A/N: This chapter will use excerpts from HP OotP interweaved with my own storytelling, so if it feels familiar, it probably is.

Disclaimer: I'm not JKR.

Chapter 2: Purple, White and Green

Wednesday 2nd August, 1995, 2142,

4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

HJP's POV

Harry couldn't believe what this evening was bringing - Draco Malfoy talking to him almost like a normal human being after helping him with a Dementor attack and he's now going into not just any Muggle house, but the Dursley's. How the hell did that happen?

After what seemed like an age, they finally arrive at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry opened the door and let the two boys walk through before closing it behind the trio.

'Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite - quite - Diddy, what's the matter?'

Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed for a moment on the spot, his face pale green, then he opened his mouth at last and vomited all over the doormat.

'DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!'

Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forward to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

'He's ill, Vernon!'

'What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?'

While the Dursleys fussed over their son, rattling off one ridiculous scenario after another and made their noisy progress down the hall toward the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly toward the stairs.

'Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.'

'Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!'

Harry's foot was on the bottommost stair when Dudley found his voice.

'Him.'

Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.

'BOY! COME HERE!'

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.

'What have you done to my son?' he said in a menacing growl.

'Nothing,' said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.

'What did he do to you, Diddy?' Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. 'Was it - was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use - his thing?'

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.

'I didn't!' Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. 'I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was a couple of Dementors!'

Aunt Petunia froze with her arms around Dudley who retched again.

'A couple of- what's this codswallop?'

'De-men-tors,' said Harry slowly and clearly. 'Two of them.'

'And what the ruddy hell are dementors?'

'They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,' said Aunt Petunia. Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words and then Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled.

'How d'you know that?' he asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsey teeth. 'I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago,' she said jerkily.

'If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?' said Harry exasperatedly.

Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was as- tounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.

'Not your father,' she spat out quietly, as though saying it any louder would cause her physical discomfort. 'It was that horrid friend of hers with his hooked nose and awfully oily hair.'

Stunned, Harry went to ask her more about this friend of his mother's only to be silenced by his aunt's icy glare. Glancing at Uncle Vernon, it was clear he was still somewhat sceptical.

'Dudley,' Hary knelt in front of his sickly cousin who flinched at being addressed by the wizard. 'When the Dementors attacked, what did you feel?' All eyes turned to Dudley.

'Go on, son,' said Uncle Vernon.

'Tell us, darling,' whispered Aunt Petunia.

He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

'Horrible,' croaked Dudley. 'Cold. Really cold.'

'Okay,' said Uncle Vernon in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. 'What happened then, Dudders?'

'Felt … felt … felt … as if … as if …'

'As if you'd never be happy again,' Harry supplied tonelessly.

'Yes,' Dudley whispered, still trembling.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, 'So - so - they - er - they - er - they actually exist, do they - er - dementy-whatsits?'

Aunt Petunia nodded.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout "April Fool!" When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again.

'So what's happened to my son? What's wrong with him?'

'He's experiencing the effect Dementors have on people,' Harry began. 'They are horrible creatures and just by being near them, they suck all the happiness from you, reliving the most traumatic of memories, so you feel like you'll never be happy again.' At this, Dudley weakly nodded. 'And if they get the chance, they kiss you-'

'Kiss you?' said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. 'Kiss you?'

'It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.'

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream. 'His soul? They didn't take- he's still got his-' She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.

'Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,' said Harry, exasperated.

'Fought 'em off, did you, son?' said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back onto a plane he understood. 'Gave 'em the old one-two, did you?'

'You can't give a dementor the old one-two,' Harry sighed.

'Why's he all right, then?' blustered Uncle Vernon. 'Why isn't he all empty, then?'

'Because I used the Patronus, a spell that defends us from Dementors and send them away. It's the only thing that works against them.'

Silence fell in the living room as they let all the information sink in. Uncle Vernon murmured something about getting a stiff drink and ordered Harry to get him some whiskey as a pale Aunt Petunia soothing rubbed Dudley's back.

As Harry entered the kitchen, he almost jumped as a bodiless voice addressed him.

'Potter,' Malfoy whispered. 'What do I do? Surely you don't expect me to be at your beck and call all day.'

'Stay silent and stay close to me. This should be over soon.' With no further response, Harry gathered the whiskey bottle, tumbler with ice and a bar of chocolate. Re-entering the living room, he poured his uncle's drink before offering the chocolate to Dudley.

'Eat it, you'll feel better.' Not letting his mother protest in the name of his diet, Dudley quickly accepted the sweet, opened the wrapper and bit into it, relaxing in his mother's embrace.

Harry sat back down, letting his mind go over the evening's events. Why were the Dementors in Little Whinging anyway? If Malfoy was to be believed, there were no new cases of Azkaban escapees, nor was Mr. Malfoy involved. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors, had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?

With the latter being the most likely option, Harry became resolved to write to Hermione, Ron, Sirius and Dumbledore as soon as he could. It was then that Harry noticed that Uncle Vernon had downed his drink, along with two more and was now pouring himself a fourth.

'Those Dementoid-whatzits were here for you, weren't they,' He asked accusingly. 'You must be the only you-know-what for miles.'

'He must've sent them. Lord Voldemort.'

