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In early August, the hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing: the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only people left outdoors was the occasional child riding their bike.

In Number Four of Privet Drive, locked away in a small bedroom on the second floor was a teenage boy. He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law

It didn't matter at that moment though, as he was being confined to his room after being attacked alongside his cousin, Dudley, by Dementors, performing a patronus charm, getting expelled from Hogwarts — and then un-expelled in favour of a court hearing — and then stashed away out of sight for the next three days. Harry was alternately filled with a restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of his extended family for leaving him to stew in this mess; and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.

Then, of course, there was the other matter, but he didn't want to think about that. Harry was sure he would explode if he even tried to think about it, so he focused more on everything else.

On the fourth day after being attacked, with still no word from Remus, Sirius, Ron, or Hermione, Harry was getting increasingly more frustrated and angry with everyone. That evening, Uncle Vernon had come to his room, announcing that he, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were going out and would be back later. Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned, hopefully with some form of news. 

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery. 

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below. 

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case, he hadn't heard their car. 

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices. 

For a moment, a part of him thought that maybe — no, it wouldn't be. Burglars, Harry decided, sliding off the bed on to his feet — but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so. 

He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood lacing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

A bright glowing light was held aloft before Harry, leaving him only able to see silhouettes of the people behind it. Suddenly the light bobbed and a voice whispered, "Watch that— dangerous bit of carpet there..."

"Tonks— for God's sake..." A familiar voice growled out.

The same feminine voice of the first person who had spoken said, "Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would."

As she stepped further into his room, the faces of the people standing in Harry's doorway illuminated. The witch who was holding her lit wand aloft was among the many who were staring at him. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet, "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald dark-skinned wizard standing furthest back— he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear— "he looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes."

Harry was still on guard. He was getting more confused by the minute and he supposed it must have shown on his face as the next voice spoke:

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away."

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it in over a month.

"R-Remus?" he said disbelievingly, "Is that you?"

His godfather stepped further into the light and Harry finally saw his broadly smiling face looking back at him. Harry took a step forward, mirrored by Remus as they met in an embrace in the middle. After being by himself for the last while and then the Dementors, Harry was so glad to see his godfather and to know that he would be okay.

"How are you?" Remus asked, pulling back and looking closely at Harry. 

"F-fine..."

Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days. 

"I'm— you're really lucky the Dursleys are out..." he mumbled. 

"Lucky, ha!" said the violet-haired woman. "It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now... or they think they are."

Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. 

"We are leaving, aren't we?" he asked. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," said Lupin, "we're just waiting for the all-clear. You'd better get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll help you," said the violet-haired witch brightly.

The rest of the wizards and witches filed back out of his doorway and down the stairs, but not before sending Harry various degrees of cheerful grins. Remus patted him on the shoulder before following suit.

The young witch was looking around with much curiosity and interest. 

"I'm Tonks by the way," she beamed at him. Tonks gestured out towards the hallway, "Funny place," she said. "It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. But this is better," she added, as Harry finally turned on the light in his room. 

His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards' robes that had spilt on to the floor around it. 

Usually, he kept his belongings to a single half of the room... but the other side hadn't been occupied as it normally was. Still, Harry refrained from touching the things over there, wanting to ignore his problems for as long as possible. A massive part of him missed her, but another half of his heart was angry at the circumstances he had been left with.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at the small desk on the other side of the room. On the wall above it, where there once used to be tacked a handful of photographs, now were empty spaces taken out of the collage. A good amount of the magically moving photographs had been removed just after they had returned from Hogwarts.

A bitter feeling clung to Harry as he looked at where the missing photos had been. He understood why they were gone— it was too painful of a reminder to be faced every day with joyous moments from a person you'll never see smile or laugh again.

Tonks looked mildly uncomfortable as she looked at the feminine decor on the opposite side of Harry's. The violet-haired witch glanced awkwardly at the boy who was staring at the perfectly made bed with a tight face.

"Y'know she cried every day..." Harry said quietly, slowly bending to sit on the side of his own bed. "Every day for two weeks she did nothing but cry... she took it really hard when he— when he died..."

Tonks shuffled, glancing around the girl's side of the room.

"It was awful." Harry continued, staring at nothing as he remembered, "She wouldn't eat much... I couldn't get her out of bed a lot of days. I would just hear her cry herself to sleep... every day,  for two weeks... and then it just stopped." Harry looked out the window, a sense of defeat rising within him, "She was gone the next day."

Tonks looked pained, "Have you spoke to her at all since?"

Harry shook his head sadly, "I tried sending Hedwig out with letters a few times but she always came back empty-handed." the teenage boy sighed, eyes getting teary, "I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. But I suppose it means she's at least alive..."

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Later, in the dark embrace of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry was led upstairs without a single explanation as to anything that was happening. He crossed the dingy landing, turned the doorknob of the room he was directed towards, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door. 

He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room; then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair. Hermione had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

The young witch startled talking rapidly, "Are you all right? We overheard them talking about the Dementor attack; you must tell us everything—"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Ron laughed.

"—and this hearing at the Ministry— it's just outrageous! I've looked it up and they simply can't expel you! It's completely unfair!"

"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around," Harry said bitterly, "What is this place anyway?"

"It's Headquarters..." Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron, "...of the Order of the Phoenix. It's a secret society; Dumbledore founded it back when they first fought You-Know-Who."

Harry glared, feeling angrier at his friends by the second, "Couldn't have put any of this in a letter I suppose. I've gone all summer without any bloody news!"

Hermione and Ron shared a guilty look—

"We wanted to write mate, really we did— only—" Ron hesitated.

"Only what?" Harry asked angrily.

Hermione rushed to continue, "Only Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you anything."

Harry felt like he'd been slapped in the face. He was getting really sick of people doing things without acknowledging his own feelings about it.

"Dumbledore said that?" Ron and Hermione both nodded, looking nervous at the expression on Harry's face. "But... why would he want to keep me in the dark? How come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young—"

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting, "SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT— WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"

Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the sadness and anger he felt by Iris leaving, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it— all the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears. 

"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did—" Hermione began. 

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—"

"Well, he did—"

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE— TWO OF THOSE ALONE— NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—"

"We wanted to—"

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—"

"No, honest—"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry— I'd be furious if it was me!"

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. 

"I don't even know where the bloody hell Iris is," Harry muttered angrily.

Harry faltered, suddenly emotional. The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends had been extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden— after yearning to see them for a solid month— he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.

Hermione had flinched at the name, Ron grimacing heavily as he exchanged an awkward look with the girl. Ron then raised his eyebrows a little bit at Hermione as if asking if he should say something. Hermione's eyes widened a bit before she shook her head, looking scared.

Harry noticed this and huffed, glaring at them. "What now?"

Hermione flinched once more, turning towards Harry with a look of guilt and a slight bit of hidden fear as if she could predict the bad reaction to their next words.

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron, "They're really useful."

"Extendable—?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on..."

Hermione spoke next very quietly, her words sending a cold shock down Harry's spine:

"Well... you see, Harry... We've been able to listen in on the meetings and— er... Iris has been coming to them."

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Ahhh fifth year! I've been waiting for this moment since I first started writing this story so I hope you guys are excited!