Backwards Compatible
Mixed Reactions

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

It was funny how the mind worked, mused Harry. Twenty years of memories that were his, yet not his. A length of time longer than he had been alive, yet he remembered it all. A life that was not his, yet was his alone. Things, terrible things, that had happened but had not yet come to pass. A history of the future.

Something that was more and more rapidly becoming useless to him.

Depending on who you asked time was either as steady as a rock and completely immutable - thus meaning that nothing you did could change things. Or, as others believed, time was exceptionally fragile - where everything you did, or will do, changes everything that happened or was going to happen.

Personally, Harry was leaning towards this second viewpoint, if for no other reason than he could already see the difference between the now and the then. Or whatever you preferred to call the events that his future self had experienced. The constant switching from present to past tense and back again and again and again was starting to give him a headache.

Fortunately there was nothing like a long soak in a hot, hot bath to sooth a troubled brow. This was something he had discovered several years ago, during a mission to Japan. Of course, that trip hadn't happened yet. Not for another ten or so years.

Yes, that headache was setting in to stay.

Hence the piping hot bath. Since the old man --as his future self, and now Harry himself, called Dumbledore-- had not made Harry a prefect, The-Boy-Who-Lived could not make use of the prefects' bath as he would have liked to have done. Of course, Ron or any of Harry's prefect friends would have gladly helped him out, but he wanted to be alone for the time being. Thus he did something that he had always been quite apt at doing. He improvised.

The Room of Requirements supplied you with everything and anything you require. And right now Harry required a comfortably large tub filled to the brim with hot, steaming water and the air scented with jasmine. The smell reminded him of Hermione.

Hermione. The reason he was enjoying this conveniently produced bath. Well, one of the reasons at least. Harry had so much on his mind that lately he was having trouble telling if he was coming or going. It was confusing as hell, mostly thanks to the mixed signals he was getting with regards to their relationship. Vacillating between friendship, a brother/sister relationship and the desire to explore the possibility of becoming something more than that, was making his head spin.

And these were only the mixed signals he was getting from himself!

And if he found it confusing then he could only imagine Hermione's thoughts on the subject. The sudden inconsistencies of how he was treating her must doubtless be causing her just as much of a headache as he himself was experiencing. That is, if she had even noticed. Oh, who was he kidding? This was Hermione - of course she noticed. Besides which, it would be rather hard for her not to, considering how he engulfed her in a hug every time he saw her.

Making sure she didn't slip away, like a ghost from a dream.

Yes, even Ron had noticed Harry's reactions to her and that was saying something. The only good thing about the situation was that his friend had yet to try dispensing some form of advice on the matter. Considering Ron's experience with relationships (which was even less than Harry's) this was definitely a good thing.

The biggest problem, on the other hand, was Draco Malfoy. If Ron had noticed Harry's preoccupation with Hermione, then doubtless Malfoy had as well. As of yet he had not acted on that knowledge, not even with something as relatively harmless as making a snide remark.

True, they had only been back at school for two days, but Harry did not doubt that the slimy bastard was already planning to move Hermione's abduction forward. The Christmas holidays perhaps? Or maybe even earlier, say, one of the Hogsmeade weekends? Halloween?

Harry needed some time alone, to think about it. To plan and strategise without distraction.

"Harry?"

Well, there went that idea.

"You know," he replied, closing his eyes and sinking up to his chin in the hot water, "it is customary to knock before entering, Mione."

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" he heard her exclaim. He could easily picture the look on her face right then; bringing both hands up in shock before clapping them over her eyes before she saw anything. "I didn't know you were - oh God, I'm so, so sorry!"

"I imagine this isn't what you were expecting to find."

"No! No, of course not," she squeaked.

Harry chuckled and opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him was that of Hermione, back turned and both hands over her eyes. He could not see her face, but he imagined that right now she was blushing fit to match anything an embarrassed Weasley could manage.

Of course, he was willing to bet that if he looked in a mirror right now he could easily be mistaken for a tomato. He was only a sixteen year old boy, after all, and not accustomed to having people walk in on him. Not just anyone, either, but the one girl he had a bit of a crush on.

Still, he was handling this potentially embarrassing situation better than Hermione was. Maybe that encounter with Moaning Myrtle in the prefects' bath, during his fourth year, had inured him to thing like this. At least partially.

"It's alright, Mione," he told her. "You can turn around if you want to."

"Are you dressed? Are you decent?"

"No."

"What?!"

She had begun to turn around and so promptly turned her back to him again.

"It's alright, Mione," he repeated. "There's lots of bubbles and foam and whatever, so you can turn around without feeling embarrassed about it."

"But you're naked!"

"Well, I am taking a bath."

As Hermione sputtered and stammered with embarrassment, Harry reached out to pick up his wand from where it was resting next to the tub, a Snitch sized onyx sphere alongside it. Since reclaiming the wand from the doppelganger unit, he had made a point of not letting it out of reach. It was not that he really needed it to defend himself, if he were surprised. Father's gravity fields were more than adequate for the task, as Snape had learned the previous morning.

He felt, so to speak, his Gatekeeper swell with proud smugness. Having incorporated most of Harry's memories into itself, Father had an almost pathological hatred for anyone it deemed as one of Harry's enemies. If it had not been for the fact that its power stores had been almost entirely depleted during the time displacement, Father would probably have rent the Dursleys limb from limb shortly after its arrival in the present.

Having just experienced its blossoming into true sentience, its newfound emotions had been completely out of control. It had taken several weeks before Father learnt the restraint to manage its quicksilver moods. As it was, the Gatekeeper had managed to put the fear of God --and by association Harry-- into Harry's family before they had departed Privet Drive.

With a wave he conjured himself a pair of black swimming trunks.

"Okay, I'm decent," he said. "You can turn around now."

"You certain about that?"

Glancing wryly down at his new trunks, Harry chuckled, "Pretty certain."

Hermione cautiously turned around, her cheeks still a bright red and her eyes fixed upon her shoes. She was fidgeting, either from being nervous or embarrassed, wringing her hands together.

"Maybe I should go," she said. "We don't have to talk here, maybe in the common room? I mean, there will be other people there, so we will have to be quiet, but if we keep our voices down, then we shouldn't be overheard, even though I really wanted to talk to you in private, but this is embarrassing and I really, really am sorry and I shouldn't disturb you like this when I know you probably wanted to be alone and didn't want any interruptions and... I'll be going now."

Harry knew Hermione had a tendency to babble some times, something she had demonstrated the first time they had met, actually, but this was impressive even for her. She had not paused to take a single breath throughout her little speech and had somehow managed to string everything she had said into a single sentence.

She had turned to leave, very hurriedly, when he called, "Don't go."

"I don't want to disturb you," she replied, pausing at the door and nervously hopping from one foot to the other.

"It's a little late for that, Mione," he told her. On an impulse that he would never understand for the rest of his days, Harry waved his wand in her direction.

"Harry!" she squeaked, almost hitting the ceiling as she jumped in surprise.

He had just transfigured her robes, and the clothes beneath, into a bright red and gold string bikini. It fit her very well, he noted absently as he suddenly realized just what he had done. A blush graced his cheeks and he made a point of looking away as another part of him noted that Hermione filled the Gryffindor coloured bikini in ways that should have been illegal, as they were more than likely to cause cardiac arrest in any elderly males that might be present.

If Harry had blushed red, then Hermione was fairly glowing. She scrambled about madly for several moments before grabbing one of the large, fluffy towels that were hanging on a rack by the door. Quickly wrapping it around herself, she took several deep breaths to regain her composure before levelling a look at Harry that put him very much in mind of his head of house, Professor McGonagall. Suffice to say any rising ardour he might have been feeling quickly disappeared.

Mostly.

"Harry Potter!" she screamed at him, "change my clothes back! Now!"

"No," he replied, swallowing nervously as she glared violently at him. Apparently that had been the wrong answer. He swallowed again and explained, "Now that you're appropriately dressed, I was thinking you might join me. I've been wanting to talk to you as well."

"Harry," she ground out, looking as if she were actually angry with him, "Change. Them. Back. Now."

Fighting down his blush, which was beginning to hurt his cheeks with its heat, he asked her, "Mione, we're friends, aren't we?"

Hermione, securing the towel more firmly in place, glared at him. "Yes, but if you don't change my clothes back quickly, I might change my mind."

"Friends trust each other," he said quietly, dropping his gaze and staring at the steaming water he was submerged in. He knew Hermione well enough that he wasn't afraid that she would stop being his friend because of this, but he was scared of the thought that this might strain their friendship and make things awkward. When no immediate answer came, Harry glanced up to see that Hermione was calming down. Slightly.

"I do trust you, Harry," she told him earnestly, "but I think this is a bit much."

It was a bit much, he silently admitted to himself. A bit much and a bit too soon for his liking as well, but impulsive actions like this had been coming more and more common for him over the past two months. Harry had a few suspicions as to why this was so, but nothing particularly concrete. Perhaps he could try and explain the situation to Hermione once she had settled down and was willing to listen.

"It puts us on an even footing," he replied, trying to sound light-hearted about it. He waved a hand to indicate first himself and then her. "I'm wearing some trunks and you're wearing... that."

"Exactly. I'm worried we won't get through this conversation without being... distracted."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" he asked quietly.

He somehow knew that she would not leave, and was unsurprised when Hermione slowly approached the tub. He did not expect her to join him, as he had suggested. Instead he thought she would use his wand, sitting to one side again, and use it to transfigure her clothes back. Which is why he almost swallowed his tongue when Hermione quickly discarded the towel and clambered into the tub.

As she sat herself down opposite him, he heard her mutter, "I must be out of my mind,"

Harry sat perfectly still, faced with a problem that was entirely his own making. After all, he was the one who had changed Hermione's clothes into that very, very revealing bikini. The damned thing seemed almost painted on her. He had just been presented with a fairly close-up view of Hermione's various attributes as she joined him in the bath. It was a sight which, in his opinion, would have caused a statue to sweat blood. Not to mention one particular reaction that he desperately hoped she did not notice.

"Hot."

"Yes," Harry said, having started slightly at Hermione's appraisal of the water temperature. He made an effort to focus solely on her face and not allow his eyes to dip. "I find it more relaxing this way."

Of course, that depended on the company, said a small voice in the back of his head. His memories of the future, where he had acquired the idea and urge to try this, had not indicated that he ever did this with anyone other than himself. Not even Luna. It was a far from relaxing experience to find himself sitting opposite a practically naked Hermione.

Hermione, who was still blushing slightly, seemed to be avoiding his gaze. She was looking around the room, as if searching for something to concentrate on. "You do this often?"

Harry laughed weakly and replied, "I will."

"You okay?" Hermione asked, finally looking directly at him. Harry was relieved to note that she was looking him in the eyes, and thus unlikely to notice his... problem. She continued, "I - we're all worried about you."

"I'm worried about me," he told her honestly.

"Harry."

"I don't know, Nee," he told her, shrugging helplessly. "I honestly, don't know."

Hermione looked at him and arched an eyebrow in what seemed like amusement. "Nee?"

Harry smiled bashfully, "Well, we are down to the bare essentials."

He indicated their current states of dress, or rather undress. Hermione giggled, something Harry found unaccountably charming and responded to by chuckling lightly. He had never noticed how cute her laughter sounded. For that matter, he had never before associated the word cute with Hermione. Obviously an oversight on his part.

"Seriously, though," she insisted after a minute or so, "are you all right?"

"Seriously?" he asked in return. He shook his head to express his bewilderment when it came to how he felt. "Like I said before. I don't know."

"I can understand that."

"You can?" he asked in disbelief.

Hermione nodded and said, "After what you told us last night... well, I'd also be a little confused if it was me that it had happened to."

He shook his head and corrected her, "That's not quite it."

She puzzled over this for a few moments and then asked, "What's the problem them?"

"All those memories I've gotten from Father, they're not much more than extremely detailed documentaries. They don't really bother me. Why should they?" he tried to explain. He made an effort not to grimace too severely. He did not want to make her worry more than she already was. "It's my reactions that are making me nervous."

"Learning that everyone you know or care for were killed or worse..."

"Not those reactions, Nee." he told her. "Those I can understand. The horror, the disgust, the fear, distress, worry... the anger, the fury, bitterness, hatred, loathing... all perfectly natural emotions for me to feel."

Hermione frowned, most probably at the thought that Harry considered those emotions (none of which were particularly appealing) to be normal. "What's the problem then?"

Harry smiled wryly and said, "I'm sure you've noticed how I insist on practically crushing you every time I see you."

"You're worried about your reactions to people," she deduced after thinking about it.

"Actually, I can sort of understand my reactions," he said, sinking low in the water. "I wasn't feeling particularly charitable to Dumbledore after last term, I've never been on good terms with Snape, and I've always had a soft spot for you, Nee."

"So your feelings towards us have become..." she searched around for a word, "amplified?"

"More like completely out of my control."

"That's usually the way feelings work," she noted sardonically.

Harry shook his head, "This is different, somehow."

"How?"

"I think it's... what's the word? Feedback. Yes, that's it. I'm getting some kind of feedback from the memories Father brought back," he tried to explain. It was difficult finding words for something he had difficulty understanding, despite Father's attempts to explain. "It doesn't happen often, in fact I wasn't even aware of it until I returned to Hogwarts."

"Can you describe it to me? That way I might be able to help."

"I don't think anything short of professional counselling can help, Nee," he said. He was touched by her offer, once again reminded of how selfless Hermione could be. He sighed dejectly, allowing himself to wallow for a moment in the various troubles that filled his life. "I've got more mental problems than a dozen other people combined."

Hermione looked at him, frowning slightly, and offered, "Maybe I can't help in that regard, Harry, but perhaps I can help you understand what you're going through."

Harry considered the idea. Hermione was, after all, the smartest person he knew. Others, mostly the professors, might know more than his friend, but there was a difference between wisdom and knowledge. And if there was one person in the world he trusted implicitly, it was her.

"Worth a shot," he conceded.

"So, what's this 'feedback' you're experiencing like?" she asked, sitting up and leaning forward eagerly.

"Remember when I Gated into the Great Hall, during the Sorting?" he asked, silently wishing that she had not just done that. It had drawn his attention to Hermione's chest and her breasts in particular, which hung just above the water as she sat there. When did she get those... and how did she hide them for so long?

Hermione, however, seemed unaware of his distraction. He belatedly realized that she had nodded to the question he had asked and as waiting for some clarification. He sighed and deliberately closed his eyes. Hopefully that would prevent him from staring blatantly at her. It almost worked, save for the fact that his mind's eye conspired against him.

"Well, I was doing fine until Dumbledore spoke."

"I remember that clearly," Hermione said with conviction. Though his eyes were closed, he knew that her expression was a faintly worried one. "You looked positively murderous."

"I've become very familiar at being in a rage."

"It didn't look like a rage. It was--"

"Cold," interrupted Harry. He opened his eyes and looked into her eyes, pinning her in place with his gaze. "Dumbledore doesn't send me into wild, burning rages, Nee. Instead his presence brings out a rage so cold that it burns more dangerously than any fire. It's as if I become so angry that my very emotions are burnt away, leaving behind nothing but bitter cold."

"Apparently the feedback has also made you poetic," she noted dryly.

"This is serious, Hermione!" he snapped.

"I was just trying to break the tension," she said apologetically, breaking eye contact and staring down at the steaming water. After a while she looked back up. "I think I understand now. Let me guess; whenever you're around Snape, it's much the same as with the headmaster."

Harry nodded, "Yes, but the underlying emotions are different."

"So it was the feedback that caused you to provoke him?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, I wasn't planning on tossing him around like a rag doll," Harry agreed, relieved that she knew what he was saying, even if he was stumbling for words. She had always been the one that understood him, whatever the situation.

He thought back to his encounter with Snape the previous morning. His original plan had been to walk into the Potions classroom, calmly inform Snape that he would no longer be attending, and then depart before the greasy git could say anything on the matter.

Instead he had been brought to an emotional boil when Malfoy tried to harass Hermione again. He had somehow managed to keep from vaporizing the little bastard, but the encounter had brought his 'memories' into stark relief. Once Snape came billowing into the classroom, it was inevitable that things would get... heated. Especially as Father seemed to feed off his emotions and respond appropriately.

In truth Harry considered it a minor miracle that he had not, as he had done in the future, drawn his wand and used the Cruciatus Curse. He had wanted to, though, and that scared him.

"How did you do it, by the way? Throw him across the room like that? You didn't use your wand, so barring wandless magic..." Hermione asked, trailing off expectantly.

"Father's GM fields can be used for more than simply creating Gates," Harry answered. He turned thoughtful as he delved into his future 'memories'. "Oddly enough nobody in the future ever thought of that. They never used their Gatekeepers for more than what they were originally designed for."

Hermione seemed curious to pursue that line of thought, but returned to the original topic and asked, "D'you think the feedback could cause trouble?"

"More than it already has, d'you mean?" he countered sarcastically. He sighed, sank back into the water and stared up at the ceiling. "That's one of the things I'm worrying about. I'm worried that I might lose my sense of self, have my personality overwritten by that of my future self. That what I'm feeling isn't what I would feel. That what I'm doing isn't what I would do."

"Have you done anything you don't think you would normally do?"

"I don't know."

"You refused the Quidditch captaincy."

That was something which had caused quite a stir amongst the Gryffindors when Harry mentioned it in passing. As he had predicted, Professor McGonagall had kept him behind after class to discuss the lifting of his Quidditch ban. He had thought she was going to have a seizure when he turned down the position she had offered.

It was a good thing he had decided not to turn down his reinstatement as the team Seeker, an idea he had toyed with on and off over the summer. He was going to need all the time he could lay his hands on if his plans for fighting Voldemort were to go smoothly. Oddly enough, it had been Father that suggested he continue to play Quidditch, stating that Harry would need some form of distraction and relaxation when things became stressful.

He shrugged, "Didn't want it."

"I thought it was one of your dreams."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "it's one of Ron's."

Hermione looked a little confused by this answer, which led him to explain further.

"Remember the mirror of Erised?" he asked.

"From our first year?"

"When Ron looked in the mirror, he saw himself as the team captain. He saw himself as a prefect, as head boy. He won't be, you know. Next year. I thought I might as well give him two out of three. He wants that. I don't. Not anymore, if I ever did."

Harry shook his head again and half muttered to himself, "All I want is a family of my own."

He bit back a grimace when he realized that he had said that last bit out loud. He knew that Hermione would not pity him, at least not verbally, but he hated seeing that look in her eyes. She would look as if she were about to burst into tears, which left him feeling guilty for some reason.

Looking up at Hermione, who was watching him expectantly, he continued, "I'm content with what I have. I'm happy being just the Seeker and teaching the Defence Association."

Hermione blinked with surprise and asked, "You actually want to continue it?"

"Don't you?" he countered.

"Of course I do," she confirmed. "I just thought I'd have to twist your arm about it."

"You won't have to," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. He gave a decisive nod. "We need this. The students need it. So, I'm going to make sure they get it."

"You've grown up, Harry," Hermione told him after a few moments consideration.

He glanced down at himself, slightly embarrassed that she was mentioning the subtle and not-so-subtle changes his body had been through over the summer.

Harry knew he had grown several inches and was no longer the shortest boy in their year. He also knew that his build was a tad broader and firmer than before, thanks to the régime of callisthenics he had started practicing, but he still felt that he was too skinny.

Hermione laughed at his reaction. "Not just physically, emotionally."

"Having twenty years of nightmarish memories dumped into your head will do that," he said somewhat sadly. And that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

"Especially with all the other crap I have to deal with as well."

***

Hermione had to remind herself that she was wearing a bikini. A skimpy bikini at that. Otherwise she would have been sorely tempted to move across the large tub and grab Harry in a comforting hug.

She had grown rather fond of the frequent displays of affection he now showed whenever greeting her, and felt that reciprocating the gesture would be a good way of dealing with his current melancholic mood. Still, however much she wanted to do so, there was no way she would attempt it while clad in such an exposing garment. That would likely lead to a situation that would embarrass the both of them.

Thinking of a compromise she shifted close enough to him so that she could stretch out and take hold of his hand. She gave an encouraging squeeze and a half-smile.

"About that..."

"Yes?"

"We talked at lunch, while you were with McGonagall," she said, planning to tell him about the decision the other members of the Ministry Crew had reached concerning what he had told them the previous night. She did not think that the news would brighten his mood overly, but she hoped that it would assuage any concerns he might have about letting them in on so many of his secrets.

Harry looked at her expectantly and, after a bit of a pause, prompted, "And?"

Hermione frowned slightly, still of two minds about it. Still, she had to admit that maybe Harry had the right idea about keeping certain things to themselves and not involve the staff or the Order. "Ginny doesn't like it, and neither do I really, but we'll keep quiet about what you told us yesterday."

"You don't have to like it, Nee, and neither does Ginny," he told her, sounding surprisingly reasonable about it. He had clearly developed a semblance calm when dealing with such matters. A definite improvement over last year. "All I want is for you to accept it."

"Given your explanations I understand where you're coming from. So does Ginny," she told him. Admittedly she had been a little doubtful, but after what they had just spoken about she was more willing to let the matter drop.

Harry's faith and trust in Dumbledore, and anyone associated to him, had been gravely damaged during their fifth-year and the events following the debacle at the Ministry. Going to the headmaster, without Harry's permission, would only serve to damage the trust and faith he had placed with her and their friends. That was something Hermione was not willing to risk, even if she felt that doing so would be in his best interests.

Tentatively she broached the subject by suggesting, "But you know what happened last year because Dumbledore wasn't talking to you. D'you really want to risk something even worse happening because you're not talking to him?"

"I want to talk to him, I really do. I just can't," Harry replied, traces of despondency in his voice. He looked very tired right then, the responsibilities resting on his shoulders visibly weighing him down. He shook his head and explained, "The moment I step in to the same room as him it's all I can do not to spit in his face and start damning him for abandoning you like he did - will - whatever."

"I - we could try and explain it to him for you," Hermione timidly offered, not wanting to make Harry feel as though she were pressuring him.

"I appreciate the offer, but no," he refused, a familiar glint of determination entering his eyes as he sat up straighter. "This is something I need to work through by myself."

"Okay, but if you need help..."

"I know who I can rely on," he said with a soft smile.

Hermione ducked her head and released her hold on is hand. "I hope so."

"You've always been here for me, Hermione," Harry acknowledged, reaching out to grab her hand before she could withdraw it fully. He held it tightly in his grip and said, with unwavering conviction, "I know I can rely on you, more than anyone else. Even Ron."

They sat there for a few minutes, holding hands and looking everywhere except each other. Harry's grip was almost crushing at first, but quickly eased up. Hermione would occasionally glance up to look at him, the now damp curls of her hair obscuring her vision as they fell past her face before she brushed them aside with her free hand.

"I'm scared," she admitted suddenly.

Harry looked at her, an expression of confusion on his face. She could understand that, after all. Being one of Harry's friends meant that she had a great deal to be frightened of. Especially now that she knew what might happen to her in the future.

"Of what?"

"My parents."

"Ah." Harry nodded in comprehension. "Don't worry, they're safe."

Hermione began to wring her hands together as she thought about what she had learned last night regarding a future that not yet come to pass. God willing it never would, if Harry had his way, but the idea alone was very unsettling for Hermione to even contemplate.

"You said the Death Eaters kill them at the end of this year. Just thinking about it scares me more than anything else you told us."

"They're safe, you have my word on it," he promised solemnly.

"But Harry, they're in London and you're here, at Hogwarts!" she argued, some of the same hysteria she had felt yesterday returning. She pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shiver, despite the near scalding heat of the water. "How can they be safe if nobody's looking after them? If you told Dumbledore, not everything - just enough so that he can arrange some wards--"

"Hermione, listen to me," Harry interrupted, crossing over to her. To Hermione's surprise he enveloped her in a hug, much like the one she had wanted to give him earlier. It was different from the other hugs he embraced her in, its purpose being to comfort her, rather than reassure himself. She could not help but admit to herself that it felt nice. Better than she had imagined.

One hand traced soothing circles on her back as he held her close to him, softly reassuring her. The conviction in his voice was absolute and eased her fears even more than the embrace. "Your parents couldn't be safer if they were sharing dormitories with us."

Tremulously she asked, "How?"

Harry replied simply, "Father."

"He can get Mum and Dad out of danger?" Hermione tried to look up at him, but he was holding her too close. "But how will you know they're in danger in the first place?"

"Dumbledore doesn't need to ward your house," he drew back enough for her to see his face. His glasses, so different from the old frames, were slightly fogged up with steam from the bath. He worked his way around this by perching them on the tip of his nose and peering over their silver rims. The conviction held in his voice was nothing compared to the passion burning in his eyes. "I've already seen to it."

"You know how to cast protection wards?" she asked in surprise.

Harry smiled mysteriously and said, "Something like that."

The casting of wards, especially active ones, such as would be needed to protect a home, was a subject only briefly discussed during seventh-year Charms class. Anyone that wanted to learn more had to either enter a training program under the Ministry's supervision or attain an apprenticeship in a company that specialized in ward placement.

Hermione doubted that Harry had managed to do either over the summer holidays. He certainly would never have gone to the Ministry to learn and it was unlikely that anyone else would have taken him on for an apprenticeship when he had not even received his O.W.L. results yet.

Even then, it was not something anyone could learn in a mere two months. According to the career choice pamphlets Hermione had read several years ago, Ward Casting required a decade of study before a person could even consider themselves adept at it.

The only possible explanation was that Harry had arranged protection for her parents and their home that had nothing to do with wards. But how?

"How?" Hermione asked. She answered her question before he could. "Father."

