Chapter 2: Letters from No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Eric his longest punishment ever. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again; it was the summer holidays. Eric was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley or his small group of friends.

However, that Summer day everything changed. Eric heard the sound of the mail being dropped through the slot in the front door. "Go get the post, boy." Vernon growled not looking up from his newspaper.

Eric obeyed. Three things lay 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 Eric.

Eric picked it up staring at it in shock. The deformed boy couldn't believe what he was holding. No one had ever…Wrote to him before! He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. 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 the envelope over, his hand trembling, Eric 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, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. Eric went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard. "Oh, Marge is ill! Ate a funny whelk." Dad! Look! Eric's got a letter! Dudley shouted snatching the envelope from his hand before he could even open it.

"Hey, give it back! It's mine!" Eric shouted. Vernon glared at the boy then looked back at the letter. "Yours? Who'd be writing to you?" He scoffed however his face became pale when he saw the address and Petunia looked as if she was going to faint.

"I want to read that letter," Dudley shouted rather loudly, not used to being ignored. "I want to read it," said Eric furiously, "Seeing as it's mine." "Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Eric didn't move. "I WANT MY LETTER!" Eric shouted. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley. "OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Eric and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Eric and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Eric, his red bangs falling over his face, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said in a quivering voice, "look at the address — how could they possibly know where he 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 —" Eric could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen. "No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer…Yes, that's best…we won't do anything…But —"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Eric in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Eric, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?" No one. It was addressed to you by mistake, said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Eric angrily, "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 and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er — yes, Eric— 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?" said Eric .

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

It only took Eric one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken Dudley wasn't exactly carful with his belongings.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don't want him in there…I need that room…make him get out..."Eric sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, kicked his mother, and he still didn't have his room back. Eric was thinking about yesterday and bitterly wished he'd 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 Eric, made Dudley go and get it. "There's another one! Before Eric could even get to It Vernon snatched it from Dudley's hand and tore it to pieces in front of him.

However, over the next few days more kept coming and Vernon kept destroying them much to Erics dismay, however the letters weren't the only strange thing Eric began to notice owls of all shapes and sizes flying about their neighborhood.

Erics uncle became so desperate that he even boarded up the mail slot, but they still kept coming, appearing magically on the other side of the door. However, it was Sunday when they usually didn't get mail that things took a turn.

"Fine day Sunday. In my opinion, best day of the week. Why is that, Dudley?" Dudley shrugged giving his father a puzzled glance. "Because there's no post on Sunday?" Eric said answering for his cousin.

"Ah, right you are, Eric. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today. No, sir. Not one single bloody letter, not one." As Eric passed the window, he saw to his surprise millions of owls are perched near and around the house.

"No, sir, not one blasted, miserable- Suddenly to the surprise of everyone in the room a letter zips past Vernon's face from the fireplace giving him a slight paper cut. Suddenly the house begins shake as millions of letters fly from the fireplace much to the horror of the Dursleys.

"AHH! Make it stop! Please make it stop!" Dudley shouts jumping into his mother's lap as she and Vernon continue screaming "Go away, ahh!" Vernon shouts swatting at the letters. "What is it? Please tell me what's happening!" Dudley cried out in fear.

Eric however stood staring at the scene in amazement. With his Uncle distracted the boy jumps onto the coffee table and snatches a letter mid air and runs towards the stairs. However, Vernon chases after him in an attempt to grab the letter.

"Give me that! Give me that letter!" Eric tries to duck into the cupboard but Vernon yanks him back trying to free the letter from his grasp. "Get off! Ahh! They're my letters! Let go of me!"

Suddenly the boards on the nailed-up mail slot fly off as more letter shoot out of it almost burring them. "That's it! We're going away! Far away! Where they can't find us!" Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?! Dudley shouted over the noise.

However, Vernon was serious. They traveled all day until they arrived late that evening at a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Eric shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Eric stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering.…

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table. "Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. E. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. E. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

The deformed boy grabbed the letter, but Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared. "I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again.

The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage. Eventually they parked near the coast. Suddenly Eric remembered something.

Today was Monday, which meant…Tomorrow was his eleventh birthday! eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought. "Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!" It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, led them along the craggy stone to the broken-down shack.

The inside however was even worse than the outside! It smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas.

Vernon tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up. "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. Eric wasn't surprised by his uncles cheerfulness.

Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Eric privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all. As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the hut's walls, and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows.

Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Eric was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged on more ferociously as the night went progressed. Eric couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight.

The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Eric he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Eric heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And two minutes to go, what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? One minute to go and he'd be eleven.

He drew a birthday cake with candles on the sandy floor. Thirty seconds...twenty…ten…nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him. three…two…one…Nothing happened he didn't feel any different. "Happy birthday to me." He grumbled darkly destroying the drawing.

