Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Five

End of an Era

Harry awoke feeling slightly dazed and confused. His head pounded, and he groggily tried to piece together what had happened during the night. Rubbing his temple, he tried to remember why he felt so lethargic. He’d had a dream…Voldemort was planning something with Bellatrix. The details were fuzzy, and he seemed to lose them as soon as he was close enough to remember. There was something important there…something just on the tip of his consciousness, but try as he might, he couldn’t grasp it. The dream had morphed into one of his standard nightmares, and that’s when Uncle Vernon arrived.

Harry rubbed his hand tenderly along his throat; the Silencing Charm on his door must have finally worn off. He was going to have to get Bill to put a new one on before this happened again. Bill! He had to get over to Mrs. Figg’s before Bill came over to the Dursleys’. That way, he could stall Dobby from telling Bill anything about what had happened. A little more time and distance might help diffuse the situation.

He put on his glasses and crept to the bathroom as silently as he could. There were no sounds of stirring, and he hoped to be done with his shower and out the door before any of the Dursleys awoke.

Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he could see the vivid bruises in the shape of Uncle Vernon’s hand around his throat. He’d have to make certain his T-shirt covered that. Great.

Harry sighed as he stepped into the shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water spraying over him. He stood there for a while, easing the tension in his muscles. He probably should let Professor Dumbledore know about his dream, but he felt foolish writing just to say he’d had one, when he couldn’t remember any of the details. He thought perhaps he’d just tell Bill about it and see what he thought.

Getting out of the shower before he woke Uncle Vernon and got shouted at for using too much water, he put his new clothes back on and headed out the door. It was already fairly sticky outside, and he found himself wishing he’d kept a pair of shorts with him, as well. As he crossed over to Wysteria Walk, he again had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him. Looking around apprehensively, he clutched his wand in his hand and hurried his pace.

When he arrived at Mrs. Figg’s, the front door was open, and he could hear voices through the screen. Recognizing the voice as one of the twins, he called inside. “Hello.”

Bill came around the corner and swung the door open wide. “Harry, good morning. You’re up bright and early today.”

“Yeah, thought maybe we could work over here for a change,” he said, watching as Fred and George both entered the room from the kitchen.

“Harry, mate, smashing good to see you,” Fred said.

“Hello, old boy. How goes the battle?” asked George.

Harry looked at the two of them warily. “What’s going on, and what don’t you want me to know about?” he asked.

“Harry, you make me feel like you don’t trust us,” Fred said, holding his hands to his heart.

Harry arched his eyebrow and glared at the three brothers.

“All right, all right. It’s nothing, really,” Bill said. “Dumbledore has everyone on heightened alert. Snape says there is something afoot, but they haven’t included him in any of the planning. As far as he knows, Voldemort is still not at full strength, so whatever this is, more than likely it’s only the Death Eaters who are involved.”

Harry stilled, thinking a moment. Something from his dream tickled his awareness yet again, but he couldn’t get the memory to form. Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Everything all right on Privet Drive, Harry?” Bill asked quickly. He’d become far too adept at reading Harry’s moods.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, looking up into his eyes and having an internal debate on how much to tell. “Only, I had a dream last night…well, it started as a vision.”

The smiles slipped from both Fred and George’s faces. “What happened?” Bill asked, leaning in slightly.

“I don’t know,” Harry burst out. “I can’t remember any of the details, I’ve tried. He was talking with Bellatrix Lestrange; they were plotting something…but that’s all I can remember.”

Bill sighed, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you certain there isn’t anything else? Try and concentrate.”

“I have been concentrating,” Harry shouted. “I’ve tried all morning to remember, but I can’t. It was very brief and then transformed into a regular nightmare. If it were something urgent, I would have sent Hedwig to Dumbledore.”

Bill put his hands up in a defensive posture. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Harry, I know you would. It just doesn’t give us anything more to go on, and it’s frustrating.”

Harry took a deep, calming breath. “Sorry for shouting,” he mumbled. “I’m frustrated, too.”

“Speaking of nightmares, Fred and George brought this from Remus,” Bill said, holding up a phial of what Harry assumed was a Dreamless Sleep Potion. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry took the phial and shoved it in his pocket, averting his eyes from Bill’s probing gaze.

“Come on, Bill,” George said. “You know Harry better than that. The only thing he ever says about himself is that he’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Fred said. “I bet he could be bleeding all over the floor and not want to put anyone through the trouble of having to wipe it up.”

Harry desperately wanted to steer the conversation in another direction. “You said Professor Dumbledore has everyone on alert. What does that mean?”

