Harry paused in his step as he came to the drawing room doorway. His bath had definitely let out some, er, stress. He felt much more refreshed, awake and well, rather hungry right now. It was quarter past seven, after all.
The sight of Hermione, her head bent and reading whatever voluminous tome she was likely reading tonight, and twirling around her finger a stray ringlet of her hair that had escaped the knot she must have recently tied it up in, made Harry stop.
One of the more difficult things he was having problems getting his head around was trying to reconcile the brilliant-always-studying-best-friend-for-the-past-five-years Hermione and the one that slipped under his covers each night to curl up against him and who seemed to have a knack to drive Harry crazy (in an absolutely brilliant way, of course).
But there were these moments now -- they would be doing just ordinary things like eating breakfast perhaps, or working on their holiday homework, or training on their magic – when Harry would suddenly find himself caught up to see a look on her face, the sway in her walk, or the graceful curve of her neck. It was the latter that he was now eyeing with much more than just an artistic appreciation.
He snuck up until he was only a step behind the sofa, upon which she was reading. He licked his lips, unconsciously and moved his hands to her shoulders as he leaned in close behind her, nuzzling up that graceful curve as he finally reached her ear to whisper, "Are you hungry?"
He felt her tense and shiver at his touch. His lips lingered on the skin of her ear lobe and he smiled as he saw her eyes softly flutter closed. He then saw a movement out of the corner of his eye in her lap; a moving picture in a book Hermione was reading? Pictures? Book? This was not right.
The book was slapped shut, cover facing down in her lap as she had noticed his distraction.
Harry kept his hands on her shoulders and had a feeling she was not keen on letting him see whatever she was reading. He began to ever so gently rub her shoulders as he straightened up a bit. He watched her face closely as she turned back to him. He could see her mind work as she looked innocently up at him.
"So," he raised one eyebrow in mock interrogation, "watchya reading?"
A furtive look flashed across her face for but a second before she said, "It's my journal. Private journal."
"With pictures? You draw? Moving pictures?" Harry wasn't buying this at all.
Again, that secretive look that told him she was definitely hiding something flashed before she adopted a determined look and asked, "So, Harry, how was your shower? Long enough? You didn't run out of hot water, did you, and then have to suffer through a cold shower, hmm?"
Oh, touché. Harry was about to let the subject drop for the sake of maintaining some of his dignity, but when the sight of another moving picture on the back of the book, still clutched in her lap, caught his eye, he changed tactics. Hermione was still eyeing him defiantly and he thought he'd call her bluff. If he wasn't mistaken, that picture looked to be somewhere just east of indecent. He held her look, lowered his chin and countered in a low, suggestive voice, "I'll tell you all about my shower if you show me your book."
A small thrill ran though him at being able to astonish her in that brief moment. It was the look he imagined she might be making when they were in bed together and he might have just dared move his hand a little further than he had ever before. One thing about them nearly always being in bed, under covers, at night when they explored each other, it meant that Harry had to imagine the looks on her face and the sights that he could only guess from her sounds and how she felt to his hands.
"Okay, you first."
Er, he didn't expect her to say that. Bugger. "It was wet." He allowed himself a smirk.
She merely tilted her head gave a look that said he had better offer more than that.
That graceful curve of her neck caught his eye again and he leaned closer to her ear, letting his mouth brush against her ear again as he went on, "I was completely … naked." He searched over her shoulder as he nuzzled in to her neck. He saw the picture on the back of the book clearly now as she leaned back into him.
"Go on," she breathed.
"I was … imagining things…" he kissed her neck once, then twice, "however," another kiss, "if I had seen this one," *kiss* "particular," *kiss* "thing," a kiss trailing back around her neck and to the other side, "then my imagining, may have been," he laughed," well, a bit unnecessary." He sucked on a small spot where her neck and her shoulder met and she sighed against him.
The moving picture on the book, now seeming to be completely forgotten by Hermione, was most definitely holding Harry's attention and making him more than a little aroused to think that this was something Hermione was reading—or, er, looking at, at least.
"Go on," he heard her barely whisper as she leaned her head back onto the sofa. Harry lightly trailed up her neck, tore his eyes from the picture, and moved to her face and then placed a quick series of soft kisses on her mouth.
"Well," he murmured, "I wouldn't have had to imagine, had I seen this before," he ran a hand from her shoulder and down her arm slowly, "perhaps," another kiss, "I could have just," *kiss* "remembered."
He snuck in another look at the book in her lap and realized he could probably just snatch it from her now, but this was turning out to be much more fun than he had expected. The look on her face was rapturous and he leaned back and watched her with pleasure as a smile played on his lips. He saw her dreamily smile and ask, "What was it?"
His hand slid over her hand on the book and, with a finger, he tapped the book. "This," he whispered.
