In a German legend, God named all the plants when a tiny unnamed one cried out, "Forget-me-not, O Lord!" God replied, "That shall be your name."

—CHAPTER 1—

"Um, excuse me?"

Harry'd been standing outside the library for almost an hour before he had managed to convince himself to even go inside. He wasn't even going to think about how long it had taken him to convince himself he needed to this in the first place.

Because then he had to think about Sirius. And thinking about Sirius hurt too much.

The reason he'd ended up choosing a library was mainly because he'd heard from Hermione how you could find out almost anything from them, and, well. What he needed right now, almost desperately, was someone to talk to. Someone who didn't know him, who couldn't judge him, and would care a bleeding bit that he was Harry sodding Potter.

So it was with care he'd chosen the librarian who looked the least possible to be disgusted by him. Well, not him per se, but more the help he'd decided he needed. So it was thanks to that he'd approached a slightly plump woman who reminded him a lot of Mrs Weasley.

The woman looked up from the computer screen and gave Harry a smile. "What can I help you with, dear?"

Harry frowned, bit his lip, and then ploughed on. He'd made it this far, after all. He might as well go all the way. "I… I wanted to know where I could go if I needed someone to talk to. I'm not really from round here or familiar with London at all and the ones working at my old library were always great—"

"—at finding out exactly where you might find the kind of information you need?" She smiled again. Harry smiled back, relieved. "What kind do you need, then?"

For a short moment, Harry wasn't sure what to say.

"My brother's gay," he heard himself say after a moment or two. The woman nodded and Harry continued, "I don't want to upset him, not really, but I need someone to talk to, because, well. Because I do."

"Of course, dear," she replied almost at once. Harry couldn't tell if she was disgusted with him or not. It only took a moment or two before she had found something that suited his need. "Here, I'll just write down the address and the phone number."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Was there anything else?"

Harry carefully pocketed the note. "No, thanks. Goodbye."

"Have a nice day!"

It wasn't until Harry was outside again, sitting on the same bench under the same tree that he had been sitting on before he went in that he pulled out the note to see what it said.

DOCTOR DEREK HAYES the name read, along with the number and an address. If Harry wasn't totally off the mark, it was within walking distance from Grimmauld Place. The phone number beckoned him. For a short moment he thought of going back inside to ask if he could borrow the phone.

"If you don't do this now, you never will, Potter," Harry told himself.

It still took him a good while longer before he found himself standing inside a phone box.

—x—

"Where are you going, Harry?"

Harry barely paused as he slipped on his shoes, but he did glance at Ginny. He slid a comfy cardy over his T-shirt. It was far too warm for much more than that.

"Out," he said shortly, and then disappeared before Ginny could react. He closed the door behind him. Harry quickly became indistinguishable from the busy crowd milling about outside. It wasn't that he didn't feel like explaining himself to her, it was more that he was afraid he'd start finding excuses – more than he already had – not to go. He'd almost called Dr Hayes' assistant twice already to tell them he couldn't make it.

Almost.

His hands had been trembling since he woke up that morning, and he'd almost not been able to fall asleep the night before. It wasn't that he was nervous, per se, it was just… Harry hated talking about himself. He hated people looking at him as if he were some kind of freak. Most of all, he was scared that there was something wrong with him. Really wrong. Also…

…he didn't really need help, did he?

—x—

The assistant had been young and pretty. She had smiled at him, checked his name off in a book she had on the desk and told him to wait. Harry realised around then that maybe she wasn't an assistant, this Mss Winter, but rather a secretary. Miss Winter had sounded very nice on the phone, too, when she'd booked Harry's appointment in.

Having managed to be fifteen minutes early, instead of fifteen minutes late as he'd half expected to be, Harry had spent the time skimming through a gardening magazine.

"Mr Evans?" Miss Winters called.

Harry lurched up on his feet. "Yes?"

She smiled at him. "It's your turn."

"Oh." Harry flushed, fumbling as he put the magazine down. "Thanks."

"The door's open," Miss Winter told him. "You can just go in. Dr Hayes is expecting you."

Nodding, Harry bit his lip. For some reason, his stomach was more upset now about this than he normally was over a Quidditch match. Stepping inside, Harry closed the door softly behind him. For the longest moment, Harry stood just inside the comfy looking office and wrung his hands.

