Disclaimer: The idea behind this story may or may not be mine. The characters used within may or may not be mine. The storyline may or may not be mine. Anything that seems stolen isn't mine, but anything that makes you laugh or want to send me money is.

If his time before with the Dursleys' was Hell, then the day before the activation of the Portkey was the innermost circle of it. Aside from breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Harry was worked like a house elf. It wasn't anything he couldn't deal with, though; his new physique didn't just make him look pretty after all.

One such chore, of many, was mopping the kitchen floor. It wasn't the best idea the Dursleys had come up with during his life, as Harry ended up "accidentally" mopping himself into a corner and had to just stay there until it dried. It gave him some time to think, about things that had happened recently, and about things that hadn't.

He hadn't felt so much as an itch coming from his scar all summer. Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. During most of his third year he barely felt a twinge, but on the other hand, the Dark Lord hadn't been resurrected at that point. He thought that he should feel something, but he didn't. All he felt, when he allowed himself time to feel, was remorse and guilt.

Logically, he knew that he shouldn't feel as bad as he did. Cedric's shadow didn't blame him, Cedric's parents didn't blame him, and even Snape didn't blame him. However, that didn't stop him from blaming himself. If only I'd not tried to be so bloody noble, he thought often.

"You! What are you doing?" his uncle's voice bellowed from the doorway.

Funny, thought Harry, I didn't hear him slam the door. Out loud, he said, "I've mopped myself into the corner. Unless you want to run upstairs and get my broomstick, I'm trapped here."

Some combination of fear and outrage came on Vernon's face right then. "You… you will not speak of that… that…" He was at a loss for words. It was a first.

"Unnaturalness?" Harry offered.

"…evil in my house!"

Harry stood up and glared at his uncle. Some of the outrage cooled on the older man's face, or the fear took a stronger hold. "I am not evil." He walked across the now-dry kitchen floor and walked past his uncle. Vernon made no attempt to stop Harry.

When Harry was younger, he had some fear for the Dursley family. Between running from Dudley during the day, and ducking frying pans during the evenings, it was only natural. As his magical training went on, though, he found that his fear had diminished into a mild cautious feeling around them, then no more than the knowledge that he should watch what he said. When he came home after his fourth year, though, he felt nothing for them. He did chores and they fed him.

It was more than power, though. It was realisation. He realised that the Dursleys weren't worthy of fear, not after standing against the Dark Lord.

Harry slammed the door shut as he entered his room. He'd go without lunch for the first time in a long while, but it didn't matter. He had bits of food in his trunk somewhere when he got hungry. However, he didn't feel that sugar quills and chocolate frogs were part of a well-balanced diet.

"Ugh," he complained aloud. "What I really want right now is roast beef." That had been one of his favourite foods at Hogwarts; the house elves were superb cooks.

No sooner had he said his request to no one in particular had a roast beef sandwich appeared on a plate beside him. "Thanks," he said, not thinking about it. Then, "What the Hell?"

"Harry Potter is quite welcome, sir. Dobby is happy to be doing things for Harry Potter," said a voice from beneath the plate. Harry lifted it up to discover a familiar house elf in a mismatched outfit.

"Dobby? What are you doing here?" Harry asked incredulously. He had an urge to poke him to make sure he was real.

"Dobby is here to help Harry Potter. Professor Moony tell Dobby to come help Harry Potter to be getting his possessions to Professor Moony's house. Professor Moony is taking Harry Potter away from mean family," he explained in his simple manner.

"Uh… right. Well, Dobby, my clothes are in my trunk over there. Do you need help getting it?"

"No!" Dobby was adamant. "The Great and Kind Harry Potter doesn't need to help Dobby! Dobby is able." As if to prove it, he went over to Harry's trunk and lifted it above his head and disappeared with it. There goes the problem of how to get my stuff there, Harry thought.

~*~

Vernon had told Harry that morning exactly what he expected him to do. After lunch (Harry ate better than anyone else in the house, and was somewhat content with that in itself) he was to move the compost heap that Petunia had been collecting since the beginning of time. It was the filthiest thing on the property.

