Changes Come

Chapter 2:

It took Harry the remainder of the afternoon, but he finally managed to drop the last of the junk from the cupboard in the garage just as Uncle Vernon's car pulled in.

He ate a quick supper before retreating up to his bedroom for the evening. True to his word to Dumbledore, he wrote a quick letter to Snape, apologizing for looking into the pensieve. He also wrote a short note to Ron and Hermione, telling them that he was sorry for being distant, but he wanted to wait until he could see them face to face before really talking about anything important. He now knew that he needed to tell them about the prophecy, but that kind of thing couldn't be put in a letter. Harry needed to think, a task which was becoming more difficult by the minute as the thump-thump buzz of the rap music coming from Dudley's room shook his walls.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he couldn't seem to make his fingers break the Black family seal on the back of the parchment envelope in his hands. He had been holding Sirius' letter for almost an hour. C'mon, Potter. Where's that Gryffindor courage you're supposedly so famous for? You can do this, he thought to himself.

Harry let out a large breath. He placed his forefinger under the flap in the parchment next to the seal, and with a quick tug, it broke. Inside was a letter covered in Sirius' familiar handwriting. At the sight of it, Harry felt gooseflesh appear on his arms and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He hadn't expected to ever read anything new in his godfather's hand ever again.

12 May 1996

Dear Harry,

Is there a better way to start this letter? No, I suppose not. So here goes--If you are reading this letter, then I'm dead. Which isn't at all the way I wanted things to be. I have been writing a new version of this letter every few months since Voldemort was restored to his body. If you are reading this letter, then let me say that I am sorry that I can't continue to watch you grow into the man you are becoming.

Harry, there are things you should know--things that Dumbledore feels you shouldn't have to handle yet. As your guardian, it is actually my decision to tell you this information "as I see fit," to quote old Albus. I have chosen until now to follow Dumbledore's lead and give you a little more time. But, I think it is time for you to know. Dumbledore continues to insist that the Order treat you as a child, when you have handled more in this fight already than most grown witches and wizards.

Lilly and James told me of a prophecy that was made just before you were born. It is the reason they needed to go into hiding. This prophecy is what Voldemort has been trying to get his hands on at the Ministry of Magic this year. Dumbledore, Remus and I are the only people now alive (well, I guess this letter leaves only Dumbledore and Remus, eh?) who know the contents of the prophecy. It says that you are the one meant to kill Voldemort--either you will kill him, or he will kill you. It also says that you have powers that Voldemort doesn't know about. I told Albus that I put this information in this letter, and he knows that it is my wish for you to know. That is, if he hasn't already told you, as I suspect he would have. This is not the kind of information you should have to learn from a letter.

Now, on to some business matters: Harry, I have left everything I own to you. Please do with it what you want. I only ask that you make Remus take half the money and get something for himself for a change. He was always too proud to take any of my "charity" while I was alive, so hopefully my appeal from the dead will get that shabby old werewolf to buy himself a decent set of robes! I will leave the decisions up to you as to what you want to do with the Number 12 and the rest of the gold.

Harry, I have always thought you were much stronger than the other adults in the Order wanted to believe. I know you will take the prophecy business seriously, as you should, but don't forget to be a teenager as well. The fight with Voldemort is important, yes, but so are school, friends, girls (we can't leave them out, now, can we?), Quidditch, and all the other things that make life worth wanting to live for. I know--I've been stuck in one prison or another for a long time now. Fighting Voldemort will happen; you won't have to go looking for it. In the mean time learn, love, laugh, live.

Your parents would be so proud of the person you have become. I know that I am proud of you every day.

Love,

Sirius

Harry only noticed he was crying after he was no longer able to see the words of the letter for the tears clouding his vision. He didn't even know how many times he had read it. Twice? Three times? He could actually hear Sirius' voice, his barking laugh, narrating the words on the page. He felt comforted by his godfather's words, but the letter was hardly adequate. He was overwhelmed by a profound sense of wrongness. Things shouldn't be this way! He wanted to talk to him--seek his advise on the prophecy, ask him how to figure out what girls were thinking, hear him tell stories of when he was at Hogwarts. But he couldn't because Sirius was dead. Voldemort had taken another person he loved away from him. Harry wanted his godfather back so badly, his bones itched under his skin, and his chest felt entirely too tight.

Finally, when he didn't have any tears left in him, he folded the parchment and set it down. He wiped the wet spots from his cheeks with the back of his hands and used his tee shirt to clean his glasses at the spots where tears had pooled at the place they met his cheeks. He lay back onto his bed, thinking about Sirius and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamt that he was alone in a cage; the words of the prophecy were etched on the bars. He heard Voldemort's horrifically familiar shrill laughter, which triggered his panic. He reached for his wand, but instead he pulled out a baby's rattle with Dark Marks for the round ends.

"Is ickle baby Potter boy afraid?" Bellatrix Lestrange's mocking voice echoed from somewhere. The cage quickly became a child's playpen, and his body seemed to grow very quickly, and he was soon too large to fit properly. He crushed the rattle with his now large foot as he easily stepped over the bars of the playpen. He took three steps into the blackness surrounding him before he fell down a bank of stone stairs.

With a thud, he landed on a hard cement floor--he realized he was in the veil room. Harry looked up just in time to see Bellatrix send her curse flying at Sirius, who's shocked expression fell with him through the veil. As he fell, he made eye contact with Harry. Sirius' mouth formed words that Harry couldn't hear. He tried to get up, to run to his godfather, but he couldn't move from his spot on the floor. "Sirius!" He yelled, "SIRIUS!"

"SIRIUS, NO! NO!" His last words woke him with a start, his throat felt hoarse, as though he had actually been yelling. He looked at the glowing numbers of the clock on the bedside table. It was a quarter past two in the morning. Harry's heart was beating so fast, he doubted he could ever get back to sleep.

He rolled out of bed and padded his way down the hall to the loo. He was soaking in sweat, his twisted tee shirt and pajama bottoms clung to his body in damp patches. He cupped some water in his hands and splashed his face. He looked at the face that was staring back at him in the mirror. He looked older, he thought. His bright green eyes had a tired and worn look behind them and dark circles underneath. He placed his hands on either side of the sink, leaned on the counter and shut his eyes.

The dream he just woke from rolled around in his memory. Every detail seemed clear as though it had actually happened. He was fairly certain he wasn't in any memory of Voldemort's, but the dream was unnerving. He had watched Sirius die again. It seemed as though every time he shut his eyes, he saw his dead godfather's face as he fell through the archway. He splashed his face again, clicked off the light and made his way back to his bedroom.

Harry was surprised to see the figure of his aunt outlined in the moonlight that escaped through the slit in the curtains that hung over his desk. She had her long, bony arms folded across the front of her body. When Harry got close enough to actually see her, he saw that she wore an unusual expression on her face, concern.

