Harry Potter and the Summer of Discovery

Chpt. 3. The Day of Firsts

For the first time in a very long time at Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry was allowed to sleep in until nearly noon. He hadn't gotten much sleep the last night, what with being out late with Kat and getting up early to complete his last day of work before a mini-vacation. The roofing job complete (Mr. Tompkins hadn't even noticed that the truck was 'used'), all smaller errands done for a week, and recouping the money that he peeled off to Uncle Vernon in one day had Harry feeling very good about himself. After all, it was his birthday, and as far as he knew, it was his first ever birthday that he had a date.

How to meet that date, however, was a problem. Could he very well go knock on her door? He really didn't expect her to come knock on his door, not that he was worried that the Dursleys would answer the front door, anyway. Ever since Dudley had turned sixteen, he was begging (well, more like bullying) his parents to go driving, and they left yesterday for a weeklong trip in which they promised (check that, promising indicates they had a choice; more like obeying) Dudley he could drive the whole time. Had Ron been around, Harry would have taken bets on how many dents Uncle Vernon's car would have.

Harry had the whole house to himself, another first. Since his 'rental arrangement', Harry reasoned that he no longer fell under the dictatorial thumb of Uncle Vernon, could not be told what time to come and go, and since his room was paid for in advance, either he was staying or Uncle Vernon had to give him his money back. Reason was a beautiful thing, really. Harry cleverly trapped Uncle Vernon; there was no way to lose this argument. In the end, Uncle Vernon took the lesser of two evils and kept Harry's money, though not without forcing Harry to sign an agreement stating that any property damage during the week was to be paid for out of Harry's pocket, and that the house was expected to be kept in immaculate condition. Since Harry used only two rooms in the whole house (his room and the bathroom), this didn't exactly pose a threat.

Firsts, that seemed to be the theme of the day. For the first time, he didn't mind being at Privet Drive. Could almost be something to get used to. Almost. This day was far from complete. He had yet to see any of his friends, had yet to see anyone, yet to eat. Well, Harry was thinking of all of this while he showered, so he knew that would change sometime soon. A check in the mirror kept Harry's high spirits alive. Vanity was definitely something Harry could never be accused of, but it never hurt to check once in a while, did it? He hadn't realized exactly what a month's worth of hard physical labor had done for him. Hopefully, though, he didn't gain much bodyweight. Stronger and better built was one thing, but he was a Seeker, and gaining weight just wouldn't do. After the vastly improved flying skill of Malfoy, he wanted all of the speed he could muster.

And what better to stay in a good mood than listening to the Beatles? Sure, they were thirty year old songs, but it was near impossible to get depressed listening to their music, and so long as an earthquake didn't hit Surrey, Aunt Petunia would never know he was listening to her CD's. He actually found it quite ironic that she could call their songs "good, clean, and wholesome, not this disgusting rubbish that degenerates listen to today". Had she ever sat and thought about Beatles lyrics? She honestly thought that "Day Tripper" was a song about a vacation, and that "Mary Jane" was some girl they knew. The thought brought another smile to Harry's face.

Wrapping himself in a towel and humming along to "Rocky Raccoon" (an inspiring song according to Aunt Petunia, as Rocky finds salvation in the Bible. Too bad, Harry thought, that he had attempted murder in a jealous rage first), Harry began to sing the lyrics out loud, putting nearly his whole voice into it. Nobody was home to hear him, and his new freedom was inspiring.

"Rocky Raccoon... checked into his room... Only to find Gideon's Bible.

Rocky had come... equipped with a gun...to shoot off the legs of his rival."

"Meow," said Kat.

Harry choked. Here she was, sitting on his bed, wearing very short shorts indeed, and a peculiar smile on her face. Wow, those eyes. Golden with a deep, black pupil. Meow was right, indeed. Wait, why are her eyes moving down? Oh, hell, I'm only wearing a towel! thought Harry. Potions, he thought frantically. Dungbombs, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch. Blast-ended skrewts. Professor Snape. Professor McGonagall. Naked. Ewwwwww...But it worked. Nothing returned blood to the brain like a full-spine shiver. Master of his involuntary (though, with the sight in front of him, could it really be called involuntary?) blood flow once more, he was able to safely walk to his wardrobe and pull out some boxers. Without warning, he threw his towel on Kat's head, shielding her eyes.

"Aww, no! I wanna see!" she whined. Too late. By the time she found her way out from under the towel, Harry was in his boxers. Still, Kat seemed to appreciate this all the same.

"Hey, you've already seen me half naked, what do I gain out of the deal?" teased Harry as he pulled on his new jeans. He had splurged on some brand called Calvin Klein, but the name meant nothing to him. They were just so damn comfortable, loose in all the right places.

Kat, in turn, threw the towel over Harry's head, and since he had yet to fully pull his jeans up to his hips, he tripped when he tried to catch it. By the time he untangled himself from the cloth trap, Kat had just pulled her shirt back down into its proper place.

"Too late, missed the show," she said airily, wearing a devilish smirk.

Damn. He would have to work on his coordination and reflexes. This wouldn't do in a Quidditch match. Feeling moronic for his ungraceful display and disappointed for missing what he was certain was an amazing sight, he finished dressing in silence.

"Cat got your tongue?" asked Kat.

