Summer had barely begun. It seemed like only yesterday that five students had fled Hogwarts for the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. Only yesterday that nearly a dozen Death Eaters had been captured in said Ministry department, and shipped to Azkaban. Only yesterday that the Minister for Magic had been forced to acknowledge the return of the Dark Lord. And for Harry Potter, it seemed like only yesterday that Sirius Black had fallen out of the world of the living, and into the world beyond the Veil.

It had been much longer, in actuality. Harry had already been back at the Dursley's for nearly five weeks, and it was already the eve of his sixteenth birthday.

It was nearly two in the morning, and deathly silent on Privet Drive. The dim streetlamps illuminated the identical rows of flawless houses on either side of the street. All of the houses were dark within, save for the one labeled number four. One of the upstairs windows was lit up, and within the small bedroom, Harry sat at his sdesk. He was again having difficulty sleeping.

Since the day he arrived "home", Harry had not been permitted to leave the Dursley's property – a lesson he learned when he'd trudged down the front walk to find some peace in the park. The moment he'd been about to step out onto the street, he'd found himself restrained by an invisible arm.

"Dumbledore's orders," came the low growl of Mad-Eye Moody, no doubt shrouded in an invisibility cloak. "You're not to leave the muggle's; in fact, lad, I'd be inclined to discourage you from leaving the house at all."

And that was that – Harry knew that there was no point in arguing if Dumbledore had been the one to dispense the orders. So Harry had spent most of the summer in his room, not because his uncle was locking him in, but because he really had nothing else to do. In fact, the Dursleys had been completely indifferent towards him, which was definitely a step above the abuse that he was used to taking from them. Harry supposed that he had those members of the Order who had threatened the Dursleys at Kings Cross Station to thank, but it was difficult to be grateful when Harry knew that it was those same Order members who were confining him to number four on Dumbledore's order.

Despite the guilt over his hand in the death of his godfather, Harry found that he was overwhelmed by bitterness, almost all of which was directed at Albus Dumbledore. Harry couldn't help but wonder whether or not Voldemort was inside his head again, because of the overwhelming anger he felt towards the man he had trusted for so many years of his life. But then, how could he help but blame Dumbledore – not only for all the information he withheld from Harry, but once again for his confinement. More than ever now, Harry sympathized with the predicament that Sirius had found himself in last year. He now understood why Sirius was willing to risk exposure for a few moments of freedom at Kings Cross Station the previous summer.

However, it had gone beyond Harry being stuck inside his uncle's home. The day that Moody had sent Harry back inside, he'd returned to his small bedroom to find Hedwig's cage empty, with a small note in the center of his desk:

Harry,

We cannot risk allowing any owls in your home. Hedwig will stay with Remus Lupin until September first. I will send Fawkes to you every Friday evening to tell you what I can. All messages will be kept strictly to business. I'm sure you understand this precaution.

-Albus Dumbledore

Harry had promptly crumbled the note and tossed it into the waste bin. He'd been so angered that he spent the next three days in his room, fuming. He only came out of his sanctuary when hunger began getting the better of him. As told, Fawkes appeared out of thin air in the center of Harry's room every Friday evening, carrying either what little news the Order had, or whatever part of that news Dumbledore was willing to give him – which, Harry wasn't sure. Every letter asked for an RSVP from Harry, wanting an update on his condition, and every week, Harry sent back the exact same message:

Still alive.

-H.P.

Harry sighed and pushed his curtains aside, glancing out the window into the street below. He scanned the street with a critical eye, and finally managed to make out the vague shape of a member of the Order, shielded by a disillusionment charm. Harry could tell by the narrower frame of whoever roamed the street below that Moody was no longer his guard...perhaps Lupin, or Tonks, even. Fleeting wishes of running out onto the street and begging with his guard for even a few hours away from Privet Drive went through his mind, but just as quickly as the thought had come, he dismissed it. He knew that it was an impossibility, and he felt the bitterness in his soul grow. Even the thought of returning to Hogwarts in little more than a month didn't pacify him, for he knew that he'd be watched, guarded, and confined even in the one place he considered his home.

A sharp crack from behind him made Harry jump and grab his wand from his bedside table, spinning around and holding his wand in front of him. He was slightly confused not to find a wizard apparated in, but a box magically appeared on the floor. Harry cautiously approached the box, peering at an envelope attached to the top. He dropped his wand and grabbed for the envelope when he read the familiar scrawl:

To Harry, love Padfoot.