Harry wondered what the bloody hell was going on. The wet flannel he was using to nurse his bruised and swollen eye was beginning to warm, so he turned it over so the cooler side would now face his tender skin.

For the first time in the two weeks since he returned from Hogwarts, Harry found himself locked in his small room and tending to the results of the backside of Vernon's hand to his face.

Since returning to Privet Drive, for the most part Harry had managed to avoid the Dursley's by plodding through the never ending list of chores. He did this without complaint and had managed to keep the events from this past spring from plaguing him too much.

Surprisingly enough, the summer was quiet despite the return of Lord Voldemort. Although he found this somewhat curious, Harry was grateful. It made easier to concentrate on the here and now and avoid all of the painful recollections of the past.

Harry also was aware that Sirius and his friends were probably worried beyond distraction by now. They had all sent him posts, but he had neglected to open up the first one, much less bother to send replies. He was desperate to avoid anything that might remind him of the death of Cedric.

The only post Harry dared to open was from the Headmaster. It was short and cryptic.

Harry,

Please be prepared to leave Privet Drive by Tuesday next. Members of the Order will be along to escort to headquarters. From there you will be escorted to a safe location where you will spend the remainder of your summer. Hoping this post finds you well.

A.D.

Harry did not know what "The Order" was nor who belonged to it, but he was sure those questions would be answered in due time. Harry assumed that he would be spending the rest of his time at the Burrow. He also assumed the note's cryptic nature was due to the fear that it may be intercepted.

In truth, Harry was quite apathetic as to where he spent the summer. Harry was quite apathetic to a great many things lately, and if he were to be honest with himself, he was not looking forward to Mrs Weasley's codling or the solemn looks of worry that were sure to be plastered upon the countenances of his friends. Well… Harry was quite apathetic to that too, or so he tried to convince himself.

Harry supposed he could spend his entire summer with Snape and not give a rat's arse. Harry felt a little shudder up his spine at the thought, as if a rabbit had just ran across his grave. Then again-a summer with the greasy git… Ugh… Nobody could be apathetic to that!

Harry leaned back against his flat, threadbare pillow on his thin, lumpy bed, in his small dark room. Why were Dementors in Little Whinging, he wondered.

Today, for the first time all summer it had not been unbearably hot. In fact, it had been unseasonably cool. The unrelenting sun had finally acquiesced to the threatening storm clouds. For the first time since returning from school Harry had some free time, due to the fact that he had no outdoor chores today and all of his schoolbooks were locked in the cupboard, making his attending to his summer homework somewhat impossible.

Harry had a sinking feeling that he should have stayed close to Number Four today, but he did feel the unquenchable need for a change of scenery. As a result, the day quickly descended from being merely gloomy into utter chaos in the span of a few short hours. But then, that was usually par for the course in the life of Harry Potter.

First, despite all of Harry's efforts to avoid them, Duddikins and his little band of sycophants managed to find him...well...at least Dudley had. They had not noticed Harry in the small neighbourhood park. Dudley and his little gang were too busy huffing down a pack of fags they had nicked from the corner market. Harry had managed to avoid a confrontation, but while walking home alone, Dudley caught notice of him and stalked Harry on the way back to Privet Drive. After becoming frustrated by Harry's lack of response to his threats, Dudley took on a new tactic and began to taunt Harry about Cedric Diggory. "Who's Cedric, Harry…your boyfriend?"

Apparently Dudley had heard Harry's night terrors and was going to take the opportunity to mock his cousin.

BIG MISTAKE!

Harry grabbed his stunned cousin by his beef neck, and with a strength that startled both boys, he violently forced Dudley into a nearby ally and threw him against the wall. He had his wand pressed hard enough into Dudley's temple that it was sure to leave a bruise.

"How do you know about Cedric?" the words were forced between Harry's clenched teeth and barely audible, as Harry could scarcely contain his rage.

Harry's nose curled has he caught the pungent odour of urine. This threw Harry off guard. He was in a rage, but he also knew that no matter how angry or threatening he could be, there was no way in hell he could ever scare the piss out of Dudley Dursley.

His obese cousin's face turned ashen. Harry knew that he was not the cause of the larger boy losing control of his faculties. Dudley looked beyond Harry, eyes frozen, on a much greater, yet unseen fear.

Harry turned quickly, following his cousin's gaze and saw the terror that Dudley could only feel. Three Dementors were quickly approaching. OH SHITE!

"RUN DUDLEY!"

Harry turned to run but stopped almost immediately when he realised that Dudley was not right behind him. His cousin did not have the advantage of seeing the attackers and ran straight into a waiting Dementor. The rotting creature was in the process of removing its hood.

Harry did not have time to think and he acted on instinct. He pointed his wand directly at the wraith and cried, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A great white flash and the bucking of spectral antlers, and the Dementors had fled as quickly and silently as they appeared. Harry had barely been able to conjure the image of him and Sirius escaping on Buckbeak last year.

The trip back to Privet Drive had been surreal. The whole situation was so confusing, Harry couldn't process it all. And where the hell did Mrs Figg come from anyway? And how the hell does she know Dumbledore? Harry could barely remember the walk home much less the details of the conversation with his old babysitter.

When they finally reached Number Four, and after Uncle Vernon noticed the bruise on Dudley's left temple and his son's near comatose and urine soaked state, Harry was violently knocked back into reality by the back of Vernon's hand throwing him unceremoniously into the opposite wall of the foyer.

This assault on his son was the last straw. Vernon had enough of Harry's freakishness and wanted him out of the house-tonight.

What followed were enough posts and howlers in the space of the next thirty minutes to make Harry's head spin.

The first one came from the Ministry, informing Harry that he had been expelled for the use of underage magic outside of school.

