July 13, 1996

Harry jumped out of bed, and sleep, with the wand in his hand ready to curse at the first sign of trouble, only to see wide-eyed Ron and Hermione. "What the fuck was that?!"

Ron, choosing to act nonchalant, ignored the wand pointed at his forehead and instead of answering, said, "We didn't know you were here already."

Harry glared at the impetuous redhead. "I asked why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to wake me up by hitting me? I don't know if you noticed but we are at war. I am on edge as it is, I don't need your accidental death in my conscience as well." He took a deep breath and threw himself down on the bed. "I got here late last night. Or is it this morning? I could never remember the right way to say that. Anyway, you were sleeping."

Hermione sat across from him, on the other bed. "How are you, Harry?"

Harry smiled at his friend, surprised she's even here. "I'm good." Seeing her glare, probably because she didn't believe him, he added, "Okay, good is a strong word. I'm good, considering what happened."

Hermione's eyes softened at that.

"What are you doing here?"

Ron answered, instead of Hermione. "Mom told us you were here."

"No, I meant why is Hermione here, at the Burrow?"

This time, it was Hermione who ignored the question, "Why? Don't you want to see me?"

Harry glared at the obtuse girl. "Stop acting like... well, Ron. Of course, I want to see you. Always. Now, answer the question. Why are you here and not with your parents, who you haven't seen in months? And who hadn't seen much of last summer either."

The chestnut-haired girl huffed but answered this time, "Because I wanted to see you, make sure you are alright. I was worried." The last part was said in a whisper like she was afraid to confess.

Why does that make me all giddy? If I didn't have impulse control, I swear I could squeal like Parvati or Lavender.

Harry smiled at the thoughtfulness, then grinned and rolled up his sleeves. "See, no cuts or suicide attempts. I'm doing okay. I'm still not over Sirius' death but I won't go into depression or anything."

Ron sat on the foot of Harry's bed heavily and grinned. "It's good to see you doing alright, mate. We were worried you would be... like last year, you know."

"Nah. I mean I loved Sirius, I did but..." Harry trailed off, not knowing how to express himself. "I don't know. The way I see it, I can focus my anger for losing him at myself or I can learn from the mistakes that led to his death and focus the anger at improving myself and getting revenge."

"That's..." Ron began but couldn't find the words to finish.

"Surprisingly mature of you," Hermione finished for him.

Harry grinned. "I know. The book you sent helped. A lot."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and cheeks flushed with pride. "You read it?"

"Of course, I did," answered Harry like it was obvious. "It was sent by Professor Granger, herself. How can I not read it?"

The aforementioned Professor threw a pillow at his head in response but it was Ron who spoke next. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much. I've been stuck at my aunt's, haven't I?"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Come off it! You've been off with Dumbledore."

"Oh, right. It was nothing, mate. We went after Voldemort and killed him, is all."

Ron's eyes widened while Hermione snickered behind her hand.

Harry laughed at his friend. "Don't tell me you believed that?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "It was nothing. He wanted my help in convincing this old potions teacher to come out of retirement. Horace Slughorn. The guy is a people collector and something of a talent scout. Dumbledore said Slughorn loves to surround himself with influential people so I was his ace."

Ron seemed to stuck between jealousy for Harry being chosen and confusion at potions teacher part so Harry explained, hoping to cut off a trip from Ron. "Snape will teach defence this year."

"What?! And I was so happy I wouldn't have Snape this year."

"Look at it on the bright side," Harry advised. "How many defence teachers we had for more than a year? And how many of them left Hogwarts in the same shape they entered?"

Just like that, Ron's face brightened and a hopeful smile blossomed. "Can we please, please, kill him?"

"Ronald!" Hermione shrieked. "That's an awful thing to say. Besides, we can't attack a teacher."

Harry snickered at the bickering friends. "Oh, come on, Hermione. It's not like we'll have to lift a finger. In the end, they attack us, remember? Quirrell attacked me. Lockhart tried to obliviate Ron and me. Remus tried to eat the three of us. Crouch Jr. tried to kill me. Umbridge wanted to torture me. It's a law."

"No, it's not," Hermione disagreed, though she was having a hard time hiding her smile.

Harry shook his head in denial. "It is. It says so in..."

"Hogwarts: A History," he and Ron finished together and collapsed in laughter. Hermione tried but failed to look serious, joining them a split second later.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny from the doorway, looking at them curiously.

"Your brother and Harry are acting like prats, so nothing new," Hermione explained when her laughter subsided.

Ginny shrugged, accepting Hermione's version of events without a thought. "Hi, Harry."

"Hey, Ginny. How are you?"

The youngest redhead slouched a little. "Oh, just wonderful."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why am I having a hard time believing that? You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"It's that... that veela cow!" Seeing Harry's look of confusion, she added, "Fleur."

"She and Bill doing alright then?"

Before Ginny can answer, the door opened once again, this time revealing a gorgeous Fleur, in a revealing pajamas, carrying a tray laden with food courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. "'Arry! It has been too long!"

Harry tried. He really did but he fell to his teenage hormones, giving an admiring once-over to the French veela. "Good to see you, Fleur."

Fleur stepped over the threshold, revealing Mrs. Weasley with a pinched expression. She put the tray on Harry's knee, giving both of his cheeks sloppy kisses, not realizing she was giving Harry a good show through her low-neck. "Now," Harry said in a low tone, "That's what I call customer satisfaction."

