Backwards Compatible
In Battle's Wake

By Ruskbyte

Previous Coming Back Home A Disquieting Reunion Return to Hogwarts Disembarking An Overdue Hello Opening Statements Nonessentials Future's History Mixed Reactions Introductory Classes Business as Usual Growing Complications Return Encounters Brewing Storm Knife's Edge In Battle's Wake Reactions to Action A Day in the Life Next

Hermione woke up, feeling slightly less than wretched. She groaned softly upon opening her eyes, feeling as if giant mallets were hammering her head. Closing her eyes, which did not bring as much relief as she had hoped, she tried to focus past the pounding in her temples.

A raucous cacophony of noise was what had woken her and was preventing the pain in her head from dispersing as rapidly as she would have liked it too. The sounds seemed to be coming from outside the room she was in, which had looked vaguely familiar to her when she had briefly looked around.

Gritting her teeth and opening her eyes, Hermione surveyed her surroundings. She was lying on a plain covered double bed in a fair-sized room. Slowly, as she ran her gaze over the various items cluttering the space, the memories returned and she recognised this as the bedroom of the flat Harry had brought her too after rescuing her from Parkinson Lodge.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she took several moments to take stock of her condition. She was wearing an overlarge T-shirt and little else beyond that. She could feel that she was still in her knickers, but the rest of her clothes were laid out on a dresser near the cupboards.

Lifting the hem of the T-shirt up, Hermione checked for any indications of the knife wound that had been inflicted on her by Cowan, one of the Death Eaters that had abducted her. She found the injury to be completely healed, most likely thanks to the potions Harry had ordered Neville to bring her.

The only sign that she had ever had a dagger jammed into her side was a faint hairline scar, about an inch long where the knife had penetrated her side.

Heaving an unconscious sigh of relief, Hermione pushed off the bed and stumbled unsteadily to the dresser where her clothes were piled.

She really did not feel like moving about just yet, but the noise coming from outside the bedroom had yet to ease and, from the occasional muffled shout, seemed to indicate that some sort of fight was taking place. And if her friends were having a row of some sort, there was no way Hermione planned to miss it.

Pulling on the pair of slacks that she had been wearing earlier, Hermione almost toppled over. With her sense of balance a bit off, she found herself having to sit on the edge of the bed to get dressed. After wiggling into the slacks, she quickly donned her socks and sneakers, before taking her wand in hand. Harry had recovered it from Lucius Malfoy and he had apparently left it atop of her clothes.

Now fully dressed, save for her bra, which had been too bloodstained for her to even contemplate putting on, Hermione went to the bedroom door and quietly opened it. Peering around the doorframe, she scanned the room beyond, immediately spotting Harry, asleep on a couch. He looked very uncomfortable but was otherwise dead to the world.

Slipping into the lounge, careful to silently close the door behind her, Hermione sneaked towards the source of the noises that had woken her. From the layout of the flat they were in, she guessed that it was the kitchen. She paused on one or three occasions as loud crashes and cursing filled the air.

Reaching the kitchen she peeked inside and lowered her wand. The cries of protest, the bang of metal on metal, the racket that had woken her, was not a fight underway.

Well, perhaps it was, but not a conventional one.

It was merely Ron, Ginny and Neville trying to fix themselves lunch and in the process divine the inner workings of a Muggle microwave, while Luna helpfully got in everyone's way.

"This one?" Neville suggested, pointing at one button on the microwave's panel. Almost immediately he shook his head and then pointed out another button, further down. "No, no... it's this one."

"It's that one," said Ron with certainty, pointing out a different button.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Ginny cautiously.

"Of course I'm sure," Ron asserted.

"Remember what happened last time?" Ginny reminded him.

"That was different," Ron protested. "This time, I'm sure of it."

To prove his point, Ron stabbed his finger against the button he had indicated. This resulted in a lot of frantic beeping from the microwave, which quickly sent Ron into a panic. He frantically began pushing a slew of other buttons until finally the beeping stopped.

"Dammit!"

"I guess that wasn't it," observed Neville mildly.

"I'm going to get this Muggle contraption to work even if it kills me!" Ron vehemently declared.

He leaned in close to the microwave, glowering fiercely at it - as if daring it to defy him. He viciously jabbed the control panel. Unfortunately he managed to hit the release, which caused the microwave's door to pop open and bang against his nose.

Leaping back, and almost knocking Neville to the floor, Ron clutched his abused nose and yelped, "Gah!"

Luna, who had been watched with interest, asked innocently, "Has it killed you yet?"

"Not yet," Ron replied, lowering his hands and glaring at the offending machine. "It's decided to taunt, maim and torture me first..."

Deciding to make her presence known, Hermione stepped fully into the kitchen. Crossing her arms, she cleared her throat to gain their attention and then asked, "Dare I ask the reason for the racket you lot are making?"

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron, "You're awake!"

He pushed past the others and grabbed Hermione in a bear hug that rivalled anything his mother could manage.

"Of course I'm awake," she muttered. "You just woke me up with all this noise."

"Ah, sorry," Ron apologised, finally releasing her from the hug.

"It's okay," she reassured him.

"How are you feeling?" asked Ginny as she, Neville and Luna joined them by the door leading to the lounge.

Hermione ruefully answered, "Like a Death Eater stabbed me in the side with a cursed knife."

"What a coincidence," said Luna excitedly. "That's exactly what happened!"

"So much for hoping that it was only a bad dream," Hermione grumbled.

"Are you all right though?" asked Neville, leaning to one side so that he was afforded a better view of her side. "No pain or anything?"

Hermione twisted her torso experimentally and then shook her head. "No, not really." She gave a small wince and rubbed her side. "It pinches a little when I turn though."

Neville hung his head and apologised, "Ah, sorry, but I did my best."

"Pardon?" she asked, somewhat confused by his reaction.

"Neville's the one that administered the potions to close your stab wound," explained Ginny, elbowing Neville companionably in the ribs.

"Oh," Hermione acknowledged in understanding. She smiled at Neville, who was blushing a little from the attention, and said, "Thanks Neville."

"My pleasure," Neville accepted modestly. "I'm nowhere near as good as Madam Pomfrey, but I did what I could."

"I know," Hermione agreed. She turned to Ginny and Luna, who were standing side by side, and addressed a subject she was slightly worried over. "I noticed I was somewhat... underdressed when I woke up."

"That was us," Ginny explained.

"We thought you would be uncomfortable sleeping fully clothed, so we removed what we could," elaborated Luna airily, her attention focused more on Ginny's ponytail than anything else.

"The shirt was a spare Sirius had left in one of the cupboard drawers," explained Ginny when she noticed that Hermione was thoughtfully fingering the shirt's hem.

Hermione blinked in surprise and repeated, "Sirius?"

"This used to be his flat," revealed Ron. "According to Harry, he hid here for a while after escaping with Buckbeak in third-year."

"So how does Harry know about it?" Hermione asked. She quickly held up a hand and answered her own question, "No, wait. I know. Father."

"Yeah, apparently Sirius left it and some other stuff to Harry in his will," said Ron.

"Harry stocked it up with supplies during the summer," said Neville, pointing past Hermione to the cupboard set between the bedroom and the bathroom. "That's where all the potions came from."

Nodding in understanding, Hermione glanced from face to face. She had a mounting suspicion that there was something they were not telling her. "Did anything happen after I passed out?" she asked.

"Nothing really," said Luna, who had started playing with Ginny's ponytail.

"Harry gave us a blow-by-blow account of how he rescued you," Ginny supplied, trying not to let Luna's attentions distract her from answering.

"Then why's he sleeping on the couch?" Hermione asked, turning to look back into the lounge, where Harry was laying. She then looked pointedly at the clock mounted above the stove. "It's not even one o'clock yet."

Ron put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "It's been a rough day," he said, quietly so as not to disturb Harry's slumber. "For both of you."

Ruefully rubbing her side, Hermione agreed, "That I can believe."

"He took some of that Muggle medicine, aspirin I think it's called," Neville told her, "then lay down and went to sleep."

"He's been out almost as long as you have," elaborated Ron. He gave a nod in the direction of the small charcoal grey sphere that was holding vigil over Harry. "It was actually Father there that showed us what happened."

"How?"

"It recorded the whole thing," Ginny explained. "Harry asked it to show us everything while he slept."

"I can't believe that bastard Malfoy made you do that for him!" exclaimed Ron, his cheeks flushing as his temper soared to the fore. He glowered darkly and swore, "If Harry hadn't already killed him, I'd kill him again!"

"It's all right Ron," soothed Hermione, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm okay."

"It's not all right!" Ron insisted, his voice raised. "The bastard hit you, Hermione!"

"And Harry made certain he wouldn't be able hit anyone else ever again," asserted Luna, her clipped tone matching the intense expression that had slipped over her normally carefree features.

"Gods, and I thought he was brutal in the Great Hall," she heard Neville mutter to himself.

Wondering what he meant by that, Hermione turning to Neville and asked, "The Great Hall? At Hogwarts?"

"D'you know any other Great Halls?" rejoined Ron sarcastically.

"What happened?" she insisted.

The sudden sense of nervousness which filled her was not alleviated when her friends exchanged nervous glances. It was Luna that finally answered, quietly saying, "I think it would be best if you asked Harry to answer that question."

Hermione regarded her closely and asked, "Why can't you?"

Luna shook her head and demurred, "It's not our place."

"If Harry doesn't tell you when you ask, then we will," said Ginny, offering a compromise.

"Why then and not now?"

"You're going to find out anyway," said Ron in a half mutter. "There's no way you couldn't."

"It's certainly going to be in all the papers, that's for sure," agreed Neville.

"What is?" Hermione asked. "What did Harry do?"

"Hermione... he wasn't absolutely sure where the Portkey had taken you," Ginny tried to explain, but doing a masterful job of not actually revealing anything. "He had to be certain before going after you."

"You should talk to Harry first, before us," Ron concluded.

Hermione considered for a moment, her eyes resting briefly on each of her friends. Clearly they knew something and were reluctant to tell her about it, preferring to leave it to Harry. With a nod of acceptance, she turned to exit the kitchen and strode purposefully to where Harry was laying.

Vaguely aware that the others had followed behind her, abandoning their attempts to fix lunch, she knelt down beside the couch Harry was sprawled across. He did not look peaceful in his sleep, but rather weary and tired.

"Harry?" she called softly, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. "Harry? Wake up."

Harry, however, was very reluctant to return to the world of the living. He gave an inarticulate grunt and shifted onto one side, half turning towards her - and coming perilously close to falling off the couch in the process.

Frowning slightly, Hermione gave a firmer shake and ordered, "Harry Potter, wake up this instant!"

"Five more minutes, Aunt Petunia," Harry groaned.

"I am not your aunt, Harry," Hermione asserted indignantly. "It's Hermione."

"Hermione?"

Harry blearily began to wake up more fully, looking around in some confusion. Hermione could not help but think that he looked rather cute as he blinked away his sleep and tried to work out where he was.

Luna, who was standing next to Ginny, leaned over the back of the couch and found herself almost nose-to-nose with Harry, who stared blankly at her. She grinned broadly and cheerfully greeted, "Good afternoon, Harry!"

"Not so loud, Doc," Harry winced, rubbing at his half-lidded eyes as he leaned back to put some distance between himself and the overly enthusiastic Ravenclaw.

"Are you awake now?" Luna asked in an exaggerated whisper.

"The question should be, 'were you asleep?'" retorted Harry grumpily. "The answer is yes, but not enough."

"That's good to hear," beamed Luna.

"Ugh."

"Harry?"

Running a hand through his hair, mussing it up even further, Harry focused on Hermione and appeared to finally return to full consciousness. He blinked for a moment before recognition set in. Then his arms lashed up, startling everyone with his suddenness, and grabbed her in a fierce hug, accidentally pulling her on top of him in the process.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, the relief in his voice unmistakable. He held her in his arms for several precious seconds, savouring the contact, before pushing her back though not fully off him. Before she could speak, he began to frantically inspect her for injury - running his hands over her body to do so. "Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, "Is anything wrong?"

Hermione was somewhat flustered, especially as some of the places Harry was inadvertently touching in his quest for injuries, were cause for her to blush rather fiercely. It was only when his hands made their second pass over her chest, brushing lightly over the curve of her breasts, that she managed to find her voice.

"I'm fine, Harry. Perfectly fine," she sputtered out her voice breaking into a squeak as his hands ran down her sides, over her buttocks and then up her back. "You can stop now. Please."

