CHAPTER THE SECOND

A Trip to the Zoo for You

Practically ten years had elapsed since the Drubblesnorts had woken up to find their nephew on the front step when Mrs. Drubblesnort tripped over Harry landing face first in the bag of trash she was taking to the curb, but their Private Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the identical front garden and lit up the brass number four hundred and eight on the Drubblesnorts' front door; it crept into their living room, which was approximately precisely the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Drubblesnort had seen that fateful news report about the pigs, which was never fully explained by the way. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Bubba Drubblesnort was no longer a baby. Today the many photographs still pictured a large blond boy but now resembling an overinflated beach ball. The room held no markings at all that an additional boy lived at the mannor.

Yes, our boy Harry Potter was still with the Drubblesnorts, asleep at the moment, but not for an extended amount of time. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her piercing voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now you little brat!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt pounded on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her go back into the house. The sound of the frying pan being put on the heated flame soon came out the window and back across the yard. He pulled the coat he used as a blanket over his head again and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. He was given a task, a task to destroy a ring. He had been prancing through the forest with some friends on his way to a volcano when his aunt so rudely woke him up.

And just at this moment his aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Technically," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after Bubba's bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Bub's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped back as she looked through the keyhole in the door.

"Umm… but of course."

Bubba's birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got quickly off of the haystacks he slept on and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his coat and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the small rickety old shed outback was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was half dressed he walked across the yard and into the house, yawning as he went into the kitchen. The room was overflowing with all of Bubba's birthday presents. It looked as though he had already opened some of them and had gotten the new 3D 75" LCD television he wanted, not to mention the latest smartphone or the gas-powered mini Ferrari go kart or for some reason, a Barbie Play Place set. Exactly why Bubba wanted a Barbie house was a complete mystery to Harry, as Bubba was very boyish and hated girls — though he would try to show off to them on occasion by punching random people. Bubba's preferred punching bag was Harry, but Bubba couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. Or was it because Bubba was awfully fat and slow? He did become out of breath rather quickly…

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark, cold shed, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old raggy clothes of Bubba's, and Bubba was about four times wider than Harry was. Harry had a skeletal face, knobbly knees, black hair, and neon green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Bubba had punched him in the face. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a smiley face. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"At The Great Circus Disaster where your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions!"

Don't go asking questions — that was the foremost decree for a quiet existence with the Drubblesnorts.

Uncle Vern entered the kitchen just as Harry was burning the bacon.

"You little screw up!" he barked, his way of a morning greeting.

About twelve times a week, Uncle Vern would walk in and shout things at Harry, most times about how he needed to clean up after himself. Harry must have had more spankings than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, he naturally left rooms that way — all over the place.

Harry was frying some toast in the bacon grease by the time Bubba arrived back in the kitchen after going to the bathroom. Harry always knew when Bubba was in the bathroom because of all the unpleasant noises that child makes, and the previous few minutes where no execption. Bubba looked a lot like Uncle Vern. He had a huge pink face, not a great deal of neck, beady little blue eyes, and thick blond locks that lay awkwardly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Bubba looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Bubba looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of burnt bacon and toast on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Bubba, in the intervening time, was counting his opened and unopened presents. His face fell.

"Seventy six?" he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here beneath this gigantic one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, seventy seven then," said Bubba, going crimson in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Bubba tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Bubba turned the table over, which he's done on many occasions before.

Aunt Petunia evidently scented peril too, because she said hurriedly, "And we'll purchase you another twelve presents while we're out today. How's that, Pumpkins? Twelve more presents. Is that all right?"

Bubba thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have eighty..."

"Eighty nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia. And then turned away and murmured, "When is this kid going to learn his math? Know what I mean, Vern?"

Uncle Vern chuckled.

"Oh." Bubba sat down heavily and grabbed the parcel from Aunt Marge. "Alright, as long as I get what's coming to me."

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Bubba!" He ruffled Bubba's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vern watched Bubba unwrap the new racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. "Who in God's name gave me a VCR?" Bubba spat as he threw the box against the wall.

He was ripping the paper off a gold Rollex when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both annoyed and troubled.

"Bad news, Vern," she said. "Mrs. Figg passed away last night. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Bubba's mouth fell open in disgust, but Harry's heart began to soar. Every year on Bubba's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger joints, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry did not feel sorry that Mrs. Figg kicked the bucket and was very relieved to know he never had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, or Tufty ever again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vern suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vern, she hates the boy. Everyone does. That senile old woman was the only one we could ever get to watch him."

The Drubblesnorts often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there — or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to roam the house in his underwear for a change).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"Yeah, I probably would blow the place up or something..." said Harry disappointingly.

"I suppose we'll have to take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave him in the car…"

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone…"

Bubba began to cry at full volume.

"Bubba dumbdumbs, don't cry, Mummy won't let him destroy your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I… don't… want… him… t-t-to come!" Bubba yelled between huge sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Bubba's finest comrade, Petes Polk, walked in with his chauffeur. Petes was a scrawny boy with a pointed face like a rat and came from one of the richest families in town. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Bubba hit them. Bubba stopped his fake crying at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck that Mrs. Figg died, was sitting in the back of the Drubblesnorts' car with Petes and Bubba, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vern had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm cautioning you at this time, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be locked in that shed from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "really…"

But Uncle Vern didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The predicament was, bizarre things often happened in the vicinity of Harry and it was just no good telling the Drubblesnorts he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was practically bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrifying scar." Bubba had giggled himself stupid at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy patched clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, he got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been locked in the shed for a week for this, even though he had attempted to enlighten them that he couldn't give any details on how it had grown back so rapidly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Bubba's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to drag it down over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great displeasure, Harry was punished with eight lashings since he was the one who always did the laundry.

