How High the Moon

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Chapter Six: Potter and the Porch Swing

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Downy Hills was a small, pleasant estate in Kent, not far from the outskirts of London. True to its name, the place was surrounded by soft green hills and tucked away from the rest of the world. There was a modest, respectable farm house and a few odd out buildings set on a few acres of slightly neglected sweeping lawns, but no one really paid much mind to that these days.

A thin, pensive young man was slumped on a bench swing under the eves of the large, wrap-around porch. His black hair was untidy and his eyes were vacant and unfocused, as is often the case when one is thinking hard. He looked out on a dusty, warm summer day, an unusual phenomenon as of late due to the spread of rogue dementors and the wet weather that followed them. His clothes were fairly well made, something you might see any day on the sidewalk, and for the first time in years they fit him well. (His girlfriend and her mother had dragged him along to go shopping the week before.)

Not that he really gave a hippogryph's hindquarters what he looked like anymore.

Harry Potter had a few more important things on his mind.

The summer was not going at all the way he had planned. Right now, he should have been out searching for the horcruxes, or battling death eaters, or fighting Voldermort. Instead, he was stuck on a dumb porch swing at Mr. and Mrs. Tonks' house, waiting for the illustrious Order of the Phoenix to end the afternoon meeting and let him in for tea.

Even after everything, even after DUMBLEDORE, the damn Order refused to let him or Ron or Hermione into any of the important meetings. Even Tonks refused to leak a word about what was going on.

What did they expect him to do? Did they think that he was just going to hand over the stuff he had learned by risking life and limb and not get dead hacked off when they patted his head and treated him like a child? Did Remus really think for one minute that he would be content to twiddle his thumb up his arse until 'the Order' decided he was bright enough to run parchment errands without loosing a limb?

Hadn't Sirius's death taught those wankers anything? I mean, not that he was going to run off and get himself killed or anything brilliant like that, but still! How did they expect him to just SIT here while the world fell apart?

Bugger that for a game of soldiers!

He was sick of doing what he was told!

All these angry thoughts had been running through his head since the funeral (which he avoided thinking about at all costs), but Harry had promised his friends that he would wait until after the wedding to make his break. He wasn't going to lie to them. He would probably end up doing a lot of terrible things to end the war –He would end up a murderer for Merlin's sake! - But he had decided that Harry Potter would never be a liar.

… unless he had to lie to find the horcruxes …

… or if he needed to lie to get to Voldermort…

…. or if he had to …

Harry sighed. He would probably end up lying so much that it became second nature by the time he was done.

"But never to them." He whispered to himself.

Harry flopped onto his stomach with an irritable grunt. He wished that they would at least keep him company. It was ruddy boring out here, and he didn't have the motivation to move at the moment.

Not five minutes after the Order had put up the security measures around the meeting room, all three of his friends had left him.

He thought about tracking down Ron for a go around the Tonks's impressive Quidditch pitch, or borrowing another one of the foul smelling books that Hermione carried with her everywhere these days to research their targets. Even she hadn't been able to come up with a single clue so far, but it never hurt to try some more.

Then again, he didn't exactly want to walk in on Ron and Hermione going at it again. That had been … disgusting.

Not to mention bloody awkward.

I mean, what do you say when you walk in on your two best mates swapping saliva like there's no tomorrow?

Harry shuddered, but soon found happier thoughts.

"Maybe Gin'd be up for a little of that." He wondered with a smile.

Even though Harry felt a bit guilty about her safety, after two days without her he had had to admit that he wasn't a strong enough man to leave her well enough alone. Not that she was complaining any, he thought with a little grin of satisfaction. They had gotten back together less that a week after leaving Hogwarts.

She was probably in the kitchen. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley had been teaching her how to cook, and Ginny made the best Shepard's pie a guy could ask for. It was weird to think that Tonks could actually cook something edible, but it was true. All four of them had been growing a lot closer to her over the past year while she was working at Hogwarts, and she had proved full of surprises. Tonks was one of the only full fledged Order members that they trusted with their plans for after the wedding, not to mention a surprisingly devoted Quidditch fan.

Just as Harry made up his mind to go find his girlfriend, he noticed two people walking down the drive to the house.

When he recognized Ron's brother Charlie, he smiled.

Tonks had said Charlie might show up today, and that meant they would finally have enough people for two passable teams. It wasn't the same as hunting down death eaters, but at least it was something to do after dinner on meeting nights. Harry was getting bored straight out of his skull, and Quidditch was always a good answer for whatever ailed you right?

It hadn't been easy to round up fourteen players. There really weren't enough people the first couple weeks, and at one point Harry had even been desperate enough to let Professor Moody play.

Desperate or not, Harry found a new keeper after that.

As they got closer, Harry saw that Charlie had his broom with him, and a wicked grin spread across his face. If he moved a couple of his players around, he could probably get Charlie on his team. Ron would never know what hit him.

The other person turned out to be a short, dusty girl about Charlie's age in muggle jeans, a leather jacket, and a ratty t-shirt that read EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO MY OPINION. She was kind of curvy (but he'd be caught dead before he admitted it around Ginny) and not bad looking, even though she had her hair up in a wonky little hairnet or something. The thing that really caught Harry's eye was her motorcycle.

He still felt raw over Sirius and how he had died. Not a day went by that Harry didn't kick himself for never having opened the sodding mirror. The damn bike reminded him of the way his godfather had mourned over the loss of his legendary flying motorcycle. Sirius had promised to teach Harry how to ride first thing once he was a free man.

Maybe he could ask Charlie if she'd let him have a look at it?

By the time they were in hearing distance, neither one of them had noticed Harry yet. It was weird not to be the center of attention, but it was a good weird. Too many people in the Order thought that one day he would just stand up and smite down Voldermort with lightning from heaven or something nutters like that. It was nice not to have people focused on you, and it was funny to listen to the two of them argue.

"Come on Charlie! It's a perfect plan. They'll never know what hit em'!" Even though English had to be her first language, the girl had a really slight accent, so faint that he couldn't tell what nationality it was.

"What about my Mum? That woman has got eyes in the back of her head."

"Look, if she finds out you can just blame it on me like always. Besides, if they're half as bad as you said, they've got it coming." Said the girl with a kind of evil grin.

Harry was intrigued. That was the little evil grin he often used. What were they up to? Harry didn't think that Charlie wouldn't do anything nasty to someone, but then again you could never tell with some people. Quirrell … Snape.

"Seriously gatito, not a word about the bike to Auntie A. She'll string me up with my own deflated tires, she will. I'll never hear the end of it."

"Brilliant! I've always wanted to see someone do that!"

"You're an ass, Charlie Weasley, you know that?"

"You inform me often." Charlie said solemnly. "One of these days I'm going to grow four hooves and a snout from hearing it so much."

"Good."

"You wound me, Stella." He said with a sad face.

"I aim to please, gatito. And don't call me that!"

"Of course not, Stella."

"CHARLIE!"

"Alright, alright girl. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you doing, thinking about my knickers gatito?" She batted her eyes at him, then went back to looking for something in her bag.

While she had her back to him, Charlie turned red and gulped.

It was weird for Charlie to get embarrassed like that. He'd been over for a couple of poker nights with the blokes from the Order, and this was nothing compared to the dirty jokes that got running after a few rounds of butterbeer. Harry wondered if Charlie was sick or something.

"Oh, nothing … nothing at all." Charlie quavered.

The girl looked up from her bag when she heard him and shot him one of those looks that only girls can give. One of those glaring things with one eyebrow raised. You know, those I-don't-know-what-you're-up-to, but-you-better-stomp-it-off-before-I-figure-out-what-it-is looks. Harry knew that look all too well.

Someday, Hermione was going to put an eye out with one of those things.

Charlie smiled a shaky little smile and only made it worse. Harry wanted to warn him. He knew from experience that women could smell fear. Ginny was a prime example…

After a second, the girl just rolled her eyes and kept digging in her bag while the motorcycle rolled along next to her. She must have charmed it to follow her when she was distracted. She handed Charlie her leather jacket and put on a light green robe with little white birds on the sleeves as they walked around the side of the house. They still hadn't noticed him.

"There." He heard the witch say. "A clean robe and nobody's the wiser, no? Do I have any dirt on me?"

"Nah, you're good."

"Excelente."

"You should have just ridden with me. It's a good broom, you know. I wouldn't let you fall off or anything idiotic like that."

"Ha! I believe that one. You'd probably chuck me off over the ocean, where no onen'd ever find my bloody remains."

"Has anyone ever told you you've got a morbid sense of humor, girl?"

"It's been mentioned."

There was a pause, and then Charlie started back in.

"You still should have come with me." He almost sounded like he was pouting! Charlie Weasley? Sulking? Definitely weird, Harry thought.

"Not in a million years gatito. God forgot to give us wings for a reason. My feet are right happy where they are."

"Please? I could take you back…"

"I'll get on one of those things the day that a blindingly handsome chap falls out of the sky and into my lap, hands me a sack of galleons and proposes on bended knee while angels sing the hallelujah chorus."

"Poor sod."

"Don't pout, Charlie, it makes you look like a bloated squirrel." Harry could hardy stop himself from laughing.

"And besides, what would I do with my bike, smart aleck?"

