A/N: Thanks for the support, everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's absolutely silly, but it was kind of fun to write. I promise Harry will return to the magical world sometime soon. In the mean time, enjoy!

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Harry had been wrong – very wrong. Running was difficult. At 6am the next morning, Harry was having more trouble pulling himself from his bed than he had ever encountered. Every muscle in his body ached. He was also very tired from having stayed up half the night, practicing the two spells he could now cast wandlessly, and puzzling over the enigma that was magic.

Groaning, Harry finally managed to pull his legs out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up very slowly. He found himself squinting into the rising sun. Had it really taken him so long to stand from his bed? Harry quickly found his shoes.

Harry huffed as he shut the door to Number Four; a little irked he was so late to begin his morning run. He vaguely wondered if he was too late to see his new morning friend.

As if in answer to his question, a blonde ponytail bobbed across his vision. He was surprised to see her already passing his summer home. She didn't appear to have seen him, though. "Wait!"

Robin turned at the voice, slowing down considerably, but still jumping slightly in place. She grinned and waved at Harry. He jumped off the porch stairs (a move which internally made his muscles cringe) and jogged to catch up. She didn't give him a chance to stop; she worked back up to pace the moment he was at her side.

"Morning, Mystery Man," she greeted.

Harry gave a goofy grin. "I'm Harry."

"Guess that solves the mystery. Hi, Harry."

"Morning, Robin," he greeted; he set his feet at a pace he was unfamiliar with. He had not realized, previously, how fast she ran.

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun rose in the sky ahead of them. Harry struggled to think why he had originally chosen to run the other direction. Watching the sunrise was much more exhilarating.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled; could this girl read minds? "Maybe not the word I would use, but yes."

"Sorry, Harry," Robin laughed, "but there's no manly word for a pretty sunrise."

Harry felt himself turn a deep red; he sincerely hoped her eyes were focused forward. They settled into another silence, but Harry found himself thinking a mile a minute. It was only the first week of summer; how had he found himself in such a drastically different position to previous summers in Little Whining?

"Would you like to hang out some time?"

Harry struggled very hard to keep his mouth shut after that - those words were meant to fly out from his lips. He chanced a glance at his running partner and was surprised to find her grinning.

"Sure thing," she chirped happily. "3 o'clock today. Let's meet at the park furthest from your place. I assume that house was where you live?"

"Yeah," Harry panted slightly. "I'll be there."

They eventually neared the end of the neighborhood. Harry was debating whether to continue their run when Robin reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't do too much too quickly. You'll regret it."

"It's really not that bad," Harry returned, trailing off slightly as his sore muscles were continuing to protest.

Robin laughed and winked at him. "Turn around, Harry. Don't worry. I'll whip you into shape by the end of the summer. You can count on it."

Harry was really beginning to love those winks.

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Harry was feeling frustrated – again. Try as he might, he could not find a solution to the wandless spells that evaded him. He now sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, and chest rising at a slow rate. He really didn't want to be frustrated.

Lumos, he thought once more. He could feel the invisible flames lick his fingers once more. It was such an odd sensation; he was wary to let it fade. Nox.

One thing Harry had come to realize, however, was that he seemed to be much more proficient at silently casting spells when a wand was not involved. Although he had flipped through several of his texts, he could not find a concrete answer. It seemed, in fact, he could not find any documented cases of wandless magic at all. Harry came to the conclusion that silently casting spells allowed one's mind to better focus on the magic at hand (quite literally), while using a wand required a channeling of magic, best helped along by firmly stating what one wanted. He knew it was a weak hypothesis, but he had little else to work with.

Accio quill.

The quill floated into his palm once more. Harry opened his eyes and stared at it curiously. He placed it once more on the desk and tried again.

Accio quill.

Harry distinctly felt the flame that time. The same invisible flames that licked his fingers when he cast for light were seemingly present when he summoned as well. He slowly raised an eyebrow, and he tried again.

Accio quill.

The flames were present once more. They ceased the moment the quill touched his fingertips. Harry stared curiously at his own hands.

Lumos.