Her voice was a harsh, hushed whisper. "I heard yelling, so I came to see what it was. I noticed you were out of your room."

Harry looked down at the floor and whispered, "Er, sorry, Aunt Petunia, I had a dream. It's over now."

"Yes, well. This isn't the first time I've heard you, you know. You've been yelling almost every night since you came home. It's worse than last year, even."

Harry's head shot up to meet his Aunt's gaze, and his eyes suddenly flashed angrily, "Yeah, well, what do you know about it!" He did not look away; he glared at her intensely, wordlessly daring her to call him a freak, to mock his nightmares, or even try to punish him for disturbing the peace and quiet.

It was his aunt's turn to look at the floor. There was a long silence before she spoke again. Her voice wasn't soothing, but her tone was much less snappish than usual. "I know more than you may think. You've been yelling 'Sirius.' That wouldn't be Sirius Black, would it? Your godfather, right?"

Harry gawped at her. He didn't say anything. He was not about to start talking about this with Petunia Dursley.

"I've not said anything about this before, but I'd met him, you know. Li--Lilly occasionally had her school friends over during the summer holidays. Vernon doesn't know--it was before we met. Last year you said that L-Lord Voldemort was back again," she sighed and sat wearily on his desk chair. "I remember what it was like--last time." There was another long pause, "He killed them. Did he kill Sirius?"

"No, one of his lackeys did that. I got to watch," He swallowed hard and tried to rid his mind of the picture that had once again flashed before his eyes. "I get to watch it every night, as a matter of fact." Harry was once again reminded that this harsh, hateful, horse-faced woman was his mother's sister. For a brief moment, he thought about asking her more. What did she know about the wizarding world? What was she not telling him? Instead he coldly said, "Look, I need to get back to sleep."

She nodded, stood and quickly walked out of the room. Harry went back to bed and dozed in about half hour increments until he gave up just after dawn.

-***-

Harry avoided his aunt for most of the following day. It was only at supper the next evening that he dared to meet her gaze, but hers betrayed nothing of the whispered conversation they had the night before. The Dursleys retired to the living room to watch something on telly, and as Harry was clearing the dishes from the table, the doorbell sounded.

Harry reckoned it was just one of Dudley's friends, so he simply continued the task at hand. It kept him out of the same room as his relatives for a little while. Through the kitchen door, he heard his uncle's voice.

"Boy, you have a visitor."

When he opened the door that led to the living room, Harry stopped cold. He felt his stomach drop as his eyes fell on the person he never thought he would ever see on Privet Drive. He had almost forgotten this part of the conversation he had with Dumbledore a few days ago.

Severus Snape stood just inside the entryway with a look of deepest disgust on his hook-nosed face. He looked just as formidable as he did at Hogwarts--long black robes, shrewd black eyes, long strands of black hair hung to his shoulders.

"Potter, as you are well aware, the headmaster sent me here to continue our lessons." He looked around at the Dursley's living room with a sneer that told Harry not only did he not want to continue Occlumency lessons any more than Harry did, but that lowering himself to conduct them in a Muggle home was more than he bargained for. He strode through the room, hands clasped behind his back, trying to avoid touching anything, as if making contact with something Muggle would contaminate him in some way.

Harry took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm the resentment for the man he was now looking at. He still partially blamed him for Sirius' death. Even though Dumbledore had told him all that Snape had done to try and pass the message Harry had left him to try and save Sirius, Harry still believed Snape could have done more. He would have done more if it were someone other than Sirius, Harry thought indignantly.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, regaining his composure, "This is my aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and my cousin, Dudley." He looked to his relatives, "This is Professor Snape, from my school."

Snape lifted his chin and regarded them while looking down over his large nose.

"Charmed. Where shall we hold our training?"

Vernon rose and drew himself up tall, so as to seem as imposing as possible to the unwelcome guest. His beady eyes flashed between Harry and Snape. "I told you boy, I don't care what your freaky lot say--I'll not have you doing that thing in my house!"

"It is on the headmaster's orders that your nephew continue with Occlumency training this summer. I guarantee you that it was not my wish to spend any extra time with your nephew in this Muggle--home."

Vernon seemed to struggle--the man in front of him seemed to like Harry as little as he did, however he was a wizard. In the end, Harry supposed that his hatred of magic was actually greater than his dislike of Harry, because he squared up to the potions master. "Mug-Ockl--Are you trying to insult my home, sir?" He puffed up even more, grinding his teeth. Harry's mood suspended itself somewhere between disgust at having his two least favorite people in the world in the same room and amusement at watching them direct their animosity at each other rather than him. "What is this nonsense you are going on about?"

"Mr. Dursley, your nephew seems to have a weakness for allowing the Dark Lord into his thoughts. As small as it may very well be, the headmaster seems to think it important to keep his brain protected from attack." Snape drew himself even closer to Uncle Vernon, his voice a cool, deadly sounding whisper, "Perhaps you don't care that the Dark Lord would like to know more about this particular Muggle family." He looked Uncle Vernon up and down before his eyes rested for a moment on his very round middle. He looked back up at Vernon Dursley, "I daresay his Dementors could make a very nice meal of you."

Uncle Vernon was fuming. He had drawn his face so that all the features were pulled to the middle. It looked to Harry like a large shriveled plum with a brown caterpillar across the front where his uncle's mustache was. His large hands were drawn into fists that were being held firmly to their sides by his beefy arms, and he was positively vibrating in anger. Snape, who was significantly taller than Uncle Vernon, stood his ground, looking down at the fat man with the horribly smug expression that Harry thought had been reserved only for him. He did notice that Snape had his right hand inside his robe, probably wrapped tightly around his wand.

Dudley and Aunt Petunia sat in a stunned silence, watching the exchange from the couch. It was Harry's voice that broke the silence. "Uncle Vernon," he said looking to his uncle, "Professor Snape and I can practice in the kitchen. Follow me, Professor." At this, he simply turned on his heel, and went back through the kitchen door, and led his least favorite professor into Aunt Petunia's gleaming kitchen.

"You know the drill, Potter," Snape said, just as the door to the kitchen swung closed. "Wand at the ready. Ligilimens!"

Harry, who had only barely pulled his wand out of his back pocket, felt the brunt of Snape's spell immediately.

His large cousin punched him in the face as the Dementors closed in on them last summer. He was surrounded in darkness in the cupboard under the stairs. He saw Hermione go down when she was hit by the Death Eater's spell. He saw Sirius' face as Bellatrix's curse hit him. . .No! Snape was not going to see that.

"NO! Tarantallegra!"

When Harry came to his senses, he was on the floor, and he saw his potions professor's legs dancing madly on the sparkling tile of the kitchen floor for only a moment before Snape pointed his wand on himself.

"Finite Incantatem."

