Three excruciatingly dull weeks had passed since Harry's arrival in Privet Drive, where just about the only interesting thing to happen was the sweltering heat wave. Every morning when the Daily Prophet arrived Harry leapt out of bed, paying the delivery owl and then proceeding to torment himself by reading the newspaper.

Without fail he read the Prophet front to back, catching every single article while his heart sank lower and lower in his chest. It was more of the same, the Daily Prophet continuing to ignore what Harry and Dumbledore had reported, while those like Lucius Malfoy flittered about the Ministry like normal. And yet every morning he continued leaping out of bed to receive the next issue, certain that this would be the one where things changed, where tone shifted as people started catching on...but it never did.

Dumbledore's reputation was circling the drain, while Harry's credibility had been completely slaughtered. By now they were both social pariahs, and he wondered if that was why he still hadn't heard a single word from Dumbledore, if that explained why his letters had gone unanswered.

In his lower moments he wondered if Dumbledore was mad at him for some reason, if perhaps he resented Harry for not getting away from Voldemort when he had the chance. If he had, Dumbledore would have known what happened nearly twenty four hours earlier. Maybe that would have made things different.

The situation was exactly how Voldemort must want it, of that Harry had little doubt. If he had to let Harry go free he also had to buy himself some time before his return was discovered. Ensuring that Harry's credibility was ruined and no one believed him would have been of great importance to Voldemort, even though he would know others like Dumbledore would already be working against him.

More than once Harry had read Malfoy's name in the newspaper, catching the announcement of funding for a new St Mungo's wing, or his RSVP to an upcoming Ministry function. Every time he saw Malfoy's name Harry's stomach did a sort of back flip, and he felt humiliated all over again. Humiliated that the Ministry didn't believe him, that Fudge was parading Lucius Malfoy around as though Harry hadn't named him as a Death Eater only weeks ago.

Harry's accusations of Malfoy's torture and his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor hadn't even been mentioned in the newspaper. None of his detailed accusations against the Death Eaters he recognised had been published or mentioned, the Prophet even glossing over it in their article The Boy Who Lies. It was all coming down to Dumbledore, and still no one was willing to listen.

Harry's only source of connection to the outside world were letters from Ron and Hermione, and the occasional one from Mrs Weasley and Sirius too. But none of them possessed any real information, nothing of value other than the standard hope you're well, take care of yourself, or in Sirius's case keep your nose clean. It was rather galling to be told to keep his nose clean from Sirius of all people, and particularly irrelevant given he'd done nothing to warrant such a warning.

Through it all, Harry had few sources of rebellion, and even fewer sources of comfort...but the light he conjured with wandless magic served both needs well. Although at first tentative to take such a risk he had been practicing every single day, enjoying the sense of rebellion and control it brought to him.

By now the light was bright enough to illuminate his entire room, and stayed bright without any additional concentration or effort. Once his Aunt Petunia had come into his room without knocking, and with a hasty flick of the wrist the little ball of light zoomed up into the ceiling light fixture. Aunt Petunia had blinked a little, perhaps thinking she had seen something, but to both their relief she chose not to question it.

There had been no consequences for his wandless magic, no letters from the Ministry warning him about the use of underage magic, though admittedly he hadn't tried anything beyond the conjuring of light. He figured if the Death Eaters hadn't detected that he'd been using wandless magic down in the cellar then the Ministry wouldn't either, but he didn't want to risk trying another spell, for perhaps that might be enough to trigger the trace.

For the first week or so after what happened Harry's memories felt distant and disconnected, like he was an observer to the memories as opposed to having experienced them. Now the memories were coming to him in different ways, each of them stronger and more impactful than the last...yet still confusing. At times it was hard to differentiate between the nightmares he experienced at night and the events that actually happened, confused between reality and what his mind might have made up.

Dreams of this nature continued, taking him to places his mind made up before going straight back to what had actually happened, broken flashbacks of events bothering him night and day. Even when he managed to escape the nightmares of Cedric and Malfoy Manor he had unsettling dreams about dark corridors, all of which finished in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with his current situation of being trapped at the Dursleys.

To pass the days Harry had spent as much time as possible away from the Dursley house. Despite the sweltering summer heat he had been once again familiarising himself with the streets and bus routes of Little Whinging, quickly burning through what little Muggle money he had before sending an order to Gringotts to exchange a little more. Thinking in advance he'd found Hermione a gift for her birthday in September and had been to the cinemas three times, but generally spent most of his time walking the streets or taking the bus around to various areas.

Galavanting the Muggle world was how he was largely passing the time, finding that he was able to blend in with the shoppers and go completely unnoticed. Or, almost completely unnoticed. He had been in Surrey for a few weeks when he noticed something strange, a particular face in the crowd he had seen before that day, and a few days prior.