The blonde landed a soft slap on Harry's shoulder, leaving behind a burning sensation. "Oh, 'arry. I 'ave missed you. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She 'as been talking nonstop about you."

Harry didn't know whether to take it in a good way or fear another elbow-in-food situation. "She's here too?"

"No. No, silly boy," said Fleur with a melodic laugh that vibrated around the room. "I mean next summer when we - but do you not know?"

"We haven't gotten around to telling him yet," Mrs. Weasley butted in, not liking the situation according to the sour look on her face.

"Bill and I are going to get married!" Fleur announced, smiling mile-wide.

"That's awful!" he exclaimed. Fleur looked shocked for a moment until Harry winked. "I was hoping for a devastating break-up so I could - ahem - console you," he said, his eyebrows dancing in a faux-seductive manner.

Fleur's melodic laughter ringed once again in the room. "Oh, 'arry, you are too much."

Why does every female in the room look like they just sucked the sourest lemons? "Joking aside, congratulations. Bill is a cool guy. Though I am a bit unsure about potential children. Weasley complexion would clash awfully with your silver hair."

"Zank you, 'arry," the blonde said, refraining from commenting on the child issue. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"Thanks."

The moment the door closed, Hermione was on him, mimicking him. "I was hoping to console you, Fleur. Congratulations, Fleur."

"What's with you and Fleur? Why all three of you dislike her so?" Harry asked after taking a sip of tea.

"We don't dislike her," Mrs. Weasley said and shook her head. "But Bill could've done so much better."

Harry looked at her dubiously. "Doubt it. Fleur is not just gorgeous but, need I remind you, she was a Triwizard champion? Best Beauxbatons had to offer?"

"But she's so- so Pleghm!" Ginny groused. "She treats me like I'm three."

"And she and Bill have nothing in common. Whereas, Nymphadora is such a sweet, down-to-earth girl," the mother redhead commented.

"She's smart too, she's an auror," Hermione added.

"Allow me to repeat myself: Fleur was a Triwizard champion, best of Beauxbatons. Besides, don't you think Bill should be the one to decide who he marries?"

"Since when you are such a fan of Fleur?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"I bet you love the way she says 'arry, don't you?" Ginny glared.

"I wouldn't call myself a fan but I like her. She's smart and talented. I wouldn't marry her because she seems high-maintenance but I can see why Bill would. They have a lot in common. And yes, I do enjoy the way she says my name. But then again, I am one of the many, many teenage boys that find French accent exotic and sexy," Harry said with a grin and took a bite out of bacon.

Ginny huffed and said, "I much rather have Tonks in the family. At least she's a laugh."

Ron, having not spoken in a while, decided to make an arse of himself. "Not lately. Every time I've seen her, she looks like Myrtle."

"Ouch."

"That's not fair!" Hermione snapped. "She still hasn't gotten over what happened. Sirius was her cousin."

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" Ron argued. Sirius was in Azkaban half her life."

"Really, Ron? That's the way you want to go?" Harry asked incredulously. "Because Sirius was in Azkaban almost my whole life and I still miss him."

Ron had the decency to look apologetic. "That wasn't..."

"Besides, that's not what we were discussing. We were talking about Bill and Fleur," Harry changed the subject. He cocked his head and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder what Bill would say about Dean."

"Hey! Dean is a good boy," Ginny snapped.

Harry shrugged and swallowed the bite in his mouth. "I'm not saying he isn't. But the moment you complain about Bill's relationship with Fleur, you open the way for him to butt in on all of your relationships. Do you honestly think any guy you date who isn't a mixture of Hercules and St. Valentine can be good enough for you in Bill's eyes?"

Ginny looked at him curiously while Ron asked what was in all three Weasleys' minds, "Who is bloody Hercules? Or what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes before answering, "A Roman hero-turned-god. People consider him the epitome of manhood."

"Hm. A romantic hero?" Ginny considered out loud. "I wish that was a thing."

"Hey!" Harry complained. "I can be romantic. When I have a girlfriend, I'll buy her roses and shit."

Ron snorted. "I know little about girls but I'm sure they don't consider 'shit' romantic."

Harry sniffed and raised his nose. "Mine smells like roses."

His red-headed best friend looked at him incredulously. "We've been living in the same dorm room for five years. I know first hand it doesn't."

"Enough, children," Mrs. Weasley complained. "I think we can all agree talking about your excrement is not romantic at all."

"Fair enough," Harry agreed with a nod. "But I still don't think you should give Fleur such a hard time. Think about this from her perspective. She's adapting to a foreign country and her fiancee's family constantly gives her a hard time. I realise she can come off as... bitchy but you won't know her until you give her the chance." He shrugged and added, Besides, it's not like any of us can say we are perfect. I can name multiple reasons each of you can be considered a bad partner. Love isn't about finding perfection. It's about finding someone whose imperfections are perfect for you."

The room fell into a surprised silence in response, Ron looking confused while the rest looked at him like he confessed his love for Snape.

"Where did that come from?" Ginny asked, giving him an appreciative up and down.

"Must have read it somewhere," Harry answered, trying, and failing, to give a nonchalant shrug as his cheeks flushed bright red.

"Why would I be a bad partner?" Ron asked, focusing on the bad as was his modus operandi.

