Ch. 3

Letters from No One

The incident at the zoo earned Harry his longest punishment ever. Though his Aunt often brought him food and water when Uncle Vernon and Dudley were not home, he was only allowed out of his cupboard twice a day to go to school and once more to go to the bathroom before bedtime. By the time his punishment ended, the summer holidays had ended and Dudley had already broken the video camera he had gotten for hi birthday.

Harry was glad it was the summer holidays. Though there was no escaping Dudley and his friends, Harry saw a glimmer of hope in September. Dudley had been accepted into Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smelting's. Harry would go to the local public school, Stonewall High. Dudley thought it was funny that Harry was going to a public school and teased him constantly for it, but Harry didn't care. For the first time in his life, he would finally be free of his cousin!

"They stuff people's heads in the toilet their first day at Stonewall," Dudley said with a laugh. "Want to go upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," Harry replied. "The toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head in it before. It might get sick."

And then he ran before Dudley could work out what he had said.

Before long, Dudley had his new uniform and Harry came into the kitchen one morning to a foul smell. Aunt Petunia was stirring what looked like elephant skin in a pot.

"What's that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

However, Aunt Petunia did not get annoyed by the question and answered without fuss.

"Your new school clothes. I'm dying some of Dudley's old things grey so they'll match the school colors." She avoided his eye as she added, "It should look just fine when you put it on."

Harry doubted that, but he knew his aunt didn't mean it either so he said nothing as he sat at the table. A few minutes later, Uncle Vernon and Dudley came into the kitchen, wrinkling their noses against the smell of the dye. Dudley put his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table and grabbed the plate of bacon Harry had been reaching for. Harry grabbed a slice of toast instead as they heard the mail flap rattle.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Make harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry ducked, avoiding Dudley's blow and went into the hallway. On the floor in front of the door were two envelopes and a postcard. The postcard was from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge. The first envelope appeared to be a bill. The last envelope was…

Addressed to Harry?!

Harry stared at it in amazement. No one had ever sent him a letter in his life. He didn't even have a library card so he had never even gotten rude notes for late books. And yet here was a letter addressed so plainly there could be no mistake.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4 Privet Dr.

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was a thick made of heavy parchment with green carefully penned ink, sealed with purple wax. The wax had a coat of arms on it: a badger, eagle, lion, and serpent around a large H. Harry entered the kitchen and absently handed the bill and post card to his uncle as he sat down to open his letter. Uncle Vernon opened the bill and gave a disgruntled snort as Harry carefully opened his letter. Uncle Vernon turned the postcard over as Harry too the letter, also written on heavy parchment, from the envelope.

"Marge is ill," Uncle Vernon told Aunt Petunia as she joined them at the table. "Ate a funny welk."

"Dad, Harry's got something!" Dudley cried as Harry unfolded his letter.

Uncle Vernon snatched the letter from his nephew.

"Give it back! It's mine!"

Aunt Petunia looked at the parchment, her eyes wide.

"Who would be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon said, without seeing his wife's expression. He read the first line of the letter and blanched. "P-Petunia…"

"I want to read that letter!" Dudley wailed.

"I want to read it as it's mine!" Harry said, angrily.

"Out!" Uncle Vernon roared. "Both of you, get out!"

He grabbed Dudley and Harry by their scruffs and threw them from the kitchen. The boys had a silent fight over who would listen at the key hole. Dudley won so Harry dropped to the floor to listen at the gap under the door.

"Vernon," aunt Petunia was saying, "look at the address. They know where he sleeps. I told you they would be watching the house."

"Spying," Uncle Vernon said in disgust.

"We knew this would happen one day. We should write them and say…"

"No," Uncle Vernon insisted. "We will not interact. We'll just ignore it. If they don't get a response…"

"But…"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia!"

"You've already got one in the house, Vernon…"

"I said from the start that we would squash it out of him."

"And how well has that worked so far?" Aunt Petunia said angrily. There was a moment of tense silence. "I-I'm sorry, Vernon…"

"I said," Uncle Vernon said, his voice a low growl, "that I will not have one in the house, Petunia. Is that a problem?"