He watched with amusement as her eyes flew open and her face snapped forward to stare at the back cover of the book she had so recently wanted him not to see. He thought her skin may have been flushed as he was kissing her, but that was nothing to the deep scarlet now colouring her face, down her neck and right up to the collar on her shirt, where Harry could only imagine (and he did), it extended beneath.
She clutched the book to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and looked frantic; caught in the act. Harry took pity on her and leaned his forehead to hers and looked into her eyes with merriment. "Are you ready for dinner?"
She looked at him a moment before kissing him quickly and then ducking around him and off the sofa. She gathered the other books she had into her bag and said, "Yes, I – I'll meet you in the kitchen."
He laughed to himself, knowing she was trying to securely hide the book for now. He made a mental note: must get hands on book.
"Hello, Harry." Professor Dumbledore was seated at the long kitchen table in the basement, while Dobby stood on a chair across from him, wearing at least three knit hats atop his head.
"Professor—I didn't know you'd be here." Harry felt a rush of disappointment at not having the whole night to be alone with Hermione. And to get a hold of that curious book.
Dumbledore just smiled at Harry over his half-moon glasses and answered as Harry took a chair beside Dobby. "I had an idea, Harry. I wanted to talk to you and see if it has any merit." He looked to the scurrying Dobby, who was now eagerly spooning beef stew and Yorkshire pudding on a plate in front of Harry. "Dobby here was kind enough invite me to stay for dinner. He knew you were both just ready to head down within a few minutes."
He turned back to Harry, "How are you doing? Keeping busy I assume?" His eyes twinkled and Harry quite suddenly slammed up a mental brick wall against the thoughts of just what exactly he had been doing. Dumbledore just nodded, still twinkling and as Hermione can into the kitchen, he said, "I see the Occlumency is coming along nicely, indeed."
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione faltered but a moment upon seeing an unexpected face in the kitchen, "how are you this evening?" Harry marvelled at her composure.
After dinner, pudding another pudding, Dumbledore stroked his long beard and studied both Harry and Hermione. "You have both been working very hard of late and I will not begrudge you your evening off, however, I do need to speak with you, Harry on one matter." He looked at Hermione and smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, it will only be a few minutes."
Hermione took no offense and left Harry and Dumbledore alone in the kitchen. She took Dobby and Winky, too, asking them to show her their den in the attic.
"Harry," he began, "I know when we last talked a few days ago, you did say you believed you were making progress in sealing your mind off when your emotions grew strong, and I would now like propose you attempt something with this." Dumbledore was very serious in voice, despite the twinkling never leaving his eyes.
"Earlier this evening, Professor Snape was summoned from Hogwarts. He and myself, believe he is likely to remain with Voldemort for at least the night and possibly longer. I would like to take this opportunity to try something. Professor Snape should be able to report back to us about any strange events and so, will be able to provide us with feedback."
"I understand, sir." Harry's full stomach was now feeling quite queasy, as he began dreading not being able to just enjoy his free evening with Hermione's help. "Er, what is it that you'd like to try?"
"Well, Harry, it's not so much me as it is you. I would like you to attempt a change in the control you exert on your mind when you are influenced by your emotion." Dumbledore was staring intently at Harry. Harry thought if he were trying to read his mind for a reaction, then he could try all he wanted—in fact, if he saw an answer, Harry would like to know because he hadn't a clue what he meant.
"I don't understand."
Dumbledore twinkled. "Since you've become aware of your emotion of love triggering and influencing the connection from you to Voldemort, you have been working to seal your mind to him in these instances. As far as our sources can say, Voldemort has not seen nor felt nothing of the connection since. However, I have been thinking about this, and I wonder now, if you were to focus upon that feeling with all your mind, you should still be able to seal off the rest of your mind except for your focus, yet, possibly, trigger the connection and, thus, cause Voldemort pain."
Harry's brow furrowed, "Won't he just block me out then?"
Dumbledore nodded and said, "Possibly, especially eventually. However, for now and at first, I believe he will be curious and eager to try to exploit the connection. From Professor Snape's guess as to the nature of the vision Voldemort had where he identified Hermione, I believe that the last thing Voldemort and his servants believe is that you are able to control the connection.
"In the meantime, his summoning of Severus," Dumbledore smiled, "Professor Snape, may mean he has plans. If you were able to hinder him now in anyway, it may be to our advantage in that regard, as well."
It made sense to Harry. But he still wasn't completely clear what he had to do exactly.
Dumbledore, apparently sensing this, said, "Recently, you have been, shall we say, checking yourself and perhaps, isolating any thoughts on this emotion, correct? You said you've been able to feel when it begins and then stop it before it swells up; also, that in these instances, you've also been sealing your mind just in case it may have triggered the connection. What I am asking now, Harry, is to not stop that feeling from swelling—to not close your mind completely, at all. Rather, I want you to completely focus your mind on that feeling and its swelling, completely. As I said before, Voldemort, if this works—and I do believe it should—he should feel the connection reaching him—causing him pain.
