The weather did not improve over the next few days, nor did it deteriorate; rather, the residents of Privet Drive found themselves smothered in a continuous blanket of drear and grey. The majority of them had by this point decided to head out on holiday, in search of more uplifting weather. The Dursleys, however, had not yet given any indication of retreating in the face of the apparently undying onslaught of drizzle. Uncle Vernon continued to head out to work every morning, while Dudley regularly slept in until noon before slinking off to hover about the local park with his friends – a pastime he preferred to refer to as his 'summer job,' when his parents were about.

This left Harry at home with Aunt Petunia, who was as restless as anyone in face of the dreadful weather. She passed the hours with such amusing activities as 'making Harry weed the garden', 'making Harry paint the fence', 'criticizing Harry' and 'complaining about how impossibly lazy Harry is'. Harry himself slogged through these days in a sort of dull trance, his only motivation being the reply from Ron that was surely headed his way. Hedwig had not yet returned from her mission, however, and Harry wondered if she'd encountered more pleasant weather in London and had decided to stay.

It was a particularly dull morning that brought Hedwig home at last. Harry was on his knees in the garden, his arms elbow-deep in waterlogged earth as he wrestled one of the many thriving weeds from amongst Aunt Petunia's begonias, when a familiar hoot brought him out of his now-habitual daze. He wiped his hands carelessly on his jeans, and brushed his damp forelock from his eyes, searching the clouds for the source of the noise.

He spotted her quickly. Harry's snowy owl was a fleck of white against the grey sky, descending towards him in gentle circles. Harry grinned and held out his arm, upon which Hedwig landed obligingly, ruffling her soaked feathers.

'Took you long enough,' Harry said, stroking the owl's beak. Hedwig hooted softly and began preening her right wing.

Spotting the roll of parchment bound to her leg, Harry carried Hedwig over to the garden bench, where he quickly untied it. Relieved of her burden, Hedwig spread her wings and flapped sleepily up towards Harry's room and through the open window. Harry turned to the note, his grubby fingers working it open with eager anticipation.

Hi Harry!
Of course you can come over, it'll be doubly brilliant with you here. Mum was worried when she read your letter, but I know better – you've just had your fill of those bloody Muggles!
Here's the plan, then: Fred and George will be apparating into your aunt and uncle's back lot, and will leave an old garden gnome as a portkey. (The Muggle type of gnome, not the real sort.) The portkey will be set for August the seventh, at two o'clock in the morning. It'll bring you straight to the store! Be sure to bring all your school things so you won't have to go back before the start of term.
See you soon!

Your friend,
Ron

PS: I can't get into Potions either! We'll talk about that when you get here, though.

PPS: I invited Hermione over, as well. She'll be getting here a day before you do. Should make for some fun times, as long as we don't let her go schoolbook shopping before we've had a few weeks of freedom!

Harry breathed deeply and sat back. For the first time in days – no, in weeks – he felt happy. The grey sky suddenly didn't seem as gloomy, the air not as heavy, and the future not as hopeless. Even being unable to get into Potions didn't seem as bad if he wasn't alone in his misery. Everything was alright now – he would be spending the rest of the summer holidays in Diagon Alley, with Hermione and Ron!

'You, boy! What are you sitting about for?' Aunt Petunia squawked suddenly from the back door, her long neck craned about to glare at him properly. 'It's nearly ten o'clock, the whole world is working but you! Those weeds aren't about to uproot themselves!'

Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift in a grin, which sent his aunt retreating inward with a somewhat disconcerted 'hmph.' Harry chuckled quietly. Now that he would only have to put up with it for another day, even his aunt's constant pestering wasn't about to upset him. He rolled up his sleeves and got back to work.

It occurred to Harry that this task would be far easier were he permitted to do it magically – but he knew very well that this was too risky. The fact that he was still an underage wizard wasn't his sole reason to hold back – not only did the Dursleys disapprove of anything even remotely resembling magic, but anyone, at any time, could peer in over the garden fence and see him wielding his wand. No, Harry thought with a smile, I'll have to do it the slow way. And so the rest of the morning, as well as much of the afternoon, found Harry hunched over his aunt's flowers, contentedly tugging at weeds as the drizzle fell softly about him.

'A what?' Uncle Vernon demanded through a mouthful of roast lam, that evening at supper.

'A portkey,' Harry said plainly, slicing a tiny boiled potato into quarters. 'Wizard stuff.'

Vernon bristled, his great, trembling jowls growing red.

'I will have no such nonsense under my roof,' he growled. 'No, boy, we've had enough of your hocus-pocus. If you want to stay with us, you'll do things properly.'

Harry chewed his potato slowly. He recognized this as an empty threat. Indeed, his aunt and uncle would find it very difficult to have Harry thrown out of their house: many influential wizards – Dumbledore included – had worked hard to ensure Harry's protection at the Dursleys', and would not easily be pressed to take him elsewhere. However, Harry felt his own life would be far easier if he avoided making the Dursleys excessively furious with him.

'No one will know,' he said. 'It'll be late at night. Besides, the thing's just a plain old garden gnome. Who's going to notice that?'

Petunia's brow wrinkled as she patted her lips with her serviette. 'Garden gnomes! What will the neighbours think of us? Why couldn't it be something tasteful, like a cherub? Or a little fawn?'

'That's not the point,' Vernon declared loudly, pounding the table with his fist. 'The point is, this brat will be out there, in our back lot, with all his... freakish paraphernalia, as good as screaming out to the world that we are sheltering a social misfit of the very worst kind!'

Across the table from Harry, Dudley snickered, fixing Harry with his beady eyes and wiping an acne-peppered cheek with the back of his hand. Harry ignored his cousin and drew himself up.

'It doesn't really matter what you think,' he said casually. 'I'm going, and that's that.'

Petunia gasped and looked to Vernon, who appeared to have been rendered speechless.

'I'll have all my things in the backyard by one in the morning, tomorrow night,' Harry said, rising from the table, his plate in hand. 'I expect you lot will be in bed at that time, so there's really no need to trouble yourselves about anything.'

He made his way over to the sink, where he began to rinse off his dishes.

'No need to trouble ourselves!' Vernon hissed, having recovered his voice. 'What, and leave you to muck the thing up, and embarrass us in front of the whole neighbourhood? I think not! No, boy, don't count on me taking my eyes off you for a moment. You'll have to be far cleverer if you hope to escape the watch of Vernon Dursley!'

Harry smiled to himself as he quietly left the kitchen and began ascending his stairs to his bedroom. He had made his uncle somewhat angry, that much was certain – but there really was nothing any of them could do to stop Harry from leaving.

He grinned broadly as he swung into his room and shut the door behind him. He had a lot of packing to do.

Late the next night, Harry found himself once again staring up at the sky from the Dursley's back lot. Miraculously, the grey clouds had parted over the house, leaving a wavering strip of open sky in their place. Harry gazed at the few stars he could see, realizing that the last time he had done so was during the previous school year, perhaps during his Astronomy exam. (And what an eventful test that had been...) Harry stroked Hedwig absently, wondering if the sky was clear over Hogwarts, and what business the resident witches and wizards might be up to.

'This is ridiculous!' Petunia hissed to Vernon, from behind Harry. 'Do you know what this looks like? Why, just like we've had decided to set up a circus in our yard, that's what!'

'Of course it's ridiculous!' Vernon growled. 'Everything that louse does is ridiculous! But what am I to do, Petunia? What am I to do? He's out of control!'

'You've been too soft with him, Vernon, I've always said that...'

'Yes, dear, I know it. If I could have these years back, why, I'd have boxed him about the ears so many times, he'd be hearing bells in his sleep!'

'And he'd have deserved every moment of it, that's for certain.'

Harry scratched Hedwig's neck. His aunt and uncle's banter hardly bothered him anymore; they had no real power over him, no real ability to induce fear in their nephew. Harry had faced the darkest of the dark wizards, he'd seen people he loved die – no, the Dursleys were no longer anything to be afraid of.

He did agree with Petunia with regard to one matter, however: with all his wizarding gear arranged about him, Harry really did look like he was planning on organizing a circus. Harry hadn't been quite sure just how much contact he would have to have with each item in order for it to be carried along by the portkey, so he'd tied himself to everything he was bringing along. This included his trunk – upon which he was now sitting – his broomstick, and Hedwig's cage, among other things.

