Chapter Two. With Those Who Love Me

In the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive, Harry reluctantly left a dream that included waltzing trees and high-kicking pigeons in knee socks and blearily opened his eyes to the gray pre-dawn light.

Charlie Weasley was awkwardly pulling himself through the window. Bill, already inside, was smirking at his brother.

"Put on a bit of weight, have you?"

Charlie tried to reply but fell into the room and scrambled to his feet. Bill laughed.

"Eeez heavee, zis eengleesh food, no?" Charlie drawled. "Moi tongue, it has eemproved, oui, Guillame?"

"Play nice," Bill said lightly, "Delicate ears present."

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes, still feeling fuzzy-headed from the Dreaming Draught.

"Oi, Harry, ready to go?" Charlie smiled.

"One minute," Harry mumbled.

"We're in a hurry," Bill urged.

Meanwhile, Charlie walked over to Harry's trunk, kicked it open, and waving his wand, said, "Pack." Harry's things—books, parchment, quills, socks—came fluttering from all over the room and settled themselves neatly in Harry's trunk.

"What's the rush?" Harry croaked, climbing out of bed and groping for his glasses. Bill strode over and pressed the glasses into Harry's hand.

Charlie was inspecting a massive gold pocket watch. "Time," he said warningly. "I'll take care of the trunk and Hedwig. We have to go now." Bill motioned Harry over, producing a rather worn car key. Harry sighed and put a finger on it. "Right," Charlie said, examining the watch. "3…2…1…and wait for it…aaand now!"

Harry felt the expected jerk below his navel, and the world spun out of control for a heartbeat. With a lurch, he staggered and fell. He got to his feet, feeling light-headed and very dizzy, and he supposed that Dreaming Draughts and portkeys didn't mix well.

Taking a deep breath, Harry found himself in a massive kitchen with a worn flagstone floor. He had the vague impression of a row of massive hearths to his left before he was engulfed in bushy brown hair.

"How are you? Did the Dursleys treat you awfully? This place is amazing and the history is just remarkable! It's been inhabited nearly as long as Hogwarts and we've had loads of fun exploring it, and there are lots of Hebridean Blacks here and we've been studying them—from a safe distance of course—"

"Nice to see you too, Hermione, er, can I breathe now?" Stepping back, Hermione let him go, and Harry grinned at her.

Ron walked over to him and gave Harry a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Good to see you, mate. You all right?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "You?"

"Just ducky," Ron grinned. "Drafty places, old castles."

"I suppose," Harry replied, puzzled.

Hermione took a breath to say something, but Ginny jumped in front of her. "Hi, Harry," she said in a rather strange voice.

"Well, we did it," Bill told Ginny. "We'll expect you this afternoon."

Ginny nodded sharply and glared at him.

With a pop, Charlie appeared next to Bill. "Your stuff is stowed in your room, safe and sound." He grinned. "You're looking a bit less weedy," he added.

"Been eating everything in sight," Harry shrugged.

"Harry—" Hermione began.

"Breakfast is in a half hour," Ron interrupted. "People are up and dressed early around here, Harry."

Bill and Charlie had started snickering, and Harry was puzzled. "Er—"

"We didn't know you were a closet Cannons fan," Bill said. "That's more snitches than they've seen in twenty-five years."

"Hold on a minute, that wasn't necessary," Ron protested.

Charlie was looking at Harry's midsection and counting. "True, though," he said clinically.

Harry blinked and looked down. He was wearing a tee shirt and boxers. Bill and Charlie had hustled away from the Dursleys so fast he had forgotten to dress. He felt his ears grow warm. "Would you show me where I am staying?" Harry asked Ron more calmly than he felt.

Ron just grinned at him.

"I know where it is," said Ginny, turning away and striding toward a door at the far end of the kitchen. "Come on."

"Nice snitch," Charlie called as Harry hurried after Ginny.

Harry heard the Weasley boys laughing and Hermione huffing as she began the build-up to a lecture.

Harry was relieved that Ginny chose to stay a few steps ahead of him and not look back as she led him up a circular staircase and down an empty, broad hallway. She stopped at the third door from the end.

"This one's yours," she said, taking care to look at his head and nowhere else. "I'll come back in a few minutes to take you to the Dining Hall for breakfast."

