the letters from no one, magic and dudley

Ianthe knew it was one of those dreams again.

The dreams with the little boy called Tom, and his time spent at the orphanage, Wool's Orphanage,he had called it.

This time, it was cold and dark, and Tom (he looked younger here, four or five at the most, yet startlingly handsome, even so young) was locked in a dark cellar, much like her cupboard, his eyes wary even then and starving by the looks of it.

She didn't like it; she didn't like how much this boy reminded her of herself, figment of her imagination or no. She wanted someone to help him, like she had always wanted someone to help her in her younger years, yet no one did, and for that Ianthe had always cursed the women opening the door, a lady by the name of Mrs. Cole.

She stared at Tom in hate, disgust and horror and trepidation on all present on her face, "Tom." she started, "I hope you've learnt your lesson. Know that I won't tolerate you displaying your devilish powers to the rest of us, understand?"

Tom only sneered at her as she scrutinized his face, "Of course. Don't let my superiority burden your simple-minded ways." Mrs. Cole's face burned red before she lifted her hand, slamming it down on his face, sending him into a coughing fit, "Mind your words, boy." she spat out, "With an attitude like that, no one would want to adopt you, not that I would let them. Burden, you are, wouldn't do well to our reputation to pass off devilish boys to our visitors. Head upstairs and get dressed. The Priest's to arrive in an hour."

Tom inhaled shakily, "No… no-no-no, you can't! Not again, I won't allow it! The Priest can burn for all I care, but I'm not going near him, not again!" He yelled a rare moment of panic, and how he wished that he hadn't said or shown anything of his panic and horror as Mrs. Cole smiled cruelly.

"Oh, I can and I will, Tom." she crooned, "Best to head up, you still have to prepare, and for fuck's sake, clean up your mess." She said, gesturing noncommittally to the wreckages of day's old dried vomit and piss on the cellar floor. When Tom refused to move, she grabbed his arm and set about pulling him through the door, ignoring his screams of "Let me go!" and "Please, not again!"

How much did Ianthe want to knock Mrs. Cole to the floor and give her a good beating, like she did to Tom sometimes, and yet, like the many times before, Ianthe's vision blurred and the vision of a screaming Tom being dragged out slipped from her mind as she awoke to the banging on her door and the final click of the lock finally being opened by the Dursleys'.

The escape of Nagini had earned Ianthe her longest punishment yet (and that was saying something about the time she had, in frustration and anger at Petunia, turned all her coats a horrible vibrant green, through use of her abilities), by the time she had been finally let out, only a week ago, the summer holidays had already started, and while she was excited about that, she was also more wary and cautious of Dudley's friends who would visit each day, wondering if they would resort to Ianthe-hunting once again, but for the time being, they seemed sufficiently entertained.

So, for most part, Ianthe spent the majority of the summer wandering around the local neighbourhood, being met with suspicious glares and hushed whispering. She would have entertained herself by hanging out with Miss. Nirmala, but she had been forced to set off to a confectioner's conference in Brussels, and she had only known this as Aunt Petunia had barred Miss. Nirmala from saying goodbye, despite the solid banging on the door following the hour after their explosive argument.

After that -- and the wary stares they kept getting from No. 8 -- she'd finally caved, dragged Ianthe out the cupboard and hissed some unintelligible words to Miss. Nirmala that caused her face to turn stony and lead Ianthe outside, hugging her goodbye and kissing her forehead, ignoring Petunia's burning gaze, after that, Miss. Nirmala spoke, "Ianthe, call me, if anything happens, okay? Oh, and check the mail. Something might be sent." She had grinned, before making her way into the taxi with a confused but grinning Ianthe waving her away, well, before Petunia had dragged Ianthe back into her cupboard and extended her stay by a week, that is.

However, there was some hope at the end of the summer. Ianthe was heading to secondary school, and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't have to go there with Dudley. He was joining Smeltings, Uncle Vernon's old school, along with his best friend Piers' Polkiss, whilst Ianthe would be attending Stonewall High, the local comprehensive school, a large building of all concrete and a swinging sign displaying its name and for some absurd reason, Dudley thought this very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet on the first day at Stonewall," he told Ianthe. "Want to come upstairs and practise?" "No thanks," Ianthe had said, "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it -- it might be sick." and then she ran, before Dudley could figure out what she'd said.

