Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter
Genres:
Action
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 05/20/2004
Updated: 10/16/2004
Words: 44,951
Chapters: 8
Hits: 5,736

Harry Potter and the Summer of Discovery

Raistlin

Story Summary:
A short story sequel to the Ancient Order. Harry returns to Privet Drive for the summer only to find out that he has two new neighbors. One will lead him to adulthood, the other to maturity. One will teach him what love is, the other will show him what love is. Can Harry cope with these new experiences with Sirius's trial looming over his head? And where exactly does Cho Chang fit in the big picture?

Chapter 06

Chapter Summary:
Harry seeks out help from his friends, enjoys (snicker snicker) a dinner with his relatives, and hangs out at Xander's again.
Posted:
10/16/2004
Hits:
594


Chpt. 6. Council of Many

Harry felt like ripping out his hair. Why does this never end, only continue in one large, annoying circle? Not every guy his age had to continually look over his shoulder for fear of assassination. Then again, not every guy his age had an evil sodding wizard hunting him.

Collecting his thoughts before venting, Harry began to pace his yard. He was oblivious to the looks he was getting from Xanders's guests, but then again, he didn't notice who all was standing there just yet. It took him several long, tense moments to organize his train of thought before he began to quiz Xander.

"So tell me," he began, "why does Voldemort want to 'get to me'?"

"He's waiting for you to make a stupid mistake," answered Xander. "Something which we are all proud to say you haven't done. It's not every guy who has an evil wizard hunting him."

Quit reading my damn thoughts, thought Harry. It was a habit of Xander's that annoyed Harry greatly. Not that Xander could actually read minds, he just always seemed to know what one was thinking. A gift at certain times, a curse at others. Collecting himself once more, Harry began again.

"And why is he waiting on me? I mean, what's so bloody important about me?"

"If I knew for certain, I'd tell you in a second," said Xander.

"Why don't you start by telling me what you do know?" snapped Harry.

Xander didn't answer right away. Harry had the impression that he'd angered the young Auror. Maybe the scowl on Xander's face had something to do with that impression. Xander waved his hand over Aunt Petunia's garden while he spoke strange words, the spidery words of the Arcane language, the words that made Xander's magic possible. In an instant, the garden was completely devoid of weeds.

"Sit," said Xander. Had anyone else spoken a command, Harry would have steadily ignored them, but he knew he was in for another riddle. It was the way Xander answered a question; by bringing up more questions. (Of course, Xander had once reasoned that once there are no more questions to ask, one has become All-Knowing, something only gods can accomplish.)

"I don't know all of the facts myself, but I will tell you what I know," said Xander. "It's an outside shot, but maybe you can fill in some of the blanks for me." He lit a cigarette (something he usually did when he felt under pressure), and offered one to Harry, who declined.

"There are three angles that have to be looked at," said Xander. "One, Voldemort is looking for some sort of ancient artifact, something that's been lost for nearly a millenia. All I'm certain of, is that as long as you're alive, you are the only one who can find it, claim it, and use it."

"What artifact is this?" asked Harry, becoming intrigued despite himself. He didn't expect Xander to be honest, so he wanted to keep him talking as long as he could.

"I'm not sure. All I know is that it's magical, so it's impossible for a non-magical to have it. But, should Voldemort ever possess it..." Xander shook his head.

"What? What'll happen?"

"The only thing that can stop him is if Voldemort willingly gives it up," said Xander. "And honestly, what are the odds of that happening? Ludo Bagman wouldn't take that bet."

"So," said Harry, "If I'm the only one who can find it or use it, why am I dodging the Grim Reaper?"

"That rule only holds up so long as you live," said Xander grimly. "If you die, all bets are off."

"So what's the second angle?" asked Harry hurriedly. He was never keen on discussing his death.

"There's something about you that keeps stoppping Voldemort. Four times now you've faced him and lived. That's four more times than anyone else in history." Xander flicked his spent cigarette into the road and heaved a great sigh. "Even cats only have so many lives."

"So I ask again," said Harry. "What's so special about me?"

"Some people, like the beloved Minister, call it luck. Others, like Dumbledore, call it love. They're both right," said Xander, "but they're both wrong."

"Meaning?" Damn Xander and his riddles...

"Meaning, you can view it as luck, but only if you look at one individual case," said Xander, lighting another cigarette. "Once is luck. Twice is habit. Three times is destiny."

