Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

A/N: Warning—there is an implied rape in this chapter. While not graphic, it may be considered offensive/disturbing to some. Please read with discretion.

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Chapter 19: Summer Daze, Part I

Harry squinted in the sunlight, and wiped his wrist across his forehead. The Sicilian summer sun was beating down on him, and he wished that Helen would hurry up.

"Helen! Am I going to wait out here all day?" he called back into the villa. Harry rested against the railing of the veranda and skimmed his eyes over the view before him: pristine sandy beaches, a smattering of people enjoying the day, and the clear waters of the Mediterranean as far as the eye could see.

Harry turned around as he heard the glass door slide closed, and rolled his eyes at his daughter when he saw her. She noticed the action.

"What?" she asked, a little impudence showing in her voice.

"You're going to wear that?" he asked her. Helen looked down at herself, and then back to Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with this?"

Harry just shook his head exasperatedly for a moment, and then turned back around to look at the beach. Helen had come out of the villa in a bikini bottom, a sports bra, and a pair of battered trainers.

A slight breeze picked up at that moment, and Harry closed his eyes as the warm currents brushed over his bronzed cheeks. He spoke again.

"I don't really look forward to seeing all the blokes leering at you, that's all."

Harry heard a soft laugh behind him, and then felt Helen move up against the railing beside him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she had leaned against it, placing her elbows on the top. Any other person would have been staring at the interesting position this put her chest in, but Harry was not any other person.

"Yeah, well, what about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

She turned to him and placed a hand on her hip. "Oh, come on…you complain about what I'm wearing, and then you dress like that!" Harry only had a pair of short shorts on, as well as his trainers.

Harry shrugged. "There a problem with this?"

Helen gave him a smile. "Only what you said: I'm don't really fancy seeing all the girls gaping at you."

He gave her a playful jab in the arm with his elbow. "Oh? That bother you?"

Helen made a face at Harry and shoved him away, laughing. "That's just wrong, Dad."

"What? It's hot out here! Do you expect me to wear sweats or something?"

Helen raised her eyebrow. "Exactly," she said, and laughed again as Harry's eyes went wide. He seemed to consider what he said for a moment, and then turned away mumbling.

"What was that?" Helen asked.

"Oh…nothing…just that it's annoying sometimes to have the smartest witch in the world as my daughter." He turned around and grinned at her, and then motioned with his hand toward the steps.

They both started to descend toward the sandy shore. Harry and Helen had been in Sicily for a week, and they were enjoying the relaxing, sunny, and warm time away from England and Scotland. They loved Hogwarts, but the climate, which was chilly for nine or ten months out of the year, got old after awhile. They spent their six weeks away during the summer on the shores of the Mediterranean, and they felt refreshed when they arrived back in Scotland.

As Harry and Helen started to jog, they were quite the sight. Many eyes turned their way, but they ignored them, as they usually did. Both were not wont for good looks, and the time in the sun had tanned them considerably. They moved toward the harder sand nearer to the breaking waves, and picked up the pace a bit. They ran stride for stride, as they were nearly the same height, and swung their arms in unison.

Helen had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and Harry's shaggy mane was flopping around a bit with each step he took. They were both smiling, especially when the spray from the waves would reach their skin. The surprising coolness felt good. After about a half hour, they turned around, and started back toward the villa. Helen looked over at Harry, grinning at him, and then increased her pace by quite a bit. Harry was momentarily surprised, but rushed to catch up.

Slowly, their pace increased even more, and they were soon running around a 5-minute-mile pace. Stride for stride…footfall for footfall…people couldn't help but stare as they flew past. The villa was soon clearly in sight, and Helen made a last desperate increase in speed. Harry was ready for it, though, and kept with her. At an all-out sprint, they both crossed in front of their villa at the same time. Harry slowed to a stop, put his hands behind his head, and turned around, panting for breath. Helen had her hands on her knees, and her chest was heaving in much the same way. She looked up at him; he noticed a twinkle in her eyes.

"Do we…always…tie?" she panted.

Harry grunted something, because he was too focused on getting oxygen to his starved body at the moment to form any words, which would have taken some away. She let out a breathy laugh at his noise and straightened up. Harry slowly brought his arms down from his head.

"Whew," Helen said. "I think I'm ready for a swim." Before Harry could say anything, she had kicked off her trainers, turned, and ran into the Sea. Harry watched her for a minute as she enjoyed the cooling waters of the Mediterranean, and he couldn't help but think about how far they both had come. When he had met her, she was in the worst possible situation imaginable, as he had been at one point in their history together. Now…now they were basking in the warmth of a Sicilian summer.

