To A Stranger

It was nearly the end of his 6th year and Harry Potter was not ready to go home. This time of the year was always the worst for him. With spring came impending dread, after ten months spent in his favorite place on earth he was forced with the reality that he had to leave and that he had to go back to the Dursley’s. He hoped that this year he would only have to stay there for a short time.

Harry was walking along the lake by himself thinking about how the year had gone. He couldn’t help but remember how lonely he felt for a huge part of it. Sirius had died about a year ago and Harry couldn’t help but miss him. He found him self wishing for someone to talk to who wouldn’t just patronize him and feel sorry for him. He had Ginny, Ron and Hermione, but he was never able to open up to them, especially Ron and Hermione who were so caught up in their own lives. This year was definitely hard for him, but he got through it and was glad. Lately he had been feeling a lot better and was pretty much back to where he had been before the Ministry, but still he was missing something.

Harry stopped by the side of the lake and decided to take off his shoes and socks and test the waters before Charms; after all, it had been a while since he had taken a dip in the lake. He rolled up his pant legs and stepped a few feet from the shore. He shuddered from the cold that shocked his whole body. The water was not quite as icy as the last time he was in it, but it was close, even in May. He just stood there taking in his surroundings, barely able to believe that he would soon enter his last year at Hogwart’s. Ever since his 11th birthday Harry had been living in a dream and a lot of it had to do with his school, he knew that he would be sad to leave Hogwart’s, but was excited also, as all teenagers are when they consider graduation.

As he was about to turn and leave something caught his eye. It was a clear potions bottle stopped with a cork. Harry took out his wand and muttered “accio bottle” and the bottle flew from the water into his outstretched hand. Inside the bottle was a largish piece of parchment that appeared rather old. Curious, he tried the cork and it came out easily. He unrolled it and as he began to read it his eyes widened, it read:

To A Stranger,
I am in love with you, deeply, passionately, completely. You may be saying to yourself that I am crazy and asking yourself how I would ever know who could find this old bottle in the middle of a lake. But I’ve known you my whole life. I always knew that there was someone out there, someone who was made for me, a person that would be my other half. Ever since I was a little girl, I felt that you were out there somewhere just as lonely as I was. Everyday of my life I have felt your presence just beyond my consciousness. I know you, but not what you look like. I know what you would say to make me feel better, but not the voice with which you speak. I know how it would feel for you to touch me, but not the texture of your skin. I dream of you every night, but to me you have no face. I see you in everything around me but I can’t take hold of something that is not there. I yearn to look upon your face and to feel your strength as you hold me close.

Every day I lose a bit of myself knowing that I am not with you. Every day I lose a little hope, thinking that I will never find you. But I had to get my feelings out in the open, and since you found it now we know that we are at least both at Hogwart’s, or were. For all I know ten years have passed since I have written this, or even thousands. Who’s to say that we didn’t find each other the first time around and have now cycled back into existence? I think to best express this feeling that I have, I will use the words of a muggle, lord knows my father would be ecstatic if he ever learned that I actually found use for all of the muggle things he forced on me as a child. Walt Whitman surely had a way with words, no wonder the muggles are mad about him. This poem expresses my feelings in a way I cannot myself.

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,
It comes to me as of a dream,
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate,
chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours
only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you
take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or
wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you. *


For my sake, and yours, I guess, I hope that we are both here now, because knowing that you are out there and that I couldn’t ever meet you would kill me. Maybe we have met, just passing strangers, or maybe we are friends. I don’t know, but I do know that I love you and have all my life and that I will forever. Again you are probably wondering how, and the truth lies with this bottle. I do not know how I happened to be the one to come across it, probably much like you did. Currently I am in my fourth year, but who is to tell how much time has passed. I found the bottle by the side of the lake and picked it up. Inside was a piece of parchment so I opened it and read the note. It said that this was a magical bottle and appeared of its own free will to those that it felt worthy. The writer said that he was a student at Hogwart’s years ago and created it himself, he seems arrogant, or funny, I can’t quite tell which, but he said that this bottle was a pure stroke of genius and clearly his greatest feat. Anyway, this bottle is really quite extraordinary. Once the finder writes their letter upon this parchment and places it in the bottle it will seal itself until that person’s perfect match tries to open it. So, you see, this is how I know that I love you, this is how I know that you are the one that is meant for me.

If this does indeed work, I will know, for the bottle is connected to me somehow and I will sense when it has been opened. Because I am not able to put absolute faith in the magic of the bottle I feel that I cannot reveal my identity to you. I do not know when we will meet, or how, but I believe that we will know in our hearts when the time is right.

For now,
Your beloved one.


As he finished reading the letter, Harry felt something inside of him change. It is hard to explain, but he felt warmth spreading throughout his body, like a life long ice age had ended and the thawing was just beginning. Little did he know that there was a girl across the school feeling the same exact way.





*"To A Stranger" by Walt Whitman

A/N: Reviews would be greatly appreciated seeing as this is my first fic ever and I could really use the encouragement and feedback. Thanks!

Distraction

Realizing what time it was, Harry hoped that Professor Flitwick wouldn’t notice him running in late. He threw everything into his bag and ran off back to the castle. There were only a few students left in the hallways, and Harry was still miles from his classroom. After taking a few select shortcuts he found himself outside the class, just as the bell rang, and snuck into a seat next to Hermione in the back of the room.

“Where have you been?” she asked, in the usual scolding tone she used whenever anyone was breaking rules. Hermione had a way to make anyone feel like a tiny little first year when she was telling them off.

“I was just thinking and lost track of time I guess. Anyway, I wasn’t even late.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her reading. As much as Harry tried, he just couldn’t concentrate on the letters and words that he was supposed to be reading; to him it was all just blurs of ink. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get the letter out of his mind. It almost seemed as if there was an enchantment placed on the bottle, and considering the world that he was living in, there probably was.

As everyone else in the class was busy trying to learn some very advanced charm work, he took his opportunity and looked around the classroom wondering, “Could she be one of these girls; one of the girls in this very room? Is she even here at Hogwarts? Oh, God, what if it is Lavender Brown, what in the world would she call me? Harry-poo? Yech! Or even worse, what if it was Pansy Parkinson, or Eloise Midgen?” With that, Harry visibly shuddered. Thoughts like these ran through his head all day. No matter what he did though, he couldn’t focus on his school work.

He tried to figure out how the bottle worked. Could it really sense when two soul mates have opened it? Or was it some joke that a student had played seventy years ago? He thought that that was probably the most plausible explanation, but it didn’t explain what he felt after he read the letter. The whole situation was too much for him to grasp.

After all their classes were finished with for the day, Ron, Harry, and Hermione headed to the Great Hall for dinner. As usual, Ron and Hermione began to bicker and argue about something or other school related, so Harry began to look around the room at the other students, trying to find the girl that wrote the note that had rocked him so. As he searched, he saw Cho Chang sitting with the Ravenclaws, but she didn’t look preoccupied at all. Seeing that, Harry was actually slightly relieved; he didn’t want to believe that she was the one for him after they had already tried it out - with such catastrophic results. What would that say for their future together? He was glad that she wasn’t the one who wrote the letter; their situation was awkward enough at this point. He also saw Lavender and Parvati, as usual, whispering to each other, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so he disregarded it and resumed scanning the large room. Harry was trying to look for other girls that he knew to see if they looked distracted at all. Surely they would if they felt what he had this afternoon, especially if they knew what it meant, wouldn’t they? In his perusal he didn’t see Ginny anywhere, which struck him as a little odd. She rarely missed dinner, for she did have some things in common with Ron. At least, in her case, everyone around her was not punished by her habits, she was a neat eater. Why Harry knew this he had no idea and tried to pay no attention to it. She also had manners, unlike Ron who had never heard the word in his life. Harry decided she was probably at the library studying; it was her OWL year after all. Harry was confused as to why he was giving it so much thought; what should he care that Ginny isn’t at dinner?

