Harry woke the next morning to the sound of pots and pans clattering downstairs. He got dressed and went to the chart on his wall to cross off a day until his return to his wizardry school, Hogwarts, but stopped and groaned in dismay as he realized what day it was.

"The vacation," he sighed to himself. Usually for Harry's cousin Dudley's birthday, which happened during the school year, Uncle Vernon's sister Marge gave Dudley a new television set, racing bike, stereo system, or something equally expensive. But this year, had given Dudley a huge gift: she was taking him and his parents to Barbados for a month, and they were leaving today. However, she only invited the three Dursleys, because she hated Harry with a passion. The feeling was mutual; Harry had in fact blown her up two years before, and even though she had been restored to her former heavy state and had no memory of the incident (thanks to Memory Modification by wizard officials), she still despised him.

None of the Dursleys particularly liked Harry. They were leaving him to spend the month with mad old Mrs. Figg, looking over album after album of photos of her many cats. In terms of awfulness Mrs. Figg and the Dursleys were about equal. But at least she was only boring and barmy, not completely snide like the Dursleys, and maybe if he could find some way to dupe Mrs. Figg into letting him get away, he could go live for a while at the Burrow, where his friends the Weasleys lived. Harry was dying to spend time with other magic people.

Harry trudged downstairs, noted the expensive leather suitcases piled by the door, and went into the kitchen.

"Good morning," he said to his Uncle Vernon as he slid into his seat.

Vernon Dursley grunted and went on reading his newspaper.

"Harry!" barked Petunia Dursley from where she stood by the stove. "Cook this bacon, and mind you don't burn it. We've got a big journey ahead of us."

"I'm rather concerned as to the quality of the food on the airplane," Uncle Vernon said. "From what I remember from my last flight it was positively ghastly- even in first class! Can you imagine, they were skimping on the mushrooms in my boeuf bourgignon?"

"Tsk tsk," murmured Aunt Petunia, buttering a slice of toast for Dudley.

Dudley grinned unkindly at Harry. "Have you ever flown on a plane before, Harry?"

Harry looked at him straight in his piggish little eyes and replied, "Not on a plane, no. Motorcycles yes, brooms yes-"

"Stop right there!" shouted Uncle Vernon, dropping his crumpet in his cup of coffee. "Oh blast, look what you've made me do now, boy! I have asked you repeatedly not to speak of upsetting things like that!"

"Like what?" Harry asked innocently. "Like magic things, you mean?"

Aunt Petunia turned pale and sucked in her breath sharply. "Do not say that word!" she hissed. "Or we'll have to-"

"Have to do what?" Harry said challengingly. "What'll you do to me? Lock me up in that cupboard again? Confiscate my things, take away my owl? You can't do that stuff anymore, you know." The three Dursleys glowered at him. Harry shrugged and turned back to the stove. "It's just the truth."

"Don't you challenge us," Uncle Vernon growled. "Ungrateful boy! After all we've done for you!"

"We ought to throw you out on your backside," Dudley said, standing up and starting to reach for Harry.

"Oh, Diddums! Do you need something more to eat?" Aunt Petunia said suddenly, looking very frantic. They all stared at her in surprise. She faltered, "Well- no use rowing on a beautiful day like today, right before we leave! Diddums darling, don't you want some bacon?"

Still looking confused, Dudley lowered the hand that had been reaching for Harry and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well come on then, bring the bacon for Dudley," Aunt Petunia said sharply to Harry. He picked up the pan and took it to the table, wondering what had caused her to stop Dudley's ejecting him from the house.

"What time is your flight?" he asked as he dumped some bacon strips on Dudley's plate.

"We leave at noon," said Aunt Petunia.

"Meaning you'll be at Mrs. Figg's by eleven," interjected Uncle Vernon. "Marge is getting here at eleven-thirty and I don't want her to see you."

Harry knew that Uncle Vernon was afraid that he, Harry, might do magic again, but as Harry had no intention of being expelled from his wizarding school, his only sanctuary, it was a safe bet that no underage magic would occur this time.

At nine Harry packed his trunk with clothes for a month and his toothbrush. He also brought some magic books, to keep him from getting too bored at Mrs. Figg's. He added his wand and some leftover candy, plus a bit of parchment and a few quills so that he could write to his friends and to his godfather Sirius Black. And though he knew he shouldn't, but because he couldn't bear to leave it behind, Harry also put in his Firebolt, which Uncle Vernon would certainly have confiscated if he'd known about it. Then he lugged the trunk and Hedwig's cage down the stairs and into the front hall.

"It's nearly eleven o'clock," said Uncle Vernon brusquely as Harry yanked the trunk off the last step. "You get a move on, boy, Marge's taxi might be early."

"Could you help me getting my trunk across to Mrs. Figg's?" Harry asked. "It's a bit heavy."

"You ought to stock up great muscles like my Diddy-poo," snapped Aunt Petunia as she passed by. Dudley leered smugly at Harry behind her back. Harry said nothing, though he knew that Dudley's generous proportions had nothing to do with muscle.

"All right," said Uncle Vernon grudgingly. "Hurry up then."

They each picked up one end of the trunk, with the owl cage on top and lugged it down to Mrs. Figg's house on Magnolia Crescent. Then Vernon Dursley straightened up and grinned unpleasantly at Harry. "Hope you have fun with Mrs. Figg," he said nastily. "She's got a new cat. She'll have a lot of photos of him, I'll bet."

Then he turned on his heel and strutted back to number four Privet Drive.

Harry watched him till he rounded the corner. Then he heard the front door open behind him. He turned around wearily. "Hello, Mrs. Figg," he said resignedly.

"Good morning, Potter," said Mrs. Figg, stepping out into the sunlight pouring across her front porch. "Why don't you bring your trunk inside." Her eyes fell on the birdcage, with a sleeping Hedwig inside, and she raised her eyebrows quizzically.

"She's my pet owl," said Harry quickly. "She's really well trained, she won't mess up your rug or anything, I think."

Mrs. Figg nodded curtly. "I hope not. And I hope for her sake that she's too big to be eaten by a cat. Well, come in then. I have a lovely new album of kitty pictures to show you."

Harry hauled the trunk inside and was met by the familiar cabbage stench of the house. Sighing, he heaved the trunk and the cage up the stairs to the guest room, and examined the surroundings which would be his for the next agonizing month.