The Letters From No One
The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Jacob their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. The day after Jacob and Harry found out about that, Dudley’s bike mysteriously fell apart when he tried to ride it.
The twins were 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 favorite sport: hurting people. They also liked hanging out at the Dursley household, where they could get away with anything they wanted.
This was part of the reason why the twins spent as much time out of the house, the other parts being that Harry was worried they’d start hurting them again and Jacob just not wanting to be around the Dursleys or anyone they liked. They wandered around and thought about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came they would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their lives, they wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Jacob, on the other hand, were 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 the twin boys. “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, dragging a laughing Jacob behind him, 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 and Jacob at Mrs. Figg’s. Mrs. Figg wasn’t as bad as usual in Harry’s opinion. 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 the twins watch television and gave them 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. Jacob was trying to keep his face neutral and not show the disgust he was feeling. Honestly, whoever chose the uniform should be fired. Out of a cannon.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Jacob went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.
“What’s this?” Harry asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if they dared to ask a question.
“Your new school uniforms,” she said.
They looked in the bowl again. Jacob glared at the rags with obvious disgust.
“Oh,” Harry said, “I didn’t realize they had to be so wet.”
Jacob rolled his eyes with a slight smile on his lips.
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I’m dying some of Dudley’s old things grey for you two. They’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished.”
The twins seriously doubted that, but thought it best not to argue. They sat down at the table and tried not to think about how they were going to look on their first day at Stonewall High – like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry and Jacob’s new uniforms. 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 paper.
“Make Harry and Jacob get it.”
“Get the mail, you two.”
“Make Dudley get it.”
“Poke them with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”
Harry dragged Jacob out of the Smelting stick’s reach and went to get the mail. Four 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 – letters for Harry and Jacob.
Harry and Jacob picked up their letters and stared at them, before looking at each other with the same look; confused yet excited and curious. No one, ever, in their whole lives, had written to them. Who would? They had no friends besides each other, no other relatives – they didn’t belong to the library, so they’d never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here they were, two letters, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H Potter Mr. J Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive 4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging Little Whinging
Surrey Surrey
The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink.
Turning the envelopes over, one pair of hands trembling, the twins saw the same purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
“Hurry up, you two!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What’re you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own dumb joke. Jacob rolled his eyes.
Harry and Jacob went back to the kitchen, still staring at their letters. Harry handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat beside his twin, and the two slowly began to open the yellow envelopes together.
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 and Jacob’s got something!”
The twins were on the point of unfolding their letters, which were written on the same heavy parchment as the envelopes, when they were jerked sharply out of their hands by Uncle Vernon.
“That’s ours!” said Harry, trying to snatch his letter back as Jacob did the same.
“Who’d be writing to you two?” sneered Uncle Vernon, and not for the first time, Jacob wanted to punched the oaf in his fat face. Uncle Vernon shook one of the letters open with one hand and glanced 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 one of the letters to read it, but Uncle Vernon held them high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took one curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She grabbed the other letter and again read the first line. 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, Jacob, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
“I want to read them,” he said loudly.
“We want to read them-,” said Harry furiously.
“-as they’re ours.” Jacob finished with the same furious tone.
“Get out, all three of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside their envelopes.
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 the door and floor. Jacob, however, had managed to hide under the table while his aunt and uncle were preoccupied with the other two boys.
“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice as her lips trembled, “look at the address – how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”
Now that she mentioned it, it was rather weird that their cupboard was listed…
“Watching – spying – might be following us,” murmured Uncle Vernon wildly. Jacob smirked as an idea came to mind. He was going to play on this new fear he’d just discovered, and it was going to be fun.~
“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want – ”
Uncle Vernon paced up and down the kitchen, frowning.
“No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore them. If they don’t get an answer… Yes, that’s best… we won’t do anything…”
“But – ”
“I’m not having two in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took them in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”
Interesting…
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Harry and Jacob in their cupboard.
“Where’s our letters?” Harry asked the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to us?”
“No one. They were addressed to you two by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon. Jacob snorted. Yeah, a mistake, sure. “I have burned them.”
“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had our cupboard on them.” He looked over at his brother, surprised that he was being so silent. He was shocked even more by the amusement in his hazel eyes.
“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, Jacob – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you two are really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you two moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”
“Why?” asked Harry.
“Don’t ask questions!” their uncle snapped. “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 the twins one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. They sat down on the bed and stared around them, taking in inventory. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was sitting amongst what used to be a small tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog but had mysteriously deconstructed itself right after; 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 (Jacob hoped that the parrot had gone to someone who would actually take care of 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 them in there… I need that room… make them get out…”
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed while Jacob browsed through the books. Yesterday, Harry would’ve given anything to be up here. Today he’d rather be back in their cupboard with their letters than up here without them. He’d also would’ve liked to know why Jacob had suddenly become very passive and calm, which was not like him at all. Jacob, on the other hand, was trying to figure out the best way of getting the letters without alerting the Dursleys as well as how to play upon their newfound fear of being watched by unknown people.
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 poor tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he and his brother had opened their letters in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. Jacob, well, he was just enjoying the show as he ate, which disturbed the others quite a bit, but they were more worried about other things at the moment.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Jacob, 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 two more! One for ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –’”
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him and Jacob following at a slower pace. He leaned against the wall and watched as an amused smirk played upon his lips. 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 managed to grab Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which they all got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry and Jacob’s letters clenched in his hand.
“Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Harry. “Dudley – go – just go.”
After the two boys stormed away, Jacob looked over to his uncle, who seemed to have caught his breath once more. “Those letters… they wouldn’t have anything to do with the strange man, would they?” Vernon turned towards the boy, eyes wide in alarm. “What strange man?!” He demanded, his grip on the letters tightening. Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know, just some guy in weird clothes that appears randomly and just sort of… watches us. I saw him from the window this morning.” Jacob then went upstairs, his back turned towards the panicked-looking man that had hastily moved over towards the windows, peering out to see if he can find the man that didn’t exist.
