Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Chapter 7 - Harry Potter Tells His Story

The Quibbler

1 October 2003

EXCLUSIVE!

Harry Potter Tells His Story

By Luna Lovegood

Editor-in-Chief

Harry Potter has been the most famous man in the wizarding world for 23 years: as the "Boy Who Lived," surviving the Avada Kedavra curse as a baby and vanquishing Voldemort; as a Hogwarts student, star Quidditch player, Tri-Wizard Tournament Champion; as the "Man Who Defeated Voldemort" on his last night at Hogwarts five years ago; and finally, most recently, as the man who reappeared as suddenly as he disappeared five years ago after his best friend's funeral.

Where has Harry been? That is the question on the mind of every witch and wizard in Great Britain. Currently the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter has been inundated with owls from witches and wizards across the land, welcoming him back, wishing him well, wondering where he has been, and some even proposing marriage!

Harry sat down with The Quibbler at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade last week to tell his story for the first and, according to him, last time.

Luna Lovegood: Hello, Harry! It is good to see you again.

Harry Potter: Good to see you, too, Luna. How have you been?

LL: Fine, fine. Thank you for asking. Honestly, Harry, if I hadn't known it was you I was meeting I might not have recognized you. You look different but the same in a way.

HP: (Laughs) It has been five years.

LL: You know what I mean. No glasses, your scar is gone, your hair...the same but different.

HP: I guess I've just gotten older.

LL: So, Harry, let's answer the question that everyone wants to know. Where have you been for the last five years?

HP: The United States.

LL: You were there the entire time?

HP: Yes.

LL: Why were you gone for so long? What did you do?

HP: The first year or so I traveled across the country as a Muggle.

LL: A Muggle? Why?

HP: After everything that happened during my time at Hogwarts, I wanted, really needed, some time away from magic.

LL: Then what did you do?

HP: I got in touch with an American wizard friend of Albus Dumbledore's and rejoined the wizarding world.

LL: As much as Americans like publicity, I'm surprised that we didn't hear of you being in America before now.

HP: No one in the States knew who I was.

LL: How is that possible? I know Americans are insular, but even they knew about Voldemort and your defeat of him.

HP: I changed the way I looked and used a different name.

LL: (laughing) Very 007, Harry. What did you look like?

HP: I got rid of the glasses. The scar was gone, thank God. And, I hate to admit this, but (leaning forward and whispering) I dyed my hair.

LL: You did not! What color?

HP: Blonde. It was horrible at first. I would walk by a mirror and do a double-take every time wondering who that guy was. What a pain to maintain, too. Keeping black hair blonde is no easy task. I will never, ever do it again.

LL: (holding her sides from laughing so hard) I'm sorry, Harry, but you sound like a girl, worrying about your hair!

HP: I know, it was pathetic. (laughing)

LL: (wiping tears from her eyes) Do you have a picture of yourself as a blonde? We could use it for the story.

HP: If I do, you aren't getting it.

LL: Once you had your clever disguise in place (laughing) what did you do?

HP: Abe, Dumbledore's friend, took me in for a while and introduced me around. I made some friends and one thing led to another, and I ended up playing professional Quidditch for a team in California called the Pacifics.

LL: Were you any good?

HP: We won the National Championship two of the three years I was there.

LL: That would be a yes, then. You were the seeker?

HP: The first year I was a chaser. Their seeker retired after that year and I switched positions.

LL: What is California like?

HP: Sunny! We lived in San Diego, which has great weather. On cold, rainy days like today, I do miss the southern California weather.

LL: You said "we" lived. Who did you live with?

HP: I lived with a group of my teammates in a house on the beach. There were eight of us in a four-bedroom house.

LL: Sounds like fun.

HP: (laughing) That is putting it mildly.

LL: Care to tell us any interesting stories about it?

HP: Hmm, I might need to get permission from my ex-roommates, have them sign a release so I won't be held liable for their tarnished reputations.

LL: Wow! There is a story there...you give me a call when you get those releases signed! Earlier, you said you used another name. What was it?

HP: Ron Granger.

LL: After your two best friends from school, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?

HP: Yes.

LL: You left right after Ron's funeral without telling anyone. Why did you decide to leave?