Realization of what he was doing suddenly hit him and Harry almost leapt away from her. Being positioned more or less underneath her on the couch foiled his attempt to put some distance between them.

"Shit! I'm sorry, Hermione! I didn't mean to!" he apologised profusely.

"I know, Harry, it's all right," she assured him with all the calm she could manage. "You were just worried."

"How's your side?" he asked anxiously.

"Much better, thank you," she told him. On impulse she leaned forward, pressing down on his chest, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, clearly not understanding.

"What do you think, silly?" she asked in return.

He regarded her for a moment before understanding dawned. "Oh. My pleasure."

With Harry's help they managed to untangle themselves and sit up properly. Hermione noticed the grins on Ginny and Neville's faces and the outright frightening smile Luna was wearing. Ron, in contrast, was looking a bit pensive, but otherwise seemed to accept the little display that had just taken place.

Her attention was drawn back to Harry as he swore, "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I fell asleep with my contacts still in," Harry explained with a grimace, rubbing at his eyes.

There was a shimmer in front of him and a moment later his glasses appeared, floating in the air, alongside a small white container.

"You're wearing contact lenses?" she asked as Harry opened the container and began the process of removing his contact lenses, something Hermione watched with fascination.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. He deftly slid the lens out of his right eye and placed it in the appropriate compartment of the container. "Don't want to risk losing my glasses in the middle of a fight."

"You could try putting an Imperturbable Charm on them," Hermione suggested. "That way they won't fall off."

Harry had by then removed the contact lens in his left eye and put it away as well. He blinked rapidly several times and he settled his silver framed glasses on his face as Father lifted the closed container into the air and then shifted it into subspace.

"In which case, knowing my luck, they'd probably just get shattered into a million pieces."

"Unbreakable Charm?" she suggested teasingly.

"I was in a hurry," he said in defence.

With a soft groan that only Hermione heard, Harry slumped back against the couch and closed his eyes. He reached up with both hands to rub at his temples, wincing slightly as he did so.

Instantly concerned, thinking that he might have been injured in some way during her rescue and kept quiet about it until now, Hermione asked, "What's wrong?"

"Headache," Harry replied through grit teeth.

"You don't think it's Voldemort, do you?" asked Ron worriedly.

"Can't be."

"How can you know that?" Hermione asked, unsure of his answer.

"Father can generate an anti-magic field around me, remember?" Harry explained tiredly, continuing to massage his temples. He cracked his eyes open and grinned wryly, "My head's sealed up tighter than Fort Knox."

"Fort Knocks? What's that?" asked Neville, completely confused by the reference.

Surprisingly it was not Harry or Hermione that explained, but Luna. Of course, her explanation was somewhat off the mark, but that was to be expected. "It's a top secret facility in America," she said with authority, "where the Muggles are keeping a captured alien flying teacup."

"Flying saucer, Luna. And it's supposedly kept in Area Fifty-One," Hermione corrected, wondering as she did so why she even bothered. "Fort Knox is where the Americans keep their gold."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Luna in an innocently sing-song voice.

Before the conversation could degenerate into a clash of conspiracy theory versus recorded fact, Ginny spoke up and turned the focus back to Harry. "If it's not Voldemort that's giving you a headache," she asked, "then what is?"

"It's just been a long day," Harry answered tiredly. "A very long day."

-oOo-

Lord Voldemort was feeling frustrated, a turn of phrase that would have amused him, had he been in the mood (yet another turn of phrase). He had been searching almost without pause for two entire days and was still without a means to the end which he currently desired to achieve.

He browsed down an aisle of books, trailing his right hand behind him, brushing over the spines of the many ancient books stored in his private library. He had not been surprised, upon his resurrection, to discover that the Ministry's bunglers had not been able to find it, thus leaving almost the full store of his collected tomes untouched.

His eyes settled on a leather bound book entitled, Libido Adaugeo.

Plucking the volume from its place on the third shelf, Voldemort added it to the pile of four other books that he had collected in this latest venture into the stacks of his library. With a considering glance, he decided that five books would be enough for now, and made his way back to the desk he had working these past two days.

Dropping the books onto the desktop, Voldemort settled down in the chair, his zeyd-cloth robes spreading out around him as he did so. He selected the book from the top of the pile and placed it in front of him, next to the half a dozen sheets of parchment he had been taking notes on.

"My Lord?"

The unexpected voice drew Voldemort's gaze away from the book, Recro Corpus Fortitudo, which he had not even had a chance to open. He looked up to see who it was that had interrupted his research.

"What is so important that you dare to disturb me?" he hissed quietly.

"N-n-news, m-my Lord!" the Death Eater, Avery, blurted out.

"It had better be exceptionally good news," Voldemort threatened, "otherwise your life will be forfeit."

"I-it's P-Parkinson Lodge, my Lord."

Voldemort sat back in his chair and arched an eyebrow. "Where Lucius took Potter's mudblood girl?"

Avery nodded eagerly and confirmed, "Yes, my Lord."

Seeing that his servant was not going to be immediately forthcoming, Voldemort prompted, "Well?"

"The Lodge, my Lord," Avery answered. "It's been destroyed. Levelled to the ground."

"Hmm," Voldemort grunted thoughtfully, reaching up to stroke his long and slender fingers over his thin lips. He regarded Avery, who trembled slightly under the gaze.

This was indeed noteworthy news. Not exceptionally good, as it seemed likely that Lucius and his companions had been lost in the process. Still, it was noteworthy. Mulling over the information, Voldemort considered who, or what, could be responsible for this.

It was not the Ministry, he knew, as they would not have destroyed the building in the process of rescuing the Granger girl. For that matter, he did not doubt that the Ministry would never have reacted quickly enough to the mudblood's abduction, certainly not fast enough to mount a rescue attempt on the very same day.

Dumbledore, and his bothersome Order of the Phoenix, might have the resources to track the Portkey that had taken Granger to Parkinson Lodge. They might have even had enough manpower to stage a rescue and get away with it. But Voldemort could not see them destroying the place in the process.

It might have been Potter, he concluded. The idea might seem ludicrous at first, but it was not something he could dismiss so easily. After the Ministry and Dumbledore, Potter was the only one left. Still, how could a mere sixth-year student be able to destroy a building that Voldemort knew had a great many protective charms on it?

"Are you sure of this?" he finally asked.

"Yes, my Lord," Avery confirmed. He gave a mild shrug and added, "We don't know yet who is responsible."

"Find out," Voldemort ordered. He then waved a hand in dismissal and said, "Now leave."

-oOo-

Harry Potter's second reception in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was almost identical to his first. That is to say; he almost got his head cursed off within moments of his arrival.

He had Gated to the twins' shop at Diagon Alley, shortly after lunch at his flat, only to find himself looking down the wands of both Fred and George. Luckily enough they recognised him in time to prevent themselves from doing him an injury, though it was a close thing.

"Harry!" cried Fred, pocketing his wand and making a show of letting everyone in the vicinity (there were several customers browsing the shelves) know who it was that had dropped in so unexpectedly.

"Hello chaps," Harry greeted with a grin. The twins never failed to bring a smile to his face, no matter how dire or grim the situation might be.

"Harry!" exclaimed George.

Remembering that they had greeted him in similar fashion the last time he had come to the store, Harry groaned and dropped his head into a hand. "Not again."

Grinning maniacally, the twins finished their greeting by chorusing, "Harry!"

Raising his head from his hands to mock glare at them, Harry found himself being seized by both arms and having his back repeatedly pounded upon.

"Where did you come from?" asked Fred.

A low chuckle escaped from Harry. "Surrey, originally. Hogwarts, recently. Barcelona, currently."

The twins looked at him in confusion, not understanding that he was being literal about it. They quickly shrugged it off, however, and ushered him (with all due fanfare) to the store's counter.

"You two keeping out of trouble?" he asked as they settled down, Fred remaining on the same side as Harry, while George sat down behind the till.

"Of course," Fred said mildly.

"Sure," George agreed innocently.

Harry looked at them both warily. Whenever the twins started acting innocent, it usually meant that they had something up their robe sleeves. He sighed softy and decided to get down to the reason for his visit. "I need to talk to you both."

Fred held up a hand, forestalling anything else Harry planned to say, and said, "Just a moment, Harry, and we'll be right with you."

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is now closing!" announced George, rising from his place behind the till.

"Matters of the utmost urgency have arisen--"

"--and we are forced to ask that you kindly vacate the premises."

"Quickly now," urged Fred as he waved the assorted customers, who were looking somewhat befuddled by their abrupt expulsion, out the front door. "Time is of the essence."

"Rest assured, however, that we will be open for business as usual, sooner rather than later," finished George, helping a pair of young boys out.

In short order the shop was empty and Fred put up the 'closed' sign in the display window. Seizing Harry by the arms, again, the twins lead him into the store's back room, where they kept their stock and experimented on new and outrageous wheezes.

Settling down on a stool by one of the less crowded workbenches, George turned to Harry and asked, "What do you need, Harry?"

"Why do you think I need something?" Harry asked innocently. "Can't I just drop in for a friendly visit?"

"Well, let us think..." said Fred. He and George made a show of musing over Harry's question - George assuming the poise of Rodin's famous statue, The Thinker. After several seconds they turned back to Harry and answered, "No!"

"You're too smart for your own good," noted Harry, taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room.

"Tell us something we don't know," replied Fred, cheekily.

"So, what can we do for our beloved almost-brother?" asked George.

"Mum's been thinking of adopting you, y'know," mentioned Fred.

George nodded in agreement and grinned wickedly, "I think the only reason she hasn't, is because she's still holding out hope that you'll get together with Ginny one day. She'd prefer to have you as a son-in-law over an adopted son any day of the week."

Harry shook his head and stated, "I'm not planning on asking Ginny out."

"Come on, Harry," urged Fred. "Just once! Please!"

"You have to show her what a proper man is," insisted George, "so she'll know what to look for in the future."

"Remember Michael Corner? Her last boyfriend?" asked Fred.

"I remember."

"Then you understand," asserted George, as if that somehow explained everything.

"We need to get her together with someone suitable and you're the only decent option," continued Fred.

"Even if you don't like her that way," George concluded, "at least it'll help raise her standards to a higher level."

"I'm dating Hermione."

This brought Fred and George to an abrupt halt. They stared at him in surprise for a long moment, apparently under the belief that Harry was trying to pull one over them. Finally they exchanged a resigned look before reaching into their robe pockets and passing each other a Galleon.

Harry watched the exchange with puzzlement and asked, "What are you doing?"

"We had a bet that you'd get together with Hermione," answered Fred.

"Almost everyone in our year did," admitted George. "It's impossible to miss."

"We just never thought you'd actually ask her out so soon," said Fred.

"So we're paying up for losing that bet," explained George.

It took several seconds for Harry to work his mind around this convoluted piece of logic. It did not seem to make any sense, but knowing the twins, that was precisely why they had done it. Just to be sure, he asked, "You lost a bet to each other? The same bet?"

Fred nodded and confirmed, "Exactly."

"Pity though," mused George wistfully. "If you're dating Hermione, then you can't date Ginny."

"Now she'll never find a decent man," Fred bemoaned dramatically.

Sensing that an overly exaggerated display of grief over their sister's prospective future love life was about to ensue, Harry headed them off by saying, "Maybe. Maybe not."

The twins exchanged a startled look and then stared suspiciously at Harry.

"What d'you mean by that?" they chorused.

"I know someone that would literally jump in front of a Killing Curse for Ginny," Harry informed them, not going into any detail. He matched their gazes, his own sombre, and asked, "Would you consider that 'decent'?"

"I don't know..." said Fred, trailing off thoughtfully.

"What's this bloke's name?" asked George.

"How long have you known him?" asked Fred.

"How long has he liked Ginny?" asked George, following quickly on Fred's heels as they began to speak faster and faster, thus barraging Harry with one question after another, before he could even begin to answer.

Suddenly they both paused and exchanged another look. Finally they turned to Harry and asked, "It's not Neville, is it?"

"No, it's not Neville," Harry assured them. He had no idea how they had come to that conclusion, aside from the fact that Neville was the only boy that spent as much time with Ginny as Harry did. He raised an eyebrow, curious over their reaction, and asked, "Would you object if it was?"

"Of course not," Fred dismissed his query.

"Just wanted to know," said George.

"We have a variation on the Canary Creams we've been meaning to try out," explained Fred.

"Neville would be the perfect test subject," George summed up, sounding a bit wistful at the idea of feeding Neville yet another of their concoctions.

