Authoress Ramble: Hello! Here's the rewritten chapter, which I absolutely love. I can't get through to my Beta, so I'll have to manage without. Anyone with a working email that wants to Beta for me?


Changes Within

It was Thursday and Harry lay on his bed in a small bedroom at 4 Privet Drive while gazing towards the roof. His oddly hollow green eyes were half open, hands resting under his head. If it had not been for a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, one that he carefully hid behind thick black hair, anyone would think he was just another nearly sixteen-year-old boy. Tough he had grown, he was a bit short for his age and bony. There were tired circles under Harry's eyes, his ribbons a bit too visible because he wore nothing but a pair of baggy, ugly jeans that were held up by a string of rope. He looked much like any tried teenager you'd meet one the street, but there was a slight catch. Harry was no normal boy; he was a wizard, probably one of the most powerful wizards alive – and his name was Harry Potter.

The most powerful Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, had killed James and Lily Potter, when Harry was only a year old. He had been the only one to ever survive the death curse and people tended to call him the Boy Who Lived. Harry thought this to be ridicules. It gave him some sort of grace to have that scar he hated and he often wished he'd just been able to grow up with his parents.

Harry had been gazing at that roof ever since he'd returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which was two weeks ago. He wasn't locked in, no, the window stood open and let in the glints of sun that fought its way through the clouds.

Two weeks ago, a rather pale Uncle Vernon had forced Harry down on a chair and given him a lecture. It had mostly been 'Don't use the M-word', 'Don't do anything abnormal' before the bomb fell. Harry knew that officially he attended to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, but after a Dementor had attacked Dudley, his cousin, they had told everyone they knew that Harry had knifed a roommate.

'I did what?' Harry had shouted, making an opening for one of the nastiest fights ever.

It had ended when Uncle Vernon, spitting with rage, had backhanded Harry across the face. Harry had stared icily at the man, spitted on the carpet and turned on his heel. He hadn't written to his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger about it. It was his private war.

He had barely left the bed since. Right now he was listening to the sounds of the new neighbours housewarming party, they seemed to be moving in and out of the house depending on the lurking sun. Aunt Petunia was of course also out there, pretending to be hedge trimming. She was a blonde woman who looked like a horse starved to death that had turned into a woman used to drink vinegar as water.

There were steps coming up the stairs and he forced himself to relax. His bedroom door opened and a man reminding very much of an overgrown pig stepped inside. His small eyes were peering at Harry, who silently was wondering if his Uncle needed glasses or if he was trying to look evil.

'Get up!' The man snorted, his large moustache moving like a dying flobberworm. 'There's food for you in the kitchen, eat quickly. Petunia wants you to finish off the hedge.'

'Make Dudley do it,' said Harry tonelessly.

'Don't you start, I'm warning you. Dudley's picking up his girlfriend, as you well should know since I told you they'll be here for tea at four o'clock. Now go.'

Sighing, Harry left the peace of his room and went to the kitchen downstairs. By the look of it, this would not be a pleasant dinner for him. Two pieces of bread lay beside the sink and they tasted as dry as they looked. Harry was chewing dully when Dudley and his girlfriend Cleona Owen walked into the kitchen. Dudley still looked as a fat, blond plump, even though he had actually lost three stones (something Petunia had rewarded with a pound of sweets).

Cleona Owen was another story. She had large brown eyes, thick brown hair and a small nose in a flabby face. Rather often she wore expensive and brightly coloured fashion clothes and about as often they didn't fit her at all. The relationship was simple, Cleona asked Dudley for things, he hit someone until he got them and in turn she accepted to play his girlfriend. They had been "going out" for exactly thirteen days.

'Hello, Harry,' said Cleona in a sickly sweet voice.

Harry ignored her and tried to chew faster.

'He doesn't speak,' Dudley sneered, 'not after you-know what.'

