The Final Reckoning

Chapter Four: A Return to Family

The Dursleys' good mood at Harry finally leaving for good continued through those three days, to the point that they were practically civil to him. Well, at least by Dursley standards.

Uncle Vernon did get upset that Harry kept receiving owl post, but as his walrus face was only turning bright pink instead of purple, Harry took this as a sign of Uncle Vernon's good humour. Aunt Petunia only managed to sniff and purse her lips disapprovingly half a dozen times per day, rather than the usual fifty or so.

Dudley and Harry reached a kind of chilly detente in their relationship. This came about after Harry--who went out for a walk one evening to the play park--found Dudley with his gang. The lot of them were sitting behind a bush, reading dirty magazines and passing a cigarette between them. Except that it wasn't an ordinary cigarette, judging by the distinctive odour and the glazed, stupidly happy looks on the boys' faces. They'd seen Harry and all but Dudley had burst into gasping, uncontrollable laughter. Dudley managed to look scared and begged Harry not to tell his parents. Harry was awfully tempted to let slip to the Dursleys that their precious angel of a son was smoking marijuana, but in the end he agreed not to tell on his cousin. Dudley's parents wouldn't believe Harry anyway.

For his part, Harry was too wound up in his emotions to give the Dursleys a second thought. Between getting dumped by his girlfriend, having to testify at a Death Eater's trial, learning that he'd managed to actually injure Voldemort, and finally getting out of Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry was quite simply a bit of a mess.

His swirling emotions left him feeling tired and irritable, but as much as possible he avoided taking it out on the Dursleys. If they were going to make some small effort not to be totally awful to him, he decided he could be mature about it and do the same. So he didn't clomp heavily down the stairs in the mornings, or carry his wand in plain sight, or needle Dudley for the many silly nicknames his mother had given him. He went about his chores without complaint, and found that, in fact, the busywork kept his mind off things for a while.

At night, however, everything would come roaring back. He slept badly, and his dreams were vivid and unsettling. He dreamt of Susan; in most dreams, they were snogging or having sex and she was smiling radiantly at him or moaning his name in his ear or telling him she loved him. He'd wake up happy and aroused and then find his bed empty and remember they weren't together anymore. Or he'd dream of that night in the Riddle House, and the way Voldemort threatened his friends. How Voldemort had nearly killed Hermione; how he'd taunted Ginny and how he'd ordered Snape to kill Ron. Or he'd dream of Sirius, falling through the veil and then sticking his head back out and laughing and saying 'Follow me, Harry!' and he'd start to follow his godfather but Hermione would leap in front of him and tell him not to go, and Lupin would grab his shoulders and hold him back.

But for all his unsettled dreams and unsettled feelings, never once did Harry feel pain in his scar.

It was almost more unnerving than the constant twinges; at least when his scar hurt, Harry had some idea of what Voldemort was up to. This...silence was a bit frightening.

A few times, Harry tried using Legilimency to see if he could make a mental connection with Voldemort, but his attempts didn't work. It was as if Voldemort had simply disappeared.

He hadn't, of course. Harry wasn't getting any sort of intelligence reports by post - owing, no doubt, to Lupin's warning that letters could easily go astray - but Harry had to assume that Lupin was right. Voldemort was in hiding, recovering from whatever wound Harry had dealt him, and eventually, the dark wizard would return. Again.

The other thing that Harry noticed was that his dreams--often so helpful in helping him figure out some of his own life's questions--weren't helping him in any way now. Every dream he had was related to some past event. He took comfort in the knowledge that he wasn't having dreams about murdered scientists or Death Eater attacks at the Ministry - at least that meant nothing was happening at the moment. But, as Harry reflected for the millionth time in three days, about Voldemort's injury, he couldn't help but wish he'd have a dream about that night that might tell him more about just how he managed to draw the dark wizard's blood.

My blood, he corrected himself.

And then, Harry reflected again on blood. Dumbledore had said that Harry's mother, in giving her life and shedding her blood for her son, had completed an ancient magic that protected Harry from the Killing Curse. And then there was the blood bond Harry shared with Aunt Petunia, blood that protected him so long as he lived under the Dursley's roof.

Had Harry's blood protected Voldemort so far? He remembered what Lupin had told him.

Somehow or other you managed to draw blood from Lord Voldemort. Something no one has been able to do since he returned.'

Harry considered. This certainly seemed to suggest that his blood had protected Voldemort from harm. But then, there was only one time Harry remembered seeing Voldemort fight with someone other than himself...

