He paced the room, running his hands through his untidy tangle of black hair. He wasn't sure what to do. They only decent bit of advice he wanted right now was not the one he had heard.

Stay where you are

That's what Dumbledore had ordered him to do. But what did Dumbledore know? Had he lost his parents to the most evil dark wizard of all time? Nearly been killed by him and his servants almost every year for the past three? And was he now constantly being possessed so that images of Lord Voldemort's daily endeavours appeared in his head, along with a door which won't open and a great serpent attacking one of the nicest people he knew? No. The biggest danger he faced right now was losing his job.

Harry couldn't waste much more time. He hadn't even opened the door. He was the weapon that Sirius had let slip. He was giving Voldemort an inside view of Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place! Why did Dumbledore not see that? Or was Dumbledore merely in denial that Harry was possessed due to the fact that he didn't want to see his rival in Harry's eyes? He did not know. But what he did know was that despite what anyone said, he had to get out of this place. He muttered in Hedwig's ear for her to fly back to the Dursley's and that he would be there shortly. She blinked her enormous amber eyes, a sign which meant she understood, and took off at once, looking like a ghost in the pale sky. He grabbed her cage, and shoved it brusquely into his already packed trunk. Fred and George had shrunk it the day before to make more space on their return for the Holidays, as Hedwig was not with Harry when they left, so now it fitted comfortably into his trunk. The twins had set the charm so that it lasted up until tonight, when they believed Hedwig would return from hunting. She had returned hours early, but had sat nevertheless on the wardrobe, looking peaceful. He could only just see her silvery silhouette against the darkening snowy sky.

He was a danger to all of them. Ron and Ginny, who no doubt were discussing whether Harry was a dangerous madman upstairs, The Weasleys, Lupin, Sirius and for that matter, the entire wizarding population. He was the reason Voldemort was back. He helped revive him after all. The blood now running through his veins had helped his nemesis return to power. It sickened him to even think of it.

He could see Uncle Vernon's expression when he saw his nephew wandering up the garden path. They would no doubt be livid, but would have to put up with it. He had no other place to go, and he was sure, that the Dursley's were in no immediate danger. Voldemort would probably send someone to collect him directly for him to be killed. He would not bother to waste time killing such pointless muggles.

Climbing carefully down the stairs, he flung a coat on and then his invisibility cloak over himself and his trunk, making sure it covered all of his body. He did not want anyone, or anything, to see him escaping. He wondered vaguely how different and horrible life would be in Number 4 Privet drive, but then the horrible image of Ron lying dead on the floor appeared in his mind, and he cancelled the thought out entirely.

He managed to get the whole way down the stairs before he came across a problem. Hermione Granger stood there, wearing a woollen hat and a winter jacket, her mane of bushy brown hair covered in a thin layer of snow. Mrs Weasley letting her in quietly, clearly not wanting to wake Mrs Black. He had to press himself into a blank area of wall, which was extremely difficult as almost all the surrounding walls were covered in portraits of the vile Black family members. He held his breath tightly and quick as a flash, he darted out the door while Mrs Weasley was closing it and was thrown into the bitter cold snow. He was sure she had heard his breath as it had left him after he had got out the door, as she looked around for a few seconds then evidently decided that she had been imagining things, for she slammed the door resolutely shut.

He turned quickly on his heel; he did not want them to know he had gone. They should be more concerned for their own safety, not his. He was not related to anyone in that building and supposed he never would be. Like Professor Trelawney had said to him so many times in that cramped, hot room so many times before, he was going to die. Even if she was an old fraud, he had seen her make a prophecy almost two years ago and therefore did not question her ability as a seer. Although she may have many faults, she was not, as Hermione so often said, entirely powerless. He trudged miserably to the bottom of the steps and took one look back at the house. But it was gone before he could even blink. He turned back and then began walking but ceased instantly when a thought came to him.

How the hell am I going to get back to Privet Drive?

He hadn't even though about it. In his rush to escape, he hadn't even though about the most important thing. He didn't have any Muggle money, so he could not go on the subway. He couldn't use any magical means of transportation such as the Floo network or Apportion, for if he did, the Ministry could track him down with ease. He needed something that was not Ministry controlled, but was related to the wizarding world, and took the Galleons and Sickles he had, clinking every time he walked. Then it hit him. He groped for his wand and then held it out. With a loud BANG, the Night Bus appeared out of nowhere and skidded to a halt in front of him. The pimply youth he had met 2 years previously stood on the deck and clambered out to collect his trunk. Stan Shunpike had not changed in the slightest. He was still as tall, gangly and spotty as the last time he had seen him. The moment he saw Harry, his face lit up and he spoke cheerfully.