The invisible warmth spread across his palm once more. It did not abate after the initial casting. It did not abate at all until Nox was cast. Harry was intrigued. He always imagined his magic to be apart of him, functioning as he did. He was now debating if it was an entity to itself – dough in his hands to be molded and crafted as he pleased.

A memory came drifting back to Harry. Just last week, when Harry had stepped from his Uncle's new automobile, his toes had tingled upon setting foot at Number Four Privet Drive. The newest, more powerful wards (set into place by the Headmaster himself) were tangible. Faint, but distinguishable. Harry wondered if his magic functioned similarly, leaving traces of itself on every thing it touched, including the wizard to cast the spell.

He turned his hands skyward. Nothing felt particularly abnormal about them. They were pale, slightly calloused hands – quite average for a fourteen-year-old boy. Sighing to himself, he tried to distinguish the sensations he felt when casting Lumos. Harry stared at his hands for several moments before anything at all caught his attention. It was a faint tickling at the underside of his elbow.

Accio quill.

Harry grinned; he distinctly felt the tickling follow the path of his forearms to his fingers. Perhaps his odd theory had some credibility. He willed the sensation to travel once again to his palm of its own accord.

Wingardium Leviosa.

The quill twitched in his hand, but did nothing wholly incredible. Harry nodded, pleased with the slight progress, and tried once more. He shut his eyes, as he had previously, had willed his magic to follow his commands at its own leisurely pace.

Wingardium Leviosa.

Harry grinned; the softness of his feather quill had disappeared, only to be replaced by another set of invisible flames.

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At five minutes to three o'clock, Harry was pacing in front of the neighborhood park farthest from the Dursley's. Harry had long ago realized his hair would never be tamed, and he took a moment to appreciate that. He was able to run a hand through his disheveled hair without having to worry about it falling back into place; it would always look like quite the mess.

After what felt like a lifetime to Harry, a blonde ponytail bobbed around the corner of the walk. Robin waved cheerily as she approached. Harry was amused to see her still dressed in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, although obviously not the pair from her morning run.

"Hi ya, Harry," Robin greeted. Her white smile glinted brightly in the sunlight.

Harry tried to grin back. "Hi, Robin."

"Do you live with the Dursley's?"

Harry was taken aback; this was hardly the note he wished to start their conversation on. For the first eleven years of his life, every companion he ever made eventually left due to his familial relations with the Dursley's. No one wanted to be friends with someone Dudley Dursley did not like, and Harry Potter was certainly that someone.

"Err." Harry tried not to worry his lower lip. "Unfortunately, yeah."

To his surprise, Robin laughed. "That's awful. They're really wretched people. Petunia always gossips with our next door neighbor, and Stephen's my brother."

"I feel for him." Harry shivered noticeably for added effect, and he was happy to see Robin grin at his antics.

"Are they family?"

Harry nodded painfully. "Unfortunately. Petunia was my mother's sister."

"Was?" Robin prodded hesitantly.

"Err, yeah. My mum and dad died when I was little."

"Oh," Robin supplied. She quickly changed subjects. "And stop saying 'err.'" Harry quirked an eyebrow, and Robin grinned back. "I told you this morning I would whip you into shape, didn't I? First lesson to good mental shape: never say err, uh, or um. You sound like you haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "So I'm in need of mental work too?"

"No." Her answer was casual. She strode past him. "I'm just a helper. It's what I do. You're cute, Harry, but we have got to work on that confidence of yours."

Harry blushed all the way down to his toes. He was relatively certain Robin had enough confidence for the both of them. He turned around (only when he was sure his blush had faded) and followed her across the park.

Harry and Robin sat down on the swings together, Robin still humming happily to herself. She turned enough to look at her target. "So, Harry. Tell me something about yourself."

Harry tried not to turn red. "Um, I really do hate running."

Robin grinned widely. "That's not what I meant. What's your favorite thing to do in the summertime? And what did I just say about 'um'?"

"Well," Harry ignored her last comment good-naturedly, but his thought stopped abruptly past that. What was his favorite thing to do in the summer? His summer's previously had consisted of dodging Dudley's fists and subsisting off sneaked dinners. This current summer he was spending training for a war. He could hardly answer either of those. "Reading, I suppose."

