Disclaimer: not mine

So this will eventually be HarryAqua. According to the sites I found, she's meant to be about 18, so not much of an age gape between them considering she didn't age for a decade. What other pairings? Should Harry gain a Keyblade?

Finished KH1 on Proud Mode! Wish it had critical like 2

Chapter 2

Harry sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower, staring out at the grounds, seeing the massive maze growing over the Quidditch Pitch. It had all gotten too much inside the castle and he'd retreated to solitude thanks to the map and his cloak. Tomorrow was the Third Task and Harry felt sick, he knew, just knew, something was going to happen. Whoever had put his name into the Cup would have to act tomorrow.

Gryffindor were partying already but he didn't feel like it. He felt…restless, unsettled, and not just because of the Tournament. He felt that way sometimes, for no reason he could discern, but it had been happening more often the last year. It was almost like…someone else was feeling it and he was somehow picking up their emotions, but that was crazy.

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The cloaked man conjured tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.

"You!" he gasped; shocked, terrified, and enraged.

But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, rumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away.

Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.

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He stared out of his bedroom window and out towards the Play Island. Something had woken him, but what? He rubbed his chest, something…someone…was terrified and angry. He shook his head, that was crazy. He lay back down, curled on his side, and closed his eyes. He had school in the morning and Sora would tease him like crazy if he looked half dead from not sleeping. It must just have been a weird dream, that was all.

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Let it drown, Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, please…let it drown…

Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs and that made Harry even more scared for what would happen next. "Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master. " He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened - he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. He gagged around the cloth in his mouth, fighting down the urge to throw up. Harry couldn't stand to look… but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids.

Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. It wasn't until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him. "B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe."

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly. Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, rumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harrys blood. He poured it inside and the liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened. Let it have drowned. Harry thought, let it have gone wrong.

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air. It's gone wrong, he thought…it's drowned…please…please let it be dead.

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry…and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils…

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

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He stumbled, feeling a flash of sheer terror and despair pierce through him.

"Riku!" Sora called, turning back, frowning in concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he shook it off, not wanting to be dragged off for more tests.

His parents had freaked out three years ago when he'd first felt pain like that, taking him to every heart specialist there was on the Islands but no one could find anything wrong with him. He didn't want to go through all that again so he'd gotten good at hiding when it happened, but this was the worst it had ever been.

Sora moved back to his side, blue eyes clouded with worry and he hated it when Sora worried. "You're sure?" he asked, and Riku nodded, mustering a grin for him, and Sora was soon grinning back. He grabbed Riku's hand, pulling him along.

"Come on! I'll race ya!" He ran and Riku laughed but took off after him.

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Wormtail approached Harry, who scrambled to find his feet, to support his own weight before the ropes were untied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled out the wad of material gagging Harry, and then, with one swipe, cut through the bonds tying Harry to the gravestone.

There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have considered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric's body lay and returned with Harry's wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry's hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.

"You have been taught how to duel. Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.

At those words Harry remembered the duelling club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years ago. All he had learned there was the Disarming Spell, "Expelliarmus", and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one? He had never learned anything that could possibly fit him for this. He knew he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned…the un-blockable Avada Kedavra curse - and Voldemort was right - his mother was not here to die for him this time. He was unprotected…practically defenceless…

"We bow to each other. Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed, Dumbledore would like you to show manners. Bow to death, Harry."

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him, he was not going to give him that satisfaction.

"I said, bow," Voldemort said, raising his wand - and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever. "Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. "And now you face me, like a man, straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he'd ever screamed in his life…and then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.

"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause… That hurt, didn't it. Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry didn't answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those pitiless red eyes were telling him so ... he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it... but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort... he wasn't going to beg. He refused to give the monster the satisfaction, he would die like his parents, defying him to the end.

"I asked you whether you want me to do that again," said Voldemort softly. "Answer me! Imperio"

And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought…Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming ...just answer no…say no…just answer no…I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won't answer… Just answer no…I won't do it, I won't say it…Just answer no….

"I WON'T!" he screamed. His voice echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him - back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body - back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing.

"You won't?" said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. Perhaps another little dose of pain?" Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort s father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry…come out and play, then ... it will be quick ... it might even be painless ... I would not know... I have never died. "

Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope ... no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort s feet... he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible.

Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone. Harry stood up, he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort. Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"

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Kairi watched Riku paused again, clutching his chest. It wasn't a new thing, he'd done it all his life, but it had gotten more frequent since he turned eleven. He always said he was fine but that didn't stop them worrying about him, even the doctors couldn't find anything…but something told her it wasn't a physical problem. Sometimes when she looked at Riku…it was like a piece of him was missing but that was crazy, wasn't it?

