Chapter 1: Surprises and Inevitabilities

Upon seeing the towers and lights of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry come into view, Harry Potter felt a strange swooping sensation in his stomach. He wasn't quite sure if it was joy at returning to what he now considered his home, or terror at returning to where he had experienced part of the worst night of his life.

A great deal of change had occurred in the two months since he had landed back on the Quidditch Pitch with Cedric's lifeless body, surrounded by cheering—and then screaming and crying—students, teachers and parents.

Dumbledore had proceeded to make the rounds at the Ministry of Magic, conversing with Kingsley Shacklebolt—head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department—and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, about plans to be set in motion to safeguard the Wizarding World from Lord Voldemort.

Fudge—after his shocking tirade and initial refusal to believe Voldemort had returned—had consented to view Harry's memories in the Pensieve. As he could hardly accuse Harry of fabricating his own memories—as a fourteen year old wizard he could no less have created such a vivid memory than beaten Dumbledore in a duel—he had no choice but to accept that Voldemort had indeed returned to power.

The only bright side of the situation, from Harry's point of view at least, was the situation concerning his godfather, Sirius.

After a lengthy discussion, Dumbledore had at last convinced Sirius to do as Harry had done—go forth before the Ministry and present his own memories, while under the influence of Veritaserum. The Ministry had seen chaos the day Dumbledore walked Sirius into the Atrium.

"They'll murder me on sight!" Sirius had shouted at first, when Dumbledore had first proposed the idea. "They've been chasing me two years now, what do you think they'll do when I walk through the front door?"

"I will not allow them to harm you," Dumbledore had assured him. "Sirius, think of what this will do. I am vouching for you, and I tell you, you did not receive what we could ever call fair treatment before your incarceration. Once I convince Cornelius that you are within your rights to stand trial, he will see reason. With Harry also on the stand, we can have you cleared. Think about it. You can be free."

Sirius had agreed—"For Harry," he said—and two weeks later he had stood trial before an incredulous committee and a very tired, stressed Fudge.

After both Harry and Sirius' testimonies while under the influence of Veritaserum, and the memories of Wormtail's betrayal and escape, Fudge had placed his head in his hands, and mumbled, "Cleared. Of… all charges."

Harry could hardly dare to believe it. He looked over at Sirius and saw the look on his face—like a fog lifting. His eyes glimmered with tears and he blinked. Then he had looked over at Harry and the smile he gave him went a long way in mending Harry's tortured mind.

The rest of the summer passed quite as usual—Harry, moping in his bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive. He wrote to Sirius, Ron and Hermione every week, and occasionally, Lupin. For the time being, Sirius was staying at Lupin's place, while he tried to sort out his life. He had promised Harry that when he had settled all his accounts and got his life under control, they could live together. Harry had that to look forward to at least. In the meantime, his only other contact with the wizarding world was with his shadow; someone was keeping watch over him in Little Whinging.

He noticed his watcher first when he was on a walk on a hot afternoon along Magnolia Crescent. He didn't see them, but he distinctly heard footsteps behind his—he changed his pace without warning and heard the person behind him step just out of time with him before they adjusted their pace, too. Since then, he'd had the feeling of being watched. He'd even heard the soft crack of what he knew to be someone Apparating, every now and then.

He was hardly surprised. After all, Voldemort was back, his whereabouts unknown, and he knew that he desired nothing more than to kill Harry after he had again thwarted him and denied him his revenge. Dumbledore must have sent an Auror to watch over Harry, make sure he was okay. Even so, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about the whole situation.

And his scar would burn horribly every now and then. At the most random times: once, when he was doing the dishes for Aunt Petunia, again, when he was at the park sitting aimlessly on a swing set, and once more when he was trying to catch some sign of his stalker. He wrote to Sirius about it, but his godfather had nothing more to say than to suggest that now that Voldemort was back, this would simply and unfortunately be a common occurrence.

He felt it prickling again as he sat in the carriage that brought him, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the strange girl called Luna Lovegood through the castle gates and up towards the Great Hall. He ignored it and tried to respond normally to a question that Neville had asked about what was likely to be in the Herbology O.W.L exam.

The carriage came to a stop, and they got out. Harry walked slowly behind the others, passing those skeletal horses with wary, somewhat morbid interest. Why was it, that the others couldn't see them? Luna had said she could… perhaps he ought to talk to her about it, when the others weren't listening. Then again, Luna had said so many ridiculous things that he wasn't really sure that talking to her would make him feel more or less sane.