"My marks may not reflect it, Hermione, but I'm really quite clever when need be," Harry told her, his smile growing a tad mischievous. "However, as I'm usually more concerned with saving the world and rescuing the odd damsel in distress, I don't have much time to study how to enchant a pair of knitting needles."

"And I'm a damsel in distress?" she asked teasingly, her spirits inexplicably rising almost as quickly as they had fallen. She gently eased herself out of Harry's embrace, but only enough that she could look at him properly. "Thank you."

Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a simple and innocent kiss, only lasting long enough for her to brush her lips against his before she pulled away to observe his reaction.

"M-mah--" Harry stammered dumbly, his glasses slipping off his nose and hanging lopsidedly from one ear. If Hermione weren't blushing as furiously as she was, it would have been very funny to look at. He recovered quickly, all things considered, and repositioned his glasses. He looked at her, his face redder than anything any Weasley had ever produced, and squeaked out, "My pleasure."

Hermione, convinced that she too was blushing bright enough to rival a small sun, cleared her throat. She tried to sound as calm as possible as she spoke. "This is something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Your parents' safety?" he asked, his voice still several octaves higher than normal.

"No," she shook her head. "Us."

"Us?"

"Us."

He looked at her, a strange expression on his face. When he finally spoke he sounded vaguely suspicious as he asked, "Us, how?"

"Harry," she practically growled, slightly annoyed that he was being difficult about this. Here she was, trying to start a conversation about something that left her more nervous than she had ever felt before, and he was playing dumb about it.

"Sorry, it's just..." he trailed off reluctantly, bowing his head almost shamefully.

Hermione could feel the knot in her stomach growing tighter. Admittedly he hadn't said very much, but what he had said did not sound promising. Swallowing her nervousness she asked, "You don't want to try? See if maybe--"

"No!" Harry cut her off with a loud exclamation, looking up at her with wide eyes. For just a moment Hermione thought he was rejecting her, but that thought died only half-formed as he calmed somewhat and continued, "I mean, it's not that, N - Hermione."

"You can call me Nee, if you want to," she told him, slightly worried that he thought he had to stop using that rather odd abbreviation of her name.

Her parents, when not using some silly baby name, usually called her Mione, as did a scarce number of her friends - namely Lavender and Parvati. Ron would occasionally use Herm, which annoyed her for some reason, during their quarrels, but for the most part that was it. Oh, and there was Hagrid's 'little' brother Grawp, who insisted on using that ridiculous Hermy of all things. Other than that she could count the number of people that did not use her full name on the fingers of one hand.

She had hoped that his using a pet name for her indicated that Harry was possibly open to starting a relationship beyond their friendship. Now she wasn't so sure.

Harry looked at her sombrely and said, "This is a serious conversation, Hermione."

"All right," Hermione nodded in tentative agreement. She had to admit that a discussion of their future, one where they were more than just friends, deserved to be treated seriously. Still, she did hope he would continue to call her Nee once the talk was over. "What's the problem then?"

"I don't know."

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately, Harry," she noted with some wry amusement and a fair bit of exasperation.

"That's not what I mean," Harry protested unhappily. He leaned back, propping his chin on a clenched fist, as he stared pensively off into space. He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know if what I feel for you is real or not."

Hermione was slightly confused. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry's reply was a succinct, "Father."

It took some time to work out what he meant by that, but Hermione had a knack for understanding Harry. Most of the time. Still, it only took a few moments before she realized what he was talking about.

If the 'memories' brought back by Father were affecting him to the point where he was openly hostile towards Dumbledore, even when he wanted to speak to the old wizard, then how could he be sure that they were not also causing him to feel these feelings towards her.

She nodded thoughtfully, "I think I understand."

"Do you?" Harry asked sceptically. He lifted his chin off the fist propping him up and used that hand to wave in her direction, "Before Father arrived and dumped all those memories in my head, you were just Hermione. The smartest witch in all the world. My best friend. I'd never thought of you like that. Like this."

"I don't know if I should be complimented by the 'smartest witch in the world' comment," she responded, pleased to hear in words some of what he thought of her, "or insulted by the fact that you never realized I was a girl until then."

"I knew you were a girl, Hermione," he informed her dryly. He gave a wry smirk as he elaborated. "That particular fact was blatantly obvious to every male at the school after the Yule Ball in fourth year."

Hermione was slightly surprised and repeated, "Every male in the school?"

Harry's gaze turned towards her and swept over her from head to toe and back up again. There was a look in his eyes that made her wish she had more clothes covering her than a barely-there bikini. A lot more. Preferably lead lined as well, she wondered with a gulp, never before having felt so naked under a person's stare. Especially when that person was Harry Potter. He was eyeing her the same way Ron would his dinner!

"For pity's sake, Hermione, you're gorgeous," Harry said as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. He gestured at her again as he teased, "And when a man sees a gorgeous woman, the first thought that goes through his head is, 'Where is my club?'."

"Excuse me?"

"It harkens back to the good old days," he explained with a slightly lecherous grin, "when we used to bash you over the head and drag you by your hair back to the cave so we could have our wicked way with you."

Hermione felt the blush heating her cheeks. It wasn't just the startlingly vivid images of what Harry's wicked way with her might be, though it certainly was enough to elicit another physical reactions - admittedly far more embarrassing than a mere blush.

Sinking up to her chin in the water, so as to prevent Harry from noticing, she marvelled at the idea that Harry found her attractive enough to consider calling her gorgeous. She was certainly no Cho Chang, thankfully, but even against other girls, such as Lavender and Parvati, she felt rather plain by comparison.

"Then why didn't you ever think of me like that?" she asked, wondering why he had never said anything. She had never, before now, thought that he looked at her in any way other than his purportedly sexless (according to some of the more vocal Slytherins) best friend.

"I don't really know," he answered with a shrug. His cheeks flushed for some reason and he seemed to be trying to say something, but was having trouble getting the words out. Finally, after a deep breath, he muttered, "They say love is blind. I don't have much experience with love, thanks to the Dursleys, so I can't really say if that's what blinded me."

Hermione was stunned at the possible implications.

"You love me?"

"Again, I don't know," he said, still muttering and avoiding her eyes.

"What do you know?" she asked gently, moving closer to him again. He still refused to look at her, but she caught his chin with one hand and turned his head to face her. "I need to know, Harry."

He grimaced, clearly displeased and unwilling, but eventually nodded his consent. She had released her hold on him and was planning to return to her seat opposite him, when she was startled to feel one of Harry's hands settle on her waist. She nervously let Harry position her so that she was sitting by his side as he began to talk.

"In the future, I was going to ask you out. I wanted to try and see if maybe... we could be something more than 'just friends'," Harry recounted, staring into the distance as was his habit when searching his future 'memories'. "But you'd just had that bad break up with Ron that Christmas. This Christmas actually. I decided to wait and let you get over it. I planned to ask when we saw each other again at Grimmauld Place, during the summer, but..."

"I was kidnapped," she finished for him.

"Yes," he confirmed in a near whisper.

"And I imagine any thoughts of dating me went out the window after I was raped," she determined, focusing on Harry's expression as she spoke. That way she did not think to much about the subject.

"They hurt you so badly. Madam Pomfrey said you'd never be able to have any children after that," he told her, speaking so softly that she had to strain to hear the words.

Hermione swallowed convulsively upon learning this particular piece of information. She had known, or rather suspected, that the Death Eaters had injured her terribly during her abduction. Having those suspicions confirmed did nothing to settle the queasy feeling that formed in her stomach whenever she thought about it.

Harry continued, not noticing her reaction, an expression of helplessness forming on his face as he spoke. The despair in his voice was wretched enough that Hermione could not help but reach out and slip an arm around his shoulders.

"I didn't want to... you were so scared, but I... I decided to wait until you'd had some time to... I waited too long."

"You don't have to wait this time," she told him.

"Yes, I do," he insisted, actually raising his voice a little.

"Why?"

"I think I became more than a little obsessed with you, after your death," Harry ruefully admitted. He shook his head and scowled unhappily, his helpless expression changing into one of frustration. "I need time to know if what I'm feeling is real or the self deluded memories of a man that, quite frankly, scares the hell out of me."

Hermione let her arm slid down from his shoulder and come to a rest around his waist. She forced herself to grin wryly and lightly quipped, "Most girls would be flattered to hear that a boy was obsessing over them."

Despite her hopes of lifting his mood, Harry's scowl only intensified. He turned to look at her, his eyes burning dark with emotion as he asked, "Have you ever heard of the Shade Mentalis Potion?"

"The name sounds familiar," she admitted, searching her memory for where she had heard the name before. They had learned hundreds of potions over the years, but this one, she felt, was not covered in the school syllabus.

"It's a type of memory potion," prompted Harry.

