A/N: Read. Enjoy.

Chapter 5

A Last Visit

Number four, Privet Drive looked exactly the same as ever. The hydrangeas were in full, glorious bloom and Uncle Vernon's shiny black company car was sitting on the driveway, gleaming in the glittering ginger twilight. The warm summer breeze tousled Harry's dark hair as he looked up the house. He headed up the drive to the front porch for the last time, and knocked on the front door.

It took the Dursleys a considerable amount of time to open the door, which was only to be expected. Harry knew that they had seen him coming; no doubt Aunt Petunia has poked her horsey face through the front curtains. He had sent them owl post that he would be arriving now, but he was sure that they had done their best to ignore the letter, because first of all it had been brought by an owl (after six years with Harry the Dursleys hated owls), and second they hoped that if they did, he wouldn't come.

Finally, after Harry had waited for a few moments, Uncle Vernon's porkish face appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him inside the house quickly.

"Did any of the neighbors see you…arrive?" asked Uncle Vernon, looking nervously over Harry's shoulder and out of the window next to the front door.

"No," said Harry, though he had no idea whether any of the other residents of Privet Drive had seen him Apparate in front of the Dursleys' house. Though he hoped not, because he had only just passed his Apparition test right after his birthday. If any Muggles had seen he could lose his license.

"Well, let's get this over with," said Uncle Vernon gruffly. "The sooner you're out of here the better."

Harry nodded, not expecting one ounce more of compassion from Uncle Vernon. He made his way across the front hall and up the stairs onto the landing. He turned to his right, and entered through a door at the end of the hall. Glancing around the room, he saw only a few things left in it that belonged to him. Of these things there were several broken quills that lay on the bedside table, a box of forgotten owl treats on the floor under the old, weathered desk, and an empty inkwell that sat on the shelf above the bed. Harry wondered for a split second why he had bothered to come back at all. And then he remembered: Dumbledore had wanted him to. The thought of Dumbledore caused a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, so Harry hurriedly busied himself collecting the junk that lay around the room.

The broken quills, inkwell, and stale owl treats were stuffed into a small knapsack that Harry had carried with him, accompanied by a broken Sneakoscope that Harry remembered had cracked at the bottom of his trunk one year. After stuffing the Sneakoscope into the sack, Harry took one last, sweeping look around the room, knowing this would be the very last time he would ever see it. The thought raised his spirits significantly. But as his eyes darted over the old bedside table, he noticed that the drawer inside of it was open slightly. Not knowing exactly why, for it was sure to be filled with just more junk, Harry made his way over to the drawer, depositing his knapsack on the bed as he crouched down to look inside of it.

Pulling open the drawer all the way, Harry's heart gave a start at what he found inside. It was a very old, very dusty photo album that Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. He knew that inside there were pictures of his own family, his parents, and Sirius. Without pausing to think on it much, Harry seized the book and thrust it into his bag, turning and striding out of the room for the last time.

Just as he made to head down the stairs, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that a door to his right stood open. He turned to look. There was his enormous cousin Dudley, who was apparently attempting to lean against the doorframe coolly, but didn't quite manage to fit in the doorway, so instead half of him was in his room, and half of him was hanging out of it. The smug look on his face did not falter when Harry snorted loudly at him.

"Running away, Potter?" Dudley sneered at Harry's back. Harry took a step towards his cousin, his hand twitching near his right pocket, where his wand lay. He realized that a golden opportunity lay ahead of him. Now that he was of age, he could use magic here without being detected or reprimanded; he was in for a good time.

"Puts your mind at ease, does it Diddykins?" Harry said to him. He advanced upon Dudley even farther. His cousin recoiled slightly. "Makes you feel better, knowing that I won't sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night, and curse you into oblivion?"

Dudley tried to keep the smug smile on his face and keep his cool demeanor, but his trembling fists gave him away. He said nothing.

"Aha," said Harry, pulling out his wand lavishly. He tried to repress the grin that was threatening to creep onto his face as Dudley's enormous form went rigid, and his piggy eyes locked themselves on Harry's wand.

"You can't use magic outside of your freak school," said Dudley in a would-be confident voice, his eyes never leaving Harry's wand. "You can't do anything to me."

"Can't I, Big D?" He brandished his wand and brightly colored carnations sprouted from the tip of it; Dudley looked at them as though they were active grenades. Harry couldn't suppress a smirk. "Have a good rest of your life, cousin. Oh, and Diddles…" Harry was delighted to see the astonished and petrified look on Dudley's face, the flowers scattered at his feet, "Don't be so sure that I won't sneak into your bedroom in the dead of night….Sleep with one eye open, ickle Diddybum."

Harry tapped his wand lightly on Dudley's cheek, and his cousin leapt back three feet as if he'd been scorched, trembling from head to foot. Harry turned on his heel and made his way nimbly down the stairs. All of a sudden his mood had skyrocketed.

"Goodbye Uncle Vernon! Goodbye Dudley! Goodbye Aunt Petunia!" He shouted into the foyer, not expecting any sort of response.

