Sorry this is so short, people. I'm in China, I'm tired, and if I don't freakin' upload now I'm gonna snap.

Right. Enjoy. :-P
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The box would not unlock.

It was an old-fashioned, brass lock; a smaller version of the keyhole spies used to listen through a century ago. It was not Charmed, so far as Harry could tell, but he certainly knew that it was cursed. He had directed more swear words at it under his breath at two in the morning than he had ever used before in his life. Because the "...damn thing!" would not give, no matter how he jimmied with the hair pin. After nearly an hour, when the lock began blurring before his eyes, Harry gave up and simply gazed at his mother's name for what felt like a long time. He raised the box to his ear and shook it. At first, he could hear nothing, and was seized by an irrationally strong fear that it was empty. Then, listening desperately, he heard the faint rustle of parchments.

Excitement and relief were overshadowed by a burning curiousity. Harry gave it one last shake. "Damn it!" He raised his head. The living room clock said two-ten. He frowned. He would need at least some rest, if not sleep, for the morning. He trudged back up the stairs with the box, barely noticing that Dudley had stopped snoring. After a moment, he relunctantly slid the box under his bed before climbing into it and closing bleary eyes.

****

Two owls flew under the cover of darkness into the trees of Ireland. They flitted nervously from branch to branch, touching the night air with the ruffle of their wings and the occasional soft, low hoot. A terse hush followed. It was broken by the appearance of a man-shaped shadow, so sudden and silent that it seemed to have winked into existence. The owls fluttered down to land on an outstretched arm. As soon as the man had finished untying the messages attached to their legs they took to the air, eager to leave, as though they too could sense the charge in the atmosphere.

Sirius Black whipped the invisibility cloak about himself once again and stole back to the very edge of the trees that surrounded Deirdre's Grove. He stopped just short of his post. "Lumos," he whispered. By the light of his wand he could study the two envelopes in his hand. Both were unmarked, but one was clean and crisp, as though it had never been flown many kilometers over the ocean, while the second was torn and weather-stained. Black tucked the ragged one into his robes, then continued on.

He came upon Remus Lupin, sitting in the undergrowth and facing the clearing, using a leafy bush for concealment. His arms were wrapped about his too-thin torso, not because of cold, but as an effort to stay awake. Sirius crouched down beside him. "News," he murmured.

Lupin looked over without surprise as Black revealed himself. "From who?" he replied, whispering more out of habit than any real fear of being discovered.

"Dumbledore." He handed the letter to his friend, tossing the cloak aside. Remus took it and began to open it after a cursory examination. Sirius watched. Remus was haggard and exhausted, and looked even more so with the moonlight falling across his features. An icy finger dragged down Black's spine. He looked upwards over his shoulder with unease. The moon was but a waxing crescent, but it was still waxing. Sirius glanced back at the other, concerned to the point of anguish. Ever since what had happened in the Alps, something no one ever talked about, Lupin's transformations had become an ordeal surpassed only by the days before the Wolfsbane potion. The werewolf would return to his human form in near hysteria, always shaking, sometimes whimpering, often weeping. Even in the days farthest from the full moon, Remus was quiet and withdrawn at best; his eyes were hollow and he moved as though he expected a blow at any moment.

Sirius couldn't stand it. Every nervous twitch, every sign of self-loathing in the bowed shoulders, was a reminder of how he had upset yet another touchy mission and forced another to pay the consequences.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured, studying his friend's profile. "I'll take this shift."

Lupin stiffened. His hands fisted in the parchment.

"...Remus?" Lupin looked up at him, then back down to the letter. His expression contorted into something unreadable. "What is it?" he hissed, snatching the letter from him.

The mark of the Order had already been done away with, laying bare to the moonlight Dumbledore's thin, flowing hand:

A new development has arisen. Voldemort is no longer an immediate concern for the time being. Come home, Sirius.

Sirius stared at the words for what felt like a long time, uncomprehending. Then his entire body went weak. He heard himself choking on disbelief as though through a wall of water. "...Oh God. Oh, God."

Beside him, Remus let out a sob of relief.

****

"Well, look who finally decided to get up."

"Good morning, Uncle Vernon," said Harry evenly as he sat down at the table, matching the older man's sneer with a frigidness that surprised even himself. His cold tone seemed to knock his uncle off balance; he made no comment as Harry started in on his egg and cold water. He chewed determinedly, trying hard to ignore the tiredness behind his eyelids. This will keep me in better shape for Quidditch next year, he thought, sickeningly optimistic and knowing it.

"Hey," shouted Dudley suddenly, pointing at Harry's plate, "he's got a bigger egg than me!"

That's because you've eaten half of yours, you dolt, thought Harry, sizing Dudley up from the corner of his eye. His cousin, despite the grueling diet and all of the exercise he no doubt got out of his Smeltings stick at school, had lost no weight as far as he could see. He was still the size of a small orca. Even so, his parents exclaimed almost daily over how Dudley was becoming so much thinner. Harry suppressed a smile. He supposed it would be simply cruel to tell them about the stash of food their son had hidden in his room.

