Harry Potter and the Summer of the Dementors

"Harry," the note began, "your birthday is in a month's time, when you will become of age. We need to talk some things over. I've arranged a meeting with Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place for tomorrow evening - eight o'clock, and I think you should be there. Is that OK with you? Arthur Weasley."

Harry read through the note again, and wondered what it was all about this time. Meetings. And then more meetings. I'm was getting tired of meetings, he thought. Still, one important enough to bring Dumbledore along was a meeting he needed to be at. Sighing, he reached for a quill and jotted a quick reply. "Grimmauld Place. Eight o'clock tomorrow. OK by me. Harry."

The Ministry owl was still sitting importantly on the windowsill, regarding him gravely. Harry looked up at it. "Mr Weasley at the Ministry. OK?"

The owl hooted softly, and waited for Harry to attach the note to its leg, then flew off into the morning sky. Harry sighed again and stared out into the soft June rain. Not a bundle of fun at the best of times, Privet Drive. Even less fun if you had to live with the Dursleys. Less fun still on a day when it was raining, and all his friends were away.

Hermione was in France with her parents. Mrs Weasley had taken Ron and Ginny to visit their grandparents in Norfolk. He didn't really think a visit to the Longbottoms would be very appropriate. He could, of course, start on a potions essay. Or another Transfiguration essay. But somehow, not surprisingly, he didn't want to do either. Well, there were always the Muggle fall backs like going to see a film. On the other hand, going to a film by yourself wasn't a bundle of fun either. And he couldn't really imagine going with Dudley. In any case, Dudley was out with his gang, getting up to no good somewhere.

So, the choice was to be bored inside or be bored outside. He came to a decision, and dug out the old battered anorak that Dudley had outworn. He did have a rather swish cloak complete with water repelling charms, but he didn't think it quite the thing for the streets of Little Whinging. Pulling the anorak over his shoulders, he bounded down the stairs.

"I'm going out for a while," he called to Aunt Petunia.

"Lunch is at one," came the short sharp reply.

That would be something to look forward to. Or not. He turned and opened the front door, stepping out into the drizzle. No need to complain of a drought this year. It seemed to have rained almost every day since he'd got back. He hunched his shoulders and walked down the drive.

By now, he knew the streets of Little Whinging extremely well. Too well. Acacia Avenue, Laburnum Drive. Neighbours giving that odd Potter boy suspicious looks as he passed by. Not that it worried him any more. But his mind fell into its usual train of thought as he walked along. Where was Voldemort? What he was doing? The Muggle news was full of calamities and disasters, but they seemed to be the usual sort of calamities and disasters that befell the Muggle world. His scar was, thankfully, pain free, without even the occasional twinge. But Voldemort was still out there, and up to what? Harry didn't think for a moment that Voldemort was going to pack it in, call it a day. No, he would be planning something. But what?

He stopped and looked around, taking his bearings. He hadn't been paying any attention to where he'd been going. Glancing round, he realised he was standing on the pavement right next to a bus stop. And a bus was just pulling in, a bus going to Greater Whinging, according to the sign on the front. On an impulse, he joined the queue, stepped in and paid his fare. He went down the bus and found a seat, now just another youth sitting on a bus. How nice to be so anonymous.

Great Whinging wasn't much of an improvement over Little Whinging - which didn't say a lot. But it did have a High Street with the usual parade of shops, and a small open air market at the far end. He wandered down the High Street, window shopping. He had a fair amount of Muggle money now he'd learned how to exchange Galleons at Gringott's. This was something he had to conceal rather carefully from the Dursleys, or they'd be demanding money for food and lodging next.

As he ambled along, his mind for once in neutral, his eye was caught by a tramp shuffling towards him down the middle of the road. Good job he never set foot in Little Whinging. The Dursleys would have called the police at once and have him whisked off somewhere. The tramp was carrying several bulging carrier bags and leaning on a stick as he shuffled forward. Harry's conscience was pricked - suddenly he felt that there might be a lot of people in the world worse off than he was. Perhaps he could give the tramp some money - but then he'd probably only spend it on drink. Perhaps the tramp preferred to live like that, without a home but without responsibilities either. It would be nice to live without responsibilities.

