PROLOGUE

Petunia Dursley was washing the dinner dishes when Harry came through front door, closing it with a thunderous slam. After fixing the deadbolt shut, she braced against it, one teary eye closed, as she panted like a dehydrated dog. Her jumper was soiled, shredded at odd places. Sweat streamed through the dirt on her, and there was a series of dark-plum bruises along her limbs. Finally, and most alarmingly, was the gaping, bloody crescent just below her knee, that dripped red on the new area rug.

Petunia's first – and rather cruel – instinct was to scold her for soiling the rug. Instead, she hissed out "What in God's name happened to you, girl. . ."

She steered Harry to the kitchen's linoleum, where she inspected the wound.

"What happened?" she asked again, a little softer this time.

"A dog," Harry bit out, her hand clenching in the soddy yellow material of her jumper, "he bit me."

"It wasn't the neighbor's. . . ?"

"No. . . it was huge. It smelled... awful. Just awful." Fat tear drops slid down Harry's dirty face, and Petunia tried to ignore the swell of sympathy in her breast. Vernon permitted only one doctor's visit a year, for the sole purpose of not being reported to Children's Services. (A bizarre ideology Vernon had.)

"What kind of mongrels have gotten about these parts?" she wondered aloud. Harry rubbed a fist in her teary eyes, and braced against the kitchen table.

Petunia snatched up Harry's wrist and sniffed daintily. She peered into the den, where Dudley and Vernon were enjoying their banana splits and roaring with laughter at the tube. Not wanting to make a scene, she strode determinedly across the threshold, pushing Harry before her. The flashing lights from the tube highlighted Harry's leg.

"What's she done this time?" Vernon asked distractedly.

"Playing with stray dogs," Petunia said hastily, "she'll never learn."

"Idiot girl," Vernon grunted in agreement.

"What an idiot!" Dudley sneered at Harry, chocolate smeared his mouth and a drop of melted ice cream trailing down his chins. He squinted. "Wait, Mummy, is that blood on Harry's – "

"Just a scratch, Duddums," Petunia assured him with a rather unconvincing smile. "Just a scratch."

She closed the door, and grimaced as Harry began stripping and removed her glasses.

"We'll have to see it doesn't get infected," Petunia said.

She cleaned it, and didn't miss Harry's winces as the sting of antiseptic mixed with the soreness of the wound. At least it was clean now. She regarded Harry for a moment. "You clean up. Wash your hair... I'll be back with your bedclothes."

Harry did as instructed, and while the water felt nice and it was good to be free of grit and blood, she wondered what Vernon would say if she used one of the family towels to dry off – Petunia wasn't likely to bring one of her own, worn-through ones down. She opted to watch the rivulets of water run off her, to the drain... and the blood along with it, rust-colored and slowing down immensely. She wondered many things until Petunia re-appeared, with a large ratty T-shirt and a scowl on her face.

"Now," she said lowly, "I want you tell me every detail of what happened... but only after Vernon and Dudley have gone to bed."

Harry looked uncertainly between Petunia and the towels.

"Just use one already," she sighed, and sat on the toilet, her chin in her palm and her legs crossed.

After Harry slid the T-shirt over her head, Petunia was ready with the antiseptic again and a sports bandage. She set to cleaning it again, noting how ghastly large the bite marks were, as if not by a dog but something larger. Perhaps a wolf. No matter, she'd gather the details later.

She ushered Harry back to the kitchen hurriedly, and slapped together an anchovy-on-pumpernickel sandwich for Harry. Despite liking neither pumpernickel nor anchovies, Harry bit into it hastily (and she would only admit to herself, hungrily) as to not offend Petunia. But Petunia could hardly be bothered to pay Harry any mind as she collected Dudley and Vernon's ice cream dishes and answered her husband's questions vaguely.

It was only when the phone rang – Vernon muttered, "What fool calls at this time of night?" – that Petunia stilled for a moment.

"Hello?" Petunia said flatly. Harry slowed down her chewing enough to hear a male voice on the other end of the line. Petunia paled and slammed the phone back on the hook.

"Who was it, dear?" Vernon grunted from the living room.

She was wringing her hands anxiously, staring at the table absently. "Just that bloody obscene caller again." Her voice was weak. Her eyes drifted toward the phone like it was spot of mildew in her shower.

Vernon's fat purple face appeared in the door-frame. "Next time, Petunia, gimme the telephone and I'll tell that wanker where to go. We'll call the telephone company and report him to the police."

"It was an unknown number, dear. It's probably a creep calling from a payphone."

Vernon passed a disgruntled glance over at Harry, who was finishing up her sandwich and glass of milk. "Should've sent her to bed with no supper. Stupid chit." He directed his gaze back to Petunia. "In any case, we'll have to have someone investigate... Can't have idiots calling at all times of the night for an inappropriate joke, on honest folks like us..."

"Yes, dear."

"Goodnight," he called as he lumbered up the stairs. Dudley followed closely behind. "Daddy, what's an 'obscene caller' mean?"

Vernon grumbled something indecipherable.

Once the two were out of sight, Petunia – much to Harry's astonishment – went to the freezer and pulled out a bucket of ice cream. "Do you want chocolate or strawberry syrup?" she asked tersely, and Harry nearly choked on the last sip of milk.

"Well, speak up! There's a lot I need to know before tomorrow," she said, her skinny shoulders heaving with a sigh.

"Strawberry, if you wouldn't mind... " Harry said and watched in amazement as Petunia scooped two bowls full of ice cream.

For the first time in all of Harry's ten years, someone listened to her. Even if it was Aunt Petunia, who had a scowl on her face and asked odd details. Despite the ache on her leg and the fear that still tingled inside her body, Harry felt all right, against the backdrop sounds of the rug in the washer and her aunt scratching things on a notepad.