Note: I'm really sorry it's been like a month since I updated! I had some crazy family stuff that came up unexpectedly. Now that school is out I hope to write more quickly. Thanks for your reviews! The encouragement and the advice means a lot. And for you Harry/Hermione shippers, I promise, Hermione will show up soon!

Chapter Two

The next morning, Harry had hardly wiped the sleep out of his eyes when he heard a startling sound: Quinn's voice downstairs.

For a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. But then he heard Aunt Petunia's nasally voice, shrill with panic, demand, "A friend of…Harry's? You're not – you're not from that school, are you?"

Oh, bloody hell! Leave it to Aunt Petunia to blurt out his deepest, darkest secrets!

Throwing the covers off, Harry changed from pajamas into jeans and a gray tee-shirt so quickly he hoped he wasn't unconsciously using magic. As he sprinted down the hall, he heard Quinn saying sweetly, "…just two houses down. I met Harry in the park yesterday."

"Oh." Aunt Petunia didn't sound convinced. Forcing himself to a walk at the top of the stairs – what would Quinn think if he leapt them all and shoved his aunt out of the way? – Harry noticed that his aunt's spine was perfectly rigid. He half-expected her to slam the door shut in Quinn's face, but instead she offered tightly, "Why don't you come in. I think Harry's still asleep…"

"No, I'm up, Aunt Petunia." Harry clambered down the stairs with a fake smile plastered to his face, willing his aunt to act normal. She glowered at him as he stepped up beside her. "This is Quinn. She lives in Number Six."

Quinn looked, if possible, even prettier than she had the day before. The short skirt had been exchanged for a pair of denim shorts (rather scandalously short, like her skirt had been) and a turquoise tank-top that brought out the emerald flecks in her hazel eyes. The smile she bestowed on him nearly stopped Harry's heart. "Hi," she said softly.

His knees turned to liquid. "Hi," he managed, rather breathily. Beside him, Aunt Petunia cleared her throat, and Harry blushed as he hurried to explain, "I walked Quinn home yesterday evening."

If Quinn wondered why Harry's aunt was acting like him having a visitor constituted a historic event, she hid it marvelously well. "Oh, Mrs. Dursley, before I forget," she said, oozing sweetness and sincerity, "my mother asked me if she could have a start off one of your rose bushes. She said they're absolutely the most beautiful flowers she's ever seen."

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Aunt Petunia's icy reserve melted instantly. The Dursleys enjoyed nothing better than being congratulated on their material possessions; Quinn had just won herself a place of honor in his aunt's heart. "Certainly, certainly," she answered. "Now, would you two like some lemonade? I have a fresh pitcher in the refrigerator."

"Actually," Quinn slid her eyes sideways toward Harry but kept her sweet smile firmly in place, "Harry promised to take me to the pool today. Maybe when we come back…?"

"Oh, that's fine, dear, just fine." Aunt Petunia's tone suggested Quinn could do no wrong, even if she and Harry were heading off to commit mass-murder. "And I'll get you a start from that bush before you go home."

"That'd be wonderful. I know Mom will really appreciate it." Turning her dazzling smile on Harry, Quinn said pertly, "Shall we?"

Harry's tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was suddenly having a very vivid image of Quinn in a tiny bikini – and the sparkle in her eyes implied she knew exactly what he was thinking. Flushing to the roots of his hair, he managed to mumble, "I gotta grab my suit – just a second…"

Ten minutes later, with Privet Drive fading quickly behind them, Harry congratulated Quinn on her victory over Aunt Petunia. "She seems nice," Quinn offered lamely, and then giggled at Harry's arched eyebrow. "Okay. She seemed…a little nuts?"

"The Dursleys are weird," Harry answered with a sigh. "Well, I guess the trouble is, they aren't weird. They're determined to be absolutely normal. Anything out of the ordinary, and it's like the sky is falling."

"The Dursleys?" Quinn echoed questioningly.

"Uh, yeah. They're, uh, not my parents." He looked away, not anxious to share that he was an orphan, and then be forced to lie about how his parents died. "Aunt Petunia is my mother's sister."

To his surprise, Quinn didn't press for an explanation. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Just my cousin Dudley." Harry grinned. "But he's big enough to count for two." Quinn giggled and smacked his arm in playful admonishment; he blushed again at the contact.

Stop it, he furiously ordered his flaming cheeks. You keep blushing like this, she's going to think you're some kind of ninny!

"And you?" he asked, turning right onto the tree-lined street that led to the public pool. "Brothers or sisters?"

"Nope. Just me." Quinn lifted her long hair off her shoulders and, slipping a small black elastic band off her wrist, caught it up into a high ponytail. "All my friends with siblings always told me how lucky I was. But I always wanted a little brother or sister – y'know, somebody to kick around." Harry laughed with her. "But, on days like this, I'm glad I don't have anybody to baby-sit or anything like that. Is Dudley your age?"

But Harry was slowing to a stop as they neared the chain-link fence around the pool. His stomach sank. He should have known – Dudley and his gang spent almost everyday hanging out at the pool. Unfortunately, their favorite pastime was not swimming, but terrorizing the younger kids who came there.

He briefly considered suggesting they do something else, but he couldn't think of anything interesting enough to forego swimming. So, smiling tightly at Quinn, he gestured toward the group of beefy-necked bullies chasing a small boy away from the snack bar and said, "See for yourself. That beached whale in the red trunks is my cousin."

Quinn glanced over and did a double-take, obviously repulsed by Dudley's behavior. The small boy was heading in the direction of his mother, sobbing loudly. Dudley and his friends – the only one Harry recognized was Piers, who was taller and brawnier but still as rat-faced as he remembered from last summer – had turned their attention to a mousy-haired girl about their age and were taunting her about her flat chest.

"What a bunch of assholes," Quinn muttered through clenched teeth. Before Harry could apologize for his cousin's idiocy, she suddenly stalked forward, yanked open the gate and marched fearlessly toward Dudley and his gang. With his stomach now in the vicinity of his shoes, Harry hurried to catch up with her. His mind was whirling: Without magic, he couldn't take on four boys, all of whom out-weighed him by at least fifteen pounds. But would Dudley be too cowed by fear of ending up with another tail or being attacked by more dementors to fight him at all?

He was soon to find out. Stepping between the bullies and their now-sniffling victim, Quinn said sharply, "Leave her alone."

The boys, open-mouthed, stopped their teasing and gawked at her. Bravely, Harry stepped up beside Quinn. Dudley barely managed to stifle a gasp; emboldened by his cousin's obvious fear, Harry added coolly, "Hey, Dudders, another hard day terrorizing the small and the weak?"

Dudley's pig-like eyes narrowed. His size made him fearsome, but he also looked rather silly with his lobster-pink cheeks (Dudley was too fair-skinned for so many days out in the sun) scrunched up and his fleshy jowls coiled into a grimace. "Get lost, Harry," he snapped.

Harry snorted at the lame come-back, but Piers was, unfortunately, finding his voice, and he proved to be far more biting than Dudley. "Damn, Potter, where'd you find this honey?" As he spoke, he looked Quinn up and down appreciatively.

"Fuck off, Piers," Harry responded, feeling a dangerous anger begin to boil in his stomach. It must have flashed in his eyes, because Dudley took a timid step backwards and placed a restraining hand on his friend's arm. The other two goons cracked their knuckles, scenting a fight. "C'mon, Quinn, let's go swim."

"Yeah, baby, let's see the bikini!" Piers leered at Quinn.

Harry opened his mouth to warn Piers that he could either shut his pie-hole or lose some teeth, but Quinn, smiling cattily, simply tugged her tank-top smoothly off over her head and then stepped gracefully out of her denim shorts. The bikini underneath was jet-black and tiny enough to make even Piers's mouth flop open in shock.

"You know," Quinn commented airily, "I guess bullies are the same on both sides of the Atlantic – a lot of talk, but nothing to back it up." Linking her arm through Harry's, she offered him her best smile. "You're right, Harry. Let's go swim."

Dizzy with relief – coward he wasn't, yet Harry didn't relish a fight where the odds were so hopelessly stacked against him - and tingling all over from her touch, he turned away with her. His head was buzzing. How amazing was that? She'd put Dudley and his gang in their place with a few short sentences, something he hadn't managed to do in all of the years he'd known them!

His happiness was short-lived. Recovering from the shock of Quinn disrobing, Piers called after them, "Have fun, Potter! I suppose you know all about whores, going to St. Brutus's!"

