Changes Come

"There is all this untouched beauty
The light the dark both running through me
Is there still redemption for anyone

Changes come
Turn my world around
Changes come
Bring the whole thing down"

~Over the Rhine (Changes Come, Ohio)

"We'll see you soon, mate," said Ron, anxiously, shaking Harry's hand.

"Really soon, Harry," said Hermione earnestly. "We promise."

Harry nodded. He somehow could not find the words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead he smiled, raised a hand of farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.

When they reached the car, Uncle Vernon unlocked the doors and opened the boot automatically with his remote control. The Dursleys quickly got in the car, leaving Harry to stow his heavy trunk without assistance, not that he expected anything different. Harry climbed in the back with Hedwig, and the four of them drove out of the City.

After a few minutes of silence, Uncle Vernon began to grumble to Aunt Petunia about the price of petrol, the new incompetent intern at Grunnings, and some television program he didn't approve of. Aunt Petunia nodded and commented at appropriate intervals. Dudley settled into a hand-held video game, and his only words were, "C'mon, die. Die!" every few seconds.

Harry watched the film roll of scenery that flew past him in the window. He could see the dim reflection of his face as he watched the world outside move in a series of shops, restaurants, pedestrians, and parked cars. His mind unconsciously drifted toward the events of the past week.

His complete lack of judgment had almost killed Ron and Hermione, not to mention Neville, Luna, and Ginny. Because of his errors, even Tonks ended up in hospital. And Sirius di. . .He still could not even bear to form the word tangibly in his mind. The reality was simply too terrible. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. He absently stuck his first two fingers in Hedwig's cage and stroked her soft feathers. She hooted sympathetically and nipped tenderly at his hand. Harry, who had felt so loved and confident only minutes before, worried about the summer to come. He had made so many mistakes, and his guilt was excruciating. How could he ever make it up to all the people he had hurt?

In a crunch of gravel, the Dursley's pulled into the drive at Number 4, and the three of them headed into the house. When Harry came into the pristine house with his trunk, Uncle Vernon moved toward him as if to take his trunk. In past summers, all of his school things had been locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Defiantly, Harry stepped between his uncle and the trunk.

"Uncle Vernon, I think I'll keep my things with me in my room this summer, thanks," Harry said firmly. At this, Petunia and Dudley stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfurl, their eyes shifted back and forth from Harry to Uncle Vernon.

"Boy, I'll not have your nasty school things where you can get to them to do m--mag--that thing," Uncle Vernon replied, growing quite red in the face.

Harry, who was also becoming flushed from agitation, stood his ground.

"No, Uncle Vernon. I need my things with me. I have homework to keep up with, and seeing as they are my things, you can't tell me where to put them," Harry said, thinking he could actually think of a very good place for Uncle Vernon to keep his wand for the summer.

At this, Uncle Vernon took a step toward Harry, so that his large, now intensely purple face was only inches from Harry's. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I don't care what you and your freaky band of weirdos threaten me with. This is my house, and you are only here because your aunt and I allow it. You will do as I say, or you can very well find another place to live this summer."

Harry fumed, but he bit his tongue and set his jaw. He was not going to give in to his uncle's idiotic demands. Both he and his uncle stood in a battle of wills, not blinking, not speaking, and silently daring the other to make a sound, a move, anything.

To Harry's surprise, it was Aunt Petunia's voice which broke the stalemate. She rested her bony hand on Uncle Vernon's arm and said, "Vernon, I think the boy should have his things. I--I want to convert the cupboard into a storage unit, with new shelves and things, and his trunk would only be in my way."

Uncle Vernon stepped back from his nephew and looked at his wife. He sputtered for a moment or two, but finally said, "Fine. But boy, you will be spending your time doing whatever your aunt tells you to do to get that cupboard in order. And if I suspect any funny business going on because of you, I will chuck you out of my house without hesitation. I don't care what that old man from your school says, and I don't care about that Lord Vlady-whatsit--I'll not tolerate any of it!"

