Hello! This is being crossposted from AO3. I'm new to publishing here, so bear with me.

This idea originally started as a post-OotP story, rather than a post-GoF story where the trio prepares for the Horcrux hunt and the war in general. It wasn't going to be a Sirius lives story, and there were some uncertain ideas. There was also a (brief) later idea of making this an outright canon rewrite from first year, but it would be an even bigger project than now. So I settled on a canon fix-it, and decided that post-GoF was a good divergence point. I also had the initial idea just before I fell into the Harmony ship rabbit hole, and was still fine with the canon ships (this will be fully Harmony).

It was an interesting exercise either way, and it led to this. One of the things I realized on re-reading the later books of the series was that Harry doesn't seem to actively learn or use any new duelling techniques or spells in between preparing for the Third task and his final confrontation with Voldemort (barring the circumstantial ones he learns in HBP). At least not on-page. Not during his time with the DA, not after he learns of the Prophecy and Horcruxes, and not during the Horcrux hunt when they're on the run and could use something more effective than stunners. The DA also feels like an underutilized idea that I want to extend (and was going to continue in my original HBP rewrite).

It was a bright summer's day in early July, and the residents of Privet Drive were taking advantage of the warm but not yet sticky weather by spending time outdoors. Kids were playing in their yard with the sprinklers going, or were otherwise out with their families doing one activity or another.

The Dursleys, of Number Four, Privet Drive were one such family, and they had set out to the community pool at the demands of their son and his friends. It seemed the only person not joining in the holidays was their nephew, Harry Potter. For the past four years, the residents of Privet Drive had rarely seen the boy except during holiday, and they were quite wary of him. They were warned he went to the juvenile detention center, St. Brutus's, and his appearance didn't do anything to endear him to anyone. He wore baggy clothes, looked sullen as he walked down the street, and was considered a loner by those who were asked. This year in particular only served to reinforce that notion, as he rarely looked anyone in the eyes and looked even more sulky than usual, even mournful.

The truth was, Harry Potter was a wizard, and a tall, skinny boy of fourteen. He wore round glasses, had unruly hair that he never bothered to manage, and piercing green eyes that caught strangers off guard when he looked at them. He had been leaving his relatives house all week since returning from Hogwarts, to the old park down Magnolia Road that was rarely used, and practisally abandoned. As he walked down the street, he vaguely noticed parents eyeing him, as if he was about to snap and come after their children. But he just ignored them and continued down the pavement.

Harry vaulted over the low fence when he arrived at the park, as the gate was broken and hard to open. The equipment was old and rusted from lack of maintenance. Harry sometimes thought it was going to break one of these days, but he didn't care about that right now. He just needed somewhere to think, somewhere he didn't feel trapped.

Since the end of the Third task, after the initial shock wore off, Harry was plagued with nightmares. Nightmares where he watched Cedric die in increasingly horrific ways. Nightmares where he didn't escape the graveyard because he was too slow, and too weak. Nightmares where he watched Voldemort killing his parents, with their last words ringing in his head. Nightmares where it was Hermione, or Ron killed in the graveyard in place of Cedric (those were the worst). And all were accompanied by the lingering feel of the Cruciatus curse that he could still vividly imagine when he finally snapped awake.

These thoughts swirled through his head everyday, and were sometimes all he could think about, much as he tried to push them away.

Harry sighed as he made his way over to the swings, the grass was unkempt and reached his thigh. There was a gentle breeze that rolled across the field, but it only carried the heat rather than alleviating it. He sat down on the hot plastic seat, one of the only things not rusty in the park, and idly swung back and forth, checking himself for ticks. The swing creaked and groaned with each pass, and helped distract him from his thoughts. He was hoping for more letters soon, they were one of the only things he was remotely looking forward to, aside from going back to Hogwarts itself. The Weasley's promised him they would be seeing him again soon, but it was almost a week later, and Ron still didn't have a set date.

He did receive a letter from Hermione that morning, and sent a reply immediately. It was mostly the same, she was hoping he was doing alright despite the circumstances, but she did say that she would try and talk to him soon. Harry didn't know what that meant beyond the letters she was already sending, but he had a small hope that she could visit. He had already gone to the Burrow, but he hardly knew Hermione's family.

