“Ron! Get up! Harry! It’s time for breakfast dears, come on!” Mrs. Weasley was shaking both boys in an attempt to wake them. But, being teenaged boys, nine o’clock in the morning was simply too early to get up during summer break. She was unusually persistent, however, and eventually, both boys opened their eyes and sat up.

“That’s more like it! Get dressed and come downstairs. Ginny and Hermione are already eating. Breakfast can’t stay warm forever!”

“Yes it can,” mumbled Ron. Rubbing his eyes, he got off his bed and wandered out into the hall, towards the bathroom. Harry stood and walked over to his trunk, rummaging through its contents for something to wear. He sighed. He rarely packed too many sets of muggle clothing when he went to the Weasley’s. He never wanted to have to lug them around at Hogwarts, and besides, as they were Dudley’s old things, they didn’t fit him anyway. And he wasn’t keen on having his roommates see this. But after several more minutes of searching, he settled on a pair of baggy jeans and a Mario Brothers t-shirt. He met a now-dressed Ron at the top of the stairs, and the boys went down to the kitchen.

As he took a seat next to Ron, Harry noticed that Mrs. Weasley was staring at him with a frown on her face. She seemed to be sizing him up for something, though Harry had no idea what. He was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable under her gaze, when suddenly she ordered,

“Stand up, Harry.” He stood. She then picked her wand up off the counter, and waved it in front of Harry, muttering a spell. His clothes obediently shrunk to a size that fit him perfectly.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. “It’s about time you had clothes that fit you, dear. When I think that the Dursleys...Hmpf!” and with that, Mrs. Weasley waltzed up the stairs to shrink the rest of Harry’s clothing.

* * * * *

The guests began arriving at around 2:00 p.m. that afternoon. Remus and Sirius came by Floo Powder and were the first to arrive. Sirius, in dog form, bounded out of the fireplace to where Harry was playing wizard chess with Ron on the living room floor. Remus followed, carrying a package that looked like it had been attacked. He set it down on the coffee table and proceeded to shake hands with Mrs. Weasley.

“Good afternoon. I take it...we are the first guests here?” he said, giving her a meaningful look. She smiled back to him and nodded.

“Yes, go ahead Sirius.”

They watched as Sirius turned back to his human form with a slight “pop!”. He shook his head in a very dog-like fashion in an attempt to clear it.

“Thanks. I’ve been like that for at least two weeks now. Feels good to be human again,” he said, as he methodically stretched his stiff muscles. Harry stood now and looked up into his godfather’s eyes, both worry and curiosity apparent on his face.

“What do you mean? You’ve been a dog for two weeks? Why? Sirius, what happened?” Harry hoped that Sirius hadn’t tried to do something rashly brave or, God forbid, had gotten into trouble while trying to get to him. Sirius looked up at his godson while attempting to touch his toes.

“Security’s very tight, Harry, surprisingly enough. Even without Fudge’s involvement, there are enough Aurors up and about to put anyone on edge. We had to work very hard not to attract attention on our way up here. Remus, at least, is well-known among Dumbledore’s Aurors, and they were suspicious of all of his sudden travels around the countryside. In fact, day before yesterday we were stopped by a few of the younger Aurors to be inspected. They started casting all kinds of searching charms, disarming spells,...things of the sort. They eventually became convinced that I was not a real dog,” he added, grinning, as he began cracking his knuckles. “They obviously didn’t have much experience. They did multitudes of tests to determine whether I had transfigured myself, or used a sort of animal Polyjuice potion. It never crossed their minds that I might be an animagus. Good thing, too. Because, had they caught us, we would both be rotting in Azkaban by now.”

Harry continued to stare into Sirius’s eyes for several seconds, contemplating the haunted look trapped in them. For me, he thought. Sirius and Professor Lupin almost gave up their lives just so they could be with me. What if they had been caught? It would have been all my fault... Harry’s gaze finally broke contact, and he hung his head, absent-mindedly studying the design on the rug.