"Fine," Harry said through clenched teeth, and he hauled his trunk up the stairs. When he finally closed the door to his room, he let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. This was the first summer since he started at Hogwarts that he would not have to hide the few things he could nick from his trunk under the loose floorboard below his bed. He opened his trunk, unpacked his clothes, set his schoolbooks on the shelves, and took his pictures and Quidditch posters and placed them where he thought they should go. For the first time in his life, his place at the Dursley's looked like it was his. He sent Hedwig off with a quickly scrawled note to the Order, letting them know he had made it safely to Number 4 Privet Drive. He was so tired he barely had time to take off his glasses before he fell asleep on his bed, fully clothed.

-***-

The summer was turning into what seemed to be the longest summer of his life. In most of the almost two weeks since he'd made his mandatory return to Privet Drive, Harry just ignored Uncle Vernon's bulging forehead vein and tried to make a quiet escape every day before his extra helping of chores got even bigger. He disregarded the strange looks his aunt gave him, and he was silently amused by the look of utmost fear that Dudley wore most of the time in his presence. Honestly, Harry spent most of his days trying to avoid speaking a word to anyone, and he was becoming pretty good at it.

One morning, he woke early to the sound of Hedwig's soft hooting. She fluttered over to his bed with three letters, one each from Ron, Hermione, and Lupin. The letters were brief. Ron and Hermione's were friendly and supportive, and Lupin's reminded him to be careful and to continue to write often. Harry got up and gave his snowy owl a handful of treats.

Before he willed himself to go down to breakfast with the Dursleys, he looked out the window at the perfectly manicured gardens of Privet Drive. Although he couldn't see them, he knew they were there.

Members of the Order were surely out there guarding him. They usually didn't speak to him, but one morning while weeding, an invisible someone had bumped into him and fell into the front hedge. The toe of a black Dr. Martin boot appeared out of nowhere, and then it quickly disappeared. Harry looked at the spot where the toe had been and then up to where the unseen face was sure to be, and he winked. "Wotcher, Harry," came Tonks' whispered greeting. Harry acknowledged this with a quick nod of his head before returning to his flowerbed.

His Aunt and Uncle were already at the table, half hidden by their sections of the newspaper, and Dudley sat watching advertisements on the telly and grimacing at his oatmeal and fruit salad. Apparently, he had graduated from a half of a grapefruit, but he still wasn't allowed the pounds of bacon, sausages, and eggs he used to eat.

Harry fixed himself some tea and made himself a sandwich out of some toast and eggs. He took his place at the table and ate his meal silently. He was happy to see that today was apparently one in which he would be ignored rather than berated. When the program on the television resumed, he saw that it was the morning news, so he listened carefully. After hearing about a stabbing in the Tube, ways to avoid identity theft, and why everyone must stop using mobile phones immediately for fear of brain cancer; he thought to himself that Voldemort was once again biding his time.

His scar hadn't hurt him much since the night at the Department of Mysteries, although it did prickle or ache dully almost constantly.

"Well, Petunia, I'm off to work," Uncle Vernon said as he stood up and gave his wife a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He glared at Harry, grabbed his briefcase and went out the door.

Aunt Petunia was clucking her tongue at something she was reading in the paper when the phone rang.

"Dursleys," Dudley answered, and with a look of supreme shock he turned to Harry. "Potter, it's for you."

Confused, Harry lifted the handset of the kitchen telephone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Harry. This is Arabella Figg. I want to see if you could pop round sometime today, say for lunch?"

Taken aback, Harry replied, "Er, alright? How's 12:00 sound?"

"Excellent. Do be careful on your way over."

"Right. See you then," and he rang off.

"What was that about, then?" came Aunt Petunia's voice in a tone that Harry found hard to read.

Not wanting to upset his chances of actually being able to make his appointment, Harry kept his cool and said, "Ara--er--I mean--Mrs. Figg asked that I come around today to er--help her with some chores around the house. I told her I'd be there at noon."

