A/N: Yes, I know I haven't updated in forever. I've been so busy. The teachers at my school have decided that the end of the 3rd Quarter is an ideal time to load students up with ridiculously complicated homework.

I've been having some severe cases of writer's block, so my chapters might be arriving late.

I've also been writing a poem, which is posted on titled The Founders Four. I need to edit it, though.

Here's the latest chapter:

Chapter 5: Let Freedom Ring!

The past two weeks of Harry Potter's summer were quiet and peaceful. Nothing particularly exciting happened to him. Even the Daily Prophet didn't report anything strange, unusual, or mildly interesting, unless you count publishing an article about the decline in puffskein populations as 'interesting news'.

Consequently, Harry spent much of his time replying to letters sent by Ron and Hermione and working on his summer assignments. The work was not only difficult to complete, but was also boring and tedious.

Many a time, when Harry had woken up in a cold sweat from another horrific dream including Lord Voldemort, he had started on his work from History of Magic about the 29 Years Goblin War (which had only been 7 months), but fell asleep soon afterwards. As a result of such habits, the assignment looked fairly disjointed; it looked as if other students were adding two sentences at a time to the answer to the question.

The books that Harry had ordered arrived three days later, carried by three owls including his own, Hedwig. The books the bookstore had found for him were titled: An Auror's Guide to Defensive Spells by Rea Arcan, Extremely Advanced Spells for the Apprenticed Auror by Richard Dominacci, Mandatory Maneuvers for Master Magicians by Alastor Moody, and, the book Hermione had been referencing to for over 5 years now, Hogwarts: a History.

These new additions to his collection of defensive books made it swell to over ten books, excluding the volumes Remus Lupin had given him for his last birthday.

Harry dutifully wrote letters every three days to the Order of the Phoenix, describing his pathetically boring days in the Dursley household. In each and every letter he repeatedly asked when he was to be able to be rescued from the Dursley's prison-like dwelling.

The day before he received his long-awaited freedom, Harry heard a high-pitched twittering outside his bedroom window. Upon opening the window, something that appeared to be a grey snitch with feathers fluttered to Harry's bedpost. Upon closer investigation, the feathery snitch turned out to be Ron's Scops owl, Pigwidgeon. Since Pig was carrying a letter addressed to him, Harry had to hold the overly excited, tiny owl while he removed the parchment from his leg.

The letter read:

Hey Harry,

We finally went to Diagon Alley yesterday, after two whole weeks of Pig turning into a tree. After a while, he started to stay a tree longer and began to take root. At that point, all three of us, i.e. me, Dad, and Ginny, begged Mum to take him to Diagon Alley to get him checked out. As it turns out, all we needed to do to cure him was to trim him into a bird topiary bush. How weird is that?

Mum ranted on and on about how we didn't really need to go to Diagon Alley and how we wasted three handfuls of perfectly good Floo Powder.

In your last letter, when you wrote about Dudley accidentally punching the icebox instead of you, I nearly wet myself laughing so hard. And I couldn't stop laughing. Finally, Mum had to give me Kachinatoni's Kwik Laughter Reducer. It tastes so horrible! I can see why it works so well!

By the way, how's the great lump's hand? I hope it still hurts him!

We, that is to say, me, Dad, Ginny, Tonks, and Mad-Eye Moody are going to come to take you away from the Dursley's at noon tomorrow. Tonks supposes that they've learned from their experience with the non-existent All-England Best Kept Lawn Competition (even though they don't look very smart). We'll have to think up a new way to either lure them away or take you way. Maybe we'll just charge in there, grab your things and you, and run out as fast as we can. Or, maybe not.

In any case, we'll be arriving and leaving by Knight Bus, so prepare for your stomach to go up your throat.

I can't wait to see you and neither can Ginny! We'll see you tomorrow.

Your friend,

Ron Weasley

Harry was extremely glad his day of freedom was tomorrow. He glanced at his calendar, tomorrow would be a Saturday, 27 July 1996. That meant only four more days to his birthday, and he would be spending it with the Weasley's!

With new found enthusiasm, Harry continued his work on the travels of Wilhelm the Wanderer and his faithful Pegasus, Aberatus, in History of Magic.

