The Letters With No Answer
It seems that Harry has earned his longest-ever punishment, Albus Dumbledore read in his office. Why, I'm not sure, but my Mr. Tibbles hadn't seen him leave his home except for school in several weeks. Also that Dursley boy knocked me off my crutches on his bike while I was crossing the street, so it appears I will be bed-ridden for even longer now. He was recently been outside some, much more so than usual. The Dursleys brought him over here the other day, and considering the torment I imagine they've been putting him through I decided to give him something of a treat, hope you don't mind. Other than that, nothing to report.
Dumbledore chuckled a bit, when a knock came at his door.
"Come in," he answered. Professor McGonagall walked, looking quite the same as she had that fateful night almost ten years before. "Good morning Minerva. Chocolate frog?"
"Err – no thank you," she said. "I have prepared the list of new-year students who need their enrollment letters sent. Well, of course, you must know who is due to come this year…"
"Ah, yes. Neville Longbottom."
"Headmaster please! You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Harry Potter."
"I am fully aware that Harry is turning eleven this year and that his name was marked down to come here. You have his address, correct?"
"Yes Headmaster, my quill never fails to mark the proper address of a magical child," said McGonagall. "Which is actually partly why I came. Did you know that those aunt and uncle of his have him sleeping in a cupboard!"
"I…" Dumbledore began. He paused for a moment, reached for his drawer and unwrapped a chocolate frog. "Oh look, I got myself."
McGonagall responded to this with only a glare.
"I know all about Harry Potter's living arrangement," he answered.
"Know? But how…"
"You do not believe I would leave the boy completely unwatched for all these years, did you?"
"Is this about the protection on the house you mentioned to me the day we left the baby with those muggles?"
"Partly," said Dumbledore. "But I do have an informant working in their neighborhood. Arabella Figg."
"The squib? But how could she possibley…"
"Minerva, it does not do to interupt your elders," said Dumbledore. "While Mrs Figg might not have magical powers she is a far more able spy than most wizards I know. One need only to consider the ten years she has lived there, playing the part of a senile muggle, if only to get the most basic idea she can get at what goes on."
"If you know this, how could you have allowed it to happen!" screamed McGonagall.
"It is none of my business how the Dursleys choose to raise their nephew. As tragic as it might sound, it is much better for a boy to grow up in a home without love where he is safe, than in a world where people would constantly be after his life."
"Well, I for one shall be happy," said McGonagall, "when he arrives here at Hogwarts (where he should have been the whole time if you ask me.)"
"Ah, and I suppose you would have acted as the boy's nursemaid then?"
"Are you trying to irritate me today Albus? I have almost forgotten why I came here in the first place. As you know we usually send a member of the staff to the house of muggle-born students to explain our world. Well, what do you suggest we do in Potter's case?"
"I have been pondering this for many months," said Dumbledore, "I believe it's responsible for an unseemly wrinkle on my forehead. No, I don't think we should send a teacher there for now. More likely than not, that would intimidate his aunt and uncle, making them less eager to allow Harry to come. No, I say a nice, plain, well-explained letter will suffice for now."
"But what if they say no!"
"We shall have to cross that particular bridge when we pass it."
Dumbledore did nothing more about the letter for the rest of the day, though his mind never left it. He alone knew the how important it was for this boy to learn magic. If Lord Voldemort were still alive, which he was certain he was, than Harry was the only person who could vanquish him forever.
As he sat in his office, trying to do the work of a headmaster, yet his mind kept wandering. Was it fair for Dumbledore to do this to a young boy, to put all his hopes that Potter could save the world? No, he couldn't do that. Potter was just a boy.
At midday he sat, looking in the pensieve at his few memories of Lily and James Potter, trying to gather as much as he could, though what exactly he wanted even he did not know.
He was shocked when he realized how late it was. Just as he was getting ready to leave, he heard a familiar voice coming from his fire place,
"Albus." McGonagall's head was floating amongst the flames of the fireplace that had not been lit a second ago.
"Why Minerva, you do realize this is the summer holidays. You don't need to be working every day."
"Please Dumbledore, this is urgent. It appears that Harry Potter has changed addresses."
