And I'll hold my breath. Tom Riddle, Harry Potter

Summary:  Harry has been a little off since the graveyard. He sees more than a closed door in his nightly visions, and he's losing his grasp on reality. "But with the way things are, Dumbledore told us we couldn't write." Hermione said, her hair falling into her eyes. Harry quoted a rather intelligent poem, considering that he could have screamed instead. (Eventual slash) (Alternate year 5)

Previous chapter: (bone, flesh, and blood)

And I'll hold my breath

Chapter 1: Summers Passing

“Where are you?” Harry muttered.

No owl came down bearing messages, and no wizard appeared to answer the question.

Harry sat on the swing-set, watching the sun set with growing apprehension. The summer had not been going as he planned, and even the hot, sweltering days couldn’t burn the memory of Cedric’s cold body on his hands, or the touch of ropes around tombstones. So he got up, deciding to finally head home after a long day of newspaper-snatching and eavesdropping-on-the-news-broadcasts.

His feet echoed dully on the pavement. Just one more street, and he’d be home.

He heard footsteps from behind, then a hasty trot to catch up with him—large, heavy, but not entirely precise.

Harry tensed, his fingers closing around his wand. But he didn’t draw it, not yet.

“There you are.” A low voice huffed.

Harry eased out of his stance, even allowed for a smile. “Hey Dudley.” He called. Trying to relax, Harry called to mind an image of Dudley, and then tried imagining him turning into a pig. Hagrid, he mused, would approve.

“Mum’s going to kill you, being out this late.” Dudley crowed. “You’ll be roast meat.”

That, Harry thought vaguely, was oddly considerate of Dudley. “You’re just as late.” He scowled. “Where were you?” he demanded. “Beating up on some kid?”

Dudley’s face folded in on itself, the cheerful contemplation of Harry’s fate interrupted. He took a moment to compose a reply. “No! No, of course I didn’t. Don’t...” He sputtered.

Harry smiled thinly, enjoying the look on Dudley’s face. However, the feeling was short lived.

“I’ve been with friends. Not that you’d know. You haven’t got any.” Dudley rallied solidly. His grin was back. “Except for your boyfriend. Who was it again?” his face puckered. “No, no! Cedric!” he laughed. “Always crying into your pillow at night. Thought I couldn’t hear you?”

Harry's face flushed. He was left without a reply, his hands wrapped around a wand that he was forbidden to use. Harry sighed and noisily turned away from Dudley. As he walked, he noticed a sudden darkening of the sky. Twilight seemed rushed, hurried along with the rushing of wind, and there was a dank, eerie feel that came over them all of a sudden. It was as though a blanket of depression settled around their shoulders, and both of them forgot their words.

No. he thought desperately. Not here. Not now. Harry stepped back hastily, his hand already making the right movements as he fought the fog and attempted to catch a clear memory. A happy memory.

“What are you doing?” Dudley demanded. “You're doing something funny!”

Harry ignored his cousin, focusing on the spell just behind his lips. There. He had it. Hermione and Ron on the train to Hogwarts with him, their heads pressed close in discussion. His friends. Harry opened his mouth. “Expecto--”

wham. Dudley's fist caught him by surprise, pushing the air out of his lungs and destroying the spell. Harry stared, dazed, at the light that sputtered out of his wand as it cascaded through the air. He watched as it disappeared in the oncoming darkness, and the Dementors edged closer on his vision.

The Patronus glimmered into nothingness as Harry felt his wand go soaring. “No-- my wand!” Harry leapt after it, not noticing that the Dementors were clustering right in his path.

They were on him before he could stretch out his hands. Just a little closer... Harry felt cold and unhappy. He vaguely wondered if Dementors were secretly the reason behind his not-depression this summer. Then, for the second time in his life, he felt the Dementor's strong grip, slimy and eerily tight. Everything seemed to flicker, to be shrouded in a thick mist.

Harry let out a short scream of frustration, arching away from the looming creature. He would not let it end this way. He would not--

A familiar voice offered something to latch onto. “Ah man, not now! Why do you have to have a mental breakdown-- more mental breakdown now where anyone could see you?” Dudley hissed. He blustered into the mist, ignorant to the danger.

Harry gaped as his cousin wavered for a moment, clearly caught in the Dementors's spell. Harry had just enough clear thought to whisper a second spell. “Lumos!” He rolled towards his wand.

