It was almost his birthday. That was all he could think about. The day that was meant to be special, meant to be fabulous with a large cake and piles of presents. Family gathered round, singing that dreadful song while younger siblings teased and made fun. It was all so terribly austere at Privite Drive. All doom and gloom what with Voldemort hanging around the place like a great reptilian monster, getting ready to pounce…again.
It had been going on for so long as well. The infuriating desire to do magic outside his prison that Dumbledore made him call 'home'. Gah it was all nonsense, the sentimental old twits that called themselves the Order of the Phoenix. They didn't stand a chance. A fleeting thought wormed its way into his head. A niggling suspicion of what would happen if he didn't make his oh-so-noble sacrifice to the wizarding world. Their Golden boy, who lived to kill someone. Even if that someone wasn't really a someone anymore. More of a something. You couldn't really call Voldemort a thing, more of a parasite. A fast eating one.
So Harry Potter was sat in his bedroom brooding. A firm scowl set on his face. It was maddening that he only had ten minutes until he could do magic. He wanted to hit something. But it wouldn't help. This was going to be the longest ten minutes of his life. Harry new it. Presents weren't really expected, after all he was an orphan. 'You can't really expect people to buy for you if your not their child' he thought savagely. Maybe a couple from the Weasley's and one from Hermione. Nothing from the Dursleys, Harry laughed humourlessly at the notion. The Dursleys had never given him anything worth remembering. The best was probably the 50p he got once for Christmas at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts, he'd be returning there for his final year, along with Ron and Hermione. His best friends, both Grffindors to the core. Over fussy and irritating at times. Alright most of the time. They were so trusting as well. Never spontaneous or original, just so dull. But he shouldn't think like that, they'd been there through thick and thin. They'd helped him through the nightmares and cold sweats. Even the sadistic cow Umbridge they had helped with. Just so singly Gryffindor.
Four minutes left. Four minutes until freedom and he could leave this hell hole that had been his home for seventeen years. He shook himself mentally. Hogwarts was his home, this was his prison. He'd endured it, done what precious Dumbledore had wanted. Been a good little boy and stayed at home. Safe from Voldemort and his Death Eater minions. It was…intriguing, to say the least. Blood wards and his mothers sacrifice. His heroic mother who'd cast herself between her baby and the most feared wizard of all time. Said baby lived to be shoved into a cupboard and fed scraps by petty and vindictive relatives that Dumbledore lovingly bestowed upon him. How nice that Lily Evans nee Potters son the boy-who-lived was raised by muggles and their so called normalness.
Aunt Petunia, horse-faced and stringy. Not a pound of fat on her body and a long neck from looking over neighbour fences. Uncle Vernon and his ham-like hands and the bulk of a gorilla. Lumbering over the place, using his voice to shake the foundations of the house when football wasn't on. Finally their lump of a son, who wasted away in front of the TV stuffing his face with popcorn and other sugary sweets. No wonder why he was the size and weight of a young killer whale. That was who Harry had grown up with and all their prejudice.
One minute left. Harry's hands were clenched at his sides, staring out of the window longingly. His little alarm clock ticking in the background. Only the next thirty seconds mattered to Harry now. His wand was on his bed along with the 'Daily Prophet'. 'More frequent muggle attacks' blared out from the crumpled front page. Harry cared little for these things now. Ten seconds and he was liberated and ready to hunt his parents killer. To avenge them and destroy the snake-faced man who'd torn the Potter family apart with his malice and greed for power.
As a clock in the distance struck midnight Harry began to continue breathing not even aware he'd stopped. His hand dropped from the window where he'd had it pressed, leaving a slightly dirty mark on the glass. He was free, completely free. Harry grabbed his wand and waved it in an arc across the room, sending all his books into a neat stack at the end of his bed. He was free and how good it felt.
Harry was sat on his bed, eyeing a chocolate frog on his bedside cabinet. He didn't know why he wanted it so badly, he just did. It symbolised the wizarding world he supposed. A small representation of his life beyond the walls of number 4 Privite drive.
The room was a mess. A calendar was hung lopsidedly on the wall, a red and gold tie draped over it. The Hogwarts trunk was open with bits of debris scattered over the bottom, composing the bottom layer of filth. Dirty socks, broken quills and a feeble sneakoscope littered the floor around it. His school robes were mixed with muggle clothing that was lying around the room in abandoned heaps. A large cage sat on his dresser, empty, but clean. His owl, Hedwig, was absent, probably hunting in the summer air. It was mercifully quiet, except the soft snores echoing through form the neighbouring room. His cousin it seemed, was sleeping quite well.
Harry felt slightly envious of him. But he couldn't blame Dudley this time, it wasn't his fault he woke up covered in cold sweat from the dreams in which he inhabited Voldemort's mind. Forced to watch the comes and goings of the Death Eaters. He'd even seen Snape a few times. Grovelling on his knees before a madman. What a way to build your life. He was forced to watch murders, torture and the raping of women on raids. Rarely did Tom Marvolo Riddle go on raids but when he did, it was a merciless muggle hunt. Harry shuddered at the memories of a particularly violent dream he'd seen recently. It seemed as though Snape's occlumency lessons had all been for nought. Not that he'd learnt anything anyway.
So Harry leant down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, compulsively clutched his wand in a sweaty palm and fell into an uneasy slumber filed with the screams of innocents and Voldemort's cruel insane laughter. It was enough to make one shudder even in ones own mind.