发信人: oceann (dany), 信区: English
标 题: [好文共赏]TO：哈里。波特迷 《哈里波特与凤凰令》（
发信站: 哈工大紫丁香 (Mon Aug 4 21:50:35 2003)
— CHAPTER ONE —
Dudley Demented
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy s
ilence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usual
ly gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green
lay parched and yellowing -for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to dr
ought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhab
itants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, wind
ows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only pers
on left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerb
ed outside number four.
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, sligh
tly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. Hi
s jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his
trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter’s appearance did no
t endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruff
i-ness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a la
rge hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact,
the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuc
k their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the
flowerbed below.
On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hidi
ng here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth bu
t, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudl
y that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had
happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch tele
vision with his aunt and uncle.
Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Verno
n Dursley, Harry’s uncle, suddenly spoke.
’Glad to see the boy’s stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?’
’I don’t know,’ said Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. ’Not in the house.’
Uncle Vernon grunted.
’Watching the news …’ he said scathingly. ’I’d like to know what he’
s really up to. As if a normal boy cares what’s on the news -Dudley hasn’t g
ot a clue what’s going on; doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway,
it’s not as if there’d be anything about his lot on our news — ’
’Vernon, shh!’ said Aunt Petunia. The window’s open!’
’Oh - yes - sorry, dear.’
The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit ’n’ Bra
n breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs Figg, a batty cat-loving old lady from
nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to he
rself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs Figg ha
d recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the stree
t. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon’s vo
ice floated out of the window again.
’Dudders out for tea?’
’At the Polkisses’,’ said Aunt Petunia fondly. ’He’s got so many litt
le friends, he’s so popular
Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonis
hingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted l
ies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the su
mmer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywh
ere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on
street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had se
en them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent mo
st of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins alon
g the way.
The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o’clock news reach
ed Harry’s ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight - after a month
of waiting - would be the night.
’Record numbers of stranded holiday makers fill airports as the Spanish b
aggage-handlers’ strike reaches its second week -
’Give ’em a lifelong siesta, I would,’ snarled Uncle Vernon over the en
d of the newsreader’s sentence, but no matter: outside in the flowerbed, Harr
ys stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have
been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important tha
n stranded holidaymakers.
He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Ev
ery day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the tempo
rary relief, and then mounting tension again… and always, growing more insist
ent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet.
He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue, not recognised
for what it really was by the Muggles - an unexplained disappearance, perhaps,
or some strange accident… but the baggage-handlers’ strike was followed by
news about the drought in the Southeast (’I hope he’s listening next door!’
bellowed Uncle Vernon. ’Him with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!’
), then a helicopter that had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famo
us actress’s divorce from her famous husband (’As if we’re interested in th
eir sordid affairs,’ sniffed Aunt Petunia, who had followed the case obsessiv
ely in every magazine she could lay her bony hands on).
Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening sky as the newsreade
r said, ’- and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping coo
l this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned
to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more.’
Harry opened his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing budgerigars, there
would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and
raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under
the window.
He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick s
uccession.
A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat strea
ked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oa
th and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys’ living room, and a
s though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet,
at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand a
s if he were unsheathing a sword - but before he could draw himself up to full
height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys’ open window. The res
ultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.
Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he sw
ayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he ha
d barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the ope
n window and closed tightly around his throat.
’Put - it - away!’ Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry’s ear. ’Now.’ Befo
re - anyone - sees!’
’Get - off - me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry
pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maint
aining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry’
s head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry
as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to h
ave surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.
Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and
stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, b
ut there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuf
fed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.
’Lovely evening!’ shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs Number Seven oppos
ite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. ’Did you hear that car bac
kfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!’
He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighb
ours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimac
e of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the poin
t at which Uncle Vernon’s outstretched hands could resume their strangling.
’What the devil do you mean by it, boy?’ asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky
voice that trembled with fury.
’What do I mean by what?’ said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and ri
ght up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking no
ise.
’Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our -
’I didn’t make that noise,’ said Harry firmly.
Aunt Petunia’s thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon’s wide,
purple one. She looked livid.
’Why were you lurking under our window?’
’Yes - yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, bo
y?’
’Listening to the news,’ said Harry in a resigned voice.
His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
’Listening to the news! Again?’
’Well, it changes every day, you see,’ said Harry.
’Don’t you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you’re really up
to - and don’t give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know
perfectly well that your lot -
’Careful, Vernon!’ breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his v
oice so that Harry could barely hear him,’- that your lot don’t get on our n
ews!’
’That’s all you know,’ said Harry.
The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, ’Y
ou’re a nasty little liar. What are all those -’ she, too, lowered her voice
so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, - owls doing if they’re not bri
nging you news?’
’Aha!’ said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. ’Get out of that one,
boy! As if we didn’t know you get all your news from those pestilential bird
s!’
Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this
time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt
at admitting it.
’The owls… aren’t bringing me news,’ he said tonelessly.
