Hello there!

I'm back! They Shook Hands is back! I really am going to finish this beast!

It's been a long road, and there has been a considerable gap since you last heard from me. I've had a lot going on in my personal life. I won't get into all the details, but I've moved house. My family has grown. My career has advanced. I have every measure of success. I am happy.

I have some other HP stories I want to tell. No more 7 year rewrites! I've written a few things in the ASOIAF 'verse and plotted more. I also want to do a couple of fanedits. But my first creative priority is to finish off this thing I started over 20 years ago.

Chapter One - Be Careful

Dudley Dursley was, in his own estimation, a rather splendid fellow. His parents always told him how smart, handsome, and talented he was. He knew his parents would never lie to him, so it must be true, despite what the teachers at Smeltings Academy wrote in his assessments.

He had always had a bit of a weight problem, but he'd joined the boxing team and had turned flab into muscle. He was a lean, mean, fighting machine. He'd even earned a championship. That had made his parents nearly burst with pride, and they told anyone and everyone with whom they chatted for more than a few minutes.

He had turned seventeen recently and was eagerly awaiting next year when he would reach the age of majority. Then he'd be able to get a tattoo. He wanted to get a roaring lion's head on his chest and a heart twined with a petunia flower on his arm for his Mum. While his father might have let him get one, he knew better than to even mention it around his mother. Until then, he could afford to run the streets of Little Whinging and surrounding villages, doing as he pleased.

On this fine evening, he and his gang were breaking into autos and stealing radios. They'd done it before, when they needed extra money.

When they had finished clearing that street, Piers Polkiss said, "This enough then, Big D? If we don't get to drinkin' soon, we won't have any time."

Dudley didn't care for the taste of beer, and he knew it wouldn't help his weight problem. He would spend his cut on cigarettes and pot, but he didn't try to stop any of the lads from doing what they wanted to do. "Yeah, it should be. Let's get to Ed's."

Ed was the local fence. Dudley had met him trying to sell stolen watches. Never one to pass up an opportunity for easy money, and already into petty theft, Dudley had inquired about the man's supply chain (a phrase he'd learned from his father). Ed had been receptive to buying as well as selling, and a new business relationship was born.

After haggling with Ed and barely getting enough to bother for their efforts, Dudley and the gang loitered in the park as the sun set. They got high, they got drunk, and they each smoked a packet of cigarettes.

At last, unable to ignore the rumbling of his stomach any longer, Dudley heaved himself to his feet. "I've had enough fun for one night, lads. I'll see you later."

"Night, D!" "G'night, Big D!"

Dudley took his time to stroll back home to Number Four, Privet Drive. He needed to let the evening breeze blow the smell of tobacco smoke out of his clothes. He staggered a few times, but he didn't fall. He walked slowly, sometimes stopping to let his head stop spinning. He felt like his sternum had been pierced by an icicle.

I wouldn't want to have to fight someone right now. I hope dinner is ready. I'm starving.

When he opened the door, he saw his father in the sitting room. He had his feet up on the stool, the evening paper open in his hands, the evening news programme on the telly, and a brandy glass on the table at his elbow.

"Ah, Dudley," Dad said, folding the paper over. "You're just in time for supper, isn't he, Petunia?"

"Yes, Vernon, he is," she called from the kitchen.

"Let's go have a seat at the table, shall we?"

His stomach rumbled at the very mention of food. He didn't reply to his dad and headed for the kitchen. He sat down and reached for the glass of water.

Dudley attacked the salmon fillet like a starving wolverine. "This is delicious, Mum," he managed to say between bites.

"Thank you, Duddy," she said. "It's a new recipe I saw in my cooking magazine. I'm glad it turned out so well. I'll be sure to make it again."

There was a lot of idle chit-chat during the meal. Mum took the dinner hour to report all the neighbourhood gossip to Dad, who usually tuned her out. Dudley usually did too, but tonight he found himself listening intently. He almost made a comment at one point but hurriedly stuffed another bit of vegetables in his mouth.

Dessert was a drool-inducing chocolate cake. "It's a different frosting, love, one without so many calories. The cake is basically healthy, but all the sugar isn't."

While Dudley was preoccupied with the treat, Dad put down his fork.

