The alarm buzzed incessantly just outside of arm's reach. From deep under his covers, Harry Potter moaned in resignation, rolled onto his side, and turned the foul thing off. As the haze of sleep faded, his heart began to race. Leaping out of the bed, Harry crossed the bedroom excitedly to the opposite wall. As he had each morning this summer, he grabbed a red marker from a nearby table and happily crossed off the previous day. Today was July 29. In two days, he would turn 17, thus becoming a legal adult in the eyes of the wizarding world. No more restrictions on the use of magic. No more ban on Apparition. And, perhaps most importantly of all, he would finally be free of the dreary dungeon on Privet Drive. The thought of losing the magical protection his mother had died to provide him caused a brief sorrow, but this was soon drowned out by the joyous thought of saying his final farewell to the Dursleys.
'I only wish they could be here to hear,' Harry thought, noting with amusement the first time in his entire life when he had actually expressed a desire for the Dursleys' presence. Apparently the events of previous summers had convinced Uncle Vernon that nothing could be done to prevent Harry from spending the summer in his home. So, this year, he had chosen a different tactic. The Dursleys had departed on vacation the day after Harry had arrived, and had expressed no plans to return until safely after his birthday.
"Look you," Uncle Vernon had warned him on the day they left, his sausage-like finger poking in Harry's face, "I don't want any trouble while we're gone. No messes, none of your freakish friends visiting. Don't touch anything." Harry glanced around the living room. Aunt Petunia had covered every piece of furniture in plastic, even the lamps. "I've had the electricity shut off, so stay away from the appliances and especially the telly! Jenkins from my office will be stopping by from time to time to make sure you haven't burned the place to the ground. He'll be sure to call me if anything is awry, so watch it!" Harry rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement.
"And just to make sure," his uncle continued with a savage twinkle in his eye, "I've taken out some insurance." He gestured toward a cardboard box on a nearby chair. Harry had assumed it contained the silverware or other things he was never meant to touch. Chuckling gleefully, Uncle Vernon opened the lid just wide enough for Harry to see past. Inside the box, he could make out a red and gold blanket, some papers, and what looked like a small book. Realization began to dawn.
"That's right," Uncle Vernon said, seeing the understanding in Harry's eyes. "That's the blanket we found you in on that damnable evening when you were thrust into our lives. There's also the note that came with it. Oh, and some old photos of your mum. Petunia never got around to burning them, though I kept reminding her." Harry glanced toward his aunt. She met his eyes with an almost sorrowful expression and then quickly went on with her cleaning.
'Probably sorry she never got around to it,' Harry thought immediately, though somewhere deep inside a kinder voice chided him for his callousness. Before he could ponder the matter, though, Uncle Vernon coughed and continued his ranting.
"When we get back, we will find this house in exactly the condition that we left it. No visitors, nothing missing, nothing broken, nothing out of place. Then, I'll send you this box. To a proper address, mind you! I shall not deal with any bloody owls!" Uncle Vernon smashed his hand on the top of the box. "Leave an address when you leave, and make sure you lock the door on your way out." He laughed happily, obviously almost as pleased, if not more so, than Harry himself at the thought of their parting ways.
Silently sending thanks to Mrs. Weasley as he did each morning, Harry pulled the tab on a Bottleberry's Busy Wizard Breakfast Box. Though she hadn't quite grasped the notion of electricity, Mrs. Weasley had figured out that Harry had no way to prepare a warm meal for himself and had sent enough self-heating, self-serve meals to last him till his birthday. The meals couldn't compare to Mrs. Weasley's home-cooking, of course, but they were much better than Aunt Petunia's typical fare. For approximately the 8,564th time, Harry wished he could have spent the whole summer at the Burrow. Remus had been quite insistent, however, that Dumbledore intended Harry to spend this last bit of time in the house on Privet Drive. Even Harry's arguments that the absence of the Dursley's changed matters had fallen on deaf ears.
"You may be right, but is it really worth the risk, Harry?" Lupin had asked him. Harry had been too honest with himself to answer the way he might have wished. And so, he looked forward to another day of his lonely exile, his friends too afraid to visit, lest they be caught by the dreaded Jenkins and cost Harry his mother's last bequest. Harry got dressed quietly; Hedwick was still asleep after an active night hunting Muggle mice.
'I wonder what's going on in the Burrow today,' he wondered idly. In his mind's eye, he rose with Ron and stumbled down the stairs in the wake of Fred and George. He could smell the crisp bacon and lightly fried eggs. Mr. Weasley would be seated at the head of the table, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. Fred and George would scramble around their busy mother, grabbing what they could right off the stove while he and Ron sleepily sat down at the table next to…
Ginny.
Harry looked at the clock, smiling ruefully. 9:12 am. Shaking his head with a melancholy sigh, he silently congratulated himself. He'd made it 12 minutes this day before remembering the gaping hole in his heart.