“Means a lot of extra shifts and double guards on you,” Fred answered.

“Why is he wasting people on me? I’m not going anywhere, and this is supposedly safe for me,” Harry demanded angrily.

“Dunno, mate, you’ll have to ask Dumbledore that. We’re just doing what we’re told – for the first time in our lives, I might add. It just happens to have the added benefit of playing some pranks on you,” George said, grinning. “What about that load of a cousin of yours. Any chance we’ll be seeing him today?”

Harry smiled reluctantly. “I don’t think so. Dudley hasn’t been so bad this year; we’ve even had a conversation.”

“No,” Fred said, looking aghast. “What is the world coming to?”

“Well, that puts a damper on our plans,” said George, looking sadly at his sack of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes.

“All right, you lot,” Bill said. “I need to get to work; I’ll join you for lunch.” He turned and headed back upstairs to the room where he was staying.

“So,” George said, removing several cats before he could sit on an overstuffed couch. “You know, Harry, when you started dating Ginny last term, you really put a crimp in our style.”

“How do you mean?” Harry asked, staring back and forth between the two of them in confusion.

“Well, we’d been testing a lot of our products on that Corner bloke she’d been dating when we were still at Hogwarts,” Fred said, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Er…Harry…this is just between us blokes, right?” George asked, his expression slightly concerned. Fred, too, knitted his brow in concern.

“You were testing this stuff on Corner, and Ginny didn’t catch you?” Harry asked, finding that hard to believe. Ginny always managed to keep one step ahead of him.

“Yeah, well…she did catch us once, but I think she was mad at him at the time so she let it go,” George said. “Anyway, we thought we could always use her boyfriends as unofficial guinea pigs, kind of an initiation by fire, to show them what they were in for. But when she started dating you, we couldn’t really do that, could we? It would be like pranking one of our own, never mind our chief investor.”

Harry grinned, their words filling his heart with warmth. Hearing them say he was like one of their own pleased him more than they would ever know. “You can still try and prank me if you want, but now that I know what you’re up to, I’ll tell Ginny on you.”

“What’s this? Famous Harry Potter hiding behind his girlfriend’s skirt?” Fred asked in mock horror.

“Yep. Have you seen what her Bat Bogey looks like?” Harry replied smugly.

Both Fred and George gulped audibly and nodded, wearing solemn expressions that looked out of place on their usually jovial faces.

The three spent an enjoyable day together and after lunch even got Bill to join them in the playpark. They again brought the football along and commenced an impromptu match. Harry was tired but happy as he trudged along back to the Dursleys’ at dinnertime.

Privet Drive was quiet, but Harry could smell dinner cooking in the kitchen and heard the low murmur of voices on the other side of the door. Not wanting to go inside just yet, he sat on the steps and watched the sun as it began its decent along the horizon. As he was sitting there, Dudley walked up the steps and sat down next to him.

Harry looked over at him, but Dudley remained silent, so Harry sat quietly, as well.

“How come you’re out here?” Dudley finally asked.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno, just not ready to go in yet. You?”

Dudley shrugged but was silent a moment more. “I saw Veronica today,” he said at last.

Harry looked over at him keenly, trying to decipher Dudley’s mood from his actions. His cousin was giving nothing away. “And?”

Dudley took a deep breath, as if preparing for a steep dive. “We’re going on a date on Friday.”

Harry grinned and slapped Dudley on the back without thinking who it was he was speaking. “Brilliant, mate.”

Both boys seemed to realize what they were doing at the same moment, and shifted positions stiffly. “Erm…how did Piers take it?” Harry asked, deciding to try and keep the communication going.

Dudley shrugged. “He doesn’t know yet.”

“Are you going to tell him before you go?”

“Dunno. D’you think I should?”

Harry considered this for a moment, imagining it was him and Ron in the same situation. “Yeah, I think you should. He might get mad, but it’ll be worse if he finds out afterwards. Especially if it’s someone else who tells him.”

Dudley’s eyes opened like saucers, as if that thought had never occurred to him. “You’re right,” he said, nodding absently. He seemed to realize again whom it was he was talking to and looked Harry up and down speculatively. “You know that game you said you played…Quidditch?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you have any pictures of it, so I can see what it looks like?”

Harry grinned, thinking that his old copy of Quidditch Through the Ages should fascinate Dudley. It would be like a video game in a book that played itself. “Certainly. Come on upstairs, and I’ll show you.”

The two boys entered the house and clomped up the stairs without telling Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia they were home. Harry went into his room, but Dudley stopped outside the door. “Bring it into my room; I have something I want to show you, as well,” Dudley said, continuing down the hall.

