When he woke up the next morning, Harry was confused to find himself in his room at Privet Drive, fully expecting to take up at Shell Cottage as if the last 48 hours had just been a horrid nightmare. He threw the sheet off of his body since he was sweating profusely – his room was very hot during the summer holidays – and laid there, on his back, considering the multiple courses of action he could take in this time travel hallucination.

He could try to follow the path he had taken last time. If he kept most things the same, he might be able to predict events and prevent a few deaths. He would have to be very careful not to disturb the timeline too much. Could he finish off all of the Horcruxes before Voldemort beckoned him to the Ministry? He could take Voldemort down for good then.

Or he could let the events of fifth-year play out (minus Sirius dying) and only really start to change things the summer before his sixth year. He really did not want him or his friends to go through the war again but without the war, Fudge would stay Minister and the magical world would remain stagnant. He could use the return of Voldemort as a political springboard to try to change things in the government.

Harry lifted his hand to run through his sweaty hair when he felt something…off. Well, the problem was he didn't feel anything. There was no inflamed and raised scar on his forehead. Harry sprang up and ran to the bathroom (thanking Merlin that Vernon had not seen fit to lock him in his room last night), turning so he faced the mirror. What he saw dumbfounded him.

His scar was faded into a faint pink line, looking like he had had it for years and it had healed over. Harry stared at his face in shock, trying to make his brain work again and figure out how this could have happened. And how would he explain this to Dumbledore? Ah yes, the Horcrux, hm, well I got rid of it, Headmaster, no need to worry about it anymore, cheers! Yes, that would go over well.

While he pondered/panicked over this mystery he got ready for the day, pulling on some of his least objectionable hand-me-downs. He wished he could go out and get new clothing, but he didn't have any muggle money on him, and Petunia would never give him money for it….

Unless he decided to play up his Slytherin side that had been sadly neglected for several years now. When he was a kid, he could maneuver around any adult he needed to. He had to learn how to, thanks to the Dursley's loving neglect of his young self. He had tried to mold himself into the hero the magical world desperately wanted – bold and noble and not sneaky in the slightest.

A small smirk grew on his face as he figured out how to get his Aunt to help him with this. Harry quickly left his sweltering room in his baggy jeans and shirt and headed downstairs to quietly help Aunt Petunia cook breakfast. She gave him an odd look when he came down to help without being asked but allowed him to cook the bacon and eggs as he had done so many times before. He stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes, while the Dursleys ate breakfast. It was a weekday, so Vernon went off to work and Dudley went off to terrorize that little ten-year-old Mark Evans and other kids in the neighborhood. And they called him a delinquent.

After the two larger humans left the house, Harry took a deep breath, trying to call on that infuriating serene calm that always surrounded Albus Dumbledore. "Aunt Petunia?" he asked in a level tone.

She spun around from where she was writing something at the kitchen table and asked, "What, boy, what do you want?"

"Well…I heard some of the neighbors talking while I was out walking yesterday and…." Harry trailed off, watching as his Aunt's face took on her familiar I-smell-blood-in-the-water gossiping face.

"Yes, what, boy, what did you hear?" she demanded.

"They were talking about…Uncle Vernon, actually Aunt Petunia. They said that he must not make much money since I was always wearing Dudley's clothes that didn't fit me and that he must have been demoted at the company…."

Aunt Petunia's face paled dramatically as she thought about the other wives talking badly about her Vernon but she rallied herself quickly. "So, what do you want me to do about that? You pay for all of your school things, don't you? Buy yourself some clothes."

"Well, you see Aunt Petunia, I don't have any mu- er, normal people money with me. I could get some later but then people in that world would see me and they might follow me back here." Harry said.

And there it was. Petunia's sour lemon face. She snarled at him when he said that, but she reached for her pocketbook anyway, digging out the large amounts of pounds she apparently kept in there. "You're going to pay me back boy. And tell me if you hear anyone else talking badly about Vernon, you hear me?"

