Harry left and made his way along the street, cutting across towards a park gate. Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large square houses with perfectly manicured lawns that drove very clean cars similar to Uncle Vernons. "Talk about an army of clones," mused Harry idly as he walked. Halfway along Magnolia Road, he ducked into the shadows of a lilac tree and waited as Dudley's gang came in to view, probably saying their farewells
"…squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm was saying to guffaws from the others.
"Nice right hook, Big D," said the present sycophant Piers.
"So, Gordon, your place tomorrow?" said Dudley.
"Yeah. My parents will be out."
They said their good-byes and went their separate ways, their voices fading as he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and Dudley, humming tunelessly came within hailing distance, "Hey, Big D."
Dudley turned, "Oh," he grunted, "You."
"How long have you been "Big D" then?" asked Harry using air quotes.
"Shaddup!" snarled Dudley as turned away.
"It's a nice nickname," said Harry grinning as he fell in step alongside his cousin, "Even if one of your husband's picked it out for you," Dudley snarled and spun to face Harry, "But you'll always be 'ickle diddykins to me."
"I said shaddup!" growled Dudley, whose hands had curled into fists. It was taking all of Dudley's self-control to keep from hitting Harry. A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction as he met Dudley's glare head-on.
This was a reckoning of sorts, a long time coming. They were standing in a narrow alleyway where Harry had seen his godfather for the first time. It was a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, empty and darker because it had no streetlights. "Think you're such a big shot huh? Think you're the baddest because you carry that thing with you?"
"What thing?" asked Harry, "Oh right," he drew his wand, "You mean this thing? Not as stupid as you look, are you? But if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time." He raised it.
"You're not allowed to!" Dudley said at once, "I know you're not! Use it and you'd get expelled from that freak school you go to!"
"My freak school, my freak world, is at war, Big D," Harry said quietly, "In times of war, things are different. Think you mentioned it to me, a year or two ago, you know, when you were beating on me. "Snafu," you said, "Situation Normal, All Fucked Up," meaning my situation I suppose." He wore a death's head grin, "my normal situation is all fucked up, or to be regularly fucked up by you and your friends, Big D," he drawled, much as Snape did, "I, am about to explain to you," he twirled his wand experimentally, "What SNAFU really means."
"They have not!" said Dudley, though he did not sound the least bit convinced or convincing. Harry laughed, "You couldn't take me on, man to man, could you?" Dudley snarled, "Hiding behind your freakish weirdness! You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out…"
"Run to your father, almighty boxing champion," Harry growled, "This has been a long time coming," Harry holstered his wand, and cracked his knuckles, "You want a boxing match?" Harry's hands curled into fists, "Come on Big D," Harry adopted the fifth of the nine Nekratal - goblin close combat stance, "I'll give you a reason to pound me into the pavement," Harry spat, and then literally spat into Dudley's face.
That was all it took to provoke the fight of Harry's dreams. Dudley had taken up boxing and could use his hands to devastating effect. The first two-punch combo took Harry in the gut. There was a follow-up right cross that Harry blocked, and countered by slapping Dudley across the face.
They broke apart and circled each other for a moment. Dudley was lighter on his feet than Harry remembered and he made a note of that enhanced mobility. The muggle was still a bit on the pudgy side, but no one could say that he was baby killer whale size. He came in again, both fists flailing. Harry blocked, sidestepped, and twisted Dudley's arm aside and slapped him again, this time on the opposite cheek. They broke apart a second time, and Dudley shook his head to clear the stars and static before his eyes. Harry went on the offensive.
The goblin style of unarmed close combat turned hands and knees, feet and elbows into weapons as Harry demonstrated, leading with a foot sweep that stumbled Dudley. There was no blocking the knee to the stomach. Dudley doubled over as Harry's interlinked hands came down upon Dudley's broad back like a sledgehammer.
Dudley roared and powered forward, slamming Harry back first into the wall. The boxing match was over. "How long are you planning on letting this continue?" hissed a very concerned Nyphandora Tonks.
