Hiya! This chapter is pretty much strict canon so be warned, I also wanted to let you guys know that this will be quite different to the Harry Potter you guys know, I'm making a few differences besides just the twin thing. I hope you like it though, and will keep reading
Oh and I should have added this in before but no, I do not own Harry Potter or anything regarding the Harry Potter world- except this fanfiction of course, that's mine. Have fun!
They walked the short distance to their cupboard in silence and there they sat in silence for at least an hour. Harry hunched over his back leaning on the crumbling wall while Charlotte sat on the floor, her back being supported by the rickety bed that the two were forced to share.
As Charlotte sat as she sat on the thought that there was only one person in the world who loved her and as he was already her brother and in the same situation as her she just started crying at the thought of being alone forever.
Harry reached over and took her hand, knowing that despite the events that had transpired throughout the day she was probably crying over the same thing.
"I love you Charlotte, don't cry," Harry whispered into her ear.
"You have to though. Harry what are we going to do, we don't even have a plan and we have no one to help us, we're going to die like this aren't we?" She got up and sat on the bed that Harry was already sitting on to face him, tears still fresh in her eyes.
"We could run away?"
"Right, because that would work," Charlotte sighed.
"Someone will come for us one day, we'll be so loved, so appreciated, I promise." Harry knew it was all false, words that's only use was to comfort, but as long as it accomplished that he felt no guilt feeding her words which were never to come true. But he did wish they were true.
"When we turn 14 we can get a job, and we'll work as much as we can and we'll make so much money that we'll be able to buy a house and then… and then…"
"It'll all be okay, and it will be, I'll protect you." Harry said while they stared at the wall again in silence.
"Charlotte?" he whispered.
He waited a few moments and then turned to look at her,
Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed he turned back to his side, took the thin blanket and rolled it up over her.
And he wished, he wished he lived in a big house with two loving parents who cared about him, asked him about his day, he wished he could have friends who came over on weekends so that they could laugh about some dumb thing at school.
Harry Potter wished he was normal.
Of course after Charlotte fainted on the second day at school they became quite flustered, letting the two eat again starting immediately, the portions though not big after two days without food were a relief nonetheless. However instead Vernon and Petunia gave the twins the longest punishment they had ever received, confined to their room it was amazing how many games of tic tac toe and hangman they could get through, but eventually they let them out of their cupboard after the holidays had already started.
Both were glad that school was over, but Dudleys gang were hard to escape, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all in their own right big and stupid, but Dudley reigned over them as he was bigger and stupider then all of them put together. They ran about the house beating Harry, pulling Charlottes hair, stealing Harry's glasses and overall laughing at the twos misfortune but unlike school Harry and Charlotte could go out and get away from them, at least for short periods of time, the two played at parks made up stories of someone coming to save them, did whatever they could to not think about the dull reality and kept all concentration on the life they could wish for.
There was some hope however, in the September Harry and Charlotte would be attending Stonewall High, the local comprehensive secondary school. Dudley on the other hand was going to the highly prestigious Smeltings academy, where they would train young boys to be as boring and uncreative as their fathers, Piers Polkiss joining him in this glorious endeavour. Of course Dudley found the twos attendance to Stonewall high very amusing.
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," he told Harry one day while Charlotte was cleaning, "Want to practise?"
"No thanks," said Harry, "The toilets never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick." Then he ran, before Dudley could figure out what he had said.
One day in July, Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, something Charlotte had seen and had snickered at when looking at the teen on the front cover with knee length shorts and a bowl cut looking like he had appeared from some kind of Christian boyband,
"I don't know what you're laughing at,
Charlotte fawned over a nephew of hers and listened to her rants about a man she knew named Mundungus while Harry watched the television and pretended not to notice the chocolate cake that tasted utterly dreadful.
Charlotte was commenting on how lovely Mrs Figg had looked when she was younger when she noticed a picture sticking out between pictures of her, her husband, and what looked like friends and family.
"Mrs Figg, who are they in the picture?"
There was a picture of a toddler in what looked like wellies that came up to her thighs smiling a toothy grin with what looked like a boy a few years older than Harry with another boy the same age while they seemed to be looking at each other in a knowing way while they smiled kindly next to the child.
"Oh." Mrs Figgs fond expression turned grim as she looked in her direction.
"That's me as a child with my brother and our cousin, the one with the fairer hair is my brother Ernest while the darker haired boy was our cousin, Samuel."
"That was before the war, 6 years before it actually," she continued, her head turned elsewhere, looking for something else to catch her attention. "They, well…They left for war when I was 9; they were some of the first actually."
"I'm sorry, did they survive?" asked Charlotte, hoping it wouldn't upset her too much.
