Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Three .:^:.:^:.:»
Any hopes of meeting up with Bowie, as he'd decided to name the boa constrictor, seemed dashed as Harry wasn't let to leave the cupboard until the start of summer holidays. Dudley had destroyed every birthday present he'd received by that point, and as he had nothing left to amuse himself, had reverted back to beating up Harry. His latest attempt had been at hog-tying Harry, after which he was going to hang him from a tree and use him as a punching bag. Dudley's hopes, too, were dashed, as he was completely winded before he'd even found a rope.
Just in case, Harry spent as much time as possible away from the house. He'd wander the town all day long, looking for Bowie. It would have been so much easier if they'd ever decided where "the place" was. 'How could you not wait for me!' Harry cried in anguish, receiving an odd look from Mrs. Figg. He'd been dumped at her house while the Dursley's went shopping for Dudley's new school clothes. It was an all-day event because he was too big to fit in normal sizes and had to have uniforms specially tailored in XXXXL.
'I didn't think you wanted to help clean the litter boxes.' Mrs. Figg told him apologetically. Harry mumbled a quick apology, and lied that he'd been talking to the telly. For show, he shouted something about them voting the wrong guy off the island. Mrs. Figg agreed. They were watching Cast Away.
Later that night, Dudley danced around the house in his new school uniform. He was going to go to Smeltings or Smellings, or Smitings or something like that. It was maroon and yellow and made him look like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb trapped in a circus tent. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were terribly proud, and Harry decided they must have had a laps of colour-blindness. At least it wasn't green.
That was all he could say good about his own school uniform. Some of Dudley's old clothes that Aunt Petunia had dunked in leftover Easter-egg dye. It smelled like egg, too. Harry could imagine how good they'd smell by the time school started. Dudley smelt the eggs too, and came crashing in for breakfast, followed by Uncle Vernon. There was the click of the letter box, and Harry -who never got the mail- was forced to today because of destiny. Or if you don't believe in that sort of thing, to advance the plot and, inevitably, save the world. And because the Dursley's were too lazy to get it themselves.
At any rate, Harry went to get mail. There were bills, flyers, a survey, a Victoria Secret... Harry glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was around and quickly pocketed it before noticing one last letter on the ground. It was to him. He was so shocked at finding something addressed to him, he decided reluctantly to put the survey back. Now, he picked up the letter, turning it over to inspect it from all angles. He never received letters, mostly because he had no one to send ones to him. Unless... Quickly, Harry checked the address on the letter.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
'I knew it!' He declared, punching a triumphant fist into the air. So, top-secret government agents were spying on him after all. Who else would be so precise as to know that he not only lived at 4 Privet Drive, but in the cupboard under the stairs?
'Unless,' Harry added aloud with a look of panic, tossing the envelope outside and ducking for cover. 'It's from the top-secret enemy government agents!' He hid, waiting for the explosion as there was, obviously, a bomb in the package. Sadly, it never came.
'Get back in here, boy!' Boomed Mr. Dursley from the other room. Obediently, Harry came and handed him the mail, save the survey he'd once again pocketed.
The next day was more-or-less the same. Harry was laying on his stomach on his bed of his cramped little cupboard. Carefully, he drew a small line through one of the last boxes with a HB pencil, careful not to fill in any of the other boxes, least his results vary. He read the next line, which thanked him for his time in completing their survey.
'No, thank you.' Harry smiled back at it. There was a pounding at his door, and he could hear his aunt telling him something about getting the mail. Eager for another fun and stimulating survey, the boy dashed off to get it.
To his dismay, there was no survey, no questionnaires, and not even a pyramid scheme. He'd almost given up hopes of finding anything mildly entertaining when, again, there was a letter addressed to him. It was the exact same as the one the day before. This time, Harry wasn't worried about bombs as he reached down to pick it up; he knew exactly who it was from.
'Oh Bowie!' The boy grinned, shaking his head as he stared at it. 'You shouldn't have. And such lovely penmanship...' He gushed, completely unaware of how difficult it would be for a boa constrictor to hold a pen, let alone write calligraphy.
There were shouts from the kitchen, so Harry hastily grabbed the mail and went to give it to his Uncle. The various envelopes kept the man busy for a short time before Dudley noticed Harry had something. After making a huge fuss, he persuaded his father to rip the envelope from Harry's hands.
The large man had barely opened it before he started to choke.
'What does it say!?' Pestered Dudley.
'It was a group of top-secret government agents after all!' Harry insisted gleefully.
The Dursley's all gave him odd looks. Harry didn't notice.
'I wanna read it!' Dudley continued to whine.
'It's my letter,' Harry stated sensibly. 'And I want to know what the spies want with me before I agree to anything.'
