Disclaimer: Harry Potter remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: This story is finally going to be progressing at a faster rate. Also, I'm not going to be writing, word for word, about situations that everyone already knows happens in the books. I will probably mention them, and in some cases change them a little, but I'm going to rely on your knowledge of the books, and your imagination, to know what goes on. In short, I'll probably be skipping over a fair amount of the fifth book because nothing would have changed since Elizabeth is not really going to Hogwarts and you know what happens anyway.

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Chapter 12: Surprises.

Harry and Ron slumped down the stairs one morning, tired out of their minds; Hermione had kept them up studying late for that one ingredient that still continued to elude them. They were about to head to the kitchen in hopes to wangle out a late breakfast from Mrs Weasley when some commotion caught their attention at the end of the corridor.

Professor Lupin, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred and George where all gathered in front of Mrs Black's portrait, looking curiously at it. Deciding it would be a good idea to investigate, Harry and Ron walked towards them, noting that Professor Lupin appeared to be explaining something to the others. But the strange thing was that he wasn't troubling to keep his voice down, he was speaking quite ordinarily. The other strange thing was that not a peep sounded from Mrs Black. In fact, the whole scene didn't seem quite right to Harry and Ron at all. It was almost like something was missing.

". . . of course she's up in the attic now," Professor Lupin was saying. "But she put up quite a fuss, as you can imagine, screeching the whole time. I'm surprised it didn't wake you up."

"Oh we were up rather late last night Professor: studying," said Hermione promptly when Lupin looked at her oddly. "I expect we were too tired to be woken up."

Harry and Ron, having finally reached the end of the corridor, looked on in surprise as they discovered what the others had been talking about.

Mrs Black's portrait was gone.

Left in its place were the black curtains that used to hang across it, now opened to reveal (instead of a painting) a gigantic, jagged, gaping hole, as though someone had ripped the portrait out of its residence, bypassing the permanent sticking charm, and taking bits of wall with it. Beyond the hole were crisscrossing wooden rafters and plenty of cobwebs; the wall's interior.

"What the bloody . . ." said Ron, gaping.

"Hello there," greeted Professor Lupin. "I was just explaining to the others. As you can see, Sirius's mother is no longer with us."

"Way to put it, Professor," sniggered Fred.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"You should ask your sister, Harry," Lupin replied, smiling. "She'll tell you that she's had quite enough of Mrs Black. You'll find her in the kitchen arguing with Sirius."

Harry started. "What d'you mean arguing?" he asked quickly. "What about?"

"A difference of opinion," Lupin grimaced. "Nothing to be alarmed about. It's the same subject they've been debating for the last couple of days."

Harry, who had never heard of this, was quite stunned, and suddenly became very unhappy that two of the most important adults in his life were behaving that way towards each other.

"Don't worry Harry," said Lupin, obviously interpreting Harry's expression. "They're both opinionated and very passionate people, both too much alike. Their wills are bound to clash sometimes. It happened with your father and Sirius. It doesn't mean they dislike each other. In fact I think Sirius might even enjoy it. Sometimes I feel he might even be provoking her on purpose. Brings back fond memories."

"Right," said Harry, letting Professor Lupin reminisce. He knew the same thing happened with Ron and him sometimes. And he had to admit he felt better knowing that Sirius might be doing it as a kind of joke.

Ron leaned to whisper, probably thinking to reassure him, "Fred and George argue with Mum all the time, mate. I wouldn't worry about it."

Harry didn't bother pointing out that that was an entirely different circumstance and that Fred and George had grown up under Mrs Weasley's care. They were not yet fully adult, so they, as her children, had a right to be a little rebellious. Elizabeth did not share such a relationship with Sirius yet, even though he was her Godfather. Harry wasn't sure that she ever would. She was a grown witch after all; she didn't need a father figure anymore.

They all shuffled along to the dining room. Professor Lupin was the only one in the group who probably knew what had really happened with Mrs Black's portrait, but it didn't take much for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to guess the reason as well (Harry having told his two best friends all about Elizabeth and his family circumstance about a week ago).

They opened the kitchen door to find Mrs Weasley standing before Elizabeth, who was sitting opposite Sirius. He was absently stoking Muck's tiny belly as she lay curled up asleep in his lap, her legs lifted straight in the air and her snout emitting soft purring snores. Sirius was intently watching the two women in front of him.