"Only if she wants it," said Harry, trying and failing to look indifferent. Stupid thing to say, but it was the first thing that popped into his head and his lips moved before his brain had time to pull the emergency brake. "So how come you're here so early?"

"Early?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "It's nearly one in the afternoon. I thought I'd have to phone an ambulance."

"Man can't have a lie-in on his birthday?"

"Not if someone's expecting him."

"And if he didn't know he was expected at a certain time?"

"Then he should come early."

"Be careful what you wish for," finished Harry, as he tied his last shoelace. "Some of us prefer to be fashionably late."

"Keep a girl waiting too long and her interest dries up."

"Are we still talking about a date?"

"More or less," said Kat, standing up and walking to the door. "Coming?"

"I'll wait," said Harry, sitting down on his desk chair. When Kat shot him a dirty look, he pointed to her shoes, resting next to his bed.

"Oh, right," said Kat. If it were anybody else, Harry would have been concerned that a guest, especially one he had only known for two days, had taken it upon herself to invite herself into his home and walk around barefoot. He hardly felt comfortable walking barefoot in his own home, let alone someone else's.

Kat took her sweet time putting her shoes on. Not that they were all that difficult to put on, just slide her foot in and fasten the strap that goes around the back. But she crossed her legs for each shoe, her bare foot nearly brushing the inside of Harry's thighs. He thought that she may be doing this on purpose, but he couldn't be sure since she wasn't even looking at him. Maybe all girls crossed and uncrossed their legs when they put their shoes on. He very much doubted, however, that they strapped them on between a guy's legs. Thank God for loose fitting jeans.

"Finished?" asked Harry.

"For the moment," said Kat, and led him by the hand out of the house. Harry didn't bother to ask where they were going, figuring that if he did, she might let go of his hand, and physical contact with this particular girl was a very favorable feeling. He did wonder if she knew where she was going. She didn't look around much, barely glanced at street signs, and didn't ask for directions once. In the end, Harry felt content just enjoying the walk. And the conversation.

"You seem in a much better mood then the last time you were in my room," pointed out Harry.

"Yeah, bad boys have that effect on me sometimes," she shrugged. "It's not every day that someone steals a truck just so I can learn to drive."

"I didn't exactly steal-" Harry began.

"I'm not a bobby, you don't have to explain intent to me," Kat cut in.

"If you think I'm so dangerous, why are you spending time with me?" asked Harry.

"Because I know you're not dangerous," said Kat. "There's something about you, like you're only presenting an image or something. I can't put my finger on it yet, but I'll get to it someday."

So she plans on making this a somewhat regular thing, thought Harry. Okay, that part settled. Now to find out what she has in mind for today. "You know your way around quite well for being the new girl on the block," he said.

"I don't believe in sitting idle, waiting for life to come to me," said Kat. "I prefer to use my time wisely." Prophetic words. Or just a good piece of general advice. This girl was becoming the queen of ambiguous statements. Harry would have to watch his back, or learn to play the game. Or both.

They continued walking, hand in hand, what would appear aimlessly to the common observer, but she had a destination. That destination became apparent as they turned onto Sir Francis Parkway. Down the road, Harry could see a van parked with the logo of a local radio station, complete with a huge satellite dish mounted on top. The station was hosting a mid-summer fair, with musical acts and a small carnival.

"You know, I never would have heard about this otherwise," said Harry as he looked around. There were many kiddie rides for the younger patron, a wide selection of games to test your luck and skill, food and drink stands with higher-than-usual prices (two British pounds for a bottle of water was a touch ridiculous), and the radio DJ's had set up a gazebo in the midst of it all, grabbing the random visitor for an on-the-spot interview. Harry made a mental note to circumvent this gazebo whenever possible. He wasn't keen for an interview on a Muggle radio station. He was on his guard enough as it was.

Kat pointed to a go-kart track. "C'mon, race you," she said, and ran off before Harry could either accept or decline the challenge. Kat certainly had a way of taking the decisions out of his hands, which for the time being, suited Harry just fine. Harry paid the fee for a ride, selected a go-kart the appeared to be fast (which Harry had no idea what looked fast; it just had a racing stripe painted up the middle), and sat patiently as Kat inspected every other unselected cart, her critical eye finding a flaw in every one. She accused Harry of deliberately choosing the best one, thereby insuring his victory. Not willing to fall for her trap, Harry gave a sarcastic laugh, which drew a not-too-nice glare from Kat.

She had barely strapped her helmet on when she said, "Let's go, Mr. Badass," and took off without warning. Harry swore he heard her giggle, so he floored the accelerator and gave chase. If not for being an experienced flier of a Firebolt, the top racing broom in the world until now, he would have lost control instantly. In his eyes, this was just another chase of a Snitch, what with Kat's golden helmet and her insufferable weaving in and out of traffic. She drew many a rude comment from each person she passed by, responding with the most offensive of fingers over her shoulder.

"Okay, let's play with her a bit," said Harry to himself after the fourth lap, and pulled right up on her rear. A look over her shoulder told Harry that Kat didn't appreciate this one bit, and she started to weave back and forth, displaying little grace in the process. Having proven himself one of the better Seekers in the world, it was a simple task to keep on her tail. Though, the longer he did, the slower she seemed to go. Harry had to either pass her or lay off the accelerator, but once again, Kat took the decision out of his hands. A sharp veer of her cart, and Harry whipped ahead of her before he was prepared. Broomstick instinct told him to do one of two things when out of control; pull up into a sharp accent, or brake. As this was no broomstick and as there was nothing magical about these mini Death Traps, Harry buried his foot on the brakes.