HP: There were loads of reasons, but above all I was tired of the attention. People were coming out of the woodwork to congratulate me, offer me jobs, propose marriage, much as they are now. I wanted to be left alone and knew that it would be impossible here.

LL: You had just defeated Voldemort. That reaction was to be expected, don't you think?

HP: Yes and no. I didn't expect people to approach me at Ron's funeral with business opportunities.

LL: That is a little crass, I'll admit. Is it true that you are throwing away every letter and package you receive now?

HP: I read letters from people I know.

LL: But all the others go in the bin?

HP: I put them in a trunk that is emptied every day.

LL: Where do they go?

HP: I'm not sure. I've suggested that the house elves use them to stoke the fires in the kitchen. I'm not sure if they do or not.

LL: Don't you think that is a little... inconsiderate?

HP: (leaning forward) There is something that everyone needs to know. It is the reason I contacted you about doing this interview. I want people to understand something once and for all. I don't want the attention. I never have and I never will. I learned I was a wizard when I was 11, and in less than five minutes I learned I was the world's most famous wizard, as well. I did nothing to deserve it. I was a baby sitting in a cot one minute; the next I was a savior. That is what I've been struggling against for 12 years. I knew after Ron's funeral that I wouldn't be able to have a normal life here, so I left. All I want is to be left alone to live my life. I don't want special attention. I don't want box seats at the Quidditch World Cup. I don't want people's most prized possessions. I just want to have a normal life.

LL: What do you mean by normal?

HP: I want the life that I wasn't able to have growing up. I want a family, children. I want to have a house with a beautiful garden that my children can run and play in. I want to come home each day and kiss my wife "hello" and help her make dinner while discussing our day. I want to tuck my children in each night and read them a bedtime story. I want to teach my children how to play Quidditch. I want to wave goodbye to them on Platform 9 ¾ when they go off to Hogwarts. I want to travel on family holidays to far-away places. I want to have a normal, boring life, free from adventure but full of love.

LL: (sniffs) That was beautiful, Harry. But if you don't mind my saying so, that isn't your typical 23 year old man's definition of a "normal life." It seems like the life you had in southern California would be most young men's dream.

HP: Yes, it was a great life, but not because of the partying and socializing. People liked me for who I was, not for who they thought I was or should be from a preconceived idea of the "Boy Who Lived." And as fun as the partying was, it wore a little thin after a while.

LL: Is that what made you decide to return, your disillusionment with the party lifestyle?

HP: That and I missed my friends.

LL: By "friends" you mean Hermione Granger?

HP: She is one of my friends.

LL: I had heard from some mutual friends and former classmates that you didn't contact Hermione once during your absence. Is that true?

HP: Yes.

LL: Why didn't you contact her? Did you have a falling out before you left?

HP: No, we didn't have a falling out, but I am not going to discuss my personal life and my friends.

LL: But you were the one that contacted us and wanted to get your story out. This is part of the story.

HP: Yes, I contacted you. My friends did not. My personal life is just that, personal.

LL: Can you at least tell us if you two are friends again?

HP: We have always been friends. We always will be.

LL: Even while you were gone?

HP: Yes.

LL: So what are you plans now?

HP: Today?

LL: No, your life. What are your plans?

HP: Take it one day at a time.

LL: Thank you, Harry.

HP: You're welcome, Luna. Thank you for meeting me.

Other than his change in appearance, Harry remains much the same as I remember him from school: unfailingly polite, funny, charming and guarded at the same time. Unlike most celebrities, you believe him when he says that he doesn't want attention.

Harry Potter's life has been an amazing journey. From his dreary existence with his Muggle relatives the first 11 years of his life, to his adventures at Hogwarts, to his self-imposed exile to the States, Harry has never been average. I believe that it is time for the wizarding world to give something to Harry Potter, the man that has given so much to us. It is time to give him his wish -- to leave him alone to pursue his dreams.

The anticipation in the air around the castle was palpable. It was the day of the first Quidditch match. Each year it seemed the race for the Quidditch Cup was between two houses instead of four, and this year was no different.

Try as they might, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw never seemed to have the talent to compete with Gryffindor and Slytherin. For the last 15 years the Cup had been won by one of those two houses. As a result, most matches were decided before they even began. That was true for all but the "match of the year" between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which as it turned out, happened to be the first match of the year.