"From what I've heard," growled the one-legged, one-eyed Auror, "This is a decade and a half of anger, rage, and frustration finding an outlet. So long as they don't do permanent damage to each other… and nobody gets killed," he shrugged, "Let them work out their differences."
It was a street fight. The elbow slammed into Dudley's spine, once, then twice forcing him to break off the attack and stagger back. Pain and rage were in the muggle's eyes. Harry's emerald eyes betrayed fourteen years of hate and anger. "I don't need magic to beat the crap out of you Dudley Dursley," snarled Harry, "My bare hands are more than sufficient for the task!"
Dudley's face was red and the left side of his face would probably bruise deeply from that openhanded slap. The leg sweep had done some damage to Dudley's knee, hampering mobility as he refused to put his full weight on that leg. Harry was smarting as well. However, he bore it better. The Cruciatus Curse teaches you that: A bruised, possibly broken rib was a minor footnote for Harry's medical file - and an impressive medical file it is.
The fight was a balance between Dudley's overwhelming power that could end the fight in one or two solid connections, and Harry's agility and speed that let him slip in, strike, and dance out of range.
Dudley moved forward, arm outstretched in an attempt to clothesline his opponent. Harry almost laughed at the application of a television-wrestling maneuver in real life. As he dropped below the outstretched arm, turning to face Dudley's ample posterior as he shot past. Harry could not resist the temptation of the target and lashed out, with a perfect standing sidekick that propelled the still moving target face first into the wall with a sickening crack. Stunned, Dudley reared and turned drunkenly to face Harry, blood dripping from his nose as he fell to his knees.
Harry took the opening and lead with an elbow aimed for the temple. Dudley reared up and rammed Harry in the nose. A vicious head butt was the first, followed by a second and a third that staggered Harry back. He had felt and heard the bones in his nose break as Dudley followed up, throwing a dazzling combination of lefts and rights. Several of the blows found their mark knocking Harry to the ground.
Dudley laughed, "With your magic, you think you could take me easily? Eh? Freak. You can't fight like a man and win. Freaks, never win." Dudley kicked Harry onto his back, and straddled him, grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair. Dudley blinked in surprise, and let go, staggering back and upright, holding his throat, gasping for air.
"You let your guard down," explained Harry, shaking his right hand. When striking Dudley in the throat, he had felt something crack in his wrist. There was pain, but not enough to stop him as he dropped into the third Nekratal.
"You never mock your opponent." The first punch rocked Dudley back a step.
"You never talk to your opponent." The second blow snapped his head around, and the rest of Dudley followed.
"You never stop attacking your opponent." The kick took Dudley in the gut and as he bent over, the follow-up, reverse sidekick, knocked him back upright.
"You never, turn your back on your opponent." Hissed Harry as he pulled back his fist and punched Dudley in the nose, "Until dead or unconscious."
Dudley fell like a sack of dropped potatoes and lay still, moaning in pain. "Magic," gasped Harry, "not required, not wanted, not needed, to put trash, muggle, trash like you where you belong." It was anger, rage, and a sense of righteous viciousness. It was a dark streak that Harry was not even aware that he possessed as he raised a booted foot and slammed it down on Dudley's hand. The crack of splintering bone was only drowned by the fat teenager's scream of agony as he curled into a ball, clutching his ruined hand, "Let's see you box now, mother fucker."
There was something in the alleyway apart from them, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt as the temperature dropped around them, and he heard it, drawing its almost trademark, long rattling breath. Harry's breath steamed in the sudden cold.
Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one. With a flick of his wrist, his wand was in his hand, and his stomach turned over. A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking in daylight, spewing out nightmares as it came. Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand, "Expecto Patronum!"
A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell had not worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further. The Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain. A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him, "Expecto Patronum!"An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; its antlers caught the Dementor where the heart should have been throwing it back as the Dementor swooped away.
From the shadows, a pair of voices reached Harry casting their own Patroni. A Stallion, followed moments later by an Albatross of the same silvery light emerged. The Stallion charged down the Dementor approaching from the other end of the alley as the Albatross took up position overhead, almost as if eager for a Dementor to challenge.
