AN: We realize that a lot of this story has been really close to J.K. Rowling's story. We ask for just a little more patience, because we needed to keep a lot of it so the story would make sense. By the end of this chapter, we will be starting to veer more towards our version, but will also be keeping a few things true to the original.

Chapter 2: You've Got Mail! ( Now Run, Potter, Run!)

The escape of the boa constrictor earned Harry his longest ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holiday had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera and run over Mrs. Figg with his racing bike as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. 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 Hunting.

The reason why it was usually difficult to avoid Dudley's gang was because of the list of chores that Aunt Petunia set him to every day. Every morning was spent cleaning inside the house: vacuuming carpets, sweeping and mopping floors, cleaning the bathroom. After a cheese sandwich and a glass of water at noon, he did yard work: clipping the lawn, pulling weeds and watering flowers. If Harry did a good enough job, then he got to go to the park in the evenings for an hour after dinner.

Harry's one tiny ray of hope was that in September, he would be going off to secondary school. For the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. 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 the local public school. Dudley thought this was funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry one day while he was mopping the kitchen. "Want to come upstairs and practice?" "No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it. It might be sick." Then before Dudley could work out what he'd said, Harry walked over to the sink with the bucket, emptied it out, then went outside to start working in the yard.

One day in mid-July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry with Mrs. Figg. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she did not seem quite as fond of most of them as usual. Mrs. Figg was a middle aged woman of color who tended to wear jumpers and skirts. Usually, she wore a pair of floppy slippers on her feet, but at this time, she had a walking cast on one foot, and used a cane for balance. Her dark curly hair was kept short, and she had kind brown eyes.

There was one cat that she didn't seem to mind, however. "Oh, that's Snuggles, " she said, as a fluffy, pure white, red eyed cat with a black crescent marking on the left side of its face jumped into Harry's lap and tried to get him to pet it. "He comes and goes as he pleases. He loves to be snuggled and petted for a while. He comes in for a couple hours and then he goes away for a couple weeks or so before showing up again."

For the rest of the afternoon, Mrs. Figg allowed Harry to watch the television, while she fed him tea and a very stale piece of chocolate cake. Shortly before Aunt Petunia came over to get Harry, Snuggles jumped down out of Harry's lap, (where he had been purring happily at the attention he was getting) and meowed to be let out. "Okay, Snuggles, out you go, then! See you next time you're in the neighborhood," Mrs. Figg said as she opened the door to let him out.

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

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 that she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown up. Harry, on the other hand, didn't say anything. He thought he had maybe cracked at least two of his ribs trying not to laugh.

When Harry woke up the next morning, there was a horrible smell in the kitchen. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look and found the tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in dirty water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she answered. Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said. "I didn't realize it had to be so wet." "Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing 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, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High-like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

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 knobbly stick 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. "Make Harry get it, "demanded Dudley. "Get the mail, Harry," was Uncle Vernon's answer. "Make Dudley get it," Harry replied. "Smack him with your Smelting stick, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said, as he continued to read his newspaper.

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, who was on holiday on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and- a letter for Harry.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives-he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even gotten 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

4 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, his hand trembling, 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.

Harry was so distracted by the letter, that he didn't hear Dudley sneak up behind him. "Whatcha got there?" Dudley asked as he tried to look over Harry's shoulder. "Hey Dad! Harry's got a letter addressed to him," he yelled as he tried to snatch Harry's letter from his hand.

Harry jumped and waved the letter around, trying to keep it out of Dudley's reach, while also trying to avoid the Smelting stick as Dudley hit him with it over and over again.

"Geroff me!" Harry said as he tried to protect his head. Dudley continued to hit Harry wherever the stick could connect as he yelled at Harry to show him the letter.

Next thing Harry knew, Uncle Vernon's arm had snaked between the two boys, snatching the letter out of his hand just as the Smelting stick finally found its mark-right across Harry's forehead. Everything went black.

Next thing Harry knew, he was trying to open his eyes. The pain was blinding, making him feel sick to his stomach. Harry groaned, and finally got his eyes cracked open enough to see, but his glasses must have gotten knocked off his face. He saw the very blurry form of his Uncle Vernon standing over him, tearing up what looked like his letter. "You're not going!" Uncle Vernon said, then he walked over to the fireplace and tossed the item in the fireplace and lit it.

Next, Uncle Vernon bent down, picked up Harry's glasses, shoved them on Harry's face and told him to get up. Harry tried to do as he was told, but he was so dizzy from the blow to the head, that his legs just collapsed from under him. Uncle Vernon jerked Harry up by the arm, and told him "Walk up those stairs to Dudley's extra bedroom right now! If you don't start walking right now, I'm going to drag you up there. I'm not going to have people spying on you anymore!"

Harry tried, but ended up falling to his knees at the bottom of the stairs, and attempted to crawl up the stairs. "I said walk, not crawl!" growled Uncle Vernon, as he grabbed Harry's arm in a bruising grip and started dragging him up the stairs. He threw Harry in the room, slammed the door, and locked it. "Now you will be staying there."

Harry crawled over to the bed, trying not to retch from the pain in his head. He slowly climbed onto the bed, laid down and closed his eyes, once again passing out.

Much later, Harry woke up. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Then he remembered. The letter. Dudley knocking him out with the Smelting stick. Uncle Vernon burning the letter and hauling him up the stairs to the room. Harry's head gave a vicious throb, causing him to retch, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.

