Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to J.K. Rowling. Also, inspiration for part of this fic was from another called . . . I can't remember it's name. Details in profile.

This chapter is dedicated to Abvj for making me feel all fluffy inside. Killer post-HBP one shot, by the way.

Harry didn't sleep that night. His heart still felt like it was caught somewhere in his throat, his palms were sweaty, and his pulse racing. He tossed and turned in his bed for an eternity, thinking about last night.

Harry dressed early, his mind split. He couldn't deny kissing Ginny had been . . . marvelous, stupendous, earth-shattering, and addicting. His lips were just a bit fuller than usual, and the shirt he wore last night still smelled like something flowery. Harry felt that if he had to face all the dementors in Azkaban, the memory of kissing Ginny would knock them cold. The wizard couldn't help the stupid grin that plastered itself on his face; every other second his chest filled with the memory, triggering his smile. Hermione would want to know how he had managed to perfect his Cheering Charm ever so well.

Harry's heart skidded to a stop. On the other hand, he hadn't missed the tiny moral hiccough that twinged in his stomach. Brilliant as she was, Harry knew Ginny wouldn't be too keen on the idea of playing hostess to his double life.

But hadn't she already? Harry's stomach turned over. He couldn't imagine randomly kissing some bodiless . . . thing. Looking back on it, he found the idea a bit – well– sick. Who didGinny think she was snogging, anyway?

Still, he respected her. They were friends. Friends don't go around kissing each other incognito. Ginny would absolutely flip if she found out. And it serves you right, a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione's chided. Using her, taking advantage . . . never again, Harry.

Never again. The thought made him sick.

Harry knew sneaking around and snogging pretty girls were frowned upon by the ethics authorities, but he hadn't really planned it. It just . . . happened. And might . . just . . . happen . . . a bit more often.

On accident.

Completely unplanned.

It wasn't really lying, anyway. And he wouldn't be so compelled to kiss her if Ginny weren't so charming and sexy in the first place. Besides that, Harry justified, if he had half a chance with her as it was, they could have a proper romance. But no . . . all he got for his mild obsession was a probation friendship.

Bloody Dean.

The plain and simple truth was that Harry just liked her. Kissing Ginny was a dream. Was it really such a crime to want more?

Yes. His mind answered. Harry was torn. How did such a good thing end up so bloody complicated?

"'S'up Harry? You look peaky." Harry grunted at his friend, trying very hard not to be ashamed by what Ron didn't know. Not for the first time was The-Boy-Who-Lived glad Ron hadn't learned Legimens.

"Nothing. Ready for breakfast?" The two wizards met up with Hermione and made their way down to the Great Hall.

Harry poked at his eggs, thankful for the distraction. His N.E.W.T. preparatory classes would surely shove all things Ginny from his head. Yet Merlin had other ideas in store for the bespectacled wizard. Just then — curse of curses —the witch that had his senses defenseless sat next to him and began loading her plate with toast.

"Morning," Ginny chirped. She smiled at him. Harry's heart did a funny leap. He'd never been more thrilled or terrified to see anyone, and here she was — completely nonchalant and chipper. Harry hastily turned back to his plate, ignoring the loud ringing in his ears.

If he hadn't have been there, Harry wouldn't have guessed that less than 12 hours ago, Ginny had been snogging her face off in the Common Room. And now . . . she was sitting cool as a cucumber, chatting with Demelza, buttering her toast, for the love of magic. Well, what did you expect? A great, neon sign flashing the words 'I snogged Harry last night — but don't really know that' over her head?

Harry smiled, pleased to note her mouth looked a little swollen as well.

"Say, Gin, you look awfully happy about something. Malfoy eat it?" Ron glanced over at the Slytherins. "Nope. Can't hurt to hope, though."

Harry whipped his attention back to his side, where Ginny had just bitten into a sausage. She crinkled her nose at her brother, disguising what may have been a very faint blush. "Dunno what you mean."

"He's right, you know," Harry prodded, "You look a bit off. Anything up?"

The witch shook her head, chewing happily on a muffin. "Oh, I have it," Hermione laughed. "That Goldstein bloke finally asked you out, did he?" Harry choked on his juice, eyes wide. That no good, dirty rotten, womanizing, evil, Ravenclaw . . .

"Yea, he did." Ron spit his hot cereal out on the table making a strangled sort of sound. "WHAT!"