He was distracted by sweat trickling down his bare back, and decided to join his daughter, so he took off his own shoes. He ran into the clear waters, and couldn't stop the grin that spread over his features when the sensations of the water hit his parched skin. He waded over to Helen and splashed her in the back of the head. She whirled with an incredulous look on her face.

"What was that for?" she demanded. Harry splashed her again, and he had to fight himself from laughing at the look on her face. When she just stood there, he splashed her again. He didn't have time to react, however, when she dove and tackled him, pushing him underneath the surface of the water. He manipulated her grip on him, though, and pulled her under with him. They both came up sputtering seconds later.

"You…you…" Helen ground out, but Harry could tell she was trying not to smile.

"Yes?" he called, sweetly.

She reared back and slapped the surface of the water with her palm, and quite a large burst flew into Harry's face. He heard her laughing at he tried to clear his vision, and when he did, he saw her standing on the beach. He slowly made his way toward her.

"Always have to have the last word, eh Helen?" He exited the water and stood by her, letting the sun dry him off.

"The most powerful wizard in the world has to be humbled sometimes," she retorted, and slung an arm around his shoulder. They slowly walked their way up the beach, picking up their discarded trainers on the way.

"How many years have we been coming here now, Helen?" Harry suddenly asked her. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to look at her.

"Err…" she stammered. "Five years?" She cocked her head at him. "Why?"

"In all those five years, have you ever let me win in anything?" he asked, and tore off up the stairs. She stood there for a moment, looking at the empty space, and then took off after him, taking the steps three at a time. It was to no avail though, because he was standing their tapping his foot when she got up to the veranda.

"Took you long enough," he commented.

She seemed to ignore him, but just as she was passing, she pushed him in the chest. Surprised, he could do nothing but let his momentum carry him backwards into the pool. He hit the water on his back with a resounding slap. Helen almost cringed, but he deserved it. Harry surfaced, and Helen could see that he was rubbing his back. He looked forlornly at his sopping wet trainers.

"Remind me to never piss you off," Harry said, and Helen smirked at him. Suddenly she noticed Harry's gaze turn crafty, and she was about to turn and run into the house. It was too late, though. Harry Apparated out of the pool, wrapped his arms around her, tandem Apparated back under water, and then Apparated into the bathroom in the villa. When Helen surfaced, she could already hear the water of the shower running.

She considered returning the gesture, but didn't fancy seeing her father naked, so she just Apparated into her room. She would deal with his…minor victory…later.

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Harry looked up as Helen came into the room, drying her still wet hair from the shower. She walked over to the Muggle television set they had and flipped it on. All fifty inches of plasma lit up.

"Do we really have to watch that thing?" Harry asked. He had never been a huge fan of television. He liked his movies, but TV just didn't do it for him.

Helen plopped down on the long, plush leather couch. "Yep," she said, and turned toward the set. Harry watched it for a few moments—it was something about American celebrities—and then looked back down at his book. He tried to focus on it, because it was actually pretty interesting as it was about the restructuring of the Defense curriculum, but the TV kept distracting him. Finally, he set the book down and looked up. With barely a wave of his hand, the TV shut off. Helen furrowed her brow for a moment, and then turned to Harry.

"Dad?" she asked. Harry stared at the blank TV screen for a moment, and then turned to her.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do next year at all?"

"Umm…I'm going to be the Potions Prof—"

"No, no—that's not what I meant. I meant…curriculum, textbooks, all that stuff."

"Oh…well, not really. I have a lot of time, though."

Harry conceded the fact by dipping his head, and then asked, "Have you thought about where your classroom is gonna be? Do you want it to be in the dungeons?"

"Definitely not in the dungeons," she responded immediately, but then paused to think about it. "I wouldn't mind having it somewhere around the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw common rooms…there are a lot of unused classrooms around there."

"Yeah, there are. In fact, there are two right by mine—one on either side."

"I don't think I want to be that close to you," she said, with a sly smile on her face.

Harry regarded her for a moment before responding. "Something wrong with me?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Yeah, you're a big dork," and then stuck her tongue out at him.

He watched it slip back between her lips, and then raised his eyebrow at her. "Aren't you a little old to be still be doing that?" he asked.

"I don't know. Am I?"

Harry shrugged. "I think so; you are going to be teaching next year. I'd like to see the look on Albus's face if he saw you doing that to one of your students," he said with his patented crooked grin.

"Albus? He wouldn't care, Dad," she laughed.

"Fine…then what about Minerva?" She made a face at that, but then her eyes lit up.

"That's a moot point now, since she's not teaching anymore. She won't be there to see it."

"You're right…she won't be teaching anymore…" Harry responded, and his face sobered slightly. He had just been reminded that Hermione was the new Transfiguration teacher.