A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat and blood, "Most of that, is probably mine," thought Harry.
He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors! Here, in Little Whinging. More importantly, Harry rounded on the shadows, "Lumos Maxima!" The same glowing light from the third task illuminated the alley, and he found himself alone, with Dudley, pale and shaking with fear where he lay on the ground curled into a ball. "Homenum revelio!"
"Accio Invisibility Cloaks!" the cloaks leapt across the alley and into Harry's outstretched left hand, "Reducio!" the charm shrunk the cloaks to the size of paper napkins which he immediately stuffed in to his pocket, "I don't appreciate being followed," his eyes narrowed, "Especially by Dumbledore's lackeys!"
"Impressive Potter," grunted Mad-Eye Moony, who also had his wand out and leveled at Harry, "Dumbledore told me you were good, but not that you were this good."
Harry eyed the pair of them. It made sense that if one was an Auror, so was the other. Moreover, if one is Dumbledore's lackey, so was the other. "How'd you find me?" he asked, partly out of curiosity, partly to buy time to plan his escape.
"You walked out of Gringotts this morning," said the pink-haired witch. Harry's eyes hardened, "And Fleur's date last night matched the description of someone who was seen walking around about a month ago who vanished into Gringotts and never came out. I managed to overhear parts of your conversation, discussing the Triwizard Tournament, including details that only the champions themselves would have known."
"So I made a mistake," said Harry, "I guess the next question is," he gestured ever so slightly with his wand, "Where do we go from here?"
"You come with us," said the woman sharply, "Dumbledore…"
"Fuck Dumbledore!" snarled Harry cutting her off, "That manipulative sonofabitch has done nothing right by me."
"Be that as it may," growled Moody, "I'm pretty sure your relatives are getting owls from the Misuse of Magic Office, right now." He kept silent for a moment but realized that those owls did not matter. He was never coming back, and once they moved tomorrow, they would be in the clear. They simply, did not matter. Harry shrugged.
"They could face charges, trial, time in a ministry holding cell… possibly Azkaban…" said the Auror, whose hair was suddenly a violent shade of purple.
"Interesting ability, and frankly, I don't care about my relatives much…or about them at all." Harry commented, "Ms.?"
"Auror Tonks," she snapped, with a sidelong glance at her fellow Auror, "don't even think about it." She growled at him.
"Auror Tonks, Auror Moody," said Harry as he took a careful step backward, "Let's look at this realistically." Their wands followed him, "I will not surrender my wand, and I definitely will not come quietly." His hand reached up to around his neck and was not surprised to find that the emergency portkey around his neck would not activate. He made a mental note to learn how to apparate in the next few weeks. He took another step back.
"Potter, don't do anything stupid," warned Moody.
Harry laughed, "Do something stupid?" he repeated, "Do you know what your great and wise leader has done? To me? To people I love and care about? And you're worried about me, doing something stupid?"
The Owl fluttered down into the alley, hooting at Harry as it fluttered into a landing atop the garbage can next to him. The letter attached to its leg bore the wax seal of Ministry of Magic and he removed the letter and pocketed it without a glance. The owl soared back into the sky.
There was a pulse of magic, almost like a shockwave that radiated out from somewhere behind him. Harry half-turned and had raised a shield, and cursed under his breath: Phoenix fire. Albus Dumbledore took shape, and as the last of the flames vanished, Fawkes sat on his shoulder, "Harry my boy…" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily, as usual.
"Shut it, old man," growled Harry to the surprise of both Aurors present, "You and me, we have lots of business to discuss. The Leaky Cauldron, Friday morning at ten."
The summer had not gone well for Albus Dumbledore. First Voldemort had risen. Then Harry had literally punched him out. Then the boy had vanished, causing no small amount of panic and confusion. The ministry was denying the rebirth of Voldemort as the wizarding media under its control slandered both their names and reputations. "Harry," said Dumbledore, "The ministry wants your wand. They are going to attempt to expel you from Hogwarts at the hearing I arranged."
