Harry Potter and the Northern Star

The next week flew by in a quick rush of confusion. There was so much going on and so much to be done, Harry thought his head would never stop spinning. As if the incident on the bus wasn't bad enough, Harry's week got more and more... unorthodox... the further it went.

The Knight Bus had stopped at the Leaky Cauldron as scheduled, and Harry managed to get away from the hustle and bustle around the Polaris girl. Exhausted, he had sat down at a table and watched as Ernie, Stan, and most of the people at the Leaky Cauldron crowded around Nerissa, lifting her skyward and carrying her up the flight of stairs to a spare room. Mediwizards ran amok for a while, and Harry watched them race up and down the stairs as customers encouraged Harry to eat a large bowl of stew ("He's so thin, my goodness!" one plump witch had exclaimed). Harry tried to lift each spoonful to his mouth, but it was hard--he couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen on the bus, what Nerissa had said, and that scar... Harry kept zoning out, forgetting in his stupor to eat.

"Poor goose," one witch with long brown hair cooed, clucking her tongue sadly and forcing the spoon into Harry's mouth. This broke Harry's concentration, and he sputtered, choking on a large vegetable in his surprise.

"It's all this mess going on in the papers," an elderly wizard said, slapping the front page of his Daily Prophet, "all this mess about the Tri-Wizard tournament last year, that boy's death in the school, it's no wonder Harry's all amiss." Harry looked over at the man's paper, glad to see that the bold headlines about Cedric and the Tri-Wizard tournament were no longer there. The news had been the Daily Prophet's best-running topic for over a month, and Harry was exceptionally glad that Rita Skeeter was not the one to write those articles. The headline of the paper, in heavy, black print, read: Death Eaters Extinct? No News for Ministry. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, glad he was no longer in the wizard world's spotlight for the time being.

Harry looked up at the man, not sure what to tell him. The man smiled a toothy grin at Harry and shook his head. "No, sonny, I don't think you're responsible for all that, it wasn't your fault. Just eat up and don't worry your head about it none."

"Can I see your paper?" Harry asked.

The man's face brightened at the question. "Of course, lad. Here ya go." He handed the paper to Harry, who straightened the front page and read.

The Ministry of Magic, once keeping constant watch on all reported Death Eater activities, is pleased and rather disappointed to announce that the percentage of Death Eater sightings has been rapidly decreasing. The reasons for the sudden drop in Death Eater activities is unknown, but the Ministry assures that all changes in the number of reports will be made known to the wizarding public. Studies in the past two weeks have shown that if the decline persists in its current state, Death Eater reports will become non-existent. More on page two.

Harry just sighed, handed the paper back, and continued to eat. As if the night couldn't be any more stressful. Harry wondered to himself if the papers had managed to release anything about Voldemort's return. Harry saw the man smile at him again, and he decided not to mention anything. He chewed methodically, wondering about nothing and everything as the bar gabbed on excitedly about what was going on upstairs.

As the mediwizards walked out a while later, and things quieted down a bit, Harry got around to acquiring a room for himself.

"What do you mean, you're out of rooms?" Harry exclaimed, not believing that the Leaky Cauldron was even capable of non-vacancy.

The bartender, Tom, shrugged and offered Harry a weak smile, as if a smile would make up for the whole thing. "I'm sorry, Harry, but it's been a busy week for us, you know?"

Harry sighed, and sat down on the barstool. "Alright, when is the next vacancy coming around?"

Tom shot him a worried look, and bit his lip. "That's the thing, Harry.... You see, the next available room won't be open for at least three days or so..." Harry's face must have fell like a stone, so he quickly added, "...but you're more than welcome to stay in the back until there is a room for ya, you know you're always welcome here."

Harry's mind filled with the image of him sleeping on a pile of crates in a dusty storage room, and he shook his head. "No thanks, but I think I can manage. Thanks for the stew." Harry hopped off of the stool and walked off to the back, hoping there was another inn somewhere hidden in Diagon Alley.

"W-Wait, Harry!" Tom shouted, running out from behind the bar. Harry turned, and Tom leaned down to whisper in Harry's ear. "There may be something I can do for you," he muttered, "if you wouldn't mind rooming with your friend upstairs..."

"You mean with Nerissa?" Harry asked, not sure if he was hearing right.

