If the Fates Allow

Chapter 4

The impostor and the psychologist

My soul lies stiff-froz'n in the winter of night,
With never a candle to shed any light.
There's no peace around me, just blood strife and tears;
I cannot amend this, amidst all my fears.
I'm used, and betrayed, and fed up all through:
Forgive me, absolve me, and hold me to you.

(original poem by Michael and AgiVega)

Christmas, 1996

Harry was gazing at the fire crackling under the mantelpiece in the Gryffindor common room, deeply lost in his thoughts. He had never, ever felt so lonely. Every other sixth year Gryffindor had left for the holidays - even his two best friends. Ron and Hermione had realised their true feelings for each other just weeks before Christmas and now they were spending the holidays together at the Burrow. Harry, however, wasn't allowed to leave Hogwarts.

He had pleaded with the headmaster, but Dumbledore was resolute in keeping Harry under his crooked nose. Harry had then pleaded with him at least to let him spend Christmas at 12 Grimmauld Place with Lupin and the Order if he wasn't allowed to go to the Burrow. But Albus couldn't be persuaded.

Harry wondered whether this could be put down to Dumbledore's fear that he'd again get into trouble or get caught by Voldemort...

Harry was annoyed. Or rather angry. Angry with the whole world, especially Dumbledore. Had Dumbledore not waited too long to ask Snape to teach Harry Occlumency, then Voldemort wouldn't have been able to penetrate into Harry's dreams and lure him to the Department of Mysteries... then Sirius would still be among the living... And after all that, what did Harry get from Dumbledore? A confusing prophecy with some vague explanation and the confession that the headmaster had screwed it all up by not telling him the truth earlier.

Yes, Harry was mad at the headmaster. In his eagerness to spare Harry the terrible knowledge of his fate, Albus had given Voldemort a chance to ruin Harry's life even more.

Harry still barely could believe that he had to become a murderer in order to survive... or get murdered by the Dark Lord. He simply couldn't cope with the weight placed on his shoulders by this prophecy. He wondered how he would have reacted, had he got to know this years earlier. Probably he would have been crushed. Such a burden would have ruined even those few happy moments he had had in his first four Hogwarts years.... but if he had got to know it earlier, then perhaps he would have managed to adjust himself to it by now.

However, this way the shock was still too new and strong to make him able to think of anything else.

It was Christmas and Harry was thinking of death... His own or that of Voldemort... and it surprised him that he didn't really care whose death it was. He'd be thrilled to see Voldemort die, but the idea of killing him with his own hands made him feel queasy. And if Voldemort won... then it'd be over. For a moment Harry almost wished it were over, he longed to be dead, to be together with his parents and Sirius...

A spark jumped out of the fire and burnt a tiny hole in his trousers. The pain was sudden and unexpected enough to break his train of thought.

What was I thinking? he chastised himself. If I die, then it means that Voldemort wins and then he'll wreak havoc on the whole world! He flicked his wand at the hole, saying Reparo, but the burn on his skin didn't vanish but ached for hours. Surely it'll leave a small white spot on his skin, as a reminder never even to think of the possibility of the Dark Lord triumphing. He couldn't be so selfish and die, letting Voldemort's terror loose on the world - not even if his deepest desire was to stop existing.

There were very few people who could say that their death would bring about a real catastrophe, but Harry belonged to those few, and he wasn't happy about it. He wasn't happy about it at all. But - if he asked himself what he could be happy about nowadays, he found nothing. Absolutely nothing. His heart was empty, save for one single emotion: anger.

When Ron and Hermione had told him that they had got together, he had felt a pang of jealousy. Under normal circumstances he should have been happy for them, but since when had Harry lived under normal circumstances? He was mad at himself for not being able to share his friends' joy, but how could he have, when he was so lonely?

After the fiasco with Cho last year he doubted he'd ever get the chance to love someone romantically. But perhaps he didn't even want to. After all that had happened at the end of the previous school year, he felt that love belonged to his lesser concerns. It was somehow... beneath him.

He still felt a bit jealous if he saw happy couples, but then he thought of the prophecy and found his jealousy and craving for a relationship ridiculous.

When Ron and Hermione had offered to stay with him at Hogwarts for Christmas, he had resolutely, almost rudely turned them down.

Now that he reflected on it, he felt a pang of remorse for having been rude to the two people who most cared for him in the world, and their absence was almost painful.

With a sudden thought he decided to forget about all the pain and loss, and do something useful for a change. There was for example his Potions assignment.

Strangely a grin spread on his face - he remembered that summer day he had received his OWL results. At first he had thought he had read it wrong, but no, there had been no mistake: he had got an O for his Potions exam. This meant that he had to continue studying that subject (which he also needed to become and Auror) and poor Professor Snape had to endure him in his classes. He wished he could have seen Snape's expression when the Wizarding Examination Authority sent him the corrected test papers and he saw that Harry Potter had received an O. It surely must have exceeded Snape's expectations.

So, Harry jumped up from the armchair in front of the common room fireplace and headed down to the library. On his way he passed Professor McGonagall whom he gave a smile to - he had learnt to respect this old witch more than ever in his fifth year - the way Minerva had defied Dolores Umbridge was something marvellous.

