Harry Potter was a very unusual boy in many ways. For one, his whole family was afraid of him. Secondly, he had a lightning scar on his head. Thirdly, he was a wizard. And even for a wizard, he still was strange.
When Harry was one year old, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, whose name people are still afraid to say, came and cursed Harry and his parents. It destroyed his house, killed his parents, but for some reason, failed to kill Harry. Instead, he got away with only his lightning scar. And for some reason, Voldemort lost his powers the instant he failed to kill Harry.
Almost every time at his years at Hogwarts, Harry had met up with Voldemort. In his first year, he had seen the real Voldemort, alive and desperate, sharing another's soul. In his second year, it was through his diary that Voldemort had written when he was 15. In his third year, he hadn't seen Voldemort himself, but one of his devoted followers, Peter Pettigrew. Each time Harry had survived, but only just. Harry admitted he was lucky to even be standing here today.
Harry sighed and stared out of the window. He still wasn't asleep, although it was almost dawn. Ever since he had come home, the Dursleys all had begun to be very careful of him. This was due to Aunt Marge's mishap, he supposed. Even Dudley was nice to him. Sort of.
Hedwig was watching him. Suddenly a tiny owl flew in. It was Ron's owl, present of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. Harry caught the owl, released its burden, and put it in the cage with Hedwig. Hedwig turned her beak up at the sight of him, although he nipped her companionably. Suddenly another owl swooped in. Harry recognized him as the owl that had delivered the Hogwarts letter last year. He dropped the letter and flew away again.
Harry picked up his letter. He clutched his Hogsmeade permission form in the other hand, signed by Sirius. Where was Sirius now, anyway? Then he turned to Ron's package and opened it. Out fell two tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Harry glanced at it more cautiously; perhaps he was too tired. But, no, it was two tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. But why two? He read the not that followed:
Dear Harry,
How are you? I sent you both of the Quidditch tickets, since Mum's afraid I'll lose them or something like that, and Dad had a hard time getting it from work. I'll come and get you.
Hermione's coming too. I sent her her ticket already. Consider this your birthday gift. Not! I have something else for you, but I'll give it to you at the World Cup.
Hope to see you soon!,
Ron
Harry glanced at the date on the tickets. The Quidditch World Cup was on his birthday! He quickly stuffed it under the loose floorboard, trying not to wrinkle it, in case Dudley caught sight of it.
Dudley. He was getting increasingly afraid of Harry every moment, since Harry was almost half way through his Hogwarts training. Next year Harry wouldn't be an underage wizard and could perform magic, hopefully.
Tired but happy, Harry went to bed and finally fell asleep.
The next morning, the Dursleys ignored him as usual. He had his usual breakfast and turned to Uncle Vernon, who was reading the newspaper.
He turned suspiciously to Harry and noticed Ron's letter in Harry's pocket. "That isn't another form you want me to sign, is it?"
"No."
"Well, then, what is it? Come on, spit it out." "Um, Ron is going to take me to the Quidditch World Cup. Would you mind?"
Uncle Vernon glared at him. "No, you may not. I forbid you to associate with your - your friends who are - are just like you during the summer! Especially one who is obnoxious enough to come calling you because you gave him our number!"
"But - but Ron already got the tickets!"
"This - this 'Ron' can go invite other friends! You may not associate with him! I put my foot down on it!"
"You're wearing a slipper," said Dudley stupidly, "and it's Mum's, too."
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry again.
"But - but I didn't say anything!"
"Go to your room! And do something about your hair!"
Harry trudged back up to his room. Why, why did he have to bring the letter downstairs? Why? Now Uncle Vernon was going to find a way to keep Harry in, and knowing Uncle Vernon, something cruel, like the summer before he was going to be a second year. Nevertheless, Harry couldn't have explained to him later though, why, all of a sudden, the Weasleys were all of a sudden appearing at dinner or some other occasion to pick him up. Aunt Petunia would go ballistic for sure.
He peeled the floorboard up and heard steps sounding on the stairs. He quickly put the floorboard back, turned, and kneeled, looking out of the window, trying to look as if he'd always been there. Uncle Vernon opened the door.
"Out." He pointed to the hall.
"Wha -"
"OUT!"
Harry quickly dodged out of the room, avoiding Uncle Vernon's fist. He heard him stamping around the room, knocking on walls, as if looking for something hollow.
Harry gulped. Something hollow. If Uncle Vernon took his tickets away, how would he be able to face Mr. Weasley? And Ron? That would mean only Hermione could go . . . Harry didn't want to think about it.
Ah ha!" came Uncle Vernon's triumphant cry. He barged out of the room, holding the two tickets, and ripped them apart before Harry's eyes. He let them flutter to the floor and grabbed Harry's arm and shoved him into Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's cupboard, in their room.
You'll stay there, boy, and you'll never go to that World Cup! Never! Never!" Then, cackling like an idiot, he locked the cupboard.
Harry lay down in the dark. So, back in the cupboard again, eh? a voice said in his head.