Chapter 3:

Letters Galore

The day began as normally as it ever did at Number 4 Private Drive. Most of the household was already seated at the breakfast table. At the sound of mail being pushed through the slot in the door, Uncle Vernon spoke from behind his newspaper.

"Dudley, go get the mail."

"Make Harry get it," Dudley whined back, while smirking at his cousin.

"Boy, go get the mail," the elder Dursely man said.

"Make Dudley get it," Harry replied.

He narrowly escaped getting hit in the head and Uncle Vernon said to his niece, who had just re-entered the room,

"Girl, get the mail!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," she replied simply, turning right back around. She wasn't about to risk getting hurt by talking back.

As she bent to pick up the mail, she noted the top letter was addressed to her brother. It even had his cupboard in the address – as if it was an apartment instead of a storage space. That's odd, she thought, but quickly slipped the letter under her shirt, away from her uncle's prying eyes, before returning to the dining room.

Only once they were alone in the hallway, outside of their respective rooms, did she bring out the letter.

"This came in the mail today. Look! It's addressed to you," she said, showing him the letter. He went to take it from her when a pale, fragile hand swooped down and snatched it from the Potters' hands.

"Oi!" Jessa exclaimed, turning to face her furious aunt.

"Where did you get this?"

"It came in the mail."

"And it's for me," Harry added, holding his hand out for the letter.

"Oh no you don't. You are not reading this. It must have been the wrong address."

"It had my cupboard on it!" Harry pointed out. Aunt Petunia simply sniffed and turned on her heel, walking away.

"Sorry, Harry," she said quietly after a moment. He shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he replied sullenly, returning to the dining room to clean up the after-breakfast mess.

When Harry went to get the mail the next morning, he found two letters waiting for him. He hid them, but obviously, Aunt Petunia had told her husband about the strange letters, because when Harry handed him the mail, he said,

"All the mail, boy."

Harry reluctantly handed them over, watching as his uncle torn the rich parchment apart. However, something different happened as they cleaned up.

"Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it…we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take your stuff upstairs, now."

"Come on, Harry. I'll help you," Jessa said quickly, tugging on her brother's arm, glad when she wasn't stopped.

"You know," she said as they stepped inside the room, "I think this may be the first time Dudley hasn't gotten his way – in favour of us no less. And Uncle Vernon was being…civil to you. It's weird."

"Yeah, well, how much do you want to bet it's only to keep me from seeing those letters?"

And so the pattern went. Each day more and more letters showed up. They came even when Uncle Vernon sealed the slot in the door. They even knew Harry's "room" had changed.

One morning, in an attempt to help her brother, Jessa snuck out to the hallway, only to see Harry a few feet in front of her. Apparently, they both had the same idea: to catch the mailman before the mail got to the house. He smiled slightly at her, but at the next moment, he jumped back, startled; he'd stepped on their uncle, who had decided to camp out in front of the hallway in order to prevent them from getting his nephew's letters. Dejectedly, they returned to their respective "rooms".

Sunday came, and Uncle Vernon sat at the breakfast table, wearing the most peculiar expression. He was smirking, but was nervous, too.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today —"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but both Harry and Jessa got up to try and catch one —

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. Jessa scrambling behind him quickly, not wanting to be hurt by her Uncle. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

"Okay, he's officially gone mental," Jessa whispered quietly to Harry. He only nodded, deep in thought.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. Not to mention he hadn't been able to eat even a snack all day.

The pattern continued. Stopping at odd places, only for Uncle Vernon to find some problem with it. Even when they tried stopping at a hotel in Cokeworth, the same thing still happened – the letters followed them, causing Uncle Vernon to become even more…unstable.

Finally, they stopped at the edge of a coast.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car, given the downpour occurring. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there – which meant Dudley would be even more miserable than usual.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. Jessa clung to her brother, both for warmth, and because she was a bit frightened. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and five bananas. None of them were particularly happy by this – but Dudley complained the loudest.

Still – as it usually went, the Potter siblings ended up on the floor. They huddled together for warmth and comfort. She was aware of how tense he was beside her.

They heard the slight beeping of Dudley's watch, signaling midnight.

"Happy Bir – ," she began to say when a loud BOOM interrupted her.