Chapter 9: The Letter

"INTO THAT CUPBOARD WITH YOU, BOY!" bellowed Vernon Dursley, the vein on his temple standing out. "AND DON'T LET ME CATCH YOU OUT OF IT UNTIL SUPPERTIME TOMORROW!"

"Yes, sir," said Harry Potter politely, and obediently ducked his head to enter the cupboard under the stairs.

And I won't. Let him catch me, that is.

Nine years now and they've never noticed that I don't mind being sent to my cupboard...

His fingers found the spot on the wall which triggered the one-way soundproofing spell, then the one which activated the lookproofing spell (Padfoot called it something else, but Harry liked his word better), and finally the light switch. No sound from within the cupboard would now reach the outside world, and if his uncle should happen to open the door, all he would see was a sullen Harry sprawled on the mattress which lay on the floor, with the small chest of drawers at his head and the tiny bookshelf at his feet. The same went for his aunt or his cousin.

In reality, though...

Harry flopped into the overstuffed red armchair and looked around. The decorations in his room were much the same as they had ever been – broomsticks and Quidditch balls – but he now had a poster or two of his favorite Quidditch teams hanging on the walls as well. The books on his shelf had gotten bigger as he had, with his collection growing on his birthday, Christmas, and whenever he filched one out of Dudley's second bedroom, since Dudley never noticed when books went missing.

He'd had a proper bed since he was bathroom-trained, or, rather, he'd had a lumpy mattress on the floor for a few weeks, until Letha could persuade his aunt to let her baby-sit him long enough that she could move in the proper bed she and Padfoot had gotten him. Harry was occasionally a little embarrassed at the money Padfoot and Letha spent on him, when he wasn't even theirs, but Padfoot insisted that Harry's being his godson meant he could spoil Harry just as badly as he did Meghan.

Thinking of Meghan made Harry remember that he'd promised to give her a call as soon as he had time. He got up and crossed to his desk, rummaging through the mess there until he found what he was looking for – an old, tarnished, gilt-edged mirror. "Meghan Black," he said clearly into it.

After a moment, the mirror lit up with the image of a girl's face, dark-skinned and bright-eyed. "Harry! Your aunt and uncle can't be in bed yet, it's not even dark!"

"No, they sent me to my cupboard."

Meghan giggled. She knew the secret of Harry's cupboard, having played with him in it often when the Dursleys were away. "What did you do?"

Harry grimaced. "I guess I talked back to my uncle. I didn't really mean to, but he had a couple of drinks after dinner, and he started going on about how immoral Letha is, and how he doesn't believe she's a widow..."

Meghan raised her eyebrows. "He's right."

"Yes, but that's not what he means!" Harry considered trying to explain, but gave it up as a bad job. "So what did you want to tell me?"

"Mum's going shopping in Diagon Alley next week and she wants you to come along."

"What day next week?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Yes. I have to know what day to ask if I can be out of the house all day."

"Mum, what day are we going shopping?" shouted Meghan to one side of the mirror.

"Tuesday!" answered Letha's voice distantly.

"Tuesday, she says," repeated Meghan into the mirror.

"I heard her. Tuesday." Harry considered it. "Wait – why are we going shopping on my birthday?"

Meghan giggled again, and the view of her face blurred as someone else picked up the mirror. "Well, we won't have a certain list of things to buy until then," said a deep, amused voice.

Harry suddenly felt very stupid. Of course, his birthday – his eleventh birthday – the day on which his Hogwarts letter would come! "Thanks, Padfoot," he said, making a face at his godfather. "Are you coming too?"

"Collar and lead and everything," said Padfoot, making a face back. Harry could sympathize. As much as he loved his cupboard, it was still a cage, where the Dursleys could put him when they didn't want him.

But that's going to change, when I get that letter...

He chatted a little longer with Padfoot and Letha and Meghan before disconnecting the mirror. Afterwards, he lay on the chair, legs up on the back and head hanging off the seat, and thought about life.

