Forward:

Thank you for checking out my new story, and my first "original" fic. The first thing you should know is that I've already finished writing it, so there is a 0% chance of it being abandoned. It took me a little over a year to write and checks in at 46 chapters and about 370k words, so I plan to post 2 chapters per week as I make my final edits. I plan on adding a short epilogue eventually, but I haven't written that part yet.

This will likely be my only author's note, so please forgive the length (or just skip ahead, if you'd rather).

As you saw from the tags, the story includes a Harry/Astoria pairing, though it takes a little while to get there. For those of you who don't know, in the official canon, Astoria Greengrass grows up to become Mrs. Draco Malfoy. All we really know about her is that she was 2 years behind Harry in school, had some 'health issues', and she at least eventually rejected the idea of pure-blood supremacy (which is why Draco's parents didn't like her, based on what JKR put out on Pottermore). All that served as the starting point for her character in this story. Her sister Daphne also plays an important role.

As for the story itself, one thing I really wanted to do is get back to the roots and write a story that felt like you were reading a Harry Potter book. It's mostly told from Harry's perspective, contains a lot of dialogue, and the lore is mostly faithful to (book) canon. That means you shouldn't expect to see any depictions of wizarding nobility, helpful goblins, or any other fanon inventions (not that there's anything wrong with stories that use them). I also tried to keep characters mostly in line with their canon counterparts, which also means there will be no character bashing in this fic.

This is mainly a 5th year canon divergence story, so by necessity, some canon events will be depicted, but I promise there's very little rehashing of the books. There's so much HP fan fiction out there that practically everything's been done by this point, so while I don't expect this story to break much new ground, I did try to take it to some unexpected places, flip a couple tropes on their head, and mix things up enough to keep it interesting.

Also, as I posted this I realized that some of the formatting things I had done with letters, articles, etc. just isn't going to translate over to FFN, so I apologize in advance if it's sometimes unclear.

Thanks again for reading, and enjoy.

Chapter One: Justifiable Paranoia

It was just before dawn in the quiet suburb of Little Whinging, when in the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. His body was completely drenched in sweat — which in itself wasn't all that unusual, considering the unreasonably hot summer southern England had been experiencing. However, the weather was not the cause of the young man's condition on this particular night.

He absentmindedly rubbed the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead and tried to remember his dream. His mind had been making regular visits to a particular graveyard during his precious few hours of slumber, but this one had seemed different for some reason. Try as he might, however, he could not seem to recall the finer details, and as the pain that jolted him awake began to subside, the last threads of his recollection fled along with it.

Harry sighed in frustration. This had been happening on and off all summer, but he was no closer to an answer. He had, seemingly at random, been experiencing intense pain in the scar left by Lord Voldemort's Killing Curse, often accompanied by an influx of emotion that didn't seem to fit the situation — almost as if the emotions weren't his to begin with.

Sometimes, the episodes even coincided with a brief vision, flashes of people and places unfamiliar to Harry. He knew that these visions were somehow connected to Voldemort, but they were never clear enough for Harry to understand what he was seeing.

He supposed he should've expected something like this, now that the Dark Lord had regained his full power, along with a body of his own. Was this what his life was going to be like from now on? Upon thinking such thoughts, a pained expression suddenly marred Harry's face, and his body began to tremble as unwelcome memories flashed across his vision.

"Kill the spare."

"B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect your foe."

"Bow to death, Harry…"

Harry vigorously shook his head in an attempt to chase the memories away. With a sigh, he grabbed his glasses off of the rickety nightstand and checked the time.

The small alarm clock next to his bed told him it was 4:57 A.M., which meant that Harry had been fifteen years old for nearly five hours. Harry's birthday had never been much of a cause for celebration for him, and he didn't expect this one to be any different. The best he could hope for would be to avoid the Dursleys for most of the day, particularly his whale of a cousin.

