As could only be expected, Harry found himself firmly locked into his bedroom the following morning. He heard talk between his Aunt and Uncle of the possible reappearance of the irons bars that had so fashionably decorated his window several summers previously.

Taking his time while he had it, Harry threw his sheets out the window and scurried down. Muggles be damned, he didn't care if Aunt Petunia's snooping friends noticed.

Harry found himself making a conscious effort not to stomp through the streets of Privet Drive. After the letter from Arthur Weasley, he had only received two other pieces of post.

The first came by tawny owl; it awaited him upon his return from Robin's front porch. Attached to its leg was a Ministry letter, maintaining the insistence that he arrive in August for a hearing, but allowing him to keep his wand until said day; apparently, he was scraping by with a suspension rather than expulsion. Harry could hardly find the energy to appreciate that.

The second letter came roughly at 3 o'clock in the morning. The hideous elf from earlier in the summer days appeared with an earsplitting crack and a grim expression. Harry had found a nasty satisfaction in hearing Uncle Vernon yelp in his sleep; Harry, too, would have yelped had he been able to sleep a wink. The elf handed him the shortest letter from his godfather he had ever received; he disappeared the moment Harry took the letter from his little fingers.

Much to Harry's irritation, the letter contained nothing but assurances that everything possible was being done, and a warning to stay inside his home during the dark hours. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Sirius new of his nighttime excursion of Robin's; he was beginning to feel as if someone was monitoring his every step, constantly knowing his actions.

Furiously, Harry strode down the sidewalk. He was upset with both his godfather and Arthur Weasley for what little information in such a dire moment they had provided.

He was upset with his Aunt and Uncle for behaving so rashly; he had yet to receive a morsel of food from them.

He was furious with the Ministry. Harry had no idea if Fudge was still in charge or not, but Harry previously thought even Fudge wasn't so stupid as to expel a Hogwart's student in the face of a Dementor attack.

Finally, Harry was so absolutely angered by the lack of communication from Albus Dumbledore, that three very heated, half finished letters to his Headmaster sat crumpled on the floor of his bedroom. Harry finally realized he had no way to put his fury into words, and gave up the letter writing for a bad job.

The only ray of hope in an otherwise hellacious day, Harry located his neighborhood friend surprisingly quickly. She was sitting on the swings of the park nearest her home, kicking pebbles with her toe.

She didn't see him until he had sat down in the adjacent swing. "Hello."

"Oh, Harry!" Robin jumped. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "I didn't hear you. How are you?"

"Been better," Harry answered. He tried for a joking grin, but he was certain he failed at the frown on Robin's face.

"Understandably so," she responded several moments later. "Are you still, um, expelled from whatever school you go to? I take it you don't actually go to St. Brutus'…"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Pegged that one right. Turns out I'm only suspended. What a relief."

Robin smiled slightly at his sarcasm, but she didn't look directly at him. She was focused at a point somewhere over his shoulder. It took her nearly a full minute to shake her head and look back to him. "So, I wanted to talk to you."

Harry groaned; he hadn't meant to, but he was sure this moment was a long time coming. There was no possible way a sweet, happy Muggle like Robin would want anything to do with his chaotic, unstable way of life. In fact, Harry would not have been surprised if she found him nutters. He hadn't been given the opportunity to show her real magic; he hoped she wasn't thinking of rabbits jumping from top hats.

"Harry," Robin called. She waved her hands in front of his eyes. "Still with me?"

"Sorry." He shook his own head. "Go on."

Robin looked down to the pebbles and took a deep breath. "I don't want—no. I don't think." She paused. Her next words came out in a garbled rush. "Thatweshouldseeachother."

Harry quirked a brow. "That wasn't English."

"Oh, bugger." Robin sighed, laughing at herself slightly. "I just don't think we should see each other past this summer. You know. As more than friends."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. He realized quickly how rude he sounded when Robin glared at him. He put his hands up in defense. "Sorry. I thought you were going to say you didn't want to be friends. I was just relieved to hear that wasn't the case. Guess laughing wasn't the most appropriate response."

Robin rolled her eyes. "I told you last night, Harry – don't be an idiot. I still want to be your friend."

"Oh, good," Harry answered lamely. He thought about her words for a moment. "You're probably right. We aren't anywhere near each other. That would just be boring."

Robin giggled. "Smoothly put."

"Not to say you aren't awesome." Harry rambled on. "You are. I just don't think it would do anything for our friendship. Might make it worse. You know."

"Right. And now you can go use all of those amazing skills I've taught you to land yourself a killer dame," Robin chided. She swung her swing to the side to bump into him intentionally.

Harry laughed and caught her around the shoulders, pulling her mercilessly from her swing and into his lap. He hadn't done that intentionally, but tried his hardest to quell the blush creeping up onto his face. He looked up at the blond ponytail now in his eyes. "One last milkshake?"

Robin grinned before throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Don't talk like that. It's only the last milkshake this summer. Next summer, I fully expect you to be right back here buying me milkshakes."

Harry scoffed with a dramatic eye roll. He helped her from his lap and followed her from the park. "Expect me to pay for everything? How old fashioned of you, dear." He dodged her fist trying to lightly punch his arm and laughed. "Don't worry, Robinhood; it's a date."

X-X-X-X-X

That night, Harry heard his only living relatives slam the front door and pile into the car. He was grateful for the quiet house, even if he was confined to his room. Harry took the time to close his eyes and lay down uninterrupted.

He was just falling into a light doze when a crash in the kitchen had him sitting bolt upright. His wand was drawn again, whether he was conscious of it or not. He was on his feet quickly.

Alohamora.

Harry had become so proficient at wandlessly casting simple spells that he hardly needed to think to do so; he heard the light clicking of the lock, and he let himself quietly onto the landing. He was just descending the stairs when a bright light appeared directly in his vision.

Harry would have cursed the individual had someone not captured his wrist. He attempted to shout, but found himself under the influence of a Silencing Charm. He quickly thought the countercharm, his voice growing in his throat.

"Quiet, boy," someone at the foot of the stairs, growled. Harry was surprised to see his previous professor, Alastor Moody, step into the beam of light. Harry caught himself just in time of speaking; he instead mouthed several words, feigning silence. Moody waved his arm, removing a charm that was no longer presence.

"What in the bloody name of Merlin, Moody?" Harry bit. "I was about to hex you!"

Moody growled low in his throat. "You've quite the tongue, boy. Don't forget, you've only met me once, and I was unconscious for that get together."

Harry opened his mouth, found he didn't know what to say, and shut it again. It took him a moment to regain his words. "It was the appearance. You look like someone I should know by now."

Moody growled a response, but it wasn't audible. Harry took the moment to look around at Moody's accompanying friends. There were about ten in total. Moody took a moment to give introductions.

Harry looked around with an appreciative grin. "This number of people flying on brooms through London will surely be inconspicuous. Was this your idea, Moody? I suppose I should have expected it. Your definition of inconspicuous seems to be a wooden leg and drinking continually from a hip flask."

Harry would have sworn money that Moody's lips twitched upward. He muttered, "Merlin, you are Jame's boy," before stalking away to the kitchen.

The woman standing closest to Harry, with fuchsia hair, bounded forward; she tripped over the first step, but caught herself before hitting the ground. "Oops! Let me help you with your things, Harry!"

"Alright," Harry answered, reserving his grin. The woman, he could already tell, was an oddity in a group of otherwise serious individuals. He supposed he better get on her side. "I would introduce myself more personally, but the point seems moot. You can call me the Boy-Who-Lived if you ever do forget my name, though."

The woman giggled, skipping fully into his room. She stopped on a dime. "Boy, Harry, this is clean – this is nothing like my room. Were you expecting us?"

Harry took a moment's pause before answering, "Hoping, more like it. Not as though Dumbledore would give me a heads up."

"He's been all sorts of odd, this summer," the woman offered, catching his bitter tone. She spun around in a tight circle, barely staying on her feet as she tripped again. She stuck her hand in his face. "Tonks. If you call me Nymphadora, the Boy-Who-Lived will become the Boy-Buried-Six-Feet-Under."

Harry grinned widely. "Dora?"

Tonks glared daggers at him. "Correction: Boy-Buried-Eight-Feet-Under."

"Tonks it is, then," Harry laughed. He watched as Tonks waved her wand over the room, and the few remaining possessions zoomed into his already-packed trunk. Harry had packed the night previously, too anxious to sleep; he also wanted to be ready if the Ministry surprised him at the door.

Ten minutes later, Harry, Tonks, Moody, and the rest of the 'guard', as Mad-Eye had taken to calling them, were lounging, albeit someone tersely, in the back garden.

"Fireworks," Moody growled. He pointed at the sky. "That's our go. Potter, stay close to me."

The next hour of Harry's life was one of the worst. He nearly froze to his broom, even while silently performing the warming charm on his fingertips throughout the trip. He was relieved everyone made it to the destination in one piece; he was less worried about Lord Voldemort, and more worried Tonks and Moody would rip one another's heads off. They had bickered continuously the entire flight.

Moments after touching down on solid ground again, Mad-Eye Mood shoved a crumpled piece of parchment into Harry's palm. Harry looked at it curiously.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Harry had barely finished the line before Moody took the parchment from his hands and ignited it at his wand's tip. He looked seriously at Harry. "Read it? Memorize it. Think about it. Don't forget it or it'll be your head, boy."

X-X-X-X-X

Moments after rethinking the line, the two homes before Harry began to warp as a third pushed its way between them. Harry watched with interest as the new home came into view; after it stopped growing, the neighborhood block looked as normal as ever. A moment earlier Harry would have never realized magic was happening directly under his nose.

He smirked appreciatively. "It's under the Fidelius."

Tonks and Moody did similar backward glances to look at him. It was Tonks who spoke up. "You know it?"

"Protected my parents house. I did a little reading on it at Hogwarts." Harry thanked his lucky stars he was a quick thinker. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to go boasting he had spent much of his summer reading on the Fidelius Charm and other protective charms for the wizard or witch in hiding.

His answer accepted; his guard stepped forward quickly, ushering him to the door.

Inside Number Twelve was absolute chaos. Several people, including a fair few Weasleys, his godfather, and Remus Lupin, were rushing across the entrance hall. Further down the hall, deep purple curtains were flapping wildly, as if a strong wind was threatening to tear them apart. Most curiously, a woman was screaming profanities.

"MUDBLOODS! SCUM! FILTH DAMPENING THE DOORSTEP OF YOUR FATHERS! YOU TRAITOR! YOU ARE NOT FIT TO LICK KREACHER'S FEET!"

"Give it a rest," his godfather yelled in a somewhat bored voice. After a moment of verbal sparring, Lupin and Sirius managed to pull the curtains closed over what Harry could only assume was a painting.

Panting slightly, Sirius turned to the front door. His face lit up, but only slightly, at the sight of his godson. "Harry! See you've met my mum. Lovely woman, really."

"Your mum?" Harry questioned. He raised both eyebrows.

"Certainly." Sirius grimaced. As an afterthought, his bitter look growing more pronounced, he added, "Dumbledore's here. Said he wants to see you before he leaves. Best not to disrespect the high and mighty himself."

"Sirius!" Molly Weasley whispered harshly. She was already to Harry, crushing in a hug. "You could do with a bit of respect yourself!" She pulled back to smile at Harry. "Oh, dear, you do need some food. But first, you should visit with Albus. He's in the kitchen."

Harry looked all around. Every dark door leading from the entrance hall looked the same. "Which is…?"

"Oh!" Molly quietly exclaimed. "Of course. This way!"

On his way to the kitchen, Fred and George, who were both leaning on the railing, whispered a giggled behind their hands; Fred swooned dramatically into George's arms at Harry's passing. Ginny gave him a welcoming grin from where she was standing against the staircase beneath her brothers. It seemed Ron and Hermione had scurried off.

The kitchen of Number Twelve, Harry noted, was only marginally cleaner than the entrance hall. It did help to have an abundance of candles floating overhead, casting light all about the room.

Albus Dumbledore was seated at the end of the dining table. He was casually reading his mail.

"Evening, Harry," he greeted politely.

Harry sat down and made himself comfortable before throwing out a casual, "Evening."

"I trust you are doing well," Albus continued. Harry heard Sirius, who had taken to leaning against the kitchen doorframe, snort in amusement; Harry smirked briefly, watching as his headmaster continued to flip through letters.

After several minutes of very strange silence, in which Harry took good time to stare up at the dingy ceiling, Albus Dumbledore set down his letters and focused on Harry. "I ask you, Harry, will you please recount what happened several nights previously?"

Harry sighed, taking his own vision from the ceiling to look blankly at Dumbledore. "You don't already know, sir?"

Dumbledore prompted him, " Harry, please."

Their staring last several more minutes before Harry sighed and leaned back casually in his chair. "I assume you've been keeping an eye on me so something like this wouldn't happen. So I would like to know why it did?"

Albus' left eyebrow raised marginally in surprise. "What makes you think we kept watch on you, Harry?"

"Your morning watch person was about as quiet as an elephant while trying to run after me," Harry answered in a voice just as calm.

"I admit," Dumbledore began. No remorse for his actions was evident in his voice. "We did keep an eye on your activities for your safety, Harry, but you must understand, it is pertinent to keep you safe in the present time."

Harry fought not to roll his eyes, but he had no other response. He knew Dumbledore needed him alive and well until Voldemort's demise, but neither party would ever introduce that topic to conversation. Instead, he chose to retell the tale.

"I was on my way home with my friend and cousin when a couple of Dementor's cornered us in an alley. One came from the east; the other came from the west. My cousin ran straight into them. I pulled my wand for a Patronus. They flew off to wherever Dementor's go in their free time. My friend, cousin and I returned to my Aunt and Uncle's. They screamed a bit. And I've gone hungry the last few days waiting for you to show up."

Albus Dumbledore studied Harry carefully as he casually leaned back in his kitchen chair; Harry studied the Headmaster just as calmly. Albus was wondering where Harry had found this new outspoken character; Harry knew he was being analyzed and chose to show no other emotion.

"Is that all? I really am hungry."

"Let me get you something, dear," Molly answered him quietly from beside the sink. Harry turned to smile kindly at her with a, "Thank you."

"Harry, I would like to be blatant with you."

"This will be a first," Harry muttered quietly into the bowl of soup now steaming in front oh him. Albus didn't seem to hear him.

"The Ministry hearing is of concern to all of us, and you should not take this matter lightly. In your absence from the wizarding world, Minister Fudge has done everything in his power in discredit your story and the death of Cedric Diggory. If given the chance to discredit you further, he will surely take it to maintain peace in the wizarding community."

Harry already knew all of this. He blew lightly onto his dinner before taking a bite. "What's being done in my defense?"

"That's rather difficult," Albus sighed. He looked genuinely tired for a moment. "I have spoken with your Aunt and Uncle. I wish to take the memory from your cousin of that night to present in court. However, they have not allowed me within two hundred feet of their boy, and to take the memory by force will not stand in court."

"Take it from Robin," Harry offered immediately. "She won't be as idiotic as Dudley."

"Your friend, Harry, has been taken care of." Dumbledore removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his periwinkle robes. "As she is a Muggle, she is in danger knowing of our world. We have seen to it that her memory has been modified as little as possible and—"

The chair next to Harry exploded into dust, evoking several screams and yelps throughout the room. It had been a while since Harry had accidentally lost control of his magic. His brow was sprinkled with perspiration; his pupils were large and dark; his breaths were coming harshly; his face was heated in color. The spoon in his hand lay abandoned on the floor.

"You did what?" he growled so quietly several of the room's occupants did not hear him.

"Your friend Robin does not remember the Dementor attacks. She does not remember your confession to her as a wizard. She will remember nothing in between, but we have arranged for that. We have feigned a bump on the head from a trip and fall, and we have informed her parents she has a very mild concussion. We did not need to leave any loose ends, Harry. She is safer this way."

Harry was at a loss for words. He was more furious with his Headmaster than he could ever remember being previously. Not only had he taken precious memories from his friend, he had done so without an ounce of permission. Harry breathed out slowly. "You tampered with her memory without her knowledge?"

"It's a very safe spell, I assure you," Albus answered calmly. He finished cleaning his glasses and replaced them. He intertwined his fingers and looked to the ceiling.

"You manipulative bastard," Harry hissed. Molly beside him shrieked, but Harry ignored her. Now one of his best friends no longer knew his secret; she no longer shared that bond with him. Further, if the spell worked like Harry suspected, she would no longer remember their kiss; she would probably also not know of their goodbye. Harry could only imagine how upset she would be to find out he had left without goodbye. His voice had gone dry. "She is not your play putty, and I am not your pawn. You shouldn't be able to mold her memory how you please, and you certainly cannot manipulate me as you see fit, Dumbledore."

Harry stood from the table and stalked to the door without another word. Sirius opened the door for him without prelude, and Harry found himself free to stalk about the grim interior of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.