The Healers

Chapter Three: The Burrow

Harry's birthday had finally arrived. As anticipated, the Dursleys' ignored the fact that it was Harry's seventeenth birthday. Petunia stood in the kitchen, twittering nervously as she cut grapefruit in half and served them on the table for breakfast. Vernon looked tense, and his movements were jerky when he finally swung his massive bulk around to address Harry.

He waved one rather fat, pudgy finger before Harry's nose, gesticulating madly. "Now you listen here, boy. I know it will be too much to ask for that these freakish friends of yours will arrive like normal, civilized human beings, but I don't want any funny business. Understand, boy?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied, doing his best to keep a straight face. Failing miserably, he lowered his head and stared at his grapefruit, hoping no one would notice. Funny business?, he thought to himself, and fondly recalled the site of Dudley bent double under the weight of a grossly engorged tongue.

When Harry was done with his breakfast, he headed upstairs and quickly packed all his belongings, neatly dropping them inside his trunk. Hedwig still looked mildly annoyed, and when he approached her cage she turned her head to the side, as if not deigning to look upon him. At least she didn't turn her head all the way around, this time. He unlocked the cage and pushed his hand in, gently brushing his fingers over her neck. "Not long now, Hedwig. In a couple of hours the Weasleys will be here to take us to the Burrow, and I promise you'll be able to fly around a little then. Not too far, of course . . ." Hedwig turned and gave him an affectionate nip on the finger. Though a bit harder than usual, it was a gesture of forgiveness and understanding nonetheless. "Thanks, Hedwig" he murmured softly.

As midday drew closer, the Dursley family gathered in the family room. Petunia's nervous twittering had become more of a nervous squawk. Red veins were throbbing on Vernon's forehead, and if he had a neck, Harry was sure there'd be swollen veins throbbing there, too. Dudley seemed torn between covering his mouth and his bottom, his arms flailing back and forth between the two. In the end, his hands settled over his mouth, as his arms simply weren't long enough to reach his bottom, due to his massive girth. He settled for wedging as much of his posterior into the corner of the room as possible. Harry himself wore a wide grin and comfortably reclined on an armchair.

A few minutes from midday, Vernon fixed his beady eyes on Harry. "Remember what I said, boy . . . no funny business, or else!"

Harry desperately wanted to ask 'or else what'?, but decided it might be unwise. He saw no reason to provoke the Dursley's further. He was quite sure Fred and George would take care of that on their own. As the second hand edged its way through the last minute before midday, all eyes fixed upon the wall where the Weasley's had made their last appearance. At precisely midday, a thunderous knock came from the front door. Dudley whimpered and drove his bottom further into the corner of the room, Harry bounded up and raced to the front door.

Harry flung open the front door, and greeted the wave of red haired people who flooded into the Dursley's family room, echoing sentiments of "happy birthday, Harry!" and "good to see you, old boy!" The last to enter the house was Hermione, wearing a friendly smile, followed by a rather large, black and altogether scruffy looking dog.

"Sirius!" Harry cried, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around the dog's throat. "How are you? What are you doing here! Have you been cleared?!" He fired questions at the dog, still embracing it tightly as the dog's large wet tongue rolled over his face in a rather jovial fashion.

In the living room, Arthur Weasley was attempting to make polite conversation with Vernon, but he wasn't meeting with much success. Vernon's eyes were fixed on Harry, and the dog he was apparently having a conversation with. His body was starting to tremble and his face was suffused an awful shade of red. Suddenly he was spluttering with rage.

"Get OUT! OUT OUT OUT!" he suddenly bellowed. "OUT OF MY HOUSE! ALL OF YOU, YOU FREAKS!"

An ominous silence fell upon the room. Even Aunt Petunia's panicked squawks subsided. The dog cocked its head to the side. All eyes rested upon Vernon, who seemed ready to explode.

"Fair go there, old chap." Fred Weasley suddenly broke the silence.

"I most humbly echo that sentiment, I must say," George echoed, solemnly. "That there dog is our Harry's godfather. Hasn't seem him in over a year, he hasn't. Not to mention the twelve years of time they've got to make up for, what with Sirius having been incarcerated in Azkaban for mass murder and all!"