"It is, however, quite possible, that he may also be able to see what it is you are focussing upon. But, if you are truly disciplined in your focus, than that is all he can see."
Harry was now heading upstairs and wondering how in the world he could bring this up with Hermione. Hello, yes, I was wondering, would you mind if we snog and I can gaze deeply into your eyes while we attempt to battle the forces the evil through love? That'd go over well.
She wasn't in the drawing room and he went up to the top floor. The door to her room was open but she wasn't in there. He walked to his own room and then could hear the shower running. Harry inwardly smiled and shifted himself as he stood for a moment, staring at the closed door to the bathroom. He shook himself out of his fantasy after a few moments and went into his room, flopped down on the sofa and pointed his wand at the fireplace, "Incendio!" The fire sprang to life and Harry settled back into the sofa and brought his knees up to his chin and then stared off into the fire.
It was several uncounted minutes before he realized the water had stopped running and the bathroom door opened, causing Harry to look up. There stood Hermione. In a towel. Nothing but a towel. Just one very short towel wrapped around her body and her hair was still wet. She paused but a moment, saw Harry in his room with a completely gobsmacked expression on his face, and went on down the hall to her own room.
Several more minutes later, Harry began to wake from his trance that had him continually seeing the image of Towel!Hermione. Only then did he realize that that same Hermione, only now dressed (damn), was sitting on the foot bench in his room, and watching him with much amusement.
"What?" he asked.
She just smirked. "Nothing."
He decided a change of subject would be good. "So how was the attic?"
Hermione rolled her eyes disgruntedly, "I wouldn't know. I sniffed—admittedly stupidly—a jar of what I thought was lavender sachet, but Winky said it was really scurvy-grass and sneezewort. She instructed me to shower and make sure I got it all off." She shook out her hair, which Harry could see was still a bit damp. "Odd, she said there were jars and jars of it in the kitchen when she first came here. I don't know what I was thinking—once she said what it was, I knew it looked nothing like lavender."
"Odd," Harry agreed without really hearing. He was back to staring off into the fire, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
"Do you have homework you want to do on tonight?" Hermione asked.
"What?" Harry snapped back from his staring into the fire. "No, not really. Not tonight."
"Mm. Did Professor Dumbledore have anything interesting to say?" Hermione inquired tentatively.
Harry looked at her a moment, mouth open and wracking his brain to think of way to say this.
"You don't have to tell me. I know…"
"What do you mean you know?"
Hermione stood and looked at the bookshelf behind Harry and answered loftily, "I know with your being the Lead Light, you and Dumbledore will have secrets. I know there are things you're still not telling me."
Again, Harry was speechless to hear this.
Hermione plucked a book off the shelf and sat down on the other end of the sofa. "I know your shutting me out to something, Harry. Whatever it is, I just hope you're talking to someone about it."
This was confusing now. Harry shook his head, "Now you lost me. I tell you – I don't understand—"
She levelled a look at Harry and said, "Harry. I can see it. When we are together. You'll get this look in your eye and then—bam!—up goes this wall."
Whoa. "Really?" asked Harry excitedly.
Hermione looked confused now. She nodded like she thought he was a bit off.
'This is great—I was wondering how to explain this. That's the Occlumency!" Harry was relieved and excited that she could actually see it and sense it.
Hermione had a wash of realization wash over her and she nodded slowly.
"Yes. That's kind of, er, what Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with me about. He, er, well I guess I've been doing all right since… you know, and all. Er, but he wants me to try something different."
"Different?"
"Different. He wants me to try to, er, well, not block it. You see, Snape was summoned this evening so Dumbledore knows if I can try and affect Voldemort tonight, then Snape can report back about it. Also, Dumbledore thinks that it might be likely that he's planning something again, and, well, Voldemort planning anything is never good."
Hermione still looked a little confused.
"He said I might try to, er, not suppress it now, and to focus on it completely—to seal off the rest of my mind—and then he hopes that I might be able to cause Voldemort pain and also make him a bit curious to try to abuse the connection." He saw a worried look flit across her face. "But he won't. He doesn't understand it. He won't guess that I can control it."
Hermione was looking at him now. "What is it you are suppressing?"
"Er, well, a feeling—you know how I described the feeling of Voldemort inside me? Like a snake uncoiling? It's completely the opposite of that. But like it." Harry laughed at his own awful explanation. "It's kind of like—but that won't help you—"
"What?"
"Like, well, like my induction when before the sword came out. It feels like a warmth spreading—only smaller—no, not smaller—just more, er, concentrated—acute. Maybe. I don't know—it's warm and it swells. Don't give me that look—this is entirely an internal feeling." Harry swatted her on the arm. "I don't know. It's…well, it's different."
"And what will it do when you don't suppress it?
Good question. Harry thought about what it felt like it wanted to do. "Er, blossom?"
Hermione gave a short snort then covered her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled. 'That just sounds…too…poetic."
Harry grinned now, "Oh, no. I'm definitely not poetic. I just don't know how to describe it." It's love, you dolt. Yeah, like I know what that feels like. "It's rather unfamiliar to me." Oi.
Hermione just smiled at him, looked down, then back up and asked, "So how do you plan to do this?"
Harry had several ideas that might help him on his way but just grinned. "You."
12 August 3 A.M.Oh. My. God. I can't sleep. I don't know how I will ever sleep again. I had to get out of bed so I can stop myself from just wanting to do everything and anything to her. Oh, God. Well, I can still feel my "emotion" even now if I think on it. Amazing. I can't explain it. But I guess I'll try.
It's like flying on a broom—only more dizzying. But nearly as addictive, I think.
Still haven't got my hands on that book, but I definitely approve of Hermione having it. I don't think I can ever look at her the same way again. I will never be able to watch her hold a quill (nor suck on the end of it—ahh!!) without thinking of what she just did to me tonight. Twice. Oh. My. God.
I have never been so utterly exhilarated—yet somehow ashamed?—all at the same time. No 'ashamed' is not the right word… Vulnerable. That's it.
Oh. My. God.
If this worked in any way to fight Voldemort, well, let's just say this: Oh. My. God.
Ok. Calming down.
Does this mean I love her? I mean, I guess it makes sense…in a way… Don't friends love each other? It doesn't necessarily mean I am 'in love' with her. Does it?
Isn't this the kind of thing girls natter on about—love and stuff? Who am I supposed to ask these questions to? Dumbledore—ha!—I don't think he would bat an eye if I did, but he would only give some cryptic answer and twinkle. I'd ask Hermione, maybe—if I weren't her I was talking about. Ron—no way.
Oi—don't even get me started on what Ron would say. First he would want to know *who* this was about. Ok—let's stop there. Leave that small disaster until later.
Maybe it's a question for a parent. Probably. Figures. Mr and Mrs Weasley are out of the question since they both think I am seeing Ginny. Now that would be a nightmare—they'd either smack upside the head or start planning a wedding. Don't know which would be worse. Maybe Remus. Sirius could have had something to say. I'm sure he would have. Don't know how good his advice would have been, but…I wish I could have asked.
Maybe that's a new list I could make—Things I Wish I Would've Asked Sirius.
With a small fizzling noise, the quill Harry was writing with shrunk and disappeared. It was one that he had conjured and actually lasted nearly three whole days.
"Harry?" Harry turned from his desk to a groggy Hermione who lifted her head off the pillow and sleepily looked for her missing bed partner.
Harry got up and slipped back into bed. "Right here." He slipped his arms around her and relished the feel of her body on his. (He was only wearing his boxers and she, her bra and panties, so there was a lot to relish.) "Go back to sleep," he whispered as he brushed back her hair and kissed her temple.
"Remus? How do you know if you love someone?"
Lupin looked up, startled by the question, from the chessboard as the two sat in Harry's room one evening. Harry saw the startlement change then to sadness and sorrow and Lupin actually looked like he was about to…cry?
He sniffed. "Sorry, Harry." He shook his head and blinked. "Sorry."
"No—I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry." Guess that was the wrong person to ask.
"No, no, Harry—it's just, well, I shouldn't be the one to answer that for you." Harry nodded and felt a sense of isolation and being alone pull him away. "No—Harry, wait—it's just that James—or Lily—or even Sirius—should have got to hear you ask that."
Lupin shook himself from his thoughts and, with a nostalgic look said, "Your parents, especially James, were always so proud of every little thing you ever did. Which, mind you, for a little tyke and toddler such as you were, wasn't all that much. I remember when your father kept making you try to show us all how you learned to walk—you weren't very cooperative, though—you thought it was rather funny, really." Lupin was smiling with his reminiscing. "I suppose your father—and mother, and yes, most definitely Sirius—would have been just thrilled to be able to give you advice on your first love."
The smile lingered on his face as he gazed off into the fire. Harry loved to hear about his parents but always felt awkward asking about them. He was eager to hear Remus tell more.
Lupin gave a low laugh, "Sirius, of course, would have been more eager to give you his advice with women, though, than love. He discovered nearly a hundred ways to get slapped by a witch, he did." He shook his head at the memory and then looked at Harry, who had been listening raptly. "I take it this is about Hermione?"
Harry felt himself flush and he lowered his face and fingered his bishop. "Well…yes and no."
Lupin, being the excellent listener that he was, just waited for Harry to offer more.
"Do you…do you remember when Dumbledore called the few of you together to share the prophecy?" Lupin gave one nod of his head. "Well, I was reading over Hermione's notes and, well, it seems like there was one part of it that he kind of skirted around. I doubt maybe you all noticed, it was so much to take in—at least that's how I felt when I first heard it. But anyway, do you recall when it talks about the power I have?" Harry felt that perhaps if this was something he certainly could not discuss with Hermione, seeing as how it directly involved her, he now decided that Lupin may be the next best choice.
Lupin considered this and slowly answered, "Yes, I think I found myself wondering more about that only after the meeting was long over."
Harry went on, "Well, Dumbledore has a theory about it."
Lupin gave a wry smile. "Yes, he does always seem to have his theories now, doesn't he."
Harry gave a quick, lopsided smile back. "Yeah. Well …" Now Harry hesitated. It seemed to make it so much more real to actually talk about it. "Well, he thinks it may be, I guess he says, well, love. The power of love." Harry's brow was furrowed and he saw even the chess pieces turning to look at him and listen curiously. Silence followed, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire.
"It does make sense," Lupin mused.
Harry snapped his head up. "It does? Why?"
Lupin gave that wry, half smile of his and said, "Because all this time I know I've been wondering what great power would emerge as your own. You are very skilled at many things and adding more and more skills every day, Harry. I keep wondering if it is all enough; it keeps me up at night." Harry felt bad now for causing Lupin to look and be even more tired that he usually was—all because he was worried about him.
"But you see, Harry, I keep reminding myself that you will be alright, as long as you remember you have us upon whom you can rely. So, I guess it makes sense, that the power of love be the power you have that Voldemort knows not. Harry, you have many people who love you and support you and who believe in you, including myself."
Harry felt a swell of emotion now and he paused—neither suppressing it nor allowing it to open itself—this was what it felt like to be loved. Unfamiliar, most definitely; he had gone years with only the Dursleys and never felt that. He had never even known what it was he had been missing. But so what did it mean when he looked at Hermione and felt that feeling inside?
"Harry, I think most of us—Minerva, Alastor, myself, and Albus, for sure—all feel that while there are so many things and skills we can teach you, there is also a support we can offer you that will help you above all others: the support of knowing you are not alone in this. Some of the things you learn—they may never be used to defend yourself, but the act of teaching you and making you feel you have weapons at your disposal, making you know that you have those who can and will continue to teach you and be there for and with you—Harry, that is the most valuable thing I've felt we can give you.
"So, yes, I suppose that all does boil down to love. You do have a knack, Harry, to inspire an awful lot of people to feel love for you, I can tell you that."
Harry scowled at this, "You mean pity?"
Lupin shook his head sternly. "No, Harry, pity is what someone who doesn't know you may feel when they hear of the tragedies you've endured. Love is the support, friendship, and guidance you're gifted by those who do know you, your past, and your future. What Molly has said about not wanting you to have to bear the burdens of the Order, we all feel, in a way. None of us believe it is fair to ask it of you. But, I suppose that is one reason why Albus and you decided to share the rest of the prophecy. There is no one else—you are 'The One', Harry.
"Therefore, those who knew, now knew it was not a matter of putting a burden upon you, but rather, helping you. And look at all the other members who voted, without much resistance, I should say, to pledge their support of your reign as Lead Light! No offense, Harry, but I was a little surprised at that—I mean I thought some may want to abstain and hold off until later to give their support. Then again, that's a testament to the need and desire everyone has to have hope and to believe we have a way to win. They want a leader and need to feel like they are doing their part by just following. Which can be substantial, in and of itself. On the other hand, you, the leader, need to understand you have our trust and support and that we will follow you. It all works together, Harry.
"Imagine, Harry, as I am sure you have, had the prophecy never been made. But—imagine us in exactly the same world we are today—no changes to the past. Would that be better? Would that be any different or better than if the prophecy had been made but never heard by anyone? Fate was scripted but never known by anyone, imagine that. I for one, Harry, think that would be a far worse situation for us to be in. We would be unsure of a way, expending energy and resources into other things that would never pay back. You wouldn't be receiving the training to enable you to defend yourself and teach your friends how to defend themselves at this time. But tell me, might you still feel like Voldemort was your responsibility, even without the prophecy?"
Harry thought about that. Of course he felt he had a right to know what had been going on ever since Voldemort's return. He felt impotent and powerless when he had been kept in the dark, and even more suffocated by the fact that everyone was taking efforts to keep him safe and out of harm. Hadn't he felt that helping his friends learn defense, (even if it did turn out to be nearly half his class) was important to enable them to also be able to fight against Voldemort? He never recalled making a conscious decision to fight against him; he just understood that he would. Harry nodded. "Yes."
"Well then, nothing much changed for you, did it? Now you just have us without the arguments to keep you out of it until you became of age. Now, you have us knowing the stakes of this war and, well believe me, Harry, when I say this, some who may have hesitated to know the value of your life, now are left in little doubt. Many people have and would sacrifice themselves for you—your parents as well as Sirius—all because they love you. Now, more may not hesitate to do the same, myself included."
Harry was shaking his head, horrified, "No—no, I can't ask that—I won't!"
Lupin held up a hand and spoke, "Listen, your father, if you happen to have lost any respect for who he was by what you saw in Snape's pensieve, know this: he was a most wonderful friend and person and inspired much loyalty to him, even long after he is gone. I myself, owe him for never making amends and because I have always felt some guilt for not making my case against Sirius—back through all those years when I thought it had been him as the traitor—and after for causing suspicion to be placed upon me, and not Peter.
"I owe you, Harry, because I let my guilt eat away at me and told myself you didn't need some old friend of your father's, who wasn't even on good terms with him when he died and also felt partially responsible, in your life. I knew where you were—Albus told me after he left you with the Dursleys—but I, I just didn't…I am so sorry for that." Harry felt a prickling in the back of his eyes and stared avidly at the fire. "Even when I came to teach in your third year, I thought you would have a right to blame me for their deaths."
"You don't owe me," Harry forced out in a whisper with some difficulty.
Lupin just went on. "I owe Sirius, too. I should never have doubted him. And also because, shortly after you called us on the Floo from school, he asked me something. In a very un-Sirius-like moment of solemnity, he asked me to promise him that I would watch out for you if something happened to him. I would, of course, even if he hadn't asked, but he made me take a Wizard's oath, so, I am bound to do so. And, willingly, I shall."
It was amazing to Harry how sometimes he could feel quite mature and confident, but right now, it was all he could do to not want to just sob. He took several minutes to reign in his emotions and finally, though nearly choked out, said, "I'd rather you lived to be there for me than die. And I'd rather I would have died than lose Sirius."
Lupin was tracing a pattern on the arm of the chair and then looked up at Harry. In a quiet voice, he said with absolute certainty, "Well, Harry, that's how you know you love someone."
"Arthur! Have you come to help with Mr. Potter's training? Excellent! We need a guinea pig and you seem like a perfect candidate."
Harry turned to see Mr. Weasley enter the practice hall and look warily at Professor McGonagall. She had been working him and Hermione all morning and now, after lunch, it was just him. He was about to begin to learn how to transfigure humans into other animals. Secretly, he wished Draco Malfoy were around and he could see the sequel, Return of the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.
"Ah, Minerva, well, I actually came not so much…hello there, Harry, how are you?" Harry waved and smiled at Mr. Weasley's reluctance to be a guinea pig—literally. "Actually, you see, I was hoping Harry might be able to spare me some time and have a chat," Mr. Weasley tried to hedge.
McGonagall was not to be dissuaded, "Well Arthur, this shouldn't take but a few moments, even if he messes up, I'm quite good and fixing people up. Go on now Potter, and remember—focus."
Harry nodded and levelled his wand at Mr. Weasley who suddenly looked quite fearful and held up his hands and dodged back and behind McGonagall. "Now hold on there!! What is he going to do to me?"
Harry saw McGonagall roll her eyes and she stepped away from Mr. Weasley and said, "Harry is going to turn you into a guinea pig, Arthur. It won't hurt a bit."
"Have you, have you done this before Harry?" he asked in a high voice.
"Sure, er, but not with a person…"
Mr. Weasley's voice was unnaturally high now as he said, "You sure you got the incantation down already, Harry?"
"Don't be silly, Arthur,' McGonagall admonished. "Harry doesn't use incantations any more. What's the use of trying to transfigure an attacker if they know it's coming? It's a different class of spell not blockable by standard curse and hex shields. Stealth with transfiguration can be highly effective. Besides, Potter works best without incantations—one slip of enunciation and he'll think he messed up. His training on Occlumency with Professor Dumbledore has left him with a very strong ability to focus his mind and he really doesn't need incantations at all, at this point. Another two weeks at this rate, and he'll be better than me—and that's saying something." She waved Harry to get on with it.
He levelled his wand again and tried to look as genial as possible. He focused on the image of a guinea pig and then looked at Mr. Weasley. He imagined Mr. Weasley suddenly turning into a guinea pig. He imagined the guinea pig being alive and still being Mr. Weasley. With a deep breath and flick of his wand, 'Crack!', suddenly there was a red-furred guinea pig huddling down on the ground at his feet.
"Move about, Arthur," McGonagall instructed.
The guinea pig seemed to look at itself and then back at Harry and then at Professor McGonagall before scurrying a few feet to the right and then to the left.
"Excellent. Now change him back, Potter."
Harry reversed his thinking, flicked his wand and with a 'pffft!', the guinea pig grew up and back into Mr. Weasley.
"Well, I'll say!" cried Mr. Weasley, "That was excellent, Harry!"
