Fantasie Impromptu: A Wet Tale

Summary: Wrought with awkward conversations, deep thinking and skinny dipping. What every good story needs. Plus, Ron finds out Harrys condition! (Of course, those of you that read the original version already know what it is, duh. --)

Rating: PG-13 (for now)

Warnings: THIS IS SLASH. It has been decided long ago. If you dont know what that is, you'd better love homosexuality or youre in for a nasty shock.

Disclaimer: Yes, once again Harry Potter and anything Harry Potter related is not mine. I do own Alrum and the Two-Tailed Fish.

NOTE 1: Im not going to make a secret out of it. I didn't like book five. Not one bit. I couldn't even FINISH it. I just skipped through to the end (probably missing lots of stuff, but I just could care less). Not only was it long and drawn out and hard to get into, but beautiful Sirius was pushed into a veil! Not happy, Jan. I love JKR and Harry Potter, but I still say book three was the best. I couldn't put that one down. In fact, I like most fan-fiction better than JKRs books (blasphemous, I know) but mainly I suppose, because the fan-fics I read are shameless slash.

NOTE 2: Review responses removed - I still love you all, they just take up too much space where there could be more of the story.

NOTE 3: This chapter got really long. So chapter two is now split up into two separate parts: PART A and PART B (very original, I know).

Chapter Two - It Always Happens When You Least Expect It...(PART A)

As if hurtling through strange fireplaces at the speed of light was not disorientating enough, perhaps what really threw Harry for a loop was Mrs. Molly Weasley's shrill voice being thrown at him as he tumbled from the Burrows kitchen hearth in a tangle of limbs. He hadn't really expected to be screamed at as soon as his feet plunged through the barrier.

"HARRY! Oh, my goodness, dear, I just heard what happened!"

The red-haired mother of the Weasley Clan clucked worriedly, arms flapping as she dove on him like an over-protective hen. His head spun as he was dragged from the kitchen floor and smothered by a stifling hug.

"We'll have to check you for curses, of course. Never know these days, especially with those foreign animals - oh, let me have a look at you dear!"

Harry decided the best course of action was to just go with the flow until he could get help. Distantly, he heard the fire roar thrice more as Ron, Hermione and Percy each spilled out. He tossed an entreating glance over his shoulder to no avail. Molly hustled him into the closest chair and plonked a plate of sandwiches before him. A glass of milk plopped down next to it, splashing dangerously over the sides only to encounter a Never-Spill charm. Wonderful thing, magic.

Harry sat stunned, as the same happened to Ron and Hermione, until all three were lined up like the three good little pigs, with Mrs. Weasley prodding them with questions about what happened.

"Marthilda Mithelwart Floo-called me just before you arrived. Saw the whole thing, she said! Imagine my surprise! Oh, I was so worried. Youre not feeling ill are you, Harry dear? Queasy? Headache? Dizzy?"

The boy in questioned shook his head slowly, offering her a smile that belied the sudden ache in his throat; he was so thirsty, "I'm fine Mrs. Weasley. I think it was just a shock."

"Nevertheless, I'll have Arthur check you over as soon as he's home. Meanwhile, you three eat up. Now where did Percy run off to?"

The trio simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief as Hurricane Molly blew out of the kitchen in search of her wayward son.

Harry took the opportunity to fervently gulp down the entire contents of his glass, panting for breath as he set it back down on the table. Ron took the opportunity to fill his grumbling tummy, wolfing down his tuna and lettuce sandwiches with savage bites. Hermione took the opportunity to round in on her friend. The friend she just couldn't get out of her head.

"Harry, are you positive youre all right?"

He looked fleetingly towards Hermione; her eyes were wide with concern, complete with a furrowed brow. His gaze soon found the untouched plate of sandwiches before him. "No, wait, water, where's the cold water?"

The gorging red-head barely paused from stuffing his face with his sandwiches to wave vaguely toward the kitchen. Before Harry had a chance to even move from his chair, Hermione placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I'll get it," she murmured, her hand lingering just a little longer before she swept out of her seat.