Their letters gave him small slivers of happiness, but he soon descended back into melancholy. He wanted to see them, either of them, badly. Everytime he went to sleep, he saw Cedric and the Graveyard. Or, for some reason, a black door at the end of a long, dark corridor. And when he was awake, things weren't much better, as he was simply haunted by those same dreams, like last week when the Dursleys were driving him back from King's Cross. They had been passing a cemetery, and he felt his breathing seize up. He couldn't talk to the Dursleys about it. At best they'd scoff at him, at worst, they'd laugh, and he'd lose control of his magic again and blow someone else up. He'd be better off ranting to a wall, which he already did that Tuesday, and it only made him more gloomy afterwards.

Harry didn't know how long he sat at the swing, it was long enough that clouds had come and made the sky overcast. There was even a cooler breeze which was a nice reprieve from the relentless heat that week. But it was the late afternoon, and he decided to head back.

Harry vaulted back over the fence, and walked across the empty street to the pavement. He dimly noticed that some of the families had gone inside at this point, since there was a lot less laughter and shouting along the neighborhood. He sighed to himself as he got nearer to the Dursleys house, and wondered if they were back yet. He hoped he could sneak into Dudley's room and steal some of the snacks his cousin thought were well hidden. His friends hadn't sent him food packages like last year, but he couldn't really complain since he forgot to mention them in his letters; too caught up in replying to them so he had something to do. So he was back to living off Dudley's mandated diet.

That was another change that surprised him on his return. Despite Dudley's cheating, the diet seemed to be working. And it had led to an alarming change in physique. He could fit the largest Smelting's uniforms again, and a lot of his fat had turned to muscle. Over the past year, he joined the junior boxing championship. Uncle Vernon proudly told anyone who would listen, calling it 'The noble sport', but Harry didn't think Dudley learning to hit harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Thankfully, he was still scared of Harry, but unfortunately, he had moved onto the local kids with his faithful gang. Harry watched them from a distance sometimes, and always felt a wave of guilt for not doing something. But he couldn't do anything, unless he decided to hex the lot of them and guarantee his expulsion from Hogwarts.

As Number Four came into full view, Harry heard a jangling bag behind him, and turned to see Mrs. Figg walking swiftly, she was wearing a long sundress with her fluffy slippers. Her face brightened when she saw him, and he felt conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to talk to someone, on the other, he didn't want the topic of conversation to be about cats. He had enough of that for almost six years before he left for Hogwarts.

Once Mrs. Figg caught up to him - she was surprisingly fast for her age - she glanced around quickly, and spoke in a low voice. "Hello Harry, there you are. I'm so sorry I didn't get the chance to talk to you sooner, but I didn't see you yesterday. I'm terribly sorry about what happened to Cedric, you shouldn't have had to go through something like that. Would you like to come over and talk about it over tea?"

Harry blinked in shock, and shook his head to clear his mind. He hadn't spoken to Mrs. Figg since before his first year, and he definitely hadn't been talking about Cedric out in public. Harry looked back up at Mrs. Figg, who was looking at him with sadness in her eyes. "Er, I'm sorry Mrs. Figg, what did you say?"

Mrs. Figg placed her hand on his shoulder gently, "I know what happened to the boy. Dumbledore told me a couple days ago, I was wondering why you looked so miserable since you came back," she was speaking softly, gently, and it was almost drowned out by blood rushing in his ears, she knows Dumbledore? He thought to himself bewilderedly.

"I'm a Squib, not a Witch, I couldn't charm a fly," she continued, whispering so quietly he nearly missed it, "but I can be an ear for you to talk to. Merlin knows you can't bottle something like that up."

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he eventually settled on a slow nod, and she smiled kindly before leading him to her home.

Harry sat down awkwardly at her kitchen table, and looked around. It really hadn't changed much, and the place still smelled of cabbage. He saw Mr. Tibbles walking on the couch, and Tufty curled up on a bed in the corner. He supposed the rest of her cats were upstairs. Mrs. Figg put the kettle on, before she sat down across from him, "how are you doing Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out, so she looked down at her hands for a moment before looking back up at him, "I already told you I'm a Squib, but I suppose you're wondering why I never told you." Harry nodded mutely.

