Author's Note: Sorry this update took a while. I saw the new movie and wanted Harry to myself for a little while! evil laugh Hope it was worth the wait. Oh, btw, the coolest people in the world read my story. Thanks so much for the reviews!

Chapter Five

Harry spent a nervous morning mentally rehearsing how to tell Quinn about Hermione. Everything he came up with either sounded too evasive – "No, really, she's just a friend" – or too intimate – "She's my best friend, you wouldn't believe some of the things she's seen me through." Aunt Petunia kept watching him warily as he paced back and forth from his bedroom to the living room.

The only comment his aunt made about his busted lip and bruised cheek was, "I don't want to hear about you getting into any trouble, understand?" From that, Harry surmised that Dudley really hadn't mentioned their scuffle at the pool.

By noon, however, Harry was starting to wonder whether he was going to get the opportunity to tell Quinn about Hermione. He'd assumed she would come over early, like she had the day before; as the minutes ticked nearer to midday, he began to wonder if he'd somehow screwed things up with her. Was he a terrible kisser? Had she met another boy? Did she think he was a huge nerd and had only been nice yesterday so she didn't hurt his feelings?

Finally, as Aunt Petunia started putting lunch on the table, Harry flopped onto the sofa. It was no use worrying about it. Obviously Quinn wasn't coming –

He nearly jumped through himself when the doorbell rang. "I got it," he assured his aunt as he dashed out of the living room.

Sure enough, Quinn was standing on the front step, looking prettier than ever in a tight black tee-shirt and tattered denim shorts. But Harry knew at once that something was wrong. Her eyes had lost some of their sparkle, and judging from her slightly swollen cheeks, she'd been crying a lot.

"Hi," she began bravely.

He closed the door behind him as he joined her on the stoop. "What is it?"

Quinn's attempt at cheerfulness crumpled immediately under his concerned gaze. "It's…it's nothing. Stupid, really. Just a-a fight with my mom, so what else is new…"

"Hang on." Ducking back inside the house, Harry called into the kitchen, "I'm going out, Aunt Petunia! Back later!"

Petunia poked her mousy face around the kitchen doorway. "All right. But be back by supper. Your uncle wants a word with you about tomorrow."

About Hermione, of course. Harry sighed inwardly. Had he really been foolish enough to believe the Dursleys wouldn't have a list of rules as long as his arm governing his and Hermione's conduct? He was certain the very first one would be: No mention of the M-word in this house!

Quinn didn't seem eager to talk, so they walked in silence toward the park on Magnolia Road. Harry couldn't think of any place more exciting to go. Just a fight with her mother, she'd said, but she seemed unusually upset by it – he couldn't even be worried about broaching the subject of Hermione when she looked so miserable. He only hoped he'd know what to say when (or if) she decided to start talking. His failed relationship with Cho had made him wonder if he was an insensitive creep.

The park was strangely empty for noon on a gorgeous summer day. As they settled into swings, Harry considered remarking on this. He even opened his mouth to speak before he realized how lame it would sound – "So, wow, a bit odd that no one's around, isn't it?"

Real smooth, Potter. You're definitely a ladies' man. Bloody idiot!

"I'm sorry to be such a bore."

Quinn spoke so softly, and he'd grown so accustomed to the silence, that Harry almost missed her words. He offered her an encouraging smile. "You're not boring," he assured her. "Just upset. Would…ah…would you like to talk about it?"

She shrugged. A tendril of strawberry-colored hair slipped loose of her ponytail and brushed her cheek. Harry's stomach flipped over as he remembered how silky her hair felt against his cheek –

Focus! Focus, Potter! It's just like Quidditch – keep your eye on the ball!

"There's not a lot to say," Quinn said, obviously lying. Harry stayed quiet. He knew how it felt – god, did he know how it felt – to have so many emotions stirring around inside it was impossible to pick one to explain. "We've never gotten along, Mom and I. Dad was…He and I were close. She was always gone. She has this 'really important job'" – her voice dripped sarcasm on that phrase – "writing articles for a fashion magazine. She spends most of her time in Tahiti and Monte Carlo and Paris. And now that she has Aaron, it's just that much worse."