His search was fruitless; there was no girl that seemed to be doing the same thing as him. He began to resign himself to the fact that the girl had probably graduated years ago. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed; opening the bottle earlier that day had made Harry realize that he was not as happy as he could be. With all that was happening in his life he could use some relief from it all, and the letter gave him some hope, but now, it was beginning to dwindle.

As Harry was thinking and searching, Ron and Hermione were still at each other’s throats about something, and apparently Hermione wanted to hear Harry’s opinion on the matter.

“Isn’t that right Harry? Harry?…Harry?!?” Hermione nearly shouted.

“Hmmm? What?” Harry said, distractedly.

“Don’t you think that we should have a study session tonight and review all the charms we were assigned today and to work on what we’ve had this year? Goodness knows that you two need it!”

“Yeah, great idea ‘Mione,” Harry muttered still looking around the room.

“At least one of you has some sense and can see how important it is that we get enough studying in each week,” Hermione said to Ron.

“Oh, yeah Hermione? He’s kind of out of it right now. I don’t think he knows what he’s saying. Do you, mate?”. Harry didn’t respond.

“Ron, he is perfectly fine, and is aware of what he is saying. Don’t be ridiculous!” she argued, but Ron didn’t miss the skeptical look that she shot at Harry before she returned to her dinner.

“Look, Hermione, I’ll prove it to you. Harry, HARRY!!!” he shouted.

“What?” Harry responded, obviously not paying any attention.

“I just thought that you would like to know that Hermione and I are running off together because we’ve fallen madly in love with each other,” at this Hermione blushed deep red and gave Ron a scathing look. Not getting a reaction, he continued, “and Ginny is having Malfoy’s love child.”

“Hmmm, that’s really gre… GINNY’S DOING WHAT!!!!” Harry bellowed, drawing stares from nearly everyone in the hall.

“Bloody hell Harry, I was only joking. Calm down!”. Turning to Hermione, Ron said boastingly, “See, I was right. Harry you weren’t paying attention and you nearly agreed to an eight hour study session with Hermione tonight! But geez, I thought you would flip at the part about Hermione and me, not Ginny. Would you like to tell me why that is?” Ron asked Harry, with an all-knowing grin on his face.

“Oh come on, you and Hermione are inevitable, I knew it would happen someday so that’s just not very shocking. I’m really very happy for you” Harry joked.

Ron’s ears went scarlet and Hermione ducked her head and pretended to be very interested in the tablecloth. Harry chuckled. There was no better way to shut Ron up than to mention him and Hermione. Harry couldn’t understand why the two of them were so... well, dumb about it - in Ron’s case - and stubborn - in Hermione’s. All they had to do was talk to each other and then they would finally work everything out and get together; much to everyone’s benefit Harry thought, maybe then they would stop bickering all the time. But really, who was Harry to judge? He wasn’t very good with the whole feelings thing.

By distracting the two of them he was able to avoid the second part of the question. He didn’t know why he had such a violent reaction to what Ron had said about Ginny. Really, she was just Ron’s little sister, right? Harry found it disconcerting that he had to remind himself of that fact, but found himself having to do it more and more often recently. He couldn’t help noticing how much she had grown up since he met her. She was no longer the shy girl who ran from the room and stuck her elbow in the butter dish, but a confident and beautiful young woman who had an awesome personality once she opened up. She was kind, and brave, and funny, even scary at times. Everyone knows that they do not want to be facing the business end of a wand wielded by Ginny Weasley. She had a beautiful face, and hair that caught the sun so perfectly, that Harry often wondered what it would be like to touch.

“Whoa,” Harry thought, “I really needed to stop these lines of thought, it’s not right.” But why did feel so good to be around her and to just see her? Harry honestly didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from; it was almost as if someone had given him a whole new perspective on his life. In the end though, he figured that his reaction had to do with the fact that it was Malfoy’s involvement in Ron’s little game that made him so angry. Sure, that was a good reason. Wasn’t it?

After recovering from her embarrassment, Hermione looked at Harry and asked him what was going on.

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing really, just a little distracted.”

“Yeah, we could see that, mate. You’ve not really been ‘here’ if you know what I mean,” Ron said.

“No, really Harry, what’s going on? You’ve been staring into space all day, ever since you were late to Flitwick’s. Is that what started all this? Where were you anyway?” Hermione asked.

“I was just walking around the lake, thinking. I told you that.”

“About what? What could possibly make you this distracted? You’ve barely eaten anything, and you didn’t even react in the slightest when Snape took points from you for, and I quote, ‘pointlessly using up good oxygen.’”

“Yeah, mate, you’ve been pretty out of it all day.” Ron added.

“Look, I don’t particularly want to talk about it, ok? And especially not here alright?”. He was starting to get a little annoyed.

“So you’ll tell us about it in the common room later then?” Hermione asked.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.”. Why did he have to go and have a girl as his best mate anyway? They were always concerned about “feelings” and “emotions” and such. Guys were just easier, if their friend says that they don’t want to talk about it, they don’t talk about it. But with girls, oh no, they had to talk everything out. But now there really was no way to get out of it, so he resigned himself to a long, long talk once they reached the common room.

The trio finished dinner without further incident and headed up to Gryffindor Tower. They all sat down in a secluded corner of the common room to make sure that nobody overheard. None of them noticed that a certain redhead was sitting just a few feet away in a chair with its back facing them.





A/N: Thanks to my new BETA Gryffindor-Girl for sorting out all the knots along the way!! Please take a minute to write a review!!!!

An Extraordinary Bottle

“So Harry, what on earth has been bothering you all day?” Hermione asked, just after they had sat down at the table.

“I thought you wanted to study Hermione, shouldn’t we do that first?” Harry said, obviously trying to get out of telling her and Ron about the letter that he had found earlier that day.

“Harry James Potter, you are not getting out of this. First, you are completely out of it all day, then you snap at us when we are trying to figure out what is going on. I want an explanation, and it better be a good one.”

“Alright. If you must know,” Harry said, rummaging through his bag, “I found this out by the lake before we had Charms this afternoon.” He handed her the letter and watched her read it. Immediately her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Harry saw her eyes flying across the paper as she read on and on until she finished.

“Harry… that’s just so… romantic. I can’t believe it. I wonder who wrote it. But that doesn’t explain why you were so distracted for the whole day. I mean, sure it is a little shocking but you’ve been somewhere else entirely for the whole day.”

“That’s just it; I can’t help but think about it. I try, but I can’t stop. Everywhere I go I begin looking for the girl who could have written that. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like I have some sort of compulsion to find her, and I can’t. It’s driving me mad.”

At this point Ron gained more interest. “Girl? What girl? And what did she write? Let me see that,” he said grabbing it from Hermione, he began to read aloud, “’To A Stranger, I am in love with you, deeply, passionately, completely.’” None of them noticed a quiet gasp coming from one of the chairs near them. “A love letter?” Ron asked in disbelief, “Harry, someone sent you a love letter?”

“Don’t read it aloud, Ron,” Harry yelled. “Someone will hear, and this is something that I would definitely like kept private, thank you very much. It is not something that I want the whole school knowing about by Friday, God knows I don’t need that right now. And no, no one sent it to me, for all I know it wasn’t even meant for me.”

“Alright, alright,” Ron responded.

At this Hermione spoke up, “Harry, it is too for you, it says so. She wrote that the only way that you could have opened that bottle would be if you were her soul mate. You know as well as I, that this was for you.” At this Harry flushed a deep red, and Ron sniggered.

“Soul mate? Hermione, you don’t really believe in all that do you? I find this whole situation pretty funny actually. Myrtle probably wrote it before she died. Hah.” Hermione did not laugh, but instead gave Ron a biting look. “Come on Hermione, that’s funny, admit it.”

“Ron, you are so immature! Why can’t you ever act like an adult instead of behaving like a four-year-old all the time? All you ever do is make jokes even when things are hardly funny at all!” Hermione scolded. She then grabbed her books and stalked off.

“Sheesh, girls. What in the world did I do to deserve that?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron’s ignorance and simply said to him, “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

While all this happened neither of them had noticed that Hermione wasn’t the only girl who had fled to the refuge of the girls’ dormitory. If either of them had turned around at that moment they would have seen a flash of red hair whip around the doorway leading to the stairs.

*~*~*

It was the next morning, and as Harry headed out of the Great Hall after breakfast, he slammed right into a small scared looking second year that he had seen around before, he briefly recalled that she was in Ravenclaw. Because of the collision, the whole contents of his bag fell on the floor, much like the time back in his own second year with that God-awful cupid thing. If only Harry knew how much this incident would resemble the last one, he would have gone without breakfast that morning in order to spare himself the trouble.

As he was picking up his things from the floor he noticed a pale hand reaching for a certain piece of parchment. Harry scrambled to get there, but wasn’t fast enough and only reached it just after none other than Draco Malfoy picked it up.

“What have we here Potter? A secret note? No, it looks rather old; maybe something your filthy mother left you that you carry around in your bag so you can feel closer to her. Awww, how cute. I think I might just cry,” Malfoy sneered at Harry triumphantly while his Slytherin cronies chuckled at his jokes.

“Give it here, Malfoy!” Harry said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice, while hoping that Malfoy wouldn’t notice what the parchment was, but that would have been too good to be true. As he read it an evil little sneer appeared on his face.

“It appears, Potter, that you have been written a love letter. Now let me see, what shall I share with the class? Ahhh, yes, this will do nicely, ‘I always knew that there was someone out there, someone who was made for me, a person that would be my other half. Ever since I was a little girl, I felt that you were out there somewhere just as lonely as I was.’ How cute, it truly brings tears to my eyes.”

By now Harry was completely irate. He raised his wand and pointed it straight at Malfoy’s chest and said to him through his teeth, “Give it back, Malfoy. If you know what's good for you.”

Malfoy looked positively frightened for a second, but only just one, then his smirk returned to his face. “You wouldn’t do anything to me in front of all these people Potter and you know it.”

“Try me.”

“Alright, I’ll give it back… After I’ve read just one more little excerpt,” he said glancing scathingly behind Harry’s shoulder. Malfoy continued in a falsely high voice, “’I feel that I cannot reveal my identity to you. I do not know when we will meet, or how, but I believe that we will know in our hearts when the time is right.’ Aww, very sweet. It looks like the little Weasel has finally come to her senses. She realized that she and her family were just too embarrassing and would never be good enough for the ‘Famous Harry Potter’ or, for that matter, for anyone to have any association with them.”

Harry could not believe what Malfoy had just said, and glancing behind him he saw Ginny duck her face as it became increasingly redder. She then desperately began trying to make her way through the crowd. Harry was so angry that he didn’t give it a thought, but just turned and decked Malfoy right in the face. Malfoy passed out before he hit the ground and would surely be out for a few hours. Harry picked up the discarded parchment from the floor and tried to shove it into his bag, but before he could do anything he heard a shrill and very angry voice shout.

“What is going on here?” At the sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice Harry’s blood went cold and everything went silent. Harry silently thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t Professor Snape who had happened across this happy situation, but still prepared himself for the worst, for he had witnessed McGonagall’s wrath first hand many more times than he would have liked. He turned and saw Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore walking quickly towards him.

“Professor, I…”

McGonagall surveyed the situation and quickly realized what had happened. She turned toward Harry looking extremely livid.

“Potter, I would not have believed this of you, I am not quite sure what is to be done, surely points will be taken and detentions served…”

She was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore, “Minerva, surely we need not discuss this here in front of all these students,” he said, and turning towards the students, “There is nothing else to be seen here, so if you would please continue on to your first classes. Thank you,” he said in his usual calm manner. “Mr. Crabbe? Mr. Goyle? Would you please make sure that Mr. Malfoy makes it safely to the Hospital Wing? Thank you.”

Once Crabbe and Goyle had carried Malfoy off and all of the other students had finally walked off it was just Harry and the Professors left in the entrance hall.

“Minerva, I believe that you are due in your classroom for a lesson. You ought not to be late, lest the children become over excited; we all know how third years can get. I will handle this.” With this, McGonagall gave him a very skeptical look; she knew that he had a particular soft spot when it came to Harry. “I wish to speak to Harry alone, but I will make sure that he reports to you at the conclusion of his afternoon classes, and you can deal with him as you see fit. That will be all Minerva, thank you,” Dumbledore said sternly. The professor walked off towards her classroom, clearly reluctant to leave.

“Now, Mr. Potter, would you kindly follow me to my office?”

Harry nodded and followed as Dumbledore turned in the direction of his office. Harry was in a state of dread. What was Dumbledore going to do? Would he be expelled? Surely not for just hitting another student, right? He figured that he was in for a very long lecture that would leave him feeling terrible about himself. He followed, with his shoulders slouched and fearing the worst.

During the long walk to the Headmaster’s chambers, Harry couldn’t help but think about what he did earlier. Why did he hit Malfoy? He had been able to withstand Malfoy’s taunts for years without such retaliation, why now? Was it what he had said about the Weasleys? Logically, Harry decided that this was probably what set him off; he never could stand it when Malfoy was rude to them. The Weasley family was the best family that Harry had ever met, regardless of the amount of money that they had in their vault. If Malfoy wanted to bring up scummy families why didn’t he just bring up his own?

As they continued to walk, Harry’s mind wandered to what Malfoy had said about Ginny writing the letter. It couldn’t possible be her, could it? Nah. She had given up on Harry years ago… or so everyone thought. Harry began to think that it could be quite possible that it was, in fact, Ginny that had written the letter. He came to the realization that he wouldn’t be horrified if it was her that wrote it. Immediately after thinking that he scolding himself thinking, “There is no way I should be feeling that way towards Ginny. Come on Harry, this is your best mate’s LITTLE sister.” Soon though a heated debate began in his head; one side arguing that she was Ron’s sister, the other side was making the point that she was more than that. All in all, Harry was relieved when they reached the stone gargoyle so that he could completely stop thinking about Ginny, for the time being at least; lately he hadn’t been able to keep her out of his head.

“Gumdrop,” Dumbledore said, and, as usual, the Gargoyle sprang to life, revealing the spiraling staircase that it guarded. “After you Harry.” Harry stepped onto the first step and the stairs began to rotate leading him to the top and Dumbledore’s office door. They entered the room and Dumbledore asked Harry to take a seat, which he did obligingly.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to hit Malfoy, it’s just he was speaking badly about the…” Harry began, but was interrupted by Dumbledore.

“That is not why you are here Mr. Potter.”

“It’s not?”

“No, you will have to report to Professor McGonagall for that later this afternoon. No, we are here to discuss a completely different matter.”

“And that is…” Harry honestly had no idea why he was there. What else could they possibly have to talk about?

“To talk about the letter that you are holding in your hand.” Harry hadn’t even noticed that he was still holding the old piece of parchment.

“What would you want to talk about that for? It’s private.”

“I do not wish to know the contents of the letter, for if it is what I suspect then it is indeed very private. I would just like to know how you came across that old bit of parchment.”

Harry looked at him quizzically and answered, “I found it out in the lake; it was in a bottle floating by the shore.” At this Dumbledore’s head jerked up, a glint in his eye that could only be described as excitement.

“May I see the bottle please?” and Harry gave it to him, “Ahhh, I was wondering when I would see this bottle again. My, my, it has been a long, long while, nearly twenty years in fact, not since…” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry sir, but how do you know about the bottle and the parchment?”

“How do I know about the bottle and the parchment? Well, the simple fact is that I created them, I completed them both in my final year as a student here all those years ago.”

Harry gaped at him, “You… you were the one who made this? But how?”

