A/N: I think the last disclaimer speaks for itself ;) And I am aware I put
number 6 Privet drive, and I just haven't gotten around to fixing it, so
DEAL. There are other mistakes, but you don't see me riding you about
yours, do u? Of course not, u've prolly never seen me. So anywho, chapter
three.
Chapter Three: The Letters
Harry managed to sneak in through the back door without attracting any attention to his late night arrival. This was good, because he did not want to incur any more wrath from his muggle aunt and uncle than needed. Furthermore, the Dursley's were being quite a bit more snappish on account of their son's, Dudley, sickness. Harry used to think that Dudley was faking it. Dudley would groan and moan all day, and his only means of communication was writing. Harry felt Dudley had had quite enough of the restrictive diet, so he feigned Strep Throat so he could have some ice cream. (Which he "said" was the only thing he could swallow) After that development, Harry was quite sure that Dudley was in fact faking.
Not that all that bothered Harry. For, on the rare occasions he was in the kitchen unsupervised (such as now, in the kitchen close to midnight), he could whip up a magnificent sundae made from all the sugary confections bought for Dudley, with the Dursley's none the wiser. Harry was also quite sure that sooner rather that later, Dudley would no longer be able to get out of his bed, even by falling off, so he could totter around getting what he wanted. It seemed he had almost reached the weight that his enormous legs could no longer uphold, and that was an awesome feat that would stop him from ever leaving his bed.
"Ah well, the neighborhood shall be safer in any case" Harry thought wryly, placing a cherry on top of his creation, and stepping back to better admire his handiwork. "Perfect! It is a pity I'm going to eat it. Ah well, can't have everything!" And with that, Harry went upstairs for a beautifully delicious supper, and a dreamless sleep.
* * * * * *
The next morning started the same as any other. Uncle Vernon was apparently trying to pound down the door in his attempts to wake Harry, and shouting "GET UP BOY! GET UP!" at the top of his enlarged lungs. A longing glance at his Hogwarts countdown confirmed what Harry already knew. It was two more weeks till he left this Hell Hole, and he could go to Hogwarts. It was then he remembered he was going to Durmstrang this year instead. Reminding himself to write to Ron and Hermione about it, he scampered downstairs for a meager breakfast.
Harry was wolfing down his cereal when he had a feeling he was being watched. He found the source. Beady, little eyes were peering at him over the morning paper. Seeing that Harry now knew he was being watched, Uncle Vernon dropped both the paper, and the pretense that he was not looking at Harry. Without taking his eyes off Harry, he beckoned his wife over.
"Petunia darling, I just had a crazy idea of how to fix the boy's horrid hair!"
And so came about "The Crazy Idea"
* * * * * *
Harry later found himself in a bleach smelling bathroom, furiously washing his hair of the remnants of the Dursley's plan. The "Crazy Idea" was to bleach Harry's black tresses to weaken it, and then give it a straightening agent to make it lie flat. What it resulted in made Harry look like a very skinny, bespectacled Dudley! His hair was now a fair blonde with the appearance of being plastered to his head. It was beyond awful. 'Perhaps it will grow back properly like it did when Aunt Petunia shaved it', he thought hopefully.
He was also upset with himself that he hadn't put up much of a fight. There had been many threats from both Harry and Uncle Vernon, but none of them could make the other see their point of view, so both were struggling to do what they wanted. In the end, brute force conquered Harry's desperateness. Even Harry could not compete with an overly large man squashing the air out of him. 'Oh the 'Famous Harry Potter'.conqueror of the Dark Lord, submits to hair treatment'. Reporters such as Rita Skeeter would have a field day, luckily she was still under Hermione's influence and could not write such ousting tales.
When the degrading experience was over, Harry miserably made his way back to his room, only to find a small, fluffy, gray something zipping around wildly.
"Pig?!" Harry had to shout twice to get the excitable owl's attention. Pig came careening down into Harry's face, breaking his glasses and knocking him backwards into the wall. Harry hastily taped his glasses, and then managed to get the minute letter off the minute leg, and lofted the bird back into the air, where it immediately commenced its mad circlings again.
**beginning of letter**
Hey Harry!
I just got my Durmstrang letter. I'm so glad we got it! What a weird experience, for no extra cost! Mom said you could come stay with us till we leave. I'm still supposed to get you to ask the Muggles, but we all know we will come get you Friday at 5 anyway, by Floo. No need to reply. Keep Pig till we get there.
Ron
**end of letter**
"Friday! That's tomorrow!" Harry chortled, refilling Hedwig's water for Pig to drink out of. Seeing that his Snowy Owl was tolerating the fluffy nuisance, Harry ran off to tell the Dursley's he was leaving tomorrow so he could come back and pack.
When he came back, he found more letters on his bed. One was obviously from Hermione in her tidy handwriting, and the other was in a strangely familiar handwriting. But if it was from whom he thought it was from, that would be impossible.
"B-but that can't be right!" Harry stammered.
