July 31, 1991 (very early evening)

Harry Potter knew it was his eleventh birthday, but he also knew there would be no celebration. Uncle Vernon had said as much the day before.

"You have no right to expect any sort of birthday party, boy. Not after that dreadful fiasco at the zoo on Dudders' birthday last month."

Not that Harry had ever had a party on his birthday. It was just one more way for Uncle Vernon to rub in that very fact. Taunting him. Even Aunt Petunia joined in, asking Dudley what HE would like to have for a special dinner on the last day of July.

Not that Harry would get to eat with the family at all. He could serve himself after he had cleared the table when dinner had ended. If Dudley and Uncle Vernon had left anything, that is. Harry hoped there would be a serving of the roast beef left. It did smell so delicious. Maybe a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a sprig or two of broccoli-he could pretend it was a real birthday dinner, since it was, after all, his birthday.

Aunt Petunia had frosted a four-layer cake and set it regally on the cake stand on the cherry sideboard. Dudley's choice again, but surely there would be some cake left. Harry had sampled the frosting when Aunt Petunia's back was turned, swiping his index finger quickly through the chocolate remains clinging to the inside of the mixing bowl. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Surely, even Dudley couldn't eat that much cake! Not even Dudley and Uncle Vernon together. Surely.

Harry sighed quietly as he laid the table with Aunt Petunia's best china. The polished silverware and sparkling crystal were already in place. He watched with wide green eyes as she planted two slender white tapers in sterling holders, just so along the center line of the table. With a graceful movement, Aunt Petunia moved the sizzling match from candle to candle, igniting the waiting, unused wicks. Harry imagined to himself that she was actually lighting birthday candles for him, even though there were only two tapers.

After Harry had helped carry all of the filled serving dishes to the dining table, Aunt Petunia dismissed him, saying, "That's all for now. Since you finished weeding all of the flower beds earlier today, you have free time until we have finished our dinner. You may spend it outdoors or in your cupboard, whichever you prefer."

Surprised that she hadn't required him to wait on them throughout the meal, as she normally did, Harry opted for the fine summer evening outside. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia." Probably, she didn't want him around, "interfering" with Dudley's special meal, but he was glad to get out of the thankless task of serving them at the table for one evening.

Ignoring his polite acknowledgment, Petunia swept into the lounge where Dudley was engrossed in watching the telly. "Dinner is ready, darling. The fine dinner you asked for. Do wash up and come to the table."

As Dudley nodded, his eyes still fixed on the television screen, Petunia disappeared through the foyer doorway to call up the stairs to Vernon. What a momentous stroke of luck, Harry thought, swiping a thick slice of roast beef from beneath several others on the platter piled high with fragrant meat. He grabbed a crusty roll from beneath he folded cloth lining the burgeoning basket, and he made a beeline for the back door before the rest of the family entered the dining room.

Moments later, he had tucked himself behind the thick shelter of lilac leaves next to the end of Uncle Vernon's tool shed and began savoring his al fresco feast. Now this was a birthday treat! If Aunt Petunia allowed him to eat in the kitchen later, he would treat it like seconds, which he'd nearly never had; he was lucky just to get "firsts" several times a week. Since he'd finished the weeding, a plate of food was likely, as long as Uncle Vernon and Dudley didn't overdo more than usual. And if there was a chance for cake... Cake on his birthday-even a smidge-would do nicely.

He took his time chewing the savory beef and the crusty roll. Who knew how long until he'd have another birthday this good? Through the open windows across the garden, he could hear Uncle Vernon's booming laughter interspersed with Aunt Petunia's brittle giggles as Dudley related some tale or other. It didn't bother Harry one bit. This was his BIRTHDAY!

Later, having finished his smuggled dinner, he drank deeply of plastic-tasting water from the garden hose, making sure to rinse the telltale grease from his fingers. Then, flopping down on the grass that he'd mowed just yesterday, he linked his fingers behind his tousled black hair and stared up at the puffy clouds floating overhead. He wondered, not for the first time, what his birthday celebration would have been like if his parents had not died in that car crash. What special gift would they have given him for his eleventh birthday? Would they have gone somewhere special, like Dudley's birthday trip to the zoo? Was he the only person who had to steal meat and bread to have a special birthday dinner?

Harry sighed, his eyes watching a cloud slowly developing into a distinct tortoise shape. In the end, it really didn't matter, he decided. At least he wouldn't go to sleep hungry tonight. His eyelids drifted closed, and he dozed, listening with part of his mind to the typical sounds of a summer evening passing decorously in Little Whinging.

Less than an hour later, Aunt Petunia's shrill voice summoned him back to the kitchen. A plate awaited him on the counter, bearing a small strip of beef, a spoonful of potatoes, and several florets of broccoli. "You may eat once you've cleared the table. Then do the dishes and go to your cupboard."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said automatically, eyeing the plate with his "seconds". "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

Her lips compressed unpleasantly as she left the dinnertime mess behind her in the kitchen with her nephew.

Harry quickly carried platters and bowls from the dining room, carefully tipping their contents into storage containers, or wrapping foil or plastic over the tops to keep the leftovers fresh. Then he wedged the containers and bowls into the fridge, struggling to get the door to shut against the vast variety of food stored within the few square feet of chilled space.

As he returned to the dining room to carry the dinner plates to the kitchen, Dudley's demanding voice drifted down the stairs from his first bedroom. "Mum, I want another piece of cake!"

"Of course, Diddykins! Have your cousin cut you a slice and bring it up."

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards, pushing the lightning-bolt scar-a souvenir of the car crash- up beneath his fringe.

"Potter! Bring me a slice of cake! On a clean plate! With a clean fork!"

"Yes, Dudley," Harry called in reply to the bellow from above. "I'll be right up."

"Make it BIG!" Dudley ordered with a shout.

"One BIG slice of cake coming up!" Harry called.

Another stroke of luck!

He'd been certain that Aunt Petunia would have noticed if a slice-even a small one-had gone missing from the leftover cake on the cake stand. But with Dudley demanding a large slice, Harry might just be able to sneak a piece for himself. Quickly, he grabbed a clean plate, fork, and paper towel. Onto the paper towel he slid a relatively thin slice of frosted cake, and he folded the towel over to conceal it. Next, he loaded a huge wedge of cake onto the plate. On the way to the stairs, he quietly opened the door to his cupboard and set his own slice of cake on one of the shelves at the taller end of the space. Then he ran up the stairs to deliver Dudley's piece to him.

Aunt Petunia wandered out of her bedroom to confront Harry. "What took you so long, boy?"

"Oh, I had to dry my hands, Aunt Petunia. I didn't want to get dish detergent suds all over Dudley's cake." He held up the huge wedge for her inspection.

"Very well," she said with a sniff, and turning on her heel, she headed back into the master bedroom where Vernon was still talking on the phone.

"Well, give it here," demanded Dudley, grabbing for the plate. Harry handed it over silently, followed by the fork, and Dudley returned to his own room, where his computer screen was blinking impatiently as cyber-game music blared from the speakers. He kicked the door shut with his trainer, and Harry was left grinning at the empty expanse of wood.

Trotting lightly back down the stairs, he headed eagerly for "seconds" in the kitchen, knowing he could enjoy his secreted slice of cake later on in his cupboard.

But first...

The tapers were still burning quietly on the dining table. On a birthday that had already turned out so lucky, might Harry actually have a wish come true as well?

Somehow, in his gut, Harry knew this would be the most important wish he would ever make. It had to be phrased exactly right to come true. He thought and thought, his back to the glowing candles. He thought about his long-dead parents, who were never discussed at the Dursleys' home. He thought about endless chores that Dudley and other neighborhood kids never had to do. He thought about Dudley's having two bedrooms-one just for his toys-and Harry's having to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. He thought about Dudley's new uniform for when he would go away to Smeltings and Harry's always having to wear Dudley's worn-out, too-big hand-me-downs. He thought about being hungry. Often. Too often.

Slowly, he turned to face the nearest candlestick. Then, he paused. Maybe-just maybe- he should double up for luck. He placed the two candlesticks side by side, their respective tapers pointing vertically, looking sort of like two numeral ones side by side. Like they really said "eleven", Harry thought with a thrill of excitement. It's my eleventh birthday, after all! It must be an omen! I'll finally get LUCKY this year!

Focusing on the softly-glowing flames, Harry concentrated hard. "I wish I had a different, better life," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he blew-HARD. When he opened his eyes, the blackened wicks were sending thin, twin spirals of gray smoke toward the dining room ceiling.

"That's it!" he whispered. "This year, I'll really and truly get my wish!"

The glorious thought sustained him as he downed his "seconds", washed and dried the dishes, and rendered the dining room polished and spotless once again.

Finally, finished for the evening, he shut himself into his cupboard to savor his slice of chocolate-frosted chocolate birthday cake. It had definitely been his very best birthday ever!

The next morning, the first owl arrived.