Saturday, 8th August 1992.

Harry had barely registered the passing of time since the disastrous dinner party. His days were so repetitive and monotonous that this was hardly surprising. They always started the same.

At 7:30, he would be let out to use the bathroom. He had exactly 10 minutes to relieve and wash himself. The latter had seemed important at first. But as the days wore on and it grew ever more likely that this would become a permanent routine, he lost the motivation to even attempt to look presentable. After all, what was the point in trying if he was to spend the rest of his summer and beyond locked up, with only the Dursleys to jeer and mock him?

After visiting the bathroom, (and invariably being reprimanded for spending too much time in it, even if only by a couple of minutes), Harry was chivvied impatiently back into his room. There, the first of his two daily meals awaited him. The meals were just as tedious and repetitious as every other aspect of his day. They cycled between dry bread and cheese, cold soup and burnt toast.

His relatives had never been what anyone would call 'generous' with Harry's food. He usually got less than everyone else, and if he didn't get to the table in time to serve himself, he ended up with either the unappetising remains, or (with ever-increasing regularity) nothing at all. This summer, Dudley was larger than Harry could remember ever seeing him before. So when he had actually been allowed to eat at the table, Dudley had taken advantage of his size and weight to ensure that Harry got even less than he'd had previously.

Harry found that he was now eating purely on autopilot. He no longer noticed the meagreness of his portions. If he had, he would have realised that they were getting gradually smaller. He always made a point of splitting his meal equally with his owl, Hedwig. In fact, as time dragged on and she became increasingly dull and listless, he found that he was giving her much more than he afforded himself. He'd stopped noticing the gnaw of hunger days ago.

Looking into the bathroom mirror as he stood by the sink, Harry reflected on how quickly the Dursleys' attitudes regarding his appearance had shifted, now that they knew no one other than themselves would see him. Gone were the days when Aunt Petunia had raged about his hair, attempting to hack it off whenever she got the chance. Not that that had ever had the desired effect. Uncle Vernon didn't glare or shoot venomous looks at him when he saw him anymore. Instead, Harry had noticed that all of their looks were now savagely triumphant whenever any of them caught sight of his gaunt face, limp, greasy hair, and rumpled clothing. He supposed that this was due to the knowledge that his (in their eyes) far from respectable appearance no longer reflected badly on them. Now, they were free to sneer and delight at his pathetic, downtrodden air as much as they wanted without fearing the gossip of the neighbours.

Back in his room, Harry sat down at his desk. While he usually spent the time when he wasn't eating or in the bathroom either pacing the perimeter of his small room, or lying on his bed, gazing at the ceiling, on this particular morning, he wanted, NEEDED, something different.

He wanted more than anything to be able to get out. But at this point, any change in his routine, no matter how small, was bliss. Sitting at his desk might not seem like much, but where he sat was one of the only choices he had left to him.

He leaned longingly towards his window; relishing the gentle breeze of fresh air that caressed his face. He at least was able to open the window ever so sslightly. It was a small relief. He kept it open all the time now, drinking in the fresh air like it was the only thing keeping him sane, which it probably was. He was watching the world go by and attempting to think of a way that he could let Hedwig out of her cage without magic, when it happened.

At first it looked like nothing more than a dot on the horizon, but as he watched, Harry realised that a bird of some sort was flying directly towards his window. He blinked a couple of times, and all at once he realised that it was an owl. His heart lurched painfully, as he knew that one of this size would certainly not be able to fit through the small gaps between the bars. Even so, he desperately wanted it to find a way in. If it could only do so, he may finally have a chance to escape.

Before the excitement could take hold, he remembered Dobby, and the lengths he'd gone to to ensure that Harry never received any letters. He reasoned that if Dobby had ways of confiscating incoming mail, then he would probably find a way of getting rid of any letters Harry might try to send. He sat back down with a sigh, and watched the owl glide closer.

As Harry watched, the owl came to a halt about 10 metres from the bars. He found himself fervently praying that for once, his aunt wasn't looking out of the window. Petunia had always been a very nosy woman, and one of her favourite hobbies was spying on her neighbours. Harry had always thought privately that she must have an inferiority complex of some sort.

Surprisingly, it seemed that by some miracle she hadn't spotted the bird that was now hovering in midair; its head on one side, staring at Harry. He knew that if Petunia had seen it, she would have been upstairs like a shot. He couldn't exactly discern the expression on the bird's face, but if he had to guess, he would say it looked peeved.

Harry couldn't understand why it wasn't at least trying to get nearer. He assumed that it must be waiting for him to do something about the rather obvious obstacle ahead, but honestly, what was he meant to do? At least if it tried flying up to the bars, Harry could possibly try squeezing his hand through the small opening in the window to grab the letter it was carrying. Sadly, this owl was clearly a pessimist, and did not move any closer.

Harry wondered desperately what the owl was doing. Although he knew logically that he wouldn't really be able to reach out and grab the letter tied to its leg, he just had to try. Maybe Dobby's got something to do with it. I did wonder why a bird had managed to get anywhere near me. Perhaps he's taunting me by letting it get close, only to stop it, Harry mentally raged.

Part of him knew that this really wasn't likely, and it was much more probable that Dobby had simply become complacent, or was busy with the work that he was supposedly meant to be doing. Still, it was nice to be able to direct his anger at someone. This whole situation was Dobby's fault after all.

Harry felt his bitter feelings towards the house-elf rise once more, and fought to keep his emotions in check. He thought that strong emotions were probably tied in some way to his magic, and he really didn't want to get into further trouble with the ministry. Not that it made much difference. The first time, it hadn't even been Harry casting the spell.

Realising that this train of thought was having the exact opposite effect to what Harry had intended, he tried once again to control himself. Regardless of what had already happened, he knew that any more magic (accidental or otherwise) would surely land him in even bigger trouble. Harry was resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be heading back to Hogwarts on September first, but he'd hate to have the opportunity snatched away from him forever. Part of him was still clinging to the hope that someone would realise what was happening, however unlikely this eventuality might be.

Harry looked up again to see the bird give him a seemingly disgusted look, before turning to make its way back to wherever it had come from. Sadly for the owl, it didn't get far.

Pop.

The noise seemed alien to Harry at first. Until he suddenly realised with horror, that it belonged to one of Dudley's 'welcome home for the summer' presents from his parents. Harry hoped vehemently that it hadn't reached its target, but even as the thought crossed his mind, the owl dropped out of sight.

Harry imagined that he could hear the sickening 'thwack!' of the bird's body hitting the ground. He only hoped that it had at least landed on the grass. His stomach rebelled at the thought of the state that the poor creature was almost certainly in. Fortunately, his lack of nourishment meant that he had nothing in it to bring up. At least he had avoided his aunt's ire.

Another owl (carrying five identical letters) was making its way through the lush Devon countryside towards the quaint village of Ottery St. Catchpole. It came to a stop just outside the village, and veered off up a hill before coming to rest on the kitchen window sill of what looked like a ramshackle old pigsty. The building had obviously been extended at various points since it was originally constructed, and additions could clearly be seen to both its length and height. It was almost certainly being maintained by magic, as it seemed impossible that a building of this shape and stature would be able to stand entirely unaided. A wonky sign near the door proclaimed this to be 'The Burrow', the home of the Weasley family.

The family (with the exception of the two oldest sons who no longer lived here) was in the kitchen when the bird arrived. The children and their father were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table, as Mrs Weasley served breakfast. The youngest looking boy sat deep in thought, taking barely any notice of his surroundings. He didn't even stir when his mother placed a plate containing all of his favourite breakfast foods in front of him.

Ron was never one to waste any meal he was given, and although he'd never tell her so, he adored his mother's cooking. Right now however, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his two best friends.

Harry was always on his mind these days; his emotions flitted so rapidly between concern, anger, sadness, and uncertainty that he could hardly keep up, let alone concentrate on anything else. For the last couple of days though, he'd also been wondering about Hermione. She'd still not replied to the letter he'd sent her almost two weeks ago, in which he told her of the plan that he and the twins had concocted to go and fetch Harry from Surrey.

What a disaster that turned out to be... Ron thought sadly. It had all been going so well too, at least till Percy the pompous prig had interfered. If it hadn't been for his brother's need to be seen as responsible, Harry might have been sitting down to breakfast beside him right now, and Ron wouldn't be feeling so upset. Instead, Harry was now not even allowed to come to The Burrow at all this summer as part of Ron's punishment.

You didn't exactly help matters, socking him on the nose, the rational part of Ron's brain reminded him. It was true; Ron was fairly certain that his mother wouldn't have burst onto the scene if he hadn't been making so much noise. He winced as he remembered the tirade that had spewed from her mouth, as she stood there, hands on her hips, making them all feel about two feet tall. It didn't seem to make a difference that Ron (alongside each of his brothers) was actually taller than Mrs Weasley. He knew that when the mood took her (which was frequently with mischief makers like Fred and George in the house) she could make you feel about as small as a mouse being stalked by a lion.

