Chapter 1: The Pink Quill

Harry stared up at the wall. There was a Quidditch poster there but he wasn't looking at it. His thoughts were on Sirius and the department of mysteries. He had thought of the things that had taken place in the Ministry a lot over the summer. Every time he'd replayed the image of Sirius falling through the veil he had fallen onto his bed and lain moping for hours at a time. Why? He thought, why must so many people die in this war? Dozens…hundreds…

And there had been that many deaths. Copies of the Daily prophet lay at the foot of his bed, each one with another list of the dead. Fudge was mucking everything up…He had nothing to fight the Death Eaters with. Despite Voldemort's return now being world-wide knowledge still the only people fighting him were the Order of the Phoenix. Their ranks had swollen and Harry fully intended to join this summer.

"Stop thinking about all the hurt…the pain…" Harry said aloud. It never made him feel better. His thoughts turned to the danger he and all his friends were in…What would he do if one of them got hurt? He shuddered to think…And what of Mrs. Weasley, she would practically die if one of the Weasleys, Harry or Hermione got hurt. The thought of her Boggart still haunted him just as much as Sirius.

They would be coming for him in just over an hour. He hated the place they would take him to, but agreed anyway. He should stop moping about the world's problems and start packing. He had only been at the Dursley's for a week, but his things were very spread out over his room. With no homework to occupy him, he had been researching attack and defence spells as well as other auror abilities that he thought the DA would need. It was now to operate in conjunction with DatDA lessons and also (However covertly) would function as a training kernel for the Order of the Phoenix. This made Harry feel rather pressured. Despite his wish to make his time useful, the Sirius problem was commonly distracting him. This was why his things were so scattered; he was having trouble settling to things.

He moved around the room picking up his quills, books and various personal items. He frowned as he picked up the letter which had asked him to go to Grimmauld Place, he had replied with one word: "Okay"; and Hedwig had not come back. They probably thought she was too easy to track, he thought savagely, but with defeat encircling him. He walked over to his desk and retrieved his wand, making a mental note to buy another. After what happened to Neville's he was taking no chances, but he also needed another since with his present wand he could not fight Voldemort. Like I really want to, he thought as he slipped the wand into its compartment in his trunk.

Literally as he sealed his trunk he heard a voice behind him

"Wotcher, Harry!" said Tonks, grinning at him.

"Hi Tonks. Are you the only one?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Yes. You don't need many people to travel by Portkey."

"Portkey?"

"Yes, Arthur's contact in the department of transportation arranged it. We just have to hold onto this quill." She held out a lovely, long, uncompromisingly and quite violently pink quill.

"What time does it go off?" asked Harry, who wanted to leave soon.

"In about twenty seconds. Get hold of your stuff. That's it. That everything? Then put your finger just there."

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and ended up inside his trunk in the hallway of 12 Grimmauld place. All he knew of course was that he was in the trunk.

"Whoops," Tonks said as she let him out of the trunk, "I had no idea how unstable the port roads had become."

Harry stood up and helped put his stuff back in his trunk before asking what the heck port roads were. Apparently they were what Portkeys travelled down and it seemed that Voldemort was attacking them.

"Why don't you go upstairs Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, teleporting his trunk to his and Ron's room after having crushed him in a hug so hard he thought his rib cage was going to collapse, "Same room as last year. We're having dinner in an hour."

As Harry went up the stairs he sadly began to think about whom this house belonged to, or rather, had belonged to. He told himself not to think about that as he reached the landing his room was on. Before he had even touched his door however a man spoke behind him. Harry turned to look at him. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp.

"Potter, I don't suppose you know who I am do you?" said the Lion man, smiling. He spoke in a way that reminded Harry of Luna, but somehow altogether more crazy in a serious way. Luna had been a bit of a loopy loony. This man was clearly a grade A Ministry certified nut job.

"No sir," Harry replied, trying to be dignified.

"I am your new Defence against the dark arts teacher, Alan Mufasa."

"Pleased to meet you." They shook hands and then Alan went of downstairs.

Harry opened the door to his and Ron's room shaking his head and laughing. It was quite empty. He sat down on his bed and stared at the door for a moment. Then, suddenly Hermione and Ron entered the room wrapped around each other in a very amusing manner making squelching noises. Harry grinned.