DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Three – Dumbledore and Christmas Dinner

After spending a restless night in the room directly below the eaves, Harry could attest, with one hundred per cent certainty, that there was no Santa Claus. At least not in the wizarding world, anyway. Stifling a yawn, he glanced at the closed window, attempting to gauge the time by the amount of light passing through the dirty glass. Though the grime coating the panes was thick, his eyes were easily able to detect the first rays of light brightening the sky. It was Christmas morning, and he was still locked in the attic.

Three stories below his two star accommodations, Grimmauld Place began to stir; the first whisper of voices reaching his ears. He stretched slowly as pipes groaned, water gushed, and feet pounded down the stairs, the clamor increasing to a point where further sleep would prove impossible. With a heavy groan, he flopped onto his stomach, the springs of the narrow cot he was sprawled upon creaking in protest.

Knowing he would be unable to fall back asleep didn't prevent him from closing his eyes and snuggling back down on the incredibly uncomfortable mattress, his ears absently tuning in to the mindless chatter rising from the kitchen. Almost against his will, he began to identify the various voices, taking an internal attendance of the individuals currently residing in the large house. Molly, Arthur, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, Snape, Tonks, Remus, Shacklebolt, Moody, and Dumbledore. The last was enough to open his eyes, bringing him completely awake.

Harry tipped his head to the left, his brow furrowing as he tried to interpret the soft mumbles drifting up through the floorboards. Even with his enhanced hearing, the conversation occurring within the kitchen remained to indistinct to be of any interest. Oh, he was able to make out the odd snippet here and there, but nothing of any real consequence. With a dissatisfied grunt, he dropped his chin back to his forearm, his eyes drifting closed.

Although nothing but the odd mumble reached his ears, he became extremely aware of the moment silence fell over Grimmauld Place. It was a deep, heavy silence. An unnatural silence. A silence that could never be achieved in a house like Grimmauld Place without some form of aid.

Emerald orbs flying open, he rolled over and sat up, a worried frown riding his features. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he focused all his senses on the lower level of the house, and found nothing. Beyond the attic, there was no sign of life. Not a whisper nor a bout of raucous laughter rose from below. And there was only one thing that had the power to render complete silence upon Grimmauld Place.

Magic.

Someone was using magic to render his senses null; making sure that he couldn't possibly hear the conversation occurring downstairs. Which could only mean one thing: they were discussing him. A growl was torn from his mouth, his hands fisting as he leapt up off the cot and thumped angrily down the narrow stairs to the locked door that was all that contained him. He wrenched on the knob, punching the wood ruthlessly when he found the lock still engaged.

"Remus!" He yelled loudly, aiming a savage kick at the door. He inwardly fumed as he glared at the portal, his knuckles whitening. When no response was forthcoming, he turned around and stomped back up the stairs, beginning an angry prowl back and forth across the dusty boards. Last night's confrontation was still fresh in his mind, but it had obviously already been forgotten by everyone else. Lips curling in a silent snarl, he swung around and stalked in the opposite direction, gliding quietly through the dark. His churning thoughts slowed when his gaze landed on the small attic window, his pacing coming to an abrupt halt.

Doing something overly dramatic and dangerous was the farthest thing from his mind, however, desperate times called for desperate measures. Pursing his lips, he walked slowly toward the window, the heels of his boots ringing ominously upon the floor. He chewed his bottom lip as he considered the grimy panes of glass. Sure, taking a swan dive out a fourth story window didn't exactly seem like the greatest escape plan he could possibly devise. In fact, he was pretty sure he should place that option at the very bottom of his list.

"Five more minutes," he decided, turning away from the window and pacing back across the attic. Meanwhile, his thoughts resumed their course, circling around the conversation he knew was occurring downstairs. He could just imagine the Order's outrage over the information Remus was giving them. Undoubtedly, they would assume the entire thing was some nefarious plot schemed up by Voldemort to turn the Wizarding World against Harry. Harry, on the other hand, thought the entire plan lacked a certain distinctive touch generally found in Voldemort's work. Mainly, the absence of an attempt to wipe him off the face of the earth.

