Harry_22 free porn video

Prologue


The golden candlelight flickered off the stone walls, walls built before the founding of Hogwarts, before the campaigns of Charlemagne, before the birth of Christ. These walls endured the battles of Pharaoh, and of Caesar, and saw the creation of magic in the earliest of days. The rhythmic chant of the sixteen, cloaked in black, resonated against the walls, which somehow knew what was to come.

A thin, toothless, smile creased her aged face, worn by years of waiting, but now… now the time, at last, had arrived. With the sacrifice set, she closed her eyes and nodded, and the sixteen thrust forth their daggers. She could taste the blood, and her smile broadened; the age of Pravus and Morgana had returned… a new age reborn… the age of Voldemort and…

“NO!” she screamed, sensing, too late, his presence.

Harry woke with a start, his sheets soaked with sweat, a mixture of the night’s heat and the new nightmare. Her screams still ringing in his ears, he adjusted his pillow, flopped back down, and… smiled. For the first night all summer, he woke to a dream that had nothing to do about Sirius Black.


~~~~~~~~


Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 1 - A New Beginning


The air was hot and humid as Harry lay on his back watching the clouds fly over Privet Drive. Droplets of sweat fell from his forehead making his hair wet. Under the shade of two large bushes he found himself again, as last year, outside the Dursley’s open window hoping to hear some word of what was going on in the world, hoping to hear some sign that might give him a clue as to what Voldemort and his followers were up to.

He had received a few owls from Ron and Hermione, and one from Remus, each wishing him well, and reassuring him that all was quiet in the Wizarding world. Yet, Harry knew that Voldemort’s greatest strength was stealth, an ability to move unseen and undetected. All might be quiet, but that didn’t mean that nothing was happening. So he listened intently for the smallest of clues, the least story that was out of the ordinary, and in those moments during advert breaks, his mind mulled over the prophecy of his fate… a fate only known by Harry and Professor Dumbledore. One day, Harry and Voldemort would meet, and only one of them would survive.

The newscaster led the stories of the night with a five-car pile-up outside Bristol. A petrol tanker had caught fire and three people had died. “A drop in the bucket,” thought Harry, “if he has his way.” In a few minutes, the news turned to the weather. “Hot, hot and hotter!” chirped the weatherman. With this, Harry’s mind wandered to the parchment Ron had sent him earlier that afternoon. He pulled it out of his pocket and read it again. It was the most newsworthy note he’d received all summer.

Harry,

Sorry to hear you’re so miserable. I thought for sure you were going to be able to stay with us this summer, but things have taken a bit of a turn. Dad was appointed to direct the Ministry’s efforts in the capture of You-Know-Who and his followers. Dumbledore says that the appointment has put our whole family on the Death Eater’s hit list. We’ve had to leave the Burrow to live in the one place I don’t think you’d want to come back to, at least not yet. It’s not the same here as it was last Christmas, that’s for sure. Mum says as soon as we get things straightened up you should come to stay. Be strong, Harry! It should only take a few weeks.

Be careful!

Ron


Harry knew, of course, it was his godfather’s house, Sirius Black. They’d spent Christmas there last year. It was the happiest Harry had ever seen Sirius; the pleasant daydream swirled in Harry’s mind, but then, as it always did, his mind shifted to the scene it had played all summer long. He saw himself yelling at Hermione, demanding that Sirius was in trouble. He saw himself lead his friends into danger. He saw Sirius coming to the rescue… Sirius battling Bellatrix… Sirius falling through the curtain. If Harry hadn’t been so arrogant, his godfather would still be alive, and as much as everyone had tried to reassure him it wasn’t, he knew it was his fault. He groaned just thinking about it again, the pain palpable in his heart. Had Sirius lived, Harry would be with him right now. The Ministry had cleared his name, and the Daily Prophet was declaring him a hero. Sirius Black, the closest thing Harry had to family, and he had led him to his death.

There was a loud pop from across the street and Harry jumped up, twisting just in time to miss the opened window. He’d grabbed his wand from his pocket, but it was just the carpenters finishing up some remodeling work on the old Wythe house. In front was a new SOLD sign. The house had only been up for sale about a week; Harry had never seen a house sell so quickly on Privet Drive.

“Put that down, boy!” his Uncle Vernon hissed, staring down at Harry from the open window. Sweat dripped down his Uncle’s ruddy face as his eyes flashed up the street. “If you want to eat, get in the house… now!” Harry slid the wand back in his threadbare jeans and walked around to the front door.

Not much had changed since last year. Even though the Dursley’s knew that Voldemort had risen again, and that he was out to kill Harry, no one would speak of it. In fact, nothing had really changed at all except for one thing. Dudley, Harry’s oversized cousin, was now speaking with him, and not just jabs and insults. They were having real conversations. Harry was amazed Dudley could even string three good sentences together. At first, they were just questions: “What were those things that attacked us last year?” “Why couldn’t I see them?” “Who’s Voldemort?” “Why is he after you?” It seemed the more he learned about Harry and Harry’s world, the harder it was to hate him. Dudley still had his gang, but when any of them tried to punch Harry in the ribs, or trip him while he was walking past, Dudley would simply say, “Lay off.” And now, they simply did just that. Not only was Harry free to walk the village without fear of being pummeled, he was able to talk to other kids without having to worry that Dudley’s thugs would come after them. The one thing Dudley wouldn’t do was talk with Harry in front of his parents. So, after another silent dinner of cabbage rolls and cottage cheese Harry climbed the stairs to his room.

It had been an exhausting day of nothingness, and instead of reading the Quid-Ex magazine Ron had sent him, he decided to go straight to bed. “Clear your mind,” Harry thought. “Relax.” He had resolved to practice Occlumency over the summer, and was actually getting quite good at it. He was able to sleep at night without dreaming of Voldemort, and his scar had stopped burning. Thoughts of Ron’s letter left his head. The film of Sirius’ death stopped playing in his mind; and soon he was asleep.

The sound of a loud squeal like fingernails on a chalkboard broke his slumber. At the sudden noise, he sat bolt upright in bed. The sun was streaming through his open window; it was morning already. There was a loud clanking and banging in the street outside. Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the light; he grabbed his glasses from off his nightstand, and walked over to the window.

Outside, a moving truck had pulled up to the house across the street. A rather beaten up four door sedan was parked out on the curb as well. Movers were opening up the large truck and talking to a rather tall, dark haired man, whose eyes kept darting up and down the street. The morning was warm, but he wore a long-sleeved shirt, as he seemed to be pointing out what he wanted done. “So that’s my new neighbor?” Harry thought. “I wonder what he’s looking for?” A dark haired woman stepped out of the house. Unlike the man, she was wearing a T-shirt, but her eyes too were looking up and down the street. “Mrs. Neighbor?” Harry whispered. “What are you looking for?”

The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Gabriella!” Then, turning, she yelled something to the man in a language that Harry could not understand, and the man yelled back in the same tongue, clearly irritated. Was it Russian? Greek? Again the woman called, “Gabriella!”

“Yes, Mama!”

A tall slender girl appeared from behind the house. She had long black hair that was tied back in a ponytail. She too wore jeans and a T-shirt, but somehow they seemed to suit her better than her mother. Was she about Harry’s age? Her mother stepped down from the front door, grabbed her by the arm and took her over to her father. He began to yell, but what was being said Harry couldn’t say. The daughter kept replying in English, but the parents… he couldn’t tell. He leaned out his window slightly to see if he could pick out some word he might interpret when an owl carrying the morning’s Daily Prophet hit him square in the face.

The owl squawked loudly, somehow entangling itself on Harry’s glasses. “Get off me you bloody bird!” Harry felt himself slipping out the window. He reached up, grabbed the bird and tore it from his face, the bird screeching louder. Just in time, he caught himself from falling on the side of the window frame, and then looked down. Below in the street, the yelling had stopped. Everyone had turned to view the second story of number four Privet Drive. The movers looked perplexed, the mother and father stared blankly, and the daughter seemed to be laughing with her hand over her mouth. To Harry’s horror, he realized he was hanging out his window in his boxers with no shirt and, of course, a severe case of bed head. He quickly pulled himself back up, flashed a half-hearted wave and smile, and shot back into his room.

What a glorious way to start the day. There he was, thinking perhaps that his new neighbors might be in league with the Dark Lord. Instead, a perfectly normal family moves in, and he almost breaks his neck falling out a second story window nearly saving Voldemort the trouble of killing Harry himself. He went to put a shirt on when another owl arrived, this time with a letter from Hermione. He sat down on his bed, trying to gather himself, and read.

Harry,

I hope this note finds you very well. It won’t be long until we’re all together again! I know it’s only been a couple days since my last post, but I’ll be traveling for about a week and I won’t be able to write. Don’t worry though, everything’s fine! Just a short holiday. I’ll write again as soon as I get back.

Love,

Hermione

Not a moment later a third owl flew in; this time it was a letter from Ron.


Harry,

Things have been getting pretty busy around here. So I won’t be able to write for a few days. Don’t worry though, it’s nothing really important.

I’ll write back as soon as I can.

Ron

The owls began to fight with each other, their feathers littering Harry’s room. Hedwig hooted reproachfully from her cage in the corner. Harry ignored the commotion. Instead, he reread each letter trying to figure out what was going on. Obviously, he was being left out of something. Was he too much of a liability to start helping the Order? It was perfectly clear in Harry’s mind that they were asking Ron and Hermione to help out. “Bit of a holiday!” Harry spat. They were probably being asked to travel somewhere, to get information, or maybe to try and capture one of the escaped Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange? Did they expect Harry to just sit in his nice cozy room and wait for school term to begin? He tore the letters in his hands and scattered them with the feathers across the floor. “Get out of here you filthy birds, I’ve got nothing for you! I never want to see another owl again!” He chased them from his room and slammed his window shut. Hedwig gave a scolding hoot in her cage. “Sorry girl, I just… I just… sorry.” He laid his forehead against the pane of the glass, and watched the movers below take furniture into the new neighbor’s house. He stood there, watching nothing, until Aunt Petunia called him down to start breakfast.

Breakfast at the Dursley table was much the same as dinner the night before. Harry knew better than to say a word, and instead he let his mind turn over the early morning’s events. What was the Order up to? What had they asked Ron and Hermione to do? Why did they both tell him not to worry? Who was the family moving in next door? Was the girl part Veela?

“Uncle?” Harry had found the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Do you know who’s moving in next door?”

“And what business is that of yours, boy!” The question had clearly brought something to the surface, reminding Harry of why he was never to speak at the table. Uncle Vernon’s face began to grow scarlet, and his eye began to twitch. He turned to Petunia. “Perfectly fine neighborhood! Perfectly fine! And now! Now! Ruined.” His last word squirted out like a deflating balloon.

“Now dear,” Aunt Petunia spoke in her nicest and most proper voice, “they may be perfectly fine.”

“Have you seen their car? How could the vermin even afford to live in this neighborhood?” Aunt Petunia simply shook her head, but Harry caught Dudley’s eyes and he clearly detected a look of disgust. “They probably came in to some money the wrong way, if you ask me. How else, eh? How else?”

After breakfast, Harry went outside for a walk to the park and met up with Dudley who was heading down the street toward Magnolia Avenue. “What was the ruckus at breakfast about?” he asked.

“The neighbors of course.” responded Dudley thickly.

“I know it was about the neighbors, what’s wrong with the neighbors?” Harry asked, trying to spell it out for his cousin.

“Well, they’re not from around here, are they? Dad says they’re from somewhere in the Middle East, he figures they’ve got to be terrorists or something. God, he’s bloody ignorant!” Harry just nodded and listened. “The woman was over working on their house the other day, and asked me if I wanted some cookies from the lunch basket she’d brought. They looked weird, but it was the best meal I’ve had in ages!” A look of rapture had spread over Dudley’s face.

“You don’t suppose they’re really dangerous?” Harry asked, wondering if maybe there was a connection, however remote, with Voldemort.

“Look, anyone that invites a stranger in and gives them food is number one in my book!” Dudley exclaimed. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what Mad-Eye Moody would say.

That evening during the news, Harry found himself under the bushes again; listening to yet another account of stories that meant nothing. When the adverts started, the film of Sirius’ death began to play again in his head, only to be cut short by the sweet sound of whistling… a tune Harry had heard playing on the radio over and over for the last few weeks. He sat up and peered through the bushes. Across the street was the girl, her hands clasped behind her back, she was simply whistling and looking at the flowers in the front of her garden. Harry looked and listened for a moment, and his heart seemed somehow lighter.