When Harry finished his History of Magic summer work, which was no small feat (for there were two hundred questions from the 1600's Goblin Rebellions to the creation of useless spells and charms in the 1800's), it was nearly 11 o'clock at night. That was saying something, because he started his assignment at 3 pm.

Harry sighed tiredly and headed off to bed.

Harry had neglected to tell his Muggle relatives about the witches and wizards who might come to call later that day. So, when the doorbell rang around lunch time, and the Dursley family was still there, Harry felt excited and nervous at the same time, wondering what his friends would do and what his Uncle Vernon would react.

The doorbell rang again. Uncle Vernon, who was re-reading 'his' article in the business section of the afternoon paper about Grunnings, grumbled, "Bloody salesmen. They bother people on their day off from work." He got up from his usual seat on the couch and prepared himself for a good shouting bout at the supposed door-to-door salesman.

Petunia, who had heard the doorbell in the kitchen with her acute sense of hearing, dashed to the parlor window to spy on whoever had called.

Vernon opened the door wide, so that his family could see his act of bravery in telling off the unsuspecting salesperson. When he looked out, he did not see a smarmy salesman with slicked-back hair, but a girl of 15 with fiery red hair.

Harry immediately recognized her as Ginny, the younger and only sister of his best friend, Ron. He, then, sent a questioning look at her. Ginny either didn't notice or was acting like she didn't notice.

Uncle Vernon, however, clearly did not recognize Ginny. He asked impatiently, "Yes? What do you want?"

Ginny seemed unsure and looked behind her at a strawberry blond woman Harry supposed was acting as her mother.

The lady said encouragingly, "Go on, Tabitha, dear. Tell the nice man what your Buttercup Girls group is doing." This prompted Harry to snort (and, if he was drinking something, he would've done a spit-take). Vernon Dursley was hardly a 'nice man'.

Ginny, or 'Tabitha the Buttercup Girl', turned back to Vernon Dursley, who was waiting impatiently and continuously checking his watch. "We are t-taking a survey of all the k-kids' ages in our n-neighborhood."

Vernon huffed impatiently, apparently not wanting to waste another minute of his Saturday. He said, "And? So?"

Ginny looked even more nervous at the prospect of speaking again to this very intimidating specimen of the male human being. Harry wrote a mental note to compliment Ginny on her acting skills; he knew Ginny was not this cowardly.

"C-could all of y-your children c-come out?" Ginny stuttered out.

Dudley, who was also in the living room watching his favorite television program The Great Humberto, didn't budge.

Vernon looked at her then glanced at his son and said, "My son is busy at the moment. He just turned 16 two months ago."

Ginny glanced at Harry, who smiled and waved. "What about him?" she said to Uncle Vernon, gesturing at his nephew, Harry.

Vernon grunted. "Potter, come over here!" he ordered. When Harry arrived at the door with him, he said, "Go out there with this girl and tell them your age and anything else they want to know."

Harry did as he was told and walked out the door.

"And don't take too long! You have to come back and Hoover clean up the kitchen," Uncle Vernon growled as he slammed the door at his despised nephew's back.

Harry sighed. Finally, he thought. Finally, I can get out of this hole of death they call a house. He smiled at his friend Ginny, who smiled back.

"Wotcher, Harry," the woman posing as Ginny's mother greeted him with a broad, dazzling smile with startlingly bright white teeth.

"Is that you, Tonks?" Harry asked incredulously at the overly gleeful lady.

"The very same," she replied, still wearing the wide, bright smile.

Harry was slightly unnerved by the way his most recent friend was smiling at him. "Er….Why are you smiling at me that way, Tonks?"

Ginny laughed.

"What, this?" she said pointing to her smile with perfectly manicured hands. She continued in a sickly sweet voice that reminded Harry forcefully of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge, "It comes with the job, Harry. I have to stay in character, you know. I'm a stay-at-home-mother who takes joy in every minute thing my only child does and defends her when other people imply that she, my perfect little angel, has done something wrong."

"Just like my Aunt Petunia," Harry observed.

"Exactly. Which is crucial to your escape from here, Harry" Tonks replied.

Harry asked suspiciously, "Wait. What are you going to do?"

"You'll find out in a moment," Tonks replied mischievously.

Ginny grinned and added, "Yeah, and you'll be surprised at how fast we'll get your things."

As Ginny reassured her friend, a change was coming over Tonks's body. She was becoming taller and her neck was elongating. Her hair was becoming darker with every second that passed till it became an ebony black. Her face was lengthening, and her head took on the shape of that of a horse's. Soon she looked like a completely different person than Ginny's supposed mother. In fact, she had an exact resemblance to Petunia Dursley of number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry stared in awe at his Metamorphmagi friend as she winked and disappeared into the house of the malevolent Dursleys.

Tonks, as Petunia Dursley, closed the door behind her, which startled Vernon who was again re-reading the Grunnings article in the paper.

Vernon looked up, surprised at his supposed wife. "Er….Didn't you just go out into the garden, Petunia?"

"Oh. Yes, I did, Vernon," replied Tonks. "But I forgot something so I came in here to retrieve it."

This caused Vernon to become very confused and he paused to think. "But you –," he started but never finished, for his wife was now not in front of him, but was thundering up the stairs. This occurrence caused Vernon to be even more confused, because his wife was not one to thunder up the stairs like a teenager. Vernon finally concluded that the world had gone mad and returned to his beloved article.

Tonks quickly found Harry's bedroom. She saw his trunk and Hedwig on his made bed. "Tsk, tsk, falling out of habit are we, Harry?" she said when she glanced around his room. "I better mess this up a bit," she said as she rapidly messed up his bed and overturned his waste basket by his desk. "There. That's better."

She swiftly performed a Weightlessness Charm on his belongings and carried them out of the messy room and down the stairs.

Vernon, reading the article that praised his company for the tenth time, yet again noticed something strange about his wife who was now coming down the stairs as quickly as she went up with their nephew's belongings.

"What are you doing with the boy's possessions, Petunia dear?" he asked his wife.

"Oh," Tonks exclaimed, as if she hadn't noticed Vernon was still in the same position on the sofa. "I've decided that Harry has stayed here long enough. I'm going to put his things on the doorstep and return to my garden."

Vernon completely agreed with Petunia's resolution and said so. The boy has been nothing but a pest and we're right to get rid of him, he thought pompously.

Petunia, or a cleverly disguised Tonks, opened the door and walked out of the house.

"Here you are, Harry," said Tonks as she swept out of the Dursley house.

Harry, who had been talking with Ginny on the road curb, turned around and thanked her. "That was a brilliant idea, Tonks," he said happily.

But a thought suddenly occurred to him. Harry asked, with his eyes furrowed, in a low, serious voice, "What did you tell Uncle Vernon?"

"Oh, nothing really," Tonks responded casually. "I told him I was kicking you out of the house and that you would have to live somewhere else."

Harry was worried now. What would the real Petunia Dursley do when she found out her husband had kicked out her Wizarding nephew?

Petunia Dursley, having been gardening and removing 'deadly' weeds from her precious flower beds, returned to her kitchen to find it still dirty and the dishes by the sink, waiting to be washed.

"Harry!" she screeched. When no reply was heard, she shouted again, "Harry!"

Still, Harry did not answer. She walked into the den to spy her husband, Vernon, highlighting the particularly good parts of the Grunnings article.

"Vernon, where has that boy got to? He was supposed to clean the kitchen while I was in the garden," she told her husband.

For the third time that afternoon, Vernon looked curiously at his wife. "But, dear, you set his things outside not an hour ago when you were kicking him out of our house. Don't you remember?"

"I did no such thing," snapped Petunia, worried. "I've been out in the garden."

Uncle Vernon's eyebrows furrowed, as if he was in deep concentration or thought. "But if you didn't gather his belongings…" he said slowly.

Aunt Petunia gasped and bolted over to the window. She peeked outside. Nothing, not even a trace of a boy with a heavy trunk and caged owl was to be found.

A/N: Some of my readers have asked where I got the idea for Crookshanks the Talking Cat. Crookshanks is based upon my own cat, a scruffy, orange Maine Coon by the name of Pumpkin who says 'Mom' when she wants my mother's attention.

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