Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the rights to all aspects of the Harry Potter series, including but not limited to characters, locations and original ideas. I do not claim to have created any characters, places or ideas she already uses as hers.

Thank you JKR for letting us create new worlds through yours. More importantly, thank you to my beta, Anamarie. Your suggestions are always awesome.

The summer had been unusually harsh to the residents of Privet Drive. The weather was bitterly cold and windy, and the various flowers and plants were withering with frost from sunrise to sunset. Yet in a small bedroom at house number 4, a young, most unusual boy lay awake staring at the shadows on his ceiling dance around as the last rays of sunlight glistened through his window.

Yet Harry Potter's mind was elsewhere. The previous year had brought him face to face with Voldemort once again. He learned that either he, or his nemesis, must die.

He dwelled on how much he missed his friends. Indeed, Ron and Hermione had not written to him since his return to Little Whinging. Yet he did not feel the same resentment towards them that he had felt in the past. He understood the dangers. He worried about his safety, but more importantly, he worried about theirs; Hermione's parents were muggles, and would be completely defenseless against Voldemort's Death Eaters. Ron's were both members of the Order; prime targets for some sort of revenge plot Lucius Malfoy could create.

Images of the Burrow on fire raced through his mind.

"No", Harry said aloud. He mustn't dwell on such things, he thought.

In the two weeks since Harry had returned to his aunt and uncle's home, the wizarding world had been turned upside down. Faced with allegations that he covered up Voldemort's return (which he did), Cornelius Fudge had been run out of office. Many wizards called for Dumbledore to step up to the job, but as always he refused, preferring to remain Hogwarts' headmaster. Instead, he supported Amelia Bones, a witch in charge of Magical Law Enforcement, whom Harry had met last year at his hearing.

Needless to say, she quickly ascended to the post.

The ministry was not the only magical entity affected. The Daily Prophet, which had taken such sport in claiming Harry was a liar, saw its circulation drop ten-fold.

Harry himself remained unchanged. He was just as confused and frustrated now as he was last year. True, he now understood the reasons for his isolation, but that did not make it any easier to live with. Fear too, coursed through his veins, stabbing at his heart. He had barely slept since his return to Privet Drive, and the lines under his eyes showed evidence of the fact, their now-familiar weight forcing his eyelids lower and lower.

And before he knew it, his eyes had closed and the Boy Who Lived entered a realm he preferred not to go into.

Harry could feel the cold grass beneath his feet. He was running, weaving in and out of the dark trees. A bright green light somewhere above him was casting an eerie, menacing glow on wherever he was. He did not know where he was going, but he could smell smoke in the air. Something was amiss, someone was crying. Was it a baby? Harry couldn't tell. His legs kept carrying him towards the source of the smoke. It was so thick it stung his throat and made his eyes water, yet he pressed on. Suddenly he heard the ruffle of a cloak, somewhere near him. Then, a bright flash engulfed him...

He awoke with a start. He was panting, his pajamas drenched in sweat. He squinted at his now dark ceiling. He must have fallen asleep for quite some time, for the little alarm clock on his side table told him most of the world was asleep at this hour.

As he reached across the table near his bed to grab his glasses, his hand froze. Something wasn't right. Something other than his dream had awoken him

Reflexively, he immediately reached up to his forehead, and pushed back his wild, uncontrollable black hair. His scar was fine, and he knew it, but, for some reason, he thought that by touching it, he would be surer of the fact.

He would rather his scar hurt, something he knew the cause of, than the alternative.

As Harry lay in bed, he slowly listened to the noises of the house. He could hear his Uncle Vernon snoring so loudly that he could actually feel the mighty snores shaking the floorboards. He listened to the odd creaks and groans the house furnace made at night. However, tonight there was a new noise among the cacophony, something Harry had not heard before.

Tap. Tap. Tap....

Suddenly his senses came back in full power. Harry strained against the different nighttime sounds to hear exactly what was making the noise. His mind was racing. Is it a leaky faucet? Perhaps a mouse? Or, could it be a burglar.