McGonagall looked stern and said, "Actually it was not. Potter, you made him grow back—not change back instantaneously, as you should. An unwilling subject, who may try to fight the spell, could be seriously injured that way. Try it again."
Harry did it again, and this time, he properly returned the guinea pig to Mr. Weasley, with a loud, 'crack!'.
"Much better," McGonagall praised. 'All right, we're done for today. Make sure Remus is around to help if you practice that."
Harry nodded and Mr. Weasley smiled and said, "Is there someplace we can go, Harry?"
"Sure, my room is just out and through the hall," said Harry as he pointed out the door.
He then heard McGonagall call out, "Potter! One more thing—if I see you try to use that spell on another student, especially one certain Mr. Malfoy, it will be a detention, Lead Light or no, you are not allowed to abuse these skills."
Even from across the room, Harry could see her mouth in a thin line as she gave him her patented stern look. "And that includes the train ride to Hogwarts, too! Wait!! Arthur—actually I should speak with you before you leave."
Mr. Weasley looked at Harry uncertainly and said, "Well this may take a bit, Minerva, what is it?"
She looked at Harry and said, "Only a few minutes." Harry took the hint and pointed to through the door and said, "Just through there, Mr. Weasley, when you're done."
Harry hurried off and into his room and over to his desk. Since Mr. Weasley was here, he thought he ought to write out a quick note to Ron to pass to him. So much had happened since they had left…
Ron,
How've you been? I've been so busy I've barely had time to think, much less write. Sorry about that. Guess what? I learned how I can transfigure Malfoy into a ferret today! But McGonagall made me promise not to use it on him in school. She said it would be a detention from her, but, actually, I think it may be worth it.
So much had happened indeed, however, as Harry recalled the past week and half since Mrs. Weasley left in a huff, he realized much of it he couldn't even begin to tell Ron.
Well, write back and send it with your Mum or Dad on Friday.
See you soon,
Harry
Harry then thought he ought to write a quick note of thanks to Ginny for helping the way she did. Oh no. Ginny… Mr. Weasley must think that Ginny and he are an item. He probably wants to have a "talk"… bugger! Harry quickly grabbed a new sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in the inkwell and wrote hastily:
Ginny,
Thank you so very, very much your kind, kind actions. It was very greatly appreciated. I owe you. Hermione says 'Hi'. See you soon.
HarryHarry hoped this was adequate and that she would know what he meant. He also thought that Hermione was probably right in that they should get her something as a token of thanks since who know how much teasing she has had to endure. And Ron must be awful! Oh no… He hated Michael Corner when she was with him, Harry wondered if he would be as cold now towards him? Maybe him seeing Hermione and me together would have been the easier thing, after all.
Harry grabbed the note to Ron and scribbled a post script at the bottom:
P.S. Please tell me you're not mad at me nor Ginny! Please?
Just as he finished, he heard a knock at his door. He turned, as he rolled up the letters, to gesture with his head for Mr. Weasley to come in. He stood and walked over to the pair of armchairs near the fireplace. "Have a seat, Mr. Weasley. Sorry about having to transfigure you earlier."
Mr. Weasley placed himself in the chair, but didn't sit back, instead, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Oh, no problem, Harry. That was quite impressive there. You're learning a lot this summer, are you?"
"Yes," nodded Harry, "I feel like I'm learning as much as I have in the past five years combined. I'm enjoying it, really."
"Excellent," said Mr. Weasley as he fidgeted with his hands and began to look slightly uncomfortable.
"Er, you wanted to talk to me sir?" Harry gained some confidence at Mr. Weasley's discomfort.
"Well, yes, now really, Molly, that is, she wanted me to, er, well, it is to say that she was thinking that perhaps it might be prudent, if I were to possibly…er, shall we say…er, talk with you…"
Harry was looking more and more confused as Mr. Weasley rambled indistinctly along.
"…you see she may be under the impression that you may need someone or some help or well, that you may be at a disadvantage—not that we believe—"
"Mr. Weasley? You've lost me."
"Well, it's Molly really—"
"Ok, Mrs. Weasley wanted you to talk with me—I understand."
"Right. She's been talking to Ginny, you see," Harry's stomach knotted at the confirmation that this chat was fuelled by the belief that he and Ginny had been doing 'untoward' things in his bed, "and now she wants to make sure someone talks with you."
Harry just nodded as he thought he might now spew his lunch if he tried to speak.
" I understand this is a bit awkward for both of us, and it's quite likely that perhaps someone else has already covered this and all, but I guess I'm here for you be able to ask me any questions you might have. You know. Things you need to know."
Things I need to know? That sounds like a list I should write… Again, Harry could only nod.
"Well then, do you?"
Harry did an excellent impression of a gaping fish and even managed to sound like one as he tried futilely for his brain to function.
