When he came to, Harry was standing with his wand pressed against the aged Mr. Nott's throat, breathing raggedly.

Blinking multiple times, Harry glanced around and saw that Theodore was lying in a stiff-board manner against the wall at an uncomfortable angle, while Lupin and Sirius were immobilized in awkward positions as if they had wands in their outstretched hands. Gertie, who hadn't been there a few seconds ago, was lying facedown on the ground, probably unconscious not dead, while nervously Rigel peeked around the doorframe into the drawing room with a brown wand clutched tightly in a fist.

Harry was suddenly aware that he held five wands in the shaking grasp of his right hand.

What happened? His mind was in disarray as it skittered around in confusion. When had he gone from standing by the table to threatening his best friend's Da? Hadn't the wizard left earlier?

"Harry, are you with us now?" came the rough, aged voice of Prah Bailey Nott.

The teen stepped back unsteadily, stiffly pulling the yew wand away from the old man's throat. "Bloody hell…" whispered Harry. He glanced towards his frozen godfather and Lupin before his eyes skittered across the form of his best friend and his Hufflepuff cousin. "Did I…?" He jerked towards Gertie worried about her, but Rigel darted out in front of her with his wand out.

"You stay away from her," Rigel said softly, his eyes wide and partially hidden behind his hair.

"I…" Harry's word faltered. He knew full well that he'd warned no one about his bouts of rage and had effectively sworn Theodore to secrecy. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Does that apology fix how mental you've—"

Stepping forward, Mr. Nott waved a hand cutting the coming diatribe off. "Harry is within control of himself now. It's more important for him to know what happened."

Harry swallowed down the burning sensation in his throat, his tongue heavy and sluggish.

"This standoff began when you attacked your godfather," Mr. Nott said calmly, his kind eyes flinty with suspicion. When Harry's eyes were guiltily drawn to Gertie's still form, the old wizard continued, "Nothing lethal came of it, thankfully."

Relief flooded through Harry. When the purring yew wand continued to itch in his hand like a living thing, his aching fingers released it and it clattered to the ground. He could sense how urgently it wanted to be used against someone and he took a deep breath.

At the sound of the clattering wand, Rigel started, but he didn't lower his wand. Only when Harry dropped the other wands onto the ground did the Ravenclaw relax minutely.

The clock on the wall read that less than a quarter of an hour had elapsed. Harry shifted on broken pieces of glass as he looked once more at the chaos around him. Someone had thrown glasses and dishes everywhere, and deep in his gut he knew he was responsible.

The shivering was growing worse. Harry didn't want to believe that he could no longer contain the menace within him. "It's freezing," He mumbled, brain numbing out the possible repercussions. His breath should have been coming out in white puffs, but wasn't. It wasn't a cold caused by dementors. Unable to gain his bearings, he looked at his surroundings again in a disoriented manner as if by looking it might change the situation. There were little bits of grey-white parchment on the blackwood floor, possibly the card that had induced such rage to make leave of his senses.

He compulsively connected the details of the earlier conversation as he attempted to regain his composure. Petunia, Vernon, and Marge Dursley were dead. Gone forever.

"They're dead," Harry repeated aloud hollowly. In the answering silence, he took a deep breath trying to banish the panic gripping his chest. He had been too much of a coward to warn his godfather about the soul-shard and how it would take him over.

His hands trembled, the image of the disturbing birthday card from the Dark Lord flashing in his mind. Rage had swallowed him so completely, so effortlessly...

A pale face with pitiless scarlet eyes swam into his head. Sludgy anger tightened his fingers into fists. Voldemort's wand. Could it have affected me? He forced his eyes to look at the cursed thing on the ground as he stepped away from it.

"What did the letter say?"

Harry's head whipped up to focus on Rigel. The look he received was intense and his eyes drifted towards Sirius and Lupin. He hadn't the courage to look into Sirius' eyes, but Lupin's black ones glittered with keen interest. It reminded Harry of someone he hated, someone who must have orchestrated to tear all living connections to family away from him. He was afraid and he hated it.

"He set them up!" Harry bellowed out the irrational accusation, trying not to let the burning anger rule his thoughts. He flexed his fingers but it didn't warm them. Mad giggling echoed from behind, but Harry knew better than to see if someone was behind him.

"Who?"

Harry bit his lip. In the darkest corners of his mind, Harry had once entertained the thought of being rid of his nasty relatives who hated him. Voldemort had simply mined it from him.

No longer able to bear the cold or the stony gazes, he went to the heavy curtains and ripped them back. The warm beams of early evening sunlight didn't touch the cold.

Soon, it had crooned, soon not even you will know the difference. Anger flooded through him.

"Harry, who set them up?

