Percy said he'd be okay, but Harry wasn't so sure.

He knew how bad it was when he himself was got in trouble, and he knew that most of the time Percy took the blame in order to stop Harry from getting in trouble.

Harry knew that Percy had closed the mind link so that he wouldn't know exactly what was happening, and so that no pain would travel through the link to Harry, as it tended to do if it was left open.

Harry started to read a book to take his mind off things, since there was no way for him to help at the moment. He didn't even notice Percy had opened the mind link until he started talking to him.

Harry.

It was Percy.

Yeah, Percy?

Can you clear the way to the shower?

Sure thing.

Harry kicked some of Dudleys old, broken toys out of the way and jumped onto the bed. Percy jogged in a second later.

Harry gasped. Percy looked terrible.

He had cuts all over his body, his shirt was torn to shreds, you could barely see him because of all the blood. He had two really bad black eyes and a long, deep scratch along his cheek that Harry could tell would become a scar if not for the shower he was about to take. It also looked like Percy's leg was broken again, along with his nose, foot, and maybe a few ribs. He went into the bathroom.

He came out a few minutes later. All his wounds had closed and the one on his cheek had faded to a scar (some of his other cuts and stuff turned into scars too, but this one was the biggest one.  They always faded in a couple weeks, but until then it would serve as a reminder. The healing of their injuries was the only kind of freakishness the Dursleys were usually content with ignoring, as it protected them as well).

Goodnight, Percy thought to Harry before he left the room.  Harry realized suddenly that Percy was being put in the cupboard—the one they had lived in until they were eight and had grown too big to both be kept in such a small place, and was subsequently used solely as a punishment.

There was nothing for Harry to do, and he knew that no harm — aside from starvation, but Harry could probably steal him some food — would befall him in the cupboard, so decided to sleep too.

* * *

Percy was kept in the cupboard for a little over a week.

Harry did manage to steal him some food during that time.  One of the perks of being the one cooking the food was that it was much easier to swipe the food than it would be otherwise, and Harry had absolutely no qualms about stealing food from those animals.

When Percy was let out, the twins spent as much time as possible with each other.

Dudley had been accepted into Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. The twins, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall, the local public school.

Dudley thought it was very funny.

"I've heard they stuff people's heads down the toilet on the first day at Stonewall. Want to go upstairs and practice?"

(A\N The Lightning Thief!)

"No thanks," the twins chorused.

"The poor toilet hasn't had anything as bad as your head down it—"

"It might be sick."

Then they ran away before he could figure out what they'd said.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room with his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other when the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

Uncle Vernon said it was the proudest moment in his life.

The twins were trying not to laugh.

* * *

The next morning, the twins walked into the kitchen. There was a terrible smell.

"What's this?" they asked. Aunt Petunia's lips tightened, like they always did when the brothers asked a question.

"Your new school uniforms," she answered.

"Oh. We didn't realize it had to be so wet," the twins said.

"Don't be dumb," Aunt Petunia said, "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like anyone else's when I'm finished."

I doubt that, Percy thought to Harry as they walked to the table.

Me too, Harry replied.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley walked in, wrinkling their noses.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind his paper.

"Make them get it."

"Get the mail, you two," Uncle Vernon said to the twins.

"Make Dudley do it."

"Hit them with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

They dodged the stick and ran to get the mail. Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was on vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for each of the twins.

They picked up the letters and stared at it. They looked at each other, then back at the letters. It was addressed so plainly on each letter there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surry

And

Mr. P. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surry

The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald green ink, the color off Harry's eyes.

Turning the envelopes over, their hands 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, boys!" Shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen.

They went back to the kitchen, still staring at their letters.

Who do you think sent these? Harry asked.

I don't know, Percy thought back. And neither of us will know until we read them.

They gave Uncle Vernon the letters — not theirs, of course.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he infirmed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk . . ."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "The twins have got something!"

The pair were at the point of unfolding their letters, when they were jerked suddenly out of their hands.

"Hey!" they said. "It's ours! Give them back!"

"Who'd be writing to you two?" Uncle Vernon sneered. He glanced at the letter, and his face went red to green faster than a traffic light. Then he paled. Within seconds, his face was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter and read it, but Uncle Vernon held it out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment she looked like she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to forget Dudley and the twins were there.

