Perfect Strangers

Chapter Two: Dementors

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave! Sorry about the long wait for an update, but hopefully the length of this chappie makes up for it!

The sun was mostly set and the streetlamps provided a muted gold illumination of the second, or perhaps third last group of people he would have liked to see. His cousin Dudley and his gang had parked their bikes at the edge of the park and were swigging down something that looked suspiciously like cheap whiskey. Gordon had a cigarette glowing at his lips and Dennis was singing some overly explicit rap song at the top of his voice.

That bit actually wasn't bad. Surprisingly enough Dennis had a pretty good singing voice.

Piers was the first to spot him, still as thin and blond as he'd been when they were in primary school together Dudley's best friend and the unofficial second in command of the gang had acquired a very bad case of acne.

"Well, look who it is Big D," said Piers, his face twisting into an ugly smile, "It's the freak. Haven't seen you around much, Potter, I'm getting all mushy for the good old days."

His cousin was as massive as ever but while he was away at Smeltings the year of hard dieting and the sudden discovery of his talent in boxing had wrought an overall change in his physique. Dudley wasn't exactly what you'd call trim, but there was more muscle to him than fat now and he'd grown another few inches and positively towered over Harry.

Now boxing might have been a constructive outlet for Dudley while he was away at school, but here in Little Whinging the ability to punch harder and more accurately, and his propensity for targeting smart-mouthed kids like Mark Evans regardless of their size and age, had made Dudley the terror of the neighbourhood. Even moreso than Harry who'd developed a reputation as a hardened delinquent after all his years away at 'St. Brutus''.

Dudley's little gang was ranged around him and Harry couldn't help the wry grin that twisted his mouth.

"Four against one, very brave of you."

"Don't act like you're such a big man, not when you're not willing to take me on without—" Dudley cut himself off with a side-ways glance at the rest of his gang.

Actually Harry was pretty sure he could 'take' Dudley in a physical fight, he'd had Tonks teach him a few things and he was already well aware of the kind of damage a well-placed knee or elbow could do. And it wasn't like Harry was afraid to find out, after all, he'd been Dudley's very first punching bag and had already seen what kind of damage his cousin and his cronies could dole out.

Still, that same experience told him that four against one was more likely to end with him sporting black-eyes and bruised ribs. Something Harry was keen to avoid.

"I don't need to be able to fight you Dud," Harry said lazily, "Not when I can still outrun you."

"So run away then," said Dudley looking strangely triumphant, "Go running to Mummy and Daddy like you do at night Potter."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry frowning.

"You talk a big game but I hear you at night—moaning in your sleep. At least I'm not afraid of my pillow."

Harry froze, his expression closed off. He'd always had nightmares, with the way his school years usually progressed that wasn't exactly surprising, but he didn't often talk in his sleep so he'd thought he'd been able to hide just how much the incident in the graveyard was affecting him.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand Dudley," Harry warned him, voice cold.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter that cut through the quiet night, his gang echoing him with shit-eating grins and mocking chuckles.

"Don't kill Cedric—please, don't kill Cedric!" mocked Dudley, affecting a high, quavering voice, "He's going to kill me Mum!"

"Who's Cedric, Potter? Your boyfriend?" leered Malcolm.

"Why Malcolm? You in the market?" snarled Harry with enough venom to make the other boy flinch back.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to control some of the helpless, embarrassed rage pulsing through him. He had nothing to be ashamed of, he reminded himself, better wizards than him still couldn't bear to speak Voldemort's name. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. The breath he let out was shaky but at least he'd conquered the urge to reach for his wand, or take a reckless swing at his cousin.

"Cedric Diggory was taken from the school campus in June and killed by fanatical cultists," Harry said simply, "Show a little respect."

Dudley and the rest of them didn't seem to know what to make of that, shifting from foot to foot as the wind picked up, sending bits of trash and fallen leaves swirling around their feet.

"Whatever, Potter," sneered Piers finally, "We'll see you tomorrow, Dud."

"Same time," confirmed Malcolm.

"You lot come around my place, my folks'll be out all afternoon," added Gordon.

"Right, see you then."

"Bye Dud."

"See ya, Big D."

They left Harry and Dudley standing on the corner, staring at each other.

"You gonna take a swing or what?" asked Harry.