The rage was scrambling his thoughts, and he ground his jaw down trying to summon warmth into him. You will disappear and your weakness with it, the thought hissed.

"Shut up," Harry whispered harshly. Refusing to give in, he viciously shoved open the window to lean out. He strained his ears, trying to take in the heat that was absent from him.

Why do you deny the power we could hold together? Don't you want him to hurt for what he's done?

That was when he heard them. The cicadas, the pulse of summertime. Listening, Harry closed his eyes; the soul-shard became an annoying buzz rather than the voice breathing down his neck. Sod off, Harry growled as he pulled the heat to himself.

Darkness momentarily banished, he slowly slumped to the floor with a hand on the hot window-frame. Pressing his throbbing forehead against the cool inner windowsill he let out a punctuated sob. Unbidden, the tears ran fast and cold down his cheeks when it felt like his chest would crack open from the pressure of holding them back. He hated that he could not contain them as he hunched forward, trying to hide the obvious. He was disgusted by himself.

"Harry…" Theodore softly said beside him.

He flinched as if struck by the sound of his name uttered. He pulled his collar up and wiped his face clean as he could manage. He took several steadying breaths. Emptiness felt better than this humiliation. He focused on the Occlumency he learned the year prior to help.

"The contents of the letter are important for us to know."

Harry's mind cleared slowly. Obviously, Theo's da must have collected their wands if his friend was standing beside him now, having nullified the spells cast on them. "Dementors sucked their souls out… murdered them," he choked out. "The Dursleys didn't do anything to deserve that." The drone of insects pushed his nausea down as he remembered the terrible moment when he thought he would lose Sirius to the evil creatures. "No one deserves that."

Harry rubbed his raw eyes, turning a dark look at his cousin, Rigel, still waiting for an answer. Remus and Sirius hovered nearest to Harry, while Gertie hung back with Mr. Nott.

"Voldemort murdered them," Harry whispered, hate filling his tone. The cold creeped in again, and Voldemort's wand sang of vengeance and violence from where it lay abandoned a few feet away. "… for a birthday present. He wished me a happy birthday." He was trembling again as if he had a terrible fever, and he wrapped both arms around himself. The cicadas grew louder, while he took a deep breath of the crisp, dusty summer air and then took another one. "That's what it said: Happy Birthday, Harry."

Theodore grasped his shoulder gently. "He's a sick bugger, no doubt," he muttered.

"I hated them so much…" Harry gagged on the words rolling off his tongue. "But I never hurt them, not even when things were bad. I could have… so many times. In so many ways, I thought about it… imagined putting rat poison in their food and watching as they realized it—thought about cutting the brake lines—"

"If you're suggesting you're at fault for this, I have to stop you there," his best mate warned softly. "You chose not to hurt them. Not even once. Not even if it was deserved."

An animalistic noise escaped Harry's throat as he lost control of his emotions. His heart raced and he sucked down air. Guilt carved his chest raw. "They wouldn't be dead if I had kept Voldemort out of my mind properly!"

Harry whipped his head up to look for confirmation from the adults, but saw that he and Theodore were now alone. They had likely left and silently shooed his cousins out when Harry revealed what the card said. The lack of audience let the tension uncoil from his shoulders.

Sensing that release, Theodore's hand rubbed across them twice and squeezed once more. Harry was so grateful for his presence, and the last of the sticky rage vanished.

"I know you feel like it's your fault, mate," his friend breathed out quietly, "But it's not. He's playing head games with you, trying to get you to snap apart. None of this is your fault, and you know it."

Drained, Harry rested his head back on the sill. "I should have told them... warned them about me," he whispered. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, the shadow of his friend being the last image before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

"Your mind is so open…" Voldemort sighed with pleasure as he looked up at Harry's scar and then smiled again in a manner that might have been pleasant if he had a nose.— "There's so much bitterness at the Dursleys… so much anger over the court judgment after they mistreated you. Surely, you could ask me to slaughter those Muggles? It would hardly be any trouble, Harry, to arrange it."—A hundred dementors were closing in on Harry beside the dark lake; And one of them came forward, lowering its hood with its rotting hands. There were no eyes. The nose was rotted. The mouth had no lips, only a shapeless hole, sucking at his happiness with a deep evil rattle. "We will eat their souls and think of you," the demonic voice whispered like a caress—

Harry woke without noise, gummy eyes opening in the dimly lit room. After rubbing to clear them of gunk, he stared at the familiar wall across from his bed and the stream of moonlight ghosting across the floor. The last thing he remembered was the news that his relatives had been attacked by Dementors, the sudden awareness of pressing a yew wand against an adult's throat, and dozing off on a window sill.

He shivered as he sat up, realizing he was extremely chilled even though he had several thick blankets and nightclothes on. He wondered if he would ever be rid of the cold.