"Dad?" Helen asked. She must have sensed some kind of shift in his mood, because there was some concern evident in her voice.

"Nothing, you just reminded me of Hermione."

"Oh," she said, and a silence settled over the villa for a few minutes. There was a sudden flare-up of light, as the sun dipped below the horizon; the only noise was the soft crash of the waves breaking on shore.

"Is that going to be weird?" Helen asked, her voice breaking the stillness.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Working with her—is that going to be weird?"

Harry sighed, and Helen couldn't help but feel the pain in the noise. Something was bothering her father deeply, and she didn't even know if he knew it.

"To be honest with you, Helen, I don't know," he said after another silence. "We might just end up avoiding each other."

Helen brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them; the increasing gloom was almost unsettling.

"Did you end up talking to her at all?" she questioned.

"Yeah," was all Harry said. He flicked his hand, and an overhead light near the entrance to the kitchen came on. It provided the sitting area with a modest glow.

"How did that go?" Helen asked. She knew that she was probably prying, but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't let Hermione get her father down again.

"It went…" Harry trailed off, and then shook his head. He turned to look at her. She saw that his emerald eyes seemed to glow strangely, backlit as they were.

"Why are you so interested?" Harry asked.

Helen rested her chin on one of her knees, and hugged herself tighter. "I just am," she said. When Harry didn't elaborate any further, she went on. "I witnessed what you went through the last time she was here, Dad." She turned her head to the side, laying her cheek on a knee. "I just don't want that to happen again."

Harry shifted on the couch, and moved to sit next to her. He snaked an arm around her shoulders and tightened, drawing her to him. She didn't lift her head.

"Helen, it wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen," he said, and squeezed her shoulder to emphasize his words. She couldn't help the tears, though, and they were soon flowing from her eyes. Harry reached over and brushed some away.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"I just…I just don't know what I'd do if…if I lost you," she sobbed quietly. Her body shook slightly with a tremor, and Harry leaned over and took her in both of his arms. She finally unwrapped herself from her around her knees and clung to him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Helen," he said, trying to soothe her. Helen couldn't help it—she liked to think of herself as a strong woman, but this had been building for a while. Her father was her rock, and if he ever left, whether by death or some other reason, she'd be sunk.

"I know…I know," she said. Her voice was trembling. "Accidents do happen though," she whispered.

"Helen, honey, don't even think like that. I'll always be here for you." Her face scrunched up as painful feelings shot through her, and she clung to him tighter. The sobs that were escaping…there was nothing that she could do to stop them.

"Sometimes I wonder wha-what would have ha-happened to me if you never showed up that ni-night." Harry just held her.

"Would the Death Eaters have come back? Would that ho-horrible stuff have happened again?" She rocked slightly against Harry, trying to force the images and feelings of that night from her mind.

"I don't know, but why are you even thinking about it?" Harry asked. "You know that it won't do you any good to dig up old memories like that." Helen willed the tears to stop coming, but it didn't work. She was reliving that night…

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It was the silence that woke her. Helen had become accustomed to the soft noise of whatever the man at the front desk did at night, and it usually lulled her to sleep. She had never realized it, but now it seemed like that noise kept her asleep, because she had woken when it stopped. There was nothing but silence, but something made her skin crawl. There was some feeling that she couldn't comprehend, but she knew she didn't like it. She didn't feel safe.

She lay huddled beneath her covers, listening intently for some noise. There…that might have been a door opening and closing…but then only silence again. No wait…was that whimpering? What was going on? The nape of her neck tingled, and she recognized it as the feeling she got when there was magic happening around her. When the matrons of the Orphanage did menial tasks with magic, that always happened…someone, or something, was doing magic in the Orphanage.

Suddenly, there was a banging of a door and muffled shouts, but then an abrupt silence settled. She got that same feeling on her neck. They must have been doing some kind of magic to silence whatever was going on. Helen started to shiver beneath her covers, but she wasn't cold. She was nervous, because she didn't understand what was going on around her, and she was afraid because she didn't think she wanted to.

The floorboard creaked outside her door, one with which she was very familiar, and then she heard the knob turn on the door. She was too petrified to do anything—something screamed at her that it wasn't a matron outside her door, but she couldn't move. The fear had paralyzed her; it had incapacitated her usual quick thinking.

From under her covers she heard the door fly open and bang against the wall, and there were quick footsteps across the room toward her. She wanted to cry out in alarm, or perhaps only squeak in fright, but her voice was trapped in her throat. She gripped the blanket tighter around her, hoping that whoever it was would go away and leave them all alone, but it wasn't meant to be. She finally found her voice as the blanket was wrenched from her grip and she saw who it was. A noise escaped her lips as the black-robed figure threw the blanket into the corner and picked her up roughly. She wanted to fight him, she knew she should, but she couldn't. He was so much bigger and stronger than her.

