Of Love and War

Harry Potter sat in the passenger seat of his uncle's company car watching the scenery of the city speed by his window. No one had spoken since they left the driveway that morning. And as Harry's eyes followed unseeingly the rows of businesses and people milling about he recalled with a sense of detachment his morning so far.

He had woken as usual to his aunt's shrill voice demanding he make haste down the stairwell to cook breakfast for the household. Harry ignored her as the world slowly came into focus on his slow separation from the land of slumber. He reached over for his glasses, slid them onto the bridge of his nose, and blinked around at his small and now very empty room. All of his belongings were packed into two trunks stacked against the far corner of a wall. One contained every thing he would need for the upcoming school year, and the other the small collection of personal items he usually left behind between holidays. He looked at those trunks and yet again let the implication of what they meant register in a slow and satisfying way. This was it, after today he was free from the Dursleys and the myriad of abuses that made up his life at number Four Privet Drive. He felt a smile slide slowly over his face; even the thought that this was his last year at his beloved Hogwarts couldn't dampen the freedom those trunks offered him.

Harry heard his aunt's shrill voice once again and rolled his eyes, finally climbing out of the bed that was so grudgingly won six years ago. Not even 'that' voice could dampen his spirits today, sixteen years of misery was reaching its conclusion, that voice could no longer touch him. He got dressed quickly and smiled at a cooing Hedwig, who seemed to sense his good mood, before heading down the stairs to the kitchen for what would be his last day of servitude.

Harry walked down the short hall towards the kitchen, pausing briefly before the cupboard where he had spent so much of his time. He was slightly resentful and slightly nostalgic at the sight of it. He had seen the world through the slatted door of that cupboard for so many years. He wasn't sure what to think of that. He shook the peculiar feeling off and walked through the swinging door of the kitchen. They were all there, they were all absorbed in what they were doing, no one made any indication that they noticed his sudden presence. Harry waited with a weird sense of anticipation - what would they say or do? It was his last day here, he highly doubted he would see any of them again, his so-called family. His aunt finally looked up and fixed him with a disapproving gaze, a sour expression on her face as she assessed him.

"It's about time, lazy to the very end," sneered his aunt. "Well don't just stand there, start breakfast."

Harry glared briefly before heading over to the stove where he started cooking eggs. He covertly watched the Dursleys; they were behaving very strangely this morning. Aunt Petunia was staring out of the window as usual, but she was almost smiling, and was that humming? His aunt was bloody humming! He had never heard of such a thing, he vaguely wished she would stop. Not only was it disconcerting, but she had a rather hideous voice as well. In fact, her voice invoked reactions in Harry similar to those he had to someone running their nails down a chalkboard.

Turning his attention from his aunt, Harry observed his cousin Dudley. He was, as usual, focused on the television as if his life depended on it. He was watching some kind of talk show from America, judging by the accents, that currently had a rather large woman dressed in a scandalously, not to mention alarmingly, short dress. Her ample bosom threatened to spill out of the low top made of silver material. She was currently yelling and cursing at the audience as they jeered and heckled her. Dudley seemed to find this very entertaining.

Harry's cousin had lost significant weight over the last year; this happened only after Dudley had ended up in casualty ward of the local hospital experiencing chest pains after being forced to partake of the morning warm ups his Smeltings gym teacher was running his PE class through. The doctor had been appalled to learn that they were only stretching when this had happened and gave the Dursleys a very stern warning that if something didn't change soon Dudley probably wouldn't live to see his twenties. Petunia had scoffed at this but Vernon, showing a parenting backbone for the first time in his life, had taken the doctor's dire warning seriously and finally put his foot down about something where his son was concerned.

