Harry Potter sat, crying on his small bed of holey blankets, crying from his last bloody punishment from his uncle, Vernon Dursley. His backside was covered in welts and cuts from Vernon's leather belt and that big, square gold-colored metal buckle. Idly, he figured it was now bloody gold-colored. Idly, he also wondered when his back stopped hurting and didn't feel like it was bleeding any longer, hoping his wishing hadn't fooled him from what was actually happening. Idly, idly...
He had been noticing that, whenever he wished for something hard enough and genuinely enough, it had a tendency to come true; unfortunately, it didn't always happen at the best of times, but then again, his wishing didn't tend to happen at the most ideal of moments. For instance, when he wasn't allowed more than a slice of bread, a slice of old cheese and half of a glass of water one night for dinner. He wished for lots of food, real food. He got it, right there, at the table, on the floor and on the counters. Pork roasts, beef roasts, various potato dishes, pizza and a wide range of other food items, with a large slice of strawberry cheesecake in his hands. Safe to say, his relatives were less than pleased. His aunt Petunia made him serve all of the food to his uncle and cousin Dudley, then clean everything when they were done. And Vernon, and Vernon...that was when the punishments got more severe than a smack on the head or a slap upside the head.
On the last family visit to London, when they were on Charring Cross Road, they passed by a shop his relatives didn't see, or at least pretended to not see, which piqued Harry's interests. He felt a burning desire to go there, a strong pull that he must go there, so he decided he shall, once he figured out how he could get away with it. Idly, he wondered if he could wish himself there...
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