Hermione and Harry: Riddle in Time (Tomione/Harmione) UNEDITED

Chapter 29

Tom looked around him, he was in another memory, and he saw young Harry bent down to get the mail. He saw one particular letter; it was from Hogwarts. Young Harry walked to the kitchen and gave the letters, except the one for him, to his uncle. He was about to read what was written when his cousin snatched the letter from him.

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”

“That’s mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His 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.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley, clearly, wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it’s mine.”

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn’t move.

“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

The memory changed. Harry was at his cupboard, but his uncle was talking to him.

“Where’s my letter?” said Harry, the moment Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”

“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had my cupboard on it.”

“SILENCE!” yelled Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking … you’re really getting a bit big for it … we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“Why?” said Harry.

“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”

The bedroom was small, filled with broken toys. The memory changed. Harry quickly silenced the alarm clock and silently walked down the stairs, but suddenly, he screamed. The lights went on, and lying on the floor was his Uncle.

“I want —” he began, but Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.

Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.