"Yes, that's it," Hermione said as the information fell into place. It had been during their second year, whilst brewing the Polyjuice Potion, that she had read about the potion Harry spoke of. Her small grin of satisfaction at having remembered abruptly vanished as she recalled exactly what the potion did. "It makes a person relive their worst memories."

"It'll take me three years to modify it to my satisfaction," admitted Harry.

"Modify it? How? Why?" Hermione asked, even though she had the feeling that she did not really want to know.

"Why? For revenge," Harry answered, his voice growing cold and flat. "How? By binding it to a lock of your hair that I'd kept."

"You mean you used it on Death Eaters?"

"Only the ones that had..." He trailed off, but shook himself back to attention a moment later. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he looked at her. It was the expression of a fanatic. "It took a while, but I'll manage to find out exactly who raped you. Each and every one of them. After that, I'll make sure the punishment will fit the crime."

Hermione thought over what he had said. It seemed as if he had given her all the clues and was waiting for her to put them together. It had something to do with her hair, she knew, but how? Like with the Polyjuice Potion, using her hair would have personalized the potion, but to what end? It was designed to reawaken memories, particularly traumatic memories, but what could her hair have to do with another person's memories? Unless....

It was a terrifying idea, now that she thought of it. Brilliant, but terrifying. As Harry had said, it was a punishment that more than fit the crime. In fact, in essence it was a repeat of the crime.

"By binding the potion to me...," she spoke slowly, voicing her deductions, "you force them to... relive what they had done to me?"

"From your perspective," he confirmed.

"God."

"Less than half of them will survive the experience sane," Harry informed her with a grim, but satisfied smile. His eyes, almost black with emotion, glittered in the low light like polished onyx rather than their normal emerald fire. "I'll make sure they live just long enough to regret having done so. The others I will put down, like sick dogs."

"I think you're right," she said, swallowing audibly. "Your future self is rather scary."

The was a brief lull as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. Harry reached up and draped his arm across Hermione's shoulders as she hugged herself to him, using the arm she had slung around his waist. It was comforting, being this close to him, even if the air was thick with less than healthy emotion. Or perhaps it was the steam, which was filling up the room to the point that she could only just see the door.

Cuddling into him, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles. A lifetime of deprivation with the Dursleys had left Harry with little else but muscle, hardened and toned from his Quidditch training and whatever other exercise he had done during the summer. It must have been her imagination, but his skin felt hot to the touch, despite the already almost scalding water they were immersed in.

The mood began to lighten, the tension in the room dissolving away, as they sat quietly in each other's arms. Harry, much to Hermione's surprise, planted a brief and hesitant kiss on the crown of her head. She glanced up at him, pleased to see a faint smile of contentment on his lips and his eyes sparkling their usual bright green.

Deciding to try and brighten the mood more fully, she jokingly observed, "Y'know, in a way it's a good thing Ron and I broke up - will break up."

"Why's that?" asked Harry.

"You've shared a room with him for five years now, going on six. You ought to know how loudly he snores," she teased, grinning impishly up at him. "Could you imagine spending your entire life listening to that racket every night?"

He looked at her suspiciously and asked, "How would you know that Ron snores?"

"Madam Pomfrey left him in the bed next to mine after we were brought back from the Ministry last year, remember?" she reminded him, light-heartedly. It was rather flattering to think that he might possibly have been getting jealous at the thought of her and Ron. "Besides, I've heard Fred and George teasing him about it."

She felt Harry relax in what looked like relief, further supporting her notion that he was jealous. He chuckled, whether at her comment or his reaction she did not know, and said, "He is rather... loud, isn't he?"

Hermione laughed and nodded in agreement. Ron, as her mum would say when talking about her dad, snored like a chainsaw wielding lumberjack in the middle of a forest.

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked after their laughter had died down.

"I don't know," confessed Harry. He raised a silencing finger to her lips before she could speak and said, "And yes; I do say that a lot."

"There's a Hogsmeade weekend just after Halloween," she suggested tentatively. Swallowing her nervousness and trying to gather all of her supposed Gryffindor courage, she shyly asked, "Maybe... maybe we could go together? See what happens?"

"Risky," Harry muttered, more to himself that her, but she heard him anyway.

"I'm already at risk, Harry," she told him, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes. "If just being your friend wasn't enough, I'm certainly in even more trouble since you started hugging me in public at every opportunity. I don't think going out on a date could make it any worse."

"I know that," he admitted wearily, as if he had heard it many times before. He had, of course, but sometimes repetition was the best way to impress a lesson upon someone. Especially someone as stubborn and hard-headed as Harry. He continued, a faint frown creasing his brow, "I was talking about how it might affect our relationship if things... don't go well."

"Harry..."

"You and Ron barely spoke to each other after the break up," he explained unhappily, seeming to get upset with just the idea. "I don't want that to happen between us."

"It won't," Hermione assured him, filling her voice with the same confidence he had used when assuring her that her parents were safe.

"How can you know that, Nee?" he asked her. "Nobody can see the future."

Hermione smiled playfully and asked, "Not even you?"

Instead of smiling at the tease, which she had hoped he would, Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Not where it concerns us."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tried to placate his fears. It would not be easy, she knew, especially since she herself harboured similar insecurities. "Even if we break up, it won't damage our friendship, Harry."

With honest curiosity he asked, "How do you know?"

She smile and told him simply, "You're not Ron."

Slowly, Hermione leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss against Harry's lips. It was soft, gentle and lasted much longer than the first kiss she had shared with him - this time filled with emotion.

It was a chaste kiss, though Hermione hoped it might lead to something more... intimate. She had, over the pass few years, read quite a bit on the subject and was unaccountably eager to experiment with some so-called French kissing.

To her mild surprise Harry slipped both arms around her waist and pulled her close, maintaining the kiss throughout. Hermione delighted in the warmth of his embrace and the gentleness of his touch. She had hoped, but only half-heartedly, that he might take the initiative.

At which point the door swung open.

"Harry? Hermione? What on earth?"

Hermione almost had a heart attack at the sound of Remus Lupin's voice. She gave a startled shriek and spun away from Harry, causing a tidal wave of wave to splash over the rim of the tub. It was only Harry's hands, which were suddenly gripping her shoulders, that kept her from leaping to the ceiling.

Remus, who was waving his way through the thick clouds of steam as he stepped fully into the room, the door swinging closed behind him, seemed positively baffled as he stared at them.

"Next time I'm hanging a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door to this place," declared Harry, his face turning a fetching shade of red. "That and a tonne of Locking Charms."

***

Remus Lupin stared in unabashed incomprehension at the young witch and wizard sitting before him. He had been ready to face just about anything coming into this room. Anything from Harry blowing things up in a fit of anger, to Harry curled up in the corner and bawling his eyes out, to Harry diligently practicing his duelling in preparation for his next inevitable encounter with Lord Voldemort.

This, however, was something he would never have expected.

Harry... and Hermione... together... snogging... in a bath tub?

He shook his head, hoping to clear it in case this was a delusion of some sort. There had been a full moon last week, so perhaps this was a hallucination brought upon by the combined stress and exhaustion. If so, it was very vivid.

Harry was sitting at the back of the tub, both hands on Hermione's shoulders, holding her in place. He was blushing such a furious red that he looked as if he had spent a week under a scorching sun. Hermione, however, was staring at Remus with a "God take me now" expression on her face, which was flushed red enough that she was giving Harry a run for his Galleons.

Clearing his throat, Remus decided to ask Hermione for an explanation. After all, he knew she was the most reasonable of the two and most likely to give a coherent answer. One look at her face, however, convinced him that now was not the time to ask questions. If ever.

"Harry?" he asked expectantly, turning his attention to his young charge. He had been declared as Harry's guardian in Sirius' stead shortly before the boy's birthday. Only it would seem that Harry had not been the one to receive that new, but rather some sort of doppelganger that Harry had made and sent in his place.

He waited for several moments, crossing his arms over his chest, but received no reply. Both Harry and Hermione were still blushing fit to rival any Weasley and seemed incapable of speaking, though Harry's mouth had opened and closed several times.

"Care to explain what the two of you are doing?" he prompted.

"Taking a bath?" answered Harry uncertainly.

"Together?"

"Water shortage?"

"This is Hogwarts; there's never a shortage of water," Remus countered, a hint of humour seeping into his voice. It was a struggle to keep from breaking into a grin, but somehow he managed to maintain a stern expression. "Try again."

"Um..."

"It's not Harry's fault, Professor Lupin!" protested Hermione, finally breaking free from her mortified stupor. She sat up so abruptly that Harry was almost knocked over, only his Quidditch honed reflexes keeping him upright.

"Please, Hermione, how many times do I have to repeat myself?" asked Remus with a tired, but patient smile. "I'm not your professor any more. Call me Remus."

