– CHAPTER THREE –

The Stubborn Owl

Harry remained confined to their cupboard well into the school holidays, leaving only to use the bathroom. They didn't even leave for meals, with Aunt Petunia just unlocking their door, shoving a tin of beans and a few slices of bread in the face, then locking them up again.

Once their "sentence" was finally up, Harry spent as many days as they could outside of the house, though they could rarely ever be out for too long without risking the wrath of Uncle Vernon. Mostly, they just wandered the nearby parks, contemplating if and how they'd survive yet another year with the Dursleys. Harry didn't like to dwell on their darker impulses, but they often couldn't help it. Some days, they honestly felt like they'd rather die than spend one more day on Privet Drive.

The one bright spot on the horizon was that after the holidays, Harry and Dudley would no longer be attending the same school. Dudley had been accepted into Smeltings, a fancy comprehensive high school. Meanwhile, Harry would be sent to the local state school Stonewall High, which hardly had the best reputation.

Vernon would occasionally joke that it was ironic that Harry would be attending a school named Stonewall, though Harry themselves didn't understand why that was funny. Whenever they asked their uncle to explain it, they would just bat them away and say, 'You're too young for that sort of thing.'

A few weeks later, Aunt Petunia and Dudley went on a trip to London to buy Dudley's Smeltings uniform, and he arrived back looking like a member of a very conservative barbershop quartet. The Smeltings garb consisted of a dark red tailcoat, tweed thigh-high socks, and a flat straw hat. Mr and Mrs Dursley sobbed with joy, thinking their beloved Dudders looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry thought they looked much the same, just a bit neater and more ridiculous.

'Just a shame they did away with the sticks,' lamented Vernon. 'They were great fun for poking at louts. It's like we old Smelters liked to say: better to have a stick in your hand than a stick up your bum!'

Dudley's uniform certainly looked like it cost a fair chunk of change, but even if it were free, the Dursleys were always going to cheap out on Harry's Stonewall uniform. The next morning, Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen attempting to dye several of Dudley's old jumpers grey; Stonewall did have their own official uniform jerseys, but the Dursleys felt it was a waste to spend any money on Harry that wasn't absolutely necessary. The whole dyeing process made the kitchen smell like ammonia, and the wet jumpers themselves looked like melted elephant skin as Petunia cautiously stirred them about in a cooking pot.

Harry attempted to eat their breakfast whilst watching the football on telly with Uncle Vernon and Dudley, but it was hard to when a long, knobbly stick was constantly poking them in the back of the head. Vernon had dug his old Smeltings stick out of the attic and was letting Dudley have a play with it, in the process of which he had already smashed three mugs and a flower vase. If Harry had done even one of those things, they would have been locked in the cupboard for the rest of the day. Because it was beloved Duddy, though, the destruction was met with laughter.

The familiar thud of paper hitting the doormat at the front entrance could be heard from the kitchen.

'Dudley, could you fetch the mail?' asked Aunt Petunia, holding her nose as she examined her progression with the dye job.

'Oy, Fairy Potter,' said Dudley, once again poking Harry with their stick. 'You get it. I'm not missing this.'

Harry tried their best to hold in their frustration as they got up to fetch the post There were only three items awaiting them on the doormat: a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, what was likely a utility bill of some sort, and…a letter for Harry.

Harry stared, dumbfounded at the letter. Not once in their life had they ever received mail. There was the occasional school-related letter that concerned them, but it was always addressed to either Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. Even more peculiarly, it didn't look like a generic letter, like some company had found their name on a registry. The envelope was thick and made of parchment, was shut with an old-fashioned wax seal, and their name and address had been handwritten with ink. But most confounding of all was how the envelope had been specifically addressed:

Mr H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry took a closer look at the seal on the back and realised that there was a coat-of-arms imprinted on it. The wax was a little frayed by what looked like talon marks, but they could make out a lion, a badger, a raven and a snake, all emblazoned on a shield surrounding a large H.

'Hurry up, boy!' barked Uncle Vernon.

Harry hesitated. They just kept staring at the letter, desperate to read it and yet too scared to open it. Their instinct, however, told them to keep it a secret for the Dursleys. They were incredibly pernickety about Harry receiving anything without their expressed permission.

