So... uh... *nervous laugh* I forgot to upload yesterday. But from now on, updates every Thursday.
Chapter Two: The Letters of Mystery
It took a good two months for Heather and Harry to be let out of their cupboard, which, thankfully, meant they missed the end of school. Heather was glad she didn't have to see the girls in her class anymore. She'd been teased horribly, and they were even harder to ignore than the boys. Dudley was unavoidable, though, and therefore, so were his friends. He'd gotten bored with his presents - to be fair, he'd broken most of them - so his only entertainment was 'socialization'. Or, as it could be called, Potter hunting.
Harry and Heather had found an easy way to avoid this, though, and that was leaving the house. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never stopped them. They'd probably consider them being kidnapped a blessing, Heather thought bitterly, strolling past the local playground.
It was maybe once a visual attraction to Little Whinging, but generations of kids climbing on the equipment and stamping on the grass had turned it into a rusting wasteland. "It's a shame, really," she said. "That place might've been a reason to come here, but now kids like Dudley have spoiled it."
"Um, okay?" Harry asked uncertainly. He never really knew how to reply to his sister when she said things like that. "But Dudley spoils everything, so nothing new."
"I guess," Heather said. "It's funny to think we'll be going to a different school in September."
"I know," Harry said. "But it's in not a bad thing, though."
"Definitely not."
For secondary school, Dudley and Piers were going to Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. Meanwhile, Heather and Harry were going off to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley, being Dudley, found this absolutely hilarious.
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he informed them, sniggering. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"Go away, Dudley," Heather sighed.
"Don't have to," Dudley sung. "So, you two wanna go practise?"
"No, thanks," Harry said. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick." Then he grabbed Heather and ran.
"You shouldn't have said that," Heather said once they were out of earshot.
"I know," Harry said. "But he shouldn't have said that about Stonewall."
"Still shouldn't have said that," Heather said. She hesitated. "Do you really think they stick year sevens' heads down the toilet?"
"No," Harry said. Heather nodded, sighing in relief. "At least, I don't think so..."
Still, it wasn't all bad. Toilets or no toilets, Heather and Harry would be able to escape Dudley for a full six hours a day. "And even if people are pushed into swimming pools, it can't be worse than Dudley."
Dudley showed off his school uniform in front of his entire family a few weeks later. Smeltings boys - as well as wearing maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and straw boater hats - carried canes they used to hit each other. This did not seem safe, even if Dudley wasn't a student, and had made Heather very glad she did not have to go to Smeltings. A hundred Dudleys hitting them with sticks did not sound fun.
The other Dursleys, however, did not seem to share her point of view. "This is the proudest moment of my life," Uncle Vernon said gruffly. How disapointed in your child you'd have to be for that, Heather didn't know.
Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was in tears. "I can't believe it's my ickle Duddykins," she wept, dabbing her eyes. "He looks so handsome and grown up..."
"That's two words never used in the same sentence as Dudley," Heather whispered, leaning over to her brother.
"Don't talk to me, I might laugh," Harry said, holding back giggles.
The next morning, Harry and Heather walked into the kitchen to a pungent smell of burning. Aunt Petunia was standing at the stove, so Heather thought maybe she might need some help.
"Do you want us to..." she started, leaning over the pan. "Oh!" There wasn't bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove, but a wad of fabric. "Um..."
Harry came over. "What's this?" he asked.
Aunt Petunia pursed her lips. "Your sister's school uniform," she said. "Yours is in the tub."
Heather leant over a tub in the sink only to lean away, gagging. "Ack," she said, coughing. "Don't smell that stuff."
"Oh," Harry said. "I didn't realize it had to be so... so..."
"Wet?" Heather asked, coming back over.
"Yeah," Harry said.
"Don't be stupid," Aunt Petunia lectured. "I'm dying some of Dudley's old things gray for you. They'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."
"Okay," Heather said, walking over to the table with Harry. She moved to an undertone. "What'd you think we'll look like in September?"
"Like we're wearing bits of dried elephant skin."
"My thoughts exactly."
Uncle Vernon and Dudley came in, frowning at the smell. Dudley banged his Smeltings stick on the table, making Heather jump three feet in the air. He sniggered. She looked at Uncle Vernon pleadingly, but he had already buried his face in his newspaper, completely oblivious. On second thoughts, she doubted he'd care anyway.