"Yes, you look like you need a soft bed to sleep in, and we did put her in a double room, because it was the only one left. You can bunk with your friend until a room opens, and then you can move if ya want. That is, if you wouldn't mind--I can't see ya going to sleep on the street, Harry." The balding man placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulders. Harry thought for a moment, not sure if this was the best thing in the world to do. He realized then that he had never shared a room with a girl before. But then, he realized his eyes were burning from the lack of sleep, and his back was very sore from sitting in the straight-back chair of his table.

"I would really appreciate that, thank you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, hoping Tom wouldn't change his mind.

Tom looked behind him as the last customer was walking out the front doors. It was already three in the morning. He sighed, and patted Harry on the back. "All right then, follow me, Harry. You look exhausted, so it's off ta bed with ya," he said, leading Harry up the winding staircase to his room.

Harry followed Tom to the end of the hall, where Tom pulled out a large set of silver keys. Tom flipped through the keys, pausing at a few before moving on, trying to find the right one. The keys jangled loudly as Tom ruffled through them. Finally, with a proud "Ah ha," Tom found the right key for the room. He jostled the key into the lock, and with a sharp twist, unlocked the door, and led Harry inside.

"It's not much, Harry, but I think you'll be comfortable in here for a while," Tom said with a smile, motioning for Harry to look around.

Harry had never seen a nicer room at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was beginning to think Tom was nuts for saying it wasn't much. It was one of the three suites of the inn, and Harry took a minute to look at his surroundings. The hardwood floor was covered in a rich, plush rug the color of blood, and heavy drapes blocked the large bay windows overlooking Diagon Alley. A small fire in the fireplace was crackling down to a few dying embers. Two large four-poster beds adorned the far corners, and in one, Harry saw Nerissa lying, covered by a large quilt. He managed to pry his eyes away to inspect the bathroom, which was blindingly white and clean. A clawed tub sat next to the sink, and Harry was surprised to see that the tub was tapping its claws on the tiled floor. After four years in the magic world, Harry was still getting surprised.

"I know ya didn't bring any bags with ya, so there are some spare nightclothes in the washroom you can wear. They're in the cabinet by the tub. So, get comfy, and goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Tom," Harry replied as Tom walked out, shutting the door behind him softly.

Harry sat down on his bed, looking all over the room again. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher next to his bed, and he took a sip as he examined the sight before him. Nerissa was still as death, and Harry couldn't even tell if she was breathing through the thick blanket over her. A long red braid, the color of fire, spilled over her feather pillow and over the edge of the bed where it dangled free. Taking a quick look down, Harry guessed that she must have been near his height, and that braid must have gone down to her knees, at least. Her hands were tucked neatly at her sides, and upon closer inspection, Harry noticed the ring on her right middle finger. It was a small rose made of ruby, set in a silver band. Harry didn't think so much of where or how she got such a treasure; he was too busy admiring how much the ring set off her graceful hand, or how it accented the color of her hair.

He looked down at her trunk, which was tucked clumsily under her bed. Leaning slightly over, Harry looked closer. It wasn't like his trunk; her trunk was dark green with bronze locks, not at all like the trunks at Hogwarts. Harry thought he heard a small scuffle from inside the trunk, but then assured himself that it was his imagination. The sight of the trunk saddened Harry, as he remembered the trunk he had before Uncle Vernon destroyed it. Harry downed the rest of his water in one gulp, and padded off to the bathroom, shaking his head sadly.

A few moments later, dressed in the set of borrowed pajamas, Harry sank down in the downy mattress of his bed, amazed at how soft it was. He pulled the heavy quilt over him and lay back, thinking of all the things he had to do the next day. He made a list in his head of all the things he needed to replace, all the notes he had to write. He closed his eyes, trying to forget the stress long enough to fall asleep. But before he fell asleep for good, he opened his eyes once more, and his gaze landed again on the sleeping Nerissa.

Just who the heck are you, anyway? he thought, before shutting his eyes for the night.

Harry woke up the next morning, and when he remembered where he was, he sat up quickly. Nerissa was still unconscious, and for some reason, Harry was thanking his lucky stars. He looked at the clock over the mantelpiece, and read: 12:43

Harry stared at the clock for a minute. He had never slept in that late before, and was never able to. His thoughts were immediately interrupted by a loud protest from his empty stomach. He reached out and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, slipping them onto his face. He crawled out from the covers and walked to the bathroom. His clothes from the night before were clean, folded and pressed, sitting on the edge of the toilet. Harry smiled and began to dress, mentally preparing himself for the day. He would need it.

