Sitting at the table for what seemed like hours, she was unable to will the powerful voice out of her head.
Indeed, there was no mistaking the fury it contained; she was also surprised that the boy, as remarkable as he was supposed to be, hadn't recognized his own headmaster's voice.
Suddenly she discerned footsteps and a small creaking on the staircase, accompanied by her husband's query: "Coming upstairs, dear?"
Petunia Dursley brushed the remaining ashes of the "Howler" into the trash, sighing tiredly as she rose to her feet.
"Remember his last," she huffed. "Dumbledore knows I couldn't forget."