"But Elizabeth dear," Mrs Weasley was saying in a forced sort of kindness. The same tone she had taken to using when she and Sirius disagreed on something. "I know you don't really mean to do that!"

"And how would you know that, Molly?" Elizabeth said tensely, not breaking eye contact with Mrs Weasley.

"W-well I suppose don't, I'm only concerned for Harry's sake. I agree with Sirius, you really shouldn't take him away from here —"

"So what your both saying is I should let him die then," Elizabeth interrupted calmly, looking between Sirius and Mrs Weasley.

Sirius frowned.

"W-what? No!" Mrs Weasley stuttered looking both confused and horrified. "What do you mean 'die'? Whatever gave you the idea —?"

"I mean unless you want Voldemort to find him, (Mrs Weasley winced horribly at the word 'Voldemort') he needs to live in a place that he can recognise as home. He needs to spend at least some time there for the wards to work. I doubt he considers Grimmauld Place his home!"

Sirius stopped scratching Muck's stomach.

Mrs Weasley gaped at Elizabeth, apparently at loss for words. Then she drew her self up. "But you can't know that!" she said evenly. "Harry has loved living here with all his of friends. I've seen how happy he's become, so, for all purposes, he can call this is home. Besides, Professor Dumbledore's already told us that in addition to having an actual home, he also belongs with family —"

Mrs Weasley stopped suddenly, obviously realising, by Elizabeth's thundercloud expression, that she'd said the wrong thing.

Beside him, Harry heard Professor Lupin sigh heavily.

"And what am I if not Harry's family?" Elizabeth said softly, a hurt look briefly appearing in her eyes. "I can't believe you said that."

Mrs Weasley's bottom lip trembled, but she continued on. "Well you were never around. Where were you when Harry needed you? You left him with those muggles who don't appreciate him for what he is!"

This was the first time Harry had ever heard Mrs Weasley speak ill of the Dursley's, and it made him think that she must be really riled up.

"Molly," said Professor Lupin, moving passed Harry and into the room.

Neither she nor Elizabeth appeared to have heard him.

Elizabeth stood up quickly. "I had things to do. I had a life to complete. It was too early to show myself. Harry wouldn't have understood!"

"I think Harry was begging for a family!" Mrs Weasley wasn't letting up. "And you never bothered to show! And now all of a sudden here you are butting into his life, expecting other people who've cared for him all this time to just let him go and forget about him!"

"Mrs Weasley . . ." Harry began.

"I never said that! All I said is he needs to spend some time in our house with me so that Dumbledore's blood wards can activate. It doesn't have to be right now. Next summer perhaps. And 'Never bothered to show?' Believe me, I wanted to show myself so much it was almost a physical ache. That boy upstairs is my entire universe, Molly. You have no idea . . ." Elizabeth was crying now. "You have no idea how much I love him. You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from writing an owl, or getting on a broom. The first time I learned to apparate I had to ask someone to stay with me to stop me from going to England. That's how much I wanted him to be with me. But I wasn't allowed! I wasn't allowed!" Elizabeth started sobbing into her hands.

Sirius, Professor Lupin, and especially Mrs Weasley, all looked thunderstruck.

"Oh!" said Mrs Weasley shrilly. "Oh you poor little dear!" She moved briskly toward Elizabeth and drew her into her arms, where she continued to cry in small muffled sobs. Mrs Weasley had that maternal look on her face. As if she just realised Elizabeth wasn't much more than a child herself, and that she hadn't had a mother to look after her either for all these years.

"You know, you're not that much younger than my Charlie," she said in a trembling voice, stroking Elizabeth's long black hair. "Let's make a nice cup of tea."

Elizabeth drew away, nodded, and wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. Then Mrs Weasley drew a protective arm around her shoulders and led her gently out of the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them.

"Blimey," breathed Ron when that was over. "You can't go a day in this house without something happening."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, deliberately ignoring Hermione's skirting gazes and his Godfather's probing ones. He was too busy thinking about what he'd just witnessed. He'd known what Elizabeth had meant when she'd said she 'hadn't been allowed' to contact him. But up until that point, Harry hadn't known how passionately Elizabeth felt for him. He had known she loved him, of course. She said it often, with boisterous and at times embarrassing vigour. But he hadn't known she'd had to mentally stop herself from jumping on a broom. It made him go rather pink about the ears, but he also felt wonderfully pleased at the same time. He had never had anyone feel for him in this way. He had never been so close to anyone like this before, except Ron and Hermione, but he didn't usually show physical affection for Ron and Hermione like he did with Elizabeth. It was confusing, and Harry had to stop himself from blinking. He had now entered an entirely new relationship with a completely unconventional person, and it took him up until now to realise it.

Have I always been this thick? — was Harry's thought before he followed the others into the silent kitchen.

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Later that night the teenagers all found themselves either on the floor or on the beds in Harry and Ron's room, rifling through more of Sirius' father's Dark Arts books collection (and still finding nothing).

"That's it!" Hermione snapped, slamming shut Belladonna, Mystique, and Other Deadly Herbs so hard that particles of dust gushed out. Everyone stared at her. "There's obviously nothing here! We've searched through every single book we could find — I even looked twice — and still nothing! We'll just have to wait until we get to Hogwarts, everyone. It's bound to be in the restricted section!"

Hermione sounded like she couldn't believe any book would let her down.

"That's the best idea you've ever had," said Ron, throwing his book over his shoulder so that it hit the opposite wall and bounced on Harry's bed.

Ginny went to pick it up and stuff it inside an enlarged brown sack, then she, Hermione, and Fred started doing the same to the other scattered books. "Anyway," she said after they had finished, "school starts in five days so we won't have to wait that long. One of them's missing, Fred!"

"What?" said Fred, looking a little too innocent.

"We had twelve books here," said Ginny, pointing to the sack. "Now we have eleven. You helped pick them up. You must have stolen it! You must have given it to George when we weren't looking."

"Did not," George protested.

"I'll help, Ginny," said Hermione. She rifled through the sack, pulling out each book as she went then putting it back in and replacing it with another. "You've got the one with the dark pink embroidered spine and red lettering," she told Fred and George, who were now standing huddled against the wall. "It has one thousand three hundred and twenty four pages. It's called Aphrodite's Bundles. In other words," she continued, straightening up, "you want to use that book to further your own purposes. You are not going to be making Love Lollies or something!" She extended a hand. "Give it here."

"How does she remember stuff like that?" said Ron to Harry, looking in awe at Hermione.

Fred and George scowled, but didn't hand over the book.

"Come on Hermione," moaned George. "It isn't like Sirius is going to miss it!"

"I don't care, it's illegal to make —"

"We're not going to make Love Lollies," Fred interrupted calmly. "Although that's not a bad idea." He tipped Hermione a wink. "We just want to look through some of the plants, might give us ideas for future creations."

Hermione pursed her lips, and sighed crossly. "Fine. But that better be the only reason!"

"We swear!" said Fred and George together.

"And you better not bring it to school!"

They scowled.

A heavy scratching noise, that of claws grinding on wood, was heard outside the door.

"That's Muck's signal!" said Harry restlessly. "Someone's coming up the stairs."

Ginny chucked the sackful of books towards the end cupboard so that Harry had to duck to avoid getting hit and positioned herself next to Hermione, who was sitting on Ron's bed. Fred and George placed themselves in lounging positions alongside it and Harry and Ron scrambled to Harry's bed just as the footsteps stopped in front of the door.

"What are you doing sitting out here?" Elizabeth's voice was heard.

Muck eeped.

"Oh, I see," said Elizabeth and Harry gulped apprehensively. Could Slayer powers perhaps include talking to Bunyips?

No, that was stupid.

"What are they doing in there? It almost sounds too quite. Very curious," she added absentmindedly, and the door opened.

Elizabeth stepped through the threshold with a hefted Muck under an arm. Everyone but Fred and George unconsciously straitened up and shifted where they sat. Elizabeth froze at seeing the oddness in their wide-eyed gazes, and then looked at them slantways. Harry tried for a politely innocent expression as her familiar-coloured eyes passed over him, but it mustn't have worked well because they jerked back and stared as though Harry had done something stupid.

