The roof of number four, Privet Drive shivered under the onslaught of the outside storm.
At home in his bed, the Boy Who Lived shivered under his blanket and top sheet.
Harry Potter's bright green orbs shimmered in the half-light as they looked determinedly in every direction but his second-floor window. His strategy for keeping his mind off of the driving wind and rain was, however, completely ineffective. Each flash of lightning drove splinters of light directly through his meager curtains, casting blinking shadows around the room and illuminating Hedwig's large amber eyes momentarily. Hedwig herself had been ill at ease all night; her anxious shuffling about in her cage had helped keep Harry awake. A particularly loud peal of thunder hammered against the ceiling, startling Hedwig into a cry of alarm. Not one to be outdone by any manner of earthly noise, Harry's uncle's voice returned fire against Harry's bedroom floor.
"THAT RUDDY OWL! IF IT CAN'T BE KEPT QUIET, IT'LL HAVE TO GO, BOY!"
Harry sighed. Yes, that was his uncle's way: if anything even remotely connected with Harry did any noticeable amount of anything ever, it would have to go. And sometimes, when he managed to remember, Uncle Vernon held true to his threats. Only just the other day Harry had left a pencil on the dining room table and his uncle had accidentally picked up the writing implement instead of his fork. The ensuing discussion between Uncle Vernon and Harry had left the Boy Who Lived covered in spittle and set his ears ringing for hours to come. The pencil, incidentally, had never been seen again. Harry passed a hand through Hedwig's cage and caressed her snowy head to help calm her down. Without her he would be stuck in this bleak prison all by himself.
The clock beside the cage on his bedside table read 2:04. Harry had been thirteen for two hours now, though it didn't matter very much. Birthdays at the Dursley's were largely ignored unless they weren't Harry's birthdays. Sometimes Harry wished he could have been considered "normal" enough to qualify for an actual party or two, but then he remembered that he didn't need birthday parties for, you see, Harry Potter was no ordinary child. Harry Potter was a wizard. To be precise, Harry Potter was a wizard-in-training who was still attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, although he was currently home(such as it was) for the summer holidays.
Harry withdrew his hand from his owl and pushed himself into a sitting position. His feet scraped against a handful of magical educational materials that had been hastily deposited at his bedside to be thrust under his bed at the slightest sign of any of the Dursleys' arrival. Harry took a moment to review the cover of "Hogwarts, A History", realized that that was probably the only thing in the book that he would ever actually read, and kicked it back under his bed with his heel. The wooden floor of his bedroom felt cold to his bare feet. A sudden tapping at the window made Harry jump in momentary fright. His uncle wasn't too far behind.
"THAT BLOODY WINDOW! IF IT CAN'T BE KEPT QUIET, IT'LL HAVE TO GO, BOY!"
Harry chalked his uncle's apoplectic attitude up to a lack of sleep. How anyone could even doze in weather this violent was beyond Harry, and he knew that if his Uncle Vernon liked anything it was most definitely a decent night's sleep. Harry strode to the window and pulled aside the curtains to check what it was and discovered a handful of waterlogged owls all bearing equally waterlogged parcels sitting on the outside windowsill. Harry undid the catch and watched in alarm as the gaggle of owls noisily poured in through the small opening. Fortunately, however, the loudest of their squawks coincided with a particularly loud thunderclap, and Uncle Vernon made no attempt to berate Harry for for failing to prevent his window from hooting noisily.
Harry removed all the packages from their respective deliverers and set out some old clothes of Dudley's for the owls to dry themselves on. The first package was aptly labeled "To Harry Potter" and even through the rain-splattered brown paper it was clear that the untidy scrawl belonged to none other than Ronald Weasley. Harry tore open the wrappings and what appeared to be a small, glass top fell into his open hand. Harry spent the next ten minutes deciphering the note tied to its axis:
"Dear Harry,
Shame you couldn't have come with us. Egypt was amazing! Picked this up in a gift shop on our way out, thought you might find it
useful. It's a Pocket Sneakoscope. Lights up and makes this really shrill whistling noise if it detects anything fishy going on. Don't let
the Muggles keep you down, mate!
