Reviewers:D

Creeko: Thanks for your reviews and for adding me to your list. :D I sure do appreciate it. In answer to your question: yes. I think Remus is the kind of guy we'd all date if we didn't live in fear of getting a werewolf hickey. LOL

Socially Inept: Thanks for the review and putting me on your list. That was very nice of you. :D

Amour Lily: Hey, glad you like it! Thanks for your reviews.

athenakitty: People who ask loads of questions tend to be either a) really engaged or b) really confused … but I think you're an "a." :D Thanks for paying attention and getting into it!

Nickel Nerd: Cheers, kiddo. Keep your chin up at school and you'll survive just fine.

Here is the grand finale, which the author would like to preface with the following question: where does the power in a sad story reside, if not in the promise of a happy ending?

Part Four: The Phial

Hermione loved being right. On the fourth day of Harry's stay it was breakfast as usual; all the Weasleys were crowded around the breakfast table eating toast and porridge. Dumbledore, Moody, and Lupin were helping themselves to scones and tea. There were several loud conversations going on at once. People were shouting to make themselves heard.

And then, suddenly, there was silence. Hermione looked up from her toast to see Harry wandering in, completely oblivious, cleaning his glasses with his pajama shirt and yawning. His dressing gown was twisted up a little, he was slightly in need of a shower, and his hair was sticking out in absolutely every direction. He seemed to finally pick up on the dead silence in the room, because he put on his now clean glasses and blinked owlishly at the table, which was staring at him to a member.

"Morning, all. What's for breakfast?" he said with a smile.

Everyone started shouting at once. There were boisterous greetings ("Come out of your cocoon, have you? Are you a butterfly now?" the twins asked, while Mrs. Weasley said "Oh, Harry!"), hugs from the women, enthusiastic handshakes and hellos from the men, and plenty of food. Hermione and Ginny cleared a place between them and Harry sat down, where he happily tucked into the waffles Mrs. Weasley served him and joined the conversation.

It wasn't until they were all fed that the talk turned to anything serious. Dumbledore leaned back from the table, very full of Mrs. Weasley's scones, and looked round at everyone else absent-mindedly finishing their porridge or just looking at him. It seemed they were all expecting him to say something. Harry was the only person who didn't seem too keen on hearing anything from his headmaster, as he appeared to be fascinated with the table top and didn't look up until Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"By now, I'm sure you all know what happened at Privet Drive," Dumbledore said, without preamble. "I assume the person to whom it happened has been apprised of the facts. Is that correct, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"And who have you told?" Dumbledore asked him.

Harry was confused. Had he made a mistake in even telling Hermione about the blood thing? What if it was some huge secret and he'd blown it? He decided to play dumb. With any luck, Hermione would have enough sense to keep her mouth shut.

"Er, who have I told what, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Never mind. I will inform everyone."

The rest of the table looked at him with interest.

"Fifteen years ago, when Harry was very small, I put him in the care of his aunt and uncle because his mother's love and blood had saved him from Voldemort." (Ron and the twins cringed at the name.) "That blood also flows through the veins of Petunia Dursley, and the protection afforded him by that blood tie has protected him every summer. That was, of course, until last week."

There was some savage murmuring that seemed to come from Moody's direction.

"His family has always managed to compromise his happiness in some way. Harry and I discussed it at the end of last year, and although neither of us was pleased with it, Harry was willing to accept diminished happiness to stay alive." Dumbledore paused and rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "That said, I admit it was a huge mistake for him to return this summer. I saw inklings of this sort of problem brewing with Vernon, who I feared might take to really hurting Harry, which was why after Alastor threatened him we kept more of a watch over the house than ever.

But we all made a fatal mistake. We didn't watch Dudley. We assumed too many things about him – he was stupid and cowardly, he was useless and fat. Yes, he was big and powerful, but far too slow to catch Harry. So long as Mrs. Figg saw Harry working out in the yard, we knew he was safe."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, I must apologize. We've all noticed your letters have been short. In fact, they bordered on impersonal."