It didn't immediately strike him as alarming, but when Harry saw the man again he kept an eye out, and to his annoyance saw him twice more. He even tried to lose him, jumping onto a Muggle bus seconds before the door closed and it pulled out, and for the rest of that day Harry felt at ease, confident he had lost him. But three days later he glimpsed him again, his straw coloured hair and square jaw unmistakable.

The day he saw him again Harry felt for sure that he was over reacting, that he was making a big deal over nothing. Wanting a way to be sure he stopped in at a coffee shop and placed an order, taking a seat at the back with the Muggle newspaper and settling in. For a while the man seemed to linger outside, Harry watching him through the window, but soon enough the sweltering heat drove him inside for a cold drink. From the corner of his eye Harry watched as the man lined up with the other Muggles to place an order.

It wasn't a fool proof method, many witches and wizards were comfortable with Muggle money, but not this wizard. He held some coins in his hand, awkwardly counting them out as the cashier waited patiently, but then he deposited them all in her hand with a laugh, thanking her when she gave him back his change. Whoever this person was, they were from Harry's world.

They sat down at a table on the other side of the cafe, far away enough that were it not for the trouble with the Muggle money Harry might have thought he was over reacting after all. But as time passed the man didn't turn the page of the magazine he was reading, and Harry knew his attention was on him. Any time he looked up he was certain the man had just averted his gaze, that they were watching one another in turns.

Who were they? Were they here to spy on The Boy Who Lies? To report back to the Daily Prophet all the deranged and delusional things he was up to over the summer holidays?

There was only one way to figure this out, and so Harry finished his drink and abruptly departed, walking quickly. When he left the coffee shop he looked back, watching as the straw haired man closed his magazine and also prepared to depart, following him.

Despite the confirmation that he was being followed by a strange wizard Harry managed to keep his cool. He didn't think they were a Death Eater...but he'd thought that about Professor Moody too.

By now he knew the streets quite well, and hurried towards the more crowded area where the street markets were held. On the pretence of examining something at a stall he stopped for a moment, looking back the way he had came and catching a glimpse of the man in the distance, still in pursuit.

Setting off again he walked very quickly and then turned left, slipping down a gap between two buildings and setting off at a sprint. When he reached the street on the other side he turned left again and continued running, weaving in and around Muggles who went about their day unhurried and uncaring. In a few minutes he had doubled back on himself and was smiling in satisfaction, for the straw haired man who had been following him was panic-stricken.

From a safe distance he watched as the man looked in shop windows and frantically stopped Muggles in the street. When no one was able to help him he wrung his hands together anxiously, turning around on the spot and wildly looking.

Pleased with his success Harry took off again, but this time in the opposite direction. What he needed now was distance and information, so he jogged a few blocks away before stopping at one of the phone boxes near the bus station.

Mr Weasley had given him the number to the phone he'd connected at the Burrow, and so Harry called. Knowing the phone was in the garage he rang twice, imagining Mr Weasley sprinting across the garden, dodging chickens and stray rubber boots. Indeed when he answered the phone he sounded out breath, his voice distant and muffled until Mr Weasley turned the phone handset around the right way.

'Hello? This is Arthur Weasley, hello?'

For a moment Harry didn't know what to say, taken aback by a surge of relief. It was good to hear a familiar voice again.

'It's me,' he said quickly, glancing up at the street around him to ensure he was still safe. 'Harry.'

'Harry,' breathed Mr Weasley, sounding relieved. 'It's good to hear from you. How are you?'

For a moment Harry considered answering this question, but only for a moment. The truth was difficult to express. 'Is there someone following me?'

There was a long pause, and he could practically feel Mr Weasley holding his breath. 'You saw them.'

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance. 'Was I not supposed to?'

'No. You were meant to remain undisturbed.'

Despite his annoyance he felt relieved. He hadn't gotten the feeling that the man posed him any danger, but it was reassuring to have this confirmed.

'Who are they?'

'Let's see, Saturday...' Mr Weasley pondered, thinking. 'That'll be Sturgis Podmore. He knew your parents from the old days, he's a good man. Though apparently still learning the art of stealth. Harry?' Mr Weasley asked, having not heard him speak for a few moments. 'Please, don't be terribly annoyed with us. It's not about keeping an eye on you. It's about making sure there's someone close by, just in case. Pretend Podmore isn't there at all, keep enjoying your summer.'

Mr Weasley's plea fell on deaf ears after that last comment, for surely he understood that Harry was not enjoying the summer. How could he possibly enjoy the summer after being dumped here completely alone? But he had been silent for too long, and so he forced himself to say something.

'Who else is following me?'