"Hey," Theodore whispered from a dark corner.

Harry jerked his eyes to that space, the unnatural glow of his friend's eyes alerting him to Theodore's presence. "I don't—I opened the letter and then… I don't know…" Slight tremors thrummed through his body and he drew the blankets around him to stop the encroaching cold but to little effect. "It was like the time when I cursed the chalk," Harry quietly admitted.

"Ah. So you don't remember what happened."

Harry shook his head.

"I think you'd prefer to watch what happened than to hear it from me." Theodore pushed off the chair he was in and grabbed what looked to be a large silver dish off the dresser. "Da lent it to me. Said you might have memory discrepancies by how confused you looked." He let it go, and the shallow dish floated until it rested in a space over Harry's legs.

Harry sat up, shivering more as the blankets fell away, and peered down into the shallow bowl. There was some sort of clear fluid already in it. It looked very different from the carved basin Harry had used in Dumbledore's office. "It's a Pensieve, isn't it?"

Theodore perched on the edge of the bed. "Yeah…" His friend pressed his wand against his temple and pulled a thick, white strand of ectoplasm from it. He flicked it off his wand above the Pensieve, and it floated gently into the bowl. Once it touched the liquid, the memory let off a light, and a quick succession of images flashed through before settling at the bottom of the bowl.

Harry gazed down at the contents of the Pensieve, which looked very silvery. When he leaned closer, it seemed as if he were peering down into the dining parlor from a very high place. It had the right shape to it, but Harry couldn't see much without his glasses on.

Absolutely blind, Harry reached over to the chest of drawers by the bed, but his glasses were missing from the surface. He opened the drawer and slid his hand along the bottom.

"They're… no, the other one. Left side."

Finally grabbing hold of them, Harry shoved them onto his nose. Curious, he leaned over the shimmery fluid within the Pensieve. He could see the top of his head sitting at the table in the dining parlor. On the table in front of him was Voldemort's note. Taking a breath, he dipped his face into the strange substance and the bed lurched around him. He was thrown headfirst into the bowl, which looked even shallower than the one in Dumbledore's office. As soon as he fell through, he found himself standing next to Theodore, whose gaze was affixed beyond him. Sirius and Lupin did not see him either… and then he saw himself sitting at the dining table staring shakily at the delivered note from Voldemort.

Harry could see that the snake in the Dark Mark was flicking its tongue, but the message he was expecting did not appear. "No…" His other self growled.

"Well? What does it say?"

Harry watched himself take the card and tear it into halves and then those into halves again and again and again. Each time he'd ripped it he made a progressively angrier noise. The resulting confetti was thrown at the ground. The other Harry stood up so violently that, in addition to the chair, the table was lifted with him, spilling the glasses over.

Cold water sloshed down the front of Sirius' trousers, and now he was on his feet now too. "Harry—"

And then Harry began to scream, throwing an arm across the table to knock off all the dishware. With disturbed fascination, Harry watched as his doppelganger grabbed the vase and chucked it at the opposite wall, howling with fury.

Sirius was frozen with a look crossed between worry and anger, his hand stuck halfway to drawing his wand.

"Harry," came Lupin's gentling voice and reached out to calm Harry. "Getting upset—"

"Don't touch me, you filthy creature!" A strange voice roared out from his lips, slapping Lupin's hand away.

The adult werewolf flinched back, while Sirius yelled furiously, "Harry! Stop your outburst."

"Don't pretend to understand!" Harry snarled wrathfully. "You haven't a Dark Mark on you! You're not tainted by a madman!"

The two Marauders stared blankly at Harry. Sirius' eyes roved over Harry's bared arms. "Harry, please, calm down."

Theodore had already drawn his wand and had it pointed at Harry's back. He looked unhappily determined. "I recommend you draw wands. Harry's not himself."

"Not himself?" Lupin asked sharply, hand moving to the pocket which held his battered, loyal wand.

"What do you mean?" Sirius snapped at Theodore with such severity it made the Harry-that-was-watching wince. "What—"

"You aren't the only one with a few marbles lost!" His best mate sidestepped a fork thrown at him.

With a furious cry, Harry tossed his chair over the table, but the three ducked as it sailed into the wall. "I hate him! I HATE HIM. I. HATE. HIM!" A violent wind was ripping the paintings and tapestries down. The chandelier above them was creaking dangerously.

"Oh shite," Theodore muttered, as he backed out from under the chandelier. Behind him, something quite invisible gashed several enormous lines straight across the wallpaper and into the crumbling wall beneath. His jaw tensed as if waiting to be torn to shred, and then the door banged open next to him.

Knowing that everyone made it through alright, Harry-that-was-watching stared in amazement at the chaotic show of accidental magic. Wasn't he too old for that?