He chewed even faster. What Dudley had said was partly true. Harry had rarely spoken after the huge fight, though Dudley had made this into that he didn't spoke after the knifing. Harry swallowed hard. Suddenly he got the feeling of being strangled and disappeared into the garden where he spat out the bread and breathed deeply. It had happened once before, only a few hours ago. His body hurt, tears struggled behind his eyelids and he had to gasp for air. Harry wasn't sure what was going on, it was scary, like drowning on dry land. He hadn't felt much at all for two weeks, and now this. Rain fell upon his back, the wet grass chilly under his bare feet. The party-people moved inside.

'Get a sweater on!' snorted Petunia from the back door.

She threw something at him and he started when the sweater hit his back. Immediately he straightened, breathed deeply and picked up the shears, ignoring the sweater that had fell to the ground. It was one of all those changes that he had noticed during the two weeks.

He had annoyed his Aunt and Uncle by not caring about their rules. He didn't speak about magic nor did he do any magic, but he never cared about what the neighbours would think. It didn't bother him. The air of stubbornness around him had increased. If his relatives told him he was not to do something, he thought it at least worth to try. Nothing really bothered him anymore, not after he'd lost Sirius. There was nothing, he thought, that could live up to that pain. Not that he felt any pain. He refused to feel it. He refused to be weak, to feel, to cry. It wouldn't bring him Sirius back; it would only make his failure greater.

A wry smile played on his lips when he thought of what the Potions Master, greasy-haired Professor Snape, would have said when he noticed that Harry could do what he'd asked. The Professor had been teaching Harry Occlumency, the art of closing ones mind against magical influence, and during those lessons Snape had always told him to rid himself of thought and emotion.

Harry was nearly finished when he stretched and noticed two dark plumps there in the gloomy sky. He stared intensely, watching how one of them moved much faster than the other. It dropped a newspaper in front of Harry's feet and Harry frowned when he picked it up. He'd already gotten the Daily Prophet and he didn't have any other papers delivered. The words Witch Weekly stared up at him from the front page that held such titles as Cleaning Spells – a fresh and clean home for Your family and Lazy or Romantic, What kind of husband is Yours?

Just when he had tucked it in the back of his jeans the other owl practically fell to the ground. Harry sighed when he recognized the Weasley family owl Errol. The old grey owl was unconscious. Harry held him carefully when he took the sweater from the ground and swept it around Errol.

He sneaked inside, soundlessly walking up to his room where he laid Errol in Hedwig's cage. The large snowy owl was out delivering a letter. Harry retrieved the letter tied to Errol's leg and briefly wondered why Ron would use Errol and not Pigwidgeon, his miniature maniac to owl.

Thanks, that solves it. I'll be picking it up by Friday morning at eight.

- A.

Harry frowned. He assumed it was time for him to pack – yet again. Though he didn't know why, he had the funny feeling that something important had happened. Or, that something was going to happen, at the very least. Harry didn't know what solved what, nor what Mr Weasley meant, but the sooner he could get away from the Dursleys' the better.

He sat down on the windowsill, one leg outside, water dripping from his hair over his torso. He tried to smile, but the smile withered away, he tried to feel the joy he thought he was supposed to feel, but there was none. Vague sounds of the front door closing carried through the floor and he assumed the tea party was over. Outside the neighbours had decided to move their party outside again and he could see them laughing, smiling, and everything felt false.

He had lost track of time when Petunia came in through the door. Right now she wore a white blouse with a lace collar and a blue skirt. She was frowning.

'There's mud stains in the floor,' said Petunia in her shrill voice. 'Go clean them up.'

'No,' said Harry very quietly.

'What? Yes, you will, you lazy hang-about! You've gotten mud on my – there's mud on the tapestry! Get away form the window!'

She actually looked frightening, where she stood with her hands on her hips. Harry didn't see that, though, he was still looking out the window. It rained in a spluttering sort of way.

