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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 his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large |
birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school |
for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent |
because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They |
were the only things in the 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... I need 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 thrown his tortoise through the |
greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was |
thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the |
letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon 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 Dudley go 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 behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the |
ground to get the letter from him, which was made 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, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with |
Harry's letter clutched in his hand. |
"Go to your cupboard -- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. |
"Dudley -- go -- just go." |
Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out |
of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first |
letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this 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 and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the |
Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. |
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and |
get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept |
across the dark hall toward the front door -- |
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on |
the doormat -- something alive! |
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the |
big, squashy something had been 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 at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make |
a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the |
time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon'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 didnt 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 them they'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," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the |
piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him. |
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they |
couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, |
slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small |
window in the downstairs bathroom. |
Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got |
out a hammer and nails and 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 into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each |
of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt |
Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious |
telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone |
to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor. |
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in |
amazement. |
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking |
tired and rather ill, but happy. |
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade |
on his newspapers, "no damn letters today --" |
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught |
him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty |
letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys |
ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one. |
"Out! OUT!" |
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. |
When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their |
faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters |
still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. |
"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling |
great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. I want you all back |
here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some |
clothes. No arguments!" |
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared |
argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the |
boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. |
Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the |
head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and |