His aunt looked at him carefully, as if trying to decide if he was up to something. She finally said in her usual prickly tone, "Well, I guess it'd do you some good to be useful to someone for a change. Before you go, I need you to clear out the cupboard under the stairs. I want to have it ready to measure by this evening. Just put everything in the garage."

-***-

When Harry opened the door to his old cupboard, he wondered exactly how Uncle Vernon planned to keep his trunk in it. It was close to bursting with boxes, books, bags, gift-wrap, as well as the old cot he used to sleep on and a few hundred magazines and newspapers.

It was slow and cumbersome work. Harry figured that the boxes must be filled with bricks or lead, they were so heavy. Aunt Petunia had laid a path of towels down from the cupboard to the garage so he wouldn't dirty up the carpet. The task quickly became very repetitive. Walk to cupboard. Pick up heavy box. Follow trail. Put box in garage. Repeat.

This suited him just fine, as his life at Number 4 was pretty repetitive in and of itself. Wake up. Try to forget horrible dreams about godfather's death. Get dressed. Ignore Dursleys. Read letters from friends. Write quick letter back so they won't worry. Do chores. Hide emotions. Read text for school. Go to sleep. Repeat.

Somewhere along his towel trail, his mind drifted, as it often did, to the Department of Mysteries. Now, it seemed like ages ago. It was really only weeks. While last year had been grueling all the way through, he could still remember what it was like to joke with Ron and Hermione and mean it. He could remember laughing--having a crack at Hermione's obsessive need to free the house elves, watching Ron try to break his own record of how many pumpkin pasties he could stuff in his mouth in one go, seeing which one of the first years would be turned into a canary because of Fred or Georges enchanted sweets--He could remember, but that feeling seemed so far away now. He felt so--separate. He felt so--guilty. It always came back to his guilt. Everything was his fault--his friends were hurt, and Sirius--Sirius died. Because of him. Because he was too thick to think it might be a trap.

Harry ran it through for the thousandth time back and forth in his mind. Today, as he walked along his path of towels heaving heavy boxes of stuff that didn't belong to him, he realized that he was still so very tired. He just wanted so badly to go to sleep. He thought, Have someone wake me when I'm not the one, the only one. The killed or be killed one.

Shit. Harry dropped the box of books he was holding onto the carpet with a thud. The prophecy. The bloody prophecy. Why did I have to go and think about that now? Right, Harry thought to himself as he cleared his throat of the lump that had come to rest there. Pick up the box, Potter. Right. Just clean the cupboard. Right. So, he righted the box, and began putting its contents back inside.

-***-

It was already after 12:00 when Aunt Petunia was satisfied enough with his work to let him go. He quickly walked out the door of Number 4 and down the street. Hands in his pockets, he passed house after perfectly groomed house, garden after immaculately weeded garden. It was as though the neighborhood was an enormous paper chain--a series of cut outs linked together in bland similarity. He finally turned toward Mrs. Figg's walk and strode toward the front door. A small gray cat mewed at him as he pushed the button for the bell.

Harry waited about thirty seconds before Mrs. Figg opened her front door. When she did, the mingled smell of cabbage, cats, and shepherds pie filled his nostrils.

"Merlin! Harry, how good to see you! I was beginning to wonder if you forgot about lunch today."

"Sorry, Mrs. Figg. I was doing some chores for Aunt Petunia, and they--er--ran a little late."

"Well, come in. You'll let all of the cats out if you keep lurking in the doorway like that." She scooped up the small gray cat and ushered Harry through to the kitchen where he took a seat at the small, heavy wooden table. She set the cat down before a bank of small, different colored plastic bowls, where it began to drink some water.

"Tea, dear?" She said as she pulled a heavy pan of shepherd's pie out of the oven and placed it with a dull scraping thud on the stove above.

"Er, yeah. Thanks."

She brought a cup of tea, and a large plate of shepherd's pie. She then set down a cup and a plate for herself and joined him at the table.

Mrs. Figg looked at him and asked, "So, tell me. How's your summer?"

Harry gave a small, noncommittal shrug and said, "Same as usual."