The green-eyed wizard rolled his eyes. "I can name a few if you want me to but that wasn't the point. The point is no one is perfect."

"I'm curious."

Harry let out a long breath and gave in. "Fine. You are easy to anger and hurtful when angry. Eating with you requires a strong stomach. You are a jealous and envious person and have the inferiority complex the size of Britain. You are inconsiderate and insensitive."

He turned to Ginny. "You are oppressive, you fill any room you are in with your personality. You don't attract attention, you demand it. When anyone does something you find irritating or offensive, you react without thinking and react with violence or the promise of it."

Next to go was Mrs. Weasley. "You are too mothering and controlling like you know what's best for anyone and everyone. While you are generous and helpful, you can also be demanding and demeaning."

He looked at his bushy-haired friend with wide and, dare he say, fearful eyes. "You are a perfectionist and sometimes fail to realise there is no such a thing as perfect. There is an impulsive side of you that comes out when you are passionate about a subject; like with the house-elves. You are also stubborn and somewhat know-it-all. While I consider it a positive, some would consider your lack of concern for your appearance a turnoff."

The hurt and shocked silence that followed his rant made Harry cringe. "I'm not saying these things to hurt you. I love all four of you. But I think you are judging Fleur without even trying to get to know her and I want you to understand what it must feel like. These are the things someone who doesn't know you well would see in you if they were hell-bent on disliking you like you do with Bill's fiancee."

The silence didn't break for two minutes, making Harry feel worse and worse with every passing second. It was Hermione who broke it, "What about you? Do you think you are perfect? If not, what are your... flaws?"

Harry tilted his head in thought. "I never considered it. Well, I have low self-esteem and I am emotionally stunted, which translates into trouble communicating. I can be moody and easy to anger which can put a strain on anybody. No matter what my opinions of it are, I am a high-profile person whose every action is judged by the 'people' which means anyone I date would be scrutinised. I have a price on my head and an expiration date so anyone who dates me needs to ready herself for a loss. I am a self-sacrificing person who gets into a shitload of trouble. I have a flawed moral core and a tendency to avoid arguments with people I care about so I stay passive when I shouldn't sometimes." He tried but couldn't find anything else. "I probably have more flaws than that but it's hard to consider myself from an objective point of view," he finished with a shrug.

"That's..." Ron trailed off.

"A lot of reasons not to date you," Ginny added.

"And far too harsh," Hermione finished.

"Hey, now. Those are just the negatives. We all have positive traits too. That's the thing; you focus on the bad or unattractive qualities of Fleur so much, you miss out on what she has to offer."

An introspective group dispersed after that, Harry and his two best friends staying in the room while Mrs. Weasley dragged Ginny to the kitchen to help with cooking.

After five minutes of silence, Hermione broke it once again, "What did you mean you have an expiration date?"

Harry smiled at his friend and explained the prophecy and his discussion with Dumbledore the night Sirius died. Two teenagers' reactions were as different as the night and day. Ron found it encouraging as it meant, in his mind, Harry was powerful enough to defeat Voldemort. He did react as if he was jealous but curbed that pretty quickly. Hermione considered it a burden on her friend's shoulder and said so with pity in her eyes that changed to a determined look that told Harry she intended to see him survive no matter the cost.

Voldemort may have an army and more power in his pinky than all three of us combined but I have Hermione. There is no way he can win, Harry thought with a wide smile. Or at least, we'll know almost everything about Magic there is to know as we die.

| O |

July 16, 1996

Life is good, Harry thought as he walked the orchard to find the perfect spot to meditate. He had a smile on his face, which was odd enough as it is, and he was taking deep breaths, taking in the pleasant smells permeating the air. I don't get why anyone would give this up to move to a crowded city with exhaust pipes, constant noise and pretentious people.

It didn't take him long to find a spot with the view of a small lake and mountains. Oh, the view wasn't important for his meditation but it was always a welcome addition to anything and everything. A good view makes everything feel... more vivid.

He took one last glance around him to get to know his environment before he closed his eyes and got into position. This mixture of dance and martial arts asked for the complete abandon of the sense of 'self' and becoming one with your environment.

I'm a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.

Not a single being, but a part of the whole.

This meditation technique, not only allowed him to centre himself and calm his mind but gave him a sense of belonging. Like no matter what the future holds, he had Mother Earth and Magic supporting him. He couldn't fail and he couldn't disappoint because he had their blessing and their love.

In the two weeks since he started this meditation, he had felt himself getting more powerful. No, that's not true. He hadn't 'gotten' more 'powerful'. He hadn't changed, his perception of himself and the world around him had. Not powerful, he was blessed and allowed.

And it was just the beginning, he knew it. You can't learn the secrets of the universe and a calm and peaceful life in two weeks. He was but a novice, learning at his mother's bosom.

Harry danced with nature and fought his self, letting go of the Harry and becoming one.

One heard the birds chipper and the rats bustle. He smelt the earthiness of grass and the scent of roses. One felt the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind. He tasted the salt of the sea and the sweetness of apples.

One didn't need to see to know his two best friends approach his position with curiosity and watch him in questioning silence.

He understood his friends' wonder, appreciated their patience and continued his practice for another half hour with no noise other than his steady breathing and whisper-like movements.

Harry finished with a low crouch and let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. "You guys think too loud." He tilted his head as if to listen to something neither of his friends could hear and amended without turning around, "Well, Hermione thinks too loud. Ron is more like a violent silence."

