Harry, like almost every other person with a place to stay for Christmas break, started to panic. He felt as though his tongue had been ripped out of his mouth, for he couldn’t utter a word. His nails, scratching his forearm, started to draw blood, and he had to purposely stop himself before anyone noticed his behavior. Harry thought for a second that maybe going to Dumbledor in need of a new place to stay wouldn’t be such a bad idea. But then, he had a place; he was just not happy with it. He was also sure Dumbledor had a hunch about his living situations, for the man knew almost everything that went on, and if he knew and didn’t help Harry, it must be because his home life was perfectly normal. Harry started to doubt what was so bad at the Dursleys, as if his scars and trouble breathing weren’t facts by now. He wondered if maybe he just made it seem bigger in his head. They did, after all, provide him with food, a place to sleep, and clothes; he should be grateful! And surely he can’t expect to be treated like his aunt and uncle treated Dudley; Dudley was their son, and he, in fact, was not.