Chapter 2: Fro's and Friends

A/N Do not read if you have not read Deathly Hollows. Spoiler warning. By the way…this chapter is hard to change to DH compliant.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk. He couldn't help glancing around the office, having last seen it when right after the battle when all the portraits gave him a standing ovation. Dumbledore's portrait had been crying tears of pride, and his eyes still lit up with pride whenever he saw Harry…which was odd. A portrait normally didn't show that kind of emotion, even in the wizarding world. But then again, Dumbledore had been an extraoridanary man, so maybe his portrait was, too. Or maybe he had used magic to make sure it could be…Harry didn't know.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" McGonagall suddenly asked from behind Harry, causing him to jump. He turned to smile at the Headmistress, though it was a sad smile as always.

"Fine," Harry lied, and Dumbledore gave a little cough from behind Harry. Harry almost squirmed in his seat. Dumbledore had a tendency to figure out what Harry was really thinking, no matter how hard Harry tried to hide it. This was partly because Dumbledore had taken the time to get to know Harry on a personal basis…They had been friends as well as mentor and apprentice, Headmaster and student. It was annoying that the portrait seemed to be able to do the same thing.

"Harry…I know that you have now mastered Occlumency, so you now have the ability to push others out of your mind…admirable, but not needed at this time. I do not want to have to pry into your mind, and I am sure Professor McGonagall doesn't either," Dumbledore said quietly, and Professor McGonagall nodded. "I will listen to what you say and I will not judge you. Just talk Harry…you need to." Harry looked at the portrait, raising his eyebrows at the thought that a portrait was telling him what was good for him. "I know I'm a simple portrait…but I can still give advice. It is my duty to give advice," Dumbledore said, and McGonagall broke in.

"Yes, Harry, and know that I echo Dumbledore's feelings in this. I, too, will listen and not judge," she said kindly, and he heard, in his mind, that voice raised in a horrible yell upon seeing his 'dead' body. He mentally shook the memory away, trying not to think of that awful day.

"I know, sir…ma'am….but…I'm not exactly one to talk about my feelings," Harry said, and watched as Dumbledore's lips twitched and his eyes sparkled even more merrily than usual. McGonagall coughed, but it was easy to tell she was covering a chuckle, and that made Harry smile slightly. It was a haunted smile, but it was still a smile.

"Yes, I know. But you do need to talk about them Harry, and I am always here. So, talk away," Dumbledore said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers like he always had done. Harry sighed, knowing that no matter how helpful Dumbledore's portrait would try to be, it could not help the same way the real Dumbledore had. The portrait was not Dumbledore…just a look-a-like of him, who gave advice. It couldn't truly feel, even though it had cried tears of pride upon seeing Harry enter this room after having won the final battle against Voldemort, even though his eyes still always shone with pride when they landed upon Harry, even though his eyes held the merry twinkle that they had had in life…This was not really Dumbledore. He tore his thoughts away and concentrated on what was happening that moment.

"I really don't know what to say, sir," he said honestly, glancing up from his knees into the portrait's blue eyes, his gaze shifting between them and McGonagall. McGongall came around the desk and sat down, seeming to sit next to Dumbledore's portrait. They looked almost like the team they had been…almost.

"We could always use veritaserum if we have to, but I think that is a little extreme. Why don't you start with, say…what you had for breakfast," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a kind smile, like he had so often in life. McGonagall turned around to look at the portrait. She turned back around, smiling kindly as well.