He thought back to that night in the Department of Mysteries.

The night Sirius was murdered...

Don't think about that.

Dumbledore and Voldemort had fought.

Something about that fight tickled at Harry's memory. And then he remembered.

They hadn't just fought. They'd...talked.

Suddenly that conversation seemed to be very important. Harry hadn't thought about it for two years--he'd blocked out most memories from that awful night. But now...

What had they talked about? Voldemort had been taunting Dumbledore.

Not surprising, thought Harry with a smirk. That's what Voldemort does best. Well, apart from murdering people and causing mayhem and spreading fear throughout the entire country.

But Dumbledore...he'd been so calm during the battle. Blocking Voldemort's curses and talking to him as though they were sitting in a pub sipping pints of ale.

Dumbledore never hit him with a curse.

Harry's eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flew open.

No, there was more to it than that.

Dumbledore hadn't aimed the Killing Curse at Voldemort at all during their duel.

You don't seek to kill me, Dumbledore? Above such brutality, are you?

Why didn't Dumbledore use the Killing Curse? He surely knew how to do it.

The Prophecy, stupid. The Prophecy says only YOU have the power to kill Voldemort.

No, the power to destroy Voldemort.

We both know there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom. Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit--

There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!

You are quite wrong. Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness...

Harry closed his eyes again, trying to understand what it all meant.

What was worse than death?

Losing people you love comes pretty damn close, thought Harry sadly. He shook away thoughts of Sirius and refocused on the battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Dumbledore didn't use the Killing Curse because of the Prophecy. But...surely Dumbledore was powerful enough to finish off Voldemort. That had to be at least one reason Voldemort feared Dumbledore. Wasn't it? Surely the Prophecy wasn't the only reason Dumbledore didn't try to finish Voldemort once and for all.

The Killing Curse rebounded onto Voldemort when he tried to use it on you...because your mother's sacrifice protected you.

And now Voldemort had taken his, Harry's, blood. And if Dumbledore didn't even try to kill Voldemort, that had to mean...

Voldemort WAS protected by Harry's blood. By Lily Potter's blood.

But I hurt him...somehow, Harry thought. So mum's blood doesn't protect him from me.

Harry groaned and looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was well after midnight. He sat up and climbed out of bed, restless and unable to sleep at all. In just a few hours he'd be leaving this house for good.

He found himself opening his trunk once again, to check that everything was packed, to see if he'd missed anything. He hadn't. His trunk had never been so neatly packed before, and everything, even his Firebolt, fit inside. He checked Hedwig's cage: it was spotless, and had been since she'd gone out to hunt and he'd cleaned it for the third time that day. He looked at the pile of letters on his desk. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had sent letters every day; Harry thought it was a bit of overkill on their part, but he couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. He just wished he could write Ron back and tell him that he was coming to the Burrow early for a change.

Harry quickly realized there was little for him to do BUT try and sleep. So he lay back down and closed his eyes. For a half hour he tossed and turned, but finally, the lack of sleep caught up with him, and he drifted off, the questions surrounding Voldemort's injury - and the cause of it - still humming in his brain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'POTTER!'

Harry's eyes snapped open at the sound of his uncle's enraged voice. He blinked, sat up groggily, and shook his head, reaching blindly for his glasses, which he'd left on his desk.

'HARRY POTTER!'

'Yeah, yeah,' Harry yelled, annoyed. So much for being slightly courteous; the Dursleys were clearly back in their normal mode of treating him horribly. He heard the gentle pressure of footsteps on the stairs and groaned; Uncle Vernon was probably going to beat down the door and demand he get downstairs to make breakfast.

Harry pulled on jeans and an oversized Dudley t-shirt and ran a hand through messy black his hair when there was a knock at his door.

'WHAT?' Harry snapped.

The door creaked open, and Remus Lupin came in, followed by Nymphadora Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody.

'Good morning to you, too, Harry,' he said dryly. 'Obviously you're not at your best at this early hour.'

Harry flushed and looked down at his shoes. 'Sorry, Professor--Remus.'

Lupin smiled. 'It's all right. I'm hardly a morning person, myself.'

'Morning, Potter,' said Moody gruffly, as his magical eye began to spin, and then he gave a snort. 'Good lord, boy, how many times have I told you not to put your wand in your back pocket?'

'Sorry,' said Harry quickly, pulling his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. 'I forgot.'

'Young people these days,' Moody grumbled. 'They never listen.' He grunted and shifted his purple bowler hat. His entire clothing ensemble was in various shades of deepest purple.

'Wotcher, Harry,' said Tonks, grinning at him even as she rolled her eyes at Moody. Her hair was neon green and spiky today, and she wore black leather pants, motorcycle boots, and an old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

'I saw that,' said Moody.

So,' Lupin asked, 'are you all packed?'

'Yeah, I'm packed,' he said eagerly. 'Can we go?'

'We can,' said Lupin. 'Tonks is going to take your things to the Burrow in her car. It'll be safer that way, might draw attention away from the fact that you're leaving today. We'll Portkey to the Burrow with Alastor, if that's all right with you.'

'Sure,' said Harry, 'I don't mind.' He paused. 'You think...someone might know about me leaving?'

'We have to assume you're being watched, Harry,' said Lupin, 'and not just by friendly people. That's why Moody's coming with us.'

'Right, then, let's get you out of here,' said Tonks.

She used a Levitating Charm on Harry's trunk, and Harry carried Hedwig's cage. She hooted contentedly.

'Yeah, we're finally leaving this place, girl,' Harry murmured. They started out of the room and headed for the stairs.

They reached the foot of the stairs to find the Dursleys there. Aunt Petunia's lips were as thin as Harry had ever seen them, and she seemed to be debating with herself as to whether Tonks or Moody looked more sartorially appalling. Uncle Vernon was pulling at his moustache and staring at Harry's floating trunk. The vein in his forehead was throbbing noticeably. Dudley stood behind his parents, and his stance suggested the careful, deliberate pose of somebody trying to cover up the fact that he is stoned out of his mind.

Starting up a little early, aren't you, Big D? Harry thought sardonically. It wasn't even half past eight in the morning.

As Lupin headed toward the door, the Dursleys stepped back from him as a single entity (Dudley blinked dazedly and stumbled just slightly). Lupin opened the door. Tonks lifted the Levitation Charm on the trunk, and took up one end of it as Lupin took up the other end.

'Well, then,' said Lupin genially. 'We'll just be going.'

'Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch,' said Tonks, beaming at the Dursleys sweetly.

Moody said nothing, but tipped up his bowler hat and revealed his magical eye; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both yelped, but Dudley stared at Moody for a moment, and then began to laugh, rather uncontrollably. For a long moment, everyone stared at Dudley as he laughed and clutched his stomach and pointed at Moody. Dudley laughed so hard that tears began to run down his face. Harry pursed his lips together tightly, to keep from laughing himself.

Moody grunted. 'Your son ought to lay off the weed,' he said, glaring at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley. 'He keeps smoking that stuff and he'll have no brain cells left. And he doesn't have that many to spare as it is.'

He whirled round with a swirl of his purple coat, and hobbled out of the house, his wooden leg tapping on the front porch step.

Dudley, for his part, just kept laughing. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at their son in confusion.

Harry swallowed the laughter in his own throat and hurried out the door after Moody, and to catch up with Lupin and Tonks; Tonks was opening up the back seat of a very old, decrepit, rusted looking Mini; the paint job was such that the car was a multiple colour.

'Close the door, Vernon!' Aunt Petunia hissed, but before Uncle Vernon could move, Dudley had lurched outside; he stumbled off the front porch step and sank onto his bottom, still pointing and laughing.

'Dudley, get inside!' Uncle Vernon snapped. But Dudley merely fell over onto his side, still laughing. Tonks and Lupin turned to see the commotion.

By now, several neighbours were exiting their houses, out for walks or on their way to work. Harry glanced back to see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wide-eyed and open-mouthed as their neighbours began to stare at the spectacle in the front yard of Number Four Privet Drive. Dudley sprawled on the grass, rolling round and laughing his head off. A beat-up Mini in the drive, a woman dressed like a hooligan, and an old man with a wooden leg in a purple coat and bowler hat, and of course, Harry the Hoodlum, carrying his owl cage.

'Vernon, DO SOMETHING!' Aunt Petunia begged. She looked ready to faint.

'Oh, uh, hello!' Uncle Vernon called, waving to a couple in business suits and a pair of elderly women walking their terriers. They stared back at him as if he were standing there naked. 'Good morning!' he added, his voice wavering. 'Just...seeing off some relatives...from the country...abroad, I mean. They're...American!'

'Vernon,' said one of the old ladies, 'is your son...quite all right?'

'Oh, him!' said Uncle Vernon, waving his hand and forcing out a laugh. 'He's just...well, uh...'

