slightly noticeable monotony that was beginning to make itself felt.

It was the first time Harry had seen Hermione in a bikini, and admittedly, she wore them less often than she liked to, as Hogwarts life and her summer academic drive provided far fewer occasions previously to do so. Now, however, as there was a boy by her side at nearly all times, Hermione found herself liking the exercise and even more so watching Harry's slightly awkward reactions when she purposely lingered in his sights for longer periods.

“You know, Harry, you could come and join me,” she smiled at him. He was sitting in a pool chair, flicking disinterested through one of his books. “And since when did you get such an interest in academics?”

“Must be you, Hermione,” he said, chiding himself for feeling so strange, seeing Hermione both so liberated and at ease with herself - this was a side of her he had never seen before and the teenage boy in him found the experience frustrating.

“You can stop pretending to read, Harry. I've caught you staring at me from upstairs.”

If there was a limit to how crimson one could turn, Harry was positive he had just surpassed it. “That's not true,” he mumbled.

“So you like it when I change out here?”

“No!”

She smirked. “No?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“No.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I mean - “

Harry had to concede. For all his stealth, he had been discovered. “I don't mind it.”

“There, now was that so hard?”

“No,” he stared fixedly at the book.

“Is the book really more interesting than me, Harry?”

Harry enjoyed his chance. “Oh, yes, definitely.” He held it up for her to see: Quidditch. A History.

“Quidditch is more interesting to you than me?” she looked affronted.

“You better believe it!”

He just managed to see the splash that came his way instead of a response and held out the book barely out of reach of the water.

“Hey!”

“Am I still more interesting than Qudditch?”

“Don't make me come in there, Hermione.”

“I do hope you will,” she pulled herself up by the side of the pool, leaned forward and smiled sweetly. Our hero found himself cornered and flushing to the roots of his hair once more.

“Give me two minutes.”

Between dropping off the book in the guest bedroom, putting his swimming shorts on and finding himself in the pool next to Hermione, Harry found he came fifteen seconds ahead of the mark he had set himself.

“That was fast,” Hermione commented, smiling.

“For you, always.”

He thought he spoke too soon, but it was too late now.

Hermione kicked off the wall and swam a length to the deep end. Watching her move, Harry `s mind reeled. Why couldn't he get a handle on himself?

“You coming?”

The water was still uncomfortably cool to the touch, as it always is when one enters a pool for the first time, but he took the plunge anyway. Water filled his nose and he screwed his eyes against the stinging chlorine, but pushed off the wall anyway and with a splash that probably scared the neighbours' car, he was off.

After the task in the lake during the tournament, he had become an expert swimmer, but he doubted he would ever be as graceful as she was, going across the pool. Then, his hand touched a leg and he immediately surfaced.

Either he had gone off course, as often happened in pools, or Hermione had surreptitiously moved in his way - he couldn't tell. Yet again, he found himself flustered.

“You do know how to swim well, Harry,” she commented. “I'm impressed.”

“Well, the tournament wasn't all magic,” he smiled coyly for the first time. Maybe he had the upper hand on her now.

“You don't say!”

He looked at her. `I'll race you.”

Easy pickings, Harry thought. There was no way she could match his speed.

Hermione's face turned serious for a brief second, and then her eyes shone in that way Harry adored so much when she was about to tackle something challenging. “You're on.”

That image and her dripping hair, all of it barely half a foot away, would not help him concentrate on the swimming. He thought he would have to reconsider the upper hand thought of a minute ago.

“On three, then,” she said. “I'll count it off.”

He nodded.

“One.”

Focus on the other end of the pool, he reminded himself.

“Two.”

Narrowed eyes, set chin, flared nose, that barely noticeable smirk of confidence and - oh yes - the golden-brown dripping hair hanging off her cheek -

“Three.”

You sap.

Hermione shot off and Harry took a half second extra to get his bearings. Then he launched himself off the side of the pool, making the biggest strokes he possibly could to catch up.

For once, the fact he was physically stronger helped him. On one of the consecutive breaths he glimpsed Hermione slightly falling behind him. Splashing madly from the extra effort he tried to muster getting ahead meant he had probably watered half the lawn already, but that did not matter as long as he won!

