Harry held his breath as he stood on the doorstep to number 13, Weavers Lane. Dudley and his gang had forced him to come here and had then dared him to ring the doorbell.
Or else.
Or else what? He had dared to ask.
We'll beat you up.
He was going to get hit anyway, so what did he have to loose? Harry reached a shaking hand to press the small grey button on the door frame. Risking a glance back, he could make out the smirks of the group of boys grouped six yards from the garden gate, none daring to come closer.
But he had.
His brief glow of pride was extinguished as the front door creaked open, revealing a short, plump, middle-aged woman.
"Come in, boy."
Glimpsing only the scared and shocked expressions of the group behind him, Harry had no choice but to follow her in.