Disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Chapter III: Instincts

All week, Harry had felt more than a little on edge.

It wasn't that he was being threatened, precisely, more that his body told him to be on guard. He'd been at Hogwarts for nearly a week, and the long stretches of corridors with only two exits, constantly having his back to at least a dozen people and never quite being alone was beginning to fray his senses.

He saw threats everywhere. The boy barreling out of the Gryffindor Common Room as Harry was coming in would never know how close he was to meeting a sticky end. Harry's wand was half out of its holster when he realized what he was about to do. This was Hogwarts! There were no enemies at Hogwarts, it was just a normal wizarding school full of normal witches and wizards.

No matter how many times he told himself that, he could never quite believe it. The Boy who Lived was not a fool, despite his unusual speech patterns and ignorance of social customs. He knew that there were people in the school who hated him. Despised him, even, though he knew not why. They hid it well, admittedly, but Harry had not spent the last decade twiddling his thumbs.

It was almost legilimency, what he did. He would look someone in the eyes and barriers would be broken. Your eyes never lied. So Harry knew when someone hated him, as surely as he knew the sun was rising when he saw the dawn break over the horizon. There were at least a dozen students with eyes like that, but most of them were what he would expect from teenagers. There were a few exceptions.

There were people in Hogwarts with eyes that smoldered with hatred. The kind of hate you see only on the battlefield, in the eyes of men whose brothers had just died in their arms. Hate usually reserved for people who have had a long and prosperous life of killing.

Harry couldn't blame them, actually. He had been a soldier for a full decade, and killing was part of his job. There were people that would not be taken alive, though alive was the usual preference, and there were people that needed to be removed from the world. At least, that's what the Ministry always told him.

As he left the Great Hall for his Friday routine, he remembered the time he'd been called to a regal manor to deal with a group of muggle-killers who had holed up in there. He was 14 at the time. The manor was owned by a muggle family, and the renegade wizards made no secret of the fact that they had killed them. The mom and dad were first, they tried to make the kids choose who would die. The kids were too young to be violated sexually, thank Merlin, and were spared a long and horrible death. The killing curse was painless, Harry had been told, although there was nothing painless about the way the dead muggles were tied to the ramparts.

Harry had wasted no time when the orders came down to terminate the enemy force. He had leveled that house of marble and stone, bringing it down on those hateful people and crushing them under a mountain of rock. Their screams were short. A quick death was the only luxury that Harry knew how to afford an enemy.

Once you kill someone, your outlook on life is irreversibly changed. Harry had killed his first wizard when he was 8 years old, when a band of death eaters had gotten wind of Harry's location and attempted to murder him in his room in the middle of the night. The cutting curse had nearly split one of the men in two, and he had undergone weeks of unnecessary psychological counseling to make sure he was not insane. After all, what 8 year old boy runs to the aid of his teachers in a surprise attack? And what 8 year old boy could kill a man and go back to sleep within a half hour?

Harry had been well trained. Even as young as 8, he had known that he would kill men, many men. It mattered not to Harry that the man had a family. It mattered not that the man had friends, or money or power. What mattered was that the man was trying to murder people, and the Boy who Lived would never lose sleep over a man like that. He felt ... strangely fulfilled when he killed that man. That was a man that would never attack his family or his teachers again. And that made Harry feel better. He was protecting people in the only way he knew how.

After another moderately difficult swim, Harry waved himself dry and ate breakfast again at the Faculty table. He had grown up around his teachers, and the fact that the professors at Hogwarts were inviting him up to the table on a daily basis was very much appreciated by the green-eyed 6th year. It brought a sense of normality to his otherwise altered life. He was out of his element, and these professors went out of their way to make sure he wasn't feeling like an outsider.

"So Harry, what do you think of Hogwarts thus far?" Asked Headmaster Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in usual fashion. Harry hadn't seen him since he was 12 years old, and the man hadn't changed at all. It was strangely comforting.

