Harry Potter and the Scarred Destiny

Harry Potter and the Scarred Destiny

By excalibos

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Books 1- 6. Stop reading right now if you don't want spoiled. I mean it. Right Now.

Synopsis: My version of how Book 7 might be set.

Authors Note: This entire story is based on some conjectures and theories I have had or read about resulting from the first six books in regards to the Horcruxes as well as various characters and their interactions. I warn you that the story starts R/Hr and H/G but will end H/Hr. I will explain my reasons in context as the characters learn for themselves. Also, Harry ended HBP in a very dark place, so expect that dark attitude to worsen as he hasn't even really grieved for Sirius in HBP, on top of that, adding Dumbledore to the coming angst. There will be some disturbing themes, and depending on how it ends up being written, I will notate the chapters accordingly. Also, every chapter will start with a quote instead of a title, and yes, the quotes will have some connection to the chapter.

I want to advance ALL the characters. People are not static, and the events tied into these peoples' lives, no matter how fictitious, would still affect them in various ways. I wish to try to demonstrate this by having these people grow with their experiences. Too much happened in books 5 & 6 to have everyone saying the same things and reacting the same way. These aren't caricatures; within the confines of the covers, they are real people. And real people are affected by the world around them, and the knowledge that they gain.

Thoughts are in italics or between asterisks, depending on the archive's formatting. Post it anywhere, just please give me the credit. Any and all constructive criticism is welcome; however, any and all flames or shipping arguments will be ignored, and quite possibly laughed at. I intend to make this story read like one of the novels, so it might end up being very long. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, not in any way canon. I do not own these characters; JK Rowling and the various worldwide publishers of the HP franchise own them. I am simply borrowing them for a short time, and promise to return them in reasonably pristine condition. I am only writing this for my own enjoyment; if you wish to review, have at it. If not, I simply hope that you enjoy the story.

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Whatever our creed, we feel that no good deed can by any possibility go unrewarded, no evil deed unpunished.

--Orison Swett Marden

June 27, 1997

The cities and villages of Britain slept fitfully, as the deaths of the previous year continued to haunt them. New disasters seemed to arise every month, as the police and the government had found no way of stemming the rising tide of bodies that had begun to fill the coroner's and mortician's offices throughout the kingdom. Families began to keep their children indoors and personal travel had begun to slow, leaving the roads empty save for those that commuted to work or transported goods. Terror had begun to once again fill the hearts of Britain's sons and daughters, wizard and Muggle alike.

The darkness surrounding Little Whinging seemed absolute, as dense clouds rolled across the fading light of the shadowed half-moon. Shadows crept over and under the seemingly tranquil landscape, unknowingly mimicking their human counterparts who were sneaking throughout the British countryside, spreading death and chaos at the behest of a megalomaniacal tyrant. The meager streetlights that shone in the early morning darkness seemed to barely hold back the night when, with an almost mythical burst, the sun broke through the hazy mists, cutting the shadows and exposing the promise of a new day.

The strengthening light slowly flowed down the streets and alleys like a flood until, finally, it crashed against the immaculate hedges and siding of Number 4, Privet Drive. The light found only one outlet into the house; a window on the second floor facing the street, curtain pulled aside as the form of a young man stepped forward. A hand slowly released the curtain as the morning ritual was completed, the coming of the dawn assured.

The young man quietly slid back into the bed, retrieving the battered tome he had been reading moments before the dawn. He adjusted the pillow behind his back, and opened Battling the Darkness by Ditric Saasi to the place he had marked. According to Hermione, Ditric Saasi had been a Dark Hunter, the precursor of the modern Auror, almost two hundred years ago. He had battled hundreds of dark wizards and creatures in his career, finally falling in battle against a young Grindelwald in the late 19^th century. Harry was enjoying the Hunter's views on evil and how to fight it.

The dark is the eternal enemy of man. Even in the misty ashes of time, men huddled around fires deep within caves, fearing the coming of night. Throughout human history, the greatest terrors would rise from the darkness. It is the place of nightmares, of unimaginable evil. For within the darkness is the unknown, the unexplainable. Men fear what they do not know, and even the bravest men feel a twinge when confronted with utter darkness. Darkness consumes all, and is ever present, lurking just beyond the view of the men who fear it.

But the dark is even more afraid of a single flame.

The sound of the alarm clock ripped him away from the book. After switching it off, he marked his place and slid the book back under his pillow.

`Another day has come. How many will die today, while I am forced to hide behind these walls?' he thought morosely. His thoughts began to waft toward the images of his godfather and surrogate grandfather, but with a mental jerk, he forced himself out of those thoughts, unwilling to walk those paths just yet. `Soon, when this is over, I'll mourn them. Until then, they'll be the fire in me.'

Harry Potter, the roughness of his ever-growing tangle of a beard ignored, stretched his back as he prepared for the second part of his ritual. Bending down to grasp his trainers, he pulled his torso down until he felt the muscles in the back of his legs slowly relax. With a firm nod, he reached for the hooded jumper with front pocket that he had inherited from Dudley and pulled it over his white t-shirt.

His return to Privet Drive had been something of a shock to him. He had been expecting his aunt and uncle to be resolutely aghast at him, as always. He had prepared himself for the worst tirades, or even unending silence. What he hadn't expected was his aunt Petunia to hand him a letter just as he walked through the front door, and not berate him afterwards. He had opted not to open the letter, as he had recognized Dumbledore's handwriting. A glance to the side showed him the letter resting on his nightstand, still unopened.

The sight of it also reminded him of his cousin Dudley's reaction to his return. The muscled youth, no longer looking like a two-legged whale but more resembling a gorilla, had simply looked at him, not with malice, but with something Harry had never seen in his eyes before. The only one who hadn't changed in their attitude towards him was Vernon. The huge man still enjoyed making Harry's life miserable.

He smirked quietly to himself as he pulled up the loose floorboard, revealing his one indulgent Muggle possession. He cautiously lifted the portable tape deck from its hiding place, thanking the heavens for Hermione and Hedwig's assistance in obtaining the device. It had taken a bit of convincing on his part, but with his money and Hermione's understanding of his needs, he now had music to help focus his emotions on what he had to do. He still remembered the letter he had sent her.

Hermione,

I know that we haven't been close this last year, what with the Potions fiasco, and the whole Malfoy thing, but I hope that we are still friends. The thought of losing you or Ron is unbearable to me, but it hurts more thinking that I let you down somehow this year. Please forgive me if I have. I can't fight this war without you.

I've talked to Mrs. Figg, and she's agreed to let you and Ron stay with her while I'm stuck with the Dursleys. She's really nice, once you get past her cat fixation, although I am sure Crookshanks will love it there. And she's a Squib, so she knows all about our world, and she's a member of the Order. She helped me at the trial 5^th year; she testified on my behalf, and helped me get Dudley home the night of the attack as well.

I know it is wrong to ask a favor of you when you'll be risking your life on my behalf soon, but I need your help with something. I want to ask if you could get me some sort of portable music player, and some music that would be good for training. I just keep remembering how easily Snape managed to overwhelm me. I have quick reactions, but I'm not fast enough.

I'm not strong enough to fight the Death Eaters and Voldemort yet, either. So, since I'm still restricted from using magic until my birthday in a month, I'm going to be training the Muggle way. I could really use your help on this Hermione. Just let me know, and if you do this for me, I will repay you, every quid.

I look forward to seeing you soon. Enjoy the time you have with your parents. Make sure you tell them you love them, every day; you never know what tomorrow will bring.

Your best friend (hopefully)

Harry

She had sent Hedwig back the very next day with the package, and a tear-stained letter. Harry had almost been tempted to tell her in his letter that she couldn't come on this search, but she had even anticipated that.

Dearest Harry,

Of course we're still best friends. Nothing could ever change that, and don't think that I'm going to let you off the hook either. I'm going with you and that's final. We've fought for so long together, Harry, that I want to be there with you at the end and watch the new beginning of our world with my two best friends by my side.

Mrs. Figg sounds wonderful Harry. I understand why we can't stay with the Dursleys; from your stories of them, they probably wouldn't appreciate having three teenaged wizards in the house. Especially since two of them can legally perform magic now. Don't worry about magic training, as I'm studying several books that Professor McGonagall allowed me to borrow from the library during the summer. Madam Pince almost had a coronary when I showed her the note, especially when she saw the books that I was going to check out. We can always do spell practices after Godric's Hollow, wherever we are going after that. I've also been learning about Occlumancy, so we can work on that as well if you want.

I got you a cassette player and some batteries, as well as a cassette an old friend of mine suggested when I asked about training music. And don't worry about paying me back; just get me something special for my birthday.

And Harry, try not to overdo things. You know how you get sometimes.

Love,

Hermione

After carefully tightening the special self-cooling athletic pants he had owl-ordered, he put the earbuds to the walkman in place and tucked the walkman into his jumper. Slipping his wand into the holster hidden inside the left sleeve and with a last look around the room, he quietly slipped from the house to begin his morning run.

Taking a careful inventory of the immediate vicinity, he began jogging toward the south, his breathing carefully controlled, his feet rolling smoothly across the pavement. His eyes twitched from side to side as he ran, the harsh voice of Moody expounding Constant Vigilance ringing through his mind, the soundtrack to a recent American action movie pulsing in his ears. `What was it called? Oh yeah, Mortal Conflict or something like that.” Whatever the movie was, it had a driving rhythm, and the bass beat and seemingly violent nature of the songs perfectly matched his simmering anger.

As he passed Wisteria Lane, he shifted direction to the east, avoiding the narrowed eyes of the man watching him from the compact parked in the drive. Harry knew of the neighborhood's opinion of him, since Vernon insisted on proclaiming Harry an attendant of St Brutus'. His teeth clenched as another shock of fury tried to override his self-control, but quickly he stamped it down, burying it deep within his internal “cupboard under the stairs”.

As the sun continued to rise, his steps wended the way back to Number 4. Harry knew he had to be back in his room quickly, or the Dursleys would be furious. They hated him being out on his own for too long, outside their hearing and sight. As much as they despised his mere presence, they feared him accidentally exposing his secret for the neighbors to see even more. As Vernon constantly reminded him, `I'm a freak, a creature of low stature that is only around because of his good graces.” Harry suppressed a growl as the darkness inside again tried to rise.

`No, don't let it out. Hold it in, let it build. Use it against Snape, against Lestrange, against HIM. Remember the people who've died because those gits wanted power. Make them sorry they ever thought about their own glory.' A fresh wave of adrenaline coursed through his muscles, increasing his speed until he was sprinting the last five blocks to Number 4. Harry's legs seemed a blur as he headed for the front hedge, running like he was being chased by Fluffy the three-headed dog. With a burst of energy, he flung himself into a diving roll over the hedge and quickly slipped through the door of the house.

Harry leaned against the doorjamb, his breath coming in short pants. Quickly, he plucked out the earphones and slid them into the pouch on his shirt, just in case he ran into the Dursleys before he made it to his room. Before he could get too relaxed, he made his way upstairs, using every hard-earned trick he had learned while sneaking around Hogwarts. The brief thought of his former school brought another pang which was also quickly squashed.

“You should be more careful when you try to sneak around the house, Harry. I could hear you come in. I learned last summer that the top hinge squeaks.”

Harry froze at the sound of Dudley's voice. `Of all the people to catch me, it had to be him. Now he's going to go running to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, then they'll be pissed that I woke them so early on a Friday.' Harry waited for a moment, expecting Dudley to smirk and go running for the master bedroom at the end of the hall. What caught Harry's attention was that Dudley wore no smirk, and that he was still standing at the top of the stairs.

“Dudley, is there a specific reason you haven't gone running to Uncle Vernon yet, or are you simply enjoying me squirming beneath your gaze?” Dudley looked at him, his expression shifting from one of neutrality to one of, 'Am I imagining this, or does Dudley actually look ashamed?' Harry watched as Dudley took a deep breath, and in another surprising act, looked him directly in the eyes.

“Join me for some coffee, alright Harry? We need to talk.” Harry was now sure that he had somehow found his way into the wrong house. Not only was his oaf of a cousin talking to him, but was actually being somewhat…nice to him. However, morbid curiosity overrode his ingrained sense of distrust of all things Dursley, and so he followed Dudley to the kitchen where Dudley quickly whipped up a pair of decaf coffees. He handed one to Harry, saying, “Here. You shouldn't have a lot of caffeine when you're training. It can cause pretty bad muscle cramps. Coach told us that when Johnston had his arm clench from holding a head guard too long. His bicep just curled in and took about a half hour to finally loosen up.”

Harry mechanically accepted the bitter drink, his mind reeling from the bizarre situation he found himself in. His cousin, one of the many banes of his Muggle existence, was being nice, and was even offering training tips to him. He slowly took a sip of the coffee, trying to get his thoughts in order before replying. “Why are you doing this, Dudley? I thought that you'd've snitched on me by now. You love seeing me in trouble.”

Dudley winced as if struck. “I guess I deserved that, Harry, after all the things I've done over the years. I just…I wanted…I needed to say…Thank you,” Dudley stammered, his motions making it evident how hard he found it to say these things. Harry's jaw dropped, now quite sure he was either dreaming or that something or someone had replaced Dudley while he was at Hogwarts. Dudley looked at Harry's reaction and began to speak again.

“I... It never really occurred to me, until this past term, when the papers and the telly were constantly talking about how many people had died in strange accidents. That's when I realized; I would have been one of them, two years ago, wouldn't I? When I felt all cold, and I saw all those horrible things, I almost died that night. Whatever it was you did, you actually saved me; you risked your life to protect mine. And that made me think about the way I had treated you for so long, even how I had acted just a few minutes before whatever happened that night. Granted you did goad me on, but the fact is, even though I was a right proper twit, you still stood there and saved my life. You could have left me to die, but you didn't. And that got me thinking.”

Dudley looked down at the steaming cup of coffee, as Harry wondered at the significance of what was actually happening on a seemingly normal early summer morning. His world was reeling on its axis; he was beginning to feel that anything could be possible. Only Malfoy showing up at the door wearing Gryffindor colors would seem even more bizarre than what was going on in front of him. He resolutely shook out the cobwebs and tried to pay attention to his cousin.

“Here's the thing, Harry. You're a good one, you are. Even after all these years, you still stand up for us when our life is on the line. All the stuff Dad has said about you and w-w-wizards, I don't know if it's true or not. I won't deny I'm uncomfortable with the whole magic thing, especially after that big ox gave me a tail, or those two tossers made my tongue grow. But…if you're willing, I'd like to at least start over with you. You made me see myself in a new light. I don't want to die with people only remembering me as a bully, or some over-pampered git,” Dudley whispered as he looked up at Harry again.

“I want to be remembered fondly. I want for people to actually care that I'm gone. My friends, if you can call them that, only hang out with me because I'm tough and strong. I just… Your friends broke you out of this house in our second year. They broke the law, and they broke you out of here, not because you make them feel good about themselves, but because they are your friends. I notice the owls, Harry, the ones that carry messages. Your friends want to know how you are; mine are only interested in picking a new victim for me to beat up. I didn't even think about the Evans boy, or what his name could mean; he could be distantly related to us, couldn't he? And I just knocked him around so they would like me more,” Dudley looked back at his cup, before taking half the cup in one gulp. Harry, preferring to mask his shock at his cousin's words, sipped carefully while Dudley continued.

“I know you can't forgive me Harry; there's too much between us. But if you need advice on your training or someone to train with, no matter what you're training for,” Dudley drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out, “I'll help you any way I can.”

Harry barely escaped choking on his coffee as the deeper meaning of Dudley's words hit him. He suddenly felt as if Voldemort had just walked up and given him a Christmas gift, saying that the last seventeen years were nothing but a misunderstanding and could they be friends. He stared at Dudley for what seemed like hours, skepticism and confusion vying for dominance within his mind. His cousin Dudley, the boy who had spent the majority of his life making it miserable, had just offered an olive branch and a hand of friendship.

`That's it. I've gone absolutely mental. I am obviously having some sort of delusion, or I'm under a curse. That's it. Voldemort is trying to make me question my sanity by making me think that Dudders is being nice to me.'

“What are you playing at Dudley? What's your angle?”

“No angle. No games. I… While you were out one day last summer, I snuck in your room and looked up that Voldemort character you mentioned year before last, the one that got Mum all freaked. Did he…Did he really try to kill you? Did he really do all that stuff they say he did?”

“Did and is still doing. The bridge accident, the hurricane, the fires down by Westminster were all his doing. He's returning to power, and he's not happy about me running free, as I'm responsible for beating him last time.” Harry was shocked by Dudley's reaction. The larger boy's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

“He's no better than Hitler. He's nothing but a monster, hating people just because they're…different. Oh god Harry. We're no better than he is, are we?”

Harry shook his head. “You talking to me like this, offering to help. You aren't like him. He enjoys hurting people too much. I've seen it firsthand. He relishes causing pain, killing people. He considers anyone and everyone expendable to his cause. You may have had a similar attitude about me, but we're still changing Dudley. We're still trying to find who we are. My life has been so tied up in fighting Voldemort the last six years, I don't know what I'll do or who I'll be once it's over.” Harry looked across at his cousin, who suddenly stood up, punching a meaty fist into his palm.

“We've got a lot of work to do then, if you're going to have a chance at finding those answers.” The fervor in Dudley's eyes made something in Harry pulse, a feeling of…invincibility.

`If Voldemort can get even Dudley fighting on my side, maybe we've got more than a chance after all.' Harry was saved from having to reply to Dudley by the entrance of Petunia. She looked between the two boys, a question in her eyes, but she bit her lip and motioned for Harry to begin breakfast. Harry moved quickly to comply, hoping to avoid questions that could cause his new ally trouble. Petunia simply sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“I don't know what was going on a moment ago, but I recommend you do not allow Vernon to find out or overhear something he shouldn't. By the way Harry, the backyard flower patch needs to be weeded; while you're at it, you should also prune the roses and turn the soil for the peonies that I want planted next week.”

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Later that afternoon, the unruly haired boy plodded his way into the house for a drink. He felt the aches of his morning run combining with the pains of bending over several flower beds for most of the morning leave him miserable. He pulled at the shirt he had changed into after breakfast, glad he was about to be rid of the sweat drenched thing. Harry quickly slipped off his dirty trainers next to the doormat, unwilling to risk the screech his aunt was sure to unleash should she discover dirt tracked through her nice, clean house. Clad in a pair of oversized socks, he walked to the kitchen, only to find Dudley standing by the sink with a glass of ice water waiting for him.

