Author's Note: The light at the end of the tunnel for this story has been spotted. I finally have a plan through to the end of the story. It's only been two years. I'd like to thank the following for their feedback on this chapter: Matt Arnold, SlickRCBD, Edmond Bertrand, and the irreplaceble Jim Trigg.

This chapter was updated on 7/30/18


Chapter Nine: Singing in the Rain

Ginny Weasley had a whole afternoon scheduled with Doctor Chalice. Now that she could properly occlude her mind, the Doctor was going to carefully guide her through looking for any sign of Voldemort's presence in her mind. The Doctor didn't think there would be, but Ginny wasn't so sure.

She'd been told to wear her most comfortable outfit, so there were no distractions. The loose dress, with no bra worn under it, barely registered to her mind, as she laid on the chaise longue. In fact, it lent a feeling of floating in the clouds as the notes of Fingal's Cave floated into her ears.

"Listen to the music and relax, Ginny," Doctor Chalice said. "Let yourself go. Float. Good. Now, I'm coming in. Keep yourself calm. Everything is going to be all right."

Twice this day, Ginny had tensed up, throwing the Doctor out of her mind. Previous attempts had failed even worse, as her mind had reacted to the Doctor's violently. This time, however, she managed not to flinch, and felt the warmth of the Doctor's mind sliding in beside her.

"Come, let us go deeper," the Doctor's voice said, seaming to come from everywhere but nowhere on the notes of the Mendelssohn master work.

Ginny felt everything get thicker, as she descended deeper into her mind, searching for anything that Tom Riddle might have left behind in her mind. She felt a warmth in her right hand, the same one she felt every time she cast fire spells. She knew she was ready for him. This time her mind was hers, and there would be nothing left of Tom Riddle if she came upon him.

In her mind Ginny was determined to call him by name. He was not You-Know-Who. He was not the anagram he'd lived under. He was Tom Riddle. He had been prefect and Head Boy. She'd looked him up before she left, in hopes that if she knew him, she might be able to push him out. He was the son of a purebred pureblood, Merope Gaunt, and muggle gentry, named for his father and grandfather.

She smelled the sea air, heard the waves, and rode the breeze accompanying her as she went deeper, feeling the corridors of her mind in all their smooth stone glory. Every turn was examined, looking for the stains on her mind. Here and there they came across traces, and together, Ginny and the Doctor washed them away with the gentle waves suggested by the music echoing through her mind.

In her mind, Ginny bore the sword that Harry had killed the basilisk with, and she wanted to cleave Riddle with it. So she stalked through her mind, the Doctor at her side, hoping that Riddle was just around the corner.


Harry really wished she hadn't left her bedroom. But after McGonagall had left, she'd gotten up, and period still staining her, gone down to get some more tea. That's when she heard a voice that she despised at Hogwarts more than any student.

"I just don't see why it works, Uncle Severus," Draco's voice came from the Professor's study as Harry walked by. She so hoped he wouldn't leave the study until she'd finished making tea. She'd been warned that Draco was coming by, and to remember her cover name, but his voice was still unexpected and definitely unwelcome by her.

Harry filled the kettle with water and then put it on the stove. She rummaged through the tea boxes until she found a bag of Earl Grey. It took way too long for the kettle to heat up. She spent the time contemplating what her Head of House had told her about her parents. It had been nice to hear about her parents; if only it hadn't started with a discussion of her current condition.

"What is a beautiful girl like you doing living with Uncle Severus," Malfoy's voice interrupted her musing. Harry turned in, finding herself face to face with her Slytherin rival, not that he knew who she was. His voice was slimy and slithery, just like the reputation of his house's animals. "I am Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." His hand was already resting on Harry's right hip, trying to pull her closer.

"Malfoy, if you don't take your hand off my hip, you'll never be able to raise a glass with it again."

"What shall I call such a radiant beauty as yourself?" Draco said, as the kettle began to whistle and he removed his hand, raising it up to where Harry could see it.

"I am Harikleia Prince, my friends call me Harry," Harry said taking the kettle off the eye. She wondered how Draco would react if he knew that she was actually a he, even if she couldn't tell or show him the truth. In any case, she really wished he'd leave. "You shall not call me anything, for I do not wish to be bothered with your presence."

"Mister Malfoy, do not dawdle," Professor Snape said from the door to the basement. "You came here for a potions tutorial, not to hit on either of my nieces. Neither of which I expect want your barely teenage attempts at flirting. Harikleia, I have re-heated the water bottle, and delay dinner by forty-five minutes."

Harry kept her glare on Draco until the door to the basement closed behind him. Then she headed back up to her room, fresh cup of tea in her hand.

As she reached the foot of the steps, the front door opened to reveal a soaking wet Ginny, who despite the fact that it was pouring rain, and that her dress was completely soaked through, seemed to be in a great mood, if Harry was any judge of her singing.

"... I have a smile on my face
I'll walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin', singin' in the rain."

"You are in way too good of a mood," Harry said firmly as Ginny put her still tied closed umbrella in the stand.

"Doctor Chalice just finished looking for Riddle remnants and said there are only memories left behind," Ginny said with the biggest smile on her face that Harry had ever seen.