“Ahhh, yes those two items were a pure stroke of genius if I may say so myself.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. She said that she couldn’t decide if you were being arrogant or funny about it. She also said that you thought that the bottle was your greatest feat. Knowing you sir, that can’t possibly be true.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Harry, but I assure you, it is true. Never before in my life had I, nor since have I ever achieved anything more extraordinary than this. Its brilliance lies in what it does. I feel I owe you an explanation of exactly how this bottle works. For, I am sure you are feeling very confused right now. This bottle is able to recognize something in a person and when it does, it the bottle makes itself to known to them. When he or she opens it they will find instructions from me written on the parchment that you now hold in your hand. When they write upon it and reseal it, the bottle will only open when it is in the hands of the person who is meant for the writer.”

“Yes, this much the girl told me in her letter, but how does that make it so extraordinary.”

“I had not quite finished yet Harry. When I say that it will not open for anyone else, I mean it.”

“But how do you know that it works. Not to offend you or question your abilities, but how can you be so sure?”

“Harry, that, I assure you, I can prove. Since that letter was written, how many people do you think have tried to open the bottle?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied.

“Hundreds, Harry, hundreds. And to you were the only one who achieved success. I’m sure that it opened for you with no struggle at all.”

“Yes it did, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Harry, please take my word on this.”

“Alright, but how does that make this bottle the greatest achievement in your life?”

“Many times I have told you that the ability to love is your greatest power. Love allows us to stop thinking of ourselves; we put someone else’s well being before our own, and vice versa. Love gives us protection older than any magic, which you know first hand; love is what saved you as a child, and is what will save you again when the time comes. Love is not only your greatest power, but everyone’s; it is greater than the Dark Arts, or anything that we teach at this school. It cannot be taught or controlled, only felt, but yet it is more powerful than any one force on this earth. Love is the one thing that Voldemort cannot touch, cannot overpower, and cannot control. It is because of this that he can be destroyed. Why is the bottle so extraordinary? Because it helps the mind to realize what the heart already knows. It is able to see that power, that love, and can help those people to recognize it.”

“Yeah, well love isn’t all that rare, especially at a school filled with all of us hormonally driven teenagers” said Harry only half sarcastically.

“Ahhh, yes, that is true. But this type of love doesn’t come about everyday. That is why this bottle is so remarkable; it recognizes only the deepest, truest love. In sixty years there have been only two different couples who have been able to open this bottle.”

“Two? When…”

“Like I said Harry, I have not seen it in nearly twenty years. Not since your mother brought it to me in this very office.”

“My mom...” Harry could not believe what he was hearing. His own parents had been the only other people to ever open the bottle.

“Yes, Harry. Your mother brought the bottle to me in the end of her sixth year, just like you. Your father had found it in his third year; I believe that it was right after the first time that Lily rejected him. He was heartbroken; he didn’t show it on the outside, of course, because that would betray the heartthrob image that he had worked so hard to maintain. But he was truly upset and, when he found the bottle, he poured his heart out. I never would have guessed that a boy of just fourteen could be so passionate about something, but he was. Lily was everything to him; in fact, he was so confident that Lily was the one for him that he even addressed the letter to her, knowing that she would be the one to find it. James, though, couldn’t bring himself to sign it, being too embarrassed over her rejection. Your mother found it three years later, right after her parents were killed and she was particularly lonely. Reading the letter she began to come out of her depression; she began to have hope for the future because of what this unknown stranger had written her. The letter was her salvation and it was the reason that they finally began seeing each other on a more personal level. You knew about the relationship they had before that point, Professor Snape told me the basics of what you saw in his pensieve last year; haven’t you ever wondered what changed your mother’s mind?”

“I suppose I have, but how does the bottle work? I mean, she hated him, how could it cause a complete turn around?” Harry was astonished. He couldn’t believe that this bottle had been the reason that his mother had finally stopped detesting his father. How could opening a bottle and reading a letter make someone fall in love?

“The bottle does not change your feelings, just helps you to realize them. Your mother always loved your father but was unable to see it. When the bottle is opened the second time it causes both of the openers to see things in a new light. When the eyes of the opener meet those of the one who wrote upon the parchment, they will know, and everything will become clear.”




A/N: Thanks again to my BETA Gryffindor-Girl. As Always, reviews would be excellent. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Extra Assignments

“When the eyes of the opener meet those of the one who wrote upon the parchment, they will know, and everything will become clear.”

After Dumbledore had finished reading, Harry looked up at him, expecting there to be more. Dumbledore did not continue, he merely returned Harry’s gaze with the sparkle in his eyes more vibrant than it had been in a long while. The war was taking its toll on the Hogwart’s headmaster. He was looking his age for the first time since Harry had known him. Lately, the creases in Dumbledore’s face were deeper than ever and the shadows under his eyes were growing every day. This was the first time in a year that Harry could see hope starting to shine through the darkness in his professor’s eyes. Seeing that sparkle in his icy blue eyes again made Harry begin to have hope for the future as well. Realizing he was staring, Harry shook his head and looked away.

Coming out of a similar daze, Dumbledore said, “You may return to your class now, Harry. Don’t forget, you are to report to Professor McGonagall at the end of the day.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, and stood, but before he left, he asked, “Sir? How will I know that it’s her? What will it feel like?”

“That, I cannot answer for you, Harry. It is something that I have never experienced myself. But if it helps, from what I have heard,” he said, with a small smile, “I am sure that it will be something that you will not be able to miss. You will know, and so will she. It is as simple as that.”

“I have one last question, sir. Since I opened the bottle, I haven’t been able to take my mind off the letter. I keep wondering who wrote it. Did you make it so that would happen?”

“I did not design the bottle to compel the opener to find the one who wrote the letter, if that is what you mean. But now, your heart knows that it is not complete, it knows that it is missing something, and it is desperately trying to find that missing piece, Harry.”

Harry thought about that for a minute, and then replied, “Thank you, sir.”

With that, Harry left the office and headed to his first class. His mind was again in a daze, “but,” he thought to himself, “at least now I know that I can be sure that I don’t miss her; all I have to do is look.” Entering the Charms classroom, it immediately became clear that not a single girl in the room was the writer of the letter. He was late, and by now the whole student population had heard about what had happened earlier, so he knew that when he entered, all eyes would turn towards him, wondering what went on in the Headmaster’s office. Inwardly, he was preparing himself for something, not knowing exactly what. Nothing happened. He looked each girl in the eyes. Nothing. She wasn’t one of these girls.

Relief swept through Harry. He realized something that he hadn’t known before; he didn’t want it to have been one of these girls. There weren’t any girls in the room that he cared about. Well, there was Hermione, but Harry never saw her in that way, and even if he did, what good would it do when he was dead? Because Ron would surely kill him the second he found out. No, it was almost as if Harry’s heart knew who the girl was, even when his head didn’t have the slightest clue.

The day trailed on, and still Harry didn’t feel anything, not one girl that he looked at had made Harry feel anything at all, well… aside from one fourth year Hufflepuff, who was rather unfortunate looking and seemed to have an eye for Harry, but he didn’t think that extreme nausea was quite the sensation that he was looking for.

~*~*~

Transfiguration that day was particularly trying; even Hermione had trouble with the spells, something that rarely, if ever, happened. The assignment had been to transform an ordinary stuffed giraffe into a living, breathing replica. The spell work involved required an enormous amount concentration, something that Harry had been lacking ever since he opened the bottle. He still was unable to keep his mind on task. The most he was able to achieve in the hour-long period was a spout of multi-coloured sparks, which, as Professor McGonagall informed him, was not the desired result of the spell that he was attempting to perform.

Although it took a while, Hermione was able to completely transform the giraffe into a real replica, but had not yet made it alive; there seemed to be a trick to it that not even she could discover, which seemed to annoy Hermione to the core. Professor McGonagall, it seemed, had not expected anyone to succeed in the process, and was obviously impressed by how close Hermione had gotten towards the final goal.

Hermione though, ever the perfectionist, could not stand that she was unable to rise to a challenge presented to her by a teacher. She was clearly annoyed and in a moment of rare insubordination, asked, “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but couldn’t you simply tell us how this spell works?”

Professor McGonagall looked surprised and slightly impressed by Hermione’s outburst. “Clearly,” she thought, “Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter are rubbing off on her with their ‘certain disregard for rules’ and authority figures. The corners of her mouth moved the slightest bit as she looked at her favorite student and answered the question posed.

“Miss Granger, this is a task that I am afraid I can offer you no help in. In order to succeed, you must know what it is to give something life, and that is nothing that can be taught in a classroom. I am sure before long, you will figure it out. After all, you do remind me of myself at your age,” she said with an enigmatic smile.

The class continued on after this exchange, no better off than Hermione. Even with the cryptic instructions that they had been given by McGonagall, no one was able to figure it out. By the end of period not a single student, including Hermione, achieved success, but nearly everyone in the class had, at least, turned the fabric into something resembling fur… except for Harry. The bell rang and all the students began to pack their bags.

“Well done today, class,” McGonagall said will a rare smile, obviously pleased with what progress was made. “We will be continuing this on Friday. You may leave the stuffed animals, as disfigured as they may be, on my desk. That is all,” she said, dismissing the class.

All the students brought their giraffes up the front of the room, some with patchy fur and others missing body parts entirely, until only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left.

“Mr. Potter, may I please have a word with you?”

Harry nodded to Ron and Hermione, telling them that he would meet them at the Great Hall for dinner in a few minutes.

“Yes, Professor?” Harry asked.

“You were not concentrating in class today.” Harry ducked his head, ashamed that his distraction was so easily noticed. “At this level,” McGonagall continued, but was cut off by Harry.

“I’m sorry Professor, it’s just that…”

“Please do not interrupt, Mr. Potter,” she scolded, “as I was saying, at this level a student needs to put forth all of his effort into his school work, especially in this class. You are enrolled in my NEWT class, Harry; so naturally, I expect the same from you as I do from everyone else.”

“I know that,” Harry told her.

“I am still not finished. I cannot have you falling behind, Mr. Potter, no matter what is on your mind. You will work on this spell for homework until you have perfected it, and will demonstrate it first thing on Friday in front of the class.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said dejectedly, knowing that this would surely mean hours of extra homework. He sighed and turned to leave, but apparently McGonagall was not ready to be rid of him quite yet.

“We are not finished, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, and Harry turned back, wondering what else she had to tell him. “We still need to settle the matter of the punishment for your, shall we say, outburst, this morning.”

“Oh… right,” Harry muttered, rather hoping that the extra homework would have been in place of a detention. But knowing McGonagall, he had only allowed himself to hope for a second.

“You will be serving your detention tonight along with Ginny Weasley,” Harry’s head snapped up. “Yes, Mr. Potter, she received a detention today as well. I do not want to go into how, exactly, she received it,” she said with a distinct huff, “Anyway, I am sure she will inform you of it tonight herself. Frankly, I cannot say that I have ever been more disappointed with two students of my own house, the Weasley twins excluded, of course. I haven’t the slightest idea of what the two of you were thinking; you both have cost our house an exorbitant amount of points, and house honour as well, for that matter. I would have thought that Gryffindor meant more to you than that, the same goes for Miss Weasley. In any case, you are to meet Miss Weasley and Mr. Filch at the entrance hall tonight at ten o’clock sharp. Do not be late,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. It was clear to Harry that he had been dismissed.

Harry left the classroom and headed to the Great Hall to find Ron and Hermione. Once he got there he walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down across from his two friends.

“What did McGonagall want, Harry?” Ron asked.

“She assigned me extra homework,” Harry sighed, “and informed me that my detention is to be served with Ginny tonight.”

“What? That’s bollocks, you were no worse than the rest of us at that bloody spell!”

“Oh come on Ron, he nearly set you on fire with all those sparks coming out of his wand,” Hermione reminded him.

“True,” he agreed, “but that is still no reason for extra homework. Neville and Seamus used to blow things up all the time, even set McGonagall on fire once, and they never got any extra homework.”

“Ron, come off it. It’s already been done, so there is no use arguing about it. Anyway, Harry obviously needs extra practice on this, and he can’t be falling behind in his work. We have NEWT’s next year!” Hermione said, the exasperation clear in her voice.

“You know, I am sitting right here, Hermione. I can hear you,” Harry informed her, feeling a little awkward and annoyed that they were talking about him as if he weren’t sitting on the other side of the table.

“Sorry Harry. All I am saying is that I agree with Professor McGonagall; it would be a good idea for you to get some extra practice.”

“You know, you really do remind me of her sometimes, Hermione. She gave me nearly the same speech about falling behind; something about putting all my effort into my studies,” Harry told her.

“Well, she has a point!” Hermione snapped back. Harry looked ready to retaliate, but before he could Ron, who was clearly uncomfortable with anyone arguing with Hermione but himself, decided a change of topic would be a good idea. “Harry? Did you say that Ginny is doing the detention with you?”

“Yeah, McGonagall didn’t tell me why though. I wonder what she did in order to land herself in a detention with Filch.”

“Me too. Let’s ask her,” Ron said, and began looking down the table for his sister’s trademark Weasley hair. She wasn’t there. “Huh, she must have come and gone already. You’ll just have to ask her tonight, Harry.”

Harry too had noticed that Ginny wasn’t present at the table. He found himself a little disappointed, although he had no idea why. “Yeah, I guess so. Are you guys finished?” Harry asked, motioning to their plates. Hermione nodded, but Ron looked yearningly at his plate, evidently hoping for seconds, and then looked sadly back up at Harry figuring that he had to leave. Harry laughed and told him not to worry about it, and that he would see them later in the common room. Ron smiled and eagerly began piling more food onto his plate. Hermione just stared at him, obviously appalled by Ron’s overwhelming ability to eat. How she wasn’t used to it by now, Harry had no idea. He grinned at the two of them, gathered his things, and headed off towards the doors to the entrance hall.

As he walked by the Slytherin table Harry heard Malfoy’s distinctive voice call out, “enjoy your detention tonight, Potter. I heard you and that stupid little Weasel are serving it together. Have fun on your first date,” he snickered and, as an afterthought, added, “but make sure you don’t do anything your filthy, mudblood mother would disapprove of, although considering that she ended up with you, that wouldn’t be much, would it?”

Harry turned to him with his wand at the ready, but a calming feeling came over him and he regained his composure. He lowered his wand and before turning to leave said to Malfoy, “and how, exactly, do you think you got here, Malfoy? Immaculate conception?” With that, Harry left the Great Hall, leaving a furious Malfoy far behind - with Crabbe and Goyle looking to him for an explanation. It was only later that Harry realized that the feeling that kept him from lashing out was the one that he related to the message.

When he was nearing the common room, he saw someone turn a corner in front of him, he thought that he had seen a glint of red as she disappeared from view. Arriving at the corner, Harry looked down the corridor and, sure enough, saw Ginny at the other end headed to the library. He was about to call out to her but decided that he would see her tonight and he probably ought not interrupt her studying, so he continued on to Gryffindor Tower.

The common room was unusually empty as nearly everyone was still at dinner, or in Ginny’s case, and the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years’, in the library preparing for exams. He had the common room to himself, so decided that he ought to get a head start on McGonagall’s assignment.

Harry began to work on the spell, using a discarded stuffed lion from a table nearby. It took a while for him to clear his mind; it seemed that he was perpetually thinking about the letter and the bottle, and all the possibilities that they could bring. He also found himself having trouble ridding his mind of thoughts of a certain fifth year Gryffindor that had been occupying them lately. In a few minutes he was able to throw all these thoughts away and focus on his goal. At first it seemed that no progress was being made, but then Harry realized that he must have been changing the insides of the lion from puffs of cotton into functioning organs. This at least explained the extensive amount of time that it took for all of the students to reach that level. Harry was beginning to see some of the fabric of the body turning to fur just as Ron and Hermione burst through the portrait hole, breaking Harry’s concentration.

“Damn,” Harry muttered, he had been so close.

“Hermione, I cannot believe that you were just checking out Ernie Macmillan! And flirting too, in the middle of the Great Hall!” Ron shouted, as they both entered the common room.

“I was not ‘checking him out,’ Ronald. He was just walking by, and if you consider smiling at someone in passing as flirting, then you have some seriously distorted ideas about people. But no, I’m sure that every girl that smiles at you surely would like to be the next Mrs. Weasley!” Hermione yelled. The two of them were lucky that no one else was in the common room. Why they always had to have such loud and public arguments Harry would wonder for years to come.

“Of course I don’t think that, Hermione. And anyway, no girl smiles at me like that. That was not just a friendly smile, you were practically handing yourself to him. Yech," he said, clearly disgusted, "the way you were gazing at him...”

“Stop right there, Ronald. I do not gaze at Ernie Macmillan. Who are you to say what who I can ‘check out’ or ‘flirt with,’ or, for that matter, 'gaze at' anyway? I can do whatever I want,” Hermione countered.

Obviously Ron was unable to think of something witty to respond with so made some type of growling noise and stalked off towards the boys’ dormitories. Hermione walked over to Harry and threw herself into the nearest chair.

“Why is he such a prat all the time? Is he honestly that blind? To think that I was looking at another guy. He is insufferable. I don’t see how it is even possible for him to not notice the way I act around him, it’s not like I would sit with just anyone who looked that ridiculous while eating their meals.”

“You know, Hermione, you could just tell him,” Harry responded.

Hermione’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No, I could never do that. You know how I am, Harry. I can handle anything, school, dragons and even death eaters without flinching. Anything, that is, except boys. Especially Ron. I just have no idea what I would say to him.”

“You could always ask him to the Hogsmeade trip this weekend, you know,” Harry told her.

“I just… can’t. If anything ever happens between us he is going to have to be the one to make the first move, which is why I have resigned myself to becoming an old maid, living with you and Ginny and taking care of your dozens of children.” Harry blushed an astonishingly deep red, unable to look her in the eye.

“I was just joking, Harry. Unless… you don’t like her do you?”

“No…”

“Harry?”

“Well, I don’t know, I don’t know what I feel about her. Everything has been all confused since I opened that bottle. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’m sure it will all work out in the end, Harry. For now though, how is Professor McGonagall’s assignment coming?”

Harry showed her the lion and she was impressed with his work. “You still haven’t found out what the trick is yet?” she asked.

“Nope, not yet. But for now I want to take a break.”

“Sure. Why don’t we get a head start on the potions essay?” Hermione suggested.

Harry laughed. “And here I thought, I could get a little relaxation, maybe a game of chess.”

“Apparently you didn’t notice, but my name Hermione Granger, the most ‘insufferable know-it-all’ in the whole of England," she said, laughing. "If you want a chess player, you’ll need to go fetch Ron, but I am sure he is up there being a stupid git, brooding about my impending romance with Ernie Macmillan. I wouldn’t like to be the one to disturb that party if I were you.”

“Good point. Potions it is then,” Harry said with a smile. The two worked on their essays in silence until Hermione finished. She then proceeded to ask Harry what he put in his, and if she had gotten all the properties of the Graphorn horn correct. Eventually, Harry just handed his paper to her, letting her read through it. He decided that he would try to make some more progress on his Transfiguration project.

For a while he worked with no visible progress, not understanding what McGonagall meant by ‘giving something life.’ After a few more minutes Harry’s mind began to wander again; he was not paying very close attention to the lion when Hermione shrieked.

“Harry, did you see that?”

“See what?” he asked.

“Your lion, I think it just moved.”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention,” he said, looking at her disbelievingly.

“Look! There it goes again.” And sure enough the lion shook its head as if disoriented. Harry and Hermione looked on in amazement as the miniature lion began to walk around the table until it stopped and roared a little tiny roar. Then Hermione turned back to Harry.

“How did you do that?” The disbelief was clear in her voice; Harry thought that he could discern the smallest amount of jealousy in her tone, maybe even a little anger. Harry smiled, knowing that Hermione was furious at herself because she wasn’t the first one to figure out how to do the spell.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about it,” he responded. He also was astonished that he had completed the spell.

“Well if you weren’t thinking about the lion, what were you thinking about?”

Harry tried to remember what exactly he had been thinking about when the lion first moved. He knew that it was about the bottle, but really, what thoughts weren’t about the bottle. Harry was attempting to single something out in particular, when McGonagall’s clue came to mind: “In order to succeed, you must know what it is to give something life.” He realized that he was thinking about how he felt just after he had finished reading the letter. It had warmed him to the core; essentially giving life to a part of him that had died out long ago. That was the key to the spell. Harry was excited that he had figured out. Hermione had been watching, and she saw Harry’s eyes light up as he uncovered the truth.

“How did you do it?” she asked, eagerly.

“Hermione, it’s really not anything that someone can explain to you. McGonagall was right; it is something that can’t be taught.”

“Would you please just tell me what you were thinking about, then at least then I could try it.”

Harry sighed, then looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock.

“Oh, bollocks, is that the time? I have to go!” Harry dashed out of the common room, leaving a very disgruntled Hermione sitting alone at the table watching the little lion prance about in his newfound freedom.

Harry was running as fast as he could, hoping that he could make it to the entrance hall before ten. He knew that he would be cutting it very close, and that Filch would not be at all lenient with him; that man reveled in the punishments, even the smallest ones, of the students. Harry was dashing down the last corridor before reaching the final flight of stairs when he tripped on his shoelaces and was sent smashing into the floor. He scrambled up, wiping the blood from his nose, knowing that slowing down to check his nose rather than being on time for his detention was by far the worse option. He made it to the final staircase and could see Mr. Filch standing with a redheaded girl, both with their backs facing the stairs. Harry jumped the last four stairs just as the clock struck ten. The two people waiting turned towards the sound seeing a very winded Harry bend over trying to regain his breath.

Harry was holding his knees and panting as he said, “Sorry… I’m late… Well… not really late… I… lost track… of,” Harry looked up. A pair of bright green eyes met brown, and the world stopped.



A/N: Thanks again to Gryffindor-Girl for reading this as my BETA. I hope you liked this chapter.

I am thinking of doing the Lily/James prequel to this, and possibly a sequel with Harry and Ginny's kid, making it a 'Potter Family Tradition' type of thing. Each story will definitely be different, so as to not just repeat the same thing three times. Anyway, I would love your opinion on whether or not these are good ideas.
~Thanks

A Bond Sealed

Harry was holding his knees and panting as he said, “Sorry… I’m late… Well… not really late… I… lost track… of,” Harry looked up. A pair of bright green eyes met brown, and the world stopped.

The intensity of the emotion that hit Harry was something that can not be adequately explained in words. He was struck by the force of it entering his body. It was almost as if a wave of heat had slammed into his body. It seemed as though his whole body was on fire; every nerve was ablaze with the power of it, but nothing was burning; there was no pain, only warmth. He could feel it from his core all the way to the tips of his fingers. His very blood was charged with the energy, making his body buzz with electricity; the sheer power of it making him feel invincible. At the same time, though, he felt completely calm; with the fire came tranquility.

Neither Harry nor Ginny knew how long they stood there with their eyes locked. It could have been a minute, an hour, or maybe even several; the only thing that they were aware of was each other. Harry could not see beyond Ginny, nor could she beyond him. The world was a blur, and to them, it didn’t matter; all they cared about was maintaining eye contact so that they could continue to feel the extraordinary sensation that was coursing through their veins.

It seemed, though, that it was indeed only a few seconds that they stood there, eyes fixed on each other, as Filch was still standing next two the couple, looking slightly confused. Clearly, considering that he was in fact the Mr. Filch who held nothing dear to him, except for an old cat, did not understand what was going on; he would never be able to grasp the greatness of what he had just witnessed. After a few seconds of watching the entranced teenagers he decided to try his luck and take advantage of Harry’s distraction.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, late. You know what that means don’t you? Another detention,” Filch said in his usual scratchy voice, with the tiniest amount of glee discernable underneath the surface; Filch was always glad to find fault in the students and greatly enjoyed when he was able to take advantage of the opportunity. “I don’t see why you can’t serve them one after the other, work the whole weekend. But, it seems, the school sees that along the lines of ‘cruel and unusual,’” he grumbled, obviously disagreeing with this particular policy, and added in an undertone, “two nights of hard labor would most certainly teach those little conniving brats a lesson.”

Harry heard all this as if from far away. Once he realized what had been said he, remorsefully, tore his eyes away from Ginny’s. He was surprised when the feeling didn’t go away, as he had thought it would, but was only slightly muted. He gave her a look that clearly said that he wanted to talk later and turned towards Filch to argue his case.

“Hold on a second. I was not late, you know it, I know it,” turning to Ginny, their eyes met again and he shuddered with the intensity of it as he continued, “Ginny knows it. There is no way you can give me another detention, I didn’t do anything wrong. If you would like, I could bring it up with Professor McGonagall, I might even mention to her how you feel about the policies that she and Professor Dumbledore deem necessary for the wellbeing of the students here,” Harry said, knowing that Filch wouldn’t dare argue his case; he knew that he was on thin ice with the administration lately, mostly due to his regard for a certain toad-ish teacher of last year.

Apparently Filch realized that Harry had a point, and after grumbling some muffled expletives said to Harry and Ginny in a rather gruff tone, “Alright, follow me. And you mark my words, by tomorrow morning you will both be wishing that you had never even heard of ‘Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’”

He led the two students out of the entrance hall and down a hallway that Harry recognized as one leading to the kitchens. A second later, Harry figured out what their detention could be; he prayed that they would not have to clean the kitchen. Considering the sheer size of the kitchen, Harry figured that it would take all night to clean the whole thing.

Unfortunately, his prayers were not answered. Filch turned another corner and stopped at a painting of a bowl of fruit, one that Harry had seen before on numerous occasions. He groaned, knowing what was coming, and was not looking forward to the punishment that he and Ginny were bound to serve.

Filch reached forward and, as though he hated doing it, ‘tickled’ the pear, if you could call it that. It was really more of a harsh scratch. In any case, the handle appeared, as Harry knew it would, and Filch pulled the door open. They entered the kitchen and Harry was struck by the unfamiliar silence. It took him a little while to realize why it was so odd, and then it hit him what was wrong.

“That’s right, Mr. Potter. No house elves to help you with this task. They’ve been given the night off. Not without great protestation, I might add.”

Filch was right. Where there normally were hundreds of house elves bustling around constantly, now there weren’t any at all. The entire room had been transformed from a busy, happy place to a gaping, hollow cavern.

“You will clean this entire room. Floor to ceiling. I will be back at dawn.” It was clear to both Harry and Ginny that they did not want to find out what would happen if they didn’t finish the job.

Filch left the room, leaving Harry and Ginny standing awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes. The few minutes that had passed left both of them unsure. Neither knew what to say. Everything was so new and confusing for them. Soon, to break the silence Harry suggested that they get started, obviously trying to avoid the elephant standing between them. He didn’t want to talk about the letter quite yet, or rather, he didn’t know how to.

Ginny just nodded, not meeting his eyes; she was just as uncomfortable as he was. They walked over to the sinks, both trying to pretend that they were alone, even though they were both very aware of the other person, who was only feet away from them.

The both grabbed buckets and walked to the sinks to fill them. Grabbing sponges for both of them, Harry said to Ginny, without looking her in the eye, “I guess I’ll start over here,” he motioned with his arm towards one side of the room.

“Yeah, ok,” Ginny said, and she walked away toward another part of the room about fifty yards from Harry.

The two worked in silence, both sneaking glances at the other while pretending to work. After nearly two hours, Harry heard something. He looked over at Ginny, noticing that she was much closer now, than when she had started. She was humming. Harry grinned, figuring that she didn’t even know she was doing it. This wasn’t the first time he had heard it though, she used to do it at the Burrow over the summer when she was doing housework. Harry always recognized the tune, but could never place it. Then it hit him. He chuckled. Ginny heard him and thought that he was making fun of her. She ran her hands over her hair to see if it was out of place, rubbed her face to make sure there weren’t any suds on it, there weren’t. She had no idea why he was laughing at her.

“What’s so funny?” Ginny asked finally, looking at him. For a second they were swept away again from the force of their eye contact, but they were beginning to get used to it.

“Nothing,” Harry said, innocently. Now, Ginny was sure that he had been laughing at her. Her face began to turn red, but only slightly, from anger; mostly she was embarrassed that he had been watching her. Harry noticed that she looked slightly angry, so decided that he’d better tell her why; he’d rather risk that than the possibility of her blowing up in his face.

“It just that you were humming,” he said. She looked at him again, her blush deepening. “No, I like it. You used to do that at the Burrow. It’s always the same song, though. It was familiar to me, but I never realized why until now. It’s a muggle song. That’s how I knew it. I’ve heard it about a hundred times coming from Dudley’s stereo over the years I’ve spent there. Now, I have one question for you, Gin,” he said smiling. Ginny waited, dreading what it might be. “How in the world,” he asked, nearly laughing out loud by now, “have you ever heard anything by the Spice Girls?”

“What?!? What are you talking about Harry? I’ve never even heard of them,” Ginny said.

“Well, then how do you know that song?”

“What song?” She asked, by now Harry knew that she was lying; she was getting redder and redder by the second.

“The one you were just humming, it’s a song by a muggle band. The Spice Girls, you know, Baby Spice, Ginger Spice, Sporty Spice, Posh Spice, and one more, what is it?... Oh yeah, Scary Spice… Actually, you remind me of that one, Scary. Yeah, you’re just like her, and a little crazy too,” Harry said with a wide grin. The awkwardness was beginning to fade and the pair was stepping back into the parts that they had always played: friends. Harry and Ginny were finally falling back into the easy playfulness that they had always had. Harry was just thinking about how glad he was that they were nearly back to normal when he was hit with something sopping wet; Ginny’s soapy sponge fell away from his, now soaked, shirt.

“Harry Potter, you did not just call me crazy!” Ginny shouted, clearly furious at the thought, but at the same time she couldn’t keep a smile from making its way to her mouth at the expression on Harry’s face.

“I might have,” he replied, a mischievous grin growing on his face. He was loading his sponge up with water and soap. Ginny’s eyes went wide.

“You wouldn’t,” she said.

“You did. And yes, I would,” Harry replied.

“But, I’m wearing my favorite pa…” She was cut off by Harry’s sponge hitting her directly in the face. All she could do was sputter in disbelief. Soon she grabbed up the sponge in retaliation. For the next half hour, at least, a fierce water fight ensued, only perforated by squeals and laughs as both got hit by soaked sponges. By the end of it, the kitchen had become a battle field with bubbles all over everything. Ginny and Harry, both exhausted, were lying behind upturned tables that had been used as shields during the battle. There was a momentary lull in the fighting and both of them were gathering their breath.

“Truce?” Harry shouted from behind his table, clearly winded from all the fighting.

Gasping for breath, Ginny replied, “truce.”

Harry stood and turned- just as a sponge came flying at him from behind Ginny’s table. It hit him right in the face, leaving his glasses at a very odd angle. He had a look of complete disbelief on his face. He was preparing to retaliate when he heard Ginny begin to giggle. She was standing now, openly laughing at him. He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation either.

“Truce?” she asked.

“Yeah, ok.”