"Don't you think it'd be nice if we'd let the poor boy say a few friendly words to his Godfather before you go booting us out of the house?" added Fred.

"That's enough, boys!" Molly hissed.

Vernon's eyes bulged out of his head. Beside Harry, Ron's shoulders were heaving with suppressed mirth. Hermione shook her head at Ron and gave him a menacing, don't you dare look. Arthur timidly cleared his throat, Charlie had a hand clamped over his mouth, obviously doing his best to hide a wide grin. Bill had suddenly found something highly interesting out the window to gaze at, and turned to give it his full attention.

Molly glared at Fred and George, then turned to Petunia and gave her a polite and friendly smile. "Lovely place you have here, Petunia, but we better be on our way." She aimed another menacing glare at Fred and George before turning to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Well now, why don't you three run along upstairs and gather Harry's things."

"I think I'll go upstairs with them, see if they need a hand," Bill offered. Charlie nodded and likewise offered his own help.

The five of them ran upstairs, closely followed by Sirius, who transformed into his wizard form as soon as he'd reached the top of the stairs. Ron gestured towards Harry's bedroom, which Bill and Charlie entered with Ron and Hermione. Sirius and Harry were left alone on the landing.

Harry looked up at Sirius a moment before once again throwing himself at his Godfather, and this time Sirius returned the gesture of affection with his arms, rather than his tongue.

"No family resemblance here, my boy," he joked. When Harry looked up, he was looking into the face of the man who smiled and grinned at him as best man in his parent's wedding photos.

: : :

When they came back downstairs - Sirius in the form of a dog once more - Fred and George were burrowing through a rather large bag of wizarding sweets, making exaggerated sounds of delight over each piece they placed in their grinning mouths. Dudley seemed to be fighting an internal struggle, torn between his longing for the sweets, his memories of having a one tonne tongue, and his fear of exposing his derriere to the rather formidable wizarding family.

Bill and Charlie carried Harry's trunk through the front door, followed by Hermione, who carried Hedwig in her cage. The Weasley family slowly filtered out the front door, Molly and Arthur sending warning glares at Fred and George. Finally, Harry remained only with Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, facing Vernon, Petunia, and the cowering Dudley. Vernon still looked as if a single word might send him over the edge, Petunia was pale and thin-lipped.

"Um . . . well, goodbye," Harry said, looking from his Uncle to his Aunt.

Neither replied. Molly made a harrumph! sound, and stalked out of the house, her sensibilities thoroughly offended. Arthur noticed Dudley warily eyeing a spot on the floor. Spying a piece of brightly wrapped confectionary, he flushed red and picked it up. "I'll just take this with me, shall I?" he said sheepishly, and ducked out the front door, closely followed by Harry.

As soon as the front door was shut, the entire Weasley brood turned on him.

"Never have I met a ruder family, not among Muggles nor Wizarding folk! Why, I even think the Malfoys are more civilised-"

"Boy, when Fred and George told Vernon Sirius was your godfather, I thought your uncle was going to explode, Harry-"

"You never told me the Dursley's were that bad Harry, I mean Ron mentioned-"

"Harry, did Dudlikins pick up the candy George planted on the floor?!"

Sirius beat his tail against the grass happily, a shoe string of dog saliva drooled from either side of his wide dog-grin.

"Uh, so how are we getting back to the Burrow?" Harry asked.

: : :

"Ouch, get off me, Percy!"

"You get off me, Ron! You're taking up enough room for two people!"

"MUM! Fred and George are pestering me to take one of their Ferret-Faced-Fudge-Cookies again!"

"Ow, Sirius, get your bloody-tail out of my face, you're gonna take my eye out!"

Harry sat grinning on the magically elongated back seat of the flying car, wedged between Hermione and Ron. Sirius was happily striding back and forth along everyone's laps, occasionally bopping people with his swinging tail. Molly Weasley sat, tense, in the front passenger seat, while Bill and Charlie were wedged between her and Arthur. The Weasley patriarch was driving and nervously keeping an eye on blinking lights radiating from the dashboard.

"How did you get the flying car, Mr Weasley? Did the Ministry lend it to you, or something?" Harry asked, throwing up his arms to protect his nose from Sirius's pedantically swinging tail.