"It was Dumbledore's orders at first, he was adamant that you had a Muggle childhood, away from your fame. I didn't know quite how bad it was at the Dursleys. They always kept an arms distance, and you looked neglected, not abused. But I always made myself available to watch you. I wish I knew, you could've been protected so much sooner. After you started Hogwarts, you didn't leave your house often, and left before the end of summer, so I never got the chance to tell you the truth. But with recent events, he filled me in, and asked me to contact you directly. Your isolation here has gone on for far too long. I know how grief can feel, Harry," her eyes were shining slightly, and she reached across the table to grab his hand. "I lost my husband, shortly before the end of the first war," she said quietly, and Harry felt slightly numb.

"Oh," he said in a raspy voice.

"He was a brave, kind man. And a wizard as well. He didn't care that I was a Squib anymore than some wizards don't care if their partners are Muggleborn or Muggles. We didn't have any children, but we loved each other very much. But less than a year before You-Know-Who fell, he died at the Ministry. There was a crossfire between some employees that were imperiused and those that weren't, and he was caught in the middle of it."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

"Thank you," she said kindly. "But I'm telling you this because I didn't have anyone last time. I had to deal with my grief all by myself. You shouldn't have to, not after what you went through."

Harry took a few shuddering breaths. He hadn't expected this, but he couldn't say that he was fine like he had intended to do outside, and he looked back up at her, "I just see him, I see Cedric every night," he blurted out. He could feel tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes and wiped them away. The only other people he had said this to was Ron and Hermione in his letters, but if Mrs. Figg could trust him with her loss, could he do the same?

"I watch him die. Every night. Pettigrew killing him on Voldemort's orders, or Voldemort killing Cedric himself after his resurrection, and it's my fault," Harry didn't register Mrs. Figg's wince, and pressed on. "Sometimes I see my friends there instead," Harry's voice cracked on the last word, and he was breathing heavily, trying to push back the tears that were threatening to fall. He was barely holding it together these days, and was feeling so angry with himself he could barely think straight.

"I'm not one for empty platitudes, and I don't think you are either," Mrs. Figg said. She drummed her fingers against the table for a moment, "but what makes it your fault?"

Harry froze as he realised his slip. He barely broached this topic with anyone, but he bit his cheek for a moment and took a deep breath. "I told him to take the cup with me," he said shortly, "I could've taken it myself, but I didn't, and now he's dead," he said bitterly. Mrs. Figg nodded, the kettle started whistling, and she got up to tend to it. She turned back to him and gestered him to continue.

"I told him he should have it, since he got there first, and he refused, so we argued about it until I told him we should take it together," Harry's hands started shaking, and he had to put his teacup down, "and he agreed. But it was a portkey. Crouch turned it into a portkey before the task began. I fell for his trap and didn't even think about it."

"Do you think you should have?" Mrs. Figg asked softly.

"Yes!" Harry said vehemently, "I knew someone put my name in, I knew it probably had something to do with Voldemort," Mrs. Figg winced again, "and we thought that someone wanted to attack or kill me during the tasks. But I let my guard down."

Mrs. Figg looked down at her tea for a moment before looking him in the eye, "well, if Dumbledore couldn't have anticipated a trap like that, how could you? The entire time in the tournament, you expected the person who put your name in wanted you dead. But you were expecting an attack, not a trap. When you got to the center of the maze, how did you feel?"

Harry stared down at the table for a moment. "Relieved, tired, I s'pose. I thought it'd be all over when Cedric pulled me up." Harry said quietly.

"And why wouldn't you? You had made it through the task, against all odds in your mind. And you were looking for something blatant the entire time, not subtle. It wasn't your fault Harry. If anything, it was Dumbledore's for not personally vetting everything, it was him and the rest of the staff who couldn't catch on that there was an imposter in their midst for the better part of a year. But the ones who were truly at fault are Crouch Jr. and You-Know-Who themselves for orchestrating everything. The only thing you can do is move on. So what are you going to do?"

