Harry Potter and the Pretty Sorcerer's Balls

Chapter Three - The Letters from No One

The escape of the boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. At first this suited Harry just fine as he was able to lounge on his bed reading his forbidden magazines (fashion, motorbikes, and teen), or designing and patterning new fashions from his hand-me-downs, but soon the hanging light in the cupboard went out and Vernon refused to replace it. By the time he was allowed out of the 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 dear old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over. Everyone knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter playing with girls in his flashy clothes and broken glasses and while none but Dudley's gang attempted to beat up on him, they were very content to ignore him completely. He had no one there and that suited him just fine. He would rather be himself and get beaten up for it then pretend to be someone different just to be accepted.

Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house and the dark cupboard, thinking about the end of the holidays 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 a place in 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 practice? "
"You're inviting me upstairs to go into the bathroom with you?" Harry questioned coyly, "My, my, I wouldn't have pegged you for that sort of scene. I suppose I should be flattered but I must say, you're rather not my type." Then he pranced out the front door before Dudley could work out what he'd said.

One day in July, the Yellow Tuna took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs Figg's. Still on crutches, she spent the day introducing Harry to her favourite soap operas while he tried out a new recipe for chocolate mousse.

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. The Yellow Tuna burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Dudley turned to Harry to receive his complement.

Harry snapped his finger in the air, "Work it girl!" Uncle Vernon glared at Harry as Dudley twirled his Smeltings stick and spun around the imaginary catwalk with all the style his overflowing body could muster.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen next morning when Harry went in to begin breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look at what was corrupting the integrity of his kitchen. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"Whatever are you doing?" he asked the Yellow Tuna. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you," she said.

Harry swallowed back a wave of disgust at both the colour and the former owner, he looked in the bowl again then hiding a smirk, squealed and clapped his hands together, jumping up slightly.
"Oh thank you Aunt Petunia! Prison grey is all the rage this season!"

"Don't be stupid," snapped the Yellow Tuna. "This is your school uniform, it'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Harry seriously doubted this, but knew he would be pushing his luck too far by arguing. He began cooking breakfast and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High. He rarely was able to use the Yellow Tuna's sewing machine as she limited his usage to projects related to her mending or the draperies. And with school being out of session he wouldn't have a chance to fully alter his uniform until he had already begun at Stonewall.

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.

"Late today. Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

"Or I'll find myself on the receiving end of Dudley's Smeltings paddle I suppose?" Harry pirouetted away from the paddle in question and went to get the post, furious shouts following him to the door.

"It's not a paddle!" Uncle Vernon fumed.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from 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 fluttered like a butterfly caught in the wind. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. 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, the address line specifying his cupboard under the stairs! There could be no mistake.

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 bit back a reply about waiting for the postman to ring twice and slipped his envelope, too large for a pocket, into his trousers. He would open the letter later that day, in the privacy of his cupboard where the experience wouldn't be ruined by the Dursleys snide remarks. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard then returned to the stove to finish cooking the breakfast.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed the Yellow Tuna. "Ate a funny whelk ..."

Harry finished putting the breakfast on the table, and had just bent over to pick up a fallen napkin when he felt a puffy hand touch the back of his pants.

"Fresh!" Harry yelped, slapping Dudley's hand away.

Throughout breakfast, Harry noticed Dudley's eyes roaming continuously to his trouser bottoms, he knew Dudley had seen the letter. Harry slipped away from the kitchen before beginning the breakfast dishes, hoping to have secreted the letter away in his cupboard before Dudley had another crack at it. But it was not to be. He was just reaching for the latch on the cupboard door when he found himself face first on the floor trapped beneath what must certainly be a displaced whale.

"What have you got in there?" Dudley grinned wickedly, reaching into Harry's pants for the letter.

"Get off me, you brute!" Harry wailed.

"Ahhhhh!" the Yellow Tuna's shrieks silenced Harry's protests and turned both Dudley's and Harry's heads her way. Horrified at the sight of her Dinky Duddykins not just straddling that miscreant child but with a hand tucked into his pants, the Yellow Tuna slumped to the floor in a faint.

Dudley laboured to his feet, Harry scrambled to his. They faced the purple steaming face of Uncle Vernon for one full second before Dudley sprinted, faster than fatly possible, up the stairs to his bedroom, and Harry dashed into his cupboard. His letter was gone.