Then as he walked past the old man, he thought he heard his name being muttered. He turned. The tramp had stopped.

"Potter!" he heard being growled again.

He took a step forward.

"Potter! What are you doing here?"

It couldn't be. It was. Mad-Eye Moody. For moment Harry nearly dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"Sir?"

"Don't call me, sir, you fool. Why would a young lad like you call a tramp 'sir'?" So at least Moody knew what he looked like. "Had you fooled, did I?"

Well, that was certainly true. "Er, yeah."

"Good. Mind you, you didn't seem to be paying much attention to what was going on around you."

"I was just out for a walk," said Harry defensively.

Moody grunted. "And I suppose you thought you won't find wizards - or Death Eaters - in Great Whinging. Eh?"

Harry shrugged. "I've been going for walks round here for years. Anyway, what are you doing here?" he asked boldly.

"Even wizards have to live somewhere, Potter."

"Oh - yeah, right."

Mad-Eye? Great Whinging? Well, as he'd said, wizards had to live somewhere.

Moody grunted again and glanced up and down the street. "What are you up to, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing, really. Going for a walk, that's all."

Moody grunted once more, then: "Want some tea? Something like that?"

That was the last thing Harry was expecting. "Oh, ok then. Yes please."

Moody's normal eye remained fixed on him. "You don't seem that keen."

"No? Well, I wasn't quite expecting to see you here. I was just out for a walk."

Yet another grunt. "Well, all right, come on then. This way."

As they walked along, Harry realised that Moody's pace had increased, and he no longer seemed quite the shuffling old tramp that Harry had first glimpsed. They turned off the High Street and down two or three roads which got quieter and quieter as they got further from the town centre. Finally they stopped in front of a perfectly ordinary looking suburban semidetached house. Mad-Eye lived here? Harry still found it hard to believe. Moody glanced up and down the empty street, then muttered, "I'll go first, Potter."

Once again Harry had the urge to break out into hysterics of laughter. Moody must have sensed this, because he turned and said: "It's all right, I'm not worried about any Dark Forces. Well, no more than usual. It's just that I don't want you getting jinxed if you go first."

Then Harry remembered about the exploding dustbins. He didn't care to think about what else might be lurking round the garden.

Harry heard the old man muttering away as he walked down the garden path - presumably removing whatever spells, jinxes and curses he'd set before going out. Then he delved into his pocket for a key - although it didn't look like any key Harry had seen before - inserted it into the lock, then turned it several times, first one way then the other. Moody pushed the door open, stopped on the threshold for a moment or two, then, apparently satisfied, went in. He turned, looked back out towards the street, then said to Harry: "You can come in now."

Harry walked down the drive and into the house. Moody closed the door behind him, took off the old ragged coat, and hung it up on a peg behind the door. He looked a little more reputable now, although Harry reckoned Moody wasn't quite aware that he didn't have to work very hard at his disguise as a tramp.

"Come through."

Harry followed him into the kitchen, and found it, rather to his surprise, clean, bright and gleaming. Moody put the bags down on the table and started unpacking them. Harry was even more surprised to see that they contained fresh meat and vegetables. Moody had obviously just been coming back from the market when he'd bumped into him. In the garden he could see the dustbins that had alerted Moody three years ago. Mad-Eye saw where he was looking.

"If you'd spent a year locked away in a trunk, you'd be paranoid too," he growled.

Harry hadn't realised he'd been so obvious. "Sorry," he said.

"It's OK," Moody told him. "But remember ..."

"Constant vigilance!" Harry completed the sentence for him.

Moody nodded. He was busy cleaning the vegetables and preparing what looked as if it would be a stew. A knife was busy slicing carrots and leeks. The meat was being diced into small squares. The gas under a pan on the stove lit with a faint 'pop'. One by one the ingredients went into the pot. Finished, Moody rinsed his hands under the tap, then filled the kettle. The gas ring under it ignited with another faint 'pop'.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please, sir."