Grimacing at the thought, he turned on his heel, gliding back across the room. Once again his eyes returned to the window, contemplating the chances of walking away from what would assumably be a very hard landing. Unable to prevent a shiver from shaking his shoulders, he spun around and glared at the darkened stairwell, dragging his fingers roughly through his shaggy locks. They were down there arranging his future, again. He could allow it, or he could put a stop to it, the choice was his. A growl rose within his throat and he whirled around, striding purposefully toward the window.

His fingers had barely brushed the latch when noise erupted from below. The explosion sent him to his knees, his hands pressed tightly over his ears. With his eyes squeezed closed and his teeth grit, he waited for the clatter to subside, pressing his forehead against the cool boards of the floor. After a moment, his hearing adjusted, the loud voices dimming to mere whispers. He drew a deep breath, his nose filling with the smell of bacon grease and burning toast. Swearing softly under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet, standing shakily in the darkened chamber.

Turning back to face the door, he opened his mouth and bellowed, "Remus!" Almost immediately the voices quieted, returning seconds later in nearly panicked hisses. Smirking to himself, he slipped into the heaviest shadows the attic could offer, concealing himself in the corner farthest from the window. He licked his lips as he listened to the stairs squeak beneath someone's weight, his palms growing damp. His eyes remained focused on the top of the narrow stairwell that led up to the attic, his ears listening for the telltale click of the lock on the door at the base of those stairs. His heart pounded with his mounting excitement and he had to remind himself to breathe as he waited.

The click of the lock was as loud as a gunshot to his sensitive ears. From his place within the shadows, Harry watched Remus climb the stairs. He shifted nervously, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance, his position becoming slightly more aggressive. When amber orbs landed unfailingly on him, he tensed, the piercing gaze curling his lip in a warning growl.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said, keeping his tone moderate. He ignored the soft rumble that escaped the younger male, choosing instead to scan the room idly.

"Even the Dursley's let me out to use the loo," Harry spat. His eyes narrowed at the disappointed sigh that slipped over Remus' lips, the sound causing his teeth to begin an audible grind. He waited impatiently for the older wizard to respond, his fingers curling and uncurling.

Eyes snapping closed at Harry's bitter words, Remus heaved another sigh and raised a hand to massage the ache growing behind his right temple. When he reopened his eyes, the dark-haired wizard was in the exact same position; shoulders braced, hands fisted, teeth bared, and a wild light shining in his emerald orbs that practically screamed his readiness for battle. "Perhaps you should have a seat," he said, indicating the nearby cot with a wave of his hand.

Glaring at Remus in disbelief, Harry took a step back and placed his hands on the dresser behind him, boosting himself effortlessly atop the dark wood. "Consider me seated," he snarled, watching the other wizard suspiciously. He nearly leapt from his perch when Remus moved, his entire body tensing in preparation for either fight or flight. "You were discussing me," he said, hoping to hide his nervous reaction by making the first verbal thrust.

Unable to deny the accusation, Remus dipped his head. It was imperative that he win back Harry's trust, and lying was definitely not the way to go about doing that. "We were talking about you," he acknowledged, "But we also realized we owe you a very big apology. We overreacted . . . all of us. At a time like this the last thing you need is all of us jumping down your throat and making wild assumptions." He paused there, his gaze locked on Harry's face as he searched for some sign the younger wizard was softening.

Harry merely arched a brow and leaned back on his palms, the heel of one boot drumming absently against the drawers of the dresser.

"It was just such a big surprise, Harry. You have to understand how everyone felt. How I felt. I'm sorry I acted like an ass, but I couldn't believe you'd keep something so important from me. Me, the one person who'd be able to help and understand you better than anyone else," Remus finished lamely. He held his breath as he watched Harry, attempting to read every nuance of the dark-haired wizard's expression.