Dudley said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fist, but his eyes also flicked down to the wand poking out of Harry's pocket.

"You're not even worth my time," he said, spitting off to the side, and shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to make for the shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk.

"Good to know," snorted Harry, following him.

And that would have been the end of it, well, for the moment, if just then the violet and indigo of the sweltering summer dusk didn't turn dark and bitterly cold. Cold enough that Harry could see his breath fogging in front of his nose.

"W—what are you doing?" stammered Dudley, "Stop that! You—you're not supposed to do that!"

"Shut up," snapped Harry trying to scan through the dark, wand to hand, "I'm not doing this."

"Don't lie!" screeched Dudley.

"I said shut up!" hissed Harry, feeling a sudden wave of hopelessness crash over him, "Come on—Dudley, move your fat arse now! Run!"

With one hand dragging Dudley along by the wrist and another clenched white-knuckled around his wand Harry took off at a sprint, racing over the cracked asphalt that was starting to sport creeping frost and trying to ignore the soft rattle of breath behind him.

"Dementors," Harry spat, "Shit!"

One of them swooped down in front of them blocking the exit of the alleyway, and it looked—awful but not the same kind of awful that Harry was used to seeing. Wasted and emaciated, its concealing robes no more than rags and the thin material of its hood doing nothing to hide the scaly, peeling slash filled with layers of small glinting teeth, undulating hungrily and pulling in not air but emotions with a rasp like a death-rattle.

In his head Harry could hear clear and cold, the high pitched laughter that haunted his nightmares, a woman's faint screaming—

'Kill the spare!'

'No, please, not Harry, anything but that!'

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted through grit teeth.

A faint cloud of silver mist swirled around them, and the dementor behind them hissed as it bounced off it.

Dudley whimpered faintly, "Stop it—stop it, please—stop!"

"Cover your mouth," Harry ordered, grunting when Dudley took a swing at him and clocked him round the side of the head.

The faint mist wavered and dissipated and Dudley tried to run. Harry reached, snatching a handful of his sweaty t-shirt and dragging him back with a sharp jerk that sent him tumbling onto his back.

"Dudley you moron! I'm trying to save our arses here, stop struggling!"

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry tried again.

This time a wisp of mist no more substantial than a puff of smoke rose from the end of his wand, and sputtered out abruptly.

It was over, Harry thought to himself faintly, he couldn't work the spell not with the dementors so close draining away every happy memory he tried to conjure to power his patronus.

In front of him Dudley whimpered both hands clapped over his mouth as the dementor took hold of his wrists, tugging at them almost lovingly and leaning in as if for a kiss—Harry felt the rough scabby hands stroke around his neck from behind, leaving bloody scratches that burned with cold while it tilted his chin, turning him to face it.

'Bow to death Harry…it might even be painless…I wouldn't know. I have never died.'

"M'sorry, Ron, 'Mione—"

And as he gasped for the breath to say the words suddenly their faces bloomed clear and perfect in his mind and he found the strength to lift his arm.

"Expecto Patronum," he whispered.

All of a sudden the dementors were reeling back as the alleyway lit with sharp sliver light, the one leaning towards Dudley was thrown off by the antlers of the diaphanous stag that charge toward it, and it shrieked in pain, as if burned, taking to the air.

Behind him the dementor was forced to release its hold on his neck, screaming in defiance.

"Back!" Harry called, his voice little more than a croak, as he whipped around, nearly tripping over his cousin, who was sprawled out on the ground moaning, "Back this way!"

The stag wheeled around and charged again, harrying the more stubborn dementor back down the alleyway until it too rose into the air and disappeared.

The lights flickered on around them, and the sky lightened, the summer air and night sounds rushing in to replace the cold all of a sudden. The silver stag turned to walk back towards him coalescing into a soft ball of light and then disappeared.

Breathing heavily and distantly aware that his shirt was soaked with cold sweat Harry dropped to his knees beside Dudley who was staring, horrified, at nothing.

"Dudley," he called, shaking him, "Dudley!"

Dudley batted at his hands feebly, making soft noises of protest in his throat.

Impatiently Harry tucked his wand back into the pocket of his jeans and using his one hand for leverage cracked Dudley clear across the face with an open palm.

That seemed to bring some focus back into Dudley's gaze at least.

