The Awakening Power

Chapter 5: Reflections in Eight Mirrors

* * *

Remus Lupin knew how cruel life could be.

He was sitting alone in Grimmauld Place, ostensibly reading some reports from members of the Order of the Phoenix, but his mind was not really on his duties. He sighed and got up from his chair.

He began walking around the large, ornate office, looking at the fine inlaid wood of the walls - his walls. Or at least, his walls that he jointly owned with Harry. It was so odd after so many years of poverty to be quite wealthy, and he still couldn't quite grasp the concept. Of course, the cost of his wealth had been intolerably high.

The party the previous day had been both wonderful and terrible for him. It had been wonderful to share in Harry's joy. Harry had so few opportunities to know how much people cared about him. It was difficult for Harry to accept after being neglected for so many years.

Lupin knew that he shared a bit of that with Harry. For so many years he had been alone, but since Dumbledore had brought back the Order, he had begun to feel useful again. There was always a steady stream of people to Grimmauld Place, and he was grateful that they seemed to accept that he was a werewolf.

The party had also been terrible for him. Seeing himself with his friends in the Pensieve brought back so many memories of happier, simpler days. They had so many grand plans back then. They would talk for hours about their future and what they wanted to do with their lives, and Sirius and James had even convinced him that he had a future, too.

That was the greatest gift they had given him. A kernel of hope that he could be useful, that being a werewolf didn't doom him to the life of an outcast. After all, if James and Sirius liked him and accepted him, couldn't others do the same? Perhaps somehow he could have a career, and love, and a family, and...

And then once a month all his confidence would be wiped out in a single night.

No one could truly understand what it was like. The horrible pain of his limbs extending, the skin stretching tight. His mind would recede as pure emotion and instinct took over. He became a fully fledged monster.

The worst part of becoming the monster was the freedom. With his mind and morality ripped away, he could do anything he wanted. He held life in his hand - he could give it or take it at his whim. He was powerful. He was connected to nature in the most intimate way - and nature approved of him.

When his mind would begin to return the next morning, he would fight it with all his might. He would scream in frustration that his power was being taken away. And when his mind returned, he would feel the horrible guilt for knowing how good it felt to be powerful.

Knowing he had something to return to, his friends, helped him more than they could ever know. He never told them how good it felt to be the werewolf.

The most optimistic he had ever felt was not long after Hogwarts. His OWL and NEWT scores had been among the highest in the school. He was a respected member of the Order. His friend James was married to a wonderful woman who accepted Remus without reservation. And then it was all taken away in a short span of time. Voldemort took it all away.

Remus sighed. Taken away, and then given back, and then - taken away again.

He was very glad that Harry had friends who supported him. But his fear on Harry's behalf ran to the core of his soul. After Sirius had died, Dumbledore had told Remus the prophecy, rightly believing that Sirius had requested that Remus look out for Harry.

Remus felt himself growing emotional. It was almost unimaginable to him that anyone could bear the burden of a prophecy that stated they were the only one that could defeat Voldemort. The only mercy in the situation was Harry's ignorance. Other than Harry's own personal tragedy, he had no first hand knowledge of just how bad the first war was. There was a very good reason that Harry was as worshipped as he was.

Remus broke down weeping as he thought of the horrors he had seen. He wept not for himself, or even for those who had died. Those tears had long since dried. He wept for the potential horror for Harry that was almost unlimited.

Remus Lupin knew how cruel life could be.

* * *

"Bloody hell! I can't believe You-Know-Who was growin' out the back of his bleedin' skull!" said Blackhorn incredulously.

"Swear. Saw it myself," said Tonks, grinning.

MacGregor shook his head. "And Potter fought that off?"

Tonks nodded, feeling a bit proud of Harry. She was in the Auror training room, relating the story of Harry's adventure with the Philosopher's Stone to a couple of her Auror friends. She was supposed to be doing some training exercises, but word had traveled fast that she had seen Harry's first year battle in the Pensieve, and they had trapped her into telling the story.