“I'll let you rest up a bit and get changed. Then meet me in the basement, and I'll show you some things.” The basement had been converted into a training area for Dudley after he had won the trophy for Smeltings the previous year, as Vernon practically burst with pride for his son's accomplishments. Harry had, in fact, been surprised that Vernon had not burst, as the man seemed to have taken up the poor eating habits that Dudley abandoned in favor of the pursuit of continued athletic victory.

Harry drank the cold water slowly, still leery of the seeming reversal in his relationship with his cousin and nervous about what `things' the larger boy was going to show him. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he wordlessly handed Dudley back the glass, and with a slight acknowledgement to the much larger boy, went up to his room to wash up and change.

As he walked into the room, Harry barely managed to duck as a feathered ball almost bashed in his head. Hedwig hooted in indignation, offended at the behavior of the small owl, as Harry plucked Pigwidgeon from the air like a Snitch. The tiny owl hooted happily as Harry struggled to untie the letter from its tiny leg. Finally freeing the envelope, Harry released the tiny owl, which immediately flew out the window.

Harry carefully slit the seal of the envelope with his potions knife. Carefully extracting the paper within, he found instead of a letter from Ron an invitation.

To Master Harry James Potter,

We are most pleased to formally invite you to the pending nuptials of William Weasley and Fleur Delacour on August 17^th, 1997 at the Burrow. The ceremony will occur outdoors, so dress accordingly. An outdoor reception will follow the ceremony. The bride and groom ask that in lieu of gifts, donations be made to the St. Mungo's Magical Maladies research division.

Date: Sunday, August 17, 1997

Time: 11:00 am

Location: The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

Pass Phrase: Dumbledore's Wish

Harry smiled at the invitation, and the veiled inclusion of the sentiment that had kept the wedding from being cancelled. As he went to put the note on his dresser, he noticed more writing on the back.

Harry,

We can't thank you enough for all that you've done for our family, on both sides. You have been like part of the family ever since you came to the Burrow before your second year. I know that you are going through a difficult time right now, but I hope that you will think of us if you need someone to talk to. We look forward to seeing you this August. Fleur sends her best wishes, and wants to reiterate the family's desire to see you again.

All our love,

Bill and (the future) Fleur Weasley

Harry's smile became softer as he thought of the feelings behind the letter. Suddenly he remembered why he had come to his room, and quickly ducked out of his dirt stained clothes and pulled on a pair of shorts and the t-shirt he had worn that morning. Grabbing his only other pair of shoes, he descended the staircase and made his way to the basement.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Dudley pummeling the heavy bag that hung from the ceiling. Harry watched in awe as his once bulbous cousin maneuvered with what could only be described as grace, pummeling the bag with jabs and solid punches. Harry could only thank whatever powers existed that his cousin had decided to end the animosity.

Dudley straightened and saw his cousin watching from the stairs, his mouth hanging open. He allowed a slight smirk to play across his face as he chuckled. “Harry, if you want to learn anything, you'll find that it's a lot easier to do so over here. There's an extra set of gloves on that old steamer trunk by the stairs.”

Harry looked abashed as he made his way to the bag, while Dudley moved to the opposite side of the bag. Harry slid on the gloves, tightened them, and took some practice swings to get used to the feel of the gloves. Harry then planted himself in front of the bag, and raised his fist, holding the other to his chest. Dudley hid a smile and motioned for Harry to start punching. Harry swung a solid punch, rocking the bag slightly, and would have smiled save for Dudley smacking him in the head with a quick swing.

“Hey!” Harry groused as he rubbed his head. He heard Dudley chuckle, then the larger boy gave a single command. “Again.”

Harry set himself, and once again delivered a solid punch to the bag, rocking it back. However, once again his cousin's gloved hand struck him in the side of the head. Anger rising, Harry began to move around the bag toward Dudley when he was stopped by the coldness in his cousin's voice.

“Defense, Harry. You're so focused on attacking the bag that you forget to defend yourself. If you leave even the slightest opening, your opponent will move in and finish you quickly. Always protect your head. Broken ribs and bruised kidneys will heal eventually. Blows to the head will scramble your brain. Always protect your head, Harry. Get back and try it again.”

Harry looked in astonishment at his cousin, realizing that with two seemingly insignificant hits, Dudley had proven Moody's unceasing cry of Constant Vigilance to be true again. He had completely forgotten about defending himself, worried only about getting the punch right. Calming himself, Harry once again moved from of the bag, setting himself in a strike position. He slowly raised his arms, one ready to punch, the other blocking the path to his head. He swung at the bag again, connecting solidly, and felt the blow of his cousin's hand strike his uplifted glove. He backed away from the bag, a grin beginning to form on his face as his cousin looked grimly at him and nodded.

“Good. Do it again.” So he did it again. And again. And soon, two hours had passed, the basement filled with the sound of leather striking canvas and, toward the end, flesh.

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-->

Our journey might turn out to be in vain

But it's the path itself that's worth the pain.

--Karin Boye

Harry felt nothing but comfort beneath the blankets covering him as the specter of sleep waxed and waned. He had been having trouble sleeping, but now, with the workouts Dudley had put him through the last two days, he slept like a rock, feeling secure within the protections that Dumbledore had promised Harry existed around the small house on Privet Drive. Suddenly, Harry was wrenched from slumber at the sound of a faint crack, not unlike the sound of someone Apparating. Harry looked cautiously around the empty room, his senses beginning to sharpen immediately. He reached slowly for his wand, hidden beneath his pillow, when he heard the soft whisper of a voice that had haunted him for the better part of seven years.

“Not today, Harry Potter,” breathed the snake-like visage that emerged from the shadows. Harry's wand flew from beneath his pillow and clattered to the floor near the armoire. “You and that wand have caused me great and troublesome delays in my attempt to regain my rightful place in this world. I am afraid that you will simply have to face me alone and unarmed.”

Harry dove off the side of the bed, hastily dodging the blast of red that issued from Voldemort's wand. His mind raced as he tried to escape in the narrow confines of the tiny bedroom. How?! How can he be here? Dumbledore said that as long as I was here, he'd be unable to harm me? Did he make a mistake about that as well? Suddenly, an icy chill spread through Harry as a nearby blast impact threw him across the room, dropping him on his back. If he's here and attacking me openly, then that means the Dursleys are...

“You are correct, Mr. Potter. Those filthy Muggles have indeed been eliminated, and it was so easily done. Now, come to me, Mr. Potter. Come and face your destiny. Face me and rejoin your family,” Voldemort hissed as Harry, lying on the ground, stared into the depthless red eyes. Harry's chest clenched as he tried to back away from the seemingly enormous yew wand which pointed toward his scar, tip beginning to glow a sickly green. His hands scrabbled for his wand, but he could not find it anywhere. His emerald eyes reflected the light from the Killing Curse as Voldemort began to laugh. His final thoughts as Tom Marvolo Riddle cried out “Avada Kedavra” were simple...

I never told my friends goodbye.

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Harry's cry of terror pierced the dead stillness of Number 4 in the hours approaching dawn. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room wildly, looking for some sign of his nemesis' presence. As his heart rate and breathing slowed, he could plainly make out the entirety of his room, and no sign of a dark lord anywhere. He wiped away the sheen of sweat from his face with a shaking hand, his breath flowing raggedly into his lungs. He swung his pajama clad legs over the edge of the bed, and propped his aching head in his hands, trying to ignore the burning in his throat as he fought back the tide of bile struggling for release.

He stood and slipped his way quietly to the bathroom in order to get a drink. After retrieving the glass and splashing his face at the sink, he made his way back to his own room. The edges of the sky began to turn blood red as he watched the horizon from his window, barely able to see the sun through the now ever-present mist. Harry's heart twinged as he thought of the dementors freely roaming throughout Britain, multiplying their numbers and killing innocent people just to feed.

Shaking his head at the futility of his thoughts, he pulled a planner from his trunk and collected the eagle quill Hermione had given him. He flipped through the pages till he came to the end of Hermione's notes on class schedules and study times. A wistful small stole across his face as he thought of his days in fifth year, days when he had only the worries of the DA, and Cedric's death weighing upon him. He chuckled mournfully as he realized what he was doing.

`I'm looking back fondly on Umbridge and the Inquisition of Hogwarts. How far have we fallen for that to be one of my golden moments?' He dipped the quill into the inkpot on his nightstand and began to write.

June 29, 1997

I have decided to record my thoughts and plans in this book, so that one day people may know what I faced before I have even come of age. I do not know if I will survive the fight with Voldemort, but I intend to make a good showing at the least. Tomorrow, Ron and Hermione will join me here at Privet Drive to go over our plans. After which we will travel a bit, before heading to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I admit to being very impressed with Fleur. She could have turned her back on Bill when he was hurt, taken the easy way out, but she chose love over what was easy. Dumbledore was right when he said that doing what was good required great courage.

I have to confess that I was a bit concerned about Ginny's attitude towards Fleur after the battle at Hogwarts. I would have thought that seeing Fleur stand by Bill no matter what would have changed Ginny's opinion towards her, but she seemed to only grudgingly accept that the wedding would take place. Why does she dislike Fleur so much?

Harry paused as he thought of the flame haired girl who had captured his attention this past year; at the thought of the way her hair seemed to burn in the sunlight and the way she moved on her broom. Within his chest, the scaly beast stirred, purring at the thought of the youngest Weasley. He quickly tamped the feelings down, unwilling to think along those lines. He reluctantly returned to the notebook.

I can only hope that we can find the information that will lead us to the artifacts that we need to destroy. Professor Dumbledore was never able to finish what he had started teaching me. I still have no IDEA where to find the items, or how to destroy them. I have faith that Hermione can find whatever I need. With the library at Grimmauld Place being as large as it is and the family's history with Dark magic being what it is, we should find at least some better references than the ones that Tom and Hermione found at Hogwarts.

I've been having nightmares of Voldemort coming for me. The worst part is that I make some pretty basic mistakes in the dreams and those mistakes always end in me facing the Avada Kedavra before I wake up. I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of making a mistake and watching someone else I care about die. My only wish is that I do not fail my friends when the time comes. He has taken so much from me; I cannot lose them as well. And if I do, he won't live long enough to gloat and I won't be long after.

My name is Harry Potter, and I am the Chosen One. Chosen by Voldemort to face him in the end, chosen to kill the greatest Dark wizard or be killed by him.

God help me.

Harry dropped the quill as his arm muscles began to scream in protest. He massaged the offending muscle as he began to think about what he was facing. The coiled knot of dread that had buried itself in his stomach began to make itself known once more. He looked at himself in his mirror, unable to imagine that the haunted eyes staring back at him were not even seventeen yet.

He ran his fingers through the beginnings of tangled growth that sprung from his chin, thinking caustically, `With my hair as bad as it is and this rat's nest of a beard, I look kinda demented.' He chuckled as he thought of what his friends would say if they could see him right now. 'Ron would think I'd gone spare and Hermione would go spare at the bags under my eyes and the bruises. Speaking of, I should ask Professor Lupin if there's any way to fix those before they arrive. I'll do that later. Ditric Saari is calling.'

Harry slid the book from under his pillow and carefully arranged himself on the bed. Opening the book to the page he had marked, he began to read.

It is the flame of hope and courage that can defeat the darkness within man. Every Dark wizard ever faced has shared certain characteristics, no matter what their background. They are afraid: Afraid of defeat, afraid of death, afraid that those close to them will one day overpower them. They spend every waking moment doing all they can to defend themselves against these fears, to protect themselves from their own terrors. Their lives are consumed by the quest for immortality and power, never realizing that the greatest strengths are those that they despise most of all: Faith, Hope, and Love.

The Muggles have held and known the secret to great power since the execution of a lowly carpenter almost two thousand years ago. All truly great emotions, and by default great power, stem from these three foundations. Compassion, mercy, courage, trust: all of these have a single common element within them. That element is none other than Love. Without love, and by extension friendship and compassion, we would never seek to stand against the Dark Wizards who plot death and plan destruction. It is only our desire to protect and defend those that cannot defend themselves that drives us to fight. It is that which brings men together to fight against Dark forces, banding them together in a common cause. It is this that gives us the strength to stand even when we are about to die, so that evil will not reign victorious.

Harry could barely breathe as he stared at the words of a man who had lived over a hundred years before. Finally, here was the explanation to Dumbledore's repeated emphasis on Harry's ability to love being the power Voldemort didn't have. He felt tears in his eyes beginning to form as he thought of Dumbledore sitting behind that grand desk, eyes twinkling as they always did when Harry had succeeded in figuring out the next piece of the puzzle that would hopefully become his victory. Dashing the tears from his eyes, Harry smiled wistfully as he looked at the object he had been using as a bookmark: Dumbledore's chocolate frog card.

“Even in death, you're still teaching me things, Professor,” Harry whispered to the image of his old Headmaster. He suddenly stilled, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He looked closely at the picture again, wondering if he was going mad. I could have sworn I just saw him wink at me. But the image on the card did nothing else and soon the image disappeared from the card. I must be going mad.

In that moment, the alarm began to blare. Harry was jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes flying to the window. Dim light filtered through the curtains of the tiny room, shafts of light illuminating dancing particles of dust. Harry cursed vehemently as he quickly stripped off the oversized pajama pants he wore and threw on his training suit. Lacing up his trainers as fast as he could, he slipped his wand into place and headed out the door. His progress was halted abruptly as an enormous, well-muscled arm nearly clotheslined him. Harry's Quidditch instincts halted his mad dash, but the attempt to stop so suddenly caused him to fall backwards. His older cousin smiled coolly down at Harry as he extended a helping hand.

“Good morning, cousin. Ready for another day in boot camp?”

Harry managed a tight smile as he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. Dudley seemed to really enjoy his new status over Harry, showing a little of his old self without the implied threat of death or betrayal. He shifted the tape deck inside his shirt and moved toward the stairs, Dudley following him closely. As Dudley closed the front door to avoid the squeak of the hinge, Harry slipped on the headphones and switched on the player. Dudley looked at the headset in surprise, and the pair started running down the block.

Half an hour later, Dudley led the way back towards Privet Drive. Harry's breath came in short huffs as he watched his cousin wend his way back into the yard and began stretching out. Harry shook his head in exasperation at the difference in fitness levels between himself and his once-bloated cousin. Harry was beginning to realize that chasing a Snitch wasn't nearly as physically strenuous as boxing was, although the danger factor was much higher. His respect for Dudley's dedication to his sport over the last two years increased slightly. One of the few regular exercises that he had done was that he had spent the last six years climbing countless flights of stairs at Hogwarts.

“Don't stop moving. Either stretch out or run in place. If you stop moving too soon, your muscles can cramp. We'll have some breakfast in a jiff,” Dudley said as he reached for his toes, holding the stretch for a ten count. “If you don't do things in a proper manner, you'll only cause more harm than good. You shouldn't rely on your 'special skills' all the time. Sometimes you won't be able to do that stuff. Knowing how to deal with things outside of...you-know-what will give you an edge over this bloke and his goon squad.”

“Hey, Big D! New kid just moved in down the way. You wanna come give 'em a special howdyado?” Harry's head snapped around to see the group of thugs that Dudley had run with for some time. The lot of them seemed even more ape-like than usual, their faces twisted with spite and malice. Harry felt a chill travel up his spine as he realized where he had seen those looks before. The High and Mighty Malfoy the Wonder Ferret and his cronies used to look like that whenever they felt like proving themselves lords of Slytherin. They watched Dudley intently, waiting for a response that, when it came, surprised them immensely.

“Sod off, you wankers. I've got more important thing to do today than to rough up some new ponce. You're so keen on it, do it yourselves. Just don't bother me today!” Dudley growled, his indifferent posture belying his seeming anger. The boy seemed almost amused by the situation, finishing his stretches before heading for the door. “Coming Harry?”

Harry carefully hid a beaming smile at the gang's reaction to Dudley's polite recognition of Harry. Restraining the desire to look over his shoulder, he preceded Dudley into the house, more proud of his cousin than he could ever remember. Dudley cautiously shut the door, as unwilling as Harry was to arouse the suspicion and ire of Vernon Dursley. As the latch clicked and the house remained silent, the two boys shared a look of mutual relief. Harry nodded towards the kitchen and Dudley strode after him.

“For that little performance, I'll whip you up an omelet, Dudders. You know, I don't think I've seen them look that buggered in, well, ever,” Harry stated as he moved to the icebox and withdrew the various ingredients he'd need. He spread them on the counter and reached for a pan as he continued. “You did a good thing there, Dudley. A good thing and you should be proud of that. Professor Dum...Dumbledore,” he choked, “said in first year that it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends. So, good one,” Harry finished in a whisper, his emotions and memories suddenly flooding through him. He quickly tried to tamp them down, to hide his tears before Dudley saw.

“Harry?” Dudley looked at his cousin with mild discomfort. The elder Dursleys were notoriously unaffectionate toward the boy, and a lifetime of emulation had embedded the same behavior in himself, but he also felt a growing urge to find out what had made Harry so upset that he would have to struggle not to show it. Harry quickly waved away the older boy, unwilling to trust his voice to not break when he spoke, as he began cracking eggs over a mixing bowl.

Dudley watched the younger man standing at the counter make breakfast like a professional chef. It was in these moments that he saw how much had fallen on his younger cousin's shoulders. Not only the burden of his servitude under the thumb of Vernon and Petunia, but the fact that he bore it all with only a few outbursts to mark his emotional state at the situation.

Harry was thankful for the lull in conversation, as it allowed him to collect the tattered remains of his self-control. He quickly whipped the eggs into a uniform consistency and began making a pair of omelets. The various toppings were added as the eggs cooked, and before long, the simple breakfast was finished. After sliding them onto plates and quickly wiping down the surface of the stove to remove any trace of mess, Harry placed the food onto the table, glad that the house was still silent as he was sure Vernon would throw a fit at seeing Harry eat so well. The two boys dug into the meal ravenously, washing away the spices with orange juice and milk. When they had finished, Harry quickly rinsed and dried the plates and cooking utensils so that Petunia would have no reason to snap at Harry for his messiness.

As the two boys made their way down the narrow hallway beside the cupboard that had once been Harry's home, Dudley looked quizzically at Harry. “How did you get the cassette player, Harry? I know that the one I used to have got smashed a long time ago.”

Harry smiled as he replied, “My best friend Hermione picked it up for me. It and a tape of music for me to listen to. I sent her some Galleons I had left over from last term, she got them exchanged, and sent me this in return.”

“Your best friend is a girl?”

Harry bristled at the tone of Dudley's voice. “She is one of my two best friends, yes. She happens to be top in our year at Hogwarts, and bloody brilliant at anything she tries to do. She's helped me out of more scrapes than I could ever hope to thank her for.”