It sometimes got a bit boring with no one to entertain herself with, so, within the first week out the cupboard, she'd set about finding a snake that she could talk to -- only, the sad thing was, snakes weren't exactly native to Britain after one of the passing teenagers who'd smoke cigarettes on the local Tesco corners pointed that out. The realization had caused Ianthe's eyes to widen, and after that, her hands came up to cover her face and scream in embarrassment into them.

Oscar, who she sometimes chatted with while he smoked his cigar called over Axmed -- who was probably selling some illegal substances -- came strolling by, and happened to hear the tail end of their conversation, "Abeeso? Why on Earth would you think you would find one inIngiriiska?" Ianthe flushed red again, playfully shoving Axmed, "It was a valid thought!" she pouted out, sending the fifteen year old (Oscar) and sixteen-and-a-half year-old (Axmed) in to fits (it was so not funny!).

"Shimbir," the special nickname meant for Ianthe made its way through his tongue, "You will find no good snakes here. It is not like home, like Somalia. It is too civilised, too cold and they are not welcome here. If one were to cross the ocean to come here, they would need a special goal, or, they would be forced to, by those bigger: humans. Back home, they are beautiful. Their scales -- they glimmer… and they kill all grandfather's cows, let us not forget!" he joked, sending Oscar, Ianthe and himself into laughter.

Rarely, if ever, did Axmed talk of his home in Somalia after he had fled during the early beginnings of the civil war in Somalia after they had burned down his whole village.

Somehow, he had made his way into Britain, and after being taken in as a refugee, had been placed in a foster home and been sent to school at the age of ten. So often he acted as if the burning of his village had not bothered him, and yet, earlier this year, when they had officially told of the beginning of the Somalian Civil War, he had seemed ever so sombre.

Still, after they had a good laugh on her naive thought on finding a native snake in Britain, and a lady passing by glared furiously at them and especially Ianthe (no doubt fuelling the rumours of the already delinquent young girl), Ianthe bid them goodbye, and set on wondering where Nagini and her Master could be now.

Once Ianthe had made her way home, she had been sent straight to bed ("Mrs. O'Hara said she spotted you with the local riffraff, girl! Until you learn what you mean on our reputation, you're not getting out of that cupboard, understand?") Of course, they had broken their promise in the morning seeing as they couldn't possibly let Petunia cook after her tiring day with the local Ladies Tea Society from yesterday as well as getting Dudley's school uniform for Smeltings. And did Ianthe have a shock in the morning!

When Dudley had entered the kitchen, Ianthe was sure she'd cracked two ribs from trying to not laugh and trying to suppress letting tears of mirth stroll by. In all his glory, Dudley stood proud, decked in a maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers and a flat sort of hat called a boater. He carried a knobbly stick around as Petunia and Vernon talked jovially in the background.

They took their seats as Ianthe carried the breakfast onto the table, jumping slightly over the stick that Dudley had positioned to knock her over with. Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life while Aunt Petunia burst into tears, saying that she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Duddikins,all grownup and handsome. At this, Dudley had turned bright red, patting his mother on the arm as she squeezed the life out of him and Ianthe shook her head in disgust and…longing,she supposed. For years, she had wanted to see her mother smile at her like she had in the picture, yet it would never come true. She had wanted her dad to day ' I'm proud of you.' and yet, he never would, because they were dead.

After that, Ianthe had remained sullen, the short-lived enjoyment in seeing Dudley clothed in those horrible clothes evaporating into thin air. Once again, the next morning, Ianthe had been granted a rarely allowed lie in.

Yawning, she had got dressed and washed her face, making her way into the kitchen to start cooking the breakfast, but she had been assaulted by a horribly pungent smell, something like rotten eggs and spoiled milk, coming from a large bowl Aunt Petunia stood over, a clothespin pinching her nose shut as she stirred a ladle in the bowl.

Coming over, she found a collection of dirty grey rags. "What's this?" Ianthe had asked, poking the water before quickly retreating after it let out a great heat on her finger. Aunt Petunia's lips tightened at the inevitable question, "Your new school uniform," she had said.

Ianthe looked into the bowl again, looking at it sceptically. "Oh," she said finally, "I didn't realise it had to be so wet." Aunt Petunia's nostrils flared as she answered, "Don't be stupid," she snapped, "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look like everyone else's once I've finished."

