The array of street lamps that criss-crossed Magnolia Crescent were well-lit again as Harry and Mrs. Figg walked carefully to the end alleyway where Wisteria Walk began. It was as if the dementors had never been here at all. Harry was struggling; despite carrying him weightless, Dudley's blow had left a massive bruise on the side of his face. But a light breeze proved refreshing and a relief, especially on such a warm, summer evening.

Mrs. Figg fumbled at her dress collar trying to shake off both heat and nervousness. Harry was walking half-blinded, his shattered spectacles barely hanging on to the side of his face, not looking at anything, head bowed. He was trying to remember all that he had just seen, and how all those memories fitted together. At last, Mrs. Figg chose to break their mutual awkward silence.

"About the boy, your cousin Dudley. We'll need to find a magical healing practitioner as soon as possible to reverse what those horrible things did to him."

Harry grunted, not really wanting to break her delusion. "I take it you're not aware of what a dementor is or what it does?"

She looked puzzled. "No, I've never heard of… What is a dementor?"

"They suck souls out of human beings and consume it," Harry replied in a flat tone. "Dudley's gone. His soul was taken."

Her hand flew to her mouth in horrified shock as she ran over to the side to look at Dudley hung limply over his shoulder. Harry heard her breath catch as she trembled, "It can't be… Dumbledore must know something. Surely he could think of a way…"

"No," Harry said somewhat heavily. "Dumbledore, Professor Dumbledore told me that souls once destroyed, are irreversibly gone."

"But what will I tell the Dursleys," Mrs. Figg let out a piercing, hysterical wail and wiped at her eyes, "How could I possibly tell them what happened to their son?"

"You're definitely coming with me when I get back to Privet Drive," Harry said firmly. "Or else the Dursleys would probably literally kill me. I take it from those comments you made about being useless, that you're a squib? You'll have to explain everything to them, your connections with the magical world…"

"I moved into this neighbourhood soon after you were adopted by the Dursleys," Mrs. Figg quickly explained to regain her composure, "because Dumbledore asked me to and I owed him a favour. I was to look over you as you grew up…"

Harry snorted derisively. "A bit negligent then, weren't you?"

"Well there were clear limits of how much I could do," Mrs. Figg said defensively, "you had to stay with the Dursleys for your own protection and so long as they weren't treating you too badly, I had nothing of substance to report to Dumbledore. I mean I knew you were never happy in your childhood Harry, and I'm deeply sorry for that. But I wasn't sure whether my interference would make things better or worse… Dumbledore made clear that our hands were tied in the matter…"

"I guess I'll be having a word with him as soon as I possibly can," he said nonchalantly. "The Dursleys will definitely kick me out of their home after this. After they try and take my head off my shoulders of course…"

Mrs. Figg suddenly came to a halt. And turned to look at him again, confusion written all over her brow. "But then how did you survive the attack? I mean, not Voldemort, but the dementors. If they consume souls, why didn't they take your soul as well?"

.

It had to be linked. Harry somehow intuitively just knew. The reason why he had survived the dementor attack was linked to why he had survived as a baby against Voldemort. He was sure of it, even if he couldn't understand how or why. According to Voldemort there had been some sort of prophecy made which was why he (and Neville) were targeted. So did he as Voldemort feared, possess some special powers that would have allowed him to survive? And what was this connection that he had with Voldemort that allowed him access to so many of his memories? Was it the result of the prophecy, or perhaps their fateful encounter when he was an infant? But why did it only trigger now, after a dementor attack that nearly consumed his soul, and not when Voldemort first regained his full strength?

Harry was beginning to feel extremely dizzy again and since they were within sight of Four Privet Drive he dropped those thoughts for later. He needed a clear mind before his probable, last encounter with the Dursleys. He also needed Hermione to help him think through this and all that he had learnt.

And he needed to tell Dumbledore a lot of information that he (or Voldemort) probably thought that he didn't know. But he wouldn't tell him everything; despite all the greatness that Harry had seen in him through Voldemort's perspective, he could still tell that Dumbledore was a flawed man with questionable judgement on many issues, whose mistakes and oversight had cost the Order greatly.

As they approached the lawn of Privet Drive, now shrouded in almost complete darkness apart from the pinpricks of light coming from the kitchen and sitting room reflected through the porch windows, he felt Mrs. Figg begin to tremble again and whisper hoarsely to herself. Since the Dursleys knew Mrs. Figg and were on relatively good terms with her, Harry intended to let her explain the situation as she saw it and they wouldn't, couldn't exactly say she was lying; not when she was in such an emotional state…

But since when did he have such deliberately, manipulative thoughts?

Of course they could always later accuse him of bewitching her, but since she was an outsider, it meant they couldn't exactly vent at him as Vernon otherwise would dearly enjoy. Which meant he wouldn't need to call upon magic to defend himself and add further complications to his use of magic to retrieve the corpse of Dudley Dursley. Harry nodded to himself reassuringly as he knocked, cancelled the charm, and immediately dropped Dudley with a thud onto the porch.

There was a mad rush from the inside and as expected Aunt Petunia had beat his uncle to the door and swiftly opened it. Catching sight of the odd trio, her beady eyes first took in Harry with disapproval looking away in a momentary second swivelling to Mrs. Figg where her eyes widened with surprise, and finally her gaze fell to the floor and her eyes bulged in shock and her face lost all colour as she collapsed onto the floor

"VERNON, VERNON!" she screamed and Harry resisted the temptation to cover his ears.

Uncle Vernon came waddling in from the kitchen looking evidently very annoyed at the late hour and as he approached and spotted his son on the floor he froze to the spot. Harry had never seen Uncle Vernon look so powerless and uncertain as to what to do. The moment quickly passed however, what with Aunt Petunia still weeping from the floor not even wanting to touch her dead son, shock gave way to anger fairly quickly.

"WHAT'S THIS? WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?" Completely ignoring Mrs. FIgg who was shaking with trepidation at all the grief, he marched straight to Harry who was doing his best to look contrite but not intimidated.

"BOY! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?" Vernon gesticulated with his arms wildly and quickly reached over knocking Harry out of his way as he shook Dudley wildly as if trying to wake him. Realizing his futile efforts, he returned his attention to him, his spittle flying and hitting everything within reach…

"He's not…"

"Ask her," Harry said calmly, "she saw everything that happened. I was knocked out."

"It wasn't Harry's fault," Mrs. Figg sniffed. "I was walking home to Wisteria Walk when I suddenly felt the air become very cold, on such a warm summer's night… so I went to investigate. And I saw two hooded figures hovering over two boys, Dudley and Harry. Both were unconscious."

"But what did they do to him?" Vernon pointed to his son whose mouth was wide and gaping, his face perfectly sculpted in a mask of fear.

"They were dementors." Harry said heavily. "They consume the souls of human beings, Dudley's soul was taken."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's heads turned so quickly that Vernon winced as he craned his neck. Petunia let out a gasp and another soft cry, as tears began streaming down her face uncontrollably and she put her arms around her son and started rocking him gently all the while sobbing.

"THEN WHY WASN'T HE AFFECTED?" Vernon almost shouted pointing in Harry's direction. "WHY IS HIS SOUL STILL INTACT?"

"No idea," Harry said honestly, "I mean seriously, not a clue. I was unconscious for a long time…"

"You're lying," Uncle Vernon raised a shaking finger at Harry, "You killed Dudley, didn't you? YOU KILLED MY SON!"

"No Mr. Dursley, I saw Harry was unconscious and…"

But Uncle Vernon was done with being polite, even to a neighbour. "OUT," he gestured to Mrs. Figg, "GET OUT IF YOU'RE IN WITH THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM!" As Mrs. Figg scampered to the door to flee, Uncle Vernon took a nearby vase and hurled it at Harry who sidestepped the debris with the unerring reflexes of a trained seeker.

"YOU AND YOUR ABNORMALITIES CAUSED MY SON'S DEATH! I'LL HAVE YOU ALL DEAD FOR THIS! YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!" Uncle Vernon reached over and grabbed at Harry's collar but a sudden spike of energy caught him off guard, and the next second his fingers had grown several blisters and when he still refused to let go, with a bang he was sent flying, crashing into the wall.

Vernon pulled himself painfully off the floor, dusting himself and examining the damage, the wallpaper had peeled off and the wall was perhaps a little dented. He walked with a slight limp and a grimace as he advanced menacingly towards Harry, his ruddy face puffed up, and he was breathing in and out heavily. He continued to rage at the top of his voice.

"EVER SINCE WE TOOK YOU IN, YOU'VE BEEN NOTHING BUT A SHADOW ON ALL OUR LIVES, THE LIVES OF MY FAMILY. MARGE WAS ALWAYS RIGHT, WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE DARKENED OUR DOORSTEP WITH THE LIKES OF YOUR LOT!"