Harry froze. The anger bubbled up inside of him again, not for himself – he didn't care what Dudley's ignorant friends said about him – but for Quinn. He glanced sideways at her; she rolled her eyes as if to say, Who cares, let's go have fun.

He drew in a deep, steadying breath and took another step forward. Piers, however, wasn't ready to let it go. He called again, this time in a louder, nastier voice, "I bet she's good, isn't she, Potter? You really should spread the wealth, you know – she looks like she wouldn't mind being passed around to your friends. A girl like that's always ready, if you know what I mean…"

Piers's voice faltered as Harry, ignoring Quinn's soft command to ignore the insults, rounded on him, fists clenched. Dudley reached for Piers and babbled something that sounded like, "No, don't make him mad," but Harry was advancing on Piers, leaving the other boy no choice but to fight.

"Oh, what's the matter, is little Potty mad – "

Finally, an enemy I can face – no more running and hiding, no wands, no spells, just…my fist, his face…

Harry was hardly aware of those thoughts as he stalked directly up to Piers and, without word or ceremony, punched him squarely in the face. He felt bone shatter against his knuckles; blood sputtered from Piers's nose, as the boy stumbled backward, squealing unintelligibly. Behind him, Quinn gasped in shock. Dudley, trembling from head to toe, stepped between his cousin and his friend, pleading quietly, "Please, Harry, don't!"

"Please, Harry don't." The mimicking voice that issued out of his mouth was so bitter and angry Harry almost didn't recognize it as his own. "Keep your dog on a shorter fucking leash, then, Dudders, and I won't have to – "

The fist connecting solidly with his lower back knocked the wind out of Harry. Tears sprang to his eyes; he blinked against them furiously as he whirled on one of the two goons accompanying Piers and Dudley, a boy nearly his cousin's size but much more muscled than Dudley, who had snuck up behind him. Fury clouded out reason in Harry's mind. What kind of coward attacked from behind?

A coward like Voldemort. A coward like Malfoy. A coward like Peter Pettigrew. They don't fight like me and Sirius – they couldn't take him face to face, they can't take me face to face…

In a flash, Harry was back in the Ministry of Magic, standing beside a veil and quailing in shocked horror as he realized Sirius wasn't going to step around it. He closed his eyes for half a second, forcing air back into his bruised lungs, and lunged forward, fists flying.

His furious attack caught the other boy off-guard. He fell hard, grunting as the air left his lungs in a painful whoosh, but Harry showed no mercy: He struck out with his foot and kicked his felled enemy hard in the ribs. The boy curled in on himself. Before Harry could gloat over this victory, however, the other goon stepped forward; Harry ducked, but the punch caught him on the side of the head, a glancing blow that nevertheless knocked him off-balance and burst stars in front of his eyes. From the corner of his vision he saw Piers, bloodied but infuriated, shoving Dudley aside and rushing at him.

So it's two on one, is it? Harry shook his head and smiled grimly, feeling the same cold calm that had descended on him when he last faced Voldemort. All right, you motherfuckers, let me show you what I'm made of.

"Ouch!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I have to stop the bleeding!"

Harry winced as Quinn pressed the cold, damp rag to his cheek again and held it there firmly. He hurt all over – his scraped and bruised knuckles, his lower back, his busted lip, his bloodied nose, his lacerated cheek. Piers and his two buddies had done a number on him, that was for sure. And although Harry had given as good as he got (he was proud to say), if it hadn't been for the pool manager breaking up the fight (and kicking them all out), he knew he would have been hurt a lot worse.

As it was, he was going to have some explaining to do when he got home. He only hoped his aunt and uncle remained wary enough of his wizard protectors not to ground him for too long.

"How's your nose?"

Gingerly, Harry slid his fingers across his upper lip. They came back clean. "It's quit bleeding," he replied, and squeezed the bridge of his nose gently. It hurt, but not unbearably. "I don't think it's broken."

Quinn sat back on the bench – they'd stopped outside a convenience store a few blocks from the pool, which was where Quinn had picked up bandages and a rags she'd soaked in a water fountain – and eyed him skeptically. "You know," she said impassively, "I hope you didn't think any of that impressed me back there."

