The shadows were starting to get long in the park, and Harry Potter was very late for his dinner. Not that the Dursleys would have saved him any, or even have cared that he'd been missing. But there was a very significant reason why Harry had missed his evening meal.

That reason had just sat down next to him on the park bench, and opened a newspaper.

"Good evening, Mr Potter. I will admit, I was somewhat surprised to receive your owl. I was lead to believe that you shared a dislike of the Ministry with Albus Dumbledore."

Harry didn't turn to look at the man next to him, although he dearly wanted to see if he looked as much like an old lion in the flesh as he did in the photos in the Prophet.

"Mr Scrimgeour. I appreciate you coming along. I have a… proposition for you."

The man beside him tensed.

"I prefer 'Minister', if you don't mind," Scrimgeour corrected Harry, a note of steel in his voice. This man was no Fudge, that much was obvious. So, maybe he would be able to help.

"Well, I prefer Lord Black Sir Potter, Earl of Azkaban, Marquis of Peverell, Heir of Squigwiffle; we don't all get to be referred to by our rightful titles, Mr Scrimgeour."

There was a long silence, during which Scrimgeour turned the page in his newspaper and shook out the pages.

"I assume this relates to the discrepancies in the wills of Lily and James Potter and Sirius Black?"

"You assume correct, Mr Scrimgeour, although I won't ask why the Ministry has done nothing about this information before now."

"Mr Potter," Scrimgeour said tersely, "You and Albus Dumbledore have appeared as thick as thieves until now. And you are underage. Exactly what was supposed to indicate that you, rather than your mentor, should have full control of the Potter and Black names and all that goes with them?"

"It has come to my attention that Dumbledore and I… don't have the same vision any more. I am more than capable of managing my own inheritance, and fighting this war on my own terms. However, in exchange for some assistance in gaining my rightful inheritance, I would certainly be more than willing to work with and support the Ministry. We share the same goal, after all, of defeating Voldemort."

Scrimgeour fought back a shudder at Harry's casual use of the name in the same way most children do at the mention of brussels sprouts - full of unmentionable terror.

"You realise that to receive that inheritance, you must be an adult?"

Harry Potter was an Adult. It was only the bits of paper that didn't seem to realise that. Them, and Dumbledore.

"I understand that, as an emancipated minor, I could have the same legal rights?"

Scrimgeour's eyebrows rose.

"For that, you would need to be entirely economically independent -"

"Which I would be," Harry interjected.

"- emotionally capable of living alone -"

"I've lived with the Dursleys for 15 years - I don't need emotional support in my home environment."

"- and an unsuitable home environment."

"Again, the Dursleys," Harry pointed out.

Scrimgeour looked thoughtful.

"Come by the Ministry tomorrow. We might just be able to come to some more formal arrangement."

"Not at the Ministry, Mr Scrimgeour. I can't have Dumbledore's spies getting word of this."

There was a pregnant pause.

"At the Leaky Cauldron, then? 10 o'clock?"

"Yes. I'll see you there."

"Until then," Scrimgeour said, raising a hand to wave to someone in the distance that Harry couldn't see (he really needed new glasses), "I want you to have some Auror protection. Just in case our meeting hasn't been as surreptitious as we hoped."

At that moment, Tonks Apparated beside the park bench. Harry couldn't hide his look of surprise - he hadn't seen her since the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and his attention had been elsewhere at that point. She had let her hair grow out, possibly only in the last few seconds, and her nose didn't look as animalistic as he remembered. All in all, she was surprisingly pretty.

"I will see you tomorrow, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour said with an arch look, before he Disapparated.

Harry Potter was left alone with Tonks. They were still for a minute, Harry feeling awfully Awkward and not at all Adult. But then Tonks broke the silence by reaching out with her hand to pull him up off the bench.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said with a smile. A rather pretty smile. Harry took her hand.

It was then that a rather strange thing happened - and strange to a boy who has watched his best friend's pet rat turn into the man who betrayed his parents to their deaths is most definitely strange. Where their hands met, a strange silver-blue ribbon of light began to wind its way around them. Harry was mesmerised: what sort of magic was this? The light continued, twisting and turning until their hands were completely tied together. Then, it exploded in a huge flash of light, leaving Harry blinded for a moment.

