Xchange Students

Chapter 5: Hellfire and Heart

An elegant Georgian mansion is atypical architecture for the buzzing center of New York City, but the owners of this building had zealously maintained its impressive facade. Even the impassive footmen at the doors were clad in Regency costumes, though their capacious pockets might contain Tasers and telescopic batons while their powdered wigs could effectively conceal high-tech radio earpieces. This was, after all, a place for the wealthy and powerful--the New York branch of the Hellfire Club.

Ostensibly, this was an exclusive club for society's elite. The men and women who passed these portals reeked of old money, invisible business empires and ruthlessly wielded political influence. The cars that swept up to the foot of the steps included no white stretch Cadillacs, red Ferraris or silver Porsches. Lincoln, Jaguar and Rolls-Royce were the marques of choice.

Inside, the club was a haven for genteel dissipation. Here, a gentleman who had drunk too much would be discreetly escorted upstairs to sleep it off. Here, a man could bring his mistress, or a woman her lover, with not an eyebrow raised. For those who came alone, a selection of companions to suit all tastes was available.

But, among the cocktails and conviviality, other activities went on. Above the public rooms and the private suites was a penthouse level with soundproof and electronically secure meeting rooms. There was a communications suite with satellite links to the Club's branches in Los Angeles, London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, Moscow, Capetown, Hong Kong, Tokyo and Sydney. In these rooms, decisions were made and bargains struck that affected the lives of millions, the economies of nations, and the future of the world.

Yet, even the privileged few with access to that upper floor were ignorant of what lay below them. Beneath the wine cellars was a complex that stretched to encompass an entire subterranean city block. This was the headquarters of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club-an elite unknown even to the elite.

That Saturday evening, in the oak-paneled conference room at the heart of his underground domain, Sebastian Shaw, Black King of the Inner Circle, was preparing for a meeting.

Shaw was a tall, powerfully built man in his early forties, owner and president of a medium-sized company called Shaw Industries. By methods honest, dishonest and surreptitious, Shaw had added to the stock portfolio built up by his grandfather and father until he owned, always inconspicuously, a controlling interest in literally hundreds of businesses worldwide. His wealth, both personal and corporate, was incalculable, but it paled by comparison with his influence.

All of this, though, would mean nothing if the world learned his greatest secret. Sebastian Shaw was a Mutant. He possessed the ability to absorb and metabolize kinetic energy, a power that made him almost invulnerable to physical attack and allowed him to acquire temporarily superhuman strength. Shaw knew that if the public ever learned of his Mutant status, the empire he had built would fall into ruin.

Shaw was a businessman, and a politician. He knew how to get things done. He had formed the Inner Circle two years ago. The requirements for membership were simple: wealth, influence, and the stigma of mutancy. The Inner Circle's aim was to insinuate Mutants into the fabric of society's political and economic echelons. Before people realized what had happened, Mutant domination would be a fait accompli.

In a rare moment of whimsy, Shaw had decided that members should name themselves after a chessman. Of course, he would be the Black King. His loyal lieutenant and lover, Emma Frost, was the White Queen.

Today, his queen had suffered a setback. Shaw had sent Emma and several squads of mercenaries to capture youngsters from Xavier's school. Shaw had been unable to place a spy inside the school, but remote surveillance revealed that the three most powerful senior students, code-named Rogue, Iceman and Colossus, were unaccountably absent. Meanwhile, three neo-Mutants had arrived at the school from the UK. When word came that the students were away from school at a local shopping mall that day, Shaw had acted quickly.

The mission had been an absolute failure. Not only had Xavier's students proved more determined and resourceful than anticipated, but the three neo-Mutants had also turned out to be nothing of the kind. What they were, Shaw had no idea, but they were clearly every bit as dangerous as their Mutant classmates. To add insult to injury, Shaw had not anticipated the swift intervention by four of Xavier's adult X-Men. Clearly, a bolder and more radical strategy was required.

The Black King bore neither the young Mutants nor their mentor any personal ill will. But, as a businessman, Shaw could not bear to see valuable assets wasted. Xavier had no idea how to use these children properly. Shaw did.

