After being locked in his closet for a week Harry awoke to discover that Dudley had destroyed all of his birthday presents, and run over Mrs. Figg with his bike, breaking her arm again.

Also Dudley had been given his new Smeltings uniform. Frankly, Harry thought that he looked like a dork. He and his gang were always strutting around, and poking Harry with their Smeltings Sticks, and pulling up their knickerbockers. Uncle Vernon said that Dudley was the spitting image of himself in the olden days. Harry couldn't bear to think of Uncle Vernon wearing the Smeltings uniform.

Anyway it was like any other droopy Monday at Privet Drive, Petunia busily scurrying about the kitchen like a spider dropping pancakes drenched with syrup to Vernon and Dudley. With a sip of his coffee he said, "Dudley, could you please get the mail, dear?" Dudley reared his pudgy face to Harry, who was staring at a fly landing on his horse liver.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Give him the Smelting's Smash Dudles!" Dudley rapped Harry across the face with his new stick.

"Ouch! Okay I'm going!"

The 11 year-old Harry scurried from the breakfast table evading Dudley's nasty probe as he went to get the mail. As he peered through the letters he saw one from that hag Aunt Marge, some bills, and a sportsman magazine called "Guns 4 U" addressed to Dudley. He walked back to the Dorsey House, not realizing until he gave Vernon the day's mail that there was another letter. As he looked at it, Vernon opened his sister's letter. "Marge's ill, ate a funny whelk," he muttered. Harry paid no attention. On the strange letter was an "H" emblazoned on a red coat of arms addressed as such:

Mr. H Potter

The Cuburd under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry's eyes bulged in astonishment, a letter for a poor abused child? The thought of him even getting a birth certificate was unheard of. It couldn't be.

But just then, Dudley 'the idiot with the attention span of a Frenchfry' Dursley exclaimed "Look! Harry's got a letter!", and snatched it with his porky fingers before handing it to the even more Snitzengruber sausage-fingers of his father.

"That's mine!" exclaimed Harry in shock.

"Ha! No one would be writing to a dork like you!" laughed Vernon. However, the laughing part ceased quite unpleasantly when he looked at the address. He lunged out of his chair faster than Harry had ever seen him devour a donut, knocking the table over and launching tea and toast everywhere. Harry couldn't meet eyes with the puffy fruit-gusher face of his ballooning uncle.

"Into your cupboard! Now!" Harry didn't have to be told a second time, at that moment Vernon sent Dudley to further probe Harry with his Smelting Stick.

The next day like any other, Mr. Dursley kissed his angular wife goodbye, only to his dismay to see a flock of owls resting on his car. "Bloody Pigeons! Shooo!"

For the rest of the day, Harry lay in his cupboard thinking of what that letter was. He laughed at the thought how it addressed him as "the cupboard under the stairs". But how did they know he lived under the stairs? He was also elated to see how intricately crafted the letter was, the mysterious red seal with an "H" in its center and green colored words. What kind of organization would want to contact him, a worthless nobody, with such care and respect?

"BLOODY PIGEONS!" barked Vernon as he slammed the house door upon returning from work. The soot from the ceiling fell on Harry's spectacles from the shear force.

Harry decided to then see how Dudley was doing. As he made his way to the living room, Uncle Vernon was curiously sitting in front of the fireplace with a pile of parchment beside him. Harry soon realized that the pile of parchment was actually many copies of a letter that Vernon was throwing in the fire. Harry got closer, alerting him as he sluggishly turned to hold a batch of the same letter Harry got yesterday.

"See what happens when you try to mess with Uncle Vernon?" he smiled deviously, his round cheeks alit with a maniacal persona from the fire's mysterious light. Harry soon noticed that his uncle's sweater sleeve was on fire as he sneered triumphantly, so he turned and went off for an early sleep. When he closed the cupboard door, he heard a horrified scream followed by the undeniable shriek of Aunt Petunia and Dudley fill the house. Harry lay down, contented.

