By the time either of us were let out of the cupboard under the stairs, school had ended. I had mixed feelings on the matter. One of the few times I was happy was when I was in a classroom. I loved to learn, though at the same time while at school, Dudley and his gang of friends, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon had an easier time Potter hunting. It wasn't a fun game.
Most of the time me, and Harry stayed away from the house. Harry would wander the neighborhood. While I would find a nice quiet place hidden from view and read my book again. Though I knew it to heart, it was still a good distraction from life. Which hopefully was taking a turn for the better.
When school started back up Dudley and Piers were both heading to Smelting's, Uncle Vernon's old private school. Me and Harry on the other hand were heading for Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley was amused by this.
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he had told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick." Harry retorted, running from the room. Dudley was bewildered, then furious.
"That little!" Dudley growled, then turned to me with a evil smirk." I guess you'll have to do. Let have you practice for Stonewall." He said, getting ready to dive on me. I wasn't nearly as quick as Harry, so I knew I needed to think fast.
"Dudley, if you don't do it. I'll do all your homework for you." I promised, he thought about it for a moment.
"All of it?" He asked smirking.
"Yes, all of it." I promised.
"Fine. You always were smarter than Harry." He said smirking. Though I knew he wasn't impressed by my intelligence, more so happy to use it. I sighed in relief, got up, and found a nice shady clearing to read in peace.
One mid July day. Aunt Petunia took Dudley to get his Smelting's uniform. We were left at Mrs. Figg's and for the first time ever she didn't tell us about her cats. Supposedly she had tripped over one of them, and clearly her opinion on them had diminished. She let us watch TV, and eat some chocolate cake that tasted old. Still it was more than we usually got.
When we got back to the Dursley's, Dudley was in his new uniform. Most of it was standard fare. A maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbocker, and a flat straw hat called a boater. The worst part was the Smelting's stick. Supposedly you hit each other with them when the teachers weren't looking. Somehow this was good practice for later in life.
Because, of course, all adults hit each other with sticks.
As his parent's looked upon Dudley they beamed with pride. Vernon saying it was the proudest moment of his life, while Petunia burst into tears, and said, she couldn't believe it was her quote "Ickle Dudleykins" who looked so handsome and grown up.
Harry was holding back a laugh behind me, while I couldn't wait for twenty years in the future when I could use pictures of him in that uniform for a good laugh.
The next morning we awoke to a horrid smell coming from the kitchen. When we entered we found the source of the smell to be a large metal tub in the sink, inside of which contained what looked like dirty rags in grey water.
"What's this?" Harry asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened, as they always did if we dared to ask a question.
"And why does it smell so bad?" I added.
"Your new school uniforms," she said to Harry then turned to me. "Because of the dye I'm using."
We both looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," Harry said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for both of you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."
We both looked at each other, seriously doubting our Aunt's words, but said nothing. We both sat down. Vernon and Dudley both entered the room, and made a disgusted look at our uniforms smell. Vernon sat down and opened the paper, while Dudley began pounding his Smelting stick on the table.
The sound of the mail slot could be heard through the room.
"Get the mail, Dudley," Vernon said still reading the paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Harry dodged the stick and headed for the mail, while Dudley disappointed at missing Harry, decided I would do. He hit me in the arm, and all I could do was rub the spot he'd hit and try and make it boring for him.
"Hurry up, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his supposed humor.
Harry came walking back into the room. He was looking at a piece of mail, handed Vernon two pieces. Then handed me one as discreetly as possible. It was yellow and thick, and was addressed to me?
Miss S. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey.
I turned the envelope over, and saw a purple wax seal. There was a lion, eagle, badger, and snake surrounding the letter H.
Harry was beginning to open his envelope, so I began to do the same. Wondering who in the world would have sent me and Harry mail?
"Marge's ill," Vernon informed Aunt Petunia as he opened his mail. "Ate a funny whelk…"
"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry and Sarah got something!"
Harry was unfolding the letter, while mine wasn't out of the package yet. Vernon quickly grabbed both letters out of our respective hands. Harry was furious, while I was just confused.
"That's mine!" said Harry, as he tried to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you two?" Uncle Vernon sneered at Harry, shaking Harry's letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from shock, to anger, to what looked like fear and sickness very quickly.
P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.
