Rain lashed against the tightly shut windows of Number Four, Privet Drive, as a soft glow in the small upper window gave the only light to the otherwise darkened street. The power had all gone out; neighbors might have assumed the light came from a candle, but the Dursleys' wizard nephew had indeed left his wand lit in plain view as he pored over a thick book, trying hard to concentrate despite the racket his bird was making.

"Be quiet, Hedwig," Harry admonished, casting an annoyed glance at the snowy owl, who ruffled her feathers in response and clamped her beak down on the bars of her cage.

Harry bit off the arm of his Chocolate Frog and returned to his book. It, along with a pile of others, was on loan from Alastor Moody, who thought Harry may find some valuable information on Horcruxes between their tattered covers. So far, he'd found nothing but a lot of information on murder and soul-splitting; he'd learned, for instance, that if one person orders a murder and another person carries it out, both souls are split.

With a yawn, he snapped the book shut and turned to stare out the window. The rain was coming even harder now. His trunk sat in the corner, packed and ready; tomorrow morning, the Advance Guard would be coming, ready to take him away from the Dursleys' for the last time. He'd be going to stay with Ron for a few days at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but as for after that, there was no telling where he'd wind up. Professor McGonagall had asked him to return to Hogwarts, but no, he had work to do-- there were still four Horcruxes to find, if Dumbledore had been right, and he intended to find them. Fatigue hit him like a Stunning Spell, and as his eyelids began to droop, he fancied that the thick raindrops were slowly turning into long, dark fingers, reaching toward him, reaching--

"Expecto patronum!" he yelled abruptly, snapping into action. A great, silvery stag erupted from the tip of his wand, so solid that it busted through the thick glass of the window, and his bedroom flooded with rain. An army of Dementors rushed through the broken glass, turning the sheets of warm rain to hailstones. The hair on Harry's arms rose as he watched a host of the scabbed, deathly creatures feed off of his Patronus; but there were too many to fight. Menacingly, they circled him; he glared at them, still holding his wand, the stag still illuminating the room with its white light.

One of them dove, and Harry felt the unmistakable sensation of his soul being sucked from him. Suddenly, it was like he was back at the side of the lake with Sirius-- but then he remembered, Sirius was gone, as were his parents and Dumbledore, and when he closed his eyes, he could hear their voices screaming. "Mum," he whispered, muffled by the hollow vacuum surrounding him.

"Potter!" A flat, dull voice cut through the pain.

He opened his eyes. A faint flicker of light glowed from the crack under the door.

"Dudley," Harry whispered faintly.

"Potter, I don't know what you're doing in there, but--"

"Dudley..." Harry's wand dropped to the ground, and Hedwig screeched.

"If you can't get that bloody bird to shut up--"

"Dudley! Open the door!" The pain coursing through Harry's body paralyzed him from head to toe.

"I'll open it," Dudley groused, rolling up a sleeve, "and then I'll--"

Harry gasped as the door slammed open, right into his outstretched leg. The pain was enough to jolt him out of his reverie. "Expecto patronum!" he shouted again, shutting the door behind him, and shoved the dumbstruck Dudley down the hallway. "Go!"

Dudley waddled as fast as his fat feet would take him. "They're those-- those--"

"Dementors," Harry filled in, pushing him, as the ones that had escaped Harry's bedroom chased after them. "Go faster!"

"I can't!"

"Down the stairs!" Harry commanded. Quickly, he glanced behind him, and almost ran smack into his uncle.

"What the devil is all this racket?" he growled, drawing his robe around him. At that moment, the lights chose to come back on.

"Uncle Vernon, I--"

With a shriek, Petunia ducked behind her husband and pointed a shaking finger toward the hallway.

"They're-- expecto patronum! Dementors, and-- open the cupboard!"

Petunia stood rooted to her spot, horrified.

"Uncle Vernon! The cupboard!"

"Daddy, they're the ones-- the things that got me--" Dudley ran to his father, but in response to this information, Vernon fled into the kitchen.

"Do something!" Petunia shrieked.

"I'm trying!" Harry said desperately, as one of the Dementors peeled away and flew at his cousin.

"Dudley!" shrieked Petunia, horrified. She ran toward the great black shape. "Stay away from my son!" she commanded, and thrust herself between Dudley and the Dementor.