"Hi," he said, feeling very awkward and shy.

Dr Hayes smiled. "Hello, Mr Evans. Please, sit down."

Harry glanced at the sofa, then walked over and sat down. The sofa was a nice brown colour, and just soft enough that Harry didn't feel threatened to be swallowed by it. "Could you call me Harry?" Harry requested. Going to a psychologist was hard enough without being called by a name that wasn't really his. It'd been his Mum's, yeah, but never his.

"Of course, Harry. Will you call me Derek, then?"

"All right." Harry paused slightly. He could do that. "Derek." Yes, he could definitely do that. For some reason, it helped him feeling less exposed.

"Wonderful! Harry, when you made the appointment with my secretary, you told her that it was your brother with whom 'the problem', as it were, lay." Derek elegantly crossed his legs and slipped his glasses off in one motion. He fastened Harry with warm blue eyes for several long minutes without saying anything.

Harry shifted and fidgeted with the hem of his worn T-shirt. Harry could feel his cheeks burning, and suddenly he couldn't stand to look Derek in the eyes. He finally pulled off his own glasses, having convinced himself the lenses needed to be polished. He'd almost forgotten he'd used that excuse with Miss Winters, too. 'Cause it wasn't like he'd actually made up a story about it, was it? He didn't have a brother, and it was Harry who thought he was gay, and, well. Harry looked up when he heard Derek suddenly sigh. So Harry stopped fiddling with his glasses and put them back on.

Derek was still looking at him, but now he was smiling again. "That is not the case, is it, Harry?"

"Um. No." Harry squirmed and muttered, "What am I? A bloody window, or what?"

"Oh, no." Derek waved him off. "Just another, ordinary teenager. If it would make you feel any better I could, for instance, let you know that you are the second one this week."

"Yeah?" His heart was pounding like mad again, but it wasn't as bad today as it had been a month ago or so. These days, he was almost feeling normal again. But when it'd first hit him that, yeah, maybe he was gay, out of the blue one day, he'd been terrified. Terrified more, still, when that one idea wouldn't go away and instead had infested itself like a leech in his mind. And it was still there, whispering to him, but now he was almost used to it and didn't mind it as much. No, instead, he'd started feeling free.

"Yes." Derek nodded and slipped his glasses back on. "So tell me, Harry, why do you think you might be gay?"

"I don't know…I just…I just needed someone to talk to, at first. Because I couldn't get the thought that maybe I was, um, like that, out of my head. Or, well, that's what I thought, but I didn't really know why I'd want to talk to someone, or with who, but then… This one day, I just thought to myself: 'what if you're queer, Harry?' and I then I couldn't get the thought out of my head. I was going mad there, for a bit, I think. And then…then one day, I got up a bit earlier — I live at a boarding school — and this upper level student…I'd never really noticed him before, but I did then," he was rambling and not making any sense, he knew that, but he couldn't get himself to stop. Harry swallowed, half expecting the man to interrupt and say something, but when he didn't, Harry shakily continued, "He was naked. In the shower and I just…I just…" He blushed, horribly, and by Derek's somewhat amused, knowing smile, he gathered that Derek understood just fine without Harry spelling it out for him. "It's not like I hadn't seen naked blokes before, you know? But right then…" Harry shook his head and trailed off. He defensively crossed his arms over his chest.

"And so you decided that perhaps there was more to your offhand thought than you had previously thought?"

"Yeah." He bit his lip and mumbled, "And then…after that, I really started to…notice, you know, stuff."

"Stuff, yes." Derek smiled. "'Stuff' you had previously paid no heed?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I realised that I'd never actually liked a girl. I thought I did, once, you know? But then I started thinking about it, and… She was Asian, this girl, and, I mean, some of them are…rather…boyish, you know? Slim and slender, small breasts, darker voices…"

Derek appeared to consider that. "You might be right about that. But, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Now that you have started to accept this new part of yourself, have you always known, do you think?"

"That I'm, you know, um."

"Gay, Harry." Derek smiled. "The word is gay. Try it."