Dudley tried to grab the letter, but Vernon held it far enough away from him. Petunia read it and looked ready to faint.
"What do they say?" I asked curiously. Though both ignored my question.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!" She screeched as she gasped for air. I looked at Harry, wondering where these letters could have come from. Were they from child services?
The pair stared at each other, and for the first time they ever they were ignoring Dudley. He seemed very upset at this and gave his father a smack across the head with his Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," Dudley said loudly.
"I want to read it," added Harry furiously, "as it's mine."
"I'm just really confused." I added.
"Get out, all of you," Uncle Vernon demanded, as he stuffed Harry's letter back into the envelope, while also still clutching my letter in his other hand.
As curious as I was about these letters, I was more concerned with Uncle Vernon's response if I tried to read them. So I got up and started to leave the room. But Harry didn't move or back down.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted at the pair.
"Let me see it!" Dudley also demanded.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall. I quickly followed and the door was slammed closed behind us. Harry and Dudley began to fight over who could listen through the keyhole. I watched amused until Dudley eventually won. Harry then got down and listened via the crack between the door and floor.
Seeing as I had no where to eavesdrop, I sighed and headed off to the living room and sat down on the couch when I had the chance. After a little while the Dursley's emerged and Vernon ignored the boys and headed to work, while Aunt Petunia shooed me from the living room and made me go back to mine and Harry's cupboard.
Soon after, Harry arrived in our cupboard as well, and shut the door.
"UGH! They never let us have anything." He said angerly.
"Does that really surprise you?" I asked Harry with a small smile.
"Those were our letters, and they steal them away. Refuse to let us read them." Harry then flopped onto the bed next to me, I put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Like I said, they will never like us. Whatever they're hiding, they will do whatever they can, to keep it from us. The best thing you can do is try to keep your head up." I told him, he nodded. "What were they saying?" I asked curiously.
"Something about how someone must be spying on us. How they planned not to write back, how they aren't having any in there house. I don't know who they were referring to, or what they don't want in there house." He replied.
"Interesting, well. I'm sure in time, everything will be revealed.." I replied, then pulled back out my book.
"Again Sarah? Really." Harry asked me teasingly.
"I like to read." I simply replied, as I once again lost myself in the fantasy world I longed for.
That night, when Uncle Vernon got home from work, for the first time ever he visited us in our, quote on quote, room.
"Where are our letters?" Harry demanded the second Uncle Vernon had entered the room. "Who's writing to us?"
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," Uncle Vernon said quickly. "I have burned them."
"Seems likely." I added sarcastically, not having looked up at the man.
"It was not a mistake," Harry said angerly, "it had our cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon roared in response and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. One landed on my book that I swiped away, causing me to look up. Uncle Vernon then took a few deep breaths and then forced a smile, which was not natural in any way.
"Er — yes, Harry — Sarah, about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're both really getting to big for it… we think it might be nice if you both moved up into Dudley's second bedroom."
I looked at Uncle Vernon in pleasant surprise, while Harry looked at him suspiciously.
"Really?" I asked, a small bit of excitement creeping into my voice.
"Why?" said Harry, still very suspicious of this entire situation.
"Don't ask questions!" Uncle Vernon snapped at us. " Both of you take your stuff upstairs, now."
I happily began to take my one load of belongings upstairs. Though I knew this was about those letters and trying to hide them from us, I at least would have the satisfaction of not falling off the bed if Harry shifted the wrong way. As I entered the bedroom with Dudley's pile of broken toys and game, I felt a slight joy in my step. Still, what were the Dursley's hiding?
Harry came up behind me, still clearly upset. Downstairs we could both hear Dudley bawling to Aunt Petunia.
"I don't want them in there… I need that room… make them get out…" I shut the door and the whining voice disappeared. I then turned to Harry.
"You okay?" I asked. He shook his head.
"A bedroom is nice and all, but who's writing us? Did they know mum and dad?" He asked. I looked at him and sighed.
"I don't know the answers, but if they really want to talk to us. They'll write again, the way the Dursley's are acting, I kind of expect it." I replied.
"I sure hope they do, I really want to know what they said."
The next morning came quickly seeing as I could actually sleep through the whole night without a knee in my back like I'd gotten used to in the cupboard. At breakfast the atmosphere was tense. Dudley had done everything from whacking his dad with his Smelting stick, to throwing his tortoise through the greenhouse roof. Nothing had worked to get his room back. Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia kept glancing at one another nervously.