Madame Pince gave him a questioning look when he entered the library - she clearly hadn't expected anyone to want to study on Christmas Eve.

Harry was just about to snatch a book called Potion of No-Confidence off a shelf when somebody stepped up to him.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas, Cho," he answered blankly, wondering what she could be doing here. "I thought you had left for the holidays."

"Originally I wanted to leave, but certain family problems occurred and I stayed instead," she shrugged.

"Family problems? I hope nothing serious," he replied politely.

"I'd rather not talk about them," she sighed, "at least... not here. It'd be nicer over a Butterbeer, though..."

"Er..." he had a vague idea what she was hinting at, but didn't voice it. If she wants something, she'll say it, he thought.

"You know that it's a Hogsmeade weekend?" Cho asked.

"Yeah, all the other five Gryffindors who stayed for the holidays are at Hogsmeade now. I just didn't feel like going, I barely know any of them."

"I had the same problem: no company. Do you think we could perhaps go down into the village? Together?"

For a moment Harry felt amused. What he would have given just a year ago to spend Christmas Eve with the Charming Cho Chang, and now he didn't feel allured by the possibility. However, spending the day with Cho was still much more alluring than spending the day in the company of the Potions book... and what could he lose if he accepted her invitation?

"I don't really feel like going to Hogsmeade," he said finally.

"Oh," she looked disappointed.

"But I wouldn't say no to a walk around the castle."

Her face brightened. "Great. Let's meet in the Entrance Hall, I'll go and get my cloak!"

With that she was already out of the library. Harry grabbed Potion of No-Confidence off the shelf - he'd occupy himself with it in the evening.

* * * * *

They were standing by the lake, watching as the sun's feeble rays glittered on the thick ice covering it. Harry wondered what the Giant Squid could be doing in the depths of the water - couldn't it be bored when it couldn't come to the surface?

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Cho spoke up in a small voice.

"Yeah, it's really pretty," he nodded without looking at her.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" he turned slightly in her direction to see her lips trembling and tears welling up in her eyes.

Oh, no! he thought. Not this again! He didn't feel like listening to her laments over this being the second Christmas without Cedric.

However, what she said next took him by surprise:

"Harry, my parents are getting divorced!"

"Oh..." he didn't know what to say, he had no idea how to console someone in such a situation. "I'm... sorry, Cho."

At this point she flung herself on his neck, sobbing into his red-and-yellow striped Gryffindor scarf.

"Do you... do you want to talk about it?"

She looked up, sniffed and nodded. "But not out here. It's... freezing."

"In the Three Broomsticks over a Butterbeer?" he suggested, handing her a tissue.

"No," she blew her nose. "I'd rather someplace... private. I don't want people to see me cry."

It didn't seem to bother you last year, almost the whole school saw you crying, you made no secret of your grief over Cedric, he thought somewhat bitterly, but knew better than to say it to her face. If she needed to talk, they they'll talk, and if she needed privacy, then he'll make sure they'll have it.

"What about Gryffindor Tower? There's not a soul there now."

Her face lit up slightly. "Perfect. I always wanted to see your common room."

So he steered her upstairs, relieved that they hadn't met any teacher or ghost on their way - he wasn't supposed to be letting people from other houses into Gryffindor Tower, after all.

"Umbridge is an ugly toad," he told the Fat Lady the password that he suspected must have been invented by none other than the wonderful Professor McGonagall.

The Fat Lady gave him a disapproving look, clearly meaning that Cho shouldn't be entering, but let them in without a word. Perhaps she didn't feel like arguing on Christmas Eve.

"Really pretty," Cho said admiringly as she looked around, taking off her coat. "I love all these warm colours. You know, our common room is also nice, but it's full of various shades of blue, and in winter it increases the feeling of coldness."

She took a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire. Harry flopped down into the other one facing hers.

"Okay, then... if you want to talk... I'll be a good listener."

A grateful smile spread on her face. "Thank you, Harry, you're a real friend, not like some others..."

"What about Michael Corner? Isn't he a good enough friend?" he tried to joke.

"Michael? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why, aren't you two a couple?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Not anymore," she shook her head. "I no more have anyone, Harry..." Her eyes filled with tears again.

Reminds me of myself, he thought sourly. "Hey, don't talk like that..." he reached out to touch her hand and since she didn't seem to want to pull it away, he gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I'm here and I'm your friend. And I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

"You are such a dear, Harry," she sighed, covering his right hand holding her left one with her other hand. "I don't even know where to begin... I'm... so confused! When I left for Hogwarts in September, everything seemed to be perfect between my parents and now... it's ruined. I got this letter yesterday morning telling me that I shouldn't go home because everything is in chaos, dad's moving his stuff out of the house... the letter was smudged here and there. I think mum must have been crying when she wrote it."

"And why is your dad leaving? What is the reason for their divorce?" Harry asked.

"Dad... found someone else!" now Cho burst into tears again, her whole body shaking. "Found... some... young chick... and is leaving mum for heeeer!"

"The bastard," Harry breathed.

She looked up, a small smile on her lips. "Exactly. A bastard!"

"I wish I could help you somehow, Cho..."

"You could..." she whispered.

"How?"