Molly muttered something under her breath, and Percy wore a pinched expression upon his face. "Erm . . . well . . . " Arthur stuttered and pulled at the neck of his robes. "You see, the thing is, Harry . . . "

"The Ministry doesn't know about it, Harry," Ron cheerfully piped up. "But Dumbledore told Dad he was free to do whatever it takes to make sure you arrived at the Burrow safely. That's why we all came along, see? Safety in numbers."

"Oh . . . well, where did the car come from?"

Arthur gave a conspicuous cough, and Ron lowered his voice. "He has had it since the old car went feral in the Forbidden Forest. Mum was furious when she found out . . . ow! Watch it, Sirius!"

"That was really very immature of you, Fred and George - what you did at the Dursley's home, I mean," Percy said, blatantly changing the topic away from the flying car.

"Oh, come off it, Perce! As if you weren't dying to laugh when we told him Harry's Godfather was a dog! You saw Dursley's face - I thought his head was going to implode!"

Percy's lips twitched slightly.

: : :

When Harry had first seen The Burrow, back when he was twelve years old, he'd thought it was simply brilliant. A good five years on, he still thought precisely the same thing, only now he also regarded it as a second home, and it was his favourite place to be, outside of Hogwarts. He'd certainly spent far more time in the home of the Weasleys' than at Privet Drive over the last few years.

The Burrow still looked as if it had once been a large stone pigsty, with extra rooms added here and there until it was several stories high. The house was still crooked, leaning precariously to the left, and five chimneys still perched on the red roof. The lopsided sign that read 'The Burrow' could be found stuck in the ground beside the front entrance of the house. The rusty cauldron beside the front door was still happily rusting away, and the number of fat brown chickens in the yard had increased.

As usual, Harry found himself sharing Ron's room at the top of the house. Hermione was sleeping in Ginny's room, Charlie and Bill were sharing Charlie's old room so Sirius had Bill's old room to himself. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the house, and Molly was hardly through the door before she grabbed her apron and directed Charlie and Bill to set up a table and chairs in the backyard in preparation for lunch.

Arriving back at the Burrow for the first time in a year, Harry heaved a great sigh of relief, and mentally welcomed himself home.

: : :

Harry romped down the curving stairway of the Burrow and bounded into the homely kitchen of the ever-formidable Molly Weasley. "Sirius? Sirius!" A blush crept over his cheeks as Mrs Weasley turned from the cooking range and smiled cheerfully at him. The smell of baking cookies filled the air, stirring something warm in Harry's body.

"Something wrong, dear?" she asked, wiping her hands on her food stained apron.

"Oh, no! I was just looking for Sirius, that's all. I thought me might be down here?"

For the first time since Harry had arrived, Molly took a long, hard look at Harry. He's quite handsome, in a scruffy sort of way, she thought to herself. He'd grown over the last few years; though not quite as tall as her own boys, he was still tall. Though he looked wiry, she would never make the mistake of underestimating the young man's strength. His hair was still pitch black and messy on his clear white skin, though he seemed to have trimmed it somewhat, and she suspected he was using some sort of muggle styling product to give it its scruffy appearance. With a slight frown, she noted that he seemed to have a silver piercing in his left eyebrow. She bit her lip and refrained from commenting upon it. If that's what makes him happy, let him have it. World knows there's been little enough joy in his life so far.

"Milk and cookies?" she asked absently. Harry shook his head, and with a nod of understanding, she gestured out the back door. "He's out in the garden, love. I gather you two have a lot to be catching up on?" It was a rhetorical question, and she gave him a benevolent smile, winking as he thanked her and exited through the door into the garden.

Sirius was sitting at the bottom of the yard, grinning as cocky garden gnomes made a game of running past him, daring him to "just try and grab us, ya' ugly sod!" Still smiling, he turned to Harry and gestured at him to sit beside him on the clover covered grass.

Sirius's eyes travelled over Harry's body as his godson crossed the garden to join him, mentally critiquing Harry's growth since he'd last seen him, nearly two years ago. At five feet, ten inches, the boy he'd left behind at the Triwizard tournament had grown into a young man. His body was slim and long limbed from years of training for quidditch and playing the position of the agile seeker. Slim, but toned and fit. His skin was still pale, and his hair was still an untidy mop that fell forward over his forehead, obscuring his notorious, lightning shaped scar and occasionally drooping over his bright and intelligent green eyes. As Sirius watched him, Harry lifted one arm to his forehead and pushed his hair off his face, revealing his scar and the small silver stud that pierced his ink-black eyebrows. "It's still there, you know," he joked.

