Like the previous 40-count 'em,FORTY!-disclaimers say,I don't own these characters.
Two things: I don't know who owns "Mack The Knife." Second, I had the terrible
realization that when it's nine in the morning in America, it's two in the afternoon
in Britain. My excuse: No one knows where Springfield is,so the time difference is
moot...
41.
SILVER
He was barely aware of the window. There was a grassy field on the other
side. Dumbledore wished it would rain, like yesterday. It would suit his mood
quite well. If there had been time to get Harry to St. Mungo's,he would have
carried him there himself. He could barely stand to think what they were doing to
him. They would want to put needles in him and shine lights in his face and run
terrifying tests on him.
Somewhere in the ceiling, music was being pumped into the room.
"-could it be our boy's done somethin' rash..."
Dumbledore had been thinking about Harry for the last hour. At least it felt like
an hour. He would have given anything to trade places, to spare him the horrors of
modern medical care. Harry would endure their worst. That was what he had been
doing his entire life; enduring. He had been used and badly abused and people
treated him like some kind of cultural icon because of it. Was it any wonder
he felt the need to close himself off, deny his feelings for those he cared
about? Dumbledore knew doing this was hell for Harry. Dumbledore would offer as
much comfort, give him as much encouragement, as he needed. He had been honest with
Harry, made his feelings known, Voldemort and all his Shit Eaters be damned.
But I took Harry's childhood away, he thought.
He lowered his head.
No. Voldemort did that. I want him to be safe.
"I just want him to be happy."
"Professor?"
He looked over his shoulder.
"Miss Granger." He tried to smile.
"Sir...there was a vending machine in the hall...would you like some chocolate?"
He didn't know what to say.
Dumbledore sat down. The chair was hard plastic.
She sat down beside him,and took his hand.
"He'll be all right," she said.
"Has Harry ever...done that before?"
"I've never seen his scar vent blood, Professor."
He nodded.
"Hermione...do you remember,six years ago...when Harry woke up,after the business
with the Sorceror's Stone?"
"I remember."
"Did you tell him how I worried?"
"I told him."
"I told him how worried YOU were."
Hermione smiled.
---
Ron walked into the room.
"Did you see anything?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," Ron said.
He stood there, not sure what to do or say.
"Ron-"
Next thing they knew, the three of them were one.
"I love Harry," Dumbledore told them. "I'm glad he has such wonderful friends."
They stayed like that for awhile.
Then, finally, a nurse appeared in the doorway.
She walked into the room, a quiet-faced,thin woman with short,dark hair.
"Is he all right?" Dumbledore asked.
"He's fine," the nurse said. For some reason,she did not smile. "There's nothing
wrong with him. The The thing is, he doesn't have any medical insurance."
"Money's no object," Dumbledore said. "Whatever the price-"
"Can we see him?" Hermione asked.
"He's resting right now," the nurse said. "He can leave whenever he wants, this
isn't a hospital. There's just..."
"What is it?"
"Our staff adores that kid," she said. "So do our residents, and-"
She looked angry now.
"It can't be you," she said.
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked.
"Follow me," she said.
He let go of Hermione and Ron. They let go of him.
The trio followed her into another room.
This room was very dark.
"I want you to know," she said,"That I considered calling Children's Services.
We have them on speed-dial. But then I saw you holding these two,and actually
talked to you...does he live with you?"
"I wish he could," Dumbledore said. "His situation is...complex."
"I'm going to show you some pictures," the nurse said. "I'm not sure the kids
should see them-"
"Nonsense," Dumbledore said.
"Fine," the nurse said.
The first picture appeared on the wall.
It was Harry,unconscious. He had two black eyes. The swelling was horrendous.
Dumbledore could barely speak. "What-"
Another picture. Harry's back, flesh interrupted by fist-sized blobs of purple and
blue. Then,the next one: his chest, badly bruised.
"When we got him situated, we found bruises all over his body...the thing is,
they were old bruises. That healed. It's as if every bruise he ever had came
back temporarily, all at once."
"Merlin," Dumbledore said,conscious of the tears falling down his cheeks.
"And don't tell me he falls down a lot. I've heard that one. Unless he's
falling into someone's fists. And the bruises aren't all we saw."
Next picture: the back of Harry's neck. There was a large,ugly mark near
his hairline.
"What's that?" Ron asked.
"That's a cigar burn."
"No," Hermione said.