"Well, boys, you've used up all my time that I had reserved," she said good-naturedly. "I'll expect you to make it up to me."

MacGregor and Blackhorn laughed. "Don't give us that. You were dying to tell the story," said Blackhorn.

Tonks laughed in return. "Well, maybe. I'll tell you one thing - I never want to be on Harry's bad side," she said, giving them a wink as she walked away.

She opened the door to the training room and began walking down the hall. She was still a bit stunned by watching Harry in action. What was most remarkable was that it wasn't even in his top three most interesting experiences that he could have shared. She would have given a lot to be able to see what happened with the Basilisk, or the ministry last month, or for Merlin's sake, dueling You-Know-Who in a bloody graveyard.

She reached her desk and sat down, reflecting on Harry. It would be safe to say that she thought Harry was the most remarkable boy - could you even call him a boy, and not a man, after what he's gone though? - that she'd ever met. She grinned to herself. If he was a few years older...

She joked to herself about making a play for Harry once he became of age, but knew that it could never happen. She had seen too many Auror relationships fall apart.

Her love life had certainly seen its share of ups and downs. Men were often frustratingly shy about asking her out. She was well aware that her Metamorphmagi abilities were the stuff of male fantasies. And funny enough, she didn't even resent it all that much. It was fun to role play, and there was no denying their... enthusiasm. She smiled devilishly at the thought.

She recalled the first time she had kissed a boy as someone other than herself. She was fifteen, it was summer, and she had sneaked away from a group of friends with a boy that she liked. After snogging for a while, she had joked that he really wanted to kiss a certain attractive teacher at school to whom most of the boys had a crush. To tease him, she had transformed herself into the teacher and kissed him.

The reaction had been very, very instructive. She learned quite a bit about male psychology that night as they played a game of her transforming into various school mates. Tonks smirked at the memory. Of course, he didn't find it nearly as funny as she did when she transformed into his best male friend while they were kissing...

But even as she enjoyed playing those sort of games, at the same time she was never certain if they wanted her for her, or because she could look like anyone. It was another reason she was attracted to Harry. He was so innocent and sincere that it probably wouldn't even occur to him that she could be whoever he wanted. Harry was incapable of guile.

Harry was the one you wanted in a foxhole with you, the one you wanted in a crisis. His track record proved that. But Harry was utterly unequipped to handle normal life. She knew that the last thing Harry needed was another Auror in his life. He needed someone strong who could heal him when the battles were over. Aurors can't heal each other. They're too busy trying to heal themselves.

She shook her head slightly. Harry had no clue how great he could be. If she couldn't be the one to heal him, she could at least help to make certain he survived long enough to find someone who could.

* * *

The door banged against the frame as Ginny walked out of the Burrow, feeling angrier than she'd been in some time. She walked over to the broom shed and pulled out her broom. She frowned as she noticed how worn it appeared after all the use from the previous Quidditch season, but she didn't care about that just now.

She took off into the air, the broom hiccupping slightly. It hadn't been out of the shed in quite a while and needed some use to get it fully warmed up. She flew in a circle, corkscrewing high above the trees that surrounded the Burrow. She then let herself coast in an arc, before making a sharp sweep back into the yard. The wind rushing past her ears felt good, as it seemed to blow the frustration out of her body.

Ginny sighed. Just when she thought she had a handle on seeing Harry for who he really was, he had to show something that threw her for a loop. Most of her previous knowledge of Harry's heroism had been told to her. Even with her experience with Tom Riddle, she had been unconscious during all the action.

Of course, she had seen some of it at the Ministry battle. When Harry had stepped in front of her to protect her, it had been... heroic. No other word for it. At the time she wasn't able to think about it, but afterward... She sighed again. Still, she had missed most of the Ministry battle.

But there wasn't much to miss watching him in the Pensieve. Seeing him battle You-Know-Who had brought back all her feelings and then some. He was...

No, Ginny, don't go there. Don't think about it, she thought desperately. He's your friend. Be happy with that. It doesn't matter that he happens to be the most amaz...

Stop! Stop thinking about it! Trying to distract herself, she tore off into the forest. She made sharp turns through the trees, going at a breakneck speed. Ginny had flown through these forests so many times she knew she could fly practically blindfolded. She came out into a grassy glade, which held a field of red and gold flowers at one end. She slowed down, admiring the beautiful wildflowers.

Her betraying thoughts went back to the scene in the yard while reading her book. She had been proud of herself for talking to him, and teasing him, and staying so normal. But when he had leaned in, the green eyes looking deep into hers and his voice dripping with sincerity, she almost came apart. Why can't he look at me like that and mean it? she thought forlornly.

Enough! Ginny, get hold of yourself! She flew straight up again, pushing the broom to its maximum speed, which wasn't fast enough for her. She flew higher, higher, until she could feel the air growing cold from the altitude. Holding tightly to the broom, she closed her eyes and let her body separate from it. She felt herself falling, falling... it felt so good to be free from weight, at least temporarily.

She opened her eyes and pulled the broom back underneath her. She stopped her freefall, still high above the ground, and just hovered, admiring the view. She rested her head on her hands and let herself lay on the broom, feeling the warm sun on her back. She felt a tear forming, but then violently swiped it away. I'm not going to cry. I've done quite enough of that in the past, thank you, she thought.

A little voice spoke up in her head. But, he did look at you at the party, didn't he? She had been trying to avoid thinking about the incident, but there wasn't any escape. All right! Yes, it was true that Harry had seemed to, well, look at her oddly when she was wearing her new dress. But how could she be certain about anything when it came to Harry?

How often does Harry light plates on fire? said the little voice. She grew embarrassed, thinking back on it. At the time she had chalked it up to the fireworks, but there was no denying that the timing was... interesting... but...

Why can't I just get over him? she thought desperately. The little voice answered her immediately. Because you don't want to be over him.

All the conflicted hopes and feelings welled up in Ginny, as she could feel the anger with herself surging forth again. She threw back her head and screamed out loud as she wailed her frustration to the brilliant blue sky.

* * *

Molly puttered about the Burrow's kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. She was so happy they had allowed Harry to stay here instead of Grimmauld Place. It would have been very difficult for Harry to deal with that place after losing Sirius. Although she'd had her issues with Sirius, she knew that he sincerely cared for Harry, and that the loss had hit Harry very hard.

She had been thrilled when Dumbledore told her that Harry could come there for his birthday. It was a perfect opportunity to show Harry that many people cared about him, that the loss of Sirius didn't mean that he'd lost all of his family.

And Ginny had appeared especially pleased that Harry was coming, she thought, chuckling.

Molly had counseled Ginny to go out with other boys and not worry so much about Harry, but truth be told, she was silently rooting for her. Harry was everything she could ever wish for in a son-in-law, but that scenario just seemed too good to be true.

On the other hand, she couldn't help but notice that they had been spending more time together so far this summer than ever before. She had peeked out into the back yard the other day and spotted them reading and laughing together.

Molly knew that Ginny's brothers underestimated her. She wasn't the best student of the family, but Molly suspected she was the mentally toughest of her children. The seventh child is often special, she thought.

Although she knew Ginny beat herself up over being fooled by the diary, Molly had told her the truth - that Molly was proud of her for fighting it, and nearly beating it by throwing away the diary. Her recovery since then had been remarkable. It had taken some months and some good cries to move forward, but she had been back to the old Ginny before too long.

Yes, Ginny had an inner strength, and Molly suspected it would do Harry a lot of good to let Ginny help him.

Of course, Ginny went out of her way to indicate to Molly that she was no longer interested in Harry. Molly rolled her eyes, thinking about it. If she thinks I'm going to buy that, she thought. She saw the looks that Ginny still gave him, even if Ginny didn't want to admit it.

