Note from Allen Harding: Hey there, thanks for clicking on the story. Please keep in mind that this story is my creation, but I do not claim any of the characters or assets that were already thought up by Joanne Rowling. Credit goes where credit is due, and she created an amazing world that we should all be thankful for.

This story was made entirely by myself, though I hope not to have to do so. I am open to suggestions and ideas from PMs or reviews. I am open-minded, to say the least, and most definitely read all the reviews and messages sent to me, considering they are not offensive or ridiculous. I do respond to feedback and am open to the idea of having a beta that isn't my girlfriend.

Sorry for taking your time, enjoy the story.

New Edit: I hate to edit the chapter so early on, but I am going to be placing a poll on my profile that is in regards to the plot line of the story. I hope to be interactive with my readers. This will happen every other chapter where the readers could help dictate the direction of this story. Go ahead and check out the poll on my profile.

1. Nos et Mutamur in Illis

'I know Professor Dumbledore told us not to owl you, but be safe mate,' said Ronald in the stiff, one-armed hug he shared with Harry Potter on the crowded platform of the nine and third quarter, packed with other Hogwarts students disembarking the express steam train of the same name.

Behind the two stood the impatiently waiting brunette bookworm that was waiting for her fair share of Harry. As if it were automated, Harry pulled away, only to be found in a bone-crushing embrace brought upon by Hermione, almost knocking him off his feet before he caught himself from falling forward.

Harry needn't turn around to face her to notice her tear stricken eyes. Sometimes, he'd ask himself if she were more deeply affected by the outcome of this year than the cursed one himself. At the present moment, he couldn't help but take an interest in the fact the recently blossomed woman behind him was pressed curiously hard against his back. His male instincts reacted as per normal, even though his mind continuously implored him to realise that she was practically his sister. Thankfully for him, it was enough.

He wriggled under her embrace until he was facing her. He'd grown slightly since the start of the year, tall enough to allow her to rest her head on his shoulder finally. The feeling of his shoulder gradually dampening from the tears of his best friend was heartbreaking, but his heart was set on the unpleasant decision of being apathetic and impassive. Harry couldn't even recall saying more than three sentences since their departure from Hogwarts eight hours ago.

Hence his silence as he brought his hand up to rub her back while his other wrapped around her. Nonetheless, he could feel his own eyes begin to well up as if her tears affected him on a chemical level as they provided a darkened spot on his grey shirt.

'I'll miss you,' she croaked, muffled between them as the bones in Harry's body felt as if they were beginning to bend in impossible ways. He suppressed the urge to groan to not make it appear as if he were in a position of displeasure to her. As if that has stopped her before, but the passing year changed everything.

For every moment he closed his eyes, the darkness under his eyelids only dragged him back to that godforsaken graveyard. For every shade of green glanced upon in the Scotland landscape reminded him of the streak of green that raced and engulfed the real champion of Hogwarts. Even the mere brush of heat venting off the stove in the centre of his dorm room made him flinch.

Upon entering the tournament - be that as it may, against his will - no one would have ever thought that any champion that returned from the final task, would ever be the same one that entered.

Their embrace eventually had to come to a close as Hermione's father placed a hand on her shoulder, tugging lightly at her, no doubt in fatherly instinct.

'Mr. Granger,' Harry acknowledged; the intimidation that her father had in for him clearly having no effect.

'Mr. Potter,' he said back. Harry recalled Hermione's assurances from the year prior that he acted such towards any male around his darling daughter. He noticed a bushy-haired brunette, which could easily be described as an older variant of his best friend trailing right behind her father. The last thing that he'd wanted that morning was to make conversation with...anyone really. If she was anything like her daughter, an impending conversation of extended length was getting dangerously close.

'I apologise that I can't stick around but my uncle doesn't like to be kept waiting, and I'd prefer that a scene isn't pulled this early in the morning,' Harry stated as he gave his best friends a quick hug and bade them goodbye.

He could sense the dissatisfaction in his friends as he looked to leave as soon as possible. Nonetheless, he appreciated the space his best friends gave him. After all, they hadn't known a single individual who had suffered more hardship the boy-who-kept-on-living.

The cop-out wasn't entirely built on falsehood as there hasn't been a year that went by since his admission without his uncle pulling a fit in the car park of Kings Cross on the very topic.

Typically, he would be "greeted" by an aggressive yank on his collar, forcing him to trip chest first into the handlebars of his trolley, earning a hoot from Hedwig as she's rattled in her cage.

Somehow, the changes transcended from his magical world as he was only gestured by his uncle to follow him through the main hall of Kings Cross as he followed him through the doors leading to the car park. He hadn't tried to open the doors for him, leaving some level of normalcy in the morning in Muggle London.

He found Dudley leant on the boot of the familiar Vauxhall estate belonging to his uncle. Watching Harry approach, he popped open the boot, their gazes averting from one another. His behaviour gave a clear indication of his familiar displeasure to help him with his trunk.

Harry was somewhat pleased that his cousin had flushed out the walrus look he was taking after his father. After his belongings had been loaded into the boot, Dudley motioned to engage in one of his attacks on Harry, forcing their gazes to finally meet, his piercing green eyes burning into his blues.

This wasn't the first time the two cousins had shared eye contact, but it was the first time that Dudley Dursley felt an unparalleled amount of emotion being produced from a pair of eyes. Dudley wasn't one to cower from bullying his "freak cousin," but he was one with a heart, and for once his heart won.

Harry didn't know whether to be shocked or pleasantly surprised when he saw his cousin pull back and manoeuvre around the family car and ducking into the passenger seat.

The Boy-Who-Lived-Again still couldn't understand why that had happened as a day had passed since his return to Surrey, and his cousin hadn't been acting up like he'd expected him to have done multiple times over by now. He hasn't been summoned down to the kitchen to be accused of pulling some "magical freakishery" as an excuse for their own mistakes, which in turn would force him to be both beaten and compelled to do another chore.