"Just hold me tight." With that Cho rose from her seat and took a place next to Harry. He instinctively put his arms around her and rocked her gently. For a fleeting moment he thought he felt a bit more for her than sorry; as she rested her head on his shoulder he thought that he was even enjoying the predicament... certainly not her pain, he would never enjoy anyone's pain (save for perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange, a shame he hadn't been able to torture her properly with the Cruciatus Curse), but whether he liked to admit it or not, he did enjoy holding this beautiful, fragile creature in his arms. He had been convinced that he no longer had any feeling for her, but then what was he feeling now? Surely just his hormones... Yeah, that had to be it: his stupid hormones making a complete fool of him again. But he wasn't letting them make him appear like an idiot again! No way!

He had made his decision. Slowly he'd disentangle himself from her embrace, express her his heartfelt commiseration and guide her politely out of Gryffindor Tower.

However, fate - or Cho - had other plans in mind. As soon as Harry loosened his embrace a bit to draw back, her arms sneaked around his neck and her lips got mysteriously plastered to his.

So, what about disentangling himself from Cho's embrace and guiding her out of the Tower? Harry no more knew. All he knew was that his body was on fire, inflamed by her searing kiss that was nothing like the kiss they had shared the previous Christmas. That one had been quick and chaste, this one was long and passionate, making his mind clamour for more. Tentatively he slipped his hands to the small of her back, then guided them gently up along her spine, sending a tremor throughout her body. So far she wasn't resisting to his touch, so he decided to try a little lower and placed his left hand on her thigh, moving it tantalisingly slowly upward until she moaned into his mouth. Perhaps this was what brought Harry back to his senses. He broke the contact and pulled back, gasping for breath.

Cho's face fell. "Why have you stopped?" she whispered.

"Because... because I'm not sure about this, Cho. Look, I like you, but... I'm not in love with you, and I don't think it'd be proper to... to do it with you if I'm not in love with you..." he cast his eyes down and started chewing his lower lip. "It... wouldn't be... fair towards you. Also, I don't want to take advantage of your predicament. You're suffering now, Cho, you're vulnerable. I don't want to hurt you even more."

"Harry?"

He looked up from his shoes to see her smiling.

"I knew you were a real gentleman who wouldn't take advantage of my predicament... and I appreciate it a lot... but for the time being I don't need you to be a gentleman... I don't want you to continue behaving chastely towards me... I want you inflamed with desire... burn for me, Harry..."

And he did. What could he lose, after all? He had been lonely, now he had company. He had been longing for a relationship, now he might get it. Perhaps he'd even relearn to love Cho. As for his concerns about 'not behaving properly' - he didn't care for them anymore. Probably Ron and Hermione were doing the very same thing in the Burrow (God forbid if Mrs Weasley caught them!), besides, he was either going to be murdered any time soon or would have to kill, which he wasn't looking forward to, either... his life was a total catastrophe, so why deny himself the chance to have some fun for a change?

"Not here," he drew back just long enough to catch his breath. "The others might be coming back soon."

"Where, then?"

"My dorm," he panted, helping her off her seat, catching her lips in a kiss again. They never knew how they had made their way up to his dormitory, or how long it had taken them (given that they had stopped every three seconds to cuddle and kiss), but by the time they reached Harry's bed, they had practically stripped each other of all clothing. As he pressed her against the bedpost, wearing only his Snitch-covered boxers, she cast an amused glance at his lower parts, her eyes stopping on a dark red spot on his right thigh. "What's that?" she pointed at it.

"That?" Harry shrugged. He had already forgotten about the spark burning him. "That's only a reminder that I have to live".

"Huh?" she furrowed her finely shaped black eyebrows.

"Nothing," he replied, closing her into his arms again. He had to live, for life wasn't totally pointless... there was for example Voldemort he had to vanquish, there was the world he had to save, there were girls he had to love... and he didn't mind at all that Cho would be his first.

Happy Christmas, Harry.

* * * * *

When Harry woke up the sun was already about to dive behind the horizon, turning the sky into a painter's palette. He blinked and groped around for Cho, but only felt the cold pillow where her warm body should have been lying.

"Cho?" he murmured, slipping on his glasses. Apparently she had left without a trace, the only sign that proved Harry hadn't dreamed it all was a reddish stain on the sheet. Disgruntled, Harry muttered Scourgify, pointing his wand at the sheet and was just about to bend down for his boxers when something caught his eye.

A hair.

One single hair on the pillow.

However, the hair wasn't black but reddish. For a second Harry thought that perhaps it could belong to Ron who occasionally sat down on Harry's bed to pull on his socks when he had already made his own bed and didn't want to mess it up again. Ron, as a prefect, was supposed to keep his bed in perfect order to set example to the others.

Harry reached out for the hair and padded with it to the window to have a look at it in the last rays of the sun. He was appalled to realise that this hair wasn't exactly red, but reddish blond, and it was way too long to belong to Ron.

But then... whose hair could it be? Surely not Cho's...

Hastily Harry threw on his clothes and ran out of Gryffindor Tower. He had to find Cho at all costs.

He knew where the Ravenclaw common room was, but he had never been in there. As he approached it, he prayed to meet a Ravenclaw who'd open its door for him.

He was in luck. As he rounded the corner, he almost ran headlong into Luna Lovegood, who wore her usually dreamy expression and a necklace with matching earrings made of Fizzing Whizzbees.

