This is a work of fanfiction based on the characters and world created by J.K. Rowling in the Harry Potter series. All characters, places, and most magical elements belong to J.K. Rowling and the respective copyright holders. I do not own any of the original material, and this work is purely for fun and not for profit.
This fanfiction is a reinterpretation of the original story where there is virtually no conflict whatsoever and the relationships between the characters are wholesome and full of love. The content is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 3 The Letters from No One
The encounter with the Brazilian boa constrictor was the greatest thing ever. Harry, Dudley, and Piers rode the high from that for weeks. By the time the excitement had died down, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already won a film festival with his new video camera, decided he was going to become a pilot after mastering flying the remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, impressed Mrs. Figg so much she gave him her VHS collection of X-Games tapings.
Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping his notoriety, and the school kids in the neighborhood came to his house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all tall and very smart, but as Dudley was the biggest and smartest of all of them, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Girl Chasing.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, playing with cute girls and thinking about how much he loved the holidays, where he experienced the most joy. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he would be a middle schooler with Dudley. Dudley and Harry had been accepted at Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry was so excited the gang wouldn't be broken up and he'd heard that life gets really fun once you enter middle school.
"I heard middle school is where you learn the good stuff," Dudley told Harry. "Hey, do you want to come upstairs and practice playing the piano?"
"Absolutely!" said Harry. "It sounds so good since Daddy got it tuned!" Then they raced each other upstairs and played for the rest of the afternoon.
One day in July, Petunia took Dudley and Harry to London to buy their Smeltings uniforms and then when they came back they went to visit Mrs. Figg. Mrs. Figg was in a better mood than usual. It turned out one of her cats had recently had a litter and they were all so adorable. She let Dudley and Harry come up with names for all of them. Then they watched television and she gave them some chocolate cake that tasted as though it could only have been baked by the finest bakers in London.
That evening, Dudley and Harry paraded around the living room for the family in their brand-new uniforms. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobby sticks, used for measuring all sorts of things. This was supposed to be good training for later in life.
As he looked at the two of them in their new knickerbockers, Vernon said while stifling tears that it was the proudest moment of his life. Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe she was looking at her precious baby boys, they looked so handsome and grown-up. Dudley and Harry felt so good about the future. Harry thought maybe a few ribs might even burst from his midsection he was trying to contain his excitement so hard.
There was a wonderful smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large frying pan on the stove. He went to have a look. The frying pan was full of what looked like bread but something had baked into it. He'd never seen anything like it before.
"What's this?" he asked Petunia. Her lips formed into a smile as they always did whenever she saw him.
"French toast. I heard about it from Mrs. Figg. She said the way the Japanese do it is to absolutely die for," she said.
Harry looked in the frying pan again.
"Oh wow," he said, "what did you dip the bread in to make it look like that?"
"I just used a couple eggs, vanilla, cinnamon, and added some milk. Smells wonderful doesn't it?" said Petunia. "These are going to be so good!"
Harry seriously did not doubt this, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He sat down at the table and wondered how he was going to look on his first day at Smeltings — like he was going to be voted "most likely to become the first trillionaire," no doubt.
Dudley and Vernon came in, both with flared nostrils because of the heavenly smell from the french toast. Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley looked at the notches on his Smelting stick, which he and Harry both carried everywhere, on the table. Petunia brought over the french toast and they enjoyed a delicious breakfast.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.
"I'll get it," said Vernon, putting down his paper.
"No, I'll get it!" said Dudley.
"Let's rock, paper, scissors for it!" exclaimed Harry.
They played rock, paper, scissors for it. The first time they all threw rock. Then they all threw scissors. Then paper. Seeing what was going on here, Harry decided to throw paper again and won the chance to get the morning mail.
"Ah, man!" said Dudley.
"Little tyke," smiled Vernon.
Harry thought how he'd also like to win the next round of rock, paper, scissors so he could win the right to do the dishes later on his way to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a check from one of Vernon's clients, and — a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, wondering what it could be. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written him a letter that arrived looking like this. Who would think of this? He had no friends, no other relatives who would think of such a thing — the library he went to all the time wouldn't do this, he'd never even seen happy birthday letters that arrived looking like this. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so fancifully you had to stop and admire it:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
"Is everything okay?" Vernon spoke up from the kitchen. "What is it? Did we win the lottery?" He chuckled at the thought.
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Vernon the check and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.
Vernon opened his check, squealed in delight, and flipped over the postcard.
"Marge has left for her third honeymoon," he informed Petunia. "I swear those two will have to form a new kingdom with all the children they're having!"
"Hey what's that Harry?" said Dudley. "Daddy, look at this letter Harry got!"
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when Vernon spoke up.
"What's that you got there, Harry?" Vernon asked, leaning closer to take a better look.
"I'm not sure, but it was addressed to me, H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs. There's no stamp." said Harry, turning the letter over with one hand and glancing at it. Vernon's face went from normal to red faster than if Petunia grabbed his bottom in public. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it turned white like porridge.
"Petunia!" he gasped.
Dudley reached out because he wanted to take a closer look at it, too, but Vernon took it and held it out in front of him. He handed it over to Petunia who took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her heart and made a stifled sob.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!"
