“This… is an outrage!!!” blustered Vernon Dursley, pounding his meaty hand on the sparkling countertop. All in all, it was a lovely day. Sunlight filtered in from the windows, and an expectationally happy bird trilled from the nearby branch. But it was the house inside that trembled with turmoil, started by the purple faced Dursley.

His day at work had been pleasant, maybe an even good one. Orders for drills had come in from the Americas, and he was to ship out a thousand drills to the many Home Depots clustering about America. It had started to sour a little after the shipment, when his boss called he and his employees to a meeting. But it was when he found out what the meeting was about that his once joyful demeanor was diminished to an angry rage.

“What is it dear?” his wife, Petunia, soothed. “Nothing too bad, I hope.” She massaged his shoulders gently, as if her hand could make its way around the thick blade.

“Entirely idiotic. That’s what.”

“Please, tell me. Just as long as it has nothing to do with Dudley’s severe inability to comprehend anything and lack of coordination, we’ll be fine.”

“But it has to do with Dudley’s severe inability to comprehend anything and lack of coordiation! That’s the whole purpose!”

Petunia clutched her throat. “I don't understand..."

“Of course not, dear. I’m going to have to tell you from the start. It might be long, but I can do it. Let’s see now…”

I was perfectly content the way everything was. The shipment to America was being made, we had doughnuts for lunch, and the boss called a meeting. Obviously for my way with the business dealings. Or so I thought. When we arrived, he sat us down and looked so exuberant that I thought he was having a seizure.

“I had the most brilliant idea,” cried Ethan, my boss, raising his slender arms up to the air. “We need some enthusiasm here! We need to involve more people, have more pizzazz about our work! So I decided we get families involved. Not just any wife or father, but children! You’re going to train them, to learn about drills and to excel at sports. It’s also a gimmick, if you get the picture. Family Fun- for the Whole Family! Everyone like?” He glanced around, and the man across from me was sleeping. Ethan sighed, but continued. “Whoever’s kid is best at the drill trivia and sports challenges, wins a years supply of… you guessed it… drills! In whatever color they like.”

Now his assistant was drooling as he dozed. Ethan snorted exasperatedly. “And whoever’s kid wins gets promoted.”

There were cheers from the crowd as everyone was roused to life. But I stayed shock still. Dudley couldn’t learn a thing! He wasn’t athletic! But I need to get this promotion, Petunia!

“I must!” This is where Vernon ended his erm… tragic tale and snarled.

“Dudley will learn if it’s for you, dearest,” cooed Petunia. “I know our sweet little Dudders will!” Dudley looked up; his mouth hanging open as a little bit of the cake he was eating fell out.

“Of course,” said Vernon, trying to reassure himself as he gazed at the enormously fat boy.

The next day, he took the day off and attempted to teach Dudley the way of drills.

“Okay, Dudders, what is the thing that moves in one direction, Daddy sells these, and they make a whirring sound? Errrrrrrrrrrrr?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly, seeing if his reenactment of the drill sound did any good.

“A Ferris Wheel?” wondered Dudley as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

“No!!! A drill!!! Now I’ll ask you the question again. Listen. Now, what is the thing that moves in one direction, Daddy sells these, and they make a whirring sound?”

“Umm… a toaster!”

“NO YOU STUPID…!” Vernon buried his head in his hands and started crying.

“Vernon! Maybe you should try getting him into sports!” smiled Petunia, leaning out of the kitchen window with a gleaming plate in her hand.

Vernon adjusted the plastic lawn chair and swatted angrily at the mosquito buzzing around his face. The sun was too hot, the grass was too green… wait, was he quoting Shel Silverstein? He shook his head and kicked the grass. Quoting was something he did when he was frustrated, and that’s what he’d done right then.

“Let’s try sports, Dudders,” he sighed tiredly and stood up with some trouble. “Now. I take this Frisbee…”

“What’s a Frisbee?” The cookie in Dudley’s hand fell onto the lawn as he stared blankly into his father’s red face.

“A plate that you catch in the air. Now, ready? Here it comes… catch it!!!” Vernon threw the Frisbee very lightly and just at Dudley’s chest level. His son could catch this… even a one year old baby who was suffering from severe Shexxazonicmulipulscloronisis (if you don’t know what that is, look it up in the dictionary,) could get the little piece of plastic!

Well, Dudley obviously was a 6 month baby, who was dying from intense Shexxazonicmulipulscloronisis, because he stood there, watching the Frisbee fly straight toward him. Suddenly, he moved.

It was a graceful move, one of complete control of the body. Vernon gasped in awe as his son lifted from the air, and opened his mouth in the victorious scream so famous to athletes.

But Vernon’s soaring hopes soon were dashed as it hit Dudley’s nose. “Dad, I tried to catch it!” he cried.

“With your mouth?” screamed Vernon.

“Well, that’s how dogs do it, and we’re as good as dogs!” Dudley puffed out his chest.

“My good Prince Charles,” moaned Vernon as he leaned against his sturdy fence. He was never going to get promoted. He had no other hope. Lifting his face, he saw through the corner of his eye a boy. A small boy, with jet black hair and circular glasses, with startling green eyes that pierced the lenses. And a lightening bolt scar slashed across his forehead, marking him as special.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was in for a troubled summer.

Note: There is no such thing as Shexxazonicmulipulscloronisis. You can try to get it into the dictionary, believe me, I've tried. But somehow they keep rejecting it...