Year 1

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, first time on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs.Figg as she passed Privet Drive in her wheelchair.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcom, 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 Dudley's favorite sport: Harry hunting.

This is why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he could 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 privet school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going 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." Replied Harry, "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might get 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.Fig's. Mrs.Fig wasn't as bad as usual. Due to the snake bite she didn't seem to enjoy animals' as much before, she didn't seem quite as fond of her cats either. Instead, 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 parades around the living room for the family in his brand new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobby 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 Duddleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might have already cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went to make breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The bowl 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 when he faded to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform." She said. 

Harry looked in the bowl again.

"I didn't realize it had to be so wet." He said sarcastically.

"Don't be stupid." Snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dying some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I'm finished."

Harry rolled his eyes. He seriously doubled this, but thought it was best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his day of Stonewall High- like he 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 main, Dudley." Said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Melting 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. 

Harry picked it up and grinned.

"Finally." Hissed Obsidian.

Onyx poked her head out of the bottom of his shirt, "It's about time. Congratulations, hatching."

"Thanks, Sid, Onyx. Quiet now, before they hear us."  Harry hissed back. Onyx and Obsidian often hid in his shirt since it was large enough for them to go unnoticed. 

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. On the back was a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, a eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large H.

Harry rubbed his finger over the address, still grinning to himself. 

Mr.H. Potter 

The cupboard under the stairs

4 Privet Drive 

Little Whinging 

Survey 

"Hurry up boy!" Shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen, "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs!" He chuckled at his own joke. 

Harry made his way back to the kitchen, slipping the envelope into his cupboard on the way. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard and went to his spot at the stove. 

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

"Marge's I'll." He informed Aunt Petunia. 

The rest of the day went normal for the Dursley's and Harry. Harry cooked breakfast and cleaned up while Uncle Vernon left for work, Aunt Petunia went up to her room, and Dudley started watching television. Then Aunt Petunia came down to give him his chore list of the day. He had to finish it before Uncle Vernon got home around 4:00 pm. He went out to tend to the gardens and chatted with Onyx and Obsidian, cooked lunch, cleaned up, did the bathrooms, the living room, and went to straighten up Dudley's first and second rooms. That day he finished his chores before Uncle Vernon got home and Aunt Petunia locked him in his cupboard. Not for long though, around 5:30 pm Aunt Petunia dragged him out to make dinner, after the Dursley's finished eating Harry cleaned the kitchen before being locked on his cupboard for the final time that night. 

He waited for the downstairs lights to go out and the Dursleys to fall asleep. Once he was sure of that he removed the snakes who were still wrapped comfortably around his waist and whispered 'Lumos' to light up the top of his right index finger. Using the other hand, he opened the seal and read the letter from the headmistress. 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

 Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwamp, International Confed. of Wizards) 

Harry didn't like the man, but just his introduction on the letter added to that. 

He opened the letter farther. 

Dear, Mr.Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. 

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st. 

Yours Sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall,

 Deputy Headmistress.

He smiled to himself, deciding tomorrow he'd right his reply, then he stopped himself. He'd hold out for a while, the letters would most likely continue, Petunia would realize what they were, she'd tell her husband, Dudley too. Harry smirked. Why wouldn't he put the Dursleys through a few days of panic and stress, it'll be Harry's secret way to get back at them. 

"What are you thinking, hatching?" Onyx broke him out of this thoughts.

"Nothing. Just a plan that'll put the Dursleys in a hurricane for a few days."

"The evil ones?" Obsidian asked. The 'evil ones' are Obsidian's nicknames for the Dursleys, Harry and Onyx thought the name fit them perfectly. "What's the plan? Does it involve rats? Oh! They hate rats."

"Or bitting, I'd love to bite them, better if they drop dead." 

Harry chuckled, "No, but I'll have a feeling you'll like my plan much more." He told them his thoughts, and the two snakes agreed, as long as Harry got his letter in before the deadline. He obviously agreed.

With their new plan in mind, Harry sighed and payed on his way-to-small mattress Petunia had so kindly given to him when he was two. He brought his knees to his chest and Onyx and Obsidian happily curled around him, whispering words of good night. 

