Harry felt a fraction of something close to relief at the thought that once again he would have his two best friends by his side as he journeyed into the unknown. What was to come, Harry could not be certain. He knew that fighting Death Eaters, new or old, would be no easy feat, but anything had to be easier than defeating Voldemort and he had already done that, hadn't he? Blowing out a breath that lifted his ruffled bangs off his forehead momentarily, Harry silently wondered if this would ever truly be over. Or would there always be someone else ready to step up to the plate? How many years, decades, centuries more would wizards have to fight for equality amongst themselves? A frown on his face now, Harry stood and prepared to take his leave from Ron and Hermione's home. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way then. I've kept you up long enough, " Harry addressed Hermione as he tucked his vacated bar stool back up under the kitchen island. "Thank you for the tea and for allowing me to barge in in the middle of the night," he grinned now in Ron's direction.
"No worries, mate. Only next time make sure it's an emergency, eh?," Ron kidded, returning Harry's grin.
"Well then, I'll be in touch with you two soon. Goodnight," Harry responded as he turned and made his way back into the entrance hall, Ron and Hermione calling "goodbye" to his back. Harry reentered his flat a few seconds later with his wand raised in front of him. "Homenum Revelio," he muttered, a human presence revealing spell he'd learned from Hermione and used every time he came back home, which was nearly every night as he went (thoroughly disguised) to The Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks. Satisfied no one was there but him, Harry came on in the door and did up the several locks, bolts, and chains he had installed. Exhausted both mentally and physically, Harry went immediately towards his bedroom and flopped down onto his bed. Not even bothering to undress, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the gentle hum of the small fan he usually kept blowing on his bedside table. Just as the thought came to him that he ought to at least remove his glasses, Harry found himself dozing off into a fretful, dream filled sleep.
Immediately upon waking, Harry held his hands out in front of his face. They were blurred, his glasses haven fallen off sometime in his sleep, but the hands were his. He'd been dreaming that he was Voldemort and that he had risen people from the dead to force them to do his bidding. It might not have been quite as terrible if the people had remained faceless, unknown entities, but instead, as they so often did, had bore the visages of people from Harry's past. Sitting up rather quickly, Harry's head spun for a moment and his stomach lurched uncomfortably. A sour taste filled his mouth and the not uncommon desire to remain holed up in his room the remainder of the day seemed to fill Harry's entire being. However, this dream was short lived as a knock at his door broke through his daze.
Harry, still in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, shoved his glasses back onto his face and staggered towards his front door wondering who could possibly be here unannounced. Realizing he didn't even have it on him, Harry redoubled his footsteps to his bedroom to retrieve the wand that had rolled up under his stately bed. Another round of delicate knocking issued from behind the front door as Harry crept slowly, carefully towards it. Now that he knew he had an enemy after him again, he wasn't taking any chances. Peering through the peephole, Harry saw not a foe, but a friend. Hermione stood there, hand poised to knock again looking rather timid. Harry began unlocking the series of bolts and chains that kept his door sealed tight and opened it to bright sunlight and Hermione's squinted face. "Hello, Harry!," Hermione called out when she caught sight of him peering around the door frame. "May I come in, please?"
Instead of stepping aside and letting her in, Harry raised his wand towards her slightly and began to question her. "What dinner were we supposed to have that night on the day we infiltrated the Ministry?"
"Wha-what?," spluttered Hermione, seemingly thrown off by Harry's behavior.
"Answer me!"
"Kreacher was making a steak and kidney pie!," Hermione finally answered, this time sounding offended to have been accosted in such a manner.
"Alright, come in then. I had to check, I'm sorry," Harry retorted as he finally stood aside to let Hermione squeeze in the doorway. Harry was sorry that he had upset her but he felt that given the current circumstances he couldn't be too careful. Hermione looked at him now, hands at her sides, a slight frown distorting her otherwise pretty features. She slipped past Harry and made her way down the hall into the sitting room. Harry followed behind her and came to rest a few feet away from his friend who had taken up residence on the well worn green sofa. "Harry, there's something I need to talk to you about.," she said the moment that Harry had joined her on the couch.
"What is it?," he asked, beginning to feel slightly anxious. Surely nothing good could come out of a conversation with Hermione that started this way. They usually ended in him doing something he'd really rather not do.
"Well, you know how you said you needed to get back in shape before you could return to the Aurors?"
"Yes...."
"Well, I was thinking about that and I believe I've found a solution. It isn't one you're going to like, but please at least hear me out!," Hermione's voice rose steadily as if Harry had already begun to refuse her suggestion. This did nothing to ease Harry's trepidation. In fact it only reiterated his fear that whatever it was Hermione was struggling to say, he didn't want any part of it.
"Fine, I'll listen to you, but spit it out already!"
"I think that Dudley should train you." An extremely puzzled and troubled look stole across Hermione's face as Harry burst into laughter. This was obviously not the reaction she'd been expecting. "Well really, I didn't think it was that bad of a suggestion," Hermione said hotly, crossing her arms and glaring at a still laughing Harry.
"It's-not-that-funny," Harry wheezed, struggling to contain himself. "I just honestly can't imagine Dudley wanting to help me do anything!"
"Oh, you know that's not true! He still feels horrible all these years later about the way he treated you as a child, so I'm sure he's more than willing to help. Besides, he's in top shape and a boxing champ to boot! He's the perfect person really, if you think about it."
"Okay, yeah. If you can convince Dudley Dursley to help me get back in shape, I'll do it," Harry replied, no trace of laughter on his face now, just a stony seriousness.
"Well that's excellent then because see, I've already asked him! And he's agreed," Hermione was grinning from ear to ear as she said these words.
"You... you.. WHAT?! But... HOW?! How did you even contact him?," Harry was aghast.
"Oh, it was easy enough. I just sent him a letter. I got the address from an old Christmas card envelope you had lying about on the kitchen counter. Gave him my number, told him to call me and let me know. I heard back from him this morning and he said he'd be delighted. Like I said, I think he's eager to make up for some of his rotten behavior in the past," Hermione explained to Harry with a bit of an arrogant, know-it-all air about her. "So, since you've already agreed I'll give him a ring back this evening and let him know that it's all a go!" Hermione smiled widely, obviously very pleased with herself. Harry made a mental note to kick himself later for being so damn smug. When would he ever learn to never underestimate Hermione?
"This is absolutely ridiculous, but I'll give it a shot anyway. I'm sure it will be disastrous and won't last more than one session. If it does, can we put an end to this idiotic charade?," Harry asked feeling certain that he had found his way out at last.
"Fine. If the first session goes badly then you can quit. But the Harry Potter I know doesn't just give up because something might be hard or a little unpleasant," Hermione retorted sharply.
"Unpleasant? Getting bit by a gnome is unpleasant. Vanishing a boggart is unpleasant. Spending an hour or so boxing with Dudley? That will be downright torture."
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