From inside the house he heard his aunt call out, “Dinner!” Quietly, he stood up and walked over to the front door. The whistling stopped. Harry could feel two eyes staring at the back of his neck. He thought to turn around, and then caught a glimpse of himself in the window; his clothes were covered in dirt and debris from the bushes, and his hair had something imbedded in it that resembled a bird’s nest. He was frozen for a moment. Quickly, he rushed through the front door, shutting it behind him. He looked back through the pane of glass, but the girl was gone.

He laid his forehead against the door, and sighed. Why should he care what he looked like? She was only a Muggle after all, but then another voice in his head whispered, “… a very pretty Muggle.”

That evening, preparing for sleep, he sat down on his bed and began to clear his mind. It was more difficult tonight; there were many voices bouncing about his head. Why didn’t anyone think Harry could help in the war? Why was everyone ignoring him? “They’ll come to regret it!” he thought.

He imagined Ron and Hermione dueling with a Death Eater, “If only Harry were here!” The Weasleys being attacked at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, “If only Harry were here!” The girl across the street, in a long white dressing gown, “If only…” There were loud shouts, and Harry’s dream came to an abrupt halt. He knew the voices. In the darkness, Harry got up and went to his open window; the lights were on across the street. Through a downstairs window he could see the parents fighting again. The father was clearly agitated, pacing back and forth; the mother seemed dismissive, which only heated the argument further. The father kept pointing his finger at the ceiling, and Harry looked up.

His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly jumped back. At the window directly across from his, stood the girl, looking back at him. “Did she see? It’s too dark,” he thought. Slowly, he edged back toward the window. The girl still stood there, but she wasn’t looking back at Harry, she was gazing up at the stars. Her dark black hair was free of its ponytail of the morning, and was draped over a white nightgown, which was blowing gently in the warm evening breeze. She seemed somehow sad. He stood, gazing across the street, for how long he didn’t know. The yelling downstairs had stopped; she stepped back and drew her curtains shut. Harry lay down on his bed. He had utterly forgotten about Ron, or Hermione, or number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but it still took some time before he could clear his mind.

The next morning he found himself outside with a clean pair of jeans and the best T-shirt he could find that wasn’t three sizes too big. He was looking for weeds in the sidewalk, even though he’d just pulled them all two days earlier, when he heard a door open and close from across the street. Casually, he straightened up and turned around. It was the mother. He exhaled. She was taking out some rubbish, when she caught Harry’s eye. She tossed a plastic bag in the bin and looked back at him. Instantly, a light spread across her face and a huge smile appeared. Darting across Privet Drive, she walked straight toward Harry. She was a smaller woman with round brown eyes. Her smile revealed a golden tooth as she came close enough to hold Harry by the arm.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a very slight accent Harry had never heard before.

“Er, yeah.”

“You gave us quite the scare. I’ve never seen so many birds attack a person like that before.”

“Oh, yeah… I guess.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No,” he lied but not by too much. For breakfast, Aunt Petunia had served cold toast with cucumber jelly.

“Come here then.” Without ever letting go of Harry’s arm, this small woman with surprisingly great strength was marching him to her front door.

“No, really, I can’t,” he sputtered. He was telling himself how crazy this was to go into the house of a potential enemy. He began to pull back, but the woman held tight and thrust him through the door.

“Don’t be silly!” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

All about the entryway and into the living room were boxes and boxes waiting to be unpacked. The air was filled with a warm sweet aroma, and Harry felt his stomach give a slight jab as if to say, “Shut up stupid!”

“Gabriella!” the woman called.

A moment later, the girl descended the stairs in shorts and a halter top. “Yes, Mama?”

“Breakfast is ready, and we have company; that young man from across the street!” Harry had never been referred to as a man before, at least not in a polite way. He felt his stomach give another lurch.

“I met your brother the other day!” said the mother brightly. “Although,” she looked Harry up and down, “you don’t seem much alike.”

“He’s my cousin,” Harry responded dully still looking at Gabriella. She was standing only a few feet in front of him, and he could feel the tips of his ears redden slightly. Her eyes were as black as her hair, and her skin a dark copper brown. She had a dazzling smile, and seemed to blush slightly herself.

“We saw you yesterday morning,” she said still smiling, “fighting off some attacking birds! Why did they come after you?”

“I don’t know… never seen anything like it. That smells wonderful.” He changed the conversation and looked toward the kitchen, but he could see her eye him up and down much like her mother as he looked away.

They ate breakfast while Harry shared what information he could about the village. Beyond pointing out what was where, Harry wasn’t much help. With Dudley and the gang off his back, this was really the first year he’d ever had a chance to meet anyone. He did emphasize that Vernon was his uncle, and Petunia simply his aunt, and that they were most definitely not his parents. But, when they started to ask more about his Dursley family roots he quickly turned the conversation by asking questions himself. He thought, perhaps, too quickly, as Gabriella’s mother seemed to have noted the second shift he’d made in the conversation.

Gabriella was born in Lebanon, a place called Tripoli. The language he heard her parents, Grigor and Soseh, speaking was Armenian. Her father had taught physics at the University of Balamand in Tripoli, and her mother was an artist. The opportunity for what they thought would be a better life came up when Grigor was offered a job at Pensley College outside of Little Whinging with their Astronomy Department.

“He’s always had his head in the stars, and now he can get paid for it!” Soseh smiled. “Life in Lebanon is improving, but the country is still a very dangerous place. Life here on Privet Drive will be much safer; a chance for Gabriella to walk the streets without worry.” Harry’s mind flashed to his encounter with two Dementors less than one block away just last summer.

“Yeah!” he said with a half-hearted smile. Her mother’s English was nearly perfect; he could barely believe she was the same woman shouting at her husband the night before. They spoke for quite some time before Gabriella’s mother offered them some very strong coffee in tiny cups. It reminded Harry of some potion that Professor Snape would concoct, but he smiled and thanked her for it, drinking it down in one gulp, without too much of a grimace. Gabriella seemed to think it funny, and laughed.

“Perhaps some sugar?” she offered.

Asking for sugar would mean another cup however small, and Harry didn’t think sugar would help, but he couldn’t stop himself from handing her the cup and saying, “Sure.” Their hands touched and he could feel his ears reddening a bit more fully this time.

“Mama? Perhaps Harry could show me the neighborhood this morning?” she asked, as she put a small spoonful of sugar in the cup and then handed it to her mother.

“I think it’s a marvelous idea, darling.” Soseh filled the cup with coffee and handed it to Harry. “Here you go. It will put hair on your chest!” she grinned. Harry pictured himself topless hanging from his bedroom window. “Will you have time this morning, Harry?”