'No,' he said once again, 'you will be cleaning your own floor. I'll be leaving tomorrow at eight.'

At first, Petunia was too angry with him to notice the last few words, but then she did and her hand, that had been lift to slap him, suddenly fell.

'You're leaving?' she repeated.

'Please close the door when you leave,' Harry added.


He had cleaned out all his belongings from the drawers, wardrobe, various hiding places behind Dudley's broken toys and the loose floorboard. Dudley's baggy hand-me-downs were in a pile by the door; Harry didn't want them with him. Harry's trunk was packed full and he held his broom for a while before unpacking his Invisibility Cloak. He wrapped the Cloak around the broom and tied it to the lid of the trunk.

Then he lay down on the bed, staring at the roof once again. Slowly, the numbers of his watch turned. He breathed. The room was quiet; the rest of the world seemed to have lost the ability to sound. It was only evening and the sun set slowly, darkness spreading its web over the earth. Harry could feel it swallow him and it made him smile. Once he had feared the dark, now he let it spread through his body. It wasn't like anything he had felt before; it was cold and silky darkness that sometimes made him shiver, sometimes lulled him to sleep.

When he woke in the middle of the night he was panting, screaming into the pillow. He bolted for the window, where he hung out, trying to calm down. Sobbing broke ragged breaths. He saw tears fall down on the ground, wetting the already too wet lawn. Harry willed them back; they wouldn't help him get Sirius back. Tears were stupid. Drying them away he sat down on the bed and tried to read the copy of Witch Weekly.

He couldn't understand why he'd gotten the copy or from who. It held nothing he didn't know. The only news he'd gotten from The Daily Prophet had all been about that Bertha Jorkins had still not been found. The Witch Weekly told about the wife of John Jesterweb, a tourist guide whose group along with himself, had disappeared in the Sahara Desert. The Ministry had put three Searching Witches on the cases. They had not been able to locate anyone but a referee from a German Quidditchgame between Wild Vienna (commonly known as 'Whining Vienna') and Berlin's Burning Bludgers. The referee had been confused but clearly remembered being hexed by the Captain of Whining Vienna five years ago.

But the article failed to take Harry's mind off the dreams. Every night he feared for the dreams to return and leave him exhausted and shaking. If it hadn't been a cloudless night he'd have mounted his Firebolt and soared through the night until the dawn forced him back to the ground. He had done that very often during the cloudy nights. It kept the dreams away and even if he was frozen to the bone he thought it a fair payment.

The wind made his curtains bellow. Harry stared unseeingly at the magazine when a petite owl bounced in and got lost inside them. He sighed, untangled the owl and tried to retrieve the letter while it twittered madly. Pigwidgeon then proceeded to soar through the room while Harry red Ron's note.

Hi, Harry!

Did you hear about Whining Vienna? Scandal of the year!
Good it wasn't the Cannons.

Fred and George sent you a message, they say, and they
want to know if it got through. They wont tell me what
and when I tried to ask them they turned my hair blue.
They're ported from the Burrow until Mum stops seething.

Hermione left for Greece today, she says she'll be back
in a couple of weeks. Bet you she's doing research on
something boring and that she's rewriting her homework -
again! That's the only thing she's been talking about, that
and our OWL:s. Dad reckons the results should be owled
any day now.

Best,
Ron

Harry scribbled an answer on the back of the note, tied it to Pig's leg and watched the owl flap its wings so fast it appeared to bounce through the air. Pig disappeared into the night again and Harry sat on the windowsill. He waited.

The dawn came and with it the light that perked through the clouds. Harry rubbed his tired eyes; he had been unable to sleep and had stayed on the windowsill all night. He dragged his heavy trunk downstairs, got yelled at by Dudley for making too much noise, placed it by the door and set for the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was already in there, preparing a huge steak. Harry sneezed when she managed to spray pepper all over him.

'When do you leave?' asked Petunia shortly.

'At eight,' said Harry. 'What's for breakfast?'

'At the sink.' She sniffed. 'How wonderful, my little Duddikins' second week anniversary. It's true love.'

Harry bit his piece of grapefruit to avoid snickering. He hurried back to his trunk when his Aunt looked like spending two hours telling him all about her little Duddikins' adventures at school and how proud she was over his grades. Not that the grades were anything to be proud of. Harry bet Dudley hadn't done more then merely passed by threatening a teacher.

It was quite a beautiful morning, Harry noted when he stood on the pavement. Errol was still sleeping in Hedwig's cage and Hedwig herself had still not returned. For a brief moment Harry wondered what kept her, but then he spotted a tall man walking against him. Mr Weasley beamed at him, his thin red hair was a bit thinner and he too looked tired. He wore a pair of jeans and a green trench coat.

'Hello Harry,' he greeted. 'Oh, there's Errol, I was wondering. Now if I just -'

Arthur began digging in the trench coat's pockets and pulled out two batteries and a plug before finding a small note. He then twisted the note back and forth for a while before beaming.

'This way,' he said happily, lifting the owl cage.

Harry dragged his trunk along the pavement. Mr Weasley twisted and turned the note every now and then while they walked. They had walked a couple of streets before Harry noticed they were heading for Mrs Figg's house. He frowned. The old lady was a Squib, but he hadn't seen her for a week. Mr Weasley bent and studied the alarm with such intensity that Harry reached past him to ring the doorbell.

It didn't take long before a small grey haired woman opened the door with a cat in her arms. She had the kind of scratches around her nose that you get from blowing your nose repeatedly.

'Mrs Figg, how wonderful –' Arthur began.

'Arabella. Gedd in all ready,' said Mrs Figg thickly and sneezed loudly. 'I've godd a cold, I cannd stay here foreveh.'

They entered the house and Harry pulled his trunk after him. He didn't quite understand why he was here, but he trusted Mr Weasley to have a reason. He saw three cats on various places before they came to the kitchen. It looked like a bomb had detonated in there and smelled distinctly of cats and cat food.

'I haven't cleaned,' Mrs Figg said blowing her nose hard, 'bloody cold, I tell you.'

'We wont be long,' Mr Weasley assured her, 'let me' – he dug his pockets – 'oh, there' – he pulled out his wand and waved it the fireplace to lit a fire – 'now I'll just get this right' – he gave the air a jab – 'that's it. Now we wait.'

'What are we –'

Mrs Figg sneezed so hard that she lifted from the chair.

'Wait for the purple flame. You're going to Floo to the Shrieking Shack. Molly and the boys will – Goodness, Arabella, you want me to cure that cold?'

'No, no, I'll be fine,' Mrs Figg mumbled into her napkin.

'But my trunk?' asked Harry.

Things seemed to have sped up and he wasn't really sure what was going on. The words Shrieking Shack had stuck, though.

'I'll take care of it – there it is! Here's your powder. Go! Go! Take Errol.'

Mr Weasley shuffled Harry to the fire where a purple flame danced in the middle. Harry took hold of the cage, threw in the powder and shouted 'The Shrieking Shack!' before whirling out of sight. The last thing that he saw was Mrs Figg sneezing and then his head spun so much he had to close his eyes.


'Oil! Mum! He's here!'

Something red with spots came into Harry's sight. He had dropped his glasses and after a minute he realized it was Fred (or George, for that matter). As the Weasley twin handed him his glasses and he got them on, Mrs Weasley had entered the kitchen. Well, what had once been the kitchen. It was now not more than a dusty room, windows shattered behind the thick boards and broken furniture. A thin layer of soot covered the kitchen, himself and the twin. Mrs Weasley hugged him tightly.

'Oh, Harry dear! You didn't hurt yourself too bad, I hope? I wanted Ron to clean that chimney up, but the roof would never had held him and I'm not especially good with those spells. Ron! Where are you? George!'

'I'm here,' the twin near the fire sighed.

'I'm sorry, George. Fred!'

Two other red haired boys entering the room. One of them was his best friend Ron and the other Fred, who grinned along with his twin. They looked as impish as ever and George kept stealing glances at Ron.

'Harry! Right out of the chimney. See Father Christmas?' Fred said.

'Nah,' Harry answered, 'but I think there's a nest of pixies up there.'

'Pixies in a chimney?' said Ron.

The red hair stood straight up and the freckles were glowing slightly. He'd grown less than an inch and Harry hoped that it was a sign of that Ron had stopped growing. He didn't need more length, he was already towering over the twins and his father.

'Did he get there?' asked Mr Weasley's voice from the fire. 'There you are. I'll be late, Molly, so don't wait up.'

He disappeared before Mrs Weasley could make a sound and she huffed something that sounded like 'I'll be up, you just wait'. Her plump, friendly face was filed with wrinkles and she'd lost some weight. The twins were whispering and they both were glancing at Ron whose freckles were glowing even more. Harry though he saw a lightly purple shade in Ron's hair, but wasn't sure.

'Why're we here?' Harry asked when the greeting had ended.

'We're more or less gathering you to one piece,' George answered. 'We're going to Spinners End now –'

'The what?' asked Harry.

'The Spinners End, it's Moody's house. Some of us thought' – he sent his mother an icy glare – 'that it'd be better to greet you here then a place closer.'

'This is Order business, boys. You're not in the Order,' Mrs Weasley responded to the glare.

'Oh, Mum, shut it. George and me have a fully well running shop at the Diagon Alley, why wouldn't we be in? We are of age and out of school, and...'

'Because you're children' Mrs Weasley snapped, 'and don't talk to me like that!'

'Mum, we're not children. We're of age, you know...' George tried to say.

'You're my children. You sound like children and you're not going to be in the Order yet. That's the end of it, I told you that you could only come if you wouldn't – don't you dare, Fred!'

Harry looked around and came to think of someone that was missing.

'Where's Ginny?' he asked, thinking about the youngest Weasley.

'She's at the Spinners End, too dangerous to be out here,' sighed Mrs Weasley. 'I think we should get going now, or she'll burn our dinner. Albus' coming to eat with us, he'll surely like to explain things for you. I must get a pumpkin pie ready for him. Poor man haven't had time to eat properly.'

Harry followed everyone else outside and found he was staring at one of the flying cars from the Ministry of Magic with Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and an unknown, very thin woman inside it. The woman had dark hair with peculiar orange spots that looked much like orange milk had exploded in her face. Her nose stuck out, somewhat reminding of a carrot.

About fifteen other wizards and witches were also there. Harry saw a tall, dark wizard that peered over the shoulder of a witch in a purple hat who was chatting with another witch in a yellow cloak. A witch with bubblegum pink hair winked at him from where she was tying his trunk to her broom.

'Wotcher, Harry!' she said.

'Hi Tonks,' Harry answered. 'What –'

'They were gan rage and started throwin' bricks at us, like eh!' The unknown woman in the car cut him off, apparently telling a story that requested a loud voice and lots of hand gestures.

'Harry!' barked Mad-Eye. 'How are you?'

'I'm fine, thanks,' said Harry a bit uncertainly since Moody were looking at him through the back of his head.

'And I must've punched one of them ower, see,' the lady said, seemingly unaware of Harry's presence.

'Don't do that, Dawn. You know he's here,' said Moody with a glare at the woman before turning to face Harry. 'Still got your wand in your pocket?'

'Err – yes' Harry said.

'It's your buttocks,' muttered Moody and rose. 'Get over here and quit blabbering.'

The witches and wizards drifted closer. A black haired wizard muttered something to the witch in a yellow cloak and she nodded. They were watching Harry closely and he wished they wouldn't.

'What happened with your freckles, Ron?' Tonks asked suddenly.

