tradition

01

"Come on, guys, time to go home," a mother called, her voice laced with the fatigue of a long afternoon spent supervising children. She extended her arm toward her little ones, who were still laughing and running around the playground. Harry Potter watched the group of boys who had been taunting him and his friends with a mixture of distaste and resentment. The small swing beneath him creaked as he shifted his weight, its chains rusty and worn, echoing the fatigue that hung over him like a dark cloud.

"Hey, Big D. Beat up another ten-year-old?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

"This one deserved it," Dudley Dursley replied with a smug grin, his entourage of bullies echoing his sentiment with raucous laughter that bounced off the playground equipment.

"Five against one, that's very brave," Harry shot back, his tone sharp, biting through the air like a dagger.

Dudley snorted derisively. "Well, you're one to talk. I've heard you moaning in your sleep every night. Don't kill Cedric! Who's Cedric? Your boyfriend?" Dudley's laughter was cruel, a twisted echo that ricocheted around the playground like a malicious wind, and the boys behind him joined in, their jeers festering in the chilly air. Harry's fists clenched, his anger simmering just below the surface.

"Isn't it funny? Or, He's going to kill me, Mum! Where is your mummy, Potter? Is she dead?" Dudley cackled, stepping closer, the scent of victory wafting off him like a sour stench. Harry felt his heart race, his pulse pounding in his ears as he stood up, his wand gripped tightly in his right hand, pointing it threateningly at Dudley's throat.

Dudley staggered backward, his eyes widening in fear as he glanced at the wand. A cold wind swept through the streets, stirring leaves and trash into a swirling frenzy, causing everyone to shiver. Dudley's gang exchanged nervous glances, their bravado waning as they muttered amongst themselves, unsure of what to do. "Come on, Dudley! Let's go!" one of his friends shouted, tugging him away, and Dudley, still in shock, followed reluctantly, casting a backward glance at Harry.

"What are you doing?" Dudley stammered, his bravado crumbling.

"Nothing," Harry replied, his voice flat, laced with a deeper darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. The two boys sprinted to the end of the street as the first drops of rain began to fall, the streetlights flickering ominously like fading stars in a dying sky. The air grew colder, each breath Harry exhaled became a ghostly mist that hung in the air. Dudley whimpered, his fear palpable, as a shadow loomed behind Harry, a Dementor wrapping its icy grip around him.

"Dudley, run!" Harry shouted, panic surging through him as he struggled against the suffocating cold. Dudley tried to flee, but in his haste, he tripped on the slick pavement, falling into a puddle that splashed icy water around him. A second Dementor glided forward, its dark cloak billowing like smoke, lowering its hood as it prepared to deliver the deadly kiss.

In a surge of adrenaline, Harry grasped his wand tighter, his hand shaking, and struck out at the Dementor, desperation fueling his actions. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the dread that surrounded them like a thick fog. A blinding explosion of light erupted from his wand, illuminating the darkened street. His Patronus, a magnificent silver stag, charged forth, a beacon of hope that drove the Dementors back, pushing them away from Harry and Dudley.

Harry turned to see Dudley, trembling and pale on the ground, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Before they could process what had just happened, their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Figg, came hurrying down the street, her small wagon bumping along behind her. "Don't put away your wand, Harry. They might come back," she said, her voice firm despite her usual frailty, her demeanor a stark contrast to the panic they had just experienced.