He's lying. Harry stiffened at the declaration and glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the accusation. His drumming heel stopped and he straightened from his lazy slouch. Brow furrowing in confusion, he scanned the chamber, his anxiety growing at finding himself very much alone except for Remus. He's lying, the growl was repeated, the simple statement ringing inside his skull.

Remus tipped his head, watching Harry carefully. "What's it saying?" He asked, smiling at the widening of the younger wizard's eyes. With an amused wag of his head, he slid his hands into his pockets and walked across the room, the heels of his boots scuffing across the boards.

Swallowing, Harry wrapped his fingers around the edge of the dresser, his nails biting into the hard wood. "What are you talking about?" He asked, hoping he appeared at least a little confused by the question. His wary gaze remained on Remus, his heart pounding within his chest as he drew a deep breath, silently waiting for that damning voice to make another appearance.

"The thing inside your head, what's it telling you?" Murmured Remus, halting in front of the narrow window and staring out at the city. His eyes may have been on the snow-covered streets of London, but his attention was on the younger wizard. The corners of his lips turned up wryly at Harry's continued silence; he'd lost him. He turned back to face the dark-haired male, the tight smile he wore fading as emerald orbs glared at him from the shadows. "I've played this game longer than you've lived, Harry, remember that."

Harry merely arched a dark brow, his heels resuming their rhythmic tattoo against the drawers.

Remus sighed and shook his head, striding toward the staircase. "Fine, we'll talk about this later, when you're ready." He halted with one foot hovering above the first stair, his gaze returning to where Harry sat, appearing every bit the rebellious young wizard perched arrogantly atop the chest of drawers. "Albus is waiting for you in the kitchen. Mind your manners," he added sharply, stiffening at the soft rumble that reverberated through the attic. Giving the younger male one last glare of warning, he turned and descended the stairs, leaving the door at the bottom ajar.

Harry stopped swinging his foot and straightened from his slouch, listening carefully to the departing footsteps of Remus. Only once he was certain he was alone did he slip from his perch and slink toward the stairwell, his entire body nearly quivering with excitement at the sight of the open door and the freedom beyond it. Sweeping the attic with a final cautious glance, he slid stealthily down the stairs and nudged the door at the bottom open further, peeking around its edge carefully.

His eyes swept the empty corridor, missing nothing. The position of each decorative table and portrait was noted and remembered almost absently, tucked away in the corner of his mind for future use. A sudden whiff of frying bacon had his stomach growling, the smell causing him to lick his lips hungrily and abandon his thorough examination of the hallway. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed his nose to the kitchen.

Molly gave a startled yelp at his sudden appearance in the kitchen, pressing one hand against her chest as she drew a calming breath. "Good morning, Harry," she said after a moment's hesitation, a forced smile curving her lips. Her eyes were wary as the young wizard dropped into a chair at the table. Without thinking, she brushed her apron pocket, feeling for the comforting length of her wand. Unbeknownst to her, the telling gesture had not gone unnoticed.

Since he didn't have anything nice to say, Harry reached for the plate full of food sitting in the center of the table and pulled it closer. His gaze flicked to where Molly hovered near the sink, the witch seeming uncertain about whether or not he should be left alone in the kitchen. Deciding to ignore her, he snagged a fork and began to shovel eggs into his mouth, slowing only when the door opened and Dumbledore shuffled into the room.

"Another wonderful breakfast, Molly," Dumbledore said softly, giving his stomach a satisfied pat. He offered the red-haired witch a reassuring smile as he turned to face Harry. The smile fell from his face at the feral glow in the emerald orbs locked on him, the twin spheres following his every movement. Unable to contain the weary sigh that slipped over his tongue, he drew out the chair opposite the dark-haired male, seating himself gingerly upon the hard wood. "I believe Arthur's waiting in the front den for you," he said over his shoulder to Molly, smoothing his bright scarlet robes as she chattered nervously behind him.

