A Reflection of Himself

Chapter Thirty-One

The mid-July sun was beating down mercilessly upon Harry's back as he worked on his knees in the garden in the backyard of the Dursleys' house. Pulling weeds was mindless, menial labor, and anything that got Harry away from the Dursleys was fine with him. Every day, they piled the chores on him, but besides barking instructions at him to "clean this" or "scrub that" or "remove this" or "trim that," hardly a word was spoken between Harry and them.

Callouses had formed all over Harry's palms and fingers from pulling weeds these past couple of weeks, but the pain was bearable, considering what he had been through already in his short life. As he worked, his thoughts drifted, going over the past year... what had happened, what it all meant, where the future was headed... All in all, Harry conceded, his sixth year had ended on a positive note in comparison to his previous years at Hogwarts, and by now, he knew not to get his hopes up too high, lest they come crashing down when he least expected it.

Time. Yes, it was only a matter of time before Voldemort struck full-force, before that final battle would come, and who would be the victor? A shudder ran through Harry at the very thought over that fateful day. Just short of being an adult by wizarding standards, Harry was definitely seeing things more as a man each day. His childish notions had faded, and his innocence had surely been lost the day he had started at Hogwarts. Those bright green eyes of his had been witness to death and destruction and the most horrible kind of evil possible. What a contrast they were in color to Voldemort's glowing red eyes, but yet, they had both seen many of the same things, but Harry, being of a courageous and good heart, could see beyond what the eyes saw.

He had seen it on the faces of those he called friends and even on the faces of those who were not friends. He knew it had saved him. It was the most powerful magic in the world that dwelled within every person, whether Muggle or wizard. It was love.

Dumbledore had told him at the end of his first year how his mother's love had saved him. Her sacrifice had bought his life. Love had flowed through his veins under his skin with every beat of his heart and had protected him and brought him this far. Would it bring him victory in the end, when it mattered most?

Coming out of his thoughts, Harry realized that he was now finished weeding the garden. Aunt Petunia would never even think of say a simple thank you, though. No, that was too much to ask and far beyond anything the Dursleys were capable of saying to Harry. With a sigh, Harry disposed of the severed plants in the dust bin and headed back inside to wash up before dinner.

As Harry walked through the back door into the house, he noticed that Dudley and his fat bottom were still planted firmly in the swivel chair at the desk in the living room that had his brand new computer on it. He had just gotten it for his birthday. It was, of course, the latest technology, but Harry just rolled his eyes as Dudley "surfed the Internet." Harry wryly wondered if Dudley's bottom had become permanently attached to the seat.

Shaking his head as he ascended the stairs, Harry wondered what the purpose was of something like the Internet. It had been around for a few years by this point, but communicating with a bunch of strangers who you couldn't even see didn't seem very interesting to someone like Harry, and neither did spending endless hours looking with glazed-over eyes at websites on mostly rubbish, in Harry's humble opinion. Muggle technology had obviously taken the back burner position in his life since he had discovered the power of magic, where it seemed the possibilities were much greater than any sort of Muggle invention.

Harry threw his dirtied clothes into the hamper in the bathroom and stepped under the stream of water that was coming forth from the shower head. The warm water felt wonderful as it removed the grime and filth from his body and massaged his skin. It was too bad that the Dursleys had placed a five minute limit on Harry's shower time.

"Five minutes, once a day," Aunt Petunia had instructed him in her squeaky voice.

After finishing his shower, Harry quickly dried off and left his unruly hair to its own devices. Whether wet or dry, Harry's hair clearly had a mind of its own and would do whatever it wanted. Harry kind of liked that, though. His hair gave him character, character that was much to the dismay of the Dursleys, who believed in keeping their hair prim and proper, meaning regular trims and stylings. What a waste of time and money, Harry thought.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a red shirt, Harry headed back downstairs. Uncle Vernon had just returned from work and was in the middle of kissing his wife on the cheek when Harry walked into the kitchen. He could have done without that sight, but he kept his mouth shut and took a seat.

"Oh, Dudders!" Petunia called in a sickingly sweet voice, much like Dolores Umbridge's. "Come now, it's time for dinner!"