That earned him affronted 'hey' from both as he threw himself to the ground and laid on his back with his arms behind his head to watch the sky. "I'm guessing you have questions?"

"Was that tai chi?"

"Something similar. There isn't a name for it. Where did you hear tai chi, Hermione?"

He heard instead of saw Hermione's huff of indignation. "I don't know if you know this about me but I read a lot. And my mother likes eastern meditation practices."

"This is a rare instance. Why do you speak so rarely about your mother?" Harry asked, unable to quench his curiosity.

Hermione walked next to him and sat down as Harry turned to her. "You never asked?" she answered unsurely.

"Please tell me," he pleaded, his hand caressing hers. He saw a red-faced Ron sit on the other side of her but ignored him.

The brown-eyed girl shrugged, looking away at the scenery with moist in her eyes. "It's hard, living in two worlds; Muggle and Magical. My parents can't understand what it's like to be a witch and the magical world won't accept them into their midst. It's my way of compartmentalising, I believe."

The green-eyed boy gave a sad smile to his friend that went unseen. "I never thought of it that way. And hey, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to reconcile your two worlds one day."

"What, no brilliant solutions?" Hermione turned back to him and asked with surprise and sarcasm laded in her voice.

"That's your department. My role is that of a supportive friend with inquisitive questions and witty remarks."

"And what's mine?" Ron butted in with a tightly controlled voice.

Hermione ignored him and Harry followed suit. "So, since when do you meditate and why?"

"There is no book on occlumency so I thought I'd try Muggle meditation techniques to see if they helped." Harry ignored the surprise and joy at Hermione's face. "I found a wonderful book with two kinds of meditations. This is one, and boy-oh-boy, it does wonders."

"Oh, really? How wonderful," Ron remarked sarcastically.

"What's the other one?"

"It's a technique with classic lotus but it has an... odd side effect," Harry tried to explain but didn't succeed.

"What side effect?"

"You are a well of questions today, aren't ya?" Harry quipped with a lazy grin. "I'm not sure how to describe it. Best I could come up with so far is, I sort of use legilimency on myself."

"?" Hermione's face screwed up in confusion.

"I enter a similar state to when Snape used legilimency on me but I can control the flow of memories and the pain and headaches are easier to handle," Harry answered the unasked question.

"That sounds..." Hermione trailed off, unsure of her thoughts on the matter.

"Like the curse, or luck depending on the situation, of Harry Potter strikes again," Harry finished for her. "This time it is luck though. Think about how useful it would be if you could re-examine all your memories."

Ron let out an explosive breath through his nose and stood up to leave.

Hermione nibbled her bottom lip. "It does sound useful when you put it like that but what if you... I don't know, get lost in memories or something?"

Harry chuckled. "I feared the same thing at first but doesn't that sound ridiculous when you think about it? How can someone get lost in their memories? It is your own brain. I mean, yes, my sense of time gets all skewed but I still get hungry, and loud noises still snap me out of a trance. It's not like my body stops working when I enter a trance."

"And do they, the meditation techniques, help?" she asked as she rocked on her bum side to side, her eyes shining with a hunger for knowledge that belonged there.

Harry nodded, "They do, in their own way. The one you saw me do just now helps me become more aware of my surroundings and my magic. The second one, the one I call Pottermancy, helps me re-examine my life. I learn through hindsight. It increases my awareness of my thought process."

Hermione giggled at his coined name before her expression turned thoughtful and shy. "Do you think you can teach me?"

The messy-haired wizard rolled his eyes at his friend's unnecessary shyness. "I'll give you the book and you can join me in my exercises but I think it's best if you learn it yourself. In my experience, which admittedly isn't much, meditation is a personalised thing."

"Okay, but you'll still help?" Hermione half-agreed and pleaded.

"I'll do my best. Be warned, I don't know if Pottermancy is a teachable skill or some quirk of my magic."

"I'm sure I'll live even if I don't learn how to read my own mind," Hermione deadpanned.

"Tell me about your parents," Harry changed the subject as he lost the war to his inner-Hermione.

Hermione's surprise didn't last long before a fond smile graced her lips, earning a similar one from Harry accompanied by a fluttering heart. "They are both dentists. Well, my father is a dentist while my mother is a dental surgeon. They met in the university through a mutual friend. My father used to date that mutual friend who was, and still is, my mother's closest friend. When my father fell in love with my mother, he broke it off with Sandy. A year later, he asked my mother out. Mom says the first year of their relationship was filled with drama, heartache and all that soap opera stuff but everything worked out."

Her eyes went unfocused and her lips curved up to a small smile. "They both love travelling, my parents. Since I've known myself, we have visited a different country for vacation every year. They also go on sort-of honeymoons every other year. To renew and celebrate their love, they say but I think they just want to have loud sex," she said before she chuckled and pretended to puke.

"They sound happy and very much in love," Harry commented, enjoying Hermione's mood.

"I think they are. Oh, they fight alright. I think it's inevitable in any relationship, but they are never hurtful or impatient with each other. They may go to bed mad but they always wake up still in love with each other."

"Tell me about these vacations of yours. Paint me a word picture," Harry asked in a small but eager tone.