Upon returning to Privet Drive for the summer, Harry had been disheartened to learn that Dudley had recently taken up boxing at school. While his new hobby had somehow managed to convert a fair amount of his blubber into solid muscle, he seemed to mainly use his newfound skills to terrorise the neighbourhood children. Seeing as how performing magic outside of school was forbidden for underage wizards, Harry figured his best bet was to simply avoid Dudley whenever possible.

With a yawn, Harry stretched and stood up out of bed, and then crossed the room to open up the flimsy curtains so that he could peer out the window. The sleepy neighbourhood appeared the same as it always had, with its uniform construction and well-kept gardens. Nothing in Privet Drive ever really seemed to change, except for Harry. It seemed that every year since he began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he would find himself embroiled in one life-threatening situation after another, after which he would be sent back to the Dursleys to sort through what those events meant for him going forward — alone.

Not that the changes were all bad, of course. For starters, he had grown quite a bit over the past year, finally bringing his height more in line with the other boys in his year. Unfortunately, his rapid growth combined with an improper diet had left him looking even scrawnier than usual, bordering on unhealthy.

"Maybe I should write to Dumbledore about my scar," Harry thought to himself, as the first light of day crept over the horizon.

He quickly thought better of the idea. As much as he respected the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry had been quite annoyed with Albus Dumbledore as of late.

After everything he'd been through during last year's Triwizard Tournament, up to and including his kidnapping, not to mention his unwilling participation in a Dark ritual to resurrect the wizard who murdered his parents, he had hoped for…something. Some sort of recognition of what he had been through, or perhaps some reassurance that something was being done about it all. If nothing else, Harry would have appreciated at least some small sliver of information regarding what was happening out there.

Instead, he had been given a pat on the head and unceremoniously handed back to his horrible relatives, as if nothing had happened. He had written to his friends Ron and Hermione, but their responses had been less than useless, as they'd had the gall to include vague hints about what was happening with no real information.

"We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously…" "We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray..." "We're quite busy but I can't give you details here..." "There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you…"

Harry rolled his eyes. That was all well and good, but when would he finally be allowed to leave Privet Drive? At least Sirius's letters had been somewhat sympathetic, even if they had been filled with useless advice, such as, "Be careful and don't do anything rash." As if he was one to talk.

Just as he was about to settle in so he could properly brood over his lot, Harry noticed the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet winging its way towards him. He quickly grabbed two silver Sickles from his money bag and placed them in the owl's leather pouch before taking his copy of the paper. As he did every day, he skimmed over the headlines as quickly as he could, and seeing no mention of Voldemort or his Death Eaters on the front page, he let out a huff and tossed the paper onto the pile with the rest.

With a sigh, Harry left his room to take a shower and grab a slice of toast before his aunt and uncle woke up, resigned to another dull day in Little Whinging.

oOoOoOo

Feeling somewhat refreshed after his shower, Harry opened his bedroom door to find two owls waiting for him. The first was the Weasleys' ancient grey owl, Errol, who was carrying an assortment of envelopes tied to a small package. He hurried to relieve the exhausted bird of his burden and helped him to Hedwig's cage to recuperate. The snowy owl ruffled her feathers indignantly at the intrusion, but she ultimately permitted Errol to drink some of her water and rest on her perch.

Satisfied that the Weasley owl wasn't going to keel over and die anytime soon, Harry turned his attention to his other visitor: a rather large brown owl clutching a single envelope. As soon as he took the envelope, the owl immediately turned and flew back out the window. Hedwig let out a single hoot and followed it with her eyes until it disappeared into the distance, seeming almost suspicious of the unfamiliar bird.

The envelope was addressed simply to Harry Potter, but the boy in question didn't recognise the handwriting, so he simply tossed it on the bed and elected to open the Weasleys' presents first.