After a huge lunch of lamb chops and an apple tart, Harry began his duties for the day. He sat down with a large stack of parchment, ink, and a worn quill borrowed from a kindly customer at the bar, Harry began to write his letters. One to Ron, one to Hermione, and one to Hagrid, explaining what had happened to him and why he couldn't receive or return their letters (if they sent any). In Ron and Hermione's letter, he mentioned where he was staying, so they could write him back. Then, one to Albus Dumbledore, of course. Harry had a hard time with this letter, because he had a suspicion that Dumbledore already knew about him. He always seemed to know, no matter what the situation was. Still, Harry felt inclined to tell him, and wrote down as much as he could. Taking a quick break to ease his aching wrist, Harry talked with the other guests of the inn for a few minutes. It wasn't easy.

"So, who was that girl last night, Harry?"

"Was that a friend of yours?"

"Can I see that scar of yours, Harry? I haven't seen it yet..."

Harry decided after a few statements like that that it was time to finish up. He wrote one last letter, to Sirius, to tell him that he arrived safely. Harry handed the letter to the barkeep, who offered to send it by the inn's delivery owl, Bastion. The owl hooted off-key and grabbed the letter with two sharp talons, flapping away noisily.

It was time for the second chore--an intense outing into Diagon Alley, to replace everything that Uncle Vernon had destroyed.

Gringotts wasn't as crowded that day, and Harry was grateful for that. After the long and winding ride on the carts down to his vault, he loaded his sack with the gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts to near bursting. The goblin looked at Harry with a pleased smile, full of gums and broken teeth, before starting the cart toward the surface again. Harry hefted his sack over his shoulder, and gritted his teeth while walking out the door. It was going to be a long day.

Two and a half hours later, Harry was walking up the alley with full arms. Not only did he manage to replace all of his old school supplies, he bought new school robes and even some robes to wear everyday--normal wizard clothes, and he was glad to have them. He would have settled for black, but Madame Malkin insisted on some robes in emerald green, dark blue, and even one formal robe cut from soft red velvet with a golden trim. Harry, with his arms full of shopping parcels, walked past Eeylop's Owl Emporium without noticing until he heard the faint hooting within. He looked up into the darkened eyes of a barn owl, who looked down at him curiously. Harry stared back at the owl until he could feel his eyes watering over. Harry walked away quickly with tears in his eyes, remembering his faithful Hedwig. He could never replace Hedwig, he couldn't even think of it. With his parcels in hand, his money sack a bit lighter, and his ink bottles jangling together merrily, he soon forgot his troubles and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron to drop off his load.

Nerissa was still unconscious when Harry got back, and Harry merely dropped his things on his bed and walked out again, not wanting to be a bother as she recovered. It was then, walking down the stairs again, that he realized that he had forgotten to buy a new wand. Cursing under his breath, he walked back out into Diagon Alley.

By this time, the sun was beginning to sink, and a few of the stores were beginning to close. Harry walked at a quick pace to Ollivander's shop, not believing he would be seeing old man Ollivander once again. The last time he saw Ollivander, it was at the Wand-Weighing for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Before any bad memories flooded his head, Harry pushed them aside angrily and pushed open the door to the shop.

The store was still full of dusty wand boxes, stacked clear up to the ceiling. Mr. Ollivander was sitting at the front desk, writing in his account book. Harry cleared his throat, and Mr. Ollivander looked up. His eyes lit up in recognition.

"Well, well, Mr. Potter. It's good to see you again, certainly."

"And you too," Harry began, "I'm here to get a--"

"A new wand?" Ollivander asked. "Heavens, boy, you don't need a new wand. That wand I sold you is sturdy and well-crafted..."

"Yeah, that's it, though," Harry said nervously, shifting his feet, "my wand got broken by my... I mean, it got broken, and I need to buy a new one."

Ollivander smiled at Harry thoughtfully. "That was a good cover, my boy. You don't have to tell me how your wand got broken, but I can tell you this. Your uncle put that wand through the ringer, he did."

"How did you know it was him?"

Ollivander stood up and walked in his back room, talking as he went. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, Mr. Potter. And by the way, I have a special delivery for you."

