CHAPTER 1

THE BORING NOON

After spending his first year at Hogwarts, Harry never wanted to leave. While the other students had eagerly returned home to their families for the summer, he had been sent back to Privet Drive, back to the Dursleys—where he was about as welcome as a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a china shop.

His aunt and uncle had never treated him like family. To them, he was a nuisance, a burden—someone to cook their meals and scrub their floors, not a boy who deserved a real childhood. Meanwhile, their spoiled son, Dudley, got everything he wanted, from mountains of birthday presents to free rein over the house.

Dwelling on it only made Harry more restless. A week had passed since he'd returned from Hogwarts, and every single day had been exactly the same—dull, tedious, and filled with the Dursleys' constant complaints. Today was no different. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the sun was blazing through his window, and the street outside was eerily quiet, with everyone tucked away indoors.

At least, for once, Harry was alone. The Dursleys had gone off to some function or another—not that they had bothered to tell him where. He hadn't asked, either. He didn't care. Now, sitting on his bed, staring out at the empty street, he felt something worse than frustration.

Boredom.

He could go outside, but where? He had no friends in Little Whinging. The only people he actually wanted to see—Ron and Hermione—were miles away. If he had a car, he could probably reach them in a few hours, but that wasn't an option.

Sighing, he flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. This was going to be a long summer.

And he couldn't afford to be gone for a few hours—not when the Dursleys could return at any moment, bringing their usual complaints and disapproving glares with them.

So he just sat. Bored.

Across the room, Hedwig perched in her cage, looking just as fed up with summer as he was.

Harry sighed. "How are we going to survive this?"

Hedwig blinked.

"I know," he muttered. "I feel like you—trapped in a cage."

The owl didn't exactly make a sad face, but Harry could have sworn she looked sympathetic.

Staring out the window, he added, "I wish summer was as exciting as school."

And then—thump.

A dull sound from above.

Harry didn't move. Probably just rats in the attic. Or a bird nesting somewhere in the roof.

Thump.

This time, it was louder.

He frowned but still couldn't summon the effort to care. Instead, he stretched, got to his feet, and announced to no one in particular, "I'm getting something to eat. Let's hope they don't notice—or I'll be getting a 'lesson' about stealing food."

The Dursleys had begrudgingly left him some food in the fridge, though Dudley had made it painfully clear that the six cans of Coke were his. If Harry so much as looked at them the wrong way, he'd be down to one meal a day for the next week.

Rolling his eyes, he trudged toward the door—ignoring the strange noise overhead.

For now.

Harry opened his bedroom door and headed for the kitchen. The fridge was humming softly, its shelves mostly empty—except for a single, uninspiring sandwich wrapped in plastic.

He picked it up, sniffed it cautiously. It smelled… questionable, like it had been sitting there for at least a day. Still, it looked mostly edible, so he shrugged and unwrapped it.

Then, his eyes drifted to the middle shelf.

There they were.

Six shiny, ice-cold cans of Coke.

His fingers brushed one, savoring the coolness against his skin. He picked it up. He wanted to open it. To gulp it down in one long, glorious drink.

But then he remembered Dudley's warning.

"Touch even one, and you'll be eating once a day for the next week."

And since he had to survive here for the next two months before returning to Hogwarts, he sighed and put the can back.

Closing the fridge, he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and took a bite of the sandwich. Stale. Bland. Slightly soggy. Not the worst thing he'd ever eaten, but definitely not the best. Still, he was hungry.

And then—thump.

Another sound from above.

Harry barely looked up. "I know. You're all hungry too."

The sandwich was nearly gone now. Just a couple more bites, and—

Thump. Thump.

It was getting louder. Persistent.

Harry let out a long, exaggerated sigh and thumped his sandwich down on the table.

"Okayyyyyyyy…"

Pushing back his chair, he made his way to the attic hatch in the hallway ceiling. He stood beneath it, staring up at the wooden panel. Another thump.

Pulling the cord, he let the folding ladder drop down with a creak.

The sandwich, now wrapped in a napkin, was tucked into his shirt pocket as he grabbed the ladder's sides and began to climb.

The sounds above grew louder.

Whatever was up there, it was waiting.

As Harry climbed into the attic, he found exactly what he had expected—nothing of importance.

The space was cramped and thick with dust, the air stale and untouched. Old boxes, broken furniture, and Dudley's discarded toys lay scattered around like relics of things no one cared about anymore.

Then, something small scurried into view.

A rat.

Its fur was unnaturally white, making it look plumper than it probably was. It paused, shiny black eyes locked onto Harry.

Harry unwrapped what remained of his sandwich, crouched down, and placed it on the dusty floor.

The rat sniffed it cautiously, then began to eat.

Harry didn't know why, but watching it eat made him feel… good. A strange, unexpected warmth spread in his chest. There was something oddly satisfying about knowing he'd fed something else—something just as small and overlooked as himself.

When the last crumb was gone, the rat scurried away behind an old trunk.

Harry smiled and turned toward the ladder, ready to climb back down. But then—

Squeak!

Harry turned.

The rat had returned. It stood there, staring at him, its tiny pink nose twitching.

Harry sighed. "I gave you what I had."

But the rat wasn't looking at him.

It suddenly darted across the floor, moving so fast that the dust whirled up around it, swirling in the dim attic light.

For a moment, Harry could barely see—the rat was just a blur of white streaking across the wooden boards.

Then, it stopped. The dust settled.

And Harry saw it.

Uneven letters. Some deformed. Some barely legible.

Scrawled across the dust-covered floor were the words:

yOur mOm NEEds YOU!

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