Ianthe eyed the rags again, seriously doubting it. She grabbed the milk jar on the way to the table, noticing Aunt Petunia had already made breakfast, a first for her. As she pondered over if she and her Aunt had seen the same thing on the bowl, she also wondered what she would like on her first day at Stonewall High -- like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen, both of them wrinkling their noses at the smell of Ianthe's uniform -- not that she could blame them, loathe as she was to admit it. Uncle Vernon took a seat and started reading his newspaper, whilst Dudley -- who had taken to carrying his Smelting's stick around everywhere -- set about banging it on the table and occasionally trying to hit Ianthe's shins from underneath the table.

They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, Dudley." Uncle Vernon grunted out from behind his paper, turning over to the economics page.

"Make Ianthe get it," Dudley whined, revelling in the glare Ianthe sent his way.

"Get the post Ianthe," Uncle Vernon said, tutting at the once again rising unemployment levels.

"Make Dudley get it," Ianthe viciously replied, her eyes glowing slightly, not that Dudley noticed as she tried rapidly to calm herself down. It took a great amount of effort to get her eyes glowing, and she did not want Dudley to know that such a childish jab had that effect on her.

"Poke her with your Smelting's stick Dudley." Uncle Vernon said, recoiling in horror as he happened upon the book review page about 'The Hobbit' a children's classic, they said.

Ianthe narrowly missed the Smelting stick and made her way out, but not before sticking her tongue at Dudley, which he returned, and missing Aunt Petunia's sigh of"Children! They have no manners at all, not even Duddikins; bring out the worst in each other."

Mulishly making her way to the front door, now calmer and more level-headed -- but could she even argue that she had ever been level-headed in the first place? -- She bent down to collect the letters the Dursley's had received, never her.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from dreaded Aunt Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill -- probably an electricity one, from the amount of hours Dudley spent on his electronics -- and a letter -- a letter for Ianthe!

Ianthe's heart raced, taking in the heavyset paper, and turning it over, she found a symbol; a lion, proud and bold and brave (Gryffindor, a voice whispered), a badger, fierce and loyal and just(Hufflepuff, the voice said once more.) an eagle,wisdom and wit and understanding(Ravenclaw, the all too familiar voice said, and Ianthe felt as if she knew it, only younger,) and finally, a snake, much like Nagini, one that she felt that she had seen before, maybe in a memory or dream, with its fangs out on display and coiling body, cunning and ambition and trueness(Slytherin, it said again,and… home.) that all surrounded a large letter 'H'.

Tom? She thought before she was brought out of her reverie by Uncle Vernon's yell to hurry up. Casting another glance at the letter:

Miss. I. Potter

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

She made haste towards the kitchen, hoping and wishing that they wouldn't take her letter away, not when there was a chance that someone knew about her, knew about her parents, even!

She entered the kitchen, handing over the postcard and brown letter, taking her seat and hoping they wouldn't notice her letter and herself, and even though she knew that they would find it only too easy to snatch it away and never let her see it again, she couldn't spend the whole day waiting until she was in the safety of her cupboard to open the letter.

And just as suddenly, it was snatched away, grubby hands close in around it as Ianthe let out a"Hey!" Dudley stuck his tongue out, before dragging her to his bedroom by the wrist.

Finally wrenching her wrist free, she massaged it as she turned to Dudley, hands on her hips as she hissed out her anger, "And what do you think you're doing? That's my letter, my property! I want to read it!" Dudley let her yell before talking, "No. You live in the Dursley' house and you're not a Dursley, so I want to know what's in the letter too, Ianthe! Let me read the letter with you -- after all, who'd want to send you a letter when they could send one to me? -- and I won't tell mum or dad, deal?" he asked, grubby hands stretched out.

Ianthe thought it over in her head. All she had to do was let Dudley read it with her -- what harm could the letter possibly have in its contents? -- And he wouldn't tell his parents. He could still snitch on her, but that'd be sorted if she scared him a bit. "Fine." she grouched out, meeting his hand as they performed a handshake.

They took a seat on the duvet-covered double bed, sure that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were busy for the moment, as Ianthe let Dudley admire the strange wax seal, him proclaiming that the lion was'wicked' and the snake'brilliant'.

