As the sun rose once again over Privet Drive, tiny beams of light found their way through the small cracks in Harry's worn and dusty curtains. They creeped across the cluttered floor, slowly snaking their way towards Harry's closed eyelids.

Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

Harry stirred and opened his eyes. He began to blink rapidly, the harsh light too bright for his tired eyes. He felt around for his glasses, his fingers fumbling from lack of use.

His hand closed around something long and pencil like, he pushed it out of the way and heard a clattering on the floor.

"Damn," he muttered. His hand fumbled even more and closed around a second object. This one was smooth and cold to the touch – his glasses. He put them on lazily and blinked a few more times. His small bedroom came into focus.

Hedwig's cage, perched precariously on top of a pile of old newspapers, stood empty – she was clearly still out hunting. Next to her cage stood Harry's wardrobe. Door slightly agar, it contained all of his school robes and all of his school textbooks. Harry's most prized possessions where also scattered about the room. His Firebolt was standing proudly by his bedside cabinet, propped up by the wall; his invisibility cloak lay folded neatly in his trunk, which was open and sat under his window. Lastly, an old, leather-bound photo album containing the only images Harry had ever had of his dead parents, sat safely on his bedside cabinet.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and his head began to swim a little. Eventually, the feeling passed, and Harry felt it was safe to get up.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and let his bare feet touch the cold, wooden floor. He wiggled his toes to get some feeling back into his legs. Compared to his bed at Hogwarts, the mattress the Dursley's had supplied for him really wasn't something to boast about.

He stretched, stifled a yawn and stood up; the movement made his back and knees click rather impressively. He crossed over to his curtains and pulled them open. Bright, morning sunlight flooded the room, basking it in a warm, pleasant glow. Harry lifted the catch on his window and opened it as wide as it would go. Almost as if she had been waiting for her cue, Hedwig swooped gracefully in, dropped something on Harry's bed and then fluttered delicately into her cage. She hooted at Harry, tucked her head under her wing and settled down for a long snooze.

Harry smiled as he watched Hedwig for a moment – she truly was a beautiful bird, and she was all his. He then turned back to the window and closed it a bit, though he left it open enough to allow a cool breeze to circulate the already stuffy room.

He remembered, as he turned back to his bed, that he had knocked something off his bedside cabinet in his search to find his glasses. Sure enough, when he went to check, his Holly and Phoenix Feather wand was missing. He glanced down at the floor but it was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly, he got down on all fours to get a better look. He scrambled round in the dust for a few minutes and eventually spotted it lying innocently under his bed. He stuck out a hand and retrieved it, but in doing so, he noticed a folded bit of paper stuck between two loose floorboards he used for hiding things from his Aunt Petunia. He put his wand back where it should be and stuck out his hand for a second time, this time retrieving the bit of paper.

He heaved himself off the wooden floor and brushed the dust off his hands and knees. He went and sat down at his desk, the broken chair wobbling slightly as he did so. Harry thought nothing of it as he began to unfold the piece of paper. It was grubby, and the untidy scrawl of the writing told Harry that it had been written in a rush, but it still made him grin from ear to ear. The note read:

Harry,

I'm sorry our time together was so short. I promise you, when my name's cleared we'll have all the time in the world – you'll be sick of me soon!

From what I've heard about those Muggles you live with, they won't be too happy when they find out you've got a 'murderer' as a godfather. I'll be sure to let them know that I'll be keeping a close eye on the way they treat you and should I hear that you're unhappy, they'll have me to deal with.

Should you ever wish to contact me, a letter addressed to Snuffles will always find its way to me and Hedwig will know where to go anyway.

Me and Buckbeak keeping good enough company, but it will be nice to be a free man again.

I will love you always.

Sirius

Harry, still grinning, got up and put the note safely in his photo album. He could still remember the Dursley's faces when they'd received a letter from Sirius Black, 'insane convict, on the run from the law, responsible for killing thirteen people'. Harry hadn't had the heart to tell them that Sirius was innocent and if he was quite honest, he preferred the scared Dursleys to the scary Dursleys any day. It was thanks to Sirius that, for the first time in Harry's school career, they had not locked all his school possessions away the minute he stepped through the front door.

Harry looked at his repaired alarm clock and saw that it was seven in the morning. He then glanced over at his homemade calendar and felt his stomach do a series of back-flips. August 25th was outlined in red to make it stand out and today just happened to be that day.

Harry bound over to Hedwig's cage and poked her gently awake. She opened her big amber eyes and stared at him reproachfully.

"Today's the day, Hedwig! We'll be at Hogwarts this evening!" Harry said in an excited whisper, fearful of waking the Dursleys up. Hedwig gave a sleepy, celebratory hoot and then returned to her nap.