At least it was entertaining.
When the mail arrived Uncle Vernon, who was trying to be nice to us, made Dudley get the mail. He hit things with his Smelting's stick down the hall, then it happened again.
"There's another set! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —" Dudley called like an idiot. If he really wanted to read them why not shut up? His stupidity brought a roaring Uncle Vernon, followed closely down the hall by Harry. I just shook my head and continued breakfast. But deep down I couldn't help but wonder how these people knew we'd been moved?
"Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed to Harry. "Dudley — go — just go." He told Dudley, then stammered back into the kitchen. When he saw me he glared.
"You, bedroom too." He ordered, I shrugged and stood up. I tried to get a glance at the letter. But I couldn't, so went up to the bedroom and found Harry looking thoroughly disappointed though he was also in deep thought.
"I have a plan." He said in a low voice. I shrugged.
"Good luck." I replied, as I laid down lazily on the bed.
"Aren't you interested in this?" He asked, I nodded.
"I am, but antagonizing the Dursley's isn't the way forward. Have patience Harry." I told him, he looked unconvinced.
The next day, when Harry's alarm went off at six AM. He looked at me with a guilty look.
"Sorry." He told me, I just pulled my pillow over my head and tried to get back to sleep.
I was just about to fall back asleep when a loud "AAAAARRRGH!" sounded and Uncle Vernon started yelling at Harry. I was to tired to go and join the screams, so crept over to the door and shut it. Then started to fall back asleep.
"Harry and his plans." I mumbled to myself in both annoyance and amusement.
Eventually I got up, made my way downstairs, and found Uncle Vernon nailing the mail slot. I just shook my head.
"Are these stalkers or something?" I asked the Uncle Vernon confused.
"Of the sort." Vernon replied bitterly.
By Friday dozens of letters for both me and Harry were arriving every day. It was quite the site as Uncle Vernon blocked us both from reading them. I wasn't concerned though, I knew at some point one would get through, or whoever these people were would send someone. Seeing as the mail slot was blocked, the letters were now being pushed under the front door, slid through the sides, and a few pushed through the downstairs bathroom window.
Uncle Vernon had stayed home once again, burned all the letters, then boarded the cracks by the front and back doors, the whole time he hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" and jumping at any sound.
And despite all Uncle Vernon had put us through over the years, I couldn't help but start to pity him. The poor man was going to lose his mind.
Saturday tested my sense of logic. The mailman handed Aunt Petunia two dozen eggs, and somehow twelve letters a piece appeared in the eggs. Uncle Vernon furiously called the postman, and dairy to complain. While Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in a food processor.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you two this badly?" Dudley asked us in amazement.
"No idea." I replied, just as amazed and confused as him.
On Sunday Uncle Vernon, who looked tired and sick, sat down. Despite how he looked, he seemed to be in a better mood.
"No post on Sundays," he reminded us cheerfully, as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today —"
Before Uncle Vernon could finish his thought, a pair of letters came shooting out of the kitchen chimney and hit him in the back of the head. A second later, dozens more letters came shooting out of the kitchen chimney. The Dursley's ducked, Harry leapt trying to catch one, while I tried to grab a letter from the floor.
"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared at us. He seized Harry by the waste, and I decided it wasn't a good idea to tempt his wrath so I gave up and left. Petunia and Dudley followed, and Vernon rounded out the group. He slammed the door behind him, and looked at all of us with fury on his face.
"That does it," he said, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
No one dared to argue, and soon enough we forced our way passed the boarded-up doors. It was so bad that Dudley had been hit by Vernon for holding them up, he had tried to bring his Television, VCR, and computer. Soon enough we were on the highway. I got out my book and read some more, though every time Vernon did a sharp turn and muttered, "Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," I would annoyingly lose my place.
However despite all that, I was still able to finish the book, and start it again. Seeing as we hadn't stopped anywhere all day it wasn't hard to do. Dudley was miserable, he'd never missed so much as one television show in his life. To miss five was torture to the boy, not to mention no video games, nor any food.
The poor boy.
Finally we stopped at a gloomy hotel on the outskirts of some big city. Dudley and Harry shared a twin bed, while I slept on the couch. Still, through Dudley's snores I could see Harry sitting on the windowsill.
