~Chapter Four is now being the-least-tampered with!~

I still don't own Harry Potter. Nope. Not even on his and Ms. Rowling's birthday. Darn.

I just love oxymorons. While typing this, I noticed there were a lot...? ...Sorry, guys.

Dennis Flippens acts weird. I won't deny it. There is something wrong with that Muggle. He's not an OC--I found his name in SS/PS. Lilian is an OC, by accident only.

Thanks to my continuous reviewers! And if anyone sees Valinor the White Phoenix, bring him to me on a chain. You're not leaving my sight again, buddy.


Chapter Four: Dream in Glass


The room had remained quiet and unoccupied for five years, seven months and eight days--not counting the one day it had taken to move a tall, regal object into its large and overly dusty space. The door was cold and numbing from lack of use--and then, just one moment later, it was not.

The knob clicked, turned, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore slipped into the room, his bright blue eyes looking nervously sideways as if afraid of being seen. He closed it again quickly, breathing a sigh of relief at being alone--even if for a few minutes. Paperwork had stretched him thin the last few weeks--he had, of course, anticipated its return ever since his second graceful departure from Hogwarts (and by fault of the Ministry once more, no less!), but it was not any more welcome...

Especially when I did not anticipate Sirius's death.

A lump came into his throat; the doubled paperwork thoughts evaporated at once. Sirius's death had hit him as hard as others; in a way it had been a relief to have him back, innocent as he was to so few. He brought smiles to many formerly drawn faces, especially Remus's; he had come up with clever plans in meetings that had kept the Death Eaters in the dark; and most importantly, he had made Harry happy.

But in the blink of an eye--and by his own family...oh, Sirius, you could not have left at a more horrible time! If only you hadn't let Bellatrix get the better of you...

Albus closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing in and out sharply. His tears had already been shed for Sirius and his life; the reason he had swept here now, after five years of resisting the temptation, was what made his crooked nose, and the half-moon spectacles on them, tremble; and what caused his long fingers to be anxiously clutching the fabric of his sherbet-orange robes, and twisting it in what had quickly become an unconscious habit.

Temptation had caught up with him at last. It had been much longer than five little years since he and the object he now sought had first met, and now: well, here he was again, back at last to answer the question that had gnawed at his insides for so long.

What do I see now?

It was there when Albus looked, as he knew it would be. The Mirror of Erised beckoned silently to the old man once more--remembering him, welcoming him.

He took a hesitant-yet-longing step toward it, feeling it pull at him, feeling its beckoning grow sharper... He could see the frightened expression on his face in the reflection, but no one or thing had formed behind him...yet.

Thoughts of Harry had plagued his mind since their last "encounter" in his office. And not just images of the boy as he had seen him last, either: memories of the small infant tucked in blankets, of the curious eleven year-old on a train, of the daring twelve year-old bleeding and triumphantly holding up a sword, of the family-starved thirteen year-old...

Well, poor Harry was family-starved every year.

Albus stopped; he was within range to see, and going as far as he could without his feelings breaking loose from him. Mysterious emotions had swirled around in him, huge and raging; he had lost sleep, his appetite, and some of his sanity thinking about the last sixteen years of his life--and particularly the last year.

The mirror's glass shimmered ominously.

Frightened, Albus faltered. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this...

Too late. He could already see a picture forming, materializing in the space beside his reflection...

He gasped, blinking rapidly like a man just waking.

Two people stood next to him, their laughter unheard, stepping as close to his reflection as was possible without tripping over each other. One was the most beautiful woman in the world--she smiled at him, her eyes shining, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Mirror-Albus smiled back at her, offering her a candy the real Albus knew had to be a lemon drop--and true-to-form, she refused, her smile not wavering. Albus felt his knees give out, sending him to the floor, when she kissed his reflection's cheek--and said reflection blushed. Blushed!

What kept him staring was the boy on the other side of his reflection--a tall young thing, bright and happy as Albus had never quite seen in such amounts. His remarkable hair and sparkling eyes would have picked him out a mile away; Albus found that he was selfishly overjoyed to see the boy smiling at the other him, scooting close into the sudden embrace that had never quite happened in real life... His joy increased tenfold as Mirror-Albus kissed the free boy's forehead tenderly--yes, free, for in the background the headmaster had seen an ink-black cloak he'd realized almost instantly was Lord Voldemort's...