And it went on and on, as Harry waited patiently standing his ground while his Uncle worked out his anger, spraying him with spittle. Petunia, he noticed had fainted next to Dudley both from grief and emotional exhaustion. The next second however, he could see the silhouette of an owl in the night, illuminated by the house lights, hooting as it flew. It swooped right in through the open window and Uncle Vernon let out a howl as the great dirty bird proceeded to make two rounds over their heads, before dropping a letter.

Uncle Vernon had snatched it, Harry let him read what was undoubtedly a letter from the ministry. He looked at it disbelievingly before blurting out, "IT SAYS SOME KIND OF FEATHER LIGHT CHARM WAS USED…"

"You have to believe me then," Harry said in what was the most earnest tone he could muster, "the ministry tracks spells performed by underaged wizards. I only used the feather light charm to transport… Dudley back…"

His uncle was still pacing up and down like a madman, fuming all the while, stopping only to catch breath. He clearly still couldn't believe the turn of events and was hoping for a miracle, even a magical one that would bring back Dudley. Harry had never seen his Uncle in such a despairing mood, or look so very desperate. He was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, that would probably lead to unbelievable anger since Harry still did not believe his Uncle was capable of showing any outward grief.

"YOUR LOT DID THIS TO HIM, SO THEY ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING! THEY HAD BETTER PUT DUDLEY RIGHT OR I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THAT EVERY FREAK IN EXISTENCE PAYS HORRIBLY, I WILL MAKE SURE YOUR "WORLD" IS DESTROYED FOR GOOD…"

"Even magic can't bring back the dead, or bring back a soul that's been destroyed," Harry told him quietly but evenly. "There are rules and laws, even with magic…"

"YOU'RE LYING! YOU KNOW HOW TO REVERSE THIS, YOU JUST WANT TO HURT DUDLEY," Vernon screamed, pointing a big, ugly, accusatory finger right up to Harry's spectacles, his threatening hands inches away from Harry's throat.

"The worst part is," Harry said losing his temper slightly, "that I could have protected Dudley from the dementors, but he thought that I was the one using magic to attack him. So he knocked me out with his fist. I suggest you don't make the same mistake."

That was probably in retrospect the wrong thing to say in such a circumstance. Uncle Vernon roared with pent-up fury and swung his fists to strike at him but Harry dodged the blow with even more ease than usual. Either his Uncle was much older (and fatter) than he remembered, or his composure was somehow miraculously strengthened from absorbing many of Voldemort's memories.

Deep down, Harry knew he still feared Vernon a little bit, due to his having grown up in the Dursley household, constantly verbally bullied and tormented by the man. But any fright he might have had, was much weaker than usual, and he did not even feel angry in response. He only pitied the Dursleys.

"I still feel I have to apologize, even though its clearly not my fault that any of this happened," Harry emphasized. "I don't know why the dementors were sent or who sent them. I don't think its the evil freak who's after me, since he wants to kill me personally, not have my soul sucked out before he can have the pleasure."

While Vernon had been barely restraining himself in anger, his uncle was now staring at him blankly with one eye, the other having been blackened by his fall. He was wearing the kind of dumbfounded expression that Harry never could have imagined from him.

"But still, I guess if I wasn't here, none of this would have happened," Harry said candidly. "I mean, if we weren't related, obviously you wouldn't have needed to take me in to obtain protection from the evil freaks. Therefore, even though none of this is my fault, I apologize."

"Get out."

Harry went, and quickly retrieved every last thing he owned. It took barely ten minutes, while Vernon sat down on the floor, looking utterly broken. He didn't say another word. But Harry turned to address his uncle for the last time.

"Before I depart and never call this place home again, I want to offer you some last advice. It's quite certain that once the protections fall, the evil freak who is after me will send his servants to kidnap, torture, and kill you in an attempt to get to me. Therefore, you have to leave Privet Drive as soon as possible. I'll try and contact some of my people immediately, who can provide you with some protection, but ultimately they won't be a match for the evil freak in question." A second owl flew in from the night, and Harry caught the letter that was dropped. It was addressed to Aunt Petunia from Professor Dumbledore, but Harry decided to read it anyways.

Apparently, it was Aunt Petunia who had been contacted by Dumbledore after his parent's death, and she had agreed to look after him, on the understanding that her family would be protected. Well, it was too late for that now. Harry left the letter on the floor next to his unconscious aunt and unresponsive uncle, picked up his packed trunk and Hedwig's empty cage and walked out.

He knew it was probably more responsible to stay, but he couldn't stand the guilt of seeing the Dursleys mourn, knowing that he really cared very little for them. The emotional turmoil that all this had wrought was making him impulsive and impatient, he had too many unanswered questions, and so he had a longing to leave it all behind.