In Silence

Peace. 

It’s perfectly quiet, he thinks. It’s the darkness around him in the moment and the spiders sitting motionless in the webbing building in the corner of the room. It is the lack of footsteps in the hall and his own, nearly imperceptible breaths.

But just like all those things, it is fleeting. 

The dark recedes back as the sun comes up, and the spiders scurry away to catch breakfast. Then comes the distinct clanking of heels and with a sudden inhale, the spell is broken, his eyes widen open and he is far more aware.

Harry woke early as always, his aunt’s sharp knocking not allowing for another moment of rest. He’d headed down to cook breakfast under her supervision and then sat sullenly at the kitchen table with the rest of the Dursley family, watching as his uncle merrily made a fool of himself in his blissfully relieved state. 

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today --"

The small frown on Harry’s face deepened and he’d half a mind to point out his uncle’s idiocy (if only to  make himself feel a little better about being denied his mail) when the man got clocked in the back of the head by a letter that had just shot down the chimney. 

The boy sat shocked for a long second before his gaze instinctively darted to the Dursleys’ features. Aunt Petunia was leaning back against the counter, looking down her nose at the letter in terror while a hand clutched her pearl necklace. Dudley’s expression showed he was more shocked than afraid, but his nubby hand had dropped the fork which Harry had been certain was just an extension of the boy himself. Meanwhile, his uncle’s wide frame was shaking in helpless, unadulterated fury. 

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth in what was probably an attempt to give voice to said feelings, but then the whole room was thrown into chaos. Dozens of letters came surging from the fireplace, pelting the family as they flew unimpeded through the space. This time, Harry was only in shock for less than a second before he was on his feet trying to swipe one from the air. 

He thought of picking one up from the floor at first, but quickly noticed that there seemed to be some invisible breeze sweeping the room as the letters were utterly relentless in their movements. They swooped under the table, whizzed over Dudley’s head, and swooshed just out of reach as if dead set on not being caught. 

The fact might’ve been a good thing considering all the ones his aunt and uncle had destroyed so far, but it was a nuisance when Harry, the person they were all addressed to, also couldn’t grab them. Then again he only got to try nabbing one for a solid few seconds before Uncle Vernon grabbed him and forced them all out of the room, directing them into the hall. 

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, pulling great tufts of hair from his mustache. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!” 

No one was keen on defying him at the moment as he fumed and the tens of letters were still audibly thrashing around in the other room. Harry imagined the crashing sounds meant the envelopes had acquainted themselves with his aunt’s China cabinet. 

He also thought the look on his uncle’s round, purpling face made him look utterly mad, and it was clear from that alone that there would be no reasoning the man out of this clearly rash decision. Not that the people who had a chance of getting through to him –his family– were in any rush to disagree with him at the moment; too frightened in their own right to even utter a word.

Seeing as there would be no one to advocate that they should perhaps put more than two brain cells into their next course of action, Harry silently resigned himself to what was bound to be a nonsensical, and likely pointless journey. 

Honestly, the letters had appeared inside their ruddy eggs just the day prior and his uncle believed they could, what, outrun them? Certainly even he wasn’t foolish enough to think whoever was mailing these strange letters wouldn’t somehow track them down simply because they’d moved away all of a sudden. 

Maybe it was the stress of it all (or the blood rushing in and from his head) that didn’t allow his uncle to even think to act more wisely, because not even a week had passed since Harry had been all but pushed up to the smallest bedroom upstairs, (after his first-ever correspondence had arrived and was just as unexpectedly reduced to ashes) but he still clearly remembered how his next one had come: bright and early, along with the rest of the morning mail, the change in his quarters being duly noted in the recipient address. 

This person knew who he was, where he lived and even where he slept! None but the Dursleys had known Harry’s room was actually the cupboard under the stairs before that Tuesday. Sure the family hated him, but they weren’t about to call attention to their subpar treatment. 

For people who were blind to so many things, they were more than conscious about their public image, and it suited them more for people to think they were benevolent folk who took in a poor orphan out of the goodness of their hearts. 

Oh, they’d never expressed wanting more kids? Well, Petunia couldn’t very well turn away the sweet babe now, could she? (“Could she?” she’d asked her husband as the two looked miserably between the baby outside their door and the dreadful letter in Vernon’s hands.) Did Harry appear thinner than most children? Petunia’s side of the family was just like that, she herself was thin too, her height just proportioned her better and the boy would grow out of it. There were bruises on him? Diddykins and his friends liked to roughhouse, and boys will be boys after all. Did his chores seem hard? Well, he wasn’t forced to do them, the boy was just so grateful to them that he did so unprompted. Harry didn’t seem to have friends? He was shy. They didn’t bring him places? He’d misbehaved. 

When they had to dismiss someone’s concern or interest in Harry, the Dursleys never ran empty of excuses, but let something pull the rug from under their feet and they’d flounder as though they’d fallen through a trap door. Now it was truly the blind leading the blind here as Uncle Vernon was tossed in the midst of a new and odd situation for all of them, and was handed the task of finding them a way back to the normal life they’d lived. 

The letters had started coming almost a week ago, and they had yet to stop since. The number of them only increased as the days passed and so did the funny ways in which they arrived. The Dursley couple had completely run themselves ragged with the daily effort of preventing both him and Dudley from taking one for themselves, and they were successful at the very steep cost of their sleep and dignity. 

