A/N: Hi again, all. First, I'd like to apologize and thank one of my reviewers for reminding me- yes, I did forget a disclaimer. I meant to have it in the list, but forgot it. So... This statement applies to the entire fic, both before and after, so don't expect another one in it: I don't own Harry Potter, the Characters, Events, Locations, or other indicia of the HP 'verse. Those are owned by Joanne Kathleen Rowling, with a few exceptions for Warner Brothers, etc.
... though I wouldn't mind a harem of some of the girls. You know which ones.

Anyway, thanks very much for all the reviews (didn't hit 100, but I didn't really expect it to), please keep 'em coming.
Remember, this story's finished- I'm just not uploading it all at once, so don't worry about it being continued. I just need to remember to take a few minutes and do it. And since I'm typing this at 1:50 AM, after getting out of bed in the middle of the night 'cause I forgot to post it earlier, well... I likely won't forget on a given week. Sunday is also the planned update day, usually early in the AM.
Enjoy chapter two!

Chap. 2 Home at last?

"Are you sure you'll be able to care for her, Mr. Potter? I mean..." the pretty healer blushed, obviously embarrassed to be questioning- in public, no less- the hero of two wars. "It's just... well, she's not really one of them, but her blood... we tested it. She's tainted by... by the... the... the..."

Harry's eyes, just after finishing rolling because of her behavior, rolled painfully again. "The lycanthropy?"

A deeper shade of red, the witch nodded.

"My father and godfather's best friend was a full werewolf, and Bill Weasley, a close family friend, is basically affected the same as Lavender. I'm no potions master, but I'm able to buy Wolfsbane and dilute it if needed. I can also follow instructions, so, yes, I think I can handle taking care of her. She's a friend of mine, and apparently has no one else. I'm taking her home if she's ready to be released."

Lavender, sitting in a wheel chair of what, to Harry, was of ancient design several feet away, only just caught the last two sentences of the conversation as the young wizard's voice started to raise. She blushed and looked away. Calling us 'friends' is a bit of a stretch, isn't it, Harry? I can probably count the sentences we've exchanged on one hand.

"Very well then, Mr. Potter," the witch answered with a worried glance in the younger witch's direction, "This potion here is for her exposure. This reddish one is for-"
Harry continued to listen, committing the instructions to memory while he watched the area round Lavender. Even late at night- or perhaps early morning would be more accurate- there were several patients waiting to be admitted. However, it was obvious that none of them were willing to get near the afflicted young woman. The scars on her face and neck were extremely recognizable, and the wizarding populace had learned all-too-well recently to fear werewolves again.
"And remember, floo us if you have any questions. If... now, don't get mad at me for this, I'm just doing my job,"
Now the healer had his undivided attention. In Harry's experience, whenever anyone told him not to get mad, he had ample, and usually justified, reason to do so.

Reading his darkening expression she finished in a rush, "If you have problems, er, containing her, stun her quick and hard, twice, and then bring her here. We have the, er, fac-"

Harry grabbed the sack of potions from her and stalked over to Lavender, fuming, before the healer could finish.

"Harry, you don't have to get mad on my behalf. I'm... I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it. There's nothing wrong with you!"

The young witch'es eyes watered at once, but she said nothing. Distantly, Harry was aware of the entire waiting room watching his exchange with Lavender. Sod 'em all. Let them watch! Maybe they'll even listen and learn something! I'm not afraid to be around her! She's not even a full werewolf!
After a few moment's silence while he fumed and Lavender tried not to break into tears, Harry changed the subject. "Come on, let's get you out of here. You still hungry?"

Ten minutes' later, they settled into a small booth at the dim back of a muggle diner. Harry had been unwilling to subject Lavender, who still looked rather unhealthy, despite the full moon being a week or more away, to the stress of apparition, and was not willing to risk a port key, since he had never tried making one before. He thought it might have been a part of the same chain that he, Ron, and Hermione had had an impromptu battle with death eaters in a year or more ago.
"Here's the menu," he handed the girl, who's eyes were still wet, "order anything you want."

She spent a few minutes looking over the unfamiliar foods, and even longer reading the descriptions of a few that looked at least a little appetizing. Harry, meanwhile, had already settled on the original comfort food for a teenage boy (that did not have pizza handy)- a cheeseburger, with everything.

However, when the waitress returned with two coffees, Lavender only ordered a pastry without sugar. Harry closed his eyes for a moment before ordering, taking the time to set his resolve to take the action he knew was right, rather than what was easy.

