He awoke to voices in the hallway.

"Did you see that one? Down on her hands and knees scrubbing the flagstones! It almost makes me sick!"

"Hermione, you just have to let it go. They're house elves. They like to work. It's what they do."

Harry opened his eyes and grinned. It was like old times . . . Hermione complaining about the enslavement of the house elves and arguing with Ron.

"And wearing nothing but tea towels!" continued Hermione.

"They're not deaf, you know," hissed Ron. "They can hear you and I imagine they're quite insulted."

"You two!" said a third voice. "Going on like an old married couple. You've probably woken Harry up by now."

"Good, then," replied Ron to his sister. "He'll want to be awake to see us anyway. I expect he's had enough lying about."

"Would you quit arguing and come in?" called Harry, the smile still plastered on his face.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, hurrying over to his bed, Ginny and Ron on her heels. She looked like she wanted to hug him, but didn't know where to put her hands as his arm was bandaged up to his shoulder. She settled for kissing him on the cheek.

"You look so much better!" exclaimed Ginny as she stood beside Hermione. Ron shot her a warning glance but it was too late.

"Better?" asked Harry. "Better than when?" As far as he could remember, he hadn't seen Ginny since getting off the Hogwarts Express more than a month ago.

Ginny and Ron maneuvered themselves behind Hermione, nodding encouragingly at her.

"Well, Harry," she began. "Better than your picture. From the accident."

"Picture?" he asked, his voice rising uncomfortably. "What picture? I don't remember anyone taking a picture…"

"Well, you wouldn't now, would you?" replied Hermione. "You were obviously in quite a bit of pain. And it was daylight still so there wouldn't have been a flash."

"This wouldn't be about the article in the Sun that Mrs. Weasley mentioned, would it?" he asked. "She didn't mention a picture." He looked from one face to the other. All three of them looked like they knew a lot more than they were saying, and a lot more than he knew.

"It wouldn't have been so bad, really," said Hermione, "if that local reporter hadn't been driving by. The pictures were so …. um… vivid . . . that the Times picked up the story, see . . ."

"The Times? The London Times?" he asked incredulously. He vaguely remembered a car arriving, the sound of a slamming car door, sometime after the accident.

Hermione nodded her head. Ron and Ginny looked uncomfortable.

"What did it say?" he asked. The butterflies in his stomach were having a field day. "The article, I mean."

"Just that you were accidentally run over by your uncle's car and according to your aunt and uncle you're recuperating with family friends in the country. It made them….the Dursleys….seem..." She stopped as Ron and Ginny gave her death glares. 'Well, never mind." She reached down and smoothed Harry's covers.

Harry was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Did it mention my name, by any chance? Or where I live?"

Hermione bit her lip. She looked at Ron and Ginny for support, but they were doing their best to appear invisible.

"Well?" asked Harry again. "I guess that's a yes, then?"

"Your name, and where you live, and your aunt and uncle's names," she replied.

"Oh." It was all he could muster. "Could you tell it was me in the picture, then?"

"Well, you see, the scar and all . . ." answered Ginny, rather lamely.

Without thinking, Harry reached up and brushed his hair down over his forehead.

"And who took this picture? Do you have it with you?" Harry was becoming more and more dejected and Ron stepped in to cheer him up.

"It's really funny, Harry. You've got these great big jeans on tied around your waist with an old rope and your legs are sticking out at funny angles. Then there's the fluffy pink afghan!"

"Ron!" hissed Hermione. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"One of the feature writers for the Surrey Sun lives in your neighborhood, Harry," explained Hermione. "She drove by right after it happened. She got out to investigate and ended up with one of those human interest stories for the Monday features section."

"Human interest story?" said Harry. "Pain from magical curse scar cripples boy and causes him to fall in front of Uncle's moving car?"

"Oh, Harry, we knew you'd be upset. You can't imagine what it did to me opening up the Times of all things and seeing your picture and reading about how the Dursleys had saved you after your parents died and had taken you in as a second son..."

"Second son!" The look in his eyes would have wilted roses.

"There was a picture of Dudley and you when you were about two…"

Harry closed his eyes and forced his mind back to the nagging thing in the back of his mind.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Do Wizards read Muggle newspapers?"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny exchanged glances.

"Well, most don't," said Ginny, almost apologetically.

"Most?" questioned Harry.

"But some do," she continued. "Dad does, sometimes."

"May as well just spill it, mate," said Ron, pulling something from his pocket and dropping it on the bed in front of Harry. "This is what's caused all the noise."

Harry looked down at a folded up copy of the wizarding newspaper, The Daily Prophet. He unfolded it and almost dropped it in shock. There, on the front page, was a picture of himself, lying on the street, wrapped in a vividly pink blood-stained floral afghan, his glasses askew. A crowd of people jostled around him, and his own head was moving back and forth as if he was moaning in pain. The headline read "Where's Harry?" This picture clearly showed his scar.

"Harry, don't take it so hard," said Hermione. "The Order has it all under control. Well, at least we think they do. They really haven't told us anything. Ginny and Ron got most of what we know from overhearing Bill and Charlie talking at the Burrow."