This year's match held even more subplots and drama than usual. The year before, an errant bludger sent the Slytherin Seeker to the infirmary before the game was over. He remained with Madam Pomfrey for two weeks with a severe case of Post-concussion Syndrome. Gryffindor won the game, and the Cup, by ten points.

This year the Head Boy and Girl, a Slytherin and Gryffindor respectively, made a bet on the outcome of the match. The loser had to do the late night rounds of the castle alone for a month. Each team also had Seventh Year players with professional Quidditch potential. As a result, the stands were filling with scouts of teams from across the country and from the continent.

All this drama aside, the main attraction to the first Quidditch match of the year was its referee -- Harry Potter.

The exclusive interview Harry had given to Luna had done little to deflate the interest the wizarding world had in Harry. To his consternation, it seemed to intensify. More and more wizards and witches sent him owls agreeing with his right to privacy while, by sending the owls, infringing on that privacy.

The unending attention only reaffirmed Harry's belief that his decision to leave England five years ago was the right one. Now though, he was at a loss as to what to do. He couldn't leave again. More accurately, he didn't want to leave. As much as he had enjoyed his time in the States, he had felt a peace that only being home can bring when he arrived back at Hogwarts.

He considered embracing the attention -- basking in the glory people seemed determined to heap upon him and making himself so ever-present in the tabloids that surely, eventually people would tire of hearing about him and move on to the next "flavor of the month." That thought quickly fled his mind, running, if not screaming, from the horror Harry felt at being the center of attention.

He voiced these concerns and ideas to Hermione the day before the first Quidditch match after receiving yet another peck of owls during breakfast.

"I just don't know what to do," Harry finished with a sigh.

Hermione walked beside him, saying nothing, smiling and nodding at students that passed by them in the corridor.

Wondering if she needed an engraved invitation, he asked, "What do you think? What should I do?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Harry."

Harry stopped in his tracks, amazed. This was the first time he could ever remember Hermione not having an answer or an opinion. Hermione, who walked on a few steps before realizing Harry wasn't walking beside her anymore, stopped and turned around. "What?" she asked.

"I just thought you might be able to help me, give me an idea as to what I should do."

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Oh, I see. You wanted me to tell you what to do, didn't you?" She walked toward Harry, chuckling, and said, "I was such an arrogant little know-it-all in school, wasn't I?"

"No, it's just that..."

"It's okay, Harry, I know I was insufferable. I have had a few students that were just like I was and I must admit, they annoy me." She turned and started walking again. "When I first started teaching I stood up at the front of the class and talked and talked, telling them everything I knew, trying to impress the students with my knowledge. I'm sure that was a result of my trying to prove to them and myself that, even though I was the youngest Transfiguration Professor in history, I was still the smartest witch in the school. One day, I looked out at my students, really saw them, and I realized that they had all checked out, much as everyone checks out from Professor Binns' class. I wasn't teaching them, I was telling them. So I had to learn how to teach and not talk."

Harry, his brow furrowed, was a little angry. "By not helping me are you trying to teach me a lesson?"

"No. I'm saying that I'm not going to tell you what to do." She smiled and said "hello" to the Head Girl who was walking past before turning to Harry with a slight smile on her face. "Do you want my opinion?"

Harry, still confused as to the direction of the conversation and almost forgetting what he'd asked her, said, "Yes."

"I'm not surprised by the reaction to the story. You gave just enough information that people will want more. Knowing just a little is almost worse than not knowing anything at all. The little you gave them only prompted more questions, not fewer."

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "Great. So it completely backfired. I just knew it would work. It worked when I told the story about Voldemort coming back."

Harry pushed open the door to Hermione's classroom, holding it open for her to enter. "Thanks," she said, giving him a smile. "But you told everything then, you didn't leave any details out." She walked around her desk, sat down, pulled out a stack of parchment from her desk drawer and neatly stacked it in front of her. Folding her hands on top of the stack, she said, "I read the article and it was a little lean. Why didn't you tell Luna more?"

Harry sat down in a desk directly in front of Hermione's and propped his feet up. "You may not feel like I told her very much, but to me it felt like I was baring my soul."

"Well, there was the one part where you made Luna cry. That is the closest you came to 'baring your soul.' Everything else was fairly vague."

