Summer before sixth year, and all Harry could think of was Voldemort. Thanks to Moody in particular, Harry had free roam of the house, not that he cared. Owls had come daily, but were only answered every three days. Nothing took his mind off of the irrepressible doom that lingered over Harry's shoulder.

Sirius is gone. I can deal with this. The phrase ran through Harry's head constantly. He breathed deeply, and checked to see when he could to Number Twelve. Seven more days. One week. He felt miserable. Grimmald Place would just make Sirius loom even more on his mind. But it would be better than the Burrow. Harry couldn't bear to see Ron or Hermione. But mostly Ron. Ron would want to have fun, something that he couldn't even think of doing. Whew! Gotta relax, it's going to be really hard next week, and…

Harry never finished his thought. The Advanced Guard had suddenly burst into the kitchen. At least Harry hoped it was the Advanced Guard. But where was the chink of a broken item? And why a week early?