The Boy Who Lived

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Three:

Harry can't escape Hermione Granger. The girl is everywhere. She's there when he eats, when he visits the family library, in the summer lessons he shares with Liam. She's there when he sits up with his brother all night, when they and their father return from their morning runs, when they stumble out of their training sessions with the Marauders, when they pass time on the quidditch pitch, or in the climbing room, or in the stables. She's a constant presence, asking an endless amount of questions of the portraits, of the house elves, of the adults and Liam and Harry. She hoards books from the library, pesters him about his research, chides him about the way he treats his brother, and if Harry doesn't get away from her soon, he's going to lose his mind.

Neville, visiting for the weekend before their birthdays, commiserates. He's in Gryffindor, he's shared all of his classes with Granger for four years, shared a common room, housemates, a dining table, and he needs no explanation of exactly how grating the girl can be. He's also aware of their history, has seen it all unfold over their time at Hogwarts, and Neville's understanding is a refreshing change from the rest of his family's attitudes.

Lily thinks she's endearingly charming. James thinks their relationship - or lack thereof - is reminiscent of the Evans-Potter saga, circa 1975, and he smiles indulgently every time Harry complains about her. Remus preaches patience, Sirius suggests bedding his dislike of her out of his system, Liam only tells him to give her a chance.

"Thanks for listening," Harry sighs, and rubs wearily at tired eyes, "I'm sorry for unloading on you like that. It's just…"

"It's fine," Neville replies. He downs a mouthful of butter beer, flicks the cork across the table, and stares out towards the acres of untamed wildlife surrounding the lawns of Potter Manor, "A lot more interesting than anything I've got to say."

"Boring summer?"

"Same lessons as you, without the company, and with Gran as a tutor." They both wince. Optimistically, however, Neville adds, "I've been working in the greenhouses though, so that's all right."

"How's your gran as a teacher, then? As terrifying as I'm imagining, or…?"

Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom is a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners battle-axe with little patience for fools, for sheep, or for anyone who doesn't have the nerve to disagree with her. She'd fought in the war against Grindelwald, had disdained Voldemort and manipulated the Wizengamot to ensure his crusade didn't impact government policy, and had spent the years since his downfall working to maintain that same status quo. Technically, she's retired - Neville's father, Frank, is the Head of House Longbottom - but Harry can't imagine there's much that can slow Augusta Longbottom down, never mind retirement.

"It's all right. I get to argue with her during my Politics class, so that's fun."

Harry raises his drink in a toast, impressed. "You're a braver sod than I, my friend."

Neville laughs, grins, and they clink bottles across the table. "How's the workshop thing going? Do you think you want to become an enchanter?"

"I can't imagine wanting to make broomsticks all my life, that's for sure," Harry replies, "Ridiculously dull for how fun they are to use."

When Harry's not wading through the administrative minutia that comes with owning and running a business, sharpening carving tools or polishing broomsticks, his dad's got him carving rune sets into blocks of wood. The aim is to space and size them correctly, and equally with regards to depth, but thus far, Harry is failing spectacularly.

It's rather discouraging, in truth.

"So what are your other options?"

"Curse-Breaking, Ward Construction, Academia. I don't know, maybe I won't choose a field involving Ancient Runes at all."

"Is that a possibility?" Neville queries.

Harry tips his head, uncertain. "Apparently there are some quidditch teams interested in recruiting me. I don't know though, it's wicked, but it seems kind of…"

"Easy?" Neville suggests.

"Yeah," Harry agrees, "I think I'd get bored, just playing quidditch all day."

"Don't let Ron Weasley hear you say that."

"Share breathing space with that idiot? I don't think so, mate."

Ron Weasley is their classmate, but also someone Harry has known for years. In some ways, he's the quintessential Gryffindor - brash, impetuous, foolhardy - but in other ways, he's not. He's rude, lazy, selfish - far from the nobility, chivalry, and honour Gryffindor House is lauded for, - and despite his best efforts, Harry can't stand him.

It doesn't help that he'd turned his back on Liam the year prior - had let his supposed best friend down when Liam needed him - and Harry won't ever forgive or forget it. Not when his brother had been so very hurt by the betrayal.

Neville laughs again. "Gods, you're a terrible person."

"I like to think I'm just honest."

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose," Neville concedes.

Their conversation turns to other things - summer homework, birthday plans, the British and Irish Quidditch league - and it's in the midst of the latter that they're joined by Liam and Granger.