His cousin was still far from svelte, but had pared down to a size where he no longer strained every piece of furniture he sat upon and was finally able to shop in normal shops again, no longer needing his clothes to be specially made, but this hadn't changed the fact that the Durselys could no longer dress Harry in his cousins cast offs. After his fourth year they had to start buying Harry his own clothing, as his cousin's were so big that even a belt couldn't keep them up, and though most of it was still secondhand, at least it now fitted. His cousin finally registered Harry looking at him.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" he snapped. "Best be sure that I get my room back intact, and I don't want you taking any of my things either, you filthy thief!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Earlier that summer Harry had been bored senseless - he had been forbidden by Dumbledore to go to the Burrow for the third year running, and had already finished all of his homework, as he had nothing better to do. In addition to this, he had finished all the chores Petunia had assigned him before she left the house for a tea at a friend's home that afternoon. This left Harry idly wandering the house looking for something to do. He was in the living room when he spotted a book that Dudley had been given by Aunt Marge two summers previously. Dudley had been using it as a coaster since the day he unwrapped it, so Harry picked it up and took it outside to read it in the sunshine. It hadn't been long before Dudley spotted him with it and had accused him of stealing it. Since then, Dudley made a point of ransacking Harry's room daily to make sure that he hadn't taken any of his things.

Harry ignored this comment and moved his attention to his uncle next. For the first time Harry noticed how old his uncle was looking these days. The creases around his eyes and mouth that Harry had finally noticed last summer were more pronounced now. Some people had laugh lines but Harry knew these were, in fact, frown lines. Harry had never met any one more perpetually grumpy than his uncle, except for perhaps Professor Snape.

Harry now caught his expression and was filled with unease about it. Was that...a smile? Harry was positively shocked when he saw a chuckle rumble the large barreled chest and belly of his uncle. Now slightly alarmed, Harry wondered vaguely if he was reading the cartoons. He moved to the fridge, presumably to get the bacon, and noticed that his uncle was, in actuality, reading the financial report. Harry quietly wondered what the joke was, before he realized that there was no joke at all. His uncle was simply gleeful to the point of giggling, and this jovial mood, like everyone else's, was in honor of Harry's departure. He felt oddly hurt about this, though he couldn't imagine why, and was then instantly angry with himself for feeling that way and angry with the Dursleys for still having the ability to make him upset in this fashion. After all, he was just as excited to be leaving as they were for him to go. But still.

Harry banged the finished meal down on the table, scowling at its occupants, before stalking silently out of the room in favor of his own. He went to retrieve his things and brought them downstairs. He would insist on leaving as soon as Uncle Vernon finished his breakfast. He stowed his things by the door and went to grab Hedwig. Giving his room one last look he shut the door on it, and in his head on this chapter of his life, confident that anything he ran into in the world of adulthood had to be better than this existence. He reached the top of the stair, paused, then turned back and entered Dudley's room where he swiped the book he had been reading when Dudley accused him of thievery. It was propping up an uneven T.V stand. He stuffed the paperback into the back pocket of his jeans, figuring that if he was going to stand convicted of a crime he might as well have committed it. He descended the stairs and entered the kitchen again, where he cleared his throat and addressed the three familiar faces.

"I think it's about time to leave now."

Harry's uncle pulled up curbside to King's Cross station, and then popped the boot from the driver's side while staring head on and steadfastly ignoring Harry. Harry looked over, perhaps naively unable to believe that his uncle wasn't even going to get out of the car. Resentment burned in his stomach as he thought back on sixteen years of much of the same treatment. It was then that Harry decided that his Uncle Vernon was a sad son of a bitch who deserved the miserable life he had etched out for himself.

Harry smiled sarcastically at the side of his uncle's head, who still refused to look at or acknowledge his nephew. In an equally sarcastic tone of voice, Harry addressed his uncle for the last time.

"Well, it's been great. Don't worry, if I need anything I will be sure not to call you, you miserable excuse for a human being."

His uncle still ignored him. With a final glare, Harry stepped out and slammed the door of the car. He barely had the chance to lift his trunks out and slam the boot shut when his uncle gunned his car into the flow of traffic. Had he bothered to look behind him, he would have seen the famous, dignified, sweet-natured and illustrious Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, youngest Seeker in a century, Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and all-around nice guy giving him the finger.