Hermione would probably have blushed some more, but she was already so red that it likely would not have shown. She ducked her head down and muttered, "It's still my fault."

Remus looked at her curiously and asked, "And how is that?"

Harry, he noticed, also seemed rather interested in hearing her explanation and angled his body to look at her from where he was sitting by her side.

"I walked in on him."

"And how did that lead to you joining him for this... bath?"

Now it was Harry's turn to try and deepen his blush, which he did a remarkable job of attempting. He shifted about nervously as Hermione sent a somewhat heated glare in his direction. Nervously scratching at the back of his neck with one hand, he explained, "I, uh, transfigured her robes."

Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Really."

"It's all my fault," insisted Hermione, her apparent ire at Harry already gone.

"I see," said Remus, nodding in understanding. He paused for a moment and allowed a thoughtful expression to flit across his face before shaking his head in confusion. "No, wait. I don't see."

"Remus--"

"I need to talk to you, Harry," interrupted Remus, deciding to get to the crux of the matter. He glanced at Hermione, and emphasised, "Alone."

"Nee, if you please," said Harry. It took a moment for Remus to realize that the young wizard was in fact addressing Hermione. "I'll talk to you later, in the common room."

"Are you sure?" she asked worriedly, glancing between her friend and Remus.

"Don't worry about it," Harry assured her with a grin, "I'm sure Remus isn't trying to have us expelled."

"All right," she accepted, though obviously reluctant. She began to rise out of the bath, but abruptly froze in place. She looked at Remus and pleaded, "Um, Profe-- Remus, could you turn around for a minute?"

"Certainly, Hermione," he acquiesced diplomatically.

Turning his back to them, so that he was facing the door leading out. He waited as patiently as he could, listening to the sounds of Hermione climbing out of the large tub. There was some frantic whispering, which he could not quite make out, but seemed to involve Harry restoring her clothes in some manner. There was a whistling rustle, which Remus identified as the sound of clothing being transfigured, and them Hermione hurried past him.

"I'll see you later, Harry," she said, pausing at the door, looking rather damp. She glanced at Remus, blushed once more and muttered a good night before fleeing the Room of Requirements at what was practically a run.

Despite the pall of grief he had felt ever since Sirius' death. Despite the hundreds of pranks over the years that should have inured him to something like this. Despite having spent most of his life acting as the straight man. Despite all this and more, Remus began to laugh so hard he nearly fell over.

Harry, who had remained in the tub, glared unhappily at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and growled, "I fail to see what's so funny."

"Oh, Harry, how can you not?" asked Remus, gasping for breath as he clutched the side of the bathtub in order to remain upright. He barked with laughter and spoke the first thought that came to mind. "Sirius would have killed to see something like this."

This killed the mood more effectively than a Killing Curse.

Remus silently cursed himself. Bringing Sirius into the conversation before they had even gotten properly started was not the best way to have a heart-to-heart with Harry. It would only serve to put the young man on the defensive right from the start, instead of slowly easing him into the topic. The pain was too raw, he from his own experience, to discuss the events of last term so bluntly.

They sat silently for several minutes, Remus chastising himself for the slip and Harry obviously brooding. He hated to admit it, but Remus was pleased to see the play of emotions over Harry's face.

The doppelganger had been perfectly polite during its stay at Grimmauld Place, but had the same emotional depth of a brick wall - which is what trying to have a talk with it had felt like. Everyone had assumed that Harry had been repressing his emotions, holding them inside rather than let them out for all to see. It was a relief to see this Harry, the real one apparently, was not retreating into an emotionless shell as they had feared he would.

"You all right, Harry?" Remus finally asked.

"What?" Harry looked up from his silent contemplation.

"Are you all right?" repeated Remus.

"Yeah," replied Harry, sounding a bit listless and not altogether certain. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Harry visibly considered his answer for a moment or two before shaking his head. "No."

Pulling himself out of the tub, Harry reached for a nearby towel, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Remus was reassured to see that the youngster was wearing a pair of black swimming trunks. He did not think Harry would be reckless enough, or forward enough, to do anything of the sort with Hermione, but the situation he had found them in had caused some doubts to surface.

"Why can't I have an ordinary life, like everyone else?" Harry asked as he dried off with the towel. He looked ruefully at Remus and elaborated, "You know; worrying about classes, not doing my homework, Quidditch practice, peer pressure to drink or smoke, problems with girls... that sort of thing."

"From the look of things when I arrived, I'd say the last item on that list is something you won't need to worry about," Remus countered with a grin. He was glad that Harry was obviously well enough to joke about the insanity that was his life at the moment.

"I'm considering Hermione as a potential girlfriend," Harry informed him, "if that's not a problem, what is?"

Discarding the towel, Harry began to dress. A flick of his wand and a quick Switching Spell changed him out of the still dripping trunks and into a pair of blood-red silk boxers. He tucked his wand behind his right ear and pulled a plain white t-shirt from a neatly folded pile of clothes on a nearby wooden bench.

"Seriously, Harry, are you okay?"

"You know, I just had this conversation with Hermione," Harry informed him lightly, poking his head through the neck of his shirt and arching a wry eyebrow.

"Don't worry, I promise not to kiss you," Remus teased, grinning wickedly.

"Remus!" exclaimed Harry, looking both embarrassed and scandalized.

He chuckled softly and pressed, "Answer the question, Harry. You know I'm not going to stop asking until you do."

Harry tugged on a loose pair of jeans, glancing up at the ceiling as he did so. It was only the years of experience he had dealing with James and Sirius' constant joking around, that prevented Remus from jumping out of his skin as the small bath house they were standing in disappeared. He had forgotten that they were in the Room of Requirements, which was how Harry had just now managed to provide them with a comfortable looking sitting room to have their discussion in.

"I'm doing better than I thought I would be," Harry admitted softly, taking a seat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the crackling fireplace that had appeared. He began pulling on a sock as he asked, "What about you?"

"As well as can be expected," Remus answered, dropping into the other chair.

"That's good to hear."

"I'm sorry we never got to have a chance to speak sooner than this."

Harry looked up from putting on his other sock and smiled apologetically, "Don't apologise, it's my fault for disappearing over the summer."

Remus gave him a firm look and prodded, "Yes, I must confess I'm curious."

"Careful, Remus," Harry cautioned. "Remember the lesson the cat learned the hard way."

If it had been anyone else, anyone other than Harry, Remus would have considered that a threat. The tone of voice used, not to mention the hooded look from behind those new glasses, were clearly a warning against prying to hard. Leaning back, so as to appear less insistent, Remus held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

"At least ease my mind and tell me where you were."

"That might take a while," replied Harry, "I visited quite a lot of places, though I only stayed a few of days at each, except at the end when I was in Hawaii."

"A lot of places, huh? Anywhere I know?" asked Remus, curious both for himself and because that was one of the reasons Dumbledore had asked him to speak with Harry. Despite the his good health, it was agreed that they needed to know the details of Harry's disappearance over the summer.

"I spent several weeks on the Continent, some more in the States," Harry informed him with a nonchalant shrug. As if it were nothing to cross from one side of the world to the other with no apparent means of transport or funding. "Stopped by most of the major cities. Saw the sights."

Remus shook his head in wonder. "My, you were busy."

Harry shrugged again. "I needed some time away from everything."

"I can understand that."

"I thought you would."

"Molly's furious," Remus informed him, watching to see what Harry's reaction would be. Seeing what looked like a barely restrained wince, he elaborated with a grin, "You're lucky she hasn't sent you a Howler. Arthur talked her out of it."

"I imagine she's not the only one that's displeased," he muttered.

"Not as much as you'd expect," replied Remus with an easy smile. "Tonks was a tad upset, but calmed down once she heard you were okay. Arthur is more concerned than anything else and the twins seemed to think the idea of you tricking us all with the doppelganger for a whole month is absolutely hilarious."

Harry laughed and shook his head at the twins antics. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they're trying to make one of their own."

"How did you know?" Remus joked, secretly agreeing that Fred and George were probably doing just that. He could only imagine the havoc it would cause if they succeeded. "Kingsley was a bit annoyed, mostly I think because he didn't catch on to the fact that it wasn't really you."

"What about Moody?" asked Harry, a look of concern furrowing his brow. "He was the one I was really worried about, considering that eye of his."

"Apparently your doppelganger was so convincing he didn't have a clue - which impressed him more than I can say. Kept going on about how he could take over the Ministry if he had a dozen Aurors as resourceful as you."

"So the holographic bones, muscles and internal organs fooled him," Harry muttered to himself, though Remus was just able to overhear the words. Not for the first time since learning about the doppelganger's existence, he marvelled at the work that had gone into the device that had fooled so many of them for so long.

