Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

by HarmonyLupin

eh, something to read while you're cussing at JK Rowling "Write faster, wman! Dammit, write faster!"

1. Boy Who Fell from the Sky... & Went Spla...

Chapter one

THE BOY WHO FELL FROM THE SKY…AND WENT SPLAT

"Petunia! Dudley! I have to talk to you!" shouted Uncle Vernon, charging through the hallway to the kitchen.

Harry knew better than stick around at a time like this. He scrambled upstairs and stopped midway. Harry sat perfectly still on a step and peered through the staircase. From this angle, he could just make out a glimpse of the kitchen.

"What is it, darling?" said Aunt Petunia, innately.

"What'd you buy me?" said Dudley, waddling to his father.

"NOTHING!" roared Uncle Vernon.

Dudley feigned the start of a tantrum, but Uncle Vernon shouted, "NOT NOW!"

Dudley took a step back, glaring contemptuously at him.

"Vernon?! What is going on?" said Aunt Petunia, daunted.

"THE COMPANY WENT BANKRUPT!"

"What?"

"WE LOST TWENTY-FIVE CLIENTS AND GUNNINGS STOCKS PLUMMETED!"

"But how?"

"I DON'T KNOW! THE WORLD'S GOING TO HELL — WHAT DO I CARE? ALL I KNOW IS THAT WE'RE SO BANKRUPT, WE CAN'T EVEN AFFORD RECTIFY WHATEVER THE CAUSE IS!"

"So what do we do?" said Aunt Petunia.

"Does this mean I can't get Zombie Eaters IV? It's coming out next month and I want to — no, I have to — be the first one at Smeltings to have it!" whined Dudley, preparing to throw a real tantrum.

Harry was amazed that Dudley could keep track of when his video games came out but not even know when Boxing Day was.

"YOU'LL BE LUCKY TO HAVE DINNER!" roared Uncle Vernon.

Dudley was too stunned to speak. He just stared at his father and began bawling.

"What do you mean 'lucky to have dinner'? Surely, we'll manage? What about our savings?" squeaked Aunt Petunia.

"It's all gone," said Uncle Vernon, exasperatedly. He sat down at the table and disappeared from Harry's range of view. "I had to take it out to pay the debts. We're flat out BROKE!"

Sensing another outburst, Aunt Petunia quickly made a cup of tea for her husband. He grunted gratefully.

"About the boy —" he continued, "I don't think we can keep it — "

Dudley stopped bawling and began panicking.

"Not you, son," Uncle Vernon grunted. "Goodness, no. I meant Harry."

Harry craned his neck to see if the Dursleys were dismayed or delighted at the excuse to get rid of him.

"Where can we dump him?" said Aunt Petunia, coldly. "We're his only relatives."

"Don't remind me," said Uncle Vernon, ruefully.

Any hope that the Dursleys were merely hiding their affection for him dissolved from Harry's mind as quickly as it had come.

The next day at breakfast, Uncle Vernon was still fuming about financial problems when the doorbell interrupted him.

"What now?" Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Better not be some damn Girl Scouts or religious nuts. Get the door, Dudley."

"I don't want to."

"Get the door, Harry."

"I don't want to."

Uncle Vernon put his paper down and stared at Harry with bloodshot eyes.

"It was worth a shot," Harry shrugged. He got up and went to answer the door. There was a bald man in a red uniform jacket looking down intently and scribbling on a clipboard.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Vernon Dursley — "

He looked up at Harry and stopped. An annoyed expression came over him and he snapped, "Where's your father?"

"Dead. But my Uncle Vernon's here," said Harry, looking down at the bald man. He turned around and called down the hall, "Uncle Vernon! It's for you!"

He walked back into the kitchen and passed Uncle Vernon, who was furious at having his breakfast interrupted. Harry sat down and picked at his carrot, thinking about Hogwarts' steamed casseroles and rich puddings.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY 'EXPIRED WARRANTY'? REPOSSESSED?! I WAS TOLD WE HAD ANOTHER WEEK!"

Harry and Aunt Petunia ran into the front parlor with Dudley trailing behind. Uncle Vernon was arguing with the bald man, who, now that he had turned around, had 'Ray's Repo' stitched on his jacket, in the front parlor.

"What is it, Vernon?" said Aunt Petunia. "Oh, no. They can't! They just can't! What if the neighbors see?!"

All of a sudden, the door flew open and about ten moving men walked in. They started grabbing the furniture in the living room and started putting them in the moving lorry they had waiting outside.

"Damn bank loans… can't even hold for another month…" Uncle Vernon muttered while two men picked up the big screen television. Harry watched in puzzlement as Dudley's eyes got bigger and bigger with every electronic that was repossessed.

"Family meeting!" Uncle Vernon growled, herding his family and Harry back into the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon paced about as his family and Harry sat at the table. The refrigerator, china dishes, silverware and Dudley's kitchen television had already been taken.

"Alright. Now, boys… as you can see, we're going through a bit of a rough patch… financially," Aunt Petunia began delicately. "We are going to have to give up a few luxuries just for a while. I hope you— "

A loud crash came from upstairs as the men tried to bring Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's bed downstairs.

"So meanwhile," said Uncle Vernon, struggling to keep his temper and ignore the sound of his home being repossessed, "we're going to live with Marge for a few days. Pack only things of necessity since most of our stuff is going back to the Repo man."

Uncle Vernon stood up while and his chair was promptly taken away. Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Harry stood up, too, watching Uncle Vernon began turn into a nasty shade of purple, a large, Y vein throbbing at the side of his forehead. Their chairs were then also taken away.

"Alright, let's… get… packing…." said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. He herded everyone out of the kitchen and upstairs. "I want to all back here in five minutes ready to leave. Hurry up!"

As Harry was about to follow Aunt Petunia and Dudley upstairs to pack his stuff, Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the collar and pulled him so close to his face that Harry could feel his hot stinky breath down his throat.

"Listen, boy," Uncle Vernon snarled, "there is no damn way you are bringing any of that friggin' magic crap with you to Marge's house. No funny stuff whatsoever, hear me?! And I doubt that Marge's forgotten about you blowing her up! She's probably give you one hell of a hard time, so don't end up making it any worse for yourself!"

Harry said nothing. He felt that this wasn't the time to mention that the Ministry of Magic had modified Aunt Marge's memory, since Uncle Vernon's face was beginning to resemble a purple Mr. Potato Head gone wrong, more and more by the minute.

"And don't think about trying to sneak your crap into her house because I will personally check your suitcase, boy!"

A blaring squeal suddenly came down the stairs. The Repo men were taking away all of Dudley's electronics and he was giving up a very good fight.

"No, no! Not my computer!" Dudley bawled, pathetically clutching at the Repo man's leg. "Not my Playstation! No, no — leave portable television, at least! No, no, please, don't!"

Harry rushed upstairs and hastily dumped all of his stuff into  his largest trunk.  Knowing Uncle Vernon would check his luggage, Harry crammed his potion ingredients, Hogwarts textbooks, quills and parchment, wand, robes, and, with some effort, his broom, together under his Invisibility Cloak. On top of that, he packed his regular used and lint-covered clothes.

Outside, behind the Repo lorry, was Uncle Vernon's old car. His new company car had also been repossessed.

"Hurry up, boy! Haven't got all day to wait for you!" he snapped. Harry loaded his things into the car boot and got in the backseat beside Dudley.

During the entire ride, no one spoke a word except for Uncle Vernon's  irrational mutterings, though those were to himself. Aunt Petunia swallowed every once in a while when her husband's ranting began to sound schizophrenic, and Harry could actually see the lump in her long skinny throat slide downward slowly, and disappear¾ all from the backseat. Dudley kept pinching Harry, trying to make him retaliate and get in trouble. He was also making faces, but Harry was pretty sure that it was how he normally looked like.

They pulled up against muddy road an hour later. On the porch in front of the big, picket-fenced, white house was a big, beefy woman, waving furiously. Harry shuddered at the bulge of fat jiggling beneath her upper arm, as well as everywhere else.

"Yoo-hoo!" Aunt Marge bellowed as Harry and the Dursleys dragged their luggage towards the house. "Dudders! Give Auntie a kissypoo!"

Dudley groaned, exhausted from lugging the Gameboy he managed to smuggle. Nonetheless, he came waddling to her and let her seize him in a wet kiss on the forehead and face-distorting cheek pinching. When she let him go, a crisp twenty-pound note was tucked into his front pocket.