Ginny sat on the edge of the bed. Harry looked at her with new appreciation. She didn't look half as scared as Ron and Hermione did. He wasn't sure if the difference was that she wasn't as scared of him or if she just wasn't as scared in general.

"I know you're worried, Harry. Dad told Ron and me that they're doubling the guard on your relatives' house. This wasn't your fault at all, and you're safe here at Hogwarts. It was just a stupid accident."

Harry looked up at her, not feeling at all better. Hadn't he had enough stupid accidents?

"They've practically got my address now," he said. "And it won't take much to figure out where I am now, will it?"

"No, not really," she admitted. "Dad says the Prophet has already met with Dumbledore and he released some kind of statement. It should be in tomorrow's paper. They wanted another picture of you but Dumbledore refused."

"Could have asked me, of course," grumbled Harry. "It is my face."

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" said Hermione a little sarcastically, "you've not exactly been available for interviews, Harry."

Harry let himself smile, though it didn't exactly light up his face.

"Hey, I'm sorry. It's just a little much all at once, you know? First I find out that I've been unconscious for three days and the next thing I know my picture is in three newspapers and everyone and their grandma knows that Harry Potter lives in Little Whigging in the summer. Don't think we're going to be able to use that ancient magic stuff anymore so I'll be safe with the Dursleys."

"Harry, there's one more thing," said Ginny. Her tone told him that this one more thing would not be anything good.

Harry closed his eyes. "OK, what else?"

"The picture in the Prophet . . ."

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"What? You want me to autograph it?"

"Harry! This is serious. It's Bill. You can see him in the picture."

"What?" Harry picked up the paper again and looked hard. The people around him continued to jostle each other. He could see a few of the neighbors (he didn't even realize they had been there) and a part of Dudley (not all of him would fit in the picture). And yes, leaning in next to his head was a young man with red hair pulled back in a ponytail. You couldn't his face very clearly, but the red hair and fang earring were pretty easily discernable. Harry dropped the paper. An indescribable feeling was overtaking him, a feeling of helplessly sinking lower and lower. He looked off to a spot on the far wall somewhere between Ron and Hermione. He was trying very hard not to cry. If only he could muster up the anger he'd felt all last year—that usually kept away the tears. But today he just felt sad. Incurably sad. Hermione had a full-time guard at her house, the Dursley's had a double guard, and now Bill's participation in the Order may have endangered not only his life, but probably the entire Weasley family. And Sirius . . . .Sirius was dead and wasn't coming back.

"You OK, Harry?" asked Ginny. Harry looked at her. She was still seated on the edge of his bed with Ron and Hermione standing. He noticed, rather curiously in an out-of-body sort of way, that Hermione was clutching Ron's hand and that all three of them looked almost as sad and worried as he felt.

"No," he admitted. "I'm not OK. Nothing's OK. What's happening with Bill, first of all?"

"We haven't been told, Harry," answered Ginny. "But listen, Bill knew exactly what he was getting into when he joined the Order. And being at the scene of your accident doesn't exactly expose him as a member of the Order, now, does it? It's not unreasonable for someone to look out for a friend of the family, is it?"

"I know what you're thinking, Harry," said Ron. Harry looked up at him. It wasn't like Ron to jump in with something serious. Harry glanced down. Yep. Ron was still clutching Hermione's hand. Or she was clutching his. It was hard to tell.

"OK, what am I thinking, Ron?" asked Harry. He wasn't challenging his friend, and his voice wasn't at all sarcastic. More resigned than anything else.

"You're thinking that you're putting us all in danger," said Ron. "And you're not. So just quit thinking that. Yeah, Vo . . ." he stopped, cleared his throat. "Vo . . Voldemort might want to get rid of you and all, but don't think he'd stop at that."

"We're stronger because of you, Harry," said Ginny. She surprised him by reaching up and pushing his bangs back from his forehead, exposing his scar. "We all are." She looked back at Ron and Hermione for confirmation. They were both nodding. She too apparently saw their clasped hands, because when she turned back to Harry, she had a small smirk on her face and she rolled her eyes at him. Harry's face stretched into a smile.

"Stronger joined together, then, eh?" said Harry, stretching out his good arm to Ginny.

Ginny took his hand and reached out her other to Ron. Ron took it, rather awkwardly, and looked over to Hermione. His ears turned pink as they looked at each other, realizing their hands were already joined.

"Together, then," said Hermione, finishing the circle by lightly grasping Harry's other hand. "No matter what comes."

They stayed like that for a moment more, hands joined, saying nothing. "For Sirius," whispered Harry as he squeezed Ginny and Hermione's hands. They squeezed back, each muttering "For Sirius." A noise at the door just then ended the moment of solidarity.

"I believe Mr. Potter has a party waiting for him," said Professor McGonagall, coming into the room followed by Hagrid, who squeezed in pushing a wheeled contraption that looked only remotely like a wheelchair.

"Party?" Harry asked, giving Hagrid a confused smile. "For getting run over by a car?"

"Nah," said Hagrid. "For getting better. And for being 16."

"16?" He looked back at his friends. "What day is this, anyway?"

"August 1st," answered Hermione. "Happy belated birthday, Harry!"