The portkey itself had arrived the previous night, when even Harry was asleep. They had found it that morning, carefully placed beside a shrubbery, and looking quite inconspicuous within the garden. The Dursleys had found little reason to complain, much to their disappointment – the offensive object didn't appear very magical at all.

Vernon checked his watch impatiently. 'Ten minutes,' he said gruffly, and turned to glare at Harry, as though the time itself had been an insult to him, and one of Harry's invention.

Harry's heart lept. Ten minutes was nothing at all! In ten minutes, he'd be whirling away towards London, towards Diagon Alley, towards Ron, and Hermione, and all the wizarding world. In ten minutes, he'd be –

'Hullo there!' came a cheerful voice, all of a sudden.

Harry, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all spun around in terror to face intruder. From across the fence, what appeared to be a bespectacled ghost gazed curiously at them.

'Who are you?' Uncle Vernon demanded, panic rising in his voice, as he backed up slowly in an attempt to hide Harry and his belongings.

'Murray Muggins,' said the ghost, ever cheerful. (In fact, Harry realized, this was no ghost at all, but an extraordinarily pale man.) 'Been your next- door neighbour for years and years! We've never met, of course, seeing as I can only leave the house at night. Skin condition, you see.'

'Ah,' said Vernon, hardly reassured. 'Er... just out for a midnight stroll, then?'

'Oh, I'm doing some gardening, actually,' Murray Muggins replied. He peered over at Harry. 'What's all that stuff for?'

'Erm... nothing!' Vernon blurted.

'Just... just airing out some antiques,' Harry said quickly. 'And we... we heard about a forecasted meteor shower tonight, so we thought we'd see if we could spot anything while we're out here.'

'Oh!' Mr. Muggins squinted up at the sky. 'Shame about the clouds, really.'

'Yes, quite a shame,' Harry said. He hoped that Vernon or Petunia would intervene before long; they'd all be in trouble if the man wasn't gone by the time the portkey was activated.

'Erm...' Petunia said nervously. 'Mr. Muggins, have you seen the... er... snapdragons we have growing in the front? They've come up so nicely.'

'Well, no, I haven't,' the man said, with interest. 'Why, I never leave my back lot, really. I'd love to take a look, if you have a moment.'

Vernon and Harry watched Aunt Petunia lead Mr. Muggins around to the front yard, their voices floating back in muffled waves: 'You see, Mr. Muggins, they do so well on this side of the house.'; 'Why, it's true, these plants are thriving!'; 'Feel free to look around, Mr. Muggins! Take your time!'

Vernon glared at his nephew, his eyes popping from his flushed face like two great eggs.

'Do you know how close you came to ruining us forever, boy?' he growled. 'If he'd come a few minutes later...! I ought to break your scrawny neck, you filthy ingrate!'

Harry picked up the gnome from between his feet, where he'd placed it. Surely it would be two o'clock any minute now... Harry wrapped one arm tightly around it, while Hedwig perched on the other one.

'You ought to thank your lucky stars you won't be around tomorrow morning! You'd be in for the whipping of your life, mark my words!'

'And such lovely primroses! How do you do it?'

'Oh, really, I haven't a clue! It must be all the rain we've had!'

'Come now, Mrs. Dursley, no need to be modest about it!'

Vernon continued to glare at Harry. 'When will that thing start working?! I haven't got all night! You'd better hope it's not a dud, boy, or you'll be sorry...'

Harry closed his eyes. Yes, he certainly did hope it wasn't a dud... If he wasn't with Ron and Hermione tomorrow... He shut his eyes tighter. Please, please...

And all of a sudden, Harry felt a familiar jolt, as though some invisible hook were dragging him forward by the navel. The world seemed to spin, and he felt the rope tighten about him as something that was not quite wind whipped through his hair. Hedwig's talons gripped his arm, and just before Harry felt he was about to be sick, the spinning and rushing stopped as jarringly as they had begun, leaving Harry to sprawl forward onto a warm, wooden floor.