Harrys puzzled eyes followed her, until Ron nudged him slightly.

"You reckon maybe we should owl Dumbledore?" he suggested tentatively, worried that it could be something really serious. Harry just shook his head firmly, tossing a smile Rons way.

"I dont think so. It doesn't seem serious. Doesn't even hurt any more," he assured, while subtly using his foot to scratch the itch on his ankle where the magic had burnt into his skin.

"I think it's a good idea," announced Hermione, setting a pitcher of water in front of Harry for the three of them to share. "Professor Dumbledore might have some useful information on that fish that Mr. Weasley doesn't have - his expertise is muggles, after all, not magical creatures. Dumbledore might have access to..."

Her voice faded into stunned silence.

Harry had lifted the pitcher to his lips and was now guzzling it down, grunting every so often as air became an issue. Cool liquid spilled over his lips and down into the collar of his shirt. Finally, the last few drops trickled into his open mouth, and the empty pitcher sat uselessly on the table. Harry wiped his face clean of the water.

"Thanks, Hermione. I needed that."

Rons round eyes stared at him in wonder. "Jeez, mate... you sure nothings wrong with you?"

There was a moment of silence as Harry peered at Ron sternly, then simply shook his head in resignation, "Honestly, I don't know. I'm just really thirsty. I just, lets wait before we do anything. I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing."

With pursed lips, Hermione acquiesced, "Very well, Harry. But if Mr. Weasley finds anything wrong, then I'm owling Dumbledore no matter what you say."

All Harry could do was nod.

"Well, my boy, cant find a thing wrong with you. My best guess is the little fellow was all bark and no bite, so to speak," announced Mr. Weasley, tucking away his wand.

Harrys chest ached with relief; itd been hours of checking, re-checking, and then more checking, just to be sure. He felt as if hed been through a washing machine over and over and was just now hung out to dry. But at least it came with good news. He was fine. Completely healthy.

Except that didn't explain why his mouth was as arid as the Sahara and tasted like sand. Air puffed passed his lips in a soft wheeze.

"Can I go now then, Mr. Weasley?" he rasped, begging shamelessly with his eyes. He was tired and thirsty. A comfy couch and a cold drink sounded like heaven at the moment.

"Oh, of course, Harry. Off you go then. Ron and Hermione are waiting for you outside."

He had to hold his breath, for fear of crying in utter relief.

Harry rose stiffly from the rickety old chair, cringing when the legs screeched over the floor as he pushed it haphazardly back into its place at the table. His bones felt welded together, protesting painfully with every movement. He nodded vaguely at Mr. Weasley, and plodded silently out of the room. The day's events pressed upon him like a two-tonne weight, dragging his shoulders down into a dejected slump.

Memories of what had happened in the pet store, and speculations of Mr. Szane Alrum swamped his mind; it was all too peculiar. The look on Alrum's face C he was sure he knew something. There was definitely more to that fish than he let on.

Maybe he was being foolish in not owling Dumbledore, but he didn't want to risk that hed get taken from the Burrow. It had taken weeks of begging from Ron, Hermione and himself to get Dumbledore to agree to let him stay for the last week of the holidays C but only after the professor himself had investigated the Burrow and even Ottery St. Catchpole for anything suspicious, as well as placing up ward after ward Cfor protection. Just in case.

And after all that, Harry wasn't about to compromise his stay with the Weasley family over a 'funny feeling'.

Still, the whole thing felt odd to him. He could still vividly remember the vivacious colours glare of that fish's scales, shocks of opalescent blue, yellow and crimson. But what he recalled best was the sly intelligence glittering from its tiny eyes. It knew what it was doing. It couldn't have been just a primal reaction.

Then there was Alrum to consider. Why had he been staring at Harry as they left for the Leaky Cauldron? Maybe should come clean to his friends about it... But then again, Mr. Weasley had checked him over and had found nothing. There was probably nothing to worry about.

