Chapter 3 The Invitation

By the time Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as he entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon's large red face was hidden behind the morning's Daily Mail, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horse-like teeth.

Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley's plate with a tremulous “There you are, Diddy darling,” Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual: Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn't understand him, while Uncle Vernon maintained that “he didn't want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway.” They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report - “He's a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn't hurt a fly!” Aunt Petunia had said tearfully.

However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well-chosen comments from the school nurse that not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was really puppy fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn't stock knickerbockers big enough for him anymore. The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia's eyes - so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neighbors - simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale.

So - after many tantrums, after arguments that shook Harry's bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia - the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley's favorite things - fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called “rabbit food.” To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley's. Aunt Petunia seemed to feet that the best way to keep up Dudley's morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry.

But Aunt Petunia didn't know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Hermione's house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks. (Hermione's parents were dentists.) Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn't touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid's cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies. Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry's birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius. Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he ate his grapefruit without complaint.

Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter.

“Is this it?” he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing Harry's with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes.

Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon's grapefruit.

Harry heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly. Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall.

Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had got to. She didn't have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid.

“You,” he barked at Harry. “In the living room. Now.”

Bewildered, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time, Harry got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind both of them.

“So,” he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry as though he were about to pronounce him under arrest. “So.”

Harry would have dearly loved to have said, “So what?” but he didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested this early in the morning, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. He therefore settled for looking politely puzzled.

“This just arrived,” said Uncle Vernon. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry. “A letter. About you.”

Harry's confusion increased. Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about him? Who did he know who sent letters by the postman?

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,
We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron.
As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school.
It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is.
Hoping to see Harry soon,
Yours sincerely,
Molly Weasley
P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on.
Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else.

“Look at this,” he growled.

He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing.

“She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make. His uncle's eyes flashed.

“The postman noticed,” he said through gritted teeth. “Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny.”

Harry didn't say anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but Harry had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that someone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley.

Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. If he didn't do or say anything stupid, he might just be in for the treat of a lifetime. He waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence.

“So - can I go then?” he asked.

A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon's large purple face. The mustache bristled. Harry thought he knew what was going on behind the mustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernon's most fundamental instincts came into conflict. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to disappear to the Weasleys’ for the rest of the summer would get rid of him two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley's letter again.

“Who is this woman?” he said, staring at the signature with distaste.

“You've seen her,” said Harry. “She's my friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog - off the school train at the end of last term.”

He had almost said “Hogwarts Express,” and that was a sure way to get his uncle's temper up. Nobody ever mentioned the name of Harry's school aloud in the Dursley household.

Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant.

“Dumpy sort of woman?” he growled finally. “Load of children with red hair?”

Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone “dumpy,” when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he'd been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall.

Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again.

“Quidditch,” he muttered under his breath. “Quidditch - what is this rubbish?”

Harry felt a second stab of annoyance.

“It's a sport,” he said shortly. “Played on broom-”

“All right, all right!” 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 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:

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.

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.

　哈利到达厨房时，三位已经围桌而坐了。他送来、坐下都一直没有人抬起头来。姨丈的大红脸被早报给遮住了，姨妈在把西柚分成四份，她的牙像马牙一样，嘴唇缩拢着。

　　达德里看起来盛怒，生气，好像要占比平常更多的地方。这个方桌他总是占据整整一条边。当姨妈把四份之一不太甜的葡萄放到他盘子上的时候，他生气地瞪了她一眼，姨妈还是对她说，“你的，吃吧，亲爱的！”自从夏天带年终学习报告回来后，他的生活就变得很不愉快。

　　维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈像往日一样为他们儿子的低分找出借口，姨妈说达德里是一个极有才赋的孩子，可惜老师并不理解他，姨丈则说他不要儿子太苦读。对成绩单上的批评话句，他们也只是一语带过，姨妈满眼泪花地说，“他是个性情狂暴的小孩，但却不会伤害一只苍蝇。”

　　然而，成绩单结尾处有一段学校护士的评语，姨丈姨妈怎么也解释不了。不管姨妈怎样哀怨达德里是如何骨骼大，按每磅所费的费用真是跟一个小狗差不多，说他是在长身体的时候，需要足够食物。但却改变不了这一事实，学校服装售货员说已找不到那么大的短灯笼裤供达德里穿。学校护士注意到姨妈的眼睛只有当有人在她闪亮墙壁上弄了胜指印和在观察邻居来来往往方面才会锐利，但对儿子的问题却视而不见，达德里并不需要营养，实际上已经在体重、大小方面达到了一头杀人鲸的份量。