"Okay, that's a reason to be happy," Harry replied. "Just don't expect me to share your joy. Malfoy's here. And he's apparently discovered his hormones."

"Oh bloody hell," Ginny replied, her smile gone in a moment. "I'm going upstairs, changing out of these wet clothes, and not coming back down."

"It's your turn to cook dinner, though," Harry said as both of them began to go up stairs. "It might be a bit hard to make dinner from your bedroom."

"Let's do it together," Ginny suggested, as they reached the top of the stairs. "Safety in numbers, that way."

"Do we need to bake more bread?" Harry asked.

"I think so, especially if he stays for dinner," Ginny said, beginning to take off her dress as she walked down the hall. "I'm going to take a hot shower, change into my jeans, and then we can start."

"Take your time," Harry said. "The Professor asked for dinner to be delayed by forty-five minutes, and I need my tea."


Professor Severus Snape loved his basement potions lab. He'd put a lot of work into it. It was much better than even the one at Hogwarts. Mostly, that was because he had access to a lot better installation equipment. He really wished he could replace the student tables at Hogwarts with the same concrete style ones as he'd installed the third summer after he started teaching. The less said about his gripes with the ventilation at Hogwarts, the better.

Since he quite often had one of his Slytherins visit for some summer tutorials, something he insisted on for several dunderheads who had the fortune to be sorted into his house, there were two tables always set up for his students. At the moment, Draco Malfoy sat at one of them slicing some pears, an ingredient for a particularly tricky bruise clearing potion, known as the hickey potion to most of the school. Applied topically, it would vanish most bruises in about ten minutes.

Severus was considering adding it to the third year syllabus. It wasn't very risky to create, nor was there much of a chance to turn it into a poison. The success rate, however, didn't appear to be very good, mainly due to lax ingredient preparation. It was a problem that he was sure that Draco had. Harry didn't, and until Harry had moved in, he'd been a bit puzzled by that. Most boys had issues with properly preparing.

"Draco, you are not back slicing, you are chopping," Severus said. "There should be no vertical motion what so ever. Put what you've done aside for the moment and start over."

"What's the difference anyway?" Draco said. "They look the same way."

"Looks can be deceiving," Severus said. "As a Slytherin, you should know that. Now, put the tip of the knife against the table and pull backwards, don't press down at all."

Draco tried, but Severus didn't think he quite got the process. Still, there were only so many pears for him to try with.

"We'll move on, but you need to work on that," Severus said.

"I'm doing the best I can," Draco said.

"Hardly," Severus replied. "Both of my nieces can do better, and one of them is a year behind you. You will work on your cutting this summer. As it stands, Potter has a better chance of getting an O on this potion than you do. Now, mince finely the tongues of frogs. Use the iron knife."

"Yes Professor," Draco replied, pulling out his knife.

"I said iron knife, not silver," Severus said. "Unless you're planning on using it for a werewolf, or a dementor ... and if you're planning on kissing a dementor, I do not want to know about it. And I said mince, not cube."

Severus decided that he really needed to find some way to teach proper use of knives in class, preferably without risking dangerous horseplay.

For the next hour, he worked with Draco on the potion. The results were not promising. It was ingredient preparation, he judged. Of course, he'd have to test the potion to see exactly how bad that error was.

No, there was no chance of any such bruises being around to test, not after Draco had been so throughly shut down. Severus barely suppressed the feeling of amusement from showing as he thought about what Draco's reaction would be to the fact he had attempted to hit on a boy, unknowingly.

The door to the lab opened, revealing Harry Potter standing in the doorway. The boy turned girl was wearing an apron, and had a ladle in her hand. "Professor Snape, dinner will be ready in a couple more minutes," Harry said. "Should we delay it further?"

"No, Draco and I will be up there shortly," Severus said. "Draco, wash your hands."


As a Second Year Slytherin, Draco really didn't know much about girls. Until very recently, they had been gross, something that boys his age weren't supposed to like. The feelings had been mutual, though. When he'd started Hogwarts, he'd heard the girls in his class call boys gross. In some cases they still did, but that had also started to change.

The girls were giggling more. They were looking at the Quidditch players ... not Draco though, even though he was the Seeker for Slytherin. The way they crushed on Lockhart had been disgusting. He'd been a fraud, but he had every girl, even that bookworm Granger, eating from the palm of his hand. It wasn't right.

Over the last year he'd overheard a bit. He'd been foolish enough to ask what a period was, after Pansy had told him not to bother her because of it. He hadn't got an answer, really, other than the fact that you really didn't want to bother a girl who was on hers. Slytherin had been a mine field until he'd figured out Pansy's and Daphne's cycles.

Looking at Harikleia, Draco saw all the signs, now, that he'd used to determine if it was safe in the Slytherin Common Room. On a weekend, if you saw a girl still wearing her night shirt this late in the day, you stayed away. Any encounter was a risk. He really should have recognized that earlier, when he'd spotted the girl in the kitchen before his Potions lesson.