Harry dug through his trunk, pulled out the book and headed into Dudley’s room. He’d never been invited in before; he’d only sneaked in occasionally when he needed something. “Here you go.”

Dudley picked the book up gingerly, as if afraid the magical images were somehow contaminated.

“It doesn’t bite,” Harry said, exasperated. “I do have another book that will, though.”

Dudley looked at Harry, squinting his eyes as if trying to decide if Harry were joking or not. He began looking through the pages, staring more intently at each moving picture as he did.

“You play Seeker? It says that’s the most dangerous position. Ever get hurt?” he asked.

Harry chuckled. “Once or twice. The Healer at school fixes everyone right up, though.”

“I’ve been to the school nurse a few times after wrestling meets, especially at the beginning. Don’t tell Dad that, though. You really do fly on a broomstick?” Dudley asked, the wonder in his voice unmistakable.

“I know. I was amazed by it the first time, too. Hold on a minute,” Harry said, sprinting back to his own room. Tentatively, he opened his trunk and lifted out his Firebolt. He made certain there was no sign of Uncle Vernon as he brought it into Dudley’s room and held it out to him. “I’ve had this one since third year. My first one got ruined in a game.”

Dudley reached over and tentatively picked up the Firebolt, looking it over. He lightly ran his hand along the handle and, seeming satisfied that nothing happened, began examining it more closely while Harry watched him.

Both boys were startled when the door slammed open, revealing the infuriated face of Vernon Dursley. He was nearly purple with rage, and he seemed to be gasping for air. Harry became slightly alarmed that he might be having a heart attack.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded in a strained, subdued voice that worried Harry more than a shout would have.

“D-Dad,” Dudley said, his eyes nearly bugging out of the sockets.

“Get out, Dudley. Go downstairs, now.” Uncle Vernon’s words were clipped and left no room for argument.

Dudley cast a wary glance at Harry before dropping the Firebolt and sprinting from the room.

“I have had all I’m going to take from you, freak,” Vernon snarled, stalking across the room towards Harry. “You’ve brought hideous creatures into my home to threaten me, there are freaks roaming the yard, terrorizing your aunt, and now…now I come in here to find you trying to corrupt my boy with your unnaturalness? I WON’T HAVE IT.”

Harry had backed away from his raging uncle and found himself pressed against the desk; he’d gone as far back as he could go. He put his arms out in front of him, trying to calm Uncle Vernon down. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “We were just talking.”

“Talking about a broomstick? Since when does Dudley talk to you? He wouldn't unless you or those Dementoids did something to him. I won’t tolerate this, you miserable little freak.”

Over the years, Harry had gotten very good at anticipating and ducking Vernon’s blows. He was much smaller and quicker than his uncle and usually didn’t have a problem escaping. This time, however, he was trapped and too stunned to move in time. Uncle Vernon’s fist caught him on the side of his head, spinning him around and causing him to fall against the desk. The pain exploded along his cheekbone as he crashed to the floor, pulling the contents of the desk down upon him. He nearly blacked out in pain as Dudley’s computer hit him in the head and shattered the monitor, embedding tiny bits of glass in his skin.

He didn’t have time to clear his head, as Vernon grabbed him by the collar and lifted him roughly to his feet. Harry’s glasses were broken and hanging precariously from his face, his whole world was spinning. “Get out,” Vernon spat. “Get out and never show your face here again. We’re done with you. I don’t care what was agreed upon, I will not have my family exposed to you for another day. Get out, good riddance and never return. I should have done this years ago.”

Harry was stunned and feeling slightly panicked about what to do. Professor Dumbledore had sent an owl to Aunt Petunia the last time Uncle Vernon tried to throw him out, but there would be no warning this time. Should he leave? He’d only been home for two weeks, certainly that couldn’t be enough time for the blood protection to regenerate for another year. Still, he didn’t seem to have any choice. He hadn’t seen Uncle Vernon this upset in a long time. His own anger was rising, and he struggled to control it. He jerked away from his uncle’s grasp and steadied himself by the door.

As Uncle Vernon began advancing towards him, Harry drew his wand. He’d had enough. “That’s enough, Uncle Vernon,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

Uncle Vernon laughed somewhat hysterically. “You can’t use that on me, that freak school will throw you out.”

“Yeah, is that what you want? For me to be stuck here even longer?” Harry asked recklessly. He didn’t care anymore; if he was going to go, he wasn’t going to go quietly.

“It doesn’t matter, because you won’t be staying here,” Uncle Vernon roared.