Sirius drew himself up to his full height and frowned down at the top of Harry’s head. He hadn’t meant to upset him. He never did. But whenever he mentioned that he was in danger, Harry withdrew and avoided his eyes. It seemed to be more than just plain worry. He was certain that Harry understood that he did a very good job of taking care of himself. So why did it always upset him so much? He never pictured Harry to be such a worrier. There had to be something.

“Harry...” Sirius sighed. “Harry, we’re fine. We’ve gotten out of more precarious situations before. Don’t worry so much about it.”

Harry bit his lip. Great, that’s exactly what I wanted, he thought. I’ve given him a crybaby for a godson. That’s exactly what he needs: another burden. Harry shrugged.

“I’m not worrying,” he said aloud in a voice that failed miserably to hide his anxiety. “Thanks for coming, Sirius. And you too, Professor Lupin.” He attempted to smile.

Remus smiled warmly back at him. “We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Sirius let out a genuine laugh, causing Harry to turn back to him looking very bewildered.

“Come here, Harry,” he said as pulled his godson into a one-armed hug. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant while I’m human. I’ll have to transform back before the other arrive.” He let go, and they walked over to sit on the couch.

“Come on! Come everyone! Let’s give them some privacy!” chirped Mrs. Weasley as she beckoned them all into the kitchen. Just before she pulled the door shut, she stretched her neck slightly and peered at them in a way that was very reminiscent of Aunt Petunia. Harry decided to be cautious with what he said, because the family in the kitchen was probably listening to every word said.

“What others, Sirius? Who else is coming?” he inquired. Who else would possibly want to come to his birthday party? Especially now...

“Oh...,” Sirius began, looking slightly guilty. “You don’t know? I...I didn’t know this was a surprise party...”

“Neither did I, apparently,” Harry sighed. “I thought it was going to be the Weasleys and Hermione. Not that I wouldn’t have loved that too...I’ve never had a birthday party.”

“You’ve never had a proper birthday in any fashion, Harry. Except for your 1st birthday, that is. It’s about time you had another one.”

Harry smiled. “What was my 1st birthday like?” he inquired. He didn’t know much about his life with his parents, and always enjoyed hearing about it.

“It was wonderful. Your mum and dad planned it weeks in advance. They put all sorts of spells and enchantments on Godric’s Hollow. The inside at least, so as not to attract unwanted attention. They were amazing, Harry. Enchanted banners, music, little dragons and Quidditch player models zooming around the ceiling...even charmed cameras that took pictures of things all over the house, automatically. Anytime something happened of interest, anyway,” he added with a grin. “We all had so much fun playing with you and entertaining you. Imagine that! Most of us were adults.”

Harry smiled. “Who was there?”

“Oh...well let’s see,” Sirius’ brow furrowed in thought. “There were your mum and dad, of course...and me and Remus...the worm couldn’t make it: he had to stay late at work, or so he said. The traitorous bastard. Er...hmm...lots of friends of ours from school...let’s see...I think your grandparents were there...” he shook his head violently in an attempt to clear it. “I just can’t remember. It hasn’t come back to me yet...I’ll see if I can’t dig you up some pictures. Remus has some, I’ll bet.”

Harry frowned slightly and bit his lower lip. “Sirius, do you think Tiros was there?”

“Ti...who now?”

“Oh...right...my friend who writes to me. He told me I can call him Tiros. He still won’t tell me his real name.”

Sirius scratched his head. “I’m sure he was, Harry, if he was a friend of your mum’s. There were so many people there...Still no idea who he could be, eh?”

Harry shook his head. “No, nothing at all. It’s a little frustrating...” Harry lowered his voice until it was barely audible, “...like he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

Sirius sighed. If he ever found out who in the world that man was, he would hug him...then kill him. Despite the fact that he was helping Harry, he sure was creating a lot of extra trouble for him.

He ruffled Harry’s hair. “I’m sure that’s not it Harry. People can be complicated. Especially in these times. It has nothing to do with you.”

