The Triwizard Tournament was over. Cedric was dead. And Harry was back at the Dursleys. Another school year accomplished. Another mission complete. And more people dead. Was this how his life was always going to go? Was he always going to be stuck in this hell hole he called home?

Harry had grown up a lot that year, he knew. You didn't watch a person die, and then get tortured in a graveyard by a madman without growing up some. Harry felt that something had happened that year, and there was no going back. It was like there was a new chapter of his life he was opening. The only part was that Harry didn't think it was going to be any better than the previous one.

In addition to simply feeling more grown up, Harry felt, well, old. Not just older, but old. He was tired of being hunted by Voldemort, and he was tired of having to chose between that or the Dursleys. He felt like he no longer belonged in his almost 15 year old body. Which, he was noticing, was quickly falling into disrepair. He wasn't eating like he should, and he wasn't sleeping well either. Ever since the final event, food had tasted like sawdust, and his sleep was littered with nightmares. At best, Harry could wake himself up from them, and at worst, he was trapped in his own personal hell with Cedric and Voldemort.

But Uncle Vernon - he was being different this year. And Harry wasn't sure why. His uncle was being, well, the best word to describe it, Harry decided, was nice. Uncle Vernon had told Aunt Petunia to "stop whining at Harry" at one point when she was upset about the state of her flowers. He hadn't called him "the boy" or "the freak." He'd called him Harry. And when he had missed a spot of fried-on grease when cleaning the kettles, and Aunt Petunia had aimed a frying pan at his head, Uncle Vernon had given his wife a withering look, usually one only used when Harry was being particularly inept, and told her that with actions like that, Harry would surely end up in the hospital with a bashed in skull.

"And would you care to explain that one to the nurses?" he had said.

And finally, when Harry had misread the recipe for supper, ("See, Snape?" he thought. "Potions isn't the only thing I misread directions on!"), and the dinner turned out particularly salty, and at Dudley's suggestion, Aunt Petunia had told him rather forcefully that he was only getting bread and water for supper that night, Uncle Vernon had once again come to his aid.

"Mistakes can happen to anyone, dear," he said. And he'd gotten his supper, much to Aunt Petunia and Dudley's frustration. Harry just wasn't sure what to make of the whole situation. Since when did Uncle Vernon ever help him? It was just too weird for words. And he'd been home a couple of weeks already. Any novelty of having him back and good resolves to treat him better should have worn off by then, Harry thought. It just didn't make sense.

But maybe it had something to do with some other odd things Harry had noticed. It didn't take him two hours to notice that something was wrong between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They never spoke to each other without snapping and using subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) insults. Even Dudley tried to keep his piggish head down when Uncle Vernon got home from work. So maybe he was the lucky victim of fate. Maybe Uncle Vernon figured that being nice to him would annoy his wife no end. Well, it was the first time that fate had smiled upon him, he figured. Unless you considered mysteriously surviving a killing curse thrown at you from a madman the effect of fate's smile. Harry personally thought that that incident had been caused by a grimace, because if fate had been kind, Voldemort would never have wanted to hunt him down.

Well, whatever the problem between his aunt and uncle was, it was serious enough that Aunt Petunia didn't want to be under the same roof with Uncle Vernon over the weekend. Come Friday, immediately after supper, every week without fail, she and Dudley would go to the other side of London to visit her cousin for the weekend, not returning till Monday at lunch time. Harry and Uncle Vernon never interacted much, even though Harry was beginning to think that they might be on better terms, and so he usually spent his weekends wandering in the park nearby, doing chores, or trying to find some sign of Voldemort in the Muggle news. Whatever Uncle Vernon did was his own business, Harry figured. They really only exchanged a few words at meals, and those were short and curt. Both seemed happy enough to ignore each other.

Well, at least that was what Harry thought. And Harry was happy enough to ignore Uncle Vernon. But, as Harry was soon to find out, Uncle Vernon was not happy to leave him alone.

The weekend was going pretty normally, with Harry having wandered in the park most of Saturday, coming back to fix meals, and then going to sleep. After showering the next morning, Harry walked down to the local Anglican church, and heard Mass. He'd picked up an interest in it when Remus Lupin had mentioned that his mother and father had been with the Church of England. Harry felt a certain connection to them through it. It was the church he had been baptized into. It was his godfather's church too. And now it was the church he attended. It wasn't like the Dursleys had ever bothered with religious education, though they too claimed to be Anglican. Harry personally thought it was more for show than for belief though.

He came home, and continued on in a normal Sunday routine, changing into a hoodie and jeans, fixing Uncle Vernon's brunch, and when he saw the thunderstorm outside, he spent the day reading in his room. Harry was frustrated with the weather, and with every crash of thunder, his annoyance increased. He wanted to be outside, burning off pent up energy. It made him feel less stressed, what with Voldemort and the Dursleys. Even though they weren't being horrible to him this summer, it was still stressful waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.

