Harry sat back down on his creaky old bed, and thought about something, rather, someone who he hadn't thought of before. Normally, his attention was on the veil, Him, Him2 or studying. Sometimes he thought about Dumbledore too. For example, why did he always do what the headmaster told him to, but got angry with Ron and Hermione when they did the same last year? Harry obeyed the headmaster, but when his friends kept secrets on the old man's orders, he was livid with them. The boy put it down to hormones. Albus Dumbledore was only his headmaster; he had no right to dictate when he came and went within privet drive. Privet drive, which was slowly becoming home to Harry – his relatives had shown none of their usual hostility, instead leaving him to be on his own. As he wrote to Dumbledore, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, so he wasn't losing the weight he put on during school term.
Harry was not always skinny – during term time, with three regular meals everyday, and snacks too, he had filled out quite a lot. That happened every year, but usually, when he got back to surrey, he returned to his half-starved state. The summer, he wasn't ever hungry, but he had the sense to know that he should still eat at least two meals. So he did. Harry Potter, who had been learning to cook since he was about eight, was finally getting to eat what he wanted. When Aunt Petunia did the shopping, Harry put his list of groceries at the bottom of hers, and unloaded them into 'his kitchen cupboard'. It was the smallest on in the large kitchen, and he only had one shelf in the fridge, but at least Dudley knew better than to poke his fat head inside.
Today though, after sending off those letters, he thought about the last marauder. Prongs and Padfoot were dead and Wormtail was as if dead to both Harry and Remus. Only moony was left, and Harry knew that he didn't know the old pranksters well as he wanted to. Sirius had been like a brother to Remus, and Harry had over looked that when trying not to think about Him. He resolved to Owl Remus when Dumbledore let him.
There it was again – when Dumbledore let him. Why did he let himself be governed like that? Deep inside, Harry knew that answer – Albus Dumbledore was the only man Voldemort had ever feared, and head of the Order of the Phoenix. He had power, and experience, that Harry recognised and respected. Even if he didn't want to, Harry knew it was important to continue obeying the headmaster's wishes for the time being.
Resolved to Owl the last marauder when Hedwig got back, the teenage hero started back on the books. In the two weeks he had been back at privet drive, Harry had gone through the curriculum up to sixth year – the next year would be extremely easy for him now! He didn't have any more books, and he couldn't practise his spells away from school, so what more could he do? The boy looked out of his bedroom window, and saw two young boys in the back garden next to number four. They were sword fighting with what looked like sticks … sticks! Harry had a sudden brainwave – he couldn't practise his spells with his wand, but what would stop him practising the movements with a stick from the garden? There would be no magic used, but he could still make sure he could cast quickly and easily. The boy wondered vaguely why he had never thought of it before during his long summers of revision. Then again, in the other years, he was locked in his room, and when he wasn't, he had had chores to do, unlike now.
It would be another year and two weeks until he could use magic at home … did I just refer to privet drive as 'home'? thought the boy incredulously. The two weeks of civil behaviour must have really been getting to him! Potter had never had a real home before. He had school, the burrow, Grimmauld place, and a house in Surrey, which he previously hated. When did that house become home? He supposed it was when his relatives started to leave him alone.
He shook his head, as if violently disagreeing with the notion of this place being home, and went to fetch a stick. He didn't bother to go quietly, or fast, knowing that Vernon and Dudley were out and petunia wouldn't bother to find out what he was up to. In the garden, the Dursley's had a large apple tree, meaning that there was no shortage of wood to choose from. However, Harry didn't know if the silent treatment would remain if he 'stole' a twig from the beautiful old tree – you could never be too sure with the Dursley's. Just to be safe, he picked up an old stick from the ground, dried it on his T-shirt sleeve and took it back up to his room. It was about 30cm long, so only one or two inches shorter that his real wand – perfect.
The boy decided just to start right then – the first spell he ever learnt.
Swish and Flick "Wingardium Leviosa"
The book levitated.