As he made towards the front door, he caught a glimpse into the kitchen from his right. There sat Aunt Petunia with a dripping yellow sponge in her hand, her lips pursed over her large, bony teeth, staring at Harry. Harry was slightly surprised because usually she would be glaring or glowering, but now she was only staring blankly, as if she didn't know what to say. Harry chose to ignore this, and swung the door open, the sound of thousands of crickets greeting him.

"Harry."

Harry froze in his tracks, wondering if he had even heard anything. Slowly and tentatively he turned around and stuck his head back through the door. There was Aunt Petunia, standing right beside the doorway. She had abandoned her sponge and was wringing her hands, looking at Harry nervously.

"Er…" Harry looked at her. Her chin was trembling.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," said Aunt Petunia breathlessly. Harry stared at her, thoroughly shocked by this uncharacteristic showing of something other than callousness. He was completely lost for words. Petunia seemed to have noticed this. "You may have been a….a…a pest, annoyance, and a pain in the neck all of these years, but…" she looked at him with sincere concern. "You are my sister's son…and no matter what I ever said, I loved my sister dearly, even if she was a bit..." Petunia pursed her lips, obviously keeping herself from saying something nasty. "…different," she finished.

Harry was speechless. He goggled at Aunt Petunia for a good two or three minutes before finding his voice again.

"Uh, thanks Aunt Petunia," he said finally, nodding, and made his way slowly out of number four, Privet Drive for the very last time.

Back at the Weasley house things were extremely hectic, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Everyone was bustling about; members of the Order had been popping in and out all week asking about the wedding which was taking place the next evening. Fleur was staying at the Burrow now, and even with Charlie, Fred, and George not staying anymore, the house seemed even more crowded with just her instead of three men.

As soon as Harry had returned from the Dursleys he found that Hedwig had brought back Hermione's lengthy response to his letter. He smiled as he read it. Her constant words of comfort might have made him feel better, but he knew that she was just as worried as he was. But at least she was coming tomorrow for the wedding and he would be able to talk to her in person, which was something to look forward to.

The wedding plans were taxing on the Weasleys, but Harry knew that they enjoyed the hustle and bustle, especially Mrs. Weasley. He enjoyed it, too, somewhat. It gave everyone in the house something happy to focus on. The wedding was taking place in the Weasleys' backyard because they couldn't much afford anything fancy, and apparently Fleur "wouldn't have eet any uzzer way." Harry was looking forward to tomorrow night, but he knew that once it was over there would not be much else to be happy about. He didn't know exactly how he felt about living in Godric's Hollow, but it was the only place there was if he wanted to take action against Voldemort. There was, of course, Grimmauld Place which was rightly his, but Harry didn't think he could stand the pain of staying in Sirius's home, even if it was better protected than his parents' old manor. And besides, the Order of the Phoenix was still using Grimmauld Place as headquarters, which would be distracting.

Dinner that night was quick and rushed. Everyone was tired and slightly cranky from the hectic last week, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would all be almost over. It didn't help that Fleur kept bursting into sporadic tears all over the place. And oddly enough, Mrs. Weasley was usually the one comforting her as a part of their newfound friendship. Ginny, however, had still not developed such a friendship, and the nickname 'Phlegm' lived on.

Later that evening Ginny, Ron, and Harry sat by themselves in the backyard near the hedge. Ginny and Ron sat on an old wooden bench that was covered in greenery, and Harry sat on the ground, leaning against the dense hedge. His good mood over efficiently terrorizing Dudley for the last time and leaving the Dursleys had long since left him.

"Honestly, I really want Bill to be happy, but as soon as he and Phlegm are married and this thing is over, I'll be happy," said Ginny. She shook a few locks of auburn hair out of her face and continued. "They've got their own place in the city now, really close to Gringott's. Though she doesn't want to work there anymore, the only reason she was working there in the first place was to hit on Bill. But it shouldn't be too bad. I mean I've never been in a wedding before—"

"Ginny," said Ron, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. "Will you shut it?"

Ginny scowled at him, but was silent once more. But Harry wished she had kept talking. It was easier to let his eyes wander around when someone was talking. But whenever there was a silence, his attention always seemed to go back to Ginny. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, his heart ached for her. They had barely spoken since he had had to break it off with her. Ron was their middle ground, and Harry knew that Ron felt severely uneasy in this position, which made Harry feel even worse. But as soon as Hermione came around, things would get better, Harry thought.

But for now, they sat in the silence while Harry's chest ached, that familiar burning creeping up in his eyes again. He needed to get away from her; he needed to get away from here.

"I'm gonna go take a walk," mumbled Harry standing and brushing leaves and debris from his pants. He felt Ron and Ginny's eyes on him as he walked the length of the hedge and turned out into the darkness of the field beyond the Weasleys' backyard.

The stars twinkled and winked at him and a sliver of a crescent moon hung in the inky sky. Rather than easing, the pain in his chest increased, bringing with it a large lump in his throat. He tried swallowing this lump, but he couldn't, and all he saw was Ginny's face, and Dumbledore's face, and Sirius's face. Blinking rapidly, Harry couldn't stop several hot tears leaking out of his eyes and running down his cheeks.

A/N: I've realized that I'm probably going to be favoring writing from Harry's point of view…but you can't blame me, after all, the real books are all from Harry's point of view. Well, read and review: the good, the bad and the ugly!