Chapter 9 – Choices

There was perhaps no race of being upon the earth as misunderstood as the race of Veela.

Many considered them to be little more than creatures—on the same level as giants or dragons, and though they resembled humans more closely than most other races, it was a common opinion that they needed to be regulated, like most other non-human races were. Nothing could be further from the truth. Veela were physiologically identical to any "normal" human beings—they simply had special and very specific abilities which set them apart from the rest of the human race.

For one, Veela had an alternate form into which they could change—at moments of great stress or fear when young, though control was achieved as the Veela matured. They were creatures of fire, having an affinity for all types of fire magic, and able to hurl destructive fireballs when they had changed into their alternate forms.

The Veela abilities regarding emotions, or more specifically love, were also a widely misunderstood facet of their abilities. Most considered Veela to be purely sexual beings, and their history had been one which had reflected that belief. It had not been uncommon for wealthy men to own a Veela slave, when such things had been legal, and even now, Veela were sought after as second wives, or even as concubines in some cultures. It was that fact that made growing up—and even in some cases adult life—difficult for many Veela, as most of them went through every day life knowing that most men who saw them were interested in their perceived sexual prowess and not much more.

In truth, however, Veela were highly attuned to the emotion of love, their sexual nature merely being a byproduct of their ability to sense the wants and desires of their partners. True, the allure acted as a magnet and in some cases a weapon against those who were affected by such things, but for a Veela, nothing was more attractive than a prospective mate who could withstand the effects of the allure. They could sense love in others, in all its various forms, which was why if a Veela was fortunate to find true love, they quickly recognized this, and went through life secure in their partner's affections.

As Fleur reflected on the past weeks in the company of her betrothed, she thought on what she had been able to glean from his emotions. She knew that she had yet to touch Harry's heart, not surprising considering his upbringing and the way this whole situation had been sprung upon him. Far from feeling frustration for his hesitance, she was glad he still seemed to be cautious of moving their relationship forward too quickly. She knew from experience that Harry was almost immune to her allure, and for him to fall in love with her so quickly would indicate an emotional immaturity and weakness of character which would be at odds with the strength of mind which allowed him to resist her.

No, Fleur was perfectly content to allow her relationship with Harry to follow its natural course, helped along by nothing more than time spent in one another's company, and the manner in which they would hopefully become friends, and later lovers. Besides, beyond the fact that she could sense emotions, as a Veela, Fleur was also very instinctively able to determine compatibility, and she knew that she and Harry were well-suited for one another. Her future looked bright with Harry, not only when considering Harry's character and abilities, but also from the likelihood of their becoming emotionally attached to one another. She knew that it was only a matter of time—eventually they would come to love one another. This was not an issue.

What was an issue were the emotions Harry so blatantly displayed for someone else—at least it was blatant to a Veela who naturally noticed these things. Though she suspected Harry himself did not understand his own feelings, Fleur was positive that he was in love with his best friend. And if she was any judge of the matter, Fleur was certain that Hermione returned Harry's feelings wholeheartedly. Of course, they were only fifteen years of age, but already Fleur could tell that regardless of their tender years, their mutual feelings were not the kind of childish infatuation most teenagers could be expected to feel. Theirs was the kind of mature regard and love Fleur so desperately wanted for herself—the kind of love built upon years of friendship, companionship and mutual respect and affection.

On one level, Fleur felt bad about the fact that the marriage contract had essentially removed Harry's choice. Assuming they had ever truly been able to communicate their feelings, Fleur knew that Harry and Hermione were as good a match as she was with Harry. Had it been entirely left to their choices, Fleur never would have even been in the picture—their relationship being so much stronger due to their long friendship, they would almost certainly have married when they had upon reaching adulthood. The fact that it had not been her decision which had taken away his was a consolation, but as she had told him previously, she did feel responsible for the fact that his name would likely not continue with her as a wife. And she knew that this was a very big issue, whether he yet understood that fact or not.

Her parents were in much the same situation, in fact. Her father had given up much to marry her mother, and he had done it solely due to the fact that he loved her and would not live without her. Without a son, his own name would die out, and he could not even ask for a male grandchild to continue his name, due to the near impossibility of either Gabrielle or Fleur herself bearing two sons (one to carry on her husband's name, one to carry on her father's.)

