The Riddle House

The summer air clung to Harry Potter like a damp shroud, suffocating him with its oppressive heat. He lay on his narrow bed, staring at the peeling ceiling of his bedroom at Privet Drive, the Dursleys' home. The scar on his forehead throbbed, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked beyond the mundane world of his Muggle relatives. As he drifted in and out of sleep, Harry's mind was plagued by vivid dreams. He saw a dark figure, tall and menacing, with eyes that burned like embers. The figure stood in a dimly lit room, surrounded by cobwebs and dusty relics. A serpent, its body as long as a car, slithered across the floor, its eyes fixed on Harry with malevolent intent. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he sat up with a start. His heart racing, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead, trying to shake off the lingering fear. The dreams had been growing more intense, more frequent, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The sound of his cousin, Dudley's, snores drifted from the adjacent room, a reminder that he was not alone in the house. Harry's stomach growled, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet dangling in the air. He was hungry, but the thought of facing his aunt, Petunia, and uncle, Vernon, at breakfast was daunting. As he made his way downstairs, the scent of burnt toast and stale coffee wafted through the air, making his stomach turn. The kitchen was dimly lit, with only a few slivers of sunlight peeking through the curtains. Petunia stood at the stove, her face pinched in a scowl. "Good morning, Harry," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I trust you're not expecting a special breakfast. You're not a guest, after all." Harry took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the jibe. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of interest. The television in the corner was tuned to a news program, and Harry's ears perked up as he caught snippets of a report about the Quidditch World Cup. "...And in a shocking turn of events, the Death Eaters have made a bold move, disrupting the tournament. The Ministry of Magic is urging calm and promising a full investigation..." Harry's heart skipped a beat as he listened to the report. He felt a shiver run down his spine, and his scar began to throb once more. He knew that the Death Eaters were followers of Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry's parents and sought to return to power. As he finished his breakfast, Harry felt a sense of restlessness wash over him. He needed to get out of the house, to escape the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to suffocate him. He made his way to the living room, where he found a stack of letters on the coffee table. The letters were from his friends, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley. They had been writing to him throughout the summer, trying to keep his spirits up and fill him in on the latest news from the wizarding world. Harry's eyes scanned the envelopes, his heart lifting as he saw the familiar handwriting. He had been feeling isolated and alone at Privet Drive, but the letters from his friends made him feel connected to the world beyond his mundane life. As he opened the letters and began to read, Harry felt a sense of hope rising within him. He knew that he was not alone, that he had friends who cared about him and were willing to stand by him, no matter what dangers lay ahead. The words on the page blurred together as Harry's eyes welled up with tears. He felt a lump form in his throat, and he swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. He knew that he had to be strong, that he had to face whatever challenges lay ahead. But for now, he just sat there, surrounded by the familiar comfort of his friends' words, feeling a sense of peace wash over him.