They'd left him alone. A dream come true according to Harry. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why his accommodation hasn't returned to the hell it once was. Reason would point towards Dumbledore's doing since the Headmaster has established a habit pulling strings from the darkness. After all, what Muggle would reject a request from one of the most influential individuals in the Magical World. People know power, magical or muggle.

He would soon find out, life isn't as complicated as that when he reached the last step on the staircase, nearly bumping into Dudley on his way down.

'Whoa, sorry,' said Dudley as he stepped back to let him walk past. At this point, Harry's had it. He put a hand on his shoulder, which wasn't as much of a handful as he'd expected.

'What's going on Dudley?' The question was eating at him since the morning before. He saw him shuffle uncomfortably as if we ventured for the first time into a topic that didn't involve insults and degradation.

'I'm tired Potter,' said Dudley, careful to spit his last name in a familiar disgust. Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he saw past his ruse, well aware of his stammer before saying his last name as if he originally intended to call him by his first. He didn't want to let it slide, but the thundering footsteps that could only belong to his uncle now were approaching from the sitting room.

The door opened rather gracefully, all things considered, drawing the attention of the two by the staircase.

'Boy,' his uncle said as he aggressively pushed past Harry to hike up the stairs, his stomps not going without notice. Harry wasn't worried per se with his uncle's behaviour, it most definitely was not the first time he was "expressive".

Fortunately, this bout of aggression did not arise from any of Harry's doing, the boy assumed. Turning back to Dudley, he asked.

'What's wrong with Uncle Vernon?'

'His drill company, Grunnings, took a hit when a competitor gained a lot of recognition in the past few months. He's been working his arse off to keep Grunnings in the standings.'

Never mind the two had a two piece conversation that did not include magic or insults, Harry was most surprised by the decently constructed sentence that left his cousin's lips. His surprise did not go unnoticed as Dudley displayed his own expression of frustration.

'I'm not stupid Harry.' At this, Harry rose an eyebrow. Unfortunately for him, Dudley chose this moment to take his leave, and rather than go up the stairs like he'd wanted, he left through the front door, shutting it behind him, leaving Harry alone in the foyer of Privet Drive Number Four.

It was the morning, give or take around seven to eight rather than the usual five to six. A habit Harry fell into as the year came to a close following the tragic end of the Triwizard tournament. Both of the male Dursleys shared the scent of sausages and eggs, which led Harry to believe the last of the family resided in the kitchen, only further confirmed by the sound of water and scrubbing.

Hoping his luck remained, he entered through the glazed door, passing by his latched, former bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs, now housing his trunk.

Petunia Dursley. He could never see that woman baring any biological relation to his mother. She stood like a bleached stick behind the sink, using her bony claws to grip into the sponge, brushing furiously against the face of the greased plate.

It appeared that the entire household was on edge, no doubt due to the rise of stress in his uncle. For as long as he could remember, whenever his uncle got moody, it often impacted the entire household. Whenever Harry was home, most of that impact would be directed at him, and he had the scars to prove it.

His entrance to the kitchen caught the attention of Petunia, all be it the wrong kind.

'Dudders, it's best if you just leave mother alone right now,' she said, closing the tap and grabbing one of the towels hanging on the edge of the counter. When she turned around to face him, he expected the look of shock to plague her gaunt face.

'Yes. Not Dudley,' Harry announced 'He'd just left a minute ago.'

She acknowledged him with a brief 'hmm' before proceeding to ignore him by returning to her washing. Harry reached around to grab one of the recently dried bowls, with the intention of getting something to eat this morning. He was clearly not in the mood to fight with any of the Dursley's, but nor was he in the mood of being pushed around by them anymore.

The idea was often thrown around since he was a child, but the Harry that returned from Hogwarts this year was most definitely not a child anymore.

He played a role in the rising of the Dark Lord and was both witness and victim to the three Unforgivable Curses. He watched a friend's death and was inches from it himself, from the wand of the most feared wizard of his lifetime.

Harry shivered at the thought of the cruciatus curse being cast on him once more. Most described it as being stabbed by a thousand hot knives. Somehow, that blurred in comparison to what he felt at the mercy of Lord Voldemort himself.

'You break that bowl and Vernon'll snap boy,' Petunia cautioned.

Harry hadn't noticed that he'd been holding the plate in his hands, gripped tighter in the palms of his hand than he'd ever had with a snitch.

'Don't tell me you're having issues too freak,' she spat. Harry had already taken his seat and planned to make himself some breakfast. Plans don't go according to plan for Harry Potter, and sometimes even the simplest of ones goes awry.

'Excuse me?' He knew it would incite her, but he said it anyway.

'Excuse you?' Harry sat with his back to her, but he knew the sound of the water being shut and a quick towelling off was the clear indication of an impending outburst.

'Vernon is at risk of losing to some young upstart. You cannot dare say you have issues with your teenage hormonal rubbish,' Petunia hissed finally, seething through her teeth.

Harry stood up with force, sending the chair back to hit the wall, making a mediocre crashing noise, causing some of the dishes on the rack and in the cupboards to rattle.

'The man who killed my mother, Your Sister, damn near killed me a month ago. My blood-' He yanked on his sleeve to reveal a bandage around his forearm, concealing the laceration that could not be healed by magical means due to the dark magic imbued in the ritual, forcing healers to resort to stitches. Not to mention the lack of numbing charms since his departure of Hogwarts, leaving him in pain daily '-was used to revive him. He tortured me for a solid five minutes, at the mercy of one of the most dangerous individuals in the world.' Harry attempted to control himself, but his words turned into shouts that sent Petunia shrinking, her face paling. He took it down a few notches as he descended into territory he never wished to return to.

