“Yes,” Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. “He came back a month ago. I saw him.”
Her hands found Dudley’s massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.
“Hang on,” said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. “Hang on. This Lord Voldything’s back, you say.”
“Yes.”
“The one who murdered your parents.”
“Yes.”
“And now he’s sending dismembers after you?”
“Looks like it,” said Harry.
“I see,” said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry’s eyes. “Well, that settles it,” he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, “you can get out of this house, boy!”
“What?” said Harry.
“You heard me — OUT!” Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. “OUT! OUT! I should’ve done it years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley’s tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling, and that flying Ford Anglia — OUT! OUT! You’ve had it! You’re history! You’re not staying here if some loony’s after you, you’re not endangering my wife and son, you’re not bringing trouble down on us, if you’re going the same way as your useless parents, I’ve had it! OUT!”
Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr. Weasley, and Sirius were crushed in his left hand. Don’t leave the house again, whatever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE.
“You heard me!” said Uncle Vernon, bending forward now, so that his massive purple face came closer to Harry’s, so that Harry actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. “Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I’m right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place I don’t know. Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage, we were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you’ve been rotten from the beginning, and I’ve had enough — OWLS!”
The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight up the chimney again.
Harry darted forward to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it.
“You can open it if you like,” said Harry, “but I’ll hear what it says anyway. That’s a Howler.”
“Let go of it, Petunia!” roared Uncle Vernon. “Don’t touch it, it could be dangerous!”
“It’s addressed to me,” said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. “It’s addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs. Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive —”
She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.
“Open it!” Harry urged her. “Get it over with! It’ll happen anyway —”
“No —”
Aunt Petunia’s hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late — the envelope burst into flames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.
An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.
“REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA.”
Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smoldered into ash in the silence.
“What is this?” Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. “What — I don’t — Petunia?”
Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiraled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.
“Petunia, dear?” said Uncle Vernon timidly. “P-Petunia?”
She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed.
“The boy — the boy will have to stay, Vernon,” she said weakly.
“W-what?”
“He stays,” she said. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet again.
“He . . . but Petunia . . .”
“If we throw him out, the neighbors will talk,” she said. She was regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner rapidly, though she was still very pale. “They’ll ask awkward questions, they’ll want to know where he’s gone. We’ll have to keep him.”
Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tire.
“But Petunia, dear —”
Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry.
“You’re to stay in your room,” she said. “You’re not to leave the house. Now get to bed.”
Harry didn’t move.
“Who was that Howler from?”
“Don’t ask questions,” Aunt Petunia snapped.
“Are you in touch with wizards?”
“I told you to get to bed!”
“What did it mean? Remember the last what?”
“Go to bed!”
“How come — ?”
“YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GET TO BED!”
CHAPTER THREE
THE ADVANCE GUARD
I’ve just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what’s going on and when I’m going to get out of here.