J. Rowling - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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 Harrys room.

Third time this week! he roared across the table. If you cant control that owl, itll have to go!

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

Shes bored, he said. Shes used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night

Do I look stupid? snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. I know whatll happen if that owls let out. He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys son, Dudley.

I want more bacon.

Theres more in the frying pan, sweetums, said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. We must build you up while weve got the chance I dont like the sound of that school food

Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings, said Uncle Vernon heartily. Dudley gets enough, dont you, son?

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

Pass the frying pan.

Youve forgotten the magic word, said Harry irritably.

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; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

I meant please! said Harry quickly. I didnt mean

WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU, thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, ABOUT SAYING THE M WORD IN OUR HOUSE?

But I

HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY! roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

I just

I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!

Harry stared from his purple faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

All right, said Harry, all right

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Harry Potter wasnt a normal boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.

Harry Potter was a wizarda wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt.

He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed 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 Harrys spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top of the line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadnt practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry 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 in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harrys owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry, on the other hand, was 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 Harrys very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on the Dursleys doorstep eleven years before.

At the age of one year 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. Harrys parents had died in Voldemorts attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehownobody understood whyVoldemorts powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mothers sister and her husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why he 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 his parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry, and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous but now the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadnt even remembered that today happened to be Harrys twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadnt been high; theyd never given him a real present, let alone a cakebut to ignore it completely

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career, said Uncle Vernon.

Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Uncle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. Hed been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle Vernons company made drills).

I think we should run through the schedule one more time, said Uncle Vernon. We should all be in position at eight oclock. Petunia, you will be?

In the lounge, said Aunt Petunia promptly, waiting to welcome them graciously to our home.

Good, good. And Dudley?

Ill be waiting to open the door. Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?

Theyll love him! cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

Excellent, Dudley, said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. And you?

Ill be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending Im not there, said Harry tonelessly.

Exactly, said Uncle Vernon nastily. I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen

Ill announce dinner, said Aunt Petunia.

And, Dudley, youll say

May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason? said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

My perfect little gentleman! sniffed Aunt Petunia.

And you? said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

Ill be in my room, making no noise and pretending Im not there, said Harry dully.

Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?