"What's all this noise about?" Gertrude asked crossly, when she was promptly hit by a soaring saltshaker. "Ow! What the bleeding—"

"Stupefy!" Lupin and Sirius said as one.

The hand holding the yew wand lifted and with a dainty flick deflected the Stunning Spells. Harry couldn't squelch the surge of envy at the easy nonverbal shield. Rebounded, the spells struck Gertrude and she toppled over unconscious. A deep, throaty rasp of a giggle sent a shiver of terror through those on tenterhooks watching the teen in shock. The air rippled with magic as the crooked wand silently swiped the air again. Two of the three wizards were frozen in place.

A raised finger crooked with a murmured Summoning spell and the wands of his godfather and Lupin flew towards him from the immobilized figures. He slowly turned towards Theodore, who took a half-step back. A red jet of light flew from Theodore's wand, which was deflected, and then another charm was spelled back. Theodore's legs and arms locked to his body and he fell backwards to the ground. He landed against the wall, leaned at a strange angle. Another murmur and beckoning gesture also summoned Theodore's wand to his hand.

The door slammed open and a spell jetted towards the Harry-that-was-watching. Out of habit, he jumped out of the way, only to realize that a memory like this couldn't hurt him. Behind him, the spell was deflected with ease. Raspy, mad laughter echoed in the room. Despite the shiver running down his back, he couldn't stem the surge of envy at the soulshard's dueling skills.

Mr. Nott had his wand raised and easily blocked the nonverbal Freezing Charm sent his way. "What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry was never more disturbed than when he saw himself prance with loose, swinging arms towards Mr. Nott. The old wizened man appeared terrified at the strange movements and backpedaled so fast that he very nearly ran into the wall behind him. The soul-shard peered up at the old man with a thoughtful frown and then pulled his wand from slack fingers.

Mr. Nott swallowed convulsively, his eyes wide with disbelief. It was evident that the aged wizard recognized that the soul-shard was in control.

A loud mad cackle filled the room, Voldemort's wand was pressed against the soft, vulnerable throat, and in a chillingly raspy voice the soul-shard said, "Surely, Prah Bailey, you did not believe Harry was given this wand out of the kindness of the Dark Lord's heart?"

The wand was pressed deeper into the wrinkled, spotty neck above his pulse, and Theodore's da looked at the ceiling to bare his throat obediently. Harry felt sick at the sight.

A wave seemed to go through Harry's body then, and then tension, incredible tension and anger returned. Harry saw himself look around with disorientation as if the destruction and madness surrounding them was unexpected and then look at the others and down at the wands in his hand.

Harry saw a rush of relief pull over Mr. Nott's face. "Harry, are you with us now?" The old wizard asked in a tone roughened with relief—Everything began to dissolve into mist and suddenly Harry felt like he was rising up into the air out of the dining parlor. Then, as though he'd done a slow-motion somersault, he landed back into the bed next to Theodore.

"He possessed me?" Harry's knuckles were white as they pulled the blankets around him.

"If you mean the Dark Lord, no. Were it him in charge of your body he would not have been so lenient in the heart of enemy territory." Theodore took a deep breath. "Had it been him we would have been slaughtered without mercy and afterwards he would have brought your body to his current whereabouts." He dipped his wand into the Pensieve, and the strand of white memory stuck to the end of it. He pressed it against his head, and it slipped right in. "The bit of him lodged in your head could explain the relative kindness we were treated even taken off guard and outmatched."

So, Harry's worst nightmare truly had come alive. "Is your Da alright?"

"Yeah, mate. He's fine. You gave all of us a serious case of the willies." Theodore shuddered as he placed the Pensieve back on the dresser. "He told me that it's likely you'll lose control again. That its influence may only increase the older you get."

"Bugger," Harry muttered.

"So, I have permission to tell you only this much. My Da and I have joined the Order of the Phoenix, led by Dumbledore. It's basically an organization that conglomerated a bunch of anti-Dark Lord factions together. It was started the last time the Dark Lord was in power."

"I see," Harry said neutrally. Hermione's information had proved sound. "And I don't even get a chance to put my name down to help the cause."

"Right. Not unless you devise a way to stop it from taking you over." There was a moment when neither of them spoke. Theodore looked a little pained. They already knew that Occlumency seemed to ameliorate Harry's condition but was temporary at best. "Advanced exorcism techniques won't work if it chose to reveal itself to the Order members closest to Dumbledore. Da said that there's nothing we can do… if we want to keep you alive."

Harry let out a shaky sigh. "Nothing?"

Bathed in moonlight, Theodore scrubbed his scalp, shifting from foot to foot. "I hadn't told him anything before. Last night I told them everything: Da, Remus, and Mr. Black. The visions, your black-outs, the secret to your old scar."