Harry kept his head down as they joined the flow of students heading into the Entrance Hall. He still heard the whispers and felt the stares. He was, of course, used to this by now. He had endured them especially in Second Year, when he had been accused of being Slytherin's heir. This time, however, the attention made him sick instead of angry or embarrassed, because he knew they were talking about Cedric and Voldemort, about how Harry had been the only witness to Cedric's murder, about how he had supposedly duelled Voldemort and escaped. He didn't need reminding of it; Merlin knew he revisited the graveyard in his nightmares every night...

Harry was so intent on avoiding everyone's stares as they entered the Great Hall—only kept from wandering into a wall by watching Hermione and Ron's feet beside his own—that he was completely blindsided when Hermione gasped, "Lupin!"

Harry's head shot up and he stared at the staff table. Sure enough, sitting calmly beside Hagrid and drinking from a silver goblet, was Remus Lupin. He looked as shabby as ever and there was more grey in his hair than there had been the last time Harry saw him, over a year ago, but he was smiling as he spoke to Hagrid. As he set his goblet down, his eyes fell on Harry and the others, and he nodded a greeting.

Harry smiled in surprise and happiness—one of the first true smiles he had had these long, painful weeks. He felt reassured—Lupin was the teacher Harry had been closest to in all four years at Hogwarts for many reasons, not least of which that he had been a close friend of Harry's parents and Sirius at school, and he had taught Harry the Patronus charm, which had gone on to save both his and Sirius' lives. He had also given Harry a lot of chocolate, whenever he had the opportunity.

"Dumbledore must have reappointed him!" Hermione was saying. "After Moody, he must have wanted someone he could really trust. This is so good, Harry!"

"It's more than good," said Ron heartily. "It's excellent! I can't wait to see him make fun of Snape again. Remember the Boggart?"

"Yes, well, I was thinking more about our education, Ronald," said Hermione peevishly. "Lupin was by far the best Defence teacher we had. Although it was a shame about my exam that year…"

"It's not his fault you're so neurotic about exams that your greatest fear was failing them!" said Ron, laughing.

The look Hermione gave him sent Ron scurrying over to sit at the table ahead of them.

"Come on, Harry," sighed Hermione, grabbing his arm and leading him over. Harry looked down at Hermione's hand in surprise as he allowed himself to be pulled to the Gryffindor table. Hermione had been rather physical in the past few hours—she had been touching his arm when she spoke to him on the Hogwarts Express, and in the carriage they had sat side by side, and she had not tried to prevent herself continuously bumping into him as the carriage jostled along the path to the gates. He put the thought out of his mind as Hermione let go, reaching across her body to drop her book bag onto the wooden bench.

Harry sat on Ron's right, and Hermione sat by his. Barely a second later, Ginny plonked herself heavily in front of them and instantly downed a goblet of pumpkin juice, slamming the empty cup heavily down on the table when she finished it.

"What did that goblet do to you?" Ron asked in amusement.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" asked Hermione, more sympathetically.

Ginny sniffed. "Oh, nothing."

But her face was so sullen that the three of them stared at her until she relented.

"Oh, alright, then. I just got dumped."

"Oh, no," said Ron carelessly, but Harry distinctly saw him perform an enthusiastic fist pump under the table. "Don't worry, Gin, it's for the best. Corner's a great big jerk anyway."

Ginny glared at him. "No, he's not. He's actually very sweet. He was crying when he told me."

Ron scoffed in disbelief. "Yeah, right, probably cut up an onion first to sell the act."

If looks could kill, Ron would be more unequivocally dead than Harry's parents.

"You—you—" Apparently not finding words strong enough to express her outrage, Ginny got up and stormed down the Gryffindor table, seating herself next to Dean Thomas, who looked up in surprise at her sudden arrival.

Ron grinned at Harry. "How's that, eh? Thought I'd be having to campaign to break them up this year, but they've gone and done it themselves!"

Harry could not muster Ron's enthusiasm on the matter. As it stood, he was vaguely concerned that now that Ginny wasn't attached to Corner, that her affections would return to Harry himself, as they had been focused in almost all the time he had known her. He fiddled with his knife and fork as he waited for Dumbledore to make his usual start of term speech.

