The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to aclose and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square housesof Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dustyin their drives and lawns that were once emerald green layparched and yellowing; the use of hosepipes had beenbanned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washingand lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drivehad retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windowsthrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistentbreeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boywho was lying flat on his back in a flower bed outsidenumber four.

He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who hadthe pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who hasgrown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were tornand dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of histrainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter'sappearance did not endear him to the neighbors, who werethe sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to bepunishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind alarge hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible topassersby. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was ifhis Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out ofthe living room window and looked straight down into theflower bed below.

On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulatedon his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, verycomfortable lying on the hot, hard earth, but on the otherhand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth soloudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nastyquestions at him, as had happened every time he had triedsitting down in the living room and watching television withhis aunt and uncle.

Almost as though this thought had fluttered through theopen window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenlyspoke. "Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in.Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know," said Aunt Petunia unconcernedly. "Not inthe house." 

Uncle Vernon grunted.

"Watching the news ..." he said scathingly. "I'd like toknow what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares what'son the news — Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on,doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's notas if there'd be anything about his lot on our news —"

"Vernon, shh!" said Aunt Petunia. "The window's open!"

"Oh — yes — sorry, dear ..."

The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle aboutFruit 'N Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs. Figg,a batty, cat-loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk,amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering toherself. Harry was very pleased that he was concealedbehind the bush; Mrs. Figg had recently taken to askinghim around for tea whenever she met him in the street. Shehad rounded the corner and vanished from view beforeUncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.

"Dudders out for tea?"

"At the Polkisses'," said Aunt Petunia fondly. "He's got somany little friends, he's so popular ..."

Harry repressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleysreally were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley;they had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having teawith a different member of his gang every night of thesummer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudleyhad not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent everyevening vandalizing the play park, smoking on streetcorners, and throwing stones at passing cars and children.Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks aroundLittle Whinging; he had spent most of the holidayswandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from binsalong the way. 

The opening notes of the music that heralded the seveno'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turnedover. Perhaps tonight — after a month of waiting — wouldbe the night —

"Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airportsas the Spanish baggage-handlers' strike reaches its secondweek —"

"Give 'em a lifelong siesta, I would," snarled Uncle Vernonover the end of the newsreader's sentence, but no matter:Outside in the flower bed, Harry's stomach seemed tounclench. If anything had happened, it would surely havebeen the first item on the news; death and destruction weremore important than stranded holidaymakers. ...

He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at thebrilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been thesame: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief,and then mounting tension again ... and always, growingmore insistent all the time, the question of why nothing hadhappened yet. ...

He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue,not recognized for what it really was by the Muggles — anunexplained disappearance, perhaps, or somestrange accident ... but the baggage-handlers' strike wasfollowed by news on the drought in the Southeast ("I hopehe's listening next door!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, "with hissprinklers on at three in the morning!"); then a helicopterthat had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famousactress's divorce from her famous husband ("as if we'reinterested in their sordid affairs," sniffed Aunt Petunia, whohad followed the case obsessively in every magazine shecould lay her bony hands on).

Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening skyas the newsreader said, "And finally, Bungy the budgie hasfound a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, wholives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to waterski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more. ..."

Harry opened his eyes again. If they had reached waterskiing budgerigars, there was nothing else worth hearing.He rolled cautiously onto his front and raised himself ontohis knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from underthe window.

He had moved about two inches when several thingshappened in very quick succession.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like agunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car andflew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath, and the sound ofbreaking china came from the Dursleys' living room, and asthough Harry had been waiting for this signal, he jumped tohis feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of hisjeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing asword. But before he could draw himself up to full height,the top of his head collided with the Dursleys' open window,and the resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream evenlouder.

Harry felt as if his head had been split in two; eyesstreaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street and spotthe source of the noise, but he had barely staggeredupright again when two large purple hands reachedthrough the open window and closed tightly around histhroat.

"Put — it — away!" Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear."Now! Before — anyone — sees!"

"Get — off — me!" Harry gasped; for a few seconds theystruggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingerswith his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on hisraised wand. Then, as the pain in the top of Harry's headgave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped andreleased Harry as though he had received an electric shock— some invisible force seemed to have surged through hisnephew, making him impossible to hold.

Panting, Harry fell forward over the hydrangea bush,straightened up, and stared around. There was no sign ofwhat had caused the loud cracking noise, but there wereseveral faces peering through various nearby windows.Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and triedto look innocent.

"Lovely evening!" shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs.Number Seven, who was glaring from behind her netcurtains. "Did you hear that car backfire just now? GavePetunia and me quite a turn!"

