The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry1 his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing2 bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches3.
Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers4, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.
“They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”
“No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick.” Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia6 took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.
That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings’ boys wore maroon7 tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.
As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs8 might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.
“What's this?” he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened9 as they always did if he dared to ask a question.
“Your new school uniform,” she said.
Harry looked in the bowl again.
“Oh,” he said, “I didn't realize it had to be so wet.”
“Don't be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished.”
Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High — like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting5 stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop10 of letters on the doormat.
“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
“Make Harry get it.”
“Get the mail, Harry.”
“Make Dudley get it.”
“Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”
Harry dodged11 the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle12 of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic13 band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger14, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
“Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled15 at his own joke.
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.
Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped16 over the postcard.
“Marge's ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk…”
“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry's got something!”
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
“That's mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
“Who'd be writing to you?” sneered17 Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.
“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped18.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously19 and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.
“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.
“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it's mine.”
“Get out, both of you,” croaked20 Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted.
“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.
“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly21 had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling22 from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.
“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?”
“Watching — spying — might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—”
Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.
“No,” he said finally. “No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…”
“But—”
“I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
“Where's my letter?” said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who's writing to me?”
“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”
“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had my cupboard on it.”
“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.
“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.
“Why?” said Harry.
“Don't ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”
The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped23 at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent24 because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling25 at his mother, I don't want him in there… I need that room… make him get out…”
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked26 his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There's another one! ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive — ‘”
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle27 Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping28 for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.
“Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed29 at Harry. “Dudley — go — just go.”
Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door —
“AAAAARRRGH!”
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat — something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled30 miserably31 off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.
“I want — ” he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.
Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can't deliver them they'll just give up.”
“I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon.”
“Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.
Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” as he worked, and jumped at small noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded32 the letters in her food processor.
“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked Harry in amazement33.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today—”
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke34 and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting35 out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one —
“Out! OUT!”
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched36 their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.
“Shake ‘em off… shake ‘em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this.
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts37 of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…
They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.
“'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an ‘undred of these at the front desk.”
She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.
“I'll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing38 up quickly and following her from the dining room.
“Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed39 field, halfway40 across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
“Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.
“It's Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television.”
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger41 and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.
“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”
It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable42 little shack43 you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.
“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman's kindly44 agreed to lend us his boat!”
A toothless old man came ambling45 up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.
“I've already got us some rations46,” said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”
It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly47 wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.
The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.
Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.
“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately48 agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled49 the filthy50 windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy51 blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged52 blanket.
The storm raged more and more ferociously53 as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling54 with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes’ time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching55 noise? Was the rock crumbling56 into the sea?
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him — three… two… one…
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
那只巴西莽蛇的逃跑害得哈利受到有史以来最严厉的惩罚。到他被允许从柜子里出来的时候，暑假已经开始了。这时达德里已经弄坏了他的电影摄像机和遥控飞机，并且第一次骑赛车就把正拄着拐杖横穿马路的费格太太撞倒了。
哈利庆幸学校已经放假了。可是他仍然逃脱不了达德里那一帮朋友的追打。他们隔一天就来一次。皮尔斯、丹尼斯、麦尔哥和杰姆都是头脑简单的大个子，很显然达德里是最胖最蠢的那个，所以他理所当然地做了头。他们似乎把追着哈利打当成了他们最喜欢的活动。
这就是为什么哈利尽可能地长时间在外头闲逛，一心盼望着假期早日结束的原因了。那样他可能还能看到一线生机。九月份到来的时候，哈利就要去上中学了，这也是他一生中第一次不用和达德里呆在一块。达德里去了维能姨丈的母校，斯麦尔丁中学。皮尔斯。波各斯也去了那所学校。哈利则去了斯德伍中学，这是一所当地的综合学校。达德里因此常常取笑哈利。
"斯德伍中学的学生第一天就会把你的头塞进马桶里面。"他告诉哈利，"怎么样，你想现在上楼去练习一下吗？""不用了。"哈利说，"我敢说那只马桶没有塞过比你的大头更恶心的东西。"说完他拔腿就跑——万一达德里听出其中的意思他就惨了。
七月份里的一天，帕尤妮亚姨妈带达德里去伦敦买他的校服，把哈利留在了费格太太那里。费格太太显得没有平时那么坏。原来是她被她的小猫咪绊倒摔坏了腿，所以不像以前那样疼她的猫了。