’I don’t believe it,’ said Aunt Petunia at once.
’No more do I,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully.
’We know you’re up to something funny,’ said Aunt Petunia.
’We’re not stupid, you know,’ said Uncle Vernon.
’Well, that’s news to me,’ said Harry, his temper rising, and before th
e Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn,
stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.
He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and u
ncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much j
ust at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or D
isapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanish
ed into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could D
obby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he w
heeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be complet
ely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisibl
e.
He walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded
these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunt
s automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone ma
gical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia’s dying begonias, he was
sure of it. Why hadn’t they spoken to him, why hadn’t they made contact, wh
y were they hiding now?
And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away.
Perhaps it hadn’t been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so despe
rate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that
he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sure it h
adn’t been the sound of something breaking inside a neighbour’s house?
Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and before he knew it
the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him on
ce again.
Tomorrow morning he would be woken by the alarm at five o’clock so he cou
ld pay the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet -but was there any point conti
nuing to take it? Harry merely glanced at the front page before throwing it as
ide these days; when the idiots who ran the paper finally realised that Voldem
ort was back it would be headline news, and that was the only kind Harry cared
about.
If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best f
riends Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he’d had that their letters w
ould bring him news had long since been dashed.
We can’t say much about you-know-what, obviously… We’ve been told not t
o say anything important in case our letters go astray… We’re quite busy but
I can’t give you details here… There’s a fair amount going on, we’ll tell
you everything when we see you…
But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemed too bothered with a pre
cise date. Hermione had scribbled I expect we’ll be seeing you quite soon ins
ide his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tell from
the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ron were in the same place, pre
sumably at Ron’s parents’ house. He could hardly bear to think of the pair o
f them having fun at The Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive. In fact, he
was so angry with them he had thrown away, unopened, the two boxes of Honeydu
kes chocolates they’d sent him for his birthday. He’d regretted it later, af
ter the wilted salad Aunt Petunia had provided for dinner that night.
And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn’t he, Harry, busy? Had
n’t he proved himself capable of handling much more than them? Had they all f
orgotten what he had done? Hadn’t it been he who had entered that graveyard a
nd watched Cedric being murdered, and been tied to that tombstone and nearly k
illed?
Don’t think about that, Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth lime
that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his n
ightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.
He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent; halfway along he passed the nar
row alleyway down the side of a garage where he had first clapped eyes on his
godfather. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand how Harry was feeling. Admit
tedly, his letters were just as empty of proper news as Ron and Hermione’s, b
ut at least they contained words of caution and consolation instead of tantali
sing hints:
I know this must be frustrating for you… Keep your nose clean and everyth
ing will be OK… Be careful and don’t do anything rash…
Well, thought Harry, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent, turned into Magnolia
Road and headed towards the darkening play park, he had (by and .large) done
as Sirius advised. He had at least resisted the temptation to tie his trunk to
his broomstick and set off for The Burrow by himself. In fact, Harry thought
his behaviour had been very good considering how frustrated and angry he felt
at being stuck in Privet Drive so long, reduced to hiding in flowerbeds in the
hope of hearing something that might point to what Lord Voldemort was doing.
Nevertheless, it was quite galling to be told not to be rash by a man who had
served twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped, attempted to commi
t the murder he had been convicted for in the first place, then gone on the ru
n with a stolen Hippogriff.
Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched gra
ss. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swin
gs he sank on to the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yet managed
to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He
would not be able to hide in the Dursleys’ flowerbed again. Tomorrow, he wou
ld have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In the meantime,
he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, becau
se even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams a
bout long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which h
e supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awa
ke. Often the old scar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did not
fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting a
ny more. In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would proba
bly remind him that its regular irritation was only to be expected… nothing t
o worry about… old news…
The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell wit
h fury. If it hadn’t been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was
back! And his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks,
completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying b
egonias so that he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumble
dore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together witho
ut inviting him along, too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius t
elling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write t
o the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned? These fu
rious thoughts whirled around in Harry’s head, and his insides writhed with a
nger as a sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of
warm, dry grass, and the only sound that of the low grumble of traffic on the
road beyond the park railings.
He did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voice
s interrupted his musings and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surroundi
ng roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of peop
le making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude son
g. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive
racing bikes that they were wheeling along.
Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably hi
s cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful ga
ng.
Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year’s hard dieting and the discovery o
f a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon del
ightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior H
eavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast. The noble sport’, a
s Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had see
med to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley’s firs
t punchball. Harry was not remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still
didn’t think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was ca
use for celebration. Neighbourhood children all around were terrified of him -
even more terrified than they were of ’that Potter boy’ who, they had been
warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St Brutus’s Secure Centre for In
curably Criminal Boys.
Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they ha
d been beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watc
hed them. Come on… look round… I’m sitting here all alone… come and have a
go…
If Dudley’s friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a be
eline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn’t want to lose face i
n front of the gang, but he’d be terrified of provoking Harry… it would be r
eally fun to watch Dudley’s dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerl
ess to respond… and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready -
he had his wand. Let them try… he’d love to vent some of his frustration on
the boys who had once made his life hell.
But they didn’t turn around, they didn’t see him, they were almost at th
e railings. Harry mastered the impulse to call after them… seeking a fight wa
s not a smart move… he must not use magic… he would be risking expulsion aga
in.
The voices of Dudley’s gang died away; they were out of sight, heading al
ong Magnolia Road.
There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clea
n. Exactly the opposite of what you’d have done.
He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to
feel that whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any tim
e after that was much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in t
he shed if he came home after Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and stil
l scowling, Harry set off towards the park gate.
Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with pe
rfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clea
n cars similar to Uncle Vernon’s. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, w
hen the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness
and he ran no danger of hearing disapproving mutters about his ’delinquent’
appearance when he passed the householders. He walked quickly, so that halfway
along Magnolia Road Dudley’s gang came into view again; they were saying the
ir farewells at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. Harry stepped into the shad
ow of a large lilac tree and waited.
’… squealed like a pig, didn’t he?’ Malcolm was saying, to guffaws fro
m the others.
’Nice right hook, Big D,’ said Piers.
’Same time tomorrow?’ said Dudley.
’Round at my place, my parents will be out,’ said Gordon.
’See you then,’ said Dudley.
’Bye, Dud!’
’See ya, Big D!’
Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again.
When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnol
ia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance o
f Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.
’Hey, Big D!’
Dudley turned.
’Oh,’ he grunted. ’It’s you.’
’How long have you been “Big D“ then?’ said Harry.
’Shut it,’ snarled Dudley, turning away.
’Cool name,’ said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousi
n. ’But you’ll always be “Ickle Diddykins“ to me.’
’I said, SHUT IT!’ said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fis
ts.
’Don’t the boys know that’s what your mum calls you?’
’Shut your face.’
’You don’t tell her to shut her face. What about “Popkin“ and “Dinky
Diddydums“, can I use them then?’
Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seem
ed to demand all his self-control.
’So who’ve you been beating up tonight?’ Harry asked, his grin fading.
’Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago -
’He was asking for it,’ snarled Dudley.
’Oh yeah?’
’He cheeked me.’
’Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that’s been taught to walk on its
hind legs? ’Cause that’s not cheek, Dud, that’s true.’
A muscle was twitching in Dudley’s jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfacti
on to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphonin
g off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.
They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Siri
us and which formed a short cut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. I
t was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no s
treetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and
a high fence on the other.
Think you’re a big man carrying that thing, don’t you?’ Dudley said aft
er a few seconds.
’What thing?’
’That - that thing you are hiding.’
Harry grinned again.
’Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I’s’pose, if you were, yo
u wouldn’t be able to walk and talk at the same time.’
Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.
’You’re not allowed,’ Dudley said at once. ’I know you’re not. You’d
get expelled from that freak school you go to.’
’How d’you know they haven’t changed the rules, Big D?’
They haven’t,’ said Dudley, though he didn’t sound completely convinced
.
Harry laughed softly.
’You haven’t got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?’
Dudley snarled.
’Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten
year old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was y
our opponent? Seven? Eight?’
’He was sixteen, for your information,’ snarled Dudley, ’and he was out
cold for twenty minutes after I’d finished with him and he was twice as heav
y as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out -
’Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of n
asty Harry’s wand?’
’Not this brave at night, are you?’ sneered Dudley.
This is night, Diddykins. That’s what we call it when it goes all dark li
ke this.’
’I mean when you’re in bed!’ Dudley snarled.
He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin.
From the little he could see of Dudley’s large face, he was wearing a str
angely triumphant look.
’What d’you mean, I’m not brave when I’m in bed?’ said Harry, complet
ely nonplussed. ’What am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something
?’
’I heard you last night,’ said Dudley breathlessly. Talking in your slee
p. Moaning.’
’What d’you mean?’ Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sen
sation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams
.
Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimperi
ng voice.
’“Don’t kill Cedric! Don’t kill Cedric!“ Who’s Cedric - your boyfrie
nd?’
’I - you’re lying,’ said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dr
y. He knew Dudley wasn’t lying - how else would he know about Cedric?
’“Dad! Help me, Dad! He’s going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!“’
’Shut up,’ said Harry quietly. ’Shut up, Dudley, I’m warning you!’
’’Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He’s killed Cedric! Dad
, help me! He’s going to -“ Don’t you point that thing at me!’
Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at
Dudley’s heart. Harry could feel fourteen years’ hatred of Dudley pounding
in his veins - what wouldn’t he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroug
hly he’d have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers…
’Don’t ever talk about that again,’ Harry snarled. ’D’you understand
me?’
’Point that thing somewhere else!’
’I said, do you understand me?’
’Point it somewhere else!’
’DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’
’GET THAT THING AWAY FROM -’
Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy w
ater.
Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was sudden
ly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at e
ither end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whispe
r of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold.
They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some
giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding
them.