Sirius nodded seriously. "You've grown since I last saw you, Harry. Nearly a man, now." This was said with a detectable trace of regret.

Harry smiled. "It was bound to happen one of these days. You didn't expect me to stay thirteen for ever, did you Sirius?" he joked, folding his long legs beneath his body and lowering himself to the ground.

Sirius clapped a gentle hand down upon Harry's shoulder. "In a way I wish you could have remained thirteen forever. At least then I might have been able to catch up on some of that lost time Fred was talking about." His lips twitched with a hint of humour.

Harry chuckled appreciatively. "That was George. Well, at least I think it was George. Hard to tell sometimes."

Sirius turned his face towards the oddly unbalanced-looking house. "They're nice boys, Fred and George. So are the rest of the family. Welcomed me in like one of their own."

Harry nodded. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Sirius. I mean . . . what are you doing here? Oh - not that I mind of course! I'm really glad you could be here," Harry rushed to add, lest his godfather take offence.

Sirius smiled again. "I know what you meant, Harry. And there's really no short answer." His gaze broke away from Harry's and he watched as a rather ugly set of garden gnomes marched arrogantly past. With a flick of his fingers he gestured at them. Mistaking his gesture for a sign of attack, the mock courage of the garden gnomes fled, and they bolted away, squealing and wailing. Sirius grinned. "If only our lives were as uncomplicated as theirs. But the wizarding world is a divided, dark place at the moment Harry, you realise that?"

Harry nodded solemnly, and Sirius continued. "Things are getting almost as bad as last time." He didn't need to specify when 'last time' was. "It's getting harder to tell good wizard from bad, there's no sure way of being able to tell when someone is under the Imperius spell or not. No doubt soon the attacks on muggles and muggle born wizards are going to start up again." Sirius paused, peering into the hedge surrounding the Weasley's back yard. Large, nobbled noses could be seen poking out from the foliage. "With the community so divided, and some still foolishly - obstinately - denying that the Dark Lord has returned, wizard politics are in turmoil. Dumbledore still commands a certain amount of respect, yet there are those that believe he is an old fashioned, soft hearted fool."

Harry's thoughts were flung back to the Triwizard cup, the night of the third task, when Fudge stubbornly refused to believe that Voldemort could possibly have returned, and the furious look in his eyes as he faced off with Dumbledore. "Did Dumbledore have something to do with you coming out of hiding?"

Sirius nodded. "Dumbledore is gathering those around him that he can trust and rely upon - like your friends, the Weasley family, and Remus too, of course. He knows I can help. I'm really not at liberty to reveal all that I know -" he quickly blurted out the rest of what he had to say as he saw Harry opening his mouth in protest, "- but rest assured Dumbledore will soon fill you in!"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, frowning slightly but remaining silent. He distinctly remembered the night after the Triwizard tournament; doubted he would ever forget a single detail. The night Sirius had reappeared in Hogwarts, before being immediately sent away by Dumbledore to reassemble 'the old crowd', Hagrid and Maxime had disappeared over the summer to seek out their own kind, and Snape had been sent back to Voldemort to act as a double agent.

Sirius interrupted Harry's thoughts. "Dumbledore has used his influence to see to it that my name is cleared." Harry had waited what felt like years to hear this, had imagined how he'd react when Sirius finally told him. He'd imagined himself cheering in joy, Sirius's face lit with happiness . . . instead Sirius's voice was flat and somewhat sad. Harry himself only felt anger.

"Why didn't he just do that immediately after you escaped? If that's all it took, why didn't he save us all this trouble, why did you have to go into hiding? I could have lived with you all this time."

Sirius held up one hand to cease Harry's distressed tirade. "Harry, I understand what you're feeling, but you have to realise that the timing just wasn't right. In the minds of many, I'm a convicted mass murderer. No one would have accepted my release, least of all the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore could have allowed me to rejoin society, but without Fudge's consent, the dementors would have hunted me relentlessly. That's all changed now, Harry." He ran a tired hand through his unkempt hair. Grey hair streaked back from his temples. "Everything is different now. People are uncertain, divided. Many simply believe that if there's a chance Voldemort has returned, there's also a chance I was innocent. And many just no longer care. I'm but one man, one insignificant problem, amidst a new number of increasingly growing problems."