*****

Hermione Granger couldn't believe how late she was as she flew around her room, trying to gather all her things and then dump them haphazardly into her trunk. She had returned with her parents the night before from their holiday in Spain. The family had originally planned to come back a week earlier to spend their second week of vacation at home preparing for Hermione's departure, but they were all having such a good time, and it would their last holiday while Hermione was in school, so they had been spontaneous and decided that an extra week of sunshine and sight seeing was just what they all needed.

Hermione hadn't minded at all, the upcoming year promised to a killer one. Between the NEWTS and being Head Girl she was sure to be busy and stressed out for the next nine months. But she did wish that she had taken care of more of her packing the night before. She blamed this situation on the fact that she was still in the euphoric state she had spent most of her vacation in. There little things like packing had taken a back seat to happier pursuits of fun, and it had been harder to switch mindsets than she would have thought.

She'd had an amazing time in Spain. She had loved its history and the sun and found the combination of things that made up daily life to be intoxicatingly wonderful. It had taken no time for her to fall under its spell and had easily been the best holiday of her short life.

She spent her days with her parents in museums and cathedrals, which had an amazing abundance of gold wall workings and old exquisite art. And when they tired of the cultural aspect of the country, she and her mother had left her father behind to spend their time together haggling with shop owners and flirting with the well-tanned Spaniards.

Hermione had built her Spanish vocabulary in leaps and bounds, explored the wizard culture within the city, picked up some great souvenirs, and had spent plenty of time sunbathing on the beaches, where everyone went topless and where her mother had somehow persuaded her to do the same, claming it was all part of the cultural experience.

She had initially been alarmed, first because her mother had taken her own advice and then at herself for actually listening to her. But once she had gotten over her initial embarrassment and overcame her own sense of propriety she found she rather preferred this to the English method. The feel of the sun and the sand and the breeze and the warm ocean water on her bare skin was delicious. This was also how she had met a boy named Mateo.

She had been with her mother; they had just settled into a pair of chairs on the private beach that belonged to the hotel they were staying at when a shadow fell over her. He worked at the hotel and had come to take drink orders. Hermione's mother calmly ordered a margarita, but Hermione, who hadn't even bothered bringing a top with her this time, suddenly felt her modesty come back tenfold, for the boy before her was gorgeous.

He had dark skin, darker hair, and warm brown eyes that made her melt. He also possessed a pair of rakish eyebrows and a small scar over his top lip which, was often curled into an irresistible half smile - a lip which she had spent much of their time together fixated on.

She covered up with a towel, not feeling quiet so liberated as she had initially. But he had smiled at her and asked her what she wanted. He was so easy-going that it wasn't long before they were conversing normally and she had been impressed that he was not staring freely at her chest. So much so that when he had offered to show her the nightlife of Barcelona she had accepted.

She was initially nervous, but found Mateo to be soft spoken and polite, a gentleman to the core. This had all happened at the end of the first week of their vacation, so after a successful night together Hermione had spent much of her remaining time with him, during which she discovered that along with all of his other wonderful qualities the boy knew how to kiss.

She had found herself shocked at the intensity of those kisses and even more shocked at her reaction to them. She was surprised when her hands wandered of their own accord to places she had never touched a man before, she had never experienced the slow burn her body went into as his lips traveled the planes of neck and the depths of her mouth. She had never been aware that her own body could turn so traitorous and do so with such ease.

Her lack of control had, quite frankly, scared her. She suddenly wondered if it wasn't a good thing that they had left when they did. He was only the second boy she had ever allowed to kiss her. Ron had been the first when they had dated back in fifth year, but he had never coaxed the reaction from her body that this boy did with such effortlessness. Not that anything serious had happened between them, it was just the shock that she might have wanted something serious to happen between them that threw her off.

But that was over now. The sunny beaches she had revered remained on the continent, as did the boy. It was time to return to the reality of her life, but with a new address from someone who had shown her so much fun. She did this willingly, but not without a sense of foreboding. In the back of her head she could sense that something bad was brewing.

