Author's note: Welcome to my attempt at a fanfic. At the posting of this first chapter, about 79,000 words are finished; I figured I'd start uploading and see what people thought. Hopefully if it garners reading and reviews, it's a sign that it's worth finishing (if anybody takes the time to read my story, I have no intention of disappointing by not finishing it; we all know the bitterness of an unfinished fanfic or just story that we grew to care about). The rest of the storyline is planned out, it's just a matter of actually writing it. The benefit of this is of course that I've been able to prepare plot twists far in advance, and sprinkle clues and hints everywhere. For the careful reader I hope to yield plenty of rewards.

The set-up is that this takes place in Harry's fifth year, with no shenanigans of any kind having taken place in the first four years. Moody is DADA teacher, nobody's died, escaped from Azkaban, opened Chambers etc. That changes, obviously, in this Harry's fifth year. The reasoning behind this fanfic is trying to portray various characters differently, as well as their relationship with each other. Primarily cast Harry as less passive, but somebody who takes action as soon as he learns the truth about Voldemort. And cast Dumbledore as somebody who proactively tells Harry the truth and prepares him, as well as taking a more active role himself. I also wanted to really explore the friendships between the characters. Prod it and tap it for all it's worth. While I can take no credit for the actual characters themselves, I hope to do a great job of characterising them, so to say; make you fall in love all over again with these characters, their struggles and hardships and their friendship.

Prologue

Harry punched the sand bag repeatedly in the recurring patterns he had seen Dudley do. His cousin would not on purpose deign to show any of his boxing training to Harry, but he caught some glimpses and the basic motions were easy enough to grasp. Dudley had protested loudly the first time he had seen Harry use his equipment, but the threat of turning him into a pig had silenced him. He still remembered what had happened in that cabin on Harry's 11th birthday.

So now Harry exercised, having little else to do with his time. His summers at the Dursleys had become protracted wars of attrition, the attrition being inflicted on the nerves of the combatants. Vernon and Petunia no longer felt secure enough to demand that Harry made chores, except for light ones such as doing the dishes on occasion, which Harry in all fairness did not feel he could refuse. Instead they simply made remarks that were subtle insults and stabs at Harry, his status as an orphan and, in their eyes, freak. Harry wavered between responding with complete silence and occasional outbursts that returned fire, i.e. insulting the Dursleys in turn.

On the evening before his birthday, after another prolonged siege on his mental stability, Harry had gone down into the basement to punch the living daylights out of a bag reinforced by sand. It did not mind, it had endured such treatment most nights ever since Harry had to return to his relatives for the summer. Not that every night was a trench warfare like this night; but even on days with a cease-fire in effect, Harry found himself completely bored with nothing to do. He had read all the books he had brought with him, but they only stimulated his longing for the magic world and how he felt homesick for Hogwarts.

Being unable to practice magic because he was under-age gnawed at him and seemed the worst law yet made by the Ministry. He was barred from magic, from the magic world, and only with owls to keep him in contact with his friends. Though he hid it as best he could to ensure it was not used against him, hid it so well he hardly believed it himself anymore, Harry missed the company of his friends. He had grown up lonely, and thought he could handle the few months each year where he was subjected to it again; but having tasted how true companionship could be, he found its absence very bitter.

And thus punch, punch, punch. It had not done much for his physique, Harry knew disappointedly when he had looked at himself in the mirror. He had never been overweight to begin with, so it was not as if there had been any weight to shed. He could feel the effect though, how his body had become accustomed to the exertion and was far more adjusted to it. Although he felt sore after a round in the basement, he was not aching the same way before.

"Will you stop that racket!" came the loud, squealing sounds of his uncle. "I don't recall anybody giving you permission to use that, and I will not have you banging loudly while I'm watching TV."

Harry turned around with his customary cold glance in his eyes. "Turn up the volume," he said simply.

Vernon's face grew even redder, and his pig-like eyes bulged between layers of fat. "How dare you speak that way to me, boy!" He inhaled in preparation for a torrent of defamation, and Harry quickly seized the initiative.

"Is it really wise to antagonise a wizard this way, uncle?" Harry's sneer at the last word made his opinion on such a family relation obvious.

"You're under-age," Vernon puffed. "You're not allowed to do magic!"

"Not yet," Harry countered, his cold demeanour increasingly in contrast with Vernon's temper. "Two years to go. But I have a good memory, uncle Vernon. You can't hurt me right now, and I can't hurt you. And when I'm 17, you still won't be able to hurt me. But there'll be no such restrictions on me."