Albus did not realize that he had leapt up and closed the distance between himself and the Mirror of Erised until he had: he recalled a flash, a hurried rustling of his own robes and cloak, a glimpse of those infamous words atop the gold frame (Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi), and this his crooked nose was pressed longingly to the cold glass, heart aching, pressing as close as possible.

"Oh..." It was half sigh, half moan. He remembered now how Harry must have felt, seeing what his parents looked like for the first time...he knew it must be some sort of madness on his part, but...

They're right there!

His hunger sharpened in intensity, watching them all touch each other playfully and laugh in their joy. Hunger would soon be replaced by hot jealousy--

"Albus!!"

--Or, rather, it would have been replaced by hot, burning, blazing jealousy if Remus Lupin and a young woman he'd not seen in years hadn't just rushed in. Before he could turn around to rage at them for interrupting, the woman burst into speech--enough time for him to get his sudden temper under control.

"Professor, you probably don't remember me, but I'm Andromeda Tonks--"

"I both remember and see." He looked curiously at her through his spectacles: same long, dark hair and drilling-yet-soft hazel eyes.

"Not now, Andromeda!" Remus was in a flurry. His face was flushed.

"I hate to--er--barge in--" he took in his surroundings with a decidedly puzzled air-- "but--see--Severus just sent his Patronus!"

"What?!"

Over the past couple of days, Severus had vanished on the Dark Lord's "will" and not come back or reported in any way since then--while the rest of the Order had panicked, Albus had remained serene with his trust. Well, outwardly: on the inside he had worried secretly. Before in the first war, when people had disappeared as Severus had, they hadn't exactly come back...

"He says they are not yet released (whatever that means) but that Voldemort slipped some of his Death Eaters out to try and infiltrate Azkaban. They're currently running into resistance with some dementors that have stayed since the breakout, but--"

He was interrupted by Andromeda.

"Stayed...? But why?"

"A simple matter of wanting nothing to do with the unknown," Albus replied smoothly. "They preferred to stay where they could be--ah--fed dependably. Rest assured the Ministry offered them nothing!"

She smiled wryly.

Remus was wringing his hands. "Albus, they're already there. We have to go now!"

Albus's shoulders slumped. He hoped--or had hoped, rather, that this "new little problem" would not require his assistance to sort out for once; but it did, and so he knew that he must go to the Order's aid.

"Who is already there?"

"About a third of us, maybe less. No, even--Andromeda's filling in."

"Then make that a third plus one--I am coming."

Remus and Andromeda smiled before hastening out.

Albus was alone again with the mirror.

He turned back to it--he could still see the faces of his beloved, laughing and waving at him. He took a step toward it, wanting to lose himself in it again...

No!

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he gathered his cloak around him and rushed after his colleagues, not looking back.

And the pictures in the glass slowly faded...


It was Hedwig who woke Harry later, at a much more decent hour, when she flew back in (with a note from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place) and found him snoozing on the desk. As she landed, her snow-white feathers brushed his forehead; and he awoke, slowly but surely, groaning half-heartedly. He stretched from head to foot and showered soon after, barely beating Dudley to the bathroom; afterward he went downstairs, to check the time; though his watch hadn't worked since the Second Task in fourth year, so much had gone on that it hadn't really been top priority.

Well, now it can be.

He felt his forehead idly. Hmmmm...pretty warm. Was something wrong? He didn't feel any different... ah, well. He'd just got out of the shower, and he'd gladly used as much warm water as could be allowed...that was it, yes. Nothing else strange.


The Dursleys were eating calmly when he leapt off the last stair. Uncle Vernon glared at Harry in between bites of sausage, which the boy replied to with a winning, I'm-such-a-good-nephew-aren't-I? smile. Dudley just kept shoving bacon into his mouth.

He addressed the table casually. "I'm going out."

"Not without this you aren't."

A brown bag flew into Harry's line of vision--he caught it swiftly, with one outstretched hand. He looked to the thrower--his Aunt Petunia.

"Mmmm, your father's reflexes. --You, boy, are not going anywhere until you eat that. You lose weight by the day."

Harry opened the bag--biscuits and bacon? "What, has someone checked in?"

She blushed angrily--but with a hint of shame the withdrawn boy did not detect. He would have eaten it cautiously--he suspected poison--but not eating for almost two weeks had had its effects--and deep down he was starving!

"Now, Harry. If I have to shove it down your throat I will."