"It was entirely too easy for me to see into your thoughts, Potter. I didn't think it possible that you could have gotten worse at this skill, but even I can be proven wrong." Snape sneered at Harry, who quickly pulled himself up off of the floor. "Were you aware that you put the Tarantallegra hex on me?"

"I didn't want you to see something, so I used the first spell that came to my mind."

"I thought as much," Snape said contemptuously. "You need to hold more control of your mind. The information I just saw could be a powerful weapon to someone who wishes to use it against you. You must empty your mind of all thought!"

"Sir," Harry said bitterly, trying not to let his anger get out of control. "How exactly am I supposed to do that? You keep saying, Sir, to empty my mind, but you have not shown me how. It is your job to teach this skill to me, isn't it, Professor?"

"Potter," Snape said in an exasperated tone, "Ligilimens!"

But Harry was ready this time. With Seeker reflexes he blocked the spell.

"Protego!"

Snape looked frustrated with himself, but said, "So you managed to block me. Let's try again. Ligilimens!"

Harry blocked the curse again, and again, and several more times after that. He looked at Snape, lips curling into a half-smile in triumph. He wanted to wipe the smirk of Snape's greasy face.

"Potter, it seems as though you aren't entirely useless at everything. So, you can block the spell when you are ready. Expelliarmus! What happens if I take away your wand?" Harry's wand flew gracefully into Snape's hand. Harry growled in aggravation.

"Empty your mind. Ligilimens!"

Again, Harry ran through a series of memories that flashed like a slide show in his mind. He saw Ron go unconscious when the White Queen knocked him down in the life-size game of Wizard Chess. He was seven; he heard the laughter of the school children around him as he fell when Dudley knocked him down. He zoomed past the dragon in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. He threw a delicate silver instrument across Dumbledore's office where it crashed into a thousand pieces. The sorting hat told him, "You could be great you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that."

At this, Snape lifted the curse. Harry felt embarrassed and disappointed. He did not want Snape in his brain anymore.

Snape looked at Harry. "You didn't block me."

Harry fumed, "You took my wand! What am I supposed to do? Sir."

"It surprises me that you can tie your shoes without specific instructions, Potter. Very well. When I say 'empty your mind,' what I mean is push any memories you don't wish to be seen by anyone and everyone out of the foreground. I don't expect you to be able to make your mind completely blank, even though your performance in my class tells a different story. It might be best for you to focus on something uncomplicated. As that is how your brain functions at most times, it shouldn't be too much of a challenge. Think of something that holds little emotion--what you ate for dinner, for example."

Harry wondered why the professor hadn't explained it to him before. "Okay," Harry said. He took a deep breath and thought about the baked chicken and salad that he'd eaten for supper.

"Ligilimens!"

Harry was hanging from the neck of a Mountain Troll. No! Harry cut his chicken into bite-sized pieces. He stabbed a piece of lettuce with his fork.

"Well, well, Mr. Potter. It seems as though you aren't as thick as a pile of bricks after all. However, I did see the Troll. You must practice more control."

Was this a compliment? From Snape? Harry really didn't know what to say. "Er, thanks."

Snape contemplated him for a moment. "Our time is up, Potter. I shall see you next week. You must practice moving more emotionally complicated thoughts from your mind. Especially before you sleep." His pale hand seemed to unconsciously move to his left forearm as he spoke his next words, "I assure you, the Dark Lord will attack again. This lull will not last forever."

He nodded his head curtly to acknowledge his departure and walked toward the kitchen door before he quickly turned around to face Harry again. "Almost a Slytherin? Interesting." At that, he spun on his heel, swept once more toward the door and then through it.

-***-

Harry woke up the next morning with his scar aching even more than usual. He had long grown accustomed to its constant prickling, but he supposed that the Occlumency training left him weary. He still wondered why, if it was supposed to make his defenses stronger, his dreams and scar seemed more vulnerable when he practiced Occlumency with Snape. He would just have to work harder at "emptying his mind" before he slept tonight.

Hedwig hooted good morning to him from her cage, where she was happily chomping on the mouse she had apparently caught while she had been out. He noticed a letter waiting for him. It was from Ron.

Harry,

Hey mate, what's going on? Guess What? Mum and Dad say I can go visit you in Surrey this weekend! It'd be brilliant to hang out. It's pretty boring here with just Mum and Dad and Ginny. (Hermione was here, but she's gone off on holiday with her parents) And Dumbledore says it's okay for me and Hermione visit when our OWLs come so we can open them together. I am really nervous. I hope we made the Potions grade, so we can get into Auror training. That means two more years of Snape, ug, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.

I can't say much in a letter, but that doesn't really matter since there's not much to say anyway. Keep in touch, and give the Muggles hell for me!

Ron

The letter made Harry smile. He knew Ron's visit was probably part of Dumbledore's plan to keep him from feeling less like he was under house arrest, but he didn't care. He really missed Ron and Hermione, and he suddenly found that the weekend seemed like a very long time a way--two whole days. He wondered about Neville and Luna, too. He hoped their summer was going well. I bet they don't have to do lessons during the summer, he thought. They probably get to go on brilliant holidays in cool places, not stuck in the same house all the time.

He wrote a letter back to Ron, saying he couldn't wait for him to come, one to Hermione, one to Hagrid, and then he sent a quick letter to Neville, Ginny and Luna, just to keep in touch during the summer. He hadn't written to them yet, and he didn't want them to think he didn't care. They risked their lives for him at the Ministry, and he considered them to be some of his closest friends.

-***-

Later that morning, tired of the constant blare from Dudley's television, Harry decided he needed to go for a walk. As if on autopilot, his feet carried him through his usual route, which led him to the play park on Magnolia Crescent. He sat down on one of the benches and absently watched mothers and nannies push children on swings or help them down the slide.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice as the park slowly emptied as it came time for lunch. He started out of his reverie when someone took the seat next to him on the bench.

Remus Lupin always appeared older than he was, due to the patches of gray that peppered his once sandy hair and lines of worry, war, loss, and werewolf transformation that had settled prematurely around his kind eyes. Today he wore Muggle clothes--a pair of gray trousers, slightly faded at the knees, and a simple white shirt, which frayed just a little at the stitching around the collar. He had a sadness about him that extended far beyond his eyes and fatigued face. His body, his entire presence, seemed to slump under the weight of immense heartache. Harry imagined that Lupin looked much like he himself felt.

"Hello Harry," he said softly.

"Professor," Harry replied. Somehow, he knew that he was sitting next to the one person that truly knew what he was going through. This man knew and loved Sirius like Harry did, like family. Harry realized that Lupin had now lost all of his closest friends to Voldemort in one way or another--His parent's murdered by Voldemort, Pettigrew betrayed them all, and Sirius, murdered by a Death Eater.