Harry answered honestly, "I feel constantly on edge, Sir. Like there is someone out there waiting for the right moment to strike, and I have to be ready for them. I know it's foolish, but my instincts are telling me that something is about to happen. Something big. Perhaps it's because I am here, where there shouldn't be anything very dangerous. Perhaps my mind is making it all up. It's possible that I have not yet adjusted to my surroundings, this might be my mind's way of telling me to keep my eyes open."

His green eyes looked thoughtful for a moment, then they snapped back into clarity. "It will not interfere with my mission. I will deal with this."

Ron and Hermione met him for lunch, eating at the far end of the table where there was nobody to interrupt. "You say you feel on edge?" Ron asked in a hushed whisper. "What does that mean?"

Harry responded, "I don't know. It could just be the unfamiliar surroundings, but I have been feeling very tense over the last several days. I have been trained to operate at a very high level of stress for up to one week, but after that my level of awareness begins to deteriorate to unacceptable levels. I'm not certain how much longer this feeling will last, but I've got 3 days to find out."

Hermione asked the next question. "You say 'operate at a very high level of stress', but what does that mean? It sounds to me like you're saying you have relaxed in 4 days." She looked very serious, her brown eyes boring into Harry's green ones. He checked his watch.

"Almost. I have slept 50 minutes during the last 102 hours, broken up into 2 25-minute sleep cycles once every other day. It will begin to wear me down at about 150 hours, but I will maintain a suitable level of awareness until then. So far I have found nothing that would lead me to believe that any of us are in any unusual amount of danger, but I have to trust my instincts." Harry rubbed the back of his head automatically, looking quite alert for such a long time without a decent amount of sleep.

Ron just shot him a look that bordered on disbelief. "You've been up for 4 days with less than an hour's sleep because you feel like something's about to happen? Merlin's balls, Harry, you've got nothing to worry about! Voldemort is dead, you killed him yourself. His lackeys are either hiding or in Azkaban getting four-star treatment from the dementors. There is no reason for you to push yourself like this. Dumbledore is here, you know. He's not too shabby in the magical power department. It's his job to make sure nothing happens to us, and I think he's done a capital job so far."

The redhead reached up slowly and patted Harry on the back. Very slowly. The first time he tried to slap Harry on the back, he got his shoulder dislocated. Harry apologized profusely, but Ron just shrugged it off. Madam Pomfrey had it fixed up good as new within the hour, anyway. It was a sign of just how long Harry had been surviving without friends to speak of. Sure, he had his fellow soldiers, but were those really friends? Ron wasn't too sure, if an innocent thing like a pat on the back could be mistaken for a threat.

Slowly but surely, Harry was showing signs of progress. He could half-smile, but only with the right side of his mouth. It came out looking more like a smirk because it didn't reach his eyes, but Ron knew better than to comment. The redheaded boy had to move very slowly so Harry could consciously suppress his usual automatic reaction when someone touched him.

"I know just the thing to take your mind off of this rubbish. Follow me." Ron stood up with a grin and walked quickly out of the Great Hall. Hermione and Harry followed him, both curious.

"It's not very new, but it will get you in the air. D'you know how to fly?" Ron asked, proudly offering Harry his Comet 260 broomstick. It was meticulously cleaned, but Harry could tell that it was indeed quite old. Brooms were something of a hobby to Harry, he would spend quite a good portion of his free time looking through issues of Which Broomstick? and learning everything he could about them.

Harry took the broom and nodded. "I have some flying experience, nothing professional. 0 to 70 in 10 seconds, lists slightly to the right with heavy use, due to an improperly balanced tail. Good rate of ascension, great cornering ability, good top speed and acceleration. It appears you take excellent care of it." Thanking Ron, the Boy who Lived mounted the broom and took off into the clear blue sky.

Looping, corkscrewing, diving headfirst towards the ground, Harry never knew such freedom as he had on a broomstick. The world was so much smaller when viewed from the back of a broom, as if anywhere you wanted to be was just around the corner. It was wonderful. The Boy who Lived could almost forget that something felt terribly wrong at Hogwarts.