Harry's stomach clenched. "And?"

"Da told me that splitting your soul is one of the foulest, most forbidden acts of Dark magic you can perform. Only true remorse can bring the pieces together. Otherwise, the vessels that contain the soul-bits are nigh indestructible, and the owner of said soul is near-impossible to eliminate." Theodore met his gaze with a look of disappointment. "Sorry I don't have better news."

A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of Harry's stomach. He knew Voldemort was too far beyond remorse for that path to be an option and that indestructability had been the end-goal. The madman had clearly announced the latter to his loyal servants. "What if I lose control at Hogwarts?"

"We'll figure something out," Theodore promised. He lightly patted Harry's shoulder and then lifted the Glaxxes off his face, folding them and placing them on the chest of drawers. "Why don't you try to rest?"

"But—"

"Da is downstairs should you lose your sense of self again. He's not as great as Dumbledore himself, but he's a Merlin-class Warlock. Top notch at martial magic. He was taken off-guard before, but he'll be prepared for it this time."

Harry opened his eyes at a sudden thought. "I broke the Statute on the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic," came the stunned reply. "I mean, I can't say 'Sorry, wasn't my fault, a bit of Voldemort took me over' now can I? Most of the Wizarding World doesn't even believe that he's back!"

Settling in next to him, Theodore exhaled softly. "I asked about that and your godfather said the Underage Monitoring Charms in place aren't to prevent you from using magic. They're for Gertie and Rigel. Apparently, Sirius already won that case before a full panel of Wizengamot judges when he sought to gain full responsibility of you. Due to winning the Quadwizard Tournament, your MVS has fully matured and by law they can't prevent you from using magic. Doesn't mean you can live on your own since you have to be of age for that. Better than nothing, eh?"

Sirius had conveniently forgotten to mention that to Harry. Perhaps he assumed Harry had known he could use magic?

His friend tucked the blankets up to Harry's chin and patted his chest. "Get some sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning."

"Theo?" He whispered stopping Theodore's steps back to the chair.

"Yah?"

"Thanks for being my friend." For not being afraid of me.

Theodore's warm chuckle broke the sudden silence following Harry's words. "Don't thank me. I'm lucky to call you my friend."

It took a while for sleep to claim him, and when it did he slept uncomfortably, shivering under the covers.

He dreamed of his testimony to a full Wizengamot court, months ago.

Snape was secured to a central chair with glowing chains, his eyes closed as if he was sleeping upright. He never answered any of the questions directed to him. The headmaster even offered testimony of his rehabilitation on the git's behalf and how he had returned to provide information about the resurrection of Voldemort.

"Surely he would know the names of those who escaped, and yet he refuses to speak them!"

"Severus is stubborn, but he is not without honor," Dumbledore replied. "Then again, telling you their names won't win him any lenience, will it?"

With a red face of fury, Minister Fudge called for an immediate vote of conviction and nearly every hand went up. There weren't enough hands down to clear Snape of even some of the charges. Joy rose within Harry because it meant he would finally be punished for siding with Voldemort again.

"Severus Snape, you are henceforth found guilty of all charges and will remain in Azkaban for the remainder of your natural life."

Only then did the Potions Master's eyes slit open, just barely. He had turned to look at Harry, completely ignoring whatever else Fudge had to say.

It was neither a look of loathing or agony. "By your leave, Chosen One," he sneered, but his expression showed neither defeat nor wrath. Though weighed down by even more chains at the conviction, a weight seemed to have left his shoulders as if liberated by an even greater burden.

Harry had been left feeling unsettled even after the Aurors had led the tattered-robed figure away. Azkaban was full of dementors, creatures that thrived on misery and despair. How could Snape be so calm in the face of that?

Dudley moved in with much more grace than Harry ever remembered of him. At first sight, Harry almost didn't recognize him. Despite his massive presence he was less fat and much more solid in frame as if he had been put on a diet that actually worked and exercised more regularly than Harry. Gone were the impish grin and eyes filled with dark mischief. In its place was a familiar expression tight with new grief.

His blond cousin adjusted the battered gym bag hanging from a solitary strap before he thrust his hand at Harry and introduced himself gruffly. "Dudley Dursley. Mr. Black said I had you to thank for letting me stay."

"Harry Potter," the Slytherin said dryly, taking the hand briefly for a shake. He gestured to his friend hovering over his shoulder. "This is Theodore Nott, my best mate. We go to the same boarding school."

"Hello," his tall friend said, wiggling fingers at Dudley.

Dudley seemed to squirm in the silence as his eyes darted to Sirius who had poured himself a stiff drink at the kitchen table. Harry wondered what Sirius had said to him on their trip to Grimmauld Place. "M—Mum never talked about her side much."