"Come on Big D, on your feet," Harry urged hauling one of Dudley's meaty arms over his shoulder with a grunt, "We've got to get off the street before those two call in reinforcements."

There was the sound of running footsteps behind them and all of a sudden Mrs. Figg, the batty old cat-lady who was their neighbour and who had occasionally taken charge of Harry when the Dursleys hadn't wanted to be bothered with him, came charging into view.

She was in a right state still in her tartan dressing gown and ratty carpet slippers her steel grey hair flyaway and escaping its twist, in one hand he held an aluminum bat and in the other a shopping bag that was—by the sounds of it—filled with tins of cat food.

"Well don't put that wand away boy!" she panted, "What if there are more of them? I swear I am going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

"Where is Fletcher?" panted Harry forcing Dudley to stand on his own two feet and marching him forward, pulling his wand back out, "I thought he was supposed to be guarding me in case something like this happened?"

"And just how do you know that?" demanded Mrs. Figg, "No never mind, I suppose it's obvious that we'd have someone following you after that business in June. As to Fletcher, he left! Left to see about a batch of cauldrons that found their way out of the wrong floo grate or fell off the back of a broom, no doubt!"

"What's going on?" warbled Dudley, "What's happening?"

"Top secret magic stuff you don't need to know about," Harry said shoving him forward a bit, "Just concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other."

"I told him—I said Mundungus Fletcher, if you leave now I swear I'll flay you with my good kitchen knife and feed you to my cats, but of course he just popped away before I could stop him—the no good dirty scoundrel! Now look! Just look I say! Dementors!" she raved, incensed, "And just how am I supposed to help you fight off dementors? Sweet Circe, he knows I'm just a squib!"

"If it's just dementors I have us covered," Harry said, giving Dudley a sharp jab in the ribs to get him going, "It's Death Eaters that I'm more concerned with."

"Well, I can't say as I'd be any good against those rotters either, but at least I know I can hit them with this bat. What's that down the street—no never mind it's just Mr. Prentice. Stars and stones boy keep that wand at the ready! Bother the Statute of bloody Secrecy, you've already thoroughly flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery and you might as well be hung for a dragon as an egg."

Mrs. Figg poked her head round the corner of Wisteria Walk, bat held at the ready, and Harry took a moment to be grateful that the heat of high-summer had driven most of the Dursleys' nosy neighbours inside where there were plenty of fans and iced beverages.

"When Dumbledore hears about this—but how could Mundungus be so reckless, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight—and how am I supposed to contact anyone? Merlin knows I certainly can't apparate!"

"You can borrow my owl, Hedwig, she'll get a message to Dumbledore," Harry offered, clearing his throat a bit.

"Harry don't you understand we have to act quickly! The Ministry of Magic will be after your head for this!"

"Surely the Ministry has better things to concern itself with if there are dementors skulking around Little Whinging?" Harry grumbled, throwing out a hand to catch Dudley when he stumbled on the curb, trying to crane his neck to watch them rather than where he was walking.

"You know better than that Harry," snorted Mrs. Figg, brushing a stray bit of hair out of her eyes, "There's nothing the Ministry would like better than to tear you down after that business with the Diggory boy. Fudge isn't about to accept that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned and he isn't about to let anyone else accept it either."

"I have solicitors Mrs. Figg, I'm sure that—"

"MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER YOU NO-GOOD LURKING SKEEZE! WHERE IN THE NAME OF MERLIN HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Harry found himself cut off rather abruptly as an unshaven man with ginger hair and bloodshot eyes who smelled strongly of alcohol, body odor, and tobacco appeared in front of them with a crack like a whip.

"S'up Figgy," he said, "What 'appened to undercover?"

"Undercover?" said Mrs. Figg, vibrating with fury, "Undercover! I'll show you undercover you useless skiving sneak thief! While you were off gallivanting Morgana only knows where these boys were attacked by dementors! Do you understand you stinking pile of dragon dung?"

"Dementors," frowned Mundungus, "Dementors 'ere?"

"Yes here!" shrieked Mrs. Figg, "Dementors bloody well here, here and attacking Harry Potter on your bloody watch! Do you hear me Mundungus Fletcher? On. Your. Watch!"

