The Twin Potters Adventure

Page 9

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Harry and Y/N made grab for the letters but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared.
    "I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dinning room.

    "Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around,  shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across of a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
    "Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley ask Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.
    It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."
    Monday. This reminded Harry and Y/n of something. If it was Monday —and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of the television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was both Harry and Y/n's eleventh birthday. If course, their birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given them a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old sock. Still, you weren't eleven every day.
    Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he bought.
    "Found the perfect place!" He said. "come on! Everyone out!"
    it was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.
    "Storm forecast for tonight!" Said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat"
    A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing,  was a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.
    "I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
    it was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and slipping, led the way to the broken-down house.
    The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind Whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

    Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty ship bags just smoked and shriveled up.
    "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" He said cheerfully.
    he was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and Y/n privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
    As night falls, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and the potter's was left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up together under the thinnest, most ragged blacket.
    The storm ragged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep and not could Y/n. They both shivered and Harry turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that Started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch. Which was dangling over the of the sofa on his chubby wrist, told the potter's they'd be eleven in ten minutes'. They laid and watched as their birthdays tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
    Five minutes to go. Y/n heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although be warmer if it did. Four minutes go by. maybe the house in privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.
    Three minutes to go.  Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the crumbling into the sea?
    One minute to go and they'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twelve...nine—Maybe they'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him— three...two...one...
    BOOM.
    The whole shake shivered as Harry and Y/n sit upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

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