A/N: Thank you to all the readers and those of you who have reviewed thus far! I'll skip individual responses this time, as there weren't really any questions and we haven't seen too much of this portion of the story yet… although I found all of your comments excellent, and very well thought-out!

Just as a point of interest, this chapter starts off on 4 July, 1993 (a Sunday, and also the night of full moon, according to the 1993 calendar). Term at Hogwarts ended on Monday, 28 June, with the students taking the Hogwarts Express back home on Tuesday, 29 June.

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 2: Fights and Flights

Harry Potter stood at the window of the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, the blaze of the setting sun reflecting off the lenses of his glasses as he searched the horizon in vain for some sign of his owl, Hedwig. He had hoped that Hermione might write back tonight. But, so far, the scarlet sky was devoid of all but a few scattered clouds.

Harry sighed. He was bored.

His mandatory week at Privet Drive was creeping slowly past. It was not quite as miserable as Harry had imagined it would be, though that was largely thanks to Remus' presence, and Dumbledore's apparent visit to the house while he had been on the Hogwarts Express. He didn't know precisely what Dumbledore had said to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but they were ignoring him completely, for the most part. This was much better than the alternative, in Harry's opinion, but it did get a bit dull at times. At least they hadn't locked him in his room, or refused to allow him regular meals and freedom to move about the house and garden. He hadn't even had to cook or clean while he was there.

Of course, it definitely helped that Remus had taken up residence in the guest room… until tonight, that was.

Harry had very much enjoyed having Remus around. He was funny and kind, and he scared Aunt Petunia terribly. Remus had told him, as they travelled together from the Hogwarts Express to Privet Drive by Muggle taxi, that he had met Petunia one time years ago, at Harry's parents' wedding. She and Uncle Vernon were married already, but Petunia hadn't wanted to 'expose' her husband to the magical world.

'It was a wonderful night, Harry,' Remus said, with a fond smile at the memory. 'Your mother was absolutely glowing – the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. James couldn't keep his eyes off her. He knocked over a waiter with a tray of champagne when he tried to take a glass at the toast, because he wouldn't turn his head properly.' He chuckled a bit. 'He always did play the fool when Lily was in the picture.'

Harry smiled too. It was nice to hear about his mother and father from a contemporary; their friend. 'I have a picture from their wedding,' he told Remus eagerly. 'Hagrid made me an album last year, when I was in hospital wing after the thing with the philosopher's stone. I brought it, I think.' He leaned over the back of the bench to dig his holdall out of the boot, rummaging inside to locate the photo album. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

'This one!' said Harry, passing the book over so Remus could see the picture. Remus' face took on an arrested expression as he stared down at the little moving people, and Harry thought something flashed, briefly, across his eyes. But then he smiled again, running a careful finger over the photo's protective plastic covering.

'Yes,' he breathed quietly. 'They really were wonderful together, Harry.'

'Aunt Petunia isn't in the photograph,' Harry observed. 'I didn't know she'd gone. She never talks about my mum at all, really.'

'She and Lily did not get on,' Remus admitted carefully. 'But I know Lily loved her, and I think Petunia returned the feelings… in her way, and maybe even against her will. It was hard for both of them, growing up in such different worlds. I think your aunt resented her sister. Lily was talented, beautiful and magical – and not just in the wizarding sense. Perhaps, in time, they would have grown closer again, had Lily lived.'

Harry frowned, thinking of Petunia Dursley. He was inclined to disagree, personally.

Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon had kicked up a fuss about Remus' presence in their guest bedroom, much to Harry's shock. He supposed Dumbledore had pre-arranged it, while they'd been on the train. Vernon Dursley had gnashed his teeth a bit as he stepped back to allow them into the house, and Petunia kept her lips tightly pursed as she showed Remus to his room… but there were none of the tantrums or rages Harry had anticipated on the Hogwarts Express.

The four days since had been pretty much identical. Harry got up each morning and had breakfast with Remus, usually an hour or so after the Dursleys had vacated the table. None of them particularly wanted to dine together. Vernon, of course, was working on the weekdays, so Harry usually did not see him until dinner. Petunia made a point of seeing to errands or taking Dudley on outings, keeping out of the house as much as possible while Harry and Remus were in residence. Dudley tried to goad Harry on his first evening back in the house, but Aunt Petunia quickly put a stop to it, snapping at Dudley to keep away from his cousin for the week. Dudley, who was quite unused to such harsh tones from his doting mother, had been stunned into obedience… though not without several tearful tantrums because Petunia would not leave him alone in the house with the wizards so he could watch television while she bustled round the town.

