Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter at all. J.K. Rowling does.

A/N: This story begins three weeks into the summer holidays of Harry's fifth year. He has just completed the Tri Wizard Tournament. This will be an AU.

It was a warm, drowsy sort of a day in the front garden at number 4 Private Drive. This was a good thing, as it had been tremendously hot and dry three weeks previously. Even now Harry could see the evidence of three weeks of heat and sun. The grass, once the envy of the Buckingham Palace Gardens, was now strained and yellow, and he could see the dry earth poking out in large patches here and there. He thought it looked as though the ground had gotten chicken pox.

On the drive Uncle Vernon's new company car had become a magnet for dry dirt. Harry, having nothing better to do, had even written wash me on it. Not that he had become lazy over the holidays, but rather, he, along with everybody else, couldn't be bothered doing anything because of the heat.

Harry had decided to take advantage of this one day of pleasant weather to lounge about outside under the Dursley's living room window and hopefully try to listen in on the afternoon news. The Dursleys had become suspicious when Harry, fresh from his fourth year at Hogwarts, started taking an interest in the news. Harry had begun reading Uncle Vernon's newspapers after he'd finished with them, scanning the pages for any unusual or wizardly type murders that might be Voldemort related.

The Dursleys, seeing Harry doing something so normal as reading, had instantly become wary and had forbidden him to touch any of Uncle Vernon's newspapers again. Harry was then forced to scrounge through the bin like a cat in order to find anything out. Unfortunately for Harry, Dudley (who couldn't be bothered doing anything when his favourite television program was on) had (unluckily enough, for the first time) been bothered to turn his head to look out of the window and had seen Harry at it.

After that Uncle Vernon had padlocked the bin. And Harry, who usually took the rubbish out in the first place, was forbidden to go near it. Now Uncle Vernon was the soul carrier of the trash. After asking Dudley of course, but to no avail because Dudley had had a tantrum and chucked his new boxing gloves through the window. Harry had had to clean up the glass.

Harry had been forced to go to extreme measures to find out the news because no one in the wizarding world seemed fit to inform him of anything. It seemed that he had written hundreds of letters to his friends and Sirius asking what was happening with Voldemort, but all he'd gotten back in return was something like "Can't tell you now, too risky." or other such nonsense. Needless to say, this hadn't turned out too well on Harry's angry-metre, which had skyrocketed to about 86.5 per cent.

Now Harry was lying on his back between the Dursleys house and Aunt Petunia's begonia bushes, with the back of his hand over his brow. The news had just ended and there was nothing there that seemed too suspicious. Unless he counted that turtle some million heir had lost. But unless Voldemort had invented a killing potion in which he needed grated turtle shell for . . . Harry doubted it.

Harry rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, quietly, because the Dursleys were still in the lounge, and went to crawl out from his hiding place. Just as Harry reached the edge of Aunt Petunia's garden and the safe zone, there was a loud "CRAAAAWK!" and a swoosh of wings and a letter dropped onto the ground near him. Harry looked up in time to see, of all things, a large black cockatoo with a bright red cowlick fly overhead and out of sight. Vaguely he could hear Aunt Petunia screeching, and Uncle Vernon calling with the customary "BOY!"

Harry ignored them and observed the letter. It was, perhaps, the oddest-looking letter he had ever received. It was black and shiny as boot polish, and smelled of something that could have been watermelon, but Harry wasn't sure. He quickly stood up and pocketed it just as Uncle Vernon stormed through the front door peering around private drive with his beady eyes, which stopped on Harry.

"What the devil are you doing boy? I told you to control that ruddy bird!"

He was whispering, but loudly, and his face had gone puce and his moustache was bristling.

Harry felt it was appropriate to defend his owl.

"It wasn't Hedwig, it was a cockatoo!"

Uncle Vernon must of thought this was joke because for a moment his face showed confusion and disbelief. But he got over that quickly enough and ordered Harry to come inside and up to his room. Harry did so quickly, because it seemed as if Uncle Vernon had forgot Harry would have a letter, and he wasn't keen on reading it in front of the Durselys, which Uncle Vernon generally made him do.