"Vernon, Petunia, dears," she turned to Aunt Petunia. "So dreadful this hard luck had to come. But you know you three will always be welcomed in my home." She shot a glare at Harry and Uncle Vernon said quickly, "And I'm so terribly sorry to burden you with the boy, but we are his legal guardians so we have to feed him, house him and all that nonsense¾"

"Not necessarily…" Aunt Marge murmured darkly. Then she brightened up again and exclaimed, "All well, done is done! Two deadbeats get themselves killed and burden hard-working, decent people¾ that's how the world works and we might as well accept it." She turned to Harry, grudgingly acknowledging his existence, and growled so low only Harry could hear, "But one stray move and you are dog food. That crackpot St. Whatsit cannot be as effective or as severe as I can be. I am not exaggerating, for you see, I do make my own dog food with my own meat grinder…"

Inside, the house reeked of urine, feces, old newspaper, dog food and dander. It was like living in a doghouse, only ten times larger and ten times smellier. Harry had to tip toe in order not to step on any dog or its mess. Everywhere he looked, there were bulldogs. Wrinkly, short-muzzled faces looked at him from every corner, growling.

"Oh, don't mind them," Aunt Marge said to the Dudleys, "They won't maim decent people." Again she turned to Harry, "Only the crazy, criminal types."

When her back was turned, Harry rolled his eyes, "this is going to be a long summer holiday." A dog shuffled towards Harry, and lifted its hind leg over his shoe. He sighed as it was accompanied by a thin trickling sound. "Yes. A very long summer holiday."

And indeed it was. Harry had been at Marge's for hardly two weeks, but it felt like months. He was thrown into the cellar, since the cupboard under the stairs was where the bulldogs did their business. Despite that, Harry would've still preferred to be there instead of the rank stink hole called a cellar. It was perpetually damp, moldy and drafty, although there was no window, and smelled like a cesspool. Well, not quite. Cesspools were actually cleaned once in a while. Aunt Marge's cellar wasn't. At night, he could hear the rats and cockroaches scurry across the cement, the ancient and rusted pipes rattle, and the creaking of the house. Harry didn't bother to really unpack; he wasn't planning to make himself too at home. Hedwig's cage remained empty since the first day in the country, like most of the summer, when she was on her nightly haunts, roaming the countryside for what Harry knew not. Otherwise, the she would keep screeching and banging on her cage all night when she wasn't allowed out.

During Harry's first week back with the Dursleys, Hedwig had knocked her cage over at one o'clock in the morning and escaped. She flew around the entire house, screeching and squawking, pecking at the windows furiously. Meanwhile, Harry spent the night coaxing her to return to her cage while the Dursleys persisted to howling at him.

"If you don't get that owl under control, it's to the taxidermist with her and to the cupboard for you!" Uncle Vernon had roared at Harry.

Harry knew that Uncle Vernon was only bluffing; it would cost him too much to stuff Hedwig and he wasn't going to spend a penny more than necessary on anything even remotely tied to the wizarding world. Besides, at the rate things were going, Harry was probably going to end up back in the cupboard anyway. After Uncle Vernon had been laid off, things were very tense in the Dursley household.

When Harry did get Hedwig back into her cage, she was still raging and had tried to snap Harry's arm off. Since then, he had been secretly letting Hedwig out on her nightly trips to relieve her restlessness.

Now, Hedwig seemed like she was gone for good, at least until September rolled around. Smart bird, Harry thought bitterly. The Dursleys also had him doing chores like feeding, and cleaning after the bulldogs (that infested every nook and corner of the house). He almost longed for Privet Drive again.

I thought bulldogs were bred to be friendly, Harry thought one morning while nursing his latest bites. It was as if those dogs had planned where to bite Harry: wherever it hurt and bled most. Flush! Swish! Ugh, he grimaced. Every time someone used the bathroom, he could hear it flush and make it's way down the pipes through the house, releasing its smell into his 'bedroom'.

"I have to get out of here," Harry shuddered, forcing himself not to vomit.

In the kitchen, the Dursleys sat cramped around the table meant for two. Harry almost felt sorry for Aunt Petunia, crammed in the masses of her husband, son and Aunt Marge. That is, until she squawked, "Finally woke up then, huh? Lazy little ingrate. We've been starved!"

"Not to mention my poor babies," said Aunt Marge, cuddling Ripper, her favorite old, ill-tempered bulldog. "Luckily, I just drowned another batch of weaklings; they wouldn't survive with the pathetic service you give, runt."

"Whatever you say," Harry murmured, starting to make breakfast.

"Now, as I was saying," Uncle Vernon said gruffly, "I called the bank yesterday, and they said that their hands are tied until they can sort out the paperwork."

"How long will that take?" chirped Aunt Petunia. "Because it's been forever since I've spied on Mrs. Wilder and the milkman¾"

"I don't know," gritted her husband. That vein on his forehead began growing and pulsing again. "maybe a few more weeks… or months… OR WHENEVER THE HELL THEY DECIDE TO TAKE THEIR PRECIOUS LITTLE DAMN TIME TO ACTUALLY SERVE THEIR CUSTOMERS! OH I OUGHT TO MARCH RIGHT DOWN THERE AND GIVE THEM A PIECE OF MY MIND¾"

"Now, now. We mustn't do anything to spoil our little Dudley's fifteenth birthday!"  said Aunt Petunia. "Duddleykins' little friends are coming all the way out here just for him." Dudley squealed happily and then looked sharply at Harry.

"But I don't want him at my party tonight! He'll spoil everything!" Dudley pointed his chubby finger at Harry. Although he was going to be fifteen, Dudley still retained much of his baby fat and instead of growing taller, seemed to grow wider. It was such an interesting phenomenon.

"Don't worry, pumpkin," Aunt Petunia smiled, "He won't be." She turned to Harry and said sharply,

"You are not going to Dudley's party. We don't want you embarrassing us in front of Dudleykins' little friends. You will stay in your room until tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Harry said indifferently, passing out the plates of scrambled eggs and fried bread. "I'll stay in my room."

"Humph! You, boy, are just jealous that Dudders has got such wonderful friends while you are alone and ignored," said Aunt Marge, forcing Ripper to eat the fried bread from her plate. "You're just hungry for company aside from those crazies at your madhouse."

"Especially rat-faced friends who are only there because you bribe and threaten them," Harry said quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," he replied quickly.

"Stupid mutt. Muttering to himself like an underbred chases its tail, that's what it is," Aunt Marge sneered.

"And, you are going to set up the party. That'll teach you some discipline. Its about time you did some real chores," Uncle Vernon derided, "Not like watching over the dogs, taking out trash, or cooking, or cleaning or washing dishes, or…"

Harry dipped the point of his quill into his inkbottle and grumbled. He ran out of ink, again. Harry crept over to his trunk and rummaged through for another bottle. Once he found one and sat down to begin his essay again, his stomach gurgled with a disturbing slosh-sloshing sound. He hadn't had anything decent to eat except for the leftovers he got, the leftovers from the dogs' food, that is. If it weren't for the tub of Every Flavor Beans and stale Chocolate Frogs Harry saved from last year, he could've starved to death by now.

But the decaying wizard food hardly did any good for his stomach. Harry was naturally scrawny for his age, but he was a lot thinner than usual lately. Harry was beginning to look like his broomstick, but with glasses of course.

He snuggled deeper into the sparse covers of his cot, trying to escape from the chilly, foul air of the cellar. Just don't think about the slimy walls… fungus can be healthy, right? Harry adjusted the angle of his flashlight. "Thesis… significance of Moos dung's introduction to Potion Brewery… speculative dissertation…" Harry was trying to ignore the clicking of rat's scurrying under his cot (which smelled of sour milk and sweat) when his candle was blown out by a draft..

"Damn it!" he cursed. It had taken a fair amount of sneaking to find a matches lying around (Aunt Marge didn't trust him to be near any sort of fire). And now, he had no way have finishing his Potions homework: a five-foot long report on moose Dung. What the hell was up with that? Professor Snape, the Potions Master, was going to have a field day when his most loathed student turned in a report with sixty inches of unintelligible scrawl.

Harry sat there in the pitch-black cellar, putting his things away. "Ugh." Harry had to feel his way around and occasionally grazed across the slimy walls or furry backs of a rat. Then, peering out of the darkness was a pair of glowing eyes. They stared at Harry, those demonic cat eyes.

