Chapter One

As he lay in bed in the tiny, dank room he shared with Ron in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry brooded. (It was something he was rathergood at, with many days locked in his room at the Dursley's serving as practice.) If asked, Harry would have admitted that his summer wasn't going very well. However, no one had asked. In fact, no one asked him much of anything outside of questions about his scar, his mood, his dreams, and, "Alright, Harry?" which were all easy enough to shed with a brusque, "Yeah, alright."

For all the questions, uncomfortable and frustrating and not at all the ones he wanted to answer, no one asked, "Rubbish summer, Harry?" Like the many long, long, rubbish summers of his life, no one gave a rat's tail. Frankly, his summer wasn't going very well. And feeling as he did like a simmering pot with the lid on too tight, he longed for someone to ask so he could shout his answer. (The way he had at Ron and Hermione, he remembered with a twinge of guilt, and righteousness, and dark satisfaction, and more guilt.)

But no one asked. So he asked himself, and brooded over the angriest of responses. Only he would ever hear it, after all, bouncing around in the sanctity of his own brain. How's my summer going? he asks himself. Oh, awful, really awful, thanks, he replies. Nightmares, and his friends could barely seem to bring themselves to post a letter his way, and Cedric was dead; and also he had been with the Dursleys, if no one could remember that bit, and apparently Dudley had heard him dreaming about Cedric, who was dead (because of Harry); also, he had been attacked by Dementors, and expelled, then re-enrolled, then put on trial, and all of this is magnificently more awful because he's a giant git who managed to turn chivalry or fairness or whatever into a bloody death sentence and he can still hear it now, "Kill the spare!" because it was him all along. He was meant to show up, trip about, and die alone. It's always him.

Of course, in retrospect he found himself admitting that his life wasn't going very well. And the latest occurrence in his unlucky existence did little to improve his overall outlook on life, that was for sure. In fact, perhaps it increased how bitter he felt with the knowledge that apparently no one could be very bothered with him, his awful summer, his awful life, or even just to give him an understanding pat on the shoulder and agree with him, "Yeah, your life's been awful, Harry, good on you for coming this far."

All of it seemed to pale in comparison to what had happened most recently. He couldn't help but feel something was wrong with him for it. Shouldn't the death of his parents feel somehow more painful? Or the horror of having seen Professor Quirrel's face scorching under his hands? Perhaps even the feeling of dying in those moments between being stabbed by the basilisk's fang and Fawke's tears healing him. Being the target of the murderer of his parents, being whispered about, being publicly loathed. Yet all he could think about was some boy he barely knew, who had tried to be fair in an unfair situation, who had grey eyes and was popular and stood up for him because it was bloody fair. Fairness is the problem, isn't it? Harry tried to be fair, because surely Cedric deserved that after all of it. Should have been in Slytherin like the Hat said, he thought darkly. Slytherin Harry could have taken the trophy and probably died, or maybe not, but either way, Cedric wouldn't-

Stop, stop, stop. He stopped thinking about it. For about eight seconds.

The fact that Voldemort had been resurrected and tried to killed him sometimes seemed lost on him. He had more nightmares about Cedric dying than he did of Voldemort trying to murder Harry himself. Was this what people called survivor's guilt? He had read it somewhere in one of those grief self-help pamphlets Hermione had given him. Mostly, he didn't want to think about it. So, he didn't. He threw out the pamphlets or stuffed them to the bottom of his trunk. He had only skimmed the one once, and just seeing the words had made it so hard to breathe that he adamantly decided no, thanks.

Regardless of- of everything, Harry knew he should be worrying about the here and now. His name was mud, and the Ministry did not seem terribly inclined to believing him about Voldemort's return. Not only were they vilifying him, but they were dragging Dumbledore down, too. He hadn't thought that possible, hadn't even considered it before. But maybe, just a little, he didn't care. Maybe, just a little. he felt a mean twinge of good, bloody prick, because Dumbledore was ignoring him. He had dumped him back at the Dursleys' after everything. Put a gag-order on his friends (his friends who then listened), and left him to rot on Privet Drive. It was not charitable of him, but charitability required having something to give, and he felt he had very little at the moment besides anger.

It was kind of like his friends had left him to his fate, some small part of him chimed. Isn't that what had happened? After a summer of being kept in the dark and abandoned with his oh-so-lovely relatives, he had finally been remembered. Like an afterthought, his angry hind-brain supplied, like he was a toaster or a knickknack, brought to the Order to sit on a shelf and wait to become old enough to join or useful enough to be paid attention. He wouldn't have been so angry if he had known beforehand, he reasoned. If they had just told him, at least he could have had that to cling to. But of course his friends had decided that ignoring him was for the greater good and had done so quite willingly. And now that he was safe and snug at headquarters, they could just pick up where they left off and pretend he had never been dumped and ignored all summer, right? If Harry was anything, he was pissed. No, not just that, he was more than pissed; he was hurt. Badly.

Sure, it was great to see Sirius again. He was excited to talk with him and get to know him better, and, yeah, seeing his friends again was great despite their neglect. But some things just couldn't be forgotten so easily. In a time where he needed most to know what was going on, he was being kept out of the loop and treated like a helpless child. If there was one thing Harry was not, it was a child. He wasn't sure when he had stopped being a kid, or if he even had a childhood in the first place. There had been no lollies, no learning to ride a bike or riding the ferris wheel or playing in the garden sprinklers during the summer. Not a stuffed bear in sight. Harry had been a child of the school of hard knocks. Regardless of all that, all the things that he was sure the Order, his professors, and even his friends did not and would never know- after what he had seen and faced and done, how could he be a kid? He wasn't and never would be. For all intents and purposes, he was an adult.

Obviously, the Order disagreed.

All these thoughts were weighing Harry down as he made his way down the rickety stairs of number twelve Grimmauld place. The hall was as dank as ever, even with the front Mrs. Weasley was putting up in the war against decades of abandonment, infestation, and decay. The air was heavy with the smell of mold, and Harry was sure to move quickly past the hidden portrait of Mrs. Black, Sirius's mum, lest she awaken and begin her tirade against him. Ron had admitted to picking up some wicked new swear words from her. Harry wasn't quite up to sampling her just yet.

As he approached the kitchen, he heard muffled voices within. His first instinct was to wait and listen. If it was some of the Order members, then he might learn some of the secrets they were so carefully keeping up their sleeves and out of sight. If they couldn't keep their voices lowered, after all, then they didn't deserve to keep those secrets! He leaned closer, heart pounding in his chest as he listened. Unfortunately, he recognized the voices of his friends and, surprisingly, they sounded quite bright, unlike the grimness he glimpsed in their faces whenever they weren't pushing their smiles at him.

His curiosity was piqued.

Harry stepped into the kitchen to see Hermione, Ron and Ginny shifting aimlessly through the bags of items Mrs. Weasley was unshrinking from her trip to Diagon Alley.

"You're joking," Ginny was saying, a large smile growing on her face.

