Disclaimer: I make no claim to the rights of any characters that are owned by J.K. Rowling or Warner Bros., and make no money from this venture. This work is purely for entertainment purposes.

—CHAPTER THIRTEEN—

Harry

There were only two nights left of Harry's Fifth Year at Hogwarts and he found that he couldn't enjoy it. Last days of the year had always been somewhat depressing for Harry, who had always had to go back to live with the Dursleys, but this time, it was a different kind of feeling.

On the one hand, he continued to think about Neville. There was rarely a time when he wasn't thinking about him. He had not realised it before, but Neville had been a huge part of his life. Perhaps an even more stable part than Hermione and Ron, both of whom had, at one time or another, left him. Hermione when Harry first received the Firebolt and made a huge deal about it, leading to it being confiscated. That had, upon reflection, been Harry's fault. Ron had left when Harry was chosen as a Triwizard Champion, believing him to be lying about how he got in. That, Harry decided, was not his fault.

But Neville? No, Neville had always been there. His loyalty to Harry had been fervent and unwavering from the beginning. Well, except before the First Year incident, Harry thought to himself. Even then, he had only been trying to make sure they didn't get in trouble, which was honourable. Neville never believed that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. He never believed that Harry had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. He was also a prominent member of Dumbledore's Army.

And Harry had ignored him. That was why Harry felt guilty now. Not because Neville died saving him, but because he had never been as good a friend to Neville as Neville had been to him. In all fairness to himself, the others in the dorm were never that close to Neville either. But Neville had never cared about them as much as he seemed to about Harry. He couldn't help but wonder if he should have been better friends with Neville. He spent a great deal of time imagining scenarios in his mind of what might have happened if he had been better friends with Neville, and the scenarios always seemed too real. It was as if Neville's face was etched into his brain.

The only time that he wasn't thinking about Neville, it seemed, was when he was thinking about Luna. Harry had absolutely no idea what was going on with him and Luna. After she had kissed him outside of the entrance to the Ravenclaw Dorms, Harry had been confused. Sometimes he thought it was just Luna being Luna, but sometimes he thought there was more to it. Then she came to the Quidditch Pitch to see him. Ron and Ginny left quickly when she turned up, making up some excuse about it getting dark, which wouldn't have stopped either of them in all actuality.

"How are you, Luna?" Harry had asked awkwardly as Ron and Ginny retreated off the pitch, looking over their shoulders every so often at Harry and Luna who, Harry though, must have looked extremely awkward. At least, on his side. He wasn't sure that Luna could ever look awkward in any situation.

"Unhappy," she had replied serenely as she surveyed the pitch. "But I suppose that is to be expected when a friend dies."

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry had said to her lamely, not knowing what to say. He wasn't used to comforting people. It was never his strong suit.

"The pitch really is very lovely," Luna had said after only a moment. "I am considering commentating games next year. Lee Jordan leaves this year, you know. They'll need a replacement."

"Oh," Harry had said, not expecting her to say any of that. "Yeah he does. You would make a, er, great commentator."

"I don't think so," Luna had replied, looking back at Harry, a small smile on her face. "I expect that I would be dreadful. But I don't think we can ever know anything for sure without trying."

"Yeah, you're right." For neither can live while the other survives.

"Let's go for a walk," Luna had said suddenly, seizing Harry's right hand in her left. Her hand was very soft.

"Uh … where to?" Harry had asked.

"Just around the pitch," Luna had replied, looking forward. "Things look better when you're moving. Just don't move too quickly or everything will be a blur. My mum used to say that."

"Your mum sounds like she was a very wise woman," Harry had responded not knowing what to say.

"I think so," Luna had said quietly. "I love Daddy a lot, but Mum was the one I always admired. She was so smart. And beautiful. I look more like Daddy than Mum."

"I think you're pretty," Harry had said without thinking. Luna looked up to him and smiled, her big eyes shining.

"That's kind of you to say, but you don't have to," she had replied. They were still walking, but slowly.