'I just told him a really dirty limerick,' Tonks called. 'It's hilarious. D'you want to hear it? "There once was a man from Nantucket"--'

'Tonks!' Lupin scolded.

'Sorry,' she said, looking as though she weren't the least bit sorry. Lupin smiled at her.

'Dudley, get up,' Uncle Vernon growled, grabbing Dudley by the arm and trying to yank him off the ground.

'Dudley, get up THIS INSTANT!' Uncle Vernon barked. He looked up to see the neighbours all gawping at him.

'Is he having a fit, Vernon?' the other old lady called.

'He's fine,' Uncle Vernon said in a singsong voice, even as he continued trying to yank his massive son off the ground. Through it all, Dudley continued to laugh.

'Vernon, get inside,' Aunt Petunia snapped.

'But what about Dudders--' Dudley was still guffawing on the ground.

'Just LEAVE him,' Aunt Petunia hissed. 'Get inside!'

'Right,' said Uncle Vernon. 'Well, enjoy your day, everyone!' he added, waving at the neighbours and smiling bracingly. 'I'll just...leave Dudley out here to, er, get over his...er...'

'VERNON!'

'Right! Goodbye!' And with that, Uncle Vernon beat a hasty retreat into the house, and the door slammed shut behind him. Dudley kept on laughing and rolling round on the grass.

'Bloody moron,' Moody said, rolling his eyes. 'Kids these days...'

'All set, Harry?' Lupin called.

Harry, who'd been watching the whole scene and desperately trying not to laugh himself, nodded. The neighbours seemed to realize that the show was over. The two old women continued walking their dogs; they spoke with their heads together and kept pointing at Number Four Privet Drive. The married couple in business suits exchanged glances and stepped inside their Mercedes and drove off, presumably to work.

'Bring Hedwig here, we'll put her in the car, too,' said Lupin.

Harry carried Hedwig's cage over to the beat up Mini; Hedwig took one look at it and hooted disapprovingly.

'I don't think she likes my car,' said Tonks, sighing.

'That's a car?' said Moody. 'Looks like a tin can.'

'You're the one who suggested a car, Alastor,' Lupin pointed out. 'For security, if I recall correctly.'

Tonks performed a discreet Shrinking Spell on Harry's trunk--there was no other way for it to fit in the tiny car. Then she took Hedwig's cage and loaded it into the front passenger seat. Hedwig gave a doleful hoot; Harry leaned down to her cage.

'I'll see you soon, girl,' he said. 'You'll be okay. I promise.' Hedwig's yellow eyes swept over the car, their expression frankly doubtful.

'I promise,' said Harry again, though he had to wonder. The car looked about as bad as Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia. AFTER it had collided with the Whomping Willow.

'Right, then,' said Tonks. 'I'm off. I'll see you at the Burrow later, Harry.'

'Thanks,' said Harry. 'For your help...and everything.'

'You bet,' she said. Then she turned to Lupin, and they looked at one another. At once her expression softened, as did her voice. 'I'll see you later, Remus?'

Harry tried to look away--it was an intimate moment between his old professor and the young Auror. But he couldn't. He watched Lupin gaze at Tonks, and felt a sharp pang in his chest as Lupin took her hand.

'I'll see you tonight,' he said. 'Drive carefully. Under the speed limit this time.'

'All right, Dad,' said Tonks, rolling her eyes. Harry saw Lupin squeeze her hand, and then she climbed into the car. He'd almost expected the two of them to kiss each other goodbye, but perhaps they didn't think that sort of thing was appropriate to do in front of Lupin's former student and Tonks's colleague.

It didn't matter; in those brief seconds Harry saw in their eyes something that was painfully familiar. The expression of two people in love.

I used to look like that, he thought sadly. Susan used to look at me like that...

He might have let his mind wander again, to Susan's auburn hair that she always wore in a plait, but that he loved to undo and run his hands through, to her pale skin, but then Tonks started up her car with a roar; fumes belched out from the exhaust pipe and there was a loud bang as the old vehicle backfired.

'Sorry!' Tonks called. ''Bye, all. See you soon!' And she tore backwards out of the driveway, turned the car around so fast it nearly blurred, and peeled off down the street in a screech of rubber.

'Somehow I don't think your admonishment to drive under the speed limit got through, Lupin,' said Moody dryly.

'It never does,' said Lupin. He turned to Harry. 'Let's get moving, shall we? There's a lot we have to do. We've got a Portkey, Harry--we'll go round back and use it from there. I don't think your relatives will mind.'

