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 cine-camera, crashed his remote control aeroplane and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.
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 all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Harry Hunting.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. Most of his time was spent at the Dojo training as had most of his summers ever since he was five. 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 a place at Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dudley thought this was very funny.
'They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall,' he told Harry 'Want to come upstairs and practise?'
'No thanks,' said Harry 'The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick.' Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.
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'd 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.
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.
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.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen next morning when Harry went in to cook 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 grey 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'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished.' snapped Aunt Petunia.
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.
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 Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.
They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.
'Get the post, Dudley,' said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
'Make Harry get it.'
'Get the post, Harry. Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley'
Harry easily dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard froin Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and - a letter for Harry.
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. Who would? He had no friends and no other relatives. 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
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'.
'Hurry up, boy!' shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. 'What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?' He chuckled 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.
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!'
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on 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. 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 greyish 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.
Now as Harry had only ever known this kind of treatment it normally wouldn't have angered him. It would have just been another part of his life with the Dursleys. And if Harry was any other normal child he would probably need serious therapy after years of this treatment and probably would have anyway if it hadn't been for Mr. Osakawa. He had always treated Harry like he would his own son and Harry had begun to develop a new take on life over the past years of training at his Dojo. And now for the first time in his life he chose NOT to do what he was told.
'Give it to me NOW!' Harry screamed, and at the same time hit Uncle Vernon in the chest causing him to double over putting the letter within reach of Harry.
At once Harry snatched it and ran from the room to his cupboard reading the note.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all
necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no
later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry was crushed. It was probably just some joke meant to embarrass him. In fact he couldn't even understand why he had gotten so worked up about it in the first place. What Uncle Vernon had said was true. Who WOULD be writing to him?
Uncle Vernon had regained his breath now and was pounding down the hallway to Harry's cupboard. Harry didn't know what to do. He had actually HIT one of the Dursleys who had, as they told it, taken him in out of the 'goodness' of their hearts and raised him out of their own money. Somehow though, Harry didn't feel any remorse at having hit Vernon but knew that if he didn't seem sorry at least he would probably be stuck in his cupboard for the rest of the summer.
Harry popped out of his cupboard before Uncle Vernon would have ripped the door off it's hinges, and the act he put on of being sorry for it all would have won him and Oscar.
Uncle Vernon seemed slightly suspicious though when he saw Harry's downcast face. He had expected him to be jumping for joy to get out of the place and get to Hogwarts but was wary of Harry having some sort of magical protection. However, not wanting to let Harry see that he was frightened (of course he told himself he wasn't anyway) he angrily said 'Don't think that we're letting you go there!'
'*sigh* I know Uncle Vernon. It doesn't exist and there's no such thing as magic.'' Harry said dejectedly, repeating what was a sort of mantra for his Aunt and Uncle.
Uncle Vernon was taken aback for a moment before replying 'Too right! And don't you forget it!'
Feeling flustered and rather confused by Harry's reaction he left it at that, leaving Harry speechless and amazed that he wasn't to be punished at all it seemed for punching Vernon.
'Vernon,' Aunt Petunia was saying later 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.
'But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -'
'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...'
'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?'
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before, he visited Harry in his cupboard. Or rather he visited Harry AT his cupboard as he was much too big to fit inside.
'Where's the letter?' said Harry the moment Uncle Vernon had opened the door. 'Who's writing to me?'
'No one. It was just some joker's idea of a prank.' said Uncle Vernon shortly 'I have burned it.'
'It had my cupboard on it. How'd they know where I live?' asked Harry.
'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.'
'Why?' said Harry
'Don't ask questions!' snapped his uncle. 'Take this stuff upstairs, now!'
The Dursleys' house 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 kept all 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. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old cine-camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over next door's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through When his favourite programme had been cancelled; 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. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.
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.'
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 a REAL letter addressed to him than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smeltings 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. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the post 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 Smeltings stick all the way down the hall.
This time there was no letter to Harry.
The alarm clock that Harry had repaired along with several other of Dudley's toys rang at eight o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. The Dursleys usually didn't mind when he turned on lights while he was making breakfast but with the odd way they had been acting yesterday he wasn't about to take any chances.
The whole day went like this with Harry avoiding contact with the Dursleys as much as possible. In fact after serving breakfast Harry left for the Dojo and he spent the rest of the day there training with Mr. Osakawa. He was among the top students there and the people there had only good to say of him. Especially Mr. Osakawa who had never regretted offering free lessons to Harry. (Harry had never told the Dursleys about the lessons and they had never bothered to ask where he spent all his time away from the house.)
That night as Harry was lying in bed listening to the rain on the windows of his new room. He realized that it was Monday and that in just a few minutes it would be Tuesday and he would turn eleven! To most kids this would be something to celebrate but to Harry it was just another day with no more importance than the fact that he would be one more year closer to the day he could leave the Dursleys.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were downstairs still watching TV and complaining about the weather forecast. The thunderstorm that they were having tonight was to continue on until Wednesday afternoon.
'Oh my poor geraniums. This weather will drown them!' Aunt Petunia cried shrilly.
Harry didn't mind though. In fact he quite enjoyed thunder and lightning. All that power and force somehow excited him and he wished, oddly, that he could be outside to join it.
Just one minute to go now and he would be eleven. He counted down the seconds on his alarm clock. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all and a little surprised that he himself had remembered.
Forty-five seconds to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the old tree outside his window wasn't about to topple onto the house in the strong winds.
Forty seconds to go.
Thirty seconds to go. What was that funny crunching noise? It sounded like something walking along the gravel road outside the house.
Ten seconds to go and he'd be eleven. Ten nine - maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -three - two - one -BOOM.
The whole door shook and Harry sat bolt upright in bed. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake in the room next to Harry's.
'Where's the cannon?' he said stupidly.
Harry leaped out of bed and rushed down the stairs to the front door with Dudley close behind.
There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands.
'Who's there?' he shouted. 'I warn you - I'm armed!'
There was a pause. Then - SMASH!
The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.
A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.
The giant squeezed his way into the house, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.
'Couldn't make us a cup 'o tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey.'
He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.
'Budge up, yeh great lump,' said the stranger.
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.
'An' here's Harry!' said the giant.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.
'Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby,' said the giant. 'Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes.'