Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer belongs to whoever wrote the disclaimer for all the stories at FictionAlley dot Org. I don't even own this disclaimer, isn't that pathetic?

Prologue

'Get the post, Dudley.'

'Make Harry get it.'

'Get the post, Harry.'

'Make Dudley get it.'

'Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.'

'Oh, I'll get it,' Aunt Petunia said in exasperation, and got up.

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry. Harry looked at his plate and didn't say anything. Dudley poked him with his Smeltings stick anyway. Harry winced.

Aunt Petunia came in a minute later, looking slightly shaken.

'What's wrong, Petunia?'

Aunt Petunia shook her head, glancing at Harry. Uncle Vernon frowned but didn't push further.

Aunt Petunia handed the post to Vernon, who looked through it.

'Bill,' he muttered, placing it on the table for later. 'Ah, a postcard from Marge,' he said, turning it over and reading it. 'Marge's ill,' he informed Aunt Petunia. 'Ate a funny whelk…'

Harry got up and cleared everyone's plates, placing them in the dishwasher.

W00T

That afternoon, after Harry and Dudley had gone to school and Vernon was at home on lunch break, Aunt Petunia went back to the hallway and took the letter from where she had hidden it in the drawer.

'Vernon,' she said quietly when she re-entered the living room, where her husband was watching the television. 'This came in the post this morning.' She handed the letter to her husband. It had an address written on in green ink:

Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

Vernon immediately paled upon seeing it.

'How could they know where he sleeps?' Petunia whispered. 'You don't think they're watching the house – '

'Watching – spying – might be following us,' Vernon muttered.

'But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want…'

'No,' said Vernon. 'No, we won't do anything. If they don't get an answer…yes, that's best…if we don't do anything…'

'But…'

'I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?' Vernon snapped, throwing the letter into the fire.

W00T

That night, Uncle Vernon told Harry he'd be moving to Dudley's second bedroom.

'Why?'

'Don't ask questions,' his uncle snapped. 'Just do it!'

It only took Harry one trip to move all his belongings from the tiny cupboard to his new room. Downstairs, he could hear Dudley crying and throwing a huge tantrum over losing his bedroom: 'But I need that room…make him get out…'

W00T

The next morning, when Harry arrived downstairs for breakfast, Dudley was in shock. He'd cried, wailed, whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, thrown his pet turtle out through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.

They all heard the sound of the flap in the door closing, signalling the arrival of the post.

'I'll get it,' Uncle Vernon said quickly, getting up.

He came back in a minute later with a funny look on his face.

W00T

That afternoon, when Harry and Dudley were at school and he was on lunch break, Vernon showed a letter to his wife. 'Another one,' he muttered. Petunia's eyes widened at the address:

Mr H. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

'We have to write back, Vernon.'

'How? It doesn't have a return address!'

'I saw…an owl…delivering it this morning,' Petunia whispered. 'It's perched on the roof. Perhaps we could persuade it to take a letter back.'

'All right,' Vernon grumbled. 'I'll write a reply.'

W00T

The next morning, Harry arrived downstairs for breakfast as the flap in the front door closed with a snap, signalling the arrival of that day's post.

'I'll get it,' Aunt Petunia said quickly, getting up. 'You, sit down,' she ordered Harry, pushing him back inside the dining-room.

Harry thought this rather odd.

Aunt Petunia came back inside a minute later, looking very pleased about something.