Harry Potter hated summer if for no reason more than the fact that it meant he had to spend it with his awful relatives, the Dursley's. This summer was worse than most, he was cooped up in his room, bars having returned to his window and locks on the outside of his door. There was a little flap installed in his door that could be covered when not in use to bring Harry cold food.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been locked away. He had no way to track the time and he hadn't been able to receive any mail as the owls were unable to get to him. Harry was miserable, that much was clear. He was hungry, he was exhausted, and he didn't feel well.
His Uncle had sworn up and down that he would not be going back to Hogwarts this year. No way, he had said, were the Dursley's going to put up with his freakishness any longer. Harry hoped that someone would come to look for him, but he didn't dare let himself develop any expectations. He was used to being let down. However, he did think that if the boy-who-lived-and-was-supposed-to-defeat-Voldemort went missing that someone ought to notice. If he didn't show up to Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione would at the very least let someone know.
Perphaps Dumbledore, or McGonagall or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would stop by the house to check on him. Harry sighed at the thought when he realized what they would find if they did indeed stop by. A boy locked in a room like a prisoner, being starved and mistreated. The great and powerful chosen one, locked up by mere muggles. How pathetic.
Harry was torn. He wanted someone to come and let him out and take him to Hogwarts, but he didn't want anyone to know how the Dursley's treated him. It was embarrassing, but Harry also didn't want any pity, didn't want anyone to think less of him.
He was certain that if anyone found out what was happening here that they would think less of them. After all, why wouldn't they?
The day was drawing to a close, it had been unbearably hot, meaning everyone had stayed inside seeking refuge from the heat meaning an eerie silence had settled over the street. No cars passed by, no neighbors were greeting each other civilly over their hedges while they watered their lawns. Almost all the windows that Harry could see from his own were thrown wide open, why, Harry had no idea. But he spent plenty of time next to the window, staring longingly out of it, through the bars that were secured to the outside, preventing him from opening his own window.
Harry sighed from where he was standing, leaning over the desk that was positioned in front of the window and pushed himself up to stand straight and then dust himself off. He did need a serious cleaning, but he was barely ever let out. Hardly ever long enough to take a decent shower. His jeans were too short, ending several inches above his ankles. They were torn and rather dirty. His t-shirt was far too big for him and it was incredibly faded, once black, now with the appearance of being a light gray color. His shoes had holes in the toes and the soles were peeling. The laces were frayed and stained brown from dirt. All-in-all he looked positively awful, nearly as awful as he felt.
He thought that at least some of the unease and tension that he felt probably had something to do with the fact that Voldemort had been resurrected at the end of last school year. And then there was the tension and expectation that came along with that. Why hadn't anything happened yet? Now that Voldemort was back, Harry felt that he had expected an attempt on his life right here at number four Privet Drive. Why wouldn't there be one? All that was protecting him here were some lousy muggles that were more likely to offer him up to Voldemort than shield him. Was his mother's sacrifice really so strong that it couldn't be taken down like any other wards? Harry found that to be quite unlikely.
He let out a long breath and looked up at the clear, blue sky. Birds were flying around, chirping and singing and having a grand old time and Harry was jealous. Jealous that they were free, happy and able to fly. How he missed the feeling of being on a broomstick, how he missed his friends and being free to do as he pleased. He sat down at the desk, in the horribly uncomfortable wooden chair with a huge, heaving sigh and tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling.
He just revelled in the quiet for a moment, letting his thoughts wander aimlessly before he heard the loud crack that echoed all across the neighborhood. Harry's head snapped up to watch out the window as a cat ran out from underneath a parked car and there were several loud noises from downstairs. Petunia shrieked, Vernon bellowed and something broke. Harry stood up so quickly that the chair pushed him back against the desk, refusing to be pushed backwards and he lurched forward, his head connecting with his window.
Tears gathered in his eyes as they stung and a streak of black made its way up the driveway. Harry, in his pain ridden state, thought the streak looked familiar but then realized how ridiculous that was. How could a streak look familiar? Harry brought a hand up to his head as it felt as though it had been split into two and he swayed slightly on his feet as he succeeded in pushing the chair back and moving away from the offending window.
He had barely made it the few feet from the desk to his bed to sit down on the edge of it when the door downstairs slammed and there was an uproar of shouting and cursing. There was another slam and the sound of stomping feet on the stairs. Harry instinctively went for his wand, brandishing it in front of him protectively as someone made quick work of the locks on the outside of his door and flung it open.