The post came. "Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon ordered.
"Make the twins get it," Dudley said.
"Get the mail, twins," Uncle Vernon ordered.
"Yes sir," Heather said, getting up.
Harry, meanwhile, stayed where he was. "Make Dudley get it," he said. Heather felt like hitting him.
Uncle Vernon still didn't look up from behind his newspaper. "Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Harry ducked the Smeltings stick, getting up. Heather grabbed his wrist and dragged him out into the hall. "Idiot," she hissed.
"I'm not," Harry insisted, stopping before the pile of letters. Bill...
"You're acting like it," Heather said, picking up two of the letters. Aunt Marge...
"No I'm -" Harry stopped. "Heather, look at this."
Heather turned around, surprised by the sudden urgency in his voice. "What?" she asked, leaning over her brother's shoulder. "Oh my..."
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
"There's one for you too," Harry said, handing her a second letter.
"Weird paper," Heather commented, turning the envelope around. "Weird seal..."
"What do you think -" Harry started before a loud yell interrupted him.
"Hurry up!" Uncle Vernon's voice echoed throughout the house. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?"
"Coming!" Heather called. She exchanged a woeful look with Harry. They'd have to discuss the letters later.
Heather handed the other two letters to her uncle. He snorted at the sight of the bill, tossing it aside. Heather would normally have caught it, but she was too absorbed in opening her own letter. Something Dudley noticed. "Marge's ill," Vernon said to no-one in particular. "Ate a funny whelk -."
"Dad!" Dudley yelled. "Dad, the twins've got something!"
Quick as a whip, Uncle Vernon jerked the two peices of paper out of his neice and nephew's hands. "Hey!" Heather said indigantly.
"That's ours!" Harry said, trying to snatch them back.
He easily jerked the two papers out of Harry's reach. "Who'd be writing to you?" he sneered, shaking Harry's open.
His reaction was immediate. His smile moved downwards faster than Dudley falling off a cliff, his face turning a greeny grey so quickly Heather was certain he was ill. Shaking, he moved his hand to look at Heather's. "P-P-Petunia!"
Dudley swiped for the two letters, but Uncle Vernon held them away. Aunt Petunia looked over his shoulder, her face carrying a look of curiousity that did not last long. She swayed on the spot so disturbingly Heather wondered if she should get behind her aunt in case she fainted. She clutched her throat, looking as if she was struggling to breathe. "Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"
They looked at each other, horrified. Dudley tapped on Uncle Vernon's head with his Smelting stick, eager for the attention that was as much a part of his diet as sweets. "I want to read those letters," he fumed.
"I want to read them," Harry said. "They're mine."
"Well, one of them is," Heather said, moving to stand beside him. "The other is mine."
"Get out, all of you," Uncle Vernon said hoarsely, stuffing the letters back in their envelopes (he got Heather's in Harry's and Harry's in Heather's, but Heather thought it wouldn't be relevant to point this out).
None of them moved. "I WANT MY LETTER!" Harry shouted.
"I do too!" Heather said, though not at her brother's volume.
"Let me see them!" Dudley yelled.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon. He seized all three kids by the scruffs of their necks and threw them out the room.
They had a silent fight about who got to listen in using the keyhole, which Heather got by far the most hurt in. Dudley won, leaving the twins to kneel down and attempt to listen through the crack beneath the door.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying, her voice shaky, "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," Uncle Vernon said.
"He sounds insane," Heather whispered. Harry nodded.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"
Uncle Vernon's black shoes were furiously pacing the length of the kitchen. "No," he eventually said, sounding a great deal less crazy. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."
"But -"
"I'm not having one - let alone two - in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"
"Dangerous nonsense?" Heather whispered, confused.
...
"We're missing too much," Heather repeated for the sixteenth time (she counted). They'd been talking over the conversation into the late afternoon, and still hadn't made any headway. "We can't figure any of this out without those letters."
Harry nodded. "We need a way to get them."
"But how?" Heather asked.
At that moment, the sound of the door opening met their ears. "Uncle Vernon's back," Heather whispered.
To their surprise, Uncle Vernon opened the door to their cupboard, his red face peering in on them.
"Where's our letters?" they asked in unison.
"What have you done with them?" Heather added.
"Who's writing to us?" Harry asked.