Dudley looked askance at Harry before asking, “Are these two best friends going to be coming to get you?”

“No, they're actually going to be staying over at Mrs. Figg's house for a few weeks to train with me, and to keep me company. Then, after I turn seventeen at the end of July, we're going to go.... hunting is the word for it, I guess. And I can't tell you any more than that. I made a promise to Dumbledore, and I need to keep it.” Harry quickly whipped open the cellar door, hoping to forestall any further conversation. Dudley, however, had different ideas on the subject. He touched Harry's arm to halt the smaller boy's attempt to escape questioning.

“Dumbledore was that old codger that came in last summer and was knocking around on Dad's head with that teacup, yeah? He was an odd one, that,” stated Dudley as the pair headed down into the basement. Harry didn't know whether to be offended or not, when Dumbledore's first words echoed in his ears.

“Yes he was. One of the first things he said to welcome us to school let us know exactly what he was like. I remember he said,” Harry quickly shifted his voice into something resembling Dumbledore's, “Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, and Tweak'” Harry chuckled at the memory. “Some of us thought he was absolutely barmy after that one. Then around Christmas, I found this mirror that allowed you to see your one true desire. I saw my mum and dad in it, and spent a lot of time there after that, just so I could see my parents.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Dudley, looking solemnly at Harry, began slipping on his boxing gloves as Harry continued, “Dumbledore confronted me one night a week or so later about all the time I had spent staring at the mirror. He said that we shouldn't dwell on dreams and forget to live, and that people had actually died because they had preferred what they saw in the mirror to their own lives. He made me promise not to come looking for it again. I promised, then I asked him what he saw in the mirror. He said that he saw himself holding a pair of thick wool socks.” Dudley snorted at that, trying not to laugh as he handed Harry the second pair of gloves. Harry sighed before continuing, “But he was one of the wisest and bravest wizards I've ever known. When I wasn't trying to hide things from him, I could talk to him about anything. But he was so blasted stubborn about some things, and because he didn't listen to me, he got himself killed.” Harry clenched his fist tightly, staring at it as he pictured himself pulverizing Snape.

Dudley moved over behind the bag, and cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. Harry looked up sheepishly, quickly stripped off his shirt, and slid on the pair of gloves. Within minutes, his chest glistened with a sheen of sweat as his fists rhythmically struck the bag that Dudley held. Harry's arms were sore from throwing punches and blocking Dudley's return slaps. His hands felt like lead, his arms beginning to tire from the rapid blows. The punches were beginning to slow in speed before Dudley called a halt to the practice. He came around to face Harry and moved into a guard stance.

Harry barely had time to raise his hands as a fist the size of a ham came barreling at his head. Years of dodging bludgers came swiftly back as he shifted his head away from the oncoming fist. He quickly stepped inside of Dudley's guard and delivered an uppercut to his stomach, which the older boy diminished by moving with the blow. The two faced each other warily, circling, looking for an opening in the other's guard. The muscles in Harry's arm began to burn as he held his gloves up, protecting his head. Dudley lashed at Harry with a series of blows to the head and torso. None of them were more than taps against the skin, but the speed and number of strikes still had Harry's ribs feeling sore.

Harry slipped inside Dudley's guard as the older boy tried for a haymaker. Using speed honed by years of grabbing a Snitch, Harry popped his fist into Dudley's midsection, causing the boy to exhale mightily. Harry backed away quickly, waiting to see what the larger boy would do. Dudley stood up slowly, controlling his breathing until he was no longer gasping.

“Nice job Harry. I, uh,” Dudley chuckled, “I think that we're done for the day. I'm sure dad has some chores that he wants you to do.” Harry groaned as he tossed his gloves on the trunk by the basement stairs. He quickly ascended the stairs, hoping to get to his room without being sighted.

“HARRY POTTER!!” Harry skidded to a stop as the venomous bellow of Vernon Dursley pierced the tranquil morning. Harry cringed as the massive bulk of his Uncle filled the hallway in front of him, blocking his path to the upstairs. Vernon's face had attained a shade of purple usually reserved for royalty. His mustache quivered as he pointed an accusatory finger at Harry. “Just what the devil do you think you are doing in the basement at this time of morning? I'll have you know that I purchased that equipment for my son's exclusive use, not for some little freak to be messing around with it. I forbid you to go down there without our express permission!”

Harry restrained himself from snapping at Vernon and replied in a sickly sweet tone, “I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon, but Dudley needed someone to hold the bag for him while he practiced. He should be up in a bit. He just wanted to do some…shadow boxing I think he called it.” Harry controlled his smirk as Vernon blustered about for a moment, trying to find a way to punish Harry.

At that moment, Dudley emerged from the basement. He walked over to Harry, and with a punch to the arm sneered, “See you tomorrow morning Cousin.” Harry inwardly smiled at his cousin's performance as he rubbed his shoulder, glad for the assist. Vernon gave a final huff and, with a look of absolute loathing, headed for the kitchen where the scent of eggs that was filling the downstairs originated. Harry watched the retreating form of his uncle then turned to smirk at Dudley. The expression of suppressed anger on his cousin's face stopped Harry from making any sarcastic comments.

“Don't,” Harry whispered, “It will just make things worse. Let it go.” Dudley looked at him and simply nodded. The two made their way upstairs, eager to get out of the sweaty clinging t-shirts they wore. Dudley went to shower while Harry made his way to his room. Harry locked the door and stripped down to his boxers. He quickly pulled a set of clothes out of his dresser, then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The years of Quidditch had tightened and toned his arms and stomach, and he had not yet suffered the rib-baring nutrient deficiency that he usually experienced when living with the Dursleys. Glad that this morning's bruises were not going to be too bad, Harry prepared for the day.

Pulling on a pair of oversized shorts and one of his cleaner school shirts, he tucked his wand into his back pocket and headed for the front door. As he descended the stairs, he saw Aunt Petunia walking into the living room. Harry stopped on the landing and cleared his throat.

“Aunt Petunia, I'm going to go to Mrs. Figg's for a while,” Harry stated.

Petunia paused in the living room door as Harry waited for her response. Her calculating gaze swept Harry before she nodded sharply. “Be back before lunch. And I want you to aerate the plants out back when you return.”

“Yes Aunt Petunia.” Harry quickly descended the rest of the stairs and ran out the door before either of his relatives could call him back. Once outside, he took a deep breath as he looked around at the neighborhood. It was Sunday on Privet Drive, and people were heading off to church or working on their landscaping. The prevalence of moisture in the air had not made it necessary to use the hosepipes this year, so much of the work was simply pruning and weeding, work that Harry was more than used to after so many years of doing those exact tasks for Petunia Dursley.

Some of the neighbors looked at Harry openly, others merely watched him from the corner of their eye. Having endured a variety of gazes in his years at Hogwarts, Harry ignored the stares of the residents of Little Whinging. Then the appearance of an unusual character on the street brought Harry up short. The sight of lime green hair and a ripped baby-tee this close to Number Four, Privet Drive almost made Harry double over in laughter. He could only imagine the Dursley's faces as he walked over to the newest almost-member of his extended family.

“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks cried as she wrapped Harry in a bone crushing hug. Harry grinned at the woman's exuberance, although he felt the blood race into his cheeks at such a public display. Tonks, of course, seemed oblivious to this. “Remus and I were wondering how you were, so when they asked for volunteers for `Harry Watch' rotation, I requested today so I could walk you over for your report to headquarters.”

Harry backed away from Tonks as her words sunk in. `Even after all that has happened, they still have to have someone watch me.' His cheeks flushed again for an entirely different reason, but he bit his tongue and brushed by the now startled woman, his stride carrying him quickly toward Mrs. Figg's house. Tonks scurried to catch up and almost ended up sprawled on the sidewalk from a rogue rollerblade until Harry spun around to help steady her.

“I take it that I said something to get your goat, eh Harry?” The apologetic look on her face threatened to crack the feeling of righteous indignation that had formed inside. He sighed as he slowed his pace to allow her to keep up. “You want to talk about it before the whole Order starts in on you?”

“It's just that… not long before Dumbledore died, I had come to accept what it was I had to do, who I had to be until this war was over. I thought that with everything I've done, with all that I've seen,” At this Harry stopped, unwilling to look Tonks in the eyes, “I thought that the Order would finally believe that I could handle myself. That I didn't need anyone babysitting me. But now you tell me that they're still at it, not trusting me to handle myself, even though Dumbledore himself said that Voldemort,” Tonks squeaked, but Harry ignored it, “couldn't touch me while I was here. What's the point in wasting perfectly good manpower on a target that isn't and cannot be a target?”

Tonks let a huge smile break across her face as she tugged on his chin so that Harry was forced to look her in the eyes. She then grabbed his head with both hands and planted a kiss square on the famous scar on his forehead. Harry felt his cheeks burn as he turned a shade of crimson that could rival Vernon on a good day. With a slight laugh, Tonks shook her head as she replied, “Harry Potter, you daft little git. I can't speak for the others, but the reason I'm here is not because of that,” she motioned to his scar, “but because Remus, the man I love and would do anything for, worries so much about you. You've got so much on your shoulders, as the last person with a direct connection to your parents he feels responsible for your safety and well-being. He'd be here himself if not for the fact that he had to go back undercover, so I told him that I would look out for you.”

Harry felt his eyes moisten as her words struck the very core of his being. That he would hear such things here on Privet Drive, in the one place he had never felt loved or at home, made his heart swell. Then he noticed the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Besides which, if I can ever manage to out-stubborn him, I'll be your good-as-blood aunt. So just watch yourself, Potter. Don't make me have to get tough.” Harry chuckled at Tonks's attempt to intimidate him, then motioned that they should continue.

“You realize, my dear almost-Aunt Nymphadora, that you will find it most difficult to intimidate someone who has shared a mind with the Darkest Lord in a century.” Tonks huffed loudly, her exasperated expression cracking apart as she began to laugh. Harry couldn't help but join her as they continued on to Arabella Figg's house.

***************************************

Harry waved goodbye to Tonks as she headed off to find a decent observation point of the house. With a wry grin, he turned and rang the doorbell. Within the house, the sound of mewling cats grew until the glass almost seemed to shake from the hubbub. He faintly heard a voice admonishing the cats, telling them to quiet down; his smile grew as he remembered all the times he had been forced to deal with the creatures. Soon the curtain obscuring the small window by the door shifted and a voice called out from within.

“Who is it?”

“Harry Potter, ma'am. I'm here to report in, and to talk about tomorrow.”

“What is the name of the gray Persian with the sock on his left foreleg?”

Harry cursed silently under his breath as he began scrabbling through his memories trying to think of the names of the myriad cats she had. Finally his memory came up with, “Mr. Tibbs.”

He waited for the door to open, but when it didn't, his mind flashed back to Mr. Weasley's actions during Harry's first morning at the Burrow last year. With a sigh, he responded, “What was Mundungus going to check on when he deserted me summer before last?”

“Cauldrons that had fallen off a truck.” The sound of several clicks and rattles preceded the door opening. Mrs. Figg stood there smiling before pulling Harry inside. She seized the boy in a swift hug before looking him over. “Well, they seem to be treating you all right so far. How are you feeling, my boy?”

Harry's embarrassed feelings at the impromptu hug were quashed as he replied, “Well, considering the circumstances, not too badly. I noticed you watching me yesterday when I was running.”

“Ah, yes. Violet wanted out that morning to get a bit of a runaround. I have noticed you seem much more active recently as compared to the last couple of years. Planning on entering a marathon,” she teased, causing Harry to break out in a small grin.

“Something like that. Well, shall we,” he asked as he motioned to the fireplace. Mrs. Figg went to the hall closet and pulled out an old rusty coffee can. She peeled off the lid and held it out to Harry so that he could take a handful of the dust within. Clearing his throat, he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace as he called out “Number 12, Grimmauld Place.” The flames turned bright green, the dancing light briefly reminding him of the color of the AK in his dream, but with a shake of the head, he thrust his face into the fire.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Harry waited a moment before he heard a familiar thunk-step. Within moments, Mad-Eye Moody emerged into view, his false eye boring in on Harry.

“Good to see you intact, Potter. Understand you've been putting yourself through a bit of training, eh?” The edges of the former Auror's mouth quirked up for a moment before resettling into his perennial scowl.

“Yeah, I thought that since I couldn't legally do magic for another month, I might as well be doing something. So I've been exercising every morning, and I do keep my wand with me before you ask Professor, and my cousin Dudley has recently begun training me in boxing.”

Mad-Eye's mad eye began whirling as he leaned closer. “That's interesting, Potter. What kind of potion did you feed the boy to get him to do that? Or did you threaten him into helping out? ”

“Not really my doing, if I understood him right. I'm not sure of the details, but he said it had to do with the summer before fifth year and some things Professor Dumbledore said this last summer. Besides, I can't make potions at home anyway. I'm underage, remember?”

Moody's frown became a sinister smile as he whispered, “And just how exactly is the Ministry supposed to detect you brewing potions, Harry? After all, you don't have to use magic to make a potion, do you? Not that I'm suggesting you turn your room into some sort of laboratory, but if you really need something, like a bruise removing potion say, I see no harm in it.” Harry's eyes widened as he realized what Moody was saying. `Potions are just mixtures of different ingredients, not magic of any kind. I can make potions at the Dursley's, and the Ministry would never know!'

The possibilities that suddenly opened up before Harry's eyes became endless. He smiled at Moody as he nodded. “Thanks, Professor. That's good to know, but that aside, I just wanted to check in and let you all know that I'm doing well.”

“Very well, Potter. Keep up with it, and remember: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!” Moody's loud cry, even though expected, almost caused Harry to smack his head on the lintel of the fireplace. He grimaced at the aged wizard before pulling his head from the fireplace.

He turned as he stood to thank Mrs. Figg when he realized she was nowhere around. He wandered toward the kitchen, well-honed Quidditch skills enabling him to maneuver through the morass of cats that carpeted the hall between the two rooms. He finally managed to jump to an empty spot near the kitchen door, barely maintaining his balance by grasping the frame. Mrs. Figg looked over from the countertop and chuckled as he walked gingerly into the room.

“Just thought I'd make a spot of green tea and some sandwiches, all right? You still take your tea with two sugars, yes?” Mrs. Figg smiled as Harry nodded. She quickly added the flavoring and put two sandwiches onto a tray that already contained the tea set. She handed the lot to Harry as she shooed the cats from in front of her, clearing a path for Harry to follow to the living room. Harry set the tray down on an end table near Mrs. Figg, who promptly handed Harry a steaming cup of tea. He took a sip, relishing the bite of the tea, and reached out for a sandwich before Mr. Tibbs could grab it.

“I wanted to talk to you about the arrangements for Ron and Hermione before I left. Did I get you enough to cover expenses?”

“Oh dear me, yes Harry. I even had Kingsley come down and put up a few extra wards. I've got the rooms they will be in ready, and enough food to feed an army.”

Harry smirked as he reached for his money pouch. “You might need more, if I know Ron. He could eat enough for an army by himself.” She held out a hand to stop him.

“Don't worry about that now. If it comes to be necessary, we can take care of it, but until then, keep your money.” Harry looked abashed, but put the money back into his pouch. He stood then and held out a hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Figg,” Harry stated, his gaze intense. “Having them here, with all that is going to go on, means more to me that you can imagine. If you need anything, anything, you let me know, and I'll do what I can.” With that, he gave a small bow and left the room. Mrs. Figg heard the slam of the front door a moment later, and began clearing the end table of the china. As she lifted up the saucer that Harry had been used, she found two golden coins winking up at her. She sighed expressively as she picked up the two Galleons.

“That boy. Can't tell him anything, because he never listens anyway.” She looked down at the black and gray kneazle that rubbed against her foot. ”I only hope that he doesn't get too deeply into things. I hate to think of something happening to him.”

***************************************

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Your good friend will be there to bail you out of jail. Your best friend will be sitting there next to you in the cell saying "Damn, that was fun"

--Anonymous

Dawn broke to find Harry sitting on his unmade bed, hair sticking out even more haphazardly than usual, and the straggled growth of his beard beginning to jut from the tip of his chin. He wore only an old pair of Dudley's sweatpants, the color of which had faded to an off-grey long ago. He was once again reading from Battling the Darkness by Ditric Saasi, his attention to the book uncommonly like Hermione's.

Unfortunately his alarm clock failed to ring at its appointed time, so the sudden rapping on his door fifteen minutes after the usual start of his day shocked him so badly he tumbled to the floor in a heap. Emerald green eyes bulged as his gaze fell upon the glowing numbers on his nightstand. He quickly leapt around the room, gathering his clothes for the day and trying to change into them with a minimum of noise. After he finally extricated his head from the sleeve of his sweatshirt, he opened the door to his room to find Dudley looking annoyedly between his cousin and watch.

“We're too late to do the run today, Harry. Dad would be up for his commute before we got back. We'll just go downstairs and work on some sparring.” With that, Dudley turned and headed for the basement. Harry looked at his clock as if it were a particular member of Slytherin House and followed Dudley toward the basement, tossing his sweatshirt back onto his bed.

The two boys spent several minutes pounding on the heavy bag, switching positions every so often. Harry vaguely registered Vernon partially descending the stairs while he held the bag for Dudley, but the muscled youth didn't acknowledge his father, so Harry focused once again on the strenuous beating Dudley was delivering to the bag. The elder Dursley watched for a few minutes before ascending to his breakfast. Finally Dudley motioned Harry over to the center of the basement. Harry nodded and set his glasses on the trunk by the stairs.

The two touched gloves and began circling, looking for an opening in the other's defenses. Harry feinted left and went for an uppercut as Dudley shifted from the faked jab. A left-handed slap knocked away the punch, followed quickly by a right jab to Harry's face. Harry tried to slide his head out of the way, but the boys were too close and the punch connected with a meaty thud to Harry's eye. Pinwheels of color filled Harry's vision as pain blossomed within his skull. He retreated as he tried to clear his head, until he realized that Dudley was looking at him coldly.

“Never back away from an opponent unless it gives you an advantage in the fight. Pain will heal, but if you try to run, you may never get back the advantage.” Harry looked angrily at the blur of the larger man and raised his fists again, the pain in his left eye continuing to dim the vision in it even further. He saw the fuzzed shape of his cousin, bright red blurs blocking the upper chest and face.

