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Harry woke up with a start, ready to face Voldemort. So quickly that his head started to spin.

He took only a few steps, but he felt so strange that he almost fell. He had never felt this way before. His body seemed less agile, more hunched than usual. And why did the ground seem so close? And why was he so hot? Wait, how is the ground close? He looked around. He was standing in the middle of the garden at 4 Privet Drive, during what looked like the beginning of a hot summer day.

He approached Vernon's old car parked in front of the driveway and incredulously touched it to make sure it was all real. The metal, still cold on this morning, made him shiver. Not only was it real, but the bodywork no longer bore the traces of Vernon's 'sporty' driving. It seemed new again. He wanted to think more about this curious phenomenon when he heard Petunia's voice from the house calling Dudley for breakfast.

Immediately, all his questions vanished from his mind and he rushed inside the house as fast as he could. The nightmare was over and he was going home.

oOoOoOo

He hastily opened the door and rushed into the Dursleys' hallway. He dashed past the cupboard under the stairs, and immediately, his heart leaped in his chest. In front of him stood his adoptive brother: Dudley Dursley. He was bigger and shorter than he remembered, but very much alive. Immediately, he rushed to him and hugged him with all his strength.

He was then so violently pushed against the wall that his head hit the stair railing. He remained disoriented for a few seconds, while Dudley ridiculously screamed:

Papa, abnormality has touched me.

As soon as he turned red with anger, Vernon stormed in from the adjacent living room and gave him a violent slap. Totally taken by surprise, Harry couldn't help but tumble to the other side of the room and crash against a horrible vase given by Aunt Marge, which shattered into a thousand pieces on impact (hadn't he already broken it while playing soccer). He tried to get up, being careful not to cut himself, when he received a violent kick in the ribs. The pain was such that he could do nothing but roll on the ground without worrying about the shards of ceramic tearing his skin.

How did you come out of your closet, you monstrosity? I'll make you lose the urge to do weird things in this house.

He began to slowly remove his belt. Harry was horrified. It wasn't possible, it was a nightmare. It couldn't be true. His father would never be capable of harming him. He saw with relief Petunia arriving. But instead of coming to save him from Vernon's fury, she rushed to Dudley to examine him.

What did he do to you, my darling? Are you hurt?

No mom.

Do you feel weird?

Uh, yes, a little. I could have a cookie to feel better. Dudley asked in a stupid voice.

Of course, my darling. Come into the kitchen. She replied in a sweet voice.

No! Bring it to me. I want to watch Dad fix the monster. He ordered, in an imperious tone that Petunia would never have tolerated.

Then he turned his gaze back to Harry and began to salivate upon seeing that Vernon had finally managed to remove his belt despite his trembling with rage and his pudgy fingers. He too was bigger than in Harry's memories (but it's true that he had lost a lot of weight after Dudley's murder by Voldemort).

You're going to get what you deserve, you monster. Vernon yelled, raising his belt to hit him.

Monster! It's you who are the monsters. Shouted Harry, raising his hand and gathering his magic.

Although he never left his wand, Voldemort liked to prove to his Death Eaters that he didn't need it to crush any opponent. Harry hoped that after months of possession by Voldemort, he had acquired enough magical power and reflex to rid himself of his insults to the memory of his loved ones. These things were not his parents, but an illusion sent by Voldemort to make him suffer. Harry understood this, seeing Dudley wearing an expression so similar to that of the Death Eaters waiting forTheir master allows them to torture a prisoner. But they would soon understand that he had nothing to do with their usual victim (at least, that's what Harry hoped).

Just before the belt buckle came down on his back, Vernon was violently pushed back and crashed against the wall, which cracked under the impact. Vernon collapsed unconscious, as blood flowed from his head.

Dudley ran for cover like a piglet, without caring to help his father or abandoning his mother whose face had just lost all its color. She remained motionless for a few seconds before rushing in panic to her husband's side. Harry did not expect this. Already, he did not think he was capable of such powerful wandless magic, but above all, he expected Voldemort to stop this charade. He tried to get up to think better, but a violent surge of pain blocked him in his movement. Vernon's kick must have broken something. With difficulty, he recalled a healing routine that Voldemort recited after each battle when he possessed him. Under Petunia's now terrified gaze, he recited the long Latin chant as best he could.

He was about to give up, thinking he must be doing it wrong, when he felt his magic unfold. After a few seconds, he was able to stand up without pain. Now that he was calm and healthy, he examined the room for a clue. Meanwhile, his adoptive mother was slowly moving towards the stairs. She was probably hoping to reach the phone that way. He was going to question her to try to find out more, but his gaze was drawn to a movement coming from the closet. It had been so fleeting that he wondered if he had imagined it, but through the ventilation slits of the closet door, he seemed to have seen green eyes, very similar to Dobby's, watching him from the darkness. But they had scurried away as soon as he started looking in that direction.

Without paying attention to Petunia's protests, he rushed to the cupboard and tried to open it. However, the door resisted with a metallic clank that reminded Harry of the Ministry's dungeons where Voldemort imprisoned his opponents. It was locked from the outside with a bolt and several padlocks that were completely nonexistent in his memory. Feeling a sense of foreboding, he quickly broke them with a new demonstration of wandless magic that made him feel weak. This made him realize that he could not continue at this pace. He would need to quickly find his wand or give up using magic so much.

He opened the cupboard and then recoiled violently as the smell was unbearable. Inside was a gaunt little boy dressed in rags. The pestilential smell from the bucket next to him proved he had been there for a while. The child looked at him with small, frightened green eyes.