Remus was insistent that he and Harry stay in the house or garden as often as possible, because it would help strengthen the blood protection more quickly. It would have been ideal if Petunia or Dudley remained in the house with them… but Harry thought he was rather comfortable with making that particular concession. Unfortunately, he could not spend as many hours as he might have liked interrogating Remus about life with his parents, because Snape's dire pronouncement that he would be tested on his Potions skills upon his return to Hogwarts meant that he had to put a lot of time into revising a year's worth of notes. Remus was sympathetic to Harry's plight, and they spent much of the day reading over the material together. Remus was a very good teacher – kind and patient with Harry, who knew Potions was not his best subject (though he thought he was much more proficient than he had been this time last summer). They revised in the garden if the weather held out, which was slightly more enjoyable than sitting in Aunt Petunia's stuffy sitting room, or Harry's depressing bedroom. Remus freely admitted that Potions had been his least favourite subject at Hogwarts too – and that was before Snape had been teaching the subject.

Remus did not much like talking about Professor Snape, Harry thought. He was perfectly polite whenever he did speak about him, but Harry could tell by the set of his jaw that Remus was not particularly fond of the Potions master either. When he finally plucked up the courage to ask about it, Remus merely said, 'I am very grateful to Severus, Harry. He has contributed a lot to the art of potion making in his years as a professor, and he is a good friend of Albus Dumbledore's. We are on the same side – the right side of Magic.'

'Yeah,' Harry allowed. 'But you don't like him much, do you?'

'I do not dislike Severus, Harry. Nor are we close friends.'

'My father didn't get on with him though, did he?' asked Harry, pressing the point.

Remus smiled benignly. 'No,' he admitted. 'James and Severus had a bit of a rivalry during our school years. We were in the same form, though in different houses. You know how children can be… but that was many years ago, Harry. And childhood grudges fade.'

Harry rather doubted this, thinking of all the times Snape had ridiculed him while comparing his actions to his father. But he didn't want Remus to think he was being petty, so he merely shrugged.

Remus was far more vocal about other aspects of his parents' time at the school, in the hours Harry was able to ask him questions. Harry learned that James had been a superb quidditch Chaser, playing for Gryffindor from second through seventh year and captaining the team in his final two years at Hogwarts. They had won the cup four times, while James had been a member of the house team. He and his friends had been found of pranks and mischief, which had sometimes got them into loads of trouble. Remus suggested, with a wink, that Harry ask his Head of House if he was interested in the details. His mother, on the other hand, had been much less inclined toward flying, but very active in the Charms club and the annual duelling tournament – which Harry was very disappointed to learn had been discontinued in their Sixth year, for reasons Remus refused to discuss. Remus said Lily had been very bright and talented, especially in Charms and in Potions.

'Were they always together?' Harry asked, on their third afternoon on Privet Drive. Remus laughed.

'Do you have a girlfriend, Harry?' he countered.

Harry scowled, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. 'No!' he replied emphatically. Remus chuckled again before bringing himself back to solemnity with a pensive expression on his face.

'Teenagers fall in and out of love so easily,' he mused. 'And sometimes, they discover that what they've really been searching for has been right in front of their eyes.'

He smiled at the look of utter bewilderment on Harry's face. 'James always loved your mother, Harry,' he clarified in a gentle tone. 'From our first year, I think. He used to get up to all sorts of hijinks, trying to impress her. But Lily wouldn't give him the time of day.'

'She didn't love him?' asked Harry in shock – almost desperation. But Remus shook his head, still smiling.

'I think at first she thought he was an absolute idiot,' he admitted fondly. 'But he grew up, eventually.' He chuckled again. 'They were made Head Boy and Girl in our seventh year. You can just imagine the scandal when, after the Hallowe'en feast, Minerva McGonagall discovered them snogging in her own empty classroom! Only time I ever heard her lay into Lily the way she so often did James… it was a memory I'll cherish forever.'

Harry blushed again, much deeper this time, and Remus roared with laughter. He actually wiped tears from his eyes as he finally pulled himself together.

'And the rest, as they say, is history.'

Dinner was the only meal they frequently shared with the Dursleys. Harry always offered to help Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, but she rarely allowed him around the preparations except to lay the table. Remus attempted forced conversation every night, but was usually only answered in irritable grunts by Uncle Vernon. So they ate in near silence.

After supper, Harry usually retired to his room, and Remus to his. Remus was tired a lot, in Harry's opinion. He seemed to be constantly on the edge of illness. Throughout their time on Privet Drive, Harry had noticed Remus becoming thinner and paler, eating less and less at mealtimes and growing later to rise each morning. He had asked several times if Remus was feeling well, but Remus always smiled reassuringly and insisted he was fine. Harry didn't feel he knew him well enough yet to press the point, so he tended to change the subject instead. But he hadn't missed that Remus had been taking a goblet full of some disgusting looking, smoking potion every morning since their arrival on Privet Drive.

'Did you already know me?' he'd asked only yesterday, as he and Remus finally set aside the Potions text for a half-hour of relaxation in the garden before dinner.

'What do you mean?' Remus replied, turning so he was propped up on an elbow as he looked in puzzlement at Harry. Harry saw that there were deep purple shadows under Remus' eyes. He looked quite drawn.

'When we met at Hogwarts, in Dumbledore's office,' Harry clarified. 'You said I had Lily's eyes – just as you remembered. Did you mean like you remembered her eyes had looked? Or that you remembered what my eyes looked like?'