"Oh,I'm afraid so," said the nurse. "We took pictures, and then everything
disappeared, like it was never there. Look, do you know who did these things
to him?"
"I have a strong suspicion," Dumbledore said, thinking of all the things he
wanted to do to Dudley Dursley.
"You're Professor Dumbledore?"
"I am."
"He asked for you," she said. "He woke up for a moment, and we asked him if
he was in any pain and he said yes...then he asked for you...you love him,
don't you?"
"I do," Dumbledore said.
"We do,too." Hermione said.
"I wouldn't go that far," Ron said.
Hermione punched his shoulder.
---
There were people outside the room; residents of the Retirement Castle. They
felt for Harry; maybe they had grandchildren of their own.
"Pardon me," Dumbledore said.
"He's a precious child," a blue-haired lady in a housedress told him.
"Quiet," said a smallish man with a beard not unlike Dumbledore's.
"JASper-"
"Not you, the kid."
"Oh..."
Dumbledore saw a familiar face.
"Abraham," he said. "Good to see you."
Abraham Simpson smiled. "We're just waiting for the room to clear."
"If you'll excuse me."
He walked into the room.
The residents lingered a bit, but then scattered.
They had given Harry a private room.
(Those people were just waiting for the room to clear out-)
Harry lay curled up in the bed. He was watching television.
Onscreen, a woman with long blonde hair ran along a beach in slow motion.
"Harry?"
Harry turned his head. "Hi," he said,as if he'd just woken up.
Dumbledore gestured to the television. "What's this?"
"It's called BAYWATCH," Harry said.
Dumbledore grinned. "What's it about?"
Harry managed a smile.
Dumbledore sat next to him.
"Is anything wrong with me?"
"No, Harry...we can go when you're ready."
"Good."
"Do you remember anything?"
"I remember the pain," Harry said.
He covered his eyes with one hand.
Dumbledore lifted him up and hugged him. It would not make everything better,
suddenly, but it was was the best he could do.
"I don't want to hurt anymore," Harry said.
-his uncle wounds him with words, Dudley and his friends gave him these
bruises and probably that burn, Voldemort hurt him in that graveyard-
"Were I an empath, I would take it all upon myself."
"I'm-"
"Shhhh..."
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were splashing waves,and the cries of
shorebirds.
"Are Hermione and Ron still here?"
"Of course they are. They wouldn't leave you."
"Right," Harry said. He yawned.
"Sleepy?"
"Yeah."
Dumbledore thought for a moment.
"Do you still have the book?"
"It's on the table."
There was a table next to bed. He picked up the book.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and began to read.
"'Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral
arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun..."
Harry was asleep before the first chapter was over.
Dumbledore laid him down on the bed and pulled the sheet over him.
He wondered if anyone had ever done that for Harry,other than his parents.
In the hallway, Hermione and Ron were talking to a tall,loose-limbed man
in brown corduroy pants and a shirt that read WORLD'S BEST GRANDPA (WORLD'S
WORST KID.)
"Is he all right?" Ron asked.
"He's fine," Dumbledore said. "He's sleeping right now."
"This is Mr. Tallmadge," Hermione said.
"Albus Dumbledore."
"Cornelius Tallmadge."
They shook hands.
"Mr. Tallmadge,could you keep my charges company for a little while?"
"Be glad to."
"What is it,Professor?"
"I need to run a few quick,er...errands."
"All right," Hermione said.
"Before I do, could I borrow you for a moment, Miss Granger?"
Hermione smiled, and they walked down the hall.
They passed the candy machine; Dumbledore glanced at it. Then they walked by a noisy
room. Hermione glanced and saw a man hooked up to a machine;the bag within rose and
fell; it was breathing for him.
"If I put my grandmother in a place like this, she'd come back and haunt me."
"This place is nicer than some I've seen," Dumbledore said.
Dumbledore held the back door open; she stepped through, onto the grass.
"Let's distance ourselves a bit," Dumbledore said.
They walked through the soft grass until the Retirement Castle was a respectable
distance away. Hermione sat down in the grass. Dumbledore sat next to her.
"Now, then," Dumbledore said. "Hermione, I will be back in a moment."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to pay a visit to Harry's cousin."
She narrowed her eyes. "That horrid PRAT. I'd like to beat him until his-"
Nothing seemed harsh enough, so she trailed off.
"I think the time has come for a bit of retribution," Dumbledore said.
