DISCLAIMER: I OBVIOUSLY DO NOT OWN THE WORLD OF HARRY POTTER OR IT'S AMAZING CHARACTERS. ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE AMAZING WOMAN THAT IS JOANNE ROWLING.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Hope the longest punishment she had ever had.

By the time she was allowed out of the cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already ruined most of his new thing. He had even knocked down poor old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Hope was glad school was over, but Dudley always had his insufferable friends over. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of them all, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Hope Hunting.

Dudley's friends may never hurt her, but they never stopped Dudley from hurting her. And in Hope's books, that makes them just as bad as he is.

This was why Hope spent as much time as possible out of the house.

She often went to the old play ground that was left abandon after they built a new one just a block from Privet Drive.

She liked to go there to think. At the moment, she was thinking about the future.

Dudley had been accepted at Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Hope was going to Stonewall High, the local public school.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," Dudley told Hope. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Hope. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick."

Then she ran, before Dudley could work out what she'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Hope at Mrs. Figg's.

Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as

usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats. Hope found that terribly ironic.

She let Hope watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd kept it in one of her mothball infested closets.

That evening, Dudley strutted around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform.

Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and stupid looking hats called boaters.

They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking.

This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst

into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.

Hope didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

It's not her fault he looked so utterly ridiculous.

The next morning Hope sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High.

Her aunt had come home the day before with Hope clothes for school. They were all plain. Not that that bothered Hope. But it was the skirts and Dudley hand me downs that horrified her.

At the moment Aunt Petunia was dyeing some of Dudley's clothes grey.

"Ugh, I'm going to look like an elephant.", thought Hope.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell.

Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley messed with his stupid stick.

They heard the click of the mail slot.

Hope automatically got up to get be mail, knowing Vernon would make her get it anyway.

Hope dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail.

Three things lay on the doormat, but only one caught her attention-a letter for Hope.

Hope picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. Who would write to her? She didn't know anyone. But there it was written, clear as day.

Ms. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of old fashioned yellowish paper and the writing looked like it was written with a calligraphy pen. When she turned it over she saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Hope went back to the kitchen, but not before she stuffed the letter in her back pocket. She knew she would never get to read the letter if her so called family got ahold of it.

She handed Vernon the rest of the mail.

Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk."

Hope went to sit back down and felt Dudley hand on a place it was defiantly not supposed to be. She turned around about to slap him, not even worried about the consequences, when she stopped and stared in horror.

Right there, in Dudley's fat sausage fingers, was her letter.

"Dad!" said Dudley.

"Dad, Hopes's got something!"

Hope was on the verge of punching him right then and there. Now neither of the will know what it says.

"That's mine!" said Hope, trying to snatch it before Vernon. Sadly he was closer and got it first.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it

high out of his reach.

And if Dudley couldn't reach it, Hope sure as hell couldn't.

Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Hope and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

Hope just glared and stood off to the side.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Hope furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Hope didn't move.

"I. Want. My. Letter." She said coldly. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Hope and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the

kitchen door behind them.

Hope and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Hope lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"

Hope could see Vernon's shadow pacing the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything...

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Hope in her cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Hope, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Do you know who it's from? I know you do. Who is it?"

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Hope angrily, "it had the cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling and onto his head.

He shook his head to get rid of the spiders and took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er - yes, Hope - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Hope.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Hope one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room.

She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it.

Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. Hope was great full for that. At least now she'll have something to do.

Hope sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she'd have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be reading that letter.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He threw a big fit which included a lot of hitting and kicking and he had even thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.

Hope was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd stuffed that letter in the slot of the cupboard before entering the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept sharing dark looks. Like they expected their impending doom.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Hope(she thought it was really creepy), made Dudley go and get it.

Then they heard him shout, "There's another one! 'Ms. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -'"

Vernon made a sound that remained Hope of a constipated gorilla and lumbered out of the kitchen. Hope right behind him. Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Hope had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind and was being flung left and right. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Vernon finally got the upper hand over Dudley and stood up with Hope still clinging to his back.

"Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed over his shoulder to Hope. "Dudley - go - just go."

Hope dropped down and stomped up the stairs.

Hope walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of the cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her

letter. Surely that meant they'd try again?

Hope got up early the next morning to sneak out to meet the post man. She planned on using her cuteness to her advantage and charm the mailman into giving her the letter (she's really good with words), but the plan was quickly quashed. When she went to take a step out the door, she stepped right on Vernon's face.

He seemed to have had a plan too and decided to camp out on the porch like a guard dog so he could get to the letter first.

He shouted at Hope for about half an hour for trying to sneak out and then another half hour for the footprint on his face and then told her to go and make a cup of tea.

Hope miserably went off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap.

Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

Before she could do anything Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces.

Vernon didnt go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

Fat chance of that happening.

On Friday, twelve letters had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Vernon stayed at home again.

After burning all the letters, he got

out a hammer and nails and boarded shut every nook and cranny he could find.

He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

Hope spent that day stalking him and snapping her fingers at random moments just to watch his reaction.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to

Hope found their way into the house. This time, the letters felt the wrath of Aunt Petunia and her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Hope in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table happily.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today -"

Hope swore his eye was twitching.

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Hope was quick to jump up and try to snatch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Hope around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut and braced himself against it.

"That does it," said Vernon trying sound calm, but pulling parts out of his mustache at the same time,"I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

Ten minutes later they had forced their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.

Dudley was sulking in the back seat. His father had hit him upside the head for taking too long.

That must be the first time he has ever been disciplined, Hope thought.

They drove. And they drove. And drove.

Hope was going out of her mind. Being stuck in a backseat with some like Dudley can test someone's patients.

Every now and then Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction.

"Shake'em off... shake 'em

off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

Hope was hoping he hadn't gone insane. Having a mental person behind the wheel can't be safe.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling.

He probably hadn't gone this long without food his whole life.

Vernon stopped at last outside a hotel on the outskirts of a big city. It looked like a vampire could live their comfortably with how gloomy and dark it looked.

Dudley and Hope shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets.

They had just finished breakfast, when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Ms. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Hope made a grab for the letter but

Vernon knocked her hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

Probably to tear them apart.

When he returned, it was time to hit the road again.

Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all in the car, and disappeared.

Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded Hope of something. If it was Monday then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Hope's eleventh birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and a pair of Aunt Petunia's old socks. Still, you didn't turn eleven every day.

Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. On top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Vernon gleefully (Hope thought he looked a bit crazed), clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the water.

It looked like one misplaced ripple would land it in the bottom of the ocean.

"I've already got us some rations," said Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat and icy sea spray was pelting them in their faces.

After what seemed like forever they reached the rock, where Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled like seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas.

He tried to start a fire but there was no wood that was dry enough to burn.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

Hope scowled.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail.

Hope thought differently.

As night fell, the storm blew up around them.

Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa.

She and Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Hope was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest,

most ragged blanket.

The storm raged on.

Hope couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger.

The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Hope she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time.

She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Hope heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine - maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... two... one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Hope sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.