The Cupboard Series 2: Hermione's Book Nook

Chapter 1

The gleaming silver car that slowly pulled out of the driveway was filled with three laughing muggles.

The fat walrus that was Vernon Dursley managed to contain himself just long enough for him to stare up from the driver's side to the second story window of his home. And then, seeing that marvellous sight once more, he roared with laughter, his large grey moustache bouncing erratically every time he opened his mouth.

Beside him, the long bony face of his wife Petunia was bent down close to the dash as she too kept a close eye on that all important window as she giggled with glee. In the back seat, Dudley, their whale of a son, punctuated his ecstatic glee with continuous points.

And it was all due to their having once again gotten something over their supposedly powerful freak of a nephew and cousin.

That 'freak' stood stony-faced at his window in the tiniest bedroom of number four Privet Drive. His emerald eyes flashed with anger as he watched his 'family' drive off, leaving him locked in his room for the next day or two or however long it was that they ended up being away.

He knew just as well as they did that he could be out of that room in an instant, never mind the bars that now adorned his window or the five overly-large locks arrayed on his bedroom door.

For Harry Potter was a wizard. One wave of his wand, together with an incantation or two would free him. But the consequences of that action would be another letter from the Ministry of Magic about the violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery, resulting in his probable expulsion from his beloved Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or even worse, the snapping of his wand.

Just two days before, coincidently on his twelfth birthday, Harry had received such a letter. The fact that said magic had actually been performed by the strangest creature that Harry'd ever laid his eyes on, a house elf called Dobby, was immaterial. Magic had been performed in front of non-magical muggles and, as he was the only registered magic practitioner in the house, he'd been blamed.

There'd been no quarter given for the fact that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, one of the most famous wizards in Britain, simply because he hadn't died when the greatest Dark Wizard in a century, Lord Voldemort had tried to kill him when he was only fifteen months old. Not that anyone really knew what had happened that fateful evening. Lord Voldemort had simply turned up, killed both of Harry's parents and then, when he tried to kill Harry, the spell had backfired, leaving a scarred Harry behind with no sign of the supposedly vanquished Dark Lord.

But Lord Voldemort hadn't died that evening. Harry had been forced to face him once more barely six weeks ago and at his school, no less. His Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel, had turned out to have Lord Voldemort living inside him, visible only as a disembodied face growing out of the back of his head.

After a fairly one-sided duel between Quirrel and Professor Snape which saw the Entrance Hall to the great Castle end up a mess of stone pieces and blast marks, Harry been able to defeat Voldemort again, this time simply with his touch.

But that little house elf had ruined what had been a perfectly tolerable holiday. The Dursley's hadn't known that Harry couldn't do magic until that fateful letter came. And then all hell broke loose.

Uncle Vernon had spent the previous day in demented glee as he worked away at imprisoning Harry.

First Uncle Vernon had confiscated everything of Harry's that was even remotely connected to magic: his trunk, his robes, his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom, all his books, quills, ink and parchment. His owl, Hedwig had been locked into her cage with a brand new padlock. Another five padlocks had gone onto the door of his room. A cat-flap had been installed to allow food to be stuffed through it. And lastly, the bars to his window had been screwed into place.