From, Ron
P.S. Mum says you're looking too thin. I know, honestly!"
Harry smiled, but quickly jammed the Sneakoscope in his dresser drawer between several pairs of Dudley's old pants. On any other night if he were up and about when he wasn't supposed to be, he would end up in no small amount of trouble- and who knows what Uncle Vernon would blame the whistling on and attempt to throw out. The next package yielded a broomstick servicing kit from Hermione that looked absolutely amazing. Even though his prized Nimbus 2001 model broomstick was currently stowed in the cupboard under the stairs with most of his other school things, Harry cracked open the manual and skimmed through it out of excitement before turning to the final, lumpy package. It was a cake from Hagrid. Harry wasn't sure whether or not it had been edible to begin with, since it was clearly soaked through from the storm. He deposited it in his waste bin, just in case. The final owl had only brought a letter, bearing a large insignia of the letter H.
Harry checked the list of required books for the upcoming term and was relieved to find that a certain dazzlingly handsome ex-professor's literary works were nowhere to be seen. Also worth celebrating, in Harry's opinion, was a small paper permission form for admission to Hogsmeade. Of course, acquiring his uncle's signature would be a near-impossible task. Harry sighed and turned his attention back to keeping his late night visitors as quiet as he could. Once the owls were sufficiently dry, Harry let them back out into the wind and rain and slid back into his bed. Maybe things would look even brighter in the morning.
Uncle Vernon eyed Harry warily as he scarfed down his heaving helping of bacon. If there was one thing Uncle Vernon didn't like, it was having to look at Harry while he himself ate his morning bacon. Harry avoided his uncle's piercing, bacon-filled glare until it was drawn away by his Aunt Petunia turning the kitchen television on.
"-recent rash of sightings of notorious serial killer Sirius Black. Black, who was believed to have been killed twelve years ago, is now reported to be at large once again. Wanted for the infamous murder of twelve people in-"
Well. That's depressing, thought Harry, before he tuned the television out and concentrated solely on finishing his porridge. He then hastily excused himself from the kitchen(to his uncle's chagrin) and was halfway through the swinging door when Uncle Vernon cleared his throat noisily. Harry stopped and slowly turned to see what it was that he wanted.
"YOU GOING SOMEWHERE, BOY?" Uncle Vernon demanded as Aunt Petunia slid more slices of bacon onto his plate.
"Just up to my room, Uncle Vernon," Harry said.
"YOU MEAN THE ROOM WE LET YOU STAY IN," corrected Uncle Vernon.
"The very same," said Harry.
"DON'T GET SMART WITH ME, BOY," said Uncle Vernon, spraying bits of bacon across the table. "MY SISTER MARGE IS COMING TO DINNER TONIGHT AND I WON'T TOLERATE ANY OF YOUR BELLIGERENT ATTITUDE WHILE SHE'S HERE."
Harry felt his stomach drop through the floor. "Aunt Marge? Here?"
"GOOD TO KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ENGLISH AFTER ALL THESE YEARS," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "YES, BOY. HERE. AND YOU HAD BETTER BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR."
Uncle Vernon appeared to be on the verge of adding something to the tail end of his latest tirade, so Harry again turned to leave as quickly as he could. Fantastic, thought Harry as he hurried out of the kitchen. Maybe he would just stay in his room the entire time and avoid the nightmare altogether. "Aunt" Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. She was as ill-tempered as Vernon, bred bulldogs, and thought that Dudley was a paragon of humanity. Harry would almost rather spend his holidays at Malfoy Manor than put up with Aunt Marge. Almost. If only there were somewhere else he could go, just to get out of Number Four a bit early...
Halfway up the stairs Harry had a wonderful idea. He leapt up the remaining steps two at a time and began scribbling out a note to Ron as quickly as he could. With any luck the Weasleys would have returned from Egypt by now. Harry rolled up the scrap of parchment, prodded Hedwig awake, and tied it off to her foot. She gave him an irritable nip and took off through his window into the bleary grey sky beyond. Uncle Vernon's car pulled out of the gravel driveway not long after her departure. The remainder of Harry's day was anxiously spent avoiding his cousin and aunt, waiting desperately for Hedwig's return.
