HP394- End of the Year!

The end of the year was quieter than usual. There was no excitement about the House Cup, no last-minute bets on which house would take the lead. Even Slytherin’s green banners draping the Great Hall didn’t spark much reaction, not from the usual smug winners or the grumbling losers. The tournament had overshadowed everything.

A Death Eater had walked among them for an entire year. A deadly tournament had been manipulated just to get Harry killed. And, worst of all, Voldemort was back. This wasn’t just another Hogwarts disaster. It wasn’t some local scandal that would be forgotten in a few months. It was war, and everyone knew it.

The atmosphere at the End-of-Year Feast was tense, the usual celebration dulled by everything that had happened. Students ate in relative silence, the occasional murmured conversation breaking the uneasy quiet.

This year, most parents arrived at Hogsmeade to take their children home themselves. Trust in Hogwarts had taken a sharp nosedive, and no amount of Dumbledore’s reassuring words could change that. He had tried, standing before the gathered students, urging them to have faith in the school, in the professors, in the Ministry’s ability to handle the situation. But no one was willing to take that risk.

They took their children, ignored the headmaster’s attempts at damage control, and disappeared back to their homes—warded, locked down, safe.

Harry stood near the station, watching as the crowd thinned. Parents pulled their kids close, muttering urgent instructions before Disapparating. Some students left in groups, bundled away by family members who barely spared a glance at the castle they had once trusted to protect them.

The reality of it was simple. Hogwarts had failed them.

A sixth-year Ravenclaw stormed past, muttering, “I’m not coming back next year. My parents are right—Hogwarts isn’t safe.”

A few feet away, Daphne crossed her arms, watching a particularly loud group of Ravenclaws get whisked away. “Well, there goes any chance of next year being normal.”

Tracey snorted. “Like it ever was.”

Neville, standing beside Fleur, sighed. “It’s not like he’s wrong about sticking together, though. Splitting up like this just makes it easier for Voldemort to pick people off.”

Fleur frowned. “Zey are afraid. Zat is natural.”

“Fear doesn’t help,” Blaise said simply.

Watching the chaotic exodus, Harry exhaled sharply. He didn't want the school he loved to turn into this mess. Hogwarts had been his home, the place where he built friendships, forged alliances, and grew stronger. No matter how dangerous and chaotic things had been since Nigel appeared in his mind, it was still the best time of his life.

He enjoyed being a student, but the alternative—letting everyone believe in a false sense of security—was unacceptable. They didn’t need comforting lies about a peaceful future. They needed to wake up, face reality, and prepare for the fight ahead.

Harry walked with the Greengrasses toward the edge of Hogsmeade, where they planned to Apparate. They had offered to take him home, and while he was more than capable of doing it himself, that particular skill wasn’t something he intended to reveal just yet.

Not for much longer, though.

If nothing else, the tournament had given him something useful. The forced participation had resulted in his official emancipation. Legally, he was no longer a minor in the wizarding world, which meant no more guardians, no more restrictions, and most importantly, no more Ministry nonsense about what magic he could or couldn’t use outside of school.

Daphne and Astoria left with their mother and house-elf after a quick hug, Astoria making a dramatic show of how terribly she’d miss Harry before she was dragged away, while Cyrus Greengrass took Harry back home.

When they arrived at Privet Drive, Cyrus clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said simply, before Disapparating.

Harry stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The house was quiet, but the smell of dinner lingered in the air—roast beef, potatoes, something baked. Petunia had been cooking. That wasn’t surprising. She always did when she was stressed.

The moment she saw him, she let out a breath she’d probably been holding since the news broke and pulled him into a hug.

“Finally, you’re home,” she muttered, gripping him tightly.

He knew she’d been worried. She written letter after letter, practically demanding he assure her he was fine, and while he had, she clearly hadn’t believed him. Not entirely.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, letting her hug him a second longer before stepping back.

Petunia didn’t seem convinced but didn’t argue either. Instead, she shot him a look that very clearly said, We will talk about this later, before turning toward the kitchen.

Misty, who had been hovering anxiously behind her, rushed forward, wrapping her tiny arms around Harry’s waist. “Master Harry be back! Misty be so worried!”

Crookshanks, not one to be left out, launched himself onto Harry’s shoulder, digging his claws into his robes just enough to keep steady. The half-Kneazle butted his head against Harry’s temple, then let out a low, approving purr, as if declaring him acceptable for having returned alive. "You are back. Any treat for me?"