Harry came downstairs and started to take out pans to cook supper. He tried to keep it quiet, but apparently it was still enough that Uncle Vernon heard, and came into the kitchen.

"Sorry," Harry hastily apologized.

"Don't bother with that," Uncle Vernon said with a casual wave of his hand.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"I'm ordering pizza," Uncle Vernon said, picking up the phone. Harry just blinked.

"Alright," he said after a moment, still not sure what to make of the situation. He finished the call and hung up the phone.

"You really shouldn't have to do all the work around here," Uncle Vernon said. "'All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy.'"

"Yes, sir." Generally, agreeing with whatever Uncle Vernon said was a wise thing, even if he had no idea what (or more accurately, why) Uncle Vernon was saying this.

"And you won't have any dishes to do after," Uncle Vernon continued, and he pulled out paper plates. Harry just nodded mutely. Yes, it was a small thing, a very small thing, to not have to cook supper, and to not have to do the dishes, but to Harry, coming from his uncle, it was major. His uncle was buying him pizza, and then saving him the problem (small though it was) of dishes. Harry's head was spinning with the thought of it all.

"Why, sir?" Harry finally asked.

"I want you to do some cleaning upstairs," his uncle replied. Ah, so there it was. Well, still, Harry was going to appreciate the pizza. And so the pizza arrived, and they ate in silence. After clearing away the paper plates and plastic silverware to the rubbish bin, Harry grabbed the dust rag, and bounded up the stairs. He certainly didn't mind cleaning a bit after having had as good a meal as that. He began to hum softly as he went into his uncle's bedroom and move the things on the top of the dresser so that he could dust under them.

He was happy. He was actually genuinely happy. And he was at the Dursleys. Harry was just astonished by everything. He couldn't help but feel slightly guilty though that he was happy and Cedric was dead. Well, that ended that momentary burst of happiness, Harry thought glumly. So lost in his own thoughts was he, that Harry didn't even here his uncle come into the room and close and lock the door. Harry turned to dust the headboard, and caught sight of his uncle. Harry jumped in surprise.

"Sorry," Harry said, figuring that he must have done something wrong if his uncle was watching him clean.

"You're doing just fine," Uncle Vernon said, with a small smile creeping onto his features.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. Uncle Vernon walked over closer to Harry. He stepped so close that Harry started to retreat, until he was in the corner. The way his uncle was looking at him - it just wasn't natural, Harry suddenly thought. Uncle Vernon's gaze bored into his soul. His uncle had never looked at him that way before. Seen through him as though he wasn't there? Yes, of course, all the time, but not like this! Harry's eyes were locked on his uncle's face, and suddenly, he felt very afraid. He dropped the dusting rag in his fear, though he didn't notice.

Uncle Vernon stepped close, and Harry felt his legs begin to sink as he slid down the wall, still wedged in the corner. He kept watching his uncle. Uncle Vernon laboriously knelt down in front of Harry, who had curled into a ball on the floor. Uncle Vernon reached out with one hand and ran his hand through Harry's black mop of hair. Harry shuddered at the touch.

Harry valued his purity - something he had picked up from his church - but that didn't mean his was ignorant. He lived in a dorm full of boys, after all, for nine months out of the year, most of whom couldn't have cared less about things like purity. He felt his stomach clench as he tried not to think about where this seemed to be going. It just couldn't be happening. He had been so happy just a few moments ago.

Harry's mind began to shut off, rejecting what was happening.  It was surreal.

"Why?" Harry asked quietly, his voice thick.  It didn't even sound like his own.

"Does there have to be a reason, Harry?" he whispered.

"Why now?" Harry tried again, his voice still weak.

"Because I want to see what it's like," Vernon replied. "The things they sell at the adult shops, Harry, I want to see if it's like everything they've promised."

"Pornography?" Harry questioned. "You're into pornography?"

"Adult entertainment," Vernon corrected. "Yes."

"When?"

"Ever since - well, ever since Petunia found 'a better man.' She stopped having sex with me, Harry. She has a lover, and I don't have anyone. I need something, can't you see? And at the adult shops, they have these films with boys your age, and they promise so much. I need to see if it's true."

"No, no," Harry protested weakly. "Please, don't. Can't you find a prostitute somewhere?"

"But a teenage prostitute?" Vernon said. "A young virgin?"

Harry knew his fate was sealed.  There was no way he could fight the man in front of him, and he gave up.  He let his uncle - no, not his uncle, just Vernon - do what he intended to do.

.oO-Oo.

It was over.  It was finally over.  Vernon pulled Harry close under the covers, but it was over.

They lay there for time untold, until Harry heard the old grandfather clock downstairs announce the coming of a new day.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Vernon whispered.

Harry began to cry softly, his tears forming wet patches on the pillow.