Chapter 03-10: The Letters From No One

He 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 con-
Trol airplane, and, first time out 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 Dud-
Ley'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 favorite 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 holi-
Days, where 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 go-
Ing there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall
High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.
"They stuff people's heads 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 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 choco-
Late 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 train-
Ing for later life.
As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Ver-
Non 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 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."
"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."
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 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 pa-
Per.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"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 enve-
Lope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a gi-
Ant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him.
Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't be-
Long 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
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 pur-
Ple 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 writ-
Ten 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 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!"
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry
And Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ig-
Nored. 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."
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the let-
Ter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted."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. 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 Un-
Cle Vernon wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell
Them we don't want —"
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 an-
Swer. . . . 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 cup-
Board.
"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 by mistake," said Uncle Ver-
Non shortly. "I have burned it."
"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 bed-
Room."
"Why?" said Harry.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff up-
Stairs, 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
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 set, 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.
Other shelves were full ofbooks.
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 cup-
Board with that letter 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 Smelting
Stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tor-
Toise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room
Back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly
Wishing 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 Small-
Est Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —' "
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran
Down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wres-
Tle 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, with 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.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six 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.
He was going to wait for the 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 front door —
"AAAAARRRGH!"
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and
Squashy on the doormat — something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that
The big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. 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 try-
Ing 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 ad-
Dressed in green ink.
"I want —" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters
Into pieces before his eyes.
Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and
Nailed up 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 peoples 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.
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 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 jumped at small
Noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters
To Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden in-
Side each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman
Had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. 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 amazementOn 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 —"
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he
Spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next mo-
Ment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like
Bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to
Catch one —
"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 minutes ready to leave. We're going away.
Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no
One 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.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare
Ask where they were going. Every now and 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.
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.
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 awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights
Of passing cars and wondering. . . .
They ate 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.
"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and fol-
Lowing her from the dining room.
"Wouldn't it be better just to 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 thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway
Across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking
Garage.
"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. Dud-
Ley 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 was Mon-
Day — 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 ex-
Actly 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.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carry-
Ing 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 at
What looked like a large rock way out at sea.
Perched on top of therock was the most
Miserable little shack you could imagine. One
Thing was certain, there was no television in there.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clap-
Ping 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 grin, 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, slip-
Ping 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 tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just
Smoked and shriveled up.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheer-
Fully.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought 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
Fiercewind 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.
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. Dudley's snores
Were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near mid-
Night. 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, won-
Dering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the
Letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He
Hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be
Warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet
Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be
Able to steal one somehow.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard 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 he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds . . .
Twenty . . . ten . . . nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to
Annoy him — three . . . two . . . one . . .
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at
The door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.