Harry Potter couldn’t sleep. Excitement was surging through him as he lay in the semi-darkness in the cupboard under the stairs; a few narrow shafts of light fell on his blanket through the ventilator in the door. The hall light was still on. Harry could hear that his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were still up and talking in the kitchen. They often stayed up and talked in the kitchen for many hours after Harry and his cousin Dudley had been put to bed. Sometimes Harry could here them. They talked about “the boy�, whoever that was, and drills, and the neighbours problems. Sometimes, like tonight, Harry could only here mumbling, so the kitchen door must be shut.

Harry would turn five tomorrow. Tomorrow was his birthday. He clutched his blanket around him and closed his eyes. Last month had been Dudley’s fifth birthday party. Harry could remember that day only too well, and had been longing for his birthday ever since. There had been cake, and decorations, and lots of presents, and Dudley’s friends, and a day out to the play park. How Harry had loved that play park; while all the other children were running and screaming, Harry had climbed to the top of the giant wooden fort. He had closed his eyes and dreamed of flying. He could have happily stayed there forever, but darkness had come and driven them home.
Harry wondered if his aunt and uncle were talking about him being nearly five. He wondered if they were wrapping presents, pinning up streamers and calling friends and relatives. On this happy thought, Harry dropped off to sleep, his small hands balled into relaxed fists.

* * * * *

When Harry woke the next morning, he could hear that his aunt and uncle were already up. He could hear the sizzling of bacon in the frying pan, and a crinkling noise as Uncle Vernon turned the pages if his newspaper. Harry thought that Dudley must still be in bed, as there was no whining coming from the kitchen.

Suddenly, as though something had just erupted from the pit of his stomach, Harry remembered that it was his birthday. He was five years old! He dressed himself quickly, then walked into the kitchen, his heart thumping with pride. His Aunt Petunia was stood at the cooker, cracking eggs into a frying pan. His Uncle Vernon, as he had suspected, was sat at the table reading his morning paper. Nobody looked up as Harry walked in. He felt a little disappointed. When Dudley had been five, there had been a big banner that said “Happy Birthday Dudley!� and he had been showered with hugs and kisses. Still, thought Harry, maybe this was a surprise birthday party. He waited a few moments for something to happen. Nothing did. He walked over to his aunt, and threw his chest out proudly.

“I’m five today,� he announced. Aunt Petunia didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She then glanced down at Harry, a frown on her face. Harry’s smile faltered a little.

“You’ve put your T-shirt on backwards,� she snapped, and pulled the offending item of clothing over his head, turned it around and tugged it back on. Harry felt humiliated. Aunt Petunia turned back to her bacon. Harry walked over to Uncle Vernon instead, whose face was still buried in the newspaper.

“I’m five today,�

“Shhh!� Uncle Vernon did not like to be disturbed whilst reading his newspaper. Harry had thought today might have been an exception, but he was obviously mistaken. He held back his tears, and sat at the table. Suddenly, Uncle Vernon burst out: “That’s brilliant!�

Harry smiled, and was about to say something, when uncle Vernon flousished the newspaper importantly and continued: “Listen to this: “The popular drill manufacturing company, Spencer’s, has folded due to bankruptcy.� Just think what that means for Grunnings!� he said excitedly. (Uncle Vernon was the director of a large company called Grunnings, which made drills.) Harry’s face fell again. Wasn’t anybody going to wish him a happy birthday? Aunt Petunia placed a cup of juice in front of Harry. Harry picked up his cup and slowly began to drink. It had been his birthday for fifteen minutes, and so far all of it had been horrible. Even the juice was wrong. He didn’t like apple. He was used to this kind of treatment from his Aunt and Uncle, but had thought that maybe his birthday would be different.

A few minutes later, Harry’s cousin Dudley ambled into the kitchen in his pyjamas, in search of food. Dudley was twice as wide as he was tall, and quickly found the hot pan of bacon on the stove. Aunt Petunia was getting plates out of a cupboard. Dudley waddled over to her.

“I want some bacon,� he said.

“In a minute, Diddykins,� came Aunt Petunia’s reply from inside the cupboard. There evidently weren’t enough plates, so she went over to the dishwasher and stuck her head inside that instead. Dudley followed. He kicked his mother as she hunted for dishes.

“I want some bacon now,� he whined. Harry sensed a tantrum coming along, and eyed Dudley warily. “What’re you staring at?� said Dudley. He clambered onto a chair at the table, glaring at Harry. Aunt Petunia set down plates of egg and bacon at the table, and sat down herself. Uncle Vernon sighed, and folded the pieces of newspaper together before setting them down to eat his breakfast. Harry took the opportunity to speak again.

“I’m five today,� he said, rather more loudly than he would have done, but the time had come to raise his voice, “It’s my birthday.�

“Is it?� said Aunt Petunia vaguely, cutting up Dudley’s bacon for him. “Oh, yes, we got a present for you.� She got up and went into the living room. Harry’s sprits rose enormously. He wondered what his present was. For his birthday, Dudley had got his first bicycle, a wonderfully shiny red thing with a bell. He never let Harry even touch it. Harry wondered if he was going to get his first bike. He pictured it for a moment. He saw himself pedalling like crazy down the street away from Dudley and his friends, coasting through the freshly cut grass of the play park as Dudley did. And that hadn’t been Dudley’s only present. He had got lots of new toys and clothes, and some Grandma or other had bought him a swingset for the garden.

Aunt Petunia came back into the room. Harry’s face fell. He certainly wasn’t getting a bike for his birthday. The package that Aunt Petunia was holding was no bigger than a book. One of those hard books that grown-ups like to read. Still, thought Harry, as he tore off the paper (which said “Merry Christmas� on it), they might have got him some crayons, or something else that was book-sized.

It was a book. One of those hard books that grown-ups like to read. Harry let the book fall open in his lap. The words were long and squiggled about on the page. He very much suspected that this was one of those books kept in Dudley’s second bedroom that nobody wanted to read.

“Thank you,� said Harry, trying very hard not to cry. His heart was bursting with jealousy. Then, before he could stop himself, he pointed out, “I can’t read.� He ought to have known to keep his mouth shut. The reaction was immediate and predictable.

“Don’t be so ungrateful!� spat Uncle Vernon, turning red in the face and banging his fork angrily on the table. “We didn’t have to get you a present. You certainly don’t deserve one! Throwing everything back in our faces! “This jumper is too big!� “There are spiders in my cupboard!� We should have taken you straight to the orphanage!�

Harry stared at his plate. He didn’t feel like eating. It didn’t look like there was going to be any cake anyway. When Harry pushed his uneaten bacon away, Uncle Vernon exploded again.

“You see!� he boomed, pointing at Harry’s plate, “We make you breakfast, and you leave half of it on the plate!� Harry hung his head. Maybe he was a bad boy. Maybe he didn’t deserve a present. Well, thought Harry, I’ll have to try harder for next year.

“Time to get dressed, Popkin,� said Aunt Petunia to Dudley, who was eyeing Harry’s bacon greedily. “We’re going out.�

“Why?� whined Dudley. Harry looked up with interest. Where would they go? The zoo? The cinema? Or even –

“Are we going to the play park?� asked Harry, perking up at once. Uncle Vernon snorted from behind his newspaper, which he had started reading again. Aunt Petunia frowned.

“Of course not. We’re going to Aunt Marge’s to see her new litter of bulldogs.�

“Aunt Marge’s? But I don’t want to go there! I want to go to the play park!�

“Be quiet,� snapped Aunt Petunia, “Go and put your shoes on!�

“But it’s my birthday, and I want to go to the play park!�

Harry knew he had gone too far. He had stepped over the invisible line. He was forbidden to question his Aunt and Uncle about their decisions, but at the moment he didn’t care. He felt like screaming. It wasn’t fair. He kicked the table leg, and then wished he hadn’t. He howled with pain and began to hop about, clutching his sore toe. Uncle Vernon had had enough. He stood up.

“Silence! You will not speak to your Aunt like that!�

Suddenly, and without warning, Uncle Vernon’s newspaper, which was still clutched in his right fist, burst into flames. Uncle Vernon gave a great yelp and dropped the paper as it singed his hand. On the floor lay the charred remains, smouldering slightly. Uncle Vernon turned purple. Harry knew he was going to get the blame. He always did. Even when it couldn’t possibly have been his fault.

“Get out!� shouted Uncle Vernon, leaning over the table and pointing into the hall, “Get out of this kitchen and onto the stairs!�

Harry stomped out of the kitchen, resisting the urge to punch Dudley, who was grinning smugly as his mother tied his shoelaces. He flopped down onto the bottom step and clenched his fists, the corners of his mouth pulled tight down and tears welling up in his eyes. Some birthday this was turning out to be.