Moody made another disgusted noise. "Why sir? Is it just because I'm old?"

"Well, " said Harry, slightly taken aback, "I suppose so."

"Any fool can grow old. No, perhaps not. A fool that's an Auror won't grow old."

"Perhaps," said Harry boldly, "it's because I respect you."

"Hmm?" The magical eye swung round to fix him with a severe stare. "My word, Potter, it sounds almost as if you mean that."

"I do."

"Hmm. Well, in that case, you can call me Alastor, Mad-Eye, or Moody, whichever you fancy."

"Mad-Eye?"

Moody nodded. "All right then."

The kettle boiled with a whistling sound. Moody busied himself making some tea, and producing cups and saucers. Harry was slightly surprised that he went through the motions of fetching the cups and saucers from a cupboard, and laying them out on a tray. He did levitate the tray, however, and steered it in front of him.

"Come into the front room," he said.

Harry followed him through. Mad Eye went through the motions of pouring out the tea and gave a cup to Harry.

"Go on," he said, "sit down."

The armchair was surprisingly comfortable. Harry looked around at the room. It too was neat and tidy, although decorated with various wizarding gadgets that Harry could make neither head nor tail of, although he did recognise a Foe Glass.

"So," said Moody, stirring his tea, "tell me about your latest encounter."

Harry hesitated for a moment. "There's something - if I tell you the whole story, there's something which you must promise not to repeat. To anyone." Moody gazed at him then nodded.

Harry then related the by now very familiar story. "But," he finished, "promise me you'll never tell anyone about Neville."

Moody nodded slowly. "Hmm," he said. "Very interesting. Very interesting. A typical trick of his, though. Blackmail. Holding people to ransom. Oh, yes. I remember it well." He paused for a moment, then: "But you got his wand?"

Harry nodded. "Snapped it in half. It's at home now."

Moody raised his eyebrows. "Is that safe?"

"Dumbledore reckons so."

"Fair enough. I heard most of the story, of course, from gossip. Not the same as hearing it from someone who was there, though. So he's without his wand now."

"He could always get another."

"Oh, yes. But it's not the same, you know. You grow into your wand. And your wand grows into you. He's had that one a long time now. It's not the same, getting a new one. Not for some time. And he won't get one suitable very easily."

"He can't just walk in Ollivanders."

"Exactly so. Though there are less - scrupulous - wand makers. But not nearly as good as Ollivander. So - there's one piece of good news." Moody paused. "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Care to stay for some?"

Harry suddenly realised that he was company for the old man, who probably didn't get to see many people these days. "Thank you," he said. Apart from anything else, Moody had seen as much action as anyone. And if he was going to fulfil that ambition to be an Auror, whose brains better to pick that Mad-Eye's?

Moody looked at him sharply. "You needn't think that you have to stay out of a sense of duty, you know."

"Actually," said Harry, "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me about becoming an Auror: the things you have to do in training, and so on."

"Hmph. An Auror, eh? I'm a bit past it now to tell you about what the training involves - although I can tell you a lot about what you have to do when you're in the job."

"That'll do fine."

"Right then."

Over lunch Moody opened up more than Harry had ever heard him before. Indeed, once he had started, it was difficult to stop him. Story after story came from the old man. After a couple of hours of anecdotes, Harry's head was reeling.

"Of course," said Moody, slowly winding down, "it's not all like that. Not all the time, at any rate."

"It will be," said Harry softly, "until we get rid of Voldemort."

Moody grunted. "And that won't be so easy. There's not a lot that's human left in him. But there is some. And that's one of his weaknesses. He still thinks that by pain and force he can get his way."

Harry shivered. "As Neville found out."

"Exactly. How are the Longbottoms now?"

"OK, apparently. None the worse for their experience. They were unconscious for most of the time."

"And we've two more Death Eaters locked away. By the way, you did a good job at that trial."

