It was back to Number Four Privet Drive, back to the bleak and dull loneliness of the summer. Harry Potter had nothing to look forward to, no reason to look forward to going back to school other than the idea of seeing his friends again. But even the thought of Ron and Hermione didn't cheer him up. If he faced Ron, he would have to face his younger sister, Ginny, who was also Harry's ex-girlfriend. And if he faced Hermione, he would face the terrible question that ripped apart his brain: did he love her?

Ever since the funeral, this was what Harry had been wondering. In his brain, he said no, but in his heart he said maybe. But what about Ginny? Didn't he still love her? Hadn't he told her that the only reason he was breaking up with her was because he didn't want her to get hurt? Well? Hadn't he?

"Stop asking questions," he told himself forcefully. "Either you love her or you don't."

Harry didn't have time to ponder this thought, however, because the next thing he knew, he was hearing his wretched uncle hollering at him to get downstairs and cook dinner. Heaving a sigh, Harry stood up and braced himself for ugly comments on how the food wasn't cooked enough or the salad was too dry. Why couldn't the Dursley's cook for themselves? That way they wouldn't have to see Harry, as he knew was their goal.

"Boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon. "I told you to get down here and cook. Do it! NOW!"

"Coming!" Harry snarled back. He clambered down the stairs, not minding the creaky ones. In fact, he found himself putting a bit more weight on them than usual, just to annoy the Dursley's.

Vernon appeared at the door. His temple was throbbing, but not as bad as it could've been. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief at this. He squirmed past his Muggle uncle and into the kitchen. Just as he was popping his head into the refrigerator to get some milk, he heard a livid scream.

"OWLS!" came Uncle Vernon's angry voice. Next thing he knew, Harry was face-to-face with Vernon Dursley, whose fat hand was grabbing the scruff of Harry's neck. "Owls… how many times do I have to tell you, boy? No owls in this house as long as I am standing in it!"

Looking over his uncle's broad shoulder, Harry saw Pig, Ron's tiny owl zooming around the living room. "Well, actually, he's more of a rat on wings but…" Harry dropped his sentence. The temple was throbbing worse. "Look, I'm of age now in my world, so I could do anything I damn well please." He put his hand on his back pocket and drew his wand, just so his uncle got the effect of what he was saying.

It did the trick. Vernon backed away, Aunt Petunia gasped, and Dudley squealed like a pig and put his hands on his fat backside. "P-put that away, b-boy!" Vernon ordered.

"Let me read my letter," Harry said swiftly.

"Fine! Fine! Just put that away!" Vernon cried. He thrust Pigwidgeon in Harry's direction. The twittering owl started to peck at Harry's ear.

"Get off!" he said, shoving the owl out of his face and taking the letter.

Harry-

Hermione's here. She's making me write this letter before Apparating to your house and taking you to the Burrow. Well, we're coming, so give the Muggles hell from us.

-Ron

PS: (a note from Hermione) I just thought you ought to know to be packed! Love, Hermione

Harry stared at the last words. Love, Hermione. Did she mean it? Or was it just some gesture that meant nothing? Looking up, Harry saw his aunt and uncle's questioning stares.

"Well?" Vernon spat.

"I'm leaving," Harry said promptly. "To my friend Ron's house. He's coming to pick me up." He smirked at his uncle's horrified look but then ignored it. He had bigger problems to think about. Neither Ron nor Hermione had told him when they were planning on coming. As Harry went back upstairs, another thought struck him.

Going to the Burrow would mean the same as if he went to school. Harry would end up facing Ginny and Hermione. Damn it, he thought. And this time, we're all going to be stuck together in the same house.

Harry rolled his green eyes and put his hand on the doorknob. Opening the door, he was shocked to see Ron and Hermione already sitting there. "How did you… I mean— how the hell did—" he was lost for words.

"Honestly Harry, do you think we'd leave you here?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, mate, didn't you get the note?" Ron inquired, arching an eyebrow. "Why if Pig didn't send it… I swear I'm going to kill that owl some day…"

"No, Ron, it's okay. I got the note. I was just wondering why you didn't tell me when you were coming," he explained. Quickly, Harry added, "Pig's downstairs with the Muggles."

"Well, we thought we might as well come now," Hermione told him. Just now Harry noticed that Hermione had put an effort into her looks. Her hair was in ringlets and pulled back into a messy bun, and her chocolate eyes stood out even more with the eye shadow she was wearing.

"But I'm not packed," Harry said, forcing himself to stop staring at his best friend.

"Oh, we packed for you. The spell Tonks taught us really works," Hermione said.

"How is Tonks?" Harry asked, remember Nymphendora Tonks. Painfully, he was also reminded of Sirius, his godfather. "I mean, Dumbledore dying couldn't have helped her situation much."

"She's actually doing a lot better now. Mum told her that if she stopped thinking about Sirius and Dumbledore, she'd stop feeling the pain," Ron said absentmindedly. He was looking in amazement around the room. There was a television in one corner, a phone in the other. "Say Harry, sit that the telyfoned I tried calling you on a few summers ago?"

"It's pronounced telephone, Ron," Hermione told him. "And yes it is."

Harry laughed. Bickering was what Ron and Hermione did best when they were together, and the most often. "Well, if I'm packed we ought to go now I suppose."

"Yes, I guess," Hermione said. "You can't legally Apparate yet, can you?"

"Three more weeks," Harry answered. He sighed. "Can you? I thought your birthday was at the end of September."

"No, I can't. Ron can," she said. "Here, grab your trunk, Ron'll grab Hedwig. Grab my hand, I'll link arms with Ron." They followed her instructions. "One… two… three…"

Harry remembered the sensation of Apparating all too well. When they had practiced at school, they had gone short distances, but still it felt like being squeezed through a tube. The feeling wasn't as bad this time, however. Harry couldn't figure out if it was because he was used to it, or because he was holding Hermione's hand. (A childish gesture, but meaningful all the same.) The next thing he knew, he was on the ground again, his feet firmly planted on the Burrow's floor. He turned around and saw Hermione looking around desperately.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" Harry asked, walking over to her.

"It's Ron. He was there one moment but gone the next!"