The polite dismissal was all the witch needed. After placing a teacup at Dumbledore's elbow, she fled the kitchen, the door swinging back and forth with the speed of her departure. Her absence brought immediate silence to the warm kitchen, the quiet broken only by the scrape of Harry's fork.

"Remus tells me we have a bit of a problem, my boy," Dumbledore said after several minutes, his gaze intent as he stared at Harry. He reached for the teacup next to his arm, curling his fingers around the warm porcelain as he waited for Harry to respond. The clock hanging above the stove ticked the seconds past, making the lengthening silence more marked. Somewhere within the house a door slammed, the thud causing the glasses in the cupboard to clink together.

Lowering his gaze from the ceiling, Harry stared at Dumbledore, one brow lifting in query. "I wouldn't say it's a problem, Professor," he said curtly, pushing his empty plate away after giving it a cursory swipe with his remaining quarter of toast. He jammed the hunk of bread into his mouth and chewed slowly, gauging the older wizard's response to his reply. Mouth finally empty, he ran his tongue over his lips, clearing away any lingering crumbs. "Problems generally have a solution." In a fluid movement, he rose and crossed to the fridge, hauling the door open and rifling through its contents.

"I don't believe you understand the exact ramifications of what has occurred, Harry." Dumbledore said slowly, turning his head to keep Harry in his line of sight. He watched the younger wizard closely, catching the telling tensing of his shoulders and the whitening of his knuckles on the handle of the fridge's door.

Drawing a calming breath, Harry loosened his grip on the handle of the fridge and snagged the carton of orange juice hidden behind the milk pitcher. "Nonsense, Professor," he muttered, stepping back and slamming the fridge door closed. He didn't bother to glance at Dumbledore as he unscrewed the cap on the orange juice bottle, his nose wrinkling at the strong smell of tangerine. Without bothering to get a glass, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow, deeming to elaborate on his answer only once he'd satisfied his thirst. "I think 'fucked' covers the entire situation quite nicely, don't you agree?"

A sharp cuff to the back of his head caught him completely off guard, nearly causing him to drop the bottle he held. With an outraged snarl he whirled around, his eyes flashing at finding Remus standing directly before him. His lips drew back from his teeth at the other male's proximity, a rumble of warning trickling over his tongue.

"I told you to mind your manners," Remus snapped, snatching the juice carton from Harry's hand and gesturing him back toward his chair. He worked to calm himself as he haphazardly slapped the lid back on the container and returned it to the fridge, biting his tongue to keep from yelling. When he was certain he'd be able to glare at the younger male without cursing, he turned around and moved to stand behind Dumbledore, peering over his head at Harry.

Eyes narrowed, Harry dropped back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Calm yourself, Remus," Dumbledore said quietly, lifting his teacup and taking a small sip. He watched the young wizard over the cup's rim, his mind churning worriedly. In one strike, Voldemort had dealt the Light a critical blow. And it couldn't have come at a worse time. With a soft sigh, he placed the teacup on the table and clasped his hands before him, aware of Remus' protective presence at his back. "I need you to tell me how this happened, Harry. It's very important that you not leave anything out, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you. Do you understand?"

If it wasn't for the flash of Remus' teeth, Harry would have rolled his eyes. "I went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione to finish my Christmas shopping," he began in a bored voice, "I was waiting for them when I heard a noise, so I went to investigate. It was coming from an alley – the one that runs between Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks . . . there were so many people around, I didn't think anything of it. It seemed safe enough." He halted there, his mind returning to that fateful day.

"Go on," Dumbledore urged, his countenance one of patient interest. Remus, on the other hand, watched Harry closely, appearing almost agitated at the slow pace of tale's telling.

Absently trailing a finger over a knot in the wood of the table, Harry drew a deep breath, his gaze locked on his circling digits. "There was a little boy, just sitting there crying. I told him I'd help him find his parents. He took my hand and then told me his father's name was 'Fenrir'. I couldn't pull away . . ." He gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if dismissing the entire incident.

