I wrote this story a long time ago, before the fifth book came out. I couldn't figure out how to upload chapters so I gave up for a while. Now the story's back. Please forgive any inconsistencies with the fifth book but you'll find that the facts in my story are consistent with the fourth book. I modified the story a little to make it more consistent with the fifth book, but it doesn't change the story significantly. Thanks and enjoy reading.
Everyone knows that Harry Potter's summers at Number Four, Privet Drive have never been much fun. In fact, you pressed your nose against their living room window now, you will see a young lad of about sixteen having a big fight with a fat, neckless man. This is Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle. His aunt Petunia, who stood by the door connecting the living room to the hall, was tall and thin, and had a neck that had probably grown to its present length because of constant craning over the neighbours' fences.
His cousin Dudley, however, who bullied him almost every hour and could barely manage to fit between doorframes, looked terribly horrified and was shaking his head every now and then, as if in denial. His hand was on his bottom, the other one lay across his lips. One would think the scene very funny.
'But I told you weeks ago, the Weasleys are coming! They've already traveled for sure!' yelled Harry, whose eyebrows were scrunched up together and hands were balled into fists. He had been fighting with his uncle for the last quarter of an hour.
'I don't care if they're traveling, they can't stay here now!' shouted Uncle Vernon back. 'Marge's going to be here tomorrow and there won't be any room for those freaky friends of yours - no indeed!'
'But that's not fair!' shouted Harry, who was shaking with anger. 'You said yes! You knew - that was two weeks ago, and Aunt Marge's letter didn't arrive until this afternoon! The Weasleys are going to expect hospitality - '
'Hospitality, indeed!' sneered Uncle Vernon. 'After what they did to Dudley, they EXPECT hospitality? I think not!' Dudley had emerged from his first encounter with a Ministry wizard with an abnormally large tongue.
'If Dudley hadn't picked up the candy in the first place - if you'd let Mr. Weasley fix the tongue right away - '
'Now you're saying that we should have let that - that LOONY - have rein over our son? You have no right - ' Harry had to listen to his uncle as for what must have been the thousandth time, he recounted their sacrifices for Harry since the morning they had first found the boy on their doorstep.
Harry sighed. 'I suppose if I ACCIDENTALLY blast Aunt Marge up the roof, or maybe the chimney - '
Uncle Vernon immediately went purple, his eyes narrowing to slits.
'You wouldn't DARE mention your ABNORMALITY to Marge - you'll regret it, boy - '
'I don't have to say anything to her,' said Harry, who was just as angry as Uncle Vernon was. 'Like I said, I can just hit her with a spell to make her speak in rhymes or something.'
Uncle Vernon took a menacing step towards him. This would have made a bigger lad quail and run home screaming for his mother, but as Harry had no other relatives besides the horrible Dursleys, he had no choice but sand his ground. Besides, Harry had faced death more than once in the form of an evil wizard, and a great big muggle like his uncle won't be the one to make him back down. He took out his wand and pointed it straight between his uncle's eyes with a steady arm.
Dudley squealed and ran, his hands still clasped to his lips and bottom. Aunt Petunia looked torn between standing beside Uncle Vernon and running screaming through the house.
'I am NOT abnormal,' said Harry loudly, although the room was dead silent.
'Alright,' said Uncle Vernon finally. 'We'll have the Weasleys here. I'll manage to stash Marge elsewhere for a night or so. But I'll have you gone before dawn the day after tomorrow.' He backed away from his nephew, indicating the discussion was closed.
Minutes later, Harry was up in his small bedroom, dressing for bed. He stared out the open window and thought of his life in Privet Drive for the past fifteen years. Fifteen years of nothing but ugly memories in this house. Fifteen years of being hated because he, like Uncle Vernon said, was not normal. And right about - Harry glanced at his watch - NOW, his fifteen years of misery turned sixteen.
He was a wizard. He had, somehow, at the age of zero years, managed to defeat the most feared of Dark Wizards at the time, Lord Voldemort, who had killed both of his parents, which was why he was here in the first place. But now Lord Voldemort was back, and Harry would not have gone away from his magic school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had not his Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, convinced him that he was safer here than anywhere else.
He walked over to the mirror that hung inside his closet door. A young man of sixteen years stared back. Still the same startling green eyes, unruly black hair and thin lips, and the same lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Sighing deeply, he decided to do some homework in Transfiguration, one of his classes in Hogwarts. He had been working for half an hour on a diagram of cats turning to pigs when he head a sound near his bedroom window.