Been hanging around in my head for a little while now. I'm English and I will be using English words not their American counterparts – sorry.
Dis: I own nothing that you recognise!
Enjoy!
"Where did we ever get the crazy idea that in order to make children do better, first we have to make them feel worse? Think of the last time you felt humiliated or treated unfairly. Did you feel like cooperating or doing better?" – Jane Nelson
Normal 15 year old boys spend their summer holidays having fun; even the not so normal ones revel in the good weather and freedom from school and homework. They go into town amongst the shops and arcades, visit the beach, flirt with girls, go on holidays with the family and hang around with their mates.
Harry Potter was not that sort of boy.
A few short weeks ago he had led his best friends into the Department of Mysteries only to fight Death Eaters and lose the closest thing to a father he had ever had, all in the pursuit of a prophecy which Albus Dumbledore had known about for years.
Following that he had been sent to his only remaining relatives, the Dursley's and told he would have to stay there all summer without contact from any of his friends or even with the Order members who watched No. 4 Privet Drive.
Varying between anger and depression, stuck in a bedroom filled with old broken things belonging to people who hated him, Harry believed himself lost to all hope.
Then the letter came.
Just the beginning my dears! Read on!
xxSmurfxx