They both walked out from behind their tables and walked together to the only dry spot of floor left in the entire room. Both were completely exhausted. Harry sat with his back to the wall and Ginny sat down next to him. All of the awkwardness from before was completely gone. They were perfectly comfortable in each other’s company.

“So… I guess we’re not going to have this kitchen cleaned by morning, huh?” Ginny asked.

“I guess not.”

“Filch will be mad, might even assign us another detention,” Ginny said, seriously, but it was clear to Harry that she didn’t really care.

“I guess so. I wouldn’t mind it though. As long as we got one together, it wouldn’t be all that bad.”

Ginny looked up at him with a radiant smile which soon turned into a wide yawn. Harry laughed.

“Geez, I’m tired,” she said.

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“Oh shut up,” she told him, punching him in the arm. In an attempt to get more comfortable, Ginny slid her body away from his and laid her head in his lap. Harry was at first shocked, but then relaxed and began to run his fingers through her wet hair. They were completely comfortable, well, as comfortable as you can be on a stone floor. The couple talked for hours about all types of things; from the trivial: Quidditch, classes, and stories about Ron and Hermione. To the serious: their various hopes and dreams, what they were going to do after school, Sirius, even Voldemort. In all their talking, though, they didn’t once mention the letter or bottle or what they might mean. Eventually they were too tired to talk and fell asleep.

~*~*~

Harry awoke a few hours later feeling rather tired from so little sleep. He was surprised, but only for a second, to find Ginny’s head still in his lap. He was watching her for only a second when she began to stir as well. A few seconds later, though, she sat bolt up right, looking at Harry.

“What time is it?” She asked, slightly urgently.

“I don’t know, why?”

“Filch.”

“Oh crap,” Harry muttered as he looked at his watch. It wasn’t working. It must have gotten water in it last night, Harry thought. But then he looked around the room. It was dazzling, everything was sparkling clean.

“Gin, look,” he told her. She looked around the room.

Clearly shocked, she asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Harry told her. Then, at the exact same moment they both realized what must have gone on while they were asleep.

“Dobby!” They both shouted.

With a ‘pop’ the little house elf materialized before the pair.

“You asked for Dobby, Mr. Potter, and Miss Weazy?”

“Yes, Dobby, we did,” Ginny told him. “You were banned from here last night. Now, why am I thinking that you had something to do with this room being so clean this morning?”

“Yes, miss is right. Dobby was told by Professor Dumbledore to stay away from the kitchens last night. But Professor Dumbledore is not technically Dobby’s master miss. So Dobby returned here last night and found you two asleep. The room was a mess, miss, so Dobby cleaned it. Dobby couldn’t resist miss. Dobby is sorry for making you mad, miss.”

“No, Dobby, we’re not mad. You can go. You’re not in trouble.”

Dobby then disappeared. Ginny and Harry began to laugh, barely believing their luck. Soon, Harry remembered that he had to ask Ginny something.

He turned towards her and said, “we both know why I’m here, Gin. But how’d you land yourself in this detention?”

She laughed again, “Well, let’s just say that, with the help of Fred and George, a certain Slytherin happened to burst into my Transfiguration class today. You may ask how I had anything to do with that, but he them proceeded to profess his undying love for Professor McGonagall, to his great displeasure, and began to… ummm... to disrobe himself, I suppose I should say.” She added in an undertone, “teaches that little ferret to make fun of the Weasley name!” Ginny then continued on with her story, “fortunately, McGonagall managed to stop him before too long. Somehow, though, she managed to figure out that it was me. And here I thought that I had that innocent look down pat, damn. Anyway, I have never seen her more angry. Her face was completely red, but I’m not sure that was all anger, now that I think of it. If I were her, I’d be pretty embarrassed too. Anyway, long story short, that’s how I ended up here. Although, I must say, I had a pretty good time tonight,” she said, smiling at Harry. He couldn’t do anything other than stare at her and think to himself that he never wanted to be on Ginny Weasley’s bad side.

Soon, Ginny began to giggle over the absurdity of the whole situation, the detention, the water fight, Dobby, but mostly due to lack of sleep. Her quiet giggle slowly grew until she was all out laughing, tipping herself over from the sheer volume of laughter wracking her body. Apparently it was contagious, because soon Harry, too, was doubled over. Before long, the pair was gasping for breath. One he had recovered, Harry glanced over at Ginny who was still silently giggling to herself. He was still looking at her when she glanced up.

“What?” Ginny asked, slightly embarrassed that Harry was watching her so intently.

He crawled over to where she was seated and sat down close to her, not quite touching.

“I love your laugh,” Harry told her, smiling, but clearly serious at the same time. “I love your hair,” he said, while indulging in touching it again to reminding himself how it felt, “I love your eyes, your nose,” he told her as he slowly leaned in and kissed it. “I love the way you always know what to say in any situation, or how you know when I’m not in the mood to talk so you just sit with me. I now know that you were the one that kept me going last summer. After Sirius died, I didn’t want to keep going, but something made me carry on. Now, I understand that it was you. You sat with me, even held me when I cried. I never thanked you for that, Ginny.”

“Harry, you don’t,” Harry stopped her before she could continue, and as he looked at her he saw that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. It occurred to Harry that she had been going through the same things last summer. Of all the Weasleys it seemed that Ginny had formed a special bond with Sirius. In many ways they were both the outcasts and were able to relate to each other in ways that the others couldn’t. Harry then realized that all the times that she sat with him in silence she might not have been doing it for only him, but herself as well; maybe Harry had provided her with as much comfort as she did him. Without thinking he pulled her into a hug, reveling in the feel of having her so close.

“No, Gin, I do. Thank you, for everything. Thank you,” he said, reluctantly letting her go and fishing around in his pocket, “for this.” He had taken the letter out of his pocket, showing it to Ginny. She immediately blushed.

“I still can’t believe that I wrote that. It was stupid of me, and childish,” Ginny said with her head lowered so that she didn’t have to look Harry in the eye. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up so that they were at eye level.

“No, Ginny, don’t ever say that. It wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t childish. This letter brought me to you. Sure, I may have gotten there eventually, but who’s to say when. Hey, if I were as thick as Ron is, it might have been years longer than it already has been.” Ginny grinned.

“True,” she said with a quiet laugh.

“Thank you for writing it,” she lowered her eyes again, still slightly embarrassed over the whole thing. “I’m glad that you did. I don’t want to waste any more time, Ginny.”

She looked up at Harry, who now was less than a foot away from her.

“I love you, Ginny. Everything that is you; everything that makes you the person that you are… I love it all,” Harry said, barely above a whisper.

Later, as she remembered it, Ginny would recall that her breath was swept away by what she saw in his eyes as Harry leaned toward her; they were on fire. Everything that he was feeling, all the love, all the passion, all the devotion, was visible in those emerald depths. She closed her eyes in anticipation of what she knew was coming.

To both Ginny and Harry it seemed like it took years for their lips to meet. When they finally touched both of them were completely oblivious to the world around them; they didn’t care if they were sitting there for hours, years even. All they cared about was the way they felt when they were around each other.

Had anyone else been in that room when the two finally came together they would have been mesmerized by what they saw; a blinding white light was shining throughout the room and the couple seemed to be radiating heat and power. The pair became a blur as green strands of light left Harry’s body and began to swirl rapidly around them. Soon, gold joined green in the hazy blur, those strands emerging from Ginny. The two colors intermingled and mixed until there was no telling them apart. Their magic, their power, their souls, had become connected. In that moment, in that kiss, a great bond had been sealed.





A/N: Thanks so much for bearing with me for this chapter. I know it took a while, but I hope you found it worth the wait. Thanks again to my BETA Gryffindor-Girl.

This is the end of the line for Harry and Ginny, but I am eventually going to do the Lily/James version, and if I really have the endurance, a third generation with Harry and Ginny's daughter.

I really hoped that you enjoyed my story, and, as usual, reviews would be awesome!

Thanks again!!!