She lived with an increasingly impending sense that they were all living in a fool's world where their sense of security was false. The wizarding world, which still knew nothing of Voldemort's return aside from several rumors of what had happened after the third task, had turned a blind eye to what information they had, encouraged by Fudge and the Ministry to do so. Hermione knew that Dumbledore had been working behind the scenes making preparations for what was coming, but aside from Harry's exile to the Dursleys and the obnoxious escort that they were forced to endure on Hogsmeade visits nothing had changed.

This is what bothered her most of all. Voldemort's three-year silence was bound to end eventually and Hermione feared that they had all grown complacent. He wouldn't stay away forever, and the way things were now, Hermione wondered if they would be ready for him when he came.

She sighed and felt a pang of nostalgia for the carefree way she had lived her summer. She could feel it's buoyant effects already subsiding into a memory. She missed school, she missed learning, most of all she missed Harry and Ron, but she sometimes wondered if they would ever catch a break in the drama that plagued their lives.

She put her final school book, which she purchased along with her other school supplies in a wizarding community in Barcelona, in her trunk and closed it with a 'thwap'. She went to Crookshanks, who was sitting on her head girl badge, and wrestled him into his carrier, getting scratched for her trouble, and carried him along as she went to fetch her father so he could load her trunk into the car. If they didn't leave in ten minutes McGonagall would have her hide, the Head Girl was supposed to be there an hour early to help supervise the going's on of the student body. As it was, it would be a miracle if she made it there any less than five minutes late.

She cast one more longing look at a photo she had left on her desk, it was taken by the object of her summer fixation, she was sitting on the edge of a fountain smiling. She looked so relaxed she almost didn't recognize herself, but life marched on and it was time for her to rejoin it.

*****

Ginny Weasley stood with much impatience outside of the only bathroom of the Burrow. She was in her robe and all she wanted was a shower, one small little five-minute shower and she wouldn't enter the bathroom again all day. But this was apparently too much to ask for as her brother, Ron Weasley, had been in the bathroom for almost an hour. Against her better judgment, she vaguely wondered what in the hell he could be doing in there that was taking so long. Several ideas floated into her head, each more disturbing than the last, and in an attempt to spare herself from further destructive rumination she did what any younger sister would do in this situation, she whined.

BANG!BANG!BANG! "Ronald Weasley, I don't know what you are doing in there but if you aren't out in five minutes I am getting Mum! Some of us need to take showers and we are leaving in an hour! Come out right now or I will steal your Chudley Cannon boxers and display them before the whole Great Hall!"

Ron opened the door abruptly and glared at his younger sister "Get lost, Ginny. I'll come out when I'm good and ready. Besides, it's not like anything you could do in an hour would make any difference in your appearance," he joked.

Maddened by this cheap shot, Ginny broke out with ammunition of her own.

"That's rich coming from a homely, freckle-faced, gangly oaf like yourself. Who are you primping for any how, Parvati? It doesn't matter what you do, short of drastic surgery that nose of yours will remain the same. Besides, if you don't get out now I'll tell her about that time when you were eight and Fred and George dared you to stick that Filibuster firework up your.."

It was here that Ron cut her off. "Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist. Besides it wasn't a Filibuster firework, it was a fizzing wizzbee - get your facts straight before you blackmail."

With that, an indignant Ron stalked off down the hall, a haughty tilt to his head. He looked alarmingly like Percy for a moment, only really a lot taller. But that didn't matter; what mattered was that the bathroom was now free. Ginny entered the room and turned on the water, testing the temperature before slipping out of her robe and under the warm spray. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water slide down her body to relax and awaken it. Not for the first time she found herself wishing for a sister, any would do, but an older sister would be preferable.

She had heard her roommates, whom all had at least one sister, complain about what a pain they were. They complained about how tops and hair clips and makeup often disappeared. How they competed for their parents' attention. How boys always looked right past them at their supposedly prettier siblings. They often told Ginny how lucky she was to be the only girl in the house. But they had no idea what it was like, she had to balance a line between being one of the boys, or else she was often left out, while not losing sight of the fact that she was indeed a girl. She was constantly brushed off, not taken seriously, overlooked, and overprotected.