Remus studied his face for a moment, seeming to debate the answer. 'I had met you before,' he said at last. 'Years ago, when you were very young.'

'Before they died?' asked Harry quietly.

'Yes,' Remus confirmed. 'I used to see you quite often in fact, just after you were born, up until your first birthday or so. Things were a bit… more complicated after that.'

'You came to visit them?' Harry guessed.

'Yes, James and Lily, and you, Harry. The day you were born was the best day of James' life. And Lily's. They were in absolute awe of you.'

'You were there?' asked Harry, astounded.

'Not that very minute, but I came later that day with –' he broke off, a momentary tension flashing across his face. 'Some of your parents' friends, myself included, came to see them and meet you,' he rephrased. 'You were tiny – so tiny… all pink and new, with these huge green eyes that seemed to take in the world.'

Harry smiled faintly, though the thought made him sad. Things would have been so different if his parents had lived.

'James was proud as a peacock,' Remus remembered fondly. 'Strutting around with you like he'd personally ensured the coming of the Messiah. He was hardly willing to let you go for a moment – even to Lily.' He chuckled a bit at the memory. 'He was always like that with you, as you started to grow. I used to come over for Sunday dinners every week for that first year you were around. I'd never laughed so much in my life, not even when we were at school.'

'Why did you stop?' Harry asked.

Remus' eyes grew sad. 'It was a very troubled time, Harry,' he said carefully. 'You could not understand – you are still too young. But we were a world at war, and things were dark and very dangerous. I was doing important work for our side. So were your parents, and most of our friends and allies. And war makes it very difficult to keep to a regular schedule. Those final few months… there was nothing but a shadow of uncertainty and panic.'

Harry shuddered. But it still didn't answer his question. 'What about after?' he pressed in a small voice. 'After they died – I mean. Nobody ever came to visit, I don't think. Not after I was brought here.'

Remus sighed. 'I know, Harry,' he admitted. 'And I am so sorry – I should have come much sooner. It was… complicated.'

'Why?' asked Harry, trying not to sound too accusatory. He didn't want Remus to get angry with him.

'A lot of reasons,' Remus said with another sigh. 'None of them enough. For one, your location was kept hidden from everyone for a very long time. The Ministry was in a panic trying to discover your whereabouts, but we did not want you to come to harm. Dumbledore placed several wards around this house – trying to give you privacy and further protection. He had no choice, Harry,' Remus continued quickly, recognising the look of outrage on Harry's face. 'Things were upside-down in our world. It was very difficult to tell who was on which side, especially when it became clear that Lord Voldemort was gone, and those who had followed him tried to keep themselves out of prison. We could not be sure that wizards who sought to see you had good intentions. And, of course, it was essential that the blood wards remain intact. And Albus had no idea, Harry – none of us did – of what was going on here.'

Harry scowled. Although he understood the headmaster's reasoning in ensuring his mother's protection, he was still not happy about it.

'But that was not my only reasoning,' Remus admitted. 'I had lost… everything, that night. Your parents, and also my other two best friends. It stole my very soul, and I thought I too would perish from the weight of it. I left Britain entirely – went to the continent for a new position in Germany. I wanted to be away from the death and heartbreak, at least for a while. And I found it was… easier, there, to handle my memories and my burdens. When I was so physically removed from the place where my friends had perished. When I did not have to walk the streets of ghosts and shadows.'

'But you were helping Dumbledore,' said Harry shrewdly. 'I saw a memory of yours last summer – from some forest. Professor Dumbledore told me it was in Albania.'

Remus looked surprised, and a tad concerned. 'Yes…' he said uncertainly. 'Albus contacted me about a year ago, and asked if I would do him a favour. I've been helping him with a few projects since then, and he asked me a short while ago to come back to Britain. So I came – partly for him, and partly for you, Harry.'

Harry cocked his head, considering Remus. 'I wish I could remember you,' he said quietly. 'From when I was little, I mean. I wish I could remember them,' he added, even more softly.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes warm and understanding. 'I know, Harry,' he said. 'I wish you had those memories too. James and Lily were wonderful people, and the world itself was bereft when they left it. But they will always live on in you, Harry. And you'll always have their love, whether you can see them or not. As will the rest of us. They gave the wizarding world a great gift.'

He smiled a bit at Harry's confused expression.

'You,' he clarified.

Harry turned away from the window again, giving up on the search for Hedwig. He flopped down on his bed, picking up the letter from Ron that Errol had brought on his second morning at Privet Drive. He decided to re-read it, just for something to distract his mind.

Harry,

Already miss you, mate! You must be bored senseless by now… so I thought I'd send this off with Errol so you had something to do. He's pathetic and old, mind you, so decent chance this never gets to you anyway.

Exciting news here though – Dad's won the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw! We found out last night, and it's a huge haul, like 700 galleons or something like that! Mum and Dad are talking about taking us all to Egypt, to see Bill. We've wanted to go for ages… but it's really expensive. I can't wait – there's supposed to be all sorts of cursed tombs and giant sphinxes and everything. Plus, Bill is definitely my best brother.

Don't tell the twins I said that.

I think Mum and Dad'll be able to get me a new wand too… they're miffed I never said the last one had been broken… but Mum's been extra good with me this summer, after everything with Ginny and all.

Anyway, I've put the cutting from the Prophet in, you can read for yourself. The photographer wasn't too chuffed about taking it at our house, but Mum insisted.

I think their scheme is to head to Egypt next week, and we might be there a while, so I don't know if I'll see you this month. I'll send your birthday present from there though – might be able to get Bill to sneak me something from one of the cursed tombs if I'm lucky.

Hermione's written this morning – did you know she's signed up for ALL of the elective courses? I don't know how I missed that last year… she's barking, I tell you.

Keep in touch if you can. Maybe we can go down to Diagon Alley together at the end of the holiday.

Bye – Ron

Harry glanced briefly at the newspaper cutting Ron had included with his letter. The black and white photograph made him smile – all seven of the Weasleys he'd met so far standing in front of their house, the Burrow, smiling and waving cheerily for the camera. Even Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, had made it into the picture, raising his own paw on Ron's shoulder.

'Boy – you'd better get down here!' came his uncle's snarling voice up the stairs. 'I'll be back in ten minutes – help your aunt lay the table!'

Harry sighed. 'Just a moment, Uncle Vernon!' he called back, getting wearily to his feet.

He'd been dreading this evening all day – ever since Remus had told him at breakfast he'd need to step out tonight.

'But why?' asked Harry in surprise. 'I thought you were staying with me the whole week!' He didn't mean to sound whingy, but he really didn't fancy being left on his own at Privet Drive.

Remus gave him a small, sad smile. 'I don't want to Harry, believe me. But I have been feeling a bit off colour for a few days,' he admitted. Harry didn't doubt it – he looked like he might keel over right into his porridge.

'The potion isn't working?' he asked in sympathy.

'The potion… helps,' Remus allowed, 'But it isn't a cure, unfortunately. So I'll need to go away this afternoon for the night, to rest and recover a little.'

Harry nodded. He could not ask Remus to stay if he was ill. And, after all, it was only one night on his own.

'Ok,' he said, trying to sound nonchalant. 'I hope you feel better, Remus. Don't worry about me – I'll be fine here.'

Remus shook his head. 'I am not leaving you on your own, Harry,' he said sternly. 'You know Arabella Figg, I believe? She will be coming to keep an eye on you.'

Harry stared at the man in shock, remembering the dotty old lady he'd spent many hours with when the Dursleys had gone off on an outing or holiday, and not wanted to bring him along. 'Mrs Figg's a witch?!' he asked in astonishment. 'How come she never told me!'

Remus smiled, but shook his head. 'A squib,' he clarified. 'But she's a very old friend of Albus', and quite trustworthy. She'll be here for dinner, and she'll be coming back over in the morning to stay with you until I'm able to return tomorrow afternoon. Your aunt and uncle are already aware of the arrangement, and they know not to give you any trouble about it.'

And they hadn't, not so far, at least. But they had thrown further misery into Harry's already dismal scheme for an evening without Remus.

To Harry's horror, it seemed Aunt Marge was in town.

Aunt Petunia spent the afternoon scrubbing the little house top to bottom. And Dudley – who seemed far less apprehensive about being in the same room with Harry now that the grown wizard had left – condescended to explain to him that Mummy was readying the place for Auntie Marge's arrival. Marge was, apparently, in town for a breeder's convention… and not very happy that she had been forced to stay in a hotel due to Harry's guest. She would be coming to dinner tonight, since Remus was away.

Dinner with Aunt Marge, and no Remus. Harry was miserable.

Aunt Marge was one of Harry's least favourite people in the world. She was not his aunt – not really – though he'd always been forced to call her as such. She was Uncle Vernon's sister, and the resemblance went far beyond their massive size, purple faces and matching moustaches. Marge Dursley bred bulldogs on a large estate in Yorkshire, and she wasn't a frequent visitor at Privet Drive (to Harry's great delight as a child). But not withstanding their rarity, each of her visits had always ended horribly for Harry. He'd been chased up trees by her vicious pets, forced to carry in heaps of presents for Dudley and received nothing in turn, and constantly ridiculed by Aunt Marge herself.

Nothing could have made his evening more unpleasant than the news of her imminent arrival.

Harry trudged slowly down the steps, as if he could delay the moment with his own hesitancy. His aunt was awaiting him just inside the kitchen door. She darted a glance outside to check that Dudley was fully occupied with the television in the sitting room, then motioned to Harry to sit at the table, crossing her arms and glaring down at him.

'You are not to cause a scene while Marge is in the house, do you hear?' she asked sharply.

'Yes, Aunt Petunia,' Harry replied in a dull voice.

'I'll have no mention of your unnaturalness around her,' Petunia continued. 'She's no idea what you've been up to up at that… that school, and we're going to keep it that way. You'll mind your tongue and your manners while she's here.'

'Yes, Aunt Petunia,' Harry repeated.

She glared at him suspiciously. 'Vernon's told her that you attend St. Brutus's, if it comes up at all,' she added. 'But I would prefer you not speak to her.'

'St. Brutus's?' Harry repeated, confused.

'St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.' She clarified.

'I – what?!' said Harry in astonishment. 'You've told her I'm a criminal!'

Aunt Petunia's glare intensified. 'Well, you ran off last summer without a trace, didn't you?' she reminded him. 'We had to give some story out around the neighbourhood – or people would talk. And you'll stick to it, or they'll be consequences.'

Harry ground his teeth, but did not reply. There wasn't really any point.

Aunt Petunia gave a satisfied sniff, dumped a load of cutlery out of a drawer and onto the counter for Harry to deal with, and went off to stir her creamed onions.

His moment of doom was not long in coming. Harry had no sooner set the last of the wine glasses on the dining room table when a tinkling from the panes of glass in the front hall announced that Vernon and Marge were on the steps. He tried to sidle out of the room and back into the kitchen, but Aunt Petunia intercepted him.

'Go and get the door!' she hissed at him.

With a sigh and a feeling of great foreboding, Harry retraced his steps into the front hall and pulled the door ajar.

Aunt Marge pushed her way through, shoving Harry hard with her elbow out of her path. A growling bulldog Harry recognised followed at her heels, nipping a bit in his direction as Harry backed away, rubbing the sore spot on his stomach.

'Where's my darling neffy-poo?' Aunt Marge bellowed, not sparing a glance for Harry. She pulled Dudley into a crushing hug as the blond boy shuffled into the hall, making sickening cooing noises as she planted wet kisses all over his face. Harry thought the scene looked rather like wrestling panda bears. Dudley tolerated the affection with a simpering smile, which widened as he withdrew from Aunt Marge's embrace with a fist clenched around a twenty-pound note.

'Good evening, Petunia!' Aunt Marge continued, bumping her massive cheek awkwardly up against the thinner woman's. Uncle Vernon smiled proudly down upon them all.

'Can I get you a cocktail before dinner, Marge?' he asked, helping her out of her car coat.

'Lovely, Vernon, thank you,' she agreed at once. 'And perhaps a spot of brandy in a dish for Ripper, if you would.' Vernon nodded and left for the kitchen to fix the drinks, and Aunt Marge finally rounded on Harry.

'Still here, I see, boy?' she spat at him, her beady eyes glinting nastily.

'For a bit,' Harry agreed, trying for polite. Ripper was still growling at him from Marge's feet. Aunt Marge snorted.

'Don't know how they put up with you all these years,' she said loudly. 'I certainly wouldn't have – if you'd been left on my front stoop. Not for one moment. It'd have been straight off to the orphanage.'

'Vernon ought to have the drinks prepared by now,' said Aunt Petunia quickly, stepping in before Harry might retort. 'Come, Marge, let's go into the sitting room. I've made some delicious hors d'oeuvre from that French cookbook you sent at Christmas.'

Marge allowed Petunia to chivvy her out of the hall, and Harry leaned against the wall, thoroughly depressed. It was going to be a very long evening.

He was just contemplating sneaking back up to his room until dinner when there was a knock upon the door, and Harry moved to open it once more.

'Good evening, Harry,' said tiny Mrs Figg. She smiled sweetly at him as he returned the greeting and stepped back so she could enter the hall.

'Can I take your coat, ma'am?' Harry offered politely as she made to unbutton it.

'Thank you, dear,' she said, sliding out of the arms so Harry could hang it. 'How have you been keeping?' she asked.

'Oh, fine, thanks,' Harry said airily, stowing the purple coat on the stand in the corner. 'It's good of you to come. I didn't know you were friendly with Professor Dumbledore,' he added, looking curiously back at her.

Mrs Figg smiled. 'Oh yes, Albus and I have been acquainted for many years now,' she said with a nod. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything sooner… but it would have only created more problems, when you were small.'

'Right,' said Harry, just a fraction bitterly. He had spent many days in Mrs Figg's sitting room, even stayed the night at her house when the Dursleys were out of town.

Mrs Figg seemed to understand some of what Harry was feeling. She laid a withered hand on his arm. 'I am sorry, dear,' she repeated with a sad little smile. 'But they never would have let you come if they thought you'd enjoyed it… or if they knew we hail from the same world.'

Harry was spared his reply by the arrival of Uncle Vernon, bumbling back into the hall to see to the arrival.

'Arabella,' he said, giving her a stiff nod in greeting. He looked between Harry and Mrs Figg, his expression sullen and resentful. 'Well, best come in then. We're in the sitting room.'

He strode away again ahead of them, leaving Harry and Mrs Figg to follow in his wake.

Somewhat to Harry's surprise, they managed to get through much of the evening without a hitch. Aunt Marge seemed less inclined to berate and ridicule him when there were observers outside the family in attendance, and most of the pre-dinner conversation revolved around her dog breeding business and news from the country. The Dursleys all but ignored Harry. They also spoke only sparingly to Mrs Figg, who sipped contentedly at a glass of sherry Aunt Petunia had begrudgingly offered her and watched the little gathering in bemusement.

At half eight, Petunia announced that dinner was ready, and the party moved into the dining room to eat. Vernon uncorked several bottles of fine wine, and poured healthy measures for all the adults. He had already had to refill Marge's glass by the time Petunia reappeared with the first course.

They ate their way through a delicious salad, then poached salmon with creamed onions and roasted maize. Even Harry, who generally despised anything Aunt Petunia had touched, appreciated the wonderful meal. As did Aunt Marge, who took seconds at every course, and fourths and fifths from the wine.

Harry should have guessed it wouldn't last.

'Excellent nosh, Petunia!' Aunt Marge said heartily, as she scooped more onions onto her plate. 'I was never much of a cook, myself. But then, I usually eat alone – unless Colonel Fubster happens to pop round for supper.' She beamed at Vernon and Dudley, before her nasty eyes found Harry and the smile turned into a leer. 'And the extra mouths must add to your own burden, I'm sure.' She added nastily.

Harry felt a stir of anger, but he forced himself to smile back at Marge. She did not seem mollified.

'Wipe that nasty smirk off your face, boy!' she barked at him. 'You haven't improved much since my last visit, have you? I see that school of yours hasn't yet managed to teach you any proper manners… what's it called again, Vernon?'

Vernon exchanged a panicked look with Aunt Petunia, before clearing his throat hastily. 'We, er – we send him to St. Brutus's, Marge,' he reminded her. 'They deal exclusively with criminal cases.'

Beside him, Harry heard Mrs Figg give a small noise of protest, but Aunt Marge's attention was still fixed on him.

'That's right,' said Aunt Marge, nodding. 'Well, I would have thought they'd be a bit harder with boys like this one. You ought to write, Petunia,' she said, turning her eyes at last from Harry's face. 'Let them know that you heartily approve of caning where this one's concerned. I'll not have any of that soft tosh about using words over force they're always blabbering on about these days… it's a good thrashing that will teach any child their place, you mark my words.'

'Too right, Marge,' Vernon grunted in agreement from the head of the table.

Harry glanced at his uncle out of the corner of his eye, remembering the callous way he had smacked him round the face last July. He could feel the heat of anger swelling inside him, much more insistent. The plate in front of him began to rattle a bit against the table.

A sudden pressure on his wrist caused Harry to glance down in surprise, bringing the clatter of his plate an end. He saw that Mrs Figg's small hand had closed around his in his lap, squeezing it gently. He looked up at her. She met his eyes with a terribly sad expression, but shook her head once, very slightly.

Harry sighed. He must not lose control – it wasn't worth it.

He tried instead to focus on something else – Ron's letter… or perhaps his Occlumency quidditch pitch. But it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore Marge's booming voice, echoing louder and louder with the weight of her many goblets of wine.

'You can't fault yourself for the boy's deficiencies, Petunia, Vernon,' she was saying, as she spread sauce over yet another fillet of fish. 'It's none to do with you. Standard rules of breeding is what it is – just pure genetics. Something's nasty in the bitch, they'll be something nasty in her pups.'

Harry felt something snap inside him, just as the wineglass Aunt Marge had reclaimed from its place on the table exploded in her hand. Bits of glass rained down upon the remains of the dinner, and Marge's already ruddy face was made more purple by the splash of fine Bordeaux now dripping from her cheeks as she sat, frozen in shock.

'My god, Marge!' Vernon cried in horror, leaping at once to his feet. Petunia grabbed a fresh serviette and hurried to join him at Marge's side, wiping away the worst of the spill as Marge found her voice once more.

'No need for fuss, Petunia,' she said, batting her away. 'I'm fine. I did the same thing just last week at Colonel Fubster's place... I can have a very strong grip.'

But Uncle Vernon was glaring at Harry over Marge's shoulder. Though he tried for his most innocent expression, Harry could feel the pulse pounding in his ears.

'Clear the table,' Petunia shot at him, her own eyes suspicious. 'And bring something to sweep up the glass.'

Harry got quickly to his feet, giving the frightened Mrs Figg a fleeting look of apology. He gathered the remains of the dinner from the table carefully, trying to avoid the sharpest shards, and carted the load into the small kitchen. He dumped the lot on the counter by the basin and leaned against it, gripping so hard his knuckles went white. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He must not lose control. Another hour or so, and Marge would be gone. Two more days, and Harry would be too. He could make it.

The scene had calmed somewhat by the time Harry returned to the dining room. He swept away the remains of the broken glass, while Aunt Petunia brought out the pudding and Uncle Vernon dug an aged bottle of brandy from the sidebar, serving Marge and himself. Mrs Figg accepted a cup of tea from Petunia with a word of thanks, and Harry poured himself a bit more water as he retook his seat, trying to tune out the dreadfully dull conversation on drills that Vernon had started in his absence.

