Somewhere in August, the wizardly world-wide famous Harry Potter, was sitting in his bedroom on the encounter of 4 Privet Drive. Harry lives with three Muggles which happen to be related to him. There's the beefy man with hardly any neck called Vernon who married a woman with double the amount of neck normal and gave in to a bony horse-like face to love. The two adults gave birth to a non-magical child, like themselves and chose the boring name Dudley to address him by. Petunia has a sister, not a Muggle though, in fact, she's anything but a Muggle. She is a Muggle-born witch who learnt her education from the school, Hogwarts, teaching young wizards and witches their appropriate education. Lily, Petunia's older sister, married a pure-blood wizard called James Potter and took the surname 'Potter' on her wedding day. Lily and James had a son, only one year old when his parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort. As we speak, Harry Potter is in his third year at Hogwarts. At eight-thirty in the morning, on a dull Wednesday, is when our story starts.

Harry was sitting on his bed, gazing at the photo of his parents, happily dancing away somewhere in London. If only they knew he was there, if only they knew their son was living at the most horrible place imaginable. A soft squawk woke Harry at of his trance and he whipped his head around to face his beautiful, snowy owl, Hedwig.

"Yes, OK. You can go hunting now," said Harry as he undid the lock that his Uncle Vernon put on there (he found the key) so Hedwig could not fly around and go hunting. Hedwig swooped out of her cage and landed gently on Harry's bed-head. Harry walked over to her and stroked her softly on the back whilst sitting himself on his bed once more. Hedwig abandoned the stroking and swooped out of the window, leaving Harry to stare in the distant sun just so he could see her all the way. Harry knew Hedwig was going hunting, but what he didn't know, was Hedwig had more than hunting on her mind...

Harry, for some reason, picked up his wand and started examining it. He started examining it probably because he was going mad about being with the Dursleys all summer, the summer that had been dragging each day by.

"Get down here, now, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon in a sort of muffled tone. That was odd. Uncle Vernon usually shouted with meaning, and anger, never did her ever sound muffled though. Harry pushed the thought out of his head as he walked downstairs, on Uncle Vernon's orders, of course. Uncle Vernon pulled him by the shoulder into the kitchen and pointed at the stove.

"Cook..." Harry spun around and suddenly realized that the person who spoke was his uncle. Uncle Vernon, was he loosing the ability to speak? The one who always turned purple after he had a session of yelling with his nephew? Impossible.

Harry cooked breakfast and placed it on the bench. After a blink, the food was gone. Harry rubbed his eyes and stared again, thinking maybe his mind was playing tricks on him but his mind was not so much of a prankster: the food was still gone. Harry walked miserably up the stairs; no food in his belly, an empty stomach, nothing to eat. He pushed the door aside and looked up at the window to see if Hedwig was there. Nope; no sign of an owl in sight. Not an owl that was snowy white, atleast. Harry walked over to his windowsill and took the letter from the Weasleys' family owl; Errol. Errol flew (if human, staggered) over to Hedwig's cage and took some water and birdseed before setting off again, leaving Harry alone in his room. The note read:

Dear, Harry We would all (I don't want to run over their names) like you to come to The Burrow in two weeks. We hope the Dursleys aren't being too hard on you.

From, Ron

Later that day, Hedwig returned, feeding on mice and cockroaches held in her beak. She swooped into her cage and began to nibble at her meal. Harry stared longingly at the blood and guts: he wished his taste-buds thought mice and insects were delicious so he wouldn't have to starve from the Dursleys meals. He walked downstairs at seven-forty-five, to find all three Dursleys drooling hungrily on the bench.

They stared, puffy-eyed, at Harry as he cooked supper. He made sure to cook an extra serve for himself. Once again, as he placed the food on the table, it was gone in the blink of an eye. Harry took his serve of food upstairs, in hope that he would save it from being gobbled from his cousin, aunt or uncle. He gave one last glance back at the bench, and Dudley smiled weakly, producing a new line of drool from his mouth. He opened the door to his room and closed it again, not knowing the point of locking it; the Dursleys weren't going to attack him, they just seemed... awkward.