Thank God for the bales of hay along the outside of the track. Harry spun in enough circles to cause his stomach to lurch into his throat, and found himself buried in a pile of farm straw. If not for the safety goggles they had to wear, he'd probably be blind, though his arms were scratched enough to more than make amends for the interference of the goggles. Damn. Why did he always make a fool of himself around girls?

Okay, the engine's still running, he thought to himself, arms still work, can move my head. Where's the sodding reverse switch? Ah, there, with hay stuck in the lever shaft. How do animals sleep on this shite? OW! Bloody hell, that's sharp. Okay, time to get out of this mess. Where is she? There, weaving as dangerously as ever. At least she's not a full lap ahead of me.

Harry ducked his head as low as possible while keeping his view of the track, and nearly put his foot through the floor. If the accelerator wasn't in the way, he probably would have. Oops, squealing tires make the supervisors upset. Ugh, two kids riding side-by-side, tacking up most of the track. Well, he didn't ask for this challenge, so he forced his way between them, barely able to hear their squeaks of shock. Now this felt more like flying. Surprised by his sudden burst of violent speed, everyone else was moving out of his way before they suffered the same fate as him. Out of habit, he leaned forward, but all that did was cause his neck to ache from the wind resistance.

Last lap. Kat was only a car-length away. She hadn't even noticed Harry was right behind her again, as she was turning her head back and forth looking for him. Oh, crap, a kid spun out in front of him. Without letting up any, he swerved around both the kid and Kat.

"Hey!" she called out after him. Harry waved at her as he shot past, his helmet hiding his grin. Figuring that this was enough to even the score, he allowed her to take the inside track around the last turn, but she still couldn't pass him. So, doing what the normal good-guy would do, he let his foot halfway off the accelerator. Finally. She passed him just as he crossed the finish line.

Parking the karts back where they got them, Kat whipped off her helmet and pointed a finger accusingly at Harry. "Where did you learn to draft like that? You're too dangerous, mister! Even your kart says so!"

Harry looked at the back of his kart, and sure enough, someone had painted the words, "Danger Too Dangerous" on the back. Before he could ask what drafting was, the supervisor had walked up.

"You know, you weren't supposed to use that cart. Can't you read? That's why it's painted on the back," he said, pointing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it there," he said sheepishly as Kat smirked behind the supervisor's back.

The pimply-faced attendant, who wasn't much older than Harry, broke out in a grin. "The secret's safe with me. That was wild! Where did you learn to drive like that?"

"School," said Harry hurriedly, and handed his helmet back. "I'm starving. Hungry?" he asked Kat quickly, anxious to get away from this nerdy admirer.

"Famished, Mr. Andretti. Loser buys," she smiled, and grabbing his hand led him away. Well, at least she can pick up on hints, Harry thought. They found an empty bench far from interference by anyone, close to the Port-a-johns (but not so close as to spoil their appetites), and proceeded to choke down the awful hot dogs only a cheap carnival could serve without guilt. At least the water was somewhat cold.

"So, exactly what is drafting?" Harry finally asked, assuming they were going nowhere anytime soon. Kat had kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bench, laying her head on Harry's shoulder. Without a doubt, Harry could stare at these legs all day.

"When you tail someone that closely, the wind resistance cuts to near nil, so the engine doesn't waste power fighting the wind," she explained. "It's something all race car drivers do when they need to pass someone. With the added speed, they whip right by."

"Only, if the wind suddenly hits them before they're ready, they lose control, right?" finished Harry, with an accusing stare. Kat smiled devilishly as she nodded. "Did I ever mention that I'm an expert in revenge?" he added, and grabbed his water bottle. Before Kat could move, he poured a small amount down the back of her neck, letting it run down her spine.

"Ahh!" she shrieked, and bolted upright, her shoulders involuntarily trying their best to touch each other behind her back. Which, of course, resulted in her chest being thrust out. And, of course, when a breeze hits water on the back of a woman's neck... well... chicken's done...

"A bit cold out here, isn't it?" asked Harry innocently, though if you followed his eyes, his stare wasn't so innocent. In response, Kat reached for her water and dumped some right in his lap.

"Let the shrinkage tell you for sure," she said. Showing no signs of embarrassment, she rubbed herself warm with her palms. "Okay, truce?"

"Truce," agreed Harry, not wanting to know what she would do next. Besides, watching her take care of her little problem was payment enough. "I gotta try to dry off," he said, and made his way for the Port-a-johns. Wondering why there were no lines, he opened the door to the first one in line and got his answer. Harry slammed the door shut before he was forced to see what his disgusting hot dog looked like half digested. A stray dog sitting near stared at Harry accusingly, as if to say 'Roll over, man, you're dead!'

"Hey, it wasn't me," Harry told the dog, feeling stupid for having to say such a thing, much less to a stray. But, the dog reminded him of his promised meeting with Sirius, and after a check of his watch told him it was already 3:15, he quickly found the least disgusting facility and did his best to dry his pants with a paper towel.

Harry took a refreshing breath of fresh air, feeling his queasiness diminish. Now where was Kat? The bench they were sitting at was empty, but near there, there were two guys who appeared to be in their mid-twenties, with not-so-nice smiles on their faces.