"Ern, it's 'Arry! Ello, where chou headin' to then?"

"Ur, Privet Drive, Surrey, please." He replied politely, and handed eleven sickles to Stan, who went back out to retrieve Harry's trunk, and got onto the unsteady bus, and sat on the seat nearest the front. He pulled the latest copy of the Daily Profit from one of the many newspaper racks, and began to read. Mr Weasley was plastered across the front page, a large bold title reading;

Snakedown on Ministry of Magic turf

Harry looked at the picture of a smiling Mr Weasley, standing in his office, looking as though he didn't have a care in the world. He looked back to the article which continued to say;

Late last night, Arthur Weasley, aged 41, was attacked by what can only be descried as either a very large snake or a very small basilisk. Mr Weasley was guarding the top secret room, which, of course, no one knows what is in it, when a large venomous snake entered the room unnoticed. It then proceeded to bite the unwary Mr Weasley, causing him grievous bodily harm. The Daily Profit can also reveal that the snake's venom has no antidote, which means that Mr Weasleys wound cannot stop bleeding, therefore he is having to take Blood Replenishing potion every hour. It was also confirmed in a surprise twist, that this event was not only to affect Mr Weasley, but a certain Harry Potter as well. Mr Potter, who's supposed lies about You Know Who's return have caused much of a rift between the Ministry and Hogwarts School, was one of the 5 children, along with the Weasley's that were given permission by the former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamont, Albus Dumbledore, to visit Mr Weasley in St Mungo's, therefore leaving their school almost 2 days before the holidays were even due to start. It yet again brings to the surface rumours that Dumbledore, who was voted unanimously out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards, is losing his grip as age begins to catch up with him. The Ministry refuse to answer questions on the incident. One harassed looking auror, Nymphadora Tonks, told a Daily Profit reporter after her shift as she hurried away, clearly wanting to escape the scene of such an attack;

"Don't bother me, I have work to do, and I'm going to speak to St Mungo's now. We're forbidden to talk about it. I can't reveal anything. All I'm going to say is that we have conformation that Arthur Weasley is still alive and should survive this attack. Please leave the premises or I will have to get some people from the office to deal with you."

This morning however, a delighted Healer from St Mungo's told us that Mr Weasley is in a good condition and should be out of hospital before the month ends. A flustered Cornelius Fudge agreed to tell a Daily Profit reporter the details of the attack. "We are still unsure as to how the snake got in to the Ministry in the first place; after all, all our entrances are guarded. I admit that it's not the best thing for our reputation at the moment, but we already have a lot on our plate with the whole Potter situation. Dumbledore still refuses to stop these ridiculous lies and we had to get someone in there to take a measure over the control of the slipping standards at Hogwarts. I repeat, there are more important things. I have spoken to Arthur myself and he assures me he will return to work within the month. I was concerned of course for his safety, but once he told me the details, I knew that he would appreciate us to continue out work so that his pay check can continue to come. That is all I have to say. Now please do not interview my employees as they have plenty of work to be getting on with in the present climate. Oh and be sure to speak with St Mungo's for some updates."

However, despite Fudges insistences that the snake was merely an escaped zoo snake, it has come to light the He Who Must Not Be Named used to have a large and venomous serpent, something Dumbledore revealed to the ministry last night.

Can Potter be trusted to cope with this strange new turn of events? Or will this lead to more of his stories that You Know Who is back? All that is certain is that if these tales continue, Albus Dumbledore will need to consider his take on this in order to keep his job as Headmaster of such a fine establishment.

"They ain't liking chou to much at the minute, are they 'Arry?" said Stan pointing at the paper. "I dunno whata believe. I guess we'll just 'ave to see eh?"

"Yeah. Say, Stan, do you know if the Dementor's have returned to the prison yet?"

"Nope. They ain't movin' til they get what they want, ain't that right Ern?"

"They said unless the Ministry give them the amount people to suck the happiness out of that they want, they aren't going to come back. The only way we're gonna get rid of them is by killing them, and you need a skilled auror to do that. The spell's extremely complicated, see" he added, seeing the confused look on Harry's face.