"That's easy." Charlie muttered something and his friend made a happy squealing sound.

"Well bugger me backwards! I knew transfiguration was you thing, but … wow."

"I am wonderful, aren't I?"

"Ass."

"And a nice looking one at that."

"I still don't see why you wouldn't come with me. It's a riot, and besides, you did say you wanted a little excitement."

"Stella, that much excitement would kill a bloke."

"Well, you gotta go somehow."

"I can think of several ways I'd rather snuff it, thanks, and none of them include your loony muggle machines. I get enough of that business from my dad."

"Just an offer."

"You know, I'd rather chain myself to one of those Blot-Ended Skrims Ron was telling me about."

"Blot-Ended whats?"

"One of Hagrid's new little friends."

Just then, the two of them walked around the corner. Charlie was looking at his friend with an odd gleam in his eye, hopeful and nervous, like he had asked a question and she hadn't answered. The girl was just startled to see Harry, and wasn't paying attention to Charlie at all.

"Hello there." She stuck out her hand. "Myra Estrella. You are…?"

"Hey Harry." Charlie looked glum and irritated. "Myra, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Myra."

Harry cringed.

Brilliant. Just bleeding wonderful! All he needed right now was another goggling witch who fainted in shock or something meeting him. He hated the way their eyes always flickered up at his scar, right before they started bombarding him with questions that he didn't want to answer. How did you do it, Harry? Are you the Chosen One, Harry? What is Voldermort like, Harry?

He was always tempted to tell them something stupid, like 'Yes, I am God incarnate, come to purge the earth of its debauchery!' or 'Oh, him? He's nothing, not half as bad as my Aunt Marge.'. He hadn't actually done it yet, but it was awfully tempting. The only good thing about being sheltered at the Tonks's and the Weasley's was that no one around here did that any more. So much for that.

"Harry Potter, huh?" She did glance up at the scar (which made him want to hit something) but only gave him a mild look over before calmly shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry. Nyms says good things about you."

He and Charlie both gave her a suspicious look. No one had met him this calmly in two or three years, except maybe Luna Lovegood, who had dottily informed him that he was in fact Harry Potter and gone back to meddling with her copy of The Quibbler. But that had only been because no normal occurrence could faze Luna. This one must want something from him. Everybody wanted something from 'the great Harry Potter' eventually.

But Myra just rolled her eyes at the both of them.

"What's wrong with you two? Oh bugger, you're one of those idiot celebrities who thinks that the whole world should drop and kiss their feet aren't you? Bloody disappointing kid. Nyms said you weren't like that." She frowned at him and crossed her arms.

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

"Where is Nyms, anyhow? I'm gonna ring her neck if she didn't wait for me." Myra walked to the screen door and started to go inside.

"Who's Nyms, Stella?"

She looked at him like he was daft.

"Nyms, Charlie! Nymphadora? You know, my sister?"

"YOUR WHAT?"

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Authoress's Notes: Research time, Yay! I did a little background digging on Kent, and man oh man, I'm even more excited to move over there than before. Green hills, breathtaking scenery. Beautiful country!

What is the reader response on inserting another viewpoint? Charlie will be back next instalment. Harry should only have one or two more goes at being our viewpoint, and the rest will still be Charlie, but I wanted a few little hints of another perspective to spice things up.

I hope that Charlie and Harry have different 'voices'. I meant for Harry to be more angry and petulant, and have less of a mind about grammar as he is younger and more imature. Do their thoughts seem like those of two separate people? Also, I wanted the softer, calmer description of the setting in the beginning to clash with the forceful emotions later on. Did that come off well?

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Possum- Charlie was in Slytherin? Huh? Authoress confused here. He is trying, just doing a really bad job of it. Poor Charlie, he would have had his answer there if Harry hadn't startled Stella –DON'T CALL ME THAT- Oh well, maybe next chapter… (evil laugh)

Fenix- You are right about the South America/Central America mix up. Thanks. I may look into that reading. Hey, one point for you for guessing correctly. It happens less often than many readers want it to (by design of course. I love to keep people guessing.) You like my Molly? You'll love her soon! … Poor Charlie indeed. Clueless little bloke, but I'll have pity him … eventually. Sorry about the mix up with the chapter titles. This one works much better with the plot as a whole … but you'll see for yourself …eventually. (is there an echo in here?)

HPM- All hail Lexicon! It is my bible! (not really, that's blasphemy) have fun with re-reading though. I did that about a month back, myself. Yes, we all wish Charlie had more guts … but at least I get some great suspense at his expence. Poor, poor Charlie, I really do over work him. I'm dead chuffed that you liked my stuff enough to put it on your C2. I feel so loved!