"Sod off!" came a female voice, with the attitude only Kat could muster.

"Now, that's not a nice way to return a compliment," said one of the guys as the other reached for her arm.

"Oh, and 'Hey babe, I bet that ass would feel nice between my legs' is so flattering," she said sarcastically, slapping away the hand of the silent one. "Piss of before-"

"Before what? You scream? Fat chance," said the wicked one, and he reached behind his back for his wand. Wand?

Harry had seen enough. A violent shove from behind was enough to disarm even the most wary of men, and this was no exception. "I know I heard her tell you to piss off," snarled Harry.

The wand had disappeared. "And you honestly think that I'm afraid of a boy?" he retorted. "This will be much easier on everyone if you piss off," he pointed at Harry, "and you keep your voice down," he added, now pointing to Kat.

"Look," said Harry, running his hand through his hair in frustration, "We're not looking to-" he stopped. Both of these guys were staring open-eyed at his scar and began to back off.

"Hey, we're not looking for... our mistake... we didn't mean... we're sorry," said the bold one. With a glance at his friend, they turned abruptly and walked as fast as they could without breaking into an all-out sprint. Well, even if he didn't understand it, here was another first. His scar came in useful for a change.

Kat was staring at Harry as well. What she was thinking, only she knew. It was less of a 'You're my hero' stare and more like a 'Did I just see what I think I saw?' stare. Not knowing what to do, only knowing that he wanted her to stop staring like that, he grabbed her hand. "I've lost my taste for carnivals. Wanna walk?" he asked, and not waiting for an answer, led her as far away from the site as he could before she could resist. Not that she did resist.

"What just happened back there?" asked Kat after they had walked for a good five minutes.

"You tell me, you were there," said Harry without even looking at her.

"All I know is that you flashed a scar, and two assholes ran."

"I didn't flash my scar," said Harry sternly. "They just... saw it."

"Then why did their attitudes suddenly change?"

"Couldn't tell you. I don't know."

"So how did you get that scar, then?"

"I got it when I was a baby. Nobody knows for certain why it's there," said Harry. Which wasn't exactly a lie; a scar from a rebounded Killing Curse was theory only. Since nobody had ever survived one before, a single case was not enough scientific evidence. "Is this how you thank everyone? By interrogating them?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Kat sarcastically. She threw her arms around Harry's neck. "My Hero!" she said with a bad Southern American accent. "Why, I do declare, Mr. Potter-"

"Enough!" said Harry, not able to stand it much longer. Noticing that they had found their way back to the Queen's Tea Room, he flopped down at a table and ordered drinks, more harshly then he normally would have, which drew raised eyebrows from both the waitress and Kat.

"So," said Kat finally, when it became apparent that Harry wasn't going to start a conversation. "What about that scar?"

"My Aunt and Uncle tell me I got it when my parents died. Since the only other two people who were present at the time are dead, I don't know for certain," he said, staring into his coffee the whole time.

Waiting another minute, Kat began again. "What happened to your parents?" she asked. Well, nobody would ever accuse her of minding her own business.

"My Aunt and Uncle say that they died in a car crash." Imitating Aunt Marge, he said, "Your irresponsible parents were reckless, had the nerve to die, and left you to be a burden on your decent hard-working aunt and uncle."

"Who would ever say such a thing?" asked Kat, at least having the decency to sound somewhat horrified. Maybe it was genuine, but Harry's bad mood clouded his judgment.

"Three people I live with come to mind," said Harry. He pursed his lips. "It's not a mistake that I don't know anything about my parents. Anytime I ever asked, I was scolded for asking stupid questions."

Kat made a face. "Since when is asking about your dead parents considered stupid?"

"When you're my Aunt Petunia," said Harry, taking a drink of his coffee and burning his tongue. Once his breathing returned to normal, he continued. "She and my mum were sisters. Aunt Petunia hated my mum ever since they were teenagers."

"Surely she gave you a reason why," said Kat. She had yet to take even a sip of her drink, and sat there stirring it with a spoon, clinking loudly the whole time. It was quite irritating.

"Petty jealousy, as far as I can tell," answered Harry. "My mum could do things my aunt only wished she could."

"I see," said Kat, still stirring away and not moving her eyes from Harry's face. "And can you do those same things?"

"More or less," stated Harry. A simple, ambiguous answer was always a good start for ending a conversation about something you wished to not talk about. "I think your sugar is stirred enough, don't you?"

Kat stared at Harry for a few more seconds before registering his statement. "Oh, right," she said vaguely, and dropped her spoon on her napkin. She took a very distracted sip, owing to the fact that is was difficult to drink and stare at the same time. Finally, Harry realized that this was an interrogation rather than friendly conversation.

"So, you know more about me than I do you. What school did you go to before you moved here?" asked Harry, tired of revealing more information about himself.

"Eton," she said shortly. "It's only because my parents have money. I can barely scrape up passing grades anymore. They just overload you with work. No social life at all. Oh, and the highlight of the school year is a hayride for Halloween."

"Exciting," commented Harry. His Halloweens at Hogwarts were always full of adventure.

"Extremely," said Kat sarcastically. "At least some of us sneak alcohol onto the wagons. Last year, my friend got so wasted she peed right there in the hay."

Harry laughed out loud, nearly tipping his coffee. "She dropped trou right there on the wagon?"

Kat giggled mischievously. "No, she was doing... um..." she stopped for another fit of giggles.