"You are," Harry had said, not sure why he was saying it. He stopped walking for a moment and then leaned down and kissed her. It was not a particularly long kiss, but it was longer than Luna's had been to him. When they broke apart, Luna squeezed his hand lightly.

After that, they had been interrupted by Hermione and Colin. Harry had been both relieved and annoyed that they were there.

Following that particular kiss, Harry had been wondering where, exactly, he stood with Luna. The only experience he had to compare it with was with Cho, and that never really went well at all. But it had been easier in some aspects. For one thing, Harry had liked Cho before anything happened. It had also been harder. Cho was certainly more high maintenance than Luna would ever be.

He was contemplating this at dinner when an owl that Harry did not recognise dropped a letter in front of him. It seemed as though everyone was looking at him, as owls were rarely seen at dinner time. He moved to open it but Hermione, who was seated to his left slapped his hand.

"I didn't recognise that owl," she said sharply. "We don't know who it's from."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Harry protested, but Hermione had already drawn her wand and cast a spell. Nothing happened.

"There," she said in a huff. "Now you can open it."

Harry opened the letter, feeling nearly every eye on him as he tried his best to ignore them.

Harry,

I wish to speak with you when you have finished your dinner.

Myself? I am having a delicious peppermint humbug. Perhaps not a meal, though I do find them delicious.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry folded the parchment and put it in his pocket.

"What was it?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Dumbledore wants to see me," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. Truth be told, he wasn't very happy with Albus Dumbledore. Harry knew it was childish, but he couldn't help but feel betrayed that Dumbledore had not felt it right to tell Harry everything from the start. "I don't know why."

He had told Ron and Hermione about the Prophecy and everything else Dumbledore had told him the morning after the Department of Mysteries, but he had not told Ginny or Colin. Both Ron and Hermione nodded, recognising what Harry was hinting at, but Colin looked confused.

"Did you do something wrong?" Colin asked. Harry shook his head.

"Not that I know of," he replied. "I don't know what it's about, really. He doesn't say."

"Hopefully it's nothing bad," Colin said, eating some more fried rice. Harry ate some himself. He and Colin shared a love of fried rice, it seemed. Harry felt guilty about hiding everything from Ginny, Luna and Colin, but he knew that if they knew they could be in danger, and he couldn't let that happen. Sure, they would probably say that they don't mind being put in danger, but Harry minded. He minded a great deal.

"I'm sure it won't be," Hermione said somewhat cheerfully. "Professor Dumbledore probably just wants to check in on Harry. See how he's doing after ... well you know. After everything."

"Yeah, that's probably it," Colin said, seeming more at ease. Harry saw Ron roll his eyes. He pushed back his food.

"Ron, you mind if I talk to you before I go see Dumbledore?" Harry asked, trying to not sound pointed. It seemed to work as Ron didn't react negatively.

"Yeah, sure," he said, taking one last huge bite out of a chicken wing and placing it back on his plate. They exited the Great Hall and found only a few First Year kids around. "What's up?"

"What's going on with you and Colin?" Harry asked straight out. No point dancing around the issue. Dumbledore and his piercing blue eyes were waiting on him after all. Ron feigned surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound surprised.

"I'm meant to believe that?" Harry asked. "Whenever he's around you seem to glare and roll your eyes a lot. So what's your problem?" Ron seemed to give in.

"You don't think it's a bit odd that you two are now like buddies?" Ron asked. "You hated him in Second Year. And you never much cared for him after that either."

"That was because I only saw him as this creepy stalker kid," Harry said, trying to explain. "But he isn't."

"Oh yeah, did he tell you that?" Ron asked, sarcasm dripping on every word.

"No, actually," Harry said angrily. "It was Dumbledore. I'm sure I've told you that before."

"Oh, fine," Ron said, equally as angrily. "But don't you think that obsession of his was creepy?"

"Not now that I get why -" Harry was going to continue, but Ron cut him off.