The door squeaked closed behind him. Eyes turned to him almost instantly and, to his surprise, Ginny was the first to react.

"Harry! You have to hear about the bloke Mum met at Flourish and Blotts today." She was grinning crookedly. Harry glanced curiously at Mrs. Weasley, who was smiling a bit smugly.

"Forget about him," Ron interrupted, gaining himself a dirty look from his sister. "Mum's going to talk to Dumbledore about letting us go with her to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"Isn't that great?" Hermione asked, all but glowing. She was looking hopefully at him, obviously anxious for a smile. She really had sounded sorry about not writing, Harry conceded, and she had been doing her best to try and lift his mood ever since he arrived...

Harry couldn't help it. He smiled, matching the other three beaming his way. It was hard to remain so down when the kitchen suddenly seemed a lot brighter than it had the last time he had drifted in.

Mrs. Weasley was looking quite pleased as she unshrunk the last of the parcels and began to hand everyone their school supplies. After a moment, Harry realized he hadn't been given any school texts, which was unthinkable considering that he had his OWLs to take that year.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

She seemed to understand and, if possible, the smile she had been wearing brightened a few hundred watts.

"I was just telling these three when you came in. A man I had never seen before was working the counter at Flourish & Blotts today. I was just telling them about him-"

"Sounds like a weirdo, if you ask me." Ron submitted in his two cents, which were promptly ignored, though Hermione did give him a look that promised a scolding.

"-and, well, when I told him all the books I would be needing, he offered a family discount that Flourish & Blotts are trying out this year. He really was the nicest dear, he said that if I come back tomorrow with at least three students present when I make the purchase, then we would apply for the discount. I thought you all could use a bit of an outing."

She beamed around at her brood, both by blood and by love, and Harry knew quite suddenly, though he wasn't sure how, that Mrs. Weasley wasn't so much worried about the money as her children.

And he was included.

Suddenly, it wasn't so hard to be cheerful as the entire room broke out in a rambling conversation, led mostly by Mrs. Weasley, about this strange character. Ginny drilled her mother for details, while Hermione, as usual, was far more interested in the book store. Ron, though, seemed more excited about anything but books.

"I can't wait to check out the Quidditch store and Zonkos! Harry, did you know that they're introducing a new product? It..."

"Oh, Ron, we're going to Flourish & Blotts, not Zonkos, and definitely not the Quidditch store. There's this one book I've been trying to find for ages..."

"Who cares about shopping? I want to see this bloke who knows Bill and make sure Mum isn't just making him up! What did you say his name was, Mum?"

"Yugi, dear. Yugi Mutou. He really is sweet, and I'm sure you'll all love him. He's a bit like Bill, you know the type, mad about Egypt and all that..."

The dark feeling Harry had been brooding over for the whole summer seemed to lift away, at least for a moment and, with a chortle, he dove right in to the mad chaotic conversation going all at once. Somehow, he saved Ron from being lectured into an early grave by Hermione, which gained him a grateful, helpless look from Ron. Suddenly, it was very hard to be angry at either of them. Having saved his best mate, he turned to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny and nudged carefully into their conversation only to find he was welcomed into it instantly.

The uproar did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Order.

"What's all the ruckus, brother mine?"

"Can't say, brother dear, though it sounds as if Ickle Ginny found herself a boyfriend."

The twins had entered with a pop and bang and dual Cheshire grins, earning them a scolding from their mother, which they promptly sidestepped with a few merely huffed with fists on her hips and expression as fiery as her hair.

"I'll have you know, Mum was just telling me about someone she met in Diagon Alley today. And just so you know, she's taking us to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and you're not coming!"

The following could only be described as an explosion as Fred and George suddenly surged forward, motioning wildly as they both spoke at the same time. For once, their voices were in disaccord, no longer lilting and falling in harmony.

"But mum, we're-"

"Why are you taking-"

"You can't really—"

"Why can't we-"

Crossing her arms over her chest with a stern expression, Molly seemed to swell up like a volcano threatening eruption over whatever foolish village had settled at her feet, sufficiently cowing her children into submissive silence.

"Now listen here, the both of you! It would be safer if I took as few of you as possible. You two will stay here and behave while we're gone! And Ginny..." The righteous expression slid off the youngest Weasley's face with growing, dreadful understanding, "...I'm sorry, dear, but you'll have to stay here, too."

"But Mum!" Ginny gasped.

"No buts, Ginevra. I already had quite a time just convincing Professor Dumbledore to let me take these three. And if anything were to happen, you're still so young. I won't have you out and about in... in these times."

Ginny didn't spot the almost pained expression Mrs. Weasley wore before she stormed off with a moody, "Fine," and stomped up the stairs. A few moments later, a door slammed shut above their heads. In the hall, Mrs. Black began howling and screeching in the worst fashion.

"BLOOD TRAITORS AND FILTHY MUDBLOODS, HOW DARE YOU ENCROACH UPON THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!" Quickly, someone subdued the portrait once more, leaving a lengthy silence.

Everyone in the kitchen, save the twins, shared a look. Scowling, Fred and George departed with a singular bang, leaving Ron to snort and mumble something about mood swings and little sisters. Hermione, at least, looked slightly unsettled.

Harry gathered his things quickly and, with a mumbled excuse, set off up the stairs once more, stirring up motes and eddies of dust in his wake. But instead of going to his and Ron's shared room to pack away his things, he instead went a few doors down to the very door that had slammed angrily moments before. Shifting his packages under one arm, he knocked hesitantly, not quite sure what he was doing. But he felt things were little unfair, and she was Ron's baby sister. She was... well, she needed someone to talk to, even if it was just him. Just Harry.

"Ginny?"

A sniffle.

"Go away."

Biting his lip, Harry paused for a moment to assess the dangers before he warily pushed the door open. It creaked ominously.

The room wasn't as dank or dark as his, and the sheets on the beds were in pastel colors instead of ash grey with lumpy quilts overtop. Ginny was sitting, back to the door, atop a twin sized mattress with a yellow duvet thrown over top. She was the picture of dejection. She hadn't even bothered to light the candle in the lamp, so the dim light seemed to swallow her into the shadows of the back wall.

Awkwardly and with nothing better to do, he shuffled in and moved to hover at the foot of her bed, where her trunk had part of a nightgown hanging out of it. Normally, he might have felt the need to make his excuses and leave. He'd never been in a girl's room before. However, he found he was less concerned about that and more concerned with a rather red-eyed Ginny, who was glaring halfheartedly in his direction. Swallowing back a sudden, unexpected lump in his throat, he decided then and there that the silence simply couldn't go on.

"I- er, I was just-" stuttering, apparently. He cleared his throat and tried again, speaking a bit more slowly this time, "I was just wondering if you were, uh, alright."

He really had no idea why he had the sudden urge to come and talk to her at all. Maybe because he could relate to the anger he had seen on her face when she left the kitchen? MOre likely than not, he was about to make a tit of himself.

