Three weeks passed. Harry, Hermione, and Ron made preparations to leave Four Privet Drive for the Burrow the day before Harry's birthday.

"Any idea how they're going to react?" Ron asked Harry as he helped Ron pack up.

"Who, the Dursleys?" Harry asked. He laughed. "They either won't notice or they'll be really, really happy."

"I don't know how you've put up with them all these years," Ron said. "Damn Muggles. They're the worst I think I've ever seen."

"Excuse me?" came an icy voice from the doorway. Hermione, dripping wet and wearing a bathrobe, was standing there, apparently forgetting, in her anger, that she was barely dressed.

Harry, seeing a bad situation developing that was far out of his control, beat a hasty retreat. "I'm going to go make sure I've got everything," he said, and slipped past Hermione as Ron cringed and prepared for a verbal assault.

As Harry exited the room and entered the hallway, he found Dudley standing in the middle of the platform, staring stupidly at him. "What's your problem?" Harry asked.

Dudley didn't say anything, but craned his neck to look around Harry at Hermione, who was still rather scantily clad. A little bit of spittle dangled from Dudley's stupid, glazed over face.

"That's disgusting, Dudley," Harry said, and turned and closed Ron and Hermione's door.

"Hey!" Dudley said, breaking out of his trance. "Hey, why'd you do that?"

"One word, Dudley," Harry said, with more patience than he'd thought he'd manage. "Privacy."

Dudley grunted and waddled off, obviously disgruntled. Harry chose the opposite direction – down the stairs. As he was about halfway down, he heard a loud, though muffled, thump, and turned in alarm. He considered charging back up the stairs to make sure that his two friends were okay, but then decided against it.

They'd be fine together. Hopefully.

Two hours later, their bags packed, Harry, Hermione, and Ron (who sported a black eye and an extremely dopey grin that Harry didn't dare ask about) headed for the door. They were stopped halfway there, though, by Uncle Vernon.

Harry groaned. He'd rather hoped that the Dursleys wouldn't take any notice of his final departure from their home, but as he had so often in Harry's younger days, Uncle Vernon quashed that hope. "Ahem," he said, clearing his throat as loudly as possible. Harry was struck by the notion that Uncle Vernon had rehearsed this moment before. "Now that you've come of age, boy, you are no longer welcome in this house. Forthwith, you shall be banned from this house and it's premises. If I ever…"
"Are you done?" Harry asked, pretending to yawn, to great effect. A vein popped out on Uncle Vernon's forehead.

"No," he said, curtly. He cleared his throat again, seeming rumpled. "If I ever catch you here again, I shall be forced to report you as a trespasser to the police. I hope that you try me on that, since I'd love to see them drag you away to jail.

"Now, hurry up. I never want to see you again."

Harry wondered for a moment if he ought to point out his Uncle's contradictory wishes, but then decided that there wouldn't be a point. He'd never see his relatives again if he could help it.

"Bye," he said. With that, he slung his bad across his back, and followed Ron and Hermione out of Four Privet Drive's front door one last time.

They got to the street and Ron looked back at Harry. "You okay?" Ron asked.

"Of course I am," Harry said. He was suddenly aware of the huge grin on his face. "I've been waiting to leave that place for good my whole life."

They walked on for a moment before Hermione announced that their present location was ideal. "But you do realize that I haven't Apparated with anyone else yet," she said, sounding worried.

Neither Ron nor Harry was too worried, though. "Hermione, if there was one witch on this planet who I'd trust to figure this out right the first time, it's you," Harry said.

Hermione blushed slightly. "Well, I suppose you have to touch me…let's go…"

"No, wait," Harry said, and his friends looked up at him. "Just a minute…I have a little something planned."

He checked his watch. "It ought to be happening right about…now," he said.

An enormous "BANG!" issued from the Dursley's chimney, showering the house and lawn in bright red and gold confetti.

"Harry…what was that?" Hermione asked, awestruck and stern at the same time.

"That was a little something that I had Fred and George cook up for me," Harry said. "I figured we'd use them at Quidditch matches…but…well, under the circumstances, I couldn't think of a better use for them."

He watched as the confetti, which was enormous in and of itself, fluttered down to the roof and lawn. Each piece, which was as large as a car, instantly plastered itself flat to whatever surface it landed on. "They won't be able to get it up, either; you need magic to get that stuff to come unstuck."

Laughing, Harry turned back to his friends. Both had open-mouthed expressions; Hermione was obviously fighting to keep from laughing, while Ron had given up that particular battle and enjoyed a quick laugh with Harry.

"After all," Harry said, as he and Ron reached for Hermione's free hand. "I couldn't leave them without a housewarming gift."

There was an unpleasant squeezing sensation, a whoosh, and the three teenage wizards were gone from Privet Drive.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione materialized outside the Burrow shortly thereafter. For some reason, Mr. Weasley was already outside, waiting for them, and he didn't look happy.

"What did you do?" he asked, sternly. Upon a closer examination of his face, though, Harry found that he was repressing a smile.

"What?" Harry asked. "What do you mean?"

"To the Dursley's house," Mr. Weasley explained. "We've had to send in Ministry personnel to clean up the mess…the Minister isn't pleased at all, he wants to press charges."

Harry rolled his eyes. "He expects me to save the world while I have to deal with a bunch of misdemeanor charges?"

The hints of a smile faded from Mr. Weasley's face. "Harry, no matter who you are, you still need to follow the law."

Harry frowned. "Of course," he said, but he wasn't sure that he meant it.

Ron and Hermione noticed the inflection in his voice, and, before Mr. Weasley noticed it to, acted. "Let's go in and get something to eat," Hermione suggested. "No offense, Harry, but your cooking left a little to be desired."

Harry laughed, and some of the tension broke, but he was aware, as he headed with his friends towards the Burrow, that Mr. Weasley's stare was still boring into the back of his head. He found that it didn't bother him as much as he would have thought it would.

What did bother him was waiting in the kitchen. What did bother him was going to be turning sixteen fairly soon, possessed shocking red hair and uncannily cute, good looks, and a pair of eyes that simultaneously made Harry's stomach liquefy and his legs turn to jelly.

A month apart hadn't eased the burning passion that he'd discovered for Ginny Weasley. He'd thought that maybe it would fade a little bit – he'd hoped it would, anyway – but there it was, turning his insides to a boiling mess.

"Hello," he managed to say, breathing deeply to keep his voice steady.

"Hi," Ginny said, and looked somewhere between happiness and tears.

Silence descended on the Weasley kitchen. Ron wandered over to the counter and, pulling out his wand, conjured a sandwich. Hermione joined him a second later, leaving Harry and Ginny to pretend that they weren't staring at one and other and waiting for the other to speak.

"Oh, hell," Ginny said. "What are we doing? We're still friends, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nearly laughing at the relief he felt; that silence was oppressive.

"Okay," Ginny said. "In that case, I'm gonna have a sandwich." And, with a grin that stayed mostly in her eyes, Ginny brushed past Harry towards the counter.

Was it just his imagination, or had Ginny pressed a little more against him than had been necessary…?

Harry went over to the counter as well and started to assemble a sandwich the old fashioned way, beside Ginny, who was doing the same. It would not do to continue dwelling on things like that. Harry didn't allow himself to regret breaking off his relationship with Ginny; he knew that if he stopped to think about that act too closely he'd probably cry. Still, over examining every little act that concerned her wouldn't be prudent, either.

Harry rubbed his temples. Ron, apparently, noticed, because she asked, "Headache?"

"Oh, only a little one," Harry lied. "Apparition and I just don't agree fully yet."

"Oh dear," Hermione said, the familiar note of worry returning to her voice. "I do hope that I did it all right…"

"Don't worry," Harry said, quickly. "I'm fine. I just don't like Apparating, that's all."

"Lots of people don't," came a voice from the doorway. The four teens at the counter turned to see Bill standing there.

Harry's first reaction was that Bill looked much better than he'd expected he would; many of the scars that had mired his handsome face had been repaired, but several remained. Harry's second impression was there was something…different…in Bill's demeanor. The casual way in which he'd once carried himself was gone; in it's place was a sort of coiled hunch, as though he were ready to spring into some form of action at any moment.

"To tell you the truth, I've never been terribly fond of it, myself," he continued. Then he smiled, though even that smile was different; though it was friendly, there was a hint of the predator that now lurked in Bill's soul. "How are you all? Feels like I haven't seen you in ages."

Ron and Hermione both crossed the room quickly and hugged Bill; Harry crossed behind them, but hung back a bit, and contented himself with a handshake that only made Bill grin wider.

"So," Harry said. "When's the wedding?"

"A week," Bill said. "You wouldn't believe the planning nightmares we've had…what with all of the Ministry's newer, stricter traveling restrictions, getting people here is going to be a trick…"

He launched them into a conversation on the particulars of the wedding. Hermione in particular seemed interested; the sort of magic that went into the planning, and especially the execution, of a wizard's wedding was obviously fascinating to her.

After about twenty minutes of intriguing conversation, Mrs. Weasley, alerted to the presence of company by her husband, descended the stairs. "Hello everyone!" She said, enthusiastically. "I was so worried about all of you…come here, come here…"

She embraced each of the teens in turn, excluding Ginny, who hung back with Bill. "How were…those people, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, after hugging him practically to the point of strangulation.

"About the same as they always were, really," Harry said, truthfully. "Well, quieter, but I suppose that's just because they're scared of me."

Mrs. Weasley laughed, then must have realized that Harry was being serious. "Well, that's all over with now," she said. "We're very glad to have you here, Harry, and we'd like for you to stay as long as you want – "

"I'm staying for the wedding," Harry said. "Then I'll be leaving."

Mrs. Weasley was obviously a bit startled. "But Harry…where will you go?" she asked.

"Good question…" Ron muttered. Hermione nudged him in the ribs. He gave her a look that was half angry and half understanding.

"I don't know, yet," Harry admitted. "I suppose I'll have to figure that out before I leave."

"Harry, you're always welcome to stay, you know that…"

"I've made up my mind," Harry said, decisively. "I won't put you in the added danger of housing me for longer than is necessary."

Mrs. Weasley looked unsure of what to say. Not only had Harry's plans thrown her through a loop, she was deeply unused to the confident young man who stood before her. Harry had never been stupid, nor had he ever been a coward; still, this new decisiveness was a change, and it would take some getting used to.

"Well, okay, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "It is your choice."

Silence descended, no one knowing how, exactly, to follow that exchange. "Erm," Harry said, his firm manner abandoning him slightly. "I think maybe I'll go stow my stuff. Where do you want me to stay?"

"Actually, we were planning on letting you have a room to yourself," Mrs. Weasley said. "Arthur put a cot and a fireplace in the broom shed; it should be livable and private."

"Thanks," Harry said, appreciating the gesture; he didn't really want to have to room with anyone at the moment. With that, he hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder and left the house for the broom shed to deposit his gear…and to think.