Okay. Here's a second go at this. Site Administrators: Please note that there are absolutely NO song lyrics in this book.
Given reason for HPOS being deleted:"Not the property of uploading writer Please note we do not allow users to post lyrics to songs they did not write. Exception being works in the US public domain."

I scoured this book looking for song lyrics, and found none. I shall re-upload this book with the knowledge that it had been taken down with a reason that was false. If this gets deleted once more for the same, inane, false, reason again, I will change my location from Antarctica to the United States if only for this book to be published.

Try me.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Yup. Absolutely normal. NOTHING WRONG WITH THEM AT ALL. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was an obese, overweight man that had barely any neck to be seen, you could compare him with a walrus, though, he did have a very thick, large, fancy, curled moustache. Mrs. Dursley was the complete opposite, she was unhealthily thin, blonde-haired, and had twice the amount of neck- probably to make up for Mr. Dursley's lack of- which was useful for peering into her neighbor's 'yards', or so she said; she closely resembled a horse due to that neck. Now, the Dursleys had a 'small' son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. Well, if you could call an extremely small whale 'fine'.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, a normal life, filled with obese men and thin wives, but they had a dark, dark, secret. That secret was so unDursleyish that they feared someone would find out about it.

That secret? The Potters. Yes, a fine name I might say. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her good-for-nothing husband were, as I said before, unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters were arrived in the street. The Potters had a small son, too, but they have never had the fortune to meet this wonderful child.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Nope nothing at all. Completely normal day in England. The perfectly normal Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his perfectly normal high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his perfectly normal car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to looked again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light, yes, yes, it was a trick of the light, there was no way a CAT could be reading a map! Mr. Dursley stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive – no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley shook himself, and by extension the car, and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing abnormal, the only normal thought was the large order of drills that he was going to get, and if there was a single one missing, he would get to yell at his underlings. Yes, what a wonderfully normal day this was going to be.

All of that was shot when he noticed, while stuck in traffic, people out in robes and cloaks – some stupid new fashion Mr. Dursley guessed. While he was drumming his finger on the steering wheel, thinking of a perfectly normal song, he looked at some of the weirdos nearby. They seemed to be whispering excitedly about something. Mr. Dursley felt his eyes widen when he saw an old man in that getup, he had to be older than Mr. Dursley! But then, it struck Mr. Dursley that this was some sort of silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something. . . yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills and shouting at coworkers.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in the office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't he might've found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl before. City people. Mr. Dursley had a normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five people, made some very important telephone calls and shouted some more. He also got a contract through intimidation.

When lunchtime rolled around, he had completely forgotten about the weirdos. But it 'twas not to be. He had stretched his legs and gotten a bun at the bakery, when he saw them again. He had collected his doughnut, straight from the oven, and walked back outside when he saw a group of them muttering. He frowned and clutched his doughnut in a bag closer to his chest.

"Yes, yes the Potters, that's what I heard, too-"

"-Harry, their son, I heard-"

Mr. Dursley froze. It wasn't the simple chill down your back, no, it was the freezing of your entire normal world and then someone grabbing it and throwing it onto the ground, shattering it into a million pieces, while laughing at your misfortune. He looked back at the weirdos, but didn't say anything, didn't want to draw attention to a normal person like him. He quickly made his way back to his office, where he barked at his secretary to not bother him.

He hesitated over the final number when he changed his mind, Mrs. Dursley wouldn't like to be bothered by rumors, now would she? Mr. Dursley wasn't even sure Harry was he nephew's name, it might've been Harvey, or even Harold. He'd never even seen the boy.

Mr. Dursley couldn't concentrate on anything the rest of the day after that. When Five O'clock came around, he quickly- well, as quick as someone his girth could go- exited his building. So lost in his thoughts he was, he bumped into a tiny old man.

"Sorry," Mr. Dursley grunted as the old man stumbled and almost fell. It took Mr. Dursley a few seconds to notice that the tiny old man was wearing a violet cloak. The little man's face split wide open, instead of being annoyed he seemed happy, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset my today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy, day!"

The man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle, well as much as his hands could reach, and walked off, a spring in his step.

Rooted to the spot like a very large, and old, oak, Mr. Dursley stood- he had been hugged by a complete and unknown stranger. Had been called a Muggle- whatever that might've been. His bones rattled inside his body- shaking to the core. He rushed to his car- as fast as someone his girth could, at least- and drove off towards his home, desperately hoping that he was imagining things- which he had never hoped before, as he abhorred imagination.

Nasty, disgusting thing, Imagination was. Err- sorry, Mr. Dursley's thoughts on imagination, you see. Anyway, he pulled into the driveway of number four, and seeing the most abhorrent thing- the same thing he saw this morning- was the tabby cat that was now sitting on his garden wall like it owned the place!

Pulling himself out of his car when he parked it in his driveway, he motioned at the cat, "Shoo!" It didn't move, only giving him a stern look. That was not normal. Frowning, Mr. Dursley pulled himself together and let himself into his house- determined not to mention anything abnormal to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had a wonderfully normal day. She told him(Gossiped) over dinner about how Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley (the baby whale if you forgot) learned a new word- "Won't!" he had proclaimed when Mrs. Dursley mentioned it. After their meal, the baby whale had been put to sleep, and the adults went down to watch the news.

"And finally, bird-watcher everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt during the night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sights of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster grinned, "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," spoke the weatherman as the camera switched over to him, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in telling me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting starts! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley felt the shattering of his normal world even more- like the person who broke it started digging their foot into the glass, trying to ground it into a fine sand. Shooting stars, Owls in daylight, Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? Whispers about the Potters. . .

Bah! I couldn't be anything! But, well, Mr. Dursley told himself, he might as well ask Mrs. Dursley what her nephew's name was- just to make sure he was just hearing things. Gathering his courage (which wasn't much, to be honest) he puffed up his chest and looked at his wife as she came into the room with a tray of tea.

"Petunia, dear, what was your nephew's name again?" He asked.

Mrs. Dursley froze where she was pouring the tea, "W-what was that, Vernon?"

Mr. Dursley cleared his throat, now scared, "I asked what your nephew's name was- the pottery boy."

"Harry," She coughed out, then continued to pour the tea.

Mr. Dursley was now worried. No, no, he wouldn't mention that he heard whispers about them, trying to save at least some normalcy. Deciding to not say another word on the subject, they finally went upstairs to bed.

While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley peered out the window into the front garden. The damnable cat was still there, as if waiting for something. Now, Mr. Dursley has heard lots of things about cats and how they would have strange behaviors all the time, but this is stretching it a bit far. He shuddered, wondering (and hoping) that it had nothing to do with the Potters.

The Dursleys finally got into bed and the missus quickly fell asleep, but Mr. Dursley lay awake, his thoughts unsettled. He had few comforting thoughts, but the last one he had before falling into an uneasy sleep, was even if the Potters were involved, they wouldn't have anything to do with his family- the Potters knew very well what they thought of their kind.

Oh, how very wrong he was.

Word Count: 2,037