**Chapter 1: The Uninvited Guest**

The stormy night had been brewing over Little Whinging for hours, casting a dark and foreboding shadow over the small suburban town. The residents of Number Four, Privet Drive, were all tucked away in their cozy beds, unaware of the strange and unexpected events that were about to unfold. In a small, dingy cupboard under the stairs, Harry Potter stirred restlessly in his narrow bed, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound from outside. It had been a difficult summer, one that had left him feeling anxious and on edge. The Dursleys, his Muggle (non-magical) relatives, had made sure to remind him constantly that he was not welcome in their home. As the wind howled outside, causing the old house to creak and groan, Harry's thoughts drifted to his parents, James and Lily Potter. He had always felt a deep connection to them, despite never having known them. They had died when he was just a baby, victims of the dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. The memory of their sacrifice still lingered, a painful reminder of the fame and notoriety that had been thrust upon him. Suddenly, a loud crash of thunder boomed outside, making Harry jump. He sat up in bed, his heart racing, and that's when he heard it – a faint scratching sound coming from the wall. It was soft at first, but grew louder and more insistent. Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he threw off his covers, careful not to make too much noise. He crept out of the cupboard and made his way to the wall, his ears pressed against the surface. The scratching grew louder, and he could feel a strange tingling sensation, like the air was charged with electricity. As he listened, the scratching stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the house. Harry was about to return to bed when he heard a low whisper, barely audible, but unmistakable. "Harry...Harry Potter..." The voice sent shivers down his spine. Who was it, and how did they know his name? Harry's heart was racing as he strained to hear more, but the voice had stopped. The silence was oppressive, and he felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for something to happen. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the whispering began again, this time louder and more urgent. "Harry, you must leave...now...danger is coming..." The words sent a chill down his spine. What kind of danger, and who was warning him? Harry's mind was racing with questions, but before he could respond, the whispering stopped, and the scratching sound began again, this time more frantically. It was as if whoever – or whatever – was on the other side of the wall was trying to tell him something, but Harry had no idea what. He stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do next. The storm raged on outside, and the house creaked and groaned, but Harry's attention was focused on the wall, waiting for the next message, or warning, or...what? What will Harry do next?