Warnings: Harry is a little unstable. Also this will be slash! TMR/HP (or HP/TMR, whichever…) This means homosexual romance, but rest assured (or be forewarned) there will be no smut/lemons/pr0n. I don't write explicit bedroom scenes. But there will be snogging. Oh yes, lots of that from chapter 14.

Don't forget: this is supposed to be…fun... Really. Have fun. Enjoy the eventual kissing. (Remember: slow build-up.)

inspired by some crazy!Harry fanfic. or "Otherwise odd" stories by the esteemed authors Paimpont, evansentranced, Uncle Stojil , Mede, and Sarah1281, and probably a few others. Read their stories! (google, or check my favs) You will be awed and amused.

There will only be a few long A/Ns (I hope :)

Summary of this chapter: The end of Harry's summer vacation does not go well. Dementors at Privet Drive?

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Chapter 2: Summer's Passing

Following the night in the graveyard, Harry Potter thought he was dead for nearly twenty-four hours without anyone noticing.

"My God, Diggory! Dumbledore, He's dead."

"He's dead! He's dead! Cedric Diggory! Dead!" They'd said. Somehow, the name didn't seem to matter. Harry knew, deep down, that they were talking about him. He'd seen his parents, he'd dueled with Voldemort, and his fingers were stiff with death in them. Rigor mortis, he'd thought.

Dumbledore seemed to see him in spite of his being quite gone, and then Moody, who turned out not to be Moody, ushered him from that place in the castle. Harry nearly died there, in the False-Moody's office. He hadn't expected that. He should have. Something told him he should have died. Then Dumbledore and McGonagal were there, urging Harry's body to the Hospital Wing, to lie beside Cedric's. Or had he only imagined that?

"I will be closer than all of them, closer than a son."

The ending speech, the questions from Ron and Hermione—he couldn't remember hardly anything after that day. He finally realized he wasn't dead, but he still didn't feel like talking. It felt wrong. Voldemort was back, and the imposter had gotten the Kiss, and Harry was sent away again to the Dursley's.

The summer passed in ways very different than before. "He's just sitting there, Vernon! Don't know what's going on in that head…his eyes…his eyes aren't sane." Petunia said once.

Uncle Vernon had harrumphed and bolstered her confidences, shoving a tool in Harry's hands and leading him toward the garden door. "Don't come in until that hedge is good and trimmed." That helped, actually. When he worked in the garden, he felt the most normal. But anything could set him off, a car in the neighborhood passing by sounded like the pop of Apparating sometimes. The roar of the crowd on the neighbor's television reminded him of the Tasks. The summer had not been going as he planned, and even the hot, sweltering days couldn't burn away the memory of Cedric's cold body on his hands, or crouching behind tombstones.

But some days were better than others. And it was on one of these good days, when Harry felt most like himself, that he went to the park, and after a while Harry decided to head back to Number Four, perhaps try and listen to the evening news. His feet echoed dully on the pavement. Just one more street, and he'd be home.

He heard footsteps from behind, then a hasty trot to catch up with him—large, heavy, but not entirely precise.

Harry tensed, his fingers closing around his wand. But he didn't draw it, not yet.

"There you are." A low voice huffed.

Harry eased out of his stance, even allowed for a smile. "Hey Dudley."

"Mum's going to kill you, being out this late." Dudley crowed. "You'll be roast meat."

That, Harry thought vaguely, was oddly considerate of Dudley. "You're just as late." He scowled. "Where were you?" he demanded. "Beating up on some kid?"

Dudley's face folded in on itself, the cheerful contemplation of Harry's fate interrupted. He took a moment to compose a reply. "No! I didn't. Don't..." He sputtered.

Harry smiled thinly, enjoying the look on Dudley's face. However, the feeling was short lived.

"I've been with friends. Not that you'd know. You haven't got any." Dudley rallied solidly. His grin was back. "Except for your boyfriend. Who was it again?" his face puckered. "No, no! Cedric!" he laughed. "Always crying into your pillow at night. Thought I couldn't hear you?"

Harry's face flushed. His hands wrapped around a wand that he was forbidden to use. He sighed and noisily turned away from Dudley. As he walked, he noticed a sudden darkening of the sky. Twilight seemed rushed, hurried along with the rushing of wind, when a dank, eerie feel suddenly came over them. It was as though a blanket of depression settled around their shoulders.

No. he thought desperately. Not here. Not now. Harry stepped back hastily, his hand already making the right movements as he fought the fog and attempted to catch a clear memory. A happy memory.

"What are you doing?" Dudley demanded. "You're doing something funny!"