The door in front of him opened, and the tall, slender figure of the White Queen entered. Shaw rose to his feet and hurried to meet her, taking her into his arms.

"It's OK, Sebastian," Emma said, returning his embrace. "I'm fine. I was just a little shaken up, that's all."

They shared a lingering kiss, then turned to business. Shaw said, "Leland and Pierce should be here, momentarily. Is there anything you need to tell me before they arrive?"

"Nothing they don't need to know. But, I'll tell you, now, those English kids are going to be a handful!"

"Hmm. They're not our primary target, but that doesn't mean they can be killed or injured out of hand. Where there are kids, there are adults like them. We could be inviting the kind of trouble we don't need right now!"

The Inner Circle as yet numbered only four. Not surprisingly, Shaw had found it difficult to recruit individuals who fit his strict requirements. The first to arrive of the remaining two was Henry Leland, the shadowy figure behind a worldwide media empire.

Leland reminded some people of Henry VIII. He was destined to be a stocky man, but years of self-indulgence had added an extra two hundred pounds to his weight. He had a ruddy face framed by gingery hair and beard, and pale blue, protuberant eyes. Leland was a Mutant who could geometrically increase the mass of any object or person he selected. Code-named the Black Bishop, Leland was the Inner Circle's intelligence officer, using his media contacts and complex computer systems to ferret out deeply held secrets.

Closely following Leland was the White Rook, Donald Pierce. Tall, thin and dark, with pale ascetic features, Pierce had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, a talent for engineering and electronics, and a reckless nature. He was the only Inner Circle member whose name was widely known to the public. Some years ago, the playboy inventor had been testing a race car of his own design when tragedy struck: Pierce had been pulled, horribly scarred and crippled, from the burning wreckage, and had begun the life of a recluse in his family's remote mansion.

Skilled plastic surgery had restored his face, and his own genius had replaced his lost limbs with powerful cybernetic ones. When he chose to take direct action, the White Rook's bionic limbs made him a human juggernaut. To the public, he remained a crippled recluse, but, to the Inner Circle, he was a provider of high-tech devices and advanced weaponry.

Emma Frost, millionaire heiress, noted educationalist and Mutant telepath, was glad to note that none of these men blamed her for the afternoon's fiasco. There had been a wild card in the pack, and they were all experienced enough players to respect that fact.

Shaw opened the meeting. "Any questions about Emma's report?"

"These Brits," said Pierce, "you say they're not Mutants?"

The White Queen shook her head. "We could get no readings from them. Our field-issue scanners aren't very sensitive, though. If we'd gotten the kids into the truck, we'd have learned more.

"I wasn't able to mind-scan them deeply, as Xavier was watching all the time, but they don't think of themselves as Mutants. They think--" she paused and shrugged. "They think they're wizards, or two wizards and a witch, actually."

Nobody laughed. Leland frowned. "If they are, they're weak ones. Nothing they did to any of our people caused permanent or serious harm."

"They were holding back," Frost explained. "They kept reminding themselves that our men were only...the word they used was 'Muggles', whatever that means. Anyhow, they were only using low-level stuff. The energy manifestation the kid called Harry set on me was much more powerful. It could have killed me if he'd let it."

This news was also accepted with silent nods. Shaw decided to move on.

"We have an impasse, then. Emma, are you sure we can't bring any of Xavier's staff over to us?"

The White Queen said, "Summers, McCoy and Monroe are all ex-students; they see Xavier as a father and would never betray him. Cassidy and Xavier go back a long way--too long for us to turn him. Kurt Wagner--the Nightcrawler, as they call him--feels he's finally found a family, and he won't let them down. That leaves Wolverine. He respects Xavier, but he's intensely loyal to the kids. He'd be harder to turn than the rest put together. Henry, do we know any more about Wolverine?"

Leland blew out his cheeks, a characteristic gesture of frustration. "More than he knows himself, probably, but that's precious little. We made copies of Stryker's files about the Weapon X Project. We know that Logan was part of the Special Forces in Cambodia and Laos. After he escaped from Alkali Lake, he worked for Canada's Department H, where he helped Vindicator set up their Alpha Flight Project. Then, he cut out and went to Japan, where he had some run-ins with the Yakuza. Finally, he came back to Alberta, where Xavier recruited him.