That night, surprisingly, there was no party in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron helped his girlfriend through the portrait door and whined. "Hermione, would you PLEASE let me borrow your Charms notes? I've learned my lesson, the homework is due tomorrow, I'll never forget my quill again, just have mercy!" The redheaded boy was on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. He appeared on the verge of tears, sniffing dramatically as he begged his girlfriend for help.

With an exasperated sigh, Hermione relented. "I know better than to believe you when you say it's the last time, because that's what you say every time, but alright. You can borrow my notes, Ron, so get up off of the floor already. But don't even think of asking me to do it for you, that was a one-time thing because you were in the hospital wing!" She glared down at him imperiously, offering her hand. He took it like it was a lifeline in a raging storm, you could almost see the salvation radiating off of her.

Ron stood again, hugging her tightly and affirming her. "You're a life saver, the most brilliant witch who ever lived, the best girlfriend in the world, a wonderful example of human kindness, a fantastic kisser-"

"That's enough, Ron!" Hermione flushed crimson, shushing her boyfriend and muttering under her breath about how flattery wouldn't get him anywhere. "My notes are upstairs. Don't move a muscle, don't speak a word until I get back!" She pointed an accusatory finger, daring him to disobey her. That said, she positively sprinted up the stairs towards her dormitory.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ron let out a wistful sigh and said more to himself than Harry. "She really is great, you know. I'm not just saying that because she's saving my grades or anything. I wonder what she ever saw in a bloke like me, when she's got so much going for her." He put his hands to his face, rubbing harshly as he vented a little of his frustration. "And all I seem to do is steal her notes, waster her time and hold her back. I could've done that without being her boyfriend. I suppose I'm being selfish, aren't I? I mean, there are much better blokes out there who would be thrilled to be going with a girl as good as Hermione, blokes that would definitely make her happy. But I can't let her go... What can I do?"

Harry blinked, peering at his redheaded friend blankly. Ron chuckled, "And why am I asking you? I'm sorry for letting out on you like that, I usually don't talk to blokes about things other than Quidditch. I just get the feeling that she's way too good for me. That she deserves better, and I can't give it to her. That's a really depressing feeling, believe me." The redheaded 6th year looked at him, suddenly serious. "You're better, you know. I wouldn't take it very hard if she left me for you. I might even be okay with it, as long as she was happy."

Shaking his head, Harry answered his friend in his signature monotone. "I was not instructed to become attached to any individuals, and it would not be advantageous to occupy my mind unnecessarily."

Harry tentatively raised his hand and clasped it on Ron's shoulder, imitating the motion that the redhead had used on him. In a much more quiet voice, the Boy who Lived continued, "I have no prior experience to draw on, but it is my understanding that a girl will not become attached to you because of who you might become someday. She will become attached to you because of who you are now. You are Ron Weasley, and that is why Hermione is attached to you."

Ron stared at Harry with an unreadable expression, a full minute dragged by before he spoke. "Bloody hell, Harry. You make it sound so simple." He paused again, a small smile coming to his freckled face. "And maybe it is. Thanks, mate. I guess I needed to hear that."

A comfortable silence stretched out between them for a short while, where nothing could be or needed to be said. Harry sat down in an armchair next to the fireplace, and Ron took up the pose that he had when Hermione left.

Sure enough, the bushy-haired Gryffindor came bolting back down the stairs panting hard. "Buried, as usual. Alright, here you are." She pushed a large notebook with worn edges into Ron's eager hands, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. "Do your homework and maybe we can ... study later in the library." She winked brightly, then spun on her heel and walked over to where Harry was sitting.

Crouching down next to the armchair and speaking in a hushed voice, Hermione informed him, "Sorry that took so long, Harry. I was just talking to Ginny, she locked herself in her room. Apparently a 6th year Ravenclaw has taken a liking to her and been a little too forceful in telling her about it. He hit her, Harry, and now she's scared to go out alone. I know you just ate, but could you take her to the Great Hall so she will eat something? She missed lunch, she must be famished by now."