Ginny gave a watery smile. "Thanks, Harry," she said, and he silently breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm alright, I'm just so... angry that Mum only thinks of me as a helpless little girl." Harry straightened. Hadn't he been thinking the same thing early that day? Well, not the girl bit, but... "I mean, it's not fair that you all get to go and I'm stuck here with nothing to do! I hate being closed up and left out of everything just because I'm younger."

Hesitantly, Harry set his stuff down on top of her trunk and sat down beside her, making sure to leave a bit of space between them. She watched him settle with surprise.

"I know what you mean. It's just so frustrating, how they treat us," he said. She gave a fervent nod in agreement, and something sort of snapped in his chest like a log popping and crackling inside an inferno. His words came in a sudden rush. "Everyone here treats me like some stupid kid who needs protecting and coddling. First they keep me in the dark, and sure, it made sense because I was shut away with the Dursleys, but now that I'm here, no one will tell me anything!"

His hands were clenching into fists, and he hardly noticed his nails biting white crescents into his palms. He noticed from his peripheral Ginny's hands had formed fists, too. Seeing his eyes, she nodded for him to continue, and he burst out, "It's all just so bloody frustrating! They're- How can they expect me to do anything when I don't know anything?"

"Harry." A freckled hand closed on his shoulder. He couldn't stop, though. It was like it was spewing out of him at this point.

"Sure, they sit back and let me face danger when it's convenient, but now that it's not, they just lock me up and tell me to be a good boy? I faced Voldemort, alone, and I saw him-" he swallowed, gasping, "I saw him k-kill Cedric." The word raked itself from his throat like broken glass. Beside him, Ginny's face was white beneath a layer of freckles. His voice seemed louder and louder in the quiet of her room.

"I fought him alone. I fought him more than once, and I lived!" Something savage welled up in him, and just as quickly disappeared. "But they treat me like that never happened, like I haven't been fighting for my life all this time." Harry opened his hands wide as if to lay bare the entirety of his life and the struggles therein, motioning emphatically, their eyes locked, the two of them in the dingy room. "Voldemort is after me- because I lived, because I stopped him as a baby, I don't know why. But he is, and they're... they're..."

He was breathing hard when he finally ran out of descriptive words, and his hands were shaking. No, not just his hands, his whole body was shaking, and he felt like he was about to burst, to implode, and he would be blown away, out of existence. He was going to self destruct. But through the haze of his nerves jolting inside him like lightning, he felt the weight of Ginny's hand on his shoulder. Feeling it, he suddenly felt how tense all of his muscles had become, and it took a conscious force of will to loosen his shoulders, his back, his hands. She never drew back, and suddenly he realized that he had finally gotten a bit of something huge off his chest without snapping at Ron or Hermione or anyone. His emotions had rushed out unstoppable as usual, but there was nothing to feel guilty about this time.

Harry turned to look at Ginny, his eyes having dropped, and found her level gaze and squared jaw. He expected her to press him like Hermione would for answers, or to gape like Ron would, and winced. She didn't. Instead, she began talking. Not asking questions, but talking in a voice that was tight but level.

"I know, Harry. I know. After everything with the- the Chamber of Secrets, and the journal, and V-Voldemort possessing me, I..." Harry reeled back a bit at Voldemort's name. Not out of fear, but surprise, because no one but Dumbledore had ever said his name in conversation, or at least not that Harry had heard. And here was this girl, younger and even smaller than him, saying his name and doing something even their bravest couldn't. It sent a thrill through him, one he couldn't place. Jerkily, he nodded, encouraging, the same way she had, and the tightness in her mouth and shoulders eased.

"For a while, everyone treated me like a head case," she continued, "like even the smallest thing could make me break down. And for a while, I was like that. I started having... n-nightmares..." She stuttered to a halt. Harry's mouth was dry. She had been having nightmares, too?

Then it struck him. Of course she had nightmares. He might have gone into the Chamber and fought the basilisk in his second year, but she had been- he felt sick- she had been talking with, being possessed by, Tom Riddle all year. All of her first year and, Merlin, he felt like an arse. Had he forgotten? Of all the- he was such a, such a prat, he had never even thought to talk to her about it.

Unaware of the sudden wash of guilt crashing over him, Ginny straightened herself, shoulders squared back like a sword fighter tossing back her cape.

"But it passed," she said firmly. "I worked a few things out on my own, and I had my family there for me for other things. And eventually, everyone started treating me normally again. But that's the problem!" Her palm slapped against her thigh sharply. Harry jumped. "They still treat me like the little girl that went off to Hogwarts for her first year! You can't be a kid after something like that happens. I'm not a child, not after that, but they don't seem to understand any of it!"

Ginny paused in her tirade to fold her hands in her lap and then proceeded to glare down at them for a good minute, eyes flickering with words that were filtered then denied, all of them unspoken. Then, she glanced up with eyes that were surprisingly pleading, as if begging for something she badly needed. It was a vulnerable look from a person of huge will.

"You understand, don't you Harry?" she finally asked.

A pause.

"...Yeah."

And strangely, he did. Harry had always thought he was alone, that no one could understand what he was going through, because no one had ever been through something even similar to what he had.

He had been a prat. How could he have been such an idiot? Ginny had been tricked and possessed by the man, the same man who he seemed destined to deal with and who killed his parents, but he had never once worried about her. He never stopped by to see how she was doing after the Chamber of Secrets. He never thought that she could have possibly been suffering in the same way he had, in all the years since he had saved her. As if the act of saving her had been a single point in time, a triumph, completed. She was saved; what could be so bad, now? What more was there?

She had more in common with him than anyone else could ever claim. And he had completely ignored her.

Quite suddenly, Harry felt like the worst, most selfish person on the face of the planet. Looking up, he opened his mouth to try and blurt out how sorry he was for everything, knowing that he probably wouldn't make any sense.

"Ginny, I-" and paused. How could anything he could say make up for the years? For forgetting about her and thinking only about himself and his problems? He struggled for words.

Ginny smiled knowingly, and said, "Thanks."

His mouth shut with a snap.

"Wh-what?"

"Thank you, Harry. It was really nice of you to come up here to make sure I was alright. And I am. I'm alright." She caught his eye and smiled again, something about her expression confusing him immensely.

Somehow, Harry knew she was telling the truth, that she was alright, after everything that happened. He just didn't know how he knew. What if she was like him, holding on to some tearing, burning feeling that wouldn't go away and wouldn't be put in words without hurting someone he loved? He silently searched her face for any hint of distress.

The peaceful, almost sad, atmosphere was suddenly broken with the grin that lit up her face with the abruptness of a firework. He had just enough time to marvel at the change before he was nailed in the face with an airborne pillow. It hit with a long practiced precision before falling into his lap. He sputtered.

"Now get out of here and go pack up," she commanded. "You better tell me all about it. I want to know if Mum was exaggerating about that guy. I mean, really! Did you hear what she said he was wearing? Now, shoo," she said with a hand wag.