Harry let out a growl as he launched himself at Dudley. The young seeker tossed a feint with his left, then followed with a quick one-two to the stomach. Dudley twisted with the first blow, but the follow-up left caught him directly in the stomach. Harry felt his glove connect with solid muscle before dropping to his knees to dodge the right hook speeding towards the side of his head. Thinking quickly, he swept out his leg, catching Dudley behind the knee and dropping him to the floor. Harry rolled to the left and affected a defensive stance as Dudley sprang to his feet. The older boy's face tightened into a stony countenance that Harry could almost imagine mirrored his own. Just as the two boys' muscles coiled to spring, Petunia's shrill voice shattered the building tension.

“HARRY POTTER! GET UP HERE, NOW!!”

Harry blinked as the emotions of the last few moments crested and washed away the lingering remains of his anger toward Dudley. Dudley looked ready to chew nails as he dropped his guard, the muscles of his broad shoulders bulging from the intensity and animosity of the preceding fight.

“Go,” the older boy whispered, the quiver in his voice telling Harry how close to the edge his cousin was. Seventeen years of rivalry and anger could only be repressed so far, and Dudley seemed close to letting off the pressure.

Harry threw his gloves on the trunk and quickly grabbed his glasses, sliding them on as his other hand found his shirt. He took the stairs two at a time as he pulled on the t-shirt, a desire to ice his eye growing as the throb of pain emanating from it became distracting. Harry burst through the basement door and rounded the hall toward the dining area only to slide to a stop at the shocked looks of the people gathered in the kitchen.

Tonks, who looked more sedate than usual in blonde spikes and flannel, appeared ready to hex the entire Dursley household, while Petunia's expression alternated between horror and chagrin at the appearance of her nephew in front of company, even if they were people that would normally never be considered so. Moody, in loose fitting pants and polo so that he could move more quickly, Harry thought, simply looked concerned. He risked a glance to his right and winced at the reflection in the stainless steel of the refrigerator. A large dark area had already begun to form around his left eye, precursor to the massive bruise he knew would be sure to form.

“Harry, what happened to your eye,” Tonks asked, her voice strained. Harry could only look abashed as Moody walked over and the spinning blue eye proceeded to look Harry over, then examined the direction he had come from. Moody let out a huff then turned back to the occupants of the table.

“Nothin' to worry about. Potter was in the basement duking it out with his gorilla of a cousin. Probably got too involved in training, eh Potter?” Harry nodded sheepishly as he remembered his reaction to Dudley's punch. He had always struggled with his temper, and once again he had allowed it to dictate his response. Petunia looked as if she wanted to comment on Moody's description of her darling Duddikens, but she held her tongue as she saw that Moody's eye was focused on her.

Harry opened the icebox and pulled out a few ice cubes, then wrapped them in a clean dishtowel. He removed his glasses and placed the pack on his eye, the cool ice on his face easing the throbbing pain. He sighed as he sat beside Tonks. She put her hand on Harry's shoulder affectionately and he felt a warm sensation deep within him, not unlike the feeling he got when he saw Hagrid after a long summer. He looked over at her with his good eye and gave her a wan smile. Then he turned to Moody, who had resumed talking to Petunia.

“The two of them will only be here for thirteen days, same as Potter there. Once the time is up, Harry's things will be removed and you won't see him again, unless he should wish to visit.” Moody's expression showed his opinion on the likelihood of that. Petunia simply nodded. Moody continued, “Weasley and Granger are both of age according to wizard law, so they are allowed to do magic, but have both promised not to do so unless in a defensive capacity, in consideration of your family's attitude toward magic. The security for the area will be tightened, but we will be wearing standard Muggle dress for better concealment. What with Voldemort,” upon hearing the name, Tonks squeaked, “and his Death Eaters running amuck, we can't be too careful.”

“Once July 31 arrives, the protections around this house will drop, according to Albus, so you might want to consider a long holiday far from here just before then.” Moody's face darkened, and his voice became graver. “Every dark wizard in Britain, and possibly some even nastier characters, will more than likely descend on this location, hoping to get information on Harry's plans from you lot. And I don't need to tell you that they won't be asking nicely.”

“Where will Harry be, if he won't be here on the thirty-first,” Petunia asked, her eyes flitting nervously in Harry's direction.

“They don't know, Aunt Petunia. No one on our side that's alive, except Ron and Hermione, knows where I'm going to go or what I'm going to be doing and that's the way Professor Dumbledore wanted it. I made him a promise. It wasn't an Unbreakable Vow, but I'll still die before I betray the trust which he placed in me,” Harry stated with force. Moody nodded, while Tonks looked worried for Harry. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Petunia spoke up.

“So the two of them, this Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, will be staying with Mrs. Figg then? How will they know if something happens here?”

“I've got a Galleon that Hermione enchanted back in my fifth year. I know that Hermione and that maybe Ron still have theirs. If I tap the coin with my wand, their coins will get hot and let them know that I'm calling for them. They can both apparate, so they could be here instantaneously.” Moody looked surprised at Harry as Tonks whistled in awe.

“Potter, are you telling me that Granger successfully performed a Protean charm on a Galleon in her fifth year,” Moody asked, his false eye spinning fast enough to make Harry nauseas.

“Actually, I think she performed it on every Galleon given out to members of the DA; around thirty, I think. We needed a way to call meetings of the DA without people becoming suspicious. Hermione got the idea of a group summons from the spell used in enchanting the Dark Mark. All I have to do is change the fake serial numbers to the date and time and tap it once and the serial numbers on all the other coins will change to match mine.”

Tonks smiled as she thumped Moody on the shoulder. “Told you she was a brighter one than even you knew, I did. I knew that she didn't need all the extra protections. Pulling off a Protean at sixteen; she works at it, she could rival Dumbledore in sheer knowledge by the time she's eighty. Watched her putting up wards around their house in West Hampshire when she got back from term. That place almost rivals You-know-where for protection. Only needs the Fidelus charm to seal the deal.” Moody glowered at the beaming witch beside him as he shifted his chair further away from her.

“Don't you be talking about security issues with this Muggle around, Tonks. The less she knows, the safer she is. I'd just as soon not have to obliviate anyone today.” Petunia looked at the two wizards nervously, then turned to Harry again.

“Did you read the letter from Dumbledore I gave you, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, the thought of reading a letter from his former headmaster causing a fist to clench around his heart. He pulled the ice pack from his face, ignoring the wince that Tonks and Petunia made at seeing the burgeoning contusion that covered his eye. He set the cold pack on a napkin to keep the wood from getting wet and looked around the table.

“I don't think I'm going to read the letter, no matter what's in it, until Ron and Hermione are here. If what I think he wrote is what it contains, I don't want to know for certain so that I won't start making plans without their input.” Harry stood up and dumped the melting ice in the sink basin. He moved toward the door, but turned back to face the people inside. “Thank you, Professor Moody, Tonks, for coming over and talking to Aunt Petunia about this. I'm going to go clean up and get ready for my friends' arrival. What time are they coming, Professor?”

Moody growled, “They'll be here by noon, Potter, and I'm going to get you to stop calling me Professor if it's the last thing I do.”

“I know but even though he was a Death Eater, the imposter had to be you so convincingly and he taught me so much that I can't help but think of him as you. No offense intended, of course. Just remember, he is the one who suggested I become an Auror.”

Moody glared at Harry before finishing his tea in a huff. Tonks, on the other hand, looked ready to fall out of her chair from holding back her laughter at the former Auror's discomfort. Harry smiled at her before heading up to prepare for Ron and Hermione's arrival. He heard Moody ask his aunt to warn his uncle of the situation before he bounded up the stairs

***************************************

Harry walked in silence down the path to Mrs. Figg's alongside Tonks once again. The day had brightened considerably and, for some inexplicable reason, even the ever-present mists that had blanketed England had let up. Harry wondered idly if somehow the Ministry had figured a way to contain the dementors.

“Harry, your friends are going to go knackers at that shiner you're sporting,” Tonks stated, a teasing lilt in her voice. Harry mumbled back something noncommittal, and thrust his hands deeper into the pockets of his slacks. He was already dreading the telling-off that was sure to come from Hermione about being more careful. The two finally rounded the corner of Mrs. Figg's block, the pleasant normalcy of her home coming into view. They knocked quickly and heard the locks of the house being disengaged.

Harry made it two steps into the house only to be met with a loud shriek and a flying mass of bushy brown hair. The soreness in his ribs from the day before blossomed into full blown agony at the strength of his friend's hug. He barely managed to control his wince, the pain only being dampened by his delight at once more being in the company of people that truly cared for him.

“Blimey, Harry, you haven't tried to take on Old Snake face himself already, have you?” Harry tried to shoot an exasperated look over the waves of hair obscuring his view of his other best mate, Ron. The young man was simply dressed in one of his omnipresent Weasley sweaters and a pair of jeans, shoulder-length red hair almost as wild as Harry's. Harry was privately glad to see that Ron was still intact from apparating, until he noticed the telltale soot resulting from a Floo trip, and hid a smile at his friend's reluctance to try. By this time, Hermione had released him and before Ron could get in a backslap, had backed Harry into the wall.

“Harry James Potter, just what the devil have you been doing that would give you such an injury? You haven't been trying anything foolish, have you? Oh, I swear. You get into more trouble than anyone else I have ever met. I have a good mind to…”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, eager to head off Hermione's diatribe. “I got this in a fight with Dudley. Not,” he stated, holding up a hand to forestall the coming outburst, “that kind of fight. Dudley has been teaching me some boxing techniques, and has been helping train me after he caught me sneaking back into the house a couple days ago. We just…got a little too involved this morning, and, well, accidents happen.” He saw the looks of confusion in their eyes, and realized that they hadn't seen Dudley since the end of term following the Ministry fiasco.

“You wouldn't recognize him now. Apparently, he's decided to take his boxing career seriously and trained himself fairly hard this last term. He's in good shape and we've had talks, in a way. We've come to a sort of understanding. I'm not too entirely sure of the reasons why, but he's decided to help and been pushing me pretty hard, which is what I need right now.” Harry looked into his friends' eyes. Ron looked confused, while Hermione still wore the fiercely protective look he suddenly realized he had seen her wear more often than not for the last few years.

“Well, if he's training you, why are we here then?” Ron looked between his two friends, the tips of his ears tingeing red. Hermione backed away from Harry, the furor of her gaze dying as she waited to hear Harry's reply.

“I…I don't know. You're the one's who said that you'd be here. I haven't even thought of where I'm going between when I leave and when I go to the Burrow for your brother's wedding. I mean,” he said as he walked towards the sitting room, Mrs. Figg having absented herself a few minutes before, “I know I want to visit Godric's Hollow, have a visit with my parents, but I don't think I could stay there for very long, two or three days at most. After that, I have no idea what to do, or even where to look.” He dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. “How am I supposed to do this? I'm looking for a needle in a haystack, and for all I know, one of these stupid things could actually be a sodding needle.”

Hermione sat gently on his right and wrapped him in a hug while Ron sat on the coffee table in front of him, his hand grasping Harry's shoulder.

“We are going to do this Harry,” the redhead stated, his voice intense. “We are going to figure this thing out, we're going to beat him, and we're going to live our lives together until we're as old and decrepit as Professor Binns.” Harry lifted his head and gave Ron a wan smile.

“Ron's right, Harry. We've always succeeded in what we've set out to do before, no matter what the odds against us. We'll figure out this as well,” Hermione whispered, her brown eyes moist as she reached out for Ron's hand. Harry smiled at the two of them as he placed his own hand atop theirs.

“All for one, or some such, right?” Harry could no longer contain the grin that threatened to burst from within him at this display of friendship. Ron's smile almost matched Harry's, and Hermione's shoulders shook with laughter as she pulled the two boys into a tight hug.

“I think my dad would say we're more like the Three Stooges than Musketeers. All I know is that nobody better mess with my boys if they don't want to face me.”

“And Merlin help anyone that messes with our girl Hermione and we find out about it,” Harry replied. But behind the mask of his laughter, he could feel the loss of the men who he had looked to for guidance pushing in at the edges of his joy, overshadowing the moment. His mind suddenly filled with the memory of Hermione lying motionless on the floor of the Department of Mysteries. His eyes hardened as he whispered, “Dolohov better watch his back. I still owe him.”

Ron's voice, moments before ringing with laughter, now took on a graver tone. “Too right. I know I'm not holding back when I face him.” Hermione looked between the two of them, her expression torn between sorrow and worry. Instead she smiled sadly as she drew them into another hug.

“My heroes.”

Harry, his own eyes moist, could only whisper in her ear. “No more so than you.” Ron nodded in agreement with Harry and tightened his grip, and Harry knew at that moment that all would be well.

Arabella Figg peeked into the sitting room a few minutes later in order to check on her guests, to find the three of them sitting on the couch laughing as Ron told the other two of the preparations for the wedding to be held in a little over a month and the various mishaps that accompanied such a massive production. She allowed herself a sad smile, knowing from the look in their eyes that these young children, `Adults, they haven't been children for some time,' had a weight on their shoulders, a weight that no one else could carry. And as she watched the three friends laughing together, she prayed to any deity who would listen that they would be better and stronger than whatever unknown task lay before them.

***************************************

Harry led his friends on a tour of the neighborhood, showing them the area that would be home for the next two weeks. As the day passed, the three felt a degree of normalcy finally intrude on their otherwise extraordinary lives.

“Over there is the playground that I ran to the night I inflated Aunt Marge. I saw Sirius for the first time there as well, not five minutes after I arrived. He looked like a dog, of course, so I thought it was just a stray and almost got run down by the Knight Bus trying to get away.” Harry felt his heart clench at the thought of Sirius. Hermione seemed to read his mind and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Hey Harry, where did you face down those dementors,” Ron asked as he looked in awe at this strange new place. Harry allowed himself a smile as he watched, remembering his own feelings of displacement when he had arrived in the wizard world. His best friend jumped in fright as Mr. Hennessy started up his gas mower, the loud growl of the engine surprising a young man unused to such otherwise commonplace noises.

“Down an alley about a block and a half that way.” Harry pointed north, but when he looked in that direction, he saw the members of Dudley's former gang walking towards them, their faces a mixture of malice and contempt. At the front of the gang was a tall boy whose muscles, while not nearly as developed as Harry's cousin, indicated definite strength. Harry motioned for his friends to cross the street with him, but the approaching bullies veered to intercept them. Harry had a bitter taste in his mouth as he realized that his friends were already in danger and had not even been in Little Whinging for a day.

“You, Potter,” the de facto leader called out, his voice dripping venom. Harry sighed, exasperated by this turn of events. He had so hoped for at least one reasonably quiet afternoon without having to worry about Horcruxes, Voldemort, or threats to his life or health. He turned to look at his friends in apology, only to glimpse Ron slipping his wand out of his pocket, his face and ears beginning the slow burn that would soon match his hair. Harry directed a hard stare at his friend, warning him off. Ron gave a short nod of the head and slid the wand into the sleeve of his sweater, his color still reddening.

Harry turned back to find the lead boy, a goon named Trevor if he remembered properly, standing far too close for comfort. The larger boy looked at the Trio, disdain obvious on his face as he sized up Ron, the only person who almost matched him in size. Turning his attention back to Harry, he cracked his knuckles in glee.

“So Potter, you gonna share what the deuce is goin' on with Big D, or do we have to add to D's handiwork there?” Harry felt his own color rise as he thought of all the torment these boys had visited on him over the years and could no longer contain his anger.

“If you're so concerned for Dudley's welfare, go ask him yourself. Otherwise, sod off and leave me alone,” Harry growled as he tried to shoulder past, but Trevor's arm shot out, blocking Harry's exit.

“Where do you get off, talking to me like some little punk? Trying to show off in front of your bint here? In case you ain't noticed, we got you outnumbered, six ta two.”

Hermione bristled as she replied, “I can only assume that you are the worst in your class at arithmetic because by my count, it is six to three and we've handled far worse odds, not to mention opponents, before.” Harry tried to wave Hermione down, not wanting to risk a brawl in the middle of the neighborhood, but Trevor's remarks had raised her hackles and she would not be easily appeased. The gang exploded into laughter at Hermione's comment, causing Harry to want to hide as he took a step back, not wanting to be between Hermione and what was soon to be a very sore young man.

Ron paled as he looked at the gang as if they were suicidal, and Harry could only assume that the tall redhead was remembering the rare but memorable times Hermione had lost her temper. Harry vividly remembered Hermione giving Malfoy a blow that would have made Dudley wince, and suddenly felt sorry for Trevor, who decided at that moment to shove his leg farther down his throat by laughingly replying to her dig.

“What, you think you can do something, girly? What are you going to do, hit us with your powder case? Or…or are you going to tweeze us into submission?” The gang's laughter redoubled as Trevor puffed up his chest and posed for his goons. Hermione's face suddenly sprouted a malicious grin, and Trevor felt his machismo waver.

“On the contrary, I fully intend to give you a right pounding if you don't step aside. After all, everyone knows how quickly a fellow will drop if he's had his…ticket punched.”

Every male, including Ron and Harry, felt a phantom pain as they simultaneously winced. While the boys hated seeing Hermione angry, the thought of intentional harm being wreaked upon that particular part of the male anatomy could only serve to bond every male in the vicinity over a moment of shared agony. Trevor's wince was the most pronounced of all as he quickly retreated to a distance out of range of Hermione's fist or leg, eager to save himself a fair bit of pain.

Hermione smiled at Harry and Ron, who could only manage sickly grimaces in return. Harry turned back to Trevor and stated in what he hoped was a threatening voice, “If you want to know what's up with Dudley, he's finally decided to grow up and act like a reasonable adult. Maybe you should try it some time.” He marched past the startled looks on their faces, looking back only to ensure his friends were behind him. Once out of sight, they broke into a brisk run, eager to be out of range of any latent retribution.

They made it the rest of the way to Number Four unmolested, Ron and Harry huffing slightly, while Hermione flopped down on the grass, unable to contain her laughter. Harry couldn't help but join her, although his laughs were more subdued. Ron, however, had an entirely different reaction.

“Bloody hell, Hermione! In case you didn't notice, we were outnumbered there and Harry didn't want us using magic. You could have really pissed them off. Besides, you shouldn't go around threatening to knock a bloke in his meat and potatoes like that.” Ron's uncomfortable posture soon had Harry and Hermione laughing madly once again. Before long, the laughter finally infected Ron as well, and the three allowed their adrenaline to bleed off in merry guffaws.

“You were brilliant as usual, Hermione, although I have to vote with Ron on the whole, what was it again? `Meat and Potatoes' issue?”

Ron smiled as Hermione replied, “Sorry, but I didn't want any sort of scene to happen to draw unwanted attention to us.” The three of them sat on the lawn for a few minutes, glad for the pleasant weather and sunshine. Then Harry heard a noise that made his head start to throb again.

“Oh, hell.”