Harry thought for a few moments, and grabbed one of the biscuits to buy himself some time, "I don't know," he finally said, "what do you think?"

"That's something you'll have to find out for yourself, Harry. But I would start by living one day at a time."

Over an hour later, Harry excused himself from Mrs. Figg's, and went back to the Dursleys. Before he left, she had given him a vial of calming draught to help with the aftermath of his nightmares, but she told him it was unwise to give him dreamless sleep right now. It was starting to get dark out, and he knew they were likely eating dinner, so he dashed up the drive, and ran up to the door, only stopping because he knew Uncle Vernon would shout at him if he burst in.

The Dursleys had eased up on their physical abuse a long time ago, but that was only because he started school and they wanted to avoid incriminating questions, it didn't stop them from making verbal threats. When they found out he couldn't use magic at home after the Mason incident, it almost made them furious enough to start again. Then it stopped again when they found out Sirius Black was his Godfather. But a year of warnings on Harry's end with no visitation was apparently enough for them to tentatively step back into it. And since he didn't want to risk Sirius' freedom because he complained about their empty threats, they were stuck in a sort of stalemate.

Harry let himself inside, and braced himself for their usual greetings, but none came. He walked to the dining room cautiously, assuming they hadn't heard him, but he couldn't hear the TV, only the sound of them eating. When he got there, he saw a plate of food sitting out for him, and the only thing Uncle Veron did was briefly glare at him before looking down quickly.

That was almost friendly.

"Hello," Harry said apprehensively.

"We made you a plate of food," Aunt Petunia said in an even tone, and he got a better look at his plate. It was a plain chicken breast with peas. But unlike previous meals, it looked whole, not a minimal serving.

"Thank you," Harry said, sitting down carefully. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"One of your people came," she continued, and Harry heard a slight tremor in her voice. "They gave me this to pass to you," she said, thrusting a white envelope at him. Harry stared at it for a moment before coming to his senses and taking the letter. He opened it immediately, not caring that the Dursleys were here anymore. He didn't want to get his hopes up, so he opened it quickly before his mind could start coming up with possibilities.

Harry took one glance at the letter and recognised Hermione's handwriting instantly, he felt his stomach leap, and read it in a hurry.

Dear Harry,

I'm writing this quickly, as it's very last minute. I do hope the Dursleys get this letter to you. Tonks (she's an Auror keeping watch on you), stopped by, and said she was going to your house today.

Harry paused for a moment there, he was being watched?

I know you're not in the best state right now, and asked if there was a better way to communicate with you before we left for Hogwarts. Dumbledore was worried about Owls being tracked, but I came up with the next best thing. Probably better.

He chuckled to himself, and continued reading, feeling more eager than he'd felt in a while.

So enclosed in this letter is my phone number, we can talk around noon, about anything you like. I know you tried this with Ron a couple years ago, but it didn't go over so well. I hope you're doing alright, I'm looking forward to a call from you tomorrow.

Love from,

Hermione

Harry felt his heart beating almost painfully fast, and blinked back his tears. He thought he'd be largely isolated again this summer, but now he could talk to one of his best friends, and even had Mrs. Figg to go to.

"The letter is from a friend of mine," Harry explained when he composed himself, "can I call her on the phone tomorrow?"

"That's fine," Aunt Petunia said faintly, "just tell us when, so we aren't around."

Harry nodded, that was a better reply than he would ever expect. "Thank you," Harry said, he didn't want to push his luck, so he ate his supper quickly, and excused himself to his room.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he could almost say he was well rested. His nightmare that night was brief, and he saw the long black corridor again, but it felt like a normal night for the first time in a while, compared to the usual. And the calming draught certainly helped him fall back asleep. Harry felt a small bloom of hope in his chest when he looked back on Hermione's letter, and his conversation with Mrs. Figg.

The first thing Harry saw was an owl outside his window with the Daily Prophet, he opened the window to let it in, and paid it a few sickles before it dropped the paper and flew off again. He felt nervous as he took a cursory glance at the front page, and huffed irritably. There was still no news of Voldemort's return. He crushed the Prophet unceremoniously in his hands, and tossed it into the corner where the other papers were slowly piling up.