"But –"

"Hedwig showed me what your uncle did. His actions were despicable, and we had a … er … a talk with him," he said, glancing at Moody and Lupin, who both looked oddly grim, yet satisfied.

Harry had the distinct impression that something unpleasant had happened to Uncle Vernon, and possibly to Dudley.

"Professor Moody?" he asked. "Did you …"

"Turn him into a toad? Certainly did!" Moody interrupted. "Spell won't wear off for a week!" he continued, as the table roared with laughter.

"And Dudley will spend the rest of the holidays as an enormous white rat," Lupin said pleasantly. "I daresay it's an improvement over what he usually looks like. And without him leading his gang of friends, I think the neighborhood children will have a much happier summer."

Harry finally managed to shake off his shock. "Well done!" he said, and shook Lupin's hand. Lupin started laughing.

"Harry," Dumbledore cut in, "Please accept all of our apologies for not noticing this sooner."

Harry waved him off. "Oh, I don't blame any of you," he said. "My uncle's quite keen on making things look normal. He's gotten rather good at it."

"Yes, well, fortunately, he's not good enough. And since it is clear that you are completely recovered," Dumbledore said, (he ignored Mrs. Weasley's interjection of "Nonsense!") "It must be discussed where you will be staying for the rest of the summer."

The laughter at the table died away. In fact, the noise at the table died away. Everyone found themselves staring silently at Dumbledore.

Harry was not pleased at this change of topic. "The rest of the summer?" Even with Dudley as a rat and Uncle Vernon as a toad, he was not incredibly interested in going back to Surrey. Once his relatives were back to normal (which would happen soon enough), they were sure to be nasty. He looked nervously at Ron, who was resolutely staring at Dumbledore.

"As you know, the charm sealed by Petunia will only give you protection if you can call home where your mother's blood dwells. And it dwells …"

Harry looked down glumly. He knew what was coming next. Privet Drive. He was going back to people who couldn't even bear to take him to hospital, but instead had to dump him out front and dash.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and finished, "Here."

Everybody at the table stared at the Hogwarts headmaster like he'd sprouted an extra set of limbs.

"P-Pardon?" Harry stammered, hardly believing his ears. "Here? But that's impossible! My aunt lives in Little Whinging. She'd never come and live here, and I doubt anybody would want her to."

"Well, of course your Aunt Petunia would never dwell here, but this can," Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye.

And from a pocket in his robes he pulled out a small round phial, no bigger than a baby's fist, stopped with a cork. It was full of a red liquid. He set it on the table.

"I surprised your aunt in the kitchen the day Molly and Arthur brought you back from hospital, Harry. It seems she believed the fairytale Dudley made up about you shoving him through a window until he got stuck, and then arguing with him, losing your balance, and falling down the stairs. ("What!" said Harry.)

"However, I quickly disabused her of this notion, and showed her what Hedwig saw in the foyer. I explained to her my course of action for the rest of the summer. She agreed to it, pricked her finger with a chef's knife, and let me bottle the protection you needed – her blood."

Harry stared at Dumbledore with the rest, his tongue dry, hoping vaguely he wasn't the only one who had his mouth hanging open.

"Granted it's not living blood, so the protection has a bit of a short shelf life, but I have added my own protective spell to the mix, as have Remus and Alastor, and we think it will be enough. Harry, I said it once, and I will say it again. While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort."

And suddenly, what Dumbledore was actually saying began to peek through. Harry's mother's blood was sitting on the table. He was surrounded by people who were beginning to smile in understanding. Suddenly there were two firm hands on his shoulders and he looked up to see the underside of Mrs. Weasley's chin. Looking across at Ron, who'd cottoned on with the rest and was outright beaming, he started to smile, too.

"You can always call this place home, mate," Ron said.

"Well, I'd like to," Harry replied carefully. "That is, if all of you will be safe with me here."

Mr. Weasley laughed. "My dear boy!" he said. "Do you have any idea how many protective spells are on this house, now we're in the Order? It's nearly as safe as Headquarters. We'll be fine!"