Ginny broke off another piece of muffin, wrinkling her nose at her brother. "Relax. I said no." Harry felt relief swell in him like a balloon. "Honestly," she smirked, turning toward Harry. "Some friend. Don't you know me better than that? I barely met him."

Yes. Of course I know you better than that, you beautiful, charming, witty, lovely, er — what else?

"I know things," Harry shot, as an unexplainable need to prove he did know her surged through him. The wizard missed Hermione's raised eyebrows across the table and her pointed look at Ginny, which she swiftly ignored.

"Favorite colour?" Harry gulped, his heart performing a frenzied dance. Ginny had shifted in her seat to face him, her shin now flush against his leg. She bit off another piece of toast, casually licking a stray crumb off her bottom lip. It suddenly became very hard to form a sentence. His brain felt as if it had been scrambled. Kiss good kiss me nice Ginny brilliant crumbs lick taste like cinnamon hidden—

"Thought so." She smiled cheekily, gathering her books. "Until then, Green eyes."

"No, er —" Harry watched as Ginny swept away, saluting the table briskly. "—wait," he muttered to his eggs.


Harry was still brooding later that day in Advanced Transfiguration. Some part of him wondered if it was entirely normal to become so obsessed with a girl, but a quick glance at Ron– who was staring attentively at Hermione's profile, glassy eyed – assured him he wasn't alone.

Ginny's brush off at breakfast had disturbed him more than Harry cared to admit. Especially when he couldn't argue with her as readily as he'd supposed.

Harry drew idly on the parchment he was supposed to be taking notes with. A small smile wormed its way onto his face when the wizard found himself embellishing the initials GW encased in a small snitch.

Well they ended up married, didn't they?

He indulged himself in replacing the W with a P. Harry's imagination conjured up a picture of Ginny in white . . . standing next to him . . . wearing a veil . . . wearing no--

The boy jerked himself up straighter in his chair, warily glancing at Ron. Harry didn't want to know what his friend would say about the turn of his fantasies. Of course, the redhead in question had probably been entertaining the same thoughts about Hermione for years now. Harry smiled wryly; Ron could be his best man.

Still though, he couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his stomach that had been there since breakfast. He knew, quite literally, most everything about Ron.

Favorite colour: orange. Aspiration: to collect Agrippa's Chocolate Frog card. Fear: spiders. Simple.

But then, why was it so hard to understand his sister? Harry sighed, he wanted to be a good friend, wanted to know those things about Ginny, but everything was . . . different – harder, when it came to her.

Harry imagined his father was somewhere laughing at him. From what Lupin had said, James became quite the Evans expert when he was at Hogwarts. Harry felt something jolt in his chest. His dad – Marauder, lady's man, kindred seeker-- would know how to get Ginny's attention. And he could do it perfectly visible.

Harry slowly grinned, resolve strengthening; surely he couldn't be a total loss. It was in his blood. The wizard freshened his quill and in bold letters wrote at the top of his parchment used for notes: Things I Know About Ginny Weasley.

1. Has a horrendous Weasley temper. Worse than mine. (Not that I've got a Weasley temper. Wonder how she'd make use of a Potter temper.)

2. V. Grown up (PRETTY) witch.

3. Especially adept at hexes, jinxes, curses, and other revenge-getting spells. Bat-Bogey specialty.

4. Swishy, long, red hair. Fun to run fingers through.

5. Brilliant at Quidditch.

6. Excellent snogger.

7. Used to sleep with Harry Potter doll. Doesn't want real thing. (Sigh)

8. Doesn't cry anymore.


Harry paused, quill poised over the paper. He racked his brains, not at all satisfied with his meager list.

"Hey, Ron," he whispered, poking his friend with his wand.


"What does Ginny like to eat?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Dunno. Why do you care?"

Harry shrugged noncommittaly. "Er – just wondered."

"Mr. Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall was glaring stonily at them through her spectacles. "I am unaware of anything more pressing than my lesson at the moment, but since you two seem to know otherwise, won't you enlighten us?"

"No, Professor," Harry ducked his head, hastily shoving the offending parchment towards his bag . He couldn't imagine the humiliation should McGonagall know what he'd been doing.

Unfortunately, Harry was about to find out.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall was staring at him, her hand outstretched expectantly. Harry felt himself grow hot all over.

"Y-yes?" Her mouth pressed into a tighter line.

"May I see what is obviously far more important than the notes I have assigned?"

Harry blushed harder, willing himself to disappear. The entire class was now staring at him. He knew Hermione was watching him with disgust. "It's really nothing," he mumbled.

"Mr. Potter, you are trying my patience."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and handed over his list. He buried his flaming face in his hands, never so embarrassed in his life. An eerie silence stretched over the class waiting seconds– hours– an eternity as McGonagall scanned the paper. Someone sniggered a few seats away. "Please see me after class," she intoned, folding the incriminating paper in her robes.

Harry groaned in his hands. Professor McGonogall wasn't a woman to take lightly; he knew that from the first time he met her. And the boy had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't tolerate such nonsense as who fancied whom in her class.

Worse yet . . .Ginny took transfiguration. She'd know he was a cowardly berk by dinner. It'd be all over the castle: Boy-Who-Lived Stalks Redhead. Why, oh why, did McGonagall have to take his list?

"At least it wasn't Snape," Ron whispered. "What were you doing? And why –"

"Shut up!" hissed Hermione. The lesson lasted seeming eons. Harry was so distracted with thoughts of his imminent doom he accidentally set Ron's sleeve on fire when they paired up to practice the spell.

"Aya, Harry! Watch it," Ron yelled, dousing his arm with water.

By the end of the hour, Hermione still hadn't forgiven him for interrupting class, Ron was dripping wet in rather a bad temper, and Harry's sinking feeling felt like an anvil.

"Well, good luck, mate," Ron offered. Hermione shot him a 'well, you deserve it' look and together they sped off.

Harry rubbed his temples; he'd never be able to look McGonagall in the eye again.

The professor cleared her throat, folding her arms. "Sit." He sat. "Mr. Potter, I am appalled that a student who is in his sixth year has no more self control during class than a troll." Harry winced. "Is it true?" she asked sharply.

Harry started, his cheeks heating agin. "Er – yea." He wondered about adding 'sorry' to his confession. It seemed appropriate.

He peered up at the resolute face of his professor. The line of McGonagall's mouth seemed to have lessened slightly. Harry was sure he had imagined it, but something like a dimple flashed in her cheek. She sat behind her desk, peering at him intently.

"I suppose you'll be wanting this back?" she asked crisply, pulling the folded note from her pocket.

No, let's burn it. And stomp on the ashes. "Thanks," he mumbled, stuffing the paper in his fist. Just let me go . . . give me punishment, have a good laugh, and let me go.

"You are," she shook her head slowly, her eyes a touch glassy. "so like your father."

Harry didn't know what to say. Professor McGonagall was staring at him with an odd blend of emotions. A half-smirk might have flashed across her mouth, he couldn't tell, it didn't seem likely. Something was off, McGonagall looked like she was doing some fast thinking.

"You know that I have no tolerance for misconduct in my classroom, Potter. And however . . . sensitive your reason, I must insist that it never happen again."

"No, Professor."

"You may report back here for detention this evening. That will be all."

"What? Detention? For writing notes?" He'd expected points off or a sharp rebuke, but tonight was the first free evening he had in a week. It wasn't fair. Lavender and Parvati were caught at least twice a week for sharing notes, smuggling in magazines, and giggling loudly in class. They never had to give up their free night for it.

McGonagall stared at him coldly. "That will be all."

Harry trudged to his next class, cursing under his breath. He was determined to stay focused in Herbology, despite what his mind might dream up about redheads. Harry unclenched his fist, note still crumpled inside it. The scrawl that caught his eye wasn't his, but a pinched, slanted, cursive.

9. Miss Weasley enjoys sugar quills.

Harry got over his shock quickly, a slow grin replacing his look of disbelief. He glanced over his shoulder at the empty transfiguration classroom with wide eyes, slowly shaking his head. Whaddya know.


"Stop grousing about it and go," Hermione tsk-ed, hands on her hips. "And I still can't believe she didn't give you detention," she added, rounding on Ron.

He shrugged. "Maybe she likes me better." Hermione coughed loudly, hiding a snicker. Ron scowled.

"Right then," Harry said loudly, choking the impending row. "I'll be going." He dashed out of the portrait hole, Ron's sputtered rebuttal fading from earshot.

Harry arrived in the transfiguration room with minutes to spare. "Evening, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall.

"Evening," he replied stiffly, taking his seat. Sugar quills or not, he hadn't yet forgiven her for demanding his free night.

"You'll please copy the following during this detention," McGonagall flicked her wand and shimmering words appeared on the blackboard, written in her pinched cursive: I will not act like a lovesick fool during class.

Harry blushed. One time. One time, honestly.

"Now, I hope you will –"

The door burst open and a tumble of red and black spilled in, quickly slamming it shut. "I am so sorry, Professor –" said a female alto.

"Ginny?" Harry choked, eyes darting from the breathless school girl to his teacher.

"– Peeves . . . outside . . . syrup all over . . . ran here . . . sorry." she threw her bag unceremoniously on her desk and straightened her robes, breathing heavily. Harry started, his jaw open. No way.

"Very well, Miss Weasley. I shall take care of it. Your lines–" she flicked her wand in the same manner as before. "–are on the board."

I will not use merchandise from my brothers in class. The witch glanced at the board, stifled a giggle, and nodded obediently. "Yes, Professor."

Harry sat motionless, staring at McGonagall and Ginny in turn. "Er – Professor, why –?" A loud crash sounded outside, someone shrieked, and Harry could hear students swearing.

"Excuse me," McGongall shook her head. "And do behave," she added, giving them a hard look before leaving. But in the half second before McGonagall shut the door again, Harry caught a glimmer of something . . . just perhaps. . . she winked? Not even, Potter.

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of his day. He grimaced, acutely aware of the pregnant silence that stretched between them.

Oh, hello awkwardness. I've missed you. How's the family?

"Er– Harry? You're staring at me."

The wizard jerked out of his chair, accidentally knocking over his inkwell. "Damn." He brushed his sleeve over the ink spatters, smearing his robes. "Was I?"

Ginny nodded. "Scourgify." The ink vanished. She stretched her arms, propping her feet on her desk. "Lovesick fool, eh?" she asked, nodding at the board. Harry felt his cheeks flame. "What was that about?"



"What's 'hmm' supposed to mean?"

Ginny grinned. "Nothing."

Harry snorted. "You've really got lines, then? Not just here because McGonagall said I . . ." he trailed off.

She sighed loudly, her expression similar to Fred and George when they reminisced about 'the good ole days of Hogwarts.' "Almost. I was this close to skiving punishment. Then that idiot Colin had to blow my cover. Shame; the toffees had really good results. But yea . . . I got busted fair and square. Day before yesterday, actually."

"Oh." McGonagall, you cad.

"Oh," she agreed. "So who is she?"

Harry's heart leapt. "I don't know what you're talking about." She's sitting in your chair, wearing your robes – and doing a right good job of it–, her name's Ginny . . . .

The redhead 'hmm-ed' again, sliding closer to where he was sitting. "Because I get lovesick over switching spells, too." Another pause. "Is she pretty?"

Yes. "I'm doing my lines." Harry reached for his quill. I will not–

"Defensive about Nothing, aren't we?" Ginny unwrapped a Chocolate Frog, slowly nibbling off one of it's feet. Harry heard the scratching's of her quill in the background.

"How're you –?"

Ginny waved her arms dismissivly. "Gred and Forge's latest. It's a charmed quill that does lines by itself. You just tell it what to write and it'll do it for hours." she said.

Harry swallowed. The detention-quill seemed uncannily similar to what he had done last night.

"Of course," she continued. "It's only useful if the teacher has left. I didn't think I'd get to try it out so quickly."

"Wow," he said appreciatively. She tossed him his own enchanted feather which began scribbling in his handwriting.

Minutes later, Harry and Ginny were both seated on his desk top sharing Chocolate Frogs. "Wonder where McGonagall went," the boy mused.

The witch shrugged. "This is kind of cool, though."

Ginny's legs dangled off the desk, idly swinging. She had a bit of chocolate smeared in the corner of her mouth and candy wrappers littered the area around them. "Yeah, it is," he agreed.

"Do you wanna know something . . . odd?"

Harry smiled. "Yes."

"Ron used to say that life was like a game of chess."

Harry coughed on his frog. "Chess," he gasped, eyes watering.

"Mmm," Ginny lowered her voice into what she thought sounded like Ron's. "You never know when some good looking knight's gonna smash it's way through your pawns to get a crack at the queen." Harry tried to stifle his raucous laughter when he saw her determinedly somber face.

"Deep," he breathed, holding back a howl of glee with great effort.

"Yes," Ron's sister mused, "Right after Lockhart. Didn't know he had it in him."

Harry's stillborn laughter demanded release. In an odd battle of wills, a cross of something between a snort and a loud guffaw broke from his mouth. Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. You sound like a hog. Taking lessons from Millicent?"


"Oh yes, Potter. Oh yes."

Harry smiled. If he leaned back . . . just a little bit . . . another centimeter . . . there. Harry could feel her side flush against his. Ginny shivered slightly against him, sending tingles of his own through his arm. The boy decided right then that if he never got to snog Ginny Weasley again – visible or not – he'd be okay as long as he could sit with her, like this, all the time.

"I dunno why I remembered that just now," she murmured. Harry felt her shift imperceptibly, just enough to comfortably lean against him.

They're conversation went on – once again proving how easy this Weasley was to talk to, how much life she had. Just underneath the easy banter, though, Harry found himself engaged in a silent game of chess. Ginny would shift a bit closer, he'd counter by lightly brushing against her arm. She coughed, replacing her arm closer to him than it had been; he'd "accidentally" nudge her foot. Harry wasn't sure how much of it was in his head, or coincidental, but his stomach lept every time regardless.

"Did Goldstein really ask you out?" He casually circled her bare knee with one of his fingers. Her move.

She nodded lazy. "I said no, remember?" Harry shrugged. "You might have said as much for Ron's benefit."

Ginny glanced at him then, smirking. "Besides, I've got my eye on something better."

Harry felt a flash of heat sweep through him, blazing in the pit of his stomach. He unconsciously moved back, recoiling his hand. "So, you're seeing someone?" he fought to keep his voice casual.

Ginny smirked. "Funny you should say that." She let out a long, slow, sigh, leaning back on her elbows, completely removing herself from him. Checkmate. "Don't tell any of the blokes on my waiting list, but . . . no. There's . . . the possibility of someone, though. And that's enough."

Harry didn't understand. He knew she was – sort of – with someone. Well, not technically. And not morally, or ethically, or . . . A hush stole over the two, each lost in their thoughts.

"You're right," Harry said at length, mulling over her words. Suddenly his brazen vow earlier seemed inadequate. He didn't know if he could stop at friendship, not when he'd tasted more.

To his relief she giggled. "Alright, you're done." she hopped off the desk, gathering the wrappers. "Let's go."

Harry blanched. "Without McGonagall?"

She shrugged. "It's ten. Detention's over."

He gathered his bag, catching up to Ginny in the hall. They walked in silence back to the Portrait Hole. Ginny was chewing on her fingernails, her shoes making soft scuffing sounds on the stone floor. Harry wanted to say something, to tell her detention had been fun . . . anything to cut through the thick tension that replaced her easy going attitude.

Two more floors and they'd be back to the Common Room. Harry couldn't shake the sense of disappointment filling him. He supposed that's what had stilled the conversation; however trite, he missed Ginny already.

"I had fun tonight," he offered, his tenor echoing around them. Ginny looked up, shadows from the torches highlighting her hair.

"Me too . . . oddly enough."

"Hey Gin," Harry stopped in front of her, watching her face with interest. "What's a bloke have to do to get off probation?"

She smiled – a genuine, full, smirk that set a couple butterflies loose in Harry's stomach. "Well, he'd have to cheat detention with me. And eat Ron's stash of Halloween candy that I nicked." She paused. "And promise to do it again sometime."

Harry held her gaze a second longer. "I promise." His mind zoomed into overdrive, dreaming up weekly rendezvous in various empty classrooms with her – laughing at something incredibly witty he said – sharing her favorite sugar quills – sitting together for hours. "Is that all?"

"Do you want more?"

The butterflies doubled. Harry licked his lips, only too aware of her query's double meaning. "I suppose not," he said airily.

Ginny smiled but said nothing, walking again. Her arm swayed loosely at her side. Harry briefly considered catching it, holding her hand back to the Portrait Hole. Would that be too forward for a friend?

Probably. Harry sighed, stuffing his hand into his robes.

Too quickly, they were staring at the Fat Lady. Harry hesitated; he didn't want to go in just yet. Ginny was fiddling with the frayed hem of her sleeve.