He had to give it to their conviction though, stubbornly guarding the stairs each night and checking over their ingredients every meal was absolutely bonkers.  

Speaking of, Harry thought they were already off to a bad start and frankly he’d prefer the person in charge looked a little more sane than Uncle Vernon did at the moment. But then again, no one had asked for his opinion, so Harry could only complain in his head.

Now Aunt Petunia had begun gently pushing Dudley along the hallway and the confounded boy stumbled forward to the stairs without protest. Harry dragged his feet as he followed after the pair, but none of them got a foot on the steps as a heavy pound came from the front door. 

Everyone froze in their place, only their eyes darting towards the direction of the sound. Harry could almost convince himself he’d just imagined the noise, but then there was another bang. A third one sent the board his uncle had nailed over the mail slot flying away and he could visibly see the man’s expression change from anger to disbelief. 

Letters came almost violently bounding in through the hole and the door creaked on its hinges. Harry held his breath, and not a second later the door came crashing down! 

Had he been any less entranced, he might’ve tried grabbing one of the many letters now covering the floor, but his gaze was fixed on the figure that came in through the midst of all those envelopes. 

“Goodness, talk about coming unhinged….” muttered a man as he stepped through the raging stream of letters.

The man was tall and lean, his hair falling in long, majestic black curls which were pulled half up and away from his face. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so distinctly handsome before. 

The door creaked under the weight of the stranger's boots and his grey eyes seemed to crackle with mischief at the sight of the shocked family. “Oh, you’ve come to greet me at the door, have you? How thoughtful, but I think you might just have something more urgent on hand.” 

The letters had slowed now and the man plucked one from the air with awful precision, gracefully striding forward with confidence as he came to hand it to Harry. “Believe this is for you, lad?” 

From this close, Harry could see the man’s manicured hands and quality clothes, he could even smell the luxury of his cologne which spoke of class beyond what the small suburban town of Little Whinging could possibly harbor. And still the most perplexing thing of it all was the easy smile the stranger wore. There was a familiarity there that Harry couldn’t understand. 

He made a mental note to further examine that later before temporarily setting the mystery aside to focus on the one in front of him. The offered letter was like every other that had been sent so far, and honestly the correspondence had eluded him so long that Harry could overlook the strangeness of the current situation. Questions like, ‘Who is this fellow?’ and, ‘How did he know the letters were for me?’, were promptly dismissed as he tentatively reached a hand to take the envelope.

“No!” Bellowed Uncle Vernon, nearly knocking Harry to the ground as he shoved him away. “Out with you! I will not have any more of your kind in my house!” 

Spittle flew from the stout man’s mouth as he yelled while Harry righted himself. After fixing his crooked glasses, he could clearly see that the stranger didn’t appreciate Uncle Vernon getting all up in his face, though he doubted anyone did. The man’s laid back smile gave way to a cold, apathetic, if not outright derisive expression. 

“Mr. Dursley,” he started, “as I recall you were informed this day would come. And whilst the situation speaks to the contrary, you should know withholding someone’s mail is illegal. So I’d much appreciate it if you would step aside now.” 

His uncle was red in the face as he spoke. “The deal was that we’d take him in, and you wouldn’t bother us.” 

“Until he was old enough to start school. Now, you better get comfortable with ‘my kind’, and you best do it quick before I decide to fix that attitude for you, mister.”

Harry was amazed. He’d never seen his uncle be talked down to like that. Neither literally or figuratively, much less in both senses. 

He expected someone to bite back at the comment, but Uncle Vernon only vibrated in place with anger while Aunt Petunia and Dudley stood behind Harry by the foot of the stairs.

The man didn’t seem to mind the silence however, simply grabbing one of Harry’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “Well then, we best be off now if we’re to stay on schedule. Say goodbye, Prongslet.” 

Harry blinked at that, the words pulling him from his awed state. “Sorry?” He muttered incredulously, and apparently also too quietly for the man to hear. 

“Right, it’s been real. See you when we see you. Mind you, that’ll probably be sooner than you hope,” The man said ominously while he grinned unapologetically at the Dursleys. Then he proceeded to try and pull Harry outside.  

Suddenly all those questioned from a minute ago seemed sort of important. 

“Wait- wha- who are you?!” He blurted out, shaking himself out from under the man’s surprisingly gentle hold.

The silence that came was awkward and heavy this time as the man’s entire demeanor froze. For a moment, he was even still enough to pass for a statue one might find in a museum. 

“..Who am I?” he repeated, sounding just as incredulous as Harry felt. The man really thought he’d simply walk out with him, just like that! 

The man’s expression seemed to somber at the lack of response and not a moment later, Harry got the strong impression that he was being watched. Never before had he so keenly felt that someone had their eyes on him or that his being had caught the gaze of a dangerous creature. 

The soft silver eyes that had twinkled down at him like the very stars themselves, were suddenly more akin to the cool steel of a knife. He felt it in his mind when those eyes tried piercing his soul and he outright scowled at the attempt. That finally made the man turn away, but the air around them only grew cooler thereafter. 

“Would any of you, wretched bastards, care to explain to me, why my own bloody godson doesn’t know me?” The man’s lips were only slightly pursed as he spoke, but there was so much venom in his words and darkness swirling in his eyes, that Harry wasn’t surprised when he heard his uncle fall back on his arse.