It was the second last day of summer vacation for Harry Potter, the only
remaining Potter, for everyone knew. Harry sat at his window and looked
out over the sunset, of course from his Surrey home, all and everything for
miles was a solely house, identical houses. But over the mountain miles
off, you could still see a spectacular sunset. After glancing through the
last page to the overead book: Quiddich Through the Ages, By Kennilworthy
Whisp he forced himself up from his comfortable chair and down the stairs.
Every time he went down the green-carpeted stairs he could never help
remembering that one moment when his faithful friends had come to rescue
him from the Dursley's. The Dursley's were of course all still there,
though not at the moment: Dudley had been in and out all summer, and for
the weeks that he had not been at his camp (which Uncle Vernon had assured
him was not for weight loss) he had been at his friend Piers Polkiss's
house, which of course really meant that he was away vandalizing the
neighbourhood. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were visiting Marge for the
last weekend of summer, so that meant that Harry was alone with Dudley for
the weekend, but even gigantic bulldozer Dudley and his gang of skinny
sidekicks had not been able to ruin Harry's summer.
Not that it had been much better that the last, but at least he was allowed to watch the news, and if he ever felt like it, he could leave and secretly go over to Mrs. Figg's, which the Dursleys did not know of course, or else they would have restricted his outside access. Harry had however noticed a slight change in Aunt Petunia, she seemed more jumpy that usual, and had been asking Harry more questions about school than she usually did, which was none. Harry had been quite surprised to suddenly have Aunt Petunia ask dinner one night (when Uncle Vernon and Dudley were on a camping trip) about what he had gotten up to at 'that school of his' this year. In fact, most of the summer it had been just Harry and Aunt Petunia, for Vernon's company's shares had slowly been going down, so he was frequently in London for important meetings and seminars in.
Harry lowered himself into the living room armchair and sat down, he flicked on the television and glanced around. No sign of Dudley, so quickly he ran to the freezer and emptied out Dudley's last supply of ice cream for the summer. Aunt Petunia had bought him three cartons, she had told him that they were to last him all summer, for she wasn't buying him anymore sweets this summer, Harry could remember the look in her when she had gone to hug Dudley and couldn't link her arms around him. She had refrained from doing so for the rest of the summer.
As the Channel 6 newscaster came on and introduced herself as Ima Wichte, Harry was suddenly brought back to reality from the chocolate sprinkled vanilla. It had become a habit of coming down and turning on Channel 6 for the news at nine, for a few moments all of Harry's worries and memories had been temporarily dislodged from his brain, but now they were all back: Sirius dying, corruption in the ministry, his OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels), Mr. Weasley being attacked, and of course worst of all, that Voldemort was back, and the fate of the entire Wizarding and Muggle world rested in his hands. Harry glanced down at his petite figure and awkward stance, how could I ever tackle You-Know-Who, he thought sadly, he was really just buying his time. But then that little voice in the back of his head that sounded just like Hermione's said: Don't be a prat Harry, you've tackled Voldemort several times before Harry, most wizards can't do that, you're a great wizard.
"Move over, cousin, the Great Humburo's on now, they've changed it to Saturday's the ruddy b-" Dudley had just finished saying goodbye to his friends at the door and ran into the front room, when Harry stood up to let the great balloon sit down, his ice cream feel from his lap, onto the floor. He had forgotten that it was there. Dudley put two and two together rather quicker than usual, after a few moments, he looked up astonished and said ominously, "Is-Is that m-my ice cream, my-my last ice cream?" Harry, who absolutely loved the look on Dudley's face right now (somewhere between anxiety and held in anger) said, "Why Dudley, congratulations, I thought you wouldn't guess." You could hear the comment fly right over Dudley's head as he swelled and looked up and said "I-ice cream, you bloody f-"Harry ran, it was not in one's best interest to be the path of Hurricane Dudley when he had built up enough anger to strike (which was once every few hours, but oddly, Dudley was very happy tonight, perhaps poor Mark Evans had something to do with it). Harry flew up the stairs faster than a basilisk on roller blades and dived into his room, quickly locking the locks that Uncle Vernon had put on his door four years prior. Dudley reached his pudgy hand through the dog flap (which had been installed the same year), but sadly, Harry was on his desk, to far for the gigantic hand to reach. After minutes of watching Dudley struggle to get his enormous hand back out, he heard a muffled cry.
Not that it had been much better that the last, but at least he was allowed to watch the news, and if he ever felt like it, he could leave and secretly go over to Mrs. Figg's, which the Dursleys did not know of course, or else they would have restricted his outside access. Harry had however noticed a slight change in Aunt Petunia, she seemed more jumpy that usual, and had been asking Harry more questions about school than she usually did, which was none. Harry had been quite surprised to suddenly have Aunt Petunia ask dinner one night (when Uncle Vernon and Dudley were on a camping trip) about what he had gotten up to at 'that school of his' this year. In fact, most of the summer it had been just Harry and Aunt Petunia, for Vernon's company's shares had slowly been going down, so he was frequently in London for important meetings and seminars in.
Harry lowered himself into the living room armchair and sat down, he flicked on the television and glanced around. No sign of Dudley, so quickly he ran to the freezer and emptied out Dudley's last supply of ice cream for the summer. Aunt Petunia had bought him three cartons, she had told him that they were to last him all summer, for she wasn't buying him anymore sweets this summer, Harry could remember the look in her when she had gone to hug Dudley and couldn't link her arms around him. She had refrained from doing so for the rest of the summer.
As the Channel 6 newscaster came on and introduced herself as Ima Wichte, Harry was suddenly brought back to reality from the chocolate sprinkled vanilla. It had become a habit of coming down and turning on Channel 6 for the news at nine, for a few moments all of Harry's worries and memories had been temporarily dislodged from his brain, but now they were all back: Sirius dying, corruption in the ministry, his OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels), Mr. Weasley being attacked, and of course worst of all, that Voldemort was back, and the fate of the entire Wizarding and Muggle world rested in his hands. Harry glanced down at his petite figure and awkward stance, how could I ever tackle You-Know-Who, he thought sadly, he was really just buying his time. But then that little voice in the back of his head that sounded just like Hermione's said: Don't be a prat Harry, you've tackled Voldemort several times before Harry, most wizards can't do that, you're a great wizard.
"Move over, cousin, the Great Humburo's on now, they've changed it to Saturday's the ruddy b-" Dudley had just finished saying goodbye to his friends at the door and ran into the front room, when Harry stood up to let the great balloon sit down, his ice cream feel from his lap, onto the floor. He had forgotten that it was there. Dudley put two and two together rather quicker than usual, after a few moments, he looked up astonished and said ominously, "Is-Is that m-my ice cream, my-my last ice cream?" Harry, who absolutely loved the look on Dudley's face right now (somewhere between anxiety and held in anger) said, "Why Dudley, congratulations, I thought you wouldn't guess." You could hear the comment fly right over Dudley's head as he swelled and looked up and said "I-ice cream, you bloody f-"Harry ran, it was not in one's best interest to be the path of Hurricane Dudley when he had built up enough anger to strike (which was once every few hours, but oddly, Dudley was very happy tonight, perhaps poor Mark Evans had something to do with it). Harry flew up the stairs faster than a basilisk on roller blades and dived into his room, quickly locking the locks that Uncle Vernon had put on his door four years prior. Dudley reached his pudgy hand through the dog flap (which had been installed the same year), but sadly, Harry was on his desk, to far for the gigantic hand to reach. After minutes of watching Dudley struggle to get his enormous hand back out, he heard a muffled cry.