"I quite agree…now, please, Harry…I know we are not close like you and Dumbledore were, but I still care about you," she said, and Harry smiled slightly, looking back at his knees. He knew she did, but still…this was McGonagall, the severe, stern woman whose lecture could manage to frighten even Harry. Harry frowned suddenly. McGonagall was severe strern, which meant that she wasn't going to let Harry out of this. Harry shook his head. He knew Dumbledore would've wanted him to talk—just look at what the portrait was doing— and he knew McGonagall was only doing this because she cared about him, and he knew he needed to, but he just didn't want to. Still, McGongall could listen, and he could just look at Dumbledore's portrait…or at his knees still, since talking to his Transfiguration professor or a portrait was still just weird

"I skipped breakfast and came here, sir, ma'am. I…I didn't eat," Harry said, and he glanced up, seeing McGonagall giving him a sad look, slight tenderness in her eyes. He quickly looked down again. "I just…had to get away, you know? I felt trapped-nothing against the Weasley's, though. They're the best people in the world," he said quickly. Had he been looking up, he would've seen both Dumbledore and McGonagall nod in understanding. When they had said they would listen, that is what they would do. Dumbledore wasn't going to offer advice, but just let Harry vent, like he needed to, and McGonagall was taking her queue from the portrait, which somehow still managed to understand the man in front of them better than she ever would. They both thought Harry kept his emotions bottled up too much recently and it was taking its toll. "Sir, I still feel horrible about killing Voldemort, no matter how much he deserved it." Harry fell silent, because that simple statement was how he felt. He felt awful…and confused.

"Harry, thank you for telling me this. I would also like to add it's good, actually, that you feel bad about murdering. I have told you before that it is our choices who show who we truly are, far more than our abilities. This goes to show how different you really are from Voldemort. Tom always took pleasure in killing, but you hate it. You never once said those two words…Avada Kedavra…Not once. That simple choice is a large part of what makes you you. You choose to fight him, to try your hardest to destroy him, not for the fun of it, but to stop him from hurting anyone else. You did it because you had to, because you needed to, Harry. Not for yourself, but for the world, for those you care about and love. You are very different from him, even now that you are responsible for a death. Just remember that, Harry." Dumbledore said, looking at Harry over his half moon spectacles.

"And I would like to remind you that you did not actually kill him, Harry. You, unlike Voldemort, have not actually taken a life. You did cast a spell to kill, but cast a simple disarming spell that reflected his spell back on him. He has killed hundreds of people just for the fun of it…you tried your hardest to not even truly kill one person. I cannot think of two more different people than you and Voldemrt, Harry. You even tried to turn him back, but he did not take the offer," McGonagall added, remembering hearing Harry tell Voldemort to try for some remorse…how strange that had seemed at the time. "Now what was the real reason you came here?" she asked briskly, after looking at the portrait, sounding much more like the McGonagall that Harry knew from classes. Normally, she would've dealt with something like this on her own, but Dumbledore had told her to expect Harry…he seemed to know what was going. Which was annoying. Dumbledore had left his portrait almost too much to say.

"Well, ma'am…I don't want to face…everyone…as the Man Who Conquered next year. It was bad enough during my sixth year, all the whispers and awed looks. It will be much worse this year. I don't like being bloody—sorry, Professor—famous," Harry said, looking imploringly at his late Headmaster and current Headmistress.

"Yes, Harry, I know and understand, but you still have to come," Dumbledore said calmly, looking at Harry over his painted half-moon spectacles. Harry wondered how a picture could still manage to make him fell as if he were being x-rayed.

"More definitely," McGonagall said curtly, very business like, but with conviction. She was a teacher, after all. "There is more to this school than simply learning magic. There are many lessons taught here that help with real life. Those are the kind of lessons you need to come back here to learn, even if you are already mature beyond your years. And anyway, you're Head Boy and the school needs you, not to mention the Quidditch team. But you don't have to come to this school tomorrow. I'm sending you someplace else," McGonagall said, having already talked to the portrait about this. Harry looked at her.

"Ma'am pardon me, but how does sending me somewhere else help? I'm just as famous anywhere I go-at least in the magical world. You're not sending me to a muggle school, are you?" Harry asked, and both McGonagall and Dumbledore shook their heads. "Didn't think so. Anyway, then where can I go to get away from it all?" Dumbledore just smiled, as did McGonagall.

" 'Where', my dear boy, is the wrong question to be asking," Dumbledore said mysteriously. Harry knew this was a clue of some kind, but couldn't figure it out. He looked away from Dumbledore and McGongall, looking at the plaques under the pcitures on the wall, but only half seeing them, instead. What did he mean, the wrong question?...1954-1969…What else could he ask?...1945-1953…What could he mean? What was Dumbledore trying to tell him?...1929-1944…and Harry smiled as it hit him.