"Samuel did. They weren't in the same regiment as Ernest was, Ernest was in a…" she stopped thinking for a word, "A different kind of war effort, very complicated really. When Samuel came out he wasn't the same though, he had shellshock," she paused. "It was nasty that…"
Mrs Figg sat thinking about this- her mouth twisting into a smile in sad acceptance, her eyebrows drawing upwards in a "It is what it is," sort of look. Charlotte who suddenly felt terribly guilty for bringing it up, if Harry had heard her bluntness towards such a sensitive subject then he'd be shocked but as he was in the kitchen (trying to find them both some sort of pumpkin cake which Mrs Figg assured them was very nice) she was only subject to her own guilt.
The elderly lady faced Charlotte,
"Little girls shouldn't be thinking about that though, at your age you should be focusing on boys, dresses, and school," She stroked Charlottes hair at this, "Do whatever you can in life dear, don't think twice and don't look back." She paused, "But you musn't forget to live it,"
That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.
As they looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Both Harry and Charlotte tried not to burst out laughing at their pig resembling cousin who looked like he was trying not to pop the buttons of the hideous thing.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Charlotte and Harry raised their eyebrows at each other, the tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.
"What on earth?" Charlotte exclaimed.
"It's your brothers new school uniform," she said.
Harry looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"Don't be stupid," Aunt Petunia snapped, "After I've finished Dudley's old clothes will look just like everyone else's uniform," While Harry doubted this he didn't say anything and Petunias gaze shifted to her niece,
"I went to the charity shop and your uniform is on the counter, go put it away." She ordered.
While Charlotte left Dudley and her uncle came in. Dudley roughly walked into her while Harry's back was turned (looking at the grey glob of clothes that he was to wear and slowly pondering if he could make his own) her body hitting the wall on impact before she got up again to put away her things
Both Dudley and his uncle had the same wrinkled nose and Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – 2 letters, addressed to Harry and Charlotte.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives - he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
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, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Charlotte who had put her things away came out and noticed him staring at the mail.
"What is it?" She took the pile and saw the two envelopes and nearly dropped them in shock. She quickly walked to the kitchen dropping the rest of the letters before trying to rush out again.
""Dad!" said Dudley suddenly, "Dad, Charlotte's got something!"
Charlotte was on the point of unfolding her 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!" she said, 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.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle 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 about the children still in the room. Dudley 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.
"Excuse me, those are our letters," said Charlotte furiously.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, then returning to pick Charlotte up and roughly drop her on the floor, slamming the door behind the protests. They all then promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, and Charlotte whose hair was now in total disarray lay flat on their stomachs to listen at the crack between door and floor.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"
"Watching - spying - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"
Charlotte could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.
"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything...
"But -"
"One is bad enough but I refuse to have two, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited the twins in their cupboard.
"Where's our letters?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to us?"
"No one. it was addressed to you two by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly, "I have burned them."
"What they addressed two letters, to two other siblings, who both live in "The cupboard under the stairs." Said Charlotte, sarcasm lacing her words.
"It's more common than you would think," A vein twitching on his forehead, visibly trying to calm himself.
"We feel that the two of you are too old to be sharing a bed and obviously this room isn't as… spacious." He said, looking around.
"It's a cupboard." Harry said.
"Well, er, yes." He contorted his face into a smile, which looked to be quite painful.
"We thought it would be nice if you two had your own rooms, Charlotte is to have the guest bedroom and Harry Dudley's second bedroom."
"Is this about the letters?" Charlotte asked.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom.
The two grabbed the few things they owned and went upstairs, upon reaching the top turning in opposite directions so that they could reach each room they had been given, Charlotte's to the right, Harry's the left.
When both children reached the room given to them each sat on the bed already in the room and each stared at their surroundings.
Nearly everything in Dudley's room was broken.
The month-old video camera Dudley had received for his birthday was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books that Charlotte had stolen dozens of times only to meticulously put them back in the hopes they would not be noticed, and unremarkably never were.
Charlotte's on the other hand held a different story, the bed that sat in the left corner was that of a queen sized bed, bigger than Harry's but it was quite obviously sinking in the middle (probably as a result of having to carry Marge's weight) across the room there was pretty much nothing, a few pictures of the Dursleys with Marge, one of Dudley and Marge where Dudley was looking away in the distance (again the probability of it being a television was quite high) and another of Vernon and Marge, looking very similar, moustache and all.
Other than that it held virtually nothing, it was somewhat comforting, there wasn't too much to transition verses, say, Dudley's second bedroom, where "stuff" was almost everywhere, and visible carpet virtually nowhere.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don't want him in there... I need that room... make him get out..." Petunia not sounding all that happy either at losing their guest bedroom.
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday both children would have given anything to be up here. Today they'd both rather be back in their cupboard with those letters than up there without them.
Harry got up and walked the short distance to Charlotte's room, knocking at the door asking to come in.
Charlotte expected it to be her aunt, telling her that they had thought it through again and that she was to go back to her cupboard,
"Come in."
"I want those letters," was all Harry said declaring himself, walking over to her bed, collapsing on the bed.
"You're not the only one, who writes letters like that anymore? I mean, the handwriting was so… Wow. It looked like Calligraphy Harry." She always wished she could write beautifully, it seemed to be a trait of every girl, nice handwriting, and she did feel somewhat left out on this gene that graced every girl she knew except her.
"I was there Charlotte," laughing at the awed tone of her voice. "Who knows, maybe it's a warrant for our arrest."
"Right, because the Dursleys would shelter us from that huh?"
"Okay probably not," he said, "but they'll have to give up eventually, won't they?"
"Of course, they wouldn't know patience if it bit them in the back," said Charlotte.
"How exactly do you bite someone on the back?" Harry asked.
"I don't know, you could always try it on Dudley? Our cousin has more than enough skin for it to work."
"Charlotte, I'm not putting my mouth anywhere near his body, I'd probably get diabetes anyway," Harry joked and got up to leave.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.
Charlotte thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's two other ones! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -'"
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Charlotte right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind and Charlotte grabbed his hands from the front, trying to push them away. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with the children's letters clutched in his hand.
"Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedrooms," he wheezed at Harry and Charlotte.
"Dudley - go - just go."
Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door -
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat - something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Charlotte (who had always been a light sleeper) got up to hear the commotion and made tea with Harry as he shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time they got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap.
"I wish you would have told me, I could've helped you," said Charlotte not unkindly.
"How?" Charlotte accepted that, she had no idea how she'd help him but she did feel left out.
Harry could see six letters addressed in green ink.
"Give us -" Charlotte began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."
"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
On Friday, no less than twenty four letters arrived for them. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.
Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Forty eight letters to Harry and Charlotte found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window the other two dozen being found in oranges Aunt Petunia were having for lunch, a remainder from the fruit cake she had made yesterday, in which there had been no letters. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office, the dairy, and the supermarket trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you two this badly?" Dudley asked them in amazement.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today -"
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, sixty or seventy letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but the twins leapt into the air trying to catch one.
"Out! OUT!"
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. While Aunt Petunia grabbed Charlotte's hand roughly and again throwing her out into the hall, Dudley ran out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.
Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this. They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Charlotte got her own room, which was in and of itself was identical to Dudley's and Harry's, only lacking one bed, where she hid a secret of her own. While Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering...
They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.
"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter or Miss. C. Potter? Only I got about two 'undred of these at the front desk."
She held up two letters so they could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
And;
Miss. C. Potter
Room 15
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.
"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining 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 ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked 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 snivelled.
"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 of something. If it was Monday - and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, Charlotte being given 10 pages of paper and the stump of a pencil.
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'd 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 way 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!"
Harry picked up his speed, leaving Charlotte to walk alone, as he made his way to his Aunt's side,
"Aunt Petunia, is this really necessary?"
She gave him a glare and he shot back to his sisters side, not until he heard her mumble something that sounded remarkably like "I don't know,"
A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with 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 sliding, 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 each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled 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 privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, 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 mouldy 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 Harry and Charlotte were left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket, clinging to each other for warmth and comfort.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep and Charlotte struggled with sleep at the best of times. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, Charlotte just sat up eventually and as if reading Harrys mind, they moved over to their cousin, hearing 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 edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Charlotte they'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. They lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
"Harry, I have a present for you," whispered Charlotte in the dark, lightning flashing so her face lit up, to some it would be scary but Charlotte just looked like a ray of hope in the dark, the light framing her face quite splendidly.
"How on earth did you get me a present?" Harry asked, curious as to what she had brought.
Charlotte opened the top of the torch that she had been made to carry, containing a piece of paper in place of batteries.
'Mr. H. Potter,
The Smallest Bedroom,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I wanted you to have a gift and…" she trailed away, hoping he wouldn't shout at her for not telling him.
Instead of saying anything he hugged his sister so tightly, thanking the stars for such a person to be there with him in what seemed like a nightmare.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, ruining the moment his sister had gave him, although it might be a little warmer if it did.
"I'm sorry I don't have a gift for you but I promise I'll get you one soon, probably nothing like this I'm afraid but I'll get you something," putting the letter to one side so he could kiss his sisters forehead and thank her repeatedly.
"I couldn't get one of mine though so I have no idea what it says," she admitted.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?
"You could have opened mi-"
"Don't be silly Harry it's your gift, now open it!"
Two minutes to go.
He looked over its letter, not wanting to break it, it was so fragile, the most beautiful thing he had ever owned and he was going to rip it open. How unfair.
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine – he ripped the thing open, taking the letter out - three... two... one...
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Charlotte jumped while Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
