A/N: Takes place during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. This chapter will have a lot of text taken from chapter one, but it has some twists. Don't worry, it gets better, especially next chapter! If you would like, there is a prequel to this story, A Not So Perfect Valentines Day. It's not required as of yet, but you can read it if you like.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing it while she's out for tea.

Chapter One: Dementor's In Little Whinging

The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing; the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.

The boy was skinny for his age with untidy black hair and had wire-rimmed glasses. The only different with this young teenager with all the other ones out there, was a white bandage that looked like an eye-patch over his left eye. It wasn't one of those pirate eye patches that kids wore for Halloween. It was one the medical patches that the hospital put on their patients after an eye accident. His jeans were torn and just a bit too baggy; a long belt was keeping them up and the soles of his sneakers were peeling away from the uppers.

Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbors, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punished by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening, he was invisible to anyone who decided to look out their window or go for an evening walk.

Harry congratulated himself on finding the best hiding place. Although Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could look down the window and see him, but he thought it was quite unbelievable. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than being inside and being hounded by Uncle Vernon or be pushed back into the cupboard that had quickly gotten too big for him this summer. It was more too suited to his eleven-year-old body.

Just as he thought that, the television in the living room would keep on going, Uncle Vernon spoke up, and "Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know," said Aunt Petunia apathetically. "Not in the house."

Uncle Vernon grunted.

"Watching the new…" he said scathingly. "I'd like to know what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares, what's on the news – Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on, doubt he knows whom the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about his lot on our news – "

"Vernon, shh!" said Aunt Petunia. "The windows open!"

"Oh – yes – sorry, dear…"

Harry looked around him as the commercials came up. There was probably no point in listening to the news anymore. Ever since… Harry shook his head. He shouldn't think about it, especially out here in the open where Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would be able to hear him.

"Dudders out for tea?"

"At the Polisses'," said Aunt Petunia fondly. "He's got so many little friends, he's so popular."

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Harry thought. No doubt, Dudley was out with his little friends picking and beating up on some other little kid. Dudley would never be out for tea unless Aunt Petunia was with him.

Just then, the seven o'clock news came on.

"Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airports as the Spanish baggage-handlers' strike reaches its second week…"

Harry rolled his eyes. After three weeks, he knew that there shouldn't be anything about him on the television. He just hoped to see something. Maybe a sign? He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the small relief, and then the mounting tension again… and always, the misunderstandings. Uncle Vernon had to be one of those. It was as if they turned into different people when he got home this summer. It was as if something shifted.

He always had this on his mind. However, lately…he just didn't care. He wanted it all to end…

A loud echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot. Just as if Harry was waiting for this to happen, he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling out his wand from his waistband of his jeans. Just as he drew himself up, a large beefy hand closed around his throat.

Harry swayed.

How many times was this? Maybe the fifth?

"Put – it – away!" Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. "Now! Before – anyone – sees!"

Harry put his hands on top of his Uncle Vernon's and desperately tried to get air into his lungs. He gasped out a few words, but nothing was intelligible. Then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particular nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock – some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold. It had to magic.

Panting uncontrollably, Harry fell forward over the bush, straightened up, and stared around. There was no sign of what caused the loud crack, but faces peered through just about every window. Harry stuffed his wand back in his waistband, but didn't let go of it, just in case. He grimaced at the pain in his side from early this morning, but tried to look innocent as people stared over at them.

Moving a few steps forward, Harry wanted to get as far away from Uncle Vernon as he could, in case those hands closed around his throat longer than before.

"Lovely evening!" shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Number 7, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. "Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!"

When the neighbors slowly went back into the home, Harry continued forward, but Vernon beckoned him back to him, "What the devil do you mean by it, boy?" asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury. Harry knew this tone of voice very well.

"I didn't do anything, Uncle Vernon." Harry said truthfully.

"Oh, you didn't? You're the only one around here that that thing in your pocket!"

Aunt Petunia's thin, horsed face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid. "And what were you doing lurking under the window, Harry?"

"Yes – yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing lurking under our window, boy?"

"Nothing," Harry said in a resigned voice.