Next morning, everything remained the same. Harry at the stove, Uncle Vernon reading the newspaper, Dudley chomping on food, Aunt Petunia barking orders at Harry, and Onyx and Obsidian safely under Harry's shirt. 

When the mail came, Harry was in the middle of flipping the pancakes, so reluctantly, Uncle Vernon made Dudley go and het it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. For a second the sound stopped and came Dudley running in the kitchen, one letter tightly clutched in his hand and his Smelting stick no where in sight. Then he shouted, "There's a letter." He paused, "A letter for Harry."

"Nonsense! Dudley, Harry doesn't get letters. He isn't normal like us, he doesn't get friends, letters, freaks like him simply don't get those things. They don't deserve them the way normal people do." Uncle Vernon explained before going back to his newspaper like nothing happened. "It must have been a reading mistake, Dudley."

"No, it says," Dudley cleared his throat dramatically, as if this was a joke. "'Mr.H Potter, The cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive-"

Petunia dropped her glass she filled the moment before. They all turned to her, her hand that used to hold the glass was shaking and she went pale. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, Vernon!" She kept muttering. Harry almost smirked, Petunia was acting more dramatic than Dudley faking a fit.

Dudley tried to open the letter but Uncle Vernon snatched it out of his hands to see if it was true. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. Who then seconds his face was a grayish white of old porridge.

Dudley continued trying to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia rushed over and grabbed it from Uncle Vernon's hand. Her too-much-of-a-neck was finally coming through for her. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. 

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley tried to get their attention multiple ways. First he screamed their names, then tried shaking his mother, and finally started throwing a fit like he had never before. But nothing worked. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting Stick, which finally did the trick. 

"I want to read the letter." He said loudly.

"No." Petunia fit in sharply.

"I WANT TO READ IT, MUMMY!" He yelled kicking his knees up and down. He looks like a circus walking beach ball, Harry thought. 

"I want to read it." Said Harry furiously, "As it's mine."

"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. 

"Let me see it!" Demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" Roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the Scruggs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but quiet fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between the the door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "Look at the address- how could they possibly know where he slept? You don't think they're watching the house?" 

"Watching- spying- might be following us." Muttered Uncle Vernon wildly, for once he sounded generally worried. 

"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 back and forth, up and down the kitchen.

"No." He said finally, "No, well 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! Did t we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense!"

Harry wasn't allowed out of his cupboard that day, not even to clean the glass. But, that evening, when he got back to work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before. He visited Harry in his cupboard. 

"Where's my letter?" Said Harry the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed his head through the door. "Whose writing to me," he asked, keeping up the act. 

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake." Uncle Vernon lied. "I've already burned it."

"It was not a mistake!" Said Harry, "It had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" Yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling, one landing on Harry's shoulder, beneath his long curls. He took a few deep breaths and the forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. 

"Er- yes, Harry- about this cupboard. Your ain't 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." It took a while for Uncle Vernon to get the sentence out. 

For a few moments Harry just blinked at him, then he tilted his head curiously. "Why?" 

"Don't ask questions!" Snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now!" Uncle Vernon struggled getting his head out and standing up.

The Dursley's' house had four bedrooms. One for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, One for visitors (mainly Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into the first bedroom. It took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to his room. 

He sat down on his bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month old cone-camera was laying 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 favorite program had been canceled. There was a large birdcage which had once led a patter Dudley had swapped at school for a real air-riffle, which was up on a shelf with the end of it bent because Dudley had sat on it. The other shelves were full of books, which Harry was extremely happy about. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they never been touched. 

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley whining to his mother. "I don't want him in there... I need that room... make him get out." Harry sighed and stood in front of the book shelf. He knew he wouldn't sleep, even with a real bed underneath him and enough room to stretch his legs. So, he thought he'd see what books the Dursleys had, he was never allowed to keep books from the library, but reading was something he loved to do to escape the real world. 