He gulped it down quickly, mentally uttering a silent apology to Sirius for dishonoring him in such a way--with this and the luncheon Dennis Flippens's mother had planned for him. This'll be interesting.

Harry turned around, heading for the hallway and thus the door--on the way out, he tossed a casual word over his shoulder.

"Thanks."

Aunt Petunia's mouth dropped open--and her still-burning-hot spatula dropped onto her son's outstretched arm. Dudley's screams thus followed Harry down the walk and almost all the way to tiny downtown Surrey's watch shop.


"Nice watch," Dennis smirked, three hours later.

"Thanks, because I actually like it." And Harry did--it was blue-green with a gray face, something he had found just as he was preparing to leave, defeated.

"Where were you? I thought you'd be early or something."

"I was busy." Busy thinking about Sirius again. "I have a life, Dennis."

"You're chipper today. Do I need to go on home and wait up for you?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that'd be great. Bye."

Dennis frowned, but obliged as he did with everyone--he was up the road in seconds.

With the other boy gone, Harry felt free to drag his feet a little more than he had been. There hadn't been anything delivered via owl post that could distract Harry from his grief--if anything it had sharpened considerably, to the point where curling up in a ball and brooding silently sounded pretty good.

Definitely the slowest and worst two weeks of my life...

He chastised himself. Stop. You don't want Dennis's mum to think you're some sort of mental case.

--Now think. Dennis's house is number eight, apparently, so...

He ambled down Privet Drive, counting mentally. Number two--then number four (ah, there was his aunt in the living room)--then six--and Harry recognized number eight from last night, just there.

"There you are!"

Harry flinched; he glanced up and saw Dennis's mum, hurrying down the walk toward him. He felt as shy as a first year. She did not seem to mind, however; the moment she reached him, she put an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the door.

"How are you?"

"I'm...okay."

"Sure? You look a little peaky..."

LEAVE ME ALONE!!

"I assure you, Mrs. Flippens, I'm fine."

She frowned but didn't pursue the subject; instead she changed it. "Well, Harry, how is school?"

Wonderful. Another question I can't and won't answer. "Er..."

They had reached the door; she pushed it open and him inside. "Oh, never mind now--we'll discuss it over lunch, I'm sure--Dennis! Den-nis!"

"I'm coming, Mum!"

Harry was guided to a seat on the couch and offered food that, looking back now, he hardly remembered--he felt on the defensive from the moment Dennis's mother sat across from him and laid her eyes on his.

"So, Harry--tea? No? All right--I don't really know that much about you. In fact, I know most every child in Little Whinging except you."

I feel like I'm with Rita Skeeter. Might as well oblige her.

Well, let's see: my life was a nightmare up until the age of eleven, when I learned I was a wizard. Dramatic turn--I learned I was famous for destroying the dark wizard who killed my parents, orphaning me, and that everyone else knew BUT me!

Then I went to school. In the span of five years, I've been tortured, expelled, wounded, broken, entered into deathly tournaments, in correspondence with a convicted murderer, fallen from brooms, abused and ignored. Oh yeah, and NEARLY KILLED EVERY YEAR!! Lately someone else (like my godfather, my own godfather) takes that punishment...

"I'm a bit of a mysterious case. No one here knows much about me."

That did not back her off (as he had intended it to). "My dear, misguided-yet-loyal son Dennis tells me that you were sent to St. Brutus's for assaulting another child."

Harry's dark brows rose.

"He also said he believed that to be a fabrication."

Pause.

Pause.

"Yes," Harry began carefully, "that may have been a blatant lie."

"In this situation, I prefer fabrication. From the way Dennis recounted it, it seemed to me that you were 'spinning a story', shall we say, to keep your cousin and those boys away from you."

Harry gave her a have-it-your-way (Harry-esque, basically) shrug, already tired of the conversation that had barely lasted five minutes. According to Dennis's mother yesterday, it was only going to be 'a luncheon', which was basically a 'talk-casually-and-mostly-eat' affair. Rita Skeeter hadn't asked this many questions. He might have to re-evaluate how similar the two were.

"Mrs. Flippens, I hate to be rude--"

"Yes?"

"--but why are you asking me all these questions?"

She pushed back her dark curls. Her thumbs twiddled, seemingly unconsciously. "I am very curious about you."

"I was curious as to how Dennis got smart, but instead of asking, I looked and listened. And lo and behold--soon, I learned. You."

She blinked, dumbfounded. (That was probably the only reason he wasn't scolded for such cheek.)

