CHAPTER ONE
Dudley Day
When Harry Potter entered the small kitchen of Number Four, Privet Drive, he expected no cheery "good morning" or jovial "happy hello." And what he got was none more than his expectancy. In fact, he was surprised when his Uncle Vernon gave a slight nod in his general direction. Other than that, there was no stir at all. But when Harry realized that all had happened was Vernon was talking to Aunt Petunia and gestured slightly when talking about the Prime Minister, Harry slinked over to the counter and started breakfast.
This would have shocked any normal person hearing, but it came as no surprise when Harry's whale of a cousin Dudley Dursley entered the room to a tumulous array of greetings and plastered smiles.
"This is going to be you best birthday ever, dinkilly duddums!" squealed Aunt Petunia with joy.
"How many?" came the generalized grunt from the mammoth wad of blubber waddling across the room.
Nobody was surprised about this request of the number of presents.
"52! Isn't that marvelous! It's amazing," Aunt Petunia expressed rapturously. "We know that you'll be jumping out of your skin when you open them!"
"Not literally, boy, not to worry," said Uncle Vernon with a wobbly chortle. Dudley all but cannonballed into the pyramid of gifts and tore the paper off countless presents. Harry dashed around, picking up the strewn wrapping paper and stuffing it all in a large plastic garbage sack.
After Dudley was done with his tearing and ripping, Harry was sweating from darting around the kitchen fixing breakfast and cleaning up paper, and Dudley was sweating from having to move his arms around for more than five minutes. Harry served breakfast, and after he was neglected much food, he cleaned up the dishes and scrambled into his room to change his clothes.
Harry ran through his door and flopped on his bed with a wistful "Hey Hedwig." Hedwig was his owl.
Harry Potter was a wizard. A very neglected one, but great nonetheless. He attended the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he was approaching his sixth year. He didn't belong in the Muggle world, he was meant to be a wizard.
"HARRY! GET DOWN HERE!" a shout rang from the first floor.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry threw on some clothes and ran down the stairs. He was greeted by a bunch of squinting faces. He noticed one of Uncle Vernon's fat, purple fingers resting on a thick, yellow letter with fancy green writing.
"Your letter came."
Harry could see why Uncle Vernon was angry. The bird obviously flew into the house and dropped the letter on the table. Aunt Petunia piped up.
"The ugly thing came into my clean house! On my dinky Dudleyums's birthday!"
Dudley put on a fake sad face. "He ruined everything!"
Harry glared at his cousin's pouty face. Uncle Vernon gave Harry a look full of hatred and venom.
"Listen, I'll just take the letter upstairs, and we'll act like this never happened, okay?" Harry suggested hopefully.
"If it's okay with Dudley," grimaced Uncle Vernon like an Indian cheated out of too many peace treaties.
Dudley gave a small, trembling nod. Harry ran over to the table before anyone could change their minds and snatched the letter off. Then he turned and ran up to his room and all but slammed the door. He collapsed on his bed.
How could life be so unfair? He never had his birthdays noticed, let alone celebrated. The only notice that he ever got on his birthday was, "comb your hair!" from Uncle Vernon. He almost dropped off to sleep. Then he remembered the letter.
He grabbed it from the foot of his bed and started to read it. It explained what he needed to get for his next year at Hogwarts. But he still had a small problem on his hands. Could he get out of this house? The Dursleys weren't exactly the most charitable people on the planet.
"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon called again from the first floor. Harry ran down the stairs.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry said as he stumbled over the last step. He wasn't expecting much.
"Well, the last few years," Uncle Vernon responded. "We noticed that there was always some sort of ordeal here about you getting to. er. London to leave. Well, we don't want any pig tails or ripped steel this year, so we'll take you."
"Thank you, Uncle Vernon!" Harry replied, astounded.
"Now, don't sound too cheery about it. Get upstairs to your room."
Harry ran up the stairs into his room. He closed the door nicely and got out his trunk to finish on some last minute homework.
Harry never got time to do his homework over the summer away from Hogwarts. The Dursleys were obviously trying to squeeze all the magic out of him, so he wouldn't be able to return to 'that awful place', or give Dudley a pig tail like his giant friend, Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts, did in Harry's first year at Hogwarts.
