Potter Spawn

Chapter 3

Which was a Tuesday and it was a week-long trip and if Dudley was correct that today is a Monday, tomorrow was his birthday.

Well, so much for a birthday, Harry grumbled inside his head, cross in his arms and sinking in his seat, his hair turning a little blue.

*

They had borrowed a boat from a fisherman who lived nearby the shore and they paddled through the water.

The ride was cold and wet.

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 island, where Vernon,

slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

Though Harry was reluctant to go inside the rusty shack, that was worse than his old cupboard which was saying something, he had no other choice.

It's either he slept outside or inside. And he did not want to sleep drenched in seawater. Even though he was already drenched in it.

The inside was...not something he would wish for to put it lightly. It was shallow and water could be seen dripping from the corners of the ceiling.

It had a moth-eaten couch that did not look comfy. The windows were boarded up.

It smelled strongly of seaweed and the wind whistled through the gaps of the wood.

The fireplace was damp and empty and there were only 2 rooms.

Vernon's rations turned out to be a packet of crisps each and four bananas.

Which made Harry grateful that he brought his own.

Vernon tried to start a fire but the empty crisp packets 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 the post.

Harry just snorted from the very thought. From what he heard, Quidditch wouldn't be cancelled just because of this, who says an owl wouldn't get through this.

And from what he'd seen the owls were SMART. They probably have already known that he already read the letter.

*

It was midnight almost 1 am as Harry laid on the floor, a birthday cake drawn on the dusty floor. There were 11 candles drawn on the cake.

The windows rattled as the storm raged outside the shack.

The wind howls and the thunders roars were one of the reasons Harry was up at this questionable hour.

The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes.

He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering how he would be able to escape the Dursleys to get to Diagon Alley.

Well, he could turn himself into the minister, he mused as he propped himself by his hand. But then again he never really seen the minister and wouldn't be able to know what he looked like.

He wondered if there was ever a female minister of magic.

He looked at the dial again.

5 minutes.

Harry heard something slight creak on the ceiling.

He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.