He tore open the letter, and not even bothering to skim his eyes over the message, he looked at the last word, the writer's name. It was the name that he had thought, but it was impossible that he should see it.
Sirius
Chapter Three: The Letters
Harry managed to sneak in through the back door without attracting any attention to his late night arrival. This was good, because he did not want to incur any more wrath from his muggle aunt and uncle than needed. Furthermore, the Dursley's were being quite a bit more snappish on account of their son's, Dudley, sickness. Harry used to think that Dudley was faking it. Dudley would groan and moan all day, and his only means of communication was writing. Harry felt Dudley had had quite enough of the restrictive diet, so he feigned Strep Throat so he could have some ice cream. (Which he "said" was the only thing he could swallow) After that development, Harry was quite sure that Dudley was in fact faking.
Not that all that bothered Harry. For, on the rare occasions he was in the kitchen unsupervised (such as now, in the kitchen close to midnight), he could whip up a magnificent sundae made from all the sugary confections bought for Dudley, with the Dursley's none the wiser. Harry was also quite sure that sooner rather that later, Dudley would no longer be able to get out of his bed, even by falling off, so he could totter around getting what he wanted. It seemed he had almost reached the weight that his enormous legs could no longer uphold, and that was an awesome feat that would stop him from ever leaving his bed.
"Ah well, the neighborhood shall be safer in any case" Harry thought wryly, placing a cherry on top of his creation, and stepping back to better admire his handiwork. "Perfect! It is a pity I'm going to eat it. Ah well, can't have everything!" And with that, Harry went upstairs for a beautifully delicious supper, and a dreamless sleep.
* * * * * *
The next morning started the same as any other. Uncle Vernon was apparently trying to pound down the door in his attempts to wake Harry, and shouting "GET UP BOY! GET UP!" at the top of his enlarged lungs. A longing glance at his Hogwarts countdown confirmed what Harry already knew. It was two more weeks till he left this Hell Hole, and he could go to Hogwarts. It was then he remembered he was going to Durmstrang this year instead. Reminding himself to write to Ron and Hermione about it, he scampered downstairs for a meager breakfast.
Harry was wolfing down his cereal when he had a feeling he was being watched. He found the source. Beady, little eyes were peering at him over the morning paper. Seeing that Harry now knew he was being watched, Uncle Vernon dropped both the paper, and the pretense that he was not looking at Harry. Without taking his eyes off Harry, he beckoned his wife over.
"Petunia darling, I just had a crazy idea of how to fix the boy's horrid hair!"
And so came about "The Crazy Idea"
* * * * * *
Harry later found himself in a bleach smelling bathroom, furiously washing his hair of the remnants of the Dursley's plan. The "Crazy Idea" was to bleach Harry's black tresses to weaken it, and then give it a straightening agent to make it lie flat. What it resulted in made Harry look like a very skinny, bespectacled Dudley! His hair was now a fair blonde with the appearance of being plastered to his head. It was beyond awful. 'Perhaps it will grow back properly like it did when Aunt Petunia shaved it', he thought hopefully.
He was also upset with himself that he hadn't put up much of a fight. There had been many threats from both Harry and Uncle Vernon, but none of them could make the other see their point of view, so both were struggling to do what they wanted. In the end, brute force conquered Harry's desperateness. Even Harry could not compete with an overly large man squashing the air out of him. 'Oh the 'Famous Harry Potter'.conqueror of the Dark Lord, submits to hair treatment'. Reporters such as Rita Skeeter would have a field day, luckily she was still under Hermione's influence and could not write such ousting tales.
When the degrading experience was over, Harry miserably made his way back to his room, only to find a small, fluffy, gray something zipping around wildly.
"Pig?!" Harry had to shout twice to get the excitable owl's attention. Pig came careening down into Harry's face, breaking his glasses and knocking him backwards into the wall. Harry hastily taped his glasses, and then managed to get the minute letter off the minute leg, and lofted the bird back into the air, where it immediately commenced its mad circlings again.
**beginning of letter**
Hey Harry!
I just got my Durmstrang letter. I'm so glad we got it! What a weird experience, for no extra cost! Mom said you could come stay with us till we leave. I'm still supposed to get you to ask the Muggles, but we all know we will come get you Friday at 5 anyway, by Floo. No need to reply. Keep Pig till we get there.
Ron
**end of letter**
"Friday! That's tomorrow!" Harry chortled, refilling Hedwig's water for Pig to drink out of. Seeing that his Snowy Owl was tolerating the fluffy nuisance, Harry ran off to tell the Dursley's he was leaving tomorrow so he could come back and pack.
When he came back, he found more letters on his bed. One was obviously from Hermione in her tidy handwriting, and the other was in a strangely familiar handwriting. But if it was from whom he thought it was from, that would be impossible.
"B-but that can't be right!" Harry stammered.
He tore open the letter, and not even bothering to skim his eyes over the message, he looked at the last word, the writer's name. It was the name that he had thought, but it was impossible that he should see it.
Sirius