A flash of anger shot through Harry. Who did she think she was, anyway? "Yeah, well," he shot back hotly, "as I recall, I'm not the one who started it."

Nonplussed, she replied, "I don't recall asking you to punch anyone in the face."

He colored slightly. Now that the anger was ebbing and the soreness was setting in, he was, quite honestly, feeling a bit foolish. But pride dictated that he at least make Quinn admit her role in the fiasco – after all, he had been perfectly content to leave the bullies alone in the first place. "Right," he said sarcastically. "You really expected them to run away just because you told them to leave that girl alone."

"No, I expected them to leave her alone and dish out their crap to me. And I'm not bothered by it."

Harry opened his mouth, realized he had no come-back, and closed it again, torn between shame and fury. Okay, so Quinn had seemed unruffled by Piers's insults. But still, what did she think he was going to do, stand there and let some asshole say terrible things about her? For Christ's sake, every time Draco Malfoy just looked crossways at Hermione, he wanted to rip his simpering blonde head off –

This isn't Hermione. This is Quinn. Why does she make you think of Hermione so much?

"Listen." Quinn was dabbing at his lip again, a bit more gently now. In spite of his pain and anger, Harry felt a tell-tale tickle deep down in his gut – she was awfully close to his mouth. "I know it's a testosterone thing or whatever – you have to defend my honor because it's, like, an evolutionary response or something." Harry grinned, then winced at the sharp stabbing pain in his bottom lip. "But seriously, I wasn't trying to get you into a fight. I'm sorry if you thought that."

"Weawy shat's otay."

Quinn giggled and took the rag away from his mouth. "What was that?"

Testing the cut with the tip of his tongue, Harry repeated, "I said, that's okay, really. It was a dumb thing to do, hitting Piers like that."

"Yes, it was." She agreed readily enough, but her contagious smile was back. "And it wasn't cool or sexy or chivalrous or anything." He was nodding along with her, feeling a bit dizzy again as her eyes zeroed in on his mouth and her voice took on a husky, teasing note. "I'm not one of those girls who's swept off her feet by a really cute guy getting his ass kicked to defend my honor…"

She had shifted closer on the bench, and Harry felt as if the air was being sucked away from him. "Like I said," he managed to mutter, "really dumb…"

"Really dumb," she murmured back.

Bloody hell, she's going to kiss me…

His eyes closed automatically as her lips drifted closer, closer, closer – and finally connected with his. He forgot about the pain in his back and nose; he forgot about the ridiculous fight he'd just been in, and the trouble he would inevitably be in when he got home. He lost himself in Quinn's soft lips tasting his, her small hands resting tentatively on his knees, her warm shoulder rubbing against his, her silky hair tickling his arm.

This was different than kissing Cho. Scarier, yes, but also better; Quinn tasted like peppermint, not salty tears, and the ghost of Cedric Diggory wasn't shoving in between them (metaphorically speaking, of course). He found the courage to slip one arm around her waist, urging her closer. He hoped this was how kissing was done, that he wasn't making an idiot out of himself…He really needed to concentrate, but he felt so – so light-headed…

The scar on his forehead prickled. Harry's eyes flew open, half-expecting to see Voldemort striding across the quiet, orderly street toward him, but instead all he saw was Quinn's beautiful face, so close he could count the freckles on her nose.

She seemed to sense the change in him and drew back, smiling with shy uncertainty. Harry, for his part, immediately forgot his scar – the pain had been momentary, after all – and realized he was unable to stop a huge, goofy grin from spreading across his own face. Quinn giggled, but not maliciously; he knew at once she was happy, not making fun of him.

"That was not a reward for making an ass out of yourself back there," she declared, without much conviction.

"Okay."

"And if that manager keeps me out of the pool all summer, I'm going to be extremely peeved at you."

"Okay."

"And you're a really excellent kisser."

"Okay."

"Harry!" She laughed and swatted his arm. "Can't you say anything else?"

"Yes." He wrangled his stupidly-wide grin under control and took a deep breath. "You're…you're a really excellent kisser, too."

Quinn smiled and settled back onto the bench. "So, has your cousin always been such a jerk? No offense."

"None taken. And yes, pretty much." Harry cringed, recalling Dudley's infamous temper tantrums and his delight at seeing Harry mistreated at home and at school. "We're not close, as you might have noticed."