"That's it?" Remus asked, appearing appalled that Harry had fell for the oldest trick in the book.

Hand stilling, Harry straightened, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of jade. "I could make it more interesting," he said in a growl, his meaning clear in the curling of his fingers.

"That's enough, both of you," Dumbledore said, interrupting the pair before they leapt at each other's throats. He studied the dark-haired wizard thoughtfully, his brow wrinkling. There had to be more than that, Harry had to be omitting some part of the story. "Did he say anything else to you? Anything at all?"

With a curl of his lips, Harry looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes and lied. "Nope." As long as they were organizing his life without his consent, he wasn't telling them anything of importance. Sure, he was probably only going to end up screwing himself over with this one, but he was feeling particularly vindictive at the moment. "Can I go now?" He asked, pushing his chair back in preparation to rise.

Appearing unconvinced, Remus shook his head. "That can't be it. He had to have said something else to you."

"Well, he didn't. But I'll tell you what, the next time I see him, I'll tell him how incredibly offended you were on my behalf that he didn't insult or threaten me in some manner," Harry shot back.

"Boys," Dumbledore said on a sigh. He couldn't help but shake his head, both at Harry's attitude and the lack of information he was able to garner from the brief interrogation. Deciding it was best to end the conversation; at least for the time being, he waved the younger wizard from the kitchen. "Try and stay out of trouble," he called at the swinging door.

Rolling his eyes at the order, Harry stalked down the corridor until he came to the door of the room that shared a wall with the kitchen. He didn't think twice about entering the chamber quietly and slinking toward the far wall. After giving the room a quick scan, he sank down behind a couch and stared at the faded wallpaper, patiently waiting for the pair of wizard's beyond the old brick to resume their conversation. His lips lifted in satisfaction at the soft murmurs, his ears easily distinguishing each word.

"He'll need to be watched." Dumbledore, his to voice uncommonly grim. "I don't believe this was a completely random occurrence. That boy was there specifically to turn Harry. What I don't understand is why. What could Voldemort possibly be planning?"

"Perhaps he's simply trying to decry Harry." Remus, sounding morally outraged.

"Maybe." Dumbledore, sounding unconvinced.

"I can find out."

Harry sat up, intrigued by the thread of excitement he could hear in the older wizard's voice. What was going through Remus' head that would cause such a reaction?

"I can hunt Fenrir down and ask him." Yeah, that would do it.

"I don't believe that's necessary at this time. For now, my concerns lay with Harry. This is a delicate time for him, Remus. We must handle him carefully while he makes this adjustment."

"Perhaps he shouldn't return to Hogwarts . . . one word from the wrong person could end badly."

The very thought of not returning to Hogwarts had Harry growling softly. He gained his feet fluidly, crushing the urge to return to the kitchen and pummel Remus until he could no longer make stupid suggestions. Instead, he drew a calming breath before turning and leaving the room. With nothing to do, he simply wandered Grimmauld Place, lost in thoughts of the past.

Eleven hours later he was woken from a fitful doze to the cry of, "Dinner". Swiping a hand over his face, he sat up slowly and peered around the attic, his eyes piercing the darkness with ease. He wasn't surprised to find himself alone; it was a state he was beginning to accept. With a twist of his lips, he rolled off the cot and headed downstairs, his nose leading him to the large dining room directly across from the kitchen. His eyes widened at the crowd that milled around the long room, the crush of people nearly enough to send him back to the attic. Unfortunately, his retreat was halted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," Remus growled into his ear, giving him no option but to square his shoulders and step into the room.

His appearance caused a lull in the conversation, all eyes locking on him suspiciously. Shoulders drooping, Harry attempted to shrug out from under Remus' guiding hand, barely unable to curb the snarl that rumbled within his throat. Clamping his teeth together, he allowed himself to be escorted to a chair between Severus and Arthur; Remus claiming the seat directly across from him. Harry glowered at him across a tureen of gravy, his fingers clenched in his lap.