Nodding, Harry made his way over to the steps up to the female dormitories. No sooner had his foot come down on the first step up than the entire stairway went flat, causing his foot to slip back down to ground level again. Perplexed, Harry stepped backwards. The stairway reverted back to its original form. He squinted, examining the strange wards.

Interesting.

Before Hermione remembered that boys couldn't go up to the girl's dormitories, Harry put his hand on the wall. A hot pulse of magical energy hit her, powerful enough to make her flinch even from halfway across the common room. Her breath caught in her throat as she spun around to face the stairway. It was the same thing she had felt when Harry filled the Transfiguration corridor with those horrid spikes.

But upon closer inspection, Hermione didn't notice anything different about the stairway. Nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary. Then Harry started up the stairs again.

Hermione could only stare as the Boy who Lived climbed the steps, which were amazingly still steps, to the girl's dorm.

Ginny was having a horrid day. First she woke up with a butterbeer hangover. The sickly sweet aftertaste in her mouth didn't help her headache, although hangover was too strong a term to use in conjunction with the drink. It was only slightly more alcoholic than pure water, after all! Still, this was a much fiercer hangover than the butterbeer should have given her.

After cleaning herself up and running a hot bath, which she promptly fell asleep in, she ran through the hallways and reached her Charms class a full hour late. Professor Flitwick was not happy, but he didn't punish her too severely when he saw that she hadn't even dried her hair.

Several of the girls laughed at her, pointing rudely. She knew she didn't look terribly attractive with wet hair, but they didn't have to rub it in! She grit her teeth in frustration. Then she caught Harry looking at her curiously. Her face went scarlet and she buried her head in her hands. Of course he'd be looking, he always saw her at her least glamorous. Images from the night before flooded through her head, causing her to blush an even deeper shade of red. Someone must've slipped something in her drink, there was no way she would've done that sober.

So she faked a stomachache, left class immediately and headed to the Hospital Wing for a hangover potion. Madam Pomfrey was discreet, and knew not to make a fuss about such things.

One top-notch hangover potion later, she found herself practically skipping back to Gryffindor House. Everyone was at lunch already, but she was hangover-free and her hair had dried. She didn't think anything could bring her spirits down just now. "Ginny?" Came a timid voice from a dark alcove next to her.

Curious, she answered, "Yeah. Who's there?" She slowed to a stop and waited for a reply.

A tall boy with dark wavy hair materialized in front of her, almost startling her. She'd seen him before in her Quidditch matches, he was a beater for Ravenclaw. What was his name, Cobber? Corning? Crony?

"It's Micheal Corner, you remember me don't you?" He asked hopefully, almost seeming hurt by her silence.

It clicked in her head. "Right! I almost had it, sorry 'bout that. What can I do for you, Mr. Corner?" She said cheerily, taking no note of his rapidly coloring cheeks.

"Well that's the thing, isn't it..." Micheal muttered. "You see..., I mean..." He sighed, frustrated. "Look, I like you. I really like you a lot, and was wondering, hoping, you would go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow!" He blurted out, quite a bit more loudly than absolutely necessary.

Ginny blinked, then backpedaled in her mind frantically. She had never had a conversation with this boy before, and he was asking her on a date? She wasn't the type to humiliate someone who had worked up the nerve to ask her out, but she'd be mad to just blindly agree to something like that!

She stammered, "Well, I don't exactly know you, do I? I mean, I know your name, but that's about all. You're a decent beater, broke up a couple of our plays in last years match, but I really don't know you well enough for something like this. Let's start a little slower, Micheal?" Going a little red herself, she was once again reminded how much she hated turning people down. It made her feel cruel seeing the hurt look on his face.

The hurt was quickly replaced by something else. Anger. She could feel it building, charging the air around them with a sort of electric intensity.

