Harry woke at dawn after a fitful night's sleep, slowly stirring in forced, labored movement. He sat up, pivoting his body to the edge of the bed, and for a time he just sat there, breathing slowly, watching the sun edge over the distant horizon through the broad, open window nearby.
He showered, and in calculated, unhurried movements he dressed — a black, v-neck tee, dark blue jeans, and a pair of charcoal grey trainers.
He took the stairs methodically, noticing aspects of his parents' surroundings that he'd missed somehow in the gallery of photos beside him.
Turning into the dining room, Harry was met by a solitary plate — an English breakfast, prepared precisely as he'd preferred. Beside this, steam rose from a large mug of coffee with cream.
He ate in silence, savoring. This gift, this home, this meal, this singular shift in fortune surely could not last. He inhaled deeply, finding within him something like hope.
Just then, a knock on the door announced Luna's arrival. She met him with a warm embrace, and then she dragged him to the overstuffed sofa in his living room. She shoved him firmly into its far arm, and curled herself into him, managing somehow to maintain a precarious grip on the steaming mug of tea that had appeared a moment before she opened the front door.
Luna spoke extensively of stone fairies, and the community with which she'd recently become familiar. And then she spoke at length of obscure potions ingredients that she'd stumbled across when perusing her father's inventory. And it was just when she pivoted the conversation to the migratory patterns of the Rook's barn swallows that Harry realized she was doing all she could to draw his attention away from the danger to come.
"Luna?"
"Yes, Harry Potter?"
"I'm okay. I know that it's going to be okay."
Her eyes welled. "I know. I just don't want you to be afraid."
Hermione arrived around nine. As soon as Harry opened his front door, she threw herself into him in a tight embrace. He laughed, patting her politely, and she pulled away.
"Harry. I've been thinking. We've got a few hours remaining to prepare. I've spent the evening perusing a number of relevant volumes and I —"
Harry interrupted. "Hermione."
She halted. "It's just that I'm fairly certain —"
He furrowed his brow playfully. "Hermione."
She huffed.
He smiled. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay."
She rushed into him, pulling him again into a tight embrace. "I know. I'm just so afraid."
They'd agreed days ago that Sirius should remain at Grimmauld Place. His presence added a layer of complexity that neither of them could account for, and Harry was notoriously unreasonable in all matters pertaining to Sirius' safety.
Harry, Luna, and Hermione spent the morning exploring the Potter Library for potions, charms, and theory texts. As they perused the stacks, they made plans to occupy the remaining summer with studies, practical application, and potions preparation. They decided to convene regularly throughout the school year, supplementing their lessons and preparing for what's to come.
In time they returned to the reading nook, each carrying a small stack of worn tomes.
They sat together in silence, casually flipping yellowed pages. At intervals, Hermione's gaze shifted to Harry, her features overshadowed with a pensive gravity. As he sat against the arm of the leather mid-century sofa, Luna leaned into his side, her legs curled beside her. She thoughtlessly traced the contours of his arm with her right hand. On one occasion as she watched them, Hermione noticed Luna's brow furrow unconsciously; she chewed her lip anxiously and pulled him closer.
Around noon they were lured to the table by the fragrance of freshly dropped fish & chips, generous portions of mushy peas, and frosty mugs of butterbeer. As they ate, Luna catalogued the most elusive of magical species, most of which were considered mythical, legendary, or nonsensical by the broader wizarding world. Hermione fought an incredulous expression with middling success.
"These creatures have never been seen?" Hermione's brow was furrowed and there was a sharp angle to her right eyebrow.
"Yes, that's correct." Luna smiled kindly.
"But you're convinced they're out there."
"Yes, I am."
"And you haven't any evidence?"
"Not the sort of evidence that would convince most, no."
A moment's hesitation. "I guess I'm failing to understand."
"Hermione, what of our world has taught you that a thing must not be possible if you've not seen it?"
She halted. Her expression shifted dramatically, and she took a moment with her thoughts. "Okay," she admitted, "that's fair."
At half past one Harry stood from the table and cleared the distance to the Potions Lab. Hermione and Luna followed, and just as they approached the workstation a narrow cabinet of carved woodwork materialized at shoulder height. He grabbed three vials of Fortitudo Inflexibilis. He pulled the cork from the first and drank it immediately, and he pocketed the remaining vials on the off chance they'd be needed.
They'd agreed that Harry should be alone by two, so Hermione departed shortly after this, and Harry escorted Luna to the far hedge of the local primary school.
After stooping to pick up a rusty tin can, punctured on one end with a thread of loose string attached, Luna exhaled slowly, turned to face Harry directly, and threw herself full into him.
"I know you'll be okay, Harry. But I hate that you'll be alone."
He held her there for a moment, and then he pulled away to kiss her softly. "I've never felt less alone."
She nodded, tugged him into a last embrace, and kissed his cheek.
Her piercing gaze held his unwaveringly, tears welling in her eyes.
"Home."
Having no reason to rush, and truly puzzled as to how he'd ever end up in an alleyway sixty yards off his beaten path, Harry meandered home at a purposeless pace. He was nearly halfway there when the distant echoes of a bloodcurdling scream resounded through the neighborhood.
Harry sprinted to the nearest alleyway, leaning into his stride with reckless abandon.
As he turned into the alley he slowed, and immediately noticed his Aunt Petunia kneeling on the cracked asphalt, trembling over a motionless body.
"DUDLEY!?" She screamed, her pale hands clutching his face, her thin fingers wrapped around his jaw, shaking him violently. "Dudley, wake up!" She tugged at his arm senselessly, leveraging all the weight of her thin frame to stir his unresponsive form.
Harry cleared the distance between them.
Petunia suddenly sensed motion, darted her eyes toward the movement. It shouldn't have taken her as long as it did to recognize her nephew.
She trembled, sobbing uncontrollably. "Harry!" She leapt, grabbed his arm, pulled him toward her motionless son. "I heard him shouting from the kitchen window. He hasn't moved — oh God — he hasn't moved since I arrived!" She gestured wildly at the collapsed shape beneath them, darting her eyes frantically to Harry's pocket. "Harry. Use your wand. Fix him, Harry! Please. Please make him better."
Harry knelt beside his cousin. For a moment, he watched him carefully. He shifted his weight, pressing Dudley's body to lay flat on the pavement. He stared full into Dudley's soulless eyes, and he understood immediately.
"I… I can't."
Petunia shuddered with bated breath. "What? Is he sick!?" Her terror was quickly devolving into panic. "What can you do, Harry!?" She grabbed his tee in desperate fear, trembling with violent sobs. "Does he need a — damnit what is it called — a… a potion or something? Certainly there's a spell to make it right!?" She was nearly shrieking now. "You people have hospitals, don't you?!"
Harry looked away from the empty eyes of his soulless cousin. His aunt's cheeks were wet with tears. Her body shook, heaving in waves as she wept. And suddenly it occurred to him that her every reason for living had just been taken away.
"Aunt Petunia. I'm so sorry."
Her features stilled for a moment, and her expression shifted dramatically from trembling panic to unleashed rage. "You." Her jaw clenched in trembling anger. "You always hated him. You were always jealous." She shook with red-faced anger. "Listen to me, freak. You will wave that ridiculous wand and YOU. WILL. FUCKING. FIX. MY. SON."
She stood, fixing her bloodshot eyes directly on Harry, violently shaking her right index finger less than an inch from his face.
"From the day you were born, every moment of attention you required was stolen from our son! You were a leech on our family, you selfish child! You were a parasite, stealing our affections from that perfect boy. The least you can do is USE YOUR GODDAMN MAGIC!"
Harry held his gaze, nodding patiently. After a moment, he spoke. "Aunt Petunia, I'm so sorry."
Her expression shifted, despair showing through her fierce rage. And then she hit him, her open palm slapping his left cheek, hard. And she hit him again, her balled fists striking his chest over and over again in the rhythm of unconstrained sobs. He wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders and pulled her nearer as she hit him again and again and again. He held her loosely, protectively, and she collapsed to her knees. He knelt beside her and spoke softly.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered, over and over as she wept beside the soulless body of her only child.
Until the light of the alleyway was choked by stifling darkness, and the temperature fell dramatically.
"Aunt Petunia, I need you to run."
Her gaze shifted from the lifeless body of her son to the wide eyes of her nephew, and he saw the white mist of her breath carried away by a cutting breeze.
"RUN!" He screamed.
He pulled her to her feet and pushed her toward No. 4 Privet Drive with all his might.
"LEAVE HIM!" he shouted.
At just that moment, Harry realized he was a clean eighty yards from the ward Dumbledore had constructed yesterday.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, and then he ran full speed.
Behind him, he heard the loose flitting of torn robes in the wind. The alley began to freeze, and the icy stabs of raspy breath loomed just over his left shoulder as he tore through the alleyway. Despite it all, the warm embers of hope remained within him; he wasn't afraid.
A moment later he found himself at the center of the dusty intersection— surrounded, thirty yards on every side, by a powerful ward. Whatever abstract emotional enchantment might have tested the protective barrier of his potion had dissipated altogether. There he stood, with squared shoulders and unwavering resolve, facing two of the largest Dementors that Harry had ever seen, their aethereal forms halting just beyond the ward's radius. He gathered himself, catching his breath, watching the nearest Dementor slowly follow the circumference of the ward to its opposite side. Moments later, Harry found himself facing Dementors on two fronts — one hovering on the North side of the alleyway, and another to the South.
For what felt like an eternity they waited. Harry held his position, turning his attention from North to South at intervals. Finally they advanced, leaning into the ward reluctantly.
The ward's boundary slowed them, but as soon as they pierced the veil they dove toward him violently.
Without a moment's hesitation, Harry summoned every line of Luna's delicate script, every expression of Luna's kind compassion, every treasured memory of Luna's vulnerable affections. And then he shouted, with perfect clarity and unshakable determination.
"EXPECTO BELLATOR!"
A fully tangible, brilliantly white stag at least six feet tall emerged from Harry's wand at a dramatic pace, immediately tearing a hole through the nearest Dementor's chest with its crystalline antlers. Its body fell lifeless in the wake of the Patronus' terrible force. The Dementor just behind Harry hesitated at the display, granting Harry just enough time to rally the Patronus to charge the opposite front. Adopting a retreating, defensive posture, the remaining Dementor slowly backed away, only to meet the kicking hooves of the bright white Patronus as it reared back aggressively. A moment later, the second Dementor's lifeless corpse twitched under the trampling dance of the stag, its chin now lifted proudly over its two dark victims.
Immediately the stifling heat of summer returned, broad daylight breaking the darkness. Harry dismissed his Patronus, whispered an incantation to collapse the ward, pocketed his wand and sat cross legged on the cracked asphalt between the torn robes and the lifeless skeletal corpses of two impossibly large dementors.
All was calm, and he waited.