"Oh no, Dudley's going to know where to find me, now," Harry complained.

As his vision cleared, he noticed that Tonks was looking at him with an oddly stunned expression.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, Awkwardly running a hand through his hair. She didn't look alright, but he'd learned the hard way that you never just assume with girls.

"I think…" she said, weakly, looking at Harry with a strange fascination, "I think we just soul-bonded."

She was quite obviously mad. Harry had never heard of a soul-bond before (it sounded like something out of one of Mrs Weasley's dirty novels), and certainly didn't believe that was what that strange light was.

But then he looked at Tonks. He really looked at her, up and down, taking in how pretty she looked without a pig's snout.

"Yeah, definitely, we did," he agreed, with a grin.

It was very, very early in the morning at number four, Privet Drive, and Harry Potter was Sneaking Out. Whilst he felt a little guilty leaving Tonks at the mercy of the Dursleys, he really didn't want to face her this morning. He needed all his quick wits for dealing with the Ministry, and Tonks was an Auror, after all - she could defend herself.

He would certainly have to figure out how that light thing happened, though. That soul-bonding nonsense had worked like a… well, charm. He couldn't help grinning to himself as he made his way towards London and his meeting with the Minister for Magic.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Tonks had beat him to the Leaky Cauldron. She was Not Happy, and made that perfectly clear by refusing to speak to speak to him, and turning his Butterbeer into Hippogriff urine.

See, if he were emancipated, he could have got his Apparition license, and this would never have happened.

"Look," he said, steeling himself for her rage, "I'm really sorry I lied."

"So you should be," she replied, looking murderous. The thought crossed Harry's mind that, as an Auror, she could probably get away with it, too.

"I just thought -"

"You didn't think at all, Harry. We're soul-bonded. You should have just woken me up and we'd have come here together. Instead I had to deal with your pet whale by myself."

Harry frowned, before it occurred to him that it sounded rather like Dudley.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but -" Harry stopped, short. Wait, what had she said? Before she'd distracted him with the comment about Dudley? We're soul-bonded? Had he not just apologised for that?

"I'll forgive you this once, but we head back together and leave for Potter Manor together, ok? No more sneaking off like a child."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but it seemed that he was forgiven. And, of course, he wasn't a child, he was an Adult - he was fairly sure he had proved that last night. But he let it rest. One thing he had learned as an Adult was that sometimes you just had to let women be Right.

It was at that moment that the Minister for Magic arrived. Although, the fact he was the Minister for Magic was not at first apparent, being as he had decided to attend the meeting with his head wrapped up in bandages, like a mummy. His identity only became apparent when he sat down beside Harry, and asked if he was ready to become Lord Black Sir Potter, etc.

"You do know this isn't the Hog's Head, Mr Scrimgeour?" Harry asked carefully, "This sort of thing isn't the norm."

"But it is a complete identity shrouder, and that's the important thing. Anyway, we have paperwork to sign, if you still intend to meet your side of our agreement?"

"Of course I do," Harry said, irritably.

Scrimgeour drew out a stack of parchment from his briefcase. Harry's eyes widened.

"Just sign and date at the bottom."

Harry flicked through the reams of paper, the only small print mentioning something about seizing the Dursleys which Harry wasn't too bothered by. He lifted his quill, and signed his name at the bottom.

Harry quite suddenly felt Not Right. He felt woozy, and nauseous, and his head began spinning.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Tonks asked worriedly from the other side of the table.

"It must be the Trace leaving him," Scrimgeour waved brusquely.

But it wasn't. Not unless residual Trace magic has the power to suddenly leave everyone in a ten foot radius gasping for breath.

"Harry!" breathed Tonks hoarsely, clutching at her throat. Harry shook his head trying to clear the dizziness. What was happening?

Then, as suddenly as it began, the dizziness and nausea vanished, and everyone around Harry could suddenly breathe again, hauling air into their lungs in huge pants.

"Well, that was odd," Harry said, considering.