Author's Note: So. Second chapter. Reviews are like oxygen to me. . .I'd appreciate it if you'd take a minute to drop one for me. It encourages me to keep writing. So please? I know writing is about more than feedback, but it does help. Anywho. Onward! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own the following quote, nor do I own Harry Potter.

Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it doesn't get you anywhere

UNLIKELY REVELATIONS

Chapter 2

MyPorcelain'Bones

Hermoine jumped, startled, as a hand came crashing down on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around abruptly. Her eyes widened as she took in the form of her former friend, Ron Weasley. Well, she wasn't quite sure what they were. It had been a given that in any instance he would choose Harry over her. . .and it hadn't hurt, because it was just a fact. Besides, what reason did he have to side with her? Since they had first met that fateful day on the train to Hogwarts she had been, quite truthfully, a bitch to him. It hadn't, therefore, exactly come as the biggest shock ever.

As their eyes locked, it seemed momentarily that it was only them there, and each and evrey thing around them was nonexistent. But then Ron shook his head subtly, clearing his throat and not even stopping to properly address her before shoving a newspaper in her face.

She swatted his hand away, wondering what was the meaning of this.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, and as Ron did not even blink at her harshness, it seemed like old times. Like nothing had ever happened between them. . . if anything had happened.

Did choosing one friend out of loyalty make you an enemy to the one left in the cold?

"Look," Ron insisted, holding the paper at a more decent place before her eyes.

"What am I supposed to be looking at, exactly?"

Ron pointed in the corner of the paper although it was out of his eyes view, as if he'd memorized the exact placing of the article.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "Don't you understand, Mione? . . .Harry's missing."

-Regular POV-

The cottage was quite cozy, exuding a warmth and homey-ness that he couldn't place. It was furnished simply, a decent couch with a matching recliner and lamp; nothing expensive or lavish. However, there was nothing Harry could find that would key him in on the life of his rescuer, or how he knew him. No pictures adorned the walls, no belongings that appeared as if they could belong to someone other. This place was nothing much. A few pieces of furniture; the necessities. That was all.

Currently, whoever had saved him was in the kitchen fixing him a cup of tea. It had always soothed him. . .and the man seemed to know that, which just gave Harry goosebumps and the idea that he was losing his mind. Why could he not tell who this man was, or recall how he'd met him?

The dose of whatever his attacker had given him had worn off shortly ago, and Harry could now move, but not much. He figured that whomever had drugged him had thought that he'd have been dead by the time he could move about once more.

Growing quickly weary of the living room, which did not even acquire a television, he decided to explore. Now, there wasn't exactly anything to explore, but moving was better than doing nothing.

Standing from the recliner, it took Harry a bit of limping to get into a decently tolerable rythm of walking. The thick quilt that the man had placed on him hung around his shoulders and made walking ever more diffucult; the thing was probably close to five pounds of fabric. His thin body was drowning in it. Still, he'd appreciated it. After being in the cold for so long, his body had stung fiercely, and Harry pondered how it was strange that two such opposite things-ice and fire-could have the same effect.

A closed door caught Harry's attention. It was very suspicious, given the fact that the entryway to the kitchen and even the lew was open-not blocked off. (Harry prayed he would not get the urge to piss any time soon. Just the thought caused his cheeks to flare red in embarrassment.)

He limped over to the closed door, for some reason insanely curious as to what lay beyond its wooden surface. It was perhaps mainly because it seemed so odd that it be the only thing so obviously blocked off from the rest of the tiny cottage.

His fingers grasped the glass doorknob, and just began to turn it slowly, as to not make noise-

"Wouldn't that be an invasion of privacy, Potter?" A deep voice asked, and soon after a much larger, more calloused hand placed itself over his own. Harry's breathing grew shallow and ragged as herealized he had been caught.

Damn it. . .he had not even thought about the fact that the man would be in the adjacent room. . .

Harry did not turn around; he was a bit afraid to. He did not know this man, although how the man had spoken to him would surely suggest so. . .therefore it felt even more wrong that he had been about to encroach on a total stranger's private space. . .

"I. Well, you see. . ."

"Yes?" The man's breath could be felt on the back of his neck, enticing subtle shivers from Harry. . .though he didn't know exactly why. This stranger seemd to have a peculiar effect on him. He made him feel things that he could not really explain; that not even Ginny had made him feel.

The thought startled and confused him.

"Harry," the man said, and grabbed him roughly by his shoulders, turning him abruptly around to face him. Their bodies were so close. . .too close for Harry's comfort. Tis is no way to comfort a boy you just rescued from death, Harry couldn't help but think. Why was this person being so. . .strange?

Harry's lips parted, causing him to look as if he was ditzy or such. He could have even sworn he had seen the man's eyes dart down to his lips for a split second-which would be very illogical of him, but still-but the movement was too swift for him to be positive.

He was not sure whether or not it was his mind playing with him, but he thought he detected the man's body shift closer yet to his, almost pressed firmly against him.

Suddenly the awkward (for him anyway) mood shattered, as he slipped past the man and came to stand behind him, soon face to face as the other was forced to turn around. One eyebrow was raised in confusion, surprise, wonder?

Harry giggled nervously.

"Uh. . .well, I'm Harry," he stuttered stupidly; that much was clearly already established.

When the stranger just stared at him, he wiped a hand across his forehead. "But. . .you know that. Right. . . ." Then he suddenly cheered, grinning widely, an attempt to be friendly and come across as if this whole situation hadn't just freaked him out.

"Do you care to enlighten me as to what yours is?" The man just stared at him blankly, seemingly not registering anything.

Harry coughed nervously, eyes darting around the room so as to occupy himself, as well as be given a nice distraction.

Then out of nowhere Harry's rescuer shook himself, asking in a daze, "Sorry, had you said something?"

"Um, your name? I don't plan on referring to you as man or stranger. . ."

"Oh, right," he said brusquely. Then he paused, as if he needed to actually think, which Harry found curious. Had he truly forgotten his name? Who did that?

Harry couldn't hold it in-he giggled, and that fact made him somehow laugh harder, until he was holding his sides to control his shaking.

However, he stopped quickly upon seeing the man's stern glare cast heavily on him.

"What do you find so amusing, Potter?"

Arry scratched his head. "You forgot your name?" It was meant as a statement, but came out as a weak question.

The stranger shook his head.

"No. No, it's Del."

"Oh. Well, pleasure to meet you?" He was fumbling like a complete, utter fool. . .and there was nothing that he could do. He felt unusually uncomfortable, unsure what to do now that he wasn't all helpless and drugged up and shit.

"Skip the pleasantries; we need to talk."

Hopefully my chapters will lengthen as the story progresses. Pleeease review for me? I know this wasn't the best. . .but still.

Thank you :)