"I love hearing people speak of me," a voice above their heads remarked in dry monotone, and Dennis leaped down the last of the stairs to meet them, waltzing over to the couch. Harry glared at him as he sat (You little rat, Dennis), but his negative energy seemed to bounce off the other boy; inside his home, his sanctuary from all the bullies and 'cool people' and other dangers, he looked (and, as Harry soon saw, acted) like a completely different person.

"Dennis," his mother chided, "stop jumping down those stairs. You're not a ninja--you'll hurt yourself."

"Mum, I've done it for years and years..."

Harry watched them squabble with an almost jealous dispassion. He'd eaten what little he was going to during Mrs. Flippens's third degree--now all he wanted was out, out, out.

Dennis lost the argument. He went to cheerfully eating his portion of lunch and keeping his mouth shut; his mother refocused on Harry.

"Do you let anyone close to you, Harry? Anyone at all?"

Must I tell the truth? "Mrs. Figg who lives a few streets away."

"Mrs. Arabella Figg?" She looked crestfallen, as if she'd expected it to be someone--anyone--else.

"Yes."

Once again Dennis proved his amazing power of spouting none-of-his-business facts. "Dudley told me once that you hated her."

"I did, but we have come to an understanding. Dudley is now misinformed. Is that much of a surprise?"

"'Understanding'?"

Harry closed his lips and kept them sealed.

They continued to eat in an odd, chatty silence. Dennis spoke enough for three people, so Harry was free to zone out, leaning back against the couch cushions and deliberately avoiding any more questions. Eventually he closed his eyes because his head was pounding. Beads of sweat materialized on his forehead.

Anita Flippens watched him with growing worry. Being an over-concerned mother, she didn't like the way he avoided all her questions and looked thin and fragile in general. In fact, at this very moment she was considering marching over to the Dursleys' residence, banging on the door and asking just what in the world went on in what she considered that house. (She wasn't very fond of Dudley.) Her mother-hen instincts would have certainly endeared her to Molly Weasley.

"Harry?"

"...Mmm?" His eyes didn't open. His scar was searing...what was going on...?

"I looked up St. Brutus's records...there's no note of you ever attending."

Oh my sweet Merlin. You stupid, stupid, nosy, annoying, busybody of a woman.

--And how exactly are you and Dennis related again?

"That's because I was expelled a few years back... So horrible...they just removed evidence that I even existed..."

(Good one, Potter.)

"Is that so?"

She's onto me. But I'm just too--too tired to invent any more... "That is so."

Quiet. Very quiet.

His scar burned again... what was Voldemort doing?

During the silence Dennis turned around on the couch, suddenly crooning.

"Hey, boy... hey, how's it? Mmmm--no, Callistan, he's fine--it's just Harry. Go on, go say hi--say 'hi'--"

A large black creature--apparently a dog--padded around the couch, past Dennis's long legs, and over to Harry, beginning to sniff the drowsy boy's outstretched fingers; finding him likable, Callistan's bubblegum-pink tongue reached out, bathing up his fingers to his bare arm.

The half-sleeping boy giggled, shifting on the couch and trying to keep his eyes mercifully closed; but when the tickling feeling didn't cease, he opened one emerald eye blearily to stare at his furry tormentor--first in innocent pleasure, then (as a strange recognition set over him) in a sudden horror.

Oh my god--Padfoot!!

"What--he--I--I--"

Mrs. Flippens frowned, her gaze wavering between Harry and the dog. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry stood shakily, backing away from that familiar mass of shaggy, unkempt fur... "Um...thanks so much for lunch...I really must be off..."

"Why're you acting so barmy?" Dennis cocked his head curiously. "You and Lilian both. Seriously, Callistan is harmless. --Right, boy?"

A deep woof! was Callistan's pleasant response as he shook himself.

Harry was trembling violently. He had-to-get-out. "No, I'm sure he is--th-thanks again--bye now--nice seeing you again--"

He bolted, feeling nothing but a mixture of wild hope and cold despair and very concrete fear. Mrs. Flippens's cries were ignored; Dennis's obvious puzzlement was set aside.

They'd never understand. No one understood.


Dennis Flippens and his mother were left gaping at each other and their beloved dog (whom they'd had years, mind you) in stunned silence.

Then the Dennis-not-Dennis of number eight, Privet Drive smiled, not too kindly.

"All righty then."

