Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, only Leo and Fawn
"The Letters From No One," Remus stated to read, ignoring James and Sirius's excited shouts.
The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote-control aeroplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.
"Poor woman," Fawn frowned.
Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordan were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Harry Hunting.
"I'm going to hunt those brats!" James growled.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope.
"I would do the same thing," Regulus admitted, Sirius nodded his agreement. Their home was horrible, with their blood supremist parents.
When September came, he would be going to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smelting's. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"No, thank," said Harry. "The poor toilets never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might be sick." Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he's said.
The room erupted in loud laughter. James clapped Harry on the black a few times, tears of laughter in his hazel eyes.
"He's defiantly your son, Prongs!" Sirius chuckled.
Snape was the only one who wasn't laughing, he didn't find anything Potter or his son said funny in anyway, they were a bunch of idiots if you asked him.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs Figg's. Mrs Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.
That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smelting's boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be training for later life.
As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.
Leo sniggered to himself at the image, Harry had to nudge him in the side to pay attention to the books, thought he was grinning as well.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.
"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared ask a question.
"Your new school uniform," she said.
Harry looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"It's good to know that you were as sarcastic with them as you are with us," Ron said, grinning at Harry.
"Of course," Harry shrugged with an innocent smile.
"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. 'I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished.'
Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High- like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
"At least you never had to wear it," Remus winced sympathetically.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere on the table.
"Did he ever use that on you?" Lily asked her son.
Harry didn't answer just nodded knowing that it would anger his parents.
Lily silently seethed and James clenched his teeth in anger.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letter on the doormat.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Get it yourself, you lazy twat!" Sirius growled.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
"How dare he!" seethed Lily.
Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. 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 Harry.
"Is that your Hogwarts letter?" James asked excited, bouncing in his seat.
"Yeah, it is," Harry grimaced, knowing what was coming next and knew everyone would hate it.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? 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 H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
"You knew he lived in a cupboard?!" Lily yelled at Professor McGonagall, much to the shock of everyone in the room. Lily had never raised her voice or spoken back to a teacher before.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, glaring slightly at the book in Remus's hands. "I can assure you, Miss Evans, that if I had known that young Mr Potter was living in a cupboard, I would have done something about it," Professor McGonagall said honestly. "I am not the one who addresses the letter, I just write them."
"Who addresses them then?" James asked, trying not to start shouting at his favourite professor.
"Professor Dumbledore is the one who has the information about students living arrangements," said Professor McGonagall with a dark look in her eyes. "The headmaster is the one who sends the letters off and assigns teachers to visit muggleborn students to explain everything about Hogwarts and the magical world."
"Then why wasn't there a teacher visiting Harry? He doesn't know about the wizarding world," Lily asked, sitting back on the lounge.
"I'm not sure, Miss Evans, perhaps it is explained later in the chapter?" Professor McGonagall suggested.
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, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a larger 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.
"It's a muggle thing," Lily said when the Slytherins looked at her confused.
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He 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 the postcard.
"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk- "
"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly, "Dad, Harry's got something!"
Everyone groaned collectively.
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his 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 open with one hand and glancing at it.
"Loads of people would write to Harry!" Ron scoffed, offended on his best friend's behalf.
"I know I would," Leo smirked, staring at Harry from the corner of his eye.
"Like that dirty letter you sent him in sixth year?" Ginny laughed.
Everyone paused and turned to Leo who was giving Ginny a look of utter betrayal.
"And I learnt my lesson not to with you lot snooping around," Leo fired back with a grin.
Harry was just sitting there with his red face hidden in his hands.
"What happened?" Sirius asked, grinning widely. He loved to hear other people's embarrassing stories.
"During the Christmas Holidays in our sixth year, I sent Harry a dirty letter, it was a joke, but he opened it with those three," Leo pointed at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, the two siblings grinning like mad while Hermione looked embarrassed, "reading over Harry's shoulder."
James and Sirius started cackling loudly. It only got worse when Harry groaned and they noticed his bright red face.
Everyone started joining in when Leo asked Harry if he kept the letter and Harry shouting that he burnt it.
It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down enough for Remus to continue the book.
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 greyish 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!"
"That sounds disgusting!" Sirius pretended to gag as Fawn nudged him gently with an amused smile.
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry 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 Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.
"Harry should be the only one to read it!" Andromeda scoffed at the bratty behaviour.
"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."
"You tell him, Harry!" James cheered.
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.
"Damn, Prongslet, you got a set of lungs on you," Sirius joked.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from on ear lay flat on his 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 he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"
"Watching- spying- might be following us," mutter Uncle Vernon wildly.
"He sounds crazy," Regulus smirked, he was happy to see the muggle freaking out.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want- "
Harry 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…"
"Like that's going to work," Narcissa commented.
"Professor McGonagall," Fawn said. "What happens when parents don't' let their kids come to Hogwarts?"
"If a muggle parent won't let their child come to Hogwarts, then the Ministry will keep a very close eye on the family in case of any incidents but will provide some books on keeping your magic under control but there isn't much else, we can do." Professor McGonagall explained.