In his room Harry sat on his bed and took the letter from out of his jeans pocket, admiring the gold embossed S in the corner. Harry was sure that this letter was from Sirius. He was the only one who had sent him letters with large exotic birds before. Admittedly, he had never sent a cockatoo to deliver anything. Harry tried to guess which countries cockatoo's came from. He settled on the Amazon and pried opened the letter. It was very handsomely written with gold ink settled on a black background.

Dear Harry,

I'm sure Dumbledore and the rest have told you that the only blood relatives you have left on your mother's side are the Dursleys. This, at least, is partly true. But has anyone ever explained about your dad's side? Talk to Dumbledore about it would you? I'll be seeing you soon.

Elizabeth.

Harry read the letter once more, than five more times. "Well it's certainly vague," he said after picking his jaw up of the floor.

His stomach felt as though a trapeze artist was performing flips in it. He had a thousand questions. Who was Elizabeth? What other family did he have on his dad's side? And he couldn't forget the hint about the family on his mum's side. Who was this person who seemed to know him and Dumbledore? She seemed very relaxed about the whole thing and sort of nonchalant. As if she didn't care very highly for "Dumbledore and the rest."

After his initial excitement wore off, Harry began to feel that hot prickly anger that he had been stewing in all summer. Why wasn't he told about anything? Why hadn't Dumbledore mentioned he had family besides the Dursley's? Harry picked up the letter again, which he had dropped in his shock. It said she would be seeing him soon.

Suddenly, Harry was filled with the kind of determination that made it possible for him to chase after the philosophers stone. He went over to his desk, pulled out a spare bit of parchment and his quill, and opened a fresh bottle of ink. He dipped his quill into the ink . . . and paused. He had never written a letter to Dumbledore before. And he didn't know quite how to word this one. He didn't want to offend Dumbledore, even though he had lied to Harry. How should he write a letter asking why Dumbledore had lied to him? How would he go about asking who Elizabeth was? After a couple of drafts, Harry finally settled on the right one.

Professor Dumbledore,

I received a letter today telling me I had family besides the Dursleys. Do I? The person who wrote the letter addressed herself as Elizabeth and she seemed as if she knew you and me personally. Who is she? She said she would see me soon and that you could explain.

Harry Potter.

Harry sealed up the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg. He stroked her soft wings with the back of his hand and kissed her softly on her tawny beak. She was the only friend from the magical world he'd had this summer.

"Give this to Professor Dumbledore girl, then wait for his reply."

She hooted softly before gently biting his nose then swooping out of the window. Harry watched until he couldn't see the snowy head any longer, then he slumped on his bed. The millions of questions he had buzzing around his head, combined with the warm, drowsy weather, gave way to a pleasant sleep.

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Albus Dumbledore was currently sitting at a table in the dining room of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. The place wasn't what anyone would call welcoming. It still bore the signs of a decade of built up cobwebs and dust. Dark artefacts, comparable to the family that lived there at one point, were littered around the house like garbage, and it wasn't unlikely to find yourself trodding on one and continuing the day in a trance-like state, or getting the urge to murder the next person that came along. Albus had had this happen to him just that morning, but as he was a powerful wizard he was able to counteract the curse. Despite all this though, the house was obviously made by money.

Beneath the dust and cobwebs lay rich carpeted floors and thick mahogany wood. The beds in all the many rooms were polished four posters and the beheaded elf heads in the corridor certainly showed that the family who lived there previously were of high wizard blood. Overall, Albus thought, Number 12 Grimmauld Place let off a feeling of gloom and despair. Not exactly the right atmosphere to place the order of the defenders of light, but it was the most secure.

Sitting around the same table as the esteemed headmaster were Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. (The latter sitting as far away opposite as it was possible to sit from the former.) The four men were discussing (or as in Sirius's and Snape's case with underlying insults) the current predicament in the Wizarding World; namely the Ministry and their refusal to believe the Dark Lord was back. And any discussion concerning the Dark Lord would, inevitably, soon turn to one Harry Potter and his connection to the Dark Lord and what could be done to help that.

Basically, they were discussing what they always discussed. The really real discussion would take place at the meeting of the Order members that night. This discussion would include how the boy-who-lived was holding up (as Dumbledore had placed solitary watchers from the Order to guard the boy day and night), and any information on the Dark Lord and how it could be counteracted or used to the Order's advantage.