Time? Time was something Harry had too much of. His time was spent thinking about Sirius’ death, of Voldemort’s return, of his two best friends taking on adventures he could only wait to hear about. “Absolutely!” he smiled, sipping from the tiny cup. Within ten minutes, he and a very beautiful girl were walking down the street, talking about anything but the Wizarding world.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and The Burden of Becoming

Chapter 2 - Hogwarts Forgotten

It was, in many ways, the happiest Harry had ever been. For over a week, he and Gabriella spent most of their days together, unfettered by fame, or infamy, Harry enjoyed being just a teenager. He was happy to leave discussions of Hogwarts and the Wizarding world aside, and loved just listening to Gabriella tell him of her home in Tripoli. Now that Dudley’s gang was staying away, he was beginning to make a few other friends about town. Together, they went to places in Little Whinging and beyond that Harry had never seen before. Not only was he learning about the place where he grew up, he was learning a lot about himself. It was as if he was breathing clean air for the first time, and he liked it. After another perfect day, Harry and Gabriella were walking through the park as the sun began to set. “Perhaps tonight?” Harry thought.

“It’s a beautiful July night,” he whispered softly. The sun was breaking through slits in the clouds, the sky was turning red, and higher up a magnificent purple.

“Yes.” she said, but not convincingly. She reached a hand to her eye and swept a tear away.

Harry was reminded of Cho Chang’s constant tears. Not this! Not now! But then a voice seemed to echo in his head… Hermione’s voice. “Harry, you’re worse than Ron.”

“No, I’m not,” he breathed out loud.

“What?” asked Gabriella, looking up at him.

“H-How are you feeling? Is everything alright?” he spoke with a gentle voice.

“I was thinking of my home,” she sighed. “On a good night, by the shores of the Mediterranean, you can watch the sun plunge into the sea flashing a million colours.” Her eyes were fixed upon the setting sun in the west, but her mind was somewhere else.

Quietly, he asked, “You miss home, your friends?”

“Yes.” She looked at the ground, then back at him again and smiled. “But, you… you have been so wonderful to me. I think, ‘How can I not be happy with such a special friend.’” Harry’s heart sank; something about how she said the word ‘friend’.

The stars began to pop up across the sky, Mercury was visible low on the horizon. Harry’s mind was still spinning on the word friend, when she caught him off guard. “Does the school teach astronomy?” she asked.

“Yeah, Sinistra’s not bad. Professor Marchanks was pretty stiff about our O.W.L.S. being interrupted, but….” He stopped dead.

“Owls?”

Instantly, it seemed much warmer, he could feel the beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “Ow! My Foot! I must have stepped on something!” He limped over and sat down next to a tree, taking his right trainer off and studying his foot intently. Gabriella was undeterred.

“Owls?”

Okay, Potter, think. Sure owls, uh, they see owls at night while taking astronomy. But school? He didn’t have a clue what Stonewall taught, or didn’t teach. “Uhm….”

“Hey little lady!” A voice Harry knew all too well broke the night air from across the park. Malcolm Smelt, one of Dudley’s pals. “It’s startin’ to get dark. What’s a babe like you doin’ out all alone in a dangerous park?” His words were sinister, threatening like only Malcolm could deliver them. But instead of turning, Gabriella stepped toward him.

“I think it is you who might find the park a bit too dangerous to be out all alone.” Her words were biting, but Malcolm simply laughed. Was she thinking Harry would defend her?

“A HOT babe at that!”

Harry got to his feet, filling with rage. He stepped forward in one shoe, Malcolm turned.

“Well, if it isn’t Brutus’s Incurable Criminal poster child! Why do they even let you out of that place, Harry?”

Harry stepped closer, reaching toward his back pocket.

“I mean, if you’re an incurable criminal, shouldn’t they keep you away from us innocent townsfolk?” Then, realizing that Harry was with Gabriella, Malcom sneered, “Oh! I see! You’re stalking young ladies in the park now, what a perve.”

Harry was formulating what he'd say to the Ministry as he grabbed for his wand. Then with a swish, a smack, a swoosh, and a thump, Malcolm was on the ground -- out cold. He couldn't believe his eyes; he didn’t have time to think, before Gabriella put Malcolm down hard on his back, whipping his head into the turf. What had just happened?

“Come on!” She grabbed his arm much as her mum had done the week before, and started escorting Harry out of the park.

“Wait!” Harry ran back to get his trainer and returned hopping on one foot, nearly tripping over Smelt, trying to keep up with her and tie his laces at the same time.

“That… that was brilliant!” He was still somewhat shocked about the whole thing. “How did you…” He made a sort of karate-chop motion in the air.

“Mama, told you, didn't she?” Her voice was angry, “Lebanon is a very dangerous place.”

It wasn't until they rounded the corner on Privet Drive that her pace slowed, she stopped and took a deep breath. “You’re a criminal? Hah! He’s the criminal! You know him?”

“He's a friend of my cousin.”

“Asha!” she exclaimed, an accent slipping into her words. “Your cousin is a fool.”

Harry wasn’t going to argue with her, not for Dudley. She sat down on the curb still steamed, but he could tell she was cooling down. He could also tell what was going to come next. “What was he talking about, a school for incurable criminals?”

His heart dropped through the street. He’d spent the most perfect week, with the most perfect girl, and tonight it was to end. He was forbidden to speak about the Wizarding world, and to cover up his time away to Hogwarts his aunt and uncle had declared he attended St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Dudley had spread the rumor over the last few years, and most the neighbors on the street believed it. He was actually surprised it had taken this long for someone to mention it.

“It’s just that… that…” he stammered, unable to put the words together. Gabriella’s eyes opened wide, and she let out a small gasp of surprise as she held her hand to her mouth. Harry couldn’t bare it; she thought he was dangerous. He stood up, and looking down at her, he whispered, “I understand.” He paused, fighting to say the words, “Goodbye,” and then he turned and walked away. He was numb; it was as if every feeling had emptied out of him. “Perfect for Occlumency,” he thought. He began to cross the street to the Dursley’s, when he heard her running behind him. He didn’t turn around. “She’s running home to tell her mum and dad. Perfect.” But then a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait.” He stood for a moment frozen, and then slowly turned to face her. She looked up at him. “What kind of criminal?” she breathed. Her eyes looked up disbelieving, but with a hint of twinkle. What was she really asking? He sensed she knew different, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, and he hated to lie. He was searching for the right words, when he realized she was still holding his left arm, and before he could think of anything, she switched the subject herself.