Then it dawned on him. He could never be an auror now. This was the most important school year of his life, and he was giving it up for Voldemort. He mentally punched himself by picturing the image of a dead Ron, laying eagle spread while Voldemort stood above him, his high cruel laugh echoing in Harry's ears. He had no intention of letting his friends get murdered for him, and he pictured them now worriedly discussing his disappearance. They would, he hoped, be searching the house for him and attempting to contact Moody who might be able to find him. He felt sickened for wanting them to be worried, but after what happened yesterday, he would be delirious if they even acknowledged his disappearance. He then looked up to see Stan standing above him, a questioning look on his pimpled face.

"What chou doin' back 'ere anyway 'Arry? I though chou was at Hogwarts still."

"Oh, family business," He replied, his mind working quickly to come up with some excuse to tell Stan as why he was really venturing back into the Muggle world and shutting himself off from the one he treasured above all entirely. Admittedly, he would not miss some aspects of the wizarding world, such as Snape and his Occlumency lessons, but most of all, the fact that almost all of the wizarding population thought him a liar and an attention seeker. Oh and also someone who could quite easily fit in with the population of St Mungo's mental ward. "My Aunt and Uncle haven't seen me in quite a while. We're close you see, and they wanted to see me."

This was obviously a downright lie. The Dursley's would rather receive a letter to say that he had been killed or injured immensely than ever have his return to them. Vernon Dursley's purple face, vein throbbing in his temple, popped into Harry's mind and he had to stifle a laugh as a cough. Uncle Vernon would be absolutely livid that Harry had returned six months earlier than expected and had not been killed on the way there. He would undoubtedly question Harry on every aspect of his return and how long he planned to stay. He was sure that all three of the Dursley's would be furious to find that they would have to put up with him until his 17th birthday, when he could use magic legally. However, he guessed that Voldemort didn't want to wait another two years to kill him and he was certain that, as soon as they got wind of his disappearance, the Death Eaters would be searching for him.

He then began to think about life without magic and concealing that he was hidden at Privet Drive for the next few years. He knew that people would guess, but he was definite that Uncle Vernon would never let another wizard cross the threshold after he had told them the reason for his homecoming. If they were warned that a mass murdering wizard who was feared beyond all could arrive at any minute to kill him, they would want to make sure that no person like him ever entered their house again. Harry wasn't afraid of his uncle anymore and knew that they owed him for saving Dudley in the holidays. Aunt Petunia would obviously take this view, as anyone who saved her "Dinky Diddydums" was a hero in her eyes, even if it was her sisters freak son.

He closed his eyes briefly and his mind rested upon the image of the closed door he had dreamt about for so many nights. Why wouldn't it open? Why was he even seeing this door in the first place? It had no meaning to him. He didn't even know if such a door existed, but he had no one to ask. Stan and Ernie would think he was mad if he went around talking about a door that no one had ever heard of in the Department of Mysteries, and right now he needed all the support he could get.

The bus suddenly came to a halt and he flew off the chair and onto the floor, face to face with something that reminded him of the troll bogies that had been on his wand in his first year. He recalled painfully, how he, Ron and Hermione had managed to save the Philosophers stone from Quirell and Voldemort. He yet again wondered what life would be like for him without them, but knew they were better off without his company. All he could bring them was a certainty of death. After all he had put them through, they did not deserve that. He admitted that he was lucky to even have them as friends.

"'Ere we go 'Arry. I 'ope to see you again. Bye!" said Stan enthusiastically; opening the doors and placing his case outside onto the pavement and then extending his hand to pull Harry off the floor. Harry straightened up and was horrified to see Uncle Vernon, who couldn't see the magical bus, only a normal one, standing on the front lawn. The moment he saw Harry, he looked up and began to storm down the street towards them, shouting so loud, that half the neighbours had braved a peek out their windows despite the heavy layer of snow falling and the bitter cold wind blowing harshly down the street.

"What in gods name are you doing back here? I thought you wouldn't be back for another six months! I thought we'd got rid of you at last!" He bellowed, his face an even darker purple in the pale snow, which was tangled up in his bushy moustache and hair. He looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him and he had seen Uncle Vernon when he was beyond mad. He grabbed him by the collar and shook him. Ripping himself from his uncle's grasp, he spoke calmly, trying not to laugh as Uncle Vernon swelled.