"What? What was she doing?" Harry asked eagerly, sipping his cup.

"Her boyfriend."

Harry spit his coffee all over the table. "She peed on him while they had sex?"

"No, she had her clothes on. She was-" Kat pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek and made a suggestive motion with her fist.

"With everyone else watching?" Harry asked incredulously.

"She was so drunk she didn't care," said Kat with a shrug of her shoulders. "Besides, she was kind of giving a lesson to us girls."

This was too much. In five years at Hogwarts, anybody Harry knew hadn't even mentioned the thought of having sex much less give personal demonstrations while peeing your pants. "I don't believe it," he finally managed to say.

"You calling me a liar?" said Kat defensively.

"No, I-" What Harry wanted to say, he quickly forgot. Kat flipped up the tablecloth and crawled under the table.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry. If anyone were sitting in the café with them, he would have looked foolish. Where did she go? Harry thought to himself. Before he had time to register the thought, he felt her hands opening his zipper. Right here in the café! For about thirty seconds, Kat proved that she learned her lesson quite well, and then zipped his pants up just as suddenly.

"Still think I'm lying?" she asked coyly when she returned to her seat.

"No, not in the least," Harry managed, wondering if the blood would ever return to his brain.

"Good," said Kat. She took a very long sip from her cup and slammed it down hard on the table. "Ready to walk me home, Oh Defender-of-my-Innocence?"

"Uh, gimmie a few minutes," said Harry, feeling stupid for saying it. But it was better than looking stupid when he stood up. Kat smiled wickedly. Finally able to stand up andot embarrass himself, he paid for the drinks and exited the café.

As they walked, Harry became more and more aware of another new sensation: achiness. Not in his bones, not in his legs. An ache that occurs only in guys when they are denied a trip to the stars. It started as a slight tingle, progressed into very uncomfortable, and now it was almost downright painful to walk correctly. By this point, he prayed that Kat wouldn't notice his slight limp.

What Kat did notice, however, was that nobody was home at Number Four, Privet Drive. She didn't knock, she didn't wait for Harry; she just simply opened the door and walked right into the living room, Harry's hand firmly gripped behind her. With a firm shove from Kat, Harry flopped down on the sofa

"Let's see if I can't do something about that limp," she grinned.

Damn, she noticed. No sense denying it now, he would look foolish. Well, at least more foolish than he felt. He didn't know exactly why he felt slightly embarrassed, only that there was the thrill of excitement overpowering this emotion, mostly thanks to the gleam in Kat's eyes. It was so seductive, the way she was looking at him. Harry's exitement grew until he felt his body could no longer contain it. He felt Kat's hands doing something in the remote vicinity of his hips, but that didn't matter. The world would end if he broke eye contact with her.

A small breeze through the open window brought Harry almost back to reality. A breeze he felt in a place that a breeze is not normally felt. It took Kat's hands on his bare skin to realize that his pants were off, but that didn't matter. The world would end if he broke eye contact with her.

Again, Kat showed off the lessons she had learned last Halloween. Again, Harry momentarily lost his breath. Not that he couldn't breathe, he just simply forgot to. A small problem, insignificant. He would remember to breathe later; air would come in the future. The world would end if he broke eye contact with her.

Then Kat released him and stood up, sending another new feeling through Harry. Like someone releasing you from a warm, comfortable, very secure house and leaving you to face the world alone, cold, and unsure of the future, yet more than willing to discover the mysteries that the future held. One of those mysteries was solved before his very eyes. Without watching herself, Kat removed everything that caused a male to use his imagination. A good thing that her shirt buttoned down the front, really. The world would end if he broke eye contact with her.

Not fully aware of his movements, Harry lay back on the sofa, his legs dangling over the arm at the knee. Then it dawned on him, what Kat was doing with her hands; his newly bought designer jeans, the ones that were so comfortable, now lay in a heap somewhere near the television. As Kat found a place on Harry's hips that gave her immense pleasure (and caused her to vocalize her pleasure), Harry had a fleeting thought about what the Dursleys would say if they knew what was going on this very minute, but that didn't matter. The world would end if he broke eye contact with her.

Any form of embarrassment disappeared as Kat rocked herself toward the stars. Harry wished he could express his feelings to her; to tell her how he felt and to tell her that he wanted to make her feel even better, but Kat was doing enough of that for the both of them. It was as though they were one person; the more urgent Kat's cries became, the louder Harry's body cried for release. And release it did, at the exact same time as did Kat. He could no longer keep his eyes open; it felt somehow wrong to intrude upon this moment with something so personal as eye contact.

What he did want, need, and do was to embrace her, embrace her closely, tightly, comfortably, never to let go. A small part of themselves would now belong to each other for the rest of their lives, and he was in no hurry to begin the rest of that life at this moment. No words were spoken, needed to be spoken, nor wanted to be heard by either. The present would live on vividly, even if only in their thoughts, and each made sure that every detail was securely stored in an easily accessed area of their minds. The world would end if this moment would cease to exist.

* * *

Showered, changed, and refreshed, Harry spent an extra minute or so gazing into the mirror. He couldn't explain why, but he felt, well... like a man. A man made of iron, invincible, more powerful than any man who had ever walked the earth. His messy hair gave him character, his glasses made him look distinguished, his scar no longer ugly but a mark of responsibility. He had a certainty about himself, and a certainty about life; that whatever role he had yet to play in the world, he would succeed in making to world a better place.