There was suddenly a draft in the room, and it took her a second to realize it, but she did start to struggle against his grip when it occurred to her that her clothes had been removed. It must have been magic…she didn't even realize that it had happened. She tried to wriggle from his grasp, but the man only tightened his vice-like grip, and it started to hurt her. She cried out against the pain.

Then, though, there was a stronger, greater pain; it was a pressure unlike anything she'd ever felt. She closed her eyes against it, willing the intense tearing away, and just shut her mind off from what was happening to her. It was over in no more than a minute, but to her, it felt like eternity. Abruptly, the pressure abated, and she was dropped to the floor. She hit with a thud that bruised her knees, and when she looked up, she was alone in the room.

Helen started to feel shaky. She couldn't stand or push herself up from the floor, so she decided to crawl over to the corner. She didn't understand what had happened to her. She hurt all over, especially near her stomach, and she didn't like the way it felt. As she leaned back against the wall, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The floor felt wet beneath her, but she was too scared and wobbly to move away from it. She stared unseeingly ahead, lost in trying to make sense of what just happened, when loud shouting came from outside. She flinched involuntarily, because she was still in shock, but she did not move. She could not.

After a few more minutes, she was vaguely aware of someone coming into the room, but she didn't move or say anything. There was no fight left in her. There was a flash of color, and then she felt the cool touch of cotton fabric against her skin—someone had wrapped her in a blanket and was now picking her up. Her eyes refocused and she moved to whosever face it was; she lingered on the captivating emerald color of his eyes for a few moments. A strange shape on his forehead caught her eye, and she looked at it. It was then that she realized it was Harry 'Savior' Potter holding her in his hands.

"Mr.…Mr. Potter?"

She noticed some surprise on his face. ""Yes, sweetie. What can I do to help you?"

"I-I'm not su-sure," Helen said, forcing back the emotion that caused the stutter. "Why did they do this to me?" He set her on her bed.

She watched as his eyes began to shine, and he took a deep breath. His voice was still shaky, though. ""I don't know why. They just like to hurt people…" Helen couldn't help it. The tears she had long been refusing were forcing their way out of her eyes, and she noticed he trailed off when he saw them.

"W-why would they want to hurt us? We ne-never did anything to them," she said, through her tears. They were not letting up; in fact, they only came stronger.

She felt him run a hand lightly through her hair, and she leaned into his chest as she began to cry fully. She was finally starting to comprehend, a little bit, what had happened to her, and why her stomach hurt so much. She took some comfort in Harry's presence, though. She felt safe in his arms. She felt—

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—wet? Helen's eyes snapped open as she realized that she was surrounded by water. It only took her part of second to realize that she was in the villa's pool.

"Helen?" someone was yelling at her, and she turned her head to see her father staring intently at her face. "Are you alright?" he asked. There was a panicky tone to his voice.

"Yeah…" she started. "Yeah," she said again, asserting the syllable a little more clearly. Harry's expression immediately relaxed.

"What, er, happened there?" he asked her.

Helen looked around again, and shook her head. Water flew from her hair. How had she gotten into the pool? "Well…something triggered a really intense flashback…" was all she said. She gave her father a curious look. "How did we get into the pool?"

Harry's lips twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach his face. "You went rigid in my arms for a second…and then you started screaming something. I don't know what it was…and you wouldn't snap out of it, so I Apparated us both into the pool." He paused, and a small smile did hit his lips. "Seemed to do the trick."

Helen moved to the side of the pool and sat on the edge. Harry joined her, and said, "So…are you alright now?"

"I don't know," she sighed, and tried to force her thoughts away from that night. It was never good to dwell on the past, any way one looked at it. Her father's own history proved that to be true. However, she supposed there was some deeply entrenched fear of losing her savior; in other words, Harry.

"I just don't want to lose you," she finally said.

"I know, Helen…but…what is this really about?" he asked her. She furrowed her brows and turned her head to look at his face.

"You know exactly what this is really about." She turned back to look at the waters of the pool; the ripples created from her legs, which were dangling into the water, caused the light from inside the villa to distort. "You were there that night," she added, softly.

"Look, Helen…" Harry said, and rested a hand on her thigh. She continued to watch the patterns of light dance across the surface of the pool. "I don't pretend to know what you went through—I can't even imagine it—but that was over ten years ago now. Does it still really bother you that much?" Even though Helen heard the honest compassion in his voice, she couldn't but think it was a little blunt.