For a moment, Harry felt himself begin to spiral into a guilt-ridden panic. Bellatrix Lestrange may have sent the fatal blow, but Sirius' death was on his hands--Lupin's last school friend, the last of his fellow Marauders, was gone. It was his fault, no matter what Dumbledore said. He was sure Lupin would blame him.

He couldn't make his eyes meet those of his former professor. He was reminded of the time in his third year when Lupin confiscated the Marauder's Map from him, and how terribly guilty he'd felt for gambling his parents' sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks. As bad as he felt then, it was nothing to how it was now. He'd gambled the lives of everyone close to him--and lost.

Lupin looked at his hands, folded gently in his lap. "Dumbledore said he told you that he wants me to help you with some defense training this summer. When I arrived at your aunt and uncle's house, your cousin said you had gone out." He paused for a moment before he continued, "You really shouldn't be this far from the house, you know. Not without your aunt or your cousin." Lupin said all of this softly, and Harry knew he was not being reprimanded.

He added, "How are you? Your letters are brief. It's good to see you and be able to talk to you. I've been on guard duty a couple of times, but we can't talk to you when we do that. The Muggles would notice something was going on if they saw strange people constantly watching the house."

Harry looked at this man, who was his last connection to his parents and Sirius. Lupin hadn't said anything, but he knew Lupin did not, in fact, blame him. As this relief hit him, he felt every wall of his emotional barrier crumble to pieces. The familiar lump that he had grown so accustomed to choking back would not budge, and Harry felt his shoulders shake as the quiet sobs broke free of his throat and chest with body wracking force. Lupin simply put his arm around Harry's shoulders and drew him in. Lupin spoke again, this time through his own tears, which were falling freely down his face, "I know."

The two wizards sat, together in grief, for an indeterminate amount of time. Lupin spoke first, and while rising from his seat he said, "Maybe we should go for a walk."

"Sure," Harry said, and he rose as well.

They ambled down the streets of Little Whinging, at first discussing Defense strategy. Harry told Lupin all the spells, curses, and shields he had learned and taught to the DA the year before, and Lupin helped him decide what else he might want to know. The conversation was easy and friendly, and Harry found that talking with Lupin was a lot like talking to Ron or Hermione. As the conversation moved on, they talked a bit about Sirius, old stories that made them both laugh. Harry somehow even got on the topic of Cho. Lupin chortled heartily at Harry's animated re-telling of the Valentine's Day debacle. They discussed Quidditch teams and the latest news in the Daily Prophet (which Harry read every morning).

They decided that Lupin would come twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. It was near to suppertime when they reached the front garden of Number Four. At the sight of Uncle Vernon's freshly washed and polished car in the garage, the familiar anxiety of saying goodbye to anyone in the wizarding world, barring Snape, took hold of him as they approached the front door.

"D'you want to stay for dinner?" Harry asked, "I mean, I know Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon won't be happy about it, but they can't say no--they're still too afraid of Moody. It'd be good to sit down to dinner with someone I can talk to. Maybe we can just go eat up in my room or something."

"I'd like that, Harry. I've got guard duty after Kingsley this evening anyway. I'll just let him know I can relieve him a little earlier."

He walked over to a spot in the grass where it lay a little flatter than the grass around it, as though a pair of invisible feet were squashing it down. Lupin only stayed in the spot for a moment before he rejoined Harry and they went into the house.

They walked into Number Four to find his uncle and cousin, as usual, in front of the television. Harry wondered if Dudley had moved from his spot on the sofa all day.

"What's this about then, boy?" Came Uncle Vernon's growling voice, as he rose, with some difficulty, from the couch. His advance slowed when he spotted Lupin, and Harry wondered if he remembered him from the train platform a couple of weeks ago.

"Uncle Vernon, this is Remus Lupin--you might remember him from King's Cross. He was a friend of my parents and my godfather. He's going to stay for dinner. We're going to take some food up to my room."

Lupin offered his hand to the beefy man, and through a genuine smile he said, "Pleased to meet you."

"Yes," Uncle Vernon said through clenched teeth, grudgingly shaking the proffered hand. "Very well."

Harry continued, and he found it hard to hide the smile that was seeping through his business like tone, "Mr. Lupin is going to be coming 'round on Mondays and Thursdays to give me some extra training. We'll hold our lessons in the back garden."

Uncle Vernon's eyes went very dark, and small beads of sweat were forming on his purple forehead. Harry could tell that he was dying to fly off into a tantrum. Lupin simply looked at the round man impassively, and then to Harry.

Aunt Petunia came through the kitchen door, dishtowel in her hand. Without really looking into the room, she sharply said, "Harry, set the table, dinner is almost. . ." She faltered when she saw Lupin. "Remus. . .," and stern face went slack and white.

Lupin nodded his head in her direction. His voice was hard for Harry to read, distant. "Petunia, nice to see you again. Of course, I saw you at the platform, but you acted as though you didn't remember me."

"What IS the meaning of all of this!" Uncle Vernon roared to no one in particular, as he threw his hands up into the air. He turned to his wife, "Petunia, you know him?"

Petunia faltered a little before actual words came out of her mouth. "Lilly introduced us when she was in school," came her reply.

"Lilly. Lilly. I thought we weren't ever going to say her name in this house. It's what we agreed. . ."

Aunt Petunia regained her usual brusqueness and looked at Uncle Vernon with sharp, hawk-like eyes. Her voice shook a little in agitation, "Oh really, Vernon, what's the use of that now! The boy knows what he is. He's known it for some time now, if you hadn't noticed! He may be a freak, but nothing I say or don't say is going to make him not one of -them."

Uncle Vernon looked as though he might explode from frustration. He looked from Aunt Petunia to Lupin and finally settled his gaze on Harry. He growled and stepped forward, as though he might shout at him or even hit him. Harry could sense Lupin tensing at the possibility of confrontation, but Uncle Vernon turned on his heel and stormed into the kitchen, leaving the door swinging madly in his wake.

Dudley sat, open mouthed, staring at the swinging kitchen door. He looked to his mother, whose normally rigid face looked weary. She sighed and said, "Well, dinner is ready." She seemed to hesitate before adding, "Harry, is Remus going to stay?"

"Erm, I think having Professor Lupin eat in the same room as Uncle Vernon might not be a good idea. I think we'll eat up in my room." And then, very sincerely, he added, "Thanks, Aunt Petunia."

-***-

After Lupin left on Thursday, he thought the clocks in the house were playing some sort of trick on him. They seemed to move so slowly--the one day he had to wait for his best friend to come visit seemed like months.

He'd decided that it would be fun to show Ron a real Muggle day of fun. He'd asked Lupin to exchange some of his money at Gringotts into Muggle money, so they could actually do something other than stay at Privet Drive. Lupin also reminded him because of blood magic protection, Harry would need his aunt or his cousin to accompany them on anything that took them further away than a few blocks. While he wasn't happy about this, he figured it was the only way he was going to get to do anything fun this summer. He just didn't know how he could get either one of them to agree.