"You, you can't!" Vernon yelled. "There's police, and those - those weird people you keep company have laws too! You can't walk around assaulting people with, with your unnatural abilities!"

"It's true, there are laws. They would get here and return things to normal, when I was done. But they can't foresee the future; they won't know what I have done until after I've done it - and there are limits to how far magic can be reversed," Harry said, enjoying the squeamish look on Vernon's face when the word 'magic' was spoken.

"You wouldn't," Vernon said, his voice now closer to a whisper.

"Don't test me again, and you won't have to find out," Harry said, and turned around to resume his exercises. Behind him, he heard the door close after Vernon, and he allowed himself a smile.

The following day Harry woke with a smile too, knowing it was his birthday. And that meant owls, some with gifts, but more importantly with letters. Although he had by now acquired a host of quill pals, who wrote to him frequently during the summer, Harry always felt starved for more letters. And soon they arrived. Hagrid came first, the poor owl dragging a heavy object that Harry almost dropped when it was placed in his hands. He unwrapped it and saw it was diamond-shaped, leathery on one side and hard as steel on the other. He eagerly picked up the letter and read it.

Harry, my boy, happy birthday! 15, by old wizard law you're a man now! No longer just the last scion of House Potter, but in fact its head. If Hogwarts didn't keep you for 3 more years, you'd have your own seat in the Wizengamot right now! Fancy that, I bet you'd end up succeeding old Dumbledore if you wanted to. But that's for another time, now about your present. Did you unwrap it already? I hope so, because I am going to tell you now what it is. Of course, if you have read your books on caretaking of magical creatures, you should know already. It's the scale of a dragon, Harry, and very fresh. Not that these things get old, that thing will be fine for centuries. You can use it in potions, well, if you can manage to break a piece off! Hard as rock, dragon scales are. In the old times, some had them made into shields too - just goes to show you how all sorts of useful stuff can be got from magical creatures.
Happy birthday, from Hagrid

It was with some trepidation that Harry wondered how Hagrid had acquired a dragon scale; hopefully he had not begun something akin to breeding dragons in the Forbidden Forest, or adopted one as his pet. However sturdy Hogwarts was, even it might find it difficult to repel dragon fire. Especially with its groundskeeper insisting that the thing not be harmed, it was still a child etc. etc. Harry smiled a little at the image before he picked up the scale again. It was a very interesting thing, and Harry understood Hagrid's fascination with it; but he had to admit, he was unsure how it would ever come into use, even as a potion reagent considering it did not seem one could put a dent into it.

There was a brief note from Dumbledore.

Congratulations, Harry. My present should arrive on your doorstep sometime today.

Harry wondered a moment, then shrugged. It would appear that the mystery would solve itself in time. Ron's present was pretty straight forward, consisting entirely of edible goods of the sugared persuasion, which he suspected Mrs. Weasley had a strong hand in. There was also a nice card signed on the back by the various members of the family bringing him their well-wishes. On the front was a photo of the entire red-haired menace in front of the pyramids, where they were currently on holiday. Ron's last letter had explained how his father had won a prize, some kind of lottery apparently. Also, Scabbers had run off, which Ron seemed fairly at peace with. Harry's own suspicion was that the rat had dragged itself under a cupboard to die and would turn up during spring cleaning, giving Mrs. Weasley a nasty shock.

There were also a note from Remus Lupin, who had served as the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts during Harry's third year. An old friend of Harry's father, naturally he had favoured Harry - as was customary for anybody who had been friends with the parents of the orphan. Despite this, Lupin had been an excellent teacher and tutored Harry in various extra-curricular spells, curses and wards. Unfortunately, it had somehow become common knowledge that Lupin was a werewolf, and within days Dumbledore had been forced to sack him. Harry had not seen Lupin since then, and only kept in touch via owl correspondence. Lupin's gift was, quite sensibly, a sneakoscope.

When Harry was finished, he realised one was missing. He went through the pile of letters, then opened his window and gazed for another owls. Realising that she might have used Muggle mail given the Dursley's hatred towards owls, he checked for any letters that had arrived by postman. Disappointed in every effort, Harry stopped to think if Hermione could have forgotten his birthday. He felt a pang in his stomach, before he did his best to dismiss the notion. She memorised every spell she came close to, she would not forget. Sometimes, mail got lost, even owl mail - at least Harry assumed so.