Like me, here he was wondering what in the world was going on.
The next morning, after just finishing our breakfast of stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes, the owner of the hotel came over to us.
"'Scuse me, but are any of you Mr. H. or Miss S. Potter? I got hundreds of these at the front desk."
She held up a pair of letters so we could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth,
Mine said the same except for the name. Harry tried to grab his letter, but Uncle Vernon smacked his hand away, as the women stared.
"I'll take them," Uncle Vernon said. He then stood quickly and followed her from the dining room.
The hours ticked on, and we were back on the road again. Aunt Petunia had tried to get Vernon to stop. "Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" she had asked him. He didn't seem to respond.
I was getting more and more worried for Uncle Vernon's mental health. He had driven into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, then got back in the car and drove again. He did this three more times, in the middle of a plowed field, the middle of a suspension bridge, and atop a multilevel parking garage.
Eventually we found our way to the coast. Uncle Vernon had parked, locked us in the car and then vanished.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia.
I had finished Mary Poppins three times on this trip, and even that was unappealing now. So I looked out the window as it began to pour. What could be so horrible that the Dursley's had to keep it away from us?
"It's Monday," Dudley continued ranting to Aunt Petunia. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."
"Monday?" I thought to myself. Today was Monday, that meant tomorrow was Tuesday. Our eleventh birthday, even if our birthday's weren't fun, I had gotten that painful comb last year. Still another year gone by, and another year closer to leaving the Dursley's.
Uncle Vernon reappeared, he was smiling madly and was carrying a long thin package. He ignored Aunt Petunia's question of what it was.
"Found the perfect place!" he said excitedly. "Come on! Everyone out!"
We all piled out of the car and into the cold and saw Uncle Vernon pointing at a large rock out in the sea, on top of which sat a small shack. One thing was certain, Dudley would miss The Great Humberto.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" Vernon continued gleefully as he clapped his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
An old man with no teeth came wobbling up to us. With a wicked grin, he pointed down to a rowboat floating in the grey looking water.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
The boat ride was miserable, water kept splashing onto us. We were all cold and wet. I was now more curious than ever who these letters were from. Finally we arrived on the rock and Vernon led the way into the shack as he barely avoided falling.
The first thing I noticed when he opened the door was the smell of seaweed, wind was easily able to blow into the shack through the cracks in the walls, and it was clear that fire was not going to start.
The ration's Vernon had acquired turned out to be a bag of chips each, and four bananas. Like I had predicted the fire didn't start, the used chip bags just shriveled up. Though Vernon didn't seem to care. In fact he was cheerful, in a mad man's sort of way.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" He said, obviously the happiest he'd been in several days. The reason of which was obvious.
He thought the letters couldn't get to us here. Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't. Still, we weren't going to be able to stay here forever. I wondered how many letters were stacked in the house back on Privet Drive?
Night arrived and the storm got worse. After sleeping on a real bed the last few nights, I was disappointed that me and Harry were forced onto the cold, hard, dirt floor. With only a small thin blanket apiece. Dudley slept on the moth ridden couch, while Vernon and Petunia slept in the other room.
As midnight approached, me and Harry finally had a chance to talk.
"Who do you think is behind these letters?" He asked me.
"I have theories." I replied, Harry looked at me curiously.
"Like?"
"Child services, stalkers. Really though, I'm just as lost as you."
As midnight approached on Dudley's wrist watch. The talk turned from the letters, to what we wanted for our birthday.
"Books." I replied simply. Harry snorted.
"You say that every year." He replied.
"When reading is the only form of entertainment you've ever known. You get attached to it." I shrugged.
"I guess." Harry replied, looming at me with a amused look.
"What do you want?" I asked. As the sounds outside continued. "Also, a nice present would be for the roof not to collapse." I added, slightly joking, yet also slightly serious as I looked up the the ceiling before turning my full attention back to Harry, as I let him think for a moment before answering.
"Just...a better life. To get away from this, that's why I want to see those letters. Maybe they'd be good for us."
"Well, wish hard. Our birthday is in ten seconds."
Harry looked at the watch. And finally it happened. The clock turned to midnight and the date switched to the Thirty First of July...
BOOM.
The whole shack shook, Harry bolted upright, and I had to hold in a muffled scream as a large booming sound echoed throughout the entire shack. As I realized that somehow, someway.
Someone was at the door.