"No…it doesn't. Not exactly," she said after a few moments.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

Helen had to word what she wanted to say carefully. "When I saw Hermione come back…I just had flashes of losing you to her."

"Losing me…to…her?" She heard the confusion in his voice. "But you're always…you know, egging me on. Telling me how good it would be for me to find someone." He turned to look at her, but she still stared at the water. "Is that what this is about?"

Helen sighed. "No, Dad. Not like that. That's not what I meant. I would never be jealous or anything like that. I mean…look at what you told me the other day. You almost ended your life. And why? Because Hermione, and your other friend, let you down. They abandoned you."

"Helen, I was a different person then. I was blinded by everything that I'd lost, that I couldn't see what I had." He squeezed her thigh. She smiled at what was left unspoken.

"So…what did you and her end up talking about?"

"Ahh…back to this," Harry said. "To be honest with you, not much. I was at her throat for a little while, and then we kind of just reminisced. She also told me that Ron is dead."

"Oh," said Helen. "Sorry," she said, but she couldn't bring herself to feel much remorse, and she could tell that her voice sounded flat.

"That's alright. I'm long past feeling anything about it. The Ron I knew died a long time ago. He died with that little part of me that wanted to…to end it. He died when you ran through my door."

Helen leaned into Harry's shoulder. His words always had the effect of comforting her. They made her feel so…loved.

"So…you're going to be alright now?" Harry asked her.

"Yeah…sorry about that."

"Don't be," he said, and reached over to embrace her. She rested comfortably in his hug for a moment, and then pulled back. The light off the water reflected in his green eyes.

"Thanks Dad." She looked back at the pool. "For everything."

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Dumbledore turned around from his window as he heard the Gargoyle grind aside. It was odd that anyone would be coming to see him at this time of the year. All of the Professors were off on their respective vacations, and the Board members rarely visited during the summer.

He was none too surprised, however, when Hermione Granger walked through his door. He nodded toward a chair, which she took. She rested her head in the palm of her hand, which she had propped up by an elbow on the arm of the chair. Her wavy, slightly bushy brown locks fell over one half of her face.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore said. He wasn't surprised to see her, but he couldn't fathom the exact reason why she chose now to visit.

"I don't know what to do, Albus."

"What do you mean, my dear?" he asked her.

"Please…enough of the formalities. You know you can call me Hermione," she replied.

"Alright, Hermione." He paused, looking at her. She seemed very resigned. "What's on your mind?"

"I can't find Harry," was all she said. Dumbledore didn't say anything for a moment; he didn't move, either. He had mixed feelings about Hermione's return—he knew she would be a competent teacher but he wasn't sure how her and Harry's reunion would ultimately go. It wouldn't pay to have enemies as colleagues, and he didn't think it would lead to that, but their history was checkered. On the one hand, Harry and Hermione had been the best of friends. On the other hand, they had been the bitterest of once-friends. Hermione finally looked up after the silence stretched on.

"Albus?" she asked.

"What do you want to find him for?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you know that, and no offense, but it really is none of your business." Dumbledore sighed and dropped his head momentarily. He slowly moved away from the window and sat in his chair. He looked back up at Hermione.

"On the contrary, Hermione. It is my business."

She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"And no offense to you, but I think we both remember what happened the last time you and Harry were together; or rather, when you weren't. But," he waved his hand, "that is semantics. The point is," he continued, at the contemptuous look on Hermione's face, "is that I have Harry's best interest at heart."

"Since when," she spat, and he was surprised at the venom in her voice. He hadn't been expecting it. He didn't know where it came from, either.

"For how long was Harry your weapon? How long was he a tool to be used to usher in the defeat of Voldemort? Did you have his best interests at heart when you faked your own death? Did you think that would make him feel better?" She spoke quickly, vehemently, as if she'd wanted to say that for a long time.

Dumbledore didn't know how to respond. "Look…Hermione…Harry and I got over our differences long ago. This isn't about that. This is about you and him, and Mr. Weasley."

"He's dead, Albus."

That was news to him…it was strange; he usually kept up on things like that. "Really…that is most unfortunate…tell me, how did he die?"

Hermione slouched slightly. "He carried the same disease Ginny had, and it expressed itself."

"But…if my understanding of genetics is correct, that is impossible."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out noisily. "And I will tell you the same thing I told Harry: recessive traits can be expressed under extreme stimuli."

Dumbledore's brain snapped to the right conclusion immediately. "Ginny." He paused. "And Harry," he added.

Hermione nodded. "And before you ask why I'm not upset about it, it's because it was six years ago."

"Oh," was all Dumbledore said. It was very odd that he didn't know about it, but he shrugged it off. He couldn't know everything.