"I QUITE agree," Hermione said.
"Not that that's the best way to handle every problem-"
"Of course not."
"-but I daresay the little bastard has earned it."
Hermione laughed,and then put her hand over her mouth.
"Please excuse the colorful metaphor," he said.
"Don't apologize," Hermione said.
"I will need your help, actually, but that will come later. Right now,
keep Harry company, and look out for anything that seems strange."
"Strange?"
"You and I both know there's something evil in there," he said, with a look at
the Retirement Castle. "Harry felt it, too."
"And his scar bled," Hermione whispered.
Dumbledore sat with her a moment more; then he stood up.
"Back in a moment," he said. As he walked away, he turned.
"Incidentally...do you have any of those SPEW buttons left?"
"You're aware of SPEW?"
"Miss Granger, there's not much at Hogwarts I'm not aware of." Then he grimaced.
"Professor?"
"I ended that sentence with a preposition. That's terribly improper English."
His eyes twinkled; then, as he neared the door, he disappeared.
---
Dumbledore appeared outside the house,invisible. To be seen by any of the neighbors
just wouldn't do. Of course, Professor Sprout lived nearby in the summer, as did
a number of other wizards and witches. So far, they had managed to remain unseen,
although Petunia undoubtedly had her suspicions.
She never knew when he was in the house, though.
A barn owl was perched on the lamp-post outside the house. It
screeched hello at Dumbledore, who greeted him back.
From inside the house: "Ruddy OWL..."
The door flew open.
Vernon Dursley stomped outside. He had a shotgun,which he leveled at the owl.
Dumbledore cast his eyes toward the sky.
He found his wand and pointed it at Vernon's crotch.
Vernon dropped the firearm. "Oh...AUUUUGH..."
He sank down onto the front walk, squirming and moaning.
Petunia appeared in the doorway.
"Vernon?"
He groaned. "My GROIN..."
"Vernon, don't be embarrassing. It's just a cramp."
"Petunia-"
He slipped inside the house.
Of course, there was still no sign that Harry lived there. It was as if he didn't
exist.
There was no sign of Dudley, either. He wasn't in the living room.
He would have to check the kitchen.
To get to the kitchen, he would have to walk past the downstairs cupboard.
He did,braving the crushing aura of sadness hanging in the air.
(-there's no such thing as magic-)
He looked back the way he'd come, his outrage only outweighed by sadness.
Vernon's nose started to bleed.
Dumbledore entered the kitchen.
Dudley was not there.
Dumbledore looked out the kitchen window. No sign of him outside.
He wondered what Jack and The Rippers sounded like.
("He's gotten...scary.")
Dumbledore walked back into the living room. He headed upstairs.
He knew where Harry's room was.
They still kept it locked, even when he wasn't there.
Mere words could not describe the way he felt.
He had tried to find some sign of basic human decency in Vernon Dursley. There
was none to be found. Much like Dolores Umbridge.
(Dolores Umbridge? Never heard of her, Detective.)
He came to Dudley's door. It was closed,but judging from the noises coming
from the other side, he was in there. He was trying to be quiet,so his parents
wouldn't walk in on him, but Dumbledore had quite a good idea what he was doing.
He knocked on the door.
There was a loud crash.
"WHAT?"
A moment passed.
The door flew open.
"Mummy?" Dudley called. "Daddy?"
He bounced down the stairs.
Dumbledore slipped into Dudley's room.
The walls had been painted black.
It was a mess. He could barely see the floor. There were clothes
strewn everywhere, as were video games and loose change and compact discs and comic
books-actually, he had once heard Dean Thomas refer to them as "graphic novels"
and thought of them that way. There was a book on his dresser. It was
called HUNTING HUMANS and it was an encyclopedia of serial killers.
He picked up one of the CDs: Graveland's IN THE GLARE OF THE BURNING CHURCHES.
Dumbledore found a piece of paper and wrote the letter, resting the paper on
the dresser. He wrote the letter in thirty seconds and magicked up an envelope.
He wrote DUDLEY DURSLEY on the front and tossed it onto Dudley's bed.
It landed next to a rather rumpled square of paper.
Against his better judgement, Dumbledore picked up the paper and flipped it over.
He sucked in a breath.
It was not a picture of a woman-or even a man-but of a dead, rotting dog; it looked
like a golden retriever, but it was hard to tell. Most of its head had been eaten;
there were maggots in its eyesockets and nostrils and mouth.