Draco was a bit worried that she'd poison him, after he realized just how poor a timing his first attempt at hitting on a girl was. The girl's smile had fooled him. He hadn't noticed the signs he'd learnt from the Slytherin girls in his year. He'd never have a chance with Harikleia again, he was sure, at least not this summer.

It was a shame, because there was something about her that attracted him. Draco wasn't sure exactly what it was though. Several times, as his eyes caught sight of that tangled red hair, he found himself trying to describe the nimbus of fire that framed the troubled face. Words like scarlet, auburn, and red failed to describe the strands that seemed to float around that head. The eyes were not green, they were emerald portals into the soul.

It actually disturbed him a bit that he could see a girl for the first time, and suddenly it was like the girl was everything. When he tried to step back, it was wrong, but the moment his eyes caught the tendrils of fire that was her hair, he found himself lost again.

"Draco?" Uncle Severus asked. Professor Snape was actually his godfather, not an uncle. He didn't actually have any uncles. Neither did his father. Draco had looked at the family tapestry, there were no brothers in the direct line for seven generations back. His grandfather had two older sisters though.

He shook his head and focused on his Head of House, "Sir?"

"I asked if you noticed the way the potatoes were sliced," Uncle Severus asked.

Draco looked down at his plate. It seemed that they were sliced thin, layered with cheese and butter, with some sort of green stuff sprinkled on them. He hadn't really paid much attention to the dish, just filling his plate with it as the dishes were placed in the center of the table. "Not really Uncle Severus."

"That is the thickness I was trying to get you to cut, consistently," Uncle Severus said. "I believe this was your dish, Ginger?"

"No, Harry did this," Ginger replied. For some reason Uncle Severus shot her a brief glare at her replied. "I did the bread and the tart."

"Harikleia, then," Uncle Severus said addressing the girl that Draco was still having a hard time keeping his eyes off. "What would have happened if you had not sliced the potatoes the right thickness."

"It wouldn't cook up right, sir," Harikleia replied. "If they were too thin, they'd crisp on top too much. Too thick and they might not be cooked enough. Of course, baking time can be adjusted a little for that, but not much, not if you want the cheese and butter to layer right."

"And if you were inconsistent with your thickness?" Uncle Severus prompted.

"No way to adjust your baking time, at all," Harikleia said. "It's not going to be done right. Some is going to be too crisp, and some is not going to be cooked at all. It's going to be ruined."

"Judging from this, I would say that your consistency and thickness were acceptable," Uncle Severus said, before turning back to look at Draco. Draco barely managed to look towards his godfather in between bites. "I found consistency in ingredient preparation to be a real issue in your class this past year, especially in regards to slicing and chopping ingredients. In fact, much as I am loath to admit it, if I were grading just ingredient preparation, most would not even make acceptable, and only Potter would get an outstanding from me."

There was a brief silence after that statement. Draco wondered if his godfather's nieces even knew how rare it was that the Potions Professor gave outstandings, or especially admitted that Potter was deserving of one. It wasn't exactly uncommon for his godfather to say that Potter was better than you with something in a private setting. That was usually done in a scathing tone, intended on motivating you. It worked quite well for Draco.

Draco's eyes were once again drawn back to Harikleia. She seemed to be blushing. Draco didn't understand why, though. Then the girl swallowed, and looked at Uncle Severus with an expression that Draco not quite sure what it indicated. Her jaw was set firmly, and her eyes seemed to bore into the Potions Master.

"Why don't you grade that way?" Harikleia asked, before looking back down "I never, I mean, if we don't know where we're wrong, how can I fix it."

Uncle Severus appeared to be considering it. "Perhaps," he said. "In any case, your ingredient preparation is outstanding, as is Ginger's. In general, I have found that students who cook are better at potions. I should, however, give you both more time in my potions lab. Ginger, I understand that Doctor Chalice does not expect you back tomorrow morning."

Draco only heard the sound of Ginger's reply. His eyes were back on Harikleia. Why oh why did he have to be ensnared by someone he had absolutely no chance with. She couldn't be going to Hogwarts, as she was obviously Draco's age, and he would have noticed a defiant green-eyed red-head in class. There was no way to keep his eyes away from the flame that surrounded the girl's face, and those deep green eyes. He'd heard several girls talking about Potter's eyes, and until now he had no idea as to the draw of emerald depths.

He sighed and took another fork full of the delicious cheese and potato dish, made by a goddess. There was no way he'd taste her lips, so the taste of the food she'd made would have to do. The new feelings filling his mind and body confused him. Girls were supposed to be gross, but they weren't, anymore. Something had changed for Draco, in the last few months, and only now, as he sat across from Harikleia, did he realize what girls really were. They were sirens, drawing him in.

He tried to focus on other things, but it seemed that his thoughts and eyes kept getting drawn back to the unreachable girl. Draco Malfoy knew there was no hope for him. These were his godfather's nieces, practically first cousins, and out of his reach. And even if they were to be his reach, they obviously hated him.

If only he hadn't put that hand on her hip. If only she hadn't blown a hole in the possibilities of his first bout of attraction. If only they weren't fleeting angels in his life, destined to leave his life at the end of the summer, forever seeing him as a leech.

If only he could be a little boy again. Maybe then he wouldn't be so caught and confused by these feelings.