"Hi Liam, Hermione," Neville acknowledges them both, genial and polite as he ever is, "Did you get bored of the library?"

"Liam wanted some fresh air," Hermione explains, "We thought we'd join you. Is that all right?"

"We're not doing anything interesting," Harry replies, expression carefully impassive, "But if you like, sure."

Liam sits beside Harry, and helps himself to the half-consumed butter beer in front of his twin. Harry pulls a face as he does so, reaches for Neville's discarded cork, and lobs it at his brother's head.

"Get your own."

Liam laughs, unabashed and unapologetic, but he returns the butter beer, and summons Dancer to retrieve a couple more bottles for himself and Granger. The girl in question is notably silent as the exchange proceeds, but she accepts the beverage without protest, and thanks Dancer for his efforts before he leaves.

"What have you two been up to?" Liam queries. He's restless, drumming his fingers on the table, wriggling his toes, shifting in his seat, but he's always been like that, and none of them pay it any heed.

"Nothing, really," Neville shrugs, nonchalant, "I was kicking this sod's arse in wizard's chess, but that got boring, so we stopped playing a while ago."

"We were talking about taking the horses for a ride later," Harry adds, unfazed by Neville's teasing, "Neville's curious about the wildlife."

"The flora's been uncultivated for generations," Neville reasons, "I bet there's some plants in there that haven't been seen for ages."

"You want to go off the trails?" Liam asks, intrigued. "Can we come?"

Hermione frowns. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"That's debatable. It's still within the outer wards, which means we won't be attacked by Death Eaters or anything like that. There are natural threats to think about though, non-magical and magical animals, plants, the general risk of injury…"

"Would Mum and Dad allow it, though?" Liam wonders.

"Do they have to know?" Harry counters.

Liam mulls it over, and concedes, "They've never specifically said we have to stick to the trails."

Harry grins. "Precisely."

As children, the only rules regarding the woods was to stay inside the Manor during full moons. Remus used them to transform each month, frolicking about with Padfoot and Prongs while the boys slept through the night, and that hasn't changed over the years.

That month's full moon, however, has already passed, and as such, it's a non-issue.

"I don't know," Hermione hesitates.

Harry shrugs, indifferent. "If you don't want to come, that's fine. We're not going to force you."

Actually, he'd prefer if she didn't join them, but at the end of the day, Hermione Granger is their guest, and it's his - and his family's - responsibility to make her feel welcome in their home. He doesn't have to like it - or her, for that matter - but quite frankly, Harry has no interest in finding out what his mother would make him do if he made Liam's friend feel unwelcome.

"We can go swimming," Liam coaxes, "One of the trails leads to this spring-fed pool a few miles out, and it's always great in the summer. You like to swim, don't you?"

"I do," Hermione confirms. She hesitates further, but eventually acquiesces with a rueful grin, "All right, I'll go. But only because you've got me curious now."

Harry doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing. Instead, he drains the last of his butter beer, pushes back his chair, and stands up with a stretch. "We'd better head in for lunch before the grown-ups get nosy. We'll sort out everything for the ride after."

"Oh, good, I'm starving," Liam says absently. He's already contemplating what they need for the afternoon's plans.

"What's for lunch?" Neville queries.

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry replies lightly, "Guess we're about to find out."

As it happens, lunch turns out to be a simple, informal meal of sandwiches, but the bread and roast beef are fresh from the ovens, the tomatoes and lettuce fresh from the Potter's Field. The vintage cheddar is homemade, too - cheese-making is a particular hobby of Dasher's - and it's all washed down by water infused with mint, strawberry, and watermelon.

The elder Potters are notably quiet throughout the meal, thoughtful and introspective, and they excuse themselves from the table as soon as they've both finished eating.

"What was that about?" Liam asks once he's sure they're out of hearing range. He's multi-tasking though, constructing another sandwich - his third - and he doesn't notice Harry's clueless shrug.

"I don't know."

"Do you think it's Voldemort?"

"Doubt it."

Harry's about one thousand per cent certain Liam is first on Voldemort's hit-list, and considering the wanker isn't hammering away at the public entrance of Potter Manor, it's probable that Voldemort is not involved - not directly, anyway - with whatever is going on with their parents. That leaves a whole host of other possibilities, of course, and the continued question of why Voldemort is still laying low beneath whatever rock he's crawled under, but Harry's determined not to worry about it - the parental issue, that is - until he has to.