“What is it, Harry,” Ron asked, confused as to Harry's look of utter disgust. Hermione turned to face Harry for an answer.

“Uncle Vernon. He's coming down the lane and I don't think he knows anything about you two being here yet.” Hermione's face screwed up in distaste at the thought of confronting an unwarned and unprepared Vernon. Ron too looked as if he'd eaten the wrong Every Flavor Bean, remembering his few interactions with Mr. Dursley, especially Harry's rescue in their second year. Harry simply resigned himself as he watched Vernon pull into the driveway.

The broad smile adorning the rotund salesman's face didn't falter as he walked toward the front entrance; however, it also seemed that Vernon had not yet noticed his aberrant nephew or the two other teens sitting on the front lawn with him. Vernon whistled merrily as he began to open the door when he suddenly froze, the melody fading away. He turned slowly toward the three and Harry could have sworn Vernon had had a heart attack as his face had simultaneously turned brilliant crimson and alabaster white.

“Wha-who-wha…Harry Potter, you will get into that sitting room and you will explain to me immediately what these…people are doing on my lawn,” Vernon hissed. “I put up with your… problem during the summer because there is little choice in that matter, but I will not bloody well deal with your kind anymore than is absolutely necessary. If I had my way, I'd ban the lot of you from my property forever!”

The three friends stood and brushed themselves off. Harry shrugged helplessly at his friends and preceded Vernon into the house, but not before seeing Vernon throw a venomous glare at Ron and Hermione. Harry felt his ire rise as he threw himself on the sitting room couch. `Don't I ever get a break? All I want is one stinking day of peace without having to hear `Potter, don't make a mess' or `Potter, you haven't cleaned the gutters yet,' or…'

“POTTER, I HAVE TOLD YOU TIME AND AGAIN ABOUT BRINGING THAT UNNATURALNESS ANYWHERE NEAR MY HOUSE! NOW WHY THE DEVIL ARE THOSE TWO PEOPLE ON MY LAWN?!” Vernon's face was a bright purple, and flecks of spittle sprayed the room in front of him. Harry watched his uncle building himself toward a massive tirade, but was unsure how to stop him.

“Understand this, boy, if I see anything, and I mean ANYTHING, unusual going on, then I will cast you out of this house on your ear. And until that bruise goes away, you are to stay in the house. I will not have the neighbors think that you are mistreated. Do you understand?” Harry could only nod nonchalantly in the hopes that Vernon wouldn't make too big a deal over this situation. His bulbous uncle sputtered for a few moments then gestured for Harry to leave. Harry stood and walked back outside.

“Alright there, Harry,” Ron asked.

“Yeah, he just wanted me to know that he wouldn't stand for any of our `unnaturalness' or he'd toss me on my ear. Of course since I'm gone in two weeks, that's not much of a threat.” Harry inwardly grimaced as Hermione's featured twisted into an expression of worry.

“Just remember, Harry, you have to be here for those two weeks so that the protections on you will be renewed.”

“Don't I know it. I'll be fine, don't worry. I've managed to make it almost sixteen years without getting thrown out, so two more weeks won't matter so much,” Harry looked at the darkening sky in irritation. “Damn, it's getting late. Look, we'll start brainstorming after my run. Get some sleep. We start to bring Tom down in the morning.”

-->

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Books 1- 6. Stop reading right now if you don't want spoiled. I mean it. Right Now.

Synopsis: My version of how Book 7 might be set.

Authors Note: Wow, it has been a while since I updated. Sorry, but I've been working on a comic script for a friend, and getting paid does have to take precedent. Unfortunately, the scope of that project means that this will be the last chapter for a while. I will continue working on it when I have time, but posts will be sporadic at best. Thank you for your patience and indulgence. Nothin' but love to you.

Also, I have a new, very short story called `Unrequited' posted over at Fanfiction.net. It kinda violates Rule 2, so I can't post it here, but it has some HHr, although as you can guess by the title, it doesn't end that way. Check it out under my author profile at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/888796/. I have some other stuff there as well. TTFN ;D

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, and is not in any way canon. I do not own these characters; JK Rowling and the various worldwide publishers of the HP franchise own them. I am simply borrowing them for a short time, and promise to return them in reasonably pristine condition. Any and all references to other shows, books, or fandoms are intentional and the property of their respective owners, but this work is in no way, shape, or form intended to be a crossover. I just want to give subtle nods to other great stories (or I'm just too lazy to put much thought into coming up with my own unique names). Any historical errors are made with a purpose (after all, according to Rowling, Dudley had a Playstation in the early to mid-nineties). I'm not familiar with many of the inheritance laws or guardianship laws in the UK, so I'm using what I know about.

***************************************

Without friends no one would choose to live, though he has all other goods.

--Aristotle.

Morning light found Harry already stretching out on the front walk of the Dursley's house. A black sleeveless tee dwarfed his lanky frame as he bent at the waist and pressed his palms flat to the ground. He held the position for a few moments, feeling the muscles of his legs begin to loosen before standing up again. A few lunges later, he switched on his cassette player and ran down the street.

Harry jogged in silence for a few moments, glad for the momentary solitude. When running with Dudley, he couldn't help but feel that he was in constant competition with the older athlete. The drive to prove himself to others wasn't currently present as he rounded the corner onto the main avenue through Little Whinging. He breathed deeply, the moist air filling his lungs, providing a rush of oxygen to his brain and muscles. The slap-slap of his feet on the pavement dulled his senses just far enough to allow him a chance to think.

The arrival of Ron and Hermione had driven home the reality and inevitability of what he was soon to face, and that thought had kept Harry from sleeping until well after the witching hour. He could only imagine the next several months of searching and training that lay before the three friends, and the amount of time it would take to simply find the Horcruxes, let alone destroy them, wasn't guaranteed.

He still wasn't sure about letting his friends come along on this trip; they had been fortunate thus far, but luck would run out soon enough and Harry didn't want to be responsible for them being injured. He still suffered from nightmares involving mer-people and the Department of Mysteries, and the thought of his friends suffering even worse accidents would put him into a cold sweat.

He was also worried about what they were giving up to stand by him. Ron's family, especially his mother, was sure to be furious at his dropping out on the heels of Fred and George, not to mention the sheer level of danger that he would surely face. Then there was Hermione; Harry didn't even know where to begin listing the things she would be giving up. An almost guaranteed position as Head Girl should Hogwarts reopen, separation from her family who might not understand what was going on, and Harry knew that she constantly fretted over him.

With a grimace, Harry realized that he couldn't afford to let them come with him. The next few months, possibly the next few years, would alternate between moments of extreme danger and insufferably long periods of tedious searching. Besides which, the prophecy was very explicit. Only he, Harry Potter, could end this conflict. Only he could defeat Voldemort. Anyone else would be unable to help him end the fighting, end Voldemort. This was his fight and his fight alone. He would do nothing until after the wedding, but he had to decide on a way to leave them behind.

His footsteps pounded along the sidewalk as he neared the main thoroughfare of Little Whinging. His pace slowed until he was walking leisurely alongside the busy street. Harry watched the cars pass on the way to drop children at school or deliver commuters to London. He bitterly envied the Muggles, contentedly pursuing their simplistic goals, blessedly naive to the danger they were in. Harry reminded himself that he was one of the few in the Muggle world that knew the truth; that aside from some strange accidents over the last year and the seemingly ever-present mist, the population at large had no idea a war was being waged over the future of the magical and non-magical citizens of the British Isles.

The blaring of a car horn, accompanied by the screeching of abused brakes, ripped Harry from the funk into which his thoughts were sinking. He spun towards the source of the noise, his hand reaching for his wand, when he felt his stomach clench and his heart plummet into his well-worn trainers. Vernon Dursley was struggling to climb out of his car, the tires of which were smoking from the violence of its deceleration. Harry bit his lip, almost drawing blood, to refrain from laughing at his uncle's attempt to get out of the car.

Vernon lunged out the door, but in his haste had forgotten to unfasten the safety harness, which promptly yanked him back into the vehicle. He struggled for a moment, his massive girth making it difficult to reach beneath himself to release the catch, when he finally unhooked it with a great yank. This had the effect of unceremoniously dumping Vernon onto the ground facing the sky. Harry felt his stomach muscles convulse as he practically bit his fist in an attempt to contain his mirth.

Finally, the elder Dursley staggered to his feet, attempting to preserve some semblance of the dignity that had long since deserted him. Harry steeled himself as Vernon waddled forward, his face a florid expression of rage. Sweat covered the elder Dursley's face, and his skin was a mottled white and pink. He thrust his finger at Harry.

“Just what the bloody devil do you think you are doing out and about, Mister Potter,” Vernon hissed, spittle flying at Harry's name. The elder Dursley massaged his arm as he launched into a verbal tirade. “You are not to be wandering around the neighborhood, Potter, especially while you've got that great honking bruise, is that understood? I thought that I had made myself quite clear that you were restricted to the house and grounds except when visiting Mrs. Figg to keep those… freaks… away from us. The last thing I want is for people to notice you even more than is absolutely necessary. What about these rules do you not understand, you runty little… little… lit…le” Vernon's words trailed off as his face paled, the sweat pouring even faster from his brow. With a wheeze, the large man collapsed along the roadway, his eyes showing only white.

“UNCLE VERNON,” Harry shouted, dropping to his knees as he shook the man. Vernon's lack of response frightened Harry as he frantically tried to figure out what had happened. Remembering Neville's actions in the Department of Mysteries, Harry reached for the bulging neck, trying to find a pulse. He was unable to find anything when he heard running footsteps approaching from behind him. He spun around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt approaching at a rapid pace. Harry felt an upsurge of relief at the sight of the experienced Auror. Kingsley slid to his knees as he reached Harry, his hands flying to unbutton Vernon's collar.

“Harry, I want you to run to the nearest house. Bang on the door, make as much of a row as you can, just get them to the door. Tell them your uncle has had a heart attack and to call for an ambulance. Quickly now!!” Kingsley began shoving his hands against Vernon's chest as Harry used every reserve of energy he had to race to the nearest house with a car in the drive.

He bolted up the sidewalk and began pounding rapidly on the door with both hands, cries and entreaties adding to the din. Through the small window, he could barely make out the shape of someone approaching.

“Here now, what the devil is all the racket about, young man? GOOD LORD!” an elderly gentleman asked, his thinning white hair sticking out in several directions. The man was wearing a bathrobe, slippers and was, for some reason, carrying a blue afghan, but Harry's nervousness simply overrode any shame at having awakened the man.

“Please sir, it's my uncle sir. He's had a heart attack out by the thoroughfare. There's someone with him now trying to help, but we need an ambulance and quickly. PLEASE!” Harry spouted out in one breath, his fear of losing someone else, even if it was the abusive Vernon Dursley, overriding his limited self-control. The man's face darkened until he quickly spun on his heel and moved purposefully toward the telephone resting on a small table not far from the door.

“Hello, operator. This is Linus Schultz of 12 Rockwell Place, Little Whinging. We need an ambulance immediately. I've got a young man here whose uncle has had a heart attack out on the main road near my place… No, he says a passing gentleman is with the man attempting CPR right now… Right. Thank you,” he said, hanging up the phone as he turned to Harry. “They're on their way, son. Do you have someone you need to contact?”

“Yes, my Aunt Petunia. She'll want to be with him.” Mr. Schultz handed the receiver to Harry and moved away to give the young man some privacy. Harry nervously dialed the number for the Dursley's, trying to come up with a way to break it to Petunia gently. His musings were cut short as a tinny high pitched voice sounded on the other end of the connection.

“Hello, Dursley residence. Petunia Dursley speaking.”

“Aunt Petunia, it is Harry.”

“Where the blazes are you boy? Your uncle has already left for work, and he was quite livid when we found you missing.”

“Um, yeah I know. He saw me while I was on my run and pulled over to tell me to get back home when he.... Aunt Petunia, he had a heart attack.”

Silence on the other end of the line was his only answer. Outside, Harry heard the faint sounds of the fast approaching ambulance. His aunt finally replied in a hoarse whisper, “Is he alright?”

“One of the people passing by knew CPR and they got to him almost immediately. I hear the ambulance; it's not to far away. We're on Rockwell Place, about two and a half blocks south of Privet. I'll try to stall the ambulance until you get here.”

The sound of a dial tone was all Harry heard in response. He quietly handed the phone back to Mr. Schultz and walked back to the door. He turned and regarded the disheveled old man. “Thank you sir for allowing me to contact Aunt Petunia. I know it will mean a lot to her.” The old man allowed a thin smile, his gaze flicking to the scar on Harry's forehead. Harry felt his blood freeze at the familiar motion, uncommon here in Little Whinging but commonplace in the wizarding world.

“I'm only glad to help, Mr. Potter. Go now and see to your Uncle. You've got an ambulance to delay, although I do wonder at what transpired to give you that, ehem, shiner.”

“My cousin...boxing practice…You-you're a…”

“Ah, I see. As to the last, yes and no, Mr. Potter. I was once, but I gave it up. I needed peace and quiet more than I needed magic.” The man opened the door for Harry and gently shoved him through to the walk outside. “I think the medics are rounding the lane about now.”

Harry nodded in shock and, with a final wave, took off back toward Kingsley and his uncle. A small crowd had gathered, watching morbidly as Kingsley continued to monitor Vernon. The elder Dursley was flat on his back, a small pool of vomit near his head. Harry began shoving past the people in his way just as he heard his aunt screeching Vernon's name.

The hawkish features of Petunia burst through the crowd just as Harry reached his uncle. The two of them dropped to their knees as the sound of the approaching ambulance reached them. Petunia clutched at Vernon, tears pouring from her face as she wailed loudly. Dudley came up behind her and dropped to the ground as well, shock and fear writ large across his rapidly palling features.

“Don't worry, ma'am. I've gotten him as stabilized as is humanly possible. He's unconscious, but he is breathing and his pulse is regular, if a little weak,” Kingsley stated, his dark features calm. Harry felt extreme gratitude that the auror had been on duty this morning. He caught the gaze of the older wizard and saw the relief and understanding in Kingsley's eyes suddenly turn questioning at Harry's appearance. Harry shook his head and flashed a smile, letting Kingsley know he was fine.

The ambulance pulled to a swift halt and two paramedics rushed a gurney toward the small crowd. The small huddle parted to allow passage, and the pair quickly began checking his vitals. The unworried looks on their faces brought on a new wave of tears from Petunia while Dudley simply sat back on his haunches, color finally making its way back to his face. The medics strapped Vernon down and began to wheel him toward the ambulance, Petunia following closely. Dudley and Harry stood together watching the scene, until Petunia turned back to them.

“Dudley, you and Harry take the car back to the house. I'll give a ring when I know more about your father's condition, and whether you should come to pick me up or no. I'll call Grunnings to let them know about the accident. Harry,” she turned to face the worried boy. “Thank you. I'm sure Vernon's temper was the cause of this, but you acted quickly to get help. We'll talk later.” With that, Petunia turned and was assisted by one of the medics into the back of the vehicle to stand vigil over her husband. The other medic slammed the doors closed, jumped into the driver's seat, and the ambulance tore off toward the nearby hospital.

Harry and Dudley stood watching the departing ambulance until long after it had disappeared from view. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dudley's shoulders slump. He reached a hand out and placed it on the older boy's shoulder in uncomfortable compassion. Dudley turned quickly and strode to the car, its engine still idling. Harry lowered his head, guilt over Vernon's condition pressing in on him. He walked sedately to the passenger side of the car and climbed in without a word to his cousin. Dudley slowly pulled out and turned at the intersection, wending his way back home.

The car pulled into the driveway of the empty house, but the two boys discovered that there were visitors sitting on the front porch playing cards. Hermione and Ron looked up from the Muggle game of Egyptian Slam that they were playing: Ron was losing, judging by the tiny pile of cards he held. The two teens on the porch broke into huge grins at seeing Harry until they saw the looks on the cousins' faces.

“What's happened, Harry?” Hermione asked as she jumped up and rushed to the young man, the cards she held scattering on the lawn. Harry could feel the pain and guilt over this latest occurrence covering his face. He watched his cousin carefully avoid the flame-haired youth still sitting on the porch, no doubt remembering Fred and George. Harry waited till the door had latched before motioning Ron over.

“Uncle Vernon had a heart attack while he was yelling at me earlier. He caught me while I was out on my run and just exploded at me. Toward the end he…he just dropped. Lucky thing that Kingsley was on watch duty. He knows CPR and took care of him while I went to ring for an ambulance. They took him to the hospital; thought it was a heart attack” Hermione covered her mouth in horror at this, while Ron simply looked as if he had bitten into the wrong Every-Flavor Bean.

“This is definitely going to put a cramp in our plans, isn't it?”

Hermione rounded on Ron, violence flashing from her eyes. “Ronald Weasley! I can't believe you would say something so callous! Harry's uncle is very ill, he could have died, and all you can think about is how this will affect our stay? I was wrong about you, Ronald. Saying you have the emotional range of a teaspoon is an insult to spoons EVERYWHERE!” Harry could swear that her hand started to reach for her wand. Ron must have noticed as well for his eyes suddenly grew to the size of dinner plates, and he began backing away slowly, trying to prevent an incident.

“Hermione, look, I just meant that the Muggle,” the flash of danger from Hermione's eyes made him backtrack further, “VERNON, I mean Vernon, might try to get rid of Harry after this.”

“Ron, Hermione, please. Don't start this right now. Besides, Kingsley said that he had Uncle Vernon stabilized when the ambulance came, and the medics didn't look as if anything was too serious. Whatever danger he would have been in is probably over. Besides,” he muttered darkly, “There's not much he can do to me that hasn't been done before.” Hermione's angered countenance had slowly begun to grow more worried until it seemed she was going to cry as Harry made his last statement.

“Oh, Harry,” she cried as she threw her arms around Harry, who noted that she was at least a half foot shorter as her hair was trying to actively smother him. “I knew that it was bad from some of the things I've heard, but that…that is horrid!” Harry patted her back anxiously, looking at Ron in desperation as he tried to calm the upset girl.

“Hermione, I'm fine, okay? I'm…I'm no different with you knowing this than I was yesterday. It's part of my life, like Voldemort trying to kill me or Snape taking points because he's a git. It's…who I am.” Hermione backed away suddenly, her eyes shining with unshed tears while Ron looked at him with what Harry angrily realized was pity. “Oh, no. Don't even start. This is not a pity-poor-Harry thing, so don't even start with it. I'm only saying that this stuff is a part of my life that I've accepted. I do not enjoy it, nor do I intend to allow it to continue once I turn of age. But for the next two weeks, it IS an uncomfortable truth in my life that you will have to deal with! You will hear them yell, and you will see them punish me, and you won't do a Bloody thing about it! My time here is almost over, and trying to stand up for me against them will only make this whole stay worse. So don't even THINK about interfering, OKAY?!”

Hermione's tears flowed freely now as Harry realized that he had begun yelling at them midway through his rant. His anger slowly began to melt at the looks he was getting from his friends. “I'm sorry for yelling okay? It's just…Today has been an absolute bollux from the get go, and this thing with Uncle Vernon has me in a right state. I didn't mean to yell, but I did mean what I said. The fewer waves we make, the easier things will be here. Just…just promise that you won't say anything, or do anything, unless it's serious.”

Ron nodded to Harry, discomfort at Harry's outburst writ large on his face. Hermione, however, looked ready to argue. Harry stepped to her and grasped her by the shoulders, gently but firmly. “Hermione, I know that for some Merlin-only-knows reason, you think you have to protect me. You don't. You just have to be here to support me as you've almost always done.” His voice lowered until he was whispering, “You are the one person living that I know I can count on to back me up come what may, last year notwithstanding. But it isn't that time yet. I just need you to be strong these two weeks and then you can hover over me all you want.” She sniffed as she looked in his eyes, and he realized, a feeling in his gut causing a mild twinge of discomfort, that her eyes seemed almost the same dark brown color as his Firebolt. After a moment that seemed to last much too long to Harry, she dropped her head in submission.

“Alright then, Harry. I won't make this any worse than I imagine it's bound to be. But if I think they're going too far, I will hex them back to the Stone Age,” Hermione stated, defiance burning in her eyes. Harry smiled as he let go of her, knowing that was as good as he was going to get from the witch. He looked between the two of them.

“Come on, we'll go to my room until Aunt Petunia calls.”

**************************

Petunia called almost four hours later, the news hopeful. Vernon's attack was more due to his recent excessive weight gain, according to the doctor, than a display of temper. The outburst hadn't helped, he had said, but the attack would have happened anyway.

“Vernon is in surgery right now; they thought a bypass would be the most helpful thing at the moment. You don't need to have Dudley come immediately, but your Uncle should be awake around 5 o'clock or so.”

“Thank you, Aunt Petunia. I'll make sure Dudley gets the message as soon as I see him. We'll see you at suppertime then,” Harry said.

“Oh, and Harry?”

“Yes Aunt Petunia.”

“Thank you again.” A click and dial tone filled Harry's ears as he felt a small part of the weight on his shoulders leave. He carefully replaced the receiver and trotted up the stairs to his room. They had passed the time reading and joking, trying to keep the talk light and away from topics that were too depressing. Hermione looked up from Dark Magic for Dark Purposes as he opened the door, although Ron continued slowly flipping through Harry's copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.

“He's in surgery now. Something about a bypass. At any rate, he'll be awake by supper tonight and Aunt Petunia wants Dudley there, so I think I'll go with him.”

Ron looked up from the book in amazement. “Wait just a tick. You're willingly going to spend time with these people, one of whom is more than likely completely incensed at you? You aren't getting a bit daft in your advancing years, are you?” Harry rolled his eyes and took a breath before responding.

“No Ron, I'm just as sane as I've always been <Don't give me that look>, and yes, I do plan on spending time with my family. Even if they have been right bastards towards me in the past, two of the three have been trying, trying mind you, to at least be civil towards me, if not outright helpful. So when Dudley gets back, we're going to go see Uncle Vernon in the hospital, so you guys can just hang out tonight. I think there are some good movies playing at the cinema, if what Dudley said is true,” Harry replied, ignoring the clench in his chest. “You two should have some fun, do things. You know, before that whole risking-our-lives-to-save-the-world thing takes over.” Ron looked hopefully, yet somewhat nervously, over to Hermione, who simply put the book aside and pulled the newspaper over, flipping the pages until she found the cinema listing.

“There is a movie playing that my parents said was fairly good. What do you think Ron?” Ron's face had turned a brilliant shade of red, easily matching his hair. He sputtered for a moment before nodding. Harry suppressed the desire to chuckle at his friend's nervousness. Hermione, however, had rested her hand on Ron's knee and nudged him with her shoulder, a soft laugh as she whispered to him the only thing Harry could hear. Ron broadly returned Hermione's smile, his coloring slowly returning to normal.

“Okay, okay you two. Let's keep the snogging to a minimum while Harry's in the room, alright,” Harry teased, fighting to hold back laughter as his friends jumped apart, their faces flushing brightly. Harry shook his head at them in amusement as Hermione stuck out her tongue at him before he picked up Battling the Darkness again. He thought he saw Hermione smile out of the corner of his eye, but he pushed that from his mind and started to read again.

The first thing one must understand when fighting evil is to understand the motivations that drive the one you hunt. Are they seeking to redress a perceived wrong, or are they attempting to build a power base that will shore them against traumas from the past. This knowledge will help to determine an enemy's responses to your own attacks. Be sure to plan for this when formulating your offensive.

As an example, I present the case of Firelle Yardigan, a Dark wizard I had the task of combating late in my career, who was born in 1885 in a small town to the south of Belfast and rose to prominence barely thirty years later. Mr. Yardigan was the child of a Protestant minister and his wife, both Muggle. Yardigan was sorted into Hufflepuff on his entry to Hogwarts, and was well known among the staff for his stubborn refusal to acquiesce to failure. His days at Hogwarts ended abruptly in his sixth year, when he received word that his parents had been killed during a skirmish in the city, presumably by a gang of Catholic supporters.

Unfortunately, Yardigan devoted himself to ridding North Ireland of the “Papal Menace” as he called them. He immediately dropped out of Hogwarts and immersed himself in Dark Magick, purportedly to slaughter those he blamed for his parents' deaths. Thirteen years later, he led a group of young wizards and Muggles in vicious attacks against Catholic neighborhoods and families. The team of Hunters that captured him, in which I was included, lured him to an abandoned church on the pretext that there was a gathering of Catholic leaders meeting to discuss methods of stopping the attacks. He was disarmed during the duel, allowing his capture and eventual life-imprisonment in Azkaban.

How were we able to defeat him? We played to both his ego and his desire for revenge. We knew that his desire to wipe out Catholicism in North Ireland was as virulent as the plague, and that a meeting of those who led the movement would be far too tempting a target for him to pass up. We also surmised that, by the time of the attack, his victories would have instilled in him a sense of immortality, that he could not be defeated. These factors combined made the target irresistible, even when common sense would suggest that it was a trap.

Second lesson: Those who allow themselves to descend into darkness cannot or do not allow themselves to believe in their own vulnerability.

Harry shut the book quickly as he heard the door downstairs slam and the pounding of his

cousin's footsteps echoed up the stairwell. He started to move toward the door when the latch opened and the door pushed in. Short cropped hair preceded his cousin's face into the small opening.

“Any news?”

Harry gave his cousin a smile. “Good news, at least. Uncle Vernon is in surgery right now for a heart bypass, but the doctors think that he'll be fine. He'll be out of surgery and might be awake by 5 tonight. Aunt Petunia wants us out for dinner.”

“Us?” Dudley asked, his eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Harry shrugged abashedly.

“She didn't mention me, but I want to be there. Vernon is family. And with what's coming,” Harry suppressed a shudder, “Family and friends are more important than ever.”

Dudley nodded before shutting the door. Harry looked over to his friends, who were both looking at him strangely. Ron shook his head before tossing aside the Quidditch book. “Things are only going to get worse for us, aren't they,” he asked, his features twisted into a grimace.

“Oh Ron, you know that what we're going to do is extremely dangerous. How could you have imagined that it would be otherwise,” Hermione stated, a mixture of exasperation and hurt in her eyes.

“Well, I'm sorry. Yes, I knew it would be bad, I just didn't…didn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowledging it would make this whole thing seem too real. The chances of us dying would be too real.”

Hearing Ron talking in such a defeatist way sent a paroxysm of anger and fear through Harry. He stood abruptly and moved to look out the window. The afternoon sun still rode high in the sky, and a few of the more adventurous children were playing in the sprinklers a few doors down. Such a scene of tranquil bliss almost seemed indifferent to the enormity of the conversation occurring in the small bedroom of Number 4. Silently, he reaffirmed his decision to leave his friends behind following the wedding. `This war has already been too costly for us. I-I can't do this if they're going to be in danger. I can't be worried about them when I face Voldemort.'

“You don't have to worry about us Harry. Just let us watch after you, like always.” Harry's head snapped around so fast to stare at Hermione that he felt a moment of lightheadedness. To his relief, the look in Hermione's eyes was not the one of censure he had expected if he had said his thoughts out loud. Instead, her eyes were warm and inviting, making him feel like he was finally…

Harry shook his head violently, trying to banish those thoughts. `I don't know where this is bloody coming from, but this is not the time to get sentimental. I must be overreacting to the threat of Voldemort, looking for comfort…or something.' It did disturb him, though, how well she was able to read his feelings so easily. He sighed before replying, “Sorry, just…got a bit fuzzy in my head for a moment. Too many things to think about, plans and such.” His friends smiled before Ron's stomach loudly complained about the lack of eating.

“Well, I do believe it's lunchtime, wouldn't you all agree,” Ron asked with a chuckle. Hermione just rolled her eyes before marking her place in her book and moving for the door. Harry had already gotten there and opened it, motioning for them to go ahead.

“I'll meet you guys in the kitchen. I'll see if Dudley wants anything.” The two headed for the stair, taking hands surreptitiously. Harry allowed a smile to show for a moment before wiping it away and heading down the hall to his cousin's larger room. He knocked gently but on receiving no answer, he opened the door a crack. Dudley was lying on his back on the bed, arm over his face. Harry cleared his voice gently before speaking softly. “Ah, Dudley, we're going to fix up some lunch, and I, uh, just wanted to know if you wanted anything.”

Dudley didn't move his arm from his face, but replied, “No, not really hungry right now. You understand. Maybe at supper.” Harry nodded sadly, remembering the first few days following the death of Sirius, when it seemed as if his world had imploded and how the thought of eating was furthest from his mind. He gave his cousin a sympathetic look and quietly shut the door. He found the others in the kitchen already making sandwiches, a stack of four resting on a plate on the counter. The scene of almost normalcy was enough to make him forget his worries for the time being. Harry leaned against the door frame, feeling a wince of pain from the bruise on his face, just watching his friends for a moment. Hermione and Ron laughed and joked while they worked; Ron putting the meat and cheese on the bread while Hermione slapped on condiments before putting the sandwiches on a plate. Harry coughed loudly as the stack seemed to want to topple since the two had apparently stopped paying attention to the number of sandwiches they were making some time ago.

“Oh! Harry, come and help us,” Hermione said as she laughed at the sound of Ron's stomach growling.

“I think you two have made more than enough sandwiches to fill that monster. I think there's even enough there for you two tomorrow.”

“Hey mate. Where's the other?” Ron asked, his hand creeping out to grab some food. Hermione struck him with the spoon she was holding, rapping his knuckles solidly. Ron shot a dirty look at her, the effect of which was ruined when he started laughing. Harry shook his head at his friends.

“Dudley's…not feeling very well. You know.” Ron nodded morosely, remembering his own experience of hearing that his father might die. The redhead looked up, almost as if trying to find Dudley and shook his head sadly. Hermione took the opportunity provided by the interruption to set the plates on the table, along with a jug of milk and a pitcher of water. Harry sat in his usual chair as the others chose chairs of their own.

“I was ever so glad to hear your uncle was doing well, Harry. I remember when my Granddad passed; I was miserable for a week. He's the one who got me so interested in reading.” Harry and Ron shared a look over the table.

“Where's he buried?” the raven-haired teen asked.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“I just want to know where to send a whole busload of flowers in thanks. If he's responsible for having you reading as much as you do, he's indirectly saved the world, not to mention my life, a few times over.” Hermione blushed as Harry smiled, and shook her head with a quick laugh.

“He was indirectly saving the world before Mum was even born, Harry. He was in the RAF during the Second War. He was an ace, that's a pilot that had shot down five or more enemy planes, stationed near Dover . He shot down a few bombers before they made it across the Channel,” she sighed, “He always spoke of his squadmates so fondly, telling all sorts of funny stories as well as the stories of the raids and attacks. But he always made sure to mention how, when he was up there flying in all kinds of weather, all he thought about when he saw the fighters and bombers coming closer was the pictures in the papers of the Blitz, the ruins and people looking so scared.” Hermione picked a peanut butter sandwich from the pile and took a bite. After swallowing, she continued, her eyes looking out the window, “I wonder what he'd say if he were still here, if he found out his granddaughter was fighting on the front lines of a war all her own. A war just as bad, just as dangerous, against an enemy just as evil as the one he fought.”

Harry reached out and grabbed his own sandwich, his brow creasing as he tried to figure out how to say what he felt. “I think, no, I know, that he would look at you and be so very proud. He fought because he wanted to stop those people in the papers from hurting, from living in fear. And you're doing the same. I think he'd be proud that a part of himself was still around. Just as proud as we are of you.” Hermione smiled as she poured out drinks for the two boys. Ron nodded his head, his sandwich already half eaten.

“Dasrite, Hermiye. `E cunant dovis witouchu,” he mumbled, his mouth full of bologna and cheese. Hermione screwed up her face as bits of food flew across the table towards her. She quickly put her hand over her plate in an attempt to block the flying debris of Ron's carnage.

“Ron, how many times have I asked you to swallow before you try to talk?”

Ron swallowed with a loud gulp before replying cheekily, “Three hundred and forty-eight. Not to mention the two hundred and twenty-seven times you've told me to chew with my mouth closed and the one hundred and ninety-six times you've asked me not to eat so fast.” Hermione sat there with her mouth hanging open while Harry snorted the milk he had been drinking right out of his nose. The three friends broke out in peals of laughter as Harry tried to wipe up the mess he had made. The three sobered quickly as Dudley walked into the kitchen. He went to the cooler, grabbed a bottled water, and left without much more than a quick glance at the table. Harry felt the atmosphere darken and hang heavy in the kitchen.

Desperate to lighten the mood, he said, “So, when are we going to get our apparition licenses? And where do we go to do it? I'm not really looking forward to having to go to the Ministry for anything.”

Ron smiled and with a pointed look to Hermione, swallowed the last of his sandwich before replying, “Don't worry about that. Different areas of Britain have places set aside for the tests. After all, you can't have a bunch of kids testing for their apparition license inside of the Ministry lobby, now can you.”

“The testing location for any students located in the south of Britain is in Diagon Alley. They have to use locations that are exclusive to wizards, otherwise Muggles might notice something they shouldn't,” Hermione explained.

“Yeah, like a leg or a couple of people that got splinched together, you know?” Ron shivered as he rubbed his eyebrow.

“Okay, so I'm guessing that we're going to go on my birthday, or do you want to get it now?” he asked, looking over at Ron.

“Personally, Harry, I'd rather go with you. It helps to have someone there.”

“Then why didn't you get it right when I was there,” Hermione asked indignantly.

“Are you bloody kidding? You make me more nervous when it comes to tests. Sometimes I swear you're going to hex me if I don't do well.”

“That's not so, I just want you to do your best is all. Besides which, trying to get you to do your own work is like trying to get Harry to follow the rules,” she said with a knowing look to Harry.

“Whoa, hey. Don't be pulling me into this, Hermione. I just want to eat my lunch and then see if I can find a bruise-removing potion in one of my books.”

“Hey, you could always owl Fred and George for some. They had that batch for Hermione when she got popped last summer, remember?”

“True, I could, but doing it myself feels like thumbing my nose at the Ministry, even if it is only a little bit. Got to do my part in this war, right,” Harry asked as he wiggled his eyebrows. Ron laughed while Hermione returned his gaze with an uncompromising glare. Harry shrugged and grabbed another sandwich before standing and heading for the stairs. He heard his friends once again start arguing, this time far different than the times before as the teasing seemed much more good natured. He knew that he should be glad that his friends were getting along so famously, but for some reason he felt as if a Devil's Snare had him by the chest.

****************************

Ron and Hermione joined him as he was putting the finishing touches on the bruise healing paste he had found in his Potions book, Year 4. The color was fairly close to what the book described, so Harry waited a few minutes for it to cool by asking about his friends' families. Ron spoke of how Molly had reacted when he told her about going to stay with Harry after a few days; she had almost gone mental, ranting about the amount of work to be done before the wedding. Bill had stopped her though, telling her that he knew Ron wouldn't leave unless Harry needed him. Molly had stopped her rant at that and had practically crushed her youngest boy in a hug.

Hermione had fared somewhat worse, as her parents didn't know what was going on, nor did they approve of her going to stay with a boy for several days. She had tried to explain without revealing too much, but they had been livid.

“So why did you come then, Hermione? I don't want to be the cause of difficulties between you and your parents.”

“Oh Harry. They haven't been happy with me for some time. I've cut the last few summers extremely short with them and gone to stay at the Burrow or headquarters. They just don't understand why I had to do this.”

“Then maybe you should tell them. I don't want your last conversation with your parents to be an angry one,” Harry whispered, then suddenly realized how that sounded as Hermione's eyes grew wider. “No, wait, that's not what I meant. I just meant how I thought you shouldn't go off with us and have that be your most recent memory. We'll stop off after we leave here and explain everything.”

Hermione looked at Harry sadly, before dropping her gaze to her hands. “Harry, I…I've not told them anything. As far as I'm aware, they have no knowledge of what's going on with Voldemort, or the Order, or even that mess with Sirius in Third Year. The only thing I've told them after the whole Philosopher's Stone incident is that I was sick in Second Year, which was why I was unable to attend a month's worth of classes.”

“You haven't told them anything?” Harry looked at Hermione incredulously as Ron could only sit on the small bed, his mouth hanging open.

“Just about classes and Quidditch and such. Mundane things. How could I tell them anything else, Harry? So many people are keeping their children home because of what's happening, how could I ever think to tell them the whole truth? You need me at Hogwarts, both of you, and…and I need you too. I'd go completely spare with worry if my parents forced me to stay home.” Her eyes shone with tears as she wrung the bedspread in her hands.

Harry didn't know what to say. His best friend sat there crying while Ron wrapped her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder while he remained frozen with a look of both empathy and unease. Even now, Ron was no good with crying females.

Harry turned away, his discomfort radiating off him, and grabbed the small jar of paste that had finally cooled. He peeled of his glasses and dug his cupped fingers into the jar. The feel of the thick yellow paste reminded him of the gillyweed he had eaten in fourth year. He shuddered at the thought as he spread the paste over his eye, looking in the mirror to ensure he covered it properly. He turned back to find Hermione sniffling and blowing her nose.

