“Vernon, what have you done?” Petunia whispered frantically, as she nervously eyed Vernon's hulking form, whipping off his dressing gown, and flinging his slippers across the room; they thwacked against the wall with a thud, and slid down.

“I just taught the boy a lesson that he won't soon forget that's all,” he growled.

Petunia's eyes widened in horror. “But Vernon-” she shrieked, “-you remember what tho-those people said that they'd do to us if we hurt him!”

Vernon scoffed. “He knows better than to go whining to them, and he's here for the whole summer, isn't he; that ruddy owl is locked away in his bloody cage, so he can't send any messages to them. Besides, they're all talk, aren't they? If they do anything to us, their precious Potter won't have anywhere to go,” he said, as he flipped back the covers on the bed, patted his pillow, and laid his large form upon the bed. The springs protested; they creaked and screeched, as his weight lowered the mattress.

“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” Petunia said, sounding unconvinced.

“Turn the light out Petunia,” he ordered. “That freak had better not wake me up again, if he knows what's good for him. I've got a big day tomorrow. If I get this account, I've been promised that promotion.”

Petunia sighed, and leant over to turn off the light. A minute later, the room was flooded in darkness, and Petunia lay in the dark; the only sound, her large hulk of a husband's large chest rumbling with his snoring. Vernon was perhaps confident that those freaks wouldn't find out about the way that they treated Harry, but Petunia knew better; she knew from experience, that they had ways of finding out secrets, and ways of exacting revenge. She shuddered, and prayed that somehow, someway, those people wouldn't find out.

As luck would have it; or as misfortune would have it, in Petunia and Vernon's case, Petunia's deepest fears were to be realised.

--------

Harry also laid in the dark; the throbbing in his eye, and the pulsating in his head, keeping rhythm with the beating of his heart. I can't go to sleep, I can't go to sleep, he kept telling himself. Harry had already been at the Dursleys for two weeks, and tonight's beating from his uncle was the culmination of two weeks of waking up in the throes of terror from those horrible nightmares of reliving Sirius' death. And sometimes he would see Cedric's face, superimposed on Sirius', until the grief of losing both of them, would be too much to bear, even in sleep, and he would wake up, tears rolling down his cheeks. The release of tears seemed to only happen in slumber, as if in dreams...he had permission to express his grief; he wasn't required to be the stoic hero of the Wizarding World.

Not that he'd never been on the receiving end of his uncle's fists, or belt before, but his uncle had been surprisingly patient...that is until tonight. It would seem that the threats of bodily harm from his little entourage at the train station had had the desired effect, but only for a short time; Vernon Dursley didn't take kindly to threats, but was a coward.

Harry had actually broken into his uncle's liquor cabinet when they'd gone out for dinner the other night, and nicked a couple of shots of scotch. It had helped numb the pain somewhat, and allowed him to sleep, but Harry realised quickly that getting drunk out of your tree wasn't the answer. He had to learn to deal with the pain; both in his day-to-day life and in his dreams.

But Harry wasn't sure how to get on with his life, and now he had the prophecy hanging over head. Harry knew though, that although he was allowing himself to succumb to self-pity now, that he would do as he always did; pick himself up, and do his duty. He would be the hero that he was expected to be, and if that meant sacrificing his own life, so that others might live in freedom, in a world without the threat of fear and torture from an evil megalomaniac, then so be it. It could never be said that Harry Potter was a coward, and he would not let his parent's sacrifice be in vain.

Just as Harry's eyelids began to feel heavy, and despite his best efforts to stay awake failed, he was jolted awake by several loud pops that Harry thought sounded suspiciously like someone Apparating; perhaps several people.

Harry threw off the covers, and forced his shaking limbs to move across the room. He pressed his ear to the door, and could hear the muffled sounds of voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. His heart began to thud against his chest and his palms felt moist. He wished desperately that he had his wand, but Uncle Vernon had confiscated everything the minute he had stepped over the threshold.

The man was determined that Harry wouldn't have access to his trunk, nor any of the contents inside it, and Hedwig had been instantly placed inside her cage and his Uncle made sure that Harry had no way to open it. Not that Harry would dare use any underage magic anyway; not after almost being expelled, and coming close to having his wand snapped, and possibly ending up in Azkaban for it last year.

The voices came closer to the door, and Harry searched around frantically for a place to hide. He eyed the wardrobe, and figured that he was still small enough to fit inside. The scrawny fifteen, soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old, looked much younger than his years. He stepped inside, and closed the doors; he retreated against the back of the wardrobe, and his head knocked against the empty hangers; Harry had no clothes after all to hang upon them.

The only clothes that Harry possessed, or that is Uncle was aware of, were the tattered, over-sized hand-me-downs from Dudley that Harry had stuffed inside his bureau drawers. Harry actually had a few nicer clothes stashed away at the bottom of his trunk, that he hid away from his uncle. He didn't dare allow his uncle to discover them, or there would be too many questions asked about where he got the money to buy them. Merlin forbid, that his uncle ever discovered that his mum and dad had left him a small fortune.

Suddenly, Harry heard the click of the door-handle, then the creaking of a door opening, and the flip of a light switch. Harry opened the wardrobe door a crack, and peeked out.

“Harry...oi Harry!,” a familiar voice called.

Harry slowly opened the door, and he winced in pain as a smile lit up his face, at seeing Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus and Kinglsey Shacklebolt standing in the middle of his bedroom.

There was a collective gasp and looks of horror.

Tonks eyes widened in concern. “Whoa Harry. What on earth happened to you?” the pink-haired girl asked softly.