He tore open the brown paper packaging and found an assortment of pies and pastries, no doubt baked by Mrs. Weasley herself. Deciding his single slice of toast was hardly a sufficient breakfast, he immediately took an enormous bite of a pasty and turned his attention to the envelopes, which ended up containing birthday cards from Sirius, Ron, and Hermione.

His frustration mounted as he read through each one in turn, with none of them yielding even the slightest bit of useful information. Hermione had even scribbled 'I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon' inside of hers, but of course she didn't bother telling him when. Feeling exceptionally bitter about the ongoing lack of communication, Harry took the box of Honeydukes chocolates attached to Hermione's letter and chucked it into the bin, unopened.

Harry sat back down on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Wherever they were, his friends were clearly together. Why wasn't he allowed to be involved? Did they not trust him? Hadn't he proven himself, time and time again? After all, he was the one who had to deal with Quirrell. He was the one who had taken on a thousand-year-old basilisk and lived to tell the tale. Was it not him who made it through the Triwizard tasks? The one who watched Cedric murdered right in front of him? The one who duelled the Dark Lord, and was nearly…

"Don't think about that," Harry told himself for what felt like the thousandth time. His nightmares were bad enough; no good could possibly come from allowing himself to revisit the graveyard while he was awake too.

Harry looked down at the bed and spotted the envelope he had set aside earlier, which was made from a heavy parchment and closed with a dark green wax seal. With a shrug, Harry broke the seal and slipped out the letter. Brow furrowed in confusion, Harry read the letter through to the end, and as soon as he had finished, his eyes immediately shot back to the top of the page to go over it a second time.

Dear Harry,

I do hope this letter finds you. Our owl, Archimedes, has an unusual knack for tracking down hard to find people, but I have no idea where you live so I'm not positive he'll be able to find you.

You don't know me, but I've seen enough of you over the last couple of years to know that you're an honourable person. With everything they've been saying about you in the Daily Prophet this summer, I thought it was important for you to know that there are people out there who believe and support you. I don't think you're a liar, and if Professor Dumbledore believes you too then that's good enough for me.

I want to urge you to be careful too. Everybody knows that the Ministry of Magic controls what gets printed in the Prophet, and judging from the way they're going after both you and Professor Dumbledore, they must have some sort of agenda in mind. It really makes me wonder who stands to gain from all this.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you not to let the stories get to you. The truth will come out eventually, and if You-Know-Who really is back, then I have a feeling the magical world is going to need you. Just know that you still have friends out there, even some in unexpected places. My family doesn't like to get involved, but I will personally support you in any way I can. Hopefully I'll even work up the courage to properly introduce myself one day.

Good luck, Harry, and happy birthday.

Sincerely,

A friend

"Who could've possibly sent this?" Harry wondered out loud.

It was a Hogwarts student, that much was obvious. It was most likely a girl too, going by the neat handwriting, and a seemingly intelligent one at that. But who was she? His birthday was common knowledge in the magical world, so her knowing it wasn't much of a clue. Most importantly, what was all that about the Daily Prophet?

"Stories?" he asked the empty room. "What stories?"

Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he raced to his stack of discarded newspapers. He started reading through the topmost copy, and the anger he'd been holding onto all morning started bubbling over.

He hadn't noticed because he'd only been skimming the front page for news about Voldemort, but sure enough, his name was mentioned at least two or three times per day, and never in a positive light. He spent the next few hours reading through every edition of the Prophet, and the more he read, the more his anger was slowly replaced by a deep sense of unease.

The Daily Prophet, and by extension the Ministry of Magic, had taken great pains to paint him as nothing more than an attention-seeking brat, or worse yet, some sort of delusional nutter trying to start a panic.

As bad as it was for Harry, they were treating Professor Dumbledore even worse. It apparently wasn't enough that had he been removed from his positions as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump (whatever that was) of the International Confederation of Wizards, so the Prophet had also taken great pains to paint him as a senile old man who had completely lost his grip on reality.

"Why?" Harry asked himself. "Why would the Ministry attack me and Dumbledore in the press?"

Then he thought back to the letter from his anonymous supporter.

"It really makes me wonder who stands to gain from all this."

Based on his behaviour on the day of the third task, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge clearly didn't want to believe that Voldemort was back. Frankly, the man seemed quite terrified at the prospect, but was that really enough to explain how aggressively the Prophet had come after him and Dumbledore? Who actually benefitted from making sure nobody believed the Dark Lord had returned?

Harry's blood ran cold as the obvious answer came to him.

Voldemort.

The one who stood to gain the most from the Ministry's actions was the Dark Lord himself. If nobody believed he was alive, he could continue to operate from the shadows unhindered and build up his army — or whatever it was he was doing — without having to worry about the Aurors trying to track him down.

Harry's face screwed up in concentration as he tried to connect the dots. Voldemort may have the most to gain, but how would he even pull something like this off? Was it possible that the Death Eaters already had people inside the Ministry?

Harry snorted contemptuously. Of course they did.

It had been made abundantly clear to him last year that many of Voldemort's supporters had escaped imprisonment, usually by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse, or some other such nonsense. The Death Eaters didn't have to infiltrate the Ministry, because they never really left it in the first place. Even if they had, Harry had no doubt that scum like Malfoy's father were more than happy to spread their gold around and make sure their master's wishes were fulfilled.

One thing was for certain, Harry would have to be very cautious when dealing with anyone from the Ministry of Magic.

With that ominous thought, Harry laid back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't help but feel like enemies were beginning to surround him, and his forced isolation certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Well, at least someone out there believes in me," he told himself, a small smile forming on his face as he thought back to the mysterious letter.

Choosing to hang onto that thought instead, he rolled over and shut his eyes. The morning had been mentally exhausting, and he felt that he'd more than deserved a good birthday nap.

oOoOoOo

The realisation that the Ministry might already be under Voldemort's influence had left Harry feeling somewhat paranoid. He already knew the Dark Lord would try to get to him; that much he had at least come to terms with. Add to that the knowledge that their government had it out for him, plus the fact that his friends and allies were obviously keeping things from him, and Harry was left feeling anxious and alone.

Over the last few days, he had taken to carrying his wand and his Invisibility Cloak with him at all times. He rarely left his bedroom, and he had even stopped trying to listen in as his aunt and uncle were watching the muggle news. The last two editions of the Daily Prophet had been no different from the others he had read — boring, run of the mill news sprinkled in with not-so-subtle digs at himself and the headmaster.

That evening, just as the sun was finishing its daily journey across the sky, Harry could be found gazing out the window of his darkened bedroom, just as he had the previous two evenings. He knew he was being paranoid, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Almost on cue, Harry heard a commotion coming from downstairs. Heart racing, he shut his eyes and hoped that whatever it was had nothing to do with him.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"

"So much for that idea," thought Harry, as he resignedly moved away from the window and went to find out what Uncle Vernon was going to accuse him of this time.

He traipsed down the stairs, and seeing that the living room was empty, he turned to walk down the hallway towards the kitchen. As he entered the immaculately clean room, he spotted all three Dursleys huddled together on one side of the kitchen table.

Dudley was sitting in a chair, red-faced and huffing as if he had just finished running a marathon. The large boy looked up as he entered the room, and what Harry saw in his face actually gave him pause. Dudley looked...frightened. The haunted look in his eyes was something Harry had never seen on his cousin before, and he found the effect rather disconcerting.

Meanwhile, while his visibly distressed Aunt Petunia was busy fussing over her Diddykins, Harry's enraged uncle seemed to have eyes only for him.

"What did you do, boy?" growled Vernon menacingly.

"Nothing," responded Harry. "I've been up in my room this entire time."

"Don't give me that rubbish! Dudley told us he was walking back from having tea with the Polkisses when something...funny...happened."

"What, was he actually able to find his way home without getting lost for a change?"