Until the moment that the words passed his lips when talking to Luna, he hadn't conceptualized what his ideal future would be. He had envied Ron's family to a point and had on some level always wanted that for himself, but hearing himself detail his dream had been disconcerting. Since that time, he had been almost obsessed with the fantasy of a family of his own. He would find himself thinking about it during any downtime that he had. More and more often, he would daydream about it, losing track of conversations...

"Harry! Did you hear me?" Hermione asked.

"What?" he started. "No, sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if the number of marriage proposals had increased since your revelation to Luna." A smile danced on Hermione's lips, struggling to break free.

"I guess I would know if I opened my mail, wouldn't I?"

"I just thought there might be some prospects for you, is all. I'm sure there are tons of witches that would love to be Mrs. Harry Potter."

"I'm not so desperate that I'm going to have a mail order bride. I'll do it the old-fashioned way, thank you very much."

"Which way is that? Sweep some poor unsuspecting girl off her feet?" Hermione asked as she began to rummage through the parchment on the desk.

"Something like that." Harry dropped his feet from Hermione's desk and leaned forward. "So what would I need to do to get you to marry me?"

Hermione stopped flipping through the parchment and looked up sharply. "What?"

"If I'm going to sweep some, how did you say, 'poor unsuspecting girl' off her feet, I need to know what to do." Harry grinned at her mischievously and she visibly relaxed.

"Oooo, brainstorming! I can do that!" Hermione said excitedly. She tapped her quill on her chin in thought. "Let's see ... first, you'd need to charm me."

"Charm you? There is a charm to make you fall in love with me?"

"No, 'charm' as in compliments, nice gestures, that sort of thing. Nothing too obvious like flowers or overblown flattery, those just sound like lines. Subtlety is the key."

"Subtle charm, okay. May I?" Harry asked reaching for a piece of parchment and quill.

"By all means." She handed over the items and continued. "Next, after you've charmed me a bit, I guess you would need to ask me out on a date."

"Wine and dine?"

"Gosh, no! Not so early on. Don't do that until you are sure you like a girl, otherwise you will never be able to get rid of her. Dinner is fine. Take her somewhere nice but informal."

"D-i-n-n-e-r," Harry spelled aloud as he wrote down step two. "What about a Quidditch match? Think I could take you to one of those?"

"Me? No. But that will just depend on the girl you are dating. If she is the sporty type, then by all means take her. Although that might be tantamount to 'wine and dine' for a sporty girl. Use your own judgment there."

"Quidditch...maybe," Harry said aloud while writing. "Okay, what's next?"

Hermione sat thinking for a moment. "Oh! A very important piece of advice: don't take a girl out on a date somewhere you wouldn't normally go just to impress her. For instance, if you take her to the Nutcracker for Christmas but would not step foot near the ballet normally, you're in trouble. Find another Christmas date, something you would do. My dad made that mistake with my mum. By the time she realized that he would never take her to the ballet again, she was too in love to care. Then when she really wanted to go to the ballet, he refused."

"Important advice," Harry recited again. He paused and said, "How should I write that?"

"Write 'be yourself.'"

As he was writing he said, "Next."

"This next step should only be taken if you really, really like someone, and then with caution."

"Sounds interesting. Go on."

"Well if you had charmed me and taken me on quite a few dates, I would want to know how you feel about me."

Harry sat there for a minute, expecting more information. He raised his eyebrows in question. "And?"

"And what? That's it. Tell me how you feel."

"That's it?" Harry asked dumbfounded. "That sounds easy."

"I guess the trick is finding the right girl. You may have to go through that with lots of girls, you know."

"So how far did Viktor get?"

"Viktor didn't find the right girl," Hermione said simply. "You never did answer my question," Hermione said, changing the subject.

"Which one?"

"Why didn't you tell Luna more, give her more details?"

"The details aren't important. And it really isn't anybody's business."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Then why do the interview at all?"

"I wanted people to know that I don't want the attention. I don't deserve it. I had hoped that when people read that they would respect my privacy. Obviously, I was wrong."

Hermione studied Harry as he stared out the window. "Have you ever thought of using this to your advantage?"

"What do you mean?"

"Using people's interest in you and what you do to further a cause or reach an objective."

Harry smirked at her, reading between the lines. "You mean promote the ABMB?"