Dudley didn't like to be ignored. He hit his father in the head with his Smeltings stick and said loudly, "I want to read the letters."

"We want to read them!" the twins shouted. "They're ours!"

"Get out, all of you," Uncle Vernon said.

"We want our letters!"

"Let me see it!"

"OUT!" Uncle Vernon threw the three kids out of the room. He slammed the door behind them.

The three kids had a silent but furious fight over who would listen through the keyhole, Harry and Percy VS Dudley. Eventually Percy listened through the keyhole and Dudley in the crack under the door. Harry could hear them because of the mind link, saving the memory of Dudley on the ground to laugh at with Percy later.

"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? Write back? Tell them we don't want—"

"No," he said. "We ignore it. If they don't get an answer. . . . Yes, that's best . . . just don't do anything. . . ."

"But—"

"I'm not going to have two of them in this house, Petunia! Didn't we swear to stamp this dangerous nonsense out of them when we took them in?"

* * *

Apparently Uncle Vernon had burned the letters.

Over the next few days, Uncle Vernon had done anything he could to stop the letters from arriving — he nailed the mail slot closed, locked the windows, boarded up any cracks that letters could possibly go through — but the letters always found a way in.

It was Sunday now.

"No post on Sundays," Uncle Vernon reminded them cheerfully. "No letters
today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney and hit him sharply on the back of his head.

It was a letter.

Then around thirty or forty letters came pelting into the room through the chimney. The Dursleys ducked, but the twins jumped into the air, trying to catch theirs—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon grabbed them and threw them out of the room.

"That does it," Uncle Vernon said when everyone was out of the room. "We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

No one argued. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded up doors and were in the car, speeding towards the highway. Dudley was sniffling because his father had hit him round the head for holding them up by trying to fit his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove in silence for a long time. Every once in a while he would turn and drive in the opposite direction.

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 TV programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

They stopped at a gloomy looking hotel. The twins shared a room with Dudley. Dudley snored, but the twins later awake thinking (and thinking to each other. . . .)

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes the next morning. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but are any of you Mr. H Potter or Mr. P. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of them at the front desk.

She held them up so they could read the green ink addresses:

Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth

Mr. P. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth

The twins tried two grab the letters, but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The women stared.

"I'll take them," Uncle Vernon said and followed her from the room.

* * *

"Wouldn't it be better to just go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, but if Uncle Vernon hear her, he didn't show it. Exactly what he was looking for, no one knew. He stopped in the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and drove away. The same thing happened multiple times.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia on one of these occasions. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all in the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great big drops beat on the top of the car.

"It's Monday," Dudley whined. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television!"

Wait, Monday? Is it really? Harry thought to his brother.

I think it is.  But that means that tomorrow, we're turning eleven! Percy thought back.

Uncle Vernon came back smiling. He was also carrying a long thin package and when Aunt Petunia asked what it was, he didn't answer.

"Found the perfect place!" he exclaimed. "Come on, everybody out!"

It was cold outside. Uncle Vernon was pointing to a large rock way out at sea. On top of it was a rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television there.

"Storm forecast for tonight! Uncle Vernon said gleefully. "And this gentleman has kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man walked over, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat in the iron gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so get on!"

A while later they got to the shack on the rock.

There were only two rooms. It smelled of seaweed. The fireplace was damp and empty.

Uncle Vernon's rations were a bag of chips and some bananas.

Uncle Vernon tried to make a fire. It didn't work.

Uncle Vernon was in a very good mood. He obviously thought that they wouldn't be able to get letters way out here in a storm — and secretly, the twins agreed.

That night, the promised storm blew in. It was raining, and water sprayed all over the place through the cracks in the roof and walls.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon made a bed for Dudley on the couch and went off to the lumpy bed next door. The twins were left to sleep on the floor.

The twins couldn't sleep.

Dudley's watch was showing. There was five minutes until the twins would turn eleven. They heard something creak outside.

Four minutes to go. Maybe Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they get back that they would be able to take one some how.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard against the rock like that?

And two minutes ago. What was that funny crunching sound? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and the twins would be eleven. Thirty seconds . . . twenty. . . .

The twins counted down from ten at a whisper.

"Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . (the brothers considered waking up Dudley, just to annoy him, but figured that would end Uncle Vernon's good mood) . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one. . . ."

BOOM.

The whole shack quivered and the twins sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.