Grabbing his Firebolt off the floor, Harry scooted out of Dudley’s room. He didn’t want to leave all his stuff, but feared what Uncle Vernon would do if he tried to collect it. Perhaps it would be better to wait at Mrs. Figg’s for a while, before seeing if Professor Dumbledore would sort this all out with Aunt Petunia again. He started down the stairs, feeling a rough shove on his back. He stumbled and fell down the last few steps, quickly catching himself and this time ducking Vernon’s next blow.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia questioned sharply from the doorway of the kitchen.

“He’s leaving, Petunia. I’ve had enough. He was showing Dudley his…things. You know the way Dudley’s been acting; it’s his fault and I won’t have it. This isn’t up for discussion.”

Aunt Petunia’s face paled at the comment about Dudley. She cast worried eyes at Harry. For a brief moment, she seemed indecisive before her stony expression returned. She gave a slight nod, and Vernon whipped open the front door.

Harry turned icy green eyes on his relatives. “Thanks so much for your overwhelming kindness through the years,” he said, sarcasm blatantly dripping from every word.

“Get out,” Uncle Vernon spat, pushing Harry roughly on the back and slamming the door behind him. Harry landed hard on the stone porch, scraping his hands in the process. Getting up and dusting himself off, he picked up his broom and began the trek to Mrs. Figg’s. He was dreading what he was going to have to tell them and was trying to work out how to explain while revealing as little as possible. He didn’t want to have to admit how little his family wanted him. Even though he knew they were all aware of that fact, he didn’t want to have to say it out loud.

The entire side of his face was throbbing, and when he wiped at his mouth, his hand came away stained with blood. Just great. He was tempted to turn around and argue through the door, but he really didn’t want to stay here. Maybe it had been enough time, and this would be a great reason to speed up the process so he could leave now.

As Harry was walking past the house of his next-door neighbor, his heart froze in horror when he heard multiple ‘popping’ sounds behind him. Oh, no. No, no, no.

He did have his wand, for all the good it would do him. He wasn’t certain if his magical reserve was even strong enough yet to create a shield. Ducking behind a tree, he peered around to number four and counted at least ten robed Death Eaters on the front lawn. He had to squint to see them; his glasses were broken and one eye was swelling shut.

Harry swallowed the bile in his throat at the sight of the white masks. His mind began playing tricks on him, flashing back and forth between his time at Malfoy Manor and the present situation. He shook his head hard, trying to clear it and focus on what was going on before him. There would be time for panic later; for now, he had to think. The white masks were unnerving him, reminding him of his captivity. He thought he could recognize a few of the masked Death Eaters by limps, or brief body movements.

He didn’t have time to get to Mrs. Figg’s and back with help in time, not even if he used the Firebolt. If the Death Eaters were here because the wards had collapsed when Uncle Vernon threw him out, wouldn’t Dumbledore know that, too? Maybe the Order would get here in time. In the meantime, how was he possibly going to defend the Dursleys and not get himself captured again, with only limited use of his magic?

His heart beat wildly in his chest, and he felt drops of sweat rolling down his face and neck. He couldn’t let them capture him again; he’d never survive another battle with Voldemort right now. The idea of being locked up made him shudder. He licked his lips, tasting the metallic trace of too much adrenaline.

“Haawwy. Haawwy,” a hated, singsong voice called out from his yard. “Come out and play with me.”

Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry felt a familiar surge of all-consuming hatred well up within his chest. He despised that woman. She’d killed Sirius and had been the most frequent of his tormentors at Malfoy Manor. You’ll be begging for the release of death when I’m through with you.

“Come on, Haawwy. We’ll be jolly playmates, forever more,” she cackled, striding up to the front steps. “Didn’t we have so much fun when we played last time?” When Harry didn’t respond, he heard her hiss, “Kill the Muggles, but leave Potter to me.”

At that moment, Uncle Vernon opened the front door wide and stepped out onto the porch. “Get out of here, all of you. He’s not here; he’s gone, and he won’t be back,” he said, his voice wavering slightly.

Harry had to act. He raised his wand and sent a Banishing Charm directly at Uncle Vernon. It hit him square in the chest and forced him back inside. Before Harry could get off a second spell to shut the door, however, he heard Bellatrix screech the hated words in delight, “Avada Kedavra.”

Feeling drained from the brief bit of magic he’d used, Harry leaned against the tree and watched in sickening horror as Uncle Vernon was hit just as he sat up from Harry’s spell. He slumped over in a heap, no longer caring about the magic being performed there.