Harry didn't know what happened until it was too late. He was writing the ingredients to a Wiggenweld potion on a piece of parchment with his quill, when he dropped a bit of ink. It landed right on his bedspread, on the white part. Harry knew that he would be locked in his cupboard this year.
Conveniently, Aunt Petunia yelled up from the basement, "HARRY, LAUNDRY!"
Harry mumbled, "Why me, I had to face Voldemort, and now I have to face Aunt Petunia."
Voldemort was almost as evil as Harry's Aunt and Uncle. Voldemort was an Evil Wizard formerly named Tom Riddle. He killed a lot of people in Muggle Great Britain, and even more in Wizard Great Britain. He was the most evil person on the planet, and it was him that killed Harry's parents. And just when Voldemort's wand rose up to Harry's forehead and Voldemort mumbled the outlawed Avada Kadevra Killing Curse, nothing happened. In fact, the inverse happened. Voldemort was forced, a quivering blob of primordial soup, into hiding, while Harry escaped with just a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. But did that stop him? No.
Harry gathered up all the dirty clothes in his bedroom, besides the bedspread, and threw them down the laundry chute.
"YOUR BEDSPREAD!" Aunt Petunia added after a second. Harry cringed and yanked the spread off the mattress and made sure he could savor his freedom while it tumbled slowly down the chute.
Harry hoped Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice the ink blotch. But, conveniently, she did. "HARRY JAMES POTTER!" There's a reason God invented the Middle Name. So kids know when they are in trouble. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR BEDSPREAD! INK STAINS. BLOTCHES!"
Aunt Petunia thundered up the basement stairs. Harry quietly and mournfully stepped down the second floor stairs.
"What's all this about, honey?" Uncle Vernon inquired, expressing something that remotely resembled concern.
"I think Harry's been doing his homework up in his bedroom!" Aunt Petunia glared. "I'll leave you to take care of him. Before I explode."
"Well, well, well, Harry," Uncle Vernon taunted as Aunt Petunia grimaced down the basement stairs. "I don't think you'll be out of your room for a very long time, Harry."
Harry gaped. He knew something like this would happen. And he knew better than to disagree. He solemnly was led upstairs into his room, his prison.
When Harry Potter entered the small kitchen of Number Four, Privet Drive, he expected no cheery "good morning" or jovial "happy hello." And what he got was none more than his expectancy. In fact, he was surprised when his Uncle Vernon gave a slight nod in his general direction. Other than that, there was no stir at all. But when Harry realized that all had happened was Vernon was talking to Aunt Petunia and gestured slightly when talking about the Prime Minister, Harry slinked over to the counter and started breakfast.
This would have shocked any normal person hearing, but it came as no surprise when Harry's whale of a cousin Dudley Dursley entered the room to a tumulous array of greetings and plastered smiles.
"This is going to be you best birthday ever, dinkilly duddums!" squealed Aunt Petunia with joy.
"How many?" came the generalized grunt from the mammoth wad of blubber waddling across the room.
Nobody was surprised about this request of the number of presents.
"52! Isn't that marvelous! It's amazing," Aunt Petunia expressed rapturously. "We know that you'll be jumping out of your skin when you open them!"
"Not literally, boy, not to worry," said Uncle Vernon with a wobbly chortle. Dudley all but cannonballed into the pyramid of gifts and tore the paper off countless presents. Harry dashed around, picking up the strewn wrapping paper and stuffing it all in a large plastic garbage sack.
After Dudley was done with his tearing and ripping, Harry was sweating from darting around the kitchen fixing breakfast and cleaning up paper, and Dudley was sweating from having to move his arms around for more than five minutes. Harry served breakfast, and after he was neglected much food, he cleaned up the dishes and scrambled into his room to change his clothes.
Harry ran through his door and flopped on his bed with a wistful "Hey Hedwig." Hedwig was his owl.
Harry Potter was a wizard. A very neglected one, but great nonetheless. He attended the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he was approaching his sixth year. He didn't belong in the Muggle world, he was meant to be a wizard.
"HARRY! GET DOWN HERE!" a shout rang from the first floor.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry threw on some clothes and ran down the stairs. He was greeted by a bunch of squinting faces. He noticed one of Uncle Vernon's fat, purple fingers resting on a thick, yellow letter with fancy green writing.