Or could it be the Order, Harry thought to himself.

He dwelled upon the last bit for quite some time. Indeed, Harry had thought they were burglars last year when they came to take him to Grimmauld Place. Harry shuddered at the thought of returning there. While he everyone he knew and loved would be there, it was still Sirius' house. The images of Sirius' death last term flashed through his mind. Harry shook the thoughts out of his head. He was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that his godfather, the one person other than Mrs. Weasley, who cared more for Harry than for anything in the world was gone.

The noise persisted. Harry had to know. He threw off his covers and sat upright in bed. Still a bit dazed, Harry almost chuckled at the thought of what he must have looked like.

For anyone who might have walked into that room, at that precise moment, they would have been treated to the sight of a thin, 16 year old boy, kneeling on his bed, with his ear turned so that it looked like it was pressed up against an imaginary door.

However, the circumstances were far from amusing for Harry, who began feeling frustrated. He needed to know what the tapping was. He was sure no one else was even awake to hear it. Even if they could, it would have been masked by Uncle Vernon's snores. No one else in the house stayed up as late as Harry did, hence no one would be able to discern between the various noises of the night.

Slowly, a plan was beginning to take shape in Harry's head. He would sneak down the stairs and take a peek. Very quietly, Harry edged out of his bed, his pajamas still ruffled. Carefully, he eased open his dresser drawer, and from its contents, he removed his wand. As soon as he touched it, Harry felt its energy pulse through his body. It had been two weeks since the end of the school year, and from the last time he had held his precious wand.

Although he had intended to be as quiet as a mouse, the creaks and groans the floor made under his weight made him sound more like one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts. Harry gingerly edged closer to his door, his fingers gripped tightly around his wand. Suddenly, it dawned upon Harry that he was sweating quite profusely. He immediately felt ashamed of himself, but deep down he knew he had every right to be nervous. Ever since he had begun attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, treachery, in the form of Lord Voldemort, murderer of Harry's parents, seemed to follow him.

Snapping himself back to attention, Harry tried vainly to keep calm.

"It's probably just one of the neighbor's cats," Harry whispered to himself, as the image of loony Mrs. Figg came to his mind. Yet, Harry knew that a cat wouldn't tap like that. He was instantly glad he had brought his wand, and clutched it so tightly, that his knuckles went white.

As Harry edged down the stairs, he could hear the tapping growing ever louder with each step.

However, in keeping his concentration on the noise, Harry had forgotten about the loose step in the staircase, and landed with full force on it. He breathlessly uttered a word he wouldn't dare say in front of Mrs. Weasley, as the stair gave a tremendous groan under his weight. After several motionless seconds, Harry presumed no one heard it. Much to his amazement, the tapping also persisted. This suddenly made Harry think. Whatever had been making the noise mustn't have been inside the house, for it would have heard Harry on the steps.

Before he realized it, Harry's legs had carried him all the way to the bottom of the stairs.

Tap. Tap Tap Tap...

Tap. Tap. Tap Tap....

At his new vantage point, Harry could distinctly hear the sound resonating from the kitchen.

Mustering all his courage, Harry tiptoed toward the kitchen door. Even under normal circumstances, Harry would have been afraid to enter the kitchen for fear of a beating from Aunt Petunia, for "defiling her kitchen with his 'being". Indeed, despite Mad Eye's talk with them at the end of last term, his relatives had remained just as malicious as ever. His aunt in particular, seemed to try her best to do her worst to Harry. Though he never said anything to her anymore, Harry knew there had to be more beneath her horse-like exterior. Just last year, Harry had felt closer to his aunt than ever, for of everyone in his family, she was the only one who even had the faintest idea of what Voldemort's return really meant. However, it seemed that she felt by being horrid towards Harry, her knowledge of the magic world would diminish.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Several loud taps snapped Harry back to attention. Slowly, he reached around the edge of the wall separating the hall from the kitchen, and quickly flicked on the light.