But she was happy that Ginny wasn't pinning all her hopes on Harry. Harry had a lot to worry about, and it would be a miracle if he even entertained any thoughts of the opposite sex. There was nothing to do for it, except wait to see what happened. She was certainly glad that the girl was finally talking to him, at least.

She felt Ginny was special, but also felt that all her children were special in their own way. Percy was ambitious, Bill was the adventurous one, Charlie was the thrill seeker, the twins - well, she couldn't very well say much against them, could she? They had been doing quite well in their business, so she had to say that the Twins were the independent ones, creating their own path.

Ron worried her a bit more. She knew that he felt in the shadow of her brothers, which was why she felt so happy that he had made Prefect and had done so well at Quidditch last year. She had a feeling about Ron. A little success could go a long way with him.

Assuming the boy doesn't kill himself first, she thought angrily. She had been furious at seeing him taking dangerous risks in the Pensieve, reminding her of recent events all over again. Then again, she couldn't help but feel some pride. Her son had courage, and had proven it again at the Ministry, standing alongside his best friend.

At the same time, she was terrified that he was standing with Harry. There was nobody more in the line of fire than Harry. Was anyone short of Dumbledore himself truly prepared to stand with him?

Well, at least they have Hermione to try and keep them out of trouble, she thought with a mixture of amusement and seriousness. Molly loved Hermione, although she was glad that she appeared to be loosening up as the years went by. She was an extremely good influence on Ron, who had always lacked a certain discipline. She also wished Ron would get off his duff and ask the girl out already. It was so obvious they were eyeing each other, and that Hermione was waiting for Ron to figure it out. Molly was tempted to interfere, but knew it would be a huge mistake. Her children were stubborn and any attempt at pushing them in a certain direction would just delay things.

She considered her two youngest children. She sighed and thought idly, wouldn't it be wonderful if Ginny married Harry, and Ron married Hermione?

A chill ran down her spine as a grim thought forced itself into her mind, as they so often did these days.

Assuming they live to see that day.

* * *

Arthur Weasley closed the door of his workshop, feeling tense about the potentially dangerous experiment he was about to perform. One never knew what could happen with these sort of things.

He walked around the room, casting impervious charms on the walls and ceiling of the workshop. Just a precaution, he thought nervously. He placed the mysterious object on his work table, admiring the workmanship. It was perfectly smooth, colored a pleasant blue. He reached out and scratched the surface with his nail, but the color remained.

He cast a shield charm over the table, covering the object. A friend of his in the Department of Mysteries had taught him the spell, which put invisible walls around an object, but allowed your hands to penetrate for work on dangerous artifacts. Of course, if anything happened, your hands could be potentially damaged, but it was better than something blowing up in your face.

As he worked, he found his mind drifting back to Harry's memory in the Pensieve. Like most people, he had never seen You-Know-Who personally, and the experience had badly frightened him. Arthur was a full-fledged member of the Order, and he knew what You-Know-Who was capable of, but somehow seeing him in the flesh made him tempted to take his family and hide them away for their protection.

He knew he couldn't do that, of course. A Weasley never ran away from responsibility.

He slowly slipped his hands inside the protective shield around the object. He touched the long, cylindrical object with both hands, each hand gripping one of two sections. There was a small seam that ran down the middle, and he suspected how it might come apart. Arthur grimaced as he made the tiniest turn of the two sections. They turned! He pulled his hands out quickly, waiting to see what happened.

Arthur was usually not a fighting man, but he fully intended to do what he could in the Order. That usually amounted to gathering information from the Ministry, which had been going much better since the battle last month. Fudge had wet his finger and put in the air, and the winds from the public told him that he had better deal with the crisis. Harry had become his new favorite citizen, which made him much more amenable to keeping Arthur in the loop.

