Harry yelped quietly as his bare feet came in contact with freshly cut grass. He giggled again and breathe in fresh air, not the air filled with the metallic smell of blood.

He looked to his right, seeing a mother and her son staring at him disgusted.

"Mommy, he's so ugly! Look at his head!" The boy cried, pointing at Harry. The mom grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Billy, don't look at him and he won't look at you." She said to him, starting to run away.

"But mummy, he looks weird! He looks like a freak!"

"That's because he is a freak. We do not associate with people like him."

And with that, they ran away, leaving Harry confused as standing on the yard. What did he look like?

"It's all the Dursley's fault prob'ly. Puttin' me in the cubord is bad, no food is bad too I think, and hitting is bad I think," Harry said, starting to think loud.

Harry heard a gasp, followed by slight coughing. Harry snapped his head over and looked at the source of the noise, seeing a little petite woman staring at him.

"Deary, what were you saying?" She frowned.

"Uh, who are you?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Dear, you don't have to be afraid of me," she smiled softly. "I'm Ms. Figg."