Harry looked at the door, and noticed that there was a tray with a bowl of what looked like soup and a glass of water. Next to the tray was a big bowl of clean water and a wash cloth. Harry stumbled over to the door, and tried the knob. It was locked. He looked down and noticed a note under the bowl of soup. He picked it up and tried to read it.

Harry, Eat this soup and drink the water. It's all you're getting today. Also, clean up your head. I don't want any more blood on the pillow and bedclothes than there already is!

The note was written in his Aunt Petunia's handwriting. Harry sat on the floor and picked up the cloth and placed it in the bowl. The water was cold and soothing on his head. As he rinsed the cloth in the water, the water started turning brown. Harry looked up and saw a mirror on the door, so he stood up and looked. He had a big gash going across his forehead that was about three or four inches long. It looked like it had bled quite a bit for a while. He also had what looked like the beginning of a black eye, and looked like it was going to swell shut by morning. Harry looked down at his arms. No wonder why he hurt so bad, his arms were covered in welts from Dudleys stick. His left arm was also sporting a set of finger prints from Uncle Vernon. He lifted his shirt, and sure enough, there were more welts from the Smelting stick.

Harry sat back down again, wrung out the cloth as best as he could, then while holding the cloth to his head, (It really did feel good.) he picked up the glass of tepid water and tried sipping it. His stomach threatened to rebel, but he managed to keep the water down. When he looked at the soup, he almost got sick, so he decided not to risk it. He picked up the glass again, stood up and stumbled back to the bed, still holding the cloth on his head. He sat down, placed the glass on the little nightstand, lay down, took his glasses off and closed his eyes once again.

When Harry next opened his eyes, there was bright sunlight shining through the yellow curtains. It was morning. He sat up, and discovered that he could only open one eye. He grabbed his glasses, put them on, then sat there quietly for a few minutes. He discovered that his Aunt had been there sometime while he was sleeping. He found two aspirin and a fresh glass of water on the nightstand, as well as a small plate with a piece of toast.

After Harry had taken the aspirin, ate the toast and drank the water, he found that he needed to go to the bathroom badly. He stood up to go to the door to try to get someone to let him out to go, but then he started hearing his aunt and uncle talking loudly down stairs. Harry crept to the door, and tried listening at the keyhole.

"Now they are addressing it to the Little Spare Bedroom at the Top of the Stairs!" Uncle Vernon said. "Well, I found three of them this morning with the mail," was Aunt Petunia's reply. "I guess he's just going to have to stay up there. We swore that we would not let this nonsense into our house," Uncle Vernon said. "Yes, we can't have that stuff around our Diddydums." Aunt Petunia said. "Too right, we can't!" Uncle Vernon agreed. Then Harry heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then the starting of Uncle Vernon's coupe.

Harry then remembered that he needed to use the bathroom, so he started knocking on the door. His Aunt walked up the stairs, then stopped outside his door. "What do you want?" Aunt Petunia sneered. "I need to use the bathroom." Harry told her. "Okay, but you have only five minutes, then you're going back to the room, whether you're done or not!" she replied, as she turned the lock.

This routine continued for three more days. Harry would wake up, eat his toast, drink his water, be let out to use the restroom, then either read or sleep all day until he was given more water and a bowl of lukewarm soup. Then he would be let out to take a quick shower and use the restroom again, just to be locked back in the room a couple minutes later.

On the fourth day, Harry heard his aunt complaining to Uncle Vernon that "that crazy Mrs. Figg" had stopped by that morning asking if everything was alright with Harry. His Uncle just commented that it wasn't that "busy body's" business and to just tell her so. Harry finally looked out the window for the first time in a couple days. On the sidewalk, he saw Snuggles looking up at his bedroom window. He wished that he could somehow talk to the cat, but he knew that cats couldn't talk to anyone to let them know that he needed help.

Snuggles looked at Harry, seemed to narrow his eyes, then walked around the corner and disappeared. Harry sat down on the bed again, and almost started crying.

The next day, Harry was let out of the room for the first time in 5 days. As Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, he joyfully let him know that since it was Sunday, he could spend the day out of the room. Harry knew why. There was no post on Sunday.

It was just as Aunt Petunia was getting ready to sit down to enjoy the breakfast (Which she had made Harry cook) that it happened. There was a strange noise coming from the fireplace, then whoosh! A letter flew out and hit Uncle Vernon right in the face! Then another letter and another letter flew out. Soon, there were hundreds of letters, all addressed to Harry, flying out of the fireplace and through the post slot in the front door!

"Get upstairs! Now!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "No! These letters are mine!" Harry shouted back, as he finally got his hands on a letter. "Dudley, Hit him with your stick!" Uncle Vernon ordered.

Dudley started hitting Harry about the head again as Harry ran past him and got to the door. Harry managed to get the door unlocked and was out it before Uncle Vernon or Dudley could get near him. Remembering that the only person who inquired about him in the last few days was Mrs. Figg, Harry quickly ran to her house and started pounding on the door and yelling for help.

Mrs. Figg opened the door, took one look at the very bruised boy and looked over at his house. When she saw Uncle Vernon and Dudley wedged together in the doorway, shouting for Harry to come back or else, she grabbed Harry by the arm, pulled him in her house, then quickly shut and locked the door. Harry looked up at her, and said "Thank you!". Then Harry passed out at her feet.