Okay people, Welcome to Book 2 of the Boys Who Lived series, because that's what I'm calling this now. I have slightly changed the old title and description of book one just so it's clear next to this one that they're together. Just putting that out there in case anyone was confused looking back at the first story.

For anyone clicking on this story without context, I have a whole 100k words worth of stuff that comes before this that I reccomend you read if you want anything to make sense. But I can't force you to do anything, so read what you want.

I want to thank everyone for the support the first book has gotten and I hope you'll all enjoy this one just as much if not more.

Also yes this title is a reference to lyrics from Starkid's A Very Potter Sequel.

Please enjoy!

Chapter 1 - We've Got These Days of Summer to Remind Us Of Each Other

Harry was exploring.

Tonks had shown him a couple of secret passageways around the castle (which he had of course passed on to the biggest trouble makers he knew: the Weasleys), but she had made it very clear that she expected Harry to return the favour when she got back in September. She had said that he had a unique opportunity to do as much sneaking around all summer as he wanted, and that the best way to find secret passageways was exploring. Well, that, and also to ask the portraits and ghosts, but most of them tended to get sick of students asking them for help all of the time.

What she had shown him were mostly shortcuts that made no sense - like, how did going through a door on the third floor lead you straight to the potions corridor in the basement? They were bizarre, and seemed to follow no rhyme or reason (except of course for the ones that had a rhyming password), but it all just made him that much more curious to find more.

And besides, not all of her information had been accurate. It turned out that she was wrong about the portraits, they loved to talk. As long as you weren't just asking for directions or homework help (or secret passageways), they would talk your ear off if you gave them the chance. And luckily for them, Harry was bored out of his mind most days and willing to listen to just about anything.

So he had gotten into the habit of finding a random corridor on a random floor and just asking the portraits about their lives. Some of them were potioneers. Some were old professors from decades - or even centuries - ago. Some were some were even royalty (apparently Anne Boleyn had been a squib, and her husband was just as horrible as he had sounded when Harry had learned about him in Primary School. She insisted that she was executed wrongly and seemed rather annoyed that her husband had married four more times after her death, no matter how much she seemed to hate her own marriage to him).

So in the end, the portraits had really livened up his summer so far. Harry had said as much to the portrait of Timothy the Timid after he had let Harry know the password 'Flaming earwigs' to a secret passageway between the fifth floor corridor and the Herbology corridor. Apparently the phrase 'liven up' was incredibly offensive to a portrait of a dead man. But it hadn't stopped him from showing Harry that another pair of his portraits hid a shortcut between the Transfiguration courtyard and the fifth floor, and that its password was 'Carpe Diem'. He was really a bit of a pushover once Harry had started asking him questions, and had definitely earned his title of Timid.

But he wasn't alone in the fact that most of the portraits seemed eager to help Harry out once he had sat and listened to their stories for a while. Especially when they got to competing with each other. Once Harry had told one of them that another had shown him a really cool short cut, they would fall over themselves to show him something even better.

It had been really exciting until it had started to feel like cheating. So today Harry was looking for secret passageways the old fashioned way: exploring.

But unfortunately it turned out that exploring on your own was boring.

The novelty had worn off quickly and it wasn't any fun without someone with him. The only thing that made it the least bit exciting was sneaking around after curfew.

Technically, with no students around Filch didn't need to skulk around the halls every night, but Harry knew he did so anyway. He was pretty sure it was what the man considered fun. And that was what made exploring at night worthwhile. It just made everything that bit more exciting, knowing that he could get caught.

Not that there was any real punishment he could be given anyway. He wasn't a student yet, so they couldn't take away house points or give him detentions. Most normal kids got grounded if they did something bad, but Harry was barely allowed to leave the castle anyway, so what more could they really take away from him?

But still, the risk made it more fun, even if he would only get a lecture and a disappointed sigh out of whoever was watching him that week. Not to mention that he had won over enough of the portraits that he knew they weren't going to rat him out to Dumbledore or Filch. Harry had a feeling they were going to be very valuable friends when finally he started as a student.

However, the portraits' loyalty extended to some others far more than it did for him. Harry was guessing that was why none of them warned him that he was about to be caught.

"What do you think you're doing?" a serious voice questioned from behind him.

He turned around calmly, not recognising it as any of the teachers' voices, and was unsurprised to find one of the castle ghosts staring at him. She wasn't one he had seen before, which wasn't surprising considering the distinctly unfriendly look on her face. He didn't think she liked to hang out with students very often, even though she looked like she would be close in age to some of the upper years.

