Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: I'm quite glad to be getting back into this story. As I now have a beta reader to poke and prod me to continue this, as I think she likes it, (Thank you so much for saving my sorry American butt, Katy) updates should be more frequent. Also as I'm finding that I really do enjoy this story and even more so what I have planned. Thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed, and everyone who reads this, and… yeah.

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 3: Lost and Found

Everything went precisely according to plan, until the next day. Well, not quite according to plan. Hedwig still hadn't come back, and Harry was beginning to worry. Harry supposed there had been some controversy at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and that Hedwig's delayed return meant serious, probably bad news for his escape from the Dursleys. What he got, however, was certainly not what he expected. The letter was – this time – from Ginny, of all people.

Harry,

Mum has just informed Mrs. Figg about your plan – and she was shocked that you hadn't told Mrs. Figg first, before just sending off the letter to us. Well, that's not exactly true. Mum has tried to contact Mrs. Figg, but since Mundungus and Tonks have been patrolling Little Winging for the past week, Mrs. Figg decided to take a holiday. Mum was quite upset – still is. Ron and Hermione are downstairs arguing with her that you could just go to Mrs. Figg's to meet us, but Mum won't have it, and we are having a bit of a crisis. I think that we will end up meeting you directly at your Aunt and Uncle's house, but we shall try to be discreet about it. Ron and Hermione are still arguing – it should be a while, so I'm sending Hedwig back with as much as I know.

P.S. I've attached Ms. Figg's reply to the owl that finally reached her about you meeting us from her house – so you can see what a problem it is for Mum and Dad.

Ginny

The attached letter was written on more expensive parchment, with dark blue ink in a precise, curly handwriting that Harry remembered from so many photograph albums of cats. Sighing, he read it.

Molly;

I don't know what you're talking about – Harry has most certainly not talked to me about spending any time at my house prior to being taken to the Headquarters. He would find it rather difficult, given that I am not currently at Privet Drive, but rather in a holiday home in the Isle of Wight, and he would find it hard to get into my house. I'm sure Mr. Tibbles would appreciate the company, but you understand that it is impossible for young Mr. Potter to use my home as a meeting point when I am not at home.

- Arabella

Mrs. Figg? On holiday? Harry had never known her to do so in her life, but he supposed that he didn't really know her over-well, he had only learned she was a squib last year. And he also supposed that everyone had a right to take a holiday.

So long as it wasn't when he wanted to be broken out of the prison he called the Dursley's home. He wondered what Uncle Vernon would say if he asked to be let out of his room late at night. Uncle Vernon would probably be asleep. There was nothing for it but to wait for another owl from his friends. He supposed Ginny was right – Mrs. Weasley could be near impossible to persuade of something if she thought she had someone's 'best interests' at heart – and so Harry feared for his fate should Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia learn of his real plan. He feared punishment from the Dursleys for this new change in plan, because it could, in effect, mean he did not get back to Hogwarts for the year.

He was vaguely heartened by the fact that Ron and Hermione were working to help him – at least they knew that he couldn't very well just stay at his Aunt and Uncle's house for a few more hours. He was surprised that the rest of the Order didn't realise that the Dursleys would most certainly not be flexible towards when Harry was picked up. They certainly wouldn't let him lounge in the living room while waiting for his friends. In all likelihood, if he wasn't promptly locked back up, never to be seen again, he would be thrown out of the house into a Muggle world where the only people who knew him were more likely to beat him to a pulp than befriend him. Dudley's gang was still in fine form.

Fortunately, Dudley was little more than a gnat in his vision any more. His bloated cousin hadn't said a word to him the few times that they had seen each other throughout the summer, and Harry was perfectly happy with this state of affairs. He almost thought that Dudley was afraid of him, either that or his cousin had turned into a much quieter and shier person. He supposed that nearly getting a Dementor's kiss would do that to a Muggle, and perhaps his oaf of a cousin had realised that Harry had saved him last year. But if Muggles couldn't see Dementors, it was just as likely that Dudley still thought Harry had been the cause of it all. That would explain the fear.

But Dudley's fear of Harry wouldn't help Harry get out of the Dursleys house on command. Uncle Vernon was not scared of the young wizard, and it was he who held the keys. Harry wondered how to pick the lock to his door, and vaguely wished Fred and George were there, with their Muggle lock picking set. Actually, now that they were out of Hogwarts, they could just use a quick spell. It was a familiar thought. He picked up a quill from his desk, and stuck it in the lock for he twentieth time that summer. He twisted it around, hopelessly listening for the click of the latch unlocking. No luck, all he ended up with was a mangled quill and a new coat of ink on the lock of his door. He sighed and sat back in bed. There were no bars on his window, but he hardly fancied a jump from the second story into the rather prickly bush that Aunt Petunia had planted there. He gave Hedwig some crust off of a sandwich Mrs. Weasley had made him, and wondered what to do next.