A few years ago, Harry wouldn't have been able to understand wanting a parental figure around. If the Dursleys decided to spend the summer holidays on vacation and left him at home, he would have been ecstatic – and that was still true, of course. But Sirius had been different. Even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye on everything, Harry had missed his godfather and wished life were different so they could be together more often.

"Go on," he urged, since Quinn looked uncertain whether he was actually interested in her problems.

She watched her sandaled toes drag through the dirt. "She doesn't understand why I didn't want to move here. She thinks I should want her life – exotic places, famous people, expensive hotels. But I-I'm not her, Harry. I was happy in Orlando. I had wonderful friends there, really sweet people who love me. And my dad was there. Our house. That's where all my memories of him are. Sometimes I think that's really why she wanted to come here. So she could forget him."

Memories…Forget him…

Harry's heart lurched in his chest. When Quinn had mentioned her step-dad, he'd assumed her parents were divorced. But the way she was talking now…

Was her father dead?

His mouth felt suddenly dry. All of his life, he'd never had to explain to anyone that he was an orphan. Dudley, in their elementary school years, had paraded that fact around as if it made his cousin some sort of freak; at Hogwarts, of course, everyone knew how James and Lily Potter had met their end. His heart broke for Quinn, carrying around all that pain and having no visible sign – no lightning-shaped scar – to tell people without words what she had suffered.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly. Quinn nodded but kept her eyes averted. He had a feeling she was close to tears. "How, uh, how long has it been?"

"One year this August."

Not even a year, and her mom was remarried? Harry sensed a deeper bitterness than simple mother/daughter issues. "That must be really hard," he said, searching for something – anything – to fill the awkward silence.

Oh, brilliant, Potter, his inner voice sneered. Of course it's really hard! Moron!

"Aaron's okay. And things weren't exactly great between Mom and Dad be-before…" She tucked the stray piece of hair behind her ear and looked at him for the first time in the conversation. "You're being really nice to me, Harry, and I appreciate that, but it's okay if you'd rather I found a good psychiatrist to pour my issues out to."

"Oh, right. I'd rather you found someone else to talk to."

I am an idiot. I am a big, stupid, smelly, ridiculous ninny –

But Quinn was grinning. Despite the blush consuming his face, Harry knew it had been the right thing – and what was more, the honest thing – to say. "Well, I promise not to harp on the subject. I just…I just miss him a lot. Somedays are harder than others."

The knife of grief that always hovered near Harry's heart plunged in deep at her words. How incredible to find someone who could voice what he was feeling so perfectly! Somedays he could go for hours without thinking of Sirius; others, the specter of his godfather seemed stationed at his elbow, popping up no matter how hard Harry tried to ignore him. Somedays the memories were happy; others, they were too painful to tolerate.

Could he tell Quinn any of that? Could he share with her what he had lost – his parents and Sirius – or would she think he was weak? Worse, would she think he only cared about himself, and wasn't interested in her pain?

She had pushed off the ground and was swinging slowly back and forth. Knowing he needed to say something, Harry settled on, "What was he like? Your dad, I mean."

She slowed to a stop. Her eyes took on a dreamy, far-away quality. "He was a doctor. Not just a doctor, though. A pediatric oncologist."

Kids with cancer. Harry was duly impressed and said as much. Smiling, Quinn went on, "Yeah, he was fantastic. His patients adored him. He worked a lot – like, ridiculously a lot – but he always had time for me. We went on walks and picnics. He taught me how to surf. I was – am – terrible at math, and he would always find time to sit down and help me, no matter how exhausted he was from being at the hospital. And he never missed one of my gymnastics meets."

"You're a gymnast?"

"I was. Back home. Not anymore." She ducked her head, absorbed in her toes again. "That was how – I mean, when – he died. Driving up to Savannah for one of my competitions."

Once more, her words had the impact of a sucker-punch to Harry's gut. To carry around the guilt of her father's death…Didn't he, Harry, carry around the weight of his parents' sacrifice, of Sirius's sacrifice?

"I know how you feel," he began slowly. The look Quinn shot him said she doubted it. Coloring a little (he was afraid he couldn't tell her about Sirius without crying, and that would be too humiliating), he pushed on, "I…my…I lost my parents, when I was just a baby. It was an…accident."