"Well, regardless," he continued, "this is about you and Harry. And like I said, I'm looking out for him." Hermione glared at him. "Not to mention the fact that there are only two magical people who know where he is at the moment."

She sat up. "And who would they be."

"Myself, and Helen, who is with him." He noticed her face turn slightly sour at the mention of Helen's name.

"Something wrong with Miss Potter, Hermione?"

"No—yes. I don't know, but I do know that she hates me."

"Is there a reason for it?" Dumbledore asked. He was pretty sure he knew where Helen's hostility came from, but he wanted to hear Hermione say it. It would be good for her.

"Yeah…she thinks I was responsible for Harry's depression."

Dumbledore leaned forward, looking over his half-moon glasses at her. She met his gaze. "And what do you think?"

Her eyes slipped over his head. "I think…I think that she overreacted a bit. I hate what happened between Harry and I, and Ron, but that was so long ago. It's in the past, which is where I think it should stay. We all need to just move on…"

Dumbledore considered the young witch for a moment. It seemed like she was brilliant in all but the areas that really mattered in life. "Ten years is a long time, Hermione." Her eyes slid back to his. "Long enough to move on, I'd say."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, and smiled at him. The smile faded, however, when Dumbledore made no similar action.

He shook his head briefly. "I'm afraid you're missing what's right in front of you."

At her confused look, he continued. "It seems to me that Harry has moved on, and that you are the one stuck in the past."

"I…I—what?" She clearly couldn't grasp what he was trying to say.

"Tell me this: how did he seem when you talked to him? Assuming you did, of course."

"He, well, he seemed pretty distant. At first, though, he was hostile, but that faded. It wasn't an unfriendly distant after that…just…distant."

"And why could that be?" She was getting closer to the point…

"I don't know. We had such a strong connection." Dumbledore gave her another piercing gaze.

She was silent for a moment, and then stood abruptly. "What? What are you trying to say here? He no longer thinks of me as a friend? We're not even acquainted even more?" She was right in front of his desk.

"Hermione…please calm down. I'm not trying to get you angry; I'm trying to make you see certain…things." She huffed for a moment, and then plopped back down into the chair. There was a whoosh as the air rushed out of the cushion.

At Dumbledore's newest penetrating gaze, she shrugged her shoulders and looked helplessly at him. "Well? Please, elaborate…"

"Don't you think it is a bit unrealistic to come back here after ten years and expect Harry to be the same person?" After a moment, she slowly shook her head. "To expect that he wouldn't have moved on?" She shook her head again, and he saw that she was biting her lip. If he remembered correctly, tears or anger weren't far away.

"So, basically…there's no chance of Harry and I ever having anything again?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrow at the word 'anything', but did not comment on it.

"No…that is not what I meant. I would never say that. I'm just trying to save you the trouble of making Harry angry and starting this whole cycle over again." And Dumbledore meant what he said. He didn't want to see Harry, and by association Helen, become like they had been, and even Hermione as well. He knew what she was capable of, if only she put her intellect to the true issues.

"Then…what should I do?" she asked, in very humble, resigned voice. He recognized it as her want or, perhaps, subconscious need to be taught.

"You first need to realize that you both are different people, Hermione. You both transitioned from teenagers to young adults, and then adults, away from each other. Your perspectives and opinions are bound to be different than before.

"Also," he added, "you can't forget that Harry has a family now. I don't know if he realizes it, but at some point Helen became more than just his adoptive daughter. They have an interesting relationship—there is a quite a duality between them."

"Duality?" Hermione asked.

"To me, and to some others, it seems like they are the perfect blend of father – daughter and brother – sister."

"Ah," was all Hermione said, and her face looked thoughtful.

"If you really want to rectify the situation, I think you should keep an open mind. No offense, again, but your biggest weakness is that once you set your mind to one thing it's very hard to change it." He just looked over his glasses at her when she gave him a cross look. "If you approach Harry thinking he is still the same person that you left, then I'm afraid you could just make things worse."

"They can't get much worse," she muttered, but Dumbledore heard it.

"Oh, but I'm afraid they can. I would say that Harry is apathetic about your return at the moment, but that could change rather quickly, especially with Helen."

She rested her head in her palm once again. "There's another problem that needs some work. Helen."

"What is the root of it?" Dumbledore prodded her. He wanted her to do some of the serious thinking herself.

"She's jealous of me."

"Jealous?" Dumbledore asked. He couldn't keep all of the incredulity out of his voice. Surely she didn't think Helen was jealous. "You think that Helen is jealous of you?"