She continued, "How are those friends of yours? I ran into them at Grimmauld place last week, and they said you hadn't been very--chatty."

"Yeah, well. . ." Harry scrapped his fork through the mashed potatoes on his plate, forming deep grooves in them. Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to tell Mrs. Figg that he didn't particularly want to talk to anyone. Not to mention that he didn't have the faintest clue as to what to say even if he did. How do you put into words how sorry you are for almost getting all of your best friends killed by Death Eaters? And your godfather actually killed?

Like a picture show in his mind, Harry saw Ron ensnared by the tentacles of a large disembodied brain, Hermione absorbing the purple spell that left her a lifeless heap on the floor, Ginny clutching her broken ankle, Sirius falling through the veil. . . He swallowed down a lump in his throat, causing his Adam's apple to bob--up, down.

"Oh, come on, dear," Mrs. Figg patted his hand in short, quick movements before she grasped it and held on as she looked him straight in the eye. "You can't expect to just shut everyone out forever. You'll be needing your friends in these times and the time to come. Don't forget that."

Harry didn't quite know how to reply, so he just sipped his tea and took another bite of pie.

Mrs. Figg didn't seem to mind his silence, and for that, Harry was very glad. It was good to simply have a place to be where he wasn't sneered at, yelled at, or ignored. To have someone just there with him felt good. And for the first time in weeks, Harry was glad to be in the company of another person.

The comfortable silence was broken abruptly by a popping sound coming from the living room. Harry started and dropped his fork. Mrs. Figg said, "Goodness, I forgot. There is actually another reason I wished to have you over today," and with that she swept quickly from the kitchen, her slippers making flopping noises all the way. She was half-way to the parlor when she called, "We don't have all day, are you coming or not?"

Curious, Harry followed the old woman into the living room, where he was just in time to see a tall robed figure step gracefully from the fireplace. Albus Dumbledore stood before him, looking at him through his half-moon spectacles with the familiar twinkle once again in his eyes.

His voice was the same friendly, comforting one he remembered.

"Hello, Harry. Hello, Arabella. I trust you are both doing well today."

Mrs. Figg spoke first, "Hello, Albus. I do hope the Floo Network wasn't too crowded today. I know it can be a bit of trouble around lunchtime. Can I offer you some tea or pumpkin juice?"

Dumbledore kindly responded, "No, thank you. My journey was quite alright, although I think I accidentally might have given the cocker spaniel in the house next door a bit of a surprise, though. I don't think he is accustomed to seeing old men in his fireplace. I must have, by mistake, made the Floo connection a little too large. "

"Well, I guess I'll leave you two. I know you have things to do. Just give a shout if you need anything," said Mrs. Figg as she flopped her way out of the room.

"Hello, professor," Harry said with a gulp. He really did not expect to see his headmaster, and he really did not know what to say. The last time they had spoken, Harry had single-handedly made a ruin of his beautiful office. Looking back, he felt a little ashamed by his behavior. Although Dumbledore did not seem angry with him, he wondered if he would be in trouble. Their last conversation had been so terribly emotional. Sirius had just died; his friends were injured, he found out about the prophecy and exactly why he must stay at Privet Drive every summer.

As they both took seats on old, worn armchairs in Mrs. Figg's living room, the headmaster spoke again. "You must forgive the surprise, Harry. As many of our means of communication are not entirely secure, I could not inform you that I would be coming by this afternoon. There are several matters which I would like to discuss with you, and I sincerely hope that the time you have had away from Hogwarts will help this conversation be a bit more productive than our last." His eyes still held their sparkle, but Harry could tell that some serious business was ahead, and he wondered if he was ready for whatever was coming.

"I have spoken with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, and they tell me that you have not been communicating with them as usual. I assume this is largely due to the events that took place at the Department of Mysteries," he offered.