"Your attention, please!" Dumbledore's voice rang out a moment later.

Silence fell quickly.

"Welcome back," said Dumbledore, "to another year at Hogwarts." Dumbledore was wearing clothes more muted than his usual extravagance, and he looked a little older and tireder than when Harry had seen him last.

"Just a few announcements, before we begin the feast," Dumbledore continued. "First of all, I'm pleased to welcome back Professor Remus Lupin, who has kindly consented to return to his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry, Ron and Hermione applauded and whooped very loudly as Lupin stood and bowed modestly. Harry clapped extra hard and Ron even stood up and clapped his hands above his head. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they had to do their best to support Lupin, because, as Harry looked around, apart from the Gryffindors, hardly anybody else was applauding, and he knew why. Everyone, of course, now knew that Lupin was a werewolf. He could see the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws muttering to each other and looking worried, and the Slytherins were looking mutinous.

Lupin was not at all bothered, although Snape—sitting at the other end of the table—looked livid. Lupin took his seat and Dumbledore resumed speaking. Harry pulled at Ron's robes to get him to sit back down.

"Secondly, I wish to inform you that there is a new garden on the slopes beside the Herbology Greenhouses," said Dumbledore. His voice grew a little heavy, as he added, "This has been named the Cedric Diggory Memorial Garden."

The Great Hall, which had still been filled with mutters about Professor Lupin, fell silent, and Harry felt his gut clench and he tried to stop the memories flashing through his mind.

"I was walking through this garden the other day," said Dumbledore, "and found myself thinking of Mr Diggory, of his spirit, his vigour, and his love for his friends. I'm sure that many of you will do the same. In this way, I hope, he will remain alive in us."

There was a long pause in which Harry stared fixedly at the light reflecting off his knife's handle.

"These are dark times we live in," said Dumbledore. "Yet I wish to assure each and every one of you that while you remain at Hogwarts, no harm will befall you. That being said, curfews will be remain as strict as they were. The Forbidden Forest remains—exceedingly so—out of bounds to everybody, unless accompanied by Professor Hagrid on a Care of Magical Creatures class."

Hagrid—who had seemingly been dozing off—snapped to attention at the mention of his name. He nodded and caught Harry's eye. Harry smiled back lightly and Hagrid winked.

"But enough chat," said Dumbledore briskly. "I'm sure you're all as famished as I am on this rainy day. So, let us eat!" He clapped his hands and the tables were filled to each corner with delicious, mouth-watering food.

Harry piled shepherd's pie half-heartedly onto his plate, while Ron emptied a bowl of chicken wings onto his. Hermione, however, did not move, but opened a large book and began reading.

"Not hungry, Hermione?" Ron asked, between mouthfuls of chicken.

"Of course I am," said Hermione without looking up. "But I'm simply not eating anything Hogwarts serves us. I refuse to partake in the wizarding world's slave-trade. I've a home-packed dinner I shall eat when we go upstairs. After that, I plan to cook my own meals this year."

Ron looked at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "You're not still on about SPEW, are you?"

"S.P.E.W, Ronald," said Hermione. "Honestly, I must change that acronym."

Harry shrugged as he ate. He thought it was rather admirable that Hermione was taking a stance like this, and it wasn't really harming anyone—with the possible exception of Ron's regard for Hermione—so he didn't offer any argument. He saw Hermione's eyes flicker to him from the pages of her book, and then back, just as fast. Harry looked back down at his plate and hid his smile.

The truth was, ever since the return to London two months ago, when Hermione had so suddenly and surprisingly kissed him on the cheek, Harry had occasionally recalled the memory with fondness. She had never done that before, and he wondered if it might become a regular thing, along with her patented bone-crushing hugs.

"Harry?" Ron was saying.

"Hug—I mean what?" said Harry, startled.

Ron looked at him strangely. "I said, are you going to eat that?" He pointed to Harry's untouched chicken drumstick.

"Go ahead," said Harry vaguely.

"Thanks."

As Ron seized the drumstick as though it were a wand and he needed it to defend himself from Voldemort, Harry looked at Hermione again, to find her looking right back at him with concern. He blinked.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, peering at him.

"Er, I'm fine, thanks," he said. He grabbed blindly for his goblet and spilled pumpkin juice along the table.

"Oi!" exclaimed Ron, jerking his arm off the table. "Watch it!"

"Sorry!" said Harry, whipping out his wand. "Evanesco!" he muttered, and the spillage cleared. "Sorry," he said again.

"That's fine," said Ron, but he was eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione persisted.

"Yes," said Harry, his face growing flushed. "Fine." And he faced his plate again, determined not to make a fool of himself.

He got the impression that Hermione was a little affronted at his brusque manner. She sniffed lightly and resumed reading, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the meal. Harry was a little upset by this, although he didn't bring it up.

When the meal was over, Ron and Hermione apologised to him as they explained that they had to organise the first years, but he brushed it off.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll see you in the Common Room." And he fought his way through the stream of students to the front of the Hall, hoping that Lupin had not left yet. Thankfully, he found him talking to Professor McGonagall.

"Thank you, Minerva," he was saying.

"Don't mention it, Remus," said McGonagall. "It's good to have you back."

Remus inclined his head. "Good to be back."

McGonagall turned and saw Harry. "Potter! Good, I was just about to look for you."

"Er," said Harry awkwardly. It was never a good sign when your Head of House wanted to speak to you before term had even begun.

"Don't worry, Potter," said McGonagall. She was speaking to him less sternly than she had in the past, and he relaxed a little. "I simply wanted to inform you that Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you in his office tomorrow afternoon. The password is Fizz-Whizz."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling even more apprehensive now. "Okay." He couldn't help but wonder, why did Dumbledore not pass along this message himself?

McGonagall nodded curtly and swept away after the crowds.

Lupin was lingering by the staff table still and Harry approached him.

"Good to see you, Harry," said Lupin. "Enjoy the feast?"

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "Listen, why didn't you tell me you were coming back? I would've had something to look forward to!"

Lupin smiled. "And ruin the surprise? No, Harry, even I did not know I would be returning. Professor Dumbledore reached out to me only last week. He said that while he knew I had parted on, well, rather poor terms with the school, and—" he looked around before continuing "—Professor Snape in particular, he would consider it a great favour if I were to return to teach. And, well, my reputation being what it is now, I was unlikely to find employment elsewhere, so I was in fact grateful for the request."

Harry didn't know what to say. He could not imagine how difficult it was for Lupin to not be able to get a job just because he was a werewolf. "Well, I'm, er, I'm glad you're back. It'll be nice to have a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who isn't trying to kill me."

Lupin laughed, but it sounded forced. Harry had to remind himself to tone down his humour, which had grown rather bleak in the weeks he had been locked up in Privet Drive with no one for company but himself. Sirius' sense of humour was similarly black—Harry almost smiled at the unintentional pun and reminded himself to convey it to Sirius in his first letter to him.

"Well, I shall see you first thing tomorrow morning, then, Harry," said Lupin. "You'd better be off to your dormitory."

Harry turned to notice that he was the last student in the Great Hall. "Oh, right. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Harry." Lupin sounded a little sad as he said this, but he picked up his travelling cloak and walked over, disappearing through the side door beside the staff table.

Harry half-jogged to the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase. When he reached the tail-end of the crowd, however, he slowed. He didn't want to immerse himself with the other students. Didn't want to endure their questions about last term. About Voldemort. He shivered.

No, he told himself. I'm not thinking about him. But naturally, Voldemort was all he could think about as he walked alone up to the Gryffindor Common Room, barely noticing when he almost walked straight into the Fat Lady's portrait.

"I say!" said the Fat Lady. "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry," said Harry.

"Well?" said the Fat Lady impatiently, and Harry realised that nobody had told him the password, and he was the last Gryffindor left outside.

"Er," he said. "Please let me in?"

"No password, no entry," said the Fat Lady sternly.

"You've known me four years!" he argued. "I think you know I'm a Gryffindor!"

"No exceptions, boy! The Headmaster asked me specifically to keep up security, you know. Can't be too careful. The Ministry's letting off murderers like Black, and with You-Know-Who back, anybody could be under the Imperius Curse!"

"Sirius was proven innocent!" Harry almost shouted.

"A trick!" screeched the Fat Lady. "He's a murderer! I haven't forgotten, you know, when he carved me up two years ago! He had madness in his eyes!"

"You spend twelve years in Azkaban knowing you're innocent and didn't get a trial, see how sane you are!" Harry shot back angrily.

The Fat Lady glared at him. "Never heard the likes of this before! I won't stand for it. Find your own way inside." And she waddled out of her picture frame, leaving behind an empty meadow and a lone buffalo that glared at Harry as if he had insulted it, too.

Harry kicked the wall angrily. "Ow!" he muttered, regretting this instantly. He began pacing. Perhaps he would spend the night out here. He wasn't exactly upset that he wasn't inside in the thick of things, surrounded by his classmates, asking questions about Cedric's death.

He had his Invisibility Cloak in the pocket of his robes—he had taken to carrying it around, even in Little Whinging, as a precaution. He felt safer with it. He'd use it tonight, then. Find a little nook, maybe an unused classroom with a comfortable armchair, and crash there for the night. It'd be peaceful without Ron and Neville's snores. Yes, that was a good idea.

He was walking away from the portrait when he heard it swing open and someone said, "Harry?"

He turned around. "Hermione!"

Hermione was grasping the edge of the portrait tentatively, looking at him in concern. "I thought you'd be back before us—where were you going?"

"Er, just—" he gestured vaguely. "I didn't know the password," he muttered, distinctly embarrassed.

"You could have knocked?"

This thought had not occurred to him at all. "Right."

"Are you going to come in?"

"In a moment," he said quietly. He was straining his ears to try and gauge the level of conversation in the Common Room.

"Everyone's gone to bed," Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "It's just Ron and I. Fred and George are in the corner, though."

A little more at ease, Harry allowed Hermione to pull him inside, noticing that she grabbed his wrist this time, rather than the crook of his arm. She let go when the portrait was closed once more and he resisted the strange urge to take her hand back.

"Where'd he wander off to this time?" Ron asked, sitting by the fire with a sheaf of parchment in front of him.

"I didn't—"

"We forgot to tell him the password!" said Hermione. "I'm sorry, Harry, that's my fault. I've really got to get a hang of this prefect thing—I was too worried about the first years."

"It's fine," said Harry, although—and he would never admit it, even to himself—he felt a pang of jealousy that Ron and Hermione were both prefects, with all the privileges that came with the job, and he was not. He pushed the unworthy thoughts aside as he sat next to Ron, who was looking at him with more than his usual interest. He found the attention unnerving, and gestured to the parchment Ron was reading. "What's that?" he asked.

Ron snorted in disgust. "Study plan. Hermione's made one for you, too." He handed Harry a similar parchment.

"Hermione," he said, "term hasn't even started yet!"

She huffed and sat down next to him. "It will in less than twelve hours!"

Harry looked at the study plan with dismay. It was full of notes, addendums and very precise timings. The only day which he had almost entirely free was Saturday, on which Hermione had scribbled, Quidditch! Despite the heavy schedule, Harry felt a pleasant squirm in his stomach. He hadn't gotten to play his favourite sport at all last year, what with the Triwizard Tournament on. The Quidditch Pitch had been transfigured into a maze for the Third Task, but he had caught a glimpse of it on the way inside and it seemed back to normal. It would be good to get on a broom again and fly… with the wind in his hair and nothing around him but sky… And, he thought, it was nice of Hermione to remember how much Quidditch meant to him…

"How come I don't get Saturday off?" Ron scowled.

"You don't have Quidditch," Hermione pointed out.

Ron's ears went pink and he didn't say anything.

Hermione pulled out her own study plan, which was more colourful, more detailed, and noticeably more busy. Harry noticed, however, that she had left Saturday free as well, but with no note explaining why.

Now, Ron, spoke up. "You, too!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean by that, giving yourself and Harry a day off, and me none?!"

Now, Hermione turned pink. "I just—I fancied a—fine, you can have Saturday off, too."

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a little strange sometimes?"

"You, as a matter of fact," said Hermione, with dignity.

"Oh, right," said Ron. "Well, I'm off to bed. Better get some sleep before this tyranny begins." He folded the study plan roughly and stood up, stretching. "Coming, Harry?"

Harry, who had been up in the air on his Firebolt, catching the Golden Snitch, snapped back to the Common Room. "Hm? Oh, er, you go ahead. Be up in a minute."

Ron shook his head in confusion and left Harry and Hermione sitting by the fire.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then—

"Harry—"

"Hermione—"

They both stopped.

"No, you go," said Harry.

"No, you," said Hermione.

"No, you," said Harry.

"No, yo—oh, alright then."