Finally, Saturday morning came, and Harry woke to the sound of Hedwig hooting softly at him from her cage. "G'morning Hedwig," he said through a yawn as he reached for his glasses on his bedside table. She had brought him the parcel of Muggle money that Lupin had exchanged for him. As he was untying it from her leg, a brown barn owl swooped in through his open window, carrying the Daily Prophet. He quickly paid the owl and sent it off with an owl treat. He gave Hedwig some treats as well, and skimmed over the paper.

He quickly showered, dressed, grabbed his paper, and went downstairs. Not even the Dursleys could dampen his mood, as he grabbed some toast and tea and sat at his place at the table. Ron would be here soon! He hummed to himself as he began to go over the Daily Prophet with a fine-toothed comb. The front page said nothing of any activity that would indicate Voldemort or Death Eaters attacks. He was interested to read of the continuing decline in the public's confidence in Cornelius Fudge.

"What exactly is that!" came Dudley's voice over Harry's paper.

"A news-pa-per," Harry said slowly in response, as though he were explaining something to a very small child.

"The pictures are moving," he responded, while poking the front page of the paper with the tip of his spoon.

"Observant, aren't you, Dudders," Harry said through a smirk.

The jibes did not go unnoticed by his aunt and uncle who had been absorbed in their newspapers. Uncle Vernon's voice came at him, "Your freaky lot have their own paper! Humph, I thought all of your weirdo things were to stay in your room, boy."

"What, I can't read the paper now?" Harry's good mood was starting to waver.

"Vernon, you'd better hurry, dear, if you are to meet what's-his-name at the golf course by nine thirty," said Aunt Petunia, obviously trying to change the subject.

Uncle Vernon looked at his watch and back to Harry, trying to decide if he really did have time to give him a good long berating before he was late for his golf date. With a couple of sharp intakes of breath, he quickly just turned, grabbed his bag of clubs, and stomped out the door.

Harry thought this was as good a time as any to bring up the subject, now that his uncle had gone.

"Erm, Aunt Petunia, my friend Ron Weasley is coming over today, and I, er, wanted to show him around Little Whinging, you know, and erm, I'm not supposed to go more than a couple of blocks from the house with out a blood relative, and so, erm, I was wondering, I mean, if, erm," Harry chided himself for his inability to get to the point. Out with it, Potter. He cleared his throat, "I need either you or Dudley to come with us."

"Where did you want to go, then?" she asked blankly, turning the page of her newspaper.

"Well, I thought it would be kind of fun to go to that arcade with the games and miniature golf and things."

"All right, then. Dudley, you can go, can't you?"

Dudley gasped, "With him and his freak friend? Are you mad?!"

Harry said nothing; he just tried to bite his tongue and prayed that this would somehow go over.

"Diddy, you always go to that place. Surely you can find a way to amuse yourself. Why don't you ask Peirs if he wants to go with you?"

"Mum, I wouldn't let anyone see me hanging around him. I DON'T WANT TO GO!" and at that he threw his spoon across the room where it landed on the counter with a loud clang.

Aunt Petunia looked at her son, and with a forcefulness that reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall, said, "You will go with your cousin. You will act your age and not throw a tantrum. If you would like to spend the rest of your summer with your video games, stereo, television, computer, and telephone, you will go with Harry and his friend to the arcade."

Dudley opened and closed his mouth several times in quick succession. It was as though he were searching for words that would not come. Harry didn't think, aside from giving Harry Dudley's old second bedroom, that he had ever not gotten his way when it came to his parents giving him exactly what he wanted. The large boy huffed out of the room, stomping loudly and muttering under his breath about freaks and torture and never getting to do anything he wanted.

Harry couldn't believe that he was actually going to get to leave the house, his best friend was coming, and on top of that he'd ruined Dudley's day. This was the best day ever!

-***-

When Ron turned up at the door just after lunch, Harry thought he might come out of his skin in excitement. It had only been a few weeks since he'd said goodbye to his best friend at the train station, but to Harry it seemed like ages. He had gotten taller, and the summer sun had made is already bright red hair practically glow.

After several hand shakes, rounds of All right there, mates and manly back-thumping, Harry, Ron, and a very sulky Dudley piled into Aunt Petunia's car and went off to the arcade park.

There were people everywhere. Families played games of miniature golf, cheering madly when someone got their tiny balls to go successfully through the maze of windmills and clown mouths. Groups of teenagers huddled together at the food court, joking and laughing at each other. The arcade room was a blur of twinkling lights and loud buzzing sounds. Aside from the silly golf course, the outside had a track for racing go-carts as well as batting cages. The only other time he'd been in a place similar to this was when he got to go the zoo with the Dursleys when he was ten, and then he didn't have the freedom to do what he wanted.

"I think Dad might have a heart attack if he saw this place," Ron finally said, looking as though he might just have one himself. "All this Muggle stuff. It's so. . . loud. Brilliant!" He looked all at once happy, frightened, and confused.

Harry smiled, "I know. Well, what should we do first?"

"I don't know. Where do you even begin?"

Dudley, who was looking irritated and like he was trying very hard to look as though he wasn't in the same group as Harry and Ron, said, "I'm going to play video games," and walked off.

Harry simply shrugged his shoulders and with an evil grin said, "Wanna race?"

To Harry's surprise, Ron beat him flat out at racing go-carts. They decided against golf, and made their way to the food court, and Harry introduced Ron to Coke and French fries.

"Well," said Ron, "It's not quite Butterbeer, but it'll do."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I haven't had a lot of this stuff either. It's weird, you know, just getting to hang out and be normal." A frown crossed his face as he thought of how genuinely not normal he really was, but he snapped out of his momentary funk quickly as Ron spoke up.

"Dumbledore says you might get to leave your relatives' place in a couple of weeks, that's cool. It's lonely at Headquarters now--you're stuck with the Muggles, Hermione's on holiday."

"So, are you going to get to go to the Burrow at all this summer," Harry wondered.

"No. Mum and Dad reckon it's too dangerous. It's much safer at Headquarters." He paused for a moment, dipping a French fry into a blob of shiny red ketchup. "It's weird there, you know now that. . ." Ron stopped, mid sentence, but Harry knew what he meant to say.

"Sirius is gone," Harry finished for him, staring at his Coke, and finding the arrangement of ice cubes infinitely fascinating.

Ron stared at him for a minute; his face was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. It was almost like when he found out his father had been attacked last Christmas. The loss was different this time, however. Not as personal, yet much closer to home because someone had actually died.

Harry felt very strange about starting this conversation whilst the giddy people around him were banging about so loudly on their video games and munching on nachos. He actually heard a high pitched squeal in the background, followed by an, "Ohmigah--and she was wearing that!"