Once Uncle Vernon had calmed, the situation was quickly cleared up. Dudley explained that he had seen an envelope hidden in Harry's pants and thought he had snitched perfume samples from one of his mum's magazines again. Harry was brought out of the cupboard with a gruff, "Get dinner ready, boy."

Breakfast the next morning started as it usually did, with one exception.

"Has the post arrived? Why don't I get it?" said Uncle Vernon with a forced smile, putting down his paper. He did not want a repeat of yesterday's events. He returned to the table and began sorting through the mail. Harry noticed a heavy looking envelope - the same as the one he had received, and lost, the previous day.

"For moi?" Harry asked, reaching for the envelope, knowing that any hope of reading it privately had already been lost.

"As though anyone would write to you!" sneered Uncle Vernon, waving the letter tauntingly. He gasped. "It is for you!" He opened the envelope quickly.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "That's mine!"

Uncle Vernon shook the letter open with one hand, while fending off Harry's grabs for it with the other. He uttered the first few words under his breath and with that one glance, 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 slept in pancake makeup.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

The Yellow Tuna took the letter curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint for the second time in as many days. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

Before Harry could say a word Uncle Vernon had both him and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks. He hauled Harry into his cupboard and wrestled Dudley upstairs to his bedroom. Harry slowed down his breathing so he could hear every possible scrap of the ensuing conversation.

"Vernon," the Yellow Tuna 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 - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"Should we move him? Dudley's spare room maybe?"

"What for? They already know he's in the cupboard."

"What should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want - "

"Write? And sent it where? And how?" Uncle Vernon interrupted, "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?" Harry could hear Uncle Vernon pacing, now in the kitchen. "It'll be fine Petunia," he continued. "The letter says 'We await your owl,'" Uncle Vernon choked slightly, "'by no later than 31 July.' That's one week from now. Once that passes and they don't hear from us it'll all be over."

The next morning Harry awoke extra early. He had received letters two days in a row, if he had any luck at all he might get a third chance at it. He just needed to reach the post before anyone was the wiser. He dressed silently and began easing open the cupboard door - only to find that it had been latched and padlocked. The cupboard was only locked when he was being punished. Uncle Vernon had clearly locked him in to make sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He waited a few minutes wondering what was going on, the Dursleys couldn't possibly be this upset over the prospect of Harry corresponding with someone. After another few minutes he heard the tell tale sound of the post being delivered. A minute later the padlock on the cupboard door was removed.

Harry heard Uncle Vernon's and the Yellow Tuna's footsteps go past the cupboard and up the stairs. He listened closely as another frantic conversation began.

"They must have known he hadn't received his letter!" the Yellow Tuna exclaimed.

"They're not just following us - they're spying. Must have bugged the house." Uncle Vernon was muttering savagely. There was a moment of silence.

"What do we do, Vernon?"

"We'll keep waiting. It's just a few days until the deadline. It'll just be a few more letters."

"But ... what if yesterday wasn't the first? What if that's what he was hiding? He may have a letter already! Or - oh God! What if Dudley's taken it?"

"Dudley's a good boy, he would have given it to us ... still, we'll search his room ... If Harry has it ... we'll just have to keep him in the house to ensure he can't contact them. He'll keep in his cupboard until the 31st and everything will be fine ... yes ... that's right ... it will all be fine." Uncle Vernon continued to mutter nonsensically until Harry could no longer make out words.

Harry spent the day monitored closely by the Yellow Tuna. He wasn't allowed to be alone unless he was in the bathroom or his cupboard. He stayed in the cupboard most of the day, analysing the eavesdropped conversations.

Three days in a row they had tried to contact him. They knew somehow that he hadn't received his letters. Uncle Vernon had read the first few words of the letter under his breath that first day, what had he said? Harry hadn't heard the words but had seen him mouth 'school' for sure. What else had he seen? Something like 'ho' - could that mean? Could it possibly be? The people sending him letters were from a school for people who were ho ... that way? Perhaps the headmistress or a teacher from his former school had contacted someone. The seal on the letter was an 'H' - so that must be it! And Uncle Vernon did mentioned something about vowing to 'stamp out that dangerous nonsense' once they took him in. In spite of the tingle of excitement running through him, Harry had to sniff in contention at Uncle Vernon's choice of words. A bit unconventional sure, but dangerous? Harry was determined to get his hands on those letters.