Harry strained his neck to see what Ollivander meant, and he came out of the back, carrying a small box in his hands. He opened the lid, and handed Harry a noticeably used wand. It was covered in smudgy fingerprints, and when Harry took it, it fit into his hand like--

"This is just like my old wand," Harry breathed.

"That's because it is your old wand," Ollivander chuckled merrily.

Harry stared at him. "That's not possible," he exclaimed, "my uncle destroyed it! This can't be my old wand." Harry handed the wand back.

"Oh it is, Mr. Potter. I assure you. Holly, phoenix feather, it's the same. What you don't know is, Muggles can't destroy wands," he guffawed, "they don't have that ability. They can snap it and shred it all they want, but they don't have the magic in them to destroy a magical item, you see. Your uncle tried to reduce it to small pieces and rinse them down his kitchen sink, but when he wasn't looking, the pieces flew over here. When a Muggle tries to hurt one of my wands, the wand just comes right back here, and I fix it up like it never happened." Ollivander handed Harry back the wand, and Harry took it, examining it closer.

"It's amazing!" he breathed.

"Yes, yes it is," Ollivander chortled softly, "I only ask a two Galleon fee for repairs. Fixing a wand that was almost ground to a powder is no easy task, I guarantee it."

Harry slapped down two Galleons into Ollivander's outstretched hand. "Thank you so much, Mr. Ollivander," he said.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter, just promise me one thing." He looked deep into Harry's eyes and Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect--the usual feeling he had around Ollivander. "Accomplish what your destiny requires of you. I'm still expecting great things from you, Mr. Potter. Don't let me down."

Harry left the store, holding onto his old wand as if it were very fragile. With his old wand back, Harry felt a new surge of hope--it was a feeling Harry was beginning to miss.

A few days passed. Nerissa was still in her coma, and Harry spent as little time in his room as he could. He couldn't shake the feeling that rooming with the girl was wrong. Maybe it was the way Tom winked at him as he came down the stairs each morning, or how some more Leaky Cauldron customers began to inquire. Harry couldn't tell them that he didn't know the girl--that information went unnoticed and completely ignored. Everyone wanted to know who she was, and what the relationship status was between her and him. Harry tried in vain to explain that he didn't know her, but no one really cared. Or no one believed him.

Harry was sitting down to tea one afternoon when Tom hailed him from the bar. "Harry, Bastion just arrived with your mail!"

Harry leapt to his feet and ran to the bar, where Tom handed him a handful of letters, freshly delivered. Harry realized how much he missed getting owl-mail, and sat down with his letters to read them. The one on the top of the pile was from Hermione, and Harry tore open the envelope with eager fingers.

Dear Harry,

I don't know what's gotten into your family, but rest assured, Dumbledore won't let that happen ever again, don't you worry.

This summer has been so boring without your letters. My family and I went to Greece for vacation, and let me tell you, it's such a fantastic place! I had a lot of fun, and I took a lot of pictures for you and Ron. Staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of your summer must be just as exciting. Listen, Ron and I are coming up there for school supplies once we get our list from Hogwarts. I talked to my parents, and they agreed to let me vacation with you so you're not too lonely while you're there. Maybe Ron can do it too! I'll see you in a few weeks, Harry!

Hermione

Harry grinned as he read. Having Hermione around would be a great relief, and Harry wondered what he would tell her about the whole Nerissa adventure. Dismissing the whole thought, he quickly placed Hermione's letter aside and picked up the next one--from Ron.

Harry,

If you think you've had it bad, you should've seen what's been going on over here! Mum and Dad have been worried sick about you, seeing as how you haven't been able to send us letters. When Mum found out about what your uncle did to you, she was an absolute wreck, she went bonkers! Dad wants to send them a jinxed package, but Mum stopped him... shame she didn't think to tell Fred and George not to do anything. By the way, your family should be completely cured by now. I tried asking what those two sent your uncle, but they won't tell me. Figures, eh?

Since you're set up at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of summer, Mum said it was okay that I room up there too, so you don't flip out being by yourself and all. Hermione's doing the same thing, I think. We're coming up there when we get our school lists so we can shop together. See ya then, Harry.

Ron

Harry couldn't believe his good fortune at having his best friends around for the rest of summer. His heart much lighter, he picked up his next letter. It was from Sirius. Harry quickly opened the letter, but no note was inside. Instead, Harry pulled out a newspaper clipping, no doubt from the Daily Prophet. His jaw dropped into his lap when he read the title of the article: Muggle Mistreatment.