The two sat in silence for several minutes. There had been a question tugging at the very back of Harry’s mind for a very long time now, and Sirius had reminded him of it. He realized that he had never seen his grandparents, nor heard anything about them. He could almost understand that about his father’s parents, as the Dursley’s wouldn’t have had anything to do with them. But certainly he should know something about his mother’s parents. After all, they were his Aunt Petunia’s parents too. But they had no pictures of them. They never called, never wrote, and Dudley never received anything from them. But he hadn’t heard that they were dead, either. Surely someone would have mentioned something...Harry looked over at his godfather, who seemed to be lost in his own thought. He hated to interrupt, but he had to ask.

“Sirius?” No answer. He cleared his throat. “Sirius?” This time it elicited a response. Sirius jumped and looked over at Harry, slightly bewildered for a second, then calmed down and smiled.

“Well, I was just wondering...I’ve never heard anything about my grandparents. I mean, not even Aunt Petunia has pictures of my mum’s parents. What happened to them?”

Sirius took a deep breath, and took a rather long time letting it out. “Harry, as far as James’ parents go...I...I don’t want to put a damper on your day, so let’s leave that story for later. And your mum’s...I’m not quite sure what happened to them. Possibly they are living somewhere secret for protection. You might ask Tiros...”

Harry nodded. They sat again in silence for several minutes until they heard a bell ringing above the fireplace. Harry looked over at Sirius, puzzled, only to find that he had once again transformed into the large black dog. The kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Weasley scampered into the living room, followed by her children, Remus, and Hermione.

“Oh! They’re here! Finally!” Mrs. Weasley chirped. Just then came a rather loud bang, and Seamus Finnigan toppled out of the fireplace, nearly crushing the package he had in his hands. He stepped into the room and Mrs. Weasley began to dust him off. A few seconds later, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, who was clasping Dean around the ankles, fell out of the fireplace, sending their packages flying. After cleansing them of dust as well, chatting all the while, Mrs. Weasley ushered everyone through the kitchen and out into the grove where the children usually played Quidditch. And so, the party began.

Harry had never seen so much food in his life, save for at Hogwarts. There were all sorts, English, Italian, Chinese, Mexican...Wizard and Muggle. They spent most of the afternoon talking, laughing, and eating. Mr. Weasley arrived home from work in time to see Harry open his presents, and he dragged an irritated Percy with him. Harry had been delighted to see that, though he still was overly obsessed with work, he had at least sided with his family when it came to Voldemort, and not the Ministry.

Seamus had given Harry a new deck of Exploding Snap cards, and a large tub of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. From Dean, he received a Quidditch poster which Dean had drawn and enchanted himself. It showed a new famous Seeker every month. Neville blushed as he handed Harry a package which contained a generous portion of every sort of sweet the Wizarding world could conjure. Hagrid had sent him a package of his own home-made treats, which were surprisingly edible. Hermione, predictably, had given him a book: Famous Seekers of the Twentieth Century. But this was a book he knew he would enjoy, and was quite grateful for it. Remus and Sirius (although the card said it was only from Remus) gave him a year’s subscription to Quidditch Monthly, and a small book of charms he could use to enhance the performance and comfort of his Firebolt. They spent the rest of the evening playing Quidditch, and didn’t stop until it had become impossible to see. They bid farewell to Seamus, Dean, and Neville, and a few minutes later to Remus and Sirius. It was then that Harry noticed that the Weasleys were grinning at him.

“Come on, Harry. It’s time to see what we got you.”

“Come on, Harry. Follow me!” Ron grinned mischievously and ran up the stairs, beckoning Harry to follow. Harry turned slightly to look at the rest of the family standing behind him, but they all gestured for him to follow Ron. He obliged.

Ron was waiting at the top of the stairs, panting. As soon as he saw Harry, his smile grew wider, if that was possible, and he pushed open the door to his room. As Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys filed in, Ron walked across his bedroom to the new door at the other end, and put his hand on the nob. He allowed the others to form a kind of semi-circle, making Harry feel as though he were the spectacle at a coliseum.

“Drum roll, please,” said Ron. Fred obliged him, using George’s head.

“On three then.” Nods all around.

“One...” said Ron. Ginny squealed.

“Two...” he continued. Mrs. Weasley began to bounce up and down.

“Two and a half...”

“Ron!”

“Right then...Three!” and he swung the door open and stepped aside.

At first, all Harry could do was stare. What was it they wanted him to see? There was a bed...a dresser...his trunk......wait a minute. His trunk? What was his trunk doing in there? Then Harry looked more closely at the things in the room. There were pictures on every wall. Pictures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Hogwarts. Harry playing Quidditch. Harry as a baby with his parents. Sirius. His parents’ wedding pictures. The Marauders from their days at Hogwarts. ‘And not a sign of Peter in any of the pictures,’ he thought with a smile. Could this really be what he thought it was? His own room? At the Burrow? He walked over to the bed and looked at the quilt. Mrs. Weasley had apparently knitted it herself: it featured Harry catching the Snitch. He smiled again, and turned to look at the red-headed family beaming back at him.

“Well, Harry?” asked Mrs. Weasley. “What do you think?”

“I...It’s wonderful, Mrs. Weasley! I never thought...I mean...I always...I never...” Harry could find no words to express what he felt. How could this family afford to give him so much? He didn’t deserve it. He put them all in enough danger. They really didn’t have to do any thing for him. He owed them so much already...

“It’s alright dear. We understand,” Mrs. Weasley interrupted, grinning. “Most of the furniture we collected from Bill and Charlie’s old rooms. They don’t use it anymore, anyway. And as you’re going to be staying with us much more often...” she stopped as Harry’s eyes grew and his smile widened. “If you look on the pillow, I believe you will find a note from Dumbledore that explains it all.”

Harry turned back to the bed and looked toward the headboard. There was indeed a envelope addressed to him lying on the pillow. He picked it up. It was written on the same parchment, and with the same green ink as the annual supply lists from Hogwarts. The script was different, though. Dumbledore had apparently taken the time to write it himself. Mrs. Weasley began shooing everyone out of the room, saying it was high time they get ready for bed. By the time she had closed the door to give him some privacy, he had already unfolded the letter, and had settled down against the pillows on his bed...his bed!...to read it.

----Dear Harry,

I trust that you have arrived safely at the Burrow and have enjoyed a most delightful birthday party. The Weasleys informed me of their plans, so I know you had a wonderful time.

I am also aware of the gift they have given you. You should know that it was they who initiated the process, but I first informed them of the need to do so. This is difficult to explain in a letter, but I’ll do my best. When you, the Weasleys, and Miss Granger arrive at Hogwarts (early, I might add), I will explain it more fully, in person.

The Dursley residence no longer provides you with any protection. The magic has worn away, so to speak. It is more complex than that, of course, but, no need to dampen your day that much.

Temporary wards have already been placed at the Burrow, and, until they have to be replaced by permanent spells (hence your early arrival at Hogwarts), you will be as safe there as you have been with the Dursleys.

From now until further notice, you will spend all your breaks either at the Burrow or at Hogwarts. Don’t spend more than a day away from one of these places. For now, it should be safe to go to Diagon Alley for your school supplies, as long as you don’t stay over night. And always take someone trustworthy with you. Preferably more than one person. Just use your head, Harry.

Now then, I understand that Tiros has sent you a wonderful birthday gift that you have not even opened. Go tend to that. Then, I suggest you go to bed. You must be tired after the festivities.

Good Night, Harry,

Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class,
Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump,
International Confed. of Wizards)----


“Tiros?” Harry said aloud to himself. “But, how does Dumbledore know about his name?” Dumbledore must know the man, and know him fairly well at that. So why had he always told Harry that he didn’t have any idea who the man could be? Harry shook his head. He respected Dumbeldore greatly, but would never understand him.