One time, Aunt Petunia had a conniption in front of Mrs Figg when she had dared to give Harry a slice of chocolate cake. It was an incredible overreaction, but the sad part was that it wasn't even particularly good cake.

Not wanting to dwell on it any further, Harry stuffed the envelope in the baggy pocket of their hoodie and headed back to the living room to hand Uncle Vernon the rest of the mail.

'Marge's ill,' he commented as he glanced over the postcard. 'Thinks she must have eaten something bad in Magaluf.'

'I'd bet that's not too difficult,' tittered Petunia.

Harry didn't linger any longer to see where that inspiring conversation would go. They retreated back into their cupboard and opened the letter. Once they had read it, they only had more questions:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr 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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry turned to the next page of the letter, which listed an itinerary of items, half of which sounded just as ridiculous to them as "Hogwarts" and "Dumbledore".

None of what was written there sunk in as Harry's thoughts became less focused on what the letter was, and instead on what it meant. Who sent this letter? Why had it been sent to them? How did they know so specifically where they lived, right down to the cupboard?

For a brief moment, Harry considered this might be some elaborate prank by Dudley and his mates, but quickly discarded the thought. Dudley wasn't clever enough to think of something this deranged. His methods of torment rarely rose above punching.

Harry's mind raced as they traced back memories near and far. Dudley's disappearing garments, the dress that refused to come off, their uncuttable hair, the constant return of Katy the Shark, falling through the wall into the girls' changing room. All of them bizarre events, unexplainable by any common logic. Could they have been due to magic? Was Harry themselves magic in some form?

It was all too much to process. It was the kind of thing they wished could be true, the kind of thing they dreamed about, but they'd been raised in a house that quashed dreams before they had a chance to be believed. Uncle Vernon was a pessimist who trusted only what he could see with his own eyes, and even then, he'd often disregard his vision if something proved his worldview wrong.

Harry couldn't think straight in their dark and overheated closet. They needed some fresh air and open space. They shoved the letter back in its envelope and stashed it under their mattress before leaving the cupboard and heading for the front door.

'And where do you think you're going, young man?' sniped Aunt Petunia, leering at him from the kitchen.

'The park,' said Harry. It was absolutely the truth that's where they planned to go, if not necessarily to play. Mrs Dursley still eyed them with suspicion.

'If you're going out, you can at least make yourself useful,' she said before reaching into her purse. She handed Harry about twenty-five pounds and a shopping list scrawled on the back of an old receipt. 'Grab these from the shop for me. I want a receipt and my change back, so don't dare think about spending any of it on yourself.'

'Can Harry get me an ice cream, Mummy?' asked Dudley from the living room.

'Of course he can, Dudders,' cooed Aunt Petunia, before turned back to Harry with a scowl. 'Now off you pop. Be back by four.'

As soon as Harry closed the door to Number Four behind them, they immediately noticed something odd. A tawny owl with black flecks on its feathers was perched on top of the post box across the street, its beady yellow eyes staring directly at Harry and following them as they headed down Privet Drive. Harry acknowledged it was peculiar to see an owl hanging around in a suburban neighbourhood, especially in broad daylight, but quickly moved on.

When Harry arrived at the park, the place was practically deserted. It was uncharacteristically overcast for a day in mid-July, not made much better by a chilly breeze in the atmosphere. The playpark was usually bustling with young children tottering about on see-saws and climbing frames. Harry, though, was glad for the quiet as they took a seat on one of the swings and just tried to let their mind relax.

That sense of calm was sadly short-lived as an unmistakable hoot shocked Harry out of their calm state. They looked up to see the very same owl from before swooping overhead, before dropping an envelope right into Harry's lap. It was identical to the one they had received this morning, and upon opening Harry could see the letter inside was also the same one from "Hogwarts". At least now they knew how the letter had been sent.

The owl banked around and took up roost on the chain-link fencing that surrounded the playpark. The bird again gawked directly at Harry, its feathered head bobbing and turning at their back-and-forth movement on the swing. Harry tried to ignore the creature, but every time they looked away from it for too long, it would caw again for attention. They quickly grew tired of its incessance and left the park, but this time Harry looked up and around as they walked. The owl was stalking them wherever they went.

