Vernon let out something between a growl and a whine as he fervently hammered the mail slot shut, every so often reaching to scratch an itchy bandage on the nose his wife's cursed nephew had broken a couple of days ago. God, how he hated that boy; if it wasn't for Petunia's bleeding heart, he would've left him on a curb somewhere the moment they found him.

Now they were being harassed by the rest of his damned kind! They'd already found more of those letters in the milkman's recent delivery, and in the eggs they'd just recently purchased! He just counted it fortunate the little menace hadn't found out about them; they had agreed that they'd stamp that nonsense out of him.

Unfortunately for Vernon, that bit of luck wasn't going to stick around.

"Ah, what a peaceful Sunday." He laughed, looking so chipper, it concerned Petunia and Dudley a little.

Harry just gave him a gimlet eye while jabbing Dudley with his fork when he tried to steal the sausages off his plate. While it didn't really concern him, he was a little curious about why the man wasn't complaining about something like he usually did Sunday mornings.

"You know why?" He cackled like an idiot. "No mail on Sunday! Nothing! Not a damn note!"

Petunia looked like she was about to reprimand him for something when a sudden rustling noise came from the kitchen chimney. The Dursleys barely had time to face it when a virtual blizzard of paper erupted from it, pelting all four of the room's occupants with letters.

Now, Harry was used to several things; talking to reptiles, Figg's cats always flocking to him, Vernon's unmitigated dislike of him...this, on the other had, was new to him. With a shout of surprise, he jumped back from the flurry of paper. As he did, though, he felt the same force that let him push, pull, and cut from a distance kick in.

This time though, it caused a handful of sparks to shoot up from somewhere. Sparks that, unfortunately, hit a few of the papers and set them alight. After that, it was a bit of a blur between screaming, Petunia and Vernon swatting at the burning letters with tea towels, and Harry finding himself being pulled away from the ensuing chaos.

11111111~~~~

"Dudley Winthorpe Dursley! What the hell were you thinking!?" Vernon's voice cut in, bringing Harry to reality. "He's responsible for all this; why'd you bother helping him!?"

He scowled a little. 'Well screw you too, fatso! I was caught offguard about all that as well!'

"I dunno, I just did!" Dudley replied, shrugging helplessly. From the look on his face, he honestly wasn't sure why he did what he did, either.

"We will be having words later, young man!" Vernon frowned, before yelping when another letter spun past, taking a bit of his mustache with it. "Pack up! Everyone, pack up, no more than one bag!"

While the three of them charged upstairs to pack, Harry went back to his lair and grabbed a small canvas bag he kept stashed behind an empty box of rat poison. In it was a small collection of items that he considered as 'his', things he'd found over the years that just seemed to call to him; a couple small metal figurines of what looked like fighters, a pristine, gold-colored marble, various pound notes he'd picked up, totaling around thirty quid, an old-looking copper coin with 'nut' spelled oddly on it, and the feather from the ugly guy's stick. He had no idea why a feather had been in the stick, but it was his now.

He made sure everything was in it before heading to the car and waiting for the Dursleys.

Once they had all gotten in the car (after Dudley got slapped for trying to pack his tv, computer, and game player), they were soon on a twisty, windy route. Every now and then, Harry could hear Vernon ramble about someone expecting them to take a turn, or how 'they could be watching them right now.'

After spending the night at a musty old hotel - that put Harry in a bad mood due to the smell of the place actually making his nose hurt -, and their attempt at 'breakfast' being interrupted by an employee mentioning them having more letters for a 'Mr. Potter'. Vernon quickly piled them all back into the car after that, and once again they were back on the road.

"Has daddy gone mad?" Dudley ask his mom after they stopped at an odd little shop on an off road. Vernon had gone in and returned with a bag and a long, narrow package. After that, it was even more convoluted driving routes well into the evening.

By the time they stopped for real, Harry looked ready to strangle the man. Aside from the hotel, they'd been cooped up in the car, and part of him was screaming to be let out to walk some. Unfortunately, he didn't really plan on that walking to be around a creaky-looking old shack on a rock out in the water. The place smelled almost as bad as the hotel, was drafty, and Vernon's attempt to start a fire in the damp fireplace only got smoke.

By then, the storm that had been forecast earlier that day arrived. The whole place rattled as it was battered by the wind and waves and spray made its way in through the gaps in the walls. Petunia had found a few moldy blankets and made a bed for Dudley on the tattered old couch while, in typical fashion, she and Vernon claimed the lone bed in the place. It was pretty obvious that they expected him to find a spot on the floor, which he flipped them off for.

That wasn't happening, however. Mainly because due to a mix of the buzzsaw symphony now occurring, and the fact he needed some peace and quiet to mull over what had happened the last couple of days. Mainly the questions of why he was suddenly getting letters out of nowhere, and why Dudley even bothered helping him.

"Almost there." Hagrid said to himself, making his way down the coast. Dumbledore had let him use a bit of the Trace to search for Harry Potter after not getting a response from him over the week. The trek south had been fairly straightforward mostly, until it started leading him near the coast for some reason. He wasn't too sure, but figured they were on holiday. Shame about the storm, though.

A few more checks had him beeline towards a rundown old shack out on the water. Why the Muggles had picked a place like that to vacation at, he'd never know. What he did know was that it wasn't leading him to the shack itself, but a busted up rowboat propped up on the shore.