For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, des
pite the fact that he’d been resisting as hard as he could - then his reason
caught up with his senses - he didn’t have the power to turn off the stars. H
e turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness
pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.
Dudley’s terrified voice broke in Harry’s ear.
’W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!’
’I’m not doing anything! Shut up and don’t move!’
’I c-can’t see! I’ve g-gone blind! I -’
’I said shut up!’
Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The co
ld was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his ar
ms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up - he opened his eyes
to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.
It was impossible… they couldn’t be here… not in Little Whinging… he s
trained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them…
’I’ll’t-tell Dad!’ Dudley whimpered. ’W-where are you? What are you d
-do—?’
’Will you shut up?’ Harry hissed, I’m trying to lis—’
But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.
There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that
was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of drea
d as he stood trembling in the freezing air.
’C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I’ll h-hit you, I swear I will!’
’Dudley, shut—’
WHAM.
A fist made contact with the side of Harrys head, lifting him off his feet
. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an ho
ur Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment, he had
landed hard on the ground and his wand had flown out of his hand.
’You moron, Dudley!’ Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain as he scr
ambled to his hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He
heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.
’DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU’RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!’
There was a horrible squealing yell and Dudley’s footsteps stopped. At th
e same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one
thing. There was more than one.
’DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wan
d!’ Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders
. ’Where’s - wand -come on - lumos!’
He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his se
arch - and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand
- the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and t
urned around.
His stomach turned over.
A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over
the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as
it came.
Stumbling backwards, Harry raised his wand.
’Expecto patronum!’
A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor sl
owed, but the spell hadn’t worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry
retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain
- concentrate -
A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor’s robe
s, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry’s ears.
’Expecto patronum!’
His voice sounded dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler t
han the last, drifted from the wand - he couldn’t do it any more, he couldn’
t work the spell.
There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he
could smell the Dementor’s putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs,
drowning him - think… something happy…
But there was no happiness in him… the Dementor’s icy fingers were closi
ng on his throat - the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, an
d a voice spoke inside his head: ’Bow to death, Harry…it might even be painl
ess… I would not know … I have never died …“
He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again -
And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath.
’EXPECTO PATRONUM!’
An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry’s wand; its antlers
caught the Dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thr
own backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the Dementor s
wooped away, bat-like and defeated.
’THIS WAY!’ Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down
the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft. ’DUDLEY? DUDLEY!’
He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled up
on the ground, his arms clamped over his face. A second Dementor was crouchin
g low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly al
most lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towards Dudley’s face as though
about to kiss him.
’GET IT!’ Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver
stag he had conjured came galloping past him. The Dementor’s eyeless face was
barely an inch from Dudley’s when the silver antlers caught it; the thing wa
s thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed
into the darkness; the stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved
into silver mist.
Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the
alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars
in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.
Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt re
turn to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticki
ng to him; he was drenched in sweat.
He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whi
nging.
Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent dow
n to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then he heard loud, ru
nning footsteps behind him. Instinctively raising his wand again, he span on h
is heel to face the newcomer.
Mrs Figg, their batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. Her grizzled
grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was s
winging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slip
pers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but -
’Don’t put it away idiot boy!’ she shrieked. ’What if there are more o
f them around? Oh, I’m going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!’
— CHAPTER TWO
A Peck of Owls
‘What?‘ said Harry blankly.
‘He left!‘ said Mrs Figg, wringing her hands. ‘Left to see someone abou
t a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I‘d flay
him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It‘s just lucky I put Mr Tibb
ies on the case! But we haven‘t got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we‘ve
got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!‘
‘But -‘ The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew wh
at Dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them do
wn the alleyway. ‘You‘re - you‘re a witch?‘
‘I‘m a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I suppos
ed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when
I‘d warned him -‘
This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on - it was him! He Disapparate
d from the front of my house!‘
‘Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I‘d stationed Mr Tibbies under a car just in
case, and Mr Tibbies came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house
you‘d gone - and now - oh, what‘s Dumbledore going to say? You!‘ she shriek
ed at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. ‘Get your fat bottom off the g
round, quick!‘
‘You know Dumbledore?‘ said Harry, staring at her.
‘Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn‘t know Dumbledore? But come on -
I‘ll be no help if they come back, I‘ve never so much as Transfigured a tea
bag.‘
She stooped down, seized one of Dudley‘s massive arms in her wizened hand
s and tugged.
‘Get up, you useless lump, get up!‘
But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground,
trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.
‘I‘ll do it.‘ Harry took hold of Dudley‘s arm and heaved. With an enor
mous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the po
int of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was be
ading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.
‘Hurry up!‘ said Mrs Figg hysterically.
Harry pulled one of Dudley‘s massive arms around his own shoulders and dr
agged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs Figg totter
ed along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.