Sirius sighed heavily. The evening air was growing chill, and with no small measure of surprise, Sirius realised it was nearly dark. The hedges surrounding the yard were rustling with the sound of retreating garden gnomes. Somewhere, an owl hooted. Harry gave Sirius a knowing look.

"There's something else, isn't there, Sirius? What aren't you telling me?"

Sirius turned to face Harry, his face clearly wracked with pain, and a little pride, too. "You have your Mother's intuition, you know that? So much of who you are comes from your Father, but you have your Mother's intelligence and intuition."

"Sirius! Tell me."

Sirius looked reluctantly away. "Pettigrew is dead, Harry. Do you know what this means?"

"It means that you're free . . . that you're undeniably innocent of all those charges!"

Sirius nodded slowly. "Yes, but it means more than that. It means that Voldemort no longer needed Pettigrew. It means that he doesn't care whether I remain guilty or innocent."

Harry's eyes widened. "Then he's planning something . . . I mean, for him to make such an open move. He must have grown in strength, or he is gaining wider spread support . . . " He paused. "Sirius?" Harry's voice was uncertain, questioning. Before Sirius could respond, Harry had thrown his arms around his godfather. "I don't care about any of this, Sirius," he said softly, his voice muffled against Sirius's shoulder. "I'm just so glad you're here now."

: : :

The Burrow lay in what passed for silence within a house overflowing with people. Sporadic bangs and rattles came from the poltergeist in the attic above Ron's bedroom. The soft sound of Percy's snores could be heard from down the hallway. Occasionally muffled laughter came from Fred and George's room.

"Ron, are you awake?" Harry whispered into the darkness.

"Yeah. Are you?" Ron whispered furtively.

A moment of bemused silence fell upon the room, before Harry responded. "Uh . . . yes. Yes I am."

"Oh! Right, of course," came Ron's embarrassed reply. Harry imagined he could feel the heat of Ron's mortified blush from across the room. "Uh . . . what are you thinking?"

Harry paused a moment, before replying. "I don't know. Everything, but nothing, all at once. Everything used to be so simple, you know?" Harry propped himself up on one arm and peered at Ron through the darkness of the room. He thought he could see Ron nod in agreement, and continued. "Even facing Voldemort in first year. I'd go through that again one thousand times, if only things could go back to being so simple. Life is just too complicated now. Ever since the Triwizard tournament, everything has been tense. Every year for four years, we were off getting into trouble and fighting Voldemort . . . and I mean, it was dangerous, yet somehow better than life now. Nothing has really happened since fourth year . . . but we never know what's going to happen now. We don't know where we stand anymore. Other than your family, Hermione and Sirius, I never know who I can trust anymore."

Ron sat upright in protest. "Harry! That's not true! You've got Hagrid and Lupin, and Mad Eye Moody . . . and of course Dumbledore, and I mean, having Dumbledore on your side is really something . . . "

"I guess. And I suppose there's McGonagall and Snape-"

"Snape! You mean to tell me you trust that slimy, beak-nosed . . ." Ron spluttered for a moment and made a choking sound.

"I do Ron. You know why? Because Dumbledore trusts him. He might have given us some hassles during potions for the last few years-"

"Might have given us some hassles during potions?!" Ron cried out incredulously. From down the hallway came the disembodied sound of Percy commanding quiet from the rest of the household. The sounds of the poltergeist upstairs abruptly ceased.

Harry lowered his voice. "Alright, he has been an absolute prick ever since we first met him, but that doesn't change the fact that Dumbledore trusts him. And he has always worked to help our cause, no matter what you say."

"What about third year, when he was going to see Sirius off to Azkaban? And he had Lupin fired!" Ron asked, outraged at Harry's show of support for Snape.

"He was just doing what he thought was in everyone's best interests, Ron. Look at second year - he didn't like Lockhart any more than we did, remember? So he can't be all that bad!"