"If you let me inside, I'll explain everything. I don't care what you try to do, but I'm back for good, so you better get used to me." He replied coolly, and marched straight past his uncle and set off down the road towards Number 4. He walked up the neat path, and wrenched open the door. The house inside had not changed in the slightest. It was still as neat as before and still as Harry free as it was in the holidays. Aunt Petunia, clearly under the impression it was her husband who had just entered the house, came charging out of the living room, snapping in her usual waspish manner.

"Vernon, do you remem- oh my god. What are you doing here?"

She looked as though she had been winded. He trudged into the lounge along with her and Uncle Vernon. Dudley looked even skinner than usual and almost passed out with fright when he saw Harry; he slid down the sofa, his eyes like galleons. Uncle Vernon was the first to ask questions, clearly wanting to know why Harry was still alive.

"So, they expelled you did they? Saw sense at last, I suppose?" he snarled nastily, vein throbbing still harder in his temple. He looked rather like an extremely angry pig. His eyes were fixated on Harry, and he was baring his teeth rather like a rabid dog. Harry had a fleeting image of an Uncle Vernon as Ripper, Aunt Marge's favourite dog. He had to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

"Sit down," he gestured at the arm chairs and they both took a seat. They looked both as though they mistrusted him and despised him. He cared about neither. He wasn't bothered what they thought of him, but knew it was essential that they heard the truth from him. "I didn't get expelled, no. I'm here by choice. Lord Voldemort, as I told you before, is back. I'm now having visions all the time. I'm a weapon. He knows where you, but because of my mothers protection, he can't reach me. That is, until I'm 17, when I can do magic legally and defend myself as well as when the protection breaks. When I no longer call this place home. I know you don't care about me in the slightest, but until I reach 17, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to stay. I wouldn't do it if I had another option."

"You mean that you're going to explode or something? What do you mean "I'm a weapon"?" asked Uncle Vernon, his piggy little eyes, narrowed in confusion. He was not the worlds greatest thinker, Harry knew, but even a five year old could gather that by saying he was a weapon did not mean that he was about to self destruct before their very eyes.

"I mean," he replied through gritted teeth. "That he can see what I see. Well, that's what I've guessed based on the information I've heard. However, I'm positive that if I am, he could return much faster. So, I've come back here to stop him from seeing anything worthwhile."

"When you say worthwhile," began Aunt Petunia in tones of outrage, but he cut her off bluntly.

"I mean important in the wizarding world. Like about Hogwarts and stuff."

For the first time since Harry had discovered he was a wizard, the Dursley's did not even make any signs that two of the things that they loathed most had been mentioned under their roof. Admittedly, he expected it was not out of love, more likely shock of his return.

"If you don't want me to stay, I don't care. I have no choice and neither to do. I don't want my parents to die in vain."

"No, no, stay as long as you like." Aunt Petunia was almost whispering, while tears built up in her eyes. She hurried out of the room, leaving an aghast Uncle Vernon to stutter stupidly. Harry smiled around at him and then proceeded out of the door. He had felt it again. He was actually glad that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He grabbed his trunk and heaved it up the stairs, listening to Uncle Vernon's loud stutters, which were so noisy; they were carrying up the stairs. When, after several long minutes, he had managed to get the case up the stairs, he pulled it into his room to find Hedwig sitting on his bed, along with a brown owl, a brown envelope attached to it's right leg, which it was sticking out. He unattached it carefully and popped one of the owl treats he had accidentally left on his side table (Hedwig had tried to peck him to death when she discovered he had forgot to pack them) into its mouth. She clicked her beak in thanks then perched herself quite comfortably on the wardrobe looking out the window into the snowy night sky. He tore the envelope open, and was not surprised to see who it was from.

Dear Harry,

Harry, where in Merlin's name are you? I came over to see you to find that you were no where to be found. This owl belongs to the post office, and it'll return there immediately, so I have no clue as to where you are. It seemed smart enough, so I merely wrote Harry Potter on the front. If this finds you, please do not put yourself in any more danger. We all love and care about you, and after what everyone heard on the extendable ears, we're all worried about you. No one thinks you're crazy, but we think it's an insane idea to run off without telling anyone where you're going to. Lord Voldemort's after you, for crying out loud. The Auror office is having a field day! Mrs Weasleys crying, the entire Order is looking for you!