And this showed in his brilliant green eyes. Even the neighbors whom Harry had grown up under their distrustful eyes looked at him differently as he crossed the road to Xander's house. Distrust was replaced with uncertainty. Was this the same young man who had been publicly scolded by his uncle not two days ago? Harry grinned to himself. The ignorant could be quite amusing.

It was 7:00 in the evening when Harry strode past Number Seven, hoping but not expecting to see Kat. In a way, both came true- he saw her silhouette in her bedroom curtains. He could not tell what she was doing, but he was glad for the glimpse all the same. It reminded him that the afternoon was reality, not a figment of his imagination. His grin widened when he realized that his limp was, in fact, no longer.

Two doors down and a knock on the front door later, he was eagerly greeted by Xander and Alicia. Judging by the smiles on their faces and the affectionate way they touched each other, Harry could tell with his new insight that they had also created a bond of their own

"Hey, Harry, long time no-" Alicia began, and then grinned broadly. "-see."

What the hell, am I wearing a sign on my chest?

"Have a nice birthday so far?" asked Xander, who managed to keep a straight face, but his wink gave him away. He knew, too.

Harry decided to play indifferent. "Yeah, it's been nice so far." If they were going to be ambiguous, so be it. A full bottle of Veritaserum wouldn't be enough to force Harry to tell the story.

"C'mon, have a seat," Xander waved him in. "What are you drinking?"

"Whatever you guys are having," Harry said as he waved his hand at the three glasses resting on the dining room table. "Hasn't taken you long to settle in, has it?"

Which was somewhat of an understatement. Xander had the Muggle home theater system that he had spoken of with such longing, a very classy and very old-looking dining room set-up, some of the walls had changed colors, a Muggle home computer rested on a desk in what Xander referred to as his "office" (which was also covered from floor to ceiling in books), and a large and very comfortable looking couch which Harry was surprised to find himself thinking would comfortably fit two people laying down side-by-side. It was the perfect home for someone who didn't go outside much.

"Shit, I'm out of bourbon," Xander cursed to nobody in particular. "Harry, I've a liquor cabinet the basement. Be a bud and grab me a new bottle while I find more glasses?"

Sure, why not. It gave Harry the opportunity to remove himself from Alicia's stupid grin anytime he looked at her. Like it was so unbelievable that a girl found him attractive enough to be intimate with? His irritation grew when he couldn't find a light switch anywhere.

"At the bottom of the stairs, there's a pull-chain," Xander called when Harry inquired. Sure, make me walk in the dark. If I can't see, then maybe I won't have to look at your damn stupid smiles-

"SURPIRSE!"

The lights came on, blinding Harry worse than the dark, the shout stopping his heart for a few seconds. If not for the fact that there were stairs behind him, he probably would have fallen backwards. When his ears stopped ringing and his eyes could distinguish colors once again, he found Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, many people he knew from Hogwarts, some he knew from the International Scholastic Quidditch Cup the previous year, and a bunch he didn't know but looked older than students. About fifty people in all, crammed into this basement, though it didn't resemble a basement. More like a performance hall.

"I can see the headlines now: 'The Boy Who Lived' dies of a heart attack at his surprise birthday party. To say the least, he appeared shocked upon his arrival at the morgue. Thanks, guys, I'll be the joke of the Daily Prophet," Harry called out.

"Well, at least you'll be remembered for something other than your scar," said Ron. "How's it going, mate?"

By this point, everyone had started mingling, which gave Harry the opportunity for a private conversation. "Good, actually. You?"

Ron, who was shaking Harry's hand, pulled Harry closer. "Looks like you have a helluva good story to tell me," he whispered into Harry's ear.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" glowed Hermione. There was that hug again. Somehow, he had never before noticed that Hermione had breasts. Maybe it was because this was the first time her chest came in contact with any part of Harry. "Come find me later, we need to talk," she whispered into his ear, then left him to greet the rest of the people present. Why suddenly all the secrecy?

Harry pretty much just waved at everyone as he walked through, still in search of his drink and looking even more thoroughly for his godfather. A lot of people simply clapped him on the back as he walked by, intent on continuing the partying rather than having a one-on-one conversation, which suited Harry just fine. He wished to speak to only one person right now, someone who might be able to gloss over the subject of his personal life, or who may even be able to help Harry define if he had a girlfriend, girlfriends, or none at all. Finally, he found him back at the staircase in deep conversation with Xander.

"It's about time," Harry called out when he approached Sirius. "I thought you forgot about me."

"I was here earlier, but you weren't home," said Sirius, remarkable for his straight face and less-than-friendly tone.

Guilt was such a tricky thing. He felt bad that he had missed the opportunity for a man-to-man talk, yet wouldn't have traded the afternoon for all the gold in Gringotts. "I was, er, out with someone," Harry began feebly, not able to find the words.

Sirius solved the problem with a knowing smile. "Forget it. I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to be around anyway."

Good 'ol Sirius. Always knew when to mind his own business, yet always able to express his knowledge of the situation without embarrassment. "Sirius, I have a bit of a conflict of conscience," Harry began, and related the tale of the past two days beginning with Cho's letter and ending (to a very much less detailed account) with Kat. Besides, Sirius could give an educated guess what the blanks meant. He'd know what to do. He always did. Nothing made Harry feel better about his choices than hearing his godfather agree with him.