Harry sighed, "It's just--I--I--I don't know what I could possibly say. I nearly got them killed! Got myself killed! I did get Sirius killed! What am I supposed to say? I convinced them all to go with me. You know, Hermione told me to wait. But, no--I had to be the hero. But, I thought they were hurting him--I thought--" Harry looked away. He hadn't spoken these thoughts aloud. When they were only thoughts in his head he could shove them aside. But now, having Dumbledore's ancient face full of concern studying him, he didn't know if he could ever get over the overwhelming sense of shame that had balled its way into his very bones. He felt like running away. There was no way anyone would ever want to have anything to do with him again, and why would they?

"Harry, as I told you in my office, I'll tell you again. While the actions you chose did lead to a considerable amount of trouble, you did what you thought you had to do. Yes, the choices you made did put others into harm's way, but as I have stated before, I am the one who should shoulder much of the burden of blame. Had I been more open with you last year, many of these things would never have happened. And, as I have also told you before, wizards far older and more experienced than you have been tricked by Lord Voldemort."

He paused for just a moment before continuing. "You mustn't let these terrible events take you away. Anger. Guilt. Shame. Vengefullness. These are emotions that are necessary to help you grow and learn from past events. They make you human and help you understand responsibility. However, when dwelled upon, they will only make you more susceptible to Voldemort. These intense emotions, if left unchecked, can be used by Voldemort against you."

He added, "Remember that these more difficult emotions, for now, come from a place of love within you. You feel these things because of the love you hold for your friends and Sirius. While I don't expect, or even wish, that they will all recede immediately upon the close of this conversation, I do hope that you will remember that your friends, Sirius, the members of the Order who fought that night, as well as myself, all went to the Department of Mysteries because of the love we have for you, Harry. We all went to fight the same enemy, Lord Voldemort. He is where the blame lies. He is the one who is really at fault."

Harry picked at an already frayed doily that was covering one of the arms of the chair in which he was sitting. He knew all of this, but the headmaster made it all sound so easy. How was he ever going to be able to look anyone in the eye again? He sighed and looked at Dumbledore's kind face. "I know, professor. I just don't know what to do to make things right."

With an understanding nod, Dumbledore spoke again. "I cannot, Harry, tell you any exact way to move through grief. It is a process through which we all must move in our own ways. I can tell you, however, that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are not people whom you should avoid right now. They are more perceptive that you might suspect, and they are worried about you. They know how you seem to keep those things that you feel might be uncomfortable hidden from them. Do remember that it is our good friends that can often help us to see and realize the good things within ourselves that we cannot see alone."

Harry looked up from his doily and into Dumbledore's eyes and said, "Thank you, sir."

In a more business-like tone than he used before, Dumbledore added, "There are other matters which I'd hoped to discuss with you today, Harry."

Harry looked up and wondered what was coming. The first part of their conversation had left him feeling emotionally drained, but he was glad at the change in tone. He didn't think he would be able to stomach any more talking about Sirius and the Department of Mysteries.

"First, there is the matter of some supplemental training. You are a remarkable wizard, Harry, and I would like it very much if you could spend some time during your holiday to have some additional instruction. I would like very much to be the person who works with you, however my duties with the Order and Hogwarts will prevent me from meeting with you as often as I think would be beneficial. I have decided that Remus Lupin would be the best person to work with you this summer. What do you think?"

Smiling, Harry replied, "I think that would be brilliant, Professor. I would like that a lot."

"Excellent, Harry. As you, I'm sure, are particularly aware, wizards are not permitted to use magic away from school until after passing their OWL examinations. There are still a couple more weeks before those results arrive. I have asked the ministry to allow you to use your wand in the presence of qualified wizards until your results are sent to you. They have agreed, so you will be able to practice properly during your lessons."

A more serious expression crossed Dumbledore's face. "Another thing Harry, have you had any more visions or strange dreams?"

Harry replied, "No, sir. My scar does hurt a little most of the time, but I haven't even had one vision since that night. I don't think my dreams are related to Voldemort." He did not mention that he saw Sirius fall through the veil several times every night.

