Disclaimer: I think this means that I don't own any of these characters, which is true. They all belong to the great JK Rowling

Harry wandered through the momentarily deserted house at Number 4, Privet Drive, taking special care to avoid the Dursleys' bedrooms. He was overwhelmed with boredom, but even that would never make him reckless enough to ignore the Dursleys' rules about where in the house he was allowed to go. After a few more minutes of uninterested meandering, he shrugged his shoulders and went into the kitchen to find something edible. He decided a PB&J sandwich would tide him over for the time being, so he fixed one quickly before plopping down in front of the TV. He began watching an American Muggle cartoon show called Spongebob Squarepants, but he barely paid attention to what the characters were doing. His thoughts were on Aranea. Who was she? Where did she live? God was she ever cute!

"Well, at least she's okay," he muttered to himself.

With that, he put the girl out of his mind and headed up to his room, where he was suddenly attacked by a tiny, feathery tennis ball. "Pig! You little wacko!" he laughed. He reached out his hand and grabbed the hyperactive owl without any trouble; his reflexes were astounding from all the Quidditch training he had gotten at Hogwarts. Pig dropped a letter into Harry's hand and zoomed off with a cheerful hoot, ignoring Hedwig's amazingly good look of disgust. Harry opened the envelope, and two papers fell out. One was a letter from Ron and Hermione, though the messy handwriting made it clear which one of them had actually written it. Harry looked carefully at the writing on the other letter; it was unfamiliar. Who else would have wanted to write to him? He glanced at the signature.

"What is Ginny writing to me for?" he mused, opening the letter from Ron and Hermione.

Hiya Harry!!

What's up mate? Sorry for not writing earlier. We are all at the house—you should see it now! It looks really nice. Hermione's here with me while I'm writing, and we're planning to get you out of that rat hole around your birthday.

The Order is still having a lot of problems finding You-Know-Who. Even our least favourite adult at Hogwarts can't get any info about him. I won't go into much detail until you arrive. Anyway, how are those Muggles treating you? They'd better be nice to you, or Mum says that she'll jinx them to pieces with some very, shall we say, interesting spells. Makes for some interesting thoughts, doesn't it? Oh yeah, I almost forgot: Ginny wrote to you too. Her letter should be in here.

See you soon!

Ron and Hermione

Harry smiled. At least he would be able to celebrate his birthday with his friends and his real family. He then opened Ginny's letter.

Hey Harry! Headquarters looks a lot better than the last time you saw it. Ron and Hermione probably told you everything else.

I need a huge favour. Two of my schoolbooks are in pieces and useless. I don't want to ask my parents for replacement money, and I am broke. I spent too much money on a new broomstick. I have about 4 knuts. Really pathetic, isn't it? If you could help me, I swear I will pay you back when I have enough money, though it might take a while. Please think about it!

Ginny

Harry smirked and went to his desk to reply, enclosing 5 galleons in Ginny's envelope that he assured her she did not need to pay back. He added the finishing touches to Ron and Hermione's letter, casually mentioning Aranea, then tied both letters securely to Hedwig's legs.

Harry watched her take off and fly away until she was no longer visible, then went to his desk and began working on a school report about nundus. He shivered as he read about the toxic, leopard-like creatures. "Geez, they've got to be the most dangerous creature ever born," he thought. "I hope I never meet one."

While Harry was occupied with his report, a tall, cloaked figure approached the street, a voluminous hood hiding its face. Ordinarily, this alone would have been unusual for Privet Drive, as the neighbours frowned upon anyone who dressed strangely, but the truly remarkable thing about this figure was that it simply glided about a foot above the ground. It was, of course, a Dementor, but it was not an ordinary Dementor. It was Firdenmor the Caller.

Firdenmor was famous for being the most vicious Dementor ever bred by the Dark Arts. His age was unknown, but wizard history first told of him almost 2000 years ago, and that his creator was none other than the father of all Dementors: Drema.

