Not for the first time that summer, Harry was resentful of the trace that prevented him from using a cooling charm to try and make himself more comfortable. Instead, he had resorted to staying out of the house, and out of the Dursley’s way. Still waking up at six am out of habit, he would shuffle downstairs, past the scrutinising gaze of his aunt and uncle, snatch a slice of toast for breakfast, and leave as soon as his shoes were on - returning as late as he possibly could, usually just as the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon. He thought he and his aunt had come to some kind of silent agreement - if he stayed away as much as possible, she would save a large portion of dinner for him to reheat when he got home. He was never particularly hungry though recently. Loneliness and despair often gnawed at his stomach, making the idea of eating unappealing at best, and an insurmountable challenge at worst.