A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I wondered how much interest there would be in this story... Any criticism? Come on, somebody has to have some...

Ever read Life, the Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams? The trick to flying, apparently, is to fall and miss the ground.

Part 2

Harry didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up screaming, his arms flailing at some unseen opponent. For a brief moment he was trapped in the summer after his fourth year, waiting with barely suppressed fear for his uncle to come pounding down the hall, demanding that he shut up. Then he remembered that his relatives couldn't hear him anymore; they hadn't been able to since he'd asked Dumbledore to have Remus cast a silencing charm around his room. Harry's nightmares about Sirius still came, a month after his godfather had fallen through the veil... but this had been a new dream.

And he knew it would be a frequent one.

Looking at the clock, Harry saw that he'd actually managed to sleep through the night. He imagined it was because of sheer exhaustion. His back was sore, and there was a crick in his neck, not to mention the cuts and bruises he'd received from Bellatrix and her companions. Harry got up carefully, unsteadily. Still wrapped in his bedsheets, he shuffled to his desk, ignoring the feeling of the sweat-damp t-shirts plastered to his back. Apparently getting warm again hadn't been all that difficult.

It was another letter-writing day. Ever since Moody, Tonks and Remus had threatened the Dursleys at King's Cross Station, Harry's relatives had been positively bearable. Harry's only chore this summer had been to write a letter to one of his friends, or to a member of the Order of the Phoenix, reassuring them that he was being well-treated. Of course, he had never considered it a chore, until now. Even with Sirius' death hanging over his head, he'd never begrudged anyone a letter, since the ones he got in reply were short the usual platitudes. Instead, they were full of acceptance and honest conversation. Ron and Hermione in particular had been exceptionally supportive, especially considering that he'd almost gotten them killed.

But suddenly even a terse, angry letter, such as those he'd sent out the first few times, seemed too much work. Harry sat on the old stool that passed as his desk chair and pulled out his writing supplies, convincing himself that a letter was necessary. He dipped a quill in the inkwell and held it poised over the cream parchment. His hand hung there, ink dripping, as he struggled over what to write.

'Dear' was a good place to start. He wrote that, and stopped. Dear who? Remus, Ron, Hermione, Moody, Tonks... Who had he written to last? He thought it was Ron, probably. Maybe Ginny wanted to hear from him. She wouldn't. He didn't think he had the presence of mind to fake a happy letter to her.

'Remus,' he wrote finally, wishing he could smile at the vague recollection of the werewolf's first letter this summer: 'You can call me Remus if you like, Harry. Every time someone calls me "Professor," I feel this uncontrollable urge to slap Severus.' Remus, it had come out, actually could hold a grudge; it was simply that he was quite reserved about such things. Regardless of what others thought, Harry knew the werewolf had not forgiven Snape for making him lose his Defense Against the Dark Arts position.

'Dear Remus,' the letter said, and that was all.

Harry always asked after people's health, so that was probably a good start. He ought to say he was doing alright, as well. He could mention that he was still having nightmares; then there'd be some truth to the letter, at least. After much deliberation and scratching out, the ink-spotted letter read.

Dear Remus,

How is everyone? I hope things are going well with your work. I'm still having a few nightmares, but otherwise everything is alright. The Dursleys are ignoring me as usual, but the new gardener seems nice. Maybe you've seen her. Aunt Petunia got someone to do the house chores, too, except for cleaning my room, of course. I guess you know about them both from coming by, though.

Sincerely, Harry

He read it over several times, supposing it sounded like his other letters, but not really sure. It was vague enough about Order business, at least. He pulled out a new sheet of parchment and neatly recopied his short missive. He let it dry before rolling it up and tying it to Hedwig's leg. As he watched his owl take off, Harry wondered how long it would take him to accept what had happened. He still had trouble thinking about Cedric, even after a year had passed, but this somehow seemed much worse...

- - - -

Remus wrote back on Harry's birthday, so that the young wizard had a friendly but sarcastic warning about one of the many letters and packages that arrived just after midnight. Apparently Dumbledore had some unpleasant news for him. Harry noted that Remus seemed to have grown a bit bitter in the past month.

He toyed with the idea of opening the headmaster's letter last, but a sense of resignation and morbid curiosity overrode the thought. He'd probably need everyone else's letters and presents to cheer him up after he read what Dumbledore had to say. If getting cheered up was possible.

Over the past few days, Harry had tried to take his encounter with Bellatrix in stride, but it was becoming painfully obvious that, like the events of the Third Task, this was not going to leave him alone. With a vague sort of disappointment, he realized he would need to control himself, particularly his anger, much better than he had last year. Sirius' death, after all, could not explain why he no longer looked anyone in the eye, or why he avoided human contact like the plague. Just being near his aunt and uncle made Harry's skin crawl, and he flinched every time one of his relatives raised a hand. He'd stopped talking to the gardener and maid as well, and Uncle Vernon made no attempt to dispel the women's belief that his nephew had left town.

Digging Dumbledore's letter out of the small pile on his bed, Harry carefully tore it open, feeling the protective wards on it dissipate, and unfolded the parchment inside. By the time he'd finished reading it, his hands shook.

Dear Harry,

I trust your summer is going well. From what I understand, your relatives are treating you exceptionally well, and I am glad to hear this. I have what may come as unwelcome news, but I am afraid it is quite necessary. You will not be able to leave Privet Drive until school begins. I am convinced this is safest for everyone, as you are still lacking in the skill of Occlumency. To remedy this, you will resume your lessons with Professor Snape immediately upon your return to Hogwarts. Take care Harry, and remember not to go beyond the confines of the wards.

Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

'Exceptionally well?' a small part of Harry's mind echoed even as the rest of him demanded a deep, dark hole to hide in. Snape was going to teach him Occlumency again.

Snape was going to find out.

* * *