"I did." A frown creased her pretty face. "He seemed…I don't know…a little frightened of you." Harry looked away, embarrassed. At the time he hadn't really considered what Piers's insults would sound like to Quinn – like he was some kind of psycho, basically. "What's St. Brutus's?"

"Oh. It's…" Harry fumbled for words. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her he went to a school for criminally insane boys, but how could he tell her the truth?

You don't have to tell her the truth, Harry. But you can be inventive about the lie.

Blessing his inner voice – he wished it would come in as handy when he was staring certain death in the face – he said carefully, "Dudley told some people that I go to this school, St. Brutus's, for 'juvenile delinquents', I think is your American term. His friends like to spread that rumor around."

To his relief, Quinn accepted that unquestioningly. "What a bunch of assholes. But…" Her face clouded with suspicion again. "What did Piers mean, you'd cast a spell on me?"

Harry briefly fantasized about wiring Dudley's jaw shut. How could the big oaf be so careless with Harry's secret? If Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ever found out their son was blabbing the truth about him all over town – hey, now there was a valuable piece of information! Actually, that was the only thing Harry could imagine his aunt and uncle's "little Dudders" ever being in real trouble for.

But Quinn was waiting for an explanation. The truth perched on the edge of Harry's tongue: "You see, I'm a wizard. No, a real one, not like in the movies. I go to this school called Hogwarts…"

Right. And ten seconds later, Ministry of Magic officials would descend on them and cart him off to Azkaban, but not before performing a memory charm on Quinn so she wouldn't even recall meeting a Harry Potter, most likely.

"I – I used to keep Dudley from beating up on me by telling him I could do magic." Surprised by the explanation tumbling from his lips, Harry pressed on before inspiration left him. "It was really stupid, I know, but we were just little kids. And…and so when he told his friends about it, they laughed at him for being scared of me, and then it became this thing, like they would tell people I really thought I was a…a. wizard."

Oh, for fuck's sake, someone shoot me now – that was the dumbest lie ever…

"Sounds like Dudley and his friends need to get lives. Seriously."

A huge sigh of relief nearly escaped from Harry. Quinn was smiling again, thoroughly convinced by his story. She stood up and reached for his hand; rather shyly, Harry slipped his fingers into hers, victory surging through him and making him light-headed again. "Well, now that you've got us kicked out of the pool for the day, why don't we go catch a movie?" she suggested.

Harry nodded weakly. "Sounds great."

As they started off down the street, Quinn kept her fingers linked snuggly with his. By the time he dropped her off at her door late that evening, he had worked up the courage to kiss her again – a sweet, soft, lingering affair that left them both rather breathless and flushed. He watched her disappear inside and couldn't even force himself to be nervous about what punishment Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had cooked up for his fight with Dudley's friends; it was nearly eleven o'clock, and Harry felt sure Dudley had already told his version of the story, which would be the only one the Dursleys were interested in anyway.

His steps drug as he approached the door. What an amazing day with Quinn! Their kiss on the bench; a really good movie; dinner at this little diner, where she'd spoon-fed him part of her chocolate malt; a long, winding walk through the streets back toward Privet Drive…If he did end up grounded for a while, he hoped she wouldn't find some other boy to hang out with.

And, to his relief, his scar hadn't so much as tingled since the morning. The last thing he needed was Voldemort causing problems on Privet Drive. Keeping the truth from someone he liked as much as he was starting to like Quinn wasn't going to be easy anyway; if the Dark Lord decided to make a guest appearance, it might be damn near impossible.

And what if he tried to hurt Quinn? He took Sirius from me – maybe he's after everyone I care about…

The unsettling thought stopped Harry dead in his tracks. Before he could spin around and rush back to warn Quinn that if a man named Voldemort came looking for her she was to run away as fast as she could – like she's going to believe you, Potter, you dumbass – a cloaked figure stepped out from the bushes surrounding Number Four Privet Drive. Harry's heart nearly stopped in his chest.

Not here – please, no, not here!

But the voice that issued forth from the shadowed face was not Voldemort's. "Hello, Harry," Remus Lupin said, smiling benevolently as he stepped into the glow of the street light. "I see you've found yourself a girlfriend."