The days past slowly, each beginning with Harry locked in his cupboard until after the post had arrived. The School for Boys Who Were That Way continued to try to contact him, apparently now using very uncustomary methods of post delivery: sending multiple letters and sliding them not just through the slot but under the front and back doors and through the bathroom window one day, somehow rolling them up and hiding them inside each of the two dozen eggs delivered to the house the next. Harry was forced to wait in his cupboard until the house had been thoroughly searched and all letters disposed of. Harry knew his only chance at replying in time lay with Dudley. He hoped against hope that he still had that first letter.

"Dudley," Harry whispered while doing that nights dinner dishes.

Dudley looked up from the refrigerator door. "What do you want?" he sneered.

"Hush now," Harry cooed, "keep your voice down."

His interest piqued, Dudley chubbed his way to the sink. "What?" he whispered back.

"Do you still have that letter?" Harry asked sweetly.

"... They took it." Harry's face fell. "I looked in my room the next day but it was gone."

"Did they say anything about it?"

"They just asked if I had read it."

"And had you?"

"No." Dudley looked at the floor in apparent, and not oft seen, shame. "It was cursive and that's too hard." Harry couldn't bring himself to damn the fat boy for his stupidity.

"That's all right, Dudley." Harry said gently.

"I think it's brought by owls, you know." Dudley offered.

"What?!" Uncle Vernon had said something about owls 'we await your owl no later than 31 July' that was it.

"Yeah," Dudley continued, feeling very pleased with himself for compensating for his lack of ability with information. "We've had owls outside the house for days, the news crew was here yesterday and did a story on it."

Later in his cupboard, Harry wrote a hopeful and hopefully impressive letter, and slipped it through the crack between the cupboard door and the floor. With a promise to cook Dudley's favourite meals and desserts for the rest of the summer, Dudley had agreed to smuggle the note out to one of the owls outside the house. At worst, the idea of post delivery owls was as cracked as it sounded and Dudley would have his fingers nipped by whatever owl he approached. He was only slightly worried that Dudley would snitch on him and take the letter to Uncle Vernon - which would result in being locked in the cupboard, but as he was already locked in the cupboard anyway, it didn't seem a great risk.

No letters arrived the next morning. Harry was let out of his cupboard with suspicion however, as Uncle Vernon and the Yellow Tuna were unsure if the onslaught of letters had truly subsided or if the senders were up to something. Uncle Vernon opted to stay home from work that day just in case. By dinner, both Uncle Vernon and the Yellow Tuna seemed very pleased with themselves.

"What did I tell you Pet?" Uncle Vernon boasted, "Just wait it out I said."

The Yellow Tuna beamed at him.

Dudley rustled through the snack shelf in the pantry loudly, in an obvious attempt to be elusive. His features contorted into an expression that had never graced his face before, "I was thinking," he began, as surprised as Harry to hear himself utter those words. "I was thinking, who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?"

Harry shrugged, he didn't want to tell Dudley about The School For Boys Who Were That Way, if he didn't have to.

"What kind of freaks use owls to send their post? The kind who'd want to talk to you I guess." Dudley laughed at his wit.

Harry had waited long enough. "So?" he inquired.

"Oh, right. I held the note out to one of the owls and it bit it and flew away. Then all the other owls flew away too. None came back today either."

It was done. Now all he could do was wait.

Harry had a sleepless night. He glanced at the battered alarm clock he had found in Dudley's garbage 2 years ago, now housed at his bedside (taped to the wall actually). In just 10 minutes it would be the 31st of July. Would his note reach them in time, would they respond? With a start he realised that in 10 minutes it would be his 11th birthday! With all the hoopla about the letters he had completely forgot it was coming up. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all. He knew though that if they did remember, they would simply ignore it just as they had each year before.

Five minutes to go. He would cook something special that day though, maybe even make himself a cake.

Three minutes to go. He'd wear something extra special as well, he'd start planning his outfit straight away.

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds ... twenty ... ten - nine - maybe he'd duplicate the birthday breakfast he'd made for Dudley's birthday, just to annoy them - three - two - one -

"Happy birthday Harry," he greeted himself aloud. Eleven year old Harry Potter turned the light back off in his cupboard and finally fell asleep.