"Two beautiful women, each wanting a piece of you," smiled Sirius. "Oh, to be young again..."

"Knock it off," said Harry. "I'm looking for some fatherly advice here, not ridicule."

"Who's ridiculing you?" asked Sirius. "You have every guy's dream problem: What do I do with two pretty women? But my advice is this; first things first, make sure you protect yourself."

"Er, if you mean contracep-" Harry's face reddened, but Sirius interrupted him.

"No, not that. I mean, whatever happens, you have to think of yourself first. I know it sounds selfish, but not every guy has an evil wizard hunting him."

Voldemort. It always came back around to Voldemort. Why was he doomed to this life of insecurity and interference? "And how do I do that?" asked Harry bitterly, not meaning for his thoughts to dictate his tone of voice.

"We all know that he's ruthless," said Sirius. "Being close to one woman is dangerous enough. He'll exploit that if he needs to. Being close to two women could be a catastrophe."

Good point. Not one that Harry would have thought up otherwise. Much as the thought disturbed him, it was sort of comforting having an outsider give his opinion on the situation. "So you're saying I have to choose between all or nothing?" asked Harry.

"No," answered Sirius. "What I'm saying is be careful with whom you're acquainted with. One girl knows about Voldemort, and it could be the reason behind her reluctance to commit. This Muggle girl, she has no idea who Voldemort is, let alone the fact that you're on top of his "People to Kill This Week" list. And it's not like you can very well tell her all of this over afternoon tea."

Harry thought on this for a moment. One girl who knew and was questioning her safety, the other who knew nothing and probably wouldn't care anyway but would think that he was dreaming up a wild story in order to break up with her. So where was the winning solution in this problem? "I'm beginning to see your point," he mumbled.

"I didn't mean to trouble your mind today," said Sirius. He pulled a small package out of his pocket. "Here, this may bring you up a touch," he said, handing it over to Harry. "Happy Birthday."

Barely paying attention, Harry began to fiddle with the wrapping on the package. It took him several moments to open it owing to his preoccupied mind. Once he did finally remove the paper, his attention focused solely on his gift, pushing the minor detail of women from his mind. It was a Coat of Arms. Two, actually. One had a silver, double-edged sword that appeared to be cutting stone with the image of a lion ready to pounce on a dragon, and was mounted on a scarlet backing. The second had the image of a Stag rearing on its hind legs, framed by two pillars on either side. The pillars were made of solid gold. They were equally beautiful, and they both sang a silent song of comforting to Harry's heart. Different from that of Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix. This one touched the deepest area of Harry's heart, the one that no living being would ever be able to find.

"I'd tell you what they mean, but that'll take all of the fun out of it," said Sirius. "All that I will tell you is that they're yours by right, and that a little bit of research will answer some of your questions."

"Sirius, I-" Harry stammered. "Thank you," he managed. He had a pretty good notion of what the golden one meant. It immediately brought images of his father to mind, and of his Patronus, the very one that saved Sirius's life two years ago. The other, well, research would be needed to determine the connection.

"Why don't we put them in a safe place for now," suggested Sirius, motioning to Xander's study, the one room that was banned from entrance for any houseguest that evening.

"I think I want to hold onto them a while," said Harry. He had just gotten these two splendid gifts. He wasn't ready to part with them. Not yet. Turning them so that the images faced each other, he tucked them under his arm. It seemed kind of childish to hide them from everybody, but oh well. He didn't want to share them tonight.

Xander caused a mild distraction by running to the window. "It's here!" he cried to nobody in particular. "It's really here!" He ran out the front door, amazingly taking the appearance of a child on Christmas morning.

Harry and Sirius exchanged confused glances, then followed, along with most of the party. He could hear a few questions like "What's here, another pile of gold?" and a few whispers of "He's finally cracked. Knew it would happen." Once the crowd had spread out over the lawn, Harry could understand Xander's excitement.

"An Aston Martin!" said Sirius in awe. A tow truck was in Xander's driveway, dropping off a beautiful, medium sized silver car that looked as though it were forty years old, yet was in showroom condition. Xander could barely sign off on the delivery due to his excitement, but once he did, he quickly hurried the driver out of the way and ran a loving hand over the body of the vehicle.

"I've dreamed of this day ever since I saw my first James Bond movie," he said, unable to tear his eyes off the car. For several more moments, he inspected every inch of the car, as if convinced it was only an illusion.

"For a guy who grew up poor, you seem to be splurging a lot lately," Harry whispered to Xander, a malicious grin on his face.

"Oh, trust me, I'm done spending money," said Xander, still looking at the car. "For about the next ten years, mind." He finally looked around at everyone, calling out "The first one that tells me what movie this car was in gets the first ride!"

"Dr. No," Harry said instantly. Maybe someone else said it first, but since Harry was standing right next to Xander, he was heard first. Xander flipped open the passenger side door.

"Damn you, Harry!" cried Ron in jealousy, though he was smiling. "I got second!"

"I'll keep your seat warm," said Harry with a grin.

Xander climbed in, unable to stop smiling, easily resembling a man whose wildest dreams had just come true. He put the key in the ignition, but waited a moment before starting the engine. "Every time I have this dream, I wake up the instant I turn the key," he said aloud. He turned to face Harry and closed his eyes. Finally, he turned the key, and the engine roared to life. A look of ecstasy spread across Xander's face. "Roll Out! Hootie Hoooo!" he cried, drawing giggles from everyone around. Xander threw the transmission into first gear and raced off.

