Next morning, Harry woke up earlier than usual – before his Aunt Petunia could bang on his door with the skillet – and began to plan his escape. He needed to be outside, and he needed to have all the equipment he'd be taking to Hogwarts with him if he was going to go there straight after Sirius's. That wouldn't be too difficult, he thought ruefully: Uncle Vernon had made him stack it all away in the shed at the bottom of their garden where the spiders lived. So all he needed now was an excuse to be out of the house at four o'clock, ready to be picked up by the Weasleys. Harry didn't want to think about what might happen if Ron hadn't got his owl in time. He should have sent Hedwig with him.

But try though he might to rack his brain, he couldn't think of a single way he could get out of the house all day. It was boiling hot outside, and he'd give anything to be out there rather than scraping the inside of the oven, which was what he was presently doing. With a shock, Harry suddenly realised that it was already three o'clock: suddenly panicking, he finished cleaning the oven quickly, and walked into the sitting room.

"What are you doing?" asked Dudley, not looking up from where he was blowing up dwarfs on his Gameboy.

"Where's Uncle Vernon?" said Harry, ignoring him.

"I asked you a question, runt," said Dudley, finally bringing his pendulous jowls up to stare at Harry, a smudge of chocolate visible round his chubby nose. Harry tried hard to look at him without gagging.

"And I asked you one," retorted Harry shortly. He didn't have the time to have a fight with Dudley.

As if sensing his reluctance to argue, Dudley abruptly changed tack. "My dad said your dad was a coward," he said suddenly, and Harry, taken aback, was unable to speak before Dudley continued. "And a thief," he added. "A coward and thief and a basta– "

Suddenly, Harry lunged at Dudley, and rugby tackled him to the floor. He got in two good punches before Dudley rolled over and straddled Harry, his enormous weight almost squashing the air out of him. Harry lunged upwards with his knee and Dudley howled in anguish – bringing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to the door immediately. They took in the scene – Dudley sat on top of a nearly hyperventilating Harry – before rushing over and stroking Dudley's lank fair hair. Harry didn't know how they could bear to touch it.

"Poor ickle darling Dudders," cooed Aunt Petunia. "What's wrong, my little possum?"

Dudley sobbed into her shoulder, massaging himself tenderly. Harry couldn't quite suppress a grin. Uncle Vernon seized his shoulder, and dragged him out from underneath Dudley, bringing his face up to inches away from his own.

"You leave your filthy hands off of my boy, d'you hear me?" he snarled. "Now get out. Out. Mow the lawn – now. And when you've finished, do it again. If I find one single blade of grass out of place, I'll have your hide, boy… I'll put you in the piano, not just next to it, get it? Out, out, out!" By the time Uncle Vernon had finished, he was almost screaming in anger – but Harry didn't care. In fact, he could have hugged Uncle Vernon: he couldn't have arranged the situation better himself.

"Fine!" he exclaimed happily. "I'd love to!" Uncle Vernon squinted at him suspiciously, but Harry was gone from the house, sprinting down the to shed where – along with his Hogwarts stuff – the lawnmower was kept. Perfect, he thought. He forced everything into one heavy suitcase, and whistled for Hedwig. She came flying out through his bedroom window and landed on top of the shed.

"Ready to go?" he asked her, scratching her head and trying hard to stop the grin he was wearing from splitting his face in two. Hedwig blinked at him, and then he could have sworn she winked. Harry spent the most enjoyable hour he'd ever had mowing the lawn, and at ten to four he put the lawnmower back into the shed, and exchanged it for his bag. Peering cautiously round the corner to see if he was being watched by Aunt Petunia, he saw the lace curtain twitch slightly. Damn.

Still, Harry didn't care. He could easily outrun Aunt Petunia… His robes and suitcase in one hand, and Hedwig clinging onto the other, he made a sudden dash for it. Down the gravel drive, past the window… quick…

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" Uncle Vernon's voice roared at him, and Harry's grin grew even wider. He was nearly there, he was going to make it…

"Bye!" he called cheerfully over his shoulder. "Have a nice summer!" Hedwig decided to make things easier by flying, and Harry switched his suitcase over to his other hand. He could hear the sound of Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps pounding after him and was surprised that his huge feet didn't make holes in the pavement – but he rounded the corner and parked there, glistening in the sunlight, was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. A black taxi.

"Quick!" he shouted, flinging the door open and plucking Hedwig out the sky, shoving her in, ignoring her ruffled feathers and the reproachful look she threw at him. The suitcase quickly followed, and Harry caught a quick glimpse of six people with ginger hair, all wearing the same identical shocked expression, and Hermione, before he dived in himself and the car shot away, wheels spinning in the summer's dust. Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon, red faced and furious looking, standing there shaking a fist at the retreating vehicle, before the clouds of dirt enveloped him and he doubled over, choking. Beaming, Harry finally turned to his rescuers.

"Hi," he said. "Having a good summer?"