Speak Up - Female Deaf Harry Potter AU

Letters

Hari climbed up onto the windowsill, watching as the lights of car after car zoomed past in the streaky glass. she wondered what was going on, and who on earth wanted to contact her that badly. She hoped, whoever it was, would take her away from here.

As they ate stale cornflakes and dry toast for breakfast the next day, much to Dudley's disappointment, the owner of the hotel came over to their table and held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Miss. H. Potter

Room 17

Rail- view Hotel

Cokeworth

Hari made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked her hand out of the way. The woman stared, but lead Uncle Vernon out of the room as he glared at Hari. He came back a few minutes later, brushing what looked like soot off of his hands.

They all piled into the car again and were on the road for about a week before finally arriving at a little town by the sea. The wind whipped the cold into their faces as they stepped out, walking towards the edge of the pier. Uncle Vernon spoke to a man waiting for them, who pointed out to a large rock out in the middle of the foam and spray of the waves. Perched on top was what appeared to be the most miserable little shack you could imagine.

The man lead them to a tiny boat and they all got in. It was freezing in the boat. Hari would have given anything for the warm waterproof jackets that the other three were wearing as she pulled her thin jacket tighter around herself. Icy sea spray and rain crept down her neck 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 just as horrible as Hari had imagined; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind came through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

The bag of food that Uncle Vernon had brought turned out to be a bag of chips each and 4 bananas, two of which were for Dudley. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up. Unlike Hari, he was in a very good mood. Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Hari privately agreed though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

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 blew through the cracks in the windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy 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 Hari was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Hari couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Hari that she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday draw nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Hari could barely feel her fingers, her damp hair freezing around her face, she shivered under her blanket. The minute hand had three minutes left, she hoped the house in private drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one. Three minutes, two, she raised her head, sure she'd seen a shadow in the window but dismissed is a, one minute, one minute and she'd be eleven. She wondered if that would make any difference to her life.

ten... nine — she wondered if she'd freeze to death before sunrise — three... two... one...

The whole shack shook and Hari sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, shaking it. Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands.