Last Chapter: At school, Harry had no one. Not because of Dudley and his gang, but because he was such an annoying smart-ass that no one could stand to be around him too long, not that he minded anyway. Harry liked who he was and he had no plans to change for anyone, ever.

Chapter Two

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor was supposed to earn Harry his longest-ever punishment. Thanks to a department called the Child Services, Harry wandered around the house freely.

By the time he actually cared to go outside willingly, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no baiting Dudley's gang, who avoided the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hiding, which is where they hid from him instead of the other way around.

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he would have a new sea of students to harass and annoy.

Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny, as did Harry.

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

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilets never had anything as horrible as your head down it, it might be sick." Then he stood there for an hour waiting for Dudley to work out what he'd said. That was time wasted.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry 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, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years, which Harry fed to her cats to see what a hyper cat would do. That hadn't gone over well with Mrs. Figg.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. As things shook from Dudley's weight coming down on the floor, Harry loudly snickered and chuckled behind his hand. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw 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.

"What are they training for? How to join a gang?" Of course no one had acknowledged Harry's question.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle 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. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from laughing so hard. He was literally rolling on the floor laughing.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"Wow Petunia, I knew you were a horrible cook but what the hell are you trying to feed us?" Harry had asked grumpily since he had just waked up. Aunt Petunia's lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said. Harry looked in the bowl again.

"I thought uniforms were for wearing, not for eating." Harry replied with a shrug. "I hope it's a good source of fiber."

"Don't be stupid, "snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dying some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." Harry seriously doubted this, and thought it best to point it out.

"I think it would look suspicious if I'm the only one at that school wearing those old rags, the Headmaster might even look into our 'family situation.' Harry said in his you-know-I've-just-won-so-give-up-now kind of way.

He sat down at the table and tried to imagine the looks he would get on his first day at Stonewall High, like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably. The thought made Harry grin widely and give a creepy chuckle.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

"Yes, please put the large stick within my reach so I can grab it and use it myself." Harry said sarcastically. Dudley held his stick tightly to his chest and whimpered. Harry rolled his eyes and went to get the mail.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and - a letter for Harry.

No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would want to write to a lunatic like him? He had no friends, no other relatives – he'd made sure to return all of his books on explosives on time, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

'Yay, H stands for Harry, because I'm so wonderfully awesome of course.' Harry thought happily to himself. He quickly tore open the envelope and read the letter. When he was done there was a silent pause and then Harry snorted.

"Of course I'm a wizard, what else would I be?" Harry muttered sarcastically to himself.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own horrible joke, while Harry groaned and wondered how he was related to these people.

Harry went back to the kitchen, still holding his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and began to read the supply list inside. He was just finished reading the supply list when of course Dudley had to open his big mouth.

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!" Harry was on the point of refolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when Vernon tried to grab it. Harry, having always had abnormally quick reflexes, held out of his Uncle's reach.

"No, no, no Uncle Vernon, reading other peoples' mail is illegal. Besides, I already know I'm going to Hogwarts." As his Uncle turned an odd shade of red, Harry looked over Vernon's shoulder at Dudley and mouthed, "Peanut Butter." which made Dudley whimper and run from the room.

Within seconds Vernon's face had turned the grayish white of old porridge. "P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. "Vernon! Oh my goodness. Vernon!" They stared at each while Harry made a gagging noise and rolled his eyes at their dramatics.

They seemed to have forgotten that Harry 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 to get his attention.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly. Harry glared at the fat boy and said, "Too bad brat, it's my letter and none of you can do anything about it so deal with it." Dudley just stared at him with wide-mouthed shock.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon. Harry shrugged and got up to leave.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley. "OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon and he took Dudley by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Harry made one mention of peanut butter and Dudley backed down. So Harry, his green eye pressed against the keyhole, leaned against the door and watched the following conversation.

"Vernon, "Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "did you get a look at the envelope?" Vernon shook his head.

"How could they possibly know we still live here? You don't think they're watching the house?"Petunia asked. She looked around the room as if she would spot some tall guy in a long trench coat and sunglasses.

"Watching…spying… might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. Harry rolled his eyes again and muttered things to himself about retarded relatives, ignoring Dudley's frightened look.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write them and tell them we don't want the boy to go? They can't let him into the school without our permission, can they? Whether or not he wants to go?"

Harry could see Uncle pacing up and down 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..." Harry wondered at how deep his aunt and uncle's stupidity ran and almost felt bad for Dudley having to share their genes.

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" Vernon yelled. Suddenly Harry's eyes narrowed and the hallway's temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees.

'Stamp it out of me, huh? We'll see about that, Dursley.' Harry thought coldly to himself.

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard, not that he'd had an easy time trying to get through the doorway.

"What do you want, tubby?" Harry asked as soon as Vernon had opened the door.

"No need to keep that letter boy, it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly.

"Of course it was a mistake, "said Harry, "it was just a coincidence that it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon. Harry simply blinked and said, "Make me fatty." With a serious glare that made Vernon wish he could go back to the blissful days of ignoring his nephew.

He took a few deep breaths anyway and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. "Err …yes, Harry …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."

"Oh finally realized how this house worked did you? I was waiting for something smart to pop into your brain, it was a long ten years but it finally happened congrats." Harry replied sarcastically cheerful.

"Don't sass me, boy!" 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 Uncle Vernon's horrid 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 Harry a few trips upstairs to move everything he had forced his relatives to buy him from the cupboard to this room.

He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken; he'd have to fix that soon. 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, which was good for Harry since he loved to read books, particularly ones that have explosives and fire in them. He had slight pyromaniac tendencies.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want him in there... I need that room... Make him get out..." Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, for some reason he was no longer in the mood to laugh.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was wondering if he would have kids one day, what he would do to them if they ever behaved like Dudley.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall.

Apparently, the sender of his school letter seemed to somehow know that he had gotten his first one as they hadn't sent another. The next few days were tense between everyone in the house and for once, Harry didn't try to emphasize the awkwardness.

One night, Harry had stood in the doorway and watched the Dursleys in the living room, all watching TV together. It was one of those days where Harry wondered how his life would have been like if his parents were still alive and he had his own family to live with, not the Dursleys.

"It's Monday," Dudley told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay up tonight and watch the telly!"

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday, and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television, then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun. Last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

Harry had been happy enough to make things weird for them and their 'lack of love to get him a decent present and not that wiry piece of shit coat hanger and smelly ass old sock.' Still, you weren't eleven every day.

That night, the predicted storm blew up around them and a fierce wind rattled the usually sparkling-clean windows. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went off to their bedroom upstairs, and Harry was left to find something to do that didn't involve blowing something up.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, that night as he lied in his new bedroom. Dudley's snores, which usually echoed throughout the house at night, were thankfully drowned out by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight.

The lighted numbers of Dudley's old digital clock, which was placed on the nightstand beside his bed, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering whether or not his parents were silently wishing him a happy birthday from up in heaven.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof was going to fall in, it would awesome. Unless he died of course, then that would kind of suck. Four minutes to go. Maybe the school sends someone to explain things to him since he hadn't really made an effort to find out anything about being a 'wizard.'

Three minutes to go. Was that the thunder, rattling hard on the houses foundation like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny noise? Was the ceiling really going to cave in on him? One minute to go and he'd be eleven.

Thirty seconds... Twenty... Ten... Nine - maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... Two... One... BOOM! The whole house shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door to his bedroom. Someone was outside the house, knocking to come in.

'This should be interesting.' Harry muttered to himself. 'Very, very interesting.'