Chapter 3: We Await Your Owl (or A Light at the End of the Tunnel)

Monday, 22 July 1991

Surrey

It was Mary's first day out of the cupboard since Dudley's birthday, nearly halfway through the summer hols. Aunt Petunia had relented enough to let her take her end-of-term exams, which Mary thought she had maybe just barely passed, but every moment of the past six weeks not at school (or sneaking out to use the loo and steal a bite to eat) had been spent in her cupboard. It was her longest-ever punishment. When she got out, she found that Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Mary was glad she would no longer have to face her teachers' disappointed looks and being shunned by the rest of the students, but in the summer the only options were to hang around Aunt Petunia's acid-tongued remarks on her general worthlessness and endless lists of summer chores, or leave the house and risk running into Dudley's gang, who wouldn't hit a girl in front of adults, but otherwise were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Cousin Crushing. Often, especially on the hottest days, the boys would come over to mooch off the Dursleys' air conditioning, which was the worst of both worlds, because they would spend the day deliberately messing up whatever chore Mary was attempting to complete, getting her in trouble with Aunt Petunia when the carpets or windows looked worse than they had done when she started cleaning them.

The best alternative was getting up even earlier than Aunt Petunia, and sneaking out into the neighborhood. Aunt Petunia preferred not to be reminded of Mary's existence even more than she liked forcing her niece to do endless yardwork and cleaning, so unless she was in a particularly bad mood, Mary wouldn't be in trouble for shirking her chores. If she got up early enough, she could get out of the range Dudley was willing to walk or bike before her cousin was even awake, and spend the day wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where, at least this year, she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, she would be going off to secondary school, and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old public school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Mary, on the other hand, was going to the local comprehensive, Stonewall High.

Dudley thought it was very funny that she was looking forward to this. As he put it, only the poor people and the freaks went to Stonewall, so at least she would finally fit in.

Mary had had the last laugh, though, because Dudley had gotten his Smeltings uniform the day prior. It consisted of orange knickerbockers, a maroon tailcoat, and a flat straw hat called a boater. Smeltings boys also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other when the teachers weren't looking, which was supposed to be good training for later life. If that were the case, she thought, she'd had enough good training for at least two lifetimes. She had been brought out of the cupboard to make appropriately appreciative noises as he modeled it, and thought she might have cracked a rib trying not to crack up at the thought of the ridiculously dressed pig being chased down and beaten with sticks.

This morning, there was a horrible smell from the kitchen. When she asked what it was, Aunt Petunia (after glaring as she always did when Mary asked a question) explained that it was her new school uniform. She was dyeing Mary's old school-clothes grey so that, as she put it, "It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Mary seriously doubted that, but held her tongue. She would not be going to school with Dudley; she could deal with looking like a vagabond when the time came (though she had no idea how).

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Mary's "new" uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual, and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Mary get it."

"Get the mail, Mary."

Mary considered saying, "Make Dudley get it," but thought better of it, and slid from the chair.

There were three things on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight; a brown envelope that looked like a bill; and a letter for Mary.

Mary picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives. She didn't even belong to the library, so she'd never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:


Miss M.E. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey


The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald green ink. There was no stamp. Turning it over, her hand trembling, Mary saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing? Checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Mary went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk."

"Dad!" Dudley interrupted. "Dad, Mary's got something!"

Mary was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" snapped Mary, reflexively, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it 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 it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Mary and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smeltings stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Mary furiously, "as it's mine."

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

Mary didn't move. "I WANT MY LETTER!" she shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Mary and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Mary and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole. Dudley won, so Mary, glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address – how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching…spying…might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want –"

Mary could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No… No, Pet," a certain slyness had entered Uncle Vernon's tone. "Best we think about this a bit. I've got to get off to work, you know. Let's you and I talk about it when I get home. Privately. Bring, you know, the other thing."

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Vernon proceeded to have the most preoccupied work day that he had had in nearly ten years. He took the letter with him so that the children couldn't find it in the house somewhere. He thought it a smart choice, as when he got home, he was immediately ambushed by Dudley, who was inordinately curious about who might want to write to his scrawny little cousin. Mary appeared to be sulking in her cupboard, or else out wandering the town as she was wont to do.

After fighting off his son (and taking a few solid blows with the bloody Smeltings stick), Vernon brought Petunia out to the car where they could have a bit of a private chat. The kids thought they were sneaky, listening at keyholes, but really, did they think he was an idiot?

Vernon and Petunia drove to a nearby shopping center and stopped in the parking lot. Vernon pulled out the letter, and they read it together. It was very short.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump International Confed. of Wizards

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl no later than 31st July.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress


There was a second sheet, listing uniform requirements, books, and other equipment, as promised.

Vernon had read the letter several times over the course of his entirely preoccupied day. The thing that enraged him the most about the bloody thing was the complete lack of contact information. We await your bloody owl? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Regardless of whether they wanted to send the little bitch off and make her someone else's problem, they'd still need to send a response, wouldn't they?

"We've got to tell them we're not having it, Vernon! I won't have a bloody witch in the house!" She said witch like other people might say dog shit.

"Did you bring the other letter, Pet?"

"Yes, here." She handed it over, and continued babbling about how she wouldn't stand for any bloody abnormality in her home. The other letter really wasn't much longer, and as an explanation of having their niece left on their doorstep, it was absolute rubbish, but, as Vernon had thought he recalled, it did have an address where they could send an actual letter.


My Dear Vernon and Petunia,

It is my sincerest regret to inform you that your sister, Lily Potter, and her husband James, were killed last night. I understand that you have not been in communication with the Potters for some time. Lily told me that they had distanced themselves to try to protect you. I don't know how much she told you.

You may know that there is a war going on in Magical Britain. The forces of light and order wish to maintain the current status quo, protecting and welcoming muggleborn witches and wizards, such as your sister, into our society, while the insurgents value blood purity and see muggleborns as inferior. Their leader, who calls himself Voldemort, wishes to kill off or exile all muggleborns and has been carrying out a terrorism campaign against our government to that effect.

The terrorist Voldemort killed Lily and James personally. Lily enacted a very old, very strong protection on your niece as she was killed, essentially sacrificing herself to save her daughter. It worked. When Voldemort tried to kill Mary, his curse was reflected upon himself, and his body was destroyed. We do not yet know if he is dead, but for now he is defeated.

Unfortunately, he had many followers, and dozens of them are still on the loose and looking for revenge. To protect young Mary, as well as your family, I have enacted wards, based on the protection Lily left her child and your family connection. She must come live with you to ensure that these wards protect you all.

If you should need to contact me, a letter sent to the following address will find me:

Hogwarts, Office of the Headmaster
c/o John Proctor
11 Purley Ln
South Croydon
Greater London

My condolences,
Albus Dumbledore


Vernon read the old letter again, then exclaimed: "I thought so! It's the same bloke, Petunia!"

"Well, of course it is. Meddlesome old fool. Mucking about in our lives and not giving us the bloody time of day when we ask for it."

They had written this Dumbledore as soon as they had found Mary on the doorstep. They knew that the Potters couldn't possibly have wanted the Dursleys to be their daughter's guardians, and they didn't want the job. They were firmly rebuffed in their efforts to get anyone else to take the child, as Dumbledore insisted that this was the best solution for their safety. He did assure them that once the danger had passed, they could take the girl away and hide her in the magical world, but that was all the explanation they received, and no one ever came to tell them that the danger had passed.

Eventually the Dursleys had accepted the idea that they were stuck with their niece indefinitely, though they resented her and the weirdness she connected them to by the fact of her very existence.

Petunia, of course, was still afraid that the neighbors would find out that there was something fundamentally abnormal about the girl. She hated anything weird with what was probably, Vernon thought, an unhealthy passion, though he would never say so to her face. He, on the other hand, had recently begun to fear the girl herself. The snake incident…it made him shudder, it did. Before that, all the "incidents" had been harmless, really, or only affected the girl, but the snake…Dudley could have been hurt.