"Why didn't you like Nagini then?" she had asked, fine with teasing Dudley if he was at least decent in his rare moments of no annoyance.

"Nagini?" he had asked, coming back with a pocketknife that he had nicked from his dad, deciding that the wax seal was too cool to break.

"The snake." she clarified, "Her name was Nagini." as she watched him slowly break the seal, most, if not all, intact.

"You really spoke to it?!" he gasped out, pocketknife cluttering to the carpeted floor, "I thought Piers was pulling my leg when he told me." Ianthe sniffed, pulling the opened letter closer to her, "I was talking to it. There was a reason why I missed the last month of school, y'know."

"Right," he said awkwardly, rubbing his chubby neck and remembering the loud bangs of breaking objects and his wondering if mum and Ianthe were safe downstairs.

"Now," she said, "Let's open the letter, I'm dying to know what it's about! I wonder if it's Severus, maybe he finally found out where I live?" she said, drawing the letter out of its envelope, "Severus?" Dudley had started, "Who's Severu...what?!" he yelped out, reading the letter eagerly with Ianthe by his side as they took in its writing.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. ,Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed, of Wix)

Dear Miss. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl no later the 31st July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Dudley and Ianthe stared at it for a good long minute, taking in the words Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "Someone's gone round the bend, they have. You-- a witch, Ianthe! There's no such thing as witches or wizards, no such thing as magic! Dad and mum say so." Dudley finally said, looking at the letter in amazement. Ianthe held the letter close to her chest, finding the list of items she needed to attend Hogwarts. "Look," she said, showing him the letter, "Look, what it says,The Standard Book of Spells…Magical Drafts and Potions…Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them... a wand, a cauldron, hey -- you can even get an owl as a pet! And broomsticks, Dudley!"

The rotund boy stared in awe at all the equipment needed, because it was magic, something his parents would deny till their dying day that existed but… "Why would mum and dad lie? It's so cool!'" Iannthe snorted in amusement, wondering if the contents of the letters were true, "Why wouldn't they Duddikins? They try so hard to be normal, it's no wonder they're scared of magic. Scared of me and what I can do."

Dudley stared at the girl for a moment, all bones and messy hair, demonic green eyes and an odd scar on her collar that he had only gleamed once before, "You really think that you're a witch? You think maybe that's why you can do... all that freaky -- no, magic?"

"Well, it certainly makes lots of things add up, doesn't it? Why I can do all those odd things, like that time I broke your computer --" -- Dudley interrupted her with a "So it was you!" -- "-- and it also explains why Aunt Petunia hates me so much, because my mum must've been magic too, don't cha think? Maybe she was scared of magic, so she was scared of my mum?"

Dudley turned towards her again, grabbing the letter, "I don't think mum was scared of Aunt Lily. Mum sometimes talks about her, you know. She says that you've got Aunt Lily's temper" -- warmth in her chest as I've got mum's temper was added to her list of treasures -- "and that you'll grow up real pretty, like her sister. Said that your dad was a looker too, but don't tell her that I said that, she'd box my ears!" Ianthe giggled, adding her dad was a looker to her treasure trove

"Of course, Dudley. Just this once though, cause you won't tell about my letter. But the question is, what should I do? They said to send an owl, but what if this is all a great big prank?" Dudley shook his head, a rare kind of steely determination present, "It won't be Ianthe. You said it yourself; it explained why you can do all those odd things, right? So all we have to do is send a reply and --" but at that moment Aunt Petunia came bursting through the door, holding a platter of what seemed Victoria sponge cake and custard creams but it clattered to the floor as she saw the familiar parchment with the wax seal in the hands of her darling son and the daughter of her dead sister, the one who had been destined to revel in the world of magic.

She paled; calling out "VERNON!" as she pinched her lips and all of a sudden became very hysterical, "Duddikins hand over the letter sweetie. Don't worry; I know whatever the freak told you, it isn't real, alright, darling?" Uncle Vernon came bounding up the stairs, a donut still being half stuck out of his mouth, and was confronted with the odd sight of his son and niece sitting amicably.