"Luna, am I glad to see you!" Harry panted.

"Glad?" she gave him a quizzical look, her huge silvery eyes doubtful. "You don't look glad at all... your expression is rather haunted... something's worrying you."

"There's nothing worrying me," replied Harry impatiently, not willing to discuss his love life with Loony Lovegood. "I'm just looking for Cho."

"Cho Chang? She left for the holidays," the girl said. "Yesterday."

"But... but I was talking to her only a few hours ago!" Harry protested.

"That's out of the question," she shook her head, looking at Harry as though she thought he was a complete fool (which was rather remarkable, coming from Luna, Queen of Loonies). "She left yesterday, I even accompanied her and some of her friends to the station. Unfortunately I couldn't leave Hogwarts because Dad is abroad, getting an interview with a Finnish wizard who has recently opened a Crumple-Horned Snorkack farm, I can't wait to read about it in The Quibbler, and... Harry?"

But he was already out of earshot, running towards the end of the corridor.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Luna to herself as she watched his receding figure and thought it was unfair that people held her to be crazy when Harry here seemed to be madder than she could ever be. She wasn't hallucinating like he was, was she?

* * * * *

Harry reached the portrait of the Fat Lady in five minutes.

"Password?" she asked sleepily.

"I don't want to... er... I mean, it's about..." Harry was gasping for breath.

"Calm down, young man," she smiled benignly at him.

"Calm down? How could I?" he shouted aggressively.

"I will not be spoken to like that," the Fat Lady grunted and turned her back on him.

"I'm sorry... been under great pressure... didn't mean to hurt you..." Harry was still panting after the run. "Listen, remember the girl I brought up here late in the morning?"

"Of course I do," she still sounded miffed. "I shouldn't have let her in, you know..."

"Yeah, I know," Harry gabbled. "Tell me, what did she look like when I brought her here?"

The Fat Lady turned around and gave him a look that suggested she thought he had lost his marbles. "Certainly she had long, black hair and Asian eyes."

"And what did she look like when she left?" he pressed.

"Well, I didn't see much of her then, to tell the truth. She had her cloak pulled over her face... why?"

"Why, why, none of your business!" Harry growled. "Umbridge is an ugly toad!"

Though somewhat unwilling to open the portrait hole after having been insulted like this, the Fat Lady let him in.

The common room was empty again, the five Gryffindors who had stayed at the castle were very likely down in the Great Hall, having dinner.

Harry sank into one of the armchairs by the fire, burying his face into his palms.

"What have I done?" he whispered. "And who have I done it with?"

* * * * *

Harry was inconsolable. Not even the wonderful presents he got from his friends managed to alleviate his concerns. Who had been this mystery girl and why had she disguised herself as Cho?

Harry wondered how many doses of Polyjuice she had had to drink to keep up her deception for several hours... she also must have been a very good actress to make him believe she was Cho. Could she be one of the Hogwarts students who had a secret crush on him? It was possible, after all, and when he went down to have breakfast on Christmas day, his eyes immediately started scanning the students, trying to catch a glimpse of a girl with red-gold hair.

No such luck.

He was disappointed and even more confused - he had only gone down to the Great Hall to find the 'culprit', not to eat, since his inners were twitching madly, giving him the feeling that if he swallowed something, he'd be reacquainted with it a minute later.

"Hey, Harry, you all right?" Luna joined him as he left the Great Hall.

"Yeah, suppose so," he said, but knew that he didn't sound very convincing.

"Something's really troubling you," she perceived, following him up the stairs. "C'mon, you can tell it to me, I'm no gossip..."

"It's nothing, okay?" Harry burst out. "It's noth..." suddenly he clapped his hands over his scar and dropped to his knees, doubling up in pain.

"Harry!" she gasped as he began retching, only bringing up some liquid - he hadn't eaten anything for a day, there wasn't much left in him to throw up.

As soon as he stopped retching (one of the paintings looked miffed about Harry dirtying the landing), Luna crouched down to him, pressing her hand on his forehead.

"And you dared say you were all right!" she shook her head in disbelief. "You're burning up, Harry, you've got to see Madame Pomfey at once!"

"Nooo..." he wheezed, "I'm... I'm not ill. It was... Voldemort..."

"What?" her huge eyes widened to look even bigger.

"Voldemort... he was broadcasting again..."

He glanced at her and saw from her expression that she didn't understand a thing from what he was talking about.

"Voldemort... whenever he's angry or... or very happy about something, I feel it too," he explained, as white as a sheet.

"And what do you think he felt now? Anger or happiness?"

"I don't know..." he replied vaguely. "But... this rather reminded me of what I felt last year in Umbridge's office, just in a much greater amount... Voldemort had been happy then. I think... he's happy about something again."

"Wonder what?" she pursed her lips. "If he's happy it means something terrible must have happened."

"Yeah, I fear so," Harry agreed. "Scourgify!" with a flick of his wand he vanished the vomit, relieved that no one but Luna had seen it. (The painting on the wall gave him a 'that's more like it' stare).