He had at while to wait yet, and not even homework to do during the wait. Running away from home he realised to be foolish, especially now when the Weasleys would be there to rescue him in less than two days. But he still wished there were something he could do. He supposed there really wasn't, and waited for more word.

None came.

Harry hardly ate, drank, or even slept the next two days, he was so wound up – what if something had happened and the Weasleys decided he could hardly stay with them at all? What if they couldn't retrieve him, or they couldn't protect him, or Dumbledore decided that it would be best for Harry to stay with the Dursleys longer or some strange thing? Harry didn't want to think of that possibility, but he hardly knew what to do to keep the time. He twiddled his thumbs, counted the pockmarks in his ceiling and walls caused by Dudley's rampaging temper tantrums over the years, and sighed away the days.

All of which meant he was left to his thoughts. Which was not where he wanted to be left. After all, being left with his thoughts was nearly as bad as being left at the Dursleys altogether, for the rest of his life. His list of things not to think about grew longer and longer, and now included sleeping in the Slytherin dungeons, Dumbledore redecorating the Chamber of Secrets, and Snape with a new haircut.

He had been dreaming again, when he did sleep.

He had dreamt of a boy who could have been his twin, oddly familiar, but not quite like him, tossing and turning and trying to sleep in what must have been the Slytherin dormitory. The beds were four-posters like his own, except the sheets were green and silver where as the Gryffindors were red and gold. Well, that and the conspicuous absence of a warm, friendly fire in the grate. Harry could feel the clammy cool, even when outside it was a bright summer day. It made him shiver, just thinking about it. He would hate to live down there.

He dreamed of the same almost-self wandering in the cold, cruel-looking Slytherin common room, bending carefully over a book in the library. Always silent and always alone in the deserted school. He wondered what he was dreaming about, what it all meant. He guessed it was an alternate present: one where he was in Slytherin, and miserable, lonely, separated indelibly from his housemates through his struggle with Lord Voldemort and from the rest of the school through his house. But he had never had those dreams before, so he guessed that there was something more to these dreams that he didn't see. But he couldn't fathom it. So he just passed the dreams off as by-products of an idle imagination.

He dreamed, again and again, of Dumbledore in the Chamber of Secrets, doing all sorts of things. He would be adding shelves and tables and lanterns, making the place appear almost homelike and hospitable, draping cloths over the snake statues, making the roof waterproof and impervious to the drip of the lake above it, drying the pools of water that had accumulated over the years. Even building a fire in a fireplace he had somehow constructed by the Slytherin statue's feet. Harry could almost imagine the look of distaste on the monkey-ish man's face. Fortunately, the monkey-ish man was still a statue, and even in Harry's dreams he remained inanimate.

He didn't dream of Snape with a haircut. That was one of the few things he was really, truly, thankful for over the few days he spent waiting for his friends. But images Snape getting a really good haircut were idle thoughts that his waking brain scurried upon out of desperation and boredom. They were no less frightening for that. Harry was going stir crazy from the wait. And then, finally, without further notice from anyone at all, it was the day he was supposed to leave.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Uncle Vernon unceremoniously unlocked the door and, glaring all the while, made sure that Harry left the house without saying a word to his aunt or cousin. His things had been heaped in front of the door, and were then angrily tossed into Harry's unprepared hands as he was pushed outside. Harry sighed and dragged his school things out the front door and along to the park. He had nowhere else to go.

After being trapped inside for a month, the sun was harsh and burning – too bright, not how he had imagined and hoped it would be while he idly passed the days in his room. He winced and tried to find some shade in the playground equipment. Finally he sat down, and began picking up woodchips and flinging them around the playground. There were a few young children there, but he paid them no heed, and their parents warned them away from the strange boy. Harry was, once again, left to his thoughts.

How did he even know that the Weasleys would pick him up? How did he expect to survive if they didn't? He sighed and threw the woodchip a little harder than before. He was getting used to the sun, it was no longer so harsh and bright, and from his seat in the shade he rather liked it. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy – he hadn't slept well all summer, so it was only natural, and before he knew anything he was asleep.

He didn't dream.