　　发了许多脾气，通过争论，简直让哈利卧室地板也颤抖，姨妈流了许多眼泪，新的摄食法清单开始了。食物清单是学校护士送的，贴在冰箱上，除去所有达德里最喜欢吃的东西：起泡的饮料，蛋糕，巧克力糖，汉堡包，而塞进去的是水果，蔬菜，以及姨丈称之为“兔食”的食品，为了让达德里感觉好一点，姨妈坚持全家都跟新的食品清单进食。她现在把一份西柚给哈利，哈利注意到他的那份比达德里的那份要小许多。姨妈好像感觉到保持达德里斗志的最好方法就是让达德里确信，他确实吃的比哈利多。

　　但是姨妈还不知道楼上地板下所藏的东西。她不知道哈利根本就没有跟食谱吃。他一得到可能要一个暑假都吃胡萝卜过活的风声后，他马上放出海维向朋友恳求帮助，他们均慷慨相助。海维从荷米恩的家里带回一个大盒子无糖点心（荷米恩的父母都是牙医）。

　　哈利的学校管理员给了一袋石饼，自己家做的（哈利还没有动，他对管理员的烹调手艺大清楚了）。威斯里夫人派她家的猫头鹰（厄罗）送来了大袋水果饼，及各种各样的肉馅饼，可怜的厄罗，上了年纪及身体虚弱，需要五天才能恢复体力。后来哈利的生日那天（杜斯理完全忽略了）他收到四个大蛋糕，罗恩，荷米恩，查理，西里斯一人送了一个。哈利还留了两个，做真正的早餐。他开始吃袖子，没有丝毫抱怨。

　　姨丈放开他的报纸，对此嗤之以鼻，很不赞成，然后他看看自己的那份水果。

　　“就这些吗？”他咕哝地对姨妈说。

　　姨妈严厉地看了他一眼，看着达德里点了点头，达德里早已吃完他的那份，他那贪婪的小眼睛还酸酸地看着哈利的那份。

　　姨丈长叹一气，弄乱了他那一大把浓密的胡子，他拿起汤匙。

　　门铃响了，姨丈从椅子里起来，到大厅里去，达德里趁他妈妈忙于给水壶加水霹雳般地把他爸爸的那份剩下的全吃了。

　　哈利听到门口讲话，有人笑，姨丈粗鲁地应答。接着前门关闭，从厅里传来撕纸的声音。

　　姨妈把茶壶放在桌上，好奇地环顾四周，想知道姨丈去哪了。

　　她不必等很久就知道答案了：过了约一分钟，他就回来了。他看起来很生气。

　　他对哈利吼道，“你，到起居室里去，就现在！”

　　哈利迷惑不解，不知道这次他到底做了些什么，哈利站起来，跟着姨丈出了厨房，进了另一个房间，姨丈“砰”地一声关了门。

　　“因此，”他边说边走到壁炉进，转过身对着哈利，仿佛要逮捕哈利似的怒吼道，“因此。”

　　哈利本来要反问：“因此，什么？”但他觉得不要一大清早惹姨丈，尤其是在早餐食物不足高度紧张的情况下。因此他站在那里，彬彬有礼但看起来大惑不解。

　　“这刚刚收到，”姨丈说，他对哈利挥舞着一张紫色信纸，“一封信。你的。”

　　哈利更加迷惑了。谁在给姨丈写信讲关于他的事呢？谁又知道通过邮政人员传寄信件呢？

　　姨文对哈利怒目而视，然后向下看信，大声读道：亲爱的杜斯利先生及夫人，我们素未谋面，但我确信你们知道许多关于我儿子罗恩的事情。

　　哈利也许告诉你们了，快迪斯决赛将于下周一晚上举行，我丈夫亚瑟通过关系在魔法运动部里弄到了票。

　　我希望你们允许我们接哈利去看比赛，因为这可是终生中唯一的机会。

　　美国已经三十年没有做东道主了，票特别难买，我们当然很高兴让哈利在我们这里度过剩余的假日，直至送他平安登上火车返回学校。

　　最好让哈利尽快回信给我们，以正常方式，因为非魔界邮递员从来不给我们家送信，我不确信他是否知道地址。

　　希望不久就见哈利，你真诚的摩莉。威斯里附言；我确实希望我们已贴够邮票。

　　姨丈读完信，手又放回胸间口袋，又拉出一样东西。

　　“看看这个吧！”他咆哮道。

　　他举起威斯里夫人的信纸，哈利不得不压住想笑的冲动。信封上满是邮票，除了一小条用小写字体写的杜斯利家的地址。

　　哈利说，“她可贴足了邮票，”尽量说得听起来好像威斯里夫人犯了一个任何人都可能犯的错误一样。姨丈的眼睛闪了闪。

　　姨丈牙齿咬得响响的，他说，“邮递员注意到了，而且很有趣地想知道这信从哪里来，他按门铃就是这个道理。他好像认为这样很滑稽。”