"I hate that word," mumbled Harry. A cigarette was looking good right about now...

"Dumbledore is right about love, but not in the sense that he thinks," continued Xander, ignoring Harry. "It's not the love you get from other people, and it's not the love you give to other people. It's so much more than that. It's the love you inspire in other people. It's the faith you bring out in other people. It's the trust, confidence, open-mindedness that you bring out in other people. And that's the third angle," said Xander, emphasizing his point with his fist. "You can do naturally what people like Voldemort try to do by way of fear. What happened when he fell the first time? His Death Eaters grovelled for their freedom. The only reason he took them back is because it would take years to gather that many followers again, and he doesn't have that kind of time."

"I don't exactly have followers-" began Harry.

"Don't you?" asked Xander shrewdly. "You have Dumbledore, the Greatest of the Age. You have the Weasleys, one of the oldest pureblood families. You have Hermione, the Muggle-born witch. You have me, the Mage. You have Dobby, a house-elf; Sirius, the outcast; Hagrid, the giant; until a month ago, there was Lupin, a werewolf. Even a centaur has helped you, something that is completely out of character for them. Now, there's Kat, the Muggle. Don't ever say that you have nobody."

Harry felt like he was being scolded by a teacher, yet at the same time, his eyes were opened wide. He'd never thought of it in that light before. All of those people, who would do anything for him at the drop of a dime, even if it meant their own life... It was incredibly overwhelming. An Army of All Races and of None.

"Okay," said Harry finally. "Why Kat? Why choose kidnapping a Muggle?"
"Since when does Voldemort kidnap Muggles?" asked Xander. "Doesn't a certain Malfoy head up Muggle Torture?"

"Oh," said Harry stupidly. So that was the plan; kill someone close to Harry so that he does something stupid like hunt Voldemort... but why would Voldemort want Harry to hunt him if Harry is the only one who can stop him?

"C'mon, Harry... put it together... I can't say anymore..." whispered Xander.

Put it together... Harry hunts Voldemort, but why? Harry thought back a few moments in the past. What had Xander said? Voldemort can't claim a weapon, but Harry can. So, if Harry were forced to find it...

"Very good," said Xander, apparently very pleased.

"I need to speak to Ron," said Harry suddenly. "Ron's the best chess player I know. I need Ron."

If this confused Xander, he didn't show it. "Come to the bonfire tonight. I'll make sure he's there."

"Good. I'll be by a little late, I'll be forced to visit with my Aunt Marge for the evening first," said Harry. He quickly began to think of reasons to back out of the Aunt Marge visit, which he was certain would only lead to disaster anyway. He thanked Xander for 'weeding' the garden for him and bid him goodbye until later on that night. All he wanted right now was a nice hot shower to relax and think.

And he certainly had a lot to think about. He was apparently the unwilling leader of the resistance against Voldemort, even though he didn't call the plays or even know completely what was going on. Kat, whom would always hold a special place in his heart for obvious reasons, was a target because of her relationship (depending on how you define a relationship) with Harry. Cho was questioning something in her life and it appeared to be Harry. Sirius still has yet to have a date set for exoneration. Pettigrew still hasn't been tried for murdering Lupin or framing Sirius. Harry himself had two hearings to attend, both for Xander's cause. A single person with a world's worth of problems to face. And he had yet to start the new term at school...

The water went cold as he pondered these thoughts, but at least his sunburn was slightly soothed and his muscles relaxed in time for Aunt Marge's visit. Choosing to dress as decidedly Muggle as he knew how, he picked out a pair of jeans that still enabled him to carry a wand (something called Carpenter Jeans. The had a long, narrow pocket down the side of the leg that hid a wand very well. Xander had given him the idea last year.) and a button-down shirt in the hopes of appearing respectable and giving Aunt Marge less to criticize him about. He looked rather like a student at University, if he might dare to say so. But, if he felt that this visit would go by smoothly, he was sorely mistaken...

Aunt Petunia forced Harry to wait by the front door like a hotel bellhop as Uncle Vernon pulled into the driveway. As soon as Aunt Marge expanded out of the passenger seat, it was everything Harry had in him to avoid snorting out loud. Aunt Marge was dressed in all black, complete with a black veil covering her fat face. Her hamhock of a hand was stuffed full of tissues, she continually dabbed at the bulging marbles she called eyes, which were held up by red rings and blue bags. Her nose, however, ran freely. Harry was glad he never had to be on the receiving end of an Aunt Marge kiss.

