Chapter Notes
CW for non-graphic discussions of a medical emergency/hospitalisation, discussion of death of a teenager.
It tore at Harry's heart to watch Draco and his mother leave — the only bright spot was that Harry had convinced Sirius to lend Draco his two-way mirror, just for the rest of the summer. He saw Sirius regularly, and always had Remus or Ceri to get him if he needed him. Harry couldn't bear to send Draco back home, knowing who was there, if he didn't have a way to communicate.
With his birthday a fond memory, and a new determination burning in his chest — a new fantasy in his mind, of life with Draco after the war was over — Harry threw himself into his training, unsure how much longer he'd have before Dumbledore deigned to allow him to leave his relatives', and his peace would be broken.
Unfortunately, Harry had no idea how quickly that day would come.
Only a few days after his birthday, Harry was training with Remus; Snape had been summoned by Dumbledore for the day. Duelling with Remus was always an interesting experience; he had a totally different style to Snape, but was clearly just as knowledgable, and now he'd stopped worrying about hurting Harry he was quite the challenging opponent. Harry knew the man was still holding back, but it was less than before. There was progress.
Suddenly, the door slammed open — both of them turned their wands instinctively towards the noise, lowering them at the sight of Snape. He looked grave, his lips in a thin line. "Potter, you need to go to your relatives, immediately."
Harry's heart sank. "Do they know I'm missing?" Had someone finally decided to investigate the fact that he never left his room?
"Not yet, but they will soon. The Ministry will be there any minute."
Staring up at Snape's dark eyes, Harry felt his pulse begin to race. "The Ministry?" Had there been an attack on the house?
"There's no easy way to say this. Someone set a dementor loose near your relatives' home, no doubt hoping it would find you. Instead it found your cousin."
The words echoed in Harry's mind like he was underwater. He barely registered Remus swearing quietly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. A dementor, in Little Whinging? "Dudley? Is he…?" He didn't need to finish. Snape's face said it all. "He's been kissed, hasn't he?" His stomach lurched.
"I'm afraid so. I wish there was time to explain, but you need to be back in your bedroom before anyone comes to find you."
"We won't leave you there long, cub," Remus assured, wrapping an unresponsive Harry in a tight hug. "I promise."
Harry couldn't do anything more than splutter out a few weak agreements, before Ceri appeared with huge worried eyes and took him by the hand. In an instant, the duelling room of Seren Du was replaced by his old bedroom at Privet Drive.
He'd been back a few times, to sit at the window so that his watchers didn't worry he was dead. The Dursleys had no idea about any of it.
Faintly, he could hear the TV on downstairs; some singing competition show that Petunia liked to watch. His heart thudded in his ears. Did they know yet? Were they even there?
A moment later, Ceri reappeared with his school trunk, and a few other things she settled around the room to make it look like he'd been living there. Harry almost laughed; no one who looked at this room could imagine he was comfortable there, regardless of how much of his stuff was lying about.
"The door is being unlocked, Master Harry," she assured quietly, wringing her hands. "Call for Ceri if yous be needing anythings." With a short bow, she disappeared, and Harry was alone.
He stood, in the middle of the room, feeling utterly bereft.
What had just happened??
He didn't have time to think for long. The doorbell rang through the house, and he swallowed as his throat suddenly grew dry. Carefully, he crept towards the door, cracking open the cat flap at the bottom and crouching to press his ear to the gap.
"Hello, Officer. Is everything alright?" Petunia had answered the door. She had the tone she used when anticipating a juicy bit of gossip. Harry almost gagged.
"Are you Petunia Dursley?" It was a female voice, barely audible over the TV from the living room. "I'm sorry, is your husband home?"
"What's this all about? Vernon! Vernon, it's the police!" Petunia's shrill call rang out. Harry heard the creak and grunt of Vernon levering himself off the sofa, and the TV suddenly went silent.
"What?" Heavy footsteps; Vernon joining Petunia in the hall. "What do you want at this time of night?"
"My apologies, Mr Dursley. I'm afraid it's about your son."
"Is my Dudders in trouble? He's a good boy, Officer; if he's done anything, it's those awful friends of his, leading my poor boy astray," Petunia insisted immediately. The officer must have had a look on her face that gave away something, because Petunia let out a quiet whimper.