"Dudley, we had a visit from the constable this evening," he said seriously. "It seems he was most interested in talking with you. I told him that there must be some mistake, that my boy would never be involved with law-breaking or nefarious activity. He was quite insistent. Said there had been multiple complaints. He wouldn't be put off. He insisted that you contact him as soon as possible. Just what mischief have you gotten yourself into, my boy?"

I didn't think anyone saw us spray-painting last night. How? Morgan was on the lookout last night. "I'm sure it's nothing, Dad. I'll ring him up in the morning."

"You'll do more than that!" Dad snapped, causing Dudley to sit up straight.

Dad never yells at me. I must really be in trouble. Bloody Morgan! He's always been useless. I'm going to have to pound him. I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy my mellow and eat this cake.

"Ever since you've won that championship, you've had this swagger to you that I don't like," Dad said, his eyes narrow. "Arrogance, I name it. You and your little friends have the run of this neighbourhood, but lately it's gone beyond simple preening, strutting, and alpha male dominance. I encouraged that, which may have been a mistake. You've gotten destructive. I'll not have that in a son of mine."

Oh no. Not the speech about how I need to make something of myself.

"We're Dursleys," he continued proudly. "We build things! We contribute to the society of the future. I've done my best to give you every advantage. I got you into Smeltings. I've almost secured you a place at Bristol! All I want is for you to become a productive member of society, like I am. Is it too much to expect of you? If you stay on this path, you'll run afoul of the law. You'll never make anything of yourself with a criminal record. I did not raise my son to be a reprehensible hooligan!"

Hooligan? I'm going to have to lie my butt off in the morning. I hate dealing with the fuzz. I hope it's not Sargent Johnson. He's always been a swot. He nearly caught Piers last week. Do they have any evidence? With the way Dad's worked up, it seems bigger than some simple graffiti.

Dudley really was trying to pay attention to what his father was saying, but his focus kept slipping away.

"Where did we go wrong, Petunia?" Dad asked plaintively. "When did our sweet, innocent baby become a common delinquent?"

"You know, Vernon," Mum said acidly. "The boy."

The vein in Dad's forehead bulged out. There was no need to question who she meant. There was only one person who elicited that reaction. He hadn't been mentioned in Dad's presence since he had stormed out four years ago.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, of course. We had to raise our poor Dudders alongside that delinquent freak. Some of his unnaturalness must have rubbed off, despite our best efforts."

Mum shook her head. "It must be, Vernon. Our sweet Dudders would never even consider such reckless disregard for the law."

Dudley had long since gotten used to them talking about him as though he wasn't there. He tuned them out as he always did.

"Damn the boy," Dad swore. "He's been gone a delightful four years, but still his shadow lingers over this family like a pall. Four years gone, thank the Almighty, and yet his unnaturalness still threatens to pervert our perfect normality. When will it end? When will we be free of him?"

Dad is always insufferable when he starts ranting about Harry. What was it they told the neighbours when he ran off? Of course they noticed. Bunch of nosy snoops, just like Mum. Oh yeah. He attacked a teacher at Saint Brutus' and went to juvenile detention until he turns eighteen. Too bad he's not still around. I could blame him for all of this. I wish something would just make this whole situation go away.

Almost as if in answer to his request, there came a knock at the front door.

"I do not understand people who knock during dinner," Dad declared, getting to his feet angrily. "Don't these people eat? I'm going to give this door to door salesman a piece of my mind." He pushed forcefully through the swinging kitchen door and stomped down the hall. The knocking continued. "I'm coming! I'm coming! Impatient! No respect these days!" They heard the front door open as Dad practically ripped it off the hinges. "What do you want?" he bellowed. Then he screamed, a high-pitched, keening peel.

"Vernon!" Mum shrieked, getting to her feet.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" an unknown voice roared. There was a sound of rushing air, then a loud thump as something heavy dropped to the floor.

Mum was frozen with fear, unable to make a sound. Dudley was on his feet the instant he heard the magic words, his buzz erased by a surge of adrenaline.

Mum whispered fiercely, "Dudley, RUN!"