Harry grinned sheepishly.

"Did you speak to Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked.

"Oh," said Harry, who hadn't been expecting her to ask this. "Yeah, I did. He seems glad to be back. Said Dumbledore only asked him a week ago to come."

Hermione seemed to find this particularly interesting. "Wonder why he didn't ask earlier? Was he looking for someone else?"

Harry shrugged. "Does it matter? Lupin's back. Moody—er, Crouch—is, well…" Harry trailed off as he remembered that Barty Crouch Jr was now a soulless husk of a man, having been giving an unexpected, unauthorised Dementor's Kiss.

"What were you going to say before, Harry?" asked Hermione.

Harry had forgotten. Luckily, he was saved from having to come up with something by Fred, who sat himself on the armrest beside him.

"Harry," he said cheerfully. "Hermione," he added, a little less so.

George appeared on the other armrest.

"We were thinking—" said Fred.

"What with this being our last year," said George.

"Our future's bright with the joke shop," said Fred.

"But we want to make the most of our remaining time at Hogwarts," said George.

"We wanted to start a club," said Fred.

"And we were hoping you'd be our mascot."

"The champion of the Triwizard Tournament, and all."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Though the twins meant well, their need for humour sometimes meant Harry was the unwilling butt of their jokes. He, of course, did not see himself as the true winner of the Tournament. And even if he was, he'd give it up in a heartbeat if it meant that Cedric had not been murdered.

"Cedric is the champion of the Triwizard Tournament," he said, before he could stop himself.

"Oh," said George.

"Right you are," said Fred. "Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," said Harry.

"Anyway," said George.

"We wanted to form a secret Quidditch team," said Fred.

"Another one?" asked Harry. "But we've got Quidditch back this year! We can play again."

"Yes, well," said George, frowning slightly. "Angelina's our captain now, and mind you, she seems to have inherited Wood's spirit. Someone ought to check if he's been killed or something, I reckon his ghost has possessed her."

"That is to say," said Fred, "that we were thinking of something a little less formal, with none of the pressures of the House Cup resting on your skinny shoulders, Harry."

The idea did hold some appeal for Harry. Hermione, however, was frowning.

"I don't think Harry will have time for any extra Quidditch," said Hermione disapprovingly. "We've OWLs this year, after all."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Owls, Schmowls. We're at school to have fun, Hermy!"

"Don't call me Hermy," Hermione snapped. "And no, we're at school to learn, and prepare ourselves for our future careers. Harry wants to focus on his studies, doesn't he, and he's got a study plan laid out and everything—"

"I could use a little fun," said Harry quietly.

Hermione blinked and stopped speaking, looking for all the world as if Harry had slapped her in the face.

"That's the spirit, Harry!" said George bracingly.

"Knew you'd pull through," said Fred happily. "We'll be in touch, mate."

"We'll let you know the details when we have them," said George.

The twins went off to bed, leaving Harry and Hermione once more alone in awkward silence.

"I'll be off to bed too, then," said Hermione, sounding hurt.

Harry wasn't sure what he had done wrong. "Er, Hermione—"

"It's fine, Harry. See you in the morning."

He stared helplessly after her as she ascended the stairs to the girls dormitories.

Finally, he worked out what he had done wrong, and jumped up and ran after her. He had got no further than three steps up the staircase, however, when his feet were swept out from under him as the stairs transformed into a sheer slide and he fell backwards, spilling back out onto the carpet in the Common Room. He heard a squeal and a second later, Hermione came zooming down after him, tripping over the carpet and sprawling on top of him.

"Oof!" The wind was knocked out of him and he gasped, grasping at nothing and accidentally whacking Hermione on the head.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Harry wheezed.

"No, I'm…" Hermione trailed off as she looked at him. "Um."

Harry became aware that Hermione was lying flat on top of him on the floor in a manner which might have raised some eyebrows had there been anyone left in the Common Room. Her hair fell down and tickled his chin and their legs were hopelessly entangled.

"Er," he said, and Hermione clambered off of him quickly, kneeling beside him as he sat up, breathing hard.

Hermione reached up and attempted to straighten her hair—it was, of course, as bushy as ever, and resisted her attempts as much as Harry's hair would resist his own ministrations.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I didn't know—what just happened?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, all awkwardness gone, and he saw the familiar glint in her eyes which meant she was about to explain something that only she knew. "Boys can't climb the girl's staircase, silly! Haven't you read—of course, you haven't."