His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.

"You were listening to the news, weren't you, boy?"

"Well, it does change," said Harry.

"Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to – and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot …"

"Careful, Vernon!" breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that harry could barely hear him, "… that your lot don't get on our news!"

"Sure," said Harry.

The Dursley's goggled at him for a few seconds, and then Uncle Vernon looked as if he was about to go through the window to grab him. Harry turned around and was just about to walk away, when Aunt Petunia spoke up.

"You nasty little liar. What are all those – " she too lowered her voice so that harry had to actually lip-read the next word, " – owls – doing if they're not bringing you news?"

"Owls?" asked Harry.

"Those things bring you news!"

Harry looked around them, looked up, then back to Aunt Petunia, and said, "I haven't had any letters this summer."

"I don't believe it. We've seen those creatures flying outside the house," said Aunt Petunia at once.

"No more do I. I've also seen them," said Uncle Vernon forcefully.

"We know you're up to something funny. Always have been," said Aunt Petunia.

"You get in here boy!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing his beefy finger at him and then to the house.

Before Uncle Vernon could do anything, Harry had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall, and was walking briskly off up the street.

He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price. Harry stuffed his hands in his pocket and stared at the ground as he kept walking. He didn't want to think about it right now.

Harry was sure that someone Apparating or Disapparating had made the cracking noise. It was exactly the sound that Dobby made when he vanished into thin air. He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded theses streets so often this summer, in fear of going to his aunt's and uncle's house. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias… But why now?

It had been nearly three weeks…

No, don't think about it!

There had to be a good reason that finally someone was taking an interest in him. But he didn't know what.

Was it Voldemort?

But… maybe it wasn't a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate, and he was, for the tiniest sign on contact from anyone from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises.

Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and, before he knew it, the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer, especially these past three weeks rolled over him once again. By tomorrow morning, he would have not slept a wink. His mind would reel from the abuse of Uncle Vernon that he would sure to get when he got back from the house. His stomach would probably growl for how long and he would…

It was right. He didn't get any owls from anyone ever since he walked off Platform 9 ¾. What was everyone so busy with that they couldn't send a letter to him? And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn't he, Harry, busy? He is the one, isn't he? Hadn't he proved himself capable of handling much more than they? Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed…?

Don't think about that! Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments.

Not to mention Sirius… Harry dropped to the ground, put his hands on the grass, and curled them up. His head was down and he knew he just couldn't take it… Why, he asked himself. Why was it always someone close? Just as he was thinking these things, he heard a sound of voices and he looked up from the ground.

The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft tickling noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were speeding along.

Harry knew immediately who these people were. The figure in front was unmistakably his cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

This was bad, Harry knew. Ever since Dudley became the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast, he was constantly picking on him, especially when no one was looking. He didn't do it as much as Uncle Vernon, as he was one of the most scared ones in the house that Harry wore a wand.

If Dudley's friends saw him lying here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but Harry did have his wand. Harry didn't want to think about it. Dudley knew Harry was not allowed to use his wand outside of his school, Hogwarts.

He must not use magic… He would be risking expulsion again…

Harry slowly got up from the ground and made his way towards the swings.

Dudley's gang voices died; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia Road.

So close, Harry thought. He walked around the swings and stared at the park gate. He didn't know how to feel anymore since this summer just about killed him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon just made it worse. Uncle Vernon had even threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home after Dudley again… Harry hurried off toward the park gate.

Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clean cars similar to Uncle Vernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, when the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colors in the darkness and he ran no danger of hearing disapproving mutters about his "delinquent" appearance when he passed the householders. When they saw that his eye had been messed up this summer, the "delinquent" comments were more. Some even said, "That Potter boy deserved it". Harry tried not to think about it, but it hurt him. When he was in his cupboard, he would usually roll up in his long blanket and try not to think about it. Uncle Vernon locked up all his books and belongings in the attic just as soon as they got home. He had nothing of value except the small things he was able to get, such as the picture of his parents.