Fending off more of the pillows-turned-missiles, Harry found he was laughing as he attempted to gather up his things and beat a hasty retreat.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, batting at a pillow aimed for his face. And then he scampered out into the hall with all the valor of a teenage boy when faced by the unstoppable force of a girl armed with projectiles. He continued at a gallop halfway to his room before slowing to a normal walk, finally reassured that he was safely out of range. And even though he was ruffled, Harry knew that things weren't all that bad.

After all, he had made a new, good friend.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( )

Even Harry's new buoyant mood couldn't make waking up in the morning any less painful. When Hermione came by to wake them up at an unwizardly 5:45 a.m., Ron and Harry did a reenactment of Night of the Living Dead all the way down to the kitchen, where they were promptly exorcised by a full English breakfast courtesy of Molly Weasley. As Harry was slowly coming back to life, he noticed an equally groggy Ginny Weasley sitting to his left, drowning a simple porridge in honey.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to notice, too.

"Ginny, what are you doing up so early, dear?"

Ginny mumbled a reply that Harry couldn't understand, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to have no problem translating.

"Well, I'm really proud of you for coming to see them off. It's really mature of you." She then beamed at her youngest as if she were next in line to become Queen of England before going back to her work about the kitchen. How she could make cooking breakfast for the entire Order look so easy Harry would never know.

Ginny wasn't the only one there to see them off. Sitting (and slumping) down at the end of the table was an unlikely quartet. Mad Eye Moody sat looking as... himself... as ever, his great blue eye swiveling about with a vigor belying the time, while Tonks appeared to be unconscious and drowning in her porridge. Harry could make out the vaguest of snores through her curtain of incomprehensible violet hair.

Across from the two, Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, sat digging into a plate of bacon and eggs and fried mushrooms in a way reminiscent of Ron, who was known for his (lack of) manners. Remus, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed on his friend's behalf as he politely ate his own meager breakfast. He was looking rather well; the full moon, after all, was equally as many weeks past as it was weeks away.

Shaking his head as Tonks, prodded awake, sat up with a yell (and her hair turned to an eye-searing orange), Harry turned to Ginny and grinned as she nearly missed when she shoved a honey-laden bite into her mouth.

"You know, you didn't have to wake up so early."

She glared and waved her spoon at him threateningly.

"I came to make sure you didn't forget your promise," she huffed. "I want to know everything, especially," she lowered her voice here, "about the new products Zonkos is supposed to be selling. And that man- what was his name?- Yu-something that Mum was talking about. You'd better not leave out any details!"

Harry laughed and lifted his hands in defense as her spoon came dangerously close to becoming the unlikely weapon in an assault case. After a moment of dodging around, he managed to get out the needed words to soothe the beast that was apparently Ginny at six in the morning.

"You didn't have to, I wouldn't forget. I promised, didn't I?" He slipped her a tentative, secretive smile.

Ginny seemed to be placated, and her face fell to become a bit more serious. She returned her spoon to where it belonged and sighed as the liveliness that had been there moments before seemed to erode into oncoming gloom.

"I know you wouldn't forget, Harry. I just wish I could go," she huffed. Alarmed, he nodded quickly as her temper flared. "When I heard about Mum meeting someone new, and then the outing, I was so excited. Things are just so boring around here. Being stuck in here is enough to drive you mad! And I thought... well..." She trailed off, out of steam and apparently tired out from railing against something that wouldn't change. Harry knew the feeling intimately.

Knowing what he did of feeling trapped, Harry bit his lip and sipped his pumpkin juice and considered. Ignoring how Hermione and Ron were already bickering (probably about Ron's poor manners or about the importance of going to the Quidditch shop), Harry suggested lowly after a moment of hesitation, "Well, is there a book you've been wanting? I know that we'll at least be stopping by Flourish and Blotts, so I could pick one up for you, you know, since you can't go..." He trailed off gracelessly.

She stared for long enouigh without speaking that he thought for sure he'd made things worse. However, before he could mutter out the apology he was quickly formulating, her face broke out into a huge smile. Nearly tipping both of their chairs, she threw herself at him in a hug. It lasted only a half second before she pulled back, gushing and talking so quickly he couldn't understand a single thing she said or title she named.

His many attempts at interrupting the steady flow of babble were thwarted with oblivious enthusiasm before she finally subsided.

"Alright? Did you get all that, Harry?" Her eyes were unbelievably bright.

Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

"Er... no?"

After a brief pause, Ginny let out a laugh when she realized her mistake then calmed enough to reiterate her list once more, albeit much more slowly. Harry was surprised, and it obviously showed on his face. She flushed pink and Harry noticed that even her ears turned a shade darker.

"What?" She demanded, flustered.

The books she had suggested were all either on Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Quidditch. Seeing her embarrassment, he decided not to ask and merely shook his head.

"Nothing. I'll see if I can find a few of them. You don't have to give me the money or anything." Her mouth opened, and he added quickly, spotting the fight coming back into her eyes, "You just have to let me read them when you're done, alright? They all sound like stuff I'd be interested to read." And they did, really. He wasn't a big reader and hadn't been since the Dursleys started punishing him for doing better than Dudley in school, or reading too much (see: at all) suggesting he was a ponce. But he was away from them now, he told himself firmly, and if he had spotted them in the store without her telling him, he would have thought they sounded interesting, anyway. It would make Hermione happy, regardless, to see him reading.

Smiling brilliantly after a half second's hesitation, Ginny nodded and agreed, "Of course, Harry. They're yours!" before all but skipping out of the kitchen and up to her room. Harry settled into his breakfast, head spinning. He had never known that Ginny was so... energetic. He seemed to remember her as the awkward, quiet sister of a rowdy household whose elbow seemed always to find the butter dish. Apparently, whatever that was no longer applied and he was getting to see the Ginny everyone else got to know. A bit of temper. A bit of mischief. Bold and bright. In all aspects a Weasley, he thought warmly.

Affectionate. Really, only Hermione ever hugged him, now and then. He just wasn't used to it. Face a little hot, Harry put all his energy into eating and fighting off the impatient eagerness to leave (and come back).

In the end, it was decided that they would all Floo to Diagon Alley, with Mad-Eye and Tonks following behind with their own respective Invisibility cloak or disguise (really, Tonks, green hair? Not particularly inconspicuous...). The plan was for them to shadow the group as a precaution.

Harry found himself surprisingly alright with it. Actually getting the chance to get out of the HQ was a delight, shadowed or not. But there was something that bothered him. Without moving his head, Harry glanced sidelong down the table at his godfather.

One look at Sirius' face told him everything; he had the same look in his eyes as Ginny, but deeper, a little darker. The hollows in his eyes from Azkaban seemed to eat up some of the shadows in the room. There's a feeling when the walls are closing in and there's no way to leave, the feeling of being kept, trapped. Privet Drive did that to him. If Grimmauld Place did that to Sirius, Harry thought grimly, then his family must have been just as bad. Knowing that, Harry felt a twinge in his chest every time he looked at the man that was his godfather and saw him so bloodless. He wanted to bring him. Going out, even as a dog, had to be better, but even that was too risky for the Order to allow. The anger always sat low in his chest burned, this time for Sirius, not himself. And, a little, it aimed back at him.