Harry, whose headache had not been completely driven away by the aspirin and lunch, rubbed his temples and glanced around the storeroom. His gaze fell upon a small bowl of experimental items lying on the bench Fred was sitting at. At first he did not recognise the long black strings, but then his memories of the future supplied both their name and purpose to him.

"Talking of test subjects. I've had a rough day and need something to perk me up," he informed the twins. He pointed at the sweets in question and asked, "Can I have a couple of those?"

"Can you... you..." George was obviously trying to repeat what Harry had asked, but appeared to be too shocked to get the words out.

"You want to try our Laughing Liquorice?" asked Fred in disbelief.

"You're actually asking?" asked George.

The disbelief on both their faces melted away, replaced with a teary-eyed wonder. Fred was wiping at his eyes, sniffling pathetically and moaned, "Nobody's ever volunteered to try one of our gag items before!"

George nodded emphatically and agreed, "We always have to trick them into it!"

Harry gave them a wary look, "If you try to hug or kiss me; I'll hurt you."

The twins immediately recovered, the entire episode having obviously been an act. Fred, who was nearest to the Laughing Liquorice, passed the bowl to Harry. Gratefully accepting it, Harry took several of the liquorice strands before setting the bowl down on the table next to him.

"Why?" asked Fred.

"I've had a very rough day," Harry answered vaguely. He sighed as he thought over everything that had happened since he had first learned of Hermione's abduction. "Considering the trouble I've gotten myself and the others into I need something to cheer me up. Even if it is artificial and only lasts a minute."

"What's happened?" asked George, both curious and worried.

Harry looked at them in surprise and asked, "You haven't heard?"

Fred shook his head and explained, "Since we quit the Order, we've been entirely out of the loop."

"We haven't heard anything," admitted George. Then he asked again, "What's wrong?"

"Hermione was kidnapped by Death Eaters this morning," Harry told them.

"WHAT?!"

The words had barely left Harry's mouth before the twins jumped to their feet, wands in hand.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Fred, seeing that Harry wasn't moving.

"Let's go rescue her!" insisted George.

"I already have."

It took a second or two, but the twins now realized that Harry wasn't there to ask for their help. Calming down, which was not easy for them after such an announcement, they sat back down.

"Is she all right?" asked Fred anxiously.

"They didn't do anything to her, did they?" asked George.

"She'll probably be having nightmares for a long time to come, but otherwise she's relatively unharmed," Harry said, assuaging their fears.

"'Relatively unharmed'," repeated George sceptically.

"Meaning what, exactly?" asked Fred.

Harry sighed and answered, "Lucius Malfoy put her under the Imperious Curse before I got there. He was forcing her to do a striptease for him before planning to rape her."

"THAT BASTARD!"

Once again the twins grabbed their wands and jumped to their feet, this time filled with a righteous fury that Harry had never seen in them. At least not personally, though he had seen something similar in his future memories.

Fred was practically spitting as he snarled, "I'm going to kill him!"

"I'm going to castrate him and then kill him!" elaborated George, looking just as vicious as his brother.

"We're going to castrate him, kill him and then do the same to his bastard son!" decided Fred.

Sensing that they would attempt to do just that, Harry made to stop them. Not that Draco's welfare concerned him much, and Lucius was of no concern at all, but he did not want his friends to get themselves in almost as much trouble as himself.

"I already have."

Once again it took a second or two for it to sink in, but once it did the twins stared at Harry in unfettered surprise.

"You castrated both the Malfoys?" asked Fred.

"No."

"Did you at least castrate Lucius?" asked George eagerly.

"No, I didn't," Harry replied, some amusement in his voice.

"Then what..." Fred trailed off and exchanged a glance with George as they slowly began to realize the meaning behind Harry's words.

"You killed him?" asked George quietly.

Harry sighed deeply and nodded. "Him and nine other Death Eaters."

The twins stared at him, their expressions turning as sombre as Harry had ever seen. Pocketing their wands they once again returned to their seats.

"How?" asked George.

"I forced Draco to tell me where they had taken her and then I had Father take me there," Harry answered, giving a very abbreviated explanation of day's events.

"Where you killed ten fully trained wizards," concluded Fred.

"Only six," Harry corrected absently. "The other four--"

"Don't say you took Ron and Ginny with you," George interrupted, beginning to look upset. Clearly he did not like the idea of either of youngest Weasley siblings getting into a fight of that nature.

"No," Harry shook his head and allayed the twins' concerns. "I sent them, Neville and Luna to my flat in Barcelona."

"So what happened to the other four Death Eaters?" asked Fred curiously.

"They attacked Hermione's home, under orders to kidnap her parents as well," Harry explained tiredly. "My drones took care of them while I rescued Hermione."

The twins considered this for a moment, looking particularly grave. Then they looked at Harry and broke out into broad grins that seemed completely at odds with the rest of the discussion.

George leaned forward eagerly and asked, "Did you get a chance to try out the plasma rifle?"

Fred acted in much the same manner, asking, "How did it work? Any problems?"

"No problems," reported Harry. He thought back to the only time he had fired the weapon in question, shortly after blowing open the Lodge's front door. "It's a bit bright if you're not used to it, but otherwise it worked perfectly."

"Excellent!" crowed George, clapping his hands together.

"Good show, old bean," agreed Fred, extending his hand, which was accepted by George who gave it an enthusiastic shake.

"So, why are you in trouble for rescuing Hermione?" asked George, once they had settled down once more.

"It can't be over the Death Eaters, can it?" asked Fred.

"Unless you used the Killing Curse," George mused thoughtfully, "but you said you used the plasma rifle."

"And you weren't even there for four of them," added Fred.

"I didn't know for certain where Hermione was," Harry reluctantly explained. What had transpired that morning in the Great Hall was something that greatly disturbed him. "I got the information out of Draco."

"So?" asked George, not understanding.

"Why should you be in trouble for that?" asked Fred.

"I didn't have the time to be subtle," Harry told them. After a moment he added, "Or gentle."

The twins exchanged a worried look at the serious tone of Harry's voice.

"Harry... what did you do?" asked Fred warily.

"I tortured him until he told me what I needed to know," Harry answered plainly.

"You... you didn't use the Cruciatus Curse... did you?" asked George, swallowing nervously.

"No," Harry held up a hand to forestall their worries. A feeling of bleak humour caused him to smile wanly. "I used the time-honoured method of breaking assorted body parts."

"Well, that's not so bad," said Fred after a short pause.

"As long as not too many people saw you do it," qualified George.

"We were in the Great Hall," Harry revealed.

"Ah," Fred winced and shook his head. "That's not good."

"During breakfast," Harry continued.

Now it was George's turn to wince and shake his head sympathetically. "That's really not good."

"When Dumbledore tried to stop me," Harry concluded with a hefty sigh, "Father tossed him across the room. I think the impact broke his hip."

"You're..."

"In it up to here?" finished Harry, holding his hand up to just beneath his chin.

The twins stared dumbly at him for a moment before nodding in agreement. They got up from their seats by the workbenches and joined Harry at the table, looking extraordinarily serious in comparison to how they normally acted.

"You're looking at a suspension hearing in front of the board of governors," began Fred, tugging on his bottom lip as he stared thoughtfully into space.

"At the very least, you'll lose more points than Gryffindor has," said George, trying to look on the brighter side of things and assuming some leniency would be granted. "Probably detention every night as well, for the rest of the year."

"Worst case scenario," Fred summed up, "is you'd be expelled."

"Probably won't come to that, though," said George.

"You are Harry Potter, after all," agreed Fred.

George nodded in agreement before bringing up what was probably the most pertinent point in Harry's favour with regards the current situation. "And considering what would have happened to Hermione if you hadn't..."

As his twin trailed off, Fred concluded, "Still, chances are you'll be suspended."

"I was expecting as much," Harry said in tired agreement.

"You didn't come to us for legal advice, did you?" asked Fred, half-jokingly.

"We'll be the first to admit that we broke almost every rule Hogwarts had while we were there..."

"But we never did enough to get suspended outright."

This opening brought Harry back to the point of his visit to the shop this afternoon. Straightening in his seat and settling his features into a serious expression, he got straight to the point. "I need more plasma rifles."

It took a moment for the twins to shift mental gears.

"All right," accepted George.

"How many?" asked Fred.

"As many as you can make," Harry replied, with not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He was perfectly serious. Following on the morning's events, he now knew that the time was an asset he no longer had in abundance. Voldemort had started his plan of using Harry's friends as a means of hurting the Boy-Who-Lived.

"What about materials?" asked George. "You said that you would supply them."

"I will," Harry confirmed. "Just give me a list of everything you need and I'll do the rest."

"Just a second," announced Fred, holding up a commanding finger. He and George left their seats at the table and began clearing away some boxes that were stacked haphazardly in one corner of the workroom.

As he shifted one of the top boxes, messily labelled as containing Snake Belt Shocks, George explained, "We thought you might need that, so we drew one up."

Moving the last of the boxes out of the way, Fred drew his wand and waved it in the general direction of the newly bared floorboards. "Aperio tectum ostium," he commanded with a flourish, before turning to where Harry had remained sitting and sketching a short bow.

To Harry's surprise, a trapdoor had appeared in the spot what had been occupied by the stack of boxes. It was nowhere near large enough for a person to fit through, save perhaps a Muggle contortionist, which lead him to guess that it was used for storing things of a sensitive nature. His attention was immediately drawn to the wide variety of carvings that bordered the trapdoor, which he also noticed did not have a handle to open with.

"Security ward runes?" he asked with surprise.

"We borrowed some of Bill's books on the subject," George answered with a grin. He knelt down beside the trapdoor, drew his wand and glanced at his twin. "Ready, Forge?"

"Ready, Gred," confirmed Fred, also kneeling down. "On three?"

"One," began George.

"Two," continued Fred.

"Three!" finished George excitedly.

Harry watched with interest as the twins began to tap their wands on the runes in a seemingly random pattern, chanting in unison as they did so. "Expedio tui vinculus."

The runes flared to life, glowing a deep red that bathed the twins' faces in a bloody light as they continued to tap one rune after another, in time to their chorused incantation.

"Aperio quae tui celo."

The rune's red glow began to fade, shifting from red to orange and then to yellow. Harry could now see that Fred and George were working in concert, as they always did. The runes protecting the trapdoor obviously required two people working simultaneously to deactivate them.

"Concedo nobis penitus."

With one final tap of their wands, the twins finished entering the correct combination and moved back from the trapdoor. The bright yellow glow of the runes shifted to a soothing green that slowly faded away entirely, leaving the runes looking like nothing more than simple decorations. A moment later there was a faint click and the trapdoor flipped open.

"I never knew you had a secret compartment there," Harry commented, thinking of the fact that his future self had spent a great many hours with Fred and George after graduating from Hogwarts. He knew Weasley's Wizard Wheezes better than anyone else, save the twins.

"We didn't," admitted Fred as he leaned forward and started rummaging around inside the compartment.

"At least, not until after you gave us the plans to the plasma rifle," qualified George, pushing himself to his feet.

"Then it seemed like a good idea to build one," continued Fred. He paused and then pulled out a short sheet of parchment that he held up. "Here we go."

Using his free hand, Fred closed the trapdoor and stood up while George waved his wand. "Nova custodiae."

The runic wards flared into being again, lighting up a brilliant green. In quick succession the green changed to yellow and then to red before fading back down once more. A moment later the trapdoor faded from sight, leaving only the appearance of a dirty and slightly scuffed wooden floor.

Quickly replacing the stack of boxes, this time using their wands to shift them about, the twins returned to the table Harry was sitting at. Dropping into their seats, Fred presented Harry with the parchment. "Here you are."

"Thanks," said Harry, accepting it. He looked over the list written, noting that several of the items were already in his and father's subspace inventory. Several others, however, he would need to collect. "I'll need a couple of days to get some of this."

"No rush," George assured him.

"How many are you thinking of, anyway?" asked Fred, leaning back and propping his elbows on the tabletop.

"No more than a hundred," Harry replied absently, now reading over the list of materials in greater detail.

This casual proclamation caused the twins to almost swallow their tongues in surprise. Harry glanced up from his perusal of the list to see that George was staring at him with a gobsmacked expression and that Fred had apparently disappeared.

After a moment's thought, in which he recollected hearing a loud thump, he looked down to see that the missing twin had apparently lost his balance and toppled over in surprise. Fred was now gaping at him from his position down on the floor and exclaimed, "A hundred!"

