Jami Evans and the Sorcerer's Stone - Year 1

Letters from the Unknown Sender

　The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned our longest-ever punishment. By the time we were allowed out of our cupboard 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.

We were 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 and Jami Hunting.

This was why we spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where we could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came we would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in our lives, we wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and I, 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 and I. "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 we ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.

Strangely, one night in July, I had begun having weird dreams. One was continuously of a pale, blond, pointy faced boy with beautiful gray I could stare at forever. It was the same one every time, but each one that seemed to occur, the boy seemed to grow sadder and more distant. I asked Harry about them but he dismissed them as quickly as I asked.

A few days later, we received mysterious letters that Vernon had ordered Harry to get after an argument over who went to get the mail, like always. My brother handed me mine discreetly under the table. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, my hand trembling, I saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

Harry was slowly opening his letter, while I stuffed mine in my back pocket, saving it for later. 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. --."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle 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.