At the sound of "dinner," Dudley removed himself from the chair he had been practically living in since his birthday, peeling his fat bottom off the leather. Harry noticed, not surprisingly, that Dudley's plate was stacked with food: mashed potatoes with cheese melted on top, a Cornish hen (extra large, of course), and a mixture of vegetables. There was still dessert to consider afterwards, but Harry knew he wouldn't be having any part of the dessert, certainly not in this house.

As Harry regarded the small plate of vegetables in front of him, he longed for a nice, well-cooked meal by Mrs. Weasley. He reminded himself that it would only be a couple more weeks at most before he would be seeing the Weasleys and Hermione again, and Harry knew this was his last summer at the Dursleys'. After graduation, he had absolutely no desire to return to this wretched place that had festered many unpleasant memories for Harry over the years.

His stomach growled a bit too loudly, which caused Dudley to bellow with peals of laughter. Uncle Vernon smirked and remarked very rudely, "Oh, hungry, are you? Well, all you'll be getting is what's on your plate there, boy, so if you don't want it, you'll just have to starve, I suppose."

Harry glared at his uncle momentarily, but didn't say anything. Vernon, after all, was too focused on his own food to give Harry a second thought. Picking through the food, Harry knew he would only have to clean up the kitchen afterwards, so why bother to hurry through his pitiful meal?

Eventually, when dinner had ended, Harry headed back upstairs to his room for the rest of the evening. There, he wouldn't have to see the Dursleys, and they wouldn't have to see him, and everyone would be happy. Harry gently stroked Hedwig and opened the window enough for her to go out hunting. Left alone, Harry lay down on the rumpled bed and placed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. A crack ran from one corner toward where he was looking. Focusing on the crack, Harry felt like drifting away again to somewhere else, anywhere but here.

After several long minutes, he began to fall asleep, but then a chill went through him as a sudden cold breeze blew in through the half-opened window. Harry started, but then realized that it was nothing but the wind. Standing up and going over to the window, Harry made to close it when he thought he noticed a shadow move rapidly across the front lawn. It was hard to tell in the darkness of night with all the trees casting their own shadows everywhere, but the air was still. It had been calm all day, and the leaves on the trees were not moving. Harry was about to shrug it off as nothing but a lonesome breeze when he heard a rattling sound. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

He knew that sound. He knew that feeling... of chilliness and emptiness and desolation. Dementors.

Cursing under his breath, Harry instinctively went for his trunk and removed his wand and Invisibility Cloak. He slowly opened the door and peered into the dark hallway. Creeping out into the hallway, Harry was careful not to make a sound.

Then came the accursed rattling again, only louder, and a shrill scream echoed through the house. Harry ran down the stairs and almost fell over in shock when his eyes came to rest upon the scene in front of him. His aunt was sitting on the couch, shaking violently as a dementor hovered over her, sucking her soul out through her mouth. Then, before Harry could react, the dementor relented, pleased with the results. Aunt Petunia was left there, her eyes staring at the ceiling unblinkingly, not moving, but not physically dead. It was then that Harry noticed that his uncle was sitting in the armchair next to the couch in the very same manner. Where was Dudley, though? Harry frantically looked around for his cousin, but it was too late. The boy was at the computer, now seemingly permanently fixed to the swivel chair. The dementor had fed off the three of them in a matter of a couple of minutes.

With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that he was no longer safe within the walls of the Dursleys' house. Somehow, whatever protection it had offered had been broken through, leaving Harry to his own devices. He knew if he summoned a patronus that he would lose his wand and be expelled from Hogwarts. He had taken the risk two years prior and had been forced to sit in court while the council of the Wizengamot decided his fate. He couldn't take that risk again.

Despite the Invisibility Cloak, the dementor could sense that someone was near... someone alive and full of magic. The dementor began edging toward Harry, and not wasting a second, Harry darted back up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him, hoping to buy some time. He grabbed his Firebolt and mounted it, taking off through the window, knowing that the dementor could be mere seconds behind him.

But what now? Mrs. Figg's house, Harry frantically thought. She'll be able to alert someone.

