Fifteen year old Harry Potter sat in the hot room the Dursleys had given him out of fear, dressed in his boxers and stroking the cowry shell bracelet he'd had since birth. Staring out the window he washoping for a breeze, his stomach growled and ached terribly and he stunk also. He saw atop the clouds the faint glimpse of daylight, it signified the start of his fourth straight day locked in the room. Yet none of this bothered him nearly as much as what he'd been feeling inside of him, a yearning to be with someone. He felt that someone was calling him. Everyday of his life he'd felt it but only at the Dursleys did it seem to get stronger, and only recently had it caused him sleepless nights. He'd written Hermione and Ron about it, they assumed it was Voldemort but it couldn't have been, his scar hadn't hurt all summer. Ron had even gone so far as to suggest that maybe it was Sirius trying to contact him from beyond the veil. It wasn't impossible, he'd found that unusual things were common in the wizarding world. But he still felt it couldn't be him, though he would've liked it to have been. This person, thing or whatever it was was alive and trying to get his attention now more than ever.

He pulled his eyes away from the window when he heard the telephone ring several times, then the squeaks of Vernon and Petunia's bed springs and the soft shuffling of what he recognized to be Petunia's ragged pink slippers that she wore religiously.

"It has to be 5:00 a.m" he yawned climbing of the desk he'd sitting on an went over to the door to eavesdrop.

He didn't hear much, but he did hear the loud gasp his aunt let out and the even louder scream emitted seconds later. He heard her running upstairs where the next words from her mouth were like butter to his ears.

"Vernon Marge is DEAD!"

Authors note: I'm sorry the Chapters are so short I swear they were longer whenI wrote them in my notebook.