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Harry & Katherine Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
The Letters Keep On Coming
“Petunia, you will never believe what I saw driving back to the house!” He kind of glared at Harry and I, and continued with his story. “There were all these....People, dressed up. They all had cloaks and all rejoiced when I walked by. There was a cat outside too, it was just sort of sitting there too. Remember that one that was there 11 years ago?”
Aunt Petunia's head shot up. “The one with the newspaper?” Since Uncle Vernon came in, Harry's head had been going back and forth.
Dudley got up from his perch in the recliner and headed to the window. “Dad, that cat...That cat is still there.” Uncle Vernon threw him aside. “It is!” He then thundered out, and we could see him from the window.
He looked pretty ridiculous. He was throwing his arms out from his chest and flicking his hands up to shoo the cat. “Get! Get, cat! Shoo! Get!” We could barely hear him. The cat merely gazed up at him and slowly blinked to him at least twice. He turned around and started to stomp back into the house. All of our heads followed him, and when I looked back to the cat, there was an older woman in its place.
“We need to call animal control and get that cat taken care of! Who knows how long it's been there!” Uncle Vernon shouted. And even though the vein was popping, and his skin was a purpler color, he wasn't screaming screaming, and not at Harry or I.
I tugged discretely on the bottom of Harry's shirt. “Look, Harry,” I said indicating the woman, and another person, a giant man with a beard and a motorcycle parked net to him, was standing next to her. “She's eccentrically dressed---so is he---and that's where the cat was!” I whisper-yelled to him.
“U-Uncle Vernon, the cat's not there anymore. Only two people.” Harry said. Uncle Vernon threw him and I out of the view and stood there in awe.
Then they were gone with a pop!
* * * *
“And as for you two,” Uncle Vernon said turning around. Crap. Here it comes....I shrunk back, and Harry protectively put his shoulder in front of me. “Who would send you mail? No one knows you! No one likes you!” I shrunk back so far I hit the window. That's when I saw the owls circling again. Only holding paper.
He grabbed the letters from Aunt Petunia, who was holding them out proudly. Uncle Vernon lit a fire, despite the hot September heat and threw the letters in. “What!” I finally shouted. I stepped out from behind Harry, stubbing my toe on a chair leg. I watched the letters burn through the center and the envelope slowly disintegrated into a grey powdery ash, with a couple embers going out one by one.
Just then the letter hatch clicked again and Uncle Vernon glared at the front door. Aunt Petunia scurried off. She came back in with a worried expression. “Harry Potter, Number Four Privet Drive, The Living Room.......” Uncle Vernon grabbed those letters and fed them to the fire. The fire gladly engulfed them and as soon they were gone, clink! The mail slot dropped two more letters. Clink! Clink! Clink! There were more and more.
Harry and I ran to grab them, but Dudley held us back. Uncle Vernon raced ahead to grab them all. Clink! Clink! Clink! More and more piled in.
“Screw this!” Uncle Vernon shouted, getting purpler and purpler, vein throbbing even harder and harder. He ran off and when he returned, he had a board, hammer, and nails. He huffed by all of us, Dudley finally letting Harry and I go, pulling so hard trying to get away we stumbled forward.
With four loud bangs, the clinking of newly arriving letters stopped. Uncle Vernon sat down on the couch and sighed, letting the purple drain from his face. Dudley dropped back into his chair to resume watching his new favorite show (His old TV is in the spare room. His favorite show got canceled and he punched through it.) and Aunt Petunia scampered away to serve the French toast I made.
Shoop. A letter dropped through the fireplace. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. More and more tumbled down, until the fireplace got full with all the tanned rectangles. Shoop. Shoop. The letters burst forth and began flooding the house. “Grab your things, we have to get out of here!”
Harry and I ran to out cupboard and began re-cramming everything in to the tiny backpack. I had Harry run upstairs and grab our toothbrushes, toothpaste, and my brush and Harry's comb.
Once we got everything to fit inside, we bolted out, seeing that the foyer-to-living-room door had been closed to block the letters from going everywhere else. Harry and I laced up muddy sneakers we had net to the door.
The door whammed open, hitting Harry in the head, sending his glasses flying (See, told ya they come off at least once a day.) and Uncle Vernon stepped inside. “Let's go, children!” He kicked us both in the rump to hurry us up, but all it did was slow us down. I grabbed Harry's glasses and we headed out the door.
Owls. Tons and tons of them. On the car, on the roofs, on the fences, on the lampposts, on the benches. Everywhere. I looked to my left and Dudley had his face screwed up and he was wailing. You see, Dudley's never cried, he just does that to be the equivalent of crying. He's knees were all bloody, not doubt he slipped in fresh owl scat.