"Gods, Harry," breathed George in disbelief. "Which small country are you planning to invade?"

"The one where Voldemort's hiding," Harry answered wryly.

"You're actually serious about fighting him with these?" asked Fred, stumbling back onto his feet and righting his chair as he indicated the list Harry was holding.

"Not alone and not only with plasma rifles," was Harry's matter-of-fact reply.

"Who else?" asked George.

"What else?" asked Fred.

"I'm not too sure yet who I'll be taking with me, but I will probably be using drones for the most part," Harry admitted with a slight sigh. He had no doubt that not even the threat of violence would stop his friends from wanting to come with him when he finally made his move. "As for weaponry, I do have a few ideas that I'd like to talk to you about."

The twins exchanged another long glance, something they had been doing a lot since Harry's arrival. They leaned in close and held a whispered conversation that Harry studiously avoided overhearing. Finally, after several minutes of hushed discussion, they turned to face him.

"Harry," Fred began, "I think we deserve to know what's going on."

"You don't have to tell us everything, if you don't want to," George qualified.

"But some idea of what you have planned would be appreciated," concluded Fred.

To tell the truth, Harry had been considering this very thing for several weeks now. It made sense, he knew, especially as they were the ones that would be assembling his technomancy weapons.

It was not a difficult decision to reach, after all. Harry had often felt that Fred and George's friendship was the easiest relationship he had ever had, alongside his friendship with Hagrid.

This was probably due to the fact that they could not have cared less that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. They had helped him onto the Hogwarts Express that first year, learned his identity, acknowledged that he was one of the most famous wizards of modern times, and then carried on with business as usual. The only other ones who came close to that were Hermione and Luna, and of course Hagrid.

"Are you doing anything right now?" he asked.

"No," said George. "We've closed the shop for the day, remember?"

"While I trust talking about some things here," said Harry apologetically, "I'd prefer to explain fully in a more secure location."

"Where d'you have in mind?" asked Fred.

"And how do we get there?" asked George.

With a thought Harry had Father open a remote Gate to the flat in Barcelona. The sudden appearance of a shimmering three metre wide ball of energy briefly startled the twins, but (as with everything in life) they quickly recovered.

"I think my flat should be free of any eavesdroppers, so we'll talk there," Harry told them, rising from his seat and motioning for them to do the same. As an afterthought he added, "Provided you promise to behave yourselves."

"We'll be on our best behaviour!" they promised.

"That's what I'm afraid of," muttered Harry, as the twins grinned mischievously and stood up to join him.

Harry was just about to wave the twins through the Gate, something they were clearly looking forward to, when a voice called out from the front of the shop. A moment later, before any of them could react, the door to the backroom swung open and a familiar figure stumbled inside.

It was Tonks.

"Fred? George? Are you in here?"

George turned to Fred and asked, "I thought you locked the front door?"

"I did," Fred confirmed, looking at the currently orange-haired witch with frank astonishment. He turned to George and asked a question of his own. "Why didn't you lock this door?"

"I thought you did that as well," George replied.

"Wotcher boys, how's..." Tonks' greeting trailed off as she caught sight of Harry. "Harry?"

"Shit," Harry swore.

"Harry, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" demanded Tonks, taking several steps further into the backroom and putting her hands on her hips as she glared unhappily at the three wizards in front of her.

Deciding to beat a retreat to safer grounds before Tonks recovered, Harry grabbed the twins by their arms and pulled them behind him as he practically jumped into the waiting Gate. "Move it!" he ordered, keeping a firm hold on them so that they were forced to follow behind him.

The peculiar sensation of travelling through warped space lasted only a heartbeat before Harry emerged from the Gate and into the flat where the rest of the Ministry Crew were waiting. Once he was sure of his footing, he checked to see that the twins had come out after him, before ordering Father to close the Gate.

The Gatekeeper, however, was not fast enough. With barely a second to spare before the remote Gate shrank in on itself and collapsed, Tonks leapt out of the shimmering portal. Since neither Harry nor the twins had moved more than a couple of steps from the Gate, they were the first thing the young Auror came into contact with.

As the Gate vanished, with its customary wet pop, Harry looked down at the three figures at his feet. Unlike the twins, he had managed to remain standing when Tonks collided with them. She was sprawled over the twins, in a rather suggestive manner which would doubtless cause her much grief in the future, and was looking about with confusion at her surroundings.

"The day is not improving," he said, summing up this latest event.

"Um... wotcher, Harry?"

-oOo-

All things considered, Dumbledore had had worse days. Granted, most of those days had been over a century age. In recent years, his days had been mostly filled by the tedious and humdrum existence of a school headmaster. Indeed it had been over sixty years, not since his final battle with the dark wizard Grindelwald, since he had last been laid out flat like this.

Fortunately Poppy had been kind enough to allow him to rest in his private chambers, rather than in the school's Hospital Wing. Apparently she was of the opinion that Draco Malfoy's near constant wailing over his broken fingers and dislocated shoulders (despite their having already been healed) would not be conducive to Dumbledore's recovery.

His convalescence was disturbed late in the afternoon by two voices, arguing outside his bedroom door.

"Amelia, please!" protested a voice he recognised as Professor McGonagall. "Albus needs his rest!"

"Let her in, Minerva," called Dumbledore. From what little he had heard of the conversation, he knew already who it was that wished to speak with him. He had a feeling he already knew what she wished to talk about. "I think it would be best not to put this discussion off."

The door opposite the bed swung open and Professor McGonagall came in, followed closely by the Provisional Minister of Magic; Madam Amelia Bones.

"But, Albus--"

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore interrupted, "this must be done."

"Very well," McGonagall reluctantly acquiesced. She shot him a forbidding look and warned, "Just be sure not to strain yourself. Poppy would be very angry if you did yourself another injury."

"Yes, I imagine she would," he agreed. With a nod to both the headmaster and Madam Bones, McGonagall stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Turning his attention to the remaining witch, Dumbledore observed, "You seem rather flustered, Amelia." He pointed to a small bag of sweets sitting on his side table and offered, "Lemon drop?"

"Where's Potter?" Bones demanded without preamble, moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

"I fear I do not know where Harry is at the moment," admitted Dumbledore softly. This admission was a painful one, as he was very much aware of the fact that Harry was likely to be in grave danger.

"Do you have any idea what that boy's done?"

Dumbledore shrugged. He knew, without a doubt, that Harry would have immediately sought to free Hermione from captivity. He also had some idea of what lengths Harry go to in order to accomplish that task. Beyond that, however, he was frightfully in the dark as to what was transpiring outside Hogwarts.

Bones glared across at him and stated, "Dover. Parkinson Lodge."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, "so you acted on the information Harry was able to extract from Draco Malfoy."

"Yes," Bones grudgingly agreed. She ducked her head and muttered darkly, "And his method of extracting that information is something else we have to discuss."

"Later," said Dumbledore, more interested in gaining information on what Harry had been doing since leaving Hogwarts this morning. He struggled to sit himself in a more upright position as he asked, "What did you find at Parkinson Lodge?"

Bones moved around the bed and plopped down in one of the chairs by Dumbledore's side. She sighed deeply and gave the headmaster a look of mixed frustration, curiosity and awe.

"We found that Parkinson Lodge no longer exists."

-oOo-

"So what do you think?" asked Harry.

Almost immediately after her unexpected arrival in Barcelona, Harry had sent Tonks on her way - despite her protests. He was only able to get her to cooperate by telling her that he and the others would be stopping by Grimmauld Place the following morning, so that Hermione could check on her parents.

He had also asked her to see if Remus could be there. While he had never been as close to Remus as he had been to Sirius, Harry needed to talk to someone about what had happened, both at Hogwarts and at Parkinson Lodge. His former Defence professor was, he knew, good at listening to people's troubles.

After Tonks' return to Diagon Alley, Harry and his friends has gathered round the dining room table with Fred and George and proceeded to fill them in on events. The twins had sat through the tale, which lasted the rest of the afternoon, through dinner and well into the evening, without interruption or fanfare.

"Well, Harry, I have to admit..." started Fred.

"...you certainly have a talent for attracting trouble," finished George.

"Thanks," Harry wryly accepted.

"This is big though, Harry," continued George, gravely.

"Bigger than we could have imagined," agreed Fred, with the same amount of seriousness.

Naturally, neither twin could maintain it for long, as evidenced by George, who added, "Bigger than even our little brother's appetite."

"Hey!"

Just as naturally, Ron protested this implication. He rose up from his seat, almost upsetting his glass of chilled pumpkin juice, obviously intending to commit some form of physical violence upon his siblings. A hand from Hermione and Neville restrained him, however, on his shoulders.

Harry took a deep sip from his cup of tea, finishing it, before asking the most relevant question. "I trust the both of you understand the need for keeping quiet about this?"

"Yeah," said Fred.

"We do," confirmed George.

"Good."

"Though we really think you should go to Dumbledore with this," added Fred, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair and linking his hands behind his head.

"Dividing our forces like this isn't helping anything," agreed George.

"We've been trying to get him to talk to the headmaster since we learned what was going on," interjected Hermione, who crossed her arms and directed a stern look towards Harry. "Unfortunately if Harry is anything, it's stubborn."

"Not stubborn, just reluctant," Harry corrected.

"I don't claim to understand your reasoning, Harry," Hermione allowed, "but I can accept it. For now."

Harry arched an eyebrow at the qualification she had added and asked, "For now?"

"I was kidnapped and almost..." Hermione trailed off, visibly having to shake herself out of the memory. Harry wanted to cross over to her side of the table and give her a comforting hug, but restrained himself. He had a feeling she was not done yet, and was proved right as she promptly forged onward. "Can you honestly expect me to continue standing back after that?"

"If it were up to Dumbledore and the Order," Harry noted calmly, "you'd still be entertaining Malfoy and his friends."

"Not if you'd work with him," Hermione insisted. "If you did that, all of this might have been avoided."

"He wouldn't have done enough to stop it," countered Harry, his thoughts immediately turning to how, in the future, Dumbledore would wait too long before attacking Voldemort's hideout - a mistake that would all but break the back of the Light's resistance against the dark lord's rise to power.

He also noticed that the rest of his friends were sitting back in their chairs and watching the growing argument between himself and Hermione. Apparently they had decided against becoming involved, leaving it between the two of them.

Hermione drew his attention back to her by asking, "How can you say that?"

"Dumbledore's a great man, Hermione, I'll be one of the first to admit it," Harry told her, thinking back to all the things the aged wizard had accomplished in his long life. He found himself scowling faintly as he added, "But like just everybody else, he has his flaws."

"I know that, but--"

"D'you know what his greatest flaw is?" Harry interrupted. Without waiting for her to answer, it was a rhetorical question after all, he said, "He will always give you the benefit of the doubt. Always wanting to believe the best of people. Always willing to give them a second chance."

"That's not a flaw, Harry," Hermione told him stridently. "It's one of his greatest strengths."

"Not a flaw is it?" questioned Harry.

"No, it's not," she insisted.

"Lockhart."

"What?" Hermione looked at him in confusion, not understanding the apparent non sequitur. Shaking her head she asked, "What's he have to do with anything?"

"Lockhart," Harry repeated. Then he held up his hands and started ticking off fingers, rattling off a dishearteningly long list of names as he progressed. "Before him it was Quirrel. Fudge and his toad, Umbridge. Draco. Lucius. Nott. Karkaroff. Snape."

Seeing that Hermione and the rest of his friends were at a temporary loss for words, Harry pushed his chair away from the dining table and stood up. He simply could not stand to remain seated when a touchy subject like this came up. He needed to pace, something to distract him (however slightly) as he worked through his thoughts.

"Dumbledore gives them the benefit of the doubt. Lets them into the school, despite knowing their histories. Lets them decide policy, rule the bloody country, despite the fact that a blind and deaf flobberworm would probably be better suited to the job," he said as he began to pace round the table, making sure to always have Hermione in his sight as he did so.

His agitation had grown as he spoke and now he threw his hands into the air and snapped, "Hell, the old man would probably grant Bellatrix Lestrange herself asylum in Hogwarts if she came to him with a good enough sob story. He already did it for Snape, so why not her?"

Speaking very quietly, so that he only barely heard her, Hermione said, "He was also willing believe three third-year students, with no proof other than their word, when they claimed that Sirius Black was innocent."

Harry instantly froze in place, his thoughts turning to his deceased godfather. Hermione's soft spoken words had cut through his mounting agitation with remarkable ease. Everything he had been saying, his entire tirade over Dumbledore's past actions, was now laid bare before him, untainted by his runaway emotions.