At first they had tried to quash the magic out of her. When that didn't work, they focused on making the girl as obedient as possible. That had worked, for the most part. She never asked questions and accepted whatever punishments they gave her without complaint. She never aired their dirty laundry outside the family, and did as she was told around the house. But the incidents kept happening, and Vernon couldn't help but think that maybe it would be worth getting her out of their lives, even if it did mean that she'd be a witch.

He tried to explain this to Petunia: "Snookums, I think maybe we should consider it."

"Are you out of your bloody mind, Vernon?" she shrieked.

He winced. The car was a very small space for such a loud response. "No, darling. I know you hate magic and everything to do with it, but listen," she glared at him when he said the m-word, but was silent, so he continued. "Pet, I'm worried. Nothing we've done has stopped the incidents. If anything, they're getting worse. That snake – It could have killed Dudley. I know you don't want to give her any power. Lord knows I don't either. But I think she needs to go. Needs to learn to bloody well control herself. I think we can handle having a witch in the family two months out of the year if it means we're safe for the other ten, don't you?"

Petunia pursed her lips. He made a good point, about their precious boy being in danger. "Alright. But I don't want her back, even for two months out of the years. We need to make an agreement with this Dumbledore character. Got a pen in here?"

He handed her a pen and she scribbled on the back of the new letter for a bit. He sat quietly.

"How's this:

1. We want to know what the terms of the protections on our house are.

2. We will have only as much contact with the girl as necessary to keep the protections in place.

3. Otherwise, we do not want to ever see the girl again.

4. She will stay at the school for all holiday breaks, or be otherwise fostered in the magical world until she reaches her majority.

5. We are not to be contacted for any reason whatsoever by any member of the magical community outside of the necessary visits to maintain the protections.

6. We will not pay for the girl's schooling or ruddy supplies. If you want her so badly, you lot will have to pay for it.

7. If you refuse our terms, we will disown the girl and make her a ward of the state, and take our safety into our own hands."

Vernon looked at the paper as Petunia enumerated her demands. He smiled, somewhat viciously. "I like it. But maybe add here, 2a: all contact will be supervised by a trained adult from that school, for our safety, in case there's another incident, or she thinks to do something on purpose after she can control herself. And add that they'd damn well better send someone to take care of the shopping and explain all this to the girl. I'm bloody well not going to do it."

"Good thinking, Vernon." She looked at him with relief in her eyes. Could it be that they were almost out of the woods, finally?

"Come on, Pet. We've got a letter to send."

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The Dursleys sent their letter to Dumbledore via Mr. Proctor, and waited for a response, which they assumed would take a few days at the very least. One to get the letter to Proctor, one for forwarding, one for a response.

That same night, after dropping the letter in the post-box, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before: he visited Mary in her cupboard. This, Mary thought, was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in her cupboard, as Uncle Vernon easily took up more than half of the available space.

She scrunched herself down in the short end of the space, under the lower stairs, and asked, "Where's my letter? Who's writing to me?"

"It's taken care of. Never you mind," said Uncle Vernon shortly, then added belatedly "And don't ask questions."

"It was my letter! It had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that soon it would all be over, and they couldn't have some school official showing up and seeing that the girl lived in a cupboard. He forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er…yes, Mary…about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you're really getting a bit big for it. We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" asked Mary.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia; one for visitors, usually Uncle Vernon's sister Marge; one where Dudley slept; and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first room. It only took Mary one trip to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around herself. Nearly everything was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank that Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which Dudley had put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they had never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there…I need that room… make her get out…"

Mary sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she would have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Mary was thinking about this time yesterday, and bitterly wishing she had opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Mary, made Dudley go get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Miss M.E. Potter, the smallest bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Mary right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the floor to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Mary had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smeltings stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Mary's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard – I mean your bedroom," he wheezed at Mary. "Dudley, go. Just go."