Suddenly a loud bang rocked the shake startling Eric. He sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. Dudley sits behind him cowering against the wall. Another loud bang echoes through the room.

Vernon appears on the stairs holding a rifle. "W-Who's there?" Vernon stutters his face ashen white. To Erics surprise the door falls forward and a large man stood on the other side, his large form silhouetted against the rainy backdrop.

The man who entered the shack was almost a giant his head scraping the ceiling. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The man turned to the fallen door lifting it up with ease. "Sorry 'bout that." He said attempting to put the door back in the frame. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"

Hagrid glared at Vernon grabbing the end of the gun bending it upwards. "Dry up, Dursley, you great prune." Now where's Eric. He notices Dudley standing in the corner. "I-I'm not Eric." Well, I know that the man said annoyed. "You don't have red hair."

"I-I'm Eric." The deformed boy said nervously as he approached the stranger. "Well, of course you are! Got something for ya. 'Fraid I might have sat on it at some point! I imagine that it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself. Words and all."

The man handed him a medium sized box. The boy still shocked by the strangers kindness opened the box to find a slightly squashed chocolate birthday cake with the words "Happee Birdae, Eric scrawled across the top in green icing.

"Thank you!" The boy said shocked. "It's not every day that your young man turns eleven, now, is it?" The boy was about to ask how the man knew it was his birthday but changed the subject. Excuse me but…who exactly are you?

The man sat down on the sofa and pointed the pink umbrella he held in his hand at the fireplace and to Eric surprise sparks flew from the tip lighting the wood. "Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts."

"Course, you'll know all about Hogwarts." Sorry, no, the boy said shaking his head. No? "Blimey, Eric, didn't you ever wonder where your mum and dad learned it all?!" Learned what? The boy asked still confused.

"You're a wizard, Eric." The boy stared at him shocked. "I-I-I'm a what?" The boy stuttered in utter disbelief. "A wizard. And a thumping good one at that, I'd wager. Once you train up a little." This was a joke, right?! This wasn't happening he was dreaming right?!

Maybe he'd misheard him? No, he was absolutely certain he said "wizard." He half expected the man to start laughing, to tell him this was all a joke, however the man just stared at him waiting for his reaction.

"N-N-No, you've made a mistake. I can't be...a-a wizard. I mean, I'm just...Eric. Just Eric." The man named Hagrid sighed staring the boy down. "Well, just Eric. Did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain when you were angry or scared?" Eric gasped remembering the snake at the zoo.

Hagrid handed him a familiar looking envelope and Eric did not hesitate to open it. He pulled the letter from the envelope the entire letter was written in the same emerald in. He looked cautiously at Hagrid, hoping that this wasn't a cruel joke as he began to read the letter aloud.

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 Mr. 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 September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Erics head like fireworks, and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?" Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse.

From yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, he scribbled a note that Eric could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Eric his letter.

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid.

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Eric realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly. "Now then, where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"He'll not be going! We swore when we took him in, we'd put a stop to this rubbish! Eric stared at his uncle shocked the shock soon changing to anger. "Y-You mean you knew?! You knew all along and you never told me?!" The deformed boy asked stunned.

"Of course, we knew." Petunia scoffed. "How could you not be? My perfect sister being who she was. Oh, my mother and father were so proud the day she got her letter. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful?"

"I was the only one to see her for what she was. A freak! And then she met that Potter, and then she had you, and I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as ... abnormal, and I was right, you were an even bigger freak she was." And then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up. And we got landed with you.

The boy glared at his aunt suddenly furious. "Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!" However, Hagrid looked even more furious. "A car crash. A car crash kill James and Lily Potter?!"

"We had to tell him something." Petunia scoffed. "It's an outrage! It's a scandal!" Hagrid roared. He'll not be going! Vernon shouted yet again. "Oh, and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself's going to stop him, are you?"

"Muggle?" Eric Asked confused. Non-magic folk. Hagrid quickly explained as he turned back to glare at the Dursleys. "This boy's had his name down ever since he was born!" He said glaring out of the corner of his eye at Dudley who was eating Eric's cake.

"He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world, and he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen: Albus Dumbledore." Eric smiled intrigued by the so-called headmaster's name.

"I will not pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks!" Eric realized instantly that his uncle had made a huge mistake. Hagrid whipped out his umbrella and pointed it at Vernon, threateningly.

"Never, insult Albus Dumbledore, in front of me." Hagrid turns and aims his umbrella at his rear. Suddenly to Eric's amazement and the Dursley's horror a pig tale grew there. They screamed in horror as they ran after Dudley who held his bottom horrified.

"Oh, um, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to do magic." Okay. The boy nodded trying to contain his laughter. "Well best be off. He moves the door from its frame and looks back at Eric. "Unless you'd rather stay, of course." The boy shakes his head and follows Hagrid out the door.