A soft, appreciative chuckle came from Ron's side of the room. "Yeah. Though Hermione would no doubt disagree." A comfortable silence fell over them as both recalled their memories of easier times. Then, "You know, you're right, Harry. Life did seem to be simpler then. I mean at times we did end up in some fairly awkward . . . uh, spots of bother. But it was fun. We were indestructible, you, Hermione and me."

"Yeah." Harry was thinking of Sirius's comments earlier, when he'd admitted that he wished Harry were still thirteen. At the time, Harry had felt warmth flow through his body at Sirius's admission, mingled with regret and sadness at how unfair life had been for his godfather. Like Sirius, he regretted those lost years. Not just the twelve years in Azkaban, but the subsequent years of hiding once he'd escaped. And sadness . . . sadness that Sirius, his parent's most loyal friend, had been punished and incarcerated for a crime he hadn't committed. What sort of life was this?

Harry suddenly felt white hot rage flowing through his body. Rage at the wizarding world, that these things could happen. Rage that Sirius had lost more than fifteen years of his life. Illogically, rage at his parents for dying and rage at himself for not dying that night. And most of all, rage at Voldemort, for being the source of all the evils of his world. Harry could feel it, bubbling within him, a tornado of fury and vengefulness. His skin tingled and he could feel his fingers twitching with electric energy. And suddenly he knew with a certainty he'd never felt before, that when the time came, he would annihilate Voldemort, and all who served him.

: : :

In his bed, Draco suddenly felt himself jolted into wakefulness. His hands flew to his face, seeking to quench the flames he was sure engulfed his body. Finding nothing but his own feverish skin, he released a broken sob. It wasn't unusual for him to dream of flames and agony; memories of his past frequently plagued him. But this had been different . . . the flames had been hotter, angrier, like a white hot inferno of rage sweeping over him.

Seeking to destroy him.

: : :

Spring, the Early Ninth Century
The Core Realm

Time moved strangely within the Core Realm, differently enough that mortal measurements of change would have been out of place and useless there. Seconds, minutes, hours, days . . . even the passing of mortal years were inconsequential. Seasons often blurred at the temperamental will of the frivolous Goddess, and it was not uncommon for snow to drift from cloudless, sun-drenched skies. Trees more often than not blossomed in what mortals would have recognised as a sign of spring's approach, yet simultaneously bore the plentiful fruit of summer. The Goddess chose a mortal facade for the world she upheld, though pieced it together with a total disregard for the way things ought to be. But none of this mattered. The guise of the Core Realm was an illusion, one that morphed and varied at the capricious whims of the Goddess.

In the heart of the Core Realm, within the lodgings of the Goddess, a soft, youthful voice echoed off stone walls, haunting, lamenting, strangely hollow within the eerie construct: the song of the night, of restoration, rejuvenation and peace. Incense burned in glowing braziers, and tendrils of smoke drifted slowly through the darkness, swirling in an elegant and elaborate dance before finally, reluctantly evaporating in a lazy gesture of farewell.

The whisper of a scream drifted into the ear of the slumbering Aesculapius. His senses keen to the sound of suffering, he stirred in his sleep. The sound came again, louder this time, carried on a stray breeze through the Core Realm, and this time his eyelids fluttered open. Though the whisper grew louder, the screams of agony were growing softer, shorter. Aesculapius's bold silver nimbus rippled around him as adrenaline coursed through his body. This time, we heed your calls, mortal, he thought to himself, and swung his body upright.

"Chiron! Chiron!" His mind raced with one thousand thoughts as his powerful stride carried him through the network of chambers that formed the Goddess' abode. Within moments the clipped sound of hooven footsteps was echoing hollowly off stone walls. Chiron emerged from the darkness, his horse-like body preceded by his human torso. Aesculapius stared up at the handsome centaur, meeting Chiron's amber coloured eyes steadily. "The screams come again, have you heard them?"

Chiron nodded, and his copper tail snapped back and forth in agitation. "We should not be doing this, Aesculapius, son of Dhanvantari. Your Father's skill was a gift from the ether to attend upon the Gods. But you would use it to interfere with the fate of wizarding kind. I beg you to reconsider your course of action. It is not for us mortals to interfere with the fate of our brethren." Chiron's voice was smooth; soft and flawless, resplendent with the intelligence common amongst his kind.