"I'm so sorry to tell you this, Mr and Mrs Dursley — your son was found in the underpass off Wisteria Walk, he seems to have had some sort of brain bleed. He's… he's unresponsive."
Petunia gasped in horror. Harry was utterly still, fingers clenched around the edge of the cat flap. If this was the muggle police, did the Ministry even know?? Snape seemed sure they did. Were they busy rounding up the dementor? Or was this police officer just an auror in disguise?
Through his aunt's sobbing, Harry heard snippets of the rest of the conversation; Vernon insisting they would head straight to the hospital, demanding to talk to a superior, asking who found Dudley. Just as Harry was about to sit up in case either of them came upstairs for something, he saw a flash of feathers by the window. Wide eyed, he scrambled across the room, opening the window quietly just in time for a medium-sized brown owl to swoop in and drop a letter on the bed.
It was just a scrap of parchment, a short missive in messy, rushed handwriting.
Harry,
Don't go anywhere. We're trying to figure out what happened. Whatever you do, don't leave the house.
Arthur
He couldn't help the derisive snort that left his lips. Don't leave the house? Was Mr Weasley not aware that, as far as the Order was concerned, Harry hadn't left the house all summer??
If he had been out of the house, maybe the dementor would've found him instead of Dudley. His stomach lurched again.
The owl left as soon as it delivered its letter, not waiting for a response. Harry sank onto the bed with shaking knees, curling his fingers around the ragged duvet.
Dudley had been Kissed by a dementor. He was… if not dead yet, then as good as.
All because Harry had been tucked away safe at Seren Du, where nobody could find him.
Part of him was relieved. If he'd been here, if it had been an ordinary summer like Dumbledore and the Order believed… he no doubt would have been right in the dementor's path. He could cast a Patronus, sure, but he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school. He would've been expelled, or worse — the Dursleys hadn't always let him keep his wand in the summer.
Was that what whoever had sent the dementor had hoped would happen? They had to know he could defend himself against them; everyone at Hogwarts knew he could cast a Patronus after the rumours floating around from third year, and he was sure they must have seen him use it against the boggart dementor in the maze during the Third Task. Had his attacker been hoping to get him expelled? His wand snapped, banned from Hogwarts — an easy target for Voldemort?
He looked up when another owl flew in through the still open window. This one was larger, and had a longer letter, though it too didn't stay for a reply.
Harry,
I'm so very sorry about what happened to your cousin. This is a truly terrible event, and rest assured I have people investigating the matter as we speak.
I have spoken to members of the Ministry who deal in covering up instances of magic use in front of muggles; due to the nature of the way Dudley was found, they have told the muggle officials the boy died of natural causes. The Ministry is also trying to bury this information amongst its people; I'm afraid Minister Fudge is still unwilling to see the truth of Voldemort's return, and refuses to believe someone other than the Ministry might have control over the dementors. It is being treated as an outlying incident, and no doubt will have vanished from record by the morning.
Stay inside the house, and don't do anything rash. A Ministry official will likely be by shortly to discuss your whereabouts and explain the truth to your aunt and uncle. Answer any questions they may have — you did nothing wrong here, Harry. This is all just a cruel and unfortunate case of poor timing.
I will keep you updated as the case progresses. Stay safe, and stay alert.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry had to read the missive several times over, staring incredulously at the elaborate cursive.
A cruel and unfortunate case of poor timing?? His cousin was soulless. Someone had purposely tried to endanger Harry, and Dudley was dead as a result. Here Dumbledore was acting as if it was just a bit of a mix-up!
He snorted in disgust, shaking his head and tossing the letter aside. He wasn't remotely surprised the Ministry was trying to cover it all up. It wouldn't be great for Fudge's reputation if it got out that not only had a dementor gone on a jaunt far from Azkaban, but it had hunted down the Boy-Who-Lived and kissed a muggle in the process.
Abruptly, Harry realised that his hands were trembling, his breath coming short and fast. He tucked his knees up to his chest, trying to steady himself. He was fine, why was he panicking? The danger had passed — he'd never been in any danger to begin with! Only Dudley had.
Without even thinking about it, he fumbled a hand into his pocket, closing his fingers around the cold surface of the two-way mirror. He could call Sirius, see what was going on.
Wait, no. Sirius was no longer holding the mirror's partner.