"To when am I going, sir?" he asked and watched as Dumbledore smiled proudly, McGonagall nodding next to him.

"You, along with Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, and Miss Granger will be going to 1977. You'll be going today, before the others. Take this when you go," Mcgongall said, handing him a letter. "It's for Dumbledore. He and I have already talked about you, but I want to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything Dumbledore-and I mean this one—and I talked about. It's also a schedule you'll need to give me, outlining the classes you four will be taking for your seventh year. Harry, you're going to you parents last year at Hogwarts. I need to tell you to behave yourself," McGonagall admonished sternly while Dumbledore's mouth twitched. Harry was, after all, the son of a Marauder and the good friends of the infamous Weasley twins…though now there was just one. "Also, don't torment Peter Pettigrew. He hasn't gone over to the Dark Side yet and is a good friend of your fathers. You can't punish him for something he hasn't done yet," McGonagall said. Harry nodded, a nervous excitement settling on him. He was going to meet his parents, and the old Sirius, before he went to Azkaban. He was going to see Peter when he was good. He was going to see a young Remus Lupin—alive!—who would have fine robes and no white hair, but a young face. No one would know who he was, no one would think him anything special. It was a dream come true for Harry. But suddenly Harry spotted a problem.

"Ma'am, what do I call myself? I'm sure even my father will think something's up if a person who looks just like him shows up having the same last name, even if Potter is a common surname in England," Harry said.

"Yes, which is why you're not from England nor are you going to be Harry Potter. My former self will explain it all to you," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded, not worried. Dumbledore the portrait and McGonagall had it figured out, so it was going to be fine.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked.

"You will travel by Time-Turner. I own one—it used to be Dumbledore's. A gift from Cornelius while he was in office. Mine happens to have two setting, though, and is a very complex model. See this switch?" she asked, pointing to a little lever on the side of the hour-glass. Harry nodded. "It changes how far you go back per turn. Right now it is set at hour, like most normal Time-Turners." McGonagall flipped the switch. "It is now set at years, so each turn will take you back one year. Turn it back twenty-two times, Harry, and you'll get to the 1970's-August 31st, 1977, to be exact," McGonagall told him, handing over the Time-Turner.

"Sir, can you tell me a bit about the 1970's?" he asked, looking to the portrait. McGonagall let the portrait answer…she understood Harry wanting Dumbledore to answer it. It had been his plan, after all…one of the many things Dumbledore had left his portrait to say. He had wanted everything to be prepared before he left. She shook her head, thinking of how he had planned his own death with Severus…Quite a plan, Dumbledore had had, and it worked out, too…thank God…But Dumbledore was talking, and now was not the time to dwell on unhappy thoughts.

"Well, as you are probably aware of, it was the disco age." Both professors paused to chuckle as Harry tried to do a Jon Travolta move sitting down. "The wizarding worlds music has always reflected that of the muggle world, something about how teenagers are still teenagers, I believe. Anyway, I'm sure you have an idea what he muggle seventies were like. In the magical world, it wasn't that different. The hair styles were the same-big. The clothing was flashy, 'hip,' and 'far out.' Psychedelic, you could call it. But that doesn't really matter. The minister was a man by the name of Timothius Blitzer and Crouch was rising in power, if you recall. Voldemort is powerful and dangerous. The world is afraid and no one will say his name, though that isn't new to you. Many of the teachers are the same. Professor Lewis is Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The others you all know-Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Slughorn. Hagrid still has Fang in his hut, as well as a young Fluffy, if you can imagine. The rest is pretty simple to pick up. Now, off you go," Dumbledore said. Harry slipped the chain around his neck.

"How are Ron and them coming?" he asked. "I have your Time-Turner."

"They are going by timekey, which is much like a portkey. Now go," McGonagall said. Harry nodded.

"I'll be seeing you in a second…or maybe I should say 21 years? I don't know, but I'll be seeing you," Harry said to the portrait, nodded to McGonagall, and then he turned the hourglass (which was now a yearglass) twenty-two times. Time flew by him, literally. It was a blur, and he couldn't see what was going on. As time stopped flying by, he found himself sitting in the same chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, with a younger Dumbledore behind it instead of McGonagall. He still had a few auburn streaks in his hair. He looked up, smiling. Harry felt a twinge in his chest…this was Dumbledore…This was Dumbledore alive and talking…

"Hello. Harry, I assume?" he asked. "You know, you do look just like James, just like Minerva " the Headmaster said, and Harry was speechless for a while, staring at a living, breathing, talking Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore stared at him in response, and then sighed.

"I assume there is a story in your look, but I don't want to know," he said, holding up his hand to cut Harry off before he said anything. Harry shut his mouth. "I have been told a bit about you, but I know nothing of my future self, not even the exact year in which you come from, so I have no idea how many years I have ahead of me," Dumbledore went on, and Harry almost physically flinched. Dumbledore did not notice, this Dumbledore not knowing Harry at all. "All I know is that you are from the future and that you are James's son. I have not been told who your mother is, and I don't want to know. I do not want to know anything that happens in the future…," Dumbledore said, and Harry looked at him, a curious look in his eye.

"What all do you know of my time?" Harry asked, wondering. How much was he allowed to say this Dumbledore? It would be weird, not being able to talk to him, to go to him for advice…after all, Harry had always done that when Dumbledore was alive. But if Dumbledore didn't want to know, couldn't know what happened…how much could they talk before Harry slipped up?

"I know that there are at least four Gryffindors, though I'm assuming there's more, and that one of them is named Harry Potter, the son of James Potter. He has three friends, two girls and a boy, with the first names Ginerva, Ronald, and Hermione. I do not even know their last names. I know you are here for a reason, but not what reason. I know that you exist, that Hogwarts exists, and that there is still magic. That is all, and that is all you are going to talk about in front of me…which means, you are to talk about nothing from the future in front of me…No, Harry, not even to make this age better," Dumbledore said, once again raising a hand to cut Harry off.

"So…you know practically nothing?" Harry asked, just to be sure, and Dumbledore nodded. Harry guessed it made sense. Even Dumbledore could not truly know what would happen in the future and he, like everyone else, could be affected by knowing.

"Sir, Professor McGonagall gave me this to give to you," Harry said, handing Dumbledore the letter. He wondered if Dumbledore knew that McGonagall was Headmistress…he doubted it. The younger Dumbledore took the letter and opened it, scanning the page.

"Ah, yes, the classes you'll be taking." He touched his wand to a blank sheet of parchment on his desk and script flowed onto it. He handed Harry his schedule. Harry quickly read it over, seeing that he had Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts at advanced level. He also noticed he was signed up for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

"Sir…I don't take Runes and Arithmancy. I think you gave me Hermione's schedule," Harry said, trying to hand back the parchment. The younger Dumbledore just chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

"Yes, I know you don't take those classes, but you will this year. McGonagall told me to sign you up for those, even though you don't normally take them. I am also to sign your friend Ronald up for Muggle Studies, even though he doesn't normally take that class. You and your friend Hermione have identical schedules, because I was told to take her out of History of Magic. It seems that the McGonagall of your time wants you to take certain subjects, and I believe it has something to do with—oh, I won't go into that," Dumbledore said with a smile. It was weird to be talking to Dumbledore like this. The last time he had done it had been…well, technically it had been in his head after he had died, but the last time he had talked to a living Dumbledore had been just over a year ago. It was hard not to cry here, the grief coming back. He knew it would only get worse as he saw his parents, Sirius, and Remus.

"But I've never taken them. I'm going to be at the advanced level of a subject I've never taken?" Harry asked incredulously, thinking of all the extra work he would have to put in just to be able to attempt keeping up to everyone. He had an image of Hermione in her third year, and grimaced. He did have a time-turner…but Harry was sure it wouldn't be that bad (actually, he was hoping it wouldn't be).