Could she do this to Harry? Could she go through life knowing that such a venerable name as the magical Potters would disappear from the world with her as Harry's wife?

There was another way, of course. Fleur was well aware of the traditions and customs of the magical world, and knew that Harry, as the last surviving member of his family, was a prime candidate for having multiple wives. If Fleur could not give him a son, then by marrying someone else, he would have a much better chance to gain the heir he would some day want. And Fleur knew just who would fit into Harry's married life as seamlessly as she fit into her role as friend.

The problem, of course, was convincing Hermione that this was the right thing to do. Fleur was convinced of Hermione's feelings for Harry, but he also knew that the girl now considered Harry beyond her reach—the girl's sadness had not gone unnoticed. It would undoubtedly be a disaster if Hermione were to turn to someone else in her pain, especially as the person to whom she was most likely to turn was her other best friend.

Ron, though Fleur did not dislike the redhead, was somewhat immature, and had certain issues he would have to work through before he could finally grow up. What was more, was that all of Fleur's senses told her that Ron was a very poor match for Hermione, and that she would end up regretting her choice if she settled for Ron as a replacement for Harry. No, Ron would not do at all.

Again, the biggest problem for Hermione would be helping her to become accustomed to the thought of sharing her husband, for Hermione had been brought up in Muggle society which banned such unions as immoral and unnatural. Yet Fleur was almost certain that Hermione marrying Harry was the best thing the young woman could do. They suited one another on every level.

It helped, of course, that Fleur genuinely liked Hermione—she doubted she could have countenanced sharing her future husband with a woman she did not like wholeheartedly. With Hermione, she had no such issues. Hermione was not perfect, Fleur knew, but in an odd sort of way, Harry and Hermione balanced out each other's strengths and weaknesses rather well. And though perhaps others would scoff at Fleur's self-aggrandizement, she fancied that her presence with Harry would only improve the dynamic.

Perhaps it was time to have a quick chat with Hermione. Harry would not be ready for marriage for several years at least—not that Fleur herself was ready either—but if she got Hermione thinking about it early enough, maybe the girl would have to time get used to the idea and come to her own conclusion sooner, rather than later. Yes, she would need to speak with Hermione—before they returned to school, if possible.

A knock on Fleur's door brought her out of her musings. When she called out her permission to open the door, her mother stepped into the room.

It was unsurprising, perhaps, Fleur thought with an internal grin, that her mother should come to visit her just when she was contemplating her future life. She knew that Apolline had sensed the same things Fleur had—her mother probably knew earlier, as she had more than two decades more experience with her abilities than Fleur.

"Ah, my dear," greeted the elder Delacour woman. "I was hoping to speak with you."

"Of course, Maman," said Fleur, rising from her reclined state and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her mother sat next to her and appeared to be considering her words before speaking. That she was concerned for her, Fleur could easily tell—Veela women had a certain affinity for each other, which was only stronger between those related. Fleur had always known that her mother loved her and was there for her, regardless of the circumstances. It was a comfort beyond anything else she had ever known.
"How are you getting along with Harry?" was the opening question.

"Fine, Maman," Fleur responded. "He is a very nice young man, and treats me with respect and consideration. I believe that we will do very well together."

Apolline smiled at her daughter. "I believe you will. I have sensed the same thing about your young man. But do not forget to take the time to get to know him better—despite your apparent compatibility, a strong relationship will not grow from nothing. And I wish for you to have the same happiness in life that I have found with your father."

"I will, Maman. We have only truly known one another for a few weeks now, so I am sure you realize that love has not grown between us. I am content to let it develop on its own."

Apolline Delacour eyed her daughter. "Yes, that is perhaps for the best."

Mother and daughter were silent for several moments, Fleur content to wait for her mother to get to the point, while her mother, she suspected, was searching for the proper way to broach the subject. She seemed to struggle with indecision, before she took a deep breath and began speaking once again.

"Fleur, I will not insult your intelligence by supposing that you have not seen it for yourself, but I wish to know what you mean to do about this situation between Harry and his best friend."

"Maman…"

Apolline's stern glance silenced her daughter. "Fleur, you cannot ignore the situation. Harry's feelings for Hermione are strong, and returned. You cannot begin a relationship with that hanging over your head."