The aching thirst and obnoxious itching at his ankle that brought him to the present. He dragged his eyes upward from where he'd been staring blankly at the stairs. A pink tongue darted out to lick in vain at his dry lips C no use. His mouth was a cottony cavern with no moisture in sight. Harry smacked his lips and hurried out the back door into the garden where his friends were waiting.

At least this latest mystery took his mind off... other things.

"Hey Harry, how'd it go?" Ron chirped eager for a break. Hermione had both of them hunched over a larger, leather-bound book: The Wiles and Whims of Wicked Wizards and Witches. The girls lips were still moving quietly, unstopping, until the passage she was absorbed in was concluded.

"Horrible!" he groaned, flopping down beside them on the grass.

"Mr. Weasley didn't find anything wrong, did he?" pinned by Hermiones worried eyes, he offered her a reassuring smile.

"Its all fine. He didn't find anything wrong."

He couldn't quite meet her eyes, but pushed himself to continue anyway, 'Im still worried though. That fish, there was something truly odd about it. I think we should try and find some information about it once we get back to Hogwarts."

Rons eyebrows shot up to his hairline, "You actually want to research something, Harry?"

"Ron! It might be serious, I think Harry's right," Hermiones head shot up, leaping to Harrys defence. She couldn't quite suppress the small thrill of pleasure she felt at Harry's words, ebbing to the surface beneath her concern for a friend. Though, it was very odd that the scarred boy wanted to learn more about what had struck him C after he'd been investigated by a fully trained Wizard. He must be really worried.

"Is there something youre not telling us, Harry?"

Caught. Harry ducked his head, rolling his lips into his mouth. "I'm still so thirsty. It's not normal. Mr. Weasley had to stop to get me a drink like eight times. He was concerned, but when he didn't find anything, he suggested it was just a small side effect. But...I can't help thinking. It was all so strange. And I think Alrum knows something, too. He was staring at me strangely, right before we went through the barrier to the Leaky Cauldron."

Hermiones brow wrinkled with thought. "You're right, it is strange. But... are you sure you don't want to contact Professor Dumbledore, now?"

"I'm sure. I dont want to risk him taking me to Hogwarts. Or worse: the Dursleys."

"I doubt hed take you back there Harry, if something was wrong with you," Ron put in his two cents.

"Maybe, but I just dont want to take that chance. I'm having too much fun here, with you guys."

Both his friends smiled brilliantly.

The minutes ticked by in a comfortable silence, until Hermione slammed her book shut with a loud thud and jumped to her feet. "Come on, you two. I've some more books in Ginnys room. We should squeeze in some more study before dinner. Who knows, we might even find something on that fish."

Harry fanned himself impatiently, and wished for the thousandth time that he were allowed to perform magic outside of school. Where was an adult when you needed one anyway? Huffing, he rolled onto his side and pressed his warm, flushed cheek against the cool sheets beneath him. His eyes were nearly blinded by the glaring orange walls, but he hadn't the heart to tell Ron it looked horrible and anyone with any sense of style and taste at all would probably have an aneurism at the sight of it. Harry wasn't in a particularly good mood.

Hermione had hauled the two protesting boys up to Ginny's room (nicer and more girlish than Ron's) and, along with the young Weaselette, had dragged them through all thirty-seven chapters of Theories of Tran-substantial Transfiguration. By the end, the carrot-topped boy had groaned every time he heard the page turn, and Harry was ready to collapse.

It had taken one hundred and eighty-seven ignored sighs of protest before the wild-tressed brunette finally huffed and glared up from her text. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry chose not to notice the barely concealed anger, "Are we done yet?"

Ron sagged beside him, twitching and murmuring, "Please, let it be over."

Finally, Hermione lowered her eyes and reluctantly nodded. "Very well. Sorry, guys, you know how I am. Once I get into study-mode it's hard for me to stop. I just want you two to do well on your OWLs," she turned her best puppy eyes upon Ron, "I dont know what I'd do if I had to go on without you because you'd both failed the OWLs. You don't want to have to do fifth year twice, do you?"