"No one," Uncle Vernon said shortly. Harry and Heather exchanged a confused look. "It was addressed to you by mistake. I have burned it."
"It was not a mistake," Harry said stubbornly. "It had our cupboard on it."
"Name one other person who lives in a cupboard under the stairs," Heather said. "You can't, can y-"
"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon yelled. A pair of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took several deep breaths before arranging his face into what maybe could've been a smile. It looked like hard work, whatever it was. "Er - yes, you two - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."
"Dudley's second bedroom?" Heather asked, frowning. The Dursleys had four bedrooms - Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bedroom, the spare bedroom, Dudley's first bedroom and his second, where he stored all his broken or discarded toys. It also had a pair of beds from his sleepover phase, which would be undoubtedly where they were supposed to sleep.
"Why?" asked Harry.
"Don't ask questions!" Uncle Vernon snapped. "Take this stuff upstairs. Now."
It took one single trip to move all their stuff upstairs. Their was barely any space for it, given the room was already full to the brim with broken objects from Dudley's most recent birthday and before, but they didn't have much things, so they fit. "That was weird," Harry said, sitting down on the right-side bed.
"Yeah," Heather said. "Do you really believe it was an accident?"
"No."
"Me neither." Heather looked around the room, her face thoughtful. "It's a nice room, though."
"Yeah," Harry said. "Well, better than the cupboard, at least."
"Yeah." She noticed her brother's face. "Okay, what is it?"
"What's what?" Harry asked unconvincingly.
"Come on, bro," she said gently, sitting down beside him. "It's me. I know when something's up."
Harry sighed. "It's just that yesterday I'd have given anything to be up here. Today..."
"You'd rather be back in the cupboard with that letter than up here without it," Heather finished.
"Yeah," Harry said. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"
"I know you," Heather said, smiling wanly. "And, hey, it's not all bad. At least we get to have our own beds for once."
Their was a loud yell from downstairs. "I don't want him in there!" Dudley screeched. "I need that room! Make them get out!"
"And it upsets Dudley," Heather said, laughing slightly. She hugged him, and, after a second, he hugged back. "Always remember: no matter how bad things get, you'll always have me."
...
Against all odds, Harry and Heather came down for breakfast still in possession of their room. Dudley was looking at the twins venomously, Harry was looking gloomy, Heather was looking cautious as if she expected a bomb to go off (which she didn't think was impossible - everyone at the table seemed to really hate each other at this moment) and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other worriedly.
The post came. "Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon ordered.
"Make the twins get it," Dudley said grumpily. Heather got up to obey, but then -
"Dudley, get the mail," Uncle Vernon said. Harry and Heather exchanged a befuddled look.
"But -"
"NOW, DUDLEY!"
Dudley huffed before leaving the room. "Why did he do that?" Harry asked. "Yell at Dudley for us?"
Heather was about to answer when a yell came from the hall. "There's more! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -'"
Uncle Vernon, Harry and Heather all jumped up and ran out into the hall. Uncle Vernon attempted to wrestle the letters out of his son's hand, but unfortunately, the twins were just as eager to get them. Harry grabbed Vernon around the neck as Heather pulled his other arm away from him, making it a very confused fight.
After several minutes of poking and kicking, Uncle Vernon wrenched the letters away. "You two - go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom," he said, panting from the fight. "Dudley - go - just go."
Harry and Heather clambered up the stairs to their bedroom. The second Harry shut the door, he rounded on Heather. "Okay. What do we know?"
"Still nothing," Heather said, flopping down on her bed. "Uncle Vernon got these ones too."
"Wrong," Harry said. "We know that they know that we were moved out of our cupboard, and they seem to know we didn't get our letters. Which means..."
"They'll try again," Heather finished. "But how do we know for sure?"
"We don't," Harry said. "But we've got to trust our instincts, and my instincts say they'll try again."
Heather paused. "Okay," she said. "What do we do?"
"We're going to make sure they don't fail."
...
The alarm clock rang for six o'clock in the morning, just like they'd planned. "Come on, Heather," Harry whispered.
Heather sat up, opening her eyes. She'd only been pretending to sleep. "I still don't think we should be doing this."
"Do you wanna figure this out or not?"
"Of course I do, but -" Harry had already crept out onto the landing. She followed him, sighing.
They walked silently down the stairs. "This is a terrible plan," Heather hissed. He put a finger to his lips in reply. He stepped out into the hall, but unfortunately -
"AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!"
