Perhaps the fact that Harry had not connected the dots as to Tonks' thinking was proof of his social obliviousness, or maybe it was a simple slip of logic.

Her desire to be an auror, the death of her boyfriend to a serial werewolf, her mental state, her winning a potion which would on paper increase her chances of survival, or victory, if she were to be attacked herself and her learning of spells and tactics that would be useful against a magically resistant foe.

These things might not have said too much about the upcoming issues on their own, but anyone with access to all their information would have been able to predict the girl's next actions. Or at least, suspect them enough to warn the girl against attempting revenge.

However, no one but Harry knew. Everyone knew that she wanted to be an auror, that she had won the Felix Felicis from Slughorn, and that she had been dating Charlie at the time of his death. He was the only one he knew that she'd been working on anti-werewolf magic, that she was more broken inside than anybody suspected.

It was really unfortunate for Tonks that the only person who had all the prerequisite knowledge was an idiot.

Because while she was honing her spell-work with a clear-minded focus and determination only found in the manically depressed, or angry, Harry was making potions with Penny.

"Penny, what would you do if I told you it was possible to get Felix Felicis from Slughorn," he'd told her seriously at their next session together.

The blonde in question tilted her head and tapped her chin. "Probably ask you how I could do that. Why?"

"Because there is a way to get Felixis Felicis from Slughorn," Harry explained, leaning on the table they generally used for brewing. It was currently lying empty as they'd recently focused on improving Penny's other grades. To make her class advancement more likely. They'd sped up her transfigurations, worked on her history, and taught her some more advanced charms.

"Wow, that's cool," Penny breathed with wide eyes. "How do I get it?" she asked.

Harry started walking up and down the room, looking a bit like a general planning a siege. If the general was twelve years old. "I found out that Slughorn likes to reward a small vial of liquid luck to whoever brews the best version of the drought of the living death in their sixth year. If you start working on it now, you could definitely be that person. If I start working on it now, I could as well."

"We could get it twice if I manage to advance a grade."

The boy paused. "I like your way of thinking. There's only one issue."

"And what's that?" Penny asked with crossed arms.

"Well, the drought of the living dead is something you could show the committee as proof that you deserve to advance. However, if you show that you already know it, Slughorn would probably discontinue offering the reward for this specific potion in particular, since the winner would already be decided," he explained.

"Oh," Penny muttered and uncrossed her arms. "That's true. Although, why do I have to start working on it now? The sixth year is in four years, maybe three."

"I need to start working on it now if I want to win," Harry said with a sigh, but there was a fire of passion in his gaze. He liked potions, they were useful. Language tonics, healing potions, wit-sharpening potions, ageing potions.

But liquid luck was something that trumped all of that. Would it be strong enough to win the lottery? Convince a group of 10 female supermodels to have an orgy with him as the only guy? Beat Flitwick in a duel?

Harry did not know the answer to a single one of these questions. But he wanted to find out. So badly. So, so badly.

"Well," Penny said hesitantly. "I kind of don't," she enunciated. "Need to start working on it now," she added.

"That's probably true," Harry mused. He inwardly laughed at how Penny had desperately tried to avoid sounding arrogant. "Maybe I got too excited. If you work on it now, but don't show it off at the advancement exam, then you lower your chances of passing. Rather we could say that you start working on it when you've advanced, and maybe I will start working on it now."

"I'm not sure we have all the ingredients. We don't get that much stuff from Slughorn, only the things that are about to expire. The biggest load is supposed to come at the end of the year."

"Well, we can't determine if we have or not have the ingredients unless we read the recipe," Harry said decisively. "Where's the scribbled versions of advanced potions?" he asked.

Penny went over to her bag and rummaged through it, pulling out book after book on potions. The girl really was going slightly insane. Harry hesitated, before posing a potentially important question.

"Do you," he paused. "Do you maybe think that you work on potions too much?" he asked, getting a dumb-founded look from the blonde girl.

"You're asking me that?" she asked in a tone that made it very clear that some things did not compute in her mind.

"Weeeeeelllllllll," Harry muttered. He was an adult who couldn't really interact with his peers. He had healthy obsessions he knew how to manage. Penny, on the other hand, was an actual child. Even if she was shooting up and sideways recently, in certain places. "You are basically in this room making potions, what, four hours a day?" he asked. "The only time you're not is when we focus on other subjects together."

"Harry," Penny started with a roll of her eyes. "You're my best friend. I love you more than anyone else in this school, even if we spend the least time together. But for the love of Merlin. Please don't throw stones. You are not in a glass house. You are the glass house. And you are in a rock. You are a glass house throwing yourself at a rock, a big one."

"I don't think you quite grasped that metaphor," the boy muttered as he tried to untangle what had just been said to him.

Penny triumphantly pulled the book he'd asked for from her bag and turned to face him completely, one hand on her hip. She idly contorted her lips and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "You know what, I spend maybe two hours on average working on potions during the week, more during the weekend. I also practise and work on other subjects. I hang out with friends and I take time off to play Quidditch with Cedric. Since you keep blowing him off, he keeps coming to me. I've literally gotten over my fear of heights. I do all of this and I still have free time. You do none of it, almost, meaning you basically just work on magic all the time. All the time!"

Harry was confused about where this was going. His friend sounded like she was accusing him of something, but he didn't quite know what yet. Was he a glass house throwing himself at a rock and that was bad?

"You've shown me that we're free to follow our passions," Penny said more gently. "That there isn't any minimum amount of time we need to spend with our friends and still be friends. There isn't any maximum amount of time we're not allowed to spend more than when it comes to things that excite us. Potions are my passion, I thought you of all people would understand," she said and turned away so that she was looking away from him.

From the vast amount of experience that Harry had accumulated in his last life, he knew that she was crying. "Hey," he said softly and stepped up to the girl, taking the book out of her hands and gently putting it on the table. He took her hand in his and brought up the other one to cup her face and to turn her head. Her eyes were puffy and some tears were running down her face.

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I wasn't mad at you, angry, suspicious. Any of the feelings. Maybe I was a bit worried and maybe that worry was presumptuous, and I'm sorry if it was. I just wanted to check up on you, to ask if you were doing alright. That Potions was still your passion and that all this work was what you wanted to do," he said and pulled his friend close into a hug. Taking one step back so that they could lean against the windowsill.

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"I'm sorry," Penny muttered into his ear, their accumulative hair muffling the words. "I just felt like it's you of all people who would understand. Some of the girls in the dorm don't. They're mad that I'm not hanging out with them as much anymore, and that I always bring the smell of potions into the room, even when we don't have the class that day."

"I understand completely. It's just that I'm wary of people following in my footsteps. It only works if you really love what you do, not if the reason you're doing it is something else."

Penny froze in his hug, and Harry pulled himself away to look at her eyes, but she lowered them.

"Well, I have been trying to do more because of the advanced exam," she admitted with a small voice. "Because you managed to do it, I didn't want to be left behind."

Harry cursed in his mind, at the fact that his unfair advantage against other children was pushing them to misunderstand the normal level of achievement at their age. "You know, there's no rush in advancing a class. The student you respect so much, the half-blood prince. He was in all the normal years and then he just took his NEWT one year early," he said, not bothering to mention that Snape had taken ALL of his NEWTs early, which was quite crazy really.

"You know who the half-blood prince is?" Penny asked, suddenly curious. Harry realised that he'd never told her. It wasn't like it mattered.

"Severus Snape, he was in the same year as my mother," he explained.

"No one special, just a random half-blood. Like you, me, Dumbledore." Voldemort, he added silently.

"Oh," Penny said sadly. "Sorry for bringing it up," she said and cuddled back into his chest.

"It's alright. My point is, that just doing as much Potions as you like will mean that you'll advance anyway. Maybe it will be a year later, but what's wrong with that, really?" he wondered aloud. "It might even make the transition easier if you practised for two years, instead of one. You're also forgetting that potions are harder to practise than Charms, or Arithmancy. You're reliant on ingredients, tools and rest periods. There is a reason that potion masters are rare."

"Thanks, Harry, I'm sorry for being weird," Penny said. "You're a good friend."

"I think you're a better friend than me," the boy said humorlessly. It was undoubtedly true as well.

"Maybe we can just agree that we're both pretty good friends. Which makes us best friends, I guess," Penny muttered as she separated herself from him. She was the same height, so they ended up looking each other in the eyes in a very direct manner.

"The best of friends," he agreed and found himself stunned by the beauty of her gaze, her eyes were such a stunning blue. Like all the colours of the sea, in two pupils. She was looking at him transfixed as well, and he got the feeling that the appreciation was mutual. The surroundings blurred around her face, distorting the shape and he unconsciously found himself leaning forward, towards her, as she did the same. When her hot breath gently tickled his face from her parted lips and he somehow found that his own had opened slightly as well, he realised what was about to happen. He violently snapped his head away, feeling like he'd just done the ice-bucket challenge and pushed Penny off him from when she'd suddenly gotten so so close. He stumbled back into the wall and caught himself.

Penny blinked at him, confusedly, tilting her head. If any fully grown adult had gotten this reaction to trying to kiss someone for the first time, they would have been furious. The fact that Penny was obviously just confused, starkly reminded Harry that she was just a child.

"What's wrong?" Penny asked with a blush and looked down.

"I just-" Harry started with a hoarse voice. "We were about to kiss-"

"You didn't want to?" she asked, perhaps a tad hurt now.

"We were just talking about the fact that we're best friends. I didn't want to rush into something that might change that. I don't want to lose you. First kisses are supposed to be awkward," Harry weakly argued.

"Oh, ok," she said and brightened up again, before breaking the tension and going to the advanced potions book and handing it over to him.

"Here's the book. I hope we have all the ingredients. It would be nice to have some Felix Felicis."

Harry stared at her, confused for a second as he tried to comprehend how she had managed to defuse the situation better than him, the actual adult. He took the book and muttered a thanks, going to the page on the drought of living dead to check the ingredients list. With a sigh, he quickly determined that he didn't have the stuff, and with another sigh, he was reminded that this was the page on which the half-blood prince had stopped making notes.