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley had never seen them behave this way before. He walked up and put his hand on Vernon's back.
"Are you okay, Daddy? What's wrong?" he said softly.
"Is everything all right, Daddy? What does it say? Who is it from?" said Harry, a bit worried. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Please go out and play, both of you," said Vernon, putting the letter back inside its envelope.
Neither Harry nor Dudley moved.
"What's going on? What's happened?" he asked, very worried now.
"Surely if something's gone wrong it was my fault, Harry would never do anything dishonorable!" said Dudley.
"Please do as I ask," said Vernon firmly, and both Harry and Dudley obeyed and walked into the hall, shutting the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley looked at each other, debating if they should stay and listen at the keyhole; they decided against it so they went upstairs to Harry's "playroom" and tried to play with Legos but they could hear Vernon and Petunia quite clearly from the room so they listened.
"Vernon," Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"
"Watching — protecting — might even have men ready to jump in and fight for us should anything happen," said Vernon conspiratorially.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want —"
Harry could hear Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.
"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we don't do anything…"
"But —"
"I'm not going to be the one to tell him, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd keep it a secret?"
That evening when he got back from work, Vernon did something he'd done before on countless occasions; he visited with Harry in his cupboard.
"What did the letter say?" asked Harry, once Vernon sat himself down and got comfortable. "Who's writing to me?"
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Vernon calmly. "I have burned it."
"But what on earth for? Surely something as simple as a letter couldn't be so bad!" said Harry, "and why did it say 'The Cupboard under the Stairs'?"
"Please trust me, Harry," Vernon said gently, picking a spider off his trousers. He took a few breaths and then frowned a bit, something you hardly ever saw him do.
"Harry, about this cupboard. Your mother and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved back into your actual room."
"But I told you guys, that's our playroom, and it would be a pain to keep pulling my bedding out and putting it away every night and morning!" said Harry.
"If it's too much trouble I can help you, although I think you'll find that it's really not as much of a chore as you think. You'll sleep better, too. I guarantee that," said Vernon. "Now come on, I'll help you get all this upstairs."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Vernon and Petunia, one for visitors (usually Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and the one Harry insisted they keep as a playroom where they kept their toys and trains and things. It only took Vernon and Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he kept in his cupboard to his actual room. He sat down on his bedding and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was new. The video cameras he and Dudley got for their birthday were laying on top of a small, working tank Dudley and Harry had used to play WW2; in the corner were their new television sets, set one on top of the other, which the two of them used to play video games, either the same one co-op or different ones at the same time; there was a large birdcage, which held a parrot that Dudley had traded his air rifle for (who was the real winner in that trade? Air rifles can't talk), which was up on a shelf where they could easily take him out and play with him. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they were about to fall apart. Dudley and Harry loved to read.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley talking excitedly to his mother, "it's about time! I've been telling him for ages that he doesn't need to be sleeping in that cupboard, he needs to be upstairs with me! We should get him a proper bed, gosh, I hate how stubborn he can be sometimes!"
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to stay in his cupboard forever. Today he was actually happy to be back in his old room. Maybe he'd stay up late and fall asleep watching two different shows on the two televisions. That'd be funny. Harry smiled when he remembered the French toast. Harry wondered if that wasn't his new favorite food.
Next morning at breakfast (French toast again, Petunia said it would taste better when there were no surprises afterward), everyone was high in spirits. Dudley was in a state of supreme bliss. He'd gotten up early, measured everything in his room with his Smelting stick, cleaned all the bathrooms on purpose, helped his mother do laundry, and took his tortoise for a 3km run (he held him over his head so he could see what it was like to fly; Torty loved this), and he still had enough energy to vacuum the whole house before 7:30 am. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and hoping he hadn't done anything to upset Vernon and Petunia. He probably should have asked them permission to even open it; it was so suspicious, what if it had been dangerous? How could he have been so reckless? Vernon and Petunia seemed no worse for wear though. They were making kissy faces at each other and rubbing their legs together under the table.
When the mail arrived, they didn't play rock, paper, scissors to see who would go get it. Vernon waited until they finished their delicious breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and even enjoyed a cup of tea before walking over to get it. His heart sank. There was another one. "Mr. H. Potter, The Playroom, 4 Privet Drive…"
"Another one, huh? Why are they doing this, Daddy?" said Dudley, one foot on the staircase, Harry right behind him.
"Don't you trouble yourself with this, Daddy will handle it. You boys go up and play."
Harry and Dudley went upstairs and played some games. But he couldn't help but be a bit troubled by the letters. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they failed. He had a plan.
The old alarm clock Harry restored rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off and got dressed. Vernon had been up since four. He went downstairs and could already smell the coffee.
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and explain the situation to him, that any letters addressed to him were to be marked "return to sender" and no more unwanted letters would come bring stress on his family.
Much to his surprise, Vernon was at the bottom of the stairs putting on his running shoes. Clearly he had exactly the same idea as Harry, however sneaky he was trying to be to hide it.
"Good morning, Harry! Got a fresh pot of coffee in there if you want some!" said Vernon, smiling.