'Worst of all, I watched a friend die right before my very eyes, all because I wasn't selfish enough to grab a bloody cup.' Now Harry was left seething, towering over a Petunia Dursley. She was gaping, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, trying to find the words to construct an attack towards him.

'Another one of your childish lies and outbursts no doubt,' she said in her attempt to maintain control in the conversation, but her stammering and stuttering only convinced Harry that she took his words to some degree of truth.

The rest of the day passed by quietly. Harry felt blessed that his uncle didn't come marching downstairs to attempt to give him a beating. He remembered Petunia's last words before she too went upstairs about being thankful that Vernon is a heavy sleeper. It did take a long time for Vernon to notice that there was a flying car, exhaust guzzling and the lot hovering outside the house a single bedroom away.

Apparently, Vernon turned in early today because he'd worked the night earlier after dropping him and Dudley off at home. Harry tried not to feel sorry for his uncle, but unfortunately, his good-heartedness continued to be a pain in his arse. He begrudgingly resolved to be less of a disturbance around the house, which means he intended to spend most of his time either in his room or outside.

In his earlier years, he didn't have the liberty of leaving the house, and most of his life, the cupboard. After having blown up his Aunt Marge and taking his leave from the number four, he found that he was granted the privilege of leaving the house entirely. It was later clarified when he returned from his third year with Vernon telling him that he could only leave the house in the early and late hours, practically the hours in which there won't be anyone to see him enter or leave.

It was only a couple minutes past the dusk of the day when Harry found himself sitting at his bedside, his wand twirling at his fingertips, unbeknownst to him that the tip was giving a slight glow. His eyes were focused on the mirror across from him, staring into his emerald eyes, not in admiration like most would, but in vexation. His thoughts were partaking an aggressive conflict in the battleground that was his mind. His heart versus his mind: one side claiming it was his fault for not doing anything, while the other reasoned he couldn't have done anything.

He could have warned Cedric more coherently, could have saved his life rather than withering, clutching his scar in pain, a pain that he was all too used to since he was eleven years old. He could have stopped Wormtail long before he cast the curse. With the sudden change in scenery that was so unfamiliar and dangerous, because a graveyard was never mentioned in the third task briefing, they should have grabbed the portkey once again and jettisoned. Some of the reasons his heart put together were ridiculous accusation towards himself, but for lack of better word, he was too traumatised to understand anything other than that: it was his fault.

His heart and mind found disagreements on almost all fronts, but one. Harry closed his eyes, hoping to remember it clearly.

'Change...' Harry whispered.

The third year, during one of the Golden Trio's study sessions at one of the secluded tables in the Hogwarts Library. Ronald was sleeping with a History of Magic textbook overturned, its pages lying against the orange bush of hair on the back of his head while his nose crushed against the wood of the table. Hermione, on a pronounced tangent, had buried herself in a very different book, where she seemed unusually invested in the area of time. Harry, while not pulling a Ron, was trying his best to keep up with her. What they're studying was supposed to be focused upon the Goblin Rebellions. Specifically, Yardley Platt's contribution to several of the uprisings during the 15th to 16th centuries.

'Harry,' Hermione nudged at Harry, giving no second thought to the hopeless cause Ron was 'Listen to this from Ovidius.'

Harry, not knowing who Ovidius is or was, decided to tune in anyway to satisfy her.

'It goes "Tempora mutantur...nos et mutamur in illis".' Harry only stared back, somewhat amused that she would have thought he was fluent in Latin.

'Right...' Came Harry's response.

'Yes. In English, it is "Times change, and we change with them".'

Harry grinned at the memory because he soon followed up with a question of how it was relevant to the topic they were studying at the library. In which he was answered with a blush and her stating it had caught her interest. Now, he had a whole new understanding of the quote.

'Nos et mutamur in illis,' he murmured as he opened his eyes 'Voldemort is back, the times have changed. It's time for me to change, for better...not worse.'

'I'm not an innocent child anymore. I can't stand by idly and watch a war unfold while I take classes and act as if nothing had happened. I'm a part of this fight.'

He found himself drawn to the photo frame at his bedside, his mother and father, dancing in the autumn breeze.

'I have been my whole life.'

He knew what others would say about his decision. Molly would say he would be throwing away the life his parents sacrificed themselves for. Dumbledore would say he needs to be protected and hidden away, not on the front lines like he wants to be. Sirius would begin with a witty joke before descending into the serious ground. The same would go for Remus.

If they were anything about the Marauders he knew, they would be proud of him and side with him as he takes control of his life and commits it to putting the safety of others first and sparing others the fate his parents had suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He didn't believe in destiny, divination had ruined that for him in the third year, but there was still a lot he believed in nonetheless.

'It's my responsibility.'

His mind was already throwing together ideas, plans for the summer to help him grow, to help him improve, to make him stronger. So that when he returns to Hogwarts and is within his rights to use magic, he would be ready to train. When he'd finally left the rabbit hole, he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, the photo in his hand, and a tear streaming down his cheek.

'This is for you.'

It was dark, the skies plagued with aggressively grey clouds. The only light that his eyes could see was a few metres from him: the translucent trophy with a bright white and blue glow on its side. The atmosphere didn't feel warm and hair-raising like it'd been only moments before. Instead, it was cold, the air gloomy and stale. He could only explain the rapid change in surround through the familiar tug the portkey gave during the Quidditch world cup.

Lying on his chest, he put his hands flat on the ground to push himself up, but his tire after having felt like he was yanked across a stadium from his wrist, only to come crashing down into foreign and unfamiliar dirt.

The clouds parted slightly, allowing only the slightest of moonlight to give vision to the incapacitated Gryffindor. His efforts to push himself up once again was met with a deep, stinging pain above his hip, inciting a cry as he fell back down on his elbow.

He glanced down, using his other hand to brush the wet and dirty bangs of hair ahead of his glasses away. He then brought his fingers to his eyes to wipe away the sweat mixed with dirt in his eyes.

