The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, the first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.
"Actually, I was let free because the neighbors were getting suspicious of the fact that I was no where to be seen during the first few days of summer. At least when school was in session, they could see that I was being let out, and didn't think about calling the police on my aunt and uncle. When a few days had passed without me being seen, it got suspicious to them. Aunt Petunia heard them talking about it during her fence spying," Harry said. "Plus, there was the fact that Dudley wanted his punching bag back."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How long ago did they release you?" she asked.
"Two weeks ago," he said.
Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.
"Do they really do that?" Hermione asked, only to shake her head. Of course they did she thought to herself.
"It's actually how I ended up here," he said. "I'm usually good at avoiding them, but they managed to see me, and then it tuned into a chase. I don't know, though, if they had stopped chasing my before I got the alley that brought me here, or if they had given up before, and I just hadn't noticed." He shrugged.
This was why Harry spent as mc time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, when he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school.
"Really? I'm supposed to go there too," Hermione said. "Well, at least, that's what I'm hoping. My parents have been talking about sending me to a school that's farther away, one that's supposed to be more well suited for me."
Dudley thought this was very funny.
"They stuff people's head down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"No thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never anything as horrible as you head down it – it might be sick."
Hermione laughed. "Nice one, Harry."
"I think you've got your mother's cheek," Cedric said. It sounded almost like the exact same thing Lily would say, if what he remembered of his mother's stories were true.
Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.
"Why?" Luna asked. "I doubt he would ever get it?"
"He might grow bored of trying to find the answer, and might do it anyways if I stayed," Harry explained.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she's broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.
"While I'm sad that it didn't taste all that good, at least you got to have some fun," Hermione said.
That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.
"On what planet is allowing students to poke each other good training?" Hermione asked. "Obviously, the school is a worthless one if it encourages bullying."
"You've got to admit, though, the outfit probably looks hilarious on him," Cedric said, hoping to stave off Hermione's ire; so far, it had been her breaking things, and he was afraid of how angry she could get – who knew what he magic would do if it suddenly decided that breaking glass wasn't enough. His attempts worked; she laughed.
As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.
"I don't think that's actually possible," Hermione said, though she looked like she was trying not to laugh some more. However, her laughter didn't have to do with out Dudley looked – she couldn't seem to get a really clear picture of it in her mind, even with the descriptions given – but she did find the nickname funny to hear.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.
"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.
"Your new school uniform," she said.
Harry looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"Somehow, I don't think it does," Hermione said. "But nice hit with the sarcasm. To bad it'll probably be lost on her."
"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."
"Doubt it," Hermione, Cedric, Harry, and Luna said simultaneously. They all looked at one another, letting off a little laugh over the act, and then Luna turned back to the book.
Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High – like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
"I'd still talk to you," Hermione said. She didn't add that it would be because she would be in the same boat as him, though, and she hoped that, if it had happened, he would like her. This thought then made her wonder what his impression of her would be if they both got into Hogwarts, especially if, knowing how she could be, she started blabbing about herself, as she was prone to do when nervous.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Did he actually command his son to do something?" Cedric asked, incredulous.
"Make Harry get it."
"Okay, that definitely sounds like something your cousin would say," Hermione said.
"Get the mail, Harry."
"And that's what we were all expecting," Luna said.
"Make Dudley get it."
"I don't think I should have said that," Harry said, sounding a bit bemused. This statement was proven with the next words Luna read.
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – a letter for Harry.
"Really?" Harry said, looking intruiged.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him.
"Wait, what?" Cedric said. He turned to look at Harry. "You mean you don't get our letters?"
"What' letters?" Harry asked, nonplussed.
"That's a no," Hermione said while Cedric sighed.
"Many people in the Wizarding world write letters to you almost daily, sometimes more. I know I've written a few, as has Luna. And the biggest jokesters at the school have a younger sister whom I heard writes one almost hourly."
Harry blushed, but was almost unable to believe that there were so many people out there that had tried to contact him.
"Maybe Dumbledore stops them. I mean, you heard what he said about he whole famous thing in the first chapter. Maybe he's worried about what it'll do to you if you received those letters. Plus, who knows how many of them were cursed. After all, not everyone is thankful for your defeat of Voldemort," Luna said.
"Well, I guess that mean that if you want him to read anything, you'll have to do it the Muggle way," Hermione said, easily slipping into the wizarding way of saying non-magical folk.
"Or, we could just send it to you, and you could send it to him," Cedric said cheekily. Everyone laughed as Hermione playfully punched his arm.
"But I do have to wonder what happens to the letters people have written," Cedric said.
"Maybe Dumbledore keeps them somewhere safe for him until he starts going there," Luna said.
Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet, here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey
I wonder how it knew where to send it Hermione thought to herself. She hoped that there was some mystical way it was addressed; she didn't think she would be able to handle it if the letter was addressed by a person.
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
"It sounds like a Hogwarts letter," Cedric said.
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.
"And now I know that it's a Hogwarts letter," Cedric added. "Congratulations, I'll be seeing you next year."
He thought for a moment.
"I wonder what house you'll be in," he mused, mostly to himself. Harry looked ready to ask what he was talking about, but Luna read on.
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckle at his own joke.
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.
"I don't' think you should open it at the table," Hermione warned.
Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.
"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"
"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"
"Definitely shouldn't have opened it at the table," Harry said, in reminiscent of what Hermione had said earlier.
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written in the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you!" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it.
"Harry," Hermione said. Harry looked at her, confused. "Once these books are finish, I'm going to write to you. And if you don't write back within a week – I actually don't live that far from you, I'm just in a different school district – I'll write again, and then I'll go visit you if you don't write back the second time. And they can't say you're not allowed to have a friend, because I will purposely make a scene so that others know, and then they would have to let us hang out, since the Dursleys seem to think image is very important. And your cousin can't scare me off, because I wouldn't stand for being bullied."
Harry's heart rose; he would have something to look forward too once they got back.
His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.
"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!"
"It's a bit of an overreaction, isn't it?" Cedric said. Hermione nodded.
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.
"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."
"Somehow, I don't see that happening," Cedric said.
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.
"Your mothers temper," Cedric said. Harry beamed; it seemed that he didn't have to ask much about his parents, as Cedric was freely telling him things.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.
"You mean he was actually mean to his son?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. Her surprise overrode her anger at the fact that Harry had been thrown – or will be thrown – into a wall.
Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.
"Vernon," Aunt 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 – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
"A bit paranoid, isn't he," Hermione said. "How did it know Harry's address, though?" she asked.
"I don't know. I only know that, when a witch or wizard is born, their names appears in a book hidden somewhere in Hogwarts, but I don't know who sends them or anything like that. I know that the deputy head writes the introduction letter, but I think they just write it once, and use a multiplying spell for the others. I suppose that should be one of the questions asked by someone next year." It was clear from his implication that he was speaking to Hermione, who seemed the most likely to get an answer.
"What about Muggleborns. Do they get their letters the same way?" Hermione asked.
"No, at least, not for your first year," Cedric said. "I asked one of my friends about it. Turns out, one of the teachers from the school drops it off, as they have to inform your family about the school and wizard stuff. They only do it once, even if you've got siblings that may also come to the school, but they also bring you to Diagon Alley to get your stuff the first time, show you what you need, and things like that. After that, it will come by owl every time." He turned to Harry. "It's most likely that it came like that to you as well, though why it didn't just go straight to you, I don't know."
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them that we don't want –"
"That won't really work. Not only because it has to be the invitee's decision not to go – they have ways of knowing if the invitee wrote the letter or not – but it's you. No one will accept it if Harry Potter doesn't go to the school. I don't doubt that the Ministry will get involved if need be," Cedric said.
Harry could see Uncle 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 won't do anything…"
"That won't work. The letters will just keep coming, and in greater number each time, until a reply from the invitee is sent," Cedric said. The others looked at him. "The jokesters I mentioned earlier, the ones with the little sister, they tested it out when they got their letters, as they wanted to know. They finally had to answer after what seemed like a hundred letters were sent after a week."
"So, Harry, looks like you'll have multiple letters to snag from if they don't let you read any of them," Hermione said, a bit cheerfully. Knowing that he would end up reading it as sometime – and the fact that she herself wouldn't have to worry about her parents if they didn't want her to go, since she did – she was feeling quite happy.
"But –"
"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"
"You can't stamp magic out of a person!" Cedric said, indignant.
"I have to wonder what they would have done if Dudley had also gotten a letter," Luna mused. The others shivered; they really didn't care much for Dudley, and were already glad they didn't have to deal with him.
"Hey, why didn't Harry have a teacher come for him? I mean, he's not in a Wizarding household, so shouldn't someone come with his letter?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I don't know if whoever sent it knows that no witch or wizard lives there. Perhaps they think he already knows what he is. Or perhaps it has to do with the fact that a Muggle there knows about magic. Your aunt obviously knows about magic, so they probably expect her to have already explained about everything," Cedric said. "I know that, just as we thought he already knew who he was and how we also thought that he was 'living large', almost everyone thinks that he's just like other wizarding children; that he's been waiting for his letter like we all usually do, once we show signs of magic, anyhow."
"'Once you show signs of magic'. What does that mean?" Hermione asked. Cedric sighed.
"After awhile, magical families, especially the ones that in breed to keep their blood 'pure', start to have children who can't do magic, if they'll lucky to have any at all. They're called Squibs and, well, they basically know like Muggles who know about the wizarding world, but they can see through the illusions and spells that wizards keep Muggles from knowing about them."
"What do you mean about the in breeding to keep their blood pure?" Hermione asked. However, Cedric, having a feeling that it would be mentioned in the book, didn't say anything, and Hermione, realizing the same thing that he did, turned back towards Luna again.
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
"He fit?" Hermione said, shocked.
"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"
"No one. It was addressed to you my mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."
"That bald faced liar," Harry said.
"Looks like it will be a good think if I write more than once, and then come visit if I don't get an answer," Hermione said, though she looked a bit grim. A part of her wanted to go, and a part of her didn't, as it meant that things were not going well over there, and she knew she wouldn't be able to help blowing up at his aunt and uncle when she did.
"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.
"Er – yes, Harry – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you're really getting a bit big for it…we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."
"Wait, your stuck in a small cupboard, and yet your cousin has a second bedroom," Hermione said, incredulous as more glass breaking was heard. Harry wondered if Hermione would ever begin to realize not to be surprised over anything the Dursleys did.
"Why?" said Harry.
"Why are you questioning it?" Cedric asked.
"He's doing something nice to me. I don't trust it," Harry said. Hermione frowned at that, not liking that he felt he had to question why someone was being nice, since it shouldn't be a surprise. People should always be nice to others.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."
The Dursleys had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley help the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room.
"What?" Hermione said. "When we get to the school, we will have to bring this up to the Headmaster."
The other two nodded, their faces grave, and Harry felt touched that they cared about his so much.
He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television wet, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it.
"I see what you mean by broken. And it seems that what isn't broken is useless," Hermione said.
Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.
"Probably because they haven't," Hermione said.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want him in there…I need that room…make him get out…"
"Stupid brat," Hermione said.
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
"That means that you'll know what to avoid next time," Cedric said.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wished he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –"
"Obviously their plans to hopefully confuse them didn't work," Hermione said. "Though I noticed that he only got one letter this time."
"It's probably because of the move change. They wanted to give him at least another change to answer just one letter before they became overbearing," Luna said.
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, Harry's letter clutched in his hand.
"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley – go – just go."
Harry walked round and round his new room. 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 didn't fail. He had a plan.
"Somehow, I don't think your going to be the only one whose realized this," Hermione said.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry quickly turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights
He was going to wait for he postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the door –
"AAAAARRRGH!"
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the format – something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face.
Laughter ensued at that.
"Good job," Hermione said.
Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.
"I want –" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.
"Did these jokesters discover how bad they would let it get until they finally sent someone there, if they do that at all?" Hermione asked. Cedric shook his head.
"Well, I don't know if they would have sent someone, as their parents most like made them stop before it could get that bad," he admitted.
Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed the mail slot.
"See," he explained to Aunt 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 Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
"I think we can all agree that no one's mind work the way your aunt and uncle's do, something that everyone is probably glad for," Cedric said.
"I know I am," Hermione said, while Luna nodded.
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 even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.
Uncle Vernon stayed home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back door so no one could get out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.
"He's becoming paranoid," Hermione said.
"You know, I have to wonder why their still sending the letters instead of someone. I mean, I know that it's not how they do things, but, at the same time, it's you, so…"Cedric trailed off. He didn't need to complete his thought; the others got it well enough.
"Maybe they're doing what they're doing for fun," Luna suggested. The others looked at her.
"Well, if it's Dumbledore, then he would definitely get a good laugh at their paranoia," she said. Cedric had to admit, it was good reasoning. And he knew that Dumbledore would find it funny.
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 Aunt Petunia through the living room window.
"Okay, it looks like Luna is definitely right. It is being done for fun," Cedric said.
While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement.
"I do," Hermione, Cedric, and Luna all said.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
"No post on Sundays, he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "No damn letters today –"
"That won't matter," Cedric said. "Owl post is every day."
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty of forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one –
"Why didn't you just grab one from the floor," Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.
"I don't know what I'm thinking about at that time. It hasn't happened yet," he said.
"Out! OUT!"
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle 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 Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minute ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no ne dared argue. 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; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
"I have to admit, I feel a bit sorry for Dudley. It's not his fault that he's become so spoiled that he doesn't know when he shouldn't act spoiled," Harry said. Cedric, Hermione, and Luna all looked at Harry amazed. Despite how badly his cousin treated him, he still felt badly for his cousin. Harry was definitely showing signs that he was probably a pure-hearted person.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now an then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.
"Shake 'em off…shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.
"He's going insane," Hermione said.