This sucked because the original Harry Potter, not the brightest potioneer, had been able to beat Hermione with the instructions written down by Snape. With some practice thus, and the same instructions Harry Evans should have been able to do the same. Unfortunately, however, it seemed like he was cursed to brew the potion as many times as it took to get anywhere.

Or maybe he could find a Potions textbook that wasn't intentionally dumbed down for safety reasons. Decisions, decisions. Another decision that he had to make now was also if he wanted to stay in the room with Penny. He felt awkward, and as he looked at her back as she hummed and brewed he realised that he was now going to be entering a time of potential trouble.

He was entering puberty, and hormones were a thing that tended to fuck with one's decision-making. At the same time, his friends were entering puberty and were going to be similarly affected. Teenagerhood was the process of turning a child into an adult, and he'd already noticed that the people around him had started to mature, becoming a tad more interesting to talk to. He just needed to pay attention to keep the age of everyone involved in his mind.

For now? After what he'd almost done? He needed a break.

"We don't have the ingredients," he said in a defeated tone as he walked up to Penny, sensing the way she mixed her magic into the cauldron. Instinctually in a way he would likely never manage. It really did seem that with his practice of sorcery, he'd traded in his ability to be good at potions.

"Ah, that sucks. Maybe they'll be in storage, in case Slughorn gives us the leftovers again," Penny said idly.

"I'll go practise some stuff then," Harry said and hugged his friend goodbye. She froze for a second, before melting into the touch and turning around to hug him back. "Have fun with the potions, I'll go have fun with my charms," he said.

"I will see you tomorrow," Penny replied, and Harry quietly left the room into the crevices of which their activities had long since added a certain smell that no Scourgify could get rid of. Fire, brass, magic.

Harry walked up to the room of requirement, disillusioned, muffled. He met several students sneaking about on the way and walked past Professor Sinistra as well. But none of them noticed him. Once he'd reached his goal he wished for the sorting hat and unceremoniously plopped it onto his head, asking it to attack him as brutally as possible.

Chanithachuah didn't complain and did as he was asked, seemingly stuck in his own thoughts, the legilimency attacks coming as naturally and as easily as breathing to the millennial artefact.

The boy himself had grown so practised in batting away probes, even ones with real intent to harm behind them that he was able to simply walk around the room as the attacks occurred. Not particularly harmed in his capability to think about other things. The room slowly morphed around him, becoming a hexagon of glass pane walls which allowed him to see the entirety of the castle surroundings from his high vantage point.

It gave him perspective as he aimlessly meandered in circles, admiring the full moon of the night, but also looking at it with trepidation. He didn't see anyone on the grounds, even if he had to a certain extent expected aurors.

In a way it made sense. Even if the school had been put on high alert, it was very unlikely that the werewolf had stayed in the area. For all that it seemed to be a ravenous beast, it also clearly calculated its attacks, always moving and never staying put. That was horrible, obviously, as it meant it would be harder to capture, but on the other hand, it made being in a place where an attack had already occurred, safer than in one that hadn't.

The auror department, or James Potter clearly thought the same thing, if they didn't post any guards around the school or Hogsmeade. At least not any that Harry could see. Maybe they were disillusioned?

He had noticed that while the disillusionment spell was not that impossible to learn, he'd never once crossed anyone invisible who seemed to have been using it in the halls since he'd developed his magical sense and would have technically been capable of noticing that someone unseen was walking past him.

For all its utility it didn't seem that the spell was that popular. Unless all the adults that used it also had a method for masking their magical presence, which every witch or wizard subconsciously exuded, want it or not.

As he pushed against another mental probe, grateful that the hat wasn't interested in whatever was putting him in a pensive mood, Harry saw something on the grounds that stuck out because it was the only thing there. A person, leaving the castle seemingly through one of its many side entrances, or hidden passages and aimlessly walking around. It was because of the cloudless sky and the bright full moon that Harry recognized the mop of hair even from how high up he was.

Hard not to, considering that only one person at Hogwarts ever sported such a violent pink.

-/-

SHORT RANT: Harry almost kissed Penny, which in my opinion was an important scene to set the tone of emotional realism for the novel, which is my goal as an author. I think everyone who has touched grass, which I agree, might not be all of you, has had moments with friends or dates where hormones and feelings just took over. What's important isn't that the connection that Harry and Penny was misconstrued by their developing bodies, which misunderstood platonic friendship for perhaps romantic interest, but that Harry, being the adult of the two, stopped himself knowing it was wrong. I got a PM when I posted this on Patreon which was salty about me condoning pedophilia or something, which I don't, but it's exactly these sorts of responses that erase nuance from art. I know most people have the media literacy depth of a particularly retarded teaspoon, but please don't ruin my day with it.

I also write about killing, does it mean I condone murder? I just think its unlikely that even someone who reincarnates doesn't at least at some point consider these things when surrounded by so many people their body's age. We also all think about jumping off a ledge when we see one, but we don't do it. It's called an intrusive thought, and they're not a sign of our character, but simply something most of us with an actual modicum of willpower can ignore.

Rant over.