"Fine," Harry blurted as he bolted into the room. He leaned against the solid oak door and after a moment, began steadily hitting his head against it.

He was relieved to find that Charlie had indeed brought his trunk to his room, and he dressed quickly in one or two more layers than was strictly necessary. He was shrugging off his potion-induced grogginess when there was a knock at the door. It was Ginny.

They walked along silently for a few minutes.

"Look, I owe you an explanation," she said, suddenly. "They baited me into a bet last night. I should have known that they were up to something. Bill and Charlie were going on and on, and it finally got to me, and I said that we were friends and that you weren't the type to parade about in your boxers, and they said, 'Wanna bet?' so of course I said yes, although I should've known that they had it already worked out, so I really shouldn't have—"

How did she manage to talk that long without breathing? "It's all right," Harry said, mostly to relieve her anxiety. He was curious about what being friends had to do with her brothers' teasing, but he didn't think it was a good idea to ask. "So, what did you bet?" he asked instead.

"I have to make them apple-quince tarts today," Ginny replied miserably.

"That doesn't seem too awful," Harry said.

"Well, you're not me," Ginny shot back.

"Sorry," Harry replied, feeling a bit insulted.

Ginny sighed. "I'm the only girl, right? All of them have been going on for years about how it's my responsibility to cook for them and clean up after them. To practice, for when, you know, I have ten kids." She paused. "You ever make even one little crack about this, Harry Potter, and I will have hurt you."

"I wouldn't dare," Harry grinned. "If you had won, what would they have had to do?"

Ginny shrugged. "Get me a set of dragon fang earrings."

"Cool," Harry said wryly. "I'm sorry I lost you those."

"S'all right," Ginny shrugged. "Mum flat refuses, but I am going to blackmail Mundungus into getting them for me. Don't ask."

"Ginny, no one's bothered to tell me," Harry said suddenly, "Where are we?"

"Thorost Hall, in the Outer Hebrides," Ginny replied, "Castle of the Clan McFusty. Here we are."

The Dining Hall was only about a quarter or the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall, but it was still impressive. It held a long U-shaped table. Inside the U was a long narrow hearth filled with glowing coals. Harry looked up. Above the massive, blackened roof-beams, at the apex of the roof, was a long narrow slit to vent the smoke The Weasleys and Hermione were clustered at the bend. Around them were platters piled high with eggs, toast, sausage, bacon, and scones.

Sighing, he took a seat between Hermione and Ginny, mostly to avoid sitting next to any of the male Weasleys, fully expecting another hour or so of teasing, but they left him to eat in peace. He began piling food onto his plate. Hermione was bent over a book, reading with furious concentration. Her hand, clutching a biscuit, hovered halfway between the table and her head.

"Foo's grea,' "Ron said enthusiastically.

Hermione only stayed a few minutes before giving Harry a quick smile and dashing off, the book in one hand and the same crumbling biscuit in the other. Harry ate quietly, listening to Bill and Charlie's bantering and watching Ginny surreptitiously flick bits of marmalade at them.

"Want to take a look around this place?" Ron asked when Harry had finished eating. Harry agreed, and Ron led him on a rambling walk through the castle. It was a warren of rooms, chambers, and hallways built around the Dining Hall where they had eaten. Most of the rooms were built into the massive outer walls. There were two partially roofed courtyards, one directly in front of the Dining Hall and another that ran along one side. Some of the upper story corridors were open on the sides that were above the courtyards, reminding Harry of balconies.

The Hall's outer walls, even taking into the account the living space within them, must have incorporated thirty feet of rock. And they were old. Ferns spilled from the cracks between the massive, weather-beaten blocks. Lichen and moss dotted them, and rubble lay piled at the base of each wall. Oddly, water was steadily gushing from a carved, dragon-like gargoyle halfway up south wall. The water pooled at the base of the wall before tumbling toward the sea as a roiling, boulder-filled brook.

Harry found it relaxing, walking companionably with Ron and aimlessly chatting about whatever came to mind. They eventually wandered back to the corridor their bedrooms were on. Ron showed him the makeshift common room they had adopted at the end of the corridor. It looked like an abandoned study. The walls were lined with nearly empty bookshelves, and there was a large library table in the center of the room. At one end of the table were Ron's chessmen and a board. Several battered comfortable chairs were scattered here and there, and tucked into a corner was a dented roll top desk that Hermione was apparently using. A number of her books lined the bookshelves nearest the desk.