"As to the rest, it's all rumor and folk-tales. Old folks in Alberta still talk about a wild man in the woods called 'Logan'--the one who brings home lost kids, takes out rogue bears and, they say, fought the Wendigo. But, those stories go back to the 1900s! There was a soldier called Logan who served in the Canadian Army in both world wars and Korea. Probably a family thing, but people say it was the same man. Who the hell knows?"

Shaw had made up his mind. "We need those kids before Xavier ruins them. His mansion is isolated, so there's no reason not to make a daylight raid. I don't think anyone here wants to take on Wolverine, Nightcrawler or the Beast in the dark! We go in fast, grab all the kids and get out. Emma, are any of the Hellions ready, yet?"

Frost considered. "Jetstream is still recovering from his latest bionic implants. Cypher's no good in a fight, and Tarot is too unstable. Thunderbird, Catseye and Empath are ready, but they need field experience. But, even with them and the four of us, Sebastian, we're no match for the X-Men."

"Not to worry. Donald is stacking the deck for us. Donald?"

The White Rook grinned. "I can have six Sentinels battle-ready in three weeks' time, Sebastian."

"That's it, then. As for the English kids, we take and examine them. Then, if needs be, we send 'em back where they came from with an apology and a large sum of money. Business is business, after all."

**** **** ****

Harry, Ron, Hermione and their Mutant friends returned to Xavier's mansion and, by unspoken consent, made their way into the Quiet Lounge, which was blessedly empty. They were all in a subdued mood, as opposed to the adrenalin high they had been on just after the battle ended. Harry and Kitty were holding hands, which seemed right; Harry felt no compulsion to let go of her. They sat on the couch, and Kitty once again snuggled against him as he put his arm around her.

Everyone seemed to feel a need to be together. Harry recognised the feeling. In the past, after what Hermione insisted on calling their "adventures", the three of them had really wanted nothing more than to sit quietly together for a while. Of course, it was more than just three of them here, and, with Kitty resting, warm and quiet against him, Harry thought this was even better.

Then, Professor Xavier wheeled himself into the room. It was not uncommon for the Professor to be seen in here; in fact, over the week, he had played several evenly matched chess games with Ron. But, under these circumstances, Harry could not help thinking of Scott's rebuke. Were they to be sent back to Hogwarts in disgrace?

The Professor asked, "May I have your attention, please? I realize you have all been through an ordeal, but it is important that I should debrief you while your memories are fresh. The process will take only a few moments. Please relax and close your eyes. Try not to think of anything."

Harry complied, surprised to feel a presence in his mind. It was the warm, kindly, but immensely powerful, presence of Xavier! The Professor's thoughts said, (Relax, Harry, I mean you no harm. If you do not wish me to share your thoughts in this way, I can speak to you more conventionally in the morning.)

Instinctively, Harry replied without speaking. (It's OK, Professor. I was just surprised. Anyway, I couldn't stop you, could I?)

(You underestimate yourself. None of the others are even aware of my telepathic presence. Yours is an unusual mind, Harry. If you were to set your will to block me, I should find it no easy task to break through.)

Harry relaxed deliberately, and felt the Professor's delicate probing of his afternoon memories. It was over in seconds, and Harry felt somehow cleaner, refreshed.

(Thank you, Harry.)

"Thank you all," said the Professor, aloud. "Now, I think you should all go up to your rooms, take a shower and change. Then, come back here. Rather than go to the cafeteria, I've arranged for you to have dinner in this room--something a little special by way of saying 'Well done!'"

"Professor," Harry asked anxiously, "are we going to be sent home?"

Xavier smiled. "Not on any recommendation of mine, Harry. I should be sorry to lose you all so soon, especially since Ron is a game ahead of me in our little tournament.

"However, the final decision is not mine, but Professor Dumbledore's. I am meeting with him tomorrow; we will know the outcome then. It appears you three have not been alone in finding some excitement. Yes, Logan?"