Besides, it was not as if he had done something special for her last birthday; he had found a book that seemed rare and thus hard to obtain, and with a topic to interest her - lost magical artefacts throughout the ages. He could not expect her to make much out of his birthday. And even if she had forgotten, she would remember tomorrow, and send him a letter then, Harry was sure. Although, it had been more than a week since she had last written, 10 days in fact, and that was even though she had returned from holiday with her parents.

Harry stepped outside into the garden, noticing that another friend was there. A black dog which had appeared earlier this summer, and seemed to hang around. Harry was not sure why any animal would like this place, but he did not mind. He had on occasion smuggled some food out for the beast, and now as he had done before he spent a while scratching its head. Something about the mute attention of an animal always made things seem a little better, though Harry could not say why. Eventually he went inside again, and some hours passed until noon, which Harry spent in the basement.

When he was done, he felt that his head was as drained as his body, and the warm shower afterwards was like a balm to his muscles. Returning to his room, he opened the cupboard to look at what his wardrobe contained. A part of him felt that on his birthday, he should dress nice; the rest of him was keenly aware that since nothing would happen, dressing up seemed rather pointless. With an inward sigh he settled for the customary jeans and t-shirt, picking up his birthday letters to read them again. He had been through them all at least once, when he heard the doorbell ringing. Having Dumbledore's note in his hand, Harry leapt to his feet and raced towards the stairs. To his chagrin, he saw his aunt already in the foyer; Harry had no idea what the surprise might be, but coming from the most powerful wizard in the world, he doubted that Petunia would want to be at the door receiving it.

Harry was right about Petunia, though entirely wrong about what presented itself at the door. He heard her voice before he saw her face, and the shock was obvious on his face. What on earth was Hermione doing here? In the last four years, none of Harry's acquaintances from the magical community had even come close to Privet Drive. But here one of his best friends was, shaking hand with Petunia who was wondering what this girl was doing here. "I'm a friend of Harry's, we're here to pick him up," Hermione said. This only sparked additional questions in Harry's mind, and clearly in Petunia's as well, though she did allow herself to be practically coerced backwards and allow Hermione inside the hall. She quickly spotted Harry standing on the stairs, flashed him a smile and mirrored his movement; as he quickly moved down the stairs, she moved up until they met in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, and he realised that he was grinning like a fool. Well, I am one, Harry thought, feeling rather ashamed at having doubted Hermione. Only then did he notice two other people entering as well. He remembered seeing a photo of them once, and even without that advantage he could guess they were Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They quickly introduced themselves as such to Petunia, who stood quite disbelieving. It was clear that she had never even entertained the thought that any might arrive on her doorstep to take Harry with them - the implication that somebody would even want him was too alien to her mind. Fortunately, Vernon quickly appeared by her side, roused by the commotion.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but Harry's not going anywhere," Vernon said with a malicious glance at his ward. Harry was not sure why; maybe Vernon was afraid to let his nephew out in public, or perhaps he knew the best revenge for the threats Harry made yesterday was by forcing him to stay for as long as he could. Of course, this implied that Vernon had any deciding power in this matter. But before Harry could remind Vernon of yesterday's conversation, Hermione had already taken control.

"Don't worry, it's all been cleared with Dumbledore. Harry, I know it's short notice, but let's pack your things and my dad can help carry your trunk," Hermione said. The name Dumbledore had a bewitching effect; Petunia's face closed together to form a thin line, like had she been forced to suck on a lemon, while Vernon looked like a kettle ready to blow.

Knowing the best thing was to get this done with as soon as possible, Harry wasted no time. He quickly returned to his room, throwing books and clothes into his trunk. Hermione followed, making sure he forgot nothing all the while grinning at how perfect her surprise had been.

"You should have seen the look on your face," she said more than once, and Harry did not begrudge her the victory. Standing in the doorway, feeling perhaps out of place, Mr. Granger spoke nothing until Hermione indicated that his services were needed. Being a dentist was no barrier for strength, and he carried his end of the trunk while Harry took the other. In front of the entire disbelieving Dursley family, for Dudley had joined the audience, Harry waved with smug satisfaction while the Grangers muttered some polite parting words. Harry sympathised with them, especially Mrs. Granger who had been left alone with them in the hall for several minutes.

Once in the car, Hermione and Harry both laughed and she hugged him again out of what seemed like sheer glee.