"Don't you cheek me, you ungrateful layabout! Take a look at our Dudders! He wouldn't be acting all spooked like this unless something freaky happened! This has to be the work of some of your lot!"

"That doesn't mean it's anything to do with me," Harry shouted back. "I'm not the only wizard in the world, you know."

"You're the only freak in this neighbourhood!" bellowed Vernon, his walrus-like moustache bristling as dark purple blotches began forming on his cheeks.

Harry's angry retort died in his throat as a thought occurred to him. As far as Harry knew, he really was the only wizard in the area, but what if Dudley really did come across someone, or something magical? With everything going on, he needed to know for sure.

"Dudley..." Harry started. "I need you to tell me what happened."

"I'll be the one asking the questions here, boy!"

"Wait, Vernon," Petunia chimed in. She took the seat next to her son and touched her hand to his shoulder, before asking him in a quiet voice, "Can you tell us again what happened, darling?"

"Was walking home…" Dudley started in a shaky voice. "And...got dark. Really dark...like the stars went out..."

"And then?" asked Harry, a feeling of dread washing over him.

"Cold. Really cold...felt like..."

"Like what, popkin?" Petunia pressed.

"Dunno," he replied, his eyes dropping to the table in front of him. "I just ran...kept running until I got home."

Harry had heard enough. He nervously ran his hand through his hair and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to get his heart rate under control. How was it even possible? Why would dementors be in Little Whinging in the first place? It made no sense!

"Unless they were sent here," muttered Harry, as he pulled out his wand and turned his back to the Dursleys.

"YOU PUT THAT THING AWAY THIS INSTANT!" roared Vernon. "I'LL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OF YOUR FREAKISHNESS IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Shut up!" Harry yelled over his shoulder. "I know what it was, and we're all in danger here! Go lock the doors, quickly!"

But it was too late.

The lights in the house suddenly started flickering and an unnatural chill filled the air. Harry meant to check the windows to see if he could spot the dementor, but before he could take another step, he felt one half of Vernon's sausage-like fingers wrapping around his neck, while the other half were grasping his wrist.

"I...SAID...PUT...IT...DOWN!"

"You...moron..." choked Harry, as his wand tumbled from his hand. "You...need...to run!"

Petunia shrieked as the flickering lights went completely dark. Harry stomped down on Vernon's foot, the painful distraction just enough to let him pull out of his uncle's grasp, making the portly man tumble backwards over the kitchen chair. Harry dove to the floor and felt around for his wand, but it was too dark to see anything. All three Dursleys were shouting, while Vernon had somehow managed to grab hold of Harry's leg from his spot on the floor and was attempting to pull him backwards.

"I said shut up!" Harry yelled again, a sense of panic setting in as the temperature in the room continued to drop. "Where is it...come on!"

"Come on, please! Accio wand!" Harry called out in desperation, and he was so surprised by the feeling of his wand leaping into his hand that he almost dropped it again. "Lumos!"

The tip of his holly and phoenix feather wand ignited, and the Dursleys suddenly fell silent. Harry scrambled to his feet and held his wand aloft in front of him, his breath now visible due to the intense cold in the room, which was now completely silent except for the sounds of Vernon's heavy breathing and Dudley's whimpering.

Harry peered down the hallway as he heard the sound of the front door slowly opening. His eyes widened as a skeletal, corpse-like hand grasped the door and pushed it open. Dread washed over him as not one, but two black-cloaked figures glided through the door, their faces obscured by their black hoods and their rattling breath echoing down the narrow hallway. Harry's vision swam as the dementors bore down on him, but he refused to go down without a fight.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of his wand, but it barely slowed the dementors' progress. Harry tried to think happy thoughts and fight off the despair, but it was all too much.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —" "That hurt, didn't it Harry?" "Kill the spare."