He walked quickly, so that halfway along Magnolia Road Dursley's gang came into view again; they were saying their farewells thankfully. Harry stepped into the shadows of a large lilac tree and waited for them to leave.

"…squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others. It seemed they were always off beating up some kids, no matter how young or weak they looked.

"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers. His fat father's is better, unfortunately, Harry thought.

"Same time tomorrow?" said Dudley.

"Round at my place, my parents are out," said Gordon.

"See you then," said Dudley.

"Bye Dud!"

"See ya, Big D!"

Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices faded once more he headed around the corner of Magnolia Crescent and by walking, he was able to stay several feet away from Dudley. He was not in luck.

Dudley turned around when he heard the footsteps. "Oh, it's you," he grunted.

Harry said nothing and kept on walking. He passed by Dudley, but Dudley took a hold of his arm. "Let go…Diddykins."

"SHUT IT!" said Dudley, his hand holding onto Harry a bit more forcefully that bruises were already forming on his arm. "You think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley asked.

"What thing?"

"That – that thing you're hiding."

Harry felt like grinning and pulled out his wand. "Not as stupid as you look, Dudley."

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once, his grip on Harry waning. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to. You just wait till I tell dad you had that thing out. He put it with your stuff."

"He thought he did," said Harry. Dudley let go of his arm and they started walking towards the house.

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.

"This is night, Dudley."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled. He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin. From the little that he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Harry, completely nonplussed. "What – am I supposed to be afraid of pillows or something, Dudley?"

"I hear you all the time," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning and crying!"

"What do you mean?" Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams, he knew. Sirius was also frequent…

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted a high-[itched, whimpering voice. "'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric – your boyfriend?"

"I – you're lying," said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew he wasn't lying.

"'Sirius! Where are you? Dad! Help me, Dad! They've killed Sirius! Boo-hoo!"

"Shut up," said Harry quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"

"'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! They've killed Cedric! Sirius come back! Please! He's going to – ' Don't you point that thing at me!"

Harry had his wand pointed at Dudley. "Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "Do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM – "

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star- strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless – the stars, the3 moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold.

He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eye like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke through his concentration.

"W-What are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

Harry ignored him.

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind!"

Harry stood stock-still turning his eye this way and that. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up – he opened his eye to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing…

It was impossible… They couldn't be here… Not in Little Whinging… After Sirius, they… he shook his head. He strained his ears… He would hear them before he saw them…

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. 'W-where are you? What are you d-do – "

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed. "I'm trying to listen – "

However, he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading. There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

Just then, the heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. Just then, harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could only mean one thing. There was more than just one.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, and his eyes widened when he couldn't find his wand in his pocket. His hands went flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's – wand – come on – Lumos!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his plight. T his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his face. Harry snatched it, scrambling to his feet, and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of his wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain – concentrate!

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementors' robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears…and he remembered…

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

I am deeply sorry you have to hear this from me, Harry. Sirius was captured by the Ministry of Magic not but a couple hours after you were sent back home. I was unable to intervene on Sirius' behalf. It is with great sorrows to tell you that Sirius has received the Dementor's Kiss.

I am sorry, Harry.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

"Expecto Patronum!" These dementors were the reason Sirius died…

His voice sounded dim and distant… Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from his wand – he couldn't do it anymore…

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… He could smell the dementor's putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him – Think…something happy. But the only things that came to mind was the letter… and the cruel laughter of Voldemort…and the dead face of Cedric Diggory.

There was no happiness in him…The dementors icy fingers were closing on in his throat – the high-pitched laughter was growing louder. "Bow to death, Harry… It might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…"

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again. They never wrote to him…

The hood of the dementor eased forward.

He would see his parents and Sirius…

But….who would avenge their deaths? Professor Dumbledore?

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand. The stag threw itself at the dementors on Harry and Dudley. And then…they were gone. Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. After a moment he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementor's in Little Whinging…

Just then, Mrs. Figg came panting into sight. Harry quickly put his wand back into his back pocket.

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them! Oh, I am going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

A/N: Review please! I need to know if you actually want to read the next chapter, and if I need to keep writing! Thanks for reading!