"Okay," said Elizabeth slowly, backing quietly out of the room. "You guys are obviously up to something; don't let me begrudge you your secret. Girls, I'll be in the room sleeping so make certain you tiptoe back, and don't forget not to knock my shoes over again. Sleep tight." Then she blew Harry a kiss, placed Muck on the floor, hesitated, picked Muck up again, and closed the door behind her. They could hear her footsteps walking down the corridor, a door opening and closing, then silence.

"Why didn't she tell us off if she knew we were up to something? Why didn't she try to find anything out?" asked Ron in surprise, looking backwards at Harry, as though he thought Elizabeth's weirdness might run in the family.

"She's cool like that," was all Harry said, despite the fact that he didn't know why she did it either.

Could she know?

Harry mentally shook his head — impossible!

"Well I don't care why, I'm just glad she didn't!" said George.

"But that was pretty decent of her. Not to ask, I mean," said Fred. "Mum would have been yelling her lungs out until she discovered the reason why we were acting so suspicious. Speaking of . . ."

"You idiots could have tried to act more like you weren't up to something!"

"I did try, George!" exclaimed Ginny in what sounded like frustration. "I can lie to Mum no problem! But Elizabeth," she shivered. "It's like she can sniff out my feelings or something."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione determinedly avoided looking at each other.

"She's got good instincts," Harry told them. "She can tell when people are lying to her."

Harry didn't bother to mention that Elizabeth knew a little bit of Legilemency as well, and that might have been the reason why Ginny felt so uncomfortable. With that thought, Harry felt guilty. He couldn't remember the last time he'd practised his mediation, and, as a result, he'd been frequently having those dreams in which he walked through a shadowed corridor, at the end of which was a locked door that he could never get to open because something (usually Ron or Muck, or even Hedwig) woke him up before he could reach it. Guiltily, Harry admitted to himself that perhaps that was why he hadn't meditated — he wanted to find out the secret behind the locked door.

" . . . over the holidays. Right, Harry?"

"Sorry?"

Hermione looked like she restrained from tutting. "I said, wouldn't it be good if we found the ingredient before the end of this year, that way we can brew the potion next summer over the holidays. Then, by the end of the holidays, we'll have gotten some good practise in."

"How long does it take to brew the potion?" asked Ron.

Hermione frowned, but answered. "A couple of weeks. It needs to be stirred every two and a half hours precisely on the dot, so we'll have to take turns alternating between watches."

"What's the potion for anyway, Hermione?" Harry asked, confused why he hadn't thought to ask before.

Hermione looked even more annoyed as she glanced between Harry and Ron. "Haven't you read the book?" At seeing Harry and Ron's avoidance of her sharp gaze, and their increasingly red necks, Hermione humped. "Even Fred and George have read it!"

"Hey!" said George.

Hermione ignored him. "It explains everything. Except for Brillogsapor Clanniria. No doubt the Australian Ministry, or wherever Elizabeth got if from, didn't want to risk the book falling into illegal hands —" she gave everyone a pointed stare "— so they left that bit of information out, forcing the receivee — that would be us — to spend our time and efforts looking for it when we should be studying for our owls!"

She sat up; breathing rather heavily, then expelled a defeated breath and slumped back against the wall. "But anyway, the potion enables the drinker to enter into a sort of mediatory state, in which we'll be able to sense, and presume to judge, what animal our personalties are best suited for. At which point it'll take us a long period of time to transform into said animals."

As usual Hermione sounded like she'd swallowed the textbook.

"Though, the length of time it'll take to transform will be different for each of us," she admitted. "It all depends on our strength of will, strength of character, the animal we will transform into, and whether or not we have the gumption to actually go through with it, and if we do go through with it, whether or not we'll end up has a half toad. Or as a half anything, really . . ." She paused and bit her lip. "At which point we will not be able to revert back to our humanoid form, but remain permanently in our mutated, half animal one. Thus the illegality of the situation, and the need for a ministry official to oversee the process."

She finished with a short expulsion of air, ignoring, or pretending to ignore, the green pallor on everyone's faces.

Ron gaped. "You mean," he said finally, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. "It'll take us up to a year to find the ingredient? I can't wait that long!"

Hermione stared at Ron.

Fred, George, and Ginny snickered.