He swallowed thickly. Usually he let Draco call him; it was safer that way. But… it was late, Draco would likely be in his room. Surely he could risk it? If he wasn't alone, he just wouldn't answer.
"Draco Malfoy," he whispered, bringing the mirror up to stare at it. He held his breath, not daring to blink, until staring back at him were worried grey eyes and a faint frown.
"Harry? I wasn't expecting your call, is everything alright? Where are you?" Draco's blond brows furrowed, and he tried to peer past Harry's head to figure out his surroundings.
"Draco," Harry choked out, watching his boyfriend grow alarmed.
"What's wrong?"
"My cousin. There was— he's—" Harry sucked in a sharp breath, and when he exhaled the whole story came spilling out. Draco listened, eyes getting wider and wider in horror.
"Sweet Salazar," he swore when Harry was finished. "Well. Thank fuck you weren't there."
"But if I had been, I could've saved him! I could've cast a Patronus!" Harry argued, the guilt welling within him.
"And been expelled for underage magic!" Draco retorted sharply. "If someone has enough clout in the Ministry to send a dementor after you, I bet they could easily make sure you were punished for defending yourself." A strange look flashed across his face. "I bet it was my father. He's got Fudge in his pocket, he could arrange something like this easily."
"Draco, no," Harry insisted. "Don't go down that road. There's plenty of people who want me dead, not just your dad." But he couldn't help the part of him that agreed; it would be very easy for Lucius Malfoy to have done this.
"I'll keep an ear out for any mention of it. If it was him, or one of his friends, no doubt they'll be upset to hear you're okay." Draco's face softened. "You are okay, aren't you? I mean, it's awful, but… your cousin was a terrible person. You weren't exactly close."
"Doesn't mean I wanted him dead," Harry spat.
"Of course not!" Draco agreed quickly. "I'm just saying, I'd rather him than you. And for all he's your blood family, it's not like it was Longbottom or the twins or anything."
Harry's heart twisted at the thought of any of his friends being in Dudley's position. No, Draco was right — while he wouldn't wish the dementor's kiss on his worst enemy, let alone his brute of a cousin, part of him was selfishly glad that no one he truly cared about had been harmed.
He couldn't take another Cedric, not so soon.
"Yeah. Yeah, I just… I was supposed to be here. Someone who wants me dead knows where I live." Clearly Dumbledore's fabled protections weren't all they were cracked up to be. How had none of his guard not noticed what was going on? A dementor was pretty easy to identify!
He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the doorbell ringing once more. His heart dropped to his stomach. "That might be the Ministry. I need to go."
"Be careful," Draco urged. "Call me back when you can."
Harry cut the connection, slipping the mirror back in his pocket and keeping his wrist poised to remove his wand from his holster. He hurried downstairs, peeking through the window to see two men in robes. One was an auror, with the crest displayed on his chest; the other had plain black robes, and was stocky and narrow-eyed. Harry hoped for the neighbours' sake they had Notice-Me-Not charms up; the gossip hounds of Privet Drive would have definitely noticed the police presence at Number 4.
Harry opened the door, warily eyeing the two wizards in front of him.
"Mr Potter," the auror greeted with a nod. Harry realised it was the same man who had come to help arrest Rita Skeeter. Shacklebolt, wasn't it? He was an Order member! Sirius and the others had talked about him, he was sure of it. "I'm Auror Shacklebolt, and this is Mr Runcorn from the Misuse of Magic Department. May we come in?"
"I haven't used any magic," Harry blurted. Shacklebolt cracked a half-smile.
"We know, Mr Potter."
Harry stepped aside to let them in. Runcorn was scowling, a look of distaste on his face as he eyed the blatantly muggle hallway, the pictures of the Dursleys on the walls. "We won't be long," he said curtly, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "We simply need to know your whereabouts this evening."
"I've been home all day," Harry replied. It hit him suddenly that he probably wasn't supposed to know about what happened to Dudley. "What's going on? The police were here, they said my cousin was in hospital or something. Was… was it magic related?"
He watched Shacklebolt's face grow grim. "It was, I'm sorry to say. I don't know how to tell you this, Mr Potter, but earlier this evening a dementor found its way to Wisteria Walk, and attacked your cousin on his way home. He… he was Kissed. I'm sorry."
