A/N: This is the second upload of this chapter, since the first one was a rough draft and really sucked. If you've read this chapter before, the beginning and the time of day changed; if you haven't read it, well, you won't notice anything lol. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Enough said.
He wanted out, and he wanted out right now.
So many false promises had been made, so many lies spoken. "Things will be different this time," they had said. "Dumbledore has realized his mistake. Don't worry, Harry, it won't happen again." Parting assurances, all of them flooding his ears as he had turned away from his home and stepped over to the frowning Dursleys. And, like a fool, he had listened to them, believed and took their words to heart. They wouldn't keep things the same. They couldn't do that.
Yeah. Right.
He vaguely remembered some old muggle saying: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me". And was he ever the fool.
But never again.
It angered him beyond comprehension to know that they could stand there, staring him straight in the face, knowing full well how he felt about the previous year, and lie blatantly to him. Oh, it wasn't exactly the same as the previous summer, but it was close enough for him. Letters came from Ron and Hermione every week (though these days, he barely bothered to read them and never wrote a reply, crumpling them up after a quick scan and throwing them into the growing pile in the corner), and even Lupin wrote to him upon occasion, though his letters were just as boring and useless as those of his two best friends. He may have had to contact the Order every three days to let them know that he was well, but that was basically the end of his contact with the wizarding world for the summer. The Dursleys hated the fact that he had to constantly contact "his kind"; Harry still didn't think that Uncle Vernon had quite forgiven him for the summer before. Then again, letting an owl out every few days was far preferable to the appearance-conscious Dursleys than having freaks in odd clothing marching across the perfect lawn and up to the door.
The Dursleys themselves seemed quite content to revert back to their old trick of ignoring him, and Harry ignored them right back, rarely leaving his room and making it a point not to take his meals with them. If he didn't go down for food, they didn't bring any up, and the lack of proper nutrition only served to settle him ever deeper into his lethargic state. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that it was still the summer before his fifth year. But no, Sirius was dead, the prophecy kept ringing in his ears, the anger and pain that had taken root a year before was with him now, always, and was magnifying tenfold every day that nothing changed…
He no longer cared that the Dursleys were trying to keep him under lock and key, didn't care that there was a member of the Order breathing down his neck at all times, whether they were physically near him or merely watching from afar, didn't care that Dumbledore wanted him to stay at Privet Drive. As a matter of fact, Dumbledore's wishes were what he cared least about.
Harold James Potter was bloody tired of being locked up.
The hot July sun was burning quite nicely in the sky, making the Boy-Who-Lived squint against its glare. He knew that somewhere out there, some random member of the Order was undoubtedly hiding under an invisibility cloak or Disillusionment charm and was staring up at him as he stared back down at the neatly trimmed lawns and perfectly clean cars that glinted in the late afternoon sun. His stomach grumbled loudly; though Dudley was still on his diet and had managed to lose some weight, Harry still wasn't getting any more food than he had the summer before. It wasn't really anything new- Merlin knew that he had been through worse.
But that didn't change the fact that it was just one more thing that grated against the sixteen year-old's already taut nerves. Frowning, he turned away from the window and surveyed his room. The Dursleys had locked his school things in the cupboard again, and sneered at him (albeit with slightly frightened expressions) as they informed him that he couldn't do magic to get his stuff out, as though he didn't already know. They all but kept him prisoner in his room, though Harry had to admit that it was better than slaving away for them and getting knocked upside the head every day for daring to breathe too loudly.
In a little while, the sun would set, the Dursleys would sit down to dinner, and eventually they would go to bed. Just before dawn, he would get his stuff out of the cupboard. Hedwig he had sent out for a few days with instructions of where to find him; if plans changed, she was smart and more than able to track him down on her own. In just over a month, Harry would be sitting on the Hogwarts Express heading home.
In the meantime, he was leaving.