Not to say that it was all bad, her brothers fairly adored her, and the only person they were more afraid of was their mother, it was always entertaining to watch them quell under her anger. Plus she was one of the best Quidditch players at school due to a combination of talent and the frequent pick up games all through her childhood she was forced to participate in where her brothers showed her no mercy. She also knew that there was always somebody who would look out for her.

But still she was certain that she was missing out on something by having no sisters. And this was perhaps true. Ginny often felt overlooked and overwhelmed by the strong personalities she had grown up around. It had made her a little self conscious, and a little awkward when it came to relating to the female of the species. This was never a problem for her with boys though; she knew exactly how to relate to them and was often a hit among them. She had most of the Gryffindor male population wrapped around her little finger; they all thought she was one of the guys.

Ginny did indeed do well with boys, unless of course she found them attractive and then she felt like an oafish fool. She knocked things over and often couldn't think of what to say, and usually ran off red faced and burning with embarrassment. The way she acted around Harry before she got over her crush on him had been an excellent example of this kind of behavior. To this day the shame and humiliation she felt about her behavior around him still made her feel queasy, she tried not to think about it if possible.

As she shampooed her hair she found herself smiling as she thought about the common misconception among her friends that she at least had free reign over the bathroom. If only they knew how ridiculous boys were - they preened in front of mirrors just as often as her roommates did, especially when preparing for a date. She remembered with a giggle the time that she and Ron had covertly watched Percy giving himself a pep talk before a date with Penelope.

They had rolled with laughter as he had called himself 'tiger' and winked at his reflection. They had of course been caught and told that they had reached new lows of immaturity. Ginny had never seen a face as red as her brothers had been that night and she almost felt bad about what she had done until Ron had said, "Your secret's safe us...tiger." That of course had them rolling again and Percy had stalked off with indignation. In reality, Ron was just as bad as his older brother had been when getting ready to see a girl.

Ginny herself had never had the pleasure of finding out what she would be like before a date. She was convinced that this was due to her tomboy nature, and inability to carry on a conversation with anyone who had mildly caught her interest, plus she had always thought of herself as being kind of girlish looking.

As her classmate's bodies had become curvier, Ginny's had mostly shot straight up. She was tall with what she perceived to be gangly arms and legs. She stepped out of the shower clean again and stood before the mirror studying her naked form. 'Yep,' she thought, 'all arms and legs.' Her nose was a little long, and her hair very red, her eyes a very plain brown, and she had an obscene amount of freckles that didn't stop at her face. They spanned her too pale shoulders and ended just above the plane of her breasts, which she speculated weren't anything to write home about. She eyed her chest skeptically and then gathered and pushed it together creating what was, in her opinion, dismal cleavage.

She would need an engorgement charm and several yards of tape before she could achieve the look she would have wanted. Her eyes roamed the rest of her body. The flat plane of her stomach and her bony non-existent hips were followed by long skinny legs that led into rather large feet.

She sighed with resignation. She would never be able to measure up to the other girls, she would just have to wait and hope that some one would look past her appearance. And Ginny did indeed hope, for underneath it all Ginny wanted a boyfriend, very much so, that kind of relationship intrigued and eluded her. She was sure she was missing something wonderful. With that thought she pulled her robe back on and made her way to her room, cursing the opposite sex for being so superficial. Besides, boys were trouble anyway.

Now none of the observations Ginny had made about herself were particularly true, she was indeed tall and her feet were on the large side, but overall she was willowy looking. She was certainly not the most endowed girl ever, but she curved pleasantly in the right places and most certainly didn't resemble the beanpole that she thought herself to be. She was in fact very well proportioned and most certainly had the body of a woman. Her eyes were anything but plain. They were a warm chocolate color, which reflected a good humor and fierce will; her hair was long and silky and the red of it had caught many a boys' eye, her nose was a little long but it only added character to a pleasant face. What really pulled the whole effect together was her much hated freckles. They made her fresh-faced and were not obnoxious but added a cuteness that was appealing.