"Bookworm?"

Harry made a face and squinted. "Not really. I just don't know people here."

Robin frowned at him. "You don't have friends here? The Dursley's have lived here as long as I have."

"Most people aren't keen on liking someone Dudley doesn't," Harry answered dully. As if on cue, a loud commotion broke across the playground.

"Give it back, Dudley!"

"It's not yours!"

Across the playground, Dudley Durlsey and Piers Polkiss had just arrived. They dropped their bikes to the ground and quickly spotted two unarmed kids – no more than ten, by the looks of it. Dudley was leering at them. "It is now, short stuff."

"Scram, kid," Piers chimed in, taking the second game system out of Dudley's hands and turning it over in his own. He grinned. "These are new, aren't they? Thanks for getting them for us."

The two ten-year-olds boys looked at each other with wide eyes before looking back at Dudley and Piers. Harry knew exactly what they were thinking, having been on the end of Dudley's thievery many times. They not only wanted their games back, but also were quite certain their mothers would flay them if they 'lost' such an expensive toy.

Harry turned back to Robin, as watching the scene made his stomach uneasy, only to find she had disappeared. When he turned back around, Robin was marching her way toward Dudley and Piers. Harry was too surprised to do anything more than watch.

Robin proceeded to march right up to the two neighborhood villains. After offering an overly sweet, "Hi, boys," she kneed one in the stomach, followed by the other – a move which stunned Harry so much he nearly fell out of his swing. She took advantage of their surprised and weakened state, grabbing the two game systems and turning to the younger kids. She presented them with a genuine smile. She watched as they scampered off happily, whispering to one another, before turning around and coming back to her swing as if nothing had happened at all.

Harry stared at her. "What," he sputtered, "was that?"

"If you haven't already noticed, Harry, your cousin is kind of a jackass."

Harry snorted, although he hadn't meant to. "Alright, Robinhood."

"Robinhood," Robin quietly repeated. A huge grin wound its way onto her face at the reference to the fictional childhood hero. "I like it." She grinned for another moment before turning seriously back to Harry. "What school do you go to?"

Harry glared up at the sky, then at the ground. His moment of happiness at watching his cousin get beat up by a girl flitted away. "St. Brutus's."

"Isn't that a school for the criminally insane?" It was Robin's turn to snort.

"I have my uncle to thank for that."

Robin stopped sniggering and looked at him seriously. Harry was surprised, overwhelmed, and speechless when she reached down and took his hand in hers. "It's really unfair how they treat you."

"Suppose so," Harry responded, struggling to remove his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"No," Robin said earnestly. "It is. They send Dudley to an expensive private school, and ship you off into the middle of nowhere. I can't imagine they're very kind. I've met Petunia. She seems like an awful woman."

Harry nodded hesitantly, but remained quiet.

Robin gave him a funny looking before taking a deep breath. Her next words came out very quickly. "Are those Dudley's clothes?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hand-me-downs."

"Thought so," Robin huffed. "Every family who lives in this neighborhood has at least enough money to get by. If your aunt and uncle can't spend a little money to buy you clothes, they shouldn't spend countless pounds to send their fat son to school."

Nothing else had ever embarrassed Harry as fully.

"Well," Robin chirped, changing gears altogether. "We're just going to have to change that. Come on."

Harry found himself being dragged off his swing, as his hand was still clasp loosely in hers. "Where are we going?"

Robin grinned a grin he was beginning to love as well. "For milkshakes."

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Harry and Robin sat across from one another at Uncle Tom's Ice Cream Parlor just outside their suburban neighborhood. Having never been there, Harry was fascinated. The booths were a brilliant fire engine red and the waitresses maneuvered themselves about on roller skates. It was entirely unconventional (Uncle Vernon would surely have a heart attack), and Harry loved every moment of it.

"Okay, first step to fixing every wrong thought your disgusting excuse for relatives have ever instilled in you." Robin paused, rethinking her words. "Wait, did that offend you?"