"Potatoes, Harry?" Arthur asked cheerfully, a massive spoon of mashed potatoes hovering over Harry's plate. Without bothering to wait for a response, he placed a heaping spoonful onto the younger wizard's plate, talking happily to himself the entire time.

"Why not," Harry mumbled, allowing himself to be served. He cast a baleful glance down the table, catching Ron's hateful gaze with his own. Baring his teeth in parody of a smile, he picked up his fork and buried it in the pile of peas Arthur had liberally added to his plate. He couldn't help but resent the atmosphere in the room; everyone fairly bursting with Christmas cheer and good wishes. As the meal progressed he was left to his own thoughts -- left to stew about everything that had happened since his arrival at Grimmauld Place. His anger grew with every spoonful of potatoes that crossed his lips. Was this how he was to be treated for the rest of his life? Like a bad puppy that had tinkled on the new rug?

Lowering his fork, he glared at Remus, watching as the older male chatted quietly with Molly Weasley. Remus was allowed to wander the streets without a handler, free of the prosecution Harry had received from those he once considered friends. No longer able to play at being civil, the dark-haired male rose, his sudden movement turning all heads in his direction. Giving no excuse for his abrupt departure, he left the room quietly, returning to his haven in the attic. There, he paced angrily back and forth, pausing only to kick a crumpled ball of paper that had appeared in his path. He stiffened as the ball skittered across the floor, his eyes following it into the shadows. Without a second thought, he chased after it, unfolding and smoothing the wrinkles as he carefully reread the messy scrawl.

When you're tired of playing lapdog, come and see me.

Harry drew a deep breath as he considered the invitation. Fenrir Greyback may have been as loopy as Trewlaney, but he did have a point. Harry had options. Ones he'd never before considered. But maybe it was time to start considering those options . . . planning his future as it were. Smiling to himself, he sprawled across his cot and read that note over and over again by the light of the moon.

XxXxX

Harry spent the remainder of his break in the attic, using his time to dig through forgotten trunks and riffling through pieces of Grimmauld Place's broken past. He rarely joined the house's other occupants for meals, preferring instead to eat alone in the attic. His mind never seemed to rest, constantly considering what he would do when he got back to Hogwarts - away from the watchful eyes of Remus Lupin.

That thing that voiced its opinion from deep within his head offered its own suggestions, noting the pros and cons of every idea Harry had. Where at first it had startled him to hear thoughts that weren't quite his own echoing within his head, he had grown to appreciate them, even accept them. The day he realized he was nodding in agreement with something it had said, he began to wonder if he was, perhaps, spending just a little too much time by himself. The voice assured him he wasn't. He begged to differ, but didn't bother to seek out the company of anyone residing in the house, knowing they would only stare at him suspiciously. Instead, he set himself to reorganizing the attic, claiming it as his own.

It was a Monday night, the night before the day they were to return to Hogwarts, that his 'organizing' was interrupted. So absorbed was he in his self-appointed task, that he failed to notice he had a guest. It wasn't until the individual gave a light rap on the wall at the top of the stairs that he realized he was no longer alone.

Stiffening at the soft tap, he inhaled deeply and then straightened in surprise, withdrawing his head and shoulders from the seemingly bottomless trunk he'd been rifling through. Fingers tightening on the edge of the trunk, he slowly glanced in the direction of the stairwell, his face carefully blank. "Come in," he said quietly, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

Curiousity had him watching his visitor with interested orbs, wondering what business the bushy-haired witch could possibly have with him. His lips curled in amusement as Hermione narrowed her eyes and searched the darkened chamber for him, her brow furrowing in concentration. Smile fading, he rose liquidly, the sudden movement causing Hermione to jump and gasp loudly, a hand rising to rest over her fluttering heart.

