Leave Me Alone
A month had gone by since Harry Potter had stepped off the train at King's Cross. "A month," he sighed. "Only a month." He couldn't believe it as he marked an X over the date on his calendar, counting down to September first, when he would get back on the train that would take him home. Harry could never call Number Four Privet Drive home. He didn't care about the freakin' protection the house had that required him to be enslaved there for most of the summer. To him, it was nothing. Hogwarts was, and always would be, his real home, and he longed to go back.
Harry's desire for his school was probably the reason the summer was going by so slowly. As he looked at his homemade calendar, he said it again. " A month. It's only been a freakin' month. Satan, why do you hate me?" Harry flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the heavy scent Lysol that filled his bedroom. His Aunt Petunia had taken to cleaning his bedroom as thoroughly as the rest of the house. Dusting the furniture, sweeping the floor. Crap, she even moved the bed and swept under it. Who the freak does that? Leave the freakin' bed alone! Gosh!
In fact, Aunt Petunia was the sole reason that this summer was the most unbearable of Harry's miserable life. The funny thing was, she didn't mistreat him, or be rude to him, or anything of that sort. On the contrary, she was so kind and caring that Harry could hardly breathe. He assumed this change in behavior was due to the threats made by the Order of the Phoenix on if Harry was mistreated in any way. "Well," he thought as he tried to drift off to sleep, "they certainly are trying." Uncle Vernon now barely said two words to him, and Dudley, who had recently got a summer job and developed a strange obsession with golf, would come home after work, change into casual clothes (he worked in a jewelry store; no one knows how that happened), went off to hit balls for a couple of hours, and came home, ate, and hauled himself in his room. Harry didn't blame him for not wanting to be in the house. Dudley's mother was suffocating everyone with her desire to take care of everyone.
Suddenly, there was a rap on the door. Harry jumped up, startled. "What now," he thought, filling with dread.
A month had gone by since Harry Potter had stepped off the train at King's Cross. "A month," he sighed. "Only a month." He couldn't believe it as he marked an X over the date on his calendar, counting down to September first, when he would get back on the train that would take him home. Harry could never call Number Four Privet Drive home. He didn't care about the freakin' protection the house had that required him to be enslaved there for most of the summer. To him, it was nothing. Hogwarts was, and always would be, his real home, and he longed to go back.
Harry's desire for his school was probably the reason the summer was going by so slowly. As he looked at his homemade calendar, he said it again. " A month. It's only been a freakin' month. Satan, why do you hate me?" Harry flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the heavy scent Lysol that filled his bedroom. His Aunt Petunia had taken to cleaning his bedroom as thoroughly as the rest of the house. Dusting the furniture, sweeping the floor. Crap, she even moved the bed and swept under it. Who the freak does that? Leave the freakin' bed alone! Gosh!
In fact, Aunt Petunia was the sole reason that this summer was the most unbearable of Harry's miserable life. The funny thing was, she didn't mistreat him, or be rude to him, or anything of that sort. On the contrary, she was so kind and caring that Harry could hardly breathe. He assumed this change in behavior was due to the threats made by the Order of the Phoenix on if Harry was mistreated in any way. "Well," he thought as he tried to drift off to sleep, "they certainly are trying." Uncle Vernon now barely said two words to him, and Dudley, who had recently got a summer job and developed a strange obsession with golf, would come home after work, change into casual clothes (he worked in a jewelry store; no one knows how that happened), went off to hit balls for a couple of hours, and came home, ate, and hauled himself in his room. Harry didn't blame him for not wanting to be in the house. Dudley's mother was suffocating everyone with her desire to take care of everyone.
Suddenly, there was a rap on the door. Harry jumped up, startled. "What now," he thought, filling with dread.