她让哈利去看电视，并且给了他一块好像放了几年的巧克力蛋糕。
那天晚上，达德里拿着他那崭新的校服在客厅里展示。斯麦尔丁中学的男装校服包括一件栗色的燕尾服、橙色的灯笼裤以及一项硬草帽。居然其中还有一根棍子，据说是用来在老师不注意时打人用的。
当维能姨丈看着穿着校服的达德里时，他说这是他一生中最骄傲的时候。帕尤妮亚姨妈则喜极而泣，说她简直不敢相信她的达德里已经长成这样一个翩翩美少年了。哈利则尽量不让自己出声，他因为要憋住不笑已经憋到两根胁骨都快断掉了。
第二天早上哈利正准备去厨房吃早饭时，突然闻到一股难闻的气味。这味道好像是从洗碗池里发出来的。他走过去一看，只见池子里满是一些看上去脏脏的东西浮在乌黑的水上。
"这是什么？"他问帕尤妮亚姨妈。
"你的新衣服。"她答道。
哈利又往池子里看了一眼。
"喔！"他说，"我没想到它们会这么湿。"
"别傻了，"帕尤妮亚姨妈没好气地说，"我正在把达德里旧衣服上的乌黑色染到你的校服上。当我弄完后，它看上去就会跟其他孩子的校服一模一样了。"哈利非常怀疑她说的话，但是他知道自己最好别再争辩。他一屁股坐下，为不知道上斯德伍中学第一天自己会是什么样子而犯愁——可能他会像披着大象的皮。
这时达德里和维能姨丈走了进来，他们都因为哈利新校服上发出的臭气而皱起了鼻子。维能姨文像往常一样打开了报纸，达德里呼呼地在桌子上敲他那根随身携带的根子。
这时只听到邮箱卡搭一声响，伴有信落在门垫上的声音。
"达德里，去拿信。"维能姨丈在报纸后说。
"让哈利去拿。"
"那哈利去拿吧。"
"还是达德里去拿吧。"
"达德里，用你的棍子打他一下。"
哈利为躲开达德里的根子跑去拿信了。一共有三封邮件：一封是维能姨文的妹妹玛各寄来的明信片，她正在怀特岛度假。还有一个灰色的信封，看上去像一张支票——最后一封是给哈利的信。
哈利拿起来看，他的心像一条橡皮筋带一样绷地弹了一下。还从来没有人给他写过信。会是谁呢？他没有朋友，没有其他亲人——他也从来不去图书馆，所以他不会收到图书馆的催书单。但是那封信确实是明明白白地写着：色瑞城小威宁镇四号普里怀特街楼梯下的柜子里哈利·波特先生收这信封又重又厚，估计是用羊皮纸写的。用来写地址的墨水是一种奇怪的祖母绿颜色，而且整封信没有邮票。
颤抖着打开信封，哈利看到一个盖有纹章的紫色蜡印：一只狮子，一只鹰，一只獾和一条蛇组成了一只大大的字母"H "。
"快点啊，"维能姨丈在厨房里大喊，"你在干什么？在拆信里面的炸弹吗？"他自己先被自己开的这个玩笑逗乐了。
哈利回到厨房，老盯着他的信看。他递给维能姨文支票以及明信片，坐下来慢慢地开始拆自己黄色的信封。
维能姨丈飞快地拆开支票，不耐烦地把它甩在了明信片之上。
"玛各生病了。"他跟帕尤妮亚姨妈说。"因为吃了不干净的螺。""爸爸，"达德里突然叫道，"哈利居然有信收！"哈利正准备打开那封同样也是用厚厚的羊皮纸写的信。维能姨丈一把从他手中抢了过去。
"这是我的信，"哈利试着把它抢回来。
"谁会写信给你呢？"维能姨丈冷笑着说，并且用一只手摇晃着把信打开。只看了一眼，他的脸色便由红转绿，比交通指示灯变得还快。他愣住了。不久，他的脸色变成像放久了的粥的灰白色。
"帕——帕尤妮亚。"他喘着粗气说。
达德里想抢那封信去看，但是维能姨丈把信举得高高的不让他抓到。帕尤妮亚姨妈好奇地拿过去只读了一行字，她就好像要昏过去了一样。她抓住自己的喉咙，发出一阵被什么东西噎住了的声音。
"维能！我的天哪——维能！"
他们面面相觑，好像忘记了还有哈利和达德里在这间房子里，达德里可不习惯被人忽视。他用棍子在他爸爸的头上猛地敲了一下。
"我要看那封信。"他大声地说。
"我也要看，"哈利万分焦急地说，"它毕竟是我的信啊。""你们两个通通给我出去。"维能姨丈喝斥道，又把信塞回了信封。
哈利不肯动。
"把信还给我！"他大叫。
"给我看！"达德里也来凑热闹。
"出去！"维能姨丈发脾气了。他抓住哈利和儿子几乎是把他们丢了出去，然后砰地一声关上了厨房门。哈利和达德里马上为争夺钥匙孔旁的位置展开了一场激烈而又无声的争斗。
"维能，"帕尤妮亚姨妈用一种颤抖的声音说，"看这个地址——他们怎么可能知道他睡在那里？你不觉得他们在时刻注视这间屋子吗？""注视——监视——很有可能在追踪我们。"维能姨丈地嘀咕着。
"那我们该怎么办，维能？我们应该写回信吗？告诉他们我们不想——"哈利可以看见维能姨丈闪亮的黑皮鞋在厨房里踱来踱去。
"不行，"他终于开口了。"我们不写回信了。如果他们得不到答案……对，这样再好不过了……我们什么也不用做……""可是——"
"帕尤妮亚，我们不能让它存在这屋子里！我们不是发过誓在我们收养他的时候，我们将把那些危险的敌意赶走的吗？"当天晚上，在维能姨丈下班后，他破灭荒的第一次拜访了住在柜子里的哈利。
"我的信在哪里？"维能姨文一钻进柜子哈利就问道，"是谁写过来的？""不知道。是出了错信才会寄给你的。"维能姨丈简短地解释，"我已经把它烧了。""没弄错。"哈利生气地说，"要不他怎么知道我住在柜子里。""别出声！"维能姨丈尖叫道。这时几只蜘蛛从柜子顶上掉落下来。他深深的吸了几口气，强迫自己挤出一丝笑容，看得出来非常勉强。
"这样的，哈利，关于这问题。我已经和你的姨妈考虑过了……它对你来说确实是小了一点……我们认为你最好能搬到达德里的第二间卧室去。""为什么？"哈利问。
"不要问问题！"维能姨丈打断了他，"赶快收拾你的东西上楼！"杜斯利家一共有四间卧室：一间是杜斯利夫妇住的，一间是给客人住的（通常是维能的妹妹玛各）。剩下的一间是达德里睡觉用的，另一间是给达德里放第一间卧室放不下的玩具的。
哈利只用了一趟就把他柜子里的所有东西搬到楼上的房间去了。他坐在床上看着周围的东西。几乎这里所有的东西都是破的：达德里用过一个月的电影摄像机被放在一只小小的玩具坦克上。达德里曾经用这架坦克轧过邻居家的狗。摆在角落的是达德里的第一台电视机，这台电视机是在他最喜爱的电视节目被取消后他一脚踢破的。房间还有一只装过一只鹦鹉的巨大的鸟笼。可惜那只鹦鹉已经被达德里在学校换成了一支汽枪。那支汽枪的前端被折弯了，丢在架子上，可能是达德里一屁股坐在上面弄坏的。其它架于放满了书。它们是整间房子唯一看上去没有被碰过的东西。
楼下传来达德里训斥他妈妈的声音："我不想他住在那里……
那间房是我的……让他滚出去……"哈利叹了一口气倒在床上。昨天他为了能住上来什么都愿意做。可是他今天宁愿住回他的柜子，只要能把那封信还给他。
第二天吃早餐的时候，没有一个人开口说话。达德里太吃惊了。不管他怎样尖叫，怎样用他的棍子使劲地打他的爸爸，故意装病也好，踢他的妈妈也好，甚至把他的宝贝乌龟从温室顶上丢下去，他都没法要回自己的房间。哈利则在想着昨天的这个时候，要是自己在楼下的时候就把信拆了就好了。帕尤妮亚姨妈和维能姨丈则面色阴沉地看着对方。