"Yes. Ronald," she finally said, tightly. "It might even take longer. Why do you think it took the Marauders three years?"

Ron suddenly sounded like something particularly itchy had become stuck down his throat.

"Let's just hope it'll take the year," said Harry, thumping Ron's back with the palm of his hand. "Otherwise, I don't think Ron can cope with the stress."

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Harry was making his way to breakfast a couple of days later when the swish of a brush whirling through water caught his attention as he passed Sirius' room. Harry knew that sound, he'd heard it often in the passed month, and his stomach gave a pleasant tumble at hearing it again now. The door was ajar and Harry stepped closer, peering in through the slit. He could just make out Sirius and Buckbeak. Buckbeak, with wings spread looking majestic was standing next to Sirius, who had placed a hand on the sharp beak in front of him.

Elizabeth's voice came, "Raise you're a head bit. Tilt it slightly to the left."

Sirius did so.

"No sorry, my left."

Sirius' lip twitched, but he obliged.

"Perfect."

"Why can't you just do it magically?" asked Sirius in his deep voice, lifting a brow.

"Don't move!" Elizabeth squealed.

Sirius hastily lowered the brow.

"Now you just look demented," Elizabeth humped. "I'm almost finished you know, the least you can do is —"

"So why can't you just do it magically?" Sirius said again, this time without moving his lips. "It'll save time."

"Magically?" questioned Elizabeth. Harry could hear the offended tone in her voice. "Doing it by magic is stupid! There's no talent involved. You just wave your wand and poof!"

"But it isn't even going to move, what's the point of painting anything then?"

"Wizarding folk just don't understand the beauty of fine art. You're just like Harry. He was fidgeting the whole time I was painting him. By the way babe, you don't have to loiter outside the door."

Harry, grinning sheepishly, stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

His emerald eyes observed Elizabeth in her overalls, exactly as she had been a few days before, standing behind a stand with a canvas in front of her. Various brushes, wood pallets, and little bottled paints that she'd obviously purchased from a muggle store lay scattered on Sirius' bed. She'd spread out the latest edition of the Daily prophet under them to keep the bed from getting dirty. When Harry had questioned, a few days before, why she did this when she could just scourgify the stains later, she had given him a cheeky look and said, "Don't want to waste good quality trash." He and Ron had almost choked with appreciative laughter until Hermione had each given them a glass of water.

"All right Harry?" Sirius greeted, grinning.

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling back.

"See what she's made me do?" his Godfather continued with a false mournful tone, subtly shaking his head. "But I can't complain, Remus had to sit through his a couple of days before. She made him stand in front of a Boggart. Claimed it was for effect. Then she insisted she paint Remus in his wolf form."

"Shut up you," said Elizabeth, flapping a spare hand. The other held a brush and painted the canvas with unnatural speed.

"And that's another thing," Sirius continued, pausing to stare at her. "Why do I need to stand still for so long when you've got that whole supernatural speed going for you?"

"You've only been posing for five minutes, Sirius," said Elizabeth dully, not looking up from the canvas. "If Buckbeak can do it, you can."

Sirius threw Harry a wink.

"There. Done," said Elizabeth, the blur that used to be her arm came to a halt. She wiped some excess paint off the side of the canvas, and turned it around so that Harry and Sirius could view it.

Like all paintings of Elizabeth's this one was superb and glossy, reflecting the yellow lamplight in the corner of the room. She had painted Sirius and Buckbeak while they'd posed in Sirius' bedroom but the setting that showed on the canvas was that of a — what Harry could only assume — mountain landscape. Further in the background the wind played with long strains of grass settled in green plains as far as the eye could see. Unnaturally large stars twinkled in the night sky. Sirius' eyes seemed as if they reflected the stars themselves. He looked mournful.

And, Harry realised with a happy jolt, he also looked innocent. He looked innocent and free and as though he had been betrayed by the cruel world.

CRUNCH!

Everyone jumped at the loud noise that broke the stillness.

Buckbeak, without any one of them noticing, had earlier trotted off to the corner where Sirius had placed some dead rats. He was munching away happily.

"Wow," croaked Sirius, raking a hand through his long hair. He walked up to the painting and extended a hand as if to touch it, but he didn't. He let it hover instead, his long fingers tracing the face in the portrait. A hazy, faraway look appeared in his eyes, but then he shook his head, coming out of the stupor. He glanced back at Harry, tossing back his hair when it fell in his eyes. "What do you think?"