"Exploring," he answered honestly, with what he hoped was an endearing smile.

She looked thoroughly unimpressed. "I thought all of the children had left. Why are you here?" she asked suspiciously.

"You must not get out much, huh?" he asked sarcastically.

She glared at him and he figured that maybe that might have been the wrong thing to say. Perhaps he shouldn't be pissing off potentially vengeful ghosts. Harry would like to think that a school wouldn't contain any spirits willing to murder children, but considering that the ghost of slytherin was a dead Baron, draped in chains and covered in ghostly blood, he didn't have very high expectations.

So instead, Harry explained exactly why he was there. "My parents are dead and my relatives are terrible. Dumbledore won't send me to an orphanage because I might get killed or adopted. And if I do get adopted it will be because of my stupid name and not because a family actually wants me. And even then I might get killed, or get them killed. So I live at Hogwarts now," he summarised with a shrug.

The ghost hummed thoughtfully. "I thought children were scared of death. You seem incredibly unphased that you are wanted dead by people capable enough that only Hogwarts offers a strong enough protection."

Harry shrugged once again. "I learnt this year that my life is pretty weird, so I'm just trying to roll with it. I've had a couple of months to adjust already. And I was always pretty sure that my aunt and uncle would rather I was dead anyway, so this isn't too different. And at least Death Eaters just want me dead for something I have nothing to do with, not because they hate my guts."

Her eyes narrowed when he mentioned the Death Eaters. "You're the Potter boy. The one who ended the war."

"I'm Harry," he told her. It wasn't exactly correcting her, or denying her statement . . . but that wasn't who he really was. He wasn't Harry Potter from the story, he was just Harry.

"Helena," she responded, smiling slightly at him now, as if he had done something that she approved of. "I, too, lived my life plagued by my name and the expectations that followed." He wanted to ask, but that defeated her point - their point - that there was more to them than a name and a story. "In death, I am simply the Grey Lady. I think I like it better that way," she confided.

"That's nice and all," Harry told her, "but I don't really want to have to wait until after I'm dead to be able to live my life normally." Not that that made sense. He couldn't live his life if he was dead. Because then he wouldn't have a life to live. Still, he though that she understood what he was trying to say.

"Hence, the exploring," she correctly inferred.

"Yeah," he agreed with another shrug. "It's not much fun by myself, but at least it's something to do until I can see my brother again."

Then, he took a moment to really look at her. Harry supposed that she was pretty, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud. Her face was solem. Even when she had smiled earlier, it had just been a twitch of her lips, her eyes had never lost their bleakness. He thought he might have understood why she was called the Grey Lady; she just looked lonely.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked her impulsively.

She blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, and it was the most emotion he had seen on her face so far. "Why?" she asked critically, eyes narrowed in suspicion, scanning him for any insincerity.

Harry debated his answer carefully for a moment. She had seemed proud, and he didn't think she'd take kindly to the answer that she just looked like she could use some company. So instead he said, "I'm kind of lonely, to be honest. The portraits are interesting to talk to but they can't really come and explore with me, especially when barely any of them like to leave their frame. And the owls in the owlery can't talk back, even if they're fun to fly with." But she was still looking at him like he had something to hide. He rolled his eyes at her skepticism. "Just come with me, what have you got to lose?"

And apparently a challenge was all she needed to be goaded into joining him. "Very well," she agreed loftily. "What exactly is the purpose of all this 'exploring'?"

Harry grinned, and then they were off.

To be honest Helena didn't really contribute all that much to Harry's exploring efforts. She had been a ghost in the castle for hundreds of years and she already knew every inch of Hogwarts. And when he had asked for her to lead, she had informed him that it defeated the purpose of exploring if she just showed him where everything was. She was there to keep him company, nothing more. Although, if Harry did manage to find a secret passageway all on his own, she was kind enough to give him hints at the password. The hints were usually in the form of some sort of riddle or puzzle, and then she forbade the portraits from helping him and told him to look in the library for what he needed to figure it out.

He still wasn't sure who she was, but clearly she had both the fear and the respect of nearly every portrait in the castle. Harry never asked, and she never brought up the whole 'Boy Who Lived' thing either. They seemed to have a silent agreement to just be Harry and Helena whenever they were around each other, and she had clearly threatened all of the portraits they came into contact with to follow those same unspoken rules.

They spent weeks sneaking around every night, because Harry never could seem to find her in the daytime. But he was fine with that. It made it their secret.