"We didn't have any summer work," Harry said.

"Getting an early start on her NEWTs," Ron explained, noticing what Harry was looking at. "Fancy a game of chess?"

The rout began as soon as Harry touched his first piece, and Ron checkmated him in seven moves. He hesitated for a second, then ignoring the chessmen's outraged protests, he swept them off the board.

Harry watched curiously as Ron placed the black queen in the center of the board and a rook, a bishop and a knight clustered together in one corner. Then he played out a scenario. Harry knew that whatever Ron was doing wasn't exactly chess, although all the pieces were following the rules. The chessmen were unnaturally quiet, and for some reason, Harry found that disturbing.

The queen attacked, but the knight, jumping his allies, charged at her. "Wasn't expecting that, was she?" Ron grinned. "Whoever heard of an unsupported knight attacking a queen?"

As the scenario developed, the queen could never quite get a line on the erratic knight without exposing herself to the more powerful pieces that grimaced at her from their corner. Frustrated, she moved to the other side of the board in an effort to shake off the knight and use her greater range to mount an attack on the bishop and the rook.

That was a mistake, Harry realized, as he watched the rook and the bishop, now with some room, spreading out and inexorably backing the Black Queen into a corner. In the end, the rook swooped down and knocked the queen off and sent her skittering across the table. Absently, Harry caught her as she dropped off the edge.

"There it is, then," Ron said. "Not exactly chess, but I reckon three of us working together could take out almost any Deatheater. More of us would make it easier, of course."

Harry examined the queen in his hand for a second, then tossed it to Ron. "Who's the knight? Me, I expect."

Ron shook his head. "No. You're the rook. That's who the Queen is most afraid of." He paused. "Tactically, the Queen has to be concerned about the rook, and she has to underestimate the knight." Ron began looking a bit uncomfortable. "I don't know who the knight is, but they can't mind getting up close and personal."

"Or getting bloody," Harry said slowly, recalling McGonagall's giant chess set. He felt a pang of nearly overwhelming sadness. Ron was planning a war on his chess set. The same chess set a wide-eyed, smudge-nosed, eleven-year-old Ron had been clutching as the Hogwarts Express thundered northward all those years ago. "This isn't fair,' Harry said quietly, "We should be getting stupid about girls and arguing about Quidditch. We shouldn't be planning how to kill Deatheaters. It's just not bloody fair."

"Well," Ron said matter-of-factly, "We are stupid about girls, we do argue about Quidditch, and we are planning to kill Deatheaters. We are hiding from Lord Thingy on an island full of dragons, and my mum—my mum, mind you—is going on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix. My little sister plays with swords for fun, and my best mate has this habit of forgetting to put on his trousers—"

Before he could stop himself, Harry glanced down to assure himself that his pants were still there. Ron grinned at him, and Harry sheepishly smiled back.

They were playing exploding snap when the girls showed up. Hermione gave them a quick hullo and went immediately to the roll top desk and buried herself in books and parchment. Whatever research Hermione was engaged in was all consuming. She sat at her desk reading, scribbling, and occasionally emitting an excited squeak or an exasperated snort. Harry knew better than to ask her anything, so he asked Ron.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "Best leave her to it, though. She'll tell us when she's ready."

Harry thought Ron's reaction was peculiar, but he let it pass. Ginny was acting oddly as well. She was sitting in a chair away from them, half-sprawled on the table and scratching her head, her nose inches from mostly clean strip of parchment. With a yowl of frustration, Ginny crumpled the parchment and stuffed it into her robe. "I'm off to the kitchens. I have to cook," she announced sullenly.

"Want some help?" Harry offered. "I mean, I sort of helped you get into this mess."

She pursed her lips speculatively. "I don't know," she said teasingly, "I've heard stories about your potions."

"I've been cooking for the Dursleys since I was five," Harry said defensively. "I only wrecked a meal once."

"Of course you can help," Ginny said quickly, "Come on."

Ron ducked his head, trying to hide a small smirk.