"Blimey," said Mundungus weakly, glancing from Harry and Dudley, who were watching the exchange with interest and then back to the red and raging Mrs. Figg, "Bloody 'ell I—"

All of a sudden Mrs. Figg had had enough of shouting apparently because she raised the hand with the shopping bag and started beating Mundungus around the face and neck with it.

"Ow—bloody ow—gerroff! Gerroff mad old bat—someone's gotta go tell Dumbledore!"

"Yes they do! And that someone is going to be you and you'd better explain just what you were doing while all this was going on! Do you hear me?"

"Awright, awright! I get it I'm goin'!"

And with another crack he was gone again.

"Oooh, that man! I swear!"

"It's alright Mrs. Figg," said Harry, trying to sooth some of her ruffled feathers, "Everything turned out alright in the end."

"Shows what you know," huffed the old lady, rattling her shopping bag pointedly as they came up to the walkway for Number Four, "Fudge will try to bury you for this Harry, mark my words."

"Exactly," said Harry, a slightly feral smile touching his lips, "He'll try."

"I don't know where you get that confidence from but I do hope that it's not misplaced Harry Potter," Mrs. Figg said, "Now get inside and for Hecate's sake, stay there! Wait for instructions, and try not to get into anymore mischief!"

And just like that she turned on her slippered heel and marched off into the gathering dark clanking and rattling faintly as she went.

"So," started Dudley, looking queasy, "Our mad old neighbour is a—a—you know what?"

"Mrs. Figg isn't a witch," Harry said turning towards the front door and tucking his wand away as he went, he wouldn't have to worry about dementors, Death Eaters, marriage contracts or Voldemort if his aunt and uncle caught him with his wand out in their house.

"But she knew all sorts of things about—you know, your sort," whispered Dudley, looking left and right as if Mrs. Figg hadn't just been screaming about Merlin and dragons in the street.

"Mrs. Figg's a squib, that means her parents had magic but she was born without it," Harry explained, opening the door and ushering his cousin inside.

"And what—what about before? What was all that?" Dudley went pale and shaky just thinking about it.

"Dementors," Harry explained tersely, "They suck all the happiness out of you, make you relive your worst memories until you're paralyzed by fear and depression and then they eat your soul."

"So did the thing with the silver because—"

"It's the only way to fight a dementor," Harry said with a sigh, his aunt and uncle had the television blaring in the next room and the last thing Harry wanted was to bother them with magic problems, "It's called a patronus, a happy memory that's turned into a kind of shield. Come on, this way, I've got some chocolate in my room, and you definitely look like you need it."

"Chocolate," Dudley parroted, allowing Harry to drag him upstairs.

"It'll make you feel better," Harry explained.

They reached Harry's room without garnering the attention of Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon and Harry shoved Dudley down to sit on his bed and gave him a hunk of the honeydukes chocolate left over from the boxes Ron and Hermione had sent him for his birthday last week.

Not one to turn down chocolate Dudley bit into his piece eagerly and Harry took a bit for himself letting it melt in his mouth and warm the last of the dementor's chill.

"You're bleeding," Dudley pointed out, swallowing.

"It's fine," said Harry tiredly, "It doesn't hurt yet, I'll wash it in a bit."

He went over to his desk and penned a quick note to Foxglove.

"Hedwig," he called, and she settled on the edge of his desk solemnly holding out her leg, "Take that to Terry Foxglove's office, it's urgent."

Hedwig gave a soft hoot of assent and glided out the window silent as a ghost.

"Who's Terry Foxglove?" asked Dudley, wiping his hands off on his shorts and eying the rest of the box with greedy interest.

He was still looking a little green around the edges so Harry handed off another piece of chocolate as he answered, "Foxglove is my solicitor."

"Solicitor? How'd someone like you get a solicitor?"

"That's a long story and none of your business," Harry said, leaning against his desk and taking another piece of chocolate for his own self.

And Harry was rescued from having to answer any more questions from his unreasonably curious cousin by the arrival of what was unmistakably a Ministry screech owl, it swooped in through the open window, dropped the thick parchment envelope into his outstretched hands and wheeled around over the cringing Dudley and out the window again.

Impatiently Harry cracked the official Ministry seal and snorted in disgust at what he found there. It was what he'd expected, a notice informing him that he was expelled from Hogwarts School and that a Ministry representative would be arriving to snap his wand in short order.

"Idiots, the lot of them," Harry muttered tossing the letter onto his desk with unnecessary force.