* * * * *

Harry spent the next days in his dormitory, occupying himself with the Potions assignment, but found that it couldn't really take his mind off the recent events. Sometimes he felt an urge to go to Dumbledore and tell him everything, but his pride got the better of him. He was still too mad at the headmaster to want to share this with him; on the other hand, he thought this was something too private to tell Albus... or anyone. No one had anything to do with his love life, and he thought he'd die of shame if he had to relive it to the headmaster.

He wasn't even sure whether he'd want to tell Ron and Hermione... certainly if it had been really Cho, then he'd call Ron aside the first evening he got back from the Burrow, would wink at him and say 'guess what happened on Christmas Eve'. But this way... no.

He felt bewildered, used, dirtied... almost abused. He had wanted to sleep with Cho, not some impostor! He could barely believe that this was the second time someone had managed to deceive him by using Polyjuice... He should have suspected that it wasn't Cho when she didn't even mention Cedric or when she said she had no idea what Harry meant by hinting at Michael Corner.

He was positive that the real Cho's parents weren't about to get divorced, and that the real Cho was still going out with Michael.

My stupid good heart again, he thought bitterly. Had he not been so willing to 'help Cho', he wouldn't have been had. Damn his good heart...

* * * * *

At the beginning of January the castle filled with students returning from the holidays and Harry was glad to have people around him all the time - having to speak to them and listen to them made him more or less forget about the fake Cho. He soon noticed that he had been right when suspecting that Miss Chang was still with the Corner boy - once he caught a glimpse of them madly snogging under a staircase. Strangely it didn't make him feel jealous, rather made him wonder what Ginny was feeling now. Had she been in love with Michael? Harry didn't know.

Harry took every opportunity to listen to people's Christmas stories - as long as he listened to them, he wasn't thinking of his own catastrophic one.

Neville happily told him about the small greenhouse his Aunt Enid and Uncle Algie had built for him in the Longbottoms' huge garden, and a bit flustered he mumbled something about breeding a new species by crossing Mimbulus mimbletonia and Venomous Tentacula and naming it Lunalumen Illustris. Harry and Ron exchanged a grin - they had long noticed what Neville hadn't: that Neville was developing a huge crush on Loony Lovegood.

When Harry asked Ron and Hermione about their Christmas, they blushed nervously. Harry thought he'd be tactful and question Ron about it in the evening when Hermione wasn't around to get embarrassed.

Eventually Ron told him that his mum had secretly placed a snog-alarm-charm on his room, knowing what sort of relationship there was between him and Hermione.

"So I was just about to unbutton her shirt, unaware of my room having been charmed, and in the next instant mum burst in, face red as the setting sun, shouting 'I will not have frolicking under my roof!' Imagine Hermione's face, it was even redder than mum's as she scampered out..." Ron grinned sheepishly at the memory. "Mum also placed this sort of alarm charm on Hermione's room - you know Percy's old room, and guess what else she did?"

"No idea," shrugged Harry. "Put a chastity belt on Hermione?"

"No," Ron blushed. "She added a new situation to the family clock in the kitchen. Now there's 'home', 'work', 'mortal peril' and 'snogging'."

"No!" Harry gasped, stifling a chuckle.

"Yes," Ron replied, woebegone. "With that clock we had no chance to even kiss let alone do other things! Sometimes I'm so mad at mum! I bet she and dad were snogging each other senseless in their sixth year, she should understand us, really..." Now he squinted at his friend in a rather peculiar way.

"What?" asked Harry.

Ron directed his glance at the floor, as though being embarrassed by something. "I know it sounds nasty, mate, but I was hoping to be the first of the two of us to... to..."

"To what?" Harry playfully raised an eyebrow.

"You know what," Ron grunted. "You got to kiss Cho Chang almost a year earlier than I got to kiss Hermione... I was hoping to be the first this time, since you haven't yet..."

Though up till now Harry had been contemplating telling Ron about the 'trap' he had fallen into, now he was determined to keep it a secret. The shame that he had had to suffer because of his mum was quite enough for poor Ron, Harry didn't want to ruin his mood even more by 'bragging' that he had been the first again... Let Ron believe that he can still beat me in this race, Harry thought. He felt a bit sad that he couldn't tell Ron, he was longing to tell someone (not Dumbledore of course), someone who'd understand him... Had his two best friends had an opportunity to make love over the holidays, then Harry would surely not have held himself back... perhaps he and Ron could also have compared notes... Or rather not... he wasn't sure he would have wanted a description of Hermione, the Saint Hermione, in such a situation. He also wasn't sure what he would have told Ron about his woman... he didn't even know who it had been, after all.

* * * * *

Weeks passed by, Quidditch training was back and Harry, new Captain of the Gryffindor team, had given the team quite a workout. He didn't seem to care about his team mates complaining about him being a slave-driver and whenever they started to groan and plead with him for a break, he only answered: "I'm working just as hard as you are, if you haven't noticed, lazy lot!"

One February evening, after a particularly exhausting training session, Ginny caught up with him on his way back to the castle.

"You're getting more and more like Oliver Wood, you know," she said in a half-amused, half-reproachful voice.

"Am I?" he glanced at her and had to admit that her flaming red hair and face also reddened by the chill looked really pretty before the backdrop of the white snow and the clean starry sky. "I'm merely trying to make sure we win the next match against Ravenclaw, that's all."

