The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and glared around the room. Nearly everything in here was broken, a month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was Dudley’s first ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat his fat bottom on it.
Other shelves were full of books, they were the only things in the room that looked like they hadn’t been touched.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother. “I don’t want him in there… I need that room… make him get out…” Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he’d have given anything to be up here. Today he’d rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he’d just opened the stupid letter in the hallway. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. “Shut up.” Harry said under his breath just before Dudley shouted “There’s another one! ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-” with a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat, knocking down his chair, and ran into the hall with Harry on his heels. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry’s letter clutched in his hand. “Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Harry. “Dudley - go - just go.” Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn’t received his first letter. Surely that meant they’d try again? And this time he’d make sure they didn’t fail. He had a plan. The repaired alarm clock rang at six o’ clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn’t wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door.
Harry slowly opened the door, which caused a loud ‘creeeeeeeeeeek’. Harry froze. If the Dursleys had heard… but they were all still fast asleep, Dudley’s snores hadn’t faltered. Harry took a deep breath and opened the door wider and walked out. Harry ran to the edge of the street to wait for the mail, and sat down. After about five minutes the mail still wasn’t there Harry’s eyes began to droop. “Stay awake,” he muttered to himself. “You have to wait for the…'' but he didn’t finish his sentence. The mail had finally arrived! Harry sat up quickly and stumbled over to the truck, his tiredness showing.
“Hello are you Mr. H. Potter?” the man, around the age of thirty, asked Harry. “Yes,” Harry said in a hurry, nodding. “I’m Harry Potter.” the man smiled and handed over two handfuls of envelopes. “Here you go Harry, you’ve got about twelve of them here.” Harry grinned, excited that he had gotten his hands on a letter. “NO YOU DON’T BOY!” Harry turned around to see Uncle Vernon running at him like a beet with legs. “PUT THOSE DOWN!” The mail man’s eyes widened as he started the truck and sped off. Uncle Vernon’s forehead was pulsing and his fist were swinging everywhere. “No!” Harry yelled as Uncle Vernon snatched the letters and threw them down the drain after ripping them into shreds. “Those were my letters!” Harry roared as he reached down the drain to try and find one. His hand fell onto a thin, slightly soggy, piece of parchment. He pulled it out of the drain but it was too wet to read.
“You’re going straight to your bedroom when we're back at the house, boy.”