"H¾Hedwig?" Harry said faintly. "Please be Hedwig and not a mutant rat…please…" he sat there, unmoving. Alright, so he was trapped in a wet,  reeking, dark, windowless cellar with wall mildew and, apparently, mutated rats with glowing green eyes. He looked at the 'rat' again. Thoses eyes were too big to be a rat, mutated or not. Whatever the creature was, it purred softly.

Then it was gone.

Harry spent the next afternoon putting up streamers for Dudley's party and preparing dip for twenty people (which Dudley continually tasted and rejected every batch) while he would rather be studying for the upcoming year at Hogwarts. But what did it matter to the Dursleys if Harry was going to take the O.W.L.S this year? What if he was going to fail and never become a proper wizard?

As Harry was balancing himself on a rickety stool to hang up the banner, Dudley wandered over to him and kicked the stool's legs, causing Harry to tumble to the ground, tearing the banner in the fall. Dudley gave a loud cry and Aunt Petunia came rushing into the living room.

"What's the matter, honey? " Aunt Petunia asked.

"The idiot tore my banner! Now my birthday is ruined!" Dudley bawled.

Aunt Petunia looked at the torn red and purple banner and began yelling at Harry,

"How dare you do that! Just because your not invited to Dudley's party and you're jealous of his friends doesn't mean you can ruin his birthday! You wasted all of yesterday making that!"

"Well…" Harry said slyly, "I could fix it with magic."

Harry was lying through his teeth. Hogwarts never stooped as low as to teach their students how to deal with Muggle problems. Besides, he'd be expelled for a third offense.

Harry began to wave his arms aimlessly and mumbling, "Woooo! Woooo! Shmorgusforgin!"

Dudley screamed and took off as fast as his chubby legs could carry his gut. Just then, Uncle Vernon burst into the room and caught Harry in the middle of his gibberish and Aunt Petunia frozen with a look of fear and mortification.

"You lousy, good-for-nothing scum! What have I told you about do-do-doing… th-that!" Uncle Vernon stammered with fury, "And in Marge's house! Get out of my sight! No dinner!"

Harry ran upstairs meekly. Although he would have to starve tonight, the look on Dudley and Aunt Petunia's face was worth it. Once he got to his room, the doorbell rang.

Dudley's lackeys, rat faced Piers Polkiss, butt-chinned Roger Conte, and their mothers were on the doorstep. Dudley came waddling to them and they high-fived, guffawing like idiots.

Later on, the party was in the bulldog-crammed backyard. Presents overflowed on the picnic table, Piers shrieking every time a dog came within eyeshot of him, and Harry poking at the hotdogs on the grill. Then the cake was brought out.

It wavered unstably, five layers and six thousand calories too many. It was an unsightly purple and orange monstrosity filled with homemade chocolate (Harry shuddered to think of where or how Aunt Marge got a hold of the materials this far into the country). Fifteen lit candles bunched together on the top layer, melting the cream and garish icing. Uncle Vernon let it slam down in front of Dudley's place at the table. He squealed happily, clapping his meaty little hands together.

"Ooh! It's perfect! Just like a want it," he giggled. Then his face scrunched up in confusion (a very common look for him), "but what's everyone else going to eat for dessert?"

Laughter roared at Dudley's remark.

"Duddleykins is just so witty ditty, isn't he?" Aunt Petunia gushed, pinching his cheeks (it was actually a part of his many chins, but his face was so scrunched up and fleshy, no one could tell). "Mummy's got a clever little boy, yes she does!"

Dudley still looked confused. "Of course I'm¾I'm clever. What does clever mean? Anyway, what is everyone going to eat?"

And on the joke went. Harry wondered whether Dudley's family and friends had noticed that they were actually laughing at his stupidity, because Harry certainly was.

Aunt Marge stopped laughing, wiping tears from her eyes, and suddenly turned to Harry. "What's wrong with this one? He's got no sense of humor! I think St. Whatsit¾"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys," Uncle Vernon grunted.

"¾is doing any good for him! It's just turning him callous, like one of them hardened criminal types he's around with all the time! Vernon, I think that you need to move him elsewhere¾"

"Yes, and that we'll do at some other time¾"

"¾like my house."

A cold chill swept over. Dudley and his gang stopped stuffing their faces, Uncle Vernon's face turned pale lavender, and Aunt Petunia's teacup fell out of her hands and shattered, her hand still in cup holding position with her pinky sticking out.

"What?" Harry said meekly.

"You heard me!" Aunt Marge barked. "Your hard-working Aunt and Uncle spends lord knows how much to send you to that institute, and it's making you worse than before! So I want you to come live here and actually learn something! That way I can keep an eye on you while you work here on the Bulldog ranch¾"

"But what about school¾"

"You don't need school! You're going to end up like your useless, unemployed, drunk parents no matter how much any of us spend on you! At least they had the sense to get themselves killed rather than have to raise the hopeless lost-cause you are!"

Dudley and the cake exploded.

There was no other way to put it. Dudley was sitting there before his atrocious cake, laughing at Harry, and suddenly both just disappeared with a large bang. Everyone stared, frozen, eyes fixated to the empty seat. Then all eyes turned to Harry.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"

"WHERE IS DUDLEY?"

"YOU DID THAT OCCULT MAGIC CRAP AND KILLED MY BOY!"

Aunt Petunia was running in circles, as if one leg was shorter than the other, babbling shrilly. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge swelled up, eyes bulging, veins pulsing, fists clenched, and mustaches twitching.

"I¾I¾I don't know¾ I didn't mean to¾ I¾I just¾I just¾he was¾the you were¾I¾I" Harry hyperventilated, backing away.

Piers and Roger huddled in a corner, bewildered. Uncle Vernon lifted Harry off the ground by the color and smacked him across the face. Harry fell from his grasp and heard his glasses skitter across the lawn. He was groping for them when he felt someone pull him up by his hair. Aunt Marge growled, "The bitch's mutt will pay."

It began raining. But it wasn't water that showered the entire countryside; bits of cake, purple and orange icing, and cheap candles rained like hail, falling in clumps all over the place. The blue sky turned into a whimsical pastel swirl of rosy pinks and yellow, dimming the countryside extending beyond the vast cake-covered hillsides. Harry looked up at an unusually large piece of cake began to fall, getting larger by the second.

"That's no cake!" he shouted, pointing at it. The Dursleys ceased cursing and looked up just in time to see a fat child plummeting down and hit the ground with a splat, creating a large crater in Aunt Marge's yard.

"Son!" Uncle Vernon and his sister helped Dudley up, who seemed unharmed¾at least, physically unharmed. The boy began babbling, his eyes darting back and forth, and his fat jiggling.

"Dudders! What happened?"

"Where were you?"

"I¾I¾I don't know!" he stuttered. "I was¾I was laughing at the freak over there, then I¾then I blacked out! Next thing I know, I was¾I was¾ " Dudley stopped his ranting and became disturbingly solemn. He whispered in a low, harsh voice no one had ever heard him use. "I went to Hell, and back."

"WHAT?!"

Uncle Vernon's yellow eyes bulged as he stared at his son, then turned to Harry.

"Oh bugger, not again," he groaned as Uncle Vernon advanced on him.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY BOY? TURNED HIM INTO ONE OF YOU LUNATICS, DIDN'T YOU? ANSWER ME!"

"I don't know!" Harry shouted back. "But what I do know is that Dudley and the rest of you can just go to hell for all I care! Oh wait! HE DID!"

Harry couldn't take it anymore. The Dursleys' bellowing, Dudley's new dark side and that freak storm! It was just too much! He ran to the cellar and grabbed his trunk. His anger and shock provided him with unprecedented power. Everything seemed to happen without a wand or conscious thought. Doors exploded before him. The trunk, owl cage and upstairs' walk against gravity should've weighed him down, but he felt as if nothing could deter him from leaving that disgusting hellhole.

"Get back here you little coward!" Aunt Marge screamed, turning purple. "Come back and face this mess!"

"Harry!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, "Don't you DARE ever come back to Marge's or my home! You ungrateful little…" he, fortunately, never finished his sentence as, with a glare, Harry unknowingly sent his uncle flying toward the other side of the yard, slamming into a wall. The picket fence exploded before him, post by post, and Harry marched into the road, stuck out his wand arm and hailed the Knight Bus.