Happy thoughts. Happy, happy thoughts. Not in the graveyard? No, that wasn't right...Dudley is about to become a real soulless bully? Harry thrust that thought aside. Not helping. Every flavour beans...learning to fly...catching the snitch... Somehow, a happy thought fought its way to the forefront of his mind. Harry actually grinned.

He was back at Hogwarts, accepted and believed, sitting with friends at the hearth side. Pumpkin juice, Butterbeer, warm beds.... He waved his hand without the wand yet in his grasp, and shouted, “Expecto Patronum!” and again, there were silvery sparks.

The Dementor paused, turning its head toward Harry in eerie semblance to curiosity.

Harry half-crawled, grabbing his fallen wand and performing the spell fluidly. Again, he called the memories back:

“This is just the thing for you, freak. Here!” Dudley shoved something soft into Harry's arms. “Now you can cry yourself to sleep like a little girl! Since you've been having such a hard summer.” Here Dudley regressed into making mocking baby noises which Harry tuned out.

Harry took the plush toy, looking at it. It was a teddy bear, unusually new looking, soft and clean. Harry's eyes flashed, amused that Dudley would think this gift would set him off. Harry held it up to the light, his face expressionless.

Finally his eyes crinkled as he smiled and said in a light, slightly girlish tone, “Why thank you Dudley! I didn't know you cared. You see, teddy bears are very useful, in addition for being cute. True, they're well known even in the Muggle world, but they can be used for other things. Like flying,” Harry made the bear 'fly' with a broad sweep of his arm. “And they're great for target practice....what better friend could I ask for?”

The horror and disbelief on Dudley's face sent Harry into fits of laughter. Even surrounded by dementors, his stomach felt funny-- full of air and unspent laughter. Or indigestion.

“Expecto patronum.“ He laughed, only somewhat desperate, but the Dementor's breath was still so close. He almost doubted it would work, but the Patronus glowed bright, sending the Dementors away.

Just as its terrible mouth brushed his cheek, the magic sprang to life. There was a woosh of air as the Patronus bowled the black-cloaked thing over before it cantered back to Harry, tossing its head. Harry's eyes were glued to it.

There had been a second Dementor, Harry realized, dazed, and his Patronus charged at it, driving it away and taking the darkness with it.

Only Dudley was left. Harry squinted before righting his glasses. The euphoria of the charm working had passed, leaving him nauseated. He still couldn't quite settle what was happening. Harry wavered. Just as he was about to sit down (he was fairly certain he had knocked his head. Only without the actual hitting of anything that usually entailed) when a meaty hand clasped his shoulder, then moved under his arm, pulling his weight onto it.

Harry eyed the arm speculatively. It wasn't a Dementor.

It felt surreal, being half-heartedly dragged up by Dudley. Theoretically, they should be equally affected by the Dementors...if the mist and the haze hadn't been so very like the graveyard...

Except, Harry thought, knowing he ought to be horrified, that the Dementor had gotten significantly closer to kissing him than it had Dudley. He was hyper-conscious of his surroundings, feeling his shoulders tense as some terrible beast with squeeking wheels neared them. His wand was up again, his eyes narrowed for an other-worldly attack. The figure stepped into the faint glow of a street lamp.

It was Mrs. Figg.

She toted a plastic bag of cat food, and her eyes were round with fright. “Dudley? Dudley Dursley?” she called, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice. “Have you got....goodness, is that Harry?”

Harry stood there numbly, trying to figure out if she was another apparition.

“Put it away, you freak! She'll see!” Dudley hissed, his large hand squeezing overly hard on Harry's shoulder.

Mrs. Figg positively shook. “No, you stupid boy, don't put it away! What if more come around? I can't do anything about those horrible things,” she looked around.

Harry looked from Dudley's open mouth to Mrs. Figg's swaying grocery bag. “Mrs. Figg? You could see them? The Dementors?”

Mrs. Figg sniffed dramatically. “Use those legs, boy! Oh, where did that Mundungus Fletcher get off to at a time like this? He's meant to be the one watching over you...”

Hesitantly, both teenagers began walking down the road. The cat-lady could see Dementors. Someone was meant to be watching him. Harry felt light-headed and confused all over again. “Never said anything...all those cats and not a word...watching over me?” Harry mumbled.

Harried on by their neighbor, Dudley half dragged Harry home. “You'll get it now, calling those things, showing our neighbor. Would you move?” Dudley hissed, his voice oddly choked. “What’s wrong with you?”