The next morning, Harry awoke, to find his Uncle nailing the mail slot shut. His Aunt was pleading with Uncle Vernon, "Please Vernon, you can't think this will really work."

"These people's minds work in mysterious ways, Petunia." Uncle Vernon proceeded to hammer in a nail with a fruitcake. But, thought Harry, they can just slip them under the door.

So the next day, Uncle Vernon sealed up all the cracks around the door, humming "Tiptoe through the Tulips".

Uncle Vernon cackled insanely. "Sunday…in my opinion, is the best day of the week, and why's that Dudley?"

Dudley responded "Ewh oh oh." through his cake as he shrugged.

Harry suggested, "Because we have church on Sundays?"

"No, because there's no freaking post on Sunday!"

Then a rumbling sound filled their ears, emanating from the fireplace.

Abruptly, one little letter fluttered out of the fireplace, landing on the mat right in front of it. Vernon went to check it and yelled, to the fireplace, "Is that the best you can do!"

Then, the rumbling returned and Vernon gulped as a wave of letters lifted him up off the floor and toward his couch with a gargantuous crash. Luckily, he kept the 'Use In Case of Emergency' box in the front room, and pulled out his flamethrower. His insane laugh returned, but it was very unfortunate for Vernon that the letters behind him had also caught fire, igniting the gas tank on his flamethrower. An explosion erupted, and nothing was left but the charred, collapsed, skeleton of their old house.

"WE'RE GOING AWAY!" Uncle Vernon shouted, the neighbors in the meantime dialing the police at the insane display, "FAR AWAY! WHERE NO ONE CAN FIND US!"

Uncle Vernon threw them all into the car and slammed the pedal with his meatloaf-sized foot. He drove them through England for hours, taking back-roads, and making hairpin turns while saying, "Gotta shake those bloody pigeons off." Uncle Vernon looked out the windows and surveyed the skies; once he was sure there were no birds following, he stopped at a hotel.

Uncle Vernon had just changed into his pajamas, and was telling Harry he'd have to sleep on the floor, when he heard a knock on the door. He walked up to the door and opened it. The desk clerk was standing in front of him with a bag.

"This is addressed to a Mr. H. Potter, I got about a hundred of 'em up at the front desk."

Harry leapt around Uncle Vernon and snagged a letter. Uncle Vernon tried to rip the letter out of Harry's hand yelling, "Get him! He broke into our room!"

The clerk tackled Harry to the floor, as Harry released a large grunt.

"Oh sorry, my mistake. That's my nephew," Vernon chuckled rubbing his hands on his bulbous stomach.

After the clerk had left, Uncle Vernon laughed, "No letters for you M'boy!" Harry suppressed a want to pop Vernon's balloonish face with a needle.

It was already near 9 P.M. when Vernon was finally satisfied that the 'bloody pigeons' couldn't catch them. He rented an old shack somewhere off the coast of England on a rocky old wart of an island. The scenery was quite bleak, with dark waves crashing against the estate, reverberating loud thunderous displeasure to Potter and the Dursleys.

Harry decided to stay up not because of the booming waves, but because of the artillery bombardment of Vernon's snoring. How could Petunia even sleep with such a rail-gun? The accommodations were so bad the floor was but wispy dirt for Harry to lie on.

At least he could outline a cake with the words 'Happy Birthday Harry' etched in it, for today at exactly 12:00 A.M. it would be time for his little party. The digital clock next to him soon signaled midnight, surprisingly not awakening the hibernating Dursleys.

Make a wish Harry, thought the miserable boy. He blew away the cake drawing as if blowing the candles; it slowly dissolving into the muddy abyss that Harry figured would be the rest of his life.

BOOM!

Harry gasped as he turned his head to the door, the sound came more fiercely.

BOOOM!

Someone apparently wanted to wish Harry a happy birthday…