He didn't know why, but he never included Helena in his letters to his brother or the twins. Maybe because it would feel like betraying her somehow? She clearly preferred to keep to herself, and what right did Harry have to take her privacy away from her? And then maybe this way, if he didn't tell anyone, she would still keep on being his friend, even when all of the other students showed up in September.

Because they were friends, right?

A few weeks in, Harry decided that only she could answer that question.

It was after a night of exploring. Harry had found a new secret passageway that Helena told him would lead him off of Hogwarts grounds, so she refused to give him any help with the password.

"But that's not fair!" he complained loudly, only bristling further when she shushed him.

"Control your volume," she chastised. He glared in response. "You have made it very clear that should you leave the school grounds without an escort, your life would be in danger. I refuse to assist you in getting yourself killed," she told him impassively.

The fight drained out of him slightly at her reasoning. He supposed he could see where she was coming from, but, "You could come with me? Then I wouldn't technically be leaving the grounds without an escort," he countered.

She remained unmoved. "I am a ghost. I would offer no protection should someone try to harm you. The most I could do would be to alert someone that you are in danger, in which case it may already be too late and you would be dead."

"Then we could just be ghosts together," he joked, gratified to see her lips twitch slightly.

"Come," she ordered, leading him back the way they came. "I think you have explored enough for tonight. I want you to forget what we found here. Maybe in a few years, when you prove to me that you can defend yourself, then I will help you find more freedom from Hogwarts."

"Can you leave Hogwarts?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," she answered after a brief pause. "If I so wished, I could leave here and never return. This wasn't where I died, after all."

"Then why do you stay here?" He didn't understand why anyone would wish to spend the rest of eternity haunting a school.

"Like you, Hogwarts is my home. I have always belonged here. I ran away once and in the end the man who was sent to bring me back killed me," she confided. "In a way, I suppose he succeeded. I did return here after my death, after all."

Harry was surprised that she had told him so much of her story. That she trusted him with the truth. He was sure that if he wanted to, he could take the information she had just shared with him, and use it to find out who she was. But he wouldn't. And she trusted him not to.

"I'm sorry," he told her, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Why would you be sorry? You are not the man who killed me."

"Yeah, I know. But you're my friend," he said tentatively, "And you're in pain, still, even after all these years. That's why I'm sorry."

For the first time, Harry thought she was looking at him with something like fondness. "I haven't had a friend in a long time," she whispered. "Not anyone who just wanted to befriend Helena."

"Well, now you do."

She smiled, and this time Harry could see it reach her eyes. And that felt like more of an accomplishment than any of the secret passageways they had uncovered.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he was this excited for his birthday.

He remembered, when he was small, asking the Durlesys why Dudley was getting so many gifts on a random day and why he was making a special cake. Aunt Petunia had told him that it was her Dudder's birthday and that Harry had better not spoil it for all of them.

"Yes, aunt Petunia," Harry had promised. "But what is it?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. Harry knew that she must have been cursing her sister for leaving her with such a stupid boy. But still she had explained, "A birthday is the day you were born. So every year we make sure Duddley knows how happy we are that he was born. That's why Vernon and I make sure to get him lots of gifts and that's why this year you're making the cake. Unless you're a wretched little boy who wishes his cousin was never born?"

Sometimes Harry did wish his cousin wasn't around, not that he could never say that to aunt Petunia. But he wasn't allowed to lie either . . . So instead Harry shook his head. It wasn't a lie if he didn't say anything, right?

"Good," aunt Petunia said primly. "That's why you're allowed to help this year. We are trusting you to let you out of your cupboard this year, boy, so don't you dare ruin this day for my Duddykins."

Well that explained why Harry had never seen all of Duddley's presents like this before . . . he was always in his cupboard for it. It reminded him of Christmas. Miss Farthington said that everybody got christmas presents, but Harry knew from all of the stories as songs that only good boys got presents for christmas. Father Christmas only left a lump coal for bad boys. And uncle Vernon always said that Harry wasn't a good boy, so that was why Father Christmas never brought him anything.

But maybe birthdays might be different?

"Does everybody have a birthday?" he asked her.

"Of course they do, you foolish boy, it's the day someone's born."

"So what's mine?"

That was when she tensed up.

"The 31st of July," she answered stiffly.

Harry nodded and said no more. He was lucky that uncle Vernon wasn't up yet. Uncle Vernon always yelled at him for asking questions. Aunt Petunia usually let him get away with asking some but Harry had learned when to stop pushing. He didn't really know why, but he had the idea that if he kept asking about his birthday, aunt Petunia would send him to his cupboard for ruining Duddley's birthday.