All in all she had turned many a head, but she never noticed - to her those boys had been chums and amusing and she had enchanted them all with her easy personality. Had she found them attractive in return they would have seen a very different side of her. The reality of it was that she was a little scared of boys, which seeing as she had lived with so many was one of those life ironies that are almost cruel.

She was rather intimidating for boys as well; she didn't exude an invitation like other girls did. You had to work for it with her and her mind and body made for an daunting combination, most boys at her age went with what was safe, easy, and familiar. But what sixteen year old has that kind of insight? So she went on, believing what was false.

*****

Ron Weasley stood before the mirror in his bedroom trying to get his hair just right. He was unaware that down the hall his sister was contemplating the very same thing, ruminating about the grooming habits of him and his brothers, and was equally unaware that he was proving her right. But Ron did have a valid reason for his vanity this morning. It was going to be the first day he was to see his girlfriend Parvati Patil since he had left her a week ago. This was made even more important to him by the memories of what exactly they had gotten up to on his last night there.

He had spent two weeks with her family at their summer home, a small stone cottage that sat on the shore just outside of a quaint fishing village. He and Parvati had spent their time there cycling down the shore, taking picnics to the beach, and strolling around the small village. Most of all they spent their time laughing, and enjoying each other's company without the audience that most couples commanded at school in common rooms. Privacy was a rare commodity at school, so it was a unique experience not having to worry about teasing from peers and wide-eyed shock from the younger kids. Both were real mood killers.

Ron remembered the whole two weeks with fondness - all except for the last night there, he wasn't sure what he felt about that night. Parvati and Ron had found themselves alone in the house for the first time all vacation. Her parents had left for dinner plans with some old friends, and her sister Padma had decided at the last minute to take a local boy up on his invitation to attend an end of summer festival in the village. Ron had not known that her sudden change of plans had been due to several hours of scheming on Parvati's part. The two had a lovely evening alone - that is until somewhere along the way the mood shifted.

Ron remembered with perfect clarity that Parvati had initiated what had happened that night. She had set the tone and taken the initiative by removing several articles of both their clothing as they snogged in the living room. He recalled the look in her eyes and the smile that curled her lips, but other than that it was all a blur of soft and warm body parts, breathy sighs, and a whole body experience that he had only ever imagined till that night. Ron had been a virgin but she had not, he had wondered vaguely when they were done if he was any good at what he had been faking knowledge in. They hadn't discussed what had happened, and Ron was left with feelings he couldn't identify in the aftermath. Ron was interrupted in his preening by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

His mother came in carrying a towering stack of socks and underwear. Ron had already finished his packing, so he found it peculiar that his mother should be coming into his room endowed with such gifts. He fixed her with a look that he felt appropriate for the situation. She was a complete nutter sometimes.

"Hello darling, I just wanted to bring you these. Never can have too many socks, you know."

"Mum, I'm already done packing, I have plenty of everything. I don't even have room for all of that."

"Nonsense! There is always room for a few more socks."

With that his mother flipped open his trunk, and with the flick of her wrist placed an expanding charm on it.

"There you go darling, no need to thank me. Now hurry up or we will be late."

"Thanks, Mum," said a weary Ron.

After his mother left, Ron started to toss the socks and underwear in his newly expanded trunk, deciding to humor her. He knew what was going on; he had seen it happen for several years now. Every time one of his siblings started their last year at Hogwarts his mother went through the same routine. Overloading said child with extra breakfast, extra garments, and even more extra affection. By the time they got to the train station he was sure that she would be in tears.

He wasn't quite certain why this was, he supposed it had something to do with her children growing up and leaving, but he never saw his father do these things so perhaps he was wrong. He never knew that while his father seemed relatively unaffected during the actual goodbye's, he was quiet for the rest of the day until he and his wife retired to bed that night where they reminisced, and usually did a little crying over yet another one gone. Because of this, Ron chalked it up to one of those "woman things", and would probably do so until he had children of his own.

