Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling and whoever, not me. No money is being made from this.

Preface

„Potter! Come down!" Vernon Dursley's voice boomed through the house. Harry was not surprised, but then again, he was. The Dursleys had never been nice to him, of course. But during the last weeks, ever since he had returned to Privet Drive, they had been at least civil to him. Uncle Vernon had been cheerful, almost. Ever since some Frenchman had bought a controlling share in Grunnings and given him a nice raise, he seemed a changed man. But it seemed that this cheerfulness had left him tonight. Still, it was still "Potter", not "boy".

"I'm coming, Uncle Vernon."

Downstairs, the Dursleys were sitting on their couch. Dudley had lost a lot of his body fat during the last year. He still was huge, but it was basically all muscle now. He had ignored his cousin most of the time.

"Frenchie, our new owner, will visit us tomorrow night for dinner. He will bring the wife and his two daughters. Obviously, he heard that we have you in our house and he insisted that you are present. You will behave excellently. And you will not disturb the dinner with anything freakish, is that clear?" His voice had an almost pleading sound. Then, he shoved some money over to Harry. "Buy something suitable tomorrow. Not too showy, only normal clothes." Obviously, there would be no repeat of the tuxedo dinner which Dobby had so spectacularly derailed.

Harry took the money and nodded. "I promise I will behave."

"We told Frenchie that you visit some private school paid for by your parent's estate. Act that part."

"I will."

Harry nodded to his uncle and went back to his room. Whoever this "Frenchie" was, Harry would be extra nice to him. He had never had the chance to buy muggle clothing that fit him before. Anyway, the summer was shaping out much better than he had thought. After a long, awful week of mourning Sirius, he had started to pull himself together, to earnestly prepare for the thing he needed to do. To kill Voldemort.

His room was a mess of magical books, most of them his schoolbooks, but several also loans from Hermione. Whenever he could, he spend his days and nights pouring over them, reading and – for the first time – understanding. There was a system behind the magic he was doing, and these books, especially those from Hermione, were giving him many hints how this system worked.

Of course, he couldn't do any magic, but still, he was sure that he would be better next year. Never again would he be too weak to stand between his friends and danger. He had finally taken control of his life and he would not relinquish it again to anyone. Not to Voldemort, but neither to Dumbledore. He had even managed to understand occlumency and never since had Voldemort succeeded in causing so much as a tug in him.

The rest of his time, he worked in the garden. Gardening gave him the time he needed to think about the things he read. To his own surprise he found that he rather liked gardening. And Aunt Petunia seemed contend to let him keep the garden in shape. Except for minor tasks, she didn't expect him to do chores in the house. In the mornings, Harry worked out. Jogging was boring, but then – what wasn't compared to flying. However, jogging felt good, at least afterwards. He also held a lively correspondence with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville, who all did their utmost to keep him up to date. Even if live without Sirius was not good, it was at least a lot better than it had been before.