"I'm worried," Anita Flippens murmured. "I'm very worried. He bolted like the devil was after him... and we were very polite, too... Just wait 'till your father gets home..."

"Talking to yourself, Mum?"

"No! This--I feel that this is serious. Was he always...like that?"

"As far as I knew," Dennis shrugged, "watching my former buddies beat up on him."

Another pause, this one slightly awkward. Dennis's "former life", as his father called it with an accompanying look of disgust, was not mentioned casually in the household--it had taken therapy, arguments, countless groundings, and many tears for that to blow over.

"It's just... I've never met a child like him. Somehow he's...special. Unique. Different. Don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, Mum. Certainly. I hung out with him and my dear Lily (and weren't we a motley gang) for about fifteen minutes. Add that to today's hour... yup, I know a lot."

"I am dead serious, young man. What's your overall impression of him?"

The psychiatrist is coming back out again, Dennis thought, grinning. She's off today and still working. "Well..."

"Yes?"

Callistan snuffled loudly and went to sleep in a heap near them.

"Yup, that sums it up," Dennis muttered in agreement. "Nutters."

"Dennis!"


Harry retched again.

Uggggggghhhhh. First the garden, now the toilet... ohhhhhhh.

He'd barely made it back to the Dursleys' (in light of the sweltering heat; the sun seemed to have singled him out) when he'd doubled over and heaved painfully, surprising both himself and an indignant-looking tabby. After that embarrassing episode (he hoped Mrs. Number Two hadn't been watching), he'd had to crawl inside and up to the bathroom, which had been (thankfully) vacant.

He moaned and vomited a third time. His head swam; dizziness rushed over him; he couldn't understand why he felt so horribly...

"That contagious?"

Harry spat. "Very funny, Aunt Petunia."

He could hear her foot tapping. "Will I have to clean anything up?"

Coughing violently, he replied, "Rest assured, you will not."

She came fully in then, kneeling to touch his shoulder. Harry winced, closing his eyes against a wave of nausea.

She pulled her hand away. "I hope not."

"Again, rest assured."

Harry listened to her retreating footsteps with a sick resignation.

She won't return. Wonderful.

It would be a long afternoon.


He hadn't thought it possible...he'd hoped...but all in vain. She was back.

Umbridge was back.

"Doing well, my little liar?"

Harry strained, but steel chains like those at his hearing latched him to his desk. He looked around desperately; he was back in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death Chamber...

"You," he spat; the chains bit into his arm, causing Harry's blood to weep and his teeth to grit.

"Me." She smiled that simpering, girlish smile. "I hope you weren't naughty while I was away..."

"I--I thought you--you left! You were escorted out--" He almost laughed at the memory, but terror dampened it.

"I came back just--for--you." Her eyes glittered. She pursed her lips--then held up the most frightening quill Harry had ever had to see again. "We weren't done with our detentions, you see. Oh no; not even close."

"NO!" Harry's green eyes bulged madly; sweat mixed with blood, and his heart suddenly began to race. "No...there were no more...no..."

"Ready, Potter?"

A warm, very happy thought came to the boy just then.

"This is a dream, only a dream... And you can't make me write anymore."

"Can't I?" Her words chilled his previous warmth. She put the quill gently, almost lovingly to some parchment that appeared before her. "As you'll see, I've found a way to get around that..."

Umbridge started to write. Her quill flew across the parchment, and as it did Harry cried out--he turned over his right hand and saw those scars renewed: I must not tell lies...

"See? Isn't physical manipulation wonderful?"

"S-s-stop..."

Umbridge's smile was girlishly cruel. She slashed hatefully with the quill, and Harry's cries rose--once again, his hand bled freely...

"N-no," he whimpered; his hands reached out, grasped nothing. "No...please...!"

"You can't escape, Potter! Now you'll feel what liars deserve--what they should get--"

"No... I didn't do it... I didn't lie..."

Cuts began to materialize all over Harry's body: he moaned as arms, legs and back wept bitter red tears. Even his scar started to bleed; feeling this, he struggled harder, no longer convinced that this was only a dream.

And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, that evil glittering Veil unfolded to reveal the frowning form of Sirius Black.

Umbridge's torturing and smile slipped. In fact, she seemed to freeze in place, or at least to Harry's attention...

Harry turned to his godfather, face streaming with tears. "Sirius--oh, Sirius--"

"Harry." Sirius's eyes held no warmth. "Harry James Potter."

