The One With the Letters
After what seemed like no time at all the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new iPhone, crashed his remote-control aeroplane and, first time 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 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 favourite sport: Harry-hunting.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, working for the Flamel’s and Mr. Moony and 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 at 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. Harry thought that once he was away at another school he’d finally be able to do as good in his classes as he knew he could. Maybe even skip a grade or two.
“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practise?”
“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 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.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen 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 grey 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. “Thanks.”
He would be saving every penny from that day until September to buy himself a real uniform. Not, fortunately, that he had to tell Petunia that.
Not a full moment after he had sat down 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.
“Get the post, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
“Make Harry get it.”
“Get the post, Harry.”
“Make Dudley get it.”
“Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.”
Harry dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. 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 thought of all the things that he had, things that the Dursley’s would never allow him to have, like Willow and his books. He then promptly stuck the letter into his over sized pocket and returned to the kitchen.
Harry handed Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and continued eating his breakfast.
That night, while the Dursleys slept, Harry read his letter.
‘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 a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress’
‘Hogwarts’ He thought, ‘now this can’t be real! Even if it is, what do they mean by “We await your owl”? Where the hell am I supposed to get an owl?’
“Willow, have you ever heard of a place called Hogwarts?” Harry questioned quietly.
“It’s the place stick wielders go.”
“Stick wielders? So it’s like an all boys school?” Harry asked cheekily.
“Don’t be dense. It’s for people like you.”
“So... Boys?”
“Just tell them you’ll go.” She mumbled something under her breath then that sounded something like ‘ducking numb brass’.
“Rude. Do you know where I can get an owl?”
“There’s one waiting outside. It’s been there all day.”
“Right then.”
Harry waited a few minutes more before he snuck from his cupboard quietly, going into the kitchen to grab Petunia’s good stationary and her letter writing pen.
‘Dear Professor McGonagall, or whomever this may concern,
I would be delighted to attend your school, only I do not know of any stores that might sell the items on the supply list. Nor, do I know of any train station that uses a fractional numbering system for their platforms, especially not at Kings Cross.
If it would not be too much trouble, could an escort be provided to show me to the stores and platform?
If so, I would be honoured to attend Hogwarts. If not, I will have to take my education elsewhere.
Harry Potter’
Satisfied with his letter Harry crept into the backyard.
Perched on a branch not too far from the back of the house was a large barn owl. It flew down to rest on Harry’s shoulder when he held up the letter, and held out it’s leg for him to attach it too.
When Harry had done so it gave his ear an affectionate nip and took flight.
“I really bloody hope that was the right owl.”