Outside, leaping to the window, Harry looked out and saw a blue four door hatchback crashing into the Aunt Pentunia's carefully manicured front yard; metal dug into the grass leaving long tracks of dirt forming into mud from the suddenly torrental downpour from the dark clouds above, the same clouds that were spinning off compact tornado after tornado, each twister claiming its own spot of Privet Drive and the surrounding neighborhood of Little Whinging. Harry saw number five across the street turn into cloud of flying projectiles shattering the remaining windows up and down the streets. Like most post-WWII tract housing, number four lacked a basement, therefore, Harry ran out the back door, jumped two fences and dove down into the warm murky waters of Privet Creek. Into his hands flew down a letter from an owl, the envelope bearing the marks of the Ministry Improper Use of Magic office, this was accompanied by deep laughter nearby.
A voice spoke...
Dragon Voldemort