I hope you're ok and that you think on what I'm saying,

Love

Hermione

How dare she? Saying that they were all worried! They didn't care about him. All they cared about was that Mr Weasley was going to get better and to separate themselves from him entirely so that no attacks happened on any of the other Weasley family members. They were probably celebrating the fact that he was gone, that they were finally free of the psycho they had endured for the past five years. He was definite that she would be the last person he replied to. She did not understand, though she so often thought she did, his feelings and emotions at the present. What with the press insulting every few articles and the greatest wizard he knew being replaced by a mediocre wizard, with a love of pain and Ministry employee, who loathed him beyond all others.

He felt a sharp twinge in his scar. He was happy; very happy. Harry was now biting his bottom lip so hard, blood was trickling down his chin, and he could taste the coppery substance in his mouth. The scar stopped stinging, so he wiped his chin on the sleeve of his shirt. He had just tasted the blood that revived Voldemort. He wanted to scream, shout and cry all at once. He had no idea why this anger was building up inside of him. He wanted to make it stop. He needed to make people understand how he felt, what was really happening outside their front door, and why they should have never doubted Albus Dumbledore. He had to admit, that his feelings for Dumbledore at the minute were Luke warm, due to the fact that Dumbledore had been determinedly avoiding him, not even bothering to look him in the eyes after the fiasco at the ministry, probably expecting to see part of Lord Voldemort shining in his emerald eyes.

He had no intention of returning to the wizarding world. He would have to wait until his 17th birthday; however, he would be extremely far behind his class mates. He would have to learn the spells, hexes and incantations himself. The books that Sirius and Lupin had given him had extremely advanced magic in them, so he should be prepared. Some of the later books had spells he could not even teach the DA. The DA! He had left all of them in the lurch. His sudden departure meant they no longer had a leader, but he desperately hoped that Ron and Hermione would continue the sessions in order for his class mates to be protected. He knew that Hermione of all people would want them to carry on. She would probably be the one who would lead the lessons due to her bossy nature. Harry was sure she and Ron might get together in his absence, but he did not care. They were in his past now.

He was now engulfed in darkness; it shrouded him like a cloak. He was laid on the bed, the curtains wide open. He had not wanted to shut them, and had avoided standing up unless he was wearing his cloak. He knew that Mrs Figg was a squib and was in contact with Dumbledore. However, he had seen her at Grimmauld Place shortly before his departure, so was hopeful that she had not seen him return to Privet Drive. He knew that the Order would want to keep tabs on him, but if they did not know where to look, they could not spy on him. He had warned his Aunt and Uncle about the dangers of letting other wizards see him, so he could not leave the house unless under his invisibility cloak. He suspected that the Order would not think of looking at the Dursley's. All of the members knew he hated his surrogate family, and they would expect him to be hiding in London, or perhaps with Hagrid. He was not sure.

His eyes began to droop, and he suddenly realised that he was very tired. He pulled the bed covers over himself and rested his head on the pillow.

"Tomorrow's going to be a long day, Hedwig. You'll get the prophet for me in the morning won't you? Go to Diagon Alley. No one will think of you as any different there. Go with another owl. I'll colour change you. Just to make sure. Professor McGonagall got permission from the Minister to let us change our pet's colours. I suppose that we'll just have to see. It's gonna be a night which determines our future in this world, Hedwig. Just go and have a nice sleep. I'll leave the window open, but only go out if you're sure no ones looking. I don't want anyone getting wind of me being here."

He wanted to vent his anger out, but was so sleepy that he didn't really want to waste much energy. He was still sat there, torch alight, reading the books that Sirius had brought for him. He felt a flicker of guilt run through him. He was, he thought, the only reason Sirius was still going. He was the reason he had even returned to the wizarding world. And he had now left him alone again. He guessed that Sirius would now be moody and taciturn again, or searching for his missing godson. He had to get those thoughts out of his mind. He could not spend the remaining time at the Dursley's thinking about the people he had left behind. He would have to make the most of the situation and wait. He was not 17 for another year and a half, so he would to have patience.

He tried to focus on the page in front of him, but the words slurred around the page, random ones popping out such as spell and hit, bright and bold above the others, which were twisted messily around the page. He turned the torch off and threw it onto the floor. He shoved the book on the side and returned his head to his pillow. But falling asleep was no problem for Harry, as he was already out before his head had even reached the soft silk bedding. He knew that tonight above all nights was the most important one of his life. If he could survive this without Lord Voldemort and the Auror office finding him, he was indeed a very lucky man.