Harry reached up to scratch behind Crookshanks’ ear, ignoring his question for now. “I was gone for a few months, not years.”

Misty huffed, her large eyes still watery. “Misty be still worried!”

He patted her head once, and she sniffled, nodding firmly before disappearing with a small pop, likely off to set the table.

Petunia returned with dinner, setting down the dishes without fuss. Harry opened Hedwig’s cage, letting her stretch her wings before she perched on the back of a chair. Crookshanks settled beside him, his tail flicking lazily, while Misty brought over extra servings.

The five of them—two humans, one owl, one cat, and one elf—sat down to eat. Petunia already knew most of what had happened, having spoken to Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom more than once. Harry still went over the events briefly, sticking to what was necessary.

Petunia muttered something under her breath that probably wasn’t appropriate for dinner.

Misty, frowning, placed another serving of potatoes onto Harry’s plate as if food would fix the sheer idiocy of the situation.

“They questioned Bagman too,” Harry continued. “Turns out he was in deep debt to goblins. The tournament was his way of trying to fix things.”

Petunia snorted. “Goblins don’t forgive debt.”

“Exactly. He’s gone into hiding.”

She looked unimpressed. “Coward.”

Harry didn’t disagree.

Hedwig nipped at his fingers, clearly unimpressed that she hadn’t been included in the conversation. He flicked her a piece of meat, which she accepted with a satisfied click of her beak.

“The Ministry’s a disaster,” Petunia said after a moment, stirring her tea. “Amelia’s trying to clean it up, but half of them are still pretending they had nothing to do with Voldemort's return.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the occasional scrape of cutlery or Hedwig’s soft hoots filling the room. Crookshanks batted at a napkin, clearly unimpressed by the lack of excitement.

After a while, Petunia set down her glass and looked at him. “You’re staying here for the summer?”

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I was planning to visit some places, but now I’m not sure. Either way, if I go, you’re coming with me this time.” He met Petunia’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “Auntie, I have news… about Vernon and Dudley.”

Petunia froze, her grip tightening slightly on her teacup. She set it down carefully but Harry didn’t miss the way her fingers clenched together. She didn’t say anything right away, just looked at him, waiting.

Harry tapped his fingers against the table. “They’re alive.”

She inhaled sharply, her shoulders stiffening. “Where?”

“Little Hangleton,” he said, watching her closely. “With Voldemort.”

For a few seconds, the only sound in the kitchen was the steady ticking of the clock. Petunia’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening slightly on the edge of the table. Then, she exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“How?”

Harry took her hand, fingers tapping lightly against her knuckles. “Voldemort figured out that his Killing Curse didn’t work on me because of Mum. The protection came from her blood, which is why Dumbledore left me with you. As long as I was here, the magic held.” He paused, watching her expression carefully. “When I was taken to Little Hangleton, I saw them with him. Looks like they’ve been with him for a while. Voldemort promised them magic, and in return, they’re playing the part of his loyal dogs.”

Petunia sat still for a moment, absorbing the words. Her face didn’t change much, but there was something sharp in her eyes, something restrained. She leaned back in her chair, fingers interlaced as she stared past him, her gaze unfocused.

“I should’ve known,” she muttered.

Harry raised a brow. “You sound more annoyed than surprised.”

Petunia let out a humorless huff. “Because I am.” She shook her head, scoffing. “Of course Vernon would jump at the first chance to feel important. And Dudley—” She paused, exhaling through her nose. “If he thinks Voldemort’s actually going to give him real magic, he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

Harry wasn’t going to argue.

Petunia rubbed at her temples, her expression somewhere between frustration and exhaustion. “And they really believe it?”

Harry shrugged. “They seemed convinced enough. Dudley was running his mouth about how Voldemort’s going to ‘fix’ the magic in his blood.” He leaned back slightly. “Don’t think he realizes Voldemort doesn’t fix things. He kills them.”

Petunia inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table. Vernon was one thing—she had long come to terms with what kind of man he was. But Dudley? That was different. He was her son. Even after everything, after the shouting, the accusations, after he walked away and left her behind, he was still hers.

