Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Okay, from now on, the updates will come a little slower. I'm going to try to stay three chapters ahead in my writing so things can continue at a reasonable pace. I'm not going to promise when updates will come, though - every time I do that, my muse runs away. Just a warning.

Shades of Gray

Chapter Eight: Day One

Harry didn't sleep well on Snape's archaic sofa. Dreams and memories kept chasing each other through his mind, startling him awake at odd hours, but not quite devolving into nightmares at any point. He eventually gave up trying to sleep. In the grey light of predawn, he snuck out onto the cement stairs of the back stoop and watched the sky slowly lighten.

What now? he thought. What do I do now? If I can't trust Dumbledore, with Voldemort after me, what do I do? The first chirp of morning birdsong sounded from within a tangled mass of an overgrown shrub off to his right. Well, Potter, take it back to it's basics. I'm under a prophesy to either kill or be killed by Voldemort. And though nothing else Lily has told me has been proven false, I don't quite understand why I can't trust Dumbledore. Frowning, Harry cast his eyes upwards. A fluffy cloud was perceptible in the sky directly above him, faintly tinged pink on a dark grey-blue background. Bit by bit, color was beginning to leech back into the world. Invert it, Potter. Does it still make no sense if you ask why you should trust the headmaster?

All his prior interactions with Dumbledore flashed through his brain. Sadly, no. He's the one who left me with the Dursleys. He's the one who wouldn't give me a single straight answer until recently – and even now, I'm certain he's holding back. He's the one who insisted on those fucking occlumency lessons. He is supposed to have some sort of influence with the Ministry, yet he couldn't clear Sirius' name, nor could he stop them from prosecuting me for protecting myself. Sure, I may have gotten off, but if he was so influential, he should have been able to stop it before it got that far… It's almost like he wanted it to happen. He's been orchestrating my life like it's some damnable chess match he's been playing. So, no. I can't trust him. Not to have my best interests at heart.

Hedwig winged down and landed on the rusty handrail next to Harry. "Morning, girl. Did you have a nice night?" he asked, reaching up to pet her.

The owl barked softly, preened a lock of his hair, and hopped from the rail onto his shoulder. "If you don't want to go back in your cage, I won't make you. Sometime today or tomorrow, though, I'll be heading for a different place. I don't know where. I know you're smart enough to find me, though." Hedwig nipped his ear, then flew up to perch in the branches of an oak tree that stood in the furthest corner of the yard. "I'll take that to mean you'd prefer to find me on your own." Harry smiled at the nearly-invisible form of his owl.

As his smile faded, he slipped back into his thoughts. So, since I can't trust Dumbledore to be truly on my side, what else can I do? The answer was glaringly obvious. I strike out on my own. Just how do I go about doing that, though? The cloud above him acquired a golden hue. I've got Dumbledore using me like an action figure. I've got Voldemort and his Death Eaters out for my blood. The Ministry seems to think – or did until they saw Voldemort with their own eyes – that I'm a borderline psychotic that's a threat to their authority. The press can't seem to leave me alone, nor to make up its mind whether I'm the good guy here or not. Harry sighed. I'm being attacked on all sides. The sky finally lightened to normal blue as the first spears of sunlight slanted across the land.

Well, maybe not quite all sides. Lily seems to want to help stop Dumbledore and Voldemort, at least. I'd like to think it's because of me, but I'm pretty sure it's just because she's doing her job, and that she'd still be doing it, even if it had been Neville that Voldemort had marked instead of me. And speaking of Neville, he also seems to be on my side. It's too bad that's the sum of my allies at this moment. Presuming, of course, that the list Lily gave in the video is accurate. Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This isn't really answering the question. How do I go up against all of this with my life intact? My sanity, too, should it come to that.

Since the weather wasn't inspiring any flashes of insight, Harry slipped back inside. The warmth was welcome, as the morning chill had numbed him somewhat, even if the house itself was not. He headed to the living room and retrieved his palmtop computer. It contained a relatively simple word processor, but after ten minutes of frustratingly slow hunt-and-peck typing on the diminutive keyboard, Harry gave up and snagged some blank parchment and his self-inking quill. Sitting on the floor and using the spindly coffee table as a desk, Harry set pen to paper and began writing, trying to organize his thoughts.

Facts: As I am now, I have little hope of surviving should V. come after me.

I have few people I can trust to turn to for help.

According to Gringotts, I can certainly afford anything I might need or want to assist me on this.

I needn't worry about the Dursleys for now, but Dumbledore has me staying with Snape until the Dursleys return.