It was murder. It was murder because of me, because of some stupid prophecy. I wish I could tell you that…

He went on, before she could interrupt with the perfunctory condolences, "I mean, I don't have many memories of them. I have some pictures. My aunt and uncle never talk about them, my mum and dad, so I never knew much about them. And then, a couple of years ago, I met one of their old friends. He-he was my godfather, actually. Having him was…Well, it was a bit like having my dad back, you know?"

Quinn was watching him now with tears brimming in her eyes. It was her turn to encourage him. "Go on."

To Harry's relief, the threatening tears receded as he filled up with the warmth of Sirius's memory. "It was wonderful. We were the best of friends. He was everything I know my dad had to be – strong, brave, smart, caring. I was supposed to go live with him, leave the Dursleys forever, but...a couple of months ago he was…killed. He died. And it was sort of my fault."

"Oh, Harry." Quinn reached over and seized his hand. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

Never in his life had Harry more seriously considered throwing caution to the wind and revealing his world – the wizarding world – to a Muggle. The only thing that held him back was not fear of punishment but fear of endangering Quinn. Instinct told him she would believe him, and that simply by knowing about Voldemort she could become a target.

So instead, he squeezed her hand and smiled sadly. "Yeah. Funny how we can know that and still feel guilty, though, huh?"

She blew out a slow, shaky breath. "Yeah. Exactly."

They sat in silence for a long while, holding hands and swinging slowly. Harry even forgot to be self-conscious about his sweaty palm. It was so comforting to have someone who could truly understand, who had suffered a loss as eviscerating as his.

Finally, Quinn pulled herself out of her reverie. "Look at us," she laughed. "Sitting here absolutely miserable on a beautiful day. Do you want to go get a coffee or something?"

Recalling his disastrous Valentine's Day coffee date with Cho, Harry suggested, "How about a milkshake?"

"Great idea. It's stifling out here."

Quinn kept hold of his hand as he got to his feet. All feelings of comfortable companionship dissolved into a storm of excitement and anxiety when she stepped closer, her mouth curving into a soft smile. "You're, like, the sweetest guy I've ever known, you know that? And at the same time, the strongest." Her fingertips brushed the bruise on his cheek, and they shared a private grin. "I feel safe with you, Harry. Safer than I've felt in almost a year."

He tried to think of an appropriate response that didn't involve a great deal of stammering. But the next moment her lips were on his, and he couldn't have found a single intelligible reply if his life depended on it.

Quinn and Harry spent a wonderful day together. Cooped up on Privet Drive every previous summer, he'd never realized how much there actually was to do in Little Whinging; within walking distance of the Dursleys' house was a quaint shopping district with a movie theater, a music store, a coffee shop, an ice cream counter and a bookstore.

He and Quinn ate chocolate malts in the air-conditioned relief of the ice cream shop. Then they wandered through the music store – he was pleasantly surprised to discover Quinn was a huge fan of British punk bands – and compared notes on the best albums of all times. Over coffee (yes, he finally worked up the nerve to try another coffee date) Quinn told him all about her gymnastics, her girlhood dream of being a professional figure skater, and her friends back in Orlando.

Harry knew, as the conversation progressed, that eventually she was going to ask about him. And the talk of old friends inevitably reminded him that he had yet to tell her about Hermione's visit.

"Well, I think that's my life story," Quinn finally laughed. She stirred sugar into her third cup of coffee. "So, Harry, what about you?"

Here goes…

"Uh, like I said, I go to boarding school. It's co-ed. I'll start my sixth year in September."

"What's boarding school like? Not that I'm loving the home life or anything, but it seems weird to spend most of the year at school."

Harry tried to find a way to explain Hogwarts without mentioning the moving staircases, the talking portraits, or the magic lessons. "Uh, well, it was weird, at first. I mean, like you said, life at home wasn't anything I was really going to miss, but…Well, we have dormitories. The school is in this old castle, and we're separated into what they call 'houses,' which are like our families. I'm in Gryffindor…"

Over the next hour, Harry was astonished at how easily he weaved around the real truth of Hogwarts. He told her about Snape, who became his "chemistry" teacher; about his Defense Against the Dark Arts club, which became his "martial arts" club; about playing for Gryffindor's Quidditch team, which became the "soccer" team. And of course, he told her about Hagrid, Filch, Dumbledore, the Weasleys (especially Ron), Malfoy and – at last – Hermione.