"Found its way?" Harry repeated, unable to help himself. "Like it was just wandering about? I thought dementors were supposed to stay in Azkaban!"
"It's none of your business what the dementors are doing," Runcorn snapped.
"It is if they're sucking the soul out of my cousin!" Harry argued. Shacklebolt held out a placating hand.
"I know this must be upsetting," he said, his voice calm and even. "I promise you, the Ministry is doing everything it can to get to the bottom of this situation." Harry doubted that. "We merely need to ask you some routine questions. You say you stayed home all day?"
"All day, every day," Harry confirmed, trying to keep most of the bite out of his tone. From what he knew, Shacklebolt was part of his guard; he would know that already. An unreadable look crossed the bald wizard's face.
"Right. You didn't notice anything unusual? A cold spell, flickering lights?"
"I didn't notice any of the usual signs of dementors, no." Harry folded his arms over his chest. "I had the lights off, anyway. I was trying to get an early night." An easy lie. The lightbulb in his room hadn't worked in years. The lights were always off.
"An early night, on a Saturday in the middle of summer?" Runcorn sneered.
"I don't sleep well, these days," Harry snapped in reply. "Nightmares." He thought he saw a smirk cross the man's face for the barest of moments. Shacklebolt, on the other hand, looked sympathetic.
"Understandable, after… what happened. Your aunt and uncle didn't notice anything?"
"Not that I know of. But I haven't spoken to them much this evening." If Shacklebolt was part of the Order — part of Harry's guard — then he likely knew about the difficult relationship between Harry and his relatives. But Harry refused to give Runcorn the satisfaction of any kind of insight into his home life. There was something about the man that put his back up, his magic itching in disgust. "What are they being told?"
"At the moment, the muggle doctors are telling them what they believe to be true; that your cousin suffered a spontaneous brain bleed that has caused him to go catatonic, and left him in a vegetative state. Mr Runcorn and I will wait here with you for them to return, and explain things properly to them."
Harry grimaced. "I would really rather you didn't."
"We won't be an imposition—" Shacklebolt started, but Harry shook his head.
"Not that. Telling them about the dementor. My aunt and uncle… they aren't fond of magic." He flicked his gaze to Runcorn, unsure how best to word things. "It confuses them. Scares them a bit, I think. All my aunt really knows of magic is that it killed my parents. If she knows it killed her son, too… it would devastate them." And they would murder him, because they would assume it was his fault. Which it sort-of was; the dementor certainly wasn't there randomly.
"That is highly unusual, Mr Potter," Runcorn began.
"I'd say it's an unusual situation, Mr Runcorn," Harry retorted waspishly. "Please, if you've any decency, let my aunt and uncle believe their son suffered a tragic and unexpected natural death. Let them mourn their son without adding the confusion of magical creatures to the mix. It'll be hard enough explaining what a dementor is to them, let alone what one was doing all the way out here by itself. I don't want to scare them."
Shacklebolt pursed his lips. "Perhaps you're right. It can't do any harm to let them believe what the doctors said. It's not like it changes the poor boy's outcome at all."
"Tell them, don't tell them, it makes no difference to me — if they don't know, they can't go screaming about dementors through half of Surrey and cause the Obliviation team the stress," Runcorn remarked with a roll of his eyes. God, Harry wanted to hex the man. Did he not care even a little bit that a teenage boy was all but dead? Just because the boy was a muggle.
"Very well; I'll go with your wishes, Mr Potter. And once again, I'm terribly sorry for your loss, and the Ministry will do whatever we can to find the truth of the situation. If there's anything we can do to help, please do let us know." Shacklebolt seemed sincere, but it just made Harry angrier. They both knew the Ministry wasn't going to do a damned thing.
"Thank you. I think I'd just like to go to bed, if you don't mind." Harry sent a pointed glance to the door. "Of course. Send an owl if you have any questions or concerns, or you change your mind about telling your family and they wish to speak to an official," Shacklebolt said. Harry knew he would be doing neither of those things, but he nodded all the same, managing a tight attempt at a smile. The two wizards didn't bother going back out the door, merely apparating straight out of the hallway. Once they were gone, Harry let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. Merlin, this was a clusterfuck of a situation.
.-.-.
The Dursleys weren't back until early the next morning. Harry was awake as soon as he heard the front door open — he'd barely been asleep, uncomfortable in the room after getting used to his bed in Seren Du, his dreams full of cloaked amorphous figures and sucking, rattling breaths.
