Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over
breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew and nieces' room.
Vernon: Third time this week! If you can't
control those owls, they'll have to go!"
Harry, Grace, and Taylor tried, yet again, to explain.
Harry: They're bored. They're used to flying around outside. If we could just let them out at night…
Vernon: Do I look stupid? I know what'll happen if that
owl's let out.
He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.
Grace tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.
Dudley: I want more bacon.
Petunia: There's more in the frying pan, sweetums.
We must build you up while we've got the chance… I don't like the sound of that school food…
Vernon: Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings. Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"
Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.
Dudley: Pass the frying pan.
Taylor: You've forgotten the magic word.
The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Vernon jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples. Amy, Grace, and Harry were not affected by this sentence.
Taylor: I meant 'please'. I didn't mean…
Vernon: WHAT HAVE I TOLD ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?
Taylor: But I…
Vernon: HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY
Taylor: I just…
Vernon: I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!
Taylor stared from her purple-faced uncle to her pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.
Taylor: All right, all right…
Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Taylor, Harry, Grace, and Amy closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.
Ever since Taylor, Harry, Amy, and Grace had come home for the summer holidays, Vernon had been treating them like a bomb that might go off at
any moment, because Harry, Taylor, Grace, and Amy Potter we not normal kids. As a matter
of fact, they were not normal as it is possible to be.
Harry Potter is a wizard and Amy, Grace, and Taylor Potter are witches — a wizard and witches fresh from their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, except for Amy who starts this year. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have them back for the holidays, it was nothing to how they felt. They missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. They missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, their classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in their four-poster beds in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks).
All Harry, Grace, and Taylor's spell books, their wands, robes, cauldron, and Harry's top-of the-line Nimbus Two-Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant they had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry, Grace, and Taylor went back to school without any of his homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard and three witches in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harry, Grace, and Taylor's owls inside their cages, to stop them from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Vernon is large and neck less, with an enormous black mustache; Petunia is horse-faced and bony; Dudley is blond, pink, and porky. Taylor, on the other hand, is small and skinny, with brilliant hazel eyes and red hair. Grace is small and skinny, with brilliant hazel eyes and jet-black hair. Amy is small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and red hair. Harry is small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar. It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason he, Taylor, Grace, and Amy had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep eight years before. At the age of three years old and Amy at two years old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry, Amy, Taylor, and Grace's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but Grace, Amy, and Taylor escaped unscratched, while Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow — nobody understood why —Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry. So the four had been brought up by their dead mother's sister and her husband. They had spent eight years with the Dursleys, never understanding why they kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed their parents. And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry, Taylor, and Grace, and the whole story had come out. Harry, Grace, and Taylor had taken up their place at wizard school, where they were famous . . . but now the school year was over, and they were back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something
smelly. The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Taylor, Grace, and Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, their hopes hadn't been high;
they'd never given them a real present, let alone a cake — but to ignore it completely… At that moment, Vernon cleared his throat importantly
Vernon: Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.
Taylor, Grace, and Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.
Vernon: This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career
Harry, Amy, Taylor, and Grace went back to their food. Of course, they thought bitterly, Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Vernon's company made drills).
Vernon: I think we should run through the schedule one more time. We should all be in position at eight o'clock.
Petunia, you will be…?"
Petunia: In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously to our home.
Vernon: Good, good. And Dudley?
Dudley: I'll be waiting to open the door. 'May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?'
Petunia: They'll love him!
Vernon: Excellent, Dudley.
Then he rounded on Taylor, Harry, Grace, and Amy. Vernon: And you four?
Grace: We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're no there.
Vernon: Exactly, I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen…
Petunia: I'll announce dinner.
Vernon: And, Dudley, you'll say…
Dudley: 'May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?'
Petunia: My perfect little gentleman
Vernon: And you four?
Amy: We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending not we're there.
Vernon: Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?
Petunia: Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason… Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason…
Vernon: Perfect… Dudley?
Dudley: How about—'we had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.
This was too much for Petunia. Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son.
Vernon: And you, four?
Harry: We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there.
Vernon: Too right, you will. The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."
Vernon: Right—I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you four…you stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning.
Harry, Grace, and Taylor missed their best friends, Ron
Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing them at all. Amy miser her best friend Ginny Weasley. None of them had written to them all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and stay.
Countless times, Harry, Grace, and Taylor had been on the point of unlocking their owls' cages by magic and sending them to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards and witches aren't allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry, Grace, and Taylor hadn't told the Dursleys this; they knew it was only their terror that they might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking them in the cupboard under the stairs with their wands and Harry's broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Harry and Taylor had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under their breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made them feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal — and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday. What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? They'd almost be glad of a sight of their archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream…not that their whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than
Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes—Taylor, Grace, Amy, and Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. They had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge — and the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.
They jumped to their feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.
Dudley: I know what day it is.
The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
Taylor: What?
Not taking their eyes off the spot where they had been.
Dudley: I know what day it is.
Grace: Well done, so you've finally learned the days of the week."
Dudley: Today's your birthday. How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"
Harry: Better not let your mum hear you talking about our school.
Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.
Dudley: Why're you staring at the hedge
Taylor: We're trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire.
Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.
Dudley: You c-can't — Dad told you you're not to do m-magic — he said he'll chuck you out of the house — and you haven't got anywhere else to go — you haven't got any friends to take you…
Taylor: Jiggery pokery! "Hocus pocus-squiggly wiggly…
Dudley: MUUUUUUM
Dudley trips over his feet as he dashes back toward the house.
Dudley: MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!
They paid dearly for their moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Petunia knew they hadn't really done magic, but they still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at their heads with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave them work to do, with the promise they wouldn't eat again until they'd finished. While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Taylor cleaned the windows, Grace washed the car, Harry mowed the lawn, Amy trimmed the flowerbeds, Grace pruned and watered the roses, and Harry repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of their necks. They knew they shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing they had been thinking themselves…maybe he didn't have any friends at Hogwarts…Wish they could see famous Potters now, they thought savagely as Amy spread manure on the flower beds, her back aching, sweat running
down her face. It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, they heard Petunia calling them.
Petunia: Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!
They moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
Petunia: Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!
Petunia pointed to eight slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress. They washed their hands and bolted down their pitiful supper. The moment they had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away their plates.
Petunia: Upstairs! Hurry!
As they passed the door to the living room, Amy caught a glimpse of Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. They had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.
Vernon: Remember, kids — one sound…
They crossed to their bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on their beds.
The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.