Spoiler Notice: This fanfiction contains information from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix." If you haven't read that book, firstly, get off your ass and read it. Secondly, do not read this fic.

Disclaimer: Firstly, do I look like JK Rowling? Well, true you can't see me, but trust me I'm NOT JK Rowling. This story is 100% mine, except for any information including phrases, characters, and anything from Harry Potter books by the genius JK Rowling. I only claim to own this plot. So in short, don't sue me, cause you won't win (and I don't have the money to give you if you did), I have this lovely disclaimer.

Chapter Three-Bus Rides and Back Stories

-Harry's POV-

Shifting on the lumpy, grey, vinyl seats, I watch the brown paper bag that holds my hair dye inside to make sure it doesn't fall. I aim to keep a low profile as the bus travels its way downtown toward my apartment not too far from the Space Needle. I remove my hand from its previous place on the seat only to find it pull away with a sticky pop. Wrinkling my nose, I repeatedly remind myself precisely –why- I hate these buses. While I loath the public transit system, I have no other choice as:

I have no car nor the money to get one and

I cannot get my license without first getting a permit and that requires someone else having –their- license to teach me how to drive in the -car- that I don't have.

As we reach the next stop in the route, I cannot help but crack a smile as the flustered, wet, and thoroughly mortified woman lugs onto the bus. It is a bit of a challenge to defer the appearance of the said woman due to an umbrella, hat, and high-necked raincoat obscuring her face. Watching her squeeze her way toward me, I am surprised by her timid manner when she asks for the other seat.

"No, sit right down," I reply, grabbing my grocery bag and stuffing it in my lap. She gives a grateful smile and situates herself. The girl removes her hat, revealing a head of fairly restrained, bushy auburn hair. There's something oddly familiar about that hair, something that itches for my memory to recall, but for some reason can't.

Reaching up, I tug my own hat more securely over my head. It is rather pathetic really, I am a fully qualified wizard now, but I still am afraid to attempt the "Hair Coloring" spell I had discovered years ago. So, I had to go once again to the dreaded aisle of the store containing the hair dye, and then contemplate whether I am a Shady Blonde or a Sandy Blonde.

Seeing the girl jerk and hearing her squeal loudly, I turn just in time for her red blur of an umbrella to fly open into my face. It knocks off my hat and I scramble to catch it, but it is far too late. Instead, I yank my jacket over my head, striving to hide my raven roots. The girl wrestles the umbrella for minute or two and I hear a muttering beneath her breath.

"Damn Muggle thing!"

"What did you say?" I whisper back in absolute shock.

Her amber eyes widen in immediate fear, darting about anxiously. I catch them landing on my half hidden hair and I throw my hands up over the remaining bits.

"I said...you need to re-dye your hair." She says rather hastily, although she is trying to stifle her giggles and hide her rosy blush.

"Yes, I know –that- all ready...which is why I –was- wearing a hat." I snap hotly, pointing to the fedora styled hat lying on the dusty floor nest to her feet. She scoops it up, dusting it a bit before handing it back to me. I promptly yank it on, effectively hiding the poorly dyed blonde hair with horrid black roots showing.

"I'm real sorry about that. Although, you don't see many men bleaching their hair, especially from such a dark shade...my name's Hermione, what's yours?" The girl quickly changed the topic, thankfully in my opinion, but that name stops me in mid-sentence.

"Well, yes it is unusual but I like..." My voice drops off as my mind races with memories of a certain girl from Hogwarts. My best friend, the girl I loved and who loved me back. Surely, this isn't her...no, she couldn't be her. Tthe odds are too great, there's many Hermione's, I think...But, she does have the bushy hair...Yet, she lived in England, -why- would she be in America? She did say Muggle, only witches and wizards say Muggle...

"Hello? Are you all right there? I didn't give you a concussion with my umbrella did I? Gosh, that's the last thing I would need, a hurt man on my conscience..." Hermione inquires in her worried tone, brows furrowed as she stares at me intently.

"No, I'm okay...well, at least I think so. Did you say your name is Hermione?" I cautiously question, afraid that I am just hearing what I wish and not what's there.

She, in turn, blushes furiously, looking down at her hands, which have suddenly become interesting, "Yes, it is Hermione. Why do you ask?"

"It's just...well...I thought...never mind." I sigh inwardly, not bringing my hopes up. "My name is Daniel, by the way."

That was a lie, well a half lie really. In the States and as far as everyone knows me, it's Daniel. Daniel Peterson is my name now, all the paper work displays that, and government documents confirm it. It's all a part of being in hiding, although a part of me yearns to reveal my true name, my real identity, the truth, just to see if it is she, my Hermione. But I don't. I bite my tongue and hold back all the secrets I've kept for so long yet again.

The Great Magic War had started nearly ten years ago, on October 31st. Leave it to the Dark Lord to be consistent with his attacks. Perhaps he was making an effort to appear sentimental? We'll never know for sure as no one ever asked him why he chose the dates he did.

The majority of my peers had barely turned eighteen, which was the age limit for the draft, before they thrust us into battle. Armed with little more than our wands and wits, people began to finally see the horrors I've been plagued with over my life.

There were the numerous deaths in their families, watching as their colleagues fell in battle and they weren't able to do a thing about it as they're worried about their own life, or seeing someone who they regarded as an ally turned against them. People so young shouldn't have to boast these experiences, shouldn't have knowledge of such things. Like the stench of burning flesh, what a grisly scream sounds like from your own mother, or how much blood can spurt from a neck wound. Tender minds are forever branded with these memories, just as the memories of my parent's deaths are engraved in mine.

Furthermore, it has been almost nine years since I've been called Harry Potter or set eyes on anyone from my other life. The Great Magic War ended on October 31st, exactly one year after it began. That same day everyone thought The Boy Who Lived finally did what no one ever expected him to do. He died.