*  *  *

"What's wrong with yeh?" said the driver with a careless nod in Harry's direction. Harry saw with relief that Ernie Prang, the driver from his last trip was nowhere to be found, and nor was the conductor, Stan Shunpike. Here, he could again hide his identity and not have to deal with that Harry Potter enthusiast nonsense.

"Nothing much," Harry lied as he prepared to heave his things into the bus. With a start, he realized that his bags and Hedwig's still empty cage were floating by his side. They fell with a thump at Harry's shocked gaze. Luckily, the driver noticed none of this. He was intensely interested in the weather, not Harry.

"Lookie boy! One of them Rage Storms. So startlin'!" He goggled at the raining cake bits, scratching off a dried piece of icing on his side mirror.

"A what storm?" said Harry.

"A Rage Storm. Yeh know, when a witch or wizard gets real miffed, they start screwing up the weather without meaning to." The bus driver scratched his head. "I fink 'ere's a Muggle Interference Law about causing one of these. Well, you can bet whoever caused this is gonna get into some mighty a big mess!"

Harry flattened his bangs and nodded. "That's just… wonderful."

"Oh! How impolite of me! My name is Cromwell! I'll help you with those things." Cromwell jumped lightly off the bus and helped Harry carry his things inside. Taking one last look at the storm, he let out a long whistle and shut the door.

Once inside, Harry looked around. He was the only passenger. "Lucky fing you didn't have to go through that Rage Storm. They can get pretty bad, depending on how wound up the wizard is," said Cromwell. Harry broke out in a cold sweat. If the Ministry hadn't caught on yet, they were going to, and there was no way he could shirk out of this one.

Cromwell looked at him suspiciously. Harry gulped. "Come on, lad, let's have it out." Cromwell tapped his foot impatiently. So he knew! Harry was about to blab it all, his true identity, how he sent Dudley to Hell, the Rage Storm, everything, when Cromwell held out his hand, rubbing his index finger with his thumb. Oh wait! A light bulb suddenly flickered dimly in Harry's mind. Reaching deep into his trunk, he produced eleven silver sickles. "Diagon Alley, please."

"There now! Thought yeh could try and get a free ride outta ol' Cromwell , eh?" Cromwell grumbled to himself. "As I was saying," he continued, all smiles once more, "lucky you didn't have to go through that Rage Storm. One big chunk of whatever that is and yer gone. Yeh do look like a weak lad."

Harry took a good look at himself. Cromwell probably thought he had been walking by, and, wanting to avoid the storm, and had hitched a ride. His clean clothes and composed appearance seemed to attest to that. He also noticed a few other things about himself. No longer small and undersized for his age, he was, instead, gangly and tall. He was still a lightweight, but he could feel muscles building up in his arms and legs. He glanced at his hands and saw they were white. He must be really pale then. That would explain why Cromwell thought him weak.

During his first month back with the Dursleys, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were taking his measurements to find out how much to alter Dudley's overused clothes, only to discover an unusual growth spurt.

"Damn you, boy!" Vernon Dursley had spat.

"Well I can't help it if I'm growing taller!" Harry protested. "I think it's a side affect to aging, you know. We humans tend to grow, especially during adolescence — "

"YOU ARE ANYTHING BUT HUMAN!" Uncle Dursley roared back. Harry noticed an unsightly  vein that bulged in his neck and forehead..

"Now, now… you know what the doctor said," Aunt Petunia squawked. "Just keep your temper and your cholesterol down — "

"How does he expect me to be a healthy man with that — that — that diet crap? It nearly killed Dudley!"

His wife then pursed her lips tightly, as irritation mounted into her eyes. Uncle Vernon backed away. He inhaled severely, lowered his voice and turned to his nephew again. "Besides — its because I feed you too damn well!"

Aunt Petunia clucked in agreement, as she swung a tape measure over her gooseneck.

"Four inches," she shook her head in disbelief, "Four inches in hardly a year! It's just not natural!"

"Nothing's natural about the boy, Petunia. A FREAK OF NATURE is what he is!" Uncle Vernon growled.

She then raised her thinly drawn-on eyebrows and began pressing her lips together in accumulating impatience again. Her husband growled in surrender.

 "I suppose wizard growth spurts are a little quicker than Muggle—" Harry had begun.