At this news, Harry's smile broadened. He looked at Dumbledore. "Sir, may I stay?"

"Permanently, no. The contents of that bottle will only guarantee your safety until the end of the summer. So we will have to figure out something else for next year, but until school starts … yes, you may stay."

The table erupted into cheers. There was an explosion of "Brilliant!" as Ron jumped out of his seat and did a little celebratory dance, all the while yelling about the upcoming Cannons match, and then rushed over to tackle Harry. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley beamed and shook Dumbledore's hand. Harry congratulated Moody and Lupin on their excellent work, Ginny hugged Harry very hard, Hermione gave him a dazzling grin, and the twins ran over to give him a double dutch-rub. You couldn't find a happier house that day.

And so, Harry spent the rest of the summer with the Weasleys. There was always something to do, whether it was garden work (which Harry had gotten rather good at), homework (which everyone moaned about) or Important Work (Ron's codeword for Quidditch practice in the backyard). Days were spent doing some combination of the "works," evenings were spent messing around, and weekends were usually taken up with sleeping in and having leisurely meals. Harry slept on the spare bed in Ron's room, falling asleep every night to the quiet scuffling noises of Hedwig and Pigwidgeon getting comfortable on their perches, and the peeping of crickets outside. Life was good.

Hermione stayed for a week and a half, which was enough time to help everyone finish their homework. Harry, in exchange for her torturing them with question and answer periods, got her to take a ride on a broomstick. She said yes, but only on the condition that she ride with him, because she didn't trust Ron at all. Ron made all sorts of huffy sounds and protestations, but Hermione held her ground, so to speak, and Harry took her up.

She handled it rather well, considering how much she hated flying, and actually seemed to enjoy it at first. Sitting behind Harry, her arms around his middle, she gave only a small jolt as Harry got them about twenty feet off the ground. They hovered in the air and Hermione looked about. She could see the whole backyard, the whole house, and a lot of sunny meadow.

"Oh, this is beautiful!" she said.

Of course, after a few minutes of Harry flying around slowly and banking increasingly tight turns, she buried her face in the back of his jumper, vehemently refused to "admire the view," and started to shake like mad. So he took her back down. They landed gently on the grass. Hermione, a little dizzy from all the turning, tried to toddle away without getting her land legs first, took two steps, and fell flat on her bum. Ron roared with laughter.

The beginning of August saw a first for Harry. In all the tumult of his arrival and situating at the Burrow, there hadn't been time, but Mrs. Weasley reckoned a belated celebration was better than none at all. It came as a complete surprise to the guest of honor.

On the last night of Hermione's stay, Harry came in from helping Ron and Ginny in the shed, only to find a small cake waiting for him at the table and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys cheering. The cake was a gooey chocolate thing with green lettering that spelled out "Happy Birthday!" and leaned precariously to the left. There were several Filibuster fireworks, some silly hats, and a great dinner. There were a few rounds of Happy Birthday, enlivened by the twins, who were loud and horribly out of tune.

And there were three presents. Hermione, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley had pooled a little cash (magical and Muggle) and gotten Harry a small gift certificate for Three Letter Blank Space, which, Hermione had assured Ginny and Mr. Weasley, was a fashionable Muggle clothing shop in London. The hope was that Harry would buy himself some clothes that fit. Harry stammered his thanks and wondered when he'd get the opportunity to use it.

Ron and the twins had pooled their money and bought him a pair of gently-used Sights from the Quidditch supply shop in Diagon Alley. Harry was thrilled – anything Quidditch-related was cause for excitement. The Sights looked like well-made, old-fashioned, leather pilot goggles, and Harry realized that was exactly what they were. However, these goggles magically matched the prescription of his glasses, so he didn't need to bother with them when he played and he wouldn't have to squint into the wind anymore. He put them on, and everyone laughed at how much they magnified his big green eyes. ("We'll have to get that fixed," mumbled George.)

