Yet another beautiful Saturday had dawned in Surrey. The sun shone down out of a richly blue, cloud-sprinkled sky. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees that lined Privet Drive. Many of the neighborhood residents were outside on manicured lawns, enjoying picnics of chicken salad and lemonade. One local boy, however, barely noticed the beauty of the summer's day.
Harry Potter leaned on his windowsill, staring at a nearby yard where several children were running about. Their shrieks and giggles drifted through the air, but he seemed not to notice. His eyes remained fixed on one point, not following the children. In fact, he was not really aware of them at all.
Long moments passed in silence. When a bird trilled right outside his window, Harry was shaken from his reverie. He shook his head to try and free his mind of his shadowy thoughts. Gently he chastised himself for dwelling on his nightmares again. Harry reminded himself that it was only natural to have them after such an event as he had been through, and that they would pass with time. As Dumbledore had once said to him, "It does not do to dwell on dreams – and forget to live." The meaning of those words had been different the first time they were spoken, but for Harry, they still applied now. Try as he might, though, the dreams were hard to ignore. Voldemort had been reborn many times over the course of the summer, always after callously murdering Cedric Diggory.
Harry had long since been reconciled to the fact that Cedric was dead, and through the gentle attentions of his friends, had accepted that it was not his fault. Dumbledore himself had sent Harry a letter some weeks earlier. To Harry's great relief, it not been filled with platitudes, but instead had contained information about preparations for the impending conflict with Voldemort. The headmaster had included several words of wisdom and tactful comfort regarding the events of the previous spring, but he was never condescending. Thinking of the letter always cheered Harry considerably. He was honored by Dumbledore's decision to treat him as an adult and to keep him informed. Harry knew that news would not come often as owls could be intercepted, but he was grateful for what he had. It kept him from climbing the walls.
Petunia Dursley's shrill voice called from downstairs in an angry tone. Harry grimaced. It sounded like she had been shouting at him for some time, but he had not noticed. She hated to have to call him twice. He reluctantly left his seat at the window and headed downstairs.
In the case of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, absence did not make the heart grow fonder. To them their nephew was nothing but a potentially dangerous nuisance and another mouth to feed. Harry had returned from school sobered and changed; it hadn't taken his aunt and uncle long to notice, but they had never cared much about his well-being before, and they weren't about to start now. Straight away they had begun to order Harry about, making him do laborious chores and starving him on their son Dudley's diet. Harry remembered well when they had begun to both mock his melancholy and punish him for it. That very day he had made an important decision: he wasn't going to give his relatives the satisfaction of seeing him suffer. When they taunted him, he refused to rise to their bait; when they ordered him to yet another grueling task, Harry did it without complaint. He remained polite and outwardly imperturbable, and the frustration of the Dursleys was very satisfying.
Harry knew that his aunt and uncle were nearing their wits' end. His chores were growing steadily more tedious, but he was determined not to give in. He also saw the way Vernon and Petunia looked between him and Dudley whenever their son threw a tantrum; they were both about the same age, but Dudley was spoiled, selfish, and given to excess. His diet was starting to have an effect, but that was only because his parents had finally managed to destroy his secret stash of sweets. Dudley fought his parents tooth and nail, and everyone in the household was slightly deaf as a result. Harry simply watched as his aunt and uncle tried to exercise their authority over Dudley after years of indulgence; from their faces, they knew that Harry had long since bypassed their son in maturity, and it was a galling admission for them to make.
Harry entered the kitchen, and Petunia glared at him. "Finally! Took you long enough, you lazy boy!"
Harry's reply was one of utmost politeness. "You called for me, Aunt Petunia?"
Petunia looked like she wanted to grind her teeth. Inwardly, Harry smiled. One point to me. His aunt lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. "You are to strip and repaint the front door. You know where to find the tools." She watched Harry nod in assent. Over the years, many of his chores had involved heavy work of this kind, and he was fully aware of what he needed. "I expect you to be finished by supper."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
Petunia looked daggers at Harry, but refrained from adding any more. Two points for me! Harry thought.
As he headed toward the garage, Petunia spoke again. "Harry," she said, almost casually, "the day after tomorrow your uncle and I are going out with Dudley for the day. Mrs. Figg has agreed to watch you."
Harry paused in mid-step and was unable to stop himself from flinching. He hated being babysat by Mrs. Figg, and the Dursleys all knew it. He was almost fifteen, after all! But he merely replied, "Yes, ma'am." Harry updated his scorecard: One point for the Dursleys. Clearly, the battle was not won yet. The Dursleys still had some tricks up their sleeves.
**********
The July sun beat down on Privet Drive like a hammer. Harry sat back on his heels and took a long drink of ice water from his plastic cup. For a minute, he simply sat there, looking around the neighborhood. Harry mentally counted his blessings: it was a beautiful day, no one was shouting at him, and his water was nice and cold. Plus, his aunt and uncle were going out to visit some new neighbors soon, and that meant that he could get some lunch inside without being told what to eat. Harry wiped sweat from his forehead and took another drink. The heat made his job more difficult, but he still preferred working outside to indoor chores. Harry had a knack for getting detentions at school, and this year would surely be no different. He didn't want to polish silver all summer and at school, thank you very much.
Break time was over. Harry reached over, picked up his sandpaper, and started on the door again. He wasn't a moment too soon - his aunt and uncle chose that very moment to walk out the open doorway. "We'll be back for supper, Duddy darling!" Petunia trilled. They both looked over at Harry, slaving away, covered with sweat; he did not even glance at them. He was lucky that they hadn't come out while he was resting. That would have earned him a tongue-lashing for sure. Vernon and Petunia turned away haughtily and headed down the walk to the street. Harry was glad to see them go. The Mortisons had only been in the neighborhood for a few weeks, but they were already thick as thieves with his aunt and uncle. That inexplicable friendship meant that Harry had a pretty good idea of what they were like. Mrs. Mortison must be a nosy gossip, and Mr. Mortison was probably a large and self-righteous man. The Dursleys were so thrilled with their new neighbors that Harry couldn't imagine them being any other way. He was willing to bet that he was verbally crucified on every visit; the Dursleys never refrained from complaining about him to their friends.
Harry moved his sandpaper over the door with more vigor, determined to finish as soon as possible. It was going to be a long summer, but he wasn't about to let the Dursleys get the best of him.