'OUT!' Screamed Uncle Vernon, shaking the pictures on the walls and spilling over a glass of orange juice. When neither boy moved, he got ready to yell again, but they finally had the sense to run. The man still shouted and houses away, one of Mrs. Figg's cat pictures fell off the wall.
There were lots of hushed whispers between Mr. and Mrs. Dursley that Harry listened in on through the door. Most of them were muffled, and surprisingly quiet for such loud people, but he could make out a few words. Something about people "watching", and "not having one in this house," and even though Dudley had beaten him away from the door, his tears were not in pain, but in joy.
'I knew it!' He said again, forgetting Bowie and reverting back to his original daydream. Somewhere, Bowie cried. Even a snake can cry crocodile-tears. 'My parents didn't die in a car crash!'
'Then what?' Dudley asked, not sure whether to laugh or punch Harry. 'Were they some magical beings who happened to get in the middle of an ultimate show-down between good and evil and befall a horrible fate at the hand of their sworn enemy?'
'No.' Said Harry firmly. 'They were spies.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Said Dudley, and while Harry recovered from the shock of his cousin knowing a four syllable word, the large boy beat him up.
Within a week, Harry's life had drastically changed. He was now a top-secret government agent working with Bowie to uncover corruption on the global scale. By night. In his dreams. His waking life had changed quite a bit more surprisingly. His uncle, afraid the British secret service was watching, from what Harry could figure, had let him move into Dudley's second bedroom. On top of that, no-one had asked him to get the mail again, although he desperately wished they would.
'Vernon must be an enemy agent,' Harry had decided one boring afternoon. 'He's been keeping me prisoner all these years.' The boy had tried every secret agent trick he knew, and he'd even seen most of Dudley's James Bond movies. No matter how hard he tried, his uncle would not allow him to get that message.
Now how would the top-secret government agents and Bowie contact him? They were too smart for the phone -it could be tapped- and Harry never accepted e-mails from strangers for fear of viruses. Or maybe viri. What was the plural...? It didn't matter because the top-secret government agents alway found a way.
When Uncle Vernon nailed down the mail-flap, they slid letters under the door. When he filled up the cracks around the door with grout, they used the windows. When he duct taped the windows shut, they began to flood in the chimney. His uncle tried to close it up, too, but the cement kept falling back down the hole and, as Harry had to explain, it was the only opening keeping them from suffocating.
So his Uncle had another brilliant idea. If he put a vent in the chimney, the letters couldn't get in, but the air could. That and to go on vacation. The letters wouldn't find him there.
'We're going camping!' Announced Uncle Vernon one morning at the crack of dawn. He had already packed and the bags were at the door. Before anyone was awake enough to question him, they were ushered into the car and driven away.
They drove for hours upon hours with out any stops, things to do, or something to eat. The man was far to crazed to talk to, so the ride was silent.
It was almost nightfall when they reached the camping sight in Devon. It was just a farmer's field with campers parked in it. They would be in plain sight! Not to mention it would be extremely boring. They had begun to unpack when a letter fell from the sky.
Mr. H. Potter
The Dursley's Car
The Camp Sight
Devon
Uncle Vernon became so furious, he shoved them all back into the car, drove to the edge of the country, then bought a boat and sailed until he hit a clump of rocks with a shed on them. He shooed them all in, despite Dudley's whining, Aunt Petunia's cringes, and Harry's shouts that the spies would still find him. They were just in time, too, as a storm was beginning to brew. From inside their tiny shed, they could hear the whirring of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and Dudley's howls of freight.
There were more odd noises, but Harry didn't care. It was minutes until his tenth birthday, and he was daydreaming about when the top-secret government agents would come and take him under their wing. And he and Bowie could fight crime...
Five seconds left.
The banging sound became clearer outside.
Four, three...
They were getting closer, now.
Two
One more boom.
One-
There was one last blast of sound, and the door to the shack caved in on top of itself. Harry gaped in surprise at what he saw.
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»
Since Wednesday, I have been literally swamped with projects (if perhaps my binder were to explode open, drowning in papers would be a serious possibility) and I've been working on them for every waking moment except for when I'm at my job (more work). The only free time I had I spent finishing up the last bit of this chapter, and now uploading it for you guys. So feel special!
While writing this chapter, I had to flip back and check something in the book and found that Mr. Dursley actually accused Harry of checking for letter bombs! It was such strange a coincidence, I had to mention it. Also, I'm not sure if this chapter was as funny as it could have been, but I don't have as many jokes about the normal world, so things should get better soon.
Thanks to everyone who reviews, and will review. I love to get them!
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts. I don't own a boa constrictor, or the patent for HB pencils. Also, I have no connection to top-secret government agents...
In England.