Petunia was sobbing quietly. Harry wondered if she'd been crying the entire night. He heard Vernon murmuring to her, his voice surprisingly soft. Of course, the only things the man seemed to actually care about were his reputation and his son.
"I'll put the kettle on," Petunia declared shakily.
"No, Pet, let's just go to bed. We had enough tea at the bloody hospital," Vernon sighed. If Petunia protested, Harry couldn't hear it. He listened silently to the stairs creaking under Vernon's weight, and their bedroom door shut with a click. His heart was in his throat.
He couldn't stay here. So far, his aunt and uncle had no idea he'd returned — if Vernon saw his face now, so soon after losing his son… Harry probably wouldn't have much of a face left by the end of it. Even if Ceri brought him food, he'd still need to use the bathroom. If he stayed, they'd notice him eventually.
He couldn't stay here.
Waiting a while, until Vernon's loud snores drifted from the master bedroom, Harry sat up in bed. "Ceri," he called quietly. The house elf appeared immediately. She had a tea tray in her hands; a cup of tea, two of his favourite chocolate biscuits, and a plate of toast with the cherry jam he liked.
"If Master Harry is wanting a bigger breakfast, Ceri can cook," she began, but Harry waved her off with a smile. "This is perfect, thanks, Ceri." He doubted he could stomach much more. Guilt coiled in him like acid, making him nauseous every time he thought about Dudley. "Is anyone home, Ceri? Or are they all with the Order?"
"Seren Du is being empty — everyone is at the other house, sir. Mister Remus gave Ceri this to give to Master Harry." She pulled a folded piece of parchment from the pocket of her pinafore dress.
Cub,
The Order is a bit blindsided with this whole mess. Currently trying to figure out the next step. With any luck, they'll agree to move you here soon. Sit tight, I'll be in touch when we know more. We love you.
Moony
He sighed, letting the note flutter to the mattress. More waiting, then. "Thanks, Ceri."
Ceri bowed, then disappeared, leaving Harry alone with his breakfast. He dunked a biscuit in his tea, careful not to let it break.
Hopefully he would be saved soon, whichever way it happened. He couldn't stand being in Privet Drive for long.
.-.
Luckily, Harry only had to wait until early that afternoon — he was just debating with himself whether to risk a bathroom run, when Ceri appeared in his room, bringing Remus with her. The werewolf immediately strode to Harry's side, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, cub," he murmured. Harry leaned into the embrace.
"I didn't even like Dudley," he argued feebly. Remus pulled back just enough to shoot him a knowing look.
"That doesn't mean his death doesn't hurt," he replied. Dropping a kiss on Harry's hair, he straightened up. "The Order has been trying to push the Ministry into properly investigating, but it seems to be a lost cause. Since no one magical was harmed, and the dementor has been returned to Azkaban, they seem to be done with the matter." His opinion of that was clear on his face.
"I expected as much. Do we know who did it yet?" He couldn't shake Draco's worry that Lucius was responsible. He'd spoken to his boyfriend again before going to sleep, just to assure him he was okay. The Slytherin seemed convinced his father was at least partly to blame.
"Not yet. It's likely we never will, with the investigation being closed up. Kingsley said you asked for your aunt and uncle to be left unaware." There was curiosity in his tone. Harry grimaced.
"If they knew it was magic-related, they'd blame me. I can't risk them thinking that… especially if I have to stay here until Dumbledore sends someone to get me."
Remus' eyes flashed gold for a moment. "I won't let them hurt you ever again," he vowed fiercely. Harry's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. He didn't want to have that conversation — not now, preferably not ever. "The good news is, Dumbledore has decided to have the Order retrieve you during your cousin's funeral. A few people seemed quite surprised and upset that you wouldn't be able to go and say your goodbyes, but he insisted it was the safest time to extract you."
"I wouldn't be welcome there anyway," Harry pointed out ruefully. He wasn't sure if he'd want to go even if he could. "Funerals take a while though, right?" He'd never been to one, wizarding or muggle. Cedric's funeral was too small. It had been almost two weeks after his death, though — Harry wasn't sure he could last that long at Privet Drive.