Questions: Just what is that ultimate spell I found on Hermione? It's not in any of the books contained in the library on the computer.

How do I go about getting more training to survive what's coming without going through Dumbledore?

What did Lily mean during that last conversation? The static was so bad I couldn't hear what she said. Something about Snape's Dark Mark, I'm sure, but too much of it was obscured by the static.

Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Who else can I ask for help? An idea wormed its way up from the depths of his subconscious. The DA members owe me. I doubt anyone who wasn't in the DA will wind up with passing marks for their Defense OWL. How do I use this without alienating them, though? And who in the DA should I approach first?

A face flashed through his mind and a little of Harry's tension bled away. He resettled his glasses on his face. Yeah, I think I'll start there. Hufflepuffs have a thing about fair play, so maybe if I use that, I can get her on my side.

Harry retrieved a clean sheet of parchment and quickly scribbled out a letter. Once he finished, he read through it and made a few corrections. When he was happy with it, he recopied it in much neater handwriting and tossed the rough draft onto the coals in the fireplace, where it flared briefly into flame before flaking away into ash. Hearing movement come from upstairs, he realized that Snape was waking up. Quickly, he slid the letter into one of his last remaining envelopes and ducked out the back door. Hedwig took the letter and winged away, looking slightly irritated at being asked to deliver it when she'd only just gotten to sleep.

Harry had just finished cleaning up the evidence of how he'd spent his morning when Snape appeared. Forcing himself to be civil to the man, Harry greeted him. "Good morning."

Snape glared at him, but thankfully didn't say anything as he crossed the room to the kitchen. Not long afterwards, the scent of coffee brewing permeated the house. Harry sank onto the couch. This is going to be a long few weeks.

Gabrielle's nerves had her feeling alternatively queasy and excited about her trip to the UK. Granted, some of the nervy atmosphere was centered on hoping that neither of her parents managed to figure out how they'd been played, but the majority of it was in anticipation of the trip itself.

"Gabs, quit fretting. Your pacing is making me dizzy." Nicole looked up from her perusal of Courrier International de la Magie. "Don't worry so much. With my mother agreeing to the trip, and our departure set for bright and early tomorrow morning, it's not like it's going to be cancelled."

Gabrielle halted and shoved Nicole's feet off her sofa before plopping gracelessly onto the cushion. "I know, I know. I'm just nervous. I mean, what if he doesn't like me? And what if he's like the papers claim? What if he's not? What if he repudiates me? What if he's like the papers say and doesn't reject me? What if –"

"Stop it!" Nicole sat up. "Come on, Gabby, you know better than to play the 'what if' game. Calm down before I force a potion down your throat."

Gabrielle took a deep breath and held it for a long minute before letting it out slowly. Nicole was right. Worrying like this was only going to wind her into knots. "You're right," she said. "It's too late for our parents to change their minds about the trip. And I shouldn't stress about things outside of my own control."

Nicole smiled and laid her newspaper over the arm of the couch. "Come on, let's go do something fun."

"Like what?"

Nicole's smile broadened into a bright grin. "We could sneak into Disneyland for the day, like we did last summer."

The thought had appeal. Gabrielle mimicked Nicole's grin. "Why not?"

It was about noon when two pairs of identical eyes popped open at precisely the same moment. The owners of these eyes sat up, yawned and stretched, and nodded at one another in what seemed to be choreographed unison, but was really just a result of a lifetime of twindom. "I claim first loo," they said simultaneously. "Flip you for it."

As George had flipped the coin the day before, Fred grabbed it off the nightstand between their beds. "Call it in the air," he said.

"Wands," George replied.

It was wands, so George grinned and bounced out of bed. While his twin was getting ready for the day, Fred flooed the Leaky Cauldron and ordered their breakfasts. He ate his own while waiting, and was done at about the same time that George finally emerged. They traded places and Fred saw to his morning routine while George ate. Again, they finished at about the same time. Needs of the body attended to for the time being, they marched into their workshop and finished up packing the last of the Skiving Snackboxes.

Their inventory was roughly half-complete, from what they figured they would need for the month of August, and their notes for products they wanted to add kept getting thicker with every passing day. Unfortunately, the lease on their shop had run them significantly more than they'd anticipated and were rapidly running out of cash. Their choices were to either open early with only half the stock they wanted on hand, or to contact their silent partner to see if said partner would be willing to invest a little more cash.