　　哈利一句话也说不出来。别人不懂姨丈为什么会对邮票过多吹毛求疵，但哈利和达德里住在一起太久了，不会不知道他们会对任何超出寻常的事情过敏。他们最担心的是别人把他们和威斯里夫人这样的人联系在一起。

　　维能姨丈还是瞪着哈利，哈利尽力地去强作自然，不说蠢话，不做蠢事。他等维能姨丈说话。但他只是瞪眼。哈利决定打破寂寞。

　　“那么——我可以走了吗？”他问道。

　　姨丈紫色大脸上一阵抽搐，胡子也竖起来了。哈利知道那胡子后面，姨丈最根本的两种本性在激烈交锋。允许哈利走会让哈利快乐，这就与十三年来，姨丈一直为之奋斗的目标相反，另一方面，让哈利到威斯里去度余假，提前两周走，这是其他人求之不得的事。姨丈真是恨哈利在他家里。好像要给他自己考虑的时间，他又看看威斯里夫人的信封。

　　“这女人是谁？”他说，嫌恶地盯住签名。

　　“您已经见过的，”哈利说，“她是我朋友罗恩的母亲，她接他下霍格——，下学校的火车，那是上学期未。”

　　他几乎说出“霍格瓦彻快车”，那准会让姨丈怒发冲冠。没有人斗胆敢在杜斯利家里提哈利学校的名字。

　　姨丈脸上皱起一道道皱纹好像在努力记起某些极不愉快的事。

　　“矮胖类型的女人？”他最后咆哮说，“一大堆红头发的孩子？”

　　哈利皱眉了，姨丈可以叫任何人“矮胖型”，但对他自己的儿子却绝对不行，自从三岁起就不准这样叫。

　　姨丈又再次看了看信件。

　　“快迪斯，”他屏住呼吸喃喃说道，“这是什么垃圾？”

　　哈利又一次被愤怒刺了一下。

　　“这是一种运动，”他说得很短，“在扫帚上进行比赛。”

　　“对，对！”姨大大声说。哈利有几分满意，他看见姨丈有些恐惧。很明显，他的神经忍受不了“扫帚”这个词在他的起居室里被说出。他通过看信转移注意力。哈利看见他的嘴唇似乎在说：“以正常方式给我们答复。”他怒目而视。

　　“正常方式？她是什么意思？”他质问道。

　　“对我们来说正常，“哈利说，姨丈还没有制止他，他又补充说，”您知道，用猫头鹰寄信。那对于巫师来说是正常。“

　　维能姨丈看起来勃然大怒，仿佛哈利刚刚说了句令人恶心的誓言。气得浑身发抖，他不安地朝窗外看去，好像要看见有几个邻居用耳朵贴在玻璃上偷听。

　　“多少次我告诉你不要在家里提那些不自然的东西？”他说，脸完全变成了猪肝色。“你站在那里，你这个忘恩负义的东西穿我和你姨妈给你的衣服——”

　　“只是达德里穿了不要了的！”哈利冷冷地说，的确，他穿的汗衫太大，衣袖要卷五卷才伸提出手，汗衫长过膝头，他的牛仔裤也特别肥大。

　　“不允许跟我这样讲话！”维能姨丈说，气得发抖。

　　但是哈利不准备再忍受这些。那些被迫去服从杜斯利家的条条规则的日子过去了，他不会按达德里的食谱进食。他不会让维能姨丈阻止他去看快迪斯世界杯赛。

　　哈利深深地吸了口气，说道，“OK，我不能看世界杯。我可以走了吗？现在？我要给西里斯写封信，信未写完。您知道，西里斯，我教父！”

　　他这样做了，像说了些有魔力的话，现在他看到姨丈脸上紫色褪去，布满汗滴，看起来像混有黑醋粒的冰淇淋。

　　“你会给他写信，是吗？”姨丈说，想镇定下来，但哈利看见他因害怕而瞳孔收缩。

　　“噢，”哈利随便地说，“自从他收到我的信已有一阵子了，您知道，假如他没有收到我的信，他可能开始考虑是不是有什么麻烦。”