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Three .:^:.:^:.:»
Any hopes of meeting up with Bowie, as he'd decided to name the boa constrictor, seemed dashed as Harry wasn't let to leave the cupboard until the start of summer holidays. Dudley had destroyed every birthday present he'd received by that point, and as he had nothing left to amuse himself, had reverted back to beating up Harry. His latest attempt had been at hog-tying Harry, after which he was going to hang him from a tree and use him as a punching bag. Dudley's hopes, too, were dashed, as he was completely winded before he'd even found a rope.
Just in case, Harry spent as much time as possible away from the house. He'd wander the town all day long, looking for Bowie. It would have been so much easier if they'd ever decided where "the place" was. 'How could you not wait for me!' Harry cried in anguish, receiving an odd look from Mrs. Figg. He'd been dumped at her house while the Dursley's went shopping for Dudley's new school clothes. It was an all-day event because he was too big to fit in normal sizes and had to have uniforms specially tailored in XXXXL.
'I didn't think you wanted to help clean the litter boxes.' Mrs. Figg told him apologetically. Harry mumbled a quick apology, and lied that he'd been talking to the telly. For show, he shouted something about them voting the wrong guy off the island. Mrs. Figg agreed. They were watching Cast Away.
Later that night, Dudley danced around the house in his new school uniform. He was going to go to Smeltings or Smellings, or Smitings or something like that. It was maroon and yellow and made him look like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb trapped in a circus tent. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were terribly proud, and Harry decided they must have had a laps of colour-blindness. At least it wasn't green.
That was all he could say good about his own school uniform. Some of Dudley's old clothes that Aunt Petunia had dunked in leftover Easter-egg dye. It smelled like egg, too. Harry could imagine how good they'd smell by the time school started. Dudley smelt the eggs too, and came crashing in for breakfast, followed by Uncle Vernon. There was the click of the letter box, and Harry -who never got the mail- was forced to today because of destiny. Or if you don't believe in that sort of thing, to advance the plot and, inevitably, save the world. And because the Dursley's were too lazy to get it themselves.
At any rate, Harry went to get mail. There were bills, flyers, a survey, a Victoria Secret... Harry glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was around and quickly pocketed it before noticing one last letter on the ground. It was to him. He was so shocked at finding something addressed to him, he decided reluctantly to put the survey back. Now, he picked up the letter, turning it over to inspect it from all angles. He never received letters, mostly because he had no one to send ones to him. Unless... Quickly, Harry checked the address on the letter.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
'I knew it!' He declared, punching a triumphant fist into the air. So, top-secret government agents were spying on him after all. Who else would be so precise as to know that he not only lived at 4 Privet Drive, but in the cupboard under the stairs?
'Unless,' Harry added aloud with a look of panic, tossing the envelope outside and ducking for cover. 'It's from the top-secret enemy government agents!' He hid, waiting for the explosion as there was, obviously, a bomb in the package. Sadly, it never came.
'Get back in here, boy!' Boomed Mr. Dursley from the other room. Obediently, Harry came and handed him the mail, save the survey he'd once again pocketed.
The next day was more-or-less the same. Harry was laying on his stomach on his bed of his cramped little cupboard. Carefully, he drew a small line through one of the last boxes with a HB pencil, careful not to fill in any of the other boxes, least his results vary. He read the next line, which thanked him for his time in completing their survey.
'No, thank you.' Harry smiled back at it. There was a pounding at his door, and he could hear his aunt telling him something about getting the mail. Eager for another fun and stimulating survey, the boy dashed off to get it.
To his dismay, there was no survey, no questionnaires, and not even a pyramid scheme. He'd almost given up hopes of finding anything mildly entertaining when, again, there was a letter addressed to him. It was the exact same as the one the day before. This time, Harry wasn't worried about bombs as he reached down to pick it up; he knew exactly who it was from.
'Oh Bowie!' The boy grinned, shaking his head as he stared at it. 'You shouldn't have. And such lovely penmanship...' He gushed, completely unaware of how difficult it would be for a boa constrictor to hold a pen, let alone write calligraphy.
There were shouts from the kitchen, so Harry hastily grabbed the mail and went to give it to his Uncle. The various envelopes kept the man busy for a short time before Dudley noticed Harry had something. After making a huge fuss, he persuaded his father to rip the envelope from Harry's hands.
The large man had barely opened it before he started to choke.
'What does it say!?' Pestered Dudley.
'It was a group of top-secret government agents after all!' Harry insisted gleefully.
The Dursley's all gave him odd looks. Harry didn't notice.
'I wanna read it!' Dudley continued to whine.
'It's my letter,' Harry stated sensibly. 'And I want to know what the spies want with me before I agree to anything.'