Hermione frowned for a moment before smiling indulgently. She looked up to the sky in thought for a moment before she giggled. "Two years before I started Hogwarts, we went to Italy for two weeks. We started the vacation in Venice and travelled east to Milano, then north to Firenze, then Roma. Ended the vacation in Sicily. There is a popular tourist and local spot in Firenze called Piazzale Michelangelo. It's on a hilltop with an amazing view of the city and there are always these street musicians playing guitars, violins and whatnot."

She chuckled in remembrance. "I remember sitting there one night with a bottle of juice and the tastiest sandwich I have ever had and these three musicians with different instruments start playing together. I watched, horrified, as my parents stood and started dancing in the middle of everyone. There were two dozen couples there and, seeing my parents, they joined. One moment, everyone is sitting on their spot, enjoying the evening with their lovers and the next, twenty couples were dancing."

"The musicians played song after song as everyone danced, and I remember feeling afraid that my parents forgot about me. I made a little spectacle with my crying that night."

"Tsk. Hermione Granger; the girl-who-killed-romance," Harry joked after laughing his breath off.

"I was a child so, yeah, you could say that," Hermione said after slapping Harry on his shoulder.

"Your parents sound like how I imagine my parents would be, or was," the green-eyed wizard commented wistfully before frowning. "Hermione, I- Don't misunderstand me, I don't want you to go or anything but you should spend more time with your parents while we are still on holidays. Ron and I, we have you for nine months. Your parents must miss you terribly. I know I would."

The brown-eyed witch sighed and smiled. "I know. I'll write to them, but I want to celebrate your birthday."

"Damn right, you will. I'm sick and tired of you glossing over my birthdays with a gift and a letter only. I want a birthday hug," Harry demanded childishly and with what he hoped was a cute pout.

Hermione giggled and landed another gentle slap on the boy's shoulder before biting her bottom lip in thought, causing Harry to groan internally at the beautiful sight. "Okay. I'll write to my parents and go home the day after tomorrow. We'll plan your birthday tomorrow."

"Plan? We buy a birthday cake, put on smiles and Bam! We have a birthday," Harry disagreed.

Hermione gave a mischievous smile. "No, we'll make it special. And when I said we'll plan your birthday, I didn't mean to imply you would be involved in any planning or you would even know the plan."

"But it's my birthday?"

"No."

"My birthday," he pleaded.

"No."

"My birthday," he begged.

"No."

"My birthday! Mine! Mine!" he cried, punching the ground softly and childishly.

"My decision is final, Mr. Potter," Hermione said warningly and grinned.

"You are the worst," Harry said as he got up and stole a kiss on Hermione's cheek before whispering, "Romance killer," and running away; Hermione chasing him after a long, shocked moment.

Life is great.

| O |

July 21, 1996

Something odd was happening lately between Harry and Ron. While their relationship hadn't changed on the surface, there was a stillness and an odd tension there. Harry didn't know the reason behind the tension, nor how he could fix it.
So, he did nothing but pretend nothing had changed.

It wasn't only because he didn't have a clue what had. This tension was very similar to the one present before and during the Quidditch World Cup and he was tired of it. He loved Ron; he did, but he hated the redhead's temper and envious tantrums.

After a long contemplation, he realised it was partly his fault for always humouring that ugly side of Ron. Whenever Ron displayed a sign of envy or anger, Harry had either caved or forgave without a thought. And while he understood where Ron's issues were stemming from, it didn't, and shouldn't, mean he'd live his life on egg-shells.

We can ill afford to act like children. War is here and we can't afford to postpone happiness out of concern for hurt feelings.

Harry left the house in contemplation of this issue and took a deep breath of fresh air, enjoying the setting sun and the pink hue it basked the garden in. He strolled aimlessly, letting his feet take him to wherever he needed to be with no concern.

He walked and thought until he heard a silent sniff, almost dismissing it as a quirk of the gentle breeze. Still, he was nothing if not inquisitive, so he chose to investigate and followed the sound.

There it is, he celebrated inwardly as he saw a glint of silver next to a tree and walked there to find Fleur sitting against a tree with dried tear tracks on her unblemished skin. What should I do? I'm not good with crying girls, last year proved that.

He sighed and tiptoed to the tree, hoping he wouldn't make things worse with his presence. Fleur jerked out of her wet contemplation as Harry sat next to her and leaned on the same tree she did without a word.

Two champions rested against the same tree for ten minutes in silence before Fleur lost the fight to her curiosity. "Why are you 'ere, 'Arry?"

The green-eyed boy shrugged. "It's a good place as any and you looked like you could use a friend."

The blonde said nothing back, looking away with unfocused eyes that shone with as yet unshed tears. Harry felt the need to disturb the uncomfortable silence but didn't know what so he went with an honest question, "Are you okay?"

"Oi, I'm fine," was the short, clipped answer he received.

"Let's try this again, are you okay? You look sad."

She sighed in defeat and irritation. "Oi. I'm frustrated zat I 'ave to live with people who don't like me. I'm upset zat my future in-laws don't like me. Gabrielle, I miss 'er."

Harry gave the blonde girl a sympathetic glance. "Is that what this is about? Because Mrs. Weasley doesn't like you?"

"I'm getting married and no one in my fiance's family likes me," Fleur said in despair.

What can I say? She's right. "Ron does," he joked and earned a wet giggle from the girl.

Fleur dried her eyes on her sleeve. "'ow can I marry into a family zat dislikes me so?" she looked at Harry hopefully, like he might have all the answers, and asked.

"I'm sure they'll change their tune once they get to know you and even if they don't, Bill loves you. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Eet is," the blonde agreed with a nod. "But eet is 'ard to live in the 'ouse of people 'oo dislike you."

"Then don't," the raven-haired boy said with a careless shrug. "I wouldn't spend a minute in my relatives' house if I didn't have to. The good thing about being an adult is you get to do whatever you want to."

"But Bill says we 'ave to stay 'ere for your protection," the girl argued weakly.

"I'm sure there are other people who could fill in for you."

"We need to save money for the wedding."

"The Grimmauld Place is empty," Harry argued. "Stop making excuses, Fleur. If you are miserable here, the solution is simple; don't be here. We are at war. We have to sink our teeth in any sliver of happiness we can find. And while sacrifices are necessary for us to win, you don't have to sacrifice your happiness altogether."

The veela didn't seem fully convinced but Harry saw a gleam of determination in her eyes.

"If you don't think it would work, then you need to change the situation here. Bill wants you to stay here? Then he should ensure your comfort." Harry considered the tension he witnessed between every female in the house and Fleur. "But I think you need to accept that they won't change their opinions of you soon. Sometimes, people just don't like each other. You don't need them to like you. Like I said, Bill loves you."

Fleur sighed and leaned forward to rest her cheek on her palm, facing Harry with pink cheeks that looked adorable on her. "'Ow are you, 'Arry? We 'aven't 'ad a chance to talk last few days."

"I don't know how to answer that question," Harry said as he drew his knees up and hugged them. "Content but anxious about the war sounds appropriate, I guess. My mood is fluid lately, going from happy to upset in a moment and vice versa."

"Zat's 'ow everyone feels, I zink," Fleur commented with an understanding smile. "'Ow about your love life? Any girlfriends Gabrielle should know about?"

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Not at the moment. I tried my luck with a girl last year but... it didn't end well."

Fleur raised her eyebrows in surprise and her eyes shone with interest. "Oh? What 'appened?"

Harry snorted again at the curious nature of every girl he met so far when it came to the subject of love. Still, he told her everything that happened the previous year, both to satisfy her curiosity and to get some things off his chest. What better way to process things than to tell someone you somewhat trust and yet someone who is somewhat new to you.

"Do you love 'Ermione?" she asked Harry when he finished his tale.

Harry rested his forehead on his knees and thought. "I love her but I'm not sure if I am in love with her."

"What's ze differenze?"

The boy looked up, uncomprehending before he realised Fleur's command of the English language isn't yet there. "You love your sister but you are in love with Bill," Harry explained.

"Ah," was all Fleur said.

"I'm going full cliche right now but how do you know when you love someone?"

Fleur gave Harry a gentle smile and a pat on the cheek as if he was a small boy which Harry felt was accurate at that moment. "I zink it's when you get... exité," she pointed at her stomach and made a weird hand gesture before continuing, "when 'e smiles. Or she in your case."

"Hm. My stomach clenches sometimes like that but not always," Harry said as he gazed at the surrounding trees.

The blonde gave him a kiss on the cheek before standing. "Zank you for zis, 'Arry. I needed a friend."

Harry didn't follow her lead, choosing to stay for a while longer instead. "You are welcome to talk my ears off whenever you want to talk."

"If you decide to... courtiser 'Ermione, she'd be chanceux," she said before walking away, leaving Harry to figure out what she said.

Would she? Harry wondered as he leaned back with a sigh, remembering the all the reasons he said why he would make a bad partner.

I must have good attributes that would make me a good date, right?

| O |

July 30, 1996

Harry was tense and restless as he paced the living room of the Burrow and waited for Dumbledore to arrive. After two weeks of intermittent negotiations, he had finally convinced the Professor to take him to the Grimmauld Place for a night.
Not that the old man didn't want Harry to go there, he was concerned with security, especially with the unchecked parts of the house filled with dark magic. It took a lot of effort on Harry's part not to use the 'my life is always in danger' card.

No, sir. Harry Potter acts like a mature individual now.

Harry had convinced Dumbledore to allow him one night in the childhood house of Sirius - calling it a home would be an insult - by promising to be careful. He even sweetened the deal by inviting Lupin to join him for a night. Remus hadn't even thought about it before agreeing, much to Dumbledore's dismay.

The whitened wizard had to agree the house was too useful to let it go to waste, especially the library. And the Lord's office, if they could find it.

Purebloods and their bullheaded need to horde knowledge like demented hedgehogs.

Harry was surprised to learn Dumbledore and Sirius had spent days searching every inch of the house for a secret office in the house with no luck. According to Dumbledore, it was a Pureblood custom for a 'Lord of the House' to hide important documents and information in a special office and protect it past redundancy.

It was curious how much Dumbledore wanted to find the office, and Harry was sure it was for knowledge. Dumbledore is a man with a thirst for knowledge.

The thing that scared Harry was the desperate hope Dumbledore tried to hide when he told the boy about the office. The recently reinstated Chief Warlock was many things, but he was never desperate. Not even when he had duelled Voldemort or when the Ministry had tried to arrest him

So, Harry had no intention, nor the inclination, of denying his mentor this hope he was searching for.