Wolverine had appeared at the door. "Just reporting in. I've swept the perimeter. We weren't followed, but I found some miniature cameras and bugs set up outside--high-tech remote surveillance stuff. I disabled it all."

The Professor nodded, and said good night. Logan approached Harry. Hermione and Ron moved closer. Wolverine addressed them all. "You kids did good, real good. I'm proud of you all!"

This speech had the desired effect. Logan was sparing in his praise of students, so encouraging words were the more valued when bestowed. He looked at the three Hogwarts students. "I'll be at this meeting tomorrow. I just want to say that if I get a vote, you'll be staying, OK?"

The three nodded their thanks. Ron indicated the close-fitting outfit Wolverine was wearing. "I like the uniform, but black leather?"

"Fashion police made me give up yellow spandex," growled Logan. "By the way, you three, your uniforms are on order, should arrive Monday. Report to the Danger Room at fourteen hundred Monday, sharp! You kids are in my classes from now on." Logan left.

"What's Spandex?" Ron asked.

"Lycra," replied Hermione, without thinking.

"Ah! Good!" said Ron. "Er, Hermione?"

Hermione, realising what she'd done, closed her eyes as if in prayer. "Yes, Ron?"

"What's Lycra?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands for a moment, then flung herself at Ron and began to kiss him savagely. The rest of them were still laughing as they made their way upstairs.

Harry showered quickly, and was finished by the time Ron, tousled and grinning from ear to ear, came into the room. He took one look at Harry, and went quietly about his business.

Harry didn't want to go back to Hogwarts so soon. Oh, he missed Ginny and Lavender and Neville and the rest, but now there were his new friends to consider. There was more he wanted to find out about them and to share with them. He also felt that being sent home would reflect badly on the school, and on Dumbledore, who had placed so much trust in him.

Harry had changed since coming here. Last year, he had been coldly angry and driven. After the loss of Sirius, he had felt compelled to withdraw from human relationships. People Harry loved died. To keep them safe, he reasoned, he must cease to love them. Because he loved Ron and Hermione most of all, he had even drawn away from them. But, they had refused to let him go.

Molly Weasley, whom Harry had begun to believe was wiser, in her way, than Dumbledore, had dragged him into the heart of probably the most loving family in England. Even Harry's iron will had been unable to keep up his walls in those circumstances. By the time he returned to Hogwarts, he had been more himself, open to the unexpected pang of pure joy he had felt when Hermione and Ron finally found each other. But, the weight of his unresolved destiny still pressed on him.

Then, he had come to Xavier's (and now he wondered if this was part of the reason Dumbledore had sent him here) and rediscovered his younger, lighter, self. These Americans, with their open faces and uncomplicated friendliness, had struck a chord with him. Their strange abilities were almost irrelevant; Harry, too, had some uncanny powers. What mattered was that they expected nothing more of him than simply to be Harry. Even today's battle had not changed that, he realised, because Harry Potter--the real Harry Potter--had always been someone who would put his life on the line for a friend without hesitation or reservation.

Harry heard the shower start to run, and Ron's pleasant baritone rose in a song he liked from Sam's favourite CD:

"Sirens are screaming/And the fires are howling/Way down in the valley tonight/There's a man in the shadows/With a gun in his eye/And a....OWWWW! Oh, bloody hell!"

Harry flopped over onto his stomach and laughed heartily into the pillow. After one week, Ron had still to get the hang of the sophisticated, ultra-modern shower cubicle!

By the time Ron came back into the room, Harry had stopped brooding and chuckling. Ron looked at him and nodded. "All sorted, mate?"

"Not by a long chalk," Harry admitted, "but it's better than it was-- better than it's been for long enough!"

"Good." Ron paused a moment, then said, "She's a nice girl, Harry, and she likes you a lot. She also fancies you something rotten. So give over being stubborn and give it a chance, all right?"

Harry knew what Ron meant. He had learned many years ago not to underestimate his friend. Ron's eyes might be guileless, but they missed very little. Behind the big grin was a mind like a steel trap. Harry nodded once more.

