The summer air was humid, and Harry's shirt was starting to stick to the skin on his back. As his upper lip got a smidge sweaty, he combed his fingers through his shaggy black hair and looked at the two girls walking one either side of him – a beautiful white angel on his left, a dark goddess on his right.

This is so much better than hanging around Ron and Hermione flirting all day, he thought to himself, and couldn't help but grin a little.

"So," said a down-to-business voice from his right – it was harsher than Hermione's, get smooth and flowing like molasses – "How are we going to start finding the remaining Horcruxes?"

This question caught Harry off guard – here he was, spending a lovely – if not blazing – summer day with two amazingly beautiful girls, thinking about how he was going to introduce these apparently non-humans to his friends…and she popped him with this serious question.

In the past months, Harry had only thought of Horcruxes and Dumbledore being dead and how he was going to kill Voldemort and how to keep his friends from being hurt and…so many things. Now, the one time it seemed his mind was getting a break, it was all really about business.

"No clue," he shrugged. "I mean, I figured we'd start with Gryffindor, since I thought I was the only one that could get to his stuff –"

"What makes you think that?" asked Shira questioningly. Her voice was doubtful.

"Well, I got his sword from the Sorting Hat, didn't I? I'm sure you know all about that?" The girls nodded. "Well, no one knows of anything else he ever had – I mean, there aren't any records or anything, are there?"

"No," interjected Celia, "At least, not in the official records, at the Ministry – but since when have you ever put faith in the Ministry, Harry?" Harry couldn't tell if she was joking or not – it seemed she always kept a straight face.

"But aren't you two from the Ministry?" he replied a bit snidely – she'd asked him a question, after all, and now she was being rude because she was unhappy with the answer? Please.

Harry had been full of teenage angst lately. Which is to be expected. Because he may or may not die in the near future. Meh.

"Yes," said Shira with a playful eyeroll, "But keep in mind that Dumbledore was the main creator of us –"

"I didn't know that," interrupted Harry a bit excitedly. "I thought he just helped fund the project or something –"

"No," said Celia, creating a pattern of interruptions. "Dumbledore put a part of him into each of us. His good humor went to her – and his ability to be serious to me, apparently." The corners of her mouth flickered – it seemed she'd tried to make a joke. Not a very good one, thought Harry – but then again, he had to give her some credit for trying. After all, it wasn't her fault Dumbledore had been stingy with the fun.

Much later that evening in the Great Hall, Harry sat alone in the dark room – he hadn't bothered with such trivial things as torches and lights – at the very end of the Gryffindor table, situated at the corner closest to the corner of the huge room. As it was nearly eight, the sky outside was dark' in the Great Hall, the ceiling was a mass of dark gray mist with a star peeking through here or there.

Sighing, Harry put his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. Celia and Shira had gone off to look about the castle, get settled, all that jazz. He hadn't seen Ron or Hermione all day, and didn't really care where McGonagall was at the moment, she being the only staff member there over the summer, mostly to just watch over them – Filch had been given time off, thank god. Since he'd left the girls by the lake to talk about Merlin knows what with each other, Harry had been in a sort of a depressed funk. Now it was evident that he would be seeing Voldemort soon. And he dreaded having to search for all of the Horcruxes. Most of all, he hated having been born in July. A part of him was resentful of the fact that Neville was on holiday with his grams – but he couldn't hold it against the guy. It really was all Voldemort's fault, anyway.

He looked up as he heard clicking footsteps.

"Harry? Is that you? God, you're such a creep, mate."

A tall stick that looked to be on fire came into the Great Hall. With a quick lighting spell from the flaming stick's wand, it transformed itself into Ron.

"Nah, I'm not a creep – I'm artistic," joked Harry.

"More like emo," replied Ron jokingly in return, and sat down across from his best friend, the room now properly lit. "Whatcha thinin 'bout, anyway?"

"Not much," lied Harry. "Say," he added, changing the subject in an instant, "I met the two helpers from the Ministry today. They're out roaming the castle now.:

"Nice! Are they all spooky with sunglasses and shite?"

"Nah, they're girls," laughed Harry.

"What? Girls? They sent you girls? How the hell are they supposed to hold up against you-know-who?"

"Oh, just say 'Voldemort,' for god's sake," interjected Hermione, entering the Great Hall with a copy of the seventh years' charms textbook under one arm.

"What the hell are you thinking?" laughed Harry, pointing at the book.

"I was thinking that since we're not studying here after the summer, I might as well learn the material now – and yes, Ron, believe it or not, girls can fight evil too. Chauvinist pig."

She plopped down beside her boyfriend – finally – and slid the book on the tabletop towards him.

"You'd do well to read this, too. Both of you," she said, knowing full-well that neither of them would even crack the thing open.

"She hears like a bat, I swear," said Ron, rolling his eyes – only to get elbowed in the ribs. "Ow!"

"Would you two stop flirting already? I'm trying to figure out how to defeat the most evil wizard of all time, and all I see in my head is you two snogging. Disgusting."

"Sorry," Ron and Hermione said in unison, sort of hanging their heads a bit.

"It's alright. Now, about the girls –"

"What are their names? Are they nice?" interrupted Hermione, immediately forgetting why she'd been embarrassed.

"Wait, I'm getting to that!" said Harry, half impatient, half laughing at her enthusiasm. "One is Celia – Hermione, you'll love her, she likes working maybe more than you do," he grinned. "The other's Shira – she acts like a ditz sometimes, but she's actually quite smart. Earlier she went on and on about physics applied to the wizarding world – it was actually quite interesting," he said honestly, "the way she went about it and all – but for some reason I kept getting really drowsy."

"Probably the heat," reasoned Hermione, "It was driving everyone crazy."

I figured now was a god time to quit the chapter, seeing as how my tank is all out of creative juice. Please email me and let me know how I can improve…or just tell me how awesome I am. ;P