In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, nor yet a dry bare sand hole: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort.

But that is an entirely different story. Our legend begins in a small town in England. The towns name was Little Whinging in Surrey, but to be exact, it takes place at an impeccably maintained house at Number Four Privet Drive. Now, if there were no numbers, you almost wouldn't be able to tell the difference between this house and the rest; for every home was the same. Neither a leaf nor a blade of grass was out of place. But still, for only a few moments more, a person could see three kids – no, young people walking up the road to Number Four, the Dursley Household.

One person was a tall boy, with striking flame-red hair stood at the left. "How long will we have to stay here?" He asked generally.

"Well, when is Bills' and Phlegm's wedding?" the lady on the right said. She was the shortest of the bunch, with brown, bushy hair, and was smirking as if she said something funny.

"Hermione," the final boy in the middle groaned. He was a usual comer to Privet Drive, living there before he went off to boarding school, much-like his pig-like brother. The black-haired boy lived at the Dursley house, but if you asked the family, they would try to deny any relation. They have always said that the middle boy went to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"Fine! Fleur," Hermione said, huffily. "You happy, now, Harry?" Now, something was strange about this Trio. Not their clothes, black robes lined on the edge with red, or the fact that the way they stood made them look like the Cingular wireless bars. Perhaps it may have had to do with the long sticks they had in their pockets, or even the fact that they had small, tiny miniature trunks in their hand. But, to them, this was normal. For you see, Harry Hermione, and the red-haired boy, whose name is Ron, are all wizards. Well, Hermione's a witch, but, you get the idea.

Ron spoke up again. "The wedding's on August 11th. We have to stay that long!" He sounded aghast.

Hermione sighed, but Harry interrupted her before she said anything. Ever since they got together, just after Dumbledore's funeral, they started fighting and making up even more. First it was "I hate you!" or "I should have stayed with Lavender!" Then it was "I'm so sorr-'' It was usually stopped by a session of hugging. That happened eleven times in the five minutes before they got on the train. While they got together, Harry broke up at Dumbledore's funeral. His now ex-girlfriend Ginny had to be dumped, for Harry knew that his arch-enemy, Voldemort, would slay all that were close to him. He had done it many times before.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he answered Ron's last question. "No. I told you just till July 31st. I got to turn 17 to use magic, remember."

All this time, Harry was looking down. But once he didn't hear an answer, he looked up. They were at the door. Harry braced himself for his abusive guardians and only living relatives. The Dursleys.