Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this chapter, or in the Harry Potter series. All of the characters are property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, her managers, publishers, etc. I do not claim any credit for this wonderful series of books, nor do I make any profit out of this fiction that I write. It is all for personal enjoyment.

"Harry…er…good morning," Uncle Vernon said awkwardly as Harry pushed through the door that lead into the kitchen.

"Good morning," Harry said coolly. He smiled inwardly as he saw Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley all sitting together as they had every morning Harry could remember around the round table located in the kitchen. He knew what was coming next.

"Uh, yes. Well, I've um, been noticing lately," Vernon stuttered, and then, as an afterthought added on "my boy" as if this morning, he had somehow transformed into a father-figure who was going to have a nice chat with Harry about the birds and the bees. "Um, well…where was I?" He asked.

"You've been noticing something…?"

"Ah, right. Well, or actually, I guess I should say I haven't been noticing something. Owls, that it. What I mean to be saying is, I haven't been noticing any owls lately and was just wondering whether or not you're still keeping in touch with your…friends?" Harry almost snorted. This was Uncle Vernon's round-about-way of making sure Harry had been writing to the Order. Uncle Vernon had always been scared of how wizards could ruin his reputation amongst his neighbors, but after Moody's threat at the end of last term, his worries had only escalated, and he had made sure, in his own way, that Harry had kept in contact with the Order.

"Yeah, I've been in contact with them," Harry said, "more or less."

Aunt Petunia and Dudley momentarily forgot to pretend to read their magazines (The Star and Maxim, respectively) and their head's shot up to look at Harry's face.

Uncle Vernon gagged on his eggs. "More or less?" he said sweetly.

"Yep," Harry said, opening the refrigerator to look for milk to pour into his bowl filled with cereal. "I think I sent one the other day. Or maybe it was a few days ago," Harry looked sidelong at Dudley's mouth which was opening wider and wider, while his eyes where coming close to popping out of his head. Harry waved his hand in the air, "Oh, the days do go by so quickly, don't they Dudley? I can't seem to keep track of how often I send an owl these days. Maybe I'll send one tomorrow –"

"NO!" They all said in unison, and then Aunt Petunia who recovered most quickly said, "How about you send one today?"

"Right now?" Dudley chimed in, food spurting out of his mouth.

"Hmm, maybe," Harry said nonchalantly then grabbed his breakfast, turned, and walked out of the kitchen. He enjoyed making them squirm, the idea of his magical "friends" was the only thing Harry had that threatened the Dursleys and prevented them from throwing Harry back under the stairs. The Dursleys knew he couldn't practice magic because he was an underage wizard, but they also knew that he had many contacts who didn't have such restrictions. 

Harry walked into the sitting room and sat down in Uncle Vernon's favorite over-stuffed chair. He casually ate his breakfast while thinking about the Order and staring at his pajama bottoms.

The Order of the Phoenix.

This was a group of of-age wizards who joined together, despite personality differences (Harry thought of Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus) and moral differences (Harry thought of Snape…and well everyone), to fight Voldemort and his followers. The group's headquarters was located at 12 Grimmauld Place in London, which had been Sirius' house when he was a child. A shot of pain ripped through Harry at the memory of his deceased godfather; Harry paused for a second before he continued to think of the Order. Every wizard that Harry had respected was a member of the group, from Mr. Weasley, to Lupin, and Dumbledore, to the infamous Mundungus. 

Last summer he had gone to 12 Grimmauld Place because he got into a bit of trouble with the Ministry of Magic. There he met up with Ron, Hermione…and Sirius. Both Ron (and all of the Weasley's) and Hermione were staying at the headquarters this summer as well. They were doing their part to help the cause, while Harry was stuck at number four Pivet Drive. Last summer he had resented this, this summer, Harry was thankful for it.

While still considering his feelings toward the Order, a loud "Eeek" swept through the house. Startled, Harry looked around the room to see where the noise had come from. Was the TV on? He then heard another noise, this one quite loud from upstairs: a crashing of metals and wood. Harry understood, but before he could run upstairs to quiet the racket, he heard one more thing.

"OWL!" Uncle Vernon's voiced screamed. Harry begrudgingly clamored off of the comfortable chair, ran to the staircase, then up the stairs. There was no doubt in his mind who this owl was; there was only one who could make a mess of as simple a thing as delivering a letter. Pig.