Harry nodded deferentially, "Yes, of course, Aunt Petunia!" He took the money she gave him before dashing up to his room to grab his invisibility cloak and shove his wand into his pocket. He hoped Mad-Eye wasn't on guard duty since he could see through the cloak with that eye of his. He snuck out the back door of the house so that the door would not be seen opening and threw the invisibility cloak over his head. He edged around the side of the house and walked slowly out onto the sidewalk. No one came out to yell at him so far….

Just as he thought he was home free, he tripped over something by the trash bins, going sprawling onto the pavement. It was pure luck that he remained covered by the cloak. He looked back to see what he had tripped over and saw the disembodied head of Mundungus Fletcher lying there. He must have pulled the invisibility cloak off his head when he tripped. Mundungus was clearly intoxicated again and did not even wake up with the kick to the face he had been given by the tripping.

Those morons, Harry thought, he literally just abandoned his post yesterday. Why did they send him back here? He decided to think about this later and to thank his lucky stars for now. He headed to the closest bus station, hoping to catch one to the nearest shopping center. He remembered the letter telling him not to leave the house but honestly, what the Order didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Xxx

Harry got back from his shopping extravaganza with a lot of new clothes, a haircut, and a girl's number in his pocket. He felt better than he had in weeks. Sure, Voldemort was out there, but he was laying low right now and it was refreshing not to be 100% on his guard. And to have real clothes that actually fit him so that he didn't look like he was drowning in grey rags. He would have to convince someone in the Order to let him go get robes before his hearing… maybe Tonks would take him…

Harry meandered back to 4 Privet Drive from the bus station. He stopped at an overpass and threw his invisibility cloak over himself. It was much more difficult to use now that he had shopping bags that he couldn't shrink but he somehow managed. No Order member jumped out to yell at him when he got back to his street, so he seemed to be in the clear. Just to be safe, he sneaked back around the house and entered through the back door again, before heading up to his cell and dropping all of his bags. He lay back on his bed, exhausted.

He had noticed throughout the day that his head seemed remarkably clear. Apparently, without the link to Voldemort, he could keep his thoughts more stable and he wasn't as prone to flying off the handle. That would be very beneficial when dealing with Umbridge. Had the Horcrux been making his brain fuzzy? It seemed to have been amplifying his negative emotions, never allowing him to calm down. No wonder Tom was so absolutely insane now, cutting your soul into pieces or harboring a small piece caused very terrible things to happen to you. It was a relief to be alone in his mind and to be able to think clearly for once.

Xxx

For the next few days, Harry stayed in his room and out of the way of the Dursleys. When he did run into them for food or in the hallway, he again adapted his Dumbledorian serenity which seemed to unnerve them. While he was stuck at Privet Drive, he took everything out of his trunk to make room for his new clothes. Apparently, he had not cleaned out his trunk before because the bottom was covered in detritus – broken quills, parchment scraps, candy wrappers. A graveyard of essays also greeted him at the bottom. He took his time emptying out the trash and useless things and reloaded the truck with his new clothes and everything he still needed. The rest of his time he spent skimming through fourth-year books and letters from the current summer. He wanted to refresh his mind so that he didn't blurt out sixth-year spells or talk about a dream from Voldemort he hadn't had yet.

When the Order came to get him on the fourth night after the dementor attack, he was ready. His relatives had left the house for their Suburban Lawn Competition and he lay in his bed, trunk packed, twirling his wand like a teenage Tom Riddle. (He hated Voldemort, but damn was he suave and charming at that age). He heard the crash from the kitchen, just like last time.

Harry lifted himself quietly to his feet and stepped towards his door. He slowly turned the knob, letting the latch quietly open. He crept down the hallway towards the stairs while trying to mimic Snape's silent gliding. He stepped down the stairs, avoiding the fifth one because it squeaked, and made his way quietly to the kitchen. He moved to stand behind Tonks, raised his wand, and loudly said "Who the hell are you people?"

The Order whirled around, wands out in a flash, as they turned to find the source of his voice. Their faces registered their shock when they saw that a 15-year-old boy had snuck up behind them.

"Aye lad, we've come to take you away from here" Mad-Eye Moody growled out, his fake eye spinning wildly.