Harry shook his head and took a few steps backwards as the nearest dementor reached for him with its slimy, scabbed hands. It was close enough that he could actually smell the foul creature's putrid breath.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His second attempt produced another feeble wisp of smoke, not even enough to slow the dementor down. Harry felt icy fingers closing around his throat as the second dementor passed by him on the way to claiming its own victim.

It was all over. He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again...

A spark flared inside him as his feelings for his two best friends burst to life from within. With a tremendous effort, he pictured their faces as clearly as he could and called out his last hope.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; Prongs had come to his rescue once again. The stag circled back and gored the dementor with its antlers, casting it aside with a shake of its head. The dementor swooped away, fleeing out the door and into the night, but then Harry turned and saw that the second dementor had Petunia in its grasp.

"No!" he shouted, and the stag charged down the fiend and threw it against the wall. Like its companion, the dementor swiftly retreated from the Patronus and escaped to the outside, hopefully for good.

Harry stood there panting, his body slick with sweat as the lights flickered back on and the temperature slowly returned to normal. He couldn't believe it. Were they really so desperate to get to him that they'd send dementors into a muggle neighbourhood?

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY IT, BOY!" Vernon suddenly shouted. He started to lunge at Harry but stopped short when he saw the wand pointed straight at his chest.

"I told you; it wasn't me," explained Harry, still trying to catch his breath. "They were dementors, two of them. That's what Dudley ran from earlier. All I did was cast the spell that chases them off."

"I felt it," said Petunia in a haunted voice, her eyes staring off into the distance. "I couldn't see it, but something grabbed me. I could even hear it, and it made me feel like...like..."

"Like you'd never be happy again?" Harry replied knowingly. She looked up at him and nodded her head.

"That's what a dementor does. They're among the foulest creatures known to man; they rob you of all happiness, and if you're really unlucky, they can even suck out your soul."

"Your...soul?" gulped Dudley.

"Yes. I'd forgotten they couldn't be seen by muggles — er — non-magic folk. It's probably for the best, though; they're bloody terrifying."

"So, these — er — dementy-thingies just attacked us, you say?" asked Vernon, and Harry nodded his head. "Well, what in the bloody hell are they?"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," Petunia answered without thinking, slapping her hand over her mouth once she'd realised what she said.

"Wait, what?" Harry blurted out, completely flabbergasted by what he'd just heard. Did his Aunt Petunia, the woman who despised everything about magic, just casually mention Azkaban? Uncle Vernon must've been having similar thoughts, because he just stood there gaping at his wife as if he'd never properly seen her before.

"How d'you know about that?" Harry asked her. She hesitated for a moment, casting her eyes towards the floor.

"I — I heard that horrible Snape boy telling her about them...many years ago."

"Wait, Snape? As in Professor Snape? And when you say her, are you talking about my mother?"

"Now wait just a minute," interrupted Uncle Vernon. "If these dementoids are supposed to be guarding some freak prison, what were they doing here?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It's you," growled Vernon. "They were here for you! Don't lie to me, boy, you're on the run from the law, aren't you!"

"Of course not," said Harry, shaking his head in exasperation at his uncle's thick-headedness.

"Then why —"

"Voldemort," Harry interjected. "Voldemort must have sent them."

Harry had been racking his brain for any other possible explanation, but this was the only one that made sense. Whether the Dark Lord commanded the dementors himself or used his people inside the Ministry to get it done was irrelevant — one way or another, it all came back to Voldemort.

"Hang on..." said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up in concentration. "I've heard that name before...that was the one who..."

"Murdered my parents, yeah."

"But he's gone," Vernon said with a dismissive waive of the hand. "I clearly remember them telling us he was gone."

"Yeah, well he's back."

Aunt Petunia's eyes widened in shock, and unless Harry was mistaken, fear. He didn't have a chance to pursue the matter further, because right at that moment, a screech owl swooped in through the open kitchen window and deposited an envelope in front of Harry.

"OWLS! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE RUDDY OWLS IN MY HOUSE!"

Harry roundly ignored his uncle, who was busy shutting the kitchen window, and anxiously ripped open the envelope to read through the letter inside.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed both the Wand-Lighting and Patronus Charms at thirty-five minutes past nine this evening, in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12th.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

Harry had to read the letter three times before the message actually sank in. He was expelled from Hogwarts. What was he going to do now?

He could hear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loudly discussing something, but their words weren't registering with his brain. Dudley was still sitting silently with a perplexed look on his face, almost as if he were trying to work out a complex math problem, which for him would be anything beyond 2 + 2.

Harry looked down at the letter again.

Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

There was no way he could ever give up his wand — not with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters after him. He knew that whoever the Ministry sent certainly wasn't going to listen to his side of the story, especially considering the way they'd attacked him in the press. What if they even sent Aurors after him? He didn't like his chances against wizards like Mad-Eye Moody, so that left him with only one option.

He would have to run for it.

Harry turned to leave the kitchen, but he was stopped by his uncle.

"Oh no you don't, I'm not finished with you!"

"I need to go," insisted Harry.

"Damn well right, you do! If this Lord Voldy-whatsis is sending soul-sucking monsters after you, then I want you gone! I will not have you or your lot endangering my family!"

Before Harry could respond, a loud bang filled the room. He ignored his aunt's shrieks and ran across the kitchen to open the window, where a slightly dazed looking owl was perched on the sill. He removed the tiny roll of parchment from the owl's leg and read the note.

Harry —

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley

"Don't surrender my wand?" Harry muttered irritably. "That's easy for him to say! Does he expect me to just fight off the Ministry by myself, and without magic, no less?"

"Right," he said, looking up at Uncle Vernon, who was in the middle of another rant about owls. "I'm leaving. You said you want me gone, so that shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Too right, boy," responded Vernon, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Good. I'm going upstairs to pack, and then you won't have to deal me anymore."

He turned and left the kitchen to head upstairs, leaving the three Dursleys at a loss for words.

oOoOoOo

Harry did not leave that night.

He packed as much as he could into his rucksack, including some clothes, his album filled with photos of his parents, and the last bits of food Mrs. Weasley had sent him for his birthday. He had wisely rescued some of the Honeydukes chocolates he'd binned earlier, and he was feeling much better now that the fog from the dementors had mostly lifted.

While he was packing there had been more banging and yelling from downstairs, but he didn't give it a second thought until he heard a voice angrily shout, "REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA."

He ran down the stairs to find his Aunt Petunia, sitting in a chair and looking deathly pale, as if she might faint at any moment. Vernon, on the other hand, was still spluttering about owls, while ripping up some bits of parchment into pieces.

As it turned out, three more letters had arrived by owl post while Harry was upstairs. The first was a letter from the Ministry, reversing their decision to expel him and destroy his wand, pending the outcome of his hearing. The knot in Harry's stomach loosened considerably after reading that one; at least he didn't have to worry about Aurors bursting through the door at any minute. The second was a frustratingly unhelpful note from his godfather, once again instructing him to stay put like a good boy and let the adults handle things.

The mysterious booming voice he had heard wound up being a Howler from persons unknown, or at least unknown to Harry. He suspected that Petunia knew exactly who it was from, though she clearly had no intention of telling him. Instead, she simply declared that Harry must continue to stay with them, and even Vernon begrudgingly agreed.

Harry was unbelievably curious about the sender of the Howler, especially since just a few words from this mysterious wizard were enough to change the Dursleys' minds about Harry leaving. In any case, now that there was no longer an immediate threat of Ministry wizards calling at his door, he'd decided that taking some time to rest and consider his next move was probably worthwhile.

That was why Harry could be found in his bedroom at half past two in the morning, staring up at the ceiling while clutching his wand. He had hoped that someone would come to take him away from Privet Drive that very night, but Dumbledore clearly still intended to keep Harry locked away all summer, even after he'd had to fight for his life — again.