For once in his life, he didn't think about just himself. He tried to grab her arm as he ran for the back door of the kitchen, but she pushed him in front of her. "Go! Go! Run! He's coming! Oh, my sweet Dudley, you've got to run. Escape. Live!"

They rushed through the back garden and to the access road.

Suddenly they tripped and stumbled to the ground. Dudley winced as gravel cut into his knees. They rose into the air in the grip of magic, a word Dudley hadn't thought about for nearly four years.

They began floating back towards their house, thrashing helplessly in the air. Dudley tried to shout for help, but no sounds came out of his mouth. His panic jumped three levels.

The ceiling of the kitchen needed to be scrubbed, he noted absently, as he flailed in mid-air. He was pulled into the lounge, where he was settled into Dad's chair. Straps came out of nowhere to hold him fast, not that he could move anyway.

All the other furniture was reduced to splinters as a tall, hooded figure stepped into Dudley's view, another hooded figure wearing a white mask a step behind.

"Bartemius, prepare the circle." The tall one spoke, and his voice was slippery, almost a hiss that tickled Dudley's ears.

The smaller figure bowed. "I hear and obey, my Dark King."

Queer designs were drawn on the carpet with what looked like blood. Dad will blow a gasket when he sees the stains.

Mum was dragged into the centre of the circle. With a word of magic, she was spread-eagled and her clothes vanished. The sight of his mum naked was not one Dudley was likely to ever wash out of his eyes or brain, no matter how much bleach he used. Fortunately (or not), he only had to see it for a few moments.

The tall wizard (another word Dudley hadn't thought about in four years) drew a knife and began to carve runes into her pale skin. Blood bubbled to the surface but did not run. The runes began to glow with unholy red light. Every slice drew a shriek of agony from Mum and a fruitless thrashing from Dudley. The wizard began to chant in a language that crawled on his eardrums. Now Mum began to moan with an otherworldly, haunting echo.

With a flash of black light, blood began to pour from Mum's eyes. It pooled under her body, filling the circle and obscuring the spell forms. She stopped writhing and lay motionless.

The smaller man dragged the lifeless body from the red circle and tossed it carelessly aside. Dudley's eyes bulged with rage. How dare someone treat my Mum like that? He thrashed helplessly some more, trying desperately to break free. I'll punch you so hard, you'll need dentures!

The first wizard waved his wand, and Dudley was released from the chair, but he still had no control over his body. His arms and legs were stretched out, and he was put in his mum's place. His clothes vanished, leaving his skin crawling in the warm summer air. He was too enraged to be embarrassed at his nakedness.

As the knife began to carve the runes, Dudley began to scream. The pain was worse than splashing aftershave on his face after he had cut himself while shaving. It was worse than a kick to the groyne. He still couldn't move, and the little bit that he was able to twitch didn't affect the knife at all.

When the wizard had finished, Dudley's adrenaline was pumping so hard he could barely feel his horrific injuries. The wizard stepped back to admire his work for a moment, then said more words in that strange tongue. The blood beneath him began to move, sliding up and onto his skin. When his entire body was coated, the wizard said another spell. The blood began to seep into his body through the wounds. It was the strangest feeling he'd ever had, completely indescribable. The closest he could get was a nosebleed, only in reverse.

A fog settled into Dudley's mind, and he lost track of time again. The pain had faded to a distant echo. Flashes of darkness stabbed into his psyche, whispering evil temptations.

He saw Julia, a girl at school who had caught his interest. He had always wanted to talk to her, but he'd been too self-conscious about his weight. He'd meant to give it a go now that he'd turned flab into muscle and won his championship. She always dressed well, and he thought her incredibly classy. Now her clothing was bolder, and her posture exuded increased confidence. Dudley felt tongue-tied moreso than the first day he'd seen her.

Julia noticed him now. She eyed him up and down, apparently liking what she saw. She licked her lips and smiled invitingly at him. She ran her hands through her thick brown hair, as though posing for a magazine photograph.

She's so gorgeous. I want to bring her home to meet Mum. I'm sure she'd like her.

Then the vision turned. His cousin Harry stepped into view. Harry, who he hadn't seen in four years. He lifted his wand and shot a spell at Julia. Her eyes glazed over, and her expression grew vacant. Harry beckoned to her, and she went to his side, clinging to his arm like some empty-headed tart.