"I'm not surprised. Aunt Petunia never did like me or my parents," Harry concurred. When Dudley stiffened at Sirius' snort, Harry frowned and then followed Theodore's lead to walk out the kitchen. "Let me show you our room. We'll be sharing since your arrival was on short notice, but you can have your own once the other bedrooms are more thoroughly checked for Dark artifacts."

Letting them lead, Dudley nodded while his meaty hand clenched around the strap hanging from his shoulder. His eyes traveled over the strangeness of the place, particularly the lit candles. Happily, the house-elf heads had been squirreled away by Dobby not long after they had entered the kitchen. Dudley's eyes skittered over where they had been before. He inched by the curtains covering the portrait of Mrs. Black, probably wary because of the snores erupting from behind them.

"You'll meet my third cousins, Gertie and Rigel, later. Though they're not very good at conversations," Harry whispered.

"Understatement of the year," Theodore snorted.

Dudley sent them a curious look, looking over his shoulder at the hanging curtains that billowed forth and sucked back in with regularity. The question teetering on his lips was palpable.

"Best not to talk too loudly in the corridor or you'll wake that painting. She's awful," Harry said lowly.

Dudley hung back quietly, or as quiet he could be on stairs that creaked under his feet. He honestly was nothing what Harry had expected. He was quiet and polite, almost to the point of timidness.

Harry pushed open the door to their room, which was very spacious. Once they entered, he shut it behind them. On one side was a large full size bed bedecked in Slytherin colors. The other held a small bed bedecked with dull grey blankets and pillows.

"Your side," Harry said, gesturing to the smaller bed and empty blackwood wardrobe. The Dark Arts books had been moved into a large, metal-banded trunk that Dobby had happily supplied and was currently locked tight next to Harry's writing desk. Theodore had a curious expression as he looked between the two beds. Harry thought it was odd that the bed was so small for someone as large as his cousin.

Dudley inspected it all, setting down his bag and sat on the bed, which let out an evil groan. He hopped back to his feet and sent a distrustful look at it.

"I can fix it up, if you'd like." It was a bit of a relief actually to know that he could use magic at home.

"Wasn't your wand confiscated?" Theodore raised an eyebrow at Harry.

He deflated, suppressing the shudder down his spine. "Right," the Slytherin mumbled. He had willingly given it to Sirius no longer trusting himself to remain in a sane state.

"I'll manage. It's… homey," Dudley lied. He looked very uncomfortable. "There's no telly or computers?"

"Magic is incompatible with most technology."

"Incompatible? Hah! He means magic fries most Muggle hardware. Poof!" Theodore exclaimed with hands outspread.

Harry shifted, gesturing to the bed. "It won't take but a moment to fix it up."

"Going to perform it windlessly?" Theodore teased.

Harry retorted, "Don't be an arse. You know I don't have that kind of control." He turned to an empty spot. "Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared there with a crack, causing Dudley to jump in fright. Dobby's wide, over-large eyes googled at Dudley and then returned to Harry. "What is Master Harry needing from me?"

He simply pointed at the bed.

"Oh, that bed was meant for Master Harry's cousin!" Dobby grabbed his ears with distress. "Master Black told Kreacher to do it even when I volunteered, but no, Master Black wanted Kreacher to do it. Kreacher is a nasty elf, sir! Kreacher hates Muggles, sir! I don't mind them at all Not the ones who can't use magic or were borne from them with magic, sir."

Harry scowled. "Why would Sirius ask Kreacher?"

Theodore sighed heavily with a shake of his head as if the answer were obvious. His friend placed a hand on a hip, sauntering over to Dudley who was inspecting the connected bathroom. "Oi, did you want it fixed up or not?"

Startling, Dudley seemed to snap away from a nervous inspection of the facilities. "If you'd like," he said in a blustery way that reminded Harry of the late Uncle Vernon.

"Well, how do you like it?" Theodore prodded. "Firm or soft?"

"Firm. Mum—" Dudley sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly as he looked away and his face reddened. His fingers gripped the strap of his bag. "Realized the soft bedding hurt my back and made me lose sleep."

"As Master Dursley wishes!" With a snap of Dobby's fingers, the bed lengthened and widened, the mattress firming up. "Would Master Dursley like any other changes?"

"Um. The name's Dudley," his cousin stammered as he stared blankly at the house-elf, eyes glazing over as if he wasn't sure if he was looking at a small person or a talking animal. "What are you?"

"A house-elf, sir." Dobby grinned and the smile stretched across his overlarge head. "Dobby's the name. I freely serve your cousin, Master Harry, ever since he freed Dobby from nasty, thankless masters."

Harry's cousin was struck dumb by the magical creature and stared at him with a gawping expression.