‘Keep your wand out,‘ she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. ‘N
ever mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there‘s going to be hell to pay anyway,
we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable
Restriction of Underage Sorcery… this was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid
of - What‘s that at the end of the street? Oh, it‘s just Mr Prentice… don‘
t put your wand away, boy, don‘t 1 keep telling you I‘m no use?‘
It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same ti
me. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to h
ave lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry‘s shoul
der, his large feet dragging along the ground.
‘Why didn‘t you tell me you‘re a Squib, Mrs Figg?‘ asked Harry, pantin
g with the effort to keep walking. ‘All those times I came round your house -
why didn‘t you say anything?‘
‘Dumbledore‘s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything,
you were too young. I‘m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but th
e Dursleys would never have let you come if they‘d thought you enjoyed it. It
wasn‘t easy, you know… but oh my word,‘ she said tragically, wringing her
hands once more, ‘when Dumbledore hears about this - how could Mundungus have
left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight - where is he? How am I go
ing to tell Dumbledore what‘s happened? I can‘t Apparate.‘
‘I‘ve got an owl, you can borrow her.‘ Harry groaned, wondering whether
his spine was going to snap under Dudleys weight.
‘Harry, you don‘t understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as
possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they‘
ll know already, you mark my words.‘
‘But I was getting rid of Dementors, I had to use magic - they‘re going
to be more worried about what Dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Wa
lk, surely?‘
‘Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I‘m afraid - MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I
AM GOING TO KILL YOU!‘
There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale toba
cco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialise
d right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair
and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He
was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invis
ibility Cloak.
‘S‘up, Figgy?‘ he said, staring from Mrs Figg to Harry and Dudley. ‘Wh
at ‘appened to staying undercover?‘
Til give you undercover]‘ cried Mrs Figg. ‘Dementors, you useless, skivi
ng sneak thief!‘
‘Dementors?‘ repeated Mundungus, aghast. ‘Dementors, ‘ere?‘
‘Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!‘ shrieked Mrs Fig
g. ‘Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!‘
‘Blimey,‘ said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs Figg to Harry, and bac
k again. ‘Blimey, I -‘
‘And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn‘t I tell you not to go? Didn‘
t IT
‘I - well, I -‘ Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘It — it was a
very good business opportunity, see -‘
Mrs Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mund
ungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made
it was full of cat food.
‘Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone‘s gotta tell Dumbled
ore!‘
‘Yes - they - have!‘ yelled Mrs Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at ev
ery bit of Mundungus she could reach. ‘And - it - had
- better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you -weren‘t -
there - to - help!‘
‘Keep your ‘airnet on!‘ said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowerin
g. ‘I‘m going, I‘m going!‘
And with another loud crack, he vanished.
‘I hope Dumbledore murders him!‘ said Mrs Figg furiously. ‘Now come on,
Harry, what are you waiting for?‘
Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he co
uld barely walk under Dudley‘s bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heav
e and staggered onwards.
‘I‘ll take you to the door,‘ said Mrs Figg, as they turned into Privet
Drive. ‘Just in case there are more of them around… oh my word, what a catas
trophe… and you had to fight them off yourself… and Dumbledore said we were
to keep you from doing magic at all costs… well, it‘s no good crying over sp
ilt potion, 1 suppose… but the cat‘s among the pixies now.‘
‘So,‘ Harry panted, ‘Dumbledore‘s… been having… me followed?‘
‘Of course he has,‘ said Mrs Figg impatiently. ‘Did you expect him to l
et you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy,
they told me you were intelligent… right… get inside and stay there,‘ she s
aid, as they reached number four. ‘I expect someone will be in touch with you
soon enough.‘
‘What are you going to do?‘ asked Harry quickly.
‘I‘m going straight home,‘ said Mrs Figg, staring around the dark stree
t and shuddering. ‘I‘ll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the
house. Goodnight.‘
‘Hang on, don‘t go yet! I want to know -
But Mrs Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, stri
ng bag clanking.
‘Wait!‘ Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyon
e who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs Figg was swallowe
d by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made
his slow, painful way up number four‘s garden path.
The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of h
is jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia‘s outline grow larger and la
rger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.
‘Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite - quite - Diddy, what‘s the
matter!‘
Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in
time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green… then he op
ened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.
‘DIDDY! Diddy, what‘s the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!‘
Harry‘s uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache bl
owing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried for
wards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold wh
ile avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.
‘He‘s ill, Vernon!‘
‘What is it, son? What‘s happened? Did Mrs Polkiss give you something fo
reign for tea?‘
‘Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the gro
und?‘
‘Hang on - you haven‘t been mugged, have you, son?‘
Aunt Petunia screamed.
‘Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mum
my! What did they do to you?‘
In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him
perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the doo
r and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the
kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.
‘Who did it, son? Give us names. We‘ll get them, don‘t worry.‘
‘Shh! He‘s trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mumm
y!‘
Harry‘s foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.
‘Him.‘
Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.
‘BOY! COME HERE!‘
With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly f
rom the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.
The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkn
ess outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very
green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon standing in front of the draining board
, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.
‘What have you done to my son?‘ he said in a menacing growl.
‘Nothing,‘ said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn‘
t believe him.