"Vernon," his wife started, "It came! They sent the letter and Dudley's read it, and so has the girl!" Vernon, all of a sudden, tried to grab the letter straight from Dudley's loose hands, but at the last minute, Dudley held tight, face pinched, much like his mother, "No. Ianthe and I want to know what it means, if she's a witch… if she's magic! You have to tell us!" Uncle Vernon smiled forcedly, tugging harder and harder, "Not to worry, son," he tried harder and harder, "It's probably just some prank, freak's been getting misdirected mail, that's all."

He finally was able to grab the letter, but not before tumbling backwards a great distance, tumbling to the floor, "NO!" Ianthe yelled, jumping on her Uncle's fallen form,"That's my letter! I want to know, because it's mine."She wrestled with him on the floor, eyes burning an acidic green as Uncle Vernon finally shoved her off as he ran out the room, no doubt wanting to escape from the maniac girl who was set on pursuing him.

Aunt Petunia held her back, not letting her escape, and now, Ianthe turned her fury on her Aunt. "Tell me!" she demanded, "Tell me, did you know that I was a witch!" She teared at her aunt's arms, bringing great pink marks, "Did you know that I was magic, did you? Was dad magic, was Severus?"

"How did you--?"

"How did they die? Tell me the truth, because how were they magic if they died in a car crash? A measly car crash! Why, why were you scared of magic, tell me Aunt 'Tuney – " and suddenly, Ianthe was struck to the ground, her breath taken away as she realised that she had been struck by Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia, while she would give a little bat against the head every now and then, had never struck her, like Uncle Vernon. And yet, the evidence of her claim lay against Ianthe's right cheek, and despite it, Ianthe's eyes burned, not in anger, but in pain, just as her collar bone scar burned right alongside it.

"I was not scared," Aunt Petunia hissed, "I was jealous."

And so, that was that.

After that, things got so tense; you could've sliced a knife through it.

It was also the talk of the neighbourhood, and Petunia was so affected that she didn't care. At all.

Well, she did, but she showed in a much more effective way, and despite her great hatred of Aunt Petunia at this moment, Ianthe had to admit that watching Aunt Petunia ruin Lila Orpington's Gucci handbag was very satisfying after her aunt had overheard them talking about her and 'her incapable child rearing of a young girl, tosh!', so much that Ianthe wondered -- when Petunia was less angry -- if she'd give Ianthe some tips.

Useless though it was, Uncle Vernon had tried to make amends by offering Dudley's second bedroom in a bid to calm the explosion meant to happen from the both of them. It was that lack of Dudley's whinging screech that he wanted his bedroom back that signified the thought that Uncle Vernon and Dudley were deadly scared that Aunt Petunia and Ianthe would possibly maim someone in the process of their argument.

She still enjoyed the room, of course, taking her things to the new room only took one trip, and after that, she set about tidying the room, finding a stack of books ranging from an outdated encyclopaedia and a recently gifted The Hobbit by a business acquaintance to Dudley, Ianthe had overheard the lady telling him that it was her favourite book as a child in the early 1950's.

And yet, the day after the debacle, another six copies had arrived, causing Uncle Vernon to have an aneurysm, much to Ianthe's amusement. Dudley's parents had taken to allowing no interaction between the two of them after they had found them bonding over the letter. Ianthe had taken to waiting, letting them grow bored and relax and then striking for the opportunity, but Dudley seemed to keep ruining her plan.

After those letters, Dudley had seemed more so determined than Ianthe to get the letters. He had woken bright and early, making his way to get a letter once he heard the letter box flap -- only, he had stepped on Uncle Vernon's face who had camped up to stop Ianthe getting the letter, he certainly did not expect his own son!

After yelling at Dudley for a bit he told him to wake up Ianthe to make tea, something which caused Ianthe to send a stink eye at Dudley for the rest of the day.

After breakfast, Uncle Vernon had taken to boarding up the letterbox, causing Ianthe to curse like a sailor internally. "See," he said through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver, they'll give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon," Aunt Petunia chimed in, carrying a plate of fruitcake.

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock a nail in with a piece of fruitcake.

Dudley and Ianthe shared a wondering glance between themselves before Aunt Petunia came up to smack the both of their heads. "Manners!" she admonished, "Vernon's perfectly fine. Now, Dudley, I want you to go fetch me a screwdriver, and girl, for Lord's sake, brush your hair!"

Dudley groaned and Ianthe rolled her eyes before following after Aunt Petunia to fetch a hairbrush.

