Chapter 18 – Is This My Letter?
A month passed in the blink of an eye. The "mysterious disappearance of the glass" incident at the reptile house was, of course, blamed on Harry. After all, far too many strange things had happened around him since childhood.
It could not really be called strange—it was simply Harry's doing.
For this, the Dursleys gave him their harshest punishment: for a week he was forbidden to eat bacon, denied soft drinks, and allowed only fish and chips.
Harry wore a long face, utterly dejected.
Fish and chips were not truly terrible. The first time he had eaten them, they had been rather tasty.
But whenever Petunia grew lazy, she served this dish. Over time, the appeal vanished.
Cod frozen too long and turned woody, paired with dry, flavorless fries—together they formed a meal impossible to enjoy.
According to Harry's memory, there was not a single moment of happiness in that week.
One day in July.
Harry was helping Petunia with cleaning.
"Dursley, your mail," called the postman outside. A moment later came the clatter of the letter slot. The letters did not even make it into the box, but fell onto the doormat.
Vernon lay on the sofa reading his newspaper. Just then Dudley came out, freshly showered after his morning exercise.
"Dudley, get the mail."
"All right." He went to the door and picked up three pieces of mail.
One was a postcard from Aunt Marge, away on a trip. One was a bill, likely for electricity. And the last was addressed to Harry Potter.
The handwriting was in emerald green ink. There was no stamp. On the back was a wax seal—a shield crest encircled by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent around a large letter "H."
"What is meant to come will always come."
Dudley carefully checked the mailbox again. Finding no letter for himself, he felt an inexplicable disappointment.
He casually handed Vernon the bill and the postcard.
"Oh dear. Marge has fallen ill," Vernon told Petunia. "Ate some bad whelks."
He then opened the envelope with the bill, snorted in disgust—nobody liked bills—and turned his gaze to the last letter in Dudley's hand.
"Dudley, is that your letter? What odd material—parchment? Who still uses this?"
"This is Harry's." Dudley waved the addressee's name before Vernon.
At those words, the room fell into a dead silence.
Vernon, Petunia, and Harry all looked at Dudley—or rather, at the letter in his hand.
"Who would write to Harry?"
The question puzzled not only the Dursleys but even Harry himself.
"Yes, who would write to me?"
Vernon suddenly snatched the letter from Dudley and tore it open.
Harry did not mind—he just wanted to know what it said, so he leaned over eagerly.
Vernon read only the first line. His face turned from red to green, faster than a traffic light, and within seconds it was gray as porridge.
"P-Petunia… it's them!"
The short words seemed to drain all his strength.
Before Harry could see, the letter had already passed into Petunia's hands. She too read the first line, clutched her forehead, nearly fainting, then grabbed her throat and choked as though about to pass out.
Harry's curiosity only grew. He had never seen his aunt make such an expression.
"Aunt Petunia, what does it say?"
He leaned closer, but Petunia quickly tucked the letter away.
"This is not for children to know."
Dudley could tell Petunia was struggling to hold herself together, trying not to collapse.
"Vernon and I need to discuss something. You two, upstairs to your rooms."
"Yes, Aunt."
Harry obeyed, acting as though he were the perfect child.
"Big D, do you know what happened?" As soon as they entered the room, Harry curiously asked Dudley.
Perhaps because he had spent so much time with Dudley, Harry was much more mature than he appeared.
He knew it was better to ask his cousin than to ask Petunia or Vernon.
Dudley patted Harry's head, speaking as though in farewell. "Harry, it's possible you won't be able to attend the same secondary school as me."
"Why?!" Harry's voice rose several degrees. Realizing something, he asked urgently, "Is it because of that letter?"
"Vernon…" Aunt Petunia's trembling voice came from outside the door. "What should we do, Vernon? Should we write back, tell them we don't want… after all the effort we made to raise him as our own child?"
"Petunia, I will never let them take anyone. Didn't we swear when we took him in that we would cut off all ties with that world?"
…
Dudley heard Petunia's sobs and Vernon's furious shouts.
He had always known this day would come, and thought his parents had long prepared themselves. Yet when it truly arrived, their reaction was far greater than he expected.
Because of a single letter, the entire Dursley household was thrown into chaos.
Even the clueless Harry realized something major was happening. His life was about to change.
Petunia and Vernon finally burned the letter, deciding to ignore it, believing this would stop everything from happening.
Dudley knew this was only the beginning.
The next morning, the alarm rang at six sharp.
The day's plan begins in the morning. Dudley climbed from bed and started his daily training.
First came warm-ups to stretch his body. Then one-arm push-ups, dumbbells, and resistance bands one by one.
As Dudley was finishing, the postman arrived on time.
"Dursley, your mail."
As always, emerald green ink. Another letter for Harry—but this time not one, but three.
Vernon rushed over and tore the three letters to shreds right in front of Harry.
Harry's face showed no expression, no curiosity at all. He knew those letters would separate him from Dudley, and he wanted to attend Smeltings together with him.
That day, Vernon nailed the mailbox shut.
On the third day, six letters arrived.
On the fourth day, twelve.
From then on, the number doubled every other day.
Until Sunday.
"There's no post on Sundays, no blasted letters either," Vernon said cheerfully.
But just as he finished speaking, something whistled down the kitchen chimney, striking him hard on the back of the head. Then countless letters shot out of the fireplace like bullets, filling the entire room in an instant.
By now, it wasn't postmen delivering letters anymore, but owls. The Dursleys' garden outside was swarming with them.
Dudley looked at the pile of letters filling the room, yet felt no ripple within.
"It seems I am destined never to attend Hogwarts."
Following Vernon's orders, he threw heap after heap of letters into the roaring fireplace.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Dudley caught sight of one letter. A sudden jolt struck his heart. He quickly reached into the fire to grab it. But the flames were too fierce—by the time he pulled it out, most of it had already burned away.
The addressee in the top left corner was nearly destroyed. Squinting carefully, Dudley could just make out that the name did not begin with Harry's "H," but with a large "D."
"Could this have been my letter?!"
(End of Chapter)
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