Harry entered 9 3/4 on a warm August 31st. It had been three months since the final battle, and the pain still weighed heavily on his heart. So many lives were lost in the war. Ted Tonks, Nymphandora Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius Black, Colin Creevy, Vincent Crabbe, Cedric Diggory, Percy Weasley, and Hedwig were just the beginning of a long list; light and dark members alike. Each side had its losses, and each name hung heavily on his shoulders, pulling him down relishing in all the pain it caused the young boy.
And so, there was Harry Potter, the boy who lived twice , wearing the darkest clothes he owns and a black cloak, with the hood covering most of his face, hoping with all his heart that no one would recognize him. At least until he could put glamour charms on.
It had been ever so kindly suggested that Harry would spend one last summer with his ever so kind and loving relatives. Which translated means that Harry was not given a choice whether or not he wanted to go. He'd much rather have stayed at Grimmauld place with Remus, and surprisingly Snape who had apologized for his behavior towards him and explained that he had to act that way in order to keep his position as a spy. He had finally forgiven Remus and they now live together as fast friends.
His Uncle had begun taking drugs, and getting drunk more. He had a lot of pent up anger, and had lovingly (scoffs) taken it all out on him.