"Well," Mr. Weasley, now a brilliant shade of the famous, Weasley-red, went on, "perhaps you don't even know what it is you don't know and so, you don't know what you need to ask. You remember what it felt like when you first held your wand, Harry?"
Things, in Harry's mind, just took a drastic turn for the worse. He thought he was also sporting a rather Weasley-esque shade of red.
"You remember that warm and tingly feeling you got when you found just the wand for you? The one that you just knew was yours and that you'd be taking home?"
Harry could barely hear the words being spoken as a distant echo but knew enough to nod along.
"Well, you see, the time may come along when a person, er, girl, let's say, might make you feel that same way. Do you know what I mean?"
Er…
"Well, okay, so you know how you felt when you had your wand and you knew you were going to learn and be able to do magic and all then? Most kids are very excited then—they can't wait to begin to use this new and exciting thing they've just discovered. You may have felt a little unsure at first, everyone is different, but really, you wanted nothing more than to be able to use the magic to which you were just given access and knowledge." Mr. Weasley was studiously examining the sleeve of his robe and so was Harry, still, not making any noise what so ever.
"But you see, it can be dangerous—you don't know how wrong things can go if you mess up and you don't understand how to stop things once you may have started.
"Maybe I should use inkwells to explain this—you know how you have a quill? Well, several quills, most likely. And you know how those quills—just ordinary and common, merely nature's way to clothe an eagle or partridge or grouse, or even a – well, you get my point. That this ordinary thing—a quill—can be used to do extraordinary things—if—if—it's dipped properly in an inkwell—"
"I understand," Harry said suddenly. This had to be stopped. This could not bloody well go on. "I know, er, my last year of primary school, they explained all this to us. I know how it all, er, works." Why can't Voldemort attack at a convenient time, like now???
Mr. Weasley looked tremendously relieved. "Oh, that's great, Harry. Muggles, eh? I wonder if there's any differences…?"
Harry vigorously shook his head. "No. It's the same." I hope. Better find out. "I checked."
Mr. Weasley looked disappointed and then confused and asked, "But the charms? And...well...how could they—I mean, what about prevention—they can't use potions, can they?" He looked very eager to hear about this new aspect of muggle life.
"Er, well they have other things. And there are things you can get from a chemist…kind of like potions, too." Harry really hoped this conversation would end soon.
"Really? Tell me about them?"
Oh no. "Er, well, I don't know much—I've never…" Harry thought he had to match the Gryffindor red of his duvet by now, "used them, I just know they are there…"
Mr. Weasley looked very disappointed but just nodded, "Well, that's good to hear. I mean, not that you shouldn't use these things, if you are going to…well, er, you know, then it's best to be…er, prepared, you catch my drift?"
A high, familiar hoot broke the most awkward and awfully downward spirally conversation of Harry's life. Pig soared in through the window, bounced into the ceiling, and promptly knocked himself out and landed with a thud on Harry's lap.
"Well, I see Ron has written you—or perhaps it's Ginny, eh?"
Harry snapped his head up from the stunned, elfin owl in his lap to see Mr. Weasley smiling mischievously.
"Oh, we know all about it, Harry. Ginny told us everything and really, we couldn't be happier."
Huh?
"Oh, Molly has always hoped you and Ginny would find each other—you've already become like one of the family, now perhaps—not now, of course—but someday, it may be official. I agree, even Ron thinks it's just right as rain and that we think there is no one nearly good enough for our Virginia, but you. Harry, you have our blessing, and although I'm sure Molly would have liked me to give a bit of a more stern lecture, I'm sure you are responsible and that you have more than enough to keep you busy for now—"
Pig began to flip over and flutter his wings and chirp, cutting off Mr. Weasley. Harry grabbed him and held on.
"Well, I'll let you get to your post, I must be getting back to work now."
Harry just nodded dumbly and watched, open-mouthed, as Mr. Weasley rose, grinned and waved before he left. Harry was still holding a frantically chirping Pig and his rolled up letters to Ron and Ginny. Bugger.
Harry unrolled the parchments from Pig saw there were two pages. The first read:
Harry,
Mum just threatened Dad with torching his shed out back, if he didn't go see you and give you the Quill and Inkwell talk. (Stop him before he gets to the pre-inked quills that don't need inkwells--it's awful!)
Mum, Dad and I are all excited about you and Ginny--even Fred and George. Charlie, and Bill, however, have been muttering about you. Beware.
Mum may let us come back to there just before we leave for school, I'll let you know.
Ron
The next piece of parchment said:
Harry,
Just keep playing along. This is working out to my advantage right now and you can ask Hermione to explain why. Thank you!
Ginny
A very confused Harry flopped back in the chair and didn't even notice when Pig, the ever-eager owl, picked up Harry's rolled up letters he had written before his chat with Mr. Weasley, and took off with them in his beak.