Ron said, "It's different, you know. It's like I--I didn't think--It didn't seem real until we'd been there for a couple of days. I kept expecting him to come out of Buckbeak's room, you know, or see him in the kitchen at breakfast, but he just never turned up."

Tears were in Ron's eyes now, though he wasn't allowing himself to actually cry in public. His voice did crack however when he said, "I've never really--lost--anyone I knew before. How's this supposed to go? How do you get over this?"

Harry didn't know how to react. He'd never really had this kind of conversation with his friend before. He didn't know how he felt about things, aside from feeling completely awful and responsible.

Harry's own voice cracked now. He said, "It was all my fault."

Harry pulled his hands back and forth through his already untidy hair several times before rubbing his face under his glasses. "I might as well have pushed him through that archway myself." He looked briefly to his friend's face before he quickly became interested in his drink again. He stirred his straw around. He heard electronic whirring and bleeping and the sound of chatter.

"You know, all my life, I'd wondered what it would be like to have parents. Parents who loved me and gave me advice, and just sat with me. I'd missed that my whole life, without ever realizing what I actually missed, if that makes any sense? It was a fantasy--I'd imagine how things could be if they hadn't died. I'd actually sit in that cupboard and dream up this family: A loving Mum, Dad, maybe even some brothers and sisters. I knew it wasn't real, so I didn't really miss it."

"Sirius was my, sort of, family. He actually was all that for me. Maybe not exactly the same thing, but the closest thing I was ever going to get, that's for sure. I've not thought of much else this summer, actually. I try to distract myself with studying, doing chores, or whatever, but my thoughts are always there. They are always at the Department of Mysteries. I keep thinking, If only I'd just waited just a few more minutes--If I hadn't been so damned sure. I mean this was a vision that Voldemort sent me!" He slammed his straw down hard into his cup. "How thick could I be! I almost got you and Hermione killed. And Ginny. And Neville. And Luna. How can I ever say I'm sorry? Sirius is dead, my friends almost died, and it's all my fault!"

Harry's elbows rested on the sticky table top, fingers clenched in his hair just above his ears, and he just shook his head and stared down into his snack.

Ron leaned over the table and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry finally met his friend's concerned eyes.

"Harry, it's not your fault. Sure, there are things that would have gone differently if we'd waited. Yeah, I said we, Harry. You didn't get us hurt. We went with you because we cared about you and about Sirius--we had no reason to think that it would be a trap. It's horrible, and I miss Sirius a lot, but it's not your fault. It's Vo--Vol--Voldemort's fault."

Harry half smiled, as though it were a painful thing to do. "You know, Dumbledore said something that was a lot like that." Harry thought that hearing the words from Ron was more comforting, though.

A group of girls walked by their table talking animatedly, "And then she said I stole her boyfriend! Can you believe it? I mean, can you?"

That broke both the tension and seriousness, and both boys broke out into laughter. Life goes on.

"Well," Ron said, standing up wile popping the last fry into his mouth and draining his Coke with a loud slurp through his straw, "Let's see how much I can kick your arse in that game with the goon over there!"

"Gun, Ron."

"Right."

They tinkered around with the video games, but neither of them ever really got the hang of them. They decided to head over to the batting cages.

"It's from an American Muggle sport called baseball," Harry explained. "I think you're to put your money in here." He found a small slot in the side of a large metal box. "And the balls come out over there." He pointed to a large metal box with holes in it. "You need to try and hit the ball with this bat. It's something like hitting bludgers that only fly from one direction."

"All right, then. Let's give it a go," said Ron as he plunked a pound into the machine, which instantly grunted to life and spat a baseball at him. He had to jump back to keep from getting hit with the first ball, but he swung and hit the next one expertly.

They found booths right next to each other, so they could talk to each other while they swung. Both of them found the task pretty easy. Neither of them were Beaters on the team, but they both had good reflexes, and had, of course, taken turns playing the position in pick up games and practices. It was a fun way to relieve some stress, and they could chat easily between swings.

Ron pointed to the ball that was coming toward him with the end of his bat. "Look mate, here comes Malfoy!" CRACK, and he hit a ball clear on the other side of the park, where it was stopped by a protective net.

Harry laughed, "And here's Snape!" with a swing and a CRACK, his ball went just as far.

They had made it through almost everyone in Slytherin house, when Dudley found his way to them.

"Oi, how'd you get the ball to go that far?" Dudley asked, looking warily at the skinny boys, almost sounding genuinely interested.

Through a smirk Harry said, "Well, I just picture the words Big D and your face on the ball, and," CRACK "like, ah, magic, it goes really quite far."

Ron and Harry's time was up on their machines, and they noticed that Uncle Vernon would be by to pick them up in just a few minutes. While they returned their bats and walked to the front of the park, Dudley kept on.

"Ha ha, very funny," Dudley retorted. He adopted an expression of thorough confusion, as if trying to figure out a particularly difficult arithmetic problem, "Really though, it's not as if you know how to play baseball. Your lot doesn't do that."

Harry, feeling completely amused, just clapped his cousin on his large shoulder. "Right you are, Diddums. Our sport is better. Baseballs are a daydream compared to enchanted flying balls of iron."

Dudley paled.

Ron added, "And at least for this our feet are on the ground. Flying makes coordination much more difficult."

"What! You're barking!"

Harry had never seen his cousin like this before. He actually looked like he wanted to know--like he wanted to have a friendly chat about Quidditch with Harry and Ron. Ron never needed any real encouragement to start a conversation with anyone about Quidditch, so he quickly launched into an animated explanation of the game: how it's played, rules, teams, scores, stats, opinions, and generally way more information than the large Muggle boy could process. The three boys were actually smiling and talking while they waited for their ride back to the house.

They saw Uncle Vernon's car pull up, and they all made their way to get in.

They stifled the conversation as they got into the car. The radio was softly on BBC News, and the three boys were quiet.

Harry absently rubbed his hands over the knees of his faded jeans and watched the world go past him through the window. He remembered his ride home from the station almost a month ago. He realized that he'd had a great day. He had his best friend with him, and he felt more at home than he ever had in Surrey.

Uncle Vernon's mobile phone rang. "Dursley here. . .Hello, Dear. . .Right. . .About ten minutes. Bye."

At that he pulled the car into the car park of the grocery store close to their house. "Your mother needs us to pick up some dinner rolls. I'll wait in the car with these two--you never know what they'll get up to if we leave them alone."

He handed Dudley a ten-pound note, and the large boy ambled out of the car and into the shop. They waited in an uncomfortable silence. Uncle Vernon sighed heavily and turned up the babble on the radio. Every minute or so, he looked suspiciously back at the two boys in the back seat as though he expected them to pounce on him at any moment.

They saw Dudley emerge from the shop a few minutes later, a bag of bread swinging from his large arm. He was munching on a large candy bar.

