It was late.

As he leaned casually against an unlit lamp post near the corner of Privet Drive, a cloaked figure in black, it suddenly occurred to Harry just how peaceful his neighborhood must have always been. He'd associated so much of his surroundings with the behavior of the Dursleys. Now that they were gone, he felt like he was standing in the midst of a haven. It felt like home, nearly as much as the halls of Hogwarts.

The midnight breeze whispered through the branches of a tree overhead, just as Dumbledore exited the front door of No. 4 1/2. With the practiced ease to be expected of the most powerful wizard of his generation, Dumbledore took notice of the mysterious figure with an almost casual indifference.

"Professor."

The curiosity that marked his features relaxed into familiar recognition.

"Ah. Good evening, Harry." He paused, a glint in his eye. "Though I've just left your presence, I suppose we haven't seen one another for some time."

Harry pulled back the hood of his cloak as Dumbledore approached, and he couldn't help but feel a warm affection for one of his oldest friends. He smiled broadly. "You've already worked it out?"

Dumbledore nodded, his features bright and cheerful. "For a wizard of your talent and resources, Harry, time is no certain obstacle. Though I fear, given the nature of recent events, the circumstances which compelled you to take such risks. Dark indeed are those perils which force a good man outside of his time."

The weight of those words struck him, and for a moment Harry didn't speak at all.

"Professor, I've met you here because there's something you should know."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Indeed?"

Harry nodded. "The Order's been compromised, sir."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Harry, as I've mentioned before, I trust Snape with my life."

"Not Snape. Fletcher. Sir, Mundungus has been reporting the Order's activities to Lucius Malfoy for nearly a year."

Dumbledore's eyes went distant, and confusion marked his features. "Mundungus?"

"He owes Malfoy a great deal, sir, more than a lifetime's earnings. From gambling, Professor. Tonks has been following him for months. He meets Malfoy weekly, reports on every active member of the Order. Your movements. Your dealings."

He shook his head in unbelief. "Surely not. There must be some sort of mistake."

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself. "You'll need to obliviate him, Professor. He needs to be sent away, with no memory of the Order at all."

For a moment they stood in silence. Harry could hear the aged wizard breathe. He shook his head, once and then again. Finally, he spoke.

"You're right. Of course you're right. I've been such a fool."

Harry raised a hand. "Sir, you just left my home. A haven you built to protect me, to foster my community, to give me a space all my own. You've just stepped away from a celebration in my honor, from a table surrounded by people I love. You've just given me the best birthday I've ever had. And you did it on the heels of over a decade of mistakes. It isn't the mistakes we're remembered for, sir. It's how we change on the other side of them."

The summer breeze shifted again. As the leaves whispered overhead, Harry thought he'd heard the trill of a phoenix in the distance.

It was surprisingly simple to set up the sequence of events that led to his departure.

He'd gotten Tonks help to hollow out the book within which was mounted the Potter time-turner. Planting it was easy enough. Seated in one of the wingbacks opposite the stacks, he whispered a quick incantation as Hermione passed, congratulating himself on his accuracy as it literally fell directly into her hands. He hadn't quite grapsed how much he'd missed them, but listening to their interactions felt like torture.

So he made his way to his living room, laid on the overstuffed crimson red sofa, draped in his invisibility cloak. He must have dozed, for in what felt like a few moments he stirred to find Hermione bidding farewell as Luna stood beside him in the doorway. Harry stood, stretched, and quietly made his way up the stairs. He placed the bag that Remus had helped him enchant in the far corner of his loft, and jotted the following note at the writing desk beside his four-poster.

Hey,
Take Dobby. He won't mind at all. To be honest, he's referred to it as "his most beloved privilege" at least a few hundred times.
Find Remus as soon as you can.
Take a look just beside your wardrobe. There's a leather messenger bag with an extension charm I've worked out. Take everything you'll need, you've got good insticts (except you never think about money).
- HP
PS - You're right, it's the only way.
PPS - And if you could go soon, I really wouldn't mind a shower.

It was a bit weird to stand in a room with himself as he worked out the meaning of the note, so Harry stood from the sofa and walked down the stairs. A whip crack of apparition echoed from the staircase, and Harry absently attended to the distant discussion, smiling warmly at Dobby's enthusiastic responses.

The shuffling of preparation and the whispers of dialogue were suddenly wrapped in the envelope of time, and then he was alone. It was an overwhelming moment, and he was overcome with relief.

A year.

There is a kind of loneliness which accompanies being outside of your own time, and Harry carried that loneliness. He had felt it, viscerally. Worse, he hadn't been with Luna, at least in any real sense. He hadn't spoken with her, hadn't felt the warmth of her breath as she whispered into his ear. He hadn't felt her fingers laced with his, hadn't wrapped his arm around her waist. It was torture, to be so near to her, yet so far away.

And now it was over. She was so near. His heart raced at the thought. They'd made plans to see one another in just a handful of hours. He didn't expect he'd sleep tonight.

He'd forgotten just how comfortable his home was. The warm smiles of his parents and their closest friends, posing cheerfully within the many frames; the crimson reds and gold accents, the leather wingbacks against the backdrop of a large, stone fireplace. The broad dining table, the vast library, fostered a sense of community and hope and belonging that he couldn't quite articulate.

After carefully placing his cloaks on the hooks beside his door, Harry returned to his loft, breathing full perhaps for the first time in months. He tugged off his shirt, stood before the broad, open window, and wondered whether Hedwig had ever noticed his departure. He unbuttoned his trousers as he turned away from the window.

"Hello, home. I've missed you."

Almost in response, the shower engaged as soon as he spoke, and by the time he reached the door to the bath steam washed over him.

He'd allowed the warm water to wash over him for perhaps ten minutes when he heard the front door close, and footsteps on the staircase. He cursed himself for leaving Cloak so far out of reach, scrambled for his wand, and had just exited the bath, wearing nothing but a loosely wrapped towel, when Luna Lovegood stepped into his loft, turned to face him with a curious expression, and spoke.

"You're taller, Harry Potter."