邮件又来的时候，维能姨丈为了从表面上对哈利好一点，叫达德里下去拿信。
他们听到达德里一边下楼一边用他的棍子敲打着经过的东西。紧接着只听一声大喊："又来一封信了！四号普里怀特街住在最小间卧室的哈利·波特先生收！"差点要叫出声的维能姨丈唰地一下从椅子上跳起来跑下楼，哈利紧跟在后面。
维能姨丈几乎把达德里摔在地上才从他手上抢回那封信，因为哈利从他后面卡住了他的脖子。在这场混战中夹杂了许多棍棒，最后是维能姨丈先站了起来，上气不接下气，手中紧紧抓着哈利的信。
"回到你的柜子——我是说，你的卧室去，"他气喘吁吁地对哈利说。"达德里，你也走。"哈利在他新房间里踱来踱去。有人知道他已经搬出了柜子住而目他们好像还知道他没有收到他的第一封信。这意味着他们再试了一次，这一次他确定不能再让他们失望了。他有了一个计划。
第二天早上六点，修好的闹钟铃铃地响起来。哈利迅速地把它关掉，静静地穿上衣服。千万别把社斯利一家给吵醒了。他一盏灯都没开便偷偷地下了楼。
他打算在这里等邮递员的到来，这样他就可以拿到给他的信了。当他蹑手蹑脚地从大厅向前门走过去的时候，他的心扑通扑通地跳起来。
"噢！"
哈利被吓得跳得老高——他踩到了门垫上一件又大又软的东西——还是活的。
楼上的灯亮了。哈利惊奇地发现刚才那个又大又软的东西居然是维能姨文的脸。
维能姨丈为了防止哈利早早地过来拿信，居然在门口用睡袋睡了一夜！他向哈利大叫大喊了几乎半个小时，然后叫他去冲一杯茶。哈利垂头丧气地进了厨房。当他回来的时候，邮件已经到了，正放在维能姨丈的膝盖上。哈利可以看见三封信都是用同样的绿色墨水写的。
"我想——"没等他说完，维能姨丈已经当着他的面把信撕了个粉碎。
维能姨丈那天没有去上班。他在家准备把那个邮箱钉牢了。
"看着吧，"他含着一口钉子对帕尤妮亚姨妈说，"如果他们寄不到他们就会放弃的。""我不认为那行得通，维能。"
"喔，这些人想法奇怪得很，帕尤妮亚，他们不像我和你那么想事情。"维能姨丈一边说一边准备把帕尤妮亚姨妈刚刚递给他的水果蛋糕当锤子去敲钉子。
星期五那天，至少有十二封信是寄给哈利的。因为它们没法塞在邮箱里，它们被从门底下和边缝处塞了进来，还有几封是从楼下厕所的小窗户处被塞进来的。
维能姨丈又没有去上班。在把所有的信都烧掉后，他拿出铁锤和钉子把前门和后门所有的裂缝给钉死了，这样没人可以出得去了。他一边钉一边哼着"踮着腿从郁金香之间走过去"的小曲，而且一听到一点动静就尖跳起来。
到了星期六，事情的发展完全失去了控制。二十四封给哈利的信出现在房子里。
它们是被卷起来分别藏在二十四只鸡蛋中由送牛奶的人从卧室窗口递给帕尤妮亚姨妈的。在维能姨丈怒气冲冲地向邮局和牛奶场打电话找人投诉的时候，帕尤妮亚姨妈已经用她的食品搅拌器把信搅得粉碎了。
"到底是谁这么希望跟你说话呢？"达德里这样好奇地问哈利。
星期天早上，维能姨丈终于可以坐在桌旁吃早餐了。他看上去疲惫不堪，但是非常开心。
"今天没有信件。"他开心得把应该涂在面包上的蜜糖酱往报纸上涂。"今天没有那些该死的信件——"在他说话的时候，厨房的烟囱一直飕飕作响，接着有什么东西突然掉在了他的后脑勺上。再下来，三十或者四十封信像子弹一样从烟囱里飞了下来。杜斯利一家吓得躲到了一边，哈利趁机跳起来抓到了一封——"出去！给我出去！"维能姨丈把哈利拦腰抱起丢进了客厅。帕尤妮亚姨妈和达德里抱着脸跑出了厨房，维能姨丈砰的一声把门关上了。他们还可以听到那些信通过烟囱掉在墙上和地板上的声音。
"就这样办吧，"维能姨丈一边拔下一搓胡子一边尽量平静地说，"我命令你们用五分钟的时间收拾好东西准备离开。我们必须离开这里，只许带几件衣服，不要跟我讲条件！"他看上去十分可怕，因为他的胡子已被拔去了一半，于是没有人敢反抗。十分钟以后，他们已经拆掉被打死的门坐到了车子里，向高速公路开去。达德里在后座上哭哭啼啼，因为刚刚他的爸爸因为他耽误了时间而打了他的头。当时达德里试着把他的电视机、录像机和电脑通通装进旅行袋。
他们不停地朝前开着车，帕尤妮亚姨妈都不敢问他们是到哪里去。维能姨丈会不时地来一个急转弯或者朝相反的方向开上好一阵子。
"甩掉他们……甩掉他们。"维能姨丈自言自语地说。
他们一整天都没有停下来吃东西或喝一口水。到天黑的时候，达德里开始号啕大哭起来，他一辈子都没有遇到过这么糟糕的一天。他饿极了。他错过了他想看的五档电视节目，他从来没有这么久没去电脑上打游戏了。
终于维能姨文在一个大城市郊外的一间看上去破破烂烂的旅馆外停下了车。达德里和哈利同住一个双人间。床上的床单潮湿而且发了霉，但是达德里很快就打起了鼾，可哈利怎么也睡不着。他坐在窗台上，盯着下面一辆辆飞驰而过的车，陷入了沉思……
第二天他们的早餐是发霉的玉米片，冷的罐头马铃薯夹吐司。
正要吃完的时候，旅馆的老板走过桌子旁边。
"打扰一下，你们中间有一位哈利·波特先生吗？我在前台收到了许多给他的信。"她把信举在手上好让每个人看清那个用绿色墨水写的地址：叩可文斯镇铁路旅馆杜斯利夫人帕尤妮亚姨妈号房间哈利·波特先生收哈利飞快地抓住那封信，可是维能姨丈马上也把他的手抓住了。旅馆老板在一旁呆呆看着。
"把它们都给我吧。"维能姨丈快速地起身来跟着老板娘走出了餐厅。
"亲爱的，不如我们回家去吧。"几小时后，帕尤妮亚姨妈小心翼翼地提出建议，可是维能姨丈好像听不到她说话，没有人知道他在找什么。他载着他们开进了一片森林的深处，下车看了看，摇了一下头，又回到车里继续开车。同样的情形还发生在一片农田的中央，或者一架吊桥的中间和一座高楼的顶层停车场。
"爸爸是不是已经疯掉了？"那天下午达德里这样迟钝地问帕尤妮亚姨妈。维能姨丈把车停在海边，把他们都锁在车里然后自己离开了。
天下起雨来，巨大的雨滴敲击着车顶。达德里小声地哭起来。
"今天是星期一。"他告诉他妈妈，"今天晚上有'巨人哈伯特'看。我想找一个有电视机的地方。"星期一，哈利忽然想起了什么。如果今天是星期——只要有达德里在，他就会知道今天是星期几，达德里是个电视迷——那么明天，星期二便是哈利的第十一个生日了。当然，他的生日也并不代表就一定会开心——去年，杜斯利家送给他一只挂衣架和维能姨丈的一双旧袜子。但是，你不可能天天都过十一岁生日啊。
维能姨丈回来了，脸上笑眯眯的。他拎着一只长条的包囊，但是当帕尤妮亚姨妈问他买了什么东西的时候他一个字都没答。
"我找到一个绝好的地方！"他叫道，"快来！每个人都出来。"车外非常冷。维能姨丈所指的地方看上去像一片通向大海的岩石群。在岩石的顶部是你所能想象的世界上最小最简陋的棚房，很显然那里没有电视机。
"今晚预报会有暴风雨！"维能姨丈一边说一边兴奋地拍着手。
"但是这个好心人答应借他的船给我们用！"
一个没牙的老头蹒跚地向他们走过来，脸上邪邪地笑着，手指向了漂浮在铁青色的海水之上的一艘旧划船。