As Ianthe lay in bed, spending the night wondering: Jealous? Aunt Petunia was jealous of mum, of magic?, the magic mailman set to work on delivering the letters, and on Friday morning no fewer than twelve letters had made their way into the house.

As they couldn't go through the letter box, they had been pushed under the door, slotted between the sides and some had even made it through the downstairs toilet.

Uncle Vernon stayed home once again. After burning all the letters, to Dudley's disappointment and Ianthe's anger (they were hers!) He got out a hammer and nails, and set about boarding all the cracks around the front and back doors, so that no one could get out.

All the while, he hummed 'Tiptoe through the Tulips' and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday things began to get out of hand. No less than twenty-four letters had arrived, rolled up inside each of their two dozen eggs that were delivered by a very confused milkman through the living room window.

While Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to the Dairy and Post, Aunt Petunia set about phoning Isabelle to tell her how worried she was about Vernon. Dudley stared at the pieces of paper that Aunt Petunia had shredded in the food mixer and turned to his cousin, "They want to talk to you. You have to send the reply, Ianthe."

"Yes, but where am I going to get an owl from?" the imminent detail that had plagued her for the many nights the letters had wreaked havoc. She should've kept the letter to hearself, she thought furiously. At least then, there would be a chance of an owl waiting nearby.

Dudley shrugged as Uncle Vernon slammed the phone down and set about stomping around the house.

That did not bode well for Dudley and Ianthe.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down looking jolly but ill, spreading marmalade on his newspaper and adding butter in his cornflakes, "No letters today," he began, "No damn letters today--"

Something came whizzing out the kitchen chimney, hitting Uncle Vernon sharply in the head. About thirty to forty letters came at once, more coming every minute as Uncle Vernon turned a great scarlet and Aunt Petunia ducked, Dudley set about trying to catch a letter from the air, while Ianthe sighed: Idiot, before picking up one from the floor before Uncle Vernon wrenched it from her grip and shoved all three of them out the door, "OUT!"

"That does it." Uncle Vernon proclaimed, slamming the door shut as he turned to them, half his moustache gone, "Pack your bags, we're leaving in five minutes. Just some clothes, understand? NO ARGUMENTS!"

Ten excruciating minutes later they were all packed in the car, Dudley sniffling beside his mother. Despite being somewhat decent the past week -- obviously fuelled by their desperate need to know about magic -- he was still a spoiled brat and had been hit round the head by his father after he had tried to pack his television, video and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And drove. And drove. They even passed a little house, dirt and derelict, in a place called Spinner's End that caused Aunt Petunia to pinch her lips once again just as they reached the hotel.

"Shake 'em off, that's what'll we do." Uncle Vernon said once they parked the car, making his way inside the lobby.

They had not eaten all day, Dudley had missed five television shows he had wanted to watch, and he had never spent so long without blowing up an alien on his computer, so, as soon as they entered, Aunt Petunia ordered the first thing she could see on the menu, even bothering to get Ianthe getting a decently sized meal too.

The both of them were given a room with twin beds and damp, musky sheets. Dudley fell asleep almost at once, while Ianthe stayed awake, staring out the window as she absentmindedly rubbed her scar, tracing the word Voldemort on her collar.

She gazed at it sadly, wondering if she'd ever learn what it would mean.

Severus, Mum, Dad… tell me, please, is there the slightest chance that I'm… magic, any at all?

They ate stale cornflakes and tinned tomatoes for breakfast, before the owner of the hotel came over to them, "'Scuse me, but are one of you Miss. I. Potter? Only 'cause we got about a 'undred of these on the front desk," She held up the letter so they could read the address in green ink:

Miss. I. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Ianthe jumped up, trying to grab the letter but was thwarted when Uncle Vernon got to it first.

The woman stared.

"I'll take them." Uncle Vernon said, quickly following her out of the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, covering a blouse over Dudley to keep him warm.

But Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her, only driving further and farther, looking for something that the rest didn't have a clue about. He drove them to a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head and went back inside. He did the same thing several more times, leaving the rest of them anxious and worried.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked, shaken at the thought of his dad going around the bend. Aunt Petunia hummed mutely, rubbing Dudley's palm as she watched the great big raindrops roll down the window, the coast raging as a storm approached.