He was awoken by Hedwig's plaintive hooting. The sun was setting, and he was even more worried that he had somehow missed the Weasleys. He let Hedwig out of her cage and she flew away with an affectionate nip on the finger. Harry sighed and wondered what he would do now. There was no where to go, and somehow he knew that being outside at night wasn't safe, even if there wasn't a Dark Lord out to kill him. He yawned. The order didn't know where Voldemort was, so it was no use worrying – or was it that he had to worry even more since there was no news?

As long as it wasn't Voldemort, Harry thought, he could handle it just fine. Quidditch had built up his reflexes and even his strength, so that while he couldn't beat Dudley at a fistfight, he could certainly outrun his oaf-ish cousin. And if worst came to worst, he could always… do something about it, he thought, absentmindedly pulling his wand out from his jeans pocket. No one was around to see him stroke the now battered holly stick before putting it back into his pocket. If they had been, surely they would have thought him crazy.

He vaguely wondered if they would be right.

He decided he had spent too much time thinking, and that it was potentially not healthy any longer. But then he realised that he had nothing else to do, and went back to thinking again.

It was darker now, and the streetlights were coming on. Miserably, Harry decided he would need to find someplace to sleep, and preferably not on the ground. He picked up his things again, and slowly trudged around the park, searching for someplace suitable. He ended up in a short, narrow tube that children crawled through, wedged in sideways with his feet protruding out and resting on his trunk. It wasn't very comfortable, but at least it was somewhat sheltered, in the case of rain. He wriggled his way out and sat down on his trunk this time, waiting. It wasn't so late yet – he wasn't ready to sleep.

But no one came, not even Hedwig, and he grew more tired by the minute. It was almost midnight when he, dozing off, felt a peck at his foot. He looked down to see a snowy owl blinking up at him. Hedwig had returned. He smiled and stroked her head, opening her cage. "Sorry, Hedwig," he mumbled, "I guess we'll have to try to find our friends ourselves." And with that, he settled himself to sleep, feeling very lonely and isolated, and even beginning to pity himself again.

Away at Privet Drive, something was happening. Of course, no one much knew what it was as all the Muggles who lived on Privet Drive had long since gone to sleep. But a car, a sleek, green Mercedes, crept along the street. The windows were tinted, but in the dark you couldn't tell. A door opened, and a man stepped out. He was tall and lanky, balding, but retaining a few tufts of hair that could be recognised even in the dark as being vivid red. He pulled out a device very much like a cigarette lighter from his pocket, and clicked it a total of seventeen times. Seventeen lights from around the neighbourhood went out. Then he stepped through the gate and proceeded to the front door of number four, Privet Drive.

Five others followed him. They stood at a distance while the man knocked at the door.

There was no reply. All the Dursleys were sound asleep.

The man knocked harder.

Still no reply.

This continued for some time.

Finally, sensing that no wakeful person could sleep through the racket he was causing, Arthur Weasley stepped away from the door and turned to his comrades. "I don't know where he could have gone," he said, worried. "But he isn't here."

* * *

People were shouting. Harry awoke to people shouting. He tried to sit up, and hit his head rather hard on the top of the narrow tunnel he had wedged himself into for the night. He proceeded to worm his way out, rubbing his skull ruefully. People were shouting.

It was still dark out, the sun showed no sign of coming up very soon, but people were definitely shouting. And they were shouting his name. "Harry! Harry Potter," said the voices. "Harry!"

He stood up, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't have slept for more than two hours. He jumped off of the jungle gym and tried to find the source of the voices. "Who's there?" he asked the air.

"Harry? Is that you?" came a concerned, motherly voice. There were heavy footsteps towards him. He hardly knew what was happening before he was caught in a bear hug. "Oh, Harry, we've found you, finally, you can't imagine the terror you put us through when you weren't at your Aunt and Uncle's house, how could you do that to us? And how could you spend the night out in the open like this, where anyone could just happen upon you and… you know what's going on in the world Harry, you have to be careful…" When he was allowed to breathe again, Harry looked up – to see Mrs. Weasley. She was beaming down at him.

He supposed that life had just taken a turn for the better. "Sorry," he mumbled, "But I was thrown out, my Uncle told me not to come back until next summer. He was glad to be rid of me. I had asked if you could get me from Mrs. Figg's house – but Ginny owled me to say that you couldn't, so I didn't know what to do…"

Mrs. Weasley just smiled. "Don't worry now, Harry, it's fine – we've found you, haven't we?" She lit the end of her wand to signal that she had found Harry, and soon a crowd gathered – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, of course, but also Remus Lupin, Tonks, Mad-eye Moody, and Mundungus Fletcher. Harry broke into a grin and let himself be taken into a fierce, powerful group hug. He didn't care that he was outside and uncomfortable, with a pain in his neck from sleeping on his trunk and almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion, he was with his friends. And none of the thousands of thoughts that usually plagued him even entered his mind.

