Narrator: And so, Harry got punished for something he may or may not have had any control over. And he was punished for so long that it was the summer holidays by the time he came out of the closet…I might need to reword that. Anyway, for most of the start of the holidays, Harry did what he could to avoid Dudley and his gang…
Piers: Does that mean I get to appear?
*electrocution sounds*
Narrator: …and then Piers fell into a coma because fuck that guy…wait, he's only eleven. I'll need to reword that one too. Anyway, when the school year started again, Dudley would be going to Smeltings Academy, the school his father was somehow able to graduate from, while Harry was to attend Stonewall High. That is, until one faithful day something odd happened…
*mail slot clicks*
Vernon: Harry, get the mail.
Harry: I'm making your breakfast though.
Vernon: Damn it boy, multitask.
Harry: What, you think I can stand here making coffee and frying bacon AND be at the end of the hall at the same time like some kind of wizard?
Vernon: *eye twitch* Yeah, you're right. I'll make breakfast, you get the mail.
Harry: Did your eye just twitch again?
Vernon: It twitched a first time?
Harry: …Never mind *goes into the hall and starts looking at the mail* Let's see, postcard from Marge, bill, bill, bill, bill, death threat from Bloomsbury about this parody, and…what the? "Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." Well, if that's not the stalkiest thing I've ever read.
*returns to the kitchen, puts all letters except his on the table*
Vernon: Oh good, would you look at the Petunia? Bloomsbury are trying to stop Kieran making me look like an idiot.
Dudley: Harry's got a letter.
Vernon: Of course he does, he brought them in.
Dudley: But…he already put the rest of them down.
*full minute of silence passes*
Vernon: Hey, you're right. Gimme that *snatches Harry's letter* Now, who could possibly be writing to OH FUCK NO!
Petunia: What is it?
Vernon: It's…them.
Harry: Them who? Is it Child Protection Services telling you to start treating me like a human being instead of a freak with some kind of superpowers?
Vernon: *eye twitch* Yeah…sure, that's it. Harry, how would you like to move into Dudley's second bedroom?
Harry: *sarcastically* Hmm, let's see. I could stay in the tiny closet under the stairs, or move to an actual bedroom, pissing off Dudley in the process? Wonder what I'm gonna choose?
Vernon: I don't know, that's why I'm asking you *full minute of silence* Well?
Harry: The bedroom you dunce.
Dudley: But…that's mine, isn't it?
Harry: Not anymore, fatso.
Dudley: Why does he keep calling me that? Is it a compliment?
Vernon: *straining to be polite* Harry, please move your stuff before I do something that gets the real Child Protection Services all over my ass.
Harry: But you just said…
Vernon: MOVE DAMN IT!
*the next day*
Vernon: *checking the mail* Ha, stupid people. There's no Mr. H. Potter living in The Cupboard under the Stairs here. Therefore this letter has been misaddressed, and must be…
Petunia: Dear, that says The Smallest Bedroom.
Vernon: *rereads letter* Son of a bitch.
Harry: Can I read my letter now?
Vernon & Petunia: NO!
*that Sunday*
Vernon: HA! Let's see them deliver those letters now with no post today.
Harry: Even though yesterday they were in the eggs instead of actual eggs.
Vernon: Yes, but that was Saturday, when they were allowed to post them. Today is Sunday, so not one single letter will be delivered *letter shoots out of the fireplace* except that one * another letter comes through the window* and that one *fridges opens by itself, overflowing with letters* and all those ones.
Harry: Someone really wants me to read that letter. Maybe you should just let me…
Vernon: NO! I refuse to let you read the thing that even as your legal guardian I can't stop you reading. On a completely unrelated note, could you all pack some clothes?
Petunia: Why?
Vernon: Because we are leaving in five minutes.
Dudley: Can I bring my computer? And my TV? And my SNES? And my…
Vernon: Son, where we're going, there probably won't be any power for those things to work.
Dudley: Is that a yes?
*later, in a house on a rock in the middle of the ocean on a stormy night*
Dudley: Daddy, I can't find somewhere to plug the TV into.
Vernon: That doesn't matter son, at least we're away from those bloody letters.
*knock at the door*
Vernon: It's just the wind.
?: Hello? Letter for 'arry Po'er.
Vernon: Waves crashing against the rocks.
?: Little pig, little pig, let me come in.
Vernon: Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.
?: Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll…ah, fuck it *punches the door down*