His life with the Dursleys he considered in the light of an exciting adventure game. Brave the wilds of Dursley-world, respect the native customs, trade work for food, and look forward to every opportunity to return to civilization, also known as number seventeen, Privet Drive. But he was being hunted, so he couldn't stay in civilization; he had to live in the wild. Number four was his home, the only safe place for him, as he'd known ever since that tearful day when he'd been four and asked why, why he had to go back there where they didn't like him, instead of staying with Padfoot and Letha and Meghan, where he was so happy?

He could have hated the Dursleys, Harry thought. He could have hated them for standing in the way of what he wanted. But, in truth, he had almost everything he wanted. It might have been nice to live openly with his godfather, but that wasn't the Dursleys' fault. And all the privations the Dursleys tried to force on him, the Blacks smoothed over, with the result that Harry's life was a rather pleasant one.

So he didn't hate the Dursleys, exactly, though he often wondered what his life would have been like if they didn't hate him so very much. Would he have ended up like Dudley, a spoiled brat who thought he deserved everything in the world and then some?

No matter. They didn't, so he wasn't, and his life was just fine. And about to get a whole lot better.

There would be a letter soon. A letter written on parchment and addressed in emerald green ink, with no stamp or return address. He knew better than to open it in front of his relatives, who would take it away from him on principle, assuming Aunt Petunia didn't recognize it and start screeching about abominations and freaks. No, he would chuck it into his cupboard as he came down the hallway, then, after breakfast, ask permission to go out. And then he would retrieve it and open it with his real family, in his real home.

After all, he only had to be able to call number four "home". He didn't have to feel that way about it.

The boy paused before ripping the flap open. "Are you sure you're ready?" he teased the girl.

"Stop it!" She took a swipe at him. "Just open it!"

"Are you sorry you don't have one?"

"Enough," said the man in a quelling tone, but the boy could see mirth in his eyes. "It's not her fault she's not old enough to go to Hogwarts yet."

"And she will get there," the woman added. "Maybe not in the traditional way, but she'll get there."

"Now will you please open it before I scream?" said the girl, staring at him in that pointed way which indicated she really meant it.

He slid his finger under the flap and pulled.

Harry jerked awake.

What an odd dream, he thought. He hadn't been able to see any of the people's faces clearly, just outlines or silhouettes, or perhaps he hadn't seen them at all, just heard their voices...

But he'd been able to see their emotions, and the way they looked at each other. Just not their faces.

Or maybe he had seen the faces, but couldn't remember them. It didn't really matter.

What mattered (he checked his watch) was that it was the morning of his birthday. 6:30 in the morning, to be precise, and that was about the time when the post would come...

He got out of bed and got dressed in the dark, not wanting to spoil his night-sight by turning on the lights, then opened the door of his cupboard, quietly, carefully, thankful that he'd remembered to oil the hinges two days before. The hall was dark, but there was enough light for him to see his way to the front door, which he had likewise oiled, and out onto the lawn.

He hadn't been there more than five minutes when it happened. Something caught his eye to the right, and there, winging its way towards him, was a huge, beautiful barn owl. And it was carrying a letter in its beak.

Harry lifted up his wrist, bracing himself for the weight of the bird, which settled gently onto his arm, closing its talons ever so gently about his flesh and dropping the letter into his other hand. "Mice in the back garden," he told it. "My aunt's always complaining about them. And there's a birdbath two houses that way." He pointed.

The owl gave a hoot of thanks and spread its wings, and Harry tossed it into the air to give it a flying start. He watched it soar around the house, then turned and went back inside, holding the precious letter in both hands, except when he needed one to open the door.

Back in his cupboard room, he fell onto his bed, feeling as if he wanted to burst out of his skin with excitement. Even though he knew the letter was nothing more than a dry formal greeting and a list of supplies that very seldom changed, it was still special. The look, the feel, even the smell of it was special.

For as long as he could remember, Harry had noticed smells more particularly than other people. Aunt Petunia relied on him to tell if the milk had gone bad or the leftover peas weren't worth salvaging (he occasionally fibbed when he felt he couldn't stand another night of looking at the same vegetables). The Dursleys' house had a scent like a hospital, antiseptic, forbidding, too clean to be a home. By contrast, the house at number seventeen had an odor of warmth and life about it, with overtones of biscuits in the oven, clean sheets, and laughter. It was strange to think that laughter had a smell, but it did. Or at least Harry thought that it did.

He ran over his friends in his mind, working out who would be at Hogwarts with him and who wouldn't. Neville Longbottom, obviously, they'd been born only one day apart – maybe he'd see Neville at Diagon Alley. Luna Lovegood, no. She was a year too young to go, she'd be a first year to his second. Meghan, of course not, she was a year younger than Luna. But that didn't mean she couldn't dream.

Dream...

That dream I had. Could that have been me, and Meghan, and Padfoot and Letha talking?

His mind spun over the words that had been spoken, the expressions and looks exchanged. It was entirely possible. He would tease Meghan just that way, Padfoot would stop them, Letha would calm Meghan down, Meghan would threaten him...

Yes, that was what it was, Harry decided. He'd dreamt how it would be when he opened his letter.

After breakfast, Harry broached the subject. "Aunt Petunia, Meghan Black's invited me to her house to stay all day. May I go?"

His aunt pursed her lips. "I wanted you to weed the garden today," she said disapprovingly.

"I'll do it after I get back. Please?"

"Make sure you do." Aunt Petunia turned away.

"I will. Thank you," said Harry to her back, and hurried to his cupboard, snatching up the letter where it lay on his bed.

When he straightened up again, he thought he'd gone blind. Then he realized the light was being blocked by the bulk of Dudley.

"What's that you've got?" asked Dudley, pointing at the letter in his hand.

Uh-oh. "Nothing."

It was the wrong answer. "Dad!" Dudley shouted. "Dad! Mum! Harry's got something in the mail!"

Harry shoved past Dudley, squeezing through partly due to his smaller size and partly to desperation, and ran for his life, houses whizzing by. If he could just get to number seventeen before they started shouting after him... or if their dislike of making a scene would just conquer their desire to stop him having anything at all, anywhere, ever...

Vernon Dursley watched the boy take the front steps of number seventeen two at a time and sighed. "No use calling him back now, he'll just pretend not to hear," he said, turning to go back inside. "Besides, it's probably a birthday card from that little chit. That's why he's been invited over, it's his birthday, and they're trying to make him feel special." Satisfied with this explanation, he returned to his coffee and newspaper.

"Dudley, dear?" Petunia moved closer to her son. "What did Harry's letter look like?"

"Look like?"

"Was it large or small?"

"Large, bigger than usual. And it was written in green, on kind of yellowy paper."

Petunia nodded. "And... did the address seem... to have more lines than usual?"

"I don't know... maybe. Why?"

"Just wondering, dear. Thank you, you've been a great help."

She leaned against the doorframe after Dudley had squeezed through the door, feeling a bit weak in the knees. She had known it would probably happen sooner or later, but later had always been the more prominent option...

But the boy is eleven. You knew it happened when they turned eleven.

And this would get him out of the house. She could remind Vernon of that. He'd only be back for two months a year – they'd make sure he stayed there for the holidays – and they could surely come up with a suitable story for the neighbors. There was no reason for anyone to know.

Unless...

Why did he take it to the Blacks' to open?

Fear suddenly gripped her again.

Harry burst through the door. "I've got it," he chanted. "I've got it, I've got it, I've got it..."

"You've got it, you've got it, you've got it," Meghan joined him, doing a dance step to the chant, which turned into spinning in a circle like ring-around-the-rosy.

Padfoot ran up to them, circled around them twice in dog form, then changed in the middle of the circle formed by their clasped hands and started dancing in place, adding a bass line to their song. "He's got it, he's got it..."

"You look like a May Day celebration," said Letha from the kitchen doorway. "Are you going to dance all day, or are you going to open that so we can go shopping?"

"Open it, open it!" Meghan let go of Harry's hands to jump around in excitement. "Open it quick!"

Harry grinned at her. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"Just open it!" Meghan did a cartwheel into the living room, then one back. "Now, now!"

Satisfied that he'd dreamed of what this moment might be like, Harry slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and pulled it up.

Everything was exactly as it should be. The letter on Hogwarts stationery, signed by Professor Minerva McGonagall, and the list of supplies, which Harry put back into the envelope so he wouldn't lose it while he was busy staring at the letter.

Padfoot laid a hand on his shoulder, making Harry turn to look at him. His godfather's face was covered with the grin Harry had only ever seen after a particularly successful prank. "Good luck, Greeneyes," he said softly. "You'll like Hogwarts."

"Bet I will," said Harry, returning the grin. A line in the letter caught his eye. They want a response by 31 July – that's today! "Can I borrow Maya?" he said, referring to Letha's screech owl.

"Of course. And parchment and quills are on the desk in the living room." Letha dropped a kiss on his head. "Congratulations, love."

Harry smiled at her and went to write his "Yes, thank you, I will come" letter, with Padfoot to advise him about phrasing and Meghan to be a pest and read over his shoulder.

"Do you think Neville will be shopping at Diagon Alley today too?" she asked.

"I don't know," answered Padfoot, since Harry was concentrating on his handwriting. "Do you want him to be?"

Meghan nodded.

"Meghan's got a boyfriend," teased Harry, looking up.

"Do not!"

"Do so."

"Do not!" Meghan reached down to hit Harry and upended the ink bottle all over his letter.

Harry jumped up with a yell. "Now look what you did!"

"It's not a disaster," said Padfoot, tapping the ink puddle with his wand and making it freeze in place, then starting to vacuum it up. "But you two both need to settle down some. We can't take you out in public if you're fighting like this."

Harry looked at Meghan sidewise. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Sorry," she said back, but she still looked mad at him.

Their first stop at Diagon Alley, of course, was Gringotts, where Harry took some money out of his parents' vault and Letha got some out of the Black vaults for her own expenses.

"I want to buy one thing all myself," said Harry as they walked down the steps of Gringotts. "Just one. May I?"

"Well, Diagon Alley's probably a safe place," said Letha. "I don't see why not. How about your uniform? I think you're old enough to handle that. Meet us at the Apothecary afterwards?"

Harry nodded and hurried off towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The little bell over the door tinkled as he walked in, and Madam Malkin hurried up to him.

"Hogwarts, of course," she said, smiling at him. "Come right on back, you can chat with this other young man here..."

A boy with a rather pale face and silver-blond hair was standing on a footstool while a witch pinned up the long black robes he was wearing. Harry followed the boy's line of sight and smiled – a grey dog with pointed ears and intelligent brownish eyes was looking back at him, head tilted slightly to one side.

"Right up here, dear, that's the way," said Madam Malkin, drawing the other boy's attention to Harry as he climbed onto the second stool and let Madam Malkin slide a robe over his head.

"Hello," said the other boy, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"I noticed you were looking at Zelda," said the boy, looking back at his dog, who was now watching both boys. "We go everywhere together, I think I'd be lost without her."

"Are you allowed to bring a dog to Hogwarts?" asked Harry curiously.

"Well, Father's writing to the Headmaster to find out for certain, but I think I should be allowed, I mean, I've heard of people bringing other kinds of pets than cats or owls or toads, and she's very polite, she won't bite anyone."

"But won't she have to go out?"

"No, not her. She can use the loo."

Harry looked from animal to boy, surprised. He had never heard of training a dog to use the toilet before. "How did you teach her to do that?"

"My dad did it. He's very clever that way." The boy gave a little half-smile, looking straight at Harry for the first time. His eyes widened a little as he did. "Wait... you're not... are you Harry Potter?"