"There are precious few people in the world who have given a damn about what I want or about me as a person. My friends care about me. My Hermione cared about me, cared for me. She loved me!" he snarled, "You were never my friend. When it comes to the Ministry, I've never been in their good book. So I don't care what the Ministry bloody well wants," said Harry, "I don't really care what you want, either. And they can't snap a wand that doesn't exist."
"Harry, what has happened to you?" asked Dumbledore quietly, "We were never the closest, but I thought we were friends… I am not the one responsible for the events of that night."
Harry burst out laughing, "Friends? Us? Friends? Voldemort was right about you," which caused both Aurors to blink, "When he had her, my Hermione, screaming under the Cruciatus Curse…" Harry blinked, "Dumbledore, I would get out of there if I were you." He warned, "Dumbledore," Harry's warning drew out of the syllables of the headmaster's name in a sing-song fashion, "Last… no. No more chances!"
The headmaster rocked back a step by the savage ferocity of Harry's mental counterattack that essentially rammed Voldemort's words into the headmaster's mind, "He said that to you?" asked Dumbledore, "and you believe him?"
"Look at your actions, involving just me," said Harry, "Look at them, look back upon them. He has tried to kill me four times. Not a nice thing to do, but at least he has been honest enough to admit, explain and even justify why at three of our four encounters," explained Harry, "What excuse, what justification do you have? I am no longer a child that needs, or wants your protection. I have no innocence left! Think about that when we meet on Friday morning at The Leaky Cauldron."
A twirl and slash of his wand and there were suddenly a half dozen Harrys standing in the alley. The barrage of spells from so many different wands had the leader of the Order of the Phoenix and both Auror's on the defensive for several seconds, long enough for Harry to levitate himself up and out of the alley. He landed lightly on the roof with a smirk on his face. He waved to the trio left in the alley over an unconscious Dudley, "Heal him and send him home," said Harry, "Please." He added as almost an afterthought before activating the portkey around his neck and vanishing.
Less than an hour later, the members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered in Number 12. Moreover, the discussion was one that did not stay In Dumbledore's favor for long. Both Moody and Tonks asked a number of pointed questions, and Molly Weasely was quick to raise the defense of her adopted, eighth child. "How could things have come to this, so quickly?" wondered the aged wizard to himself as he read a copy of the letter from the Misuse of Magic Office yet again.
"Harry would not have done magic without the need to, Albus," said Arthur wearily. This conversation had gone round in circles for the better part of an hour, and it came back to this and the noticeable changes in Harry since the end of the Triwizard Tournament.
"He knew some fairly advanced spells as well," muttered Moody, "That duplication charm is Auror grade magic and he could control them. Their spells were a light show, but a spectacularly convincing one. He may be fifteen now, but he's not a child anymore." Moody shrugged, "I don't think he's ever been much of one."
That drew a number of sharp looks from all around, and the veteran took a long pull on his hip flash, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've read the file on Mr. Potter at the Ministry," no secret as he was the one that pulled a copy for the Order. "Defeated Voldermort as an infant, defeated him as a possessing spirit at the age of 11, killed a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets at the age of 12," he was ticking off his points on his fingers. "Rescued his godfather Sirius Black and held off a hundred Dementors with a single Patronus at the age of 13. Do I need to say what happened his last school year?"
"The poor boy," muttered Molly, "No childhood indeed, and he never really had a place to call home, did he, Albus?" Molly was building up to one of her patented eruptions, "The Dursleys! The very worst of muggle kind! No better than the Witch Hunters of the past! And you forced him to call that place home!" Arthur placed a hand on Molly's arm and she subsided for a moment.
"But what I want to know," said Tonks, "was what exactly did he mean Albus? When he said he could bury you?"
He sighed, "Harry knows a number of things, that he would be better off not knowing anything about. And I fear what he might do with that information for the damage could be tremendous to not only us, and the Order, but for the Light in general."