Harry backed toward the cupboard under the stairs, feeling for the handle. He swung it open. "Expecto patronum!" Another stag galloped from the tip of his wand; the Dementor retreated from Petunia, coming to feed off the Patronus, and Harry forced them into the cupboard. "Colloportus!" he said, sealing the door, and with a sigh, he sank into a heap at the foot of the stairs.

"Boy," Vernon said warningly, coming from around the corner.

Harry glared up at his uncle. "I didn't bring them here. I didn't conjure them or anything. I don't know how they showed up in Little Whinging--"

"It's happened before!" he roared, as Petunia held Dudley in her arms. "Two years ago, when--"

"I know!"

Petunia wiped the sweat from her son's brow. "Popkin, speak to me," she said, a tremor in her voice.

Eyes wide, Dudley turned to his mother. "Th-they were... again..." He shuddered.

"Popkin?" Petunia shook him. "Duddykins?"

But Dudley would say no more.

A light bulb went off in Harry's head, and he pulled a Chocolate Frog from his jeans pocket. "Here," he said, pulling the cord and handing it to his aunt.

Petunia gave him a confused look.

"Eat," he told her. "You'll feel better."

Wordlessly, she broke off the head and popped it in her mouth, then handed the rest to Dudley, who looked at it as if it were broccoli.

"Look what they've done to my son," Vernon groused, turning several shades of scarlet as his fists clenched. "Look what's happened to him! It's your fault, it is--"

"I told you," Harry said warningly, "I didn't--"

"You and that freak sister of yours!" Vernon spat, turning on Petunia. "If only she'd have been killed before this one was born--" he indicated Harry-- "we'd have never had any of this trouble--"

"Don't you dare!" Petunia said shrilly, taking her hands from Dudley's shoulders and rising to face her husband. "Lily stepped in front of a-- a terrorist to save him," she sputtered, putting it into Muggle terms. "Be what she was, my sister was brave in a way you would never understand."

Vernon stood stock-still, his lips frozen in a thin line. He turned to Harry. "Those-- those--"

"Dementors?"

"Can they get out?"

"I sealed the door. By magic," he added, for emphasis.

Vernon opened his mouth, then decided against it, and marched out of the room.

Over by the table, Dudley gingerly bit off a hand of the frog, then wolfed the entire thing down. Harry fought back a smile.

"Feel better?" Petunia asked.

"A little," Dudley said with a sniff. "I think more chocolate would help."

"Let's get into the kitchen, then," Petunia suggested, helping Dudley to his feet. She ushered him into the kitchen.

Harry leaned his head against the newel post and closed his eyes. It was an odd feeling-- he almost wanted to hug his aunt.

Petunia turned. "Aren't you coming, Harry?"

He looked up in surprise.

An awkward smile made its way onto Petunia's lips. "We've got chocolate cake and ice cream." She turned and left the room.

Harry got to his feet and stuck his wand in his back pocket. For a moment, he thought he saw his mother's face in his mind's eye, beaming.

"Do you want vanilla or chocolate chip?" called Petunia.

He took a long, hard look at the cupboard under the stairs. Then-- "Vanilla," he replied, with a smile, following his aunt and cousin into the kitchen.

"Siccus," Harry said, poking at his drenched mattress with a sigh. "Bloody hell."

"Hey, Potter." Dudley's face appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "What's with the water?"

"Rained in."

Dudley gave him a blank stare.

"The Dementors-- I had to conjure a Patronus, and it turned out solid-- which is weird, really, because--" He broke off, noticing the disconcerted look on Dudley's face. "The window broke," he finished simply.

"They won't break out of the cupboard?" Dudley's pug face came alive with fright.

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "They're stuck in there."

"What is it-- what exactly--" Dudley shifted. "I want to know--"

"What they are?"

Dudley nodded. "They're evil, aren't they?"

"Well, yeah."

"Do they-- what do they do to people?"

"They suck people's souls out."

"Is that-- is that all they do?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What memory do they make you see?"

Dudley looked up in surprise.

"I re-live my parents' murder," Harry sighed, dropping his hands in his lap. "I hear my mum screaming. Every time."