Bellatrix had turned towards Harry’s hiding spot. “I think maybe wittle Haawwy is here. One down, Haawwy; how many more inside?”

Harry remained silent, his mind working furiously, trying to come up with an idea for what to do. Bellatrix wasn’t waiting. Raising her wand, she aimed it at his hiding spot and said, “Diffindo.”

Harry tried to raise a shield, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop her curse. He felt his shield flicker and give out before a sharp pain erupted along his entire right side. He stumbled, but held his position as his vision blurred and the world seemed to tilt. He held onto the tree, gasping and trying to fight the murky darkness that threatened to envelop him.

*******

Ron sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, waiting for his father to enter so they could begin their nightly chess match. His father was the one who had taught Ron to play chess when he was young, and now Ron could beat him nearly every game. He and his dad had been playing nightly, and Ron had grown dependent on their matches. His father was just about the only one, aside from Harry, who didn’t make Ron angry these days.

He had been snapping at everyone, and he wasn’t certain why. Everything irritated him, and anyone trying to ask him why he was irritated…well, that irritated him most of all. He suspected this is what Harry felt like most of the time…and it really sucked. Ron had always had a short fuse, quick to explode, but also quick to cool off. Once he blew, he generally got over it. Lately, though, the anger just wouldn’t fade. It had been this way ever since their escape from Malfoy Manor. Stupid Malfoy. It was his own fault; he was the one who had set the whole thing up in the first place. Whoever got himself killed from a Disarming Spell, anyway…

Ron sighed; he’d been over this in his head a hundred times already. He’d meant to disarm him, to stop him from attacking. Ron had seen him go at Harry when it was obvious there was no way Harry could fight back. He’d just had a duel with bloody sodding Voldemort, for crying out loud. Ron had to stop him. He hadn’t intended to kill him; it hadn’t been meant that way. Still…he was a killer now. What kind of person did that make him? When he was confronted with violence again, as he knew he would be – they were at war after all – would he kill again? Would he find it easier now? Ron continued setting the chess pieces on the board, lost in thought.

Ginny sat at a desk in the corner, writing a long letter, by the looks of it. Probably to Harry; she was dying to send out that new owl he had sent her. Thinking of that owl made Ron feel guilty; he should do something nice for Hermione. He’d really been treating her rather badly these last few weeks. She sent him letters nearly every day, asking him over and over how he was doing, offering helpful hints on what he should be doing to make himself feel better. She was trying to help, but it was annoying him, and he barely answered one out of every three of her letters. What did Harry have to go and send Ginny that owl for, anyway? It was just making Ron look bad. He sighed and continued setting up the chessboard.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault. In fact, Ron had been giving Ginny a hard time lately about using Pig. Even if he wasn’t always writing Hermione, he wanted to know he could if he needed. The day Ron had gone to visit Harry had been good. It was the only time this summer he’d actually started to feel like himself. Harry had even helped him practice Apparating. He knew it was his own fault he’d failed the test; he should have revised more. Still, he’d managed it working with Harry, and he hoped another session or two would do the trick.

A loud commotion from the kitchen caught his attention. He heard a rumble of voices, then a number of footsteps in the entrance hall. Ginny looked up from her letter and towards the door. She turned to him, questions burning in her eyes. Ron shrugged and got up, moving towards the door. Ginny got there first and stopped the twins as they tried to spring past.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Not now, Ginny,” Fred said, trying to get by her. The look of concern in both his brothers’ eyes told Ron something was wrong. Something big. Ron was determined that he was not going to be left in the dark again.

Ginny, too, caught on and refused to let go of Fred. George had already moved by them and sprinted for the hall.

“Fred,” Ron said, putting a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Fred shook his head in exasperation, yanking his arm out of Ginny’s grasp and causing her to stumble. “Sorry, Ginny; I’ve got to go. The wards came down on Privet Drive,” Fred yelled as he ran after the others.

Ron and Ginny stood, unmoving, shock and fear written on both their faces. He watched as Ginny’s eyes filled with tears, and he quickly grabbed her hand. “Come on, we’ll see if anyone’s in the kitchen who will tell us anything.”

He pulled Ginny behind him and hurried down the stairs. She appeared numb; the shock of Fred’s words not quite registering. In the kitchen, they found their mother pacing in front of the fireplace, wringing a dishtowel in her hands in agitation.

“Mum,” Ron began nervously, determined that she wasn’t going to shut them out of this. This was Harry.

“Oh, Ron, Ginny,” she cried, pulling them both into a fierce embrace.