Harry laughed at her speak-before-thinking attitude; maybe Ron would be this interesting if he wasn't so one-track-minded. "Not at all. They're a disgusting bunch."

Robin grinned. "I take it back. That was step one: admitting you have a problem."

"Oh really," Harry laughed again, rolling his eyes. He had heard that phrase many times on Aunt Petunia's afternoon talk shows. "I suppose I have a problem, in that case."

"Good," Robin encouraged. "Second step, in that case: making friends. Harry, just because you have a brutish moron for a cousin that tries to scare away anyone that comes near you does not mean you are not entitled to friends."

Harry turned a brilliant shade of red.

"And you aren't allowed to be embarrassed about it!" Robin chided him. She moved on. "So, you just have to jump out there. Be yourself. See that girl at the counter?"

Harry turned around as discreetly as he could. A strawberry-blonde sat at the counter sipping on frozen lemonade, chatting animatedly with the woman serving customers behind the counter. He turned back to Robin with a puzzled look.

"Go talk to her," Robin prompted. She sat back and folded her arms over her chest. "Harry, the easiest people to make friends with are those who like to talk. She will keep the conversation going if you just initiate it." Harry gave her a skeptical look, which prompted her to sigh loudly and move out of her booth. She grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged her with him, marching up to the counter. She tapped the strawberry-blonde on the shoulder and grinned. "Hi, meet my friend Harry."

With that, Robin dragged Harry front and center, and she proceeded to return casually to her own table, but not before sending Harry an absolutely devious grin. Harry stared at her for a moment before turning back to the strawberry-blonde. "Um, hi." Harry cursed internally; he had forgotten the Never-Say-'Um' Rule.

"Hi," she returned with a raised eyebrow.

Harry's voice caught in his throat as he struggled for words. "Well, nice weather today."

"Yes," the girl answered slowly. "It's sunny."

An exceptionally awkward (or hilarious, as Robin would later term) silence passed between the two before the girl took one last drink of her lemonade. "Sorry to brush you off like this, but I've got to get going."

"Oh, right," Harry then answered just as quickly. "Um, see you." He did it again.

He dragged himself back to the booth he shared with Robin; she was trying hard to hide her giggles behind her milkshake. "That was a disaster."

"Yes, but rather hilarious," she answered.

"You are the devil." Harry gave her a mock glare. "I can't believe you thought that was a good idea."

"Harry, she's a girl," Robin laughed. "If you can talk and flirt with another girl, you have officially overcome all of the awful things the Dursley's have done with you."

Harry stared at her as if she had a second head. "You're crazy."

"Why?"

Harry stared at her for a moment before realizing she was completely serious. He fumbled with his words, suddenly under the spotlight. Finally, he gave up and settled on the very blunt truth. "Robin, no one here wants to hang around with me once they realize who my cousin is. I'm a walking disaster. I'm never here for more than the summer. I walk around in Dudley's old clothes. And I've got these glasses that are held together by tape, half the time."

Harry considered himself very lucky for having caught his tongue – he nearly said spellotape.

Robin glared directly back at him. "Harry, I'm hanging around you, regardless of your bully cousin. Summer is more than enough time to make a friend. Have you ever looked for other clothes on your own? You don't have to put up with Dudley's castoffs. And, really, those glasses are endearing; they're cute."

Harry was relatively positive his cheeks matched the color of his fire engine red chair. No girl had ever called him, famous Harry Potter, with his knack for trouble and unpolished shoes, cute – Robin had now said so twice today.

Robin sighed. "You don't believe me, do you? Well, no matter. I plan to prove it to you. By the end of the summer, Harry, you will be just as confident about yourself as I am about you." She took a pen out of her small shoulder bag and grabbed a napkin. "Meet me here, tomorrow at 2."

She looked up at Harry and grinned that devilish grin once more before sliding out of the booth and heading for the exit. Harry watched her exit before looking at the napkin at his head. Bronze statue by McKeever Avenue was written in quick, neat script.

Harry sighed and shoved the napkin in his pocket. He was fairly certain one teenage girl was not supposed to instill more uncertainty in him than Lord Voldemort ever had.