Now you see me

The day after

Hidden under the stairs of the Dursley household was a small closet, barely big enough to fit a single person. But to Harry, it was his home, his own private theatre, where he could practice his magic undisturbed.

Every day after school, Harry would retreat to his room and slip into the closet, closing the door behind him. Inside, surrounded by his collection of magic books and props that he could scavenge for from an abandoned charity store he found while running from Dudley, he would spend hours practicing his tricks in the dim light that filtered through the small lightbulb.

With determination and dedication, Harry taught himself the art of magic. He started with simple card tricks, practicing the sleight of hand until his fingers moved with precision. Then, he moved on to more advanced illusions, experimenting with coins, ropes, and even small objects he found around the house when the family weren't looking.

Despite the cramped space and the occasional mishap, Harry thrived in his makeshift workshop. He relished the challenge of mastering each new trick, pushing himself to improve with every practice session.

As weeks turned into months, Harry's skills as a magician grew by leaps and bounds. His confidence soared as he perfected his routines, imagining himself performing on grand stages in front of adoring crowds.

But Harry's dream seemed out of reach, confined to the confines of his tiny closet. He longed for the opportunity to share his magic with the world, to dazzle audiences with his skill and creativity.

Mr. H. Potter 

The Cupboard under the Stairs 

4 Privet Drive 

Little Whinging 

Surrey 

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, with an address that was written in green ink.  Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a waxseal bearing a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snakesurrounding a large letter H.  

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen.  Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handedUncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began toopen the yellow envelope.Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped overthe postcard. 

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. 

"Ate a funny whelk. --." 

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on thesame heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out ofhis hand by Uncle Vernon. 

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back. 

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter openwith one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green fasterthan a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within secondsit was the grayish white of old porridge. 

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held ithigh out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the firstline. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched herthroat and made a choking noise. 

"Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!"They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry andDudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. Hegave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick. 

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly. want to read it," saidHarry furiously, "as it's mine." 

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezedthrough the door. "Who's writing to me?" 

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. 

"I had burned it." 

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, 

"it had my cupboard on it." 

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from theceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into asmile, which looked quite painful. 

"Er... yes, Harry. about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have beenthinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it mightbe nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom. 

"Why?" said Harry. 

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. 

"Take this stuff upstairs,now."

After two trips Harry had managed to get all of his things upstairs while hiding it from the Dursleys under the baggy hand-me-downs from their overweight son, and neatly packed away in the provided wardrobe 

Mr. H. Potter

The smallest bedroom 

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey