A/N: Chapter 10 is here! Enjoy.

Chapter 10

He would wait for Dumbledore to come out and tell him he wasn't going anywhere before he left, but he was going to leave. He ran back to number 4 to put the envelope away and shower, happy that Dudley seemed to have other things to do for the day and had left him alone.

"Watch this." That afternoon at the Evans' he, Mark, and Linda were settling in for an afternoon of mindless television after thumbing through their new books. When Harry had their attention he clapped, grinning. Feeling the minute traces of magic the rushing blood brought to his hands, Harry mentally tugged at the threads, pulling more out of his core. When he felt he had enough for the task, he thrust his hands out in front of him, and levitated his new Defense text.

"WOW!" Mark exclaimed while his sister squealed in delight.

"How'd you do that? I thought you had to have a wand."

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging sheepishly. "I just kind of figured it out last night. Had to punch the wall five times before I got the hang of it."

"You know you look like Ed when you do that, especially with the blonde hair." Mark tsk'ed at his sisters remark, but then took a good look at his friend.

"She's right, actually, Harry. Are you going to keep your hair like that?"

Harry tried to get a look at the hair framing his face and shrugged again. "Er…I think I'll keep it like this for a few days," he said thoughtfully. "I'll change it back before term starts though."

Linda nodded and pressed play. "We should get you a red trench coat for Christmas," she mused. "Then we could cosplay."

Harry left the house actually angry at Edward Elric for having killed the man who kidnapped his brother. Not that the character had meant to, really, and not that he hadn't been mad at himself, but that damnable cartoon kept bringing up uncomfortable subjects. The certainty that he, himself, would have to kill one day was not something Harry wanted to carry with him. He would much rather have had the idea that 'it would never happen to him' influencing his every choice, like every other teenager in the world. But no…Harry Potter got stuck with reality.

Glancing at his watch, Harry ducked into an alley that was a shortcut from Wisteria Lane to Privet Drive. It was 4:45 already, and his aunt would want him to help with dinner again. Over the past few days he had found that it was best not to provoke the stern woman, as she seemed to be irritated with her constant dinner guest. Every night she seemed stiffer and had a harder time keeping a civil tongue in her head, so she merely stopped talking. Harry could relate. Unfortunately, Dresden, as Harry continued to think of him (years ago he had gone by the name of Nick, but that was too familiar for Harry to stand using), refused to let him get away with complete and utter silence. He also seemed displeased with Harry's new hair color, saying it 'washed him out.'

"Well, I like it," Harry responded, testily and Dresden had moved onto a new subject, obviously displeased. Vernon had smacked him good for that one later, and then informed him of the next night dinner arrangements as usual. The young man hardly blinked at the act of violence, memories of worse still fresh in his mind. The disapproval was one of Harry's main reasons for keep the hair color, despite the fact that he would much rather have his old color back.

Harry found he was glad to have left his hair free today, as unlike previous nights he had a way to hide his face. He hunched over his food, and let a curtain of pale blonde block him from the man sitting to his right. Regardless of his efforts not to provoke his Aunt he felt she could deal with having her delinquent nephew slouching when he had been well behaved otherwise. Really, she was probably just jealous she couldn't do the same. Her hair was clipped back, unmoving even she shook her head at compliments to her cooking.

"Oh, not at all," she said quietly, with a barely polite smile. "But thank you for saying so."

She got away with answering like that all night. Practiced, expected, routine words that meant little, and could not be read into or truly analyzed. All Dresden could do what grin sadistically at her discomfort. Constantly, Harry felt as though he were being picked apart for clues to something; even when all he gave were one word answers, or sometimes none at all.

"Yes." Squirm. "No." Shift. "I don't know." Look away. "Sometimes." Sigh. His silent tormentor took in everything and was drawing conclusions from it – conclusions Harry wasn't getting.

As usual, by the end of the night he was ready to scream. Needing good news, Harry pulled the Gringotts envelope out of a drawer and slit it open. He skimmed over a formal note from the bank that said little more than "thank you for going with Gringotts, we hope you're not leaving because that would be bad for us and you as well" and over financial figures that he didn't really understand, except to the extent that he had a lot of money. Finally he came to his property list. Apparently, he owned quite a bit of empty acreage in Australia and a château in France. There were four townhouses scattered throughout London. Three of them were currently being rented. He circled the address of the empty one and pulled a dusty atlas off the bookshelf.

"Boy!" He looked up as the door slammed open. "Your aunt, cousin, and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. I want you here, all night starting at 6 o'clock, not gallivanting about the neighborhood. Understand?"

Harry blinked, confused. What happened to dinner with Dresden? "Yes, Sir."

His uncle's mustache twitched irritably before he shut the door and stalked off down the hallway. Somehow Harry didn't like the idea of being home alone when Dresden knew where he lived. Immediately, he decided that he would have to be packed and ready to go before six incase something happened and it looked like he would have to leave early.

His plan was simple, really. Around 2 am, when Mundungus usually took up the guard, Harry would shrink his trunk and use his invisibility cloak to sneak out of the house and over to the Evans' so that he could tell them he was leaving and ask them to call him a taxi. The taxi would meet him on the edge of the park, well away from both Wisteria Line and Privet Drive and drop him off near Diagon Alley. From there he would walk to the train station, and then to the town house.

If he had to leave earlier, he ran the chance of Moody spotting him. What could he do then?

Harry continued plotting and planning while he casually packed his things, throwing his invisibility cloak, money, and photo album into his new book bag, and tossing balled-up, half-written letters into the dustbin, ready to be taken out in the morning. Hedwig flew in the window just as he finished.

"Hey there, girl. What have you got?" Three letters. Harry blinked in surprise; he was only expecting two. Who else would have written him? Curious, he set Hermione and Dumbledore's responses aside and inspected the third envelope, instantly recognizing the handwriting. It was from Remus. He hesitated a moment, not quite sure he wanted to hear what his ex-professor had to say just yet, but pulled the letter out anyway. Talking helped right? Hadn't it helped before?

It wasn't so much a letter as a note, and Harry crumpled it immediately.

Dear Harry,

I first want to apologize. This is incredibly unfair to you, but I am leaving. I have done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, and have decided to leave the country, to leave the war, behind. I hope you can understand Harry. Please, do not try to contact me. I'll miss you.

Love always,

Moony

Moony. Moony, Moony, Moony. FUCKING MOONY! With slow, deliberate movements, Harry took a seat on his bed, and put his head in his hands, trying hard not to think. Instead, he focused on breathing, slowly and evenly. It was quite a bit harder than he would have thought it would be previously. He avoided moving as though it would disrupt the fragile calm he was building, and perhaps it would. When he felt stable enough, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

So. So, Remus was gone. Remus couldn't handle loosing Sirius and fled the country to find solace. Remus was an idiot. Remus was a selfish bastard. Plain as day, right? Right. Never mind that Harry was going to write him a letter as soon as he got out of the Dursley's, and offer to talk to him about what was going on. Never mind that Harry could use his support through all this.

So…Remus was an absentee, selfish bastard. Harry could deal with that. Everything would be alright. Everything. Would be. Alright. With that in mind, Harry grabbed Hermione's letter.

Dear Harry,

If you would just tell me what's going on, I could help you, but if Dumbledore doesn't believe you without a detailed explanation, then I don't see what good it would do for me to back you up. I believe you, I really do, but the fact is that I need to know what is going on to be of any use. On a better note, I am glad to hear that you've been talking about Padfoot, and even happier to know that it's helped. How did you do on your OWLs?

Love from,

Hermione

Dumbledore's note was just another rejection. It was polite, though sternly phrased, and exactly what Harry expected. Huffing angrily, he tossed all three letters into the dustbin and crawled into bed.

A/N: Well, it's not very long, but it seemed like a good place to end this one. What do you guys think of it so far? Tell me, please!