His pacing stopped as soon as he heard the knock on the door and he shot off to answer. "Hello, Albus. You are here for Harry, I presume," he heard Mrs. Weasley say as he opened the door to the kitchen.

"Indeed, I am, Molly." The white-haired man turned to Harry with twinkling eyes. "I see you haven't forgotten to mention I was coming this time, Harry."

Harry grinned with no sign of shame or regret. "I like Mrs. Weasley, you see. I couldn't blindside her like that."

"You are turning out to be a most devious young man," Dumbledore joked softly as both men ignored the gaping redhead in the room. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir. I've got my overnight bag and everything." The older wizard waved his arm in a sweeping motion, telling Harry to walk without words.

Ten minutes later, they carefully walked past the door of the grim old place, joined by Lupin and Tonks. Harry saw Dumbledore nod from the corner of his eyes as they walked past the irritating painting and entered the kitchen and spoke softly, "Kreacher."

"Filthy animals and blood-traitors invade the house of proud Blacks! Oh, what would my mistress say." Needless to say, when the elf materialised, he didn't appear to enjoy their presence.

"Be silent, Kreacher," Harry ordered when they heard a glass, or something similar, break followed by muffled curses coming from the second floor. The four tense magicals immediately pulled out their wands as Kreacher's expression turned a cruel shade, a small, vicious smile on his lips. "Who else is here, Kreacher?"

"The thief bad master allowed into this proud house," Kreacher snarled in hatred, both at his old, dead master and the thief, whoever he might be.

Harry didn't know why but he felt a cold anger settle on his stomach as he stormed towards where the noise came from. He climbed the stairs on his toes, not afraid, but unwilling to make a noise and scare off the thief before he could resolve his anger. He crept over to the only open door and threw it open fully, his wand aimed at the ginger-haired thief, otherwise known as Mundungus Fletcher. "Give me a reason not to paint the walls with your blood," he snarled as the lowlife jumped at the sudden noise.

The man whirled around with a healthy amount of fear in his brown eyes. "Sirius never cared about none of this stuff," the man said in broken English, eyes darting between Harry and somewhere over his shoulder, going from fearful to hopeful and back.

"I don't see what Sirius has to do with your imminent death," Harry hissed, stalking closer to the man. "How long have you been stealing from me and what have you stolen so far?"

"I got nothin', I swear," the man swore as he backed up with his hands raised in surrender.

"Why am I having a hard time believing you?" Harry lit his wand and gave what he hoped was a cruel smile, the light coming off his wand reflecting on a silver necklace in the thief's hand. Before he could say anything, his inherited and demented house-elf ran to the man and kicked him, shocking everyone in the room. The elf then wrenched the necklace away before landing a few more powerful kicks at the fallen man's stomach before popping out of the room.

For a long moment, the only noise in the room was the pain-filled moans of Fletcher, as other four occupants of the room looked around in shock. It was Harry who snapped out of it first thanks to his curiosity. "Kreacher."

"Filthy master asks for Kreacher. Kreacher doesn't want to answer."

Harry ignored the elf's muttering as he spoke, "Bring the necklace you took from the thief."

He waited patiently as the elf popped away, popping back in a couple minutes later. Harry grabbed the necklace right away and examined it, feeling something, something dark and wrong exuding from it. It had a serpentine 'S' on it, inlaid with glittering emerald stones.

It felt familiar yet strange at the same time, puzzling Harry. The boy turned his attention back to the elf but before he could question it, Dumbledore rushed to his side and wrested the necklace from Harry.

The headmaster inspected the necklace with an unholy interest and cast a strange spell at it, his eyes giving off a satisfied glint when the spell caused the thing to let out a dark, sickly green smoke. "How did this ended up here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the silver neck-wear.

The elf didn't answer the question, glaring at the old man with hatred filled eyes.

"Answer him, Kreacher," Harry ordered.

The elf's hands went to his throat as he answered, his head shaking and face contorting as he tried not to answer. "Master Regulus gave it to Kreacher, ordered him to destroy it before he died. Kreacher tried. He failed. Failed. Bad house-elf! Bad!"

Harry tried to decipher what the elf said as the said elf tried to commit suicide by hitting his head on the walls violently. The headmaster, on the other hand, seemed to understand the cryptic words of the elf, while the werewolf, the auror and the thief all seemed confused.

"Kreacher, stop. Don't hurt yourself," the dark-haired teen ordered softly, unwilling to allow even 'it' to self-mutilate.

His words brought Dumbledore out of his disbelief and wonder, whatever the reason, and the headmaster hurried to the elf's side and bent down on his knees next to the creature. "Kreacher, you have my word, we will destroy the locket and fulfil your master's order."

The elf looked at Harry with hope and tears in his eyes and Harry nodded. "Thank you, filthy master and blood-traitors! Master Regulus shall find peace in his death," he eerily said before popping off.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry deadpanned as everyone in the room straightened. "Would you mind telling me what was that about, sir?"

"Not at the moment, Harry. I will share what I know with you in school," the white-bearded wizard promised.

Harry nodded his acceptance before turning his attention back to the creep trying to creep out of the room. "What shall I do with you?"

The thief gave a toothless smile. "Let me go?"

"I shall deal with this transgression," Dumbledore cut in, giving Harry a meaningful glance over his half-moon glasses.

Harry sighed and nodded. "I don't want to see his face anywhere near me or this place. This is the second time he tried to screw me over."