A branch, from the rapidly deteriorating maze upon his exit no doubt, had impaled him through his side. The branch wasn't large, but remaining in his body and sticking out at two sides wasn't doing any good for his body. This wound wasn't like any Quidditch injury he'd sustained as it remained in constant pain after having realised its existence, causing him to tremble in pain.

'Harry!' The voice exclaimed, but before he could face him, his own eyes opened, staring at the blurry ceiling of his room.

It wasn't that bad today...thought Harry.

He shoved his hand under his pillow, pulling his holly wand out and placed in on the bedside table, then grabbing his glasses and slipping them on. Harry could clearly recall the night a few nights ago when he'd been woken up by Petunia, as he'd woken her up with his screams.

'Boy, you better shut it before I-, Vernon shuts you up,' was the words he remembered leaving her whispering lips. Perhaps tonight he was lucky, and he'd kept his mouth shut during his slumber.

Harry took another glance at the mirror of his shirtless figure. He had taken to the habit of sleeping without his pyjamas thanks to the influence of his dorm mates Ron and Dean.

After having changed into something more comfortable, for him and the eyes of others, he made his way out of his room and down the stairs.

He had Quidditch, and most of all, Hogwarts to thank for forging his body from a skinny and lanky boy into a more acceptable slim teenager. Though it would take a lot more time and effort to recover the years of weight and muscle that he could have acquired if it hadn't been for the Dursley's style of accommodation.

'Oi, Potter,' called Dudley from behind him. Harry was kneeling down on the doorstep of number four, tightening his shoes. He was genuinely surprised Dudley was awake at all, given it was five in the morning and the sun was well behind the horizon.

'Morning Dudley. Sorry if I woke you.' Although it was unlikely given Harry had already had gone an entire week and a half without being interrupted thanks to his stealthy exit strategies, which involved tip toeing and very slow moving.

'You didn't,' replied Dudley. Harry stood up, satisfied with the tightness of his shoes and faced Dudley, and found himself surprised for the second time that morning.

Dudley was dressed in long sports shorts and a grey t-shirt. If Harry didn't know better, it would seem that Dudley came out to join him.

'Mind if I join you?' Harry, now bewildered, stood for a moment, silent. He ran the scenario's through his head: it might have been a trap that he's set up with his mates, or maybe he wanted to bring Harry far away to dispose of his body. Pondering for a few seconds, Harry concluded that even Dudley wasn't that out of it to form such plans. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he nodded while rubbing the back of his head.

'Yeah alright. Just keep up,' Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. With that, Harry turned around and hopped into a gentle jog, slow enough to allow Dudley to catch up.

The dawn of Surrey wasn't the greatest sight to behold but much better than what most would be accustomed to in the city of London. Here, people are granted the benefits of the countryside. The smell of trees and a gentle summer breeze, occasionally accompanied by the horrible England weather of abysmal cloudiness and rain. Although the benefits pale in comparison to Yorkshire or Devon.

Harry could barely feel his feet as they pushed him forward, the feeling has become so familiar that the mornings were habitual and routinely comfortable.

Unfortunately for Dudley, Harry had been furthering his jogs incrementally until he had a consistent 7-kilometre distance around the neighbourhood. The effect was apparent in the heaving behind Harry as they crossed what Harry assumed to be the first quarter point, the playground at Magnolia Road.

'We'll hold up here,' Harry called over his shoulder.

He barely heard Dudley's breathless 'Thank God.'

Dudley took a seat on the roundabout, causing a small thud and a little spin before stopped by his feet. Harry sat beside him, questions prepared for him.

'Why'd you join me, Dudley?' Harry asked plainly.

Dudley responded with a 'Huh?' Inclining Harry to repeat his question. His head clouded by exhaustion.

'Why did you decide to join me this morning, Dudley?' Dudley heaved a breath as he processed the question. It was clear that he'd expected the question at all as he let his head hang.

'I guess it can't be as simple as saying I just wanted to get a good workout in?' Dudley mused.

'No, not really. You could have gone alone and not with a freak.' Harry was surprised when he caught Dudley's wince when he spat freak.

'Look, Harry,' he paused. Harry could tell what he was trying to say was difficult as he kept looking down to the dirt beneath his feet, a motion Ron often pulled when he came to apologise to Hermione the several times over the years, and to him just last year after the first task.

'I'm trying to change. I'm sorry Harry. I'm sorry I hadn't done this earlier,' he sighed, relieved he'd finally gotten it out. Harry, too, was somewhat relieved, he wasn't the only one to want to change. He could relish in the fact he wasn't alone for once at the household. 'I didn't know any better when I was younger, but I should have stopped when the beatings started so long ago. It's been too long that my family has treated you like shite.'

He took another breath as he raised his head.

'You didn't deserve that, and you don't deserve a cousin that does that.'

Harry took his time, absorbing what his cousin has said. He wasn't a lie detector, but his words seemed more genuine than most of what he was fed last year.

'I still remember that night, nearly a decade from now. When we were kids. Knowing you as I do now, I understand how it'd happened. You ended up on the roof again,' Harry shivered, knowing where this led. 'Dad, he lost it. I know now it must've been an accident cause you'd never want to do anything to upset anyone. Like the year before last with Aunt Marge,' Dudley shifted in his seat once more. Harry could tell he was genuinely perturbed, perhaps more so than Harry.

'After Dad had gotten you down. He tossed you into the living and told mum and me to leave. I can still remember your screaming Harry. Your pleads...I'm sorry Harry.'

The memory had been with him since he was young, it was the reason he'd struggled to step up to Vernon up until Hogwarts admission.

'What sparked this?'

'Dad,' Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I'm his son, and I love him. But I won't let myself be anything like him.'