'A couple folks Dumbledore knows and trusts. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt are mainly doing the nights, but there's Diggle and Hestia Jones taking shifts. Elphias Doge, an old friend of Dumbledore's. Bill's back from Egypt, he's put his hand up to help cover.' A pause came to pass, Mr Weasley considering his next words. 'Alastor Moody too.'

'Moody?'

'Yes, though thankfully the real Alastor Moody this time. He's really quite dedicated himself to the task. Seems to be making up for lost time where you're concerned.'

Harry didn't say anything, hating that he was thinking about all that again. He felt sick to his stomach any time he thought about Barty Crouch Junior impersonating his teacher, putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and making sure he got through the tasks. No one could have expected him to know he was being deceived, he had never known the real Moody and even Dumbledore had been fooled...but that really didn't make much of a difference.

'Moody doesn't exactly blend in.'

Mr Weasley chuckled lightly. 'He blends in better than you'd think. He's a retired Auror after all. One of the best.'

'Right.'

Again he looked around at the crowd of Muggles in the street, feeling like he was under a spotlight. This has been going on all summer, ever since his arrival at the Dursleys. What else had he missed that was blindingly obvious?

'Harry, I don't want to rain on your parade,' began Mr Weasley, sounding apologetic already. 'But I must remind you to please, don't go too far from home.'

This comment irked him, just like the one about enjoying the summer. He was done putting on a facade so that the Weasley's wouldn't worry. 'This is not my home,' he said bluntly.

'I know,' Mr Weasley said quietly, sounding sympathetic. 'We're going to have you back as soon as we can, I promise you Harry. Just for now, don't go beyond Surrey.'

Harry held his breath, hating that Mr Weasley had promised him a return to the Burrow. There was no way to guarantee that promise, he had no right to get Harry's hopes up.

'Is that an order?'

'It's not a request,' he said sternly.

'Right.'

'You alright, Harry? Getting along with your cousin?'

He ignored the questions. 'I better go. The last bus is coming.'

It was a blatant lie, and Harry hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Taking pleasure in the way he slammed the handset back into the cradle he didn't linger, instead taking off at a quick walk. His blood felt like it was boiling after the brief conversation with Mr Weasley, annoyed that Dumbledore was having him followed, no doubt something that was set to last the entire summer.

He got on the first bus that was departing the station, and though he watched the streets he didn't catch another glimpse of Podmore, or any others for that matter. It seemed they stepped up the effort to go undetected, for the rest of that day Harry didn't see anyone that might have been tailing him. By the time he made it to Little Whinging that evening he wished he hadn't bothered returning, that he would finally find the guts to dig his heels in and refuse to go back.

Back at Number 4 the Dursleys were as unpleasant as ever, for their initial bout of kindness towards him had only lasted one evening. When he returned there that night he had to endure a prolonged lecture from Uncle Vernon, who threatened to lock him in the garden shed if he ever got back this late again. It was all Harry could do not to argue with him, for Dudley had been home an hour after this time last night, but apparently today was different.

Making off with a faux apology he hurried up to his bedroom and shut himself away for another night, feeling particularly downcast. He knew it would be just another night of laying awake or vivid nightmares, only this time with the thought of being tailed every day looming over him.

Hedwig was sitting on his desk, having been awaiting his return before she would leave to go hunting. He appreciated the thought, but it was difficult to show enthusiasm even to her. His window sill was empty, no letter from Ron, Hermione and Sirius had arrived that day. Another day of nothing.

Right now Hedwig was his only company, and she seemed to have noticed the difference in him lately. She'd been particularly affectionate, chirping at him in conversation and making him play with her more than she usually liked. One morning she had brought a gift for him, a mouse in her beak that turned out to be alive. Indignant with his lack of gratitude she simply sat on the windowsill watching as he pursued the mouse around his room, and she was most displeased when he captured it and set it free in the garden.

Offering her an Owl treat he stroked her feathers for a little while, letting her nip at his fingers before sending her off for the night. As he watched her go he lingered awhile, sitting atop his desk while the sky darkened.

He wondered if he was still being watched even while at Number 4, if Dumbledore had him under surveillance twenty four hours a day. Mr Weasley had said it wasn't about keeping an eye on him, but rather having someone close by lest he need them. Though he trusted the reasoning, he wasn't entirely sure he was pleased by the idea.

Dispirited and apprehensive about going to sleep that night, Harry looked at the hand drawn calendar he'd stuck to the wall by his bed, mentally reciting the timeframes that seemed to haunt his life right now.

Four weeks since it happened.

Three weeks since arriving at the Dursleys. Five weeks left until his return to Hogwarts.

Nothing felt different. Time didn't heal anything.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter of Harry back in Surrey - I know it was bit of a filler, but the next chapter is a little more exciting. Thanks for the reviews, glad most readers have been enjoying the story :-) Cheers everyone.