Harry didn't know what to do. Useless, he couldn't help, he couldn't change the way things are, couldn't think of a single thing to say to make it better. He brooded as he finished his breakfast. Sirius needed a little bit of light in his life, now more than ever. He needed laughter and he needed fun, but what fun could he have trapped here while a war threatened to rip their world apart and he was helpless to do anything about it?

He'd have to think of something. He thought furiously as breakfast ended.

Luckily, while Ron was having his seconds and thirds before going to get dressed, Harry caught his godfather in the hall outside the kitchen. Dull, alarmingly hollow blue eyes lit up considerably when they landed on Harry, and he felt another, different kind of twinge in his chest that made it hard to speak.

He had to clear his throat before he began, for fear his voice would crack.

"Sirius," his voice did sound a bit choked, "I was, um... How are you? I mean..." How, he wondered, was he supposed to say what he wanted to say without reminding Sirius that he was, indeed, stuck and helpless?

During his internal struggle for words, Harry didn't notice Sirius's face softening a little bit in its sadness until a hand was placed on his shoulder. His eyes snapped up from Sirius' robe collar.

"Thanks, Harry." He paused to look back into the kitchen, where everyone seemed caught up in their own activities. Something shifted in his expression, like decision. "Come on. I think we need to have a talk." Squeezing Harry's shoulder, Sirius let go after a moment and turned to go up the stairs.

The door Sirius led him to was one he had never explored before. Mostly, it was wisest not to stray into unmarked, unmentioned rooms in twelve Grimmauld place, on the basis of self preservation. So it goes that Harry was a bit uncertain about entering. Sirius merely grinned as he pushed open the door, and with a, "Don't tell Hermione", he disappeared inside.

Confused, Harry followed cautiously inside, and he suddenly realized what Sirius meant.

It had to be the biggest library he had ever seen outside of Hogwarts. He could even be so bold as to say that the two libraries were the same size, but there was one noticeable difference.

Harry approached the nearest shelf and pulled out a faded old tome. Etched in silver in the front was "Dark Creatures Through the Ages". Slipping it back, he pulled out another, and another, finding book after book on "Forbidden Artes" or "Dark Incantations" or other questionable topics. He did find a rather innocent looking book with silver etching on the cover and titled "Invoking the Unknown" that he planned on borrowing if Sirius would allow it, but otherwise, he was sure that most every book in the Black family library would be kept irreparably in the restricted section at Hogwarts.

Taking up his Invoking the Unknown and slipping all the other books into place, Harry turned to find Sirius waiting patiently at a table set in the space between the shelves and the wall, a few of the candlesticks already lit.

"So," Sirius said as Harry pulled out the chair next to him, "I see you found a book you like. Let's see?" Harry passed over the text.

For a moment, a strange look crossed Sirius's features, but before Harry could begin to worry, it slid off into an ironic smile.

"Trust you to find one of the only potentially Light books in the entire collection, though I do I use 'potentially' quite hesitantly." He handed the volume back slowly. There were no shadows in his eyes now. "Just remember to be careful. Tell me if you find anything useful. With nothing to do but drift around the house, I could use something interesting to mull over. "

Harry stared, astonished. As silence ticked on, a small grin curled into the thin lines of his godfather's face. Harry found his tongue and asked,

"You mean you're not going to say anything? Aren't you worried I'll, I don't know, find something Dark in here and blow myself up?"

A barking laugh froze his face in its shocked expression. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder.

"Not in the least!" He said. "You're not a child, Harry. Molly and Dumbledore may think otherwise, but I happen to disagree. I'm not going to stop you from reading that, just warn you that you shouldn't trust everything you read and that if you're going to try something dangerous, to call me. I may be old, but I might want to be in on it, too."

Silent for only half a second, Harry finally returned the grin that was being sent his way.

"Thanks, Sirius." It had truly been something he had needed to hear, and hearing it coming from Sirius, one of his only connections to his parents and a family he never had, it meant a lot. But...

Harry let out a frustrated sight and raked a hand through his hair. The grin on Sirius' face dimmed, a little alarmed.

"I came," Harry explained quickly, with some irritation, "to make you feel better, not the other way around. Guess things didn't go exactly according to plan."

"Well, it's my job to make you feel better, not the other way around," Sirius said wryly. "I'm fine, Harry. I'm glad we talked."

Harry could just barely catch a last glimpse of pain behind that before a familiar voice calling from below broke the conversation in two.

"Harry! Ron! It's time to go!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

Sighing, Sirius stood and gave Harry a half-hearted smile and a passing ruffle to his hair.

"Well, then. I suppose it's time for you to go," he said.

"Sirius..." Harry definitely hadn't been imagining things. The shadows came back as he watched, folding into the creases around his eyes more obvious than ever

"I'll be fine, Harry," Sirius murmured, then cleared his throat. "Now go on. Best hide that book where one of the others won't find it and hurry down before Molly comes looking." Clapping his godson on the back, Sirius led Harry out into the hall and shooed him off toward his room.

With a last gauging glance sent back over his shoulder, Harry disappeared into the bedroom.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((( )

Even after so much time, Harry just couldn't get used to using the Floo network, and when he finally arrived spinning in the Leaky Cauldron fireplace, he fell to one knee in a plume of soot. Prepared, Ron and Hermione each seized an arm and hauled him to his feet just as the flames roared emerald behind him and a middle aged woman with equally green hair stepped out, flicking dust from her violently violet robes.

"Well then," said the Weasley Matriarch to her children, "let's get going. We'll want to get there before the crowd becomes too thick." Even though crowds in Diagon Alley were always thick. She set a brisk pace through those already in the pub of the Cauldron.

Self consciously, Harry smoothed his flyaway fringe over his scar and tried to keep his head low. After hearing what the papers were saying about him, he definitely didn't need any more attention. Even so, a few teenage witches nearby spotted him and began a loudly whispered conversation behind their hands. He could hear them quite well.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"I think it is!"

"He's got some nerve, showing his face after spouting all that rubbish about You-Know-Who being back."

"But what about what happened to Cedric Diggory? He had definitely been hit with the Killing Curse. That's the only way someone can die and look like... he did. Maybe You-Know-Who is really..."

"Don't be silly! It's just..."

They continued to talk, and soon, other patrons in the pub were taking notice of his existence, and they began to trail off from their original conversations. The whispers grew into a dull roar. He thought he heard snippets here and there- impertinent landed in his ear- and he found himself pausing.