Ron shook his head over how silly girls could be sometimes, even grown ones. They remained a huge mystery to him even though he had more experience with them than the average boy his age. Growing up, Ginny had been his regular partner in crime; he had spent most of his time with her if for no other reason than necessity.

Percy was never any fun, serious even from a young age. Fred and George were their own two-person club, no one ever could break through and be equal in that relationship. They remained that way to this day, the two of them and then the rest of the world. Even when he accomplished quality time with his brothers, it was never safe or productive, hence the aforementioned incident with the fizzing wizzbee. It was always like that, them perpetually in trouble with Ron as their guinea pig.

But while he had been chums with Ginny out of necessity, he had enjoyed every minute of it. His sister was great, always up for a good laugh and a fun time, she was smart and fierce in her views, and she had one of the most generous hearts he knew. Ginny may have been the reason for his success with girls so far. If she was, then certainly Hermione also deserved some of the credit as well.

He had learned many a lesson from Hermione over the years, and not just the kind that involved things like potions. Not only had she been a steadfast and true friend for almost a decade, she had also been his first real girlfriend. Fifth year, Ron had decided that all those weird feelings he had been having towards her since sometime the year before was actually a crush. It had taken several weeks, but he finally worked up the nerve to ask her to Hogsmeade that weekend.

He smiled as he recalled how much she had fidgeted while he tried to get the words to exit his mouth. He had been so nervous, and she had been no better, but it had all been worth it for the smile that spread across her face when he finally posed the question. She had surprised him by saying yes.

That was how their whole relationship had been: slightly awkward, often nerve-wracking, but overall rewarding. He couldn't have thought of a better person to first feel out the world of romantic relationships with than the lovely Hermione. This was partly because they had been such good friends - when their noses bumped in his first attempt at kissing her she had laughed it off and sensibly coordinated the movements until they got the hang of it, making sure that he didn't feel embarrassed by it. Ron soon found that kissing her was pleasant and tried to do it as often as he possibly could, which wasn't much.

They had a lot of fun and were technically "dating," but not a lot had changed. The big differences were that now they held hands as they walked to class, they fought less frequently (which Ron found with some surprise was one of the things he had missed most about his former relationship with her), and when Harry was at Quidditch practice, if they had all their homework done they would sneak off and snog for a while. It was innocent and kind of cute and had ended after a few months as a mutual agreement in a very amiable manner.

Ron had been slightly relieved when they stopped - now he could argue with her again - but he had found himself in something of a surprising situation afterwards. Apparently Hermione had done an excellent P.R. job for him during their relationship, and news travels fast amongst any female population. Ron found he was something of a heart throb after that, and had spent the next year playing the field dating girls from all houses, save for Slytherin. Then he had been paired with Parvati for a divination assignment spring of last year.

He had been taken with her from minute one. Over the course of that year Ron had perfected a style that left many girls swooning, a combination of charm, humor, and flattery that had worked every time. But not with her, she had seen right through it as she had practically invented that game herself. It had fascinated Ron that he couldn't have her, it disarmed him and he had been tricked into showing her his real self. Parvati had been initially uninterested until she had seen that side of him. He hadn't been that real with any girl since Hermione, and he found it really refreshing, plus his relationship with Parvati sported an extra benefit in that he was really, really attracted to her physically. His physical relationships with girls before had been pleasant enough, but he felt as if he left his mind and good senses when he was with Parvati.

It was how he had come around to the night that had left him so puzzled. He was once again aware of the feelings for her he had been experiencing since that night and tried to analyze them. It wasn't friendship, that was for sure. Romance? Closer but not quite. Lust? Well definitely, he hadn't known lust before her apparently. God, it was so frustrating not knowing one's own feelings. Maybe...no, it couldn't be, but maybe...was it love? That thought kind of scared him, love implied so much, so many things he wasn't sure he was ready for.