Barely a month ago, he'd been forced to duel the most feared Dark Lord in recent memory, and now he'd been attacked by dementors in his own home. You'd think that would be enough to earn some sort of assistance, but instead, all he'd received were two ominous letters from the Ministry of Magic and a couple brief notes telling him to stay put. It was obvious that Harry was on his own for the time being.

He couldn't stay at the Dursleys' for much longer, of that much he was certain. If dementors were able to track him there, then what was stopping the Death Eaters from strolling up Privet Drive whenever they got the notion? No, he had to leave; the only question was, where could he go?

The only places in the magical world he could think of were Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and it was almost a guarantee that he'd be recognised at either one of those places. He knew the Burrow was somewhere in Devon, but the letters from Ron and Hermione made it sound like they might not even be there at the moment, and even if they were, they were bound to tell Dumbledore. The last thing he needed was to be scolded by the headmaster, who would almost certainly send him right back to Privet Drive.

Sirius might help him if he was able to properly explain the situation first, but there were two problems with that. The first was Harry had absolutely no idea where Sirius was. More importantly, the man was still considered a fugitive. If Harry really was being targeted by the Ministry, the last thing he wanted to do was lead them straight to his godfather. He would never forgive himself if he was responsible for Sirius being sent back to Azkaban.

He stewed over his situation for quite some time. While he was ruminating on the sober realisation of how few allies he truly had, he suddenly remembered the letter from his anonymous friend. Didn't she say something about being willing to help him? Rolling over on his side, Harry turned on his lamp and took the letter out of his nightstand drawer.

"I will personally support you in any way I can," he read aloud.

Harry figured it was a longshot, but by this point he was running out of options.

"Hedwig," he said, holding the letter up to his feathery companion. "I don't have a name, but do you think you might be able to find the person who sent this?"

She stared back at him for a moment, then flapped her wings once and puffed out her chest, which Harry took as a good sign.

"Thanks girl, hang on just a minute."

Taking a scrap of parchment and quill out of his trunk, he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to compose his thoughts.

"Okay, so what do I really need?" thought Harry to himself. "First things first, I need to get away from here. Someplace where nobody can find me, not even Dumbledore. Next, I have to deal with this hearing nonsense…not that I'd even know where to start."

Just thinking about the hearing and the possibility of his wand being snapped left Harry feeling sick to his stomach, but he understood that he needed to deal with one problem at a time. Making up his mind, he leaned over his nightstand and began composing the letter.

Dear friend,

I hope that Hedwig is as up to the challenge of finding you as your owl was at finding me. First off, thank you for your letter, it was quite eye-opening. Second, I hate having to ask this, but you did offer to help.

I was attacked in my home tonight and I'm no longer safe here. I need to find somewhere I can hide out for a bit, but I have no one else I can turn to — not even the headmaster. Please, if there's anything you can do to help just send a note back with Hedwig, even if it's just a simple suggestion. If not, then no hard feelings.

Sincerely,

HP

Harry read through the letter and made a few minor adjustments, but he couldn't help but worry that his mystery friend might change their mind about him after reading it. He wasn't sure how anyone in their right mind would want to help him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Deciding it was good enough, he rolled up the parchment and walked over to Hedwig's cage, where she stuck out her leg and allowed him to attach the scroll.

"Okay, girl. All I know is that she's a Hogwarts student, and her owl is called Archimedes. If you do find her, please wait for her to write back. If she wants to, that is."

Hedwig hooted reassuringly and swooped out of the open bedroom window and into the night. Harry let out a sigh as he watched as his faithful owl disappear into the darkness. With that done, he laid back down on the bed, wand still in hand, and attempted to get some sleep while he still could.

Sleep, however, would continue to elude him for much of the night. There were simply too many questions running through his mind, not least of which was, "How in the world did Aunt Petunia know Professor Snape?"