Harry, now happier that he had been all summer, let the night Professor Dumbledore had appeared at the front door replay in his head.

Harry had been sat on his bedroom floor, opening his three birthday presents he had received in the mail. The first had been from Hermione. She had given him a fascinating book on defensive spells – Harry couldn't wait to try them out, hopefully on Malfoy – along with a huge box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Harry had been unlucky enough to eat a jet black one that turned out to be rotten fish. Ron had got him a handy little devise to clip onto his broom that told him the time, the temperature, his exact location in the world, and his height in the sky. There had also been a note attached:

Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Look mate, I hope you like your present, but I wouldn't count on it too much – it was only cheap.

Dad said something about you not coming to school on the Hogwarts Express – what's that about? Hopefully it was just dad being dad, eh?

Don't let the Muggles get you down!

Ron

Ron's note had left Harry somewhat confused – why shouldn't he be going on the train? He would send a reply with Hedwig when she got back from hunting and get it all sorted.

His last present was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper – a giant of a man who had a sometimes unhealthy interest in dangerous and often deadly animals. Hagrid's gift was about the size of a small notebook, and when Harry ripped off the brown wrapping paper, it turned out to be just that. It wasn't, however, an ordinary notebook. The pages inside where velvety soft and had a fragile, antique look to them; the cover seemed to glow a brilliant blue – the book had a very magical aura in Harry's opinion. When he read the note attached, he was informed that the cover was actually made out of crushed unicorn horn, meaning it was very magical and also incredibly expensive. Harry made a mental note to thank Hagrid profusely when he saw him next.

Wanting to stretch his legs, Harry had decided a trip downstairs would do the trick. He got up, crossed his room and went out onto the landing. He could hear the muffled sound of animated voices drifting up the stairs, meaning the Dursleys must be watching TV.

Deciding it was safe to go down, Harry began to descend the stairs; his mouth still tasted unpleasantly of rotten fish. As he reached the last step, the doorbell suddenly rang. Harry stood still as a statue as he heard Uncle Vernon's low rumble of a voice.

"Expecting anyone Petunia, dear?" he asked.

"No, not at all," came his Aunt's simpering voice. "Is it one of your little friends Popkin?" Harry heard a sound, similar to a grunt, which he took to mean "no" from Dudley.

"Well, I'll get rid of them," Uncle Vernon said gruffly. The door to the sitting room opened suddenly, and Harry felt the strange sense of guilt wash over him, though he had no idea why.

"What are you doing? Lurking about on our stairs. Got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on our conversations?" Uncle Vernon shot at him. Harry could only shake his head; he didn't really have a comeback.

The doorbell went again and Uncle Vernon shouted, "I'm here, I'm here. Ruddy salesmen, nothing better to do than bother my family…tell them where to shove it…" Harry passed his Uncle and his incessant mutterings and headed towards the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of water would get rid of the rotten fish taste that simply refused to disappear – it really was quite unpleasant…

However, an all too familiar voice was drifting down the hall, one that made Harry stop dead. He was confused; that voice didn't belong in the Dursley's corridor, it belonged at –

"Hogwarts, yes. You heard me correctly Mr. Dursley. Now, I was wondering if I might have a word with young Harry?"

Harry came out of his stupor and spun round; he couldn't suppress his grin.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was standing, framed in the doorway, smiling calmly.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, warmly. "Could you come out here for a moment, seeing as your uncle has failed to invite me in?"

Uncle Vernon gave a stunned start at the mention of his name, recovered from the shock of seeing a fully grown wizard – flowing purple robes and all – standing in his doorway and backed slowly into the sitting room, closing the door as he did so.

As Harry walked past the newly shut door, he heard the telltale sound of a lock clicking into place. He chanced a glance at his Headmaster and was pleased to see him still smiling. The news can't be that bad then, thought Harry.

"Harry, my boy, so good to see you," said Dumbledore as he closed the front door behind Harry. Harry, still so amazed by the fact that Dumbledore was actually here, registered only too late that Dumbledore was talking to him. He opened his mouth hurriedly but was cut off by a quiet chuckle, coming from Dumbledore's direction.

"Surprised to see me, I take it?" asked Dumbledore, kindly.

"Ye-yes sir, I-I mean no sir, I-I mean…" Harry's voice tailed off pathetically. He eventually settled for the safest question he could think of. "How are you, sir?" As soon as the words left his lips, Harry wanted to suck them all back in. He felt a blush slowly creeping towards his cheeks and felt his ears get hot – what a stupid question, Harry thought angrily. He was glad it was dark out, because he had a horrible feeling he was the exact shade of a tomato right about now.