"Harry, this isn't right," Ron cut in, annoyed. "You go from hating him to best friends in a day? No. Not possible. It's a potion. It has to be."

"A potion?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Yeah," Ron lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I've been thinking, and the only logical reason that he's your friend is that he used a love potion."

"A love potion?" Harry asked, angrily. "You think he's using a love potion?"

"Of course!" Ron exclaimed. "It's the only explanation."

"Except for one thing," Harry said. Ron looked confused. "I'm not in love with Colin you git!"

"Are you sure?" Ron asked. Harry felt the urge to punch Ron in his freckled nose.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Harry yelled.

"Yeah, well he's in love with you," Ron said pointedly. "Either way, that's true."

"Actually, I don't really think you can say that it's true unless you have proof that he's gay," Harry said. "Not telling me something, eh Ron?" Ron flushed a deep red.

"Shut up!" he said angrily. "I just know it when I see it!" Yeah, sure you do, Harry thought, thinking of Hermione.

"And even if it is true, which we cannot know, what's the problem? He happens to like guys instead of girls. Who cares?" Harry was angry. He remembered Uncle Vernon ranting on "those homosexual freaks" one time before Hogwarts came around. His uncle was descriptive in his rant, so Harry pretty much understood, though he could never see the problem. That probably mostly came from Harry's not wanting to be anything like Vernon Dursley. "He's still someone who just wants some friends." Ron seemed shocked.

"That really doesn't bother you?" he asked incredulously. "He could be in love with you right now and you wouldn't care?"

"No, not really," Harry replied. "If anything I would take it as a compliment. I may not feel the same way, but anyone caring that much about me is a good thing." Harry could hear Vernon Dursley's voice in his head. You little freak!

"He's a freak," Ron muttered. Harry reacted on some strange primal instinct and did what he had wanted to do earlier. He punched Ron Weasley right in his freckled nose. It was not a particularly strong punch, as Harry was so scrawny, but he felt a crunch nonetheless. Ron didn't fall over, but his hands did go to his face. Harry saw blood trickling through his fingers.

"You don't ever use that word," Harry said coldly, and he saw Ron's eyes meet his own. There were a lot of emotions in there for a boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon. Harry turned and walked away, heading for the Headmaster's Office. He heard Ron call out to him once, but he didn't respond. When he knew he was out of sight of Ron, Harry shook his hand and massaged it. It may not have been a strong punch, but Harry wasn't used to it. Harry could feel a sense of satisfaction mingled with guilt. He felt like he had to do that, but he wished it didn't have to be Ron.

Soon enough, Harry reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office and said the password, allowing him to ascend the staircase to the door with a griffin as a knocker. When he entered the room, he heard the familiar whirring noises and saw that there were already two people in the room. Professor McGonagall was there as well.

"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately. "I can come back."

"No, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said quickly. "I'm here to talk to you as well. Professor Dumbledore and I require something from you." Harry moved to sit down.

"And what's that?" Harry asked, directing his question to Dumbledore.

"A simple strand of your hair," Dumbledore replied serenely. "You do have a lot to spare that I doubt you would miss it." Harry suddenly thought of Polyjuice Potion.

"What for?" Harry asked suspiciously. Dumbledore pulled out a flask of black liquid. It almost looked like tar. Harry never remembered Polyjuice Potion looking that dark. It had been more of a brown colour, if he remembered correctly.

"Professor Dumbledore has a theory of sorts," McGonagall said.

"What sort of theory?" Harry asked, sounding less sceptical.

"We have both decided that it is for the best if we don't tell you unless we are one hundred percent certain that we are correct," McGonagall said. She did not sound stern, but she did not sound pleasant either. She sounded like she did when teaching. Harry looked at Dumbledore.

"And I'm meant to trust that you'll tell me if you're right?" Harry asked accusingly.

"Mr Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed. "That is the Headmaster you are addressing!"