He sat down, careful to choose a dry spot. "It's pain," Dudley told him quietly. "Horrible pain. I can't see who's causing it, or-- or what's doing it. I just feel like punching them but-- I can't get up. There are lights in the background too-- weird green ones. And people hollering at the top of their lungs, but I can't tell what they're saying. I think the pain is too bad-- or maybe I'm too young."

Harry contemplated this. "Do you recognize any of the faces?"

"No," came the reply. "It's all a blur. I can't tell anyone apart or see their faces. Just the pain." He paused. "You mean to tell me-- this is a real memory, not just some sort of dream?"

"Yeah. They--" He racked his brains, trying desperately to remember everything Lupin had told him about Dementors in his third year, but his brain refused to work. "They feed off of your good memories and leave you with your very worst." That will have to do, he thought.

"So it really happened," Dudley said, almost to himself.

"Green lights... Dudley, are they flashes of light?"

"Yeah."

"And the people around you-- are they falling down? Dying? Like-- the light flashes, then someone falls?"

"Yeah..."

"And no one's touching you? You're not getting beat up, kicked... it's just pain?"

"Yeah."

"Death Eaters," Harry said under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He backed toward the wall. "Did you just say a spell?"

"I don't even have my wand in my hand, Dudley," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

Dudley got to his feet. "I'm going to bed." He marched out of the room, water squishing between his toes as he went.

"Siccus," Harry tried again, flicking his wand at his pillows. "Siccus!" He felt his bed. "It'll have to do." He crawled under the slightly damp covers. "There's got to be a better spell. I'll have to ask Hermione when I see her tomorrow. 'Night, Hedwig."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers.

Harry awoke the next morning to fragmented rays of sun filtering through his patched-together window. With a yawn, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes, throwing his pajamas in his trunk, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

"Do you want bacon or sausage?" Petunia asked.

A yowl went up from the backyard, followed by a chorus of laughter. Harry supposed that Dudley and his gang were amusing themselves by roughing up the neighbors' cat.

"Harry?"

"What?"

Petunia held up a plate. "Bacon or sausage?"

"Oh-- uh, sausage. Please."

She filled a plate with sausage, eggs, and potatoes, and handed it to her dumbfounded nephew, who took it to the table.

"So," Vernon growled between bites of bacon, "when are you leaving?"

"Today," Harry replied shortly. "When the Advance Guard comes, and they should be here any minute."

"Good," he said curtly, and got up from the table.

"Hey, Dud, your cousin's in the kitchen," Harry heard Piers Polkiss say. "Let's go take those sausages he's eating and--"

"Nah," came Dudley's reply. "Let's leave him alone. C'mon. We can go to Mrs. Figg's and kick her cats around instead."

The laughter faded as Dudley's gang walked down the street.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Harry began to wolf down his food as Petunia hurried to get the doorbell. She returned with Tonks, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Hestia Jones.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted him cheerfully.

"Hey, Tonks."

"Ready to go, Harry?" Lupin put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Hey-- I have a favor to ask you, though."

"Sure."

"There's a cupboard full of Dementors under the stairs..."

"I'll take care of 'em," Moody said. He turned to Petunia. "Where's this cupboard at?"

Petunia wiped her hands on her apron. "It's this way," she answered, gesturing for Moody to follow.

"You couldn't drive them off with a Patronus?" Lupin questioned.

Harry shook his head. "No-- and I conjured more than one, and they were strong ones, too. The first one was so solid that it broke right through my window."

Lupin exchanged a look with Tonks. "That's rare, Harry, a Patronus that solid."

"I know."

"So they're getting tougher. I wonder if these are a new breed, or--"

"Done," Moody growled, pushing back into the kitchen, Petunia trailing behind him.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get going," Lupin said. "You're going to want at least a few minutes to get ready for the wedding when we get back to the Burrow."

"One more day of happiness before it all starts," Tonks mused.

A grim smile crossed Harry's lips. "Well, then." He picked up Hedwig's cage and took a quick glance around him, looking at all the photos of Dudley, the annoying cuckoo clock, the televisions in every corner. It was bittersweet to be leaving-- but, Harry thought, mostly sweet. "Let's be off."

They made for the door.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

She paused, her expression merging worry, regret, and even love. "Be careful."

He nodded and walked out the door.