Harry jumped backwards, knocking into Heather. "Harry!"
"There's something alive!" Harry yelled fearfully.
A large figure stood up ominously. It was scrabbling and scratching its ears, like some sort of giant dog. The twins held their breath...
"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU TWO DOING?"
The twins simultaneously groaned. It was not, in fact, a giant dog, but Heather was now desperately wishing it was, because she was staring straight into the furious eyes of Vernon Dursley. He had been camping out on the doorstep, trying to stop them from getting the post. In other words, trying to stop them from doing exactly what they were planning to do.
"Make a cup of tea," he said after about half an hour of straight yelling.
"Yes sir," Heather and Harry said in unison, and they ran away from their raving uncle.
"Well, that didn't work," Heather said, once in the safety of the kitchen.
"No," Harry agreed, turning the kettle on. "I don't suppose you have any ideas..."
"No," Heather said, getting Uncle Vernon's favourite tea set out. "This isn't my forte."
"No, I guess not," Harry said. "So, what do we do now?"
"I don't know," Heather admitted.
By the time they got the tea ready, the mail had already arrived. Uncle Vernon tore the letters up in front of the twins' eyes.
Vernon didn't go to work that day, to the twins' dismay. He instead stayed at home, knocking the mailbox shut. Harry and Heather watched from the landing as Aunt Petunia delivered fruitcake to him. "See," Uncle Vernon said, his voice muffled given he had about ten nails in his mouth, "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," Vernon replied, attempting to use fruitcake as a hammer.
Harry and Heather exchanged a dark look. Would the letter-sender be able to get to them?
...
The next day, a full twenty-four (Heather counted) letters managed to get their way into the house. While it was slightly odd seeing letters slide in via the gaps in the door, Heather found it encouraging. The Dursleys burnt them, of course, but it meant that whoever was sending them the letters was persistent. If they kept it up like this, surely they'd be able to sneak one away... right?
On Saturday, Heather and Harry kept to their room. Vernon had barricaded them inside, meaning Dudley could not leave the house, and was therefore very tempermental. It was best to avoid him in this kind of mood in the best of times, and this was not the best of times. Still, they got back out into the hall when they heard Aunt Petunia's scream.
It turned out that their aunt had found no less than forty-eight letters hidden neatly in the eggs, twenty-four for Heather and twenty-four for Harry. "Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked over the sound of Aunt Petunia shredding the letters in the blender.
On Sunday, Uncle Vernon was over the moon.
"No post on Sundays," he said happily, spreading marmalade on his newspaper (he was very tired). "No damn letters today -" A letter hit him in the face.
Harry and Heather exchanged a shocked look, which was quickly replaced by identical smiles. They watched as nearly a hundred letters came pelting into the room via the chimney. Most of them ducked, but Harry and Heather jumped up, desperately trying to catch them.
"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon seized both twins and threw them out into the hall. He ran out, his wife and son following, and he shut the door behind them.
"They're definitely persistent," Heather whispered, listening to the letters bouncing off the kitchen walls. Harry nodded in agreement.
"That does it," Uncle Vernon announced, tugging at his moustache. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
...
"Well, Uncle Vernon's on the warpath," Heather said, packing her clothes into a grey backpack. "Wonder who's gonna go out first. Me or you."
"Me, probably," Harry said gloomily. "He likes you."
Heather snorted. "Yeah, that's a joke."
"Hmph. He likes you more than me."
"Still doesn't like me."
They forced their way out the house to find the Dursleys in a state of disarray. Dudley was sitting in the car sniveling because of who knows what, Aunt Petunia was sitting in the front looking tired and slightly alarmed, and Uncle Vernon was looking at the twins like they had just killed his mother. "Car," he ordered, looking very unhinged with half his moustache missing. "Now."
They hurried into the back seats. "What happened to you?" Heather asked a tearful Dudley.
"I'm not telling you," he snapped.
"Fine," Heather said, turning back to the front. She held up her fingers for Harry, counting down. Three... two... one...
"Daddy hit my head because I wanted to pack my TV set."
"There it is."
A few seconds later, Uncle Vernon climbed into the drivers' seat. "Everyone in?" he growled. "Good." And he sped off.
They kept on going until after dark. Harry and Heather were okay, given they were more or less used to not eating, but Dudley was going mad. He'd never spent so much time without television, video games or food in his life.