He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced, and squawked if they heard words like "wizard," "magic," or "wand," could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.

'Lord — hang on,' said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension in his piggy eyes. 'I've heard that name … that was the one who …'

'Murdered my parents, yes,' Harry said.

'But he's gone,' said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic to anybody. 'That giant bloke said so. He's gone.'

'He's back,' said Harry heavily.

'Back,' whispered Aunt Petunia. Before his very eyes, Harry witnessed the mask of adamant rejection of the existence of magic melt away, revealing the unadulterated fear that came with the news of Lord Voldemort's return.

'Back,' he confirmed. Noticing Uncle Vernon beginning to work himself up about something or other, Harry diverted the attention back to his green-tinged cousin.

'Dudley, it's best if you go lie down.' Barely waiting for his cousin's nod, Harry hauled him up off the couch and lead him up the stairs, the third discernible creaking sound informing him of Malfoy's presence. Once his cousin was comfortably lying on his bed that buckled and strained beneath him, Harry headed for his own room - only to be thrown against the wall, hands clutching at the front of his shirt and face full of a purpling, inebriated Uncle Vernon.

'You're gonna grab your freakish things and get the hell out of my house. I don't want there to be a single trace, not even the barest hint that you ever darkened our doorway. My family has been hurt because of your freaky world and I was this close-' his uncle thrust his hand in front of Harry's face, thumb and forefinger a mere millimetre apart, '-to losing my son forever.' The mistiness forming on Uncle Vernon's eyes did nothing to abate the fury emanating within the man, his grip on Harry's shirt tightening. 'You have until 11pm to pack your things and get the hell out of here. I meant what I said, boy,' Uncle Vernon snarled, 'I want no trace of you, so check every single nook and cranny and you have-' glancing at his watch, '-17 minutes to do that in.'

As soon as Uncle Vernon released his grasp Harry bolted to his room and began shoving everything into his trunk.

'Potter.' Harry jumped, inwardly cursing at his negligence. 'Just use a packing spell.'

'I can't,' he whispered back as he secured the lid onto his ink bottle. 'One, I don't know it; and two, I don't want to alert whoever's watching.'

Placing his textbooks, homework and more fragile belongings on top of his neatly packed school uniform, he pulled out all other clothes from his wardrobe and unceremoniously dumped them in. Pulling up the loose floorboards, Harry pulled out the last of his personal belongings, thankful he only took the bare necessities for the summer out of his trunk. As he was doing the final sweep of his room his uncle appeared in the doorway, eyes gleaming and cricket bat in hand.

'Check the attic - I don't want to find any nasty reminders of you freaks.' He tapped his watch with a predatory smile. '11 minutes.'

Harry dashed out to the hallway, pulling the latch down to lower the ladder to the attic. Running back to his room to grab an old torch, he returned and ascended the ladder.

A couple of sneezes later, Harry swept the torchlight around the dust-infested space. He forcibly suppressed a growl of frustration as he began to wade through the ocean of the Dursleys's abandoned junk - every toy Dudley owned, every Smeltings memento Uncle Vernon possessed, every keepsake and useless infomercial purchase Aunt Petunia acquired was all dumped into the attic - Harry momentarily wondered how the ceiling hadn't caved in yet.

Acutely aware of every second that passed and his uncle's deadline drawing ever closer, Harry was about to give up when he caught a glint of something in the very back corner. Moving closer, he found a dust covered trunk with embossed initials and an unopened letter resting on top.

'Mum.'

Resting his hands on the lid, a warm rush of magic flowed through him as though giving him a warm embrace. It felt wonderful. He revelled in the sensation before a thought traitorously jolted him out of the moment - how was he going to lug around two trunks?

As if it read his mind, the trunk shrunk to the size of a matchbox and felt as light as one too. Pocketing both it and the letter, he gave the attic a final once-over before descending into the hallway.

Raising the ladder back into position, he hurriedly detoured to the bathroom to collect his toiletries before stashing them and his mother's belongings into his trunk. Telling Hedwig to meet him out front, he locked his trunk and grabbed her cage and made for the staircase where he narrowly avoided crashing into the cricket bat wielding Uncle Vernon.

'You're cutting it fine, boy,' Uncle Vernon growled, his voice following Harry as he raced down the stairs. '2 minutes left.'

Coming to a halt in front of his cupboard under the stairs, he made quick work of the latch before throwing the door open and retrieving his Firebolt. Giving his former room a quick scan, he closed the cupboard door, locked it and whispered, 'We're leaving, Malfoy.'

Malfoy, Harry and his belongings barely managed to get through the front door before a cackling Uncle Vernon slammed it shut behind them.

'Walk with me, Malfoy,' Harry whispered as Hedwig landed on his shoulder.

They walked their way back to the darkened alley they had earlier hidden themselves in. Malfoy dropped the disillusionment and silencing charms as Harry shrunk and lightened his trunk and Hedwig's cage before stowing them safely into his pocket.

'I guess there's no choice,' he muttered. 'Hedwig, can you please direct Malfoy and me to Hermione's?'

With an affectionate nip on his ear, Hedwig flew off his shoulder, the boys following her on their broomsticks into the night's sky.