Once the snackboxes were packaged and put into the store room, with a handful out on display, George and Fred donned their cloaks and apparated to a house they'd been to only a handful of times before: a plain, boxy, brown brick structure, sporting a brass number four near its front door, bordered on all sides by identical plain, boxy, brown brick structures.

They knocked on the front door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When it became obvious that no one was home, they surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone was looking before ducking into the back yard. An alohomora later and the pair were stepping into Petunia Dursley's spotless kitchen. Fred wrinkled his nose at the sulfurous stench that filled the room. "What is that?"

"No idea, Gred," George replied, making his way across the linoleum. "It really does stink, though. Not as bad as a dungbomb, but close."

"Like rotten eggs," Fred muttered.

Eventually the pair wound up in the upstairs hallway, shooting glares at the door sporting multiple locks. "Five guesses as to which door's Harry's."

"I only need one."

George nodded, "Me, too."

While waiting for his twin to finish scribbling a note to Harry – they'd planned on leaving it on his bed for whenever he returned – Fred looked around their friend's bedroom. We might have had to make do with hand-me-downs and second-hand furniture, but at least our stuff was always in pretty decent condition. "Hmm…"

George glanced up. "What?"

Fred looked at him and smirked. "You have that bottle of PermaCharm on you?"

George patted his cloak's pockets. "Yeah." Fred wriggled his eyebrows. George grinned. "Yeah," he repeated.

The note ignored, the duo set to work.

Several hours later, the pair of wizards apparated home directly from the second floor hallway of number four, Privet Drive, unaware they'd forgotten to close the back door.

The note they'd left now resided on a carbon copy of the beds found in Gryffindor. A single drop of PermaCharm lent near-permanency to transfigurations and conjurations, needing reapplication only once a year or so. All of Dudley's broken toys had been banished. The desk was repaired and cleaned and sported a chair to match it, transfigured from an old, battered bird cage. The armoire likewise was repaired and cleaned to better suit the 'new' room. Wall-paper was charmed in Gryffindor colors, and draperies to match were conjured into being. Just about the only thing the pair hadn't tampered with was the overhead lighting fixture, and that was simply because they'd seen first-hand the kinds of effects magic had on muggle appliances, courtesy of their dad.

Harry's room wasn't the only one affected by the twins' visit. Dudley's room was carefully and thoroughly booby-trapped with some of their failed joke products (including an early version of the potion they used in Nosebleed Nougat which had the unfortunate side-effect of causing the imbiber's voice to sound like a house elf on helium). Petunia and Vernon's room had as many changes as Harry's, only in this case, they made sure that nothing appeared out-of-place. The mattress, however, would now be harder than rock, and always smell faintly of ammonia. Clothing stored in the armoire or dresser would come out two sizes too small and coated in a light dusting of itching powder. The hamper was carefully charmed to automatically banish one half of every pair of socks that went into it. And so on.

All in all, the pair were quite pleased by their efforts, even if they were disappointed that they had been unable to speak with Harry himself.

"I don't like it any, but I agree with you." Hermione felt relieved at the admission and it showed in her posture. Emilia continued as though she hadn't noticed – she may not have, who can tell what an hallucination thinks? – "Even though I agree, though, I would like to say that I'm doing this under protest."

"Noted," Hermione replied. "But if you want to stay, you have to."

Emilia nodded. "I know. I agreed not to bother you when other people were around, didn't I? I still don't have to like it any." Emilia flopped onto Hermione's bed. "Now that we've got that out of the way, what did you want to do?"

"Well, I have some summer homework I need to do," the brunette replied. "Once I get that done, then we'll go do something."

Emilia pouted. "Oh, come on! You've got the whole summer to do your homework. I haven't gotten to hang out with you in forever, what with you sending me away and all. Please, I'oh'nee," she used the mangled form of her sister's name on purpose, "let's go do something fun!"

Hermione bit her lip as her eyes darted back and forth between her sister and her school trunk. Emilia ramped up the sympathy-factor of her pout and Hermione folded. "Okay. How about we go see a movie? I've not been to the theater in ages."

Emilia perked up and grinned. "Sounds great!"

After a day spent working on his summer homework – as 'suggested' by Snape – while sitting on the back stoop, Harry had most of it completed. He was just putting the final touches on his essay for McGonagall with the last streaks of sunset painting the sky when Pigwidgeon nearly ricocheted off his head. Treating the slightly nutty owl like a feathery snitch, Harry quickly had him relieved of the letter he carried. He thanked the owl and apologized for his lack of treats. Pig didn't seem to care; the owl simply circled Harry's head a couple of times before flittering over to the tree Hedwig had used that morning.

