It was always at the night that Harry Potter always felt alone; listening to the soft hoots from Hedwig as she rushed out of her cage and out into the small town. There was something about the crisp air, the twinkling stars, and the midnight blue that had a certain calmness to it. As if it could sing him to sleep. But the room was bitter cold, unusual as summer was at its height. There was not a rain cloud in the sky.

There were about four weeks before he would go back, go back to the only place that he could go home. The house he lived in, covered in the worn, thin blankets was not something he looked forward to at the end of spring. He hated how his family treated, the cruelty that they inflicted on him without much thought. But The Order did not see this, despite the many eyes that were on him. How could wizards and witches be so damned blind? His home was thousands miles away from this place.

The only sound was his quill, scratching up against the brown-stained parchment. He was using the only free time, the only break his aunt and uncle gave him to do some summer homework. If they could, he thought to himself, they would of made him work at night as well. But it always came down to what their neighbors would say. As if their family had some sort of honor to hold. The perfect little family on the perfect little corner.

His hands muffled his laugh.

A tapping noise was heard from the distance, a sign that Hedwig had returned from her nightly hunt. He had assumed that she had ate, hidden in one of the various trees as the rodent (he assumed) was torn apart by her beck and her talons. It was a gruesome thought. But something about animals amazed him. How innocent and understanding that they could be. It was a wonderful thing to know he could tell Hedwig his deepest, darkest secrets and that she lacked the ability to tell anyone. It was a rush having someone to listen to him. At least, knowing that his owl would always be there for him.

He got up, pushing both the quill and the parchment under the pillow. The tapping noise only grew louder and louder with each passing second. Slowly, he started to get up from his bed as he tiptoed over towards the window. Carefully he pulled it up; watching as the snowy owl flew quickly into the cage door. Hedwig hooted softly, giving the teenage boy a look as she perched herself onto the stick. But Harry shrugged, closing the window door.

"Did you have a good hunt?"

The owl gave a small hoot.

"Did you get something to eat?"

Another hoot.

"I know. It is almost morning."

Harry Potter turned his head towards the window, watching as the waves of red, yellow, and pink started to make their way into the horizon. A pang of fear crawled down his spine. His uncle would be up within the hour, getting "ready" for work. Standing there, wide-awake would not be good enough for the middle-aged man. He would demand punishment…he would demand something from him. Not sleeping would be deemed abnormal to him. There was a sense of panic on the child's face.

A large cloth was thrown over the cage. Everything had to the perfect. He started to quickly throw stuff under the floorboard, hidden from the human eye. The summer homework and the used quill were tucked in under his pillows. He crawled into bed, throwing the thin and worn covers over his body. Finally satisfied, he laid his glasses on the nearby nightstand.

Footsteps were heard, and he could fear his heart jump as they got closer and closer. Time was quickly ticking away. He almost jumped at the sound of the door opening, the large man appearing at the doorway. But he had to remain cool and calm. There was no sign of fear but the look in his emerald-colored eyes.

"Boy!" He hollered, as if he had a reason to get mad.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get out of bed!" His voice was loud, echoing in the small room. A deep redness started to spread out throughout his face with each word. Anger---that was what it would like if emotions had a face.

Harry Potter scrambled out of bed.

"When I come home," he ordered, "I expect every chore to be done and the house to be neat. There is no magic, no sleeping, and no nothing. You know what the punishments are by now." He was seething.

"Yes, sir."

Vernon's raised his eyebrows. His right hand was raised up in the air, slamming down into the middle of the boy's face. He did this a few times, feeling satisfied as the red marked remained. Grabbing the boy's arms, he looked into his eyes. Laughing to himself, he pushed the fragile boy away. "Did you listen?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He was not afraid. He had survived worse as the hands of his uncle. Why should he be afraid? Harry Potter had faced Voldemort, watched Cedric die, and faced death too many times to count. But he felt his body shake as he watched his uncle leave the room. The sound of the footsteps growing softer was a signal to him that it was finally safe to move again.

Like a zombie, he started to pull the oversized blue pajama top over his head. Various scars, from belts nonetheless, covered from the back of his neck to the lower parts of his back. He twitched slightly, feeling as the material rubbed against some of the newer marks. This was something that would happen when the standards were not set, or at least that was what he was told.

"Is it wrong to be scared?" He was talking to no one at all. What had happen to the confidence that flowed through him during the school year? He had felt so safe and loved in the company of his friends. But like his childhood, he was alone behind closed doors.