"What's it say?" asked Dudley, around a mouthful of chocolate.

"That I'm expelled and they'll be round to snap my wand shortly."

Dudley looked a bit taken aback by that, "But you—"

He was cut off again by a sudden crash as another owl careened through the window and collided with Hedwig's cage.

"Errol," Harry greeted with some relief, "Come here you silly creature."

He held out his arm and Errol roused himself with a tired hoot to alight on his forearm and hold out his leg for Harry to remove the hastily tied note.

"What's it say?" demanded Dudley, getting up to loom over him.

"Not that it's any of your business," Harry said coolly pushing Dudley out of his personal space, "But it's from my friend Ron's dad, you remember him? He work for the Ministry, he says the headmaster of my school has arrived at the Ministry to contest the ruling of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Can he do that? If he's a schoolteacher I mean."

Harry shrugged, "He's on the Wizengamot so Dumbledore has a lot of clout with the Ministry, although not as much since the beginning of summer. Certainly he'll slow things down long enough for Foxglove to get involved."

"So you're not going to be expelled?"

"It doesn't seem likely," said Harry, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Fudge won't find much support from the old families and the media if he tries to snap my wand certainly, not with this business between me and Nott that's come up now."

"What business? Who's Nott?"

Harry grinned up at his cousin a little darkly, "Your future cousin-in-law."

Dudley wrinkled his nose in confusion.

"We're betrothed, Nott and I. We've got to get married."

"Why?"

"Old magical contracts neither of us can get out of," shrugged Harry.

"That's barking."

"It comes with the territory," Harry laughed a bit, "Go to bed Dudley. You don't have to worry about any of this."

"Screw that, cousin! These demented whatevers attacked me too, and that old bat said there could be more! You—you said there could be more!"

"If there were more coming we'd know about it by now," Harry said, "And besides, we're safe in the house. There are wards, old protection magic between me and Aunt Petunia, they'll hold up against anything Voldemort chooses to send."

Dudley didn't look satisfied with that, and Harry couldn't blame him, he wouldn't have been satisfied by such a bare bones explanation if he were in Dudley's shoes but before he could say anything two more owls, one another Ministry bird and the other Sirius' yellow-eyed owl who's proper name was something long and distinguished but who answered to Terror.

They both didn't stay long, Terror took a swipe at his head with his talons and caught a few strands of hair on his way out though.

Harry read Sirius' note first, it was basically the same as Mr. Weasley's an admonishment to stay inside and not do anymore magic.

"As if I'd been conjuring and cursing things all summer," Harry muttered to himself as he tore the parchment on the Ministry envelope.

"Well?" urged Dudley.

"I'm not expelled. I'm suspended until they can put me on trial and I'll be allowed to keep my wand."

"And what about the demented things? Aren't they gonna come and get rid of them? Call the m-magic pest control or something?"

Harry slanted an amused glance at Dudley, "Dementors aren't pests, they're—well, they're difficult to deal with. Not too many wizards can produce a patronus strong enough to drive them off. Usually they guard the prison on Azkaban Island—another one of those magic contracts keeps them there. If they're wandering off then that can only mean that Voldemort was able to get some of them on his side."

"So you can get rid of them then?" asked Dudley, appraising Harry's admittedly unimpressive form.

"I've warded off a hundred dementors at once before," said Harry, "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Harry couldn't have said what is was that convinced Dudley he was telling the truth, but after a long moment his cousin nodded slowly, said "Alright then, Potter," and shuffled out of the room without another word.

After a long minute Harry heard the shower start up and he flopped back onto his bed, wincing as the motion aggravated his knocks and bruises and sent the springs to screeching. Wanting nothing more than to curl up and forget that the world existed after the day he'd just had, Harry kicked off his shoes and set his glasses on his bedside table and tried to get to sleep.

AN: And that's chapter two! Hope you all enjoyed!

To answer some of the questions raised in reviews about Harry and Theo's approaching relationship

1. I usually write Harry as a switch so you're as likely to see him bottoming as topping

2. As I am not actually very good at writing it there will not likely be any D/s themes or mpreg in the story(besides, seeing as Theo and Harry are only fifteen at this time it seems kind of unreasonable to saddle them with kids right away).

Hopefully that covers everything but if you have more specific questions or concerns feel free to PM me or leave a review!

Til next time!