His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away.
He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.
'It's you,' said Uncle Vernon forcefully. 'It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it.
Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've
got to be the only - the only -' Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word
'wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.'
'I don't know why they were here.'
But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why
had the Dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had
arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of
Magic lost control of the Dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort,
as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
These Demembers guard some weirdo prison?' asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in
the wake of Harry's train of thought.
'Yes,' said Harry.
If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his
dark bedroom and think…
'Oho! They were coming to arrest you!' said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a
man reaching an unassailable conclusion. That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from
the law!'
'Of course I'm not,' said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind
racing now.
Then why -?'
'He must have sent them,' said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.
'What's that? Who must have sent them?'
'Lord Voldemort,' said Harry.
He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and
squawked if they heard words like 'wizard', 'magic' or 'wand', could hear the name of the
most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.
'Lord - hang on,' said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning
comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. 'I've heard that name… that was the one who
—'
'Murdered my parents, yes,' Harry said dully.
'But he's gone,' said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder
of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. That giant bloke said so. He's gone.'
'He's back,' said Harry heavily.
It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside
the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord
Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the Dementors in Little Whinging seemed to
have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of
Privet Drive and the world beyond, Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and
everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the
magical world, and Mrs Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; Dementors were soaring around
Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry's head throbbed more
painfully.
'Back?' whispered Aunt Petunia.