"Harry, you scared me," she scolded, staring at the wizard's silent form. She attempted a smile and failed miserably, her eyes unable to maintain the cheerful image she was trying to project. Her face fell and she sighed sadly, staring pityingly at the dark-haired wizard. "Oh, Harry. Why didn't you tell me?"

A bitter smile curved Harry's lips and a harsh scoff slipped over his tongue before he was able to suppress it. "That would have gone over well," he said, sarcasm adding a bite to the softly spoken words.

Frowning, Hermione shuffled carefully in Harry's direction, her narrowed eyes sweeping the shadows before her in search of hazards hidden by the darkness. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, finally halting before the raven-haired wizard and placing a hand on her hip. She glared up into twin emerald orbs that glimmered eerily, that strange shimmer enough to raise the hair at the nape of her neck and increase the steady beat of her heart. Her body tensed when Harry stretched a hand toward her face, his fingers stopping just above her cheek

Offering the witch a half-hearted smile, Harry removed the offensive digits. "You're afraid of me," he murmured, "I can smell it."

Staring at the raven-haired wizard through wide eyes, Hermione shook her head sadly. "I don't mean to be," she confessed in a whisper. With a soft sigh, she turned and trudged across the attic, absently fiddling with the cuff of the sweater she wore. Thoughtlessly, she seated herself on the edge of Harry's cot, her eyes locked on the toes of her slippers.

Harry peered at the dejected looking witch from his place in the shadows, his fingers curling as he fought down the urge to hit something. Drawing a deep breath, he skulked over to the cot and sat down beside Hermione, resting his hands on his knees. "It'll be okay," he said, reaching over and tentatively patting her on the shoulder. Before he could withdraw his hand, the witch slid closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug.

"Yes, it will be," she said, drawing back and bravely meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Sirius and Remus and your father. No matter what happens, we'll always be friends."

Harry returned her wide smile with a small grin, silently pondering the witch's optimism. "What about Ron?" He asked, rising and pacing to the attic window. He rested his hands on the sill as he stared out into the night, allowing the visible sliver of moon to soothe him. Despite the conviction in her tone, he wondered if she'd be saying the same thing in five days time, when they were back at Hogwarts amidst their schoolmates.

"Oh, Ron can just go fuck himself," Hermione said with a dismissive flutter of one hand.

Harry's mouth fell open at the witch's language, a startled laugh escaping him. Giving his head a light shake, he sighed heavily and walked back to the cot, flopping down gracelessly next to Hermione. "Do you really think it will be that easy, 'Mione?" He wondered out loud, turning his head to peer sadly up at the witch.

Hermione returned Harry's sad stare, giving a small shake of her head. "No, I don't," she answered truthfully.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Neither do I," he mumbled. For a moment, the pair sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Harry's soft chuckle that broke the silence, his eyes opening to meet Hermione's curious gaze. "I may not have Ron, but there's always Malfoy. He'll never be able to leave this one alone."

With a delighted laugh, Hermione rose. "That's the way, Harry, think positive thoughts," she returned jovially, crossing cautiously to the attic stairs. Halting with a hand on the wall, she peered back through the shadows at the wizard's still form, a small smile playing across her lips. "Goodnight, Harry." She shook her head at his wave of farewell and slipped quietly down the stairs, the attic door closing softly behind her.

His eyes still closed, Harry tracked the witch's path with his ears, the rhythmic patter of her feet taking her all the way to the bedchamber she was sharing with Ginny on the second floor. He was able to hear the redheaded witch's voice rising in greeting, but unable to determine exactly what passed between the pair as they readied themselves for bed. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he rolled over onto his stomach and curled his arms beneath his head, listening wearily as Grimmauld Place fell silent.

It was really too early to even guess at what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts. And Harry had only one chance to prove he could control not only himself, but the wolf currently residing within his head. Praying that he would master the beast by then, Harry closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, his last thoughts of a blond haired Slytherin who knew more than he should.

A/n: Thank you for the wonderful reviews, and my apologies for the long wait.