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~↣⚯͛↢~
HARRY'S P.O.V.
I sit in my room, flipping through the photo album Hagrid gave to me just before the summer holiday started. The book does not just contain pictures of me and my friends, but pictures of my parents as well.
I smile fondly at a picture of my mum, dad, and me, all smiling happily as my mum moves my arm up and down. I then turn the page and see a picture of Ron, Hermione, (Y/N), and me. (Y/N) says something and the four of us break out into laughter. I then begin to miss my friends; I miss my conversations with Ron before bed; I miss Hermione correcting Ron's homework in the common room, making for some entertaining back and forth between the two; most of all, I miss (Y/N)'s ability to make me laugh and smile no matter what — she's always so fun to be around.
Clearly, they don't feel the same way. Sure, I haven't sent any letters because Uncle Vernon won't allow it, but my friends haven't sent anything either, despite what they said before the holiday. There aren't even any letters today wishing me a happy birthday.
What's worse is that Uncle Vernon has locked all my magical belongings under the stairs in my old bedroom. Every now and again, I feel myself questioning if the wizarding world is even real, but I have Hedwig and my photo album to remind me that it is.
Hedwig ruffles in her cage, hooting loudly for what seems like the millionth time this summer. She pecks at the lock on her cage. I look to her with sympathy. I know what it's like to be in such a small space for a long time.
"I'm sorry Hedwig, but I can't let you out. Uncle Vernon won't allow it," I apologize. Hedwig continues to make loud noises and I try to quiet her before —
"HARRY POTTER!" Uncle Vernon's voice booms from downstairs. I sigh deeply.
"Now you've done it," I tell Hedwig. I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen to see Aunt Petunia preparing a green and purple pudding with fruits to decorate it.
"He's in there," she tells me. "Vernon."
I turn to enter the living room and Uncle Vernon is fixing Dudley's bowtie. They are both wearing suits in an attempt to seem more presentable (though, if you ask me, it's not working.)
"I'm warning you. If you can't control that bloody bird, it'll have to go," Uncle Vernon says, annoyance in his tone. I sigh.
"But she's bored. If I could only let her out for an hour or two," I suggest. Uncle Vernon scoffs and shakes the lump he calls his head.