By the time her name came up, Harry felt uncomfortably disconcerted by his ability to bend the truth. He'd never considered himself a deceitful person. Obviously, if he'd been able to tell Quinn the truth, he would much rather have done that. It was just…

It's just, I don't feel even a twinge of guilt about lying through my teeth to her. When did lying become so easy?

"Wow, your school sounds amazing." Quinn reached across the table and linked her fingers through his, smiling contentedly. "I almost wish I could go there instead of St. Mary's."

Harry's heart jumped. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Quinn did have some magic blood in her? What if she got her Hogwarts letter next week? Surely it could happen – he didn't know any American wizards, so maybe the States were too new to have magic schools –

Even as he fantasized about it, however, he knew it wasn't possible. Without being able to explain how, he knew Quinn was Muggle through and through.

Feeling the happy bubble around his heart begin to deflate a bit, Harry realized it was time to stop avoiding the subject he'd managed to steer clear of all day. "Um, Quinn, there is something I've been meaning to tell you."

Her fingers went rather limp in his. Her smile faltered a bit. "Okay."

"You see, it's Hermione." Harry's stomach twisted into a hard knot. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wondering where the ability to lie had gone. "She, uh, well, she's like my best friend at Ho- at school. Besides Ron, of course."

Quinn was nodding and smiling, but she'd gone rather pale. "Right. Oh, okay, I get it."

Get it? "Wha-?"

"It's okay, Harry. You've been really nice to me, and, well, I did start the whole kissing thing, not you. I mean, you're so cute and so sweet, and obviously incredibly popular. It was really stupid of me to assume you didn't have a girlfriend."

A girlfriend? Oh, bollocks…

"No!" Harry was almost laughing with relief. "No, Hermione isn't my girlfriend."

A flash from his dream rose wickedly up to taunt him, but he shook it off. After all, it was only a dream, and even if he did have a crush on Hermione, she certainly wasn't his girlfriend.

"That's not it at all. I just wanted to tell you that her grandmother is very sick, and her parents asked my aunt and uncle if she could spend the rest of the summer with us, so she doesn't have to hang around the hospital and all that. She's arriving tomorrow and I just wanted you to know, so it wasn't a big surprise or anything."

Quinn couldn't seem to control the smile that spread across her face. Harry loved the way her freckles stood out when she blushed. "Oh. So, yeah, that was me, jumping to conclusions."

"That's okay. I wasn't being very clear."

"Well, I wasn't being very fair." She took his hand again; her thumb slid along his wrist, sending shivers down to his core. "I should have known you're not like that, Harry. Not the sort of person who would two-time anyone. I'm sorry."

He couldn't have felt smaller if she'd hit him with a shrinking charm. Because wasn't that what he was doing – enjoying his time with Quinn until Hermione arrived and he saw how she felt?

So stop it, his inner voice piped up calmly. You might have a misguided crush on Hermione, but think how that could destroy your friendship – yours and Hermione's if things soured, and yours and Ron's since you know he has feelings for her. Quinn is right here, right now, and you know how she feels, and how you feel about her. Be the man she wants you to be, Harry.

Be true.

Be hers.

It was as if someone had lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders. "It's fine," he assured Quinn. "I'm just glad you aren't upset about her visiting. For a while I was dating this girl, Cho, and she sort of went…weird…whenever Hermione was around. Like she wasn't okay with me being friends with her."

Way to leave out 99% of the truth on that one, Potter! Aren't you forgetting the little complication of her dead boyfriend…?

"You know, I hate girls like that. Jealous girls." Quinn grinned cattily at Harry as she stood up. "I always figure, if you aren't confident in your ability to hold onto your man, you aren't doing something right. Besides," she leaned in close, so close he could almost taste her lips, "if anybody else wants you, they're going to have one hell of a fight on their hands."