"Is this what Dumbledore's letter was about? The surprise," Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"He arranged it with my parents a week ago. You can stay with us for the rest of the holiday. No more Dursleys for this summer," Hermione said, her face growing grim for a moment. Although Harry's familial situation was not a secret to any of his friends, he had a feeling Hermione was the only one who actually understood. Perhaps, being a lonely child, even with caring parents she had an inkling of how it could be. Ron and Ginny, having grown up in what seemed like the utopian household, probably thought that being punished meant only one serving of dessert.

"That's brilliant, Hermione," Harry said, feeling gratitude swelling inside of him. Over the years he had not had much to do with Dumbledore, and did not quite know how to feel about the old wizard. Sure, there were endless tales, but the man was old, with a long white beard, and he never seemed to actually practice any magic. He occasionally called Harry in for a talk, and sent Harry small gifts and letters for his birthday; like a social worker checking up on the child he placed in foster care, or a distant relative.

"Dumbledore doesn't mind the risk, then," Harry said. The old wizard had explained the ancient ritual that kept him safe as long as he was with his blood relatives; as much as Harry hated how it made him feel chained to the Dursleys, he could not argue against its effectiveness. Hermione shook her head.

"He said that he thought it would be best for you; no sense in keeping you safe if it doesn't keep you sane," she said, and Harry wondered if that was her choice of words or Dumbledore's. Realising that the Grangers were being very hospitable to him, he leaned forward from the backseat and gave his thanks to Hermione's parents.

"It is very kind of you to let me stay," Harry said. "I am very grateful for your troubles, and if I can return any favour I would be glad to do so." He had learned long ago that adults did not always expect politeness from children or teens, and were always pleasantly surprised to find it. It tended to make them favourably disposed towards you.

"No trouble at all, dear," Mrs. Granger said. Harry could see some of Hermione in her, the same pretty smile though her troublesome hair was definitely a paternal trait. Mr. Granger made some gruff noise that seemed to affirm his wife's statement.

"Hermione speaks so well of you, and we're very happy to get a visit from one of her friends." Hermione leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"Also, they got a letter from Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump etc. etc. After the titles alone they were so impressed, I think they imagine he's the king of magical Britain; he could probably have asked them permission to drill a hole in our front garden to China and they would have given their consent," she snickered.

The Grangers lived as pleasantly as their livelihoods as dentists allowed. A guestroom larger than Harry's own room at the Dursleys was at his disposal, with a bathroom for his use only nearby. Once installed, Hermione's parents let their daughter catch up with her friend and share photos from their holiday, which had involved Czech wizards in Prague.

When evening came, then appeared a delicious meal with Harry's favourite dishes, which he suspected was no accident. And a birthday cake towards the end, which for some reason moved Harry more than he had thought it would. For a moment he thought he could imagine how it might have been to grow up in this house; boring, ordinary dentist parents who nonetheless raised their children well, and with somebody like Hermione for a sister rather than Dudley for a cousin. Harry smiled and thanked the Grangers so many times, he thought he managed to make Mrs. Granger blush.

The next days were as blissful as Harry had ever experienced any. It reminded him of the first time he had been freed of the Dursleys, when Hagrid had taken him away and to Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Granger let them do as they please, as long as they joined them for meals. So in the mornings they went out exploring, or swimming in the local waterhole (Harry borrowed some trunks from Hermione's father). Harry actually never really learned how to swim properly, but as soon as Hermione discovered this, she set down to rectify it. Every morning afterwards they went swimming until Harry grasped the basics, though he had to admit to himself that the sight of Hermione in a swimsuit was a little distracting.

Afternoons were spent on longer trips, through the nearby woods or other of Hermione's old haunts. There was a place in the forest where some trees clustered close together to form a kind of natural tree house, where Hermione had often gone as a child. Now she brought Harry with her, making use of the great view the height gave them of the surroundings. Other afternoons, when the sun was so hot it left them lethargic, they spent it in the garden playing games, with the occasional trip to the nearby store for ice cream.

The cooler evenings were spent on the porch, talking or reading; naturally, the Grangers had a huge library and Harry, who had rarely been exposed to fiction, was given Hermione's favourite stories one after the other to read. When it grew too dark to read outside, they would usually just continue talking until late night, enjoying how the summer weather allowed them to spend the entire day outside. And when they finally went to bed, it all repeated itself the next day. It seemed all too soon when it was the last day before they had to board the train to Hogwarts.

Author's note: The end of the prologue. As you can see, fairly quiet. I wanted to set things up properly and spend some time on characters before we reach the plot. If you find the pacing slow, I hope you'll bear with me and read a few more chapters.