But Mrs. Weasley provided the best present of all. Everyone was leaning back from the dinner table, full of dinner and cake, hands on satisfied stomachs, when she gave Harry a small envelope. Harry took it from her, pushed the Sights up on his head (which made his hair spike out every which way), put on his glasses, and opened it. Inside was a small piece of parchment.

Check the clock.

That was all it said. For a moment Harry was puzzled, because the Weasleys owned quite a few relatively normal clocks. Checking all of them would take a while. But after a moment's thought (this was a wizarding house after all) Harry figured he could narrow the list of likely suspects to three. So he went round to have a look.

There was the clock that told Mrs. Weasley her chores (no, nothing different there). There was the wheezing clock in the upstairs hallway that always reminded people when they were running late (no, it just wished him a belated happy birthday). And last but not least, there was the downstairs grandfather clock, right in full view of the dining room table. Everyone at the table was watching him, some with small smiles.

Harry smiled back and turned back to the clock. He'd always thought this timepiece was very nice. It was masterfully crafted and had a hand with each Weasley's name on it, and instead of hours said their location or condition at the time. Harry looked closely at the clock. He knew there were nine Weasleys total, and six of the hands were currently pointing at "Home."

The "Percy Weasley" hand, however, was pointing to a spot where the number 10 would have been, callously marked "Who Cares?" Harry assumed feelings about Percy were still rather heated since the blow-out he'd had with his parents, but the handwriting looked suspiciously like the twins'. And the "William Weasley" hand was on Work, and so was the hand that said "Charles Weasley," although Bill was undoubtedly at work in Egypt and Charlie was working in Romania.

And then Harry noticed something else. There, pointing just a few ticks down from the six "Home" Weasleys was a small, obviously new, brass hand that said, in small golden letters, "Harry Potter."

The "Harry" hand was pointing to a spot that said, "Staring Agape at This Clock Like a Right Prat," which, oddly enough, was exactly what Harry was doing. He'd had always been under the impression that this clock was strictly for the Weasleys. True, it was fascinating to look at, but it was … it was for them. It was in their house, meant to keep track of their lives. It was special, private; a way to connect across time and space. What on earth was his name doing on a clock meant only for family?

And then suddenly it hit him, and … he had no words. He wiped one eye very fast, felt arms around him and turned around, stunned, to look at Mrs. Weasley, who was beaming.

"Do you like it, dear?" she asked.

Harry nodded with a smile. "Yes, very much," he said quietly.

She smiled back at him and turned to admire her handiwork, so pleased that her gift had turned out right. Of course, that lasted only until she read the clock. Her eyes went wide at where Harry's hand was pointing.

"FRED! GEORGE!" she bellowed. "That's not funny!"

The twins got up from the table and scattered, avoiding their mother, laughing themselves sick and yelling, "Happy Sixteen, Harry!"

"You just watch out for Mum!" George laughed, zipping away. "Make sure she doesn't put one of those Muggle homing collars on you!"

"Yeah, look out, mate!" Fred agreed, also snickering and dodging her hand. "She'll be tagging your ears next!"

Everyone laughed at this, even Mrs. Weasley, who huffed to a stop. The twins, seeing their pursuer was exhausted, seized their chance and Apparated away. The Filibuster fireworks fizzled out after an hour, and once clean-up was through, it was time for bed.

The next morning found Harry and Ron out in the front yard, helping Hermione and her staggering amount of luggage into a Ministry taxi. Just as they heaved Hermione's trunk into the boot of the car, Ron commented that the birthday party had been a pretty poor showing. But Harry, who had never had one in his life, or such terrific presents, insisted it was brilliant.

The Quidditch match was equally brilliant, in Harry's opinion. Ron had managed to get two extraordinarily cheap tickets, and they were on to see the Chudley Cannons play the Balleycastle Bats at Egglestrom Plot, a lovely Quidditch stadium hidden on a moor about half a day's walk from Ottery St. Catchpole.

They set out bright and early the morning of the match, hoping to make it to the stadium by noon and have lunch before the game. Harry was wearing a borrowed orange scarf and carrying a knapsack of food that Mrs. Weasley had packed. Ron was proudly wearing his Cannons cap, and carrying an owl on each shoulder because he insisted that Hedwig needed to appreciate her wizard's sport and Pigwidgeon needed an education, too.

Hedwig fluffed her feathers importantly. Pig twittered. Neither of them looked like they cared very much about Quidditch, but they seemed happy to be having a jaunt, and Harry was not about to spoil Ron's good mood. There was nothing that could spoil Harry's good mood, either. He was very excited about getting to see a live match, even if it wasn't the World Cup.

They reached the stadium early with a few other wizards and witches, some of whom had come from as far away as Follgate, packed inside and made their way to the highest spots they could reach in the stadium, as it wasn't very full. The Cannons had, after all, been in a slump for the past century and a quarter, and since most of the Bats' fanbase was in Northern Ireland, their turnout was pretty small.

All in all, it was a hilarious game. The flying was very fast, if less than spectacular. There were collisions, lots of shouting, some painful Bludger hits, and a few dropped Quaffles. The Cannons' Keeper successfully used the Starfish and Stick maneuver several times, and the Bats' Keeper even attempted the Starfish without Stick, but since he just was the reserve (and apparently a real git), nobody cared. He had to be magicked onto a stretcher and taken away, and some of the fans actually applauded.

All the madness just increased the boys' enthusiasm. They screamed themselves hoarse cheering for the Cannons, who managed to pull their side together and in an hour bring themselves up 70 to 60 over the Bats. That was when their Seeker, Archibald Hornby, spotted the Snitch and took off on his Nimbus 2001 in a burst of sparks. He was leagues ahead of the other Seeker, who was swearing and urging his Comet 260 to catch up, but clearly was not going to make it.

Harry was on his feet immediately, watching and whooping as Hornby streaked by on his broomstick towards the fluttering, whizzing ball … and made the catch. The game was over. The Cannons had won.

Ron completely lost his head. He was soon on his feet with Harry, alternately hugging his friend and jumping up and down, yelling like a maniac with Pig perched precariously on his head and twittering like a huge budgie. (Hedwig had quite sensibly flapped over to perch on Harry.) Both of them cheered and Ron pumped his fists in the air while the owls hooted loudly. Harry let off an enthusiastic whistle. Hornby seemed to notice this and waved at Harry, who waved back before the team left for the changing rooms.

The walk home was no less exciting than the walk there.

"They WON!" Ron exulted, leaping across a puddle and dancing about in the grass. "My team actually WON! Oh, wait 'till I tell Fred and George! They were so insistent the Cannons would eat it, and I said I'd get four tickets just to prove they had a better side this year, and they said they had better things to do. Ha! Joke's on them now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, they'll be so disappointed they didn't come!" Harry said.

He was privately a little glad that the twins had skipped the match, since it would have given them front-row seats to watch Ron and Harry acting like complete fools. However, they were nearing the Burrow (Harry could see Ottery St. Catchpole in the distance), and Ron would soon be able to blurt out the news to the entire house and rub his brothers' twin faces in what they missed.

Harry brushed an owl feather off his jacket and let the autumn breeze play with his messy hair. Hedwig was now perched on his shoulder and Pig was riding on his head, because Ron was way too excited to be trusted with anything sitting on him. Harry was even carrying the knapsack, to be on the safe side.

This had been a summer to remember. For a holiday that had begun so poorly, it was ending remarkably well. In a few days they'd be heading to Diagon Alley to meet up with Hermione and buy books, and soon it would be time to board the Hogwarts Express on September 1st and school would begin again. It was guaranteed to be another year of magic, madness, and mayhem.

Harry could hardly wait.

FINIS

I want to take this opportunity to thank everybody who has reviewed, is reviewing, or will review this story. You all rock so hard, the house is fallin' down.

Cheers,

Kiki 8-)