Offended, Hermione huffed, "No, I don't want you to shill for my cause. Pick your own, something you are passionate about. Maybe it is youth Quidditch or orphaned children or 'save the nargles,' it doesn't matter. You have great power, even if you want to deny it. People will listen to what you have to say because of who you are. They may or may not buy into it, but getting them to listen to it is half the battle. Believe me, I know."

Harry leaned his head back and rested it on his chair, staring at the ceiling. "I hate to disappoint you, but that really isn't my scene. I much prefer being in the background, supporting in other, less obvious ways than standing at a podium in front of a hundred people." Harry stood up. "Any other ideas?"

"No." Hermione waved her hand. "It will die down. People will realize how normal and boring you really are and move on to obsessing about someone eminently more interesting."

"Hey! I'm not that boring."

Hermione gave Harry a pitying look. "I hate to tell you Harry, but you kind of are."

"You sure spend a lot of time with me if I'm so boring."

"Yes, well, no one has ever accused me of being the life of the party either."

Later that afternoon, Harry sat in the coach's office strapping on his protective equipment, thinking how strange he would feel flying around the Pitch and not looking for the Snitch. He hated to admit it, but this was to be his first match as a referee and he was somewhat nervous. Focusing on the players instead of the Snitch was going to be a challenge. Madam Hooch had owled some refereeing tips to him just in case he needed them. His nerves weren't helped by the fact that this was Gryffindor, his old house, versus Slytherin, his most hated house. Snape had already made several veiled comments, or rather threats, regarding his objectivity. Harry was determined to be fair to the snakes, even though he would rather not.

He could hear the muffled sounds of the crowd arriving. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that there were thirty minutes until game time. Leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on his desk, he opened the mini-refrigerator just behind his desk and pulled out a sports drink. Hearing a knock on the door he yelled, "Come in!"

Hermione poked her head through the door. "Hey! Can I come in?"

"Please, I'm bored."

"No pre-game jitters?" she asked playfully, sitting in the chair across from his desk.

"Nah. Nerves of steel." He took a gulp of his drink.

Hermione arched one eyebrow and said, "What is that you are drinking?"

"Gatorade. Want some?" he asked, offering her the bottle.

"No thanks. That's an unnatural shade of blue," she said wrinkling her nose.

"I've got other flavors," he offered, opening the refrigerator.

"That's okay." Giving him an appraising look she asked, "Have you talked to Snape today?"

"At breakfast. He was being his usual friendly, upbeat self. Why?"

"It seems that someone slipped a potion or something into his food or drink this morning."

Harry's expression was one of shock. "Really?! Is he okay?"

"Oh, he is fine. He just sounds like he swallowed helium when he talks, is all."

Harry spat some Gatorade out of his mouth when he started laughing, sending blue flecks of liquid onto Hermione's robes. "Sorry," he said to her, grabbing his wand and performing a cleaning spell on her robes. "Why would someone want to do that to our dear, sweet, loveable Professor Snape?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I don't know."

Innocently, Harry said, "Me either. If it was a potion I'm sure Neville knows an antidote for it."

"He doesn't, as a matter of fact. Apparently it is a new potion developed by an apothecary in the States. There isn't an antidote yet."

Harry made an indistinguishable sound and nodded his head, taking another drink of his Gatorade. "I wonder how long the effects will last."

"Anywhere from one to three days depending on the amount ingested."

Hermione continued to study Harry, whose face was completely impassive. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly and he asked, "So, how did he sound?"

Hermione tried, but failed to keep a straight face, "Like a Teletubby!"

As it turned out, it wasn't hard to focus on the players rather than the Snitch as Harry had feared. In fact, a couple of times he very nearly got knocked off his broom by a bludger. The players were on their best behavior. Perhaps due to the large number of scouts in the stands, the match was relatively incident free, which was unusual for a Gryffindor/Slytherin showdown. Only a handful of fouls were committed and the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch after less than an hour of play. Slytherin won the match by 10 points.

After the match, Harry was in his office re-shelving the Quidditch equipment when Hermione knocked and poked her head in the door.

"Hey!" she said, opening the door wider. "Look who I found."

Following her into the office were Oliver Wood and a stocky man with salt and pepper hair.

"Harry!" Oliver called.

Harry stood up. "Hi, Oliver! I didn't know you were going to be here," he said, extending his hand.