"Well, it can't be all bad, can it?" Tonks, pointed out reasonably, "He did say that he wanted to meet you." The headmaster could only nod, "So go see what he wants and maybe" she shrugged, "you give it to him if it will help patch things up between you two."
In Gringotts, a blood-soaked Harry had healed his own wounds, cleaned off the blood, and was sitting with his lawyers. He waited patiently as they reviewed the letter and then let him tell them all exactly what had happened, with Dudley, with the Auror pair, and then the leader of the Order of The Phoenix. Marinashka shook her head, "I'm not sure what you hoped to achieve by beating your cousin near senseless Harry."
He shrugged, "Fifteen years of hatred, anger, and abuse," he smiled sardonically, "If I'd kept it bottled up any longer, I might have killed him," he shrugged again, "Or someone else… I don't see the Ministry as having much influence on my plans, do you?"
"A trial does not make you look like a teenager who can be trusted to look after himself," said Marinashka, "That is what the prosecution will argue."
"All the more reason to push through on my emancipation, as quickly as possible," he said smoothly, "plus I think a trial can be put to some, good use…"
The glow from the lamplight only highlighted the concern of Marinashka's face, "You intend to expose Dumbledore?"
"Only if it becomes necessary. We'll see how Friday goes…"
Ron Weasley stared out his attic bedroom window, watching the gnome-infested garden. On the surface, he seemed calm and collected but there was actually a firestorm of anger, rage, and jealousy looming within him. It was not fair! Even if you did blame him and only him for ruining the friendship, he had with Harry - and he was not the only one to blame - why was he treated like a prisoner in his own home?
Draco had invited him to spend a couple of weeks at Malfoy Manor but his parents had simply refused to listen to him on the subject. Charlie was working, Bill was in Romania, Ginny, Fred, and George were still tight with the half-blood prince of Gryffindor and were in regular correspondence with him and saw him every few days without fail. They did not even bother to invite him or ask him how he was doing or feeling, or anything!
The fuming redhead stalked and stomped more than walked into the living room; where his mother was preparing to leave. She had been going somewhere for the past week, without ever saying a word to anyone where exactly she was going. While it had perked his curiosity, the last thing he wanted was to express an interest in what anyone in his family was doing, since they did not seem to care in the slightest about him!
He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his quill before beginning yet another letter to Draco, fully aware that he was not sure if he was going to be able to finish this on, let alone actually send it to him. "I'm a pureblood!" he thought, "I should not have to bow and beg from anybody!"
He recalled how worried his mother had been when Harry had pulled his disappearing act, and now the git had done magic in public, in full view of a muggle, and was going to trial. With a start, he scrunched up the parchment and began another letter to Draco, this one, he was confident would delight him.
"Draco,
Surprised that you have not replied to my previous messages, but I hope you're enjoying your summer holidays. Mine's been the absolute pits, as you already know. I suppose you've already heard about Potter and his brush with the Ministry of Magic. With a little luck and some persuasion from your father, I have no doubt that Potter will get what's coming to him."
The letter went on for another few paragraphs, going into detail about his virtual imprisonment, and how it was unfair that they had not allowed him to join Draco in Spain for the summer. While railing about the grave injustices committed against him, he also mentioned that his mother was up to something. She had been leaving early in the morning for the past several weeks and returning late in the evening.
"No idea where she goes or what she's up to but my father definitely knows something about it. I think my brothers and sister might also know. Sometimes she or the twins go with my mother, but never all of them together"
With a start, he realized that he wasn't far off track. Whatever was going on, they didn't want him to know about it. Well not the specifics of it anyway, he thought, "I'd have spotted the pattern sooner or later," but they always left on foot, never by floo so he never had a chance of finding out just where they were going. No matter. He finished the letter and whistled to Pig, who fluttered down with a soft hoot. Tying the message to the owl's leg, Ron shook his head, "Least I could have gotten a standard-sized Owl instead of that… a scrap of bird."
That brought back memories of a certain wanted criminal godfather, Sirius Black. Ronald Weasely smiled for the first time in days, wondering if there was some way he could use what he knew to put the hurt on Potter.