The next morning, like many before it, began with Mrs. Dursley's screams. The only consolation was that these screams were not directed at Harry. As the saying goes, nothing lasts forever, and by the end of this school year, not even sharp-eyed Petunia could see her son Dudley — this mountain of fat that now struggled to fit through doorways — as "a big boy with healthy baby fat." The house, even without Harry's presence, resembled a war zone where a fragile ceasefire had been established. Now, fully backed by Aunt Petunia, who still secretly shed tears over her suffering son, a diet had been introduced, which was being somewhat followed. Drastic measures were taken: they bought a second refrigerator, one with a lock, where all the "normal" food was stored. The old, unlocked fridge was now filled with diet products, primarily fruits and vegetables. When Harry was first brought home from the train station, he gloomily thought that he was in for a diet of carrots again, having to beg for food aid from his friends. But, for perhaps the first time in his life, his worst assumptions about his relatives did not come true. Perhaps it was due to his encounter with Mr. Moody, or maybe it was something else, but Harry's food came from the forbidden fridge, which drove Dudley to either rage or utter despair. Each time Aunt Petunia served Harry, she would glance at her son with a look that seemed to say, "See what it's come to, Diddykins? But don't worry, sweetie, once you're back to normal, we'll treat you...".
In any case, Dudley didn't see this almost month-long diet as beneficial, and he had already made numerous attempts to reach his happiness. Harry could only learn about all of this from snippets of frequent, very frequent, conversations, since he hadn't witnessed any of it himself. Although, today seemed to have seen another attempt… Otherwise, what else could explain the loud yelling coming from the kitchen? Harry stared in shock at his much-repaired alarm clock: 7:30 a.m.
Driven by curiosity, Harry slipped out of his room, which, despite all the locks and bolts still being in place, was no longer locked. In the kitchen, he was met with a sight unlike anything he had seen before. Standing next to a completely wrecked — yes, wrecked — "forbidden" fridge were the Dursleys, and, incredibly, Petunia was yelling at Dudley. There was something about her in that moment that reminded Harry of Molly Weasley scolding one of her sons… Dudley, by the way, had shrunk in on himself, a reaction only previously caused by the appearance of wizards in the house. Harry tried to make sense of what had happened.
After all his previous attempts had failed — fighting with his parents and throwing tantrums didn't work, and the pocket money that could have allowed him to eat at fast-food places had been confiscated — Dudley went all in. Achieving an incredible feat, he got up shortly after seven and snuck into the kitchen to quietly reach the locked fridge. What happened next is hard to understand; maybe he tried to break the lock, maybe he found a key… But in the end, he did open the fridge, though in the most radical way possible: he simply tore off the rather sturdy door… Apparently, this is what woke his parents. Harry absentmindedly wondered why he hadn't woken up from the crash but only from his aunt's yelling. Probably out of habit…
After a brief moment of reflection, Harry left his relatives to sort things out on their own, grabbed some food from the damaged fridge, and went back to his room. After breakfast, he began working on what he had been putting off for days: homework, and he started, to spite himself, with Potions. Harry set himself the task of writing the most detailed and high-quality essay on the antidotes assigned for the summer. This was easier said than done; the task was no easy one, and he had to dig through his memory and books for a long time. The work progressed slowly, too slowly for his liking. "You can't, there's nothing else to do anyway. You said you'd work on yourself, so work!" Harry scolded himself, suppressing yet another urge to scribble something quick and give up. Immersed in his work and the struggle with his own laziness, Harry didn't notice how several hours passed and it was already lunchtime. The shriek of his aunt: "Potter, come down or you won't get lunch!" brought him back to reality. In the kitchen, things were relatively calm. The damaged fridge door was back in place, though it probably couldn't be repaired… After lunch, which Harry again took to his room, he returned to his work. Strangely, after eating, the fight with laziness became much easier… About an hour later, Aunt Petunia's call, "Potter, come down!" echoed again, and there was something unusual about it. Harry hurried down, where the entire Dursley family sat in the living room with suffering expressions on their faces. Harry immediately understood that all three had been too nervous that morning, and now they were paying for it with terrible headaches.
"Harry," Vernon addressed him quietly by his first name, which was already something out of the ordinary, "Could you please go to the pharmacy? We don't have any aspirin in the house."
"But it's Sunday..." Harry couldn't think of anything better to say at first. In all the years he'd lived there as their Cinderella, the Dursleys had never trusted their "abnormal" nephew with such a responsible task as going shopping… Yes, necessity does drive people to extreme measures...
"A 24-hour emergency pharmacy is open in the center," it seemed that even in his headache, Uncle couldn't manage to get angry. And then he added something truly unbelievable. "Please..."
Harry quickly considered whether he should leave the house; the blood protection only worked here... Or did it? The Headmaster said the boy would be safe as long as he could call this place home... Go figure! In any case, he couldn't spend the entire vacation locked in his room, and here he might have a tiny chance to make some peace with the family. Besides, there was no way he could explain to them why he refused to go... Oh, what the hell! He needed to help, and later he could say that he was concerned about staying here. Otherwise, the Dursleys would surely throw him out onto the street: "that ungrateful brat who couldn't even go to the pharmacy for the relatives who took him in."
Though Harry braved up while getting dressed to go outside, the moment he left the house, he felt very uneasy. His wand was in his right pocket; he had spent quite some time adjusting it so it wouldn't stick out. Given the size of Dudley's old clothes, hiding it wasn't difficult. But now Harry wasn't satisfied with keeping it in his pocket, especially the back one. He promised himself that, when he met Alastor Moody, he would ask him about the best place to store wands. Cautiously looking around, Harry descended the porch; he needed to hurry: firstly, the less time he spent outside, the better; secondly, the Dursleys were suffering back at home. Absentmindedly, he wondered why they hadn't called an ambulance, though a headache wasn't life-threatening. But then he remembered how afraid they were of gossip. Of course, how would they cope if the neighbors started speculating about why doctors were visiting?
Trying to stick to wide streets with heavy traffic, Harry made his way to the town square—if you could call the tiny patch of land with a fountain in front of the town hall a "square." Harry avoided deserted alleys, though, on the other hand, if Death Eaters had their eyes on him, the number of Muggles around wouldn't stop them. All these thoughts kept urging him to quicken his pace. On his way, he noticed a few suspicious-looking people—perhaps it was just his imagination, or maybe they were his guards...
But he reached the pharmacy without incident, where, for ten pounds, he bought a huge box of aspirin, puzzling the pharmacist. With a vague gesture that seemed to say, "Just following orders," Harry stuffed the purchase into one of the large pockets of his sagging jeans. Then he hurried off. As he left the pharmacy, he took a glance around and began to smirk to himself, thinking he'd become just like Moody. But then he saw something that immediately killed the joke. A tall man, about thirty-five years old, was striding toward him. His face was unremarkable at first glance, but Harry paid attention to just one part of it: the eyes—piercing, peculiarly gray, full of contempt. Harry remembered those eyes—they had looked at him from behind a Death Eater's white mask over a year ago at the cemetery, but he didn't know who the man was...
Harry immediately bolted toward the nearest pedestrian crossing, where the light had just turned green. As he ran, he realized that in that brief instant, he'd memorized every detail of the pursuer's appearance. The man had dressed as a Muggle, but it didn't help him. Who, but an awkward wizard, would wear a colorful t-shirt with expensive trousers? Harry dashed across the street, and cars began to move right after, perhaps slowing the man down...
Another figure approached from the opposite direction, and this one hadn't bothered to disguise himself—he was in his usual attire: a black cloak and the familiar mask. Apparently, this "pureblood wizard" thought it beneath his dignity to dress like a Muggle. Harry turned into a narrow alley: fighting was suicide, he had to reach home, where they supposedly couldn't get to him... His pursuer in the black cloak didn't fall behind—it was incredible how they managed to run so fast in those long robes... The alley ended, and Harry realized he'd made a mistake. It led him straight to a major highway cutting through the town. Ahead of him was a narrow sidewalk, then a two-lane road. The nearest intersection and crosswalk were far away, and his pursuer—one glance over his shoulder—was already close.