Harry stalled. Then he shook his head. "I think I've always been?" he ventured instead. "I know, when I was little, that I didn't like holding hands with other boys 'cause I'd get tingles down my spine, and I think I knew that I wasn't supposed to, that it was bad, so I avoided doing things like that. And now, looking back, I guess I see that I always looked at blokes a bit differently than my friends do."

Because he had, hadn't he? He'd always noticed which blokes looked good and who didn't. He'd noticed that Fred and George had these really large, warm hands. He'd noticed that Cedric was really handsome, that Oliver's eyes were intent and focused just at you in a way that made him a right deal fitter than he probably was. And he'd had all those muscles, too. Bill was bloody hot, too, and— Harry noticed that Derek was looking at him.

"I was just thinking."

"Tell me." It wasn't an order or a command, or an attempt to force Harry. Just honest curiosity and a will to help.

"Thinking back, I think the first time I had a crush on someone, I was seven. I think his name was Teddy. We were in the same class, and he was the only one who was kind to me. I remember that he had very pretty eyes, and that he liked drawing a lot. I'd pretend I did, too, because then I could sit with him instead of with the other boys who didn't like me."

Harry spent the rest of his hour talking about his childhood. He skirted around the topic of his relatives, not even mentioning them once. Instead, Derek helped him look back and unlock knots of emotions and tangled feelings he had mostly ignored.

Because it had always been easier to push them away.

Because they had always made him uncomfortable.

"Have I scared you off, or will you come back?" Derek's tone was teasing.

Harry smiled. "You think I should?"

"I think there are many subjects you need to talk about, yes."

Harry started. "How…"

"I'm a psychologist, Harry," Derek chided. "I notice when there are topics you shy away from. I believe it would make you feel better if you were to talk about it. How do you feel right now?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about how he felt, to be honest, but… "Yeah," he admitted, "I guess I feel a bit relived that you don't think I'm a freak or something. I was really nervous about coming here, you know. I almost didn't."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me, too." Harry gave Derek a shy smile.

"Come back in a week, Harry," Derek told him just before he left.

"Okay. I will."

And he did, and continued to do so, once a week, for the rest of the holiday.

—x—

"G'morning, Charlie," Harry mumbled round a yawn. Harry stood in the doorway of the sitting room, rubbing his neck.

"Oh, hi, Harry." Charlie gave him a short nod, munching on a sandwich as he lay comfortably stretched out on a sofa.

Charlie's shirt was rumpled and had slid partway up his stomach. It wasn't even properly buttoned. Harry couldn't help but notice the firm muscles, the trail of red hair leading down his stomach, disappearing down his trousers, the tantalising trail of freckles everywhere, and yes, Charlie actually had freckles even down there. Hmmm, Harry mused, cocking his head to the side. He absentmindedly wondered how far down the freckles really went. Of all the Weasleys, Charlie really was the one who had the most freckles, wasn't he? It was kinda hot.

"Harry?"

Harry started. He blinked, then yawned again. "What?"

"Did I spill something on m'trousers?"

Frowning, Harry looked at Charlie's trousers, then met Charlie's gaze. Charlie's eyes were twinkling, as if he were very amused by something. Green eyes widened and Harry whirled round, cheeks red.

Oh bloody hell, no!

"Um, no, Charlie. Sorry," he choked out. He hurried out of the room.

Juice, he decided, he needed some good orange juice.

—x—

"My best friend's second oldest brother's bloody fit," he confided to his psychologist at their next session.

Derek gave him a sly smile. "Congratulations, Harry. Enjoy the rush of emotions."

Harry just shook his head, forehead furrowed. "No, Derek, you don't understand! Their mother practically considers me to be her eighth kid!"

Derek blinked. "Oh my. She must be a…formidable woman."

"She is." Harry smiled. "She's wonderful."

"But?"

Harry shrugged. "I…I don't know. I mean, Charlie's… He's…"

"Yes?"

"He's really fit. And nice. He jokes a lot, and he's got this laugh that's irresistible. And his hands are, I dunno. I guess I just like his hands. But Mrs W, she's… I think she wants me to be with her daughter, if I end up with any of her kids, I mean. I don't think she'd mind per se that I…that I'd choose a bloke over Ginny, but I'm not sure if she'd really welcome it? If you know what I mean?"

"A woman with that many children has probably experienced everything a mother could possibly experience, Harry. And she would also know by now what to expect from them, am I right?"