"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?"
"You can't stomp out magic!" James scoffed but didn't say anything else.
Everyone thought back to when Leo explain what Obscures were to everyone.
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
"How did he even fit in there?" Leo asked.
"I have no idea," Harry said, shaking his head just as confused.
"Where's my letter?" said Harry, 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 Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and a couple 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, Harry- 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."
"They have another bedroom and they made you sleep in a cupboard?" Lily yelled, her face turning red in her anger. No one tried to calm her, all feeling just as outraged as the future mother.
"Why?" said Harry.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."
The Dursley's 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 Harry 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. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small working tank Dudley had once driven over the next-door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; 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 the 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'd never been touched.
"I don't think I've ever heard of such a spoiled kid," Fawn gasped, appalled that a child could be so spoiled and wasteful.
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…"
Harry 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.
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 didn't have his room back.
"He threw his tortoise?" Leo whispered. He was horrified that someone could such a cruel thing to such a small defenceless creature.
Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wished he's 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 Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr h. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive- '"
"It's a little creepy that they know you moved bedrooms," Ron commented.
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the Hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.
"Go to your cupboard- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley- go- just go."
Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of the cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.
Leo, Ron, and Hermione all groaned together getting weird looks from everyone in the room and Harry to look at them offended.
"My plans aren't that bad!" He defended himself.
"Yes, they are" said Hermione with a shrug. "Me or Leo usually have to think of something quickly when your plans go wrong."
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letter or number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door-
'AAAAARRGH!'
"What the hell was that?" Regulus asked startled from Remus suddenly shouting.
Remus chuckled to himself at everyone's startled expressions, "Sorry, it's apart of the book."
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat- something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realised that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right in Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.
"I want- " he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."
"He's having a full-on mental breakdown," James grinned, happy to see the man who hurt his son suffer.
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."
"It won't," sang the marauders.
"Oh, these people's mind work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just bought him.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrive for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.
Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living-room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the past office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.
"Why is Hogwarts trying so trying so hard for you to get your letter? They wouldn't do that for anyone else, would they, Professor?" Narcissa asked shocked.
"No, we wouldn't send this many letters, it is quite odd," answered Professor McGonagall.
"Why don't they just send someone over to see what's going on? Would have saved so much time and parchment," said Leo.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today- "
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one.
"No wonder you're not in Ravenclaw," Leo whispered to Harry with a snigger.
"What do you mean?" Harry whispered back confused.
"You could have just grabbed one of the floor," Leo smirked as Harry's eyes widened at the realization.
"Out! OUT!"
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmy but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffing in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. 'Shake 'em off… shake 'em off,' he would mutter whenever he did this.
"He's really lost it now," Lily said stunned.
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry 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 H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undered of these at the front desk."
"Seriously? They're sending you letters even now?" Andromeda commented.
"Don't," Remus said when he saw Sirius perk up, knowing he was going to say a joke about his name. Sirius gave his friend a pout but was ignored.
She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:
Mr H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry made to grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The women started.
"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 to 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 ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't her?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.
"Yes, brat, he has gone quite mad," James said with a small smirk.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday- and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's 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.
"Happy Birthday!" James and Sirius shouted excitedly.
"It's not my birthday but thanks," Harry laughed.
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.
"Is that a gun?" Lily asked outraged that the man would have a gun around children.
"What's a gun?" Narcissa asked.
"It's an extremely dangerous weapon that muggle use to kill each other," Hermione explained when Lily didn't. "It's really unsafe to have around children."
"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. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hand together. "And this gentleman 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-grey water below them.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
"He's going to get you all killed!" Fawn gasped. Sirius grabbed her hand, trying to calm and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.
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, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.
The inside was horrible; 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. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up.
'Could do with some of those letters now, eh?' he said cheerfully.
"Could do with some magic now, eh?" Leo asked sarcastically, a few people chuckled at his remark.
He was in a very good mood. Obvious he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry 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 walks of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy 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 Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.
"Let me guess, you had to find that blanket yourself?" James asked through gritted teeth but Harry didn't answer, he knew that answer wouldn't help anything and only make his dad more furious.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry 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 Harry 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. Harry 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. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nice- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him- three… two… one…
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" The Marauders shouted.
Harry blushed bright red and grinned so widely his cheeks hurt. "It's not my birthday but thank you!"
BOOM.
The whole shake shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
"That's that chapter done," Remus sighed. "Who wants to read next?"
"I will," Lily said as Remus handed her the book.
"Last chapter for the night, you all still have school to attend in the morning," Professor McGonagall announced must to the annoyance of everyone.
"What about Harry and his friends? What are they going to be doing all day?" Lily asked.
"We'll be staying in here, the room will provide us with entertainment if we get bored," Harry reassured his mother.
"If your sure…" Lily mumbled before turning to the book. "Chapter Three: The Keeper of Keys."
A/N: I'm going to try and publish once a month at the end of the month so look forward to that and see you next month.