Harry was yet to understand what was going on. He worked his small, tiny – or perhaps non-existent as Uncle Vernon always said – brain to think of why his family angrily threw him in his cupboard under the stairs. The broomstick he was sweeping with, still held tightly in his hand, as no explanation for their sudden wrath came into his mind. Ignoring Dudley stomping up the stairs and dust raining down on him, Harry attempted to listen through the crack under his door.
"-fuse! No, Petunia! The little freak is not coming with us!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed in the kitchen.
"But darling, we have nowhere to put him. Mrs Figg is out of town, and surely Marge would not take the boy."
"WE LEAVE HIM HERE!"
"But Vernon-"
Harry's heart sped up. Were they talking about him? Of course they were. They were finally going through with their promise, he knew. Tears sprung to his eyes as he remembered Uncle Vernon telling him that one day, the freak will be left behind. All alone. But they can't do that, Harry wanted to shout, they can't. He would have no food, not even those horrid biscuits Mrs Figg usually gives him, when the Dursleys are on holiday. No biscuits because Mrs Figg is not going to be there; he was going to be all alone. Harry let the broom slowly to the ground, fearful of making any noise. Salty drops rolled down his cheeks and he covered his mouth to silence a whimper. This was a disaster! Surely Uncle Vernon wasn't serious…
"-those other freaks will come, and you know it!" his aunt shrieked, and Harry started listening again.
"Come now Petunia, they haven't checked on him in seven years! They will not just magical-"
"Don't you dare say that word in my presence!" Harry winced as he heard the banging of pans and glass shattering. He almost felt bad for Uncle Vernon. Almost.
"We're taking him and that's final."
The little boy in the cupboard under the stairs nearly laughed aloud in relief as his uncle started discussing ruddy birds and sweet marshmallows. It didn't matter that he was never going to find out how the marshmallows taste; he was going on his first ever holiday and he was going to make best friends out of those ruddy birds. Harry closed his emerald eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like sleeping in a tent with his family. Strangely, his dreams featured the usual red-head lady and hooked nosed man he never met. Still, when the smiling trio laid staring at the night sky pointing out constellations, Harry could not help but feel content.