He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all thecurious neighbors had disappeared from their variouswindows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as hebeckoned Harry back toward him.

Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop justshort of the point at which Uncle Vernon's outstretchedhands could resume their strangling. 

"What the devil do you mean by it, boy?" asked UncleVernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.

"What do I mean by what?" said Harry coldly. He keptlooking left and right up the street, still hoping to see theperson who had made the cracking noise.

"Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our—"

"I didn't make that noise," said Harry firmly.

Aunt Petunia's thin, horsey face now appeared besideUncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid.

"Why were you lurking under our window?"

"Yes — yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doingunder our window, boy?"

"Listening to the news," said Harry in a resigned voice.

His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.

"Listening to the news! Again?"

"Well, it changes every day, you see," said Harry.

"Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know whatyou're really up to — and don't give me any more of thislistening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well thatyour lot ..."

"Careful, Vernon!" breathed Aunt Petunia, and UncleVernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hearhim, "... that your lot don't get on our news!"

"That's all you know," said Harry.

The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then AuntPetunia said, "You're a nasty little liar. What are all those—" she too lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-readthe next word, "— owls — doing if they're not bringing younews?"

"Aha!" said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. "Getout of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all yournews from those pestilential birds!"

Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something totell the truth this time, even though his aunt and unclecould not possibly know how bad Harry felt at admitting it.

"The owls ... aren't bringing me news," said Harrytonelessly. 

"I don't believe it," said Aunt Petunia at once.

"No more do I," said Uncle Vernon forcefully.

"We know you're up to something funny," said AuntPetunia.

"We're not stupid, you know," said Uncle Vernon. 

"Well, that's news to me," said Harry, his temper rising,and before the Dursleys could call him back, he hadwheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over thelow garden wall, and was striding off up the street.

He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have toface his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for hisrudeness, but he did not care very much just at themoment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.

Harry was sure that the cracking noise had been made bysomeone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly thesound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thinair. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive?Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? Asthis thought occurred he wheeled around and stared backdown Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completelydeserted again and Harry was sure that Dobby did notknow how to become invisible. ...

He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking,for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feetcarried him to his favorite haunts automatically. Every fewsteps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magicalhad been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunias dyingbegonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn't they spoken to him,why hadn't they made contact, why were they hiding now? 

And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, hiscertainty leaked away.

Perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all. Perhapshe was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from theworld to which he belonged that he was simplyoverreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sureit hadn't been the sound of something breaking inside aneighbor's house?

Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and,before he knew it, the feeling of hopelessness that hadplagued him all summer rolled over him once again. ...

Tomorrow morning he would be awoken by the alarm atfive o'clock so that he could pay the owl that delivered theDaily Prophet — but was there any point in continuing totake it? Harry merely glanced at the front page beforethrowing it aside these days; when the idiots who ran thepaper finally realized that Voldemort was back it would beheadline news, and that was the only kind Harry caredabout.

If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying lettersfrom his best friends, Ron and Hermione, though anyexpectation he had had that their letters would bring himnews had long since been dashed.

"We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously. ...""We've been told not to say anything important in case ourletters go astray. ..." "We're quite busy but I can't give youdetails here. ..." "There's a fair amount going on, we'll tellyou everything when we see you. ..."

But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemedtoo bothered with a precise date. Hermione had scribbled,"I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon" inside his birthdaycard, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tellfrom the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ronwere in the same place, presumably at Ron's parents'house. He could hardly bear to think of the pair of themhaving fun at the Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive.In fact, he was so angry at them that he had thrown boththeir birthday presents of Honeydukes chocolates awayunopened, though he had regretted this after eating thewilting salad Aunt Petunia had provided for dinner thatnight.

And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn'the, Harry, busy? Hadn't he proved himself capable ofhandling much more than they? Had they all forgotten whathe had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered thatgraveyard and watched Cedric being murdered and beentied to that tombstone and nearly killed ... ?

Don't think about that, Harry told himself sternly for thehundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that hekept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, withoutdwelling on it in his waking moments too.

He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent; halfway alonghe passed the narrow alleyway down the side of a garagewhere he had first clapped eyes on his godfather. Sirius, atleast, seemed to understand how Harry was feeling;admittedly his letters were just as empty of proper news asRon and Hermione's, but at least they contained words ofcaution and consolation instead of tantalizing hints:

"I know this must be frustrating for you. ..." "Keep yournose clean and everything will be okay. ..." "Be careful anddon't do anything rash. ..."