Hoping they could lose it inside, Harry swung by the local express supermarket, grabbed a basket and started collecting the items from Aunt Petunia's list. They were practically done and on their way to the checkout counter when they were distracted by the sound of commotion.

People started running out of the store in terror, items started flying off the shelves, and shop assistants were jumping out from behind the tills and into action. Harry headed towards the epicentre of the chaos, hoping to find it was anything but what they expected, but it wasn't.

The persistent owl was now fluttering about the centre isle of the supermarket as the employees tried to shoo it towards the door with brooms and mops. The night bird seemed to be attempting to swoop its way into the stationary section. After dodging the swipes of several cleaning instruments, it succeeded in picking up a pad of paper and a box of pens in its talons. It then dove its way out of its attackers and headed directly towards Harry, dropping the pen and paper in their basket along with yet another letter from Hogwarts, before perching directly on the young child's shoulder. Harry felt scared and confused, but more than anything, they were just embarrassed.

The supermarket clerks looked at Harry and their avian menace with a comparable amount of befuddlement. 'That thing yours?' one of them asked.

Harry hesitated. 'Can I just pay for my stuff?'

Begrudgingly, the store manager allowed Harry to buy their items as long as they got the owl out of the store first. Calmly as they could, Harry stepped outside and, thankfully, their pestering companion flew off.

Breathing a sigh of relief, they grabbed their shopping bags and starting making their way back to Privet Drive. On the way, Harry opened up their third copy of the letter from Hogwarts and read it over again, just in case they had missed something. That's when they noted the final sentence of the message again: We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

'The owl wants a response,' Harry thought. 'That's why it was hounding me. That's why it insisted I buy a pen and paper.' Harry had no sooner realised this that their stubborn fowl made their presence known with an alarming hoot, landing on a lamp post directly above Harry.

'You're not going to leave me alone until I respond, are you?' they said as if the owl would understand. 'It's weeks until the thirty-first though. Can't I just – ?'

The owl cawed directly and repeatedly in Harry's face until they couldn't take it anymore. They pulled out the pen and paper from their shopping bag and quickly began scrawling out a note.

Ms. McGonagall,

I have no idea who you are or what Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry is, and after being chased all day by your owl, I'm not sure I want to.

However, despite my uncle's insistence that it's all nonsense, I do believe in magic. At least I want to. It would certainly explain some of the weird things that have happened to me, and why I feel so wrong inside and out.

If you could please respond (maybe with a nicer owl?) with more info about yourself and Hogwarts, I'd like to know more.

Thanks,

Harry Potter

P.S. If this is some kind of joke, please just leave me alone. I get enough of that from my cousin.

Without an envelope, Harry simply folded up the piece of paper and held it out for the owl, which then swooped down and snatched it out of their hands with its talons before disappearing behind some houses. Harry continued on their journey back to Number Four feeling a little more at peace, but even still they half-expected the creature to rear its head again with yet another reminder.

As soon as Harry stepped through the front door, Aunt Petunia came storming up to him and grabbed the shopping bags right out of their hands. 'Where have you been?' she squawked. 'I said be home by four. It's now four-fifteen!'

'Sorry,' said Harry. 'The shop was a little busy.'

Mrs Dursley hauled the bags into the kitchen and slammed them on the counter before emptying the items into their respective storage places. When she came across the pad of paper and box of pens though, she became even more irate. 'And what are these for?'

Harry wavered for a moment. In all of the commotion, they hadn't thought of an excuse. Hearing the commotion, Uncle Vernon and Dudley butted into the room, not wanting to miss an opportunity to see Harry get disciplined.

'What's the boy done now?' barked Mr Dursley.

'And where's my ice cream?' demanded Dudley.

'It's right here, Dudders,' assured Mrs Dursley, 'though it's taken him so long to bring it that's practically melted. You'll have to eat right away.'

Dudley's eyes beamed with delight as he grabbed the ice cream from his mother's hand, sat down on the sofa, and started wolfing it down gleefully. It was the first time, and probably the only time, he'd been thankful Harry messed up something.

'Vernon, Harry used your hard-earned money to buy himself some pen and paper,' explained Petunia.