As if he hadn't been expecting this, he discovered he was suddenly, inconceivably angry. Why should he put up with their whispers when he was telling the truth? When they were the ones who were wrong? Wasn't all of it just- just enough? His life sucked and it sucked in part because something had happened that saved them all (and not his family, not his life, not him, but them. Everyone in the country got a night to celebrate, and all he got was the night his mum and dad died. The thought itself, sudden and clear in his mind in a way it never had been, burned in his throat.) So he was a famous hero when they liked and some kind of liar when the truth was too scary? He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve it, no one deserved it, not even Dumbledore regardless of how angry Harry was with him. And he was terribly angry.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because as he looked one of the witches facing him caught his eye and turned hastily away, mumbling to her friend.

It wasn't just the one group murmuring either. The entire tone of the room had shifted when they entered. No longer slouched staring at the floorboards, he looked around and saw the hastily shifted gazes never quite meeting his eyes but staring openly in his peripheral. Every muscle in his body tensed and he froze mid-step in a rictus of some kind of righteous fury. Distantly, he thought he heard Hermione whisper his name.

"Alright, then?"

His voice came out too loud in his own ears. As if just realizing he was no longer shuffling with him, his group paused and turned back. The rest of the room paused too, like a single bated breath.

"If you're going to talk about me, at least do it so I can hear you," he continued. "If you think I'm some liar, then go on. Anyone have something to say to me?" There was a ringing in his ears. Hermione looked stricken, somewhere between fear and discomfort. Ron's face was steadily approaching the same red of his hair, and he fidgeted with a loose string on his shirt.

In contrast, the room itself could have been frozen in time and not been so still and quiet as it was now. Harry caught the eye of one middle-aged wizard who promptly slopped his cup of tea down his robes. When he turned to look, the young witches from before were openly staring, but they turned their eyes down when he looked.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, far too low, far too gentle, edging out of the huddle they had formed. She reached out a hand, as if to take his sleeve. He turned to the room at large instead.

"I was the one there that night," he said."I'm the only one who knows. I saw Cedric-" his throat constricted for a moment and he had to clear it before he could continue, still loud, so loud, in the quiet, "I saw it. Cedric and Dumbledore and- and I deserve better than the lies in the Prophet. So." As suddenly as it had come, the energy had left him. It left him hollow, with all the Cauldron staring at him. The silence stretched, but no one moved.

Molly took his arm very gently and he let her. Words all dried up, he followed after her as she led them out, walking mechanically. He felt at once like his entire body was buzzing and disconnected, like his brain was a balloon on a string floating along behind the rest of him. Normally he might have felt nervous, or worried that he had sounded stupid, especially at the end when he couldn't think of a single thing more to say.

He didn't do any of those things now. He felt nothing, really. He moved. In the perfect quiet of the Cauldron, they passed a nervous looking Tom and stepped out into the courtyard with its trash bins and the Alley's entrance.

Even as he watched the bricks twisting and sliding into the arched entrance, something which usually gave him a sense of awe, he felt far off. Diagon Alley rang with its familiar hustle and bustle, and everything moved and shimmered and rang with life, seemingly separated from him by an invisible wall of cotton. Vaguely he became aware of Hermione and Ron on either side of him, guiding him forward. He walked when they walked. With a nod, Mrs. Weasley turned forward, nodded once more to herself, and strode off. Like magic, the crowd split around her, waves around the bow of a ship, and Ron and Hermione herded him in her wake. He breathed in and felt perhaps he hadn't done so in quite a while. The street sounds grew clear and close again.

Even in all the chaos, people still found a way to stare at him and whisper as he passed, though it was considerably less noticeable than in the quiet of the pub. Scowling, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and, shoulders set, stared hard over Mrs. Wesley's shoulder in front of him. Wordlessly, he willed all of the people around him to bugger off and mind their own.

At the thought, a shopper in his peripheral stiffened and spun awkward and marionette-like away, all stiff limbs. Startled, he turned to look, but already they had passed by. He turned to Hermione on that side to ask and stopped at the look on her face. A glance on his other side confirmed.

On either side, his friends had formed a sort of honor guard. More aware, he allowed his eyes to drift and could now pick out people in the passing streets and alleys reacting. Hands covering whispers dropped suddenly, eyes suddenly averted. One business-wizard carrying a leather briefcase tripped over a street stand selling animated colour-changing buttons and started a commotion of shouted admonishments that side of the Alley. Buttons bounced off his trainers as they passed.

Against his will, he felt his lips twitch. Hermione looked honestly fierce, fiercer even than the times she caught them skiving off their study schedules days before an exam. She had changed so much from the awkward kid he remembered from their first year. She sailed along behind Mrs. Weasley like one of the space fighter-ships from one of Dudley's films. On his other side, Ron used all his gangly, looming height as a very effective stupefy. His flinty glare was very reminiscent of his mother's; from behind her, Harry wasn't sure he even wanted to know what kind of expression Mrs. Weasley wore. At their lead, she sent grown witches and wizards skittering away with their tails between their legs in complete, reverent silence.

Needless to say, his mood became markedly better by the time they arrived through Flourish & Blotts' entrance.

The moment they stepped in, Harry let out a long breath and deflated when he realized the shop was gloriously barren of anything but books and dust bunnies. In fact, the entire group unclenched like a curled fist relaxing, and Harry sent a grin as his best friends. Without a word, Hermione beamed back and Ron scratched at his nose but couldn't hide his own grin.

"They're just a bunch of gits," Ron said as if Harry had spoken. "They'll find out soon enough, and then they'll come begging for forgiveness." He seemed quite sure of it, and Harry managed to grab a few dregs of the same confidence for himself. He nodded.

"You were brilliant, Hermione," he added, and meant it.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Ron suddenly in agreement, as if just remembering. "I swear, you sent some grown wizards running in the other direction. Bloody terrifying," he said admiringly.

Hermione took a swat at them both with a good-natured, if not sheepish smile (Harry heard her get Ron, whose pathetic, "Ow!" wasn't quite convincing.)

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, very prim for someone laying out smacks. "Now come on, we don't have all day, you know." She rolled her eyes purposefully towards the other end of the shop and the counter.

Mrs. Weasley bustled across the shop, apparently having left them to their devices. They hurried after her, all equally eager to see the stranger she had described the day before. As they neared the back of the store, though, their excitement began to fade when each individually realized that the counter was left unmanned.

Finally reaching their destination, the group paused to shuffle awkwardly and look around.

"Yugi, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called. She looked a tad worried.

After a pause in which her only answer was silence, Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to call again, only to be interrupted by an ominous thump, followed by a clattering racket that came from a door behind the desk, obviously leading down to a basement of some sort. The noise rattled on, as if many things were falling down a set of stairs, and ended finally with a second dense thud and a muffled yelp.

Alarmed, Mrs. Weasley ordered the youths to stay before she hurried around the counter and down the gloomy stairwell. The moments passed in tense stillness. When no other sounds came, the trio edged closer to the doorway. They caught the barest of muffled voices before the stairs creaked and two sets of footsteps began up. One set was obviously Mrs. Weasley, while the other was marked by the heavy clunk of boots.