Harry sighed, and quickly got dressed so he could go down for breakfast. The other Dursleys were already up, and had laid out his breakfast, a fruit salad. Like last night, it was a normal portion again. Harry vaguely wondered what Tonks - whoever she was - said to them. They hadn't been this civil since Hagrid had come to visit. Needless to say, he was impressed.

Harry sat down, grabbed his fork, and speared a strawberry, "I'll be calling my friend around noon today," he said to Aunt Petunia, who eyed him warily.

"Yes, okay," she replied, "we'll be out of the way."

The rest of breakfast was a quiet affair, only broken by chewing, or the sound of a fork clanking against glass. As soon as Harry finished, he left for Mrs. Figg's, hoping she would be available that day.

"Hello Harry," she said, stepping aside for him, "well come in, come in. You're going to let the bugs inside."

"Thank you Mrs. Figg," he said gratefully. When he walked in, she led him to the dining room and busied herself in the kitchen.

"It's not a problem dear, please sit. Would you like some tea? The kettle is still hot, I'm afraid I don't have anything magical."

"That's fine, thank you," Harry said politely. He was still getting used to this new dynamic. Never in his life did he expect his batty, cat loving neighbor to know about the wizarding world. And now that he knew, she felt like a completely different person.

Harry sat down at the dining table, in the same chair he occupied the night before, and observed Mrs. Figg checking the kettle and getting a teacup for him, "so how are you feeling today?"

"Better," Harry said honestly, "my nightmares weren't as bad last night."

Mrs. Figg smiled at him, "I can tell," she said briskly, "I hope you don't mind me being frank, but you looked about ready to collapse yesterday. Any plans for later?"

"Not really," he admitted, "but my friend Hermione is expecting a call today."

"That's nice to hear, and after?"

Harry pondered that for a moment, "I haven't touched my schoolwork yet," he offered.

Mrs. Figg nodded approvingly. "Create a sense of normalcy for yourself. After my husband died, it was hard to muster the energy to do anything. I eventually threw myself into knitting, since it made me focus on something else," she gestured to a few blankets on the couch and hanging from the walls, "and I was able to create a new routine in my life, but old ones can work too."

Harry nodded, and bit the inside of his cheek. "How long - how long did it take for you to… move on?" He asked quietly, hoping he wasn't overstepping.

Mrs. Figg smiled sadly. "There are some things you can't move on from, dear. It just becomes easier, it stops following your everyday life. And you stop letting it hold onto you. So you take it one day at a time," she said, echoing her words from last night. She picked up his teacup, and walked over to the table to sit.

"Okay," he said, taking a sip of the tea. Harry felt better, but he still felt an ache in his chest, and he cast around for another topic, "do you think I could do some of my schoolwork here?" Harry usually had to do it in his room, but he might feel more comfortable if it didn't feel as though he had to hide. Mrs. Figg gave him a wide smile.

"Of course, I even have some of Charles' old books in the attic, they may help with your essays."

Harry felt touched at the offer, "if you don't mind," he said, uncertain.

"I don't, really," she assured, cutting him off gently, "I can't use them, and they're just gathering dust," Harry nodded, as Mr. Tibbles jumped onto his lap. He scratched him behind the ears like he sometimes did with Crookshanks.

Harry nodded again, and took a long sip of his tea, "that would be nice. What did he do?"

"Charles worked in the Improper use of Magic office. There were a lot of close calls with the statue of secrecy back in those days, and they were very overworked, alongside much of the DMAC. The entire Ministry was really," she mused.

"Mr. Weasley and Sirius talked about that a bit last year," Harry winced when he realised he forgot to omit Sirius' name.

"It's alright, I know he's innocent," Mrs. Figg said, correctly interpreting his wince, "I'm working with him in the Order."

"The Order?" Harry said, confused, and remembered what Dumbledore had said in the hospital wing, "is that 'the old crowd' he was talking about to Sirius?"

"The very same, in fact, Sirius dropped by a few days before you got back. The Order of the Phoenix, founded by Dumbledore during the first war. It was an underground resistance of sorts, but we were at a large disadvantage. You-Know-Who built up his ranks quite a bit before he struck, and it was all we could do to stay on our feet. We didn't have many allies, you see, since many were afraid of attracting the Death Eaters to their homes."

