The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Delilah their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their room 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.
Delilah 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 favorite sport: Harry Hunting.
This was why Harry, and therefore Delilah, spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where there was a tiny ray of hope. When September came both of them would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their life, Dudley wouldn't be there with them.
Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Delilah, 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 Harry, ignoring Delilah as usual. "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, Delilah at his heels, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy Dudley's Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Delilah 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 them 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 Delilah 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. Delilah didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh. Luckily she had a good poker face.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Delilah and Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Delilah went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.
"What's this?" Delilah asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if either of them dared to ask a question.
"Your new school uniforms," she said.
Delilah looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," Harry said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished.
Delilah seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High - like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from their 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 Delilah get it."
"Get the mail, Delilah."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Delilah dodged the Smelting stick 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 - 2 letters for Delilah and Harry.
Delilah picked them up and stared at them, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to them. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives - she didn't even belong to the library, so she'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Ms. D. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry's was the exact same, just with his name.
The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
Turning the envelope over, Delilah saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Delilah went back to the kitchen, shoving the letters in her pocket. She didn't think the Dursleys would like the letters. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly continued eating.
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 -"
Delilah finished eating. "May I be excused to my bedroom? I'm full."
Uncle Vernon grunted, the closest to a yes she'd get, and shot Harry a meaningful look.
"I'm full too," Harry said and stood up and they quickly walked to their bedroom.
"What is it?" he asked the second they entered.
Delilah closed the door before answering. "We got mail. I didn't think the Dursleys would like that so I put them in my pocket."
She pulled the 2 letters from her pockets and quickly opened hers. It read:
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 Ms. 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,
Deputy Headmistress
Questions exploded in Delilah's head like fireworks. She looked at the other papers and found a list of stuff she'd need and a ticket to King's Cross Station Platform 9 ¾.
She put the ticket and list back into the envelope and under a loose floorboard.
"We need to ask them," Delilah told Harry.
"When?"
"Well, hand me everything else but your letter from thiz Minerva McGonagall. I'll hide our tickets and lists under that loose floorboard. Then we ask them about Hogwarts, but we'll still have the list and tickets no matter what they do."
Harry handed her his ticket and list. Delilah put them with hers under the floorboard.
"Why don't we go now?" She suggested.
Harry nodded and they walked downstairs to the kitchen.
"We have some questions for you," Delilah said forthright.
Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes and Uncle Vernon's face turned purple, but they didn't protest.
"First off, what's Hogwarts?" Delilah continued.
Aunt Petunia froze. Uncle Vernon's face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.
They seemed to forget that Dudley, Harry, and Delilah were in the room.
"Dudley, out." Uncle Vernon ordered.
"But-" Dudley protested.
"OUT!" Uncle Vernon bellowed.
Dudley stomped out, hitting things with his Smelting Stick.
Uncle Vernon closed the door and turned on Delilah and Harry.
"How do you know about Hogwarts?" he barked at them.
Delilah stayed calm and replied, "They sent us letters giving us admission to the school."
"Well, you're not going and that's that, so out!" Aunt Petunia snapped.
Delilah frowned. "But what is-" she stopped at the looks they sent at her. "Fine."
She turned around and, dragging Harry with her, marched with her head high out of the room.
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 tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't know what they had talked about. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to them, 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 more! 'Ms. D. And Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -"
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with their letters clutched in his hand.
"Go to your, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry and Delilah who had followed at a distance. "Dudley - go - just go."
Delilah paced. They had tried again, that meant they didn't know they'd read the letter and would try again, hopefully sending someone with it to explain everything.
The next morning there were more. 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.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived. 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 noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters 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. 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 this badly?" Dudley asked Delilah in amazement.
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 blasted 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 ducked, but Delilah smiled, that smile slowly turning into laughter.
"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon yelled.
Delilah and Harry quickly exited the room. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"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. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.
Delilah had packed clothes and the letters, not willing to leave them behind.
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 drove. No one dared ask where they were going. They didn't stop for anything and by nightfall Dudley was howling because he had missed multiple programs he had wanted to see.
They finally stopped at a hotel and Harry and Delilah shared a room while Dudley got his own. At breakfast the owner of the hotel came to our table. Apparently 200 letters for Delilah and Harry had shown up. Uncle Vernon got up to deal with them.
They left as soon as he had finished and drove on and on. After hours upon hours, they stopped at a supermarket and Uncle Vernon locked them in the car.
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 Delilah of something. If it was Monday - and Dudley almost always knew the day of the week because of television - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Delilah and Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given them each a coat hanger and a pair of old socks.
Still, you didn't turn 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 has 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-gray water below them.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
The boat was freezing. 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.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Delilah 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 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 Delilah and Harry were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the two thinnest, most ragged blankets. They huddled together for warmth but it didn't help much.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Delilah couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Delilah she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Delilah heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes. Maybe when they got back Aunt Petunia would be so fed up that Delilah would be able to get Aunt Petunia to tell them what the letters meant.
Three. 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 and then she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine - perhaps she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... two... one...
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Delilah and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.