It was very cold on the boat. Splashes of icy seawater ran down their necks and a sharp wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping, led them to the ruined house.

The interior was horrible, it smelled of seaweed, the wind whistled through the cracks in the clapboard walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms

After all, Uncle Vernon's rations were a pack of cereal each and four bananas. He tried to light the fireplace, but the cereal box just smoked and charred.

- Those letters would come in handy now, huh? - Uncle Vernon said, excitedly. He was in a very good mood. He obviously thought no one would have a chance of reaching him there, during a storm, to deliver letters. Harry inwardly agreed, although the thought didn't cheer him up at all to

As night fell, the promised storm broke around them. The foam of the high waves splashed against the walls of the hut and a threatening wind shook the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found some moldy blankets in the second bedroom and made a bed for Dudley on the motheaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went to lie down on the lumpy bed next door and let Harry find the softest part of the floor and wrap himself in the most torn and thin blanket

The storm raged with increasing ferocity as the night wore on. Harry couldn't sleep. He was shaking and tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, his stomach growling with hunger. Dudley's snores were muffled by the thunder that started around midnight. The luminous face of Dudley's watch, which hung over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, informed Harry that in ten minutes he would turn eleven. Lying there, he watched his birthday approach, wondering if the Dursleys would remember, wondering where the sender of the letters was now