They backed up as one just as a unfamiliar voice suddenly became clear.

"...carrying the scrolls down. I heard the bell above the door jingle, so I was trying to hurry and, well..." The voice was young, musical and sounding extremely embarrassed.

The unusual pair came into view just as Mrs. Weasley, gently grasping the arm of a shorter man, began to chide him.

"You really should be more careful, dear!"

The strangest person Harry had ever seen gave an impish little grin, rubbing at his cheek with his free hand, and agreed pleasantly in a low murmur.

He looked just as Mrs. Weasley had described him, down to the last detail. His black hair was wild, Harry thought, and exactly what would scandalize Aunt Petunia past all words. It looked as if he'd dyed the fringe blonde the muggle way; even as he thought this, he thought he saw red sticking out of the short horsetail he'd pulled it back in. So startled was he that it took him a few moments to register that their storekeeper was dressed in all black muggle clothes with bright, heavy gold jewelry twinkling on his arms, ears, and, most notably, a giant pendant at the end of a chain on his neck. Forget being scandalized; Aunt Petunia would have forced them all to cross the street if she saw clothes like that. Harry instantly liked him.

"Oh," Hermione murmured, surprised. Ron's mouth was open. Even startled, Hermione had the politeness to nudge him from around Harry to stop gaping.

"Yugi," Mrs. Weasley said, dusting his back off briskly as she spoke, "these are my children." Harry felt a sudden warmth in his chest as she motioned at all three of them. "Ronald, my youngest boy, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger."

Yugi looked confused for only a moment before he smiled and nodded to each in turn. Harry, in turn, silently reeled with pleased surprise when his name got him no more recognition than his friends' did. Cautiously, he glanced to either side, and saw his own thought in Ron and Hermione. It was a welcomed loss.

"Hello," he said, a little formally. "My name is Yugi Mutou. It is very nice to meet you all." He dipped a short bow from the shoulders and grinned. "I'm sorry for making a bad first impression. I'm usually not so clumsy."

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Mutou." Hermione offered genially, obviously filled with a hundred questions.

"Please," he said with a laugh in his tone, "call me Yugi. Mr. Mutou makes me feel older than I really am." He turned his eyes then to Mrs. Weasley, who beamed at him. He grinned back. "I'm glad you came, Molly. I was hoping you would get here early. If the store was crowded, I wouldn't get much of a chance to talk to you again. That is, if you'd like to," he added quickly.

"Nonsense! Of course I'd like to talk to you, Yugi, dear. You're such a sweetheart, and really so interesting. You remind me so much of Bill, and don't you know, I've written him, he's in Cairo right now doing curse translation."

Having progressively turned ten different shades of embarrassment, Yugi straightened slightly, suddenly laser focused.

"He's working at the Department for Ancient Curse Disarmament, then?"

"Yes, that's the one," Mrs. Weasley smiled. "You're both two of a kind, you and Bill. Both mad about Egypt and quite handsome." Harry saw a flash of wicked humor in her eyes and suddenly remembered the same glance in Ginny. Yugi, apparently not so familiar, floundered,

"Th-Thank you! I'll, ah, go get those books you needed, just," he pointed over his shoulder before waving to the store, "please have a look around!" He retreated valiantly towards the door behind the counter, nearly tripped over something behind the desk, and disappeared down the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley smiled towards the lot of them affectionately.

"He's such a dear," she said in a conspirator's whisper. "Hermione, I feel you'll get along well with him. He's a very intelligent young man who knows quite a lot about magical history."

Said very intelligent young man returned to a rather curious Hermione's gaze, Ron's incredulous staring, and Harry's silent examination.

"I dropped my wand when I fell," he admitted to questioning gazes, lifting an average length, slim wand that could have been made from two different woods. Dark and light wood twisted through the grain. Momentarily, Harry considered asking what it was but decided to err on the side of caution in case the question came off as impolite.

Inattentive of his audience, Yugi spent a moment in intense concentration, eyes moving around the store as if categorizing its sections. Then, with a few deft flicks of his wand and a murmured list of titles, a legion of school texts came wiggling through the air towards him. Wavering for a moment above the counter, they finally plopped down in neat stacks, sending up a cloud of dust the he sent swirling away with another flick.

"There we are!" He beamed. "Would you like to browse the store or are you ready for me to ring up your order?" He asked, not just Molly but the lot of them. Harry saw his chance.

"Actually," he said hurriedly, "there are a few books I'd like to look for, if that's alright." He glanced at Mrs. Weasley for permission. Their outing was meant to be quick, but he knew she wanted to give them a bit of a breather, and he knew where the DADA section was...

She nodded indulgently, hands folded in front of her apron after making a shooing motion with a smile. As Harry wandered into the aisles, Hermione and Ron on his tail, he could hear their conversation behind him.

"How have you been, Yugi?"

"Fine, Molly-san. I'm rather nervous about moving to my new job, though. It seems so close, too."

"Oh? I never did hear what work you'd be beginning in September."

"Well..."

Then they got too far away to hear and Harry found himself in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts section. Soon, he was quite immersed in the titles and found three of the titles that Ginny had mentioned right away. Choosing the ones that interested him the most (which was hard, because they all sounded pretty interesting), he then wandered on to the Quidditch section, where Ron had his nose buried in a neon orange book. Finding another title from Ginny's tirade, he swiped it up before Ron could begin pointing out the better (nonexistent) points of the Chudley Canons and began to look for Hermione.

He found her in the history section, set in the back of the store between the autobiographical and comedy sections.

"What do you have there, Herms?"

Starting, Hermione jerked her head up from where it had been lowered with eyes ripping through the words printed on parchment pages.

"Oh, Harry, you startled me!" She closed the book and held it before her for him to examine.

The Great Egypt started up at him in gold. The brown cover was marked otherwise with a golden beetle of some kind with wings spread wide and reaching up towards what seemed to be the sun or a disk of gold.

"It really is interesting. Mr. Mu- well, Yugi got me curious about the subject, really. After all, if he and Bill are so mad about it, there must be something worth reading," she said.

Harry hid a smile behind a cough as he nodded and turned his eyes innocently away. If it was Hermione, he doubted she could find something not worth reading.

Casually, he scanned the titles in the nearby section, which happened to be comedy. 1,001 Quidditch Knock-Knock Jokes (Harry doubted this one actually belonged in comedy), 100 Ways to Make Your Friends Giggle, Whacky Witty Witches Digest, and... 1,234 Muggle Pranks?

Interest caught and not at all forgetting the twins' resentment over being left out, he grabbed up the last book. Even if it didn't do much to lessen their mood, at least it would give them something new to try. He remembered them stating at some point that they were running out of thing to do to Percy. Silently, he apologized in advance. Even if Percy was a bit of a berk, 1,234 is a lot of pranks. Maybe it will lighten him up, he thinks.

Struck suddenly by a stroke of brilliance, he swiftly picked out a title from the multitudes and snatched it up and, tucking it in between his other books, he turned to Hermione, who was once again lost in the boundless wonders of ancient Egypt.