Vernon Dursley crossed the room quicker than Harry had ever seen him move before and before he knew it two large purple hands reached forward and closed tightly around his throat.
"Put - it - away!" His uncle snarled as Harry gasped for air. "How dare you?" Vernon demanded. "How dare you?"
Harry had never seen such a violent reaction to him having his wand out and about, any other time he might have pondered about that, wondered what had happened that he acted in such a way but Harry needn't ask himself such questions. Over his uncle's shoulder he could see Professor Snape standing in the doorway holding his wand aloft, the tip pointed at Vernon Dursley's back.
"Release him." Snape demanded. "Now."
Uncle Vernon didn't need to be told twice and he used the hands wrapped around Harry's scrawny neck to fling him onto the bed and he turned around. "Don't you tell me how to deal with a freak in my own home!" He bellowed. "He deserves everything that he gets."
Snape regarded him coldly. Harry wondered if that had to do with the fact that he was a muggle or because Snape was here in Harry Potter's home. It certainly couldn't be because Snape disagreed with what Uncle Vernon had said. Snape hated Harry, he had made that perfectly clear the last four years. The constant ridicule and points taken from Gryffindor in class, there was no way that Snape was suddenly sympathetic or angry on behalf of Harry Potter.
If anything, he was already plotting to tell everyone exactly what goes on behind closed doors in the Dursley residence, much like he had exposed Lupin the year before last.
Snape took hold of the situation and told Uncle Vernon in no uncertain terms that Harry would be accompanying him back to Hogwarts and that there was nothing that a muggle like him could do about it. Vernon had huffed and puffed but eventually went downstairs to join Petunia and Dudley in the kitchen like Snape had insisted.
The Potion's Master gave Harry nothing more than a cursory glance before moving into the room, his eyes fixed on the window.
"Um," Harry mumbled, sitting up on the bed and following the Potion's Master with his eyes. "Professor, what are you doing here?"
"Did it escape your attention that you should have been on the Hogwarts express yesterday or are you as daft as your relatives, Potter?" Snape asked sharply.
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "It's already September?" The shock in his voice did not escape Snape's attention as he turned to fix Harry with a look that looked rather out of place on his face.
Snape gave him a reluctant nod. "The second." He informed him, turning to look down at the desk in front of the window. "You haven't sent your post?"
Harry had several drafted letters sitting on the top of his desk. Letters for Ron, Hermione, Sirius and Hagrid. Letters he couldn't send.
"I couldn't." Harry told him. "You see the bars on the window, right, Professor?"
Snape nodded again and moved on. "Pack your things." He ordered. "I'd like to be going. I don't have all day."
Harry surged to his feet and quickly started to pack. When he was finished, he looked up and realized that Snape was examining the state of his door. The little flap and the locks on the outside of it were the main objects of his scrutiny.
"Sir?" Harry asked, lifting Hedwig's cage into his arms.
Snape looked up distractedly and waved his wand. The cage and his trunk disappeared and Harry supposed that the Professor had sent them to Hogwarts.
Harry took a moment to look Snape over. He was dressed completely in black, the same outfit he normally wore in school, cloak included. His black eyes were sweeping methodically over the room, looking at and examining every nook and cranny. Occasionally his eyes would stop and fix on Harry, looking him over as if he wasn't sure what to make of him.
"Follow me." Snape intoned before he turned and strode out of the room. Harry followed him after a moment of hesitance and together they descended the stairs, Snape with his wand held firmly in his hand.
Harry made for the door once they got to the bottom of the stairs but Snape grabbed him by the arm and dragged him in the opposite direction. He stopped for a long moment outside the cupboard under the stairs and just stared at it. He didn't say anything, nor did it attempt to open the cupboard. Once he was apparently satisfied with it, he looked over at Harry and entered the kitchen.
"Mr. Potter and I are leaving." He announced to the Dursley's, all of whom were sitting silently at the kitchen table looking positively petrified. "Thank you for your hospitality."
That last half was said so sarcastically that not even Dudley could have missed it. Snape did not wait for a response from the purple-faced Uncle Vernon, rather he turned and once more grasped Harry's upper arm. Although this time he turned on his heel and disapparated with Harry in tow.