“What’s happening, Mum?” Ginny asked. Her voice quavered slightly, but Ron could see the resolve in her eyes.

“Let’s not worry yet-” she began, before Ron cut her off.

“Mum, we know about the wards coming down on Privet Drive. What happened?”

His mother sighed, clutching the dishtowel even tighter in her hands. “That’s all I know. Professor Dumbledore has a way to monitor the wards at Harry’s house. He made a firecall and said they’d come down and for everyone to get there immediately. That’s all I know. Why don’t you two wait upstairs? I’ll come get you as soon as there is any news.”

“No,” Ron said, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting right here.”

“Me, too,” Ginny said, sniffling. The tears she’d been struggling with were beginning to make silent tracks down her cheeks.

His mum seemed to accept that this was a battle she could not win. “Well, if you’re going to wait here in the kitchen, at least make yourselves useful and help me clean up.”

Ron groaned as he began clearing the dinner dishes, although he could admit to himself that it was better to have something to do while he waited. Time passed incredibly slowly as the three of them waited in the tension-filled kitchen. They completed the clean-up silently, lost in their own thoughts as they all kept glancing apprehensively at the empty grate.

Ron hated sitting around and feeling helpless. Ron knew that feeling well. He’d spent days pacing in that little room they’d locked him in, thinking about Harry locked up with a Dementor. He could hear Ginny sniffling every once in a while and saw his mother squeeze her shoulders reassuringly now and again. Ron kept pacing. He knew if he sat still, he’d go insane. He wanted to do something. He was seventeen; he was of age and should be there helping out. The more time that went by without news, the more he felt the anger inside him growing. The rational side of his brain knew that now wasn’t the time to get into this again, but that side was rapidly being drowned out by the side that wanted action. What was happening on Privet Drive? What had happened to Harry?

*******

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. He was unsteady on his feet and couldn’t seem to control the trembling in his limbs. The Death Eaters swarmed the area, moving ever closer to his hiding spot behind the tree.

It was then that Aunt Petunia appeared in the doorway of the house on number four, Privet Drive.

“Vernon!” Harry heard her anguished screech. No, please don’t let this be happening. He saw the Death Eaters again raise their wands, and he managed to fire a “Stupefy” at the one nearest Aunt Petunia. The man stumbled, but didn’t fall, and Harry knew that he’d drained his magical reserves once again.

Aunt Petunia wailed loudly, and he heard her angry voice ring into the night. “How could you let them do this? After all we’ve done for you. You just give them what they want and stop this before they hurt my Diddyums, too.” She broke off, sobbing incoherently. Harry’s heart tied in a knot. He started to move from his hiding spot; he had to do something. He didn’t have a choice; he just couldn’t watch and do nothing while they killed the Dursleys. He had to get help.

He was about to mount his broomstick when strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back behind the tree. He turned in alarm to find Tonks holding onto him, trying to pull him further up the street. “They killed him,” he said, his mind feeling numb as Tonks struggled to move him along. His eyes were wide and dazed; he was dimly aware of a pain in his side. In the brief moment it took for him to look at Tonks, another flash of deadly green light was released towards Aunt Petunia, and she, too, crumpled into an unmoving heap. The tree that had been Harry’s cover a moment before splintered into a million pieces as a volley of curses from the Death Eaters hit it. Harry’s mind had gone numb, a loud buzzing rang in his ears, and he didn’t know from where it was coming. His side felt warm and sticky and uncomfortably wet. I’m sorry, Mum.

The rest of the Order had arrived, and a fierce battle was taking place on the lawn of immaculate number four. Bright colors illuminated the sky as their spells flew back and forth at a furious pace. Tonks had continued to drag Harry away and nearly had him past the next house when he pulled away. His heart had seized up as he watched Dudley walk out onto the porch. “No,” he cried, trying to sprint back towards his cousin but only succeeded in staggering a few steps.

“Petrificus Totalis,” Tonks said, and Harry fell over, lying on his side, unable to move. Although he could have shut his eyes, he didn’t. He forced himself to watch as Dudley, too, was struck down with the Killing Curse. Harry vomited right there on the ground.

“Oh, Harry,” Tonks whispered, quickly pulling him away from the mess. “I’m sorry, kid, but I couldn’t let you run into that. I have to get you back to Arabella’s. Moody and the others will take care of this.”

The lights seemed to be dimming, and Harry was having trouble following Tonks’s words. His tongue felt too big in his mouth, causing him to slur his words. “Dudley. He invited me into his room.” The intense pain along his side that had torn into him with every step Tonks took didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Harry? Harry, why are you bleeding? Did you get hit?” Tonks asked. She’d dragged him under a street lamp and was looking at the damage to his face that Uncle Vernon had caused. “Stay with me, kid,” she said, running her hands over him and examining him for any other injuries. She took a sharp intake of breath when she reached the side he’d been lying. Her hand came away dripping with blood.

Harry looked up into her shocked gaze before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he knew no more.

*******

Ron, Ginny, and their mother were still pacing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and snapping at one another in their frustration. When the fire in the grate flared green, they all caught their breath and hurried over. Tonks’s wan face appeared, and she seemed frantic.

“Molly, get Poppy here, now,” she said, and the flame died again.

Ron and Ginny looked at each other in stunned disbelief. That was it? No news, no information. How could she not tell them anything?

His mum didn’t let it faze her. She threw some Floo powder in the grate and tracked down Madam Pomfrey. It took several attempts, but she finally located her and directed her to Apparate immediately to Arabella Figg’s house.

“If they need Madam Pomfrey, that means he’s hurt. Why didn’t she tell us anything? Mum, I have to get over there,” Ginny cried, reaching for the Floo powder.

“You’ll do no such thing. Tonks didn’t give us any information, because she’s dealing with more important things right now. When she’s certain Harry is all right, she’ll let us know what happened. Both of you, go up and prepare Harry’s bed for him; I’m certain they’ll be bringing him back here.”

Ron knew it was another mindless task. They didn’t even know what kind of shape Harry was in, or if he’d be well enough to come here. But, again, he didn’t mind; it was something to do. Ron filled the water pitcher and placed it on the nightstand. He watched Ginny as she proceeded to put new sheets on Harry’s bed, fluffing his pillow with care and tenderly adding an extra blanket. She kept swiping at her eyes while she worked, and Ron wasn’t certain what to say to her to make her feel better. He wished Hermione were here; she always knew what to say.

“He’ll be all right, Ginny. He always is – he’s Harry,” Ron said at last.

Ginny’s shoulders seemed to stiffen. “Would you put a Warming Charm on these blankets?” she asked, ignoring his comment completely.

“Warming Charm? Ginny, it’s July.”

Her eyes flashed in anger. “If he’s hurt badly, he’ll need the warmth, and I can’t do magic – you can. I want a Cooling Charm on the room and a Warming Charm on the blankets.”

Ron wasn’t about to argue with her glare. He quickly did as she asked, shaking his head all the while. Ginny turned on her heel and marched back downstairs. Ron took one last look at his own bed, made certain Ginny wasn’t within earshot, and cast the same Warming Charm on his own blankets. No sense in being cold.

He thought about sending Pig to Hermione with a note, but he really didn’t have anything to tell her yet, so he thought he’d better wait until he knew what was happening. Following Ginny downstairs, he found his mother still pacing in the kitchen. Ron fell into step behind her as they continued to wait.

“Will the two of you sit down,” Ginny snapped. “You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”

“All right, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said. “We’re all worried; let’s not take it out on each other.”

Ginny was about to retort when the fireplace once again flared with green flames. Bill’s face appeared, looking drawn and haggard. “Mum,” he called.

“Bill, what’s happening? How’s Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Ron and Ginny stood anxiously on each side of her.

Bill sighed. “I don’t have all the answers yet. Everybody from the Order made it out. We’ll be bringing Harry back to Headquarters after Madam Pomfrey stabilizes him.”

“Stabilizes him? What’s wrong with him?” Ginny demanded, clutching her mother’s hand.

“He got hit hard with a slicing curse. When Tonks found him, she didn’t notice right away, and when she finally did, he’d already lost a whole lot of blood. It took her a while to get him back to Arabella’s without being seen. Madam Pomfrey has closed him up and given him a Blood Replenishing Potion. Those potions are time delayed, and we have to wait before we can give him the next dose; he hasn’t come around yet to answer any questions.”

“Tell us what you do know, Bill,” his mother said in a very shaky voice.

“As near as we can figure, Harry had a row with his uncle, and Dursley threw him out. As soon as that happened, the blood magic was negated, and the wards came down. The Death Eaters must have been watching the house the same way we were, because they were already there when we arrived.”

“How do you know Harry’s relatives threw him out, and that it wasn’t the Death Eaters who were responsible for bringing the wards down?” Ginny asked.

“Harry’s face is pretty beat up, and not from a wand.” Bill paused for a moment, seeming to hesitate on how much to say. “We also found bruising around his neck in the shape of a handprint. When we got inside the house and found Dobby, he said that he’d thrown Dursley off Harry the previous night. Harry asked me when he first got here to put a Silencing Charm on his room; it must have worn off. He’d told me about a nightmare with a connection to Voldemort earlier today. I reckon he woke his uncle.”