“You don’t go to Stonewall then?”

"No. I haven’t gone to school in Little Whinging for five years now, this September will be the sixth.” The twinkle in her eye sputtered, and her smile vanished.

“Not in Little Whinging, but where?” She turned them both to sit back on the curb, and as she released her grip on his elbow she slid her hand around his arm locking it in her own. They sat side-by-side.

“It’s pretty far from here, you’ll hear them call it St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, but it’s a lie!” he said defiantly.

“No? What’s it called then?” Did she believe him? She waited patiently as Harry tried to find the words.

“I can’t… I can’t say. It’s against… I just can’t say.”

“But this school for criminals teaches astronomy?” She seemed to move in closer, holding his arm tighter, her voice was incredulous, but her eyes sincere. He looked back into the black pools that had entranced him all week. He wanted to tell her everything, to take her with him right now and show her his life, his real life.

“Uh, yes. Yes, they do.” He pointed to a bright red star directly over his head. “There, that’s Mars.”

“It’s the brightest it’s been for fifteen years,” she whispered. Then pointing to another portion of the sky, “And there?”

“Jupiter. It’s centered in the constellation Leo. If you track a line from that bright one right there and …”

“I know, I know… and how about over here?” Her finger shot across Harry’s face and pointed to the tips of the trees.

“Well, uh, it’s kind of blocked, but if you could see there you’d…” he turned to look at her, and her pointing hand opened and softly touched his cheek. “Well, you’d see, uh, Venus.”

“Fascinating,” she breathed, “and does your school for criminals tell you about the ancient Greek Gods and Goddesses?” She was standing up now, bringing Harry with her, a hand on his neck as the other slid to his waist.

“Venus is the, uh, the uhm….” and before he could finish they had kissed their first kiss. It was warm and wonderful. He brought his arms up from his sides and held her close; it felt so right, so perfect. He looked earnestly into her eyes. “I wish I could say more, but I can’t.”

She looked back up at him, the twinkle had returned to her eyes, and as she let go of his hand she said, “You’re very bright for an incurable criminal; perhaps some kind of evil mastermind?” She smiled and walked away.

“Tomorrow then?” Harry yelled across the street, his emotions still off balance.

She stopped and looked back. “More than just tomorrow I hope!” Then she disappeared through her front door.

Could it be? Was it possible? What had happened? His thoughts spun to what they’d do tomorrow. Harry’s heart was still pounding, as a car drove down Privet Drive and pulled in to the Darbinyan driveway across the street. Grigor stepped out of the car, shut the door, and looked back at Harry. The two hadn’t spoken much; Grigor seemed never to be home. Tonight, he looked intently at Harry for some time, until Harry waved his hand, and Grigor waved back, turned, and went into the house. Harry floated back up to his own front door; it felt as if he was soaring on his Firebolt. “A perfectly perfect evening.” He opened the door and stepped inside.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The roar pressed Harry back up against the door.

“Well, we only… I just…” he couldn’t find a good word for snogging.

“Haven’t I told you about THOSE people, boy? Don’t you know what they are! I won’t have anyone in this household consorting with the enemy!” Uncle Vernon was livid.

“But Dudley….”

“Leave Dudley out of this!” His Uncle had turned a brighter scarlet, and a small patch of foam was forming in the corner of his mouth. This was it. Vernon was going to tell him he couldn’t see her again. Harry’s mind began to race. There was always the invisibility cloak, he’d never had a reason to use it until now, except to sneak snacks from Dudley’s room.

“If I EVER see you wave at that, that vermin again, you’ll be locked in your room for the rest of the summer! Now get up there, and don’t come down until morning!” and he turned and stormed away.

Harry was stunned; wave? Uncle Vernon must have only just looked out the window, probably when he heard the car door slam shut. He saw Harry waving at the terrorist across the street. Well, he’d certainly make a note not to wave at anyone from across the street from now on.

He climbed the stairs and got ready for bed. Turning out the light he took off his glasses and slipped between the sheets. He’d forgotten Occlumency, his mind was frozen on two black eyes, smooth copper brown skin and long black hair. “Well,” he thought smiling to himself, “perhaps I am a bit of a criminal. I have faced a full wizard’s trial.” He laid his head down. “I’ve had loads of detentions.” He rubbed the back of his hand. “I’ve almost been kicked out of school!” He was thinking of all the truths he could tell Gabriella, and then stopped. He slipped out of bed, grabbing his glasses and walked to the window.

Her curtains were open, and she was sitting at her bed writing something. A journal, or perhaps a diary, and she appeared to be having trouble with her pen. A candle flickering on a stand near by was the only light in the room. Harry had never seen the Dursley’s light as much as a match; even their fireplace had been boarded up and replaced by a mechanical contraption. The glowing yellow light bouncing off the walls in her room brought his thoughts to the Gryffindor common room. Was she writing about him? Was she recording how she had met a criminal? Or was she writing how she had to save him in the park? Still, she was brilliant tonight. “Definitely a Gryffindor,” he smiled to himself, and he slid back into bed.

The next morning, Harry found it hard to slip away; it was Saturday, and Uncle Vernon was not going to work today. Instead, he seemed to be intent on squinting out of the front peephole to see what was happening across the street. Harry went back to his room after another disappointing breakfast and stood at the window. There she was, waving at him to come over. He shook his head, pointed to his watch and flashed twelve fingers. She signaled an “Okay,” and went back inside.

The year before, the Order had sent a fake letter inviting the Dursley’s to the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition, and while they went to the fictional event, the Order came to take Harry out of the house. Aunt Petunia was thoroughly distraught that they not only hadn’t won, but that there was no such organization. Undaunted, she had organized one on her own -- Little Whinging’s Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. Albeit not as grand as the original concept, today they were to have their third meeting at noon down at the town hall. The morning was already turning hot, and she had put on an overly elaborate dress for the occasion.

“Come on dears! Today we select the judges.” She seemed beside herself with anticipation, waving at Uncle Vernon and Dudley to hurry. Vernon had been keen on the idea last year when he thought he might be a winner, but going to organizational meetings was not his idea of a grand way to spend a day off. He took another look out the peephole; Dudley looked at Harry and simply shook his head. Harry actually felt sorry for him; would he have been somehow normal with a different set of parents? How could they possibly be blood relatives? Vernon turned to Harry.