Until then, he, Liam, and their houseguests have other plans.

-!- -#-

They casually meander between trees hundreds of years old. They're wand grade, alive with the chatter of botruckls and faeries, with birds, and squirrels, and everything else that calls the woodland home. The trail is clear though, dappled by sunlight through the overhead canopy, and the horses know the way besides.

Along the outskirts of the woods, there are a handful of magical villages interspersed through the trees, protected by the family's wards, and accessible only by flight, floo, or apparition. The inhabitants are loyal tenants of the Potter Estate, have been for generations, but they generally leave the forest alone, and therefore, the teens are undisturbed on their way.

"I can see why your family never cleared the land," Hermione says. She's not overly familiar with riding, so she shares a horse with Liam, "It's beautiful here. I thought it would be like the Forbidden Forest, but it isn't at all."

"The Forbidden Forest wasn't always the way it is now," Neville opines, "It used to be that the only reason it was forbidden was because it was a sanctuary for centaurs and satyrs and the like. But then it was tainted - someone brought in a colony of acromantula, of all things - and it's been a draw for dark creatures ever since."

"That's sad," Hermione says, "What happened to the satyrs?"

Neville shrugs. "Most of them left. Others weren't so lucky. The centaurs have only stayed because they're protecting the unicorns and bicorns, who have no where else to go."

"How do you know so much about it?" Liam queries, intrigued. Harry, meanwhile, wonders about the logistics behind moving herds of unicorns and bicorns and centaurs to the Potter Estate, where the woodland is untainted, and where they would be protected from the darkness due to beset Britain over the next few years.

"Professor Sprout and I go into the Forest sometimes," Neville explains, "We always have a centaur escort, just in case, and I asked him."

"His name is Galahad," Harry contributes, "He's great."

"You've been in there, too?" Liam glances between them, aghast.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Don't act like you haven't."

"Not voluntarily," Liam counters. His voice goes comically high-pitched at the end, and it's probably only years of horse-riding that keeps him from dramatically flailing his arms.

"He's got you there," Neville smirks, unapologetically entertained.

Harry shrugs, and explains, "I was curious."

"You were curious," Liam deadpans. "About the forest full of acromantula and Merlin knows what else. Why does that not surprise me?"

"It's not like I'm ever careless about it," Harry reasons, "I only ever go during the day, "I never leave Galahad or Professor Sprout's sight, and I always have my wand on me."

"Thank Merlin for small favours," Liam grumbles, but he does calm down. "What did you think about it?"

"It's sad," Harry replies, "The way Galahad talks about it, the forest was beautiful at one point, but now…"

"It's impossible not to feel the darkness," Neville contributes, solemn, "It saturates everything."

They each fall silent then, lost in their own thoughts, and it isn't until they reach the freshwater pool that they are diverted. It's a peaceful place, a clearing ringed by trees, and taken up by the spring-fed pool in question. It gleams in the afternoon sunshine, but the water is delightfully refreshing, crisp and clear, and Hermione and Neville are both impressed.

"I almost don't want to leave," Neville says. He hesitates by his borrowed horse. Her name is Polly, and she's already had her fill of water. She's tethered to a tree now, and she's content to graze in the shade, "But the plants."

"Decisions, decisions," Harry quips.

"You think you're joking."

"Tomorrow's another day," Harry shrugs, nonchalant. "Whatever we don't get to today, we can do tomorrow."

"Let's just stick around here then," Neville decides.

Harry nods his acquiescence, drops his pack, and strips out of his jeans and T-shirt. He's wearing swim trunks underneath, and without ado, he wades into the refreshing cold of the spring-fed pool with a pleased sigh. Neville follows suit, Liam and Hermione aren't far behind, and despite himself, Harry has a pleasant time.

It helps that Hermione keeps her distance, doesn't inundate him with scowls and glares and more questions than one can throw a stick at, doesn't try to prove to everyone that she's the smartest person in the room - or pool, as it were. Rather, it's simply a restful, sun-drenched day with a refreshing swim and a pleasant view, and the peace remains for the remainder of the weekend.

At that point, though, Harry finds he has far more important matters to concern himself with, and despite her thinly-veiled curiosity, none of those matters concern Hermione Granger.

Author's Note: A bit of a delay while I build up my store of chapters. Will likely bulk update when I finish Chapter 10. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.