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Chapter 2 – Five

The next Christmas wasn't any better than the last.

Dudley's stocking was a huge, furry red sack in which Harry, who was five years old at the time, could have fit inside comfortably. Next to it, even more pitiful by comparison, was one of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

Harry, who at the time still retained a slight belief in the bearded old man that climbs down chimneys and rides a reindeer sleigh, decided to wait for the portly St Nicholas and give him a piece of his mind. Why did Dudley, who had been nothing but bad, receive so many presents while Harry got only a pencil?

So after he was sure that the Dursleys were in bed, he sneaked out of his cupboard and into the kitchen. Plopping himself on the floor beside the fireplace, Harry leaned back against a chair leg and waited. Ten o'clock…eleven o'clock… But five year olds, after all, became drowsy easily, and Harry slowly found himself drifting off.


Vernon creeped quietly down the stairs, this made somewhat difficult by the giant shopping bag in his hands. He hoped that the stocking would be able to take so much weight. He left the lights off. It would only blind him. As it was, he was only vaguely aware of a dark shape in front of him before he tripped over the small, sleeping form of Harry Potter.


Harry woke up to a sudden, loud crashing sound. The floor was hard and cold against his back, and he discovered that he couldn't breathe because of a huge man on top of him, crushing his ribcage. Harry wondered if this was Santa. He opened his mouth, whether to shout or cry, he wasn't sure, when the man climbed off him, muttering under his breath. Harry realized that it was not Santa Claus, but an enraged Uncle Vernon.

His uncle glowered at him, and for a while, neither of them spoke. A vein pulsed on the man's forehead. Harry could hear Dudley wailing upstairs, and Aunt Petunia's footsteps making their way towards his cousin's bedroom. The silence that followed triggered Uncle Vernon's vocal cords.

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING, BOY, SNOOPING AROUND THE HOUSE LIKE THAT?" Uncle Vernon's face rapidly turned from red to a deep purple.

"I was waiting for Santa Claus," Harry tried to explain.

"SANTA CLAUS DOES NOT EXIST!" roared Uncle Vernon, though not loud enough for Dudley to hear, "GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD AND STAY THERE UNTIL I TELL YOU OTHERWISE!"


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