"That's all?" she folded her arms. "I don't think so. You weren't making us work this hard before the Gryffindor-Slytherin match back in October, although you considered the Slytherins much more dangerous opponents than the Ravenclaws."

Harry didn't know what to reply, so he started walking again.

"You aren't going to get rid of me that easily, Harry Potter!" Ginny shouted determinedly and caught up with him once more. "You've changed," she said, keeping up with his pace.

"Have I?" he shrugged. "Everyone changes, Ginny. And so many things have happened to me that I really have the right to change, to be able to adjust to them."

"Okay, name one," she replied challengingly.

Harry stopped in his stride, although they had already reached the oak front door of the castle. "Just one? Sirius's death. Good enough a reason for you?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, because this change I was talking about has happened to you recently. Sirius died in June and I remember what you were like in the autumn: sad, a bit introverted, but open. When Hermione asked you how you felt, you didn't hesitate to admit that you felt like shit."

"How do you know?" he furrowed his eyebrows.

"I was there in the common room," she answered as he opened the door and let themselves into the relative warmth of the Entrance Hall. "I heard it, Harry, and also saw it on your face, you made no secret of it. But now... you've changed. You no more seem sad, you are more outgoing than ever, yet... I feel this is not the true you, Harry."

"Not the true me?" he echoed her words and started climbing the stairs. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you're not open anymore, Harry. You pretend to be open, you listen to everyone and talk to everyone, but..."

"Is that a problem that I'm trying to socialise?" he grunted irritably.

"No, under normal circumstances it wouldn't be a problem, but it just doesn't... seem real. As if you were using this overdone social life to... to... forget about something and don't tell me it's Sirius's death, because I won't believe you!"

"Fine, don't believe me," he shrugged and continued his way upstairs. Suddenly the staircase moved and they had to grab the railing so as not to fall.

"Great, now we won't get back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry murmured.

"Or at least not the usual way," Ginny added and they started down the corridor. After a while the scenery got highly familiar to them, they were approaching the tapestry opposite the statue of Barnabas the Barmy, where the door to the Come and Go Room was to be found if one looked and wished for it properly.

"Well, just what we need now," the girl said.

"What do you mean? We need to go to Gryffindor Tower and what I really need is my bed."

"No, Harry. What you really need is a talk," she shook her head. "Come on, it won't hurt."

Seeing the encouraging smile on Ginny's face, he sighed. "All right."

As they entered the Room of Requirement, Harry was surprised to see his own bed standing alone in the middle of the room, along with a chair and a fireplace emitting wonderful warmth.

"Well, you said you needed your bed," she grinned and took a seat on the chair. "Go on, lie down."

"A bit of a funny way of talking," Harry remarked. "Reminds me of a Muggle psychiatric hospital."

"Why, have you been there already?" she raised an eyebrow, her brown eyes glinting impishly.

"Well, yeah," he laughed, but as she gave him a half-frightened, half-disbelieving stare, he added: "Last summer I had to accompany my Aunt Petunia and Dudley to a psychiatrist. You know, they didn't want to leave me alone at home in case I exploded the house... It was Dudley who needed a psychiatrist. He has been having these problems ever since the Dementor attack. He's been having nightmares, about his worst memories, I presume..." now he squinted at Ginny, smirking. "But to tell you the truth, I have no idea what Dudley's worst memory could have been... probably a birthday when he got 36 presents instead of 37?"

Ginny chuckled, then her expression turned to serious. "See, Harry, you're doing it again."

"What?"

"The 'being-funny-and-great-to-talk-to', just to avoid talking or thinking about other things."

"How perceptive," he said. "Yeah, I was hoping to make you forget why you brought me here."

"But thank heaven my memory is still working perfectly."

"Yeah. So... if your memory is so perfect, tell me: what were you saying when the staircase moved?"

"I was saying that you were trying to forget about something. I'm sure that's why you've been giving us such a workout and training so hard yourself... to forget about something. To forget about something you're hiding from everyone else, Harry."

"And what kind of therapy does the great psychiatrist suggest?" he taunted her, gazing at the bed's dark red canopy in a bored sort of way.

"The best therapy is to talk it out of yourself. Open up, Harry, open your heart, relieve yourself of it, whatever it is... I give you my word as your mediwitch, that everything you say within these four walls will remain a secret."

For a moment Harry diverted his stare from the canopy and regarded her with a penetrating stare. What he saw on Ginny's face was sincerity, calmness and a gentle determination - a determination to help him. He turned away from her, his mind reeling. Should he tell her everything? Wouldn't she despise him for what he had done? And would it help him if he told her? Well, he had wanted to tell someone for a while, he had felt it had been stifling him if he couldn't get it off his chest, yet... why Ginny?

Why, why, because you can't tell Ron, he'd feel truly miserable if you did; you also can't tell Hermione, she'd be outraged and scandalised; and you don't have any other close friends... his mind replied.

"All right, Ginny," he said, still not looking at her. "At Christmas I shagged a girl and don't have the slightest idea who she was."

After a minute of silence, when Harry hoped his words had sunk in, he cast a side-ways glance at the girl.

"Oh, I see," she spoke up. "Er... as your psychiatrist..."

"Say psychologist, that'd make me feel better," he interjected.

