Harry Potter lay listlessly on his degenerated bed, brooding over dark thoughts. They seemed to be going round and round, without ever reaching a solution. It was the second week of July and he still had many weeks to go until the Order would come and fetch him. No-one was to leave the house unnecessarily and Harry was never to be left alone.

He did suspect that the Order was patrolling outside most days, however, they were unbelievably busy too. And they trusted Harry in keeping safe. So far, he had managed.

Every day seemed like an eternity. Uncle Vernon had to stop working for Grunnings. Dudley had to stop school and Petunia... she looked more sour than ever. She ran around the house, already packing everyone's belongings (but Harry's) and whenever she met a neighbour, she showed that contorted nose-smile that never reached her eyes.

Vernon blamed Harry for not being able to work, how could he not. Worried about their financial situation, he had asked Harry numerous times if he was hiding money. Yes, Harry thought, but you will never be able to get it. Those were the kind of thoughts that kept him alive during this summer.

This time he knew deep inside that he wasn't going to go back to Hogwarts. He had to fulfill his promise to Dumbledore and find the remaining Horcruxes. Not knowing where they were or how to destroy them. Not knowing if he wanted Ron and Hermione to join him in the most dangerous journey of their lives.

Yes, he did feel overburdened with the task. But never would he admit that to anyone. It would mean that Dumbledore had been wrong about him. Overestimated him. Maybe he had? After all, he had been wrong about Snape.

"BOY!" he heard Vernon shouting from downstairs. Harry shuddered a little when he heard him stamping up the stairs, breathing heavily. The locks clicked and Harry counted. Twenty one. He opened the door.

"You are coming down right this instant!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry slowly rose from the bed. The tension in Privet Drive was sickening and Harry had no idea when the situation would escalate. It always did. At some point. But this time it had to be worse than ever. The food was getting less and less, none of the Dursleys thought that Harry deserved any of it. It was his fault that his uncle couldn't work any more, so how dare he eat their food?

If anyone in the Order had known exactly how precarious Harry's situation was, they would have sent someone to stay with him, but of course, Harry didn't know that. No, he grew up this way and was sure it was normal. The way it had always been and the way it had to be. If someone had thrown him into boiling water, he would have jumped out and saved himself. But it wasn't like that. The water was slowly heating up and Harry didn't notice that the point of boiling was very near. It was a slow process. Children stayed with their abusive parents sometimes until they were dead. Always believing that they were of course the ones to be blamed. For being clumsy. For breaking something. For being too loud. Or too quiet. Or for existing.

In Harry's case. For being a freak. Not that he agreed with the reasons for that particular insult. Simply possessing magic didn't make one a freak. However... being responsible for someone’s death certainly did. Having a lightning scar which allowed you to look into the mind of a mass murderer did, too.

Vernon's face expression was somehow distant. Hopeful. Like that of a pregnant woman awaiting the birth of her child. He looked down at the thing Vernon was carrying and realised that his uncle did treat that thing like a baby. His baby.

"This..." Vernon said dreamily... "is going to make us rich. Not you of course. I just need to show them once how well this is working and we're going to be rich."

Harry furrowed his brow. Vernon wasn't supposed to go to work anymore, but of course, he thought he could outwit the Order and Voldemort himself.

"We're going to show off... this. And you are coming."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because... if any of those freaks follow or attack us, you are going to protect us and... you'll be the first one to go. You owe me this, Potter."

Harry didn't feel that he owed his uncle anything but a ruined childhood, but of course, he would never say that. Vernon's malicious smile didn't leave much room for contradiction, however, Harry wasn't intimidated so easily.

"I'm not risking everyone’s life for some stupid money," said Harry angrily. "We're supposed to stay here this summer until the Order comes and protects us, remember? We are safe here. And what is it anyway?"

Slowly and rather gently, Vernon put down the suitcase with Grunning's best drill, the pride of his pathetic, overweight life.

Harry was fooled by the slow movements and ducked a little too late. The blow hit him on his left eye and he quickly felt it swelling shut. He suddenly realised that he was on the floor, panting for breath and seeing stars.

"YOU GET READY RIGHT NOW OR YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN, BOY!"

Harry struggled to get on his feet. As if he didn't wish that anyway... In the past three weeks, he had only had about five cold cans of soup. He didn't quite realise that it wasn't only the fact that every adult he had cared about... every adult who had cared about him was now dead and the wizarding world was slowly falling apart, no; the hunger was playing a great part in breaking Harry's spirits, but he wasn't aware of it.

He was going on a pointless, stupid trip to some deserted lunatic asylum to ensure that his uncle could demonstrate the power of a stupid drill, to earn money that he wasn't likely to ever spend.

When he sat down in the car next to a pale, scared-looking Dudley he just hoped that the Order would stop them and send them back home.

They didn't.