She almost gaily bounced into the room a few seconds later. "Good morning, Harry!" she chirped.
"Morning, Hermione," he said.
"What's for breakfast?" she asked.
"I haven't had a chance to check," he replied. "I'd just walked into the kitchen when I spotted Percy's owl, Hermes, sitting on the windowsill, staring at me as if I'd done something wrong.
"Hermes?" she asked, abandoning looking at what Dobby was preparing and coming around the kitchen bench.
Harry pulled the letter back out of his pocket and handed it to her. "The twins somehow convinced him to loan them his owl. I suspect their mother's shrill voice in that."
As she read through it, she frowned. "So, Ronald's still being a git. And they think you're with Sirius."
The venom she put in the name 'Ronald' pleased him.
"Yep, to both," he replied. "And I'm kinda happy with everyone thinking I'm with Sirius. Less chance of people turning up here uninvited, that way."
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
A little later in the morning Harry was back in his room when he learned Andi was back at the Grangers; even though he'd already felt the ward that alerted him to there being a magical on the property. When she was let in by one of the aurors of that morning, Dobby popped in to inform him she was there.
Setting aside his current letter, he went downstairs and found her talking with Monica and Wendell in the parlour.
"Good morning," he smiled. When he saw the rack of potions she was carrying he snarked, "You're a little tall for a house elf."
The look she gave him had Monica snickering at him.
"That's enough out of you, scamp," Andi sternly said.
Harry impudently grinned and gave a shrug back. "I have to find my amusement, somewhere."
After she rolled her eyes at him she gestured for him to come forward. "I've just been discussing with the good doctors here your treatment," she explained.
When she showed him the potions and how the vials refilled after it was taken each time, she explained, "When it no longer refills it means that particular course is complete. Hear me well; it is not complete until it no longer refills. Got me?"
"Errr... yes?" he replied.
After another pointed look he sighed and said, "Yes, Healer Tonks."
Then she used a charm to copy the instructions and handed him one. He took one look at it and blanched. "No way!" he quietly exclaimed.
"Yes way!" she shot back. "Or, you're coming home with me, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you take them."
"He will," said Monica, who also turned 'that look' on him.
'Jeez!' he thought. 'What is it with older women and that look. Or, is it just mothers?'
"Fiiiiiiine!" he sighed. "I'll be the good little wizarding Head of a Noble and Most Ancient House and take my medicine."
"Good boy," said Andi, as if there could be no other answer.
"When do I start?" he asked, defeated.
"Now," she replied. Handing the rack to Monica she pulled two out and said, "Down these. You might want to take the blue one first. It tastes worse and the green one will help wash the taste out."
Harry gave her his own 'I'm only doing this because you're making me' look, uncorked the blue one and downed it. Wrinkling his nose at the taste, he then uncorked and downed the green one. At least this one had a slight minty taste to it.
Taking them back she said, "Now watch." And dropped both, re-corked, into the rack in their right places. A few moments later, they both slowly refilled.
"See?" she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," he quietly replied.
"Good," she nodded. Turning to Monica she said, "I'll leave these in your capable hands. I need to head off because I have a shift starting soon at Saint Mungo's."
"Take care," said both Grangers. Harry just gave her a nod.
She was gone a few seconds later.
With a sigh and another look at the rack, Harry said, "I'll be back up in my room writing letters."
"And I'll put these on the bench in the kitchen," said Monica.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
He was only partway up the stairs as Hermione was coming down. "Who was that?" she asked.
"Andi," he replied. "She came to personally deliver my potions."
"She's gone again?"
"Yep. Had to get to Saint Mungo's to start a shift."
"Where're the potions?" she asked.
"Your mother's putting them on the kitchen bench," he distractedly replied.
"Thank you," she said, continuing down.
As he continued up, Harry frowned for a moment before he leaned over the bannister to call to her. "And don't go playing with them!"
"I won't!" he heard her call back.
When Harry re-entered his room it wasn't to write more letters, as he'd told the Grangers and Andi. Yes, he had been writing letters, but most of the time he spent analysing his relationship with Hermione and the rest of the girls at school, as Wendell suggested.
He had been going through each of the girls he actually had anything to do with and thinking about how he felt around them, if they actually meant anything to him, did he actually want to spend any more time with them, if he thought they'd want to spend any more time with him, did they see him as just Harry, that sort of thing.
And, no matter how many other girls he thought about while building his list, there was only one girl who fit the bill of 'girlfriend material'. "Hermione," he sighed.
'Face it, ya git!' he thought. 'You're in love with your best friend. And not as a "big sister", either.'
But, how did he tell her? And, if he told her, would it ruin what they now had? Was it worth the risk? What if she would be appalled by the idea? But, maybe she wasn't. According to Wendell, she loved him back. And, he was her father and should know, right?
He didn't know the main variable, so couldn't logically solve the problem. Did she, or would she, love him back?
He sat at the desk and leaned back on his chair while fiddling with his quill. His list, now written, laying on the desk before him.
He'd once heard Vernon say to Petunia, "Always make a list when you're trying to work something out, Pet. It makes it much easier. The trick is working out the important categories. That's hard."
He found it actually worked. It was not something he expected, truth be told.
Eventually, to clear his mind before he next analysed his list, he decided to finally finish his letter to the twins. His letter had to be carefully written because, if any other member of the family got hold of it, he didn't want them learning anything important he wouldn't want them to know - especially Ron and Molly.
~ # ~
Fred and George Weasley
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
Devon
Hi guys,
I know you've probably been wondering, 'What happened to Harry Potter to make him so different?' So, I thought I'd let you know more of what's going on.
As I said in the First Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the Harry Potter everyone thought they knew wasn't real. It was a personal façade I created well before I started at Hogwarts to hide the real me; to protect the real me.
When people in the wizarding world think of 'Harry Potter', they think of all different possibilities. For example, some think he's some mythical child hero they read about in a fictional book (or books) about his life and his adventures. Some think he's nothing but a fraud, a liar and a cheat. Some think he's this small, scrawny, underfed, innocent little boy, who turned up at Kings Cross Station wearing what amounted to little more than rags. Some think he's a 'Dark Lord Slayer', ready to go out and kill the next one who pops up. Some think he's a Dark Lord himself, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Some think he was Dumbledore's personally-trained replacement. And a very small few had no idea what to think of him.
Of all those, the last is probably the most accurate. They, at least, reserved judgement.
I am, in reality, Lord Harrison 'Harry' James Potter, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Heir Tertiary of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Member-in-waiting of the Wizengamot, by right of blood 'One of the Seven'. I am the only born child of James Charlus Potter and Lily Marie Potter née Evans. I'm also, Marauder-wise, son of Prongs, godson of Padfoot, honourary nephew of Moony and once-honourary nephew of the since Marauder-disowned Wormtail (Pettigrew). And known, Marauder-wise, as 'Prongslet', 'Pup' and 'Cub'. A war orphan.
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