He turned where he stood, to look at Hermione and the others. He was mildly surprised to see that she had gone white and was watching him with obvious trepidation.

"Oh God, Harry, I'm sorry," she blurted in apology. "I shouldn't have said that."

Managing a weak smile, Harry walked around the table to where she was sitting. He kneeled down next to her and took one of her hands in his own, squeezing it softly in reassurance.

"Actually," he said, "I think that was exactly what you needed to say." His smile took on a sad aspect as he realised just how much he had sunk into the emotions and perceptions of his future self. "Thanks for pulling me back into the present."

"Feedback," Hermione concluded, somehow understanding what he was saying even when he did not say it outright. It was a talent that she had often displayed in the past.

"I think, after all of the excitement today, I'm suffering from it a bit more than usual," Harry admitted.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked.

"He should be asking you that," commented Neville as he and the others finally decided to rejoin the conversation. "After all, you're the one that was kidnapped, not to mention stabbed with a cursed dagger."

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted.

"Still, you need to rest," said Harry, secretly relieved that the attention had shifted from himself to Hermione, "it's going to be another long day tomorrow." He checked his watch, which had made it through the assault on Parkinson Lodge with nary a scratch, and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock. He then looked to the twins. "It's late. You two should be getting back to the shop."

"Are you sure?" asked Fred.

"We could stay, if you like," offered George.

"Safety in numbers and all that," agreed Fred.

Harry shook his head and demurred. "We're several thousand miles from England," he said as an explanation. "Nobody would think to look for us here."

"What about Tonks?" asked Ginny. "She was here. If she told Dumbledore..."

"She was here, yes," said Luna, "but she does not know where 'here' is."

"I don't think we have to worry about the Order attacking us in our sleep," concluded Harry, though he had no doubt that if Dumbledore did find out where they were then they would promptly have several uninvited guests pop in.

"Well then--"

"--time to be off!"

"Here," Harry said, waving a hand in the general direction of the front door. Father responded to the silent request by opening a remote Gate leading from the flat back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The twins regarded the shimmering sphere with unabashed interest, having not had a chance to properly inspect the Gate, which had brought them here.

George turned to his twin and asked, "We have got to get ourselves one of these Gatekeepers, eh, Forge?"

"Definitely, Gred," Fred agreed without hesitation as the two Weasleys rose from their places at the dining table and made their way to the waiting Gate. "Why, just imagine the potential for pranks it allows."

"Bypasses anti-Apparation and Portkey wards as if they weren't even there," said George.

"Makes getting in and out of places easier than getting in and out--"

"--of Angelina's knickers, eh?"

Fred rounded on George and protested, "HEY!!"

Back at the table Ron and Ginny slumped in their chairs and dropped their heads onto the table top. After mumbling incoherently for a second, Ginny groaned, "I did not--"

"--need to hear that," finished Ron.

Harry almost mentioned that they appeared to be taking after the twins, in that they were finishing each other's sentences, but decided against it. Such a remark would most likely be bad for his health.

Fred and George bid each of the Ministry Crew a fond farewell before jumping through the Gate, making a small production out of the act as they did so. With a slurping noise the Gate shrank into nothing, finally disappearing with a wet pop, leaving the six students in Sirius' old flat.

"Sometimes I wonder about those two," said Neville, shaking his head in wonder and staring at the spot where the twins had departed from.

"I've been wondering about them ever since I met them," replied Hermione dryly.

"I like them," said Luna earnestly.

Ron looked at her with a disgruntled expression and muttered, "I can't imagine why."

-oOo-

Dumbledore was sitting patiently behind his desk. Of course, he was unable to do much beyond simply sit behind his desk, seeing as his hip was still healing and could not yet support his full weight. Still, it was better, he felt, to be sitting behind his desk than to be lying prone on his bed.

Especially when almost the entire Order of the Phoenix was crowded into his office.

It was late and he had already been waiting two hours for the group before him to assemble. In his current condition he could not travel to their headquarters at Grimmauld Place, thus he had summoned the Order to meet here, at Hogwarts. This is why it had taken so long for his comrades to assemble.

He directed his tired gaze to Remus Lupin, who had already threatened to disembowel Professor Snape twice and even gone so far as to growl at Mundungus Fletcher. The full moon was only a few days away, which might account for his currently short temper, but Dumbledore had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that Harry was still missing.

Ever since Sirius' death, Remus had taken it upon himself to fill the role as the father figure in Harry's life. He was understandably put on edge upon hearing that Harry had tortured Draco Malfoy before going forth to rescue Hermione and no doubt kill everyone that got in his way.

The news that Harry had apparently succeeded, destroying Parkinson Lodge in the process, had done nothing to ease the werewolf's temperament.

Dumbledore sighed and glanced down at his desk, where his pensieve sat waiting.

Amelia Bones had not been easy to placate, especially as she had been the bearer of the bad news, as it were. It had taken a considerable amount of bargaining, and a little pleading, on Dumbledore's part to convince her not to arrest Harry as soon as he returned to the school.

Harry had seemingly killed five wizards, that they knew of, at Parkinson Lodge - most notably Lucius Malfoy. He was also, as far as anyone could tell, responsible for the deaths of four others at the Granger household. Despite the fact that he had saved Hermione and her parents by doing so, the fact remained that Harry had killed nine people, possibly more.

The mitigating circumstances of having saved three lives in the process was, unfortunately, not enough to fully protect Harry from the consequences of his actions.

"Albus?"

Dumbledore shook himself out of his musings and glanced up to see Professor McGonagall watching him with a worried expression on her normally stern face. She had not been pleased to hear that he planned to hold this Order meeting here rather than in his private quarters, where he could have remained in bed.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly, so that none of the others present could hear.

"I'm fine, Minerva," he replied. "Merely preoccupied."

"They should be arriving soon."

He glanced towards the fireplace and was pleased to see the flames burn a bright green as they flared high, signalling an active floo connection. "Indeed," he noted with all the cheer he could manage, "they are arriving right this moment."

A moment later the last of the people they had been waiting for arrived. Bill Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, his clothes and face smudged with soot, followed a second later by Fleur Delacour, who somehow contrived to emerge spotless.

"Ah," Dumbledore clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention. "I see that we are now all here."

"Get on with it," demanded Remus impatiently. "What's happened to Harry?"

Seeing that Professor Snape was in the process of opening his mouth, no doubt to make an inopportune comment, Dumbledore headed the potions master off by replying, "Precisely the topic of tonight's meeting." He waved at the various chairs that he and McGonagall had conjured earlier, "Please, everyone, sit down so that we may begin."

The scuffling sounds of chairs being pushed and pulled about filled the room as people took their places. Dumbledore was relieved to see that Snape had taken a seat as far from Remus as was possible, thus reducing the possibility of bloodshed should they begin arguing. Remus was normally a very calm and reasonable man, but right now was looking more than capable of ripping apart anyone foolish enough to annoy him. Namely Snape.

"I have not summoned you here," Dumbledore began, "to discuss what happened this morning."

"Then why are we wasting our time here," Remus snapped.

"There is something very important I have to show you all," Dumbledore said, indicating the pensieve on his desk.

"It's obviously important, considering all the Security Wards you've put up around your office," deduced Moody. "So what is it, Albus?"

Drawing his wand from within the folds of his robe, Dumbledore began to stir the memories floating in the pensieve. After finding the memory he was looking for, he withdrew his wand and allowed a ghostly miniature of Sybil Trelawney to rise up from the surface of the pensieve.

Settling back in his chair, he watched the reactions of his friends as they listened intently to the prophecy that he had spent so much time and effort trying to keep secret.

-oOo-

It was late, well past midnight, and the nearly full moon had risen high in the sky. It's pale, silvery light filled the small lounge of Harry's flat. He, Ron and Neville were stretched out in the various chairs available, whereas the girls had crowded into the sole bedroom. His friends were sprawled uncomfortably in two of the three armchairs, while Harry himself had the couch to lie on.

He had originally tried to decline, offering it instead to Ron or Neville, but had been overruled. Apparently he was the hero of the day, and thus expected to enjoy some measure of luxury because of it. Not that a couch was much of a luxury, at least compared to a proper bed. Still, he supposed, it was better than his first 'room' in the cupboard under the stairs.

Even though he was nominally more comfortable than his two friends, Harry could not manage to fall asleep. Listening carefully he could hear from the soft snores to the left that Neville was out. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to still be awake, but had not said anything for over an hour.

"Harry?" Ron's voice called out softly, so as not to wake Neville. Apparently the red-haired wizard had decided that if he could not sleep, then he would have to pass the time by talking. "You asleep yet?"

"No," Harry replied, also in hushed tones. "Too many thoughts running around in my head."

"I can imagine."

"What's keeping you up?" Harry asked.

"Just thinking about things," replied Ron.

Harry twisted his head so that he could see his friend and asked, "Anything in particular?"

Ron hummed and hawed. "Well..."

"Come on, Ron," Harry gently urged. "I know something's bothering you. Out with it."

"You and Hermione," Ron finally blurted, his voice somewhat louder than it had been earlier. It was no louder than when he spoke in a normal voice, but it was enough to make Neville shift in his sleep.

Waiting until he was sure that Neville was still sleeping, Harry answered with a simple, "Ah."

Harry watched silently as Ron sat up in his chair and turn to him. The redhead quickly checked that Neville had not been disturbed and then started talking. He started by asking, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" asked Harry in return.

"Don't dance around the subject, Harry," Ron hissed loudly, "you know what I'm talking about!"

"Keep your voice down Ron," cautioned Harry as Neville grunted.

"Then answer the bloody question!"

"You're asking why I told you both that it wouldn't work between you and Hermione?" Harry asked, fervently wishing that he and Ron did not need to have this conversation. Unfortunately he had known they would come to this, ever since he had let loose the knowledge of what had happened originally.

"Yes," confirmed Ron with a nod. "Why did you do it?" he demanded unhappily. "Why couldn't you let me at least have a chance? Didn't I deserve at least that much? A chance?"

"You wouldn't have lasted two months," Harry observed flatly.

"You don't know that," Ron insisted.

"You didn't in the original timeline."

"As you've already mentioned several times," Ron countered scathingly, "things are different now. Very different. You've change things. A lot of things."

Harry lay there for a short while, silently agreeing with Ron's conclusions as he thought of everything that had happened differently since Father's arrival.

"Yes, they are," he finally said. He turned his head away from Ron and regarded the ceiling. "This time I wasn't willing to wait." He could feel the muscles in his face tighten as his expression closed. "You had your chance, Ron, and it ended in shouts and tears." He shook his head sadly at the memory of it and muttered, "I couldn't let that happen. Not again."

"So you thought you could decide that for us, huh?" asked Ron angrily. "As if we couldn't make the choice for ourselves."

"I didn't--"

Ron cut him off by snapping, "Certainly seems that way."

"If I did, then I swear to you; I didn't plan for it to come across that way," Harry told him quietly. He did feel guilty about heading off Ron's attempted relationship with Hermione, but he would rather feel the guilt than simply sit back and watch as his two best friends' friendship fell apart at the seams. "I only wanted to spare the both of you from something that hurt you both a great deal."

"But you don't deny that you want Hermione for yourself," grumbled Ron.

"Is that wrong?" Harry asked.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Harry turned to look Ron in the eyes. "I never asked for any of this Ron," he said softly, a feeling of bone-weary exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Despite that he pressed on, "I never asked to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. I never wanted to be a celebrity or a hero. I never wanted to be singled out as Gryffindor's star Seeker, however much I enjoy it. I never asked for the fate of the world to fall on my shoulders because of some godforsaken prophecy made before I was even born!"

Realising that his voice was starting to rise, as well as his temper, Harry paused to take several deep breaths to calm himself. Closing his eyes he focused on the mediation exercises he had studied over the summer, as part of his Occulmency training, should Father's anti-magical defences ever fail to protect him from mental intrusion.

"You wanted to know why you couldn't have a chance? Why you didn't deserve that much?" he resumed, opening his eyes and cursing to find that they were feeling moist. "Well, I'm asking the same questions. Why can't I have a chance? Don't I deserve at least that much? A chance to be happy?"

Ron was left stumped by this, having obviously not expected Harry to retaliate to his accusations in such a manner. He stumbled about, searching for something to say. "Harry... I... I..."

"Don't let it bother you, Ron," said Harry with a sigh. He dropped his head back down onto the couch and returned to his examination of the flat's ceiling. "I'm used to the world not giving a damn about what I want."

There was nothing else to say after that, so both young wizards fell silent for several minutes. Harry grit his teeth and berated himself for losing his cool like that. Apparently he was still suffering from the short fuse that had plagued him for much of the previous school year.

Finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by Ron, who asked, "Harry? You still awake?"

"Yes," Harry replied tiredly. "Still too many thoughts running around in my head."

"I can believe that," said Ron.

"Why are you still up?" asked Harry, aware that their words were closely following those from earlier.

"Just thinking about things," replied Ron.

Harry mirrored his earlier actions and turned his head to regard his friend. He saw that Ron was slouched in his armchair, looking thoroughly miserable and staring up at the ceiling, much as Harry had been doing. He managed a weak smile and asked, "Anything in particular?"

Ron nodded and answered, "Yeah."

"What?" asked Harry.

"You and Hermione," Ron said. He paused and then blurted, "I'm sorry."

Pleased to know that his friend did not seem to be holding a grudge, Harry waved the apology aside. "It's okay,"

"Still," Ron persisted, "I should've thought it through more before getting mad at you like that."

"Don't worry," Harry assured him. "I'm used to that as well."

Ron was quiet for several moments before he morosely asked, "I'm not a very good friend sometimes, am I?" Harry tried to think of a diplomatic way to reply to that, but Ron cut him off before he could speak. "Don't try and deny it, Harry."

"Ron--"

"It's true, we both know it."

"Well... maybe you're not a very good friend," Harry allowed, unhappy about making such an admission. He hoped his next sentence would counter it somewhat. "But you are a good friend."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another silence descended over them, this one more comfortable than what they had previously endured. After a minute or two, Ron once again broke the silence by speaking up.

"Harry?

"Yeah?"

"If they ever try and do to Ginny... or Luna... or anyone else... what they were going to do to Hermione..."

"It will be the last thing they do before I kill them," Harry finished, cold steel filling his voice at the mere thought of that happening. He did not even need his future memories to bring the emotion out, it was entirely his own.

Ron regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Good."

They stayed up for a bit longer, talking about banal, unimportant things. Ron was appalled to learn that his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, would not come close to winning the Quidditch League for the next twenty-two years. In fact, it was all they could do to remain in the League and not be relegated.

Eventually, however, the excitement of the day and the long hours after Hermione's rescue began to catch up with Ron, who started yawning every few minutes.

"Harry, mate," he said around one particularly long yawn, "I don't think I can stay up much longer."

"Goodnight, Ron," said Harry in return.

"'Night," mumbled Ron as he settled into the armchair.

Harry watched as his friend finally drifted to sleep. His thoughts were melancholy, thinking of things yet to come. He knew that he was unlikely to get much sleep himself that night, and what little sleep he might get would most likely be fitful.

"Pleasant dreams, old friend," he whispered. "For one of us, at least."

-oOo-

Voldemort was sitting in the darkness of his 'throne room' and contemplated the events and repercussions of all that had transpired that morning. Two of his most faithful servants, Bellatrix and her husband Rondolphus were kneeling patiently at his feet, but he ignored them for the time being, lost in his thoughts.

Hermione Granger's abduction had apparently proceeded exactly as planned. Young Draco Malfoy had confronted her on her way to the library. He had given her the Portkey that had taken her to Parkinson Lodge, where Lucius and five of his comrades were waiting. Nott and three others had made it through the limited wards protecting the Granger residence and had been in the perfect position to abduct the Mudblood's parents.

So what the Hell had gone wrong?

By all accounts, sent to him by various Slytherin students, Harry Potter had somehow known of Granger's disappearance almost as quickly as it had happened. He had then proceeded to torture, torture, Draco for information on her location. His methods of doing so were... out of character, to say the least. For that matter, the fact that Potter had actually tortured somebody was so out of character that Voldemort wondered at the reliability of his informants.

Potter had also had a mild confrontation with the school's staff, who had been attempting to stop him. Voldemort had to wonder at the idea of a sixteen-year-old, not yet fully trained, boy fending off spells from practically every professor Hogwarts had. That he did so with such ease that he never once even bothered acknowledging the attacks...

After brutalising Draco in truly barbaric fashion, Potter and his friends had taken their leave of Hogwarts - apparently using a portal of some sort to run off and rescue Granger. This was only after Potter, Voldemort was pleased to learn, tossed Dumbledore across the Great Hall with enough force to break the old wizard's hip.

Since then, matters had become less than clear.

The four Death Eaters than had been assigned to abduct Granger's parents were dead. By what the Aurors had reported, passed on to Voldemort by his sources in the Ministry, all four had been killed by Muggle weapons. The Grangers themselves were missing, but apparently in safe hands, if Dumbledore's assurances were to be believed.

As for Parkinson Lodge, Voldemort had been receiving reports on that particular disaster at regular intervals from almost the minute he had first learned of what had happened. What he had learned did nothing to ease his disquiet.

The Lodge itself, as Avery had said, was completely destroyed. From what the Ministry could tell, Muggle weaponry had once again been used. Explosives of some sort, placed in strategic points, had shattered the backbone of the building and caused the Lodge to collapse in upon itself. With its destruction, the wards protecting the Lodge and its grounds had dissipated almost as quickly.

Later reports had been of the first two bodies discovered in the debris. Both were Death Eaters, part of the group Lucius had chosen to help him break the Granger girl. The Ministry was unsure what had killed them, save that it was not magical in natural and not any kind of known Muggle weapon.

Two other bodies had been found not long afterwards, again two of Lucius' companions. These two, however, the Ministry could confirm as having been killed by Muggle weapons. Firearms apparently. An hour or so later the body of Lucius Malfoy had been dug out of the wreckage, killed by multiple gunshot wounds to the chest.

It was only six hours ago that the most salient information had been delivered to Voldemort.

Harry Potter.

He was using a mixture of wizarding sorcery and Muggle technology.

Voldemort was loathe to admit it, but Muggle guns were just as good at killing people as the Killing Curse. Granted they were a whole lot messier (not to mention louder), but it was the result that counted. In some ways they were even better. Guns could fire bullets faster than a wand could cast spells.

That was apparently the downfall of Nott and his companions at the Granger residence. The Aurors that had investigated had discovered that two of the dead Death Eaters had been killed before they could even raise their wands in defence. The other two had all but drained their magic using Shield Charms.

Clearly Potter's background, raised by his Muggle relatives, had aided him in this venture. This was something Voldemort could not tolerate. Death Eaters and their magic defeated by some simple Muggle guns? He would not tolerate it!

"Find out where Potter spends his summers," he commanded, breaking his long silence.

"Yes, my Lord," the Lestranges chimed, eager to serve and fulfil his orders in any way. After a moment Bellatrix inclined her head in question, clearly wanting ask something of him. Once Voldemort nodded his permission for her to speak, she asked, "And once we have done so?"

"Kill whomever you find there... and send Potter their heads."

-oOo-

Hermione jerked upright, returning to the waking world with a start.

"Bollocks," she quietly swore, not wanting to wake either Luna or Ginny.

Her sleep had thus far been a fitful one, filled with memories of her brief captivity at the hands of Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends.

It was a particularly vivid recollection that had interrupted her sleep. She had been under the Imperious Curse, performing a strip tease for the amusement of her captors. This time, however, Harry had not managed to reach her in time. Luckily she had wakened before they could do anything more than gawk at her bared figure.

Knowing that she would not have an easy time falling asleep again, Hermione decided to get a breath of fresh air in an attempt to sooth her nerves. Looking to either side, she pondered how to get off the bed without waking the two witches sleeping alongside her. Wiggling carefully, so as not to disturb the mattress too much, she made her way down to the foot of the bed, where she was able to slip off.

Walking on tiptoes she crept across the room. She winced at the slight squeak as she opened the door. Stepping into the lounge, where the boys were sleeping, she closed the door behind her, again wincing at the low-pitched creak.

She stood there for a while, waiting to see if she had disturbed anyone. Breathing a sigh of relief that they appeared to still be sleeping, she began to cross the room, heading to the glass sliding door that lead to the flat's small balcony, where she planned to get her fresh air.

Passing the couch, Hermione froze in place as Harry unexpectedly sat up. He was moving slowly, so as not to startle her. It was not only the fact that Harry was apparently awake that caused her to pause, but that she was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing nothing but her knickers and a t-shirt that only just reached mid-thigh.

"Feeling restless?" asked Harry softly.

"A little," she admitted, her mind returning to Lucius' leering face.

"Me too," confessed Harry. He glanced at the balcony, where she was heading. As he seemed to consider something, Hermione notices that he was wearing only a formfitting T-shirt and his boxers. Harry turned his attention away from the balcony and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

Hermione briefly weighed the pros and cons of spending time with Harry while they were both less than fully dressed. But she had to admit that, at the moment, she would rather not be alone.

"Not at all."

"Go ahead," he said, swivelling so that he could set his feet on the floor. "Let me just draw us some tea."

"Okay."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Hermione continued on her way as Harry stood up and crossed into the kitchen. Stepping out onto the balcony she breathed in deeply and took a moment, her eyes closed, to relish in the coolness of the night air against the sweat that had soaked into her T-shirt during her restless sleep.

She was looking out over the city, having visited Barcelona once before when she was seven, when Harry returned. He slid the balcony door open with a foot, a cup of tea in either hand. A small bowl of sugar and a jug of milk were hovering by his side, no doubt suspended in the air by one of Father's GM fields.

"Here you go," he said, offering her the cup in his right hand.

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him.

"I forgot to ask how you like it," he said with a nod to her teacup and then to the bowl and jug floating nearby, "so I brought the milk and sugar."

"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione, smiling at his thoughtfulness.

"No trouble," said Harry depreciatingly as he smiled in return.

Hermione quickly fixed her tea to her liking, that is; two heaped spoonfuls of sugar and only a dash of milk. Harry, she noticed, put in a fair-sized dollop of milk, but passed by the sugar entirely. Once they had helped themselves, the bowl and jug drifted off to the side, settling down near the balcony's door.

They stood in silence for a while, Hermione wasn't sure how long, sipping their tea and looking out over the nightlights of Barcelona.

"Knut for you thoughts?" Harry asked unexpectedly.

"Sorry, but my thoughts are worth a bit more than that," Hermione countered with a mischievous grin. "I'd expect at least a Sickle."

They both shared some soft laughter at that, but once it was finished, Harry lost his humour. "Seriously though, Nee," he said, looking out at the city once again. "What's on your mind?"

Hermione sighed, knowing that he would not rest until she gave him an answer. Thinking about it for several moments, to organise her thoughts, she replied, "About what you'd expect after yesterday."

"I know it's small consolation, but I feel like that too sometimes," he offered quietly.

"What about you?" she asked. "Why are you out here with me?"

"Because sitting by yourself doesn't accomplish much," replied Harry. He turned his back to the cityscape before them and leaned against the railing. "I should know, I've done it often enough."

"Oh, Harry..."

Hermione wanted to reach out and give him some support, something to drive away the bleakness in his voice, but instead found herself transfixed by the sight of him. Harry was staring at his own cup, his gaze a sombre one, a deep pain hidden just beneath the surface. In this moment he looked so much older than she knew him to be. Far older than any teenager should ever have to feel.

Finally breaking herself out of her stupor, she asked the one question that had been bothering her since this entire mess involving her abduction started.

"Why?"

Harry stared at her blanking for a moment before asking, "Why what?"

"Why did you come after me?"

"Because I had to," Harry answered simply, as if it were painfully obvious.

"But why?" Hermione insisted.

Harry heaved a deep sigh and set his teacup down on the balcony's broad rail. "Five years ago," he said, referring to their first year at Hogwarts, "I stuck my wand up the nose of a troll that was trying to squish a certain young witch." He gave her a wry grin and went on, "In some cultures it's believed that when you save someone's life, that person becomes your responsibility." His grin grew broader, but lost some of the good humour it had started with. "You can't expect me to just stand back and watch as you suffer a fate worse than death, do you?"

Hermione did not like the implications of what Harry had just said. It sounded to her as if he felt that he had to rescue her because it was his responsibility to do so. Before she could worry about it she decided to seek some clarification.

"So... you came after me out of a sense of obligation?" she asked.

"Of course not," Harry immediately replied. He looked at her and must have seen the doubt she was feeling. He reached out and gripped her shoulder with a hand. "Hermione, you're my friend. And potentially more than that." He shook his head and continued, "I had to. There was no other choice. I simply had to come and get you."