Dumbledore nodded his acceptance while the creep let out a relieved breath before he hurried out of the room, leaving the four people alone.

Dumbledore put the necklace in an inner pocket of his once-again colourful robes and the group separated in twos to look through the house, Harry with his headmaster and Lupin with Tonks.
The powerful duo searched room after room, looking for traps, hidden doors and dangers for the next couple hours. Harry watched in interest as Dumbledore cast spell after spell to find and dismantle the dark traps and put the rooms in order just with a flick of his wand. It hurt him to see how much of the house was ransacked by the creepy thief and he woved to himself to make sure the toothless man was punished. Not until after the war, though.

When the group sat for tea in the kitchen two hours later, they had searched and catalogued every room in the house except Sirius'. The room Harry had insisted on coming there for.

He had a gut feeling Sirius had left him something there, something with at least sentimental value. But that wasn't why he wanted to be there. No, the book Hermione had sent mentioned spending time in the same place as someone you lost would help you get closure.

And he needed closure. Oh, he was handling Sirius' death well but he knew he couldn't accept it fully until he said goodbye to his godfather.

After allowing himself a short rest, he left his three companions in the kitchen in search of closure. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and dragged his feet to the master bedroom, putting a trembling hand on the wooden door. The door warmed up to his touch and sent tingles down his arm and shivers down his spine.

That was magic.

Still, he didn't care about it at the moment. He wanted to feel close to his godfather, the closest link to his parents he had and yet, he couldn't move from his spot. The hand he had on the door continued to tremble and his shoulders shook with dry heaves, his eyes moistening with tears he fought.

He closed his eyes and imagined Sirius standing where the young man was standing as the Azkaban survivor cursed the fates for putting him in prison after prison. Because that's what this house for Sirius. This was his 'Privet Drive', his personal prison and nightmare.

That thought added anger to Harry's grief and Harry held on to that anger even though he knew it wasn't healthy. It was better than the pain of knowing Sirius gave up his freedom to help Harry by allowing himself to get locked up by Dumbledore 'for his own safety'.

Oh, how he wanted to rant and rave at the ancient man for what he did to both Harry and Sirius in the name of safety. He wanted to rage against the white-haired wizard for stealing their happiness and freedom for his purposes.

But he knew, in the heart of his heart, Dumbledore never did anything out of malice. And while he could disagree and refuse to obey, he could never blame the headmaster for his and Sirius' fate. Sirius needn't to comply with the orders and Harry could easily ensure Privet Drive wasn't standing for him to go back.

So, he took a deep breath and directed his anger towards the real guilty party in everything that went wrong in his life; Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and Fudge and his stooges. Voldemort for destroying his, Sirius' and many others' lives in his quest for power. Fudge for his corruption and refusal to listen to Harry when the boy told him about Sirius' innocence and Voldemort's resurrection.

Both men would die for their sins, their followers suffering a fate worse in Azkaban.

Both men would curse the day they heard the name of Harry Potter as they took their last, pain filled breaths.

He would show both men what real power was and make them beg. He didn't know if they would beg for their lives or the sweet release of death, but they would beg until they had no hope.

Woah, there champ. No need to go all dark and sadistic.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself and push down the thoughts that scared him like nothing in his life ever scared him before. Ollivander's voice rang in his ears, telling him about the core of his wand. He heard Voldemort's voice whisper into his ears, telling him to embrace the lack of good and bad and accept the authority of his own power.

He shook his head, focusing his thoughts on the good influences in his life. Dumbledore, telling him how different he was from Voldemort because of his choices. Hermione, telling him how much she admired him for not snapping under pressure last year. Sirius, telling him about the light and dark inside everyone.

That last thought broke Harry's resolve and he gave into the tears and sobs and fell on his knees, hugging his knees as his body shook in grief.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, crying for the loss of his godfather and everything else, and he didn't care as he stood, wiping his face on his sleeves. He sniffed one last time before he squared his shoulders and pushed open the bedroom door.

The room was in disarray, clothes and books thrown about haphazardly, worn down posters hung on the walls and childish drawings on the walls. The teenager in Harry couldn't help the laughter erupting at the how childishly and rebelliously Sirius the room was in this state.

The boy continued to laugh for over five minutes and when he couldn't laugh anymore, he smiled like a lunatic. He was sure if anyone could see him like that, they'd lock him up in a psych ward and throw away the keys but he didn't care.

The room felt so much like Sirius. It's dark pass was there for anyone to see in the mouldy and darkened walls, offset by the eye-wateringly colourful belongings of Sirius. He probably enjoyed giving his parents the finger by drawing that penis and putting up a Muggle lingerie model's poster on the wall.

Harry took a long look at the poster, wondering if Sirius would want him to have it as he memorised the curves on the well-endowed woman's body.

He shook his head to refocus and began the search for things with sentimental value, things like this room that carried Sirius' soul but smaller so he could carry them with him at all times.

He found that and more. He found the partner of the mirror Sirius gave him, a long letter addressed to him and told Harry everything he didn't have time to tell his godson in person, the keys to his motorcycle, a picture of Harry on a toy broom, and a letter from his mother to Sirius.

He spent two hours searching through everything, crying and laughing, before he succumbed to sleep on the same bed Sirius slept on his last night with a silent prayer to the dark night sky.

I hope in death, you find the peace you couldn't find in life.