"It's on Thursday. I suppose your aunt and uncle wanted to get things done quickly," Remus told him. "They'll be sending someone to collect you on Thursday at two."
"Can I come home?" Harry blurted, unable to help himself. "The Dursleys don't know I'm here. If I've got a few days… the Order won't find out, right, if I'm not here? The guard hasn't changed?"
"No, the guard is still the same. Dumbledore thinks it unlikely that a second attack will come so soon after the first, if at all."
"Then can I come home? Please?" He hated how his voice cracked. "I don't want to stay here by myself, not even until Thursday."
Remus sighed, pulling him closer again. "Oh, cub." He nosed Harry's temple wolfishly. "Of course. Of course you can come home, love."
Harry practically melted in relief. .-.-.
Unlike last summer, when Harry had been determined to fit as much fun and freedom as possible into his last days at Seren Du, he was subdued in the few days before Dudley's funeral. The whole household was — even though Harry hadn't been anywhere near the attack, the knowledge of how close he could've been weighed heavily on all of them.
Harry made sure to tie up all his loose ends, writing letters to all those he'd no longer be able to talk to until school started up again. He promised Susan he'd keep going through the laws the best he could; between all of them they were making good headway into the project, and she was attacking it with true Hufflepuff determination. The only person he told about what happened to his cousin was Neville, promising to give his friend the whole story when they were back at school. He spent a little time with Buckbeak, went for one last fly by himself, and made cookies with Ceri to try and cheer himself up.
By Wednesday evening, all he had left to do was repack his trunk for school. The decision of which books to bring with him seemed even harder this year; not only because his exams were approaching, but because he had so many things he wanted to learn before he was thrown into his next near-death experience.
"Severus has copies of most of those in his quarters." Harry whipped around, seeing Remus in the doorway. The werewolf was the only other adult who had been around since the dementor attack; the Order were around too much for Sirius to get away, and Dumbledore had errands for Snape to run. Most of the time, Harry had been alone. "If there's anything you need in them, I'm sure he'll let you borrow them."
Harry looked down at the set of Defence texts in his lap. "That's good to know." He eased them back on the shelf, looking at the rest of his pile. "Do you know if I'll be able to train during school time?"
"Harry, it's your OWL year, you'll be busy," Remus started, but Harry rolled his eyes.
"I think training is a bit more important than some exams, Moony," he reasoned. "Besides, you've all said I know enough to do well. I'm not worried about my exams." That was the truth. He'd come on in leaps and bounds since having his magic unblocked, and was at least a year ahead of himself in most subjects.
"You'll still have lots of homework, though, and quidditch."
Harry levelled the werewolf with a determined expression. After a few moments, Remus sighed. "If you insist, I'm sure Severus will find the time. As long as you're able to keep Dumbledore oblivious. It might not be safe."
Harry hadn't thought about it like that. The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to get suspicious of any interactions between Harry and the Potions Master. "Okay. But I can still work on things alone." He was making good progress with his animagus transformation, and he didn't want to let his duelling skills get rusty. It could cost lives otherwise.
"Just remember, you're still only fifteen," Remus reminded, carding a hand through Harry's messy hair. "A powerful fifteen, but fifteen all the same. Let the adults do their jobs in protecting you, the best we can."
"That doesn't always work out too well in practice," Harry pointed out. Still, he leant into the touch. "I'll try, Moony."
"You've got a lot on your plate this year, cub." Remus cracked a faint smile. "Just focus on your classwork and your government takeover, let us work on the rest, alright?"
Harry laughed. "Yeah, okay." The government takeover was mostly Susan's brainchild, but Harry was a big part of the driving force. He was the figurehead needed to push for change — and to eventually knock Dumbledore off his pedestal, when they were ready. It wouldn't be for a while yet, but the heirs wanted to make sure everything was in place and ready as soon as they could strike. The Ministry and the Wizengamot had been left to languish and grow corrupt for far too long.
"Are you about ready for tomorrow?"
Harry knew Remus wasn't asking about the state of his packing. His chest tightened, anxiety clawing its way up as he thought about being surrounded by people again. Having to slip back into his Golden Boy persona. Having to face Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore, and a bunch of strangers — worse, having them offer their condolences for Dudley like they had any idea how Harry felt about the matter.
Even Harry didn't know how he felt about the matter.