Dumbledore looked a little taken aback at Harry's sudden question, but he recovered quickly enough. Still smiling, he answered.

"I'm very well, thank you Harry. And what about you? Enjoying your birthday I hope?"

Harry had quite forgotten it was his birthday, but he nodded nonetheless and replied.

"Yes, thank you sir, I'm fine. Missing Hogwarts, but enjoying the time off I suppose." If Harry were completely honest, he would give anything to be back at Hogwarts; he truly did hate coming home for the summer.

"Good, good. Glad to hear you're keeping well. I'm rather pleased you mentioned Hogwarts actually, as I am here to talk about your return to school."

Harry felt his stomach drop unpleasantly.

"I am going back aren't I?" Harry asked, slightly panicky. "Hogwarts hasn't closed down, has it? Wait! Has Snape finally got me expelled? But sir, that's not fair! He can't just –"

"Harry!" Dumbledore interrupted Harry's frantic ramblings. "Harry my boy, don't worry! Hogwarts has not closed down and Professor Snape –" Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry, Harry merely shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "– Professor Snape has not had you expelled. Why in the world you would think he has reason to expel you, I don't know."

Harry could think of about fifty reasons Snape could give for wanting to expel Harry, and he was sure Snape himself could think of over a hundred. He held his tongue however, and let his Professor continue.

"No, Harry, I am here to tell you that we – we being me and several other influential people –" Dumbledore's eyes sparkled mischievously over his half moon spectacles, "– have decided that since Lord Voldemort may once again be on the rise to power, it is unsafe for you to return to school with everyone else."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him.

"Therefore, you shall be returning to school, a week earlier, with me. I hope that is satisfactory?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the light from the street lamp.

"Sir, that's … that's …" Harry, stunned into silence, was lost for words.

"Ok?" prompted Dumbledore.

"… That's brilliant, sir," said Harry grinning. A whole extra week at Hogwarts, which meant a whole extra week away from the Dursleys! Harry could have jumped for joy, but he settled instead for a sort of manic grin, followed by an improvised little jig.

"Excellent," proclaimed Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. "I shall see you on the 25th – I look forward to it!" He patted Harry fatherly on the shoulder and turned to leave. Halfway down the drive, he let out a loud "Oh!" that made Harry jump.

"Harry, I almost forgot. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this, otherwise it defeats the whole object of the plan, you see?" Harry nodded, but suddenly remembered –

"Sir, I think Ron might already know. He knew I wasn't going to be on the train anyway," said Harry, hoping dearly that he hadn't just got his best friend into trouble.

"Of course," said Dumbledore calmly, looking as though something was extremely obvious. "Arthur would know. Thank you for that information Harry – I'll go and speak to Mr. Weasley now."

And with that, Dumbledore turned abruptly and continued his way down the drive. A little stunned, Harry called a feeble "Goodbye Sir!" and turned back towards the house.

He opened the front door and jumped when he saw a large, mustached face with small, piggy eyes peering through a crack in the sitting room door.

"Well, boy? Has he gone?" asked his Uncle, in a would-be-casual sort of voice.

"Yep, he's gone," said Harry happily. "But he'll be back on the 25th!"

Harry enjoyed the stunned look on his Uncle's face for a few seconds more and then headed back upstairs, happier than he'd been in a long time.

Harry stood and thought about the memory for some time, lost to the real world. Eventually he returned back to the land of the living and shook his head as though to clear it – that had been a good flashback!

He glanced around the room and noticed something lying on his bed. It was the letter Hedwig had dropped off.

"Bet it's from Dumbledore, explaining what's happening tonight," Harry said excitedly, though mainly to himself, as Hedwig was fast asleep.

He picked up the envelope and saw that it was addressed to a Mr. H. Potter, though it wasn't in Dumbledore's usual flowing hand, it was spiky and disjointed. A memory stirred at the back of Harry's mind as he remembered seeing the letters before, but he pushed it aside – he was too excited about the note. He ripped open the envelope, pulled out the piece of parchment and read:

Mr. Potter,

It is my duty to inform you that, due to recent events, the Headmaster is no longer able to collect you tonight.

It just so happens, however, that I am available and will therefore be doing the job for him.

I expect you ready and waiting by 5 o'clock this evening. I do not like to be kept waiting, so if you are not ready, it is safe to say you will, much to my pleasure, have to suffer the consequences.

Do not be late.

Professor S. Snape

Harry's stomach dropped and his good mood vanished – it was as though he had just plunged head first into an icy pool of black, swirling dread – one that took the shape of the dreaded Severus Snape.