'OUT!' Screamed Uncle Vernon, shaking the pictures on the walls and spilling over a glass of orange juice. When neither boy moved, he got ready to yell again, but they finally had the sense to run. The man still shouted and houses away, one of Mrs. Figg's cat pictures fell off the wall.
There were lots of hushed whispers between Mr. and Mrs. Dursley that Harry listened in on through the door. Most of them were muffled, and surprisingly quiet for such loud people, but he could make out a few words. Something about people "watching", and "not having one in this house," and even though Dudley had beaten him away from the door, his tears were not in pain, but in joy.
'I knew it!' He said again, forgetting Bowie and reverting back to his original daydream. Somewhere, Bowie cried. Even a snake can cry crocodile-tears. 'My parents didn't die in a car crash!'
'Then what?' Dudley asked, not sure whether to laugh or punch Harry. 'Were they some magical beings who happened to get in the middle of an ultimate show-down between good and evil and befall a horrible fate at the hand of their sworn enemy?'
'No.' Said Harry firmly. 'They were spies.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Said Dudley, and while Harry recovered from the shock of his cousin knowing a four syllable word, the large boy beat him up.
Within a week, Harry's life had drastically changed. He was now a top-secret government agent working with Bowie to uncover corruption on the global scale. By night. In his dreams. His waking life had changed quite a bit more surprisingly. His uncle, afraid the British secret service was watching, from what Harry could figure, had let him move into Dudley's second bedroom. On top of that, no-one had asked him to get the mail again, although he desperately wished they would.
'Vernon must be an enemy agent,' Harry had decided one boring afternoon. 'He's been keeping me prisoner all these years.' The boy had tried every secret agent trick he knew, and he'd even seen most of Dudley's James Bond movies. No matter how hard he tried, his uncle would not allow him to get that message.
Now how would the top-secret government agents and Bowie contact him? They were too smart for the phone -it could be tapped- and Harry never accepted e-mails from strangers for fear of viruses. Or maybe viri. What was the plural...? It didn't matter because the top-secret government agents alway found a way.
When Uncle Vernon nailed down the mail-flap, they slid letters under the door. When he filled up the cracks around the door with grout, they used the windows. When he duct taped the windows shut, they began to flood in the chimney. His uncle tried to close it up, too, but the cement kept falling back down the hole and, as Harry had to explain, it was the only opening keeping them from suffocating.
So his Uncle had another brilliant idea. If he put a vent in the chimney, the letters couldn't get in, but the air could. That and to go on vacation. The letters wouldn't find him there.
'We're going camping!' Announced Uncle Vernon one morning at the crack of dawn. He had already packed and the bags were at the door. Before anyone was awake enough to question him, they were ushered into the car and driven away.
They drove for hours upon hours with out any stops, things to do, or something to eat. The man was far to crazed to talk to, so the ride was silent.
It was almost nightfall when they reached the camping sight in Devon. It was just a farmer's field with campers parked in it. They would be in plain sight! Not to mention it would be extremely boring. They had begun to unpack when a letter fell from the sky.
Mr. H. Potter
The Dursley's Car
The Camp Sight
Devon
Uncle Vernon became so furious, he shoved them all back into the car, drove to the edge of the country, then bought a boat and sailed until he hit a clump of rocks with a shed on them. He shooed them all in, despite Dudley's whining, Aunt Petunia's cringes, and Harry's shouts that the spies would still find him. They were just in time, too, as a storm was beginning to brew. From inside their tiny shed, they could hear the whirring of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and Dudley's howls of freight.
There were more odd noises, but Harry didn't care. It was minutes until his tenth birthday, and he was daydreaming about when the top-secret government agents would come and take him under their wing. And he and Bowie could fight crime...
Five seconds left.
The banging sound became clearer outside.
Four, three...
They were getting closer, now.
Two
One more boom.
One-
There was one last blast of sound, and the door to the shack caved in on top of itself. Harry gaped in surprise at what he saw.
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»
Since Wednesday, I have been literally swamped with projects (if perhaps my binder were to explode open, drowning in papers would be a serious possibility) and I've been working on them for every waking moment except for when I'm at my job (more work). The only free time I had I spent finishing up the last bit of this chapter, and now uploading it for you guys. So feel special!
While writing this chapter, I had to flip back and check something in the book and found that Mr. Dursley actually accused Harry of checking for letter bombs! It was such strange a coincidence, I had to mention it. Also, I'm not sure if this chapter was as funny as it could have been, but I don't have as many jokes about the normal world, so things should get better soon.
Thanks to everyone who reviews, and will review. I love to get them!
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts. I don't own a boa constrictor, or the patent for HB pencils. Also, I have no connection to top-secret government agents...
In England.