It was early-afternoon when Harry returned to the Burrow, having been in the orchard playing Quidditch with the others. When they had pleaded for him to join them he had forced himself to play, wanting to take advantage of every moment of freedom he could grasp, but his heart wasn't in it.

Previously he had been looking forward to getting back on his Firebolt, but when he first took flight it just wasn't the same. Right now at least, flying didn't bring the sense of joy or freedom he was used to feeling. Instead it was just something he was doing, another activity whose purpose was to pass the time, to fill in the day.

Not wanting to be a downer he had played along, swapping in and out of playing and refereeing so all five of them could play. But as the hours wore on he became increasingly despondent, a feeling he put down to being tired after sleeping poorly, and so he had called it quits. Without hesitation Ron had come down to loyally call it quits too, but Harry had insisted he keep playing.

'I'm just tired, that's all. Here,' he said, holding out his Firebolt, an offer he knew Ron could not resist. 'Share with the others, okay?'

He was doing everything he could to hide his dispirited mood, eating jovially at breakfast and laughing at Fred and George's antics, playing Quidditch and hanging out…but his heart wasn't in any of it. That heavy weight was back on his chest, and he couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from. The gravity of what happened to him a week ago, that Voldemort was back and active again, that his classmate was dead, that the Ministry was calling him a liar…that he was more than likely returning to Privet Drive.

Not in the mood to be around anyone, but not quite in the mood to do anything in particular, Harry simply returned to the Burrow. He needed to be alone for a while, to shut himself away in the peace and quiet, even if it meant not taking advantage of every last minute he had there.

'Any broken bones out there?' Mrs Weasley called, hearing him come inside.

'None yet.'

As he headed for the stairs he passed her in the living room, and he took pause to admire the latest patchwork quilt she had levitated in the air. She was pinning sections together before making the final commitment to sew, ensuring she was happy with the pattern.

'Looks nice.'

'Thank you, dear,' she said, using her wand to rotate a few pieces of fabric. 'I'm doing this one for a Muggle lady in the village.'

Lingering there in the living room he looked at the framed pictures on the wall, seeing a few new ones that he hadn't yet noticed. His heart swelled when he noticed himself in a few - there was a shot of him, Ron and the twins sitting outside the tent at the Quidditch World Cup, before anything terrible happened. It felt like an impossibly long time ago.

'Alright, love?'

He nodded, looking away from the pictures. 'I'm just going to lie down for a while.'

It was clear she was trying not to fuss, for she simply nodded her head. 'I'll wake you if you sleep too long.'

Hedwig was in his room, only sometimes sleeping on the kitchen perch with Errol and Hermes. Today the back of the desk chair was serving as her perch, and she was sleeping soundly when Harry entered. Resisting the urge to stroke her feathers he lay down on the bed and tossed his glasses onto the nearby table. Some sleep would do him a world of good, for the moment he laid down he could feel how badly his body needed to rest.

But as was increasingly problematic, his mind could not switch off. Laying there inactive meant that his mind automatically began ticking over, and in just a few minutes he found that he was itching to get up again, to find something else with which to occupy himself. Frustrated, he turned over onto his front and pummelled the pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable.

As he lay there trying to fall asleep a profound feeling of guilt began to creep in. What if this really was his last afternoon at the Burrow? He might not be back here again for another year, although perhaps he might be invited at Christmas…yet he was hiding away in his room, avoiding everyone. He should be out there with the others, taking advantage of the time he had left. Despite his brief hope he knew in reality that Dumbledore would not let him stay. These were his last hours here, and he was spending them alone in his room.

After a while stewing in his increasingly irritated thoughts he opened his eyes again, and then he opened his clenched fist and focused. The ball of light began to bloom, growing in size and strength as he concentrated, and then he scooped it out of his palm and let it hover in the air. Moving around so as to get comfortable again he stared at the light, focusing his attention on it instead of everything else.

It was beyond his comprehension that he could still do this, Dumbledore having that explained his sudden use of wandless magic had come from a place of sheer desperation. Certainly that had been the case when he attacked Lucius Malfoy, though his memories of that incident were blurry at best, just the way he preferred it.

At the time he first conjured the light he had surely been desperate for it, having been making his way around the cellar completely blind. But now? Right now the only thing he was desperate for was sleep and a peaceful state of mind…yet he could still conjuring light with wandless magic.