"Marge!" cried Aunt Petunia as the front door opened. "You look... er... well. What happened?"

For some reason, Aunt Petunia's words sent Aunt Marge into a blubbering mess, which caused her nose to run even more. The river of mucus flowed over her upper lip and began to crust in her thin female mustache as she dabbed at her eyes, as if she were some sort of nobility.

"I'm in mourning, my dear," Aunt Marge choked out as she kissed Aunt Petunia on the cheek. Aunt Petunia's face soured as she had a puddle of snot stuck on her face.

"Ripper passed away two days ago," grunted Uncle Vernon. Aunt Marge's howling grew louder.

This was too much for Harry. He quickly grabbed Aunt Marge's luggage and bolted up the stairs before anybody saw the smirk break across his face. Not taking any chances, he buried his face in the pillow and had the best laugh he'd had in a good number of years. He would have worried that he might be overheard if not for the fact that Aunt Marge's 'mourning' carried all the way into his room.

Unable to legitimately take any longer with the luggage, Harry returned to the kitchen and busied himself making tea, not trusting himself to face Aunt Marge without a smile on his face. Instead, he chose to half-listen to the conversation and half-think-of-something-very-not-funny. Dudley had managed to tear himself away from his new PlayStation in order to greet Aunt Marge, who now had wrapped her massive arms around Dudley's equally massive collection of chins.

"Did he suffer much?" asked Dudley, pretending to care as he counted out the fistfull of ten pound noted Aunt Marge had slipped him.

"The veterinarian said his death was instant. At least he was happy right before he passed on," said Aunt Marge.

"How did he pass on?" asked Aunt Petunia. Dudley was busy counting on his fingers to present the appearance of caring any longer. "Was it old age?"

"It was those damn neighbors," said Aunt Marge vehemently. "Those ones who moved in two years ago, with their upscale vehicles and their upscale pets. They bred horses for the track. I've always said it's wrong to raise wild animals, and now I've been proven right!"

Since when are horses wild, thought Harry as he mentally willed the teapot to boil faster. And since when was Aunt Marge an animal-rights activist?

"-and poor old Ripper was chasing the horses, as he does... did... every morning," continued Aunt Marge, with a fresh wave of howling as she corrected her use of tense. "And the big one, just picked up his hoof and..." More wailing.

"Ripper got kicked in the head?" asked Dudley increduously.

In his attempt to hold in his snort, Harry touched the side of the teapot, thankful that he had to concentrate on not laughing instead of the pain. Uncle Vernon, however, gave Harry a shrewd look.

"Burned my hand," mumbled Harry, as he displayed the blistering skin as evidence. He concentrated hard on Quidditch tactics as he poured Aunt Marge a cuppa, and did quite well ignoring her until her voice bored into his brain.

"Ah, I see you still haven't rid yourself of your 'cancer'," Aunt Marge said to Uncle Vernon, thought she stared at Harry the whole time. "Tell me, boy, are you still attending your Center?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry camly, though he felt anything but calm. "Sugar for your tea?"

"I'll do it," said Aunt Marge haughtily, as though the simple task of dropping a cube into liquid would confuse Harry. "Get me a crumpet," she ordered.

Harry obliged, but only because he knew that a display of manners would enable him to duck out early after dinner. "Butter or jam?" he asked in as pleasant a voice as he could muster.

"Jam," ordered Aunt Marge. "And not that nancy-pantsy fat-free stuff. Fetch me the homemade marmalade that your Aunt jars. And don't spread it too thin, either. And mind you cover the whole surface, don't stop before you hit the edge of the biscuit. No, thicker than that, how much more detailed to I have to be for you?"

And the orders continued throughout dinner. "Thicken those potatoes" and "More gravy" and "I'm a full-figured lady, I can't survive on a plate that small" rang in Harry's ears even as desert was served. Aunt Marge plowed noisily through her custard pie (what Harry would give for a Canary Cream right about now) before Harry found an opportunity to excuse himself.

"Just where do you think you're going?" asked Aunt Marge. "Something too important to sit and visit with your Aunt Marge?"

"Our new neighbor is having a housewarming tonight, and I promised I'd stop in," said Harry smoothly. "I'd ask you along, but you don't appear ready for a celebration."

"Who's housewarming?" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "Why weren't we informed of this? You trying to pull a fast one on us, boy?"