He let go of it as if it were on fire.
Two things: I don't know who owns "Mack The Knife." Second, I had the terrible
realization that when it's nine in the morning in America, it's two in the afternoon
in Britain. My excuse: No one knows where Springfield is,so the time difference is
moot...
41.
SILVER
He was barely aware of the window. There was a grassy field on the other
side. Dumbledore wished it would rain, like yesterday. It would suit his mood
quite well. If there had been time to get Harry to St. Mungo's,he would have
carried him there himself. He could barely stand to think what they were doing to
him. They would want to put needles in him and shine lights in his face and run
terrifying tests on him.
Somewhere in the ceiling, music was being pumped into the room.
"-could it be our boy's done somethin' rash..."
Dumbledore had been thinking about Harry for the last hour. At least it felt like
an hour. He would have given anything to trade places, to spare him the horrors of
modern medical care. Harry would endure their worst. That was what he had been
doing his entire life; enduring. He had been used and badly abused and people
treated him like some kind of cultural icon because of it. Was it any wonder
he felt the need to close himself off, deny his feelings for those he cared
about? Dumbledore knew doing this was hell for Harry. Dumbledore would offer as
much comfort, give him as much encouragement, as he needed. He had been honest with
Harry, made his feelings known, Voldemort and all his Shit Eaters be damned.
But I took Harry's childhood away, he thought.
He lowered his head.
No. Voldemort did that. I want him to be safe.
"I just want him to be happy."
"Professor?"
He looked over his shoulder.
"Miss Granger." He tried to smile.
"Sir...there was a vending machine in the hall...would you like some chocolate?"
He didn't know what to say.
Dumbledore sat down. The chair was hard plastic.
She sat down beside him,and took his hand.
"He'll be all right," she said.
"Has Harry ever...done that before?"
"I've never seen his scar vent blood, Professor."
He nodded.
"Hermione...do you remember,six years ago...when Harry woke up,after the business
with the Sorceror's Stone?"
"I remember."
"Did you tell him how I worried?"
"I told him."
"I told him how worried YOU were."
Hermione smiled.
---
Ron walked into the room.
"Did you see anything?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," Ron said.
He stood there, not sure what to do or say.
"Ron-"
Next thing they knew, the three of them were one.
"I love Harry," Dumbledore told them. "I'm glad he has such wonderful friends."
They stayed like that for awhile.
Then, finally, a nurse appeared in the doorway.
She walked into the room, a quiet-faced,thin woman with short,dark hair.
"Is he all right?" Dumbledore asked.
"He's fine," the nurse said. For some reason,she did not smile. "There's nothing
wrong with him. The The thing is, he doesn't have any medical insurance."
"Money's no object," Dumbledore said. "Whatever the price-"
"Can we see him?" Hermione asked.
"He's resting right now," the nurse said. "He can leave whenever he wants, this
isn't a hospital. There's just..."
"What is it?"
"Our staff adores that kid," she said. "So do our residents, and-"
She looked angry now.
"It can't be you," she said.
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked.
"Follow me," she said.
He let go of Hermione and Ron. They let go of him.
The trio followed her into another room.
This room was very dark.
"I want you to know," she said,"That I considered calling Children's Services.
We have them on speed-dial. But then I saw you holding these two,and actually
talked to you...does he live with you?"
"I wish he could," Dumbledore said. "His situation is...complex."
"I'm going to show you some pictures," the nurse said. "I'm not sure the kids
should see them-"
"Nonsense," Dumbledore said.
"Fine," the nurse said.
The first picture appeared on the wall.
It was Harry,unconscious. He had two black eyes. The swelling was horrendous.
Dumbledore could barely speak. "What-"
Another picture. Harry's back, flesh interrupted by fist-sized blobs of purple and
blue. Then,the next one: his chest, badly bruised.
"When we got him situated, we found bruises all over his body...the thing is,
they were old bruises. That healed. It's as if every bruise he ever had came
back temporarily, all at once."
"Merlin," Dumbledore said,conscious of the tears falling down his cheeks.
"And don't tell me he falls down a lot. I've heard that one. Unless he's
falling into someone's fists. And the bruises aren't all we saw."
Next picture: the back of Harry's neck. There was a large,ugly mark near
his hairline.
"What's that?" Ron asked.
"That's a cigar burn."
"No," Hermione said.