The small wheelbarrow they'd provided was less help that it could have been. The wheel was slightly off-centre, and putting too much in or making too sharp a turn resulted in the whole thing turning over.

When Harry was about halfway through the task, his ears were violently assaulted by a shrill voice. "Boy! Put some of that on my flowers!"

How could my mum have been sisters with that? Harry thought. He raised his head to acknowledge her, but she was already gone. "Just as well," Harry muttered.

Harry considered lying and saying he'd done the new task, but if they found out then the next summer wouldn't be pleasant. Sighing, Harry filled another load of compost and wheeled it to the front flower garden.

The group of girls that had been there the last few days had disappeared. Apparently Harry's larger-than-life (literally) cousin had scared them off. Harry really preferred it that way, though, as he could get the job done without having to worry about giggly hormone queens staring at his bum.

"If Snape could see me now," Harry muttered, spreading compost on the flowers, taking special care around the roses to avoid cutting himself. It wasn't really a safety issue, but Petunia would make quite a lot of noise if he bled all over her pretty flowers, and his ears were getting rather sensitive lately.

He worked for a while, eventually emptying the wheelbarrow. He went to get more, and when he got back, he saw that his "fan club" had returned, or started to anyway. Two girls, one blonde and one brunette, were standing there giggling. Not for the first time, he thought that giggling should be made illegal.

Work, work, work, work, work… it was getting rather monotonous. Every once in a while, though, Harry would look to see if the girls had left or if more had arrived. Honestly, is there nothing else in this town to do?

Suddenly, Harry felt an odd thump on his rear. He turned around to see a silver coin sitting innocent looking in the grass. A sub-group of the girls were giggling even harder. Blushing furiously, Harry rushed through the rest of the work, picked up the coin, shoved the wheelbarrow in the tool shed and went inside. He could still hear the giggling. Illegal.

~*~

After a shower, which everyone in the house insisted he take (Harry included), Harry rushed down to the dinner table dressed in clean clothes. He was subjected to the usual routine from Petunia and Dudley: get a haircut, why can't you be more like us, and so forth. Vernon, however, was oddly silent. Harry just assumed either his uncle was glad to be rid of him soon, or his show about the broomstick paid off. He didn't really care; he just wanted something to eat.

"Rabbit food," Vernon complained when Petunia set his salad in front of him. Harry demolished it in record time, before even Dudley could finish. He knew better than to ask for seconds, and excused himself from the table, with Dudley whining that Harry got to leave while he was stuck eating lettuce. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from offering to finish Dudley's salad for him.

~*~

With all of Harry's work, he'd not yet got a chance to write to Ron or Hermione about Professor Lupin's rescue.

Dear Ron,

This is a quick letter to tell you that I won't be at the Dursleys' for the rest of the summer. Professor Lupin offered to come and rescue me, and I, after a large amount of thought, decided it was for the best.

I don't have a whole lot of time right now, since I want to get Hedwig out before Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia figure out I'm sending a letter. Since I only have one owl, could you tell Hermione for me?

How's your family doing? The Wheezes? How about the Cannons? We don't get a lot of Quidditch information out here.

See you soon,

Harry

It wasn't the best letter, Harry knew. Ideally, he would tell Ron about pretty much everything, but he wanted to get Hedwig out soon. The Dursleys may have been cruel, ignorant, and unattractive, but they weren't—well, they were idiots. But they weren't blind.

Hedwig flew out of sight, the full moon spreading its glistening light on her white feathers. Suddenly, Harry realised why his former teacher had set the letter to wait so long: he would be transforming tonight. He didn't want Harry to witness the horror of seeing his mentor become a nearly feral beast.

Harry sighed. To think, I trust a werewolf more than my entire family. He let out a sad chuckle as he climbed into bed. Most of the world would think I'm crazy.

Of course, if they met the Dursleys, they'd hug him and beg him not to let them go back.