With his wand out, he jumped into the kitchen; ready to curse and hex whomever was there. But to his surprise, it was empty.

Bewildered, he stood cautiously, glancing around the kitchen, his wand still at the ready. He could feel eyes watching him. He suddenly shivered, a sensation of fear gripping his body. Harry could feel every hair on his body, from neck to toes, stand up. There was only one place where anyone could be watching him – the window above the sink.

Slowly, Harry raised his eyes from the floor, to the cupboard, to the sink and faucet, and finally to the dark window. Staring back at him were two enormous crimson-red eyes, similar to those belonging to an owl.

Relieved that it was only an owl, and nothing more, Harry quickly walked over to the sink, and flung open the window.

As soon as he did, he realized the creature was not an owl. It was something hideous, with eyes too massive for its slimy looking head, and a scrawny, sickly body. It was covered in jet-black feathers, interlaced with shiny, sharp black scales. Its beak looked mottled and slightly crooked, as if it had been ripped off, and re-attached by someone who was half-blind.

The mysterious bird slowly wandered into the kitchen, and Harry saw for the first time its legs. They had large, sharp, red claws jutting out from all places. The bird's feet each had seven talons, each of which had its own red claw.

Harry had never seen a bird like this before, and in its present state, it made him want to vomit.

The bird was oddly hypnotic he thought.

A cold wind snapped Harry back to reality, and without thinking much of it; he carefully closed the window as he continued staring at the bird. For a brief second, Harry's eyes met with those of the bird, and he felt a strange sensation in his head. Harry quickly averted its gaze, as he remembered his Occlumency from last term. Though he didn't know where it came from, Harry knew he definitely did not want this particular bird around any longer.

Just as he was about to re-open the window, something caught his eye; the creature had something else on its leg.

It was a ragged, dingy-brown envelope, tied with a small piece of rough looking string to one of the creature's claws.

Was it for him? Harry wondered.

As if reading his mind, the bird stuck its leg out at Harry.

Gingerly, he reached forward and tried easing the envelope off the bird's leg.

It wouldn't budge.

Determined not to touch the rather sharp looking claws, Harry quickly pulled a knife out of the sink and delicately cut the twine, letting the envelope fall into the sink among the dishes.

As it fell, the envelope opened, and the acrid smell of fresh Bubotuber pus filled the room. Harry jumped back from the sink upon realizing the contents of the sinister package were starting to burn the metal at the bottom of the sink.

Harry immediately turned his attention back to the foul creature that he had let into the house. To his horror, the bird took two steps towards him, and leapt into the air, circling the room once, before flying full force into the now closed window, shattering it into thousands of fragments as it flew off into the night sky.

Harry froze, and again uttered a string of foul words. He could hear rumbling upstairs, which could only mean two things. Either Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had heard the breaking window, or Dudley had fallen out of his bed and crashed through his floorboards, which Harry tried to convince himself was a distinct possibility. Dudley's new found boxing skills, which Harry had the repeated displeasure of discovering last year, had not stopped him from eating larger amounts of food. No matter what diet he was forced to try, he grew larger. Not only did the diets all fail, but they all failed miserably. Dudley had gained nearly 60 pounds since last summer, most of which was fat.

However, Harry remembered that Dudley was spending the night at his friend's house, which probably meant he was engaging in some illegal activity or another with his "gang".

But Harry automatically knew what happened when he could hear his uncle bellow:

"GET OUT YOU RUDDY CRIMINALS! I HAVE A GUN, AND BELIEVE YOU ME, I WILL USE IT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Harry at once knew that Uncle Vernon thought they were being robbed, and could hear his uncle, despite his violent warnings, hesitate to continue downward as he came down the stairs, Aunt Petunia at his heels.