Ron frowned sadly. He would have put up with any amount of shouting from his mother to have had the chance to speak to Harry. At least then, he would know. The not knowing was tormenting Ron. Of course he was fairly certain that Harry wasn't willingly not responding to Ron's letters, but he didn't KNOW. The uncertainty and sadness were joined by searing guilt, as it occurred to Ron, that even if Harry had wanted to speak to him before, he might not when he found out what Ron had done. After all, if it was Ron's fault for getting caught, and his punishment that was preventing his parents from going to fetch Harry themselves, then it was his fault that Harry was stuck alone with his relatives, and suffering through whatever terrible treatment they were doubtless subjecting him to.

A commotion at the window made Ron jump, and momentarily distracted him from the depressing turn his thoughts had taken. Something was tapping on the window. Could it be Hermione's reply? At last, Ron thought with some relief, watching his mother hasten to let it in. Ron jumped to his feet, but faltered when he realised that though grey, the owl that was now perched on Mrs Weasley's arm wasn't Errol. His heart sank, and he flopped back onto his chair dejectedly, a forlorn look on his face.

"Hogwarts letters, at last!"

Ron barely registered his mother's words, so focused was he on staring at the table. Nobody paid him much notice, as around the table envelopes were eagerly torn into, and many sheets of parchment were pulled out of them.

"It's a lot thicker than usual," commented Mr Weasley, "I wonder why?"

"Yeah, and it's late…" Fred responded, scanning the first page of his letter.

"You're right," said George, "I don't remember it taking this long last year."

"Probably because it's taken them so long to find a new defence against the dark arts teacher," Fred smirked, "I wonder what sort of nutter we'll have this year?"

"As long as garlic's not involved I don't really care," shot back George, "Seriously, Quirrel put me off the stuff for life!"

"Shut it you two!" Ron burst out.

Till now he'd not paid any heed to the comments being passed around the table, but his ears pricked up at the mention of Quirrel. He knew that the twins were only talking in jest. To them, jokes were as much a coping mechanism as anything else. Whenever anything horrible was going on, you could be sure to find Fred and George being louder than usual. Ron knew too, that they cared a lot more deeply about what had happened at the end of last term than they ever let on.

Harry had begun to feel like a little brother to them both. They noticed his ragged appearance at the train station, and whilst everyone else was gawping over the fact that he was the 'boy who lived', Fred and George saw how Harry's shoulders would hunch whenever the subject was mentioned. When he'd been in the hospital wing at the end of the school year, they'd sent Harry a toilet seat, as well as lot of sweets. Ron was certain that behind the cheerful facade, they'd both been just as scared as he was to see his friend looking so small and frail beneath the sheets. Their dismissive words still got to him though, and he couldn't stop the sharp response that came forth. His nerves were so frayed at the moment that it didn't take much to get him riled up.

"You're both gits! How can you talk about Quirrel as if he was just another stupid teacher, when, in case you'd forgotten, he tried to murder Harry a couple of months ago!?"

Silence fell. When he looked up, Ron noticed with embarrassment that everybody was staring at him. Even Percy, the cause of much of his aggravation lately, was looking at him with a tinge of concern. The twins got up in unison, and came around to perch on either side of their brother, who had returned his slightly regretful gaze to the table.

"We hadn't forgotten Ronnie," said George; for once, his tone quite serious.

"I know," Ron mumbled, feeling his cheeks redden.

"Look," said Fred, putting an arm around him, "we'll be going to Diagon Alley next week to get our school things. We can have another look for him then. I know he might not be there, but school will be starting again in a few weeks. If you can just hang on till then, we'll search on the train till we find him."

"But what if we don't find him? What if… What if he…"

Ron didn't want to say it out loud, for fear of it coming true. He'd always been insecure, and Harry's long absence had brought all his doubts to the forefront of his mind. The guilt from earlier returned in full force. Silently finishing the question in his head, he thought, what if he doesn't want to be my friend anymore?

It turned out though that he didn't have to say anything. George responded to the fearful half question.

"That's rubbish Ron. You're his best friend, and in case you'd forgotten, you sacrificed yourself for him in that chess game at the end of term."

"If we don't find him," continued Fred, "we'll go to a teacher as soon as we get to Hogwarts. I'm fairly certain we'll manage it though," he added, giving George a conspiratorial wink.

"Definitely!" promised George. "Don't worry little brother."

Ron managed to muster up a smile, which only grew when he heard something crashing into the window.

"Oh for goodness sake," muttered Mrs Weasley, pulling the door open. She walked into the garden. They could just see her head as she knelt by the window. When she returned, she carried a rather ragged and exhausted looking owl. She gently laid him down on the table, and carefully untied a letter from his leg.

"Letter for you Ron," she said with a smile.

She ruffled his hair as she passed it over. Ron would usually make an effort to seem annoyed when his mother was overly affectionate, but for once he didn't care. He gave her a rather wobbly smile as he slid his finger under the flap of the envelope, and pulled out Hermione's reply.

"Dear Ron (and Harry if you're there)," it began.

"First of all, what were you thinking Ron? Please tell me you managed to come up with a better idea than the one you told me about in your letter? It's highly illegal for a start. You could end up getting Harry into trouble, as well as yourself, your brothers and your father. I doubt it would look good for somebody working in the ministry to have a flying car."

Ron grimaced. He knew she was right. Although his mother's words had left him feeling mortified and angry, he reflected that from her perspective, they were being incredibly reckless for no justifiable reason. She didn't understand. Hermione did, but it was just like her to think of the consequences first. Ron only wished he'd managed to come up with an alternative plan.

Hermione's tone became more sympathetic as she continued, "I know you're worried about him Ron; I am too. That's why I'm really hoping that you managed to get him, regardless of my thoughts on your plan. Please let me know either way, as I've been really worried. I tried to phone Harry a couple of weeks ago, but there was no answer. Of course his family may have just been out, but I don't know. Something about it feels off. I never thought I'd say this, but I hope I'm wrong about that and everything's alright. I hope you're well otherwise. I've been very busy with homework of course, and although I'm enjoying my time off I'm really looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts".

Ron snorted at this. What is she on about? Only Hermione would have already been doing homework he was sure. He'd probably start in a few days. Maybe.

"My parents and I are going to Diagon Alley on Wednesday the 12th to get my new books and things," Hermione's letter continued on. "There are an awful lot of them this year aren't there? I do hope to see you there (hopefully with Harry in toe). If not, I'll see you both on the Hogwarts express on the 1st.

Take care, and I look forward to hearing from you again. Perhaps though, you might use a different owl next time? I'm concerned that another journey might finish poor Errol off.

Love from Hermione."

Ron heaved a sigh. Ignoring his still untouched breakfast, he headed upstairs to pen his reply.

Dudley was bored. With the main target of his bullying no longer accessible, he found that he didn't know what to do. His time away at Smelting's hadn't done him any favours, at least in his opinion. Where once he'd been the leader of a gang of the toughest boys around, he now found himself at the bottom of the food chain. His old schoolfriends no longer looked to him as some sort of commander.

Little did Dudley know, but Dennis, Gordon and Malcolm had all suffered greatly during their first term of secondary school. Without Dudley there to protect them, they found that the roles were reversed. They were no longer the kings of the playground, lauding it over all the rest and picking on any kid they set their sights on. Now, they were the youngest, and they were nothing compared to some of the real bullies in the school. They were in very different territory, and they soon discovered that the only way to avoid getting their heads shoved down the toilet, or chucked into the bins at break, was to keep quiet. They were nothing like the boys they'd been last summer, and they wanted no more to do with Dudley Dursley.

Dudley's last remaining friend, Piers Polkiss, had also gone to a private school, and had therefore avoided the fate of the others in the gang. He was the only one who had bothered to keep in touch with Dudley throughout the year; being just as mean and spiteful, and as such having just as much difficulty making friends. However, Dudley's visions of spending all summer recruiting new members and playing endless games of Harry hunting were thwarted in the very first week of the holidays. Piers and his family had gone on a month-long holiday to visit relatives in America, leaving Dudley alone once again.

Perhaps anticipating one of his famous tantrums, his mother and father had purchased Dudley a rather expensive set of homecoming presents. Vernon couldn't really afford them. But so confident was he in his ability to win the Masons over and draw up a profitable contract, he'd decided to buy them anyway. Dudley had only realised this the day after the fateful dinner.

He'd spent his days terrorising the neighbours by racing up and down the street on his new skateboard, armed with a BB gun and super soaker. This had been fun for the first couple of weeks, but the novelty had quickly worn off. He'd then broken one of the wheels on his skateboard on the day in question, and too Dudley's shock, Vernon had come close to smacking his precious son.

Since then, he mostly spent his time in the park, pushing over innocent children whenever their parents weren't looking, and sitting moodily on the swing, scuffing his feet.

He was sitting on the garden wall, contemplating the long walk to the park in the summer heat and feeling sorry for himself, when he spotted a bird out of the corner of his eye. It was flying towards the house. Dudley felt certain that the freak had something to do with it. As he gazed at the thing, he suddenly felt a rush of petulant rage surge through him. How is it that even when he's locked in his room where he belongs, he still gets to talk to his friends? How did he manage to gain friends when I've lost nearly all of mine? It's not fair!