"I'll have a quarter-pound cheeseburger with everything. Make that two. A... a steak, very rare, the twelve ounce one. And... a plate of cheese fries. And a couple big shakes, one strawberry and one chocolate. Bring those later, though, if you would. You're open all night, right?"

The waitress nodded, distracted by her frantic scribbling. "Right then, sir. I'll bring... uh, the fries, the pastry and some water out right away, the burgers next, and then the steak and shakes, shall I?"

Harry smiled, ignoring Lavender's dumbfounded expression.

Once the waitress had left them, Harry glanced around to make sure no one else was within hearing range, verified it with homunum revelio, while Moody's voice echoed 'Constant Vigilance!' in his head. "You need more than a croissant. If you don't eat it all, I'll have a little extra. I can still hear Mrs. Weasley crying over how peaky I look, I can afford to gain a few pounds. If I don't finish it, then... it'll go to waste. It's only a few pounds."

"Harry..."
But Lavender appeared to not know what to say. She refused to meet his eyes, and unfortunately, Harry understood all too well why. He had grown up being mocked, ridiculed, an outcast. While Lavender may once have been quite popular, she was now as he had been, while Harry was popular (in a shallow way) instead of the nobody he had been before his Hogwarts letters had begun to arrive. "Listen, Lavender, I know... or at least, I can guess, what you've been going through. I can-"
"No you don't, Harry," the witch replied, meeting his eyes for the first time since the hospital, her gaze steely, "You don't have any idea what it's like to be shunned like... like a beast. Even my own family wants nothing to do with me. Parvati... Parvati's afraid I'm a full werewolf, she won't even return my owls when I send her a letter."

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry did, again, what was right instead of easy. "Let's take a walk down through my history, shall we? Starting with fifth year, I was slandered in the worst possible way, in the frigging Prophet, by the Ministry, and by my 'friends', even those in Gryffindor who knew me best, aside from Ron and Hermione. In fourth, three-quarters of the school- or more- thought I cheated my way into the tournament just for a little extra fame. Like I need that. In third year, things were actually pretty good, except I thought I had a mass-murderer after me. Turns out the real murderer had been sleeping in my dorm for years, just biding his time, and the innocent one was my godfather, Sirius Black. But who cares about that? No public ridicule, slander, or lies that year. In second, everyone- everyone- in Gryffindor except Ron and Hermione thought I was the effing Heir of Slytherin. Even you. Seamus. Dean. Maybe Neville knew I wasn't, but we hardly talked back then, so who knows?

First year, again, I didn't have any 'negative' publicity except from Snape, but there I was, a boy with no idea why he was famous, or how famous he was. I was a nobody in Privet Drive at best, a criminal hooligan at worst. I was treated literally like a house elf for the first ten years of my life, Lavender. Except without the job satisfaction. If I did a good job, I got food to eat with minimal time locked in my cupboard underneath the stairs. That was my bedroom for ten years, which was more than I deserved accordingto my family. So yes, I know exactly what it's like. Maybe I don't know what it's like to be feared for being a werewolf. That's one thing people have never thought of me. But I've been loathed, feared, and shunned for more than half of my life. So I know what you're feeling, believe me."

She said nothing, though he could read the pain in her eyes easily enough. He'd felt it himself, for years at a time sometimes. The shame at one's own existence, at how weak one was to let the words and actions of others affect you, the soul-crushing loneliness she must have been feeling, as if no one she'd ever cared for cared back, not one whit.

"Harry, I just..." But Lavender seemed to have no response to Harry's declaration.

The black-haired wizard shook his head, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes, much like she hadn't wanted to see his. "It doesn't matter. Look... I'm no good with feelings and stuff. Even worse than most blokes, I reckon."

Lavender snorted, "That'd be tough to do."

Trying not to smile, sure she was remembering her time with Ron much as Harry himself was, Harry kept on, "But I do kind of get your... situation. You feel like you're all alone in the world, no one to turn to, no one that understands. But I do, and I'm here and willing and able to help. You just have to let me."

After several tense, silent minutes, Lavender's brown eyes slid up from the cheap paper place setting to watch Harry for another few minutes.
"I... I don't know if I can."

Harry shrugged, forcing nonchalance into his voice, "Then, if you can't, there's nothing I can do. I can't force you to accept my help. I know we've had our differences, but have I ever given you cause not to trust me?"

