Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's StoneBy J.K. RowlingCHAPTER ONEThe Boy Who Lived Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectlynormal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anythingstrange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefyman with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thinand blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as shespent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleyshad a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear wasthat somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out aboutthe Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact,Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothinghusband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what theneighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had asmall son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keepingthe Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that. When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there wasnothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon behappening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie forwork, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his highchair. None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window. At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, andtried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum andthrowing his cereal at the walls. Page 2 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out ofnumber four's drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a catreading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his headaround to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't amap in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr.Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and upthe road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no,looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and putthe cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drillshe was hoping to get that day. But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in theusual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangelydressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funnyclothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdosstanding quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged tosee that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, andwearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this wasprobably some silly stunt —these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, thatwould be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunningsparking lot, his mind back on drills. Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't,he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owlsswooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazedopen-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even atnighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at fivedifferent people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in avery good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the roadto buy himself a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's.He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunchwere whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his wayback past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what theywere saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —" " — yes, their son, Harry —" Page 3 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted tosay something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturbhim, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed hismind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was beingstupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potterwho had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was calledHarry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no pointin worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blameher — if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks... He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building atfive o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. "Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds beforeMr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset atbeing almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he saidin a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing couldupset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourselfshould be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He alsothought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his carand set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, becausehe didn't approve of imagination. As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve hismood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. Hewas sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes. "Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursleywondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determinednot to mention anything to his wife. Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door'sproblems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley Page 4 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comtried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time tocatch the last report on the evening news: "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behavingvery unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight,there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise.Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." Thenewscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with theweather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that havebeen acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning into tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars!Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I canpromise a wet night tonight." Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight?Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have tosay something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heardfrom your sister lately, have you?" As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretendedshe didn't have a sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why?" "Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lotof funny-looking people in town today..." "So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley. "Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd." Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell herhe'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could,"Their son — he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?" "I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. "What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?" Page 5 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me." "Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley wasin the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the frontgarden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting forsomething. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it gotout that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it. The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning itall over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potterswere involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knewvery well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he andPetunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over —it couldn't affect them... How very wrong he was. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside wasshowing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on thefar corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the nextstreet, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the catmoved at all. A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silentlyyou'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyesnarrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judgingby the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He waswearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. Hisblue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was verylong and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was AlbusDumbledore. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everythingfrom his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking forsomething. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at Page 6 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comthe cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sightof the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter.He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with alittle pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clickedthe Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in thedistance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their windownow, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happeningdown on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off downthe street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it,but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-lookingwoman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had hadaround its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into atight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked. "My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." "You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall. "All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and partieson my way here." Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bitmore careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on theirnews." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks ofowls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to noticesomething. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had muchsense." "You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate foreleven years." Page 7 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads.People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed inMuggle clothes, swapping rumors." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tellher something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very dayYouKnow-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I supposehe really has gone, Dumbledore?" "It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care fora lemon drop?" "A what?" "A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of." "No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was themoment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —" "My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call himby his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who wasunsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name." "I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring."But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort,was frightened of." "You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have." "Only because you're too — well —noble to use them." "It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my newearmuffs." Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next tothe rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared?About what finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, thereal reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman Page 8 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comhad she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever"everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer. "What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric'sHollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — thatthey're — dead." Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he triedto kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knowswhy, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's powersomehow broke — and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly. "It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he'skilled... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... buthow in the name of heaven did Harry survive?" "We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket andexamined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planetswere moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put itback in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by theway?" "Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you'rehere, of all places?" "I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now." "You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall,jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watchingthem all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I Page 9 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comsaw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter comeand live here!" "It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explaineverything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter." "A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really,Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understandhim! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potterday in the future — there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world willknow his name!" "Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Itwould be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous forsomething he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up awayfrom all that until he's ready to take it?" Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes —yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloaksuddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it. "Hagrid's bringing him." "You think it —wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" "I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "butyou can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?" A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as theylooked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they bothlooked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in frontof them. If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice astall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, andso wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the sizeof trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, musculararms he was holding a bundle of blankets. Page 10 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get thatmotorcycle?" "Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycleas he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir." "No problems, were there?" "No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles startedswarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol." Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, justvisible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they couldsee a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. "Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever." "Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee thatis a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better getthis over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head overHarry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagridlet out a howl like a wounded dog. "Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!" "S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it."But I c-c-can't stand it —Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles—" "Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," ProfessorMcGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the lowgarden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out ofhis cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minutethe three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor Page 11 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comMcGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyesseemed to have gone out. "Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as wellgo and join the celebrations." "Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I best get this bike away. G'night, ProfessorMcGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle andkicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night. "I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her.Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out thesilver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps sothat Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around thecorner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step ofnumber four. "Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he wasgone. A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, thevery last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside hisblankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, notknowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a fewhours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles,nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country wereholding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!"CHAPTER TWOThe Vanishing Glass Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the frontstep, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens andlit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, whichwas almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fatefulnews report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much Page 12 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comtime had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pinkbeach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, andnow the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair,playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room heldno sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too. Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia wasawake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day. "Up! Get up! Now!" Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again. "Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of thefrying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream hehad been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had afunny feeling he'd had the same dream before. His aunt was back outside the door. "Are you up yet?" she demanded. "Nearly," said Harry. "Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I wanteverything perfect on Duddy's birthday." Harry groaned. "What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door. "Nothing, nothing..." Dudley's birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and startedlooking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, putthem on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, andthat was where he slept. When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hiddenbeneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computerhe wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanteda racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of Page 13 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comcourse it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but hecouldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been smalland skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he hadto wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was.Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glassesheld together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on thenose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his foreheadthat was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the firstquestion he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it. "In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions." Don't ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon. "Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harryneeded a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class puttogether, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way — all over the place. Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley lookeda lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, andthick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudleylooked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't muchroom. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. "Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year." "Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one fromMummy and Daddy." "All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a hugeDudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudleyturned the table over. Page 14 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy youanother two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that allright" Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll havethirty... thirty..." "Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia. "Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then." Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffledDudley's hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and UncleVernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane,sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch whenAunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried. "Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked herhead in Harry's direction. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley'sbirthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburgerrestaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady wholived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figgmade him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned. "Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harryknew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when hereminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws,and Tufty again. "We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested. "Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy." The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there — or rather, as thoughhe was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug. Page 15 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?" "On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia. "You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted ontelevision for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled. "I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening. "I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave him in thecar..." "That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..." Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying — it had been years since he'd reallycried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give himanything he wanted. "Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried,flinging her arms around him. "I... don't... want... him... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He alwayssp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically —and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was ascrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind theirbacks while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys'car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and unclehadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernonhad taken Harry aside. "I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'mwarning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboardfrom now until Christmas." Page 16 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly..." But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling theDursleys he didn't make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn'tbeen at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except forhis bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, whospent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggyclothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it hadbeen before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, eventhough he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's(brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemedto become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. AuntPetunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn'tpunished. On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the schoolkitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise asanyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letterfrom Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'dtried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jumpbehind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must havecaught him in mid-jump. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to bespending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smellingliving room. While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things:people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favoritesubjects. This morning, it was motorcycles. "... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them. "I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying." Page 17 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled atHarry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" Dudley and Piers sniggered. "I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream." But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more thanhis asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if itwas in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas. It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys boughtDudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in thevan had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheaplemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching itshead who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond. Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apartfrom the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals bylunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant,and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream ontop, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first. Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last. After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows allalong the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slitheringover bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick,man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could havewrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at themoment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn'tbudge. "Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but thesnake just snoozed on. "This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away. Page 18 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have beensurprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming theirfingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as abedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; atleast he got to visit the rest of the house. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyeswere on a level with Harry's. It winked. Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. Helooked back at the snake and winked, too. The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. Itgave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time." "I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him."It must be really annoying." The snake nodded vigorously. "Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil. "Was it nice there?" The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred inthe zoo. "Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?" As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump."DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'TBELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!" Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could. Page 19 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard onthe concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second,Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back withhowls of horror. Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The greatsnake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptilehouse screamed and started running for the exits. As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil,here I come... Thanksss, amigo." The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?" The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized overand over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn'tdone anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all backin Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Pierswas swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Pierscalming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was soangry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," beforehe collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy. Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time itwas and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risksneaking to the kitchen for some food. He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he couldremember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn'tremember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memoryduring long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of greenlight and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn'timagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His auntand uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There wereno photographs of them in the house. When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation comingto take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes Page 20 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comhe thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strangestrangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while outshopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, AuntPetunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old womandressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purplecoat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without aword. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the secondHarry tried to get a closer look. At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter inhis baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.CHAPTER THREELetters From No OneThe escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By thetime he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley hadalready broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out onhis racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the houseevery single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley wasthe biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy tojoin in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting. This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around andthinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When Septembercame he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be Page 21 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.comwith Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. PiersPolkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the localpublic school. Dudley thought this was very funny. "They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want tocome upstairs and practice?" "No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it— it might be sick." Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leavingHarry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her legtripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harrywatch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it forseveral years. That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform.Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters.They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking.This was supposed to be good training for later life. As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was theproudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was herIckle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. Hethought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. Itseemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was fullof what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask aquestion. "Your new school uniform," she said. Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet." "Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you.It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." Page 22 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and triednot to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High — like he waswearing bits of old elephant skin, probably. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry'snew uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smeltingstick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat. "Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper. "Make Harry get it." "Get the mail, Harry." "Make Dudley get it." "Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley." Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: apostcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brownenvelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry. Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, inhis whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn'tbelong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, aletter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:Mr. H. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs4 Privet DriveLittle WhingingSurreyThe envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written inemerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Page 23 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat ofarms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. "Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking forletter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and thepostcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard. "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk..." "Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!" Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchmentas the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon. "That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back. "Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand andglancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stopthere. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge. "P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. AuntPetunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she mightfaint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. "Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in theroom. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with hisSmelting stick. "I want to read that letter," he said loudly. "I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine." "Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. Harry didn't move. Page 24 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley. "OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necksand threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudleypromptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, soHarry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack betweendoor and floor. "Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address — how could theypossibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?" "Watching — spying — might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. "But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want —" Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen. "No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... wewon't do anything..." "But —" "I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp outthat dangerous nonsense?" That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before;he visited Harry in his cupboard. "Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door."Who's writing to me?" "No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it." "It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it." "SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a fewdeep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. Page 25 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're reallygetting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom. "Why?" said Harry. "Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now." The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one forvisitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudleykept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one tripupstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bedand stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera waslying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog;in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when hisfavorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrotthat Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end allbent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things inthe room that looked as though they'd never been touched. From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want him in there... Ineed that room... make him get out..." Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here.Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it. Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed,whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrownhis tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry wasthinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. UncleVernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudleygo and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall.Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive —'" With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behindhim. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which wasmade difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind.After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, UncleVernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand. Page 26 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com "Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley — go — justgo." Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboardand they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? Andthis time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan. The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly anddressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any ofthe lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for numberfour first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door — "AAAAARRRGH!" Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat — somethingalive! Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something hadbeen his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag,clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted atHarry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffledmiserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into UncleVernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink. "I want —" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot. "See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver themthey'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," saidUncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just broughthim. On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slotthey had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced throughthe small window in the downstairs bathroom. Page 27 of 226Get free e-books and video tutorials at www.passuneb.com Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nailsand boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed"Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way intothe house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confusedmilkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon madefurious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain.