Harry hmmed, his eyes darting to the sky and back to Mrs. Figg. They were back to number four faster than he would have imagined, really. Was Dudley flying? The thought was absurd...Dudley couldn't fly...too heavy...Hagrid couldn't fly...I wonder if I put a feather light spell on him...or he on me...

“You don't see a snake, do you?” Harry asked the probably-not-a-Dementor (probably just his large cousin, who moved faster than he thought).

For a moment, the expression on Dudley’s face changed. Worried. Helpless fear and maybe…concern? It made him hesitate. He took a moment, just staring at Harry, his watery blue eyes sad.

Then he opened his mouth. “Mum! Dad! Harry's gone even more bonkers! And he did you-know-what!” Dudley gave Harry a scathing expression, and pushed away from the smaller boy.

This was more like it. No helping hands dragging him into safety...just a big brute trying to get him in trouble...Harry started to relax. “You're right. The snake wouldn't be here...there'd be more Death Eaters if the snake were here...do you think the Death Eaters brought the Dementors?”

“He's crazy!” Dudley hollered now that he was indoors. He shoved Harry against the wall, shirking his duty as walking-crutch.

There was a loud thunking noise from above.

Mrs. Dursley came scrambling out of the kitchen, her long neck out of sorts with her shaking shoulders. “You get away from my Dudley! Oh, Dudley, you're as white as a ghost!” Petunia gave a gasp. “Did you fall down? Did that wretched boy push you?” She was safely within Dudley-grabbing distance, and did so. Her hands were checking his skin, and his pulse, and who knew what else.

The loud thunking had resolved itself into footsteps, and the Beast of the family reared its ugly head. “You! What's this about you-know-what? This is it! This is the last straw! You did it to my boy, didn't you, you freak? Let's hear it! Dudley, what did he do to you?” Vernon blustered.

Harry sank to the floor, dazed and exhausted. Dudley, having escaped his mother’s grasp, now sat in a chair. He was unresponsive to being fussed over by his mother while Vernon stared at his nephew.

Harry wondered if he ought to sneak away. There was something...cats...no, owls. Yes, owls. An owl will be coming to break my wand because...magic...Fear made Harry stumble to his feet. He looked to the windows, his eyes darting frantically.

“Explain!” Vernon demanded even as he followed Harry’s gaze and grinned. Recognition lit his face. “You're not allowed to do…magic…out of school. I know you're not! Oh, now you've done it, you stupid boy. You'll be expelled! Yes!” He pumped a fist. His eyes were so wide that Harry could see whites all around his irises. He half expected to see excited spittle clinging to his uncle's mustache. This distracted him for a moment, making him miss the Ministry's owl as it swept in.

Harry's jaw set. He recognized the not-quite-red letter (red, the color of fire, red, r-e-d, 3 letters, carried by an owl, o-w-l, also 3 letters...) and snatched it before it could burst into flames.

Instead it began its recitation. “To Mr. Harry James Potter,” the letter said reasonably, (and Harry thought,no, that's too many letters...) This is Mafalda Hopkirk, the Commander-in-Chief of the Improper Use of Magic Office, writing to inform you of a serious break in section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. On this night of 2 August, 1995, the Patronus Charm was cast in the Alleyway between Privet Drive and the Sunnyside Park at approximately 7:03 pm.”

There, Harry thought. There's my three.

“We regret to inform you, that as this is the third offense recorded for Harry Potter, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A Ministry official will be by your residence shortly to confiscate and destroy your wand. Any further magic or attempt to evade ministry laws shall be punishable by law. Sincerely yours, Mafalda Hopkirk.”

Vernon's eyes squinted into tiny crescents as his grin stretched into something manic. He actually held his breath, listening to the letter which was expelling his hated-nephew.

As the letter wound to a close, he let out his breath in an exuberant shout of, “Justice!” and gave a chortle.

“Justice?” Petunia repeated dully. “How is this justice? Now what do we do with him?” She shook her head, too frazzled to notice Vernon's dark look.

Aunt Petunia’s words sunk in the way the letter (being only a piece of paper that spoke. Not, he thought, a howler.) had not. He wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts. He wouldn't join his friends on the train.

Then Vernon’s expression was changing as he took in the moaning sight of his son. Dudley sat huddled in the chair, mumbling about depression and madness catching. “Dudley!” Vernon cried, just as another owl flew into the living room.

Petunia gave a screech, and Dudley an oddly high pitched yelp. Harry looked at the owl, uncertain if it wasn't the owl after all, who had made the noise.

Harry glanced expectantly at the letter before he took it. Inside, was a hastily scrawled note. “Harry, don't do anything. Mundungus told me what you and Mrs. Figg saw. Do not leave the house. Do not give up your wand. I will send for you soon. Dumbledore.”

Harry turned it over in his hands, examining the parchment. This letter, unfortunately, did not read itself, so Harry was left imagining Dumbledore's tone. Would it be harried and lecturing? Or worried and grave? No, surely it must be warding and terrible. That would be interesting...

Belatedly, he recognized the foot that toed him, and then felt another meaty hand (this one more aged than Dudley's had been, but less callused, as though he'd lead a softer life) grab his shoulder. “You!” Vernon roared. The following words washed over him, all sounding the same (angry, fearful, loud).

Harry looked up at the owl, which had nothing better to do than look at him reproachfully. He imagined catching it, using it as a shield to the Ministry and their Laws and Regulations, and finding a secret flight-path back to Hogwarts.

Harry looked up into a very purple face. He seemed to have missed a rather exemplary lecture. Then he spoke over Vernon’s self-righteous tones. “I'm to stay here.” Harry said firmly. “I might be expelled,” he lifted his chin, “but I'm not beaten!” There. That sounded properly defiant.

His words were undermined, though, by Vernon shoving him in the direction of the stairs, marching him away from the living room.

“We'll lock him up, we will.” Vernon announced. “To your room. Now!” He toed Harry with one foot again. He looked away to his family.

Dudley moaned loudly, reliving the chain of events that had brought the letter to his mother. “First he got his thing out, and then he started doing magic.”

Where is that sadness from before? Harry thought. Vernon had finally got him moving toward the second bedroom.

“It felt like there was no happiness in the world...but I punched him, and he started having a fit! And he did more magic...it was horrible.”

“He's horrible.” Petunia agreed, her voice flat.

Dudley’s voice, high and winging, flew up the stairs behind Harry. “Why does he have to stay with us?”

Halfway dragged up the stairs, Harry considered making a teddy bear charm to cheer Dudley… (No more Dementors…happy thoughts…) but his wand would be broken. Except Dumbledore was spying…no, trialing…was that a word?

Forced into his room, Harry wobbled uncertainly on one foot, arms splayed as though preparing for a crash landing. Slowly, he lowered his limbs.

Hedwig hooted softly at him from her corner.

“Well. That didn’t go well,” Harry told the owl.

---

o0o0o0o0o

Harry was still waiting several days later, but no other owls had come. Then, unexpectedly, it all started happening at once.

Someone was downstairs. Several someones.

The Dursleys had left unexpectedly, all of them taking the car out shortly before dinner, but then there were noises. Suspicious ones. Harry listened near the door, trying to make out individual sounds. He thought he heard traces of someone talking...

He shook his head. But why? He didn't hear voices. Harry was sure of that, and there was no reason for Death Eaters to chit-chat as they came to abduct him from his home. No owl had informed him of Dumbledore's presence either.

Something clattered to the floor-- followed by a woman's voice. Apologizing?

Finally, the door burst open. Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody stood there, flanked by several others he didn’t recognize.

“Pack your things, Potter. And where's your wand? We could have attacked and killed you seven times over by now!”

Harry leaned sideways, counting the figures. “But there's only six of you,” he felt obliged to point out. Then Harry looked closer at Moody, one thought jarring in his memory. “You were poly-juiced all last year.” He looked over the rest of the order and took one step back, hiding his wand with his arm. It poked into his elbow. “How do I know you're not all doppelgangers?”

Lupin smiled faintly, his eyes as tired as ever. “Dumbledore sent us.” He said simply, as though that was enough.

“Dumbledore?” Harry shook his head. “No letters. No word. I think he would have told me you were coming...” Harry raised an eyebrow, and decided to run a test. He pointed his wand discretely at Lupin's shoe, changing the color of one of the socks with a muttered spell.

Instead of cursing or dodging the spell, though, Lupin merely watched, bemused as his socks changed into a lovely shade of canary. Harry cocked his head, considering. Moody's socks, he avoided looking at entirely. Who knew what the real Moody was like...or if he was real. The others, he changed their socks dove grey.

“Your boggart was a Dementor. I taught you the Patronus spell.” Lupin told Harry with a series of interesting expressions. “You saw me the night Sirius Black got away.”

“I didn't know birds knew that...” Harry frowned. “Did Professor Lupin tell you? Are you his bird?” His question only brought about more uneasy staring. The smiles that had fluttered to a few faces fell away.

One of the figures coughed, while Moody laughed, showing yellowed teeth. “That's right. Constant vigilance!” He snorted. “Potter, that there is Kingsley Shackelbolt. Nymphadora Tonks, Emmeline Vance and Dedalus Diggle.”

“Harry, have you packed?” Lupin asked, concern coloring his voice.

Behind him, the young woman with pink hair raised her eyebrows. “Not birds, Harry,” she said, and he immediately liked her for not calling him Potter. “We're your vanguard. We'll fly by broom, though. Oh! And, um, we're Aurors.”

Harry silently regarded her.

Fidgeting awkwardly then, she added, “Do you mind if I call you Harry?”

“Please.” Harry replied, and wondered what he was supposed to pack. If he was supposed to pack. “By broom. Not flu? Floo...flew?”

“This isn't going to work, Moody. He's addled.” One of the others said.

“You expect him to stay a-flight and avoid detection like that?” It sounded like another argument, so Harry stopped listening and started moving.

They packed his trunk for him, bundled him up in appropriate flying clothes, and sat him on his broom. Bemused, Harry watched as they took their places above, below, and to his sides, while Moody circled around, while the last one flew behind them. Supposedly. Harry wondered what the Dursleys would make of him being gone when they got back...

Needless to say, he stayed on the broom. Staying aloft was easy, even if the birds had doubted it. Harry decided to show the birds how to fly on broomstick. He certainly knew it better than they did-- half of them were stiff on their seats, and the other half entirely too aware of the stuff around them and not the air, the wind, or the atmosphere. Harry would have thought them naturals, being birds, but instead, he showed them how to lean into the headwind, to bend here or there and minimize the pressure. He was a natural flyer, after all.

The hours passed. The vanguard birds talked, and Harry flew.

After some time they landed in the middle of a sidewalk. They clustered close around him even then, flexing stiff fingers and rolling their shoulders. Moody looked around as though he expected an assault.

“This location is secured by the Fidelius Charm. The Secret Keeper will reveal it to you soon, I'm sure.” Lupin told Harry.

Harry frowned, looking at the houses numbered 11 and 13. “Is it number 12, then?”

A hushed, and somehow disapproving air took over the crowd. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to have guessed their surprise.

Instead of answering, Lupin put one hand on Harry's shoulder, and spoke quietly to the others. “We should go in.”

Moody nodded, handing a slip of paper with emerald green ink in a familiar hand-- Dumbledoor's writing. Harry wondered why he hadn't been shown earlier, but then supposed that birds were trained not to release their mail until a very specific time, so he let it go. He walked inside, the address running amuck in his head.

“Take care, Harry.” Tonks called after him.

---

o0o0o0o

Newly settled in Grimmald Place, Harry Potter considered his two friends. They had approached him earlier, of course, but Harry had ignored them. Mostly. Every once in a while he would shoot a suspicious glare at them.

“Harry,” Ron began again, annoyance creeping into his concerned expression, “we wanted to tell you.”

Hermione nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. “But we couldn't, not with the way things are. Dumbledore told us we couldn't write to you...Harry, we were all doing what was best to keep you safe.”

That was really too much.

“‘In summer, when the days are long, Perhaps you'll understand the song: In autumn, when the leaves are brown, Take pen and ink, and write it down.’” Harry quoted. He thought it was a rather intelligent response, all things considered.

He could have screamed instead, but he hadn't.

“Whose poem is that?” Hermione asked carefully, shrewdly.

Harry frowned at the pair of them and continued. “‘He thought he saw an Elephant That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. 'At length I realize,' he said, 'The bitterness of Life!'” But he scratched the name of the poem on a napkin, (Humpty Dumpty's Recitation) and (The Mad Gardener's Song)　by Lewis Carroll.

“Wait, what?” Ron's expression was a study of confusion.

Harry sighed. Some things had to be repeated. “You’re my friends, not his. You could have told me news...what you were doing...the state of the owls in this house...”

Ron looked at Hermione, distracted. “First he doesn't say anything for hours--”

“Twenty minutes.” Hermione corrected.

“And then he goes quoting poetry?” Ron's face was beat red. He probably didn't recognize the poem. “Listen, we tried to send word. We tried. But they were checking everything, and everyone said you were fine, and that you had to stay there for a while.” The words tumbled out in a rush. It was amazing they didn't get caught on his teeth.