Luckily, it seemed the dementor was still far enough behind him as Harry sped through the air and arrived on Mrs. Figg's doorstep. He knocked hard and fast on on the door, and from beyond the wooden door, Harry could hear the elderly lady's annoyed voice saying, "I'm coming! I'm coming! Just give an old lady a moment, will you?"

The handle clicked, and Mrs. Figg stared at Harry in alarm.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "What's happened?"

"A dementor," Harry replied hastily, stepping into her house. "The Dursleys have been attacked. We don't have long..."

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Figg nodded quickly, heading immediately for the fireplace, where she Flooed Mundungus Fletcher. "Dung!" she yelled. "Get over here immediately and take the boy somewhere safe!"

"Aye?" Fletcher grunted and then realized the urgency of the situation. He stepped through the grate. "Come along, 'Arry," he said in a raspy voice, grabbing Harry's young hand with his grubby one.

"But-" Harry protested. "What about the Dursleys? What's to happen to them? And my stuff?"

"Don't you worry about that right now, my boy," Mrs. Figg said tersely. "The Order will take care of it."

Harry gave her a quick nod of thanks, and before he could say another word, Fletcher had disappeared with him through the fireplace. Harry had never been where he now was standing.

"Where are we?" he questioned, looking around at the rundown shack of a house.

"My 'umble abode, laddie," Fletcher grinned, displaying a rather ugly set of half-decayed, crooked teeth. "'Course it's not much, but it's a roof over my 'ead."

Harry noticed several objects, strange odds and ends lying around throughout the room.

"Where did you get all this stuff?" Harry asked incredulously, but then he remembered Fletcher's kleptomania and mumbled, "Er, never mind."

"Yeah, it's nothin', really," Fletcher grumbled. "Now, we've gotta get you somewhere safe... and fast. Reckon ol' Dumbledore'll want to see ya first 'fore anything, though. Seems your relatives' place is no longer safe."

"That much is obvious," Harry muttered sullenly, sitting down on a chair that immediately began to creak under his weight. Harry stood up almost as soon as he had sat down and looked at Fletcher quizzically.

"All right, then," the unkempt wizard grunted. "Let's get this over with."

He hobbled over to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and called, "Albus Dumbledore!"

The wise, old wizard's face appeared within the flames. When he saw Harry, he knew that something bad had happened. There was no other reason for Harry to be at Fletcher's place, after all, unless there had been an emergency.

"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Are you all right, my boy?"

To hear such alarm in Dumbledore's voice was unnerving to Harry. Usually, even in the most dire of circumstances, the aged wizard's voice was calm, but Harry found it within himself to reply, "I'm okay, sir, but the Dursleys... well, they aren't."

"What has happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"Dementors," Harry said simply.

That one word was enough for Dumbledore. He detested the wretched creatures and knew full well what they were capable of.

"That means the wards... the protection of blood..." Dumbledore drifted off in disbelief.

"Broken," Harry sighed and then looked at Dumbledore, his eyes asking, "Now what?"

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, "you are to go to Grimmauld Place. We cannot risk another attack of this sort. When you arrive, you will await the arrival of others. I will instruct the Weasleys and Miss Granger to meet you there. The headquarters are kept secretly hidden, so that is the safest place for you all to be. I will be arranging an Order meeting within the next couple of days."

Harry nodded. "And my things, sir?"

"I will send someone from the Order to get them for you, Harry. We will have to do something about your relatives as well, but for now, go to Grimmauld Place."

"All right," Harry replied as Dumbledore's head disappeared.

Fletcher regarded Harry carefully and then said, "Be careful there, aye, lad?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, reaching for the powder. "I guess I'll be seeing you in a few days."

"All right. Take care of yourself, 'Arry."

"Bye," Harry muttered and then threw the powder into the fireplace as he announced his destination.

Stepping into the flames, he momentarily felt the whirlwind of travelling via Floo and then was promptly spit out on the other side. Covered in ashes and soot, Harry tried to brush himself clean, but as he stood up and gazed around him, he realized just how alone he was right now. Never had he been inside Grimmauld Place when no one else was present. Now, the house sat vacant and gloomy, darkness filling every inch of hallway and room.

He lit a couple of candles and took a seat at the kitchen table, wondering how long it would be before the others arrived.