Surrey, nestled in the southeast of England, lies just southwest of London. The River Thames meanders through its green fields, flowing northeast toward Greater London.
At Number 4, Privet Drive, in the quiet town of Little Whinging, Surrey, stood a perfectly ordinary detached house.
Inside lived the Dursley family.
To most people, the Dursleys were a family of three—Mr. Vernon Dursley, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, and their son, Dudley Dursley.
But those who truly knew them were aware of a fourth inhabitant: an eleven-year-old boy with messy hair and round glasses.
This boy, so easy to overlook, was none other than Mrs. Dursley's nephew—her late sister Lily's son: Harry Potter.
It was obvious to anyone paying attention that Harry Potter's life in his aunt's home was far from happy.
He was invisible not only to outsiders but even within his own family. He didn't even have a proper bedroom—just a cramped cupboard beneath the stairs.
In every aspect of life, he was worlds apart from his cousin Dudley.
After all, Harry was the orphaned child whose parents had died in a car crash, while Dudley was, in his aunt and uncle's eyes, the "best boy in the world."
Whenever he heard Aunt Petunia say that, Harry could barely keep from laughing. Only he knew just how rotten Dudley really was.
Dudley didn't just bully Harry himself—he always had a gang of friends to help out.
How could anyone call someone like that "the best boy in the world"?
Sometimes Harry wondered if he might be the unluckiest boy alive. All he wanted was to grow up quickly, become independent, and leave this unfriendly house behind.
If you could even call it his home.
…
"Who was that boy, really?" Harry murmured, lying on his narrow bed.
He often thought back to that trip to the zoo. In the reptile house, he'd somehow made the glass vanish from the snake enclosure, and the python had slipped away.
While everyone else had fled in terror, only one boy—slightly older than Harry—had dared to approach the snake.
Harry remembered, clear as day, seeing and hearing that boy speak to the snake—and understanding what he said.
That day, Harry had wanted more than anything to talk to that boy. He'd felt, somehow, that they might have something in common. He longed for someone he could share his secrets with.
But Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been furious, dragging him away because they blamed him for letting the snake escape—and for getting their precious Dudley trapped in the enclosure.
After that, Harry had secretly scraped together bus fare and ridden the Underground to the London Zoo, hoping to see that mysterious boy again. He waited for ages, but the boy never appeared—of course he knew it was a foolish hope, but he had nothing else to cling to.
Naturally, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia found out he'd sneaked off to the zoo. Their fury was volcanic, and Harry spent an entire day locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
But that wasn't what made him sad. What truly hurt was the fear that he'd never find that boy again—never find someone who might listen to his secrets.
For a person, the worst thing isn't hunger, or cold, or darkness. It's being utterly alone.
Thinking that, Harry's tears slipped silently down his cheeks.
…
"Hey, Harry! When summer's over, you'll be off to Stonewall High. I heard they stick the new kids' heads down the toilet," Dudley bellowed.
When Harry didn't react, Dudley grinned wickedly. "Wanna try it now, in the loo? I'll help you get used to it."
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. "No thanks. But if you want to try it and tell me what it's like, I'd be happy to listen."
Before Dudley's slow brain could work that out, Harry slipped away to the nearby park.
Sitting on the swing, Harry Potter turned his worries over in his mind.
Primary school was done. After the holidays, he'd be starting secondary school—Stonewall High, a comprehensive school with a terrible reputation. Dudley called it "Stonewall," and Harry was pretty sure his fate as a target for bullies would only continue.
No, it would probably get worse.
The future looked bleaker by the day.
What stung even more was that Dudley would be attending Smeltings, the most prestigious school in the area.
But what could Harry do? He had no parents, no money, and no say in his own life.
Lost in thought, it was late by the time he wandered home.
When he got back, Dudley and Aunt Petunia had just returned from London.
"Look at my uniform, Harry!" Dudley crowed, strutting around in a black tailcoat and swinging a knobbly stick.
That was the Smeltings dress code.
As Dudley paraded around, his fat body looked even more ridiculous in the formal getup.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were beside themselves with pride—Aunt Petunia looked fit to burst into tears of joy.
Harry, who'd been feeling low, suddenly wanted to laugh. Dudley looked exactly like a circus gorilla.
Suddenly, he didn't envy Dudley at all. In fact, the farther away he could be from that gorilla, the happier he'd be.
…
That night, Harry dreamed that the boy from the zoo came to find him—arriving in a helicopter, no less.
After leaping from the helicopter, the boy shouted, "Harry Potter, your country needs you!"
He saw Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gaping in shock, and Dudley's eyes nearly popped out of his fat face, which was twisted with jealousy and envy.
Then Harry woke up, grinning from ear to ear.
He couldn't calm down for ages after waking. A helicopter was the coolest thing he could imagine—a detail he'd picked up from one of Dudley's comic books.
There couldn't be a more dramatic way to make an entrance.
But of course, it was just a dream.
Things like that could only happen in dreams.
Still, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he could pick up the dream where he'd left off—hoping to see where that boy would take him.
But by the time Aunt Petunia's shrill voice rang out at dawn, the dream had never come back.
…
That morning, Harry ate his breakfast, disappointment heavy in his chest.
Not long after, he helped Uncle Vernon fetch the mail.
To his surprise, he found an envelope addressed to:
Mr. Harry Potter
And the address read: The Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Who would ever bother to include "The Cupboard Under the Stairs" in an address?
So this letter was really for him?!
Harry's mind flashed back to his dream, and his heart began to race.
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