"Yes, but you're not expected to know everything you study," Dumledore's voice broke into his thoughts. "You're going to be an exchange student, from America. You'll have to say you picked up your accent while staying here for the first week. You'll be going by the name Daniel Smith. Ronald will be Rupert Kingsley. Ginerva will be Bonnie Kesterson. Hermione will be Emma Clark. It's not too hard to remember. Now, you'll be transfigured the time you're here, all of you. The other's will not need much transfiguration, unlike you, who will need quite a bit. We don't need two Potter twins walking around, do we? Just stand still and I'll do it," Dumbledore said, taking out his wand. He muttered a few words and Harry felt a peculiar sensation from his head down to his toes. His head suddenly felt heavier as well. He reached up to feel his hair and felt a big, poufy mass. He had an afro. He groaned. He didn't care that these were popular in the 70's, he didn't want one.

"Sir, can I loose the 'fro' , please?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it does nothing to cover up that interesting scar," Dumbledore said, waving his wand again. Harry eyes were slightly fuzzy because hair was now falling into his face.

"Why do I still have my scar? Couldn't you just transfigure that away?" he asked, brushing his hair aside and feeling at his forehead. Sure enough, he felt the jagged, lightning-bolt scar there.

"It seems, Harry, that your scar is too magical to be transfigured," Dumbledore said, looking interested, but not asking. It was weird…having Dumbledore know nothing about the scar while Harry knew everything. "You'll keep your scar and your eyes the way they are. I thinkg…no, I think I shall ignore Minerva's advice about leaving your eyes the way they are (she said that Ginerva wouldn't like me too much if I changed your eyes, but I think I can handle it)," Dumbledore said, smiling. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore changed his eyes. Harry blinked the new eyes (but to him there was no difference). No green eyes? That was…different. He'd been told that they were the first thing people noticed when they saw him, the emerald eyes, so it made sense…they were exactly like Lily's, and no doubt someone would notice.

"Sir, before I leave, can I look at a mirror? I don't want to be stunned by my appearance when I wake up tomorrow," he explained.

"Of course. Go on up those stairs. My bathroom is right at the top. The password is 'Ice Pop.' Come down when you're finished," he said. Harry nodded and headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. He paused, slightly stunned at his reflection.

He had long, blonde hair. His hair was almost identical to that of Malfoy's, though his face was nothing like his enemies, thank goodness. He had high cheekbones and a strong chin, he noticed. His nose was slightly different, though he wouldn't be able to tell you how. His eyes were a startling blue, almost the same shade as Dumbledore's. Harry found himself wondering if he would be able to give people the same piercing stare that he had so often received from the Headmaster. Harry reached up and pulled his bangs back out of his face, and sure enough saw his scar. He stared for a bit more then went downstairs to stand next to Dumbledore. He was pleased to see his height hadn't changed. If it had, it would've affected his flying ability a bit.

"So, sir, I'm ready…but I don't have anything with me," he noticed. Dumbledore didn't seem perturbed by the problem.

"Just write them down. I'll forward them to McGonagall and have her tell your friend, Ronald, to get them when he grabs his own things. Here, write it on these," he said, handing Harry a quill and a piece of parchment. Harry took them and wrote down the things he needed. He told Ron to grab his trunk, as it was packed, today being September 1st. He also told Ron to grab his Firebolt, invisibility cloak, and the map. They might come in handy. But then he wondered about the broom…as great as it was, it wasn't invented yet, so…Harry figured it was safe to talk about a broom to Dumbledore, so he asked his opinion.

"Sir, I have a broom, a really great broom, but it hasn't exactly been invented yet. If I put a charm on it, could I bring it?" Harry asked hopefully. Dumbledore looked at Harry, and Harry was once more put under that x-ray like stare, before Dumbledore slowly shook his head, and Harry's face fell.

"I shall arrange to get you the best broom of the time, the Cleansweep 4," he said, and Harry tried not to snort. "But I must ask…do your friends play Quidditch as well? If so, I can arrange to get them the same thing, or a broom much like it," he told Harry, getting the idea that Harry was very much like James when it came to Quidditch.