The house would also play host to nearly all of the Weasely brood (save the third eldest) and one of the best friend's of the sixth youngest. They would be living there until the end of the summer, at which point they would go to school. This will be a relief on certain members of the order (namely the Weasely parents) as this group of adolescents are curious and nosey and will try anything to find out information from the order, even using the Weasely twins' new product the Extendable Ears, at which point Molly Weasely will find out, shout like a banshee, then confiscate them.

The four men's discussion had now mellowed somewhat (due to the fact that the problem with the ministry's incompetence had been dissected so much already, that there wasn't anything to say about it anymore) and Albus was enjoying debating the current flavour of the new Bertie Botts Bean with his companions, who weren't brave enough to taste the offered sweet, which now lay seemingly innocently in the middle of the table. There was also a silent debate in the three men's heads of the whether the headmaster was, in fact, certifiable, as they were of the opinion that more important things were afoot, and that it wasn't the time to discuss every flavour sweets. (Though, Sirius and Snape would choke if they ever realised they were of the same mind)

Snape, desperate to steer the conversation from the debate of the flavour of the bean (which Albus was trying to get them to taste) took the first opportunity when Albus choked on a tea-soaked biscuit and started hacking, (as old men are want to do) at which point Snape mentioned "Potter" and in the same breath "like his arrogant father" and the debate escalated into a full blown argument that produced Remus holding onto the back of Sirius's shirt as he tried to jump the table in order to get at Snape.

In all the commotion, not one of the three men noticed a beautiful snowy owl come soaring down the staircase and land on the corner of the table next to Albus (who had stopped coughing) and stuck out her leg for Albus to dispose of the letter. Albus's face showed only brief surprise before untying the letter and ordering the men to shut up. (In an Albus Dumbledorish sort of way, of course.)

The three men quieted once they realised Harry's owl had joined them at the table, and they all waited in silence as Albus read the letter. They each noticed the shock followed by the sombre look on Albus's face. But before any of them could question Albus about the contents of the letter, the man shot up with an agility that belied his age, and walked from the room. Sirius's shouts of "Unfair!" and "I'm his Godfather!" following him out.

Sirius was sitting with his hands clenched on the table when Albus walked in a minute later with a small folded piece of parchment, which he tied to Hedwig's leg before she flew out of the room.

"What was in the letter?" Sirius asked the headmaster through gritted teeth. "I'm his godfather, I have a right to know if he's having a problem."

Snape opened his mouth, most likely to make some base comment, but he didn't get the opportunity.

"It is nothing to concern yourself with Sirius. It was a minor problem with his new booklist which I have now sorted out."

Sirius looked disbelieving and was about to tell the headmaster so when he said, "Now, if you will excuse me gentlemen, I have some Hogwarts business to go about. Do try to behave won't you?"

He stared at the three men over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, making them fidget uncomfortably, before he swooped out of the room, his gold-star cloak with midnight blue setting trailing behind him.

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Harry had snoozed the rest of the afternoon away and was now awoken by a loud hoot. Hedwig was perched on the edge of his desk clutching a letter in her beak and looking indignant. She had been trying to get his attention for a while now. The letter didn't look particularly fat, to Harry's disappointment. He was disappointed even more when he read the thing. There were only eight words written on it.

I will come and collect you tomorrow morning.

Harry supposed this wasn't the sort of thing you'd talk about in a letter. But he was happy he'd finally be leaving the Dursleys. He only wished Dumbledore would have been more specific. When tomorrow? He dreaded telling the Dursleys that his headmaster would pick him up tomorrow, and on top of that not knowing when he would come.

Harry folded up the letter and placed it in on his desk. He was hungry, but he doubted the Dursleys would feed him anything now as they'd probably already had dinner. He settled on eating some of Hagrid's treacle fudge that he'd hidden under the loose floorboard under his bed a few days ago. It was hot and stuffy under there, and Harry found that this had loosened up the fudge somewhat and it wasn't as hard as usual. Harry ate about a half a dozen before lying back on his bed.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

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