"All right, then," she straightened her back. "As your psychologist I'm supposed to be asking questions, so... what the heck do you mean by you don't know who it was?"

A sad smile appeared on Harry's face. "I believed her to be Cho Chang... but as it turned out, Cho had left for the holidays. I presume this impostor had used Polyjuice Potion to appear as Cho and seduce me. She succeeded."

"I see," Ginny nodded. "And your main problem is that you don't know who it was, or rather that is wasn't Cho?" When she saw his lips twitch in a nervous way, she hastily added: "Do tell me when I'm asking too personal questions. I'll stop, then."

"No, no, no," he sat up to face her. "If we started this, then let's continue to its end."

"Right. How do you fell about the events, Harry?"

"Bad. Totally crappy. Just imagine yourself sleeping with... say, Michael Corner, then waking up and finding out that it couldn't have been him at all..."

"I can't really imagine myself sleeping with Michael, but okay... let's just suppose it, for the therapy's sake... So what would I feel? I'd be bewildered. Frightened. Especially if I realised that we hadn't used protection." Ginny replied contemplatively, her glance shifting to his face, on which she saw horror. "Oh my, Harry, don't tell me you haven't...?"

He gulped and hung his head.

With a sigh she reached out and patted his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, very likely the girl must have been a Hogwarts student having an enormous crush on the Boy Who lived, and Hogwarts students can go to Madame Pomfrey for an Afterevent Potion..."

"But that's the point, Ginny, it can't have been a Hogwarts student," he replied. "She accidentally left a hair on my pillow, and it was reddish blonde. I haven't seen a Hogwarts student with such a hair-colour... except for Marietta Edgecombe, but she hates me with a fiery passion ever since she got those warts."

She frowned. "Then... some witch who has always had something for you, probably read your interview in The Quibbler about the night You-Know-Who returned... I bet you have loads of fans throughout Great Britain, even in other countries. You're a hero, Harry."

"And that's exactly what I don't want to be!" he snapped jumping up. "I'm fed up with being a damn hero, I'm fed up with being the Boy Who Lived, I'm fed up with people's adoration just because Voldemort gave me this fucking scar! I'm fed up with Dumbledore keeping me in a golden cage, I'm fed up with Trelawney's stupid prophecy, I'm fed up with women having a crush on me! Why not put an article into the Daily Prophet, saying 'Hey, ladies, fox season over, Harry Potter season opens, all you have to do is get Cho Chang's hair and go, get your hero for a night!' Honestly..." Harry's voice faltered. "I'm fed up with it all."

"Good shouting," Ginny stood up. "Feeling any better now?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"You know, you made me want to laugh at this Harry Potter season," she smiled, but when she met his angry glance, she willed herself to vanish the smile off her face. "Er... what sort of prophecy were you talking about?"

"Bugger," he murmured. "I shouldn't have said that..."

"When you're angry, sometimes you don't have control over what you're saying," Ginny stepped up to him, taking his hand. "Come, sit down here," she guided him to the fireplace, and they sat down on the hearthrug, facing each other.

"If you don't want to tell me about it, it's okay..."

"I think I want to," he replied. "Besides this stupid adventure at Christmas, the prophecy is the other thing most bothering me. It's... it's the one that used to be stored in that small glass sphere that Voldemort wanted from the Department of Mysteries."

"The one that smashed?"

"Yes. It smashed and the Death Eaters never got it, but Dumbledore has a copy of in his Pensieve. It's a prediction made by Trelawney."

"Honestly, Harry," she said with an amused smirk, "why are you concerned about a prediction made by that old fraud?"

"Because this one seems to be real," he pursed his lips.

"And what does it say?" she asked. When he didn't reply for a minute, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He reached out tentatively and covered her hand with his other one.

"It says that I'll either kill Voldemort or will be killed by him."

He looked up to meet her eyes that were full with compassion.

"Now I understand it, Harry," she whispered. "It's not a happy prophecy... it can't be easy to live together with the knowledge... or supposed knowledge of something like that."

"No, it's really not easy. And what makes it even more difficult is that I can't talk to people about it. Not even Ron and Hermione. Ron would think it's a joke, coming from Trelawney, and Hermione would be frightened to death. I... I don't even know why I told you at all."

"Perhaps because I'm not as quick-tempered as Ron, nor as serious as Hermione."

"Perhaps," he shrugged with a small smile. "I think it helped a bit... to talk to you, Ginny."

"I knew it would," she beamed.

Suddenly he felt engulfed in something warm, and felt the long-forgotten feeling of his stomach doing a back flip.

Clearly not knowing how to react to his peculiar stare, she covered his right hand with her free, left one, now both their hands sandwiched between the other's.

"You're blushing," he whispered.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not," Ginny said with as much dignity as the Queen. "I have sworn never to blush in your presence again, Harry Potter."

"You shouldn't have. The blushing Ginny is sort of cute."

"I thought you didn't like the blushing Ginny," she replied, trying to pull her hand out of his, but he held it firmly.

"I didn't like the old Ginny blush, but I don't mind the new one blushing."

"So, you like the new Ginny better?" she cocked her head, looking amused.

"I think I do."

"Great. The new Ginny must go now."