Harry merely kept looking at the floor. There was no use running or hiding. Dumbledore had warned him to stay with his family, if he could even call his aunt and uncle his family. He could hear Uncle Vernon barreling down the hallway towards the kitchen and he could hear him taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the rant that he was about to give Harry.

"POTTER!" his uncle shouted.

Harry kept a straight face as solid as rock. He was no longer intimidated by his uncle or aunt.

"BOY! YOU HAVE DONE IT THIS TIME, YOU WILL BE SO SORE, YOU WILL REGRET EVER BEING ALIV......" screeched his uncle, his face becoming more purple with every word.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry said calmly. He had learned through many hard lessons, that the best way to deal with his uncle, was to not get mad or start shouting. "You do realize that the window is open, and our neighbors will hear either your...or my shouts, so at least let me explain what hap..." Harry suddenly ceased to talk, as he saw his aunt step forward, and smack him upside the head.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" shouted Harry, his temper rising.

However, he got no response. His aunt and uncle were not focused on him. Harry quickly followed their eyes to the broken window.

"I..I can explain that, I didn't do it!" Harry stammered.

Once again, both Vernon and Petunia Dursley remained transfixed on the window.

Harry cautiously returned his gaze to the hole above the sink and instantly understood why his aunt and uncle were gazing out of the window with mortified looks on their faces.

Staring back at Harry was a large barn owl he had never seen before. He automatically recognized it as a post owl, by a small bag for tips attached to its leg. Harry quickly walked over to it and carefully untied the letter attached to its leg. Before he could do anything else, the owl took off, and flew into the early morning sky.

"Was that..." Aunt Petunia started.

"A RUDDY OWL! IN MY HOUSE!!" Uncle Vernon bellowed.

Harry noticed a small vein in his aunt's neck starting to throb.

"Explain boy, now!" he shouted at him.

"I didn't do it!" was all Harry could choke out, immediately realizing how childish his statement sounded.

His aunt put all her energy into calming herself down. Harry could clearly see she was having difficulty doing so.

After several minutes of silence (other than Aunt Petunia's heavy breaths), she said, more calmly, "Please explain to me why there is now a large hole in my kitchen." Harry noticed the vein in her neck still throbbing.

Before he could speak, Uncle Vernon opened his mouth.

"Darling, don't you think it is rather obvious that the stupid child broke the window?" he said, though his voice clearly indicated he was rather nervous of his wife at the moment.

Harry realized he should be too. Aunt Petunia was notorious for regarding her kitchen as perfect. She would scoff at anyone for leaving so much as a grain of sand on the floor. In fact, whenever Harry had even tracked a bit of dirt from the garden onto Aunt Petunia's precious, ever-sparkling floor, a beating with a pan, spatula, or whatever Aunt Petunia happened to be holding at the moment always ensued.

"A...a large black bird, delivered this", he said, pointing to the now bubbling sink. Aunt Petunia let out a shriek and immediately rushed to turn on the tap.

"What are you playing at boy! Birds don't spit acid do they!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

Aunt Petunia looked on the verge of tears as her sink continued to bubble and hiss.

Harry ignored his uncle. "It came during the night, and I came down to see what it was, and it jumped through the window", he said. He carefully decided to leave out the fact that he had let the owl into the house in the first place.

"That's absolute rubbish. Don't waste our time with fake stories boy! You broke the bloody window! And now look at the sink!" said Uncle Vernon in a loud, but more restrained voice. Indeed, over the past several years, his home had been visited by many feathered creatures, and Harry could tell, his mind was telling him it was not entirely impossible that a bird broke the window.

Harry looked to his aunt, expecting further chastising. However, he realized something was not right with her. The color had slowly drained from her face, and she was beginning to look slightly ill.

"Er...Aunt Petunia? Are you all right?" stammered Harry. At this, Uncle Vernon immediately stared at his wife.

"Of course she's all right boy!" said Uncle Vernon, though from the look on his face, Harry could tell he was internally doubting this.

