Explanations amid Secrets

A/N So, I have received some reviews regarding Harry's drugged/spelled state, and how the story has become stagnant. I promise you, it hasn't. But this is not a heavy action type of story - most of mine aren't, to be perfectly honest. But this particular story is particularly slow moving. Hopefully, some of the events in this chapter will help to alleviate those concerns and complaints.

Also, sorry about the double chapter! This should be the actual chapter 10.

All thoughts of his uncle's suddenly forgiving attitude were thrown out of Harry's head as he was faced with his best female friend's ire.

"I live here now?" He probably shouldn't have simply come right out and said it, but Harry honestly didn't know how else to say it. How did you tell your best friend that so much had changed in your life? That nearly everything you had thought about yourself was wrong? That you had been living a lie nearly your entire life?

He tried not to think about it, honestly. Harry had a lot of experience ignoring a situation - pretending that everything was fine. That he was fine. He wouldn't have survived so long in the Dursley household if he hadn't picked up a coping mechanism or two.

But he had never been able to hide with Ron and Hermione. Harry didn't know why - he could with any of his other year mates. But with his best friends, he had never been able to hold back the way he could with other people.

"Harry, how in the name of Merlin did you come to live with Mycroft Holmes?!"

Harry couldn't help the burst of laughter that bubbled up. It wasn't the laughter that concerned Hermione, however - it was the edge of hysteria she could hear underlying it.

Hermione Granger had always known that she was the most mature out of the three of them. Her mother had always told her that girls mature faster than boys, but she hadn't really believed it until she had found herself the only girl in her circle of friends.

She noticed things they didn't - and it wasn't just because of her intelligence. Hermione wasn't conceited - but she was a realist. She knew where she stood in their funny little group. She was the intelligent one. Ron might have been the strategist, and Harry the glue that held them together - but she was the smart one. She wasn't conceited - she simply knew where she stood, not only with Ron and Harry, but with the rest of her year mates.

And Harry was damn near hysterical right now. Hermione could see, plain as day, even if nobody else seemed to be noticing. Mycroft Holmes certainly didn't seem to be paying attention enough to notice - or perhaps he simply didn't care.

"Harry ..."Hermione's voice was softer now. Gentler. Harry choked back another fit of laughter at that, noticing for the first time how Hermione's brown eyes had gone strangely ... soft. His chest felt suddenly tight, and Harry shook his head rapidly. He wasn't certain what he was denying - the look on her face, the conclusions she must have been drawing, the reality in which he found himself?

All he knew, was that he felt suddenly as if he might burst. Like a string that had been pulled to taut, about to snap, and he didn't know what to do.

Harry was a physical person. He always had been. He would much rather do something, than sit and think it out. The fact that he couldn't now ...

"Woah, woah, calm down. Come here." Hermione led Harry to sit down in the kitchen, settling him at the island that dominated the middle of the room. He was breathing so fast, she was worried that he would hyperventilate, and as she settled herself down, she began rubbing small circled on his back.

Hermione had never seen her friend like this before. Whatever had happened to bring him here, it must have been something particularly traumatic - more so than facing the shade of Lord Voldemort on more than one occasion. More than having a teacher attempt to kill you age 11. More than facing down a basilisk at age 12. Honestly, she was frightened to find out what could be worse than that.

But Hermione Granger hadn't been placed in Gryffindor for nothing. And if there was one thing she was willing to fight for, it was her friends.

"Ï don't-"

"Harry, it's okay. Just breathe." Hermione continued rubbing soothing circles into his back, and niether spoke for several moments as Harry attempted to follow her instructions and breathe. After a moment, he found Hermione instructing him to take long, deep breaths, and he followed her instructions as she breathed with him.

It was nearly ten minutes later that Harry finally pulled away from Hermione, running both his hands through his hair as he paced over to the fridge and pulled it open, pulling a drink from within.

John had been by several times since their dinner, and every time he brought something with him. Popcorn one time, and he had shown Harry how to pull up a movie service called Netflix onto the computer Mycroft had given him. He hadn't attempted to stay that time - or any time. But he always had something for Harry, no matter how small.

More recently, he had brought groceries with him - none of it healthy. Soda and candy, chips and cookies - everything he had brought he had labeled as "comfort food". A bit of junk food is good for you, Harry. Brings your spirits up. It occurred to Harry, now, that John reminded him strongly of Remus - the same calm demeanor, the sense of safety that seemed to emanate from their small frames.

How the man was a doctor, Harry had no idea, because none of this food could have been healthy for him.

Harry didn't offer Hermione a drink, but she didn't comment on it. Whether she was thirsty or not was a moot point - polite manners weren't needed here.

