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A month passed in the blink of an eye.
The incident at the reptile house — the glass that mysteriously vanished — naturally fell on Harry's shoulders. After all, strange things had been happening around him since he was little.
In truth, it wasn't even fair to call it "strange."
It really was his fault.
Because of that, the Dursleys imposed the harshest punishment on Harry: for an entire week, he was forbidden from eating bacon, lost the right to drink soda, and could only eat fish and chips.
Harry wore a miserable expression, completely dejected.
And, to be fair, fish and chips isn't that bad. The first time you eat it, it even tastes pretty good.
But…
Whenever Petunia feels too lazy to cook, that's exactly what she serves you.
And eventually, you stop thinking it's good.
Dry cod, frozen for far too long, tasteless and rubbery, paired with stale fries… it's the kind of meal that's hard to swallow.
As far as Harry could remember, that week had been the least happy week of his life.
...
On a day in July.
Harry was helping Petunia with the cleaning.
"Dursley! Letters for you!"
The postman's voice came from outside. A moment later, the mailbox clicked. The letters didn't even make it in properly — they ended up scattered across the doormat.
Vernon was sprawled on the sofa reading the newspaper when he saw Dudley come out of the shower after his morning workout.
"Dudley, go get the letters."
"Okay."
Dudley went to the door and picked up the mail.
Three envelopes.
One was a postcard from Aunt Marge, who was traveling. Another was a bill — looked like the electricity bill. And the third had the recipient's name written as: Harry Potter.
The handwriting was in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. On the back of the envelope, there was a wax seal with a crest: a shield, and around a capital "H," a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
What's meant to happen… happens.
Dudley carefully checked the mailbox again, looking for another letter.
There wasn't one for him.
And the moment he was certain of that, he felt a strange, inexplicable disappointment.
He handed the bill and the postcard to Vernon.
"Oh my God. Marge got sick," Vernon said to Petunia. "Ate something spoiled… some snails in oil…"
Then he opened the bill and grumbled in disgust. No one likes bills.
Then Vernon looked at the last envelope, the one still in Dudley's hand.
"Dudley, is that yours? What strange material… parchment? Who even uses that anymore?"
"It's Harry's." Dudley waved the envelope in front of his father's face, pointing to the recipient's name.
In that very second, the house fell silent.
So silent you could hear everyone breathing.
Vernon, Petunia, and Harry all looked at Dudley.
Or rather, they looked at the letter.
Who would send Harry a letter?
The question didn't just confuse the Dursleys.
Even Harry himself was lost.
Who would send a letter… to me?
Vernon snatched the envelope from Dudley's hand and opened it with one hand, reading it right there.
Harry didn't mind. He just wanted to know what it said, so he stepped closer.
Vernon read only the first line.
His face changed from red to green like a traffic light. Within seconds, he turned pale, sickly, like cold porridge.
"Pe… Pe… Petunia… it's them!"
Just a few words, but they seemed to drain all the strength from him.
Harry hadn't even managed to see anything before the letter was already in Petunia's hands. She also read only the first line. Then she pressed a hand to her forehead, staggered as if about to faint, and grabbed her throat, choking as if she were about to lose air.
Harry grew even more curious.
He had never seen his aunt like that.
"Aunt Petunia… what does it say?"
Harry stepped closer, but Petunia pulled the letter away.
"This isn't something children need to know."
Dudley noticed that Petunia was trying with all her strength to control her emotions, to keep from breaking down.
"Vernon and I need to talk." Her voice trembled. "You two… go upstairs to your room."
"Okay, Aunt."
Harry went upstairs obediently.
As soon as they entered the room, he turned to Dudley, uneasy.
"D… do you know what happened?"
Maybe because he had spent so much time around Dudley, Harry was more mature than he looked.
He knew asking Petunia and Vernon would be worse.
Better to ask his cousin.
Dudley placed a hand on his head, almost like a farewell gesture.
"Harry… maybe you won't be able to go to the same school as me anymore."
"Why?!" Harry's voice jumped several octaves. Then he understood. "It's because of that letter, isn't it?"
From outside, Petunia's trembling voice could be heard:
"Vernon… what should we do? Vernon? Should we reply? Tell them we don't want them to… to take him… after everything, we finally started treating him like a son…"
"Petunia, I won't let them take anyone!" Vernon roared. "When we brought him here, didn't we swear to cut off all ties with… with that kind of people?"
...
Dudley heard Petunia's muffled sobbing.
And Vernon's furious shouting.
He had always known this day would come. He had imagined his parents were prepared for it.
But when it truly happened, their reaction was far stronger than he expected.
Because of a single letter, the entire house turned upside down.
Even Harry, still innocent, realized something big was about to happen.
Something that could change his life.
In the end, Petunia and Vernon burned the letter.
They decided to ignore it, as if that could stop the inevitable.
Dudley knew.
That was only the beginning.
...
The next morning, the alarm clock rang at exactly six.
Dudley got up and began his daily training.
First, warm-up.
Then stretching.
After that: one-arm push-ups, dumbbells, resistance bands… one by one.
Just as Dudley was finishing, the postman arrived at the usual time.
"Dursley! Letters for you!"
Again, emerald-green ink.
Again, letters for Harry.
But this time it wasn't one.
It was three.
Vernon appeared and tore all three into tiny pieces right in front of Harry.
Harry didn't react.
He didn't even show curiosity.
He knew those letters meant he would be separated from Dudley.
And he wanted to go to Smeltings with Dudley.
That same day, Vernon nailed the mailbox shut.
Third day: six letters.
Fourth day: twelve letters.
From the second day onward, every two days, the number doubled.
Until Sunday.
"There's no mail on Sundays, and we won't be getting any more of those blasted letters," Vernon said happily.
At that very moment, something fell down the kitchen chimney and hit the back of his head.
And then…
Letters began shooting out of the fireplace like bullets.
Within seconds, the living room was covered.
That day, it wasn't the postman delivering them anymore.
It was owls.
The Dursleys' yard was full of them.
Faced with that mountain of letters, Dudley felt nothing.
Looks like Hogwarts isn't for me.
Following Vernon's orders, Dudley began throwing pile after pile of letters into the burning fireplace.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something on one of the envelopes.
His heart jolted.
Dudley thrust his hand into the fire, trying to retrieve that specific letter.
But the flames were too strong.
When he finally managed to pull it out, it was almost completely burned.
Especially the upper-left corner — the recipient's name — had been destroyed.
Even so, straining his eyes, he managed to make out one thing:
It wasn't an "H."
It was a very large "D."
This letter… is it mine?!
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