Until the 'vase incident' Harry had held tightly onto the hope that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been wrong somehow and that his freakiness was just a mistake. He had always dreamed that he would awake one morning to find his relative had realised their error and cleared out the spare room just ready for him. After all only Freaks lived in cupboards.

Freshly cooked breakfast would be on the table and new clothes would lie pressed and ready to wear. Needless to say no such thing ever happened and after the 'broken vase' incident, frankly, Harry gave up on the whole idea. For after that he had proof.

Only a Freak could go from fully vocally enabled to utterly silent over night; which was exactly what Harry had managed. It wasn't just 'criminally wilful disobedience' as Uncle Vernon had said after frequently failed attempts to draw sounds out of Harry; but rather a physical impossibility.

Harry had understandably been quite distressed about his sudden lack of ability to make any noise whatsoever, but like the practical child that he was, had quickly come to the realisation that nobody listened to him anyway and as with the many other difficulties he faced - decided to ignore it. His 'silence problem' also had the great advantage of preventing punishments for 'spouting rubbish' and 'snivelling pathetically' as he simply couldn't.

And so life in the Dursley household continued on much the same as before.

Sharp rapping on his cupboard door woke Harry from dreams of high pitched laugher and blinding green flashes of light. Brushing an errant spider's web off his face 10 soon to be 11 year old Harry Potter sat up and leant forward reaching for his glasses. After blindly searching for them for a couple of seconds Harry located them under an old and particularly holey sock. The world quickly swam into focus as he pushed the bent and sellotaped frames up his nose.

Although Harry had not grown very much in the 10 years he'd lived with the Dursleys; his cupboard was still becoming increasingly cramped and Harry took extra care not to knock any of the numerous cleaning products off the shelves as he dressed. Beneath the shiny bottles of bleach, polish and lacquer Harry kept his 'things'.

Two plastic soldiers with missing limbs that he had rescued from the dustbin on a whim and three worn paperbacks with ripped pages and stained covers were the sum total of Harry's existence. He was reminded often that the clothes that he wore were actually Dudleys and furthermore that he should be daily grateful for such kindness.

Personally Harry felt Dudley was welcome to the baggy and frayed cast offs which hung off his undernourished frame in a ridiculous manner.

Rolling up the sleeves of his enormous shirt and tightening the belt wrapped almost thrice around his waist, Harry ducked out from within his cupboard.

He quickly walked the short distance to the kitchen taking care not to brush against any walls and inadvertently leave dirty smudges. Aunt Petunia disliked dirt smudges and mess almost as much as she disliked Harry.

As soon as he had been old enough and able to grip a spatula, Harry had cooked and made Breakfast, now he moved with well practiced fluency over the steaming hobs. The bacon and sausages popped and spat merrily as heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Cousin Dudley.

Dudley Dursley was as fat as Harry was thin and filled the kitchen doorway easily with his porky bulk. Flipping the fried toast, Harry pondered, not for the first time, how long it would be before Dudley was physically unable to fit through the gap. Would he simply stay in one room or, more likely, would his Uncle and Aunt spend an absolute fortune to widen every door-frame in the house.

Dudley waddled to the table and manoeuvred himself onto a chair with difficulty - his extra girth hanging off the edges. Finding that there was no food in front of him; he shouted "Breakfast!" slamming his cutlery hard upon the wooden table surface repeatedly. Harry nodded dutifully and hurried to carry through a plate laden heavily with food.

The quicker the better, any damage inflicted upon the table would only result in serious punishment for Harry. Dudley damaged the table and Uncle damaged freak boy Harry. Even furniture came above Freaky little orphan brats that had been dumped upon the shoulders of well respecting families to be a 'drain' and 'burden'.

