ight!" said Uncle Vernon loudly. Harry saw, with some satisfaction,
that his uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves couldn't stand the
sound of the word "broomsticks" in his living room. He took refuge in perusing
the letter again. Harry saw his lips form the words "send us your answer ... in the
normal way." He scowled.
"What does she mean, 'the normal way'?" he spat.
"Normal for us," said Harry, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, "you
know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards."
Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting
swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as
though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the
glass.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my
roof?" he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. "You stand there, in the clothes
Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back -"
"Only after Dudley finished with them," said Harry coldly, and indeed, he was
dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five
times so as to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his
extremely baggy jeans.
"I will not be spoken to like that!" said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage.
But Harry wasn't going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been
forced to take every single one of the Dursleys' stupid rules. He wasn't following
Dudley's diet, and he wasn't going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the
Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath
and then said, "Okay, I can't see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I've got
a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know - my godfather."
He had done it, he had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede
blotchily from Uncle Vernon's face, making it look like badly mixed black currant
ice cream.
"You're - you're writing to him, are you?" said Uncle Vernon, in a would-be calm
voice - but Harry had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear.
"Well - yeah," said Harry, casually. "It's been a while since he heard from me, and,
you know, if he doesn't he might start thinking something's wrong."
He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs
working under Uncle Vernon's thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop
Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told
Harry he couldn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell
23
Sirius, who would know Harry was being mistreated. There was only one thing for
Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his uncle's mind as
though the great mustached face were transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep
his own face as blank as possible. And then -
"Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy ... this stupid ... this World Cup
thing. You write and tell these - these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I
haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend
the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather ... tell him ...
tell him you're going."
"Okay then," said Harry brightly.
He turned and walked toward the living room door, fighting the urge to jump into
the air and whoop. He was going ... he was going to the Weasleys', he was going
to watch the Quidditch World Cup!
Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the
door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off. He looked shocked to see
the broad grin on Harry's face.
"That was an excellent breakfast, wasn't it?" said Harry. "I feel really full, don't
you?"
Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley's face, Harry took the stairs three at a
time, and hurled himself back into his bedroom.
The first thing he saw was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage,
staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, and clicking her beak in the way
that meant she was annoyed about something. Exactly what was annoying her
became apparent almost at once.
"OUCH!" said Harry as what appeared to be a small, gray, feathery tennis ball
collided with the side of his head. Harry massaged the spot furiously, looking up
to see what had hit him, and saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of
his hand, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework. Harry then
realized that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet. Harry bent down, recognized
Ron's handwriting, then tore open the envelope. Inside was a hastily scribbled
note.
Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night.
Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the
letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig
anyway.
Harry stared at the word "Pig," then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming
around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less
like a pig. Maybe he couldn't read Ron's writing. He went back to the letter:
24
We're coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can't miss the World
Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission
first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and
get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll
come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway.
Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of
International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while
you're here unless you want the pants bored off you.
See you soon - Ron
"Calm down!" Harry said as the small owl flew low over his head, twittering
madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter
to the right person. "Come here, I need you to take my answer back!"
The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwig's cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as
though daring it to try and come any closer.
Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of
parchment, and wrote:
Ron, it's all okay, the Muggles say I can come. See you five o'clock tomorrow.
Can't wait. Harry
He folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny
owl's leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was
secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight.
Harry turned to Hedwig.
"Feeling up to a long journey?" he asked her.
Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of a way.
"Can you take this to Sirius for me?" he said, picking up his letter. "Hang on ... I
just want to finish it."
He unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript.
If you want to contact me, I'll be at my friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the
summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!
The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwig's leg; she kept unusually still, as though
determined to show him how a real post owl should behave.
"I'll be at Ron's when you get back, all right?" Harry told her.
She nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her
enormous wings and soared out of the open window.
25
Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose
floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. He sat there on the floor
eating it, savoring the happiness that was flooding through him. He had cake, and
Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer's day, he would be
leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was
going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried
about anything - even Lord Voldemort.
26
CHAPTER FOUR - BACK TO THE BURROW
By twelve o'clock the next day, Harry's school trunk was packed with his school
things and all his most prized possessions - the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited
from his father, the broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of
Hogwarts he had been given by Fred and George Weasley last year. He had
emptied his hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, double-checked
every nook and cranny of his bedroom for forgotten spellbooks or quills, and taken
down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on
which he liked to cross off the days remaining until his return to Hogwarts.
The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The
imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the
Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when
Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very
next day.
"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," he snarled at once. "I've
seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on
normal clothes, that's all."
Harry felt a slight sense of foreboding. He had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley
wearing anything that the Dursleys would call "normal." Their children might don
Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long
robes in varying states of shabbiness. Harry wasn't bothered about what the
neighbors would think, but he was anxious about how rude the Dursleys might be
to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards.
Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked
like a gesture of welcome, but Harry knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to
look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow
diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to
fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully grown wizard with
a curly pig's 