"It's Monday." He whined, "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television, Mummy!"

Monday. This reminded Ianthe that if itwasMonday -- and she was sure of it since you could count on Dudley to know the weekdays because of the telly -- tomorrow would be Tuesday, the day of her eleventh birthday, and also the last day to send her acceptance letter to… to Hogwarts.

She doubted that they would take applicants that late, and if they did, Ianthe supposed that she would never be able to sneak away, let alone find an owl, of all things.

Maybe she could find a snake in a pet shop or something and send it through them?

Her musing was cut short as Uncle Vernon reappeared, smiling brightly and carrying a long, thin package covered in brown paper. Ignoring Aunt Petunia's question of what it was, he called out cheerily to them.

"Come on then, I've found the perfect place! Everyone out!" As they shuffled out the car, they were hit by a biting gust of air, sending shivers down their spines.

Uncle Vernon pointed to what seemed to be a large rock in the middle of the sea, and perched above it was the most miserable shack you could imagine. One thing was certain: that Dudley was not going to find a television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon said, clapping his hands together gleefully, "And this gentleman kindly agreed to take us there!"

A toothless old man made his way up, dressed in a drab coat and what seemed to be snakeskin boots, sending Ianthe nauseous as she thought if Nagini had been captured from the last time Ianthe had seen her.

Logically, she knew that there was a slim chance of Nagini being hurt as she had set to go and find her master and there was an even slimmer chance that Ianthe would see Nagini again, yet, she couldn't help but hope Nagini was safe, it seemed.

The old man led them to a small rowing boat that bobbed merrily in greeting on the waves. "I've already got us some rations, so all aboard!" Uncle Vernon said the first to step into the boat.

It was freezing in the boat, the icy sea spray whipped at their faces and down their necks, as chilly winds blew viciously in their faces. After what seemed hours, they reached the rocky shore -- Uncle Vernon leading the way, slipping and sliding, he led them to the shack as the old man in snakeskin boots rowed away.

The inside was horrible, smelling strongly of seaweed and salty sea spray. The wind whistled through the gaps in the wall, and it seemed as if it had not seen a person for many, many years. The fireplace was damp and empty, and there were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be four crisp packets and bananas each, something Ianthe shook her head at, cursing his stupidity that would surely starve them. He tried to start a fire, but the crisp packets only smoked and shrivelled up.

"Could use some of those letters now, eh?" He grinned, confident in his ability that no one would find them here.

Privately, Ianthe agreed, though it did no good to her sullen mood. She wondered how Miss. Nirmala was, after all, her bakers conference should have ended a day or two ago.

Night fell as it always did, Aunt Petunia finding a few spare blankets for Dudley who slept on the sofa and handing a thin, most ragged blanket to Ianthe. As they headed up, Ianthe curled up on the softest piece of floor she could, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

The storm rolled by, the thunderous claps drowning out Dudley snores as Ianthe twisted and turned, wondering if she truly was magic. If it was not some great hoax that someone had decided to play, though someone had to be very dedicated to send that many letters.

She wondered if her Mum and Dad had been magic, she wondered if Severus had been magic. She wondered why Aunt Petunia had been jealous, when she seemed as if she despised her mother and Ianthe herself.

It was ten minutes till she'd be eleven, and Ianthe wondered if her parents remembered her even now, wondered if they remembered her birthday -- unlike the Dursleys.

Five minutes to go. Ianthe heard something creak outside, and she hoped the roof wouldn't fall through, though, to be honest, maybe she'd be warmer if it did, she thought wryly. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house would be so full of letters, for that many, they'd surely need lots of owls, so maybe she could find one there.

Three minutes to go.Was that the sea, slapping hard against the rock? And(two minutes to go) what was that odd crunching noise? It sounded heavy, not like rock crumbling, but something --someoneelse.

One minute to go and she'd be eleven.Thirty seconds-- but she didn't care, the banging --twenty-- what was it? --Ten-- it was coming closer --nine--eight-- she shook Dudley awake --seven--six-- "What?" He said, groggily rubbing his eyes. --Five--four-- "There's someone outside, someone..." --three--two-- a large thud as they stared wide-eyed --one.

BOOM.

They sat upright and afraid and still as the noise shook the house and realised someone was knocking on the door, someone terrifying, it seemed.