They eventually settled down in a crumbling old hotel bordering between city and suburbs. Why Uncle Vernon chose that place, Heather didn't know, but that was where they were staying for the night.
After a rather awkward dinner, they settled down for the night. Dudley, being Dudley, got his own bed, but Harry and Heather had to share. They were fine with it. It wasn't anything they weren't used to, and secretly? Heather preferred it. It wasn't that she couldn't sleep alone - she could, but it was comforting to hear Harry's steady breathing when she woke up. It made even the worst nightmares seem trivial.
"Harry?" Heather whispered over Dudley's snores.
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"You asked me first."
"Good point."
There was a pause. "Harry, what do you think the letters say?"
"I don't know," Harry replied. He sounded frustrated. "But I think our aunt and uncle might."
"So do I," Heather agreed. "They're never gonna tell us, though."
"I know," Harry said. "So we've got to get those letters."
"Agreed."
...
The next morning at breakfast (stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes), the hotel owner approached their table. She looked slightly frustrated about something. "'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr - or Miss -. H. Potter?" She held up a pair of letters. "Only I got about two 'undred of these at the front desk."
Harry made a swipe for the letters, but Uncle Vernon slapped his hand away. The hotel owner stared. "I'll take them," he said hastily, standing up. He and the owner left behind a counter.
"So, speed doesn't work," Harry whispered to Heather, to quiet for the other two to hear him. "What else?"
"We already tried strength and thinking ahead," Heather whispered. "That just leaves... stealth. Which isn't gonna be very easy. Uncle Vernon always destroys the letters immediately."
"Yeah," Harry said. "So, keep trying with the other three?"
"Best plan we've got."
...
"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, watching Uncle Vernon swerve around the road. He didn't answer.
"Do you think he even heard?" Harry whispered.
"Probably not," Heather whispered back. "He seems pretty absorbed in getting us all killed."
"Or lost."
"That ship has sailed."
...
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked glumly.
"Yup," Heather said.
"I wasn't asking you."
"I know," Heather said, turning to look at Dudley. The lack of food and constant swerving (she was getting carsick) was really starting to have an effect on her.
"Daaadddd!" Dudley whined, but Uncle Vernon wasn't listening.
"Does he actually have an aim here?" Heather asked cryptically. She didn't need to lower her voice as Uncle Vernon no longer cared, Aunt Petunia was precoccupied with worrying for her husband's sanity and Dudley couldn't do anything real without standing up.
"I don't think so."
"Me neither."
They seemed to have spoken too soon, however, as they parked just beside the coast. Uncle Vernon wordlessly got out, leaving to look for... something.
"Wonder what he's doing this time," Harry said.
"I don't think this time is normal," Heather said, frowning. "Maybe he really has somewhere in mind..."
It started to rain and, subsequently, Dudley took his snivelling back up. "It's Monday," he announced grumpily. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "
"Monday?" Heather asked. "Did I hear that right?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "If today is Monday, then tomorow is..."
"Tuesday!" Heather finished. "Which means..."
"Our birthday's tomorow!" Harry said.
"But our birthdays are never exactly fun," Heather pointed out. "I mean, look at last year!"
"Good point," Harry said. Last year, the Dursleys had given Heather a coat hanger and Harry a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. "Still, you're not eleven every day."
A few moments later, Uncle Vernon returned, holding a long, thin bag. It looked suspiciously like a gun. "Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"
They clambered in a disordly fashion out the car. It was very cold outside, and everyone except Heather (she was wearing an old hoodie of Dudley's that had been worn so much it had an extra layer of wool on the underside) immediately started shivering. They looked where Uncle Vernon was pointing to see an old shack in an even worse state than the hotel perched precariously on a rock. "Well, one thing is for certain," Harry whispered, "there's no television."
"Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon said happily. Harry and Heather looked at each other in dread. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
A supicious-looking man came ambling over to their position, his grey hair greasy and yellow teeth showing through his crooked smile. One thing was for sure: he was no gentleman.
He pointed to a small rowing boat sitting on the edge of the land. It didn't look like it could hold just Heather, let alone all five of them. "I've already got us some rations," Uncle Vernon said, "so all aboard!"
