Ron stood outside number four Privet Drive.

He grimaced as he recalled the time not too long ago when Fred, George and him had broken Harry free of the bars on his window.

He didn't particularly want to have to face Harry's grumpy, controlling, overbearing uncle, but what other choice did he have really?

But what if the man remembered him from all those years ago?

Ron cringed as he made his way up the driveway towards the house that emulated every other house on the street. He stood before the front door, wondering if it was too late to back out now.

He supposed it was.

Besides if he returned home with no Harry Potter in tow, his mother would just send him back here again and he'd be back to square one. Ron sighed as he gently tapped his knuckles against the wooden front door. The faint echo of the television, followed by an erratic eruption of laughter greeted his ears. Ron stood there for a few seconds, seconds which then turned into minutes. By now he was assuming no one had heard his initial knock.

Good, well, at least now he can say he tried.

Ron turned on his heel, about to take his first step away from the house when the front door flew open.

"See Petunia! I told you I heard someone knocking at the door!" Vernon yelled as though he wanted the entire street to hear that he was right.

"Well, who is it? Is it Marge?" Petunia's voice escaped from deep within the house.

"No, it's a redheaded boy!" Vernon yelled back as the vein in his temple began to visibly throb.

Ron winced as he felt the eyes of Harry's uncle's run over him, as though trying to figure out if the boy was familiar to him or not.

"He must be one of Dudder's friends." A smile suddenly grew on Vernon's lips as he prepared to call out to his precious son.

"No ah, I'm actually here to see Harry Potter." Ron audibly gulped as he released the words from his lips.

"Oh, I see." The man stated, the smile shattering from his lips as his eyes adopted a new, yet painfully familiar gaze, one that echoed a mixture of condescension and revulsion.

Ron's heart pounded in his chest, yet he was relieved that the man didn't seem to recognize him, then again, it had been dark when they broke Harry from his room that time.

"Your house is nice." Ron offered, attempting in vain to diffuse the awkward tension between the two.

"Thanks." Vernon stated flatly, his voice cold as it retained its hostility. He obviously didn't value the opinion of any acquaintances of his nephew.

*~.~*

Harry lay curled up on his bed, there was nothing pleasurable about holidays spent at the Dursley household. He sighed as he reached for his potions book. He might as well get a head start, it's not as though he had anything better to do.

The young wizard sighed as he lazily turned the pages of the book, his mind adrift as his thoughts returned to Hogwarts. He was willing to bet that Snape would never expect him to be actually looking at this book in class, let alone in his so called 'holidays'.

Harry felt his heart almost flutter at the thought of the man he had despised all these years.

He suddenly sat up straight, what was that?

What on Earth was wrong with him?

Harry screwed up his face as he attempted to figure out a plausible explanation for what just happened.

Perhaps it was just anxiety about having to endure potions for the remainder of the year?

Yes.

It had to be that.

Harry dismissed the thought from his mind, yet a doubt still lingered in his heart that he couldn't ignore.

The young wizard had just found the page his class was up to when his concentration was interrupted by a wild sequence of taps on the front door.

Great.

His Aunt and Uncle were having people over.

Harry sighed as he slammed the book shut.

"Harry Potter!" His uncle's voice boomed up the stairs.

The young wizard tilted his head slightly so that he faced the door.

Did his uncle really just call his attention after just answering the door?

He probably just wants him to prepare food for his guests.

"Come here boy!" Vernon hollered, making it apparent that he was annoyed at not having received a response from his nephew.

"Coming Uncle Vernon!" Harry sighed, climbing off his bed before traipsing from his room and down the stairs.

Harry approached the front door, trepidation lingered in his actions until his eyes fell upon his best friend.

"Ron?" Harry's eyes widened in surprise, he certainly hadn't expected this.

"Hi Harry."

"What are you doing here?" The raven haired wizard began, failing to disguise the excitement from his voice.

"Mum told me to come and get you, she's a bit angry at me for not inviting you, you see."

"Right." Harry nodded in acknowledgement, a part within him was ecstatic that he wouldn't have to spend the remainder of his holidays locked in his room at the Dursleys.

"Okay, well, I'll just go and pack up my stuff then." Harry nodded, more to himself than his best friend as he ascended the stairs once more.

"I'll help." Ron offered, more as an excuse to not have to make conversation with Harry's uncle than actually wanting to help his best friend.

"Wait! Hang on a minute!" Vernon yelled after the two wizards.

"I thought you'd be glad to see the back of me." Harry stated before quickly realizing he had just said aloud words that should have remained in his head.

"Well," Vernon began before stalling, as though giving his nephews words some serious thought

Harry didn't bother to wait for an answer as he bolted for his bedroom.

*~.~*

"Do you have any idea how long it takes to get from my house to yours? I had to catch three different trains!"

"Why didn't you just use your broom?" Harry raised a eyebrow in genuine curiosity as he closed the door behind them.

"Oh,"

Harry tilted his head to the side, as though anticipating an answer, yet also knowing he already had it.

"Is this your room then?" Ron's eyes darted about the room, as though taking in every single feature, however boring it may be.

"Actually it's Dudley's second bedroom."

"Second bedroom? Geez!"

*~.~*

Snape stood before a strange house carved outside of a seaside cliff. Did the creator of the notebook really have to live here, in this godforsaken place?

He watched as wave after relentless wave crashed against the rocks, exploding into what seemed to be an infinite expanse of salty droplets.

The professor grimaced, glad no one was there to witness it as he clutched his broomstick in his right hand.

He had no choice.

He would have to fly to the wizard's front door.

Not to mention that he would also have to time it perfectly so as to avoid an onslaught of waves.

"Damn it Hermione." Snape grumbled under his breath, cursing the student who had started this whole fiasco. He could be at home, reading a nice book while sipping his favourite licorice tea, but no. He had to be here, in the bitter cold and likely to get wet and therefore, even colder.

The professor sighed, almost violently as he climbed onto his dreaded broomstick. He hadn't used one of these in years, and for good reason. He would certainly never be on any quidditch team, not that he particularly wanted to be.