"What?" Micheal hissed, his eyes boring into her. Ginny felt awfully small, standing before the muscular beater. He was at least 6 feet tall, too, and that didn't help her much. "So that's it? You're just going to reject me without even giving me a chance? I thought you'd understand!" He was straining to remain motionless, but the veins were bulging clearly on his neck.

He seethed, "Fine! Go back to your precious sodding Potter, he's only in it for the shag anyway! Merlin knows he's heard enough stories to know you're hard up for it!"

Ginny was a rational woman, with a knack for staying calm in otherwise chaotic situations. True, she had her famous Weasley temper, but it was kept firmly in check most of the time. But for some reason, the idea of this boy calling her a whore and saying Harry Potter was just trying to get in her knickers really pissed her off, especially the part about Harry. She could shrug off just about anything that was said about her as long as it was false, but how dare he insult the man who had saved the Wizarding World?

A scowl crossed her face, she reared back and slapped Micheal ringingly. "Don't you talk about Harry like that!" She shouted at him before she could stop herself. Inwardly, she berated herself. Micheal was a lot bigger than her brothers...

A moment of silence stretched out between them, supercharging the air with tense anticipation. Micheal lifted his hand to his cheek disbelievingly. "You..." His jaw clenched. He balled up his fist and backhanded her. "You bitch! How could you do this to me?!"

The force of the blow sent Ginny toppling over backwards onto the hard granite floor. Her vision swam, motes of light appeared at the corners of her vision. The blow was accompanied by a wet popping sound that reverberated in her skull. Her jaw seemed loose, like someone had disconnected all the muscles from it and let it swing freely under her head. Reaching her hand up to gently touch the area, she cried out in pain as the sudden pressure rubbed bone against bone. He had dislocated her jaw.

Micheal's voice lost all of its fury when he heard her cry of pain. "Dammit! I'm so sorry, Ginny, I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't mean to do that just now, I just get so angry... You made me so angry..." Micheal stammered, staring wide-eyed down at her prone form as she tenderly held her jaw. Her lip was beginning to swell from the impact of the blow. "Here, let me help you up." He reached down to help her back on her feet, and she shrank away from him.

Cringing, he backed off a step. This wasn't how he planned it, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She would accept his offer, they'd go on a date, get to know each other and spend long nights up on the astronomy tower. What had he done? He turned on his heel and stomped off down the hallway. He was so angry at himself, at Ginny... He needed to clear his head before he talked to her again.

Madam Pomfrey was understandably surprised to see Ginny Weasley walking back into the Hospital Wing so soon. Especially once she saw the dark bruise on the left side of her mouth, accented with a small trickle of blood coming from her lip. "Good heavens, child! What happened?"

Ginny looked at the matronly woman and shook her head, tears spilling down the sides of her cheeks. The pain had dulled to a pulsing throb, but it still hurt too much to speak. So she pointed to her jaw, then balled up a fist and slapped her open hand over it making a loud thwack! sound.

The brown-haired medi-witch knew the sign language Ginny was using, and her face darkened. "I'll get you fixed up, Ms. Weasley, and when you feel like talking you just tell me that bastard's name." She ushered the 5th year Gryffindor to a vacant bed and pulled up a tray of potions.

So when a polite knock came on the wooden door of Ginny's room, she was understandably irritated about it. "For the last time, Hermione, just leave me alone! I can sort my own problems out, so stop mothering me!"

A distinctly masculine yet monotonous voice came through the door. "It's Harry. I am here to escort you to dinner." He said simply.

Ginny stared at the door, unknowing or uncaring that she couldn't see Harry through it. "What?" She asked weakly.

"It's Harry. I am here to escort you to dinner." With a series of clicks every single one of her locks, magical or muggle, was opened. Harry turned the knob and pushed on the door, making eye contact with the youngest Weasley. "Hermione said that a boy was bothering you, so I will accompany you at dinner tonight."