"He could change the color of the covers, if you'd like," Harry said with a chuckle. "Do you still go to Smeltings?"

"Er… yeah." His cousin gazed at him with an intensely curious expression. On Dudley, it looked unnatural. At least, to the memory Harry had of him. "How did you know that? Mr. Black didn't even recognize the school."

Harry's first impulse was to lie, but he knew it wouldn't be worth it in the long-run, not if he wanted to befriend Dudley. "Because we lived together for a while. Your mum and dad had taken me in when no one else did after my parents were murdered. I know Smeltings was your… dad's alma mater."

Now Dudley's face was screwed up in deep concentration. "Sorry. I don't remember. Was I young when you were brought in?"

"Yes." Harry grimaced, deciding not to correct Dudley yet, certainly not before he grew more familiar with magic. "Make it orange and maroon, Dobby. Do you know what the Smeltings Academy insignia looks like?"

"Indeed, Master Harry." With another snap, the thin blanket was transformed from an ugly grey to a thick duvet with the familiar color of Dudley's old knickerbockers and tailcoat. "Anything else, Master Dudley?"

Dudley's eyes were the size of saucers as he carefully touched the duvet that was obviously stuffed with down feathers. "Er… I dunno."

"What's in the bag?" Theodore asked.

"Some boxing gloves and protective headgear," Dudley answered as he set the bag down next to his feet, eyeing the bed with disbelief bordering awe. "Can… can all of you do this?"

Theodore sent a curious look to Harry, mouthing the word 'Boxing?' at him while miming a cardboard box. Harry twitched his head to the side in a negative. As much as Theodore seemed to know about the Muggle side of things, Harry sometimes forgot that he didn't grow up with it.

"More or less," Harry said.

"Wizard magic is a bit different than an elf's," Dobby said with a slight chiding tone. "It takes many years for a wizard to perform similar magic as easily."

"He has your Transfiguration capability pegged, Harry," said Theodore with a laugh.

"And you're not so great at Charms, Theo."

"You're only so good at Charms because it's an Illume Art."

"You say that because you're jealous."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

As they bickered, Dudley ran callused fingers over the soft orange and maroon patches of the duvet. "Thanks," he whispered to the house-elf as he sat onto the bed.

Dobby beamed and rocked on his heels and back onto his tiptoes. "Perhaps Master Dudley would like a place to use his equipment?"

"Could I…" Dudley seemed to be struggling for words. "Could I have that?"

"Certainly!" Dobby clapped his hands together and the little used corner of the bedroom was transformed from a decorative display of busts and paintings to a setting that wouldn't have been out of place in a training gym.

There was the usual vertical heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, but also one hanging horizontal to the ground. Tacked on the wall, there were several skipping ropes with various sized grips, a vest, an R-shaped contraption with a spring and a handle, and a hooded suit made of grey and orange baggy material. On the floor was a singular wheel with handles sticking out of it, a pair of boxing shoes, and a slim post grounded with a wide base and topped with a cylindrical bag. A little ways off was another stand with a disk-shaped platform with a tear-drop shaped bag and a spherical one connected at the top and bottom and various balls made of plastic or rubber with logos stamped upon them. A thick, padded floor mat covered the floor beneath the gear.

Dudley jumped out of bed to touch and gape at the boxing gear.

"If there is nothing else, I must work on supper! Mustn't be late."

"Uh… thank you." Dudley's eyes were bright and his face was flushed with excitement. "I mean it. No one's—not even… Thanks."

"You're welcome, Master Dudley!" With another crack, the house-elf disappeared.

Harry wondered at how humble Dudley had grown apart from him as his cousin reverently touched the brand-new equipment. Perhaps Harry's aunt and uncle had over-spoiled Dudley to counteract their guilt about all the horrible things that they put Harry through 'for his own good'. Now, that question would now never be answered.

"You're really taking things in stride," Theodore commented lightly, bouncing on the springy mat.

"I don't have anywhere else to go. 'Sides an orphanage. And they called me something at the magic hospital," Dudley muttered, looking uncomfortable. "A Skweeb? It's why they let your godfather foster me."

A tense silence followed that pronouncement before Harry mustered up the courage to say, "…You know, if this is too odd for you, I'm sure they could find someone to take you in." He added hastily, "Somewhere non-magical. You'd have computers and the telly and video games."

"Are you joking? I love it here!" The words burst out of Dudley's mouth and then a fearful look crossed his face. "It's… different, yes. But normally you'd have to be loaded to get this equipment." Dudley stared at the setup again and then shook his head. "No. I chose to be here, not only because of magic. None of those magic policemen or witch doctors would tell me why my dad and auntie were killed by these Dementier things." Dudley's small eyes fell on them full of doubt and suspicion. "I got a hunch that I'd be offed if I don't stay right where I am."