'More brandy, Marge?' offered Uncle Vernon, as Dudley finished up the last of the lemon meringue.

'Oh go on then,' she agreed, sliding her snifter toward him. Vernon refilled hers and his own, and Marge sipped contentedly at the drink. Harry felt his heart sink a bit as she settled back into her chair. He had been very much hoping the evening was drawing to a close at last.

'You'll be a proper sized man, Dudders,' she said in approval, watching him shovel the final few forkfuls of pie into his mouth greedily. 'Just like your father. It runs in the Dursley blood, that does. Excellent breeding, as it were.' She nodded her head at her brother, who topped off her brandy once more.

'Blood is everything,' Marge continued, nodding to herself. 'As I was saying before. Now, I've nothing against you or your family, of course, Petunia,' she gave Aunt Petunia's hand a little pat across the table. 'But your sister… she was a bad one. An outlier. It happens, even in the best of our families. No surprise to you, I suppose, that she ran off with that nasty layabout… and then they went and had this one.' She jerked her head at Harry, who deliberately averted his eyes as he tried to reign in his rising temper again. He could hear Mrs Figg snarling a bit herself at his left. His ears were beginning to ring.

'Unemployed, too, wasn't he, Vernon?' Marge added.

Vernon cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Er – yes. Yes, that's right, Marge.'

'No surprise there,' Marge said huffily. 'A lazy tramp then. A burden to society just like his –'

'That's not true!' Harry shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet. He ignored Mrs Figg's hand on his arm this time, shaking in his outrage as he glared across the table at Marge's fat, stupid face.

'To bed!' Vernon bellowed, looking oddly close to panic. 'Go on now, boy –'

'No, let him speak, Vernon,' Marge countered, fixing Harry with a bloodshot, amused expression. 'Go ahead, boy,' she said. 'Defend him. Proud of your parentage, are you? Think that's something to aspire to? They waste their lives like fools – on the government dole too, I expect – then they go and get themselves killed in a car crash –'

'They did not die in a car crash!' Harry screamed. He was still shaking in fury, and now the very table was vibrating too. Petunia let out a high-pitched squeal of horror, and Dudley's piggy little eyes bugged out from his face like a squeeze doll. Mrs Figg was on her feet as well, whispering urgently in his ear, but Harry did not care. He was glaring at Marge, who leered right back at him.

'They died in a car crash, like the common, no-good fools they were, you stupid little boy!' she screeched, swelling now with her own anger. 'They did not care enough for you to curb their miserable lifestyle, and they left you behind to be a leech on their upstanding, decent –'

But Marge's voice suddenly faded. For one moment, Harry thought she had simply reached so great a level of indignation, it had left her entirely speechless. And then he realised, with a jolt of horror, that Marge Dursley was not swelling with fury. She was just… swelling – blowing up like some macabre balloon before his eyes. Her face was expanding, cheeks puffing up and eyes growing wide and bulbous… the tweed of her suit began to burst as her torso expanded, sending the buttons in all directions as they ripped from their threads… each of her limbs was inflating to the size of tree trunks, as she began to float up and out of her chair.

'Marge!' cried Vernon and Petunia together, reaching for her legs as she headed slowly for the ceiling. Dudley still sat staring stupidly, his open mouth ringed with traces of meringue. Mrs Figg's hand had slackened on Harry's forearm as she too watched the scene in wide-eyed astonishment. Ripper was growling and howling, jumping up in an attempt to reach his master. Vernon's bellowed oath rent the room as the dog – unable to seize Marge – clamped down hard on his calf in compromise.

It was all too much.

Harry tore out of the room as quickly as he could, ignoring Mrs Figg's pleading calls for his return and his uncle's continued roaring curses. He took the steps three at a time and threw himself through the door of his bedroom, snatching the holdall from the wardrobe and shoving the few belongings he'd brought from the school back inside. He put his wand hastily into the back pocket of his jeans, grabbed the empty owl cage from the worn desk against the wall, and raced downstairs again.

'YOU COME BACK HERE, BOY!' Vernon shouted, appearing in the doorway from the dining room. Mrs Figg was ushering a faint-looking Petunia into a chair behind him, trying to reassure her, while the dog continued to bark at the floating form of Marge Dursley and Dudley stared, wide-eyed, at the scene. 'YOU GET RIGHT BACK HERE, AND YOU FIX THIS!'

'Harry!' said Mrs Figg, hurrying for him as Harry backed toward the door. 'Harry, it'll be alright. Come and stay with your aunt for a moment. I'll go for help.'

But Harry shook his head, pulling his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon as the man made furiously toward him.

'Not another step,' he said, panting in his anger and rush. Vernon stopped short, eying the wand warily. 'She got what she deserved,' Harry said, fumbling on the wood behind him for the handle. She got what was coming to her – carrying on like she was. Don't come near me.'

He turned toward Mrs Figg, keeping the point of the wand trained on his uncle. 'I'm sorry,' he said to her. 'But I can't do it any longer. I've had enough.'