The wizarding world was in a spin yesterday, when neighboring wizards and witches alike came together to publicly punish the Dursley family, family of famous wizard Harry Potter. Hearing the wide-spread news of the family's abuse of Mr. Potter, including counts of kidnapping, imprisonment, and malnutrition, the local wizard community took great pride in teaching the Dursley family a valuable lesson they won't soon forget.

Harry stopped reading, his heart pounded ferociously as he looked at the snapshot next to the article. There was Number 4 Privet Drive, and the Dursley family on the lawn. Thanks to the magic of the paper, the Dursleys were clamoring about the lawn, covered in boils, shoes smoking. Petunia was dancing the foxtrot on the mailbox and Dudley was trying to eat the sleeve off of his shirt. Harry laughed, utterly delighted, and read on:

Before Ministry employees could get to the scene, the muggle family had been subjected to numerous curses and jinxes as the crowd enjoyed the family's humiliation.

"It serves them right," said Belinda Flashdap of London, "it's muggles like that that give folks like us a bad name!"

The Ministry has no further comment on the matter, save that the Dursleys were completely cured and a quick Memory Charm helped them forget the humiliation of their acts. Mr. Potter is now safe and sound, out of their grasp.

Harry looked inside the envelope, hoping for a note. He found a small note folded in the bottom, and with a quick shake, it came tumbling out. Unfolding the letter, Harry read.

Dear Harry,

I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of spreading the word about what happened, and I didn't expect such an outcry. But you must admit, it's funny. But, the Dursley's punishment is far from over. I was snooping around, and I found a package in their garbage from the Weasley twins. Petunia's warts are coming off, though. Anyway, I'm glad you got to the inn safe, but you still need to stay there. I'll try to get there before school starts, but if I'm not there, get to Hogwarts and I'll be around Hogsmeade if you need me.

Sirius

Harry wasn't about to go anywhere at the moment. The last letter was the school supply list from Hogwarts, and Harry scanned down, reading the names of the books he needed to buy for the year. He thought a moment, then folded the letter and tucked it into the pocket of the new robe he was wearing. He would wait until Ron and Hermione got there before he went shopping again.

It was only two days later that Ron and Hermione showed up. The sun was shining bright, and nary a cloud crossed the sky. Harry was lounging in the hot sun, enjoying a vanilla-and-strawberry-rhubarb sundae ("On the house," Mr. Fortescue said with a grin). As his sticky sundae melted under the summer heat, Harry heard familiar voices in the distance.

"Oy! Harry!"

Harry stood up to see Ron and Hermione jogging toward Harry with big smiles on their faces. Hermione greeted Harry with a big hug, which Ron joined in on. Hermione was very tan from her vacation in Greece, and Ron had gotten taller. He was at eye level with Harry, and he slapped Harry on the back.

"Hey, Harry! How have you been? It's been forever!"

"What on earth have you been up to?" Hermione asked, "You must be bored out of your mind, sitting here all day long! You could be studying!"

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry in his usual fashion.

Harry watched the two sit down at the table, and Harry decided it was time to spill the story about Nerissa and the Knight Bus. He turned around to get Mr. Fortescue's attention so he could serve Ron and Hermione, but to his surprise, he was already on his way. He placed two heaping chocolate-banana splits before them and winked at Harry.

"Ten steps ahead of you, my friend," he said.

Hermione and Ron dug into their ice cream, and Harry took a deep breath. He didn't really know where to begin.

Hermione was the first to notice. "Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, licked a large glob of chocolate sauce off of her lips.

Harry leaned forward, muttering so no one else could hear. "There's something I have to tell you guys. You're not going to believe this..."

"Oh my. And she's been unconscious ever since?" Hermione was propped on her elbows, her eyes wide as she heard the last of Harry's story. Ron was almost out of his seat, his jaw dropped.

"Yup. And I have no idea what's going to happen, or what to do about it."

Ron sat back in his seat, his eyes still wide. "You know, this is the earliest our adventures have ever started, you know that?"

Hermione shot him a nasty look. "Is that all you can say? This is serious stuff, Ron!" She turned to Harry. "Now, are you sure you didn't dream this up? It's not just some hallucination, is it?"

It was Ron's turn. "Honestly, Hermione. We go to a school with a ghost in a toilet; this is right up our alley." He sat back, arms crossed, satisfied with his retort.

"If you both still don't believe me, she's lying still as death in my room right now. I could prove it to you." Harry said, standing up. "I'm not going to sit here pondering when there's a problem in my room."

Ron stood up. "Yeah, let's go. I'd like to see this for myself before I get chucked into another yearly disaster. C'mon, Hermione."

Hermione got up, and the three of them marched back up Diagon Alley, back into the Leaky Cauldron, where Ron turned down a cup of tea offered up by Tom, and up the stairs to Harry's room. Harry jostled with his key before finally opening the door wide and walking inside.

Nerissa was finally awake.

She stood up, shocked at the intrusion. She threw down the book she was reading and whipped out her wand, pointing it at the three, who were unarmed.

"Who are you?" she ordered roughly. "What do you want?"

Harry stammered, "T-this is my room too. W-we share it, that's my stuff over there..." he pointed at the pile of clothes and the new trunk. Nerissa's eyes followed his finger and lowered her wand.

"Thank heavens. I was wondering whose things those were. My name's Nerissa." She held out her hand, and Harry shook it gently. Harry never guessed that Nerissa's eyes were deep, dark brown, almost black, with a dull red hint that made Harry think of the ruby on her hand. Harry was right about her height; she stood only an inch under Harry, and an inch over Hermione. Harry's pulse was going a mile a minute. Nerissa Polaris was a goddess, and Harry was humbled.

Nerissa held out her hand to Ron, who could only make a weak moaning sound. He wasn't blinking; he was engulfed by the same beauty Harry saw, and Harry could almost see a line of drool escaping Ron's sagging mouth. Nerissa made a small noise of distain, confused by his looks, and turned a handshake to Hermione. Hermione shook her hand heartily.

"Pleasure. It's Hermione, the dolt next to me is Ron," she put a hand by her mouth and hissed, "No manners, I swear..." Her attention was quickly grabbed by something else. "Holy cricket! Is that what I think it is?" Hermione brushed past Nerissa and snatched up the book she was reading before they came in. "Oooh!" she exclaimed, "Wuthering Heights! I love this book!"

"So do I," Nerissa said, sitting down next to Hermione, "It's one of my favorites."

Hermione skimmed the pages, making "oohs" and "ahhs" at every other page or so. "I just love Heathcliff, don't you? This book always makes me cry, you know that part when he says, 'I cannot live without my life--"

"'--I cannot live without my soul!'" Nerissa chimed in, and the girls giggled together. Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged.

Hermione looked over on the bed, where a huge pile of books lay on the covers. "Oh, you have so many books, my word! You're a living library!" Hermione ran a hand over the books, examining titles. "Lessons in Magic, volume nine, Spells and Charms, class twelve, Curses of the Twentieth Century, Potions in Motion, volume sixteen, my god! You must be a genius to have all of these! So advanced!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Nerissa said with a small blush, "just some light reading."

Hermione looked at Nerissa as if she had found herself a new savior. "Are you in Hogwarts? What year are you?"

Nerissa looked at her shoes. "I'm... not in Hogwarts... yet."

"But you look about our age! How can you not be in it yet?"

Nerissa started looking very uncomfortable with the questions. "I have to be tested early, before school starts.... I was home schooled, which is how I know all about it," she explained. Trying to avoid the subject, she looked up at Harry, and locked onto his eyes. She cocked her head and stared at him, as if trying to place him somewhere in her head. "I think I've seen you somewhere before, what was your name?"

Harry looked, for the first time, pleased to introduce himself. "I'm Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

Nerissa's smile wiped clean from her face. She stood up, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She walked toward him cautiously, and reached out to touch his forehead. Harry's first instinct was to back away, but something in Nerissa's eyes made him stay. He stared at her, holding his breath. She pushed back the hair from his forehead, revealing the lightning-scar on his flesh. She traced the scar with her finger lightly, using a feathery touch, sending sparks down Harry's spine, warming him up and down like a gentle wave. He could feel his face flushing as she touched him. Harry looked at her as she touched him, and he saw, to his astonishment, the same scar reappear on Nerissa's head. He stared at it, watched as it slid out of her flesh like some tiny snake, forked and turned until it ended above the bridge of her nose.