He had also gotten into dreadful trouble for being found in the girl's bathroom. Bubba's posse had been hunting him as customary when all of a sudden, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting in the girl's stall, with a girl in it. The Drubblesnorts had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been peeping in on the girls. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vern through the locked door of his shed) was dive behind the big trash cans outside the school's kitchen. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump and pushed him through the bathroom window.

But on the present day, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Bubba and Petes to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his tiny shed, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vern complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was golden rings.

"… ugh, I can't get my ring off my finger Petunia. It rips up the shifter. Why is it even customary to wear these stupid things?" he said, as he tried yanking it off his hand almost taking his whole finger off.

"I had a dream about a magic ring," said Harry, suddenly remembering. "It made me invisible."

Uncle Vern turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "THERE"S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC, BOY!" Just then they smashed into the stopped car in front of them.

Bubba and Petes sniggered.

"I know," said Harry. "It was only a dream... I think."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Drubblesnorts hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

After settling things with yet another police report, they finally arrived at was ended up being a very sunny Saturday spring at the zoo. The Drubblesnorts bought Bubba and Petes large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, just as the smiling lady asked Harry what he wanted, Vern stepped in and said the little snot doesn't deserve any. Harry was awfully hot in the sun after this, and licked his lips as he watched Bubba and Petes eating their ice cream who in return watched a monkey scratch its head. Bubba then complained he was hungry, even though he had half an ice cream cone left.

After lunch where Harry still wasn't allowed to eat, they went to the Big Cat country. It was a combination of indoor and outdoor viewing points. Due to the heat, the party decided best to head for the indoor section which was a series of dark, cool hallways with various glass paneling that let you view into the exhibits. Behind the glass, all sorts of tigers and lions were amusing zoo guests though mainly just relaxing in trees and on rocks. Bubba and Petes wanted to see huge, man-crushing tiger and Bubba quickly found the biggest tiger in the place. It could have crushed Uncle Vern's car no problem if it wanted to — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Bubba stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening striped coat.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vern pounded on the glass, but the tiger didn't budge.

"Do it again," Bubba commanded. Uncle Vern slapped and kicked and beat the glass so hard, a bit of blood started to seep off his hand and onto the glass, but the tiger just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Bubba groaned. He shuffled away.

Harry sidestepped in front of the big pane of glass and squinted intensely at the cat. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no companionship apart from stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a decomposing shed as a bedroom, where the only sightseer was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the residence.

The tiger suddenly opened its beady eyes. Gradually, very gradually, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

It winked.

Harry was flattered. Then he looked rapidly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the tiger and winked, too.

The tiger jerked its head toward Uncle Vern and Bubba, then raised its eyes to the sky. It gave Harry a look that said quite obviously:

"It's constant shenanigans like that around here, kid."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the tiger could hear him. "It has got to be really really annoying."

The tiger nodded forcefully.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The tiger moved its head towards a little sign next to the glass. Harry gazed at it with interest.

Bengal Tiger, India.

"Was it pleasing there?"

The big cat put its paw over its head and looked down. Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I get it — you've never been to India?"

As the tiger shook its head, a boisterous yell behind Harry made both of them leap. "BUBBA! OLD MAN DRUBBLESNORT! COME AND GAZE UPON THIS TIGER! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Bubba came waddling toward them as promptly as he could.

"Out of my way, you," he said, heaving Harry to the side. Caught by surprise, Harry did not land on his feet and fell hard to the concrete floor. What came subsequently after that happened so swiftly that no one saw how it happened — one second, Petes and Bubba were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and struggled for breath; the glass face of the tiger's cage had vanished. The great cat leaped out onto the floor. People throughout the hallway screamed and started running for the way out.

As the tiger swiftly pranced past him, Harry would have sworn under oath a low purring voice said, "Indiana, here I come… Prrrrrisons cannot hold me! Thanks, comrade."

The keeper of the Cat House was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "Why is the glass gone? Where did it go?"

The zoo boss himself made Aunt Petunia a strong, strong cup of coffee (with a pinch of vodka) while he apologized over and over again. As far as Harry had seen, the tiger hadn't done anything except rub playfully at Bubba's bulging tummy as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vern's automobile, Bubba was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his head, while Petes was swearing it had tried to roar him to death. But most terrible of all, for Harry at least, was Petes calming down enough to say, "Harry was chatting with it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vern waited until Petes was securely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so mad with rage he could hardly converse. All he managed to say was, "GO — SHED — WAIT — NO MEALS," before he collapsed into a chair and fainted from low oxygen. Aunt Petunia had to run and get some smelling salts and a large brandy.

Harry was relaxing in his dark shed much later, wishing he had a timepiece. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Drubblesnorts were slumbering yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking into the kitchen for some nourishment.

He'd existed with the Drubblesnorts for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that circus disaster. He couldn't really remember being in the circus tent where it all went down, but his aunt claimed he was. Sometimes, when he strained his memory really hard during long hours in his shed, he came up with a bizarre visualization: a blinding flash of green light and a fiery pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was some sort of explosion that startled the elephants which trampled his parents, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle by no means spoke about them, and of course he was prohibited from asking questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Drubblesnorts were his only kinfolk. Yet sometimes he contemplated (or maybe just hoped) why strangers in the street seemed to know him somehow. Very weird and wonderful strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had kissed him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Bubba. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything whatsoever. A super old woman dressed all in bright yellow had frantically waved at him once from a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually taken a selfie with him in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to disappear the instant Harry tried to get a closer look.