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Harry has every right to be angry with me. He and I both know why. As to whether you have to trust me, Harry. No, I would not make you do that at this time. I will ask you to trust Professor McGonagall."

Harry thought for a moment and nodded. He may have lost some trust in the Headmaster since Neville died, but his trust in Professor McGonagall had been strengthened. He knew she wouldn't lie to him. Or, at least, he hoped that she wouldn't.

"Fine," he said. A moment later a few strands of hair floated from his head and hovered in front of the Headmaster's face, easily being able to be seen in front of the old man's almost pure white beard. Dumbledore then took out a small flask and tipped the contents into it. Harry thought he saw some red, but he could not be certain. After that, Dumbledore levitated Harry's hair and dropped it into the tar liquid.

The potion began to bubble and let off some black steam, but soon started to change colours. It got gradually lighter and lighter until it became what could only be considered a neutral red colour. Harry heard McGonagall suck in a breath and saw Dumbledore smile and nod.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, wanting his answers now. If he didn't get them now, he might never get them if Dumbledore had his way. Dumbledore and McGonagall shared a glance and Dumbledore nodded his assent.

"As I'm sure you know already," McGonagall began, so Harry turned to face her as much as he could, "I am the person in charge of informing the families of Muggle-borns that their child has magical abilities and has a place here at Hogwarts. Today marked the eleventh birthday of a young Muggle-born boy, so I went to his place of residence and met with this boy and his parents."

Harry was confused. Why was she telling him this? What did this have to do with him? But he assumed that she was going somewhere with it, so he let her continue.

"As it turned out, he actually lives very near Privet Drive," McGonagall said, piquing Harry's interest enough to make him sit up straighter. "When I spoke to this family, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Well, except for the boy and his father's hair. Red hair. While it might seem that we have a lot of redheads, what with the seemingly endless wave of Weasley's everywhere, it is actually no different to the Muggle world. Red hair is actually not all that common.

"Anyway, I did everything the way I always do it," she continued. "I told them. They were disbelieving. I showed them. Still disbelieving. I convinced them magic was real. They didn't want to send him. It's nothing new to me." Harry could sense an almost joking tone there, and he was slightly taken aback. He didn't have many memories of McGonagall making any kind of joke. Or any at all, for that matter.

"It was only when I returned to the school and discussed it with Professor Dumbledore, as I always do, that we noticed something odd," she said, pausing.

"Odd? Like what?" Harry asked, still unsure of the link to him. Dumbledore seemed to be prepared to take up the story from there.

"While I heard the story I pieced a few things together," Dumbledore said, his eyes gleaming slightly. "Red hair, green eyes and the last name 'Evans'."

"Wait, what?" Harry said suddenly. His mother had had red hair, he was always being told that he had the same eyes as her and her maiden name was 'Evans'.

"You were right," McGonagall said suddenly. "The eyes are exactly the same."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked.

"When Professor Dumbledore made the connection," McGonagall continued, "he asked me to go back and get a lock of Mark Evans' hair."

"Mark?" Harry asked suddenly. "I know him. Dudley used to bully him." There was a silence for a moment before McGonagall started again.

"It was easy enough to get the hair," she said plainly. "I just told them that it was a part of the enrolment process that I had forgotten and they agreed to it."

"Is it a part?" Harry asked, not remembering Hagrid taking any of his hair. That might have gone badly if Hagrid had used his hands or tried with his "umbrella". McGonagall shifted in her seat.

"It used to be," she admitted. "It was stopped 152 years ago, but that was never strictly official, so what I did was, in all technical senses, legal." Harry smirked despite himself.

"I see," he said, suppressing a laugh, at least.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "And that brings us here. This potion," he motioned towards the now red liquid, "was a test to see if you and young Mark Evans were related in any way."

"And red means?" Harry asked, looking from the red potion to Dumbledore, who was smiling with his piercing blue eyes twinkling.

"Mark Evans is your first cousin through your mother's line."

—END OF PART I—