'What about this one?' said Moody, looking down disparagingly at Dudley, who by now was lying on the ground panting from the exhaustion of laughing so much.

'Leave him,' said Harry. 'Big D can take care of himself.'

Moody and Lupin exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed Harry to the back yard.

Once there, the first thing Harry noticed was that every curtain in the Dursley house had been drawn. He could only imagine what the neighbours might say or do when they saw Dudley sprawled out on the front law, half passed out and stoned out of his mind; Harry almost felt sorry for the Dursleys.

He looked at the place he'd lived in for the past sixteen years, and felt an odd sort of pang in his chest. It had never been a home to him, and yet now that he was leaving...

You're not going to miss this place, for god's sake!

No, but it's the one place I'm most used to.

'You all right, Harry?' Lupin asked.

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Just...I can't believe I'm really leaving.'

'Well, you are,' said Lupin, smiling. 'In less than a minute by my watch. Got your wand?'

Harry nodded and patted his front jeans pocket; his wand was tucked inside, and hidden beneath his overlarge shirt.

'Right, here's the Portkey,' said Lupin, extracting a small book from the pocket of his robes. 'Gather round.'

Harry and Moody moved in closer to Lupin; suddenly the hairs on the back of Harry's neck were standing up, and he felt a thrill of anticipation. He was leaving. Finally. Forever.

'Get ready,' said Lupin, looking at his watch and holding the book out with one hand. Harry and Moody reached their hands out toward the book.

'The Burrow,' said Lupin clearly. 'Three...two...one...NOW...'

Harry touched the book and felt it at once: the tug in his belly, just behind his navel. His feet flew off the neatly mowed lawn of the Dursley property, and he was spinning in a whirl of colour and sound.

In the next instant, it was over, and Harry's feet slammed back to earth, so hard that he stumbled. Moody landed next to him and groaned out loud.

'Hate Portkeys,' he rasped. 'Horrible way to travel.'

'Yes,' Lupin agreed, flattening his hair with his hand. 'Sometimes I think Muggles have the right idea with cars and planes.'

Harry wasn't listening to them. He was staring up at the house that had become his second home, and all of a sudden he felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed against it, unfamiliar with the new emotion. He'd always thought tears were for sad occasions, but staring up at that ramshackle, haphazardly built house, Harry suddenly felt like crying for joy.

'Harry!'

The female voice, made him blink, and he turned, just slightly, to see a slightly plump, red haired figure rushing toward him. It was Mrs. Weasley.

Harry barely had time to react before Mrs. Weasley was throwing her arms round him.

'Oh, Harry dear!' she cried. 'I'm so glad you're here! Thank goodness!'

She hugged him again, nearly crushing him. He felt light-headed.

'Mum, you're choking him,' said a familiar voice.

Mrs. Weasley let go of him and moved on to hug Lupin, and Harry saw Ron striding across the garden.

'Hiya, Harry,' he said, grinning.

'Hey, Ron,' said Harry. The two of them looked at one another for a moment, and before Harry really knew what was happening, they hugged. A fast, masculine sort of hug with plenty of backslapping to go with it.

'Good to see you, mate,' said Ron, coughing and running a hand through his red hair, which was cut very short.

'You, too,' said Harry. 'Nice hair.'

'Ha ha,' said Ron, and he leaned in close. 'Just stay away from Mum if she has scissors in her hand, or you'll be next.'

'Hi, Harry.'

Harry turned slightly at the sound of a second female voice.

'Hey, Ginny.'

She stepped forward and hugged him, and he hugged her back.

'It's good to see you,' he said, letting go of her.

'You, too,' she replied.

'Harry, let's get you inside and get you some breakfast,' Mrs. Weasley said, and she hurried toward the kitchen, with Lupin and Moody in tow.

'Excellent,' said Ron. 'I'm starving.'

'What else is new?' said Ginny, rolling her eyes. Ron mussed her hair, and she swatted him on the arm. They laughed, and Harry laughed with them.

The siblings started toward the house, and Harry watched them go for a moment. His feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. He still couldn't quite believe he was here.

'Harry?' said Ginny, turning round to look at him. 'Are you coming?'

'Yeah,' he said. 'Yeah.'

She smiled at him, and in that moment he felt better than he had in days. He might have been dumped by Susan. He might have to testify in a nasty trial. And Voldemort was still out there. But seeing Ginny smile at him, seeing Ron going into the house, smelling the first aromas of Mrs. Weasley's cooking...Harry was away from Privet Drive, and with his friends. His family.

The bad stuff could wait a while.