“So what is the news, then? Will you tell me now?” Harry snapped. The words were awkward, hot and laced with anger he only half felt. “Weeks! Of listening in on Muggle news, scanning headlines and hearing nothing. There's nothing! I tell everyone about the graveyard and Voldemort returning, and it's not. there. Why?”

“Harry, mate...no one believes that he's back. We do!” Ron held out his hands defensively. “Of course we believe you. But no one else...there was no proof, you see...”

Hermione's breath hitched. “You said you scanned the papers, Harry? You didn't read them?”

Harry rubbed the place Wormtail had cut him. His arm was traitorously numb. “Couldn't get through it...the words just jumbled...I looked for You-Know-Who...Voldemort or Death Eater, mostly...The words...” Harry shook his head. “But I gave proof! I saw him. I saw him after that dark ritual...isn't that something? Dumbledore even backed me!” The anger was back, tearing its way through the confusion.

Ron stared at him. “Uh. But still, there's nothing else. They stripped Dumbledore of his titles, too you know. He's no better than you are.”

Hermione hit Ron in the arm, throwing a warning glance at him.

Harry lifted his eyebrows. “‘I saw an aged, aged man, a-sitting on a gate.　I thanked him for telling me the way he got his wealth, but chiefly for his wish that he might drink my noble health.” Harry muttered, adding I'll Tell Everything I can, to the list. Just like Hermione and Ron ought to have.

“There's something else, Harry...” Ron continued. “What? It's not like we can keep him from noticing on the train! Everyone will be talking...Anyway. Harry, they've been writing stuff about you. Mostly Skeeter...and not good stuff. They think you lost it that night.” Ron swallowed hard, but continued. “Or that you're just...lying.”

Harry looked Ron in the eye. “Why would I lie about that? And what would I have lost? Besides some blood...and the other champion.” Harry sighed and sat down. His head hurt.

Then there was a loud noise as air was displaced and two brilliantly red-haired boys Apparated into the room.

Harry started.

Hermione made a startled noise, and then a frustrated one.

“Hello Harry,” said George. “We thought we heard you....not talking.”

“And then all the sudden,” Fred continued.

“your dulcet tones fill the house.” George finished.

“You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out. There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you.” Fred grinned down at him.

Harry nodded appreciatively, his headache forgotten. “Still listening at keyholes then?”

Fred cocked his head, the easy smile still in place. “No need for keyholes. Feeling a bit dense today, are we?”

Harry decided that not-responding was best. He crossed his arms and gave Fred and George a Look.

“Hey, is that your best defense in the hearing? Glare at us? Shouldn't you practice looking defenseless and young instead?” One twin asked.

“Nah, he doesn't need a defense. He needs a jailbreak. Not even Dumbledore can help him out of this one,” the other laughed.

“Stop it! This is serious! Don't you know what he's been through?” Hermione shook her bushy head, but the twins were out of reach.

George tsked at her. “Quietly, now! We don't want the cranky old house elf or the former owner to start a racket! And believe me, I know what I'm doing. Harry wants to be treated normally, right? He needs a laugh.”

Fred helpfully nudged Harry, making an exaggeratedly happy face. “Nothing beats feeling cooped up like a good old joke.” He handed Harry a wand. Harry took it, and it turned into a rubber chicken. “Just ask Sirius!”

Harry levitated the chicken. “Hmm. Looks nice.” The craftsmanship was good.

Fred and George beamed at him for a moment before they exchanged glances. Twins were always doing that.

“Have you ever had a hearing?” Harry asked them. “When is it, anyway? Before school starts, right?”

“Well, here's what we know...” George slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him up from the ground. Harry removed the arm and settled in to listen. “There's an order meeting later, probably to discuss your hearing... We’re still working on getting in.”　

“But it never works,” Ron put in.

“Not yet! But we won't give up, even if Kreatcher poisons us all. Or the old lady Black hollers us deaf. Or Sirius drives Mum mad by going stir-crazy...” Fred shrugged.

“Or if all of the doxies in the house try and bury us in our sleep.” George added, not to be outdone. “How were the Dementors, by the way?”

“Tiring. They nearly got my cousin and I. Did you know Mrs. Figg can see them? And Mundungus Fletcher was watching me?”

“You don’t say, Harry? You don’t say.” The conversation picked up from there, with Ron and Hermione right behind him as the twins took up the yarn.

Harry let himself be lead to the sofas, where he finally collapsed into it to listen to what they had to tell him. The hearing would come soon enough. For now, all he wanted to do was sit.

So he did, though the feeling of unease did not leave him.

Something’s going to happen.

---

tbc…