The students arrived in the Quiet Lounge to find Professor McCoy, Kurt Wagner and Storm already there. The two men were unpacking a collection of large, paper sacks onto the table. From an assortment of cartons, tubs and foil boxes arose a mingling of aromas unfamiliar to Harry, but extremely tempting. At the sideboard, Storm was busy setting out soft drinks.

McCoy, nicknamed 'Beast' for his furry skin and superhuman human strength and agility, turned to the students. "Charles said you all deserved something special tonight, so we sent out. Hope everyone likes Chinese."

Ron's stomach gave an audible growl. Hermione glared and whacked Ron lightly on the arm, just as Sam's stomach followed suit. Hermione and Rahne shared a sympathetic glance.

Kurt laughed. "Come on, Hank," said the man they called Nightcrawler. "Let's leave the kids to it before those two faint from hunger!"

The adults withdrew. It appeared that everyone did like Chinese food, even Harry and Ron, who had never tried it before. The chopsticks were another matter, however, causing a certain amount of affectionate amusement among the Americans as the Hogwarts trio tried to master them. Of all people, Hermione cracked first, losing her patience and transfiguring her chopsticks into a fork and spoon. Harry persevered, but Ron picked up the trick very quickly. ("Of course," muttered Hermione, "it's to do with food.")

After everyone was full, and Sam and Ron had scavenged every remaining scrap from the table, the students went into the Rec Room. This being Saturday night, most of the other students were in the TV Lounge, watching a video. Sam and Ron promptly descended on the video games console. Hermione, who thought video games were boring, found herself sitting a little apart, and was mildly surprised when Dani sat beside her. They watched the play for a time, then Dani said, "Hermione, just in case everyone else forgets, I want to tell you how incredible you guys were! If you hadn't been covering our backs, those mercs would have taken us down one by one. So, thanks, we owe you."

Hermione shook her head. "It was a team effort, Dani. But, I must say, I hadn't realised what you all could do! I mean, you'd shown us a bit of your talents, but to see you in action was just superb!" She paused a moment. "Dani, I've got something to say, too. I just want to thank you all for everything. Whatever happens tomorrow, you've done your very best to make us feel welcome here, and we won't forget you."

"Do you think you'll have to go back?" asked Dani.

"I don't know. Professor McGonagall will want to bring us home. She's a bit of a worrier and a stickler for rules and everything. Dumbledore's different, though. In the past, the three of us have got up to...well, we've told you some of it. We should have been expelled, but Dumbledore always decided that the reasons we'd done things were more important than what we'd actually done. So, we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed."

Impulsively, Dani touched Hermione's arm. "I - we - don't want you to go. If you are sent back, we're gonna be so mad at Professor X! But, he knows that. Anyway, Logan's behind you, and if your Professor Dumbledore is as smart as you say he is, he won't go up against Wolverine. Apart from that, there's those two to think about." Dani nodded to where Harry and Kitty were sitting together, fingers entwined, watching the game. "They're right on the edge of something special together. If you have to go home tomorrow...."

"I know. If it were anyone but Harry, something would have happened by now. But, he's been through so much, and he's so alone."

"Well, if you stay, and if they still don't say anything to each other, you and I will just have to take care of it, Hermione!"

While their friends plotted, Harry and Kitty sat silently together. Nestled against Harry, Kitty's mind drifted into the past. Today had been her first time as team leader in a combat situation, and she felt reflective. It hadn't been so very long ago that she was just an ordinary girl.

She had been thirteen-and-a-half years old, a straight-A student, popular and a cheerleader, when everything changed. Kitty had wakened cold and uncomfortable one bright spring morning to find herself staring up at the underside of her bed. She was unaccountably lying on the floor amid the dust bunnies and discarded magazines!

Without thinking, she jerked to a sitting position. Instead of cracking her head on the bottom of her bed, she was sitting, head and shoulders above the coverlet, butt planted on the floor and the rest of her somehow in and through the bed. Her cry of terror brought her parents running. She burst into hysterics, leapt out of the bed and flung herself into her mother's arms. Mercifully, Kitty was solid again. She and her family agreed that whatever it was, they would keep it a secret and act as if nothing had happened.

The next day, though, they had visitors. Professor Charles Xavier and Dr. Jean Grey said they had something to tell Kitty about herself. It was then that Kitty learned about Mutants, those other people in the world with abilities like hers.