"But," he said, getting his breathing under control now, "you've been up to our dormitory before!"

"Yes," said Hermione, frowning. "It's a rather old-fashioned security system. Boys are traditionally thought of as less trustworthy than girls, I'm sure you know."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't find an argument.

"Not to mention, more sexually driven," Hermione added. After she said this, her face flushed a little more and she once more tried to tame her hair.

"Right," said Harry awkwardly. He had never heard Hermione use the word 'sex' in a sentence before. The effect was similar to if she had cursed very loudly in the middle of Potion's class.

"Um, what were you running up the stairs for anyway?"

"Oh, I was—" Harry didn't know how to frame his apology now. "I just—you seemed upset. Sorry. I didn't mean to throw your study schedule out the window like that, with Fred and George, I just… thought I'd accept and see what happens."

"Oh!" Hermione looked quite mollified. "That's quite alright. I'm not the boss of you, after all."

"Now, Hermione," said Harry, grinning. "That's not true at all."

Hermione smiled patiently. "In any case, you can join their club if you want—I actually think it's a good idea."

"You do?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Well, to tell the truth, when they approached you like that, I thought they would propose something rather more mischievous, you know."

"Right…"

"And something like this might help relieve some of the stress, too. After all, I know you love Quidditch, but you have to admit, those high-profile matches create very bad blood between the houses, not to mention placing a lot of pressure on you."

Harry was about to argue that Quidditch was a team-building sport, then thought of playing against Malfoy over the years and shut his mouth again. "I suppose you're right," he admitted.

Again, Hermione seemed quite pleased. "Well, er, we'll see what they come up with, I suppose."

"I guess we will."

They sat for a moment, then Hermione gathered herself and stood up. Harry joined her and they stood by the staircase, which had returned to its normal form, now.

"Well, goodnight, Hermione," he said. "Sorry, about, you know." He gestured at the stairs.

"Don't worry about it Harry. I'm actually glad I got to see the stairs in action—I'd only ever read about it in Hogwarts: A History and wasn't sure if the charm was still in place, it was in 1850 that they enchanted it, although before that there was a different charm that prevented—" She stopped and grimaced. "I need to stop doing that, don't I?"

Harry grinned. "Would you be my Hermione if you did?"

My Hermione? My Hermione? Why would you say that?

Hermione looked at him somewhat shyly, hoisting her book bag onto her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said. And then—to Harry's surprise and pleasure—she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

And she dashed up the stairs before he could say anything more.

Dumbly, Harry touched his cheek where she had kissed him, staring at the wall. "Huh," he said.

Shaking his head to clear it, he started forward up the stairs—only to realise just in time that he was heading for the wrong stairs. He course-corrected, only imagining what Hermione would say if he sent her careening down a slide and on top of him for the second time in as many minutes, and as a result of that, he tripped over himself and ran into a portrait on the wall.

"I say, watch it!" said the elderly man in the portrait angrily. Then, smirking, "She really blew your bulb, didn't she!"

Blushing, Harry ran up the stairs to the boys dormitory. He entered the room, already filled with Neville's loud snores. Without even getting changed, he slid into bed, still thinking about the scene downstairs.

"What kept you?" Ron's voice asked to his left.

"Oh, um, Fred and George," Harry said, not untruthfully. "You know, explaining their madcap ideas."

"Right," said Ron. "Well, goodnight."

"Night, Ron," muttered Harry, taking his glasses off and placing them on his nightstand.

He lay back, staring at the shards of moonlight across the ceiling. As he drifted off to sleep, he fancied he could still feel Hermione's lips on his cheek…

For the first night since the Third Task, Harry had very pleasant dreams.

Hello, all, starting my first HP fic!

I wrote this free-flow at 3 AM mid-POA-watch eating jellybeans, so it isn't my best work... but it was nice to write something other than my own books.

I've read a lot of Harry/Hermione fanfics and I noticed most of them start after OOTP and are set in either sixth or seventh years, so I thought it would be interesting to write one after GOF, and that famed kiss on the cheek in the last chapter, which is hands-down one of my favourite ever moments between them.

Let me know if you'd like me to continue... this is my first time writing Harry Potter fan fiction (and only my second time writing any form of fan fiction).

Hope you enjoyed!