Harry's mood plummeted further. Exactly how little had Dudley been told? Of the dementors' soul sucking ability? Of Voldemort's hand in this? Probably nothing at all, judging by the present view the Ministry held of the Dark Lord's return.

"Well, he's not wrong," Theodore stated to Harry. "You can't get much safer than here."

Dudley asked gruffly, "So, someone is trying to kill me. Why?"

"What did they tell you?" Harry inquired, trying to gain his footing.

"The only thing they said was that you were famous and that the murders may be linked to that." Dudley heaved a sigh. "I don't get it. If you're famous and all, why have I never heard of you before?"

"Er. I'm famous among wizards and witches. They call me the Boy-Who-Lived since I survived the Killing Curse when I was young."

Stepping away from the hanging heavy bag, Dudley's eyelids pulled back making his eyes look extremely wide. "Killing Curse? You can magic someone dead?"

"It's an Unforgivable," Theodore said when Harry floundered to say something that wasn't awful. "Decent Wizarding-folk would never even think about using such a foul spell. You get life in Azkaban; it's a prison in the middle of the sea for wicked wizards and witches with those 'dementiers' to keep them good and cowed in their cells."

The large teen visibly shuddered. "If they're prison guards, what business did they have being at my house? How did they kill—" He clasped a hand over his face and shook his head. "I don't want to know how. I want to know why. Why," his voice cracked. "My dad and auntie didn't deserve to die. And my mum's stuck in a coma that they say she won't ever wake up from."

Harry reeled, struck by realization that his cousin felt guilty about their deaths. But it certainly wasn't Dudley's fault. Harry's cousin squinted curiously at the broom rack holding Harry's racing broom. Poor Dudders looked on the verge of saying something before thinking better of it and then the bookcases caught his attention. "Got anything good to read?"

"Er, yeah."

"Novels? Like Tolkien? Bet you wizard-types would get a good laugh at what Muggles think how magic works."

Harry felt a bit taken off-guard, surprised at the question. "No, mostly magical history, supplementary texts for school, and the like."

Dudley blinked with confusion as if it was difficult to comprehend how someone could have nothing leisure to read.

"Not a lick of comics anywhere? No Loony Nonby or Martin Miggs?" Theodore shook his head, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "You're worse than Da, Harry."

"I have a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard. They're the wizard version of fairy tales," Harry retorted.

Theodore rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "I know what I'm getting you for Christmas."

"Way to spoil the surprise."

"Ehm," Dudley interrupted with a clearing of his throat. "Don't worry about it." He rolled onto the bed with a dog-eared book in hand. "I'll reread one of my favorites."

The two Slytherins exchanged a look. Harry said, "Well, I'll leave you to get settled in. Please don't touch any of my things, but feel free to call Dobby the house elf if you need him. Be careful when you wander around, too. Boggarts get in now and then, and they're frightful things."

Dudley grunted an assent, and Harry grabbed Theodore's arm to tug him to the door.

Once they were heading down the stairs, his friend said, "He was nicer than I expected given how much of a bully he was…"

Harry grimaced and nodded. Could his absence have caused so much change in his cousin? He would have said that was impossible years ago. Perhaps the Psych-Healers had been completely right to wipe the Dursleys' memories of Harry and corrected the Dursleys' dysfunctional family dynamics in the process. If only the Ministry officials had been so thoughtful of protecting the Dursleys from Voldemort…

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Theodore grinned and dug a hand in his pocket. "I completely forgot I'd finished your birthday present as you were sleeping. Want it now or later?"

Harry didn't think he would ever want another birthday present. Not when sickness crept into his belly at the thought. However, Theodore had gone through the trouble to create something. What harm could it do? "Yeah, alright."

With a smile, Theodore pulled a small square package from his pocket. "I made it," He bragged happily as they continued to descend the stairs. "Without Da's supervision."

The package had been wrapped in paper with animated Snitches on it. Harry tore it off without missing a beat. Inside was a small cube about an inch across, high, and long. He inspected its slightly shiny surface in the dull light. "What's it do?"

"Press the bottom with your finger. It's keyed to your signature, so you'll be the only one capable of turning it on or off."

He did as directed and sensed magic fill the box. The box began to glow faintly like faint moonlight. "Now, what?"

"Ah, the volume must be low still. Pat it on the green side; the silver side lowers the volume."

Harry tapped the deep green side once. Immediately the sound of cicadas washed over them, and the box buzzed with the noise of hot summer months. Harry felt his muscle tension ease. "Oh, so is this what you made my wand into?"

"Er, I only used a speck of it to key it to you," Theodore said sheepishly. "No more than that."

"Well, thanks. It's nice." Harry turned it off and pocketed it as they headed into the kitchen to grab something to eat.