Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They had a perfectly normal life, Mr Dursley selling drills for a large company, Mrs Dursley staying at home to care for their son Dudley, who was also perfectly normal. They lived in the average British two-story house, surrounded by a perfectly average garden showing off perfectly symmetrical flower beds with roses, chrysanthemums, and violets. The Dursleys' property was in no way distinguishable from any of their neighbours' properties, for Privet Drive seemed to be a place of dull repitition, where everything different was frowned upon.

Although the Dursleys would never have admitted it, there was one little factor in their lives that was not only imperfect but very much out of the ordinary. Besides Mr Dursley, who was a stout man with hardly any neck, his wife Mrs Dursley, who had twice as much neck as any person would believe, and their son Dudley, who was looking so much like his father it was almost unnatural, there was another boy living in the Dursley household. His name was Harry Potter and he looked as un-Dursley-ish as it was possible. When he had only been one year old, his parents had died in a car crash and he had ended up with his mother's sister and her family. In contrast to his aunt, uncle, and cousin, Harry had untidy black hair which always seemed to do whatever it wanted, he was too small for his age and almost underfed. The latter was underlined by the fact that he only had his cousin's old clothes to wear, which were much too big for him as his cousin was not only much taller but also much bigger than him. Considering the Dursleys not wanting to attract any attention, it was rather weird that Harry only got hand-me-down clothes which are ripped at some places more often than not. But it didn't matter. He had had a bad life at the Dursleys ever since he arrived there and it probably would never change. Or so he thought. But he would soon realise that he was mistaken.

It was a perfectly ordinary wednesday during the summer holidays, the sun was blazing terribly from the sky, even in the few shadows there were over 27 degrees. The bird bath in the Dursley's front garden had been full of water for a day or two but nobody had cared to refill it once it had dried out. Therefore there were no birds enjoying the wet coolness. Uncle Vernon was one of those people who didn't like birds because they tended to be so horribly noisy, so of course he was rather happy about the lack of them.

The television in the kitchen was turnt on and the family was sitting around the table eating pancakes, except Harry who, as always, stood in front of the oven providing them. The news anchor announced that this wednesday, July 24th, was officially going to be the hottest day during the past twenty years. Uncle Vernon looked at the thermometer near the window.

"Blimey, almost 30 degrees already! And it's 9 in the morning!" Sweat was running down his forehead, collecting at his brow. Harry was awaiting the moment when it would drip down onto his uncle's food. He had always thought that the latter was a disgusting man, not because he was rather fat but, particularly, because of his behaviour.

"Ah, there's the postwoman. Boy, go and get the mail!" Harry hurried to get to the hallway before his uncle started telling him how useless he was and that he couldn't even do an easy task like getting the bloody post from the doormat. Of course, Harry was capable of many things and getting the post was something he had learned at a very early age but sometimes he just didn't move fast enough to satisfy his uncle's expectations.

Harry reached the doormat and picked up the pile of letters. Although he had never gotten a letter in his entire life, he always checked the addresses of every single thing arriving at the house, just in case. He had never been lucky. Yet. Reaching the penultimate letter, he rubbed his eyes. But the name on the envelope didn't change, it really was his own. But the address was rather funny, he had never seen anything like it before. It said:

Mr H Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs,

4 Privet Drive,

Little Whinging

Surrey.

"What the hell is taking you so long?!" Uncle Vernon's voice brought him back to his senses right away. He hurried back to the kitchen but not before deciding that his aunt and uncle probably wouldn't let him have his letter and therefore throwing under the pillow in his cupboard. When entering, everyone was looking at him.

"What did you do out there? Surely you don't need that much time to go to the door, pick up some letters, and come back here?!" Vernon's tone was unmistakably angry. Harry didn't bother to answer and gave everything to his uncle. "So?"

"I checked if maybe there was a letter for me, too." His aunt and uncle started laughing and, after a moment, even Dudley joined in, looking from one parent to the other. It hadn't been a lie but, of course, he would never tell them that he actually had received one.

"And who do you think would write to YOU?" Petunia's words didn't hurt him. Not anymore. He had withstood her mockery for several years. Besides, he knew very well that she was right. Nobody could write to him because he didn't have friends or family. The more he wondered who had written him the letter hidden under his pillow, especially with this address on the envelope. Nobody knew that he was actually living in a cupboard. But there it had been on the letter, as if it was totally normal to write a person's bed's exact location on it.

Just as Harry was about to stand up, something extraordinary happened. The very last letter in the pile looked like the same letter Harry had just hidden in his cupboard. He suddenly felt queasy. Had he accidently put the wrong letter under his pillow? He swallowed hard.

"Petunia, look at this letter." Vernon's voice was suddenly quiet, as if something had happened that wasn't supposed to happen at all. Harry's aunt went over to see what her husband was making a fuss about but when she saw the address, her eyes became wide and all colour seemed to drain from her face. Harry was moving down on his chair, trying very much to become invisible.

"What is it?!" Dudley had gotten up and around his parents to take a look at the envelope before any of them was able to react. Harry had never seen his cousin this agile. "Oh, it's for me!" He grabbed the envelope but his father wouldn't let it go. Had Harry heard that right? The envelope was for his stupid cousin. Thank god. He had hidden the right letter after all.

"Dad, give me my letter!" Dudley was already speaking way louder than necessary and Harry had a feeling that he'd very soon be throwing a temper tantrum. Vernon stood up and held the letter high above his head, so that Dudley couldn't reach it. But instead of giving up, the latter climbed on a chair and leaned in on his father to grab the envelope. However, while still shouting at his father to give him what was his, he lost balance and almost fell.

"Dudley, be reasonable! This is not meant fot you, it's just a mistake!" While Vernon tried to hold the letter as far away from Dudley as possible, Petunia just stood there watching them in Horror. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. His aunt and uncle had never before forbidden Dudley anything.

"That's enough." At first her voice was quiet but she had apparently gotten a hold of herself again. "I said that's enough!" Both Vernon and Dudley stopped for a moment, looking at her in awe. But not for long. Only after a second or so Harry's cousin again grabbed for the letter. But Petunia was apparently having none of it. She grabbed her son by the upper arm and almost dragged him down the chair. "Go to your room, Dudley!" Harry looked at her and then at his cousin who seemed to be dumbstruck. Never before had she spoken to her precious son like that. Of course, he didn't really know what to do right away, if she was serious or not.

"Dudley, I'm serious. Go to your room." The quiet tone she used now seemed to frighten Harry's cousin even more. He slowly cimbed down the chair and looked at his mother again, checking if she really was serious. Petunia raised her arm and pointed in direction of the door. "Now." Dudley still looked like he didn't know what to do but now was doing as his mother had said. Harry was still sitting there, staring at both of them, his mouth slightly open. "You, too!" Her words brought him back to reality fast. He stood up and left the room right after his cousin who had already run up the stairs. But Harry stayed in the hallway, listening. Maybe his aunt and uncle would say something which made him understand the situation. They both had acted very un-Dursley-ish ever since he had brought the letter in. He was very glad that he had thought of hiding his own letter. If his aunt and uncle reacted to Dudley getting a letter like this, god knows how they would have reacted if they knew that Harry had gotten one, too.

After a while, Harry decided to go to his cupboard to play a bit. He reached the door and opened it but just as he was going to slip inside, he heard voices in the kitchen. Or rather, one voice. His aunt's. She said four words which made even less sense to him than anything that had happened until now.

"I recognise the handwriting."