Fifteen-year-old Harry James Potter- a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time with jeans that were torn and dirty, a t-shirt that was baggy and faded, and the soles of trainers that were peeling away from the uppers- vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets.

When Harry reached the swings he sank onto the only one that his cousin, one Dudley Dursley, and his friends had not yet managed to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hide in the Dursleys' flowerbed again.

Tomorrow, he would have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake. Often the old scar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did not fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting any more.

In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would probably remind him 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 he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so that he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together without inviting him along, too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned? These furious thoughts whirled around in Harry's head, and his insides writhed with anger as a sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound that of the low grumble of traffic on the road beyond the park railings.

He did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up. The streetlights from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along.

Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakably his cousin on his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast. 'The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley's first punching bag. Harry was not remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighborhood children all around were terrified of him - even more terrified than they were of 'that Potter boy' who, they had been warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them. Come on… look round… I'm sitting here all alone… come and have a go…

If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he'd be terrified of provoking Harry… it would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond… and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready - he had his wand. Let them try… he'd love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell.

As if reading his thoughts, Malcolm turned and saw him. "Well look here. It's Potty!"

Laughter broke out as they approached. Harry could see a muscle twitching in Dudley's jaw. He looked acutely uncomfortable.

"Just like old times, eh?" Piers said, smirking as they surrounded Harry.

He just smirked and put his hand in his pocket for his wand, but couldn't grab it since someone had just swept his legs out from under him.

Those jerks. He growled low in his throat as he looked up at them. "What do you want?" Harry snarled, glaring at them.

"Aw, he thinks he's a big man because he goes to St. Brutus's," Gordon said, scoffing.

Harry grabbed his wand.

"Oh, look, a stick," Malcolm said.

They all laughed, except Dudley, who looked very nervous now. He knew the rules of Hogwarts, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care at this moment.

Before Harry could do anything about his cousin's gang, Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and light-less - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlights at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could - then his reason caught up with his senses - he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

"Dud, what's going on?" Malcolm asked.

"I can't see," Piers complained.

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 and right. The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up - he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

It was impossible… they couldn't be here… not in Little Whinging… he strained his ears… he would hear them 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 been dreading.

There was something in the playground apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood 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, lifting him off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an hour Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment, he had landed hard on the ground and his wand had flown out of his hand.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard the others blundering away, hitting the fence, stumbling.

"COME BACK! YOU IDIOTS ARE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell and the other footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.

"ALL OF YOU, KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's - wand -come on -lumos!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search - and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand - the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backwards, Harry raised his wand.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain -concentrate –

He tripped over Gordon, but a pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes and caught him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears and something slammed onto his lips, forcing his mouth open, something slamming itself into his mouth, wet and cold, and it reminded Harry very much of an octopus tentacle.

Cold. Harry felt numb from the inside out and it was as if his life was being shown to him like a movie.

Who would have thought his first and only kiss would be from a Dementor?

Perhaps it was this thought or perhaps it was just Harry's innate stubbornness, but it led to another thought: No.

He would not be weaker than this thing. He kicked with all his might and the Dementor backed away a tiny amount.

It was enough.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; its antlers caught the Dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the Dementor swooped away, bat-like and defeated.

The other Dementor was on top of Dudley, the other members of his gang on the ground. The patronus's silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the stag cantered around the playground and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars and streetlights burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the playground. Trees rustled in nearby gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.

Harry looked around at the bodies around him, the bodies of his cousin's gang and his cousin. Kissed, the lot of them.

He couldn't bring himself to care. In fact, he could quite vividly recall how they had treated him all of his life.

But... he felt odd. As if he should have felt something, anything, about this besides a sense of irony. Yet he couldn't help the thought; Dementors, something he considered the foulest things on earth, had gotten revenge for him. Perhaps he should reassess his view of the creatures. That thought in his mind, Harry left the playground and walked to 4 Privet Drive.

The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.

"Oh, it's you," she said, giving him a disdainful look and allowing him in. Harry rolled his eyes and went to his room and closed the door. He went to let Hedwig out for the night when a screech owl swooped in through the window. It dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

Harry opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Probably yelling at him about underage magic.

Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.
The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 am. on the twelfth of August.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic

Harry read the letter through twice and raised an eyebrow. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.

He should, he realized, care more about this fact. But he didn't. He read the letter once more and the same line stood out.

Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

Harry shook his head. Destroy his wand? He'd like to see them try. At the same time, it would be annoying, having to think about all the neighbors and the like. Harry grabbed his money, his cloak, and his broom, tossing some clothes into his schoolbag. He put on the cloak and was gone through his window almost instinctively.

Where he was going or what he would do, Harry didn't know.

But he didn't look back.