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Harry collapsed on his bed, exhausted even though he'd only just gotten out of the Hospital Wing. What had Dumbledore been thinking? His so-called ideas on how to handle things had just made Fudge dig his heels in further. There had been a million better ways to handle that. Dumbledore had a Pensieve after all, why not offer its use? Or Veritaserum? Even a magical oath that they were telling the truth…

Harry sighed. His opinion had been steadily dropping when it came to the Minister; first he sent Hagrid to Azkaban with no proof or anything…and then he refused to even consider that Sirius could be innocent last year. How had the man ever gotten elected? He was a buffoon…interested only in keeping the status quo and lining his own pockets.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to think of the Graveyard, of…of Cedric, cut down without any hesitation right in front of him. Why had he let Cedric take the cup with him when he knew someone was out to kill him? Why? If he'd just been selfish and agreed when Cedric had offered…the Hufflepuff would still be alive. He also couldn't get that brief gleam in the Headmaster's eyes out of his head from when he mentioned his blood being taken, he was now positive he'd truly seen it…but why? The blood protection was negated, why would that please the man who sent him back to that hell every summer to strengthen that protection?

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Sirius lay his head on his paws. Why had he agreed to leave Harry? Search out the Old Crowd, was Dumbledore mad? They'd curse first and ask questions later if he showed up. So he'd gone for Moony straight away since he knew he was innocent, not that he was entirely happy with the other remaining Marauder. He had risked his soul to return to England so he could be close at hand with the Tournament but where had Remus been all year?

Poor Harry…seeing another boy murdered, and by the rat! He hadn't had the chance to question him about Riku last year but if he could so coldly kill that boy…he feared Riku was long dead now. He supposed he was lucky he'd been on the edge of the explosion that day, left behind dazed and easily caught by the Aurors rather than being blown up like the Muggles; apparently Wormtail was far easier with killing than any of them ever could have guessed.

He couldn't tell Harry about his brother, not when all it would do was add more grief. If he'd had any hope the boy lived then he would, the bond between even fraternal twins was strong. if anyone could find Riku, it was Harry. But if he still lived, then he should have had a Hogwarts letter and he hadn't. Sirius had taken the chance during the chaos of his break in to sneak to the book and look, Riku's name had not been in it, only Harry's. No Hogwarts letter had ever been sent to him.

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Riku moved restlessly in his sleep, images of other Worlds parading through his sleeping mind, the strange door in the Secret Place always glowing in the background, a soft voice whispering to him of the wonders beyond the Islands. Fast asleep, he didn't see the brown cloaked form watching him from the corner of his bedroom.

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The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King's Cross than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had managed to get a compartment to themselves.

Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him from hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked more fully and freely than they had all week as the train sped them southward. Harry felt as though Dumbledore's speech at the Leaving Feast had unblocked him, somehow. It was less painful to discuss what had happened now. They broke off their conversation about what action Dumbledore might be taking, even now, to stop Voldemort only when the lunch trolley arrived.

When Hermione returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she dislodged a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had been carrying in there. Harry looked at it, unsure whether he really wanted to know what it might say, but Hermione, seeing him looking at it, said calmly, "There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me. Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," Harry denied. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione in an oddly constrained voice. "As a matter of fact," she added, her voice now trembling slightly, "Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, confused.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione in a rush.

Harry had the impression that Hermione had been dying to tell them this for days, but that she had restrained herself in light of everything else that had happened. "How was she doing it?" Harry asked, hopefully there was a way to stop her.

"How did you find out?" said Ron, staring at her.

"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea. Harry," she said.

"Did I?" said Harry, perplexed. "How?"

"Bugging," Hermione answered happily.

"But you said they didn't work -"

"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see ... Rita Skeeter," Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph, "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn," Hermione pulled a small, sealed glass jar out other bag, "into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "You haven't…she's not..."

"Oh yes she is," said Hermione happily, brandishing the jar at them. Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle.

"That's never - you're kidding -" Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes.

"No, I'm not," said Hermione, beaming. "I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

Harry looked and saw that she was quite right. He also remembered something. "There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!"

"Exactly," said Hermione. "And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

"When we saw Malfoy under that tree ..." said Ron slowly.

"He was talking to her, in his hand," said Hermione. "He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid." Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. "I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London," said Hermione. "I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people." Smiling serenely, Hermione placed the beetle back inside her schoolbag.

The door of the compartment slid open and Harry tensed, ready for trouble.

"Very clever Granger," Draco Malfoy sneered.

Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him. All three of them looked more pleased with themselves, more arrogant and more menacing, than Harry had ever seen them.

