CHAPTER TWO
THE VANISHING GLASS
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up tofind their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardlychanged at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens andlit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it creptinto their living room, which was almost exactly the same as ithad been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful newsreport about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece reallyshowed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lotsof pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearingdifferent-colored bonnets -- but Dudley Dursley was no longer ababy, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding hisfirst bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer gamewith his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The roomheld no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.
Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but notfor long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voicethat made the first noise of the day.
"Up! Get up! Now!"Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.
"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchenand then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. Herolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had beenhaving. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcyclein it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.
His aunt was back outside the door.
"Are you up yet?" she demanded.
"Nearly," said Harry.
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. Anddon't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy'sbirthday."Harry groaned.
"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.
"Nothing, nothing..."Dudley's birthday -- how could he have forgotten? Harry gotslowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pairunder his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put themon. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairswas full of them, and that was where he slept.
When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. Thetable was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. Itlooked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted,not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactlywhy Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudleywas very fat and hated exercise -- unless of course it involvedpunching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but hecouldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard,but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He lookedeven smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had towear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four timesbigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair,and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with alot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched himon the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearancewas a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a boltof lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and thefirst question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia washow he had gotten it.
"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "Anddon't ask questions."Don't ask questions -- that was the first rule for a quiet lifewith the Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning overthe bacon.
"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.
About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of hisnewspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must havehad more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class puttogether, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew thatway -- all over the place.
Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchenwith his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had alarge pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thickblond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petuniaoften said that Dudley looked like a baby angel -- Harry often saidthat Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.
Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which wasdifficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was countinghis presents. His face fell.
"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother andfather. "That's two less than last year.""Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see,it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy.""All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in theface. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, beganwolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turnedthe table over.
Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she saidquickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're outtoday. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right''
Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finallyhe said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty...""Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.
"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearestparcel. "All right then."Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth,just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.
At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went toanswer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap theracing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteennew computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a goldwristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone lookingboth angry and worried.
"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. Shecan't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.
Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave aleap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and afriend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants,or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, amad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. Thewhole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look atphotographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.
"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry asthough he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry thatMrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he remindedhimself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles,Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.
"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.
"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though hewasn't there -- or rather, as though he was something very nastythat couldn't understand them, like a slug.
"What about what's-her-name, your friend -- Yvonne?""On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.
"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd beable to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybeeven have a go on Dudley's computer).
Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.
"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.
"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren'tlistening.
"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petuniaslowly, "... and leave him in the car....""That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone...."Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying --it had been years since he'd really cried -- but he knew that if hescrewed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anythinghe wanted.
"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil yourspecial day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.
"I... don't... want... him... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelledbetween huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp- spoils everything!" Heshot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.
Just then, the doorbell rang -- "Oh, good Lord, they'rehere!" said Aunt Petunia frantically -- and a moment later, Dudley'sbest friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers wasa scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one whoheld people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudleystopped pretending to cry at once.
Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, wassitting 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 anduncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him,but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.
"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple faceright up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy -- any funnybusiness, anything at all -- and you'll be in that cupboard fromnow until Christmas.""I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly..
But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.
The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry andit was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.
Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barberslooking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchenscissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except forhis bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley hadlaughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imaginingschool the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggyclothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gottenup to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia hadsheared it off He had been given a week in his cupboard for this,even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain howit had grown back so quickly.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into arevolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) --The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemedto become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, butcertainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must haveshrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.
On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for beingfound on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had beenchasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyoneelse's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys hadreceived a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling themHarry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried todo (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of hiscupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchendoors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.
But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth beingwith Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn'tschool, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.
While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He likedto complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry,the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. Thismorning, it was motorcycles.
"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said,as a motorcycle overtook them.
I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, rememberingsuddenly. "It was flying."Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turnedright around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like agigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"Dudley and Piers sniggered.
I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thingthe Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it washis talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matterif it was in a dream or even a cartoon -- they seemed to think hemight get dangerous ideas. |