Hi readers! This is an unrelated fanfic note, well sort of. But my original novel has just passed FIFTY sales on Kindle and 10k reads on Wattpad (if you're reading this there). That's precisely 10'050 more reads/sales than I expected and I can only think that some of my fanfic followers must be partially responsible for that. So, as I cant thank you there, I'll do it here! Thanks very much! I've made enough royalties now to buy a whole pint of Guinness ... once the pubs reopen!! So cheers!

Now, on with Chapter 9. Which isn't as rude as the title suggests....

***

"What do you mean 'I'm not very good!!'" Hermione cried in a shrill voice.

"I mean ... you're not very good," Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood repeated dourly. "Sorry, kid. Some people just aren't cut out for flying. Next!"

Hermione turned her crestfallen expression to Harry, who was still breathing in a big sigh of relief at the decision.

"Harry ... what did Oliver mean by that?" Hermione asked in a tiny voice.

"Er ... it sounded fairly self-explanatory from where I'm standing," Harry replied.

Hermione looked shocked, as if she genuinely expected Harry to stand up for her. The fact that he hadn't was almost fundamentally impossible for her to process. But he was totally unmoved, despite her disappointment. It was this, more than anything, that brought the truth slamming home to her.

"Was ... was I really that bad?"

"It wasn't so much that you were bad," Harry began gently. "It was more that you were ... well ... wonky."

"Wonky?" Hermione frowned.

"Wonky," Harry repeated.

"What do you mean, wonky?" Hermione demanded, crossly.

"Well, you know what a straight line is, yeah?" Harry asked.

"Of course I do!"

"Not on a broom you don't!" Harry informed her, fighting a laugh at Hermione's hilariously furious frown. "Oh, and another thing ... when you fly, it helps if you go high enough so that your tip-toes don't still touch the grass!"

Harry couldn't hold the laugh in any longer, but it made Hermione stomp in her frustration.

"I'm not a fan of heights, okay?" Hermione huffed moodily.

"Then why did you try out for Quidditch!?" Harry asked incredulously. "Flying high is sort of in the description!"

"Well, you were trying out, so I thought it might be fun if we got onto the team together," Hermione explained. "You're really good, by the way. A natural, I'd say."

"Maybe," Harry blushed. "But I've been going flying at least once a week for about seven months! Was that your first time on a broom?"

"Second, after our flying lesson the other day," Hermione griped. "I didn't think I was that awful."

"You weren't," Harry offered, supportively. "You weren't as bad as Neville or ... or Crabbe."

"But I wasn't any good, either?"

"Well ... no," Harry confessed. "You were a bit wild, actually. I was really a bit terrified that you'd fall off and hurt yourself."

Hermione smiled weakly at that. There was something about Harry being concerned about her that melted her insides every time. It soothed that disappointed throb in her chest, at what she saw as her letting him down by being a poor flier. But if he was actually pleased that she wasn't putting herself at risk, that was okay too, Hermione supposed. Though she was still rather cross about the whole thing.

"Look, don't be too down," Harry quipped lightly. "You had to be a little bit bad at something, didn't you? I mean, you are like Mary Poppins at everything else."

"Mary Poppins?" Hermione queried, a bit perplexed by the reference.

"Well, you know ... practically perfect in every way."

Harry immediately wished he hadn't said that. Hermione was giving him such a glowing smile it was making Harry's cheeks ridiculously warm. So hot, in fact, that he was sure there would be little puddles of melted skin if he looked down at his boots.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione whispered in a gossamer-soft tone. "That ... that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Harry mumbled back shyly. Then he grinned cheekily at her. "But you're still rubbish on a broom!"

"OI! I'm going to get you for that! I'm going to practice and practice until I fly better than you!"

"You wish!" Harry laughed. "But if you mange to get three feet off the ground I'll get you a badge and a certificate!"

"You're on!"

They left the Quidditch pitch and headed back up towards the castle, still debating how long it would take for Hermione to build up the courage to fly higher than Gryffindor Tower. Suddenly, they were accosted by Neville, who came racing down the castle steps to meet them. He was carrying a copy of The Daily Prophet, which was streaming out haphazardly behind him.