Harry peered over to the trash bin, where a small envelope in Xander's small, crsip handwriting sat on top of a pile of rotting banana peels. "Right there's your invitation," said Harry, pointing. "I'd just assumed you'd read it since it was in the trash bin already."

"Oh, well... must've misplaced it," muttered Uncle Vernon under his breath. "Don't expect to be let in the house if you're out galavanting late tonight."

"No, sir," said Harry, with a masked emphasis on 'sir' that went unnoticed by everyone but Uncle Vernon.

"And don't make any plans for tomorrow, either," crowed Aunt Marge. "You're expected to be at Ripper's Memorial in the morning."

Why was fate attempting to test his ability to hold a straight face? "Forgive me, Aunt Marge, but I report to my job at six in the morning." For full effect, he added a bow as be opened the living room door.

"Job?" echoed Aunt Marge incredulously. "Finally paying your own way? No longer a burden on your Uncle? I see that school of yours is finally doing some good."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm very grateful to my Uncle for sending me to my school," said Harry in his best Corleone voice as he discreetly patted his scar. Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, but kept silent. "Forgive my absence and enjoy your evening."

Harry ducked out the front door, no longer able to hold in his fit of giggles that fought so very hard to be released. Aunt Marge's booming voice echoed through the house, but Harry was only able to pick up "-finally showing manners" before he closed the front door and doubled over in laughter. He almost wished he would be at the 'Memorial Service'. It was sure to be a hoot...

Ahhh... the healing power of laughter. It could make the most miserable person feel good about himself, it could help heal the deepest heartache. It could make one forget his problems and enjoy the moment. Which was exactly what Harry did. No thinking about his complicated personal life, no dwelling on the fate of the wizarding world. Just friends, good friends, each with their own story to tell. That was the theme for tonight; share your funniest memory.

Xander started it off by relating a tale of himself as a thirteen year old and his first kiss, which steadily grew more deep, though he cautioned everyone on the hazards of two people kissing deeply while wearing braces and becoming entangled. A trip to the dentist and clever use of needle-nose pliers later, Xander refrained from kissing another girl for a good year. (Hermione, or 'Jean' since Kat was present, laughed hardest at this story, as her parents were dentists.) A blushing Xander threw another log onto the fire amidst the laughter.

Alicia told of her younger sister (who had a huge crush on Xander), who thought she was bleeding to death internally before Alicia explained to her that she was 'becoming a woman'. Ron shared the story of Malfoy in the library from last year, where Xander had hung a sign the read 'Do Not Disturb: Masturbating Intensely' on the door of Malfoy's private study quarters. A group of kids who were near Harry's age but attending University related the many pranks that took place there, of which the 'move your mate's dorm from the fourth floor to the first, get him good and pissed up, take him to his 'room', toss him out the window and laugh as the poor bloke thinks he's falling four floors' was Harry's favorite (though he did quite enjoy the one about tossing grass seed on a shag carpet and watering it for two weeks while someone was visiting home for a holiday).

When it was Harry's turn, he told of Ripper's timely death, which sent Ron into a fit of laughter the likes of which had never been seen. Laughter being as much an infectious disease as it was a miracle cure, the group was soon wiping tears from their faces.

"You mean to tell me that that idiodic dog actually had the imprint of a horseshoe on his head?" sniggered Ron.

Harry nodded as he giggled more at the thought. "The horse kicked so hard that it completely removed the fur. It was a perfect imprint. It sent Ripper flying into the electric fence..." Harry fell into another fit of laughter and couldn't finish.

After Harry, it was Kat's turn (since she was sitting between him and 'Jean'). Harry was sure that she would tell about the hayride that led to her 'lesson', but was surprised when she didn't.

"A guy around the way from my school called Chocolate Eddie (who knows where the name came from). Anyway, he goes into the offie to get some beers. He's counting out a load of change to pay with, and he's five pence short. The woman in the offie won't have it, and says he cannot have aforementioned beers. So he flops his cock on the counter, and says, 'See that? Now fuck off!'. Then he picks up the beer and walks out with it!"

Everyone roared with laughter, even some of the more aged neighbors despite the vulgar tongue displayed in the manner only Kat could convey. This story would obviously be difficult to best, so nobody tried. As a good host always does, Xander noticed a slight lull in the socializing, so he did what he knew; he turned to music. He pulled an acoustic guitar from its case and began to test the tune of it.