Dudley got in the car, handing a candy bar to his father, then he did something Harry never expected--he handed both Harry and Ron a Mars Bar.

In a confused sounding voice, Harry said, "Thanks."

Ron looked like Christmas had come early. He instantly tore through the wrapper and began to eat his chocolate. Harry picked up his candy and stared at it. Then he looked to his cousin. Had Dudley Dursley just been, well, thoughtful enough to remember him and Ron when he got something for himself?

Uncle Vernon seemed even more confused than Harry. He observed the scene with a purple face and an open mouth, sputtered a few moments before he closed his mouth and started to steer the car back onto the road.

Mouth packed with chocolate, Ron said thickly, "You know, you Muggles sure can make a decent chocolate bar. Thanks, Dudley."

Through his own mouthful of candy, his large cousin looked back at him and smiled, bits of chocolate on his front teeth. It made him look like a couple of them were missing.

Harry let out a snort of laughter and waggled a finger in the general direction of his cousin's face, "You got some chocolate on your teeth, Big D."

It started slowly; he was dimly aware that the dull prickle of his scar was bothering him, and Harry absently moved a hand to it, rubbing it back and forth with his first two fingers, as though he were trying to iron out a wrinkle. He didn't notice Ron look at him nervously when he did this.

He opened his chocolate bar and began to eat it.

The pain in Harry' scar seared more powerfully, and his palm flattened against it. He let out a sharp hiss, and Ron grabbed his upper arm,

"What is it?" He asked urgently.

Vernon looked back at the boys. He looked for a moment as if he were going to say something, but instead, turned around and muttered the word freak under his breath. Dudley looked at his father, and seemed to have some sort of inner conflict before he turned to look at Harry and Ron in the back seat.

Ron spoke again, "Harry, is everything all right?"

"I don't know. It hasn't hurt like this all summer."

Dudley said, "What are you talking about?"

"My scar, it hurts sometimes. It hasn't been bothering me much lately. I think the busy day has made it sore."

This did not convince Ron. In a whisper, he looked to Harry and said almost inaudibly, "Is it You-Know-Who?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell you when we get back. It's not strong enough for me to really know anything," Harry answered quickly in the same whisper.

The early evening sun was casting long shadows on everything as Vernon pulled the car into Number 4. As he walked with his uncle, Dudley, and Ron to the front door, his scar felt as though it had exploded in his head. He doubled over in pain. He couldn't see, and he didn't know if that was because he'd closed his eyes, or if the pain had actually blinded him. The pain receded slowly, like a wave being drawn back into the ocean. It was enough that Harry managed to bring himself back upright and see all three men staring at him.

Ron was moving quickly to his side when the pain hit again, even stronger now than before. Face white as a sheet, Harry fell to the hard gravel and concrete of the driveway. He heard the loud smack of his knees hitting the ground hard before he saw his glasses fall from his face and scrape against the rock.

Harry was looking around a dimly lit room that was not the front garden of Number 4 Privet Drive. He saw a large snake curled up against a glowing hearth in a run down drawing room. The place seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. He felt extremely frustrated, so frustrated that he was beginning to loose control. His anger began in the pit of his stomach and seemed to have no end.

In a cold and calculated voice, Harry heard himself say, "I thought the use of his blood would eliminate this. . .obstacle"

"Master," said the black robed figure that was now on his knees in front of him, "It was not I who prepared the potion, so I cannot offer my expertise. I beg your forgiveness, my lord," and he kissed the hem of his robe.

Harry was displeased with this man's incompetence. He yanked his robes from the Death Eater's grasp. "His blood is in mine, part of my blood. Why can we not break the old fool's wards?" He was pacing now, quickly, back and forth the length of the dark room. The Death Eater had not dared to bring himself back up to his full height.

His patience was wearing thin. "You're incompetence is growing tiresome, Severus." He stretched out a ghostly white hand, pointed his wand to the prostrated man.

"Crucio!"

The man fell the short distance to the floor, where he did not make a sound, but his body writhed and contorted itself so that his long black robes twisted and tangled in his legs. His white mask slipped just enough to reveal a length of black hair that had fallen out from under his hood.

Harry felt the pain in his scar burn. He tried very much to focus on his French fries from earlier that day. He had to get up some sort of Occlumency shield. He pictured the red and white checkered cardboard boat that the fries were in, he saw the ketchup, remembered the way he could see little grains of salt imbedded in the greasy skins.

Slowly, he could focus on the sound of birds twittering in the background. He opened his bleary eyes to an unfocused scene. A blur of red hair moved in front of him.

"Harry! Harry! Are you okay?" Ron was shaking his shoulders.

Wearily, Harry answered back, "Getting there."

He heard Ron let out a sigh of relief at hearing his friend's voice, "Here are your glasses, mate. They slipped."

"Thanks."

Harry put his glasses back on his face. He must have somehow crushed them into the driveway, as the frames bent so that they didn't fit quite properly over his left ear, and there were deep scratches in the lenses.

He ignored his uncle's demands to tell him why he was acting like a lunatic in plain view of everyone in the street, and groped at the chain that was hanging around his neck. He pulled on it with slightly shaking hands, and produced the Order medallion. He held it in his hand and said, "Albus Dumbledore."

Instantly, the headmaster's voice was clearly speaking in his mind, as if the old wizard were standing right in front of him. "Harry. Is everything all right?"

"No, sir. My scar hurt, and I had a vision of Voldemort."

"Harry, I'll be right there."

Ron looked both very worried and incredibly confused. Dudley stood, gaping at him with his mouth hanging open. Vernon stared at him for a moment before grabbing him by the arm and roughly dragging him into the house. Ron and Dudley quickly followed.

"What do you mean by acting that way, boy! Falling over in the front drive! Talking to bloody no one! ARE YOU COMPLETELY MAD!"

Ron's face reddened. "Leave him alone, you git!" He turned to Harry, "Are you okay? What is that thing? Were you just talking to Dumbledore?"

"What's all this noise about?" came Aunt Petunia's sharp voice as she bustled in from the kitchen, apron tied around her black trousers. She saw the look on the faces of the men in her living room and quickly went over to see what had happened.

Before Harry had time to explain, there was a burst of fire in the living room, and Albus Dumbledore appeared, holding the tail of a beautiful scarlet and gold Phoenix.

"Good evening Petunia, Vernon, Mr. Weasley, and young Mr. Dursley," He said, nodding to Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Ron and Dudley.

Fawkes gracefully swooped over to Harry's shoulder and let out a quiet trilling note of Phoenix song. The tension in the room seemed to instantly evaporate. Even Uncle Vernon went from glowing purple down to a faint pink.

"If you don't mind, I need to speak with Harry in private."