Turning the corner to his room, Harry saw through the open door that he was correct. Indeed, Ron Weasley's owl named Pig was flapping about in Harry's room, making a mess of the top of his dresser and nightstand. "Pig!" Harry screamed, "calm down, will you? You're going to disturb the neighbors -," but Harry stopped before he finished his sentence because it was oddly reminiscent of something Uncle Vernon would say. Instead, he grabbed the owl's body, gently tried to quiet him, and also muffle Pig's screams with his school scarf that had been nearby. His efforts failed – miserably.

"Can you quiet that?" Harry looked over to see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia standing in Harry's open doorway looking as if they were trying to conceal great amounts of worry and anger.

"I'm trying, he's just a little out-of-sorts." Harry had succeeded in quieting the bird, but was still having problems holding on to his wings, which had escaped his grasp and were flapping widely about. Pig was a small owl, whom always had trouble delivering messages a great distance away from where they were sent. However, the Weasley's were poor and he was all they could afford.

"Are you sure he's alright?" Aunt Petunia asked, staring at the bird and Harry, watching their fight for dominance.

"Are you sure he's not possessed by that Voldy-man?" Uncle Vernon said, trying to inject some wit. He failed.

"Voldemort," Harry corrected, not failing to see the grimace Aunt Petunia gave at hearing the name of the Dark Lord. Most wizards flinch at hearing his name, it is an unspoken word. They usually refer to Voldemort as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," or "You-Know-Who." But for a muggle (a non-magical being) to react as Aunt Petunia did was very odd. Harry often wondered whether she knew more about her sister Lily's life than she let on. He had to push these thoughts to the back of his head however, because Pig was still flailing about horrifically.

Putting one hand on Pig's left side, and the other on his right, Harry was able to capture both wings and forcibly control them. He brought the wings down to the owl's sides and waited for Pig to realize he had lost the fight and calm down. Harry looked up at the Dursleys who were still watching from his doorway. As if realizing that they could say or do no more, they suddenly straightened up, turned, and walked back towards the stairwell. Harry looked down at Pig who was now acting almost owl-ish again and wondered if he could set him down safely. Looking around his room (which resembled one that had just had a large extra-clumsy troll pass through), Harry's eyes settled on Hedwig's empty cage.

Hedwig was Harry's snow owl. He had gotten her on his first trip to Diagon Alley just after he discovered he was a wizard. Harry had sent her to deliver a letter to Ron two days ago, and she still hadn't returned. This was unusual for an owl as loyal as Hedwig, but Harry wasn't worried. For one thing, he hadn't been using her half as much as he normally would have (even considering that during the summer he rarely needed her in the first place). And for another, he suspected she was busy with her own social life…Harry had always wondered how baby owls were made, and he jokingly pondered whether or not he would ask her the question next time she came home. Hedwig always came home, so Harry wasn't worried.

Snapping out of his thoughts about Hedwig, Harry walked over to his owl's cage and opened the clasp. He then tried to gingerly place the small owl into it, but ended up stuffing him in the cage when Pig, seeing his chances for freedom slipping away, started acting up again. Closing the cage, and locking the clasp, Harry looked at Pig's leg, expecting to see a letter that had been tied to it for delivery. However, he saw none. Why would Pig have been sent without a letter? Harry scanned the room to see if the owl's delivery had been dropped in his strange struggle, and was rewarded to find a small envelope near the foot of his bed. "Harry Potter" was printed on the front of the envelope in Hermione's neat handwriting. It's for me then, Harry thought, and then nearly slapped himself. Who else would it be for? Harry opened the letter and read:

Harry,

I've had to send this letter with Pig because all of the other owls are busy running various errands for the Order. "Confidential Business" of course. No new news from this front, if you're at all interested to know, but I doubt you are, Harry. That is what I am writing you about.

Ron and I (though he won't admit it) have been concerned that you have become less than happy where you are. Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and Moody all think it's because the Dursley's are treating you badly, but we're a little less convinced. Harry, to be brutally honest, you were shutting all of us out last year, which was understandable considering…well, how Cedric died, but his death wasn't your fault. No matter what the reason though, Ron and I still felt hurt. You could have talked to us about it, or told us how you were feeling. Anything would have been easier for us than to see our friend fall farther and farther away…

Neither of us can imagine what you must feel now, after watching Sirius fall. We can only say we're sorry, and we miss him too. He was a great man, Harry, too many like him have been lost in the world.

We've all been reading the letters you send us, and they are very vague and unconvincing. It can't be easy for you right now, Harry, but I'm convinced that talking to friends will help - it's what we've been doing over at headquarters.

Sincerely, your friends,

Hermione and Ron.