Dudley snarled, hatred for his cousin flowing through him.

How dare he use his magic to just TAKE her? He stole her will. She's a normal person! There's no way she could resist some evil mind control spell. This is just like something from one of my comic books, but I don't have any mutant powers to fight back. The normal folk who fight back don't tend to survive very long. What can I do? How do I help her?

An idea began to form in his mind. The only way to keep Julia and all the other decent, normal people safe was to eliminate the threat. Harry needed to be stopped.

The fog began to clear from his eyes, and he was laying in the drawn circle. His nakedness did not concern him any longer.

He looked at the great wizard who had cast this spell and opened his eyes.

"Where do I find him?" Dudley demanded flatly.

The wizard smiled, and said, "Diagon Alley."

"How can I get there?"

"Bartemius will show you the way."

"Thank you, Bartemius. Thank you, my Lord." He bowed deeply.

The red eyes glowed. "You are welcome, Dudley. Good luck."

Bartemius beckoned to him. "Come, Dudley. Take my arm, and I will Apparate you."

Dudley glanced down at himself. The skin was smooth and unblemished. "I should probably put on some clothes first."

Alone again, Voldemort took a small moment of satisfaction. The ritual he had cast was a combination of several ancient and complicated magicks. He had spent the better part of a year blending them together, refining them, and perfecting one unified spell. It was a feat only the greatest wizards could manage. Most were nothing more than rote wand wavers. It took true skill and talent to create magic. It was one of the few things he genuinely enjoyed.

He stretched his arms high, then tipped his head to each side. There were a number of pops as his neck cracked.

"Ah!" he exclaimed.

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The spell had required a great volume of precisely spoken words, and he was parched.

While he quenched his thirst, he contemplated what he would do to the house. It was so disgustingly Muggle. Fire? Burning things was one of his favourites, a classic. Explosion? Implosion? Perhaps a tornado? Sinkhole?

Before he could destroy, however, he needed to discover. Harry Potter had lived here for twelve years. Maybe there was some bit of knowledge he could gain.

He cast a spell to detect magical traces. Though four years had passed since Potter had called this place home, there was bound to be some residue. The door to a cupboard under the stairs began to glow yellow. That was odd. He had expected to be drawn upstairs to the boy's bedroom.

Yet the boy's bedroom was what he had found.

It was currently filled with holiday decorations, but with a spoken word of magic, he peered into the past. He saw a mattress, a blanket, and some children's toys. He saw young Harry sitting by the light of a single dim bulb, watching spiders spin their webs.

Voldemort laughed, a dry but mirthful sound. The hero of the wizarding world grew up in this tiny space. He was unloved and unwanted. I will reveal the truth. He dared to expose my past? I shall expose his, and smash public perception of him. Who could follow someone who is so pathetic?

There were some traces of magic coming from upstairs, so he followed them and found a room overflowing with broken toys. Clearly they were not Potter's. No Muggles who forced a wizard to live under the stairs for years on end would bestow such lavish things on him.

Dudley is astoundingly spoiled. He clearly thinks only of himself and what he wants. He will make an excellent tool.

A rumble in his stomach reminded Voldemort that he hadn't eaten in some time. He returned to the kitchen to see what he could find for food. He might as well satisfy his hunger before he satisfied his urges for destruction. As he poked through the refrigerator, he felt the burn of the Dark Mark. One of his Death Eaters was calling for him.

A Dark Lord's work is never done.

With a sigh of resignation, Voldemort stuffed a sausage in his mouth. He chewed rapidly as he made his way to the front door. He didn't look back as he dropped a Conflagration Hex. Flames burst into existence as he stepped over the large body of the dead Muggle who had dared to raise his voice. Within moments, the curtains were engulfed, the fire spreading more quickly than was natural.

Satisfied that the house would soon be no more, he cast a Notice Me Not Charm. There was no sense in chancing that the fire brigade would be timely and save the house from destruction. He contemplated firing off the Dark Mark into the sky, but he decided against it. There was no sense in possibly giving his enemies a warning that their own doom was imminent.

With a sideways step, he Disapparated.

Number Four, Privet Drive continued to burn.