Perhaps an hour passed while Harry lay there listening to the sounds of the Burrow, unable to sleep. He heard the distant sounds of Ron and the others downstairs, the siblings quarrelling over something until Mrs Weasley commandeered Ron into the living room. She was making him check her quilt for mistakes in the pattern, something that Ron was quite good at, and Harry listened fondly as the two of them debated changing some sections.

The ball of light faded when Harry's concentration lapsed, and in its absence Harry distinctly felt himself drifting off into a state of semi-consciousness. Still he listened to the sounds of the Burrow, hearing the ghoul upstairs making some noise to liven the place up. For quite some time all was peaceful, and for once Harry felt relaxed enough that he might have briefly drifted off to sleep. Yet it wasn't to last, for he felt himself rousing without apparent reason. It took a few moments to realise why.

Conversation downstairs had changed. Mrs Weasley was welcoming someone into the Burrow...a guest. Curious as to who it was Harry listened dimly, but in his semi-asleep state it took a few moments to register whose voice it was down there. It was Dumbledore.

Blearily sitting up Harry rubbed his face, but he had barely reached for his glasses when his bedroom door opened a fraction. Ron's blurry face looked in, and when he saw Harry was awake he opened the door and came in without knocking, and there was a great sense of urgency about him.

'Oi, get up,' Ron hurriedly whispered.

Harry looked at him in exasperation while he put his glasses on. 'I'm up. Is that Dumbledore downstairs?'

'Yeah, and Dad's home from work early,' Ron explained, still whispering. 'But they've kicked us all out. Reckon he's here to talk about you staying. Come on.'

Knowing what Ron was getting at Harry rose from the bed and opened Bill and Charlie's old closet. When they moved aside a box in the corner they exposed the Weasley children's most prized secret, a hole in the floor that exposed the living room. Fred had put it there years ago by accident, his magic sparking during a tussle with George over a stuffed toy. It seemed the Weasley's had never quite gotten around to patching the hole given it was mostly concealed by the downstairs bookshelf, and in the years that passed the Weasley children had been using it to eavesdrop when the opportunity presented itself.

Not to his surprise Fred, George and Ginny also crept into the room, they too wanting to listen in, although the small closet space wouldn't allow for them all five to fit close enough. Instead they sat down on the bed and waited, leaning closer in their eagerness to hear.

'Mum's put an imperturbable charm on the stairs,' George commented in a whisper. 'Bless her. What are they saying?'

Crammed around the small hole in the cramped closet, Harry and Ron glanced at one another, already anticipating how this would go.

'Nothing yet.'

'What now?' Ginny asked a few moments later.

'Tea,' Ron replied. 'Dumbledore's having a biscuit.'

'Not the last Jaffa Cake?' Fred complained, leaning forward.

Harry and Ron pressed themselves closer to the hole again. 'Nah. Hob Nob.'

'Oh, he can have them. What are they saying now?'

Ron closed his eyes in exasperation, and so it was Harry who responded, giving them an impatient glare. 'Milk. Sugar.'

'Well, just tell us whe-'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' Ron hissed angrily, his eyes wide with frustration at his siblings.

Ginny shook her head in disdain for the lot of them, sharing an exasperated shrug with Harry. Glad they finally got the hint he turned his attention back to listening, hearing only the sounds of polite small talk as Mrs Weasley dispensed tea.

'Merlin, wish I could just rip off my ear and leave it down there to listen,' George complained.

Fred looked at him, furrowing his brow. 'What did you say?'

George looked at his twin, blinking slowly. 'Rip my ear off, leave it down there.'

The twins stared at each other in silence, and then in perfect unison they rose to their feet and hurried out of the room, thundering on the stairs as they went to their bedroom on the floor above. With them gone Ginny came over to the closet, silently insisting they make room for her to listen too, and it was just easier to let her in - she was small after all.

The three of them were sitting with their heads inside the closet, listening to the Weasleys and Dumbledore making small talk in the living room. It felt rather strange that Dumbledore was just downstairs, for he hadn't spoken to him since the morning he had met with the Diggorys, and had last seen him when he spoke at the Leaving Feast.

Harry wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but he had rather been hoping to speak to Dumbledore again before leaving for the summer. He had hoped they could talk things through again, that he could find out what was supposed to happen next. But instead it had been radio silence, not that he was taking it personally. There was no doubt in his mind that things had been chaotic for Dumbledore, that he had more important things to do.

It just felt strange, that was all. Dumbledore was the only person still around that Harry had told about everything that happened to him. Everything...and since then Harry had barely seen him.

