Book One - 2. Violet Potter and the purple ink letters

After the snake fiasco at the zoo, a few hours spent in the zoo directors office with Aunt Petunia practically weeping over her child almost being attacked by a snake, Dudley bragging about how he could have fought it to death, and Vernon's incessant arguing, they finally head home. Piers mother had been called and she had picked him up from the zoo, leaving Harry, Dudley, and I in the middle, in the back of the car.

Uncle Vernon waited patiently until he was inside the house to unleash his rage on us. He was so angry he could hardly speak. "You!" He pointed at Harry. "This was your fault wasn't it!"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry cried and I grabbed his hand.

Uncle Vernon wouldn't let up though, "Piers said he saw you talking to the snake! You cursed child! You made the glass away you-"

"I did it!" I yelled without thought. The room went quiet. Aunt Petunia covered her mouth, Dudley was snickering, Uncle Vernon was processing and Harry looked mortified. Why did I just say that? Oh right... To protect Harry.

"Yes I did it! I made the glass go away! I have magic powers because... because..." I thought for a moment. I needed something so preposterous that would surely land me a great punishment. "Because I'm a witch!"

Uncle Vernon spluttered and Aunt Petunia shrieked at the very words. He grabbed me by the shoulder and dragged me to the cupboard under the stairs and threw me inside.

"I don't know how you got such, such... fiendish ideas in your head girl! Don't you ever dare say such a word in this house hold! You'll be in this cupboard for a week! No meals!" He shouted, spitting all over the place, almost as if he was a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. He slammed the door shut and I pressed my ear to the little slits in the door to listen outside.

"And you!" He yelled, most definitely at Harry, "Go up to the bedroom and stay there!" Harry seemed to hesitate, but I heard footsteps go up the stairs and a door close softly.

This made Dudley whine, because the room Harry was being sent to happened to be Dudley's second room for all the toys he had either broken or abandoned. Luckily it had an actual bed that Harry could sprawl out on.

Uncle Vernon sent Dudley off to play computer games in his room, and only he and Aunt Petunia were left downstairs to rant about the stress of the day.

"One Potter child is enough! But Lily and James had to have two!"

Lily and James. That was about all I knew about my parents. Their names, besides the fact that they had died in a car accident and that, according to Aunt Petunia, I looked exactly like my mother had when she was young. She would say it in a sort of disgusted tone, and although I knew she meant it as an insult, I took it as a compliment. I had never seen a photo of my parents, but I would much rather look like them then my Aunt and Uncle.

I lay there pondering all the weird things that had happened between Harry and I, and how this may be by far the weirdest. A talking snake? Everything that had happened before, may have been a fluke. Maybe Harry's hair grew fast in one night due to genetics, maybe the roses I had gone to sheer had never actually been dead, maybe the bird who got better had never even been hurt... But a talking snake defied all realms of possibility.

It wasn't until after I had heard dinner finish and everyone had head to bed that I heard Harry. But not in person, no. Harry was tucked away safely upstairs in Dudley's second bedroom. What I mean is that Harry and I were weird in one other way; if we really concentrated, we could talk to one another in our heads. Of course we had never told anyone about this, and any time we tried to figure out what was going on at the school library, the only thing we found was "twin telepathy". We could only be so far away to do it, and we had to be very concentrated, but I suppose twins are just more connected in some ways.

You shouldn't have done that for me. Came Harry's voice in my head. You'll be stuck in there without food for a whole week. I don't think he was lying.

It's fine. I thought back, curling up on my side. Besides, now you get to have a nice bedroom. I can keep myself company with my books.

Ever since I was young and could first understand the alphabet, I had liked reading. I liked it because every new story brought my mind farther and farther away from 4 Privet Drive and the Dursley family. Obviously Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't support this hobby of mine, and would never buy me books, but there was enough books within the house that Dudley had got but never used that I could sneak a few away. Harry always supported me though. He liked books alright, but he hadn't the passion for them like I do. He much preffered I read them to him so he could day dream about the words I spoke.

One night, I had been reading to Harry a book about hobbits and elves and wizards on a quest to destroy some evil ring, when Uncle Vernon had opened the door and caught us reading by flashlight. He had taken my book and any other ones he found laying around and had put it up so high on a shelf that if I had tried to get it, he would hear. I had cried for days, and had been bored out of my mind, until a week later Harry came in after saying he would be going to the bathroom, but instead returned with sheets of paper. I still don't know how he did it, but Harry had found a way to climb and get the book, had copied word-for-word a few chapters of the story on scrap paper and had brought it to me. The book didn't even look like it had moved from its spot, so Uncle Vernon wouldn't be suspicious. I had hugged Harry so hard and cried for a whole other reason that night.

Are you sure? Harry thought to me.

Yes! I promise! I'll be fine in here... It is a bit lonely without you though. I replied.

It was as if I could hear Harry chuckle and then feel him nod in agreement. Read to me?

I smiled and crawled over to the edge of our thin mattress and peeled it back to find a worn book laying there. "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood" was one of my absolute favourites. Something about a hero who wasn't always doing good things, but did them to fight for justice, really got to me.

Alright. Here we go. Chapter Ten... I read to myself and to Harry's mind.

The rest of the night was spent with us giggling over the story until we were too tired to stay awake.

A while later in mid July, after I had been thoroughly punished for the snake incident and then once again for accidentally breaking a fancy china dish, Harry and I were helping get dinner ready.

I was mashing potatoes, a job I actually liked to have because I could look down at all the little potatoes and pretend they were Dudley's face as I smushed them, and Harry was putting green beans on the table.

Aunt Petunia was baking pork chops, which she believed was far too important a job to leave to us. She was also watching as Dudley paraded around the dining room and living room in his new, ugly looking Smeltings uniform. I mean, who chose maroon and orange as their school colours? Smeltings was a private middle school for kids with money. Uncle Vernon, who was an alumni of such a school, watched with pride as his son swung around his Smeltings stick, a long fancy piece of wood the kids were allowed to carry to bat at each other with when teachers weren't around.

Harry and I would be attending no such place. Instead, we would be heading to Stonewall High, a middle school for those without money to throw around on expensive uniforms and fancy beating sticks. Our uniform was supposed to be soft grey sweaters and pants, but Aunt Petunia assured us that dying Dudley's old clothes grey would suffice. We weren't too excited for school, evidently.

"Look at my little Duddy-Duddy, looking all grown up with his uniform! So handsome!" Aunt Petunia crooned.

"Looks just like his father!" Uncle Vernon chuckled from the dinner table.

Harry and I made eye contact and both groaned in disgust.

From the front door we all paused when we heard the audible click of the mail slot.

"Get the mail Dudley." Uncle Vernon said as he raised his newspaper.

"Make Harry do it!"

"Get the mail Harry."

"Make Dudley do it!"

"Smack him with your Smelting stick Dudley."

"I'll get it." I sighed and put the pot of smushed up potato-dudley-faces on the table.

There were four things laying on the doormat when I got there; a postcard to Uncle Vernon from his sister Marge who was on a vacation, a brown envelope that looked like a bill of some kind and two pristine white envelops. One addressed to Harry and one to myself.

We had never had any mail addressed to us at all. We didn't;t even know enough people to have anyone to write to us. Yet here they were.

Ms. V. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The exact same was written on Harry's except with his name written instead of mine. Both envelopes were thick and made of beautiful parchment that just felt good under my fingers and had an odd thick wax seal on the front. My note had been scrawled with a beautiful purple ink, just like the colour of my name. Harry's was written with a gorgeous emerald green ink, the colour of our eyes.

Too excited to speak, I mentally called for Harry. Harry! You wont believe it! We got mail, us!

What!? Came the surprised voice back and she heard him scurry through the kitchen to come see.

"Letters." He whispered. "For us?"

I nodded and handed him his. He looked just as shocked as I did, eyes wide like an owl. "There's no return address or stamp." I whispered back.

"I wonder who its from."

Dudley, obviously having missed his two favourite punching toys suddenly came from behind us and snatched Harry's letter from his hand.

"What's this!?" Dudley yelled in confusion.

"Hey! Give it back!" Harry yelled.

Dudley sneered. "Nuh uh!"

I stepped forward, "Dudley, if you don't give Harry back his letter I'll shove that Smeltings stick where the sun dont shine!" I didn't exactly know what that meant, but I had heard it from the TV one night when Uncle Vernon was watching some mafia movie.

Dudley looked horrified, but instead of giving Harry the letter back, he spotted mine and snatched it as well, turning and running as hard as he could to the dining room.

"Dad!" Dudley yelled and Harry and I looked at each other and both then ran after him. "Dad! Harry and Violet got something in the mail!"

Uncle Vernon scoffed at the idea, but then paused when he saw that Dudley, in fact had two letters that did not fit in with the regular mail. "Give them here boy!" He said and took them, opening mine. One look was all it took to drain the colour from Uncle Vernon's face and I couldn't understand why. He tore Harry's open as well and looked absolutely ghostly.

"Those are ours! Give them back!" I demanded in my best authoritative voice, but it didn't work.

"P-P-P-Petunia!" Uncle Vernon cried, as if he hadn't heard me.

"What is it dear- OH!" She shrieked as she peered over his shoulder.

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Dudley and I were even still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored, especially by his parents. He gave his father a swift whack on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"No, I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "they're mine and Violets!" I couldn't have agreed more.

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he yelled "OUT!" In his most serious tone, the one that sounded like a drill Sargent, so we all quickly fled, but as soon as they had shut the living room door behind us, we all pressed to it. Dudley claimed the key hole, so Harry lay on the floor, ear to the crack, and I pressed myself against the hinges in hopes to hear.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address, how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching, spying, might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly like a lunatic.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want-" but she was quickly interrupted. "No," said Uncle Vernon. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."

"But -"

"I'm not having one, much less two of them in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" Vernon was huffing, and when we all heard his heels clicking closer, we scurried away, Harry and I back to our cupboard and Dudley off to who knows where.

We were informed by Aunt Petunia that we would be staying in our cupboard until further notice. Which could be days, we knew from experience. Harry and I didn't even know what to do. Our heads were too much in a tizzy for books or imagination at all.

"Who would mail us?" I asked. If I could pace, I would, instead I settled for rolling around on the mattress until my head landed in Harry's lap and I looked up at his be-speckled face.

Harry shook his head. "I'm just as confused... but one things for certain-"

"We have to get those letters." We said at the same time, but Uncle Vernon had gone to work, and we both knew they would never leave something behind that was causing this much fuss. So it was a waiting game.

"So tonight, we'll sneak out of the cupboard?" Violet asked.

Harry nodded. "We'll search the whole house if we have to. We have to know what's in those envelopes."

But they didn't need to wait long, because when Uncle Vernon came home from work, he opened the cupboard under the stairs and looked at us. We blinked in surprise. He never did this.

"Where's our letters!?" I asked instantly.

Harry quickly added, "who's been writing us?"

"No one!" Uncle Vernon said a bit too quickly. He cleared his thick throat and huffed. "Addressed to the wrong people. I burned them up."

"What!?" Harry and I yelled in unison.

"How was it wrong! They knew our names!" I urged.

Vernon scowled. "Potter is a common last name."

"Oh sure, because there's another pair of V and H Potters someplace nearby!" I growled. "Do you think we're idiots!?"

"It has our cupboard on it!" Harry joined in my assault.

"Er, yes, Harry, Violet... about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you two are really getting a bit big for it..." No kidding! I thought amidst his rant. "We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry, suspicious.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped our uncle. "Now, take this stuff upstairs. Now." He repeated just in case we hadn't heard the first time.

It didn't take us long to bring our belongings upstairs, considering we didn't have many to begin with. The bedroom upstairs was a bit bigger for the two of us, but was the smallest actual bedroom of the house. There was another guest bedroom, but that was strictly for guests which mostly meant Uncle Vernon's sister Marge. We weren't allowed inside because according to Aunt Petunia, Marge didn't want our grubby little hands on anything. It was fine in my eyes. I knew I would have to sleep separate from Harry eventually, but I wasn't quite ready to part from him.

The two of us organized our things and climbed into the double bed, much more space for our limbs. We sprawled out and our bones sighed in relief.

From downstairs we heard Dudley sobbing and throwing a grade A temper tantrum. Every so often there was the sound of something smashing, which Harry and I assumed was Dudley furiously attacking anything breakable with his smelting stick.

We also agreed that we would much rather have our letters than be in the big room, but at least we had this. We went to bed that night dreaming about letters and purple and green ink.

The next morning was deathly quiet. Aunt Petunia hadn't woken us up with her shrill squawking, but instead we came down to breakfast already made and on the table. And it didn't seem like we were having porridge, but rather what everyone else was having. Harry and I squeezed each other's hands and sat next to each other, confused.

Dudley also seemed quite taken aback. No amount of crying or whinging would get him back his second bedroom, and the fact that we were having the same food as him off the same plates was preposterous.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to us, made Dudley go and get it. We heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive . And another for Violet!"

The room suddenly turned into a disaster. Harry and I jumped from our seats, but somehow Uncle Vernon, the great oaf, was faster. We ran after him and just as he snatched the letters from Dudley, we launched our formulated attack. It's like we just knew. Harry grabbed him around the neck and shoulders and I went right for the shins. All of us quickly came tipping down, fighting for the white parchment letters covered in purple and green ink.

After a long winded, confusing scuffle where I got smacked with the smelting stick on the shoulder enough times to give a bruise, Uncle Vernon threw us off of him and wheezed, "Go to your cupboard, I mean, your bedroom," then turned to his son "Dudley, go, just go."

Harry and I stayed up late that night formulating a new attack strategy. The next morning at 6am we snuck from bed and down the stairs to the door, but we were already beaten there by Uncle Vernon who was asleep at the mail slot. Already in his lap was six letters. Three of which were addressed to Harry in green ink and the other three in purple. He woke with a start and glared at Harry and me.

"We want-" Harry began but before he could say anymore, he was already ripping them to shreds.

Uncle Vernon didnt go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot. "See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, but it was fruitless.

On Friday, more letters made their way into the house through crooks and crannies of doors and windows. Uncle Vernon boarded those up too. On Saturday they came down the chimney. He covered that with a thick piece of wood. Sunday, he thought he would have a reprieve, as no mail came on sundays, but he was wrong.

Windows were thrown open and a gust of wind brought in hundreds. Harry and I desperately tried to grab some but were unable. We watched as Uncle Vernon slowly drove himself mad.

One day, a few days before Harry and my birthday, he woke us up with a start, demanding we all pack our bags and telling us we wouldn't be back for a while. He drove us every which way. First we stayed in hotels and motels, but the managers would wind up bringing us letters. Then we stayed in a small village secluded from others, but the milk man brought along letters too. Uncle Vernon was beside himself. He was twitchy and angry and completely insane.

The final destination took us to a private island the day before Harry and I's birthday. It was in the middle of nowhere and had to be accessed by a boat. While Uncle Vernon was rowing us there, we heard him mutter: "storm coming in... can't find them here... can't follow.. no mail, no mail!"

The inside of the seaside shack 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, a poor excuse for a den and a single bedroom, so that night Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon whisked off to the only bed, and Dudley got the creaking, worn down couch. That left Harry and I to find the least dirty bit of floor there was in this place to settle down.

The wind was freezing and storm was howling outside. Harry and I only had one blanket to share and it was shoddy to begin with. So instead of sleeping, we curled up next to each other on the floor and drew designs into the dust laying there. Harry was drawing a birthday cake and I drew balloons.

"It's not every day you turn eleven and are whisked off to a murder island by your deranged uncle." I whispered to Harry in attempt to cheer him up a bit. He had been so down lately and I understood why. We both wanted, no needed, desperately to know who was sending these letters and what was inside. Now it seemed like we wouldn't get the chance.

Harry's face cracked a bit of a smile and he looked at me. "Life would be a lot more sad without you." He laughed quietly.

"Life would be a lot more boring, you mean." I teased.

"Yeah yeah." He smiled and then lay back on the ground. "How much longer?"

I crawled quietly over to the couch, peering at the digital watch on Dudley's fat wrist.

"Five minutes." I sighed and crawled back.

"For some reason, I felt like everything might have changed for us when we turned eleven. I guess I was wrong." Harry mumbled.

"Somehow I felt the same." I agreed and rest my head on his shoulder. "Three minutes."

There was a crash outside that made us both jerk. "What was that!?" I hissed.

"It couldn't be something? Could it? We're on a private island for goodness sakes!" Harry said back in a hushed tone.

I looked at Dudleys watch. Two minutes until midnight.

Another crash and I grabbed Harry, trying to secure him beside me.

One minute.

"I swear there was something there." Harry whispered.

Thirty seconds.

Ten.

Five.

Three... two.. one.

CRASH.