"I think so. As ready as I'll ever be." He drew a steadying breath, glancing up at Remus. "I just… What happened to Dudley is my fault. I know, I know — I couldn't have done anything, blame it on whoever sent the dementor, whatever," he added before Remus could argue. "But the fact of the matter is, he's dead because someone wanted me dead. Just like Cedric. And I… I hate that he's dead, and I hate that I feel responsible. I hate that I feel sorry for them, when they were so awful to me for so long, but — they didn't deserve this. No one deserves this. My aunt and uncle hate me, but they loved Dudley, and I— he was just a kid, y'know? He was only fifteen."
To his horror, there were tears welling in his eyes. All of a sudden, he was wrapped in Remus' embrace, head pillowed against the man's broad chest. "It's okay, cub," he soothed. "It's a complicated situation; you feel whatever you need to feel. Your family are terrible people, but you're right — they didn't deserve to lose their son so young, no matter what they've done. Dudley didn't deserve what happened to him. But you are in no way responsible, Harry. You don't deserve any of what's happened to you either. And their tragedy doesn't detract from how they've treated you for so long. It doesn't redeem them."
"I can't face them again, Moony," Harry whispered through his tears. "They might not know what happened, but I do, and this— this will have broken them. I don't know what they'll do to me if I see them again." Even if they had no idea of the truth of Dudley's death, it wouldn't stop them from blaming their misfortune on Harry. They'd been doing it his whole life; everything from a bad day at work to an unfortunate turn in the weather was Harry's fault, and he'd been punished for it.
"I don't know what's going to happen in future. I can't know that," Remus said, his voice soft. "But I know that Sirius and I would die before we allowed you to be alone with those monsters again. I don't know what they've done to you, cub — I hope one day, you might feel comfortable enough to tell us — but I swear to you, they won't lay a finger on you again as long as I live. Even if you're forced to spend time under their roof."
There was a hint of a growl, a touch of the wolf to his promise, and it settled something deep within Harry's chest. A promise like that, coming from Remus — Harry believed it. .-.-.
Ceri dropped Harry off at the Dursleys' at half past one on Thursday. With his trunk at his side, he didn't have to bother trying to make the room look lived-in. His door was locked from the outside, he knew; all eight latches. This had to be believable, and there was no way the Dursleys would have left him home alone with the door unlocked, regardless of how long they might be. They'd let him piss on the floor before they gave him free access to their house.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Hedwig's feathers through the bars of her cage. She seemed unimpressed by the change of scenery, but they had to keep up appearances.
His knee bounced as he waited. He forced himself not to think about his aunt and uncle, what they might be doing — had the service started yet? Were they carrying the coffin to the cemetery?
He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of apparition; multiple people, downstairs. Even though he'd been expecting them, he still jumped up, wand in hand and pointed at the door. He heard muffled voices; some familiar, some not.
The footsteps on the stairs were strange; a rhythmic shuffle-thud, almost like someone had a limp, or walked with a heavy cane. "Potter!" The bark sent a shiver down his spine. He shook it off, reminding himself that this was not Barty Crouch Jr — this had to be the real Alastor Moody. "Merlin's balls, have you got enough locks on there?"
"Locks?" A female voice, again familiar, though Harry couldn't quite place it. "What, on the outside?" Someone jogged up the stairs. Harry felt his cheeks burn — how many people had come, to gawp at the truth of the home life of the Boy-Who-Lived? How many members of the Order had decided to see why he hadn't left the house all summer?
"Give us a moment, Harry." He relaxed; that was Remus. He heard several clicks in quick succession, and the door swung open.
Squeezed together on the small landing outside his room stood Moody, Remus, and the bright-haired auror who was friends with Charlie. This time, her hair was bubblegum pink. She grinned at him, waving. "Wotcher, Harry!"
Her name was Tonks, Harry remembered. Nymphadora Tonks — Andromeda's daughter. She was Sirius' cousin.
Harry didn't lower his wand. "Moony," he greeted neutrally. "What creature was in the tank in your office the first time we had tea together?" The only one of the three he actually knew; he wasn't taking any chances. Even though he could feel with his magic that it truly was his pseudo-godfather, it didn't hurt to check.
"A grindylow," Remus replied promptly. Harry lowered his wand, sliding it back into his holster.
"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked, a smile twisting his scarred face. "Good lad, Potter."