An exasperated sigh was Fleur's response. "And what would you have me do, Maman? If I push them on it, I do not doubt that at this point in time I would lose Harry altogether—oh, I know he cannot get out of the marriage contract, but I would give up any chance of making a connection with him. They have a strong bond of friendship, regardless of whatever else they feel for each other, and I do not wish to anger Harry by demanding he give up his closest friend. Besides, it is not fair to Harry—he did not choose this for himself."

"I am aware of that, Fleur," responded her mother evenly. "But should you not be selfish in this matter? Harry is to be your husband, not Hermione's."

"He could be husband to us both."

Though her piercing gaze never relented, Apolline's stern countenance softened and she put her arm around Fleur, hugging her in commiseration and support. "So, that is the lay of the land, is it?"

"It is Maman, and I hardly think there is any other choice in the matter."

Feeling the upwelling of her emotions which she had previously held in check, Fleur rose and began to pace the floor, wringing her hands with some agitation. "Harry and Hermione are so close—as I've already told you, I don't think that forbidding them from seeing one another is the right thing to do, nor do I think it is fair. I did not choose this any more than Harry did, but I think in certain respects it has been easier on me, than it has on Harry. I do not have someone else with whom I am in love—Harry does, though he may not know it himself.

"Do I want to share my husband? Part of me shudders at the very thought. But another part recognizes the situation and accepts that it would be likely in any event—he is the last Potter, after all. And though I hesitate, I also understand that Hermione is such a fine young woman. I could have been forced to share my husband with someone much worse."

"You do not have to share your husband at all, Fleur," Apolline soothed. "You will be the first wife, after all—all others must be approved by you."

Fleur stopped her pacing and slumped back into her former place by her mother. "Perhaps that is true, Maman. But there is also the matter of the continuation of Harry's line to consider. You know as well as I that the chance of giving him a son to continue his name are small. That leaves us the option of convincing some young man to forsake his own name and take on our daughter's (and then have the same problem the next generation!) or allow Harry to take another wife, who should be able to give him a son."

Apolline's face curved into a smile. "Somehow this situation sounds familiar," she declared.

"You had the same issue with Papa?"

"I did," Apolline confirmed with a smile. "Your father and I had a similar discussion when I informed him that I would likely be able to bear nothing but daughters. He thought about it for a time because, as you know, it is an important consideration in our world, and then declared he loved me and no other, claiming that it did not matter to him a whit, as he would be as happy with daughters as he would be with a son, should a miracle happen and I give birth to a boy. And I don't think that he's ever regretted that decision. Perhaps Harry would be the same way."

"I am sure he would," Fleur responded. "Harry was not brought up in our world, and has not had the concept of carrying on the family name drilled into him. I'm sure Harry would say the same thing that Papa said if I asked."

"Then why do you fret? He is young—perhaps he will get over his infatuation with his friend in time."

Fleur stared at her mother incredulously. "I know you do not believe that, maman. You have much more experience with this than I do, and I can tell their emotions are true."

Apolline's answering grimace was rueful. "Much as I wish I could claim otherwise, I cannot."

"And that is why I have chosen as I have. I understand Papa's situation, but Papa was not forced into a betrothal contract when he was in love with someone else. I will not take this away from Harry, Maman—he deserves to have his heart's desire. I think highly of Hermione as well—she deserves Harry as much as he deserves her.

"Besides, I have another motivation. I do not know why, but I feel as though Harry will require the support of us both in the time to come. I cannot explain it, but I know it is true."

The sharp gaze of her mother pierced her, but Fleur stood firm. She was not certain where this impression had come from, but the more she thought of it, the more she knew it was true. For Harry to be successful in his quest against Voldemort, he would need the support of them both.

"It appears, then, that you have made your decision. I will support you in this, as you well know."

Fleur smile and engulfed her mother in a large embrace. "I know you will, Maman, and I thank you for it."

"I will support you, Fleur," Apolline said with a steady look, "but that does not mean I like this. I had hoped you would find true love with your young man."

"And who says that I will not?" replied Fleur, her manner impish. "Regardless of Harry's feelings for Hermione, I am still very compatible with him. Harry has more than enough room in his heart for both Hermione and me, Maman. I perhaps do not like the situation, but I am also confident that Harry and I can come into our own feelings for each other, separate from what he also has with Hermione."

