With the introduction of a Muggle means of communication-the telephone-Harry had once again made contact with the wizarding world.
During their conversations over the past two days, when Harry and his friends brought up his inability to receive letters, they thought of another possibility: could someone be intercepting his mail?
Ron had suggested it offhandedly, and afterward, none of them had given it much thought except Harry.
Right, I can't receive anyone else's letters, and nobody else can receive mine. Someone really could be intercepting my mail. But who would do something like that?
For the moment, Harry had no leads.
Harry did not really believe that Voldemort's former henchmen-the Death Eaters-were responsible.
Quite apart from the fact that Voldemort had fallen more than ten years ago, how many of his old followers were still out there? Even if some were, and they were still utterly loyal, surely they could not be stupid enough to intercept his mail.
Not only would that risk exposing them, but it would not do a damn thing.
Wasn't it just intercepting a few letters?
Harry was certain that the letters he exchanged with his friends contained absolutely nothing that Voldemort or his followers would care about.
Besides, protected by bloodline magic, he should have been invisible to dark wizards who meant him harm. They could not even find Privet Drive. If they could not find the place, how could they intercept his mail?
On the afternoon of the day after Harry asked Hermione and Ron to contact the Ministry of Magic, he and Dudley were playing video games in their room when a red letter flew through the open window.
Under Harry and Dudley's astonished gazes, the letter twisted and folded itself, then took on the shape of a face.
The envelope, now a