CHAPTER 2: A Very Merry Birthday

At half past five, Vernon had called Harry, or 'Spunk Bag' was what he had actually said, down for tea. Yes, the moment had come. Cheesy pasta was waiting. Harry limbered down stairs and sat down at the table in his chair.

'Nice wank?'

'VERNON!'

'Petunia, he's 17, he wanks every now and then.'

'Not at the dinner table.'

'Well, I dunno.' He turned to Harry. 'You wank at the dinner table, boy?'

'No,' answered Harry through gritted teeth.

'Vernon, you know that's not what I meant.'

'There's nothing to wank over at the dinner table,' interrupted an arguing Harry.

'Are you saying,' asked Petunia with an angry gnome-like creature trying to break out of her horse-like face, 'that I am not a sexy little biotch?'

To this, Dudley dropped his fork with a clank and covered his ears with his balloon-like hands, and Vernon looked like he was going to throw up. Would Petunia find out that he had been lying to her all these years? Dudley and Vernon looked at Petunia as though hell had just dropped out of her mouth, and Petunia looked at Harry as though she was breathing hell out through her nose. Harry looked around at everyone. He was positively amused. This moment lasted around five minutes, which Harry wisely used to shovel down his delectable cheesy pasta, and charge like a bull to it's flag waver, upstairs to his room.

What did she expect him to say? No she was not a sexy little biotch. She was far from it. At the thought of this, he lied slowly down and pulled his picture of Ginny Weasley out from under his pillow. He might have broken up with her, but he still liked her. He pulled his covers over him and looked longingly at the picture, which, of course, was moving. She was waving at him. He pathetically waved back for no reason at all and at this moment, Vernon pelted (to us it would have been walking relatively fast, but he was old and fat) into the room.

'Sorry to interrupt, Spunky b-'

'I'M NOT WANKING!'

'You're not? How come?'

'Because I've still got the image of Aunt Petunia in a corset stuck in my head!' Harry tried to yell but it wasn't all too loud as he was fighting the temptation to be sick.

'Oh, don't get me started! I'm gonna shout at you. HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH A THING? SHE IS A SEXY LITTLE BIOTCH! AND SHE'S BLOODY GOOD IN BED, AS WELL!' By this time, Harry was more or less being sick but still trying not to be as he rather enjoyed his cheesy pasta and would quite like to keep it. 'I'M SURPRISED YOU'VE RESISTED TRYING TO SUDUCE HER FOR SIXTEEN YEARS –' The cheesy pasta, had indeed, left the building. Harry had chucked it out of the window; right on top of the orchids he had trampled with his trunk earlier.

'Arse.'

'HER AR-'

'Don't.'

'OK. You've suffered enough,' Vernon left, thank god, and left Harry contemplated whether to follow his dinner out of the window. He heard a voice in his head saying, 'Do it, boy!'

'I know that's you, Uncle Vernon,' said Harry, annoyed. The voice kept talking.

'It's not Vernon. My name is James. I am your father.'

At this, Harry walked swiftly to the door and wrenched it open. There stood Vernon obviously cooing at the door.

'That's not funny,' said Harry.

'Well, it was a b-'

'NO IT WASN'T!' Harry slammed the door and sat down on the bed. This was his second worst birthday he'd ever had. It was second to the time Dudley sat on him, winded him, and he probably should have gone to hospital, but no one took him, so every now and then he got crippling pains in his stomach, something Draco Malfoy liked to say were period pains, but they were worse than them!