Apolline smiled and reached up to touch her daughter's face with affection. "I believe he does have an amazing capacity for love, my daughter—I believe he truly does."

At Hogwarts, the staff was busily preparing for the upcoming term, which was set to begin in only a few days. Summer was a time for a variety of tasks which were not able to be performed during the school year—the whole castle was aired out and cleaned, lessons for the upcoming year were prepared by the professors, and a myriad of other administrative tasks were completed, all necessary for the smooth and proper running of the school.

As had been their tradition as long as they had been in their respective positions—and Minerva McGonagall had been the deputy Headmistress since Horace Slughorn had retired, a period of well over a decade—Minerva found herself in the Headmaster's office, going over a last few details in preparation for the return of the students.

They had been doing this for so many years now and knew each other so well, that their meetings were almost always efficient and brief. Minerva knew that her mentor held the highest of confidence in her abilities, and was grateful for the fact. After all, due to his commitments with the Wizengamot and the ICW, it seemed as though Dumbledore was absent from the school as much as he was present. Minerva was the Headmistress in all but name for much of the year.

This particular meeting began no differently than any other time they had met during the past decade. Minerva made her report of the incoming first year students—particularly the Muggleborn students, as it was part of her duty to deliver their acceptance letters and explain the new world in which they would soon find themselves.

They had made it a practice over the years to discuss the new students, and amuse themselves by guessing into which houses they would be sorted, almost making a game it. Some were easy—Draco Malfoy, for example had been unlikely in the extreme to have been sorted into any other house other than Slytherin. Privately, Minerva thought the lad's destiny in Slytherin was due to his complete lack of loyalty to anyone other than himself (and perhaps his father, who invariably came up in just about any conversation with him), his less than stellar intellect, and the fact that he was a bully, and therefore a complete coward. It was the ones who could end up in multiple houses who were the most interesting to guess. And then there were those surprises such as Miss Granger, who no one thought would end up in Gryffindor.

"I do have one question, Albus," Minerva remarked after their conversation regarding the new students wound down.

"Please, Minerva," Dumbledore responded, leaning back in his chair.

"Miss Delacour. She will be attending Hogwarts this year, but what do you mean to do with her? Will you just place her in Gryffindor, or will you let the hat decide?"

Dumbledore appeared to contemplate the matter for several moments before responding. "Though it would be less than ideal to place her in a house without her betrothed, I think we shall have her wear the hat anyway. I suspect she will be placed in Gryffindor anyway, given what I know of her, so it should not matter."

Minerva nodded. "I remember the second task last year. It was clear she was terrified—understandable, given her nature—but she competed in defiance of her fears, the outcome notwithstanding."

"Exactly," rumbled Dumbledore. "If the hat does place her in another house, we will have to make a decision then. There is one house for which she would not be suited at all, not that I believe the hat would place her there."

A grimace of distaste met his declaration. "She'd be in physical danger in Slytherin, Albus—you know this. Even many of those whose families' are not associated with the Death Eaters would consider her a freak and a plaything."

"Quite," confirmed the Headmaster. "She is not without ambition, but it is not her defining trait, so I think the odds of that happening are very low in any case. But though she is intelligent, I do not think that Ravenclaw would suit her either. Of course Gryffindor would be best, though Hufflepuff would perhaps work for her as well."

McGonagall smiled and nodded. This conversation was likely academic anyway—she was almost certain to be sorted into Gryffindor.

"Bring her to my office before the feast, we can sort her in private," Dumbledore instructed. "There is no reason to subject her to a sorting in front of the entire school along with the first years."

McGonagall expressed her agreement, before the Headmaster moved onto another topic.

"And what of your choices for Gryffindor prefect?"

"Yes, of course," McGonagall responded. Rarely had the choices for prefect been so obvious to her—in fact, Dumbledore likely already knew who she would choose, as well as she did herself.

"As neither of the head students this year are from Gryffindor, and my sixth and seventh year prefects performed their duties well last year, I will not be replacing any of them. As for fifth year, I don't think I've ever had such an easy decision in all my time at Hogwarts. The prefects will be Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Dumbledore was silent for several moments, stroking his beard as if in thought. McGonagall wondered at his unusual behavior—Miss Granger could not be disputed, and as the Headmaster took such pride in Mr. Potter's accomplishments, she was surprised he had not immediately agreed with her choices.