　　他站在那里，得意地体会这些话的效果。他几乎能看到姨丈在想什么。假使他阻止哈利给西里斯写信，西里斯将认为哈利在受虐待。假如他不允许哈利去看世界杯，哈利会写信告诉西里斯，他也会认为哈利在受虐待。那么姨丈只能做一件事情。哈利仿佛能看见结论正在姨丈大脑中形成，仿佛他的大脑是透明的。哈利尽量装得没有表情，接着——“那好，你可以去看这愚蠢的——世界杯赛。你写信告诉这些，这些威斯里家的人，要他们来接你，我没有时间去送你。你可以在那里度余假。你可以告诉你的——你的教父。告诉他……告诉他……你要去。”

　　“OK。”哈利高兴地说。

　　他转过身来，朝卧室门口走去，压住想跳跃想欢呼的冲动。他要去，要去威斯里家，他要去看世界杯！

　　大厅外面他差点与达德里撞了个满怀，达德里一直在门后偷听，明显想听到他父亲叫哈利走。但当他看到哈利露齿而笑时却大吃一惊。

　　“那可真是精美早餐，不是吗？”哈利说，“我真觉得饱了，你不是吗？”

　　达德里脸上大惊失色，哈利大声地笑着，一次三阶地上楼梯，匆匆回到卧室。

　　他看见的第一个东西是海维回来了。她正坐在笼子里，大大的琥珀眼一动不动地看着哈利，鸟嘴咯当响，意思是为某原因生气。

　　的确，那正让她生气的事马上就明了了。

　　“哎哟。”哈利说。

　　好像有一个小小的有羽毛的灰色的网球撞了一下哈利的头顶，哈利恼火地摸了摸头，仰起头来看究竟是什么撞了他。他看见了一个很小的猫头鹰，小得可以放在手掌心，在屋子里飞驰，就像烟火爆炸时那样，哈利意识到猫头鹰丢了封信到他脚边，他弯下腰，认出是罗恩的手迹，接着哈利打开信封，里面有一张草写的便条：哈利，父亲弄了票，爱尔兰对保加尼亚，星期一晚上。妈妈写信给你要你来住。他们可能已经寄了信。我不知道邮递员快不快。

　　因此我叫猪把这信送给你。

　　哈利盯着“猪”这词看，哈利看了半天也没有发现小猫头鹰身上有像猪的地方。然后抬起头看着小猫头鹰，它正在天花板上的灯影里飞来飞去，哈利从来也没有看见像它身上有任何像猪的地方。

　　也许是他看错了罗恩写的信，因此他又继续看了下去：不管他们喜欢不喜欢，我们来接你，你不能错过这次世界杯赛，只是爸妈认为先征求他们意见好些。如果他们说“好”，让猪及时回来回答我，我们星期天五点来接你。如果他们说“不行”，也让猪回来，我们也是在周日五点来接你。

　　荷米恩今天下午到达。伯希已经开始工作——国际魔法合作分部的工作，你在这里时不要提及国外的任何事情。

　　不久见——罗恩“静一静吧。”小猫头鹰低飞时哈利说，它不断鸣叫，仿佛让哈利知道他很自豪地将信件投送给了该收的人。“来这里吧，我需要你把答案带回去。”

　　小猫头鹰一下子飞落到笼子上面，海维冷冷地向上看，仿佛在激它再近些。

　　哈利又一次抓住羽毛笔，拿出一张羊皮纸，写道：罗恩，这件事OK.他们说我可以去。明天5点钟见。我迫不及待想见你们。

　　哈利他把它折得很小，费了很大劲才绑在小猫头鹰腿上，而它却兴奋得跳来跳去。便条一系好，它就又走了，飞出窗户，飞得不见了。

　　哈利转向海维。

　　“感觉可以长途旅行吗？”他问她。

　　海维充满自豪地霍霍叫唤。

　　“你能为我把它送给西里斯吗？”他说着，拿起信件，“等着，我就写完它。”

　　他把羊皮纸打开，很快写了附言。

　　假如你要跟我联系，我将在罗恩。威斯里家里过完假日。他父亲给我们弄到了世界杯票。

　　信写完了，他把它绑在海维腿上，她保持出人意料的静，仿佛决心显示出一只真正的空中邮鹰的风姿。

　　哈利告诉她，“你回来去罗恩那里。”

　　她爱抚地啄了啄他的手指，轻轻地叫了一声，张开巨大翅膀，飞出了窗户。

　　哈利望着她直到完全看不见。然后爬到床下，掀开松地板，拿出一大块蛋糕。他坐在地板上吃生日蛋糕，边吃边品味这满心的快乐。他有蛋糕吃，而达德里只有柚子吃，真是个明媚的夏天。明天他就要离开普里怀特街，他的伤痕完全恢复正常，他将去看快迪斯世界杯赛，此时此刻，什么事情都不会再担心了，哪怕是福尔得摩特公爵。