"Want to come?" Harry asked him.

"Nah," Ron snorted. "I don't need to learn any of that. It's not like I am going to need to feed twelve kids one day. It's all witch work anyway."

"And what do you mean by that?" Hermione asked dangerously, turning around in her chair.

"Cooking. Laundry. All that rot."

"Let's get out of here," Harry told Ginny a bit desperately. The roaring started before the had reached the end of the corridor. Ginny stopped by her room and emerged with her battered Hogwarts cauldron loaded with potion-making supplies. Harry looked at her quizzically.

"You can't think that I'm just going to accept this situation," she told him.

Harry laughed and took the cauldron from her.

The kitchens were empty, but they found a large bowl of apples and quinces on one of the work tables, apparently from Bill. Harry found cabinets full of ingredients, and Ginny called out what she needed from Harry while she rummaged for bowls, baking sheets, knives and whisks.

Working together in a comfortable silence, they made quick work of the preparation. Harry chopped apples and quinces while Ginny made the dough for the crust. While the dough rested, Ginny dumped the contents of her cauldron on another work table and set up her cauldron in one of the fireplaces. Harry watched her quickly add a few dried leaves, a reddish powder, and heaping handful of sugar, varying measures of spices and extracts from the pile of ingredients on the table, and about six heaping tablespoon of a dark powder. Finally, she dumped the chopped apples and quinces into the cauldron.

"There," she said, "That's going to have to cook a bit."

"What was that dark powder you added?" Harry asked.

Ginny grinned. "A very effective muggle laxative. Maybe three times the recommended dosage."

"You are a very scary witch," he said.

"Don't ever forget that, Harry," Ginny replied, lighting the fire under the big stone oven. She perched herself on a kitchen table, "So, Harry, what did you do to Snape to make him hate you so much?"

"I lived," Harry replied.

"Ha, ha," Ginny grimaced. "I've never heard the whole story."

Sighing, Harry climbed up on the table and told her about his first day in Potions. Then he told her about Snape's reaction to Hermione's expanding front teeth. It went on from there. Even Harry was a bit surprised by the sheer variety of unpleasant, vile, and nasty things Snape had put him through over the years.

While he was talking, Ginny began assembling the tarts. "He's foul to me," Ginny said, "But it's been mostly snide remarks." Ginny shook her head. "But nothing like that."

"I suppose knocking him unconscious in the Shrieking Shack didn't help," Harry said.

"That was when you met Sirius, wasn't it?" Ginny asked quietly.

Without really understanding why, Harry told her that story. He was surprised to find it hurt less than he thought it would.

Ginny listened intently, as she went about put the tarts went into the oven. "That was a hard time for me," she said when Harry had finished. "Walked around in a daze until Easter, and I was swimming in homework. I practically had to do my entire first year over." She hopped up. "Well, the tarts should be ready."

When the tarts were out of the oven and cooling, Ginny set out a plate and taking one of the tarts, broke it over the plate and dug out a finger full of filling out. She tossed the broken tart into the fire. "Come here, Harry."

Harry approached her warily. "You're not going to make me eat that, are you?"

"Of course not, you dolt," she smiled. "Just creating a decoy." Reaching out, she ran her finger around the edges of Harry's lips, spreading the filling around. She looked at him critically, frowned, absently licked a finger and took off most of what she had put on. She inspected him again. "There. That's perfect.""

Harry's chest felt tight, and he was having trouble breathing. He swallowed hard and nodded, staring at her.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"It's just that you're bloody brilliant," Harry said finally said.

And they both began laughing.

They were cleaning up when Bill, Charlie and Ron walked in.

"Are they ready yet?" Ron asked.

"Sure," Ginny replied neutrally.

Harry sighed. He should have known Ron was going to get dragged into this mess.

As Ron and Charlie went for the plate, Bill stopped them and waved his wand at the tarts, muttering under his breath.

"They are all right," Bill announced.

"Of course they are," Ron replied irritably, 'look at Harry's face. He's been making a right pig of himself."

Harry ducked away to keep from laughing and rubbed his mouth on his sleeve.

The tarts disappeared quicker than Harry thought possible.

"I'm going for a nap," Ginny announced.

"Tart," Charlie told Ginny, his mouth full. "Really great tart."