‘What did he do to you, Diddy?‘ Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice,
now sponging sick from the front of Dudley‘s leather jacket. ‘Was it - was i
t you-know-what, darling? Did he use - his thing?‘
Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.
‘I didn‘t!‘ Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and
Uncle Vernon raised his fists. ‘I didn‘t do anything to him, it wasn‘t
me, it was -
But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen wi
ndow. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon‘s head, it soared across the k
itchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Ha
rry‘s feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of
the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.
‘OWLS!‘ bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing
angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. ‘OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE A
NY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!‘
But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter
inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam‘s apple.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twe
nty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the
presence of a Muggle.
The seventy of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of
Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion
from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives
will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence un
der Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks‘ Statute of Sec
recy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary
hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Ve
rnon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact
had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from
Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.
He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his
fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley, who was retching
again.
Harry‘s temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry represen
tatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wan
d. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run - now. Where he was g
oing to go, Harry didn‘t know, but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts o
r outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his
wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.
‘Where d‘you think you‘re going?‘ yelled Uncle Vernon. When Harry didn
‘t reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. ‘
I haven‘t finished with you, boy!‘
‘Get out of the way,‘ said Harry quietly.
‘You‘re going to stay here and explain how my son —‘
‘If you don‘t get out of the way I‘m going to jinx you,‘ said Harry, r
aising the wand.
‘You can‘t pull that one on me!‘ snarled Uncle Vernon. ‘I know you‘re
not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!‘
The madhouse has chucked me out,‘ said Harry. ‘So I can do whatever I li
ke. You‘ve got three seconds. One - two -‘
A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed,
I hide Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry w
as searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at
once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen
sill, having just collided with the closed window.
Ignoring Uncle Vernon‘s anguished yell of ‘OWLS!‘ Harry crossed the roo
m at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a
small roll of parchment was tied, shook its leathers, and took off the moment
Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message,
which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.
Harry —
Dumbledore‘s just arrived at the Ministry and he‘s trying to sort it all
out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE‘S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO
NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND. Arthur Weasley
Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out… what did that mean? How much po
wer did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance
that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeon
ed in Harry‘s chest, almost immediately strangled by panic - how was he suppo
sed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic? He‘d have to duel wi
th the Ministry representatives, and if he did that, he‘d be lucky to escape
Azkaban, let alone expulsion.
His mind was racing… he could run for it and risk being cap-lured by the
Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tem
pted by the former course, but he knew Mr Weasley had his best interests at he
art… and after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before.
‘Right,‘ Harry said, ‘I‘ve changed my mind, I‘m staying.‘ He flung h
imself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursle
ys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced des
pairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse t
han ever.
‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?‘ he growled.
The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,‘ said Harry c
almly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Mini
stry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer
Uncle Vernon‘s questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. ‘The
second one was from my friend Ron‘s dad, who works at the Ministry.‘
‘Ministry of Magic?‘ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in governm
ent! Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country‘s going
to the dogs.‘
When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘A
nd why have you been expelled?‘
‘Because I did magic.‘
‘AHA!‘ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge,
which sprang open; several of Dudley‘s low-fat snacks toppled out and burst
on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?‘
‘Nothing,‘ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn‘t me -‘
‘Was,‘ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia i
nstantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent l
ow over Dudley.
‘Go on, son,‘ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?‘
Tell us, darling,‘ whispered Aunt Petunia.
‘Pointed his wand at me,‘ Dudley mumbled.
‘Yeah, I did, but I didn‘t use -‘ Harry began angrily, but -
‘SHUT UP!‘ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.
‘Go on, son,‘ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.
‘All went dark,‘ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. An
d then I h-heard… things. Inside m-my head.‘
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their le
ast favourite thing in the world was magic - closely followed by neighbours wh
o cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban - people who heard voices wer
e definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his m
ind.
‘What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?‘ breathed Aunt Petunia, very
white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his la
rge blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry
since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors cau
sed a person to relive the worst moments of their life. What would spoiled, pa
mpered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?
‘How come you fell over, son?‘ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quie
t voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.
‘T-tripped,‘ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then -
He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood. Dudley was remembering
the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out o
f you.
‘Horrible,‘ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.‘
‘OK,‘ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia l
aid an anxious hand on Dudley‘s forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happ
ened then, Dudders?‘
‘Felt… felt… felt… as if… as if…‘
‘As if you‘d never be happy again,‘ Harry supplied dully.
‘Yes,‘ Dudley whispered, still trembling.
‘So!‘ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume
as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my son so he‘d hear v
oices and believe he was - was doomed to misery, or something, did you?‘
‘How many times do I have to tell you?‘ said Harry, temper and voice bot
h rising. ‘It wasn‘t me! It was a couple of Dementors!‘
‘A couple of - what‘s this codswallop?‘
‘De - men - tors,‘ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.‘
‘And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?‘
‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,‘ said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia cl
apped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear wo
rd. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harrys brain reeled. Mrs Figg was one th
ing - but Aunt Petunia‘?