"There you are!" Neville cried. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"It was the Quidditch trials today," Harry reminded him, holding up his Nimbus 2000 to reinforce his case.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Neville frowned. "Sorry, Harry. I was going to come down and support you. At least you had Hermione for that, though."

"Excuse me!" Hermione frowned crossly, rounding on Neville. "I wasn't just there to support Harry, I'll have you know."

"What?" Neville returned in surprise. "Wait ... you didn't try out for the team, did you?"

"And why wouldn't I?" Hermione demanded, slamming a hand to her hip.

"Well ... er," Neville stuttered, looking desperately to Harry for support, but Harry was concentrating too hard on not laughing at Hermione's affronted expression again. He rather thought that being less than perfect at this one thing was actually quite good for her. "Um ... broom flying just ... er ... didn't look your thing during our lesson with Madam Hooch."

"Didn't look my thing!" Hermione shrieked. "Explain what that means, Neville Longbottom! Right now!"

Neville mumbled something that sounded like 'mimblewimble'. Harry thought he'd better step in and save Neville before Hermione maimed him.

"Look, lets call a truce," Harry proposed. "I'm good at flying, Neville is good at plants, Hermione is the best at everything else. Together we cover all the bases, don't we?"

Hermione went to argue, but it got lost on the way up her throat. She closed her mouth with a little huff, and just stood there in a cross sort of mood, which Harry thought was at least an improvement on her berating poor Neville. In the silence, Harry took the opportunity to change the subject.

"What were you looking for me for, anyway?" Harry asked Neville. "You came hurtling out of the castle. I hoped it was at least to tell me that Snape had fallen down that hole on the Third Floor and broken a leg."

"Oh, right! And no, it wasn't that, worse luck," Neville began. "But it was this ... I thought you ought to see it."

"What is it?" Harry queried, taking the newspaper that Neville thrust at him.

"An article in that Potter Spotters column," Neville revealed. "I think you should take a look."

Harry scowled at Neville and jerked the paper back to him. "No thanks, I don't read that rubbish. They make half of it up, and if I have to see another picture of myself gorging on a biscuit, or reading in the library, or forgetting the password for the Fat Lady, I'm going to lose my mind. Who wants to see that sort of stuff?"

"You'd be surprised," Hermione sighed grimly.

Harry snapped his head to her angrily. "Go on then, surprise me."

"Well - and now don't bite my head off - but all the girls in my dorm flick straight to that page in the glossy magazine when it comes out," Hermione began. "And I've seen others do it, too. I even came across a couple of girls swapping pictures of you in one of the girl's loos. It seems there's an illicit trade in images of you going on around here. A roaring trade, I'd say."

"I hope you didn't buy any pictures, Hermione," Neville teased.

"Of course not," Hermione replied loftily. "Why would I need to? I see Harry every day. Though that has come with a unique offshoot, too."

"Which is?" Harry hissed. His mood wasn't improving.

"Well, obviously everyone knows that we are friends," Hermione went on. "They know I spend a lot of time with you. So ... they ask me questions about what you're like in private, ask me to take better pictures of you. Somebody even asked me to steal some of your clothes once."

"What!" Harry thundered. "You wouldn't!"

"Of course I wouldn't, Harry!" Hermione cried. "What kind of girl do you take me for?"

"So what did you tell these people?" Harry demanded. "And who are they?"

"I'm not telling you that," Hermione shot him down. "I'm a little bit concerned that you have a lengthy People To Kill list as it is. As for what I said, I told them to shut their mouths about you and to leave you alone, actually."

Harry went to argue, but a knot of guilt in his throat stymied his words. He turned his eyes down reticently, ashamed of his outburst.

"Oh, well ... thanks," Harry mumbled mutely. "And ... sorry."

"You're very welcome," Hermione replied brightly. "And I intend to keep on telling them when they ask again. Which, I'm afraid, they most definitely will."