"Yes, Minerva, excellent choices indeed," he said at last. "However, do you not think that perhaps the fifth year prefect position should be offered to young Mr. Weasley instead of Mr. Potter?"

Nonplused at the Headmaster's words, it was all Minerva could do to keep her countenance. Dumbledore had never taken any overt interest in her choices in the past except to approve them. What possible reason could he have for objecting to the choice of Harry for prefect, especially given how she knew he personally felt for the boy?

Still, Dumbledore was nothing if not thoughtful and intelligent, and Minerva knew he would not suggest such a thing for no good reason. She opened her mouth to agree with him, when she considered his suggestion once again, and thought of the possible ramifications of the posting he was suggesting. No, she could not possibly agree with him without some sort of indication as to why he thought Harry should be passed over.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but why do you believe Mr. Potter is unsuited for the position?"

"Not unsuited, Minerva," Dumbledore responded. "I have the highest confidence in Harry's abilities, as you well know. I am merely concerned about his state of mind and the many things he has to deal with. Perhaps the position of prefect would be too much for him to handle, under the circumstances."

McGonagall scowled. "I am afraid I must disagree, Albus. Harry is not perhaps the most studious young man I've ever taught—though a little application would go a long way in improving his grades—but his other qualities of leadership and maturity make him the best choice in my opinion. I also believe it sends a bad message to the entire house if a deserving young man such as Mr. Potter is passed over for the honor, for someone who is not nearly as qualified. Mr. Weasley is a good young man, but I believe he lacks the emotional maturity for the position.

"Besides, I feel it far better for Mr. Potter to learn to manage his life—all facets of his life—while he is young, rather than coddling him unnecessarily. If anyone can manage everything happening around him, I believe Harry is that young man. You do him a disservice by discounting his abilities in such a manner."

Dumbledore chuckled and bowed his head. "That is precisely why I appreciate your abilities and candor, Minerva. You are correct—I had been thinking of sparing Harry some responsibility, but I do agree that if anyone can handle the pressure, it is surely Mr. Potter. Thank you for setting me straight."

Mollified, Minerva responded it was no trouble, happy she was able to persuade him to her point of view. They spoke on for a few more moments before their meeting came to an end. Minerva left the office, her mind already upon the tasks she would need to complete to be ready for the students' arrival.

The last few days of summer holidays passed, leaving Harry wondering at all the changes which had occurred in his life over the past four weeks. It had been a lot to take in, but he was happy with everything which had happened, and was, for once, looking forward to the future with something akin to anticipation, rather than the dread which had often been his wont.

His relationship with Fleur, though still progressing very slowly, was at least characterized by a friendliness that he had not been certain he would able to attain, and her personality, sweet, yet confident and determined, was one with which he was certain he would be able to love. Hermione had almost moved into the ambassador's manor, not returning to her home or Grimmauld Place for even the weekends, a situation which was made even better for the young witch due to the fact that her parents were now regular visitors, and stayed through the weekend themselves. It was good, Harry reflected, that the Delacours were not uncomfortable around Muggles, and the Grangers had in a short time become very good friends with them.

The Weasley children—along with Neville and Luna—were much in evidence as well, though as a group they had not been allowed to stay for the weekends. Neville and Luna also returned to their homes for the weekends, though they had not been forced to by their guardians. Both simply stated that they would like to spend time at home—Luna with her father, and Neville with his grandmother—and their explanations were accepted for what they were.

In Neville, Harry had begun to see a true and loyal friend. The bumbling young man he had once been had been replaced, and now in his place stood one who was growing and maturing, and now that he had had his wand replaced, he was excelling where he once had thought he would never be able to do so. Harry now counted him a close friend, and was happy that he had joined them—his new confidence made him a great asset, and a better friend than ever before.

As for Luna, Harry was still not certain what to think of the quirky Ravenclaw. Her constant prattling of all the fantastical creatures which no one else could see sometimes had him wondering about her sanity. But she could be as lucid as anyone else—though always some what whimsical—leading Harry to wonder if there was something in her past which made her act as she did. As she had yet to open up about her past, Harry could not be certain, but he genuinely liked her and respected her abilities. And though she was not as brilliant as Hermione, she was clearly very intelligent, and added a dynamic to the group which would be missed if she were to disassociate herself with them.

