Chapter 1
Temperamental Time

Time was playing a funny trick on 16-year-old Harry Potter; every second he was trapped in his aunt and uncle's house seemed like a painful eternity, yet a month had passed so quickly Harry could not believe it. It was a month ago Harry was tricked by Lord Voldermort to flee the safety of Hogwarts; It was a month ago Professor Dumbledore had stared down his crooked nose and told Harry that he would have to kill or be killed; and it was just one month ago Harry watched his godfather fall beyond the veil to his death. It took an eternity for those weeks to pass, but it only seemed like a moment ago to Harry.

Now young Harry waited for time to start moving properly again. He tried to distract himself by reading Quidditch books, letters from his friends, and back issues of the Daily Prophet. He occasionally toiled over some defensive spell books or played with his birthday gifts. Mostly he practiced Occlumency.

Harry seemed to be waiting for many things during the summer holiday before his sixth year at Hogwarts. Every morning he waited for the Daily Prophet and news of the wizarding world. Each day Harry felt a knot of anxiety resurrect itself from the pits of his stomach and position itself firmly in his chest.

So far he worried in vain; Voldermort made no move yet. While the Daily Prophet produced some articles relating to Voldermort and his Death-Eaters almost every day, no attacks had yet been reported. The Quibbler, however, had published detailed analysis of Voldemort's connection to a muggle rock band that was apparently brainwashing the world with catchy punk songs, Harry knew better than to take this seriously.

Harry also waited for letters from his friends. Ron had written a few short, totally useless notes. It turned out Ron was staying with his twin brothers and younger sister Ginny in Diagon Alley above Fred and George's joke shop. Ron was having the best summer of his life earning money and playing liberal amounts of Quiddich with some pretty Ravenclaws that had taken up a flat nearby in London. Harry was happy to get news of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and the whole Weasley family (well, excluding the never mentioned estranged Percy Weasley), but what Harry really wanted to know was too sensitive to be sent by owl: Harry wanted to know what the Order of the Phoenix had planned for Lord Voldermort. He wanted to know what they knew of Voldemort's plans. But, he would have to wait.

Harry's other best mate, Hermione Granger, was a bit more generous with her ink and already sent Harry four post cards from her holiday trip to the U.S. with her muggle parents. She sent them via muggle post, which caused more excitement in Harry's summer so far then anything else.

"Harry got mail," his cousin Dudley had cried one afternoon.

When Uncle Vernon saw the post card from New York City he bellowed, "What would one of your kind be doing using our mail? And a postcard! Anyone could have read this and learned about your abnormality!" Vernon Dursley had proceeded to read the card out loud to his wife Petunia as to survey potential damage caused by the possibly, nosey postman.

Dear Harry,

NYC is so big and there are some many people about I can hardly help but thing how much Mr. Weasley would love it here! I've seen Times Square and the Statue of Liberty. We went to a Broadway musical as well! The plane ride was very long, but quite a bit safer then the last couple times I've gone flying with you!

Love, Hermione

PS: I miss you!

As Vernon finished, Harry couldn't help but smile to himself remembering mounting Buckbeak the Hippograph with Hermione and flying up to a small tower window at Hogwarts to rescue Sirius. The smile quickly faded as Harry thought of his flight to the Department of Mysteries on the back of a thestral the night Sirius was killed. Harry felt his face flush red with anger at Hermione for making a joke about that night. Harry had stomped fiercely out of the kitchen without even trying to retrieve the postcard from his uncle.

Harry laid prostrate on his bed for a full ten minutes before the mammoth form of Dudley filled the doorframe of his bedroom. Since Harry had left for Hogwarts last year, his cousin had continued to become more muscular and intimidating. He was leaner now, but still large.

"Forgot your card," Dudley spat as he waved the picture of the New York City skyline. Harry merely grunted. "Don't you want it?"

"No," said Harry.

"Suit yourself," Dudley retorted reviewing the message. "Hermy-i-won? What kind of freak name is that?" Harry would have usually spoken up to protect his friend, but he was still angry about the flying joke. "Is it even a girl or a guy?"

"It's a girls name from Shakespeare" Harry answered vaguely recalling a conversation he had with Hermione years earlier, "If you ever meet her I'm sure she'll tell you all about it." Harry was sure she would explain quite thoroughly too, he thought to his amusement; although he saw no reason why he would ever subject Hermione to that encounter.

"Oh, your kind read Shakespeare? Don't you have your own books?"

Rather then engage in a conversation that would surely end in Harry being told off for talking about his abnormality, Harry continued to lay motionless on his bed. But Dudley persisted. "What's wrong with you anyway?"

"Nothing," Harry said flatly.

"No, there's plenty off about you," Dudley sneered, "but this summer it's different. You've changed."

"No I haven't," Harry answered flatly again.

"Yes you have" Dudley pressed.

Harry shot up to his feet and walked over to the doorway where Dudley was standing. He grabbed the postcard from Dudley's hand and made to slam the door. But Dudley's arm shot out keeping to door open.

"Why do you come back here if you hate it so much?" Dudley inquired staring keenly at Harry.

"Why don't you ask your Mum?" Harry replied thinking about the promise his aunt had made to Dumbledore fifteen years ago. "Besides it's not exactly my choice."

"Couldn't you go live with that murdering godfather of yours?" Harry felt the color drain from his face; he couldn't escape Sirius anywhere. It took all his concentration not to breakdown and use magic to make Dudley hurt every bit as much as he did at that moment.

"I knew it!" Dudley exclaimed misreading Harry's reaction. "You don't even have a godfather. You made him up! You don't have anyone!"

Harry stood very still. I just don't have the energy for any of this anymore, he thought to himself. "You're right about one thing," Harry said calmly looking up at Dudley with a mixture of pain and hate, "I don't have anyone."

Harry closed to door in Dudley's face and collapsed on his bed.

No one, a forceful, but sad voice repeated in his head. Well maybe, he thought to himself looking at the postcard in his hands as images of his Hogwarts friends filled his mind, maybe not no one.

When Harry awoke the next morning his anger about Ron's useless letters and Hermione's joke had subsided, leaving him with a familiar and awful void. And Harry Potter found himself waiting for the ever-looming promise of time: that it would heal even this wound.

This morning was different though. Harry was nearly as sad or lonely as he was restless. He had been shut up for four weeks and had little communication with the outside world. His aunt, uncle and cousin toke their cue from Harry and more or less avoided one another for four weeks. While a pile of letters, all useless and full of condolences, grew on his nightstand, Harry only answered a few. One note to Ron and Hermione each, to assure them that he was still breathing and one letter to Remus Lupin to thank him for his birthday gift and asking him to thank the others in the Order for their respective gifts to him.

Now Harry felt if he didn't move about and talk to someone he would burst. So he dressed. As he tucked his wand into his jeans, he was sure to position it so it wouldn't blow off his buttocks. He started toward Mrs. Figg's house not really sure how he would be received. He found out only last year Arabella Figg was a squib whom Dumbledore had placed in Harry's neighborhood to look over him. As Harry stepped out into the summer sun he cast a glance around the street wondering if Dumbledore had someone spying on him right now. Harry only found Mrs. Figg's tabby cat Mr. Tiblets. Together they headed down the road.

"Well," Mrs. Figg exclaimed when she found Harry and her cat on her front stoop, "I thought I would be seeing you a lot sooner then this! Don't just stand there, come in. I'll put on some tea."

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Mrs. Figg knew nothing about what the Order was up too, but did know that Harry hadn't been under 24-hour surveillance for the last week and half as he hadn't left his house in a month. She did not mention Sirius once, for which Harry was grateful. Around five Mrs. Figg escorted him home with several loud false alarms about potential Death Eaters and dementors that turned out to be nothing more then shadows.

"Be sure to visit again soon," she said patting him on the back and shoving him up the path of #4 Private Drive.

Harry returned to find Ron's owl Pig hooting loudly and fluttering around his room. Harry removed Pigs burden noticing Ron's letter was written in a sloppier then usual hand like he was angry or in a hurry.

Dear Harry,

Have you heard from Hermione? She's acting really off. She came, by herself, to Diagon Alley to visit us all at the joke shop, but refused to stay longer then the afternoon even though Fred and George wanted her to stay on for the rest of the summer. She told them that she'd come back when you could come stay too.

Yesterday, Dad let it slip she visited Dumbeldore and Lupin at the place we stayed last summer and got into something of an argument, but he won't say what about. I reckon it has something to do with you and the muggles though, because Dad said something about Dumbledore and her have differing ideas about your safety. Dad said he'd never seen anyone go on so long with Dumbledore without losing composure or quitting the argument.

What's going on with the two of you!

Yours,

Ron

The truth was Harry had not heard from Hermione in since her last postcard. He hadn't even gotten a birthday gift from her. Hedwig had been sent to her earlier that day, so Harry anticipated further explanation shortly.

Harry found it difficult to practice Occlumency that night because he kept on playing an amusing scene between Hermione and Dumbledore in his head. He calm and amused, her serious and business-like with a dialog going back and forth like a tennis match each with a logical answer for the other. "What is going on?" Harry thought to himself before drifting into sleep.

"About time!" Harry exclaimed the next morning when he awoke to find Hedwig hooting indignantly. However, it appeared Hermione hadn't really put much thought into her letter, as it was not her usual length or neatness. But she had managed to hurriedly scratch out:

Dear Harry,

Sorry, but you'll have to wait for your birthday gift. Trust me it will be worth it. I'm not allowed to say exactly why because of safety and such (don't be angry!), but just hang in there!

Love,

Hermione