Amanda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

3. The Letters from No One

   "Make Harry get it."

   "Get the mail, Harry,"

   "Make Dudley get it."

   Uncle Vernon scowled from behind the newspaper, "Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

   Narrowly avoiding a whack from Dudley's knobbly Smelting stick, Harry ran to the doormat to get the mail. Three things were on the Dursley's doormat: a brown envelope resembling a bill, a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing in the Isle of Wight, and --- a letter, for Harry Potter himself.

   His heart was beating fast and his breathing became heavy. No one had ever given Harry a letter before. He had only enemies, not friends, and his only living relatives were the Dursleys. He didn't belong to a library, so there were never any rude notes sent to the house about an overdue book, and his headmaster only ever sent letters if something truly horrible had happened, although those were typically addressed to his aunt and uncle. Yes, that had to be it then. The letter was obviously for some different Harry Potter. But as Harry examined it closer, it was addressed to clearly it was impossible for it to be a mistake:

                           Mr. H. Potter

                           The Cupboard under the Stairs

                           4 Privet Drive

                           Little Whinging

                           Surrey

   The thick, yellowing parchment that made up the envelope was big and heavy, and the writing on the back, was in neat, formal, emerald-green ink. There wasn't any stamps.

   On the front was a coat of arms on a purple wax seal. His scrawny, bruised hand trembling, he saw that on the seal were four animals: a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake, all colorfully surrounding a large black letter H.

   Uncle Vernon bellowed, "Hurry up, boy!" Harry could practically see his giant mustache twitching angerly. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He tittered quietly at this last remark.

   Harry, without looking at anything else, put the postcard and bill aside as he marveled over the letter, which was the only thing he did not hand Uncle Vernon when he went into the kitchen. 

    Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted, and quickly pulled out the postcard. He reported, "Marge's ill. Ate a funny whelk . . ."

   "Dad!" Dudley yelled rudely, pointing a chubby finger at Harry, "Dad, Harry's got something!"

   Uncle Vernon's beady, watery blue eyes, saw Harry's letter almost instantly, and snatched it away before Harry could even read it. The letter was made of the same heavy parchment the envelope was made out of, and was written in the same emerald-green ink. 

   "That's mine," Harry told him, trying to jerk the letter out of his uncle's arms. 

   Uncle Vernon sneered, "Who'd be writing to you?" He gruffly shook the letter open, creasing the parchment. Suddenly his face went from the usual pink, to red, to green, and then a pale shade of grey. He looked as though he should be lowered into a sickbed.

   "P-P-Petunia!" he cried, in a high, feverish voice.

   Dudley tried to grab it, but Uncle Vernon had kept Harry's letter far out of reach. Aunt Petunia took it from him curiously, and after skimming the first paragraph, she clutched her throat, and staggered backwards, issuing a choking noise.