They piled into the boat. It was even colder rowing across the icy seas, and the twins huddled together for warmth. So did Aunt Petunia and Dudley, though Heather couldn't imagine it was very comfortable. Aunt Petunia was very bony and Dudley was very heavy, and therefore hard to balance.
They eventually reached the rock, soaking wet from the sea spray and shivering from the devastating cold. Nearly immediately after they climbed out the boat, Heather slipped and nearly fell into the icy expanse of sea below, but Harry reached out a hand and pulled her back onto the rock. "Thanks."
The twins sticked close together after that.
Against all odds, all five of them managed to reach the hut in one piece. "That was an experience," Heather said hoarsely, coughing up sea foam.
"That's one way to put it," Harry said.
The hut was tiny. It had only two rooms, a bedroom-ish kind of place and what might've once been a living room. It was also made entirely out of wood. In a storm. "Great," Heather said. "So we'll be crushed to death instead of freezing."
Uncle Vernon ignored her. The so-called 'rations' turned out to be a bag of crisps and a banana each, which made for a just excellent meal. All the sane members of the house thought this was crazy and wanted to go back to Surrey. Unfortunately, the one who could make that decision was not sane.
Uncle Vernon was ecstatic. He attempted to start a fire using the crisp packets, but foil doesn't catch fire. Physics. Whadd'ya know? "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said happily.
"He obviously doesn't think anybody stands a chance of reaching us here," Harry whispered.
"He's right, though," Heather pointed out gloomily. "You'd have to be insane to take a boat out here." She sighed. "Unfortunately, our uncle is in that particular class of people."
The weather forecast was right for once, and by the time night fell, the storm was already upon them. Aunt Petunia used a group of moldy blankets from the bedroom to make Dudley a makeshift bed on the moth-eaten sofa. Harry and Heather were left to share the worst, most moldy blanket and the softest piece of floor.
...
"Heather?" Harry whispered.
"Harry?"
"You're awake?"
"How could I sleep?"
"Good point." Harry noticed Dudley's watch. "Hey, Heather!"
Heather turned over to face her cousin's watch. "11:50," she read. "That means..."
"We'll be eleven in ten minutes' time," Harry finished. They stayed silent for a while, watching their birthday come closer. "Heather -"
"What?"
"Do you think the Dursleys will remember?" Harry asked. "About our birthday?"
"Probably not," Heather said. "Besides, what difference would it make? It's gonna suck anyway."
"True," Harry said. "Hey, where'd you think the letter writer is now?"
"I don't know," Heather said. "Why?"
"It's just..." Harry trailed off. "If there's anything in the world I'd want for my birthday, it would be one of those letters."
"Oh." Heather paused. "Me too." Her face darkened. "But it's never gonna happen. They will never let us. They never let us do anything. Urgh, why'd they always have to ruin everything?!"
Harry looked at her, shocked. He'd never heard her get angry like that before. Heather was always... well, Heather. She was the one who always knew what to say, when to say it. He'd never heard her lose control before.
"Hey," he said, taking her hand. "Always remember: no matter how bad things get, you'll always have me."
"That's my phrase."
"I know. And it's a good one."
Heather laughed, glancing at Dudley's wristwatch. "Five minutes to go."
They heard something creak outside. "Did you hear that?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," Heather said. "I hope the roof isn't going to fall in."
"I dunno," Harry said. "It might be warmer if it did."
"Not funny."
"Just trying to lighten the mood." He looked at Dudley's watch. "Four minutes to go." He thought a bit. "Hey, maybe the house in Privet Drive will be so full of letters when we get back that we'll be able to steal one somehow."
"You're delusional."
"Really?"
"Yes." She looked at Dudley's watch. "Three minutes to go."
"Is that the sea, slapping on the rock like that?" Harry asked, frowning.
"I don't know," Heather said. "Two minutes to go." She listened a little. "What's that funny crunching noise?"
"Dunno." It happened again. "Uh, is the rock crumbling into the sea?"
"Hopefully not," Heather said. "One minute to go and we'll be eleven."
"Thirty seconds..."
"Twenty...
"Ten... nine ..." Harry smiled. "Why don't we wake Dudley up, just to annoy him?"
"Bad idea," Heather said. "- three... two..."
"One."
BOOM!
Both twins jumped upright, exchanging a shocked look. "What was that?" Heather asked.
"Someone's outside," Harry said, his voice etched with fear. "And I think they're knocking to come in."