"N...no", stammered Aunt Petunia. "No, I..I think I should sit down." Her voice faltering. She groped the air wildly, as if a chair was right next to her, before falling over into Uncle Vernon, who gingerly escorted Aunt Petunia to the kitchen table, where he sat her down carefully.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE BOY!" shouted Uncle Vernon, as if Harry was some murderer trying to kill his aunt.

The room descended into an eerie quiet, the only noise was the wind blowing in through the shattered window.

After several minutes, Aunt Petunia began to feel better, the color of her cheeks returning to normal.

"What does the boy have in his hand?" she said, in a somewhat stronger voice than before.

Uncle Vernon rushed forth and quickly snatched the letter Harry held, slamming it down on the table before Harry could even utter a single word of protest.

"Your friends sending you letters, breaking our windows, ruining this house, will not be tolerated any further..." his uncle began.

But Harry was looking towards his Aunt, who had turned chalk-white.

"Uncle Vernon...I think Aunt Petunia is ill." Said Harry calmly. Had she breathed too many fumes from the melting sink? he wondered.

Uncle Vernon turned his walrus-like head to his wife, whose eyes were transfixed on the letter on the table.

"Ver...Vernon...it's addressed to us..." she whispered, shaking it in front of his face.

At this, the color in Uncle Vernon's face drained.

"DON'T OPEN IT!" shouted Harry.

"And why bloody well shouldn't I?" said his uncle, indignantly.

"Because, it may contain whatever is now eating away at your sink, or something much worse." Harry said in a monotone voice.

Aunt Petunia immediately threw the envelope onto the table, and both her and Uncle Vernon started backing towards the far side of the kitchen.

Harry however, was edging towards the table.

"Get away from there now!" barked Uncle Vernon.

But Harry didn't even hear their words. He carefully picked up the envelope. It was in good shape. The front had no return address, only an address tidily scrawled on it:

Mr. Vernon Dursley & Mrs. Petunia Dursley
Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Feeling relieved that it felt like a letter and nothing more, Harry turned the envelope over in his hands. On the back was a red seal, but no coat of arms.

Harry gently broke through the wax, and looked inside the mysterious envelope.

Inside were two letters, both on fine pieces of parchment. Harry pulled both out, and dropped the envelope.

"Wha..what are those?" asked Aunt Petunia, in a timid voice.

Harry's mind sprung into action. He couldn't tell them that it was just two letters. Not yet at least.

"Er....not sure, might still be dangerous. Wizar...my people have developed a type of parchment which er...causes all Mugg...people who aren't like me to lose their fingers" he lied.

He quickly looked at the two pieces of parchment. One was addressed to him from Professor Lupin, the other to his aunt and uncle from the Ministry of Magic. He read the latter first. It was written in a neat handwriting Harry hadn't seen before.

"Read it out loud!" demanded Uncle Vernon, after discerning that it probably wasn't as lethal as Harry said, if his fingers were still intact.

"Dear Mr. And Mrs. Dursley,

At approximately 2:00 AM, a disturbance occurred at your residence involving delivery of a highly toxic substance by a non-licensed carrier. We do not believe this incident is isolated, but due to the circumstances, it cannot be ignored.
It is the order of the Ministry of Magic that you, and your residence be placed under special temporary surveillance by Ministry security wizards. For extra security measures, the Ministry further recommends that you relocate to a different residence until further notice.
Similarly, it is the order of the Ministry of Magic and of Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that the guardianship of your nephew, Harry James Potter, be transferred to a Mr. Arthur Weasley for the remainder of the summer term.

Sincerely,

Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic"

By the time Harry finished the letter, he was barely whispering. Both his aunt and uncle sat flabbergasted, with their mouths opening and closing as if they were going to say something, but couldn't quite find the words. "What is this Ministry of Magic rubbish? Who are they to tell us to just up and move?" said Uncle Vernon.