Harry's hand flew up automatically to his eye; he could only imagine what it must look like now.

“Uh...” he stammered. “Nothing. I uh—just, uh, fell down the stairs,” he lied.

“Like hell you did. It was those Muggles, wasn't it?” Mad-Eye growled.

Harry's eyes widened in fear. “No, no, it wasn't! I-I told you, it was just an accident.”

Mad Eye's magical eye began to roll around. His scarred and disfigured face twisted into a scowl.

“Calm down Moody,” Remus said in a placating tone.

“What are you all doing here?” Harry asked quickly, hoping to distract Mad-Eye from doing something rash. His temper was well documented, after all, and Harry, though his uncle had caused him no end of misery, Harry couldn't live with himself if something happened to him and not to mention the fact that the Auror himself could cause himself serious trouble were he to hex a Muggle. Harry didn't want to be the cause of anymore misery, or pain if he could help it. After all, Dudley had shown some true remorse earlier today, and Harry felt a flutter of hope that his cousin could be redeemed, and as pathetic as his aunt and uncle were, they were Dudley's parents, and he needed them still; although, Harry had his doubts about their parenting skills towards their beloved son.

Remus looked at Harry; his warm brown eyes shone with concern. “We've come to take you away from here Harry,” he said in a low growl, as his eyes swept Harry's battered face. He thought that the man in the other room was lucky that it wasn't a full moon, or he wouldn't be able to control the urge to rip the fat lug's face off. He felt a soft, warm hand take his and squeeze it lightly. He looked down to see Tonks give him a knowing look.

“You're taking me away?” Harry asked hopefully.

“You're damned straight we're taking you away Harry, and I'm going to give Dumbledore a piece of my mind for making you stay with these Muggles in the first place,” Moody said angrily.

Harry lowered his eyes in embarrassment. “I told you, it wasn't them. It was an accident. I bumped into the door.”

“I thought that you said that you fell down the stairs?” Kingsley, who had remained quiet until then, suddenly asked suspiciously.

“Uh...yeah, that's what I meant,” Harry corrected quickly.

“How about we get Harry out of here, so that we can get him healed, and we'll deal with those Muggles later,” Remus suggested softly.

Harry looked at him gratefully. His eye was throbbing painfully, and his head was spinning. Remus who noticed how white Harry's face was, put his arm supportively around his shoulders.

Remus' eyes crinkled in concern. He looked at the others. “I'll apparate with him. I don't think that he's in any condition to be flying on a broomstick.”

They all nodded, and Moody growled again.

“Harry, where's your trunk?” Kingsley asked, in a deep baritone voice.

“Under the stairs. But what about my aunt and uncle? What if they wake up, what if they-”

“Harry,” Remus said softly. “We put a silencing charm around their bedroom door.” He squeezed Harry's shoulders lightly. “C'mon, let's get you to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” Tonks said gently. “Don't worry about your trunk. We'll manage just fine, and we'll bring it along to you at Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled, or rather tried to smile; his lips felt as though they were twice their normal size, and his eye was now almost completely swollen shut. The skin under his eye was now a dark purple and yellow.

Harry was mortified. The last thing he ever wanted was pity, and here he was battered and bruised; his clothes hanging off his thin frame and he had lost more weight since he'd returned to the Dursley's two weeks ago. Even if they had fed him, Harry wasn't sure if he would have been able to eat anyway. Grief over Sirius' death had not exactly made him feel like eating.

Remus looked down at Harry. “Ready Harry?” he asked gently.

“Never readier.”

“Alright then Harry, brace yourself,” he said as he clutched Harry's frail shoulders in a firm, but gentle grip.

The others watched as Harry and Remus disappeared with a pop.

----

“We'd better go collect Mr. Potter's belongings,” Shacklebolt said authoritatively.

Tonks nodded her pink, spiked head, and rushed forward, tripping over the area rug, and crashing into the bureau, and knocking the lamp to the floor.

Kinglsey pinched the bridge of his nose, and leant down holding out his hand.

Tonks peeled herself off the floor, and instead of her face turning red as would happen to most people who were embarrassed, her face and hair began to morph and change colour.

She felt as though her face was on fire, as she lifted herself up.

“Where's Moody?” she asked suddenly.

Kingsley groaned. “I think I have an idea.”

Tonks looked at him curiously, and followed him down the hall. He stopped in front of the last door on the right hand side of the hallway, and waved his wand.

The door swung open, and their jaws dropped.

Nibbling on the curtains was a donkey, swinging it's tail, like it had not a care in the world, and running around in circles, chasing it's tail, was a plump, very pink pig with large bulging eyes.

Kingsley folded his arms against his broad chest, and glared at Moody. “Alastor...what have you done?”

“I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it?” he smirked. “I always thought that that bitch's face resembled a donkey, and that fat lug of a Muggle always was more of a pig than a human being.”

Tonks doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach.

“Alastor,” Shacklebolt said sternly, while trying to stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. “You cannot simply transform Muggles into farm animals at will.”

“Relax laddie,” he said as he took a swig of whiskey from his canteen, “it's not permanent. They'll be back to their annoying selves in a couple of days. Just be thankful that I didn't do what I really wanted to do to them; what they really deserve,” he growled.

They turned and left the newly improved Dursleys to their own devices, and each by silent consent agreed that though they felt that the Dursleys deserved much more severe punishment, that they would ensure that they never laid a hand on Harry again, and that they would each give Dumbledore a piece of their minds for having placed Harry with these sorry excuses for human beings, to begin with.