During the next round of uncomfortable silence, Harry too the time to ponder exactly why he'd chosen this path, and how far down it he would be willing to go. On the surface, it was all down to his inability to watch his friends, or anyone, really, suffer.

But there was more to it. For his part, at least, there wasn't any real friendship there. He doubted there was any on her side, either. They'd been partnered for a few projects during their school years, but otherwise the most contact they had had was when Lavender was trying to learn more about Ron when they'd been together.

'Acquaintances' certainly covered it, but weren't they more than that? They had been next to each other in the dorms above the Gryffindor common room for six years, the entire time Harry had attended. They had been in the DA together, she had fought to protect herself, her friends, Hogwarts, him, during the last battle. Maybe 'comrades in arms' was a better term?

The waitress, a tall, pretty black girl with a poofy hair style that reminded Harry of one of his father's black friends from the photo album returned. Carrying their first orders in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other, she said, "Here you two lovebirds go. The burger and steak should be out in just a few. Refill?"

Displaying enough dexterity to make Harry green with envy, she filled his cup to the brim at the same time as putting down the large and small plates with the other hand.
"He's not my boyfriend," Lavender beat him to it, "He's famous, a real hero. I'm nobody."

The wizard was distracted by how much he hated both the words and the tone they'd been delivered with by the waitress turning to face him. She stared for several seconds, he thought it was more than a minute, while his face turned deeper and deeper red.

"Sorry," she eventually said, "I don't know you. Are you an actor, or something?"

Harry, who had decided to take a sip of his freshened coffee to have something to do besides stare back, sprayed the hot liquid all over the fries in an attempt to restrain his laughter at the dumbfounded expression Lavender wore, or the suddenly annoyed looks the waitress was giving him.

"Er, I'll just get a towel to wipe that up, and have the cook make you another-"

Still forcibly holding back chuckles, Harry commented, "Don't bother," drew his wand and vanished the entire mess, along with the plate. Next he looked to the wide-eyed girl and whispered, "Obliviate," before stowing the holly wand away again.

After she'd wandered off, confused, Lavender found the words to speak again. "How- how can she not know who you are? You're the most famous wizard in England! Probably the world!"

He shrugged, "I told you. To muggles, I'm no one, no one at all. Just another roguishly handsome stranger on the street."

Despite having heard it many times, that was the first time Lavender believed a word of it. After all, how could Harry Potter be a nobody?
"You know, Harry," she said after picking at her pastry to contain her own blush, "roguish good looks or not, humble suits you much better than hubris."

For the first time that night, in months, really, Harry found himself smiling for real.

(O)(O)(O)

"Now, don't scream."

Lavender, clutching the take-out box filled with half a bloody steak, asked, "Why would I scream?"

Harry winked, "Kreacher!"

The witch took one look at the wrinkled, ancient (though thankfully, scrupulously clean) elf, and let loose a blood-curdling screech that actually caused several of the nearby muggles in Grimmauld Places Eleven and Thirteen to look out their windows questioningly.

Grinning again, Harry ignored her shock and spoke to the elf, "Kreacher, will it cause any problems if I let Lavender inside?"

The diminutive creature cast an appraising eye over the blonde, "Kreacher doesn't think so, Master. The wards are strong, but Kreacher can see that Master Harry's friend is a witch, so with his permission, she can enter."

Mostly recovered from her surprise, Lavender peered around, "You live in a muggle flat?"

"No, I live at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

A delicate eyebrow, bisected by a red scar, raised in confusion. A moment later, though, there was a surprised "Oh!" as the Fidelius charm allowed the knowledge into her mind.

"Come on in. Don't mind the dark decor... this was the house Sirius grew up in, and his family... well, they weren't Death Eaters, but you couldn't call them 'nice' wizards, either. Pureblood extremists, all of them except Sirius, and I guess his brother wasn't too bad. Only decent people they ever produced were my godson's mum and grandmother, and Sirius himself. It looks a lot better than it did, but it's still not really bright and cheery."

"Will Master Harry or his friend be needing anything else before Kreacher retires?"

His hand on the doorknob, Harry paused. "You... you haven't been to bed, yet? What time is it?"
The elf gave a weird, shrugging bow, "Kreacher only requires a few hours' sleep a night, Master. More makes Kreacher feel like he isn't doing his duty to his Master's house. A house elf must always be ready to serve his Master. It is our way. It is also..." Kreacher's eyes closed for a moment, then reopened, looking slightly less focused, "Two-sixteen in the morning, Master."