"And now?" Harry asked curiously.

"About the same," she admitted, "but this time the Ministry is actively working against us, so it's worse in that way. One of our biggest objectives is to convince everyone that he's really back. But the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to fight when the truth finally comes to light."

Harry felt a swirl of emotions run through him as he remembered Fudge's reaction in the Hospital Wing, anger, grief, turmoil. He nearly died, his classmate was killed, there was another war brewing, and Fudge was trying to cover it up like it was nothing.

His emotions must've crossed his face because Mrs. Figg was looking at him concerned, "what's wrong?"

"I feel like I should be doing something," Harry said quietly, "so his death isn't in vain. I owe Cedric that much," he finished quietly.

"What do you think he'd want?"

"I don't know," he said, quieter still, "I didn't get the chance to know him well."

"Well then what do you want to do?"

"Give him a memorial, a proper one. His death shouldn't be forgotten," Harry said with conviction.

"And then?" Harry shrugged. "It seems like you need this just as much as you feel Cedric deserves it. But you must be careful, or it will consume you," he considered that and nodded, but Mrs. Figg continued, "you're still thinking you should've been able to fight back, or save him, yes?"

Harry looked up at her, tears stung the corners of his eyes. " Yes," he said hoarsely.

"You're fourteen years old, any trained wizard would've been hard pressed to defend themselves, let alone yourself," Harry's chest burned, he knew this, but it still didn't feel like it was enough, "what you're experiencing is what Muggles call survivor's guilt. You need to give yourself time to grieve, and to occupy yourself with other activities."

"Okay," Harry said, he could feel his throat getting tight.

"Good, now, tell me about your favourite things to do at Hogwarts. I hear you play seeker for the Quidditch team."

A couple hours later, Harry walked back to the Dursleys, feeling better than he did that morning, and he found himself looking forward to hearing from Hermione. Not that he wasn't, but his other feelings had dampened his eagerness.

He hadn't had lunch yet, but he wasn't feeling hungry, as Mrs. Figg had a lot of biscuits set out, so he ran up the stairs, skipping a couple at a time, and grabbed Hermione's letter.

Harry almost raced to the empty kitchen, and quickly dialed the number she gave him. The phone only rang a couple times before he heard her launch into her usual greetings.

"Harry! How are you?" She asked excitedly. Harry smiled at her voice, and slid down against the counter. "I've been so worried about you, are you sleeping well? Are you getting enough to eat? How are your essays?"

Harry smiled softly at her barrage of questions, "I'm okay Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Better than before. I'm eating alright, but I haven't started any homework yet."

"Oh," Hermione said, "I understand."

"I'm thinking of doing it later, but not now. I just want to talk if that's okay," he said.

"Of course. What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," Harry blurted, but he remembered this morning's paper, and felt a twinge of frustration, "something not related to magic," he added.

"Okay," she said softly. She was silent for a few moments, "have I told you about the museums I've been to?"

Harry wracked his brains, "maybe a couple times, but not in detail."

"Okay, well earlier this week my parents took me to see the Victoria and Albert museum, and we looked at the architecture exhibits, like Sir Paul Pindar's house. Did you know it's one of the only surviving buildings from the great fire of London?"

Harry closed his eyes and let himself listen to Hermione's rambling, occasionally chiming in with a question about one exhibit or another. It was relaxing, in a way. And it definitely helped take his mind off everything else.

"And then we saw a collection of structures through the ages. It was really quite beautiful, how these buildings evolved over time," Hermione gushed excitedly. Harry laughed a little at her enthusiasm, which stopped her next speech. "Oh no, I haven't really given you the chance to talk about anything," she said guiltily.

"It's okay," Harry was quick to assure her, "I've never been to a museum anyway, the Dursley's never signed my permission slips. It was nice hearing about one like that."

"You've never - oh, nevermind," Hermione said hastily, cutting herself off. "Are you sure? You've never seemed to like my rants on-"

"Hogwarts, a History?" Harry finished with a small grin on his face, "sometimes I just wasn't in the mood. I'm sorry about that, but I don't mind it right now."