Ginny's mind reeled. She could have killed Hermione for meddling, but she could have kissed her too! She'd have to get changed, she wasn't dressed for company. Her low-cut sleeping gown and a pair of fuzzy green slippers were all she had on, in fact. She looked down and saw how much of her chest was exposed to the boy who somehow made it up to the girl's dormitory. As her mind accepted her current state of undress, she screamed, "Close the door, Harry!" and covered her chest protectively.

Harry nodded, stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. He turned and looked at her expectantly.

Ginny was so apoplectic she could have throttled him. Was he only pretending to be this dense, or did people like him actually exist?! "No! You wait outside!" She barked at him, throwing pillows at him until the door was shut firmly behind him. Panting, she collapsed on her bed and covered her face in her pillow, emitting a frustrated, muffled scream as she kicked her legs.

Outside, Harry stood rigidly and wondered what had brought on the sudden barrage of pillows and shouting. Had he done something wrong again? He knit his brow in concern and pondered.

Less than five minutes later, a much more clothed and faintly blushing Ginny Weasley peeked out of her room cautiously. Harry was still standing rigidly, waiting for her. He was even facing outward, as if guarding her door. He was so serious, and looked so much like an Auror it was almost comical! Despite her best efforts, she giggled. Her apprehension dissipated like a morning fog. He turned and made eye contact. "Are you ready?"

Ginny nodded through her bubbling laughter, falling in behind Harry as he led the way down the stairs again. He paused at the bottom, touching the steps before they left for the Great Hall.

Ginny received quite a few stares walking through the door right behind Harry, already she could hear the rumors start to circulate. By tomorrow morning, who knows what gossips would be saying about Harry and her?

They hadn't run into Micheal yet, thankfully, and Ginny wanted nothing more than to wolf down her food and leave as soon as possible. She sat down close to the entrance and Harry sat down right next to her.

There was nobody on either side of them for at least five feet, which Harry approved of. He sat close enough to Ginny to be within arms reach, but far enough away that he could maneuver if he needed to.

Plates of food popped into existence in front of them, and Ginny picked up her fork hungrily. She hadn't eaten lunch today, so her stomach rumbled loudly upon smelling the Salisbury steak and mince pies that filled the table in front of her. Harry merely stared blankly off into space. It was a little disconcerting, she could feel his eyes sweep over her every few seconds even though she could clearly see that his eyes weren't moving. Shaking her head, she cut off a chunk of steak and chewed it quickly.

Harry saw a Ravenclaw enter the Great Hall and approach the Gryffindor table where they were seated. Highly irregular behavior for a member of his house, and his eyes were focused entirely on Ginny. It was highly probable that this was the boy that Hermione spoke of.

The boy, who was quite tall for a student, stopped behind the youngest Weasley. Harry didn't stop him, as he wasn't physically touching her or threatening her. Yet. "Ginny, look. I need to apologize for the way I acted today, there was no call for it."

Ginny stiffened at the sound of his voice, but otherwise did not respond.

"C'mon Ginny, don't be cruel. I mean it, I never meant to hurt you at all. Things just happened so fast, you have to believe me. I wanted it to be different!"

Her flame-red hair obscured her face completely from Micheal Corner. "Will you please just listen to me!" He protested, and Ginny finally had enough.

Without turning her head, she said, "Micheal, whatever you thought there could have been between us, there's no chance that it'll happen now. Just leave me alone, please." Her shoulders were shaking, whether from anger or sadness Harry couldn't tell.

This was not the answer Micheal was looking for. He'd just embarrassed himself in front of most of the students and some of the teachers at Hogwarts, and by tomorrow everyone would know about it. His temper flared. Nobody spoke like that to him!

He reached out to grab her shoulder, to turn her around and show her why nobody made a fool of Micheal Corner.

Only his hand never reached her. Harry had intercepted his arm at the wrist, stopping it cold.

Micheal hesitated, shocked that the Boy who Lived had managed to snatch his hand out of the air. Shocked that the green-eyed boy was substantially stronger than he looked. And most of all, shocked that no matter how he struggled Harry's grip never loosened in the slightest.