"No. No, of course not. You're right, of course."

Dudley frowned and looked down at Harry. Harry did not look back at his cousin, but he knew what Dudley must have been thinking. It was the first time he had witnessed his father being cross with his mother. No doubt the fear in Aunt Petunia's voice disturbed Dudley. Harry had heard them have similar arguments before though when Uncle Vernon had caught Aunt Petunia giving Harry food and water during punishments, so harry, at least, wasn't surprised.

That evening, when he got home from work, Uncle Vernon visited Harry in his cupboard, something he had never done before.

"Where's my letter?" Harry asked at once. He had asked his aunt while Uncle Vernon had been at work, but she had refused to answer. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was sent to you by mistake."

"It was not a mistake. They had even put my cupboard on the address."

"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon roared, causing a spider to fall from the ceiling. He took a deep breath and continued in a forced calm tone. "About this cupboard… you're really getting too big for it. Your aunt and I thought it would be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions," Uncle Vernon snapped. "Move all this stuff upstairs. Now."

The Dursley's house had four bedrooms. One for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for Dudley, one for guests (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), and one to store all the things that wouldn't fit in Dudley's room. It only took Harry one trip to move all his belongings into the fourth bedroom. Downstairs he could hear his cousin yelling.

"I don't want him in there! Make him get out! I need that room!"

Harry sighed sadly as he lay on the bed. Last week he would have given anything to be up here. Today he would rather be in his cupboard with his letter than up here without it.

Dudley Dursley was in shock. He had scream, cried, been sick on purpose, but he still did not have his second bedroom back. Harry's aunt and uncle were oddly quiet as well. Uncle Vernon kept giving Harry dark looks. Aunt Petunia merely stared at her plate as she played with her food. In the hall, they heard the flop of letters from the mail slot.

"Get the post, Dudley" said Uncle Vernon, in an attempt to be nice to Harry.

Dudley went into the hall, banging his Smelting stick angrily as he went.

"There's another one!" he cried suddenly. "Mr. H. Potter, the smallest bedroom…"

Uncle Vernon roared with anger as he and Harry jumped to their feet and ran into the hallway. In a confused fight where everyone got hit a lot with Dudley's Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon finally got a hold of the letter.

"Go to your cupboard, I mean room. Now! Dudley, go! Just go!"

Harry paced in his room. The mysterious letter writer had somehow known he had not gotten the first letter. Maybe they would try again. Harry went to bed with a plan.

The repaired alarm clock went off at six in the morning. Harry quickly shut it off and got dressed. It was the first morning in over a year that he did not spend several minutes looking at his photographs of his mother and sister. Instead he sneaked downstairs. He would wait at the street corner for the postman and get the mail before Dudley and Uncle Vernon could. It was a good plan. But as he reached the door, he stepped on something squashy that yelled.

The light clicked on and to Harry's horror, he realized the squashy something had been his uncle's face. He had slept in front of the door to prevent Harry from doing exactly what he had been trying to do. Uncle Vernon yelled at Harry for half an hour and then sent him to the kitchen to make tea. By the time Harry returned, the mail had been delivered right into Uncle Vernon's waiting hands. This time Harry saw four or five letters with his name.

"I want…"

But before he could finish his demand, Uncle Vernon was ripping the letters apart. Uncle Vernon did not go into work that day and instead stayed home to nail the mail slot closed. With the mail slot nailed shut, the letter writer started getting creative. The next day letters were stuffed into the gap under the door and even into the windows. The day after that, Aunt Petunia found letters inside her fresh chicken eggs. Uncle Vernon expected to get a break the following day, which was Sunday, but the family was shocked when over fifty envelopes shot out of the fireplace. Harry tried to snatch one up, but Uncle Vernon grabbed him and threw his bodily from the room.

"That does it! I want all of you back here in five minutes. We're going away. Just pack clothes. No arguments."