Another letter immediately followed the first. It was from Arthur Weasley, ordering Harry to stay put and not surrender his wand to anyone.

Then another post from the Ministry arrived, stating that Harry had not been expelled as of yet, but would have to stand before a board of inquiry come August.

It was followed by a post from Sirius, reiterating Mr Weasley's point. Next, (Old Nick must be begging for an overcoat tonight, for it was certainly a cold night in Hell) Aunt Petunia received a cryptic howler from Professor Dumbledore. Whatever that one was about, Vernon was not throwing Harry out of the house that night. Not as if Harry gave a wit one way or the other.

The final letter was to Harry from the Headmaster himself. Once again telling Harry to remain at his aunt and uncle's house, and members of the Order would pick him up in two-day's time, on Tuesday.

Harry woke up to a room as dark as pitch. For a split second he wondered if Vernon had knocked him blind, but his good eye soon adjusted to the dark. He fell asleep whilst going over the day's events in his head. He woke up with a semi-dry flannel plastered to his face. Harry peeled it away and absentmindedly touched his hand to his swollen eye.

Harry startled when he heard tapping at his bedroom window. He looked at his digital clock. The red block numbers read 12:00.

Midnight? Who would send him an owl at midnight?

Then it dawned on him. It was his birthday. He supposed Ron and Hermione were simply anxious to send him his gifts. Harry honestly did not care that it was his birthday, but if he was going to get rid of the blasted owl that kept tapping on the pane, he had better open the bloody window.

Harry stumbled over to window. *Crack!*

"Ouch," he cried under his breath as he stubbed his little toe on his corner of his desk.

His throbbing appendage did nothing to improve his already surly mood. "Couldn't this have waited until later?" he groused to the startled the owl. Harry's jaw was locked so tight, he thought he would lose a couple teeth for certain.

When he opened the window, the spotted barn owl simply blinked at him. He gave Harry an insolent little hoot, hopped in the room, and raised a tethered talon, solemnly presenting its package.

"Thanks," Harry's mood had lightened a little now that the pain in his toe began to subside and he scratched to owl on its head. Lucky for him, Hedwig was asleep.

Unlike most owls, snowy owls were diurnal, and she was exhausted from her long day of hunting. She wouldn't appreciate him giving affection to a strange owl.

Harry removed the owl's burden, and quietly gave it one of Hedwig's treats and sent it on its way.

Harry was expecting a package from Ron or Hermione-even possibly Hagrid. But one look and he knew this package couldn't possibly be from one of the most likely suspects. It was a small weathered box with a faded envelope attached. It's was seal embossed with a fleur-de-lis—a lily.

Harry whispered aloud in his confusion, "Mum?"

He recognised the very same emblem from a jumper his mother had worn in an old photograph. Harry had studied the photo album Hagrid had gifted him at the end of his first year. He committed the slightest details to memory.

His hand quivered as he turned the letter over and gently stroked the elegant script that read simply:

Harry Potter

Harry did not know if his hand would ever stop shaking nor if he would remember to breathe, but somewhere he mustered the courage to open the letter.

Hello, Harry love,

Harry stopped. She called him 'Harry Love.' Is that what she would have called him had she lived? Harry shook himself out of the maudlin thought. He wanted to know what was so important that his mother had to write him from beyond the grave.

You cannot know how sad I am to know that you may be reading this letter. If you are, it means that James and I are dead. There are not enough tears in the world to be shed knowing that we have left you alone.

But if you are reading this letter, it is your 15th birthday, and James and I hope to right the terrible injustices we bestowed upon the people we love.

I know that this letter will only raise a flood of questions for you. The answers you seek, however, are far too complicated and much too personal to compile in a mere missive.

So I have sent you a gift…of sorts. Within the phial, you will find answers to your questions.

But first, you must find a man. His name is Severus Snape, a Potion's Master. If he is still alive, together you must go to Albus Dumbledore. He will know what to do with the phial's contents. Severus should be with you. He too, deserves answers.

Harry, I hope you and Severus can someday forgive James and me for what we have done. Just know that what we did, was done out of love.

We pray that you both find the peace you deserve.

Love Always,

Your Mummy, Lily

Harry could not stop shaking. He felt as if he were hit by a rogue Bludger. In his hands was a tangible piece of his long dead mother. She had touched this.

He brought the parchment to his face, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He could smell the mustiness of age on the parchment and the sharp tang of old ink.

But there was something else there. So faint, it could almost be imaginary.

"Mummy," Harry sighed, as he began to feel the heat and sting of his tears as they ran down his already abused face.

Then he suddenly snapped out of his melancholy.

What was his mum getting on at? Harry had not had any questions about his parents in quite some time.

All of his professors had always regaled Harry with heroic stories of his parents. Sirius and Remus were always keen to tell him what a great man his father was and Harry was proud to know that he was so very much like him. And why did his mum refer to his dad as 'James'? Well… there was the first of one of those mysterious questions that his mother alluded to.

And what in the name of Merlin's bollocks did Snape have to do with any of it? Why would Mum and Dad have to answer to Snape, especially if this trespass was committed as an act of love? Harry didn't think that he would like the answer to that question. But it would plague him to distraction for the rest of his life if he did not find out.

Not to mention she thought it possible that Snape would be dead by now...but assumed that the ancient Headmaster would still be alive.

What phial was his mum referring to? He suddenly remembered the box he had tossed on his bed. Harry grabbed the box and hastily opened it, absentmindedly crumbling the plain brown wrapping and discarding it to the floor.

"What is it?" he asked of whatever ghost that may be listening. Was it a potion? Is that why he needed Snape?

Pondering the silvery opaque liquid inside, Harry sighed as he muttered and asked again, "What is it? What a strange sort of gift."