He stopped his thought before it could complete. He wasn't going to hope again that he could go to live with Sirius, with someone who actually wanted him. Although, in hindsight, he wondered whether Sirius did want him…the older man had looked somewhat surprised when Harry had agreed to live with him. But there had been the letter he'd received at Hogwarts (confirming Sirius was safe and Harry was more than a little annoyed that the Headmaster had prevented him from replying) and then another he'd received the day after he'd gotten home (a 'hope you're OK' message that Harry had replied to using the same owl Sirius had sent), and another (a 'glad you're OK and don't worry about me' message). For a godfather on the run, it wasn't too shoddy a showing of concern and much more than Harry could remember receiving from anyone else except his friends.
What had been a nice surprise was that his ex-Professor, Remus Lupin had also sent a very nice note welcoming Harry back from the holidays, reassuring him that he'd found an interesting job and encouraging Harry to stay in touch. Harry had promptly sent a reply with the rather majestic looking owl that had brought Remus's letter. He'd also sent a note to Remus after Moody and Bones had interviewed him and asked for more stories about his Dad, but there hadn't been a reply and Hedwig hadn't returned. It didn't mean there wouldn't be a reply, Harry reassured himself. Remus had said to stay in touch and with Sirius out of the country…
Of course, Remus hadn't actually contacted Harry at all for most of his life and Harry got the impression that he had only let slip his friendship with Harry's father by accident. They really hadn't had a chance to talk about that and it wasn't something Harry wanted to raise in a letter. But it did mean that he didn't quite trust Remus to reply to him in the same way he trusted Sirius. Although even his trust in Sirius probably floundered on the thought that Sirius, if given a choice, might continue to chase the rat rather than actually stick around for Harry.
Harry shook away his insecurities not wanting to dwell on them. Sirius had written; Remus had written. He had people who cared for him at last. His jaw set in all too familiar stubbornness that both Sirius and Remus would have recognised instantly although Harry didn't know it.
His mind travelled back over his third year at Hogwarts idly as he prepared the potatoes. It had been a strange year with the Dementors and Sirius. Better than the first two years – no Voldemort to battle – but odd in other ways. He really owed Hermione for helping him rescue Sirius. He flushed as he remembered what a prat he'd been to her about the Firebolt. Yes, he'd had cause to be angry but…she'd meant well. If only she hadn't gone behind his back…
Ron hadn't helped with his anger over it either. And then there had been Ron's constant battling with Hermione over Crookshanks and the rat all year. Harry had spent most of the time feeling like he was being pulled between them and forced to choose constantly.
Ron had been Harry's first friend of his own age and Harry knew his strong attachment to Ron was primarily because of that. And Ron was funny and loyal, if glued to his beliefs and prejudices, surprisingly smart in his own way under the laziness that even Harry could see. But in considering the previous year, Harry had become aware that he'd let Ron dictate a lot of their friendship – things like being mad with Hermione, who else they talked to outside of classes, and their subjects like taking the horrendous Divination because it was easy.
Maybe he could try for a little independence from his first friend, Harry considered; he trusted Ron not to drop him just because Harry made a few decisions for himself – like giving up Divination so he didn't have to hear about how horribly he was going to die every week, and taking a different subject, maybe Ancient Runes or Arthimancy. He should send a note to Professor McGonagall and ask if it was possible. Hermione would probably appreciate having him take one of the subjects she was interested in.
And he did owe her.
Besides, Hermione was his second closest friend and really Harry had no idea how he would have gotten through his studies for the past three years without her. Not to mention the traps around the Philosopher's Stone; not to mention working out it was a basilisk that was petrifying people; not to mention rescuing Sirius. She really was amazingly smart. He should appreciate her more even if her bossiness sometimes drove him round the bend. He could try to be a better friend to her.
He wouldn't mind making more friends, Harry mused absently. Oh, he liked to think he was friendly with most people in Gryffindor – when they weren't considering him the Heir of Slytherin – and he was mates at least with the Quidditch team, especially Fred and George, and with his dorm mates. But he knew he wasn't the easiest of people to be friends with between his unwanted fame and the trouble that seemed to follow him around. At least Ron and Hermione had stuck with him through thick and thin. Quality was more important than quantity, Harry determined, but still…one or two other people to hang around with wouldn't be a bad thing.
Before he could set the microwave's timer, the telephone rang. Harry didn't investigate – his chore was dinner and it was more than his life's worth to deviate from it, not to mention the call was unlikely to be for him. He could hear his aunt answer, her strident voice carrying down the hallway.
He found his mind wandering to the interview with Moody and Bones. Bones had been nice; strict but kind. She kind of reminded him of McGonagall. Moody though had been bloody brilliant. He hadn't made a fuss over the locks on the door or the pathetic bedroom Harry had. More importantly, he'd told him stories of his Dad. He couldn't believe that his Dad had been a Hit Wizard. He wondered what career his Mum had chosen. He'd ask Sirius or Remus; asking his aunt was an invite to trouble.
Speaking of said aunt, she suddenly poked her head through the kitchen door.
"Leave that and go and pack all your things in that trunk of yours." Petunia snapped. "I'll explain on the way."
On the way to where and what about dinner, Harry grumbled to himself as he went up the stairs to his bedroom. He hadn't been refused lunch but the meagre sandwich and apple had been hours before, and his breakfast had been minimal – a quarter of a grapefruit. He packed his trunk quickly – he hadn't truthfully unpacked a great deal of it. He picked up Hedwig's cage – she'd find him wherever he went. He struggled down the stairs and was briskly directed by his aunt out to the car.
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