He looked so dangerous that no one argued. Harry went to his room, placed his clothes in a grocery bag and started to fetch his photos from under his pillow when his bedroom door opened. Aunt Petunia spotted the photos in Harry's hand and approached him quickly. She snatched the photos from his hand.

"Leave them. Your uncle is not to be tested right now."

She stuffed the pictures under Harry's photo, grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room. She looked worried.

It was not the first time Harry suspected Aunt Petunia did not approve of how Harry was treated in the house. After all, Aunt Petunia was the one who confirmed Violet's existence and even gave him a photo of her and his mother. And when Harry was locked in his cupboard after the incident at the zoo, it had been Aunt Petunia who brought him food after Uncle Vernon left for work and again after the other Dursleys had gone to bed. Perhaps it was safe to risk a question.

"Aunt Petunia." His voice was low, nearly a whisper. They stopped in the hall way. Aunt Petunia maintained her tight hold on his arm, but she looked down at him, waiting for his question. Harry looked up and down the hall but they were completely alone. He looked up at his aunt. "Who are those letters from?"

She looked her nephew up and down and finally looked him in the eye. This was something she did not do very often and Harry was never sure why. After a moment, she opened her mouth.

"Your uncle is wasting his time. You'll know soon enough."

"Can't you tell me now?"

"Don't ask questions. Come on."

She pulled on his arm again and they went downstairs where Uncle Vernon and Dudley waited in the car. Dudley was whimpering. Uncle Vernon had cuffed his about the head after catching him trying to pack his computer and television.

Uncle Vernon drove them to a dingy hotel two counties away, but during breakfast the manager approached them with more letters. Before Harry could snag one, Uncle Vernon slapped his hand away and he rushed away with the manager to dispose of the letters. Aunt Petunia looked as though she wanted to say something to Harry, but didn't dare to speak in front of Dudley. When he returned, Uncle Vernon shooed them out to the car. They drove for hours. No one dared asked where they were going. Once Aunt Petunia summoned her courage and asked, "Wouldn't it be better to just go home, dear?" Uncle Vernon either ignored her or did not hear her.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked his mother while Uncle Vernon was busy in a shop. Aunt Petunia only gave them both a tragic look. "It's Monday. The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday? If that was true then tomorrow would be Tuesday, Harry's birthday. Not that he expected much, but still. You didn't turn eleven every day. Harry looked out the window as he thought.

They had been driving all day. The clouds had turned grey and it would soon rain. Uncle Vernon returned to them smiling and carrying a long package. He did not answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what was inside.

"Found the perfect place," he said happily. "Come on. Everyone out."

As they got out of the car, it started to rain. They followed Uncle Vernon to a small dock.

"Storm's forecasted tonight," he said, still smiling. "And this gentleman has agreed to lend us his boat."

A toothless man came up to them and pointed rather wickedly at a small row boat.

"I've already got rations, so all aboard."

It was freezing in the boat. Sea spray and rain ran down their necks. After what seemed hours, they reached a broken down house on a damp rock in the middle of the sea. The house was horrible. It was damp and reeked of seaweed. The wind whistled between the boards. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be two bags of crisps and a banana each. He tried to use the crisp bags to start a fire in the fire place but they only smoked.

"Could do with some of those letters, couldn't we," he said with a smile.

Clearly he believed no one would find them here. Harry agreed, but the thought brought him no joy. Aunt Petunia gathered some blankets and made a bed for Dudley on the damp couch. She gave another pair of thin blankets to Harry who curled up on the soil floor.

The storm raged outside. Harry couldn't sleep. He slowly counted down to midnight, to his birthday, on Dudley's watch as his wrist dangled off the side of the couch. Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside and he hoped the roof wasn't about to collapse.

Four minutes to go. Maybe their house on Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they returned that he would be able to sneak one.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea slapping the rock like that?

Two minutes to go. What was that weird crunching noise?

One minute to go and he would be eleven.

Thirty seconds to go. Twenty… Ten… Nine… Eight…

Maybe he would wake Dudley up just to annoy him.

Three… Two… One…

BOOM!

The whole shack shook. Harry sat bolt upright. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.