Nevertheless, there was something reassuring about hearing Dumbledore's calm and reassuring voice again…even if he were only making small talk with the Weasleys. Finally the small talk came to a conclusion, Harry, Ron and Ginny listening intently as the conversation finally turned to the subject of him.

'…certainly appreciate the trip out to see us, especially at such short notice.'

'When it comes to matters concerning Harry, I consider it of highest priority.'

'As do we, which is the reason we wrote to you,' Mr Weasley replied. There was a pause now, as if Mr Weasley was considering what to say next. 'We're concerned for Harry. We must implore you to reconsider your plans to send him back to the Dursleys so soon.'

Harry began to hold his breath, waiting on tenterhooks for the answer. He had been back and forth all day like a yo-yo, constantly swinging between absolute certainty that Dumbledore would allow him to stay, and the more realistic resignation that it was too good to be true.

'What is it concerning you? Specifically, please.'

There was another pause, and the inability to see them all was excruciating.

'He's getting on with things,' Mrs Weasley began gently. 'But he's not himself, Albus. Not at all.'

'That is understandable, given what he's been through.'

'I don't think he's sleeping well. He's upstairs now, resting.'

'Has he been suffering any pain or discomfort?' Dumbledore enquired, sounding concerned. 'Sometimes the Cruciatus can have a lingering effect for an unlucky few.'

'I did ask. He assured me he's not, and I believe him. But he's not himself,' Mrs Weasley reiterated. 'He says he's been using the Dittany, but I can't see that very much is gone from the bottle.'

Ginny scoffed under her breath. 'Amateur,' she whispered. 'If you're gonna lie to Mum you have to be smart about it.'

Immediately coming to his defence, Ron elbowed her. 'Shut up you little wart.' But he gave Harry a look that said she's not wrong.

Ignoring the both of them, Harry turned his attention back to the conversation downstairs, having missed a few words.

'…or acting out?'

'No,' Mr Weasley answered this time. 'Which is why we think it best he stay a little longer. He seems to be coping as best he can. I'm not sure that could be said if he were to go back to Surrey.'

'I know you don't think much of Harry's aunt and uncle,' Dumbledore said diplomatically. 'But they are his family.'

There was an abrupt scoff, and it seemed Mrs Weasley wasn't holding back anymore. 'Some family,' she said harshly. 'Arthur visited them, as you know. Gave them a telephone number, and we've not heard a word all weekend. They've not even asked how he is.'

'We hope that just a few more days might help Harry find his feet a little more,' Mr Weasley said quickly, attempting to placate the tangible tension emanating from his wife. 'He's not going to find many a friendly face at home.'

There was a heavy silence that stretched on, broken only by the faint sound of china tea cups clinking against the saucers. Harry waited anxiously for Dumbledore's answer, hoping and praying that he would come through for him…he dreaded the prospect of going back to Privet Drive. The Weasley's had put up a reasonable argument, hadn't they?

'I understand your concerns. They're concerns I hold myself. But it is important that Harry return to his aunt and uncle's home sooner rather than later.'

'He doesn't want to go,' Mr Weasley said gently.

'I must insist.'

There was silence once more, and then Mr Weasley spoke up again, still trying. 'Is there anything that we could say or do that would change your mind? Any conditions, or circumstances that would make things different?'

'I'm afraid not.'

It felt like the end of the conversation, Dumbledore's unwavering insistence bringing a sense of finality, but it seemed Mrs Weasley wasn't done.

'Won't you consider what Harry wants?'

If Dumbledore was perturbed that she continued to push him, he didn't show it. 'What Harry wants is not what's in his best interests.'

'His best interests goes beyond his immediate safety,' she argued persistently. 'If you send him back to those people after the terrible things he's been through…well, it won't do him an ounce of good at all.'

'My decision is firm, Molly.'

'Well I've said my piece,' she stated bluntly, her tone of voice making Harry frown. 'I dread to think of the state he'll be in after spending the summer with those people.'

Beside him Ron and Ginny were silently gasping, having never heard their mother talk to someone like Dumbledore with such outright friction. 'Way to go, Mum,' Ron whispered proudly.

'How long will it be before we can have him back here?' Mr Weasley asked.

'At this stage, I cannot say. I will be sure to pop in on Petunia right away. It has after all, been some time since she and I last spoke.'

The brief conversation came to a definitive end now. Dumbledore declined Mrs Weasley's polite offer of more tea, excusing himself in order to go straight to the Dursleys, and once again the conversation was perfectly polite and friendly. Each of them had made their positions clear to the other, and it seemed there was nothing more to debate.