"You look innocent," Harry told him, and was pleased when Sirius bestowed him with a tired smile.

Elizabeth was watching them with a small tilt in the corner of her mouth.

Sirius cleared his throat, looking back at Elizabeth, who snapped her eyes to meet his in the last second. "Thank you."

"Well we're not finished yet," she said briskly, taking Sirius' portrait off the stand and placing a fresh canvas in its place. "I still have to paint you as Padfoot."

Sirius looked alarmed. "After breakfast perhaps?" he suggested, levitating Elizabeth's paintbrushes with his wand just as she was about to go for them. "I need feeding, as Molly so often orders. And so does Harry."

That settled it. As soon as he mentioned Harry Elizabeth became all concern. She whipped around and pierced her brother with an angry green glare. Harry shrank back against the wall. "Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?"

"Er," said Harry, throwing Sirius a nasty look.

"'Er' is absolutely right! Now get your little hiney down to the kitchen. Move it!"

Harry glared at both Elizabeth and Sirius (who was half doubled-up in bark-like laughter) but he prodded himself out the door nonetheless.

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On the afternoon on the day before their impending departure to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Harry, Ron, and Hermione had decided to risk getting caught by spending time in the extensive Black Library. Well, it wasn't that extensive. It was only a moderately sized study that used to belong to Sirius' father. But Sirius never went in there anymore, if he did at all, so they didn't think they would get caught. They had already looked through all the books twice, so, with Hermione's Okay, they weren't going to look through them again. But they had found that no one would disturb them in here, and so they were free to talk about anything in particular.

Right now the trio were sitting around Mr Black's old mahogany wood desk (their feet squashed together underneath), and talking about where and how Harry had cut himself that morning.

"It was a bit of wood sticking out of the banister. I think Kreacher might have messed with it a bit," Harry answered to Hermione's inquiry.

"He has been acting more of a git than usual, especially since Elizabeth tore Mrs Black's portrait from the wall and stuffed it under one of those floorboards in the attic," agreed Ron.

"Remember yesterday? He'd put water on the last step and Tonks slipped and hit her head on the banister."

"Yeah," Ron gritted out. "Stupid little bas —"

Hermione was frowning at them.

"Oh come on!" spat Ron, obviously spotting Hermione's expression. "You can't defend him now; look what he did to Harry!"

Ron reached over the desk and yanked Harry's bandaged hand over to Hermione and started waving it under her nose. Hermione slapped it away.

"Honestly," she said in her usual tone. "We don't know if it was Kreacher. This place hasn't been looked after for over ten years, and lots of things have festered. It was probably old wood. "

"What about the water then, Hermione?" said Harry, becoming annoyed. "I don't think that was the house's fault."

Hermione sniffed. "Tonks is naturally clumsy, you both know that."

Ron and Harry glared at her. They both felt indignant that she was still choosing an evil old house elf's side instead of theirs.

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it?" said Hermione hurriedly, avoiding their gazes. "Harry's obviously all right. I expect he went straight to Mrs Weasley and she patched him up. She's got all those household healing spells in that book —"

"Actually," Harry interrupted before Hermione could continue. "Elizabeth helped me."

"Oh."

"I ran into her first as I was coming down the stairs. Turns out she'd sliced herself on the same bit of wood a couple of minutes earlier. Her cut had almost closed —"

"I still can't get over that whole thing," Ron interrupted, shaking his head.

"— but she was still going to bandage it up because she said it would look suspicious if someone saw that it healed straight away."

"How would it look suspicious?" asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Unless someone actually did see that she had a cut before it had a chance to heal. But the fast healing could easily be explained away by magic."

Harry shrugged. "She's used to living in the muggle world where things can't be explained away by magic. Maybe that's why. Maybe she just forgot."

Hermione looked like she didn't really believe that. "More like she wanted to appear normal for once."

"What?" said Harry, not understanding.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, do you think Elizabeth just might have wanted to bandage herself up simply because she felt that's what normal people would do?"

"Er," Harry looked at Ron, who raised his brows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I mean her whole life she's had to live with being different, even compared to other witches and wizards."