Petunia spoke up. She was nervous, and her voice shook as she beckoned everyone into the kitchen. Harry and Dumbledore both took seats in the living room. Fawkes settled himself in Harry's lap, and Harry stroked him gently. The warmth made him feel better. He could feel the lingering soreness fade out of his scar and body. He was pretty sure he would have a bruise on his knee where it hit the ground.

Dumbledore's attention was entirely focused on Harry.

"I am grateful that you remembered to use your talisman, Harry, and that you are all right. Please, tell me what happened this evening."

Harry looked at the headmaster. "I don't know how it happened. My scar really hasn't bothered me since, you know. Ron and Dudley and I went to an arcade today, and we were on the way home when it started hurting a little more. I wanted to wait until we got back here before I contacted you about it. I was almost in the house when it happened."

Harry told Dumbledore everything about the vision. He told him about the room he was in, and that it seemed familiar to him even though he didn't think he'd ever been there. He told him about the feeling of exasperation and anger. He told him of the conversation Voldemort had with the Death Eater. He hesitated for a moment, and said, "Sir, I--I mean Voldemort. I think the Death Eater he put the Cruciatus on was Sn--Professor Snape."

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore said, "Yes, Harry. Professor Snape has put himself in a very dangerous position. He told me that Tom summoned him earlier this afternoon before he left. You must remember that Snape has chosen this path for himself. I know you don't generally get along with him, but he is risking his life for the Order--and for you."

Quietly, Harry simply said, "I know that, sir."

He wanted to ask why Snape would do that. How could he endure that curse; how could he even pretend to be in the service of that monster? He could not shake the feeling he had when he saw Voldemort's hand as his own, pointing his wand to his Potions professor, and using an Unforgivable on him. Harry knew logically that he shouldn't feel guilty. He hadn't really done those things, but the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach would not let him forget it. Snape may be horrible and mean, but he was also doing one of the most dangerous things Harry could think of. If Voldemort ever found out that Snape was working with Dumbledore and the Order, Voldemort would kill him for betrayal.

As if sensing his uneasiness, Fawkes looked up at Harry and quietly hummed a peaceful note into his lap. The soft music sounded almost like a cat's purr, but it seemed to seep in through every pore in his skin. He absorbed the feeling of calm and hope. He felt every fiber in his body relax, and the nauseated feeling that had settled into his stomach vanished.

"Harry, please let me know if anything like this happens again. Do not forget to practice your Occlumency. From what you said, it may have saved you from your presence being detected by Voldemort. Rest assured that the wards around this house are safe, and there are Order members watching it at all times. It was Emeline Vance, I believe, who contacted me from her post outside, just as you did. I will call an Order meeting tomorrow; I will inform you of the time, and Remus Lupin will be here to escort you via portkey."

"Thank you, sir." Harry stood up with his headmaster, and walked with him toward the door. As he did so, his mangled glasses slid down his face and fell. Harry caught them quickly and put them back on his face, blushing and smiling feebly. "I think I crushed them when I fell."

"May I see them for a moment?"

"Of course, Professor," and Harry handed his glasses over to Dumbledore, who looked at them, took out his wand and started to repair them with magic before he quickly stopped. The twinkle in his eyes shone brightly when he looked back to Harry.

"I do believe that I might be considered a 'qualified wizard' by the Ministry's standards. Would you like to repair your glasses yourself?"

A genuine grin spread across Harry's face as Dumbledore gave the glasses back to their owner. He was thankful for the opportunity to do something for himself. "Yeah! Thanks!"

He pulled the wand from the back pocket of his jeans and pointed it to his mangled frames.

"Reparo!"

And the glasses snapped perfectly back into shape, lenses gleaming and catching the light of the electric lamp on the table in the corner. He put the glasses back on his face, where they fit perfectly.

"Well done, Harry. I shall see you at the meeting tomorrow. I think you had better go rescue Mister Weasley. He will be waiting for you in the kitchen. I do hope he hasn't managed to turn your Uncle into a flobberworm." He smiled at Harry, eyes twinkling.

Harry chuckled at the old headmaster as he said, "Have a good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

-***-

Harry and Ron stayed up late talking. Harry lay on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head. Harry told Ron about the Order medallion and the fact that Dumbledore had made him a member.

"Wicked!" came Ron's response. "Fred and George haven't even been allowed to go to the meetings, yet, and they've been out of school for months!"

Harry hoped Ron wasn't jealous. He didn't seem to be. Harry knew he was going to have to tell Ron about the prophecy soon, but he really wanted to wait until he could tell him and Hermione together. He needed the support of them both when he explained it to them. He didn't yet want to see the looks on their faces when they found out he was either going to have to become either a murderer, or another one of Voldemort's victims.

"I know. It's weird. I think Dumbledore's trying to keep me more in the loop. It would have been a lot better last year if I'd known what was going on." Harry looked up at the ceiling. He could see little bits of dust that had gathered on the globe of his overhead light, which was turned off.

"I hope Hermione comes back soon. She's been gone for a week. Fred and George are at the shop most of the time, so it's been mostly just Ginny and me. We did get the downstairs completely done, though," Ron said absently, after the conversation had died down for a couple of minutes.

Harry turned his head and looked at his friend in the dim light of his bedside lamp. "Ron," he said, "What's going on there, anyway? You've managed to work Hermione into almost every conversation today." A small grin broke across his face.

"What!"

Harry could see the color quickly rise to Ron's face. He let out a sigh so deep that seemed to come all the way from his toes, "I don't know. We're both at headquarters for the summer, you know. Except since she's been off on holiday. And, well, she can be bloody irritating most of the time. She's always on to me about remembering to do my summer essays and reading, and . . ."

Harry smiled at Ron getting so flustered and simply said, "Mmm hm," as he raised his eyebrows. "Answer the question, Ron."

"Well, yeah. She's pretty amazing, isn't she? I think. ..It's just. . . I think. . I'm. . ." He looked away for a moment, shook his head, and sighed again.

Harry chuckled softly and sat up in his bed to look at his friend. "Well, mate, if you want to know what I think. I think you've been in love with her for two years, and it's about bloody time you do something about it. You move slower than a snail with a broken leg."

Ron looked Harry directly in the eye. "I know, but how do I tell her? What if she laughs at me? What if I ruin. . . . I mean she's my best friend. If things didn't work out. . ."

"Whoa! I'm not saying that it will all be easy or comfortable, but for what it's worth, I think you need to tell her. It's pretty obvious how you feel, and I think she's waiting for you to do something. But she won't wait forever. You remember the Yule Ball don't you? Do you want to see her with someone else?"

An ugly look crossed Ron's red face. "No," he said as he swallowed, "I suppose not."

Harry turned off the lamp and said, "G'night, Ron."

"Night, Harry."

As he listened to Ron snore, he felt like he was at home. When he closed his eyes he could picture the four-poster beds and wardrobes of his dormitory.

Harry made sure to think of Hedwig's owl treats as he fell asleep.