Dumbledore "hmmed," tented his fingertips and rested his chin on them before he began to quickly shake them in the air in thought. Finally, his hands stilled and he looked to Harry and said, "Yes, yes, this is as I suspected. I believe that the love and emotion that drove Voldemort out of your body when he possessed you at the Ministry of Magic left him weakened and unwilling to voluntarily infiltrate your mind. I however, do not suspect, that this silence will continue for much longer. It is for this reason that I need you to continue to learn Occlumency. I have asked Professor Snape to continue your Occlumency lessons throughout the summer. While we have a small respite from your connection to Voldemort, now would be the ideal time to recommence your training."

"I understand why I need to learn Occlumency, sir, and I don't ever want Voldemort in my mind again, but Sna--Professor Snape refused to continue to teach me anymore. Couldn't someone else teach me?" Harry said, hoping against hope that he would not have to spend any more time with the loathed potions master.

"Yes, Harry. I am well aware of the situation, and I have spoken with Professor Snape on the issue. I still fear that allowing you to open your mind, as you must in these lessons, in my presence is very dangerous. Professor Snape is indeed the best person to teach you, and I have told him as much. He has agreed to continue your lessons on the promise that you will first, send a letter of apology to him regarding the gross invasion of privacy that transpired in your last lesson, and second, that you will try to refrain from letting that curiosity get the better of you in the future."

Harry felt his face begin to flush out of both anger and embarrassment. He knew looking through Snape's private memories was wrong, but the idea of spending time with his most hated professor was not appealing. But, he did not want to be tricked by another false vision. He did not want Voldemort in his brain anymore. He would not let his animosity with Snape keep him from learning this skill. He would not let Voldemort hurt anyone else he loved. So, he said "Okay sir, I'll send the letter when I get home."

Dumbledore spoke again, "Very well. I think it is best if these lessons begin as soon as possible. I have arranged for Professor Snape to meet with you as soon as this week. You can together come up with a schedule that works for you both."

"Yes, sir," Harry said glumly.

Dumbledore once again adopted his business-like tone, "Harry, I have yet a few other matters I wish to discuss with you today. The night we last talked in my office, I made a promise to myself, and now I will make it in front of you. I truly believe that the events which transpired in the Ministry of Magic would not have occurred had I been much more up front with you. At the time I believed sheltering you from the knowledge of your destiny would be the preferred way to keep you safe from Lord Voldemort and allow you to have the most normal Hogwarts experience that could be expected."

Dumbledore placed the fingertips of his long hands together and rested them in his lap. He then let out a large sigh as if he was unsure how to proceed. "Harry, your parents were dear friends of mine, and when they were murdered by Voldemort, I knew that your safety was of utmost importance to the entire Wizarding community, as well as my responsibility to honor their memory. I have made it my life's duty to do whatever I must in order to keep you safe and prepare you for the destiny that awaits you. Now that you are aware of the prophecy, I believe you are entitled to more information than, in the past, I felt was beneficial for you to know. I promise to share with you any information which I feel in anyway pertains to you and your situation."

He continued very seriously, "I feel that the best way to do this is for you to become a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry dropped his jaw in shock. He recovered just long enough to say, "But sir, I thought I needed to be of age before. . ."

"Yes, Harry. I still believe that under normal circumstances an underage wizard needs to be more concerned with schoolwork and the business of being a teenager before he must deal with matters of life and death and war. Your position, however, makes this, as we found out a few weeks ago, very dangerous. I now know that in order to continue to keep you safe, you must be privilege to the information of which the Order becomes aware, as well as the direct means of communication that we share. As difficult as it is, even for myself to realize, this war must end with you."

Harry's brain was working hard to try and keep up with the headmaster's words. Last year he would have done anything to become a member of the Order. Things certainly would have ended much differently if he had known what the Order knew, but he unexpectedly felt very nervous about the prospect of being a real member.

He always knew that he was different from other people. He knew it as a child, who didn't belong in the Muggle world and didn't know why. He knew it when Hagrid found him on his eleventh birthday, and he discovered the truth about his fame, his family, and his scar. Every time his scar ached or he had a dream through Voldemort's eyes, he knew.