Both boys slowly shook their heads, lips pressed firm.

"Well then, how about a game of chess?" she laughed, pulling out a board of Muggle chess that had been secreted away under Ginny's bed as a reward. Ron nearly cried with an almost disbelieving joy – he was just so happy not to have to study any more.

They were about an hour into their game before Harry once again felt someone's heavy gaze upon him.

"Harry… do you remember what happened exactly, today with that fish?"

"Not really, no… Why?"

"Well, its just I've been thinking about it. You're right, it is very odd that you of all people would shocked by a blue spell. When I was near the owls, I heard some people talking; you weren't the only one to have that fish toss a spell at you today. But it's very strange… out of all those people you are the only one who had the spell actually touch them. Not to mention, it was a blue spell. All the previous shocks of magic from that fish today were red. Quite suspicious if you ask me. In my opinion, the red sparks may just have been for show. With you, though, Harry… he must have meant business."

A long silence followed.

"So… what I want to know is… why you, Harry?"

The air around him suddenly felt oppressingly heavy, thick with heat. He grabbed at his lower lip with his teeth, cringing at the unexpectedly humid air. This house was charmed against the heat, but even without those charms, it never really got hot in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"I dont know, Hermione."

A second silence hung in the air.

"So, do you remember anything Harry? Anything at all that might help?"

Harry raised his head slowly at the distant sound of Hermione's voice. It was so warm, so stifling. Like the room was being pumped full with hot air. Absently, he wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, droplets of sweat smearing his skin.

"No I… I dont, sorry. I just… I was talking to the fish and then the last thing I remember was blue lightning coming straight at me."

"Strange…" murmured Hermione thoughtfully, furrowing her brow and filing the information away for later. This would definitely require a trip to the library as soon as they got to Hogwarts.

She eyed Harry for a moment, her sharp gaze drinking in all the odd little details shed missed before: his waxy complexion, broken only by the vivid red blush of his cheeks; rivulets of sweat sluicing down the side of his sickly face.

Harry stared back at her dazedly, only dimly aware of her scrutiny. Ugh… he'd felt fine a moment ago. When did it get so hot?

"You look a bit ill, Harry," Ginnys soft voice echoed in his ears, muffled by the thick air. Harry managed to summon a smile, tipping his head to rest against Ron's sturdy shoulder.

"I'm OK, really. It's just really hot in here. Aren't you guys hot?" He tugged at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt like it was slowly strangling him. That nagging thirst welled up in his mouth, leaving it feeling shrivelled and cottony.

Hermione and the two Weasleys shared a glance.

"No, Harry. Its rather cool, actually, considering it's summer now," the brunette murmured, a flutter of worry tugging her pink lips into a stern frown.

Ron shifted slightly beside his best mate, sweeping those wide blue eyes over his body. Ginny was right, he looked horrible; all pale and sickly, sticky with sweat. He'd never seen Harry look so ill before C he'd always seemed so imperturbable, but now he appeared a skeleton on the verge of finding a nice grave to collapse in.

"I'm fine," Harrys voice trembled, on the cusp of sounding resolutely firm, but falling short in favour of pathetic. He was certain hed feel a lot better if they'd all just leave him alone.

"Harry," Hermione admonished, concern painting her features, "You look terrible!"

"She's right, mate, you should go lie down," great, now Ron was ganging up on him.

"But, I…"

The brunette leapt to her feet, propelled by an angry fear, "Harry! Listen to me! You go lie down this instant!"

What else could the anxious Gryffindor do but obey?

Wilted and privately grateful (otherwise, he might never have lied down and instead collapsed from a heat stroke) Harry hoisted himself to his feet with great effort. "Fine, fine," he sulked, "I'll see you at dinner."