"Moody?" he asked, trying to convey shock, "What are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore asked us to come and get you."

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said from next to Moody, "it's alright, you can put your wand away."

Harry gave Remus a wry grin, "What did you have in your office the first time I came for tea?"

Mad-Eye looked approving at this course of action. Lupin responded with a sad smile, "A grindylow."

"Yes, now ask Potter something only he would know. I'm not bringing a death eater in disguise back to headquarters" Moody said.

"What did I say when you told me that your boggart was a dementor?" Remus asked him.

"That fearing fear itself was very wise of me."

Harry and Remus both lowered their wands and then Harry shocked him by crossing the kitchen and hugging him tightly. "Hello, Moony," he whispered in Remus's ear. He felt Lupin tense initially and then hug him back just as tightly.

"Hello, Little Prongs," he whispered back.

"Yes, yes, this is all very nice, but we have to get a move on Lupin! Are you all packed Potter?" Moody asked.

Harry nodded and turned to head upstairs and get his things. Tonks came with him like she did last time and helped him to carry his trunk back down the stairs. She went down first and Harry stared at her pink hair from above. He had grown his hair back when his Aunt had practically shaved his head as a kid...did he have some metamorphagus talent? He shook his head to focus on the current moment, planning to think on that more later.

When he got back downstairs, the others quickly introduced themselves as they had last time. There was Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones. Just as before, Mad-Eye disillusioned him, and they all took off on brooms to fly to London. Harry remembered the last time he had flown with the Order and he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at Moody frequently to ensure he was still alive. The whole journey was spent with him keeping a white-knuckled grip on his broom as he fought to remind himself of the here and now. He was glad he was disillusioned so no one could see his facial expressions as he fought to keep himself calm.

Finally, they landed in a small square. Harry was only vaguely surprised that he could still see through the Fidelius, which brought about all sorts of interesting theories like whether the Fidelius was linked to your soul and he had brought the secret back with him….

Anyway, he pretended to be suitably shocked when he was shown the secret and he was led into Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was dirtier than he remembered, the dust swirling in the air of the entryway. But there was something there that he hadn't felt last time, something he had only started to sense in the last year on the run. Magic. It permeated every room in the house. The dark magic of the Blacks lived and breathed in every niche. It wasn't as strong as it should be, he thought, it had been neglected for years since Walburga died and Kreacher had not done his duties since then. But it was there, and his shoulders relaxed subconsciously when he was once again breathing in magic.

And then Molly Weasley was there and suffocating him and exclaiming how good it was to see him. When Mrs. Weasley tried to hold him back from following the others into the meeting, he ducked under her arm and strode towards the kitchen door. He pushed it open after the others had gone through, his eyes searching the room quickly and –

There he was. Sirius. He didn't realize he had breathed his name out loud until Sirius looked up and his eyes found him standing across the room. He stood from his chair quickly, wood scratching, and rounded the table quickly, pulling him into a warm hug.

"Harry," he said, "you're here." He pulled back to look at him, peering into his eyes. "I've missed you so much, Bambi."

Harry didn't care if Sirius had just called him after a child's woodland animal because he was here and living and breathing and alive. Harry smiled so hard he felt his cheeks ache and hugged Sirius again.

He heard someone clear their throat from over his shoulder and glanced back to see Molly Weasley, hands on her hips. "Your friends are upstairs Harry, you should go see them," she told him while glaring at Sirius.

Harry turned, Sirius, keeping his arm around his shoulders, and faced Mrs. Weasley. He again reached for the calm he had unnerved the Dursley's with. "I'd like to know what is going on first, Mrs. Weasley. I haven't heard anything for weeks since I was left at my relatives' house," he told her.

"Harry, my boy, there's no need to worry, you can go see your friends."

Ah. Harry knew that voice. He turned from Mrs. Weasley to see Dumbledore twinkling his eyes at the head of the table. Of course, he didn't look Harry in the eyes. He did, however, look at his forehead. And Harry got the pleasure of seeing Albus Dumbledore be utterly and completely shocked.