As he was cracking Uncle Vernon's fourth egg into the pan, Harry glance up out of window and noticed with some surprise an owl with speckled brown feathers sitting rigidly on the back fence. Painting the fence had been one of Harry's lengthiest chores last week and he hoped the bird wouldn't scratch or excrete on the fresh, neat paint. Strange - all the books Harry had read definitely listed owls as nocturnal birds. What was one doing out in daylight, blatantly at that?

Harry's mind was swiftly torn from the oddly behaving owl in the back garden as Uncle Vernon arrived in the kitchen.

"Boy" he said, fixing Harry with a cold glare, "why do I not see my Breakfast ready for me?"

Harry hated questions like that, Uncle knew he couldn't reply yet seemed always to expect an answer. Harry was tempted to use his personal 'special' way he had discovered to communicate if it wasn't just so….freaky.

"Still waiting", shouted his Uncle and slammed a chubby fist onto the table provoking the cutlery and plates to jump, "don't make me come out there!"

Attempting to simultaneously remain in control of the cooker, Harry stuck his head out from behind the kitchen unit and bobbed it, trying desperately to convey his obedience and understanding. Uncle Vernon's forays into the kitchen never ended well for Harry – or his back.

"Counting down", commented Uncle Vernon as Harry rushed frantically to finish the last of the scrambled eggs. His last 'lesson' had only been the previous week and the results were still unhealed and sticky to touch.

Placing the crowded plate in front of his Uncle, Harry allowed himself to relax slightly; Aunt Petunia always ate far less and seemed to prefer eating separately from the other two and later.

Harry couldn't really blame her; he wouldn't want to eat opposite Dudley and Uncle Vernon as they shovelled seemingly endless quantities of food haphazardly into their mouths. The pigs Harry had once seen on a school trip to a petting farm held remarkable resemblances to both his male relatives, especially at meal times.

It had been Aunt Petunia who had first noticed the owl. The glass she held slipping through her lax fingers to shatter violently into millions of tiny fragments, spread liberally across the tiles of the kitchen floor. She had turned wide eyed to Harry, as if he had personally invited the creature to invade the back garden. Harry failed to be that surprised, blame was always laid firmly at his feet.

Checking quickly to make sure Uncle Vernon's attention was still fixed upon his food; his Aunt had pushed him roughly out the back door hissing in low tones, "Get rid of it, quick, before your Uncle catches sight it of the dratted thing."

Harry didn't know what would happen should Uncle Vernon espy the bird but his Aunts increasingly frenzied hand gestures suggested it wouldn't be good.

The bird didn't fly away as Harry approached, rather turned its head and looked directly at him with intelligent, clear beady eyes. Acting on an urge Harry stuck out his right arm and watched astonished as the owl hopped dutifully onto his wrist. Its sharp claws dug painfully into the soft flesh of Harry's arm but he ignored the discomfort in favour of tentatively stroking the creature's silky feathers. The bird seemed to enjoy the attention and leaned towards Harry - seeking further caresses.

Harry was abruptly broken free of his revelry by the sound of angry banging against glass. Surprised, he jolted his arm prompting the owl to fly smartly back to the relative safety of the fence. Uncle Vernon, red faced and irate, stood gesturing at the kitchen window. Reluctant to face his infuriated relative, Harry took a final lingering glance at the interesting bird and ran quickly back to the house.

The moment he stepped through the door Vernon grabbed Harry by his hair, yanking it painfully at the roots.

"Disgusting FREAK" screamed Vernon dragging Harry through to the hall, "what have I told you before about controlling your oddities!"

Harry didn't quite understand how the owls sudden arrival was his fault, his freakiness had definitely never attracted any kind of animal or bird before, but he was nevertheless relieved when his Uncle merely flung him viciously into his cupboard; a trip upstairs only meant dire lessons and the belt. Harry was unable however to stop his heart sinking as he heard the familiar clunks of the deadbolts on the outside of his door being flicked across – he was locked in.

Amongst all the commotion Harry did not even get a chance to notice the odd letter addressed to him in green ink lying on the doormat.

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey