A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley… He couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!”
Christ my sister is the worst person on the planet and has every possible deplorable trait a person could have. The worst of it is she is so conceited and disillusioned that she holds herself on a pedestal and prances around in her fantasy world where the crown on her head is almost as big as the stick up her ass. I can't take this bullshit anymore, it is wearing me down and I feel like a damn fool letting her get to me but I don't know how to stop it.