Harry wasn't an only child, but had an identical twin, who died at birth. He's been hanging around ever since.
Harry snuck another look at Dudley, trying hard to stifle the ironic snickers threatening to escape. His cousin was pale-faced with shock, having screamed, hit things, and in general been a great bloody nuisance, and he still didn't have his second bedroom back! At the same table, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept giving each other dark looks.
When they heard the mail arrive, Harry rose to get it, only to be stopped by Vernon's vise-like grip on his arm. "Dudley," the man barked, "go get the mail."
His son stared at him, glassy-eyed, until Vernon gave him a glare. Then the pudgy boy pushed himself to his feet and lumbered off down the hallway. They could hear him sullenly banging things with his Smeltings stick the entire trip.
"There's another one!" they heard him shout suddenly. "Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-"
Vernon was up and out of his seat as soon as the first syllables had left his son's mouth. He ran down the hall, Harry just behind him, and roared as he saw Dudley opening the letter. He tackled Dudley and tried to wrestle the letter from him, a task made difficult by the fact Harry had grabbed the cane from his cousin's weak grip and thrust it between the two to lever the man off. After a minute or so of the tussle, Vernon emerged triumphant with the envelope clutched in one hand.
"Go to your cupboard- I mean, your bedroom," he ordered his nephew, bending over as he tried to catch his breath. "Dudley... go... just go."
James watched his twin agitatedly pace his room. "They know," Harry told him. "Somehow, they know they moved me up here, and that I didn't get the first letter."
"Then they're probably going to try again," James continued the thought. "I mean, if they're that determined you read it."
Harry nodded, coming to sit on the bed next to the ghost. "We need a plan."
His alarm, one of Dudley's broken things he'd found in his new room and repaired, rang just before sunrise. Harry slapped it silent before it could wake anyone else, then threw off his blanket. Getting dressed was a quiet affair. Sending James ahead to scout as they'd agreed the night before, he stole down the stairs.
"Problem!" James yelled, popping through the wall, and Harry winced even though he knew he was the only one who could hear. "Uncle's asleep in front of the door. If you try to go out that way you'll wake him up!"
The dark-haired boy closed his eyes and tried very hard not to curse out loud. After a long moment, he turned and headed into the living room, James floating along behind him.
Most of the windows in the room had been painted shut years ago, but Aunt Petunia had demanded at least one be left with the ability to open up and air out the house. Harry slid it open, wincing at the squeak that, to him, rang through the room, but there was no response from the hallway. In fact, now that he knew Vernon was there, he could hear the man snoring...
James went through the wall as he clambered out the window. "It's clear," he called out, more quietly now, as though now that they were actually out of the house the fact they were sneaking had only just begun to percolate his mind.
The sun had only just begun to rise. Even this late in summer, the pre-dawn hour still had a bit of chill to it, and Harry rubbed his arms as he walked down the street. When he reached the corner, he sat down on the sidewalk to wait for the mailman.
He wasn't long in coming. No more than ten minutes after Harry had arrived (ten minutes the boy spent shivering and sending his brother half-envious looks) the cheerful man came striding down the street.
"'Ere now, what's this?" the mailman asked, coming alongside the boy. "What're you doin' out 'ere this early?"
Harry got up, summoning an appropriately sullen look. "The hallway's getting waxed," he told the man. "Uncle Vernon doesn't want the letters falling onto the floor, so he told me to meet you out here."
The mailman nodded in understanding even as he frowned, indignant. "Out 'ere in the cold, an' without even a proper coat? What kind of bloke is your uncle?"
Harry was tempted to tell him just what kind of person Vernon was, but it would draw attention he didn't need right now. "He's all right," he said instead, dropping his eyes so the lie in them couldn't be seen. James, listening to the conversation, let out a snort of derision.
The mailman looked skeptical, but he dropped the subject. "Which 'ouse is it, then?"
"Number Four." Harry waited patiently as the mailman fished through his bag, finally coming up with a bundle of three identical, very familiar letters.
"Just these t'day, looks like. You get yourself home and get a nice hot cuppa, you hear?" The mailman waited until Harry nodded obediently before continuing on his route.
It was all Harry could do to wait until the man had turned down another street before he ducked behind a bush and pulled one of the three letters from the bundle. It was addressed the same as the last one had been.
"Ready?" he asked his brother. James grinned at him, and he broke the wax seal on the flap. When he turned it over, two sheets of... was that /parchment/... fell out into his palm. One looked like a list, and he set that one aside for now.
There was a fancy heading, one that he skipped over to get to the meat of the letter. "'Dear Mr. Potter'," he read out loud so the ghost could hear, though he kept his voice to a whisper. It wouldn't do to wake the neighbors after going to all this trouble. "'We are pleased to inform you that...'" His voice trailed off.
James looked worried as his brother continued to stare at the letter. "What is it? Harry?"
Harry glanced up at him, his green eyes wide. "This explains so much," he murmured dazedly.
The ghost looked ready to explode. "/What/ explains so much?"
Harry smiled broadly. "'We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' I'm a /wizard/..."
Author's Note: This is the end of what had already been written. Future updates will come when completed.