Chapter 62: A Miserable Life
That day, after returning from the station, Harry knocked on the door. Dudley opened it as if he had seen a ghost. Once inside, Dudley erupted into a frenzy—shouting, slamming doors, pounding on the floor, throwing things, and crying—turning the house into chaos and even calling both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia into the commotion.
Finally, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's trunk and locked it in the small black cupboard under the stairs. Then, like a monstrous warden, he let Harry in.
After that, they imposed countless rules: Harry was forbidden to mention anything related to Hogwarts, and even the word "magic" was banned.
They wouldn't allow him outside, nor could he meet with friends. Poor Hedwig was immediately confined to her cage, and Harry could only sneak her out at night for short periods.
But every time he was caught sneaking around like a night owl, it caused an uproar, and the whole family would team up to frighten him.
Who knew if they even slept at night? With all his belongings locked away under the stairs, the only training Harry could do was meditation. He spent most of his time meditating, but he wasn't sure if it was enough, or whether the method George had chosen for him was truly suitable—or maybe it was a combination of both.
At first, he did feel the benefits of meditation; at least it gave him energy. He deliberately let Hedwig out late at night, knowing he would be caught by the Dursleys each time. Harry even suspected the entire family was keeping watch over him.
Recalling that morning, Harry still felt some anger—but mostly at himself. "I was so stupid. They actually remembered my birthday… how ridiculous."
"George should remember he always does things methodically. I wonder if Hermione and Ron even remember that they went completely crazy over summer and didn't write to me," Harry thought, feeling both bored and restless in the attic.
Today, Uncle Vernon was hosting some important guests for dinner. Harry had to stay home and pretend he didn't exist.
They had been planning this for two weeks. A wealthy builder and his wife were visiting Uncle Vernon, possibly to place a large order for drilling equipment with his company. If successful, the deal would bring Uncle Vernon a huge sum.
They had even planned in advance to use this money to buy a villa in Marjoka.
Harry froze when he heard the door downstairs open. He dared not make a sound. If he spoke, the Dursleys would surely create another scene—and likely blame him for ruining the business deal. That would be disastrous.
"Maybe I should move out," Harry thought, holding his head. "The £5,000 George sent me will last a long time. If I only leave school for the summer, maybe it'll even last until graduation."
The idea excited him. He began calculating his daily expenses. "I don't eat much at the Dursleys'. Six summers add up to at most a year. A thousand pounds should be enough to last me until graduation."
But then he ran his hands through his hair, sinking into frustration. "I'm only twelve. No landlord will rent to me. If they see me alone, they'll call the authorities, and Uncle Vernon will come and take the house back. I…"
The UK was a developed modern country. Even in 1992, minors were strictly protected. Anyone seeing a twelve-year-old living alone would call the authorities immediately.
His guardians could get into trouble, and Harry would be sent to an orphanage—not what he wanted, though that orphanage would be no worse than the Dursleys'.
This was why the Dursleys had forbidden Harry contact with others since he was a child. They hated him, but as his legal guardians, they didn't dare send him to an orphanage. They could only pretend to care for him.
To appear as respectable, law-abiding citizens, they had to feign nobility and concern for the child of a deceased relative.
This was what a "gentleman," a "decent family," and an "upwardly mobile" household had to do. Though they despised Harry, they had to care for him—and were terrified of anyone seeing through their act. That fear fueled their hatred.
Bored and restless, Harry listened to the noise downstairs, picturing Hermione and Ron. He missed them terribly, even though they hadn't written to him, and had forgotten his birthday. He longed to open Hedwig's cage and let her write to them, telling them how much he missed them. Summer had already gone on for weeks without word from Ron and Hermione, and Harry felt disconnected from the magical world. He couldn't even prank Dudley anymore.
If it weren't for George's letters, he might have felt that his time at Hogwarts was nothing more than a dream. Now, all his luggage, wand, broomstick, spellbooks, and every item connected to magic were locked away in a secret cupboard under the stairs.
It made him feel deeply uneasy and embarrassed. He craved the attention of friends more than ever.
Life wasn't as bad as the previous eleven years, but Harry had tasted friendship and joy. He could no longer silently endure all suffering. He was vibrant and needed a normal life. He needed happiness.
He had fully realized that he could never return to that maddening, cold, dark cupboard.
Suddenly, Harry nearly screamed—a creature had appeared on his bed. It was a hideous, frightening little monster, with two large bat-like ears and protruding green eyes that covered two-thirds of its face.
"Ugly," Harry thought suddenly, recognizing the eyes as the same ones that had spied on him in the garden that morning.
"What do you want?" Trained as he was, Harry reacted quickly. He stepped back, assuming a defensive stance. Seeing no sign of attack, he grabbed a chair.
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