“Stay out of trouble boy, and no funny business.”

“Yes, sir.” said Harry shortly. His Uncle spoke these words every time he left the house, and the response was always the same.

By ten till noon, the Dursley Family had left the house, and immediately Harry raced across the street. Gabriella opened the door before he had a chance to knock. “Can I help you?” she smiled.

“Only if breakfast is ready,” Harry grinned, sliding close by her as he entered the Darbinyan home.

Her mother and father were at the table reading the newspaper. The now familiar smell of coffee filled the air, and Harry couldn’t help but notice another place was set with a plate full of food. Without being asked he took his seat as Gabriella sat at his side finishing some flat bread. Her father turned the page of the newspaper.

“Well, I hope not too many died.”

Harry turned his head; he hadn’t listened to the news, or read any paper for over a week.
“Died?” he asked.

“Terrible explosion in London,” he sighed, “so far, three found dead. They expect to find more once they clear the rubble.”

“Where in London?” There was a slight tremor in his voice.

“I know it sounds awful son, but things like this happen. Don’t worry though; it was some vacant department store; probably old pipes.” Grigor turned to the next headline.

Harry’s appetite suddenly evaporated. He poked at the food on his plate for a few minutes. He could see Soseh looking at him with some concern, but he didn’t look up.

“A sensitive heart,” she praised warmly. “There are not too many of those left in this world.”

But Harry’s mind had snapped to his visit last year to an empty department store; no one ever paid any attention to it, at least not Muggles. To them it was just an old dilapidated building. But, in fact, hidden within was the most advanced medical center for wizards in all of Europe -- St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Would Voldemort be so cruel as to destroy the sick and injured in a hospital? He had to find out.

“Excuse me.” He slid his chair back. “I have to go for a minute.”

Gabriella looked at him. “Go where?”

“Just for a minute, I’ve got to, er… finish a letter before the post comes.”

“Okay,” she said brightly, “I’ll come too.” And before Harry could say no, they were both out the door walking across the street.

“Really, it’ll only take a minute. I uh, uh…”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve never seen your house.” They opened the front door and Gabriella let out a small gasp of wonder. “Oh my, it’s very nice; very well… well, organized.” Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that his aunt had not had time to straighten up this morning.

“If you want, you can watch some television; I’ll only be a minute.”

“No,” she smiled, touching the small of his back. “I want to see your room.” He was torn, and his head seemed a bit cloudy, he couldn’t really think straight.

“Well, alright.” And the two walked upstairs. He hadn’t planned on a visit. The room was okay, but dirty clothes were piled in a corner next to his trunk, his bed was unmade, and torn strips of paper were still scattered on the floor.

“Oh! It’s beautiful!” She walked over to Hedwig’s cage. “You never told me you had a pet! What’s its name?”

“Hedwig. I’ve had her for about six years.” He reached to hand Hedwig a treat, but she was busy letting Gabriella stroke her feathers through the cage. “Here.” He opened the cage to let Hedwig out. “I guess she’s been about the best friend I’ve had around here,” he paused, and turned to look at Gabriella, “until now.” And as if it was the most natural thing in the world he kissed her again.

“Six years?” she asked. And he could see her thinking about something. He walked over to his dresser and pulled out some parchment and a quill.

“This should only take a minute.”

“An old fashioned ink bottle; how wonderful! What made you decide to write like that?” Harry realized that it all must seem a bit strange, but he had to get the letter out… and he wasn’t sure why he’d let her in his room… but he wasn’t saying anything… so it must be okay… and he wasn’t telling her he was a wizard… so it must be okay… and beside she was so beautiful.

“School,” he said simply.

“Ah, yes,” she smiled, “criminals writing with quills and parchment; back to the basics, eh?”

He’d finished off his note. Just a quick, “What’s happened in London? - Harry.” He rolled the parchment, and tied it to Hedwig’s leg. Who was he to send it to if Ron and Hermione were busy? “Hedwig, get this to Fred and George; they’ll tell me what’s going on.” He kissed her on the head, and she flew out the window, soaring into the warm summer sky.

Gabriella stood somewhat stunned. “A carrier owl?”

“Well, I’ve had her a long time, and she’s pretty smart.”

“I see.” She stared after Hedwig long after she’d disappeared from sight. Then, looking back inside, “It’s terribly hot today,” she wiped her brow. “Let’s go for a swim!”

“Swim?” He’d never been swimming in Little Whinging. His last time was at the lake, but then he could breathe underwater. “Swim?”

“You can swim, can’t you? Get your suit and let’s go to the pool.” The pool in Little Whinging would be packed on a day like today. Dudley and his gang had been spending a lot of time there this summer, and with Dudley gone he was sure there might be trouble.

“How about a movie? It’ll be cool inside, besides, the pool’s a long walk, we’ll fry before we ever get there.”

“You’re sweet. I’ll go across to change and meet you downstairs in ten minutes, we’ll take Papa’s car, he never uses it.”

“But I’m not… you’re not old enough,” challenged Harry.

“That’s never stopped me before,” she said with a sly smile. “Besides, I have…” she stopped herself and just waived her hand in the air, signaling it didn’t matter, and then turned to leave. For a moment, she paused at the door, looking at something on the floor, and then went on downstairs. “Ten minutes!” she called back, and was quickly out across the street.

Harry walked to the door to see what she was looking at; it was one of his books, emblazoned with a large H. One of the books Hermione had been harping on him to read since their first year together,

Hogwarts, A History.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and The Burden of Becoming

Chapter 3 - Shattered Glass

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were in the Darbinyan family car headed to the east side of town. Before he left his room, Harry had decided to straighten up a bit; if Gabriella ever had the chance to come back again, he didn’t want anything strange lying around. Although he’d gone so far as to move his bed and retrieve all the magical items trapped down against the wall, there was still a bit left undone, but he was already ten minutes late, and he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. It was terribly hot outside, and the back of Harry’s legs stuck to the car’s vinyl covered seats.

“How long have you been driving?” he asked. She was wearing a long T-shirt over a brightly colored two-piece swimsuit. For some reason, Harry couldn’t help but think that swimming might not be such a bad idea after all.

“Well, I used to drive a small pickup in Tripoli, so I guess for about four years now.”

“Four years!”

“What? You drive don’t you?”

