Looking around at his immediate surroundings, Harry Potter was struck by several different emotions at once. The first, and strongest, was of revulsion; he hated this place with a passion. The second, and more surprising, was one of nostalgia.

Things had bee significantly simpler when all he'd worried about was his life here, beneath the stairs at Four Privet Drive.

Harry had arrived back at the Dursley's a week previous and had announced two things: the first was that his friends Ron and Hermione would be staying with him here, and the second was that he would be leaving, for good, in early July. To his immense surprise, the Dursley's had taken both sets of news remarkably well; Harry had a feeling that the latter cancelled out most of the anger that should have been inspired by the first.

All Uncle Vernon had said to Harry was, in passing, "I won't be responsible for feeding them," and he'd exited the room with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

Harry had taken that as nothing short of a miracle and, rather than waste it, had ushered Ron and Hermione upstairs as fast as possible, their bags (having sent the bulk of their trunks on to the Burrow) on their backs. Harry had felt as though everything might just go well for once when he opened the door to his old room – and saw the one bed.

His brilliant plan fell to pieces quickly.

"Erm," he'd said. "Here you go…"

After much giggling from Hermione and a remarkable imitation of a tomato from Ron, they'd agreed that it would be possible for them to share the room. Harry, in the mean time, would take his old place beneath the stairs, allowing them…privacy.

Why he'd thought that was a good idea when they'd been coming back from King's Cross, Harry could not, at that point, say.

He sat back on his old cot, attempting to relax, and discovered that since he'd vacated the little cupboard, several assorted insects had made his cot their home. Harry chuckled after thinking what Aunt Petunia's reaction to such a discovery would have been.

After assuring himself that most of the bugs were gone, Harry went about unpacking the small bag he'd allowed himself. The bag was magical – a gift from Fred and George – and was, perhaps, their most useful invention yet. It could carry much more than it looked like it could carry, yet never weighed much more than it did empty. Inside was Harry's Invisibility Cloak, a set of plain black wizard's robes, a set of plain Muggle clothes, the Marauder's Map, the knife Sirius had given him in his fourth year, his pocket Sneakascope, and, of course, his wand.

It was, even to Harry, not much. He knew that he would need more than what he had to complete his mission.

For the time being, though, Harry pushed that aside. His things arranged properly, Harry left the cupboard – bumping his head on the way out – and headed upstairs to what had, previously, been his room.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on the bed, talking, when Harry walked in. Neither seemed particularly happy. "Hello, Harry," Hermione intoned.

"Hey," Harry said. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Hermione said, before Ron could answer.

"Huh," Harry said. He knew his friends too well for that to get by him. "So, what were you talking about?"

Ron seemed a bit upset at this repeat of the question. "What do you think we were talking about?" he asked, snappishly. When Harry didn't say anything, Ron continued. "Just how in the hell are you going to find these damn Horcruxes, anyway?"

Harry shrugged, trying to exude an airiness that he did not feel. "Dunno," he said, and sat down on the end of the bed.

"Harry," Hermione began. "We have no idea where they all are. Wherever they are, though, they must be heavily guarded."

"Yeah, I expect they are," Harry said, miming a yawn. "Don't worry about it."

Ron threw up his hands. "Don't worry about it, he says…" he muttered to himself.

Harry was beginning to be annoyed. "Yeah," he said. "Don't worry about it. It's my problem; hell, it's my destiny. I'll figure it out."

Hermione and Ron stared, disbelieving, at their best friend. "You'll need help," Hermione said. "Dumbledore would have – "

Harry rounded on her so fast that the bed nearly flipped. "You have no idea what Dumbledore would have wanted!" he spat. A small shower of red sparks flowed briefly from his hands in his anger.

Hermione held up her arms, as though she were having a wand pointed at her. "Okay, okay," she said, trying to sound soothing and trying to mask her alarm at the same time. "Okay, Harry, I don't know."

Harry shook his head, his anger gone. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess that I'm still adjusting…but really…don't worry too much about me."

"We're your friends, mate," Ron said. "We're supposed to worry."

"Not anymore," Harry said, firmly. "The entire reason I'm doing this is so that people can live their lives again, without fear. So start doing that. Right now."

Both his friends looked as though they might protest at any moment, so Harry silenced both of them with a look. "And I don't even want to hear you think the word "Horcrux" again while you're here," he said.

As he was leaving the room, he heard Ron talk to Hermione. "He can't hear us think…can he?"

Harry chuckled. It might just be an amusing summer after all.

Later that day, a three owls came flying into the house by way of the kitchen window. Harry, who'd been making himself lunch, saw them. One of them stopped and held out it's leg to Harry, whilst the other two took flight for the staircase.

Harry was about to pull the letter off the owl's leg when a loud crash echoed from the stairs, followed by a shout of "Owls!". Harry barely noticed.

He pulled the letter off the owl's leg, and it immediately took flight again through the kitchen window. Before he opened the letter, Harry decided he'd go upstairs. The other two owls did not return to the staircase, which was probably a very good thing; Uncle Vernon was leaning, winded, against the side of the stairwell. Harry didn't give Uncle Vernon even a sidelong glance as he passed; Harry was pretty sure that he heard a muttered "two weeks," but he didn't care.

Harry entered Ron and Hermione's room to find them both standing by the open window, watching the two owls fly away. They both held letters, identical to his own.

"I guess we find out now, then," Ron said.

"Oh, I hope the school stays open!" Hermione burst out. She looked about ready to cry.

Harry remained silent, regarding his letter thoughtfully. His mind was made up; whether or not Hogwarts was kept running next year, he would not be returning. Still, he found that he cared deeply about the school's fate, and felt a knot tighten in his stomach at the thought that it might be closed.

"Well, let's do it, then," Ron said. He tore his envelope open and removed the parchment inside. Harry duplicated his feat and began to read.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It is my solemn duty to report to you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will remain in operation next year. We would be pleased to see you return for your seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

Enclosed are your seventh year schedule and supplies and book lists. If you wish to drop out of Hogwarts School, a note from your parent or guardian will be required.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

The last line made Harry's eyes water. Up until a couple weeks ago, Professor McGonagall had been the Deputy Headmistress – nothing more. He looked up from his letter and bit back tears. He noticed that Hermione seemed to be in the same process and offered her a weak smile.

"Phew," she said, after a moment, and sat heavily on the bed. The tension that had mounted in the room dissipated slightly. Ron breathed out loudly, as though he'd been holding his breath. Harry nodded and crossed to the window to get the blood flowing again, hearing his joints crack as he moved.

"Looks like we're going back, eh?" Ron said.

"Yeah, looks like," Hermione said. They both turned to stare pointedly at Harry.

"You're not going to talk me out of it," he said, simply, and left it at that.