Harry was walking round and round their new room when he arrived. “Don’t worry, whoever is sending these letters obviously won’t stop until we get them, so there’s no need to stress.” Harry agreed, though this time, he was going to make sure they didn’t fail. He had a plan. Little did he know, his twin also had a plan, though his required cunning and stealth.
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. Jacob had stayed in bed, but he was no longer asleep. After his brother had left, Jacob had gotten up and dressed, grabbing a book to read as he waited.
Harry 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! Jacob heard the scream and chuckled to himself, placing the book back on the shelf. He started making his way down to the others.
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 the twins didn’t do exactly what Harry had been trying to do. Jacob sneaked past the two males as their Uncle shouted at Harry. He met up with the postman, retrieving the letters without problem, then headed back to number four. Jacob quickly stuffed two of his and Harry’s letters in his deep pockets, keeping the other four mixed with the Dursleys’ mail. When he walked in, Uncle Vernon confronted him immediately. Jacob glared at him, pretending to be upset at being caught, before handing the mail over to the larger male. He joined Harry in the kitchen, flashing his twin a victorious smirk, before they left to see Uncle Vernon tearing the letters into pieces before their 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 people’s 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. Jacob watched in amusement.
That night, Jacob waited until the Dursleys’ were asleep before waking Harry up. With a grumble, Harry reluctantly opened his eyes, only to jolt up at seeing his brother holding two envelopes addressed to them in green ink.
“How’d you-”
“Doesn’t matter, let’s see what these say already.”
The twins ripped open the envelopes and hastily pulled out their letters.
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 been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
The two boys exchanged glances.
“‘Witchcraft and wizardry’?” Harry asked, confused about the strange wording of the letters. Jacob reread his letter quickly before nodding to himself.
“You know how weird stuff happens around us that we can’t explain?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re magic and this school supposedly will teach us and others like us how to control said magic.”
Harry blinked at his brother. “Jacob…”
“Think about it, Harry. What other explanation could there be? It’s not like the Dursleys have a sense of humor, and nobody else really knows that we exist.” Harry slowly nodded, though his eyes clearly displayed some doubt.
“For now, let’s pretend we never got these and see what happens. We have until July 31 to decided what to do, so for now we’ll wait.” The raven-haired twin agreed and the two boys hid their letters, Jacob noticing how they both had a second piece of paper as well but saying nothing.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Jacob. 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 sounds. Jacob had fun tormenting him all day.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Jacob found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. Jacob had to admit, he was impressed by the creativity. 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 two this badly?” Dudley asked the twins in amazement. They just shared a look with each other, keeping their lips sealed.
On 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 moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys and Harry ducked, but Jacob just sat in his seat and watched the chaos in amusement.
“Out! OUT!”
The Dursleys ran out with their arms over their faces, while Harry had to drag a laughing Jacob out into the hall. Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut behind them. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
“Well, aren’t they persistent?” Jacob muttered, but the others all heard him.
“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. Jacob still disobeyed, though, for he also packed their letters they’d already opened and some books for entertainment. 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, Harry, and Jacob shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored as he took up one of the beds for himself while Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars. Jacob walked over to him.
“Come on, we need to sleep.”
“…Do you really think that we’re magic?”
Jacob shrugged. “Who knows, but I have a feeling we’ll find out soon enough. Now come on.”
Harry followed his twin to the only empty bed they had to share together.
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. or Mr. J. Potter? Only I got about an ‘undred of these each at the front desk.”
She held up two letters so they could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter Mr. J. Potter
Room 17 Room 17
Railview Hotel Railview Hotel
Cokeworth Cokeworth
Harry and Jacob looked at each other. How do these people know where they are?
“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following the woman 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. As entertaining as it was to see his uncle get so worked up and paranoid, even Jacob was starting to get bored and a little agitated.
“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. 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 and Jacob of something. If it was Monday – and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television – then Tomorrow, Tuesday, was their eleventh birthday. Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun – they’ve never been given a real toy or even a cake before. Still, you weren’t 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 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 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 rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them. Jacob narrowed his eyes at the man, knowing it wasn’t his fault for Uncle Vernon’s stupid-ass decision, but blaming him all the same.
“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, 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 bag of chips each and five 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 cheerfully.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut 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 bed next door, and Harry and Jacob were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry and Jacob couldn’t sleep. They shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, and cuddled close to each other to preserve their body heat. Finally, Jacob got up, against Harry’s protest. Jacob made his way over to the smoking fireplace, reached out his hand, closed his eyes, and thought about fire and the warmth it radiated. When he opened his eyes, a proper fire was burning in the fireplace. Smiling in triumph, Jacob went back over to his twin.
“How did you…?”
“I don’t know, just thought about creating fire, and then there was a fire.”
Jacob looked over at Dudley, who was snoring almost as loud as the thunder booming from outside. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Jacob that he and Harry would be eleven in ten minutes’ time. He nudged his brother and pointed at the watch, showing him the time. They both laid on the ground together and watched as their birthday ticked nearer, both lost in their own thoughts.
Five minutes to go. The Potter twins heard something creak outside. Harry hoped the roof wasn’t going to fall in while Jacob secretly wished that it would fall on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, maybe Dudley too. Four minutes to go. Jacob was starting to wonder if it really was wise to pretend that they hadn’t read their letters. Perhaps there was something else they could’ve done so that they didn’t end up in the middle of freaking nowhere in the middle of a storm.
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 they’d be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine – maybe they’d wake Dudley up, just to annoy him – three… two… one…
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Harry and Jacob sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.