"Kinda like Professor Lupin," said Ron, and popped the bit of Droobles strawberry gum that he was chewing.

Hermione turned to him, looking surprised by his insight. "Exactly."

"So you're telling me Elizabeth's walking around with a bandaged up hand because she wants to look like other people?" said Harry incredulously.

"I suppose," Hermione confirmed weakly, blinking at him.

"Right," said Harry, still not understanding. "But it doesn't matter anyway because she told me it was convenient that I'd cut myself almost the same time she had."

"Why?" his friends chorused together. Ron in hopes to hear some exciting Slayer secret, and Hermione in curious suspicion.

"She said that way we can mix our blood together, and —"

"What!" said Ron in alarm.

"Oh I see," said Hermione, a dawning expression enveloping her face. Then she tutted. "Well really."

Ron threw her a patented bored look. "What do you know again that I don't?" he said.

"Well it's just . . . I think Elizabeth might have been trying to invoke some sort of bond between the two of them. Am I right Harry?"

Harry had long ago stopped trying to discover the source of Hermione's impossibly large brain, and how well it stored information. Instead he nodded, grinning. "She said if performed correctly, it would help her find me, and vice versa. And it's true, I feel a sort of glow inside my chest now. I feel closer to her, er, magically speaking."

"You mean you already did it?" asked Ron, jaw dropping.

"Yes," said Harry.

Hermione and Ron stared at him with wide eyes.

"You do know that it's irreversible?" Hermione questioned.

"Who cares!" said Ron at once. "It's bloody awesome, that's what it is!"

"And that's not the best part," Harry continued, grinning at Ron, then Hermione, who was still looking at him with sceptical eyes. "Elizabeth said I could perform the charm with a few other people." He looked pointedly between the two of them.

"You mean . . . No way!" said Ron, but he was grinning nonetheless. "What do I have to do, then?"

"Wait!" said Hermione sharply, lifting her hand so they were faced the palm. "Wait, wait, wait!" She breathed out. "Harry, this is an extremely difficult charm . . . And there's no guarantee's that it'll work. In fact, I'm surprised it even worked for you and Elizabeth. But then, I suppose she is a Slayer, and you are her brother so you already share the same blood . . ."

"It will work," said Harry determinedly. He knew it would work.

Hermione looked sceptical. "I don't know Harry . . ."

"Look, Elizabeth explained it all, Hermione. She said it'll definitely work if we truly think of each other as family. That's the key, apparently. She said most people haven't worked that out yet, which is why the charm fails for them. I'm going to ask Sirius if he'd like . . . and maybe Professor Lupin as well."

"I'm game," said Ron. "You two are practically Weasley's anyway." Then he and Harry both stared at their other best friend, who took a long look at their pleading eyes, before: "Oh, all right then. I suppose it can't hurt to try. And if Elizabeth said it . . ."

"Excellent!" said Ron, punching the air.

"Thanks Hermione," grinned Harry. "Like Ron said, I already think of you guys as family. Now," he shrugged shyly, "it'll be true."

"Harry!" Hermione shrilled suddenly, her eyes turning alarmingly glassy. "What a lovely thing to say." Then she burst into noisy tears.

Harry opened his mouth and exchanged a glance with Ron that seemed to say, "Girls are mental."

"But I wonder," Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes, "if you really want to do this. I mean, it is irreversible . . . and I'm not trying to back out!" she said hurriedly after seeing her best friends' irritated looks. "I'm just asking whether you thought this through properly. If you really want to do it, before —"

"Definitely," Ron said with no hesitation.

Hermione and Harry stared at him.

"Well," he grumbled, his ears turning red. "S'not like I don't . . . care . . . for you lot."

"All I'm saying," Hermione continued, sparing Ron from further embarrassment "is maybe we should sleep on it for a few days, and wait until we've properly researched it in the library."

"But Elizabeth —" Harry began.

"I'm not saying she hasn't gotten it right," Hermione interjected, not looking at him. "But for my own peace of mind Harry?"

Harry looked at her brown eyes, and nodded. "Okay. Ron?"

"As long as we get to do it, I can wait all bloody year!"

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A/N: Review Please.

And have a look at my new story. I just posted it the other day. You can find it on my Author page.