“Well, no, not really.” He remembered being nearly beaten to death by the Whomping Willow in a Ford Anglia, but that didn’t really qualify as driving. “The Dursleys really haven’t given me the chance to learn. I don’t think they’d even try when I’m old enough for my provisional.”

“They’re horribly cruel if you ask me.”

Hearing her words, Harry smiled and nodded in agreement. It was wonderful having someone in Little Whinging on his side for a change. As they drove toward the pool, Harry told her Vernon’s edict that he was prohibited from waving across the street. Gabriella shook her head and sighed.

“Papa had hoped to leave that sort of thing behind, but he also gets rude comments at work. He tries to hide it, but I can see he comes home angry at times.” They pulled in to the crowded car park. “Well, if we get the chance, I think I can teach you how to drive,” she said with twinkling eyes.

When they got to the pool entrance, there was a long line of people waiting to get in, and standing in the sun, Harry began to sweat through his T-shirt. Wiping his brow in the heat, he looked at Gabriella, and rolled his eyes. “I love swimming, don’t you?”

“It won’t be much longer,” she said with a smile, and handed him a bottle of water from her bag. When they got to the front, he paid for them both, and they started to go in.

“Hold it!” An older man, somewhat taller than Harry, was scowling in their direction. He passed Harry, and walked straight to Gabriella. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there.” He was pointing to the sports bag she’d brought with her; Harry carried a similar one.

“Hey, you didn’t ask to look in mine! What’s up?”

Gabriella held up her hand saying, “It’s all right Harry,” and then she opened her bag for inspection.

But Harry was getting hotter. “We’ve been in line behind fifty people, and you haven’t searched anyone’s bag!”

Gabriella looked somewhat upset that he was taking her side. But why? This was outrageous! Just because of her skin colour?

“Son, it’s my job to keep the two hundred people in here safe, and that includes you AND your friend here.” He closed her bag, and said, “Thank you, Miss.”

The pool was packed, and they weaved their way to a small opening on the concrete deck just five feet from the water’s edge and set down their towels.

“That was ridiculous! As if you…”

“As if me,” she interrupted. “Papa’s timing has never been that great; of all the times to move to England,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!” For a flash, there was an eerie anger that raged in her eyes, but then softened and she took his hand. “Really, okay?”

He wanted to carry the conversation further, but one look into her saddened eyes, and he was lost. “Okay,” he agreed, but he still couldn’t help think it was unfair. He knew what she felt like, and it was horrible, everyone presuming they knew Harry Potter, before they ever so much as shook his hand. One glance at his forehead was all anyone ever cared to know, and one glance at Gabriella’s face instantly made her a suspect.

After about an hour, Harry’s mind had left the entrance and was focused on the here and now. He found that swimming wasn’t so bad after all; he was there with the most beautiful girl at the pool, and they spent most the time simply hopping in the water to cool down only to lay back out in the sun and talk.

“Hey! Harry! Gabriella!” He looked over to see Emma and Duncan just getting to the pool. They had met the two of them earlier in the week at an ice cream shop and had seemed to hit it off pretty well. Duncan lived just two streets down from Privet Drive, and knew all too well about Dudley and his cronies. They carved out a space and the two joined Harry and Gabriella.

Duncan took off his shirt. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?” he asked with a long exhale. About Harry’s height but stockier, he was a year older. His hair was long and blonde, and he had freckles that ran down his back reminding Harry a bit of Ron. Around the bicep of his large right arm was a tattoo of thorns that matched, somewhat, the earring on his left ear. A bit older, Emma was a runner. She had just competed in the All England Track Championship placing third individually in the 400 metres. Her hair was a short, light brown, revealing piercing green eyes, and she wore a broad smile. Around her ankle was the same tattoo of thorns.

“Duncan’s been working at the shop all morning,” Emma bemoaned, “so he’s a grump. How are you two doing?”

Gabriella and Emma began to chat, and Duncan jumped into the water to cool off. As Harry looked around the pool, for the first time in his life he felt normal; he was just a normal kid at a normal pool on a normal summer’s day. Even at Hogwarts he couldn’t just sit and be one of the crowd, but now, he sat without a care in the world.

“Anybody for a drink?” he asked. The two girls nodded, engaged in conversation, Emma letting out a small laugh and turning to look at Harry as he began to walk away. She had a peculiar curiosity in her eyes, as Harry smiled back.

He’d picked up four drinks, thinking Duncan would want one too, and was weaving his way back through the crowd.

“Hey, perve, thirsty today?” It was Malcolm Smelt, flanked by another one of Dudley’s pals. He was wearing dark glasses, but they didn’t cover completely the bruise under his right eye. He too had just stopped at the snack shop, and was holding an ice cream cone in his hand -- chocolate mint. He took a long lick and asked, “So, peakin’ up any more dresses, Harry?” Harry’s blood began to boil. “I mean, I guess if you're gonna look, this is the place to do it… how pathetic,” he sneered.

For the first time all summer, Harry’s scar began to burn. “Now that gal you were checkin’ out last night, she was like hot chocolate. I think I’ll get me a little of that action, if you know what I....” Malcolm looked down to see the ice cream in has hand begin to melt. Well, it looked like that at first; it was more like deflating, oozing down the side of the cone and around his hand. But it wasn’t dripping to the ground; instead, it started to spread like some slowly creeping vine. First it was around his wrist. “What the...” And then it started to move up his forearm. “Get it off!” he yelled. No one seemed to understand, but Harry, what the big deal was. He tried scraping it off with his other hand, but the green ooze simply grabbed the other hand and held it tight. He ran screaming into the changing room. Harry smiled, though he knew he shouldn’t, but somehow he enjoyed that very much. He turned, hands full of drinks, right into Emma.

“Was that who I think it was?” she asked.

“Malcolm Smelt,” Harry said coolly, trying to manage the four cups he was holding. How long had she been there?

“Gabriella told me about him. What a creep. Here,” she said grabbing two of the cups, “I thought you might need a hand.” Together, they walked back to the pool’s edge. “What happened? Why did he run from you like that?”

“I guess he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty,” he said simply. “Hey, Duncan, want a drink?” Duncan waved, swam over and pulled himself out of the pool.

“Thanks, mate!” He took a sip and grimaced. “They're warm! Harry you’d better go get your money back.” Harry took a sip. They were more than warm; they were quite hot in fact.

“Uh, yeah,” he said nervously, “I'll be right back.” He hopped up to get fresh drinks.