What a car. Acceleration was instant. Turns were effortless. The repetitive purr of the engine was hypnotic. The stares from jealous neighbors were addictive. Every car on the road moved out of the way, as if the driver felt unworthy of sharing the road with such a fine piece of engineering. All the while, Xander couldn't stop smiling. Harry was sure that he felt the same way when he first got his Firebolt.

"Check this shit out," Xander called over the engine, and pulled up the emergency brake at the same instant that he jerked the steering wheel. The car performed a perfect 180-degree turn, facing the exact opposite direction that they were driving in just two seconds ago. Dropping the transmission into second gear, they sped off again.

Twenty minutes later, the turned back onto Privet Drive. Harry knew it was rude of Xander to be gone so long from his own party of guests, but he doubted anybody would mind. The excitement on Xander's face would instantly halt any complaint that was made. Amazingly, Xander was complying to the speed limit now. Ironically, however, the lights and sirens went off on a police car just two houses down from Number Eleven.

"Dammit!" Xander swore, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. "What are the odds! The first time I drive it, I get pulled over." Xander eased the car to the side of the road in front of his own home. A quick glance at Harry to check his seat belt gave him confidence. Besides, after Xander's display of driving, Harry would have been a fool not to buckle up.

The cop got out of his car, reaching for something on his belt. He took a wide arc around to the driver's side window, and it was then that Harry noticed that he had drawn his weapon. The police officer tapped on Xander's window with the barrel of the gun.

"Get out of the car!" he ordered. "Get your hands up and get your ass out!"

"What the hell-?" Xander muttered out loud, but he complied with the officer's order, so Harry did the same, his own confusion growing.

"What's the problem, sir?" Xander asked in his most polite voice.

"Shut the fuck up and get on the ground!" ordered the cop once again. "I didn't tell you to speak!"

Xander complied. He knelt down, hands on top of his head, staring daggers at the cop. Harry simply stood next to his door. He was glad Xander wasn't staring at him like that. Alicia came running up.

"What's going on here?" she demanded.

The cop completely ignored her. He paced in front of Xander, throwing random insults at him, all of which were very demeaning. Some were references to his hair, some his age, and some Harry didn't quite understand.

"Thought you'd have some fun tonight, did you?" the cop snarled. "Thought you'd take this car out for a joyride?"

"I didn't know it was a crime to drive my own car, sir," said Xander.

Wrong answer. The cop cocked back the hammer of his pistol. "Give me a reason," he growled, pointing the gun at Xander's forehead. Xander's eyes closed and he involuntarily shuddered. Harry knew what was going through Xander's mind. His last encounter with a gun resulted in a three-inch hole in his stomach.

Finally, the cop took on an official tone of voice. "This vehicle you have been seen driving has been reported stolen. You are under arrest for Grand Theft Auto and for Evading Police Capture." He threw a coin at Xander, which bounced hard off his forehead. "Call your lawyer. You're going to jail."

"I'm going nowhere," said Xander, though his eyes were still closed in the face of a gun. "If you'll look in the glove compartment, you'll find the title to this vehicle, registered under my name, Alexander Majere. For further assurance, you may also call my superior, General Tommy Franks of Her Majesty's Royal Navy."

The cop hesitated. Arresting someone in the Armed Forces apparently was not on his agenda, not to mention the political fiasco he would have on his hands. Without another word, the officer reached around Harry and removed the title from the glove compartment, cursing silently under his breath when Xander's name was typed clearly under 'Owner'.

"You're lucky I didn't call this one in yet," the cop said with a curled lip. "Since there's no paperwork to be done, we can let this little incident slide with only a warning."

"I'm lucky?" said Xander as he stood up. "Maybe I will call my lawyer. I'm sure that the newspapers will enjoy this little story. Police brutality and false imprisonment of an innocent person usually sells papers, doesn't it?"

To make matters worse, a news van pulled up at that moment. No cameras, though, it wasn't a television station. The last person in the world Harry expected to see stepped out of the drivers seat: Rita Skeeter.

"Rita Skeeter, freelance journalist," she smiled, showing off her odd teeth. She had even dressed the part of a Muggle, what with her blazer and skirt, complete with a notebook and ballpoint pen. "Exactly what charges are being placed on the accused?"

"No charges," snarled the cop. "Just a misunderstanding."

"A gun pointed at his head, and it's a misunderstanding?" asked Rita, raising her eyebrows. "Surely you had a reason for detaining this young man."

Was Harry's hearing working properly? Rita almost defending Xander?

In response, the cop walked behind Xander's newly-bought prize and swung his nightstick, shattering glass all over the road. "Broken tail light," he grumbled.

"Hey!" shouted Alicia, striding over to the cop. "What's your problem? Haven't you been a big enough arse tonight? I've half a mind to call-"

Who she was thinking of calling, nobody ever knew. Alicia had pushed the officer beyond his breaking point. Swinging his arm, the back of his hand connected with Alicia's cheek, a solid backhand sending her reeling.

"You mother-" Xander started, then lunged at the cop. It happened so quick, Harry wasn't exactly sure that he saw what he thought he saw. Xander pulled his fist back, and in the next instant, the cop was lying on the ground, unconscious.