Some hours later, as he bedded down on an inch-high layer of parchment, Harry was feeling a bit more mellow towards the strange letters that had tried to literally flood into the house. Maybe it was the taste, or maybe it was how they did improve the comfort of his sleeping arrangements, but Harry felt like lying on top of all these things that were his was somehow… right.
Maybe this was what dragons actually hoarded? Harry knew that some dragons in the stories hoarded gold, though others didn't hoard anything at all, but the dragons in the stories were all a long time ago and gold wasn't used for money any more. It was all paper now, at least the valuable things were – some money was coins but they weren't worth as much.
And if dragons hoarded gold in the olden days even if it wasn't coins – and Harry definitely remembered there being shiny non-coin things in hoards in books – then maybe dragons these days hoarded paper even if it wasn't banknotes.
The next morning the chimney had been boarded up as well. Harry frowned at the sight, and asked Uncle Vernon whether maybe letters would come around the side of the door instead, and that prompted another half hour of hammering as Uncle Vernon boarded up all the sides of both the front door and the back door as well.
Fortunately Aunt Petunia had gone shopping the day before, so they had quite a lot of food in the fridge and in the cupboards, and for a wonder the day passed relatively normally – which meant that Harry's aunt and uncle relaxed a bit as no letters came through the pipes or out from under the wallpaper, and Dudley even asked Harry to come and play on the Super Nintendo with him.
Well, it was more like demanded, because Dudley wanted to play a two-player game, but Harry would take what he could get. At least it was one where you had to work with the other player.
When he woke up on Tuesday, Harry's tail flicked a little from side to side as he wondered whether he'd get anything for his birthday the next day.
It was sometimes a bit of a matter of chance whether he did at all. In the past Harry had been quite upset about that, but he'd learned to think philosophically, and really when you thought about it a lot of the things Dudley got were things Harry didn't want to get anyway.
Lying on his papery hoard, he wondered whether maybe it would be nice to get some books. Books, or storybooks anyway, were something he enjoyed which he knew Dudley didn't like… and maybe that was because he was a dragon who hoarded paper, like he'd decided the previous day?
As he thought about that and other deep thoughts, there was an almighty crash from upstairs accompanied by a shriek from Aunt Petunia.
"Pet?" Uncle Vernon called, loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. "What happened?"
Another crash and a slithering noise came from overhead, the latter progressing quickly down the stairs, and Harry got up and out of his cupboard to behold a truly massive pile of letters on the landing.
"The loft!" Aunt Petunia said, trying to put the words together. "I was going to go up into the loft and – absolutely filled with letters! They fell out!"
Harry began carting the letters back to his cupboard in big pawsful, wondering how many he could fit in before he'd have to start eating them instead.
Late that night, as the clock crept towards midnight, Harry slept on his new bed.
Lounging atop a pile of possessions, even such strange possessions in such an unusual situation, had made him feel terribly right. Perhaps it was just that he was doing something that dragons traditionally did, but then again he'd never felt the need to use his fire breath – it was awfully dangerous, and while he could do it… it just felt like a tool, something he could do. While his new bed felt entirely different.
Consequently, his slumber was deep and even – his tail curled around under his wing, half-rolled over onto his side, his neck and all his other body parts bent a trifle awkwardly to fit, but he was long used to that by now and it hadn't even made it hard for him to drop off to sleep.
In the sitting room, the clock ticked, and then all three hands lined up – midnight.
And there was a thunderous knock at the door.
Harry shifted slightly, tucking his head under his wing, and continued dreaming a dream about his old Primary schoolteacher running a charity book sale to raise funds for replacement owls.