Becoming a member of the Order of the Phoenix would be yet another thing that set him apart, that made him The-Boy-Who-Lived, rather than just Harry. But as with Occlumency, he knew that Dumbledore was right. If he wanted to keep the people he loved safe, he would have to give up a bit of his own comfort.

Harry answered slowly, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I want to do whatever I can to help. What do I need to do?"

Dumbledore smiled, which made the deep creases in his old face even more prominent. He shuffled a bit and pulled something out of the pocket of his robes. He held it out for Harry to take.

Harry reached out and grasped a sturdy silver chain, which held a round amulet about the size of a ten pence piece, embossed with an exact replica of a phoenix. It was beautiful.

"Wow," was all he could say.

Dumbledore spoke, "This talisman is the symbol worn by all members of the Order of the Phoenix. All Order members wear it at all times, and it serves both as an identifier as well as a means of communication. Should you need to contact myself or any other member of the Order, hold it in your hand and speak the name of the person with whom you wish to speak."

Again, Harry said, "Wow. It's--it's beautiful, sir." He looked up at Dumbledore's gentle face. "Thank you very much."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, "It is my pleasure, Harry. I only wish circumstances would have allowed you to be older before you needed to shoulder this burden."

"It is with the talisman that I inform members of the time, date, and location of meetings. Most members apparate, however because the Ministry will not allow you to learn for yet another year, I will have someone escort you via portkey to the meetings."

Harry said, "Thank you again, Professor. I--I am honored to be a part of this."

"There is one last matter I need to discuss with you today, Harry. I do not know if you are aware that Sirius named you his primary heir in his will before he died. This, of course, means that all of Sirius' money as well as the house at Number 12 Grimmauld Place are now yours to do with as you wish. You also know that the Order uses this house as their headquarters, but I felt it pertinent to ask your permission to continue to do so."

Harry once again found that his mouth was hanging agape in surprise. He stammered for a long moment while he searched for the words he needed. As he ran his hands nervously through his already unruly black hair, he sputtered, "O--of--of course the Order can continue to use the house. What would I do, chuck you out? I could not think of a better way to honor Sirius' memory than to keep having his house used as headquarters."

Reaching once again into the pocket of his robes, Dumbledore pulled out a large, heavy parchment envelope and handed it to Harry. Harry accepted the envelope with trembling hands. Inside, he found the deed to the house, Sirius' Gringotts vault key, and what appeared to be a bank statement that listed the exact amount of money in the vault. Harry watched as the very large numbers changed slightly every couple of seconds as interest rates changed. The parchment was obviously enchanted to update automatically. Inside there was also a smaller parchment envelope, which read, "Harry Potter," in Sirius' handwriting. He decided to read the letter later, in private.

Dumbledore's voice came softly, "Harry, I believe that it is now time to end our meeting. I daresay your aunt will be wondering where you are now."

Sure enough, Harry checked the clock on the mantle. It had been almost three hours since he left for lunch at Mrs. Figg's house. He knew he needed to head back to Number 4, but he found that he had much of the same feeling now as he did when the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station at the end of term. He simply did not want to go. He felt safe and wanted in batty old Mrs. Figg's living room. He did not want to go back to the Dursleys. But, as Dumbledore stood up from his chair, so did Harry.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore said, "Harry, I know staying with your relatives is difficult. Please remember that you are there for your safety. Now that you can communicate easily with fellow members of the Order, I hope that your stay there will be less lonely. I am aware that it is far from an ideal living situation; however, I think you will find that this summer, due to your extra training and being allowed to use magic, it will not be as unbearable as you might now fear. I want nothing more that to see you safely arrive at Hogwarts in September, and to me, now, that does include your emotional and mental well-being. Please contact any Order member, your friends, or myself when things become overwhelming. I have failed you in this capacity in the past, and for that, I am eternally sorry."

Harry faced his headmaster and nodded, "Thank you, sir. It was good to talk with you today. I will keep in touch."

Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed. He then threw some glittering powder into the fireplace, stepped inside, and disappeared.

-***-