"We'll do as they say, Vernon" whispered Aunt Petunia

"Surely you can't mean that darling..." started Uncle Vernon

"Vernon, we are endangering ourselves and Dudley by remaining here. The Potter boy brought us to this point, but we can't throw him out, so let this Weasley fellow take him." She said, more confidently.

Harry's eyes gleamed. As bad as the night had been, he realized he would soon be with Ron for the rest of the summer. No Privet Drive, no Dudley, and best of all, no Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia.

"But who are they to tell us..." continued Uncle Vernon. Clearly, he had not taken his wife seriously.

Harry realized his Uncle was still going on about the ministry. But before Harry could even try to explain the premise of the Ministry of Magic, Aunt Petunia opened her mouth.

"They are everything Vernon. The Ministry of Magic is like the government of his kind" she said, gesturing to Harry. "They have a Minister of Magic, much like our Prime Minister." She continued.

Both Uncle Vernon and Harry sat there, mouths opened.

"How do you know this?" asked Harry quizzically.

"Lily", said Aunt Petunia in a weary whisper.

As much as he wanted to know what else his aunt had overheard his mother saying, Harry knew it would be futile asking. Aunt Petunia would shut her mouth tighter than a safe, and might even start re-thinking her willingness to let Harry leave.

They sat there in silence for a several minutes, until Uncle Vernon, who seemed to just accept the fact that his wife probably knew more than she wanted to, looked up at Harry.

"What's in the other letter boy?" he asked pointedly, gesturing towards the piece of parchment in Harry's hand.

Harry had completely forgotten about the second letter, and he quickly started reading the 3 lines of text it contained:

Harry-

Coming at 3. Trunk and Hedwig ready.. Wear a jacket. Brooms.

-Remus

Harry quickly glanced up at the clock above the kitchen door. He only had ten minutes.

"Er...I have to go", he said, eliciting no response from his aunt and uncle as he backed out of the kitchen.

"Best of....er...luck with...stuff", Harry continued, again receiving no response. He knew it would have been more appropriate to say 'good luck staying alive'. As much as he hated the Dursleys, he knew the risk he had brought to them with his arrival on their doorstep 16 years ago.

With that he bolted up the stairs, and hurriedly packed.

At 3 o'clock sharp, Harry could hear several faint popping sounds from outside the house. Harry bolted for the door, but stopped before his hand could reach the knob. Given tonight's events, he had better wait. He sat and waited for a few seconds until the doorbell rang. Surely Death Eaters would have just shot down the door with spells. It must be Mr. Weasley.

But, as an added protective measure, Harry pulled out his wand, as he slowly opened the door.

Indeed, to Harry's relief, he recognized all the faces on the other side of the door. Staring back at him was not just Mr. Weasley, but several other pairs of eyes, belonging to Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Remus Lupin.

"Harry, you alright lad?" said Mr. Weasley in a grave tone. "Are your aunt and uncle here?" he asked.

Harry nodded and pointed Mr. Weasley toward the kitchen.

"HARRY!" shrieked Tonks. "Where's your stuff?"

He pointed upstairs, and Tonks quickly ran up the staircase, returning a minute later levitating Harry's trunk, broom, and Hedwig's cage.

"Hello Harry", said Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley had always seemed quite strong, but Harry could detect an aura of fear surrounding him.

Tonks helped Harry rummage through his trunk to find his heavy cloak, while Kingsley kept checking through the curtains, looking to see if any un- wanted visitors had arrived at Privet Drive.

Several minutes later, Mr. Weasley returned, saying "I had a word with your aunt and uncle. They'll be taken care of by the Ministry..."

Harry gave a snort. They'd probably make all ministry wizards think Muggles are no better than caged animals.

Mr. Weasley seemed to know what Harry was thinking, for he broke his austere demeanor and flashed Harry a knowing smile.

"Shall we be off then?" he said.

All of them nodded in agreement, and Harry could feel Kingsley step forward and rap him on the head with his wand, putting a Disillusionment Charm on him. Within minutes, they were soaring through the air, away from Privet Drive.