"You don't have to worry anymore."

The Dursley family, formerly of number 4, Private Drive, was too shocked at the sudden appearance of the boy to register what had just been said.

Petunia Dursley, a horse-faced woman who wasn't nearly as old as she looked, gave a sort of startled shriek at the sight of her dead sister's son. Vernon Dursley, a large walrus of a man who was every bit as disgusting as he appeared to be, choked on what looked to be a slice of lemon cream pie as he took in the sight of the runty freak that he had been forced to take into his home nearly seventeen years ago. Dudley Dursley, a youth who admittedly didn't look quite as massive as he used to and wasn't nearly as profoundly stupid as he appeared, watched his cousin intently.

"You don't have to worry anymore." Harry Potter wasn't really paying attention to the Dursleys. In fact he seemed to find the upper corner of peeling wallpaper very fascinating. "The war is… over. Voldemort has been killed. We're still trying to track down a few of his followers, but for the most part everything is safe. The Order's rebuilt your house, and you can return if you'd like. No one should try to kill you." The corner of peeling wall paper still had his undivided attention. It was now beginning to peel itself. "That's it I suppose. Just wanted to let you know." And then he was gone.

The spot on the carpet where Harry Potter had been standing was grimy from whatever had spattered off of him as he disappeared and reappeared. There was blood as well, round, perfectly circular spots of it.

Vernon Dursley, a man who had never been more nonplussed by the news of the end of a war, went back to eating lemon cream pie. He wondered how much money he could squeeze out of the government of freaks for making him live in such a horrible place with such unsatisfactory food because of a war he had no part in.

Petunia Dursley, a woman who was a little terrified by the appearance of her dead sister's son, a little disgusted by the residual grime left behind by him, and just the tiniest bit heartbroken by the little bit of Lily she saw in him, went to the kitchen to retrieve a hot rag and bleach. The carpet was white anyway, bleach couldn't hurt it. And if she worked quickly, the boy would have no permanent mark on her carpet, let alone her life.

Dudley Dursley helped his mother clean. Then he picked up the empty pie tin from its precarious position balanced on his father's gargantuan belly. Then he retreated to his attic room and proceeded to beat the tar out of the punching bag that had helped him melt away so many pounds of loose flesh in the last ten or so months.

Later that evening, after Vernon Dursley had finished his second apple torte and when Petunia Dursley was finally satisfied with the state of the carpet, Dudley Dursley fed the rags that had been used to clean up his cousin's blood and sweat and grime into the fire one by one. And he watched them burn. And he knew that that was the last he would be hearing from Harry Potter for a very long time.

AN: Hope you like it, and I hope you keep reading!