We all loaded our things into the car and Uncle Vernon drove us off. We hit the highway with an astonishing speed, and were swerving past cars. Uncle Vernon would drive forever in one direction, then turn around and drive that way for a while. Around midnight, Harry and I finally fell asleep.
Aunt Petunia's head shot up. “The one with the newspaper?” Since Uncle Vernon came in, Harry's head had been going back and forth.
Dudley got up from his perch in the recliner and headed to the window. “Dad, that cat...That cat is still there.” Uncle Vernon threw him aside. “It is!” He then thundered out, and we could see him from the window.
He looked pretty ridiculous. He was throwing his arms out from his chest and flicking his hands up to shoo the cat. “Get! Get, cat! Shoo! Get!” We could barely hear him. The cat merely gazed up at him and slowly blinked to him at least twice. He turned around and started to stomp back into the house. All of our heads followed him, and when I looked back to the cat, there was an older woman in its place.
“We need to call animal control and get that cat taken care of! Who knows how long it's been there!” Uncle Vernon shouted. And even though the vein was popping, and his skin was a purpler color, he wasn't screaming screaming, and not at Harry or I.
I tugged discretely on the bottom of Harry's shirt. “Look, Harry,” I said indicating the woman, and another person, a giant man with a beard and a motorcycle parked net to him, was standing next to her. “She's eccentrically dressed---so is he---and that's where the cat was!” I whisper-yelled to him.
“U-Uncle Vernon, the cat's not there anymore. Only two people.” Harry said. Uncle Vernon threw him and I out of the view and stood there in awe.
Then they were gone with a pop!
* * * *
“And as for you two,” Uncle Vernon said turning around. Crap. Here it comes....I shrunk back, and Harry protectively put his shoulder in front of me. “Who would send you mail? No one knows you! No one likes you!” I shrunk back so far I hit the window. That's when I saw the owls circling again. Only holding paper.
He grabbed the letters from Aunt Petunia, who was holding them out proudly. Uncle Vernon lit a fire, despite the hot September heat and threw the letters in. “What!” I finally shouted. I stepped out from behind Harry, stubbing my toe on a chair leg. I watched the letters burn through the center and the envelope slowly disintegrated into a grey powdery ash, with a couple embers going out one by one.
Just then the letter hatch clicked again and Uncle Vernon glared at the front door. Aunt Petunia scurried off. She came back in with a worried expression. “Harry Potter, Number Four Privet Drive, The Living Room.......” Uncle Vernon grabbed those letters and fed them to the fire. The fire gladly engulfed them and as soon they were gone, clink! The mail slot dropped two more letters. Clink! Clink! Clink! There were more and more.
Harry and I ran to grab them, but Dudley held us back. Uncle Vernon raced ahead to grab them all. Clink! Clink! Clink! More and more piled in.
“Screw this!” Uncle Vernon shouted, getting purpler and purpler, vein throbbing even harder and harder. He ran off and when he returned, he had a board, hammer, and nails. He huffed by all of us, Dudley finally letting Harry and I go, pulling so hard trying to get away we stumbled forward.
With four loud bangs, the clinking of newly arriving letters stopped. Uncle Vernon sat down on the couch and sighed, letting the purple drain from his face. Dudley dropped back into his chair to resume watching his new favorite show (His old TV is in the spare room. His favorite show got canceled and he punched through it.) and Aunt Petunia scampered away to serve the French toast I made.
Shoop. A letter dropped through the fireplace. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. More and more tumbled down, until the fireplace got full with all the tanned rectangles. Shoop. Shoop. The letters burst forth and began flooding the house. “Grab your things, we have to get out of here!”
Harry and I ran to out cupboard and began re-cramming everything in to the tiny backpack. I had Harry run upstairs and grab our toothbrushes, toothpaste, and my brush and Harry's comb.
Once we got everything to fit inside, we bolted out, seeing that the foyer-to-living-room door had been closed to block the letters from going everywhere else. Harry and I laced up muddy sneakers we had net to the door.
The door whammed open, hitting Harry in the head, sending his glasses flying (See, told ya they come off at least once a day.) and Uncle Vernon stepped inside. “Let's go, children!” He kicked us both in the rump to hurry us up, but all it did was slow us down. I grabbed Harry's glasses and we headed out the door.
Owls. Tons and tons of them. On the car, on the roofs, on the fences, on the lampposts, on the benches. Everywhere. I looked to my left and Dudley had his face screwed up and he was wailing. You see, Dudley's never cried, he just does that to be the equivalent of crying. He's knees were all bloody, not doubt he slipped in fresh owl scat.
We all loaded our things into the car and Uncle Vernon drove us off. We hit the highway with an astonishing speed, and were swerving past cars. Uncle Vernon would drive forever in one direction, then turn around and drive that way for a while. Around midnight, Harry and I finally fell asleep.