A moment of hesitation revealed itself as a caught breath out of Dudley's mouth. There was more to the story than he'd like to tell. The topic was sombre enough, and Harry didn't want to push.

'That's good. The world can only handle one Vernon Dursley.' The two shared an unexpected laugh on the roundabout, a comfort slowly building between the former enemies.

'We're cousins Harry. We're family. Whether they like it or not. Magical or not,' Dudley stood up and extended his hand to Harry. Harry was embarrassed to feel his tear ducts act up. In a desperate attempt to counter his emotional build up, he locked their arms at the forearms and shot to his feet. He then pulled him into a hug, which Dudley gladly reciprocated.

Instead of preventing the tears, it felt as if they were being squeezed out of him. He quickly pulled out of the hug and turned towards the sidewalk.

'That's a long enough break. Let's go,' Harry said as he got back into a jog and resumed his planned route.

Behind him, Dudley smiled, knowing Harry was welling up just like he was as he wiped a tear from his cheek.

'I can't believe you do this every morning,' wheezed Dudley, bent over and panted with his hands on his knees.

Harry nodded, lifting a glass of water to his lips while his free hand rests at the edge of the countertop as he leant back on it. Unlike Dudley, his red quidditch tee managed to maintain its original shade of colour. Dudley's selection of shirt for the morning meanwhile, not so lucky. Drenched under thick coats of sweat, the core victims being the pits, chest, and lower back.

The thirty-minute run allowed them to get home while Petunia was in the shower and Vernon still in his slumber.

The blinds, having been raised, graced the Dursley household with a warming glow from the rising sun. Whatever peace accumulated would soon be diminished with the unannounced entry of Petunia Dursley. Her annoyingly bushy-curled hair was so unkempt it rivalled Harry's hair. Which reminded the young man, he needed a haircut.

'Morning mum,' said Dudley, grabbing a pitcher of apple juice from the fridge.

'Morning Aunt Petunia,' followed Harry as he tried to remain cool and composed. Two things Petunia was struggling with this morning. It was, in fact, the first time she'd seen Dudley go without an opportunity to attack Harry verbally.

The matter wasn't brought up, but rather a very familiar command.

'You'd best be getting breakfast ready before Vernon shows up.'

Before Harry could respond, Dudley had finished placed the pitcher on the table and spoke up.

'Don't worry mum. I'm working on it.'

Dudley appeared to be full of surprises this summer according to Harry. Slightly more so that Dudley knew how to cook.

'You, sweetums? Don't be foolish, let the boy do it.'

'Could you give me a hand, Harry?' Dudley asked, ignoring his mother, his eyes pleading. Dudley hadn't actually known how to cook. He spent more time being the one that's fed than the one to feed.

'Right.'

Petunia left the kitchen, stunned and speechless, in a cross between infuriated and anxious.

The interaction for the next 15 minutes manifested itself into more of a lesson than a cooperative cooking session. Which meant Harry had to do most of the work, but not without teaching him along the way, and getting him to do the simple repetitive tasks like cracking a few eggs after him.

Dudley tried his best to keep up with Harry as he seemed to move at an astonishingly quick pace, the result of being berated to cook faster by the Dursleys over the years. He was amazed at his skilful use of the spatula on one pan and tongs on another as he manoeuvred around the kitchen grabbing various items like the butter, cooking oil and spices.

Sooner than he'd anticipated, there were three plates of peppered eggs with sausages and bacon laid out on the dinner table. Dudley, who felt pleased with how the morning came out to be, took a seat at the table. He was left confused when Harry motioned to leave the kitchen.

'Where you going?' Dudley asked.

'To my room. I reckon I've some studying to get started on.'

'You're not going to eat?'

'They're not meant for me, Dudley.' After feeling like an idiot for not counting the plates, Dudley frowned.

'You taught me a bit about cooking, I'll teach you a bit about sandwich making.' At this, Harry was definitely interested. Often when Dudley got hungry, and Petunia was busy, he'd put together a sandwich. By now, Harry would probably be correct in assuming he'd be pretty good at it.

He watched as Dudley grabbed bread, a butter knife, and a bottle of brown sauce from the fridge. Due to the simplicity of sandwich making, the Dursley's hadn't even considered teaching him.

He placed a slice of bread on a plate and scooped up some bacon and eggs off of his own plate to place on the slice. Then he took the brown sauce and poured thin lines on another slice of bread. He concluded by putting the two slices together and handing the masterpiece to Harry on a plate before taking a seat.

Harry inspected it, curious. He'd never in his entire time at the Dursley's, or at Hogwarts, seen or eaten a sandwich like this one.

Taking a bite out of the sandwich, his mood lightened. It was delicious and nothing like he'd ever tasted for breakfast at Hogwarts. The way the bread was complimented with various meats alongside the fantastic brown sauce giving it a whole new flavour.

'Good eh?' Dudley asked smugly, knowing that the expression of delight on Harry's face was an answer in itself. Harry couldn't help that this newfound connection with Dudley was having an effect on him, but before it could progress, the two were interrupted by a loud conversation approaching from the staircase.

On queue, the giant whale bearing the title of Head of the Dursley family came barging through the kitchen door. The loud bang as the door swung and hit the wall made Dudley jump in his chair while Harry turned in his chair, placing the sandwich on the plate.

'What is the meaning of this, boy?' the man bellowed, sure to allow his mouth to release an onslaught of saliva. Harry had sidestepped into the living room to answer his question, with a question.

'What've I done, Uncle Vernon?' Vernon seethed at his calm response.

He stepped to the side, moving his large frame so that he could point at his son.

'You've magicked my boy, that's what you've done you ungrateful freak.'

'I "magicked" Dudley? I'm not sure that's even a word, even in my world. Maybe bewitched is what you're thinking of.' His sassy response only further angered the whale that his face began to perspire and reach a darker shade of red.

'You let upon your freakish magic on my son, and I demand that you make him right!' he shouted at a decibel loud enough to wake up our nearest neighbours. Surely enough, Petunia tapped on his shoulder and gestured to lower his volume. Vernon's displeasure was announced through a low groan.

'I hadn't done anything to Dudley.'

'Bollocks! You'd gone and forced him to cook. Even have him make one of his sandwiches for you. Don't you lie to me boy!'

'First off, how might I have done that at all. You remember the last time I'd done magic, I'd nearly lost my magic. I'm not of age to use magic outside of school,' his explanation, all be it true, was not enough to calm the beast.

Just when Vernon was about to spit another one of his silly arguments, Dudley stepped in.

'Dad. Harry didn't do anything, please stop it.'

'Dudley, don't you hear what you're saying? Harry has done something to you-' he reached over and gripped Dudley's shoulder uncomfortably tight, 'you need to snap out of it!' he ended angrily, shaking his son.

Dudley pushed his hand away and stood across him at eye level.

'Dad! Harry did not do a thing. I'm giving Harry the respect he deserves. I'm tired of you two treating him like dirt.' Vernon stepped back at his lash.

'I should have stood up to you so long ago. Now leave Harry alone.' Vernon's red face did not fade away and returned to give Harry one hardened stare before grabbing a plate of food from the table set for him and leaving through the door, his booming steps up the stairs

Petunia, on the other hand, remained in the room and took a seat quietly at the table to begin picking at her own food. She would have joined Vernon if she hadn't had the habit to only eat at the lower levels, to not dirty the rooms above.

Harry approached Dudley, who was calming himself down by the doorway where he'd just had his first confrontation with his father. He placed a hand on his shoulder

'You didn't need to stand up for me, Dudley,' Harry said.

'No, I did. Things need to change around here, even if it starts like this.' Harry could tell Dudley was troubled by what he'd said to Vernon; it might have also been a given that it won't be the first time he'll have to do it.

'Thanks, mate.'

You'd think that growing up with parents that spoiled you in your childhood, that the ability to spend money would far exceed the ability to save. The contrary appeared to exist with Dudley Dursley.

Dudley received a generous amount of money from his dad for an allowance, and living one of the northernmost counties in Surrey, did not give him many places to spend it. Nonetheless, he did not get off to a good start when he'd spend his money on sweets and the like. As he grew up, he saw the benefits of saving his money for when he'd finally get to town, where more options made themselves known.

Such an occurrence was when Harry and Dudley took a short bus ride from Little Whinging to Staines, where Dudley introduced him to a cafe on Mustard Mill Road. Harry soon learnt that this was a place that he and his friends often went after school.

Harry sat across from Dudley at the cafe, and they ordered some nicely priced Mediterranean foods. Harry hadn't actually been outside of Privet Drive during his summers, with the notable exception of the last week of summer before his third year.

'Thanks for buying Dudley, I'll pay you back sometime. It's been a while since I've been to the bank.'

'No need, this is on me,' Dudley said.

'You needn't spoil me mate, I'm paying you back,'

'Suit yourself.'

Harry took a look around the restaurant. He often wondered what the towns and cities of England looked like, but he never had the chance. He'd reckon that he's seen more of magical Britain through Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

'What's it like?'

'What's what like?'

'Y'know, here. Staines.'

He hadn't known much about Staines other than that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia often came here to do the groceries or shopping. Harry could remember it vividly as he would be released from the cupboard under the stairs to help them carry the bags from the car to the kitchen.

'It's just a small, simple town. Some stores, some restaurants and cafes like this one. Lots of scenery I reckon and the River Thames passes right through.'

They both took a moment to look out the window to observe the Staines Bridge and the few who were crossing at this time of day.

They'd finished their daily run and let a few hours pass before deciding today would be a good day to get out of the house and head into the nearby town.

Little Whinging wasn't popular for having anything more than homes and schools. Staines was the destination for anyone in Little Whinging to do anything really.

'Alright then. Anything special about this place other than you come here with your friends?' Dudley nearly flinched, as if he'd been caught red-handed when in reality it was an innocent question.

Dudley's mouth parted to speak but closed when his name was called from behind Harry. He immediately stood up, sending the table shaking slightly, which, with Harry's Seeker's reflexes, held down with both hands planted as he turned around to the female voice behind him.

'Ava!' he returned across the cafe, drawing a few looks from the other customers. Dudley approached a redheaded girl who, coincidentally, was dressed in a work uniform associated with the very cafe they were eating at.

He could distinctly hear her say with a thick Scottish accent that she hadn't seen him in weeks, only to hear Dudley reply in kind. A smile fell upon Harry's face as he watched the two chat, smiling at one another. He averted his gaze and brought a recently delivered cup of tea to his lips, half-expecting Dudley to return not alone.

'Here he is,' came Dudley's voice. Harry turned around to face the two standing next to him, Dudley appearing with an unusual amount of glow upon him. Up close, the Scottish lady's beauty did not go without notice. It was odd, finding himself compare her to Ginny Weasley, the only other young redhead girl he knew, of whom's beauty, paled in comparison to Ava.

'You must be Harry?' she asked, holding her hand out.

'The one and only,' Harry replied. His first instinct was to pull a Sirius and kiss her knuckles in greeting, but what he could only assume was his inner Remus told him to relax and shake her hand.

'I'm Ava, Dudley told me a bit about you,'

'Did he now?' he could only wonder if he'd told her about his magical properties. Instead of worry about it, he proceeded 'Well he hadn't mentioned you before.'

'I wouldn't expect him to, and honestly,' she bent down to a whisper 'I'd prefer it stays that way.' Harry caught her insinuation without a need for thought.

She was his little secret.

'I'm sorry by the way.'

'For?'

'Dudley told me about your parents,' she looked down at the ground at her flats 'I know what it feels like, to lose your parents at a young age you know.'

