After a day of driving around aimlessly, Uncle Vernon stopped at a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city.

Calysta shared a room with Harry and Dudley, and since there were only two beds, she curled up next to Harry. Dudley snored all night, so neither of the twins got any sleep. They just stared outside the window, talking in hushed whispers.

They were having stale cornflakes and canned tomatoes for breakfast the next day, when the hotel owner came up to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is any of you Mr. and Miss. Potter? Only got about a 'undred of these at the front desk.."

She held out a familiar pair of parchment envelopes so they could see.

Miss. C. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth

The pair simultaneously made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands away, snatching them.

"I'll take them," he said, standing up and following her out of the dining area.

Hours later, Aunt Petunia, who'd had enough of driving around aimlessly, asked her husband timidly, "Wouldn't it be better to just go home, dear?"

Uncle Vernon didn't seem to acknowledge her words, and kept driving. Nobody knew where he was going, or what sort of definition he had in mind. 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 again. Great drops beat on the roof of the car.

Calysta looked at the front, squashed between Dudley and Harry. She was playing with the loose threads on her sleeve.

Dudley sniveled. "It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Calysta perked up, her neck snapping to Harry's direction. If today was Monday, then tomorrow would be Tuesday... Her and Harry's birthday.

She would be turning eleven. Her birthdays weren't exactly something she wanted to remember... Last year, the Dursley's had given Harry a coat hanger and a pair of socks, while she had gotten a box of rubber bands and sellotape. (The sellotape had come in handy when it came to fixing Harry's glasses...)

Still, you weren't eleven every day.

After what seemed like hours, Uncle Vernon suddenly emerged, carrying a long, thin package, and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he bought.

"Found the perfect place," he rubbed his hands. "Everybody out."

Grumbling, the three children got out of the car. It was very cold outside. A single raindrop fell from the sky onto Calysta's nose. She scrunched it up, rubbing it off.

Uncle Vernon was pointing at an island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by sea. A lonesome shack stood upon it, nearly in ruins. One thing was for certain; there would be no television there.

"Storm forecast for tonight," he said gleefully, clapping his arms together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat.

A toothless old man came ambling to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the murky water below them.

"I've already got some rations," Uncle Vernon said, "so all aboard."

He seemed to be the only one who was in a good mood.

The boat was freezing cold, not to mention extremely squishy. Calysta's knees were squished together so tight they hurt. The icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks, and the wind nipped at their faces. After what seemed like hours, they reached the island, which looked more like a large rock. After much slipping and sliding on the surface, they finally reached the broken down shack.

It smelled strongly of seaweed, and it was dark and musty inside. The fireplace was damp and and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and five bananas.

He tried to start a fire but the empty chip 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.

Calysta privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all. She could tell Harry was feeling the same, judging by the look of dismay on his face.

The storm raged on. Wind rattled through the hut, causing it to sway unstably. Calysta and Harry were sleeping in the second room with Dudley. It was freezing cold, so the huddled up together, counting down the seconds to midnight; their birthday.

Ten minutes to go. Dudley's snored echoed softly around the room, drowned out slightly by the thunder. Calysta wondered if the Dursleys would remember it was her birthday, asking Harry where he thought the letter writer was.

Five minutes to go. A loud rattle was heard from outside, and Calysta nearly jumped out of her skin. For a moment, she thought the roof would fall in.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"No idea," Harry whispered back.

Three minutes to go. There was some crunching outside, as well was a loud slapping noise. Was that the sea? Or hail?

Calysta shivered, brushing hair damp hair away from her eyes. Her hair tie had gotten lost at some point.

One minute to go, they'd be eleven. Thirty seconds to go... Maybe she'd scream, just for the sake of it... Ten seconds...

Harry interlocked their fingers.

Three... Two... One...

BOOM!

The whole shack rattled, and Calysta gasped, sitting bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

{ here's the second chapter. things will speeden up from the next chapter onwards. hope you enjoyed; please vote and comment. }