New to this business, encouragement in the form of reviews would be much appreciated. Rating is subject to change if at any point I snap and say "in for a penny." I take credit for only the development of the plot as of this chapter barely introduced (*wink wink*); everything else belongs to whoever they belong.

Blunder on my part: it wasn't Sirius' murder Harry witnessed, it was Cedric's. Changes are made accordingly.

Intro

Oh, shit! That about covered the situation Dudley and I were in. Sure, he had the brawn but fighting Dementors wasn't as much about muscle mass as it was about the quality of the inner, primitive brain. That is to say, how strong you can feel happiness is how strong you can fight a Dementor. Peachy prospect considering I had kind of watched a fellow school mate get murdered right beside me and witnessed the restoration of the Darkest wizard of the modern times to a body and power a few months previously. As I thought about our chance of survival –for some unfathomable reason, I thought it slim—which could turn out to be self-fulfilling prophecy too as I had to feel happy to fight off Dementors- stars over the deserted park were blinking off one by one.

I could feel Dudley shuddering. The poor fucker was already freaking out if his shudder was any indication. "Dudders," I said, conveying as much encouragement with my voice as I could, "we're going to get through this, understand? We're going to get through this. Now get a grip!" I gripped his shoulder— damn, he wasn't joking about that boxing school thing, was he?

Dudley whimpered. Big D had been reduced to whimpers by li'l Dementies. A stupid grin must've appeared on my face because I was certainly feeling like it.

"Ah, fuck it!" I exclaimed in order to cover the whines and snivels and whatnot. I pulled my wand and pointed it at Dudley. "Fuck the ministry, fuck the underage magic laws, and fuck, most importantly, the statute of secrecy." I watched Dudley's eyes grow as big as saucers with a sick joy and let out a cheering charm to "tickle" him somewhat.

Dudley snapped out of whatever grip his mind was in and was able to utter acridly, "You used it on me! The M thing!"

I was already imagining the owl flying towards me, sent by the Ministry of Magic, in order to save Dudley's miserable life, so it was well within my rights not to take any shit from him about using magic. "Silencio!"

He took a swipe or three at me shortly after but I was already expecting it so dodging wasn't much problem.

He took another swipe and I just slid under his arm, grasped his hair and jerked his head skywards and kept his head fixed with an arm around his throat. When I was sure he could see the faint outline of the Dementor gliding towards us, I leaned into his ear and whispered, "That thing's going to suck your soul." He stopped struggling, so I went on, "If you do as I say, when I say it, we just might survive this with our souls intact. Do you understand?" Upon his nod, I lifted the Silencer.

"I'll punch its nose in, whatever that thing is!" He exclaimed after a few seconds.

"Dudders," I cautioned, "we don't have the time to go into a lengthy debate about prays and predators, so I'll say this: when you see a Dementor, you run." I turned to look at the Dementor which was rapidly gaining on us, and then spotted another Dementor maneuvering to cut us off. I did believe in rules of the thumb; and one goes as, if any one thing is bad, two of the same is even worse.

The park in which Dudley and I were having a friendly chat had two exits and there were one Dementor at each by now. Instead of waiting for the pincer to shut, I grabbed Dudley's arm and pulled him towards the southern exit which would take us conveniently closer to the Privet Drive where somebody from the Order of the Phoenix should be standing guard. Then again, that very same guard should've been following me, so that particular support was shaky.

Gravel crunched under our feet as we traversed a winding path through absolute darkness save the slim light my wand managed to provide—even that was blinking out at times.

I felt despair get hold of me; it might've been literal for all I knew about Dementors—the idea of some invisible tentacle touching my soul sent a shiver down my spine… which was a clear indication that the pathway we were treading on was taking us ever closer to one of the Dementors. In order for the both of us to survive, I had to fight it off. I could've done better by myself but no matter how worthless Dudley might be, he was my cousin. With that in mind, and repeating it as a mantra, I cast another Cheering Charm on Dudley. I had my wits about me, so I couldn't risk casting it on myself and going all giddy.

"Hey!" exclaimed Dudley, "Where did the stars go? It's such a beautiful night too!"

I pulled on his arm as strongly as I could, "Dudley, we're going to die if you don't move, so less lookie and talkie, more walkie, alright?"

He paused for a fair few seconds to comprehend the direness of the situation, and then responded, "Well, it's a good day to die—wasn't there a commander who said that? Or night, a good night. To die, I mean."

The spell had clearly confused him but he had at least begun walking again. "I don't know who said that but I'd much rather live and tell a tale of this day to my grand-children. So keep walking, yeah?"

Dudley frowned in deep thought, "I like kids!"

Dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum. No rip at the firmament, no volcano forming right before us, no abyss under our feet to swallow us. When I ascertained that the world wasn't coming to an abrupt end, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Dudley, you may've just given us a chance to fight!"

Dudley began to giggle –yes, giggle!- when he heard my laugh. "Make love, not fight," he said, "fighting is bad."

"Oh, do go on, Dudley; a few more statements like those, I could take on a score of Dementors!"

Easier said than done, that one. The puff of white smoke that left my wand when I incanted "Expecto Patronum!" was all that was required to remind me of the fact that mirth just doesn't cut it for this particular spell. Memories of true happiness were hard to come by at this point in my life, though… and the Dementor was closing in on us.

"Reducto!" caused no visible effect whatsoever on the Dementor whose suckling breaths were audible now. Another "Reducto!" had met the same fate.