When he returned he could tell by their faces something was afoot. Gabriella looked up at him patting the towel by her side. “Sit,” she said smiling. He handed out the fresh drinks again and waited. “Emma here tells me there’s a band playing tonight in the square… an open air concert.”

“Yes!” Emma chimed in. “The Steel Chords; I just bought their last CD and they’re fantastic! What’s more it’s free! If we get there early, I’m sure we can find a good place to sit. Duncan and I were planning on doing dinner first, if you two want to come, say about seven?”

Harry’s heart seemed to jump; he was being asked by friends to go to a concert with his girl. It seemed that that there could be life on Privet Drive after all. “Well, I’ll have to ask,” Harry lied. He knew if he asked the answer would be no, but maybe if he talked Dudley into staying out late. “As long as I’m back before Dudley,” Harry thought.

Gabriella also knew the Dursleys well enough to understand that, if he asked his Uncle Vernon, the answer would be no. She looked at him with knowing eyes, but didn’t mention it; instead she held her hand to his face.

“Hand me the lotion Harry; your neck is getting red.” He passed her the bottle, and she put it on his neck and shoulders. She then rounded on him and started putting it on his nose and cheeks giving out a little laugh. “You look like you’ve been eating whipped cream!” Gently, she spread the lotion on his face and up to his forehead, and then paused. She’d seen his scar a million times, and hadn’t said a word; she traced its outline with her thumb. “You were rubbing it a minute ago, does it hurt?” She looked from the scar to his eyes, and he felt she could see through to his soul.

“Does it hurt?” he pondered. What should he say? “Naw. Its just this connection thing I have with a dark wizard who plans on destroying all humanity, and may just have the power to do it.” Instead, he simply reached up and grabbed her hand. “With you here nothing hurts.” He pulled her close, and they kissed.

“Well, I think we’re on then,” said Duncan with a wide smile. “Seven sharp at Belton’s; best fish and chips in all England!”

They swam and chatted for a couple hours more, before deciding to call it a day. Heading home, the car was filled with the scent of suntan lotion; the sun had turned Harry a little too red.

“I think that’s going to sting tomorrow,” Gabriella said. They turned the corner past the town square where they would be returning later that night. “Well, we do have all summer to get you tanned up. We’ll just have to get your clothes off more often!” she joked. And before Harry could come up with anything remotely witty to say, she called, “Ah! Here we go.” She pulled off into the large car park of a church. It was empty, except for the church van parked in the corner.

“What are we doing here?” he asked. Gabriella stepped out and walked around the car opening Harry’s door.

“Scoot over!” She nudged Harry to the driver’s seat, and he obliged. “Well, let’s see, you know what the steering wheel does?”

“But you said you’d ask your f-father first,” stammered Harry. “I don't think I can...”

“Don't be silly,” she said. And with those words, he knew he was about to learn how to drive whether he wanted to or not.

It was getting late by the time he started to get the hang of it. “We’d better go,” he said, “we don’t have much time to get ready.”

“Do you want to take it home?” she asked.

“Maybe next time,” he said, and then stepped out and around the car with a grin.

As they drove down Privet Drive, Harry noticed the Dursleys were home. “Stop here,” he said quickly. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.” He kissed her goodbye and said, “Give me thirty minutes.” He watched her park in the drive and enter her house before he walked to number four. Inside he found the Dursleys had just finished eating.

“If you plan on being late for dinner, boy, don’t expect to eat!” his Uncle snapped.

“Right,” Harry said flatly; normally he’d be serving dinner, not eating it. He narrowed his eyes on his cousin and nodded his head for him to go upstairs. “I’ll just be in my room.”

A few moments later Dudley slipped in.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I need to go out tonight, and I might be late. I was wondering if...”

“Gabriella?” Dudley asked. Surprised, Harry nodded. “That’s reason enough; no problem. I need to get out of this place myself. Only five people were there this afternoon, and it took them three hours to pick two people to be judges: Mum, of course, and a Mrs. Finley; God it was awful.” He turned to go, and then remembered. “Frank stopped by a while ago; he said Malcolm went berserk at the pool. Thought he was bein’ eaten by his own ice cream. Finally, washed his hands and the problem went away.” He looked at Harry. “It sounds almost… magical.” Harry looked away, offering only a sigh. “Well, he’s been a bit of an idiot lately anyway. I’ll take off in about ten, okay?” Harry nodded, and Dudley walked through the door, slamming it shut and shouting, “…and the next time you want to borrow my stuff, ask!”

Gabriella and Harry made it to Belton’s with five minutes to spare. Duncan and Emma were already there. They’d taken a booth near the window and were waving at them to come over. No sooner had they sat down than the waitress was delivering the food. Harry looked up, confused.

“On me, Harry,” Duncan said, “two for one coupon tonight.” He held up a small coupon book, waving it in his hands.

“Well, I’ll get desert then.”

“I bet you will!” said Duncan with a wink, and passed over some napkins.

Emma was looking at a flyer. “Well, there’s a warm-up band that starts at nine, the Chords start at ten. We’ve got loads of time, how ‘bout we walk from here?” Everyone nodded as they ate.

“Hey, Harry, how ‘bout a shot?” Duncan was holding up a little flask; Emma glared at him.

“Duncan, put that away!” she said, but Duncan poured some into Harry’s cup anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, alright; just a little something to light the fires, eh, Harry? Cheers!” He held up his cup to Harry’s. Harry hesitated. He wasn’t going to ruin an evening by being a stick in the mud. He lifted his cup.

“Cheers!” said Harry in an uneasy tone, and he took a drink. His eyes winced and he felt like spitting up, but he swallowed. He’d seen the older students drink at Hogwarts, and once he tried to nick a glass, but Hermione caught him and made him put it back.

“See!” Duncan crowed. “It’s lighting the fires already!”

Gabriella set her hand on Harry’s leg and gave it a slight slap. He glanced over at her with an apologetic look, and shrugged his shoulders.

The walk to the square was only a few minutes, and with the concert tonight a lot of the shops were still open. It wasn’t much, but Harry was starting to feel the drink getting into his head. Since he’d never had fire-whiskey before, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect; he held on to Gabriella for a little more support. They looked into the window of a small gift shop; stuffed animals lined the windows. Emma cooed, and Duncan took her inside first.

“They’re rather cute, you know,” said Gabriella looking through the window.

“Who, the two of them, o