"Oh,I'm afraid so," said the nurse. "We took pictures, and then everything
disappeared, like it was never there. Look, do you know who did these things
to him?"
"I have a strong suspicion," Dumbledore said, thinking of all the things he
wanted to do to Dudley Dursley.
"You're Professor Dumbledore?"
"I am."
"He asked for you," she said. "He woke up for a moment, and we asked him if
he was in any pain and he said yes...then he asked for you...you love him,
don't you?"
"I do," Dumbledore said.
"We do,too." Hermione said.
"I wouldn't go that far," Ron said.
Hermione punched his shoulder.
---
There were people outside the room; residents of the Retirement Castle. They
felt for Harry; maybe they had grandchildren of their own.
"Pardon me," Dumbledore said.
"He's a precious child," a blue-haired lady in a housedress told him.
"Quiet," said a smallish man with a beard not unlike Dumbledore's.
"JASper-"
"Not you, the kid."
"Oh..."
Dumbledore saw a familiar face.
"Abraham," he said. "Good to see you."
Abraham Simpson smiled. "We're just waiting for the room to clear."
"If you'll excuse me."
He walked into the room.
The residents lingered a bit, but then scattered.
They had given Harry a private room.
(Those people were just waiting for the room to clear out-)
Harry lay curled up in the bed. He was watching television.
Onscreen, a woman with long blonde hair ran along a beach in slow motion.
"Harry?"
Harry turned his head. "Hi," he said,as if he'd just woken up.
Dumbledore gestured to the television. "What's this?"
"It's called BAYWATCH," Harry said.
Dumbledore grinned. "What's it about?"
Harry managed a smile.
Dumbledore sat next to him.
"Is anything wrong with me?"
"No, Harry...we can go when you're ready."
"Good."
"Do you remember anything?"
"I remember the pain," Harry said.
He covered his eyes with one hand.
Dumbledore lifted him up and hugged him. It would not make everything better,
suddenly, but it was was the best he could do.
"I don't want to hurt anymore," Harry said.
-his uncle wounds him with words, Dudley and his friends gave him these
bruises and probably that burn, Voldemort hurt him in that graveyard-
"Were I an empath, I would take it all upon myself."
"I'm-"
"Shhhh..."
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were splashing waves,and the cries of
shorebirds.
"Are Hermione and Ron still here?"
"Of course they are. They wouldn't leave you."
"Right," Harry said. He yawned.
"Sleepy?"
"Yeah."
Dumbledore thought for a moment.
"Do you still have the book?"
"It's on the table."
There was a table next to bed. He picked up the book.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and began to read.
"'Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral
arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun..."
Harry was asleep before the first chapter was over.
Dumbledore laid him down on the bed and pulled the sheet over him.
He wondered if anyone had ever done that for Harry,other than his parents.
In the hallway, Hermione and Ron were talking to a tall,loose-limbed man
in brown corduroy pants and a shirt that read WORLD'S BEST GRANDPA (WORLD'S
WORST KID.)
"Is he all right?" Ron asked.
"He's fine," Dumbledore said. "He's sleeping right now."
"This is Mr. Tallmadge," Hermione said.
"Albus Dumbledore."
"Cornelius Tallmadge."
They shook hands.
"Mr. Tallmadge,could you keep my charges company for a little while?"
"Be glad to."
"What is it,Professor?"
"I need to run a few quick,er...errands."
"All right," Hermione said.
"Before I do, could I borrow you for a moment, Miss Granger?"
Hermione smiled, and they walked down the hall.
They passed the candy machine; Dumbledore glanced at it. Then they walked by a noisy
room. Hermione glanced and saw a man hooked up to a machine;the bag within rose and
fell; it was breathing for him.
"If I put my grandmother in a place like this, she'd come back and haunt me."
"This place is nicer than some I've seen," Dumbledore said.
Dumbledore held the back door open; she stepped through, onto the grass.
"Let's distance ourselves a bit," Dumbledore said.
They walked through the soft grass until the Retirement Castle was a respectable
distance away. Hermione sat down in the grass. Dumbledore sat next to her.
"Now, then," Dumbledore said. "Hermione, I will be back in a moment."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to pay a visit to Harry's cousin."
She narrowed her eyes. "That horrid PRAT. I'd like to beat him until his-"
Nothing seemed harsh enough, so she trailed off.
"I think the time has come for a bit of retribution," Dumbledore said.
"I QUITE agree," Hermione said.
