Having had the constant burden of evil on his back practically his whole life had taught Harry a thing or two. He looked at the floor, his bed, his room. It all looked undisturbed, everything. Even his window. Then how, he thought raking his wits, did someone come in. He vaguely remembered having closed the door when he went down for water.
Now it all came back clearly, yes of course. He woke up in the middle of the night, heard a cat meowing in the background, and sat up. He opened the door simultaneously as he heard glass break in the distance. It startled him somewhat in the beginning, but then he corrected himself, realizing he was half-asleep and he had opened the door quite loudly, so he couldn't really know quite what he had heard. He carefully closed the door, and crept down the stairs, sensing absolute quiet from the whole house. Lovely. Not even Uncle Vernon's usual snores occupied the air. Complete silence filled the air. To add even more to the peace and quiet the door to the kitchen that usually squeaked so much opened effortlessly, and without a sound. He reached for a glass on the counter, and slipped over to the water dispenser. Cool water flushed easily and noiselessly down the cup, and silence reigned all around him. Silence can be powerful. He crept up the stairs again, and opened the door. As he entered the room familiar night sounds filled the air, and then he noticed the letter.
His alert side re-awoke, and a million thoughts rushed through his head. Ok, he said to himself, I'm going to sit down and think this through. The envelope was blank, and had been crudely ripped open. Nothing was inside. He had closed the door, but found it open. He could obviously guess what had happened, but the truth was creepy. Why did someone steal the letter? If Dumbledore had tried to send him something important, a warning perhaps, he could see why someone would stop him. Easily. But regaining the letter would be tougher, and had it been Dumbledore, he could simply not write to him. What if whoever wrote it needed help or was in danger? What if Harry himself was in danger? What if the letter had been a warning? Fear gripped him along with a thousand other questions. Harry could easily see where someone would try to stop a warning, but he also noticed that whoever it was had not tried to kill him. Maybe he was leading him to something, maybe he couldn't kill him, maybe he was waiting for Voldemort to kill him like him like he had seen so many times before. Harry shook his head, he was on vacation. Happy thoughts, he said to himself. Maybe the opposite had happened, maybe someone had sent him something… not so good… and someone had prevented it. Maybe it was someone like Dobby who wasn't allowed to be there. Had it been a curse? Whatever it was, Harry realized, he was in no immediate danger. At least not at the moment. He hadn't been killed, he nervously told himself. For all he knew someone could have saved his life. He could write to someone in the morning, do something about it in the morning. He was too excited at the moment he told himself, and laid down to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. But however hard he tried, he couldn't fall asleep, and he laid turning over in his bed until the dawn's first rays hit the surface of the window of Dudley's extra room with all his cast-away toys, and Harry.