It was freezing cold and pitch dark. So I did what our primitive forefathers had done to fight those two particular scares, I lit a fire, "Incendio!" which caused a tiny whiff of black smoke rise from where the spell touched the Dementor. It seemed like the repugnant thing had recoiled just a little bit at the spell. It was only logical, wasn't it, that a thing which thrived in cold and dark should be repelled with heat and light?

I said that I'm a staunch believer in rules of the thumb, yeah? One says that life and death situations aren't really the time to try out new spells… Fuck that! There was a mighty good fires spell that I'd only come across once when I was researching dragons and how to fight one; the spell, Fiend Fire, was being compared to the Dragon Fire, and it did surmount the Dragon Fire in almost every aspect save –the only item I could readily remember- it was illegal and could lend you in Azkaban for a long stay. Fuck that too!

I brandished my trusted wand on the Dementor. "Fiendfyre!" Only the sound of rushing wind met my ears. I waited a second, maybe two but that was doubtful, and then cast the spell again, "Fiendfyre!" much to my disappointment because the result was the same. "FIENDFYRE!" I shouted at the top of my lungs right after the second disappointing spell which had for some reason left me dizzy. I faintly saw a spark form on the Dementor's gray, ragged robe but within a second, it was completely engulfed in flames that I could feel burning my skin three yards away.

I was heavily leaning on Dudley's shoulder by the time I could comprehend the fact that I had cast one of the darkest spells in the wizards' literature not once but three times in rapid sequence. My legs were rubbery and the seemingly sentient fox was approaching us. I wasn't near ready to meet my maker, so I urged Dudley, "Run, take us home! Go around the fire, it's cursed!" My mouth thankfully was running as fast as ever.

And we ran. Around the Cursed Fire. Out of the park gate. Down the street. And, at long last, home. To safety.

"Dementors!" I announced our presence.

"There was a fire! You should've seen it, Mom! It was wicked!" Dudley coined in. Then he added, "But Harry said it was cursed. Cursed is bad, isn't it, Dad?"

There was a flurry of movement and questions one from which I could hardly tell apart another, so I ignored all until I was handed a glass of ice cold water. I drank deeply the half I hadn't spilt on the floor. I did regain some sense, and with it came the awareness of shivers and tremors.

"What happened?" asked Uncle Vernon, "What have you done to our Dudley!" He was clearly in charge this time unlike most "incidents" related to magic where Aunt Petunia would take the reins.

"Two Dementors attacked." I replied to the best of my ability. "Incinerated one. Dudley got us out."

Uncle Vernon looked at Dudley suspiciously, as if saving me was a questionable behavior. He turned his sight at me again, "What's a Derangator, boy!"

To my utter surprise, it was Aunt Petunia who answered the question, "Dementor, a soul sucking creation of his folk."

"I don't know who created them," I said, "but what I know is that when they suck one's soul, the result isn't pretty, so…" I trailed off. I wasn't one to toot my own horn. I also didn't have the energy to take the credit anyway.

"And you incinerated one, you said?"

"Yes, I did."

"How?"

"Dudley told you, Cursed Fire. Fiendfyre."

Both adults were alarmed at this revelation. Needless to say, I couldn't care less.

Uncle Vernon's alarmed state didn't keep him from questioning further for long though, "If you hadn't burned this Dementon thing, he would've sucked our Dudley's soul, wouldn't it?"

I hadn't the soundness of mind to figure out if it was rhetorical or not, so I answered just to be sure, "yes, it would suck both our souls."

"So you saved Dudley's life?"

Again, rhetorical status not established, "He's family," I said, the first thing to come to my mind, "he's blood." I looked at Dudley as I pronounced him "family" and "blood." He had already dozed off on the chair he was sitting in. So much for his help!

Uncle Vernon's brows furrowed, which wasn't a good sign at all. I couldn't think of any good reason why it could've been directed at me, -though he didn't necessarily need a reason for that,- so for one short moment, I took pity on whomever its target might've been.

"Here," said Uncle Vernon, handing two parchments to Aunt Petunia, "you do it while I go and…" he took off toward the hallway before finishing his sentence and we listened to him lumber up the stairs.

Aunt Petunia visibly shook herself into action. "These came while you were gone; one is from the Ministry of M-magic," she stumbled on the word but soldiered on; Aunt Petunia, ever the brave one, "the other is from Arthur Weasley, that rude man who came over to our place."

"What do they say?" I prodded. I already knew who Arthur Weasley was.

"The ministry charges you with underage magic use in full sight of decent folk and informs you that someone will be coming over to snap your wand."

How was it even possible that words could confuse the nervous system? It was as if I was freezing to death while someone was pouring boiling water on me.

Aunt Petunia disclosed the other letter's content despite my shell-shocked state, "In the other letter, it says that the 'Order' is coming to get you, so you shouldn't leave the house no matter what and you shouldn't surrender your wand."

"Let me get this straight," I said, "He says that I shouldn't leave the house and I shouldn't surrender my wand when the Ministry comes a-knocking. Sounds like mutually ex-"

Uncle Vernon chose that time to come back with his double-barrel in hand and a hunting belt over his shoulder with as many shotgun shells in it as it allowed to be carried.

"Whom do we declare war on?" I asked.

Ambivalence was clear on Uncle Vernon's face, "Stop the cheek, boy! You're-" and he made a choking sound here, "-family," he finished.

I couldn't believe what my ears was transmitting to my brain, but it surely wasn't any reason to not get into the family car when Uncle Vernon wanted to actually help me for the first time in my life… and on through the night we rode in grave silence…