Hermione looked up. "Yeah…"

"And what could possibly have led you to that conclusion?" Dumbledore didn't want to be short with her, but he knew that Hermione was smarter than this. If only she would look at the situation from the outside for a moment…

Dumbledore watched her chin go up slightly. "Isn't it obvious? She wants Harry for herself."

Dumbledore took off his glasses and set them on his desk. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was slowly but surely losing his patience, and he was a very patient man.

"What is it?" came the once-again timid voice of Hermione. She must have realized that she'd said something off.

"Do I really have to tell you?" At her blank look, he quoted: "'She wants Harry for herself.' Do you honestly believe that?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"Hermione…Hermione…Helen thinks of Harry as her father. She wants to protect him. She wouldn't be jealous of you if you became friends with him again. Far from it, actually; she'd probably embrace you if you made Harry happier." At the sudden gleam in her eyes, Dumbledore held up his hand. "But…we are getting ahead of ourselves."

"Do you…do you think you could tell me where they are?" she asked.

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. Harry didn't explicitly state that I shouldn't tell others, but I'm not sure if he'd welcome you at the moment. Him and Helen are relaxing their vacation away."

"So I'm just supposed to wait until they get back in five weeks?"

Dumbledore didn't answer her right away. "Wouldn't you say it might be best to wait until they return to Hogwarts?"

Hermione shook her head. "No…I really would like to see him now."

Dumbledore put his glasses back on. "If I tell you where he is…what are you going to do?"

"Well…find him, of course."

"And then?"

She paused. "I don't know…I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well, I suggest that you do," he said, emphasizing the last word. If he told her where Harry was, he wanted to be absolutely sure she wasn't going to make a fool out of herself, and that Harry wouldn't come back angry with him.

"Alright, alright…" she said.

"Well?" he asked again.

Hermione clenched her teeth for a moment. "I'm going to try and rebuild things, ok? Does that satisfy you?"

"We shall see, Hermione, we shall see…" He began to shuffle some papers on his desk.

"Well, where is he?" she asked, almost impatiently.

He stopped the shuffling: this was it. Should he tell her, or should he not? He weighed the options in his mind for a moment, and then decided to. "He has a villa on the Mediterranean in Sicily." He gave her the exact address.

She seemed to be slightly surprised about the exotic locale, but said nothing about it. She stood and began to head for the exit.

"Hermione," Dumbledore called. Now that he'd told her where Harry was, he wanted her to be clear on something.

"Yes?" she asked without turning back.

"Please keep in mind all that we've said here today." She nodded and resumed her trek for the door. As she opened it, he said, "And don't expect miracles. It will take some time." The door closed without any further acknowledgement from her, and Dumbledore went back to the papers on his desk. It was out of his hands now.

----------

A light breeze blew across the flat expanse. Hermione walked slowly and casually down the slightly rutted dirt lane, watching the flowers in the fields surrounding her wave in the wind. The sun was very hot, but the air currents caressing her face did enough to alleviate any discomfort she had.

As she got closer and closer to the Sea, she could smell the water in the air, and it excited her senses. It had been a long since she'd been to any large body of water, especially one as beautiful as the Sicilian Mediterranean, and she wanted to see it. It surprised her somewhat that Harry had picked such a wonderful locale for his vacation home, but she supposed that after all the dreary years in Britain he had reason to branch out a bit. She crested a small knoll, and stopped for a moment to enjoy the view. A long, spectacular beach spread out in both directions, and the Mediterranean was out in front of it as far as the eye could see. It seemed to be true that it had some of the clearest waters known to man. Lining the beach were villas of various sizes, ranging from almost palatial to fairly modest.

The lane widened and flattened out as it came closer and closer to the homes, and Hermione had to consult the sign for a moment to figure out which way she had to go. Finding the range with Harry's address, she turned left, and started parallel to the beach. As the numbers got closer and closer to Harry's, the homes increased in size slightly. When his villa came into view, she stopped again to regard the impressive structure.

It was three stories tall, made of a light sandstone or brick, and had many open verandas. She could see at least four bay windows, three large sliding glass doors, and from where she was standing, it looked like he had his own private stairway down to the beach. There was a fairly large veranda at the back, facing the beach, and she assumed that it contained a pool. It was beautiful, and it must have cost a fortune.

Something glinting in the sun caught her eye, and she turned away from the house slightly. On the opposite side of the road, away from the beach, there was a person moving very quickly. They seemed to be dancing…or twirling…and there was something in there hands that was glinting in the light.

It took her a few moments to realize it was in fact Harry, but the shaggy black hair was what finally clued her in. She could only stare at what he was doing. He was shirtless and shoeless, and he was doing some kind of exercise with…a sword?