"Good. You have a nap, and we'll go back to studying–" Ron whimpered, "-we've wasted far too much time already-"at this point, Ginny stammered a flimsy excuse and hurried from the room, "-and it's never too early to start studying. Ron, I'll quiz you, all right?"

"But-"

"Grab those books for me, will you?" she asked with a smile, and Ron could barely stop himself from melting. Like an obedient slave, he did her bidding.

"Thanks. Now, let's start with a revision of the senior edition of Moste Potente Potions. Write down the most important facts from the first chapter. I'll start with..."

As Harry had left the room behind him and trudged zombie-like to Rons garish bedroom, his red-headed friends cries of mercy echoed in his ears. He knew that Ron secretly enjoyed getting bossed around by their confident bushy-haired friend.

Finally he shoved open the door clearly labelled 'Ronalds Room' and made a beeline for the bed. He could still hear his two best friend yelling questions at each other as the frustration mounted.

But soon, Hermiones no-nonsense voice had simply faded into the background as he reclined on the soft bed, sighing into the bright orange pillow.

Now Harry was sprawled out in a gangly heap, his thin chest rising and falling with each staggered breath. His thoughts were a whirl of frustration – what on earth was wrong with him? Why him? He was ensconced in a smothering heat, every drawn breath torture for his parched mouth. In his mind he conjured dreams of rippling ponds and babbling brooks; the kiss of winter painting the land white. He fantasized he was an Eskimo, tucked away in the most sub-zero igloo of the Arctic. His thoughts dipped and swum, swerving through icy lands and liquid dreams.

He was a fish… swimming, gliding through the deepest depths of the sea. Water… water… shower! He could have a shower! Now if only he could summon enough energy to move…

When Harry woke, he felt a lot better.

The stagnant air that had flooded Rons room seemed to have fled out the open window, leaving behind nothing but a fresh breeze that whispered over his skin. In the peaceful quiet, he could hear the cosy bustle of family activity on the floors below, most likely Molly roping anyone within her sight into helping her prepare dinner.

Harry flicked his eyes to the window; an indigo sky splashed with a milky band of stars. He must have slept through to the evening.

Strange, though. Now that the oppressive warmth was gone, he felt rather… empty. Like a small part of him had been taken away with that smothering heat. Harry curled onto his side, frowning.

Everything was so still and calm, his brain finally had time to think, to process.

He supposed he could consider himself fortunate, actually. What, with all the drama, he hadn't really had a chance to brood about what happened to Cedric or about his part in Voldemort's return. Guilt's ugly hand gripped his chest and squeezed. More than anything, he wanted to erase what happened at the Third Task. Do it all over.

Not do it at all.

But for weeks after Cedric's death and Voldemort's 'rebirth', hed played the 'If Only' game, holed away like Rapunzel in his small bedroom, with nothing but broken toys for company. And he'd realised, dwelling over it wouldn't help things. He'd just have to get stronger. He'd just have to defeat Voldemort, once and for all.

Harry shivered; the only question was: How?

And now this? This was the last thing he needed. Who knew what was wrong with him. Maybe it was just a side effect. He didn't want to jeopardize his time away from the Dursleys over something that turned out to be nothing.

A sigh breezed past his lips as Harry pushed himself off the bed – as much as hed love to stay and sleep, the escalating noise from downstairs hinted that dinner would be starting soon.

As if on que, cries of: "HARRY! DINNER!" rang out from below.

Chuckling quietly, he shuffled out the door and unhurriedly made his way down the curving stairs.

He failed to notice the trail of blue sparks his steps left behind…

Continued in PART B...

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Once again the uploading of this caused all my ' and " and ... to go all haywire on me, so I've gone through and tried to correct as much as I could. If I've missed any, please forgive, yes? And again, just try to ignore any mistakes and such. Oh, I'm also not going to post the second part of this chapter for at least a week, I'm not sure. I need time to keep ahead of everything, so I want to keep at least 3 chapters ahead. Anyway, please, do tell me what you think. Ta, luvs!