"I didn't know you played," said Hermione, who was known to listen to a more contemporary (ok, classical) style of music.

"Just learning," said Xander meekly. He could be so like Hermione sometimes, always shy to admit that he's not very good at something. Harry supposed that this was what endeared Xander to the group.

"Oooh, I love this song," cooed Alicia as Xander struck the first chords, and it became apparent why. It was a song detailing all of the reasons why he had broken it off with Miranda, his ex-girlfriend, and why he had chosen not to get back together with her.

Xander was right, though; he wasn't very advanced playing the guitar. But it was a very simple beat with very few chord changes, and a very catchy beat at that. Some of the group began to clap their hands to the beat while others snapped their fingers. Xander, in his rough yet soothing singing voice, sang:

(A/N* sung to the tune of 'Prison Song' by Zug Izland)

I can remember / all that she did to me

I can remember / how bad she treated me

I can remember / just what she kept from me

And I remember / all that she left of me

I can recall it / When the love was gone / I can recall it / When the pain was strong / I can recall it / When my heart would crash / For what seemed like all night the terror would last

I could remember / The look in her father's eyes

I could remember / The dark that clouded the skies

I could remember / The heat in the summertime

And I remember / All that was never mine

I can recall it / When the love was gone / I can recall it / When the pain was strong / I can recall it / When my heart would crash / For what seemed like all night the terror would last

I'm not here tryin' to make amends / Turn back time and I'd do it again / It's what I call a justifiable sin / Turn my back to pack / A new life begins

I can remember / Half her sense was gone

And I remember / It was all over the lawn

Also remember / The threats were everywhere

I can remember / I didn't even care

I can recall it / When the bitch was gone / I can recall it / When the bitch was wrong / I can recall it / When her hopes were dashed / For what seemed like all night the party would last

I'm not here tryin' to make amends / Turn back time and I'd do it again / It's what I call a justifiable sin / Fuck the bitch's wrath / A new love begins

As always, Xander's music set the mood for the rest of the evening. It was a very relaxed, informal air that surrounded the group. Xander played a few more songs, but became slightly frustrated when he had messed up and restarted three times in a row before calling it quits for the night. One by one, the members of the party began to return home, all expressing the favorable impression Xander had left on his new neighbors, as well as mild surprise that Harry wasn't quite the devilish delinquint that his aunt and uncle made him out to be. It wasn't long before Xander, Alicia, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Kat were the last to sit and watch the fire burn down, and soon after that Kat asked Harry to walk her home.

Since it was a mere two doors down, Kat launched right into her reasons for Harry's company. "I just want to make sure that we're really okay," she said. "You know, the whole thing about... what we did..."

Harry waved off her explanation. "We're fine, really. I don't regret anything, just wish you had been more honest from the start, but we've been over that already."

Kat smiled. "Whatever her name is, she's a fool for brushing you off."

Harry started. "How did you..."

"Well," she said, "You acted more like you had a point to prove rather than enjoy the moment. And you were never completely there with me until we... umm..."

"Oh," muttered Harry. "I'm sorry I-"

Kat cut him off. "No apologies. We both needed a shag to set our minds straight."

"I guess I kind of needed your bluntness. You know, no beating around the bush and making me guess," said Harry.

"And I needed your attention," Kat responded. "So we both got what we needed. But do me one favor..."

"Yes?"

Kat blanched a little. "Ring me up if ever you need to...'umm'... with no strings attached."

Harry grinned despite the reddening of his face. "Sure thing."

"Now stop smirking like that before I jump on your face," said Kat flirtatiously, then kissed him on the cheek before running into the house.

Harry stood there for a few moments, feeling much better about what had happened the previous week. He had felt a mite guilty about 'sort of using her' as he had put it in his mind, but since she had done the same thing and had full knowledge of his intentions, everything seemed to fit together nicely. He was now free to peruse his situation with Cho without the confusion Kat had brought looming over his thoughts. He turned around to return to the bonfire and promptly bumped into Hermione.

"Jesus, Hermione, a simple tap on the shoulder would have done just fine," said Harry, rubbing his nose which had ran full-force into her forehead.

"Can we have that talk now?" asked Hermione, a bit more icily than normal.

Harry offered his arm, to which Hermione slung hers through, and began strolling down the street. He was wondering exactly what was bothering Hermione. Shouldn't he be upset with her? After all, she was the one who eavesdropped on his conversation...

"How's Cho?" she asked stiffly, not looked directly at Harry.

"Not sure," he mumbled. So he explained about the first note he received from her, before he 'umm-ed' Kat, then the letter/gift he got from her on his birthday, and summed it all up by expressing his confusion and frustration. Confusion about Cho's feelings for him. Frustration over her lack of communication. Confusion on how to handle the situation. Frustration by her hesitance to confide in him.

Hermione's tone softened. "I see. Things make a bit more sense. I was all ready to lecture you about faithfullness and trust, but you've gone and ruined a perfectly rehearsed speech," she teased. "Talking with Kat, I can't say I blame you, though. And seeing you, I can't say I blame Kat."

"Why, Miss Granger, are you getting fresh with me?" said Harry, pretending to be scandalized.

"Ha Ha," said Hermione sarcastically. "Seriously, though, you've changed over the past couple of months. You never notice it when you're always around someone, but not seeing you for a month, I'd never guess that you're the Harry Potter I met on the Hogwarts Express five years ago."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, back then, you were always so nervous and self-concious. Always worried about people staring at you, worried about living up to people's expectations of you. Wanting to live up to your fame. To prove that you were more than just a name that everyone knows." Hermione paused to look her friend directly in the eyes. "Now look at you. You're more mature than any seventh-year. You have self confidence. And," she playfully patted his rear, "You're quite the 'hottie', as the Americans put it."

"You've changed quite a lot, yourself," said Harry.

"How so?"

Harry grinned devilishly. "Bigger titties." For which he received a punch in the arm. "You didn't want to talk to me about Monogamy or my growth," he said, sobering. "What's up?"

To his slight surprise, Hermione blushed. "I...erm... that is, I don't really know anybody else with 'experience', of course there's my Mum, but I can't go to her with something like this, it would be ever so embarassing for both of us..."

Harry laughed inwardly. Hermione always rattled on like this when she was nervous. After all these years, she had never been able to completely drop the habit.

"...so that leaves you, and I hope I can do this without having to crawl into a hole for years and die of shame, so I'm trusting you to keep quiet-"

"Spit it out," said Harry, stifling a giggle.

"Ron and I- er, that is, we have...umm..." Hermione's flesh tone was rounding pink and heading for purple.

"You two 'umm-ed'?" winked Harry.

"No, not all-the-way 'umm-ed'," said Hermione. "Umm" was turning into such a beautiful word, covering so many meanings while the listener always knew which meaning was meant. "But, you know, other things not involving the removal of clothing...you know, so we can show... without... you know... just to show we care for each other." Purple was officially achieved and threatening to take permanent residence. "But I would like to...erm... what I want to ask is...hrmpgrvvbrfffjbmm?"

"Sorry?" asked Harry, leaning in closer. Hermione leaned in and whispered into his ear, somehow able to convey her message in a much less audible manner. Once understood, Harry's eyes grew as wide as nature would allow. "Oh." He found himself repeating that word more and more these days...

So Harry drew on the only experience he had; he related Kat's hayride tale to Hermione. Well, most of it. He left out the part about her tablecloth inspection (much too personal to share with Hermione... better suited for Ron...maybe). Hermione had a horrified expression on her face.

"Harry Potter! If you are suggesting that I stand there and watch her give you-"

"NO!" interrupted Harry. "No, no, no! That's not what I meant! What I wanted you to get was that this friend of Kat's, she...umm... 'felt out the territory beforehand'... you know, to find out what...erm... you know what I mean?" he half-pleaded, hoping to not get too graphic.

He was relieved when Hermione nodded sheepishly. So Harry continued along that path, insinuating rather than specifically stating more details such as "keep in mind how it feels when someone bites your finger and multiply that times a hundred" and "nobody enjoys a dry hot tub, do they? Chew some gum or something first". The longer he continued, the more Hermione looked like she was about to burst.

"What?" Harry finally asked. "What is it?"

"Do I have to play with his jewels?" she blurted out from behind her hands.

Harry closed his lips tightly for fear he would laugh for days on end. He realized how much it took for Hermione to talk about something like this, but he couldn't help it. He held his breath until he nearly passed out, his exhale masking the wave of mirth fighting to be released. When he trusted himself to speak without breaking into fits of giggles, he mumbled an answer along the lines of "Don't do anything you're not comfortable doing" feeling that it was easier to give a good piece of general advice rather than say "bounce those bad boys until they turn blue" as his inner child was fighting to vocalize. How could he ever look Ron dead in the face again without laughing?