"She's always pestering the twins about settling down and finding girlfriends. She was always on Bill about cutting his hair, but since he started dating Fleur she's stopped nagging him about it. I dunno if she's ever on Charlie about that, I've never heard anything, so I don't really know.

"And I really like Mrs W. She's got the nicest hugs. She always knits jumpers for her kids at Christmas. They all think it's the worst thing ever, but… I think those jumpers are probably the best present I ever get, every year. She's a real, proper mum, I always thought. If… I wish my mum would've been like that."

"What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Mum and Dad died when I was a baby. I… My relatives took me in, but they always resented me for it."

Derek frowned. "So much so that you noticed?"

"I can't remember not being told how much they hated that I'd been forced on them, Derek. Aunt Petunia fell out with Mum when they were young, I think, and she's just projected it all over on me."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry bit his lip. Did he want to talk about it? He probably needed to; he'd never really told anyone about the Dursleys, but… Heart hammering, he shook his head. "Not now. I… I need to prepare myself, I…"

"That's fine, Harry." Derek's voice had an instantaneous calming effect on Harry. "Tell me more about Mrs W."

Harry grinned. "Okay. I've got lots to tell about her."

—x—

It was like the whole 'what if you're queer, Harry?' thing all over again. Whenever Harry turned round, Charlie'd be there. Fit, gorgeous and set Harry's nerves, and hormones, on edge. If his palms were sweaty now and his hands trembling, it wasn't because he thought he might be gay, oh no. It was because of Charlie.

And Derek had been right, because Harry's emotions were all over the place. His heart'd be racing one instant, the next he'd feel down because he hadn't seen Charlie for a week or two. And so it went, over and over, the entire fucking summer.

That wasn't even taking into account all the times Harry actually talked to Charlie, or took a walk with him, or cooked with him. No, those times, Harry was so deliriously happy that he felt like he didn't even need to see Derek any more. He felt like his old self again. Those times, Harry even managed to forget that Sirius was dead.

It was late at night. Almost too late, really, but Harry wasn't caring at the moment. He'd just had another session with Derek earlier that day, and while it did give him a sense of peace, it also brought along a steady rush of confusion and strange emotions. Most of the time, he'd dealt with them by the time he made it back to the house. Not this time, though. No, because Charlie was really hot, and Harry wasn't really sure what to make of it. On the one hand, he was still awfully awkward about being gay, but on the other hand he was (almost) sixteen and randy. Yeah, he was working on putting the two together.

But Charlie. Harry smiled to himself. Charlie was just bloody hot.

Everyone had already eaten by the time Harry slipped into the kitchen and efficiently made himself a sandwich before sneaking upstairs, unnoticed. He briefly wondered what Ron and Hermione would make of all his secrecy, before pushing that thought out of his mind. They were busy, not round much and Harry felt relieved for it — less explaining to do on his part. He could just imagine Hermione's reaction. While probably the complete opposite of Ron's reaction, he didn't think he'd enjoy it all that much better.

There was a knock on his door, then Charlie stuck his head inside. "Fancy a game of cards, mate?"

Harry grinned. Just like that, his worries were gone. "Didn't know you were back." Harry pulled off his cardy, tossed it onto his bed and walked over to Charlie.

Charlie smiled at him, showing off his dimples. Harry's heart pounded. "Well, here I am. I even brought a little something back for you."

"You did?"

"How could I resist?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wanker. Well, what is it?"

"You'll see. But how about a game of cards? Or…"

"Or what?"

Charlie's grin turned impish. "I've always wondered what the 'Cin-ehma' was."

Harry burst out laughing. "Don't listen to Mr Weasley, Charlie!" Harry chided him playfully. "It's cinema, and it's real fun. D'you know what a film is?"

"Yes." Charlie nodded. "Lena back in Romania has a tellvision—"

"No, no. Television. Telly."

"Right, telly! That's neat. She's got a telly, and she let all of us watch a film on it, once."

"At the cinema, they show the films on really large tellies, basically."

Charlie nodded. He seemed to like the idea. "Let's do that, then."

"You want to go to the cinema?"

"Yeah. It sounds like it's fun."