Sighing, Harry nodded, "Well... sleep as much as you need to, okay? That's an order. In fact, take... take a day every what, six months, to sleep in? That isn't too much, right?"

The wrinkled elf's eyes widened. "Is... Is Master unhappy with Kreacher's service?"

"Oh, no Kreacher... I'm very happy with you. I just... okay, let me change that order. If you need something to take care of yourself, take care of it, okay? Sleep as much as you need to, eat what you need to, and so on. If you want to take time off to do something for yourself, like a hobby, then do it, okay? I just want you to be happy too. You've earned it, all right?"

Again, the elf looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Kreacher likes taking care of Master's house very much. He will keep doing a good job, and that will be his hobby, if it suits Master."

Lavender's small hand came up to cover her mouth, stifling giggles, while Harry's eyes rolled. "All right, Kreacher, whatever you choose. As long as you're happy, I'm happy with you. Go on and head to bed, I'll get Lavender settled. No, really, I'll do it," he interrupted the elf before he could start, "Believe me, Kreacher, I can handle this. Just go on to bed, please."

When Lavender got her first glimpse of the interior of Harry's home, she gasped with a combination of surprise and fear. Despite appearing very clean, the dark, dingy and faded wallpaper- she thought it may once have borne a floral pattern- did nothing to detract from the row of shrivelled elf heads hanging on the wall. "H-Harry? Are... what are those?"
Following Lavender's pointing finger, Harry's eyes widened before a strange, almost regretful smile stole over his face. "They're Kreacher's family. A few generations back, one of Sirius' great-aunts started this mad tradition of cutting off their House Elves' heads and mounting them on the wall when they got to old to serve tea."
The blonde shook her head, "But... but that's mental!"

He nodded, "You should have heard Ron go on about them. Called Kreacher a nutter all the time for wanting his own head up there with them. But when he dies... I'm not doing it. He's not a Black family elf any more, he's a Potter."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she followed him down the stairs into the basement kitchen, "How does Hermione feel about that?"

He shrugged, "We don't... talk much any more. We still stay in touch, but she spends most of her time at the Weasley's, and... well, after Ginny and Fred, I... I don't feel right going there any more. She doesn't seem to mind too much, though, she knows it'd kill him if we set him free, and he is a lot happier now than he was when we first met him."

"He..."

Harry shrugged, holding open the door to the gleaming downstairs eating area, "Doesn't matter. He's fine now... I used to hate him myself, he was directly responsible for Sirius' death. But... I understand him now. I've let it go."

She watched him in silence, sitting on the end of the table nearest to the roaring fireplace, watching him move around the kitchen as if he'd been born there. There was something... different. He was still Harry, the boy she'd grown up at least knowing, but... there was Ron and Hermione's absence. He was rarely without them in school.

But that wasn't it.

He was taller, more rugged. He hadn't shaved in a few days, judging by the dark shadow on his chin and throat. He was only a few inches taller than when she'd last had a chance to really examine him more than a year ago. The wounds from the battle, in the brief glimpses she'd had then, were long healed. There were a few more scars, though, some of them visibly peeking from his coat sleeves- he hadn't yet taken that off- and one long one moving up his throat on the right side. I'm not the only one with permanent scars, I guess.

He moved with the same easy grace he always had when fighting, with utter un-selfconsciousness, moving both arms- and the occasional foot- to open doors, pick things up, put them down, and shut them again without hardly a glance in any direction aside from the most complicated of the individual tasks before him.

After just a few minutes, her chance to watch him without drawing attention to herself was gone when he set down a steaming cup of tea before her, followed by a saucer with two pieces of buttered toast, before moving back to the pantry and returning moments later with a plate of butter cream and sugar both in one hand, and a small pot labelled Hanson's Homestyle Honey in the other.

"Sorry," he said as he sat across from her, "I didn't think to ask what kind. You okay with Earl Gray? I can make you something else, the water's still boiling."

Lavender shook her head, "No, this is fine. My mum drank this kind... well, she probably still does, but I haven't seen her in a few months."
The pair fell into an uncomfortable silence as they slowly sipped the piping tea.

Harry had gotten up and refilled his own before Lavender had finished hers and one of the pieces of toast. "I'm... sorry, Harry," she said with a yawn and a regretful look at the other piece of toast, "I don't want to waste your food, but..."

"'s fine," he muttered, his own demeanor perking up as hers seemed to fall, "Kreacher'll take it out back to feed the birds in the garden when he gets up, no problem at all. You look pretty knackered, you ready for bed?"

She blushed at the suggestion, then quickly forced calm as she realized once again that this was Harry Potter. Why would he want to take her to bed? Even if he did, he was far too much of a gentleman- whatever his other faults as far as girls went- to do such a thing to her in her state anyway.

More tired than depressed, she stumbled twice making her way up the narrow staircase after the young man, and almost fell once again when he stopped suddenly before one of the doors on the third landing, "You can stay in here. It's Gin and- well, it's Hermione's room, and I don't think she'd mind being your 'roommate' for a bit longer."

The witch made a half-hearted (the best she could manage) attempt to dissuade him that she'd be okay on a couch rather than taking up a bed reserved for Hermione, or even worse, his old- dead- girlfriend.

Lavender's expression followed him back down into sadness at her tactless reminder of yet another of Harry's lost loved ones. "I'm sorry... I'll stop arguing. Just... are there linens and things?"

Harry nodded, forcing a small smile, "Yeah, and I'm pretty sure 'Mione's pyjamas will fit you well enough for a night or two as well. She keeps them in the right, I think, top drawer maybe. Do you want me to... well, what time do you wake up?"

She shrugged half-heartedly, "Depends. I don't have a job, or school, so I'd like to have a bit of a..." she trailed off, not sure whether he'd want her to impose that long.

He took one look and gave another genuine smile, "A lie-in? That's fine, Kreacher gets up fairly early- I think around six- and I usually go for a run around seven, but then I'll be going back to bed myself. Of course... I also don't usually stay up this late, so I might sleep in myself. I'll have Kreacher wait for breakfast then, until at least one of us is up. Just... "

He trailed off, watching refusal grow in her eyes, but then cut in before she could speak, "No, just... listen, Lavender. I know this is hard for you, but you need some help, and I have no problems providing it. I want to, okay? This isn't a big stress for me. Honestly, I'm ready to go into the Academy, I have a month and a half to kill. If you want to stay here the whole time, that's okay with me. And... I could probably use the company."

The fight left her again with a sigh. "Good night, Harry," she said, and backed through the open doorway, closing it behind her. A moment later, she heard him trudge slowly back down a flight of stairs and open, then shut another door below her.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay here for a night... or maybe two, if my nightmares don't wake him up.

It took a few minutes to find a comfortable looking pair of Hermione's pyjamas and climb into the bed closest to the door. It squeaked, but not a lot. At the same time, it was terribly comfortable. She sighed; she couldn't recall being in a bed this comfortable since Hogwarts. It's kind of strange. Nice, but strange. I haven't slept in an actual house in four months, since... I wonder if I'm going to be able to... fall... And then she began to lightly snore.

(O)(O)(O)

In the room below, though, Harry Potter was having a much more difficult time. He was in pyjama bottoms and one of Dudley's old shirts, the only one he'd kept after leaving Hogwarts. It was comfortable enough, and Grimmauld Place got a bit chilly in winter. As he lay in bed, trying not to stay awake, the young man's thoughts returned over and over again to the half-cursed witch sleeping above.
Despite his earlier musings on the subject, Harry still hadn't come to any proper conclusion or resolution about just why he was doling all of this. The easiest answer was that he felt he owed it to her; for her help- her sacrifice- during the battle. But that, if he were honest with himself, was only a small part of it. He knew he had the personality of a martyr, so that was obvious enough. But what was he sacrificing for her? Money? Food? A roof and room? He had too much of both, it was no loss to him.
For two hours or more, as the sky went it's darkest and then slowly started lightening, he had no new insight until, at last, he fell asleep.

Harry's pounding head was the first thing to greet him when he woke the next day. His blaring alarm clock was the second. He silenced it with a barely-aware wave of one hand. "Ugh..." he groaned as he sat up with a bleary glance toward the clock. Seven... maybe I'll go back to sleep when I get back. But first... just... five more minutes... before he hit the pillow again.

A/N2: There you go, hope you enjoyed it. Chapter 3 is most likely to be posted (as I said earlier) early in the morning, around midnight, on the 17th, 4 on the 21st, etc.

Note I've also changed (read: fixed) the title, it was supposed to be Blue-Eyed Doe on the site, but the title wouldn't take the hyphen. The space there is better than two words run together.

Since I recieved a whopping 5 reviews for 1, you'll need to hit 105 total for me to post the next chapter early. Don't be shy, I won't bite. Not even a little. My kinks don't go that way. :)