Professor Xavier told her about the school he ran in upper New York state, a school for Mutants, where they could learn to use their powers and be safe from people who wanted to enslave or destroy them. He asked if Kitty would like to go to his school. There was no hurry to decide, he said. He left a number and the promise that, whatever her decision, if she ever needed help, he would do whatever he could.

Kitty's family talked late into the night and decided that Kitty should stay home. Her Mutant ability didn't involve any physical changes so it should be easy to hide. Kitty had wanted a normal life, with school, friends, college and all the rest. Her mom called Professor Xavier the next day, thanked him for his offer, but declined his help. She said she would keep in touch.

For a year, everything was fine. Kitty started dating a boy named Kenny. He was an honor student, like her, and quarterback of the football team. He was a blond, blue-eyed, fresh-faced, all-American kid. Kitty adored Kenny with all her heart.

Then, it happened. Kitty had arranged to meet Kenny and their friends at the library to work on a project for school. She had gotten a little held up, so, as she neared the building, she saw them all waiting for her at the top of the steps. Waving happily, she glanced to right and left, and began to run across the street. A sedan roared out of a side street at around 60 and bore down on her. There was no time to dodge: Kitty reacted instinctively and the car shot straight through her to screech to a halt a few yards down the street.

The driver was too drunk to believe what he had seen, but sober enough to realize he'd been lucky. He burned rubber out of there. Kitty was left standing in the middle of the street, looking up at her friends as they stared down at her. From the top of the stairs, they'd seen everything; there was no chance Kitty could bluff her way out of it.

Kenny was the first to react. That was what hurt Kitty most, what still made her cry into her pillow, every so often. In terrible slow motion, Kitty remembered him raising his hand to point at her with fear and hatred in his eyes. His mouth stretched wide. "MUTIE!" he yelled. "She's a Mutie!"

The others took up the cry. Kitty ran blindly, desperately, sobbing as she went, making her way home by pure instinct. There, she locked herself in her room and cried until she had no more tears. The next day, Kitty left for Xavier's.

Her parents still loved her. They called her every couple days and wrote her every week. They visited some weekends; they were due this coming Friday, and Kitty couldn't wait to introduce them to Harry.

Kitty's train of thought was interrupted by an outcry from the others.

The Rec Room had been the scene of Ron's best and worst moments at Xavier's. He had tried to use the remote control of the TV like a magic wand, finally discarding it and using his wand, instead. His attempts to work the CD player and game console had caused immense hilarity. After Kitty had explained to him how CDs worked, Ron had concluded that by combining a Legis Arcanum spell for reading hidden writing and a Sonorous charm, he could make a CD play without the player!

The games console had provided a different set of challenges. For a long time, Ron had treated the game sprites like Wizard Chessmen, trying to give them verbal orders. Now, however, there was a burst of cheering, and Roberto was pounding Ron's back.

Rahne cried out in protest, "Would you look at that? Ron, ye've just ripped ma heart out!"

"Don't worry, Rahne," called Hermione, "he does that to all the girls."

The incident became a kind of signal. The group began to separate as the various couples went in search of some private space. Kitty suddenly realized that, tonight, she didn't want to sit in the Quiet Lounge and talk. She felt restless. "Harry, walk with me in the arboretum?"

"OK, sounds nice," said Harry.

The arboretum was an enormous, Victorian-style conservatory, four floors high, covering half the width of the back of the mansion before extending out into the gardens. It had been built by the Professor's great grandfather to house his collection of exotic plants. Subsequent generations had added to the collection and lovingly maintained the great structure. Sleek, modern air-conditioning and humidifiers had replaced the old, lead pipes and furnaces, but there were still the galleries and wrought-iron staircases, and the marble-floored mezzanine where Storm (who was a creature of the sky and open spaces) preferred to teach her classes. It was a favourite play space for younger students when the weather was bad, and a trysting place for older ones.

As they walked, Kitty tried to decide about Harry.

