A/N: So, this is my first attempt at a crossover. It'll be Harry Potter/Queer As Folk, my two favorite obsessions. It's a bit slow in coming at the moment, as I do have some fest deadlines to meet. Yes, I'm aware I have other fic that needs to be finished (grins maniacally) but, this bunny bit me and the tenacious little bastard won't let go. If anyone seems OOC, my apologies, but for me, crossovers by nature are a bit AU anyway. I'm going to keep it as Canon as possible in both genres, setting the story in Summer '07, making Harry 27 going on 28.

Warnings: SLASH. This means male/male pairings, people. If you don't like, I would suggest you stop reading about now.

Hermione quietly watched the pale young man asleep in her back seat in the rear view mirror. His messy black hair, which had grown out a bit in the past year, hung down in his eyes and her hand twitched with the effort of not brushing his fringe to the side. Harry snorted slightly in his sleep and turned sideways in the seat, propping his legs up and crossing them as his light snores filled the quiet interior of her car.

Hermione looked over into the passenger seat, and grinned at the tall red-haired fellow who was watching fascinated as the Scottish scenery flew by his window.

"I cleared it with Mum, I'll go home with you for a few days and then we'll return to the Burrow until term starts again." Ron said as he casually draped an arm across Hermione's shoulder. Her cheeks reddened a bit in response but she didn't reply. After a few quiet moments Ron looked over at her in consternation, as she seemed very focused on the sleeping form of their best friend.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Ron asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking about Harry's having to go back to that creepy old house. He seems miserable there at times, doesn't he?"

"I'm sure he is, after all that's happened…" Ron trailed off, feeling the tell-tale burn of tears and not wanting to appear silly in front of the woman he had fancied for some time.

"What if he didn't have to? Do you think he would be happier?" Hermione asked quietly, eyes still trained on Harry's sleeping form.

"What do you mean 'if he didn't have to?' What have you got up your sleeve?" Ron grinned, knowing that the brightest witch of their generation could come up with quite a scheme.

"Well, this is what I had in mind…" Hermione began outlining the plans she had been making since Harry had told them he was going to stay at Grimmauld Place this summer, renovating and preparing it as a fit place to live with his future bride. Hermione wasn't an idiot, she had seen the smile-almost-grimace Harry had had plastered on his face as he grit out the word "bride" through clenched teeth. As she got more in-depth, Ron's grin got wider and slowly blossomed into a full smile. This was a doozy, and hopefully, Harry would enjoy every minute.

Hermione ambled slowly down the alley in London, trying to hide her nervousness. She could feel the smooth wood of her wand in her pocket as she approached the man ahead of her cautiously. He was thin, but with broad shoulders. His lanky black hair fell down around his face, giving her a disconcerting reminder of Professor Snape. He was wearing a nondescript black leather jacket and had a lit cigarette hanging between his lips. Hermione had the brief, hysterical thought that this man certainly fit her stereotype of a drug dealer.

"Don't sell drugs anymore, just papers now." The man mumbled around his smoke as he looked up, catching her amber gaze with a pair of shockingly blue eyes, taking Hermione by surprise.

"Are you a Legilimens?" Hermione asked, off guard, before realizing that this fellow was probably a muggle. He snorted in response as he took the smoke out of his mouth and dropped it to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of a black snakeskin boot. "Nah. Just good at reading people, and it was written all over your face. My…friend…said you needed some documents?"

Anton cocked an eyebrow at the short curly-haired woman that had appeared in his alley. Not quite what he expected, as he had been hired to draw up fake identification and a passport for a lad about six feet tall with messy black hair and green eyes. An unusual request, sure, but he had managed. He waited patiently for her answer, wondering if he had the wrong person and the lady was in a place where she shouldn't be. He internally shrugged his shoulders, if the lady was the witch she appeared to be, then she could take care of herself. Anton reached into his inner jacket pocket and produced a manila folder and presented it to Hermione.

Hermione looked over the documents: a muggle high school diploma, a muggle driver's license and a passport all with a picture of a young man that looked very similar to Harry, sans the lightning bolt scar. Well, you can't have everything done for you her conscience supplied as she pulled a wallet out of her beaded bag. She counted out two thousand pounds and handed the money to Anton before turning to leave. It was a bit much, but she was appreciative that he had managed to get what she needed so quickly and quietly.

Anton looked down at the roll of notes she had handed him and grinned. He would make sure that his contact knew that the lady could have anything she needed in the future.