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
No one had anything to respond to this but they were all thinking the same thing, which was the fact that Dudley was being an idiot.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed away, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…
"I wonder what your wondering," Hermione mused. Harry let out a small laugh.
"I'm probably wondering if whoever it is that is sending me the letters will end up sending them to the hotel or if they'll go back to the house, or if they just won't send anything," he said.
They are stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast 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 made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.
"Probably because of his bad manners," Hermione said.
"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.
"You know, you've got to hate that you're underage at the moment. Otherwise, he wouldn't be allowed to mess with your mail," said Hermione.
"Wouldn't it be better to just go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't' seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, 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 think happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"He's become a bit mad, hasn't he?" Hermione asked rhetorically, sounding slightly cheerful at the thought.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it [i]was[i] Monday – and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television – then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly any fun – last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.
"You'll definitely get a present from me," Hermione said. "When's your birthday?"
"July 31st," Harry said.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.
"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"
It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing to what looked lie a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.
"Ah, poor Dudley," they all said sarcastically.
"Storm forecast tonight!" said Uncle 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 wicked smile, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.
The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.
Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tied to start a fire but the empty chips bags just smoked and shriveled up.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.
"I doubt a storm will stop the letters from getting there, if they haven't resorted to sending someone to you," Cedric said. "Plus, there is a deadline, and, like I said, its you, so they'll be more likely to send someone to you than think you don't want to go, especially since Dumbledore and McGonagall know more about the people your living with rather than the others."
"In fact, the only reason why someone hasn't come to you yet is because of the fact that they're having fun messing with your aunt and uncle." Luna said.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he though nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.
"Harry," Hermione said. He looked at her. "Make sure you open your letter in the hallway, or at least throw it into your cupboard and read it later this time."
He grinned understandingly at her, knowing that she honestly didn't like what she was hearing. While she thought it was good that he was finally in a bedroom of his own, it wasn't enough. He was still miserable, after all. And, if what Cedric was saying, and someone would eventually come – hell, when he wrote an acceptance, he could ask them to send someone – then he would still end up with a bedroom, least the Dursleys want to piss off a wizard.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger.
Hermione looked stricken at this news. At least at the house, he could sneak out and get something to eat. Here, he couldn't do that.
Luna went to read once more, when the grumbling of stomachs were heard. Cedric and Harry blushed – they were getting hungry – but they motioned for Luna to continue to read. However, Hermione, who was getting hungry herself, said, "We should stop to eat."
Luna, who looked to see how much longer the chapter was, however, shook her head.
"How about we eat after this chapter? There's not much left in it," she suggested. The others thought about it, and Hermione conceded to the suggestion. After all, she had seen how many pages Luna had turned – it wasn't even one page left. That was the only reason why she was conceding to defeat.
Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
Somehow, Hermione doubted they would remember – from the looks of it, they barely did before. The whole mess with the letters being written probably drove it from their minds all together.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard in the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?
Cedric and Hermione adopted the same pensive faces at that paragraph. They had to wonder if it was what Harry thought it to be, or if there was some other reason for it.
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him
"Do it, do it, do it," Hermione and Cedric chanted.
– three…two…one…
BOOM.
The other three jumped at that before looking at each other and laughing, with mock glares at Luna, who had raised her voice on purpose, scaring them. They had to admit, while they didn't care for the scare, the tense atmosphere that had begun to form was beginning to leave.
The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
Hermione took the book from Luna then, placing the letter they had been given and read before they began the books after the next page, using it as a bookmark so they could get to the next chapter much quicker. Then, she headed to the kitchen, finding it filled with food, and quickly made sandwiches the way everyone wanted them to have them. She got them all a soda each, though Cedric and Luna had never really had them before. They found themselves pleasantly surprised that they liked the soda.
"Well, should we begin reading again?" Harry asked once they had finished eating. "What time is it, anyways?"
Hermione looked around, suddenly seeing a clock that she was positive that hadn't been there before.
"It's one fourty," she said. "How about we read five more chapters, eat dinner, read another four after that, and then go to bed, and save whatever is left of this book, as well as the others for a later day."
The others thought about it.
"It doesn't seem like that bad of an idea. And, since we don't have a time limit, it does seem reasonable. However, perhaps we should up how many chapters we read. While I doubt that whoever it was that brought us here hasn't made excuses for why we'll be missing, I'd rather not be gone too long," Cedric said. "So, perhaps we should do this: if it's still early for dinner after reading five chapters, we should keep adding one chapter at a time until it is time for dinner, and then do the same until bedtime."
Hermione had to admit, it did make much more sense than her plan.
"Okay," she said, nodding as the others did the same. With that plan in place, they returned to the other room, and Harry picked up the book, opening it to the chapter that he would read.