"Shut up, Charlie," Ginny said. As she passed Harry, she mouthed, "Thirty minutes. Go hide."

"Well, I'm off, too," Harry said. He hurried out and up to his room, being sure to lock the door behind him. With nothing really to do, he sat cross-legged on his bed and idly played the wooden flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas his first year at Hogwarts. After a bit, he heard three nearly simultaneous howls. Then there was silence. Shaking his head and feeling guilty about Ron, he went back to playing the flute.

When dinner time arrived two hours later, not knowing what to expect, he snuck down to the Hall under his invisibility cloak.

Hermione, Ginny and Tonks were there, already eating.

"Will they be all right?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Once they're cleaned out, they'll be fine" Ginny said. "Though they might have to do a bit of laundry themselves, though."

Tonks laughed, and Harry pulled off the cloak. "Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said, still smiling.

"Hullo," Harry replied, genuinely glad to see her. "How are you?"

The young Auror shrugged and gently prodded her forehead. "Ran into a ruddy wall yesterday. Swelling's gone down though."

Despite a bit of anxiety about what Ron was going to do to him when he recovered, Harry had a pleasant meal mostly spent watching Tonks expand and contract the size of her head.

When the roast and potatoes were all but gone, Tonks cleared her throat. "This is a new one," she said, frowning with concentration. Her hair suddenly went white, and a heartbeat later, red striping appeared, spiraling up her head.

The girls clapped, and Harry whistled. Ginny's lopsided grin strongly reminded him of Ron.

"Harry," Tonks said, "Why don't you doing something with your hair? Like maybe comb it?"

"I do," he shrugged. "Doesn't make a bit of difference."

"You could cut it shorter." Tonks looked him over. "It would suit you."

"That won't work," Hermione said. "I tried once when we were first years. I didn't believe him, you see."

Tonks looked puzzled.

"It always grows back overnight," Harry explained.

Tonks nodded slowly. "Maybe I can show you a trick."

"Sure," Harry said.

"Close your eyes," Tonks said. "Good. Now just relax for a minute."

Harry grinned, but kept his eyes closed, expecting some sort of birthday eve surprise.

"Now," Tonks continued, "I want you to picture yourself. Focus on your head. Do you have it?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now visualize your hair getting shorter until it's the length you want."

"Is this a spell?" Harry asked.

"Sort of. Can you see your hair getting shorter?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Point your wand at your hair and say, 'Flibbertigibbet."

Harry fumbled with his wand, raised it to his head and took a deep breath, fixing the image of himself with short hair in his mind. "Flibbertigibbet!" he called, and as he did, he felt a tingling warmth encased his head.

He opened his eyes to see Hermione and Ginny staring at him wide-eyed. Tonks was smiling.

"Congratulations, Harry," Tonks said, "You are a metamorphmagus."

"But I used a spell," Harry said blankly.

"There is no such spell," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"I didn't want you to think about it. Thinking would have gotten in the way," Tonks shrugged. "Go ahead. See if you can return your hair to normal."

Setting down his wand, Harry closed his eyes and concentrating hard, muttered, "Flibbertigibbet." Again, he felt the warm tingling.

"Oh, Harry, you did it!" Hermione squealed, clapping her hand together.

Harry grinned sheepishly.

It was late when Harry finally dragged himself to bed. They had talked long and exhaustively, and Harry practiced changing the length of his hair several more times. He found that changing himself required a great deal of effort, and Tonks had warned him about attempting too much too fast. "It will get easier for you, I expect, "Tonks told him. "But stick with fingernails and hair for now, Harry. Permanent purple hair is not so bad, but a head permanently shaped like a quaffle could be a bit of a bother."

He changed into his pajamas with a smile, thinking that he could learn how to hide his scar. Thinking that this was the best day he could remember having in a very long time. Thinking about Ginny Weasley. As he settled into his bed and took his Dreaming Draught, he realized with a pang of guilt that he had not thought about Sirius all day. Despite the jolt of remorse, he was asleep within seconds, a little smile on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry awoke to someone pounding on his door.

Yawning, he stumbled to the door and opened it to find Ginny nervously grinning at him. She was carrying a bag with a bundle of stout wooden rods sticking out of it. She had a spectacular case of bed head.