Which, incidentally, would have been amazing had his head not been the first thing to impact the finish line. Caught up in the inertia, he failed to anticipate it, and a low, thudding pain spread from the top of his forehead and down into his neck and back, as he grimaced instinctively. Shooting up, Harry grabbed his head hard, trying to will the pain away, face still compressed with the pain.

“Harry?”

Hermione's voice was distant, but he squinted his eyes to look at her. The very act made the pain worse.

“Oh, no, did you - “

She didn't have to read minds to deduce what happened. Nevertheless he nodded - that felt someone had stabbed his brain and he hissed with the consequent pain.

“My, oh my, come here,” Hermione guided Harry towards the ladder - he walked gingerly, trying not to aggravate his still throbbing head.

He stepped out, and dry land coupled with the warm air to knock some sense back into him. Hermione got up the ladder after him. “Let's get you some ice.”

“No, Hermione, I'm fine,” he grimaced, trying to dismiss the woozy feeling and the ringing in his ears.

Walking wasn't difficult, but he could his brain shaking with every step.

“You need to lie down, Harry.”

“That I can do,” he said quietly. “And I'll take the ice.”

She gave him a towel and put him on the couch in the living room.

“At least you won,” her voice carried from the kitchen over the sound of ice cubes clanging together in a glass.

“I should've let you won,” he replied with a hint of bitterness. “Some price to pay.”

“You will hit walls right on, Harry,” she came back in the living room, holding a hand towel that contained the ice. “That's what I like about you.”

She applied the bundle to the top of his head. “Now, hold it there.”

He leaned back, allowing his head to rest against the couch. “Where are you going?”

She leaned into his ear. “You sit tight. I'm going to slip into something more comfortable.”

The faster heart rate did nothing to help the headache. He groaned inwardly.

Hermione left for the second floor and Harry was left alone with his headache and thoughts for company.

The nagging thought was why he was so nervous around Hermione today. They had spent a lot of time together and were great friends before, so he did not understand what the problem could be. It was like a figurative wall he could not figure out, much like the one he met today. Maybe that was the metaphor for whatever he was feeling, the thought pierced the headache for a brief moment.

And then she emerged - wearing nothing more than a tank top, shorts, barefoot and the hair in a messy bun she was still stitching up. Yet, the effect on him was profound.

“You okay, Harry?”

Had his chin been down?

“Fine, Hermione, fine. Head still hurts a bit.”

“Give me that ice.”

He handed it to her. Then she went behind him and put her fingers on his temples, rubbing them in slow circles.

If he had to be honest with himself, the warmth and touch of her fingers was much more preferable to the coldness of the ice.

“You might as well keep going,” he told her. “My head isn't feeling too well.”

“With a blow like that, I'm not surprised,” she rejoined. “I'm glad it isn't any worse.”

“I'll be careful next murmured.” Closing his eyes really made the feeling even more enjoyable.

“Make sure you're not too eager next time,” she breathed into his ear.

There she went again. Now he was eager enough to bash his head twice, at least. And, there went that annoying heartbeat once more.

“I won't,” he promised. Had she noticed anything?

“Do you want to go for a walk after?”

“Maybe, if my world stops spinning before then,” Harry said. “I hope it does.”

“Shall I keep it spinning?”

“Not today, but tomorrow, I don't think I'd have any objections.” For some reason, he thought about visiting Ron and the Weasleys soon - but he could to Hermione about it later.

Hermione went on with the temple massage for another half hour and Harry was immensely thankful for it. The headache had effectively begun to subside, although his neck began to feel a dull soreness.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“Anytime, Harry.”

She stepped over the back of the couch and plopped next to him, took his arm and draped it over her shoulders.

“Now what?”

“You are amazing at this,” Harry commented. “I think I'm primed for a nap - that's really about enough excitement I can handle for one day.”

“What about our walk?” Hermione looked at him.

“After,” he shrugged. “Don't you want to have a nap with me?”

In fact, having her pressed up against him was unleashing a brew of sensations he hadn't felt since that brief fling with Cho the previous year, and this time they were a lot more interesting.

Hermione snuck a kiss in. “Okay.”

A/N: I don't think the light n funny fics are my thing. Any ideas for dark and stormy chapters ahead?

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