We could phone Marge, Uncle Vernon suggested.
Dont be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.
The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasnt there or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldnt understand them, like a slug.
What about whats-her-name, your friend Yvonne?
On holiday in Majorca, snapped Aunt Petunia.
You could just leave me here, Harry put in hopefully (hed be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudleys computer).
Aunt Petunia looked as though shed just swallowed a lemon.
And come back and find the house in ruins? she snarled.
I wont blow up the house, said Harry, but they werent listening.
I suppose we could take him to the zoo, said Aunt Petunia slowly, and leave him in the car
That cars new, hes not sitting in it alone
Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasnt really crying, it had been years since hed really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.
Dinky Duddydums, dont cry, Mummy wont let him spoil your special day! she cried, flinging her arms around him.
I dont want him t-t-to come! Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. He always sp-spoils everything! He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mothers arms.
Just then, the doorbell rang Oh, Good Lord, theyre here! said Aunt Petunia frantically and a moment later, Dudleys best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held peoples arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.
Half an hour later, Harry, who couldnt believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadnt been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before theyd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.
Im warning you, he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harrys, Im warning you now, boy any funny business, anything at all and youll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.
Im not going to do anything, said Harry, honestly
But Uncle Vernon didnt believe him. No one ever did.
The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didnt make them happen.
Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadnt been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left to hide that horrible scar. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses. Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldnt explain how it had grown back so quickly.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudleys (brown with orange bobbles). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldnt fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasnt punished.
On the other hand, hed got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudleys gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harrys surprise as anyone elses, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harrys headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all hed tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.
But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that
wasnt school, his cupboard or Mrs Figgs cabbage-smelling living-room.
While he drove, Uncle Vernon 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 favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.
roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums, he said, as a motorbike overtook them.
I had a dream about a motorbike, said Harry, remembering suddenly. It was flying.
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, MOTORBIKES DONT FLY!
Dudley and Piers sniggered.
I know they dont, said Harry. It was only a dream.
But he wished he hadnt said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldnt, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.