Harry huffed, but knew there wasn't very much he could do about any of this. He was very pleased that he had Hermione to defend his honour and his modesty, but he was too worked up to truly appreciate that just now, or to tell her how grateful he was. So he focused on Neville instead.

"I suppose you'd better tell me what this article is saying about me this time, then," Harry grumbled.

"That's just the thing, Harry," Neville hushed. "It isn't about you ... it's about your parents."

Harry's mood congealed in an instant. Up to this point his parent's true status had been kept from the general public, as they hadn't been convinced that their return would be well received by all. They had moved to work for a clandestine area of the Ministry, but their anonymity would be preserved as a natural part of that work. But now ... if they'd somehow been exposed ...

"Give me that."

It was Hermione who snatched The Daily Prophet from Neville, as Harry seemed to have forgotten all of his motor skills. Hermione flicked to the page - and Harry's stunned state meant he missed that she knew exactly where to go - and began scanning the article.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LINKED TO POSSIBLE POTTER SURVIVAL?

EXCLUSIVE!!

The Daily Prophet has uncovered shocking new evidence in the mystery of the Gringotts break-in, which occurred last month. Whilst SpokesGoblins for the bank refuse to disclose any more details about the item which was targeted, our roving reporters have discovered a stunning new link to the case - and the possible survival of the long-thought dead couple, Lily and James Potter.

Unnamed sources from St Mungo's Centre for Magical Creature Wounds claim that a wizard matching the description of James Potter was admitted three nights ago, in the company of a witch said to be his wife, Lily. The injured wizard was said to be horrifically maimed and in need of urgent treatment.

But a medi-witch on the staff made a positive identification of the witch, Lily Potter. Our exclusive source was a former Hogwarts classmate of Mrs Potter and claims "she'd know those green eyes anywhere." The Potter's son, Harry - who famously survived an attack by the Dark Wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - recently started his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but his parent's survival must now throw doubt on his story, and further fuel the fears that Dark Wizards in service of You-Know-Who were behind the Gringotts attack.

More on this breaking story - with a full page interview with our source - coming tomorrow!

Hermione looked firmly at Harry. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she fixed him with a confused, almost accusatory look. From the way Harry had gone very pale and concerned, it was clear that there could be validity to the story, which Hermione didn't understand at all. Harry had been raised by Lyra's former lover from this world, and Professor McGonagall. His parents were dead ... or was there something he wasn't telling her?

Hermione was confident that Harry was starting to really trust her ... but this would be the first proper test.

So she took him firmly by the shoulders and quick-marched him down to the shores of the Lake, but not before throwing Neville a stern look that told him - quite bluntly - that this was a private discussion. Once there, she held open the offending newspaper article and pushed it under Harry's nose. Hermione knew full well she had no right to demand full openness from Harry, considering what she was keeping from him, but she was going to anyway.

"This ..." she began briskly. "Can it be true? I thought your parents had been killed?"

Harry blinked up at her, apologies crossing his eyes like clouds. It was clear he wanted to tell her something, but wasn't sure if he should. So Hermione took a step closer to him, wrapped a small hand around his forearm, and said in a soft voice, "It's okay ... just me here, no-one else. You're safe ... you can tell me the truth, whatever it is. I promise I will keep your secrets."

Harry looked around for a final check, then stared at Hermione, daring to trust her so explicitly. He'd been dying to take her into his confidence. He'd even let slip that his Mum had told him about Neville, hoping she'd try and wheedle the confession out of him, knowing he'd be pretty much powerless to resist her overtures. But she didn't seem to have spotted that. But this ... well, it was too blatant to ignore.

Harry took a steadying breath. "Okay ... yes, My parents are alive. But you really mustn't tell anyone. If this leads to the truth coming out," he fluttered the article at her, " ... well, then I'll have to deal with it, wont I? But please don't say anything before then."

"You know I wont," Hermione cooed gently. "And I'll be right here if the real story comes out. I wont run away if reporters some sniffing around, or anything. But will you please tell me the real story first?"

"I will ... and maybe you can help me find it all out for myself," Harry suggested nervously. "Because I don't know everything about it."