He was moving very fast; his actions were fluid and graceful. Hermione had never seen him, or anyone else for that matter, move like that, and she wondered what exactly he'd been up to all these years. He had an amazingly well defined upper body—none of his muscles were bulging, exactly, but it was apparent to her that there was an incredible amount of power in them. His legs were the same way; in fact, they looked even better. He must have been doing a lot of running.

She tried to follow the movements of his sword, but it was a little too fast for her. Each time she would catch it with her eyes, it would slip away again, only to glint in the light a moment later. A sudden stronger breeze blew up around her, pushing her hair into her face, and alighting the pollen from the myriad flowers into the air. It was a mesmerizing sight—she watched Harry stop to look at the colors in the air around him. He turned around in a circle, taking in the sight, but stopped when he saw her standing there. His green eyes locked with her chocolate ones.

----------

The sight before him captivated Harry. It was almost as if he was looking at an angel. The pollen that had been blowing through the air seemed to be circling around this person. Sweat dripped into eyes, blurring his vision slightly, but he didn't move to clear it. The wind was blowing the brown hair of this beauty around her face, so he couldn't quite make out whom it was, but he could tell that she was amazing. She was wearing a white summer dress, with thin straps over her shoulders. It went down to around her knees, revealing toned calves and sandal-clad, painted-toenail feet. Her voluptuous curves were highlighted by the wind, which wrapped the dress around her hips and chest slightly. He wasn't sure who it was, but he didn't think he'd ever seen something so beautiful in his life.

He reached up to clear his eyes as the wind died down, and when he brought his hand down, he froze. The world stopped for a moment—the angel that he had been looking at was Hermione. At first, he didn't know what to think, or what to do. The thoughts that had been going through his head were a bit awkward now, and he didn't know if he'd be able to keep the blush off his face if he went over to her. It was taken out of his hands, though, when Hermione made her way toward him. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her skin as it fell from her throat to her chest…but he looked back at her face as she drew near.

"Harry?" she asked.

He must have had a weird look on his face, because she was regarding him strangely. Then he remembered that he was holding a sword, and that she probably didn't know anything about it. He silently cast the reverting charm, and slid his wand into the waistband of his shorts. The strange look remained, though; perhaps it wasn't the sword.

He said the first thing that came to mind. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

She just looked at him for a moment. Her eyes flicked to his body and then back to his face. He grew slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. There was something about the way that she was looking at him that was unfamiliar. He didn't recognize it as any look he'd seen on her face before.

"Who told you where I was?" he asked, trying another question. Even though he was pretty he knew he wanted her to at least say something.

"Albus did," she responded, and turned slightly to face the villas and the beach. "Quite the impressive home, Harry," she added.

Harry blinked as more sweat attempted to cloud his vision. He really needed to freshen up. He cast quick drying and cleaning charms on himself. He felt a slight twinge in his right bicep, and began some stretching routines. He noticed that Hermione would look at him quickly every few moments.

"It came with quite the impressive bill, too," he said, lightly. Her lips twitched into a small smile.

"I'm sure it did," she said, and brushed some hair away from her face.

"So…why are you here?" he asked again.

She stared beyond the villa at the Sea for a moment, and then turned back to him. He straightened up, having finished his stretching.

"Because…there are some things that we need to talk about."

Harry kept getting distracted by way her dress would wrap tightly around her hips. He shook the thought off, and focused on her face. "Haven't we already done that?"

"Not really, no," she said. Harry hesitated for a moment, and then motioned with his hand toward the villa. She followed at his side, a little behind him.

"I must say…I'm a little surprised to see you," he said, and he meant it. He hadn't really expected to see her until Helen and him returned to Hogwarts.

"I thought you would be, and so did Albus, but here I am."

"Indeed," was all he said.

"Where's Helen?" she asked. Harry noticed some tension in her voice.

"Umm…probably on the beach. She might be swimming in the Med." Helen had turned into a real beach bum in the time they had spent in Sicily in past five years, and she spent most of her days down there.

"This area is so beautiful," Hermione said as they reached the front door of the villa. Harry saw that she was looking all around.

"Yes, it is," he said, and he opened to door. He heard a small intake of breath as she stepped over the threshold behind him, and he held back a smirk.

"Wow…" she breathed. "Your place is beautiful, too."

"Thanks," he said. He moved into the sitting area, which was well lit by the midday sun coming in through the many large panoramic windows. Hermione just stared out one of them, drinking in the view of the Mediterranean.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said. "I've gotta take a shower." She nodded slowly, still staring out of the window, and Harry turned and left. He was still slightly shaken from his initial impressions of Hermione, before he had known it was she, and he needed a little time to sort through them. The shower would be a long one.