"Harry," she countered, "you would have done the same for anybody."

"True," he willingly admitted. Then his expression darkened and Harry ducked his head as he mumbled, "But I don't think I would have killed for them."

The realization of just what Harry had to do to rescue her began to sink into Hermione's mind. She had already been told what happened, and had seen firsthand how he dealt with Lucius and Cowan. Until now, however, she had not considered how Harry must be feeling about everything that had happened.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, feeling horrible for putting her own concerns first when Harry was clearly suffering. After all, she had only been kidnapped and forced to take off most of her clothes. Harry had actually been forced to kill people in order to prevent anything worse from happening to her.

She hurriedly deposited her teacup on the balcony's rail, next to Harry's, and then turned to take her friend in the most comforting hug she could manage. Not to her surprise, Harry reciprocated, clutching almost desperately to her as she held him in her arms.

"I killed ten people yesterday, Nee," he whispered, barely able to speak the works, his voice breaking towards the end.

"And in doing so you saved my life, and the lives of my parents," she told him, hoping that being reminded of reason for his actions would ease his pain, however little. "I'll never be able to thank you for that."

Unconsciously she started to gently rock them both back and for. As she did so, she recalled how Harry had done something similar when he had rescued her from Lucius, shortly before she had been stabbed by Cowan's cursed dagger.

A tremble ran through Harry as he asked, "How can you think of thanking me for committing murder?"

"It wasn't murder, Harry," she told him.

"I killed them, Hermione!" he exclaimed, rather loudly. He pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, allowing her to see that his eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "They're dead and I'm the one who did it!"

"I know," was all Hermione could say. She hugged him to her even more tightly than before, running her hands in soothing circles over Harry's back. She could feel him shivering despite the relatively warm outside air.

"Even the ones I didn't kill personally, I gave the orders to have them killed," she could hear him mumbling, his face pressed into her shoulder. "And I didn't hesitate." He pulled back again and gazed at her, a lost look in his eyes as he repeated, "I didn't hesitate." He shook his head as if in denial. "Not for a second."

"You didn't have time to hesitate," she said.

"I didn't have to kill them," Harry muttered.

Thinking about this for a moment, Hermione tried to find a way to help Harry see the necessity of his actions. Considering all that she had learned this afternoon she asked, "Can your drones use magic? Cast spells?"

Harry shook his head and answered, "No."

"Then what other way could they have protected my parents?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Then don't feel as if it's your fault," Hermione told him gently. "You had no other choice."

"And Malfoy?" Harry asked bitterly. "Did I have no other choice then?" He shook his head as if in answer to his question. "I could have stunned him at almost any time once I was in the room. But I didn't." He pulled back to look at her again, a dark and almost menacing expression on his face as he spoke. "I shot him. I killed him."

Again Hermione quickly thought of a way to help Harry justify what he did. She herself did not necessarily agree with all that he had done to rescue her, being of a reasonably peaceful nature, but she knew that Harry needed to find a reason or he would simply continue to tear himself apart with guilt over his actions.

Deciding to try and lead him to an answer, she asked, "What would have happened if you had let him live?"

"I don't know," Harry replied morosely.

"What do you think would have happened?" she asked, pressing him for an answer.

"He would have been arrested," Harry shrugged wearily. "Sent to Azkaban."

"And would have promptly broken out," Hermione promptly concluded. With a hint of amusement, hoping to lighten the mood, she added, "Again."

"Maybe."

"Killing him was the only way to make sure he wouldn't do that," she said. "The only way to stop him from trying to do something like that again."

There was a pregnant pause that lasted nearly a minute. Harry remained ensconced in Hermione's embrace, seemingly mulling over her reasoning.

"That's... not all," he finally said.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked.

"Draco," explained Harry. Hermione had an idea where he was going and her suspicions were confirmed as he went on. "I... I tortured him, Nee."

"I know," was all she said.

Harry looked at her in surprise and asked, "What?"

Reaching up to gentle stroke at his cheek, Hermione explained, "The others told me what happened while you were visiting the twins."

"Oh."

"It's no different, Harry," she assured him, returning her hand to its place on his back.

"How can you say that?" Harry asked incredulously, pulling back to the point that he almost (but not quite) escaped her hold on him. "I tortured somebody, Nee!" he insisted. "If we hadn't been in the Great Hall, I would have willingly cast the Cruciatus on him!"

"But you didn't."

Ducking his head in what she recognised as shame, Harry confessed, "I wanted to."

Hermione winced and tried to alleviate his fears by repeating what Barty Crouch Junior, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, had told them in their fourth-year. "Harry, it takes a lot of power, a lot of force of will to properly cast any of the Unforgivables."

"I know," he said.

"Chances are you wouldn't have given Draco more than a bloody nose," she told him. "After all, you've never cast it before--"

"I have."

Those two simple words caused Hermione's heart to stop beating for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, feeling a shocked numbness settle over her.

"On Bellatrix Lestrange. At the Ministry, after she killed Sirius," Harry told her, his head still ducked low, so low that his chin was pressed against his chest. "I tried using the Cruciatus on her."

Hermione's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil over this revelation. Harry had, right now and earlier in the day, shown her a side that she had never wanted to see in her friend. The killer side of him. He had come into the Parkinson Lodge like an avenging angel, killing everyone that stood in his path with a cool efficiency that scared her when she thought about it. The same with the Death Eaters that had tried to kidnap her parents.

Finally she managed to rally herself enough to resume trying to comfort him. After all, she decided, it was Harry that had done all that. And she if she couldn't trust Harry with her safety and the safety of her parents and friends, then who could she trust?

"Did it work?" she asked.

"Not really," Harry admitted. "She said I didn't mean it enough. That I didn't hate her enough."

"Sometimes..." Hermione trailed off. Steeling herself, she resumed, "Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, Harry."

"Not if it means becoming like them. Like her. Like him."

"Would you ever try and cast the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry all but shouted, looking wildly at her. "How could you think I would?"

"I don't," Hermione assured him.

"But--"

"Harry, I trust you," she said, cutting him off with a silencing finger to his lips. "I believe in you." She hesitated for only a second before adding, "I love you."

She could feel Harry grow rigid in her arms, clearly reacting to this unexpected declaration of love. They had both, since the start of term, admitted to having feelings for each other that went beyond friendship. This, however, was the first that either of them had said anything of that nature.

"How can you love a monster?" he asked quietly, his head ducked low again.

"You're not a monster," Hermione told him.

"I can become one," he countered.

"So could I, if I made the choice."

"I don't believe that," Harry said shaking his head. "You could never become like that."

"And I don't believe you could either," she quietly insisted.

"I wish I did."

"Do you regret it?" asked Hermione. "Killing them to save me?"

"Not for a second," Harry answered without hesitation.

"Then don't let it eat away at you like this, Harry," she told him, cupping his chin in one hand and lifting his face so that she could look him in the eyes.

"Can't help it," he muttered, trying to avoid her gaze.

Seeing that she was not really getting anywhere, Hermione decided to change tactics. Acting on some primitive impulse, she leaned in close and kissed him.

As first startled, Harry did not react to the kiss, but slowly began to relax and reciprocate. Hermione did not know how long they stood there kissing, but it must have been for several minutes at least. She was tempted, several times, to try and deepen the kiss, but decided against it. This was a purely emotional intimacy, for the both of them.

At some point they slipped down to the balcony floor, Harry almost curled up in her lap. Feeling that they should probably say something at this point Hermione reluctantly broke the kiss. She had no time to say anything, however, as Harry lost the last of his composure and began to cry, clutching her like a man drowning.

They remained there for a long time, Harry clinging desperately to Hermione. Slowly, he began to rebuild his shattered composure and his muffled sobbing finally tapered off.

"I've turned into a blubbering idiot," was the first coherent thing Harry managed to say.

"You're not an idiot," Hermione said, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"That's a matter of opinion," he countered.

"And in my opinion," she told him with authority, "you're not an idiot."

Harry sniffled for a bit and then sat up, but did not release his hold on Hermione. They sat together, arms around each other, for a long while, neither speaking. Hermione noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten a little. Morning was clearly approaching. She had not realized how long they had been out on the balcony.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"You're welcome."

"Thanks, for believing in me," he continued. "Even when I can't."

"Always, Harry," she told him, giving him a comforting squeeze as she did.

It was visibly growing lighter and the pair watched as the sky cycling through a myriad of colours before the sun crested the horizon, signalling the start of a new day.

Glancing at Harry, Hermione asked, "You all right now?"

"I guess," Harry admitted with a sigh.

"You don't sound too sure of that," she noted.

"I'm not," he agreed. He smiled wanly and asked, "Still; beats living a boring life, doesn't it?"

"Harry, you just had what I'd call a nervous breakdown," said Hermione, looking at him askance. "How can you possibly be so flippant about this?"

"It's either that or start crying again."

"Oh, Harry..."

"You seem to say that a lot lately," quipped Harry. He leaned in for one last kiss. Hermione wanted to try and deepen it, but he pulled away before she could. He stood up and held out a hand for her, which she accepted, and helped her to stand as well.

Instead of standing on her own, Hermione leaned close and pressed against him, hands on his chest. Harry held her in his arms and glanced to the side, where their teacups were resting on the balcony rail. "Our tea's cold," he noted.

"We can always reheat it in the microwave," Hermione suggested.

"Ugh," protested Harry, grimacing at the idea.

"Come on, let's get inside," she said, drawing away from him. "Staying out here all night couldn't have been good for us, even if the weather here's warmer than at Hogwarts."

They gathered up the now tepid cups of tea, the jug of milk and the bowl of sugar, and re-entered the flat. They made sure to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake the others unnecessarily.

"I don't know," Harry whispered as they tiptoed into the kitchen. "I think it was rather cathartic being outside." He gave Hermione a shy look and said, "With you."

"You sure you're okay?" asked Hermione as she placed the teacups in the sink, while Harry returned the milk and the sugar to their respective storage spaces.

"As well as can be expected," confessed Harry.

He was about to leave the kitchen, when Hermione grabbed him by the arm, holding him back. "Harry... if you ever need to talk..." she haltingly said, "You know I'll always be here for you."

Harry smiled softly. "Thanks, Nee," he said and leaned in to give her an affectionate peck on the lips. Straightening up, he glanced down at his rumpled t-shirt and boxers. "I need to clean up. Have a shower," he evaluated, wrinkling his nose in disgust at his appearance.

With a sigh he predicted, "It's going to be another long day."

-oOo-

Ron continued to feign being asleep as he surreptitiously watched Harry exit the kitchen and cross the lounge. He kept his eyes half shut until his friend entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. After waiting several seconds he sat up and turned to Hermione, who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

"D'you think he's telling the truth?" he started, not bothering with a good morning or any other greeting. Instead he cut straight to the chase and asked, "That he's okay?"

"You were listening?" asked Hermione, ignoring his question as she glared at him.

"Woke up when Harry made you both tea," he answered with a apologetic shrug.

"Why didn't you say something?" she demanded unhappily, clearly upset at the revelation that her and Harry's conversation was not as private as they had thought.

"It's all right for a bloke to have a girl see him crying like a baby," Ron told her, feeling a bit uncomfortable under her intense glare. "It's not all right for him to have another bloke see him crying like a baby." He gave another shrug and a sheepish smile that he hoped would calm her down. "It would've only been embarrassing for the both of us."

Hermione huffed slightly and looked at him in exasperation. Her voice filled with indignation she informed him, "Harry wasn't crying like a baby, as you put it, when we moved outside."

"Maybe," Ron allowed, "but I kind of guessed you needed to have a private talk with him."

"And you eavesdropped on this 'private talk' for what reason?"

"It's not easy ignoring it when people talk louder than they should," he said, defending himself.

"I didn't think we were that loud," Hermione muttered, the fight going out of her at Ron's admission.

"Not enough to wake somebody up, but enough for me to hear," Ron assured her, hoping that would ease her concerns. After a bit of a pause he elaborated, "Not everything of course, but some parts were louder than others."

With a deep sigh, Hermione moved into the lounge and sat herself down on the couch where Harry had been sleeping at the start of the previous evening. Propping her elbows on her knees, she regarded Ron for a minute before asked, "So what do you think?"

"About which part?" Ron asked in return. "Torturing Malfoy? Knocking Dumbledore off his feet? Killing the Death Eaters that took you?" he went on to list, ticking them off on his fingers. He paused for a moment and reluctantly added, "Casting an Unforgivable?"

"All of them," she said.

Ron sighed and slumped back in his armchair. He pulled at his bottom lip for a minute as he gathered his thoughts, trying to arrange them into some semblance of order. Finally he began to speak, beginning with the first item that had been brought up.

"Torturing Draco... I can understand why he's worried about that."

"Why?"

"We told you what happened, Hermione," he answered, holding her impatient gaze for a moment before ducking his head. "You know what happened, but you weren't actually there. You didn't see it for yourself."

He looked up at her and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he thought back to the events that had played out in the Great Hall the previous morning. "Gods, I've never been afraid of Harry, but yesterday... I came close," he revealed, still shaking his head in disbelief of what he had seen. "He was so... so calm about it. I've seen him get more excited over having to choose between having apple juice or orange juice for breakfast."

Hermione waved his concerns aside by saying, "He was probably repressing his emotions."

"Hermione," he looked her in the eyes again, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "He didn't repress his emotions. He raped them, killed them and then cut the bodies into itsy bitsy pieces before burying them under the rose bushes!"

Realizing that he was starting to get a little excited over matters, Ron settled back into his chair and shut his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths. He did not want to lose control to the point that he passed out - something that had been happening all too frequently of late.

Feeling his heartbeat begin to slow and his breathing become more regular, Ron opened his eyes to see that Hermione was watching him with obvious concern. Running his hand through his hair again, he tried to explain.

"When he was questioning Malfoy, it was like only the two of them were in the room," he said. "Hell, the teachers threw a dozen Stunners at him and I don't think he took any more notice of it than most people would take notice of a fly buzzing around the head of someone in the house next door!"

They both sat in quiet contemplation for a minute or so, mulling over matters. The only thing to interrupt their thoughts was the sound of the shower starting in the bathroom.

"What about the rest?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable near silence. "Killing Malfoy's father and the other Death Eaters? And trying to use the Cruciatus on Bellatrix?"

"Killing the Death Eaters doesn't worry me as much as that last bit," Ron admitted. He waved a hand to indicate her and explained, "He was saving your life. And your parents. Nobody in their right minds could fault him for making sure they didn't get up after he laid them out."

Unable to remain in place any longer, the conversation was simply too much for him to take sitting down, Ron rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. It was a habit he had picked up from Harry and had to admit; it seemed to work.

"If it had been my family, or someone else I cared about..." he muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, "I would have done the exact same thing." He paused as he passed Neville, then continued, "I doubt the Ministry will approve, but I don't think they'll condemn him for it."

"And Bellatrix?"

"That has me worried," he confessed. "Very worried."

"You can't honestly believe Harry would turn dark!" protested Hermione, jumping to her feet and glaring so fiercely at him that Ron instinctively cowered and held his hands up in defence.

"Of course not!"

Seeing that Hermione would not be hexing him, at least not immediately, Ron returned to his armchair and dropped heavily into it. He took a deep breath, wondering why Hermione could not see the biggest problem about this particular subject.

"Hermione," he began, "Harry cast an Unforgivable Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. One of You-Know-Who's Inner Circle."

"I know that."

"Bellatrix must have told You-Know-Who what Harry did," Ron told her, trying to lead her to the conclusion that he had reached earlier.

"And?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"What do you think would happen if the Ministry, or the Daily Prophet, got word of the Boy-Who-Lived casting one of the three Unforgivable Curses?" he asked quietly.

Ron watched as the realization dawned in Hermione's eyes. The confusion she had been feeling gave way to understanding, which rapidly turned to horror. He was not surprised when she grimaced and spat out a curse, but was surprised by the vehemence with which she uttered it.

"Fuck!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he agreed.

"Shit!" Hermione swore angrily. "I can't believe I didn't think of that!" She smacked her palm against the side of her head, obviously berating herself, and swore again, "Shit!" This was obviously not enough to vent all of her frustration as she repeated herself once again. "Shit!!"

Ron was staring at Hermione in something akin to awed amazement. Not during the entire six years that he had known her had he ever heard Hermione swear like this. He guessed that the stress of the previous day's events had worn down her normal restraint.

"Now do you see the problem?" he asked rhetorically. "Even if there's no proof of it, the accusation alone will get Harry into more trouble than Fred and George could manage in their lifetimes."

"And with all the other trouble; killing the Death Eaters, torturing Draco..." Hermione trailed off.

"The Ministry could start an inquisition," Ron concluded, not liking the answer any more than Hermione did. After what Fudge and Umbridge had put Harry through the previous year, with the trumped up Dementor charges, none of Harry's friends wanted the Ministry involved.

"Do you think Dumbledore knows?" Hermione asked.

"Considering the strain between him and Harry right now?"

"Right, stupid question," she admitted. "I'm probably the first one he's told."

Ron stared at her for a while, thinking back to his conversation with Harry during the night. He knew that his friend had deep feelings for Hermione, but had not known if she returned them. Until now.

Visibly uncomfortable under Ron's scrutiny, Hermione asked, "What?"

"You love him," Ron declared with absolute certainty. "Don't you?"

"Oh, Ron..."

"That's why we wouldn't have worked out."

Hermione hung her head, hiding behind the thick brown curls that fell over her face as she did so. When she finally spoke, she did so in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ron told her gruffly, forcing down the surge of jealousy that Harry would be the one to have a chance with the girl he had spent most of the summer pining over. He glanced at the door to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running still audible.

Sighing a deep, heartfelt sigh, he quietly admitted, "Harry needs somebody to love him."

-oOo-

After speaking with Ron, a conversation she did not want to repeat any time soon - especially after such a trying day and night, Hermione quickly made her way to the bedroom. She wanted to get properly dressed before anyone else woke up.

Stepping into the room she saw that Ginny was lying alone in the middle of the bed. Luna was nowhere to be seen and she wondered how the other girl had left of the room without either Ron or herself seeing her exit.

"Good morning, Hermione," a soft voice whispered in her ear.

"Luna!" she gasped with a jerk of surprise. She turned to see Luna standing behind her, having apparently been standing behind the bedroom door when Hermione entered. Quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping Ginny, she hissed, "Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack!" With a huff she set her hands on her hips and demanded, "How long have you been awake?"

"Several hours now," Luna replied breezily.

"Hours?" repeated Hermione. "You mean..."

"Yes," Luna confirmed. "I overheard just about everything of relevance. Much as Ronald did."

"Crap," she groaned, beginning to get the feeling that Harry was right and that is would indeed be another long day.

"You shouldn't swear that much, Hermione," chided Luna.

"Why not?"

"It creates negative waves and will disturb the flat's wa."

Hermione rubbed at her temples, thinking that it was much too early in the morning (especially after such an emotionally draining night) to put up with Luna's eccentricities. She simply did not have the strength right now.

Glancing up, she only now noticed that Luna was standing in front of her completely nude. The only thing preserving the blonde witch's modesty was a large and fluffy crimson towel, which she had wrapped around her torso.

"Why are you undressed?"

"I'm going for a shower," Luna informed her brightly. She tilted her head and considered Hermione for a moment, her wide eyes blinking owlishly several times before she asked, "Care to join me?"

"I think I'll wait," replied Hermione in a dry voice. "Take my turn."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," she affirmed.

"All right," accepted Luna. She paused to give Hermione a critical once over, from head to toe, then gave a melodramatic sigh and said, "Pity though. I'm sure you would have enjoyed yourself."

"Right," she managed to groan out.

Hermione could feel a bit of a headache coming on as she turned away from Luna (hoping that the adage 'out of sight, out of mind' would apply) and began searching for the rest of her clothes. Unfortunately none of the three young witches had been particularly neat and tidy when undressing the previous evening, meaning that their clothes were scattered all about the bedroom.

She wanted to hurry up and get dressed, so that she could start on breakfast for the group. The sooner they were done eating, the sooner they could leave to visit her parents at number twelve Grimmauld Place. She was understandably eager to see for herself, Harry's assurances aside, that her family was indeed unharmed.

"I think you had best keep a close eye on Harry for the next few weeks, Hermione," said Luna, drawing Hermione's attention to the fact that the blonde witch had not yet left the bedroom. More than anything, the serious tone of Luna's voice, with a hint of worry underlying it, caused Hermione to stop and look at her. "I think we all should."

"I know," she admitted, however reluctantly. Thinking about it, Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip. "Even after talking about it, he's still tearing himself up inside."

"Harry is a man of deep feelings, Hermione," stated Luna. She glanced at the wall separating the bedroom from the bathroom, where Harry was currently taking his shower. "I do not know anyone else that cares as much."

"I know that," she acknowledged, spotting her socks at the foot of the bed and picking them up.

"You couldn't ask for a better boyfriend," Luna announced, watching closely as Hermione balanced on one foot as she pulled on first one sock, then the other.

Hermione smiled faintly, "Yeah," she agreed, "I know that too." Luna nodded solemnly before breaking into a typically broad grin. She pulled open the door and was about to leave when Hermione called out to her. "Luna?"

Luna paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder, and asked, "Yes, Hermione?"

"Have you ever heard of something called 'tact?'" asked Hermione.

"Of course," Luna confirmed after a second of thought.

"Maybe you should try using it from time to time," Hermione jokingly suggested.

Luna considered this piece of advice for a moment before nodding. She gave another brilliant smile and then stepped into the lounge, leaving Hermione to pick up the rest of her clothes.

With the blouse she had been wearing yesterday ruined (thanks to Cowan's cursed knife) she would have to wear one of Sirius' old t-shirts. Fortunately there were several spares for Hermione to choose from, even if they were several sizes too large for her petite frame.

She was busy searching through one of the drawers, looking for a fresh one, when the faint sound of running water finally filtered into her consciousness. Harry was obviously still busy with his shower, undoubtedly trying to wash away his troubles before the day began.

And Luna had said she was going for a shower...

"GAH! LUNA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" came a panicked shout from the bathroom. It was muffled, but clearly Harry's voice, which was enough to confirm where Hermione's train of thought had been leading. "I'M IN THE SHOWER!"

"I know," Luna's voice replied, rather loudly, "Do you mind if I join you? I'll scrub your back if you like."

Hermione froze in place as the realization of exactly what was happening hit her. The next instant she bolted out of the bedroom and made a wild dash towards the bathroom next door.

"What's going on?" she heard a bleary and only half awake Neville ask. "Death Eaters attacking?"

"No," replied Ron, who was regarding the bathroom with a broad and somewhat lecherous grin. "It's just Luna trying to jump Harry in the shower."

"Oh, okay," Neville accepted. He was just about to drop his head down and go back to sleep when Ron's words sunk in properly. He was suddenly wild awake and jolted up to ask, "What?!"

To her relief, Hermione found that the door to the bathroom was not locked. Muttering a brief thanks to whatever gods were smiling down on her for that, she flung the door open. She burst inside, almost slipping on the smooth floor tiles, and looked about frantically in search of her wayward friend.

"Luna Lovegood!" she yelled, spotting Luna's discarded towel folded neatly on the sink. She turned to the shower stall and yanked the sliding frosted glass door open. She immediately began to berate Luna, but quickly trailed off at the sight before her. "What do you... think... you're... do... ing..."

Luna had joined Harry in the shower, just as she had said she would. She stood under the spray, surrounded by rising clouds of steam, humming away happily (Weasley is our king) as she lathered up - completely unconcerned about her nudity. Or Harry's.

Harry, on the other hand, was practically climbing up the shower wall in an attempt to put as much distance between Luna and himself. It was not working all that well. This was mostly due to the fact that the shower stall was rather snug, as was everything in the flat, and thus Harry did not have that much space to manoeuvre in.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said in greeting. She seemed entirely unconcerned about the fact that she was starkers and standing less than two feet away from Hermione's equally naked boyfriend. She smiled lazily, the stream of water from the showerhead plastering her long blonde hair to her head, and asked, "Changed your mind and decided to join us?"

Hermione's thoughts, however, had been completely derailed by the sight of a naked Harry. He was pressed up against one corner of the shower stall, trying desperately to cover his nether regions with both hands. Apparently, even though he had no real interest in the younger witch, Luna's state of undress and close proximity had been enough to have an involuntary effect on his... male attributes.

Unable to help noticing that her nominal boyfriend was somewhat larger than she had imagined, Hermione found herself staring at Harry in a daze. Despite a sudden feeling of intimidation, it was all she could do not to lick her lips.

He looked at her and pleaded in a squeaky voice, "Help?"

TBC...

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