"Yeah…both Ron and Ginny," Harry said, nodding. "They'd like a broom as well, I know it…'Mione doesn't play, though. So just us three…How much will it cost?" Harry asked, leaning over, ready to add gold to the list, but Dumbledore summoned the parchment out before his quill had touched the paper.

"No worries, Harry…we have everything settled. McGonagall is wiring enough money for a year, and all of your supplies are covered at the moment. Your brooms will be covered as well," he said, smiling kindly, eyes twinkling. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then shrugged. He had a feeling that Dumbledore wouldn't let him pay, anyway…it was just the look in his Headmaster's eyes.

"Good," Dumbledore muttered, having scratched the word 'Firebot' off the list (as it was the only thing that sounded like it would be a broom…he didn't there was any broom called 'Cloak' or 'Map' or 'Bottomless Bag.'). "Now, go on down, Harry. The password to the Gryffindor Common room is 'pixie' at this time. Have a good year," he said, looking up from his desk and smiling. Harry nodded and left. This was going to be interesting.

He walked through the castle, noticing that nothing much would change in the next 21 years. Thinking like that was going to take some getting used to. He was technically negative-three years old. That was weird. He entered the common room, pleased to see that it wouldn't change at all in the next 21 years and headed up to his dorm, finding the one with the plaque that read 7th Years on it.

As he entered, he realized that he didn't know which bed was his. Luckily, the house-elves had added name-tags to the beds this year. He walked over to the one that was his in 1998 and read the name tag. James Potter. Now that was a bit much. He'd always been told he was like his dad, but the same bed? Come on! Harry glanced around searching for one that read Daniel Smith and saw the ones that read Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. He couldn't help the anger that flared up as he read the last name. Harry reminded himself of what Dumbledore had said, not to pick on Wormtail. He saw Ron's bed, Rupert Kingsley, and his right next to it, Daniel Smith. He walked over and fell on his bed, thinking and closing his eyes. What was it going to be like, living with his father and mother for a year? What would they be like? Would they like him? Would he think his dad a prat jut like Lily seemed to? Would he get to see them get together? How would it be to talk to his godfather again? And professor Lupin, how would he be as a prefect? What would it be like to go down the hall as a normal boy, with no whispers and glances following him? What would it be like to play Quidditch with his dad, something that Ron talked about doing? He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

"Oi, Harry, get up!" he heard Ron calling. He rolled over. He didn't want to wake up. He was having a wonderful dream about the 70's and his parents. He had gone back there and would meet them. He wanted to, even if it was just in a dream. "Harry! I got your stuff! You might want to change into your Hogwarts robes, even if it is the 70's!" Ron called again. Harry sat up quickly, knocking Ron to the floor. "Good morning," Ron said grumpily from the ground. Harry smiled, a true, genuine smile that Ron couldn't help but grin at. Then he jumped, getting a good look at his best friend. He was…well, actually, not that different. The only thing was, he didn't have as many freckles and his hair was a redish-brownish color, much darker that the bright red Harry was used to. Other than that, he was the same. Still…a Weasley without the Weasley hair? Harry wondered what Ginny would like…

"We're really in the 70's?" he asked excitedly, not really needing an answer (Ron's appearance was enough to answer that question). Ron chuckled at the excitement on his friends face. He understood, a bit. What would he have felt like if he was going to meet his parents, who had been dead since he was one? His godfather, who had died over two years ago? A mentor, friend, and guardian who had been dead less than a year? True, Ron was excited to see Sirius and Remus again, but he knew it wasn't like Harry. They were Harry's family (basically) and had been a lot closer. It would be weird to be in Harry's place, and he couldn't imagine it. He was happy for Harry of course, but also a bit jealous. He wished Fred was at school, too...

"Cool!" Harry said, breaking into Ron's now sad thoughts. "Well, mate…wait, we're from America…do they say mate in America?" Harry asked quizzically. Ron shrugged, having no idea. "Well, I'll say it anyway. Get my stuff?" Harry asked, standing up and rummaging around in his trunk.