"But how do you know it is not our fate to help them, to be reunited with them, Chiron?" Aesculapius's voice was strong, filled with desperate conviction. "We of The Shimmer are different from wizarding kind, and wizarding kind are different again from muggles, but we share a common bond - mortality. No matter our differences, we can not stand by whilst muggles persecute wizards, not when it is within our power to help them!"

Chiron's strong features betrayed no emotion, though his front hooves pawed the earth in a display of anxiety. Foreseeing victory if he pressed his advantage, Aesculapius continued. "Chiron, my innate gift for healing came from my Father. But it was you who taught me all I know. You taught me compassion for suffering, and how to heal mortal wounds, not just those afflictions suffered by the Gods. Surely there was a reason for this? Why would you pass on this knowledge if not to one day serve my brethren?" His cry was desperately close to a plea.

"The stars do not-"

"Enough of your stars, Chiron! They are stars, they mean nothing to those who are even now burning, drowning, having their necks snapped at the will of fearful muggles!"

Chiron blinked once, and his features were suddenly set like stone. His reserve abundantly clear, he none the less fixed his eyes upon Aesculapius, and his voice was not unkind. "Come, then. Let us see if we can help these wizards."

: : :

The Present

The mind of Hermione Granger was considerably less troubled than that of many other's that night. As usual, she'd been allocated to Ginny's bedroom, and Ginny was, typically, talking up a storm, despite the fact that it was well and truly past midnight.

"Hermione?" Ginny whispered loudly. Hermione wondered why, with a whisper that loud, Ginny was bothering to whisper at all. "Hermione, are you still awake?"

"Mhmmm," Hermione replied noncommittally. Whenever I find myself sharing a room with Ginny Weasley, I find myself waiting for the place to turn into a knicker-flashing, pop-corn throwing, pillow fighting slumber party, she mused to herself.

Ginny giggled "Oh, good. For a moment, I thought you were falling asleep!"

"Not just yet, Ginny. Honestly, I don't know how you could expect anyone to fall asleep with you talking all through the night." It was a gentle rebuke, and Hermione hastened to soften it further by adding, "How on earth do you get to sleep whilst at Hogwarts, Ginny? Do all the sixth year girls talk as much as you do?"

Ginny giggled again. "Oh yes, more so! Normally we don't sleep until well into the early hours of the morning." Hermione groaned. Ginny paused for a moment, and when she next spoke, her voice was soft and full of curiosity. "Hermione ... do you ever think of Harry as more than a friend?"

Hermione's eyelids shot open. "What?"

There was a moment of silence, then "Well . . . you know. You and Harry are awfully close, aren't you? And I mean . . . I was just wondering . . . do you like him?"

Hermione propped herself up and turned towards the other girl. "Ginny, I thought you got over your crush on Harry?" Her voice was laced with concern and sympathy.

Ginny's voice was full of surprise and not a little indignation when she replied. "Of course I'm over Harry! I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about you!"

"Oh."

"Well?

"Well what?"

Ginny let forth an exasperated sigh. "Hermione! Do you like Harry?"

Hermione smiled into the darkness. Ginny obviously wasn't going to be thrown. "Of course I like Harry. Harry and Ron are my best friends. I love them like family."

Ginny gave an irritable sigh. "I know that . . . but what I'm asking, is do you like-like Harry? You know . . . do you ever think about him as more than a friend?"

Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable. She wasn't used to analysing her feelings for Harry or Ron in this way. She didn't think of them as being potential relationship material, and never had. She'd known them since they were scrawny little boys . . . since she'd been a scrawny little girl. She doubted she was ever likely to think of them as anything but the baby faced boys she'd first met on the Hogwarts Express. "No, Ginny. Harry's just a friend," she replied firmly.

Ginny sounded disappointed. "You haven't ever imagined kissing him?"

Hermione laughed softly into the darkness. "No, Ginny."

"And you've never wondered what it might be like to be the girlfriend of the famous Harry Potter?" Ginny probed.

"No."

"Never? Not once? You've never even wanted to hold his hand, or-"

"No! Nothing like that. Harry and I are just friends, Ginny," Hermione explained, trying to be patient. "Have you imagined kissing Ron?"

Ginny squealed in horror. "Eww . . . Hermione! That's just so . . . that's just so gross!"

Hermione awarded herself with a small smile. "Well, that's how it would be for Harry and I. We just know each other too well, Ginny. Why do you want to know about all of this?"

Ginny's voice was thick with disappointment. "Well . . . sometimes when you look at each other, it's really like you're in your own world together. You look like it's just you and him, sharing some intensely intimate moment . . . "

"You've been reading too many romances, Ginny. 'Sharing some intensely intimate moment'?" Hermione chuckled. "The most intimate moment we've ever shared was when I walked in on him changing into his quidditch uniform last year, and believe me, it was far from intimate," she finished dryly. "Harry squealed like a little girl and demanded that I leave."

Suddenly Ginny's voice was defensive. "Well, I've seen the way he looks at you sometimes. And the way you look at him. I just thought that maybe there was something between the two of you, that's all." Ginny pointedly pulled up her covers and rolled over to face the wall.

Hermione was silent. Harry looks at me?

The seed had been planted.

: : :

Ron, Hermione and Harry sat in comfortable silence in Ron's overwhelmingly orange bedroom. The members of the Chudley Cannons quidditch team quietly whizzed past in the multiple posters that plastered Ron's walls. Ron faced Harry over a board of wizard's chess, whilst Hermione reclined in an old arm chair across from the other two, a large leather bound transfiguration book open in her lap.

Harry ran his long fingers lightly across the top of his mouth, then moved his tongue over his teeth, and finally sighed with exasperation, and turned to face Hermione. "Do I have snot hanging out of my nose or what, Hermione?"

Hermione's face registered surprise, and she closed her book with an audible thump. "Pardon?"

"You've been giving me strange looks for the last half-hour . . . do I have something in my teeth?"

Hermione's face turned a blotchy shade of red. "Oh! No . . . no, nothing on your face."

"Well why are you staring at me?" He demanded.

Hermione sunk down in her seat, looking annoyed. "I'm not! Not that I'm aware of, anyway," she said, rather hotly. It was the truth. She wasn't aware that she was staring at him. She conceded to herself that her eyes may have settled upon his features . . . but she certainly had not been staring at him.

Shrugging, Harry returned to his game of chess, but his concentration was wavering, and his eyes kept nervously flickering over to Hermione. She had opened her book again, but every now and then she was surreptitiously peeking over at Harry.

"Hermione! You're doing it again!" Harry pushed his seat back and stalked over to the mirror on Ron's dresser, muttering and brushing the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Help you with something, Harry?" The mirror purred flirtatiously in its deep, masculine voice.

"Uh . . . no thanks," he stuttered uncomfortably. He found it bad enough when girls flirted with him, never mind Ron's male-voiced mirror. Turning, he sent a meaningful look at Ron. "Your new mirror is weird, Ron."

Ron gave him a sheepish smile. "I know. Just my luck that Mum would get me a gay mirror, huh? She won't get rid of him, either. She thinks he's cute." He gave an exasperated sigh. "I can't even dress in here anymore, he keeps making suggestive comments. I've asked Percy to swap his mirror with mine, but he just gives me this affronted look and tells me not to distract him from his 'official Ministry work'." Ron dramatically rolled his eyes.

Harry grinned. "What makes you think Perce would like the mirror any better?"

Ron snorted and shrugged a shoulder in the direction of Percy's room. "Come off it, Harry. Don't pretend you haven't noticed! I reckon Percy's rip-roaring gay. Fred and George rib him something-chronic about it, too."

Seizing an opportunity to move attention away from herself, Hermione huffed and studiously focussed on a musty page. "Oh do grow up, you two. Just because Percy's a little pompous sometimes, certainly does not mean he's gay."

Ron affected a high pitched voice. "Oh dooooo grow up you two!"

"Oh very mature, Ron! It wouldn't hurt if you took a leaf out of Percy's book every now and then, you know. After all, look where it got him. Perhaps if you were to knuckle down a little this year you might-" she shrieked as Ron threw a rather large pillow at her head. Suddenly pillows and sheets were flying through the air as the three dived behind beds for cover, hurling various objects playfully at each other and laughing uproariously as feathers burst free of cushions.

Hermione giggled. This is the way it's supposed to be between us, she thought to herself, and squealed as Ron snapped his school scarf across her backside.