He sighed and, after stuffing the letter in the drawer of the nightstand, he walk to his trunk and knelt down in front of it. He placed his hands on the lid and lifted it slowly. He quickly realized that Mrs. Weasley had emptied most of his things out of it and put them away in his new room: his clothes and Hogwarts supplies were no longer in there. All that remained in the trunk were more personal items that Mrs. Weasley probably thought she shouldn’t touch. His two albums of his parents lay in the bottom of the trunk, along with most of the things Tiros had given him over the years. He pulled out the package that Tiros had sent the day before and sat back down on the bed to open it. He carefully pulled apart the brown paper wrapping to reveal what looked like a covered circular box, and a pouch filled with what appeared to be Floo Powder. Lying at the bottom of the package was another letter. Harry assumed this must be the private letter Tiros had mentioned. He carefully placed the “circular box” aside and picked up the letter. He stared unseeing at it for several moments before he unfolded it and began to read:

----Dear Harry,

Now that your delightful friends have left you alone, I can safely tell you about the gift I have sent.

It is called a Dormito Pensieve. As I know you are already familiar with the concept of the basic Pensieve, I shall not take the time to explain that to you. I will instead inform you of the usefulness of this new tool over that of a regular Pensieve, and encourage you to use it as often as you like (preferably everyday, Harry).

A Dormito Pensieve is used to store not your thoughts, but your dreams, and help you to better understand and cope with them. It’s comparatively simple to use, Harry, so no excuses. When you wake up from one of your dreams, touch your wand to your head as you say the word “Morpheum Expellium”, and “draw out” the strands of your dreams as you would with a normal Pensieve. Then, swirl these strands around in the potion until you see the dream begin to play out before you. You can then examine it, if you wish, at any time you choose. However, I suggest that, instead of examining it yourself, you send it to me. To do this, throw a pinch of the powder in the accompanying pouch into a fire place. It works similarly to Floo Powder, Harry, but it is not Floo Powder. Don’t confuse them. After the fire begins to glow green, pour the potion straight into the fire until the dream disappears. The fire will then go out automatically. Your Dormito Pensieve is connected only to my Receiver, which only I may look at. So only I can see your dreams, unless you wish otherwise.

Now, obviously, the potion and powder won’t last forever. I will replenish your supplies when you run out for as long as I can, so you don’t have to worry about it.

I understand how troubling your dreams have been since your last term at Hogwarts. I intend to help you in any way that I can. And I assure you, if I seem hard to reach at any time in the coming months, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Just use your head, Harry, and take care of yourself. I won’t let anything happen to you.

Tiros----

Harry stared at the letter for several seconds. This was the second time today that someone had told him to use his head. Didn’t he always use his head? Harry winced. Probably not. In fact, people died because he didn’t use his head. No. His damn selflessness got in the way instead. People who were too nice were stupid. Perhaps he should be more selfish. But, he didn’t deserve that either. In fact, he didn’t deserve to think of himself ahead of others at all. Well, except maybe when it came to Malfoy or Snape...

His head hurt.

Harry shook his head. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to sit up all night and think about it. He might as well go to sleep and dream about it. Either way, it would occupy his head until the morning.

* * * * *

Harry woke to the sound of Mrs. Weasley calling the family to breakfast. He heard Ron moan and groan in the adjacent room, followed by the shuffling of his feet. A moment later, his door opened, and a dishevelled and droopy-eyed Ron padded into the room and sat on Harry’s bed.

“Morning, Harry. Sleep well?”

“Yes. Wonderful,” he lied convincingly. In fact, he had slept horribly. It wasn’t the bed: it was indeed very comfortable. It was the nightmares he had had. He vowed to himself that he would send them to Tiros as soon as he got some time to himself.

“Good. Breakfast then...” Ron yawned in return. The two friends headed down to the kitchen in their pajamas.

As they appeared, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Percy, Bill, Charlie, Hermione, and Ginny greeted them. The twins had not yet come down. Percy was chattering on and on about work, when Ron suddenly burst out laughing.

“Harry! You haven’t seen the clock yet, have you?”

Harry turned around, confused. He hadn’t taken time to look at the clock, that was true. But he already knew what it looked like. He saw it every time he came here.

But suddenly he realized what Ron meant. There was an extra golden hand on it. Engraved with his name. Harry smiled widely.

“Sit down, Harry,” chuckled Mrs. Weasley. “Have some bacon.”