Disclaimer / Author's Note: As Harry's sixth year begins, he's spent his summer doing some thinking, quite a lot of thinking, about a very large number of things. One of those things in particular, is how to prepare himself for the inevitable clash with the Dark Lord. Knowing the showdown is inevitable, he's chosen to take a more active role in his own future, and for his first move, he wants to get closer to the new and eccentric potions master, who he senses may have more to offer him than earl grey teas and tiresome anecdotes about famous students past. He also decides he's going to value his friendships more because, as he now knows, he can't survive without them, and he wouldn't even wish to.

This will be a slightly slow burn story at first, and Harry isn't going to be either a super powerful, lord-of-all-the-universe kind of guy who talks smack to Dumbledore, Goblins, or anyone else besides the ferret and his merry band of lunatics. There will be, as will be obvious almost immediately, a pairing with Hermione that will bloom in time, and probably nobody else, and besides that, I don't really want to give anything away.

It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway as most everyone else seems to, that Harry Potter remains JK Rowling's creation, and without her inspiration, I would never have even considered attempting a fanfic of any description. With that, let's begin, shall we?

- Moments that define us -

There are few things capable of bringing a such a weary, soul crushing sigh from anyone who has endured the better part of a decade and a half of Dudley 'Big D' Dursley, but, Harry reckoned, half an hour of induction into the 'Slug Club' had just achieved that. To be sure, Professor Slughorn didn't seem that bad, in fact, if he weren't so transparently just trying to 'get in' with talented or well-connected students, Harry might even have relished the opportunity to spend time with such a man. Professor Slughorn was clearly intelligent, cunning, without the overt malice that seems to afflict most of the Slytherin cohort at the moment, and perhaps even likeable. Granted, Harry was never much interested in the sort of people who put on airs, showering themselves in expensive cologne or striding about dressed head to heel in what could only be described as the Wizarding World's best imitation tweed Harry had ever seen; truthfully, it reminded him too much of Vernon 'Drillmaster extraordinaire' Dursley. Even so, he had to admit, he couldn't shake the feeling that, tedious though he could be, this particular professor might be one to ingratiate himself with.

Harry Potter might be many things, especially if you read the Daily Prophet on a regular basis; indeed, as far as any casual reader might be concerned, Harry was presently a deluded, womanising psychopath with a narcissistic streak and a total inability to obey authority, but at the same time, also a misunderstood hero, recently redeemed by the all-too-hard-to-deny facts that tend to force themselves on you when Voldemort as good as winks at the Daily Prophet camera before vanishing in a puff of smoke in the ministry atrium and, in general, a 'pretty good guy'. Still, that nonsense aside, Harry was at least sure of two things: first, that Voldemort really was back, and that he now faced the prospect, a terrifying one, he wasn't ashamed to admit, of an inevitable, fate-driven confrontation with a serial killer and his merry band of Azkabans' most criminally insane, and second, he wasn't stupid.

The second quality is what brought that sigh from him as Harry realised, now that he was safely away in his own compartment waiting for his friends to return from prefect duties, that he would probably have to put up with Professor Slughorn's less desirable qualities. He wasn't quite sure exactly what he thought the professor had to offer him, in fact, he knew almost nothing about him, other than one crucial fact: Dumbledore brought Harry especially to meet him, and to convince him to return to Hogwarts. Now, normally, Harry would simply go along with whatever it was the headmaster thought should be done, and his previous experiences had shown that, whatever his mistakes may have been with Sirius (and boy, did he have unfinished business with the headmaster on that point), Dumbledore usually set him and his friends on the right path. Still, for Harry now, fresh from the loss of Sirius, 'usually' just didn't cut it, and although he was pretty sure he had nothing to fear from the new professor, and that Dumbledore's motivation for bringing Harry probably was mostly just to encourage the clearly fickle man to chase after this new 'prize', it was the 'mostly' that got Harry thinking. It was that thinking that got him talking to, of all people, a couple of Slytherins from the Slug Club, just after they left the professor's compartment...

- Moments that define us -

"Excuse me, mind if I bother you for a second?"

Two green-robed Slytherins turned to face Harry, and from the looks on their faces, 'bother' was probably already an understatement.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry thought he should also underline and circle that thought, if their hands immediately snapping to concealed wands was anything to go by.

"Er, hey...Zabini, was it? I'm sorry, I don't know your name" Harry said, doing an impressive job of suppressing a slight stammer of nervousness at the baleful glare directed at him by Zabini, while nodding his head in apology to the slim but well-built boy with dark brown hair beside Blaise, whose name Harry honestly didn't know.

"You don't sound too sure Potter, but I suppose that comes with the territory, not having my face plastered on the Prophet every other article. Yes, I'm Zabini, and no, I'm not introducing you to my friend here, just spit out what you want before I get bored."

Well, looks like green robes number two is going to remain a mystery then, Harry thought to himself, best just ask and be gone before the curses start flying.

"Alright then, to the point it is. Do you know anything about Professor Slughorn?" Harry asked, keeping to the tried and true 'Gryffindors Forward!' approach, which admittedly, usually failed.

"Yeah, he's pretty short, old, and no, I don't have his owling address, so I can't set you up on a date"

Well, at least he has a sense of humour, thought Harry wryly, the 'Gryffindors Forward!' Losing streak continues I suppose.

"Ah, I'll have to ask elsewhere for that then," Harry said, but noting Zabini's eyes narrowing dangerously, decided to just cut to the chase again, "but anyway, what I meant was, I know he's taught here before, I just wondered if this 'Slug Club' thing was a tradition?"

"Hmph, and what makes you think I'd know, Potter? What, you think because I'm a Slytherin, I automatically know everything that's ever happened in my house?" Zabini just about spat the last words out, and Harry was curious about that, but decided not to pursue that avenue of questioning, filing it under 'Matters of Interest' for later.

"No, in fact, if Slytherin house is as ambition focused as it's talked up to be, I wouldn't think you'd tell each other much of anything at all unless you had a reason, I was just curious in case you'd heard anything anyway."

Zabini's eyes remained narrowed, but Harry thought he detected something else besides suspicion there now: curiosity, perhaps? More likely, he was just wondering what possessed Harry to try something as obviously suicidal as asking a Slytherin anything.

"I'll just pass over your stereotyping us all again, and get straight to the point: As far as I know, Slughorn always ran these clubs, in fact, Malfoy near enough told the entire train about that fact when he didn't get an invitation to this meeting. Short of that, I don't know anything that'd interest you, and wouldn't tell you if I did anyway."

Harry's eyes flickered with amusement at that information, so the ferret didn't get an invite, why is that so satisfying? Still, it looked like he wasn't getting anything else out of Zabini, and his companion, who had till now been content with glaring at Harry, was now ominously edging closer to Harry's own wand arm, and he sensed he'd pushed his luck far enough.

"Right, well thanks anyway Zabini, I'll let you two head off then."

"Oh, we're dismissed? How kind of you, I'll be sure to let the Prophet know you're as generous as you are demented."

Before Harry could even formulate a reply, Zabini had turned and walked away, companion in tow, and Harry was left to consider the scant information he'd gleaned...

- Moments that define us -

To Harry that information, if you could call it that, really wasn't all that helpful, and yet, it set him to thinking. He was sure Dumbledore had told him that Professor Slughorn had taught at Hogwarts before, and if he had always courted those with potential, maybe he'd learned some things from them as well? It was probably a stupid idea but Harry had resolved, having learned the prophecy, to arm himself for the fight ahead as best he could. He might be 'destined' to fight, but he was sure as hell not going to be 'destined' to die, not if he could help it. Maybe the good professor had some good advice on dark magic he could use, or knew people who did. You never know, maybe he even taught Death Eaters, and could give Harry advice on their strategy? Long shot, sure, but worth it if it panned out.

Still, to even pursue this line of thought, Harry would have to wait, and try and form a friendship with the professor. For that, he needed the help of the only person he could ever trust for help on friendship, and speaking of, she should be back with Ron any moment. Resolving himself to try and find a diplomatic way to ask Hermione after the start of term feast for advice, he stretched back into his seat, and allowed his eyes to close.

- Moments that define us -

An enormous bang rang through the compartment, and Harry bolted up in his seat, eyes wide, fumbling for his wand, before gracelessly tripping as he moved to stand, stumbling forward, and smacking his face straight into the seat opposite him, then sliding to the floor in a dazed heap.

"Oh for goodness sake Harry, you're not going to get out of Dumbledore's speech by concussing yourself on the train!"

Harry smiled slightly to himself, through a haze of sluggishness and pain (not exactly a pleasant mixture), at the huffy voice that could only mean Hermione was here. Wait, did she just see that!

"Hermione!"

Harry jumped up to greet his friend, but unfortunately forgot that his feet were still halfway wedged under the seat he'd fallen under, and promptly went down with a second crash.

"Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing to Harry?!" came a second, louder voice. Must be Ron, Harry thought to himself, through a now much increased haze of pain, which had firmly overpowered the sluggishness this time around.

"Me?! I didn't do anything Ronald, Harry seems to have decided that he'd prefer to spend a night in the hospital wing rather than talk to us!"

Sounds like another argument already, why am I not surprised by that? Harry thought to himself, taking more care to disentangle himself before rising to his feet again this time.

"Alright, calm down, someone mind explaining what the bang was for? I thought you two were meant to be in the prefect's compartment for ages yet?"

Ron and Hermione turned from each other back to Harry, both more than slightly red faced. To be fair though, thought Harry, my face is probably just as red at this point, and not just from being smashed in by the furniture.

"Well," Hermione began, obviously readying herself for a patented mini-tirade, "Ronald thought that, rather than just opening the door to to compartment, which is of course, completely beneath a sixth year wizard, he'd try summoning it open. The bang was the sound of the door narrowly missing him as it flew out of the frame and straight into the wall opposite. Honestly Ron, you were lucky it didn't smash your face in!"

Ron, whose face now increased in colour, quickly muttered "I didn't think about that."

"Oh really?!" Hermione snapped, and Harry could only think, wrong answer, mate, as she rounded on Ron, "Well, maybe if you thought about things before you did them more often, you wouldn't have gotten all those bruises in those ridiculous 'Quidditch sessions' at the Burrow!"

"Hey, what about Harry? He was there too! And, in case you hadn't noticed, his face is just as bruised as I am!"

Harry grimaced at that, and gave Ron a very dirty look. Thanks a lot for that, mate.

"And whose fault is that!" Hermione very nearly shouted, and now Harry really did realise it was time to bring this argument to a close.

"Alright guys, that's enough, let's just get inside before you attract half the train to watch you two have a domestic."

From the look on both Hermione and Ron's face, it was clear neither was particularly happy with the other, but the threat of spectators was sufficient to silence them, and they quickly sat down with Harry, Hermione quickly repairing the compartment door, and Harry's now dented glasses.

"Cheers Hermione, prefect duties OK?"

"Oh, not too bad, Ron behaved himself" Hermione sniffed, and Harry couldn't help but smirk at the look of indignation on Ron's face. As much as people around them thought of Harry and Hermione as the brother-sister pair, the description much better fit her and Ron, in his judgement.

"Glad to hear it, well, if you guys are ready, we better think about getting changed shortly, but before that, I've got to tell you more about that new teacher and his club..."

- Moments that define us -

Sitting in the Great Hall as Dumbledore went through his customary 'eccentric old man' start of term speech, Harry's mind couldn't help but begin to wander. This time though, he couldn't help but focus on the bushy mane in front of him. Certainly, it'd be hard not to, considering it was almost completely obscuring his view of the front of the hall to begin with, but his time in his room at number four had given him plenty of time to reflect on his life, and his friendships.

Sirius had always been quite firm with Harry that he had to stick by his friends no matter what, and his experiences early that summer in the ministry had reinforced that a thousand times over. He still went cold with dread as he recalled the close calls all his friends had because of him. Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, all of them, they had all stood by him in the greatest mistake he made in his life, and not one of them blamed him for it. He was more grateful to them than he could ever express. And yet...

He continued to stare into the mane before him, and as he did, Harry couldn't help but feel vindicated by one of his other realisation in the summer: Harry Potter loved Hermione Granger. There it was, clear and simple, and with no frills or half-truths. He didn't exactly know when his feelings for his friend had changed, truth be told, perhaps in some way he had always felt this way, but he knew for sure it was the ministry that had made him realise it. That moment of abject terror as Hermione was hit by the silent curse that almost took her life would never fade in Harry's memory. It had become his greatest terror at night: that he would have to relive that moment again and again. It was one of those moments that defines you, shows you who you really are. That was something Sirius had also taught him, during one of their 'talks' at Grimmauld Place. "You'll know who your friends are, when they stand by you even at the end of a wand, but you'll only know who you are, when you do the same", that had been what Sirius had said, and he now knew it to be true. As Hermione crumpled under that nightmarish curse, a thoughtless, almost disinterested slash from the wand of a wicked servant of an evil, self-styled lord, Harry's world had sharpened into focus, just as it would a short while later, when Sirius...died. He could see it clearly then, for the first time, how he felt for her, and he knew now that he could never deny it if she asked. Merlin forbid she should ask though...

"...and that, I think, is why we should all take extra care this year, of each other and ourselves. I will continue to expect each and every one of you here to behave with the loyalty, friendship and determination, that I know each of you possess. So, with that, I think I've rambled quite long enough! Off to bed with you all!"

Dumbledore's speech was over, then, and Harry, shaking his head slightly to bring his mind back to the present, rose to his feet.

"Come along Ron, you heard Professor Dumbledore, we need to escort the first years."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard him the first time, and I heard you the two dozen times you told me this on the train too, I'm coming," Ron grumbled, also rising to his feet, "see you back in the dorm, mate."

"Yeah, see you there Ron," Harry replied, giving his friend a knowing smile as Hermione slowly inflated with indignation, rather you than me deal with her now you've riled her up, he thought to himself, but thinking of Hermione, "Hermione, do you mind if I have a quick word with you before we turn in, in the common room?"

Hermione looked at him with surprise, eyebrows raised into bushy fringe, but quickly recovered and said "Oh, sure, it's nothing serious is it, you really should see Madam Pomfrey if your head..."

Harry smiled and raised his hands to calm her over-active imagination, "No, no, nothing like that, just a question, an academic one, I suppose" he said, smiling internally at using the magical 'A' word, which was sure not only to get Hermione's attention, but just as surely...

"Ugh, I'll leave you two to it then, I don't want to end up collapsing in the common room from boredom!" Ron muttered, quickly ducking away from the swat of Hermione's hand, aiming for his no doubt still sore arms. He really did need to avoid annoying Hermione when he was suffering from Quidditch-itus, Harry thought.

"Hmph, fine! I expect you bright and bushy tailed tomorrow though Ronald!"

Ron, with the smirk that always meant he was playing with fire, said quickly before moving towards the first years, "Well, if I'm bushy tailed and you're bushy maned, we could always dress up as a cat and scare the firsties into obedience."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the outrage on Hermione's face, before quickly regretting it as she glared balefully at him as Ron dodged her swatting yet again.

"Careful, I might not help you with your academic problems if you don't watch it Harry" she sniffed at him, before hurrying after Ron.

Wouldn't dream of it, Hermione, wouldn't dream of it.

- Moments that define us -

"Alright, so what's the problem Harry?" Hermione asked, settling into her favourite chair beside him, in front of the common room fire, giving it a little flick with her wand to stoke the flames higher. That always amazed Harry, how Hermione could tolerate sitting in front of such a hot fire in the middle of September, chalk it up to one of her innumerable talents, I suppose.

"Well, actually I wanted to ask you for advice on a, uh, well, the new professor." Hermione's eyebrows raised slightly at this in question.

"Professor Slughorn? I don't know any more than you do Harry, in fact, from what you told us on the train, you probably know more about him than I do." Hermione shifted slightly in her chair, allowing Crookshanks, who had been pointedly staring up at her, to jump up and settle onto her lap.

"Well, it wasn't specifically about him, it was more, well..." Harry scratched the back of his head, trying to put what he wanted into the right words, "Y'know, you've always had more of a, uh, gift for friendships than I do, or for people at least. You seem to get how people work, you know? I just wondered if you had advice on how to befriend someone?"

Hermione's eyes really did rise back into her hair this time, and Harry couldn't help but start counting off the number of times he'd made her do that today. Maybe he should keep a tally...

"It seems to me, Harry, you already know how to do that. I mean, just look around you, how many people stood by you in Dumbledore's Army, how many at...at the ministry," a slightly pained look passed over her face at the latter, and Harry, noticing how Hermione closed her arms over where he knew her scar must be, quickly leaned forward and lightly touched her hand as reassuringly as he knew how.

"Hey, you OK Hermione?" he asked as gently as he could. He never really knew how to reassure people, Merlin knows he never got any of that growing up, but he'd learned enough from Hermione to know she was a 'bit of a cuddler' as she'd once put it to him in their second year, not long after being revived from her petrification, and so he gently but firmly grasped her hand in his, while keeping a reasonable distance. "You know, if you need to talk about what, well...y'know, I'm here?"

Hermione smiled lightly at him, giving his hand a quick squeeze, before relaxing again, and Harry leaned back into his chair, releasing his grip, somewhat wistfully he had to admit.

"Thanks Harry, but I think I was meant to be advising you here, hm?" She smiled again, and Harry felt a warmth run through him at that, glad that whatever she was feeling, she was still the same Hermione inside, but he hoped she'd talk to him more eventually.

"So, you want to befriend Professor Slughorn? Well, if you want my advice it'd just be this: talk to him."

Harry, shaking his head slightly, simply replied "but...that's the problem! What do I talk about? I don't know how to do that sort of thing!"

Hermione looked thoughtful, and began scratching Crookshanks' ears, while Crookshanks gave Harry a look that seemed all too much like a 'bet you wish you were in my position' smirk for his liking. Vowing to get the wretched kneazle back for it, he waited for Hermione's response.

"Well, if he's interested in 'collecting' you as Dumbledore says, maybe you won't have to initiate anything. You said he wants you in his club? Volunteer for it! Let him collect you, confide in him a little, show him you trust him. If he's as eager to have you on his side as you describe, he'll probably lap up that trust, and maybe even repay it in kind. Ultimately though, just be you Harry. Whatever else you are, you're not a Slytherin, you aren't a manipulator, that's not you."

Harry smiled slightly at this comment, and said, somewhat cheekily, "That, I leave to you, mistress agony aunt."

"Hey, I'll slap your legs in a minute if you don't watch it!" Hermione responded, giving Harry an impish smile nonetheless, one that made his stomach do far more somersaults than was wise after eating, and Harry could only chuckle in reply.

"But seriously Harry, just be yourself. I think you'll find that, actually, when you let people see the real you, you have more of a way with people than you know, it's what makes you a good leader, and don't even try and protest, you know it's true."

Harry smiled again at this, his face heating slightly at the praise, and, feeling much more reassured, said, "Well, I suppose you're right, as always. I'll just have to let the professor make the first move, and go from there. Thanks for your help Hermione."

"No problem, but don't think I'm not wondering what you're up to, I'm expecting a complete explanation for this sooner or later Harry." Hermione said, turning to face the fire as Harry stood to leave, "Oh, and Harry?"

Harry, who had been moving towards the stairs to his dorm, turned back to look at her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for what you said earlier. I might just take you up on the offer of a chat. If you like, I'm pretty sure we're off to Hogsmeade before next month is out, we could talk more then if you want to do it while Ron isn't about?"

Harry, blinking slightly in surprise, quickly regained his composure, moved back to Hermione's chair and, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, said, "That sounds like a plan, I'll look forward to it, good night you two."

Scratching Crookshanks lightly on the back with his free hand, Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulder lightly, stood up, and made his way back to the dorm, only just missing Hermione's gentle reply of, "I'll look forward to it too", as Hermione's eyes rested on the dancing flames, her mind, once again, leaving the common room, leaving Hogwarts, leaving everything behind, and focusing only on one thing.

The slashing sound of a wand cutting air, her chest exploding in pain, and a distant shout of "Hermione!" as her world descended into darkness.