Harry was in a bad mood. But then again, these days he was almost always in a bad mood.
He rose from his dilapidated desk chair to stalk angrily around his moonlit room. He glanced at the cracked mirror that Aunt Petunia had made him move to his bedroom, and noticed that he almost be a Snape impersonator. Harry sneered at his dusty reflection. How delightful. He looked like a gigantic bat. He stepped forwards, and scowled at the mirror in a bad impression of Draco Malfoy.
"Just wait until my father hears about this!" Harry said nasally. "Now why couldn't I be a metamorphmagus?"
He strutted around, trying his best to look like a peacock. Stopping, he spat in his hand to try to smooth down his hair and blew a kiss at his reflection. "See you later, beautiful!" he giggled.
Trying to look beguiling but failing utterly, Harry sashayed across the room and flung himself melodramatically onto his bed. With a shudder and a long, drawn out creak, it collapsed, sending him onto the floor. Harry pouted and rubbed his head where it had slammed into his bedframe. He glared at the offending object accusingly, dragged the mattress off of it, and threw the bedframe out the window, shattering the windowpane. There was a heavy thunk, and a car alarm went off. Harry stuck his head out of the broken window, feeling hugely interested. The dim, yellow glow of the streetlamp lit up the sight of his bedframe. It was embedded in the Volkswagen parked outside of Number Six.
Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I didn't know it was that heavy," he muttered.
The door of Number Six opened with a loud crash, and a short, wiry man came rushing out, holding a baseball bat menacingly. "My bloody car!" he roared. "What in the blazes has happened to my bloody car!"
The window of Number Five across the street was hurled open with enough force to make several shingles fall off the roof. "Shut up, you old codger!" a woman screeched. "It's on the wrong side of midnight!"
"A bedframe landed on my car!" the man shouted back. "And I'll be buggered if it wasn't that hooligan that lives with the Dursleys! Oh, that ruffian will be feeling the back of my hand, you bet my word!"
"I don't care if he burned down your house! Now shut up and go back to bed!" And with that, the window of Number Seven was slammed shut.
Harry leaned back onto his mattress and grinned. Ah, vandalism was good for the soul. Tapping his forefinger against a piece of broken glass thoughtfully, he wondered if he should take Uncle Vernon's car for a joyride the next day. Or perhaps tonight. Whatever, who cared really? Well, Uncle Vernon of course, but he didn't really matter, Harry assured himself. He, Harry was the only person who ever mattered. And Ron and Hermione too, obviously.
Rolling over, he decided that taking Uncle Vernon's car out for a joyride could wait. After all, he needed his rest if he was to learn how to become a complete hoodlum.
Harry grinned. He was starting to sound like Hermione. Maybe he could help her loosen up a bit, let her hair down and all that.
Harry drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Hermione dressed in drag and setting fire to Snape, cackling dementedly as the grease in his hair burned.