"Excuse me?"
"My list, it's changed this evening. It was the cupboard under the stairs and now it's the smallest bedroom."
Albus' response to this came almost instantly, he had been considering every possible scenario for quite some time.
"Ah yes," he said. "It would appear that the Dursleys have prevented Harry from seeing his letter, and thought that somehow changing his rooms would prevent us from sending more letters. Well, we can't allow them to think so little of us wizards now can we?"
"What do you suggest?"
"Send another letter."
"Another letter! Dumbledore, if they didn't allow him to read the first one…"
"There is no need to escalate things. For now."
McGonagall's face disappeared through the flames, and Albus was left to hum his favorite songs through the empty corridors of Hogwarts before going back to his home.
As he sat down in the living room of the flat he shared with his brother Aberforth during the summer, an idea came to him. It was against the law, of course, but Albus had his ways to make sure the Ministry would never find out.
He took a bag of floo powder from the mantlepiece over his brother's fireplace, and throw it into the flame.
"Number Four, Privet Drive," he said. Nothing happened. He knew it wouldn't of course, the Dursleys were not connected to the floo network. He then took his wand, pointed it at the fire and said some incantations. Suddenly the fire was filled with a picture of the Dursleys' living room. He could see in, but they couldn't see out.
Dumbledore went to bed, knowing the letter would arrive some time the next day. He was very curious to see what would happen.
The next morning, Aberforth had already gone down to the pub (though it was not open this early, he did bring his favorite goat with him.) He turned his armchair towards the fireplace and watched it like a television, waiting for something to happen.
The fireplace saw straight across the living room, through a hall, and just barely visible in the back, the front door.
He waited a few minutes, and into view came a large blond boy, banging things with a stick. From the very descriptive letters he had received from Mrs Figg through the years he supposed this was Dudley Dursley. He bent down and picked up some letters from the floor, the Hogwarts' letter among them. He watched as Dudley waved it through the air and shouted something he couldn't hear.
Next second, big beefy man came running into the hall, followed by a skinny boy with messy black hair. So, this was Harry Potter. Dumbledore's eyes widened, Vernon had grabbed hold of his son, trying to wrestle the letter away from him. Harry grabbed hold of his uncle's neck, apparently trying to get hold of the letter himself.
After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by Dudley's stick, Mr Dursley straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand. The two boys marched away angrily, and Vernon was joined with his horrified looking wife. Crunching the letter in his hand, Vernon walked directly into Dumbledore's view point, and tossed the letter in the fireplace.
Witnessing this display, Dumbledore became much more determined. He apparated on to the doorstep of Professor McGonagall, and told her to send three letters the next day.
Dumbledore did not bother spying into Number Four, Privet Drive the rest of the day. The next morning, after Aberforth had left, Dumbledore went into the same position he had yesterday and waited.
He looked in closely, there was something at the foot of the front door. It looked like someone in asleep, a man. Vernon Dursley.
Some minutes later, Dursley woke with a start. Though Dumbledore could not hear them properly, he saw Harry had stepped on top of him.
Dursley appeared to be yelling at Harry for about a half an hour after this. Dumbledore could plainly see the extent of Dursley's rage, and the way Harry took it. He stood there as if lost in another world, as if he had gotten used to all this and it didn't even phase him. Most ten-year-olds would have been scared witless, he thought.
After this Harry left through a door to the left, and at this time, the mail arrived. The three Hogwarts letters were plainly visible. Dursley waited until Harry came back before tearing them to pieces.
Dumbledore was now transfixed, and decided to wait a bit longer to see what would happen. Dursley disappeared for some time, then reappeared carrying a hammer and nails and nailed up the letter-box. At this point Dumbledore got tired of this and chuckled to himself. It wasn't often that he got angry, but this Dursley was certainly pushing him. Did he think that some nails would stop Albus Dumbledore!
He apparated again to a very harrassed McGonagall, telling her to send out twelve letters and to instruct the owls to be creative as to how to get the letters inside the house. One of these letters would have to reach Harry, and once Harry knew his true identity, he could go there and collect him without problem.
The owls were certainly creative, stuffing the letters under the door, through the through the sides, and some forced through windows. This had proved useless, unfortunately, the Dursleys had discovered all of the letters before Harry had, and they were burned. He also watched as Dursley boarded up the doors. Dumbledore decided it was time he got more creative himself.
Deciding not to further burden his Transfiguration Mistress, he cast a spell putting twenty-four letters rolled up with the eggs that he knew, from talking with Mrs Figg, would be delivered. Whether Harry actually saw the letters anymore did not matter, he wanted to show them that he would never give up until he had Harry.
He was almost positive Harry did not get to see any of those letters, so the next day, a Sunday, Dumbledore went down to The Three Broomsticks. It was closed on Sundays, and since Madam Rosmerta was a friend of his, she allowed him to use her fireplace.
Dumbledore had a plan, one that would require the floo network, but he did not want to disturb the spell he had going on in his fire and the Dursley's living room. He remembered vaguely, when he had last been to Privet Drive, that the Dursleys had two chimneys. This meant they had two fireplaces, most likely in their kitchen, in which they would be eating breakfast at ariynd this time.
After connecting the two fireplaces, Dumbledore shot his wind straight into it. Dozens of letters shot out the end like bullets, into the fireplace where they would fire into the Dursleys. Harry would have to get at least one of these.
He looked on the scene, Vernon had grabbed Harry, who was trying to grab a letter mid-air, by the waist and threw him into the hall, closing the door behind him. Damn, he couldn't see them anymore. He apparated quickly back into his brother's flat, and looked in at them from the living room.
He saw the four of them standing at the front door, Vernon wrenching the boards of the door, all with suitcases. Trying to make a run for it, were they! He had been going at this entirely the wrong way. It was too late to fix his mistake now, how could he know where they were going!
Realizing he would not need it anymore, he got rid of the connection with the Dursleys living room, and summoned up McGonagall.
"Headmaster?" she asked. She had been eating breakfast and was stll in her night things.
"Minerva, the Dursleys have left their house. Please check your list. As soon as Harry finds a new place to sleep the address will change, and I need to know where to!"
McGonagall finally was able to give him a new address that evening.
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
He was stunned at the lengths Dursley was willing to go simply to not allow his nephew to attend a school. Why did it matter so much to him? Oh well, a good solid hundred letters should do, he thought.
The next morning, just as he expected, McGonagall told him that Potter's address had changed once more. It had disappeared actually, and they would have to wait for one to reappear.
That evening, McGonagall finally gave him one, The Floor, Hut-On-The-Rock, The Sea.
Now that he had a vague idea where to find him, Dumbledore used a map to magically plot his location. There would be no more letters. He marched off in the rain up to the castle grounds until he reached Hagrid's hut.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, soaking wet, after he had answered the door. "I know I said yesterday that I might not need you, but I've changed my mind. If you would, please go down and bring Harry Potter with you to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies. Make sure he comes, don't let the Dursleys stop you."
"Not a problem, sir," said Hagrid happily. "Matter o' fact, I was hopin' you'd ask me, I even baked a birthday cake for the boy just in case."
Dumbledore had forgotten tomorrow would be Potter's eleventh birthday. He was in for an unforgetable present.
"May I ask, though," said Hagrid, "Why me? You usually get McGonagall or one o' the other teachers to do this."
"I cannot lie Hagrid, I was afraid that if someone came to get Harry personally that his uncle would try to physically assault them. You are the only person on staff larger than Vernon Dursley, and you will not need to resort to magic to stop him."
"Good, now where is 'e, still in Surrey?"
"No, I've got a map here. Feel free to take a thestral for the journey, though it's best you didn't use it on the return journey, we don't want to terrify the boy. And if worst should come to worst, please take that umbrella of yours along. I'll cover for you at the Ministry."
He handed Hagrid the letter, identical to all the others that had caused him so much grief this past week, and watched Hagrid fly into the night. He walked back home, came into his living room, and then decided to see whether the hut on the rock had a fireplace.
Evidently it did, but something was preventing a proper fire from burning, so he could only hear what was going on. He heard nothing but the distant sounds of snoring, but suddenly came a large bang. Dumbledore smiled, he knew what was going to happen next. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