"Harry, say something quick before I die..."

"My butt is so perfectly round that scientists calibrate their instruments off it," he said. He also needed to hear something before he himself fell over in embarassment.

Hermione finally broke into laughter. "Yes, we all know that now that you're wearing those jeans, Harry Klein."

"No, seriously," said Harry. "I swear. It's like someone cut a bowling ball in half and glued it back there. Here, give a look."

"Meow," said Hermione, giving it a good hard whack that probably stung her hand more than Harry. "Thank you for not being an insufferable git. I shudder to think how anybody else would have handled that," she said, now throwing her arms around his neck.

"Mum's the word," said Harry, "but I'll do my laughing tonight all by my lonesome."

"Now, out with it, Harry Potter. How was it getting your wee willy wanker wet?"

"I think I liked bashful, embarassed Hermione better."

"Prat."

"Tart."

So they continued insulting each other all the way back to Xander's house, becoming increasingly more rude and their laughing increasingly louder along the way. Harry got the last word in with 'Weasley-wanking sex teaser' before they had to stop; Ron was within earshot and shooting suspicious looks at the pair. Not 'what were you two doing together' suspicious, but 'I know you two were talking about me' suspicious. It made Harry's task a bit easier; his intent tonight was to talk to Ron anyway.

"What're you two talking about?" asked Ron immediately.

"Vaccuum cleaners," answered Harry, who was on the receiving end of a covert punch in the leg.

"Ri-i-i-i-ght," said Ron, still looking back and forth between the two. Hermione kissed him, whispered something in his ear that made Ron's ears turn red, then made herself scarce. Good 'ol Hermione. She always knew when to disappear so that Harry could talk to his best friend in private. "You sure I don't need to be jealous?" asked Ron.

"Shut up," said Harry simply. "Listen, there's something I need your advice about."

"Only if you promise details later," said Ron, nudging his head in the direction of Kat's house.

"Maybe the details I feel like sharing," Harry shrugged. "Now listen. Let's say we're playing chess."

"Now there's a suject change," muttered Ron.

"You gonna help or not?" said Harry, a little irritated. Ron made a movement to 'zip his lips shut'. "Good. Let's say we're playing chess. I have two queens protecting my king." He had spent all night reearsing this scenario, and he hoped that Ron would be able to translate. "Now let's say that your queen is threatening my king. If I move one of my queens, it'll give you the chance to check my king. If I don't move either of my queens, I lose one and you still check my king. What's my move?"

Ron thought for a minute. "The easy option is to sacrifice one of your queens to trap my queen," he said thoughtfully. "You'd still have one, and I'd lose my best piece."

Harry shook his head. "Losing a queen is not an option," he said stubbornly.

"Look, Harry," began Ron, "if you don't want my advice-"

"I need your advice, that's why I'm asking."

"But sometimes you need to lose in order to win."

"In this case, losing either queen is not an option."

Ron thought harder. If he was annoyed, at least he had the presence of mind not to show it. "Your only other option is to somehow put my king in danger. Force me to play defense."

"But how?" asked Harry urgently. "What's my move?"

"I don't exactly have a board laid out in front of me, mate, so I can't specify one. You have to find a way to put both my king and my queen in danger, so I'm forced to move one or the other. You may lose a piece in the process, but that's how the game goes," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders. "In the mean time, if your three pieces are so important, you have to find a way to protect them."

"I see," said Harry, his thoughts drifting. Sacrificing a 'piece' was something he was very loathe to do, even though he knew that there were 'pieces' that would be more than willing to do it.

"Why do I get the feeling that this isn't about chess?" asked Ron, staring scrutinizingly at Harry.

"Because I have friends that know me too well," answered Harry.

Ron grinned. "C'mon, mate. We can solve the world's problems tomorrow. Let's go finish out this bonfire."

Sound advice from a sound friend. Hell, who was he kidding? Sound advice from The Best Friend. His Best Friend.


Author notes: OK, i know several of you have been (im)patiently waiting for this, so here it is. After moving, some computer problems, and a whole host of other crap that you will never be interested in hearing, i'm posting again. And since i'm dumb and can't keep track of what I wrote in which chapter, that song disclaimer that i posted in the last chapter should be for this one. A killa can only do so much...