Harry shook his head at the owl before turning his attention to his letter. It was from Ginny.

Dear Harry,

I'm sorry I didn't get to tell you goodbye before we left Platform 9 ¾. After I saw you on the train, I got busy chatting with my other friends and before I knew it, we were in London. I tried to linger, but Mum was in a hurry to get home. I hope you manage to have a good holiday, even though I know you don't much care for your muggle family.

Harry snorted. That's an understatement. I hate them, and the feeling is more than mutual. He read onwards.

Fred and George are leasing a shop in Diagon Alley – number 93. They have a flat above the shop and are supposedly living there, but they still apparate home for meals. Since I doubt either of them can cook, that's probably a good thing! They are working harder than I've ever seen, too. They want to have enough inventory ready so that they can open on the first of August, that way they can be ready for the Hogwarts rush. Mum and Dad are proud of them, but they're also disappointed and really worried, too. I know they wanted the twins to finish their schooling before striking out on their own – Dad, in particular, kept stressing how important it is to have a backup plan, just in case their joke shop isn't successful (I don't think he realized just how popular the twins' products are at school).

Harry made a mental note to drop by and check out their store the next time he visited Diagon Alley.

I know why Mum and Dad are worried. I am, too. I wish you'd been a bit more approachable these last few days at school, but I understand why you felt the need to withdraw. What happened at the Ministry was horrible. It was far worse than anything I'd imagined. Ever since we got back, I keep going over it and over it in my mind. We are lucky to be alive. I understand now why none of the adults who lived through this before will talk much about it. Yes, they all say it was terrible, but they never gave any details – something I know frustrated you as much as it did me. I know why they didn't give details, though, if what they lived through was anything like what we went through.

Harry had to agree with Ginny's sentiment. He felt the same way – they definitely were lucky to be alive – but he had never really wanted any details from the adults who'd been around the first time Voldemort came to power. Not about the battles. He'd been able to fill in the blanks on those ever since that night in the cemetery following the third TriWizard task.

If I somehow woke up tomorrow and it was that day again, even knowing how bad it was and how bad it could have been, I just want you to know that I would still go with you. Not because you're Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, but because you're my friend and you deserve my loyalty. This is something that has taken me far too long to see: You aren't the nearly-mythical Boy-Who-Lived that I grew up hearing stories about, stories that seemed to me to be proved beyond all doubt when you rescued me from Riddle's diary in my first year. I didn't see it until that night at the Ministry, though. You aren't a storybook hero. You're just someone trying their best in some really bad circumstances. Maybe that makes you heroic in the most romantic adaptation of the term, but this isn't a fairytale. Following on that, if this isn't a fairytale, and you're not a storybook hero, then I'm not your damsel in distress. It took that battle at the Ministry for me to really understand that. I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable. If it's any consolation, I'm uncomfortable writing this. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't get the chance to say all this in person, that way we could spare ourselves the embarrassment. I really hope you catch my meaning in this, otherwise I'm going to have to repeat it all in person, and I'd really rather not.

One of Harry's eyebrows quirked up a little higher than the other. That's surprising. I didn't think there was a force out there that could break her crush on me. Is it bad that I feel relieved at that? No, I refuse to feel bad about it. She's like a little sister to me and we were never going to go anywhere, not as a couple. Even if I hadn't gotten to know her as Ron's little sister, I don't think I would have dated her anyway – not with six older brothers and Molly on top of it all! A faint smile managed to surface on his face. Maybe now we can try for friendship on a more even level… The smile evaporated as he remembered that Ginny was one of the people Lily had warned him about.

I do have something else I wanted to tell you, something that I'd forgotten about until recently. I don't know how important it is, but I feel it is something you should be aware of, and it's something I don't think ought to be put in a letter. I would like to speak with you in person about it. I know your family probably won't allow you to have me over to visit, but could you let me know when you'll be getting your school supplies? We could meet up at Fred and George's place. Of course, that's if you don't wind up coming to the Burrow to visit before then.

Hope you're well,

Ginny

Harry reread the last paragraph. I wonder what that's about. It can't be that she wants to date me, not after what she said earlier in the letter. Maybe it has to do with something she saw while we were separated at the Ministry.

His musings were cut short by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. He folded Ginny's letter and tucked it into his pocket. The faint sounds of Snape greeting Dumbledore filtered through the house. Harry set to picking up his things and heading inside.