He put his hands inside and gripped the object again. It appeared to be safe so far, so he gingerly began turning the two parts once more. He made a quarter turn and then waited. Quarter turn - wait. He continued this way, feeling anxious as the suspense built. Finally, he made one last quarter turn and the two sections flew apart. He pulled his hands out in a panic and ran from the table.

Peering at the table, all seemed quiet, so he walked back. The parts had separated safely. He breathed a sigh of relief.

His thoughts drifted to Percy. He hadn't heard anything from him after the battle, and he had half-hoped that he would. He knew Percy had a great deal of pride, making it extremely difficult for him to return to the family. While Arthur was very proud of Percy, he had always suspected that a break in the family was inevitable. He had hoped he was wrong, but...

He sighed, turning his attention back to his project. He gazed in fascination at the tiny parts that made up the object. How did they do it? How did they create such perfectly made pieces?

He reached in and separated the parts, placing them in neat rows. There was a long, black tube that ran down the interior of the hollow shells. Arthur pulled out the tube, which had some small parts on one end, and the other end had a thin piece of wire that spiraled around it. Marvelous, simply amazing! he thought excitedly.

He was very tempted to contact Percy, but knew that it would be a mistake. It would inevitably be misinterpreted as gloating. No, Percy had to work through it himself. He just had to hope that Percy wanted to be part of the family. Arthur had known that Percy had high ambitions, and that Percy felt slightly ashamed of their financial status. He had tried to instill in his children that happiness came from within, and not from things outside oneself, but Percy had other ideas.

Arthur hated being angry and resentful, but it was difficult to deal with Percy's attitude. No, they didn't live in luxury, but hadn't he always provided for them in the end? Hadn't Molly educated the children brilliantly before they went to Hogwarts?

Arthur didn't even want to think it, but he thought that Percy could use a little time at the Dursley's to find out what a bad family looked like. He couldn't possibly have more respect for Harry's strength of character. How does a boy go through that and still come out as strong as he was? It was almost unbelievable.

He started to put his device back together. Frowning, he realized the small pieces didn't seem to be fitting quite correctly. He decided he better fetch Harry to help him.

He didn't want to his new ballpoint pen to be damaged.

* * *

"Neville! Haven't you started de-gnoming the garden yet?" said Gran sharply, peering into his room.

Neville looked guilty as he put his book down. "I'm sorry, I... lost track of time."

Gran looked at the book Neville was reading - a Defense book. Her expression softened. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize you were studying. Finish what you're doing and start when you're ready."

"It's all right, Gran. I'm finished. I'll start right now," said Neville.

Gran smiled at him and nodded. "Why don't I make some lemonade?"

Neville smiled in return. "That would be great."

As Gran left the room, Neville reflected on the almost bizarre change in his grandmother in the last month. Ever since the events at the Ministry, she almost looked at him with - respect.

She hadn't said much specifically about the battle, only sending an Owl to make certain he was all right. He guessed that she had talked to Dumbledore to get the details; she certainly hadn't brought up the subject with him. He had been deathly afraid that she would berate him for breaking his father's wand, but she had only said they would pick up a new one at Ollivanders and left it at that.

Neville walked out of the house into bright morning sunshine. He sighed as he saw a large group of gnomes running through Gran's garden, her pride and joy. He grabbed the nearest one and started swinging it over his head.

Gran seemed surprised and pleased when the invitation from Mrs. Weasley came for Harry's birthday party, and Neville had to admit he was surprised as well. Although he felt like Harry tolerated him, he never felt like they were friends. He almost didn't go, but decided to attend at the last minute. After all, he owed Harry everything.

He released a gnome, sending it flying a good twenty-five feet. He grabbed another that looked like it was ready to bite his ankles.

The D.A. meetings the previous year had been a turning point in his life. He had been a bit shocked that Harry even let him come. And then something miraculous happened - he actually found he was rather good at Defense. He wasn't certain how, but Harry instilled a belief in him that he could do it. He didn't seem to look down at him like others did, which was remarkable in itself. If anyone deserved to look down on everyone, it was Harry.

Watching him in the Pensieve had been incredible to Neville. He knew he could never be that brave, but somehow watching him inspired Neville even further to do more, to do his best.

Although it felt absurd to compare himself to Harry in anything, he had felt some connection to Harry's life. They were both orphans in a way, raised by relatives.

Growing up, he had always felt inadequate, that something wasn't put together quite right with him. Arriving at Hogwarts, he half expected them to send him home, telling him that his abilities weren't up to the minimum standards. He was beyond shocked when the sorting hat placed him in Gryffindor.

He still recalled what the sorting hat whispered to him...

"Ah, yes. Interesting, very interesting. You are much more than you believe, you know. I can see it, and you can't fool the Sorting Hat, now can you? You will have to find that potential within yourself." And the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Him? Neville? In the house devoted to courage and bravery? Ridiculous! He'd been tempted to believe that the Sorting Hat had played a cruel joke on him; that the hat would suddenly yell out, "Just kidding! Come on back!" and everyone would laugh at him.

Even at the end of his first year, when Dumbledore awarded house points for his supposed "bravery" in standing up to Harry, Hermione and Ron, he had felt inadequate. It almost felt a little patronizing to him; what kind of bravery was it to get hexed?

Meeting Bellatrix at the Ministry had marked another turning point for him. He never thought he could feel as much hatred as he felt, but it had welled up from the very depths of his soul. Since that day he had resolved to learn more about Defense, to make his parents proud of him. He might never see Bellatrix again, but if he did, he wanted to be ready for her. He fantasized about being the one to bring her to justice.

He shook his head as he launched another gnome over the hedge. It seemed so odd to even imagine himself doing something like that. But if Harry could carry his burdens at the same time he could help someone like Neville, could he do less than stand with Harry with the inevitable battle came to pass?

Neville owed Harry so much. If Harry could give him hope of having a respected life, of not stumbling from one failure to another, then the least he could was be willing to give his life in service to the cause for which Harry was fated.

* * *

Whoa! Look at the lines on that one, Ron thought, as he gazed in awe at the Quidditch magazine he was reading. He glanced up, wanting to share the picture, but saw that Hermione was deep in concentration across the room, reading a book and making an occasional note in her notebook. He smiled slightly. He wouldn't disturb her right now.

He let his gaze linger a bit before glancing back down to his magazine. He didn't want to be too obvious about it, but he liked watching her work. She had a number of little mannerisms that would manifest themselves as she read a particularly complicated passage. Sometimes she would purse her lips and rub her chin, and other times she would chew the end of her quill. When she inevitably solved her dilemma, a slight smile would emerge from the frown, lighting up her face again as she felt pleased with her progress. Ron loved seeing her brain work, and he felt a sense of pride welling up in him.

His feeling of pride in her melted into gloom as an unwanted thought entered his mind. Will anyone feel proud of me?

The last school year had been one of his best years and one of the worst ones of his life. Getting picked as a Prefect had been - well, unbelievable, even to him. He had felt a bit of resentment that Hermione seemed so surprised, but he could hardly blame her. He still wasn't certain he was up to the task. At least Quidditch had gone a bit better than that.

Weasley is our King, he always lets the Quaffle in...He closed his eyes as the hated verse filled his head. Although the Quidditch season had ended on a high note, it still had been a harrowing, awful experience before that. The truth was that he didn't know if it was just a fluke toward the end, or if he could repeat his performance next season. Please, please, please let me play well, he thought desperately, as he begged the Quidditch gods to look favorably upon him.

He glanced over at Hermione again, just as she glanced over to him. She gave him a smile before looking back down to her work. Ron felt a bit of heat crawling up his neck.

It had been very exciting reliving the events in the Pensieve, though he'd been nervous about how his mother would react. His role in the events had been minor compared to Harry's, but afterward, he had looked over at Hermione, and she appeared - almost proud of him.