“They were warned to keep their hands off him,” his mother screeched. “What kind of person hurts a child for having a nightmare? What is wrong with that man?” Ron glanced warily at the rage he saw in her eyes and knew he wouldn’t want to be Vernon Dursley for anything in this world when she got hold of him.

“He’s never going back there again,” Ginny said, her eyes flashing much like her mother’s.

“No,” Bill said, sighing. “He’s not. They’re dead.”

All three of the Weasleys listening at Grimmauld Place stood perfectly still, stunned by his statement. Ron watched his mother slap her hand over her mouth, as if trying to take back her angry words.

“What?” he finally choked out. Harry didn’t need this; hadn’t he already lost enough? He could see Ginny covering her face with her hands.

“When the Death Eaters arrived, they just went in firing, from what we can tell. Tonks found Harry outside, taking cover behind a tree. He must have tried to fight them, because Madam Pomfrey says his magical reserves are depleted again, and there is an owl here from the Ministry with a warning about the use of underage magic,” Bill said. “Dad went to the Ministry to straighten it out. Tonks had to petrify Harry when he tried to run back to save his cousin, but there was nothing he could do. Unfortunately, that meant he had to lie there and watch the whole thing. It was while he was down that she realized how badly he was bleeding.”

“Oh, no,” Ginny whispered, as several tears fell unchecked down her cheek. Ron was mesmerized, watching them fall. His head was spinning, and he couldn’t seem to grasp onto any single fact. Harry’s relatives were all dead. He knew Harry hated them, and that they’d been awful to him. Still, he knew Harry, and he was going to take this badly.

“That’s not the end of it. Tonks said that before they killed his aunt, she blamed Harry for all of it.”

Ron shut his eyes in a grimace. Damn.

Sniffing back her tears, his mother asked, “When is he getting here? He is coming here to us. He needs to be with us, Bill.”

“Like I said, Madam Pomfrey is keeping a close eye on him, and she doesn’t think he’s ready to be moved if he doesn’t have to be. The Muggle authorities are all over the Dursleys’ house, but we managed to get his stuff out before they arrived. As soon as everyone is back here, we’ll bring him to you. Dumbledore did say he’d be going there, at least until he recovers.”

Ron’s mind was moving quickly over all the information Bill had given, moving the pieces around like a chessboard in his mind. If Harry’s Aunt Petunia were dead, and the wards came down before the blood protection had gone into effect…

“Bill, what does this mean for Harry? The blood protection wasn’t activated, and if Harry’s aunt is dead…?” he asked.

Bill sighed and clenched his eyes shut. “It means Harry is an open target. The last of the protection from his mother’s sacrifice is gone. Dumbledore has already gone back to Hogwarts to work on a new plan to keep him safe until term starts.”

“I want to come over,” Ginny said. “Just let me come and sit with him for a while. I won’t get in the way.”

“No, Ginny; it’s too dangerous,” his mother said.

“No,” Bill said at the same time. “I’m sorry, Ginny, but it really is still too unstable here. We don’t know if the Death Eaters know about Arabella, or if they’ll be back. Just wait up; I’m certain Harry’s going to need you when he comes around.” With that, Bill disappeared from the fireplace.

Ginny angrily turned her back on their mother and stalked up the stairs to her room. More waiting, and, this time, there was nothing to do to occupy the time.

*******

Harry found himself on a soft featherbed; a warm quilt was thrown over him and a fire blazed in the hearth. He’d been in this room before, but he couldn’t remember when. He was warm and sleepy, and felt very content. A great, shaggy, black dog was curled up next to him, snuggling up to his side and keeping him warm. His hand rested in the dog’s thick fur, and he gently petted it. The dog looked up, his dark eyes seeming bottomless and full of sympathy, as he leaned over and licked at Harry’s face. Harry pulled away, laughing slightly. He snuggled deeply into the dog’s warmth and drifted back to sleep.

He knew that dog would stay there, guarding him and keeping him from harm. He could rest for a while.

A/N: Thanks so much to Mistral for all her beta work in getting this in shape. She was surprised I killed the Dursleys, but pleasantly so, lol. I know some of you saw it coming – I really can’t stand them.

Did you all see the new information on JKR’s website? I felt like she personally backed me up when she stated that Hermione was nearly 12 when she started school, lol. You have to be 11 to go to Hogwarts. Thank you, JKR!!!