"Don't you dare say the 'W' word!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, his face turning maroon. "None of it! And just look at yourself — a huge disgrace! Tall and scrawny, just like your vagrant of a father!"

But as Harry grew taller, Dudley had simply grown wider. This made it quite hard for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to fit Harry into Dudley's hand-me-downs.

"And another thing, COMB YOUR HAIR! You'd think that those people at that — that school would know a way to untangle that bird nest on your head. Maybe I should stop feeding you and you'll stop growing…"

Then Harry sighed. He missed Hogwarts, where most people actually didn't mind his presence.

Are you listening to me?!" said Uncle Vernon irately. 

"Huh?" said Harry. Naturally, he had stopped listening after a while.

Uncle Vernon's purple head shook with fury. "Typical! Lazy bloke — I'll teach you! THAT IS it! No new clothes from me!"

Harry scoffed at "new".

"Just be grateful that you have any clothes at all!" roared Uncle Vernon, and the two left, slamming the bedroom door.

Harry, at the end of his reminiscence, suddenly laughed to himself as it all clicked. Of course! He was going through puberty! Wait. That sounded very disturbing.

He glanced down at his jeans. They were still wide and baggy, but the cuffs fell short a couple inches above his ankles. Harry made a mental note to stop by Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. At least with Hogwarts' robes, no one would notice.

"So now…" said Cromwell as he maneuvered the bus with all the skill and grace of an inebriated, blind cow. "What's yer name, laddie? Whatcher doin' in these Muggle parts? Awful dull ain't they?"

Harry racked his brain. He couldn't very well be Neville Longbottom again. "Um… my name is… Draco Malfoy!" Dammit! I'm a perfect moron, thought Harry. Where had that come from?

The bus driver recoiled. "Malfoy, eh?" he laughed tensely. "Well… that's wonderful… sir!"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Let's just say I've heard a thing or two about yer clan," he chuckled nervously. "Of course, it's all good, Mr. Malfoy…" he ranted and then smartly fell quiet.

The ride was progressing in this silent fashion when a siren sounded throughout the bus. "So sorry, Mr. Malfoy," babbled Cromwell. "It seems the Ministry Task Force is pulling us aside. I'm sure it's nothin'! Nothin' to do with you! No, course not…" he continued along this trail, even as a sleek black car pulled up beside them.

"Harry? Harry! You there?" cried a gruff, familiar voice.

"Yes? Do I know you?" questioned Harry, peering through the window. A tall, brawny man in  crumpled, official-looking black robes who had a very clean shave (along with some minor nicks and cuts, Harry noticed) stepped out of the car.

"'arry?" the bus driver repeated, confused. "Thar's no 'arry 'ere Mister, sir. There's only," his voice dropped into a theatrical whisper, "a Malfoy!"

"No," said the Ministry Troop positively. "This young man you have sitting in your bus is Harry Potter! Harry, would you please come with me?"

"Why?" Harry asked anxiously, stepping off the bus. He was sure that he was in a dead heap of trouble. All well, if he had to pay a fine with his entire fortune, then he could drop out of Hogwarts and become a penniless drifter… cool…

"I need to take you to the Ministry," the Ministry Troop said composedly. "By the way, my name's… Mr. Black." He winked.

Harry's panic-stricken face contorted into a broad smile. Sirius' dark eyes glinted in the moonlight mischievously. He was much more heartier than when Harry saw him last, which was when he wandered about as a fugitive and fed off rats. Though he lost his sunken eyes and the perpetual bags under them, there was a gaunt and sadness in Sirius that Azkaban had left behind inside of him, like a scar from his past.

Harry raced up to his godfather. "How did you find me?" he shouted excitedly. Cromwell slumped in his chair.

"Harry Potter?" the bus driver said in a daze. "It really is you then! And… you didn't flag me down because you wanted to avoid the storm… yeh… yeh caused it! Oh my…" Harry was surprised. Cromwell wasn't as dense as he had formerly appeared.

"Come on Harry," said Sirius, trying to keep a straight face. "Let's get you someplace safe! Gotta take you to Fudge and stuff, blah blah blah — thanks a bunch, Mr. Bus Driver! Buh-bye!"

*next chapter: maybe, depending on reviews.