Trying to get a closer look Dudley heaved himself onto the first branch of the sycamore tree. Determining that it wasn't going to break, he clambered up onto a higher bough. His position was precarious, but in his rage, he didn't care.

Dudley remembered the summer before, and the torrent of letters that had come down the chimney. Letters for his cousin. He thought too of the owl sitting in its cage, in what used to be his second bedroom. He'd never quite forgiven his parents for letting the freak out of the cupboard and into his space. It didn't matter that the room was full of junk; in Dudley's mind he owned it and Harry had no right taking up residence. Not only that, but he had a pet.

Dudley had always wanted a pet, and a bird of prey seemed so cool. But no, it had to be Harry who got everything. Harry had magic. Harry had an owl. Harry had Dudley's room. Harry had friends. Well Dudley wouldn't stand for it anymore!

Without thinking about it, he fumbled for the BB gun he carried in his rucksack, and (after checking that it was loaded), pointed it up towards the bird. At this point it was hovering, almost perfectly still, a little way from the freak's window. A clear target.

As it turned around to begin flying back to wherever it came from, Dudley pulled the trigger. Down it came, tumbling over and over in the slight breeze, seeming to catch itself at the last moment. It landed awkwardly on the grass, not quite able to right itself in time.

Dudley stared down at the bird. His anger drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving him unsure. He hadn't actually meant to kill it; he'd only wanted to teach his insufferable cousin that he couldn't have everything. His stomach lurched with guilt as he noticed that it wasn't moving.

He slid down the tree, and ran to where the bird had fallen. It lay on its side, and though Dudley was far from an expert, he knew that one of its wings looked injured. Fortunately there wasn't any blood, but for all he knew, the owl could be seriously hurt. Knowing that he might have been, or could still be, responsible for the death of this tiny creature had really shaken him, and he suddenly felt sick.

He left the owl where it was for the time being, and ran in through the kitchen door, letting it slam behind him. His mother was in the kitchen, doing all the chores that were usually reserved for Harry.

"Have we got any pizza left over from last night?" he asked in a rush.

Petunia glanced over at her son, and smiled warmly at him.

"Is my little Diddikins hungry?" she asked, in a saccharine voice.

For once, Dudley wasn't in the mood for any of his mother's pandering. He snatched the pizza box out of her hands, and rushed outside. He tossed the leftovers in the dustbin, and ran back to the owl which was still lying in the same position it had been in when he'd left it.

He carefully picked it up and put it into the box, leaving the lid open so as not to smother it. Next, he picked the box up and walked hurriedly towards the shed at the bottom of the garden. No one but his cousin ever came in here, and he was sure that the owl wouldn't be discovered. Wrenching open the door, Dudley entered the shed and knelt to put the box containing the injured bird on the floor at the very back.

He sat back on his heals, not knowing what to do next. Even he wasn't stupid enough not to know that the bird needed treatment, and quickly if he wanted it to survive. But he didn't know where to go from here.

The sound of wheels on gravel from the front garden made up his mind for him. His father was home, and Dudley couldn't be found in here. Giving the owl one more fleeting, pain-filled glance, he got up and ran out of the door, taking more care than usual to shut it quietly behind him. He made his way up the garden, and around to the front yard to meet his father. I'll help you, he swore to himself. Harry won't be the only one with an owl.

A/N:

CrypticSpren: Wow, what can I say? Thank you so much for all of the follows, favourites and wonderful reviews. Please keep them coming, as they make us very happy!

As you can see, this is a longer chapter than either of the ones we've uploaded so far. I hope you enjoy this one, and please feel free to give feedback as always.

Truthweaver: I hope you liked the chapter too, and I'd be interested to hear what you think about Dudley in particular. Next chapter isn't as long, but we finally get to catch up with Hermione, so there's that to look forward to.

Recommendation: We won't be doing this for every chapter, or even very often at all, but we found a fic a few weeks ago that we really think deserves more attention. If you like good writing, Sirius, Remus and McGonagall mentoring, a cool take on magic, and a story that really makes you go through all the emotions, good and bad, then you should definitely check out What We Cling To by JellyShark. You won't regret it. Here's the summary so you know what it's about.

Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts ended in tragedy. Now, as he faces a world darkened by Voldemort's return, he must cling to those he loves more than ever. Struggling with his guilt, Harry resolves to work harder so that he can protect others from Cedric's fate. Follow a slightly sadder Harry through a different fifth year at Hogwarts.

Anyway, that's enough from us. Enjoy your week and we'll be back next Wednesday with the trip to Diagon Alley.