She had thought, foolishly, that no matter how much he resented her, there was a line he wouldn’t cross. That he would never willingly throw in his lot with the man who had murdered his aunt and tried to kill his cousin. But now, here she was, listening to Harry tell her otherwise. Not only had they joined Voldemort, but they were actively helping him. And Dudley—her Dudley—had offered his own blood to strengthen a monster.

She pressed her lips together, her fingers tightening against the table. "He’s a fool," she muttered, shaking her head. "Vernon always wanted power. He was never satisfied with what he had, always looking for something to make himself feel important. But Dudley—" She stopped, exhaling sharply. "What the hell does he think he’s doing?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching her without saying anything.

She huffed, rubbing her temples. "What was the plan, then? He thinks Voldemort’s going to pat him on the head and turn him into some grand wizard?"

"Seems like it," Harry said.

"And he believed it?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You’re asking that like you don’t know him."

Petunia let out a short, humorless laugh. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He never had to think for himself, not really. If someone told him what he wanted to hear, he’d take it without question."

There was a long pause.

She tapped her fingers against the table, her jaw set. "Did he see you?"

"Yeah," Harry said simply. "Not that it mattered. He was too busy running his mouth about how Voldemort was going to ‘fix’ his blood."

Petunia made a face, as if the very idea disgusted her. "That boy," she muttered.

Another pause. She exhaled through her nose and sat back in her chair.

Harry took her hand, his fingers tapping lightly against her knuckles. “It’s not easy, Auntie. I know that.” He let the words settle before continuing, “I’ll do what I can to get them back, even if they’re stupid enough to stand in my way.” He paused. “But…”

Petunia already knew. Even if Harry didn’t kill them, even if the Ministry didn’t, Vernon and Dudley wouldn’t last long. Voldemort didn’t keep useless people around, and no amount of groveling would change that.

Her fingers tightened briefly against his before she let out a slow breath. “I should’ve known they’d end up like this.”

Harry said nothing. He watched her carefully. No tears. No anger. Just… quiet acceptance. The kind that came from knowing the truth long before it was spoken aloud.

Petunia exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. “Doesn’t matter now. I can’t do anything about it.” She pushed her chair back, shaking her head. “I need some rest.”

Harry stood and helped her up, not saying anything as she steadied herself. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t looking for comfort. Just… tired.

She squeezed his arm lightly before walking toward the stairs. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Sure,” Harry said, knowing full well he wouldn’t listen.

She gave him a pointed look before disappearing down the hall.

Harry sat back down, watching the steam rise from his untouched cup of tea. The house was quiet again, aside from Crookshanks flicking his tail against the table and Hedwig rustling her feathers from her perch.

Vernon and Dudley, running to Voldemort, begging for magic like desperate fools. Harry had half a mind to let them deal with the consequences on their own, but he knew that his aunt would still feel sad over her son.

He leaned back, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Bloody idiots.”

Crookshanks let out a low chirp, stretching lazily across the table before swiping at the corner of the newspaper. The moving image of Voldemort flickered beneath his paw, the printed Wormtail cowering beside him. "I want to eat this rat."

Hedwig swooped down, landing gracefully beside Crookshanks. Her sharp amber eyes locked onto the newspaper with the moving image of Wormtail cowering at Voldemort’s feet. She fluffed up her feathers and clicked her beak. "Mine."

Crookshanks let out a low growl, his tail twitching. "He's mine."

Harry scratched them both behind the ears, amusement flickering across his face. "Soon. Just be patient."

Hedwig gave a short, decisive hoot, as if to say she had been patient enough. Crookshanks, not one to be outdone, dug his claws lightly into the wood of the table, eyes narrowing.

Harry smirked. "I’ll make sure you both get your turn."

Satisfied with the promise, Hedwig settled into preening her feathers while Crookshanks stretched out, one paw lazily batting at the edges of the newspaper before curling up beside Harry’s plate.

Misty popped in beside them, frowning at the half-eaten meal. "Master Harry must be eating more! Misty be making extra pudding—very best!"

Harry glanced at the still-full plate and shook his head. "I’m good, Misty. No need to make more."

The little elf’s ears drooped, clearly displeased. "But Master Harry be needing strength!"

Harry patted Misty’s head. “Then I should thank you, Misty.”

The little elf beamed, her ears twitching happily as she scurried off to fuss over the dishes she then turned back, frowning at the two predators. “Master Harry be careful—birds and cats not supposed to be friends!”