Chapter Four.

Mysterious Letters.

The escaped Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and myself the longest punishment ever. By the time we were allowed out of the cupboard again, school had finished and the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken several of his birthday toys and the first time on his bike, he knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed the road on her crutches.

I was so glad school was over because Harry and myself spend as much time out of the house as possible, just wondering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where we could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, we were off to secondary school and, for the first time in our life, we wouldn't be with Dudley – who had a place at Uncle Vernon's old school.

We spoke briefly about the incident at the zoo, Harry thought he was crazy and if I'm honest, I felt mad. A snake was speaking to us, we were speaking to a bloody snake in the zoo. Did Harry and I make the glass disappear? Even if we didn't, I wouldn't care, it was totally worth it.

One day in July, Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley was breaking in his new school uniform, the school he will be attending, Smeltings requires the boys to wear a maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. He also carried a knobbly stick, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking.

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

"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it." our cousin replies.

"Get the post, Harry."

"Make Grace get it." my twin teases.

"Get the post, Grace." said Uncle Vernon, in the same boring tone.

"Make Dudley get it." I say, going along with the joke.

Suddenly, a sharp poke struck my side as Dudley had poked me with his Smeltings stick. I scowled at him before getting up to collect the post. Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Mull, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and – a letter for Harry and myself.

I picked the letters up and stared at them, my heart knocking so hard against my chest I feared it might break out. Me and harry had letters. No one, ever, in our whole entire life, had written to us. Who would? We had no friends, no other relations – we didn't even belong to a library so we'd never get rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter each, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Miss G. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry's was exactly the same, except addressed to him. The envelope was thick, heavy and made of yellow tinted parchment and the address was written in beautiful emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. I turned the envelope over and over in my trembling hands. A purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, a eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

"Hurry up, girl!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the kitchen, I dashed into the kitchen quickly, still staring at mine and Harry's letters. I handed Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard, sat down next to Harry at the kitchen table, slipping the letter into his hands and then slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted with disgust and flipped over the postcard, "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia, "Ate a funny whelk..."

"Dad! Look! They've got letters!" Dudley suddenly screamed, just when me and Harry were about to unfold our letters, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of our hands. Mine by Uncle Vernon and Harry's by Dudley.

"Give it back!" Harry growls.

"Those are ours!" I hiss trying to snatch back.

Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia screamed with laughter, Dudley laughed a lot more than his parents. "Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking Harry's letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from laughing to stunned before his flipped open my letter and his face went from red to green quicker than traffic lights, then suddenly he went white.

With no words, he passed the letter to Petunia who simply glanced at the coat of arms and for a second, it looked as if she might faint. She took a sharp inhalation of breath which caused her to choke. They just stared at each other, clearly forgetting that Dudley, Harry and myself where still stood there, completely clueless as to what was happening, leaving me to wonder what was said in those letters to cause such upset.

"I want to read the letter," Harry said furiously.

"Get out, all three of you." croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside its envelopes.

"Their our letters, you've got no right – !"

My objection was short lived as Uncle Vernon violently grabbed the back of my neck and Harry by the scruff of his jumper whilst pushing Dudley with our bodies to practically throw us into the corridor, slamming the kitchen door behind us three. Harry and I promptly began to fight over who got to listen through the keyhole, then Dudley shoved his both aside so Harry and I listened through the crack between the door and door-frame.

"How can they possible know where they sleep?" Petunia asked.

"Could be watching – spying – on the house." Uncle Vernon muttered wildly, you could hear his shiny black shoes clomping along the kitchen floor as he paced.

"But, what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back –?"

Uncle Vernon huffed, as if his wife's suggestion was the stupidest thing in the world, "Of course no, we'll just ignore it. They'll get the hint."

Petunia signed, "But, Vernon, maybe..."

"I said, no." Uncle Vernon said strongly, "And that's the end of it."

Harry and I spent most of the day in our cupboard or wondering about the house, simply curious about our letters. If it was like any other day we would of adventured out but I knew Harry wanted to hear if Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia spoke anymore about the sender of the letters. Why where they writing to us? Who where they? How did they know us? All these questions circled around and around in my mind sending me into fits of rage. Why wouldn't our Aunt and Uncle read them? What was so against their idea of normal that would restrict us from reading those letters?

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was quiet and the atmosphere was tense. Dudley seemed more upset than Harry and I that he didn't get to read the letters and Uncle Vernon refused to speak another word about it. I suddenly regretted not opening the letter in the hallway, or hiding it in the cupboard.

When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and myself, made Dudley go and get it. I could hear him hitting things with his Smeltings stick in the hallway, then suddenly he shouted, "There's more letters for them!"

Uncle Vernon let out a strangled cry before leaping up and dashing into the corridor, anger flooded his face as he ripped up the letters – I guessed that where addressed to myself and Harry – into a thousand pieces. He then threw the pieces of parchment into the kitchen bin, put on the kitchen and then returned to his arm chair as if nothing had happened.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived, six addressed to Harry and six addressed to myself. We watched from the cupboard as Uncle Vernon snarled at them as he read the fronts before ripping them into shreds.

On Saturday, things had gotten a little more drastic, twenty-four letters each had arrived addressed to Harry and myself. The sun was shining bright on that day so after Harry and I watched Uncle Vernon burn the letters, we spent the day in the back garden, kicking a football about, sun bathing and just generally talking. Growing up with just the two of us, we have become incredibly close, Harry is more than a twin, or a brother, he's like my best friend, someone I don't have to keep secrets from.

As we lay on the soft grass, I spotted something unusual, something I had never seen on Privet Drive before: an owl. It was a combination of brown, grey and black mixed in to almost camouflage it amongst the trees but it's large yellow eyes stared intensely at me. It had small tufts of hair on either side of his head creating the appearance of horns. It was a Great Horned Owl.

"Harry, look! There's an owl!" I say tugging on my brothers top as he lay beside me still looking up at the sky. Harry sat up slowly and glanced in the direction I was staring.

"No there isn't." he huffed. Confused, I glanced back over to the tree where, just moments before, the owl was perched staring at myself in the garden, but Harry was right, there was no owl, just an empty tree.

Then suddenly, from inside the house, a growl echoed followed by the electric whirling of a drill, then the squeaking of wood. Harry and I darted inside to see what was happening. At the front door, Uncle Vernon was drilling small planks of wood over the letter-box.

"They'll never be able to deliver the letters now," he mumbled like a mad man to himself, "They'll give up."

They? Who's they? I wonder, I didn't want to ask, instead, Harry and I simply exited the hallway silently, not disturbing Uncle Vernon and returned to the garden.

On Sunday morning, things seemed distant, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were sat on the sofa watching television in peace and quiet. Uncle Vernon looked tired and ill however he was strangely jolly and even allowed Harry and myself to eat what we desired for breakfast.

"Sundays," Uncle Vernon hums happily to himself, "In my opinion, the best day of them all. Why is that Harry?"

Harry, who had been too distracted by eating his breakfast, just looked up at Uncle Vernon. "Hmm?"

"Why is Sunday the best day of the week?" he asks again, slightly less cheery.

It takes Harry a moment but he finally gets the answer Uncle Vernon is looking for, "Because there's no post on Sundays."

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's faces light up with enthusiasm, "Right you are, not a single, bloody letter –"

Almost like it was waiting for that moment, a something came whizzing down from the chimney in the living room, it skimmed past Uncle Vernon's nose. Non of us had time to take in what had just happened, because moments take, letters upon letters began pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. Petunia shrieked as Dudley yelled and quickly threw their arms over their faces. The letters bounced off the walls and floor. Harry and I were leaping about trying to catch one of the letters, completely ignoring Uncle Vernon's yells.

"Got one!" I yelled at Harry through the chaos, we took off like bullets with Uncle Vernon hot on our heels trying to snatch the letter form me. When Harry and I reached our cupboard, it was locked and in the panic, we couldn't unlock it fast enough. Uncle Vernon grabbed me by the middle and snatched the letter off me whilst Harry tried to grab another, he threw me into one arm and grabbed my brother tightly.