Padfoot and Letha had warned Harry that he'd run into this as he became more of a part of the wizarding world. He was famous, and he'd have to deal with it. So it was with good grace that he answered, "Yes, I am."

"Wicked!" The boy looked down to make sure the witch wasn't trying to pin under his right arm, then held out his hand. "Draco Malfoy. But only my father calls me Draco. Everyone who knows me calls me Ray."

"Ray?" repeated Harry, shaking his hand. "Oh, from D-ray-co?"

"Yeah – my mum didn't want me called Dray or Day, so I guess Ray was the only thing left." Ray shrugged, smiling. "So d'you have any idea what house you'll be in?"

"Not really – Gryffindor, maybe, but I'll have to wait and see. You?"

"Well, my mother and father were in Slytherin... but I don't know. Just because your family's one way, doesn't mean you have to be, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," said Harry, thinking of Padfoot. "I know somebody whose whole family for generations was in Slytherin, and he turned out to be a Gryffindor."

"Really?" Ray's face seemed to light up. "That's brilliant – who?"

Harry tried not to gulp. "I forget his name," he said quickly. "But he was somebody my dad knew."

"All right." Ray was still smiling. "Hear that, Zelda?" he said to the dog. "His whole family was in Slytherin, and he turned out to be a Gryffindor!"

Zelda turned around and lay down, as if this news interested her not at all.

"That's you done, m'dear," said the witch pinning Ray's robes. "Just hop down and we'll get these made up right away."

Ray stepped down from the footstool. "Come on, Zel," he said as the witch waved her wand, sending a line of stitching around the hem of the robes. "We need to go find Mother now."

Zelda got to her feet and stretched. Harry noticed she was wearing a green leather collar with symbols etched into it. It looked tight, but it didn't seem to be bothering her.

"See you at Hogwarts, then, I guess," said Ray.

"See you." Harry watched the other boy go, the dog pacing beside him, his hand occasionally falling to rest on her head or back, as Harry sometimes did with Padfoot.

"Malfoy?" repeated Padfoot in surprise. "You liked a boy named Malfoy?"

Harry nodded, licking one of the ice creams they'd bought and kept cold for after supper. "Draco Malfoy. But everyone calls him Ray."

"Must be Lucius Malfoy's son, I remember him telling me Narcissa was expecting a few months before your mum was due." Padfoot took another bite of his own ice cream and frowned. "Funny, though, I would never have thought any of the Malfoys would have the capacity to be nice. You said he had a pet with him?"

Harry nodded. "A dog with grey fur. Looked kind of like a shepherd, with pointed ears and all that."

"But there aren't any shepherd breeds with grey fur," said Letha. "Maybe it was a cross. Did he say?"

"No. Just that her name was Zelda, and they went everywhere together."

"She sounds pretty," said Meghan. "Did she let you pet her?"

"I didn't try, I was getting my robes fitted."

"Too bad."

"So, one more month," said Padfoot teasingly. "How are you ever going to survive?"

Harry grinned. "I think I'll manage."

He lay on his side, staring out the window at the stars. She was a comforting warmth against his back, as she had been all his life that he could recall. The others were outdoors but nearby, two more sources of reassurance in an otherwise cheerless world.

One more month, he thought. Will I make it?

I think you'll manage.

He nodded. It was the answer he'd expected.

The moon shone down over all of England, on those who slept and those who hunted.

Vernon Dursley considered opening the door to check on his sleeping nephew, to make sure he wasn't doing anything funny, but a sudden rush of hunger turned him away from the cupboard door and back to the refrigerator, where a pint of rum raisin ice cream was waiting.

Lucius Malfoy thought of looking in on his sleeping son, just to have another glance at the next generation of the House of Malfoy, but an inexpressible impulse sent him to his wife's bedroom instead, where he promptly forgot about his son in what Narcissa had ready for him.

And far away, an old man's quest neared completion, as he drew close to the final piece of the puzzle.

(A/N: Well, the sooner I get some of this out of my system, the quicker I can get back to LwoD... so please feed the author! Review!)