"Yuck, you know I don't like coffee! I don't know how you guys drink that stuff!" Harry said back.
Vernon jogged around the neighborhood for half an hour and then came in and made a pot of tea. Harry was studying maths at the table. When he got up to enjoy a cup of tea with Vernon, the mail arrived, right into Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.
"Daddy—" he began, but Uncle Vernon got up and fed the letters into the fire.
Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
"See," he explained to 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 Vernon, trying to knock in a nail in one go like he'd seen on television.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few were even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.
Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and also sang gospels.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Petunia through the living room window. While Vernon made some stern telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone who could solve this problem, Petunia shredded the letter in her paper-shredder.
"I'm starting to get a little scared," Dudley confided to Harry.
On Sunday morning, Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking chipper and rather gleeful, one could even say he looked downright exuberant!
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his toast, "no letters today —"
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. Everyone at the table hit the deck.
"Out! OUT!"
Vernon seized Harry and Dudley and ran out of the kitchen, taking them out of harm's way. Petunia ran out with her arms over her face and Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"That does it," said Vernon, trying to speak calmly but was visibly shaken. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. Five minutes, let's go!"
Everyone did as they were told. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; he was very afraid and confused as to why this was happening. He had also convinced himself it was all somehow his fault.
They drove. And they drove. Even Petunia didn't ask where they were going. Every now and then Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive down heavily wooded roads for a while.
"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.
They stopped a couple times for a nice meal and some snacks. By nightfall Dudley was in better spirits. It had been awhile since the four of them had gone on a road trip. His belly was full, he was able to sing along to five of his favorite songs on the radio that played back to back to back with no commercials in between, and he hadn't even thought about the letters at all.
Vernon stopped at last outside a very nice looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and fresh, clean, crisp sheets. They both slept like babies.
They ate waffles and pancakes, fresh apples and pears, and even had freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.
"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."
She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry let out a gasp. Vernon let out a sigh. The woman stared.
"I'll take them," said Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.
"Wouldn't it be better just to leave the country, dear? We could go to France, oh the boys would love that," Petunia suggested gently, hours later, but Vernon wasn't sure what they should do. Exactly what it was going to be, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"Is Daddy okay, Mummy?" Dudley asked Petunia late that afternoon. Vernon had parked at the coast, left them all inside the car, and disappeared.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley looked up.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I wonder if this place has a television."
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and Dudley was always really good at remembering the days of the week, Harry always lost track — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was that strange day that always seemed to come around once a year. It wasn't exactly a fun day, nor was it particularly bad, he just got a weird feeling in his stomach that wouldn't seem to go away. He tried everything, making princes and princesses out of old coat hangers, even dressing them with a pair of Vernon's old socks. Still, the feeling persisted.
Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and said "it's a surprise" when Petunia asked what he'd bought.
"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Let's go check it out!"
It was pretty cold outside the car. Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most quaint little shack you could imagine. And you better believe, there was a television in there.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather cunning grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.
"I've already got us some frozen meals," said Vernon, "so all aboard!"
It wasn't much warmer in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. But after what seemed like only a few minutes they reached the rock, where Vernon, sure-footed and with a spring in his step, led the way to the quite cozy-looking cottage.
The inside was amazing; it smelled like fresh flowers, and though the wind was howling outside, it was calm and serene inside, and Vernon had already gotten the fire blazing in the hearth. There were three rooms. It was nicer than a hotel suite!
The frozen meals Vernon bought turned out to be Chicken Alfredo, spaghetti with meatballs, cheesy chicken and broccoli, and even an apple pie for dessert! He also bought a plethora of snacks: bagged popcorn, chips, peaches, oranges, and bananas. The fire heated up the house in no time and burned brilliantly.
"With a fire like that, they could send all the letters they want, eh boys?" he said cheerfully.
He was in a very good mood. Everyone thought for sure that no one would reach them there but Vernon almost seemed like he wouldn't even care anymore, after all, he trusted the Lord. But in the middle of a storm like this, certainly no one would be out delivering mail. Right? Harry pushed any further thought from his mind as they all sat down to eat good food and laugh at The Great Humberto.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the cottage and outside a fierce wind blew. But the occupants inside scarcely knew. Petunia found lots of fresh, nice-smelling blankets in the third room and made up the beds for them. She and Vernon went off to the king-size bed next door, and Harry decided the couch was so comfortable he would rather not get up and just sleep there. He curled up under the warmest blanket he'd ever used and went right to sleep.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry woke up a bit before midnight. He yawned and put his hands behind his head, comfortable as could be, his stomach full. Dudley was still sleeping like a baby and all you could hear was the faint, low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Harry's watch, which was perfectly comfortable on his wrist, told Harry that Tuesday would be here in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched that strange day tick nearer, wondering if his family got the same feeling as he did and what exactly it was, and where the letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped that nice old man wouldn't have to replace any shingles on the roof after a storm like this, although he didn't look like he would have any problems hiring some young men to get up on the roof to replace them. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that they would have enough to burn and keep warm with all next winter.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, that faint slapping on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?
One minute to go and that strange, strange day would be here. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up just to see if he felt it too — three… two… one…
BOOM.
The whole cottage shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