Seeing his desperate expression, she quickly added: "Next therapy same time, same place next week."

"All right," he nodded, smiling and let her disappear out of the Come and Go Room.

* * * * *

Due to Ginny's 'therapy' Harry slowly changed back into his normal self - neither too introverted, nor too extroverted, but somewhere in the middle.

He couldn't really put a finger on it, but Ginny's closeness calmed him. Ever since their first 'therapy' in the Room of Requirement Harry had been developing feelings for her, and was surprised to notice that he never felt uneasy in her presence like he had with Cho, he never felt worried that he'd say something stupid and scare her away - Ginny simply wasn't the sort of girl one could easily scare away - at least not anymore. From that frightened, shy little girl he had got to know so many years ago, she had turned into a determined, well-balanced young woman, who managed to give Harry moral support when he needed it, and managed to cheer him up when he was sad.

Though neither of them said it aloud, after a while they started to consider the therapy-meetings as dates and they even developed a habit of holding each other's hands during these meetings.

It was already the last week before the school year's end, and their last 'therapy', when Harry screwed up his courage and said:

"Something funny occurred to me, Ginny."

"What?" she asked, sitting on the hearthrug, encircling her drawn-up legs with her arms.

"I just remembered what Ron said at the end of the last school year."

"Why, what did he say?"

"He said I should choose someone more cheerful than Cho..."

"Funny, to me he said I should choose someone better than Michael next time..." she replied with a grin, knowing what he was getting at. When she had told Ron that she had chosen Dean Thomas instead, she had been merely joking. And now... were her dreams finally coming true?

"I think," he slipped a bit closer to her on the hearthrug," I have found someone more cheerful than Cho..."

"I think I have also found someone better than Michael..." she replied.

"You're blushing again."

"Maybe," she smirked, "but this time you're blushing, too."

"Am not," he said defiantly.

"Are too," she answered, leaning a bit closer.

"Am not," he whispered, leaning forward like she had.

"Are too," she said, barely audible, and their lips met in their first kiss.

"I love you, Ginny," he breathed when they parted.

"I love you too. But don't expect me to give you twelve children."

"What...?" he blinked, then remembered having told her about Sybill's attempt to upset Umbridge. They both burst into laughter, then kissed again, laughed, kissed, laughed, kissed...

"You know what?" he chuckled. "We could make an agreement: if I get chosen as Minister for Magic, then you'll give me twelve kids."

"Deal," she held out her right hand and her shook it. "You'll never be Minister, Harry, and you know it as well as I do."

"A boy can dream," he smiled.

"Is it really your dream?" she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "To become Minister for Magic?"

"No," he shook his head, still grinning. "Rather to have a big family. Lots of little Potters, to whom I'd give all the love I could never get from my own parents."

"Harry..."

Before she could get sentimental, he added with a wink: "Not to mention that creating those kids is a lot of fun, too."

She rolled her eyes, then looked back at him with a more serious expression. "Just to think that we would never have got together if you hadn't been misled by that woman..."

She couldn't finish her sentence, for he reached out and put his index finger on her lips. "Sshhh... don't ever talk about her again. Forget about her, I have already forgotten. Whoever she was, she belongs to the past and will never stand in our way."

* * * * *

The summer dragged, Harry had never longed so much to go back to the wizarding world. He and Ginny had gone official after their last 'therapy', and were writing each other daily. She wrote him about Ron's attempts to convince their mother to let Hermione spend some time at the Burrow, but Molly couldn't be persuaded.

Despite the utter boredom at number 4 Privet Drive, there were some little things that lifted Harry's spirits beside Ginny's letters. First of all: he had come of age and was finally allowed to do magic when Muggles didn't see him. Then, of course, there were all the wonderful birthday presents he had received from his friends (the absence of Sirius' usual present was still painful), and Harry couldn't help but feel delighted when Dudley's first date with Piers Polkiss' sister Priscilla turned out to be a real catastrophe.

"Why are you grinning?" Dudley growled at Harry who couldn't hide his mirth. "As though you had dated so many girls..."

"Actually I've dated three," he replied.

"Three? And who?" Dudley asked with a dark expression.

"You don't know them," Harry waved. "Come to think of it, there was one of them I didn't know, either..." seeing Dudley's confused and jealous expression Harry gave him the coup de grace, "but at least she was good in bed." With that he got up from the sofa and left his fuming cousin alone.

Two days before the end of the holidays Harry received an owl from Mrs Weasley with his new schoolbooks (we knew you couldn't go to Diagon Alley dear, so we bought them for you).

Strangely the Weasleys' owl wasn't the only one delivering him a message that day. A black owl soared through the window, dropped a message on his head and was off.

Curiously Harry opened the letter that consisted of one single line:

Happy belated birthday, Harry.

Attached to the back of the letter there was a rather dark wizard photograph of a little bundle that kept slightly squirming. At first Harry had no idea what it could be, then he walked with it to the window to have a better look at it in the morning sunshine. In the light Harry could properly make out the bundle that turned out to be some sort of a swaddling cloth, from which only the tiny, bald head and two minuscule hands of a baby were poking out. The little one looked a bit like those premature infants he had sometimes seen in the News.

Premature infant... that meant it had to have been born around the eighth month...

The photo fell out of Harry's hands.