The escape of the Brazilian Boa constrictor had earned my longest ever punishment. By the time I was allowed out of my cupboard, the summer holidays had started. Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote-control airplane and knocked down Mrs. Figg with his new racing bike as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

I was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcom and Gordon were all big and stupid, but Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot. That meant Dudley was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in their leader's favorite sport, Harry Hunting.

I spent as much time as I could away from the house. Other kids might dread going back to school, but I was excited. For the first time in my life, I wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Smeltings, Uncle Vernon's private school. Piers was attending as well.

I would be attending Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was funny. "They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall." He told me. "Want to practice?"

"No thanks. The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might be sick." I ran off before Dudley could work out what I said. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving me at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. She'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them before. She let me watch television and gave me a piece of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years. Still, I wouldn't complain.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smelting's boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called bloaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other when the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later in life.

As I looked at Dudley in his new Knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe how Ickle Dudleykins looked so handsome and grown up. I didn't trust myself to speak. I thought two of my ribs had broken from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when I went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. I went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" I asked Aunt Petunia.

Her lips tightened as they did whenever I dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform." She said.

I looked in the tub again. "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid." Snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

I thought it best not to argue. I was always handed Dudley's old clothes. I was going to look like I was wearing bits of old elephant skin the first day at Stonewall High. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from my new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere on the table.

I heard the click of the mail slot and automatically went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Marge who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – A letter for me.

No one had ever written to him. Who would? I had no friends, no other relatives – I didn't belong to the library, so I never got notes asking for the books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald – green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, hand and letter trembling, I saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms, a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, Boy!" Shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" Uncle Vernon chuckled at his own joke. I went back to the kitchen, still in staring at the letter. I handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down and began to slowly open the yellow envelope.

"Dad! Dad, Harry's got something!" The letter was ripped out of my hands by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" I tried to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" Sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. Within seconds, it was grayish white.

"P – P – Petunia!" He gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it and looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. "Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!"

"Get out, both of you." Uncle Vernon croaked, stuffing the letter back inside it's envelope.

"I want my letter. As it is mine."

"Let me see it!" Dudley demanded.

"OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared. He took us buy the scruffs of our necks and threw us into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. I and Dudley had a furious fight over who got to listen at the keyhole, but Dudley, being heavier than I was, won. I cursed the unfairness of the world.

That evening I was moved to Dudley's second bedroom. Everything in there was broken in some way, but it was bigger than my cupboard. I had to get that letter. What followed was nothing short of rebellion. I had trodden on Vernon trying to get the morning mail first. The only thing that was fun about that was the satisfying feeling I got stepping on Vernon's face. I was also looking terrible since I had many bruises for my scuffles. Dudley's tantrums had become nothing but background noise.

Vernon started to nail shut cracks in the window edges and doorways. A letter could slip through, and the letters even came through by hiding in eggs. On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table, looking rather tired and ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays." Uncle Vernon said cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers. Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney and caught him smartly on the back of the head. Next moment, a flood of letters came bursting from the fireplace like bullets. I leapt into the air trying to catch one.

Uncle Vernon seized me around the waist and threw me into the hall. Dazed from the impact with the floor, I got up in time to see the door being slammed shut. Letters were still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it." Uncle Vernon was pulling great tufts out of his mustache. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

Ten minutes later, I was in the car, speeding towards the highway. Aunt Petunia did'nt dare ask where we were going. Every now and then, Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake 'em off…shake 'em off," he would mutter everytime he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. Dudley's howling was getting tiresome, but I had learned to tune it out. Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy – looking hotel on the outskirts of the big city. I shared a room with twin beds and Dudley, who snored loudly. I stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering why the Dursley's seemed so terrified.

I had just finished breakfast, which consisted of stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast, when the owner of the hotel came over to our table. "'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter. I made a grab for it but Uncle Vernon knocked my hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them." Uncle Vernon stood up quickly and followed her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better to just go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Today was Monday, which meant tomorrow was my eleventh birthday. Uncle Vernon stopped the car, locked us all inside and got out. While we waited it began to rain, great drops beat on the roof of the car.

Uncle Vernon came back and was smiling. He was carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Petunia when she asked what he'd brought. "Found the perfect place!" Uncle Vernon announced. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing out to sea, at a large shack. "Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon said gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentlemen's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron gray water below them.

"I've already got us some ration's so all aboard!" Uncle Vernon said. It was freezing in the boat. Icy rain and rain battered the boat. After what felt like hours, we reached the rock and Uncle Vernon led the way, slipping and sliding, to the shack. I was soaked to the bone and miserable. I should've taken my time and opened my letter at the door that morning.

The shack was drafty, cold and smelled strongly of seaweed. The fireplace was damp and cold. The "rations" as it turned out where bags of chips for each of them and four bananas. As night fell, the storm got even worse. Waves crashed against the rock. Sending spray angainst the walls of the hut and rattling the filthy windows of the hut.

Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets and made a nest for Dudley on the moth eaten couch, while Petunia and Vernon went to the lumpy bed next door. I was left with the thinnest and most ragged blanket. The storm raged more and more furiously as the night went on. I couldn't sleep.

I shivered and rolled over, trying to get comfortable. My stomach complained of hunger. Low rolls of thunder had started near midnight, drowning out Dudley's snores. Ten minutes to midnight, by the glow on Dudley's watch. The minutes ticked by.

A noise that sounded like the sea was smashing against the rock made me jump slightly. Maybe a large wave had hit the rock. The sound of crunching made me worry that the sea was going to swallow the rock. Maybe I could cling to a piece of wood and drift to shore?

Ten seconds to go. Nine…eight…seven…six… Maybe I would wake Dudley up, just to annoy him. Three…two…one…BOOM! The whole shack shook from the impact. I sat bolt upright. Someone was trying to come in.