Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, and a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and - a letter for Harry. “What the bloody…” Harry muttered as he picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like an 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 go to the library, so he’d never even got 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 snake, an eagle, a bader, and a loin surrounding a large letter H. “Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke. Harry stuffed the letter in his pocket and went back to the kitchen. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard sat down and started eating his food. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard. “Marge’s ill.” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk…” “DAD!” Dudley shouted suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!” Harry was standing up from the table and his letter had fallen out of his pocket. It was taken from the floor by Uncle Vernon’s hand. “That’s /mine/!” Harry snapped, trying to snatch it back. “Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it.
His face went from angry to scared and shocked (witch, for Harry, almost made up for it). “P-P-Petunia!” he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as thought she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. “Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!” They stared at each other seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick. “I want to read the letter.” he said loudly. “I want to read it!” said Harry furiously. “As it’s MINE!” “Get out both of you.” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside the envelope. Harry didn’t move. “I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted. “Let me see it!” demanded Dudley. “OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole and somehow Harry won. “Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address - how can they possibly know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”
“Watching - spying - might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. “But what should we do Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want-” Harry could see Uncle Vernon pacing around the room. “No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer… yes that’s best… we won’t do anything…” “But-” “I’m not having one in the house Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”
That evening when he got back from work Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard. “Where’s my letter?” Harry asked the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?” “No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.” “It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily. “It had the cupboard on it.” “SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile which looked quite painful. “Er - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you’re really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.” “Why?” said Harry, suspicious“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs now.”