As Dumbledore departed Mr Weasley walked with him outside, and so Harry hastened over to the window and looked out, watching his Headmaster leave. Disappointment swelled inside him, and not just because he would have to return to Surrey. It was understandable given they thought he was up here sleeping, but he had hoped that Dumbledore might ask to see him, if only briefly. There was so much for them to talk about, so many questions Harry never got to ask before leading Hogwarts…but in less than a minute Mr Weasley had walked him to the gate where he made his farewell and then disappeared into thin air.

'It's too bad,' Ron said glumly. 'Even just a few more days would have been decent of him.'

'Shhh,' Ginny said hurriedly, leaning back into the closet. 'Dad's coming back.'

Dejected and not really caring anymore, Harry lingered by the window while Ron and Ginny listened, both of them cringing when they reported their mother was loudly clanging around with pots and pans in the kitchen, a clear sign that she was upset. They listened a few more minutes while Harry glared at his fully packed trunk, glad that he hadn't gotten too ahead of himself by unpacking.

'He's not going back to work,' Ginny whispered in surprise. 'Crap…they're arguing.'

'Can't hear what they're saying though,' Ron muttered, grimacing as a pot clanged particularly loudly. A few minutes later he and Ginny emerged from the closet, shrugging their shoulders. 'Dad's going out to the garage. Bloody hell.'

Looking out the window again Harry watched as Mr Weasley crossed the yard and headed for his garage, and following that conversation it too was a sign that he was definitely dissatisfied with the way things ended. As he tried to take it all in he fixed an expression of calm resolution on his face, forcing himself to accept Dumbledore's decision.

It was his own fault for getting his hopes up.

'Sorry I woke you up,' Ron apologised as Ginny headed off to her own room. 'Want me to let you get back to sleep?'

Yes, was his honest answer. He wanted to be alone again, to wallow in his furious disappointment…or better yet, yell at someone. Making a resurgence from beneath his disappointment was a swell of anger, one that admittedly startled him. Last time he'd felt anger like this was in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, a split second before he had accidentally attacked Malfoy and Carrow with wandless magic.

But completely overtaking disappointment and anger was the overwhelming feeling of guilt, an emotion he was increasingly familiar with right now. It lingered in the peripheral of his mind, always there, always making him feel badly about whatever it was he was thinking, or saying.

This was his last day at the Burrow…his last hours. He couldn't spend it locked away in his room, no matter how much he'd rather be on his own.

'If you let me win at least once, we can play chess.'

Ron grinned at him, and much to Harry's relief his enthusiasm was easy to mimick. They spent the rest of the afternoon in Ron's attic bedroom, playing chess and listening to the radio, always quick to change the station whenever the news came on. Beneath them they heard frequent whoops and cheers from Fred and George's room, usually followed by Ginny telling them to quit making so much noise.

As they played chess Ron and Harry took turns guessing what the twins were up to, and Harry smiled to himself as he thought about the secret he held with the twins, the prize money he had forced them to accept. He could have never kept that money, but it was being put to good use and the twins were already making him smile.

As the afternoon wore on it remained easier to pretend, to fall back into the familiar routine of the Weasley's company and pretend all together that it wasn't coming to an end. That evening Harry sat down to eat dinner with the Weasley's for the last time, enjoying the raucous conversation as Mrs Weasley interrogated the twins about what they had been doing that afternoon.

Even when Percy came home everything was fine, for no one commented on the fact he had spent the previous night at his office. Harry even managed to avoid talking with him entirely, although it seemed the conscious avoidance was from Percy, not him.

Mrs Weasley had been most apologetic about Dumbledore's decision, and she seemed to be trying her best to make it up to him, as if she owed him a debt and not the other way around. Harry had gone out of his way to assure her that it was fine, that he didn't mind going back to the Dursley's and that he would be perfectly alright for the rest of the summer. The more times he said this the easier it became to believe the words himself.

In preparation for his departure Mrs Weasley had packed him some sweet and savoury foods, having remembered from last summer Dudley's strict diet to which Harry had also been subjected. Packed in his trunk was an assortment of cauldron cakes and home made pasties, and some clothing that no longer fit Ron.

'If I'd had my way you'd be staying at least another week. Better yet the whole summer,' Mrs Weasley fretted, bundling up his new clothes and giving them to him to pack. 'But Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was best.'

Mercifully the goodbyes were brief, Mr Weasley anxious that they travel while there was still daylight. Harry exchanged a brief embrace with Ron and a quick assurance that he would be alright, for he knew both Ron and Hermione were going to be worried about him, though not as much as Mrs Weasley who managed to hug him twice before he left. But as if she too knew that this was best done quickly she didn't let it drag out, and hurried Mr Weasley and Harry off down the driveway, waving goodbye.

It was a stroke of fortune that the Knight Bus was empty of other passengers, making it somewhat tolerable when Stan Shunpike loudly exclaimed his name upon seeing him. Though Stan gladly helped with Harry's trunk he was remarkably shyer than he had been the first time Harry rode the Knight Bus, simply directing him and Mr Weasley to the best seats before shirking back down to the front. Throughout the brief journey directly to Surrey he frequently looked around at him, quickly averting his gaze any time Harry or Mr Weasley looked up, and so it was quite a relief when they finally stopped.

The Knight Bus dropped them off at Magnolia Crescent, Mr Weasley mentioning that although Stan and Ernie were harmless there was no need for them to know exactly where Harry would be spending his summer. While he was appreciative of this, he was more appreciative of the short delay their drop off location gave him, and so made no effort to walk at the normal pace he might have otherwise. Seeming to understand Mr Weasley didn't hurry him in the slightest, but rather walked leisurely with his hands in his pockets, admiring the Muggle homes.

'Mr Weasley, can the Ministry detect wandless magic?' Harry asked, trying to keep his voice light hearted.

'Well, it is a little harder to detect, but yes,' he answered, having briefly stopped to watch someone on the roof of their house adjusting the television antennae. He looked at Harry dubiously as they resumed walking, turning right to go down the alleyway that would bring them to Wisteria Walk. 'Been practicing, have you?'

Harry looked at him cautiously. 'Practicing?'

Mr Weasley gave him a knowing smile. 'We've all heard what you managed to do. Knowing you as I do, I suspected it wouldn't be long before you gave it a shot of repeating.'

A little surprised that Mr Weasley had figured him out, and that he wasn't in trouble for it, Harry nodded. He looked around to make sure there were no Muggles about, and then he raised his hand and opened his palm, showing Mr Weasley what he had been practicing all week.

'All in all, not a bad skill to set about learning,' Mr Weasley commented, though he made a point of taking Harry's hand and lowering it, extinguishing the light.

'It's the only thing I can manage,' he said quietly, but before he knew it he was continuing. 'I've been trying all week to do other things, but I can't. Figured I'd keep trying though.'

'Well you know what I'm going to say. You mustn't be practicing it over the summer. If the Ministry catches you at it…I wouldn't be surprised if they were much less understanding than they were of that incident with your Aunt Marge.'

When they turned the corner onto Privet Drive Harry looked at number four dispiritedly, part of him still unable to believe that he would be stuck there again for the entire summer. Mr Weasley seemed to notice his reluctance, for he clasped Harry on the shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His hand lingered there as if he feared he might have to drag him down the drive way.

Before knocking on the front door Harry turned to Mr Weasley to say one last thing while they were still alone. 'Thank you for the other night. At Hogwarts,' he added to clarify. 'I'm glad you were there.'

Mr Weasley looked rather taken aback, having not expected this to be brought up. For a moment he didn't know what to say, and then he gave a short nod, his mouth twisted as if keeping his expression neutral. 'I'm glad I was there too.'

Neither of them needed to say anything more, both understanding what it had meant for Harry that night to have someone there watching out for him when he was so vulnerable. Mr Weasley had done more than protect him from Barty Crouch Junior, he had comforted and reassured him. His presence at Harry's side had been the first real sign that he was safe again.

Without another word Harry knocked on the front door of the Dursley's house. Inside the hall light was on, and when his aunt came to the door he watched her outline in the frosted glass grow larger. The door opened slowly, Aunt Petunia peeking out as though expecting to see Mr Weasley wearing a pointed hat and carrying a broomstick and cauldron. But when she saw they both appeared normal she opened the door wide.

'Hello.'

It was exactly as he had expected - awkward and uncomfortable. He returned his aunt's greeting, looking past her at his uncle who was hastening down the hallway, he too rushing to assess the acceptability of the arrivals.

Uncle Vernon's eyes widened comically when he saw Mr Weasley standing outside, and it was this that brought a sudden memory rushing back to Harry, the day when Mr Weasley had destroyed the Dursley's fireplace after attempting to arrive by Floor. He might have laughed at the memory were it not for the bleakness of his situation.

'Mr and Mrs Dursley, it's a pleasure to see you again. Enjoying the hot weather?'

It was a brave attempt at making conversation, particularly given how poorly their first meeting last summer had ended. Though Harry appreciated the effort, knowing that Mr Weasley would never be anything but polite, he wished he wouldn't bother. Mr Weasley already knew what the Dursley's were like.

Aunt Petunia ignored the small talk. 'Come in then,' she said, standing back and holding the door open wide.

Harry picked up the end of his trunk and took Hedwig's cage, but before he could go inside Mr Weasley embraced him, patting him on the back. 'Take good care of yourself. For our sake, won't you?'

'I will. Thanks Mr Weasley.'

Leaving it at that Harry crossed the threshold and entered his childhood home, giving Mr Weasley what he hoped was a reassuring nod. Satisfied enough, and with nothing left to say Mr Weasley waved goodbye and then started off down the garden path, heading back for the street.

Harry didn't watch him go, but simply closed the front door and then turned to his aunt and uncle, wishing this wasn't so excruciatingly awkward. For a few moments they both just looked at him, and standing closest to him Aunt Petunia was staring at the blood in his right eye. Her gaze moved down to his arm, honing in on the pink scars that crossed his forearm and hand.

'I've just put the kettle on,' Uncle Vernon announced. 'Are you having one?'

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral, on the inside Harry had just about fallen over in shock, for never in his life had his uncle offered him anything but a smack around the head. But there was no doubt the offer was directed at him. It seemed Professor Dumbledore had indeed stopped by to speak to them.

'No, thank you though.'

Relived he had an excuse to do so Uncle Vernon hurried away, having barely looked Harry in the eye. Aunt Petunia on the other hand seemed intent on doing the opposite. She lingered in the threshold with him, looking him up and down while her arms were folded tightly across her chest. There was a strange expression in her eyes, one not normally directed at him. Concern.

'What did they tell you?'

She cleared her throat a little. 'Everything,' she said simply. A beat passed, Aunt Petunia glancing down the hallway towards the kitchen. 'There's pudding in the fridge, if you want some.'

This too was highly unusual, and were it any other occasion Harry might have made a sarcastic joke, questioning whether she was perhaps someone disguised as the real Petunia Dursley. But instead he just shook his head.

'Thanks, but I already ate. I'll just...' he trailed off, gesturing up the stairs.

To his relief the awkwardness quickly ended. Aunt Petunia nodded and then left him to his own devices, looking as relieved as him that it was over. Taking his trunk Harry dragged it up the stairs, grateful that Mr Weasley had cast a weightless charm on it for him.

As he ascended the stairs he took note of a new framed photo of Dudley, one from a boxing match he had apparently won. It seemed the actual Dudley had made a point of not being there when Mr Weasley arrived, not that Harry could blame him after the Ton Tongue Toffee incident, and simply accepting this small win he entered his bedroom. The deadbolt lock and cat flap on the door remained, unlikely to be removed while ever he was expected to live there.

Not a thing in his bedroom had changed in the ten months since he had been here. He doubted anyone had set foot in there except his aunt who would have come in to hoover and dust. Closing the door behind himself Harry dumped his trunk in the centre of the room and put Hedwig's cage on the desk. He opened the window in anticipation of her return from hunting the next morning.

For a few long moments Harry simply stood there in the room and looked around. He couldn't bring himself to lay down on the bed or begin unpacking. It felt like he needed to make a point of not settling in, to maintain the strongly held assertion that this was not his home, that it never would be.

Resigned to his fate Harry sat down on top of his trunk, giving a long, dejected sigh. He ought to fill Hedwig's water dish now rather than later, but even that felt like getting too comfortable here.

It was silent here at Privet Drive, so much so that he couldn't even hear the television downstairs. Wistfully he thought back to just that morning at the Burrow when he sat in the living room reading. At the Burrow the silence felt peaceful, like the calm before the storm of a home full of people going about their lives - Mr Weasley and Percy hurrying off to work, the twins blowing things up, Ron and Ginny arguing over something stupid.

At Privet Drive the silence felt deafening in comparison. It was uncomfortable, the Dursley's home lacking the warmth and comfort of the Burrow. Against his will his mind carried him back to Malfoy Manor, the present silence reminding him overwhelmingly of that cellar. There he had been completely alone, isolated from anyone...it didn't feel so different right now.

It felt foolish to think this way, knowing he was just being melodramatic. But Harry couldn't help but feel no less imprisoned here than he had at Malfoy Manor.