Harry Potter had grown up in Aunt Petunia's house on Privet Drive, and on the whole, his life had not been good.
His meals were meager and poor, his clothes worn and oversized, and his home a cramped cupboard under the stairs.
Yet anyone who knew the full story hardly seemed in a position to condemn the conflicted, jealousy-prone Petunia.
After all, she was just an ordinary person, and she had risked retaliation from dark wizards to give Harry food, clothes, and schooling.
In the end, she had still honored their family ties. There were plenty of people far more monstrous than her.
In that respect, Petunia was rather like Snape-full of contradictions.
This holiday, Harry's living arrangements had improved considerably. He had a proper bedroom, though his uncle restricted his movements. Even his pet Hathaway could not fly outside for some fresh air.
With no adult wizard nearby, Harry did not dare practice spells. All he could do was stay cooped up at home every day, reviewing his textbooks.
Today, his uncle's family was entertaining an important business guest, and they had repeatedly warned Harry not to come downstairs and embarrass them.
Harry did not particularly care. He was merely a little sad: his birthday had passed several days ago, yet he had not received a single letter or gift from his friends.
"Maybe even Draco has forgotten me."
Muttering to himself, Harry picked up a magical photograph from his bedside table. In it, his mother and father danced together beneath a cherry blossom tree.
It was a Christmas gift Shawn had given him.
Harry gazed at it in a daze for a long while.
Just then, the enthusiastic voices of his uncle's family welcoming their guests drifted up from downstairs.
Harry sighed. Even someone as unpleasant as his