HI guys! Yup, this chapter came out fast. What can I say? I was bored. Thank you takuchi for putting me on your favorites list. I appreciate it. Now on with the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All awesomeness and so on goes to J.K Rowling

The next morning, Harry was awakened by Aunt Petunia's screaming: "Boy, get up and come make breakfast!" Harry groaned and rolled over, squinting in the bright sunlight. "What the-"he muttered and scowled when Aunt Petunia started yelling at him through the door. "Alright, I'm coming" he shouted back at her, and he heard her footsteps retreat downstairs.

Harry quickly threw on some of Dudley's oversized clothes and pushing his glasses onto his nose, wearily walked down into the kitchen. Uncle Vernon was already up, and reading the newspaper. When Harry walked in, he looked up, and frowned at the boy, but didn't say anything. As Harry attempted to make scrambled eggs and heat toast at the same time, Aunt Petunia fussed around Dudley, who just sat at the table, his piggy eyes trained onto the small television.

Harry scraped some toast and eggs into each of the Dursleys' plates. "Boy," Aunt Petunia called to him (she never used his real name) "your list of chores is on the refrigerator." Harry glanced over at the refrigerator and his heart sunk as he looked at the offending paper. He dried the last plate and walked over to the refrigerator, plucking the paper off and shoving it into his pocket.

"Boy" Uncle Vernon growled, setting his paper down and glaring at Harry, "We are going away to visit Aunt Marge for a couple days. We are going to turn the power off, so you will just have to make do. I forbid you from inviting your freakish friends over, and by the time we come back I hope those chores will be finished."

Harry clenched his jaw when Uncle Vernon insulted his friends, but held his anger in check, if barely. If he exploded now, Uncle Vernon's old horsewhip would make an appearance, and he didn't need any more scarring. He just sighed in resignation and murmured, "Yes Uncle Vernon." Aunt Petunia seemed satisfied at his answer and dismissed him so that he could start his chores.

He walked out of the kitchen and leaned against the wall, pulling the list out of his pocket. At first glance, it looked like one small paper, but he groaned as he saw that he had been folded numerous times. Just how many chores can be done in such a small house, he thought, rubbing his scar absentmindedly. He stopped reading the list after he got to twenty. Harry chuckled. Uncle Vernon certainly knew how to keep him busy while they were gone.

He started off by cleaning the floor, no small task since Dudley had this annoying tendency to purposely get his shoes muddy and walk around the house in them. As he cleaned, he could hear the Dursleys shuffling around upstairs and packing.

By the time he had finished cleaning up the last few specks of dirt, the Dursleys were out the door and the house was silent. He dumped the dirty water into the sink and pulled out the blasted list, looking at the next task: Do the laundry. He groaned. This was going to be a long day.

. . . . . .

By the time he got around to weeding the garden, the sun was already setting. Around halfway through the weeding, he went to turn the porch light on since there was little light outside, and swore when he remembered that the Dursleys had shut the power down before they left. He went back out to gather the gloves, shears, and basket of weeds, still cursing under his breath.

"Now now, watch your language," a voice behind him murmured, and Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He turned around to face the person that the voice belonged to. It was a man, he could tell because of the physical structure. However, because of the poor light, he couldn't distinguish much else. The man seemed to have light colored hair, maybe blond, tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing a long black trench coat, and dark trousers. The pale face scrutinized him for a moment, before smiling. It wasn't a nice smile, and sent shivers up Harry's spine.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, hating that his voice shook slightly. He fingered the wand in his back pocket, wondering whether he would be forced to use it. The man didn't look like a Death Eater, but Harry could never be too careful.

The man chuckled, a humorless one at that. "I just came here to see what all the fuss was about for The Boy-Who-Lived. Personally, I don't see what is so special about you. Frankly, all I see is a scared teenage boy."

Harry felt his anger rising and shoved it down, asking, "So you're a wizard then?" The man seemed to pause for a moment, as if wondering whether to lie, and reluctantly told him, "No." Harry waited for an explanation, but the man remained silent. "If you don't mind, it's late, and like to head off to bed. So goodnight." Harry told him crisply and turned to go back to the house.

As he opened the door, he heard the man call out to him, "You are a lot like your mother Harry. I will be interesting to see how you turn out." Harry froze. How did he know his name? And what did he mean, how you turn out? But he decided to ask the more pressing question: "You knew my mother?" The man smiled, this time a genuine one. "Yes", he said, "I knew her very well." And with a bow, the man apparated away.

Ooh! Cliffy! Dun dun dun, mwahahah and all that whatnot. Pls review. *gets on hands and knees begging*

Thanks-cpk962008