Harry ignored his cousin, focusing on the spell just behind his lips. There. He had it. He needed a memory… Hermione and Ron on the train to Hogwarts with him, their heads pressed close in discussion. His friends. Harry opened his mouth. "Expecto-"

wham. Dudley's fist caught him by surprise, pushing the air out of his lungs and destroying the spell. Harry stared, dazed, at the light that sputtered out of his wand as his only weapon cascaded through the air. The Dementors edged closer.

The Patronus glimmered into nothingness there on the ground. "No- my wand!" Harry leapt after it, not noticing the Dementors right before him.

They were on him before he could stretch out his hands. Just a little closer... Harry vaguely wondered if Dementors were secretly the reason behind his not-depression this summer. Then, for the second time in his life, he felt the Dementor's strong grip, slimy and eerily tight. Everything seemed to flicker, to be shrouded in a thick mist.

Harry let out a short scream of frustration, arching away from the looming creature. He would not let it end this way. He would not-

A familiar voice offered something to latch onto. "Ah man, not now! Why do you have to a—a more mental breakdown where anyone could see you?" Dudley blustered into the mist, ignorant to the danger.

Harry gaped as his cousin wavered for a moment, clearly caught in the Dementor's thrall. Harry had just enough clear thought to whisper a second spell. "Lumos!" He rolled towards his wand.

Happy thoughts. Happy, happy thoughts. Not in the graveyard? No, that wasn't right...Dudley is about to become a real soulless bully? Harry thrust that thought aside. Not helping. Every flavor beans...learning to fly...catching the snitch...Even as Harry tried to focus, to choose even a single semi-happy memory, a thought fought its way to the forefront of his mind. Harry actually grinned.

He was back at Hogwarts, accepted and believed, sitting with friends at the hearth side. Pumpkin juice, Butterbeer, warm beds... He waved his hand without the wand yet in his grasp, and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" and again, there were silvery sparks.

The Dementor paused, turning its head toward Harry in eerie semblance of curiosity.

Harry half-crawled, grabbing his fallen wand and performing the spell fluidly. Again, he called the memories back, settling on a really good one.

"Expecto patronum." He laughed, only somewhat desperate, but the Dementor's breath was still so close. Just as its terrible mouth brushed his cheek, the magic sprang to life.

The Patronus glowed bright, sending the Dementors was a woosh of air as the Patronus bowled the black-cloaked thing over before it cantered back to Harry, tossing its head. Harry's eyes were glued to it. There had been a second Dementor, Harry realized, dazed, and his Patronus charged at it as well, driving it away and taking the darkness with it.

Only Dudley was left. Harry squinted before righting his glasses. The euphoria of the charm working had passed, leaving him nauseated.

He still couldn't quite decide what was happening. Harry wavered. Just as he was about to sit down (he was fairly certain he had knocked his head. Only without the actual hitting of anything that usually entailed) when a meaty hand clasped his shoulder, then moved under his arm, pulling his weight onto it.

Harry eyed the arm speculatively. It wasn't a Dementor.

It felt surreal, being half-heartedly dragged up by Dudley. Theoretically, they should be equally affected by the Dementors...if the mist and the haze hadn't been so very like the graveyard...

Except, Harry thought the Dementor had gotten significantly closer to kissing him than it had Dudley. He was hyper-conscious of his surroundings, feeling his shoulders tense as some terrible beast with squeaking wheels neared them. His wand was up again, his eyes narrowed as he anticipated an other-worldly attack. The figure stepped into the faint glow of a street lamp.

It was his neighbor, Mrs. Figg, her eyes round with fright.

She toted a plastic bag of cat food. "Dudley? Dudley Dursley?" she called, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice. "Have you got...goodness, is that Harry?"

Harry stood there numbly, trying to figure out if she was another apparition.

"Put it away, you freak! She'll see!" Dudley hissed, his large hand squeezing overly hard on Harry's shoulder.

Mrs. Figg positively shook. "No, you stupid boy, don't put it away! What if more come around? I can't do anything about those horrible things," she looked around.

Harry looked from Dudley's open mouth to Mrs. Figg's swaying grocery bag. "Mrs. Figg? You could see them? The Dementors?" Harry slid a glance towards the probably-not-a-Dementor (probably just his large cousin) to see what he made of this.

Mrs. Figg sniffed dramatically. "Use those legs, boy! Oh, where did that Mundungus Fletcher get off to? He's meant to be the one watching over you..."

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Notes: This chapter has been abridged as part of a writing experiment (Challenge: tell a fanfic story in a fantasy-standard word count). If you want to know what I cut, see Ao3, "Summer's Passing." (Ch. 2)