"Your letter came."
Harry could see why Uncle Vernon was angry. The bird obviously flew into the house and dropped the letter on the table. Aunt Petunia piped up.
"The ugly thing came into my clean house! On my dinky Dudleyums's birthday!"
Dudley put on a fake sad face. "He ruined everything!"
Harry glared at his cousin's pouty face. Uncle Vernon gave Harry a look full of hatred and venom.
"Listen, I'll just take the letter upstairs, and we'll act like this never happened, okay?" Harry suggested hopefully.
"If it's okay with Dudley," grimaced Uncle Vernon like an Indian cheated out of too many peace treaties.
Dudley gave a small, trembling nod. Harry ran over to the table before anyone could change their minds and snatched the letter off. Then he turned and ran up to his room and all but slammed the door. He collapsed on his bed.
How could life be so unfair? He never had his birthdays noticed, let alone celebrated. The only notice that he ever got on his birthday was, "comb your hair!" from Uncle Vernon. He almost dropped off to sleep. Then he remembered the letter.
He grabbed it from the foot of his bed and started to read it. It explained what he needed to get for his next year at Hogwarts. But he still had a small problem on his hands. Could he get out of this house? The Dursleys weren't exactly the most charitable people on the planet.
"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon called again from the first floor. Harry ran down the stairs.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry said as he stumbled over the last step. He wasn't expecting much.
"Well, the last few years," Uncle Vernon responded. "We noticed that there was always some sort of ordeal here about you getting to. er. London to leave. Well, we don't want any pig tails or ripped steel this year, so we'll take you."
"Thank you, Uncle Vernon!" Harry replied, astounded.
"Now, don't sound too cheery about it. Get upstairs to your room."
Harry ran up the stairs into his room. He closed the door nicely and got out his trunk to finish on some last minute homework.
Harry never got time to do his homework over the summer away from Hogwarts. The Dursleys were obviously trying to squeeze all the magic out of him, so he wouldn't be able to return to 'that awful place', or give Dudley a pig tail like his giant friend, Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts, did in Harry's first year at Hogwarts.
Harry didn't know what happened until it was too late. He was writing the ingredients to a Wiggenweld potion on a piece of parchment with his quill, when he dropped a bit of ink. It landed right on his bedspread, on the white part. Harry knew that he would be locked in his cupboard this year.
Conveniently, Aunt Petunia yelled up from the basement, "HARRY, LAUNDRY!"
Harry mumbled, "Why me, I had to face Voldemort, and now I have to face Aunt Petunia."
Voldemort was almost as evil as Harry's Aunt and Uncle. Voldemort was an Evil Wizard formerly named Tom Riddle. He killed a lot of people in Muggle Great Britain, and even more in Wizard Great Britain. He was the most evil person on the planet, and it was him that killed Harry's parents. And just when Voldemort's wand rose up to Harry's forehead and Voldemort mumbled the outlawed Avada Kadevra Killing Curse, nothing happened. In fact, the inverse happened. Voldemort was forced, a quivering blob of primordial soup, into hiding, while Harry escaped with just a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. But did that stop him? No.
Harry gathered up all the dirty clothes in his bedroom, besides the bedspread, and threw them down the laundry chute.
"YOUR BEDSPREAD!" Aunt Petunia added after a second. Harry cringed and yanked the spread off the mattress and made sure he could savor his freedom while it tumbled slowly down the chute.
Harry hoped Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice the ink blotch. But, conveniently, she did. "HARRY JAMES POTTER!" There's a reason God invented the Middle Name. So kids know when they are in trouble. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR BEDSPREAD! INK STAINS. BLOTCHES!"
Aunt Petunia thundered up the basement stairs. Harry quietly and mournfully stepped down the second floor stairs.
"What's all this about, honey?" Uncle Vernon inquired, expressing something that remotely resembled concern.
"I think Harry's been doing his homework up in his bedroom!" Aunt Petunia glared. "I'll leave you to take care of him. Before I explode."
"Well, well, well, Harry," Uncle Vernon taunted as Aunt Petunia grimaced down the basement stairs. "I don't think you'll be out of your room for a very long time, Harry."
Harry gaped. He knew something like this would happen. And he knew better than to disagree. He solemnly was led upstairs into his room, his prison.