P.S. George and Fred keep us updated on what's happening in the meetings that the Order have weekly, and they've mentioned to us that Ms. Figg reported that she rarely sees you outside. Get out of the house Harry!

Harry read through the letter twice. He wasn't sure whether to hate Hermione for assuming that it was within her right to write such a bold letter, or to cry because she was right and he was pushing them all away. Slowly, Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, and reread the letter once more. He was a great man, Harry, she had written. It can't be easy for you…Harry stood and walked over to his desk. He opened the middle drawer which held some parchment and pens and got one of each out. He sat, and began writing.

Hermione and Ron,

I am fine. I need to deal with the issues with myself before I go throwing them on someone else's shoulders. And, no, that won't "lighten the load" on my shoulders…not yet, anyways. I'm sorry for pushing you away and hurting you, it's just hard for me right now. I'll talk when I'm ready, but I'm not ready yet. See you in two weeks,

Harry

The letter was short, and Harry knew it wouldn't satisfy Hermione's feelings, but it would have to do. He didn't want to hurt anyone – he had already done enough hurting – but he wasn't ready to open up yet. He imagined the time would come. Reading back over his letter, the last sentence struck him. See you in two weeks. In two weeks, school would be starting again. The summer holidays had flown by quickly.

While opening Hedwig's cage, grabbing Pig's leg, and tying the letter onto it, it occurred to Harry that he had no idea how he was going to get all of his school supplies before he had to return to Hogwarts, he hadn't even gotten his letter detailing all of the new books he would need to buy for his sixth year! Harry decided he would need to ask the Dursley's to give him a ride to London, where he could get to Diagon Alley and purchase his new equipment. They would need to drive him to the train depot where the Hogwarts Express departed for school as well.

Harry pushed the small owl (who was behaving much more normally) out of his window and watched as the bird flew toward its destination. Harry felt surprised at how excited he was that school would be starting soon. He had been dreading it for most of the summer, but now he wanted the change in scenery.

With new thoughts of happiness in his head, Harry left his room and walked down stairs, and out the door, leaving the number four Pivet Drive house behind, for the first occasion in a very long time.

The next day, Harry once again walked down the stairs and headed to the kitchen to get some breakfast. What he was really craving was a nice glass of warm butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, but some pancakes and milk would suffice. He could already smell the aroma of fresh hotcakes.

Opening the kitchen door Harry saw Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley sitting as they always were around the table. "Good morning," he said.

All three Dursley's stared at him, Harry didn't bother to say anything else. He was happier today than he had been any other day this summer. The letter from Hermione had succeeded in lifting his spirits considerably. He had friends…

Harry grabbed a plate from the cupboard above the sink and careful chose which pancakes he wanted to eat from the stack laying on a hotplate.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat, "Harry, Petunia, Dudley and I are going on a trip to Ireland next week," he announced. "I might get a promotion. You won't be coming."

Harry looked at Vernon, stunned. The Dursley's couldn't leave next week! He needed a ride to London so he could go to Diagon Alley, and he also needed to get to the train station so he could board the Hogwarts Express

 "But if I stay here," Harry said, "I won't be able to get to Diagon Alley or the train station. How will I get to Hogwa - er, I mean my school?"

"We've taken care of that, boy."

"How?"

Uncle Vernon eyed Aunt Petunia suspiciously, "Your Aunt was able to contact one of your friends last night. And by "friends," you know what I mean, of course. He said he'd take care of everything, although he wasn't too keen on us leaving. Your lot threatens a man, and then they beg him to take care of their "hero child." Why can't they just take the boy, I ask myself…" but then Uncle Vernon trailed off into mumbles.

"Who? Who's going to take care of me?" When Uncle Vernon, still thinking about the complexities and rudeness of wizard behavior, didn't answer he turned to Aunt Petunia. "Who did you contact?"

Aunt Petunia was a very bony woman who had very long fingers and a horse-like face. "A man," she answered, still looking at her plate. Harry was about to ask for more information when she looked up suddenly and said, "I heard my sister speak of him once."

Harry's heart came to a halt. This was only the third time Harry could ever remember Aunt Petunia speaking of her sister, his mom, and it was most assuredly the only time she had spoke of her with a touch of something in her voice….was it regret? Love? No, Harry thought, probably just some piece of pancake that got caught in her throat.

Harry didn't know what to say. He wasn't much hungry anymore, so he left his plate of half-cut pancakes on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

"He's picking you up tonight," he heard Aunt Petunia whisper as the door shut behind him.

Harry listened from his room as the clock downstairs chimed nine-o'clock PM. It was night. Who was picking him up?