Harry let out a sob, flinching, shoulders sagging. That emphasis had hurt him more than any physical bruise the Dursleys had ever given him.

"Sirius. Please. Help."

"You know," Sirius mused, hair dark against his deathly-pale skin, "I'd always hoped you'd be like Lily if not like James... Imagine my horror as you disgraced them both."

"No..."

"Bleed, Harry..." Sirius looked coldly at his godson, appraising his injuries. "Bleed like I bled in Azkaban, hoping you'd be better than you are... You deserve to bleed for everything that I had to go through!"

"No!"

"Bye, now...see you in hell."

"NOOOOO!"

Umbridge unfroze and her smile returned as Sirius turned his back, toward the Veil, toward Death. The quill rose--started toward the paper...


Outside of the cage Harry's nightmares always were, a stranger to the room gazed at him with an unmatched fondness--and strong hints of worry. He watched the way Harry writhed under the sheets, how he screamed (how could they not hear his anguish?), how his cries grew louder by the moment, how he sweated and moaned and (in his dreams) bled.

The stranger watched--oh, yes, he watched. Not long.

Then he acted.

He swept across the room, smoothing out the boy's bedcovers to sit; then he reached out one hand and caressed Harry's trembling back, murmuring soothingly.

"Shush..."

Harry's cries softened, then ceased. He continued, however, to shake violently and mumble, not near soothed. Still asleep, he reached out with one hand; the stranger took it and rubbed it between his own.

"S-s-stop... I didn't do it..."

"It's all right," the other consoled. "Hush, little one."

His fingertips played along Harry's spine, pressing lightly. The boy soothed slowly--first his erratic breathing, then his shaking limbs, and finally his frightened mumbling.

Then the part of the dream where Sirius came was apparent; Harry began again to cry and whimper his godfather's name, pulling away from all offered comforts.

"Sirius, please..."

The stranger sighed, having quickly reached his own decision. He pulled Harry out of bed, ignoring the boy's groan of protest, and into his arms.

...This is rather soothing...why haven't I done this before?

"No," Harry mumbled; but his head was already nestled in the man's chest, and the protest was a feeble one. His companion whispered nothings in his ear while stroking his hair. Harry began to sob quietly, letting the night's fear and pain and anguish release into another, his fingers clutching the other's robes so hard his knuckles went white.

"Oh, baby," murmured the other, kissing first Harry's cheek and then the tip of his closest ear and even his tensing fingers. "Oh, cub. Rest now..."

Harry's gasps and sobs quieted. Between his unknown savior's gentle kisses and soothing tone (for Harry could not quite make out the voice or words), his violent nightmare was fading fast, and he was ready to slip back into darkness. However--he didn't want the stranger to leave; so being powerless to completely wake and discover who he was (so he might stay) wasn't the best position to be in.

Nevertheless, he felt both Umbridge's terror and the desire to be fully awake slipping away from him...

His companion smiled (though Harry could not see) and laid them both down, moving back to stroking his hair again to keep him at peace; the boy sighed, in a lasting sort of content, and his breathing finally relaxed back out. He moved into the stranger's chest, his head seeking a resting place; the other guided him with his long, thin fingers, pressing the boy lightly into the fabric of his robes. Harry shifted for long moments--then went still. He was asleep.

The man's smile widened--but seemed part-wistful. He laid his head on Harry's pillow, curling his arm about the sleeping boy's body, and pressed a last, gentle kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the thought of all he had to do tomorrow, trying to just relish now...

...and he was asleep within moments.


Satisfaction, comfort, peace--these were things Harry did not feel often when waking, and especially not when staying with his relatives. But on the tenth of July, Harry woke to remember kisses and soothing words and someone else sleeping next to him, offering solace and an escape from nightmares--and he felt all three.

Mmmm...what happened?

...Oh. Yeah. The nightmare...Umbridge...Sirius...and...

--Who was that?

He looked around, heart sinking at the room that was empty but for him.

And why didn't he stay?


Hedwig had been busy. She alerted her master of such when he returned, promptly tossing more food out his window and closing the door behind him. After the little "episode" yesterday afternoon with the toilet, he was fully intent on not eating ever again. (At first he had debated whether his aunt had simply poisoned him, but that seemed doubtful; if anything she would have done it last summer.)

"Eh? What's this...?"

Two letters were on the desk--one long, one short.

He picked up the long one first, noticing (according to the handwriting) that it was from both Ron and Hermione.