Well, thought Harry, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent,turned into Magnolia Road, and headed toward thedarkening play park, he had (by and large) done as Siriusadvised; he had at least resisted the temptation to tie histrunk to his broomstick and set off for the Burrow byhimself. In fact Harry thought his behavior had been verygood considering how frustrated and angry he felt at beingstuck in Privet Drive this long, reduced to hiding in flowerbeds in the hope of hearing something that might point towhat Lord Voldemort was doing. Nevertheless, it was quitegalling to be told not to be rash by a man who had servedtwelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped,attempted to commit the murder he had been convicted forin the first place, then gone on the run with a stolenhippogriff. ... 

Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off acrossthe parched grass. The park was as empty as thesurrounding streets. When he reached the swings he sankonto the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yetmanaged to break, coiled one arm around the chain, andstared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hidein the Dursleys' flower bed again. Tomorrow he would haveto think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In themeantime, he had nothing to look forward to but anotherrestless, disturbed night, because even when he escapednightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams aboutlong dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and lockeddoors, which he supposed had something to do with thetrapped feeling he had when he was awake. Often the oldscar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did notfool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find thatvery interesting anymore. ... In the past his scar hurtinghad warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, butnow that Voldemort was back they would probably remindhim that its regular irritation was only to be expected. ...Nothing to worry about ... old news ...

The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that hewanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobodywould even have known Voldemort was back! And hisreward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solidweeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reducedto squatting among dying begonias so that he could hearabout water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledorehave forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermionegot together without inviting him along too? How muchlonger was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sittight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write tothe stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort hadreturned? These furious thoughts whirled around in Harry'shead, and his insides writhed with anger as a sultry, velvetynight fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, drygrass and the only sound that of the low grumble of trafficon the road beyond the park railings.

He did not know how long he had sat on the swing beforethe sound of voices interrupted his musings and he lookedup. The street-lamps from the surrounding roads werecasting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group ofpeople making their way across the park. One of them wassinging a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A softticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes thatthey were wheeling along.

Harry knew who those people were. The figure in frontwas unmistakably his cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending hisway home, accompanied by his faithful gang

Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting andthe discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change inhis physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone whowould listen, Dudley had recently become the JuniorHeavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of theSoutheast. "The noble sport," as Uncle Vernon called it, hadmade Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed toHarry in the primary school days when he had served asDudley's first punching bag. Harry was not remotely afraidof his cousin anymore but he still didn't think that Dudleylearning to punch harder and more accurately was causefor celebration. Neighborhood children all around wereterrified of him — even more terrified than they were of"that Potter boy," who, they had been warned, was ahardened hooligan who attended St. Brutus's SecureCenter for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass andwondered whom they had been beating up tonight. Lookround, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them.Come on ... look round ... I'm sitting here all alone. ... Comeand have ago. ...

If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would besure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley dothen? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, buthe'd be terrified of provoking Harry. ... It would be reallyfun to watch Dudley's dilemma; to taunt him, watch him,with him powerless to respond ... and if any of the otherstried hitting Harry, Harry was ready — he had his wand ...let them try ... He'd love to vent some of his frustration onthe boys who had once made his life hell —

But they did not turn around, they did not see him, theywere almost at the railings. Harry mastered the impulse tocall after them. ... Seeking a fight was not a smart move. ...He must not use magic. ... He would be risking expulsionagain. 

Dudley's gang's voices died; they were out of sight,heading along Magnolia Road.

There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash.Kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'dhave done ...

He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and UncleVernon seemed to feel that whenever Dudley turned up wasthe right time to be home, and anytime after that was muchtoo late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in theshed if he came home after Dudley again, so, stifling ayawn, still scowling, Harry set off toward the park gate.

Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, squarehouses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large,square owners who drove very clean cars similar to UncleVernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, whenthe curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colorsin the darkness and he ran no danger of hearingdisapproving mutters about his "delinquent" appearancewhen he passed the householders. He walked quickly, sothat halfway along Magnolia Road Dudley's gang came intoview again; they were saying their farewells at the entranceto Magnolia Crescent. Harry stepped into the shadow of alarge lilac tree and waited. 

"... squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm was saying, toguffaws from the others.

"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers.

"Same time tomorrow?" said Dudley.

"Round at my place, my parents are out," said Gordon. 

"See you then," said Dudley.

"Bye Dud!"

"See ya, Big D!"

Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on beforesetting off again. When their voices had faded once more heheaded around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and bywalking very quickly he soon came within hailing distanceof Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, hummingtunelessly. 

"Hey, Big D!"

Dudley turned.

"Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.

"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.