It had been lust at first sight, Kitty was honest enough to admit--he was so damned hot! Then, she had gotten to know him, and decided he was kind, smart, brave and had a wonderful wry sense of humor. He obviously liked her, too. But, was she ready to do anything about it? Harry was sensitive, and, if she screwed it up, she might lose a friendship she valued.

She wished Marie were here. She could have talked to Marie--gotten it all out. Marie would have advised and supported her. Kitty thought about asking Hermione, who surely knew Harry well, what to do about him. But, Kitty didn't want to impose on Hermione. She'd already badgered the poor girl into telling her about Harry's abortive relationship with Cho Chang (more than Harry had told her, anyway, and if Kitty ever got to Hogwarts, that bitch was toast!). Hermione knew how Kitty felt; she was too smart and too protective of Harry to miss the clues.

Harry! Every time Kitty closed her eyes, Harry's face floated before her, framed in that wild black hair, with the gentle smile and the look in those magnetic eyes that she knew--she knew!--was only for her. She realized she had made her decision. Kitty cared deeply for Harry Potter--maybe even loved him-and, in her heart of hearts, she believed he felt the same way about her. Somehow, right now, she was going to let him know how she felt.

Harry had to decide what to do about Kitty. The young male animal part of him already knew what it wanted. It had done so ever since Kitty had come across the Quiet Lounge on their first day here, moving with a grace that Harry found fascinating. He could picture her face at will, with its perfect, delicate cheekbones, pert nose, full lips and clear, honest, hazel eyes.

Then there was the Kitty with whom he had talked long into the nights. Open, warm-hearted and as bright as Hermione, Kitty had been hurt; he had sensed that even before she told him her story. Her heart had retreated like a frightened animal (if Harry ever got his hands on this Kenny...), but she obviously had come to trust Harry enough to begin to reopen her heart--and that scared him.

Harry's only experience of an intimate relationship with a girl was his awkward and farcical romance with Cho Chang. Too shy to approach her in his Fourth Year, he had been overshadowed by the dashing Cedric Diggory. Then, Cedric had died as Harry watched helplessly--a stupid, wasteful, empty death and one more point in Harry's long, bitter score against Voldemort. Cho Chang had pursued Harry after that, but she had only wanted to share her grief for Cedric. What was that song Rahne was always playing-- "Tainted Love"? All Cho Chang had offered Harry was tainted love.

But, now, there was Kitty, her smile, her mile-a-minute chatter, her quick wit, and the special warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. She often touched him casually, but every touch was electric. The feel of her body against him lingered, as did the feel of her lips, however light, on his cheek. Harry realised that she was not just opening her heart to him--she was offering it. Vulnerable, a little scared, but sincere and yearning, that was his Kitty. For now, his heart belonged to Kitty Pryde, and, when the moment came, he would tell her so.

As Harry and Kitty walked together, Harry felt an odd sensation; always, when he played Quidditch, the world narrowed down, so there was just him, the sky and the golden Snitch. He felt perfectly balanced, at peace. Now, here, he realised, there was just him, the scented air of the arboretum, and Kitty, so close by his side. He felt the same sense of rightness.

They stopped under the spreading branches of some tree Harry didn't recognise and turned to face each other. They had both mentally rehearsed speeches for this moment, but all their carefully chosen words flew out of their heads.

Kitty reached up and traced the zigzag pattern of Harry's scar with one gentle finger. "It's part of you, Harry," she breathed, "but it's not all of you. Don't let it dictate who you are."

The appeal in her clear eyes, her soft mouth, was too much for Harry. He pulled her to him, and she slid her arms around his neck. As he bent to her, she whispered his name, her breath gently fanning his face. Then, for a long time, there was nothing except her body, so alive against him, and her lips, sweetly demanding, on his.

After a small eternity, they parted a little, still holding each other close. Kitty sighed, "I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too," he replied softly. "Kitty, I..."

"Shh!" she told him, "Talk later. After you made me wait a week for this, you are not getting away with just one kiss!"

Harry chuckled, then swung Kitty up in his arms, farther into the shadow of the tree. She gave a little cry of joy, exulting in his wiry strength. They sank to the grass beneath the tree and kissed again, more deeply this time. It was the beginning of a long, slow discovery of each other.