Uncle Vernon eyed Harry with the useful mix of suspicion and disdain. As quickly as they could, Harry tried to come up with something they thought Uncle Vernon would want to hear.

'I wanted something to practice writing lines on,' they lied. 'I expect I'm going to be getting into a lot of trouble at Stonewall, so I thought I should train up my arm a bit.'

Vernon chuckled slightly to himself. 'That's the smartest idea you've ever had, young man. At least you know your place. Still, it might behove you to ask next time before – '

'Dad!' exclaimed Dudley as they pointed at Harry's belly. 'Harry's got something in his pocket!'

Harry and Uncle Vernon simultaneously looked down. Peeking ever so slightly out of the pocket of Harry's hoodie was the yellowish parchment of the Hogwarts envelope. From where Dudley was sitting in the living room, it was probably more obvious. Before Harry could even react, Vernon lunged at the letter and snatched it away.

As soon as he realised what it was, Mr Dursley's usual perpetually-red face turned white. When Mrs Dursley caught sight of the wax emblem on its rear, it looked like she was about to faint. However, Vernon's shock was short-lived as it curdled back into sheer anger.

'You dirty, little liar!' he snarled. 'You bought those things so you could write to them, didn't you? How long have you known?'

'I don't know anything,' Harry said, riddled with anxiety. 'I just started getting –'

'I don't want to hear any more filthy fibs from you, Mr Potter! Ever since you got dumped on our doorstep, I've done my utmost to make sure any trace of that…that…demon in you never surfaces. Now tell me what you know!'

'I don't know!' Harry wailed as they collapsed to the floor. 'I…I'm so confused. Please…please, I don't know.'

For a moment, it looked like the Dursleys were just going to let Harry bawl out their emotions. Aunt Petunia, in a rare blip of motherly affection, even looked slightly sorry for the child. Vernon, however, wasn't at all swayed by their sorrow. If anything, his anger was only starting to fester.

'Dudley?' he asked. 'Give me the Smeltings stick.'

Petunia gasped, 'Vernon, no.' Even Dudley seemed hesitant at first to obey his father, but those beady little eyes just focused in on the young lad until he complied. It was as if Dudley knew that if he refused, he'd be next.

'It's the only way the boy will learn,' said Vernon coldly as he grasped his bony cane in his hand.

Without further hesitation, SMACK! He swung the stick with force across Harry's face, knocking their battered glasses once again off their face.

'This is how we teach him consequences!' yelled Mr Dursley.

THWAK! He swung his stick down on Harry's body as the young child continued to wail and whimper.

'This is how he learns to stop living in that wretched fantasy!'

WHACK! Vernon went in hard on Harry's ribs. Petunia couldn't watch anymore, averting her gaze.

'How he understands that he's not better than us!'

CRACK! Vernon hit Harry so hard in the face that the Smeltings stick splintered, adding another scar to their face to compliment the lightning bolt on their forehead. Still, Mr Dursley looked like he was far from done.

'This is how he learns how to be a real man!'

BANG! BANG! BANG! The sound came not from from Vernon's weapon, but from the front door. BANG! BANG! BANG! It happened again. It sounded far more thunderous than a typical knock on the door; it was much closer to a battering ram.

'Harry!' blared a booming voice from outside. 'Harry, are you in there?' Harry couldn't place it, but the voice sounded vaguely familiar to them. It was deep, gravelly, and unmistakably West Country.

Vernon's ire quickly turned back to their nephew. 'You asked them to take you away, didn't you, boy?' He then made his way towards the front door. 'Well, they won't succeed. No mincing, hoity-toity, so-called sorcerer is going to get past Vernon Dursley so –'

KA-THUNK! The front door burst off its hinges and landed right on top of Mr Dursley before they could even reach for the door handle.

Standing in the doorway was a mammoth of a man, both in stature and hairiness. Harry couldn't see him very clearly, both because they were without their glasses and because the setting sun was directly behind them, making the figure little more than a gargantuan shadow. Still, even with their blurred vision, Harry could just about make out the little beady eyes on a face that looked more like a dog than a human being. They stared right back at Harry in despair, as tears started to stream down their bushy facial hair.

'Merlin's beard, Dursley,' said the giant in horror. 'What 'ave you done?'