"Ready?"

The two returned to the front desk with their books, where Ron was already waiting. Hermione had decided to purchase The Great Egypt and, true to colors, Ron had a book on the Canons' play strategies.

"...owner knows I'm going off to work. He's happy for me. He says I can do better than the basement of Flourish & Blotts. He really is a nice man. I feel bad for leaving."

"Nonsense!" She patted his arm where he rested against the counter. Whatever they were talking about, Yugi looked a little nervous, or at least Harry thought so. "You just focus on keeping your chin up, Yugi, and remember that you'll do fine." Mrs. Weasley glanced over at them with their books. "All ready, now?" She eyed their choices with some apprehension.

"You know," Yugi hummed as he stepped behind the register, "I can include those books under the discount, since they're being purchased at the same time. There's nothing in the guide against it, so I wouldn't think it'd be too frowned upon." He smiled innocently. Harry wasn't sure he believed that. Obviously, Mrs. Weasley did. Looking quite relieved, she nodded with ill-concealed relief as Yugi began checking the prices on the books. He glanced momentarily at Ron's.

"A fan of the Canons?" Ron nodded enthusiastically. "I'm not particular to any team myself, but it's a good game, Quidditch. I've only seen a few games before."

"Only a few?" Ron squawked. "That's a shame." Hermione rolled her eyes behind him.

"It's not so big in Japan," Yugi admitted, already running the price on Harry's books. "I'll be seeing a few more while I'm here, I expect!" He skimmed the titles Harry bought with a thoughtful expression as strangely purple eyes flitted over the titles. It got Harry a gauging look that prompted him to fidget a bit. Something about his eyes seemed different, more serious or perhaps sharper. Harry couldn't quite place it.

"Interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Yugi asked.

Harry gave a nervous smile.

"It's my strongest area in school," he hedged, really thinking also there's a maniac out there after my head, maybe you've heard of him?

"You know," Yugi stated casually as he tallied up the costs of his books, "I read something about a Harry Potter a few weeks ago. What it says in the books is quite different from what is written in the papers these days, and I was confused. What is true and what is not?"

Harry tensed. If Yugi believed in what the papers said, there wasn't much Harry could do. He just hoped...

"So, I decided to forget everything that I read."

Harry's head jerked up. Still so casual where he leaned against the counter, Yugi shrugged and gave a secretive little smile.

"Books are never the final word or the final truth, and the news even less. I was surprised to meet you, but I'm glad, as well, to see you are not as the papers describe." Bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment as Harry closed his mouth, which had dropped opened in surprise, Yugi then turned to Hermione's book. Harry wished he had continued. He had so many unanswered questions, buzzing around his head.

The change was quite notable. The slightest traces of seriousness on his face slid away into a brightness that came with great love of a subject. Harry saw it often enough on Hermione's face to recognize it.

"Are you interested in Egypt, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione dimpled when she smiled, the image of sheepishness.

"As of late, yes." She hedged as well as Harry did. Eyes knowing, Yugi took the price and then began to shuffle around under the counter.

"If you're particularly interested on Egypt's more detailed or obscure history, might I suggest..." He produced a tome from below, "this?" It looked easily a thousand pages, and very old. Hermione's eyes turned to platters and she began to pink under the brown of her cheeks.

"It is my own personal volume, but I think you would do better with it than me. I've already read it cover to cover more times than I can count. It's time someone else did as well." He slid it across the counter towards her. "Free of charge."

The group stared. Unperturbed, he smiled back and folded his hands on the counter, the rings on his fingers catching the light from the windows. Harry figured Hermione was going to implode, a thought confirmed very quickly.

"M-Mr. Mu- Yugi, I couldn't!" Hermione seemed almost aghast at the mere mentioning of her taking his book, especially for free, and stumbled over his name as she had since he had asked they call him Yugi. Now she didn't seem to know what to call someone who would give her something for free. "It's yours, and we'll probably never see each other ever again, and it must mean so much to you," she fretted.

Yugi let out a bell-like laugh.

"It's fine, really! And who's to say we'll never meet again? You never know, we might cross each other again one day and you'll be able to return it." There was something positively sly in his face, though he didn't continue.

Obviously unsure and yet excited about getting a new book to read, Hermione nodded slowly and cradled the book to her chest like a particularly precious child. She continued to clutch it as the rest of the books were shrunk and paid for collectively (Harry added his galleons to the pile and refused when Mrs. Weasley insisted he take them back), and as the last of the tiny bags were being tucked into pockets, Yugi leaned against the counter with the beginnings of weariness showing through.

"I'm glad you all came before the afternoon rush. It's been hectic of late." He turned to Mrs. Weasley. "It was nice to see you again, Molly, and nice to meet you all." Absently, he reached back to pull his hair out of it tie and ruffle it up, and the three teens watched with some bemusement is it instantly began to stick up in all directions in burgundy-tipped licks. He flicked his fringe out of his eyes with long fingers. Harry resolutely resisted the urge to look at Mrs. Weasley's face, which he imagined to be fantastic.

"It was nice to meet you, too, Yugi," Hermione said earnestly. Harry saw it startled a smile out of him.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't see you all off of hours, but I won't be having many unfilled breaks over these last few days..." He really did look put out.

Mrs. Weasley placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure we'll see you again." She smiled in a way her kids didn't recognize. "Very soon, if my feeling is correct. Just make sure you're getting enough rest and are eating enough."

Flushed, Yugi ducked his head and nodded obediently as they migrated towards the door.

"Good bye, Molly, Harry, Hermione, Ron. Please enjoy your last days of summer break!"

All saying their own individual goodbyes, they were nearing the door when Harry turned around, finally unable to remain unanswered.

"Er, Yugi?"

Curious eyes.

"Why didn't you believe what the Prophet is saying? I mean, most people read the same things you did in books and now the paper, but they never..." He trailed off a little awkwardly, a little purposefully. He physically felt the silence of his group behind him as they watched. Yugi settled forward, elbows on the counter, and met his eyes.

"It's simple, really," Yugi said softly, something about his face far away. "I'd rather believe in the best in people. I'd rather believe that the Prophet is lying. I know quite well that the papers are not always truthful, especially not with celebrities." For the first time, there was something unpleasant in his tone, but not aimed at Harry himself. It subsided quickly. "And besides..."

There was a change in his face, the same change that Harry had seen before, when his eyes seemed three shades darker with something serious.

"I have the feeling that something dark is coming. Please be careful, Harry. Be safe." With piercing eyes, he stared without blinking as if trying to psychic across some unverbalized message. "Be ready, if you can."

They left in uneasy, restless, excited silence.

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AN: This chapter has a lot of writing editted from the original and is far less stylistically painful for me to reread. Sorry for the long wait from the first chapter. The election well and truly fucked me up, kids. Peace to those who need it, strength to those who need it, love to everyone out there. Hope y'all like this as much as the first go-round.