The clock on the wall ticked as slowly as ever, as though it knew someone who wished it would speed up was watching it closely. But time was not on their side- the clock marched on; refusing to quicken it's pace.

The kitchen in which the said clock was counting on was deadly quiet, excusing the occasional coughs, or, in Harry's case, munch on the toast in front of him. He was seated at the kitchen table, leaning back on the legs of his chair, a newspaper clutched in his hand, and quite oblivious to the strange and somehow strained aura that surrounded him and the one's giving it off.

His Aunt and Uncle exchanged a glance, before Vernon gave a loud cough and Petunia hustled over to Dudley, who had barely touched his food, and was watching Harry with a strange, almost terrified, look. Harry briefly glanced up at the noise created by his Uncle, with a bored expression on his face, before returning to the article he was reading, "Hogwarts, a History?"

This pained silence lasted perhaps minutes more, before Harry gave a sigh of annoyance, stood up with his breakfast plate in hand, and trudged over to the sink. Petunia and Vernon quickly scuttled out of his way and went to stand behind Dudley. Harry pulled his thin wand from his pocket and held in front of him like this was nothing new, and the crumbs and debris of his breakfast suddenly vanished. There was a slight squeal from Petunia, who grasped onto the arm of the slowly turning purple Vernon, and the shoulder of Dudley, who clasped his free hand stiffly on his buttocks.

Without a glance back at his terrified relatives, Harry turned slightly and with a small crack, disappeared.

He reappeared instantly in his room upstairs, and dropping the newspaper on the floor, he made his way through the things spread out on the floor to his untidy bed. Downstairs, the Dursleys were starting to cautiously go about their daily things, listening intently for movement upstairs. Harry hopped onto his bed, and fell onto his back, letting the springs sag low. He mulled over the article he had just read, a frown on his face, and a looming fate pressed over him.

This was an unusual summer for him- his last with the Dursleys, before he was a free man. According to the wizarding creed, he would be a full-fledged wizard in a week and a day, something he wasn't necessarily waiting for, but would enjoy it nonetheless when it came.

Most wizards and witches of his age would return to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, this fall, if it reopened, which seemed, according to the article, still undetermined. Harry doubted that all the students would return after the recent turn of events, but he was sure there were enough who were loyal to Hogwarts and Dumbledore to hold classes. He felt a sharp pain when he thought of Dumbledore. He, unlike his classmates, would not be returning to the only place he ever felt at home. He had a dangerous and crucial job to do, and he would make sure he would do it, even if it killed him- and this was definitely a possible outcome.

He would have done it alone if he could- but no, his friends insisted on staying by his side. He had tried to convince them out of it at the end of last year, but he knew with a twinge of pleasure and guilt, they would not be moved. It would be treacherous and deadly, the plan he was going to follow, but his loyal friends would follow him all the way through it.

He had it all planned out, what they were to do. Over the month he had been at the Dursley's, he had carefully arranged where they were going to search first, what they were to look for, and such, though Harry knew that no matter how prepared they were, they were certainly not going to be able to follow this plan exactly. His friends knew of quite a bit of this plan, for they had helped him. They had all corresponded quite frequently, through owls, and they would reunite at the Weasley's house for Bill and Fleur's wedding, before setting off on their journey. After pondering a few things, Harry rolled off his bed, and walked over to his desk, where he picked up a quill and a piece of parchment, and sat down in the chair. Pulling the inkbottle close to him, he began to write.

Ron-

I've almost finished putting everything together. There's just one more piece I need to fix. If it doesn't work we'll have to think of something else.

Everything is the same. The Dursley's are very dursley-ish, never talking to me, or anything. Not that I really mind. I'll be very glad to actually converse with real humans again though. How are the wedding plans coming along? I bet you aren't too keen on helping out but just try to stay on your Mom's good side, okay? Now I sound like Sirius when he was telling me to keep my nose clean. Sorry, I know you will.

Say hi to everyone for me, and I'll see you in a week,

Harry

He quickly reread the letter, before rolling it up, and sealing it with a bit of wax. He had to be very careful about what he put in writing. He was pretty sure the Weasley's mail was being checked still, but he was hoping that no one would read too closely mail from him.

Harry walked over to his window, sliding it open, and stuck his head out of it. He whistled softly, and said, "Hedwig?" with a hopefully convincing tone. He heard the ruffle of wings on the roof as Hedwig took off, gliding smoothly into his room, where Harry had withdrawn his head. She hooted impatiently as Harry tied the letter to her leg. When Harry was done, he carried her to the window sill, and told her softly, "Another letter to Ron, okay? You can stay at the Burrow if you'd rather have Pig and Errol's company. I don't blame you." He sighed and looked around at his solemn and dark room. Hedwig hooted dutifully, and nipped Harry affectionately on the ear before taking off, soaring into the sun-lit sky.

Hedwig had been very reliable for Harry lately. He knew it was tiring and annoying for her to stay so close to Privet Drive, but he needed her to deliver letters as soon as she could. She also was limited to how much she could fly around. An owl flying around in broad daylight might disturb the neighbors a bit, or at least that's what the Dursley's feared. Not like the world had other things to be worried about- another bridge collapsed in London, leaving quite a bit of damage and many baffled engineers. No one could explain it- or, at least no one did. Harry and every other wizard out there knew that it was Lord Voldemort's doing: Cuthbert Mockridge, a very important Ministry official died in the accident. Nobody could explain this to the Muggles, of course.

Harry sighed, looking out the window at the sparkling grass and shining houses of Privet Drive. It looked almost magical. With a last, resigned look outside, he treaded over to his trunk, which had clothes, books, and broken quills spread inside and outside of it. He knew he had to try what he needed to do. He didn't want to be disappointed by the results, however. He really needed this to work, and if it didn't, he had no clue what to do next.

He dug deep into his trunk- to the very bottom, where old socks he never used lay. Lifting out a very smelly sock revealed what was at the bottom- shattered glass and a frame of a broken, once square, mirror. A wave of emotion came over him, but he pushed it down, knowing he had to concentrate. He carefully removed all the other items in the trunk, searching for bits of broken glass in the folds of the clothes.

After he had made a fairly large pile of junk, all that was left in the trunk was the bronze frame of the mirror, and the shattered glass. It was broken into about nine pieces, though there were little bits of broken glass scattered everywhere. Gently, he removed each piece of glass onto his wooden floor, fitting them into the frame where they belonged. It was like one, difficult puzzle, in which every little piece had to fit in order for it to work. The frame was bent a bit at the top, so some bits couldn't fit perfectly. It was strenuous work, but in less than an hour, he had restored the mirror to looking at least like it had once been used.

Harry pulled out his wand, focusing hard on what he was about to do. It was a simple spell, to be sure, but he wasn't sure how this ancient bit of treasure would respond to magic, and he was prepared to give it his all. He hoped it would work- he was only missing, it seemed, one long piece of glass on the far right side of the mirror, probably lost when he un-ceremoniously chucked it back into his trunk in a bout of frustration over a year ago.

Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his wand over the mirror, and, with a flick of his wand, said, "Reparo." Almost at once, the glass quivered on the ground, as if it were fighting against his spell, but before Harry could even feel worried about this defiance, the glass, with a flash of bright light, melded into one within the frame.

Harry picked up the mirror, with a smile on his face. There was, to be sure, a bit of the back of the frame peeping through from where the long piece of glass was missing, but, in whole, he was able to clearly see his reflection. "Thanks, Sirius," he muttered with a grin. Now he only needed the second part to the puzzle.