The Wednesday before the end of the month saw the entire group engaged in their last training session with Moody. Though they had been clearly covering the material he taught at a highly accelerated rate, none of them had felt like they were getting in over their heads. Moody, as strange and paranoid as he was, had a way of imparting his message that made the learning all the easier, and Harry, though he knew he still had much to learn before he could truly be deemed proficient, felt as though he had learned more than had ever before.

After their session for that day, Moody gathered the entire group together and had them stand at attention, much as he had on his first day in the manor. Though Harry had heard all about Moody's philosophy from the man during the course of their training sessions—and from the imposter during the previous school year—the old Auror never tired of constantly harping on the lessons he taught. Their final lecture was quintessential Moody, and caused more than one set of rolled eyes and grins, though Harry knew his advice to be sound.

"Now then," the Auror began when they had all been arranged to his satisfaction, "this is your last training session before the end of the summer. Now, who among you thinks you have mastered everything I have to teach?"

No one said a word—not only did they all realize they had much to learn, but they also knew Moody was fond of spouting off questions designed to trip them up, then teaching them how wrong they were. This was one of his less than subtle attempts.

"Good. The first thing to be aware of is how little you know. I have been an Auror for more than fifty years, and I can tell you that I am still learning.

"You have all put your best effort into these sessions, and I must tell you I have been impressed with you all—high praise from me, I can tell you. You are all competent, and even gifted, and I know that you will continue to do well."

He stopped walking around the room and stood in front of them, fixing his gaze upon them sternly. Or at least his real eye was fixed on them—the false eye whirled this way and that, seemingly at random as it usually did. "However," he continued, emphasizing the word, "though you may be very competent, you will never improve if you do not continue to practice. Returning to Hogwarts is not an excuse to slack off—constant practice will be necessary to retain all that you have learned and improve.

"I will not be at Hogwarts this year—I have other tasks to accomplish. You can still enlist the assistance of the Headmaster, and though you may not know this, your Charms Professor was quite the duelist in his day. In addition to this, Miss Delacour and the two elder Mr. Weasleys," he nodded to the elder students, "also have at least two more years of schooling than the rest of you—use their knowledge and set up a time when you can all practice together. Remember what I taught you, and you will do well.

"And above all," he suddenly thundered, "you must remember and practice constant vigilance!"

The twins shared an amused grin, while others of the group fought valiantly to keep their own from their faces. Of course, this did not go unnoticed by their trainer.

"Mr. Potter!" he barked.

"Yes, Auror Moody?"

"Do you know who the Death Eater children at Hogwarts are?"

Harry thought for a moment before replying. "I know some. There's Malfoy, of course, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Pucey, Zabini, probably Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters… Heck, all of Slytherin house could likely be included."

Moody's answering smile was positively feral.

"That's an assumption, Potter. The fact is that though some of the group you just mentioned were almost certainly Death Eaters, to paint the whole house with the same brush is incorrect. Remember this lesson—you must always be vigilant, but do not assume.

"Weasley!" he continued. "Who are the Death Eater spawn in Gryffindor house?"

The incredulous expression on Ron's face was priceless. "But… but… there are no children of Death Eaters in Gryffindor!" he sputtered, appearing highly offended.

"Are you certain? What evidence do you have? Were you at the Death Eater trials at the end of the first war? Can you see into the minds of your classmates and read their intentions?"

Though he continued to sputter, Ron could say nothing in response. Harry glanced around the room, noting the looks of speculation on most of the faces. It was the general opinion in his house that Gryffindors were "good," while Slytherins were "evil." Most of those in the other houses seemed to occupy a position somewhere in between the two. But now that Harry thought of it, why should it be so? He had learned long ago that very few things were black and white—qualifying people in that matter was remarkably short-sighted, and inherently dangerous.

"What then, is Gryffindor house too noble to house Death Eaters and their children?"

Harry was hesitant to speak up, but he knew to what Moody was referring, and thought it would make a good object lesson. "What about Pettigrew?"

Moody's eyes pierced Harry—though the false one continued to gyrate insanely—and he stepped back with a grimace. "Pettigrew! Very good, Mr. Potter."