"…activation phrase is 'oddment'," Dumbledore was saying. Harry emerged from the kitchen and saw that Snape was holding a plain black umbrella. That must be the portkey. Dumbledore shifted his attention to Harry. "Good evening, Harry," he said. "How has your summer been so far?"

Harry managed, though he had no clue just how he did it, to not roll his eyes. Instead he focused on the floor, about halfway between himself and Dumbledore, and said, "Well enough, professor. I've started my homework."

He saw the old man nod in his peripheral vision. "Soonest begun is soonest done. You will want to make sure your homework is completed early this year. You have many things which must be done, and not much time in which to do it."

Yeah, and whose fault is that? You should have told me about the prophesy years ago. Out loud, Harry simply said, "Yes, sir." He noticed a small spider scurry across the floor, heading for the relative safety of the shadows beneath the armchair. "May I ask, sir, what else I'll be doing this summer?"

"All in good time, Harry," Dumbledore replied.

Of course. I should have known. Answers later, later, always later with you. At least I can make a few guesses right now. You'll probably be pushing Snape to give me more occlumency lessons. Maybe, if I'm lucky, you'll find someone to train me with dueling, though I personally doubt that one. I don't think I really want your help, old man. I honestly don't think you really want me to live through facing Voldemort. If you really did, I would have been training for it from the time I set foot in the wizarding world. Harry didn't let his thoughts show on his face and simply nodded. He busied himself by returning his homework to his backpack while the headmaster gave Snape a few last instructions.

Finally, the old man made his excuses and left. Tension Harry hadn't known he'd been feeling evaporated. "Will we be leaving tonight?" Harry asked, glancing over at Snape.

"Yes," Snape said, his voice carrying no inflection. "Whenever you are ready, Potter."

"Just a moment," Harry said, shrugging into his pack. "Would you shrink Hedwig's cage for me, please? I'll put it in my trunk. She'll be able to find me when she gets back."

Harry hadn't really expected Snape to do it, but the potions master surprised him. "And where is your owl, Potter?"

"Taking a letter to a friend," Harry said, wedging the empty cage into a corner of his trunk. "I asked for a reply, so I'm not expecting her to be back until tomorrow." He closed the trunk lid. "May I ask where we will be going? I mean, I know it's an Order safe house, but where is it?"

"Near Aberdeen," Snape replied, still using a toneless lack of inflection. Now that Harry was paying attention, he realized that, with only one or two minor insults, it was how the professor had been speaking to him ever since leaving the Dursleys' house. "Is that everything?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Are we going now?"

"Yes."

Harry grabbed his trunk and reached for the umbrella. He had just enough time to make sure he had a good grip on both the umbrella and his trunk before Snape said the activation phrase and the portkey hooked into his bellybutton.

The landing was normal. Somehow, Harry managed to arrive in a disheveled heap. He counted it a success, though – he hadn't acquired any new bruises. He let go of the umbrella and climbed to his feet. An amused snort emerged from Snape. "Have you not simply tried closing your eyes, Potter? If you don't watch the world spin around you, then you will not arrive at your destination dizzy."

If there had been any light at where they'd arrived, Harry would have glared at Snape. However, wherever they'd landed was completely dark. Well, not completely, Harry amended, noticing faint nighttime light coming through a pair of long, narrow windows. His eyes didn't get any further chance to adjust. Light blazed into being from a ceiling-mounted chandelier, revealing a small foyer done in hardwoods. A staircase was directly in front of him, running parallel to a hallway. There were archways to both the left and right of the hall – two on the right and three on the left. The hall was capped with doors at either end.

Snape didn't give him a chance to explore. The professor simply levitated Harry's trunk and strode upstairs. Harry followed him. Another hallway greeted his arrival on the second floor, this one was shorter than the one downstairs, and contained three doors.

Snape opened the door on the left and looked in. Nodding to himself, he floated Harry's trunk into it. "Do try to be quiet, Potter." Harry hurried after his trunk and closed the door behind him. The room was dark, so he instinctively fumbled for a light switch, only to find a wand-plate instead. Harry retrieved his wand from the side-pocket of his backpack and tapped it against the plate. An overhead chandelier flared into life.

The room wasn't all that large, and contained a bed, a dresser, and a small desk with chair. The window, though, was relatively large and sported a padded bench. Colors tended to 'neutral', creams and browns, with highlights of dark orange. A slatted door proved to lead to the bathroom.

While it wasn't Hogwarts, it also wasn't the Dursleys', nor was it Grimmauld Place, so Harry figured it didn't much matter.

It'll do.

A/N2: Thanks to everyone who's reading, and double-thanks to all who take the time to review.