"It's nice to meet you, Professor Moody."
"Bah!" Moody's fake eye whizzed around in its socket. "Didn't do much teaching, now, did I? Just Moody to you. This is Tonks. Dumbledore sent us to get you out of here."
"That's why you couldn't go to the funeral," Tonks piped up, her hair colour dimming sadly for a brief moment. "We're really sorry you can't say goodbye to your cousin properly, Harry."
"That's not why I'm not at the funeral," Harry told her bluntly, watching her nose wrinkle in confusion. "But I'm glad you came while my relatives were out."
"You all packed?" Moody asked gruffly, limping forward, eye still whirring. It prickled at Harry's skin uncomfortably; exactly how much could he see with that thing? Harry still wasn't sure.
"Just about." He made a show of grabbing some quills and parchment off his desk and tucking them into his trunk — he wasn't supposed to know he was being rescued, so he hadn't wanted to be completely ready for them. Stuffing some clothes in haphazardly, he shut the lid, pretending to look around for one last check. "I'm ready."
"Is the cat yours? Or your family's?" Tonks asked curiously, gesturing to the cat flap. Harry's return smile was bitter.
"That isn't for a cat." He would have felt bad about the bewilderment on her face, but really, was she being so oblivious on purpose? He'd been locked in. Eight times over! "How are we getting to… wherever we're going?"
"Apparating," Remus supplied. "It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it's the most discreet way to travel at this time of day. We'll have to do a few different jumps, to make sure we don't leave a trail."
"Mad-Eye here wanted to fly you out," Tonks volunteered, sounding amused. "But we can't do that in broad daylight."
"Yes, yes, it's a shame we can't wait 'til nightfall. Bloody muggles," Moody groused. "Let your owl free, Potter, she'll meet you there."
"Would if I could, sir." Harry was getting a perverse amount of pleasure from playing this authentically; Hedwig's cage was padlocked, as it would have been by Vernon if he'd truly stayed all summer.
"Ah, I'll get it." A tap of Remus' wand, and the padlock dropped to the ground. Harry opened the cage — Hedwig, bless her devious little heart, made a show of stretching out her wings and adjusting her feathers, as if she'd been cooped up for weeks. She butted her head against Harry's chin, nipped him on the ear, then took off out the open window.
"Right, let's get moving, then. We've been dawdling too long as it is." Moody straightened up, passing Harry's trunk to Tonks, and Hedwig's cage to Remus. "Take my arm, Potter."
It felt wrong to be trusting Moody to apparate him, even though he knew this was the real deal. Remus gave him an encouraging look over Moody's head, and Harry squared his shoulders, before gripping Moody's forearm tightly.
When Remus had said 'a few different jumps', Harry hadn't imagined the stomach-churning, disorienting hell that followed. A crack, and they were stood in a dingy alley somewhere. Before he could even breathe, Moody had let go of him, and another hand grabbed his arm. "Hold tight!"
Another crack, and he was in a field. His head was spinning. The hand on his arm let go, and a vaguely familiar arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him against a firm chest. "I've got you, cub."
Another crack — this time he was on a rocky cliff. His stomach lurched. Remus let go of him. He was gripped by the wrist tightly.
Another crack, Harry's vision blacked out for a second; when the world returned to focus, he was stood in the middle of an ordinary muggle street, Moody holding onto his wrist, practically keeping him upright. A half-beat later and Remus and Tonks appeared, Remus stood close behind Harry, discreetly steadying him. "Sorry about that, cub. It's a little much when you're not used to it, but it's the safest way."
Harry had thought he was getting used to apparition by now, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to that. "I might be sick," he declared, hearing Tonks giggle.
"Pick a point and stare at it 'til the world stops spinning, there's a lad," Moody instructed, no sympathy in his tone whatsoever. "Can you read?"
"Generally? Yes. Right now? Debatable."
Tonks giggled again. Even Moody snorted, lips twisting in amusement. "Read this."
It took a few seconds for Harry's vision to steady enough to make out the words on the scrap of parchment Moody thrust his way. It was in Dumbledore's unmistakeable handwriting.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place
Harry read it again, committing it to memory. When he looked up, there was a whole new building squeezed in between numbers eleven and thirteen. The parchment in his hand burst into flames, scattering ash on his shoes.
Finally, he would get to meet the Order.