Harry was grinning so hard he thought his face was going to split in half. Charlie was just so gorgeous when he was happy about something, or enthralled. His dimples came out, his eyes sparkled and he was gesticulating with his hands. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Harry went back inside his room for the cardy he'd discarded earlier, and for his wallet. He had Muggle money in it these days, since he spent so much time with Derek. He had his ID in there, with another name on it, and a credit card he'd managed to set up with a Muggle bank. He'd deposited a couple hundred pounds into it, just so that he'd always have cash in the Muggle world if he needed it. Sitting down on his bed, he tied his shoes a bit more securely. Last thing he wanted was for the ties to come undone. He'd better things to do than tie his shoelaces when he was with Charlie.

He was going to the cinema with Charlie. Harry smiled to himself.

"Harry. Catch!"

Harry looked up just in time to see a square shaped packet sail through the air. He caught it by reflex.

"Neat."

"Thanks. What is it?"

"Someone said your birthday's coming up."

"A present, for me?" Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Well, open it!" Charlie came over and sat down next to him. "It's non-refundable, just so you know."

"Twat," Harry muttered. He was almost certain he was blushing, again – fucking hormones, he berated himself – so he focused on the square shaped gift covered in blue wrapping paper. The string was an ordinary brown one, the sort you always had laying around. Still, it was no match for Harry, and he'd torn it open in no time.

"Neat!" he exclaimed, once he saw what was inside. It was dragon themed – go figure – but it still was really neat. "Thank you!"

"Yeah, so it's got dragons on them, and, yeah, you're not strictly speaking of age yet, but I figured you'd have some use for them, some day."

"I'm gonna drink orange juice in them," Harry decided. Technically, they were tumblers meant for whiskey. There were four of them, each with its own special etching of a dragon. Unlike Muggle etchings, these ones were coloured exactly like the dragons they represented, and they moved.

Charlie chuckled. "There's a whole set of them. Sort of collector's item, I suppose. There's one for each species of dragon."

"So there's eight more, then?"

Charlie's smile was delightfully surprised. "Yeah, exactly."

"I know my dragons," Harry boasted, feeling immensely proud of himself for having managed to impress Charlie. "Well, that there are twelve sorts, anyway. But really, Charlie. Thank you."

Charlie's ears were suddenly bright red – Weasley red. "You're welcome, Harry. It was nothing, really—"

"It wasn't nothing." Harry nudged Charlie with his shoulder. "I really like them. They're great. I'll have to buy the other eight, now, too."

"I'll see if you can find them in Diagon Alley, otherwise just let me now and I'll smuggle them in for you." Charlie winked. Harry smiled.

"The cinema, was it?" Charlie prompted him.

Harry glanced at the time – around ten, not terribly late technically speaking. "Let's see if we can find a place with midnight shows."

The latest habit Harry'd picked up was reading the Metro, the free paper, while he waited for his turn with Dr Derek. He got a decent enough grasp of the latest Muggle news, and it was ten times more interesting than the gossip mags that Miss Winter supplied the office with. The Metro lay folded on his desk, along with several other older copies he hadn't tossed yet. After opening it, he started paging through it backwards. If he remembered correctly, they put the opening hours and what films the cinemas had pretty far back.

It was while reading through the lists of films that Charlie came up to stand next to him.

"Anything good?"

Harry shrugged. "There's the Mummy," he answered.

"The Mummy?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it's either that or the Spy Who Shagged Me. Personally, I reckon the Mummy's a whole lot better. Muggle take on it, and all. And I'm not talking about mums, now."

"Could be interesting," Charlie agreed. He placed the gift Harry'd just opened on the desk. "So you don't sit on them by accident."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I'm just that type of bloke, Harry." Charlie squeezed Harry's shoulder.

—x—

They found the cinema with plenty of time to spare – not that it bothered either of them overly much that they had to wait for half an hour until the film started – and bought their tickets. There were plenty of benches to sit on, and the cinema had magazines about the films they were showing. Which was rather good, Harry reckoned, because neither him nor Charlie had much of an idea what the Mummy was really about.

"So we're going to look at this for the next two hours?" Charlie held up the magazine, looking at the picture. "Had a boyfriend who looked a lot like this bloke, once," he told Harry, still studying the picture. He tapped the man in question with a freckled finger.