‘How d‘you know that?‘ he asked her, astonished.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vern
on in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teet
h.
‘I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago,‘ she sai
d jerkily.
‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don‘t you use their names?‘ said Harry
loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.
Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of whi
ch Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry‘s mother had been a freak, he had. ne
ver heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered thi
s scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually p
ut all her energies into pretending it didn‘t exist.
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut
it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third
time and croaked, ‘So - so - they - er - they - er - they actually exist, do
they - er - Dementy-whatsits?‘
Aunt Petunia nodded.
Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping some
body was going to shout ‘April Fool!‘ When nobody did, he opened his mouth y
et again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the
third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feat
hery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all t
hree of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking
envelope from the owls beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out in
to the night.
‘Enough - effing - owls,‘ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping o
ver to the window and slamming it shut again.
Dear Mr Potter,
Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the
Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith.
You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of Au
gust, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School o/ Witchcraft
and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion wil
l also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspend
ed from school pending further enquiries.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The misera
ble knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of Knowing he was not
yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everythin
g seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.
‘Well?‘ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What n
ow? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?‘
he added as a hopeful afterthought.
‘I‘ve got to go to a hearing,‘ said Harry.
‘And they‘ll sentence you there?‘
‘I suppose so.‘
‘I won‘t give up hope, then,‘ said Uncle Vernon nastily.
‘Well, if that‘s all,‘ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was des-pera
te to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.
‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!‘ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!‘
‘What now?‘ said Harry impatiently.
‘DUDLEY!‘ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to
my son!‘
‘FINE!‘ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of
the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched,
looking terrified.
‘Dudley and 1 were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria
Walk,‘ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley t
hought he‘d be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn‘t use it. Then t
wo Dementors turned up —‘
‘But what ARE Dementoids?‘ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they
DO?‘
‘I told you - they suck all the happiness out of you,‘ said Harry, ‘and
if they get the chance, they kiss you -
‘Kiss you?‘ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?‘
‘It‘s what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.‘
Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.
‘His soul? They didn‘t take - he‘s still got his -‘
She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see
whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.
‘Of course they didn‘t get his soul, you‘d know if they had,‘ said Har
ry, exasperated.
‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?‘ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appe
arance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he und
erstood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?‘
‘You can‘t give a Dementor the old one-two,‘ said Harry through clenche
d teeth.
‘Why‘s he all right, then?‘ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn‘t he all
empty, then?‘
‘Because I used the Patronus -‘
WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a
fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.
‘FOR GOD‘S SAKE!‘ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out
of his moustache, something he hadn‘t been driven to do in a long time. ‘I
WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!‘
But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl‘s leg. He
was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everyt
hing - the Dementors, Mrs Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledor
e, intended to sort everything out - that for the first time in his life he wa
s disappointed to see Sirius‘s handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernon‘s ongoing
rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the
most recent owl look off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius‘s message.
Arthur has just told us what‘s happened. Don‘t leave the house again, wh
atever you do.
Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happen
ed tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of
the letter, but there was nothing else.
And now his temper was rising again. Wasn‘t anybody going to say ‘well d
one‘ for fighting off two Dementors single-handed? Both Mr Weasley and Sirius
were acting as though he‘d misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off un
til they could ascertain how much damage had been done.
‘… a peck, 1 mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won‘
t have it, boy, 1 won‘t -‘
‘I can‘t stop the owls coming,‘ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius‘s lette
r in his fist.
I want the truth about what happened tonight!‘ barked Uncle Yi-rnon. ‘If
it was Demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you‘ve been expelled? You did you
-know-what, you‘ve admitted it!‘
Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again.
He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dur
sleys.
‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the Dementors,‘ he said, forcing
himself to remain calm. ‘It‘s the only thing that works against them.‘
‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?‘ said Uncle Vernon i
n an outraged tone.
‘Couldn‘t tell you,‘ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.‘
His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger wa
s ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at hi
m.
‘It‘s you,‘ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It‘s got something to do w
ith you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they
be down that alleyway? You‘ve got to be the only - the only -‘ Evidently, h
e couldn‘t bring himself to say the word ‘wizard‘. The only you-know-what f
or miles.‘
‘I don‘t know why they were here.‘
But at Uncle Vernon‘s words, Harry‘s exhausted brain had ground back int
o action. Why had the Dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coinc
idence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been se
nt? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the Dementors? Had they deserted
Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?
These Demembers guard some weirdo prison?‘ asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering
along in the wake of Harry‘s train of thought.
‘Yes,‘ said Harry.
If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitch
en and get to his dark bedroom and think…
‘Oho! They were coming to arrest you!‘ said Uncle Vernon, with the trium
phant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. That‘s it, isn‘t it,
boy? You‘re on the run from the law!‘
‘Of course I‘m not,‘ said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare of
f a fly, his mind racing now.
Then why -?‘
‘He must have sent them,‘ said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Un
cle Vernon.