Ron looked appealed and tried to watch his clearly glowing freckles. The twins were shaking with laughter where they stood by a bandy-legged man with straggly, ginger hair. Harry recognized him as Mundungus Fletcher.

'George!' Ron cried. 'You little – OUCH!'

Dawn had turned and rapped her wand over his nose. The freckles quit glowing but Ron now nurtured a nosebleed. When Harry met Dawn's eyes, he shuddered. There was no colour in there.

'Harry Potter, I hear,' she said, stretching her hand a bit left of him. 'Me name's Dawn Atkinson.'

'Nice to meet you, Mrs Atkinson', said Harry politely. Her colourless eyes were making him very nervous.

'It's Miss Atkinson, but say Dawn. That's i' then. Let's trot along, we'll be late fur dinner if we don't speed up a bit.'

Moody stepped up in front of them and cleared his throat.

'Right, you all know what to do. Go down over Cannich, switch and Apparate to Dalchreichart. The others will come up and fly us there, you'll come back up and we'll go the rest of the way. It'll be rough.' He turned to Harry. 'You're in the middle. Climb in. If everything fails, stick to the ground and keep quiet. We'll find you.'

Harry climbed into the back seat of the car, George to his right and Ron to his left. Mrs Weasley sat next to Fred, who was driving. The car started and they waited for Mrs Weasley to find her belt beneath the cage with Errol.

'Wands out!' shrieked the witch in a purple hat and there was flutter when nearly twenty wands were drawn, pointed and rapped. The guards disappeared.

'Mount your brooms!' yelled a male voice.

'On the signal!' shouted a witch.

They waited and then –

'Up!' Moody barked.

The car lifted, soaring up through the sky. Harry sat shocked in the middle. Everything sounded like one of Dudley's movies about the Second World War. All around them flew witches and wizards, their faces determined and wands held tightly in their hands. George passed a piece of what looked like the counter end of a Nosebleed Nougat to Ron, who swallowed it thankfully.

'Wow,' Harry breathed.

'Yeah, Moody's trained us for a week now,' nodded Ron. 'He's done all sorts of tests to make sure Fred, George and me would make it.'

'Constant vigilance!' barked George sounding much like Mad-Eye before sniggering.

'I couldn't stop puking when he made that diving-thing,' said Ron.

Harry saw the twins' exchange and had a shrewd idea about why Ron hadn't been able to stop throwing up. It included a Puking Pastille.

'Wont the Muggles see us?' Harry asked. 'I mean, the Disillusionment Charm wont over the brooms and the car.'

'Some sort of a bubble-charm, they wont tell us. The Disillusion Charm's not needed at this height,' explained George.

The three Weasley children glared at their mother, who ignored them. The witch in a purple hat soared past, switching places with a wizard.

'Who are all these people?' Harry asked. 'They weren't this many last year.'

'Just some Order members,' shrugged Fred. 'There's Hilda Harning in that purple hat and Tonks to the left –'

'Emmeline Vance and her son Alexander's above us,' said Mrs Weasley, 'and here goes Kingsley –'

'I see Dawn and Lellwyn Whorn beneath us,' reported George.

'Horatio's to the left and – oh, there's Nick and Agda, that's her in the yellow cloak, they're such a sweet couple,' pointed Molly.

'Moody's up front with Hildur and Will Cauldron,' said Ron, 'look, there's Chrissie and Math and – Mum, what's Charlie doing here?'

'Charlie?' Mrs Weasley's neck cracked. 'Oh, dear, I wonder that too, Ron.'

The journey went peacefully, except for the loop that Fred had to try, which caused a long speech from a slightly green-faced Molly. Harry gazed out the car's window, his eyes following the guards that soared through the air. Every now and then one of them would do a dive to peer through the window. Though still very confused, he was looking forward to spend the rest of the summer with the Weasleys, whom he counted as his family.