"What do you think, Mr. Weasley?" Mad-eye demanded of Ron. "Still think that everyone in your house must be lily white?"

Appearing thoughtful, Ron shook his head.

"And well you should not. Anyone can hide who they truly are. In fact, it is the truly cunning ones you must watch carefully. The Slytherins are known and can be a problem, even though they are mostly milksops who are not as dangerous as their parents were. But it is the Death Eater sympathizers in the other houses who you truly must beware of."

"Even if no one in your house is an actual Death Eater, can you be certain that none of them are under the Imperius curse?"

Suddenly, Moody spun and launched a stinging hex at Neville. Neville, though he had often been considered to be a duffer, in actuality had very quick reflexes, and he had snapped off a Protego in time to absorb the stinging hex before it could hit him. Moody had been doing this the entire time they had been taking lessons from him, and they had all become proficient by this time in protecting themselves from his random attacks.

Moody barked out a laugh, and slapped Neville on the back, before stumping to the front of the room, and turning to face the trainees. "Very good. I am proud of you all. But you must remember to practice vigilance. Be certain you know who is around you, and be watchful of your surroundings at all times—even places which are supposed to be 'safe,' such as your common rooms. You can never know who has been turned to the enemy's cause, willingly or not."

The group broke up very soon after Moody's lecture, and they soon found themselves in the manor dining room, eating the lunch provided by the manor house-elves. Their training over for the summer, Hermione could now look forward to returning to Hogwarts for the school year.

She blushed, thinking that she was likely the only one of the group who was actually looking forward to more schooling. Looking around with a critical eye she revised that opinion—Luna, being a Ravenclaw, was likely excited as well, and though she still did not know Fleur as well as she would like, she felt confident that the French witch was quite happy to continue learning. Even Harry seemed somewhat eager to be returning to Hogwarts, though perhaps not as much as in previous years. Of course, that was due to the fact that until this year he had lived with his relatives—from what she knew of them, getting away from them was likely as much a factor in his relief to be returning to Hogwarts as anything else.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to her meal, thinking of all the changes and the new friends she had made. The Weasley twins she had of course known before, and Neville she could now count as a friend, as before he had perhaps been little more than an acquaintance, while being less than a friend. Ginny had fit into a little more of a "casual friend" category, while Fleur, though she was coming to consider a close friend, had been a complete unknown. Even Luna, who Hermione recognized was a diametric opposite to herself, was now treading into that hallowed ground of friendship, regardless of the differences between them.

For Hermione, friends were a treasure to be carefully nurtured and preserved. It come from her rather lonely upbringing, she knew, but the knowledge of how it had come about mattered little—she would do whatever she could to help her friends, and knew that they would do the same.

Frowning, Hermione peered around the room to the assembled training group. In fact, other than the Weasleys, all the others had had a rather solitary upbringing. None of them had had quite the experience Harry had, but each, in their own way, had been lonely as a child. Fleur was set apart by her beauty and heritage, Neville by his fears over his abilities—not to mention his overbearing and protective grandmother—Luna by her nature, while Hermione was set apart by her intelligence. It bound them together in a very real sense, she thought, and made them closer and more loyal to one another as a result. And the four Weasleys were bound to the group by deep ties of friendship, not to mention that Harry had saved one of their number from certain death when he had been merely a boy. These would be her friends, confidants, and fellow soldiers in the years to come. It was a heady feeling.

Apolline Delacour entered the room at that moment, with a smile on her face and some envelopes in her hands. "These arrived while you were in training," she said as she passed the envelopes to Harry, Fleur and Hermione. "I suspect your letters went to your homes," she stated, addressing the other occupants of the room.

Suddenly excited, Hermione tore open her envelope to reveal her Hogwarts letter and booklist for the coming year. It was receiving the long anticipated letter which had always brought home the reality of her imminent return to the school, and the end of the summer. But this time, there was something else in the envelope—something which fell from the ruined envelope and tumbled to the floor, making a tinkling sound as it rolled to a stop.

Curious, Hermione bent down to retrieve the object, her hand trembling slightly as she speculated as to what it could be. She knew as soon as she touched the cool metal with her fingers what it was, the supposition being confirmed by the sight of the shiny metal badge with a large "P" engraved upon its surface. A prefect badge!