"So," said Malfoy slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favourite boy again. Big deal." His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered. "Trying not to think about it, are we?" said Malfoy softly, looking around at all three of them. "Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," Harry warned quietly. He hadn't been so close to Malfoy since he had watched him muttering to Crabbe and Goyle during Dumbledores speech about Cedric. He could feel a kind of ringing in his ears. His hand gripped his wand under his robes.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you, you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!" He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. "Too late now. Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well - second - Diggory was the f-"

It was as though someone had set off a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. He, Ron, and Hermione were on their feet, all three of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside.

"Interesting effect," said George, looking down at Crabbe. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"Me," Harry told him. He'd barely kept back from something nastier but he'd managed it.

"Odd," said George lightly. "I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor."

Ron, Harry, and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle - each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit - out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" Fred asked, pulling out a pack of cards.

They were halfway through their fifth game when Harry decided to ask them. "You going to tell us, then?" he said to George. "Who you were blackmailing?"

"Oh," said George darkly. "That."

"It doesn't matter," Fred shook his head impatiently. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," said George, shrugging.

But Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept on asking, and finally, Fred said, "All right, all right, if you really want to know ... it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman?" said Harry sharply. "Are you saying he was involved in -"

"Nah," said George gloomily. "Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, what, then?" Ron pushed.

Fred hesitated, then said, "You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Ron slowly.

"Well, the git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

"So?"

"So," said Fred impatiently, "it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone!"

"But - it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" said Hermione.

George laughed very bitterly. "Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," said Fred. "Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything."

"So we asked for our money back," said George glowering.

"He didn't refuse!" gasped Hermione.

"Right in one," said Fred.

"But that was all your savings!" Ron growled.

"Tell me about it," said George. "'Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn't enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He's lost everything gambling. Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?" Harry asked warily, certain little clues clicking into place.

"He put a bet on you, mate," said Fred. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"So that's why he kept trying to help me win," Harry shook his head, disgusted by the man. "Well, I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!"

"Nope," said George, shaking his head. "The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task." George sighed deeply and started dealing out the cards again.

The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough; Harry wished it could have gone on all summer, in fact, and that he would never arrive at King's Cross…but as he had learned the hard way that year, time did not slow down when something unpleasant lay ahead, and all too soon, the Hogwarts Express was pulling in at platform nine and three-quarters. The usual confusion and noise filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, carrying their trunks.

Harry, however, stayed put. "Fred - George - wait a moment." The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out his Triwizard winnings. "Take it," he told them, and he thrust the sack into George's hands.

"What?" said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

"Take it," Harry repeated firmly. "I don't want it." as far as he was concerned, it was basically hush money from Fudge, an attempt to keep him quiet. Not that he planned to go around screaming that Voldemort was back on street corners or anything.

"You're mental," said George, trying to push it back at Harry.

"No, I'm not," said Harry. "You take it and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."

"He is mental," Fred said in an almost awed voice.

"Listen," said Harry firmly. "If you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long." He had the very sick feeling that what was coming…would be worse than the first war.

"Harry," said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah," said Harry, grinning. "Think how many Canary Creams that is." The twins stared at him. "Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it…"

"Harry," Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand.

"Look," he said flatly, "take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favour, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you." He left the compartment before they could say another word, stepping over Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were still lying on the floor, covered in hex marks, tempted to step on them but he resisted that urge. They'd paid for what had been said, that was enough.

Uncle Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier. Mrs. Weasley was close by him. She hugged Harry very tightly when she saw him and whispered in his ear, "I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry."

He nodded, even though he doubted Dumbledore would really let him leave any time soon. How could the blood wards matter if Voldemort had his blood and could touch him now? Dumbledore hadn't answered.

"See you. Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"Bye, Harry!" Hermione smiled, slightly sad, and then she did something she had never done before, she kissed him on the cheek.

"Harry - thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car. As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come ... and he would have to meet it when it did.

He just knew things would never be the same, not with Voldemort back, but first he had to survive another summer with his 'loving' relatives. If only he had family out there somewhere…

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Riku leant back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. Sora was valiantly struggling to stay awake on his left while Kairi had fallen asleep to his left, curled on her side. Sora had insisted on staying awake until midnight but the sugar rush of birthday cake was wearing off and he was fading. It was hard to believe today had been Sora's fourteenth birthday. In a few months he'd be fifteen. His birthday was the last of the year, being at the end of October.

It had been a fun enough day; Sora had certainly enjoyed himself. He glanced at him again and smirked when he found Sora flopped down in the sand, his eyes closed in sleep. He glanced at his watch, oh well, only fifteen minutes short of midnight.

TBC….

Riku's birthday is celebrated with the date he was found since they have no way of knowing when his real one was.