While packing his things into a trunk that day (which would have taken about two minutes if it had been legal to use magic during the summer holidays), Harry wondered who the mysterious man would be. If Harry could have chosen anyone it would have been Sirius, but Sirius was dead now. He was sure that if still alive, Sirius would have come flying gallantly through the front door on a broom stick, grabbed Harry and his luggage and then would have flown right back out the door and into the night sky, leaving the Dursley's behind hiding wimpishly in separate corners of the house.

But Sirius was dead, and dead men can't fly on broomsticks. Harry supposed his new watcher would be Moody or Shacklebolt, someone like that.

Harry sat in his desk chair, and then he sat on his bed, and then he rechecked his luggage, and then rechecked it again. He looked under his bed to make sure he hadn't left anything of interest under it, and then he passed by a mirror and started to examined himself.

He had the same hair that his father had: unruly and black. He was skinny and tall, but Harry noticed that his shoulders had broadened a little and he no longer looked scrawny. People who had known his father often commented that Harry resembled James almost perfectly, except for his eyes. James had had brown, but Harry had his mother's striking green eyes. His eyes peered at him through the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. Slowly, his gaze traveled up to his forehead, where Harry's most distinguishing feature sat. The lightening bolt shaped mark that had been scarred onto Harry's head the night that Voldemort had tried to kill him. Harry pushed the hair on his head down over his forehead to try to cover the scar. He was unsuccessful. Thanks for the genes, dad.

The doorbell rang, and Harry jumped. He grabbed his luggage and ran downstairs. Whoever was at the door was here to pick him up and take him away, he was sure of it. He managed to successfully reach the last step when Aunt Petunia opened the door.

"Come in," he heard her say.

 "Quickly" Uncle Vernon added, entering the room and looking out the window, darting his head from side to side, looking for nosy neighbors.

"Yes, of course," came a man's voice. Harry knew the voice, but the wizard that stepped into the light of the Dursley home wasn't whom he had expected.

Remus Lupin. Harry slapped himself mentally for not guessing that this was the wizard Aunt Lupin had written to. Lupin was the most obvious choice.

Lupin's eyes landed directly on Harry who was still standing at the bottom of the staircase. He smiled broadly, which brought a youthful glow to the wizards prematurely-aged face. Remus Lupin had been one of his father's most close friends. He, Sirius, Peter Pettigrew and James had all attended Hogwarts together and had had quite the reputation around school; they were funny, popular, smart, and (Harry remembered cynically) a little arrogant. Lupin had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in Harry's third year, which was undoubtedly his favorite in that subject. Lupin had been wise and funny, good natured and willing to teach, but had resigned from the position because it was discovered that he was a werewolf. Most parents didn't want a werewolf teaching their children, even if his condition was under control – most of the time.

Now that Sirius was dead, Lupin was Harry's closest and last link to his father. And amongst the joy of seeing Harry again in Lupin's eyes, Harry was also quite sure he saw the look of mourning as well. Lupin had lost his last best friend in Sirius, just as Harry had lost his godfather.

"Harry," Lupin said walking over to him, "it's good to see you, my boy."

Harry and Lupin embraced, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon  looked on awkwardly.

"Lupin," Harry said, suddenly feeling the need to closely control his voice, the last thing he needed was to sound weepy. "It's good to see you too."

Lupin let Harry go from his clutches and looked down towards his face, which wasn't as far away from his as it had once been. "How's the holiday been?" was all he could seem to ask.

Harry smiled. "Good," was all he could seem to answer.

Uncle Vernon, still standing near the door, coughed. Lupin and Harry turned to look at him. "Well," Vernon said, "it's been very charming, but I believe it's time-"

"I think it's time for us to go, Harry," Lupin finished. "Why don't you say goodbye to your family, while I take your trunk outside?" Lupin pushed Harry toward the Dursleys, who were both looking quite surprised by this suggestion. Surprised and appalled. Lupin picked up Harry's trunk and walked out the door.

Harry watched him leave, wide mouthed, "Uh, well. Goodbye, then."

"Bye," Uncle Vernon spat, with no sincerity in his voice.

"Bye," Aunt Petunia whispered. Harry saw she was standing a little less tall than she usually did, but didn't have much time to guess why before he saw Lupin outside of the open door gesturing for to him to come. Harry walked outside, closed the door behind him, boarded his broom that Lupin had "accio-ed" from his room with his trunk attached firmly to it, and lifted off into the night sky with Lupin on his side, leaving number four Pivet Drive behind.