"Thanks. It wasn't much fun."

"I can imagine. Though you did well: told the truth, but didn't reveal too much."

"I was scared stiff I'd let something slip."

"Yes, well, so was I more than once. But it went off all right in the end."

"Thankfully."

Moody got to his feet and stretched. "I'd better be letting you get back home."

"Don't worry - they won't miss me."

"Hm. I remember meeting them - the Dursleys. Not something I'd want to do twice."

"Well, I'll be free from them soon enough."

"True." Moody paused. "Oh, and by the way, there's a meeting of the Wizangemot coming up fairly soon."

"Really?" said Harry.

"Might be an interesting meeting. Keep your eye on the Daily Prophet."

"I'll do that," said Harry, at a loss to know what Moody was going on about.

"How are you getting back?"

"I'll Apparate."

Moody nodded. "Good way to travel. Well, Potter, now you know where I live, you can drop in from time to time."

"Thanks. I'll do that. Bye."

And with the faintest of pops Harry was gone.

He was back in his room at Privet Drive. Outside, the rain had given way to a fine drizzle. He looked at his watch: nearly five o'clock. The Dursleys always had supper at six on the dot.

Moody in Great Whinging! Well, wizards had to live somewhere. And what was all that about the Wizangemot? He supposed he'd find out sooner or later. He sighed. He was tired of being kept in the dark. Maybe when he become of age ... not long to go now. He reached for his copy of '101 Quidditch Hints and Tips'.

At six, he trotted downstairs. The table was set only for three. Aunt Petunia sniffed.

"Didn't hear you come back in."

"I Apparated back into my bedroom."

Dudley looked at him as though he had three heads. But then, Harry thought, to a Muggle it must seem like that. Uncle Vernon's neck reddened with anger at the mention of anything to do with magic, but he bit back whatever he was going to say behind his moustache. Harry went to get a knife, fork and plate.

He began to eat in silence, but he could tell Uncle Vernon was screwing up courage to ask him a question. Eventually: "Are you planning to spend the whole summer here?" he asked.

"Why's that, Uncle Vernon?" he asked innocently.

"Well, sometimes you go and stay with those ... those friends of yours."

"Not sure yet. Why, is anything happening here?"

Vernon harrumphed. "Well, you see, Marge was asking if she could come and stay for a few days, and, er, well ..."

"You'd like me out of the way."

"Er ..." Uncle Vernon didn't actually want to say 'yes', but meant it.

Harry chewed his mouth full of food very carefully. "Well," he began, "I've no firm plans ... but I will probably be away quite a bit."

"You couldn't, well, tell us when?"

"I'll consult my diary," said Harry, with a feeling of smugness.

If possible, Uncle Vernon's neck went a deeper shade of purple. The rest of the meal was eaten without another word being spoken.

The next evening, after supper, Harry stood in his bedroom. Had any nosy neighbours - and there were plenty of those in Privet Drive - been looking in, they would have seen a tall darkhaired boy suddenly disappear. Vanish. Which was exactly what happened. Because Harry was now in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Where he saw Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley deep in conversation. His Headmaster saw him, smiled, and said: "My, we have been practicing our silent entries."

Harry smiled rather shamefaced. He always had the feeling with Dumbledore that he saw straight through his best efforts to impress. Was he that obvious?

"Useful, though," said Mr Weasley. "If you want to appear somewhere without being detected, there's no point in announcing your arrival."

"Exactly!" said Dumbledore. "Well done, Harry!"

And again Harry felt that Dumbledore had seized on Mr Weasley's remark in order to cover Harry's embarrassment.

"Sit down and join us," invited Mr Weasley.

Despite the fact it was actually his own kitchen, he joined the other two with a slight feeling of lese majeste. Dumbledore beamed at him.

"Well, Harry, congratulations are soon going to in order when you come of age. Arthur, as you know, has been acting as your guardian in the wizarding world, but soon will be relieved of his duties.