"THAT'S IT!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, "WE'RE GOING AWAY, FAR AWAY. WHERE THEY CAN'T FIND US!"

Aunt Petunia was ordered to pack a suitcase with a few items of clothing for each of us whilst Dudley, Harry and I were ordered to get into the car. His face was so red and terrifying that no one dared argue. And in five minutes, we were driving away from 4 Privet Drive, Dudley was sniffling, Petunia was paler than a sheet of paper and Vernon was still a red shade and his fat hands squeezed the steering wheel of the car tightly.

We drove and we drove. Aunt Petunia didn't ask where we were going and Uncle Vernon didn't stop for food or drink all day, Dudley was howling in the seat next to me because he was hungry, he'd missed four television programmes he wanted to see and he'd never gone so long without destroying an alien on the computer.

By nightfall, we had finally pulled up outside the most sinister looking hotel I'd ever seen. And when Vernon let down his window, I could hear the crashing of waves and the smell of salt. A man appeared, all dressed in black, he was short, possibly five-foot-four if he could stand up straight, the glimmering headlights allowed us all to see the hollow exterior of the man's face with wispy white hairs peeking out from underneath the woolly hat he wore and he was holding a long, thin package.

"Dursley?" he croaked, Uncle Vernon just nodded. The frail old man smiled, his lips parting showing that he was missing several teeth and the others are rotting severally. "There's a storm forecast for tonight, yous better get movin' if you wanna miss it." the man spoke.

Outside of the car was freezing, Dudley screamed as he met the cold air. "Where are we going?!" Dudley demanded to know pulling on the coat of his mother. The toothless man just smirked before pointing to the water. Glancing closer, I would see what appeared to be a large rock way out at sea, however perched on top of it was the most miserable little shack you could imagine, it looked as if at any moment it was going to crumble into the water.

"I've got some food and water," Uncle Vernon says happily raising the bag in his arms, "So all aboard."

I look confused, "All aboard what?"

Uncle Vernon pointed to an old rowing boat that looked as if it wouldn't handle the weight of one of us, let alone four. Dudley let out a howl whilst Petunia choked on her own air, Harry and I just headed for the boat. It was freezing as we crossed the semi-calm water, icy sea spray and rain crept down our bodies as the harsh wind whipped our faces. After what seemed like hours, we finally surfaced on the rock, Uncle Vernon directed us, slipping and sliding to the shack.

If I thought the outside was bad, nothing could of prepared me for the inside. The wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden wall and the interior smelt like damp and rotting. There was a fire place that looked as if it hadn't be used for years and to add insult, there was only two rooms: the living room and a bedroom upstairs.

"What a great place to spend our birthday." Harry muttered to me. Then it dawned on me, tomorrow was our eleventh birthday. Of course, our birthdays were never exactly fun, Petunia and Vernon would scrap together some sort of presents, usually socks, a hair brush, maybe some colouring pens. However Harry and I usually figured out a way to get each other little gifts, usually things we make.

As night fell, the storm began to rage more and more ferociously. Harry, Dudley and myself were told to stare what I assume is the living-room/kitchen area downstairs. Dudley spread out on the sofa leaving me and Harry to lay on the cold floor sharing a singular blanket – which we found better was to lay on the floor to help soften it. Neither me or Harry could sleep, we simply shivered, not wanting to cuddle up together but I knew it was the only way to contain body-heat.

The light of Dudley's digital watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist. It was three minutes to go, something hard slapped against the rocks outside, probably the sea. And two minutes to go, what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? One minute to go and we'll be eleven.

Thirty seconds... Twenty... nine – eight – seven – maybe we would wake Dudley just to annoy him, Harry drew a birthday cake in the dust on the floor, three – two – one –

"Happy birthday!" we both chanted quietly.

Then, a sudden, BOOM, the entire shack shook, Harry and I sat bolt up right, Dudley was shook awake and a strangled yell from upstairs – which I assumed was Aunt Petunia judging. Another lord man echoed from the door, shaking the house to its foundations.

Someone was outside, trying to enter.

A/N: So, what do you think? Make sure to review!