He crept silently down the stairs with his wand in his pocket and Hedwig's empty cage in one hand, avoiding the creaking bottom step with the fluidity that came from doing similar things at Hogwarts and headed straight for the cupboard. He had picked the lock on the door the night before and set it back so it looked like it was still locked. Even still, he was immensely relieved to see that Uncle Vernon hadn't noticed that it was unlocked. With barely a sound, he slipped off the padlock and set it on the floor. As silently as possible, he hoisted his trunk out of his former bedroom, grabbed his wand, and headed for the door.
As Harry stood with his right hand hovering over the knob, he paused and took a breath. A large part of him knew that this was foolish, that he would be caught almost right away, that he ought to just sit in his room and wait out the last few days until term started.
That's not what Sirius would have done, he mused.
Unbidden, painful memories sprung to his mind. "You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night—"
"I was trying to keep Sirius alive," said Dumbledore quietly.
"People don't like being locked up!" Harry said furiously, rounding on him. "You did it to me all last summer—"
Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him…
He rubbed his burning eyes with the back of his hand, fiercely willing himself not to cry. Sirius… it still hurt so much, so very, very much, that gaping hole inside him… But that memory made him go on.
With a sudden rush, Harry wished very hard that it wasn't Moody out there watching him through the door. His hand fixed upon the door handle again and he wrenched the perfectly white thing open and clattered down the front stoop and out across the walkway, heedless of the noise. "I'M LEAVING," he hollered at the street in general, nearly breaking out into a run as he approached the sidewalk. His right hand shot out, and with a great screech, the violently purple Knight Bus slid to a halt in front of him, making the Dursley's mailbox jump hastily out of the way.
" 'ello. My name's Stan Shunpike, an' I'll be your conductor for this morn—"
"HARRY!" someone yelled, though they sounded far away. Harry jumped aboard the bus.
"I know, I know, now can we go?"
" 'ey, no need to be rude!" Stan huffed, then caught Harry's eye as he flung himself down on one of the beds. "Oy, Neville, that you?"
Harry nodded curtly. "Diagon Alley, please," he said before Stan could say anything more. He dug quickly in his trunk, produced some money, and handed it to Stan. With a sigh, he relaxed on the bed once again as the bus shot off, hand wrapping around one of the posts in an attempt to keep himself in place. Stan kept pestering him, but Harry pretended to be asleep so he didn't have to answer. Harry watched through slitted eyes as, after a while, Stan pursed his lips and turned to watch Ernie's mad drive through… well, through wherever they were.
He couldn't stop a smirk from twisting his lips as he remembered how easy it had been to leave Privet Drive. Oh, he would pay for it, probably as soon as he got to the Leaky Cauldron. But even this slight resistance, feeble though it may have been, made Harry feel better than he had all summer. It almost made him feel better to know that, despite how hard the Order was trying, he could still break out of the nice little box that they were determined to hold him in.
He must have drifted off to sleep; how, with the beds sliding around and bashing into the walls, Harry had no idea. Eventually feeling someone watching him, Harry was jolted awake suddenly and for one wild moment thought it was Voldemort that was leaning over him. With a gasp, he jumped up wildly, head slamming into that of Stan, sending them both careening in different directions as Ernie stomped on the brakes and the bus stopped abruptly. Harry's head cracked on the floor hard and he had to blink stars out of his eyes as he hauled himself to his feet.
There was a muffled, "Ow…" from the end of the bus where Stan had wound up. Clutching at his head, Harry started making his way back to the pimply conductor.
"Harry!" His head whipped around to the door of the bus where a tired looking werewolf stood, lips thin with anger and looking rather like Professor McGonagall on a bad day.
Harry felt a slight pang as he looked over his former DADA professor, who looked exactly as Harry himself had felt all summer. Those magnificent amber eyes of Lupin's were darker than normal; his eyes were rimmed by thick black circles; more silver glinted in his brown hair that now more than ever resembled a wolf's pelt; there were deep frown lines on his face that Harry had not remembered. He looked old.
Lupin opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say more, but then merely sighed and with a last look into Harry's eyes, turned and stepped down onto the street. Mouth dry, Harry found himself following guiltily.