He pushed all thoughts of Parvati and that night to the back of his mind as he finished with his trunk. It was time to go anyway, and he would no longer have to think about the object of his affections, he could see her in person. He grinned at this thought, as well as the thought that he would soon be seeing Harry and Hermione. He didn't want to be late, he was a Prefect and wouldn't hear the end of it from Hermione, who would no doubt be in Head Girl mode, if he was late.

*****

Draco Malfoy stood in the foyer of the family manor waiting for his mother to stop harassing the house elves with details. He was Head Boy and they had to be going soon.

He rolled his eyes as his mother once again gave a wide-eyed elf the exact specifications of how much starch she wanted in his father's shirts and then looked skeptically as the mournful creature nodded her head in understanding.

"Mother, sometime today would be wonderful. You will only be gone for an hour or two and then you can hover all you want. "

Draco vaguely wished for about the millionth time that morning that his father was there. When Draco had awoken and headed down to the dining room for breakfast, he had been unsurprised but slightly disappointed that he had found only his mother.

After an obligatory kiss on the cheek, he had promptly asked where his father had got off to.

"Oh, you know, business and such," she said vaguely.

Draco knew that code speak. He was with the Death Eaters again. This was unsurprising as the frequency with which his father was away on "business" had greatly increased over the last two months. Something was going on - Draco knew it wouldn't be long before something big happened, he also knew that indecision about where his loyalties resided was coming close to the end of being an option. However, he didn't know where that loyalty would lie.

His mother was rather naive about just how much knowledge Draco had about the goings-on of the group. His father had been grooming him for service to the Dark Lord since he was ten years old. And out of respect and admiration of his father, Draco had been an attentive student. His father, however, hadn't bargained for the fact that his son was a consummate Slytherin and didn't really care one way or another about which side anyone thought was right, only the effects that each would have on 'him' and what 'he' would gain from that.

So far his father's side was winning. Voldemort was an intimidating foe and the life style he offered was often preferable to that of his opposition. Draco did not care about what was wrong or right, or family ties and loyalties nearly as much as he led his father to believe, and he knew he did believe it. Draco was very much like Lucius, and so knew how to work him.

Oh sure, he didn't like Mudblood's - they were below him in his opinion, not really proper wizards. In addition to this he thought that Muggles were barbaric and more than slightly ridiculous. But genocide wasn't really the action that he would have chosen to take towards them, he didn't have hatred like that, it required energy that didn't seem warranted for the situation. Like everything else in his life, he just didn't care enough about it, though he did do a good impression and even managed to muster up undisguised disgust for Potter and his Gryffindor posse.

Potter had humiliated him from day one and had then gone on to make a habit of it all six years at school. As for his issue with Granger, it came down to nothing more than her being better than he was - that irritated him to no end, especially since she had no magical background to speak of - but otherwise she didn't really bother him. He in fact liked her best of the three, she was smart and didn't stand for any nonsense, and he begrudgingly respected that. However, he did enjoy harassing her because it amused him greatly to see her testosterone brigade get all riled up. Especially Weasley - now there was someone he didn't like.

The stupid jerk was sloppy and Draco abhorred sloppiness. He was sloppy in his friendships, in his schoolwork, in his temper, and his appearance. His total lack of self-control and tact made Draco cringe. Weasley was the antithesis of what Draco tried to present himself as towards the world at large. He took Weasley as a personal affront to humanity, and therefore held all those associated with him in the same contempt. Draco was startled out of his ruminations by his mother's voice.

"Ready darling?"

He fixed his lazy gaze on hers. "Do I not look it?"

"Draco, sarcasm isn't very becoming to a young man of your stature."

He glowered at her back as they left through the front doors to the waiting cars outside. He settled in across from his mother and only half listened as she chattered about a boy Draco knew vaguely. He was a Slytherin who had graduated three years ago. Apparently, he had been caught in a compromising position with a very traumatized house elf in his parents' rose garden at a party the week before. Not for the first time Draco wondered just what his mother did with her days other than sit and gossip. The thought hurt his brain so he chose to ignore her and started wondering what his father was up to. It was going to be a long drive.