"I'm not sure I understand," Hermione replied, perplexed.

"Well, until a year ago, I had no idea about magic or Hogwarts or any of it," Harry confessed. "I lived underground, but I wasn't hiding with Sirius, like we told the world. I was with my parents. They raised me in a subterranean city of Muggles, they helped them study and harness magic. Some of the things my Mum and Dad did could have landed them in serious trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

"But then, the Muggles started to be interested in me. They'd never had someone develop magic among them before, where they could do tests on them. That's what they wanted to do with me! Cut me up, assess me, clone me ... who knows."

Hermione threw her hands to her mouth to catch her gasp of shock. "They didn't?! That's barbaric!"

"My parents thought so too, so they smuggled me out," Harry explained. "And I went to live with my Godfather and Professor McGonagall. But Sirius came out into the open a few months ago, so we had to clear his name, because everyone thought he'd murdered my parents. Then we invented a cover story, because my parents work as sort of Secret Agents for the Ministry now, spying on the Muggles. It's all very complicated.

"And I'm really, really sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to, but I just couldn't. If ... if you don't want to be friends with me anymore, I ... I'll understand."

Harry wrung his hands together anxiously and kicked his shoes against the dirt. He was looking down at his toes, biting his lip in his worry. He'd never felt so afraid of anything before, but the idea that Hermione would probably turn on her heel and walk away from him now was powerful enough to well tears in his eyes. But then, he lifted his head in hope, as Hermione simply scoffed incredulously next to him.

"Harry Potter, you are the friendliest, kindest and funniest person I've ever met," Hermione began chirpily. "Now you've just become the most interesting, too! Not want to be friends! Ha! Don't be silly. You don't get rid of me that easily!"

"Y-you're not mad at me?" Harry asked, stunned, a bubble of hope rising in his chest. "This is such a big secret for me to have kept from you."

"I have secrets of my own, and they are just as big," Hermione announced. "I cant tell you them yet, because I'm not sure I'm allowed. But I will, I promise. And I wont be mad at you now, if you forgive me then ... because you'll have more than enough reason to not want to be friends with me, when you know my secrets."

"That will never happen," Harry rebuffed confidently. "Whatever they are. You could tell me you come from the Moon and I wouldn't care. You're my friend, my ... my best friend, if you don't mind being it, obviously."

"Well you are already mine, so I suppose I cant refuse, can I?" Hermione teased.

Harry just beamed at her. Then he waved the newspaper at her. "I don't know if any of this is true, but will you come with me to find out? I have to contact my Godfather."

"Of course," Hermione agreed stoically. "I just hope Hedwig is feeling fast today."

"No, that's not quick enough," Harry told her. "We need to use something else. We can talk through fire, did you know that?"

"I knew you could travel through it but, no, I didn't know about the other bit," Hermione replied. "I'm learning a lot of new things today. This is a good day!"

Harry chuckled at her as she skipped alongside him. She was a funny sort of girl, was Hermione Granger. Such a conundrum, never what Harry expected. That was one of his favourite things about his best friend. That thought made him happy, too. It kept a wonky grin on his face all the way up to Professor McGonagall's office, where it was transformed into a full-face gurn.

"Sirius!"

"Ah, there he is, my errant Godson!" Sirius barked, wrapping his arms around Harry as he clobbered him with a vice-like hug. "Where in the name of Morgana have you been? I have a search party of Elves out looking for you!"

"Quidditch trials," Harry explained. He still had his broom in hand as evidence.

Sirius turned and frowned at Minerva, who was sat at her desk. "You made him try-out?"

Sirius was so affronted by the notion that Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"I couldn't be seen to show favouritism," Minerva quirked. "Though I did suggest to Oliver Wood that if he didn't select Harry as Seeker he would be on duty to milk the Thestrals until Christmas. The male Thestrals, you know."

"To use in an Concealment Potion?" Hermione suggested meekly. "Or an anti-Concealment one, maybe?"

Minerva actually beamed at Hermione, something Harry had