Next morning, at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Petunia was the one at the stove while Harry set the table. 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. 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. Again, he banged his Smelting Stick down the hallway, complaining about how he got the mail two days on a row and it wasn't fair. Then he shouted, "There's another one! Mr.H Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon kept 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 sat against the backboard of his bed with the book he'd started last night in his hand. Someone at Hogwarts knew he'd moved out of his cupboard and they knew he hadn't responded to his first letter. And getting another letter today, proved his theory they keep sending letters. 

The Dursley's were acting unusual, and his aunt and uncle were nervous, and Dudley hated it all. His plan was working better than he thought it would. 

In the early hours of the morning, Harry slipped out of bed, creaked his door open, and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. He was careful not to step on any of the creaky stairs. He was going to get a cup of water, since all the food was locked up because of him. He was almost to-

"AAAARRGH!"

Harry kept onto the air, he'd trodden in something big and squishy on the doormat- something alive.

Lights clicked on upstairs, and to his horror and amusement, Harry realized that the big, squishy thing had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the stairs in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure no letters were intercepted before he got them. 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 letters had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see the address addressed to him on the front of the letter. Uncle Vernon noticed Harry's eyes on the letter and started ripping it in pieces before his eyes. 

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed home and hauled up the letter box.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouth full 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 aren't like you and me." Said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a mail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just bought 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 event forced through the small windows in the downstairs bathroom. Harry mentally applauded the owls. 

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer with nails and a boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could get 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 inside 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 amazement. 

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon day down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post in Sundays." He reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspaper, "no damm letters today-"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney  as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry stood on the back wall and looked at the flying envelopes in awe. 

"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 piling great tuffs out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five ministry ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some cloths. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. He could hear Aunt Petunias heals clicking, Dudley's footsteps running around in circles, and Uncle Vernon's shoes thumping on the hardwood floor. Harry  quickly grabbed cloths or toiletries, not like he had much to pack, and spent the rest of his time grabbing the books he wanted to read. It was something to do, and he didn't know how long they were leaving for. On the top of his bag he stuffed his Hogwarts letter. 

Ten minutes later they had wrecked their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffing in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while trying 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 world 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 missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Harry thought he was being dramatic. He also though he wouldn't have this problem if his parents demanded he take a break from electrics.

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 a damp, messy sheets. Dudley snored but Harry couldn't pull out his letter and write a response or pull out a book and read a chapter either. So he stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of 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.

"'Scuds 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 following 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 the forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the the car and odd 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 in the afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked on the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the cat. 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 was Monday- and you could usually count of 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 fun- last year, the Dudley's had given him a coat-hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, turning eleven was an important age in the wizarding world, and you didn't turn eleven every day. 

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 him what he brought. 

"Found the perfect place!" He said, "Come on! Everything out!"

it was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out to 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. 

"Storm forecast for 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 grin, at an old rowing boat bobbling in the iron-grey water below them. 

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

One by one, they climbed in. Aunt Petunia went first. She took the longest because she kept looking back with a nervous expression. Once, when she had one foot in the boat she stepped back and tried to tell Uncle Vernon she couldn't do it, but he forced her to anyway. Next was Dudley. He kept shaking but managed to get it done. Uncle Vernon had to hold the boat down after it almost topped from Dudley's weight. Second to last was Harry. He had to force himself not to look back to make sure Uncle Vernon was still there, even after he got into the boat he made sure Uncle Vernon was holding the boat as he climbed in. He was the type to push the three of them out to sea and leave them there just to make sure Harry wasn't in his life. 

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 packet of crisps each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty crisp packets just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver post. Harry wanted to believe that an owl would still make its way to them, but deep down he secretly agreed. That 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 hot 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 next door. 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. He couldn't sleep, but with Dudley sitting next to him he didn't dare reveal his stash of books. 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 midnight. The lightest dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his wrist, told Harry he'd been eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys' would remember at all. 

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He sat up a little and hoped the roof wouldn't fall in, although he'd probably be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe after tonight Uncle Vernon will take them home and Barry could finally send his letter to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. 

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 sham shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, clutching his only belongings close, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.