"Sorry I didn't send you an owl; it was rather last minute. Harry, I want you to meet my coach, John Patrick O'Malley. He was in Ravenclaw. He played against your dad."

"Hello. Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Malley."

"The pleasure is all mine. Call me JP," he said with a heavy Irish brogue. "I'm sure you have heard it a thousand times, but you look just like your dad."

Harry smiled indulgently and shrugged his shoulders. "Who's counting?"

"Your dad was a great player," JP continued. "I saw him play Chaser and Seeker. He was the best on the pitch whatever position he played."

"So I've heard," Harry said, barely concealing his pride in his father.

"One day when you have the time, I need to tell you about his last match at Hogwarts. It was against Slytherin and the winner would claim the House Cup. It was a match for the ages, let me tell you."

"That would be great! I would love to hear about it," Harry replied. "Were you two scouting for your team? See any good prospects?"

JP sighed. "Not really. We are searching for a Chaser, and the best players today were Keepers and Beaters. Oliver tells me you played for the Pacifics. Know any decent players there that might be interested in playing over here."

Harry glanced at Hermione who had been listening quietly to the conversation. "I might. I can send an owl to gauge their interest if you'd like."

"Thanks, that would be smashing," JPP said. He turned to Oliver. "We'd better get going. It was nice to meet you. You too, Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Malley," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Thanks for stopping by," Harry said. "Oliver, Neville and I are going to try to come to your next match. We will stop by after and say hi."

"Would you like some tickets?" Oliver asked.

"No thanks. After The Quibbler article I had better pay for them," Harry smiled. "You know, no special favors."

"Whatever you say. I'll leave good seats for you at Will Call and will make sure you get charged full price and then some."

"Perfect."

As the door clicked closed behind them, Hermione turned to Harry. "That was a good match, wasn't it?"

"Uneventful, which is a surprise considering the opponents," Harry said, sitting down in his desk chair and removing his leather shin guards. "I'm surprised you came knowing how much you don't like Quidditch."

"I usually come to Gryffindor matches. And you were refereeing for the first time. I couldn't miss that."

"How did I do?" Harry asked, looking sideways at Hermione.

"Snape will have a hard time finding fault with your performance."

"I'm sure he will think of something," Harry said dryly. He stood up and began to unzip his robe.

"Well," Hermione said clearing her throat nervously, "I guess I'd better get going so you can change." She started towards the door.

"Why don't you wait for me? I'll walk back up to the castle with you. It won't take me long." Harry went around his desk and cleaned out a chair, which was piled high with old Quidditch robes. "Have a seat," he said, looking around for a place to put the oversized bundle in his arms.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and sat down in the newly vacated seat. "Okay."

Not finding an appropriate place to put the robes, he walked around his desk and threw them down on the floor out of sight. "Perfect," he said with a grin, and walked into the bathroom to clean up.

Ten minutes later he emerged from the bathroom freshly scrubbed and sporting wet hair only to find Hermione asleep in the chair. She had crossed her legs and slouched down so her head was resting on the back of the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her mouth was slightly open and he could see her eyes moving underneath her eyelids. Harry knelt down beside the chair and put his hand over hers. He marveled at how his hand completely covered hers, and at how soft and warm her skin felt to his touch. He moved his hand slightly, grasping hers more tightly and rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. He bent closer, noticing a small, light scar just below the first knuckle. He rubbed his thumb over it, wondering how she got it.

He heard Hermione take a deep breath and saw her lift her head from the back of the chair. She looked around for a moment in confusion before her eyes settled on Harry. He was smiling at her. She grinned sleepily and her eyes moved to her hands, which were still encased by his. Her eyes rested there for a moment, watching his thumb move back and forth across her scar.

"How did you get that scar?" Harry asked quietly.

She tore her eyes away from his hand and looked at him. "I don't remember. I've had it since I was a little girl."

"I've never noticed it before."

"Why would you? It is tiny and not very noticeable."

"It makes me wonder what else I don't know about you."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "No, I think you know just about everything else. Oh, except one thing. I have a birthmark."

"Really? Where?"

"My back."

"Show me."

"I will not!"

"Why not? It's just your back."

"No, it is on the lower part of my back. The very lower part of my back," she said meaningfully.

"That makes me want to see it even more," Harry teased.

"And it is the reason you won't see it at all," Hermione teased back.