"They're Bill's, you know. After his fourth year, he grew about a foot . . . needed new ones . . . Mum altered these a bit to fit . . . well, a girl."

"Oh." Harry had no idea why she was telling him this. Ginny's Mum did a good job.

"They're falling apart a bit. I guess we've had 'em nearly ten years."

"I think they're pretty." Harry felt himself redden. Ginny looked up at him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. "Really pretty," he repeated, looking away.

Ginny laughed. "Thanks. Well . . . Ron'll probably want to know where you've been all night."

Harry chuckled. "More like where all his Chocolate Frogs have gone."

"Yea . . . Oh, damn. I promised Colin I'd study with him tonight, too." Harry ignored the bout of jealousy that flooded his brain. "He'll get over it. Oh, and Harry?"

"Mm?" She stood on her tiptoes, dragging her thumb across the corner of his mouth. The butterflies in his stomach turned into dragons – fire breathing dragons with flapping wings. His blood began churning uncomfortably.

Ginny repeated the action again, this time meeting his eyes. "Chocolate," she half whispered, still on tiptoes. "You had a bit –"

"I know," he whispered back. He could very, very easily kiss her there, Harry decided. He still had her hand in his from where he caught it, her other arm loosely holding on to his shoulder. Something closed in his throat, rendering his voice a touch huskier than usual."Hey Gin –"

"Are you two going to stay there all night or what?" The Fat Lady interrupted, scowling.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Pixie Dust." The hole opened obediently. The redhead turned back to Harry, smiling slyly. "Goodnight."

"Good –" but then it became very hard to think of what came next because Ginny had given him a swift brush on the cheek and disappeared into the Common Room.

Harry fingered the spot on his cheek, still burning from her lips. He swore softly to himself and slid down the stone wall, more frustrated and confused than when he had woken up.

Slugabed: I hope you caught the subtle tribute to your amusing review in this chapter. Lol. I know the invisible idea's strange but I'm channeling the Ghost (movie) vibe. In the scene where Patrick Swazey and Demi Moore are dancing together near the end it's a little sick to think about Demi dancing with Whoopi Goldberg like that so what we're shown is she and Patrick. Less sick, yeah? That's what I was going for. And . . . the most mysterious bit of it all. Does Ginny know who it is or doesn't she? I'm not telling!

dress-without-sleeves: Wow. I'm so excited you liked it. That makes my heart feel fuzzy.

R.Winter/Hayley: I try to watch the American-isms, but they slip in anyway. All my writing is based off the books (duh) and two British movies I own. (Monty Python doesn't count) Could you please help point specifics out when I mess up? Thanks. And the Dean/Michael thing was supposed to be outlandish to the point of hyperbole. It was fun to write. Lol

Chelles: Hmm . . . how will Ginny find out? (grins) And, unfortunately, these kind of things just beg to blow up don't they? I hope it won't though . . .

Fritz42: Word.

Koukla22: Tingles are good. I have a feeling you'll like what comes next . . .

Remussweetie: Ah, I completely agree about the HBP thing. Though at the risk of sounding sacrilegious, I must say, I found the H/G to be too . . .abrupt. Of course, if I wrote HP, it wouldn't have plot so much as some torrid affair between Pince and Filch.

Queen Tigress: Way weird. Makes you wonder what Ginny's thinking, don't it? (Cackle)

Sawyerxelda: You are SO my best friend! Thank you. And yes, I read HBP, but was not satisfied w/ the romance in it. Sigh.

Wolf's Scream: I didn't have any agenda in mind when I wrote the ankle-sitting scene other than it would be fun to re-do the singing Valentine from 'Chamber.' Hmm . . . methinks I am niavee. Oh well. And Harry's glasses stayed off, but he's . . . nearsighted, so no worries. (Cough) The "bodiless stranger" line I meant just to refer to Harry . . . messed up on it. I edited it be more clear. Thanks for catching that one.

A.N.: Sorry I'm so late, guys. This chapter was a toughie and I don't think I like it very much. Bugger. Oh well, tell me what you think. The next one should be out faster; and I promise it'll be more interesting. I love you so much, you are my sunshine. Please REVIEW. Kisses for everyone! Not kidding, your feedback is what gets me through sticky writer's block and laziness.