True to his sinister nature, Firdenmor had joined the Dark Lord during his first reign of terror. When Voldemort fell, Firdenmor had fled to Mongolia, where he remained until he heard his old master calling for him to return. Now he was back and was the general of the Dementors in Voldemort's army. His squadron's first assignment: find Potter and either Kiss him or bring him to the island stronghold of Voldemort. Firdenmor and his Dementor soldiers had searched high and low, and finally their long search paid off.

Firdenmor had found Harry Potter.

Harry had just finished up his essay on nundus and was setting the parchment on the end of his desk to dry, when he suddenly felt very cold. He shivered as the sunny, warm air became dark and dreary; the sky clouded over, and the bushes and hedges appeared to have grown frost. Harry knew what it meant: a Dementor was on Privet Drive.

He did not hesitate. He pulled out his wand, prepared a happy memory, and crept to the window, peering cautiously through the curtains. A tall, robed figure was hovering in the middle of the road.

"It's a Dementor all right," Harry thought to himself.

Then, to his absolute astonishment, the Dementor began to speak, if the gurgling noise that issued from its mouth could be called speech. For a moment Harry stood dumbfounded, but then realised that the Dementors must have some form of language, the way they worked together as a flawless team.

A team? Harry shivered. If that Dementor called in reinforcements, Harry was finished. He only had three options: attack, hide, or run. Those weren't very good choices, in Harry's opinion, but that was all he could manage to come up with at the moment. He peered through the window again, hoping it would give him a desperate stroke of inspiration, and saw that someone with long hair and a noticeable limp was hurrying up the road.

"Aranea!" Harry called through the open window. "Run!"

The Dementor slowly turned toward Harry's voice, raising its arm and gurgling something. A jet of bright light erupted from the Dementor's hidden hand and smashed into the window. Harry ducked just in time, but the window was not so lucky; it seemed to melt and fade away.

Harry kicked open his trunk, grabbed his Firebolt, and, still holding his wand, jumped out of the remains of the window. Most people, even fully grown wizards, would consider this a rather stupid thing to do, but Harry was a brilliant flier. He pulled out of his short dive just inches from the ground and flew at top speed towards the frozen form of Aranea, who could barely move because of the effects of the Dementor. Harry heaved her onto his broom and attempted to get her away, so he could fight this mysterious Dementor one-on-one.

Firdenmor fired his bright light again; this time, it hit the broom and part of Harry's lower back. The broom bucked like a mad horse, throwing Harry and Aranea to the ground, and burst into flames. Harry staggered to his feet, and his back exploded in severe pain. Firdenmor glided quickly towards him. Barely managing to stand, Harry drew his wand and screamed, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!!!"

A huge stag erupted from his wand and attacked the Dementor, but Firdenmor grabbed the silvery stag with both hands and the Patronus vanished. Harry gasped. Never had a single Dementor destroyed his stag Patronus with one stroke.

The Dementor suddenly began screeching. Harry's mind was fogging over, but he knew that the Dementor was laughing. Harry was quickly running out of options, and it didn't help that he began to hear his mum's screaming in his head.

"What am I going to do?" he thought frantically.

"Fight," answered another voice in his head.

He struggled to his feet. His mind was still foggy, but the screaming had lessened. The Dementor was nearly upon him by the time he raised his wand. Without thinking, he drove the wand deep into Firdenmor's cloak and again shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Firdenmor shrieked in pain as he turned and fled. He was in shock. Nobody before had ever driven him away, let alone wounded him, but this boy had severely injured his stomach. White forms began to escape the Dementor through the hole that the Patronous had made. The souls of the hundreds of people he had Kissed throughout his long life were finally free.

The Dementor turned and said, in a coldly accented form of common speech, "We'll meet again, Potter," before it vanished.

Harry stared at what he had done. The Dementor was gone…he had won. "That Dementor could talk; I don't care how much of an accent it had, it talked," he thought. It was the last thing he remembered before the strain of the Dementor's attack and the Patronus Charm sapped his remaining strength, and he collapsed.