"So, why are you so tired?" Harry asked with concern, standing up and pulling her out of her chair.

"Oh, you know, staying up late. Lots to do."

"You need to get more rest."

"Okay, Dad. I'll keep that in mind," Hermione said sarcastically, pulling her hand out of his. "Ready to go?"

Harry walked over to the door and pulled it open with a bow. "After you."

A slight chill greeted them as they stepped outside. It was October, and the mild weather they had been blessed with up until this point was giving way to the more usual brisk feel of autumn. The trees in the Forbidden Forest were showing their colors; cheerfully waving banners of gold, red, orange and yellow.

"How is your house coming?" Hermione asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Harry said teasingly.

"Yes, I would," she replied in mock severity. "But someone won't let me see it!"

Once Harry and Hermione had found the right charm for painting, they had completed his bedroom that first day. Harry convinced Hermione to come back two other times to help him paint the extra room and the parlor. After painting the extra room a pale yellow (that Harry let Hermione pick out) and the lounge a deep burgundy, Harry announced that he was going to finish the renovations for the lounge alone. Hermione, who by this time had made it obvious how much she liked helping and had read Harry's Magical Renovations book from cover to cover, was a little hurt. Harry just smiled and said that it would be a surprise.

"As a matter of fact, I was going to invite you to dinner next Friday night to show you my handiwork," Harry said.

"You're finished?" Hermione asked, excitement dancing in her eyes.

Harry's breath caught at the sight of Hermione's expression. It had been too long since he had seen that look in her eyes. Seeing it now made him realize once again how much he had missed her the last few years. He inwardly punished himself, yet again, for being gone for so long.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "I asked if you were finished." Her look of joy had changed to puzzlement from his lack of response.

"Right. Almost. I am just waiting on a couple of pieces of furniture and unpacking some boxes. Other than that, it's ready to go!"

Hermione clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I can't wait! Next Friday? What time?"

"How about 7:00?"

"Sounds good."

Harry was opening the castle door for Hermione when she looked at him with a sly grin. "You know, you missed a step."

Harry looked down at his feet and then over to the steps they had just climbed in confusion. He looked back up at Hermione whose eyes were dancing yet again.

"Charm, Harry. You just jumped right over charming my socks off to asking me out." She shook her head in mock dismay as she walked through the door. "You really do need help."

Harry playfully poked her in the ribs. "Hey! I just opened the door for you! That's charming!"

"That's expected, Harry. It doesn't count."

"This is going to be difficult if you keep adding new rules."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Can't make it too easy for you. Then you wouldn't appreciate the end result now, would you?"

They were moments from entering the Great Hall for dinner when a high pitched, but plainly furious voice called out.

"POTTER!"

Harry turned around to see Snape stalking towards him, narrow eyes blazing. "Hello, Severus. Congratulations!" Harry said heartily. "Slytherin played an admirable game and won, albeit by a slim margin. There were quite a few pro scouts in th...."

"I don't care about the game!" Snape squeaked in his abnormally high-pitched voice.

Harry struggled to suppress a grin. "Severus, what's wrong with your voice? Are you ill?" he asked in mock sincerity.

Snape's eyes narrowed even further. "You know very well I am not sick. You are the reason my voice is like this."

"Me?" he asked, putting his hand on his chest in shock. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Because you are the only person vile enough to prank a fellow teacher."

"Now really, Severus. Vile? That's a bit rude, don't you think Hermione?" He asked turning to her.

She raised her hands in surrender. "Leave me out of this. I'm just standing her to make sure you don't hex each other."

"I would never hex Severus! I mean, why would I?" Harry asked, turning to look at Snape. "We had such a great relationship when I was in school. He treated me so well, I wouldn't dream of doing anything 'vile' to him, would I?" Harry's voice, which had been playful, took on a hardened edge as he finished the sentence. He was staring at Snape with a challenging look on his face.

"Give me the antidote, Potter," Snape whispered vehemently.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Snape. Even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."

Snape stepped forward and glared at Harry. "I will get you back for this."

Harry smiled confidently at Snape, regaining his playful manner. "No you won't. To 'get me back' you would have to learn to have fun and plan a prank. Sorry Severus, but I just don't think you have it in you," he finished, slapping Snape on the shoulder. Turning on his heel, he walked into the Great Hall.