‘What‘s that? Who must have sent them?‘
‘Lord Voldemort,‘ said Harry.
He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, wi
nced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard‘, ‘magic‘ or ‘wand‘,
could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest
tremor.
‘Lord - hang on,‘ said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawn
ing comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. ‘I‘ve heard that name… that w
as the one who —‘
‘Murdered my parents, yes,‘ Harry said dully.
‘But he‘s gone,‘ said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest s
ign that the murder of Harry‘s parents might be a painful topic. That giant b
loke said so. He‘s gone.‘
‘He‘s back,‘ said Harry heavily.
It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia‘s surgically cle
an kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television,
talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the Dementor
s in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that di
vided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond,
Harry‘s two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned up
side-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and M
rs Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; Dementors were soaring around Little Whinging,
and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry‘s head throbbed more painfully.
‘Back?‘ whispered Aunt Petunia.
She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of
a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that A
unt Petunia was his mother‘s sister. He could not have said why this hit him
so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only pe
rson in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might me
an. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her lar
ge, pale eyes (so unlike her sister‘s) were not narrowed in dislike or anger,
they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had mainta
ined all Harry‘s life - that there was no magic and no world other than the w
orld she inhabited with Uncle Vernon - seemed to have fallen away.
‘Yes,‘ Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. ‘He came back
a month ago. I saw him.‘
Her hands found Dudley‘s massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them
.
‘Hang on,‘ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back ag
ain, apparently dazed and confused by the unprece-dented understanding that se
emed to have sprung up between them. ‘Hang on. This Lord Voldything‘s back,
you say.‘
‘Yes.‘
The one who murdered your parents.‘
‘Yes.‘
‘And now he‘s sending Dismembers after you?‘
‘Looks like it,‘ said Harry.
‘I see,‘ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry a
nd hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face s
tretching before Harry‘s eyes. ‘Well, that settles it,‘ he said, his shirt
front straining as he inflated himself, ‘you can get out of this house, boy!‘
‘What?‘ said Harry.
‘You heard me - OUT!‘ Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and D
udley jumped. ‘OUT! OUT! I should‘ve done this years ago! Owls treating the
place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley‘
s tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia - OUT!
OUT! You‘ve had it! You‘re history! You‘re not staying here if some loony‘
s after you, you‘re not endangering my wife and son, you‘re not bringing tro
uble down on us. If you‘re going the same way as your useless parents, I‘ve
had it! OUT!‘
Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr Weasley
and Sirius were all crushed in his left hand. Don‘t leave the house again, wh
atever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE‘S HOUSE.
‘You heard me!‘ said Uncle Vernon, bending forwards now, his massive pur
ple face coming so close to Harry‘s, he actually felt flecks of spit hit his
face. ‘Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I‘m right beh
ind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in
the first place, I don‘t know, Marge was right, it should have been the orpha
nage. We were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out o
f you, thought we could turn you normal, but you‘ve been rotten from the begi
nning and I‘ve had enough - owls!‘
The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor be
fore zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to
seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over
his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, h
er arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, a
nd flew straight back up the chimney.
Harry darted forwards to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to
it.
‘You can open it if you like,‘ said Harry, ‘but I‘ll hear what it says
anyway. That‘s a Howler.‘
‘Let go of it, Petunia!‘ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘Don‘t touch it, it coul
d be dangerous!‘
‘It‘s addressed to me,‘ said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. ‘It‘s a
ddressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, P
rivet Drive -
She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.
‘Open it!‘ Harry urged her. ‘Get it over with! It‘ll happen anyway.‘
‘No.‘
Aunt Petunia‘s hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen a
s though looking for an escape route, but too late -the envelope burst into fl
ames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.
An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing
from the burning letter on the table.
‘Remember my last, Petunia.‘
Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair bes
ide Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smouldered into
ash in the silence.
‘What is this?‘ Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. ‘What - I don‘t -Petunia?‘
Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his
mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Harry was watching his aun
t, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.
‘Petunia, dear?‘ said Uncle Vernon timidly. ‘P-Petunia?‘
She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed.
‘The boy - the boy will have to stay, Vernon,‘ she said weakly.
‘W-what?‘
‘He stays,‘ she said. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet
again.
‘He… but Petunia…‘
‘If we throw him out, the neighbours will talk,‘ she said. She was rapid
ly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, though she was still very pale.
They‘ll ask awkward questions, they‘ll want to know where he‘s gone. We‘l
l have to keep him.‘
Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tyre.
‘But Petunia, dear -
Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry. ‘You‘re to stay in your r
oom,‘ she said. ‘You‘re not to leave the house. Now get to bed.‘ Harry did
n‘t move. ‘Who was that Howler from?‘
‘Don‘t ask questions,‘ Aunt Petunia snapped. ‘Are you in touch with wi
zards?‘
‘I told you to get to bed!‘
‘What did it mean? Remember the last what?‘
‘Go to bed!‘
‘How come -?‘
‘YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GO UP TO BED!‘
--
好想振作一点点，真的好想
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