Harry went beet red. "O-oh." He felt elated. Absolutely ecstatic. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling. He was hard-pressed to contain his smile, because otherwise he'd be grinning like a loon. Charlie was gay!

"You're not gonna be all weird about it, are you?" Charlie gave Harry a frank look.

"Um. No. I… Why?"

"Blokes your age normally are." Charlie paused. "Well, wizards all ages normally are," he amended.

"Oh," Harry said again, feeling a bit stupid. "I don't mind," Harry said. It would've been the perfect time to tell Charlie that he was gay, too, but… The words stuck on his tongue, and suddenly he couldn't say anything at all. Harry looked at the big clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes left.

"Um. D'you want some sweets or popcorn maybe?"

"Not really."

"Oh." Harry wet his lips. "Well, I do."

He was not running away, Harry told himself firmly. He was just walking a bit faster than normally because he wanted to buy some popcorn. Right, you plank, he scolded himself, you're gay yourself, Charlie's just gay, not some new species you've never heard of before. He bought himself a tub of popcorn, medium sized in case Charlie wanted some, too, and a large bottle of pop. He could share that with Charlie, too.

Harry gave Charlie a small, shy smile as he sat back down next to him on the bench.

"Look, I didn't mean to—"

"Popcorn?"

"Harry—"

Harry shoved some popcorn in Charlie's open mouth.

"It's fine, really. I, um. Don't really care. I mean, there are worse things out there, you know? Than being, um. You know."

"Gay," Charlie drawled, "I'm gay, Harry."

"Shut up," Harry muttered. "Here I bought a drink." He shoved it into Charlie's hand. "You hold it."

"Aw, Harry, how sweet." Charlie batted his eyelashes. "I had no idea you wanted to share a drink with me."

"Shut up, you twat!" Harry snapped, but he was grinning. He sort of liked it when Charlie teased him.

"They call it indirect kissing, you know," Charlie whispered in his ear. Harry shivered. "The exchange of saliva, placing your lips where mine has just been—"

"You're such an utter plank!" Harry hissed, trying not to laugh. Fuck, his prick was so hard. Sometimes, he hated being a teenager. It was just, Charlie's lips had almost been touching his ear, and Charlie's warm, humid breath had made his spine tingle, and his insides feel real heavy. "What are we, six?"

"Ten, I'd say," Charlie corrected, easy grin spread across his face. "D'you want me to hold your hand when the mummy comes, in case you get scared?"

By now, the place was full of people, with only five minutes to go until the film started.

"Twat."

"You've got such a wicked tongue, Potter."

Harry's face flamed. He was saved by someone calling out that their auditoriumwas open and that they could go inside and find their seats.

"Come on," he muttered. Harry held the tickets in one hand, and the popcorn in the other, with Charlie walking behind him. Harry could just tell he was being grinned at.

After showing their tickets to the cinema guard, Charlie pushed past him, nicked the tickets, and led the way. They'd got seats fairly close to the back, but still somewhat in the centre. Seeing the size of the cinema, Harry just hoped they wouldn't be sitting too far in the back. Sometimes, he really hated that he was short-sighted.

"Look, Harry," Charlie told him, patting the armrest between their seats, "We can place our drink here." Indeed, there was a holder for it. Charlie took great delight in putting the bottle there.

"I knew I should've taken two straws."

Charlie laughed. "That's no fun."

Silently, Harry agreed.

The lights dimmed and the projector was started. Harry realised he couldn't remember ever actually being in a cinema before. It was hardly something the Dursleys would've taken him too, after all. It started with trailers for other films, and a bunch of commercials. Harry found himself explaining what that was to Charlie, who hadn't encountered that when he'd watched that film at his Romanian friend's place.

It also wasn't long until he found that Charlie's leg was pressed up against his leg, or that he had unconsciously turned his body towards Charlie's, just so that their bodies would touch more than strictly necessary. As the film progressed, Harry noticed that Charlie wasn't exactly complaining about it, and Harry wondered how long, exactly, they'd been sharing the armrest and that Charlie'd been tickling the back of Harry's hand with his fingers.

It made him feel warm inside, that heavy feeling from before back again. His heart was pounding, but Harry was sure he'd never felt better in his life.