Harry now felt uncomfortable, leaving the two standing beside him as they ventured into a delicate topic. He gestured for the two to take a seat across from him, and thankfully they complied.

'I grew up here, in Staines with me gran after me maw and da got lost at sea. That was almost a decade from now.' He could tell she was trying to suppress her Scottish accent to make her sentences coherent to Harry, though she hadn't known that he'd had a Scottish Quidditch captain since his first year and that his head of house was Scottish. He'd had more than enough time to learn how to decipher what they were saying.

Though it was only polite to remain quiet at a time like this

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't make our introduction so sour,' Ava said, letting out a sniffle while Dudley rubbed her back gently.

'It's fine. I'm glad you told me. I think we're better off knowing we both have something like that in common. It's better knowing we're not alone.'

'Yeah,' she said, looking over at Dudley. Before the moment could descend into awkwardness, a steward came over with fresh sandwiches and salad. Ava bade them both goodbye and returned to work, no doubt spurred on by the look from her colleague.

Harry had a few things to say, a few questions to ask, but the need for food superseded the need for answers.

Eventually, having ploughed through a foot long roast beef sandwich and a Caesar salad, the two were to some degree, ready to go back to talking about serious topics.

'So...Ava.'

'Yeah.'

'Scottish Girls, eh?' Harry asked with a grin as he took a sip of his tea.

'It's not like that,' he replied, chuckling.

'I get why you didn't tell me about her.'

Silence.

'It was her that sparked the change?' Harry asked, knowing full the answer.

Dudley nodded and let his head hang, as if shameful. He felt he had every right to be. His finding of a soul could be owed directly to a woman.

'Who would've thought?'

Dudley raised his head.

'The heart of a man strummed alive, by a woman,' Harry continued. Dudley went to drop his head once more until Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Lucky bloke you,' said Harry, smiling, which Dudley happily returned.

Today was a normal Sunday, in a sense. The morning run went without a hitch, Harry and Dudley both highly capable of running ten kilometres without a break. They've both come a long way since their confrontation a couple of weeks ago, it was surprising to the two how much their bodies could change with a decent and consistent workout.

Vernon had lost his will to explode at Harry since his own son decided to oppose him. Petunia fell into a cowardly middle ground as her own morals internally challenged her left and right. To Harry, it felt like a wave of peace at Number Four.

It was midday, and Vernon was relaxed in the living room watching the telly with his wife on the couch beside him. Dudley had left to meet with Ava in town an hour ago, leaving Harry on his own.

He occupied himself in his room, studying transfiguration, with the fullest of intentions of working on the essay assigned to him at the end of the year.

Despite the tragedy that was the third task, Hogwarts professors had to maintain professionalism and felt it fitting to assign homework over the summer, except for Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and oddly enough, Potions.

His mind was buried in his textbook, in the area of the second branch of transfiguration, Vanishment, when he was yanked out by the roar downstairs.

'Boy! Get down here!'

Harry, no longer startled by his loud summons, begrudgingly obliged and left his room.

He was graced by the sight of Vernon Dursley clutching his hand, bent over a cream coloured letter, glaring at it. His aunt was behind the whale, staring at the envelope with equal intensity.

'What is the meaning of this?' Vernon barked. Not relying on Vernon for answers, he looked towards Petunia.

'The envelope. It burned in his hands,' Petunia stammered.

Harry only looked amusingly at the envelope on the floor. Perhaps a prank from the twins, to burn the hands of any Muggle who handles it.

Although, the quality of the envelope intrigued him. It had the property of luxury and properness. The Dursleys backed away when Harry approached to kneel and inspect it, fully cognizant of its apparent danger.

It had an elegant, feathery border around its rectangular frame. At its centre was his name, Harry James Potter, and beneath it, the address of the Dursleys, similarly to the letter(s) he received from Hogwarts regarding his admission, albeit the "Cupboard under the stairs".

'Your mail cursed me it did. Burned me when I'd tried to open it,' Vernon snarled.

Harry chuckled.

'You find that funny boy?!' he exclaimed, dropping his exaggeration of pain in his hand as he stood tall as if ready to belt Harry.

Harry bent over and picked up the envelope.

'You weren't cursed, Uncle. Maybe you shouldn't be snooping around other people's mail,' he chuckled, waving the envelope at him. Harry took a glance at the rose red seal, which bore symbols highly reminiscent of the ancient runes he'd seen Hermione studying, surrounding a small coat of arms that had several unidentifiable symbols, all except a fleur-de-lis.

'Funny how a bunch of symbols can throw you off an envelope,' Harry mused, turning around to head up the stairs.

'Don't you turn your back on me,' Harry stopped midway up the stairs 'You told me your freaks wouldn't be sending you any posts this summer, no less on a Sunday.'

'I don't know what to say to you, Uncle Vernon. I have no idea who sent this letter.' That was his last words before he retreated back to his room, eager to open the mysterious envelope.

He nearly slammed the door behind him, inciting a bright hoot from Hedwig in her cage. Even she could sense his happiness. Though, the joy soon died out as he expected the worst.

What if it were a letter from Mr Diggory himself, calling him out as a murderer?

What if it were the news asking for his details on the night, which would only be twisted into something worse?

What if it were from Dumbledore saying someone else had died for him?

He was on the verge of tossing the envelope in the bin, but his will to change said other wise. Taking one last glance at the unfamiliar seal, he tore it open and pulled a folded letter from its confines.

Written beautifully on the back of the folded letter:

From Fleur

Strange wasn't the word he could use to describe the letter. It wasn't nearly as strong enough to describe the occurrence. He remembered Fleur as a fellow champion, the older sibling to the girl he pulled from the lake, a student of the French school he felt tired of trying and failing, to pronounce, and a Veela that called him a "leetle boy".

He felt a twinge of annoyance in remembering being called such a degrading term. He had gone through so much more than any of the champions combined could fathom, yet Fleur dared to call him "leetle".

His anger was misguided, flared in the mishmash that was being a Hogwarts champion.

The last time he'd talked to Fleur was the end of the year before she boarded the carriage back to Beauxbatons. She'd given him a teary-eyed hug, as she proclaimed both her thanks and sorrows. He'd replied that he was sorry too, and that was the end of that.

He was always amazed at the fact that he couldn't feel the allure that was dragging Ron and every other hot blooded male in the school to her. Sure, he'd found her attractive, but he never felt that urge to go running at her without thought or reason.

Hermione was proud of him for having a mind, unlike the third member of their golden trio. Then another question arose in his head:

How did she get his address?

Reality came rushing back as Hedwig loudly hooted once more. She too was eager to see what was written in the letter. Harry could never make sense of the amount of personality his owl had.

He flipped the letter over, to find paragraphs of astounding calligraphy across the paper. It read:

Dear Harry

I hope this letter finds you well. I think that is what you English say. This is Fleur Delacour if you cannot read my signature on the back. Hermione helped me in getting this letter to you. It took several owls from the Weasels to the Granger house for me to learn your address as it appears your best friend Ronald forgot your address. It took a long while of convincing, but they managed to see that my letter to you to be safe.

They told me that it wasn't safe to letter you this summer because of your ministry of magic and other sick people. But my family's owl is special you see, we can not be tracked by your ministry, or it will be a violation of privacy on my family, which will be very bad for your ministry.

So I finally got a letter to you! I wish I could have asked for your address at the end of the school year, but there was not enough time. How is your summer? What is it like living with muggles? How are you handling yourself? I hope you're doing okay. I wonder if you're wondering why I am sending you a letter at all.

To put it easy, I want to talk to you. This is me being serious now. You saved my sister and me last year, and I hope to return the favour. I doubt that it would be easy for me to save you, but perhaps I could help you save yourself. There are what you English call "perks," of being part of my family. I intend to abuse it to help you. I hope that doesn't sound too menacing.

I really do wish you accept this offer. But if not, I hope we can keep owling each other.

You must thank my father for helping me write this letter. He is better at English than I am. If you do, and I hope you do reply, please give the letter to our owl.

Amicalement,
Fleur Isabelle Delacour

Harry couldn't hold back the smile gracing his face. It's not only been a long time since he'd gotten a letter from a friend, but he'd finally gotten some good news. Someone wants to help him. Nobody from the magical world had even considered helping him at all this summer, no less even contacting him.

It was dangerous though. Involving Fleur in his life would only put her in more danger than she was in when she was a champion for her school in the Triwizard tournament. He cared for his friends above anyone else, he would do anything in his power to keep them on a high shelf, away from danger and from him.

What she offered was vague but did not fail to outline the benefits. The way she brings up her family, being able to provide him with assets to build him up into something he would need to be for the incoming war that always led back to him and Lord Voldemort.

It was too good to pass up, but that was exactly why he couldn't take it. He didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve to be placed in an unnecessary position of risk for his benefit.

If ever he the chance to choose between the safety of his friends and the well-being of himself, he would choose the former every time.

Harry got off his bedside and took a seat by his desk and pulled his quill from the ink pot. He already had a spare piece of parchment on the table, ready for his next essay, but that would have to wait.

Dear Fleur,

I'm glad I received your letter. I'm doing fine. My summer here has been a lot better than what it's been in the past. My cousin and I have finally become good friends, and things are looking alright here. Though I cannot forget about the night in the graveyard. No words can express how I feel about what happened there and what happened to Cedric.

I hope you're doing well as well. How's your little sister, Gabrielle, doing? How are you coping after everything? I know things must be hard after what happened in the tournament. Nonetheless, I know you're strong. You are a champion.

I'm sorry that I have to tell you that I'll have to decline your offer. Not in spite or anything of that sort. I just can't have anyone else risking their lives trying to help me. Not after what happened last year. This is my fight, and I don't want you to land smack in the middle of it when I can place you out of it altogether.

This is what I believe, and I hope you understand. My friends matter too much to me.

Thank you for taking the time to send me your letter. I know it must've been a struggle trying to get my address. Ron must have swooned when he received your owl. You can always rely on Hermione to get things right. I'd love to continue to owl you if I wouldn't be too much of a bother.

Thank you Mr Delacour for aiding your daughter in writing this letter.

Au revouir?
Harry James Potter

Harry felt embarrassed at his attempt to say goodbye in French, but it was overshadowed by his writing of his name on the back, which was slow and accurate, as he tried to make his name look presentable to the witch.

This had never happened when he owled his friends, he often scrawled his name on the back and sent the letter on its way, never taking the time to make sure that his name was ever legible.

He folded the letter in thirds after waiting a while to let the ink dry and slipped it into an envelope. His envelope lacked the superiority Fleur's had, but it was all that he had. The anxiety from sending the letter followed him down the stairs.

He finally shrugged off the unnecessary anxiousness and searched for Fleur's owl. Before his hand reached the knob of the front door, he heard the brief flapping of wings.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find a snowy white owl that barely differed from his own Hedwig, on the doormat of Number Four. It was awkward to say the least for Harry Potter, to be eye to eye with an owl that looked splittingly like his own, all for except that the eyes were amber in colour.

'You must be her owl,' Harry said crouching down to rub against the neck of the owl, who rubbed back. It acted as Hedwig does. He pondered whether it was a twin brother or sister, or perhaps he was biased in thought towards all snowy white owls.

'Here's the letter,' he gave the owl the letter and soon it was on its way. He couldn't edit or take back what he wrote now that it was on its way to its recipient. The anxiety soon returned, he wondered if he sounded too rude or brash.

Meanwhile, in Paris, there was a French witch wrapped up in her duvet thinking the same thing.