"Now. In some ways life will be easier for you, in other ways, more difficult. You will be released from the restrictions about carrying out magic away from Hogwarts. You will have full access to your money and," he waved his hand at the surroundings, "to your property. Not, that I imagine Arthur has been onerously restrictive."

Harry smiled slightly. "Not really."

Dumbledore regarded him with those light blue eyes. "But there are also other matters. Perhaps more important matters. As you might realise." Harry thought he knew what was coming next, and his stomach tightened. "The first is that the protection which you currently have at Privet Drive will be much less when you are no longer a child, when you have become adult, autonomous. Luckily, we have Grimmauld Place. Lucky, because it is already well protected by spells and enchantments from the past. And because it the headquarters of the Order, which means that you have ready access to us, and we have also put other protections in place." Harry wondered from this whether or not he was going to be asked to join the Order. Dumbledore must have seen the unspoken question in his eyes. "Alas, Harry, we will not yet be asking you to join. You may be of age, but you are still at school, with another year to go. And while you are at school, your time is not your own."

Harry heard this with mixed feelings: he wanted to be part of the Order, to find out what was going on, but at the same time, he knew that if he did join, it would be a commitment he couldn't yet fulfil properly.

"But," Dumbledore went on, "I know you have felt in the past that I have been kept in the dark. This, as I have told you, was in part intentional. While there is any connection between you and Tom Riddle, we must be careful."

Harry nodded slowly. He'd learned a lesson a year ago - a lesson he hadn't forgotten. He still didn't like the idea of being in the dark, of not knowing, but the rational part of his mind told him it was sensible. That still didn't prevent a rush of resentment at being excluded.

Dumbledore was watching him, and he knew that Dumbledore had read his feelings. He stared back at his headmaster.

"I know you find it hard to accept, Harry. You don't like being excluded. No one likes being excluded. You are one of our greatest strengths. But you have weaknesses. Not of your own making. But weaknesses, nonetheless."

Harry swallowed this unpleasant truth, and nodded again. He didn't like it, and he knew that Dumbledore didn't expect him to like it. But it still didn't make it any easier to accept.

"So, Harry, the choice is now yours. Where will you live when you come of age - Privet Drive or Grimmauld Place?"

Harry gave him a very small smile. "I don't think there is a choice," he said. "The sooner I'm out of Privet Drive, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "So be it. I cannot say that when I took you there all those years ago, I anticipated that your aunt and uncle would give you such an unpleasant time. It was my decision to leave you there, as you know. And I am sorry for how they have treated you."

"Well," said Harry, "that's not exactly your fault. The way they treated me" - he shrugged - "that was up to them, not to you."

"Even so," said Dumbledore. "It might have been their responsibility once they'd taken you in, but it was my responsibility for leaving you there in the first place."

Harry thought that unless he broke the cycle of apology, they'd be there forever. "You didn't have a lot of choice. Anyway, that's the past, and we ought to be looking to the future."

Mr Weasley smiled, and made his contribution. "I'm glad you said that. Thinking on the past only makes you brood, and you can't change the past. You can change the future."

"You're right," said Harry. But he sometimes felt that people had been giving him advice all his life. And he was getting tired of it. Even if it was good advice, and well meant, as Arthur Weasley's was, he still couldn't help feeling that little twinge of resentment again.

"So," Dumbledore went on, "when will you move in?"

"Need you ask?" said Harry. Then he had another idea. "And while I'm at it," he asked Dumbledore, "would you like to come to the party?"

He'd only just had the idea, but why not?

Dumbledore smiled. "What sort of party would it be?"

"A birthday party, a housewarming party, a coming of age party." His first ever birthday party. That he knew of, that is. Perhaps his parents had celebrated his first birthday, baked him a cake. But he remembered nothing of that.

"In that case," said Dumbledore gravely, "I accept. If, though, you don't think that the presence of your Headmaster might, well, dampen the party spirit?"

Harry grinned. "They'll have to live with it."

"I think it would be an excellent idea," said Mr Weasley.

"Yeah," said Harry, already turning it over in his mind.