"Hermione, you've made prefect?" Harry asked with a delighted smile upon his face.

Nodding, Hermione held up the badge for all to see. A round of congratulations came in from all sides of the room, as Hermione blushed from the praise.

When the tumult had died down, Ron snorted and addressed her. "Oh come now, Hermione, who else would be the Gryffindor prefect? I've known since first year you'd get it."

Hermione glared at him, but her heart was not in it—besides, the grin on his face belied any sting his words might have delivered. "Well, I didn't know, Ronald, and I'm honored that Professor McGonagall has this much confidence in me."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like she was going to pick Lavender "more-boobs-than-brains" Brown, or Parvati "there's-no-secret-I-can't-turn-into-gossip" Patil. Besides, our whole house together doesn't even know half the rules you do. It had to be you!"

Laughter erupted in the room, and Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly at Ron's assertions. She directed a mock glare in his direction, but he merely waggled his eyebrows at her and laughed along with the rest of them. Hermione sniffed at him, and turned back to her booklist, making a note of everything she would have to purchase.

"So who's the other Gryffindor prefect?" Luna inquired, glancing pointedly at Harry.

Hermione looked up from her list to see everyone in the room speculating over the three potential candidates.

"Me, of course," Ron stated proudly.

"And how do you reckon that?" Ginny queried with a snort.

"Well, it's like this," Ron began, "Hermione here is a straitlaced rules enforcer, and to balance her out, they need a fun loving, laid-back sort of chap—which I am. Obviously, it has to be me."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend and shook her head. Hopefully he was joking. She thought he was joking, anyway.

"Nah, my money's on Harry," George said.

All eyes turned to the black-haired young man. Harry, though seemingly somewhat uncomfortable with everyone watching him, shrugged his shoulders and opened his envelope. Reaching in to its depths, he produced an identical prefects' badge to Hermione's, and smiled at George. "Should have made that bet, George—you would have won."

Another round of congratulations rang in from around the room, while Hermione darted around the table and hugged him. She was pleased—not only was Harry still her friend, but they would now be working together more closely than ever. Harry truly was a great choice.

One among the company was not as thrilled as the rest. Ron sat back in his chair, a hint of a scowl upon his face as he thought of Harry getting the prefects' badge. It was another example of the Boy-Who-Lived getting something that he did not, and Ron was frankly getting rather tired of it. And Hermione's reaction was a little more… affectionate than Ron liked.

"Ron!" a voice hissed from his side.

Startled, he turned, noting Ginny's glare.

"What?"

"You are not going to do this, Ron. Let go of your jealousy!"

Scowling, Ron turned away from her. "Don't worry, Ginny, I won't say anything."

"Your body language is saying it for you, Ron," Ginny insisted. "Why would you have wanted the badge anyway, Ron? It's not like you truly wanted to enforce the rules and deal with the responsibility of being a prefect, do you? Think of it—the boring meetings, the time you'd need to do patrols, having to obey and enforce the rules. Think about it!"

A little shamefaced, Ron considered Ginny's points, knowing she was right. He did not want to worry about rules and such—he wanted to play Quidditch, play chess, do his homework (preferably as quickly as possible), and have fun. Being a prefect would put a major damper on all that. Better Harry than him.

On the other hand, part of the reason he had wanted to become a prefect was because he would get to spend more time with Hermione. Now, that time was Harry's.

But Harry was his best mate, and he had already told Ron he had no interest in Hermione in that way. Perhaps it was for the best this way—Ron had a good idea of what Hermione's feelings for Harry were, but knew that Harry could not return them. With them both being prefects, they would have time alone, true, but Hermione would learn fairly quickly—if she did not already know—that she could not have a relationship with Harry. Added to that, Harry would be the one with the responsibility, and he would also protect Hermione from others who may fancy her. None of Neville, Seamus, or Dean had ever shown much inclination for her in the past, but she was becoming more fanciable all the time, after all. Better she was with someone who was already taken, than someone who might be sniffing around her.

Besides, Harry was a good bloke, and he deserved to have some good come into his life. So Ron sucked up his pride and extended his hand to his friend, congratulating him for becoming a prefect. Harry's responding smile and thanks was all Ron needed to know that he had made the right choice in being gracious.

Updated 05/16/2013