Hermione remained silent through all of this, simply watching Harry and waiting. She was willing to wait all day if she had to - but she wasn't leaving until she received an explanation. That was probably the Ravenclaw in her, she supposed - the need to know. But maybe it was a bit of

Hufflepuff, as well - the need to make certain that her friend was okay, and willing to work as hard as she needed to for it.

"James Potter ... he isn't my father. I'm not even a Potter, I guess. Mycroft - he's my uncle. His younger brother, Sherlock ... I guess my mother wasn't as sweet as everybody thought."

And there was that hysteria, threatening to break through again. Harry took a healthy swallow of his drink, forcing the liquid past the sudden tightness in his throat. Just breathe, that was what Hermione had said to do, right? Just breathe.

For her part, Hermione suddenly found herself at a loss for words. As far as surprises went, this one was a bit more mundane than some of the revelations in Harry's life - it was a positively muggle thing to happen to somebody, discovering their parents' infidelity. But that didn't make it any easier on those involved.

"So, you live with your uncle now. Well, your other uncle, I mean. Not the Dursley ones. I'm rambling, aren't I?" The last was said with a sheepish grin, causing Harry to suddenly laugh. There was no edge of hysteria to his laughter this time, only honest amusement.

"Welcome to my world."

Hermione's laughter now might have been a little forced, but she could see that the light hearted silliness was good for her friend, and she was willing to fake all the smiles and giggling in the world for that.

Harry breathed deeply, finishing his drink and setting it aside. "If you didn't come here because of me ... what are you even doing here, 'Mione?"

Hermione grinned. "I've been offered an internship with Mycroft Holmes. He is well known in both the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds, and ..." Hermione's smile suddenly dimmed. "And he probably only offered it to me because I'm his nephew's friend."

Harry shook his head, eyes suddenly narrowed. "No, Mycroft never does anything for only one reason. And he certainly isn't sentimental enough to bring you here to keep me company. It isn't his style. Trust me - he's got at least another couple of reasons for bringing you here, and none of them are wholesome."

"I see your father's paranoia is hereditary." Mycroft's voice floated into the room from the doorway, and Harry turned his head slightly to glare at his uncle.

"And yet I see you're not denying it." Harry returned hotly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mycroft rose one eyebrow in response, inwardly surprised at his nephew's response. The cocktail of drugs in his system should have kept him more complacent than this - but perhaps his magic was responding. He knew from covert monitoring charms that the boy's magical core was rather impressive, especially for his age.

"As entertaining as this verbal spar has been, I do require Ms. Granger to commence with the work she was hired to do." Mycroft placed his cane before his feet, both hands grasping the handle as he eyed the two teenagers before him.

Hermione was blushing hotly now, rapidly standing to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see how Harry was glaring at his uncle.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes." Hermione paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. A quick glance toward Harry, however, and she was gone.

Harry scowled after her retreating form, a sudden surge of annoyance washing through him. No, that wasn't quite right. He wasn't annoyed. He was angry, he realized a moment later.

Why? Because Hermione had left? Left him, in favor of his uncle. An uncle who never had time for him, who had never said a single affectionate thing since Harry had met him.

Hermione had left him, just like everybody always did. Oh, she hung around more than others - certainly more than Ron, with his ever present jealousy. But she left in the end. Just like his supposed father. Just like his aunt and uncle, as soon as they had discovered he had another living family member to take him in. Just like the Weasleys always left him to the tender mercies of his supposed family every year, no matter how much they professed that he was as good as family to them.

Everybody always left him - it was only a matter of time. It shouldn't have been any surprise that Hermione preferred his uncle over him.

But it still hurt.

On the other side of the house, sitting behind a large oak desk, Mycroft Holmes frowned as he felt one of the many spells he had keeping track of his nephew press against his awareness. That particular spell should never have nudged him - it should have remained dormant, so long as his nephew remained under the control of the drugs and spells Mycroft had placed him under.

Those spells had not failed - not completely. The nudge against his mind would have been much greater, had that been the case. But those spells were being strained to their limits, and that was worrisome.

Mycorft was not unaware of his nephew's nearly prodigious ability to throw off the Imperious spell. It had been one of the few times when he had actually taken notice of his nephew.

Increasing the cocktail of potions and spells he was currently feeding Harry was out of the question, however, lest he wish to cause permanent damage to the boy. He was already concerned that the boy might for an addiction to some of the more powerful potions he had been employing... especially considering his fathers own problems in that area.

So he would do what he always did ... wait, and watch. And hope Mr. Potter had more of his mother in him, than his father.