"Yes, Harry, I did. It sucks that we couldn't bring out broom, though," Ron said, a bit peeved. Harry suppressed a laugh, and manages a convincingly sympathetic nod. "O got the cloak and the map first. I wonder what it's going to be like, having two cloaks and maps around?" Ron asked. Harry laughed.

"Like having two groups of Marauders around, I guess. I mean, we're all animagus even," Harry said. Ron, Harry, and Hermione had become Animagi over the summer, figuring they were in need of a way to get in and out of places mostly unnoticed (what with their fame because of what they had done during what was supposed to have been their seventh year). Ron was a bear, which didn't work so well to get in and out without being noticed, so he always went under the cloak as a human…or put on a hat, which usually worked as well. Hermione was an owl, which worked perfectly for her (who else could be the wise old owl?). She normally used a glamour charm on her hair, making it straight and putting it up in a but, so she wasn't noticeable as the Lady of Loyalty (a name she had been dubbed by none other than Rita Skeeter) when she walked around. She also tended to wear non-prestription glasses. It all worked to totally chage her appearance. Harry was the surprising one…they'd expected him to be a stag, like his patronus, but he was actually a phoenix. Harry was a bit disappointed at first, until Hermione reminded them how rare and magical pheonix's were. Lucky for Ron and Hermione, Harry had caught on fast (McGonagall—who had been teaching them—was quite surprised). He'd told them he'd found a book (which he had…after he'd gotten down the transformation). When he went out, he wore sunglasses to hide his noticeable eyes and a stocking cap, effectively covering both his scar and crazy hair. Ginny transformed an eagle, a gorgeous golden eagle. She was surprisingly strong for being that animal, which was just like the normal Ginny, according to Harry, and Ron agreed. She normally was just herself, glaring at anyone who tried to say anything. Another thing that Harry and Ron agreed was just Ginny.

"Yes, it is going to be like two Marauders. Well, let's go, Hermione and Ginny are probably waiting for us. It's time for the feast," Ron licked his lips.

"Ron, call them Bonnie and Emma," Harry admonished, then he gave a quick grin. "Rupert, has there ever been a time you're not hungry?" Harry asked. Ron looked at him askance.

"I thought you knew me, Harry," he said. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but Ron went on, "Of course I've never not been hungry. Can you think of a time I didn't brighten up at the idea of a feast? I'm a growing boy," he said. Harry laughed.

"Well let's go, before you whither away, shall we?" Harry said, standing up and heading towards the door. Ron was quick on his heels. Sure enough, Ginny and Hermione were downstairs waiting for them.

"There you are. What took you boys so long?" Ginny asked, doing an amazing American accent.

"Ha—um, Daneil was asleep," Ron offered, taking Hermione's arm. Harry and Ginny smiled at each other. Harry was glad his two best friends had finally gotten together, even though it had taken them to right before the last battle. He offered his arm to Ginny, who gladly took it, looking up at him a bit questioningly.

"Ginny, just don't say you'll go out with any of the guys here. Remember that their all my parents age," he said. Ginny grimaced.

"Ewe…I could be going out with cousin Alfred," she said, fake puking. Harry laughed.

"Hey, at least your parents aren't here," Harry reminded her. She laughed. It was a gorgeous, musical laugh that Harry enjoyed thoroughly. He'd missed it while they were gone and realized he still missed it. He missed her, even with seeing her almost every day. It was different than when they were going out…but he was a murderer, he had to remind himself of that. He was still too depressed to get into a relationship, even with Ginny, the one person who could cheer him up. They slipped down the stairs and into the Entrance Hall just in time to see everyone getting out of the horseless carriages…they didn't appear horseless to a single one of them. They had all seen death and could all see the Thestrals. They took a deep breath, Ginny squeezed Harry's hand. This would be a different life than the one they knew, but at least they were together. They could get over their fear as long as they were together. Because they were friends for real and friends for ever.

A/N There…that was really hard. I don't like it as well, but it had to do. Sorry.

JK