“How long did this stuff take to work on you, Hermione?” Harry asked. Ron looked over and snorted loudly before collapsing into guffaws.

“Oh, Harry. You didn't need to put it on so thickly. Just two fingers worth did the job in minutes for me,” Hermione stated briskly, her smile breaking through her tears. Harry looked back into the mirror only to see what could only be considered a goopy yellow mask covering the left side of his face.

“I look like some sort of absolutely barmy superhero, don't I.”

“Brilliant idea, Harry. We'll see if Madam Malkin can make you a special set of tights, some really bright ones to go with the mask. The Death Eaters are sure to give up then,” Ron laughed out jovially. Harry chuckled for a moment before suddenly seeing a mental image of himself in brightly colored tights facing down a band of laughing Death Eaters.

“Well, they wouldn't be able to concentrate on their spellcasting, now would they? They'd all be laughing too hard.”

“Are you two actually having this conversation, or did I eat something very disagreeable,” Hermione asked, looking at the two boys as if they had truly gone insane. The two boys broke down in gales of laughter again, and Harry wiped a large amount of the paste off his face and placed it back in the jar. After sealing and labeling it, he tossed it onto a pile of shirts near the end of his bed. Hermione sighed and placed the small jar in his school trunk.

“Seriously though, Harry, we need to…Wait a tick. What's that?” Hermione pointed to the envelope resting at the back of Harry's desk, where it had been obscured by the cauldron until Harry had moved the instrument to make his potion. Dumbledore's familiar script decorated the cover of the envelope, with the address listed bringing back memories to Harry's mind; memories of his days just prior to Hogwarts. He reached over and plucked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands as he looked at the writing he knew he might never see again.

Harry James Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

Number 4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

He was startled as Hermione reached across Ron for the envelope. He shook his head slightly and broke the small wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest. “I - I think Dumbledore knew that he didn't have a lot of time. When I got here, Aunt Petunia was waiting for me with this envelope. I just didn't have the heart to open it…alone.” He slowly extracted the folded parchment and leaned forward, knees on his elbows as he prepared himself for Dumbledore's last words.

Dear Harry,

If you have received this letter from your Aunt Petunia, I have begun my last great adventure. I wish that I could stand by you for the entirety of what is to come, but no man is immortal, not even myself. I have lived a long time, far longer than some, not as long as some others, and am looking forward to finally being able to relax. My one regret is that I had to leave you so suddenly, as I'm somehow sure is the case.

It is futile, as I have learned in my years, to exist too deeply within the past. Like the mirror you found, Harry, dwelling on what is not, or what has past will only cause one to forget to live today. Live in today, Harry. You have enough to deal with; do not forget to enjoy every moment you are alive. Many think me a bit touched that I would enjoy simple things like candies, but the truth is that those sherbet lemon I would offer were a simple pleasure that I wished to enjoy while I still had the time to do so. Enjoy what life has to offer without regret, so that you might face what comes and be the stronger for it.

I have given you some ideas to pursue in finding a way to defeat Voldemort. I know that Miss Granger and Mister Weasley will assist you in deciphering what we were unable to find. Utilize that knowledge well, Harry, and remember to listen closely to your friends, even when you do not agree with them. Remember that it is your heart that will give you the tools to defeat Voldemort.

If words could only express my joy at watching the young boy who was so utterly entranced by this new world to which he had been so suddenly introduced grow to be the strong, brave, though somewhat stubborn man it has been my pleasure to pass the time with over the course of the last year. You are a great wizard, Harry James Potter, but you are, more importantly, an amazing young man.

I leave you now with these last words, Harry. In the words of a wonderful group of Muggle singers, “All you need is love”

With greatest affection

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

PS. You might find it interesting to know that I have become quite fond of the Weasley brothers' Ton Tongue Toffees. And remember, a school is always open to those that have the keys.

Harry stared at the parchment, his heart aching, while a growing confusion spread through him. He had expected more from this letter, other clues, perhaps even all the explanations that Dumbledore had never given him. Instead, he had ended the letter as he had the notes throughout the year, as if he was giving out a password. He noticed Hermione fidgeting nervously on the end of the bed, her eyes almost locked on the paper clutched in his hand. He had to fight back a grin as he held out the note and she snatched it from him with great eagerness. Her eyes quickly skimmed the page, taking in Dumbledore's final words until she locked eyes with Harry, the confusion in her eyes easily matching the confusion he himself felt.

“Huh. He must have known he wasn't long in going, not after what happened to his hand. What do you think this last part means? He giving you another password?” Ron said after grabbing the letter from her and reading it as well.

“Dunno. It's written the same, but why would we need a password? I'm not going back to school, even if it does open,” Harry whispered, his eyes straying to the window again. Hermione stood and began pacing the short distance in Harry's room. She stopped suddenly and grabbed the letter back from Ron and re-read it. She looked up from the letter and looked at Harry with a smile.

“Of course, why didn't I think of it before! Dumbledore wants to talk to you Harry. But how do we get in? Hagrid! Of course. He's groundskeeper, and the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts! Hagrid could let us into the castle, and we could talk to Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He wouldn't trust information about the Horcruxes or Voldemort to owl post, not with the Ministry checking everything.” By this time, it seemed as though Hermione had forgotten that she was talking to the two boys. Ron and Harry shared a grin before Harry kipped the letter from Hermione's fingers, the older girl not even noticing.

“So, after we leave here and go to Godric's Hollow, we're back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“No, I don't think so. We don't know what he wants to tell us. Besides, after Godric's Hollow, I think we should go to headquarters. It's the safest location we know of and we can try to recast the Fidelius charm.” Harry's face started to screw up in distaste, but Hermione snapped, “Don't make that face Harry. We know it's unplottable; besides which, the library there had a large number of books on Dark Magic. At least it did. I don't know if Mrs. Weasley or Sirius might've tossed them.”

“Why do you think we would need to recast the Fidelius charm, Hermione,” Ron asked as he leaned back on the headboard.

“Well, the Secret Keeper is-is dead,” she whispered, her eyes welling up again. She quickly dashed away the forming tears before she continued, “If the Secret Keeper is dead, the spell has no focal point for the magic to ensure the Secret is kept. Snape could easily tell Voldemort where Headquarters is now. We need to re-establish the protections as quickly as possible, or else Number Twelve will be overrun with Death Eaters.”

Harry clenched his fists at the thought of Bellatrix and Narcissa Malfoy laughing at the foolishness of the Order while standing next to the Black family tapestry in the library. He began thinking of the last time he had been there and the joy Sirius had shown at having everyone over for Christmas. Sirius hadn't liked Grimmauld at all, but that was because of the life Sirius had known there. Harry's memories of the house were bittersweet but still held a good place within him, as his were connected to his Godfather. Suddenly an idea formed, an idea he was sure Hermione would not appreciate.

Hermione had continued talking about what they needed to do before the wedding, when suddenly Harry cried out, “KREACHER, I WISH TO SEE YOU IMMEDIATELY!” Ron jumped backwards, but as he was already leaning against the headboard, all he managed to accomplish was to give his head a good bash. The crack of apparition that accompanied the aging house-elf filled the room and Harry willfully ignored Hermione's stare of anger. Kreacher stood on the floor at Harry's feet, a look of disgust and loathing warring with the house-elf's desire to serve.

“What does the nasty little half-breed want with poor, poor Kreacher, forced to serve those unworthy of the House of Black?” the diminutive thing asked, his voice crossing from growl to hiss as he spoke. The look that he gave to Ron, who was massaging the back of his head, and Hermione, who was looking positively scandalized, was one of blatant menace and ill will.

Harry stood up, allowing the image of the “Chosen One” to fill his mind and said in a carefully controlled voice, “Listen here, you. You don't like me; that's fine. I don't like you either. In point of fact, your constant bigotry and loathsome behavior make me want to do nothing more than let you join your family on the wall of Number 12.” Hermione gave a sharp gasp, but Harry ignored her, as Kreacher was starting to look at him with something almost approaching contempt. “But you are part of the gift my Godfather gave me, and I will not dishonor his memory by mistreating you. But from this moment onward, I will not hear of anymore talk of blood traitors, mudbloods, or half-breeds ever again. I and those who I consider to be my friends are to be treated at all times with the same respect and dignity you would give to your mistress, the Lady Black. Do I make myself clear?”

Kreacher's face twisted from one of contempt to horror. He began to gnash his teeth in anger, but Harry simply glared, trying to look at the elf as Snape once glared at him. Finally, Kreacher's shoulders slumped, as he said in a defeated voice, “Of course, young Master. Your Kreacher is only too glad to serve you and yours.” He snapped off his last words, teeth gritted as if to try to prevent them from escaping his lips, but Harry knew he had won. Ron was looking at Harry with a broad grin, amazement filling his expression. Hermione, on the other hand, refused to look at Harry at all.

“Good, now that that's settled, I have a task for you. As you know, Number Twelve is now my property. However, there are some who know of its location that I consider to be my enemies and some whose loyalty I have some questions about. I want you to seal the house against all who would seek to visit, save myself, Miss Hermione Granger, and Mister Ronald Weasley. And Remus Lupin” He motioned to the two other occupants of the room as he said their names. Hermione's head whipped around, her hair fanning out behind her, as a look of comprehension suddenly burst forth. Harry allowed a small grin to pierce his façade before turning his attention back to the elf. “Do not answer the door, respond to Floo communications; in short, do not allow anyone contact with the house or its occupants without my explicit permission. Is that understood?”

“Yes, young Master,” the elf ground out, hatred burning in his eyes. Harry smiled and sat down while Ron tried to hold in his laughter.

“Thank you very much, Kreacher. I am sure you will perform your duties with care and precision. Oh, and do try to tidy up the place while you're at it. It would be most appreciated. You may return to the house now.” The house-elf bowed low to the ground, and with a pop, disappeared. Ron finally let loose the flood of laughter that he had managed to contain, and Harry breathed out a massive sigh of relief, slumping down in his chair. Hermione, meanwhile, was looking at Harry critically.

“Harry, that was…”

“Hermione, I know, I know,” Harry interrupted, his expression one of tired acceptance. He took a deep breath and started ticking off a list on his fingers. “That was in complete and utter disregard to the principles that you're trying to establish with S.P.E.W. I should've offered him compensation for such a dangerous task. I've now locked the Order out of Headquarters without warning or explanation. I'm sorry, Hermione, but the idea was one I thought needed to be done quickly.” Harry sighed.

Hermione looked somewhat put out before standing abruptly. She responded, “I was going to say, Harry Potter, that you had a brilliant idea. I didn't think of Kreacher being able to seal off the house like that. But since you are so quick to act, maybe you should look at the time and get your ass in gear!” Hermione's lips quivered as if she were trying not to burst into tears before she dashed out of the room. Harry heard her footsteps thunder quickly down the stairs, before the slam of the door announced her departure.

Ron looked at Harry with a sigh and a roll of his eyes before he bolted out of the room to follow her. Harry sighed and let his head drop back, his eyes gazing absently at the ceiling. Thoughts of Hermione and Ron flowed through his mind as he thought of Hermione's reaction.

“Bloody hell. She always yells about S.P.E.W. when it comes to house-elves. How was I supposed to know she thought it was a good idea.” He looked at the clock on his desk and let out a muffled curse. He quickly slipped on his trainers and jogged down the hall to Dudley's room. He knocked on the door just as it opened. Dudley wordlessly brushed past Harry as he headed for the stairs. Harry followed, understanding his cousin's need for silence. The two had reached Vernon's car before Harry noticed that Dudley was carrying a small satchel. Harry looked at Dudley quizzically.

“Clothes for Mum. She's not going to want to leave Dad, at least not until he gets better.”

“Right.” Harry climbed into the passenger seat beside Dudley and quickly buckled in. Dudley looked over at Harry to check on him, turned to check behind the car, and swung his head back toward Harry in shock.

“Wha-What happened to that black eye you had?”

Harry allowed a small grin to cross his face as he looked behind the car as well. “Magic, Dudley. Just magic.” Dudley let out a whistle as he shivered, his thoughts about such a handy ability obviously conflicting with his long standing fear of anything wizarding. “It's a potion. Just a thick paste that you put on the bruise, and in a few minutes, you're good as new. I whipped it up after lunch.”

“Must be pretty advanced stuff,” Dudley whispered in admiration.

“Fourth year.” Dudley looked at Harry in shock as he began to back the car out of the drive. Harry just let a smile drift over his face as Dudley returned his attention to the road. Within moments, he was watching the streets of Little Whinging drift by.

They drove for five minutes before the signs began announcing their proximity to the hospital. As the digital clock on the dash switched to a quarter till, they pulled into the visitor's lot in the front of the hospital. Harry climbed out as his cousin retrieved the small satchel from the backseat. The two cousins made their way into the reception area and toward the information desk. A gray haired matron that reminded him vaguely of Professor McGonagall was sitting behind the partition. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, and the medical scrubs were covered by a pastel colored sweater. Harry was able to overhear her carrying on a conversation with someone on the phone.

“Yes sir, I understand that… No, I don't care how much you feel it might be important… Yes I do recognize the name, which is why I will not forward your call, sir. If you wish to talk to him, you will have to come here… My supervisor? Sir, I am the supervisor and I have given my final word on the matter. Good day.” She slammed down the receiver and grumbled for a moment about bloodthirsty reporters, to which Harry had to disguise his laugh with a terrible cough. The nurse looked up at the two and pulled out a clipboard. “Fill these out and a doctor will see you about the cough shortly.”

“Oh no, ma'am. We're here to see my uncle, Vernon Dursley. He was in surgery earlier. Do you know what room he's in?” Harry looked serenely at the woman, glad he wasn't at St Mungo's where people would recognize him. The elderly receptionist turned to her computer and began accessing the hospital's mainframe. Within a few moments she had pulled up the proper files.

“Heart by-pass, hmmm? My Frank has had three of those; still refuses to take care of himself. Ah well. Your uncle is in Room 423 in the South wing; the Recovery ward. He's probably still asleep; according to this, he only got out of surgery about twenty minutes ago.” She turned back to the boys, peering at them over her enormous glasses.

“That's fine ma'am. My mother is here with him. She wanted us to bring her a change of clothes.” Dudley hefted the bag into view. “Which hall do we take?”

“Take the right hand hallway until you come to the large statue at the intersection. Turn right and take the first set of lifts you come to,” she recited, her hands waving through the air to match her directions. The two boys thanked her and began the trek to Vernon's room.

**********************

They had made two wrong turns and taken the lift to the Pediatrics ward before they finally found the Recovery ward. Harry was the first to spot 423 and the two maneuvered their way through the crowded hallway. Harry stood back as Dudley knocked softly on the door. Petunia's hawkish face thrust quickly through the opening as the door creaked open. After looking back into the room, the thin woman slid through the crack in the door and wrapped Dudley in a rib-crushing embrace. Harry was startled when he was suddenly pulled into one as well; the shock made the strength of the embrace seem more than it was, driving the air from his lungs.

“Thank you boys, for bringing my things. The doctors say that he'll pull through, but we'll have to change his diet, and that he'll need a bit of a vacation from work.” Harry looked over at Dudley as an idea hit him.

“Aunt Petunia, do you mind if we head to the cafeteria? I just had a thought about … what Mr. Moody discussed yesterday.” Petunia nodded before heading over to the nurses station. She returned with a small beeper.

“They'll page me if he wakes up, so we'll be okay to head downstairs.”

*******************

Harry slid into the back corner booth of the cafeteria, the food not smelling nearly as good as the fare he was used to at Hogwarts, or even at Number 4. He quickly glanced around. The cafeteria had a decent number of people in it, most employees, but they seemed more likely to congregate near the front. The area surrounding their table was devoid of undesired listeners. Harry sat with his back to the wall so that he could keep an eye on anyone that might seem too interested in them. A flush rose on his cheeks as he realized he was starting to act a little too Moody-like. Dudley and Petunia sat across from him, Dudley quickly digging into his pasta while Petunia daintily picked at her salad. Harry buckled up his nerve and cleared his throat.

“I think you should leave the country,” he stated, once he had the Dursley's attention.

“What?” Dudley asked, his eyes growing wide. Petunia merely looked quizzically at Harry.

“I'm serious. As soon as Uncle Vernon is out of here and up to going, take a cruise, tour Europe, do something, just don't do it in England.”

“Does this have to do with… You-Know-Who and your coming of age” Petunia asked.

“Yes. If any of you are at Number 4 on my seventeenth birthday, Tom's…friends will likely visit and will most definitely not be friendly.” Harry looked down into the plate of chicken and veggies he had grabbed.

“All well and good, but I don't think Dad is gonna go for it, Harry.” Dudley pointed out, stabbing the air with his fork for emphasis.

“That's easily dealt with, Dudley. The doctor recommending a vacation gives us an opening. We just need to convince him to tell Vernon that getting far away from anything that might cause him stress will be good for him. And you know he's been quite jealous of the Williams' going to the Caribbean last summer during summer break.”

Vernon's unspoken competition with Michael Williams in Number 8 was legendary on Privet drive, as the two had competed for years as to who could lead the most extraordinary average life. Vernon's rental of the cabin on the rock just before Harry's eleventh birthday had put Vernon ahead of the game for some time, even though he had never bothered to explain why to the neighbors.

Harry nodded. “It's settled then. Once he is able to travel, the Dursleys will take a vacation that will last until well after July 31. I'll take care of the expense, since I'm the one putting you at risk. What you do after you return, well, it'll be up to you. The Order can put you in hiding until the end of summer, or we can do something called the Fidelius.”

“What's that?” Petunia asked in suspicion. Harry sighed as he tried to figure a way to explain it without directly mentioning magic.

“It's a protection based on a secret. One person is chosen as Secret Keeper, and unless that person willingly tells the secret, no one will know what is being hidden. So Vol-Riddle's crew could be standing right in front of your house, you inside, and they wouldn't know that you were there.” Dudley and Petunia looked askance at each other.

“How do you know it works?” Petunia was looking down her nose at Harry.

“Our headquarters was, until recently, under the protection. Professor Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper…” Harry quieted as a man in medical scrubs sat a few tables away. He watched for a moment, but the man wasn't paying them any attention. He continued in a much quieter voice. “He was Secret Keeper, but Hermione thinks that since his death, the protection didn't have a focus, so it dissolved. A lot of the Dark crowd knows about the house we're in; some of them lived there before the war started back up, so the fact that no one had come round is a pretty good indicator that it works.”

Dudley looked as though he was trying to get peanut butter off the roof of his mouth, his face was so twisted in trying to understand. He shook his head before asking, “So who would be this Secret whatsis?”

“Me, Ron or Hermione if you wanted. Even one of you three could do it, I guess. I'm really not up on the particulars of how it gets put in place; Hermione would know, I expect. But in any case, only the Keeper can reveal the secret, so depending on what's being kept, you wouldn't be able to share it unless one of you were Keeper.” The two Dursleys looked at each other for a moment before tucking back into their food.

“We'll discuss it later Harry,” Petunia whispered.

***************************

Five days later, Vernon was declared fit to leave the hospital. The day they brought him home, Vernon was more than ecstatic about the idea of a vacation. The thought of one-upping Williams was all that was needed to make him puff up like his old self. He accepted the idea of taking a long vacation following his recovery period, but Harry saw a disturbing gleam in his eyes when he found out where the money for the trip was coming from. A gleam he recognized from when Vernon had heard that Harry owned a house.

“So, the boy has quite the sum of money, does he? Well, well. That's very interesting, isn't it Petunia?” Petunia Dursley simply sat on the couch of Number 4, her eyes not meeting Vernon's. Luckily, Vernon's attention was completely on Harry, who could only squirm under the uncompromising gaze of his uncle. Dudley was leaning against the doorjamb, hands jabbed deep in his pockets, face reddening as his father chuckled.

Harry could understand his cousin's discomfort. Vernon was starting to act like the old Dudley right before he would beat up some kid for his money. Hermione and Ron flanked Harry's chair in support of the young man. Hermione knelt beside him, hand on his arm while Ron stood tall, his face holding a neutral expression, hand on the chair back.

“I don't see how it could be interesting to you, Mr. Dursley. The funds Harry has are only good in our world,” Hermione stated, her eyes narrowing. “He'll have to deal with Gringotts to exchange Galleons for pounds, and only he is capable of doing so in the amounts you will need for this trip.”

“You forget, girl, that I am Harry's guardian. As such, I have a right to access any trusts or funds left to him in order to see to…his needs.”

“Only in the eyes of the Muggle government. In the case of our world, Harry's money is held in static trust until he comes of age, minus the expenses he needs for school and such. That only the owner of the vault, or a trusted representative, can withdraw funds is a part of the charter for the bank that the goblins insisted upon.” Vernon began turning red again and Harry placed a hand on her arm. He watched as Petunia quickly whispered in Vernon's ear, trying to calm the man down. Vernon's color returned to the pasty pink of someone who hadn't spent much time near sunlight and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why do you want to know about my money, Uncle Vernon?”

“Just… Just want to ensure that everything is invested properly,” Vernon replied, a smile on his face that reminded Harry far too much of Pettigrew when he was trying to bluff his way from the Shrieking Shack. Harry clenched his fist as he tried to control his anger. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the picture frames start to rattle. Dudley, however, stormed from the room, his footsteps as he descended to the basement echoing through the house.

“Hmm, must be time for his afternoon workout,” Vernon laughed nervously as he looked over to Petunia, whom he noticed for the first time not looking his way. He huffed in irritation and looked back at Harry. “Very well then. But no sticking us in some rundown fleabag of a motel, you hear?”

“Of course not, Uncle Vernon. I know better than to make people live in a broom closet,” Harry snapped, his irritation at Vernon quickly escalating. The elder Dursley simply looked annoyed, but Petunia was looking more and more upset. Harry felt a wave of shame wash over him. “That was uncalled for. I apologize. But I promise that I will ensure that you receive a decent vacation, Uncle Vernon. There is still the matter of your return.”

“We will go under the protection of your Order, Harry. And the Fi-Fid,” Petunia stammered, ignoring Vernon's questioning look.

“Fidelius protection.”

“Yes. Is it possible to do both?”

Harry looked to Hermione. She smiled as she replied, “Actually, that would make the protections of the Fidelius much easier to conceal. If you are at another location, people would think you were still out of the country around here, and wouldn't wonder why you weren't around.”

Harry barely heard Vernon beginning to mumble about “bloody wizards” and “unnatural” before he was seized with a blinding pain. His hand automatically slapped against the scar on his forehead, yet he was distantly aware of Hermione and Ron crying his name in fear. He felt a wave of darkness wash over him, as a cold, sibilant voice whispered in his ear.

“You are mine, boy. Soon, I shall have what I want. You. Kneeling before me.”

Harry sucked in a ragged breath as the contact was broken. He looked up to see Hermione's eyes filled with fear for him. Ron hovered right behind her, his expression grim.

“What was it, mate?”

“The git just wanted to remind me that he was coming. That he was going to enjoy it when I kneel in his presence before he offs me.” Harry scrubbed furiously at his scar, trying to make the pain lessen, but it didn't help. The throbbing touch of Voldemort still existed, an ache he wasn't sure he would ever be rid of. Ron shook his head as he turned and looked out the front bay window, his weight leaning against the edge of the wall.

Harry wished that he knew what his friend was thinking; he had never seen Ron quite as serious as he had been over the last few days. It seemed as though Vernon's heart attack, as well as the thoughts on the future the friends had exchanged, had taken some small bit of the joker out of the youngest son of the Weasley's. Harry sat in the chair, his attention drawing back to his relatives as he secretly hoped that the friendship the three had shared for years would not be undone by the weight they now carried. He looked over at Hermione, who simply smiled back at him, support shining in her eyes.

“I'll work with you on setting up the vacation, Harry. We'll take a drive to this… Gringotts once we know how much it's going to cost,” Petunia offered. Vernon looked at her in surprise. “We can't very well have you do it, Vernon. The doctor said to avoid stressful stimuli as much as humanly possible, and I believe that your spending long periods of time with the boy would most definitely fall under that heading.”

Vernon grunted as he lifted himself from the couch, his massive bulk making it quite difficult. The sounds of distant thudding had faded; apparently, Dudley had finished with the bag downstairs. The young Dursley passed his father in the parlor entry as Vernon directed his steps to the kitchen. Petunia watched him for a moment before turning back to Harry.

“I'm sorry about Vernon's behavior, Harry. The news that you had your own house seemed to him to be a way to send you off. I had to remind him of my pact with Dumbledore. How you were to remain here for at least two more weeks before we allowed you to leave.” Harry nodded glumly. He wasn't looking forward to the next few days.

***********************

It took Harry and Petunia almost a week to come up with the plan, with input from Hermione and far too many interruptions from Vernon. Petunia met with Moody about the safe house they would be staying in during the remainder of the summer, and Hermione talked Remus into helping her learn the Fidelius Charm. The werewolf was not overly pleased to hear about their plans, but he had to chuckle when he heard what Harry had done to Grimmauld Place.

“You should have heard Moody roaring about at Hogwarts, Harry. He was switching opinion between giving you a medal for quick-thinking and hexing you into oblivion for pulling such a stunt without telling anyone,” Lupin related as Harry talked to him via Floo network. The Marauder was presently at Number Twelve, and Harry could swear that he heard Kreacher muttering in the background.

“So the Order's meeting at Hogwarts right now?” Harry was glad to see the man seemed in much better spirits. His clothes were less shabby, and what seemed to be a spark in his eyes Harry had never seen before. Lupin smiled.

“Oh yes. We'd actually discussed doing so before you put your little plan into action. Of course, when we found out that the house was completely sealed to everyone but myself, we became somewhat concerned obviously. We do appreciate you informing us of what you had done as quickly as you did.”

Harry blushed. “Sorry Professor. With Uncle Vernon getting sick, and all the things we're doing here, I just forgot.” Remus laughed deeply.

“I have to tell you, Harry. Sirius would have laughed himself sick if he had seen Moody's face when he bounced back out of the fireplace in McGonagall's office. The man tried to get us to declare a full scale alert. It was only after I got through that they relaxed somewhat. He's looking to teach you something about communication amongst allies.”

Harry gave Remus a grin his father had worn in one of the pictures in Harry's album. “Well, he should pay more attention to what's going on. Constant vigilance and all.” Remus laughter joined with Harry's as they pictured Moody hearing his own words thrown back at him. Suddenly, Harry's mischievous streak kicked in. “So how's Tonks?”

Remus' cheeks began to turn scarlet as he coughed uncomfortably. “Well, she definitely had some things to say when she found out that no one but myself and you three are allowed into the house.” His blatant embarrassment coupled with Harry's friendship with the unique woman made him flinch.

“Okay, I really don't need, nor want a diagram, thank you very much. Just keep that conversation to yourself.” Harry tilted his head as he heard more muttering. “Is Kreacher there with you?”

“Yes he is. Going on about how the Mistress wouldn't approve of someone who is not a Black running the house, although he's actually been pleasant to me. Scared me a bit at first.” Remus looked hard at Harry. “Your doing I suppose.”

Harry smirked. “I just told him to be nicer to my friends and that I wouldn't have any more bloodline talk in my house. Perfectly harmless stuff.”

“Well, whatever you told him, he's been perfectly miserable when he has to deal with me. I can actually see him trying to say something bad about me, but he just bows and smiles.” The man looked behind him for a moment, before turning back to Harry. “I've got to finish up. The Order is meeting in a bit, and they'll want to know how things are there.”

“Never better,” Harry replied, for once telling the truth about his summer with the Dursleys. What with Petunia's willingness to compromise and Dudley's change in attitude, the house had been relatively peaceful. Vernon being required to avoid him improved things beyond his capacity to relate. For once, Privet Drive almost seemed like a home instead of a prison.

Most of that was of course due to Hermione and Ron's presence. When he wasn't playing Muggle chess or cards with Ron, the three of them were researching defensive and offensive spells, memorizing them for the day when they could practice them legally. Hermione was also trying to find as much information about Horcruxes from the books she had borrowed as she could. Unfortunately, she was still just as lost as she was the past spring.

“There's just nothing in the Hogwarts library to help us, Harry,” she had told him two days previously. “I've checked and rechecked every greater Dark magic book the school had, and there is nothing in any of them except a variation of the same bloody sentence: `And on the subject of Horcruxes, we shall say no more, except that they are magic of the Darkest sort.' It is absolutely wretched. Dumbledore didn't say anything about where you could find out more, did he?” Harry had shook his head in melancholy.

“Everything he told me, I told to you and Ron. You two know everything I know about Horcruxes.” She had simply huffed and gone off to check another book.

Remus bade Harry a fond goodbye, and the boy left Mrs. Figg's with a much lighter step. Things were well with Remus, the Order had a temporary Headquarters, and the Dursleys were leaving on their vacation in a few short hours. The summer seemed to be getting better all the time.

Of course, the Universe has it in for Mr. Harry James Potter, so who should be casually strolling along Privet Drive but one of the last people Harry wanted to see.

“Good day, Mr. Potter. Fancy meeting you here,” cried Rufus Scrimgeour, his once tawny hair swept back under a fedora, a stylish trench coat covering his suit. The smile on the man's face was almost predatory, making Harry feel a bit sick to his stomach.

“Hello, Minister,” Harry replied, wishing beyond all hope for Voldemort to try his luck at that very moment.

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Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Books 1- 6. Stop reading right now if you don't want spoiled. I mean it. Right Now.

Synopsis: My version of how Book 7 might be set.

Authors Note: Wow, it has been a while since I updated. Sorry, but I've been working on a comic script for a friend, and getting paid does have to take precedent. I will continue working on this when I have time, but posts will be sporadic at best. Thank you for your patience and indulgence. Nothin' but love to you. I do understand that the prefabricated houses that Little Whinging would have do not have basements, but for the purposes of the story have ignored that one little detail. Check out Unrequited here on Portkey for some more of my work.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, and is not in any way canon. I do not own these characters; JK Rowling and the various worldwide publishers of the HP franchise own them. I am simply borrowing them for a short time, and promise to return them in reasonably pristine condition. Any and all references to other shows, books, or fandoms are intentional and the property of their respective owners, but this work is in no way, shape, or form intended to be a crossover. I just want to give subtle nods to other great stories (or I'm just too lazy to put much thought into coming up with my own unique names). Any historical errors are made with a purpose (after all, according to Rowling, Dudley had a Playstation in the early nineties).

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Harry felt so terrible; as if Grawp had decided that Harry was a new type of playtoy to toss around and mangle. His feet dragged the pavement as he slowly approached the door to Number Four, the flowers and bright green hedges a definite contrast to his current emotional state.

“Merlin, do I hate Scrimgeour.”

The epithet had flung itself from his mind before he had a chance to swallow the vile name down. His desire to become an Auror was dwindling with every interaction with the Ministry of Magic. Any dreams he had once held in regards to the position of Dark Wizard catcher were long in the past. Harry smiled as he briefly contemplated taking over Florean Fortescue's shop. He was sure that such a job wouldn't be terrible at all. The memories of sitting in front of the small ice cream parlour before his third year, with books, parchment and an enormous mound of vanilla ice cream topped with butterscotch and marshmallows on the table before him, brought forth an even bigger smile. The thought of himself being the one helping school children work on their DADA homework while serving them smoothies seemed like a very good way to live after however many years it took to defeat Voldemort.

“That would definitely drive the Prophet nutters. I can even see the headline: `Harry Potter retires from fighting dark wizards for nuts, bananas, and fluff. Has he finally lost it after all?'” He chuckled at the thought of people's reactions. “I'd certainly never have to worry about advertising.”

“Advertising for what, Harry?” Harry jumped in surprise to find Ron standing right next to him. He silently cursed at himself, angry that he had been so caught up in his thinking that he hadn't even noticed his red haired friend approach. He tried to think of something but was saved by Ron's next comment.

“Oy, mate. You look like you just took a bludger in the stomach. You alright there, Harry?”

Harry grimaced as he looked around, glad for once not to see anyone out and about. “The Minister decided to show himself on my way back from Mrs. Figg's.” Ron's grimace at that tidbit of news seemed to almost match the feeling within Harry.

“Does he just not understand the meaning of the word no, or is he more dense than I am,” the red-head ground out, a half-smirk on his face as Harry laughed at the self-jab. They finally made it to the porch, when Ron put his hand on the doorknob before Harry could grab it. “Just tell me that prat of a brother of mine didn't show himself as well.”

“No Weasleys in Little Whinging, except the one keeping me from beating the stuffing out of the bag downstairs.” Ron let out a soft sigh of relief as he opened the door.

“Pound away, Mr. Potter.” Harry patted his friend's shoulder as he slid past towards the basement door. “You want to talk about it?” The question stopped Harry in his tracks, and he found himself turning to stare at his best mate as if he had said he was secretly a muggle. Ron grinned sheepishly before answering Harry's unasked question. “What? I'm working on developing the emotional range of a dishpan. Figure if I can get to the range of a coffee maker, I'll be in good shape.”

Harry laughed, more tension bleeding out of him. “I'll be up in twenty to take a shower. I'll tell you both what happened over food.” He headed with a lighter heart to the basement stairs while Ron made his way into the sitting room to watch “Fawlty Towers”.

Before he descended to improve on his fighting, he looked back at Ron. “By the way, where's Hermione?”

“She's over with Mrs. Figg, talking to her about her kneazles. Then we're going to see this movie she's going spare over. Says I have to see it. Some sort of `re-release' thing she just won't shut up about.”

***************

Harry watched from his upstairs window as the Dursley's car backed onto Privet Drive. As the car pulled away, Harry felt something wash across him. It felt like when he would go flying, a feeling of lightness, of indescribable being. As the car rounded the corner and took his relatives out of Little Whinging for three weeks, Harry suddenly realized that what he felt was... freedom.

He walked down the hall to the kitchen, his throat scratchy from thirst. He had, at the request of his aunt, stayed hidden in his room while Ron and Hermione remained at Mrs. Figgs'. Vernon, while `appreciating' the vacation, was loathe to hand control of his domain to `that wild-haired freak and his friends.' So in a moment of familial cohesion, the young wizard watched his family from the house, out of Vernon's hair, but assuredly not out of his mind.

Harry swung the door of the icebox open, trying to decide what to prepare for the evening meal. With the Dursley clan's departure, the three teenagers had decided to move into Number 4, much to Ron's delight and Hermione's disappointment. The young witch had enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Figg, and was in the midst of creating a new society that would focus on the rights of Squibs. Further thoughts of his friends were ironically interrupted by the sound of the front door and the bewildered tones of his redheaded best mate.

“So, she was his twin sister all along, but neither of them knew about it?”

“Exactly Ronald. The two children were hidden away so that they would be safe from anyone hunting them.” Hermione's tone was a familiar one to Harry, as he and Ron had heard it most often at Hogwarts, usually when they had been studying for exams. He allowed himself a slight chuckle at the nostalgia he felt.

“Kinda like Harry, then. But with nicer people,” Ron joked as he walked through the kitchen arch, his stride purposeful as he made a beeline for the crisps above the fridge. The look on Hermione's face as she entered the kitchen seemed to waver between realization and scandal at Ron's callous remark. Harry, in a brief moment of enlightenment, noted the eerie truth to Ron's statement as he began putting together a basic meatloaf.

“Ronald Weasley! How could you…you! Ooooh! Harry, call me when supper is ready. And you,” Hermione hissed as she pointed at Ron, “Don't talk to me until tomorrow. And apologize to Harry.” With that, she stormed from the room, and the two boys faces followed her progress as footsteps stomped across the second floor to the master bedroom. Harry winced as the sound of an angrily slammed door echoed through the house before looking at his friend.

“So the movie was good?” A look of disquiet and fear was wiped from Ron's face at Harry's response. He swallowed the remains of the crisps in his mouth before a grin split his face.

“Bloody brilliant more likely! There were three of `em. Hermione called them the `Holy Trilogy' or something like that. I had no idea muggles could come up with things like that. The lifesavers, and that `Almunius Falcon' and those storktrappers!'…” Harry laughed at his friend's usual mutilation of muggle terms.

“Millennium Falcon, Ron. And they're called lightsabres and stormtroopers” Harry chuckled as he put the meatloaf in the oven and handed Ron a knife. The two then started peeling potatoes over the sink.

“Whatever. It was wicked. Something like that sword would definitely be handy while hunting down Horcruxes or fighting Death Eaters.” Silence fell over the kitchen for a moment as the two focused on their task; Harry trying to remove the bad spots, and Ron trying to avoid removing fingers. A few minutes later, the redhead looked over at Harry. “So, did your family get out okay?” Harry merely nodded as he cut out a discolored section from the potato he held. Silence again descended over the kitchen as Harry moved to toss the potato into a pot waiting on the sideboard. He was very glad he wasn't still engaged in cutting things a moment later when Ron again tried to fill the quiet.

“So where do you think they found a house elf willing to play a Jedi Master in a muggle movie?”

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