"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into stepbeside his cousin. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins tome."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands hadcurled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin'and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?" 

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself fromhitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked,his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did MarkEvans two nights ago —"

"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

"Oh yeah?"

"He cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught towalk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that'strue ..."

 A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harryenormous satisfaction to know how furious he was makingDudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his ownfrustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harryhad first seen Sirius and which formed a shortcut betweenMagnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty andmuch darker than the streets it linked because there wereno streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled betweengarage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?"Dudley said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That — that thing you're hiding."

Harry grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose ifyou were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the sametime. ..."

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sidewaysat it.

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you'renot. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't soundcompletely convinced. Harry laughed softly. 

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without thatthing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before youcan beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title youkeep banging on about? How old was your opponent?Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley,"and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finishedwith him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait tillI tell Dad you had that thing out —"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxingchamp frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley."This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when itgoes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled.

He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at hiscousin. From the little he could see of Dudley's large face,he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Harry,completely nonplussed. "What — am I supposed to befrightened of pillows or something?"

"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talkingin your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said again, but there was acold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisitedthe graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted ahigh-pitched, whimpering voice. " 'Don't kill Cedric! Don'tkill Cedric!' Who's Cedric — your boyfriend?" 

I — you're lying —" said Harry automatically. But hismouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying — howelse would he know about Cedric?

" 'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boohoo!' "

"Shut up," said Harry quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'mwarning you!"

" 'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He'skilled Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to —' Don't youpoint that thing at me!"

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing thewand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteenyears' hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins — whatwouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughlyhe'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb,sprouting feelers —

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'youunderstand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM —"

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he hadbeen doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewnindigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless — thestars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of thealley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and thewhisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenlypiercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total,impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant handhad dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway,blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magicwithout meaning to, despite the fact that he'd beenresisting as hard as he could — then his reason caught upwith his senses — he didn't have the power to turn off thestars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to seesomething, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like aweightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I —"

"I said shut up!"

Harry stood stock-still, turning his sightless eyes left andright. The cold was so intense that he was shivering allover; goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairson the back of his neck were standing up — he opened hiseyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing...

It was impossible. ... They couldn't be here. ... Not inLittle Whinging ... He strained his ears. ... He would hearthem before he saw them. ...

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you?What are you d-do — ?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis —" 

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had beendreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart fromthemselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse,rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as hestood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut —"

WHAM! 

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, liftingHarry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front ofHarry's eyes; for the second time in an hour he felt asthough his head had been cleaved in two; next moment hehad landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown outof his hand.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering withpain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feelingaround frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudleyblundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT ATIT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley'sfootsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt acreeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing.There was more than one. 

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOUDO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Harry mutteredfrantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders."Where's — wand — come on — Lumos!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to helphim in his search — and to his disbelieving relief, lightflared inches from his right hand — the wand tip hadignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, andturned around.

His stomach turned over.A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towardhim, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visiblebeneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand. 

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand andthe dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly;tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as thedementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain —concentrate —

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside thedementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filledHarry's ears.

"Expecto Patronum!" 

His voice sounded dim and distant. ... Another wisp ofsilver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand —he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell —

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, highpitched laughter. ... He could smell the dementor's putrid,death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him —Think ... something happy. ...

But there was no happiness in him. ... The dementor's icyfingers were closing on his throat — the high-pitchedlaughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spokeinside his head — "Bow to death, Harry. ... It might even bepainless. ... I would not know. ... I have never died. ..."

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again —

And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought forbreath —

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry'swand; its antlers caught the dementor in the place wherethe heart should have been; it was thrown backward,weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, thedementor swooped away, batlike and defeated.

"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the stag. Wheelingaround, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wandaloft. "DUDLEY? DUDLEY!"

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them:Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped overhis face; a second dementor was crouching low over him,gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly,almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towardDudley's face as though about to kiss him. ...

"GET IT!" Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaringsound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping backpast him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inchfrom Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thingwas thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soaredaway and was absorbed into the darkness. The stagcantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silvermist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warmbreeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboringgardens and the mundane rumble of cars in MagnoliaCrescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all hissenses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality.After a moment he became aware that his T-shirt wassticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementorshere, in Little Whinging ...

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering andshaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fitstate to stand up, but then heard loud, running footstepsbehind him; instinctively raising his wand again, he spun onhis heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor, came panting intosight. Her grizzled gray hair was escaping from its hairnet,a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from herwrist, and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpetslippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out ofsight, but —

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if thereare more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill MundungusFletcher!"