"Come on," she said, throwing a white vest at him. "I had to guess to the size."

Without forming a conscious thought, he pulled a pair of trousers on over his pajamas and fumbled into the vest. It fit pretty well. He headed for the door, realized he had forgotten his shoes, turned back and found them, then sat on the floor to put them on.

Once Harry had sorted himself out, Ginny led him to the nearest courtyard and enlarged one of her mannequins. Harry yawned and shook his head to clear the cobwebs out. He was going to have to do something about the Dreaming Draught when he returned to Hogwarts. He couldn't have himself falling asleep in his porridge or feeling thick-headed in every morning class.

"Tai Chi," she told the mannequin.

Harry followed the unfamiliar form as best he could while Ginny talked him through it.

"…Now you are holding a quaffle…it's heavy…your hands slide along the smooth, hard surface…"

When the mannequin dropped its hands to its sides, straightened and bowed to them, Harry was feeling more alert.

"That was cool," Harry said. "Can we trade mannequins sometime? I'll bring mine down tomorrow morning."

"You planning to make this a habit, then?"

"It already is," Harry replied. "I practice every morning. Just not this early."

"Feel up to a practice match?" Ginny asked tentatively.

Harry nodded and pulled one of the rods out of her bag and waved it about a bit, testing its weight.

Ginny took one for herself, stepped away from the bag and settled into the en garde position. "On three. You count."

Harry readied himself. "1…2…3—"

He parried her two of her attacks before his stick went clattering across the courtyard.

Frowning, Harry picked out another rod. "Ready?" he asked.

Ginny stopped him. "You have to attack me," she told him. "Parry, attack, parry, attack. That's fundamental. Use the momentum of the parry. Keep your stick pointing at me as much as possible. Parry as low on your stick as you can, inside my guard. When you get it right, it will feel like your stick is bouncing off mine right into me."

Harry thought about it for a second, then nodded and settled back into position. "Ready?"

Ginny resumed her stance.

At the end of the fourth match, Harry was flat on his back staring up at a slice of morning sky framed by the walls of Thorost Hall.

"Much, much better," Ginny said, pulling him to his feet. "You're fast, Harry."

"Not fast enough," he replied, wincing.

"You really didn't think you were going to beat me, did you?"

"I thought it might be a possibility."

Ginny laughed.

They fought three more rounds, stopping when Ginny drove her stick hard into Harry's stomach. He wound up on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, damn," Ginny swore, "Sorry, Harry."

Waving off her apology, Harry got to his feet. "You're very good at this," he gasped.

"I am, aren't I?" Ginny agreed pleasantly.

"I think I've taken damage for one day," Harry said, "Besides, I'm starving. Same time tomorrow?"

Ginny looked at him intently. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. I almost got you once. I'll get you tomorrow."

Ginny hesitated. "You don't mind getting beat up by Ron's little sister?"

Harry thought about it. "No, I guess I don't. I would prefer if it were less painful, though."

Ginny looked down at her hands. "No one else wants to. None of my brothers. None of my friends. I couldn't get Michael to even learn Tai Chi, and Dean, well Dean, um—anyway, you said you enjoyed the mannequin, so I took the chance—" She stopped and shrugged. "I know I rushed you out here this morning." She stopped again.

"You don't have to feel obligated," she finally said very firmly.

"I enjoy it, and it makes me feel better. I think I told you that before. Anyway, it's fun, and we're friends. Right?"

Ginny broke out in a dazzling smile. "We are, aren't we?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry said.

"Come on then, let's get some breakfast and stare down my brothers. They are going to be in a state this morning."

Ginny wasn't wrong, Harry discovered. Charlie, Bill, and Ron stopped talking when they walked into the Dining Hall and stared at them. It was an uncomfortable meal. Tonks was there, but Hermione wasn't. Harry noticed that Tonks' hair was a pleasant, natural shade of yellow-blonde. He also noticed her sitting rather closer than was necessary to Charlie.

Despite his interest in that, he ate quickly, mumbled something about a bath, and escaped to the common room, looking for Hermione. She wasn't there, and Harry felt a bit irritated with her. He was beginning to suspect she was purposely avoiding him.

He heard the door open and saw Ron come striding in. "We need to talk," he said abruptly. "Did she hurt you?" he demanded.

"What? Who?" Harry said, simultaneously confused and relieved that Ron was at least talking to him.

"Ginny," Ron growled. "Did she hurt you?"

"Ginny? She didn't threaten me. I helped her 'cause I wanted to," Harry said. "Look, I am sorry about yesterday—"

"No, No NO, you git!" Ron shouted, "I am talking about this morning!"

"Er, just a few bruises, nothing really," Harry said in small voice. "I'm fine."

Ron's face darkened. "I'll hex her into next month. She may be good with those stupid sticks, but I've got a wand, and—"

Harry choked as he tried not to laugh. "Ron, why don't you come down tomorrow morning? It's fun."

"Are you mad?" Ron said blankly. "You are going back? Why?"

"Because it's fun," Harry repeated. "And I am sorry about the prank. You weren't supposed to be involved."

Ron waved off the apology. "I believe you, mate, but my sister knows I would never turn down a pastry. And she's going to get sorted right out," Ron said with grim satisfaction.

Harry must have looked too relieved for Ron's taste.

"As for you, Potter, I know where you sleep," he added with a nasty smile.

Harry didn't let it bother him. He felt ridiculously happy. He and Ron weren't fighting, and at that moment, Harry didn't really care what Ron did to him.

"So, I hear you're a metamorphmagus," Ron said.

Harry nodded.

"That's sort of disturbing," Ron told him. "You could transfigure yourself into a girl."

"I don't think even want to think about that," Harry said firmly.

Ron nodded sagely. "See what I mean?"

"There's more to it that that, I could pretend to be Filch and—"

Hermione burst into the room, skidded to a stop, and began wringing her hands, a strange look on her face, as if she weren't sure what to do with herself. Harry felt his stomach clench in dread.

"Hermione, what's happened," Ron asked steadily, although he looked pale.

"A-Anthony Goldstein," Hermione said in a choked whisper. "T-they came for his family. He stopped them long enough for his sisters and parents to escape, b-b-but he didn't make it."

Harry clutched at the table, his knuckles whitening. Anthony was a quiet, serious Hufflepuff in his year, a member of the D.A.

"The Deatheaters broke out of Azkaban. A witch was killed in Dublin. There was some sort of magical explosion in downtown London. Muggle schoolchildren were killed." Hermione was shaking. "It-it's started. The Second War."

Ron began pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He stopped and slammed his fist in the table, swearing. Hermione walked over to him, grasped his arm and led him to a corner. She sat him down in a chair, knelt in front of him and began to talk to him quietly. She took his hand.

"Come here, Harry," she called.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down next to her. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor staring at his right knee. Hermione squeezed his hand.

"I'm scared," she said simply.

"I'm more scared of feeling like this than I am of dying," Ron said softly. "I came close in the Spring to, you know, dying. Wasn't that bad, really."

Harry nodded but did not look up. "If there's half a chance to stop him, I'll take it," he said slowly, searching for the words as he went. "I want to be alive when it's over, but I don't let myself think about the future…I think….it's simpler to accept there's little chance I'm going to live."

"I want you both to know that I wouldn't trade a second of it," Hermione said, her voice breaking. "I want you both to know that I choose this."

Ron nodded. "Every day…every day is important."

There was a rustle behind them. Harry saw Ginny standing there, hugging herself.

"Budge over," Hermione told Harry.

Ginny flopped into the circle, and Hermione put her arm around the smaller girl.

Harry was still staring at his knee. Ginny rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jumper.

He felt a small hand take his, and he held it. "Whatever happens, I won't stop; I won't give up," Harry said quietly.

The other three nodded in agreement.

"It's to the death, then," Ron said solemnly.

"To the death," Hermione repeated.

"To the death," Ginny said calmly, giving Harry's hand a squeeze. "Preferably theirs."

Harry took a deep shuddering breath. He felt cleansed somehow, and he sensed something like a groundswell of magic rising and washing over them. The air around them turned sharp and clean, like a thunderstorm's breeze. "You are my family," he said simply.

"And we love you," Hermione said, the corners of hers crinkling, glancing at Ron. "But in different ways, I imagine."

"Now," Ginny announced, producing a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey. "Let's get drunk."

TBC