"He asked me to enquire what it would take to get his hands on three or four of those doppelgangers. Seems to think they'd be right handy."

Harry smirked and offered, "If I have the time I'll build him one. Maybe for Christmas, if he's a good boy."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that," he answered dryly. He gave Harry a penetrating look and brought up one of the topics that had been discussed during an Order meeting the previous evening. "He was disappointed to hear that you've dropped Potions."

"I don't need it and I especially don't want to spend any time with Snape that I don't absolutely have to," Harry countered, waving a hand dismissively.

"I can understand your animosity towards Severus, particularly after hearing of your experiences trying to learn Occlumency with him," agreed Remus, though grudgingly. "But, Harry, without Potions you won't be able to enter Auror training."

"I don't want to be an Auror," Harry stately flatly.

Remus was slightly surprised by this admission. He knew, from talks with Sirius, McGonagall and several others the previous year, that Harry had been eager to pursue that profession. "Oh? Why ever not?"

Harry looked at him incredulously, "You actually have to ask?"

Thinking about it, Remus decided that he already knew the cause of Harry's change of mind. He waved for him to continue, just so that he could have confirmation.

"Fudge and the Ministry spent almost all of the past year trying to drag my name and reputation through the mud. Quite successfully as well," Harry bit out scathingly, his resentment for such treatment audible. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms defiantly. "D'you honestly think I'd even consider working for them after that?"

"I suppose not," Remus agreed, "but to demand that we get rid of Fudge altogether..."

"Dumbledore told you then?" asked Harry, clearly surprised.

"Yes," he confirmed, "he held an emergency meeting after your unexpected arrival during the Sorting."

Harry smirked sardonically, "I imagine he was rather perturbed."

"That's putting it mildly," Remus muttered, wondering at the wording Harry had used. Perhaps he had been spending so much time with Hermione that his vocabulary had expanded to accommodate - but that was unlikely seeing as Harry had only turned up two days ago. Putting these thoughts aside for another time, Remus continued, "Of course the rest of us were equally perturbed, as you put it, when he explained that you'd actually threatened to kill Fudge if we don't get rid of him by Halloween."

"I would have preferred sooner, but decided you might need the extra time," Harry said, his voice perfectly even and with so little inflection he might as well have been talking about the weather.

Remus looked at him dubiously and said, "Excuse me for saying so, Harry, but I never imagined you could be so ruthless."

Harry immediately countered, perhaps a tad sharply, "Respectfully, Remus, you don't know me well enough to imagine what I would or would not be capable of."

He winced at the truth of this. Dropping his head to stare at his hands, which he held loosely in his lap, he sadly agreed, "No, I don't suppose I do."

He heard Harry sigh softly and gently offer, "If we have the time, I'd like for us to change that."

"I'd like that," he accepted, looking up and managing a smile, which Harry returned. "By the way, I'm curious--"

"Tread carefully, kitty cat," Harry warned, though his tone was a joking one.

"If we don't manage to get Fudge out of office by Halloween..."

Harry's eyes went flat as Remus trailed off and his voice was chillingly cold as he stated with absolute certainty, "Then I will."

Remus look at him worriedly, "You'll kill him?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Dumbledore seems to think you could actually do it," Remus revealed, "though I don't really see how."

"I have my ways," Harry answered, with the same utter conviction. He peered over the silver frames of his glasses and stared at Remus, his eyes glinting in the firelight, as a small onyx sphere rose into place by his side. "If I wanted, Fudge would be dead in less than an hour - and I would not even have to leave this room to do it."

"Well," Remus paused to wet his lips, "well, we'll just have to see that it doesn't come to that."

"I hope so, for all our sakes," agreed Harry, the dark expression that had overtaken him lifting as quickly as it had settled. He grinned boyishly and admitted, "I don't really want to kill him if I can avoid it."

Remus laughed, mostly with relief, "That's good. We don't want you to kill him either."

Trying to keep the mood light-hearted, Remus concentrated and was pleasantly surprised to see a coffee table appear between them, compliments of the Room of Requirements. A moment later a tray of tea popped into existence, the silver tea pot steaming with what smelled like Earl Grey.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Please."

Remus leaned forward and quickly poured them both a cup, hesitating briefly as he realized he did not know how Harry liked his tea. "Er... Harry? Ho--"

Harry smoothly cut him off and answered, "Two sugars, please, Remus, and a spot of milk."

Finishing up quickly, Remus handed Harry his cup and settled back in his chair. A cautious sip revealed that the tea was piping hot and required a minute or two to cool. Lowering the cup and saucer to his lap, Remus warily asked something that had been bothering him.

"Harry, do you really think you could kill Fudge? Not the physical act, I mean. Could you commit what amounts to cold-blooded murder?"

"After Voldemort killed my parents, do you know how I spent the next ten years?"

Remus blinked at the apparent non sequitur, but replied, "I know that you were left with the Dursleys."

Harry grimaced unhappily, "Abandoned would be a better description."

"Harry--"

"The cupboard under the stairs," Harry interrupted harshly. He looked up from his cup of tea, which he had been glaring at, and bitterly explained, "That was the address given on my first Hogwarts letter. Harry Potter, the cupboard under the stairs."

There was not even enough time for Remus to comprehend the meaning of the words before Harry set his cup down on the coffee table and shot to his feet, pacing around the room in obvious agitation.

"I lived in a cupboard for ten years, Remus," he ground out through clenched teeth. He came to a halt by the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames, and sighed gustily. "There are times, at least once a day, that I can understand exactly why Tom Riddle became what he is. Times when I understand why Voldemort hates Muggles. Times when I think that what he's doing isn't really such a bad thing, if it rids the world of people like the Dursleys."

He turned around and picked up his tea before resuming his pacing. "I have a dark side. It lives inside me, sometimes buried deep, sometimes rising to just beneath the surface. It's waiting, waiting for the time to come when I won't hold it back any more."

Taking a sip of his tea he glanced at Remus, "You should understand what it's like," he said, "to have a beast lurking in your very soul. Hiding in the shadows of your mind."

"Yes," Remus acknowledged weakly, thinking of his Lycanthropy. Yes, he understood all too well what it was like to have a wild animal as a part of himself.

"It's a given, Remus, there is not question about it," Harry told him, sounding remarkably calm. "Sooner or later I'm going to give vent to everything I've kept bottled inside of me all my life. I don't have a choice. I have to let it out, or it will destroy me."

Harry paced around the room for a minute or two, sipping at his tea as an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Finally he returned to his seat, dropping into it with enough force that it creaked in protest. Gulping down his tea, Harry set the empty cup down and stared across at Remus.

"You want to know if I can kill in cold-blood?" he asked, leaning forward. He matched gazes with Remus, his eyes burning unnaturally bright in the firelight, and asked intently, "What do you think?"

The intensity of Harry's gaze and the forthrightness of his question were enough that Remus needed a moment or two to compose himself. He sat silently, trying not to fidget. It was unnerving how Harry, someone he still thought of as a young boy, could have such a penetrating stare.

"I think," he reluctantly concluded after several minutes of contemplation, "that you are willing to kill, if the need calls for it."

***

Saturday morning saw Harry finishing his breakfast in a hurry. He wolfed down his food, barely pausing to chew and not bothering to even attempt tasting anything. Everyone was worried at first, until they saw his Firebolt resting in the place beside him. It had been returned to him yesterday, finally liberated from former Professor Umbridge's care by Professor McGonagall.

Washing his bacon and eggs down with an entire goblet of pumpkin juice, consumed in a single go, Harry dashed off to the Quidditch pitch before anyone else had finished.

This was essential to his plan's success.

Arriving at the pitch he ducked into the Gryffindor team's changing rooms and had Father deploy the second part of his plan. The drone, a smaller and sleeker version of his first attempt at such a creation, bobbed lazily up and down in the air before him. A few quick commands and he found himself face-to-face with himself.

Nobody would be able to tell Doppelganger Unit Two apart from the real thing, unless they tried to have a conversation with it. And as the drone was programmed to spend the next few hours flying a hundred feet in the air, following a dizzying aerial route that Harry had planned, that was unlikely to happen. He stayed just long enough to watch his duplicate become airborne, using its own holographic broom (Harry was not going to risk his Firebolt).

A moment later he arrived in Diagon Alley.

Fred and George were understandably alarmed by his sudden appearance and had their wands drawn and pointed at his chest in less time than it took to blink. They may have been jokers before anything else, but they did know how to handle themselves in a fight.

"Is this any way to greet your business partner?" he asked dryly.

"Harry?"

"Fred," he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Harry?"

"George," he nodded at the other twin.

"Harry?" they chorused.

Harry shook his head, "Sometimes, I worry about you two."

Fred and George looked at each other and beamed with delight. "Harry!"

"Yes. Harry," Harry repeated impatiently. "Now that we've established my identity..."

"Bloody incredible, old chap!" exclaimed Fred, pocketing his wand and rushing to shake Harry's hand.

"How did you get here? You're supposed to be at Hogwarts," asked George, grabbing the other hand and shaking so hard he was in danger of ripping the arm from its socket.

"My friend arranged transport," Harry answered, somehow managing to extract himself from their grips as he indicated the onyx sphere hovering by his shoulder. He looked pointedly at them both and said, "And as far as anyone is concerned, I'm still at Hogwarts. Understand?"

"Crystal."

"Quartz."

"Diamond."

"Ruby."

"Sapph--"

Harry cut them off by grabbing them both in a hug. Again, as had happened so often lately, it was not an action he had complete control over. He knew, all too well, what would happen to them in the future. While not as grim as the others, it upset him to think that following Ginny's death they would change their joke shop Weasley's Wizard Wheezes into what amounted to a profession armoury; Weasley's Wizard Weapons.

"Damn, it's good to see the pair of you again."

"Er, Harry, chum..." George nervously pry himself away, Fred doing the same.

"Don't worry, I haven't suddenly developed a leaning of that sort," Harry reassured them with a grin. His grin turned into a frown as he recalled his encounter with Hermione the night before. "In fact, I'm currently having girl trouble."

This proved to be the absolutely wrong thing to say. Particularly in front of the twins.

"Our ickle Harrikins? Having trouble with girls?" asked Fred, grinning maniacally.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived, or the Casanova-That-Shagged?" asked George lecherously.

"You two are impossible," said Harry, throwing his hands up in despair.

"Of course we are!" exclaimed Fred.

"Especially when we have--"

"--a home field advantage."

"So, who are the lucky ladies competing for your affections?" asked George. He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, "Are we, perchance, likely to become uncles any time soon?"

"No, not any time soon," Harry asserted. "In fact, Ginny's one girl I'm not having trouble with."

"Aw," they chorused, pouting in mock disappointment.

Harry smirked and ignored them in favour of looking around the store. He had to pretend this was the first time he had seen everything, which was true in a way. Physically he had never been inside their shop, even though he had the memories of being given the 'guided tour' from the memories Father had supplied him with.

"So... this is the shop?" he asked rhetorically.

"Product of our labours--"

"--result of our toils--"

"--child of our blood--"

"--our sweat--"

"--and our tears of laughter," finished Fred.

"Whatcha think?" asked George expectantly.

Harry grinned broadly and summed it up with a single word.

"Brilliant."

"Want a guided tour?" asked Fred.

"Maybe later," Harry told them before adopting a serious expression, "but first I have a job for you."

"A prank?"

"A date?"

"A trick?"

"A surprise?"

Harry interrupted before they could really get going. "Serious business."

George pouted. "Oh pooh.

Fred hurried to the front of the shop, which was fortunately empty, and shut the door, hanging a closed sign in the window. Returning to the counter where they had been standing, he and George lead Harry into the back room. This was where the twins kept their stock and worked on designing and developing new pranks. It looked a lot like their room back at the Burrow, only larger and filled with a great deal more explosive substances than Mrs Weasley would tolerate.

Harry reached out and seemed to pull several rolled up sheets of paper from thin air. In actual fact he had merely put his hand out to grab the papers as Father brought them back into phase with what amounted to real time. This was something Harry and his Gatekeeper had discovered over the summer. Father mostly existed in a fifth dimensional space, using its gravity fields it could 'shunt' various objects about. It was a primitive version of the method of used to create the Gates, but used almost no energy to achieve or maintain.

Objects within Father's GM fields could be shifted slightly 'to the right' of where they had originally being. Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but understood that the technique would render any object of a reasonable size both invisible and immaterial. There wasn't much application to it beyond being a nifty means of storage, but it did allow him to carry around what would normally be unfeasibly large amounts of material.

"Where the...?"

"How the...?"

"Trade secret," Harry told the goggling twins. He guessed, from their expressions, that they must be thinking that he had either conjured up the plans he was now holding, or used some other kind of magic to produce them. "Now, before we start, I need a promise from you."

"Anything," they chimed.

"What I'm about to ask of you doesn't leave this shop," he told them, looking them in the eyes, trying to impress upon them the severity of what he was asking. "Nobody is to know about it, except the two of you."

Fred meet his gaze, his normally laidback expression turning equally serious as Harry's own, and asked, "What about the Order?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "I don't care if Voldemort resurrects Salazar Slytherin himself to torture and kill our entire family. This does not go beyond the three of us."

He immediately began to mentally chide himself for his choice of words, but was pleasantly surprised when the twins both broke into broad grins. Out of all the Weasleys, including their parents, he had always gotten on best with Fred and George. Even Ron had not been as reliable as these two.

"'Our' family, huh?" repeated George, sounding pleased with the idea.

"What d'you need, little brother?" asked Fred.

"I need you to build something," Harry told them, unrolling the papers he was holding and spreading them out on one of the large tables where the twins usually planned out their newest gimmick. "We can discuss funds and material once you have a finished working model."

"Can do," agreed Fred readily.

"If we can, that is," added George.

"If we can't, we'll try anyway," Fred assured him.

"You can do it," Harry said without any doubt. He literally knew they could, seeing as they were the ones that had drawn up the plans in the first place, albeit about fifteen years from now. "I know that without a doubt."

George grinned eagerly. "So what requires the skills of master craftsmen Gred and Forge?"

"This."

Harry waved for them to look at the displayed plans. The twins immediately began to pour over them, jostling each other for the better position. As several minutes passed, Harry watched with interest as Fred and George conversed in hushed whispers and the occasional silent exchange that only twins could manage.

It had taken some time for him several weeks before he had been able to find a Muggle printer capable of recreating the designs, Gating into the building after hours and using Father's ability to generate electromagnetic fields to interface with the rather primitive computer system. Once that was accomplished it had taken less than an hour to reproduce a small cache of designs and plans for all kinds of weapons and other equipment that had not even been conceived of in the present.

Finally the twins seemed to conclude their examination of the plans and turned to face each other, curious expression on their faces.

"Fred?"

"George?"

"What d'you think?"

"Same thing you thunk."

"Thought so."

They turned to Harry, grim determination in their normally jovial eyes. Getting straight to the point, Fred started by asking, "What exactly do you need?"

Harry pointed at the plans behind them, "You understand what that is?"

George nodded solemnly, "It's the magical equivalent of a Muggle gun."

"Only it's not designed to shoot billets," put in Fred.

"Bullets," Harry automatically corrected. There were times, usually moments like this, when he had to wonder at the ignorance of wizards in general. They could perform complex and intricate magicks without trouble, but could not remember simple Muggle words and concepts that most five-year-olds had a firm grasp of.

"Harry, this thing's dangerous," Fred cautioned.

"You use this, you're going to kill someone," agreed George.

Harry nodded unhappily, thinking of the reason he was having them put together this particular weapon. He knew the prophecy said he had a power Voldemort did not, but he would prefer to have something more concrete on his side when the time came. Besides which, in all twenty-two years of future memories, he could not remember discovering or using anything capable of stopping Voldemort.

"That's why I'm going to need them."

"Them?" repeated George, looking alarmed at the idea.

"How many are you talking about?" asked Fred.

"Enough to put the fear of God into any Death Eaters I meet," Harry assured them with a smirk. He did not want to give them an exact figure, at least not until they had a chance to recover from their current surprise.

"Just looking at the plans--"

"--puts the fear of God into us."

"You sure about this?" asked George, looking sharply at him.

"Voldemort," Harry paused as they winced, "is going after my family this year. Our family."

The twins considered this, exchanging a rapid series of looks before turning to answer.

Fred started, "If nothing goes wrong--"

"--and if the plans are accurate--"

"They are," interjected Harry.

"--then we should have a working prototype--"

"--ready by Halloween," finished George.

"Maybe sooner," offered Fred.

George looked back at the plans laid out on the table. "It won't be easy though."

Fred nodded in agreement, "Yeah, some of the enchantments used are... ouch."

"Whoever designed this was a genius."

"Yes, they are," Harry smiled, wondering what his friends would say when the day came that he could tell them that they were the principle designers. Admittedly Luna had helped a great deal, but Fred and George had done the bulk of the work.

"Well, you can trust us to do the job," Fred told him.

"Mum's the word too," confirmed George.

"If anyone finds out about this--"

"--it won't be from us."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thanks guys."

Fred grinned modestly, "No problem Harry. What are friends for?"

Never having had any friends even remotely like the twins before, Harry was not quite sure how to answer that. Still, he did know that he could not have entrusted this to anyone more suited to the task.

He just hoped they didn't blow up the shop in the process.

TBC...

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