"Well alright, I would like to think of something we can both do though," she said thoughtfully. Harry rolled her eyes in amusement, he knew she couldn't be apart from research for long.

"This is enough Hermione, really. You have no idea how much this means to me," Harry said honestly.

"You're welcome. But if it's all the same…" Hermione trailed off for a moment, "let's talk about something else, what do you like to do, or what have you always wanted to do?"

Harry thought about that for a moment, there were a lot of things, "I don't know," he said after a while. "I've never thought about it, really. The Dursleys never let me anywhere, except the zoo once. A little bit of everything?"

"Maybe we could go to a museum or something together," Hermione said, "I'd quite like that."

"I bet you'd love being my tour guide," Harry teased.

Hermione laughed, "shut up. Anyway, will you be free tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think so,"

"Great!" She said brightly, "I'll be home all day, so it'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

Harry nodded to himself. "Hey, did you know that one of my neighbors was a Squib?"

"Really? No, you never mentioned that," she said trailing off as if she was trying to think of a time he did.

"I just found out yesterday," he explained. "Apparently, she's been keeping an eye on me since I was young. But I went to her house yesterday and this morning. She said I could talk to you there sometimes."

"I'd like that, what is she like?"

"She's really kind actually. And we talked - er, we talked about Cedric," he said sadly.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione started.

"No, it's okay. I felt a little better when I left," he said.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later? Not today, I'm sorry. I'm too drained today."

"That's alright, Harry. We have time for later."

"Thanks Hermione, I appreciate it." He really did, he thought back to the previous year, and all the memories of Hermione helping him in one way or another flooded his mind, "really. Thank you for everything you did for me this year."

"You're welcome Harry," she said softly.

The two of them continued talking for another hour, going through topics too mundane for everyday conversation at Hogwarts, eventually crossing into magical territory, which Harry didn't mind too much since it was mild. From their favourite Muggle music "My parents like the Beatles, and it rubbed off on me." To hobbies Harry could pick up; "Mrs. Figg took up knitting, I'm wondering if I should do anything similar," to which Hermione told him she recently started as well and could teach him later. To whether or not they should convince McGonagall to let them use fountain pens instead of quills, "Honestly, I love to write, but my hand is going to have more muscle than my arm by the time we graduate!" Hermione complained, to Harry's laughter.

By the time they were done talking, Harry felt lighter than he had in months. Between the stress of the Tournament, and the aftermath of it, he hadn't had the chance to feel relaxed for long, if at all. Harry knew his nightmares would probably come back to haunt him that night, but right now, he was content in having a peaceful day.

On the subject of Dumbledore, I didn't want to make him bad, because I do feel he's on the side of the light. But the way he often fails to see the trees among the forest, and how his character is set up from the Philosopher's stone kind of backs you into a wall, so I wanted to use Voldemort's return as a shock to the system to try and break from it, in some way. Dumbledore should've been more proactive in Harry's well-being, not turning him into a sacrificial lamb. Moreover, Harry will turn to others more than Dumbledore, so they will have more impact on his life.
Stemming from Voldemort's return though, the whole situation of Harry talking to Mrs. Figg and Hermione, and simply getting in contact with other people will help nip some of Harry's frustrations from canon in the bud. So his treatment at the Dursleys had to be addressed early. I wanted to do it in as natural a way as possible, assuming that the people around him really care about him. And Hermione, Ron, Sirius, and Remus do. But they have a hard time connecting with him. Not least in part due to his isolation over the summer thanks to, well, Dumbledore, which compounds into the whole year. So what if that weren't the case?

As for the overall story, I don't want Harry/the Trio, the DA, or the Order to be swatting away problems like flies, but I would like to make them better prepared to handle them. There's a lot of things that happen from the 5th-7th books that could've happened sooner or differently, rather than simmering in the background until it's too late. Dumbledore says as much during 'The Lost Prophecy'.

This is very much a fix-it, with many reworked canon events and new ideas. The main drive for this story was to change how characters react to events, past and present, and some points are outside of Harry's control/would happen in some way anyway. But that could still influence/create new events.