"Not that that's the best way to handle every problem-"
"Of course not."
"-but I daresay the little bastard has earned it."
Hermione laughed,and then put her hand over her mouth.
"Please excuse the colorful metaphor," he said.
"Don't apologize," Hermione said.
"I will need your help, actually, but that will come later. Right now,
keep Harry company, and look out for anything that seems strange."
"Strange?"
"You and I both know there's something evil in there," he said, with a look at
the Retirement Castle. "Harry felt it, too."
"And his scar bled," Hermione whispered.
Dumbledore sat with her a moment more; then he stood up.
"Back in a moment," he said. As he walked away, he turned.
"Incidentally...do you have any of those SPEW buttons left?"
"You're aware of SPEW?"
"Miss Granger, there's not much at Hogwarts I'm not aware of." Then he grimaced.
"Professor?"
"I ended that sentence with a preposition. That's terribly improper English."
His eyes twinkled; then, as he neared the door, he disappeared.
---
Dumbledore appeared outside the house,invisible. To be seen by any of the neighbors
just wouldn't do. Of course, Professor Sprout lived nearby in the summer, as did
a number of other wizards and witches. So far, they had managed to remain unseen,
although Petunia undoubtedly had her suspicions.
She never knew when he was in the house, though.
A barn owl was perched on the lamp-post outside the house. It
screeched hello at Dumbledore, who greeted him back.
From inside the house: "Ruddy OWL..."
The door flew open.
Vernon Dursley stomped outside. He had a shotgun,which he leveled at the owl.
Dumbledore cast his eyes toward the sky.
He found his wand and pointed it at Vernon's crotch.
Vernon dropped the firearm. "Oh...AUUUUGH..."
He sank down onto the front walk, squirming and moaning.
Petunia appeared in the doorway.
"Vernon?"
He groaned. "My GROIN..."
"Vernon, don't be embarrassing. It's just a cramp."
"Petunia-"
He slipped inside the house.
Of course, there was still no sign that Harry lived there. It was as if he didn't
exist.
There was no sign of Dudley, either. He wasn't in the living room.
He would have to check the kitchen.
To get to the kitchen, he would have to walk past the downstairs cupboard.
He did,braving the crushing aura of sadness hanging in the air.
(-there's no such thing as magic-)
He looked back the way he'd come, his outrage only outweighed by sadness.
Vernon's nose started to bleed.
Dumbledore entered the kitchen.
Dudley was not there.
Dumbledore looked out the kitchen window. No sign of him outside.
He wondered what Jack and The Rippers sounded like.
("He's gotten...scary.")
Dumbledore walked back into the living room. He headed upstairs.
He knew where Harry's room was.
They still kept it locked, even when he wasn't there.
Mere words could not describe the way he felt.
He had tried to find some sign of basic human decency in Vernon Dursley. There
was none to be found. Much like Dolores Umbridge.
(Dolores Umbridge? Never heard of her, Detective.)
He came to Dudley's door. It was closed,but judging from the noises coming
from the other side, he was in there. He was trying to be quiet,so his parents
wouldn't walk in on him, but Dumbledore had quite a good idea what he was doing.
He knocked on the door.
There was a loud crash.
"WHAT?"
A moment passed.
The door flew open.
"Mummy?" Dudley called. "Daddy?"
He bounced down the stairs.
Dumbledore slipped into Dudley's room.
The walls had been painted black.
It was a mess. He could barely see the floor. There were clothes
strewn everywhere, as were video games and loose change and compact discs and comic
books-actually, he had once heard Dean Thomas refer to them as "graphic novels"
and thought of them that way. There was a book on his dresser. It was
called HUNTING HUMANS and it was an encyclopedia of serial killers.
He picked up one of the CDs: Graveland's IN THE GLARE OF THE BURNING CHURCHES.
Dumbledore found a piece of paper and wrote the letter, resting the paper on
the dresser. He wrote the letter in thirty seconds and magicked up an envelope.
He wrote DUDLEY DURSLEY on the front and tossed it onto Dudley's bed.
It landed next to a rather rumpled square of paper.
Against his better judgement, Dumbledore picked up the paper and flipped it over.
He sucked in a breath.
It was not a picture of a woman-or even a man-but of a dead, rotting dog; it looked
like a golden retriever, but it was hard to tell. Most of its head had been eaten;
there were maggots in its eyesockets and nostrils and mouth.
He let go of it as if it were on fire.