They escorted him to the street, where a ministry car was waiting to take them back to number 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not the happiest of places in the best of times. However, this was much closer to the worst of times than the old mansion had seen for a very long while. Small improvements had been made: the portrait of Lady Black had finally been taken down so she no longer shrieked whenever woken. Kreacher was gone (having no one left to serve, he ran off to Narcissa Malfoy), and it was obvious that the Order members tried to make the place brighter and happier with their own touches. But it was a hard task to brighten a house that had just lost its last owner, and even Harry's enthusiasm about leaving the Dursleys' was curbed when he entered the solemn and mourning mansion. He wondered how his friends had survived the month here already.

Mrs. Weasley led him to a room where he found Ron already asleep, and bid him catch what little sleep he still could before the morning. Harry nodded and tried to, but he couldn't. He felt strangely alone, even though his friends and surrogate family surrounded him. Someone was missing and he knew exactly who that someone was. But best not to think about that, he told himself. Better to think of his own life, Harry thought. He was away from the Dursleys' earlier than ever, with wizards and his friends, and today was his birthday. He had been sixteen for three hours now.

He was better able to fall asleep with those thoughts, and he decided to put off thinking about his godfather for at least until tomorrow. And, with that, he fell asleep.

Ron was the one to wake him up. He wasn't sure if it was intentional, even. But his best friend shouting "HARRY!" at the top of his lungs woke him very quickly. It wasn't long before a thundering outside the door revealed a groggy, dishevelled Hermione, and a slightly less dishevelled Ginny, both grinning from ear to ear. Ron was the first to speak. "Hey, Hermione, Ginny, look who turned up in the night!"

Harry smiled and waved meekly, which was all he could manage before he was nearly attacked. What little sleep he had gotten only served to make him feel more tired.

"Harry! They found you! Where were you? Did you wait at your Aunt and Uncle's house? I hope you did, because Mrs. Figg is on holiday now and couldn't watch you at hers. The grownups were having a fit! You should have seen them. Ron and I were arguing that you could handle yourself and that Mrs. Figg's house would just be a meeting place, but they wanted you under constant supervision. You should have heard--"

"It's alright, Hermione. I was fine, but my Uncle kicked me out. I waited in the park."

Ron and Ginny were shocked, but Hermione spoke. "In the park? Wasn't that where the Dementors came last year? Harry, you shouldn't have done that. You should have stayed by your Aunt and Uncle's house, where you could have been watched. What if someone had found you before they did? What if you had come face to face with dark wizards?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he was fine, Hermione. After all, most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban. And You-know-who isn't stalking Harry at his Aunt and Uncle's house. He's too busy with other things, like finding followers." Hermione sighed.

There was a pause in the conversation, and no one knew what to say next. They looked between each other, awkward for a moment, until Ginny piped up. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

It was just about the best birthday present Harry could imagine.

They went downstairs a few minutes later, ready for more work cleaning up the house during the day. Harry hadn't slept well the night before and he could feel it – his eyes drooped and he almost stumbled down the stairs. However, just as Harry had found himself safely on the ground floor, having crossed the perilous staircase without any great problems, he saw a familiar swish of purple robes and silvery hair that he could have sworn belonged to his headmaster.

He turned on his heel, and rubbed his eyes for what had to be the fourteenth time that morning. "Professor?" he mumbled. Sure enough, there was Professor Dumbledore, talking amiably to Molly Weasley, about to leave. "Professor!" Harry shouted, this time to get his attention.

Dumbledore fixed Harry with his gaze. "Yes, Harry?"

"I have to talk to you," Harry started, "About Occlumency lessons."

Dumbledore turned back to Mrs. Weasley, and mumbled something. She answered back, equally quietly. They seemed to agree, and Dumbledore turned back to Harry, while Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter, almost scooping her up and carrying her into the kitchen in an even more protective than usual action. Ginny looked vaguely confused, but was being pulled bodily away, and had little to do or say with any matter at hand.

Dumbledore cast his gaze upon Ron and Hermione, and, smiling, mentioned that perhaps they should be heading to breakfast. Harry, grateful, turned to Dumbledore. "I've been having dreams, all summer, but I can't tell if they're the kind I have to worry about. It's just…" Harry glanced around, uncomfortable. "Umm…"

"Shall we continue this conversation in a private room, Mr. Potter?" asked Dumbledore. Harry nodded, and was led back up the stairs to a small salon.