Either way, Harry had the information he wanted. So for the entire month of July he was quietly excited. Checking the kitchen calendar everyday and mentally checking each day off, counting down to his birthday. When he had the opportunity he told his brother that his birthday was soon and how excited he was to finally get presents. He failed to register the sad smile he got in response.

In the end, Harry's sixth birthday came and went. And he spent it in his cupboard, just like he had every other year (not that he had ever known the date when it happened).

Merlin's quiet "Happy Birthday," was the only gift he got that year, and the ones that followed.

He had remembered eventually, while sitting alone in the dark, what aunt Petunia's exact words had been. 'Every year we make sure Duddley knows how happy we are that he was born. That's why Vernon and I make sure to get him lots of gifts'. Harry didn't get any gifts, because aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon weren't happy that Harry was born.

But that was all a long time ago. Harry had learnt eventually that not getting gifts on his birthday or for Christmas had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the Dursleys. Their standards weren't what mattered anymore. And this year Harry was getting something for his birthday.

Even if his brother and his friends didn't get him anything, Dumbledore had already told him what part of his gift was. Harry was being allowed a whole week away from the castle.

Luckily this wasn't his first time being let out of Hogwarts, as Harry had been afraid it might be. No, instead Harry was allowed down to Hogsmede, a nearby town, as long as he was being accompanied by Dumbledore or one of the Professors who happened to be at the school for a few days.

Harry had the feeling that the staff had put together some sort of schedule for one of them to be with him in the castle at all times. Usually it was just Dumbledore, but when he needed to leave for a few days then Professor McGonagall, or Professor Flitwick, or Professor Sprout, or someone else would appear for those few days to keep him company. Luckily, it was never Snape.

Mostly, it was awkward. But Harry had figured out a couple of weeks in that asking them to teach him the basics in their various subjects filled up the lingering dinner-time silence well enough. And it gave Harry an extra heads up for his first year. If this is how it was going to go every summer, then Harry had better be the top of his class at least for the first term of every year.

But Harry couldn't wait to talk to someone who wasn't Hagrid, a teacher, a portrait, or a ghost (Helena notwithstanding. Harry loved talking to Helena, but she was impossible to find during the daytime and he was therefore still left bored and lonely for hours). He had tried talking to some people in Hogsmeade, but the older students apparently hadn't hesitated in telling the town that Harry Potter was staying up at the castle this summer. And so he had learned fairly quickly that he should keep to himself unless he wanted to be repeatedly asked if he remembered the night his parents were murdered. He didn't. And it wasn't as if that was how they phrased the question, but still, you would think that people would have more tact than to ask at all.

Not that any of that mattered this week. Because Harry was getting to spend this week with his brother.

They had been owling each other constantly. The only breaks being on the days where the old man let Harry use his fireplace to firecall Gaius's house. But it still wasn't the same as seeing each other in person.

Harry had gotten used to being spoiled for company. He was used to there being someone to talk to around every corner. He was used to being able to see and talk to his brother every day.

He had almost forgotten what it was like back on Privet Drive, when they could only really see each other from afar, only getting a chance to really talk when the stars aligned with their cousins sick and unable to rat them out, or both being left for Mrs Figg to babysit on the same day.

Surprisingly, Merlin's move to Hogwarts had actually given them more opportunity to talk instead of less. Sending and receiving weekly letters was a more frequent and reliable form of communication than they had ever had before. And after Harry had been rescued from the Dursleys there hadn't been a day that they didn't see each other.

According to Mithian they were too codependent. And with how much Harry missed him, even with letters or a fire-call everyday - he couldn't really say that she was wrong.

Still, even knowing that wasn't enough to take away his excitement of finally getting to see Merlin again. The only thing he would miss about the castle was Helena and the giant quidditch pitch he had all to himself. But neither of those things held a candle next to his brother.

It had been both reassuring and disheartening to hear what a good summer his brother was having without him. Merlin was getting on fabulously with Gaius and the Lovegoods, even if the girl was apparently a little odd (a fact that definitely brought Harry some relief, even if acknowledging that just made him feel guilty).

He couldn't stop the niggling in the back of his mind, wondering if things would still be the same as they were before. Merlin had a happy family. He didn't need Harry in the way that Harry still needed him.

He supposed that only time would tell.

It was a good thing that that time was today, because Harry didn't think he could wait any longer.