"Dudley, sweetums," began Aunt Petunia in that voice, turning from the stove.

"No, it's all right." Harry wasn't entirely sure that he had kept all of his smirk from his voice, but he was too amused to be worried. He pushed the plate to Dudley indifferently. "He can have it."

Dudley stared at the extra egg, then looked up at Harry with a suspicious glare. Harry gazed back into his piggy eyes mildly. That's right, you hog, gobble it up. It's just too bad you won't sprout a tail this time...my God, is that a fourth chin?

"Now just a moment," roared Uncle Vernon, "Just what have you done to that egg, boy?!"

Harry was debating whether or not to reply very sweetly that he was not allowed to use magic (with great emphasis on the "M" word) over summer vacation when Dudley decided that running the risk of a ten ton tongue was worth an extra morsel of food. He wolfed it down in five seconds.

"Dudleykins!" gasped Aunt Petunia, horrified.

"Discipline, my boy, discipline!" Uncle Vernon turned on Harry. "So now you're trying to sabotage his diet, are you? After all we've done for you, your ungrateful little--"

Harry resisted the urge the roll his eyes. Instead he leaned back into his chair, feeling his face fall into a bored expression, and glanced at the clock. "Uncle Vernon, you'll be late for church."

The beefy man stopped in mid-rant, his red face going even redder as he twisted his neck (or what there was of it) to check the time. Then he pushed back from the table as though it had caught fire or chanted an incantation. "Dudley," he barked, "go clean up and get yourself decent. You," he pointed a thick finger at Harry, "I will deal with you later."

Dudley smirked at Harry as his mother came up behind him and looked down her nose with severe distaste at her nephew. Harry turned his back and silently cleared the table, blocking out the frantic bustle around the house. When the door had closed behind the last of his relatives, he went upstairs and watched from his window as the Dursleys tore off in their loud, fancy car. How religious of you, Uncle Vernon.

Suddenly, in his mind's eye, the fading car left the ground and flew through the air, through the night, with laughter ringing in his ears and wind blowing through his hair.

The memory was sharp and painful, yet it seemed to Harry that he recalled it from across a desert of heat waves. Even now, he could hardly equate himself with the skinny, carefree boy that had flowing so recklessly into his second year at Hogwarts. A frown knitted his brows. No, he had never been entirely carefree, not when compared to others his age. Harry sighed, rubbing at his temples, then turned and sank down onto his bed. He glanced up at the clock, which read 9:30. The Dursleys would be back in about two hours. He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a wrinkled and worn piece of parchment. It was the last letter he had received and replied to from Laura Ranone since vacation had started. Even though he had fairly memorized it, he read it over once more to make sure that he had its instructions correct.

Mr. Potter,

I have decided against arranging for a Portkey near your home. Your Headmaster has explained to me in detail the difficulties your guardians' position regarding the magical world may pose in the face of your participation in the trial. Rest assured that any that arise will be dealt with.

In place of the Portkey, please follow the enclosed directions to the Neo Café. The walk is not far. I will meet you there on Sunday, June 5th, at 10:15 am.

Come alone.

Sincerely,
Laura Ranone

The Neo Café. Harry knew where it was; a walk of less than ten minutes. It struck him odd that Laura Ranone would want to meet in a Muggle locale, rather than a place where one could take advantage of all the conveniences of magic. At the same time, it was comforting that they would be in a public, safe place. Still, the last line in her letter made him apprehensive. It served as a genuine reason to take his invisibility cloak and fly to the café several minutes early. He rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. His reflection stared back at him; a gaunt face with shadows beneath his eyes, just heavy enough to be noticeable. He ran his hand through his unruly black hair and checked to make sure that his clothes were presentable. It was a new impulse, and he almost felt silly for it. Well, he reasoned to himself, I am going to meet a lawyer.

Harry walked out into the hallway and halfway done the stairs before freezing, hand on the railing. He had plenty of time to spare. He could go back into his room and try to pick the lock on that box again. Or he could write a quick letter to Sirius, or perhaps Dumbledore. A moment later he remembered that if he valued Sirius's life, he wouldn't recklessly contact him. A sudden gut feeling warned him very strongly against writing the Headmaster. It was a sensation that nearly overwhelmed him, leaving him disoriented and disturbed. He took in a breath that was sharper than usual and glanced back up the stairs.

It was just the lack of sleep. I'm just going crazy, he thought, continuing down to the foyer. He wasn't sure which was more frustrating, the fact that Albus Dumbledore could not be implicitly trusted, or the fact that if he could only get away with magic over the summer, he could have that box open in two seconds.

"Rysk," he muttered to himself.

But would Hedwig even be able to find her? He had never sent her to America, so far as he knew. Harry shook his head sharply when he realized that he had been staring at the empty air. He purposefully strode to the cupboard under the stairs (which he had left unlocked from last night) and pulled it open, locking his mind into a grim, narrow set.

He was going to meet Laura Ranone. He had questions about Ron and his family. And by God, he was going to get answers.