This is my house, its where I survive day to day, never really knowing what to expect to happen in the next few seconds. That doesn't matter now does it? No, everything's gotten better now, far better than before.
Where are my manners? Come sit in the living room and have some tea I burned myself making, and sit on the couch that I have taken many of my own bloodstains out of. Look there is even a little blue mark from when Dudley and I were younger and he crushed a marker in his fat little hand. I took the blame for that too, or the beating rather.
Sugar? Yes, let me go get some from the kitchen. Where I prepared the meals for this entire family since I was able to see over the stove, and got burned on the chest several times with bacon grease. Both accidental and intentional.
I apologize you probably don't want to hear this but I can't seem to stop talking.
Oh the bathroom is right down the hall. I should restock the cabinet with gauze and alcohol, but I won't because I can't bleed anymore. I remember after my uncle raped me, every time, that I would throw up in there and then he'd yell at me for spewing in his clean bathroom.
Oh dear, you appear to have spilled some tea on your shirt and jam on your jeans, come I'm sure I can find some fitting spare clothes in this house… eventually. Oh that room, you don't want to go in there, there's a boy in there.
That's me there, laying on the floor in my own blood, yes, I'm dead. I killed myself because I couldn't live without happiness or love. I was denied both.
Thanks a lot Dumbledore, your as good as Voldemort.