Mate,

How are you (for the third time)? I know Sirius is gone and all, but I'm worried you're going spare and so is Mum. Especially Mum. Especially Mum and Ginny. They discuss you over tea.

Harry felt his teeth clench. Not another Sirius mention. Not another, not so soon...

You probably noticed Hermione's handwriting farther down. She went spare over you long ago--writing you a two-in-one letter like this was her idea. I'm to mail it to her when I'm done, which she "hopes is soon, as she has a lot to discuss with you". Girls...

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed. So typical.

Speaking of our bookworm, she told me to tell you that our O.W.L. results are coming soon. As if I needed to be reminded. The only good news it could carry would be 'no more Snape and Trelawney for this Weasley'.

And speaking of particular Weasleys...

I'm really sorry, Harry, mate, but I have two pieces of bad news. And they kind of tie together. Blame it on Mum talking to that barmy Great-Aunt Muriel for the first time in years.

The first piece: I think I know where you're going after you leave the Dursleys (actually I think Hermione knows, so I know in turn). Mum tried to reason with them (and you remember her way of reasoning), but they insisted it was "for your safety". And didn't that work well last time.

The second piece, connected to the first: Mum's forbidden me and Ginny to even go near that place, even if you are there. Bad vibes, she says. Too dangerous. Didn't answer when I asked why that didn't keep her from bringing us the first time. I think she's freaked out by what happened to Sirius.

So you'll probably only see Fred and George unless Ginny raises enough of a stink. Don't think I don't care or anything--I'm just confident that she'll produce results. Faster than me, that is.

See you soon, one way or another--

Ron

Harry grimaced. Not only did he now have a shrewd suspicion as to where the Order would try to take him; inwardly he reflected too on how the "last time" they tried to keep him safe, Sirius had still been alive...

He coughed, choked. He had tried to deny it yesterday afternoon, but it could not be denied: he was sick. Very, hugely, horrendously sick. This morning had been better, but worse: he felt strange, almost lightheaded...

Shake it off, Potter.

Looking down, he indeed saw Hermione's handwriting:

Harry--

I think Ron covered my first question; but I promise I won't badger you too much about Sirius. I can relate; I lost my grandmother before I met you and Ron. (And in case you wonder, she was the family's "lover of books" before me.)

Are you okay? I've thought of you often--first at home, then in Germany (we went for vacation three days ago--remind me to tell you, it was SO AMAZING!), and finally here--which, thanks to Ron's subtlety lessons (or lack thereof), you've no doubt identified. (Yes, Harry, we do still have to be careful!)

I've talked to some of the DA members--Neville and Luna and Cho, among others--and we all agree that the DA was the best and should go on next year. With permission, of course. Cho sends her regards, and so does Marietta. Strange but true.

O.W.L.s are so near, Harry, I can feel them! I'm excited to see what we'll all get (especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts), even if Ron's not. Hmmph.

...I'm running out of things to say! I'd better send this off to you before it gets too long like it usually does. You'll see me soon anyway, we can talk then.

Love from

Hermione

P.S.: I took the liberty of making Ron's letter easier for you to read.

Harry laughed. Same old Hermione. What a relief that was.

He looked over at the desk again, unaware of Hedwig's amber eyes watching his every move--and saw again the second letter with a pinch of dread: he did know its sender and contents, and he did not want to be enlightened.

Hedwig pecked at his fingers anyway and he yelped, shoving down a choked cough. "All right, all right!"

Harry's fingers were nimble even in sickness (and through owl attacks)--within seconds he had unrolled the parchment and, thus, his fate.

His keep-from-Hogwarts-and-magical-world-2-years plan was instantly set close to shattering:

Harry,

We'll be picking you up tomorrow night.

Be ready.

--The Order

P.S.: Harry, it's Remus. Hope you're pleased with your early release; and, of course, well. See you soon.

Needless to say, Harry was neither well (in any sense) nor pleased.


~Chapter Four is now safe to read!~

--Happy birthday, JKR and Harry! From reading a cool Kingdom Hearts fic (since I was too lazy to look it up), I know that Harry would be 28.

--The Mirror of Erised's inscription comes from Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter Twelve (my favorite for obvious reasons), page 207 (I hope. Feel free to correct.)

Kitsune-Arii: She's playing Proud Mode on Kingdom Hearts II. Any advice is welcomed.

~What We're Listening To: New Divide by Linkin Park~

Farewell for now.