"我已经给每个人都准备好了食物。"维能姨丈说，"大家快上船吧！"船里冷得像冰窖，冰冷的海水喷涌上来，雨水钻进了他们的脖子，凛冽的北风像鞭子一样抽打着他们的面庞。大概过了几小时他们才到达那片岩石，维能姨丈深一脚浅一脚在前面带路，向那间破旧得几乎要垮掉的破房子走去。
房间里更为恐怖，散发出一股浓烈的海藻味。冷风从木头做的墙壁缝间呼啸而入，壁炉又空又潮湿，屋子里面只有两间房子。
维能姨丈所准备的食物不过是每人一包薯条和四只香蕉。他打算用空的薯条包装袋来点火，可是袋子冒了一阵烟就灭了。
"不如用那些信来点火吧。"他兴奋地说，维能姨丈看上去心情好极了，很显然他认为没有人有可能在暴风雨中把信送到一个孤岛上来。哈利私下里也这么认为，虽然他并不希望事情是这样子。
夜晚来临的时候，暴风雨如期而至。巨大的海浪拍打着小木屋的墙壁，破烂的窗户在猛烈的北风中瑟瑟发抖。帕尤妮亚姨妈在第二间房子里找到了一些发霉的毯子，并且给达德里在一张虫蛀过的沙发上铺了一张床。她和维能姨丈在隔壁的房间睡下了。而哈利只能在地板上找一块最软的地方栖身，分配给他的毛毯也是最薄、最烂的那张。
接近夜深的时候，暴风雨愈来愈肆虐了。哈利无法入睡，他觉得发抖，在地板上翻来覆去希望找到一个舒适的位置。他肚子饿得咕咕响。半夜的时候，达德里的鼾声被低沉的雷声淹没了。搭在沙发边上的达德里肥肥的手腕上的可以发光的手表清楚地告诉哈利再过十分钟他就要满十一岁了。哈利躺在地上，看着自己的生日一步步临近，心里想着杜斯利一家不会记得他的生日以及那个给他写信的人现在在哪里。
只有五分钟了，哈利突然听到外面有一些嘎嘎的声音。他希望不是屋顶要塌下来了，虽然它塌下来自己会暖和一些。只有四分钟了，可能现在杜斯利家的房子里现在堆满了信件，那么我们回去的时候我可能可以偷到一两封看呢。哈利痴痴地想着。
还有三分钟。潮浪拍击岩石的声音是那样的吗？还有两分钟。
嘎吱嘎吱的声音是从哪里发出来的？是岩石被打落到海里的声音吗？
还有一分钟他就十一岁了。还有三十秒钟……二十秒……十秒——九秒——可能他应该把达德里吵醒——3——2——1——只听一声巨响。
整个木屋都颤抖了。哈利直直地坐了起来，盯着门口。有人正在外面敲门。
收听单词发音 |
1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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3
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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4
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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5
smelting
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| n.熔炼v.熔炼，提炼（矿石）( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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6
petunia
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| n.矮牵牛花 | |
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7
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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8
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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9
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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swapped
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| 交换（工作）( swap的过去式和过去分词 )； 用…替换，把…换成，掉换（过来） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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whacked
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| a.精疲力尽的 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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shredded
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| shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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hanger
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| n.吊架，吊轴承；挂钩 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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moldy
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| adj.发霉的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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