With the boredom waying down on him, Harry Potter sat on the park bench watching the sun go down for the fifth time this week. It had been a normal day, with nothing much to say for itself except that it had been particularly quiet.
Unlike this day though, Harry Potter had no reason to say that he was normal, because he wasn't. Truthfully, he was as far from normal as possible. Harry Potter was "the-boy-who-lived." He was only alive because his mother had died to save him and was left only with the lightning-bolt shaped scar to prove it. Yes, Harry Potter was famous in the wizarding world. A world he had become a part of at age eleven. This was the world he wanted to belong to. Not this world full of Muggles who had no idea what was really happening out there.
He had been waiting since he last left his school Hogwarts to return for his sixth year. He impatiently counted the days until September first when this would finally happen. He didn't like it at all at th Dursley's and never had. He wasn't really to blame for this though, they truly were as unlikeable as they get.
When the sun finally fell behind the earth, Harry rose from the bench, stiff from haveing sat so long. He walked over to the fence, hopped over, and proceeded to walk back towards the house of number four Privet Drive. As he did, he wondered longingly if he had gotten any mail. Maybe he'd received important news from the Order or from Ron or Hermione. This made him pick up his pace as he found his way back through the neighborhood.
He was again becoming apprehensive these days as well as angry. He was beginning to feel a sense of deja vu at the lack of information his letters now held. If anything was happening, he sure wasn't going to be the first to know. The one thing he knew he could look forward to was his birthday. It was in three days, and he was greatly praying that he would get cake again.
Soon he was closing in on the all too familiar Privet dr., and he could see the house that he hated. He wished he'd never have to go back. At this thought, his heart dropped. he thought of Sirius, his late Godfather, and how he too hated his childhood home of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry longed to see Sirius' laughing face or hear his voice again. In the back of his mind though, Harry knew this was impossible. He stiil hadn't been able to admit that Sirius was really gone; it hurt to think of him. He tried to push the subject out of his mind as he stomped up the drive and up to the door.
He had just grabbed the doorknob when he heard his Uncle Vernon shouting. He let go thinking it would be a bad idea to go in now, when he heard,
"Where is that boy?! And what the hell do all these ruddy owls want?!?!"

At this, Harry dashed in, curious as to what was going on. When he arrived in the kitchen, he saw the problem. Two owls, one old and decrepid, and the other small and noisy. He knew the owls: Pig and Errol. They belonged to the Weasleys. Harry quickly grabbed the letters from both of them, noticing the writing. One was quite neatly done, while the other looked urgent, as it was practically scribbled. He read the latter of the two frist.
Harry, sorry for the mistake, make that 7:00 pm tonight. Be ready!
Mr. Weasley.
Harry was confused until he realized he stiil had another letter that might explain this. He immediately saw that this too was from Mr. Weasley.
Dear Harry,
I know you must be frustratedby now. But keep your chin up! Dumbledore has asked us to make arrangements to have you picked up as soon as possible. He has only said that he thinks it best for you to be here at the Burrow for the remainder of your holiday. You are to pack all your belongings and be ready to leave by 8:00 sharp.
All the best,
Mr. Weasley
A surge of excitement ran through Harry; he was finally leaving! He quickly realized that he was still in the kitchen. His
Aunt Petunia was yelling about owls in her house, and Uncle vernon was shouting, purple-faced,
"What the effing hell is going on? Why were those owls here? What are you FREAKS up to now?!?!"

Harry suddennly realized it was quickly turning on 6:40 already. Bolting upstairs while his Vernon shouted even louder at him, Harry realized that he had a lot to pack. His things had ended up all over his room, and the amount of things he owned had grown quite a lot. Things were beginning to happen so fast, he thought. But why did Dumbledore think it best for him to be at the Burrow? Why was he going somewhere where he didn't have protection from his mother? He decided, as he was packing his socks, that he would ask this to whoever was coming to get him. This sprung another question: who WAS picking him up? Was it his guard again? Who? His curiousity was eating away at him as he shoved the last of his robes into his trunk. Was Voldemort finally up to something? His thought of what might be happening as he hastily shut his trunk. He dashed for Hedwigs cage and grabbed it so quickly that she gave a shrill hoot.
"Sorry Hedwig, in a hurry. We're going to the Burrow for the summer. All right?" Hedwig cooed at him. She loved it there.
Harry checked his watch. It was already ten to seven. He rushed downstairs and placed his things by the door as quietly as possible. He didn't want his Aunt and Uncle to know that he was leaving. He headed into the kitchen to get a drink as he waited. He was immediately showered with questions.
"What are you up to this time?" His Uncle Vernon asked.
"Nothing. Those were just notes from my friends. Their favorite team just won at a match. They were really excited...." He took a drink of lemonade. Uncle Vernon glared at him.
"All that ruddy fuss for that? I don't believe you." He stopped there. There was a long silence. It was only broken when the doorbell rang. Everyone jumped. Harry glanced at the clock. It was exactly 7:00 just like the letter had said.
"I'll get it." Harry shouted as he leapt from his chair. He dashed to the door. He could see the sillohuettes in the window of someone tall, but nowhere near Hagrid's size. He felt a sharp pain in his scar as he opened the door.