And, locating the handle at last, Harry shot out into the night, reckless rage propelling him down the street.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus was just sitting down to a nightcap with Minerva when the floo flared green. She had not yet forgiven him following their disagreement over Harry's summer placement, but he was not above continuing to try.

'Yes?' he called to the flames. Ever since the near-miss with Harry and the Minister last summer, Albus had altered the wards on the network to ensure that none but the Hogwarts staff and a few trusted friends would be able to come in and out at leisure. For all others, he would have to personally answer the call.

To his surprise, Cornelius Fudge's face appeared in the fire, his eyes panicked.

'Albus, it's urgent that I speak with you,' he said at once.

Albus rose immediately. 'Come through, Cornelius,' he said. The Minister was through the floo before the words had even entirely left his lips, twirling his bowler hat anxiously in his hand as he began to pace the hearth in agitation.

'Got the call only an hour or so ago… can't believe it. We've never had a breakout before. They couldn't even tell me if he'd left tonight, might have been gone for hours already…'

'Cornelius,' Albus interrupted. 'Perhaps it would be easier if you explained why you are here?'

'Azkaban has had a breakout, Albus,' the Minister said, stopping in his pacing and looking desperately to the headmaster.

'Impossible!' Minerva cut in, before Albus could reply. 'The fortress has stood impenetrable for hundreds of years. No wizard could breach its protections.'

Albus, who was less sanguine on that score, said nothing. He waited for the Minister to answer.

'I know… I know…' said Fudge distractedly. 'But he has done, Minerva. Sometime between last night and this evening. I've just left the prison myself. Took ages – you know you can't apparate to the island at all? And what a night for broom travel over the North Sea… bitterly cold, and driving rain the whole way. Then, of course, you have to meet with the guards…' he shuddered at the thought.

'Who has escaped, Cornelius?' asked Albus, cutting to the chase.

The Minister swallowed. 'Sirius Black,' he said.

Minerva gasped.

'I know, couldn't have been anyone worse,' Fudge agreed with a grimace. 'Prophet will have a field day – first breakout we've ever had, and we've gone and lost the most dangerous criminal in the place!'

'There was no indication that Black was intending an escape attempt?' asked Albus, watching the Minister closely.

'No… no, none at all,' said Fudge. 'I was up at Azkaban only just Wednesday, you know. Saw Black myself. He's an odd sort, mind. Not at all like you'd expect, twelve years in the place. He was perfectly rational in speaking with me…. Asked for my copy of the paper… but the guards say tonight that he's been talking in his sleep for the past few days. Always the same thing: He's at Hogwarts.'

Albus felt his heart grow cold at the words, and Minerva gasped again.

'Well I had to come of course,' Fudge said, still rambling. 'Had to warn you if nothing else. Obviously, we think he's talking about –'

'Harry.' Albus finished, already striding for the floo.

'Dumbledore!' Fudge cried desperately, as Albus reached into the jar of powder on the mantle. 'You can't run off yet! We have to discuss –'

'Our discussion will keep a few hours, Cornelius,' said Albus firmly. 'There are things I must see to at once.'

But the floo burned brightly again before he could even drop the powder.

'Yes,' Albus called again, in more irritation than welcome. A middle-age witch's face appeared in the flames. She looked slightly startled to find the headmaster so close.

'Beg pardon, headmaster, sir,' the witch said in a high-pitched voice. 'But I was told the Minister would be here.'

Albus stepped aside so that Fudge could be seen.

'What is it, Mafalda?' asked Fudge, looking annoyed at the digression.

'Sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you ought to know that we received a report about half an hour ago of accidental magic in Surrey – at Harry Potter's place of residence. The Magic Reversal Squad has been dispatched to deal with the incident.'

Albus exchanged a swift glance with Minerva. 'What happened?' he said sharply to the woman. She jumped a bit at the urgency.

'Er – an engorgement charm, I believe,' she said. 'There was a Muggle accidentally inflated, from the sound of it. But the thing is, Harry Potter was not there when the Ministry arrived. It seems he's run off.'

'Albus!' hissed Minerva, looking stricken.

'Thank you for delivering this news, Ms Hopkirk,' said the headmaster smoothly. 'Unfortunately, I have an urgent need to use this floo, so if you do not mind…'

'Oh! Of course, sir,' the little witch said quickly. And she pulled her head swiftly away again.

'Cornelius, I do apologise but I must go,' said Albus, throwing a handful of powder into the flames. 'Minerva can discuss the next steps with you, if you like, or I can find you later tonight upon my return.'

'Albus!' Minerva broke in, looking mutinous. 'I'm not intending to –'

'I shall enlist Severus' help in this, Minerva,' he assured her with a significant look. 'Do not worry. See to the Minister, if you would.'

'But… but Albus!' Cornelius sputtered indignantly. 'What about the Potter boy? If he's left his aunt and uncles – '

'I shall take care of it,' Albus assured him. 'Good evening, Cornelius.'

And he stepped hurriedly into the flames.