In fact, many people at the party appeared to look at him in a new light. He noticed the Aurors giving him a raised eyebrow, as if he was perhaps made of stronger stuff than they had thought. Ron had secret hopes of being an Auror, but somehow that dream seemed so far away. He had casually alluded to the goal to Harry and Hermione, but he suspected that they didn't think he was serious. At least they hadn't laughed at him.

He had also been a bit surprised to see that Charlie and Bill appeared to look at him with a new respect. They had asked him about the Ministry battle, but seeing the events in the Pensieve with their own eyes showed them something new about their youngest brother.

Growing up, Ron had always looked at his two oldest brothers with a bit of awe. It just seemed impossible to measure up. He had to admit that even Percy, git as he was, made a hard act to follow. He was certain they were all as surprised as anyone when Ron made Prefect.

Mum had always told him not to measure himself against his brothers, but to find his own path. That strategy had worked for Fred and George, at least; no one could accuse them of being followers.

Ron supposed his mother was right, but still couldn't help wondering where he would fall compared to his brothers. Being a Prefect was a start. He had won the house cup. Maybe Quidditch captain someday? And depending on his OWL scores, was there a shot at become an Auror, the most respected profession in the magic world?

Was it possible? Could he stand alone among his brothers, the best of all of them?

* * *

Parvati Patil sat in front of her mirror in her room, idly combing out her long, dark hair. She reached for a fancy hair clip, complete with a shimmering butterfly that she clipped perfectly into place.

She contemplated a picture attached to the side of her mirror. The picture was of a certain Gryffindor Seeker by the name of Harry Potter during a Quidditch match, looking serious and determined as he flew about the pitch, looking for the snitch. His hair flew about his face heroically and every so often she could catch a glimpse of the famous scar peeking through the black, untidy hair. His green eyes seemed to glow as they scanned the picture world in his eternal seeking task.

Parvati sighed at the picture. She had developed feelings for Harry toward the end of their fifth year. She had always liked Harry, and in fact went to the ball with him in her fourth year. But she had never really fancied him, at least not seriously.

But she was quite serious now.

It started in the D.A. meetings. She knew of his history and knew that he had done some remarkable things. But somehow it never seemed real until he saw him in action, interacting with people. Hearing his accomplishments listed in the Hog's Head, many of which she had never been aware of, had shocked her. His humility served to make him even greater in her eyes, and his patience in the D.A. meetings had truly inspired her.

But still she had held back. She knew that Harry had fancied Cho, so she had not wanted to get in the middle of that. Besides, everyone knew that Cho was dating Harry just to get information about Cedric. That relationship had to end badly.

She was shocked when she read about the events at the Department of Mysteries. He had done it again - had a fight with You-Know-Who and lived to tell the tale. How did he do it? He would probably modestly say that he had a lot of help, and she was certain it was true to some extent. But then, a lot of people in the last war had "a lot of help," and they were dead anyway. She thought Harry was much too modest.

Who am I to love Harry? But if not me, then who? Who in the world is good enough to love and be loved by Harry Potter? she thought. She felt a stab of jealousy as Hermione Granger entered her thoughts. Hermione was certainly smart, and Parvati knew that she provided an anchor to Harry. The brains of the outfit, she smirked, although Harry is certainly smart in his own right.

Parvati felt a little guilty at her thoughts of Hermione. She honestly liked her and respected that she had bravely helped Harry through many difficult times. Any relationship with Harry was a relationship with the three of them, and she might as well get used to that thought now. Cho hadn't understood that.

Fortunately, Harry didn't seem to harbor any romantic feelings for Hermione, and vice-versa. In fact, the worst kept secret at Hogwarts was Ron and Hermione dancing around each other, seemingly oblivious to everyone trying to predict when they would finally get together.

She looked at herself critically in the mirror. I don't think I'm so bad a choice for Harry, she thought. I'm a Gryffindor. I can be brave for him, too.

And this year she would be brave and make him notice her.