Ginny wasn't the only one to notice this struggle. Nearly every head in the Great Hall was swiveled around to watch the exchange.

"She asked you to leave." Harry said patiently, squeezing Micheal's wrist a little tighter and then letting him go. The Ravenclaw beater felt his bones creak dangerously as a thin dagger of pain lanced his forearm. He drew his arm back reflexively. "It's time for you to do as she asked." There was no malice, no anger at all in his voice. He might have been discussing the latest exchange rates from Gringotts, for all the emotion in his voice. His eyes were another story.

They were blazing emerald orbs, raw power seemed to radiate from them. Ginny caught herself staring and couldn't bring herself to look anywhere else. It wasn't rage that she saw in his eyes, but an entirely overwhelming sense of control. As if he could tell the sun not to rise in the morning and it would obey without question.

Micheal either didn't see it or didn't care. No sooner had he regained his senses then he swung down at the Boy who Lived. Harry's open palm instantly met with the Ravenclaw's sternum, and the contact sent a searing pulse of magical energy outward like a thunderclap.

Micheal flew backwards, impacting the Hufflepuff table and crashing into plates and goblets. He rolled over the table and off the other side. A surprised cry came from an onlooker who was grazed by the head of the 6 foot tall beater. Micheal hit the floor with a muted thud and didn't move at all. If Ginny didn't know better, she'd assume he was hit with a full-body bind curse. Corner remained completely motionless, and Harry swept his eyes over the nearby students. "Leave him." He said to them. Nobody lifted a finger to help the fallen Ravenclaw.

Ginny noticed he still wasn't moving, and although she knew it was foolish of her she was worried that the blow might have seriously injured the boy. "Harry, why isn't Micheal moving? We should take him to the hospital wing." She whispered, hoping nobody could hear the concern in her voice.

"Don't worry about him. I used a paralyzing curse. He will not die from this." Ginny was a little worried about that. Nothing said about pain or broken bones or internal damage, just that he wouldn't die? She shuddered involuntarily.

Harry looked at her seriously. "He attacked you. You should not concern yourself with his well-being. Please eat, Ginny." He motioned to her food, which had barely been touched.

The youngest Weasley looked at him with a sense of wonder. She didn't understand how he could be so calm after something like that. Her hands were shaking from the adrenaline flowing through her veins, and he was calmly telling her to eat something?

Allowing herself a small smile, she picked up her fork with a trembling hand and dug into her Salisbury steak again. Although she couldn't really explain why, she felt like she understood the Boy who Lived a little better now.

Strangely enough, the three professors that witnessed the exchange didn't even appear to notice it. Ginny knew they couldn't have missed Micheal Corner being tossed casually over the Hufflepuff table, but for some unexplained reason they chose to look the other way. It must be nice being Harry Potter, getting away with such a sound thrashing scot-free.

As they left the Great Hall, Ginny waited until they were safely around the corner before she said, "Harry, wait a minute."

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning around and looking at Ginny. "What do you want me to do?" He said, waiting patiently for her to make her purpose clear to him. If she had requests, he'd do his best to follow them without compromising his primary objectives.

"Just ... wait." She said. Well, waiting was something that Harry was quite proficient in.

Taking a step closer to the black-haired 6th year, she could feel her heartbeat speeding up again. She could make out the scent of his shampoo, as plain as it was, and his slow, steady breathing. Her brilliant red hair fell in cascades against his chest, and he made no move to back away from her.

"I just wanted to say thank you for saving me." Slowly, she lifted her arms and put her hands on his shoulders, which tensed up immediately but subsequently relaxed. She pulled his head down and tilted her head up to meet his.

Harry felt her lips brush against his cheek, a wave of electricity shot out from the point of contact, causing a shiver to run up his spine. It was brief, but Harry raised his hand to the spot. His face confirmed he was more than a little shocked.

"So thank you, Mr. Potter." Ginny breathed, letting go of him.