"Harry Potter," she breathed, backing away just as slowly. Harry's body cried out when Nerissa took her hand away, as if her touch was the breath of life. Nerissa stiffened when she noticed that Harry was staring at her scar, and the magic of the moment died away. She shook her head, and the scar disappeared again.

"Umm... sorry about that, uh... yeah... uh, I hate to be a bother, but I have some... things I have to do, yeah... I'll see you three later," Nerissa stammered over her words, then slid past the group and walked out the door without another word. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared after her.

"Did you see what I saw?" Harry asked in a tight, squeaky voice.

"Yeah," Ron sighed, staring out the door. "A goddess! Harry, you are so lucky!" Ron patted Harry square on the shoulders. "What a find!"

"I saw that, Harry. You were right about her, there is something fishy about that scar of hers. You'd better watch out," Hermione said, picking up another book out of Nerissa's pile.

"That was better than the veela at the Quidditch Cup, Harry," he exclaimed, casting another glance at the door, as if hoping she'd come back in. "How lucky can you get?"

"Ron! Can the horny guy act already! I found something!" Hermione cried. Harry and Ron rushed over, where Hermione was looking into one of Nerissa's books with shock all over her face.

Harry looked down at the pages. There was a picture of a dragon on one page, with a fierce-looking Norwegian Ridgeback spouting fire into the air. On the next page, Harry could see what Hermione was so shocked about. Looking closer, he saw that the writing on the page wasn't even writing at all; the words were formed from small shapes and designs, and every shape was flowing across the page like water. Lumps of squiggle-shaped lines and groups of crescent moons crawled here and there, and Harry furrowed his brow.

"What the heck is all that, Herm?" Ron exclaimed in surprise.

"This is A Magician's Guide to Post-Modern Celestial Sorcery, Ron. This is as tough as it gets. It's for really, really advanced wizards, because only they can understand the language."

"You call this a language? Who writes in shapes?" Harry asked, squashing a large triangle with his finger, stopping it from dripping right off the page.

"This is called 'Northcode'. It's a dialect only for the most advanced wizard. They don't even sell this to minors. What is Nerissa doing with it?"

"Can you read this jargon?" Ron asked hopefully, swirling the text with his finger.

"Are you nuts? I'm only so good, not even close to this!" Hermione exclaimed, slamming the book shut. Harry and Ron only just got their fingers out of the way, and Harry's triangle was squashed back inside with a puff of gold dust as the book closed. "I ask again, what does someone our age do with a book she can't read? And if she can read it, where'd she learn?" Hermione tossed the book aside, crossing her arms over her chest. "This girl is a shifty character, I'd watch out for her. If she's talking about Voldemort in her sleep and reading this, you better watch your back, Harry."

Harry nodded, but something wasn't right. "Wait a minute," he said, leaning over and rummaging through Nerissa's books. From the pile, he withdrew Nerissa's letter from Hogwarts. He tossed it to Hermione. "Herm, look at that address. What do you notice?"

Hermione read the address, biting her lower lip in concentration. "She's from an orphanage," she stated, staring at the envelope.

"Wait!" Ron exclaimed, snatching up the envelope. "That's the Danshon Street Orphanage! That's Muggle territory! Dad knows all about it!"

"Right," Harry said, "if that's Muggle territory, how could she have been 'home-schooled' in magic without getting into trouble with the Ministry? And how come she didn't get her letter when we all did, four years ago?"

Hermione thought of it first. "She's lying," she said slowly.

Harry nodded curtly. "Right. Something is up with her. Something's not right at all."

"Do you think she's in league with Voldemort?" Hermione squealed, looking at Harry with big eyes full of anticipation.

"I don't know, but we better keep an eye out," Ron said, standing up.

"Yeah," Hermione said, getting up with Ron. "Harry, you're rooming with her, so you keep a close eye on her, and be careful while you're at it. In the meantime, let's go down to the bar for some supper."

Harry nodded, followed Hermione and Ron out of the room. He wasn't thinking about supper, though. His mind was racing, both with conspiracy theory and the sensuous look in those big brown eyes when Nerissa touched him...

"So, Harry," Ron said casually, "if this girl's in league with Voldemort, it wouldn't be a good idea if you just up and started something with her, ya know? I have to watch out for your best interests, so I'll, eh hem, get her out of your hair, maybe take her out.... So you can investigate... yeah..."

"Cram it, Ron," Hermione said between clenched teeth.