"Better under a car than with them!" an urgent thought crossed his mind. Harry dashed forward without thinking... He didn't remember how he made it to the other side. All he heard were screeching brakes and the blaring of horns from angry drivers... and a short scream. Harry couldn't force himself to keep going without glancing back at the obstacle he had just crossed. On the farthest lane, about twenty meters from the alley exit, lay a motionless body. In front of it was a huge truck. In a nightmarish flash, Harry saw himself darting onto the lane just meters from the massive vehicle... The driver had managed to hit the brakes; Harry slipped past, but his pursuer went straight under the wheels...
Forcing himself to tear his gaze from the undoubtedly dead body, Harry dashed off. Who knew how many more enemies were after him... He needed to reach home quickly; there, everything would be fine, and he could find out where all his guards had gone. There was no doubt they were watching over him... After making a few loops through the alleys, Harry crossed the highway again, this time blending into the crowd at a crosswalk. He was desperately trying to spot any signs of being followed; so far, there were none. He was already approaching Privet Drive... Familiar streets...
"Imperio!" All thoughts instantly left his mind; he was completely unprepared for this, but in the next moment, he began to fight back... "Very good, Potter, you've come straight to me..." A hand landed on his shoulder.
Harry couldn't explain what happened next—perhaps it was the lingering effect of the Imperius Curse that he hadn't fully shaken off, causing him to act irrationally. Moreover, out of nowhere, he suddenly felt that unpleasantly familiar cold... Without looking, he swung his hand backward and seemed to hit his pursuer's face. Like a startled rabbit, he darted into the nearest gate, even though a more rational part of his mind was screaming that it was a gate leading into someone's yard, from which there would be no exit...
He sped through the yard, barely seeing anything, along some pathways, and burst out into something resembling a vacant lot strewn with dead branches... The cold grew even stronger, and Harry saw Dementors closing in on him. An absurdly cheerful thought flashed through his mind: now they would visit him every summer. His mind was still nearly blank, no voices from his parents, no misty fog. Harry absently realized that he should do something—after all, he had his wand in hand. When had he drawn it? He couldn't remember and didn't try to.
Something about warmth... Oh, right, Dementors couldn't survive in the heat... That's what he had thought two years ago when receiving letters from Sirius... "Let's test it..." a reckless thought crossed his mind.
"Incendio!" Flames engulfed the branches lying around, but the fire burned weakly...
The Dementors kept advancing, and Harry watched them, doing nothing. His mind was almost empty, and he observed them with detached interest... They were so close now, the fire nearly out... What a stench they had! The nearest one pulled back its hood... Harry absently noted that this was the second time he had seen what was under a Dementor's hood: no eyes, no other features, just a terrible, funnel-like mouth... Voices began to echo in his head again, but faintly. Harry felt a growing sense of unease turning into fear, but like at the lake, he was no longer able to move...
"No, he must remain alive for the master! Stop!" the same voice that had cast the Imperius Curse on him called out. The Dementors didn't react; the nearest one had already placed its hands on Harry's shoulders, its mouth moving closer... Harry felt an indescribable, nightmarish sensation, as though something was being ripped out of him from the inside... The kiss hadn't happened yet, but it was only moments away... Harry noticed something strange coming out of his mouth toward the funnel...
"No!" the voice shouted again. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry was released, and slowly—at least it seemed slow to him—he fell back, beginning to collapse. The green light struck the Dementor who had been draining his soul. It struck... and passed right through. The Dementor burst into blue flames, the beam turning into a golden-blue light. The Dementor disintegrated into ash, and the light struck the dying fire...
Harry had already fallen, his eyes closing. In his final moments of consciousness, he saw the flames unexpectedly flare up and seem to form a vague human figure... Then, there was only darkness.
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