Unbidden, the corners of his mouth turned up very slightly as soothing warmth spread through his face. He wasn't entirely certain what this warmth meant, but it felt very pleasant.

"Harry, you just smiled." she whispered, brushing past him with a grin and continuing up to the Gryffindor Common room.

Harry stayed rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the place Ginny just vacated, his hand still on his cheek.

Ginny hummed herself a quiet tune as she topped the last flight of stairs on her way to the portrait hole.

The morning had started out terribly and gotten worse, but all things considered it was a damn fine day. And tomorrow should be even better. The notion brought a wide smirk to her face.

The portrait smiled at her knowingly. "It's nice to see that you've had a decent night, dear. Password?" Suddenly, the woman in the portrait gasped, looking over Ginny's shoulder. That was all the warning she had.

She heard a reedy voice say, "Stupefy!" and darkness enveloped her.

A short while later, Harry was still motionless standing outside the Great Hall. He saw a white translucent creature fly through the wall of the corridor and raised his hand to intercept what looked like a large ghostly bird. The creature passed right through his barrier and hit him squarely in the face, but there was no impact. "Harry, come to my office immediately. Password acid drops." A voice spoke inside of his head. The Boy who Lived recognized the voice as Professor Dumbledore's, and his instincts took over as he bolted down the hall at a dead run.

About 45 seconds and 3 flights of stairs later, Harry found himself at the oaken double doors of the Headmaster's office and breathing harder than normal.

"Come in, Harry, and shut the door behind you." came the voice from inside.

Harry complied and stood rigidly at attention. "Sir!" He barked. Dumbledore had orders for him, he could feel it. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the feeling he'd been having for the last 4 days.

"Well, I think I'll start with the facts. Ginny Weasley was taken off of school property less than 10 minutes ago by a group of 3 students. As much as I loathe admitting this, it appears she has been kidnapped. She is the Minister of Magic's daughter. If this isn't handled quietly and immediately, we could have an incredibly serious problem on our hands. I have relied upon you in the past, Harry, and now I must rely upon you again. As such..."

Drawing in a deep breath, Dumbledore spoke in a commanding voice. "I order you to gather up any necessary supplies and follow the kidnappers. Be as discreet as possible. Your primary objective is to return to Hogwarts with Miss Weasley and her captors. I will meet you at the gates with Aurors who will detain any and all suspects involved in her kidnapping. I will authorize the use of necessary force only, deadly force is prohibited except in defense of your life, or the life of Miss Weasley. I authorize you to make any number of portkeys you find necessary pursuant to your primary objective. I authorize you to transmute any and all equipment you find necessary pursuant to your primary objective.

"We do not yet know who kidnapped her, or why. Your secondary objectives are to gather information on motivation or monetary backing and determine the exact geographical location of the area. If you can determine the geographical location, I authorize you to make a tuned portkey for Kingsley Shacklebolt that will take him there. All information regarding this mission is classified, Alpha clearance only."

Harry nodded, accepting his mission. One last pulse of anger coursed through him as he berated himself for allowing Ginny to be kidnapped so easily. Then Harry shut his eyes, and a wave of calm flooded over him as he focused completely on the job at hand. He wouldn't need much, Dumbledore had authorized the use of transmutation to acquire anything he didn't bring.

"Headmaster, I will need the kidnappers last known location and 5 minutes to prepare." Harry said, his voice strong and steady.

Dumbledore smiled brightly at the boy, no, the man before him. "Granted." He said, touching his head with his wand and drawing out a view of the area Ginny occupied right before she was carried through the wards of Hogwarts.

Harry turned on his heel and walked calmly out of the Headmaster's office. No matter how rushed he was for time he could not ignore officer's protocol. You never ran inside an office.

"Oh, and Harry?" Dumbledore called after him as he descended the steps rapidly.

Harry turned and called back, "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Remove your limiters." Dumbledore's voice carried the order down to the Boy who Lived, who immediately replied, "Yes, Sir!"