'Hey, Harry! Take a look at Dawn!' Fred called. 'She's cool. Has a great head for Potions, you know.'

'You can have a head for Potions?' Harry asked wryly. 'That's her in the flowered dress, right?'

'Yeah, she's helped Fred and me with out Lavender Pastilles. Gave us a lecture about lavender and aniseed,' said George. 'It's not really working yet, though.'

'She's nearly completely colour blind, you know,' said Ron. 'Sees only green and red according to Mad-Eye. You should hear her talk with an accent.'

Ron shivered.

''S not a dead barie recipe, bu' A think i' cu'd've been worse,' said George in a slow voice. 'The accents kind of okay once you've gone used to it.'

Mrs Weasley pressed her lips together but said nothing. Harry found his mind wandering again, from this Dawn to Quidditch to things he didn't want to think about. They turned sharp left and the guards were suddenly twice as many before half of them went down. Harry assumed they'd passed Cannich because now they were heading more east. Moody was up front again, apparently determined to not rest and Tonks beneath him seemed to be yelling at the top of her lungs. She disappeared into a cloud and Harry assumed she'd gone down too.

'... wish I could do a save like that', Ron was saying, apparently talking about Quidditch. 'He just flew so wonderfully.'

'Oh, come on', George responded. 'You sound like Charlie.'

'Am not!'

'Are too!'

'Boys…' Mrs Weasley sighed.

'Well... Wood's one hell of a Keeper, you've got to admit that.'

'Yeah, but I don't fall in love with him for that.'

'No, I can tell. You've got your head to filled up with Luna Lovegood, haven't you?'

George blushed furiously and his freckles seemed to glow worse than Ron had an hour ago. Molly shot him a look that suggested a long talk about the birds and the bees. George carefully avoided it.

'Thanks,' he muttered to Ron.

'Luna?' Harry asked astonished. 'Luna Lovegood?'

He was thinking of the girl from Ravenclaw who had dreamy eyes and dirty, waist long, blonde hair. Harry seriously doubted that she ever thought of washing it. Luna was somewhat dreamy in every state of thought, she always stepped into rooms looking totally disoriented. On the other hand, she was very clever, like Hermione.

'Yep!' said Ron, snatching Harry out of his thoughts, turning towards him, his back against George. 'The same-old Luna. They've had three dates so far.'

'Shut up!' wheezed George, still glowing. 'I'll turn your hair back blue!'

'I'm quiet.' Ron was smiling meaningfully at Harry, his eye's glittering with laughter.

Some time later Harry had just asked about the twins joke shop when suddenly the sky was lit up by fifteen wands shooting stars. Among them Harry saw a streak of gold.

'That's the signal,' yelled George. 'Dive!'

Fred dived. The car dived. Mrs Weasley almost vomited. They landed in front of a stone building with two floors, two chimneys and Ginny Weasley on the porch. She was beaming, her flaming read hair flying in the wind. A second later five guards landed on the ground, among them Moody, Dawn and Tonks.

'The bubble,' Tonks panted and undid Harry's trunk. 'Nothing to worry about. Muggles'll think someone was shooting fireworks. Here's your trunk, Harry. Get in, get in. Up!'

With that Tonks and the two other guards soared back into the cloudy sky. Harry breathed deeply. Suddenly he felt really, really tired. One of the twins, Harry couldn't tell which, levitated his trunk up the stairs. He managed to get through the door to the little room and turned his head when Ron spoke.

'Mum put me with the twins,' said Ron, 'Merlin knows why.'

Harry barely nodded. His feet ached, his body felt ever so heavy, he was so tired.

'You look tired. Go have a lie down,' said Fred. 'We'll make Ron wake you up to dinner.'

Again, Harry only managed a slow nod. He stepped into the room, was vaguely aware of his trunk floating in and the door closing. There were two beds… bed… what a wonderful idea…

Already snoring Harry fell upon the closest bed and was fast asleep.


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